The Coming of Dragons: No. 1 (Darkest Age) (3 page)

Aagard waved her words away. ‘You came alive out of the flood, so it is your own strength and spirit that should be thanked.’

‘Even so,’ Elspeth insisted, ‘you brought us here, and gave us shelter.’ Before Aagard could speak she went on, ‘But can you tell me, sir – was there anyone else? Any other men from the ship, or wreckage, even? My father …’ Her voice trailed off as she read the answer in Aagard’s face.

‘There were only the two of you,’ he said. ‘But the village of Medwel is only a league away down the coast path. Ships
wrecked on the rocks often wash up there, and survivors too sometimes. Have no fear, the villagers will care for any that they find. Tomorrow you can go there and enquire.’

Elspeth nodded unhappily and Edmund felt a stab of sympathy for her. She turned her head to hide her tears, and Edmund looked away too.

‘But first,’ Aagard went on, ‘there are things I must ask you.’ He indicated the chest. ‘I have seen this before, and I fear its coming here bodes no good. Did you see who brought it to your ship?’

‘It was an old man,’ Elspeth said. ‘He wore a red gown – like that one.’ She pointed to a long robe, wine-red in colour, that hung from an iron hook on the wall.

Edmund frowned. The tunic Aagard was wearing was grey wool, patched and thin-looking, but the robe that hung from the hook was altogether richer. A lord might have worn it, or a companion to a king. He looked at his host with a new interest.

‘The man who brought the chest gave my father some trouble,’ Elspeth went on, smiling at the memory. ‘He insisted on going aboard to see it stowed for safe delivery to Gaul. He said there would be someone to meet it when we reached the harbour. Father said he was so careful of the old box, he’d wager there were jewels in it.’

‘Thrimgar,’ Aagard muttered. ‘He would not have sent it away except in the direst need …’ He stopped and looked at Elspeth more gently. ‘You are tired, child. Rest by the fire. I’ll
bring you food shortly, when I have spoken with your companion.’

‘He’s not –’ Elspeth began, but then she shrugged and went over to the fire, stretching her palms out to catch its warmth.

Edmund opened his mouth to say he knew nothing that could be of use; that he had barely been on deck during the voyage, and had no memory of seeing the chest before now. But Aagard bade him sit down at the table, fixing him once more with that piercing gaze.

‘You have not told me everything, have you?’ the old man pressed quietly. ‘Believe me, I know this night’s storm was no common one. If you saw something there, let me know of it.’

Edmund felt his face grow hot. ‘Did
you
… ?’ he began. But he didn’t even know how to ask the question: did you see something flying through the sky tonight, something that has no business outside old wives’ tales and children’s stories?

‘Did I see the dragon?’ Aagard finished for him.

Edmund stared across the table, speechless.

The old man went on, ‘No, my boy, I did not see him, but in my dream I felt the evil that could conjure him. Such a creature has not been seen in many generations, and his coming now bodes great evil. The storm was only the start.’

Edmund shuddered, remembering the vast beast hovering over the stricken ship; the monstrous eye rolling above him as he lay on the splitting deck. Only for a moment had he stared into that eye, but its cruel gaze had burned into his mind like a brand.

‘His name is Torment,’ said Aagard. ‘You need feel no shame if you were afraid. Strong men have wept to face him. Gods have died fighting him.’

Edmund did not answer.

The old man gave him a wintry smile. ‘You thought dragons were a fable? It’s true that they have been kept apart from men for centuries. But they can return, with reason enough. What you saw was real, I promise you.’

‘There’s something else,’ Edmund blurted out. Before he could think better of it, he told Aagard of the dizzying moments before the wreck, when he seemed to leave the
Spearwa
and hover high above the ship, looking down at his own body. ‘I thought I was running mad,’ he confessed.

Aagard eyed him gravely, with no trace of contempt or even surprise. ‘It was no fantasy,’ he said. ‘You are – let me see – eleven years old?’ Edmund nodded, wondering where this was leading. ‘And on the ship, when you looked down at yourself,’ the old man continued, ‘were you still afraid of the storm?’

‘Of course I …’ Edmund stopped. For those few dizzying moments, he had not been afraid at all. He had looked down at the ship as if it were a piece of wood swarming with insects. He had
rejoiced
to see it swept away! Edmund bowed his head in horror and confusion.

