Dreamwalker (35 page)

A murmur ran around the great hall as the assembly digested this edict. To her left, Beulah could see Seneschal Padraig turning pale. She silenced everyone with a mental command.

‘Even now King Ballah’s people spread through the Caenant Plains. Where once they were wanderers, now they build towns and cities. Will we wait for them to mass their forces? Will we sit here in idle luxury while the enemy builds its strength on our doorstep? And by what right does Ballah claim these lands anyway? Caenant was Brynceri’s birthplace, it was the cradle of our people. We should not be so willing to cede it to rule from distant Tynhelyg.

‘I say enough of appeasement,’ Beulah said, standing. On the dais above the crowd, with the powerful weight of the obsidian throne towering behind her, she felt like she was flying.

‘It’s time to take the true word to the unbelievers,’ she said. ‘It’s time for us to move against Llanwennog.’

~~~~

Chapter Nineteen

Seneschal Tegwin, head of the Order of the Candle in Divitie XXIII’s reign, first proposed a census of all the dragons in the Twin Kingdoms. Since they were no longer to be persecuted, and indeed enjoyed a certain degree of protection from the king, it was only right that they should contribute to the running of the state in the form of tithes. Recording dragon numbers, their ages and status was the obvious first step in this bureaucratic process.

It was to be a mammoth undertaking. The work was shared out between the three orders and took almost fifty years to complete. This is not because the Hafod and Hendry were awash with dragons, quite the opposite. So few remained, and they had grown so adept at hiding, that finding them proved almost impossible.

Dragon’s Tales by Fr Charmoise

The sun hung low in the afternoon sky, pale and cold. The ground was wet with recent rain and the trees dripped heavy spots from their bare branches, filling the forest with a quiet roar. Overhead, the last few clouds were drifting away on a falling breeze. The earlier storm had blown itself out and now the world felt fresh and clean and new.

Benfro pushed his way past evergreen shrubs, their leaves slick with water, heedless of the damp on his scales and the loam sticking to his feet. Behind him, Meirionydd and Sir Frynwy moved more cautiously along the narrow animal track. Both of them were breathing heavily with the exertion though he would hardly have considered their pace fast.

‘Are you sure this is the quickest way, Benfro?’ Meirionydd asked, wheezing slightly. Benfro stopped and turned, agitated at their slow progress.

‘I’ve come this way a dozen times,’ he said. ‘It takes at least an hour off the journey. If you don’t keep stopping, that is,’ he added.

‘We’re not all as young and fit as you, young dragon,’ Sir Frynwy said. ‘Some of us haven’t walked much further than the distance between our houses and the great hall in decades. Are you sure this is where she’ll be?’

‘She’ll be there, I’m sure of it,’ Benfro said, glancing up at the afternoon sky. It was lighter now than it had been in the morning, thanks to the clouds clearing, but it wouldn’t stay light for long. They needed to hurry. In the dark they would not be able to approach quietly. He wasn’t really sure that they would be able to approach quietly anyway. Old Sir Frynwy made as much noise as a rutting boar as he plodded through the undergrowth. At least Meirionydd seemed to know how to tread without snapping dead branches.

‘We must hurry,’ Benfro said, turning once more to clamber up the slope. ‘It’s not far to the proper track now. We can be there in under an hour.’

Their sluggish pace continued and with each passing moment Benfro’s anxiety grew. Even when they left the animal track and started along the wider path that ran parallel with the river, Benfro could feel each second as a terrible disaster. Right now, further upstream, Frecknock was calling out in search of a mate, unaware that she was bringing herself and the villagers the unwanted attention of men. Worse, the attention of their sworn enemy, the inquisitor of the Order of the High Ffrydd.

Finally, when he was beginning to think they might never arrive, Benfro heard the noise of the river playing over the rocks and falls not far distant.

 ‘Quiet, now,’ Meirionydd said. ‘It’s important she doesn’t know we’re coming.’

 ‘Go and have a scout, Benfro,’ Sir Frynwy said, softly. ‘Tell me what you can see.’

