“How old were you when he died?”
“Six. As a child, I’d dream of all the things we’d do together. In my mind, he’d always have time for me. Perhaps reality would have been different.”
She touched his hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He smiled. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I’m being morose.” Her gaze caught his, and any further words vanished as he stared at her. “Look, we’re here,” she said. “Do you have a key for the gate?”
Lleland glanced around to see that they were standing before the heavy iron gates of the university.
“We don’t need a key. There’s another entrance.” He led her to a small wooden door in the wall and pushed it open. A narrow path led towards the large arched doorway of the university building, and Lydia’s shoes rang against the stone as they walked up the path and stepped through the entrance. The entry hall was deserted, but down the passage came low murmurs from the dining hall; supper was being served. Lleland gestured towards a bench.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll find Zach for you.”
“Don’t tell him I’m here,” she said. “I want to surprise him.”
“Well …”
“Please?” She turned her face up to his with a coy smile. He laughed softly.
“Do you always get your way?”
“Absolutely!”
“I can see why! Very well, I’ll keep your secret.”
Lleland watched as Lydia took a seat before turning towards the hall. Conversation was discouraged during dinner, and the sounds from the end of the passage were muted. He paused when he reached the threshold, his eyes sweeping the room for Zach, until he spotted him near the front of the hall. With a sigh of resignation, he threaded his way between the tables. The Dean would not be impressed if he caught sight of his tardy Master. He reached Zach unobserved and tapped him on the shoulder.
“You have a visitor,” he said softly when Zach glanced around.
“Who?” Zach rose to his feet.
“I’ve been asked to keep their identity a secret,” Lleland replied.
“Then it must be Lydia.” Zach glanced at Lleland as they walked together out of the hall. “Why are you the one delivering the message?”
“I ran into her at the market, and when she told me her plan to see you, I offered to help.”
“You walked with her from the market?” Zach’s voice sounded strained.
“I did. I could not leave her unattended, especially when I learned her direction.”
Zach sighed. “No, of course not.” They reached the entry hall and Lydia jumped to her feet when she saw the men coming down the passage.
“Lydia!” Zach said. “Dear sister. What are you doing here?” Lleland was impressed with the surprise Zach infused into his voice.
“Anna wanted to stop in Civitas before returning home. We leave tomorrow, but I could not pass up the chance of seeing you while I was here. Who knows when we will be together again?”
Zach laughed. “You saw me last week. Besides, you had no idea you would even gain admittance.”
“Ah, but I had Master Seaton to help me!” She smiled at Lleland.
“And it was my pleasure to do so!” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to the hall and see if I can take a seat unobserved by the Dean.” He smiled. “Mistress, have a pleasant journey.”
“I will. And perhaps we’ll meet again in the future.”
“I certainly hope so,” Lleland said. He walked away, but as he reached the door he glanced over his shoulder. Zach was saying something to his sister, his face close to hers. Lydia was frowning at his words, her hands on her hips as she met his angry gaze. Lleland turned and continued down the hall.
Lleland’s hope that he would take his place at the table unobserved was in vain. The Dean saw him as soon as he entered the hall, and watched him with a frown as he stepped up to the dais. He leaned towards the Chancellor and said something beneath his breath, and the other man turned to watch Lleland as he sat down. There were only scraps left on the platter at the center of the table, and he scraped what he could onto his own plate with a sigh. His afternoon exertions had left him hungry. He had just taken his first bite when a servant, clearing the plates from the table, deftly slipped a note beneath Lleland’s cup. One glance was enough to tell Lleland who it was from. He slid it into his palm and tucked it into his tunic, before taking a long quaff of wine.
Chapter 11
The missive Lleland had received at supper was not unexpected, and he was in no hurry to open it. It was a summons from the Dragon League, and he waited until he was alone in his room before breaking the seal and spreading it open.
‘Come to the Guildhall tomorrow night at midnight,’ it read. Signed ‘G.’
‘G’ stood for Grant, Lord Bartholomew Grant, Head Master of the Dragon League. The Dragon League had been founded twenty-two years earlier by Grant’s father, Lord Bart the elder, at the behest of King John, although it was well known amongst the members that it had really been at the urging of the Lord Chamberlain. The League was cloaked in secrecy and tasked with discovering all they could about dragons, with the aim of ensuring that all possible threats against the kingdom were eliminated.
It had been from Grim that Lleland first learned about the existence of the League. As King’s Verderer, one of his tasks was to organize and lead the king’s hunting parties. The young king had only been on the throne for a few months when he ordered Grim to organize a hunting party for the noble lords who had served his father during the war. The hunt had been considered a great success when King John, only ten years old, hit a stag in the hindquarters with an arrow launched from his short bow. Grim had quickly dispatched the poor creature with a second arrow through the throat, killing it instantly, but the praise went to the young king, who was hailed as the hero of the forest.
As the triumphant party wound its way back through the woods and towards the palace, Lord Grant had fallen in beside Grim.
