The Dragon Whisperer Page 23

  Lifting his head, he searched the shadows and found Root hanging back near the door. 'And you, boy. Come forward. I have been told what you did this day. You took on a crazed dragon, and it was bravely done. Your father would have been proud. Name your reward.'

  'M-my reward?' Root echoed, looking anxiously at Quenelda.

  Despite his pain, the Earl smiled. 'Anything, boy. I shall formally raise you to esquire and appoint you to my daughter's household, with an annual income of ten gold sovereigns. But come, there must be something else a lad of your age longs for?'

  Root sucked in a deep breath. 'I – I couldn't have done it w-without Chasing the Stars ...' He glanced up anxiously to see how the Earl was reacting.

  The Earl nodded. 'She's yours, boy. You earned her today! Tangnost will be informed.'

  The other figure in front of the fire stepped forward into the candlelight. 'Thank the gods, Rufus,' the deep rich voice rang out. 'Your daughter is safe. I told you not to worry!'

  Quenelda's heart leaped into her throat.

  'This young lady can clearly take care of herself!' The Grand Master stood beside her father, hand on his shoulder. His handsome face was smiling but his dark eyes weren't – they looked down at her thoughtfully.

  'Dear child,' he said, teeth gleaming whitely. 'I never thought to see what I witnessed today. A wondrous thing indeed! You saved your father's life. You and your ... young esquire here.' He barely glanced at Root. 'That Rufus's life should have been endangered by one of my own dragons ...' He shook his head regretfully.

  'Hugo' – the Earl turned to his friend and gave him a tired smile – 'don't punish yourself. The dragon must have taken an injury and the Duke drove it to madness. It has happened before. You were not to blame!'

  'None the less,' the Grand Master sighed, 'it was out of my stable and the Duke was my liegeman. I never knew the man was so twisted, so hell-bent on revenge. We could have lost you today. Well' – he glanced at the hour glass on the stone mantel – 'I must return to the Sorcerers Guild. Tonight's entertainments have been cancelled, but there is much to do if we are to get your men rearmed and supplied for the coming campaign. Tomorrow I go to my estates in the north to raise two regiments of Bonecrackers for you. Farewell. Take care of your injuries. I will send my personal physicians to restore you to full health.'

  With a bow, he smiled and left the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Dragon Whisperer

  'Papa,' Quenelda began hesitantly, looking to Root for support, 'it wasn't an accident. It—'

  Her father frowned. 'What—?'

  He was interrupted by a loud rap at the door. The guards opened it and the Queen's elderly constable, Sir Mowbray, came in, his armour clanking, his old joints creaking, his face grave.

  'My Lord Earl' – he bowed respectfully, keen blue eyes quickly taking in the Earl's chalk-white face and newly splinted arm – 'the surgeon says you must not fly till midwinter, else you risk being lame for life.' He squeezed the Earl's good shoulder. 'And thank the gods your arm was broken cleanly and not crushed.' He said the words lightly, but held his friend's eye before turning to Quenelda. He bowed a second time, voice husky with emotion.

  'Lady Quenelda.' He paused, noting the determined line of her jaw, the fierce tawny eyes that were so like her father's. He had not seen it before; but for those eyes she was the mirror image of her mother at the same age. If she were dressed in court clothes, others might also see it. They would have to be more careful. He searched for the right words and found inspiration. 'You are indeed your father's daughter. That was bravely done.'

  Sir Gharad Mowbray had been one of the SDS's greatest commanders and had fought with the Earl's father. In other circumstances, praise from him would have been something to treasure. But now, anxiety gnawed at Quenelda like toothache. She wiped away tears with the back of her hand and ventured a half-hearted smile. Swaying beside her, Root struggled not to give in to the exhaustion that made his legs wobble and his eyelids droop.

  'Sit,' her father commanded. 'You're exhausted. And you too, lad, before you fall. Now, what do you mean it wasn't an accident?'

  'Wasn't an accident ... ?' Sir Mowbray looked from father to daughter. 'What wasn't an accident?'

  'Midnight Madness ...' Quenelda croaked, her voice still hoarse from shouting. Sir Mowbray moved to fetch her a goblet of water. 'It wasn't an accident, Papa. That dragon was trying to kill you.'

