Читать книгу A Muddle of Magic - Alexandra Rushe - Страница 16

Chapter 7

The North Road

“I’ll lose that wager, I daresay,” the rowan said, watching Gertie leave, “but it won’t be the first time Gertie has bested me.”

“Sire?” Raven pointed to the street above the dock where a throng of curious villagers had gathered. “We’re attracting attention.”

“Small wonder, eh?” The rowan held his nervous horse in check. “Orsyl. Gerik. Clear the streets before someone gets hurt.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Two warriors sprang onto their horses and trotted off to do the king’s bidding.

“Mauric,” the rowan said when the guards had gone, “your horse turned up a few weeks ago.”

Mauric’s face lit up. “Goblin made it home? That is good news. Not that I doubted it. He’s a canny beast.”

“Your mother was understandably upset when your horse arrived at the gates without you. She was convinced you were dead. She tells me you parted on uneasy terms. Some business about a dancing master?”

“The man was a fawning bootlicker, sire. I sent him on his way with my boot up his rear. What of Goblin? He is well?”

“Aye. A bit thin in the haunches and his mane and tail were full of burrs. Otherwise, he seems no worse for wear.”

“I’ll have Clegg make a special mash for him. A little syrup in his oats should soon fatten him up.” Mauric frowned. “Or mayhap he needs worming. Do you think I should drench him, instead?”

“Your horse is in fine fettle. Clegg set him aright. And, though you haven’t asked, your mother and sisters are in good health, as well.”

“What? Oh, I’m glad of it.”

“The Queen has taken a particular liking to Luanna.”

“Has she?” Mauric’s expression was distracted. “That’s good.”

The rowan sighed. “You’ll find Goblin in the village stables.”

“You brought him? That was kind of you, sir. Will you excuse me?”

Muttering a hasty promise to return, Mauric sprinted up the quay and down the street.

The rowan leapt lightly astride his big stallion. “I’ve provided horses for the rest of you. You’ll also find a carriage in the stable, if you prefer not to ride.”

“That was farsighted of you,” Glory said, narrowing her glorious eyes. “How is it you knew our number?”

“Glonoff’s missive described your company in loving detail.” The rowan grimaced. “Except for the dragon. He made no mention of the dragon.”

“I doubt he knows about Flame.” Brefreton twitched the folds of his cloak into place. “As for the offer of a horse, I thank you, but there was no need to trouble yourself on my account.” He turned to Raven. “Can you and Mauric see to the dragon and the girl without me?”

“Of course.”

“What about you?” Brefreton arched a russet brow at Glory. “You drabbing it today?”

“Ride in a stuffy carriage after being confined to a ship for weeks on end? Certainly not.”

“Shall we, then?”

Glory inclined her head. “After you.”

Brefreton grasped the green stone around his neck and his form began to shimmer. Though the breeze off the water had stilled, his tattered cloak spread out from his shoulders like a pair of wings. Raine’s skin tingled as Brefreton shifted into a red hawk and took to the sky. With a shrill kee-eeee-arr, he left them standing on the shore.

“Stand,” the rowan barked as his warriors shuffled and murmured in alarm.

Glory smoothed her woolen gloves. “You’re going to have to do something about that one of these days, Gorne. They’ve had thousands of years to adjust.” She lifted her slender arms to the sky. “Fugvark,” she cried in a ringing voice.

Magic spiced the air and Glory’s slender body flickered. An instant later, she turned into a brown wren and fluttered away.

The rowan wheeled his horse around. “What about you, milady?”

Raine stood quietly beside Flame on the wharf, stroking the dragon’s scaly neck. She started when she realized the king was speaking to her. “Y-Your Majesty?”

“Bree tells me you have talent. Are you going to turn into a little birdie, too?”

“No, Your Majesty.” Raine blushed. “I don’t do birds.”

“That’s something to be thankful for, in any event. My men will escort your party to the Citadel.”

“Begging your pardon, sire, but it might be best if we made the journey alone,” Raven said. “Flame’s not used to strangers. He might get excited.”

“What of it?”

