Dreamwalker (14 page)

So either she had lied, desperate to lure a mate with promises of more of her kind, or some power he could not overcome protected and hid a group of dragons not a fortnight’s march from where he sat. Not without justification, Inquisitor Melyn considered himself the foremost practitioner of magic in the whole Twin Kingdoms of the Hafod and Hendry. To be met with an obstacle even his skill could not surmount was both a blow to his pride, and more importantly a threat to the security of the throne he served.

Steadying himself, Inquisitor Melyn settled back in his chair and sought the place where he could tap into the power that was all around him. It was a basic skill, one that a novitiate was expected to master in his first few months of training, and yet lately he had been finding it difficult sometimes to get that perfect focus. Was he grown so old now that his mind was slipping away? It was unlikely. More probably he was just distracted by the endless round of petty politics played by the bureaucrats of the Candle. Day by day Padraig built up his power base in the hope that he would be able to steer young Beulah when finally she took the Obsidian Throne. Little did the old Seneschal know that the princess was Melyn’s, body and soul.

Focus, Melyn thought. Let the power flow. Here in the great monastery complex high on the edge of the Rim mountains there was no need to concern himself with city matters. Here he was Grand Inquisitor of the Order of the High Ffrydd. He must use his skill to find this Frecknock. And if she truly was one of a group, hiding out in the forest against the laws of the Twin Kingdoms, then he would not flinch in delivering swift justice to her and all her kind.

Hours passed and the light in the room began to dim, but Melyn did not notice, so intent was he on his task. He tried to rebuild the feel in his mind of the calling, the timbre of that voice and the strange way he had suddenly felt thirsty, reached for his goblet and… what? If he didn’t know better he would have said that another mind had touched his own, undetected. But that was not possible. No one had got the better of him like that since he was a novitiate. Even Andro had never been able to truly walk his mind undetected. Yet now he was uncertain.

Focus. Forget what happened. Try to find Frecknock. Melyn knew the paths he had travelled to get back to her. He retraced his route carefully time and time again, always with the same result. A dead end, a twist in the web would send him spinning back to where he had started. Again and again he tried and with each failed attempt the cold fury that fed his questing grew warmer, the task harder, until he was no more than floating angrily in his own thoughts.

A light knock at the door interrupted his seething irritation.

‘Who is it?’ He asked, flicking the candles into life with a single mental command. At least he could take satisfaction in still being able to perform that small piece of magic.

Instead of an answer, the latch rose and the door swung open. For an instant Melyn was about to strike out at the interloper. Who dared enter his private chambers unannounced. He was on his feet, a blade of light already conjured from his hand ready to deal the fatal blow before he recognised the slight figure of Princess Beulah.

‘Princess,’ Melyn said, lowering his weapon but keeping it alight. ‘You should not come here unannounced. I might have taken your head off.’

Beulah simply smiled, shrugging off her travelling cloak and throwing it to the floor. She was dressed for the road, long leather boots, soft suede trousers and a balloon-sleeved jacket over a heavy cotton shirt laced loosely to the neck. With her straw blonde hair cut short, she could have been mistaken for a tall, slender boy not yet troubled by the need to shave. Only the speckling across the tops of her cheeks might make a man look twice. She took in the room with a slow turn of the head, then crossed to where the empty goblet lay on the floor, picked it up and filled it from the flagon sitting on the table.

‘That’s better,’ she said after taking a long draught. ‘I swear the calling road gets dustier every time I ride it. Now tell me Melyn, what can put my High Inquisitor in such a state that he throws his cup against the wall and would cut the head off the first novitiate unfortunate enough to cross his path?’

Melyn sighed, hefting the blade and feeling the power course along its length for a few moments before extinguishing it with a thought.

‘Dragons, my lady,’ he said. ‘I have reason to believe there is a settlement of them somewhere in the forest of the Ffrydd.’

‘Really?’ Beulah said. ‘Well how splendid.’

