by A. J. Lake
Suddenly Edmund spotted a flickering orange glow in the distance, and at the same moment Elspeth raised her head and sniffed.
‘I smell smoke!’
Without another word they rose, each clutching a blanket, and made their way towards the fire.
Cluaran was sitting beyond the next bend of the road at a small campfire, his back towards them. Before they reached the circle of warmth, he lifted his harp out of its case and began to play.
Edmund and Elspeth stopped to listen. The singer seemed to be addressing someone, his voice now swooping in heartrending cadence, now almost speaking, though neither Edmund nor Elspeth understood the words. When Cluaran finally stopped and laid down his harp, he spoke a few more quiet words in the unknown language. Then, without turning his head, the minstrel said, ‘You may as well come sit by the fire, both of you. It’s a bitter night, and there’s room enough for three.’
Chapter Eight
Edmund lay curled in the warmth cast by the flames, listening to Elspeth’s steady breathing as she slept beside him. The minstrel had been happy to share his fire, but he’d made it clear at once that it was for that night only.
‘We’ll go our separate ways in the morning,’ Cluaran had told them. ‘I’ve no time to watch over children.’
‘But –’ Elspeth had begun, and Edmund had kicked her ankle to silence her. It had been all he could do not to walk off into the night, icy wind or no. Watch over children!
Cluaran’s words still rankled. What right had this stranger to speak of them so contemptuously? They had survived shipwreck and murder. Edmund had used the eyes of a dragon, and Elspeth held in her hand an enchanted sword – and this vagabond minstrel was dismissing them as nothing more than infants.
A movement on the other side of the fire caught his attention. Cluaran was slipping away from the circle of yellow light. Edmund felt another rush of anger; was the man planning to abandon them already? But then he saw the minstrel’s pack still lying in the grass, just visible at the edge of the firelight.
Edmund rolled on to his back and stared at the half-risen moon. His eyes began to close at last, but the moon’s pale light seemed to penetrate his eyelids, finding its way into fitful dreams of dragons, armed men and a sword that glowed like a star.
He woke with a jump. The moon was higher now and he blinked in the pale radiance, trying to catch the threads of his dream again. It was driven abruptly from his mind by the sound of a stealthy tread on the track behind them.
So the minstrel’s come back, he thought. Still half-asleep, he let his mind reach out towards the soft footsteps. It felt so natural, so treacherously easy. All he had to do was blink, and when he opened his eyes again, he would be approaching two figures sleeping by a fire …
When he realised what he was doing, he recoiled, hot with shame – but at that moment he glimpsed what the other eyes were seeing: a dark figure, moving alongside him.
Edmund jolted awake in an instant. This wasn’t Cluaran! There were two people approaching. He felt them drawing nearer, slowly and stealthily.
Urgently, he searched again for the eyes he had borrowed. There: he could see more clearly now. The minstrel’s campfire was a distant gleam about a hundred paces away. The two humps beside it – himself and Elspeth – were dimly lit by the red flames. But the watcher knew them, somehow; had been expecting to see them.
It was a man. He turned to whisper something to his companion, and Edmund flinched with surprise – whether it was his own body that stirred or the other’s, he could not tell. The second figure was one of those trader brothers they had met at Lord Gilbert’s home; Dagobert, that was it. Edmund caught a sense of breathless stealth, and overweening greed, and knew these visitors brought trouble.
Very slowly, he reached out a hand to shake Elspeth. ‘Wake up!’ he whispered.
She stirred, and her eyes snapped open. ‘What is it?’
‘Thieves,’ Edmund breathed.
‘Where’s Cluaran?’
‘Gone off somewhere. If we can get to the other side of the fire, there might be a weapon in his pack.’ Edmund sensed the men moving towards them with more urgency now. They were almost within the circle of firelight. ‘Ready?’ he mouthed. Elspeth nodded.
He took a deep breath, then gripped her arm: Now! He jumped to his feet and they sprinted around the fire. From the road he heard hoarse cries as the two men broke into a run. He dived on Cluaran’s leather pack and pulled it open: clothing, skins and packages, but nothing they could use to defend themselves. The minstrel had taken his bow with him. Beside him, Elspeth had drawn her little knife and was pulling a big branch from Cluaran’s pile of firewood.
