Текст книги "Dragonfly"
Автор книги: Julia Golding
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Chapter 5
From his vantage point on Orboyd's wagon, Ramil had been eyeing the circus horses for some
miles now. He knew that he would have to make an attempt to escape before they left the
mountain passes. He could ride swiftly, use the difficult terrain to his advantage, get back over
the border without being overtaken. The leggy grey at the back of the string looked the most
promising but Ramil had a nagging doubt about the gelding's stamina. He might do better on
that solid-looking piebald, particularly as the first part of the journey would be uphill.
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The only problem was the Princess. She couldn't ride and she would slow him down. He knew
that he had to leave her behind if he stood any chance of succeeding, and yet–
Your duty is to Gerfal, the Prince told himself. And if you want to help the Princess, you 'd do
better escaping to fetch an army than riding blindly into Brigard just to keep her company. He
still felt rotten that he had to make the decision to abandon her. It wasn't very heroic.
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The caravan stopped for the noon meal. Ramil wandered casually over to the horses. He could
feel Orboyd watching his every move so he tried to look as aimless as possible. The piebald
pricked his ears forward and snorted, smelling the horse-knowledge on the human. Ramil stood
forehead to forehead with the beast, searching for that shared peace that was the beginning of
all rider and horse partnerships among his mother's people.
The circus folk and Tashi stopped their preparations for the meal to watch.
"What are you doing to my horse, Your Highness?" Orboyd asked suspiciously.
Ramil stood up straight. "Ever had trick riding in your circus, Orboyd?"
The chief shook his head. "No, but I've seen it down south."
"Perhaps you should think about it. Shall I show you?"
"You, a prince, show us trick riding? Now that I have to see!" Orboyd laughed.
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Ramil shrugged good-humoredly. He intended to display some of the skills every cavalry officer
in Gerfal learned as a cadet. If the circus folk thought these trick riding, that was all right by him.
Orboyd strode forward and untied the piebald. "The name's Flea."
Ramil quickly saddled up and began a warm-up circuit of the meadow where they had stopped
the wagons. It had been absurdly easy so far. No one else was mounted. There was nothing to
stop him galloping away. What he needed now was a distraction.
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"Go on then, Your Highness, show us what you can do!" called Orboyd, watching him with his
hands on his hips. As Ramil completed a circuit, he noticed that the chief had a crossbow at his
feet. Perhaps Orboyd was not as careless as Ramil had thought. He wouldn't get far with a bolt
lodged between his shoulders.
Rising first into a crouch, then into a standing position, Ramil continued to gallop Flea round in
circles. His perfect balance brought a smattering of applause.
That's nothing, thought Ramil. Wait until you see this.
Placing his hands on either side of the saddle, he slowly turned upside down, now riding in a
headstand. Next he rode cross-legged facing
backwards, then hanging upside down under the horse. He was enjoying showing off but all the
while he was alert for his opportunity.
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Suddenly, the display was interrupted by a shout from Gordoc: "Where's the Princess?"
The attention of the circus folk snapped away from Ramil. Orboyd grabbed his bow from the
ground and began firing off questions and orders.
"Where's the witch? Didn't you tie her up when we stopped, you fool? Find her!"
The men scattered in all directions. Ramil couldn't believe his luck: the Princess had provided
him with the perfect distraction. Swinging up to a secure seat in the saddle, he urged the horse
forward and galloped up the mountain road.
"Stop him!" yelled Orboyd, realizing his second prisoner was on the loose.
Ramil ducked. A crossbow bolt whistled overhead and quivered in the trunk of a pine
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tree. He was out of range before Orboyd had a chance to reload.
The road switchbacked steeply up the mountain. Ramil pushed the horse as hard as he dared,
sending stones clattering back down the cliffside. He could see the caravan stranded in the
meadow behind him–the men running about in confusion, hurrying to saddle horses to come in
pursuit of him, others searching for the Princess. He muttered a quick prayer for her protection.
She stood little chance of escape unless she was good at concealing herself, but he could do
nothing for her.
As he turned the last corner to the top of the ridge, a terrified, piercing scream rent the air,
echoing off the mountainside. Startled, Ramil reined his horse to a stop. Down in the meadow
below, a man in scarlet was dragging a girl along by her hair.
