Camery touched her hand and pointed behind them. Someone in the box below them gasped. Kiri felt the power and saw the source of it approaching them.
Coming through the king’s private gate were four soldiers carrying a litter chair. In the seat rode a thin, wrinkled old woman dressed in the royal purple and green, her skin like parchment, her wild white hair so thin her scalp showed through. Kiri had not glimpsed the queen in years. The soldiers carried her toward the royal box, but when she raised her hand they paused. She looked up directly at Kiri and Camery, and a force linked them that left Kiri breathless. This woman—she had called them here. She was the source of the power. . . .
Below them the box was astir. “The queen has come. . . .”
“The queen? I don’t believe . . .”
In the arena, the bull faltered and fell to its knees. Soldiers galloped in and prodded it. More lizards were released, but they, too, faltered. The force of the dark and the force of the light crashed around them. Kiri strained, heady with the power that linked her and the queen and Camery.
But soldiers were dragging Teb toward the center pole. Fight them, Teb. Fight. . . we’re with you. . . . Her pulse raced; Camery’s face swam; the queen’s pale eyes seemed huge. Kiri saw the soldiers falter before they reached the pole, saw Teb spin, knocking soldiers to the ground, saw the bear grab the bull by the neck and shake it.
The bear had grown immense. It looked misty. What was happening? Shapes were dissolving, swirling. . . .
Something white like mist writhed in the arena, and the bear was gone; something gigantic and coiling, towering, a fog-thing growing denser, all pearl and silvery with light. A dragon shape—a dragon . . . and the dragon’s shoulder was red with flowing blood. A pearl-colored dragon filled the arena, its wings spread to darken the stands. The crowd cowered, silent.
The naked, blood-covered prince gathered up his dragging chain and climbed painfully to the dragon’s back. Nothing moved in all the stadium.
The dragon leaped into the sky suddenly, beating its wings across the stands so its wind tore at the cowering watchers. Kiri and Camery stared after it hungrily, pummeled by dragon wind.
There was no other sound but that wind.
The dragon swept away fast, until it was only a speck in the sky.
Then suddenly it was coming back, growing larger. But now there were more than one. “Four,” Kiri breathed. “Four.”
Four dragons filled the sky, two white and two black, now so low over the stadium that the stands and arena were dark. Their wind tore at the crowd. Huge green eyes looked down. Open mouths flamed. Teb looked down between the white dragon’s wings, laughing. Their wind was so strong that satin ripped from the king’s box. A woman shrieked. The stands exploded in panic, the thunder of running, of stampeding and screaming, filled Kiri’s ears.
One black dragon swept down so low his face was right above them, golden eyes blazing. Camery stared up, reached up to him.
Camery, he thundered in their minds. Camery . . . soon . . . I searched for you. You are safe. Soon . . . He banked, his wing sliding over them so Camery’s hands stroked ebony feathers. He lifted, twisting, blazing upward to join his brother and sisters.
The dragons swept higher as stampeding crowds fought to get out the gates. Dragon wings shattered the light when they banked. They twisted, then soared into cloud, moved fast away from the stadium, grew smaller. . . .
They were gone. Gone.
Kiri stared up at the empty sky, yearning.
Nothing moved in the arena. A tableau of bloody bodies, a few bleeding horses crowded at one end. Dead bulls, but no bear. The thunder of running and screaming still came in waves. Kiri looked down at the queen.
The four soldiers still stood at attention bearing her litter chair, but the queen did not look back. She lay sprawled across the litter chair unnaturally twisted, with the king’s jeweled knife through her heart.
Chapter 17
Kiri was not sure later how she and Camery managed to get out of the stadium, only that they kept fighting and pushing toward the nearest entry. They found themselves at last on an empty back street among the derelict buildings. Kiri’s thoughts were filled with dragons, and with the sight of the poor murdered queen. She was shivering.
When they turned to look back toward the stadium, they saw only a few stragglers wandering; the crowd, once stampeded, had been quickly absorbed back into the city. On the road that approached the palace, they saw the long procession moving upward, green uniforms and yellow. The flash of salmon pink would be Accacia’s dress.
