The Dragon Queen (5 page)

The blond man looked annoyed. “What?” he asked. “You give the pests who steal your sheep names?”

“These wolves never take sheep or children, either,” Idonia said. “Let us return. It’s getting cold.”

The child stirred in the dark man’s arms. He wrapped her in his mantle very tenderly.

From his spot among the trees the wolf watched them walk away. He didn’t think for one moment that the blond man’s hand had slipped. Too many strange things happened around Idonia for him to believe that. The gray wolf’s tail waved back and forth and then back, a sign of agitation. He returned to the den and checked the pups. They were all asleep, even the adventurous one. His mate and her brothers were perfectly capable of keeping them fed. The wolf moved downhill toward the Hall of the Hawk.

He moved at the wolf’s smooth gait, recalling that he’d left his weapons and clothes in a hollow tree. He hadn’t used them in years. He’d hoped he wouldn’t need them again, but he let fly with a few human curses—purely in the mind, as a wolf couldn’t speak in that way—a waste of energy really. He lowered his head and kept going.

Idonia saw him sitting in the hall at a low table near the door. He had a truculent expression on his face and a cup of beer before him. She knew him at once, though she’d seen him only a few times, and many years ago. She had just returned with her two companions and the child… she realized he’d beaten them back. Idonia asked her steward who he was, wanting to know what the man was calling himself.

“He says his name is Maeniel, and he is a vagabond by his clothes and a hero by his weapons. He smells of damp mold, and I cannot but wonder if he has risen from a grave somewhere to visit you.”

“Thank you, Crerar,” Idonia said. Then in an unheard of gesture of recognition, she walked over to Maeniel and saluted him. “Maeniel,” she said. “I always called you the Gray Watcher.”

He rose and bowed politely, then asked, “What are you playing at, my lady, to place a child in such a dangerous position? Well you know I would not harm it, but I cannot speak for others of my family.”

“When they wanted to bring the child to the wolves, I thought of you immediately.”

“I would thank you, but I cannot think why I should,” Maeniel answered.

Idonia chuckled. “Join me at the high table. Your rank demands it. Besides, you must meet Dugald and Titus. Dugald is the dark one. He has charge of bearing the child.”

“And Titus?” Maeniel asked.

“A Romanized Saxon.” Idonia’s lips curled. “Dugald is convinced he can still treat with the barbarians despite their treachery.”

“Thank you for defeating his crossbow,” Maeniel said.

“ ‘Twas neatly done, wasn’t it?” she said sweetly.

The big hall was dark. The fire in the pit at the center was an incandescence shining through a thin covering of light ash. Outside, the wind began to rise and in the distance they could both hear the sea. The tide was going out; it roared and muttered in the distance. The wind from the coast battered the building with hammer blows.

“A storm?” Maeniel asked.

“Yes,” Idonia said. “I have called one each night since—” she spat on the stone floor “—that blond Saxon snake came. I would rather dine with wolves,” she sneered. “Wolves may claim their share of the prey, but you need not watch your back among them.”

“You did dine with us, more than once,” Maeniel said.

“Yes, and feared no treachery. Crerer—seat my friend at my side at the high table,” she called out to the steward. “Come see the baby.”

He tossed back the beer and followed.

When they returned, the hall was lit for supper. Torches shone on every wall. The big table had been set up to form a horseshoe around the fire pit. The wall hangings that told the history of the hawk clan glowed on the walls of the round room, their colors blazing in the shadows. The woodwork sang with freshly painted images, strange beasts and plants coiled together with Celtic knot work, all enameled in red, green, gold, blue, orange, lavender, violet, and other colors the wolf couldn’t put a name to. Behind the high seat at the closed end of the horseshoe, the hawk screamed, wings outspread, head lifted, beak open.

Idonia, Dugald, and Titus the Saxon sat together under the protection of the hawk’s wings. The rest of the clan sat at the lower table to take their main meal of the day.

“I can provide for all of my people one meat meal daily,” Idonia told Maeniel with some pride. “This year and the last were very good.”

One of the girls serving beer and mead gave a squeak and stepped quickly away from the table. Idonia fixed Titus with a cold eye.

The young blond man laughed. “She’s a beauty,” he said.