“He’s a dragon, sir. Dragons breathe fire.”

“Gods. We’ll ride ahead, then. See that nothing oversets him. I don’t want my horses roasted, or, Tro forbid, my men.”

“And when we reach the Citadel? What do you mean to do with the dragon, then?”

The rowan scowled. “Pack him off to Udom with the rest of the Kronlings, I suppose.”

“No,” Raine cried, hurrying up to him. “You can’t send Flame away. He’s a baby.”

“Your ‘baby’ is the size of an ox cart, milady, and a firebreather, at that.” The rowan looked down at her from his horse. “The city is no place for a dragon.”

“You gave me and mine sanctuary,” Raine said, “and that means protection and shelter.”

“I know what sanctuary means, young lady. I’m the bloody king.”

Raven stepped up to the rowan’s horse. “Raine and the creature have an unusual bond, sire. They speak to one another.” He tapped his temple. “Mind to mind. What’s more, despite his size, Flame is young and unable to fend for himself.”

The Rowan let out a blistering stream of profanities. “Very well,” he said at last. “Where do you propose I keep him? I’ve no place for a dragon.”

“What about the old mews, sire?” Raven said. “They’ve been empty for years. Flame will be out of the way, and Clegg will see to him.”

“Clegg?” Raine asked.

“The royal stablemaster,” Raven explained. “He has a way with wild things and Kronlings.”

Raine shook her head. “I can’t leave Flame with a stranger.”

“Be reasonable, Raine,” Raven said. “You can’t keep him in your room.”

“No, by gods,” the rowan said. “No dragons in the keep. Hedda will throw a dish.”

“What of the queen?” Raven asked without inflection. “She is well?”

“Aye. She keeps the dressmakers busy.”

“And my brother Carr?”

“Off hunting with Hedda’s family in the north,” the rowan said. “He should be home by Trolach.”

Raine listened absently to their conversation, her gaze on the dragon. Flame was doing his best to catch a dragonfly, but the insect eluded him. Frustrated, he slammed his spiked tail, smashing half a dozen pavers.

“I suppose he is too big to keep indoors,” Raine said, heaving a sigh. “Oh, dear. He’s never going to understand.”

“You won’t be far away,” Raven said. “You can visit him every day.”

“It’s settled then,” the rowan said. “I’ll speak to Clegg when I reach the Citadel and make the necessary provisions. Bring the creature in through the East Gate, but, for pity’s sake, wait until nightfall. I don’t want to cause a panic.” He shook his head. “Gods, a bloody dragon.”

Urging his steed up the stony shelf, the rowan clattered away with his men, leaving Raine and Raven alone on the dock with Flame.

“I must speak to Gurnst about the cargo,” Raven said.

“Of course,” Raine said. “Would you please find Chaz for me? I’d look for him myself, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave Flame alone.”

“Agreed. No telling what he might do. I’ll find the boy straight away. I won’t be gone long.”

“Don’t worry about me. I have a dragon.”

“Good point.” Raven studied her. “Don’t tease yourself about Flame. He’ll have the best of care, I assure you. Fresh air and sunshine, and room to move about.”

“I’m not worried about Flame. Not really. I know the rowan will keep him safe, because of the oath, if for no other reason.”

“Then what’s got you blue deviled?”

“It’s Bree.” Raine bit her lip. “You heard what he said.”

“Oh, that. Pay it no mind. Bree was angry. He’s used to calling the tune and watching others dance, but you surprised him.” He gave her a crooked grin. “You do that with some regularity, you know. Surprise people.”

“But, the war—”

“War was inevitable the moment the Eye was taken.”

He turned and strode across the gangplank, leaving her and Flame on the quay. Raine looked around, the back of her neck prickling. Though the streets were deserted, she felt curious eyes watching them from the shuttered windows along the waterfront.

Morven?

Yes, Flame?

Why do humans ride big sheep?

Sheep? Raine jerked her gaze back to Flame. The dragon’s gaze followed the rowan’s party with interest as it disappeared up the street. Oh. Those aren’t sheep. Those are horses.

Do shorses taste good?

