INTERROGATIONS Chapter 13

Dragonblade

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Interrogations

    ‘So this book. Where is it now?’ Jane kept her voice low and even.
    ‘All in good time, Jane.’
    ‘I think this is a very good time. Is the book here in these caves?’
    ‘No. Sadly.’
    ‘In the castle then? Under lock and key?’ She paused. Robert had become very still. A cat watching a bird. Jane knew the look and had trained for such encounters. She had been forced to use that training quite recently when out collecting wild berries with Jester. They had come across five men camped not far from the castle, traders on their way to the market. The men had circled them, all smiles and laughter, holding out a sample of produce to prove their story – a flagon of ale.
     Jane had laughed along with them, and passed the flagon around, assessing each man in turn as he took a drink. Which to take out first? Every group is a creature, Jane, cut off its head and it will flail about blindly. It had been foolish of the men to give her an earthenware flagon. It was hard to draw a blade in a tavern, and Jane had watched Sir Ivon use a flagon to great effect in many a brawl.
     ‘Yes,’ said Robert, ‘I believe the book is in the castle.’
     ‘And you think I know where it’s hidden?’
     ‘Do you?’
     ‘Why does this matter to you?’ 
     ‘Finding the book was my father’s quest,’ Robert’s eyes glittered in the firelight. ‘I have made it mine.’
     One of Sir Theodore’s many instructions returned like a whisper. Never give in to panic, Jane. For deer, it serves them well, they need be faster than one of their herd, but a warrior is the hunter. If a hunter gives in to panic, they become the prey. Jane rehearsed her next move. Her dagger was tucked into her waistband. She would roll to her right, pull the blade, and spring up. 
     ‘Let me guess. Your father was an adventurer. He was learning all he could about dragons, sifting through folklore and myth to find the real truths behind the stories.’
     ‘In part, yes.’
     ‘To learn of their weaknesses? Every part of a dragon was held to be valuable.’
     ‘That was the common wisdom.’
     ‘So that is why you drew me here,’ said Jane, ‘you need my sword to kill Dragon.’
     ‘I had that when you fainted. I gave it back to you.’
     ‘You did,’ Jane waited, watching for a flicker of distraction she could use. 
     ‘I know that look,’ Robert sighed. ‘You’re about to attack me.’
     ‘Yes.’ Jane pushed up with her left hand, threw a handful of dust at Robert’s face, rolled, leapt up, drew the dagger from her waistband and launched herself at him. She wrapped an arm around his head and held her blade to his throat. 
     ‘You really are hard work, Jane. Do you know that?’
     ‘Staying alive takes hard work.’
     ‘More borrowed wisdom from the noble Sir Theodore?’
     ‘No. Gunther, surprisingly.’
     ‘We take our lessons where we can. Now, please lower the knife, it’s time to show you the reason for bringing you here.’
     ‘Not yet,’ Jane tilted his head further back. ‘I want to know more. Much more.’  
     ‘Very well,’ Robert closed his eyes as if gathering his thoughts. When he opened them again, he looked tired, even vulnerable. ‘More plain-speaking?’
     ‘Yes.’
     ‘I need to win your trust.’
     ‘To what end?’
     ‘Two reasons. Firstly, I need your help to find something that’s of great significance to us both.’
     ‘Let me guess. The book?’
     ‘Yes, Jane. The lost book of your Scholar King.’
     ‘It doesn’t exist. I would have come across it, I’ve had access to the royal library my whole life. No one in court has ever spoken of such a book.’
     ‘Nevertheless, it exists, he paused, ‘would you take you blade from my throat?’
     ‘No. This book, why to you want it?’
     ‘To honour my father, and to better understand him. He died when I was ten. He was searching for something he held to be more important than his family. He sought to know the truth about dragons so that he could fulfil his pledge to protect them. Ask Sir Theodore, they made that pledge together. This is his story to tell.’
     ‘I will. You said there were two reasons.’ Jane lowered her dagger, got to her feet and stepped away from Robert. He didn’t move. 
     ‘Yes. I wanted to see how connected you are to your dragon.’
     ‘Connected?’ Jane circled back round the fire so she could study his face.  
     ‘You didn’t come upon him by chance, did you? You sought him out.’
