by A. J. Lake
He withdrew his eyes. Fritha was kneeling beside him, an arrow fitted to her bow, while Cathbar stood with his sword at the ready, holding on to the spine-ridge for support.
‘She’ll fight him,’ Edmund told them. ‘If she can stay above him, we only need to hold on.’ They both nodded, but Fritha did not lower her bow.
And then the huge body beneath them gave a violent shudder. Torment was there – already attacking, darting his flame like an arrow into the hollow of Jokul-dreki’s left shoulder. As she bucked in the air, and Edmund and his companions clutched desperately on to the ridge of her back, the blue dragon spat a second jet of flame at her. Torment was half her size, but he was much faster, and it was plain that his flames were hurting the glacier dragon. She did not roar, but snorted another great cloud of freezing air, while her front legs flailed at her attacker.
Torment dodged away, around the white dragon’s side; for a long moment he was close enough for them to see his streaked eye glaring up at them. Then the blue dragon flapped to gain height, and the air was filled with the ripping-cloth sound of its wings. There was a whir as Fritha loosed her first arrow; it glanced harmlessly off the dragon’s belly, but the girl was already fitting another, her hands quite steady. Cathbar was yelling defiance, lunging with his sword, but Torment was already out of his range.
As the dragon rose above them, Fritha shot again. The arrow rose straight and true, lodging in Torment’s foreleg, but did not slow the beast as he swooped down on them, his mouth open to flare. But at that moment the great white dragon banked and soared upwards, catching Torment with the edge of a wing and knocking him away.
‘He’ll keep coming back, though,’ said Cathbar grimly. ‘And he only has to get us once.’
Edmund could see he was right. The glacier dragon was unwieldy, and slow after her long sleep. He could try to control her, make her outfly Torment, but he could not make her faster, or fiercer. Even as they watched, the blue dragon climbed in the sky again, this time from behind them, and began another long swoop downwards, jaws gaping around a jet of flame.
‘Fritha,’ he said quickly, ‘give me one of your arrows.’
She held it out to him without question, and he rummaged at his belt for the cloth bag that Fritha’s father had given him, filled with bread, at the start of the journey. It was coarsely made and too large for his purpose, but he managed to wrap it around the head of the arrow and tie it tightly with the bag’s string.
‘Can you still aim this?’ he asked. She nodded calmly, and he was struck by her self-possession. She had thrown off her fear, focused entirely on the task in hand. I hope I can do the same, he thought – but by that time, he was already crawling down the ridge of the ice dragon’s spine, towards their attacker.
Maybe seeing the blue dragon through the eyes of Jokuldreki had helped to conquer his fear of it, he thought. It was still terrible: the malice in the great eye as it bore down on him, the cruel talons and the fanged and flaming mouth; but the mere sight did not reduce him to helplessness as it had before. Even so, it took all his courage to stand there, unmoving, for the two heartbeats it took Torment to reach him. He waited until the dragon filled the sky ahead of him; until he could see the great nostril above him, taking in the air for the killing flame. Then he threw himself flat, pulling his heavy fur cloak over his head, while one gloved hand thrust the muffled arrow out and upwards.
He felt the whoosh as the flame rushed over him, and the clap of air as the dragon sailed overhead. He threw off the singed cloak and scrambled to his feet, holding the arrow carefully. The coarse material had caught the flame and was beginning to blaze up.
Torment was in the sky ahead of them, already turning for another attack. Cathbar had been swiping at the dragon each time it went over, ensuring that it could not come too low, but never landing a stroke. The captain stopped in mid-curse when he saw what Edmund was holding. Fritha, her face intent, had already taken up her position to fire again, holding out her hand for the arrow.
‘Aim for the eye, girl!’ Cathbar told her. He and Edmund crouched behind her, waiting in silence.
Torment was climbing, preparing for a swoop straight down. This time, the talons were extended: the dragon was intending to seize, or rend. And then Torment was dropping, the air screaming in his wake – and Fritha’s blazing arrow was rising to meet him.
It caught Torment in his wounded eye. The dragon’s shriek rocked them like a physical force; even the glacier dragon shuddered along her immense length to hear it. Then Torment was gone, falling from the sky like a stone.