“What did we do?” Kiri said. “What did we do back there? It was the queen’s power—the poor dead queen.” She stared at the empty sky. “Oh, the dragons, Camery. The dragons . . .”
Camery was crying. “Yes. Yes . . . He is Nightraider. . . . Oh, Kiri . . .” She dissolved into tears again.
Kiri watched her, glad for her but jealous, too. She couldn’t help the icy loneliness that gripped her. She knew quite well she should be filled with joy that there were dragons. She was, only . . . to know there truly were dragons made her yearning so much more powerful.
Camery raised her tearstained face, saw Kiri’s look, and put her arm around her. “There will be a dragon for you.”
They sat quietly for some time. Camery said, “The queen died for what she did. She died for Teb.”
“We didn’t know what she was,” Kiri said. “No one knew.”
“Dragonbard. She had the blood of the bards. That was why he locked her away.” Camery climbed onto a low broken wall, her grimy skirt blending with the stone. She pulled off the rag that covered her hair, and it spilled out golden. “Why did she come to the stadium? How did she know about Teb, what he really was? I can’t forget her eyes. She knew about us.”
“No one in the palace knew about us,” Kiri said. “The animals knew. And Papa and Garit, and Marshy. Maybe she didn’t know about us. Maybe she knew about Teb, and came there to save him. Then, when she sensed our power, she drew us there to the king’s box, to help her.”
“Maybe. But how did she know about Teb? And where is he now? Where have the dragons gone? Oh, Kiri, he was just a little boy the morning I watched him ride away a prisoner, his hands and feet tied. I thought he would die; I thought Sivich would kill him. And now—now he’s riding dragons.” She wiped away tears. “I can’t wait to see him, to talk to him.”
“I suppose he’ll return without the dragons,” Kiri said. “They would cover the city. Unless they can change into something small—tamer than a bear. They would be . . .” She stopped, stared at Camery, nearly choking. “Unless they can change . . . change into . . . Oh!” Her breath came sharply as the vision filled her mind.
“They’re not horses,” she breathed at last. “They never were horses. Two black stallions, two white mares. . . . No wonder Prince Tebmund’s horses were so wonderful. No wonder they were allowed to roam free.”
“Shape shifters,” Camery said, her eyes alight. “Dragons . . . shape shifters. All of a sudden the whole world is different.” She searched the clouds, the horizon. “Oh, Kiri, would they go to Gardel-Cloor?”
Kiri had been staring at the sky, too, praying they would return. She looked at Camery. “Oh, yes.”
Camery slipped down from the wall and tied on her dirty scarf to cover her hair. They went quickly down through the ruins.
But they had hardly reached the bottom of the rubbled slope when the city exploded into shouting, the clang of weapons, galloping across cobbles as the king’s soldiers pursued rebel forces. Camery drew the dagger from her boot, Kiri clutched her sword, and they moved in shadow into the city streets. Ahead, a band of the king’s men, unhorsed, fought against baker and tinsmith and tavern regulars who had stepped from their roles as useless drunks and now wielded weapons stolen from the king’s stores. The girls saw their own people attack and fall back into shadows, attack again, feinting, leading the king’s troops into traps; they saw their own people fall.
They were motioned on each time, and they ran.
Twice they were nearly trapped; once they played dead and were almost trampled by the king’s mounted troops. They ran for Garit’s street, dodging, racing. They reached the ruined tower and wrenched the door open, and wedged it shut from inside with a heavy timber.
It was only a small watchtower, so tight a space they elbowed each other when they knelt to dig in the rubble that littered the floor. Once they had pushed that into a heap, Kiri pressed herself against the stone wall as Camery raised the trapdoor.
