The Coming of Dragons: No. 1 (Darkest Age) (15 page)

‘They’re done in,’ he said, ‘and that mare’s all but lamed! You’d not have gone much further on these three.’ He insisted that they took their supper at his home, which was larger than Kedwyn’s. ‘There’s not a family here that hasn’t had someone killed or hurt by those evil boar. And now you two lads have driven the brutes off! There’s many will want to shake your hands for that.’

So much for not drawing attention to ourselves
, Edmund thought.

They drank barley-mutton broth from wooden bowls, sitting around Bergred’s hearth with his two sons. Later, other villagers drifted in. The talk turned again to the boars’ attacks on the villagers, and Edmund listened in growing horror as Bergred recounted the tales.

‘They stalk us like devils,’ he said. ‘We dare not enter the forest for firewood with less than six of us. They seem to know. Lie in wait. That king boar, he leads them.’ He counted out the death list on the fingers of his powerful hands: a simpleton boy found dead and partly eaten in the middle of winter; a
farmer who lost his hand when a pack of the brutes attacked his three-year-old son, and later died of gangrene; Bergred’s own eldest son, gored two winters before; a babe snatched from its basket set in the field’s shade at harvest time …

The sad catalogue ran on as Mistress Kedwyn came in with a jug of ale. ‘They took two souls that day. Maesgarad’s baby first, and when Bergred and Toby gave chase, Toby too was taken. Swift as the wind, young Toby was …’

‘And I as slow as winter,’ Bergred said heavily. ‘He was dead when I got there. Gored through the belly. But I saw that great black beast standing high as my waist, and I tell you I saw malice in his eye, like I’d been looking into the eyes of a black-hearted man. Vengeance, that’s what he wants. Vengeance and death.’

‘But why?’ Edmund whispered. ‘Why do these boar behave like this?’

For a time no one spoke – and that made it plain they knew the answer. At last, as if by silent agreement, Bergred began.

‘There is no reason not to tell you. You’ve had your share of them.’

They came as a punishment, the blacksmith told them. There were some who said they were supernatural beasts conjured by sorcery. There were others who claimed the Guardians had simply rounded them up and driven them here to Oferstow forest.

At the mention of the Guardians everyone in the room had looked anxiously at the door. But it stayed closed – and
the fact that Cluaran alone had not flinched made Edmund more easy.

‘Are you saying the Guardians brought the boars?’ Elspeth questioned, puzzled.

Bergred nodded. Two years ago, he’d been called out in a filthy storm to help an old man whose mule cart had stuck in the mud by the bridge. The axle had split, and Bergred had taken the man and his goods into the byre while he mended it. The old man had been in a stew of worry, begging Bergred to help him hide the cart’s load under the hay. Bergred had thought the man cracked; why would anyone want to hide firewood and sacks of oatmeal in an honest village? But that wasn’t it. Concealed within the load was the strangest-looking chest, bound with hasps of iron, and a lock with no place for a key. The old man made the blacksmith swear to secrecy; to tell no one of its presence while he was in the village.

Elspeth felt her hand tingle, and she clenched her fingers tight into her palm. She had seen that chest for herself – had opened the sealed lock and reached inside to pick up a silver gauntlet that even now burned beneath her skin.

‘The old man offered me a dozen silver coins to work through the night,’ Bergred went on. ‘It’s for the good of Wessex, he told me.’

Elspeth risked a glance at Edmund and read the same understanding in his eyes; the old man was Thrimgar, and he had stopped at Oferstow on his desperate flight from Venta Bulgarum.

‘The next day at noon, but a quarter-day since I’d seen the old man leave, the Guardians came galloping in, led by Orgrim himself.’ Tis not often we have a man from the King’s Rede among us, yet I freely say I did not take to him.’ He broke off as Kedwyn shot a worried glance at Cluaran.

The minstrel inclined his head. ‘Have no fear on our account,’ he said. ‘We do not trade secrets with the likes of him!’

The blacksmith struck his fist hard upon his wooden bench, and Elspeth nearly fell off her stool. ‘And I believe you’re honest!’ he cried. ‘But someone had spied on us on that day. Orgrim knew Thrimgar had been sighted here, knew I was lying when I said I’d seen no such old man. Who told him, no one knows. It could only be the birds!’

Edmund tensed. Bergred did not really blame the birds, that was obvious. What man would think birds could spy on humans? But birds had eyes, and a Ripente could use any creature’s sight as easy as drawing breath …

‘So Orgrim sent the boars as a punishment?’ said Elspeth.

