Skardroft produced a small green leather case from his pocket and handed it to her. She opened it. Inside was a painted miniature with a plain gold frame and chain. The picture was of a young girl’s face, her blue eyes direct and enquiring.
“It’s very pretty,” said Tor. It was an odd gift for a man. “Who’s the little girl?”
“That’s your mother when she was eight or so,” said Skardroft. “I thought you might like to have it.”
Tor studied the face. She knew nothing about what her mother had looked like, or what sort of a person she was; she could not say whether she resembled her. In the picture she did not look like Skardroft. It was strange to see her caught at one moment in her life so long ago, gazing out of her frame at her daughter who was now ten years older than she had been then.
She did not know what a difficult job he had had finding anything relating to his daughter. After her escape from the unwanted betrothal, Skardroft had searched everywhere to try to find her; failing to track her down, he had turned his back on her and obliterated all traces of his disobedient child. Her name was never mentioned again. Hunting for something of hers to give to Torbrek, he had found the portrait among his dead wife’s things, that had lain undisturbed in a trunk since her death.
“Thank you,” said Tor. Seeing her grandfather standing there, waiting for her response, hoping to have pleased her, Tor felt moved. She smiled into his eyes. “That’s really kind of you.”
A guard knocked and entered. “Corfe wishes to speak with you, Your Majesty.”
Skardroft turned to Tor. “This won’t take a minute, then we’ll go in to dinner.”
A tall, lean man had materialized in the room. He seemed a sinister presence to Tor; quietly repellent, and she didn’t like the way he looked at her, either. A sort of calculating look, as if he were taking her measure. She returned his stare without expression, which did not appear to bother him at all. Skardroft took him to one side, but Tor could hear what was said though his voice was low.
“Sire, if you have nothing for me to do here, there is a lead I might follow in the North. I would be gone for a week or ten days, no more.”
“Quintern?” Skardroft asked.
“Possibly. Worth looking into.”
“Very well.”
Corfe skulked out and her grandfather returned, rubbing his hands and saying cheerfully to Tor, “Dinner. Let’s go.”
Tor waited until they were sitting at the lavish dining table, just the two of them, and the servants had served them and left. “Who was that man?”
“He works for me in a private capacity,” Skardroft said repressively.
“What does that mean? Is he a spy?”
Her grandfather looked irritated. “Yes, you could say that. Now let’s talk about something interesting.”
“Who’s Quintern?”
“Were you listening to our conversation?”
“Yes. So who is he?”
Skardroft very nearly told Torbrek it was no concern of his, but decided against it. The remark had proved explosive last time. If he insisted on knowing, he would tell him, though he wouldn’t like it. “Quintern is one of the last of the Hundred Knights. Corfe thinks he may have a lead on him. He’s going to investigate it. Will that suffice?”
“No, it won’t. Why don’t you leave the rest of the Knights alone? There’s only a handful left that you haven’t killed, including me; they can hardly pose much of a threat.”
Skardroft took a deep breath; he did not want to lose his temper with Torbrek. He had looked forward to a pleasant evening. It was a pity he was being difficult. “That shows how little you know. There are twenty-one missing Knights, and almost nothing has been seen of them for years. Not nothing: almost nothing. Individual Knights turn up in unexpected places now and then, for no obvious reason. Quintern’s been around lately. He’s been seen in Atherly Berrow, but he’s too clever for us, he’s slipped away from my soldiers each time. The Knights are up to something, I know it. I was a Knight myself, and I know it’s not in their nature to have just walked away and settled for a quiet life out of my reach. They’re my sworn enemies. They’ll be plotting something, and anything they’ve spent years on will be something big. I need to find out what it is, and stop it before it happens. That’s why I use a man like Corfe. I can see you don’t like him; I don’t like him myself; but he gets things done. If anyone can discover where the Knights are and what they are doing, it’s Corfe.”
Tor frowned. It was the first she had heard of a Knights’ plot against Skardroft. Could it be true? Wouldn’t Barlanik know about it? But if he did know, he might not necessarily have told Tor. “What sort of thing do you think it is they’re planning?”
