The Dragon in the Sword (10 page)

Armiad, desperate for his peers’ approval, took a grip on himself. “You are welcome aboard my hull,” he said to us, “until the Massing is complete.” He turned to Denou Praz. “Forgive this breach of etiquette, Brother Denou Praz. If I had known what I brought aboard your hull, believe me I should never…”

The woman councilor broke in. “These apologies are neither required nor are they within our traditions of courtesy,” she said. “Names have been exchanged and hospitality extended. That is all. Let us, I beg you, remember that.”

The rest of the meeting was strained, to say the least. Von Bek and I looked at one another without being able to speak while Armiad grunted and grumbled to himself, hardly responding to the formal remarks which Baron Captain Denou Praz and his Council continued to make. Armiad seemed torn. He did not wish to stay at a place where he had lost face so badly, as he saw it. And he did not want to take us back with him. Eventually, however, as he became aware that it was growing dark, he signed for us to rise. He bowed to Denou Praz and made some effort to thank him for his hull’s hospitality, to apologise for the tension he had brought. Von Bek and I murmured the briefest and most formal of farewells whereupon Baron Captain Denou Praz said graciously: “It is not for me to judge men upon what the journals report of their deeds. My guess is that you did not seek the earlier fame which made you a hero in the popular imagination and that you are perhaps made more of a villain now, simply because people saw you for so long as the personification of all that was brave and noble. I hope you will forgive my own breach of poor taste, which made me judge you, good gentleman, before I knew you or understood anything of your circumstances.”

“This apology is unnecessary, Baron Captain. I am obliged to you for your kindness and civility. If I should ever return to your hull, I hope it will be because I have proven myself worthy of treading the boards of the
New Argument
.”

“Damned fancy words,” grumbled Armiad as we were escorted down through the swaying walkways and decks to where our barge stood ready to take us back to the
Frowning Shield.
“For a man who attempted to murder his own sister! And why? Because she threatened to tell the world the truth about him. You’re a sham and a scoundrel. I tell you, you are not welcome aboard our hull for any longer than the Massing. After that it is up to you to take your chances in the anchorages or choose an accountant hull within twenty hours. If a hull will accept you, which I doubt. You’re as good as dead, the pair of you.”

The barge rolled down the ramp and out into the shallows. It was close to nightfall and there was a cold wind blowing across the lagoons, making the reeds rustle and sway. Armiad shivered. “Faster, laggards!” He struck at the nearest man with his fist. “You two will abuse the hospitality of no other hull. All will know of you by tomorrow, when the Massing begins. You can count yourselves lucky that no blood is permitted to be spilled at the Massing. Not even that of an insect. I would challenge you myself if I thought you worthy of it…”

“A Blood Challenge, my lord baron?” asked von Bek, unable to resist this barb. He had remained amused by the entire affair. “Would you make a Blood Challenge to Prince Flamadin? I believe that is the prerogative of a Baron Captain, is it not?”

At this, Armiad glared at him so fiercely he might have set the marsh afire. “Watch your tongue, Count von Bek. I know not of what crimes you are guilty, but doubtless they’ll come to light soon enough. You, too, shall pay the penalty of your deception!”

Von Bek murmured to me: “How true it is when they say there is nothing which makes a man more furious than the discovery that he has deceived himself!”

Armiad had overheard. “There are conditions to our custom of hospitality, Count von Bek. If you should breach those conditions, I am permitted, under the Law, to exile you or worse. If I had my way, I’d hang you both from the crosstrees. You have to thank those decadent and enfeebled old people of the
New Argument
and their kind for their intercedence. Happily, I respect the Law. As you, evidently, do not.”

I ignored the rest of this. I was thinking deeply. I now had some idea of how Prince Flamadin came to be alone in the Maaschanheem. But why had he refused to marry his twin sister Sharadim, since it was plainly what had been expected of him? And had he tried to murder her? And was he really a sham, to be exposed by her when he proved himself a traitor? No wonder the world had turned against him, if it were true. People hated to worship a hero and then discover him to have ordinary human weaknesses!

Grudgingly Armiad allowed us to return with him to his palace. “But be careful,” he warned. “The smallest infringement of the Law is all the excuse I need to evict you…”

We went back to our quarters.

