“Come, then, Idai. Bring the Kantri home,” said Shikrar. He told me again to keep high, and how to avoid the wall of air that was the edge of the Storms. “A moment, my friend,” he said.
Shikrar
“I need your counsel,” I said, turning to the other Gedri. “Where should we meet with the Kantri?” I hissed a little in faint amusement. “Where is there room for all of us to meet at once?”
“There’s a plain just north of Wolfenden,” said Will at once. “How many of you are there?”
“A hundred and eighty-nine,” said Varien quietly.
“Then there should be enough space,” said Will. “It’ll be a good place to meet, there’s little enough traffic comes down that road this time of year.”
He told me how to find it and I bespoke Idai once more.
“Very well, my friend,” she said, when I had instructed her. “We will meet there in about three days’time.”
A thought crossed my mind. “What of Nikis, Idai?”
A dry little laugh escaped her. “Kretissh has said he will stay with Nikis for now, until we think of an easier way to carry her or until she wakes. All is well, Teacher-Shikrar. We come.”
“Come then swiftly, my friend,” I said. “We will meet in the plain in three days. Fly well and strong!”
Varien
It was done, then. The Kantri would arrive soon. But I had no intention of meeting my people on that plain.
Jamie turned to me as if he read my thoughts. “There is no need for us all to be there,” he said. “I will not go. I am for Verfaren as fast as I can make those horses run. How much longer must we wait?”
“But a moment more, Jameth,” I said. “I am as anxious to be gone as you are.” I turned to Will and the young healers. “You have not spoken, Will, Vilkas, Aral. What will you do now?”
Aral opened her mouth and, looking at Vilkas, thought better of it. He spoke.
“I go with you, if you go to seek out Berys. The Lady Lanen will need us all, I think. And in any case I have a vow to fulfil.” He glanced at Jamie and at me, half smiling. “Between the three of us, we may give Berys something to think about.”
“Vil, you can’t count any better than Varien,” said Aral. She looked up. “Lord Shikrar, I hope you will forgive us for not accompanying you, but if we are to reclaim our lives we must seek out this bastard. Not what I’d choose to do, but there it is.”
Shikrar nodded, but he was troubled. “I understand your desire for speed, my friends, but on behalf of my people I beg you to spare a brief hour to greet the Kantri.” He gazed at each of us and I found that I was ashamed. “We have lost that only home that we have ever known, and we have flown to the limit of our strength to come here.” He gazed full at me, then, and I heard the rebuke in his voice. “You at least must be here to greet them, my friend,” he told me in truespeech. “For all that has changed, you are yet the Lord of the Kantri.”
I bowed. “You speak truth, Hadreshikrar. I at least must meet with you all. La—” My throat closed as grief threatened to overwhelm me, but I took a long breath and spoke again. “Lanen would wish it so, I know it,” I said.
It was Rella, ever practical, who then said dryly, “That field is right close to the road, and at this stage a small delay won’t hurt. Surely we can all meet together and form a plan of action, rather than rushing into Verfaren waving our swords?” She turned to Jamie. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have all the help I can muster.”
“The Kantri are life-enemies of the Rakshasa,” added Shikrar quietly, and I saw the smallest touch of the Attitude of Amusement in his stance. “If you are to face down a demon-master, what better weapon could you hope for than several hundred souls who delight in destroying demons?”
Vilkas. and Aral nodded, and we all turned to Jamie.
“No,” he said quietly, in the dispassionate voice that fell cold as ice on the ear. “I see the sense of your words, but I will not wait even so short a time.” He turned to Rella. “We should get back to Wolfenden in a few days. When we come to the road, you go with the rest and talk to the dragons. I’ll go ahead on my own to Verfaren and learn what I can about Berys. Meet me at the gates to the College of Mages at noon the day after we split up.”
“Are you sure, Jamie?” asked Rella quietly, her face and voice carefully neutral.
“Sure as life,” he said. I shivered.
She turned back to Shikrar. “Very well then, Shikrar. All but Jamie will meet with the Kantri. Perhaps together we can find a way to defeat Berys and get Lanen back.”
“We do not yet speak for all, Lady Rella,” I said, turning to the two who had not spoken. “Will? Salera?”
Salera
I was proud of myself, for I could understand all that was said. It was harder to form words than to understand them, but I was certain that would improve in time.
The strangest part of that time was how swiftly we of the Lesser Kindred took to our newfound senses. We had been but a breath away in any case, so perhaps it was not so strange after all, but when Aral asked what Will and I were doing I did not have to stop and think.
“Hhow sshould I not seek to aid the Lady of my people?” I asked. “Sshe it wass who brought uss reason, sshe and the Ssilver King. It iss a great debt. I sshall go with you.”
Will laid his hand on my neck. “Then off we go all. We can plan the subtleties on the way, but I for one cannot wait longer.”
We all stood and began to gather up our packs.
Rella
Only one thing more happened to delay us. We were preparing to leave when a great shout came up from deep in the trees. Aral had gone to fill her water skin when she caught sight of something lying in the wood.
