The Ivory Lyre

Chapter 10

Kiri burned with impatience after Garit signaled her. The slow march back through the city seemed endless. What could be so urgent that he would stand in plain view of the king’s entourage the whole time it was passing? The traps the king had set around the city? But she had told him about the traps, and together they had sprung seven and destroyed them. Had they missed one? Had one of the cats been caught? Her heart lurched. Elmmira? But it did no good to imagine such things.

When at last they reached the palace stable, she ducked away from the other pages, into a storeroom beneath the horsemaster’s dwelling to wait until the pages had gone on. From the shadows she heard Roderica’s voice and Accacia’s as the two young women mounted the stairs above her head, probably to comb their hair and repair face coloring in Roderica’s room, after sweating in the morning sun.

When they had gone she went quickly through the palace and servants’ quarters, then through the side gate and down to her own cottage, where she changed into rags. Gram forced two oatcakes at her and some hot tea, which she gulped. The old woman’s bright eyes questioned, but Kiri could only say, “Garit wants me—I don’t know why.” She tangled her hair, hugged Gram and kissed the old woman’s wrinkled cheek, then was off through narrow back streets toward the core of the city.

Perhaps Garit’s urgency had to do with the new child slaves. The children must have been brought by the three new boats that rode in the harbor. The youngsters looked so thin and hopeless. She could imagine what they were fed, and how they slept at night, squeezed together for warmth in their thin garments. The loads they had carried looked far too heavy. Those children would grow up bent in their bodies as well as their spirits, cowed and unresisting. There were the blinded wolves, too. The memory of them sickened her. They were not of Dacia; there had been no speaking wolves in the country for years. These poor animals had come by ship, just as the slave children had.

When she reached Garit’s lane just past noon, it was busy and crowded. Three women whispered and laughed as they gathered laundry from fences, half a dozen beggars rummaged in a heap of trash, and on the corner two men argued, swearing, over a stack of cured goat hides. Kiri sauntered like any other street urchin, gawking idly at the arguing men. She began to poke through a pile of trash beside Garit’s front step. When no one was looking, she slipped around quickly to the back door. It opened at once, so Garit had been watching through a crack.

One candle burned in the shuttered room. She could smell tea brewing and could smell cat. She saw that in the far corner Mmenimm, the chocolate-colored tom, slept with little crippled Marshy sprawled between his heavy front legs. Marshy’s arm was flung around Mmenimm’s thick neck, his twisted leg bent at an awkward angle. The shadows of the room took shape; Garit’s cot and patched blanket; the wobbly table and two wooden chairs; the iron stove and crowded shelves; Garit’s clothes, hung on pegs; a stack of scrappy firewood in the corner. Kiri sat down on the smaller of the two chairs and watched Garit pour out tea into cracked mugs. Everything about the cottage was old and dingy, not because Garit liked it that way, but because anything else would have been hard to come by and would have looked suspicious, as well. He passed her a basket of warm seedcakes that did not match the poverty of the hut. She took two, sipped her tea, and waited, watching Garit over the rim of her cup. He was like a great red bull, his flaming hair and beard shaggy, his shoulders broad, his face square, and his nose a bit flat. But his eyes were alive with kindness. She could see anger in his face, now, but something more, as well. She could see a stir of excitement deep down.

“That was a grand parade this morning,” he said, scowling. “The king seems bent on impressing this young prince from Thedria.”

“It is Accacia who would impress him.”

“Oh,” he said. “And you saw the lines of new slave children and the captive wolves?”

“Where have they come from? So many small children. And the poor wolves all blinded.”

“No, not blind. They only seem to be. A wolf can move very well by scent and hearing.”

“And the children?”

“They are slave, all right. They are drugged with cadacus, as well as with the powers of the dark.”

“Yes. I saw their faces. What is happening? Why were so many brought here? What do the dark leaders plan?”

