Let Sleeping Dragons Lie

by Garth Nix

  ‘Shame there’s not enough room under here for us to practise,’ she said through chattering teeth. One swing of Runnel would likely cut two horses in half.

  ‘Here, catch,’ said Hundred, taking something that glittered from behind her back and tossing it to her in an underarm throw.

  It moved so quickly Eleanor didn’t realise it was a knife until it was halfway into her hand. Only at the last instant did she twist and catch it by the handle – and only then did she see the tiny scabbard that protected the blade. Her fingers had never been in any danger.

  ‘And here, one for you.’ A second blade crossed the distance to Odo. He fumbled with one hand, lunged with the other, and after a quick juggle finally snatched it out of the air. When he looked up, Hundred held two more knives, one in each hand, and Egda was grinning.

  ‘Attack me,’ Hundred said. ‘Expose your blades if you wish. It will make no difference.’

  Odo didn’t doubt that, but Eleanor was willing to accept the challenge. She had practised for hours with one of her father’s old scalpels, as blunt as a stick but well balanced and perfectly effective against the gnarled apple tree in her backyard back home. She dropped into a fighting crouch and inched forwards, watching Hundred’s hands. When she saw her chance, she lunged.

  Hundred let her get close, then twisted on her heels and moved in such a way that left Eleanor disarmed and with a knife at her throat.

  ‘You are dead,’ the old woman whispered into Eleanor’s ear before letting her go. ‘Pick up your knife and try again.’

  Eleanor grinned and did as she was told. This was exactly what she had been waiting for!

  Odo came to her aid, circling around so they were attacking Hundred from opposite sides. Again, however, Hundred repelled their lunges with dizzying ease.

  ‘Now you are both dead.’

  Odo took that as both a caution and a challenge. ‘Any suggestions, Biter?’

  ‘I fear my advice would be useless, Sir Odo.’

  ‘This is itself good advice,’ Egda said. ‘An enchanted sword can only teach you how to defend against a knife, using a sword. There is no such thing to my knowledge as an enchanted knife, so you must fight Hundred the hard way.’

  With that, Hundred lunged at Odo, but it was a feint, and a second later Eleanor was ‘dead’ again, and Odo soon followed. Even though he tried hard just to stay alive, it was impossible to keep out of Hundred’s reach. She was too nimble.

  ‘Never suppose that sword and armour make you invulnerable,’ she told them. ‘One day you may be without either, and this lesson could save your life. Now watch closely and I will show you the disarm I used the first time.’

  Eleanor soaked up this new knowledge like Swithe the leatherworker soaked up his ale, not even noticing the cold anymore. In fact, she soon shrugged out of the cloak in order to free her arms, although she kept Odo’s hat to spare her ears.

  ‘Now, against each other.’ Hundred watched as the young knights sparred. The horses seemed to be watching too, or at least not shying away when the scuffle occasionally came near them. The small stable formed a ring around the two fighters, flicking their ears and tails as though in amusement.

  ‘Enough,’ said Hundred finally. ‘It will be dawn soon. Best spare your strength for Tip’s return.’

  Eleanor studied the knife as she handed it back to its owner. The blade was one she hadn’t seen before, slender, with a grip worn into the shape of Hundred’s fingers. There were no jewels or any other adornments on the blade, handle or sheath. It was what it was: a well-made weapon that had seen a great deal of service.

  ‘How many knives do you carry?’ Eleanor asked. ‘I’ve counted at least eleven.’

  ‘That many?’ asked Egda with an amused look. ‘Are you sure they’re all different?’

  ‘Yes,’ Eleanor said, listing all those she had seen since the fight against the bilewolves. ‘Plus the sword. There can’t be many more or you’d jangle.’

  ‘I would indeed. And I would be very heavy.’ Hundred didn’t smile, although that could have been a joke. ‘Weapons are tools. I like to keep one for every eventuality. Estimate the number of eventualities, and you will know the number of my blades.’

