Dragons and Destiny (30 page)

James had no
desire to see any workplaces, interesting or not.

“If you don’t
mind sir,” he said, “I’d prefer not.” Indolent by nature, James had
decided that a lazy day in the comfort of his present surroundings
was the preferred occupation.

Philip had
other ideas.

“You can go to
the horse fair if you’re not planning anything else,” said Philip.
James hid a groan. The weather outside was inclement to say the
least and a trip to the fair would take the entire day.

“Well?” asked
Philip, a warning note in his voice and James bowed to the
inevitable.

“Yes sir.”

“Good. You’ve a
good eye for horses. I want you to get another two, one riding and
another pack-mare. You know what we are looking for. Reserve them
and I’ll go along and pay for them tomorrow.”

“Yes sir,”
repeated James with false brightness though his thoughts were
lightening as he thought about the challenge. The day might not be
so bad after all, the rain might clear and perhaps a few
candle-marks spent at the fair would be better than being cooped up
all day inside a building.

“The day after
tomorrow I’ll take the day off and we’ll go for that sail round the
lake. I’ve been told the weather will be brighter then,” said their
host, “you did say you were going to the museum tomorrow?”

Philip
nodded.

“Can we come
too, the boat trip I mean?” asked an excited young voice from the
end of the table where the children sat. It was Matt and Zala’s
eldest, Mathieu.

“All of us,”
promised his father, “a day off from your studies won’t harm you
for once.”

Blissful sighs
and grins of pure delight!

“I’ll sort out
a picnic,” their mother said.

“Now we’d best
be off,” said Matt, “the carriage will be at the door before we
know it. Those coming with me best get ready. Tala?”

“We’re going by
omnibus,” she said, “they pass by the bottom of the hill every half
bell. I know your carriage is big but it’s not an expanding
one.”

“And you,” said
Zala, turning to the children, “had better get yourselves off to
school or you’ll be late.”

There was a
general scrimmage as everyone rose from the table to prepare for
the day although Mathieu did so with some reluctance. He had taken
quite a shine to James and had been hoping for an invite to go with
him to the horse fair. Like James as a boy, he was no student.

“Never mind,”
whispered James to him as the left the dining salon, “don’t push
your luck. It doesn’t pay. I’ll show you my sword this evening and
might even let you hold it.”

Mathieu went
off to school, partly mollified.

A day later the
weather remained dull and wet. Philip was glad they had made
arrangements for the museum visit. For all James’s words and
theatricals about enjoying lazy days he was apt to get restless if
cooped up inside and a restless James was not an easy James to have
around.

* * * * *

The curator of
Stewarton Museum enjoyed taking foreign visitors on conducted
tours. Unofficially, these well-to-do young men, often accompanied
by their tutors or family retainers would give the curator a tip as
a reward for his time. The salary the curator earned was not a
large one and he had a family to support.

Thus he
approached the group who had arrived in a suitably deferential yet
knowledgeable manner and asked if the young gentlemen would require
his services.

“Yes we would,”
answered Derek. “How much?”

The curator
shrugged, a clear indication if one was needed that there was no
set fee.

Derek
understood and brought from his belt pouch a silver florin and
added another.

The curators
eyes gleamed bright as stars, “for that young sir,” he said, “I
will give you and your friends my
special
tour.”

“Great,” said
Elliot with a thanking glance at Derek, “where do we start?”

“At the
beginning, it’s in the room here on the left” the curator answered.
He indicated the open doorway with a wave of his hand. “We have a
lot of memorabilia from our earliest days on Rybak and some from
before. We can look at that first then we can move on to the area
devoted to our Lind friends if that is your wish?”

“It is,”
affirmed Elliot.

He led Elliot,
Derek and Philip, with a reluctant James at their heels, through
the red door way into a long narrow room with display cabinets on
either side. It was lit from above via large skylights and as
Elliot was quick to notice, the objects would even be able to be
seen when it was dark outside because of the lighting bars,
electric lights Robain had called them, set high on the walls.
Stewarton was connected to the hydro-electric plant up in the
hills, the only one on the continent so far.