‘Torches!’ he hissed. She nodded, quickly slicing a strip of her tunic hem and wrapping it round the end of a branch. Edmund took it and thrust the cloth end into the fire, stirring up a cloud of smoke as it smouldered.
The two thieves were suddenly huge figures, looming through the smoke.
‘You’re sure they’ve no weapons?’ one of them muttered.
‘You saw for yourself when they left, lackwit!’ scoffed the other. He called hoarsely across the fire. ‘Hey, you there, lad! Hand over your packs and we’ll not hurt you.’
Edmund said nothing. Beside him Elspeth was fumbling, trying to light another torch. He felt her tremble. Suddenly his own torch flared. Pretend to be brave and you will be brave! Edmund hoisted the flaming branch as if it was a fine Noviomagus blade. With a yell that he hoped was warlike, he darted around the fire towards the men, brandishing the torch with both hands. The thieves jumped back, but when they saw they faced only a boy with a torch, they laughed and advanced again. In their hands, the firelight glanced off two long knives.
Edmund swiped at the nearest brother with the torch. The thief staggered back, cursing. But the dagger was still in his hand.
Edmund swung at the second man, but he too dodged. Edmund charged again, howling with fury, whirling his torch above his head. This time he felt it strike against something. The thief screamed, beating at his burning left arm with his dagger-hand. Edmund leaped forward – and his torch died.
The first man saw his chance and ran at Edmund with a snarl – just as the second thief doused his burning sleeve and came back to join the fray. The world shrank to two knife-points gleaming in Edmund’s eyes, and he held up his stick like a quarterstaff to fend them off.
He heard a strange choking sound behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elspeth’s torch fall to the ground, where it flickered out. Then she charged forward, the enchanted sword blazing in her right hand like all the light in the world.
With cries of terror, the thieves turned and fled, their footsteps thudding on the track long after they had been swallowed up by the shadows.
Edmund went over to Elspeth, who was staring at the sword as if she couldn’t quite believe what she saw. The shimmering silver gauntlet and the crystal blade were fading, leaving only a faint glow around her hand.
‘How did you do that?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, clenching and unclenching her hand as the last whisper of light vanished. ‘It … it just appeared. I didn’t know what to do with it.’ She gave a small, nervous laugh. ‘It’s lucky the thieves didn’t know that!’
‘You should learn to fight with it properly,’ Edmund told her. ‘You might need to, if we’re in as much danger as Aagard said.’
Elspeth looked down at her hand again and didn’t reply.
‘Awake and wandering in the moonlight, I see.’ The voice came out of the dark and Edmund jumped. Cluaran was strolling towards them, his harp case on his back. The minstrel stopped when he saw his pack undone, its contents spilled out. ‘What’s this?’ he demanded. ‘Why have you disturbed my belongings?’
‘We were attacked by thieves,’ Edmund said. ‘I needed a weapon.’
‘You searched in vain, then,’ the man said. ‘My knife and bow travel with me always.’ It sounded as if he didn’t care they ha
d been forced to fight for their lives, but then he beckoned them over to the fire and sat down with his legs crossed.
‘You’d better tell me what happened,’ he said. His gaze was as dark as the shadows around them when he looked as Elspeth. ‘I want to know everything.’
Edmund told him about the attack, keeping the tale as brief as possible and saying nothing of his Ripente skills – nor of the sword. Aagard had warned him and Elspeth to trust only each other, and he saw no reason to tell Cluaran about the gifts that had been forced upon them since the storm. The minstrel listened without comment, only darting occasional glances at Elspeth while she sat in silence, absently rubbing her hand.
When Edmund had finished speaking, Cluaran looked at each of them sharply. ‘So you saw them off, using nothing but a pair of torches?’
Edmund thought he heard mocking disbelief in the minstrel’s tone. ‘It was as I told you,’ he snapped.
‘And you, Elspeth?’ Cluaran pressed. ‘You’re not hurt?’
