Chapter 7


The seers among the speaking animals were rare and wonderful. I fear there are no more animal seers left on Tirror; I fear the dark has murdered them. I weep that my own children will never know the friendship of such a one.

*

It was the night after the dragonlings were found that two of them discovered the dark ship lying hidden in the marsh to the south, and Teb sensed the captive animal chained there.

The bards had lingered at Stilvoke Cave, waiting for Iceflower to grow stronger. The dragons fished for salmon for the dwarfs to roast; bards, dragons, and dwarfs spent the evening around a campfire built under the cold stars, swapping tales. The dragonlings told how their mother had died, and how, in a last act of closeness with her, they had named themselves in the time-old ritual.

Rockdrumlin had chosen his name for a hill formed by ice glaciers. Red-black Firemont took his name from Yoorthed’s smoking volcanoes.

The three females found their names in the icy mountains, Iceflower and Snowblitz—and Snowlake, who had been killed in the marsh.

Bluepiper chose his name from the blue snowbird that pecked for worms among the ice floes, its song like the breaking of crystal.

Late in the evening, Teb sensed something amiss, but no one else did. He could not put a direction or shape to it, and as he puzzled over it, it was gone.

Not until well past midnight did the dwarf folk slip off to their sleeping alcoves. The bards and Iceflower stretched out beside the fire. Outside, in the cold night, the other dragons bedded down close together and slept. But Firemont and Bluepiper woke very soon, sensing what Teb had sensed.

They went to investigate. They circled over the ice mountains, puzzled by the pressing sense of terror, and of cruelty, then headed south. They circled the volcano, their nostrils filled with the smell of sulfur that clung around the smoking mountain. The warm swamp lay beyond, sulking in its own heavy steam. They approached it, shivering with the evil they felt there.

They came storming back to Stilvoke Cave just at dawn, wild with shouting.

“There’s a ship in the swamp,” bellowed Firemont.

“It stinks of dark warriors,” cried Bluepiper.

“If you yell any louder,” Teb growled, coming awake, “they’ll have set sail before we reach them.”

The dragonlings lowered their voices, eyeing Teb with respect.

The bards dressed quickly. Teb convinced Marshy to stay in the cave with Iceflower. The rest were soon winging south in the icy dawn, the four bards yawning, trying to come awake, checking again for swords, pulling their hoods around their ears. Kiri looked, sleepily, across the frozen air at Teb. Already a rime of ice crystals covered her hood and the escaping wisps of her hair. Below them, the white mountains caught light from the sun still hidden beyond the sea, the volcano’s face stained by the sun’s fire. Beyond shone the marsh, its brilliant green shocking against the endless white.

The ship is hidden beneath the trees, said Bluepiper. They circled low. The oaks spread a protective leafy roof over the steaming waters.

Yes, there, cried Seastrider. There . . .

They could see, beneath the moss-hung trees, part of the ship’s bow. They could sense the dark warriors and could sense a terrified captive. Their minds were filled with its silent cry for help.

Someone small, Kiri said, someone young. She looked across the wind at Teb.

Teb’s face had gone white. His pulse pounded. He could sense the small creature clearly and was filled with its pain and fear. He could see the small body trussed tightly, its broad tail bound to its side, its webbed feet wrapped so tight they were numb. He knew that the otter had no real hope that anyone would hear its silent calls. He gripped his sword as Seastrider dove.

As she flew just above the deck, Teb slid off. Seastrider banked away between the trees. The air was warm and heavy, the deck wet and slick. Starpounder swept down, and Colewolf dropped off beside Teb. It was still night in the tree-covered marsh, the ship too dark for them to see much. They could not sense a guard. The could feel the otter’s pain, and they knew something else about it. . . .

Suddenly a shout—hatches were flung open, lamps blazed. They ducked behind a cabin as half-dressed soldiers poured up out of the hold. Weapons gleamed in the light of swinging lanterns. Teb slipped on the wet deck, recovered, blocking swords with his blade. Four came at him. He lost sight of Colewolf, was backed against the rail.

He thrust at a charging soldier, sent him overboard, faced three more. He struck and dodged, sweat running into his eyes. He took a gash on his shoulder. Two more were on him; his weapon was forced back; he felt the barrier of cabin wall behind him.

He kicked one in the groin and ducked, then swung, but the other lunged, its weapon tossed aside, its cold fingers clutching his throat. Its knee slammed into his stomach. He sprawled, his belly torn with pain, and heard crashing overhead.

Branches broke under the diving dragons. Kiri shouted, her sword flashing as she dropped to the deck. She struck down a dark figure. Teb caught a glimpse of Camery; then Seastrider’s head filled the foredeck. She snatched up a warrior and crushed it. Dragons towered around the ship, coiling over it so it rocked and heeled. Teb saw fire creeping along the deck from an overturned lamp. He heard a faint, chittering cry.

He ran crouching past the battling swords of Colewolf and two dark soldiers and made for the foredeck as fire leaped behind him.





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