Dragons and Destiny (16 page)

“I’m afraid so.
I need to know that we’ve got them all or if we need to go hunting.
Think you can do that for me? I don’t want to ask the younger ones,
they’ve been through enough already. So’ve you for that
matter.”

“I cin dae it,”
said Franz in a sturdy voice.

“Good lad,”
said Niaill, patting him on the shoulder.

The First Ryzck
and additions set out for Douglastown three days later, the bandits
who had survived strung over the horse’s backs. They had found over
twenty of the beasts in a corral in an offshoot from the
valley.

Franz rode one
of these horses. The other boys were riding pillion behind vadeln.
Niaill had Hansel behind him, mindful of what Franz had told him
the previous day.

“Hansel sor,”
Franz had said. “He’s that desperate tae ride a Lind sor. He’s been
talkin’ ‘bout nothing else since ye came and before then too, back
hame. Crazy ‘bout the Lind, allas was. Never did want tae mine. Ye
couldn’a, ye couldn’a take him with ye when ye go back tae
Vada?”

“I’ll see what
can be done,” said Niaill in a guarded voice, not wanting to
promise anything he couldn’t deliver. “What age is Hansel?”

“Don’t rightly
know, a year or so younger’n me.”

“About twelve
then, looks younger. Does he have any family?”

“He disn’a I’m
sure sor, all his family were at Rocksprings. He’s on his own
now.”

: Not for
long :
said Taraya
: if I’m any judge :

Niaill started.
Taraya was famous for knowing which human youngsters were likely to
bond with one of her kind.

: Ok , I’ll
bring him with us even if it means I have to apply for legal
guardianship :

: Right
decision :

* * * * *

Elliot

The state
visits had been, thought Elliot, as he stared morosely out of the
rain-streaked window, as mind-numbingly boring as he had expected.
Elliot had been introduced to a raft of island nobility and gentry
and if it hadn’t been for the thought of adventures ahead might
have rebelled days ago. The irreverent and witty comments of James
Cocteau and to a lesser extent those of Derek Merriman (just as
witty but seldom irreverent), had helped.

Elliot sighed.
He didn’t think he wanted to be a prince any more.

“There’s a
limit to how many interesting yet diplomatic things I can talk
about,” he complained to James.

James made
sympathetic noises, but there was little he could do to help. It
was Prince Elliot the nobles and gentlefolk came to see.

“Only three
days to go,” he said, trying to get Elliot to look on the bright
side.

Elliot’s face
brightened then sank once more into despondency. “And the evenings.
Tonight will be the worst of the lot.”

James was hard
put not to agree with his friend. A huge banquet was being held
that evening followed by a ball, one to which anyone who was anyone
had been invited. Tonight rich merchants, their wives and
landholders of a certain status would be amongst the throng of
people eager to talk to him and more importantly, to be seen
talking to him.

Elliot took a
sip of watered wine and continued with his morose woolgathering. He
looked out of the window. The shutters were half-closed, a storm
was imminent and he was determined to look on the black side.

Earl Ronald had
informed him that morning that a storm from the east was on its way
and Elliot had made the unpleasing discovery that such storms often
lasted a tenday or more so James’s comment that there were only
three days to go had only reminded him that he might be here much
longer.

“We could be
here for ages yet,” he complained, “and I’m bored to the teeth. I
wish the Earl would include me in these meeting he has with Baron
Ross.”

“Baron Ross
does appear to be in his company a lot,” admitted Derek who was
sitting in a corner reading a book of poetry. “I say,” he observed,
“some of these poems are rather good.”

“Who is the
author?” asked Elliot but without much interest.

“Tara
Sullivan,” answered Derek.

“The Argyllian
poet?” queried Elliot. “My tutors didn’t think much of her.”

“She came from
Vadath,” corrected Derek. “She was the same woman who wrote Tales
of Rybak.”

“Really?”
Elliot had enjoyed these.

“The very one,
or two if you want to be pedantic about it. The authors in this
volume are down as Tara Sullivan and her Lind Kolyei.”

