Warriors of Ethandun (22 page)

‘More than you might think,' she said wryly.

Her past was beginning to come back to her – her time as a Celtic warrior, disguised as a man, her time as a cavalry
leader under the High King Arturus. She had neither the energy nor the inclination to explain anything to the sullen Aethelnoth. She unsheathed her sword and tested its edge and its balance: it was a well-made weapon.

The magic still burned her up, still built in her like water behind a dam but she would not release it; she would cope.

‘You'd better ride,' she said to Aethelnoth. ‘I need to walk.' Aethelnoth was about to argue, but she had already dismounted gracelessly and was clasping her hands to help him mount. She had to remember how to walk again, how to function as a person.

Aethelnoth obeyed her out of fear. She almost fell over as she took his weight and had to lean against the pony for balance. It helped a little, the rhythm of walking; it used energy and it kept her feet on the ground. The boots she had been given pinched her feet, but when she took them off the magic flowed through her body as if her bare feet on the wet earth completed some mystical circuit. Magic filled her up, flooded her with energy and strength so that she could barely contain it. ‘I am Ursula Dorrington,' she muttered under her breath. ‘I will not wield magic. I am Ursula and that is enough.'

Dan was happy. He felt a lightness of spirit that he hadn't felt for months, that he hadn't felt since first discovering that Ursula was alive after they'd returned from Camlann. He had missed her, missed the connection between them, and now he had found both her and that precious connection! He felt guilty about his happiness, of course he did. It had been a night of slaughter, of burning and of fear, yet it didn't matter any more; he'd found Ursula. He didn't even worry about the fact that he hadn't been able to stop himself transforming again – that was a problem he was sure he could overcome now that Ursula was back beside him. He knew that she had experienced something very strange and disturbing in the days since they'd come through the Veil – that was obvious – and it was hard to see how she could be unchanged by it, but he would not worry. He'd help her get through it, as they'd helped each other before. They'd go back to Aelfred; Dan would explain to him that he was not someone Aelfred would want on his side – what with his tendency to turn into a wild beast at the first sign of trouble – and Aelfred
would release him from his oath. Then all they had to do was get Taliesin to raise the Veil and they'd go home. Easy.

It was nearly dawn and he could see that Cippenham was not in great shape. The fire had destroyed the wooden buildings and a great pall of smoke still hung in the air, making his eyes stream. Men were emptying the smouldering houses of valuables, ordering terrified women to carry what could be rescued and to find somewhere dry to store it. The ground was muddy from the torrential rain and the Vikings were angry, injured and hungover. No one challenged Dan as he walked confidently through the quagmire searching for Taliesin, sniffing the air for the distinctive scent of his war dog.

There was a girl standing on her own, unmoving in the centre of the chaos.

She alone was still, her pale green eyes staring blindly, the eye of the storm. He stopped to look at her, transfixed. Her fine clothes, sodden with rain, clung to her malnourished frame; tendrils of hair were plastered to her pinched face. She did move when men approached her and they skirted round her as if she had some power to repel them. She knew Dan was there. She smiled and beckoned to him and began to sing. She was no singer, her voice as thin and unlovely as the rest of her, but as she sang he felt the bear within him grow.

‘No!' Her singing made him shiver, made his body grow heavy and his thoughts dull. She would bring him meat, all the meat he could ever hunt and slaughter if he became her bear. He covered his ears with clumsy hands,
then he heard Braveheart bark. His mind cleared. He could hear the dog, smell his scent in the air, but he could see no sign of him. He was disoriented, lost in the throng, hearing and smelling Braveheart and seeing only people and livestock. The girl's singing stopped as abruptly as it had begun and when he turned back towards her she was gone. The bear within him withdrew and he was still Dan.

He was shaken. Was the girl a sorceress? Taliesin would know. Dan sniffed the air, seeking his scent. Without his peculiarly enhanced sense of smell, Dan would have definitely walked past the one-time druid. Taliesin had disguised himself so that he appeared to be a very old man, a Dane, leading a scrawny pony that smelled like Braveheart. Dan was impressed. Taliesin's magic was worth something in this world. Dan fell in beside the old man and allowed Taliesin to lead him the short distance along the rutted cart track to the only bridge over the swollen river.