Aagard touched him softly on the arm. ‘You were not losing your mind,’ he said. ‘You were looking through another’s eyes. The dragon’s.’

I was what?
Edmund searched the man’s face, too shocked to speak. What was he saying?

‘Tell me, what do you know of the Ripente?’

Edmund flinched as if Aagard had struck him. Every great household had heard of the Ripente: a rare line of second-sighted men and women, who could look into a man’s mind and out through his eyes, seeing as he saw. They were outsiders wherever they went, treated as a race apart and used as spies and informers by anyone who could pay them well enough.

Aagard looked at him with narrowed eyes. ‘You know something, I can see that. It would be unusual for you to be the first in the family. Does your father have these powers also?’

Edmund flared with indignation. ‘The Ripente are nothing but treacherous vagabonds! Men with no lords, without loyalty to anyone. My father …’ He stopped, recalling his mother’s warning just in time. He must not give away his father’s name. ‘My family is an honourable one,’ he finished stiffly. ‘No spies or traitors ever shared our blood.’

‘And yet you have the Ripente power,’ Aagard said mildly.

‘No!’ Edmund was furious now. ‘If a … a
dragon
takes hold of my mind …’

‘He did no such thing,’ Aagard broke in, a new edge to his voice. ‘
You
took hold of
his
mind. And he could not have known it, or he would have killed you.’

Edmund fell silent. Aagard took him by the shoulders and
looked into his face. ‘I have some knowledge of the Ripente,’ he said. ‘I suspected when you first opened your eyes that you might possess the skill. But to look through the eyes of a dragon …’ He dropped his hands, and his voice became urgent.

‘You have a great power. That does not make you a spy, or a traitor. Yes, the Ripente have often been outcasts. People always fear what they cannot understand. And it’s true that some Ripente have used their skills selfishly, for gain and power. But
you
need not!’

Sitting by the fire, Elspeth heard their voices raised, as if in argument. Edmund was so haughty, she thought: could he not even bring himself to be polite to the man who had taken them in? But she did not greatly care. Her mind was filled with her father as she had seen him last, calling orders as he hauled the tiller round, calm and purposeful in the face of the storm that would split his boat into kindling.
I won’t cry,
she told herself fiercely.
Even if he’s drowned, he would have wanted no other death. But he’s
not
dead; he’s a stronger swimmer than I am. I won’t believe that he’s dead.

Unable to sit still any longer, Elspeth climbed stiffly to her feet and began to wander around the cave, running her hand over the rough stone walls. Ahead of her was the chest that had saved their lives, the salt-rimed piece of flotsam that had brought them to this place. It looked older than anything she had ever seen; even older than the saints’ reliquaries in the
great godshouse at Durovernum. But more intriguing still was the lock. How was it meant to be opened with no keyhole? Elspeth knelt down and ran her hand over the blind, seamless face of the padlock.

There was a grinding rasp of metal against metal and the hasp of the lock sprang free.

In surprise, she turned to call to Aagard, but he was leaning towards the boy, speaking so earnestly that she did not like to interrupt. She turned back to the chest. Slowly, she slid the lock out of the wards and pulled them up. The lid swung open soundlessly, as though its hinges had just been oiled instead of soaked with sea. The chest exhaled a sour whiff of ancient air.

Inside, it was dark unvarnished wood, giving back no reflection from the candlelight. At first Elspeth thought it was empty, but something glimmered at the bottom. She bent in for a closer look and the thing grew brighter, as if a pale flame suddenly shone within it.

It was a gauntlet made of finely wrought silver facets, each one overlapping its neighbour so they rippled like the scales of some magical fish. Elspeth’s eyes widened. Surely no silver mined from the earth could have that living shimmer? Or perhaps some minuscule creatures from the sea’s depths, those that shine with their own light, had attached themselves to the surface of the gauntlet as the waves turned it over and over. And yet that couldn’t be, for the inside of the chest was bone dry.

Entranced, she reached down to touch it.

The cry that rang round the cave froze Edmund’s blood. He flung up his arms like a shield as a white light blinded him.

But in a moment it was gone. When the light’s dazzle had cleared, Edmund saw Aagard staring open-mouthed across the cave.

Elspeth stood before them, her right arm held straight out as if it were stone. On her hand was a shimmering, silver gauntlet – and in her grasp was a sword of pure, translucent crystal.

