The Coming of Dragons: No. 1 (Darkest Age) (21 page)

‘He has the same symbol cut into his own arm,’ Cluaran called to them from the doorway to the cell. The usual mocking twist had left his face. Instead he looked defeated and troubled. He held one arm across his chest as if he were hiding something in his tunic.

He hesitated, looking intently at Edmund and Elspeth,
then at Elspeth’s right hand. ‘You’ve both helped me more than you can know, and you’ve earned the right to hear more. You’d better come inside.’ He paused, then added, ‘You too, Cathbar. You’re caught in this coil as much as they are.’

The stone room seemed very dark as Edmund stepped out of the late-day sun. He peered around with a shock of familiarity. He had seen these shelves of books and instruments before, dimly lit in the red glow of the brazier, the rough-hewn floor stretching into shadow at the back, and, looming out of the shadows, the dull iron of the great triangular frame, its leather straps and cuffs dangling open.

He shuddered, and moved closer to Elspeth. And then he saw the huddled shape at their feet. It was Orgrim, his robes torn, his hands bound behind his back. He were moaning, twisting his head this way and that as if he were trying to find a way out of the blackness that filled his eyes.

‘You’ve bound him!’ Cathbar’s voice behind them was shocked.

‘With his own chains,’ Cluaran agreed. ‘Even blind and weaponless, he still has the power to do harm. I fear that what he’s already achieved will never be undone.’

‘What do you mean? What has he done?’ Cathbar demanded. ‘There’s many of us suspected he was up to something black-hearted, but you’ll never prove it. The king trusts Orgrim with his life.’

‘As to what he’s done, I can’t yet be certain. But if it’s proof
of something black-hearted you want, captain, just look around you.’

Edmund watched the soldier’s gaze travel around the cave: to the machine of wood and iron where Elspeth had been strapped; to the sorcerer’s sword that lay on the floor, its blade dull grey now the heat of the fire had left it; to the scars on Elspeth’s wrist, scored through swollen skin; lastly to the man bent double on the floor, his face hidden by a fold of his torn and blood-stained cloak.

Cathbar nodded. ‘Oh yes, we have him now.’

The minstrel bent down to his pack and stowed a small object wrapped in sackcloth that he had been clutching to his chest. He stayed there for a moment, crouching with his head bowed over the package. Edmund saw with astonishment that the minstrel’s face was white, and when he spoke it was very quietly, to someone who wasn’t there.

‘I have found it! But I was nearly too late to save her. I’m sorry.’

Cathbar coughed and Cluaran looked up with a start, as if he had forgotten the others were there. Refastening his pack, he straightened up and crossed to a jutting stone shelf where there was a row of books propped on their spines. Elspeth and Cathbar followed him – but Edmund could not move from the chained figure on the floor. His face was a pale disc in the half-light, stripped of intelligence and arrogance.

Tentatively, Edmund reached out to probe the sorcerer’s
eyes. There was nothing but shadow behind them; as if there were no mind there at all, let alone eyes to see through.

‘Aelfred,’ he whispered. The man turned his face away, saying nothing. Edmund left the shell that had once been his uncle, his mother’s treasured brother – the man he was meant to join in Gaul! – and went over to the others, his eyes stinging.

‘This is the one that started it all,’ Cluaran was saying, pointing to a massive book. It was bound in black leather, turned greenish with age and mildewed at the edges. ‘This is the book of necromancy that Orgrim stole from the Rede.’

Elspeth nodded. ‘Aagard told us about it. He said that the book contains spells to summon dragons.’

Cluaran narrowed his eyes. ‘Dragons – and more.’ He ran his finger lightly down the spine, then snatched his hand back as if it had been burned. He scooped up the edge of the cloak and tucked his fingers inside before drawing the book from the shelf.

As he lifted it, another book fell away, smaller than the first. It seemed newer than the spell book but cruder, little more than a sheaf of stiff pages bound together with thread.

Cluaran held them muffled in his cloak. ‘I will show you more, but not in here.’

He pushed past them out of the door. Edmund glanced back at the prone figure of Orgrim.
His own uncle, the summoner of dragons
.

A low sound was coming from Orgrim, as if he were gasping
for breath. Edmund made himself go back. He knelt beside his uncle, searching for something to say. He leaned closer, then recoiled in horror.

Orgrim was laughing.

‘This book contains spells of summoning and binding – and charms like these have power all of their own, even on the page. Don’t come too close, Edmund.’