It was the body of poor Maikel, Marik’s healer, near an altar surrounded by demon symbols. Vilkas said it was the base of the demon line and performed a swift ceremony to dispel the darkness. “There is no way to tell where it goes, but Berys was in Verfaren when we left. There’s a good chance he has returned there,” he said grimly. “As long as he didn’t have another one ready, we may have a chance.”
Vilkas seemed to think that Maikel had paid the price of service to the demons, but I saw the expression on that poor dead face, above the ravaged body, and I knew in my soul that Vilkas was wrong. Maikel’s face was at peace, almost there was a glimpse of joy about him. He had died fighting, for my money, and I sent a swift prayer for the soul of a solitary warrior winging to the Lady. We buried him beneath the trees and built a cairn over his grave.
The sun was setting as we left the high field and set off down the mountain.
Lanen
I woke after what seemed like many long hours. I tried to speak, to cry out aloud, to call to Varien in truespeech. I could not make a sound.
I had been plagued by evil dreams, but to be truthful the waking was little better. I woke to find myself lying on a hard bed in a cell deep underground, or so I guessed from the cold and the damp. There was a lamp at one side, a heavy wooden door that was locked from the outside—of course—and a tiny grate with a tinier fire in it. I rose and threw on more coals. There seemed to be plenty.
I knew Berys had caught me, I remembered that much of the battle. At least, I had assumed that the man with the hideous face was Berys. I also seemed to remember seeing Shikrar arrive just as I was taken. I could only hope it was so. I remembered Akor and the efficient contempt with which he had killed demons. Perhaps Varien and the others lived after all.
There came then a rattle at the door. I looked around wildly for anything to use as a weapon. I had started towards the lamp when the door opened.
It was Berys, if that’s who he was. He had the body of a lad only a little older than me, but he moved more like an old man. It was deeply unsettling.
He smiled at me and that was more unsettling yet. He waved his hand in a curious pattern and suddenly I found I could speak.
“Who in all the Hells are you?” I demanded. “And where am I???
?
“My name is Berys, and you are mine,” he said smugly. “Marik of Gundar’s blood and bone. Are you comfortable?”
“It’s cold as midwinter down here. A blanket or a cloak would be useful.”
“I will arrange for a cloak to be brought to you,” he said. He lifted his left hand to make some gesture and I realised with a shock that “hand” was the wrong word. There was only a stump.
“Oh, don’t concern yourself,” he said lightly. “It is nothing compared to what is going to happen to you.”
“I see. And now you will mock me and threaten. So brave. Why haven’t you killed me yet?” I said, snarling. Thank the Lady, I really was for that moment too angry to be afraid.
“Oh, no. You are not for death. Not yet,” he said. “I have preparations to make. Even I must take a little time to properly welcome a major demon.”
“May the Kantri find you and fry you where you stand!” I cried.
“Oh, I don’t think that very likely,” he said calmly. “I know they are coming, you see.”
I was shocked at that.
“Oh, yes. They will be here any day now, I suspect,” he said. “But the Demonlord will be here any moment, under my command. And this time he will be able to complete the work he began so long ago.” Berys leaned forward and I got a good look at his face. It was young and fair in seeming, which made it worse. My stomach churned. I had the feeling that if you cut him he would bleed maggots.
“And I will have you to offer in fulfillment of prophecy, Marik’s daughter. Your soul to demons, your body to rule Kolmar just long enough to wed with me. And then, ah, well”—he smiled a terrible slow smile. “Then I will amuse myself with you. There is so much pain that can be inflicted without causing death. You will be a challenge.”
I leapt for his throat and just for a second I had him. I squeezed with all the might of my fury, but in a moment he summoned his power and threw me off.
“You will live so much longer in agony for that,” he snarled, opening the door and hurrying out.
“Not if I get hold of you first,” I shouted at the closing door.
But then I was alone, with a fate much darker than death before me.
“Varien, Varien,” I cried in truespeech, knowing I could not be heard. The darkness of my future pressed me close, but I clung to the love I knew was in the world and seeking me. “Come soon, my heart,” I cried aloud, in truespeech, deep in my soul, knowing none could hear me on any level.
I had little real hope that my loved ones would find me, but even the sound of their names was comfort in so dark a time and place.
I listened then, for the sound of a bird or a beast or even a guard outside the door.
There was nothing.
I was alone.
Shikrar
Idai was better than her word. It was but midmorning of the second day after Lanen was taken that I heard her voice. We all were coming down from the high hills to the crossroads, where we would go our separate ways.
“Shikrar, I see the coast!” she cried in my mind. “All green and glowing. It is glorious, Shikrar!”
“It is home, Idai,” I answered. “Come, follow my voice, I would speak with you.”
I was learning much of the Gedri on our travels. Varien was different, I knew him from of old, and the fact that he had banished despair and replaced it with a grim determination did not surprise me. That Jamie, who was Lanen’s father, had done so as well impressed me deeply. I had come to appreciate the differences between them—Vilkas, Aral, Will the Golden. It is certain that large-souled creatures come in many forms.
Rella was my most constant companion after Varien. She asked after Kédra and his family, and demanded the whole history of our leaving the Dragon Isle. It eased my heart to speak with her. She reminded me in some ways of Idai.