Benfro crept forward to the edge of the path and looked out across the clearing to the flat-topped rock. There, sitting just as she had the last time, eyes tightly closed, was Frecknock. The thick leather-bound book lay beside her and the firepot glowed with its tiny flame in front of her.

‘She’s there, Benfro said when he had pulled himself back through the heavy shrubs that clustered around the river’s edge. He described the scene. Meirionydd closed her eyes as if concentrating on something.

‘She hasn’t started yet,’ she said. ‘But it can’t be long now. I suspect it is only vanity that has held her up this long.’

‘Vanity?’ Benfro asked.

‘Some other time, Benfro dear,’ Meirionydd said. ‘For now we’ve got to get down there, and fast. It’s critical she doesn’t make contact with anyone.’

Benfro led them along the path a bit further and then down the steep slope to the first of the river pools. It had been late autumn when last he had seen Frecknock up here, and the river had been at its lowest. Now in the holding of breath between winter and spring, and after weeks of endless rain, the water was high, rushing between the larger rocks, over the smaller ones in a dangerous flow that threatened to carry anyone who tried to wade through it over the nearby cliff edge. How Frecknock had made it to the flat-topped rock he couldn’t begin to guess. There was no way that he would be able to get any closer.

The light was failing now as the sun dropped down behind the western flank of the valley. The flickering glow from Frecknock’s firepot danced across her features and Benfro could see her lips moving as she mouthed silent words of power and longing. With her eyes closed and the roar of the river, he realised that they could have marched up the road singing at the top of their lungs and not disturbed her. He was wondering how they were going to get across the deluge and break her spell when Meirionydd stepped along the bank away from him a few paces. Something about her posture caught his attention and he watched as she walked. She was clearly looking for something but he couldn’t see what it could be. There was nothing along here but tangling shrubs, the muddy bank and the rushing water at their feet.

‘What are you looking for?’ He asked, but Sir Frynwy put a gnarled hand on his shoulder and hushed him. Meirionydd scrambled further along the bank, clambering over rocks and tree-roots worn smooth by the passing water. She stopped at last, sniffing the air like Ynys Môn after the scent of a boar, then made a complicated motion with her hands. The air seemed to shimmer like a summer heatwave, something made Benfro blink and then his mouth fell open with an audible clunk. She had the Llyfr Draconius clasped in her hands.

Benfro looked across at the flat-topped rock, twenty paces or more distant. Frecknock still sat there, her eyes screwed shut, but now a look of confusion was spreading across her features. She reached out with her hand, feeling for the spot where the book had been. Benfro could see that it was no longer there, though he couldn’t begin to understand how Meirionydd had retrieved it. Then he remembered what his mother had told him about how the villagers acquired most of their food. Had Meirionydd done the same to the Llyfr Draconius?

‘It’s over, Frecknock,’ Meirionydd said and Benfro was startled by the closeness of her voice. It filled his head in the same way that Sir Felyn’s had, but hers was a kind, gentle voice with none of the sense of otherness that he had heard in the alleged wandering dragon’s speech.

Frecknock’s eyes snapped open in surprise and alarm. For an instant Benfro was confused. He could see the young dragon from two slightly different perspectives and he could feel her embarrassment mixed with fury. And then he could see three dragons standing on the riverbank looking at him. He recognised Meirionydd and Sir Frynwy, but who was that scrawny-looking small creature by the old bard’s side?

‘Get out of my head, you horrible little squirt.’ Benfro felt Frecknock’s words as a slap in the face magnified a thousandfold. His sense reverberated and for a moment he thought he might lose his balance, topple into the swift-moving water. But Sir Frynwy’s hand on his shoulder gripped him tight. It was an anchor and a strength that helped him find the way back to where he was supposed to be. Even so, his knees sagged under him as his vision began to clear. At least now he only saw the world from his own eyes.

‘Steady there, Benfro,’ Sir Frynwy said. ‘Are you all right?’