Elspeth’s restless fingers stilled and she looked up, shaking her head in a gesture that was half a shrug. Edmund willed her to say nothing about the sword. She met the minstrel’s gaze and said, ‘Yes. It was just as Edmund said.’
Cluaran stared into the fire. After a time he said, ‘It seems to me that I should stay with you a while longer. You both have homes in the eastern kingdoms, you said? If you’re planning to walk there across Dunmonia and Wessex, you’ll need protection. You clearly have a way of attracting trouble.’
‘We can manage very well alone,’ Edmund said hotly, wishing for an instant that they had told the minstrel about the sword – the man’s dismissal of them as helpless children was unbearable. ‘We didn’t need you tonight!’ he pointed out.
‘You were lucky, that’s all. Do you want to trust to luck for the entire journey?’
‘He’s right,’ Elspeth said unexpectedly. Edmund frowned at her, but she went on: ‘Aagard made us promise to ask Cluaran for help, and he knows more about this journey than you do!’
Cluaran frowned. ‘What exactly did Aagard make you promise?’
‘That we would ask for your protection,’ Elspeth said steadily. ‘In the name of the one who never died.’
Cluaran leaped to his feet, his eyes blazing. He suddenly looked much taller, and Elspeth shrank back.
‘He told you that?’ he demanded.
She nodded, too frightened to speak.
‘Do you know of whom he was speaking? Tell me truthfully.’
Elspeth shook her head. ‘I do not,’ she vowed.
‘Nor I,’ said Edmund.
Cluaran blinked and some of the rage faded from his gaze. Edmund wondered why it was so important to him that they should not have understood Aagard’s words.
Abruptly, the minstrel turned away and walked to the other side of the fire.
‘I already told you I would stay with you,’ he said without looking at them. ‘Aagard should not have demanded more.’
Chapter Nine
Elspeth looked up from the hare she was skinning and sighed, the sound swallowed up by the endless moor around her and the dull grey sky that stretched above. Her father had taught her to cook, but she was more familiar with fish than meat, and she was making a rough job of preparing the hare. She envied Edmund his skill at archery. Cluaran had insisted they work for their keep while they were with him, and the boy had proved so good with the bow that the minstrel had given him the job of providing food for the pot. Edmund was off now, stalking something for the next day. By comparison, cooking was dull work, but at least it kept Elspeth’s hands busy, dulled the ominous prickling that still came and went in her right palm.
The sword had not appeared for three days now, but Elspeth knew it was always with her. Whenever she felt the minstrel’s sharp eyes on her, she wondered if he suspected something. He had seemed doubtful they had needed nothing more than torches to drive off the thieves. Had he glimpsed the sword’s brightness slicing through the shadows? If he had, why not say so? And who was the one who never died? Someone from Cluaran’s past as well as Aagard’s? So many questions she had, but the minstrel’s reserve did not invite them to be asked.
Elspeth found Cluaran difficult to talk to about anything beyond the demands of their journey, but she did not share Edmund’s deep mistrust of him. After that first night, the minstrel seemed to have accepted their company, speaking little but scrupulously sharing food and fire with them. If he goes off on his own every night, that’s his business, Elspeth thought. At least he had led them unerringly so far, always knowing where to go if the path split or lost itself among rocks, knowing where to find water and wood.
A cry from a bird circling above her roused Elspeth from her thoughts, and she forced herself back to the task of skinning the hare. She worked slowly, and Cluaran had returned with water and made up the fire by the time she was finished.
‘A fair job,’ he pronounced, inspecting the carcass. ‘You’ll get better with time.’ He showed her how to spit the animal over the fire, and left her to watch it while he fetched salt from his pack. The bundle was contrived to hold cookware, food, clothes and bedding in neat order. Elspeth was long used to stowing things well on board ship, and she marvelled at the supplies he had packed away: even the harp case had been put to use, with pouches for the bow and arrows along one side.
‘It’s foolish to sleep unarmed by the road in these times,’ Cluaran commented, following Elspeth’s gaze. He looked at her levelly. ‘As you well know. You were lucky those thieves didn’t stay to cause real harm.’
