The Coming of Dragons

by A. J. Lake

  ‘The old man offered me a dozen silver coins to work through the night,’ Bergred went on. ‘It’s for the good of Wessex, he told me.’

  Elspeth risked a glance at Edmund and read the same understanding in his eyes; the old man was Thrimgar, and he had stopped at Oferstow on his desperate flight from Venta Bulgarum.

  ‘The next day at noon, but a quarter-day since I’d seen the old man leave, the Guardians came galloping in, led by Orgrim himself.’ Tis not often we have a man from the King’s Rede among us, yet I freely say I did not take to him.’ He broke off as Kedwyn shot a worried glance at Cluaran.

  The minstrel inclined his head. ‘Have no fear on our account,’ he said. ‘We do not trade secrets with the likes of him!’

  The blacksmith struck his fist hard upon his wooden bench, and Elspeth nearly fell off her stool. ‘And I believe you’re honest!’ he cried. ‘But someone had spied on us on that day. Orgrim knew Thrimgar had been sighted here, knew I was lying when I said I’d seen no such old man. Who told him, no one knows. It could only be the birds!’

  Edmund tensed. Bergred did not really blame the birds, that was obvious. What man would think birds could spy on humans? But birds had eyes, and a Ripente could use any creature’s sight as easy as drawing breath …

  ‘So Orgrim sent the boars as a punishment?’ said Elspeth.

  ‘We cannot doubt it,’ Bergred replied. ‘Orgrim was in a fury that day. I could see from his face that he knew I was lying, but with the old man long gone and no sign of his load in my byre, there was nothing he could do. As he rode out of Oferstow, he told us we would have good cause to regret helping a traitor. That forest looks like fine boar-hunting territory, he said.’

  ‘And then the boars came,’ Elspeth whispered, and Edmund saw a silver sheen thrumming on her hand, which she kept tightly clenched in her lap.

  Brooding afresh on their misfortune, the villagers began to leave. Elspeth heard the blacksmith tell Cluaran the horses needed at least another day’s rest before they’d be fit to ride again. She saw the minstrel frown, but Elspeth felt her heart leap.

  ‘Don’t you see?’ she whispered to Edmund. ‘This is our chance to help these people! We can find the boars, and trap them. And,’ she added, her eyes burning, ‘we can pay back Orgrim for Medwel, like for like.’ When she saw the answering gleam in Edmund’s blue eyes, his grim smile, she knew he agreed with her.

  Cluaran was asking the blacksmith if he had any horses they could borrow in place of their lame nags, but Edmund broke in.

  ‘We’ll be glad to stay another day, Master Bergred.’ With a glance at Elspeth, he went on, ‘Master Cluaran is a skilled tracker. If we could find the boars in the forest, and surround them with archers –’

  ‘ – we could dig a pit and drive them into it,’ Elspeth finished. She looked up at Bergred, her face alight. ‘We could kill all of them at once!’

  Bergred and Kedwyn looked at each other. ‘No,’ Kedwyn said. ‘It’s a fine idea, but we couldn’t let two young boys like you risk yourselves.’

  But Bergred clearly thought differently. ‘We’ll not risk the lads, of course,’ he told Kedwyn, ‘but it could work.’ He turned to the minstrel. ‘What do you say, Master Cluaran? Are you as good at following creatures through these woods as your boy says? For I tell you: do this for us and we’ll give you the best horses we have in the village.’

  Cluaran narrowed his eyes at Edmund. ‘If my apprentices are set on trying where so many have failed, I’ll not stop them. But I’d want one of the boys with me to help with the tracking,’ he said, and Bergred nodded. ‘I make no promises,’ Cluaran warned, ‘but if I have your word on the horses, I’ll do what I can.’

  Cluaran and Edmund made their way cautiously into the trees at first light. Behind them, six village men walked in a line, armed with bows and knives.

  ‘We may as well go hunting with a herd of cattle for the noise they’re making,’ Cluaran grumbled, signalling to the nearest man to tread more quietly.

  They had left Elspeth with Mistress Kedwyn. Edmund had wondered why Cluaran was so insistent she stayed behind; after all, he knew about the sword. Surely that would be a matchless weapon against the boars? But something in the minstrel’s expression warned them he would brook no argument – either Elspeth stayed behind, or they wouldn’t go at all.

