south quarter. They stayed above cloud, looking.
There was no sign of battle, no movement.
They swept over Auric’s green meadows but saw no figure near the
palace, not even a horse. So empty, Kiri said. Teb studied
the palace, and was filled with homesickness. And though the land
might look deserted, they sensed that it was not. The dragons
lifted and headed for Nightpool, a black speck off the eastern
coast.
They circled the little black island. White
breakers licked its seaward cliffs. Nothing stirred on the rocks or
in the sea. They dropped low but saw no otter fishing or gathering
clams or playing in the shallows. Teb and Seastrider settled onto
the water as Windcaller swept away north, along the coast.
Kiri leaned between Windcaller’s wings to
search, but no army moved below them—they saw no sign of battle, no
ships on the sea. The land was as empty as if every living thing
had vanished from Windthorst. Not until they banked inland did they
see the torn field of battle, strewn with dead soldiers. They
dropped low, Windcaller’s wings casting shadows across the
bodies.
How strange, Kiri said.
More than strange, said Windcaller.
There was not one dead horse among the hundred or more dead
soldiers—and these were not foot soldiers; they wore the yellow
tunics of the dark warriors, who always went mounted.
The palace of Ebis the Black lies to the
north, said Windcaller. They circled above the palace, hidden
by cloud, and saw horses in the stable yards, people on the streets
idling, selling goods; and they could hear music. Surely this city
had not been attacked. They headed for Nightpool.
Teb jumped from Seastrider’s back to the
rocks and climbed the steep cliff. As Seastrider rose to circle, he
started along the island’s rim toward Thakkur’s cave, tense with
dread.
The island was so still, the only sound the
pounding of the waves. By dawn the otters should be out of their
caves, fishing and playing. He paused on the ridge above the
entrance to Thakkur’s cave, afraid to go down, afraid of what he
would find.
At last, sword drawn, he moved down the wet,
black cliff, and stood beside the cave door, listening.
The soft, regular huffing of a snoring otter
filled the dim space. He grinned and sheathed his sword, then moved
inside.
He could see the white blur of Thakkur,
sprawled on his sleeping shelf.
“Thakkur.”
Another snore.
“Thakkur!”
The snores became uneven huffing. How many
times had Teb heard that sound. The white otter turned over and
began snoring evenly again.
“Thakkur! Wake up! The shad are
running!”
Thakkur sat up grabbing his sword in one
motion, his teeth bared in a fierce otter challenge.
“The shad are running. Come and fish with
me!”
Thakkur dropped his sword with a shout of
‘Tebriel!” and leaped to meet Teb’s outstretched arms, nearly
smothering him in warm, silky, fishy-smelling fur. ‘Tebriel! When
did you come? What—what has happened to bring you?”
“Must something happen? Can’t I just
visit?”
“You’ve been busy winning wars. There’s no
time for pleasure. What brought you?”
“A vision,” Teb said. “A battle—dark
raiders. But . . .”
The white otter smiled. “It has already
happened. Sivich marched for Nightpool last night. We survived it
nicely, thanks to Charkky and Mikk.”
Teb sat down on the stone sleeping shelf.
“Tell me. I thought you would be—”
“We are not dead, Tebriel. Charkky and Mikk
returned around midnight with a band of our best young otters. They
tricked Sivich nicely. They alerted Ebis the Black, then stole all
of Sivich’s horses. They guessed Sivich would attack Nightpool
anyway, furious at the loss of the horses. We have badgered him
constantly, and he has seen our scouts.”
“Well? What happened?”
“Oh, he marched for Nightpool, all right—all
those horse soldiers having to go on foot.” Thakkur smiled, his
white whiskers twitching, his dark eyes deep with sweet revenge.
“When
There was no sign of battle, no movement.
They swept over Auric’s green meadows but saw no figure near the
palace, not even a horse. So empty, Kiri said. Teb studied
the palace, and was filled with homesickness. And though the land
might look deserted, they sensed that it was not. The dragons
lifted and headed for Nightpool, a black speck off the eastern
coast.
They circled the little black island. White
breakers licked its seaward cliffs. Nothing stirred on the rocks or
in the sea. They dropped low but saw no otter fishing or gathering
clams or playing in the shallows. Teb and Seastrider settled onto
the water as Windcaller swept away north, along the coast.
Kiri leaned between Windcaller’s wings to
search, but no army moved below them—they saw no sign of battle, no
ships on the sea. The land was as empty as if every living thing
had vanished from Windthorst. Not until they banked inland did they
see the torn field of battle, strewn with dead soldiers. They
dropped low, Windcaller’s wings casting shadows across the
bodies.
How strange, Kiri said.
More than strange, said Windcaller.
There was not one dead horse among the hundred or more dead
soldiers—and these were not foot soldiers; they wore the yellow
tunics of the dark warriors, who always went mounted.
The palace of Ebis the Black lies to the
north, said Windcaller. They circled above the palace, hidden
by cloud, and saw horses in the stable yards, people on the streets
idling, selling goods; and they could hear music. Surely this city
had not been attacked. They headed for Nightpool.
Teb jumped from Seastrider’s back to the
rocks and climbed the steep cliff. As Seastrider rose to circle, he
started along the island’s rim toward Thakkur’s cave, tense with
dread.
The island was so still, the only sound the
pounding of the waves. By dawn the otters should be out of their
caves, fishing and playing. He paused on the ridge above the
entrance to Thakkur’s cave, afraid to go down, afraid of what he
would find.
At last, sword drawn, he moved down the wet,
black cliff, and stood beside the cave door, listening.
The soft, regular huffing of a snoring otter
filled the dim space. He grinned and sheathed his sword, then moved
inside.
He could see the white blur of Thakkur,
sprawled on his sleeping shelf.
“Thakkur.”
Another snore.
“Thakkur!”
The snores became uneven huffing. How many
times had Teb heard that sound. The white otter turned over and
began snoring evenly again.
“Thakkur! Wake up! The shad are
running!”
Thakkur sat up grabbing his sword in one
motion, his teeth bared in a fierce otter challenge.
“The shad are running. Come and fish with
me!”
Thakkur dropped his sword with a shout of
‘Tebriel!” and leaped to meet Teb’s outstretched arms, nearly
smothering him in warm, silky, fishy-smelling fur. ‘Tebriel! When
did you come? What—what has happened to bring you?”
“Must something happen? Can’t I just
visit?”
“You’ve been busy winning wars. There’s no
time for pleasure. What brought you?”
“A vision,” Teb said. “A battle—dark
raiders. But . . .”
The white otter smiled. “It has already
happened. Sivich marched for Nightpool last night. We survived it
nicely, thanks to Charkky and Mikk.”
Teb sat down on the stone sleeping shelf.
“Tell me. I thought you would be—”
“We are not dead, Tebriel. Charkky and Mikk
returned around midnight with a band of our best young otters. They
tricked Sivich nicely. They alerted Ebis the Black, then stole all
of Sivich’s horses. They guessed Sivich would attack Nightpool
anyway, furious at the loss of the horses. We have badgered him
constantly, and he has seen our scouts.”
“Well? What happened?”
“Oh, he marched for Nightpool, all right—all
those horse soldiers having to go on foot.” Thakkur smiled, his
white whiskers twitching, his dark eyes deep with sweet revenge.
“When
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