by Garth Nix
Prince Kendryk hung his head. Red was plastered all down the front of what had once been an extremely fine robe featuring a tiny, recurring motif of the royal seal. Now it was stiff and, frankly, not terribly comfortable. He kept it on, though. Clothes were much harder to do without than sandals. His last pair had worn out and he had given up asking for them to be replaced. His grandmother enjoyed enforcing such petty deprivations.
‘Leave me alone, Grandmother,’ he said. ‘I’m busy.’
‘Ah, it speaks. I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten how.’
‘I have nothing to say to you.’
‘But you’ll sing that nonsense children’s song in the hope that the old fool will come rescue you – the one who left a baby heir behind in swaddling clothes because he lost his nerve? I know that’s what you’re doing: “Old Dragon” nonsense. I think he was always more of a lizard, my oh-so-great brother Egda. I suppose he couldn’t bear the thought of people calling him “Old Blind Dragon” … old fool, more like—’
Prince Kendryk closed his eyes and concentrated to block out her rant. The song was his lifeline, a shining thread leading to a future where he was no longer badgered by the woman who had driven his mother to an early grave and would be only too happy to see him in his.
Dragon, dragon, heed our call …
‘Pah,’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re as mad as they say you are if you think a song will bring that sightless dullard here. And if it did, what could he do? He’s blind and useless. Probably dead now, for all we know. A sudden attack of bilewolves, perhaps …’
She smiled again, waiting briefly for a response that never came, then walked away with a snap of her fingers for her shadow and chief servant, a black-haired man who did the regent’s every bidding with a smile that was too wide for any sane person’s liking. A massive sword hung at his waist, brutal and cruel, with an empty setting where a gem had once been fastened.
‘Let us leave this half-wit to his idle pastimes, Lord Deor. We have important affairs of state to attend to.’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
‘Grandmother?’
She stopped and turned, her heels squeaking on stone.
‘Yes, Kendryk? You’ve changed your mind? You will officially abdicate and resign any right to the throne? It isn’t necessary, of course, but it would be … convenient.’
The young prince tilted his head back and pointed into the uppermost gloom of the spire.
‘There are bats up there,’ he said. ‘I hear them squeaking.’
‘What of it?’
‘They’re trapped. I would like the porters to open a shutter or two so they can escape.’
‘And why should I do that?’
‘Maybe I will sign the paper. If the bats are freed.’
‘Bats and daubing paint! I should put you in a cage and hang it from the city gates so everyone can see your idiocy!’
Muttering irritably, the regent stomped off, slamming the door behind her.
Prince Kendryk lowered his gaze to the wall in front of him. The mural was incomplete, but he was free to resume now. He had made great progress in recent months. The end was at last in sight. Perhaps a week and it would be done, if he wasn’t interrupted again.
Stooping to place both hands in the bucket of red paint, he began once more to daub thick lines on the ancient, black stone of Winterset, humming all the while.
Dragon, dragon, heed our call.
Come to aid us, one and all.
Half an hour later, as the city bells tolled seven, he paused briefly, hearing the slow grind of the shutters opening overhead. The bats were being set free.
That meant his grandmother did need him to sign the abdication papers, no matter what she said.
But he wouldn’t, Kendryk told himself. He wouldn’t do anything she wanted. He turned back to his painting.
From a cruel and dreadful fate,
Save us now, ere it’s too late.
Both Odo and Eleanor had ridden horses on occasion, usually the farmer Gladwine’s old nag Pudding, who had a good nature provided there were plenty of apples on offer.
Never in their lives had they ridden like this, on fine riding horses, leading fresh remounts.
Both were weary, having slept restlessly, albeit for very different reasons. Odo had tossed and turned, imagining the many obstacles that might stand between Lenburh and Winterset, until eventually his two nearest older brothers begged him to get out of bed and leave them to their rest. As a result, at dawn he had not just been packed and ready, but the earliest to arrive at the rendezvous point by the stump of Lightning Tree, and thus gained the first choice of mount.