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Orboyd raised his eyes to the figure on horseback high up on the road above.
"Prince Ramil," he shouted, "if you take one step further, I'll kill the Blue Crescent witch, I swear I will!" He shook his captive viciously.
Ramil hesitated. He could see his pursuers were closing in, their horses making good speed up
the slope. He had to leave now if he wanted to escape.
Gordoc strode into the meadow, pushing his way past the men who'd
recaptured the Princess. "Give her to me!" he bellowed. "Don't you dare hurt her!"
Orboyd did not take his eyes off Ramil. "Boys, sit on him."
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The three acrobats leapt on Gordoc's back and wrestled him to the ground.
He yelled in fury but could not dislodge them.
"Don't make me kill her, Prince. I'm a peaceful man!" Orboyd shouted. He twisted his fist more tightly in Tashi's hair and brandished his knife.
Ramil closed his eyes and cursed. He'd seen the results of Orboyd's love of peace: two bodies in
the Royal Forest. There was no choice. It was one thing to ride off leaving her to take her own
chance, it was another to be knowingly responsible for her death. He nudged Flea round,
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walking him back down the path. As he did so, four riders galloped round the bend and tugged
him from the saddle. Tying his hands in front of him, they forced him to run behind them back
down the road.
The camp was eerily silent when Ramil stumbled into the meadow. Gordoc was col apsed
against the wheel of his wagon, sobbing. There was no sign of the Princess. Orboyd marched up
to Ramil and struck him hard across the face, still clutching the hilt of his knife.
"I thought we had an understanding! I told you to play by my rules and no one gets hurt!"
"I will not apologize for trying to escape. It is my duty as a prince of Gerfal to make the attempt,"
Ramil said proudly, but his heart was in the grip of fear.
Where was the Princess? Why was Gordoc crying? Orboyd hadn't killed her after all, had he?
"And now I'll be in trouble because I was supposed to deliver you both without damage."
Orboyd cursed and shoved the knife back in the sheath on his belt.
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"What have you done with the Princess?" Ramil's tone was menacing, but he'd never felt more
powerless.
Orboyd ignored him. He turned to the rest of his band. "We're leaving. Hitch up the wagons. As
for you, Prince Ramil, as you have so much energy for escaping, you can walk." He seized the
end of the rope tying Ramil's hands together and lashed it to his wagon. "We'll see after thirty
miles if you still think it a good idea to steal one of my horses."
Tashi's eyes fluttered open and closed again. She was confused, for a moment thinking she was
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back on board the flagship as everything around her was rocking and swaying. She plucked at
her covers and found, not the fine spun woollen blanket off her bed in the royal cabin, but a
matted fur.
Memory came back in painful fragments. Ramil had been showing off on that horse, acting more
like a circus boy than a prince of the realm, but she'd used the distraction to slip into the wood.
Unfortunately, she'd not got far before Gordoc noticed she was gone. Recalling how she had
scaled trees to get away from trouble as a child, she had tried climbing one of the pines by the
roadside. She'd seen Ramil ride by without so much as a look behind him and realized that he
had a much better chance of success than she had.
Still, she had managed to lodge herself up in the branches, hoping it would not occur to the
circus people that a princess would climb trees. But her white dress had given her away. She was
seen almost immediately by the 90
acrobats. They had jumped onto each other's shoulders and pulled her down as easily as
harvesters picking an apple. Then Orboyd had stormed over and started beating her; he
appeared in his anger to have lost all self-control. She thought he was going to kill her. He had
dragged her back to the meadow on her knees, shouted to the Prince to return, then–
Then what?
Tashi touched the bandage on her head. She must have been knocked out.
She didn't know if the Prince had escaped or not. Had he come back or had he ridden on? He'd
probably have gone on, got out of this madness and be well on his way to the border by now.
She wished him luck.
In the grip of a low fever, Tashi lay on the pile of furs. As the miles rumbled by, she watched the
accoutrements of the fortune teller's art sway around her–a glittering ball, a dried snake skin,
hanks of unidentified hair, a string of bones. To her eyes, it seemed barbaric, like something
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from a winter fireside story of witchcraft and evil spirits. Had she fallen into one of these tales?
Had the Mother abandoned her to the evil ones?
