Dreamwalker (23 page)
‘I guess ye broke the rules then,’ his stepbrother said, still grinning at Errol’s discomfort.
‘Where are we?’ Errol asked again.
‘On our way to Emmass Fawr,’ Clun said. ‘We did it Errol, both’ve us. We’ve bin chosen.’
Errol found it difficult to share his step-brother’s enthusiasm. It wasn’t just that his head hurt like a thunderstorm was raging in it. He could remember a time when he had wanted nothing more than to be a warrior priest of the High Ffrydd, but that was a different Errol. Something had changed, he had changed, but he couldn’t remember when, or why. It was all a muddle, but he knew one thing over all. He no longer wanted anything to do with the Order of the High Ffrydd.
Slowly, trying not to move his head too much, Errol rolled onto all fours and crawled along the bed of the wagon to its end. The canvas flap was tied shut, but there was enough of a gap for him to see out. The troop of warrior priests rode behind the wagon in formation and they appeared to be travelling along a wide, stone-paved road with thick trees on either side.
‘So, you’re awake now,’ a gruff voice said. Looking sideways with a wince, Errol saw the figure of Inquisitor Melyn astride his horse. It was a fine beast with a mottled grey coat and wide, soup-plate feet. The Inquisitor looked small on it, out of proportion as if he were a child riding a large pony. Nevertheless he was in complete control of the animal. With barely a touch on the reins, it moved closer to the wagon end.
‘Judging by your face, you’ve received punishment enough for your drunkenness.’ The Inquisitor said. ‘I hope you’ll learn your lesson from the experience. Lesser candidates have been expelled from the monastery for such behaviour.’
‘Your Grace, I’m sorry,’ Errol said. ‘I don’t remember drinking.’
‘Alcohol has that effect, boy,’ Melyn said, leaning forward in his saddle. ‘I’m guessing you can’t remember much from last night. Not you mother’s distress at your behaviour in front of the princess, not your boastful announcement to the whole of your village that you would return some day as Inquisitor?’
‘I didn’t… Did I say that?’ Errol flushed with embarrassment. He could remember nothing of the sort, but there were large gaps in his memory. The Inquisitor turned to the nearest of the troop.
‘Captain Osgal,’ he said. ‘Do you recall the young lad’s exact words before he passed out last night?’
The captain looked distinctly uncomfortable, Errol thought, as if he feared the Inquisitor. His eyes flicked between Errol and the old priest rapidly as he came to a decision.
‘His exact words were difficult to make out, your grace,’ he said eventually. ‘But the gist of it was that he was going to be the most famous Inquisitor the Order had ever known. When the princess asked him if he meant to be greater even than Ruthin, who drove the dragons out of Emmass Fawr and claimed it for himself, he said that he would happily perform any task she might set him.’
Errol stared at the sergeant in disbelief. Why would he do such a thing? It made no sense at all.
‘Princess Beulah wasn’t looking for a champion,’ Melyn said. ‘But it seems she’s got one. You’ll have to work very hard indeed young Ramsbottom if you want to come even close to being selected for the Royal Guard.’
‘I… I’m sorry,’ Errol said, not sure what else he could do. ‘The princess, is she…?’
‘She’s returned to Candlehall,’ the Inquisitor said. ‘King Diseverin’s not well. She needs to be close to her father at this difficult time.’
‘Can I get a message to her?’ Errol realised as he asked the question just how stupid it sounded. ‘I must apologise. I have to…’
‘You have much to learn about royalty. You’d do well not to remind her that you exist. Besides, you’ve more pressing things to worry about. Get some rest, take this chance to sleep off your hangover. You won’t find me so forgiving once we arrive at Emmass Fawr.’
The Inquisitor spurred his horse into a trot that took it ahead of the wagon, effectively ending the conversation. Errol peered out the back of the wagon wondering what he had got himself into. Surrounded by strangers he suddenly felt a pang of longing for home, his mother and the simple life of the village.