“This cabinet,”
began the curator, “houses our oldest home exhibits except those
directly relating to the Lind. The items we brought with us are
housed through the archway at the far end of this room.”

“Can we see
them too?” asked Elliot.

“Don’t see why
not, they’re on open view, they’re not a secret, few visitors want
to look, they’re not interested. That’s why they’re tucked
away.”

“Strange,”
mused Elliot.

“Many of them
are incomprehensible to us,” the curator explained, “things which
don’t work any more.”

They walked
down the narrow aisle looking in the cabinets and asking the
curator questions. He could answer every one and explained each and
every one in great detail, much to everyone’s enjoyment but James
who would have preferred a much quicker tour.

“This,” he said
impressively, stopping before a portrait of a young woman with an
abundance of curls framing her elfin face, “is Tara Sullivan, the
very first human to bond with a Lind. She and her Lind Kolyei were
authors and their books are still read today and this,” he pointed
to an old, yellow-paged book sitting open in a nearby cabinet, “is,
we believe, the original handwritten copy of volume one of their
Tales of Rybak
.”

“I’ve read it,
a jolly good read.” Elliot knew the stories well, copies of which
were kept at the palace library. He was enjoying listening to the
curator. The man had a well modulated voice that was pleasant to
the ear. “What else did they write?” he asked, regarding the
yellowing pages with an admiration bordering on awe.

“They completed
the first dictionary of Lindish. The original is in our archives,
it’s in a bad condition nowadays so it’s not on general display in
case the light damages it more than it is damaged already. The
dictionary had been updated since, naturally, the university here
has a Lind language section.”

“What’s that in
the next cabinet?” asked Derek.

“Some of her
possessions, though we cannot be a hundred per cent sure of their
provenance. The wooden box for instance, could have belonged to
anyone though it isn’t a native wood so it did come with the early
settlers. The coin too, see the wolf’s head on its face? The sword
we know was definitely hers and the helm too. They were left to her
son and came here to Stewarton with his son. It was left to the
museum, very small in these days, in his will.”

“A fighter as
well as an author,” marvelled Elliot, looking at the well-used
sword.

“She and Kolyei
fought in two battles,” continued the curator, encouraged by the
interest Elliot was expressing and expanding on his more usual
spiel. “At the Battle of the Alliance she was only thirteen. Later
they fought with distinction at the Battle of Trumpet Keep when the
Larg tried to overrun Vadath.”

Elliot was
reading the synopsis of her life-story that was affixed to the
wall.

“I would have
liked to have met her. Are there any of her descendants living?” he
asked.

“Absolutely,
mostly in Vadath but also in Argyll and Murdoch.”

“In
Murdoch?”

“Not many
people know this,” the curator told his wide-eyed audience, “but
the royal family of Murdoch is descended from Tara Sullivan.”

“Tell me more,”
commanded Elliot.

“I’ve made a
study of her,” the curator confided, “I’m hoping to write a book
about Tara and Kolyei one day though I’m still at the information
gathering stage.”

“Please tell
us,” begged Elliot.

“It was in the
middle of the second century, when the direct line of the king
failed and the crown went to a woman of Vadath.”

“Queen Anne,”
breathed Elliot.

“Yes. Her
husband was one David Crawford, a direct descendant of Tara and her
husband Peter Crawford.”

All four of the
visitors were amazed and half-inclined to disbelieve his story but
as the man continued to talk, even James found himself
listening.

“I don’t
suppose the royal family there remember it now,” said the curator
half to himself, “it’s so long ago.”

They do now
old man
, thought Elliot, determined to read the book when it
was printed.
I wonder if I could actually pay for him to write
it? I must ask Father when I get home.