‘We cannot doubt it,’ Bergred replied. ‘Orgrim was in a fury that day. I could see from his face that he knew I was lying, but with the old man long gone and no sign of his load in my byre, there was nothing he could do. As he rode out of Oferstow, he told us we would have good cause to regret helping a traitor. That forest looks like fine boar-hunting territory, he said.’

‘And then the boars came,’ Elspeth whispered, and Edmund saw a silver sheen thrumming on her hand, which she kept tightly clenched in her lap.

Brooding afresh on their misfortune, the villagers began to leave. Elspeth heard the blacksmith tell Cluaran the horses needed at least another day’s rest before they’d be fit to ride again. She saw the minstrel frown, but Elspeth felt her heart leap.

‘Don’t you see?’ she whispered to Edmund. ‘This is our chance to help these people! We can find the boars, and trap them. And,’ she added, her eyes burning, ‘we can pay back Orgrim for Medwel, like for like.’ When she saw the answering gleam in Edmund’s blue eyes, his grim smile, she knew he agreed with her.

Cluaran was asking the blacksmith if he had any horses they could borrow in place of their lame nags, but Edmund broke in.

‘We’ll be glad to stay another day, Master Bergred.’ With a glance at Elspeth, he went on, ‘Master Cluaran is a skilled tracker. If we could find the boars in the forest, and surround them with archers –’

‘ – we could dig a pit and drive them into it,’ Elspeth finished. She looked up at Bergred, her face alight. ‘We could kill all of them at once!’

Bergred and Kedwyn looked at each other. ‘No,’ Kedwyn said. ‘It’s a fine idea, but we couldn’t let two young boys like you risk yourselves.’

But Bergred clearly thought differently. ‘We’ll not risk the lads, of course,’ he told Kedwyn, ‘but it could work.’ He turned to the minstrel. ‘What do you say, Master Cluaran? Are you as good at following creatures through these woods as
your boy says? For I tell you: do this for us and we’ll give you the best horses we have in the village.’

Cluaran narrowed his eyes at Edmund. ‘If my apprentices are set on trying where so many have failed, I’ll not stop them. But I’d want one of the boys with me to help with the tracking,’ he said, and Bergred nodded. ‘I make no promises,’ Cluaran warned, ‘but if I have your word on the horses, I’ll do what I can.’

Cluaran and Edmund made their way cautiously into the trees at first light. Behind them, six village men walked in a line, armed with bows and knives.

‘We may as well go hunting with a herd of cattle for the noise they’re making,’ Cluaran grumbled, signalling to the nearest man to tread more quietly.

They had left Elspeth with Mistress Kedwyn. Edmund had wondered why Cluaran was so insistent she stayed behind; after all, he knew about the sword. Surely that would be a matchless weapon against the boars? But something in the minstrel’s expression warned them he would brook no argument – either Elspeth stayed behind, or they wouldn’t go at all.

‘So,’ Cluaran said quietly, when they had drawn a little way ahead of the line of men, ‘you mean to be a hero in spite of all sense. You’re Ripente, aren’t you? That’s how you found Elspeth yesterday.’

Edmund nodded defiantly.

But Cluaran only looked thoughtful. ‘It’s a skill that can
make you enemies; you are wise to keep it hidden. How wellpractised are you with it?’

‘Well enough,’ Edmund replied stiffly, not ready to admit he could count the times he had used his unlooked-for gift on both hands.

They walked through the forest until they reached the deadfall that the villagers had spent all night digging, ready to trap the beasts. Edmund eyed the sharpened stakes fixed along its length, each one tipped with a gleaming spearhead. The line of men joined them at the edge of the pit, fear chasing across their eyes like clouds.

Cluaran looked at Edmund. ‘Now all we need are the boars,’ he said drily.

He started to move away but stopped when they heard footsteps running through the trees. A moment later Elspeth panted up, carrying a skin of water.

‘Mistress Kedwyn thought you might be thirsty,’ she explained, handing the skin to the men.

‘You don’t lose me so easily,’ she whispered to Edmund. ‘I’ll be close by, I promise!’ He opened his mouth to protest, feeling sure Cluaran wanted her to stay behind for a reason, but she spun away to take the empty skin and trotted into the trees as if she intended to return to the village straight away.

