Yet, still, the draclings were warier of strangers now than they had been. And, after what had passed with Spens’s aunt, Lyf could not be at ease. Their fire … it was perilous. How if a child by mischance stepped on a dracling’s tail?
And another worry—one she could not tell Spens. He seemed so sure of these friends of his—but could they be trusted? And what if someone had followed without their knowing?
Owyn roused at the smell of food, and Aura fed him, too, exclaiming over this thatch of red-gold hair, his freckles, his snub of a nose. He snuggled sleepily beside her, content, for once, to be fussed over.
The twins, it seemed, were Aura’s younger siblings. Their older brother, Donal, had gone to find a friend. In spring and summer, the children often slept in the barn behind their cottage, so they had easily slipped away. “Though how Turi will do it, I don’t know,”Aura said. “And there’s a stir in the village. Folk are seeking you out.”
Lyf tried to feed the hatchling some of the cheese but, though it roused and sniffed, it would not eat. It peeped feebly once or twice, then sank back into sleep. It needed a mother— a dragon mother with milk—or it wouldn’t live long. Nor would the others. They couldn’t hide forever. Soon enough they would be found and slain.
Now the door creaked open again, and two boys edged warily within. “How did you slip away?” Aura demanded.
One of the boys shrugged and grinned. “It’s not the first time.”
“No one saw you?” Lyf asked quickly.
The boy turned his crooked grin upon her. “And nice it is to meet you, too. I’m Donal. And I know how to get about without being followed.”
The draclings converged, thrumming, upon the newcomers—hoping, Lyf guessed, for more cheese. Uncertainly, the boys backed away. “Do you have food?” Lyf asked.
Donal held up a burlap sack. “Only a bag of whisple nuts.”
“Give some to the draclings!”
He reached into the sack and flung out handfuls of nuts; there was a wild scramble as draclings chased the small round nuts all over the shed. Lyf watched, uneasy. It will be well, she told herself. They won’t do harm to Spens’s friends. And Spens’s friends won’t do harm to us. He trusts them, and so must I
As the tumult subsided, Spens told the others what he and Lyf had surmised about the soldiers.
“But couldn’t the mother dragon just burn them?” Donal asked. “I hear a dragon full-grown can burn a score of men!”
“True—unless the soldiers have tone pipes,” Lyf said.
“Tone pipes?”
“Silver pipes. They make a sound that … trances the dragons. The soldiers breathe at different times, so the sound goes on without a break”
“They had them!”Turi said. “I saw one! A soldier was polishing it while he watered his horse. A little silver pipe.”
Lyf swallowed hard. They had to stop them! But she didn’t know how. Nor, judging from the silence, did the others.
Owyn, now fully awake, began marching round the edge of the shed, drumming with his spoon on a rusty old cowbell he had dredged up from somewhere. It was loud and harsh and irksome.
“Cease with that, Owyn,” Lyf said. “You’ll give us away. Besides, I can’t hear my own thoughts “
Aura turned to her. “What did you say?”
“I told Owyn to cease with his drumming.”
“No—after that.”
“I said I can’t hear my own thoughts.”
“How if,” Aura said slowly, “we made a clamorous noise? So the dragon couldn’t hear the pipes? Then she’d be free to fight.”
“But how would we get to the cave?” Donal wanted to know. “The soldiers have the lead of us by far.”
“Turi, you have a boat,” Spens said. “Is it big enough for all of us?”
“Not likely”. Turi shrugged. “Besides, it’s the slowest tub in the sea.”
“We could borrow one,” Aura said.
“Borrow?”
“They bang people for that!”
“They wouldn’t hang us— we’re but children!”
Turi snorted. “Even so, my da would beat me to within an inch of my life.”
“Our ma’d keep us tethered within the house until well past childbearing!” said Aura’s sister, Brynn. “I’d rather have a beating!”
“Aye, but if we stopped the Krags,” Aura broke in, “they’d likely give us a medal!”
A burst of derisive laughter. “Medal, ha!”
“Aye, but if we did …”
Lyf didn’t know when if gave way to will, but soon all were scouring the shed for more noise-making implements. They found only three horseshoes, a rusted-through weeding hook, and an old, broken hoop from a cask.
