Lord of the Isles 03 - Servant of the Dragon by Drake David

Author:Drake, David [Drake, David]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781417805976
Google: O3H5NwAACAAJ
Publisher: Tandem Library
Published: 2000-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Into the nursery crept we in secret," sang Elfin. His fingers plucked the paired strings of his lyre with spare precision. Instead of playing the full melody, the lyre touched the musical high spots while the youth's silver voice carried the burden of the tune. "There as she slept did we fall on the nurse."

The People laughed like the tinkle of brooks, chatting among themselves as they led Cashel through the great trees. Occasionally one would look back over a shoulder at their guest; then they'd all laugh louder.

"Silver the wires we used, sewing her lips shut," Elfin sang. "Golden the nails that we drove through her wrists.'

He had a lovely voice, as high and pure as the singers Cashel had heard perform the first time Garric gave a banquet in the palace. When Garric learned how it was that grown men could sing that way, he'd sent them away with a pension... not that anything was going to grow back just because Prince Garric didn't want to hear geldings sing any more.

Cashel glanced sideways surreptitiously at Elfin. The fabric of the youth's tunic was flowing but you couldn't see through it. Elfin seemed pretty normal, though, except for his voice.

"Out of their sockets plucked we her eyes twain," Elfin sang. "Nacred and gilded we wear them as jewels."

"Do you like our music, Master Cashel?" Wella asked. When the king of the People smiled, the tip of his tongue licked out quick as a fly's wing.

"Elfin's great," Cashel said. "My friend Garric plays the pipes, but this is even better."

A further thought struck him and he frowned. "I don't know how the sheep would take to it, though," he added. "Garric can pipe them to sleep in the middle of a thunderstorm, or he used to anyway."

Wella blinked, but it wasn't the regular lids that moved: a clear membrane wiped over each eye side to side. Cashel had never seen that before, except on snakes.

"Into her nose did we winkle our pincers," Elfin sang. "Pincers of gold for to seize on her brain."

The People had led Cashel over the river on a bridge woven from osiers. The wood was still growing; narrow green leaves half-concealed the latticework. The trees on this side of the water were all big, broad about as well as tall, but the white oak directly ahead was the biggest tree Cashel had ever seen in his life. It was like walking into a clearing, though the branches formed a roof overhead.

Cashel frowned slightly. The oak was a wolf tree, hogging ground that could have supported a dozen ordinary trees. In the borough it would have been cut down generations ago and a dozen acorns planted in its stead.

Well, this wasn't the common wood attached to Barca's Hamlet. The People had nothing but forest here, so Cashel guessed they didn't have to think about how best to use their woods.

"Welcome to the King of the Forest, Master Cashel," Wella said over his shoulder. "This is the home of the People.

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