Once in my room, von Bek at last released a great belly laugh. “The poor Baron Captain thought to gain prestige from you and discovered that he’d lost further face with his peers! Oh, how he’d love to murder us. I shall sleep with my door barred tonight. I should not like to catch a chill and perish…”

I was less amused, largely because I had still more mysteries to consider. I had at least thought myself fortunate in possessing power and prestige in this world. Now that had been taken from me. And if Sharadim was the true strength of the Draachenheem why had I been summoned to inhabit this body?

I had never experienced anything like it. They were calling for Sharadim, my twin (whoever they were!) perhaps because they already knew that she was the real force, that I was merely a sham who had lent his name to a series of sensational fictions. That much was logical enough, and credible. Yet the Knight in Black and Yellow, and the blind captain, both had seemed to think it was crucial for the Eternal Champion to come to this realm.

I did my best not to think too much of all this. Instead I tried to consider our immediate problems. “Custom allows us to remain here during the Massing. Thereafter, we are outlawed—fair game for Armiad’s Binkeepers. Is that the story in brief?”

“It was my understanding,” von Bek agreed. “He seemed to think nobody would hire us. Not that I have much liking to work my passage on one of these hulls.” Even as he spoke the whole cabin gave a great shudder and we were almost jerked against the far wall. The
Frowning Shield
was on the move again. “What chance have we, I wonder, of moving to another realm? I understand it is not difficult in the Middle Marches.”

“Our best plan is to wait here and attend the Massing. There we shall have a good idea of who still thinks Prince Flamadin a prize, who does not believe the Sharadim story, who genuinely loathes me.”

“My guess is that you’ll find few friends at present. Either you—as Prince Flamadin—were responsible for those crimes or you are the victim of efficient propaganda. I know what it is to be turned into a villain overnight. Hitler and Goebbels are masters at it. But it might be possible at the Massing to prove that you are not guilty of all they say.”

“Where could I begin?”

“That we shall not know until tomorrow. Meanwhile we’d be wise to remain where we are. Have you noticed that I rang for a servant as soon as we came in?”

“And none came. They’re normally swift. We are to receive only the minimum of Armiad’s hospitality, it seems.”

Neither of us was hungry. We cleaned ourselves as best we could and retired to bed. I knew that I must rest, but the nightmares were particularly potent. The voices still called for Sharadim. I was tormented by them. And then, as I fell deeper and deeper into that particular dream, I began to see clearly the women who called my twin sister. They were tall and astonishingly beautiful, both in face and body. They had the fine, slender figures I knew so well, the tapering chins, the high cheekbones and large, slanted almond eyes, the delicate ears and soft hair. Their costumes were different but that was all. The women who formed the circle beyond the pale fire, whose voices filled the darkness, were Eldren women. They were of the race sometimes called Vadhagh, sometimes called Melnibonéan. A race who were close cousins to John Daker’s people. As the Eternal Champion I had belonged to both. As Erekosë I had loved such a woman.

And then suddenly as the white flames burned lower and I could see more beyond them I trembled in a mixture of ecstasy and fear, crying out, reaching out—longing to touch that face I had recognised.

Ermizhad!
I cried. –
Oh, my darling! I am here. I am here. Pull me through the flames! I am here!

But the woman, whose arms were linked with those of her sisters, did not hear me. She had her eyes closed. She continued to chant and sway, chant and sway. Now I doubted it was her. Unless it was the Eldren who called me back to them, who called Sharadim thinking they called me. The fire grew brighter and blinded me. I glimpsed her again. I was almost certain it was my lost love.

I was dragged away from this dream and into another. Now I had no idea what my name was. I saw a red sky in which dragons wheeled. Enormous reptilian flying beasts who appeared to obey a group of people standing upon the blackened ruins of a city. I was not one of these people, but I stood with them. They, too, resembled the Eldren, although their costumes were far more elaborate, somehow almost dandified, though I could not be sure how I knew so much. But these were Eldren, I was sure, from another time and place. They seemed distressed. There was a rapport between them and the beasts above which was difficult for me to understand, although I had an echo of a memory (or a premonition, which is the same thing for such as I). I tried to speak to one of my companions, but they did not know I was amongst them. Soon after this, I found myself falling away from them again and I stood upon a glassy plain without horizon. The plain changed colour from green to purple to blue and back to green, as if it had only recently been created and had yet to stabilise. A creature of astonishing beauty, with golden skin and the most benign eyes I had ever looked into, was speaking to me. But somehow I was von Bek. The words were completely meaningless to me, for again they were addressed to the wrong individual. I tried to tell this wonderful creature the truth, but my mouth would not move. I was a statue, made of the same glassy, shifting substance as the plain.

