The Written Read online

  ‘Helyard yes.’ Farden murmured thoughtfully, surprised that Brightshow would know that about one of the Arkmages.

  ‘He must have the blood of the daemons in him then, one of the nefalim,’ the dragon whispered as though it were heresy to say those words. She sounded like one of the superstitious sailors back on the ship.

  Farden found himself laughing out loud. ‘Hah! Now that I would find very hard to believe. He’s a powerful mage yes, but not a demon, just an angry old man.’ Farden shook his head and laughed quietly.

  ‘A man who controls the weather like the gods do should be careful with his anger. He sounds dangerous to me.’ Brightshow, as usual with the dragons, made a lot of sense in Farden’s ears. He had thought long and hard about a traitor in the midst of the magick council, and more than once the name Helyard had crossed his mind. He would talk about this with Durnus, and Vice, when he got back. He could trust them at least.

  ‘He does, I agree,’ Farden mused for a moment. ‘Do you think that Farfallen and the others can find that well in a week?’

  ‘If Farfallen gave his word, then it will happen. That dragon doesn’t often disappoint.’

  ‘Good, because we’ll need all the help we can get to stop those behind all this. I’m just praying that they don’t already know where a well is.’

  ‘We would know by now if they did.’ Brightshow offered wisely.

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Farden agreed with another shrug.

  ‘And here we are.’ Brightshow said. They had come to the large door to Farfallen’s rooms, and they paused.

  ‘It was nice to meet you.’ Farden said with a smile. Her huge yellow eyes had the same kind gaze the others had and he noticed himself slowly getting lost in them.

  ‘You also,’ she said with a slow blink and a slight nod. ‘It’s time for me to go find my rider, Lakkin, so sadly I won’t be able to see you off at the docks.’

  ‘Well hopefully I will see you in the days to come.’

  ‘Perhaps. Well met and good wishes Farden.’ The dragon turned and the mage ducked involuntarily as her long white tail swung high over his head.

  Farden went to his little room to gather up the rest of his clothes and armour and spent the next handful of hours in deep thought. The only problem was that the people of the palace seemed intent on knocking on his door and continually delivering provisions and supplies from the Old Dragon. After three hours the mage stood surrounded by parcels of bread, cheese, meats, and fruit, haversacks filled with a mealy cake thing, a small oil lamp, two fresh tunics and a new black cloak, a length of red rope, various maps, a small book entitled “Flight for Beginners” and an ornate vial of melted snow, for his health obviously.

  As soon as he dared to assume he had seen the last of the servants, another dull thudding shook the mage’s door. With an exasperated sigh Farden leapt to the door and opened it to find Eyrum standing outside. The big man said nothing and the mage gestured for him to enter and get out of the wind. Eyrum had to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the door frame.

  ‘What brings you to my humble room?’ asked Farden with a smile.

  ‘I have a parting gift for you, before you go,’ he said solemnly. The mage guessed he wasn’t used to this sort of sentimentality and nodded for him to go on.

  He took a breath and cleared his throat. His eyes wandered around the room and over the scattered supplies strewn over the bed. ‘Seems like you’ve had enough from Farfallen as it is. That dragon really has taken a liking to you.’

  ‘Gods know why,’ chuckled Farden as he gathered and stacked clothes and packets and parcels to stuff into his travel bag. The supply belt around his waist was already full to bursting.

  ‘Even so, I thought you would appreciate this.’ Eyrum held out a big fist and slowly opened his fingers to reveal a small glittering object curled up on his palm. The Siren lifted the shiny pendant up by its thin metal chain and offered it to the mage. Farden took it gently and stared at the object. It looked like a thin sliver of a dragon scale, sandy orange in colour and sparkling as though it were encrusted with gold dust and hard miniature jewels. There was a warmth to it, a leftover glow that Farden could feel only if he held the scale tightly in both hands. As he was turning it over in his fingers Eyrum explained.

  ‘When a dragon dies, their scales soak up and hold on to their luck. So if you wear this around your neck it might bring you good fortune in the weeks to come,’ the man said quietly. He had hardly moved since first entering the room, he just stood still with his big hands now back in his cloak pockets.

