Torbrek...and the Dragon Variation (The Torbrek Trilogy)

by Lexi Revellian

  Skardroft had been filled with admiration by Torbrek’s dramatic departure on the dragon. Only his grandson would be capable of escaping in such a flamboyant way. But the excitement over, and once more alone in the palace, he found he missed him more than he would have expected. After all, Torbrek had only been there for a few weeks, and he had known he had a grandchild for very little longer than that. But the days were duller now he was gone. He had left him lonelier than before. It had not occurred to Skardroft that he was lonely; but now he knew it. He had no one he could talk to the way he could talk to Torbrek. There was time now for all the administrative matters he had been neglecting during his stay, but he had lost his taste for them.

  He climbed the stairs to the rooms in the tower. For all their luxurious furnishings, they seemed empty without Torbrek. The only things left behind, besides the presents from Skardroft, were his armour, a penknife and a little model of a horse he had been whittling. Skardroft put the horse and penknife in his pocket. For a certainty, his grandson would have returned to the rebel camp at the Castle. He sent his spies to check.

  They came back to him with some surprising news of Torbrek.

  One blustery morning a few days after Tor’s return to Kallarven, Tor and Xantilor were flying high, due east into the wind. They had not flown in that direction before; Tor was using their flying exercises to familiarize herself with the lie of the land because a knowledge of it might be useful. They were following the long road, bordered by forest, that led to Garock Holt where King Urquin lived. Tor noticed something happening on the road ahead in the distance, and got Xantilor to fly lower to see what it was.

  A small group of horsemen were fighting a larger band of cavalry, who had them surrounded. They flew nearer, and Tor could see the beleaguered men were led by Drewitt. They were putting up a good fight – as she watched, Drewitt knocked one of his attackers from his horse – but their situation did not seem promising.

  “Come on, Xantilor, let’s give them a surprise.”

  Xantilor plummeted towards the soldiers like a falcon stooping on its prey, swerving at the last moment and raking the attackers with flame. This was enough; one look and the enemy bolted in disorder. Xantilor landed. Tor slid off and went over to Drewitt. “Are you okay?”

  Drewitt looked round at his men. One had a gash on his hand. “None of us are badly hurt. Thank you; that was a timely intervention.”

  “Did they ambush you?”

  “No. We ran into them coming from the other direction. Just bad luck. We’ll get on our way now.”

  Tor pointed to the enemy soldier lying on the ground. “What about him?”

  Drewitt was surprised. “We’ll leave him there, of course.”

  Tor went over to the soldier. He lay very still, his helmeted head turned away. A sword cut on his thigh was bleeding profusely. She turned his head towards her, and saw it was Jervaid. Her heart hammered in her chest. What was he doing here, surely he was one of the Palace Guards? But Skardroft had probably not wanted him there after that row… He was pale from loss of blood, and unconscious, but still breathing. His skin was chilly to the touch. Tor ran to Xantilor, and with shaking hands got a roll of bandages from her pack. She wrapped it round Jervaid’s leg over his clothes and tied it as tightly as she could. Blood seeped through immediately. By now Drewitt had dismounted and was standing over her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Help me lift him on to Xantilor’s back. I’m taking him to the Castle.”

  “Are you mad? We can’t be doing with prisoners. He’s one of Skardroft’s men.”

  “He’ll bleed to death if we leave him here.”

  “They may come back for him. Anyway, it’s not our problem.”

  “Look, are you going to help me or not?”

  Drewitt considered as Tor stared fiercely up at him from her crouched position beside the soldier. He would have liked to order her to abandon the man, but a Dragon Battalion was an independent unit, and she was not under his command. Besides, there was the fact that she had just helped him out of a very sticky situation. He remembered Barlanik had said he must work with her. Gritting his teeth, he called two of his men over to help Tor carry Jervaid to Xantilor. They roped him across the saddle. He did not look comfortable, but had not regained consciousness and it seemed to Tor that speed was vital if she was to save his life. They took off fast and headed for the Castle.

