Land of the Silver Dragon Page 19

  He poured out a glass of the sherbet drink, and went to lie on the divan. He closed his eyes. Lassair filled his mind, and he gave a low moan of pain.

  A voice said softly, ‘I would love it if you’d tell me about her.’

  His eyes shot open. His mother was sitting in a high-backed chair, in a dark corner where the deep shadows had hidden her from view.

  As the silence extended, she said calmly, ‘I knew, Rollo, the moment I set eyes on you. You have changed.’

  He thought hard. Lassair and his mother were so very different that he was not at all sure he could describe Lassair in terms that would do her justice and, moreover, make his mother understand why he loved her. His mother was sophisticated, glamorous, beautiful, rich, clever, quick-witted, a survivor with some strange and uncanny powers and a very tough fighter.

  Lassair was a village healer.

  But she was more than that, he thought, realization flooding through him. She might not be glamorous or rich, and her sort of sophistication was of the mind rather than of the environment in which she lived, but, apart from that, the adjectives he had applied to his mother also applied to her.

  He swung his feet down, turned round to face Giuliana and, with a smile, began. ‘Her name’s Lassair, and she’s a very gifted healer who can also dowse and, on occasion, pick my thoughts right out of my head,’ he said.

  After that, it was easy.

  In the twisty-turny house in Cambridge, Gurdyman sat in his sunny courtyard with an old scrap of parchment in his hand. The rolled parchment’s rough seal had been broken, and there were fragments of wax scattered on the ground. Several people had helped it on its way from fenland village to town: a peddler, a ferryman, a merchant carrying herbal supplies, and a herbalist’s young apprentice, who had brought the parchment to Gurdyman’s door.

  Written on the parchment were a few lines in a beautiful, regular hand. The message read: She has returned to the village. Below the lines was a single initial H.

  Gurdyman wondered why he did not feel as relieved as he should ...

  FIFTEEN

  The sense of hopeless despair slowly beat me down as I made my way back towards Aelf Fen. I did not know what I was going to do. I had set out for Fulbeach that morning so full of optimism, quite convinced that I would find my mother’s aunt Ama and that she would calmly hand over the magic, shining stone the instant I asked her for it. I had been wrong, on every single point: my great aunt was a shepherd, not a healer, and had undoubtedly never met Thorfinn in her life, never mind been entrusted with the care of a precious, potent, magic stone. Besides, she was dead. Now I was returning to my home and my beloved family, no more able to save my little brother and my baby nephew from their terrible fate than I had been when I left. The whole day had been a total waste of time.

  I felt like crying. Silently I called out to Rollo, even though I had no idea where he might be. Brave, an excellent fighter with fists, knife and sword, intelligent, full of good ideas and helpful suggestions ... yes, I could really have done with him. But wherever he was, he wasn’t here; that was all that concerned me just then. What use, I asked myself bitterly, was a strong, resourceful lover when he wasn’t there when I needed him?

  I dried my futile, stupid tears and went on. I stumbled occasionally; it was starting to get dark. I knew I was being very foolish in trying to get home tonight. I had lingered far too long in Fulbeach, sitting slumped in the graveyard as if I could summon up what I so desperately needed by sheer will- power. I should have found some sympathetic villager there and begged a bite to eat and a corner of a lean-to to sleep in. It was foolhardy in any case to travel alone at night, especially for a woman. It was more than foolhardy for me to do so, when I knew full well I had a mad Norseman with a crew of hairy giants at his disposal, all of them watching me like a hawk eyeing a sparrow.

  I made myself go on, fresh tears rolling down my face and all but blinding me. Would Skuli find me this night? Knowing, somehow, where I’d been – I fully believed that was likely – and confident I was returning to seek him out with his treasure in my hands, was he even now waiting for me?

  The night came down, and my apparently endless trudge went on. Soon I had convinced myself that Skuli would be lurking on the edge of my village, staring at me with those mad eyes and barring my way. He’d be standing there, huge chest thrown out, hair and beard shining like fire in the first rays of dawn, surrounded by that ever-watchful semicircle of big, tough, well-armed men.

