Slowly Seastrider grew denser. Her wings showed thinly against the sky. She became almost solid, she tried to lift, she flew clumsily—then she faltered and fell to earth like a crippled bird, becoming only wolf again.
The other two had not changed. Teb felt their effort, but the evil on them was too powerful. They were trapped, shivering, their wolf eyes flashing. But they all kept trying, Teb with every ounce of power in him. At long last, when he thought it was useless, Seastrider began to find her shape again, stronger now until she coiled across the hill like thickening mist, turning whiter, denser, slowly gaining solid form.
At last she was a solid, living dragon.
She breathed out flame slowly, testing herself. Teb hugged her, pressing his face against her cheek. Soon Starpounder began to change, then Windcaller.
The dragons lifted skyward into the night, shaken, reaching with trembling effort for the clouds.
“Was it on purpose?” Teb shouted into the wind later. “Did the unliving do that on purpose? Do they know about you?”
“No, Tebriel. I think not. But there is more evil upon Dacia, now the unliving are here.”
Once the dragons were away from Dacia and out over the sea, their strength returned. They hunted shark and fed, coiled on a marshy island. Here they spoke together of the lyre of Bayzun, for the knowledge had flooded into the minds of the dragons when it burst into Teb’s own conscious thought.
“The spell is broken,” Seastrider said. “The spell Bayzun himself laid upon the lyre has been fulfilled.” She eased into a new position among the boulders. Teb shifted, too, to find the warmest spot against her scaly side.
“The lyre was fashioned from the claws of Bayzun,” Seastrider said. “Three claws he tore from his own foot as he lay old and weak, knowing he would soon die.
“Bayzun called forth the dwarf Eppennen, master carver of all the dwarfs of the northern lands, and bade him carve the lyre as he instructed. Eppennen did the work there in Bayzun’s own cave, never leaving until the lyre was completed, taking for his meals the small creatures that Bayzun was still able to kill. When Eppennen completed the lyre, Bayzun clasped it to his scaly chest and said spells over it to enhance its magic.
“The lyre was used only once,” Seastrider said, “against the first dark invaders. Its powers are against dark magic, Tebriel, not against normal human force. It will not weaken a warrior, but it will weaken the dark evils that drive him. It will strengthen the force of the bard magic. It will strengthen dragon song and the visions we make.
“When the first unliving tried to take the minds of Tirror and destroy the bards and dragons, Bayzun rose up with the last of his great strength and sang, clutching the lyre to his chest with his clawless foot. He drove the dark out with the lyre’s magic—his own power and the lyre together drove it out, a power that shattered the dark across Tirror. . . .
“The dark retreated back into other worlds for a while, though it would come again. Bayzun laid the lyre upon a pile of leaves that often pillowed his head. There it remained until Bayzun was mortally wounded by the spear of an evil man come secretly in the night, killing Bayzun when he was too weak to defend himself, stealing the lyre.
“But before he died,” Seastrider said, “Bayzun laid a curse on the lyre: that even if the dark held it, the dark could never use its power. All the dark could do in holding the lyre would be to prevent its use by the dragons and bards . . . or by anyone who would defeat the dark with it.
“Then,” she said, her breath spurting little flames, “then the un-men laid a countercurse: that the history of the lyre of Bayzun, and of Bayzun himself, would vanish from all bard memory and from the memory of all dragons, from the memory of all men and animals. He did not know that the dwarf had carved a tablet telling of the lyre.
“In his last gasping breath, Bayzun’s curse was the final one: that there would come a time when the dragons and bards would come together in force once more. At the beginning of that time the memory of the lyre would come alive again, if even one among us sought it.
“You sought it, Tebriel. Now,” she said, turning her long silver head to look at him, “now we must recover it from the treasure halls of Sardira. All dragons will know of the lyre, now the spell is spent. Dawncloud will know. All bards will know. . . . Your mother, your sister . . .”
“But how did the tablet get out of the cave to the palace where the lyre is? How did the lyre itself . . . ?”
“You know all that I know, Tebriel. There are still mysteries shrouded by the presence of the dark. But I see the dwarf Eppennen returning to that cave, to the corpse of Bayzun, and carrying the tablet away.” Seastrider licked a morsel of shark from her claws. “You will find the lyre, Tebriel. You will . . . among the treasure rooms of Sardira. Your powers are growing stronger. You concealed your true self at supper tonight very well. And you laid a strong mind-spell on Accacia.”
He touched her pearl-colored nose. “How much do you see, lurking in your disguise in the stable?”
