Dragon Rider

by Kay Berrisford

  "Oh," said Ben, wishing he could feel relieved. Her reminder of Lyle's apparently weakened state just made him feel sick.

  As the journey wore on, the frosty air sharpened its teeth. Unaccustomed to riding a horse or bike, let alone a dragon, Ben's thighs ached. Even though Cully conjured him a coat, a stinging cold replaced the numbness in Ben's fingers.

  When at last she shouted, "We're going down!" Ben was grateful the gruelling voyage was almost done.

  As they plummeted toward the earth, his ears popped, and his stomach performed such a violent flip, he tasted bile. Then everything went still, save his hammering heart and the heaves of Cully's mighty breaths.

  His cheek still clamped to her scaly nape, he pried his eyelids open. They'd landed in a bay skirted with a craggy headland on the one side and slopes of woodland rising on the other. At the head of the beach, he made out a wooden shack, with an old-fashioned electric sign lit to announce, "Café and Snacks." All the other lamps were off, though, and the eatery was clearly shut.

  "Is this really where your family are hiding out?" asked Ben, unconvinced.

  "Not quite," replied Cully.

  He alighted on the sand, legs wobbling. Then in a kneejerk act of caution, he staggered a good few yards away from Cully. In a concertina motion, she folded her wings against her body so she resembled a crouching sphinx cat, lean and ready to pounce.

  "You'll find Lyle and the others around that headland," she said, swinging her snout near. Her nostrils flared wide as tennis balls, and Ben smelled an incongruous rush of icing sugar and lemonade. "It's low tide, so you should be able to make it from here. There are a few rocks to scale. Other than that, it's all sand."

  "Why can't you just take me straight to Lyle?"

  Cully blinked gauzy lids over obsidian eyes that'd turned disturbingly opaque. "I was flying into a gale, so it took longer than usual to get here. One of us has got to get back to greet your family, and I'll be quick as a flash without passengers. You go reassure yourself about Lyle and I'll pick you both up tomorrow morning."

  "What? You're just dumping me here like you did Lyle?" His anger piqued as an idea struck. "Why are you rushing back to meet my family. You're not going to try and seduce my sister, are you? She's just getting over a divorce. The last thing she needs is—"

  "Don't be a fool! Alison's not my type, and I don't believe I'll ever be hers." Cully's rancour stilled Ben's protesting tongue; he edged few steps farther away. "I do want to spend time with your sister and parents, but that's not the only reason I'm leaving."

  Ben unbuckled the strap beneath his chin and removed his helmet with a furious flourish. "This is absurd! What the dickens are you plotting to do with my family?"

  "Nothing bad, I promise. But this isn't only about your family, Ben. It's about mine too. So far, you and only you know I can dragon-shift. I can conceal myself easily enough from humans, but not merfolk—that takes magic that would stretch even my abilities. When I came into land just now, I kept out of sight of that bay, which my family rarely leave before dark. But if I flew around that headland, they would spot me and never leave me alone. There's no time for me to shift and walk there if I'm going to get back in time, so I'd best leave now."

  "Why can't they just see you as a dragon? I thought this lot were no threat."

  "That's the problem." Cully growled. "They'd be constantly on my case, and I couldn't stand it. I love my freedom."

  "I thought you cared about Lyle's freedom. What if now they're constantly on his case?"

  "I'll take care of it."

  Ben's clenching fists didn't even start to project how much he was fuming. He was tired of Cully's bizarre methods of "taking care" of her brother. "Either way, I'm going to tell Lyle what you are. He and I don't keep secrets from one another, and he deserves to know."

  "Fair enough," said Cully. "He would've found out tomorrow anyway, but don't tell the rest of them. Remember, they believe Lyle is Clewell's heir right now. Lyle was revelling in it, and he was long overdue a little worship. It's sweet."

  "Sweet?" Ben readied himself to unleash a tirade against her patronizing tone and a dozen other matters that riled him. The soft thud of a rucksack landing on the sand at his feet stunned him. It was one of his rucksacks. "What's this?"

  "A few essential supplies," said Cully. "Your phone and tablet, so you've got your map download thingies to keep you happy. Also, a torch, cereal bars, your wallet, and few other bits and bobs you might find useful. My number's in your contacts—call if you need me."