Edmund lay flat on the ice dragon’s back, looking only at the cold, pulsing scales by his head. His head ached with effort and tiredness, and any movement sent a fresh stab through it – but for the moment, there was time to rest. They had seen the blue dragon flap away, still screaming, to vanish into the cleft in the mountain from which he had first appeared, and Jokul-dreki was following him – at least, making for the outside of the ravine. Once there, they could follow the wounded dragon and – finally – find Elspeth.
The glacier dragon wheeled gently in the air and began a stately descent. Edmund reached for her eyes one last time, wondering how heavily she would land. He could see the mountains coming up at him from both sides and a huge arc of the sky above, but nothing directly below them. He wished she would bank a little, to show him the surface below, and to his surprise, the ice dragon obeyed. Jokul-dreki seemed willing to let him guide her now, after the encounter with Torment – or perhaps she was just weary again. Edmund himself had been too exhausted even to celebrate their victory, and he suspected his companions felt the same; though Cathbar, with rare expansiveness, had clapped each of them on the shoulder and called them a grand pair of fighters. Fritha had smiled at both of them, but had said very little. She sat beside Edmund now, still and silent, watching as he tried to steer their great mount safely to the ground.
Edmund called out a warning to hold on as he told the dragon to bank again. They needed to land at the edge of the snow field, far enough from the foot of Eigg Loki to touch down smoothly; close enough to reach the mountain as soon as they could. And after that … The ravine gaped ahead of them. They would have to climb up to it from the mountain’s foot, but once there, it could not be too hard to track Torment back to his lair and rescue Elspeth. If she’s alive … said the little voice in his head, but he pushed it away.
Through the white overlay of the dragon’s vision he saw the tumbled boulders of the mountain’s foot, and something else: horses? Two brown-clad horsemen were halted at the edge of the snow field, watching their descent. In his surprise he almost released the dragon’s eyes: who were they? Jokul-dreki saw them just as interesting new creatures, neither welcome nor threatening, though he could feel the great creature angling her descent to avoid crushing them.
‘Who are they?’ Fritha murmured beside him. ‘What do they do here?’
‘Just as long as they’re not more of those bandits.’ Cathbar’s voice was uneasy. ‘Mind you,’ he added, brightening, ‘they’re not likely to give us trouble, seeing what we’re riding!’
There was a jarring thud, and for a few moments Edmund and Fritha were clutching each other, sprawled on the dragon’s icy hide as her immense bulk ploughed through the snow surface and ground to a halt among the rocks. Behind them, Cathbar lay flat, clinging with both hands to the spine-ridge and breathing hard.
‘It seems I’m not needed!’ called a familiar voice below them. One of the men had dismounted and strode up to the dragon’s foreleg, throwing back his hood. ‘I travel hundreds of leagues to your rescue, and find you summoning dragons.’
It was Cluaran.
Edmund blinked, trying to accustom himself to his own eyes as the minstrel’s face swam into his vision. Without the pearly colours of the dragon’s vision, everything seemed too sharp and bright, and his ears were full of the grinding of her great belly on the rocks and the huge rush of icy air as she lowered and folded her wi
ngs. He took Cluaran’s offered hand to lower himself shakily to the ground, and hugged the man impulsively. Whatever he had thought about him in the past, it was a joy to see the minstrel again, and to know that he and Elspeth had not been forgotten.
‘Did you really come out here to find us? But how did you know where we would be?’
‘It was always certain that the dragon would take you to Eigg Loki.’ Cluaran’s face was suddenly sombre. ‘Ari, here, is of the Ice people; he helped me find the way,’ he added. His companion put back his hood with a nod of greeting, revealing a face as pale as milk.
Edmund introduced Fritha as the minstrel helped her and Cathbar down. The fair-haired girl smiled at him in gratitude, but Edmund noticed that she drew back from Ari.
‘Where is Elspeth?’ Cluaran demanded. ‘Is she not with you?’
