The Book of the Sword (Darkest Age)

by A. J. Lake

  ‘No! It’s too slow!’ Edmund grabbed Fritha’s arm. ‘Are there other dragons here? If we can find one, I can make it fly us down there.’

  Both Fritha and Cathbar looked at him in astonishment. At length Cathbar spoke, more gently than before. ‘It’s a brave thought, Edmund. But you’re talking about a dragon, not a dog. Even if we could find one, we couldn’t control it.’

  He thinks I’m running mad, Edmund thought, looking at the captain’s concerned face. And maybe I am. But it’s the best chance we have!

  ‘You’re forgetting,’ he told Cathbar. ‘I am Ripente. I can control creatures through their eyes – and I’ve borrowed that dragon’s eyes before.’

  The captain hesitated. He still thought this was foolishness, Edmund could see – but maybe not madness.

  ‘Listen to me, Cathbar!’ he pleaded. ‘I can’t get through to Torment here. Someone else is controlling it – if not Loki, then one of his followers, like my uncle was once. But it shows that dragons can be controlled! If there’s another dragon here – one that isn’t being watched – I think I can reach it. We’d be down there in moments, and we could go wherever the blue dragon goes.’

  There was a silence. Fritha broke it, her voice as small as a child’s. ‘There are no more here like that one. The rock dragons are few, and they live far from each other. But my mother told me a story … There were dragons once that came from the ice: many, many of them. They flew from Eigg Loki, and they returned here. She said that they sleep here, always, under the glacier. And one day, they will wake again.’ She looked at Edmund, wide-eyed. ‘There is a place on the mountain called Dreka-minning – the memory of dragons – where they flew back into the ice. My mother showed it to me.’

  ‘Could you take us there?’ Edmund asked, hardly trusting his voice. ‘Quickly?’

  Fritha nodded, already scanning the mountainside for a route.

  Cathbar let out his breath in an explosive sigh. ‘So it’s both of you, is it? You mean to go dragon-hunting – to gamble on a children’s tale, while Elspeth’s in danger!’

  Edmund turned on him, all his fear and desperation breaking out as fury. ‘I care as much for her safety as you! How many children’s tales have turned out to be true since we’ve come here? Ice spirits … a god under the mountain … why shouldn’t Fritha be right about this dragon? And we’ve no time!’

  Cathbar shot him an approving look. As Edmund subsided, out of breath, the captain clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Then let’s be off, lad. Of course, as your father’s son, you could just have given me an order.’ He turned to Fritha. ‘Lead on, girl, and let’s find this nest of dragons quickly. I hope you’re right about it, for all our sakes.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Even without a guiding spirit, the sword had a good blade. It gashed the scales of the dragons, and kept their claws from me – but they did not bleed, nor tire. And then I saw my wife. She has always had the gift of speaking to birds and beasts. She was calling: at first to the dragons, and when they would not hear her, to the birds of the forest. A cloud of them came – crows, doves, even starlings. They settled on the dragons, covering the scales with black and brown till the creatures crashed to the ground. And still my wife called: to the hawks and eagles, which flew like daggers at the dragons’ eyes. The battle turned.

  – You see! she said in triumph. You have no need of swords. The creatures of this land can protect it.

  – And against fire? said one of the Fay.

  Caught twice – like a fish in a pond! What kind of fighter do you think you are?

  Elspeth’s sword arm was free this time, but it did her no good: the dragon had gripped her round the waist, face down, twisting and writhing like a fish in a gull’s claws. And writhe as she might, flailing with the sword, she could find nothing to hit except the claw holding her. In her first terror and fury she had slashed at it, and gashed the surface, but the sword would cut no deeper: she guessed it would not allow her to harm herself, or perhaps would not let her fall here.

  The white ground soared to meet her as the dragon swooped downwards. Eolande hung limply from the dragon’s other foot, the foreleg that Cathbar had wounded before. The whole leg dangled lower than the one that held Elspeth, so that Eolande was almost dashed against the ice as their captor skimmed down the mountain. The woman’s face was pale and her eyes were closed. Elspeth felt a stab of bitter guilt: this was not Eolande’s battle. She had brought this fate on them both.

