by A. J. Lake
Elspeth felt her skin chill with horror. ‘Are you saying that I have to do battle with a god?’
‘If Loki is rising again,’ Cluaran insisted, ‘the crystal sword is our only hope. And the sword gave itself into your hand.’
Elspeth shook her head wordlessly.
The minstrel started to speak again, but Edmund interrupted him. ‘Just now, you said “we bound him”. Did you play a part in the last defeat of Loki? But you said it was a hundred years ago …’
Cluaran turned sharply to him, and Edmund fell silent. ‘You have a decision to make,’ the minstrel said, ignoring his question. ‘Whether to help Elspeth in her quest – for quest it is – or go back to Noviomagus and hope that whatever evil forces Orgrim has released do not reach that far. You have a choice, while Elspeth does not.’
This is foolishness, Elspeth told herself, all this talk of destiny and gods. I am no hero! She felt the sick feeling swell in her stomach.
‘Why should I have anything more to do?’ she cried. ‘Orgrim failed, didn’t he? We kept the sword from him – so how could he raise Loki now?’
‘A summoning this great has many stages.’ Cluaran broke off, looking up the hill. Cathbar was trudging towards them. ‘I’ll tell you all I can,’ he promised, ‘but not now.’
‘He won’t talk,’ Cathbar reported.’ Tis not just his sight he’s lost. His mind’s wandered also, though where it’s gone I have no wish to follow.’
‘Aelfred,’ Edmund whispered.
Elspeth reached out and clasped his hand. There was nothing she could say to comfort him – she couldn’t even imagine what it must feel to know your own kin had been responsible for such terrible things. Had she done the right thing, letting the sorcerer live? It might have been more merciful to Edmund if she had killed Orgrim, to spare him the shame of seeing his uncle blinded and maddened by the evil he had wrought about him.
Yes! It was my destiny! said the voice inside Elspeth, and her hand burned like ice and fire together.
Chapter Twenty
The square before the Rede House was crammed with people, like bees buzzing in a hive. Many in the north-east quarter of the town complained of seeing a blinding blue light in the sky and hearing unearthly screams. They had come to demand what the king and his chief counsellor were doing about it. Edmund saw that the Guardians were patrolling the edges of the square, but they seemed ill at ease, with none of the blustering authority they had shown the day before. None of them made any approach to the excited groups of townsfolk, and no officer appeared to be giving orders.
Cathbar led the travellers straight to the king’s hall, ignoring the little knots of people who tried to block their way. Edmund, walking behind with Elspeth, caught snatches of conversation.
‘… heard crashing sounds from the king’s hall, aye, and shouts too,’ an old man was saying to his neighbour. ‘They do say he’s been murdered in his bed, and now …’
Cathbar quickened his pace and Edmund lost the rest of the sentence as he ran to keep up.
The Guardians standing outside the king’s hall made no move to stop them as Cathbar hammered on the massive oak door.
‘Barred from the inside,’ he growled. ‘We’ll try the guards’ gate.’ He stepped back, but at that moment the sound of angry voices came from within the hall. A bolt grated on the other side and the door was flung open.
It was King Beotrich.
He lunged forward and gripped the captain by both shoulders. ‘Cathbar! Some madness is happening. Where is Orgrim? Has he executed the boy who claimed to be the son of Heored of Sussex? I need to see more evidence that he is the spy Orgrim accuses him of being before we commit to such a harsh punishment.’
Cathbar stood like a rock, his eyes fixed on the king’s face. ‘My lord,’ he said calmly, ‘I can put all things to rights.’ He reached out a hand to pull Edmund towards him. ‘King Heored’s son is safe – he is here. It is Orgrim who is the traitor, not this boy. I will bring Orgrim to you, and all proof you’ll need of his dark intentions, if you’ll give me the authority.’
King Beotrich looked uncertain. ‘But Orgrim is my most trusted Redesman. He would not betray me, or my kingdom!’
‘My lord, he would. Trust me, in the name of our God and all that is holy.’ Cathbar pointed at the Guardian officers. ‘These men will not help me. They serve Orgrim, not you.’
The officers were keeping well back, but the commotion had drawn other listeners; a crowd of curious townsfolk was beginning to gather around them. Some of the Guardian foot soldiers who had been patrolling the edges of the square had hastened up as well. Many eyes were watching when King Beotrich turned to the ring of dark-clad officers.
‘I herewith give full command of my household to Cathbar, with orders that he bring me the counsellor Orgrim.’ He turned back to Cathbar, his eyes troubled. ‘You have been in my service a long time, Cathbar,’ he said quietly. ‘Please God you are not lying to me.’
Cathbar held his gaze without flinching. ‘You may take my life if I am.’
The king nodded.
For a moment there was only stillness, then a babble of excited voices that rose to a roar. The little ring of officers looked at each other in consternation. The Guardians at the back of the crowd began to move away.
Cathbar turned to Cluaran, pulling a seal-ring off his finger. ‘Go to the guardhouse behind the king’s hall; find a man-at-arms called Alberd and show him this. Tell him that he’s to gather my men and bring them here at once. Armed.’
