Torbrek...and the Dragon Variation (The Torbrek Trilogy)

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Torbrek...and the Dragon Variation (The Torbrek Trilogy) Page 16

by Lexi Revellian


  Then perhaps Skardroft would return to some sort of normality.

  The King sent for the soldier Routh had mentioned, the one who had been captured by the enemy and returned after several weeks in the rebel camp. He recognized Jervaid as soon as he walked into the room. It was the too good-looking guard who had caused the row between him and Torbrek. Skardroft had had him moved out of the Palace Guard so he wouldn’t have to see him again. He eyed him with distaste, wishing it had been someone else. It was humiliating, having to ask this man for news of his own grandchild. Jervaid saluted.

  “I am told you have spent the past weeks in Barlanik’s headquarters. No doubt Routh will have debriefed you already. I just want to ask whether you saw anything of my granddaughter while you were there.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Jervaid pleasantly, “in fact she was the one who rescued me when I’d been knocked unconscious from my horse. Saved my life. She took me back to the Castle on her dragon. I was in prison for a week or so, then she helped to persuade Barlanik to let me out.”

  Skardroft frowned. “Why would he do that?”

  “I said I was a convert to their cause. They freed me, and eventually I got a chance to escape and come back here.”

  This story struck Skardroft as unconvincing, but Jervaid seemed an unlikely spy; too much of a chancer, a lightweight. “So did you see much of Torbraya?”

  “Yes, we were great friends, Your Majesty,” said Jervaid expansively and unwisely, “she lent me her mare, the one you gave her, while I was there so I could join the cavalry.” Skardroft’s eyes narrowed at this information. Torbrek had lent the horse he gave her to him? But Jervaid did not notice it. “We saw a lot of each other, we got on really well.”

  “Great friends, were you, with my granddaughter?” Skardroft’s voice was hostile. Unerringly, he guessed Jervaid’s predatory intentions towards Tor. “Exactly what do you mean by that?”

  Too late, Jervaid perceived the need for caution. “Just that; we were friends – don’t get the wrong idea, nothing else between us, I can assure you,” he lied. “In fact, I’d say she was much more interested in Barlanik.”

  At once, Skardroft grabbed him by his collar and slammed him against the wall, staring into his eyes only inches away from him and looking murderous. “Are you saying there’s something between Torbrek and Barlanik? You insolent lout, is that what you’re saying? Well?” He shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. His voice went lower. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re still due a flogging. Let’s see whether forty lashes make you more circumspect as to what you imply about my granddaughter,” he growled through clenched teeth.

  Jervaid looked back at him as coolly as he was able in the circumstances. “I don’t think Tor would be pleased if she heard you’d had me flogged, Sire.”

  Skardroft’s bloodshot eyes stared into his a moment longer, then he said in a menacing undertone, “Take one step out of line, just one, and I’ll have you flogged till you can’t stand, whatever Torbrek might say. Don’t think I won’t do it.” He released him. “Get out.”

  Alone, Skardroft poured himself a drink, still shaking with rage. That cocky, conceited young lout, what was Torbrek doing spending time with him? Tor, he’d called her. And that insinuation about her and Barlanik…no doubt nonsense, but he hated the thought of it. Unwillingly he remembered the admiration in Torbrek’s voice when his name had come up that time out hawking, how she had blushed when he’d asked her if she knew Barlanik. Knowing she was a girl put a different complexion on it.

  He drained the cup and poured another. Jervaid hadn’t even told him much about Torbrek, which was what he’d wanted. She should be here, where he could look after her, not knocking around with a load of disrespectful soldiers out for what they could get. She would be back here soon. He would see to it.

  He couldn’t get used to calling her Torbraya. He’d adjusted to the fact of her being a girl, but not the name. Torbrek seemed to suit her; it was how he thought of her.

  There was a scratch at the door, and Corfe appeared like a shadow.

  “Sit down,” said Skardroft. “Well?” As an afterthought he gestured to the wine, and Corfe shook his head.