Benfro was about to reply, but he was aware that Meirionydd and Frecknock were still deep in conversation. He could no longer hear the words clearly over the roar of the river, but by Frecknock’s dropped head and submissive posture he could see that she was being berated and, it seemed, accepting that what she had done was wrong. Then Meirionydd beckoned to her and Benfro nearly fell over again. Frecknock stood, blew out the flame in her firepot and stepped off the rock. But instead of dropping the few inches into the roiling water, she seemed to flow across the space and appear at Meirionydd’s side on the bank. Together they made their way back to where he and Sir Frynwy stood, clambering silently back up the bank to the path. Only when they were far enough from the river to speak comfortably above its noise did Meirionydd turn to Frecknock.

‘I think you owe Benfro an apology,’ she said. For her part, Frecknock looked almost completely defeated. Certainly the two older dragons seemed taken in by her posture and silence. Benfro knew better. He could still feel the taste of her fury, the sting of her anger as she had… what? What had she done? What had he done? Had he really been inside her head, seeing the world through her eyes and feeling, for that briefest of instances, the world as she felt it? And if so how?

‘I’m sorry, Benfro,’ Frecknock said, finally looking up and staring straight at him. ‘I had no right to do what I did to you. And I know now that it was both foolish and selfish. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me someday.’

Benfro was almost convinced of her sincerity. If nothing else, Frecknock could be very persuasive. But he knew her too well. He could see beyond the downcast eyes and hunched wings to the dragon who had gloated over him when he was powerless to do anything. He remembered the months of agony when he had not been able to speak of what he had seen. And most of all he remembered her supreme arrogance. Frecknock knew that she was better than all the other villagers. She had not long been studying the subtle arts and yet she was more skilled than all, save possibly Meirionydd. And she longed for something more exciting than the daily boredom of village life. She wanted a champion to come and free her, to take her away to exotic places. Benfro could understand that desire. He too yearned to see the world. But he knew the danger that existed should he be captured. No doubt Frecknock thought that she could overcome any man who might attack her, but what she didn’t see in her arrogance and ignorance was that the danger was not just to herself.

Benfro nodded an acceptance of her apology, not trusting himself to speak. Silently in the gathering gloom of evening they began the journey back to the village. He doubted that the party, his hatchday party, would resume once they arrived, and he wasn’t really sure that he was in the mood for it anymore. At least they had succeeded in stopping Frecknock before she made her calling this time. But Benfro knew for sure that this would not stop her from trying again.

*

‘Dig, you fools, dig! I haven’t got time to stand around waiting.’

Queen Beulah sat on her horse, hood up to protect her from the constant rain. Her cloak was heavy with water and the ground puddled with it, sleeking the grass and turning the dirt to sticky, soupy mud. The gathered workmen huddled around the two ornate headstones looking uncertainly at each other and shivering in the cold and wet.

‘Dig you imbeciles, or I’ll have my men run you through,’ Beulah said. Beside her the captain of her guard shifted nervously on his horse. Behind him a dozen warrior priests stood silent, motionless and uncomplaining in the rain. A flat bed wagon with a heavy canvas cover sat to one side.

‘They’re worried for their souls, Your Majesty,’ the captain said quietly. ‘It goes against the teachings of The Shepherd to disturb the last resting place of the dead.’

‘I’m well aware of the teachings of mother church,’ Beulah said, her voice loud enough to carry to the miserable workmen. ‘But this act has been blessed by Inquisitor Melyn himself. Your souls are the least of your worries if you don’t obey me.’ She let slip the rein from her right hand, lifting it free of her cloak. With a single thought, a blade of pure white light sprang from her fist, crackling in the wet. The workmen stared, terrified, and beside her the captain let out an involuntary gasp. Behind her she could hear the troop of warrior priests shuffle their feet in the mud. Beulah smiled. It did no harm to challenge their preconceptions about women and magic from time to time.

‘Now dig, because your lives depend on it,’ she said.

The workmen set to with satisfying energy, though it was awful work. The ground was so wet that it slopped back into the hole when they piled it too close to the edge. Beulah could feel her patience slipping away with the minutes. She had taken a chance coming here anyway. The Obsidian Throne might be hers now, but she knew better than to take it for granted. Her father’s reign had been weak; what better time to foment revolt than in the first few days after her coronation? But she had heard the voice. Someone else had a better claim. And if that were true it could only be the offspring of her sister.