“I have no idea. That’s why it worries me.”
Tor left it at that. She believed her grandfather was telling her the truth, and he did not have to; she was not on his side. He was looking weary, his age showing. She fingered the miniature hanging round her neck, and said, “D’you want to play chess after dinner?”
Skardroft’s face lightened. “If you like. I thought we might go on the terrace; it’s a warm evening. Can I offer you a wager on the result?”
“Only if I can bet on you.” Tor grinned. “I hope you appreciate my good nature, that’s all, playing chess every night when I always lose, and hardly sulking at all. Perhaps we could try something else. Are you any good at noughts and crosses? I might beat you at that.”
“Don’t count on it. Paper, scissors, stone?”
“A game of pure chance – much more my thing. Unless you have hidden psychic powers?”
“Alas, no.”
He smiled. The pleasant evening was on again.
CHAPTER 14
A kiss from Kerris
Kerris burst into Barlanik’s office, where Barlanik was having a meeting with Drewitt.
“He’s seen Tor, our merchant in Tarragon has,” he said, “and you’ll never believe this, Tor was out hunting with Skardroft.”
“Did he say how Tor looked?”
“He said Tor looked fine, seemed to be having a good time, getting on like a house on fire with Skardroft.”
“He’s gone over to Skardroft’s lot,” said Drewitt instantly, “no doubt saved his skin by telling them everything he knows.”
“Tor wouldn’t do that,” said Kerris.
“How do you know? Maybe he was always one of theirs; he was probably their spy when he was with us.”
“I know Tor. There’s no way…he’d betray us.”
“He stayed just long enough to find out everything about us. I always thought there was something not quite right about him.”
“Don’t be a fool, Drewitt, Tor’s not a spy.”
“Oh no? Then how do you explain this chumminess with Skardroft? Just come up with one other possible explanation, that’s all I’m asking.”
Barlanik got to his feet. “We’ll get Tor back here and find out.”
It was a grey, overcast morning in the forest. Tor, Skardroft and their retinue had been hunting a stag. It now lay dead in a grassy clearing, the huntsman gutting it while his hounds milled about him. The men sat on their horses, discussing the chase and wondering if it was going to rain before they got back to the palace. It was certainly getting darker. It suddenly got so dark that everyone looked up at the sky. There above them was a huge gold and purple dragon swooping downwards, claws outstretched, tail lashing. It landed with a roar, folded its vast wings, and sent a great tongue of flame curling towards them.
Instant pandemonium. The horses panicked and bolted for the safety of the trees, the men on the ground ran for cover as well. Only a few of the dogs stayed, barking furiously at the dragon, making little runs at it and retreating again. Tor struggled to get control of her terrified horse, which was rearing and bucking because she would not let it follow the others, but was trying to wheel it round. She gave up the attempt and jumped off, stumbling and righting herself, and sprinted towards the centre of the glade.
Seeing this, Skardroft wrenched his horse’s head around, and spurred after her, calling to his men.
“Xantilor!” she cried, leaping on to his foreleg and scrambling up to his back. His head turned to see if she was on. “Go! Go! Go!” Tor yelled as soon as she had got a good grip on the saddle, still swinging herself on to it. Xantilor beat his great wings as the first arrows began to whiz past them, and they lifted swiftly off the ground. Airborne and thoroughly pleased with himself, Xantilor circled once in triumph, breathing a trail of fire, before turning sharply and soaring into the sky. Looking down, Tor saw Skardroft on his black horse in the centre of the clearing staring up at her, his expression unreadable. The last she saw of him, as the forest shrank below them, he had his head thrown back and was roaring with laughter.
Tor was laughing herself with elation. To be unexpectedly at liberty, and flying through the sky away from captivity was marvellous. It made her realize just how much she had disliked not being a free agent. When they were nearly back at the Castle, Tor got Xantilor to land in a field so she could thank him. She rushed round to his head and flung her arms round him.
