The Golden Cage

by J. D. Oswald

  Errol.

  Melyn snapped back into his body with such a jolt, he nearly fell over. It was getting dark, he noted with some irritation. All around the clearing he could see fires, smell cooking meat. They were settling in for the night.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘You’ve been away for about six hours, Your Grace.’ Frecknock sat nearby but not too close. ‘I watched over you.’

  Melyn wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. She had saved him once, it was true, but he doubted he’d ever trust her. Especially after Benfro’s mysterious escape. But there were more important things to worry about.

  ‘Osgal,’ he shouted. The captain came running up.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I want you and a troop ready to ride out before first light. The hatchling’s holed up in a clearing about two days north of here. I want to cover that ground in considerably less.’

  ‘I’ll tell the men to get some rest now, sir.’ Osgal looked up at the darkening sky and Melyn followed his gaze. There were only a few thin clouds, high up. Already the first stars were beginning to show; the Night Messenger and Blaidd yn Rhedeg.

  ‘We’ll leave when the moon’s in the second quarter. It’ll help us along. Tell Captain Pelquin to bring the rest of the army due north at his best speed. Keep heading for Mount Arnahi. He should catch up with us on the third day; if not, we’ll find him. I don’t want to waste too much more time chasing these damned dragons.’

  Captain Osgal nodded his understanding and strode off to carry out his orders. Melyn pulled himself to his feet, noting that Frecknock stood at the same time. Her deference was welcome, but it could get tiring sometimes.

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  The dragon shook her head. ‘I can survive for several days without food.’

  ‘I’m off to get something, then you and I are going to have a little talk.’

  If Frecknock was worried by the threat, she didn’t show it. Melyn turned away, heading to the nearest fire, where a warrior priest was turning a deer carcass on a spit over the blazing coals. He took the proffered plate of meat from the man, then returned to the dragon. She said nothing, simply watching him as he settled back down and began to eat.

  ‘Benfro wasn’t alone in that clearing,’ he said once he had taken a few mouthfuls and summarized what he had seen.

  ‘I know the place. I stopped there on my way through the forest. With my parents before they had been killed.’ Frecknock’s gazed dropped to the ground as if the memories were too heavy for her head. ‘There was an old dragon. His name was Corwen.’

  ‘I didn’t see any other dragon, but I did see young Errol Ramsbottom.’

  ‘Who? Oh.’

  ‘Yes. Oh. What do you suppose he was doing there? And more importantly, how did he get there?’

  ‘Your Grace, I remember the boy from my time at the Neuadd. But I’d never met him before you brought him before the queen.’

  ‘He disappeared into thin air right in front of my eyes.’ Melyn put his plate down on the ground, leaning forward. With a thought he conjured a blade of light, extending it so that its point hovered just in front of Frecknock’s face. Its white glare was reflected in her wide black eyes as she recoiled.

  ‘Sir. I –’

  ‘Don’t try my patience, Frecknock. I’ve no love for your kind, and I know you have dark magics. I saw Caradoc vanish just the same as Errol. Where did he go? How did he do it? Is this the hiding spell that you promised to show me?’

  Silhouetted against the fires dotted around, Frecknock was shaking. Her eyes were still fixed on his blade, and her voice was very quiet when she spoke.

  ‘I too saw Caradoc make his escape. It is something dragon mages can do. But it’s not possible for a man to master the art. I mean no disrespect, Your Grace, but your minds cannot cope.’

  ‘Can’t cope with what? Explain yourself.’

  Frecknock sat silently for a few moments as if fighting some inner battle. Or perhaps deciding how best to deceive him. He was about to poke her with his blade, make her scales sizzle a bit, when she finally spoke.

  ‘May I show you something?’ This was her way of asking permission to perform some magic, Melyn knew. He nodded his assent, and she held out her hand. In the pale light cast by his blade he could see that it was completely empty. She closed her fist and her eyes, muttered something under her breath that made his skin crawl, then opened her hand again.

  A fresh apple lay in her palm.

  ‘I’ve seen quack conjurors more convincing.’ But Melyn could see she had no sleeve to hide anything in. And there was nowhere she could have found a fresh apple anyway; it was the wrong season.