     ‘Dragon swooped down on the castle and took the Prince up to his cave. I rode up there and rescued him.’
     ‘I’m familiar with your ballad,’ Robert stared into the fire. ‘Some aspects will be true, no doubt. While others will be embellishments added by the countless singers who have told your tale.’
     ‘What you choose to believe is of no concern to me.’
     ‘On the contrary, Jane. What I choose to believe might be of great concern to you. You established a bond with your dragon. You have become friends. All that is clear to me, and is of no consequence. What is not clear, is whether your dragon chose you.’
     ‘Chose me?’
     ‘Yes.’
     ‘Chose me for what?’
     ‘I don’t know, and that is my problem – and yours.’ Robert rose to his feet. ‘I think your dragon has befriended you without knowing why. Everything about the two of you is wrong, it doesn’t fit with the way these things have been done for countless centuries. He might have chosen instinctively, or he might have done it as a temporary measure, a convenience. None of this is clear to me. I profess profound confusion,’ 
     'True friendship is never confusing.'   
     'To a child perhaps. For adults friendship is a hard won transaction.' Robert spread his arms and began to circle the fire towards her. ‘I came here to test you. I came to find out if you really are the chosen companion.’
     ‘Companion?’
     ‘Yes. Are you his chosen companion, or has a terrible mistake has been made?’
     ‘Why do you care? Why does any of this matter to you?’
     ‘Because my father believed that destiny fell to me. Not to you.’
     ‘So you mean to steal him. To have control over him.’ Jane took a step forward, closing the gap between them. ‘Well Dragon is not a horse to be tamed!’
     ‘I know. Pease set aside your training, and you blade, and trust your instincts.’
     ‘No.’ Jane held the dagger out and let him step up to it. Robert stopped as the tip touched his tunic. What happened next, neither Jane nor Robert could remember with any certainty. Whether Jane had pushed him away, or Robert had stepped backwards himself, the result was the same. He had stepped into the fire and his boots were alight.
     ‘Woah!!’ Robert threw himself on the floor, slapped at his boots till the flames were out. He sat back and stared at the tendrils of smoke curling from the leather. ‘First your dragon tries to set me alight. Now you!’
     ‘Are you hurt?’
     ‘Burnt hands,’ he waggled his fingers. ‘I should wash them. I have provisions over by the wall.’ He set off across the cave. Jane picked up the flaming branch and followed.
     ‘Tell me about my dagger. You knew it was concealed in the dragonblade.’
     ‘In your sword, yes. A dragonblade is something else entirely.’ Robert squeezed himself through a line of stalagmites that stretched across the cave like bars on a window. ‘You will see one very soon, as I promised.’
    Jane followed through the gap. The walls at this end of the cave were covered in runes, and the floor was littered with debris. There were broken shards of pottery, whole storage jars, and pieces of armor. Jane glanced round at everything, her eyes settling on the pieces of a broken egg. A very large egg.
     ‘A dragon hatched here. Is this what you brought me to see?
     ‘In part, yes?’
     ‘And the dragonblade?’ She glanced around at the scattering of armor. ‘Where is that? I see no blade.’
     ‘It’s here, nevertheless.’ Robert pointed to a saddlebag propped against the far wall and raised his burnt hands. ‘There’s a bag of water in there, would you mind?’ Jane set the torch into the ground, took out the water and poured it over Robert’s hands.
     ‘Thank you. And some to drink, too?’ Jane tipped the bag to his mouth, then drank herself. She stoppered the bag, dropped it on the pack and put her hands on her hips.
     ‘So! Now, explain why this is not from a dragonblade?’ Jane held up the dagger and stared at it. ‘I know the ballad. Every child does. And my blade fits the description.’
     ‘Which ballad?’ Robert smiled. ‘There are so many. Which version was sung to you? Was the blade carved by a thunderbolt that struck a mountain of crystal?’
     ‘No. My mother sung a very different story.’
     ‘Sing it for me.’
     ‘Sing it? No, the ballad is long and tedious.’
     ‘I should still like to hear it.’
     ‘Hmm,’ Jane closed her eyes, letting the melody play in her head. ‘I remember some of it.’ She kept her eyes closed, and began to sing it aloud.