“It’s so good to see you! And that was a spectacular rescue. You were amazing!” She stood back a little. “Let me look at you.”
The dragon drew himself up to his full height. He was more lithe and muscled than when Tor had last seen him, and his scales were the colour of old gold leaf. He blinked at her a little shyly.
“Xantilor, you are in terrific shape – you look fantastic.”
“I worked hard after I knew you had been kidnapped. I wanted to be ready. I thought you might need me.”
“I did – but I’m not sure now how much you need me, you’ve done so well on your own.”
“Barlanik came to see me every day. A sensible man.” Xantilor looked sideways at Tor. “He was very concerned about you, you know.”
This hint passed Tor by completely. “We’d better get back, then. They’ll all be waiting. Oh, has Edric turned up yet with his army?”
Xantilor shook his head. “King Urquin fell ill about the time you were kidnapped. Barlanik fears he is on his deathbed. Meanwhile, Edric does as he pleases.”
“Can’t Barlanik make him come?”
“No, unfortunately. Edric has a whim of iron.”
At the Castle a watch had been kept for Xantilor’s return, so the moment he was visible on the horizon people started gathering. As the dragon came in to land there was an enthusiastic crowd waiting to meet them, Barlanik and Kerris at the front. Xantilor touched down with a flourish of his wings; Tor slid off and dashed towards them, a huge grin on her face.
Kerris ran and hugged her and gave her a smacking kiss. There was a sudden hush and stir. Still holding Tor, he looked round and saw everyone’s astounded and uncomprehending expressions. “What?” he said. “It’s all right, she’s a girl!”
Tor glared at him. “Oh, thanks, Kerris.”
“Ah. Sorry. Still, they were going to find out sooner or later, weren’t they?”
People were staring at her, and muttering among themselves. She caught sight of Drewitt’s horror-struck face in the crowd, and Stavely looking bemused.
Barlanik walked up to them. “Tor, I’d like a word with you in my office, now.”
Tor glanced at his grave face as she paced beside his long strides. His way of saying “now” was quite like Skardroft’s. Supposing he stopped her being Dragon Master now he knew she was a girl? She couldn’t bear it… Barlanik said nothing until they were alone, sitting opposite each other across his table. His eyes went from the scar on her forehead to the miniature of her mother she wore round her neck, then he broke into a smile. He is handsome, I’d forgotten…
“Tor, I’m so pleased to see you. Did they treat you well?”
“Oh yes. It’s great to be back, though.”
“What’s this I hear about your being best friends with Skardroft suddenly?”
“He’s my grandfather, and he used to be a Knight,” said Tor. She told Barlanik everything that had happened, right up to the rescue. When she described the Knights’ daggers displayed on Skardroft’s wall, seventy-seven of them (she had had several opportunities to count them) he became sombre.
“Then it’s worse than I thought. Skardroft’s campaign against us has been remarkably successful in a relatively short time.”
“Where do you think the Knights that are still alive are? Skardroft thinks they’re up to something. You don’t know about it, do you?”
“No, I don’t. I’ve no idea where they are, either. Not at Atherly Berrow any more, where their headquarters have been for centuries, because it’s Skardroft’s city now. You’re the only other Knight I’ve seen for years. Go on, what happened next?” When Tor had finished her story, he said, “I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay with us, given the blood tie with Skardroft.”
“Of course I want to stay, if you’ll have me.” Tor grinned, her mind set at rest. She was still Dragon Master. “Skardroft’s a tyrant; I can see he’s got to be defeated. I’m on your side, and he knows it; I’ve made no secret of it. And I’m really relieved to be back, I was beginning to think I’d never get away.”
“Good. You’ve been missed. I wouldn’t go hunting alone, just in case Skardroft tries it again. I’ve stepped up forest patrols, to catch any spies or commandos who come close in the future, but even so, I don’t want you taking chances.”