The girl blushed. Idonia reached over and took the girl’s hand. The girl put her head down near Idonia’s face. The old woman whispered something and the girl nodded and departed.

“A bit of advice for you, if you care to take it,” Dugald said to the Saxon.

“What?”

“The ladies of this house are all girls of good family. They come here to make proper matches.”

“That girl’s father’s eyes are probably on you right now,” Idonia said. “He is seated among my people, so unless your immediate plans include marriage, I’d strongly advise you to keep your hands to yourself.”

The Saxon’s face went red with anger. “She should be honored,” he muttered.

“Possibly,” Maeniel said, “but perhaps not. And even if she is, her men folk might not share her sentiments. Pay attention to Idonia. She’s trying her best to avoid trouble.”

The Saxon smiled and said in Latin, “The pretensions of these savages. Everyone knows they have no morals. Even Caesar said they hold their women in common.”

Maeniel answered him in even better Latin. His dialect was much purer than the one the Saxon had been taught. “What? Do you fancy yourself a Roman? In their time the Romans I knew would have consigned you to the arena, where you would have been required to die bravely for their entertainment.”

The Saxon went white, and his hand dropped to his sword hilt.

“And, as for Caesar, he was wrong. True, the customs of this wild people are not yours or those of the Romans, but in their own way they respect and greatly honor their women—especially young girls like that one.”

The Saxon’s hand tightened on his sword hilt.

“Don’t,” Maeniel said. “I’ll take that sword away from you and make you eat it.” Then he smiled at the Saxon, a smile that showed all his teeth.

Idonia was sitting between the Saxon and Maeniel. Maeniel knew she didn’t understand what he was saying, but she caught the undercurrent of hostility and sensed the Saxon was being told off. The expression on her face was one of grim satisfaction.

Dugald’s face was averted, so Maeniel believed he must be grinning. Just then the food arrived and everyone was preoccupied with getting their favorite. Maeniel was solemnly served the champion’s portion by the pretty young girl the Saxon had been pawing. Dugald looked amazed, the Saxon simply annoyed. Idonia looked smug. It was pork, a whole shoulder of wild boar cooked with quince, honey, and carrots. A buzz of talk broke out among the people seated at the big table. Maeniel rose. He bowed first to the assembled company, then to Idonia, then to the girl, who curtseyed in return. He sat down, carved a portion of the meat for himself, then resigned it to the rest.

Idonia took a piece for herself. Dugald did the same. The Saxon refused.

Maeniel was pleased. He smiled at the girl. She curtseyed again. As she passed him, her fingers fell on his wrist, slid slowly up his arm to his shoulder. Then she walked away to take her seat at the table among her kin.

His eyes followed her admiringly as she passed behind him. She was beautiful, with dark brown hair like old oak and very pale, fair, almost milky skin. “Mmmmmm,” he said.

Idonia laughed, then whispered, “She’s yours for the night. I made the necessary presents to her family, but you will be expected to be generous in the morning.”

It was Maeniel’s turn to blush.

The wild boar vanished quickly, but there was venison, woodcock, fish, three kinds of soup, roast mutton, oatcakes, and barley bread.

Maeniel, who liked pork but would now only eat it cooked, particularly enjoyed the roast and occupied himself with trying to figure out how to be generous in the morning. He certainly wasn’t going to turn down Idonia’s hospitality. The brooch holding his mantle at the shoulder was all the jewelry he had with him. It was cloisonne gold set with ruby, garnet, and amber, big around as the palm of a large man’s hand, and easily the price of enough land to feed a family—a hundred acres or so. Yes, that would do.

The crowd in the hall occupied themselves with the serious business of eating as much as possible, but after a short time he noticed the Saxon studying him covertly, and he was not the only one. Everyone in the room looked at him from time to time. Idonia had seated him in a place of honor at her side, given him the champion’s portion, and shown him many marks of favor. If he was any judge, at least half the people gathered at the table knew he would have exquisite company in his bed tonight. But Idonia hadn’t introduced him or even told anyone his name. Everyone, even the nasty tempered Saxon, must be dying of curiosity.