  She unfurled her wings, and the hurricane backdraft sent Ben staggering again. Then she sprang into the air, swooped low across the waters, and disappeared into the smudges of a pastel-pink sunset. Ben gaped after her, still seething, then down at the backpack, which he picked up. Rifling through, he discovered it contained all the things she'd promised. He pulled out a windup torch, moved the wallet to his back pocket to make more space, and then stowed the crash helmet inside. It just about fit, but strained the zips to the limit.

  "What's your game, Cully?" he pondered as he cranked up the torch.

  However, Ben had his own priorities. If Lyle could be reached by a short trek around that promontory, that was where Ben needed to go.

  Dusk was falling, so he shone the beam across the rocks to fathom a route. Instead of a path, the torch picked out several sets of pinprick eyes and a row of shadowy figures traveling at a sedate pace.

  Ben froze. So did the approaching company, who wore long billowing robes, the perfect shape for covering angelfish-like fins.

  Merfolk?

  Ben suspected so. They were a smallish bunch in height, none tall enough to be Lyle, although Ben's hopes sprung that they might know where he was.

  "H-hello?" he ventured. "I, er, come in peace." Ben inwardly despaired of himself. From what depths of his panic had he plucked that cliché? "I'm Lyle's fiancé, Ben," he added, hoping this was Lyle's relatives, despite Cully's claim they rarely left the bay before nightfall.

  "Then we come in peace too," came an answer. "We're Lyle's family. And the dragon that just flew off? Was that Lyle?"

  "Er, no." Ben smirked over the matter they'd seen Cully. It would do her good to deal with the consequences. "That was his sister, Cully. She's been able to dragon-shift for donkey's years apparently."

  Ben was savouring the gasps of shock and dismay when the far worse implications of their question hit him. "Don't you know where Lyle is?"

  He edged closer, torch raised. The bunch remained where they were, forming a huddle and murmuring in agitated voices. As he neared, an elderly merman flashed Ben a look of interested disdain and scratched his bald head with a fin.

  "Oh dear," said a skinny little mermaid with long amber tresses. "I might have made a terrible mistake."

  Chapter Twelve

  After the initial whirlwind of introductions and befuddlement, Ben pressed the company to furnish him with the crucial facts. The little mermaid with amber hair, Bella, proved the most forthcoming.

  She was younger than the rest of the group, bookish in a fashion that Ben couldn't help warming to, and had the spent the previous evening with Lyle. She'd filled his head with mad ideas about Dragon Riders, destiny, and golden swords.

  And then Lyle had disappeared in the night, without a trace.

  "No way!" Ben was rapidly going off Bella. He surveyed the astonishing array of dancing fins and wrinkled faces, and glared. "So you believe Lyle went to retrieve this golden sword for you?"

  "He said he'd try," said Bella. "But it's odd he just vanished like that. We were going to come up with a proper plan first. And another thing—one of our little 'uns, Miria, was quiet all morning then started wailing sils head off an hour or so back, saying Lyle had been snatched by the gang that slayed Emmet. Miria's suffered terrible nightmares since the original attack, so there mightn't be anything in it, but it's why we ventured out before darkness fell—searching for clues, just in case."

  Ben's veins had a
lready congealed to ice. He sucked a lungful of cool air, trying to stay calm as he assessed all possibilities. Lyle couldn't have started swimming back home; Cully would have spotted him. So he'd either gone voluntarily to this cave—where it seemed this murderous gang were hanging out—or the same vicious lot had kidnapped him.

  "If Lyle has been taken," said Bella, "it supports my theory that the gang target merfolk with great ability to draw magic, rather than attack randomly. Rumours about Lyle have been flying all around the coast. In retrospect, it's not surprising if he's been snatched."

  Ben wanted to scream. Poor Lyle had been kidnapped for the very "talents" Cully claimed were inadequate.

  "Okay, Bella," he said tightly, "at least we know the best place to start searching. Where's this cave?"

  He pulled up the coastal map, already downloaded on his tablet. After Bella had overcome her initial excitement about how bright the screen was, she traced the familiar contour of the coast down to the point in question. It was a remote cliff with a single label, Wheal Dogger.