“Things are changing, Kiri, and quickly. Something has happened on the far northern islands, something that will affect all our own plans.” Garit poured more tea, and she realized she had gulped hers.

He laid a hand on her arm. “The children are from Ekthuma, from Edosta, and even from the dark continent. More will be coming. They were brought with boatloads of arms and supplies—you saw the boats.”

She nodded.

“The child slaves will be used to shift the cargo and to wait on the soldiers that will be arriving. Dacia,” Garit said evenly, “will be headquarters for raids on more than just Bukla and Edain. Headquarters now suddenly, Kiri, in an attack far greater.” His eyes filled with challenge. “Something is happening in the north.” He paused, his face alight. “The outer islands, Kiri—the outer islands have rebelled.”

She sat staring.

Garit nodded. “Yes—Meron, Wintrel, Liedref. Birrig and Burack. Even Elbon. The outer islands are with us now. The islands of the north are with us.”

“But how did it happen? They were so far beyond help. Summer’s messages all say—”

“Something has changed the folk of the outer lands. Something has brought them awake, and it has happened only recently.” Garit emptied the teapot into her mug and pushed the basket of seedcakes at her.

“It was Summer who brought the news,” he said. “She was overheard and nearly captured in Ekthuma, and had to get out fast. She knows something has happened on the outer islands, but she isn’t sure what. She is filled with excitement, for whatever it was woke the island folk. They have killed their dark leaders or driven them out. On Wintrel, Yesod and his four consorts were forced over a cliff into the sea.”

“Yesod was so powerful. How . . .?”

“The reports were strange and garbled. In Birrig the townsfolk seem to have killed all nine dark leaders. On Liedref the tale is that a woman took the dark leader with her when she killed herself. I don’t know how it has happened. It’s amazing.” Garit’s eyes were afire. “The folk of the outer islands have risen. They made their way across the channel three nights ago in heavy seas, sailed and paddled every craft that would float.

“They sacked Lashtel, Kiri. Yes. They burned the city and sent the whole tribe of the unliving—Quazelzeg, too—fleeing back into the interior.”

Kiri gaped. “Quazelzeg?”

“Yes. But only because he was unprepared. That won’t happen again. I think he had grown complacent with so many victories. He will be twice as vicious now, twice as hard to destroy.”

She shivered. It was hard to imagine him as more vicious. She wished the rebels had been able to kill him. “I heard nothing in the palace, no messenger, no hint of it.”

“I think the dark leaders might not tell this to King Sardira so eagerly. It puts them in a bad light. Sometimes I think Sardira knows a secret that half frightens the dark forces. How else could Dacia have remained neutral so long?”

She was silent for a moment, thinking. “Once,” she said, “Accacia told me that the dark would never enslave Dacia. That it could not. Accacia laughed about it.”

“What could she have meant?”

“She would say no more. I thought it was one of her exaggerations. But maybe it wasn’t. If the dark can’t conquer Dacia, and if it is losing to the outer islands . . .”

“No, don’t think the dark is on the run everywhere, Kiri, and certainly not from King Sardira. Summer says they plan to use him, as we have supposed. That soon the dark leaders will converge here to see to the arms and supplies. They mean to attack not only Bukla and Edain but all the outer islands and destroy them, then march on all the continents of this hemisphere. They are livid with anger at this attack. Dacia will be their headquarters. Maybe that’s why they let it stay partially free. Perhaps it is more useful that way. Dacia is the central point. With Sardira’s cooperative ways, it is the perfect base. This move, now, the sudden arrival of soldiers and supplies in a push for all-out war, is simply much sooner than they planned.

“I saw a runner come down from the palace to investigate the new arrivals, as if the king didn’t know they were coming. He went among the ship captains, then returned hastily, this morning at first light. It was not until late last night that we knew, when Summer came slipping to my door. She sailed a small boat down from Igness, fleeing Vurbane’s troops under darkness. She is sleeping now in the sanctuary, guarded by Elmmira’s sisters.”

“Is she all right?”

“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.