At length even the oldest and slowest pronounced themselves satisfied. Drink was now distributed by the same girls who had served at the beginning of the meal. The dark haired girl came to Maeniel’s seat carrying a silver pitcher filled with mead. She poured some into his cup and smiled at him, then brushed his cheek lightly with her fingers in a possessive gesture.

He returned her smile and offered her the cup. She drank and returned it to him. He kissed the spot her lips touched, then drank. She tossed her head, throwing back her long dark hair, then stepped down from the dais and went back to sit among her kin.

Maeniel sighed deeply.

The Saxon threw him a poisonous glance.

Dugald averted his face again, too well mannered to laugh openly.

Idonia rose. It was time for business. If there was a serious dispute among her people, a large transaction, an important marriage pending, or even the birth of any child, it was at this time that the matter would be brought before her. It might not be settled here and now, a full assembly might be required, but it would be brought up now and she would be made acquainted with the situation.

She began walking along the outer edge of the big table, greeting all her people one by one from the eldest graybeard to the youngest child.

Maeniel sat back in his chair and watched her, wondering how many years had passed since they’d first met. She had once been a young beautiful girl. He had never bothered to count the years, but she was old now—yet the shadow of what she had once been remained. He knew he had outlived most, if not all, humans and all wolves. It was a source of some disquiet to him, especially when he met someone he had known as a child who had become an elder, bent and withered with age. He felt his years acutely.

The elderly seem often to come in only two sizes, scrawny and lumpish. Idonia was one of the scrawny ones—long, lean, and leathery. Her face was cadaverous, eyes sunken, but her mouth was still mobile and happy. She had most of her teeth.

She made a circuit of the room while everyone drank, then came back to stand before the high bench. She lifted both arms and stood silhouetted against the blazing central hearth fire. “Let us drink to our guests and a fine meal.”

Idonia had finished speaking and those around the table hammered the wood with their cups, plates, and fists. Only the wolf heard the
quark!
from among the rafters.

Maeniel leaped to his feet. His sword was out of its sheath before he thought to pull it. He was going to kill the Saxon first, but then held back for a second.

His eyes met Dugald’s. He was staring open mouthed at Maeniel, as was Idonia.

“Didn’t you hear it?” he shouted into the sudden silence.

Then the raven flew, circling the hall just above the heads of the people seated at the tables. Ravens are big birds. The shadow it cast touched everyone.

“To the walls,” shrieked Idonia. “We’re being attacked.”

The Saxon leaped to his feet. “I swear—” he began.

“You treacherous bastard,” Maeniel said, but he was loath to use the sword in his hand and breach Idonia’s hospitality.

Dugald killed the Saxon.

Maeniel never knew how. He only saw the man drop like a fallen rag to the floor at his feet.

“Thank you for distracting him,” Dugald said quietly. He was wiping his knife on his sleeve.

War was constant; weapons were never far from anyone’s hand, man or woman. Everyone rushed from the hall’s four doors into the yard. The attackers were coming over the palisade that surrounded the hall.

Idonia had a moment to spare for Maeniel and Dugald. “Get the child,” she said. “She is more important than our lives. She is more important than anything.”

Maeniel and Dugald prepared to charge the attackers, but Idonia lifted her hand and shouted, “Wait!”

“Wait!” Dugald screamed. “Wait for what? In a moment they will have us.”

“Wait,” Idonia commanded, her voice a whip crack.

The attackers covered the wooden palisade, swarming the way a wolf pack does when the pursued deer finally loses its footing and goes down.

Idonia turned and lifted both arms, and the wall burst into flames. The attackers jumped away, some of them on fire. Idonia’s people charged, carrying anything they could grab up in a hurry. One man dashed past Maeniel holding a spit with a bird on it. The whole palisade was aflame, a ring of fire around the Hall of the Hawk. Idonia’s people slaughtered the few attackers able to get past, but from beyond the walls arrows began to fall like a deadly rain. The defenders took cover as well as they could.

“Help me,” Idonia screamed, and ran to a patch of turf in front of the hall’s main door. She began to roll the turf back like a thick carpet. Maeniel and the other men helped, and a second later he saw a grating set flush with the ground. Even before they got the turf clear, he could feel cold sea air rushing past him with the force of a gale, drawn by the heat of the blazing palisade.