  Wheal was the old Cornish word for mine, and Ben's nerves jangled afresh. Even if Lyle had gone of his own accord, it was a deserted industrial site, rife with hazardous machinery, unmarked drops, and heaven knew what other risks. Lyle could usually heal himself from minor ailments, but not if he'd fallen and knocked himself unconscious—or worse.

  Ben was tempted to call the police and coastal rescue—hell, he'd have summoned the RAF if he'd had the power and thought it might be best. Instead, utilizing the single bar of coverage on his phone, he called the merfolk equivalent of the air force.

  "Hi, this is Cully," chirped a broken, pre-recorded message. "Can't say when I'll get back to you, hon', but leave a message if you like."

  "It's me, Ben. Lyle's missing and could've been kidnapped. We think he's in some caves at Wheal Dogger. Come back NOW."

  Ben imbued venom into his tone that rivalled Lyle at his most furious. He didn't care if Cully was flying or out of range. He needed her, but if she wasn't here, he'd bloody well deal alone. For Lyle, Ben would keep his panic in check and handle things the best way he knew how: with good planning, and without taking undue risks.

  He wondered if any of the taxi firms in this part of the country had free Wi-Fi.

  *~*~*

  An hour and half later, Ben alighted from a cab and onto a muddy verge. He helped Bella out after, and paid and tipped the driver. Fortunately, Bella had possessed the wits to keep her robe tight to conceal her fins. Despite looking thunderstruck the whole journey, she'd held up well during her first car ride, which was helpful.

  Once the cab had arrived, following an agonizingly long wait, Ben had been too busy to reassure her. Utilizing the sluggish Wi-Fi, he'd used his former colleague Kristof's password to hack into a national database of high-risk sites and download all the information available about the tunnels beneath Wheal Dogger. Kristof had never changed his login—lAndrOver69—in all the time he and Ben worked together, and evidently still hadn't.

  "What were you doing on your shiny thing?" asked Bella, as the taxi roared away.

  "Figuring out everything I can about this place," said Ben. He cranked the torch handle and the beam flashed up. They'd been dropped near a stile. This led onto a clifftop byway that wound within a stone's throw of the derelict mine building with its distinctive towering chimneystack.

  "I can get into the Wheal Dogger mine network easy enough," said Ben. "I've downloaded a nineteenth-century plan of the site, which will help me get around, but there's more than manmade tunnels here. A local caving club recently carried out a geophysics survey, which they submitted to the local environmental office when asking for permission to explore. This was, incidentally, declined." Bella looked blank. "Basically, the geophysics showed some large natural caverns located to the west, possibly connected to the mine somehow, possibly not. So that could be—"

  "Clewell's palace!" cried Bella.

  "Whatever it is, there's an almost endless labyrinth for Lyle to get lost in, so let's pray that's all that’s happened." Ben plonked on his hard hat and buckled the strap beneath his chin. "Okay, you've got an important job. If you spot a dragon overhead, yell your head off to flag her down and tell her to get her scaly arse in after me. If there's kidnappers involved, I'm going to need her, but I can't hang around waiting."

  Bella regarded him admiringly from where she'd slid up onto the stile. "I'm thrilled Lyle has such a man of action for a fiancé," she said.

  Ben shook his head, too focussed to even be embarrassed. He'd have to scan every inch of ground with his torch to avoid potholes and tripping over rusting machinery, and he needed to keep his strength up. He got out a cereal bar.

  "It's all becoming clear now," she said, craning forward excitedly. "You rode here on a dragon—you must be the Dragon Rider! You've come to save us as well as Lyle in our hour of need. You must simply follow your instincts and the golden sword will be yours. All our troubles will be over."

  "You're mistaken," mumbled Ben, stuffing his mouth with the bar, which turned out to be chocolate chip.

  "There's nothing in the legends that says the Dragon Rider can't be human," gushed Bella.

  "I'm sorry," said Ben, swallowing his mouthful without tasting it. "But I'm most definitely not your Dragon Rider. I just want Lyle back, safe and sound."