Elspeth was rigid with shock. The sword, shining with its own light and longer than her arm, filled her sight so that she could not look away. She tried to open her hand and drop it, but her fingers would not unbend inside the gauntlet. One cold winter she had taken hold of an icicle. The silver glove burned and clung to her skin in just the same way. She tried to throw the sword from her, but there was such a stab of agony that she screamed.

‘Help me! Take it off!’

Dimly, she saw Edmund jump to his feet, knocking over his stool. Aagard was already on his feet; he crossed swiftly to her side, but did not touch her and, as Edmund ran up, he held the boy back.

‘The pain will fade soon,’ he said. Even through her terror, and the burning needles stabbing her body, Elspeth could see that the old man’s face was white. She bit down another scream, breathing in great gasps, and held herself stiffly, feeling that the slightest move or touch would only make the pain worse.

Just as Elspeth thought her knees would buckle with exhaustion, the pain began to ebb. When the burning died down to a dull throb, she let her arm fall. The sword hung by her side, glowing with a cold fire.
What is this?
Elspeth thought in terror.

Aagard took her by the shoulders and led her back to her seat at the hearth. Elspeth scarcely noticed the warmth of the flames. When she didn’t stop shivering, Aagard fetched the red robe from its hook on the wall and draped it around her shoulders. The sword-shaped light shone out against the rich material, pulsing to an unheard rhythm.

‘The lock opened itself,’ Elspeth whispered, between chattering teeth. ‘I only touched the glove, and then it was on my hand. I never meant to –’

Aagard silenced her with a gesture. ‘What you meant and what
it
meant,’ he murmured, ‘are worlds apart.’

His words made no sense to Elspeth. ‘I can’t put it down!’ she cried. ‘It sticks to my hand, look! Can you not take it from me?’

Aagard took a step backwards, spreading his hands in denial or helplessness.

Elspeth pleaded with him, ‘But I can’t –’

She heard the boy cry out, ‘Look! It’s changing!’

Elspeth glanced down. The sword’s glow had begun to fade. As she watched, both sword and gauntlet became insubstantial, the blade thinning to the faintest edge in the air. A moment later there was only a shimmering haze around her
hand and arm. But she could still feel the echo of its weight, and the lingering press of the hilt in her gloved hand.

‘It’s gone,’ said Edmund.

‘No,’ said Aagard. ‘It has returned. It will not leave till its work is done.’

Elspeth stared at him. The pressure in her hand was easing. She flexed her fingers and rubbed at her palm, glad to feel skin and sinew, not jointed steel.

‘What do you mean?’ she demanded. ‘Will this happen again?’

There was concern in Aagard’s face as he looked at her, but something else as well – a spark of excitement.

‘It cannot be chance,’ he murmured. His gaze flickered from her to Edmund, and he seemed to come to a decision. ‘Come sit with me, both of you. There are matters we must discuss.’

‘I have never seen the sword before,’ Aagard told them when they were seated by the fire, drinking soup from wooden bowls, ‘but it was in my care for eighteen years, when I served in the King’s Rede of Venta Bulgarum.’

Edmund felt a stirring of curiosity. The red cloak made sense now.

‘The King’s Rede?’ he echoed. ‘You were a king’s counsellor?’

‘I was liegeman to Beotrich, King of Wessex.’ The old man’s face was sombre. ‘My lord the king still lives, but the Rede – his council of trusted advisors – has been disbanded.’
He sighed. ‘There were seven of us: thanes and scholars every one. One of our responsibilities was guarding the royal treasures, chief among them the crystal sword.

‘The chest that held the sword had been passed down through generations, sealed and protected by sorcery. No one in living memory has been able to open it.’ He glanced at Elspeth, but she avoided his eyes, staring down at her bowl of soup. She was using her hand normally, although from time to time Edmund saw her stroke the bowl as if seeking comfort from the rough wood beneath her fingertips.

‘But everyone knew the legends and the prophecy,’ Aagard continued. ‘The crystal sword was once used to rid the kingdom of a great evil. If the realm was ever in desperate need, it was said that the chest would open, the sword would reappear – and a new hero would rise to bear it.’

Elspeth looked up sharply. ‘Then why did it come to me? I don’t want it!’