  Tor hung around outside the prison where they had taken Jervaid, waiting for the doctor to come out. He emerged and she ran up to him. “Is he all right?” The possibility that he might say “No,” was suddenly unbearable.

  “The bang on the head doesn’t seem to have done him much harm; he’s come round now, which is a good sign. And I’ve managed to stop the bleeding from the sword slash. It’s a clean cut, and the function of the limb’s preserved, but he’s lost a lot of blood. I would say it’s a question of whether he makes it through the night.” The doctor took in Tor’s fearful face, and added kindly, “He’s young and strong, you know; he’ll probably pull through.”

  The next morning saw Tor at the prison gate once more, waiting for the doctor. When he came out he smiled at her, and she knew it was good news. “Your young friend’s still with us, and he’s having breakfast. You can stop worrying about him now, I would say.”

  “Thank you so much. Do you think they’d let me in to see him?”

  The doctor shook his head. “I doubt it. You could ask, but they’re not geared up for visitors. After all, he’s one of Skardroft’s men.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The new recruit

  Barlanik sent for Tor to come to the stables. She hoped he was going to allocate her a new horse, in spite of the fact that they were in short supply, as it was a nuisance not having one. She had been borrowing her friends’ horses, but this was inconvenient for them and her. However, when she found him, he was standing by two horses she recognized at once as Carrots and Whisper.

  “How on earth…”

  “Skardroft sent them with a messenger. There’s your armour, this chest and a letter as well.” He handed the letter to Tor, and she broke the seal and read it.

  Dear Torbrek,

  In your hasty departure you left your horses behind, and one or two other of your possessions. I am sending them after you in case you have need of them.

  It was a pleasure to get to know you during your stay, and I hope you will return to Tarragon before too long. Think of it as a home you can always come back to.

  I am informed that I do not have a grandson as I thought, but a granddaughter. Now that I know you, I find this makes surprisingly little difference to me. The offer I made you still stands.

  Skardroft

  P. S. I suppose I will have to get used to calling you Torbraya.

  Tor passed the letter to Barlanik while she opened the chest. In it, packed in leather cases, were the goblet and various other presents from Skardroft that she would have preferred to leave behind.

  Barlanik finished reading the letter, glanced at her hoard and raised his eyebrows. “You must have made quite an impression on him.”

  “Is the messenger still here?”

  “Yes, it’s that man there on the bay.”

  Tor went over to him. “Will you give a message to my grandfather? Just tell him ‘thank you’.”

  Skardroft received Tor’s message. He felt oppressed by the unusual sensation of not getting his own way; a sense of unfinished business. In the days that followed he was kept busy catching up with the kingdom’s affairs, but alone in the long evenings he brooded.

  Mulling over the past weeks, Skardroft remembered that time out hawking in the forest, when he had asked Torbrek to stay. She had said, “I can’t while the war’s on.”

  So it was simple; he would finish the war.

  “I’ll cut the ground from under Torbrek’s feet. Destroy the rebels utterly, wipe their army from the face of the earth, and leave her nowhere to go but Tarragon,” he mutt
ered, staring into his goblet; the gold glinted in the candlelight through the red wine. He tipped it back and drained the cup, reaching for the flagon. It was empty. He pulled the bell rope. In the silence he could hear down long corridors the bell faintly ringing. Pacing to the window, he gazed out at the darkness.

  Her place was here, this was where she belonged, if only she would see it. She was not unreasonable, and she did not hate him – indeed, they got on well together – and, left with no alternative, she would accept that becoming his heir was the best way to achieve her objectives. Torbrek – no, Torbraya – was young, she would learn. Dead rebels could not compete with him for her loyalty. Knowing she was a girl did in fact make this difference; he felt protective towards her in a way he had not before. He worried about her. A slight noise made him look up. The servant had entered.

  “Get my Chief of Staff here, now. And a fresh flagon.”