Horses, Raine repeated. Horses are different from sheep. They aren’t for eating, so don’t even think about it.

Flame exhaled through his nostrils, sending a thin stream of smoke into the air. Flame cannot help what he thinks. The shorses make Flame want to bite them, with their long faces and big, soft eyes.

Listen to me, Flame. You must not eat the rowan’s horses. We’re his guests, and he wouldn’t like it.

The rowan is the human with the glowing mark?

Yes.

His disguise is not very good. Flame can see him.

Raine was startled. “What do you mean, you—”

A silvery whinny made Raine look up. Mauric cantered down the dock on Goblin. Mauric’s horse was a fine specimen, but the horse galloping behind him on weightless hooves put Goblin to shame, a golden stallion with an elegant, narrow head and eyes alight with intelligence. The steed spied the dragon and reared in alarm.

“Pretty thing, ain’t he?” Mauric grinned and reined in his horse well away from Flame. “Elf bred. Won’t let anyone but Raven ride him. Runs wild, except when Raven is home. Seems to know when Raven docks and appears.”

“He’s beautiful,” Raine said, slowly approaching the skittish steed.

“Careful,” Mauric warned. “The dragon’s got him spooked.”

As if in answer, the stallion stamped his hooves and rolled an eye at Flame. Flame fanned his wings and lashed his tail, and the stallion danced away.

Stop that, Raine said. You’re frightening him.

Morven said not to eat the horses. Morven did not say Flame could not frighten them.

I’m trying to make friends, and you aren’t helping.

Why would Morven wish to be friends with a stupid shorse?

“I give up,” Raine said. “You’re impossible.” The horse snorted and tossed its head as she edged closer. “Not you, sweetheart,” she assured the shining creature. “I was talking to the dragon.”

Sweetheart? Flame made a rude noise, which Raine ignored.

She reached out and gently ran her hand down the animal’s velvety nose. “There’s a good fellow,” she murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Ah, I see you’ve met Lúthon,” Raven said, striding off the ship. The glowing steed nickered in recognition and trotted across the quay to greet him. “Yes, yes, old friend,” he said, stroking the horse. “I’m glad to see you, too.” He whistled sharply. “Boy, haul your rump down here. Now.”

“Coming, Captain.” Chaz raced down the gangplank with Tarin, the cabin boy, close behind. “Raine, guess what?”

“What?”

Raine knew that Chaz had grown during their voyage but seeing the boys side by side came as a shock. Chaz was taller than Tarin by six inches or more, though Tarin was the elder by several years and had been the larger of the two at the start of the voyage. Chaz’s growth spurt was nothing short of remarkable.

“Gurnst wants me to stay behind and help with the cargo, but the captain says I have to ask you first,” Chaz said. “Can I, Raine? Can I, please?”

Raine hesitated. “I think it would be better if you came with me. Gurnst has work to do, and you might get underfoot.”

“I won’t,” Chaz said, indignant. “Gurnst and I are friends. He wants me to stay.” He whirled about. “Here he is now. Tell her, Gurnst.”

“Tell her what, boy?” Gurnst said, lumbering across the gangplank and onto the dock.

“Raine thinks I’ll be in the way if I stay with you and Tarin,” Chaz said. “I told her that’s a load of squiddle.”

Gurnst coughed. “Language, boy. Still, he has the right of it, milady. I’d take it as a favor if you’d let him stay behind and ride in the wagon with me. He reminds me of m’ son, when he was a nipper, though he’s a man full grown now and in the rowan’s guard.” There was pride in the sailor’s voice. “I’ll see that he comes to no harm and deliver him to the Citadel, right and tight.”

“Well…” Raine said, wavering.

“Please, Rainey?” Chaz begged. “Gurnst is going to let us take turns holding the reins.” He nudged Tarin. “Right, Tarin?”

The cabin boy shot Raine a glance and blushed furiously. “R-right, milady.”

Chaz turned back to Raine, his face shining with excitement. “It’ll be something like. I’ve never handled a team of horses before.”