  “Something Your Majesty might like to know,” he murmured. “The young soldier, Jervaid, you have been talking to just now; when he left Barlanik’s camp he was not alone.”

  “Oh?”

  “No, he left with a girl. Linet her name is, Barlanik’s sister. Needless to say, without her brother’s consent. She is staying outside Tarragon with his parents now. I thought it might be worthwhile my having a word with her, Sire. Find out what she knows.”

  Skardroft felt revulsion. He had no illusions about what Corfe’s innocuous-sounding suggestion meant; it was not a friendly chat he intended with the girl. He looked at Corfe’s opaque eyes and remembered what Torbrek had thought of him. She’d loathed him, and she’d been right. “No. Leave her alone, Corfe. She’s got enough on her hands with the soldier, what’s his name? Jervaid.”

  “She acted as Barlanik’s secretary; she was privy to all his decisions.”

  “Even so.”

  “As Your Majesty wishes, of course.”

  Corfe left the room quietly. Skardroft was pleased to see the back of him. However, there were occasions when it was necessary to use him. He knew he would never convince Torbrek of that; she was too innocent, too idealistic, she hadn’t seen enough of life. Skardroft could think of times in the past when he’d not asked too many questions about how Corfe got the results he wanted, because he knew he would not like the answers.

  Perhaps, if Torbrek came back, he would stop employing the man. She had influenced him in her time here, no doubt for the better. Probably more than he’d influenced her. He hadn’t even managed to teach her to play a respectable game of chess. Skardroft wondered how old this sister of Barlanik’s was; most likely much the same age as Torbrek. He was surprised by a momentary fellow feeling for Barlanik. Possibly he worried about his sister the way Skardroft did about Torbrek.

  He poured himself more wine, and thought of going to bed. He was dog-tired. Maybe he’d sleep tonight.

  Jervaid walked back to his barracks, thinking it might be an idea to keep out of Skardroft’s way for a while. They hadn’t really hit it off together. The man was as mad as a bag of ferrets. Perhaps he could get a week’s leave and go home to the estate and see little Linet. She would be pleased to see him. His parents had taken to her, once they’d got over their disapproval of where she came from. They thought he had found a nice girl at last, and hoped he would settle down.

  CHAPTER 19

  Ambush

  Tor had been asleep for five hours when the trumpet roused her; nearly a full night’s sleep as it went these days. It would be dawn soon. She did not bother with a candle as the moon was full, and she had taken to leaving her clothes, armour and weapons ready laid out. Within minutes she was ready, and pausing only to dash cold water on her face, she clattered down the stairs, as confident as a cat in the dark. Xantilor was awake and waiting for her to saddle him. Together they went to the square to find out where to go. Drewitt came up with a lamp in his hand and a map. Tor and Xantilor peered at it together. Bats flittered above them, hunting the moths attracted by the light.

  “Due northwest of here, as the crow flies. Small town called Biddingwell, it’s on the edge of the forest near this lake. You can’t miss it. You might want to wait for us, he seems to be sending bigger forces lately.”

  “We’ll see what it looks like when we get there.”

  “Don’t do anything rash,” Drewitt said. He knew he was wasting his breath, but could not stop himself giving Tor good advice which she never took.

  “Would I?” Tor grinned at him. “Prudence is my middle name.”

  She climbed on to Xantilor’s back and they took off over the Castle wall, climbing high into the sky where they could see the countryside laid out darkly beneath them, and be out of bowshot of stray enemy archers. The
night air was pleasantly cool after all the recent hot weather.

  Reaching Biddingwell, they spiralled cautiously down, both trying to see where the enemy troops were. It was quiet and appeared deserted. Tor was certain it was the right town. They went in closer. Lights were on in the houses, but there was no sign of fighting. It felt wrong. She decided to make one more circuit, then take Drewitt’s advice and wait for him.

  They flew low along the forest edge, and all of a sudden there they were; a unit of Skardroft’s cavalry, just moving out of the shelter of the trees. Xantilor had spotted them as well; he wheeled round to attack. The riders turned and sped for the forest, and, unseen by Tor and Xantilor, a line of javelin throwers emerged from a ditch behind them, and hurled their weapons towards the dragon.