Edmund exchanged a look with Elspeth. Cluaran would not welcome being ordered around like a serving boy! But the minstrel merely nodded, took the ring and ran.
Cathbar turned to face the crowd. Fuelled by fear and ignorance of what was happening, the townspeople were growing restless; there were scuffles with fleeing Guardians, accusations of sorcery flying about.
‘HEAR ME!’ Cathbar roared.
He smoothed them to silence with a spread of his big arms. ‘Your king has spoken. The Guardians are stripped of all authority in the town – and throughout this kingdom.’ A ragged cheer broke out, but Cathbar went on. ‘I am in command of the king’s men-at-arms now, and I tell you this: any man who harms another today, be he Guardian or not, will be hanged! Or woman, too!’ he added, glaring out over the crowd. There was a surge of muttering as cobblestones were dropped and men quietly changed their grips on sticks and spades.
‘Now,’ Cathbar said to the king, ‘you have amends to make, my lord. This lad here is indeed Edmund, Heored’s son. He and his two companions have done you a great service.’
Beotrich bowed low before Edmund. ‘I have done you a grave injustice, my lord. I owe you my hospitality, at least,’ he said. ‘But what service is this that you have done for us?’
Edmund started to speak, but Cathbar stopped him. ‘It concerns Orgrim,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ll have my men bring him to you. Before you see him, there is something I must show you.’
*
When Cathbar and Cluaran were summoned to Beotrich’s council room to show the spell book to the thanes, Edmund was left alone with Elspeth in the great hall. Neither of them spoke for a while. She was still pale, and the cuts on her arm looked dark and ugly.
‘Elspeth,’ Edmund began painfully, ‘there’s something I must tell you. It’s about Orgrim.’
‘He’s your uncle?’
Edmund was shocked. ‘But how did you …?’
‘He told me,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry.’ It was all Edmund could say.
‘What for?’ said Elspeth. ‘You saved me from him, Edmund! Whatever Orgrim did is nothing to do with you.’
But Edmund still brooded. He and Orgrim had the same gift, and they were kinsmen. Might not the sorcerer’s taint have crept inside Edmund like a worm inside an apple? He longed more than ever to go home, to see his mother again. Yet how could he tell her what her beloved brother had become?
Cluaran came back from the Rede Chamber in good
spirits. ‘We have been pardoned,’ he announced. ‘Your death warrant has been torn up, Edmund.’
‘How did you persuade the thanes that I wasn’t a witch?’ Elspeth asked, her eyes wide. ‘They saw the sword appear in my hand!’
The minstrel’s face was guarded. ‘The King’s Rede of Wessex has its own store of knowledge,’ he said carefully. ‘Some of the thanes know only too well what the sword is and where it came from. It means that you are an honoured guest here, Elspeth.’
Elspeth looked as if she was mortally uncomfortable at being an honoured guest in a king’s house. Edmund changed the subject.
‘The thing you said you came to find in Venta,’ he said to Cluaran. ‘Did you find it?’
Cluaran looked grave. ‘Yes, though it was nearly too late. It was stolen from my people some time ago. If Orgrim had possessed the sword as well, no power on earth could have defeated him.’
‘What was it?’ Edmund asked curiously, wondering if it had been the thing that Cluaran had stowed in his pack before showing them the spell books.
Cluaran shook his head. ‘It is not time for you to know. Maybe later, maybe not at all.’ He smiled. ‘You will be pleased to know that a horseman has already been sent to Dunmonia, to recall Aagard to the court.’
Elspeth’s face lit up. ‘We’ll see him again!’ But then she turned to Edmund. ‘Or at least we can, if you are able to wait here a few days more? Have you sent word home yet?’
Her concern touched Edmund. ‘I’ll send a message to my mother tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘I’ll tell her to expect us in a week’s time. You will stay with us, won’t you, before you go back to Dubris?’ As he said this, he recalled what Cluaran had said about the sword, that it would lead Elspeth on a quest whether she wanted it or no. Only Edmund had the choice to go with her, or stay behind with his mother. It felt like an impossible choice to make, and he looked away as he heard her say:
‘I’d like that, Edmund. Thank you.’
Beotrich’s hospitality was lavish. They ate roast meat with the king’s household that night, and Elspeth thought the meal would go on for ever. Afterwards Cluaran was persuaded to play, and the king’s face softened as he listened to the lilting music. Elspeth’s arm throbbed under the bandage and her whole body ached, but she felt some of her tension lifting. Edmund’s offer had been sincerely meant. She’d stay awhile before going back to Dubris, and then to sea again. Yes, back to sea. And why not? Cluaran’s talk of evil gods – Loki, the sword – it all seemed like a story now. They had defeated Orgrim and surely that was the end of it.
Elspeth swallowed a yawn, longing for her bed. She was glad when the slaves came to clear the hall. She leaned her elbow on the great oak table, her head resting on her hand, but, over the servants’ bustle and hum of conversation, she was gradually aware of a new noise, one she hadn’t heard before. It came from outside the great hall – a whirring sound, soft but very deep.