“You’re a good shot, Master Verderer,” he said. Grim shrugged off the praise. “I wonder whether you would be able to fell a dragon with that bow of yours,” he continued. Grim glanced at Grant in surprise, but said nothing. They rode for a little while, until Grant spoke again. “I’ve heard whispers that perhaps someone you knew was killed by the dragon,” he said.
Grim took a while to answer. “My niece,” he finally said.
Grant nodded. “We need to stop these monsters from ever hurting our people again. Do you agree?”
Grim pulled his horse to a halt, and turned in his saddle to face Grant. “What are you saying, my lord?”
Grant glanced around, saw that they were alone. “I’m looking for dragon-slayers,” he paused a moment, “to serve a secret mission. Does this interest you?”
“You want to hunt and kill dragons?”
“Yes.”
“And how will you do that?”
“Can I trust you?” Grim nodded. “The Dragon League has sworn to locate the dragons’ lairs and kill every last one of them.”
“I’ve heard that they are difficult to find, and even harder to kill.”
“Aaron Drake has set the precedent. If he can kill a dragon, then so can we. We will not rest until every last dragon has been removed from our realm.”
Grim took a moment to consider this. “I’m not the only skilled archer. Why are you approaching me?”
“You have something the others lack. Something that will ensure you have success where they have failed. Motivation.” Grim was silent. “We meet Thursday next. Think about what I am proposing, and if you’re interested, join us. If not, forget this conversation ever took place.”
Grim nodded. “Very well.” A sound in the forest indicated the approach of others, and the conversation ended. But the following Thursday Grim made his way to the home of Lord Grant, and pledged his life to following the call of the League.
Lleland had only learned of all this many years late
r, when he was already a skilled archer himself. He remembered the day Grim told him about the League. They were tracking an injured boar.
“Why am I only learning about this now?” Lleland had asked in frustration. “I’ve already killed two of those monsters. And you know how much I want to kill them all!”
“Aye,” Grim had replied, “but you weren’t ready to share that goal. You wanted to find and kill them on your own. Until you could work with others, you were not ready to join the League.”
“And how many dragons has this League of yours killed?”
Grim crouched down to examine a track. “A few. But the beasts are more cunning than we thought.”
“But they’re still just animals, and lack the intelligence of humans. If we learn their ways and habits, we’ll outsmart them.”
“True. But that takes time and observation. We’ve not had that opportunity.”
“So if you had someone skilled in observation and analysis, then you might be closer to finding them.”
“Yes. Perhaps that’s a skill you can bring to the League.”
That had been ten years ago. Lleland had been tasked with collecting whatever was discovered about the dragons, but it amounted to very little. All sightings were recorded and numbers tallied, but even back then dragons had started disappearing. There were those who believed that dragons were dying out, but Lleland believed differently; they were still around, just more adept at hiding. He had no evidence to support this conclusion, however; just a feeling in his gut.
Lleland reached the outer precincts of the Guildhall as the clock struck midnight. He pulled his cloak closer around his chest and peered into the surrounding darkness. The grounds were deserted. Through a crack between the doors fell a faint shaft of light, and Lleland entered a circular hall. A single torch burned in a sconce on the wall, its flickering light reaching no more than a few feet. Pushing the door closed behind him, Lleland walked over to the torch and held a reed, dipped in tallow, up to the flame, watching as it flared with light.
Hidden in the shadows opposite the entrance was a low, narrow doorway, and Lleland made his way over to it, twisting the iron handle and pulling the door open a crack. Holding up his reed light, he glanced around the hall he had just crossed, ensuring that there were no prying eyes, before opening the door more fully. A small, stone landing lay just beyond, from which a narrow staircase spiraled downward. The murmur of voices rose from below, and descending the steps, Lleland found himself outside a large storage room. Wide, double doors stood open, revealing a room well-lit with torches and lanterns. Hessian-wrapped bales lined the walls, while in the center of the room was a circular table, scratched and stained from years of use. Long shadows played over the bales, casting the men who sat at the table in caricature – here, a long, beaked nose and thick eyebrows; there, a loose, flabby neck and rotund belly.
Facing the doorway sat Lord Grant of the beaked nose, with his graying hair pulled into a queue at the back of the neck. A wealthy man with the ear of the king, Lord Grant was the leader of the League. Although skilled with weapons, he seldom accompanied the others in their hunting missions, preferring to arrange the details and finances. He nodded as Lleland entered the room. Around the table sat another seven men, six of them members of the League. Lleland knew them well – he had hunted the hills with them many times as they searched for signs of dragons. The seventh man was not a member of the League, but Lleland recognized him as Lord Hindley, until recently Lord Chamberlain to the King. He’d held that position for over forty years, and in that time had served three monarchs. His failing health was cited as the reason for his retirement, although it was rumored on the streets of Civitas that King John was eager to appoint his latest favorite to the coveted position. He had granted Hindley a handsome pension, however, and estates in the south.
Lleland took a seat beside Durwin Scott and leaned towards him. “What’s Hindley doing here?” he asked softly.