  ‘I took this apple from a tree in Eirawen, on the other side of Gwlad. It’s autumn there now. They’ll be bringing in the harvest soon.’

  ‘And are you going to explain to me just how you performed this miracle?’

  ‘It’s a bit like the way you conjure your weapon.’ Frecknock placed the apple on the ground and pointed at Melyn’s blade of fire. ‘You take power from the Grym, the life force that is all around us. When you create that sword, you take a little life from everything.’

  ‘I learned all this as a novitiate,’ Melyn said, his patience wearing thin.

  ‘And you learned to see the lines – what we call the Llinellau Grym. But you see them only as a diffuse source of power. They’re much more than that. They are the source of life itself. They link every living thing in Gwlad. With sufficient skill and mental discipline, you can reach out along the lines to anything, anywhere, and bring it back to you. Like the apple.’

  ‘I know the theory of magic, Frecknock. I’ve even used the lines myself to communicate, as you well know. But they are dangerous, complex. Try to push your thoughts too far down them and you risk losing yourself. It’s a far worse fate than being stuck in the aethereal.’

  ‘What you call the aethereal is just an extension of the Grym, just another way of seeing it. But it’s true that men find it impossible to master the finer points of manipulating the Llinellau. Don’t ask me why; I suppose it’s just the way you are.’

  Melyn let his blade extinguish itself, the shadows crowding in so that all he could see was distant firelight reflected in Frecknock’s eyes. He found it hard to skim her thoughts; they were so alien to him. But he sensed no lie in what she said. And the trick with the apple had been impressive. He picked it up. It was firm and weighty, with a warmth still in it that spoke of hot sunshine. Sniffing it brought him the aroma of autumn orchards. He was almost tempted to take a bite out of it, but a sudden suspicion stopped him. He dropped it back on to the grass.

  ‘So you can bring this apple to you. You still haven’t explained how Caradoc could disappear, or how Errol Ramsbottom can turn up in a clearing with Morgwm’s hatchling.’

  ‘It’s all the same magic. If you can find the apple and bring it to you, then you can find the apple and go to it. There is no distance between two points in the Grym.’ Frecknock’s words came out in a whispered tumble, as if she were divulging some naughty secret at the back of the classroom. ‘At least that’s how Meirionnydd explained it to me. I never did manage to do it myself. Not all dragons can, and I’ve only studied for a hundred years.’

  Melyn leaned back against a tree. He remembered his plate of meat and took it up, then put it down again when he saw it had gone cold and greasy.

  ‘You can’t do this?’

  ‘We call it walking the lines. And no, I can’t do it. Do you think I’d be here with you if I could?’

  ‘What about the book? Is the secret in the Llyfr Draconius?’

  ‘Almost certainly.’ Frecknock’s voice betrayed a tiny quiver of hope that instantly put Melyn on his guard. ‘But it’s not like a normal book. You can’t just open it up and read it. You’d lose your mind.’

  ‘So you say, but how do I know you just don’t want me to know what’s in it?’

  ‘I can’t stop you from reading it, sire. But I must w
arn you that it is very dangerous. You and I are very different. Men don’t think like dragons. Your kind have never been able to master the subtle arts.’

  ‘And yet somehow Errol Ramsbottom managed to walk your lines. Not just once, either. He escaped Tynhelyg and ended up at Emmass Fawr, disappeared from there a couple of times too, and then went from the Neuadd to the depths of this forest. He shouldn’t have been able to do any of those things.’

  The darkness was almost total now, and Melyn could see nothing of Frecknock’s outline. She was motionless, silent, the only thing showing her presence the twin sets of low embers reflected red in her glassy eyes.

  ‘No, Your Grace. He shouldn’t have.’

  ‘We can’t very well just ride into Talarddeg, Dafydd. Not like this. They’ll think we’re an invasion force or something.’ Captain Pelod voiced the problem that had been weighing on Dafydd’s mind for several days now, ever since they had crossed the pass on their back-road route to Fo Afron and seen the sparkling blue waters of the Sea of Tegid stretching out to the eastern horizon. They had dropped back down into the trees now, but every so often a turn in the road would offer them another breathtaking vista.

