Dragonfire

by Charles Jackson

  “Then you see why we must warn the king?”

  “Indeed… warn him, we definitely must…” the old man agreed, but a dark expression flashed across his face all the same. “The only thing that remains to be seen is, even with this warning, whether the armies of Huon will be able to do a damned thing about it! You…!” He exclaimed, turning to Nev as another thought suddenly springing to mind. “You’re the witch they were talking about!”

  “…Aaaand we’re back to being a witch again…” Nev sighed in exasperation.

  “The princess… she overheard the cardinal speaking to that monster, Silas, not three days past, regarding the search for a so-called ‘witch’ running loose in the Blacklands. That must have been you they were speaking of…”

  “I guess that stands to reason,” Godfrey nodded as Nev retook her original seat and fumed quietly in the corner over being called a witch again.

  “Even then they were frightened of you… of what danger you might represent…” Randwick observed, thinking deeper on the subject. “I’ve no love for The Brotherhood, believe me,” he added with a sneer. “We follow the Book of The Shard here in Huon for we know well enough what consequences come of falling by the wayside, but there’s plenty, I’d warrant, who’d shed no tears to learn of those bastards’ demise. I shall definitely take this to His Majesty… and you three are coming with me…!”

  XV

  Harbingers

  It was no surprise that the ground inside the tower was hard and uneven, and Nev awoke early the next morning with a stiffness through her entire body. She found herself alone as she lifted her head from her duffel-bag pillow and looked around in the gloom, although soft sounds of conversation were audible from somewhere outside. Her phone lay beside her bag, having spent the night connected to the power-bank and recharging, and as she collected both devices she checked the time and found it to be just after seven, meaning she’d had all of about five hours’ sleep. With the power bank stowed in her bag and the phone secure in her pocket, she rose to her feet, stretched long and hard to relieve the tension in her back and joints and then walked slowly and stiff-legged out into the early-morning sunshine.

  She found Godfrey sitting beside a small campfire, a dozen metres or so away in the middle of an open, gravelled area directly to the south while Lester had set up some makeshift targets nearby to practice with his crossbow. Some distance behind them lay a large, crescent-shaped lake and beyond that could be seen the undeniable, multi-coloured beauty of the same wide, rolling fields of tulips they’d walked through the preceding night. Blue sky showed infrequently through gaps in the clouds above and the soft crackle of the fire was a friendly, welcoming sound as faint wisps of smoke curled into the still air. Even more welcoming was the unmistakeable smell of bacon frying.

  “Where’s Randwick?” She asked directly as she drew near the fire, accepting the offer from Godfrey of bacon clamped between two thick slices of bread with a nod of thanks.

  “Rode out just before dawn,” he replied through bites of his own breakfast. “Said he wanted to go scouting, and that he was going to make contact with the local garrison and bring back some escorts.” He shrugged. “Been gone for a couple of hours now… shouldn’t be much longer…”

  “You still trust him?” She asked, chowing down on her own rough-and-ready sandwich and almost gasping at how good it tasted.

  “Yeah… I think I do…” Godfrey replied thoughtfully. “The fella comes with a bit of a reputation – all good – and he’s been with the King’s family for as long as anyone can remember… that much I do know. It’s more of a question whether he trusts us.” He shrugged again. “Just dumb luck we swapped rooms with him last night, but it’s come out in our favour and no mistake!”

  “This place is amazing…!” She exclaimed, giving herself some time to appreciate the view as she walked off in Lester’s direction with food in hand. “The colours are incredible!”

  “Pretty, ain’t they…!” The boy called out in a friendly ‘I told you so’ tone.

  “Wait, let me take a picture!” She decided, stuffing the rest of the bread into her mouth and fishing in her pocket for the phone. “Stand over by that target thing: I can get the flowers in the background!”

  “What… like this…?” Lester declared, moving to stand beside the small, concrete mound he’d placed his targets on and intentionally striking a ludicrously exaggerated pose with the crossbow. “Something ‘big and strong’ to show the girls…?”

  “Well… let’s not get ahead of ourselves…” She muttered drily in return, walking up close to take the shot as Godfrey chuckled through a mouthful of bread. “But it’ll make a lovely picture, I’m sure! Wait… that’s it… got it…!” The deed was done with a synthesised ‘click’ from the iPhone, and Lester jogged over, desperate to see his own image on the tiny, colourful screen.

  “Aww, that’s a beauty…!” He exclaimed with excitement, glancing over at Godfrey with a glint of real emotion in his eyes. “Makes me look like a handsome young warrior, off to do battle…”

  “That thing is witchcraft…!” Godfrey muttered under his breath, deciding it kinder to keep that to himself as he grinned and nodded in mock agreement.

  “You be nice!” She admonished with a frown, knowing exactly what he was up to as she gave the image another look. “What’s that you’re putting them on…?” She added, for some reason feeling the need to zoom in and take another photo of the targets themselves. She suddenly found something very familiar about the shape of the overgrown, concrete mound that stood little more than thirty or forty centimetres above ground height and seemed to be surrounded by what was once a low, wrought iron fence before rust had set in and nature had reclaimed most of it beneath a mass of grass and weeds.