  There, it was out. Would they believe her? She drank the water down gratefully, cleansing the bitter taste from her mouth, then handed the goblet to Root.

  'I know,' her father said.

  'You do?' Relief flooded her.

  'Yes,' her father continued. 'It was crazed with pain. It happens on the battlefield. Even SDS dragons have been known to kill indiscriminately when badly wounded.'

  'No! No, you don't understand!' Quenelda was desperate to convince her father. 'That dragon was trained to kill.'

  'What?' The Earl stood back to stare into her anxious eyes. For a moment he thought he glimpsed a faint reptilian glow in their depths, but then it disappeared. He blinked and shook his head. He was so tired, in so much pain. He eased himself onto a bench by the fire. Quenelda looked anxiously at him.

  'How do you know, Goose?' he asked, pulling her down beside him. 'How do you know it wasn't an accident? Surely the dragon was simply driven mad with pain.' His face held only curiosity; no alarm as yet. 'Certainly the Duke goaded it to recklessness. He wanted to win at any cost. If he hadn't died, he would be in prison for carrying battle arms into the jousting arena. It is forbidden!'

  'His mind, Papa ...' Quenelda frowned as she tried to explain what she had sensed. She held out her hand in appeal, begging them both to understand. 'He was mad, yes. And' – compassion touched her voice – 'he was in pain. Terrible pain. But not the way you mean. He wasn't injured – at least not to start with; he was mad from the first.'

  She stood up again. How could she make them understand?

  'His thoughts were twisted somehow, as if there were two different creatures inside one body, battling with each other all the time, one trapped within the other, trying to escape. He kept repeating, Kill him ... kill him ... kill him ... kill the Dragon Lord—'

  'What?'

  'He had killed before, I swear it, Papa! He had been trained to kill. He wasn't a Dale dragon at all – well, he was, but only on the outside ...' Quenelda suddenly realized how far-fetched it sounded, but her father and the constable were watching her intently.

  'But there was a ... a raptor trapped inside him. It was as if his shape went in and out of focus ... the air rippled around him like it does on a hot day – did you not see it?'

  Both men shook their heads, as did Root. Quenelda's shoulders slumped. They didn't believe her.

  'Child' – Sir Mowbray was concerned – 'you are tired ... overwrought after your exertions today, and naturally so. You ask us to believe that one of the greatest sorcerers of his generation is deliberately seeking your father's death? But why? Hugo is both a trusted friend and an ally. It is unthinkable!'

  'Papa!' Quenelda appealed instead to her father. 'Midnight Madness had the mind of a battledragon. He was a raptor, and he was hunting you down.'

  Her father frowned thoughtfully. 'That may be true. Even after the Duke fell, his dragon returned to attack me. Only a rogue dragon might behave thus; or ... a raptor on the hunt.'

  'But, Rufus,' Sir Mowbray protested. 'What you are suggesting is impossible. Domestic dragons and raptors' – he shrugged – 'are two distinct species. They cannot be interbred. Only Mael—'

  Sir Mowbray faltered, horror etched on his face as the import of his words caught up with him. Maelstrom Magic: forbidden, dangerous, an extinct art, or so people thought ... His mind raced.

  'Maelstrom Magic ...' he breathed. 'Only that has the power to twist nature from its true course, to bind one dragon within another ...'

  There was a sudden appalled silence.

&nbs
p; 'No!' Even to his own ears the Earl's denial carried no conviction as suspicion flared into sudden certainly. 'No!' He shook his head. 'Not Hugo! He is our Grand Master! He cannot be ...'

  But it might just be true.

  As a young novice his childhood friend was always breaking Guild rules, and brilliant though he was, his appointment to Grand Master had been controversial. Since they parted company at the age of twelve, he to study at Dragon Isle and Hugo into the Guild, what had his friend risked in the pursuit of knowledge? Hugo's meteoric rise through the ranks of the Guild had matched his own through the SDS, but what if it was achieved by harnessing Dark Magic? Even if Hugo's motives were pure, it would eventually ensnare him. Even—

  His horrified thoughts were interrupted.

  'Maelstrom ... ?' Quenelda's words trailed off in confusion as her father's words sank in. She swallowed; felt her heart thump against her ribs as Root stared at her. 'But ...' She frowned uncertainly at her father. 'That's been outlawed by the Guild for centuries, hasn't it?'

