Dragonbards (23 page)

He made the song of the world’s beginning,
wove it from bard knowledge, but also with the wisdom that Thakkur
had imparted in its telling: the spinning ball of gases formed by
such infinite and wondrous power that no creature could know its
true nature, the five huge continents, the flood, the many small
island continents that remained. He sang Thakkur’s words of hope,
of faith.

Hanni listened, weeping, pressing against
Charkky and Mikk. But when Mikk lifted Hanni’s chin, the small
otter looked stronger. A spark of resolve had begun to burn. From
that moment, Hanni began to mend.

On the day of burial, the bards and otters
made Hanni an important part of the ceremony.

All the human troops and animals met in the
square in the center of the city. Here they buried their dead, the
speaking animals and humans side by side. There would be a marker
for them, wrought by Sharden’s old stonecutters. Only Thakkur had a
separate grave, and he would have a special marker. Another like it
would stand in Nightpool. His life would be known and remembered in
bardsong and carved into stone as well.

When the armies gathered around his grave,
it was Hanni alone who said the prayer for him, a quiet prayer that
left everyone silent for a long time afterward, kneeling around the
grave. The bards planted wild herbs on Thakkur’s grave, those he
had loved best. They left the grave touched by sun that warmed the
small flowers and teased a spicy scent from them.

As the armies made their way back through
the city toward the palace and hills, people everywhere were
cleaning, scrubbing walls and floors and pavements, burning refuse,
tearing down, starting to build anew. The unicorns moved among
them, healing the sick and drug-ridden: Already a thread of the old
magic had begun to spin itself through Tirror.

The next day, when the rebels left Sharden,
the unicorns disappeared into the hills of Aquervell. Some were
seen later swimming the strait to Ekthuma. Much later they appeared
in the sanctuaries of Gardel-Cloor and Nison-Serth, the sanctuary
at Nightpool, all the sacred places. Their long exile had made them
elusive creatures—but they were home again.

The journey home for most of the army was
slow. The owls flew ahead to spread the news to those who had
stayed behind, to the sick and old and those who must care for the
livestock. For the bards and the Nightpool otters, the journey was
so fast that the sights and feel of Sharden’s city were still with
them when they settled onto the sea around Nightpool. The otters
piled off the dragons’ backs, thankful to be home, though it was
not a pleasant homecoming.

What had been planned as the otters’
homecoming ceremony for Thakkur was a time of terrible grieving.
The bards knelt with the otters before Thakkur’s dais in the sacred
cave. Hanni, using all the strength he possessed, stood whispering
his few practiced words in a final farewell. But suddenly there was
a hush of breath from the gathered otters, and they stared at
something behind him. He turned and raised a paw in shock. Then he
reached toward the shell and stood with his paw outstretched, as
still as a small white statue.

The sacred shell had begun to glow. A white
mist shone; then Thakkur looked out at them. His silent voice was
clear and strong.

This is not good-bye; death is not good-bye.
We will know one another again, for life is a journey without
ending. Like the sphere that Hanni now wears, all life is
endless.

Tirror is at peace,
Thakkur said.
Know joy, take joy in this world, as I will in the worlds I now
enter.

“Go in peace,” Hanni whispered as the vision
faded. “Go with joy and love. Walk with me again, Thakkur
. . . somewhere.”

As they filed out of the sacred cave, Kiri’s
hand in Teb’s, she said softly, “He’ll be all right now.”

Teb nodded and leaned to brush away her
tears.

Not long afterward, the eight bards, with
hugs for the otters, and many promises about the days to come,
leaped from the cliff to the backs of the dragons and rose in a
thunder of wings. The dragons circled Nightpool, then swept for
Auric Palace, along the rocky coast, dropping low beside the small
coastal towns. The townsfolk who had remained behind ran out of
their cottages shouting excited greetings.

“The dragons!”

“The dragons are back! The bards have
returned!”

‘Tebriel . . .”

“Camery. . .”

Then a silence of surprise touched the
villagers, for Dawncloud had banked low, and they could see
Meriden.

“The queen . . .”

“The queen lives!”

“
Meriden!”

“Praise the queen!”

“Praise the Graven
Light. . . .”

Wild cheering rose from friends she had not
seen for many years, and she raised her arm in salute. At once
riders started out at a gallop for the palace to greet her.

The dragons came down beside the palace wall
and left their bards amid shouting and laughing friends. The moment
Meriden dismounted, she was swept up and lifted high above the
crowd. Four soldiers carried her into the palace.

When she saw the hall, her face was filled
with such mixed emotions that all the crowd went still.

Pain was in her face, longing. A tangle of
memories of the king. She went to the hearth and knelt beside the
crock of fresh bay leaves and smelled them. Someone had remembered
that she had always kept the spicy-scented leaves there. She moved
around the room, looking.

When she turned back to the hearth, she laid
her hand on the rough stone, and her thought touched the bards
sharply. This palace had stood for many generations before the
coming of the dark. It would stand long after the dark was only a
memory. She unbuckled her scabbard and sword and hung them on the
hook that, so long ago, the King of Auric had used. Then she
gathered Teb and Camery to her. Teb reached for Kiri. Colewolf
pulled the three children close. The bards stood together within
the calm safety of Auric Palace.

