Let Sleeping Dragons Lie

by Garth Nix

  ‘Hundred made it sound like a lot.’ Eleanor was thinking strategy. ‘If they’re only Instruments, like she says, that’s a good thing. They’re not the old king’s guard – which is who we wanted to be, remember? When we were waiting for Sir Halfdan to introduce us to the court? Imagine if we had to fight them.’

  Odo hadn’t thought of that, and felt relief flowering through his battle-ready nerves. If these Instruments were as hapless as the ones they had already met, the fight would be quickly over, no matter how many they had to face.

  ‘They are still fellow Tofteans, though,’ he said. ‘Just like the people we fought in Lenburh. It would be better not to hurt them too badly, if we can avoid it.’

  ‘Fortunately for that plan,’ said Runnel, ‘I lost much of my edge hacking at stone so Sir Eleanor could climb.’

  ‘I do not call being blunted an asset,’ grumbled Biter. ‘I eagerly anticipate a good sharpening afterwards.’

  ‘You’ll get it,’ promised Odo. ‘But until then, please try just to knock people on the heads, if you can. And not too hard, even if they are the bad guy—’

  ‘Wait,’ said Eleanor, holding up a hand. ‘I see someone.’

  She dropped to her belly on the stone, and Odo did the same. He inched up beside her, straining to see what had caught her eye.

  It was a pair of Instruments in red and silver, each holding their wide-brimmed cloth hats tightly to their heads. A strong breeze was making them awkwardly flop around. Fortunately, their animated brims had prevented them from seeing either of the knights creeping up on them.

  ‘Back up,’ Odo whispered. ‘We’re too close to them to get a good view of the whole party. Until we know where the regent is, there’s no point attacking anyone.’

  Eleanor nodded, and together they shuffled around until the two Instruments were safely out of sight. They moved as quietly as they could, given armour, swords and shields. As they swung around, relative to the wind, they began to hear voices carried on the breeze.

  ‘Hurry that fool up, will you, Lord Deor?’ a woman’s voice commanded, taut with impatience. Surely the regent, Eleanor thought, but she couldn’t see her yet. The voice could have come from just over the next ridge or from a great distance away. Maybe Egda could pinpoint them better.

  Thinking of the other two, she looked up to see if Tip was visible. That might give her an idea of what progress Hundred and Egda were making.

  There was a black dot some distance away. It looked like a bat in the predawn light, but it was behaving oddly. Instead of flying towards them or following someone below, it was corkscrewing up and down in a series of spirals, like it was drunk.

  ‘Look,’ she said, pointing. ‘Something’s going on.’

  Odo squinted. The light was getting steadily brighter. Dawn couldn’t be far off now.

  ‘That is Tip,’ he said. ‘But what’s he doing?’

  ‘It could be a sign of some kind, something we’re supposed to figure out.’

  ‘I t isn’t anything I recognise,’ said Runnel.

  ‘Nor I ,’ said Biter. ‘Although bat signals have never had a traditional place in warfare.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to fly over and tell us?’ Odo asked.

  They puzzled over the problem for a frustrated second or two, weighing the mystery of what might be happening with Egda and Hundred against the need to get to the regent before the sun rose.

  ‘We could split up,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘No, I think we have to keep moving together,’ Odo decided, coming up on his hands and knees to peer ahead. He could make out a gathering directly in front of them, just a short dash away. Among two dozen or so Instruments were a handful of people in brighter garb, including a woman wearing an ornate sword on her hip. She had Egda’s nose, marking her as a relative, and her purple robe featured the royal seal, so she had to be Regent Odelyn. Next to her was a strange-looking bearded man holding up a burning brand. The fire was greenish around the edges and seemed to shed no smoke …

  ‘Craft-fire!’ Odo hissed. ‘That’s what’s interfering with Tip!’

  ‘He is trying to signal us!’ Eleanor’s heart leaped into her throat. ‘They want us to attack!’

  ‘At last!’ Biter was ready in Odo’s hand as he jumped to his feet, Eleanor and Runnel beside him.

  ‘Shields forward,’ Eleanor said. ‘Charge!’

  ‘For the prince!’ Odo cried.

  Eleanor grinned widely. ‘For the prince!’

