The Ivory Lyre

Chapter 12

The un-man was no taller than Teb, but broader and heavier, with shoulders humped forward, drawing a line of wrinkles across his yellow tunic. He took Teb’s measure with flat gray eyes, then turned back to face Starpounder. The stallion’s face, with lips drawn back, was pulled into a killer’s smile. His body was poised ready to strike again. When the captain thrust the halter at his head, Starpounder exploded, rearing, striking. Teb shouted and grabbed him—he came to the ground and backed off, but still he was tensed like a spring, pressing against Teb, glowering at the unman.

“Get away from him, Captain. You cannot halter him; no one can unless you know the signals.”

The captain’s voice was as flat and expressionless as his eyes. “Then show me the signals. How do you expect to sell creatures that will not obey and submit?”

“The stallion will obey the man to whom he is sold. I will teach the signals to that man.”

“Show them to me. Now.”

“When you have purchased and paid for the animal, I will do so.”

The un-man’s fury was like the silent lash of a whip. “Do you know who I am?”

“You are a captain of the army of Aquervell, and so captain to Quazelzeg.”

“I am High Captain Leskrank. I am captain to Supreme Ruler Quazelzeg, and to General Vurbane, ruler of Ekthuma, as well. I serve them on special mission. I desire to ride this stallion.”

“I will be most happy to oblige,” Teb said, controlling his anger. “But I will halter and saddle him.” Be still, Starpounder. You agreed to it; now swallow your fury and bear it.

Starpounder glowered at Teb, snorting, ears back, then came to him reluctantly. He put his head into the halter Teb held, but Teb could feel the effort it took. Teb stroked the stallion until at last he felt the fury of the dragon subside and calm. He saddled Starpounder with Leskrank’s own black war saddle, the sword still dangling at its side. He tightened the girth and gave the halter reins to the heavy-shouldered, gray-faced leader. Leskrank stared at the thin halter but evidently had been told, perhaps by Sardira, that was all Teb allowed on the horses.

“You must remove your spurs first,” Teb said. “He will not tolerate spurs.”

The man gave Teb a cold stare. “I am used to being master of my mounts. This stallion will learn that, when he belongs to me.” He moved to mount. Starpounder backed away and would not let the captain near him. Leskrank jerked the halter strap, but that did not faze Starpounder.

“When you remove your spurs,” Teb said, “he will let you mount docilely.”

Leskrank did so at last, and Starpounder came forward to stand still as the heavy captain mounted. Teb could feel the tension of the other three horses, could see the dragonfire behind their eyes. He slipped Seastrider’s halter on and swung onto her back, to ride beside Captain Leskrank. The other soldiers drew back from Windcaller and Nightraider, who stood eyeing them with challenge.

On the broad grass practice field, Sardira’s soldiers drew back so the two riders had the flat meadow to themselves. Teb showed Leskrank the special signals that he had taught to Sardira’s soldiers, signals he and the dragons had agreed on before they came to Dacia. Leskrank trotted Starpounder in circles, galloped him, then began to practice the signals.

On command, Starpounder reared to strike as in battle, spun so fast the heavy captain was nearly unseated, ducked to right, then to left, under the attack of Teb’s own sword in mock battle, spun again, backed, and, in a surprising launch of inventiveness, in a maneuver they had not worked out together, reared over Seastrider and snatched the blunt side of Teb’s blade in his teeth and wheeled away bearing the weapon. Any other soldier would have laughed with pleasure.

Leskrank’s expression did not change, except that his eyes burned with the desire to own this beast.

“I am working on signals for that maneuver and others,” Teb told Leskrank as they walked the horses back toward the stables. “I will be happy to have you put the stallion through his new paces, once they are perfected.” If we are here, he thought. For now they had another reason to vanish quickly from the palace, before the dark leaders tried to buy or steal the four horses.

But Leskrank made no offer of purchase. While Teb was sponging off the horses in the stable yard, the dark captain went off toward the main hall with no offer, no word, no change of expression. Teb squeezed out the sponge and looked after him. Leskrank’s men followed him in silence, until at last Teb and the four were alone.

He does not mean to buy us, Seastrider said. Why should he? I can see it in his face. He means simply to take us. He means to teach his soldiers the signals, then ride off on us when he returns to the dark continent. He would make a bitter meal, but I would relish feeling him writhe in my jaws.

