Ширли Мерфи - The Ivory Lyre

“Oh, they exist.” Teb smiled. “We raise them on Thedria and train them as guard animals. I understand that in the nations of Windthorst they use winged jackals, but we find the bears more . . . accommodating. Do not fear her; she is quite tame unless danger threatens. She has been most obedient about staying here to herself, in the wood.”

“There are no bears on Thedria,” said Vurbane. “I have been there. There is no Prince Tebmund, either.”

“Oh, there are bears,” Teb said lightly. “There is no Prince Tebmund, of course, for I am here.”

Vurbane looked annoyed, a drawing-back deep within his cold eyes; Teb hoped he had been bluffing.

“When were you in Thedria?” Teb asked lightly. “I do not remember your visit, General Vurbane.”

Vurbane did not answer, but only stared at Teb, then nodded briefly to King Sardira. Sardira motioned to Leskrank, a quick, irritated movement. Leskrank raised a hand, and at once the soldiers spurred their reluctant horses forward, their swords a circle of steel pointing down at Teb and Seastrider; the bear reared and charged the horses, clawing one and snatching the rider from the saddle. Teb’s sword cut down two soldiers as their horses spun, trying to bolt. He turned to see spears bristling at the bear as she lunged at Captain Leskrank, spears ready to sink deep. “No!” he cried. “No!” There are too many. Fall back.

She hesitated, and a spear pierced her shoulder. Fall back! At last she dropped to all fours, the points of a dozen spears pricking her heavy coat.

A rider dismounted and took Teb’s sword and tied his hands behind him. He tied a long rope around Teb’s neck, gave Sardira the other end, and kicked Teb in the ankle. “Get moving.” Teb walked out fast beside the bear. Sardira spurred his horse so close it nearly trampled Teb, then jogged ahead so Teb had to run or be dragged. Double-time they went down along the river past derelict farms, then through the rubbled streets. As they approached the arena, Sardira jerked Teb to a stop and sat glaring down at him.

“Tell me why you released my animals, Prince Tebmund. Why would you do such a thing after we treated you so hospitably?”

Teb stared at the king and said nothing.

“Who was your accomplice, Prince Tebmund? Oh, yes, my men saw him; they saw it all from the barracks. They saw him run away. They came down here to find three of my best soldiers murdered.”

Teb looked at the king coldly. “I suppose it is some special privilege for your best soldiers, to be allowed to torture helpless animals.”

The king cut him a look of cold disgust. “I suppose you are some sort of judge. Do you bleed for every slaughtered sheep on the supper table, Prince Tebmund?”

Teb only looked at him.

“You don’t imagine, Prince Tebmund, that I believed your story about coming here only to sell horses. Whom do you spy for, Prince Tebmund? Some gutter-based cadre of self-made rebels itching to be slaughtered by my armies?”

Teb stared in silence, up into Sardira’s cold, black eyes.

“Well, your tale about trading horses will be honored, Prince Tebmund—if you are a prince—but your payment will not be quite what you planned. It will be payment to match the intent. . . .”

Teb looked the king over coldly, then spat on the sword and shouldered it out of his way as another blade probed his back. He sauntered through the gate beside the ambling silver bear, his fury so hot his blood throbbed like drums.

. . . to advantage, Seastrider was saying. Go easy, Tebriel. We will use this to advantage, I will get my power back. . . . Three dragons are still free, to help us. . . .

But Teb could not sense the others; there was no answering surge that showed they were linked by thought. Nothing.

They were marched the length of the gaming field and forced into cages. Teb was chained, but no soldier would enter the bear’s cage. Her door was bolted and locked. Four mounted soldiers were left to guard them and to prepare them for the games.

Chapter 15

Kiri huddled against a broken wall in an old stone ruin, sick with pain where the soldier had stabbed her, dizzy with the loss of blood. She listened for the sound of running feet, pressing at the wound in her side to stop the bleeding. At last she knelt, tore a strip off her skirt, and bound the long gash so tightly she could hardly breathe. She had foolishly left her knife in the soldier. She hoped he was dead, but she wished she had it back.

She thought the creature in the arena must have been a bear; but there were no more bears on this side of the world. And who was the man with it? Where had he come from, there in the lonely arena in the small hours of night?

She turned to look up the rubble-strewn hill and caught her breath. There he was, a black silhouette in the first touch of dawn, riding the huge bear and followed by a tangle of fast-moving shapes that she soon made out to be Elmmira, the other cats, and maybe wolves. It was too dark to see his face. She wanted to follow, to call out, and knew she mustn’t be seen. If she was caught out in the open, wounded, they would soon know who stabbed the king’s soldier. She felt so weak. Even her vision seemed blurred. She needed shelter, needed someone to help her. She knew the cats would go to Gardel-Cloor and longed to go with them, but she mustn’t be seen with them. They would have care at Gardel-Cloor, rest, and salves for the burns. Marshy was there, with Summer.

She moved out of the ruined building at last and on through the rubble, supporting herself against broken walls. When she felt faint again, she leaned on a partial stair rail, then sat down on the bottom of three standing steps, her head between her knees until the sickness went away.

At last the ruins ended. She forced herself out onto the open streets where a few people were at the cow pens or emptying dirty water into the gutters. She dared not go home so close to the palace; a neighbor could report that she was wounded. She did not want to draw attention to Gram. She didn’t think she could make it down the steep cliff to Gardel-Cloor.

Only Garit could help her, yet she was terrified of being followed there, covered with blood. It was true dawn now, far too light. She caught a woman staring at her, and at the next corner she snatched a heavy shirt from a fence rail and slipped it over her tunic. It was still damp from laundering, and chilly. She felt dizzy again, confused. What street was this? Why didn’t it look familiar? She leaned against a stone wall, trying to get her bearings. She thought she was going to throw up; everything around her seemed smeared and unclear. When a shadow moved nearby, she froze. Was someone following her? She crouched against a wall, the pain making her gasp, and searched for shelter ahead. Behind her the shadow moved again. She caught her breath. . . .

It was Elmmira. The great cat leaped to join her, pressing against her. “Come on my back; be quick.”

She slipped onto Elmmira’s back as easily as she could, trying not to touch the horrible burns, and hot tears filled her eyes at Elmmira’s pain, that the great cat would do this when she herself should be cared for. She clung to the rhythm of Elmmira’s gallop, her nostrils filled with the smell of burnt fur, two crippled creatures fleeing through the city. A shout behind them made Elmmira swerve, running flat out. Kiri lay low as they dodged down a narrow alley and around corners. The jarring sent jabs of pain through Kiri; then Elmmira leaped so high Kiri barely stayed with her. They had gone over a fence. When Elmmira stopped suddenly, Kiri thought they were cornered; then she heard Garit’s voice.