The slave children drank in the splendid wonders, hugging to themselves hungrily all Seastrider’s wild freedom and fierce love. But Teb sat quiet and pale, staring at his hands, seeming aware of nothing. Seastrider pressed her big white head against him, and Kiri held him close, but he did not respond to them.
When an agitated rustling began in Kiri’s pack, she opened it, and little injured Neeno crawled up out of the darkness, his wings dragging. The tiny owl stood tottering on the leather strap, staring at Teb, his round yellow eyes deep with puzzled concern. “He is very ill.” Neeno blinked, clacked his curved beak in a loud staccato, and shouted with all his remaining strength, “Wake, Tebriel! Ooo, wake!” He peered at Teb. “Do you hear me? Wake!” He cocked his head, looking. “Oooo! Wake, Tebriel! Wake! Wake!” He clattered again, and his angry shout rose to a commanding shriek. “Bring yourself back, Tebriel! Wake up, Tebriel! Wake up!
“DARE you wake, Tebriel? DARE YOU? Are you afraid to wake?”
Teb stirred and looked at Neeno. That angry, clacking shout had brought him back. Perhaps it was like the angry, chittering sound an otter makes; perhaps it made Teb think of Mitta commanding him to get well. He reached to touch Seastrider as she nuzzled him, he touched Kiri’s cheek. He looked at the crowd of children, at Marshy, at Aven and Darba and Garit and the two rebel soldiers.
He frowned at the little owl’s bloody, twisted wings and held out his hand for Neeno to climb on. “What happened? Where are the others?”
Albee and Tybee and Afeena came swooping from the top of the mast and crowded onto Teb’s shoulder.
“Theeka? Keetho?”
“They were killed,” Kiri said. “The jackals . . .”
Teb touched Neeno’s bloody feathers and held the little owl to his cheek, his eyes filled with sorrow. Neeno closed his own eyes and snuggled against Teb.
As they neared the coast of Dacia, Teb told them a little about Quazelzeg’s torture. His cheeks burned with shame that he had been so used. He did not speak of the abyss where his every human need had been a sickness, but Kiri knew, she and the dragons knew. For those terrible hours, they had felt Quazelzeg owning him. Kiri moved within Teb’s encircling arm, and he held her close. The slave children pressed against them in a warm wall of small bodies.
Only Aven stood apart. His rusty brown eyes had changed suddenly and grown dark with excitement.
“What is it?” Kiri said.
“There are four dragonlings in Dacia,” Aven said.
“Yes,” Teb said. A smile twitched the side of his mouth.
“One is blue,” said Aven.
“Yes!” Teb and Kiri cried together. The dragons’ eyes gleamed.
“He has named himself Bluepiper,” Aven said, “after a snowbird from across the western sea.”
Teb laughed out loud—the first time he had laughed—and hugged Aven.
Darba pressed against Aven. “You . . . you have found your dragon.” Excitement filled her dark eyes, but beneath that excitement were shadows of loneliness. Kiri drew the little girl to her. She studied Darba’s heart-shaped face and dark, tangled hair, then dug into a pocket of her tunic and took out her small shell comb.
She combed Darba’s hair as gently as she could, taking her time, working out the tangles, humming to Darba. The questions Aven was asking about Bluepiper, and Teb’s exciting answers, came easier for the little girl when she was stroked and loved. By the time Garit put ashore at Dacia, Aven knew almost everything about Bluepiper and the clutch of young dragons. And Darba’s longing jealousy had eased. Kiri tied the child’s shining hair back with a bit of white leather. “You are lovely, do you know that? Some decent food, and you’ll feel better, too.” She drew Marshy to her, so the three of them stood close.
‘Take Darba to the palace with you, Marshy. Iceflower’s wounds will be all right; she’s bathed them in the sea, and she’s rested. Shell be strong enough for the two of you for that short distance.”
Marshy put a protecting arm around Darba. “Come on,” he said. “Iceflower will take us home.” He gave Darba a leg up onto Iceflower’s back and climbed up behind. As dawn touched the sky over Dacia, Iceflower lifted carefully into the wind and headed for the palace.
Chapter 18
I watch the sky for dragons that will never come. My king knows my pain; he knows that Tirror is dying. He knows the empty faces of the young.
*
Garit and the two soldiers bent heavily to the oars, pushing the raft through shallow surf toward Dacia’s wooded shore. As Kiri leaped to the bank to make fast the line, the dark branches above her shivered and a big winged shadow burst out, to dive straight at her. She ducked, laughing, as the big owl flashed dark, gleaming feathers in her face. “Red Unat!” She held out her arms, and Red Unat dropped into them so powerfully he nearly knocked her over. He clacked his red beak, and shook his big ears. His yellow eyes blazed fiercely. His manners were as abrupt and crusty as ever. But he was a true friend—a skilled spy and messenger for the underground. She and Papa had worked with him here in Dacia, and Teb had known him in Nightpool. The big owl snapped his beak again. His voice was coarse and gravelly. “About time! About time you got here! Tired of waiting! Thought that dark continent swallowed the lot of you.”
“It almost did,” Kiri said, stroking his dark, sleek wing.
“The wagons are waiting,” Red Unat said. “Hitching up now, to take the children.” As he looked up at the sky, now growing bright, the pupils of his eyes narrowed to slits.
Teb stood up, leaning on Garit’s shoulder. “Red Unat! What brings you? Has Sivich attacked Nightpool?”
Red Unat shook his feathers. “Sivich’s warriors gather for attack. Every traitor the dark can muster is camped at the Palace of Auric.” He stared at Teb. “You look terrible—all scars and bruises. I’m glad to see you are alive, Tebriel.”
“So am I,” Teb said. “What is Sivich’s plan of attack?”
“He means to destroy Nightpool just at dawn, then go straight up the coast to burn Ebis’s palace. He waits only for additional troops.” Red Unat smiled, a wicked smile. “Sivich doesn’t know the otters sank his courier boat, so his plea for troops didn’t get through.” He clacked his beak in an owlish laugh. “He’s furious at being tricked by animals, his horses taken, half his supplies gone, half his soldiers dead. Our owls have spy holes in every nook and attic of the palace; we hear everything.” The big owl stretched his wings, then snapped them closed. “But we cannot be overconfident. Sivich is a pawn of the dark powers—they will not let him lose so easily again.” He looked around the little group. “Another owl will come when Sivich is ready to move. Tell me what word has reached the dark leaders at Aquervell.”
“We don’t know,” Teb said. “We . . . were lucky to get out of there.”
“That I can see. Well, no matter. I have sent owls on, to Quazelzeg’s palace, to find out. Let’s get these children onto the wagons. Did you get the bard children out?”
“The girl has gone on, with Marshy,” Teb said. “The boy is here.” He drew Aven to him.
Red Unat stared at Aven. “Fine boy!” he shouted. “Hair as red as my beak!”
Aven blushed.
“We lost two brave owls,” Teb said. “The jackals killed Theeka and Keetho.”
Red Unat’s feathers bristled. His glare was terrible.