Roasted first by dragon fire, Starpounder said, and even so, he would not be palatable. Of course, he means to kill you, Tebriel, if you try to stop him.

Teb smiled, imagining the four horses turning suddenly to dragons and finishing off Leskrank and his troops.

He will do nothing, Seastrider said, until he is sure he has learned all the signals and your methods of training. Until he understands how to make us submit to his will. She shook her mane and snorted. The unliving may detest knowledge and skill, Tebriel. But when a skill is useful to them, they mean to have it.

Teb stayed with the horses for some time, stroking and grooming them, for the presence of the dark had left them all edgy. Starpounder, having resisted his urge to kill the un-man, was sweating and fidgeting now and could not settle. Suddenly, as Teb brushed him, his body became translucent, black-gleaming scales showing through. They all stood frozen as Starpounder brought the force of the shape-shifting under control, subsiding at last into the stallion’s satin curves.

Seastrider did not lose her image, but she pawed and shook her head, and nipped at the flesh on her shoulder. Teb did not know how much longer they dare stay here, with the dragons’ patience wearing so thin.

We will conserve our power, Tebriel. We will practice patience, all of us will, Seastrider said, glowering at Starpounder.

But it would not be long after the state supper that night that Seastrider, too, found her powers changed, and in a different way.

Teb didn’t look forward to supper. He dressed carefully, swallowing his disgust at having to dine with the unliving and their amoral followers.

Sometimes he thought he hated the human men who served the dark more than he hated the unliving. The unliving were patterned by their own unchangeable evil natures. They were formed of evil and could not choose any other way.

Human men could choose. Sivich, who had murdered his father, had had a choice. He had chosen deceit. He had served the King of Auric for years before he turned on him, and on Teb and Camery and the soldiers loyal to the king.

Teb descended the west tower and went along through several huge rooms to the state dining hall, where the royal party was standing before a windowed alcove, taking mithnon, awaiting the entrance of the king. Accacia was robed in a clinging apricot gown that complemented the yellow tunics of the dark captains. All seven captains were there, all un-men. Their six lieutenants were human men, but sallow and cold-looking. General Vurbane, the last of the group of eight un-men, arrived with King Sardira, who, robed in his perpetual black, a black velvet tunic topped by a black fur cape, stood out sharply against the bright colors. The king took only one glass of mithnon, then was seated in his tall, black chair at the head of the table.

The purple-and-amethyst table setting was set off with oil lamps that burned with violet flame, making the faces of the eight leaders of the dark armies even more grayed and deathlike. Their voices were dry and expressionless. Surrounded by the eight unliving, Teb was gripped by a cold fear.

He had been too angry, at the stable, to try a power of shielding against the un-man. Now he tried, with a heated urgency, and felt the strength of the dragons helping him. Leskrank had been the only one he faced at the stable. Now there were eight of the unliving watching him, with time to observe him carefully.

General Vurbane was seated directly across from Teb, next to Abisha, close enough so Accacia, next to Teb, could ply her charms on him. Teb found it strange to see an un-man who had been badly wounded, for he thought of them as nearly invulnerable. He knew they could die, though their blood did not run red but pale like mucus, and if there was a dark inner self to escape the dying body, it was not like a human soul. Yet even having himself seen them injured and dying, he never got used to it, so strongly did his mind cling to the idea of their invincible power. Vurbane had suffered a wound that left the right side of his face rippled in a wide scar from chin to hairline, ending in a ragged bald spot. The tip of his smallest right finger was missing. His eyes were icy, his lips thin and straight.

Captain Leskrank was seated across the table to Teb’s left, where he could watch Teb and could flirt with Accacia. She played round robin with all the men near her, ignoring Abisha and the few women seated close by. She excited rivalry skillfully, thriving on it. General Vurbane seemed well aware of her style, accepting her favors as if he had a right to them. Abisha watched the two of them, visibly irritated. He had been drinking heavily, and soon his sullen voice rose above the rest, sarcastic and baiting.

“I understand, General, you unearthed a spy in your palace. I am told the girl escaped you.”

Vurbane glowered, his scarred face drawn tight.

“She must have been clever,” Abisha said smugly, “to have eluded all your fine soldiers.”