  ‘So,’ Cluaran said quietly, when they had drawn a little way ahead of the line of men, ‘you mean to be a hero in spite of all sense. You’re Ripente, aren’t you? That’s how you found Elspeth yesterday.’

  Edmund nodded defiantly.

  But Cluaran only looked thoughtful. ‘It’s a skill that can make you enemies; you are wise to keep it hidden. How wellpractised are you with it?’

  ‘Well enough,’ Edmund replied stiffly, not ready to admit he could count the times he had used his unlooked-for gift on both hands.

  They walked through the forest until they reached the deadfall that the villagers had spent all night digging, ready to trap the beasts. Edmund eyed the sharpened stakes fixed along its length, each one tipped with a gleaming spearhead. The line of men joined them at the edge of the pit, fear chasing across their eyes like clouds.

  Cluaran looked at Edmund. ‘Now all we need are the boars,’ he said drily.

  He started to move away but stopped when they heard footsteps running through the trees. A moment later Elspeth panted up, carrying a skin of water.

  ‘Mistress Kedwyn thought you might be thirsty,’ she explained, handing the skin to the men.

  ‘You don’t lose me so easily,’ she whispered to Edmund. ‘I’ll be close by, I promise!’ He opened his mouth to protest, feeling sure Cluaran wanted her to stay behind for a reason, but she spun away to take the empty skin and trotted into the trees as if she intended to return to the village straight away.

  Edmund went to stand beside Cluaran. The minstrel looked down at him with his eyebrows raised.

  ‘She’s gone back to Mistress Kedwyn,’ Edmund muttered, feeling sure the lie was writ large on his face.

  Cluaran didn’t say anything, just headed into the trees. They drew ahead of the archers again.

  ‘The boars are not far off. I can smell them,’ Cluaran whispered. ‘Can you find them?’

  Edmund closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Cluaran was right; he could feel them close by, but he could see nothing. He reached out further, more intently. He must find them! But there was nothing for his eyes to fix on to; only darkness.

  And then, in the dark, a movement.

  It was so faint he did not dare shift his gaze. The boars must be deep in the undergrowth, where no light yet reached. But there it was: the stir of a branch on one side of him – and on the other, so close he almost jumped, the gleam of an eye and the pale shimmer of a tusk. The boars were moving.

  ‘They’re in a dark place,’ he whispered.

  ‘Underground?’ asked Cluaran.

  Edmund shook his head. ‘No, but there’s little light. A thicket of brambles – they’re walking close together, between branches.’ He paused, blinking the creature’s eyes to see more clearly. ‘The land slopes down quite steeply, and there are stones underfoot.’

  Cluaran hissed between his teeth. ‘There is a ridge near here, further into the forest and well-hidden in undergrowth. That could be where they are.’

  Edmund gritted his teeth. ‘Lead me closer. I’ll tell you if I see anything more.’

  Keeping his eyes tight-shut for fear of losing the sight, he reached out to grasp Cluaran’s arm.

  It was a strange, halting journey. Cluaran steered him through the trunks and fended back the branches that whipped at his face. But the minstrel could not see the twisting roots that tripped him, nor the bracken that tangled around his legs. Sometimes Edmund heard the men following at a distance, but mostly he fixed on the dim movement of the boars and told Cluaran everything he could see – the slope of the land, a sudden brightness where the boars broke out of the brambles into a copse of birch
trees, their trunks rising palely out of a sea of umber bracken.

  ‘Yes,’ Cluaran murmured, or ‘I know where that might be,’ and he gripped Edmund by the shoulders and turned him to walk in a different direction. Edmund stumbled on, letting his mind fill with nothing but the sight of the boar. There were deep-gleaming eyes on both sides of him now, and ahead the shadowy bulk of the king boar, leading them on.

  Suddenly the huge beast halted, its ears twitching.

  They can hear us!

  Edmund halted. ‘They’re here!’ he gasped.

  The minstrel released Edmund so abruptly that he staggered. ‘I can smell them,’ he breathed in Edmund’s ear. ‘We’re downwind of them – we’ll not get a better chance to take them unawares.’

