The Coming of Dragons: No. 1 (Darkest Age) (6 page)

Aagard stopped to greet the stranger. ‘Well met, Cluaran,’ he said. His tone was cordial, but Edmund detected a cautious edge as he added, ‘I wondered if you might be here.’ He turned to Elspeth and Edmund. ‘This is Cluaran. He –’

‘I’m a traveller, a dealer in old scraps,’ interrupted the man in a light, musical voice. He had a lilting accent, unlike any that Edmund had heard before. ‘I pick up odd fragments of songs and stories and pass them on in return for my supper. I’m honoured to meet you, lady, young sir.’ He bowed his head humbly, but Edmund caught a gleam of mockery in his grey-green eyes.

‘Cluaran is a minstrel, and a fine one,’ their hostess told them, serving them with bowls of barley broth. ‘He comes here every year with his songs and all the news of the kingdoms. You’ve come at a good time. There’ll be merry-making tonight!’

Edmund was used to dining at his father’s court, but he had to admit that Gilbert was a generous host. He saw Elspeth’s eyes widen at the sight of the heaped platters of bread and meat; saw her nod speechlessly when a slave came around with a wine flask.

‘Be careful!’ Edmund warned as she took up her cup. ‘It’s strong stuff if you’ve not had it before – it’s not like ale.’ But he was too late; Elspeth had already taken a deep draught. She spluttered and dropped the cup, sending the golden liquid
splashing across the table. The two trader brothers sitting opposite drew back in exaggerated alarm.

‘No need to throw it away, girl, if you don’t like it!’ called one, while his brother sniggered.

Elspeth stared down at the table, her cheeks turning scarlet. Edmund waved a hand to summon the nearest slave girl, and as she mopped the spilled wine he gave the smirking men a look that he had once seen his father using on an ill-mannered messenger. It did not have quite the quelling effect Edmund remembered, but both men gave him uneasy glances and turned back to their food.

‘My thanks for the warning,’ Elspeth whispered wryly when the slave girl had gone. ‘But where have you been, that you’ve drunk wine? No one that I know drinks anything other than ale and milk.’

Edmund was saved from having to answer by the minstrel, Cluaran. The tables fell silent as he took up his harp and began to play: first a lively catch that set everyone clapping and shouting, then the sad strains of ‘The Wanderer’s Lament’. By the time the slaves came to clear away the empty platters, he was half-chanting, half-singing the tale of ‘The Booty of Annwvyn’. Edmund knew the story well from his mother, but he was transfixed by the man’s strange, soft-pitched voice. Even Elspeth smiled as the minstrel sang of the giant who was mistaken for a mountain and the quest for a cauldron which brought the dead to life. Gilbert roared his approval and sent over more warmed ale for the singer.

Finally the minstrel laid down his harp to a general cry of disappointment. Edmund watched the man curiously. He was undoubtedly popular, but no one went to praise the minstrel’s performance to his face; nor did he seek anyone’s company. He sat alone on an upturned barrel at the end of the table, drinking his ale in silence. Only Aagard, after a while, went over and talked with him briefly.

‘Is Cluaran a friend of yours?’ Edmund asked when the old man returned.

Aagard did not reply at once. When he did, he seemed to frame his words very carefully. ‘He has been of help to me in the past,’ he said. ‘And I to him, I believe. He can be a good ally in time of need. But no, I would not call Cluaran a friend.’

The minstrel ate alone the next morning as well. Edmund saw him sitting on the far side of the fire while the trader brothers ate at the table with some men of the household, all talking cheerfully. He, Elspeth and Aagard were seated with their host. Gilbert had been at pains to make them welcome; they had been given good straw beds in the hall itself, where the fire was kept burning low all night, and offered as much bread and cheese as they could eat for breakfast. The thane seemed sorry when Aagard told him they planned to leave, and shook his head to hear where they were going.

‘You know your own mind of course, Master Aagard,’ he said, ‘but you’ll have a long walk to get these two youngsters
back home, and there are sorry tales coming out of Wessex lately, tales of lawlessness beyond ordinary thieves. They say King Beotrich’s own men go about demanding tribute from all and sundry, and no one stops them.’

‘So Cluaran told me last night,’ Aagard said, his tone bleak. ‘Yet we must go.’

Gilbert’s broad face brightened. ‘Why not travel with the minstrel? He’s headed for Wareham; that’s on your way, more or less. He’s known in thanes’ houses across the land. He could vouch for you, where you’ll be a stranger.’

