by Clare Smith
Poddorrin nodded, reluctant to put words to his lie.
“This is ridiculous,” snapped Tingallent. “I don’t know why we are wasting our time listening to him when we need to get back to the camp.” He started to walk away but Todden stopped him.
“There’s one way Poddorrin can prove that he’s telling the truth; he can show us the cave.”
Poddorrin wasn’t certain if the cave would open for anyone else except himself, but he had to try. He stood without replying and started walking towards the edge of the plateaux with the others following behind. Even Collia, who had said nothing and hadn’t looked up from the fire, left the boulder where she had been sitting lost in her own thoughts, a faint flicker of hope driving away her misery.
When he reached the silky smooth wall of the cliff face Poddorrin stopped, still unsure if the entrance would open for him again. Taking a deep breath he took the dragon’s tooth from his pocket and held it to the smooth stone, feeling the tingle of its working travel up his arm. Immediately the stone shimmered and disappeared and he stepped through into the cave.
All the strange feelings he’d had of not being himself and his body not fitting together disappeared, making him feel as if he’d come home. He turned to beckon the others through and then almost laughed at the look of astonishment on their faces. Confidently he waived them forward and all of them, except Collia hesitated, wary of walking through solid stone.
Collia was a seeker of truth and had no fear of the unknown, so she led the way, walking up to the cliff face and pressing her hands against the stone with a look of concentration on her face. She pushed as hard as she could but nothing happened so she stepped back and let Todden take her place. Todden was the strongest of the group but even his strength failed to move the stone.
After a few seconds he stepped back frowning and said something to the others which Poddorrin couldn’t hear. Tingallent said something back and he didn’t have to hear the words to guess what he was saying. It occurred to him then that perhaps he was the only one who could enter the cave, so once again he pressed the dragon’s tooth key against the stone and stepped outside. Rabayan, who was running his hands over the smooth stone, jumped back in surprise but Collia smiled at him, the first smile she’d given him in a long time and took his hand.
“Can I come in there with you, Poddorrin?”
“I don’t know but we could try.”
“I’m going too,” said Tingallent and Todden together and then glared at each other.
“What about you, Rabayan, do you want to come too?” Poddorrin asked.
“No. I’m fine where I am, you all go and I’ll keep guard.”
Poddorrin nodded, not wanting to press the matter and waited for the others to take hold of his arm. He wasn’t certain if this was going to work in which case he was going to look a fool and would have to think of something else to convince them to help him. Nervously he pushed the dragon’s tooth key against the door and stepped through with the others by his side. Tingallent and Todden stood with their mouths open, looking back through the cave wall to where Rabayan stood but Collia had already started to explore the deep cave.
In a few minutes she returned with a look of puzzlement on her face. “I thought you said that you read about the dragon spirit in the law of dragons, but there is nothing here except a large, empty cave.”
This was the moment of truth. If he failed to convince them now they wouldn’t help him, and without them his brothers would never fly again. “I lied.”
The three of them glared at him so he hurried on. “I lied about the dragon law but not about the dragon spirit. When I first came into this cave whatever is in here must have freed the dragon spirit, which I’ve always known has been within me. Whilst my body lay here, my dragon spirit flew free across the four continents, and there I found my brothers, and they called me to set them free.
“They told me they were the spirits of the four dragon kits, born of the Dragon Queen and the four consorts, which Mazaban tried to kill. Their bodies were destroyed and their heads were taken and scattered far and wide, but the essence which made them what they were remains. Before returning to my body, my brothers told me how to call their spirits back to Assimus where they will once again live as dragons.”
He stopped there and looked from face to face and for a moment felt a spark of hope until Tingallent spoke. “You don’t really think that we’re going to believe that bullshit, do you?”
“Yes,” said Poddorrin simply, “Because it is the truth.”
Tingallent went to snap a cutting response but Todden put a restraining hand on his arm. “Think, Tingallent, what would Poddorrin have to gain by lying to us and lying so badly that it would be madness to believe him? More than that though, the boy’s changed, even you must be able to see that?”
That was true, Poddorrin’s eyes were no longer grey but darker and somehow compelling, and there was a red tint to his fair hair which hadn’t been there before. “You’re a Priestess, Collia. What do you know about these sorts of things?”
Collia desperately wanted to believe that the dragons could be reborn, but there was nothing in Kallisan’s vast libraries which suggested such a thing was possible. There were other writings about the spirit inside of a man which were similar though. “We know that every man has a spirit within him which guides and drives him, and that the great god Jurro touches the spirit of those who he favours and endows them with talents which make them stand out amongst all others.”
Tingallent wasn’t interested in what the gods did because he’d given up on them when he was a boy but he supposed that Collia’s theory was about as close as they were going to get to an explanation. “Could the spirit of an animal live inside a man?”
Todden winced at Tingallent’s lack of sensitivity, but Poddorrin didn’t seem to mind half as much as Collia did. “Dragon’s are not animals,” she snapped. “As Poddorrin has already told you they are creatures of magic and legend so anything is possible.”