       A bitter dragon, lost in grief,
       Cursed a younger dragon thief.
       Sick of heart and sick of mind
       He sought to end his dragon kind.

       Dragonblade oh dragonblade,
       This is when the sword was made.

       With his raging dragon breath
       He forged the tools of dragon death.
       These dragonblades, he gave to man,
       So they might end his dragon clan.

       Dragonblade oh dragonblade,
       This was how the sword was made.

       This is what the creature said:
       ‘Bring me every dragon head.
       Every severed skull I hold
       Will bring its weight in dragon gold.’

       Dragonblade oh dragonblade,
       This is why the sword was made.

     ‘That is early in the ballad,’ Jane opened her eyes. ‘From there it is a tedious description of how each dragon meets a colourful and ridiculous end.’
     ‘Yes,’ Robert laughed. ‘That is a popular one. A mix of greed and betrayal with not a single hero in sight. There are more. The true tale is very different, and not for the ears of children.
     ‘So tell me.’
     ‘See it for yourself. Your dagger, or one like it, was used here, in this cave. The purpose of your dagger is written here, not in the runes on the walls but in the scattered remains of the dragon egg.’
     ‘A dragon hatched here. Obviously.’
     ‘Obviously. What else?’
     ‘It was raised here, these pots and... Oh!’ The realization struck Jane like a shaft of daylight. ‘A grown dragon can’t get in here. The egg was brought in by a shortlife,’ Jane held up her dagger. ‘A shortlife opened it with the only blade sharp enough.’
     ‘Yes. My father came to believe the daggers were designed for this singular task, too cut open the egg and release the dragon chick.’
     Jane closed her eyes as a long-lost memory came flooding back, a childhood memory of watching the king and his huntsmen returning from a trip to the forest. Their trophy was hanging across the lap of one hunter, a dead deer, killed by an arrow to its neck. Then Jane had seen the second wound, a slice in the deer’s belly where the creature had been cut open. Riding beside the huntsman, the king had a new-born fawn cradled in his lap, a tiny thing, freshly cut from its mother. Jane looked up at Robert.  
     ‘Then my long blade, the one that houses this dagger. That must be for cutting open the dragon’s belly?’
     ‘I can’t be sure, but yes, I think so.’
     ‘Why? To what end!?’
     ‘There you have it! That is my question. I believe the answer lies in the lost book of your Scholar King.’
     ‘So if my sword and its dagger are not the dragonblade, what is?’
     ‘A Dragonblade is the person who carries them.’
     ‘A person?’
     ‘Yes. That was my father’s obsession. He was preparing me for the role.’
     ‘He believed you were the Dragonblade?’
     ‘Yes. Now I’m faced with the unhappy notion that he was wrong, and that true Dragonblade for the only remaining dragon we know to exist, is you.’

