Dragons and Destiny

by Candy Rae

  “I’ve read it, a jolly good read.” Elliot knew the stories well, copies of which were kept at the palace library. He was enjoying listening to the curator. The man had a well modulated voice that was pleasant to the ear. “What else did they write?” he asked, regarding the yellowing pages with an admiration bordering on awe.

  “They completed the first dictionary of Lindish. The original is in our archives, it’s in a bad condition nowadays so it’s not on general display in case the light damages it more than it is damaged already. The dictionary had been updated since, naturally, the university here has a Lind language section.”

  “What’s that in the next cabinet?” asked Derek.

  “Some of her possessions, though we cannot be a hundred per cent sure of their provenance. The wooden box for instance, could have belonged to anyone though it isn’t a native wood so it did come with the early settlers. The coin too, see the wolf’s head on its face? The sword we know was definitely hers and the helm too. They were left to her son and came here to Stewarton with his son. It was left to the museum, very small in these days, in his will.”

  “A fighter as well as an author,” marvelled Elliot, looking at the well-used sword.

  “She and Kolyei fought in two battles,” continued the curator, encouraged by the interest Elliot was expressing and expanding on his more usual spiel. “At the Battle of the Alliance she was only thirteen. Later they fought with distinction at the Battle of Trumpet Keep when the Larg tried to overrun Vadath.”

  Elliot was reading the synopsis of her life-story that was affixed to the wall.

  “I would have liked to have met her. Are there any of her descendants living?” he asked.

  “Absolutely, mostly in Vadath but also in Argyll and Murdoch.”

  “In Murdoch?”

  “Not many people know this,” the curator told his wide-eyed audience, “but the royal family of Murdoch is descended from Tara Sullivan.”

  “Tell me more,” commanded Elliot.

  “I’ve made a study of her,” the curator confided, “I’m hoping to write a book about Tara and Kolyei one day though I’m still at the information gathering stage.”

  “Please tell us,” begged Elliot.

  “It was in the middle of the second century, when the direct line of the king failed and the crown went to a woman of Vadath.”

  “Queen Anne,” breathed Elliot.

  “Yes. Her husband was one David Crawford, a direct descendant of Tara and her husband Peter Crawford.”

  All four of the visitors were amazed and half-inclined to disbelieve his story but as the man continued to talk, even James found himself listening.

  “I don’t suppose the royal family there remember it now,” said the curator half to himself, “it’s so long ago.”

  They do now old man, thought Elliot, determined to read the book when it was printed. I wonder if I could actually pay for him to write it? I must ask Father when I get home.

  “What is that?” asked Philip, trying to hide Elliot’s embarrassed confusion, pointing to a battered instrument in a cabinet a few steps further along.

  “That is the trumpet that blew during the Battle of Trumpet Keep,” answered the curator. “It called for help and help came. It was silver once but most of the silver has been rubbed away.”

  Elliot wasn’t listening, his eyes strayed back to the portrait. He felt drawn to it, this distant, very distant ancestor. Her eyes seemed to beckon him closer.

  As they were leaving the museum, Elliot asked if he could look at the portrait again.

  He stood gazing at it for a considerable time, so lost was he in his thoughts that he did not hear the light footsteps that heralded the approach of a woman.

  He jumped when she spoke.

  “She was beautiful was she not? Not in the classical sense, I’ll give you that but there’s something compelling about her.”

  “She was,” Elliot agreed.

  “She was called the ‘First Child of the Wolf’.”

  “Who was the second?” asked Elliot jokingly, not believing that the woman would know.

  “Her name was Kath, but she’s not famous like Tara.” Brown eyes gazed at Elliot. “You’re not from around here.”

  “No,” admitted Elliot, “I’m from Murdoch.”

  “Kath was my ultimate grandmother,” said the woman and she smiled.

  Weird, thought Elliot as after a last glance at the portrait he left the narrow room and made his way to the entrance hall where the others were waiting.

  He thanked the curator for a wonderfully interesting tour as they all took their leave, “and I’d like to read that book of yours when you get it finished. If you write as good as you talk it will be a good one.”

  He spoke with an air of unconscious authority and left the curator with a firm resolve to get down to writing from rather than the contemplation of his notes.

  The excursion on Lake Stewart the day after their visit to the museum was all that they could have wished for. The rain did not fall and a weak winter sun shone in the clear sky.

  It was a day full of fun and laughter and one that they all remembered during the days that followed. The children had to be called to order again and again as they ran with glee round the deck, making the most of the unexpected holiday.

  James and Elliot ran round with them, forgetting their almost adult status and behaving more like seven year olds than seventeen year olds.

  “Let them be,” laughed Matt when Zala would have called them to order. “Enjoy life when you can is my motto but I don’t want anyone overboard,” he warned. They were marginally more careful after that.

  Tala and Robain stood under the awning on the port side as the latter gave her news about her family.

  Philip and Derek stood on the starboard side, discussing the worrying situation that was developing at home. “He’s safer here,” Philip argued, “away from all the intrigue, especially if it is Prince-Duke Xavier who is behind it.”

