“Only bone tired.”
Kiri sighed. “There will be hundreds and hundreds of soldiers besides the dark leaders. How can we win against such an army? There are so few in the city who care, who will join us.”
“There is the power of Gardel-Cloor to help us. We will have reinforcements when troops from the outer countries arrive, likely with animals, too. The white fox—the queen’s friend,” he said, grinning, “has sent word by some of the younger foxes and otters for the animal nations on all the continents to prepare for war.” Garit shook his head. “That Hexet. Sometimes I think he knows even more than he tells us. As if he has some secret too personal to trust even to the resistance.”
“You don’t trust Hexet? Oh, Garit. . .”
“I trust him, Kiri. I get the feeling sometimes that it is a personal confidence. Something that would not affect the war. Or perhaps something he feels it better to deal with alone. Oh, yes, I trust Hexet without reservation. He has led all the stealing parties where the animals have been so successful. They will continue to steal and to sabotage the dark wherever they can. We have excellent supplies of food, thanks to them, and to the stores you located. And we’ve cleaned out two of Sardira’s caches of weapons, hidden them in the usual places, Gardel-Cloor, and the trusted shops . . . you know the places.”
She nodded. “And where is Papa?”
“On Ocana with half a dozen others, rallying rebel troops.”
She sat quietly. There would be fighting soon. Her father would be in it, Garit, Summer, all of them. The beginning would be like dropping off a cliff with no possible way to turn back.
Garit touched her hand, bringing her back from a thin edge of fear. “This is not why I wanted you to come. There was another reason.”
She waited, watching him, concentrating on how his red beard curled in a shaft of light through the shutters.
“I saw the entourage when you first left the palace this morning, while I was helping the cobbler store arms. I followed you, then raced here through the back streets to have a better look because . . . because I think I know Prince Tebmund. I think that is not his true name.”
“And . . . is he not from Thedria? Oh, Garit, not a servant of the dark.”
“What do you think he is? What do you feel?”
She swallowed. “I don’t know. I hope he is not of the dark. I trust him, Garit, though I have no reason. He makes me feel . . . a sense of goodness. Almost the way I feel in the palace sometimes for no reason.” She shook her head. “There’s no sense to it. I’m afraid to trust what I feel.”
“It is a sad thing about war, Kiri, that you cannot trust your own instincts.”
“But if you know him . . .”
“I may know him. The one I knew was only twelve when I saw him last. One changes a lot from twelve to manhood. He would be sixteen now. If it is he . . .”
“But he saw you, Garit. Have you changed so much? If he knows you, wouldn’t he have given you some sign? Turned . . . ?”
“If he was careful, he would not. Would you, in this time of war, when even the slightest signal might be noticed by Sardira’s soldiers?
“And there might be another reason,” Garit said. “I heard once that my friend had lost all memory, didn’t even know his name. That he was living on an island with a colony of speaking otters, east of Windthorst, the island of Nightpool. I went there searching for him. He had disappeared, and the otters would tell me little. Their leader was away, traveling on some secret errand . . . at least they were closemouthed about it. Secretive—otters can be damnably secretive. They wouldn’t tell me if Tebriel even knew who he was or where he went; they only assured me he wasn’t there anymore.”
“If he is your friend, Garit—and if he remembers— he will come to you.”
“He might be afraid of being followed, of leading Sardira’s men here.” Garit frowned. “You must find out what you can, Kiri. Learn whether he is Tebriel, son of the King of Auric. Find out if he knows who he is.” He paused, watching her. “If he is Tebriel, he is someone urgently important. Someone we need. You are young and pretty. You should have no trouble charming a young man into confiding in you.”
“If I had Accacia’s charms, maybe.”
“Does he seem attracted to Accacia?”
“He was riding with her in that pompous parade. She is very taken with him.”
“Accacia is taken with everything in pants. If he is who I think, I expect he will have better taste.”
“How will I be sure he speaks truly? And how will he know to trust me?”