“Quite enough.” He could feel her silent laugh like a small earthquake. “Sometimes I sense your thoughts clearly in spite of the aura of the dark; sometimes I do not. Though I sensed quite enough tonight to tell me that Lady Accacia’s flirting and her charm undoes you.”
“If it undoes me,” he said crossly, “how would I have been able to lay sufficient spell on her to learn of the ivory lyre?”
“I have trained you well,” she said smugly.
He leaped at her and pummeled her until she took his shoulder in her sharp fangs. He held still then, staring up at her eyes, like two green lakes above him. She did not press down even enough to dent his skin. When she released him, he jumped to her back and they were airborne in a wild release of craziness. She dove and spun, then beat out fast across the night winds, freeing them both in flight as wild as hurricanes.
She dove so close to waves that Teb was drenched, and soared so high he grew faint from the thin air. Windcaller and Starpounder did not follow them, and there was no sense of Nightraider on the night sky. The black dragon followed his search in deliberate isolation, all his strength turned toward one being.
At last Seastrider returned to Dacia. They both felt strengthened now by their absence from the dark power concentrated there. They felt ready to face it again. Teb’s mind was filled with the captive animals, and with Garit and Camery.
He had no idea whether the underground knew the great cats had been captured. He had no plan. But as Seastrider circled the stadium, they heard the harsh, angry scream of a great cat, wild with pain. Teb stiffened, touched his sword, staring down at the dark arena.
Chapter 14
Seastrider dove so the stadium leaped up at Teb out of blackness. The cat screamed again. Teb smelled burning fur. They hovered over the stands. Metal rattled; a man laughed. They could see two figures at a small fire at one end of the arena. The bars of cages shone in the firelight. Chained animals crouched behind them, eyes flashing as a third figure thrust a red hot poker through. A great cat leaped away from it screaming, choked by the chain that held it against the bars.
I can dive on them, Seastrider said.
No. The whole city would soon know there are dragons. The main gate is ajar; I can get in there.
Seastrider chose a deserted hill beyond the stadium, littered with fallen, rotted buildings and broken walls, just above the river. She dropped down. “I will go with you.”
He slid down from her back. “The white mare would be recognized. A wolf is too small, and maybe you couldn’t change back. Go up, Seastrider, into the clouds.”
“I will try another shape. A bear—yes, I remember bears; there are songs that hold the bears’ essence.” She breathed out a snort of flame, and before he could argue, the night rippled and twisted, the dragon shimmered, faded, and a dark hulk reared over Teb, a blackness against the stars reaching out at him with broad paws, growling.
When she dropped to all fours, he grabbed a handful of her shaggy
coat and swung aboard. She sped down the hill at a fast rolling gait. He could see by the first touch of dawn that her coat was not dark, but silver. He had never smelled a bear—it was pungent and wild. The cat screamed again. Seastrider reached the high wall. The iron gate was just ajar. She shouldered through. Teb drew his sword as they swung toward the fire. Before they were within its light, he slipped down.
Beyond the fire the cat twisted, screaming, away from the burning poker. Teb leaped for the fire, grabbed one of the men, and stabbed him. The bear tumbled the other, mauling him and muffling his screams. The man at the cages turned to look, but before Teb could reach him, a figure appeared out of nowhere, out of the dark, leaping to the torturer’s back. There was a cry, Teb saw the flash of a knife. By the time he reached the fight, the torturer lay writhing and the smaller figure was running for the gate.
Teb knelt over the soldier, glancing back toward the fire, where the bear was flinging one of the dead soldiers into the air, catching and battering him. He stared into the dying soldier’s face for a moment, a youth no older than he but sallow and evil, even in death. He removed the knife, wiped it clean, and put it in his belt, where it would not identify its owner; then he watched the soldier die.
He opened the gates to the cages and unchained the five big cats and two wolves. No creature spoke; they moved out quickly toward the gate, crowding around the bear as if for safety. Beyond the gate they found the river quickly, and the animals crouched among rubble and broken walls to drink. Panting, the five big cats shivered with pain. The two wolves slunk as no speaking animal should. The silver bear stood rearing beside them, watching the stadium they had left and the barracks that formed one side of it, turning her head back and forth, listening. When no sound came from the stadium, she sat down at last and contemplated the animals. One of the great cats came to her and Teb, limping badly. Her voice was hardly a breath.
She was the sand-colored cat he had released first, her body torn with fresh burns. She raised her face to Teb, her green eyes caressing him, then licked his face, leaning her head against him. At last she stood back, studying Teb and the bear appraisingly.
