Ширли Мерфи - The Ivory Lyre

Teb felt a surge of pride in Thakkur so strong he had to swallow several times and could not speak. Thakkur had done it, had made the Nightpool otters into an effective army. He had trained the otters for battle, had taught them to use weapons—despite the loud complaining by Nightpool’s handful of troublemakers.

“And it was Thakkur’s otters at Vouchen Vek,” Hexet said, “who trained the otter colony there and helped them steal weapons. You were one of them, Lebekk. You were there.”

“Yes,” Lebekk said, his dark, sleek coat catching the firelight. “With the human rebels, we laid siege to Fekthen and Thiondor, sank their supply boats, and starved the dark troops. We fed the captives secretly and freed them, and they killed their dark masters. Though I think they had other incentives as well. I believe the dragon song touched them there, that visions came to them.”

Teb stayed with Lebekk and the foxes a long time, taking pleasure in their eager talk and simple well-being. Then when two great cats challenged them to a game, he left them. The meat was nearly cooked, the cave redolent of the smoky juices, and his stomach rumbled with hunger. He saw more soldiers arriving bloody and torn, having tended first to their tired horses. Now their own wounds were treated and they were fed and made comfortable. Teb found Camery, and they filled their plates with the good roasted meat and roots and flat bread, then found a little alcove where they could sit alone. Here he told her all that had happened to him, from the morning he was led away from the palace tied on his horse. Garit had told her part of it, how he and young Lervey and the old cook, Pakkna, and Hibben of the twisted hand had slipped out of Sivich’s camp at midnight, stealing Teb away.

“Pakkna and Lervey are with the troops in Branthen,” she said. “Hibben travels across Akemada secretly rallying troops. But tell me again how Sivich captured you.”

“As the foxes helped me escape Nison-Serth out a small back entrance, the winged jackals discovered us and attacked. Then Sivich’s soldiers were on us. They threw me across a horse—I think that’s when my ribs were broken—then rode all night for Baylentha. There they put me in a huge cage made of whole felled trees and barge chain, meaning to capture Dawncloud.” He smiled. “But it was Dawncloud who freed me.”

He told her how, after four years in the otter colony, he had gone to search for the black hydrus, knowing he must kill it, or it would destroy him. It had captured him and taken him to the drowned city across the open sea. It tried to twist his mind so he would use his bard powers for the dark. “It meant for me to force Seastrider to do the same. But I stabbed it at last, and then the dragons came and finished it.

“All the rooms above water in that place were filled only with barnacles and sea moss. But there was one apartment in a tall tower that had furnishings—a bed, a chair, clothes, Mama’s red dress, and her diary. Merlther Brish’s sailboat was tied below waiting for her. But it was her diary that led Dawncloud there and, because she sensed what was in it, led her to the Castle of Doors.”

“And you saw Dawncloud go through,” she said, studying his face, “into . . . who knows what kind of world. And Mama is there . . . somewhere.”

He took her hand. “She will come back. They both will. Now tell me how Garit rescued you. I know he took you to the house of the brewer, where you left your diary for me to find.”

She told him the details of her escape, and how she and Garit came to Dacia to the underground, then about her years as servant in the house of Vurbane. Teb could tell she left much unsaid.

“They weren’t pleasant years. I didn’t think at first I could do such a thing, spy as a servant, be obedient to that dark household. Vurbane is—” She shook her head, her eyes filled with pain. “But I found I could do it. And if I was miserable in some ways, I felt strong inside and . . . well, smug, maybe,” she said, laughing, “when I got the information out.” She smiled and shook her head. “You won’t guess what creature helped me, came to the palace at night to take my messages.”

“An owl,” he said, laughing. “Was it Red Unat?”

She stared at him. “How did you know his name? Yes, old cranky Red Unat. How . . . ?”

“He came to Nightpool. I asked him to search for you. He went to the tower, then to the house of the brewer. But you had already gone. He brought me your diary. But if he was helping you in Ekthuma, why didn’t he tell you about me? Or bring the news to me that you were safe? He knew your name, he . . . Well,” Teb said, “but he had never seen you. Still . . .”

“I was called Summer, there. He had no reason to connect me with you. Oh, if he had, if we’d found each other sooner . . .”

“Yes. Well, but it turned out all right.”

“It was Red Unat who warned me when Vurbane’s troops came to the marketplace to arrest me.”

“Yes. I took supper with Vurbane and the dark leaders in Sardira’s palace. Vurbane spoke of a great owl, and I guessed it might be Red Unat.” Teb took her hand. “I don’t like to think about your years with Vurbane. He is . . .”

“Yes. But it’s over.” She looked at him squarely. “Vurbane is dead.” Her words said all that was needed. They looked at each other, each seeing something of the person the other had become.

When they left their private corner, they joined the others, gathered to tell tales of personal victories and defeats that brought them all closer. Everyone had a tale, and evening came on with the entire company still lost in stories. But it was the last tale that filled the bards with excitement. It was this bard vision that would map their days to come and could mean the beginning of final victory over the dark invaders.

Teb had stood the Ivory Lyre of Bayzun on a stone shelf high enough for all to see, the glancing light from the waves through the open gate playing over it. When Colewolf rose from where he sat among the bards, all voices hushed. He went to the lyre and laid his hand on it. No one stirred. As he stood looking at the gathered crowd of humans and animals, a tale began to spin out in silence, making pictures as the dragon song had done. The power of the lyre gave him the power of vision, where for so long he had been mute.

He told a tale of other dragons, of a clutch of new, young dragons somewhere across the western sea.

The tale had been told to Colewolf by a rebel recruit out of Birrig. He had come recently across the vast ocean from the other side of Tirror. There he had sailed beside a tall island peak and stared up to see a dragon lair. He had tied his boat and climbed, to find a lair made of heavy oak trees, with the remains of freshly killed sheep and a shark, and the shells of dragon eggs still caught among the logs.

Teb saw Kiri’s eyes alight with excitement, saw Marshy’s face transformed, and knew that the same dream gripped them both. Maybe their dragonmates were among the newly hatched clutch. He caught Camery’s glance and saw her nod, saw the eager look between Colewolf and Kiri, felt the sense of excitement that gripped the four dragons on the cliff above. They would go there, to the coast of frozen Yoorthed.

That night Teb tried to sleep in a small cave off the large one and could not. He rose at last and left the caves, to find Seastrider sleeping soundly, dreaming, stretched out between boulders. She woke and moved around to make a place for him, and he settled down with his back against her, the sea wind cool in his face. He was just dozing off when he saw Camery come up, silhouetted against the thin moonlight, and go to settle down beside Nightraider. The big dragon blew a warm breath against her back with a huffing sound. Teb heard Camery sigh as if very contented.