  *~*~*

  After three fruitless hours following the map through the mine, Ben reached the easternmost quadrant. Having perceived no sign of life—and no sounds save dripping water and the muted moans of the ocean—the tinny jingle from his mobile set him yelping like he'd been pinched. So deep underground, he'd believed he'd lost all signal. Yet as he pulled out his phone, a wind whipped his face, fiercer than the stale drafts that'd followed him through the mine.

  "Hello," he answered, spotting the glimmer of stars through an opening up ahead. Ah, that explained the call getting through.

  "Ben, hi!" said Cully, the line crackly.

  "Where the fuck are you? Did you receive my message?"

  "Only a minute ago—I had to delete nineteen others to get to it, and I've just taken leave of your charming family. Fill me in and I'll be with you ASAP."

  Now poised at the opening, which proved to be a sheer drop down to the sea, Ben told her all he'd learned about the quest for Clewell's sword and the possibility of Lyle's abduction. "The kidnappers are targeting merfolk with great magic powers, and they killed Emmet! Do you understand how serious this might be?"

  "I had no idea," said Cully. "If I'd thought Bella would send Lyle on some madcap mission—let alone he was on the hit list for this gang—I would never have left him, not in a million years."

  Ben pushed aside his fury over her excuses. "It doesn't matter. If you want to prove to your brother you give a shit, just get here now!"

  "Fine," said Cully. "But it's going to take me a couple of hours, even at top whack. Where exactly are you?"

  "I'm standing at an opening on the eastern cliff below the Wheal Dogger mineshaft."

  "Okay. I know those caves and can picture the spot. If you find Lyle before I can reach you, get back to where you are now, and I'll pick you both up. If you encounter any evidence of the gang, go back and wait for me there. We'll go in together."

  "Right," said Ben. The knowledge she was on her way made him feel a bit better about Lyle's prospects, though dread still sickened him.

  "Oh, and I know how to get from the mine into Clewell's palace," said Cully. "The door isn't easy to find, and won't be on any human maps. You ready to note this down?"

  Ben clamped his phone between his shoulder and his jaw and grabbed his tablet from his pack. "Ready," he said. "Give me everything you've got."

  *~*~*

  "For heaven's sake, Cully," muttered Ben, on reaching yet another dead-end. "You're worse than bloody useless!"

  According to Cully, one of three westerly mine tunnels broke into an older merfolk passage, which contained a concealed door to Clewell's palace.
This door was easy to open, if one knew how to locate the niche with a hidden knob.

  Cully had detailed instructions for discovering said knob, but she couldn't recollect which of the passages she'd found the door at the end of. Ben had been forced to explore all three, which might've been okay if he'd been sticking to his initial plan, a thorough sweep of all the tunnels, east to west. However, he'd moved beyond that.

  Lyle wasn't in the mine. Despite Ben's wish to dismiss instinct as random and untrustworthy, he felt it in the pit of his stomach. Somehow, he needed to get into this damned palace.

  He scanned once more in vain for the faint inscriptions that Cully claimed signified the hidden door. Confirming it was just another mine tunnel—mean, low, and pitted with axe marks—he was about to hoof it when he realized it wasn't a complete dead-end. A hole gaped to the left of his knee, just large enough for him squeeze through.

  Ben groaned. He really didn't want to crawl up any murky holes, but he'd best check it out in case it led into Clewell's former lair.

  About ten yards down the tunnel—pushing his rucksack ahead and with his trousers rucked around freshly grazed shins—he shuffled into a small cavern. He rose slowly from his hands and knees, careful not to clack his helmet against the low ceiling.

  "Shit," he muttered, sweeping his torch left to right. Another dead-end cut into the black rocks. Then the beam struck something shiny, and his heart leaped to his throat.

  On a polished stone shelf, on the mouldering remnants of a scarlet cushion, lay a sword. An ornate scabbard concealed the blade, and the head of a dragon topped its hilt. The sculpted head reminded Ben of the gargoyles at Lyle's prison back in Shanty Wood, and it glittered in pure gold.

  "Surely not," breathed Ben.

  This had to be the golden sword of Prince Clewell. The Dragon Rider's destiny…

  Ben's stumbling upon it must be a mistake. After all, he couldn't be this legendary hero, destined to save merfolk kind. He didn't intend to rescue anybody other than Lyle.

  Yet the sword was so very pretty—and clearly valuable—that he couldn't leave it.