Ivory Lyre Read Free Page B

and animals was as
heady as wine to them. They would devise any means to increase and
lengthen such suffering.
    But if Ebis the Black had driven them out,
and had kept his land free, so could others. Teb and the dragons
had gone twice to Ratnisbon, to sing the past alive for Ebis’s
people. Ebis understood that people needed that knowledge of
Tirror’s past, of their own pasts; otherwise they had no memory, no
knowledge of themselves, and no notion of who they really were or
what choices they had in life. Ebis’s people wanted to make their
own choices and would not allow the dark to rob them of that
freedom.
    The dragon song kept freedom alive in
people’s minds, stirring their fury against the smothering and
consuming dark. That was what it must do for all of Tirror. There were more bards; there had to be. Perhaps, somewhere, there
were more dragons. The old power, where bard could speak to bard or
dragon over distances, was all muddled and frayed by the dark. Teb
caught only glimpses of battles. He knew there was little
communication remaining among the resistance forces, human or
animal. This, too, Teb and the dragons meant to change. Meanwhile,
they would be in the thick of it in Dacia, and would learn
more.
    They waited until dark before taking to the
sky, moving on the silent wind over the small island nations. It
was near to midnight when Teb chose a likely-looking fishing town
from which to steal his new clothes.
    They came down along the cave-ridden cliffs
of Bukla and, because black Nightraider would not be seen so
easily, it was he who turned himself into a horse and carried Teb
up the cliffs to the prosperous little town.
    Teb jimmied a shop door with little trouble.
He chose his clothes with care by the shielded light of one lantern
taken from the shop desk. He selected three changes of the most
elegant tunics and dark leggings, a pair of fine boots, and a red
cape that stirred memories, for its color. These were clothes meant
to impress, suited to a rich prince, not to his personal
preference. He found buckles, heavy linen thread, and some felted
horsehair padding for a saddle in the shop’s workroom, and packed
it all into a linen bag. He left ample gold in exchange, and locked
the door behind him.
    They spent three days on a small rock island
while Teb fashioned the four halters, a saddle, and saddlebags of
the white leather. Then on the fourth night the dragons made for
the northerly and deserted shore of Dacia, north of the city, some
five miles from the black palace that loomed against the stars.
     
     
     

Chapter 3
     
    The Palace of Dacia was built directly into
the mountain, so its deepest chambers were the mountain’s own stony
caves. The sheer black palace walls, carved and ornate, looked down
on the country’s one city, their arrow slits watching the teeming
streets like thin, appraising eyes. The city climbed up so abruptly
to meet the palace that the stone huts stood jumbled nearly on top
of one another, straw-thatched roofs shouldering against the
doorsteps above.
    It was early evening now, the sun gone
behind the mountain. The palace’s heavy shadow spread down across
the tangled city, reaching to swallow more and more houses and
lanes as suppertime drew near. The smell of the city was of boiled
mutton and cabbage and of animal dung and crowded humanity. Men
were coming home from the wharves and fields and pouring out of
taverns. Women shuffled pots on cookstoves and shouted at squalling
babies.
    Kiri stood in her own darkened doorway,
listening.
    She glanced back inside once, where her
grandmother dozed on the cot, her thin body angled under the frayed
quilt, her veined hands clasped together.
    Kiri watched Gram with tenderness, then
turned to make her way up the darker side of the cobbled street,
deeper into the shadow of the palace. She was fourteen, thin,
sun-browned, her brown hair tucked up under a green cap. She was
dressed in the green homespun tunic of a page. She wore a