  “Dunno who it was…” the boy shrugged. “I don’t read real good, but it’s got a name and a thingummy’ written on it… you know; the stuff they write on peoples’ headstones…?”

  “You mean that’s someone’s grave…?” She asked, quickly taking a few steps back and mortified by the thought of using someone’s final resting place for target practice.

  “Well, he ain’t gonna mind, is he…?” Lester asked matter-of-factly in return, hearing the disapproval in her tone and correctly deducing the reason.

  “Well, I don’t know if that’s the point…” she continued, not really seeing that as justification, but any further discussion on the matter was ended there and then as the sound of approaching horses rose from the south-east.

  They all turned to look in that direction and immediately caught sight of Randwick returning on horseback, this time at the head of a six-man escort of king’s cavalry, each carrying a three-metre wooden lance with a blue and white pennant fixed just below each pointed steel tip. As the troop drew to within a hundred metres, five of the riders spread out to take up guard positions across a wide arc while Randwick and another man – presumably the troop commander – rode on toward them at a steady canter, a spare, riderless horse trailing behind them.

  “Well met, all…” the old man called out as the horses drew near, bringing his mount to a halt and sliding out of the saddle just a few paces from Godfrey and the campfire. “We’re in luck… I caught these boys as they were preparing to ride out on patrol. Everyone…” he added, as Lester and Nev completely forgot about the gravesite and wandered over toward Godfrey “…may I present William of Zeehn, captain of the King’s Guard and as fine and loyal a man as you’re likely to lay eyes on…”

  But Nev already had laid eyes on William of Zeehn, the young man looking every bit the image of a textbook cavalryman. Looking to be in his mid-twenties and standing just a few centimetres short of two metres in height, he was clean-shaven and carried a short, neatly-tied pony tail of golden hair that hung beneath a plumed white stockman’s hat that had the right side of its brim pinned up in a style very much like the slouch hats she always saw soldiers on the TV wearing during ANZAC day ceremonies. The colour of his un
iform matched that of the hat – pristine white with blue piping – although it seemed likely there was some chainmail or other armour hidden beneath.

  “At your service, gentlemen… and lady…” he added gallantly, removing his hat the moment he spotted Nev and sweeping it downward in a flourishing bow as she giggled in response (mostly in disbelief that it had actually happened) and both Godfrey and Lester gallantly fought the urge to vomit.

  “I hear the Sun Empire use peacocks as watchdogs…” The older of the two muttered sourly under his breath, drawing a snort of laughter from Lester over something that was most definitely not a non-sequitur.

  “…About what might be expected of a mercenary...” William observed coldly, managing to keep a sneer from his expression as he regarded Godfrey with a withering stare.

  “But less so of the grace and humility expected of a Guardsman…” Randwick shot back immediately, cutting off Godfrey’s response as he raised an eyebrow sharply in his subordinate’s direction. “These three are my guests, captain, and as such I’d expect you to accord all of them the same level of respect regardless of their background…”

  The old man was surprised by the man’s impolite reaction, although based on what little he knew of the officer’s reputation, he suspected the presence of an attractive young woman had something to do with it.

  “Of course, sir,” William responded with a faint bow of acknowledgement, not missing a beat as he flicked an almost imperceptible wink in Nev’s direction and completely confirmed the old man’s suspicions at the same time. “My apologies, gentlemen… I am at your service… Master Randwick tells me you’ve come to him with information vital to the safety of the king and kingdom, and the King’s Guard needs no greater assurance than that. My sword and lance stand ready at your defence.”

  “Can’t argue with that, I guess…” Lester shrugged, almost sounding disappointed that a possible conflict had been nipped in the bud so prematurely. “Your mob gonna get us to see the king, all safe and sound like…?”

  “William’s troop will serve as escort as far as the Burnii gates…” Randwick cut in again, impatient to be away and not in the mood for delays due to small talk. “From there, I will get you all to the king. However, none of this will happen while we’re standing about, remarking on the weather…” he pointed out tersely. “William tells me that Harald’s arrival has been brought forward to this afternoon – we must see the king before then. If you’re all packed and ready to go, I’d prefer we were on the road again without further ado: we’ve some miles to cover this morning and little enough time spare to do so…”

  They were mounted and riding within five minutes, a pair of guardsmen galloping off to scout the way ahead as the other four gathered about their charges, alert for any danger that might lurk in the shadows of roadside hedges or in gullies beside the road. Randwick rode at the head of the group, with Godfrey and Lester on either side behind as Nev trundled along between them, her reins tied to Randwick’s saddle. Being only her third ride on a horse in her life (and all three of those in the last few days), she’d absolutely no idea how to sit properly, and as a result she was left with a rather sore backside after the first few miles.

  The problem of a woman travelling out in the open had come up immediately, with Nev no happier about the idea of being blindfolded during their trip than she had been when first hearing about it from Lester days before. There was no wagon to hide within this time however and she was forced to concede the danger of bringing too much attention upon themselves if something wasn’t done – more attention, at least, than they were already likely to attract in company with an escort of the King’s Guard.