‘Cluaran travels alone,’ said Aagard, glancing over to where the man sat at his meal, ignoring all around him. ‘He would not welcome company.’ But there was something about the old man’s look that suggested he was not altogether decided in this.

They were ready to go as soon as they had eaten. As Aagard took his leave of Gilbert, Edmund hovered at the door, anxious to be off. He saw Cluaran striding towards the gate with his pack and harp case on his back; heading out alone, as Aagard had said. Edmund was not sorry to see the man go. He had not liked that penetrating look when they had met the minstrel for the first time. Besides, he wanted to take the fastest route home, not travel on some minstrel’s route from house to house.

As they left the stockade, a man on horseback was spurring his sweating horse up the coastal road towards the settlement.

Aagard stopped in the gateway. ‘Wait here a moment,’ he
told Edmund and Elspeth, and walked back through the gate. Edmund heard him calling to someone, and a few moments later he returned with Gilbert puffing after him.

‘Hey, Wulf!’ Gilbert called to the rider. ‘What’s spooked you?’ He broke off, his eyes widening in alarm. Wulf’s face was deathly pale, and a long cut ran down one cheek.

‘Medwel!’ the man gasped as he yanked his horse to a halt.

Edmund went cold. Aagard and Gilbert ran to help Wulf dismount, but even when Elspeth tugged at his arm, his legs would not move.

‘I must go back! We must all go!’ the man protested. ‘There are armed men attacking with torches. Medwel is burning!’

Edmund cried out. But no one seemed to hear as Gilbert bellowed for his men-at-arms. Aagard urgently questioned the man about what he had seen. The words came to Edmund dimly: ‘… some lord’s men, armed with swords, not common raiders. They were demanding something from the elders, I never heard what. When they started burning the houses, I came to fetch help.’

Edmund did not want to hear. The sight of the blazing thatch, the screaming people, came so vividly to his mind that he fell to his knees, throwing his arms over his head.

‘Edmund?’

Aagard was standing over him while Gilbert’s men rushed around gathering spears, saddling horses. Edmund knew it would take them at least an hour’s riding to reach Medwel. He knew that Gilbert, as thane, was bound to do what he
could. But he could not watch the rescue party gather, nor look at Aagard’s face. He felt sick.

‘Edmund,’ the old man said again. ‘What ails you, boy?’

‘I saw it,’ Edmund murmured. And when Aagard seemed slow to understand, he cried angrily, ‘I saw them attacking Medwel! Armed men, just as Wulf said, all dressed alike. They had silver bosses on their shields.’ He stopped. He could not talk about the way they had mown down the people in their path, as coolly as a boy slashing wheat stalks. Nor about the way he had slashed too, revelling in the slice of steel through air. And bone.

Both Aagard and Elspeth were staring at him now.

‘But how could you know?’ Elspeth began.

Aagard hushed her with a gesture. His face was like stone, his eyes fixed on Edmund’s as he waited for him to continue.

‘Before we left the cave I had a dream,’ Edmund told them haltingly. ‘When we passed through Medwel yesterday I knew it was the same place, but it was so quiet, so peaceful. I said nothing about what I had seen. I thought no one would believe me.’

‘I would have believed you, Edmund,’ Aagard said quietly. ‘You spoke of men with a silver sphere on black shields?’ When Edmund nodded, the old man frowned. ‘I have known only one man who wore a shield mark like that. Orgrim.’

Edmund gazed at him, bewildered. ‘But why would he send men to burn Medwel?’

Instead of answering, Aagard froze for a moment. Then he
flung up his arms to hide his face. ‘He is trying to use my eyes!’ he cried. ‘Close your eyes, both of you!’

Edmund did as he was told. The panic in the old man’s voice had chilled him to the bone.

‘Did I not say he was Ripente?’ Aagard muttered. ‘I felt him looking through my eyes – trying to see who was with me, who had survived the shipwreck.’

Edmund stared into darkness, his mind racing. Was Orgrim stealing into his mind that very second? How could Aagard tell?

But then he felt it. Something squeezed inside his head, as if the edge of his mind had been pushed aside. Almost at once the pressure was gone, but he was still aware of
something
: an absence like a hole in his thoughts. Carefully, as if probing a loose tooth, he felt for it again.

Then it hit him: a rush of consciousness that was not his own, chill and scouring as a snow-wind. There was malice too, the will to seize, make use of and then discard. It swelled to fill his whole head. Edmund fought back, but it was like pushing against a mist. Steadily his thoughts grew fainter and fainter, until they were little more than wisps of cloud blown in a windy sky.

With a distant sense of horror, Edmund felt himself dissolve.