Gurnst added hastily, “The lad will be in no danger. I won’t let him take the reins until we reach the North Road, where there’s a flat straightaway. The draft horses the captain keeps in the stable could find their way to the Citadel in the dark.”

“Please, Raine?” Chaz’s expression was pleading. “Gurnst has promised to buy us a plate of Fatty Finns when we’re done.”

“Fatty what?” Raine said.

“Fried pies,” Raven explained. “The Swan and Crown has excellent ones.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Captain,” Gurnst said, “but m’ sister and her husband own the Claw and Horn. She’s the cook, and her Fatty Finns are the best in the city, hands down.”

“I shall make it a point to sample them, then,” Raven said.

Chaz tugged Raine’s cloak. “I’ll save you a pastry, if you let me go,” he said with a hopeful expression. “Or, at least, I’ll try. Dodd says my mouth don’t know when to stop chewing.”

Raine laughed. “Dodd is right. Very well, you may stay with Gurnst, but you must mind him and not cause trouble.”

“I won’t, Rainey. I promise.”

“All right, lads.” Gurnst ruffled Tarin’s hair. “Let’s go to see to the horses and wagons. We’ve cargo to get to market.” He pointed. “The stables are at the edge of town.”

The boys shouted and raced ahead of Gurnst up the stone ramp.

“Ready?” Raven asked Raine. “It’s time we were on our way, as well.”

She nodded, and he tossed her on the back of the stallion. Springing up behind her, he grabbed the horse’s mane. Lúthon snorted and trotted lightly up the steep stone quay.

“Wait,” Raine said, clutching Raven’s wrists. “What about Flame?”

“Look behind us.”

Raine turned in the saddle. The dragon waddled after them, his claws scrabbling on the slick cobblestones. Mauric and Goblin brought up the rear.

You okay? Raine asked Flame.

Flame does not like these slippery scales.

It’s stone, not scales. Humans use it to make roads and buildings.

Why?

Stone is durable, and humans need shelter from the elements.

Scales are better than skin, Flame said. Humans break easily, and they leak.

Yes, we do. You’ll find it easier to walk once we’re outside the village.

Flame’s respite came sooner than Raine expected. The main avenue near the shore was cobbled, but the rest of the village was unpaved. Though spring had reached Finlara, the air was still crisp and cold. Drifts of snow banked the cottages and sugarcoated the thatched housetops, and icy puddles formed in the streets. A sharp wind off the mountains whistled between the houses and Raine tucked the folds of Abbah’s woolen cloak around her, grateful for its warmth. Raven, dressed in black leather and a short cloak that he wore tossed back over his shoulders, did not seem to mind the cold. His strong arms encircled her, his powerful warrior’s body radiating heat.

Lúthon cantered through the village, his slender hooves seeming to float over the ground. Raine took another peek at the dragon. Flame’s wings had not fully developed, and he was unaccustomed to walking any distance on his newly sprouted legs. He moved behind them in a series of rapid, flying hops that covered an astonishing amount of territory, his flailing wings stirring a stiff wind that blew the tops off water barrels and rattled shutters as he blustered past.

The rowan’s men had cleared the streets near the wharf, but not everyone in the village had received the warning, and the ruckus created by the dragon quickly drew a crowd. Men in rough woolen tunics and muckers milled at the edges of the muddy street, and women and children huddled in doorways and peeked out windows, exclaiming in fright and astonishment at the dragon. A woman was hanging out her washing. She took one look at Flame and screamed. Dropping the clothes in her arms, she fled inside, banging the door behind her. A man standing outside a shabby pub saw the dragon clunking down the street and spewed his ale with a startled oath.

“Goodness,” Raine said. “People are so silly.”

“Aye,” Raven said. “You’d think they’d never seen a dragon before.”

“But they—” Raine stopped. “That was sarcasm, wasn’t it?”

“You know, I do believe it was. Mauric’s influence, I expect.”

Fortunately for the peace of mind of the locals, the village was small, and they soon found themselves on the twisting, narrow road that wound into the mountains.

“How far is it to the Citadel from—” Raine paused. “What’s the name of the village we just left?”

