Dragonfire

by Charles Jackson

  “‘Course I will, missus…” he replied quickly, managing a weak smile. “…‘Course I will…”

  They moved off together as a group of three, the queen on one side and Godfrey taking the old woman’s arm on the other as they moved toward the rear entrance, hidden behind the wall hanging behind the dais. William was there in an instant, pulling back the tapestry and opening the door to allow them passage before slipping out behind them, one hand on the sword at his belt and prepared for any danger.

  Randwick, still limping slightly and otherwise labouring with recovery from the injuries he’s taken during the battle three days earlier, had ambled down at a far slower pace and came to a halt beside Nev as she looked on with deep concern, not at all sure whether she should’ve stayed or gone with them. She stared at the huge tapestry for a moment, not really paying much attention to a faint rumbling within her subconscious that there was something disturbingly familiar about the whole thing.

  “Good man you’ve got there, lass…” He observed quietly, also staring up at the wall it fell back into place, covering the door behind.

  “Mmmh… wait, what…?” She almost yelped, not quite registering what he’d said at first, then managing an epic double-take. “I – what… no… I don’t… don’t know what you’re talking about…” She blustered eventually, wondering exactly how badly she was blushing, as her traitorous cheeks suddenly felt very hot indeed.

  “Aye… ‘course you don’t…” he smirked faintly, making a good job of keeping any sarcasm or condescension out of his tone. “…And that colour in y’r face is ‘cause of the sweltering heat in here, I’m sure. He’s the only one who’s nae slept a wink since we got here…” the old man continued, softening his tone slightly. “The rest of us dreamed like babes, but not Westacre. I asked the palace staff when I awoke, and they told me true: never left your bedside once the whole time. Just sat there, lost as a lamb and desperate for a sign you was going to wake up again…”

  “I…” she began, then her voice trailed off completely as Nev realised she had absolutely no idea what to say to any of that. It was all she could do to stare woodenly at the far wall, well aware that to look directly at the old man in that moment would be to give far too much away.

  “Don’t fret about it too much, lass…” he went on, accepting her silence with good grace. “I’ll not give your secret away either. Written across your face for anyone to see, if you’ve a keen enough eye…” he confided, causing her heart to momentarily leap into her mouth with fear. “Takes a ‘witch’ to spy a Keepsake right enough, and I reckon it takes a man of a certain age – a certain experience – to recognise real love when he sees it.”

  “I – uh… I couldn’t… this isn’t…”

  “…A good time…?” He finished for her, neither of them taking their gaze from a fixed point on the wall behind the dais as they spoke. “There’s never a good time for these things,” he shrugged, “but they often seem to work ‘emselves out anyway. You’re a smart lass… smarter than any woman I’ve ever met save for the queen, maybe… and you’ve got a few years’ life experience on her too, which is nothin’ t’ be sneezed at. No doubt you’re sharper than any man of your age and a good many twice as old.” He gave a soft snort then. “Not that that’s too difficult, most of the time. What I’m tryin’ to say is…” he continued, almost sounding exasperated with his own meandering for a moment “…that the lad there would travel to the end of the known world if you bade him, and lay down his life for you when he got there. Now, that’s not necessarily a bad thing…” he added, catching the soft gasp of drawn breath as she’d heard those words “…but it means that you need to be careful.”

  “I… I’m not sure what that means…” she admitted finally, forcing herself to turn her gaze to meet his for the first time as her voice and body shook with far too many conflicting emotions. “I’m nothing… nobody... just some kid who got caught up in someone else’s insane dream.”