  Gallant as William clearly thought he was, it also quickly became apparent that he wasn’t about to sit quietly regarding the breaking of any Shard laws, and Randwick had taken Nev aside in the end and explained to her privately how important it was they went along with at least the pretence of following the rules in this particular instance.

  A compromise was reached at his suggestion, and he subsequently produced a long, silk scarf of jet black from one of his saddlebags. The material was so fine that when pressed up against Nev’s eyes it was still possible for her to see almost as well as without it, although the images were all slightly pale and fuzzy. From an outsider’s point of view however – William’s for example – it looked for all the world like she’d been securely blindfolded as Godfrey had carefully tied the scarf behind her head, quickly jumping in as he realised William was about to offer his services. The speed at which he’d reacted drew a raised eyebrow from the young officer, a cheeky grin from Lester and a silent note of interest from Randwick, who immediately filed the information away for future reference. As she trundled along behind him now, the leading of her reins – albeit in reality for a completely different reason – served to give even more credence to the façade of her being unable to see where she was going.

  The troop had moved off at a steady canter, passing through a number of small seaside villages and hamlets. Most of them were home to no more than a few dozen people and all were involved in some kind of farming judging by the attire of the locals and the tools being carried as they went about their daily tasks. Most paid little heed to the military escort passing on the highway, and those few who did saw little of interest other than a cavalry troop and four civilians, the only female travelling with eyes covered exactly as they should’ve been.

  The road followed the coast for most of the journey, with the lands to the south predominantly dotted with small herds of sheep and cattle, interspersed with the occasional field of crops here or there. It was difficult for Nev to see distance clearly through the silk covering her eyes but most of the food being grown appeared to be ‘ground-based’ types like potatoes or onions… or other crops more suited to the colder, overcast climate that seemed to hang like a pall over the countryside through which they passed.

  “Is it always like this…?” She asked Godfrey loudly as they stopped to water their horses, roughly two-thirds of the way into the journey by Randwick’s reckoning. They stood on the eastern outskirts of a small village that William had called Summerset, and the name had indirectly got Nev thinking about the seasons in general. A check of one of her iPhone apps showed the ambient temperature to be a paltry twelve degrees centigrade, and she was definitely feeling every one of them beneath her jacket and cloak.

  “‘Like this’…? How do you mean?” He asked in return, standing by his mount as the beast drank deeply of the clear, running water at the river bank.

  “So grey and cloudy all the time…” she explained, raising a hand toward the skies at the same time. “I’ve barely seen a clear night or half of a sunny day since I got here. What season is it?”

  “Season…? I was joking about Lester’s duds back at the barn at Crookhaven,” he grinned, one hand on hips as he left the horse and moved in closer, “but I wasn’t when I said it was the first day of spring.”

  “But… but, it’s so cold…” she went on. “Spring in Australia should be warm and mostly sunny: I don’t think it’s gotten over fifteen degrees the whole time, and it’s been really cold at night.”

  “They don’t grow much down here that doesn’t like cold weather,” Lester offered helpfully as he wandered over to stand beside Godfrey. “Mostly spuds, lettuces or sprouts or suchlike…”

  “Don’t know much about farmin’,” Godfrey shrugged, “but I know they grow a little wheat and stuff up north on the mainland. The weather here’s always like this…” he shrugged again. “Even in summer, you’re lucky to get more than two or three clear days in a row. Dunno what ‘degrees’ are, but it’s always cold down here and not much better across the Blackwater…”

  “Used to be a lot worse…” Randwick observed from a distance, having risen from a crouch after washing his face in the cool water. “These boys aren’t old enough to remember, but when I was a lad – fifty summers gone now – there were weeks without sunshine and the ni
ghts seemed to fall halfway through the afternoon and linger on until well into mid-morning. When I was the boy’s age, we’d not be able to read without a light if we were standing where we are now at this time o’ the day.”

  “So, this is an improvement…?” She asked incredulously, arms spread wide now as she turned to take in her surroundings. “This is better than it was fifty years ago? What happened here?”

  “The Book of The Shard tells us the world’s still recovering from The Cleansing…” Randwick shrugged this time, and she could tell from his tone that even he wasn’t entirely convinced.

  “And ‘The Cleansing’ is?”

  “A time of fire and death,” William of Zeehn answered darkly, seated on a large rock a few metres back from the river bank. He was fiercely loyal to his commander but was nevertheless far more of a believer than any of the others present. “The world was evil and depraved and the Shard Gods saw the wickedness of man and decided to cleanse the earth. They sent the Night Dragons, falling from the sky in their thousands to purify the world with fire. Only the worthy were left alive.”

  “Purify the world with fire, eh?” She repeated carefully, noting the zeal with which he’d recounted those words and making a huge effort not to sound sceptical or mocking in any way. “In our world, it was a flood… but I get the idea. And how long ago did this ‘Cleansing’ happen?”

  “No one knows for certain,” William shook his head, the belief of it clear in his eyes and tone, “but the brotherhood believes it was thousands of summers gone, when the world was new. Sometimes the Night Dragons still fall somewhere, but now mostly alone – never in mass, as they once did…”