  Still, it had been a long journey. Dafydd was beginning to tire of the mountains and the endless forest. After the initial few days of worrying that a messenger from his father would catch up with them, ordering him back to Tynhelyg, he had relaxed enough to start enjoying himself. It was a bit like some of his more daring childhood escapades, when he and Jarius had taken horses out at first light to hunt boar – that same sense of wrongdoing, that frisson of danger. But this was ten times as perilous, and at the same time even more exciting. He had the king’s blessing for this quest, but also the king’s expectations weighing heavily on his shoulders and a troop of the king’s elite guard riding at his back.

  ‘How exactly are we supposed to get from Talarddeg to Abervenn, anyway?’ Jarius asked, nudging his horse closer to Dafydd’s. Iolwen rode on his other side, silent but smiling. She had changed noticeably on their trip, becoming brighter and happier as the miles grew from Tynhelyg. Dafydd wondered how much of the reason for this was the thought of going home, and how much sheer relief at being away from the city and royal court.

  ‘We’ll be sailing on one of Master Holgrum’s merchant ships.’

  ‘Oh joy. A sea journey. You know how much I hate getting my feet wet.’

  ‘I’ve never been to sea.’ There was perhaps a note of trepidation in Iolwen’s voice as she joined in the conversation. ‘Is it as bad as people say?’

  ‘Only during the winter storms,’ Jarius said. ‘And even then the Sea of Tegid is fairly calm, at least up the west coast. It’s deep there, you see, and sheltered from the worst of the weather by these mountains we’ve just ridden through.’

  ‘But what about the rest of the journey? Aren’t we going out through the Spires of Idris?’

  ‘It can get a bit choppy there, and there’s a tricky bit around the Caldy peninsula between the southern sea and the Great Ocean. But we’re not going to be on a little rowing boat, Iol. And the sailors will know what they’re doing.’

  Dafydd said the words to comfort himself as much as his wife. He had sailed from Talarddeg before, but only north, up the coast to Kais. Jarius had more experience of the sea, but there wasn’t much call for sailors in Llanwennog. It was landlocked on three sides, and the sea that formed its northern border was frozen for most of the year.

  ‘Seriously though, Dafydd, we need to think about how we approach the city. Beulah will have plenty of spies there, and Tordu too. If we don’t want either of them to know where we are, then we need to split up, arrive at different times and through different gates. There’re a dozen taverns I can suggest where we can regroup, and when we know which boat we’re sailing on, I can pass the message on.’

  ‘That’s a sound plan, Captain Pelod. But I have a better one.’

  Dafydd, Iolwen and Jarius stopped their horses in unison. They had been riding down a long straight track with wide grass verges to either side. Nothing and nobody could have approached them without being seen. And yet there, standing in the middle of the road, was a man.

  ‘Usel. By the Shepherd, man. You might have got yourself killed.’ Dafydd turned slightly in his saddle. ‘It’s all right. He’s a friend.’ The soldiers riding behind him were in disarray, pulling up their horses and stepping off the track to avoid riding into the back of them.

  ‘They haven’t seen me yet,’ Usel said, and Dafydd could see the truth of his words in the actions of his guards. They had been taken completely by surprise and even now didn’t seem to know what had caused their leaders to stop so suddenly. He turned back to the plain-robed medic and for the first time noticed that he had a horse, standing patiently behind him.

  ‘How … ?’

  ‘Magic, Your Highness. Misdirection. Please forgive me my little game, but I could think of no other way to come among you. I hadn’t anticipated you would be accompanied by the king’s best men. Ah, yes, they’ve seen me now.’

  Within seconds Usel was surrounded by two dozen mounted soldiers, all wielding swords of bright white flame. He stood in their midst motionless, seemingly unconcerned. Dafydd thought it would serve the man right to let him sweat a bit, but the medic merely waited. In the end it was Iolwen who broke the impasse.

  ‘Stand down, won’t you. Can’t you see he’s no threat?’

  The guards extinguished their blades and turned their horses away, falling back behind the royal pair and their captain.

  ‘Thank you, Princess,’ Usel said. ‘And thank you, gentlemen, for not running me through.’ He swung himself up on to his horse and wheeled it round so that he was alongside Iolwen.

