The Coming of Dragons: No. 1 (Darkest Age) (17 page)

‘Well, we’re here,’ Edmund said. ‘We’ll find Cluaran and see what he’s doing – though I’d rather he didn’t see us.’

‘He’d only look at us down that long nose of his,’ Elspeth agreed.

‘And tell us again how important his business is, and how we hinder him,’ Edmund added. He laughed briefly, then his face was sombre again. ‘Even so, we don’t want to be recognised,’ he said.

His seriousness sobered Elspeth at once. ‘I’m not planning to do anything stupid,’ she tried to reassure him. ‘If there’s any chance of meeting the Guardians, we’ll hide.’

As if to challenge her words, there was a clatter of hoofs behind them.

Edmund grabbed her hand and drew her into a cluster of houses. They slipped around the corner of the nearest building – a rich-looking home, with stout wooden walls and good-smelling cooking steam rising from the smoke hole. They crept along its walls away from the road as the sound of the riders drew nearer, then rattled away. The sun was low in the sky, and in the shadow of the houses it was almost dark. They skirted vegetable patches and middens, meeting no one except a couple of girls drawing water at a well. The girls glanced at them curiously as they passed.

A bell tolled from somewhere ahead of them and the girls hastily wound up their bucket and hurried inside.

‘That must be the curfew bell,’ Edmund said. He stood still for a moment. ‘I’ve been trying to look through Cluaran’s eyes, but I can’t find him. Where do you think he’s likely to be?’

Elspeth looked up, over the roofs that surrounded them. Ahead, dark against the pale sky, were taller houses, and a tower that looked like stone.

‘That way, I think,’ she said. ‘Whatever business he has here, it’s likely to be in the centre of town.’

A narrow street led them to a broad square space lined with buildings much bigger than the outlying houses, and all of them built in stone. The tower that Elspeth had seen belonged to a church, larger and finer than the one they had seen in Glastening, but it was not the finest building in the square. The Romans had built here, and their work could be seen in the stone buildings on two sides of the square; they stood lower than the church, but were pillared and carved with a magnificence that dazzled Elspeth’s eyes.

On the third side was a house of wooden beams, longer and wider than any home she had seen before;
like a king’s hall
, she thought, as she crouched with Edmund behind a marble column. And only then did she see the men standing guard, their faces and dark clothes in shadow; the silver bosses on their shields reflecting the rays of the sinking sun.

The last few people abroad were moving purposefully out of the square: two women with baskets; an old man driving his goat; a little boy with a scrawny brown dog running at his heels. All of them were keeping to the edge of the square, giving the Guardians wide berth, and all were hurrying. Then Edmund caught Elspeth’s arm and pointed. At the far end of the square, drawn back into a doorway, stood Cluaran.

The minstrel was gazing in the direction of the great hall. Elspeth wondered how long he had been there; he seemed as still as the stone itself. Then a movement in the corner of the square drew her eye. There was a clatter of hoofs and two Guardians rode up to the hall, carrying burning torches. Beside her, Edmund stiffened as if braced for flight – but the men only rode along the long building to place torches in the iron brackets at each end and on either side of the great door.

Then one of the riders saw the old man with the goat. He had almost reached the far end of the square, beating the reluctant animal with a switch to make it move faster. One of the horsemen called to the other, who chuckled. Then both spurred their horses up to the goatherd.

‘You’re out after curfew, old man!’ one of them called. ‘Will you pay the penalty now, or spend the night in the stocks?’

The old man stammered something that Elspeth could not hear. The second horseman laughed. ‘No money?’ he crowed. ‘What need of that, when you have this fine beast?’ Still laughing, he leaned down to grab the rope around the goat’s neck.

The two Guardians outside the hall had strolled over to watch. The old man started whimpering, his arms around the goat’s neck as he pleaded with his tormentors. Glancing at the marble doorway, Elspeth saw that Cluaran was no longer there.

He was running towards the hall, swiftly but keeping to the cover of the stone columns. None of the Guardians had
noticed anything; they were gathered around the old goatherd, the two on foot grabbing his arms. He let go of the goat, which gave a bleat of terror and bolted, nearly dragging its captor from his horse. Cursing, the rider dropped the rope and called his companion to join the chase.

