He felt his pulse pounding; he wanted to see inside. He must find the source of this power.
“The king’s treasure rooms,” Accacia said casually, though she was looking at him with curiosity. “I do not have a key, Prince Tebmund. Are you so interested in Sardira’s treasure as to stand staring, your face gone white?”
“It . . . is the door,” he lied. “The pattern of crossed strapping on the door reminded me of something, another door. It stirred unhappy memories, of someone who died,” he said, pleased with his inventiveness. He took her hand. “Come, let’s find the top of this grand maze, so we can have a real view of the city.”
The sense of goodness followed him strongly as they moved up the black stone passages to a flight of narrow steps. At the top of these, they faced a tall arch filled with sky. Beyond was an open walkway, where they stood looking down upon the city, the wind tugging at them.
She moved close to him. “The view pleases you, Prince Tebmund?”
“It is magnificent.” But his mind was on the treasure room.
She touched his cheek. He ignored her, studying the city laid out below, seeing it clearly now in daylight where, from the sky, it had been too dark. He could see the route they had taken that morning. He tried to see the ruined tower near Garit’s cottage. Accacia pressed her shoulder against him, clasping her arms around herself in the chill wind.
“How long have you lived in the palace?” he asked absently, wishing she would keep her distance.
“Always. Didn’t I tell you that? My father was a captain to the king. He died in battle, but my uncle was horsemaster, so, of course, I stayed. Then—” She brushed a fleck of dust from his sleeve and looked up at him openly.
“I was Sardira’s mistress, before his dying wife made such a fuss. I’ve never understood that. The king moved me to the west tower and promised me to Abisha. He promised her he would not take another queen, though she is bedridden and useless.” Accacia sighed. “What power she has over him, to make him adhere to such a promise, I cannot really say. Why should she be so selfish? She has lived past her time. She talks of dying but she does not intend to do it.”
Teb turned away, shocked and angry at her rudeness. Maybe she had had more wine at the noon meal than he noticed. A flock of small brown birds came tumbling in the wind, nearly into their faces. Teb swallowed his anger and smiled down at her. If she was feeling her wine, he would not waste a good opportunity. Already her guide to the location of various guards’ quarters had been worthwhile and could prove useful. Information about the queen might be very useful indeed.
“The old queen must be a tyrant,” he said lightly.
“She’s a bitter old woman who weaves her days around palace gossip, and is a burden to the king.”
“And is the crippling she suffers a painful one?”
“Oh, yes,” Accacia said casually. “She should have been dead long ago.”
“She makes life difficult for you?”
“Not particularly. I make my own life.” She gave him a slow, warming look and drew her hand softly down his cheek.
He took her wrists gently and held them. “I would not distress Prince Abisha by making light with his betrothed,” he said coolly.
“It would be difficult to distress Abisha. He cares nothing for me.” At his surprised look, she smiled. “Most royal marriages are made for convenience, Prince Tebmund. Is it not so in your country?”
“My parents married for love. Perhaps I am old-fashioned in thinking that even a royal marriage should be so.”
“Unrealistic would describe your view more exactly.” She turned away and started along the narrow stone balcony that wrapped itself around the juttings of the mountain, lost to view ahead of them. They walked slowly, the lamp’s flame faded to a transparent ghost in the sunlight. Teb felt Accacia’s stubborn desire for him as strong as the eastern wind that pushed up from the sea. Deliberately he turned his mind from her. They did not speak again until they began to descend, when she took his hand.
“The leaders from Aquervell will be at the supper table tonight, Prince Tebmund.”
“Supper should be an elegant affair.” He assumed all the private discussion would have been finished by suppertime. He would give a lot to hear those conversations. “Are the Aquervell captains frequent visitors to Dacia?”
“They come fairly often. They enjoy the . . . pleasures of the city.”
Pleasures, he thought with disgust. He was sure the un-men enjoyed them. Their presence here would make things difficult. He hoped he and the dragons had enough power to shield themselves from discovery. The dark would come down with everything it had if it discovered the truth.
Maybe he should send the dragons away at once, go by himself into the city to Garit, disguise himself and work with the resistance from there.
Yet if the unliving did sense him and follow him, he would lead them straight to Garit. He had better face the dark leaders head-on. Do it boldly, and at once.
What he meant to do was bold, and dangerous. The dark would be closer to the dragons than it had ever been.
He knew from Seastrider how strong the shape-shifting power had grown. The dragons had reluctantly agreed to suffer the indignity of being touched and ridden by the unliving, if they must. He knew also that with increased shape-shifting power, danger increased: The shape-shifter might not be able to return to his true form. The very magic that held the shape steady even in the face of dark forces could well freeze the dragons into their alien shapes permanently.
Yet if he did not offer the use of the horses to the dark leaders, they would demand it. It was better to offer and keep the upper hand. This experience would not come easily for the dragons, would be painful and unnerving for them.
“How long will the leaders from the north be staying?” he asked, watching her. “Perhaps they would like to try my horses . . . learn their special fighting skills.”
“I think the king mentioned it to them. I suppose there would be buyers among them.”
They descended the south parapet with Accacia walking close, her honeyed scent heavy around him. He left her at the north tower stair, pleased with the bits of information he had gleaned, annoyed he had not gotten more. He went quickly toward the stables with a sudden sense of unease, a sudden turmoil of fury that was not his own.
He found the four horses sweating in their open stalls, their retreat blocked by a ring of yellow-uniformed soldiers. A captain of the dark was trying to put a halter on Starpounder. Teb heard the black stallion scream, found him rearing and striking at the heavy-shouldered captain, his fury so great Teb could already see a faint dragon-image ready to surface. He raised his hand and shouted. Starpounder paused rearing, came down to strike his front hooves inches from the captain’s head, his teeth bared, his eyes burning with a wildness that no true horse could match.
The captain did not step back. His face was frozen into a sallow mask of contempt.
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 skillf
ully, 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 . . .
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