Alys Clare - Land of the Silver Dragon

As he stood in the doorway, he turned back to me and beckoned. ‘A word, Lassair.’

I wondered what he wanted to say. I got up and followed him outside.

My father turned to face me. ‘You should go back to Cambridge,’ he said. ‘You’re due back with your teacher round about now, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. My father’s suggestion was making me feel very guilty over my thoughts of that morning, when I’d been longingly imagining being back with Gurdyman. ‘But what about poor Morcar?’ my conscience made me ask. ‘He’s grieving, and there’ll be the funeral to endure, and-’

‘Edild and I will look after Morcar,’ my father said, quietly but with the sort of tone that informed me it was not my place to take the discussion further. ‘You will return to your studies in Cambridge tomorrow. We’ll go to Lord Gilbert first thing in the morning, and I’ll ask his permission to take you.’ He fixed me with a stare. ‘I will not let you go unprotected, Lassair.’

Part of me sang with joy, despite the dreadful circumstances. The prospect of a day alone with my beloved father was a rare treat. But then I wondered why he was suddenly so eager for me to return to Gurdyman.

Anticipating the question, my father looked down at me, his eyes full of love and concern. ‘My daughters and my sisters,’ he said, repeating his earlier words. ‘Of them all, the most precious is you, child.’ It was, I well knew, an admission he had never made before and would never make again; torn from him, I’m sure, by the emotion of the moment. ‘How can I keep you safe here?’ he demanded, his voice raw and angry. ‘I work all the hours the good Lord sends, and so do you, and I am not close enough to protect you if he … if danger comes. Yet in Cambridge, according to Hrype, you live in a house so well-hidden that even he occasionally has trouble finding it.’

‘It’s a wizard’s house,’ I said softly. ‘I expect concealing it comes easily to someone like Gurdyman.’ I didn’t think my father heard; if he did, he did not acknowledge the remark. It was, I expect, implicit of things he didn’t really want to think about.

‘You’ll be safe in Cambridge,’ my father reiterated.

He was right. Without being aware of the details of how it was achieved — I wasn’t sure I wanted to know — I was quite certain, beyond any doubt, that no bearded stranger, even a giant one, would be able to harm me once I was under Gurdyman’s roof.

The fact that my father was apparently aware of this, too, suggested that perhaps he thought about arcane and magical matters rather more than I’d imagined.

Early the next morning, my father and I presented ourselves up at Lakehall. Lord Gilbert’s reeve, Bermund, greeted us — if opening the big door the merest crack and peering out with a look of deep suspicion qualifies as a greeting. Bermund may be secretive and withdrawn, unsmiling and a bit rat-like in his appearance, but he’s reasonable. Once my father had explained our presence, Bermund had a think, sniffed, then nodded curtly and opened the door a little wider. ‘You’d better come in,’ he said with obvious reluctance. ‘I will enquire whether Lord Gilbert is willing to receive you.’

I did not dare meet my father’s eyes, and I’m sure he felt the same. After a moment, Bermund returned and, without a word, jerked his head in the direction of the big hall. Lord Gilbert sat at a large table by the hearth, alone, a muddle of tattered and much-handled pieces of vellum spread out in front of him, a quill in his hand and ink all over his fingers. He looked up at us with a smile, as if any distraction from his task was welcome.

‘Good morning, Wymond!’ he exclaimed. ‘Eels thriving?’

‘They are, my lord,’ my father replied gravely.

Lord Gilbert turned to me. ‘And, er …?’

‘Lassair,’ I prompted.

‘Lassair, Lassair, yes, Lassair,’ Lord Gilbert said enthusiastically, perhaps hoping that repetition would at last commit my name to his memory. ‘Our apprentice healer!’

At least he recalled my profession. ‘It is time for me to return to my studies in Cambridge, my lord,’ I said quickly, capitalizing on the moment. ‘With your permission,’ I added respectfully.

‘Of course, of course,’ Lord Gilbert responded. ‘The more you know, the more use you are to your own community. Eh, Wymond?’ He turned to my father.

‘Indeed, Lord Gilbert,’ my father said. Then, his face intent, he went on, ‘My lord, I have come to ask your leave to escort my daughter to Cambridge. There have been certain attacks on members of my family, and I am concerned-’

‘Yes, yes, so I hear,’ Lord Gilbert interrupted. ‘Bermund has kept me informed, and I had half-expected you to come before now, Wymond. I am always here, when my village faces a threat!’

It was true, I reflected. Up to a point.

‘There is nothing I would ask for, my lord, except this one concession,’ my father said. ‘I would not risk my daughter’s safety by making her travel unprotected from here to Cambridge.’

‘And nor shall you,’ Lord Gilbert said grandly. ‘You have my permission to escort her, Wymond.’ Turning to me, he wagged an inky finger. ‘Take care that you work hard, child, so that you repay our faith in you!’

I bowed my head, pretending meekness, and muttered, ‘Yes, my lord.’ I kept my head down; I didn’t want Lord Gilbert to see my expression. I did not need a bumbling fool like him to tell me to work hard. Gurdyman would not give me the option of doing anything but my best, and the most vital stimulus of all was my own hunger to learn.

My father dug me in the ribs, and I managed a sincere-sounding, ‘Thank you, Lord Gilbert,’ as we turned and hurried out of the hall. Once we were out of the courtyard and on the track leading back to the village, my father leaned down and said quietly, ‘No need to antagonize him, Lassair. You and I both know you are a great deal cleverer than him, but there’s no need to tell him.’ I heard a smile in his voice, and glanced up to verify it. ‘Our masters hold the ordering of our days in their hands, be they worthy of the responsibility or not,’ he continued, ‘and there is nothing we can do about it. Be thankful, child, that Lord Gilbert has a wise wife, and enough sense to listen to her.’

My father was right, as he usually is. Lord Gilbert’s wife is Lady Emma, and I’m sure I’m not the only resident of Aelf Fen who appreciates that it is she who is responsible for the good things that happen to us. She agreed with my aunt when Edild suggested I should be trained as a healer; I’ve never known if Lady Emma spotted some latent talent in me, or if, knowing and trusting Edild, she was prepared to take her word for it. The latter, I suspect. Then, when the chance arose for me to study with my Cambridge wizard — not that anyone except Hrype, me and Gurdyman himself would refer to him as such — I’m all but certain it was Lady Emma who pointed out to Lord Gilbert the advantages that my new knowledge would provide for their family and the village.

It’s just as well, I suppose, that in addition to hinting at magic so potent that it makes me shake with fear, Gurdyman also instructs me on more practical matters. I like and admire Lady Emma, and it would not feel right to deceive her.

My father and I were back in the village. I ran inside our house to bid farewell to my mother, then I picked up the bag containing my few possessions. My father took it from me, swinging it up over his shoulder as if it contained no more than a handful of feathers. He gave me a smile. ‘Ready?’

Excitement bubbled up in me. ‘Ready!’

The day was fine, the going was easy, and we made good time. We picked up a ride for the long stretch that runs south-east of the Wicken peninsular, and, by the time we stopped at midday to eat our bread and cheese, there were only a few miles to go.