Cippenham was an important place by the standards of the time. It seemed small and inconsequential to Dan: no more than thirty or forty timber buildings, a long thatched hall, largely burned down, and a great deal of mud. But it was fortified, which indicated that it was significant. It was far from being a walled city, as Dan normally envisaged a fortified town, but it was surrounded by a high bank of earth surmounted by a wooden wall.

Dan did not relish another fight and hoped that in all the chaos of the night's events the gate might be unmanned. He hoped it was unmanned because Ursula and Aethelnoth had to cross it and he did not see how
Ursula would have been in any state to fight her way out, and Aethelnoth – well, he was injured.

As they approached the bridge Dan could see that his hopes of a peaceful departure were going to be dashed. Two men were watching the wooden bridge. Their faces had that grey pallor of people who had not slept and they were both liberally dusted with soot. They had their spears ready and both wore mail.

Dan felt his heart sink. His hand found Bright Killer. Taliesin gestured as if to prevent him from further action. so he did not unsheathe his sword. Neither of the men appeared to register their approach and Dan wondered if they were still drunk, or perhaps waiting for someone or something, because they did not even acknowledge their existence. Dan fought the urge to run, and forced himself to match Taliesin's slightly arthritic gait. Somehow Braveheart did not bark. The rather hopeless guards showed no sign of noticing them as they crossed the bridge, though the wooden boards trembled under their weight, giving a little as they were designed to do, and Dan could clearly hear the clattering of Braveheart's claws and his own hobnail boots.

He waited until they were out of earshot of the Danes before speaking.

‘What did you do?'

The old man standing beside him suddenly looked a great deal like Taliesin, while the former pony leaped up and licked Dan affectionately and wetly all over his face. Braveheart's breath never smelled good and he'd been eating offal, though thankfully of a non-human variety.

Taliesin looked smug. ‘I have a certain power here – more of a gift for deception and misdirection than for transformation, but still it works well enough. They never saw us.'

‘Clever,' Dan said. ‘How long can you hide us for?'

‘Not long,' Taliesin admitted. ‘If the guards were to look this way now they'd see us, so I suggest we keep moving.'

Dan needed no encouragement. He wanted to catch up with Ursula.

‘What will happen when they find out Ursula is missing?'

‘Don't worry. I have built an illusion to convince them that she is still there. It should last for a while at least. We should get a head start on them if they pursue us, or rather
when
they pursue us.'

Dan thought that any advantage that Taliesin's magic could bring was good news. ‘Did the other captives get away?'

Taliesin shrugged. ‘They won't last long without shelter and the Danes could capture them again easily enough if they wanted to.'

‘They have other things on their mind for now.'

Taliesin sighed. ‘As soon as they realise what has happened we will all be pursued. The Danes rule by fear. They will not allow any of us to get away.'

Dan absorbed that information. It was not what he wanted to hear. He wanted to get back to Aelfred and head for home. ‘How many men do you think the Danes have?'

‘Four to five thousand, well armed and well provisioned for now at least: that is considerably more than the King has.'

Dan nodded without giving Aelfred's problems any thought. There was no question in his mind that the King would release Dan from his oath and so it was no longer his concern.

‘I don't know why you're so cheerful,' Taliesin grumbled. ‘It's a long walk back to Athelney and …' He did not finish his sentence.

‘And what?'

‘Ursula is –'

‘She's alive and she's not in bad shape. All she needs is a bit of time off school to get her strength back and she'll be fine.'

Taliesin looked uncomfortable. ‘Dan, I am your friend and I'm telling you this as a friend: both you and Ursula are in real danger here. She has absorbed so much of the magic of this place I don't even know if she can leave, and you – the magic that has claimed you is …'

‘Is what?' Dan asked more aggressively than he had intended.

Taliesin looked grave and turned to face Dan, so that his piercing eyes stared straight at him, boring into him. Taliesin hadn't always been a very good friend to him and Dan's attitude to the man was always lightly coloured by suspicion. This time when Dan looked into the other man's eyes he saw his earnestness. Taliesin was a powerful personality and it took all Dan's courage not to avert his eyes and look away. Taliesin smelled of truthfulness and fear.

‘I am no expert,' Taliesin began, although he knew more about magic than anyone else Dan knew. ‘Remember when, long ago, Ursula got stuck in the form of a bird?'