  “Well, you’re no woman yet… not by the standards of this world at least,” he conceded, managing to say so in a kind enough tone that she took no real offence. “But you’re no bairn either, and any man with eyes and a heartbeat can see that well enough. One thing you’re also not…” he continued, moving on quickly before what he just said could sink in completely “…is a nobody… and whatever it was you did out there on that battlefield… whatever power you were able to draw on through that crystal… that was a long way from nothing too. Mark my words, girl; you’re bound for greatness before this is done. You’ve a way about you that commands loyalty in others… that brings inspiration… and even these last few days I’ve seen enough of it to see how easy it sits upon your shoulders, whether you know it or not. Seen it before: the kind others believe in… someone they’ll follow to the house of Nethug himself and back…”

  “I didn’t ask for this…” Nev breathed softly, almost pleading with him as if Randwick might have some say in it all. “I didn’t want any of this…”

  “Course y’ didn’t… none of us do… but it’s gonna happen regardless.” He shrugged again. “Mebbe y’ can’t see it yet but you’re a leader, not a follower, and it’s that learning curve movin’ from one t’ the other that’s usually the problem… does the most damage. Take it from someone who has lead men into battle: far too often, there’s a time when a leader needs to make a choice between doin’ their duty and protecting those they care about. If you’re lucky – really lucky – you’ll never have to face that choice, but that lad there: mark my words, he’s gonna be either your greatest strength or y’r greatest downfall.”

  “Jesus, no pressure…!” Nev snapped eventually, feeling arising annoyance over the old man’s words, not in the least part because of the accuracy of some of the statements regarding her own hidden feelings. “We’ve known each other – what? – a week…? I’m seventeen, for God’s sake! Maybe that’s old enough to be married off in your world, but in mine it’s barely old enough to not be a kid anymore. I still go to school… used to hang out with my now ex-best friend (the bitch!) watching HBO… did kid’s stuff...! He’s – Godfrey’s a nice guy…really nice…” gorgeous, actually… she added silently, unable to stop herself for almost ranging off-topic for a moment, “but – but I can’t think about any of this! I want to go home… need to go home! Nothing else matters!”

  “Aye, you say that,” he countered, recognising a fragile moment when he saw one and choosing his words carefully, “but you’re here all the same. When you lot ran into me back at the inn, you were ready to follow the lad all the way back to Burnii to warn the king, and when the Blackwatch was streaming toward us at Stewpot Road, you charged at ‘em without even a thought for your own safety. Like I said already; y’ may not know it yet but there’s a greatness in you that’s ragin’ t’ be let out: y’ can barely keep it inside y’ even now. Your head tells you that home’s the thing y’ want, but any fool can see plain enough that y’r heart’s cryin’ out for somethin’ else… something that’s naught to do with the world you came from.”

  “I – I don’t know what to say about any of that…” she mumbled, eyes lowered once more as she struggled to find some explanation for it all.

  “I know y’ don’t, lass…” he grinned kindly, reaching out and placing a reassuring hand gently on her shoulder. “This is all new to ye and you’re still findin’ y’r feet sure enough, but you’re only seventeen summers old and you’ve already won your first battle, saved the life of a queen and – maybe – saved an entire kingdom into the bargain! Dragonfall take me, what’ve we to look forward to next week…? Your fate’s your own…” he added quickly, cutting off any likely reply “…just keep in mind there are others around ye, and some o’ them are already hangin’ off your every word. Men of honour – decency – are few and far between in this world: just don’t take it for granted when you find one…”

  Any response Nev could’ve given at that moment was cut short by the others’ return as the
door at the rear of the dais creaked open once more and William again threw back the drapes, holding them wide as Charleroi, Astrid and Godfrey came through behind him.

  “This conversation is so not over…” She warned, glaring up at Randwick feeling very uncomfortable now that the primary subject of their discussion was present once more.

  “Aye, lass... y’ know how to find me well enough if you’ve a need…” the old man nodded with a half-smile and a faint wink that somehow eased a great deal of her embarrassment in spite of Nev’s determination to feel vulnerable. “Just think on it rather that worry… but more of that later…”

  “All’s well, then…?” Godfrey asked openly as he left the old woman with the queen and approached the pair. Although he wasn’t conscious of it, the body language they were displaying left his subconscious feeling that something was markedly different to when he’d left.

  “Aye, lad, well enough…” Randwick replied evenly, not a hint of intrigue or secrecy in his tone or expression.