  The dragon pulled itself up from its plunge, wheeling dizzyingly in the air so that they now faced the mountain. They were flying towards another crevasse – no, a deep rift in the rock itself, stretching down nearly to the mountain’s foot. The creature brought its wings in close to its sides and began to glide down towards the opening.

  This could be its lair, Elspeth thought. Is it taking us back to eat us? She fought down panic, concentrating on the sword in her hand and trying to picture herself stabbing the dragon as its jaws came down to bite, as Cathbar had done. But the creature could have eaten them on the mountainside, surely, or killed them to eat later. No: their captor must be serving someone else, just as it had been before, when it had snatched her and Edmund from Venta Bulgarum. It was taking them to its master. To Loki, she thought: who else could tame a dragon? And after all, she was to be brought to him, pinioned and helpless.

  There was a rush of wind as the dragon unfolded its wings again. It brought them down with a crack like the breaking of tree trunks, pulling itself up in the air with a jolt. Elspeth looked down. Something was moving on the ground just below them, flowing up from the foot of the mountain and gathering in the dark opening to the rift. Living creatures, long-bodied and low to the ground, their coats a soft silver-grey against the snow.

  Wolves. White wolves.

  Eolande gave a low cry, and Elspeth saw that she had opened her eyes. The dark-haired woman gazed down at the wolves, her face eager and intent, her lips moving soundlessly. The animals had gathered in a tight pack, barring the entrance. Dozens of sets of yellow teeth were bared in snarls. The dragon might have been able to fly over them, but its wounded leg hung down too low: already those at the front of the pack were leaping up, and Eolande had disappeared among a flurry of white bodies.

  ‘No!’ Elspeth screamed. She tried to slash downwards at the wolves, but the foot that held her was still too high. The dragon beat its wings once more, throwing itself back into the air; some of the wolves lost their hold and fell to the ground, yelping, but three or four still held on to the great scaly foreleg. Hanging in their midst, still gripped by the claw, Eolande seemed to be unwounded, though the dragon’s black blood ran around her. It seemed a miracle to Elspeth, but she had no time to feel relief. The dragon was swooping down again, shooting a jet of blue flame at the wolves, who scattered around it as it made once more for the opening. Elspeth flinched as a ridge of stone flashed by, inches from her face – and then she was being carried through a dark tunnel, with a rocky floor beneath her and grey walls stretching up to either side. A sliver of blue sky was still visible far above.

  Something hit her in the back. A wolf had thrown itself against the foreleg that held her, and now it hung above her, growling, jaws clenched in the dragon’s scaly skin as its hind legs scrabbled on Elspeth’s back. She flinched as another wolf flung itself towards her face, its jaws dripping – but its yellow teeth clashed shut above her head, in the flesh of the dragon’s foot. They were attacking the dragon, not her! A clawed foot scraped through her hair. She held the sword still by her side as more of the beasts leapt, caught, and tried to scramble up her body.

  Through the press of rank, furry bodies, Elspeth glimpsed the dragon’s other leg, still dangling low. The claw was empty. Eolande was free! But she could not see her companion, and the dragon was still gliding down the tunnel taking her and the wolves with it, wings swept back, unable to flap or to turn. It tried to flap once, the crack of air buffeting Elspeth’s face, but the pa
ssage was too narrow to allow the creature to stretch its wings out fully, and it could not turn. It swept on, driven by its own momentum; neither the wolves’ bites nor Elspeth’s struggles seeming to slow it at all.

  And then a shudder went through the claw that held her. Elspeth felt the grip around her waist slipping until she was held under her arms, her feet dangling. Next moment, her feet jarred painfully on stone. With a roar that brought fragments of stone down around them like rain, the dragon loosed its hold, sending her crashing down on to the rocky floor, with the wolves in a snarling, snapping heap on top of her.

  The wolves’ hot breath steamed around her as she watched the dragon retreating. In a few heartbeats it had reached the tunnel’s end. The stone floor suddenly stopped; the dragon swept out into empty space; and the great wings unfurled. In the dim light that filtered down, Elspeth saw its scaly tail lashing and the empty talons dangling, one lower than the other. A single wolf was still clinging to the foreleg that had grasped Elspeth; one flap of the wings dislodged the beast and it fell, howling into the emptiness below. Then the dragon was lost in darkness, flapping slowly away into the void at the heart of the mountain.