It would be many months before Meriden would
tell them about all of her life for those exiled years. It would be
many years before Tirror would recover completely from its long
siege. But that recovery had begun.

“We will bring all who want to come here to
the palace,” Meriden said. “The sick to heal, and the orphans, just
as Garit has done at Dacia. We will help teach them crafts,
soldiering, whatever they wish.” She looked evenly at the bards.
“We must keep a strong army. The dark has proven this—that the
powers of bards and dragons alone are not enough.”

Teb hugged her, liking very much this person
who was his mother.

“Perhaps we could join with Ebis the Black,”
Camery said, “in training our young warriors and in defending
Windthorst.”

“Perhaps we could,” Meriden said. “I think
you make a good captain, my daughter. I think you would work well
with Ebis.”

The hall had grown crowded. Meriden looked
around at her friends. “The old sanctuaries—Nison-Serth,
Gardel-Cloor—all will be way stations again, gathering places for
all speaking animals and all humans.” Her face brightened, her eyes
smiling. “We are free again—to travel as we wish. Each of us is
free, to live how and where we wish.” She turned from them and went
to stand before the hearth. When she turned back, every eye was on
her.

“There are other worlds,” Meriden said,
“that the slave masters have fought again and again to conquer.
Those worlds that have held fast their freedom cherish that freedom
well.”

She shook her head. “Tirror had never known
that kind of challenge—until Quazelzeg and his disciples invaded
us.

“Now . . . I think that now
everyone on Tirror must find some way to join with the bards. I
think that we must all work together, to remain free of those like
the unliving.”

*

Teb stood, at dusk, in Auric’s tower. He
raised a hand to Kiri in the courtyard, and she ran up the stairs
to him. They stood close, leaning on the stone wall, looking out
over the green meadows and the sea, watching the dragons. Some of
them were winging over the sea lithe as swallows, diving for
sharks. But Varuna and the dragonlings were stretched out across
the meadow, their wings tucked close to their bodies, surrounded by
calmly grazing horses.

“Varuna is telling the dragonlings of other
worlds,” Kiri said. She turned to look at Teb. “He’s the most
wonderful dragon in any world.”

Teb grinned at her. “He’s wild—fiery. He’s a
fine dragon. The dragonlings are very impressed; all the dragons
are. I know Seastrider’s thoughts about him. Really very
admiring.”

She laughed. “I’d call Windcaller’s thoughts
amorous.”

He smiled. “They can have some life of their
own now—we all can.”

“You told me once you used to dream of
dragons here, on the meadows of Auric.”

“I did. A sight just like that, with fine
horses grazing among them, unafraid. I used to dream a lot of
things about this land, and what I hoped it would be like someday.”
He put his arm around her. “I used to dream about sharing it with
someone. But I didn’t know who.”

“Do you know now?”

“Yes. I know now.”

She brushed her lips across his cheek, warm
in his arms, and their minds saw and felt as one.

#

Shirley Rousseau Murphy grew up in southern
California, riding and showing the horses her father trained. She
attended the San Francisco Art institute and later worked as
an interior designer while her husband attended USC. “When Pat
finished school, I promptly quit my job and began to exhibit
paintings and welded metal sculpture in the West Coast juried
shows.” Her work could also be seen in many traveling shows in the
western States and Mexico. “When we moved to Panama for a
four-year tour in Pat’s position with the U.S. Courts, I put away
the paints and welding torches, and began to write.” After leaving
Panama they lived in Oregon, Atlanta, and northern Georgia before
returning to California, where they now live by the sea.

Besides the Dragonbards Trilogy, Murphy
wrote sixteen children's books and a young adult fantasy quintet
before turning to adult fantasy with
The Catsworld Portal
and the Joe Grey cat mystery series, which so far includes sixteen
novels and for which she is now best known. She is the winner of
five Dixie Council of Authors and Journalists Author of the Year
awards—two of them for
Nightpool
and
The Ivory
Lyre
—plus eight Muse Medallion awards from the national Cat
Writers Association.

Dragonbards Trilogy, Book 1:
Nightpool

Dragonbards Trilogy, Book 1. As dark raiders
invade the world of Tirror, a singing dragon awakens from her long
slumber, searching for the human who can vanquish the forces of
evil—Tebriel, son of the murdered king. Teb has found refuge in
Nightpool, a colony of talking otters. But a creature of the Dark
is also seeking him, and the battle to which he is drawn will
decide Tirror’s future.

Dragonbards Trilogy, Book 2:
The Ivory
Lyre

Dragonbards Trilogy, Book 2. The bard
Tebriel and his singing dragon Seastrider together can weave
powerful spells. With other dragons searching for their own bards,
they have been inciting revolts throughout the enslaved land of
Tirror. Only if they can contact underground resistance fighters
and find the talisman hidden in Dacia will they have a chance to
break the Dark’s hold on the world.