“If you were riding a marvelous white mare, I would think you Prince Tebmund of Thorley. But instead, you ride a bear. . . . Do bears speak, my prince? I have never known a bear.”
He laughed. “This bear speaks. She is . . . kin to the white mare, you might say.”
The cat twitched a whisker. “I am Elmmira of the colony of Gardel-Cloor. We are in your debt. Do you know whether the girl escaped safely?”
“What girl?”
“The girl with the knife, who killed the soldier.”
“She got out the gate safely. Who was she?”
“That must remain our secret, even though you saved us. We would not speak her name without her permission.” Elmmira laid a soft paw against his chest. “My companions are Domma, Jimmica, Xemmos, and Jerymm.” Each animal lifted its head as Elmmira spoke its name. “Our wolf friends were brought here as captives from Igness. Yallel and Zellig.”
“I am Tebmund of Thorley.” Teb felt ashamed at giving these animals less than the truth. But if the great cats felt the need for care, then so should he. “The bear does not give her name. But tell me of Gardel-Cloor. That is an ancient sanctuary. Are you free to tell me where it lies?”
“That, too, Prince Tebmund, we cannot reveal even to you.” Elmmira began to lick at her burns. The bear turned to look at the animals, then started up over the rubble-strewn hill. They followed, Teb walking among them. But soon the sky began to grow lighter, the bear’s silver shape becoming too visible among the fallen houses.
“You’ll be seen if you stay with us,” Teb told the animals. “Go quickly where you can hide, before Sardira sends out his soldiers. He’ll be in a rage that you escaped; he’ll get you back if he can.”
The animals raised their faces to him for a moment, exchanged a long look with the bear, then angled off quickly among the broken walls and ran, limping, down toward the city and the sea cliffs. Teb did not see Elmmira pause, sniff for scent among the rubble, then begin to track. He swung onto the bear’s back and she moved at a fast, rolling walk up over the hill. An empty valley lay beyond, rocky and desolate. Here the bear plunged down, in a hurry now to change back and take to the sky before dawn grew too light.
But in the valley she paused, agitated. Teb slipped down. She began to pace, lumbering around boulders, fighting something unseen. She returned to Teb at last, her head down, shifting and backing uncomfortably. I cannot change. I am trapped, Tebriel.
He tried to help. It did no good. Seastrider remained solidly a bear. Teb mounted at last and they went on, up the cliff and onto open fields, back toward the course of the river. It was too light now for her to take to the sky, even could she have changed. In the shadows of a dense grove they hid themselves—if such a huge, pale creature could hide anywhere. She squeezed into the brambles, Teb lying along her back, his head against her rough coat, trying with her, trying to change. . . .
She clawed at the earth, combing ridges into the soft forest mulch. She pressed her shoulder against a huge oak, forcing to bring the magic, then in an agony of defeat she raked great gashes down its bark so the wood beneath shone white in four long strokes. And still she was a bear. The morning had come. Down below the wood they could hear the city waking, bangs and thumps and voices calling, and a squeaky cart.
The silver bear ceased fighting the dark. Teb slid from her back. She faced him, very still. I will go away alone. Far from here across the inlets south, away from the forces of the unliving. I will swim the sea to some deserted shore, then I will be able to change back.
You won’t go alone.
Yes.
I won’t let you go alone; we must not be separated. Come . . .
Instead of arguing or letting him mount, she spun fast for her bulk, her teeth bared and her ears laid flat, her roar heavy with fury. He stepped back with amazement, his arm up to shield his face, then he saw the horsemen advancing on them from out of the dark forest: It was them the silver bear faced. As they circled bear and prince, they threw their leather capes back to show the yellow uniforms beneath. In the lead rode Captain Leskrank, General Vurbane, and black-robed King Sardira.
Calm, Teb thought. Calm. Put a good face on it.
Yes, calm, Tebriel. A pet bear, a guard bear raised in Thedria . . .
“You’re out early,” Teb said. “You’ve discovered my secret at last. I had thought not to burden you with my pet.” He grinned. “She is not the sort of animal I would have brought into the palace with me.”
They sat looking down at him, Sardira’s face a pale thin moon above black robe and black horse, General Vurbane like a melted wax figure where the scar made his face run together. Heavy-shouldered, hunched Leskrank glowered at Teb and the bear, his waxen face pale and eager with the promise of torture. Twelve soldiers flanked them, their horses backing and fighting to stay away from the bear.
“It is not the sort of animal,” King Sardira said, “that exists in this hemisphere, Prince Tebmund. Tell us how you came by it.”
“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?”
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