  “But to try and kill his own brother. His nieces and nephew.”

  “He’s never been a trustworthy person.”

  “They can’t find out definitely that it was he who was behind the attacks?”

  Philip shook his head.

  “Suspicions only. Security has been stepped up. Whoever it was won’t find it so easy again.”

  “Prince-Duke Xavier?”

  “On his estates. He hasn’t visited his town-house for months which is suspicious in itself. Winter Court hasn’t been called. I think the King is holding off. His illness is getting worse. I’m going to keep Elliot here for the time being. Matt Urquhart was talking about the impending elections last night at dinner. I’m going to use that as the excuse I need. It will be good for Elliot to see democratic processes in action.”

  “Watch out young one.” Philip cried out as Mathieu cannoned into the railings beside him. “You’ll be over the side if you don’t!”

  Mathieu grinned and scampered off.

  “Its good to relax,” continued Philip, “even for the day and to see everyone having so much fun.”

  “It is,” agreed Derek.

  There was nothing to fear, here on the boat. Philip felt relaxed, totally relaxed for the first time since they had left Vada, despite the news from home.

  If he had known what events were lurking on the horizon he would have been a nervous wreck, but Philip was no seer.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 9

  AL607 - Third Month of Winter (Lokthed)

  Hilla

  Essay written by Juvenis Hilla Talansdochter as part of her Officer Training:

  ‘Question:

  “Why should the Larg be considered a threat to Argyll?”

  Answer:

  “The Larg live in the southern continent, Argyll is in the northern so the Larg are not an obvious threat to the security of our country.

  History (both ours and that of the Lind) tells us however that the Larg have attempted to invade the n
orthern continent on numerous occasions and not just since AL1. The Lind were defending themselves against the Larg for centuries before this.

  The traditional route north for the Larg is the bridge of islands that connects the northern and southern continents. This bridge is located at Settlement in south-western Argyll.

  Only on three other occasions have the Larg attempted ingress via another route. In AL10 with the help of the leaders of the Kingdom of Murdoch they attempted a seaborne invasion of Vadath. In AL167 and AL406 they used the island bridge in the far west although in the latter attempt very few managed to cross.

  The coastline at Settlement abutting the traditional island route is one of the most heavily defended areas in the world. It has been estimated that the Larg would lose one half of their warriors storming the ramparts. The western bridge had been rendered impassable with the widening and deepening of the water channel in AL547. So at first sight it appears that the Larg are now of little danger to Argyll. Indeed, the country most at risk must be the one that shares the southern continent with them, the Kingdom of Murdoch.

  If the Kingdom of Murdoch fell to the Larg then the position of those of us who inhabit the northern continent would become more difficult but not necessarily more dangerous. The Larg would still have to attack using the island bridge and they would be unlikely to attempt to do so.

  Argyll’s main difficulty would be economic with the disappearance of the Kingdom of Murdoch, a threat to our way of life but not to our existence. There is much movement of trade goods between Argyll and Murdoch; this would be lost to us, the produce from their plantations and glassmaking sand from the desert to name but two. These goods would no longer arrive in Argyll if the Larg destroyed the Kingdom of Murdoch.

  However, Argyll would adjust to this situation.

  If however, the Larg did manage to gain a foothold on the northern continent there would be a very real threat to our survival.

  On Rybak, only once during the last six centuries have there been more Lind than Larg in existence when in AL10 a pestilence spread through the Lands of the Larg. A hundred and fifty years later however, Larg numbers had once more reached pre-pestilence levels and so the numbers have remained to this day.

  There is a double reason for this.

  Larg females give birth to larger litters than do the Lind, ten to twelve is not unusual although their survival rate into adulthood is not as great. The Lind normally give birth to a lin of from four to six.

  Whereas the Lind will have an average of three lin during the female’s lifetime, the Larg dam will drop a litter during every second hot season for as long as she is of breeding age.

  It is estimated therefore that there are at least six times as many Larg on Rybak as there are Lind and possibly many more.

  There are 42 packs (rtaths) of Lind at the present time. The numbers within the packs were counted by the Lind a decade ago. Although the numbers were not reported in full, it is known that the smallest pack held around 2,200 Lind and the largest around 5,600.

  If we extrapolate on this basis, using the averaging principle of mathematics, this gives an average of 3,900 Lind per pack and if there are 42 packs we can calculate the Lind population at 163,800. From this we can calculate an estimated number of Larg, 982,800, a worrying number.

  The Lind become of an age to fight at 14 summers and both sexes fight in the Lindars.

  If we assume that a third of each pack are either too old or too young to fight, that would mean that the Lind could arrive on a battlefield 109,200 strong. We know that Larg females do not fight nor do the old and the young.

  According to the tactician Major Dafid Douglas the Larg can bring around 327,000 warriors on to a battlefield and he said that this was a conservative estimate and that 400,000 was nearer the mark. This would give the Larg an almost 4 to 1 advantage over the Lind.