That got
Elliot’s interest. Elliot, like many other young Murdochians, was
fascinated by stories about the wonderful Lind of Vadath.

“A Lind,” he
breathed. Elliot wanted very much to meet a Lind. He had only once
seen a Larg and that far in the distance. “I’m so looking forward
to getting to Argyll.”

“Hold on to
that thought during the days ahead,” advised Derek, “it might make
the waiting that bit easier.”

“What about
reading us one of the poems?” suggested Elliot, “and if you would
lend me the book when you’re finished with it Derek?”

The older lad
chuckled. “If you like, this poem is rather interesting. It says in
the footnote that Tara Sullivan wrote it when she was only
thirteen. It’s about the Lind, might help you to get an insight as
to what they’re like.”

“Read it to
me,” commanded Elliot.

Derek sat up in
his chair and began to read. He had a well-modulated voice and the
light poem had a cadence to it that suited his style. Elliot
listened enthralled.

“‘
Twelve
children set out for the west that day,

Confused,
bemused, yet happy and gay...

...But we
Children of Wolves will live on and shout,

With resounding
voice, all eight will chant out.

We’ll fight to
live with thee and thine,

Free in the
land which now is mine.

Be still, my
rtathen.’”

Derek’s voice
stilled.

“Do you think
it’s true?” asked Elliot of Derek.

“Don’t see why
not, subject to poetic licence of course.”

“What’s true?”
asked a voice from the door.

Baron Philip
Ross walked over to where James and Elliot were sitting. “Sorry
I’ve been so long but Earl Ronald had a great many questions about
a great many things.”

“What sort of
things?” asked Elliot, poem forgotten for the moment. “I wish I’d
been invited. A few juicy affairs of state would help dissipate the
boredom.”

“You can come
along tomorrow if you like,” was Philip’s instant response, “I’d be
glad of the company. Today we were talking about the problems of
extracting good-grade ore for metal-working. Tomorrow we are to
discuss the technicalities of hydro-electricity and if it would be
possible to introduce it to certain areas.”

“Hydro what?”
asked Elliot.

“I’ll send some
background information to you,” promised Philip with twinkles in
his eyes, “and you can lead off the meeting tomorrow.”

“Em … er…”
Elliot hadn’t considered that he might actually have to do some
work in preparation for such meetings.

Philip Ross
laughed, bowed to Elliot and left.

“His sense of
humour is certainly on the black and quirky side,” James noted. “At
least it’ll cure you of some of the boredom you were complaining
about.”

Elliot gave
James a dirty look. “I’d rather go for a ride. Let’s go James, now,
so when the notes Philip said he’d send round arrive I won’t be
here.”

“In that wind
and rain? I’d rather be excused Elliot,” answered James. “Fact is,
I
will
be excused. I vote you read the thing, it might be
interesting, you never know.”

“And reading it
will mean that tomorrow at the meeting you won’t appear a complete
ignoramus in front of Earl Ronald,” added Derek from the corner.
“He’s got the reputation of being an intellectual, very clever and
well read too.”

Elliot most
certainly did not want to appear like a stupid young boy in front
of the Earl. He bowed to the inevitable and agreed to read Philip’s
notes.

* * * * *

AL607 - Fourth
Month of Summer (Sanrhed)

Hilla

Part of officer
training with the Garda was instruction in how to behave at social
gatherings. Not all those in training came from wealthy families.
Some, like Hilla, were tradesmen’s sons and daughters.

Accordingly, at
set points during training, dances and dinners were arranged to
which young ladies and young gentlemen of a certain social standing
in society were invited. These were very popular in the Settlement
area and not a few young Juvenis and Senis ended up marrying
someone they had met at one of these occasions. The Trainees were
however, prohibited from actually tying the knot during their two
years of training but once they were gazetted Coronet that was
different.

Some families
(especially ones with a large number of daughters) went so far as
to take a house in the area in the hopes of catching one of the
young bachelor officers or trainee officers. Others took rooms in
one of the many inns and hotels in the town.