Edmund went to stand beside Cluaran. The minstrel looked down at him with his eyebrows raised.

‘She’s gone back to Mistress Kedwyn,’ Edmund muttered, feeling sure the lie was writ large on his face.

Cluaran didn’t say anything, just headed into the trees. They drew ahead of the archers again.

‘The boars are not far off. I can smell them,’ Cluaran whispered. ‘Can you find them?’

Edmund closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Cluaran was right; he could feel them close by, but he could see nothing. He reached out further, more intently. He
must
find them! But there was nothing for his eyes to fix on to; only darkness.

And then, in the dark, a movement.

It was so faint he did not dare shift his gaze. The boars must be deep in the undergrowth, where no light yet reached. But there it was: the stir of a branch on one side of him – and on the other, so close he almost jumped, the gleam of an eye and the pale shimmer of a tusk. The boars were moving.

‘They’re in a dark place,’ he whispered.

‘Underground?’ asked Cluaran.

Edmund shook his head. ‘No, but there’s little light. A thicket of brambles – they’re walking close together, between branches.’ He paused, blinking the creature’s eyes to see more clearly. ‘The land slopes down quite steeply, and there are stones underfoot.’

Cluaran hissed between his teeth. ‘There is a ridge near here, further into the forest and well-hidden in undergrowth. That could be where they are.’

Edmund gritted his teeth. ‘Lead me closer. I’ll tell you if I see anything more.’

Keeping his eyes tight-shut for fear of losing the sight, he reached out to grasp Cluaran’s arm.

It was a strange, halting journey. Cluaran steered him through the trunks and fended back the branches that whipped at his face. But the minstrel could not see the twisting roots that tripped him, nor the bracken that tangled around his legs. Sometimes Edmund heard the men following at a distance, but mostly he fixed on the dim movement of the boars and told Cluaran everything he could see – the slope of the land, a sudden brightness where the boars broke out of the brambles into a copse of birch trees, their trunks rising palely out of a sea of umber bracken.

‘Yes,’ Cluaran murmured, or ‘I know where that might be,’ and he gripped Edmund by the shoulders and turned him to walk in a different direction. Edmund stumbled on, letting his mind fill with nothing but the sight of the boar. There were deep-gleaming eyes on both sides of him now, and ahead the shadowy bulk of the king boar, leading them on.

Suddenly the huge beast halted, its ears twitching.

They can hear us!

Edmund halted. ‘They’re here!’ he gasped.

The minstrel released Edmund so abruptly that he staggered. ‘I can smell them,’ he breathed in Edmund’s ear. ‘We’re downwind of them – we’ll not get a better chance to take them unawares.’

Edmund opened his eyes to a blaze of orange light. Blinking, he made out the figure of Cluaran silhouetted
against the sunrise, raising his arm to signal to the men. There was a flurry in the trees behind them as the archers moved into position; then the minstrel gave the signal to move forward. Freed from the boar’s eyes, Edmund felt as if he were looking down a tunnel: dizzyingly bright straight ahead; blind on each side. Shaking his head to clear it, he began to push forward, this time towards the great red disc of the sun, which winked at him as he moved through the trees.

There were yells ahead of him. He pushed through the underbrush to see the boars with his own eyes, dark shapes among the tree roots. The first arrows were already flying. One beast fell, squealing, and the rest turned to flee in panic.

Edmund fitted an arrow to his own bow and joined in the chase, driving the creatures into the rising sun.
I did it!
he thought joyfully.
I used my gift to find the boars!

Through the forest they ploughed, tasting the fear of the boars as they were hunted like prey.

Suddenly, there was the clearing ahead of them. The pit in the centre gaped black in the red light, the villagers, spears raised, standing on each side of it like statues. There was a moment’s awful stillness as the boars burst from the trees; then a great roar rose as men and women lowered their spears and rushed on the creatures, herding them towards the pit.

Edmund froze. There was one boar missing. Somehow the king boar had broken away from its herdmates, and left them to be preyed upon alone.
Where was he?

Elspeth was waiting at the edge of the crowd, standing well back in the shadow of the trees. Her face lit up at the sight of Edmund. She raised her hand in greeting and started towards him as the villagers closed in on the pit.

And then a thin, high sound sliced the forest air: a single squeal, sharp as a razor. The king boar stood at the edge of the clearing, outside the ring of archers, black as pitch, its head lifted as if it revelled in the scent of blood and fear that hung among the trees.