‘Not splendid at all princess,’ Melyn said, picking up his chair which had fallen over in his hasty rise and offering it to his guest. When she had sat down he pulled up another chair and settled himself into it.

‘Dragons are dangerous creatures,’ he said. ‘They’re innately magical and if they’re not kept in check they’re terribly destructive. Why do you think King Brynceri founded this order and established the Aurddraig?’

‘But I’ve seen dragons, Melyn,’ the princess said. ‘Back when grandpa was king they used to come to Ystumtuen occasionally to pay him their respects. I always thought they looked kind of sad and pathetic with those droopy wings and saggy scales.’

‘You see only the outward appearance they choose to display to the world, princess. Look here,’ he pointed at the darkened and stained tapestry, now complete with red wine smear. ‘See how the beast really is. That is Maddau, cornered in her lair not far from this monastery. Alone, she nearly killed King Brynceri. If Ruthin hadn’t been near by, our history would be very different; the house of Balwen wouldn’t exist for one thing. To this day, thousands of years later, nothing will grow on the spot where she was finally slain.’

‘You don’t think that time has exaggerated the tale then,’ Beulah said.

‘Princess, don’t mock me,’ Melyn said. ‘I’ve studied these creatures all my life. I’ve seen their true form and I know their deceptions. They’re beasts of The Wolf, an affront to the natural order of things, an accident waiting to happen.’

‘Calm yourself, Inquisitor,’ Beulah said. ‘I’m just teasing. You know I’ve no love of dragons. And if what you say’s true, then they must be dealt with most severely. But you know I can’t do anything until the Obsidian Throne is mine. Have patience for just one more year. Then you can take up arms against your hated dragons.

‘Which brings me to why I’m here. Not that any excuse to get out of Candlehall and the stench of daddy dearest isn’t welcome.’

‘You bear your burden with fortitude, princess,’ Melyn said, noting the rancour with which Beulah spoke of her father. ‘But is it wise to leave the king so long without his protection?’

‘He’ll be fine,’ Beulah said. ‘He’s been better lately. He can go a month without my aid. Perhaps even longer if necessary. A slight lapse about now’d be a good thing anyway. It would show the court that the old man’s health is on the final downturn. There’re many at Candlehall who already believe he’s only hanging on heroically to avoid a regency anyway. They see it as a show of faith in me.’

‘And I’ve no doubt you’ve encouraged this talk at every available opportunity,’ Melyn said.

‘Of course,’ Beulah said. ‘You taught me the art of statecraft, after all, old friend. And it’s a matter of statecraft that brings me here.’

‘Go on,’ Melyn said. Rising, he refilled Beulah’s goblet before retrieving one for himself from an oak dresser beside the door.

‘I’ll reach my majority in less than a year,’ Beulah said. ‘I see no point in hanging around waiting for my father to die. He’ll see the sunset on my twenty-first birthday, but that will be his last. My mourning will, of course, be so much the greater for losing him on such an auspicious date but it’s vitally important that the small faction that will speak out against me find no popular support. So I need to get out of Candlehall and into the countryside, much as I hate it.’

‘You want your people to get to know you,’ Melyn said.

‘Exactly. And now’s the perfect opportunity. The choosing is upon us again. I know Padraig’s tried to exclude your warrior priests from wide areas of the countryside, but I assume you’re not taking that lying down.’

‘Indeed not, Princess,’ Melyn said, surprised and delighted at how accurate her intelligence was. She knew perfectly well what he had planned or she wouldn’t have made the long journey up from the lower lands of the Hendry.

‘So when are you leaving?’ Beulah asked.

‘Tomorrow at dawn,’ Melyn said, looking over to the window. It was pitch black outside now. What had happened to the afternoon and evening? ‘I was planning on an early night.’