As Vurbane turned, his scar reflected the lavender light, casting his face into a mask of horror that chilled Teb. ‘The girl was clever, I suppose, for her kind. A mere accident that she escaped. We will find her.”

“A pity, though. Had she served you long?”

“She served my household for two years,” Vurbane said stiffly. “She seemed a docile creature, but who knows, with humans.” He looked Abisha over, seeming to warm to his subject. “The girl was extremely young. One of those pale, blond types . . . tall and well turned out,” he said, leering. “But she was, like all humans, sly and tricky.”

Abisha reddened. Vurbane continued, “She was seen clearly talking to a known spy in the marketplace. Their conversation was reported; guards were sent at once to arrest her.”

“But she escaped them all,” Abisha said, ignoring Vurbane’s insults.

Vurbane looked at him coldly, the purple light flaring along the side of his face. “My troops are quite competent, Prince Abisha. It was a wild fluke that she escaped—disappeared before they arrived.”

Abisha signaled for more wine and sat back heavily in his chair, observing Vurbane. “Maybe someone warned her—another spy. You are right, General Vurbane, such people are . . . a menace.”

Vurbane’s words echoed in Teb’s mind, One of those pale, blond types . . . young . . .

“We do not know,” Vurbane said, “how the girl was warned—if she was. But we will find out,” he said coldly. “There was a wild story about some huge owl swooping down over the market moments before the troops arrived. My slow-witted peasants believed it alerted her—laughable, what the ignorant believe.”

Teb ate slowly, tasting nothing. Could it be Camery? Pale, blond . . . young. . . and on the island where Nightraider had sensed someone. And the owl . . .

It was the big owl, Red Unat, who had brought word that Camery was gone from the prison tower in Auric. Red Unat worked with the resistance, had given his whole commitment to tracking the dark. Teb’s thoughts were cut short by Nightraider’s silent voice.

She is my bard. I still do not sense her, but if she is there—I will search Ekthuma for her.

Teb sensed the cold wind as the black dragon leaped skyward.

I will search for her. . . .

Nightraider was gone.

“We closed off the five crossings,” Vurbane was saying, “and kept watch for several days. We turned out the cottages and shacks, searched thoroughly, but no sign of the wench.” Vurbane touched his scar. “She could not have escaped Ekthuma, unless she swam to her death in the sea.

“Very likely,” he said, smiling, “she took her own life in one way or another. Her kind will do that.” His eyes gleamed. “We will find her body eventually. Unless the sharks ate her.”

His purple-tinged smile and glinting eyes sickened Teb.

“Suicide,” Vurbane said, tasting the word, savoring it. “It is interesting to watch suicide. It sometimes has amusing results. Such panic, such commitment and dedication, to—what? Why do they fight so hard, these dedicated peasants? There was a crone, a rag woman on Cayub who threw herself into the sea when my troops overtook her, impaled herself on a spiked rock and lived three days gasping for help. The troops waited to see her die.” He licked his lips. “Then that tin vendor that set himself afire—and afforded my soldiers an unexpected and interesting entertainment. Unfortunately, I missed it. There are too few such diversions,” he said pleasantly, “in these dull times. That is why, my dear Sardira, we like so much to make these refreshing visits to Dacia. Now tell me, what is the nature of the contestants for tomorrow’s stadium games? And what nature of . . . other entertainment have you provided? We have been limited in our pleasures far too long, training on that cursed rock island off Ocana, at the ends of nowhere.”

“We have some new young slaves,” King Sardira said. “Boys and girls.” His robed figure in the huge carved chair was a pool of blackness at the head of the table. His thin lined face seemed now, in comparison with the gray pallor of the eight unliving, really very healthy and alive. His suggestion of the use of boys and girls disgusted Teb.

“There are a few horses ready to be put down,” the king said. “We might bring out some of my guard lizards from the vaults; their teeth are excellently sharp. We have the blind wolves you shipped to us from Aquervell, of course. Ah, and we have captured some of those cursed speaking cats, my dear Vurbane. They’re fighters, all right, and should make good sport, pitted against anything of your choice. Too bad we don’t have your little escapee to run in with them. We will drug the bulls with cadacus; it makes them crazy. They will make excellent sport with those cats clawing in panic for their lives.”

Teb listened with revulsion. The capture of any animal tore him with rage, but that speaking animals would be tortured made his fury rise so it was all he could do not to leap up and beat the king to a pulp. He held himself rigid until his temper eased under control.

