The Coming of Dragons: No. 1 (Darkest Age) (20 page)

Elspeth’s head spun. When Orgrim turned and crossed to his rack of instruments, she began, cautiously, to pull herself up.

‘You will give it to me freely?’ Orgrim asked, turning towards her. She could hear the triumph in his voice already.

‘I didn’t say that,’ she told him. (
Get up!
screamed the voice.) Slowly she pulled her legs under and edged on to her
knees. Against all odds her legs held her, though her arms throbbed weakly.
Sword
, she said silently,
you must help me now
.

I will
, cried the sword.
Strike now!

Elspeth raised the blade and lunged at Orgrim’s head.

He was caught off guard and the sword sliced into his temple. But before she could strike again, he leaped towards the brazier in the corner of the room and plunged his hand into the burning coals.

Elspeth stared in horror as he lifted out a sword of his own, with a blade that glowed like rippling blue flames.

‘This is foolishness, girl,’ he told her. ‘I’ll kill you if I must.’

Elspeth felt the crystal sword pulse in her hand.
Help me!
she begged.

And now the sword did. It led and she followed, lunging and slashing. Orgrim staggered sideways.

We’ve got him!

But, no. It was only a feint. In the next pass, he brought the blue blade down in an overarm slash that she could not dodge. The blade sliced into her right shoulder.

The pain made her dizzy and she tried to sidestep, but Orgrim pursued her like a snake, slashing back and forth. Elspeth parried but a sickening wave of pain shot down her arm as the two blades crashed. She fell back, and back again, as each parry sent jolt after jolt through the wound. And even though the crystal sword still guided her hand, she could feel its energy draining away.

The sword’s energy, or hers?
It was impossible to tell.

With one last effort, she lunged forward, struck under Orgrim’s guard and caught him in the leg. He grabbed her wounded shoulder with his free hand and sent her sprawling on her back. Stars of pain burst before her eyes. She could not move as he loomed over her.

The last thing she saw was the blue sword bearing down.

Edmund’s mind was reeling.
Whitewing
, the mocking voice had called him.
Little Whitewing
. Only one person had called him that: the man who had compared him to the geese on the lake, his uncle Aelfred. Tall, handsome Aelfred, who had picked blackberries with Edmund and promised to tell him secrets … who had gone off to Gaul because his ambition could not be satisfied in his sister’s husband’s kingdom … and who had begged Edmund’s mother to send the boy to him when he was older.
Of all the world
, Edmund thought,
Aelfred was the one she trusted to keep me safe
.

How could Aelfed be Orgrim? How could a man change so utterly from what he once was?

Thoughts clanged in Edmund’s head.
Perhaps my mother had been blinded by her love for her brother; perhaps my father had not been there often enough to see the truth – but
I
should have known. The clues were always there, if I’d had the wit to see them.

He remembered his uncle’s eyes, cool and quizzical, laughing
at Edmund’s attempts to impress him on their expeditions. Edmund had climbed the tallest trees and found the most daring, ingenious hiding places in their games of hide-and-seek among the elms. But Aelfred had always found him at once.
He has been using my eyes for years
, Edmund realised bitterly,
sharpening his Ripente skills on me
. The thought filled him with fury, and he found he was on his feet. He fumbled in the hay for the bow and quiver that Cluaran had given him and darted out of the hut.

The minstrel had long gone. Edmund looked back and forth, deciding which way to go. He must get back to the square. The north-east road was bound to strike out from there. He could get his bearings to the hermit’s lodge at the town’s north gate.

He ran desperately, careless now of anyone hunting him. This was all his fault! All this time, Elspeth had been travelling with the very person who could lead her enemy to her. Edmund’s uncle would always be able to find him, because they were connected by something more than Ripente. Maybe he had always known Edmund would be on the
Spearwa
with the sea chest – though he couldn’t have known that Edmund would be one of only two survivors. He must have rejoiced when his nephew washed ashore with the chest, knowing that now he would be able to follow it wherever it went.

Edmund began to falter and the town wall was not yet in sight. He had to do
something
! But who knew what Orgrim could do to her in the time it took Edmund to find the
hermit’s lodge? And even then, what would he do, armed only with his bow and arrows? His uncle would be protected by a hundred sinister enchantments, no doubt.

Then revelation struck – with all the brilliance of the crystal sword itself.