  The wolves had separated and were milling about her now, tongues lolling; their snarls giving way to panting. They seemed to be ignoring Elspeth, for the moment. But she had seen what those yellow teeth could do to a dragon’s skin. Moving slowly, trying to ignore her bruised limbs, she pulled herself up into a crouch, holding the sword at the ready.

  A low, sweet whistle sounded behind her, and the wolves, as one beast, turned their heads to the sound. Eolande was walking towards her from the tunnel’s entrance. The woman held herself stiffly, as if she had been bruised by the fall, and her grey dress was ripped at the hem, but there was no mark on her skin, and her expression was as calm as ever.

  ‘They will not hurt you,’ she told Elspeth. The wolves bounded towards her, surrounding her in a sea of white fur, and she stroked their heads and murmured to them as if they were hounds. ‘Two of them died to save us,’ she said, and her voice held real sorrow. ‘But they will be avenged. Come.’ She gestured towards the tunnel’s entrance as Elspeth climbed to her feet. ‘It’s not safe here.’

  She turned and led the way back down the tunnel, the wolves padding at her heels like lapdogs. Elspeth followed at a little distance, her mind racing. Edmund had spoken of strange wolves in the forest, on the journey from Fritha’s home to the ice fields: creatures that followed them without threatening; just watching them. Were these the same wolves – and had they been following her all this time?

  There was sunlight ahead. They were back at the opening of the rift, where the wolves had first attacked Torment. The uneven rock floor gave way to a jumble of huge boulders, stretching out to one side as far as they could see, and as far down as the snow fields below them. To the other side the ice rose in fantastically shaped ridges, tall as trees. The rocks immediately below them were scorched, and stained with blood. One dead wolf lay there, its fur white against the grey rock. Eolande stooped to lay her hand on its head and murmur something, her eyes sorrowful. Then she whistled again, clear and piercing, and threw one arm outwards. The surviving wolves streamed off in the direction of her pointed hand, leaping easily between the jagged boulders. Eolande watched them go for a moment, then turned to Elspeth, gesturing her to follow.

  ‘Wait,’ Elspeth said. Were they to go on without a word of explanation? ‘Why did those wolves save us? Did you call them? And where are you taking me?’

  ‘I am taking you to Loki’s cave,’ Eolande replied. Her voice was sharp, and she stood poised at the edge of a boulder as if impatient of the slightest delay. ‘So was the dragon – but if you had met Loki in his claws, you would not have survived.’ She reached out a hand to draw Elspeth towards her. ‘Come with me, before he returns!’

  Go, the sword said in Elspeth’s head. Her whole arm jarred at Eolande’s touch – as it had done when the woman grasped her arm on the mountain, before the dragon took them – but she nodded, and let the woman lead her towards the ice ridges, back to the edge of the glacier. She could feel the sword’s voice murmuring uneasily – something was not right here. But the urgency was as great as ever, the voice told her, and the danger too. Into the mountain – go!

  It was not so much a walk, Elspeth thought, as a battle with rocks and ice. They clambered over rough boulders and squeezed between the ones too tall to climb, their feet sliding on ice underfoot. Elspeth’s hands were soon covered with cuts and grazes. She fell once, throwing out her left hand to save herself, and gashed her arm on a knife-edged snag in the rock. Eolande pressed on, hardly looking back, but Elspeth went more cautiously after that: whatever happened, she must not damage her right arm.

  After a while they found themselves walking between walls of ice, towering over their heads. The ground grew smoother underfoot as the path rose, and Elspeth found herself sliding uncontrollably with every step.

  ‘We are close,’ Eolande told her, turning as Elspeth stumbled and clutched at the ice wall. The expression on the dark woman’s face startled Elspeth: for a single instant she saw a blaze of urgency there that rivalled her own. Then Eolande turned abruptly and strode forward again, so rapidly that Elspeth almost had to run to catch up. How did she keep her balance? Elspeth tried to follow in her footsteps, and found that the going was easier: Eolande seemed to see all the places where the ice was rougher, or where near-invisible stones broke the surface. Either the woman had very good eyesight, or she had been here often.

  But why should Eolande be so eager to take her to Loki? Elspeth wondered what else her guide had not told her. Were there dangers that she was concealing?