He meant to release those cats.

Yet he could sacrifice much if he failed. He was very close now to learning something that could be vital. He must find the source of bright magic in the locked treasure chamber. He must not be captured before he did.

He felt sure Accacia knew what that magic was, and when supper was at last finished, he maneuvered her away while the officers were rising and Vurbane had gone up to speak privately with the king. He gave Accacia a smile. “Will you show me a little more of the palace before you join the general and his captains?”

She glanced toward Vurbane, saw him and the king deep in conversation, then took Teb’s arm. “Perhaps a short walk, Prince Tebmund.”

She led him up a side stair to an upper landing that overlooked the dining hall, then out along the parapet as before, but in the opposite direction. They descended a second, winding flight. “There are terraces here, Prince Tebmund, between the chambers and the wall of the mountain. I have a favorite.”

They came to a gate of iron wrought into the shapes of branches and leaves, then into the closed terrace it sheltered, a small, dark garden lit by seven candle lamps, walled by the mountain at the back and planted with damp ferns and twisting vines. It was chill and dismal, with only a thin view of the stars. The palace wall that edged the garden was black stone, carved into pierced patterns. There was no sense of either good or evil, only of isolation. She pulled him down onto the black bench, brushing a leaf away.

“This is pleasant, Prince Tebmund.” Her eyes were warm, soft, in the candlelight. “I find you very compatible—to walk with, to be with. Far more so,” she said, “than even General Vurbane.”

“You seem comfortable with him. And with all the northern leaders.”

“They . . . are necessary,” she said candidly. Perhaps she had seen his own distaste at supper. “And they pass the time pleasantly. What else is there to do in life but pass the time as pleasantly as you can?”

“I would have thought you would pass the time with Prince Abisha.”

“I told you he cares nothing for me. It was Sardira who decreed that we wed.”

“And, of course, it is Sardira to whom you owe allegiance.”

“We all owe allegiance to the king.”

She wasn’t so open, now, about her personal life. It was going to be harder to get her to speak freely. He watched her appraisingly, then put his arm around her and tried to weave soft thoughts, bringing power around her. He must work slowly, not ask questions too soon.

“I imagine,” he said lightly, “that you and the king find the northern leaders exciting companions at the stadium games, appreciative guests.” He felt her tension, but she was beginning to relax under his power; her eyes were softer, her body giving gently against him. “I expect they are, themselves, a rather exciting game.”

“All life is a game,” she said dreamily. “What else would it be?” She cuddled sleepily against him.

“A game with the dark,” he said, prompting her. “An exciting game, Accacia.”

There was a flash of awareness, then her hands went limp and the last touch of brittleness left her.

“A game with the dark . . . for what stakes?” he said.

It took all his strength of mind to force her will to his, but at last she said softly, “Big stakes, perhaps. If we play their game, give them all they want, we get along very well. . . .”

“What do they want, Accacia? Pleasure, of course. Pleasure . . .”

“Yes, pleasure.” She seemed vaguer now. He must not let her grow disoriented. “And Dacia is . . .” Her voice drifted off. She was too dreamy. He forced her awake.

“Dacia is . . .” he prompted.

“Dacia is . . . the center. The city’s favors—women, drugs, and the gambling of the stadium games . . .”

“And the center for what else?”

“For weapons, supplies, for a war base . . .”

“And they intend . . . ?”

“To conquer all Tirror, of course. Except . . . except Dacia.”

“Why is that, Accacia? Why will they leave Dacia free?”

She stirred against him and sat up straighter, but still she was docile to his will. She looked at him softly, waiting. He took her hands in his.

“How do you know,” he asked gently, “that the dark leaders won’t enslave Dacia with the rest of Tirror . . . when Dacia is no longer of use to them?”

Her look shuttered suddenly. He pressed his thought stronger until she relaxed. He let his lips brush her cheek.

“How do you know they won’t enslave Dacia?”

“They cannot,” she said dreamily.

“And why is that?”

“There is a powerful talisman in the palace. It prevents them from subduing Dacia.” She snuggled into his shoulder. He strained to hold the spell.

“What power, Accacia? What power could be so strong?”

Suddenly she straightened, pulled away, staring at him with confusion, then with fear.