The Dragonbards

Chapter 6

The unliving take nourishment from our suffering. It is thus that the dark grows strong. They are the dark opposite of human, and all evil feeds them, while all joy and love incites their wrath. They can die, these un-men, as we die. But they can never touch the Graven Light.

*

On the continent of Aquervell, deep in Quazelzeg’s fort-castle, two generals and twelve captains met with their leader in the skull chamber, a windowless stone room deep beneath the earth. The chamber was lighted by candles made of human fat. The walls were damp, the air heavy. Of the fourteen, six were un-men, true creatures of the unliving. Eight were humans warped to the ways of the dark. Only in the eyes of the humans could be seen the defeat they had taken at Dacia.

Quazelzeg watched the group without expression, seeing every flick of an eyelid, every movement of hand and turn of head. He was a tall, heavy figure who seemed not made to bend, with pale, tight skin over his heavy-boned face.

“I expect, Captain Vighert, that the present expedition is going better than the last. Better than your expedition.”

A nerve at the side of Vighert’s left eye twitched.

“I do not want another dragon killed.” Quazelzeg studied Vighert. “I want them captured. I would not want this to happen again. I plan to use these dragons. You would know that, Vighert, if you paid attention. These dragons are very important. Do you understand me?”

Vighert nodded, stiff and reluctant.

The child slaves along the wall watched the men with blank faces, hiding whatever emotion might be left in them. As Quazelzeg moved around the room, he shoved a dark-haired child out of his way. She fell and did not rise until his back was turned.

“Soon these dragons will belong to us, Vighert. They will bring our visions, our truth, to Tirror’s masses.” Quazelzeg smiled, a mirthless stretching of his pale mouth. “And then, gentlemen, we will hold Tirror as powerfully as we hold these slaves.” He took up a stick and hit the dark-haired child across the face, for rising before he gave permission. She knelt and kissed his boots. The fingers of a red-haired boy trembled.

“Then we will be their ancestors, gentlemen. We will be the ancestors of all Tirror, and they will understand that our pleasures with them are a privilege—that terror is a rare privilege!”

The dark-haired girl and the redheaded boy did not look up, but something subtle passed across their faces. Quazelzeg did not see; he was watching Vighert. He returned to humiliating the captain. “Let us hope that those now on Yoorthed—and Captain Shevek, who is about to go there—are more skilled at capturing dragons than you were, Captain Vighert.”

Vighert’s face seemed to fold in on itself. Shevek’s pock-scarred face looked colorless. The pulse in his neck pounded.

Quazelzeg fixed his eyes on the four who would accompany Shevek. “The dragons are to be chained. Their wings are to be clipped. I want their mouths chained shut so they can’t use fire to cut their bonds. I want them drugged and tamed and obedient. Now, does someone wish to express an opposing opinion on the best way to handle young dragons?”

No one did.

“Once the dragons are captive, gentlemen, we will train them with the two bard children.”

Vighert said, “No one knows if these children have the skills.”

“Of course they have the skills. They have the blood. Both have the mark of the bard.” He beckoned the dark-haired girl to him. A tiny brown, three-clawed print marked the inside of her left thigh. He parted the boy’s red hair so his neck shone white, and pointed to the same birthmark. “They have the power. With these two, we will create a new history for Tirror—a history that will become more narcotic than cadacus in its power.

“And if this Tebriel and his tribe come here searching . . .” A chilling smile stretched Quazelzeg’s face. “If they are drawn here by our powers, we will welcome them.

“For then, gentlemen, we will have all the bards we could want.”

“How,” said a voice from the second row, a small man with stringy hair tangled across the shoulders of his yellow tunic, “how do you keep a dragon captive?”

“In the caves, of course, Captain Flackel. In the marble caves. No dragon can melt marble.”

Flackel stared. “Sivich tried to put a dragon in a cage.”

“They tried to trap it in a cage, Flackel. You can’t trap a grown dragon; you have to capture it in other ways. For instance, with the help of my new pets. Then you put it in the cage. A cage it cannot melt.”

“It was this Tebriel,” said Captain Flackel, “that they used for bait in that trap. He escaped from it.”

Quazelzeg gave Flackel a deeply irritated look. “When I capture Tebriel, Captain Flackel, he will not escape. Unless, of course, I wish him to do so.”