by Linda McNabb
**
It’s time to go, a voice rumbled through Logan’s dreams, and he opened his eyes. At first he wondered where he was, but the memory of their quest so far quickly came flooding back.
A few minutes later they were flying south in the darkness. The moon had long since sunk beyond the horizon, and Logan did not dare risk drawing his short-sword for fear of dropping it. The air was so cold it caught painfully in Logan’s throat as he breathed, and the wind whistled past, stinging at his face. For the first time in his life, he was almost pleased it was dark, since he knew they must be going incredibly fast and he would feel sick if he could see the ground rushing past below them.
The sun began to rise to their left as the mountains shrank away below them and stretched out into the moors that led to their home. The king’s castle stood out starkly with its white stone and red tiled roofs.
Where do you want me to land? Silverhorn asked.
‘Zared’s cottage is near the dragon farm,’ Alyxa said. The netting of the farm stood out almost as much as the castle.
The white dragon, who was more of a pearly grey colour in the daylight, snorted loudly at the sight of the dragon farm but did not comment. Within a few moments they were landing in the front yard of Logan’s home and he slipped from the dragon’s back. A blue dragon was sitting out on the street, with a royal messenger standing beside it. As they landed, the messenger looked in amazement at the white dragon, then mounted his dragon and flew off in a hurry. Logan knew that meant the king would know of their return in just a few minutes, but Logan had other things to think of right now. Zared.
The curtains of the cottage were open, and Logan opened the door, expecting to see his master still sitting at the table where they had left him yesterday morning. But the chair was empty.
‘He’s not here.’ Alyxa pushed past him, checking the other rooms. ‘Where would he be so early in the morning?’
He is nearby, a low rumbling voice replied, and they all turned in surprise to see that the white dragon had shrunk down far enough to follow them inside the cottage. He has left his staff behind. He won’t go far without it.
‘What staff?’ Logan asked, frowning and looking around the room. He had never seen his master with a staff.
Over there, the dragon said, pointing with its tail to a short slender walking stick which lent against the stone mantle of the unlit fireplace. The tip of it was blackened from where the old wizard had used it over the years to poke at the fire. It looked nothing like what Logan would have called a staff, but he wasn’t going to argue with the dragon.
‘Let’s get this spell started, shall we?’ the prince suggested, looking as if he was trying to be patient but struggling with it.
A lump lodged itself in Logan’s throat; he had been hoping his master would be here to do the spell. He clutched at the small stone jar in his pocket. What if he ruined the spell and wasted the dragon’s heart they had gone so far to get?