  Farden was shocked, and honoured, and confused all at the same time. He instantly handed it back to the big Siren. ‘I can’t take this Eyrum, it’s your dragon...’ But Eyrum pushed the mage’s hand back, and closed his fingers around the pendant for him.

  ‘I have a feeling you need it more than I do.’ He shook his head.

  Farden didn’t know what to say and just stared at the pendant. A gift was a gift after all. ‘Thank you Eyrum,’ Farden looked fruitlessly around his room to find something to offer the monstrous man in return. ‘I have nothing to give you…’

  ‘No need mage, it has been good enough to meet you, and to see your impressive display of magick last night. I hope that we have both learned something while you were in Hjaussfen.’ Eyrum said.

  Farden smiled. ‘I think that a lot of my opinions have changed since being here, and not only about dragons. If only the rest of the Arka would see it through my eyes, see that there’s something deeper and more ancient about you scaly lot.’

  Eyrum managed a small grin. ‘Indeed! Then I think it is a good thing that you were washed up on our shores.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Farden mused, noticing that fate had once again manoeuvred his life without his control or blessing. Eyrum moved towards the door. ‘I will see you at the docks Farden. The quickdoor should be ready within the next few hours.’ He opened the door and let a cold breeze in.

  ‘Thank you again, Eyrum, for the gift,’ the mage looped the chain over his neck and slipped the stiff scale under his tunic. The big man said no more and quietly shut the door behind him with a click.

  An hour passed, and Farden managed to squeeze the rest of the stuff into the haversack and decided to eat whatever he couldn’t fit in. Lazy stretched and yawned by his side, and then got up to sniff around his packages. She looked at him with a strange look, as if she wasn’t fond of change, and then sat on the corner of her bed to lick herself. Farden was munching on an apple and a slice of some dark dried meat, which seemed a bit too fish-flavoured for its colour, when yet another visitor knocked on his door.

  Still chewing he opened it to find Svarta standing with her arms crossed, her face displaying a familiar annoyed expression. Farden waited to finish his mouthful of apple and looked at her. ‘I’m sorry were you waiting for long?’ he said finally.

  ‘Are you ready to go?’ She asked.

  ‘Almost, come in.’ He walked back inside the room and she followed. Svarta looked around the room and the mess of packing. She eyed the cat with a curious look, and then back at the mage. She pointed a long finger at him.

  ‘Where did you get those vambraces of yours?’ She asked. Her voice was quiet and controlled, as if she were forcing herself to be civil with the mage.

  Farden looked at the red and god metal covering his wrists and forearms and wondered whether to lie or not. ‘I won them years before the war, when I was hunting in the far north with some of the other Written.’

  Svarta crossed her arms. ‘Gambling?’

  ‘Sort of. There was an argument that I couldn’t win a fight against the champion warrior of some village. These vambraces were his wager, and the skin from my back was mine.’ Farden said with a far-off look in his eyes. He could still remember that fight like it had been yesterday, every blow, every scuffle and shout of the crowd, the smell of fear, all of it painted as vividly on his memory as the murals in the dragon hall. A story for another day.

/>   ‘I take it you won.’ She said dryly.

  ‘Clearly.’ Farden said no more about it, and busied himself with the heavy sack of supplies and his bulging belt. Tucking the last of the meat back into his pockets Farden swung his sword over his back and strapped it tightly to his chest.

  Svarta stood with her arms still firmly crossed. Her two blonde strands of hair framed her frustrated face quite perfectly. Her lips were drawn thin and she held her weight on one foot, tapping the other in some test of patience. Her long dress was shimmering blue that day, crystallised like a frozen waterfall, and the thick leather jacket on her shoulders was dusted with fresh snow. Her face was white from the cold, but the deep yellow smudge of golden scales running over her cheekbones and neck were bright and shining. Farden gave her a questioning look, and then she finally let her restraint snap. ‘Look, if you think for a moment that I’m going to let the rest of the Arka traipse all over Nelska again, you’ve got another thing coming!’