“What do you think, Todden?” Tingallent asked, taking him by surprise.
“I’ve seen many strange things in my time so it might be possible, and just think what we could do with four, fire-breathing dragons on our side.”
Tingallent nodded; he’d been thinking along the same lines, and if it didn’t work then they wouldn’t have lost anything. “All right, let’s say that you and your brothers are really dragons in disguise, so how do we get you all here looking the part?”
“When Mazaban destroyed the dragon kits physical form, our spirits fled far away and hid so that Mazaban couldn’t find them. That means all we have to do is find where they are hidden and call them here.”
“That’s all!” Tingallent exclaimed in exasperation. “It could take forever.”
That was true except for one thing; his brother had told him where to begin his search to find them. “We need something which was there when the Dragon Queen joined with the four consorts and carries their essence.”
Tingallent looked blank, but Todden nodded in understanding. “It has to be the Moonstone Blade. The knife is as old as the stars and carries memories of blood and death, so it has to be that.”
“Yes, I thought so to,” said Poddorrin. “Where is it?”
“I hid it back at camp,” cut in Tingallent. “I left it behind when we came here searching for the gold so we’ll have to go back for it.”
Todden looked sheepish. “No need, it’s in my saddle bag.” Tingallent looked at him accusingly. “With what that thing can do to a man when he holds it, I didn’t want to leave it behind for someone else to find.”
Collia looked confused. “What can this Moonstone Blade do?”
Poddorrin smiled at her and held out his arm for them to hold onto. “Come on and I’ll show you.”
*
The Moonstone Blade lay on the cloth which Todden had wrapped it in. Tingallent had laid it on one of the boulders around the fire being careful not to touch it, and now
they stood slightly back from the boulder waiting for Poddorrin to pick the blade up. Poddorrin had held the knife before and knew what sort of memories it could reveal, so he was reluctant to touch the artefact and be transported into a place of blood and death. Despite that it had to be done, so he thought of what the dragon spirit had shown him and reached out for the blade.
Almost before his fingers touched the grey metal he could hear the screams of men as they ran forwards to attack the enemy. He was with them, holding his heavy iron sword, and next to him was his brother with his new battle axe waiting to taste its first blood. Behind him he could hear the screams of the dying where the arrows and spears of their enemy had done their gruesome work. It wasn’t going to stop the war host though, which was ten thousand strong, and led by the most battle-hardened of the clan warriors.
He shouted his defiance at the men who had come to steal his country in their sandals and skirts and who stood behind their tall shields refusing to come out and fight in the open. As he ran he turned and grinned at his brother and then screamed in horror as his brother’s head was ripped from his shoulders by the metal tipped dart of his enemy’s ballista. For a moment he faltered, but the clansman behind him shoved him forwards so that he trampled over a crawling warrior who was trying to hold his guts in with his one remaining hand.
Now he could see the enemy behind their shield wall with their short, vicious swords stabbing out to disembowel those warriors being tightly pressed against them by the crush of clansmen behind. He could smell the stench of blood and voided bowels and knew that only three ranks of warriors stood between him and certain death. Then the horn sounded the withdrawal, and he was standing in a dark room with a ceiling so high that he could barely see it.
All around there were more wooden boxes than he ever knew existed and racks of weapons of every conceivable size and shape. One rack contained light hunting spears, and he chose one which seemed the most familiar. It was light but not as springy as he was used to. He held it up to test it for balance, and then turned as a man shouted angrily at him and he was running through a crowded city with dark alleyways and buildings of wood and stone with murder on his mind.
This was his city and he knew every back street and alleyway, opium house and thieves den. Ahead of him was the territory of the Ban Long Brotherhood who would kill him if they caught him. It would have been safer to go around than through their streets, but time was running out, and if he failed in his task he would die like a dog, hung by the heels and used for target practice.
He ran down dark alleyways keeping just to the west of the Ban Long compound and thought he’d slipped through their cordon, but when he turned east again his luck ran out. There were three of them, dressed in black as he was, but unlike him they were only guards. He didn’t hesitate but ran through them hitting the first in the throat with his elbow and crushing his windpipe. On the second he used his head to smash the man’s nose upwards sending shards of bone into his brain whilst his knife gutted the third.
Hot blood ran over his hands but he ignored it and ran, but was suddenly back, standing by the fire pit with the Moonstone Blade in his hand. Poddorrin dropped the ancient artefact as if it had bitten him and staggered back, disorientated and confused. Todden grabbed him before he could fall and eased him onto one of the boulders and waited whilst he pulled himself out of his visions and stopped shaking.
“I assume that worked?” Tingallent asked.
Poddorrin nodded. “Yes, I saw all three of my brothers.”
“That’s good, all we have to do now is find where they are and bring them back here.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple,” said Poddorrin hesitantly. “The first was a warrior, a savage in a land of savages, whilst the last was an assassin or a thief who sneaked down dark alleyways. It was the second who was the strangest though. He stood in a palace grander than anything which you’ve ever thought possible, but full of wooden boxes. There were weapons too, and when he picked up a spear I could feel his anger and hatred and longing.”