Eleanor’s restless night had come from imagining the very same things as Odo, only to her they were not obstacles but opportunities. She imagined herself following in her mother’s footsteps, battling monsters, defeating villains, and gathering more fame and glory with every mile. The simple act of seating herself a-horse made her feel very grand, which was a good start.
At Hundred’s cry of ‘Let us hie hence!’ they set out from Lenburh along the river road, heading north, alternating between a steady canter and a walk. None of them was wearing armour; this, plus sufficient supplies for one week, was carried by the two baggage horses. When the steeds they rode grew tired, they would swap to those that ran unburdened alongside them. That way they would make maximum progress without dangerously exhausting any of the animals.
The road was good and the weather fair. In the slower stretches, Egda asked them about Quenwulf, and they told him the story with only occasional theatrical interruption from Biter. With astonishing speed, they came to the turnoff to Ablerhyll Road, and followed it northwest, into territory Eleanor and Odo hadn’t visited before. Near a small hamlet called Gistern, they stopped at a swift-flowing brook to stretch their legs and water the horses. Odo’s thighs ached; he wasn’t used to riding and tended to grip too hard with his legs. Eleanor had an easier time of it, being both more practiced and lighter. Hundred gave her the task of changing the saddles and checking the packs containing their armour and supplies. Nothing appeared to be loose, but it still had to be done.
As Odo stretched his aching legs, he studied Egda. The old man had a new, tense set to his jaw, and he stood alone, facing silently back the way they had come. He looked regretful, almost angry.
‘Is Egda all right?’ Odo whispered to Hundred. ‘Does he think we’ve left something behind?’
‘Only ghosts,’ she said, not looking at him.
Odo glanced at Eleanor, but she hadn’t heard. Then he looked back at Hundred. Did she mean actual ghosts? he wondered. Surely not …
Soon they were up and riding again, and so it continued until dusk, when they halted for the night. This time both young knights were given chores to perform as they made camp in a tidy copse bordered by blackberry bushes. They brushed down the horses and gave them feed, then lit a fire, caught two rabbits, dug a necessary trench, and made dinner.
The meal left them feeling heavy and sleepy, but there were more tasks to perform. Bedrolls had to be laid out, dirty clothes aired and checked for fleas and other unwanted passengers. Neither Odo nor Eleanor had gone to such lengths on their one other epic journey; former kings clearly required better treatment.
‘Who cares about the best way to lay out a blanket?’ Eleanor muttered under her breath. ‘We’re knights, not inn servants. We should be practising swordplay!’
‘The best knights are humble and consider no skill beneath them,’ Runnel chastised her. ‘For instance, Sir Hollis, my first knight, was an excellent carpenter. Sir Faline could cook to make a gourmand weep, and Sir Treddian’s stitches were ever tiny and neat—’
‘You’re not helping, Runnel,’ Eleanor complained.
Biter made a rasping noise that Odo had learned to equate with clearing his throat. ‘I hate to disagree with my more experienced sister—’
‘Really?’ said Runnel. ‘That’s never stopped you.’
‘But I do feel that Sir Eleanor raises an excellent point. Our knights have much yet to learn. How are we to teach them when every waking moment is taken up with chores?’
‘Being a knight isn’t all about fighting,’ Odo said. In fact, in his opinion, the less fighting, the better.
‘No, but we have to be ready to fight when we need to,’ Eleanor grumbled. ‘Sometimes I really think we got the wrong swords …’
When it was finally time to settle in for the night, they found Egda in his bedroll with Hundred keeping watch nearby, patiently sharpening one of the many blades she kept in her pockets.
‘Is the fire high enough, sire?’ she asked.
Only it wasn’t her voice. She sounded like a man, deep and husky.
‘Aye, Beremus. It is well stoked and raging.’
Eleanor and Odo hesitated on the edge of the campsite, wondering what was going on. The fire was banked, only coals being kept for the morning.
‘Even the coldest night will pass with a tune to warm your heart.’
That was Hundred again, in yet another voice, this time a woman’s, but younger than her own and more musical.