     Sir Theodore finally had Dragon’s full attention. How Jane managed to interact with this creature every day without being driven to distraction was a marvel to him. They were standing together on the turret above Jane’s room. It was the one space in the castle grounds where Sir Theodore would come to meet Jane in private, an open roof where all approaches were visible and difficult conversations could be conducted with discretion. There had been many such conversations during the years of Jane’s training. Now here he was with her dragon, a creature not suited to discretion.
     ‘So, Dragon. Tell me, is she safe?’
     ‘Hard to be sure. I told her not to trust him. Would she listen? No! Stubborn as a buried splinter. Into the cave she went.’
     ‘Describe the man?’
     ‘Excuse me.’ Dragon sat back on his hind legs, and folded his arms. ‘One teeny point of social order here. I am not yours to command, Creaky Legs!’
     ‘True, but Jane is. So describe the man, or I will ban Jane from patrolling with you for ten days.’
     ‘You ARE a leader. Impressed! Let me think,’ Dragon closed his eyes and pictured Robert. ‘I only saw him for a moment as he dived into the cave. Long hair, very black and twisted like rope.’
     ‘I see,’ Sir Theodore frowned. ‘That will be the young forester Jane bested in the tavern. What did he want?’
     ‘No idea. The cave was too small for me to follow. Jane asked me, very politely, to come back, and inform you.’
     ‘You left her, knowing her to be in danger?’ Sir Theodore studied Dragon’s face. Since Jane had first befriended this creature, every day had delivered a new insight. Watching them grow together had been a confusing privilege.  
     ‘Danger, yes. Not from the shortlife. Danger from information. What might she do when she finds out the truth about dragons? I want to know everything, but…’ Dragon twiddled his fingers,’ …I also want things to stay the way they are.’
     ‘Nothing does. Every passing moment is a gift, replaced by the next. I suggest you embrace this time you have with Jane. It may never come again.’
     ‘Is this what happens when shortlives get ancient and creaky? They blabber a lot of nonsense?’
     ‘In part. Mostly we get short of temper and stick a sword into whatever irritates us. You have delivered your message. I suggest you go back and see her safe return?’
     ‘Suggest? You do this very well.’ Dragon turned away and leapt into the air. 
     Sir Theodore set off for the main keep. Neither of them paused to glance through Jane’s window. If they had, they would have seen Jester dropping his head onto his chest in despair. He had arrived there from the tavern just moments before. The ale had given him the courage to search Jane’s room in the ridiculous hope she might have left a note. The decision had put him in the one place where a conversation on the turret roof could be overheard.
     ‘Oh Jane!’ His feeling were a mix of intense relief to know she was alive, and a selfish anxiety that she was with the good-looking young forester with the black braids and smile. Then, try as he might, Jester could not hold back his tears. 
     For the next few hours he made several attempts to dry his eyes and leave the room. Each time he only made it as far as the door. Then he was back sitting on the edge of the bed, his chest heaving.
     ‘What’s happening to me?’ He understood some of it. The overwhelming relief on hearing that Jane was alive. The gut wrenching jealousy that she might be enjoying the company with the good-looking forester. These reactions he could understand. But there was another layer, a churning anxiety he couldn’t put a name to, a sense of foreboding and disorientation. The bedrock of his life was becoming unstable in ways he couldn’t express. What WAS this feeling?
     ‘Enough!’ Jester thumped a knee with his fist. ‘This is what I do. This is the one thing in all this world I am good at – finding words to make sense of everything.’
     So, what was it? He looked around, taking in the room, Jane’s room, a place so familiar he could walk it blindfold. He knew where everything was, every token, trinket, and treasure Jane had collected since she had moved in here at the start of her training. Except! He frowned at the mantle above the stone hearth. It was half empty. Where was the wooden candlestick? Where were the toy guards?
     He pulled himself up and searched the room. He opened the oak chest at the foot of Jane’s bed. All the things Jane treasured were in there, the touchstones of her life, all packed away into a box of memories.
     This was at the heart of it. This was the source of his fear, and it did have a name. Change. This home he had come to love, this gentle kingdom tucked away in the far corner of a turbulent world, was waking up from a long and intoxicating dream. 
     Time in Kippernia moved at a modest pace. The kingdom was a backwater, little affected by the raging torrent that drove the rest of the world into such giddy action. Now Haroldus had breached the dam that kept that world at bay. Jester could feel a cresting tide of change thundering toward them. He was being swept up by it. They all were. He crossed over to the window. This was the wellspring of his tears. He was grieving for a world that would soon to be washed away, and his dreams along with it.