  “More to the point, how are you…?” Nev asked quickly, honestly concerned and also not ashamed to use that feeling to head off any otherwise awkward questions by changing the subject.

  “I – yeah, well enough…” he answered finally with a sign, a mixture of conflicting emotions flashing across his face. “She’s taking it hard, but she’s a tough old thing… she’ll manage, I guess.”

  “And how are you…?” Nev persisted, completely genuine now with on ulterior motive as his emotional guard softened. “That can’t have been easy.”

  “It weren’t…” he admitted, eyes flicking downward as he was momentarily unable to meet her gaze.

  “Never is, lad…” Randwick agreed, having had to deliver such bad news too many times himself. “Takes a special kind o’ courage, trust me…” They locked eyes then, and it was all the young man could do to prevent himself from breaking down completely as he gave a single, shaky nod of thanks.

  “Come have some dinner with me…?” Nev asked softly, seeing the need for a change of subject. “I’ve not eaten anything in days and I’d prefer not to do it alone.”

  “Aye, there’s a find idea indeed,” the old man declared. “We’ve the funeral ceremony at sunset, but you’ve at least an hour or two before then. You both need a meal and you need some rest as well, lad! We’re off at first light with a long ride ahead of us, and we’ll all need our wits about us on the road now. Get out ‘o here, both o’ ye: I don’t want t’ see either of y’ before dawn.”

  They’d set a funeral pyre for Phaesus later that night. There was no priest to speak at the ceremony – word had already spread that Cardinal De Lisle was in league both with Harald and with Baal, the usurper – and any members of The Brotherhood still at Cadle at the time of the invasion had been dealt with quickly and, in some case, quite terminally. Instead, it was Charleroi herself who’d officiated, giving a short, broken speech interspersed with numerous pauses as she fought to compose herself then forged on. Many of those who’d gathered about on that first night to pay their respects had shed a tear with her as their new queen bade her father farewell.

  She’d stood on a small, wooden platform at the centre of the main courtyard as the fires had burned twenty metres behind, insisting Astrid Boniface stand at her side as the new, young queen extolled not only the virtues of her lost father but also the bravery of a young boy who’d given his all to protect her in her time of need. True to her word, Charleroi had declared Lester a Hero of Huon, had led three cheers to his memory, and had held his mother close as the roar of the crowd in return had reduced the old woman to tears.

  Neither Nev nor Godfrey saw a moment of it. After sharing a hearty meal of thick lamb stew, both had retired to her room to talk, each taking one of the beds in turn and staring across at each other by the light of the crackling fire on the other side of the room.

  “Your pendant – the one with the dragons…” Godfrey began slowly, broaching a subject that had been on his mind since he’d first laid eyes on it the day before. “Where did you come by it?”

  “This one…?” Nev asked, lifting the heavy pendant from inside the neck of her blouse by the chain. “I’ve had it for years: it was a gift from my grandfather when I was little…”

  “Does it mean something, or is it just for show?”

  “It’s based on Old Norse mythology. The central symbol with the radiating tridents represents the ‘Helm of Awe’: Ægishjálmr…” she explained softly, pronouncing it as ‘eye-gis-hyowl-mer’ as she turned the thing over in her fingers. It’s named for a magical helmet intended to paralyse or strike fear into the hearts and minds of your enemies.”

  “Fitting enough,” he conceded with a nod, taking the information in his stride “…and the dragons?”

  “They’re the figureheads of longboats – ships traditionally rowed by Vikings in ancient times… my ancestors… why do you ask…?” She added, sensing there was reason behind his question.

  “Brotherhood’s been worried the last year or so about people getting about in the middle of the night painting stuff on doors and city walls… pictures of two-headed dragons…”

  “Seriously… graffiti…? Have they nothing else to worry about?”