The littling, Salera, was a constant delight in the midst of all our sorrows. Her speech improved by the hour it seemed. She was intelligent and gentle, knowing always who required speech and who needed silence as we walked. The very sight of her brought joy, for she was lovely in body as in spirit. I began to think very seriously that another name would need to be found for the Lesser Kindred. That had described beasts, not a free people. I must consider it.
It was Will who saw them first. We were come out of the hills and the others had pointed out what they named an “inn” in the distance, when he shouted and pointed upwards. The rest of us looked where he pointed, but there was no need. We would have heard them in a moment in any case. My heart gave a great leap as hope returned.
For the Kantri had arrived, the whole of our people rejoicing after loss and long travail, to a sunlit morning brightening a good green land, and they were singing. The sound was hauntingly familiar to me as I rose to join them, though I did not know it at first. I realised, though, as I opened my throat to add my voice, that it was in two parts. The first was the theme of our old home, the Place of Exile that was no more, and the second—the second was a new song, of hope and peace and sun on the grass.
It was a song of homecoming. Our long exile over, the sunlight flashing on wings and striking sparks from soulgems, the Kantri were come home.
In the deep ocean west of Kolmar there was once a large island, green and lush. Many ages ago a small box with a beating heart inside it was brought to the island by a demon and hidden deep in a great mountain.
The mountain looked, at first glance, a little like a vast dragon. The demon had a strange sense of humour, or the one who controlled the demon did, for the island was soon the home of the great dragons of legend.
Over the years the essence of the heart seeped out into the earth, the water, the air of the island. It poisoned all it touched, but not enough to kill. No, the poison was only enough to make worse the natural ailments that afflicted them—joint ill, early aging. A low birth rate.
Finally, there came one who sought the heart from afar. His searching shook the island to its foundations, for the heart did not wish to be found. The dragons fled, to escape the fire and the molten rock that sprang up to cover the island. There was only one who saw the ending, and by that time he was no longer capable of thought or speech.
The end came when he who owned the heart decided that he wanted it back. It was deeply buried under old and new stone and he had to reach down into the vitals of the island to retrieve it. The rocks burst asunder with a roar to shake the heavens at this final insult, and the mountains fell crashing into the sea.
But before death took Tóklurik of the Kantrishakrim, he saw a wonder. Rock and ash and fire began to cling together. Made from the substance of the dying island—from raw molten stone, from the yellow dust that filled the air and Tóklurik’s lungs, from the poisonous gas that burned through his armour and choked him, from the fire that flowed over him and killed him at the last, there grew from out the death throes of the Place of Exile a vast shape, black and grey and red and sickly yellow. It rose into the air on hideous, impossible wings and circled the black smouldering rock that was the last remnant of the Dragon Isle.
Until at last, with a cry that sang joyfully of death, the great black dragon turned and flew swiftly to the east, towards the lands of men.
TOR BOOKS BY ELIZABETH KERNER
Song in the Silence
The Lesser Kindred
Redeeming the Lost
Praise for Song in the Silence
“Every time it looks as if dragons had been done to death, along comes a yarn like this to revive them … With excellent narrative techique, wit, and intelligence, Kerner weaves these strands into a brisk story capped by a plausible happy ending. A superior debut.”
—Booklist
“This adventure fantasy by a gifted storyteller belongs on most fantasy collection shelves.”
—Library Journal
“A solidly detailed and impressively developed debut. Expect sequels.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Elizabeth Kerner weaves her tale with a lovely ble
nd of lyricism and invention. If you are one of those aspiring souls who fly with dragons in their dreams, this is the book for you!”
—Deborah Turner Harris
“Song in the Silence is an intelligently written romantic fantasy with a strong female protagonist. It will certainly appeal to fans of Anne McCaffrey and Mercedes Lackey.”
—Josepha Sherman
Acknowledgments
As ever, first and last, I must thank my gift-from-the-gods Editor, Claire Eddy of Tor Books. I consider it a great honour to work with a woman who is so completely brilliant at her job that she has turned it into an art form in its own right. Thank you, my friend, for patience and encouragement and for your own fine work.
To Margaret Lynn Harshbarger, I owe the fact that this book has some semblance of a reasonable plot. Oh, and the Kantri owe their lives to her as well, for she reminded me that, as realistic as it might be for earthquake and eruption and all to take place at once, the pressure wave which would have tossed them about like sparrows in a force-ten gale would in fact be composed of poisonous gas and I wouldn’t end up with bruised and shaken Kantri, I would end up with very dead Kantri. It is vitally important to have friends who realise such things. For your solid friendship, your forbearance and your ace plotting skills and artistic instincts—hey, shouldn’t your name be on the front of this book too?
With grateful appreciation for her patience, I owe a large vote of thanks to Derval Diamond, stable manager at Dragonhold Stables, who very kindly took the time to answer my questions about the behaviour of horses and how (for example) they react to burning barns. Only when one speaks with an expert does one learn the true depths of one’s ignorance. It was lovely to meet you, Derval, and you were a great help.