Ivory Lyre by Shirley Rousseau Murphy Read Free Book Online

the
dark’s messages to King Sardira. “Sometimes,” she said, stroking
Elmmira’s ears, “sometimes I wish I’d been born in ages past,
before the dark was so strong. When . . . when there were
still dragons.”
    “Yes,” Elmmira said, licking her. “Yes. My
poor Kiri.”
    “Papa . . .” Kiri began, then
stopped and pushed the thought away. Papa must wish the same.
    “I will take the news of the attack
tonight,” Elmmira said. She pressed her head against Kiri and
placed a heavy, soft paw on her arm. “We do what we can, Kiri
wren.” She glanced toward the door, her tufted cheeks silhouetted
against the starlight. “But you bring more news than Quazelzeg’s
plans. What is it that excites you so?” She rolled onto her back in
one liquid motion and laid her head in Kiri’s lap, shaking with
purrs as Kiri tickled under her chin.
    “There is a prince come to the palace,
Elmmira, to sell horses to the king. He brought four by barge from
Thedria. And what horses! Think of the difference between a
farmer’s stumpy plow horse and the king’s finest charger.”
    “Not hard to do.”
    “Now imagine another horse so much more
beautiful than the charger, that the charger appears as ugly as a
plow pony.”
    Elmmira’s purr thundered louder as she
imagined. She squeezed her eyes closed in concentration, then
flashed them open. “Horses like that I would like to see.”
    “Oh, you would be impressed. Fast, strong
horses— two black stallions and two white mares. So beautiful. The
price is two hundred gold pieces for each. And there are fifty more
like them, the prince says, if King Sardira desires.”
    Elmmira’s purring stopped. She licked her
shoulder reflectively.
    “Prince Tebmund has agreed to remain here,”
Kiri said, “to train Sardira’s troops in the special ways of war
the horses have been taught.”
    “If they are skilled in war, they will help
to defeat Bukla and Edain. Does this prince know that? Does he side
with the dark?” Elmmira growled softly. “And why, then, has he not
taken his offer of such fine horses directly to Quazelzeg?” She
rose and began to pace, her tail lashing.
    “I don’t know why. There’s something about
him I can’t sort out, a feeling. . . . He is
wonderful with horses, Elmmira. These horses will strike an enemy
mount and even attack enemy soldiers.”
    “The question is,” Elmmira rumbled, “who is the enemy to this young prince of Thedria?” The
great cat rasped her tongue across Kiri’s cheek. “Be careful, Kiri
wren. This young prince upsets you.”
    Kiri shrugged. Elmmira saw her feelings too
clearly, just as Gram did. This evening Gram had turned her thin,
wrinkled face to Kiri, frowning with the puzzled twist of her mouth
and that shrewd look in her eyes. Unlike Elmmira, Gram had said
nothing. Gram would bide her time until Kiri felt like talking
about it, until Kiri could sort it out in her own mind, whatever
the trouble was.
    It was late when Kiri made her way back up
the twisting, noisy streets carrying the two dead rabbits. Gram was
waiting by the hearthfire, worrying as usual. Kiri bolted the door,
hugged her, then poked up the fire to warm the cold evening tea.
They sat cozily, Gram rocking gently, not talking. Gram’s long,
bony hands were busy carding wool from a hank she had traded honey
for—Kiri had collected the honey south of the city in the loft of
an abandoned barn. The veins of Gram’s hands were even darker in
the shadowing candlelight. She watched Kiri crumble her seedcake,
and when she spoke her voice was gravelly with the night’s chill.
Kiri handed her her scarf to wrap around her throat.
    “You’re all atangle. Flighty.” She said it
without criticism. “Is Elmmira all right?”
    “Oh, yes. Well, maybe she was edgy. She
didn’t say anything.” She looked up at Gram. “What is it? What have
you heard?” For Gram was edgy, too, her bright blue eyes filled
with unease.
    “There are more traps out. Along the