Beneath were piles of arrows and five bows. Camery grabbed up two, and they took all the arrows they could carry, letting the door down silently. As they climbed the narrow spiral that led to the top, Kiri thought of Gram, with the fighting maybe raging close below the castle. But Gram would go up into the palace kitchens with the servants, as they had always planned. No one would notice one more woman; no one would care. The palace would likely be safest. Gram knew it well enough to get through into cave rooms beneath the mountain, and she knew how to find the tunnels that led out to the other side where the mountain was wild and unpeopled. They reached the broken top of the tower and crouched low beneath its jagged stone parapet. Below them were seven king’s horsemen pinioning three resistance soldiers against a tavern wall. Both girls drew arrow and took aim.
*
The four dragons churned close to one another in the heaving sea, the waters pink with Seastrider’s blood, and with Teb’s. He treaded water beside her as she wallowed to let the sea wash her wounded shoulder; the salt stung like fire, but it would help to heal the torn flesh.
They remained resting in the rough sea for some time; then the dragons reared up out of the waves, shattering water with their beating wings as they rose, heading for the black mountain above the palace, Seastrider’s flight slow and painful. Below them as they flew, clashes of yellow and green marked the soldiers of the dark forces locked in battle with the rebel armies. They could see a pincer movement where two armies of king’s soldiers had cornered a small band. Then, ahead of Teb, Windcaller banked away to the north, and Nightraider and Starpounder followed.
Far out on the sea, five ships were heading for Dacia. The three dragons circled them, diving low to see whose troops they carried. Dragons were no longer a secret; everyone would know soon. They screamed their fury at sight of Quazelzeg’s dark troops, and dove. Those troops would never see land. Teb and Seastrider beat in limping flight for the black mountain.
She came down stumbling onto the far side of the peak, and wound herself in between jutting boulders and twisted trees until she seemed no more than a white stone ridge. The blood had ceased to flow so hard, was only oozing now, but it was a large wound, and ragged. Teb slid down from her back. When she had settled and seemed to rest easy, he turned to leave.
“I do not like you going alone, Tebriel.”
“And I do not like leaving you wounded. The dark is too strong. It will be eager to get at you. You must promise to fly at once if they come here.” He hugged her pearly neck and laid his head against her cheek. “We must have the lyre. The power that helped us in the stadium is gone.”
“She is dead,” Seastrider said. “The queen is dead.” She stared at Teb. “The power that freed us, freed me from the bear shape, is gone.” She sighed.
He nodded, thinking of the frail queen.
“And the dark has increased its power,” Seastrider said. “You must take care, Tebriel.”
Teb left her, not looking back. The dark’s power might be stronger, and laced with hatred of the dragons, but there were three bards now. And he sensed more. They would bring their powers stronger, they would beat the dark as, today, they had stifled it in the stadium.
He thought of Queen Stephana, willingly made prisoner, and could not imagine a bard turning her back on everything she truly was. Loneliness, he thought. She had believed there were no more dragons. She hadn’t tried very hard to find out. . . .
His mother had tried. She had gone searching in spite of the pain it had caused to leave her family. To be a bard held a commitment to others.
Well, Queen Stephana had fulfilled her commitment today—her last living act.
He made his way up over the ridge, crouching low so his silhouette would not be seen against the setting sun, and started down the other side, above the black spires of the palace, keeping to shelter near rock out-croppings and small trees, moving in the mountain’s shadow. When he found a sharp black stone that fit his hand, he took it for a weapon.
He hoped Kiri’s Gram would be there in the cottage below the palace. He remembered her eager interest, watching the four horses. He was naked, all but a breechcloth. He needed clothes and a weapon. Maybe she could manage a disguise that would take him safely through the palace. His chambers would be watched; she was the only person he could go to. If Kiri trusted her, then so could he.
He followed the black boulders that had stacked themselves down the side of the mountain, until he came to the south end of the palace above the servants’ quarters and the kitchens. He slipped by these buildings quickly and saw no one, though he could hear excited voices inside and sharp commands. He could hear a stir from the far stable, too, the echo of a horse’s scream, the thin sound of hooves pounding as, he supposed, more troops were readied. He had skirted the palace at last. He slipped over the wall where grapevines grew in an untended garden, and was soon pressed against the door of the cottage he had seen Kiri enter, knocking with soft, urgent blows.