“What is that?”
asked Philip, trying to hide Elliot’s embarrassed confusion,
pointing to a battered instrument in a cabinet a few steps further
along.

“That is the
trumpet that blew during the Battle of Trumpet Keep,” answered the
curator. “It called for help and help came. It was silver once but
most of the silver has been rubbed away.”

Elliot wasn’t
listening, his eyes strayed back to the portrait. He felt drawn to
it, this distant, very distant ancestor. Her eyes seemed to beckon
him closer.

As they were
leaving the museum, Elliot asked if he could look at the portrait
again.

He stood gazing
at it for a considerable time, so lost was he in his thoughts that
he did not hear the light footsteps that heralded the approach of a
woman.

He jumped when
she spoke.

“She was
beautiful was she not? Not in the classical sense, I’ll give you
that but there’s something compelling about her.”

“She was,”
Elliot agreed.

“She was called
the ‘First Child of the Wolf’.”

“Who was the
second?” asked Elliot jokingly, not believing that the woman would
know.

“Her name was
Kath, but she’s not famous like Tara.” Brown eyes gazed at Elliot.
“You’re not from around here.”

“No,” admitted
Elliot, “I’m from Murdoch.”

“Kath was my
ultimate grandmother,” said the woman and she smiled.

Weird
,
thought Elliot as after a last glance at the portrait he left the
narrow room and made his way to the entrance hall where the others
were waiting.

He thanked the
curator for a wonderfully interesting tour as they all took their
leave, “and I’d like to read that book of yours when you get it
finished. If you write as good as you talk it will be a good
one.”

He spoke with
an air of unconscious authority and left the curator with a firm
resolve to get down to writing from rather than the contemplation
of his notes.

The excursion
on Lake Stewart the day after their visit to the museum was all
that they could have wished for. The rain did not fall and a weak
winter sun shone in the clear sky.

It was a day
full of fun and laughter and one that they all remembered during
the days that followed. The children had to be called to order
again and again as they ran with glee round the deck, making the
most of the unexpected holiday.

James and
Elliot ran round with them, forgetting their almost adult status
and behaving more like seven year olds than seventeen year
olds.

“Let them be,”
laughed Matt when Zala would have called them to order. “Enjoy life
when you can is my motto but I don’t want anyone overboard,” he
warned. They were marginally more careful after that.

Tala and Robain
stood under the awning on the port side as the latter gave her news
about her family.

Philip and
Derek stood on the starboard side, discussing the worrying
situation that was developing at home. “He’s safer here,” Philip
argued, “away from all the intrigue, especially if it
is
Prince-Duke Xavier who is behind it.”

“But to try and
kill his own brother. His nieces and nephew.”

“He’s never
been a trustworthy person.”

“They can’t
find out definitely that it was he who was behind the attacks?”

Philip shook
his head.

“Suspicions
only. Security has been stepped up. Whoever it was won’t find it so
easy again.”

“Prince-Duke
Xavier?”

“On his
estates. He hasn’t visited his town-house for months which is
suspicious in itself. Winter Court hasn’t been called. I think the
King is holding off. His illness is getting worse. I’m going to
keep Elliot here for the time being. Matt Urquhart was talking
about the impending elections last night at dinner. I’m going to
use that as the excuse I need. It will be good for Elliot to see
democratic processes in action.”

“Watch out
young one.” Philip cried out as Mathieu cannoned into the railings
beside him. “You’ll be over the side if you don’t!”

Mathieu grinned
and scampered off.

“Its good to
relax,” continued Philip, “even for the day and to see everyone
having so much fun.”

“It is,” agreed
Derek.

There was
nothing to fear, here on the boat. Philip felt relaxed, totally
relaxed for the first time since they had left Vada, despite the
news from home.

If he had known
what events were lurking on the horizon he would have been a
nervous wreck, but Philip was no seer.

* * * * *

AL607 - Third
Month of Winter (Lokthed)