Edmund’s brief glow of joy vanished. ‘Torment took her!’ he burst out. ‘That’s why we’re here; we think he has taken her to his cave.’ He looked up at the cleft in the mountainside above them, black in the afternoon light. ‘We flew the ice dragon down here, so that we could follow.’
Ari was looking at him with open wonder. ‘You commanded Jokul-dreki!’ the pale man exclaimed.
‘I have to reach Elspeth,’ Edmund said. The sense of urgency was gripping him again. He realised that he was swaying on his feet, and put a hand out to the ice dragon to steady himself. He must not weaken now! ‘Cluaran; will you come with us?’ he asked.
‘We both will,’ Cluaran said, looking at Ari. ‘But not by that cave: it leads to a sheer drop. There is a tunnel, a longer but surer way in, not far from here. Come!’
He took his horse’s rein and began to lead it along the foot of the mountain, beckoning to the rest of the party to follow. In spite of his haste, Edmund lingered a moment behind them, where the white dragon lay like a ridged hill in the snow. One huge, slanted eye opened to look at him, as green as glass and deep as the ocean.
‘Thank you,’ he said aloud, uncertain if she would understand him. You’re weary, he told her in his mind; so am I. But you can sleep now.
The glacier dragon looked at him for a long moment; then the eye closed, and she was lost in the landscape; to all appearances just a hummock of ice. Edmund turned from her and ran after the others.
Cluaran tied the two horses in a cleft at the mountain’s foot, and he and Ari found nosebags and blankets for them among their baggage. ‘No water,’ Cluaran said regretfully, ‘but at least they’ll be safe from Torment here. And now we must hurry.’ He turned to Edmund. ‘It was mid-morning when the dragon took her, you said?’
‘The sun was just above the mountain-top,’ Edmund told him, feeling afresh how long it had been. ‘And she and Eolande were halfway down …’
Cluaran had laid a heavy hand on his arm. ‘Who did you say was with Elspeth?’ he interrupted. His voice was suddenly tense, and his eyes had hardened.
‘Eolande,’ Edmund stammered. ‘A tall lady with dark hair. We met her inside the mountain; she said she knew you. She … she was leading us to Loki.’ Beside him, Fritha was nodding.
Cluaran and Ari exchanged a glance; of alarm, Edmund thought. When Cluaran spoke again, his voice was tight with suppressed fury.
‘Fool that I am!’ he muttered. ‘What has he done to her?’ He turned to the others. ‘No time now. If I take you into the mountain, you must stay behind me and do as I say, do you hear? Even you, captain. Weapons are useless against Loki – all but one – and he is cunning. He’ll turn your mind …’ His voice broke, and he said no more. In silence, they followed him into the jumble of boulders at the mountain’s foot.
As he scrambled over the rocks, Edmund wondered both at the minstrel’s words and at his tone. What did Cluaran know about Eolande? Edmund already suspected that the woman was leading Elspeth into some danger. If only they had met up with Cluaran before: he might have warned them! But there was no time for questions now. Cluaran was leading them at a breathless pace, but it was not fast enough for Edmund.
She’s still alive, he told himself fiercely. She has to be. We’ll find her soon … and whatever is in there with her, we’ll save her.
Chapter Nineteen
When we entered the chamber, four of us fell before the Fay could shield us. They made us a bridge over a river of fire, and we crossed to the demon, a living, grinning flame.
My son caught Loki’s right hand and chained it, while he flung screams at us like swords. I thrust a band around the monster’s neck, and hammered both chains deep into the rock. And then we ran, back through the flames.
My wife was safe, and one of the Fay. One of the Ice men was clinging to my son, each keeping the other on his feet. All the rest were dead – but we believed we had triumphed. Then we discovered what had been done to the army above us.
The darkness surrounded Elspeth, following behind her and lying in wait for her at every step. She and the sword moved forward in a little ring of brightness which had nothing to illuminate – nothing but grey, featureless rock wall on each side. There was never anything ahead of her to throw back the light; not so much as a different colour in the rock or a turn in the path. There was no ice here: they were descending little by little into the depths below the mountain, and it was growing warmer. Elspeth’s footsteps seemed muffled; Eolande’s, behind her, could hardly be heard at all. And the tunnel seemed to go on for ever.