The goat’s mad rush took it into Cluaran’s path. Seeing someone there, it bleated loudly and veered away. The Guardian holding the old man released him and he ran after his goat. Then the four Guardians, no longer laughing, advanced on Cluaran.

‘What’s this?’ asked one of the horsemen, while the other spurred his horse to the end of the colonnade to cut off any retreat.

Cluaran stood where he was and waited for the Guardians to encircle him. He held his harp in one hand, as if he was about to play a tune. Something in his profile looked faintly amused as he lounged against a stone pillar.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

The rider barked an order to the men on foot, who ran up to seize Cluaran’s arms. ‘You’re a stranger here,’ the horseman said harshly. ‘Skulking in the streets after curfew – and armed. You’re a danger to the king.’

‘You mean my bow and skinning knife?’ Cluaran said in mild surprise. ‘I’m a minstrel, masters! I travel far to carry out my trade and must eat on the way. Look.’ Elspeth did not see how he managed it, but in one fleet movement Cluaran stepped away from the two pairs of hands holding him, and
raised the harp. ‘I’m sorely grieved to have given alarm to the town’s brave defenders,’ he said. ‘Let me give you a song.’

He swept his hand over the strings. As the first notes echoed around the square, the two foot soldiers let their hands fall and stepped away from the minstrel, shuffling back dream-like until they were standing beside the pillars.

The horseman lunged forward and dashed the harp out of Cluaran’s hands. It struck the stones with a discordant jangle, shockingly loud in the quiet square.

‘Hold him, you witless oafs!’ he roared. The two men blinked and jerked forward to seize the minstrel again. ‘I’ve heard enough from him,’ the Guardian snarled. ‘He’s a vagrant and a troublemaker.’

‘Should we take him to Captain Cathbar, sir?’ asked one of the foot soldiers.

‘That old fool!’ sneered the horseman. He bent down from the saddle and lowered his voice. ‘Listen, oaf. You don’t have anything to do with Cathbar, right? Don’t give him your prisoners; don’t ask his help. Lord Orgrim doesn’t like the man, understand?’

The foot soldier nodded frantically.

‘So,’ the Guardian went on thoughtfully, ‘we can’t take him to Cathbar – and there’s no point bringing a beggar like this before his lordship. We’ll just string him up right now.’ He reached behind him and produced a coil of rope from his saddlebag.

Time seemed to stop. Without any sensible thought,
Elspeth found the crystal sword blazing in her hand. It sent a shock of pain up her arm, jolting her forward. Edmund cried out and tried to hold her back, but she was already running across the square.

I didn’t summon it
, she thought as she ran.
Did I?

The faces of Cluaran and the Guardians were white blurs in front of her. She lunged first at one Guardian; then the other. Both sprang back, fumbling for their own swords. She thought one of them was wounded, but a moment later both men came at her. She swung at the nearest attacker, clumsily – then the crystal blade seemed to twist in her hand, blocking the second sword as it snaked in from the side. But the first man had already recovered – he was coming at her again. The crystal sword was whipping towards him, but her hand was slow behind it and her body too heavy to dodge.

There was a sharp
thwack
and the first man fell back, a feathered shaft protruding from his shoulder. The second attacker was backing away too, his eyes wide as he looked past Elspeth to the other end of the square, where she had left Edmund. Edmund with his bow and quiver of arrows, which he had brought into the town beneath his tunic.

Behind the two foot soldiers, Cluaran had caught up his harp and was running back down the colonnade towards the arch of the door. He leaped, caught hold of the great stone lintel and pulled himself lightly up. The next time she looked, he was taking aim with his own bow. She gripped the sword
more tightly, hearing its voice shriek within her:
I am yours, Elspeth! I will fight for you!

But her surge of confidence was short-lived. Next she heard Edmund’s voice, shrill with panic.

‘Elspeth! The horseman – behind you …’

Then something cracked into the side of her head and she found herself spreadeagled on the stone paving, her arms held on each side. She could hear Edmund’s cries as he fought behind her, but they were fading. Through the red mist that filled her eyes she saw Cluaran leap upwards again, on to the roof of the massive stone building; he threw a last agonised glance at Elspeth – no, not at her but at the
sword
– then disappeared.

And just before the world went dark she saw, against the twilit sky, a great black bird hovering above her. Its single harsh cry sounded like laughter.