“No mind,” Spens said. “There’ll be pots and cups and spoons and such in the boat.”
They ventured across the bridge and skirted the fields, staying as far from the village as they might. The sun had not risen, but a wash of faint light seeped up from the horizon into the eastern sky. Yet, in the end there was no avoiding the village. They must go through it to come to the harbor.
Spens led them through the dark lanes and alleys. The children came behind. Aura held Owyn’s hand, whispering often into his ear. Lyf came last, with her escort of draclings.
From time to time they heard voices, and once they caught sight of men passing on a street up ahead. Spens motioned them into the gap between two cottages. Lyf, not daring to breathe, urged the draclings to be still. When the men had gone from view, Spens veered into another alley and guided them away.
The fish-and-salt smell of the sea grew strong. Spens turned round a corner, and then the harbor opened up before them. A pier jutted out into the bay; fishing boats clung to it like suckling pigs. They rocked, creaking in the early-morning swells. They looked deserted.
Spens led the children, nearly every one on tiptoe, down the pier. The draclings thronged about Lyf’s feet, all but tripping her as she followed. And now she could see Spens near a boat at the end of the pier, helping the children in. She was two boats away when she heard a loud thunk, then a cry. Draclings surged past her, jostling the children, trampling Brynn, who had stumbled and sprawled out on the pier. A new sound; Lyf whirled round to find the source of it. And a sleepy, grizzle-bearded man stood up in the boat nearest her, rubbing his eyes.
He gaped, rubbed his eyes again, hissed out a curse. Then, “Dragons!” he shouted. “I’ve found them! The wolfs head’s mine—so it is!”
Harper’s Tale
There were three of them set sail in a fishing boat, bound north up the coast for the dragon’s cave:Kaeldra, a fisherman named Cletus, and the finest harper this world has ever known.
Kaeldra, my lords and ladies, was full of aches. Her belly ached from the child within, from the tossing of the sea, from the sickness she had had. Her heart ached for Jeorg; she wished he had not stayed behind. She ached to know whether the dragons remained within the cave, or whether it was too late. And most of all, she ached with a fierce, burning hope to find Lyf and Owyn in the cave.
This hope, of course, was dashed. Lyf was not in the cave.
Where was she, you ask?
Patience, my lady, is a virt—Wait! Don’t throw that! I smear I am coming to Lyf next.
CHAPTER 18
Swimming on the Wind
Lyf stumbled forward, careening into the throng of children and draclings. She helped the fallen Brynn to her feet, delivered her into a pair of hands within the boat, and then clambered within herself. Draclings were hurtling into the boat all around her. The gap between boat and pier widened. They had cast off. She heard Spens calling out orders and, looking round, found him astern at the tiller.
The grizzle-bearded man was still shouting; neither draclings nor children remained on the pier. Good. Lyf heard a hissing of ropes and, glancing up, saw that the sails had been raised.
“Were luffing!”Spens yelled. “Sheet in!”
The boat lurched. Lyf pitched to on
e side and fell into a heap of children and draclings. She scanned the crowd until her glance fell on a thatch of reddish hair. Owyn was nestled contentedly in Aura’s arms. A little stab of jealousy pierced Lyf. For so long she had looked for someone to take care of him, but now that someone was …
Draclings came crowding around her, thrumming. Kindle climbed up and settled about her neck. Lyf scratched her eye ridges. Kindle lifted her chin, and Lyf scratched in the hollow beneath her jaw. The dracling thrummed and kneaded Lyf’s shoulders with her talons. It was good to have her back.
The hatchling poked its head out of its sack and peeped at Kindle. Kindle hissed at it.
“Stop it, Kindle,” Lyf said. “No!”
The hatchling peeped again. Kindle arched her back, spat out a lick of flame.
“No!” Lyf grabbed Kindle, tossed her into the heap of draclings. Kindle snorted out smoke, then burrowed beneath the heap until only her twitching tail could be seen.