The sword’s glow seemed to be getting brighter, hurting her eyes, though it still showed her nothing. Elspeth realised that the walls were closer than they had been – and there was stone over her head now, where before there had been nothing but blackness. A few more paces and the rock was pressing on her. The tunnel was moulding itself to her shape, so that every step meant pushing through stone. Her chest tightened and she felt her heart racing. It’s not real, she told herself – but the rock was solid all around her, and it was getting harder to breathe.
Now two ridges formed on each side of her neck, forcing her head up so that she could not turn. She could feel the rock pushing against both sides of her arms. She had lost all sense of the sword in her hand: her body was hardening, becoming part of the stone …
‘It is an illusion,’ said Eolande’s soft voice behind her. Elspeth forced her eyes open. She was standing rigidly in the middle of the tunnel, the sword stretched out ahead of her. The walls were as featureless as ever; the roof still lost in darkness over her head. Only her shoulders and legs were knotted in cramp. She took a ragged breath and walked on, her legs trembling as the cramp released her.
‘Did you feel it too?’ she demanded. ‘The rock closing in?’
‘Loki can force his visions on more than one at a time,’ Eolande told her. ‘Or attack just one among many. He will use your own fears, your own demons, to torment you.’ She did not say anything about her own experience just now, and Elspeth found herself wondering whether this calm, poised woman had any fears of her own.
Elspeth was on her guard after that. Later – there was no way to tell how much later, or how far they had come – she noticed a change in the sound of their footsteps on the stone floor: they were softer, as though treading on earth … or through mud. The ground beneath her had grown yielding, sucking her feet into it with each step.
The walls were no longer stone but something wet and reddish, curving around her. It was a gullet, or a snake’s belly; she felt the life pulsing through it and almost lost her footing, to be sucked down the tube and swallowed up. It’s illusion! she told herself. Just a lie to scare me! – and she drove the sword hard into the slimy redness at her feet. The clang of metal on stone recalled her at once to the rock tunnel. She whirled to see Eolande close behind her: the Fay woman gave her an approving look, but said nothing. The sword throbbed in her hand: Go on! We are close now! Of course, Elspeth thought. The sword – Ioneth – could stand against Loki: even against his visions. She was the only thing more powerful than the demon-god, had given her own life to make the sword’s blade so.
The air grew steadily hotter, and Elspeth took off her fur cloak and carried it over her arm as she walked. She thought briefly of abandoning it, to retrieve later, but there was no certainty that they would leave the mountain by the same route. We might never leave at all. The words flashed through her head, leaving a cold wake – but she did not slow her steps. A sense of unreality had been growing in her: it was hard to imagine anything outside the tunnel, anything but this endless walk through grey stone, with blackness before and after.
When a point of red light appeared in the distance, Elspeth tensed, expecting some new trick. But the light stayed where it was, growing brighter as they approached and casting a dim glow on the walls to either side. The heat was becoming stifling, and Elspeth felt sweat running down her neck. The sword’s hum had become a singing in her head, fierce and eager.
‘We are almost there,’ Eolande murmured, her soft voice making Elspeth jump. The Fay woman seemed as unaffected by the heat as she had been earlier by the cold. In the sword’s white light her face was pale and calm, but a sudden eagerness flickered in her eyes. Almost there, came Ioneth’s voice, urgently, and Elspeth felt the dark undertow again, pulling her forward. The sword jumped in her hand – and a thrill of terror shot through her. In just a few moments, perhaps … She tried to push the thought away, reaching for the dreamlike unreality that had lain on her before, but it would not come. She stopped, her legs suddenly heavy. A wave of panic hit her. I can’t do this!
It’s just the wait that’s bad. The not-knowing. Her father’s voice came to her, back in her childhood, far from land on the Spearwa and facing her first ever storm. She had clung to him in panic as the black clouds rolled towards them. Once the storm breaks, there’s plenty to do; you’ll have no time to be scared. And he had been right. After the mad flurry of the storm he had hugged her fiercely: my brave girl. Through all the tempests they had faced together after that, she had never felt fear – not even on that last day, in the icy water.