  No matter, came the sword’s voice. Go on!

  And Elspeth pushed herself to go faster, keeping pace with Eolande. Her legs were trembling with effort and tiredness when the woman finally led her around a curve in the ice wall to meet a wall of rock. Overhead, ice met rock to cut off the blue sky. Eolande stopped, looking Elspeth full in the face.

  ‘We can rest here for a while,’ she said. ‘I will answer your questions before I take you further. For the truth is, Elspeth, it is I who owe you gratitude, for coming here and for bringing Ioneth.’

  She smiled – and Elspeth was suddenly filled with uneasiness. Don’t stop! cried the sword’s voice. Don’t let her explain! She must take us to Loki at once! They were close to him now: Elspeth could feel it, like a dark undertow drawing her in.

  No, Elspeth told the voice in her head. I must know what this woman wants before I follow her. The sword’s pull was an almost physical force, but she set her back against the stone wall and listened to Eolande.

  ‘First, I should tell you what I concealed from you before,’ the woman said. ‘I am one of the Fay. It is my own magic that protects me here – and will protect you too, if you go into Loki’s cave.’

  Elspeth’s skin prickled. She had shivered when Eolande had first mentioned the Fay in her chamber under the ice: the uncanny people, who never allowed themselves to be seen by mortal men and women, though there were stories of them stealing away children. She had thought they were mere fables once – but then, she had thought the same about dragons and spirits.

  ‘I thought the Fay lived in another world,’ she said. ‘The stories say they can’t survive away from their own lands. How could you stay here?’

  ‘It is hard,’ Eolande said, and for the first time her face looked tired. ‘The rest of my people returned to their woods and moors when Loki was bound again. I stayed because I had to. I visit the woods when I can; and the creatures of the wood, the white wolves, help me. I help them find food and protection, and in return they act as my eyes and ears. It was I who called them to save us from the dragon: if we had reached Loki still pinioned in those claws, you could not have fought him.’

  ‘You sent the wolves to watch us, didn’t you?’ Elspeth said slowly. ‘When we were still in the forest.’

  Eolande nodded.
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br />   ‘Why?’ Elspeth persisted. ‘Why did you want to protect us?’

  ‘Because I had long been looking for you – or hoping for you, at least.’ Eolande’s voice was suddenly unsteady. ‘When … when Brokk disappeared, the sword vanished with him: we found nothing but the silver gauntlet. But he had told me what to do if this should happen. We were to lock the gauntlet in a wooden chest that he had made and keep it safe. There was a charm hewn into the wood that if Loki should ever regain his power, the sword would return. When Loki began to reach out and find himself servants, we sent the chest to my homeland for safe keeping. But still his power grew. And last year, he opened that cleft in the rock, so the dragon could fly in to him.’

  She took Elspeth by the shoulders, staring intently into her face. ‘Then the wolves told me that the dragon had brought a girl bearing a sword of light – that she had escaped, and was wandering in the forest. Can you doubt that I gave them orders to watch over you and keep you from harm; to bring you here if they could? But you came here on your own.’ Her eyes were bright now. ‘Ioneth had told you already what you had to do.’

  They’re so sure of me! Elspeth thought, not knowing if she was glad or angry or just afraid to see Eolande’s confidence in her. She’s so certain that the sword … Ioneth … has made me do everything!

  But hasn’t she? How much of this journey was my own choice?

  To change the subject, she said, ‘Why didn’t you tell us this when you found us beneath the ice?’

  Eolande looked abashed. ‘Because the man with you, Cathbar, looked at me with such suspicion. I know the men of your country, Elspeth: they seldom trust strangers, and they are afraid of magic. I thought that if he knew I was of another race – that I was Fay – he would persuade you to have nothing to do with me. And I could not allow that to happen!’

  ‘No … I see that,’ Elspeth murmured. In her mind’s eye, she was seeing the blaze of the sword as it told her to block the path into the mountain, leaving Cathbar to the men who wanted to murder them all: We cannot allow them to follow! She felt a rush of relief that her friends were no longer with her: at least they could not be sacrificed to Ioneth’s mission. She wondered briefly if the sword would sacrifice her, if it came to it. And she felt again the dark current, pulling her towards the heart of the mountain.