  Edmund opened his eyes to a blaze of orange light. Blinking, he made out the figure of Cluaran silhouetted against the sunrise, raising his arm to signal to the men. There was a flurry in the trees behind them as the archers moved into position; then the minstrel gave the signal to move forward. Freed from the boar’s eyes, Edmund felt as if he were looking down a tunnel: dizzyingly bright straight ahead; blind on each side. Shaking his head to clear it, he began to push forward, this time towards the great red disc of the sun, which winked at him as he moved through the trees.

  There were yells ahead of him. He pushed through the underbrush to see the boars with his own eyes, dark shapes among the tree roots. The first arrows were already flying. One beast fell, squealing, and the rest turned to flee in panic.

  Edmund fitted an arrow to his own bow and joined in the chase, driving the creatures into the rising sun. I did it! he thought joyfully. I used my gift to find the boars!

  Through the forest they ploughed, tasting the fear of the boars as they were hunted like prey.

  Suddenly, there was the clearing ahead of them. The pit in the centre gaped black in the red light, the villagers, spears raised, standing on each side of it like statues. There was a moment’s awful stillness as the boars burst from the trees; then a great roar rose as men and women lowered their spears and rushed on the creatures, herding them towards the pit.

  Edmund froze. There was one boar missing. Somehow the king boar had broken away from its herdmates, and left them to be preyed upon alone. Where was he?

  Elspeth was waiting at the edge of the crowd, standing well back in the shadow of the trees. Her face lit up at the sight of Edmund. She raised her hand in greeting and started towards him as the villagers closed in on the pit.

  And then a thin, high sound sliced the forest air: a single squeal, sharp as a razor. The king boar stood at the edge of the clearing, outside the ring of archers, black as pitch, its head lifted as if it revelled in the scent of blood and fear that hung among the trees.

  For an instant only it stood, then it charged straight at Edmund.

  He heard Elspeth screaming as if she were a long way away. He dropped to one knee, fumbling to arm his bow. The great beast seemed to come towards him with dreamlike slowness, its breath steaming in the damp air, its eyes gleaming like cracks in a furnace.

  Steady, steady. Edmund pulled back the string and loosed his arrow.

  It hit the boar in the shoulder, gouging a wound the length of a man’s hand in the bristly flesh. The beast swerved and charged past Edmund, knocking him flying, heading instead for the archer closest to him. The man had no arrow ready. With a yell, he dropped his bow and dashed for the trees.

  For an instant Elspeth’s running figure flashed white against the tree trunks, held frozen as if in a shard of ice. Then she was pelting after the boar, the crystal sword blazing in her hand.

  ‘Cluaran!’ Edmund yelled, but Elspeth was already vanishing from sight among the trees. Edmund followed her for a few steps, then stopped, casting after her with his mind’s eye.

  Once more he was in a world drained of colour, the forest opening up on each side. He saw the village man’s fleeing legs as he scrambled up a tree; felt the rush of rage; winced as the trunk rushed to hit him in the face. He had found not Elspeth, but the king boar. Now Edmund tried to make his body run too, while his mind travelled on with the boar’s eyes. He had to reach Elspeth before she caught up with the boar.

  Then white light sliced through the trees behind him, and he knew he had found her.

  He felt the boar’s fear as it whirled around to face the shining white light. This was not an enemy it understood, but it would fight to the death. Behind the light stood a small, furious human figure. The sword rose into the air and the boar rushed forwards to meet it.

  Now! Edmund thought. Now! Let her strike a blow at Orgrim!

  He jerked forward as the death-blow struck his neck. He fell on his face, gasping. Rough hands seized him and yanked him upright. Ahead of him he could see the giant boar slumped to the ground with a gaping wound in its neck. Elspeth was bent over the beast, panting as the sword faded in her hand.

  Someone spun Edmund round.

  Cluaran.

  ‘Do you not know the limits of your gift, you fool?’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘What kind of a Ripente are you?’ Cluaran cried.

  Elspeth had never seen him so furious. When there was no reply, Cluaran grabbed Edmund and shook him. Edmund stared dumbly back.

  ‘You borrowed the eyes of a creature about to die!’ Cluaran hissed. Behind them, the rescued archer was climbing shakily down from his tree. Elspeth thrust her right hand behind her back before he saw the blade of light, feeling the weight of the sword slowly leaving her.

