A Foolish Wind: The Oak Knower Chronicles (The Druids, Dragons and Demons Series Book 1)

by Andy Roberts

  Griff leaned his full weight on the crutch and ground his teeth. ‘Soldiers you say, not Gendrick’s men?’

  Cali warmed himself with a mug of Milda’s herb tea, his nose wet, cheeks as red as a pair of summer roses. ‘It’s what father says.’ He sniffed and wiped his nose with a woollen mitten. ‘Proper soldiers and not ours,’ he managed between thirsty gulps.

  ‘And you say they spoke in a foreign tongue?’ Madoc reached for his pipe.

  Cali nodded. ‘All except their leader. He spoke Eanbish better than half the village.’

  The farmer gave Griff a worried look. ‘Do you think they’ve come back to kill me?’

  ‘Comin’ straight here, sure enough,’ the boy told them. ‘But it’s the druid they’re lookin’ for, not you.’

  Griff could feel a fire burning in his belly at the mere mention of the name. ‘Well they’ve wasted their time, so they have.’

  Madoc searched deep in his pocket and handed the boy a flanning. ‘Be careful gettin’ back, and thank ol’ Rhilf for the warnin’.’

  Cali deposited the dirty coin inside one of his mittens and took a last swig of his tea. ‘Thanks,’ he said with an ear-to-ear grin.

  ‘Stay away from the road,’ Madoc warned.

  ‘Keep this side of the wall,’ Griff shouted over the farmer’s shoulder. The boy let them know he understood and was quick on his way.

  ‘What’ll we do?’ Milda checked the window again and saw no sign of the soldiers, Rhilf doing his best to delay them for as long as he could.

  Griff pulled a chair and sat at the table. ‘Nuthin’ to do,’ he said with folded arms and a defiant shrug. He turned to Philly and gave her one of his stern looks. ‘Not a word from you about where we’re goin’.

  She matched his stare and shook her head. ‘And why do you think I’d say anything?’

  ‘Because you never know when to shut up, so you don’t.’

  ‘Says who?’

  The barn had once been painted red, though its corrugated sheeting possessed a drab and distressed look after too many winters on the Brindmere hillside. Madoc pulled at the door, heaving against the build-up of snow. ‘Stay clear of the cows if you will,’ he told the commander. ‘Don’t want them producing soured milk for the next few weeks.’ The place stank of cattle urine and black grease, the odour reluctant to make its way out into the chill air. Two soldiers followed Nolaan inside, poking and prodding at hay bales as they went. They pulled at tarpaulins and checked under a waggon that sat lop-sided on a broken axle.

  ‘Wastin’ your time here,’ Griff said. ‘Told you already, the man’s a coward and long gone.’

  Nolaan ignored him and used a length of wire to pull a hay bale to one side. He tapped his foot against the boarded floor. ‘Hollow,’ he said. ‘What lies beneath?’

  ‘It’s a hideaway,’ Madoc admitted. ‘Built to keep Milda safe when I was away at war. He moved among the heifers and stroked their hindquarters, keeping them calm as the animals watched the soldiers hunt for a man who was already miles away.

  ‘Open it.’ Nolaan squatted to get a better look.

  Griff scoffed. ‘You think the druid’s hidin’ in that?’ Madoc knelt and took a folding knife from his pocket. He drew the blade along the gap between the wooden boards until it snagged against a hidden catch. He heard it click and lifted a hinged section of flooring that was just wider than a man’s shoulders.

  The commander peered into the darkness and ordered one of his men to fetch a lamp. Madoc shook his head firmly. ‘Flames-‘n’-hay don’t mix.’ The farmer went to a dusty old cupboard and returned with an equally dusty winder-light. ‘It’s got a bit of rust about it but you’ll soon knock that off with a few turns of the handle.’

  ‘A mischief,’ Griff said as the soldier prepared to peer into the hole. ‘It’s what they call a nest of rats.’

  Nolaan swung the light around inside the space and then turned it on the innkeeper. ‘Do they bother you?’ Griff had seen the creatures feed on good men in the field, had even watched them come for his blackened leg after the battle-healer had separated it from his body. He shuddered at the memory and lied.