Edmund felt Aagard’s steadying hand on his shoulder.

‘You can sense him, then.’ The old man’s voice seemed far away. ‘He cannot control you, nor hear you, Edmund. Try to close your mind to him!’

Edmund tried again to push back the invading presence. How could he shut it out? Perhaps if he could find the source …

Yes. There was an opening in the smooth, curved wall of his mind, and something not quite liquid was pouring through the gap like smoke. Edmund gathered his last ounce of purpose and tried to stop the gap.

Slowly, the other mind withdrew. Only the sense of malice remained – an evil gloating that said that although it was leaving now, it might soon return. And then it too faded, and the rip in Edmund’s mind closed up.

Edmund slumped against the fence, Aagard’s hand still on his shoulder. Elspeth looked from one to the other.

‘What happened?’ she demanded.

‘Orgrim tried to use Edmund’s eyes,’ Aagard said. His face seemed more lined than ever. ‘He reached out to me first. He has done so enough times that I know the touch of his mind. When I closed my eyes, he tried to use Edmund, probably because he looked young enough to overpower.’

‘But why?’ Elspeth pleaded, shuddering at the thought of someone else inside her head, looking out through her eyes. ‘Why does he want to look through our eyes?’

Aagard looked solemn. ‘Because he is hunting the crystal sword.’

Elspeth frowned. ‘But I felt nothing,’ she said. Involuntarily she glanced down at her hand. If Orgrim wanted to find the sword, why not try the person who held it now?

‘It’s possible that the sword protects you,’ said the old man, looking at her thoughtfully. ‘On the other hand, most of those touched by the Ripente know nothing about it. I have studied hard, so I may feel the signs, but I could never do what Edmund has just done, and fight him off when he had taken hold of my mind.’ He turned to Edmund. ‘I had heard that one Ripente can drive out another.’

‘I don’t know,’ Edmund said. ‘It … he … left me alone. I saw the gap in my mind, but I don’t think I drove him out.’ He looked drained, as if talking was an effort.

‘You fought him,’ Aagard said with quiet certainty. ‘You recognised his presence at once, and you were able to combat him. In time, you will learn to defeat him altogether.’

‘You mean he really will come back?’ Edmund groaned. ‘
Why?
Even if I have the same skill, I’m nothing to him!’

‘He has seen you with me,’ Aagard explained. ‘And he will wonder what I have told you about the chest. Perhaps I have drawn attention to you by accompanying you this far. But that cannot be helped now. Orgrim’s power is growing. The book of spells has taught him to conjure dragons, and he brought the storm that sank your ship. He must have known the crystal sword was aboard, and he wanted to prevent it from reaching Gaul.’

Elspeth shook her head in disbelief. She wanted to shout:
You mean Orgrim will be hunting me now? Then take the sword back! I did not choose any of this!
She looked down in dismay at her hand and felt the gauntlet’s grip, the hilt’s cold pulse. Again she clenched her fist, crushing them to bits.

‘Master Aagard.’

Gilbert was running up to them, his broad face anxious. ‘We’re riding now for Medwel,’ he said, gesturing to the armed and mounted men behind him. ‘Will you come with us? I fear your skill at healing will be much needed.’

Elspeth saw Aagard’s face darken. ‘I will come and do what I can,’ he said to Gilbert. Then he turned to Elspeth and Edmund. ‘You must go on, both of you. If Orgrim’s men are this close, you are in even greater danger than I first thought.’ His eyes narrowed as he looked at Elspeth. ‘Are you really set on returning to your village? It might be safer for you to head
south into Dunmonia, hide there until the heat of the chase has cooled.’

‘Hide?’ Elspeth echoed in dismay. ‘Never! I did not choose the sword. This sorcerer can have no quarrel with me! I’m going back to Dubris.’ Aagard had forbidden her the sea. He could not banish her from her father’s house as well!

The old man sighed. ‘Then the two of you must travel east together. To reach Sussex and Kent you will have to go through Wessex, towards the very danger that you must avoid. Orgrim holds sway over the entire kingdom, and the road runs right through Venta Bulgarum, his stronghold. You must skirt the town, and on no account enter it.’ He hesitated. ‘Perhaps I should go with you –’

‘No!’ Edmund argued, and Elspeth was surprised by the note of command in his voice. Wherever Edmund came from, he must live in a longhouse at least as big as Gilbert’s. Perhaps he even had slaves to pour his wine as well. ‘You must go back to Medwel,’ Edmund insisted. ‘They need you! It’s my fault they were unprepared for the raid, and I cannot let you abandon them again.’