Lyf sighed, then checked the hatchling for burns; it seemed unharmed. She stood and searched the bay behind them. The deck rolled beneath her feet. Wind whipped strands of loose hair about her face.
No sails.
But back on the pier, a crowd had gathered. As Lyf watched, another boat pulled away.
Clinging to the gunwale, she made her way back to where Spens stood astern. “Can we outrun them?” she asked.
Spens shrugged. “We’ve got a good start of them”
“But didn’t you … borrow … the fastest boat?”
“She’s reputed so. But I don’t know her—know all the ins and outs of sailing her. They”—he jerked his head toward the pier—”will know their boats full well.”
“Boats?” Lyf was puzzled. “There’s but one.”
“There will be more,” Spens said grimly. “We’ve stolen this one, haven’t we? Even folk who wouldn’t turn us over to the Krags will come for us now. And that man did see the draclings. The wolf’s head—any man who captures them will make himself the richest in Merdoc.”
Before long they were out of the bay and sailing up the coast. The wind picked up, tangled in Lyf’s hair, flung salt spray into her eyes. Out here the seas were rough and capped with white. Lyf clung to the gunwale as the little boat tipped and pitched. The draclings had gathered together amidships in a woozy heap that slithered to one side of the boat and then the other. Some were fast asleep, but others, jarred awake, spat out angry licks of flame. Lyf prayed that nothing would catch fire. She feared as well that the draclings might try to fly but, perhaps because of the wind, none did.
The children, save for those handling tiller and sail, sat together near the draclings. One of the twins had raided the galley and handed out pots and pans and a jumble of iron cooking tools. Aura motioned to Lyf, then scooted aside to make room for her The children waved and called, “Ho, Lyf!” as she stumbled across the heaving deck When she had wedged herself into the small space next to Aura and Owyn, someone handed her a hunk of bread. She started to offer some to Owyn, but his mouth was already full, so she ate the bread herself.
“May I see the hatchling?” Aura asked. Lyf leaned toward her; Aura peered into the carrier. “Will it flame at me if I touch it?” she asked.
Lyf shook her head. “It doesn’t flame yet, I’m thinking.”
Tentatively, Aura drew a finger along the hatchling’s snout. She pulled her hand away, then smiled at Lyf. “It’s fuzzy.”
Lyf nodded.
Someone started up a song about a daring venture, and they all joined in. Aura offered her a wineskin; Lyf took a sip and passed it along. Spray flew in great white sheets over the gunwales; Lyf was drenched from crown to toe. And yet, she felt … warm, somehow, crowded in among these strangers who had become companions. Who had become friends.
Lyf thought of the other friends she had made along the way. Kymo. Yanil. Lunedweth. Alys. They had had no good reason for helping her and Owyn and the draclings—and yet they bad done so. To their peril. Perhaps to their harm. Lyf drew in a deep, salty breath and felt… gratitude welling up inside her. Whatever happened now, she would not forget them. Not ever.
The hatchling was making sad little whining squeaks. Lyf tried to get it to eat a piece of bread, but it sniffed and turned away. If only she had more goat’s milk! “You should have taken that cheese,” she scolded. “You shouldn’t be so choosy.” Worry tugged at her. How often did it need to eat? And how if the mother dragon had already flown—or been killed? The hatchling seemed frightfully weak now. Its skin looked dull and shriveled; it could barely lift its head.
She felt the heat of another gaze upon her and turned to see Kindle staring at her from the welter of draclings.
When Lyf turned back now, she could see other sails. Four of them. Seven. Twelve sails coining behind. The coastline grew more and more rugged; in time the land rose in sheer, rocky cliffs. Spens guided the boat in closer to shore, and Lyf could see that the cliffs were pocked with crannies and caves.
How would they know the right one?
“Look there!”
Some of the children were pointing. When Lyf followed the direction of their hands, she marked something in the sky above the land, a dark smudge on the horizon.
Smoke. It must be smoke. What would make smoke up here? Dragons? Soldiers? Kaeldra?
“Hurry!” Lyf said under her breath.
But there was no hurrying the wind. The boat, tacking this way and then that, seemed to crawl toward the source of the smoke.