  Heads whipped around to gape, but they didn’t run more than two paces. From above and below, a swarm of animals attacked the two attackers.

  An eagle and dozens of sparrows and rooks and pigeons swarmed from the sky. Scorpions, spiders and ants issued from cracks in the rocks, crawling and thronging. They snapped. They screeched. Wide, ensorcelled eyes saw only their enemy: the two children in their midst.

  For a terrifying instant, Eleanor felt as though she had been plunged into a nightmare. She raised her hands, covering her face with her shield and leaving Runnel to guide her blows, scattering the birds in a shower of feathers. Feeling crawling legs and furred bodies massing up her legs, she danced frantically to shake them off.

  Odo was doing the same, but he knew that it was a losing strategy.

  ‘Run!’ he gasped. ‘Leave the small ones behind!’

  They ploughed through the swarm, and indeed the slowest of the creatures couldn’t keep up. That left only the birds to worry about – and the Instruments, who were already closing in with swords drawn, taking advantage of the young knights’ distraction.

  ‘Charge!’ cried Eleanor again, thinking to use the birds to her own advantage. They were a blunt weapon, surely, unable at close range to tell the difference between knights and the Instruments. ‘For the prince!’

  ‘For the prince!’ Odo cried again, although he was mainly thinking of the four people the bilewolves had killed – Sir Halfdan, Bordan, Alia and Halthor.

  Eleanor and Odo ran into battle side by side, aiming right for the centre of the pack. The birds came with them, angrily flapping and calling. Half the Instruments immediately turned and ran away, throwing their weapons aside, leaving just six to fend off the attackers. They braced themselves.

  ‘For the prince!’ came an answering cry from the other side of the royal procession.

  And then a second. ‘For the prince!’

  Hundred and Egda burst out from cover and attacked the backs of the watching Instruments. Two fell with throwing knives buried deep in their shoulders. Another two dropped with tendons cut in their ankles. Egda’s staff spun, knocking black-clad men and women down in all directions while Hundred’s sword cut graceful arcs through the air.

  ‘Hold them back! Call reinforcements!’ cried the regent, standing tall in the middle of her honour guard, with Lord Deor and the beast-master on either side. A lank-haired young man in a red tunic nearby had to be the prince. He was looking around wildly, startled by this unexpected development.

  ‘Yield now,’ cried Egda, ‘and your treachery will be forgiven!’

  ‘You’re supposed to be dead, you old fool!’ Odelyn responded. ‘How many attempts does it take?’

  Eleanor and Odo concentrated on their own battles. Odo lowered the shield from his face long enough to block a wicked slash to his ribs from a skinny woman with surprising strength in her arms. The blow jarred every joint in the left side of his body, but he was ready with an answering blow. An upward swing of the flat of Biter’s blade broke three of the fingers on her sword hand, and she fell back with a cry.

  Eleanor had two opponents, one of them seemingly more afraid of the birds than he was of her. She soon showed him the error of his ways. A quick stab to his knee sent him to the ground, and she still had time to dispatch the eagle pecking at her ears.

  ‘Think you’re so clever, eh?’ her remaining opponent goaded. ‘Anyone with a sword can be a knight. I had to pass an exam.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, examine this.’ Thinki
ng of all the things Hundred and Egda had taught her on the road to Winterset, Eleanor thrust Runnel at his face, and he fell back in surprise. She took advantage of his momentary distraction to disarm him and then knock him out cold.

  Stepping over his supine form, she batted away the birds long enough to take the measure of the battlefield. Hundred and Egda were on the far side, and Instruments were dropping all around them, felled from knives Hundred threw by the handful. Egda was advancing steadily on the regent, who was herself still moving, drawing a long tail of her honour guard behind her. She remained intent on her mission.

  ‘I see the Falconstone,’ Biter said in a determined tone, tugging at Odo to go fight him.

  ‘Wait,’ Odo said, pulling him back. ‘We have to stop the coronation first. I don’t see the crown.’ Wings and claws flapped at his face. ‘Ugh, these wretched birds! If only we could do something about them!’