Barlanik nodded at her to say she could go, but Tor lingered.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was a girl…”
“I’d noticed it for myself some time ago, actually. I can see why you didn’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you, Barlanik.” Tor felt she had got off lightly, and went out thinking Kerris owed her a drink at least. She would go and find him. After scouting around a bit, she guessed he must be in the tavern. At the threshold, hearing the buzz of many conversations inside, she stopped and took a deep breath. It would have to be faced some time. Tor dreaded them starting to treat her differently; she’d grown to value the men’s casual acceptance and friendship, had liked being one of them.
Tor opened the door and stepped in, peering about her in the dim light. A ragged but friendly cheer went up as she was recognized. She spotted Kerris on the far side of the room. As she walked over, men grinned at her and slapped her on the back. Sinking down into a chair by Kerris, she gave him a look. “This is all your fault.”
“Have a drink,” said Kerris, “I expect you need it.”
The serving girl came up with a bottle. “Garran sent this over for you.”
Tor looked around till she saw him talking to Stavely, and gave him a thumbs up to thank him. Both men smiled at her. Kerris poured the wine, and handed her a goblet.
“To a toast on the battlements of Tarragon,” she said. Perhaps it’s going to be all right…
Barlanik dipped the quill in the ink to finish his letter to Edric, “…and I look forward to receiving from you a speedy assurance of the date your forces will arrive in Kallarven.” He signed it, put the pen down and waited for the ink to dry so he could fold and seal it.
His mind strayed to Tor’s return the day before. How young and slight she had looked next to the dragon, more vulnerable than he had remembered, and what a burden of worry had lifted when he saw she was still the same Tor as before. He had feared she would return traumatized, in spirit if not in body. He had wanted to hug her like Kerris had, but he was not Kerris.
She’d told Kerris she was a girl. He was the only person she had told…
A knock broke into his reflections. Drewitt’s solemn face appeared round the door. Barlanik had known it was just a matter of time till he came. “Take a seat, Drewitt. What is it?”
“I want to talk to you about Tor. What are you going to do about her?”
“What do you mean, do about her?”
“This predicament she’s put us in. How are you going to deal with it?”
“I don’t see a pr
edicament.”
Drewitt’s colour heightened. “Somebody has to tell you, if you can’t see it for yourself; it’s crazy keeping her here just as though nothing had happened. I don’t know why you haven’t got her safely under lock and key.”
Barlanik raised his eyebrows. Drewitt was almost spluttering with indignation. “She’s been hobnobbing with Skardroft for weeks, then as if that wasn’t enough, she comes back here and explains she’s his granddaughter, as though that makes everything all right! I may say we’ve only got her word for this preposterous story.” Barlanik’s impassive expression made Drewitt ever more emphatic. “And that’s not all; I think she and Kerris are a bit too friendly – you saw what they were like yesterday. There could be trouble there.” He shook his head. “We don’t need that sort of thing going on between officers. And worst of all, she’s a woman! We can’t have women in our army! We’ll be a laughing stock! She’ll be a danger to herself and everyone around her. It’s not fair on the men. And a woman can’t be a Dragon Master. It’s unheard of.”
Barlanik waited a moment to be sure Drewitt was quite finished. “I have no doubts at all of Tor’s loyalty,” he replied. “I trust her. It’s not her fault who her grandfather is; she had no knowledge of it until a few weeks ago. And she is an exceptional Dragon Master. I wouldn’t replace her, even if I thought the dragon would put up with someone else.” Drewitt’s mouth opened, but Barlanik continued, looking him straight in the eye. “I will not tolerate animosity among my officers. You must accept Tor, and work with her without ill feeling or prejudice. I want you to give me your word you will do this.”
Drewitt knew a brick wall when he saw it; Barlanik’s mind was made up, and it was pointless to continue protesting. “Yes, Commander.”
He went out, leaving Barlanik wondering whether, given that Drewitt was wrong about everything else, there could be any truth at all in what he’d said about Tor and Kerris.
Torbrek...and the Dragon Variation (The Torbrek Trilogy) Page 11