  A flutter of wings came from the opening of their shelter. They turned as one to see Tip flapping furiously. He emitted a series of excited calls on seeing them, and caught Odo’s outstretched arm in a tight grip. Tip wrapped himself in his wings, shivered, and breathed heavily.

  ‘Welcome back, little friend,’ said Odo, beaming in relief. ‘I was beginning to wonder.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t doubt you for a second,’ Eleanor said, handing him a piece of dried fruit she had saved from supper. Tip gulped it down – or up, as the case was.

  ‘Tell Sir Odo and Sir Eleanor what you saw,’ said Hundred. ‘All of it.’

  They crowded around to hear. Tip had a lot to spell out, and frequently he was asked to go back and repeat short passages where their interpretations differed. It soon became clear that a considerable force lay ahead of them, with thirty soldiers and six archers protecting the pass from every approach. The gates were closed and barred, and anyone nearing was stopped. A small camp had formed beside the road, temporary home to those who had been turned back. Rather than descend all the way back down, it appeared they were willing to wait until those the guards were looking for had arrived and been caught, and the gates opened again.

  Odo’s mood flagged as Tip’s account came to its unhappy conclusion. There was no way through the pass that didn’t involve a fight – a fight they were likely to lose, against such numbers … and archers too. At least they still had the advantage of surprise.

  ‘Thank you, Tip,’ said Egda to the tiny creature. ‘You have served us well.’

  Tip wriggled with pleasure and burrowed into Odo’s scarf, blinking exhaustedly.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ asked Eleanor. Even she was daunted by the odds. ‘Turn back and find another way around?’

  ‘We press on,’ said Hundred. ‘All is not lost.’

  ‘Let us make a war council,’ said Biter, ‘while we camp here for the daylight hours. I am certain we will devise a plan.’

  ‘No camp today,’ Hundred said. ‘As exposed as that makes us, standing still for too long would be worse. I have faith that snow and fog will obscure us from above. If we make good time, we will be at the gates around nightfall.’

  ‘And then we will see,’ said Egda. ‘That is, you will see, and I will listen. If we encounter anyone on the road, remember our aliases: Engelbert, Hilda, Otto and Ethel. Swords, stay hidden, ready if needed. Great peril lies at Kyles Frost, but there is danger enough on the approach for all of us.’

  They were back on the road in moments, having never truly unpacked in the first place. The snow had eased off, but thick mist clung to the steep cliffs like white veils to a tearful cheek. Shapes loomed out of the mist as they rounded each tight bend – rocks, every time, but making Eleanor’s heart race all the same. She expected discovery and threat at any moment. The only thing that worried her more was the steep drop-off where the road met the open air. One missed step in the flowing fog could be her last …

  An hour into their ascent, Egda surprised them all by starting to sing. In a clear if slightly cracked voice that vanished into the muffling fog, he began the first line of ‘Fools and Kings’ and sang it all the way through to the end.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Eleanor hissed. ‘If people can’t see us, they’ll hear us for sure.’

  ‘I believe that’s the plan,’ said Hundred. ‘If you were looking for someone travelling in secret, and you heard this racket, would you ever suspect?’

  ‘They might shoot us just to shut us up.’ But Eleanor grinned and joined in on ‘Green Leaves’, followed by ‘The Soldier’s Song’ and ‘Meat, Mead and Mother’. Where she forgot the words, she simply sang the notes. Odo knew them all – one of the dubious benefits of belonging to a big family that enjoyed regular sing-alongs �
� and he had a sweet, light voice that belied his size. Had he been higher-born and not found a sword while looking for eels in a dying river, Eleanor reflected, he might have become a troubadour.

  At that moment, both of them were happy that he hadn’t. There was something about singing in the face of danger that swept away all concerns, apart from keeping to the path and holding the pitch. Everything else could wait … except when it couldn’t.

  Twice they encountered parties going back the other way, both on foot. Odo and Eleanor kept their hands near their hidden swords in case they posed a threat.

  The travellers all warned them of the blocked pass ahead and advised them to turn back.

  ‘More snow coming,’ said one, a barrel-maker with bright red cheeks, possibly from drinking too much of the wine his wares contained. ‘And no sign of relenting among the ironheads at the gate. Never seen such stubbornness in all my days. You’d think an army of rebels was on its way to storm the gates of Winterset itself!’