“Finmede,” Raven said. “Not to be confused with Finholm, Finnington, Findale, Finlea, Finvale, Finville, Finberg, or any of a hundred other versions of our beloved founder’s name. But, to answer your question, Finmede is a little more than five leagues from the Citadel.”

“That’s not far.”

“Not as the crow flies, perhaps, but there are mountains between us.”

Raven said nothing more, and Raine settled back to enjoy the scenery. Finlara was breathtaking, a land of harsh, unforgiving beauty. The mountains loomed around them, pine- and fir-clad giants with snowy pates. They passed beneath a thundering waterfall that threw itself down the mountain in defiance. Spray slicked the stony path, but Lúthon did not slow his pace.

Raine peered over the edge and her heart lodged in her throat. Far below, water boiled over jagged, black rocks.

She glanced back at Flame in concern, but he seemed undismayed by the difficult terrain, slithering past the waterfall with his wings pressed close to his body. Mauric was behind him, singing lustily, the words of his song dimmed by the rush of falling water.

“The trail isn’t very wide,” Raine said, turning back around. “How will Gurnst get through with the wagons?”

“Gurnst will take a different route,” Raven said. “They won’t reach the Citadel until after dusk. Chaz will be bursting at the seams with adventures when next you see him.”

“That’s what worries me. Is it too much to hope he has a dull trip?”

“For shame. Know you nothing of boys?”

“Very little,” Raine admitted. “But I’m learning.”

At the top of the pass, the mountains broke apart and a river foamed through a rugged, yawning gorge. Ahead of them, a timber arch spanned the valley. Lúthon trotted noiselessly across the bridge to the other side.

Morven? The dragon’s voice held panic. Wobble?

Mauric stopped singing mid-verse. “Ho, Rainey. Your dragon’s balked.”

Raven halted Lúthon and helped Raine dismount. Hurrying across the wooden span, she laid her hand on the dragon’s shoulder.

“We’ll cross together, all right?” she said.

Wobble, Flame said stubbornly.

“This bridge is nothing like the gangplank. See?” She jumped up and down to demonstrate the structure’s sturdiness. “It’s not wobbly.”

Flame reluctantly followed Raine across the bridge and they traveled on, encountering several more streams along the way. At each juncture, Raine had to dismount and sweet-talk the dragon across the trestles. Hours passed, and their progress came to a complete halt when they reached a steep, narrow canyon spanned by a rickety bridge of woven rope and beams.

Wobble? Flame’s voice in Raine’s head quavered.

It looks shaky, but it’s quite sturdy. This is the last one, I promise.

Flame was not reassured. In the end, Raine had to cover the dragon’s eyes with a cloth and lead him across. They traveled on, leaving the mountains and entering a rumple of rolling foothills. The sun was high overhead and they quickened their pace. They were rollicking along at a ground-eating pace until they happened upon a meadow bursting with purple clover.

Flame skidded to a stop, his reddish-gold eyes flaring wide. With a grunt of pleasure-pain, he dropped to the ground and wallowed in the pungent herbage.

“What now?” Reining in his horse, Mauric observed the ecstatic dragon with a sour expression. “At this rate, ʼtwill be Trovis Tide ere we reach the Citadel.”

“Dragon’s Delight,” Raven said, watching the dragon spread his wings and rub them in the grass. “ʼTwould seem the plant is aptly named. Flame seems to like it.”

“Like it?” said Mauric. “He’s drooling.”

Flame? Raine said. Are you all right?

Ooh. The dragon pedaled his massive legs in the air. Flame likey.

“Oh, dear,” Raine said. “I think he may be tiddly.”

“Intoxicated, is he?” Mauric chuckled and shook his head. “You two go ahead. I’ll stay behind with our inebriated friend.”

“Are you sure you can handle him?” Raine asked, gazing anxiously at the rollicking reptile.

“Please,” said Mauric. “I’ve been around Gertie when she’s in the barrel. How much worse can a drunk dragon be?”

Leaving Mauric to babysit Flame, Raine and Raven rode on ahead, coming out of the foothills a short while later onto a broad, dusty avenue.