  The air was mild their side of the strait, the icicles dripping themselves to puddles on the oaken boards of the main deck. ‘It’s not right.’ The sailor stopped mopping and nodded. ‘Wind’s everywhere but in the sails.’ Giblin went to the starboard rail and looked overboard, moved to the port side and did the same.

  Gendrick followed close behind, mirroring the captain’s every movement, monitoring his look of mounting concern. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  Giblin licked his fingers and held them aloft. ‘There’s magic afoot.’

  ‘Get the boy,’ Gendrick told Snake.

  Brae knew they’d notice once the light of day arrived but he’d succeeded in giving the druid a few hours of catch up time. He could hear Snake coming along the narrow corridor, knew it was him by the weight of his step on the boards. Farrel stood in the doorway a moment too long and was knocked to his backside on the hard floor of the cabin.

  The poisoner grabbed Brae by the scruff of the neck and dragged him off his bunk. ‘You’re chokin’ me.’ He clawed at the hireling’s fist and unable to break free found himself forced through the open doorway towards the steps leading to the main deck.

  Gendrick waited, his face bearing a fearsome scowl. Snake hurled Brae towards him before they’d reached the top step, disappearing below again with little more than a grunt. ‘There’s going to be a punishment,’ the minister said with a sinister grin.

  Brae crawled on all fours, calling to the poisoner, pleading with Gendrick. ‘The healer had nothin’ to do with any of this.’

  ‘I think someone’s been talking to the wind.’ Gendrick’s eyes shifted to three enormous sails that hung as limp as dishcloths on a rail. ‘I told you no games.’ The sound of a scuffle saw Snake drag Farrel onto the deck by a handful of his hair, the healer loosing balance and trying to run along on his knees. He looked terrified, his eyes almost as wide as his gaping mouth. ‘Tie him to the mast,’ Gendrick ordered. He called Giblin towards him and demanded to know how much time they’d lost.

  The sea-captain scratched his head. ‘At least six hours, I’d wager.’

  ‘Then eight lashes it is.’

  The cat had nine rope tails, each possessing a series of small knots that were evenly spaced along their full length. Brae stood before the bare back of the healer, shaking with the fear and anger of it. ‘I’ll know if you’re going easy on him,’ Gendrick said, ‘and I’ll add two more for every one that you do.’

  Farrel had been strapped to a length of board that leaned against the mast and was fixed in place with a couple of good nails. His wrists were tied and held high above his head, his knees bound close together with several wraps of rope. Brae apologised for the hundredth time and the healer mumbled something back in return.

  ‘Remove the gag,’ Gendrick told Snake. ‘I want to hear him scream.’ He grabbed Brae by the scruff of the neck and placed him on the spot. He put his mouth near the ear of the smithy’s apprentice. ‘I’ll be watching.’

  Chapter

  — 29 —

  ‘Windsong circled above the busy city, a rising thermal holding her dark silhouette high against the lighter background of jostling clouds. Word was already out—there was a dragon roaming free in Thresk, with several citizens claiming to have seen the druid passing through the gates of the monastery. The palace secretary had said that it couldn’t be true, that Commander Nolaan himself had assured him that Tamulan Thrysk remained a guest at the Brindmere village inn. Even so, King Kwoten saw fit to send two dozen men to scour the city, though all they found were rumours and a monk who tended candles and told no tales.

  Tamulan saw her too. He moved along the rooftops among swathes of colourful laundry that blew on lengths of twine stretched from chimney to chimney. Children played on the balconies and alleyways below, squealing with excitement as they splashed w
ater at one another. The effects of the dragon-bone powder would soon wear off, making him visible to all and anyone who cared to look his way. After leaving the monastery, he’d disappeared into the melee of the bazaar, passing merchants and shoppers without turning a single head. When the butcher’s boy held a door open, the druid passed through in front of the man shouldering the heavy carcass of a freshly slaughtered pig. He’d taken to the sandstone steps, careful to not scuff his boots against their treads and alert a careful ear. The butcher’s boy stopped when the flap-door at the top of the stairs opened of its own accord. The druid hit it against the wall and then once more against its worn frame, the boy loosing all interest as he mistakenly believed it to be at the mercy of a draught. Tamulan pushed through the narrow opening and found no way of fastening the door shut behind him. He moved quickly across the exposed rooftop, signalling to Windsong with a series of simple hand movements. He went to the side-wall, leaned and looked both ways, counted the soldiers in the street below and knew they needed more than double that number to have any chance against him. He rested against a tall cylinder of a chimney and tuned into a presence that had followed since he left the monastery. Someone was watching him, of that he was sure. Dragging himself away from the invisible eye, he whispered into the palm of his hand and with his message complete, blew gently and sent it on its way. He watched as his spoken words rose skywards, climbing on the same thermal current as the dragon. Windsong took the druid’s command and pulled away immediately, headed out towards the coastline where she banked hard left, aligning herself with the Strait of the Gods.