The old woman opened the door at once as if she had been waiting for someone, then drew back with a gasp. Then she looked hard at his face, saw who he was, and pulled him inside. Her blue eyes were as bright as he remembered from that morning on the training field when they had seemed to spark with her admiration of the horses.
“I am . . . Prince Tebmund.”
“I can see that, even without your fine clothes. How did you come here? What is happening down there? The battles . . .”
“The rebels are fighting. You are Kiri’ s grandmother?”
She nodded. “You may call me Gram, as she does. Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She was in the stadium.”
“You were there . . . ?”
“I was part of the games.”
“The gossip was right, then. And now . . .” She glanced out the little window. “Now . . .”
“Now the rebellion has begun,” he finished for her.
“Then likely Kiri is fighting in the streets,” she said stoically, but he could see the fear in her eyes. Then she fixed a look on him. “And why do you come here?”
“Do you know of the Ivory Lyre?”
Her eyes grew wary.
He studied her, tried to see beyond that sudden hood of secrecy. “Only the Ivory Lyre of Bayzun can help us now. Only it can help the rebel forces. Do you side with the rebel forces? Or with the dark? Do you side against your own granddaughter?”
She studied him with care. A heavy silence touched the room, and her eyes burned a challenge. “Kiri spoke of a lyre. What do you want with it?”
“I can bring its power.”
“Only a bard can do that.”
He stared at her.
“How am I to believe you?” she said softly.
“If I were of the dark, and I knew about the lyre, I would force its location from the king and destroy it. Likely the dark does not know—yet.”
She sighed. “Kiri overheard you make a spell to charm the information from Accacia.” She shook her head. “The Ivory Lyre of Bayzun. The power of the ancient dragon.”
“So, your Kiri gathers information.”
“Perhaps. But she did not hear where the lyre is. Accacia didn’t tell you that. Why do you come here looking for it? What makes you think I would know?”
“I don’t think you know. But I think you will help me. I saw the way you watched my horses. I need clothes, Gram. A weapon better than this stone. I need any help you can give—if y
ou are for the rebels.”
She went to a cupboard and rummaged among clothes, then drew forth a full skirt of brown hearthspun and a gray linen smock. “You will have to go barefoot; my shoes won’t fit, nor will Kiri’s. You will not be able to fasten the skirt, but you can tie the belt. The smock will be tight in the shoulders.”
He dressed quickly and found the skirt hit him at mid-calf. The loose smock covered him well enough, and he tied over his head the scarf she offered. She adjusted it so it covered more of his face. “We will go the back way.”
“We?”
“I will lead you. Unless you are more familiar with the palace than I. You will be less suspect as one of a pair of old women than going alone. You must walk like a woman, and keep your face down.”
“The upper treasure room first, the one near the parapet.”
She nodded. “That stone weapon of yours could break a lock, I suppose.” She took from a cupboard a finely made sword, in a scabbard. He buckled the scabbard on, then tied over it the apron she handed him, grinning at her.
“You are very resourceful.”
She didn’t answer but led him out and along the path to the south. She carried only a lantern, unlit. “Do try to bend over, Prince Tebmund. And take smaller steps. No old woman has that kind of stride.”
Below them in the streets the fighting had moved to the north and eastward toward the harbor. When he turned to look back, toward the sea in the north, he could see no movement in the sky there; nor could he see any ships. Just down the hill, half a dozen bodies sprawled. A band of riderless horses galloped up the road toward the palace, reins and stirrups flying.
Gram entered through a small gate in the palace wall. They passed the servants’ quarters, then climbed a narrow stair in darkness, holding hands. They went along an upper passage, Gram careful and certain. “Here,” she said, “this is the door.” He reached out, could feel the oak and the crossed metal strapping. Behind them, they heard footsteps, then saw a light down the hall. They moved away, pressing into a niche beside a cupboard. A soldier passed them swinging his lantern, jingling keys.
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