“The North Road,” Raven said, pointing.

“So named, I take it, because it runs in that general direction?”

“Finlars are a practical race and not given to fancy.”

“I’ve noticed. Gurnst has the imagination of a potato.”

“Minx,” Raven said, urging Lúthon into a lope.

A league or two farther along, they drew up at a crossroads manned by four guards in short, gray cloaks.

“Sentry,” Raven said, saluting a guard with a weathered face.

The guard saw the mark on Raven’s arm and his bored expression vanished. “Roark, it’s good to have you home, again.” His gaze moved to Raine, and his eyes widened. “Kron’s hammer, is that—is she—”

“No, but the resemblance is remarkable, is it not?” Raven said. “Speaking of resemblances, you must be Trell’s son. You have the look of him.”

The guard flushed. “His grandson, sir. I’m Varl.”

“Of course. Stupid of me not to have realized. Trell’s been dead these twenty-five years or more. A good man, your grandfather.”

“Thank you, sir. He never tired of talking about the campaigns the two of you fought.”

“He was a fine soldier, as are you, I’m sure.” Raven nodded to the guards on the far side of the road. “You’ve had a quiet watch?”

“It’s dull duty, sir, minding the North Road.” He leaned to one side in his saddle to look past them. “Where’s the rest of your party? The rowan said to expect you.”

“My cousin, Mauric, will be along shortly with the dragon.”

“With the—” Varl faltered, his jaw sagging.

There was an anguished roar from the hills behind them.

“Ah,” Raven said. “That will be them, now.”

Flame barreled down the road toward them, the jeweled scales on his bony head glittering in the sunlight. Lúthon snorted in alarm but quieted at a word from Raven. The astonished Varl’s horse, however, took one look at the dragon steamrolling toward them and bolted in panic, as did the other guards’ mounts. The terrified animals fled northward, ignoring the curses and shouts of their riders.

Flame bounded up and plopped in the dust. Morven left Flame.

Yes, but I didn’t go far. Did you enjoy the clover?

Y-e-s-s-s. The dragon sneezed, sending a tiny fireball into the air. Then Flame hurried and hurried to find Morven.

You didn’t hurry too much. You stopped to sharpen your claws on a tree. Twice.

Morven saw Flame?

Not exactly. I can see your thoughts, remember?

Flame forgot. Morven is very clever, Flame thinks.

Thank you, said Raine.

Mauric trotted up on Goblin. “They’ve left their post,” he said, indicating the rapidly dwindling guards. “They can’t do that. They’ll be put in the stocks.”

“Tell that to their horses, if you can catch them,” Raven said. “What’s that you’ve got?”

Mauric grinned. “Dragon skin. Flame left it in the meadow when he was rolling about. It should fetch a dandy price at market.”

“Mauric Lindar, I might have known,” Raine said, outraged. “That’s why you volunteered to stay with Flame.”

Mauric gave her an injured look. “Here, now, lass. You can’t expect me to abandon perfectly good dragon skin. Think of the waste.”

A few miles down the road, they encountered the hapless guards returning south. Varl swore and jerked his horse off the road, staying well away from the dragon. The remaining guards did likewise. Two of them showed signs of having been unhorsed, their cloaks and leather hauberks mudded and smeared with grass.

“Varl,” Raven said, nodding to the guard as they rode by.

“Roark.” Red-faced, Varl stared straight ahead, his reins clenched in his fist.

“By Tro, they’re a gloomy, unpleasant lot,” Mauric said as the disheveled guards slunk past them. “What ails them?”

“Flame, I suspect,” Raven said. “I doubt they expected to encounter a dragon on their watch.”

“I should bloody well hope not,” Mauric said. “Crack their skulls open and have a look inside, if they did. Not at all the usual thing, you know, dragons on the North Road.”

“Thank you, Mauric, for stating the obvious.”

“You’re welcome. You need anything else explained, anything atall, you let me know.”

“That’s a great comfort,” Raven said. “Your generosity knows no bounds.”

“Think nothing of it, cuz. Delighted to be of service.”