  He paced up and down while he waited for him. Having reached a decision, any delay seemed intolerable. Routh arrived and Skardroft led him impatiently to the big table, nodded to him to sit, and said without preliminaries, “This rebellion started over two months ago; Barlanik has taken a third of the country, garrisoned my castles and towns with his troops, and seized two of my treasuries. How has this happened? He is a mere mercenary, with the backing of the feeblest King this country has ever seen. We have more soldiers than he does, more money, and better strongholds. This war should have been over in weeks. I want to know, and your explanation had better be a good one, why it is still going on.”

  Routh paled. “There are several reasons, Your Majesty. Barlanik enjoys popular support in the country, for one thing; the towns he takes have only to be protected from us, not the populace. He is a very good general with a brilliant grasp of strategy. At the start of his campaign, he had the benefit of surprise.”

  The King scowled. “We should be done with surprise now, and on to retribution.”

  “Begging your pardon, Sire, I had not realized Your Majesty felt like this. The rebels have not made any significant gains in weeks; they do not have the manpower to lay siege to Tarragon; winter is coming; it seemed most cost effective to wait them out.”

  Skardroft’s voice rose alarmingly. “I don’t care what it costs! I want this war won, and I want it won soon! Hire every mercenary you can get hold of, besiege every town he holds, do whatever it takes to smash the rebels. Make sure the populace knows there is a price to be paid for supporting my enemies. Report to me every day on your progress.”

  “Certainly, Your Majesty, if that is your wish. It shall be done.”

  “One thing more. You may be aware that Torbraya, my granddaughter, is fighting on the rebel side. I do not want her harmed. You are to take all the men who got to know her by sight during her time here, and spread them through the army. I want you to let it be known that I will give ten thousand ducats to the man who takes her alive, but there will be a slow death for the man who harms her.”

  Routh saluted and hastened down the corridors to call an immediate meeting of his generals, late though it was. He reflected grimly on the conversation he had just had. This was what came of the King spending every day of the past weeks out in the forest with that grandson of his (who’d fooled him by turning out to be a granddaughter), never available to discuss the progress of the war when Routh wanted him to. He had left decisions to Routh, and now was angry because they weren’t the ones he would have made. Skardroft had neglected the kingdom’s business, and he was blaming Routh. It was unjust.

  When they were gathered, he told his generals what the King wanted. “I’ll see about hiring more troops, but meanwhile I’d like to make a move to show Skardroft some instant results. I want to attack two of the towns Barlanik’s taken. Tomorrow. Let’s see the map. Soft targets would be best, places that have got more civilians than soldiers defending them. Places on the edge of his territory. I want them as far apart as possible, to split his forces.”

  “What about Skardroft’s granddaughter? That’s going to complicate things,” said one general.

  Another replied, “She’s the only woman in the army – how difficult can it be to spot her?”

  “She’ll be wearing armour,” said Routh, lifting his eyes from the map, “and no one realized she was a girl while she was here. From what I’ve been told, she doesn’t fight like a girl. If you ask me, she’s what he’s really interested in, and it would be a very bad mistake indeed for us if she gets hurt. We’re going to have to be careful.”

  Jervaid was feeling better, and began to consider his future; he thought it was time for a change. He sent a message to Barlanik, asking to see him.

  “Drewitt, the prisoner asked for a word with me – I’d like you to go and see what he wants.” Barlanik remembered that Tor had said she knew the man. “Tor, you go with him.”

  The guard was standing by Jervaid’s open cell door when they arrived, as Raziella was inside collecting his dishes from lunch. They reached the threshold in time to see her slap his hand off her hip, saying, “Get lost, Jervaid, don’t you ever give up?” before she left the cell, nodding to Tor and Drewitt.

  “Barlanik too busy to come himself?” said Jervaid, apparently not at all abashed that they had seen Raziella putting him in his place.

  He seemed his old self again, Tor was pleased to see, perhaps a bit thinner. His hair shone gold against the dark stones of the cell, lit only by a high window, and the loose open-necked shirt he was wearing looked very white.

  “Tor, it’s good to see you again.”