Dan nodded. It happened when they were in Macsen's land. She had taken on the form of a giant eagle to signal for their troops to advance. It had been a close-run thing, but Taliesin had brought her back with no harm done. Surely he had more magic in this world than he had back then? Dan was confident that Taliesin would be able to help again.

‘Ursula chose to be an eagle because it suited her purposes, but you have not chosen to be a bear – it is your soul, your deepest self that longs to be a beast. If you cross worlds as a beast, it is as a beast that you may emerge.'

‘You don't know that! You can't know about the state of my soul!' Dan felt his temper flare. The foolish old man knew nothing. Dan did not want to be a beast; he hated the violence of the bear.

There was no sense of change. Dan had no warning. He was shouting at Taliesin in his normal voice and then suddenly he lost the power of speech and was growling like the beast he did not want to be. He might have killed Taliesin then: the fury that surged through him was so powerful it blotted out thought. It was Braveheart that stopped him. He was a giant of a dog and though Dan could have killed him easily enough, he would not. Braveheart's loyalty had always been unambiguous. The hound leaped to Taliesin's defence, barking at Dan as if Dan were his enemy and not his master, his ally in too
many battles. Dan would not turn on so faithful a companion; instead he grunted and turned away.

The Danes on watch who had failed to notice Taliesin and Dan slipping out of Cippenham could not help but notice the sudden appearance of a bear. Dan heard them yelling, calling for warriors. Their voices carried a long way in the still morning. Dan could hear the jingle of their mail and their running feet. Dan sniffed the air and smelled their excitement, their eagerness. He liked these men; he could understand them. They liked a good fight – what was wrong with that?

While Taliesin led Braveheart away, further along the cart road, Dan readied himself for the battle to come. He did not have to do much except tear away at the clothes that restricted him – especially the boots. He could not see the point of boots. The ground beneath his feet was a source of strength. He removed his sword belt, tearing at it and biting at it to get it free. The metal tasted bad and clunked against his teeth. He no longer liked the smell of man-made things. He dropped to all fours, glorying in the easy movement of powerful muscles, delighting in the way he could identify each man behind the stockade by scent alone. He could taste them in all their distinctness. He would know them again anywhere. The world of scents was extraordinary. He licked his lips and shut his eyes briefly. It was like seeing extra colours – the richness of it. He loved the sharp tang of human sweat in the air, the taint of ale and undigested meat, the smell of carrion. Dan shook himself and stretched, lumbering to his feet as three Viking warriors ran screaming to meet him. He
wanted this. He needed the pleasure of the kill. This sharp sense of threat, the danger, the fight about to be won, filled him with joy.

This was what life was about – facing death, beating death, bringing death. Dan's mouth lacked the muscle to curl into a smile, but he did what he could and that was enough to make the men rushing towards him turn pale. The first man to reach him was small and quick, easily outrunning the others, which was probably a mistake on his part. He was young and a fuzzy down of golden hair covered his chin where his beard should have been. The youth was brave enough and tried to stick Dan with a well-sharpened spear, but Dan snapped it as easily as if it had been made of balsa wood and drove the shaft back into the belly of the enemy wielding it. The ash shaft snapped under the pressure before it pierced his mail, but it winded the boy so that he was unable to offer the bear much resistance. He did not have time to linger, so he snapped his neck and stepped over the limp corpse.

Two other men came for him then. They dragged a metal chain between them in what he guessed was an attempt to trip him, trap him and bind him. They must have thought him a dumb animal, which he was not. That made him angry, and anger did rather cloud his thinking. He wanted to rip the chain from their hands, but though he had the strength, his vast paws were clumsy and ill-suited to gripping. It was more difficult to deal with two men at once, but what he had lost in agility he had gained in power. He raked the first one with his claws, tearing at the mail with his teeth so that he could expose the frail
flesh beneath. The man's companion attacked Dan from behind, trying to wrap the heavy chain round his throat, but Dan reared up and the man overbalanced, so that Dan's bulk could trample him and Dan's great paws rip at him until he was dead. The blood smell was strong. And Dan was ready for more. But there were no more warriors – unless he were to return across the bridge and find some. He dropped to all fours and began to run back the way he'd come, but someone was calling his name.