  “Is that what they call it in your world?” Godfrey asked in return, getting the gist of what she was saying. “Everyone thought it were just wags mucking about at first…” he continued with a shrug “…but the – graffiti? – started to turn up more frequently… especially in places where there were more machines coming into use. My local command was definitely aware the Brotherhood were very concerned about the spread of machinery, and I think the two issues are linked in their minds.”

  “But, what’s wrong with dragons…?” Nev pressed on with a frown, not seeing the point. “Aren’t they an integral part of your whole mythology…er… religion…?” She added, correcting herself quickly.

  “Normal dragons is one thing… two-headed dragons are a different thing altogether…” Godfrey explained with a wry grin. “You have churches where you come from, yeah? Like the Brotherhood…?”

  “Not like the Brotherhood…” Nev answered hurriedly, mostly comfortable with that response “…but yes, we do have religion there… a number of them.”

  “They have an evil one? Someone or something at the centre of it that’s the exact opposite of your gods… rotten to the core…?”

  “Well… where I’m from, there’s a creature they call ‘Satan’ or ‘Lucifer’… a fallen angel in the mythology of that particular religion…” she replied, not bothering to mention she wasn’t sure in her opinion that ‘rotten to the core’ ruled anyone out of being part of church hierarchy back home.

  “Uh-huh…” Godfrey nodded, as if an expected piece of information had just dropped into place. “Well, here we have Nethug the Bicephalus…” he went on, giving another shrug.

  “Let me guess: two heads…?”

  “Got it in one…” he grinned. “The Book o’ The Shard says that Nethug was the cause of the evil the Night Dragons were sent to wipe clean. There are prophesies in there that tell of a time when he’ll rise again and try to destroy the Shard Gods, drawing all the evils of the world to his side.”

  “You sure that hasn’t happened already…?” Nev asked with a wry smile, drawing a chuckle from him in return that left her feeling all warm in side. “The painting in the chapel…!” She exclaimed softly then, pleased she’d made the link all on her own. “That’s Nethug? Nasty-looking thing,” she added as Godfrey nodded in reply.

  “Charming fella all ‘round… they call him ‘Soul-Destroyer’ or ‘Corpse-Eater’: the story goes that he lives in the underworld, gnawing at the bones of the evil ones he’s led astray…”

  “Wait, say that again…” Nev urged suddenly, something he’d said resonating in the back of her mind.

  “Say what again… that he lives in the underworld, gnawing at the bones of the evil ones he’s led astray…?”

  “Yeah
… yeah, that…!” She nodded seriously, brows furrowing as she thought hard now, searching for the final link she knew was hiding in her thoughts somewhere. “Why does that sound so familiar…?”

  “Well, maybe you heard someone…”

  “Níðhöggr…!” She blurted suddenly, roughly pronouncing it as ‘nithoggre’ in as close an approximation to the original Icelandic as she could manage. “This world must have a connection with my world somehow! It’s not ‘Nethug’… it’s Níðhöggr! They call him the Malice Striker: in Norse mythology, he’s portrayed as a dragon-serpent who gnaws at the roots of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. The stories tell that he also chews on the corpses of murderers, adulterers and oath-breakers… all terrible crimes in Norse society of the time…”

  “The corpse-eater…” Godfrey nodded thoughtfully, seeing where she was going with it. “Nethug and … ‘Nithogger’…?” He ventured, not quite managing the pronunciation but coming close enough to see the similarities clear enough.

  “Of course in the legends, Níðhöggr doesn’t actually have two heads…” she conceded, willing to accept a little poetic licence, “but what else could it be…?”

  “The Book predicts an ‘evil one’ ‘ll rise from the underworld one day, trying to destroy the Shard Gods and the world with them…” he mused, expanding on the original idea as a cheeky grin formed at the edge of his lips “…and now you’re here, come from another world with a power The Brotherhood’s never before seen and an amulet round y’r neck showing a two-headed dragon. It does seem an unlikely coincidence…”

  “Are you implying I eat souls, sir…?” Nev asked with mock indignation, head falling back onto her pillow as she stared up at the ceiling and tried not to laugh.