Tears leaked from the corners of Tashi's eyes as she tried to remember her prayers. Too weak to
do the ritual properly, she cried her prayer silently as she had done as a child when she'd woken
from a nightmare. But it was no use. The Mother had never felt more distant, more unloving.
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For the next few days the circus wound its way down to the plains of Brigard.
Ramil was exhausted with walking, almost asleep on his feet for much of the time. Orboyd had
stopped speaking to him, appearing to regard the escape as a personal slight on his hospitality.
Mountain scenery gave way to craggy hills, rough grass, and poor pasture. They passed more
people: shepherds with faces tanned like old leather, messengers on fleet-footed horses,
farmers travelling to local markets. Ramil found it odd to see life going on as normal for all these
Brigardians. The locals spared a puzzled glance for the dusty young man stumbling on behind
the lead wagon, but were really more interested in catching a glimpse of the tiger, or seeing the
acrobats limber up. Living in a land under occupation by Fergox Spearthrower's armies, it was
usually best not to ask too many questions.
Ramil noticed that the number of soldiers on the roads increased the further into Brigard they
travelled. He racked his brains to remember the detailed maps he'd seen of this part of the
world. The nearest town of any
significance was Felixholt, a semi-fortified settlement commanding the head of the valley. In
friendlier times, it had been a frequent destination for Gerfalian merchants, but since the
occupation, Brigard no longer welcomed traders from outside Spearthrower's empire. Stuck out
on the northernmost edge of the warlord's lands, Felixholt must be suffering; market days would
now be sad affairs.
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The cart rose to the top of the last hill before the
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valley and Ramil received an unpleasant shock. The pastures around Felixholt were covered with
tents– a canvas city to house an army. He had little experience of warfare but he could tell that
this wasn't just a contingent to maintain the occupation; this was an invasion force. Gerfal must
be next on Fergox's list of targets. Ramil cursed his evil fortune. He now had an even more
pressing duty than escape: he had to get a message to his father–his country had to be warned.
The circus was waved through all checkpoints on the way to the town. It was no comfort to find
that they were expected. As Ramil stumbled nearer, he saw the high stone wall that enclosed
the holt. On the peak stood a nobleman's modest castle overlooking the brick and thatched
dwellings of the townsfolk. Not a grand place, but today a vast imperial flag flapped over the
tallest tower. Staring at the banner with sinking heart, Ramil realized that his assumptions about
the abduction were all wrong. If the flag meant what he thought, the motivation had been
political, not greed for a ransom.
When the caravan approached within a bowshot of the walls, the big wooden gates of Felixholt
opened and a party of some sixty cavalrymen on tough shaggy horses clattered out, forming two
rows on either side of the road. All the soldiers looked battle-hardened, stern-faced, and few
were unscarred. They wore red leather armor and carried round shields and short spears. Many
had long plaited beards threaded with scarlet cord–the sign among Fergox Spearthrower's
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elite troops of the number of heads they had collected in the Empire's wars.
Ramil began to have a clearer idea as to who might be commanding this army. Though his
despair deepened with the knowledge, he stood up
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straighter as became a prince of Gerfal, even a captive one.
The wagons stopped. Orboyd got down and stood bareheaded before the gates, evidently
waiting for a sign before continuing into the town. Then the riders began to thump their spears
on their shields in a steady beat. A single horseman on a magnificent blue roan stallion trotted
down the steep road from the citadel. He was in no hurry, raising a hand to the people hanging
out of the windows to watch, then resettling his gold-trimmed purple cloak over his shining mail
shirt. There was no haste for Fergox Spearthrower because he knew the world would wait for
him.
Orboyd knelt in the dirt of the highway, as did all the circus folk. Only Ramil was left standing.
Fergox reined in his horse ten paces from the wagons and dismounted. He had a sturdy frame,
short grizzled grey hair, and a fighter's face: crooked nose and hard blue eyes. He was clean
shaven, needing no beard with scarlet threads, for everyone knew how many men he had killed
over the years.
"Report, Orboyd. I understand you were successful." Fergox's voice was harsh but penetrating.
Even the soldiers at the back of the guard of honor could hear every word.
"Yes, master. Your spies were able to tell me exactly
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when and where to find them and Gerfalian security was weak."