  'Ah.' Her father smiled unexpectedly. 'So you have paid a little attention to your classes, have you?'

  'Papa!' she protested.

  'Hush.' Her father laid a reassuring hand on her arm. 'I know it is no jest. Maelstrom Magic is deadly, its use justly punishable by death or exile.' He sighed, and seemed to come to a decision. Glancing at Sir Mowbray, he took his daughter's cold hand. 'That is why we must keep this knowledge secret.'

  'Secret! But Papa, surely that is dangerous. Surely you—'

  'No! No, Goose, we must stay silent. We are trapped for the time being. Regardless of his motives, to expose Hugo as a warlock would be folly. It would undermine the authority of the Guild to discover that the Grand Master, its greatest sorcerer, is corrupt. It would undermine centuries of rule and risk all that we hold dear. And Hugo is powerful. Perhaps with Maelstrom at his command he could beat us all. No.' He shook his head. 'To challenge him before we are certain of his purpose or his powers would be to squander a strategic advantage. What would it gain us? And how would we prove it? Who would believe us? Even I cannot believe he has knowingly practised Dark Magic. He must have unwittingly—'

  'But the dragon!' Quenelda cried. 'It was a raptor. That is proof! It was—'

  'Lady Quenelda,' the constable intervened. His voice was gentle. 'My men and I have already examined its carcass. The dragon looks like a Dale. There are no outward signs that it is a raptor, save that the arrows should have killed it. It was struck by four score yet did not die. But it would be impossible to prove what you claim.'

  'Then ... then I could tell my story; tell the Guild I heard the dragon's thoughts. Knew its intent.'

  'No!'

  Both Quenelda and Root were taken aback by the force of the Earl's denial. Only the constable seemed unsurprised.

  'But ... but, Papa, if you believe I can talk to dragons, why not let me tell my story?'

  'Quenelda, you are young, very young; this would all simply appear a figment of an overactive child's imagination. None would believe you. But there is another reason why you must never repeat what you have said here to anyone else. You have a gift, Goose. A great gift.' The Earl tipped his daughter's pale face gently towards his, knowing that once the words were spoken out loud, nothing would ever be the same again. But the truth could no longer be denied. 'We believe you are a Dragon Whisperer,' he said softly, mind racing with the possibilities.

  'A Dragon Whisperer?' Quenelda shook her head. 'But true Dragon Whisperers can do so much more, Papa! I have heard the old sagas and ballads since I was a babe. I can only talk to them. I cannot become a dragon.'

  'Quenelda' – the Earl took her hand – 'have you never felt different to those around you? There must be countless times when you wondered why you could do things others could not, that Tangnost could not, that I could not, even though I command the SDS?'

  'But' – confusion clouded Quenelda's face – 'but Tangnost ...'

  'Quenelda, you treated an injured battledragon. That's unheard of.'

  'But Tangnost was there. He told me what to do. He is the one who calmed Two Gulps. He is always the one—'

  'Tangnost has spoken to me. He believes the dragon would have killed him were it not for your presence. And you have clearly bonded with the Sabretooth. Such powers only come to those who have attained the rank of Mage.'

  Sir Mowbray nodded in agreement. 'It's true, my dear. How else could you have done what you did today?'

  'Others might think that it was Two Gulps and You're Gone,' her father continued. 'He was, after all, one of my battledragons, and they may think your rescue an SDS trick that I had taught you. But they would be wrong. Though he is loyal to me and loves me dearly, even Stormcracker would not have come to my rescue unless he could see the danger I was in. Yet Two Gulps came to you through the storm, just as you alone could hear that rogue dragon's twisted thoughts.'

  'But ... I can't become—'

  'Goose,' the Earl protested, 'you are still young. You have not reached your twelfth year. Do not look too soon for responsibilities and power. Believe me, they come at a price. Take the time to grow before you seek these things; they will come to you soon enough.

  'In the meantime, we must be on our guard. Your heritage must remain our secret, and that means we cannot reveal the dragon as a raptor to anyone. Promise me. And you too, young Root, you must also swear on my daughter's life you will tell no one.'