  And there I would cower, empty-handed and hopeless.

  A sudden thought occurred to me. There would be, I realized, no point in Skuli torturing my family once I was beyond persuasion. Once I could no longer watch, whatever horrors he inflicted on Leir and little Ailsi would be futile.

  When the moment came, and Skuli and his band of fighters surrounded me with their weapons in their hands, it would be better all round if I simply ran on to one of the outstretched knives. I gritted my teeth, forcing back the instinctive cry of protest as my panicky, terror-induced resolve to seek death hardened.

  I did not want to die! Of course I didn’t. But my thoughts just ran round and round inside my head, coming always back to the one conclusion.

  Oh, but death! The end of all that I knew! It was intolerable. There was so much I still wanted to do. I had the best teachers in the world in my aunt Edild and Gurdyman – Hrype, too – all of whom would never stop working as hard as they could in order to pass on to me what they knew. I had a niece and two nephews, and I was only at the very start of getting to know them. I had a loving family – my eyes misted over as I thought of my father’s agony when he learned I was dead – and my mother would never get over the loss of a child. I had friends, very good, close friends ... Unbidden, unexpectedly, an image of Sibert popped into my head. Once I’d thought I’d been in love with Sibert, although it turned out not to be love after all but a very close affection. We had each saved the other’s life, once.

  Rollo. I thought of him last, but he certainly wasn’t last in importance. I was in no doubt that I loved Rollo. We were lovers, and, one day, I hoped we would mix my Saxon and his Norman blood and breed a son who would fight for the rights of the whole world.

  I could almost see him, this child. His fair hair had reddish lights in it, and he’d clearly inherited something of me. His eyes were dark like his father’s. He ...

  A shadowy shape materialized out of the band of trees beside the track.

  So this is it, I thought. It was sooner than I had expected, for I was still some way from Aelf Fen. I was surprised at how calm I felt. I closed my eyes and said a profoundly heartfelt goodbye to all those I loved. In that moment of utter despair, it really did seem the only way out.

  My anguish had driven me far, far away from my normal self ...

  Opening my eyes again, I prepared to tell Skuli I hadn’t found his stone.

  It was very dark; the moon was up, but obscured just then by cloud. I’d been out all night, however, and my eyes were adjusted to the lack of light. In any case, I’d have known from the slight smell of perfumed smoke that it wasn’t Skuli, not to mention the difference in height and bulk. This man was far from small, but Skuli and his crew were bigger and broader than most other men.

  Hrype stood before me, his silvery eyes glittering in the starlight.

  I said, ‘I thought you were Skuli.’

  ‘The red-haired giant,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. He wants me to ... I’ve got to ... Oh, Hrype, he’s going to cut little Leir’s eyes out!’

  The tears took me by surprise, overcoming me before I had a chance to hold them back. My anxiety and my grief overwhelmed me, and for a moment I abandoned myself to my distress.

  I’ve never thought of Hrype as a demonstrative person. I know he is a loving man: he loves my aunt Edild, and I am sure he also loves Sibert; even poor, needy Froya, in his way. He stays with her, anyway, when in his heart he longs to be with Edild, because once, when he and Froya were grievi
ng for his dying brother who was also her husband, they took the age-old comfort and they made love. Sibert was the result: my friend Sibert, who everyone except Froya, Hrype, Edild, Sibert and I believe is Hrype’s nephew.

  I was about to see another facet of this austere, distant man, who wore the clothes of a poor peasant and yet bore himself like a king. For Hrype – cool, detached Hrype, who often looked with disdain on the dullards with whom he shared his village life – took me in his arms and held me close to him as if I were a child who had had a bad dream.

  I could feel his heartbeat. Strong, steady, unrushed. And then he spoke, soft, simple words of reassurance. ‘You’re safe now, child. No harm will come to you. You’re safe.’ And all the time his hand was stroking my hair, soothing me, calming me. In a sudden flash of memory, I felt Rollo’s hands performing the same action, and another sob broke out of me.