  Tor could tell instantly that someone had told Jervaid she was a girl, though it was difficult to pin down just how his manner had changed. He was looking at her differently somehow, and his voice was warmer.

  Drewitt gave her a suspicious glance. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  She could see him thinking back to her insistence on rescuing Jervaid, wondering if there was more to it than met the eye. Jervaid made Tor take the only chair in the cell, while he sat on the table edge and Drewitt stood.

  “To get straight to the point; I want to join your rebel army.”

  “Loyalist army,” said Drewitt.

  “Whatever you call it. I’ve finished with Skardroft.”

  Tor thought this excellent news. Drewitt frowned and appeared sceptical. “Oh yes, and what has brought about this sudden conversion to our cause, may I ask? It couldn’t be anything to do with wanting to be out of this prison, could it?”

  “I’ll admit, getting out of here would be just one of the advantages of my proposal. But I’m not claiming to be a convert; you wouldn’t believe me if I said I was. My change of allegiance is purely pragmatic. I like to be on the winning side, and while I thought Skardroft had the upper hand, his army was the place for me. But from what I’ve seen, you lot are going to win in the end, and I’d rather be with you.”

  Jervaid spoke with an impudent grin, and Tor could not help smiling too. She was amused by how easily he had antagonized Drewitt.

  “You’ll excuse me if I say I find that a contemptible attitude,” said Drewitt stiffly. “I don’t know when I last heard anything so cynical. I believe I can take it on myself to speak for Barlanik; I can’t see him wanting anything to do with you.”

  “Ah, but you’re not Barlanik. I think we should wait and see what he says, as it’s his opinion that counts,” said Jervaid, with a provoking smile, obviously enjoying himself.

  “Barlanik will listen to my report of our conversation, and I think you’ll find he will agree with me that we have no use for you whatsoever,” said Drewitt, bristling.

  “Oh come on, Drewitt, that’s a bit sweeping,” Tor interrupted, “I think Jervaid could be an asset to us; let’s hear him out, I’m sure he’s got more to say.”

  “She’s right. If you release me I can be very useful to you. I know the structure of Skardroft’s army, details about the troop numbers and dispositions, and battle formations; all inside knowledge. I can also gi
ve you a lot of information on Tarragon’s layout and defences. Barlanik would be a fool not to take advantage of that, and from what I hear, he’s not a fool.”

  “You’ve got to admit that’s worth considering,” said Tor.

  “I will inform Barlanik of your offer,” said Drewitt coldly. “Let’s go, Tor, I think we have heard enough. I don’t want to waste any more time on this individual.”

  “Oh, Tor, before you go – thank you for rescuing me. It’s getting to be a bad habit of yours, saving my skin,” said Jervaid with a charming smile.

  Tor smiled back. “Any time.”

  Drewitt’s frown deepened. He said nothing to Tor on the short walk to Barlanik’s office. She could see he was seething with disapproval and dislike of Jervaid, but would not express his feelings to someone he already disapproved of; someone he knew did not agree with him; who indeed seemed on suspiciously good terms with the prisoner.

  They sat opposite Barlanik, and Drewitt outlined Jervaid’s offer. Tor had to concede he gave an accurate account of what had been said, though his low opinion of Jervaid came across unmistakeably. He finished by saying, “My view, for what it’s worth, is that he is untrustworthy, uncommitted to our cause, and a troublemaker. If we trust him he’ll let us down one way or another. Prison is the best place for him.”

  Barlanik nodded, and turned to Tor. She cared a great deal about the outcome of this discussion, but did her best to sound impartial and unemotional as she said, “I can see why Drewitt thinks that. Jervaid was being deliberately provocative today, but I saw quite a lot of him in Tarragon, and my opinion is that underneath his light-hearted manner he’s a decent and dependable man, just the sort we should want to have with us. I think he means what he said; he could tell us about Tarragon and Skardroft’s troops, plus he’s a good cavalry officer, which we could do with. I don’t see we’d be risking much by letting him out – if he’s trouble we could always put him back in prison.”