  ‘You were saying you had a better plan?’ Jarius spoke as if the whole incident had been no more than a horse stumbling over a pothole.

  ‘Indeed, Captain, I have. Talarddeg is, as you rightly said, awash with spies – Beulah’s, Tordu’s, Padraig’s. Even the merchants keep an eye on each other and sell whatever information they glean. It’s not a good place to go if you don’t want to be noticed.’

  ‘So we should avoid it, is that what you’re saying?’ Dafydd asked.

  ‘No. Well, not all of you. I’m sorry, Your Highness. This might seem a bit strange, but I think you and Iolwen should be seen entering the city, just not in an official capacity. News must get back to Tynhelyg of your whereabouts eventually; we just need to manage the process. Perhaps Captain Pelod might accompany you, and Master Teryll as well. Her Royal Highness the princess is in a delicate condition, after all, and where better to build up one’s strength than Talarddeg? You should have rooms at the most expensive inn, take the waters and be seen in the spa. Then you might charter a boat to take you across to Fo Afron. There are interesting ruins in the Gwastadded Wag that a young prince might wish to explore.’

  ‘And you’ll pick us up somewhere in the middle of the Sea of Tegid, where even the loosest-tongued sailor can’t tell a soul.’

  ‘Exactly so, Prince Dafydd.’ Usel smiled as if everything had been settled to his liking.

  ‘But what of my guards?’ Dafydd asked. ‘What of my safety? What of Iolwen’s? If Talarddeg’s as full of spies as you say, might there not be assassins too?’

  ‘We hadn’t counted on you bringing so many men,’ Usel said. ‘But Holgrum’s ship is more than capable of taking them all. I dare say he wanted to fit in a paying cargo as well, but he might have to accept a small loss on this journey. The ship will put into a small harbour not two days’ ride south of Talarddeg. They can board it there without fear of being discovered. Local tongues might wag, but only the sheep will hear them.’

  ‘And the assassins?’ Dafydd noticed that he medic hadn’t answered his question.

  ‘I won’t deny that Talarddeg can be a dangerous place. But my people are in place, have been for many months now. And Master Holgrum has contacts throughout the city. If anyone was plotting an attack, we’d
know about it and deal with it. People disappear all the time in busy coastal ports. The city guard tends not to get involved.’

  Dafydd knew it made sense. Riding into town at the head of a troop of King Ballah’s finest soldiers would bring the wrong kind of attention. He would be invited to stay at the castle, watched by his uncle, the odious Duke Vern, his every move reported back to his father. It would be all but impossible to do anything without half the local aristocrats following him around. But if he arrived quietly, unannounced but not concealing his presence, then he might well be left alone, at least for the few days it took to exchange message birds with Tynhelyg, and by then he would be gone anyway.

  ‘How much further is it to the coast?’

  ‘We should reach the sea by this evening. A place called Smailtown. It’s a long day’s ride to the city from there. We’ll find lodgings for tonight and set off fresh in the morning.’

  They rode on through the afternoon, arriving at the small coastal settlement as the sun dipped behind the Caldy mountains. The smell of the sea brought back vivid memories to Dafydd, not all of them good. He could almost feel the rocking of the small boat that had taken him to Kais through stomach-churning waters. That had been a miserable trip, a strange idea of his father’s to round out his education by sending him to the four corners of the kingdom and beyond. He hoped that this voyage would be both more profitable and more comfortable.

  Smailtown sat on the main road that followed the western coast of the Sea of Tegid. It was a small place: a few fisherman’s cottages clustered around a tiny harbour, and a large inn built to cater for travellers heading to and from Talarddeg. The soldiers made camp in a sheltered field nearby while Usel accompanied Dafydd, Jarius and Iolwen into the inn.

  It had been weeks since last they had stayed anywhere so well appointed, and Dafydd wasn’t surprised that his wife disappeared into the bathing room attached to their chambers as soon as the maids had finished bringing up what seemed like enough hot water to fill the harbour below. He contented himself with a quick wash before making his way to the main tavern room. The endless days on the road, with only the rations they could carry supplemented by what they could catch, had given him a hunger for something more sophisticated than spit-roast deer, and a thirst for something stronger than water.