For the Juvenis
Staticum their first such occasion was scheduled for the first day
of the month of Sanrhed. The order had been posted on the notice
board a tenday before.

Hilla wasn’t
thrilled at the prospect. The Second Staticum Trainees had told
their juniors what to expect.

Classes had
been held teaching, as Dolvin called it, “all of us ignoramuses how
to behave decently and in good order and to observe all niceties of
polite society.” Hilla thought Dolvin had described it to a
tee.

Jen was looking
forward to the evening but Jen came from an old military family
with land, lots of land in mid-central Argyll. The Durands were one
of what were recognised as the ‘old’ families, their family name
dated back hundreds of years and did not change from generation to
generation like Hilla’s did. Hilla’s surname was Talansdochter,
meaning, quite literally ‘Daughter of Talan’. Unlike Jen, Hilla
couldn’t trace her family back beyond three generations.

Jen was used to
banquets and dances.

“These evenings
are great fun,” she insisted.

“I’m
terrified,” Hilla confessed.

This evening
was not to encompass a formal dinner; a buffet had been prepared
and there would be dancing throughout the evening. The Trainees
were expected to make polite and witty conversation with their
guests, their seniors and each other.

The four female
Juvenis Trainees helped each other into their dress uniforms for
the first time. Male and female jackets followed the same basic
design. They were dark blue and were tailored to fit. The uniform
looked good on the tall and lanky Jen and the slim Hilla but not so
good on the other two who had more curvaceous figures. Under the
jacket the four wore a long straight matching skirt that came to
their ankles and was worn with plain black low-heeled shoes. First
Staticum Trainee uniforms had no decoration on them whatsoever,
even the buttons were cloth covered in matching blue (officers wore
shiny brass and very rich officers were wore of gold). Male
Trainees wore skin-tight birches and knee-length boots. Second
Staticum Trainee uniforms had a single white strip sewn on to their
collars to distinguish them from their juniors.

“Ready?” asked
Jen and led the way to the Mess from which Hilla could hear strains
of music, the band of the Heavy Cavalry.

“Stay by me,”
Jen advised.

“This is so
nervous-making,” said Hilla as they approached the door. “I don’t
think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. We get marked on
this.”

“Just be
yourself,” advised Jen who couldn’t wait to divest herself of her
cape and enter the fray. She loved to dance, the quickstep, the
foxtrot, the waltz, even the military two-step.

Hilla on the
other hand was in a state of trepidation concerning the dancing.
The village dances at Dunetown didn’t dance those types of dances,
preferring the country ones like ‘Mhairi’s Wedding’ and ‘The
Squire’s Son’.

Many trainees
would consider such occasions as being very ‘infra dig’ but Hilla
had enjoyed them.

She handed over
her long uniform cape to the mess-man at the door and entered the
long room.

Hilla wrote
about the evening to her sister Zilla some says later:

‘
Dearest
Zilla,

Thanks for your
lovely long letter…

…
Zilla,
you’d have loved it, the colours, the music, the dancing. And the
colours. The dark blue of the infantry, the dark green of the
cavalry, the blue of the navy, the white-jacketed mess-men and
women, the ladies in their colours and even two maroon uniformed
Vada. I felt a bit awkward at first. Most of the females were
wearing ball-gowns (Jen says she’s got some like them at home) and
as there are only four of us girls in the Juvenis Staticum and
three in the Senis Staticum and we all felt a bit at a disadvantage
trying to compete with their splendour.

However, I
needn’t have worried. Numbers were fairly even, I suppose the
invites were worked out and we had plenty of partners. We were
given a dance card and potential partners had to write their name
in the dance they wanted.

As you know my
dear sister, I’ve never been much of a dancer though I do enjoy it.
Remember the mess I made at the village bop last winter and how
angry the rest of the set were? Well, I’ve managed to master the
dances called the waltz and the quickstep (it’s name tells you
all), enough anyway not to fall over my own feet and trip everyone
up. The foxtrot is harder which is strange because although the
steps are almost the same as the quickstep it is much slower.