  Farden laughed out loud. ‘You can’t let it go can you! This was Farfallen’s decision…’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Svarta snapped. She clenched a fist and her blue dress shifted with a rustle. She allowed herself a small sigh. ‘It may have been before your time, mage, but my people still haven’t forgotten the war, even if the Old Dragon has. It will be a while before we can open our gates wide enough for the Arka.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less about that. All I’m concerned about is finding that well before the others do. Farfallen has given me his word,’ said the mage.

  The Siren queen slowly shook her head. ‘And that unfortunately stands for both of us, for his word is mine also.’ Her face hardened as if he had challenged her honour. ‘You have proven you good intentions to the Old Dragon, and if he trusts you… then maybe one day I will too.’ The last remark stung her as she said it, but Farden knew she was trying her best.

  He pulled at the straps of his haversack and Svarta moved to the door. Farden ruffled Lazy’s sable ears, and looked into the cat’s brown eyes. ‘Look after my cat, if you can,’ he said, and the queen sighed. ‘Fine.’

  The mage checked he had left nothing behind and moved to join her at the door. He briefly entertained a little excited feeling at the thought of seeing Cheska again, and perhaps, if he was very lucky, getting some well-deserved time alone with her. But the cold snow that suddenly whipped his face stole away his thoughts and he pulled the hood of his new cloak over his eyes. ‘Well, you can relax now that I’m going back home,’ he said over the noise of the wind, and he could hear Svarta grumbling behind him.

  ‘Unlikely, I have a tearbook to scour through,’ she snorted, and slammed the door behind them.

  Down at the west docks the weather was no more gracious, and the rimy sea spray stung the faces of the dragons and Sirens on the solitary pier. The sea was grey and as hard as flint, white crests swiping at the frenzied snowflakes falling from iron clouds. The earlier sunlight had gone, and had been replaced by another front of bad weather from the west. Farden wondered if Krauslung was any fairer this day, and involuntarily shuddered from the cold. The Dragons seemed to be loving the foul weather, pointing their snouts into the face of the wind and letting the snow lash their scales. The fires in their hearts must be keeping them warm, Farden thought.

  The mage stood beside Farfallen, and in front of them the pier stretched out into the waves, and two thin spurs of black rock formed the gateway of the quickdoor. It thrummed with the energy and sea-spray fizzed into steam on its hazy surface. A wizard, his long red cloak wrapped tightly around him, was calling words from a spell book that looked much like the one that Durnus used. The scribe at his side was no more than a boy, and he shivered through wet clothes while trying to turn the soaking pages for his master.

  ‘Is it ready yet?’ one of the dragons called from behind them. Farfallen repeated the question to the old wizard, whose face was almost completely covered with blue scales, and the man shook his head and carried on shouting over the wind and thundering waves. Every time a grey wall of water struck the rocks under the pier a wall of spray soaked the crowd, and Farden was growing more and more eager to dive through the quickdoor with each passing minute. He turned his head to look up at the black mountain towering above them. The docks were in the shadow of the mountain’s steeper slope, and the wet granite cliffs soared high into the air and leaned over them like the prow of some great black ship. Farden could imagine them toppling at any moment.

  ‘What did Eyrum give you?’ Farfallen’s deep voice broke through his reverie.

  ‘A dragon scale.’ Farden plucked the tiny pendant from under his cloak and showed it to the gold dragon. Farfallen hummed with a low rumble.

  ‘That is quite a gift for a rider to give,’ he said. ‘That is a scale from his dragon Longraid.’

  Farden nodded without saying anything, and just stared at its ochre surface. He thumbed it and thought about trying to give it back to Eyrum. He looked like he was about to take it off when Farfallen shook his head. ‘He wanted you to have it, and it is highly inappropriate in the Siren culture to return a gift, Farden. Just keep hold of it for now.’ He winked, and as he did so the Siren wizard shouted and threw his hands in the air.

  ‘It’s ready!’