“I don’t understand,” said Collia with a frown. “The brothers you have seen were all men, but one of the four consorts was a priestess.”
“So what of it?” put in Tingallent. “Perhaps these dragon spirits don’t have any gender. The important thing is how do we get these people from where they are to where we are?”
“I don’t know,” said Poddorrin with a weary sigh, “except it must have something to do with the Moonstone Blade.”
“Then you’d bloody well better get practicing with it,” spat Tingallent. “Time’s running out and there are lives to be saved.”
He watched as Tingallent stomped away knowing that the rebel leader was right but wishing that he knew more about what he had to do.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
CHAPTER TWO
Banniff the Gaul
Gaul and Rome
It was the greatest gathering of war bands that anyone had ever seen. Even old Prabax, who had been fighting the enemy since they had first put foot in the clan lands, had never seen so many warriors in one place and under one leader. His father said that the warriors had come from all along the Rhenus, the living heart of the land, and from every part of Gaul for this one, final battle.
When it was all over and their enemy lay dead and broken in the mud, then the war bands would sweep forward and retake all the lands which had been stolen from them. That would be a time of retribution and revenge when all those who had lost family and friends would take their price in blood. There was already talk of the many ways they would make their enemy suffer with each description being more brutal than the one before.
He wouldn’t take part in the torture and mutilation of unarmed men, but there again he hadn’t seen his brothers gelded or crucified. He’d heard the stories though and knew what the warriors were planning was only just. If there were women, he would take his share of them as he had when he’d been on raids with his brothers, and as the enemy had taken his mother and sisters, but after that he would return to what was left of his home.
Banniff looked along the line of warriors and wondered if there really was ten thousand men as his father had said. Ten thousand was a big number and he wasn’t certain how many that would be as he’d never seen ten thousand of anything except perhaps trees. There were a lot of trees in Gaul especially north of the Rhenus.
There used to be trees in the south too until the enemy had come and cut them down to make their towns and forts and bridges. The land had been green then and dark, and the spirits of the forest had sustained his people. Now, wherever the enemy trod, the land was barren and steeped in blood.
A horn sounded further along the line and he looked through the trees to see if it was the signal to move forward, but there was no movement except the stamping of men’s feet as they waited in the cold for the battle to begin. To his left he could see men standing amongst the trees, three or four deep. Most wore wool shirts and heavy jerkins, more to keep out the cold than to provide protection against a sword thrust. Some of them wore mail which they had taken from the enemy’s dead, and a few amongst them wore nothing. They were the berserkers, although he did wonder how hot their blood could get when the cold was enough to freeze your balls off.
To the right was their leader’s war band made up of a thousand handpicked warriors from across the clans. They were all big men whose favoured weapon was the axe. Their job was to smash the enemy line and drive a wedge right through them so that the other bands could follow in and slaughter the enemy. He hoped the tactic would work but he had his doubts. The men had never fought together before, although there were enough amongst them who had fought each other, so at least they knew their companions by name and reputation.
Around him stood his own war band, or at least the war band of his father. It was a small band with just two hundred warriors, but they were all seasoned fighters who had stood against the enemy before. Amongst them were his two remaining brothers, the o
thers having died in previous battles, either by the sword or in the bloody aftermath when the enemy had taken their revenge for fallen comrades.
He was the youngest amongst them, but he’d already fought three times and had half a dozen ears decorating his belt to show his bravery in front of the enemy. Despite that he wasn’t really brave, not like the berserkers, but he’d come to the conclusion that it was better to fight and die than to be taken for a slave and spend the rest of your life as someone else’s property. That was an existence no one should endure, especially those who had spent all their lives being free.
From the far end of the line a horn sounded, and this time it was taken up by another and another. Now men moved restlessly and some shouted insults at the enemy line to warm their blood and build their courage. Somewhere to the right but out of sight amongst the trees, a war band started a low chant which set the hounds baying.
His father had brought his war hounds with him; eight huge brutes with massive jaws which could rip a man’s throat out within seconds. They had short hair and smooth skins and wore spiked collars making them almost impossible to grip or push away. There was no doubt they were formidable weapons of war, but he did wonder how effective they would be against their enemy’s shield wall.
Banniff looked across the open ground to the opposite side of the narrow valley where the enemy had taken up position and studied them. Like the warriors of Gaul they were tough, battle hardened men, but that was where the similarity ended. For a start they stood shoulder to shoulder in straight lines, and when the time came to fight they would fight as one, knowing that the man next to them would stay in position until he died or was relieved by the man behind him.
Each man carried identical weapons and had been trained in the same way to use them, and every man would obey their commander’s orders instantly and without hesitation. That was more than could be said for the war bands that would have as happily killed each other as the enemy. The warriors in each band carried whatever weapon they preferred and when the lines closed they would fight as an individual and be damned to his neighbour.
