Alys Clare - Land of the Silver Dragon

Beneath the heavy hood, my eyes filled with desperate tears. With my arms bound to my sides, I could only just manage to lift a hand up to wipe them away.

After quite a while, there was a gentle thud, as if the boat had bumped up against a jetty. Then I was lifted up and passed from one pair of arms to another, and I felt myself being carried up. Up a ladder? Oh, but supposing the person carrying me slipped, or dropped me? I gave a whimper of fear. Then I was laid down once more, this time on something woolly which had a faint smell that confirmed it was a sheepskin.

Presently the sounds of rowing started again. They had, I guessed, just transferred me from a small boat to a larger one.

Time passed. I wasn’t sure how long; it seemed an eternity. At some point, one of the abductors came and put something soft beneath my head. Unless they were particularly cruel, and lulling me into feeling safe when I was far from it, then it looked as though they did not mean me harm.

Not yet, anyway.

I began to feel cold. Either the sun was going down, or we were somewhere in deep shade. I rather thought the former; I seemed to have been on the boat for ages. Someone put a cover over me. I explored it with my fingertips. It was heavy, and it felt like stiff, coarse wool. It stank, but nevertheless I was grateful for its warmth.

Then I sensed a change in the boat’s movement. Our progress over the water had been smooth and not very fast, accompanied by the sound of the oars, but now the boat was rocking, and whoever had been rowing had stopped. It was hard to be sure under the sacking hood, but I sensed that there had been a great change in our surroundings. It felt very much as if a small, contained waterway had given way to something altogether bigger …

After quite a long time, someone approached me and I sensed him crouch down by my side. Then the hood was removed. I took a deep breath of fresh, moist, salty air, and turned to look at my abductor.

He was huge.

He was staring at me intently, his light eyes unblinking. His hair was long, thick and reddish-fair, reaching down below his shoulders. On either side of his face, two plaits hung down, braided with leather thongs. A broad band, consisting of precisely woven strands of different-coloured leather, was bound around his brow. His beard was luxurious, and redder in colour than his hair. He was dressed in a deep blue, sleeveless tunic, bordered at the neck, hem and cuffs with bands of embroidery in a copper colour. Beneath it he wore close-fitting breeches. His feet were bare.

I was very much afraid that I knew who he was.

His face was expressionless, giving me no clue as to what he was thinking. Or what he wanted with me, although I was trying hard not to speculate on that. He drew my eyes and all my attention, and it was with an effort that I looked away from him to see where I was.

I was on a ship, just as I’d thought. It was long and extremely graceful, its narrow prow and stern flaring out to a broader mid-section. I was lying in the stern — above me and to my right, I could see a big man holding the end of what I assumed was the steering oar; and in front of him, on the gunwale, I made out the rowlocks. But nobody sat at the oars now; there was no need.

From a tall mast in the middle of the ship billowed out a huge, rectangular sail, which effectively blocked my view of the front of the craft. A steady wind filled it. With a gasp of horror I pushed myself up so that I could see over the side of the ship.

We were out on the open sea, and the distant land was no more than a low, dark line. Beyond it, the sun had set, going down in a spectacular display of red, pink and gold.

I forced my shocked brain to concentrate. The land was to my left, with the sun going down behind it, so that was west. And that meant we were sailing north. Sailing very fast, in fact, for a strong south-westerly wind was blowing hard and, with the sail angled to receive it, our craft was flying over the waves, sending silvery-white plumes of spray high in the air.

Shocked into protest, I turned back to the bearded giant and screamed, ‘What do you want with me?’ I paused for breath. ‘ Where are you taking me? ’

His lips spread in a grin, revealing white, even teeth. ‘You will find out,’ he said. His voice was rich and deep, and he spoke with a heavy accent. I knew that my language was not his mother tongue.

He leaned towards me and I shrank from him, terrified. Instantly he put up his hands in the universal gesture of peace, pulling back again. He began to speak, in words I didn’t understand, then stopped, frowning in thought. He tried again. ‘I will untie,’ he said, indicating with a nod of his head the ropes still wound around my upper arms. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. I was totally bemused. He had clearly seen that I was frightened, and he seemed to be asking my permission to approach me. Yet he and his crew had abducted me! It made no sense.

Unless — I shivered as the ghastly thought took hold and became the truth — unless they needed me alive and well. Because this red-bearded giant who had come among my kin to search and to kill had not given up at all. Instead, having failed to find whatever he was after by direct means, he now intended to force the location of the thing he sought out of a family member.

That family member being me, and I had absolutely no idea how I was going to answer him.

He was close to me now, reaching his long, powerfully muscled arms around me to untie the knot that secured the rope. His hair brushed my face, and the dying sun set alight the thick red highlights among the blond. I could see individual strands of hair, like fine, bright copper wires.

My mind appeared to have collapsed beneath the strain. Here I was, alone on a speeding ship heading the good Lord above knew where, with four — no, five, six — big, burly men. One or more of whom was about to inflict some awful sort of pain on me in order to make me tell them something I didn’t even know, and all I could think about was hair .

He had unwound the rope and now he sat back on his heels, coiling it neatly. He was staring at me, and I felt he was concentrating as hard on me as I was on him.

I took a quick look at the darkening water stretching out on either side of us. The black line of the land seemed further away now. Then I returned my eyes to him. ‘Where are we going?’ I repeated, this time in a whisper.

Something was happening to me. I was feeling dizzy, and the first stirrings of nausea were beginning, as if I’d eaten a bad piece of fish. I swallowed, and that made it worse.

‘Look at the horizon,’ he said.

I must have appeared confused. He pointed one huge arm out over the vast, empty sea to the east. ‘Set — put your eyes to a — a steady point that does not move,’ he said, halting here and there as if searching for words that I would understand.

I twisted my head to look out beyond the tall figure of the man at the steering oar. Too fast: vertigo hit me hard, and it seemed as if the whole world was spinning around me. I felt the first rush of vomit come burning up my throat and into my mouth.

Perhaps he guessed it would happen. Perhaps it always did, when people were out on the open sea for the first time. Anyway, he was ready. Even as I retched, he had a leather bucket held ready under my mouth. As the convulsions continued, I felt a strong, warm hand placed firmly on my forehead. With the other hand, he pulled my hair back and out of the way.

Presumably, I thought, before the suicidal misery of seasickness drove everything else out of my head, he preferred his prisoners not to stink of vomit when he interrogated and tortured them …

Someone gave me a cup of cool, refreshing water when I’d finished. I batted away the big hand that held it — I could not tolerate the thought of swallowing even a drop of water, since I knew I’d bring it straight up again — but the hand was insistent.