“If you speak of the tapestries in his palace, that showed the old times and worlds unknown to Tirror. If you speak of his mother wearing a red dress and sitting before the flame tree in her private walled garden. If you speak of his childhood pony, Linnet, who used to want to roll in the river with Teb on his back, and tell him I told you these things, he will know that I trust you, and so can he.”
Mmenimm had awakened and was watching them. Kiri knelt beside the great chocolate-colored cat and hugged his muscled neck. He rubbed his tufted cheek against her hair. Marshy did not wake but grasped Mmenimm’s leg tighter with one small hand. His breathing was quick and shallow, and she watched the little boy with concern. “He’s pale today. He’s sick again.”
“He has not slept well at night,” Mmenimm said. “He sleeps better in the daytime. At night he has strange dreams.” The great cat licked Kiri’s hand. “Dreams that wake him, feverish with excitement.”
Marshy was often white and sick, though at other times wiry and eager. No one could make out what caused the changes. But that he was kin to strange powers, the same as Kiri and Summer, no one doubted.
Marshy woke suddenly, stared up at her, then put his arms up sleepily. She gathered him in. His little body felt cold, except where he had been pressed against Mmenimm.
“I dreamed, Kiri.” He stared up at her, his blue eyes swimmy from sleep. “I dreamed of dragons. In the sky—all in the sky and the wind . . .”
She pressed her face to him and felt the pain he felt, and knew how hopeless such dreams were. “I know, Marshy. I know. I dream of dragons, too.”
He reared back with surprising strength and stared at her. “No, Kiri. This was real—a real dream. They are there. Dragons . . .” He stared at her boldly, crossly. “In the sky, Kiri! They are there in the sky!”
She pressed his face gently against her shoulder, hugging him, and exchanged a look with Mmenimm and with Garit, sat rocking Marshy for a few moments, then laid him back in the shelter of Mmenimm’s warm paws. She felt sick with her own hopeless longing, stirred by Marshy’s innocent dreams. There were no dragons anymore. They had no right to dream of dragons; neither of them had. It only made them miserable.
She left the cottage soon afterward.
A block from her doorway she saw soldiers on the high road coming from the north. Not Sardira’s green-clad troops, but soldiers uniformed in the garish yellow of the dark forces and led by drummers beating a slow dirge that chilled her through. They had come by barge from the north, from the dark huge continent of Aquervell, there could be no doubt. She slipped up between houses and onto a tile roof where she could watch undisturbed.
Forty horsemen, two by two, entered the palace keep that led to the stables. The eight riders at the head of the battalion sat their horses stiffly and did not look to left or right. Their hands on the reins never moved. Their faces above the yellow tunics were cold and sallow. Kiri swallowed back gall and wanted to turn and run from them, as far away as she could.
Instead of running, she went quickly through back ways to the rear of the stable beneath the horsemaster’s apartments. She slipped in between two haystacks directly behind the stalls, where she could listen unseen, stood pressed against the prickly hay trying to hear over the pounding of her own heart.
Chapter 11
Teb burned to get to Garit. The return ride up to the palace seemed to take forever. He thought of pretending Seastrider was lame or si
ck and falling back, riding back alone. But there were too many eyes to see him. If not the soldiers, then those within the city itself. Seastrider began to sweat lightly. Accacia swatted at flies buzzing in the heat and prattled endlessly. When they reached the stable at last, Accacia insisted on waiting for Teb while he groomed Seastrider, so she could walk with him to the late lunch she had planned. She stood well out of the way as he rubbed the white mare down.
“I should think you would leave such work to the grooms.”
He ignored her, took his time with the grooming ritual, hot towels, rubdown, brushing, all of it, as he tried to invent a way to escape her without causing suspicion, and get down into the city.
You had best wait, Tebriel. She watches you too closely.
I must see Garit. It’s why we came here—partly why.
We will go tonight, wait until tonight.
He worked for some time, slowly, making Accacia wait. Then suddenly Seastrider began to fidget and paw.
What’s the matter with you?
She turned her head to stare at him. Can’t you sense it? Someone—a speaking animal, Tebriel. Nearby.