Egda sighed. ‘Peg, your lute would comfort a dead man. Give us a round of “Drunk Eyes Fair See What Fair Not Be”,’ would you? It’ll put Beremus in the mood for a laugh, and by the stars, he needs one.’
Hundred hummed a few bars of the bawdy song, but her voice was rough and there was definitely no lute to accompany her.
Egda sighed again, and this time raised his cooling tea in a mournful salute. ‘To all the friends we’ve farewelled down the years,’ he said.
‘To all the friends,’ Hundred echoed. ‘Where have those knightlings gotten to?’
Eleanor cleared her throat and stepped into view. ‘Yes, well,’ she said, sensing that they had interrupted something private and pretending that she and Odo were too deep in conversation to have noticed, ‘I maintain that Clover Gorbold is the only girl in Lenburh fit to marry a knight. She may be three years older than you and interested only in geegaws, but she is the reeve’s daughter. I’m sure her collection of polished stones would grow on you in time.’
Catching on, Odo joined in. ‘What about you? The acting steward’s daughter and a knight? You’ll have to leave town to find an available prince – or maybe a number of them will duel for you on the green.’
‘They’d be fools, then. As if I would be impressed by anyone who wasn’t duelling with me.’
Eleanor folded herself on top of her bedroll, shifting her weight onto one hip to spare her aching backside. Perched on a flat stone in front of her, she found a steaming mug that smelled like heaven after a long day in the saddle. A second sat in front of Odo, and he sipped gratefully from it.
‘You are young to think of marriage,’ said Egda. Neither Odo nor Eleanor saw the twinkle returning to his eye.
‘We’re not!’ they both protested.
‘Just joking about it,’ said Odo.
‘Not much else to joke about in the village,’ said Eleanor.
‘Perhaps it’s as well to begin to think about it, even so,’ mused Egda. ‘As knights, you will be attractive partners to many. One purpose of the court is to make matches between far-flung families, and many young folk – not quite so young as you two – come to the court to seek suitable marriages. If we survive, I expect you will both be sought after at the many dances and balls and flirtations and whatnot.’
Eleanor and Odo exchanged horrified glances.
Hundred surprised Odo and Eleanor with a smirk. ‘More for you both to learn! There are at least twenty different dances, not to mention the language of flowers – you know what the different coloured roses mean, don’t you?’
Odo was far too aware of where they were headed, if all went well and they weren’t captured by the regent’s Instruments, Regulators and Adjustors en route. To the royal court – and not just the court, but the castle of Winterset and its surrounds, a city of many thousands.
‘I can’t imagine it,’ he said, his voice suddenly weak and small. ‘So many people in one place. So many strangers.’
‘Have no fear, Sir Odo,’ said Biter, nudging the sharpening stone and oil closer to him. ‘I will take care of you as you take care of me.’
‘Oh, I’m not worried about that,’ Odo said, taking the hint and beginning to clean his sword. ‘It’s just … everyone will be looking at us.’
‘You won’t be the object of their attention,’ said Egda. ‘The court will be watching the people around you, to see whose favour you have won. If you are alone, you will be perceived vulnerable. If you attract a crowd, they will think you strong.’
‘Crowds are like dragons,’ Hundred said with a sniff. ‘Half as smart as they think they are, and not nearly as powerful. Pay them no heed.’
‘Do you miss the court?’ asked Eleanor, stifling a yawn.
‘Never,’ said the old woman, but Egda was silent. He seemed to have gone to sleep, or was maintaining a determined pretence.
‘If you’re tired, Biter and Runnel can keep watch,’ Odo said to Hundred, thinking that she must be as exhausted as he and Eleanor were, probably more so, given her age.
She shook her head. ‘They’re welcome to stay up and keep me company if they like, but I’ll not trust the life of my liege to ancient swords, particularly when one of them can’t remember how he ended up at the bottom of a river, and the other once thought she was cursed. No offence, either of you. You’re good in battle, but I cannot bring myself to trust you.’
With that she closed one eye and went very still.