  ‘Good! Now mage, are you ready?’ The Old Dragon shouted to all could hear. Farden looked around him as the others gathered to watch. Svarta stood still and silent as always, arms crossed yet again, but for once her face held no anger or venom. Eyrum stood at the back of the group, hood high up over his head so that half his face was hidden. Farden nodded to the big man and Eyrum raised a hand silently. He turned back to Farfallen.

  ‘I’m ready.’ Farden walked over the slick stones with the dragon and stood in front of the quickdoor. The electricity throbbed with a low rhythmic beat and he could feel the pull of the vortex on his cloak and boots already. He looked behind him. I expect to see you flying over the Össfen mountains in less than a week,’ he grinned at the Old Dragon.

  ‘You just concentrate on getting the Arka ready, we’ll do our bit.’ Farfallen exposed every one of his teeth in a wide smile and the mage tensed his body, ready for the journey.

  ‘Gods speed you Farden!’ The dragons called to him as he stepped over the threshold, and then everything melted into one white blur in front of his eyes. The breath burned in his lungs and his ribs were squashed and pressed as he flew through a tunnel of white ice. He fought to keep his eyes open. His legs felt like they would be ripped from his body any second, and wind roared past his ears like a hurricane. Farden gritted his teeth and struggled to keep his body upright for the landing.

  Chapter 10

  “Remember also the manner in which a dragon may read your soul, and speak silently to its rider. Remark at the startling resemblance a rider displays to his dragon! The scale colours are almost always the same hue, and he or she may share the same temperament, or physical features. They boldly sit astride these enormous savage beasts, as if they were no bigger than a simple cow, riding into the cold sky with them like birds. The Sirens are truly odd!”

  ‘Inside Nelska: A Warning Guide’ by Master Wird

  The sky was clear for once over Krauslung. A few thin wisps of cloud were streaked idly over the crystal blue like the accidental brush strokes of an indolent artist, white smudges over the sinking sun. There was a crisp coldness to the air, the type just after snow, and the people in the streets rummaged deep into their coats and cloaks for warmth. Clouds of breath rose from the crowded citizens gathered around the market stalls and tavern doorways. A distant bell tolled in the harbour of Rós, breaking the stillness of the frozen city.

  Vice watched the crowds milling around from far above. The towering fortress walls of the Arkathedral were sheer, and he could lean out over the window ledge to watch his people rush around bundled up in coats, hats, and thick scarves wrapped tightly around their heads. They looked like mere ants from so high up, Vice thought. A man’s voice broke throug
h his little trance.

  ‘Undermage, the quickdoor is opening.’ A soldier called to him, and the he spun round to face his small group of guards.

  ‘Stand back and give him some room. Get that blanket ready man.’ He waved his hands about and the men hurried to obey him. The soldier holding the thick woollen blanket over one arm stood to the side of the quickdoor and unfolded it.

  Vice stood with the other men half a dozen paces back from the quickdoor and watched intently. The small room suddenly grew hot and sparked with electricity as the tall archway began to hum and shake. A thin haze started to spread across the doorway, rolling and undulating like a thin veil of energy. Several little flashes of light flew across the door and a low rumble came from somewhere deep inside it.

  Without any warning there was a pulse of light and a gust of air that pushed all the men a step backwards. Farden came flying out of the quickdoor backwards and fell heavily towards the floor. The mage threw out a hand to stop himself but he was too late and he crumpled into a heap at the foot of the archway. Farden shivered convulsively and pulled his legs from the portal just as it began to close. He had seen enough men cut in half by closing quickdoors in his time, and didn’t fancy being one of them. The soldier to his left threw a blanket over him and Vice strode forward to help him up.

  ‘Give him some help here,’ he ordered, and the men helped the mage to his feet. ‘Glad to have you back old friend,’ laughed the Undermage. He grabbed Farden’s hand and shook it warmly with both of his. ‘No doubt you have a story to tell me?’

  ‘Just get me some warm wine your Mage, and I’ll tell you any story you want.’ Farden managed to stand on both feet, but his teeth chattered over his gasping words.

  ‘Hah! You heard the man, get him some wine, and some mörd too!’ Vice called to his men and two soldiers ran out of the room.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you to my rooms,’ the Undermage put an arm around the mage and hauled him forward.