Well, I suppose so. In the city—
No. Her ears twitched eagerly. Here, in the palace itself.
Stop twitching your ears; Accacia is staring. What animal? Why would a speaking animal come to the palace?
I don’t . . . A fox, Tebriel! Yes. A kit fox.
Can you tell where? Can you tell what it’s doing?
No. Only . . . She stood staring into emptiness for a moment. Only that it comes to . . . to see a friend, I think. Seastrider snorted and shook her mane. It comes secretly, Tebriel. By a secret way.
“Are you nearly finished?” Accacia said. “They will have let the lunch get cold. Or burnt.”
He went at last, following Accacia, his mind teeming with curiosity about the fox, and still filled with a pounding eagerness to find Garit. On top of these thoughts remained a stubborn picture of Kiri turned back at him, her dark eyes filled with knowing.
*
The fox sat before the queen waiting for her to wake, giving little panting huffs to make her stir. It was noontime, but this room was always filled with thick night. The lamp burned softly, sending a glow across his silver-white coat. His tail was bright white, bushy, and there was a dark gray streak across one shoulder where a knife wound had healed. His eyes were dark and intelligent, his alert ears thrust forward. He watched the queen sleeping with her mouth open, said, “Huff,” again irritably, then in exasperation he gave one muffled, sharp bark, glancing uneasily at the locked door. The queen opened her pale eyes, staring at him blankly, then smiled, so all her wrinkles deepened. She sat up in bed and tried to straighten the covers so he would have a warm place to sit.
He jumped up when she beckoned, pawed at the tangle of blanket she had arranged for him, then sat very straight and regally, regarding her with half amusement and half irritation. He could never be truly angry with her, but there were times she tried his patience.
“Did you tell someone about me?” he asked. “Did you tell Roderica? There was a trap in the passage tonight.”
“Oh . . .” Her hand flew to her mouth. “What kind of trap? Not . . .”
“No, not a killer trap. A box trap—but just as confining, Queen Stephana. Who . . . ?”
“I told no one. You know I wouldn’t. Oh, that terrible girl, she has been spying on us! Wait until I catch her, I will flail her.”
“With a whip?” he asked, hiding a smile.
“With words, of course. It’s all I have. Oh, please . . . you weren’t hurt?”
“Of course not. I sprang it easily, then fixed it so she can’t use it again. Of course, she will bring others.”
“Not when I’m through with her.” The queen looked completely undone. The fox thought it was the first time he had ever seen her truly concerned about something. He was touched and flattered. He settled down more comfortably on the nest of blankets, prepared again to try to change the queen’s stubborn mind.
He was Hexet, originally of the island of Kipa in the Benaynne Archipelago. He had escaped the island during Quazelzeg’s early raids. Hundreds of animals, and some humans with them, had swum the straits to Bukla and Edain and Dacia as Quazelzeg’s shipborne soldiers sacked the islands.
Some folk had gone back, and a group of animals and men had retaken a few of the islands. But it was a never-ending battle to keep the dark raiders out, successful mainly because Quazelzeg’s forces were now more urgently occupied on larger lands. The small islands of the archipelago had little to offer. They had never been heavily populated. Hexet, with a handful of others, had come to settle on the rocky, barren southerly tip of Dacia, hoping to help the resistance movements that were growing among the animals. He had once been a leader of many foxes and was known as Hexet the Thief. His small band had been constantly at work for some five months, stealing food stores from the palace and ferrying them, with the help of a few otters, around the tip of Dacia to the sanctuary of Gardel-Cloor, for emergency supplies. War would come, rebellion would come, but this war would not be lost through siege and starvation. It was one of the otters who had told Hexet about the captive queen. Curious, Hexet had found a way in to her. He had been coming ever since. He sat up now, studying her old, wrinkled face, seeing the defiance there. She knew very well what he meant to say. He sat as straight and tall as he could manage and fixed her with a look of authority.