Scott shrugged. “Grant says he has information that might prove useful. He wouldn’t say more until you arrived.” The faint smell of untanned leather rose from Scott’s skin, and Lleland pulled away slightly. Scott was the youngest member of the League, and when he wasn’t hunting dragons, he worked as a tanner. It was hard work, and his hands were stained and calloused, but he had a handsome face that women seemed to find attractive. His dark, curly hair hung loosely around his face, and on his head sat a felt cap, rakishly set over one ear. Unlike the other League members, he had never seen a dragon, and had certainly never killed one. Lleland had often wondered about his admission into the League. While it was true that his father had served Lord Grant on his estates, and that Scott was a skilled fighter, his yearning to hunt dragons lay not in ridding the world of the monsters, but rather in the chase after a superior beast. In fact, Lleland had often mused, the League could have been hunting any behemoth and Scott would have been equally enthusiastic.
Grant banged his fist on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s begin. You’re all familiar with Lord Hindley.” He turned towards the older man. “Welcome, my lord.”
Hindley nodded. “Thank you.” His eyes were a startling blue, clear and alert despite his advancing years. He was dressed in a black doublet over a crisp, white shirt, and from where Lleland sat, he could see black breeches, black stockings and black, pointed shoes. A memory stirred, but Lleland could not quite capture it.
“My Lord Hindley has asked to join us tonight,” Grant continued. “I’m sure we can all agree that that’s acceptable.” He was met with silence. “Before we give him the floor, are there any updates, Seaton?”
Lleland took a moment to look around the table. “I saw two dragons in the hill country last week.”
The men around the table leaned forward, and Grant clasped his hands. “You saw two dragons, you say? Did they see you?”
“Yes. I loosed an arrow – foolishly, as they were beyond my range, but they did not retaliate in any way.”
“Maybe they’d already hunted,” Scott suggested.
Lleland shrugged. “Perhaps.”
Baric Callaway, seated across from Lleland, tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Did you see them more than once?”
“No. But I understand from the innkeeper that dragons are not unknown in the area.”
“Did you ask him about a lair?”
“No. But clearly these two animals did not see me as a threat, so if there is a lair, I doubt it was close by.” Callaway nodded, his long, thin face thoughtful as he considered Lleland’s words.
“It would still behoove us to search the hills,” Branton said. He leaned back in his seat and rested his crossed arms over his large stomach. Branton was a merchant who spent part of each year across the water, seeing to his business interests. He had been away from the city when the black dragon attacked, but the monster set fire to one of his warehouses, destroying the merchandise stored within. Branton had managed to salvage the business, but lost a large sum of money. Along with Grant, he funded many of the League’s activities.
“I agree,” said Grant. “Channing? Elliott? Perhaps you can undertake a trip to the hills?” He waited as the two men nodded. “Good. Now let’s move on to the reason Lord Hindley is gracing us with his presence.” He turned to the older man. “Would you care to explain?”
“Thank you, Bart.” Hindley looked around the table. “As you probably know, it was my influence that helped establish the League and set the goals of this august group of hunters. However, I am well aware that the fight has been difficult. You are battling an enemy that is shrewd and cunning, and although you have had successes, they have been few and far between. Even when the black dragon attacked Civitas, we knew we were dealing with a monster unlike anything ever seen. We lost many to the beast, until one man stepped forward to battle it. You all know I am referring to Aaron Drake. He alone was able to lay a trap that would be the creature’s undoing.”
Callaway tapped his long fingers impatiently on th
e table. Like Lleland, he had lost a person he loved to the black dragon. His older brother was a guard who fought to stop the beast from killing a young woman, and been killed by the creature.
“Since my retirement from service,” Hindley continued, “I’ve spent my time writing down the details of my time at court, recalling long-forgotten events.” He crossed his arms on the table. “After Drake killed the dragon, he met with the king. I was not present, but I remember that Alfred seemed particularly distressed when Drake left. He refused to relate the particulars, but was distracted for quite a few days.
“Drake’s name seldom came up after that, until the eve of the war with Terran, when Alfred passed the affairs of state into my hands. We had many meetings before his departure, and one of them involved the threat of dragons. He indicated that there was something particular he needed to tell me, but at the last minute, he changed his mind. ‘Perhaps some things are better left unsaid,’ he said. As you know, Alfred died in the war, and whatever he was going to tell me died with him. But I believe Aaron Drake is the key.”
Callaway leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he looked at Hindley. “What makes you think that?”
“He mentioned Drake by name.”
“And do you have an inkling of what he was going to say?”
“I cannot be certain, but I think Aaron Drake knows more about dragons than he’s revealed – knowledge that would help us defeat them.”
“Be that as it may,” Grant said, “how does it help us?”
“You need to speak with him.”
“Aaron Drake has already shown himself unwilling to aid us in our cause,” Grant said, “and if he is keeping secrets, then that would suggest he’s actively hindering us. When my father invited him to join our ranks, Drake informed him that should another dragon threat arise, he would deal with it himself, but was unwilling to hunt dragons that were not attacking. I doubt he has revised his position.”
“That must have been thirty years ago!” Hammond Elliott snorted incredulously, lifting his thick, bushy eyebrows. “He’s well beyond the age of dealing with dragons now. He must tell us what he knows!”
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