Land of the Silver Dragon by Alys Clare Page B

her.
    Buoyed up, exhilarated by my new confidence, I moved on along the deck, beneath the huge, full sail. In front of it, I spotted a small rowing boat, upturned and lashed to a thwart. It was, I guessed, the means by which the abductors had transported me from the narrow fenland waterways out to the ship. I went on towards the front of the ship. There were, indeed, crewmen up there, and they were sharing out food.
    It was probably my hunger that made me take in that fact first. Then, in the same instant, I saw what reared up behind them and screamed.
    The long, spiked neck of a dragon rose into the clear morning sky, soaring up, up, to the high, proud head, reddish in colour, the fierce mouth spouting a blaze of flame, the pale, wide eye staring out intently over the sea ...
    Somebody laughed, and as I unfroze from my terror, I saw what I should have seen instantly: this was not a real dragon, but a beautifully carved figurehead, up there above and in front of the ship, bravely leading the way through whatever perils the sea cast at it. At
him
, I corrected myself instantly. While the ship was undoubtedly
she
, the dragon could be nothing else but
he
.
    The red-haired giant was beside me. The morning sun shone on his bare head, and in that bright, early light, he looked more fair than auburn. He was smiling. ‘Behold, Nidhöggr,’ he said, pointing up at the dragon. Then, frowning in thought, he added, ‘In your tongue, Malice-striker.’
    A deep shudder went through me. Malice-striker. The name of the ship I had twice seen in my visions. And now here I was, on board the very same vessel.
    I tried desperately to ground myself, absorbing the good, solid wood of the deck planks beneath my feet; the feel of the fresh salt-tasting wind on my face. As the dream world receded, and I saw with the eye of reason, I understood that the craft on to which my abductors had brought me was subtly different from the vision ship. Lean and graceful though she was, the vision ship had been shaped like an arrow, and shields had been positioned along both gunwales. My vision ship was, without doubt, a war ship. Whereas this craft was ...
    I spun round to the giant. ‘What do you call this ship?’ I demanded.
    â€˜Malice-striker,’ he repeated, grinning again, as if in amusement that I appeared to have lost my wits.
    â€˜No, I mean, what sort of ship is she?’
    â€˜Ah.’ He nodded in understanding. ‘This is what we call a knarr. A ship for carrying goods, people, horses, cattle – anything that has to be ferried over the sea.’ He reached out a big hand and patted the gunwale behind him. ‘Broad and strong, high-sided and robust, the knarr is built to be reliably seaworthy.’
    A knarr, I repeated silently. This Malice-striker was a cargo ship. In that case, there must have been a predecessor that shared her name. In a flash of intuition, I knew I was right. Gathering all my courage, I forced myself to look the giant straight in the eye and said softly, for I wanted only him to hear, ‘She is not the first ship to bear the name.’
    His expression of astonishment gave me a brief but intoxicating moment of proud joy. He had captured me, bound me, made me his prisoner and was now speeding away with me on his ship, to God only knew what destination and for a purpose I didn’t even dare guess at. It was high time I struck a return blow, if only the feeble, pointless one of taking him by surprise.
    He recovered very quickly. Grabbing my arm, he led me a few paces away from the avid eyes and ears of his crew. Leaning down to speak right into my ear, he hissed, ‘How do you know that?’
    I pulled my arm out of his grasp, rubbing at it. There would be five little bruises there later. ‘Because I saw her predecessor,’ I said, forcing a calmness I was far from feeling.
    Violently he shook his head, as if by so doing he could negate my statement. ‘It is not