Fergox smiled, a chilling expression from him. "They have become complacent, thinking that no
one dare strike at the heart of their kingdom.
They will not be so lax again. You've done well." He offered Orboyd his hand to kiss. "The
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spymaster will pay you double for your service to the Empire. But first you must present me to
our guests."
Orboyd bowed himself backwards from Fergox to reach Ramil. He untied the Prince and led him
forwards. Ramil did not resist, preferring to walk with dignity to being dragged before his
enemy.
Fergox shook his head and tutted. "What's this, Orboyd? Why is Prince Ramil ac Burinholt
tethered like a bullock to your wagon? That is no way to treat royal blood."
"But, your lordship, he tried to escape–"
"I expected no less of a prince." Fergox regarded Ramil with approval. "Still, perhaps it was as well to punish the cub."
Ramil clenched his fists. A prince of Gerfal, a cub? Fergox spoke as if the ac Burinholts were
already under his dominion.
Fergox gave Ramil a curt nod in greeting. "Prince Ramil, I have ordered suitable quarters to be
made ready for your accommodation. We have much to talk about but doubtless you would first
like to rest yourself after your journey."
Ramil had to speak. "No, I first demand to be
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released. There is no war declared between Gerfal and Holt. Bringing me here as a prisoner–
abducting me in my own lands–these are scandalous acts, unworthy of a noble. I demand–"
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"Tush, tush!" Fergox waved Ramil away as if he were a bothersome child having a tantrum. "We are beyond all that now, surely you realize that, Prince Ramil? Seizing you was my declaration of
war. There will be time enough to discuss all this later." He turned away from Ramil, dismissing
him.
"But what of the Princess? Where is she? You did bring her, didn't you, Orboyd?"
The circus man tugged at his collar. "I did, sir, but she hurt herself when trying to escape."
"He lies," Ramil said angrily. "He beat her senseless."
Fergox's face darkened.
"That's not it at all," Orboyd protested, rushing to excuse himself. "The boy didn't see anything.
You know, sir, what these Blue Crescent infidels are like, so cunning, so wicked. The witch used
her spells to slip away and . . .
and fell out of a tree."
"Where is she?" snapped Fergox.
"In the wagon over there," Orboyd said quickly. "She's received the best nursing from us despite her evil ways and is nearly fully recovered."
In an ill-humor now, Fergox slapped his gloves into his hand and strode over to the fortune-
teller's wagon. He leapt up the step at the rear and threw the canvas aside. Light streamed into
the darkness, striking a mass of golden hair spread out on a shabby sheepskin.
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Tashi woke abruptly to see a dark figure of a man silhouetted in the entry.
She raised herself on an elbow, trying to make out who it was.
"Gordoc?" she asked hoarsely. It had been hours since anyone had given her water.
The man kicked the furs aside and knelt beside her. It wasn't Gordoc, or anyone from the circus.
He was a complete stranger, but he was looking at her with intense blue eyes. Then he reached
out, touched her hand and raised it to his lips.
"My little Tashi," he said, letting her hand fall gently back onto the covers.
Tashi's heart gave a wild skip of joy. He knew her true name. "Have you come to save me, sir?"
He nodded. "Yes, I've come to save you. This whole journey has been merely a step on the path
to your salvation."
Tashi lay back on her bed, feeling at peace for the first time in months. "The Mother sent you.
She hasn't abandoned me," she whispered.
The man shook his head. "No, not the Mother. She is a blasphemy; she does not exist, just a fair
mask put on by evil powers. You are deluded and misguided but soon all that will be behind
you."
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"No," gasped Tashi, hugging the covers to her chest. "That's not true!"
She flinched as he ran a finger down her cheek, his expression hungry. He must have been a
demon sent to tempt her to despair. Her fever could not yet have broken; this was a horrible
dream.
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"Rest, Princess, there is much you must do for me. I need you well and looking your best." He nodded, pleased with what he saw. "My Tashi. My agents chose well for me when they had you
elected."
He jumped back out of the wagon, letting the canvas fall back into place.
Tashi touched her cheek, the skin still burning where he had caressed her.
How did he know her name? What did he mean when he said that his
agents had chosen her? She was chosen by the Goddess, by the priests of Kai, not by a man from
the East with a cruel mouth.