– We are the lost, we are the last, we are the unkind. We are the Warriors at the Edge of Time. We are the cold, the halt, the deaf, the blind. Fate’s frozen forces, veterans of the psychic wars…

I saw those despairing soldiers again, ranged along the ragged edge of a great cliff above an unfathomable abyss. Did they address me, or did they speak whenever they sensed the presence of an audience of any kind?

I saw a man in black-and-yellow armour, riding a massive black war-charger across a stretch of wild water. I called out to him but either he did not hear me or he chose to ignore me. Yet he left a name behind him on the wind. I heard it. It was Sepiriz…

Then, briefly, I saw Ermizhad’s face again. I heard the chanting, much louder for a few seconds.
SHARADIM! SHARADIM! SHARADIM! AID US SHARADIM! FREE THE FIREDRAKE! RELEASE THE DRAGON, SHARADIM, AND SET US FREE!

– Ermizhad!

I opened my eyes and I was shrieking her name into the face of a concerned and bewildered Ulric von Bek.

“Wake up, man,” he said. “I think we have reached the Massing Ground. Come and see.”

I shook my head, still deep within my memories of those dreams.

“Are you ill?” he wanted to know. “Shall I find some sort of doctor? If they have such people aboard this disgusting vessel.”

I drew a series of deep breaths. “Forgive me. I did not wish to startle you. I had a dream.”

“Of the woman you seek? The one you love?”

“Yes.”

“You cried out her name. I am sorry if I have disturbed you, my friend. I’ll leave you alone to recover yourself”

“No, von Bek. Please stay. Ordinary human company is what I need most at present. You’ve been on deck already, eh?”

“I find it difficult to sleep because of the movement of the hull. Also the smell. Perhaps I’m too fastidious, but it reminds me just a little of the concentration camp I was sent to.”

I sympathised with him, understanding his distaste for Armiad’s ship a little better.

Soon I was dressed and as clean as I could get, following von Bek out to a gallery which ran almost the length of our apartments and which gave a fairly good view to starboard. Through the smoke, the tangled rigging, the banners and chimneys and turrets, I saw that we had effectively beached, prow turned inward, upon an island of firm land which was almost circular in shape, rising to a central point on which was erected a simple stone monolith, similar to some I had seen in Cornwall as John Daker. Almost fifty hulls had already arrived and their massive bulks dwarfed the human figures who milled about them. They continued to make steam, but in a somewhat desultory fashion. Every so often one of the hulls would give off a great hiss and blow smoke high into the air so that I began to be reminded of a company of beached whales, though these were not accidentally arranged. There was an impressive precision to the almost exact distance between each hull.

The hulls formed a semicircle about the island. On the far side was a group of slim, elegant vessels reminiscent of Greek galleys, with shipped oars and relatively little sail on their masts. They were beautifully decorated and richly dressed. I would have taken them for the formal boats of a wealthy nation. There were some five of these. Next to them were six smaller vessels which in their own way were as impressive as the others. These were painted white from stern to prow. Almost everything which could be white was white. Masts, sails, oars—even the single flags flying from each ship were white save for a small dark symbol in the left-hand corner. It seemed to be nothing more than a cross, each end of which was completed by a long barb.

Next came three much bigger, bulkier vessels, apparently also powered by steam, though they resembled nothing I had seen elsewhere. They were primarily wooden, with high castles, ports for guns or oars, a single fat funnel in the stern section and a series of perhaps eight small paddle-wheels on either side. It was almost as if someone had had an idea of a steam ship and attempted to make it, irrespective of whether it worked well or not. But it was obvious that it was not my place to judge. The cumbersome ships were doubtless perfectly functional. Docked beside these were a number of dish-shaped vessels, apparently carved from a single piece of wood (though the tree would have had to have been enormous), gilded and painted and containing only a flagmast on one edge, together with rowlocks all around, through which were placed long wooden oars. These did not seem designed to negotiate anything but the shallowest of inland waters and I guessed that the people who used them had not had to cross an ocean to be here.