I don’t need bows and arrows – not when I can fight him from inside his own mind!

Edmund slowed to a walk and sent his eyes ahead of him, searching out his quarry once more. It was not long before he sensed Orgrim’s presence. Yes, there was the familiar edge of evil thought. But this time Edmund sensed something else too – a fuzziness that tasted of iron, as if the man had thrown up barriers and defences about his thoughts.

He can’t keep me out
, Edmund vowed.
Cluaran was right. I will not let Elspeth die, not if I have the slightest chance to save her! Wherever Orgrim tries to hide his thoughts, I will follow.

The blade sliced down on her right hand. Elspeth gasped, but the blade rebounded, skittered off the silver gauntlet.

‘It protects you,’ Orgrim said with a trace of awe. He hauled the iron brazier out of the corner and pinned her legs beneath its feet. Hot coals scattered round her, sparks scorched her knees while Orgrim trod heavily on her sword arm. ‘So let’s try this …’

Suddenly he stopped dead. His face contorted and he spat out strange words.

A small hope flickered inside Elspeth. ‘Edmund,’ she
murmured. One last time she tried to lift her arm from the floor. She felt the sword’s power surge in her arm.

Now, Elspeth! Strike once more and we have him!

But before the blade left the flagstone, Orgrim came back to his senses, grinding his foot harder on her arm. Elspeth bit her tongue to stop herself from screaming out loud. She could not move her hand now, she could not even feel the sword that she knew still burned in her fingers.

‘How can he do that?’ Orgrim cursed. ‘A half-grown boy!’ He gave a low whistle, and instantly a huge black bird, which Elspeth had thought was a stone carving, flapped down from the roof and landed on his shoulder.

‘Find him,’ the man said softly. He reached out a hand to push the heavy door ajar and watched the bird go.

‘I think you’ll be ready to offer me your sword now,’ he told Elspeth.

Elspeth’s heart turned to ice. What would the bird do to Edmund? Was she alone?

You are never alone
, said the cool voice in her head, but it was faint, like the wind off snow.

Come back!
Elspeth called desperately, but there was no reply.

‘Your pale-haired friend is coming to rescue you,’ said Orgrim. ‘Did I tell you I knew him as a child?’

Elspeth stared at him in disbelief. ‘How?’ she croaked.

Orgrim’s lip curled in a smile. ‘Edmund is my nephew. He was always a loyal little fool. He won’t leave you here to die
alone. Which serves me well, because there’s one last thing he can do for me before he goes to meet his gods.’

Elspeth cried out and Orgrim laughed. ‘You won’t deny me the sword, will you, when your friend is strapped to the frame?’

He shoved the brazier aside and pulled Elspeth up, twisting her hands behind her as he dragged her to the wall where chains were set in the stone. Suddenly he paused, his eyes unfocused.

‘There,’ he murmured. ‘We have him.’ His fingers tightened on Elspeth’s shoulder, sinking like talons into prey …

Dim torchlight burned in a pall of smoke as Edmund slipped behind Orgrim’s eyes. Elspeth was sprawled on the ground, the blue blade slashing down.

‘
No!
’ Edmund screamed.

At once Orgrim’s mind responded, pushing Edmund away. He felt the cold grip on his own mind. And a great force as thought-tendrils burst forth like a many-headed serpent, striking, squeezing, twisting. Edmund clung on grimly. The torch-lit room whirled before his eyes.

A bolt of lightning punched through his brain. Orgrim hurled him away. The stone room was gone and Edmund pitched forward, landing on his knees just outside the North Gate.

Edmund scrambled to his feet. He had lost. Tears of rage sprang in his eyes. He swiped them away in time to see a black
bird swooping above him. He had seen it before, on the shore by the lake. Watching, watching, taking his master’s eyes to spy on every corner of the kingdom. Orgrim’s raven. The sight of its spreading wings filled Edmund with a burning fury.

You’ll not gloat over me, watching me fail.

In a second he had armed his bow and fired.

Elspeth braced herself.

And Orgrim screamed. He let go of her, clapped both his hands to his face and staggered backwards, shrieking.

‘Dark! Dark! Where are my eyes?’

For a moment Elspeth staggered too. But only for a moment. The crystal sword sprang in her hand, pulling her after the blinded man, and she followed it gladly. Orgrim drew his own blade, but his eyes stared out unseeingly and his face was blank with horror. Elspeth lunged at him once, and he stepped heavily backwards and fell.