  And, very gently, Hrype said, ‘Rollo would be here if he could.’

  I have long known Hrype could read minds. I sometimes think he could do it any time he likes but he usually refrains, except when it’s really important, because it’s not very nice for him or the other person if he can hear everything they’re thinking.

  Now, in that awful moment, it was like a cold draught of water when you’re parched.

  ‘Would he?’ I asked. Then – and I despised myself for the feeble tone: ‘Couldn’t he come, then?’

  ‘No, Lassair.’ Hrype had resumed his stroking. ‘He is a long way away.’

  Then he folded me to him again, and I made myself relax. The knowledge that Rollo was thinking of me was such a comfort; as was, I realized, the fact that Hrype had referred to him by name rather than your Norman, which was what he usually called him.

  For a variety of reasons which I did not stop to define, I started to feel a bit better.

  Hrype must have sensed it, for he let me go and we stood facing each other.

  He’d been out of the village, and I had no idea how much he knew. ‘I know who and what the red-haired giant is,’ I began, ‘and also what he’s searching for, and there’s another branch of the same family – headed by a wonderful old man called the Silver Dragon, although his real name’s Thorfinn – and they say it’s imperative that Skuli – he’s the redhead – doesn’t get this thing, because he’s going to use it to guide him on a mission that’s very dangerous – he’s got to get through some rapids on this huge river in the great land to the south where his own grandfather perished – and lots of good men who loyally follow him will die, including two who are little more than boys and whose poor, widowed mother will miss them dreadfully if anything happens to them, and—’

  ‘Steady, Lassair,’ Hrype said, grinning. Then – and this took the breath out of me so effectively that I couldn’t speak for a moment: ‘I know.’

  ‘What do you know?’ I cried furiously, choking on the words in my fierce anger. ‘How can you?’ And how much, I wanted to demand, only it was still hard to speak, of what I’ve so painfully learned over the past few weeks, were you already aware of?

  Hrype had let me go now, and taken a step away from me. Perhaps he’d thought I might hit him. It was, believe me, a distinct possibility.

  ‘We – er, I ...’

  The correction was swiftly made, but I had heard what he said first. ‘We?’ I asked icily. Aware as I was of the identity of Hrype’s most intellectual and trusted confidant, the person with whom he habitually discusses things of a deeply cerebral nature, I had a good idea who it was that made up the other element of we.

  ‘Gurdyman and I worked out quite a lot,’ he confessed. Gurdyman. Yes, I was right. ‘There were – er – facts of which I had been made aware, unknown to anyone else,’ Hrype went on, and I was sure I detected a very untypical note of hesitation – doubt, almost – in his voice. ‘But I knew these facts because of a confidence; a secret I had once been told, which I knew I must not reveal until and unless I had no choice.’

  ‘What ...?’ I began. I got no further than the one word before he stopped me.

  ‘It is no use whatsoever asking me to tell you, Lassair, because I’m not going to,’ he said very firmly. ‘However, I came to believe that I was not the only person who was guarding a secret. Somebody had to be keeping another one; one which was as relevant to and as closely involved with this matter as my own.’

  I was totally bemused. What on earth was he talking about? Without a doubt he wasn’t going to reveal this other person’s secret either, nor even his identity.

  I was right: he didn’t.

  ‘Can’t you tell me anything?’ I asked in a small voice.

  He smiled briefly. ‘No,’ he replied. But then, as if relenting, ‘Not yet.’

  Without another word, we set off in the direction of Aelf Fen. There was still far to go; we would be lucky to be back before dawn. Recalling my earlier fears about Skuli being there with his band, waiting for me, I was reassured to have Hrype beside me. Even so, we would be only two against Skuli and however many men he had, but there was a lot more to Hrype than met the eye.

  I had still come up with no way out of my terrible dilemma. However, now I had Hrype’s bright intelligence to help me. If anyone could think of how my brother, my nephew and I could be saved, short of presenting Skuli with something I didn’t have and wasn’t likely to find, it was Hrype.