She looked up curiously – and saw Edmund’s face rigid with alarm. ‘What is it?’ she said. But before he could speak, there was a dreadful roar, and the roof of the great hall was peeled off like a man skinning a rabbit.
Down swept an icy wind, dousing all the torches. A massive roof beam split and came crashing to the floor. Thanes and slaves alike dived under tables, ran for the doors. Edmund alone stood rooted to the spot, still as stone, his blue eyes wide with horror. Elspeth pushed through the rush of bodies, grabbed his hand and yanked him after her.
‘It’s come back!’ he whispered.
Elspeth dragged him from the hall, close on Cathbar’s heels. Outside in the square, the night air was freezing. And yet above them in the sky there was fire, and fire in the streets too. Across the square a grand house roared, its thatch blazing, and Elspeth watched, open-mouthed, as a flame shot over their heads, torching the house next to it. The night swelled to one long, endless scream.
Then Elspeth looked up.
High overhead, where moon and stars should have been, something blocked their light. Huge and dark and terrifying. Another burst of fire scorched the sky, and Elspeth saw the gaping grin, with fangs each taller than a man, and she saw the pearly glimmer of a huge reptilian eye.
Cathbar had seen it too, and barked out orders for bowmen, ropes and torches.
‘Torment,’ Edmund murmured. ‘I felt him coming.’
‘But Orgrim has no power now!’ Elspeth cried. ‘Who is left to summon the dragon?’
Edmund said nothing.
The dragon’s eye was clearer now. It rolled towards them as Cathbar’s men fired ropes in their bid to drag the monster from the sky. Somewhere in the distance, Elspeth thought she heard Cluaran shout, but she did not move. Beside her, Edmund stared at the sky as if he read his future in the boiling clouds.
The dragon swooped with a thunderous roar. Two taloned feet, vast claws curling, loomed over their heads. Elspeth threw her arms round Edmund and pushed him to the ground. But a long claw brushed them, scythed through the back of Elspeth’s woollen gown, and another caught up Edmund’s cloak and tunic. Then, its vast wings scraping the housetops, the dragon climbed through the air skywards. Elspeth and Edmund dangled like kittens from its talons.
But the dragon carried someone else out of the square, one man clinging to a rope that had been flung around the monstrous tail. As the dragon started to soar, Captain Cathbar had lashed the other end around his own waist and let himself be carried off into the darkness.
Too late, Cluaran dashed into the square. He cried out after them, ‘I should have told you! You’ve a right to know! Swordbearer, Ripente – what have I condemned you to?’
The minstrel watched in despair as the dragon headed east – a bluish hulk against the black night sky. For a moment it was lit by a flare of white light. Then the light winked out and the dragon was gone.
*
Aagard set off for Venta as soon as the horseman brought him the news of Orgrim’s fall. He travelled all day and made good progress on the mule. As night fell, and with no cottage near to ask for board and lodging, he found a sheltered ash grove just off the road and set up camp. The night was mild and dry. He’d eaten well on oatcakes and dried herring, was wrapped warmly in his good cloak. But still he could not sleep.
‘So they have stopped Orgrim,’ he muttered. By all the stars! He should be thankful. The sword had fulfilled its destiny. Despite all his fears for the children, and his warnings to them to skirt Venta, the sword had led them there, and between the three of them they had defeated the sorcerer.
It’s over.
Turning on his side, Aagard settled down once more and tried to sleep.
Fingers of ice brushed over his cheeks. A snow-wind ripped off his cloak and tossed it away like a leaf.
As he stumbled after it, fear gripped him like a vice. Snow in May? He scanned the sky. Sure enough, far to the East he saw streaks of flame licking the horizon, turning the indigo clouds to scarlet and orange.
Torment the ice dragon was abroad once more.
Aagard picked up his cloak, pulled it round him in the bitter blast.
‘No,’ he whispered. ‘No, it’s not over. It has barely begun.’
This Is The Book Of How Torment Came
The times were broken like a smashed lamp – tribe fighting tribe; pirates holding the North Sea to ransom, wave by wave; a new God usurping older lore. And in this brokenness, wicked seeds were sown; an ancient evil power gathered to the whisper of dark charms.
And that is how Torment came.
He began with a book of spells misused. He broke free from his frozen prison in the Far North, in the Snowlands; a glacier cracked in a burst of icy shards as his vast and scaly form roared free. Then storm and tempest filled his wings and due south he streaked, his tongue on fire, in answer to the dark-whispered call.
And as his shadow fell across the realms of Pict and Celt and Saxon, and as his huge shadow fell on the farmsteads and on the hamlets, and on the kings’ halls and the slaves’ huts, so men a
nd women and children, rich men and poor shivered in their sleep and murmured: Beware, beware, beware! Torment is abroad once more.
Copyright © Working Partners 2006
First published in Great Britain in 2006 by
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
This electronic edition published in December 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
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www.TheDarkestAge.com
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You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
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eISBN: 978 1 4088 2994 3
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