  'My lord,' Root said proudly, puffing out his chest like a pigeon, 'as her esquire I am already sworn to protect Quenelda's life!'

  The Earl looked at the constable, who returned his fleeting smile.

  'But Tangnost ... ?' Quenelda appealed as Root stood back. 'I mean – he already knows I talk to dragons, that I really talk to dragons.'

  'Of course,' the Earl Rufus agreed. 'Tangnost has been sworn to secrecy since the day of your birth. But no others. If legends are to be believed, the power wielded by a Dragon Whisperer is greater than anything we know, far exceeding even that of an SDS Dragon Lord. Such power, if not schooled, could be very dangerous. Such power will attract envy and greed. I—'

  The Earl's words struck a painful chord, reminding Quenelda of one thing that she had deliberately avoided asking. 'How many ... ?' She took a deep breath. 'How many ... ?'

  'Died at the jousts?' her father queried. Quenelda nodded. He looked enquiringly at Sir Mowbray.

  'Four score at the last count,' the constable confirmed, 'though more may die of their injuries. It was most unfortunate the beast was blown into the stands.'

  'Eighty dead? No! It was all my fault!' Quenelda cried out despairingly. 'He wouldn't obey me!' Dwelling on the painful memory, she failed to notice her father's shocked expression. Sir Mowbray's jaw dropped.

  'And I had to stop him somehow!' she went on. 'I—'

  'What?' Her father interrupted and his eyes searched hers. 'That was you?'

  Quenelda nodded her head tearfully. 'It was me. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I was just trying to stop him attacking you ... The runes – the spells just came into my head.' She bit her lower lip miserably. 'And I cast them ...'

  'I thought it was the storm. I sensed no High Magic.' Sir Mowbray frowned at the Earl.

  'I too thought the storm had caught it.' There was a trace of something in her father's voice that Quenelda did not recognize.

  There was a heavy silence punctuated by her sniffs; she wiped her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve.

  So it has happened already, the Earl thought, stunned to learn how much power his daughter already wielded. I had hoped she would have many more years before she was burdened with such responsibility. A few more years to grow, to learn how to use and control this power growing within her ... This changes everything ... How now do I keep her powers hidden? How do I protect her? How do I protect those around her?

  He chose his words carefully. 'Quenelda, what you did today takes great power. But power without learning and the wisdom to control it is dangerous, as yo
u have learned. We must reconsider how best to teach you – for teach you we must, else you and those around you will be vulnerable. Your power already outstrips your control, as we witnessed today.'

  'What will happen to me?'

  'In truth,' her father admitted, 'I do not know. The Dragon Whisperers of old guarded their secrets well. The Dragonsdome Chronicles are said to tell their story and exist in the Great Library of the Sky Citadel, lost to us a thousand years since.'

  'My lord ...' Sir Mowbray drew the Earl towards the window and lowered his voice to a whisper. 'Rufus, if any should learn of Quenelda's powers they may wish to turn them to their own ends. If Hugo truly is a warlock, he may wish to draw upon it. If he cannot, then he may try to kill her before she becomes too strong, before she can defend herself.'

  'He might try to kill me? Why?' Neither had noticed Quenelda follow silently.

  'Elder Magic, the magic of the dragons. It is far older and more potent than the High Magic wielded by we Dragon Lords. And it is said to be the opposite of Maelstrom Magic, and just as powerful.'

  'I think after all,' the Earl said slowly, 'that we shall have to reconsider your education. The court is no place for you now.'

  Once Quenelda would have whooped for joy. Now she was too exhausted to take in what her father had said.

  'It is time you rested. A hot bath and fresh clothes will be laid out for you and the surgeon will be sent to your chambers. Go now.' He gently propelled his daughter towards the door.

  'And I think, my Lord Earl,' Sir Mowbray suggested, glancing at the hourglass, 'that the Queen will be most anxious to learn how her Champion is.'

  The Earl Rufus nodded, took a step forward and nearly fell as white-hot pain lanced through his thigh.

  'Papa!' Quenelda reached out to take his elbow, gasping as fresh blood blossomed through his bandages. 'Papa, you are too ill!'

  'No, Goose, I must attend the Queen. We have much to discuss.' Standing stiffly, he placed a kiss on his daughter's blonde head. 'And Goose?'