She stared back at him, her own demeanor powerful in spite of her ragged, unkempt condition, in spite of her illness and weakness. A reminder of her true nature looked out for that instant, queenly and austere. “Can we not just talk? Can you not simply tell me tales of the fox nation? Do we have to go through this argument every time?”
“We would not have to argue at all if you would be reasonable.”
“Or if you would be civil and remember your manners. One does not defy a queen.”
“I defy you,” he said softly, his dark eyes gleaming and his sharp teeth showing in a quick snarl. “We must join together, all of us must, if we are to save Tirror.”
“I can save nothing. I am a sick, helpless old woman and I want only to be left alone.”
“You could save more than you know. If you would try. If you cared.”
“I can do nothing. I am alone; those skills are dead and would be of no use anyway without— No one can fight alone.”
“You are not alone. The hostages from Merviden have risen, Queen Stephana. They have retaken two cities. The underground forces move strongly in the nations of the Nasden Confederacy. You could help them if you cared. You could help Dacia. You still have power; you know you do. Though it may not be as strong as it once was.
“My brothers work with the rebels, Queen Stephana. The foxes, the otters and wolves, and the great cats. Many of us have died. You could help us. You could save many.” He knew her weakness. He moved forward over the tangle of blankets, put aside his dignity, and lay down with his head in her lap. As she stroked his lush silvery coat, her face softened. She touched the soft white fur under his chin with one finger.
“They have died,” he said. “Many foxes have died slowly, in pain, the same as human children have died.”
He stayed a long time, letting her stroke him, telling her of atrocities to humans and animals—though it was the pain of the animals that touched her. She had long ago put away from herself much empathy for humankind—as if the world of humans as she knew it, the king perhaps, had betrayed her beyond redeeming. He left in a flash when he heard Roderica’s key in the door, then waited far down the passage in darkness.
Roderica discovered the trap and shouted out with fury before she remembered herself and withdrew into a protective calm. She didn’t care. It didn’t make any difference; she didn’t want to fuss around with a dirty fox, anyway. She listened to the queen’s scolding without emotion, agreed with her that she had done a bad thing, said she wouldn’t do it again. Afterward she went on
up to the small dining chamber feeling tired and dull. Accacia’s entourage had returned. Accacia was waiting for her, tapping her foot. Prince Tebmund and Prince Abisha stood talking together in a corner. Roderica had passed the newly arrived captains from the north as they entered the larger dining hall to take private lunch with the king.
Roderica suffered through lunch in silence, hating foxes, hating that fox who so charmed the queen and who had caused her scolding. When the tedious meal was finished, she watched Accacia lead Prince Tebmund off on a tour of the palace—whether to keep him out of the way of the visiting army, or because Accacia was still intent on romance, Roderica didn’t know or care.
“We will go up to the high wall first,” Accacia said softly. Her satin dress caught the light of the banked candles as they left the small dining chamber. “It’s cool there with the sea wind, for it’s nearly on top of the palace.” She ushered him into a dark passage. He followed her swinging light uneasily, wishing he had found a satisfactory way of evading her after lunch. But Seastrider was right; it was best to wait until nighttime to go to Garit. Accacia prattled on, thrusting her lamp into open galleries to pick out black spaces and towering furniture, telling him which were meeting rooms, which the chambers of the palace guards and retinue, all seemingly open for inspection. She made wry comments about the palace residents, and glided so close to him that he felt quite warm and uncomfortable. Her voice was too insinuating and personal. Her relationship with Prince Abisha puzzled him. They were to be wed, but she flirted with everyone. Maybe Abisha didn’t have the courage to alter her ways.
The looks between Accacia and the king left more questions unanswered.
The black passages opened occasionally in a tall, narrow window shockingly bright with sun. Each one showed them to be higher up the mountain into which the palace was carved. Suddenly at a turn in the passage Teb felt a sharp sense of evil. It lingered for some time, perhaps an aura of evil from the dark leaders dining in the hall below. Then, as they approached an ironclad door, a feeling so powerful struck him that he stopped, staring at the crossed iron strips that bound the oak, his hands trembling. A feeling of powerful magic, of brightness, of infinite goodness.
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