‘You’ve got the Shepherd’s luck,’ Captain Osgal said. Errol looked up at the warrior priest. He was tall and thin, with a narrow face and thin straggly hair, younger than Errol had at first thought.
‘I’ve seen his grace kill men for less than you did last night,’ he continued. ‘You be very careful around him, boy. He’s got you marked for something.’
*
‘Benfro, welcome. What a pleasant surprise.’ The voice was in his head, but there was no mistaking the dragon who spoke.
‘Ystrad Fflur?’ Benfro asked, bewildered. ‘Where are you? Aren’t you..?’
‘Dead?’ The voice said. ‘Of course I am. You were at my reckoning weren’t you? Or was that some other young dragon performing the ceremony?’
‘But how?’ Benfro asked.
‘Dear me, youngling. Do they not teach you anything? This is our nest, where all our jewels are laid to rest in peaceful companionship. We sit on a nexus in the grym and observe the world.’
‘We?’ Benfro asked. ‘Grym?’
‘My fellow departed,’ the voice of Ystrad Fflur said. ‘I may have lived a long time but these are not all my jewels. No, dragons have been nested in this spot for many thousands of years. But you should know all this, Benfro. Else why are you here?’
‘Mother sent me away from the house,’ Benfro explained. ‘She said men were coming and I had to hide out in the forest for a couple of days.’
‘And you came here,’ Ystrad Fflur said. ‘How interesting. But men you say. Strange. We didn’t see them coming. Well, Morgwm always was much more sensitive to these things, and she’s still alive which helps.’
Benfro found himself transported back to Ystrad Fflur’s dark and cosy study, where he had spent many a happy afternoon listening to the old dragon’s stories and eating sweetly sugared pieces of ginger from a seemingly endless supply. He understood now where it had come from, purloined by magic from some far-distant place.
‘The merchants of Talarddeg always had the best ginger,’ Ystrad Fflur said, seemingly able to read Benfro’s thoughts. ‘Time was when I could walk the streets, going from shop to shop, sampling the wares and haggling over the price. I always felt bad, helping myself without paying. But the long road was too dangerous, our numbers too few. The choice was no choice at all. In the end.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Benfro said. ‘You travelled to this place, Talarddeg?’
‘Oh, I travelled all over Gwlad, young Benfro. There’s not many places Ystrad Fflur hasn’t been. But I’ve always had a soft spot for Talarddeg. It’s the only city in the whole world where men and dragons co-existed from the beginning. It was built for both of us and we lived happily side by side. Until those terrible priests started arriving, spouting forth nonsense about some invisible god they call the Shepherd. No room for dragons in their new world. Dragons were beasts of the Wolf, we were driven out of our homes, slaughtered if we tried to resist.’
Benfro stood in the cavern staring at the glowing pile of jewels. It was the same eerie light as the line that had connected him with Frecknock and Sir Felyn. He wondered if here, in this magic place, he might be able to throw off the compulsion and tell Ystrad Fflur what he had seen. The images were in his head, he could think about what Frecknock had done, and the old dragon had seemed able to read his thoughts. The silence hung heavy as he struggled to say the words he wanted to say. But nothing would come out.
‘You seem troubled, Benfro,’ Ystrad Fflur’s voice came back after a while. ‘Is there something you want to ask?’
‘Can’t you read my mind?’ Benfro asked.
‘Not as you might understand it, no,’ the old dragon said. ‘I can see something of your thoughts, especially those you are actively pursuing, but your mind is safe, believe me. And even if I could, I wouldn’t rummage around in another dragon’s thoughts. It would be impolite.’
‘Is there a spell that can stop m… a dragon from saying something, even though he can think it?’ Benfro asked.
‘Dear me, Benfro. When I was alive I wouldn’t discuss that sort of thing with you. What makes you think I will now?’
‘I don’t want to know how it’s done, honest,’ Benfro said. ‘I just want to know if it’s possible.’
There was a long pause, as if the old dragon were considering the question. Deep in the back of his mind, Benfro thought he could hear the whispering of many voices, but when he tried to focus his attention on them they slipped away like eels in a spring spate.