Reddening, Elspeth turned back to the spit. ‘We had the torches,’ she muttered. ‘And Edmund’s a good fighter.’
‘He has his skills,’ the minstrel conceded.
Edmund came back with another brace of hares slung over his shoulder just as Cluaran pronounced the roast hare ready. They sat around the campfire, gnawing at the stringy meat while the last of the light faded. They spoke little. Elspeth was tired from the day’s walking and Edmund was still subdued. But even he looked up with interest when Cluaran announced that they would reach a village before nightfall tomorrow.
‘They know me there,’ he told them. ‘They’ll give us a bed; but times are hard. These,’ he gestured at Edmund’s catch, ‘will make us a deal more welcome.’
It would be good not to sleep on the ground for once, Elspeth thought, even if only for one night. She pulled her blanket more tightly around her, trying to make herself comfortable on the hard ground.
Edmund stirred, and turning towards him, she saw that his eyes were open. She began to speak to him, but he put a finger to his lips and jerked his head towards the other side of the fire.
Cluaran had risen noiselessly to his feet. Without a glance in their direction he turned and strode off into the darkness.
Elspeth waited until she judged the man must be out of earshot, but her voice was still hushed when she spoke.
‘I wonder where he goes.’
Edmund shrugged. ‘Who knows? Just be careful what you say – he walks so softly you can never hear his return.’
It is true, Elspeth thought, remembering the night of the attack when Cluaran had arrived seemingly out of nowhere. And not just Cluaran, but the thieves, too. She propped herself up on one elbow and frowned at Edmund.
‘When those men attacked us, how did you know it was thieves coming, and not Cluaran?’
Edmund stared at her in silence for a long moment.
‘I could see through their eyes,’ he said at last.
‘You mean … you’re Ripente!’ Instinctively Elspeth drew back, her mind filled with stories of the second-sighted traitors who were bought by kings to spy upon their enemies.
‘I may have their sight, but I am no traitor,’ he spat back. Then he smiled bitterly. ‘It took Aagard to recognise what I am, even if it is not what I wish to be. I didn’t even know of it until the storm. Like you with the crystal sword.’
Elspeth looked down at h
er right hand, flexing the fingers. ‘Then we both have a gift that’s more of a curse.’
‘But your sword saved us,’ Edmund argued. ‘All my gift has brought is trouble.’ His face twisted with pain as he went on, ‘Just before Aagard left us, do you remember what happened?’
‘Aagard said his old enemy – Orgrim – tried to use your eyes. But you have the same power as he, don’t you? And you fought him off.’
‘I managed to push him away, that’s all. But Aagard said he’d return, looking for the sword. And he knows me now, Elspeth!’ Edmund turned away so she could hardly hear his next words: ‘I don’t know if I can keep him out next time.’
Elspeth felt a rush of sympathy. He sounded like a frightened boy, a long way from the powerful, shadowy Ripente figures who had been spoken of in hushed tones throughout her childhood. She longed to comfort him – and perhaps there was a way.
‘I think you’re wrong,’ she said slowly. ‘Orgrim has no reason to come back to you.’ She winced when she saw Edmund’s sudden hopeful look, and hoped she was right.
‘Orgrim uses his power to spy, so how can he spy on someone who knows he’s there?’ she went on. ‘Surely he’d look for someone who can’t sense him in the first place?’ She gulped. ‘Someone like me,’ she said with an effort. ‘Perhaps I’m the one who needs to be prepared.’
Edmund’s face was wary. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Could you look through my eyes?’ Elspeth forced herself to ask.
‘No!’ he cried, twisting away.
‘But think, Edmund!’ she persisted. ‘Aagard told us he had learned to feel when his eyes were being used. Maybe I can as well. The only way is if you try to use my eyes, so that I recognise what it feels like. Otherwise, how will I ever know if Orgrim is trying to spy through me instead?’
Emotions chased across Edmund’s face like clouds. ‘You’re right,’ he said at last. ‘But are you sure you want me to do this?’
Elspeth nodded with more determination than she felt. Edmund sat very still, concentrating his thoughts, while she braced herself, telling herself over and over that she had to trust Edmund, Ripente or no.