Odo waited a good minute before concluding that Hundred was literally half asleep. That way she could keep watch all night and still get some rest, albeit half that of someone sleeping normally.
‘What’s the river got to do with anything?’ muttered Biter, quivering gently under Odo’s oiling rag.
‘She’s saying you’re unreliable, little brother,’ said Runnel. ‘Or are you being rhetorical?’
‘Ancient, she said!’
‘Be glad she didn’t mention that nick you’ve got as well. You don’t remember how you got that either.’
‘I t is no impediment to my performance!’
‘Careful, Biter,’ said Odo, pulling his hands away. ‘If you get any more worked up, you’ll take my fingers off!’
‘I am sorry, Sir Odo. She does my nerves no service by being so provocative!’
‘Who, me or Hundred?’ asked Runnel.
‘Both!’
‘All right, that’s it,’ said Odo, packing up the oil and rag. ‘You two can keep arguing if you want, but I’m going to sleep.’
‘Me too,’ said Eleanor, surrendering to another yawn. She tugged open her bedroll and slipped inside, feeling disappointed that their first night on the road wasn’t filled with stories about the old king’s adventures. She had been looking forward to that. Maybe tomorrow morning, when Egda was rested. This was her chance to learn about what her future life would really hold.
Biter and Runnel took positions on opposite sides of the campsite, dividing their time equally between watching the night, watching Hundred, and watching each other.
To Eleanor’s continued disappointment, the second day began with more chores, and then they were riding hard for Ablerhyll, changing horses every hour or two. It was too tiring for Egda to talk, or so Hundred maintained. The terrain grew hillier and the road snaked left to right and up and down, crossing rivers and streams on narrow bridges and passing through woods draped with vines and cobwebs. The landscape was dry but heavily farmed, with crops, cattle and cottages in evidence everywhere they looked. There were few hamlets or villages, however. All roads led to Ablerhyll, it seemed.
The sun was high as they neared the large town, smelling smoke and unwashed humanity in equal measure. Eleanor gazed ahead with something very much like awe. This was the biggest town she had ever seen in her entire life! A dozen spires were visible over the fortified walls, and the smok
e from hundreds of chimneys rose up as one and drifted off in a grey fog. It made Lenburh look like a hamlet in comparison.
One of the spires had an odd addition attached near its top, a flimsy-looking cross made of fabric stretched over a wooden frame. It turned slowly in the breeze like the blades of a windmill, but horizontally, more like a water wheel put on its side and stuck on top of the tower. Odo, well versed in how both wind- and water-driven mills worked, wondered what it could possibly be.
This curiosity was not his only emotion. He felt nervous, almost as if they were going into battle, even though they were just planning to pass through the town and continue on the other side. They weren’t stopping even for supplies, since Lenburh had provisioned them well, and the lighter they travelled, the better. They would have gone around the town entirely, except it was surrounded by market gardens, irrigation ditches, and walled orchards with no easy way through, so the road through the town was by far the quickest way to proceed.
‘Remember,’ said Egda, lifting his cloak to his chin and tugging his hood forward again, ‘do not use our real names. I am your grandfather Engelbert, and this is your great-aunt Hilda. You are Otto and Ethel, and we are taking you to be apprenticed in Winterset – Otto with the miller, Ethel with the herbalist.’
‘Say it back to us,’ Hundred requested.
They did as they were told, feeling more vulnerable without their real names than they had without their armour, which was still stowed on the baggage horses. Biter and Runnel lay concealed under the saddle blankets of their horses, out of reach but ready to fly forth at the slightest provocation.
It annoyed Eleanor to be hiding the fact that they were knights after so long dreaming of becoming one, although she could see the sense in it.
‘Remember,’ Hundred went on, ‘there is likely to be an Instrument here, since Ablerhyll is closer to the capital. If we encounter one, act humble and cooperate. Our aim is to pass through unnoticed.’
The town gates were open, but there were guards watching all who passed through them. Eleanor felt their hard, suspicious gaze sweep over her and her companions as they approached.