Elspeth raised the crystal sword over her head. She was shaking with pain and weariness, but the blade burned with a sudden brilliance, like a shaft of sun.

Orgrim gazed up at Elspeth, his eyes black and dull.

The door of the cell was flung open and Cluaran stopped dead in the opening.

‘Strike, girl!’ The minstrel’s voice rang through the dim room. ‘It’s the sword’s destiny, Elspeth!’ he insisted. ‘This is what it was made for.’

Elspeth listened for the cool voice in her mind, but it was silent. The decision to kill Orgrim or spare him was hers alone.

She shook her head. ‘What about
my
destiny?’ She turned from the man on the ground and lowered the sword. It faded as she walked away. But Elspeth thought she heard one tiny whisper, on the cusp of hearing.

Cluaran! I have returned!

The sound of the bird’s dying shriek echoed in Edmund’s head and he shuddered as he ran. The houses gave way to grazing land, just beyond the town walls. A steep slope of scree rose ahead, and picking his way over the loose rocks, a long way in front, was the brown-clad figure of Cluaran. Edmund tried to catch up with him, but the minstrel was moving too fast. In another moment he had vanished among the rocks.

Edmund cursed. He could see nothing but stones now. What if he couldn’t find the entrance to the hermit’s cave?

Suddenly he realised he was being followed. Over his pounding heart, he heard the pounding of footsteps.
Not now!
he railed. He couldn’t be caught by the Guardians now!

He swung round ready to fight, as the large frame of Captain Cathbar lumbered up the hill.

‘All right, lad!’ the captain gasped, mopping his brow. ‘I’ve not come to take you back to the cell.’ He jerked his head in the direction that Cluaran had gone. ‘Just tell me. That
skinny fellow up ahead – is he your companion? The man who got away last night?’

He must have seen his answer in Edmund’s face, for he nodded without waiting for a reply. ‘He’s a cunning one, and fast, too. They’re looking for him to the south of town. But I thought he’d likely come for you and the girl.’

‘He’s done nothing wrong!’ Edmund began.

Cathbar held up a hand. ‘I don’t believe he has,’ he said. ‘I told you, the Guardians have been picking scapegoats for a while now, and I’ll not see another good man hanged if I can help it. But I want a word with him. They tell me he was picked up outside Orgrim’s quarters in the Rede House.’ Cathbar’s face was grim. ‘It’s Orgrim your man is spying on, isn’t it? And anything he knows about that snake, I want to know too.’

Edmund had his breath back now. ‘Come on, then!’ he said, and sprinted for the hill.

He had scrambled a good way up the pebbly slope before he saw the stone wall of the cell. It was cunningly built into an outcrop so as to be almost invisible. Cluaran stood stock-still in the doorway, looking into the cave.

Before Edmund could call out, Cluaran stepped aside and Elspeth stumbled out of the cell. The crystal sword hung from her hand, its blade trailing on the ground, its glow barely visible in the light of the setting sun. Her sleeve was torn and her arm was red with blood that trickled down the silvery hand that still gripped the hilt.

As Edmund started towards her she stopped, took one gasping breath and collapsed. By the time Cathbar came pounding up, Elspeth was blinking up at Edmund.

‘What happened?’ Edmund prompted. ‘What did he do to you?’

‘He clutched his eyes and screamed that he was blinded,’ Elspeth whispered. ‘He had sent a raven to find you.’

‘I shot it,’ Edmund told her bluntly, and he remembered the bird’s cold eyes watching him through the leaves all those years ago. He remembered his uncle’s laughing brown eyes as he so swiftly discovered Edmund’s every clever hiding place. Edmund grimaced at all the little betrayals. ‘If I had known that bird was nothing but a spy, I would have shot it sooner,’ he muttered. He turned miserably back to Elspeth.

‘Your arm!’ he gasped. Elspeth’s forearm was disfigured with cuts. Not random slashes, for the blood was drying to show a strange spiral that ended with two jagged lines. Edmund and Cathbar gazed at it in horror.

‘It doesn’t hurt much,’ Elspeth said dully, though Edmund saw her turn her head away. ‘Orgrim was doing some kind of sorcery, trying to charm the sword from me.’