‘It’s possible to use the grym to influence the minds of others,’ Ystrad Fflur said. ‘It’s something I’ve heard the warrior priests do. But it’s inconceivable that a dragon would do such a thing.’
‘But it can be done,’ Benfro said, hoping that the dead dragon would ask him why he wanted to know, would maybe even look deeper into his mind and see the block that stopped him from telling all.
‘Yes Benfro, it can be done.’
‘And what about speaking to other dragons over vast distances?’ Benfro asked, searching for another way to try and solve his dilemma. ‘Can that be done?’
‘You’re certainly full of questions, young Benfro,’ Ystrad Fflur said. ‘But I suppose a little curiosity is a healthy thing. Yes, indeed, the grym can be used to talk to others over great distances. It’s the power that flows through all living things, after all, and it links everything to everything else.’
‘So you’d hear if someone tried to do it?’
‘Not necessarily, no,’ Ystrad Fflur said. ‘A calling can be made to all who will hear, but it’s unwise to send your message to your enemies.’
‘Enemies?’
‘Men, Benfro, men. They’re quite skilled in many aspects of the grym, though blind to even more. Some of them have learned to listen with more than their ears. When first they began to slaughter us, they would lure us into traps by pretending to be dragons. But anyone who’s heard their thoughts can recognise them for the alien things that they are. No dragon has fallen for that trick in many hundreds of years.’
But Frecknock was young and she was headstrong. Would it occur to her that Sir Felyn was anything other than an amorous wandering dragon?
‘You must go, Benfro,’ Ystrad Fflur said. ‘You can’t stay in this place. Especially if no-one knows you’re here.’
‘What? But I want to stay. There’s so much to say. I miss your stories Ystrad Fflur.’
‘And I miss your company too. But this is not a safe place for a novice in the ways of the grym. Even though our jewels are reckoned, still they yearn for experience. Tarry here too long and they’ll suck the will to live out of you.’
‘But I’m fine,’ Benfro said.
‘No, you are not.’ This time it was not Ystrad Fflur’s voice. The dragon who spoke was female, with a rich, commanding tone. ‘Even now you make excuses to stay. Your mind is too young to comprehend what is happening to it. Ystrad Fflur has warned you. Now I warn you too. Leave now, Benfro son of Trefaldwyn. You are no longer welcome in this place.’
The push, when it came, was at once feather-light and as firm as an autumn gale. The pressure built over every part of Benfro’s body, so that he had to step back to stop from falling over. As soon as he moved, the force strengthened, pushing him towards the black entrance to the cavern. Looking up at his makeshift torch, Benfro saw that it was now no more than a charred stump of stick. He couldn’t pick it up even if he wanted to. The wind whipped him along too fast and soon he was tumbling over his feet in the total darkness of the twisting, treacherous tunnel.
~~~~
To be chosen to join the Order of the High Ffrydd is the highest of accolades, but with the honour comes a great responsibility. On initiation, the novitiate must renounce the family that has raised him and deliver himself into the bosom of the order. He must swear to uphold its laws and traditions, to work tirelessly in furthering its aims. He must agree to obey his quaisters, the warrior priests and the Inquisitor no matter what they demand of him, without hesitation or question. He must apply himself to his studies and excel in all things. He must seek perfection.
At initiation, each novitiate takes ownership of a stout candle. It is lit at evening worship and may not be extinguished by any save the novitiate to whom it has been given, and only once he has made his morning prayers. Boys fond of their sleep and their beds will soon find their candles growing short, and should the flame burn out before a novitiate has completed his basic training, he will be expelled from the order.
An Introduction to the Order of the High Frydd by Fr Castlemilk
Two more days passed before Errol could face the thought of food. His head hurt constantly and the jarring motion of the wagon didn’t help his mood. Worse still, his memories were a jumble of half-recognised images, contradictions and blank holes. And when he tried to piece things together, to rebuild the confusion of his past, the pain in his head doubled. All his young life he had relied on his wits to keep him one step ahead. Now, when he needed them most, they had deserted him.