  Tor knew at once Xantilor had been hit. He lurched to the left, and began beating his wings fast in a frantic effort to gain height. He flew lopsidedly, brushing the tops of the trees as he turned back the way they had come. Below, men were streaming out of the forest whooping and shouting exultantly, following them on the ground, some on horseback and some on foot. Their faces were white in the moonlight as they looked up at the dragon. Tor could see huge numbers of them milling around, and she knew that if they landed among them, the troops would kill Xantilor in the end.

  Xantilor dropped towards them, and Tor thought they were done for, but the dragon shot a burst of flame at the soldiers to scatter them, then lifted off again. He was dipping and climbing, veering from side to side, but nonetheless steadily increasing the distance between them and their pursuers. Tor could do nothing to help. She was desperately hoping they would get away and that Xantilor was not badly hurt.

  Their ragged flight continued until they were well away from Biddingwell, then Xantilor crashed down through the canopy on to the forest floor, breathless, his eyes wild and his sides heaving. Jarred by the sudden stop and scratched by the branches, but otherwise fine, Tor rushed round to his head. “Where are you hurt?”

  “My left wing.”

  She ran to look. There was a tear in the wing tip, but that looked minor to Tor. More serious was a gash above one of the long outer bones that supported the wing, and Tor thought the bone was broken. She was amazed Xantilor had been able to fly at all. It must have been painful. She put her arms round him. “Oh Xantilor, you were so brave. I’m sure it will mend, but we need to get back. Can you walk?”

  “Yes. The more speed the better, I would say.”

  “I think you’re right. Let’s go.”

  They knew which way the Castle was, because Xantilor like all dragons had an infallible sense of direction, but Tor thought it would be less predictable, and therefore safer, if they went first east then south towards home. Although nearly dawn, it was still quite dark in the forest, the trees grew closely together, and the mossy ground was bumpy with badger sets and long-ago fallen trees. Xantilor found it hard to squeeze through some of the denser patches, and it hurt his wing. Their progress was of necessity slow, which was a worry. Tor tried to decide what to do if they came to a road; Xantilor like many reptiles had a surprising turn of speed on foot, and they could travel much faster, but they could be seen more easily and if the enemy caught up with them it would be disastrous. Xantilor would be unable to take off into the air with his broken wing.

  She tried to visualize the layout of Drewitt’s map. She thought she remembered a road by the lake that led south, which would take them back if they could get to it. Where would Drewitt be now? He would be massively outnumbered by the troops she had seen, if they waited for him in Biddingwell; but perhaps those troops were now chasing her and Xantilor. The ambush, after all, had been intended for her. It seemed most probable that those men were hunting them through the forest right now.

  Routh had taken charge of the ambush himself. He had put a lot of thought and planning into it, knowing that if it failed Torbrek and the dragon would be more wary the next time. He had brought excessive numbers of troops to be ready for all eventualities. When the dragon tilted over, thrashing its wings, tumbling downwards, there had been a moment of triumph when he had thought they’d got it; downed, it could fight but it could not get away. No matter how many soldiers it killed, they would finish it off it in the end.

  He could not believe it when the animal struggled above the trees and made off. He watched it recede erratically into the distance, gleaming in the moonlight, then, as it was nearly too small to see, it crashed into the trees.

  Quickly, he organized his troops into three parties, and sent them into the forest after the dragon, leading the central group himself. They would comb the forest from one end to the other. The men were enthusiastic. They had hated the dragon’s sudden, devastating appearances on the battlefield, and welcomed a chance to get their own back. The dragon was wounded and on the ground not too far off; they should find it in the end.

  Then Routh could tell Skardroft something he wanted to hear for a change. Even better if his precious granddaughter was still with it...

  Tor had found the road that led to the south. There it was, beyond the trees at the edge of the forest. On the far side of it stretched the lake, still and dark in the greyish light. She felt a glimmer of optimism; Xantilor could move fast on the road, and with luck they would outpace their pursuers who were going more slowly in the forest. At that moment, she heard faint noises behind them like an enormous hunt in full cry. She and the dragon froze, straining their ears. The noise was getting perceptibly louder even as they listened.