  ‘Is that what they’re saying?’ asked Hundred with carefully manufactured alarm. ‘An army? We don’t want to get caught in a fight.’

  ‘They’re not saying anything, no matter who asks. One of those newfangled “Instruments” is up there. Called Colvert. She’s been there three months, acting as afraid as a lamb in a wolf den. I hear there’s an Adjustor up there as well, sticking their nose into everything, although why one of them would bother with Kyles Frost is beyond my ken. It’s just a road with a door. Everything worked better when Sir Jolan was in charge … ah, that is to say, I thought it might … ah … forget what I’ve said, would you?’

  Hundred thanked him for the warning, but said that she and her wit-addled father and ingrate grandchildren would try their luck all the same. They couldn’t keep the pass closed forever, could they?

  On his well-meant warning being ignored, the barrel-maker and his entourage went on their way with a shrug. As they rounded the next bend, the singing that had caught their ears resumed, as carefree as before. They’d soon learn, the barrel-maker thought.

  None in the travelling choir was as carefree as they sounded. An Adjustor, the barrel-maker had said. They’d had trouble enough with Instruments, and only escaped one of them by extremely good fortune. What new troubles – and additional forces – might this higher official bring?

  It was a fear they didn’t voice aloud, in case less friendly ears were listening.

  After a long rendition of the round-song ‘My Merry Lad’, Odo declared his voice too hoarse to go on. Hundred agreed, saying that the pass was close anyway, so perhaps observant silence was preferable. Tip unfolded his delicate ears and went gratefully to sleep.

  Before they had gone much further, Eleanor became aware of a rising rumble from ahead, with a strange hissing laid over the top of it. It reminded her of the sound of the Silverrun in full flood, but oddly different.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ she asked.

  ‘The Foss,’ said Hundred. ‘It is a waterfall that plunges one thousand feet from the lake that fills the pass and becomes the Suthgemare River, which wends all the way to the Southern Ocean. Our road leads over it.’

  ‘Won’t we get wet?’ asked Odo.

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ said Eleanor with a shiver. ‘And what about the lake? Is there a bridge?’

  ‘One challenge at a time. To gain the lake, we must first pass through the gate.’

  Eleanor and Odo returned to fretting. Surely there was no possibility of passing undiscovered. One glance at Egda’s nose and eyes would reveal his identity. All the guards had to do was pull back his hood and everything would be lost.

  ‘You must have come through here plenty of times,’ said Eleanor to Runnel. ‘How would you do it?’

  ‘My knights have always been in the service of their king and therefore had permission to pass,’ the sword said. ‘Under present circumstances, one knight alone might bypass the guards in stealth, but not four, with horses.’

  Odo was having a similar conversation with Biter. ‘If a frontal assault is out, a diversion is too dangerous, we can’t sneak past, and we don’t have very good disguises, I just don’t see how we can possibly get through.’

  ‘We can only trust that our liege has a plan that doesn’t involve leading us to certain death,’ the sword advised him. ‘I n that unlikely event, though … promise me that I won’t end up in the water. I could not bear to sleep with the eels again. I would rather be melted down for a cart brace than lose still more of my memories.’

  With Hundred unwilling to reveal her thoughts, all they could do was fidget and wait.

  The road led between walls of sheer stone that blotted out the sun. To their left, a steep drop plummeted into darkness, from which emerged the sound of churning water. As the road became narrower, the thunder of the Foss grew louder until it filled their senses. Finally, the waterfall itself appeared, revealed as the cliff walls parted in sweeping curves to form a giant bowl ringed with craggy, snow-topped peaks, the two largest, Twisletoth and Tindit, vanishing into a dense roof of clouds.

  Ahead, the road crossed a natural rock bridge spanning from one side of the pass to the other. Out of a ragged hole under this bridge spewed forth a torrent of water wider and more violent than any Odo or Eleanor had ever imagined. Foam sprayed in white flecks and became a mist that painted their faces in chilling damp. With a roar that rocked them to the bones, the torrent vanished into the chasm below, beginning its journey to the far-off sea.

