Teb shivered, straining to hear.
“Not a common dragon. Big. Bright. It—” Pischen’s voice broke as if the thin, wiry man were overcome with emotion. “Pearl colored, its scales all pearl and silver, and it reflected the firelight when it came down at us, all red and spitting flame, too. . . .”
“Horns as long as a man’s arm,” someone shouted.
Teb’s heart raced. They were describing a singing dragon. No other creature would be that color, and so big. But were there any singing dragons left in Tirror? He could imagine it there in the sky, yes, huge, a dragon as luminous and iridescent as the sea opal, its great delicate head finely carved, its luminous horns flashing in the firelight. Was it really a singing dragon they saw? Or only a common dragon, wet from the sea, reflecting the light of their campfire?
Even before the five wars began, no one knew whether a singing dragon still lived anywhere in Tirror. Yet Teb had dreamed that one might lurk, hidden and secret, in the tallest, wildest mountains far to the north. He and Camery had stopped talking about dragons, though, after their mother died. Their father didn’t like such talk, particularly in front of others, his soldiers or the palace staff. He would hush them with an abrupt turn of the conversation, or send them on an errand.
Well, Teb was used to his father’s anger, after his mother died. First she had gone away, and his father had let her go, had not gone after her, which Teb could never understand. Then his mother had drowned all alone, in the tide of the Bay of Fendreth, when her boat capsized. Though what she was doing there in a boat Teb had never known. And how she could have drowned, when she was such a strong swimmer, was always a puzzle to him. Except, that afternoon had been one of terrible storm and gale winds.
It was a sheep farmer who saw her struggling and, in his little skiff, tried to reach her. He searched the sea for her body, finding only her cloak and one boot. He brought the cloak and boot to the gate just at dusk, his old eyes filled with tears.
If Teb’s father wept, he did not let Teb and Camery see his tears. He was stern and silent with the children after her death, locking all his pain inside. It would have been easier if they all could have shared their grief.
The king laid cloak and boot in a small gold cask set with coral, which had held his wife’s favorite possessions. He buried the cask at the foot of the flame tree in her walled, private garden, and put a marker there, for her grave.
After that his father was often absent from the palace, busy at council with his lieutenants, planning war against the dark northern raiders that preyed upon Tirror’s small nations and were drawing ever closer to Auric. It seemed strange to see him at council without the queen by his side, for they had always shared such duties. As he planned his defenses, pacing among his men, he seemed so filled with fury—almost as if he thought the dark raiders themselves were responsible for the queen’s death.
Then his lieutenant, Sivich, gone suddenly and inexplicably over to the dark side, had, with a band of armed traitors, attacked the king and killed him. Sivich had always seemed so loyal. He must have lived a lie all those years, cleverly hiding his true intentions. Teb was there when it happened. He fought the traitors beside his father until he was knocked unconscious. He had been put into a cell and made a slave, and Camery locked in the tower. From the tower, and from the door of the palace, they saw their father buried in the courtyard in an unmarked grave.
At first Camery’s pet owl had flown secretly at night between the two children, whispering their messages through the tower window and through the barred window in the hall, until Sivich overheard and sent the jackals to kill the owl.
He expected Camery had cried a long time, for Otus had been a dear friend. Once the messages stopped, Teb yearned more and more to be with Camery, longed for her to hold him, for she was the closest thing to a mother he had left. Now he yearned to tell her about the dragon, for news of such a creature, if in truth it was a singing dragon, was surely a symbol of hope.
“Its shadow made the beach go dark,” crippled Hibben was saying. “It screamed over the horses and made them bolt.”
Sivich had risen and begun to pace, his shadow riding the worn tapestries back and forth. “How long was it in sight? Did it come straight at you, or—”
“Straight at us, its eyes terrible, its teeth like swords,” Cech said, shaking his blond shaggy head, “and the flame . . .”
“And where did it come from? Can’t you agree on that? Didn’t you see where it went? How can I know where to search if you can’t remember better than that!”
“The islands, maybe,” someone said hesitantly. The men shifted closer together.
“Circled and circled the coast of Baylentha, and bellowed,” little, wiry Brische said hoarsely. “Its fiery breath, if it had come any closer, would have set the woods afire.”
“Stampeded the horses—took half a day to catch the horses.”
“It wanted something there, in Baylentha.”
Sivich was silent for some time. Then he raised his head straight up on those bulging shoulders and looked hard at the men, and his voice came grating and low. “We ride at dawn for Baylentha.”
The men shrank into themselves. Cech said softly, “What do you mean to do?”
“Catch it,” Sivich said.
The room was still as death. Not a man seemed to breathe. The crack of the fire made Teb jump.
“How?” someone whispered. “How would you catch such a thing?” These men were killers, but now they were afraid. Teb guessed that a great dragon is not the same as a village full of shopkeepers and children, to murder carelessly, easily. Not even the same as a king’s army. For an army is made of men like themselves, while a dragon . . . a singing dragon’s fierce power was well beyond even these men. Why he felt the power of the dragon so strongly within his own small body, as if he knew it well, Teb had no idea.
Well, these big sweating soldiers were no match for it. He smiled to himself, warmed with pleasure at the prospect of it eating them all, and imagined how it would be, each one devoured slowly, with crushing pain.
Then in the silent room someone repeated the question in a harsh rasping voice. “How would you catch such a creature?”
Sivich drained his mug and wiped his mouth. “With bait, man.”
“Bait?”
“Bait inside a snare.”
“What bait would a dragon come to? Surely . . .”
“What snare would hold such a . . . ?”
Sivich’s stare silenced the speakers. The men shifted, and Teb waited, all held equally now.
“A snare made of barge chain and pine logs,” Sivich said. The pines on the coast of Baylentha were tall and straight. The barge chain used in Auric was as thick as a man’s leg. The men stirred again, mulling the idea over.
“And what kind of bait?” Pischen breathed.
There was silence again. Then Sivich turned and looked over the heads of his men, directly toward Teb’s corner. His voice came low and cold.
“The boy will be the bait.”
Teb sat very still. He could not have heard right. He forgot to breathe, was afraid to breathe. Goose bumps came on his arms, and the blood in his wrists felt like ice. What boy did Sivich mean? Every man had turned to stare at him. Half drunk, smirking, every face had gone blood-hungry. Teb’s mind flailed in panic, like a moth trapped in a jar. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run to. The jackals edged closer as they sensed his fear. Sivich crossed the room, kicked the jackals aside, and stood over Teb with one boot on Teb’s hand where he crouched, the dark leader filling his vision, his eyes boring down into him.
Sivich jerked him up by his ear so his body went hot with pain and he stumbled and choked back a cry. Sivich snatched Teb’s wrist in a greasy hand and twisted his arm back. Teb turned with the arm, to ease the pain. Sivich stared at his forearm where the little birthmark shone against his pale skin. Then the dark leader dragged him across the room toward the staring men.