  ‘Can you see him?’ Griff asked, one hand on the padded shoulder of his crutch, the other on the thick, wooden mantlepiece.

  Philly lay on a threadbare couch in the cramped space that was the farmhouse sitting-room, Milda leaning over her. The farmer’s wife placed a tan and white chequered blanket on the girl’s legs and commented on how cold she was.

  Madoc put another log on the fire and emptied the used contents of his pipe onto it with a few brisk taps. He stood with a groan and rubbed his flanks. ‘The gift controls her for now,’ he said. ‘Best let it be.’

  ‘He knows I’m watching.’ Philly spoke, though wasn’t talking to them as such.

  ‘Where is he?’ Nolaan asked again.

  She shook her head. ‘A church of some sorts. I see rooftops and chimneys, and coloured flags of all shapes and sizes.’

  Nolaan’s eyes narrowed. ‘And what do you see in the distance?’

  ‘There is nothing else, he won’t let me in.’

  ‘Try again,’ he told her. ‘The druid must be told that he’s needed back in Randor.’ Griff shifted position and regained his balance.

  Philly’s breathing was shallow and laboured. ‘I see a building with three domes that gleam in the sunlight.’

  ‘Thresk?’ Madoc asked. Nolaan nodded.

  ‘He’s watching us,’ Philly told them, though Griff didn’t seem to care.

  The farmer squatted on a hearth-side rug that sported a hundred or more tiny scorch marks, and poked a length of solid wick into the fire, removing it only when it held a good flame. ‘What business does he have there?’

  ‘Who gives a damn?’ Griff asked loosing his patience and temper all at the same time. ‘Go find Brae.’

  ‘You’re pushin’ too hard,’ Milda told him. ‘She needs to rest.’

  Griff tugged his beard. ‘There’s no time to do this any other way.’

  Philly whimpered and then was off again. ‘The boy uses the wind against them.’ Farmer and innkeeper exchanged hopeful glances. The girl shook her head, clearly troubled by something that wouldn’t let her be. Griff walked in circles, stopping occassionally to watch her.

  Milda rested a hand on Philly’s heaving shoulder. ‘We have to wake her.’

  ‘Not yet,’ Griff snapped.

  ‘They’ve seen me,’ Philly said, now wide awake. ‘The Salamanders know where I am.’

  Chapter

  — 30 —

  Giblin pointed towards the crow’s nest. ‘The lookout says it’s been tracking us for an hour almost and came out of skies to the west.

  The poisoner put a hand to his forehead and shielded his eyes from the weak sun. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Reckoned it to be an albatross at first.’ The sea captain unrolled his shirtsleeves and refastened their cuffs. ‘But they never grow anywhere near that big.’

  Even with his naked eye, Gendrick knew that the silhouette belonged to no bird. He moved towards the prow of the ship and climbed onto a water-barrel. ‘The spyglass.’ He snatched it from the sailor’s hand and waved it about until the approaching object was centred in his view. For a time, he fell very quiet, then he swore loudly and folded the instrument in on itself. ‘If he wasn’t already dead, I’d gut him myself.’

  Snake took the minister’s arm and helped him down from his vantage point. ‘I warned you we couldn’t trust that idiot to deal with the dragon.’

  Gendrick thrust the spyglass at the hireling’s chest and snarled at the nearest crewmember to get the boy on deck and have him make more wind.