Edmund had come running out after them. He looked upset, but Elspeth found her gaze drawn back to the crumbling book. Cluaran had set it down on a flat stone a little way from the cave. A puff of dust rose as he opened it, and Elspeth looked at the pages in sick fascination. She could not read, but beneath the tiny, crabbed writing were complicated, spiralling designs that made her think of the marks Orgrim had cut on her arm. In the cloud of dust, the patterns seemed to move on the page. Elspeth shuddered and looked away.

Beside her, Cathbar scowled. ‘I never held with books,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll go see if the man himself will talk.’ He stumped back to the stone cell.

Edmund was looking over Cluaran’s shoulder now. ‘To raise … Torment,’ he read haltingly. His eyes stretched wide. ‘The dragon Torment?’

‘The dragon,’ Cluaran agreed with a sharp look at Edmund. ‘You know of him?’

‘I saw him,’ Edmund said, very low. ‘When the ship was wrecked.’

Cluaran nodded as if Edmund had confirmed something he had already guessed. ‘Torment knows …’ he paused, and tried again, ‘… the sword. It was the sword that imprisoned him in the Snowlands, five-score winters ago. Orgrim must have believed that because he summoned the dragon, he could control it. He really believed he could control an ice-dragon!’ The minstrel’s face twisted and his voice was hard. ‘It is safer to have no knowledge at all, than a little used unwisely.’ He closed the book – Elspeth saw that he still touched the pages as little as he could – and turned to the untidily bound sheaf of papers beside it.

‘These are Orgrim’s own spells,’ he said, ‘the ones he worked with his own hands. On the last pages …’ he stared at Elspeth and Edmund, his face bleak, ‘he was trying to conjure a god.’

‘But that’s blasphemy!’ Elspeth gasped.

‘Which god?’ Edmund exclaimed.

‘Listen, both of you!’ Cluaran snapped. ‘I never thought to tell this to anyone, but you must hear it. It concerns you, Elspeth. And Edmund too, I think.’ Elspeth eyed the minstrel nervously.

‘I’m not talking of the God your monks worship,’ the minstrel said softly, nodding to her, ‘nor any of the gods of this land. Orgrim was trying to summon one of the old gods, from before Wessex and Sussex were kingdoms, even before men walked this land. One of the first rulers of earth, sea and air.’ His voice took on a soft, lilting chant as if he were speaking the words of one of his songs. ‘There was one of them
who wished to rule not only the earth, but all things on it. He waged war against his fellow gods to take their power as well, and when he failed, he tried to destroy what they had created. So they bound him beneath a mountain in the far North, confining his spirit where it could do no harm. His name was Loki, the wily one. And there he stayed, chained with enchantment in a pit of fire.’

Cluaran’s eyes darkened. ‘Men came to live on earth and made new gods – the ones your mother sacrificed to for your safe journey, Edmund, and the one who dwells in your gods-houses, Elspeth. The elder gods faded and died but Loki lived on beneath his mountain, growing in strength and malice. And at last he found a way to reach out to the human minds around him.’

‘Orgrim,’ Edmund whispered.

‘No. The first time was a hundred years ago,’ Cluaran corrected him. ‘It was a black-hearted sorcerer, just like Orgrim. Loki promised him more power than he had wit to ask, in return for freeing him.’ He gazed over their heads, watching something they could not see. ‘The sorcerer raised armies and used the book of necromancy – this book – to summon dragons to march with them.’

‘But there’s no such things as dragons!’ Elspeth blurted out.

Cluaran looked at her, his eyes unreadable. ‘Just because you have not seen something does not mean it doesn’t exist. Since mortals have had the strength to contain them, they have been imprisoned far in the North, where men do not
live. Only the darkest of spells can break them free from the ice. When Loki’s sorcerer joined them with his army of men, a terrible war was fought, and nearly lost by the ones who knew Loki would bring only death and destruction. That was when the crystal sword was forged.’

‘My sword!’ exclaimed Elspeth. Instantly, she wished to take the words back.

‘Yes, Elspeth. Your sword. It was created to defeat Loki himself. It will cut through anything, flesh, metal or rock. But by this very fact, the sword is also the only thing that could free Loki, cut loose the chains bound by magic. In forging the sword, we knew we were giving Loki the chance of freedom as well as defeat.’ His face clouded with what looked like grief. ‘The first sword-bearer managed to resist Loki and defeat the sorcerer who had been helping him – but at a terrible cost. We bound Loki once more and the sword was taken to Wessex, until it should be needed again. And now it has come to you.’