Still, next time Lyf looked back, she saw with alarm that some of the boats did seem to be hurrying. One was approaching so near that she could make out the shapes of its crew.
Hurry!
They rounded a bluff. The wind freshened, tore at Lyf’s hair and clothes, spewed spray into her eyes. The seas loomed high, capped with froth. Lyf searched for the smoke but could no longer find it; the cliff blotted everything out.
A shout from behind. Lyf whirled round. The other boat was bearing down fast. She could see the men’s features now: eyes and yelling mouths. She stared numbly as the boat drew nearer, nearer. It was pulling alongside.
A scraping sound. Hands were grabbing the gunwale; children were shrieking. A big, burly man flung a leg over.
He was in.
Then at once Skorch was there before him, belching out fire. The man swore, threw himself backward into his boat. His shirt was ablaze. Someone doused him with a bucket of water, but now Skorch flamed again—harder. The men screamed and ducked as a gout of blue fire shot over their heads and engulfed their sail. A flurry of shouting and jostling; they were flinging water up at the sail. Lyf’s boat sped. All around her, children cheered.
But Lyf did not cheer. She stood gaping at Skorch, terrified and awed. He had nearly killed that man.
And then they were rounding another bluff. Aura tugged on Lyf’s elbow, pointing up. “Look!”
Something ahead, atop the next bluff. Men. In red capes. The soldiers—a whole long row of them, lining the edge of the cliff. Some were dangling from ropes-—climbing down.
And there it was, where the cliff met the water—the mouth of an enormous cave. Smoke trailed out of it, twisted into the sky.
Kaeldra—she must be there. All at once Lyf ached to see her—now. It had been so long. She had feared she would never see her again.
A glinting caught Lyf’s eye. A piercing, silvery sound …
Tone pipes. They were playing tone pipes.
Owyn tugged on Lyf’s sleeve, pointed at the draclings. “Look!”
They were still, strangely still. They stared up at the bluff with blank, fixed stares.
Tranced.
“Beat on the pots!” Lyf shouted. “Make a din!”
The children picked up pots and pans, tongs and spits, weeding hooks and knives. They all began to beat. O
wyn looked jubilant. His mouth formed little booms, but Lyf could not hear him, could hear nothing beyond the clangorous din. Her ears ached from it, but she didn’t care.
The draclings blinked, looked alertly about. The pipe sounds were drowned out.
As they neared the cave, bolts rained down from the cliff, dimpling the water near their boat. And still the soldiers descended on their ropes. One got a foothold on the bottom lip of the cave. Lyf could see him opening his mouth to shout, but she couldn’t hear his voice.
Couldn’t hear …
Perhaps they weren’t near enough the cave, and the tone pipes still penetrated through the din to trance the mother dragon. Or maybe she had flown....
Where was Kaeldra? Where was Jeorg?
Their plan hadn’t worked. All was lost. Lyf knew it. Lost. Unless …
“Scream!’’ she shouted. “We need to be louder. Scream!”
They did, then—all of them. Piercingly. The din was so fierce that Lyf clapped her hands over her ears, screaming all the while.
And then … a new sound. It started low, so that it seemed at first but a trembling in her bones. But it rose and rose to a bellowing roar. Rocks cascaded in runnels down the sides of the cliffs. The soldiers on their ropes seemed to freeze.
The dragon burst from the cave, streaming flame and smoke. She shot across the water, skimming the waves. She was longer than three fishing boats set end to end, greener than an emerald stone. Another roar: a scorching ball of blue flame tumbled across the waves and sizzled past their bow. Lyf reached with her mind to touch the dragon but quickly pulled back. It was painful, painful like a crash of blinding-hot lightning against her skull.
The dragon spiraled up into the sky, rousing blustery wind gusts that tore at the sails and whipped the sea into a froth. The boat heeled over—hard. The screams broke off—all but Spens’s. He yelled, pointing up at the sails, but the boat was tipping, tipping. Lyf was sliding across the wet deck with the mass of children and draclings—sliding toward the sea. Pots and pans went bouncing by. Just below, water gushed in a smooth green curve over the side of the boat.
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