  Farrel lay on his front on the bottom bunk, a wet cloth resting on his raw flesh. He shook from head to toe, the salt in his sweat biting at his open wounds. The cat had hurt him good and proper and Brae couldn’t stop apologising for the not insignificant part he’d played. The healer shifted with a loud groan. ‘Just promise you won’t try anything else for a while.’

  Brae was glad that Farrel didn’t have the same sight of his back as he did. The pared wounds were going to need a lot more than herbal remedies to have any chance of healing. He used the corner of the bed-sheet to wipe the greasy healing cream from his hands and put its container back under the bed. ‘Thought I was doin’ the right thing, so I did. Never expected them to take it out on you.’ Farrel shrunk at the sound of approaching footsteps, a look of mounting fear in his eyes. Brae shook his head and got to his feet. ‘I’ve done nuthin’ wrong.’

  The sailor swatted at his words with a loose hand and moved away from the doorway to let him pass. ‘The minister wants you up on deck—don’t keep him waiting.’

  Tamulan squatted on the edge of the roof, its loose terracotta tiles rattling beneath his dusty boots. He could hear them on the steps of the butcher’s stairwell and in just a short while they’d have full sight of him. Without a twinge of indecision, he stepped off the side of the building and caught hold of a short flagpole jutting from the facade somewhere near half way down. The two large fastening bolts gave a fraction as the plaster around them cracked like a thin sheet of winters ice. He hung in mid-air and steadied his breathing, a pair of soldiers in navy-blue tunics approaching, and pointing from one end of the busy street. The druid released his grip and dropped onto the canvas awning of the storefront below, tearing through the red and white stripes of its thin material, landing on a towering pile of soft silks. He dusted himself down and offered no apology to the irate merchant.

  On the pavement, he sidestepped the butcher’s cart, the boy’s eyes this time following him into the bazaar with the same level of preoccupation as the soldiers who ran after him. He kept his head low and feet quick as he cut deeper into the bustling market and then out again the other side. The seer dragged at him still, like a lead weight tied to the belt at his waist. He was certain now that it wasn’t the dream-keeper—this seer was calling for his help. He swept aside a long veil of stringed beads that hung in a doorway and used them as a curtain to conceal himself. Temporarily safe, he closed his eyes and connected fully with the seer.

  Windsong came alongside the Raven, matching it for speed with only a slow and rhythmic motion of her wings. Gendrick stood in awe, completely rooted to the spot. Most of the crew had never before laid eyes on a dragon, so uncommon were they in any of the near-lands. All but Gendrick, Snake and Giblin moved to the opposite side of the ship, while Brae stood alone in the doorway of the main deck.

  ‘You called for me?’ The conte
mpt in the teenager’s voice was clear for all to hear. Gendrick glanced at him only fleetingly and was then away with the dragon once more. Brae kicked a water-bucket and made it rattle. Gendrick looked again, this time longer. He held his finger out in warning to stay quiet as the dragon accelerated past them and flew off into the distance.

  ‘It’s going,’ one of the sailors said stepping warily from behind a pair of upright barrels. His shipmate shook his head and try as he did, couldn’t find the words to speak.

  Gendrick was torn as to what to do next. The sight of the creature turning half-circle in a slow and wide arc was truly mesmerising, but he had no reason to believe that this was to be an innocent fly-past. ‘Get over here,’ he told Brae.

  ‘You have a binding on him,’ Snake said. ‘The creature wouldn’t risk harming the boy by killing you.’ The poisoner was right, the cotton swabs soaked with the blood from Brae’s arm meant that the minister was for now safe.

  Windsong headed straight at them, approaching the prow-end of the ship with an increasing amount of speed. ‘She’s gonna fire us,’ a sailor shouted, promptly throwing himself into the sea after issuing his warning to all. Snake craned his neck as the huge silhouette went overhead, swamping them in darkness, its violent downdraught spilling anything that wasn’t already locked down. Shouts broke out all along the deck, several sailors waving their knives at the dragon, one letting go with the barrel of his fire-lance. Windsong spat a plume of white-hot flame, Gendrick and Snake watching it impact the water several miles away from their ship. The minister frowned, and then he shrugged—no comprehension whatsoever, as to what was about to unfold.