The Dragonbards

Chapter 28

The battlefield was still, every face turned toward the Graven Light. Not until that light faded did anyone speak, and then only in whispers.

“We did not kill Quazelzeg. . . .”

“The light . . .”

“The Graven Light. . .”

They moved at last, to kneel beside their wounded. They tended some wounded on the battlefield and carried the most grievously hurt to the palace. The voice of the lyre had stilled. The spirit of Bayzun was gone, back into the centuries. When the mortal dragons glided down to the palace, Seastrider, Windcaller, Nightraider and Starpounder crowded around their mother, bellowing and slapping their wings over her. They had been only dragonlings when Dawncloud had left them to search for Meriden. The bards slid down, laughing, amid the tangle of wings and sparring dragons. Teb turned away and went directly into the palace, carrying the body of Thakkur safe beneath his tunic.

Camery hugged her mother so hard Meriden gasped, laughing and hugging her back. They looked at each other silently, each seeing something of herself. Meriden touched Camery’s face, her hair.

“It’s still pale gold. I used to braid it all down your back. And when you rode, little wisps would come loose.”

“And when you washed it, I cried.”

Meriden laughed. “You had a tantrum, sometimes, when I washed your hair. Oh, you did cry. And—and when I went away,” Meriden said, “I cried. I had lost you—and Teb—and my true love.” She wept again, and they held each other for a long time.

*

Teb found tools in the palace and went alone across the hills to cut a straight oak. He hewed out a coffin for Thakkur and laid him in it, his whole being filled with grieving. He nailed on the lid and carried the coffin to the hill where he had first come with Seastrider. There he piled boulders around it until he could give Thakkur a proper burial. When he came down the hill, Meriden was waiting for him. He saw in her eyes clear knowledge of his pain.

Teb held her, needing her as if he were a child again. As they clung together, it might have been, again, that windy fall morning when he was small and she had held him and said good-bye.

He said, “I read your journal.”

“Yes.”

“How did you make the entries that . . . came later?”

Her eyes widened. “I . . . wasn’t sure I could. I hoped that maybe . . .” She shook her head, smiling.

“There are such powers beyond this world, Teb. I hoped . . . I wrote messages with spring water—on the ground, on stone walls, anywhere, because I was so lonely sometimes. As if writing words could link me to you. One message—the last message—I prayed that you would see that.”

She gave him a cool, steady look. “The diary pages I wrote when you were small—I was wrong not to tell you and Camery that you were dragonbards. I was as wrong as the unliving, who kept the true history from Tirror.”

“No. It was different. You meant to save us pain.”

“Not at all different. I took your own history from you. I did it to save you, but the result is the same.”

“You must not feel that. If anyone has been foolish, I have.”

She put her fingers over his lips and kissed his forehead. “Quazelzeg is dead. The force that we battled is gone. That’s all that matters. The power of the unliving is gone . . . from this world.” She took his face in her hands, and her green eyes were very alive.

“There are other bards, Teb. Beyond the Doors. So far away . . . lost out there. They could come home, find their way home now that the unliving are gone. There are other creatures also,” she said, “wanting to come through—to come home. Unicorns, Teb. And . . . there are dragons.”

“Dragons,” he said, his thoughts filled with Kiri’s longing.

“Dragons that search for their bards.” She studied his face, touched his thoughts, and smiled. “A dragon the color of seas, who yearns for a bard he says is of Tirror.”

Teb’s heart quickened.

“A dark-haired girl,” Meriden said. “He says she is called by the name of a bird.”

“A wren!” Teb shouted.

“Yes,” Meriden said, smiling.

He laughed out loud with pleasure. “The great cats call her Kiri wren—a love name.”

“The dragons will come,” she said. “The dragons will find their way—that dragon certainly will—and the bards will. But now . . .”

She turned, and when Teb looked, there were unicorns on the hill around them, moving delicately, their horns as bright as sun on water. They pushed around Meriden, nuzzling her. Their scent was like honey, their fine muscled bodies warm and silken to stroke. They nosed at Teb and rubbed their bright horns against his shoulder. But soon they began to move out onto the battlefield, to nose and touch the wounded, to heal where they could heal.

Teb and Meriden made their way to the palace. They knelt with Kiri and Camery over wounded soldiers and animals, to doctor their hurts. Mitta was there, washing away blood, applying poultices and sewing torn flesh. Hanni knew about Thakkur. He clung close to Mitta, helping her, his small face desolate with grief.

The wounded kept coming, hobbling or carried. The bards housed them in the palace courtyard and in the main hall, tearing down ornate draperies to make soft beds. Ebis and his soldiers made stretchers from palace furniture and brought in the most seriously injured, though Ebis himself limped from his wounds. Camery rebound his leg where the bandages were soaked with blood. She thought he should soak it with poultices, but he said he hadn’t time. He went back to the wounded again, and not long afterward he returned to the hall carrying Charkky, the little otter pressed against his black beard shivering with pain.

