The Dragon Whisperer

by Lucinda Hare

  'Papa?'

  'The Queen also wishes to see you and your young esquire. She will send for you later.'

  'Us?' Quenelda's heart thumped. She looked at Root. 'Why?' she asked.

  'Why?' For a moment the strong bearded face – the father she knew – grinned fiercely. 'To thank you, Goose, you and Root. To thank you for saving the life of her Champion.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Dragon Isle

  It was late into the night before Quenelda and Root were finally summoned to the Queen's presence.

  The corridors of the vast castle were quiet now. The gossip and scandal of the day's events had stilled as exhausted courtiers ran out of steam and the castle brewery ran out of mead and ale. Those who could find no chamber were snoring in any niche or cushioned window seat they could find. Those of lesser rank found themselves a bed in the hay and rushes on the floor as best they could.

  Candles smoked as the bitter cold outside crept in through cracks in the leaded glass. The castle's twelve-foot-thick walls and rich tapestries kept the worst of the cold at bay, but still Quenelda shivered.

  Root looked at her pale face with concern. 'You're not well. You're still chilled, aren't you? Let me go back and get your warm cloak.'

  'No, Root ...' Quenelda began, but he was already running back to her father's chambers.

  'Wait there,' he called over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

  She shrugged. He was right. She just couldn't stop shivering, and she felt drained. She listened to his fading footsteps and rubbed her arms to keep herself warm.

  Then suddenly the corridor ahead darkened and the hairs on the back of Quenelda's back prickled in sudden warning. The shadow grew, snuffing out the light from the lamps, sucking the warmth out of the air as if a door to the winter outside had opened. Ice crusted about her. Frost bloomed on the wall beside her ... crept across the flagstones ... the air thickened.

  'Well, well, my dear.' The Grand Master emerged from the dark and greeted her, his voice soft. 'Well met. Quite the heroine of the moment, hmm?' Danger and the threat of it hung in the charged air like a thunderstorm.

  It was the first time Sir Hugo had ever chosen to speak to her alone. Sudden terror flushed through Quenelda's veins, cold as ice. She felt her legs buckle. Struggling to appear normal, to hide her suspicion and fear, she lifted her eyes to look into his. The Grand Master's face was hidden deep in the shadow of his hooded cloak, but she could tell his dark eyes were studying her.

  'Such a rare talent with dragons you have, my dear. Wherever did you learn to fly a battledragon?'

  'Oh, it was all the d-dragon,' Quenelda lied, angry at the stutter that betrayed her growing sense of dread. 'He's a Dragonsdome battledragon,' she said, trying to keep the wobble from her voice. 'The best dragon in the Seven Sea Kingdoms! I didn't have to do anything.'

  'Mm ...' the Grand Master said thoughtfully. 'So modest, my dear, and so like your dear father. But I'm sure you must have had a hand in it ... ?' He gave a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

  Alarmed, Quenelda stepped backwards till her shoulders pressed against the cold stone.

  'Come, my dear, no need to be afraid ...' Sir Hugo's voice was soft and insistent. He loomed over her, arms outstretched like a bat so that his cloak enfolded her.

  Quenelda felt a pressure in her head. Red and black spots danced before her eyes. She was aware of an alien presence as something uncoiled within her mind and slithered forward, searching, searching ...

  The Grand Master's thin lips never moved, but she heard his voice clearly:

  Tell me what happened today, the thought commanded. How did you command the dragon? Tell me ...

  The coils tightened. Her head pounded, the thump of her heart loud in her ears. Quenelda felt as if she were choking. Her body would not obey her mind. She ground her teeth as she tried to think of anything but dragons and dragon whispering.

  The demand increased. The pressure was becoming unbearable ... She could hardly breathe ...

  Tell me ...

  There was a roaring in her ears. She felt her control slipping away—

  Suddenly, at the edges of her hearing, Quenelda recognized Root's voice.

  The Grand Master had heard it too and cursed. She felt the presence in her mind release her and she slumped to the floor.

  'Quenelda?' Root's high voice rang out from behind, the pounding of his feet drawing near.

  Up ahead, a growing light flickered along the corridor. Hurrying footsteps and the hard sound of armour on stone approached. The Grand Master drew back a pace and dropped his arms. At his feet Quenelda coughed, struggling for air. Her body felt so heavy. Although sweat soaked her clothes, she felt frozen to the bone.

  There was a brief flicker of movement and Sir Hugo was gone. The air thinned where he had stood, then returned to normal, allowing her to breathe. The light from the lamps returned. The frost beneath her shrivelled, leaving only a chill memory. Quenelda blinked and looked to her right and left. It was as if the Grand Master had vanished into thin air.

  'Quenelda – here, I have it! I told you,' Root said accusingly, throwing the heavy cloak around her. 'You're not well. You must have fainted!' He took her white hands in his and rubbed them vigorously. 'You're freezing!'

  They both looked up as two Bonecrackers rounded the far corner, followed by the tall, rangy figure of the Queen's constable. When he saw her on the ground, Sir Mowbray rushed forward. 'Lady Quenelda?' He laid a protective hand around her shoulders. 'Why, you are shaking, my dear!' His kindly eyes searched her pale face with concern. 'We feared for your health when you did not appear. My lady, are you still unwell? Should I send for the apothecary?'