  Of course, the Lind would not be fighting the Larg on their own. The 2,500 Vada can also be added to the northern army as can 10,000 Garda and perhaps 50,000 Militia.

  This means that the northern army would be approximately 171,700 strong, it brings down the detrimental ratio but the north would still be outnumbered by almost 3 to 1.

  To conclude, it is unlikely that there will be a direct attack by the Larg on Argyll. This would require getting their kohorts over the island chain and past the coastal defences with losses low enough to keep their numerical superiority which would be impossible for them to accomplish. As long as the northern armies meet the Larg with comparable numbers, on their own land, the Larg are very unlikely to prevail.

  The main threat of the Larg must be economic and the Kingdom of Murdoch is strong and well-prepared. The Larg are unlikely to attack it.

  The threat of the Larg to Argyll exists but is neither likely nor immediate.

  Bibliography:

  Tales of Rybak, Volume 3: Tara Sullivan-Crawford

  Histories of the Lind, Volume 2: Tara Sullivan-Crawford

  History of Murdoch: Count Charles Cocteau

  The Impact of Man: Mary Franklin-Antwerp’

  * * * * *

  Niaill

  Niaill and Taraya were exploring Taraya’s rtathlians where the domta of her pack was situated, having at last managed to escape her numerous relations, the majority of whom still resided within the rtath. Of all Dalnya and Falei’s ltsctas, only Taraya had gone east to seek out a human to share her life with. At the edge of one of the undulating hills that rose up and out of the plains Niaill and Taraya decided that rather than climb over the hill and down the other side they would travel through the woods and set up their night camp or dom underneath the huge trees.

  It was as dusk was falling that Taraya saw what she later described as a spark of blue deep within the undergrowth. They decided to investigate.

  As they drew close they heard strange noises although the blue light Taraya had described had disappeared.

  Niaill pulled away the fronds. What emerged was a metal pole the length of a sword. At its tip was a dull blue orb the size of a man’s fist.

  “It’s the round thing at the end that’s making the noise,” observed Niaill, leaning closer to get a better look. “What is it? It’s like a blue glass ornament and why is it here?”

  “I do not know,” answered an apprehensive Taraya, “but I feel that I should.”

  The orb stopped buzzing and began to vibrate. Niaill stepped back. The orb began to glow and to sound out an irregular pattern of bleeps. Niaill counted them; five sharp, a few moments silence than another five. The blue orb glowed on and off in time to the bleeps.

  Niaill began to look around for a stick with which to prod at the object. He sensed a great deal of disquiet from Taraya.

  : Do not touch : she warned.

  The words came with incisiveness and with such force that Niaill staggered.

  : Sorry : Taraya didn’t sound at all apologetic : This is dangerous Niaill, we must leave :

  “Dangerous? How can it be dangerous? It’s just a long stick. A bit peculiar with that glow and all though.”

  “I am not certain, I just know that it is.”

  Taraya sounded confused. “I think …” She shook her head to clear it. “It is as if I have always known.” She sounded even more confused and added, “we must warn them; we must warn the Gtrathlin.”

  Niaill stared at her and as he did, a memory began to resurface, an old memory from his childhood. Unbidden a rhyme swam through his mind.

  ‘If danger dire dost thrive.

  And north and south fight to survive,

  Look ye to the west,

  Where at our behest,

  As Mariya was solemnly bidden,

  Gtrathlin evermore keep hidden,

  Deep inside the ground,

  Answers may be found.’

  Now why am I remembering that after all this time? Must be the word Gtrathlin.

  “We must go warn them,” Taraya repeated with insistence, stamping her paw in agitation.

  �
�Warn who? The Gtrathlin?”

  “Yes. What we have found here fills me with dread.”

  A tight knot of apprehension formed in Niaill’s stomach and he shivered. He realised that he had never forgotten the riddle, not deep down. He had always known, even as a child that it was important and Taraya’s reaction had confirmed it.

  “Okay then, we’ll go. It’ll take us about three days to run.”

  “Two,” Taraya corrected him, “we will run fast.”

  “Are you going to let me at least sleep through the night? We’ll need some rest if we’re going to run it in two.”

  “Half the night,” Taraya insisted, “no longer. It might also be wise to cover the thing up as much as you can. I would not want the unwary to find it.”

  “We’re out of the way here,” Niaill demurred having no great wish to get close to the orb again. For some reason it now too filled him with repugnance.

  “All the same my Niaill, it would be safer.”

  Niaill did as she requested and stepped back. A passer-by would not now see the orb glowing although it continued to bleep out its pattern of fives.

  “Let me get some rest and something to eat,” he said, “then we’ll be off. You sure you can find this place or should I mark it with something.”

  “Absolutely not,” Taraya cried out in alarm.

  “Okay, okay, keep your whiskers on,” Niaill answered easily, he knew his Taraya.

  It was dark by the time they threaded their way out of the woods and Taraya began her run north to the domta of the Gtrathlin in the easy lope that ate up the miles.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 10

  AL607 - Fourth Month of Winter (Santhed)