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their beauty
and size, and of the wonder of their iridescent color. Some folks
thought the dragon was a sign of man’s freedom. That didn’t, in
Teb’s mind, make it less likely to behave like other dragons when
it was hungry.
    Or was it something other than hunger that
Sivich felt would draw the dragon to him? What was the mark on his
arm? Why was it important? Yet common sense told him that the
wondrous tales of the singing dragons were only myth; and certainly
there was nothing magical in a small brown birthmark.
    Teb was not a king’s son for nothing. Wonder
and myth were one thing, but fact remained separate and apart. He
had spent many hours in the hall listening as his father threaded a
keen path between gossip and truth, in appraising the dark raiders
and preparing his men for battle. But even then, his father had at
last been wrong, had been misled by falsehood that looked like
truth. He had believed in Sivich’s loyalty, when Sivich was really
a clever pawn of the dark. He had died for his misjudgment.
    Why did Sivich want the dragon? What could
he possibly do with it? Keep it in the trap forever? Poke it and
torment it? But you couldn’t keep a dragon captive, not that
dragon. Why would he want to?
    Because the dragon was a symbol of freedom?
Must they destroy every such symbol, the dark raiders and their
pawns who had helped enslave half the northern lands? Must they
destroy everything loved by free men?
    Yes, Teb supposed. If the dark raiders could
enslave the dragon, they would show all of Tirror they held the
last symbol of freedom in chains. Their power would be invincible
then. No one would defy them then.
    Teb went cold as a harsh voice at the back
shouted, “A princess would be better bait. What about the
girl—hasn’t she the mark?”
    “The girl has no such mark,” Sivich said
irritably. “Besides, I keep her for breeding.”
    “No one breeds a girl of fourteen,” said
Hibben of the twisted hand. “They die in childbed all the time,
bred young.”
    Sivich turned a look of cold fury on the
soldier. “Do you think I’m stupid? The girl will be kept to breed
when she can bear me the young I want, as many young as it will
take to capture every singing dragon that ever touches Tirror’s
skies. She will breed male babies with the mark.”
    Hibben grunted, then was silent.
    Teb watched Sivich. What was the
meaning of the mark? For it was the mark, surely, that had kept
Sivich from killing him as he had killed his father. He felt panic
for Camery, and knew she must get away. Both of them must. But how?
How could Camery escape from a tower with winged jackals circling
it? The guards never let her come down.
    Sivich was talking about the snare again,
how many trees would be felled, how much chain was needed. Teb
listened, sick to despair at his helplessness. Would old Desma help
him? But she was too afraid. The only other servant he trusted was
Garit, and he had been sent to the coast to gather and train fresh
horses, and had taken young Lervey with him. There was no one. The
hall felt icy. He crouched, shivering, and listened to the drunken
talk. It was nearly dawn when at last the hall lay empty. A heavy
rain started, splattering in through the barred window. Teb pressed
exhausted against the stone, shivering and lost, and fell into a
sick uneasy sleep.
     
     
     

Chapter 3
     
    “Get the boy up! Get him out here! Do you
think we have all day!” Sivich’s voice thundered up from the
courtyard and jerked Teb from sleep. He lay struggling between
consciousness and dream, and realized he had been hearing shouts
and the sounds of restive horses for some time, pounding in and out
of his dreams. He tried to escape back into sleep, but now the
image of the dragon filled his head suddenly, the image of himself
in the dragon’s gaping jaws. He had gone to sleep thinking of that,
and didn’t know how to stop thinking it.
    He reached for a blanket that wasn’t there,
then realized he was still in