They had been tied together back-to-back, so Edmund had no way of knowing how badly Elspeth had been hurt. He knew she was alive because he could hear her breathing. She was slumped against him, her chains digging into his back. The sword had vanished like a blown-out candle after the horseman knocked her down. Nevertheless, the Guardians had seen it clearly. They had muttered together, looking over their shoulders at the hall, and sent a servant for chains and manacles before they would approach her. Edmund, his arrows spent and with no other weapon but his fists, had only merited ropes.

He had fought them anyway, determined not to be taken anywhere without Elspeth. But as he struggled, he had felt a small, searching pressure in his head, faint but horribly familiar. He shut his eyes to push it aside, close up the smoky gap in his mind – and by the time it was gone, his captors had him securely tied. It was only then that he heard the harsh cry and looked up to see Lord Orgrim’s great black bird hovering over them.

Now, sitting in the dark on the packed-earth floor of the prison hut, Edmund wondered wretchedly what was the use of having a crystal sword and the gift of Ripente if they could still be trussed up like pheasants.

A commotion sounded outside: loud voices and heavy, hurrying feet. Edmund tensed, willing Elspeth to wake up as the footsteps approached. Then he realised that the voices were quarrelling.

‘This is Guardians’ business, not yours. You’ve no call to come here.’

‘And I say I have.’ The second voice was deep and rather hoarse; it sounded familiar to Edmund and he tried to recall where he had heard it before. ‘My men have been hunting the villains as well as yours, and I was a king’s man when you and your Guardians were herding your mother’s geese! If these two have threatened the king, it’s my right to see them.’

There was a scraping noise as a cover was drawn back from a spyhole in the door. When the deep voice spoke again it was indignant. ‘It’s just a pair of boys!’

‘I can’t help that, Captain Cathbar,’ said the other man, sounding defensive. ‘Lord Orgrim says they’re murderers. One of them had a sword. I can’t let you go in there!’

‘Try to stop me, lad. You’ll rue your actions, I can promise you that.’

The heavy door was flung open and Cathbar shouldered his way in, holding a torch in one hand while with the other
he slammed the door shut behind him. Outside, Edmund heard the Guardian hurrying away.

‘He’ll be back in a while with a few more of them,’ Cathbar said. Edmund recognised him at once; it was the man who had been searching for them by the lake on the day they crossed into Wessex. In the light of the torch his face was lined and tough-looking, with deep-set eyes staring coolly at Edmund.

‘And then they’ll throw me out,’ the captain continued, ‘but not before I’ve had a word with you. You’re not what I expected, see.’

‘I’ll talk to you,’ Edmund said carefully. From the conversation he had just overheard, this man was not one of the Guardians, though that didn’t mean he could trust him. ‘I’ll ask your help first. My companion’s hurt.’

‘I’m all right,’ Elspeth said faintly behind him. Relief swept over Edmund as she stirred. The chains clanked and she hissed through her teeth with pain. ‘My head!’

Cathbar crossed to her in one stride, studying her face in the torchlight. ‘You neither of you have the look of desperate assassins,’ he said. ‘They say you came into the town with weapons and attacked the Guardians.’ He looked Edmund square in the face. ‘Will you tell me if they’re right, and why you came here?’

‘No,’ Edmund said steadily. ‘Not until you tell us what the Guardians mean to do with us.’

The man sighed. ‘As to that, lad, I can’t tell any more than you. I’m one of the king’s men, not a Guardian. But I have
heard that Lord Orgrim has called a trial tomorrow in the Rede House – that’s the great stone building in the square, where the king and council meet. It’s my guess that the trial’s to be yours, and the charge will be conspiracy against the king.’

There was a silence. Edmund felt his spine turn to ice. Against his back Elspeth was suddenly rigid.

‘I’ll not lie to you,’ Cathbar went on. ‘Innocent or guilty, there’s little enough I can do for you. But if you came to Venta for some good reason, tell me, and I’ll see that the court hears of it.’

‘We’re not here for any reason,’ Edmund said dully. ‘We were walking east to go home, that’s all.’

‘And I insisted we came into the town for nothing more than curiosity,’ Elspeth put in bitterly. ‘I should have listened to Aagard. He
said
we should beware of Venta.’