  “Get to the road and we’ll run for it!” said Tor.

  Xantilor crashed through twiggy undergrowth to the road. He turned and began to gather speed. Suddenly he skidded to a stop.

  “What is it?”

  “They are on the road ahead.”

  Tor peered into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear horses, boots and the clink of metal; and it came from in front of them as well as behind. The soldiers were coming their way from all sides, faster than seemed possible. The lake cut off their retreat. Tor looked around urgently for somewhere big enough to hide a dragon. “Xantilor, get in the lake, quick!”

  “Immersion in cold water is not good for a dragon.”

  “Neither is being hacked to death with swords – it’s immerse or die.”

  Xantilor backed unwillingly into the water, gradually disappearing until only his head was visible by the edge. He retreated further until, with his chin on the mud, just the top of his head with his eyes and nostrils was sticking out. All the time the noise of pursuit was getting louder. Tor ran and heaved at a big fallen branch, frantically tugging and swearing at it until she’d got it half into the lake, so that its leaves concealed the dragon’s head. Ripples moved in concentric circles out across the surface from where Xantilor had entered the water. Tor looked anxiously at him. “Keep your eyes shut, and don’t move!”

  The branch had left a trail to the water where she had dragged it, so she quickly scuffed over the earth before running to the nearest tree. She looked over her shoulder. Did the branch look natural where it was? To her it looked the most conspicuous, out-of-place object in the landscape. She could hear the enemy terrifyingly close now, and fear propelled her up the branchless part of the trunk. As she climbed further into the highest branches that would support her weight, she saw the first troops arriving through the trees on to the scrubby ground bordering the road.

  Tor kept very still and watched them. She had never seen so many of Skardroft’s soldiers together; there were hundreds and hundreds of them, foot and horse, spread out and moving systematically over the ground. From the way they were searching the undergrowth, it seemed they thought it possible she had abandoned Xantilor. She shrank back into the foliage, praying that he would keep immobile. Luckily they hadn’t thought to bring dogs.

  The surface of the lake had settled back into glassy smoothness, but she could see tiny bubbles rising from Xantilor’s hiding place as air escaped from under his scales. She
dreaded one of the men noticing. Xantilor was very vulnerable where he was; he could not swim, and if they spotted him and drove him into the middle of the lake with spears he would drown.

  It took ten minutes for the soldiers to pass by and out of earshot. None of them gave a second glance at the branch. It seemed like an hour to Tor; she was beginning to be frightened that Xantilor would get too chilled to move, and would die of cold while she watched unable to help. As soon as she dared she climbed down and ran to his head. She dragged the branch out of the way. “Come on, we’ve got to get away from here!”

  Xantilor’s head lifted and he gathered himself together. His back and wings rose from the lake, water streaming off them; he moved towards the land then lost his footing, and floundered for a moment before slithering back into the water. He looked at Tor. “The mud on the lakebed is rather thick and slimy; it’s difficult to get a purchase on it even with my claws. And the bank shelves steeply.”

  This was a new worry. Tor had not foreseen that getting him out might be a problem. She spoke encouragingly. “Take your time, then really go for it. I know you can do it, Xantilor; you’re so powerful. Take a deep breath.”

  He tried again. This time he heaved himself further out of the water, but then after a mammoth struggle slipped back beyond where he had been before, till only his head was showing. Tor got him to walk along the edge to see if it shelved more shallowly anywhere, but if anything it got deeper in both directions. She began to feel desperate. Taking her boots and jacket off, she waded into the lake, quickly getting out of her depth and having to swim to Xantilor’s back. She got the ends of the coil of rope and knotted them either side of the saddle, swimming under the dragon’s neck to do it. She swam back to shore with the loose rope and passed it round a tree.

  “Now look, this time you’re going to do it. Give it your best shot. Think how nice it’ll be to get dry and warm again. When I say ‘three’ – one, two, three!”

 

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