  Wordlessly – for what was the point in even trying to talk? – Hundred waved them forward, onto the bridge. The stone was slick and slippery, the violence of the water so great Odo feared the bridge might shatter under them at any moment.

  But Hundred did not hesitate, so he followed resolutely, looking neither to the left nor the right, concentrating only on Wiggy’s footing.

  When he reached the other side, he felt as though his bones had turned to jelly. He reached down to pat Wiggy on the flank, grateful for the mare’s steady footing and nerves.

  Egda came next, then Eleanor, looking as shocked as he felt. Only when she was safely on the other side did she stick her tongue out to taste the spray. It was cold and clean – pure water from glaciers higher up the mountains. It made her feel very much alive, and grateful to be so.

  Hundred led them on, through a dense cloud that covered the road, hiding what lay ahead. When they passed safely through it, their challenge was laid bare before them: another rock bridge much larger than the first, topped with a heavy wooden wall with gates midway, leading further into the hills. The gate looked impregnable, studded with iron bolts and braced in holes dug deep into the rock. Below, where the road joined the bridge, several wagons clustered, covered and uncovered, waiting to proceed. Some had pitched tents and lit fires. Odo’s stomach rumbled at the thought of hot food. Or was that nerves? It was hard to tell.

  A dozen armed guards stood in front of the gates. Eleanor’s sharp eyes picked out the gleam of helmets on ledges high above, undoubtedly the archers that Tip had described.

  On a narrow balustrade above the gates stood a tall figure dressed entirely in red. Eleanor couldn’t see this person’s eyes, but it was clear they watched the road and all who proceeded along it. Fortunately, snow still fell, obscuring them from close scrutiny. The sun had long disappeared behind the mountaintops and would within half an hour set completely.

  Instead of leading them directly to the gate, Hundred turned to join the wagons.

  ‘The chill sits heavily in my bones,’ she called back to them, adopting her ‘Hilda’ voice. ‘Let’s rest here awhile and see what causes the delay. At the very least we can avail ourselves of a fire, if these good people will make space for us.’

  Her cry was heard over the roaring of the Foss. Two young lads scampered from the wagons to help with their horses in exchange for a copper farthing each, and soon they were gathered around a campfire, warming their hands and hearing the story about
the Adjustor’s blocking of the pass once more.

  ‘Aye, madness, it is indeed,’ agreed a carpenter clad from head to waist in what looked like one thick brown scarf, wrapped many times around him. His hands stayed hidden, held close to his body for warmth. All they could clearly see of his face was his mouth. ‘I have a shipment of doors due in Wohness tomorrow morning and I won’t be paid if they don’t arrive on time.’

  ‘And I’ve a herd of goats that won’t survive another night without forage,’ grumbled another traveller. She passed around a flask of warming spirits that made Odo’s eyes water, just sniffing at it. ‘We’re going to lose our livelihoods, and who will help us? Not those wretched Instruments, and not that Adjustor neither. They only care about making us follow the rules – rules that make about as much sense as a partridge in a pie shop!’

  The grumbling became a steady rumble from the dozen or so people gathered around the fire. Odo and Eleanor had been enlisted into a game of knucklebones played by the other children gathered there. Odo deliberately lost and was cast out of the ongoing competition, so he could pay attention to what the adults were saying. Eleanor was more competitive and rose steadily through the ranks, beating one after another of the local champions.

  ‘Has anyone ever considered standing up to them?’ asked Hundred, speaking in a low voice in case any guards were in earshot.

  ‘What can we do?’ asked the goat herder. ‘We’re just honest folk trying to turn one penny into two. The prince tells the Regulators what to do, they tell the Adjustors, the Adjustors tell the Instruments, and the Instruments and their guards do what they will.’

  ‘I hear it’s not the prince at all,’ said the carpenter very softly. ‘It’s the regent who’s brought in all the new nonsense and sent away the knights. All these money-grubbing new officials answer to her.’