  We were within a mile of Aelf Fen. The faintest, pinkish light was appearing in the eastern sky. Had it not been for the fact that we’d been walking most of the night, I would have been very cold, for the temperature had dropped considerably as dawn approached.

  My optimistic hopes of Hrype having solved my problem for me by the time we got home had proved to be unfounded. Apart from an occasional comment to verify that we were going the right way, we hadn’t exchanged a word. I could only pray that his silence implied he had been deep in thought, and that the solution I yearned for so desperately was about to be revealed.

  We entered a short stretch of the track where it ran beneath a low bank up to the right, topped with some stunted hazels and contorted bramble bushes. To the left, the ground dropped away, growing increasingly damp and muddy until earth merged with water and the marsh began.

  It was, with hindsight, the ideal place for anyone wishing to apprehend us to lie in wait.

  I thought at first that I had somehow drifted into a sort of waking sleep, for the vision that I saw on the track in front of us was exactly how I had seen it in my imagination.

  He stood staring at me, his pale eyes all but colourless in the thin light. There was madness in those eyes: I could both see it and sense it. He seemed to take up the entire width of the track, barring the way like a heavy gate. His fists were clenched, his chest was thrown out, his hair and beard stood out like an amber halo. And, even as I watched, four, five, six of his men strode out of their hiding places and went to form a semicircle around their leader.

  Beside me, Hrype muttered an oath, spinning round even as he did so to look behind us. From somewhere beneath his dark robe, a knife had appeared. With his free hand he grabbed hold of me, pulling me close to him. ‘We must ...’ he hissed.

  But he did not finish whatever he had been about to say. His grasp on me slackened and his hand fell away. The point of his knife, which had been aimed so steadily at our foes, wavered and dropped.

  And Hrype fell to the ground, a pool of blood staining the sandy soil beneath him.

  With a wail of distress, I was on my knees beside him, my hands already searching for his wound. He must have been hit with a thrown or a propelled weapon – a knife, a spear, an arrow – for none of our enemies had been close enough to reach him with a blade held in the hand. I must ...

  Hands were on me, firm and strong on my shoulders, pulling me to my feet.

  Away from Hrype.

  The two men who had grabbed me marched me up the track until I was face to face with Skuli. I struggled hard, for I was desperate to get back to Hrype. He was losing a lot of blood, and unless I
found where it was coming from and stemmed the flow, he might die. He would die. And my aunt loved him so much.

  Skuli nodded at my captors, and they tightened their grip. Then Skuli came closer, staring down at me with an expression of such desperate ferocity that I shrank back.

  The light was stronger now. I could see his face clearly, and it was obvious he had very recently been fighting. One eye was bruised and swollen, with a cut in the eyebrow that was still oozing blood. He had also taken a blow to his nose, for it too was swollen and there was dried blood crusting his left nostril and soaked into his moustache and beard. The front of his tunic was stained with blood, as was one thick thigh. I looked quickly at his men, on either side of him. Several of them, too, were wounded.

  But I did not think those stains on Skuli’s clothes had been made by his blood.

  With a sick certainty, I understood where he had been.

  They must have put up a fight, my family. They wouldn’t have stood by while little Leir and the baby Ailsi were hurt; that I knew as well as I knew my own name.

  Hurt. What a poor, inadequate word for what Skuli had vowed to do to them.

  I stood quite still, forcing myself to stare right into those mad eyes. I was too late; my resolution to end my own life to save that of my brother and my nephew could no longer avail either of them. Somewhere deep inside me a great wail of agony was growing; a river of grief, for Leir, for Ailsi, for Hrype, bleeding out his life on the track behind me.

  I said, quite surprised by how calm I sounded, ‘I haven’t got it, Skuli.’

  His face darkened, as if the flesh had filled with his own black blood. ‘But you have discovered where it is,’ he said firmly. Perhaps he thought that if he spoke with enough conviction, it would make the statement true.

  I shook my head. ‘I haven’t.’

  His brows drew together. His face was thunderous now. ‘You have been absent from your village all day,’ he said, his voice icy. ‘Where else have you been, other than to fulfil your mission?’