  Quenelda swallowed, sought for her voice and finally found it. 'No.' She was breathing heavily. 'No, thank you. I'm just a little dizzy ...' She shook her head as her encounter slipped from her mind like a dream. 'I'm – I'm well.'

  The constable nodded doubtfully and offered her his arm. Between them he and Root helped Quenelda to her feet.

  'The Queen and your lord father await. I shall be pleased to escort you.'

  Quenelda nodded, wincing. She felt unaccountably reassured by the old knight's presence.

  'Come, my dear,' he urged her. 'The hour grows late and you should have been in your bed long since.'

  As he smothered a yawn, Root guessed he should also have been in his bed long ago.

  They passed through carved and gilded oak doors and into the Queen's private chambers.

  'Goodnight, my dear,' the constable said as he held Quenelda's hands. 'Do not fear for your father's or your own safety: no harm will come to you while you stay here.'

  Root and Quenelda found themselves in a small cosy room with curtained diamond-paned windows, painted beams and dark wood panelling. The only light came from the dancing fire and two candles on the mantelpiece, which shed a soft amber glow. The smell of pine resin and scented candle wax filled the air. Two figures were seated on either side of the hearth. The Queen rose and moved towards Quenelda; she was dressed in a loose lavender robe edged with fur. The Earl Rufus sat in a tall backed chair. His bandaged thigh rested on a stool, his splinted arm across his lap. His face looked drawn with pain, although his eyes were alive and twinkling as he greeted his daughter.

  Quenelda curtsied awkwardly. Root went down on one knee as he had seen the courtiers do in the royal gallery.

  The Queen smiled. 'Rise, child,' she said, and took Quenelda's hand. 'Come, sit here beside me. And you, young lad. Come here also.' She patted the couch beside the fire. 'Now, how can I reward the daughter of my Champion for her bravery?' She looked down at Root. 'My Lord Earl tells me you have already claimed your reward. I know your father would have been proud of you today ...' She hesitated a moment. 'I too know what

  it is to lose a father.' She held his eyes for a moment. 'All are talking of today's joust and rumours of your brave deeds are already sweeping the glen. The royal bard is at this very moment composing a ballad in
honour of Root.' She turned to Quenelda. 'So how may we reward you?'

  Quenelda looked stunned. 'Reward?' She hadn't expected this.

  'I have long been aware of your special talent with dragons; the dragons watch over you, do they not? And now your father tells me you have also successfully treated a badly injured battledragon – indeed, the one you flew today. My dragonmasters confess themselves amazed. And for one so young to command a battledragon in combat is beyond anything I have ever seen or heard tell.'

  Quenelda's blush of pleasure was lost in the firelight. 'Perhaps,' the Queen offered in the ensuing silence, 'I shall make you one of my ladies-in-waiting? A rare honour for one so young. How would a life at court suit you?'

  There was a moment's hush as Quenelda's smile froze on her face and Root's jaw fell open. A log shifted on the fire. The silence stretched, and was then broken by a strange noise. Quenelda looked at the Queen, whose shoulders were shaking, a jewelled hand over her mouth. She turned to the Earl, who threw back his head and laughed out loud. Root shrugged and shook his head. He didn't understand either.

  Baffled, Quenelda looked from her father to the Queen.

  'Ah, no, I should not tease you so,' said the Queen. 'Your father tells me your dearest wish is to go to Dragon Isle. As you know, none but those destined for a life in the SDS or those of royal blood have ever set foot there, home to the Dragon Lords.'

  Quenelda's shoulders slumped. For a moment she had dared to believe ...

  'But' – a gentle smile played on the Queen's lips – 'today, you and Root have earned that right in front of all. I give you and your esquire permission to go to Dragon Isle with your father over the midwinter festivities. A fitting reward ...' she said softly.

  Reflected fire dancing in her eyes, Quenelda's smile lit up her drawn face. She clenched her fists in fierce delight. 'Dragon Isle ...' she breathed, turning to Root, who was grinning from ear to ear. 'Root, we're going to Dragon Isle!'

  Hours of the Day:

  A.M.

  Howling wolf One

  Stealthy Lynx Two

  Dozy Hedgehog Three

  Tawny Owl Four

  Yawning Dormouse Five

  Strutting Cockerel Six

  Blackbird Seven

  Stroppy Capercaillie Eight

  Cross-eyed Squirrel Nine

  Eager Beaver Ten

  Irritated Bumblebee Eleven

  Osprey Twelve

  P.M.

  Inquisitive Stoat One

  WildCat Two

  Blue-spotted Earwig Three

  Grumpy Badger Four

  Wild Boar Five

  Very Plump Ptarmigan Six

  Sabre-toothed Rabbit Seven

  Giant Slug Eight

  Hunting Fox Nine

  Black Bear Ten

  Creeping Lynx Eleven

  The Witching Hour Midnight

  Months of the Year:

  January Wolf Moon

  February Snow Moon

  March Sap Moon

  April Sprouting Grass Moon

  May Corn Planting Moon

  June Hot Moon

  July Thunder Moon

  August Grain Moon

  September Harvest Moon

  October Hunter's Moon

  November Frost Moon

  December Long Nights Moon