  Even as he said it, one of Hundred’s blades caught the craft-worker. The bearded man went down with a cry, and his green-flamed torch went out. The animals were instantly released, including the scorpion Eleanor hadn’t noticed raising its pincer to strike her throat. It dropped to the ground, turned a circle in confusion, and scurried away.

  Odo gave a cry of triumph and raised Biter high.

  ‘For Lenburh!’

  ‘What?’ Eleanor looked around and realised that Tip and the other beasts were no longer slave to a supernatural will – a will that had been permanently ended. ‘Oh, yes! For Sir Halfdan and the others!’

  ‘The battle is far from won,’ Runnel cautioned as a furious Lord Deor shouted at the Instruments to attack and called for reinforcements from below. Those reinforcements came running up the steps, roaring, and Odo found himself separated from Eleanor despite his best efforts to get back to her. Hundred and Egda had also been driven apart.

  ‘Divide and conquer – an obvious tactic,’ Runnel observed as Eleanor leaped over the supine form of another challenger.

  ‘That’s a game two can play,’ growled Eleanor, driving hard through the throng to where the regent and her pet lord stood. She was so quick charging through the lines of Instruments that only two managed to interpose themselves, and they were so startled to see a young girl charging them, wielding a magic sword, that the best they could manage was a token defence. She knocked them both down, and suddenly Eleanor found herself facing a much deadlier foe.

  ‘Foolish child,’ said Lord Deor, raising his heavy sword. The hiss of its steel was as deadly as his smile. ‘You will pay for your insolence.’

  She didn’t waste breath on words. Adopting the Third Proper Stance, she used the matching Deadly Strike, Angry Fox, to thrust Runnel towards the gap between Lord Deor’s pauldron and gorget. This was one life she would not spare, if she could avoid it. But the Falconstone was faster than it looked, and swept across the Chief Regulator’s body in a blur to block the blow. The deflection was so keen and swift that she hardly felt it. All she knew was that her momentum shifted and suddenly she was exposed down her right side and fighting for her life.

  One blow she narrowly blocked, then another. Thankfully her shield proved up to the task, taking the force of the Falconstone instead of shattering, although her arm felt badly bruised and it took all her effort to remain on her feet. Cold sweat dripped into her eyes. Perhaps, she thought, she and Runnel had taken on more than they could handle, although she would never admit it. Grinding her teeth, she turned aside Lord Deor’s next thrust and came in low for one of her own. Again, the Falconstone deflected Runnel with almost sinister ease, like it was toying with her, and she fell back under a rain of blows.

  Lord Deor’s smile grew wider still.

  Eleanor squared her feet, and in the process looked down. Seeing one of Hundred’s knives between her feet, inspiration came to her.

  ‘Be ready,’ she told Runnel in a whisper.

  ‘Always, Sir Eleanor.’

  She lunged forward and at the same time let go of Runnel and dropped into a roll, scooping up the knife as she went. Runnel completed the strike, which was blocked by the Falconstone. That left Lord Deor open on his right flank.

  Eleanor leaped up and stabbed, adapting the Sixth Deadly Strike to work with the knife, as Hundred had shown her. The tip of the blade slipped through a gap in Lord Deor’s armour, but he twisted away quickly enough to avoid a lethal injury. Worth a try, she thought, even as he landed a blow on her shield that would have split her in two like firewood had she not successfully blocked it; as it was, it completely numbed her arm. She raised the knife, knowing it was little use to her now. The Falconstone knocked Runnel aside as Lord Deor wound himself up for a blow that surely not even a dragon-scale shield could resist.

  Then Egda was between them, his staff spinning a protective whirlwind around Eleanor, enabling her to catch her breath and her sword. Grateful, she squared up once more, and together she and Egda drove Lord Deor back.

  ‘Where is the regent?’ Egda asked her.

  Eleanor didn’t dare take her eyes off Lord Deor to look. ‘She was here a moment ago …’

  ‘We must find her! She must not complete the ritual!’

  Eleanor dropped back a pace, letting Egda defend her, and glanced around. The regent was hurrying away from the battle, dragging the unresisting prince along behind her as a hostage.

  ‘Behind, to the right!’ she told Egda.

  ‘Go!’