The wagon trundled up the cobbled streets. Tashi could hear the jingle of bridles, hooves, and
people shouting in the streets.
"Come see the Prince!" they called.
She closed her eyes. So Ramil had not even managed to get away. Could the boy not do anything
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right?
"Orboyd's caught a witch too!" someone shouted.
The cry was taken up and passed from house to house. "A prince and a witch! A prince and a
witch!"
Tashi lay quietly on her bed, thankful that she was hidden away. She couldn't understand how
these people confused her beliefs with witchcraft.
Where she came from, witches were said to dabble in dark powers, exerting their will over
others to harm them. But she had touched no one, barely spoken, tried to be as self-effacing as
possible and yet still they said these terrible things about her. What had she done to deserve it?
The wagon drew to a halt and the canvas side was lifted.
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She sat up to find Orboyd standing over her. It was the first time she had seen him since he had
struck her and she could not repress a shiver of fear.
"We're here," he said curtly. "Gordoc, carry her inside."
Her one-time protector made the wagon creak as he clambered aboard. He knelt beside her,
reached to touch her hair but stopped himself.
"I'm sorry, little one, I broke my word. I didn't stop them hurting you," he said sadly. "But come now, here we part. Let me carry you inside. You'll be well looked after from now on."
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Tashi caught a glimpse of Ramil being led into an archway in the castle courtyard as she was
taken through a doorway on the opposite side. Gordoc followed an old maid up the spiral
staircase to a room at the top. The woman unlocked the door and ushered them into a
comfortable bedchamber, a copper bath already full of water in front of a fire. The hangings
were rich but, to Tashi's Blue Crescent eyes, too loud and busy, depicting the confusion of the
hunt and war. They clamored from the wall like a fanfare of trumpets, not the subtle whisper of
the silks hanging in her chambers back in Rama.
Gordoc placed her in an armchair.
"Farewell, Princess," he said with a bow.
"Thank you, Gordoc. You've been . . . been kind," Tashi said, sorry to see him go. When he was around, she had always been sure of having someone to speak up for her, even if he couldn't
protect her.
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Gordoc bowed again and shuffled out, leaving her alone with the maid. The woman was
watching her nervously.
Tashi sighed. "What's your name?" she asked, used to the hostile stares of these Easterners.
"Mergot," the woman said, adding no "my lady" or "your highness." Tashi let it pass.
"And who is your master, Mergot?"
"Lord Gunston, but that weren't him you saw earlier." Mergot began to unbutton the back of
Tashi's filthy white shift without so much as a "by your leave."
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Tashi resigned herself to this treatment. Clearly she was expected to bathe and hopefully
change into some fresh clothes. She felt weak but had no objection to the plan, so she allowed
Mergot to continue.
"So who did I speak to earlier?" She had thought him a demon conjured up by her illness, but it appeared he was flesh and blood, which was far more terrifying. Shakily, Tashi took Mergot's
arm and stepped into the bath.
"Only Lord Fergox Spearthrower himself, him that's going to save you."
Mergot's voice was proud.
Tashi had been preparing herself for bad news, but this was far worse than she had feared. The
Emperor himself! What price would he demand from her people for her return? "But I don't
need saving by him–I need rescuing from him."
Mergot laughed as if Tashi had just cracked a joke. "He said you'd be confused. He told me you
weren't really evil, not like the other three witches.
That's why
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I offered to look after you when none others wanted to. They said you'd curse them, but you
won't spell an old woman like me, will you?"
"I know no spells," Tashi replied quietly.
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The maid clucked sceptically and poured a basin of hot water over Tashi's hair. With rough
fingers, she washed away the dirt of the journey. The bathwater was filthy by the time she had
finished.
"There now," Mergot said, wrapping her in a towel and drying her like an infant. "You're to rest tonight. Our lord will see you tomorrow, he said, if you're strong enough."
Too exhausted to argue, Tashi nodded, pulled on the clean nightgown and climbed into the bed.
Mergot bustled round the room for a few more minutes, then left, carrying off Tashi's dirty
clothes in a bundle. The sheets smelt sweet; the bed was warm. Tashi heard the key turn in the
lock, then fell asleep.
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