Elspeth felt her skin chill with horror. ‘Are you saying that I have to do battle with a
god
?’

‘If Loki is rising again,’ Cluaran insisted, ‘the crystal sword is our only hope. And the sword gave itself into your hand.’

Elspeth shook her head wordlessly.

The minstrel started to speak again, but Edmund interrupted him. ‘Just now, you said “
we
bound him”. Did you play a part in the last defeat of Loki? But you said it was a hundred years ago …’

Cluaran turned sharply to him, and Edmund fell silent.
‘You have a decision to make,’ the minstrel said, ignoring his question. ‘Whether to help Elspeth in her quest – for quest it is – or go back to Noviomagus and hope that whatever evil forces Orgrim has released do not reach that far. You have a choice, while Elspeth does not.’

This is foolishness
, Elspeth told herself,
all this talk of destiny and gods. I am no hero!
She felt the sick feeling swell in her stomach.

‘Why should I have anything more to do?’ she cried. ‘Orgrim failed, didn’t he? We kept the sword from him – so how could he raise Loki now?’

‘A summoning this great has many stages.’ Cluaran broke off, looking up the hill. Cathbar was trudging towards them. ‘I’ll tell you all I can,’ he promised, ‘but not now.’

‘He won’t talk,’ Cathbar reported.’ Tis not just his sight he’s lost. His mind’s wandered also, though where it’s gone I have no wish to follow.’

‘Aelfred,’ Edmund whispered.

Elspeth reached out and clasped his hand. There was nothing she could say to comfort him – she couldn’t even imagine what it must feel to know your own kin had been responsible for such terrible things. Had she done the right thing, letting the sorcerer live? It might have been more merciful to Edmund if she had killed Orgrim, to spare him the shame of seeing his uncle blinded and maddened by the evil he had wrought about him.

Yes! It was my destiny!
said the voice inside Elspeth, and her hand burned like ice and fire together.

The square before the Rede House was crammed with people, like bees buzzing in a hive. Many in the north-east quarter of the town complained of seeing a blinding blue light in the sky and hearing unearthly screams. They had come to demand what the king and his chief counsellor were doing about it. Edmund saw that the Guardians were patrolling the edges of the square, but they seemed ill at ease, with none of the blustering authority they had shown the day before. None of them made any approach to the excited groups of townsfolk, and no officer appeared to be giving orders.

Cathbar led the travellers straight to the king’s hall, ignoring the little knots of people who tried to block their way. Edmund, walking behind with Elspeth, caught snatches of conversation.

‘… heard crashing sounds from the king’s hall, aye, and shouts too,’ an old man was saying to his neighbour. ‘They do say he’s been murdered in his bed, and now …’

Cathbar quickened his pace and Edmund lost the rest of the sentence as he ran to keep up.

The Guardians standing outside the king’s hall made no move to stop them as Cathbar hammered on the massive oak door.

‘Barred from the inside,’ he growled. ‘We’ll try the guards’ gate.’ He stepped back, but at that moment the sound of angry voices came from within the hall. A bolt grated on the other side and the door was flung open.

It was King Beotrich.

He lunged forward and gripped the captain by both shoulders. ‘Cathbar! Some madness is happening. Where is Orgrim? Has he executed the boy who claimed to be the son of Heored of Sussex? I need to see more evidence that he is the spy Orgrim accuses him of being before we commit to such a harsh punishment.’

Cathbar stood like a rock, his eyes fixed on the king’s face. ‘My lord,’ he said calmly, ‘I can put all things to rights.’ He reached out a hand to pull Edmund towards him. ‘King Heored’s son is safe – he is here. It is Orgrim who is the traitor, not this boy. I will bring Orgrim to you, and all proof you’ll need of his dark intentions, if you’ll give me the authority.’

King Beotrich looked uncertain. ‘But Orgrim is my most trusted Redesman. He would not betray me, or my kingdom!’

‘My lord, he would. Trust me, in the name of our God and
all that is holy.’ Cathbar pointed at the Guardian officers. ‘These men will not help me. They serve Orgrim, not you.’

The officers were keeping well back, but the commotion had drawn other listeners; a crowd of curious townsfolk was beginning to gather around them. Some of the Guardian foot soldiers who had been patrolling the edges of the square had hastened up as well. Many eyes were watching when King Beotrich turned to the ring of dark-clad officers.