‘As long as you didn’t have sleep in mind,’ the princess said, smiling that predatory smile of hers.

~~~~

Chapter Eight

There is no more worthy calling for a young man than to become a novitiate in one of the three great orders. To dedicate oneself to serving The Shepherd, the King and the Twin Kingdoms is the noblest of all lives. But first you must be chosen, and that is no easy thing.

How then can you hope to succeed at the Choosing? There is no practice or set of exercises that can guarantee your success. When the representatives of the orders come on their annual rounds they will test you rigorously on your physical stamina and your mental agility, but they will be looking for a great deal more than that.

To become a novitiate in the Order of the High Ffrydd you must show a tenacity of spirit, a zeal and an innate ability that few possess. Many are the years that the quaisters return empty handed to the monastery at Emmass Fawr.

An Introduction to the Order of the High Ffrydd by Fr Castlemilk

At first Benfro thought that the scream was in his head, so loudly did it reverberate around his skull. But as he pushed himself choking and spluttering out of the cold water, he realised that he was hearing Frecknock through the normal means. And like normal, she was extremely angry with him. For a moment he considered trying out Ynys Môn’s concealment spell, but he abandoned the idea as soon as he heard Frecknock’s voice.

‘You stupid little worm! What in Rasalene’s name do you think you’re doing here?’

Benfro shook water out of his ears and looked up. Frecknock was standing now, staring at him with terrible wrath writ large across her face. The book, candle pot and gourd were nowhere to be seen, although a heavy leather bag hung over the older dragon’s shoulder, bulging squarely.

‘I was collecting herbs, for my mother,’ Benfro said, holding up his own soggy leather satchel.

‘Some story,’ Frecknock said. ‘You were up to no good. Spying on me.’

‘Why would I want to do that?’ Benfro asked with what he hoped was an innocent voice. Bitter experience told him that it was unlikely to work. That Frecknock hated him and always would was one of the few certainties in his life.

‘Who knows what sick little fantasies go on in your tiny brain,’ Frecknock screamed. Yet Benfro could see she was worried. It occurred to him that she didn’t know how long he had been there, nor what he had seen. Perhaps he could play that to his advantage.

‘I was just climbing the cliff. You know, trying to make a bit of fun out of a boring chore,’ he said. ‘This is the only place where I can get this stuff from.’ He delved into his satchel and pulled out a handful of the sticky weed. Frecknock watched him with narrowed eyes but she said nothing and didn’t move from her rock.

‘There wasn’t as much down there as I thought, so I had to come up here for some more. I lost my grip at the top. Sorry if I startled you.’

‘And how long were you hanging there spying on me?’ Frecknock asked.

‘Spying? Me?’ Benfro tried to put on his best innocent face. It never worked on his mother but Frecknock was not so wise, he was fairly sure. ‘I didn’t even know you were here until you started shouting at me. What’re you doing here anyway?’

‘None of your business,’ Frecknock said. She shouldered her bag and leapt down from the rock, wading across the shallow pool towards him. He would have backed away, but he was sitting at the ledge. ‘And if you tell anyone you saw me here, I’ll make you regret it. Understand?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Benfro said, worried. Sitting in a pool of water, bedraggled and still a bit confused he was easy game. His only course of action was to try and appease her. ‘I’m sorry if I startled you.’

‘You will be,’ Frecknock said, towering over him. Her eyes seemed to glow as if there were a candle lit where her brain should have been, and Benfro could feel his head tightening like some great beast had gripped it in a huge talon.

‘You’ve no idea what trouble you’re in. Now look at me, squirt.’

*

The summer lasted long into autumn, one hot sunny day following another in a seemingly endless procession. A bumper harvest had been cut and stored and now the hedgerows were filled with an abundance of berries. Food was plentiful and everyone was at ease.

After a few months of keen learning, Clun had decided that there was more to being chosen by the Order of the High Ffrydd than simply books and coloured patterns in the grass. He had taken to staging mock battles, sometimes just between Errol and himself, sometimes involving all the village boys. Only Kewick’s elite, Trell and a few others, were excluded from these events, although Errol himself would try to slip away as soon as the melee descended into anarchy.