  Eleanor broke off, and Egda drove Lord Deor back several paces. In response, Lord Deor roared in anger – he was used to enemies fleeing, or trying to, not being forced back. And then Egda added insult to injury by turning and following Eleanor!

  But even as Lord Deor started to lumber in pursuit, he was distracted by Hundred, who threw a knife that glanced off his shoulder without doing any harm. Another narrowly missed his ear. The third bit into his neck, and he turned with a snarl to see the small, old woman running towards him, sword held high. Her battle cry was wordless, a pure shriek of rage and blood.

  Meanwhile, another voice triumphantly proclaimed, ‘Let Aldewrath object!’

  The shout drew Odo’s attention. In shock and dismay he saw the regent standing astride the hilt of a ceremonial sword buried deep in the Stone, raising a golden crown high, ready to make herself king of Tofte.

  It was all happening so quickly, Kendryk could hardly keep up, particularly in his exhausted state. First, a swarm of birds and other creatures had descended on Old Dragon Stone, summoned by the unnatural fire carried by the hairy man. Then the honour guard had come under attack by none other than Egda and his loyal retainer, the legendary woman with one hundred weapons. Kendryk could have cheered, but then his grandmother had grabbed the small bag made of woven gold from a nearby Instrument and dragged him away from the fight, still pursuing her quest to make herself ruler of all she could see.

  She could see a long way from the top of Old Dragon Stone.

  ‘It’s here somewhere,’ she muttered, eyes searching the well-worn stone ahead. ‘Ah, at last!’

  The notch could have been a perfectly innocent crack caused by years of weathering or a lightning strike but for the ring of symbols surrounding it. Kendryk couldn’t read them – no one could, not even the scribes who had recorded their secrets in the royal library – but to his feverish eyes they had the look of a warning. Or a promise.

  ‘Stand still,’ she said, releasing him. He didn’t run. This was exactly where he needed to be.

  She approached the hole in the stone, drawing the crown from the golden bag and the Royal Sword from its scabbard. They had once been plain but valuable things, the products of a simpler time. Both had since been decorated by less secure dynasties with jewels, filigree, and etchings proclaiming the worth of the bearer – all of it unnecessary for the purpose they served. The righteous ruler makes the crown, someone had written in a book only Kendryk had read for hundreds of years, just as the true knight makes the sword.

  ‘This is wrong, Grandmother,’ Kendryk told her w
earily.

  ‘This is statecraft. Weaken your enemies and take what ought to be yours.’

  ‘You have only made your enemies stronger. Don’t you see? Your Instruments are hated across the land.’

  ‘They do not need to be liked. They just need to be loyal.’

  ‘They are – as long as you can pay them. What happens when you run out of money, or their greed rises to match yours?’

  ‘Pah! I don’t have time for this. We can argue politics in your dungeon cell – if I can spare the time from being king.’

  She raised the sword and slid it one-handed into the stone, completing the first part of the coronation ritual.

  ‘Let Aldewrath object!’

  Kendryk’s breath caught in his throat. So quickly. All it took now was for the crown to descend on Regent Odelyn’s head. Then she would be king in all but right and the land would tremble under her.

  Unless something stopped her, at the very last.

  Closing his eyes, Kendryk opened his throat and began to sing.

  ‘Dragon, dragon, heed our call …’

  The prince’s mellow, surprisingly deep voice cut through the moment of shock that spread across the battlefield. Eleanor was caught midstep as she realised that the regent was about to win. Odo had just felled his last opponent. Hundred would have thrown a knife to stop the regent, but the only blade she had left was her sword, and that did not throw well.

  Egda cocked his head at the sound of his great-nephew’s voice, and listened.

  Come to aid us, one and all.

  From a cruel and dreadful fate,

  Save us now, ere it’s too late.

  Old Dragon Stone raised no objection to the sword or to Regent Odelyn’s words.

  She raised the crown higher and cackled triumphantly. The prince kept singing, louder.

  DRAGON, DRAGON, HEED OUR CALL.

  COME TO AID US, ONE AND ALL.

  His voice rang out across the battlefield and across the city. Bakers stopped with their hands in their ovens at the sound of it. Children stirred in their sleep. As dawn touched the slender spires of the palace, Kendryk’s voice followed.