she said. Not a dragon I’ve ever heard of, I have to admit. But as to her mistress, that’s far more revealing. She is the dragon portrayed in this carving.’ Usel pointed to the great rock face. ‘Earith, favoured of the Shepherd. Gifted with the powers of healing. In human guise at least she is the founder of our order. Her existence as a dragon is … troubling to those who would see dragons as mere beasts.’
Dafydd began to ask how that could possibly be, but he was interrupted by shouts from behind and above. Whirling he saw Captain Pelod and his guards charging towards their little group, potent blades shining in the gloaming and eyes filled with bloodlust. On the ridge above them sailors appeared with crossbows, and before he could say anything the air was full of ill-aimed bolts.
‘Hold!’ Dafydd threw all of his will into the command, reaching out to everyone he could see. His voice echoed around the narrow valley end, bouncing off the rock wall and seeming to amplify with each repeat. A flock of brightly coloured birds clattered into the air from the nearby trees with squawks of alarm. The attack stopped as if it had run into an invisible wall. Pelod looked for a moment as if he had been slapped, and an unnatural quiet descended on the scene.
‘What were you doing?’ Dafydd asked as the guards extinguished their blades.
‘We saw the beast attacking you.’ Pelod’s words were uncertain, as if he was no longer quite sure what he had seen.
‘She was doing nothing of the sort. We’re in no danger from this dragon.’ Usel turned away and said something
to the startled creature in its own language. Dafydd felt something brush his mind, like the touch of King Ballah, and then he understood her words.
‘There is much to learn about this world into which I have stumbled. It is a place where men are cruel and wield the subtle arts with a brutality I’ve rarely seen. But you, Prince Dafydd, have shown me kindness. I shall not forget it.’
For a fleeting instant Dafydd felt something of the dragon’s thoughts. She was old, far older than he could conceive. And she had seen much, felt joy and sadness through her long life. He caught glimpses of a world where dragons wheeled and turned in the sky, as numerous as crows, as elegant as eagles. Then that connection was broken, leaving him feeling flat. Merriel daughter of Earith bowed once to the small party, then stepped back and away from them. Dafydd knew what she was about to do and, still holding Iolwen’s hand, he pulled his wife away.
‘Come, Usel, you’re in her way,’ he said, and the medic looked startled as if he were a little boy caught dreaming during his lessons.
‘What?’
‘She needs room. Come.’ Dafydd walked over to where Captain Pelod was standing at the head of his men. ‘It’s all right, Jarius. She means us no harm. Quite the opposite, indeed.’
Opening her wings wide to the last rays of the evening sun, the dragon took a couple of steps forward and sprang into the air. The wind washed over them as she passed, bringing with it the spiced scent of the nearby treetops. Once, twice, she wheeled around the valley,
gaining height all the while. And then, with a haunting cry that filled Dafydd with melancholy, she sped off towards the horizon.
‘Fly, beast. I know you can. Now fly.’
Benfro felt the sting of a whip across his back as he lumbered around a large oval ring formed by the parked circus wagons. He couldn’t quite understand why he was running, why he didn’t stop and turn on the hateful man standing on a wooden crate in the middle of the ring. Something wasn’t right in his mind. He could think, and feel the rage building up in him, but he couldn’t stop his body from doing what it was told.
‘Up, I say. Up, beast.’ The words were punctuated by nips from the sharp metal point worked into the end of the whip. Benfro knew it well. Every evening for over a week he had been forced to endure this humiliation.
Dafydd began to ask how that could possibly be, but he was interrupted by shouts from behind and above. Whirling he saw Captain Pelod and his guards charging towards their little group, potent blades shining in the gloaming and eyes filled with bloodlust. On the ridge above them sailors appeared with crossbows, and before he could say anything the air was full of ill-aimed bolts.
‘Hold!’ Dafydd threw all of his will into the command, reaching out to everyone he could see. His voice echoed around the narrow valley end, bouncing off the rock wall and seeming to amplify with each repeat. A flock of brightly coloured birds clattered into the air from the nearby trees with squawks of alarm. The attack stopped as if it had run into an invisible wall. Pelod looked for a moment as if he had been slapped, and an unnatural quiet descended on the scene.
‘What were you doing?’ Dafydd asked as the guards extinguished their blades.
‘We saw the beast attacking you.’ Pelod’s words were uncertain, as if he was no longer quite sure what he had seen.
‘She was doing nothing of the sort. We’re in no danger from this dragon.’ Usel turned away and said something
to the startled creature in its own language. Dafydd felt something brush his mind, like the touch of King Ballah, and then he understood her words.
‘There is much to learn about this world into which I have stumbled. It is a place where men are cruel and wield the subtle arts with a brutality I’ve rarely seen. But you, Prince Dafydd, have shown me kindness. I shall not forget it.’
For a fleeting instant Dafydd felt something of the dragon’s thoughts. She was old, far older than he could conceive. And she had seen much, felt joy and sadness through her long life. He caught glimpses of a world where dragons wheeled and turned in the sky, as numerous as crows, as elegant as eagles. Then that connection was broken, leaving him feeling flat. Merriel daughter of Earith bowed once to the small party, then stepped back and away from them. Dafydd knew what she was about to do and, still holding Iolwen’s hand, he pulled his wife away.
‘Come, Usel, you’re in her way,’ he said, and the medic looked startled as if he were a little boy caught dreaming during his lessons.
‘What?’
‘She needs room. Come.’ Dafydd walked over to where Captain Pelod was standing at the head of his men. ‘It’s all right, Jarius. She means us no harm. Quite the opposite, indeed.’
Opening her wings wide to the last rays of the evening sun, the dragon took a couple of steps forward and sprang into the air. The wind washed over them as she passed, bringing with it the spiced scent of the nearby treetops. Once, twice, she wheeled around the valley,
gaining height all the while. And then, with a haunting cry that filled Dafydd with melancholy, she sped off towards the horizon.
‘Fly, beast. I know you can. Now fly.’
Benfro felt the sting of a whip across his back as he lumbered around a large oval ring formed by the parked circus wagons. He couldn’t quite understand why he was running, why he didn’t stop and turn on the hateful man standing on a wooden crate in the middle of the ring. Something wasn’t right in his mind. He could think, and feel the rage building up in him, but he couldn’t stop his body from doing what it was told.
‘Up, I say. Up, beast.’ The words were punctuated by nips from the sharp metal point worked into the end of the whip. Benfro knew it well. Every evening for over a week he had been forced to endure this humiliation.
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