  Cluaran lowered his voice and gripped Edmund hard by the shoulders. ‘The boar’s death would have blinded you, boy – taken your sight for ever! Has no one taught you these things?’

  Edmund’s face was bloodless under the walnut dye. Cluaran glared at him a moment longer and released his shoulders with an explosive sigh.

  ‘No, I see you’re as ignorant as you look. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long.’ He turned abruptly to Elspeth and the Oferstow man. ‘If you can walk, we should fetch the others,’ he called. ‘They’ll want to see this for themselves.’

  The archer looked down at the dead boar and then at Elspeth, wide-eyed. ‘A true monster,’ he said. ‘And you killed him, lad.’

  ‘’Twas a lucky blow, sir,’ Elspeth mumbled, ducking her head and running after Cluaran and Edmund. She wanted time to think. Her heart was pounding like a drum. Triumph. Awe. Terror. They beat a tattoo against her ribs. She flexed her hand as the gauntlet’s silver links dissolved once more into her flesh. She had used the sword to kill. She had summoned it and the sword had answered her. This is what I was made for, it seemed to say.

  The archer caught up with her. ‘Such a blow!’ he marvelled. ‘That’s a good sword you have!’ Twas not forged in these parts, I’ll warrant.’ He broke off and frowned. ‘Where is it? You’ve not left it with the carcass, have you?’

  Elspeth stopped. She could not tell the truth about the sword, yet she felt unwilling to lie.

  ‘It’s not really mine,’ she said evasively.

  A sharp, throbbing pulse shot through her arm. I am yours for ever, Elspeth, said the voice.

  Word that one of the minstrel’s boys had killed the king boar spread like fire, and when the great beast was brought into the village slung from poles, cheers went up for all three of the visitors. Elspeth caught Cluaran’s eye and knew they had drawn more attention to them than was safe, even without any sign of the Guardians. As the villagers gathered to roast two of the boar carcasses over a bonfire, she went looking for Edmund and found him sitting on the ground by the smithy, staring morosely into the distance.

  ‘We should be celebrating,’ she murmured, sitting down to him.

  ‘How does Cluaran know so much about my power?’ Edmund burst out, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘I almost lost my sight for ever when you killed the boar. I was starting to think I could control it – even use it to help people. And now it seems I don’t understand it at all.’

  Elspeth too
k his arm. ‘You have helped Oferstow,’ she said. ‘Look at all this!’ She gestured towards the bonfire, the people dancing in the light of the flames, and he brightened a little. ‘Cluaran has travelled everywhere and knows everything, it seems,’ Elspeth said lightly. ‘But it’s you who is Ripente, not he.’ She clambered to her feet, holding out a hand to him. ‘We’ll have to leave soon,’ she told him. ‘We should say goodbye.’

  Bergred and Kedwyn tried to persuade them to stay for the feast, but Cluaran politely refused. ‘We still have a way to go,’ he said, ‘and we’re in some haste.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘If the Guardians come here asking about us, you’d be wise not to say you gave us hospitality.’

  ‘They won’t hear of you at all,’ Bergred promised. ‘Not from us.’

  Bergred exchanged three sturdy young geldings for their spavined horses and they left before the sun had started to dip towards the horizon. The villagers gave them other gifts: hooded cloaks lined with wool, and enough food and drink to last them as far as Venta Bulgarum.

  They stayed away from the road for the first day and into the second, camping for the night in a glade of trees beside a stream where they could wash and water the horses. Cluaran seemed to know the route well, and Elspeth wondered how many times he travelled these ways. The invisible paths they followed didn’t pass near any settlements where he could earn food and shelter, so it seemed an unlikely route for one who lived as a minstrel.

  Late on the second day, he led them out of the trees on to a rocky hillside. From there they looked out on well-tended fields, and beyond these Elspeth could see the brown curve of the road.

  ‘There’s a crossroads just past that turn,’ the minstrel told them. ‘The road runs straight east to Venta, half a league’s distance and patrolled all the way.’ He pointed to a patch of paler green among the trees below. ‘The horses can rest there,’ he said, ‘and you’ll stay to watch them. I’m going on foot from here.’