“His shoulder is badly torn,” Ebis said, kneeling to lay Charkky on a blanket. The bards knelt around Charkky. Teb examined him as gently as he could. Charkky gritted his teeth when Camery cleaned the wound. Teb held Charkky’s paws while Camery pulled the torn flesh together and stitched it up. Even when the needle went in, Charkky tried his best not to yell. Instead he bit Teb hard on the thumb.

Afterward, he stared at Teb, chagrined.

“It’s all right,” Teb said. “You couldn’t help it.”

“I never dreamed in all my life I would bite you, Tebriel. Tease you, maybe, hold you under the water, but not bite you.” He looked around. “Where is Mikk?”

“Here,” Mikk said. “I came to find you. Hah! You look like a fine warrior in that bandage.” Mikk knelt and stared with concern into Charkky’s face. Hanni came to press against them. Mikk gathered up the little white otter and held him tight.

The palace hall grew crowded with the wounded, both human and animal. Kiri rose from doctoring a rebel soldier and stood watching Teb. She knew he grieved for Thakkur, and took his hand. They stood looking over the crowded hall. There was nothing she could say to ease his terrible remorse. He would never heal from it. She couldn’t change what had happened; she could only be there for him, be close to him.

When Teb turned away to help Colewolf with a wounded child, Kiri saw two cats carried in, limp and bleeding, and was riven with fear, again, for Elmmira. She went to search, though she had looked and looked across the battlefield for the tawny cat.

She and Windcaller scanned the body-strewn fields and hills. They saw Mmenimm, saw Aven and Marshy carrying in a fox and two owls. Windcaller circled, working farther away from the palace, until they saw a pale buff cat among the boats of the harbor. Kiri leaned down with relief to call to Elmmira.

The big cat was dragging an un-man from a sailing boat. Two captains lay on the shore. When Windcaller dropped down, Kiri saw the bloody claw marks slashed deep through their yellow tunics. She thought the one with the greasy hair was Captain Vighert. She slid down and went to look, but suddenly she felt weak and dizzy, as if everything was catching up with her. Elmmira came to her. Kiri knelt, to lean against Elmmira’s warm shoulder.

“It’s all right now, Kiri wren. It’s all over now.”

“I know, Elmmira.” She looked into Elmmira’s golden eyes. Elmmira always made her feel better. The great cat licked her face. “You are tired, Kiri wren.”

“I never thought Teb would return. When we first got to Aquervell and came down on that hill, and he was gone, I thought . . .”

“But he did return.” Elmmira purred loudly. “It’s all right now, Kiri wren.” She drew back, her whiskers twitching. ‘Tebriel is looking for you.”

Kiri turned, to see Seastrider banking along the shore. The white dragon dropped toward them and settled beside Windcaller. Teb reached down to take Kiri’s hand.

“Come, sit on Seastrider’s back.”

She looked up at him, puzzled.

“Come on.”

Windcaller nuzzled her shoulder, then lifted away toward the sea. Hungry, she called back. I’m going fishing . . . .

Kiri climbed up in front of Teb. It was strange to be on another dragon. Teb was warm against her, his arms strong and warm around her. They sat close for a long time, not saying much. After a while, he said, “I have a surprise for you.”

“What?”

“I won’t tell you. Well show you.”

Seastrider snorted and rose fast into the wind. Kiri could feel the white dragon’s delight, but what kind of surprise would so please a dragon? They banked toward the mountain ridge that rose north of the palace. It shone dark now, against the dropping sun, streaked with deep black ridges along the mountain’s face. Seastrider winged close, into the heavy shadows. Kiri stared, puzzled—but her heart had begun to pound crazily.

“There,” she cried suddenly. “Oh!”

A dragon exploded out of the shadows—a big, strapping dragon. He banked so close to them that his wind rocked Seastrider, and his wings brushed Kiri’s face. He was sea colored, blue and green and shimmering. He swept by, staring at Kiri with eyes of green fire. He winged close again, stretched out his long neck and handsome head, and breathed his warm breath across her face. He smelled of spices and of the salty sea. She stared into his eyes, laughing, crying, wild with things she could not express. “Varuna,” she whispered. “Your name is Varuna!”

He matched his wings with Seastrider’s so his body rocked against the white dragon, and Kiri climbed onto his back and snuggled down between his wings.

When she looked over at Teb, her face was filled with a wonder and glory that turned him warm with love for her.

“How . . . ?” she began.

“He came through the Doors,” Teb said. “After you left to search for Elmmira. He was suddenly there in the sky beside Seastrider, when she and the dragonlings went to feed.”

Kiri lay down along Varuna’s neck. As he lifted away, she blew Teb a wild, ecstatic kiss. The green dragon swept up, and up, and broke through the cloud cover. They disappeared up there, into a world silent and private.