Scilly Seasons

by Chris Tookey

  “You are, of course,” said Osprey, at his most insincerely servile. “I am accompanying you purely as an advisor – and, of course, to represent King Otto’s wishes.”

  “To stop me running away.”

  “To stop you doing anything that might imperil the Atlantean state interest, or the royal bloodline, which must of course be preserved at all costs.”

  Wyrd and Osprey rode up to the two knights who had been allocated to the expedition.

  “Ah, Sir Ector!” said Wyrd. “So glad you could join us!”

  “Yes, er, well, er…” mumbled Sir Ector, chewing his lower lip, as he always did when he was anxious.

  “And you, Sir Kay,” said Wyrd. “Perhaps we can drop in on your family in Lyonesse.”

  “Perhaps,” said Sir Kay. He was a young, gawky-looking knight with a prominent Adam’s apple and a high-pitched nervous giggle. “If we get that far. Ha ha ha!”

  “Mustn’t be defeatist,” said Wyrd. “It’s good to know that you two are behind me. I know that ever since that werewolf business some of you have thought I was unlucky.”

  Sir Ector and Sir Kay exchanged glances.

  “So, I appreciate it all the more that you two volunteered,” said Wyrd.

  “We didn’t volunteer,” said Sir Kay.

  “Not as such,” confirmed Sir Ector. “All the knights drew lots, and we lost.”

  “Ah,” said Wyrd brightly. “We’ll have to prove everyone wrong, won’t we?”

  Sagbut ordered two of his bugbears to salute Sir Uther as he rode up, with Osprey just behind him.

  “Good to see you, Sagbut,” said Wyrd.

  “And you, Sir Uther,” replied Sagbut.

  “Not so much of the Sir Uther, Sagbut,” remarked Osprey. “Sir Uther must be known from now on as Prince Artorus.”

  “Oh yus, I forgot,” said Sagbut.

  “And who have we in your contingent?” asked Wyrd.

  “These two are Bogweed and Muckbind,” said Sagbut. “They came ashore from that slave-ship the giant wrecked. They’re keen to get back to Dumnonia.”

  Wyrd looked at both of them and felt a shiver of recognition. Muckbind was the huge bugbear that had murdered his mother, and Bogweed was the underling whom Muckweed had reprimanded for chewing on Mildreth’s succulent flesh. Neither bugbear seemed to recognise Wyrd, however. With a shock, Wyrd realised that he must have changed a good deal in the last seven years. The bugbears had remained exactly the same, apart from some thickening around the midriff.

  “You must be Muckbind,” said Wyrd. “What happened to your eye?”

  Wyrd was gratified to see that Muckbind had a patch over his eye – the one that Wyrd had hit while escaping his burning village.

  “I was near-blinded,” grunted Muckbind, “in a skirmish.”

  “A skirmish?” asked Wyrd. “Who did it to you?”

  “A Celt.” The bugbear spat out the word with undisguised loathing.

  “And what caused this skirmish?” asked Wyrd casually. “Bogweed, were you in on it too?”

  “Aye,” said the younger bugbear. “We were cleansing this village.”

  “By cleansing,” said Wyrd, “I take it you mean exterminating the inhabitants.”

  “That’s right. Trouble was that the one we really wanted got away,” said Bogweed.

  “But we’ll catch him some day,” said Muckbind, fingering his eye patch, “before he can do any more harm.”

  Wyrd’s mind raced. What harm? But before he could inquire further, Sagbut was pulling him away.

  “And that one over there,” continued Sagbut, “is my lady wife, Stenchbucket.”

  Wyrd looked to where Sagbut was pointing and saw an enormous female bugbear that looked even more intimidating than the rest of them.

  “And a fine-looking specimen she is,” commented Wyrd.

  “Thank you, Sir Uther,” said Sagbut.

  Osprey flashed him a warning look.

  “I mean, Prince Artorus,” said Sagbut.

  “Who’s the lizard-man driving the luggage cart?” asked Wyrd.

  “That’s Lothar,” said Sagbut. “I chose him because he’s not only good at driving, he’s useful with a throwing axe if things turn nasty.”

  “Was he another of the survivors from the slave-ship?” asked Wyrd.

  “I believe so,” said Sagbut.

  Even before Wyrd saw the lizard-man’s face, he guessed that he would recognise him. Sure enough, he was the lizard-man who had leapt over the wall of his village in Dumnonia and buried a throwing-axe in his dog, Rulf. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Wyrd realised that at least three members of the expedition had already attempted to kill him and – were they to know who he was – would doubtless try to murder him again.

  “Do we know each other?” Wyrd asked the lizard-man, casually.

  “I don’t think so, sir,” hissed Lothar with every appearance of deference.

  “Well, you do now,” said Sagbut. “Lothar, meet Prince Artorus.”

  “Honoured, I’m sure,” said Lothar.

  Wyrd had to stop himself from shuddering as he took the lizard-man’s claw and shook it.

  At the head of the party, nearest the castle gate, Drains the dwarf was adjusting the reins on his portly unicorn pony, as Wyrd rode up, with Osprey close behind. Drains looked up from the reins and called over to a menial from the kitchen staff, a sour-faced orc called Slinker, who was still loading one of the carts.

  “What are we waiting about for, orc?” asked Drains, rudely. “We’ve twenty miles to go before nightfall.”

  Slinker muttered an oath at one of the two packhorses laden with food, attached to the back of the provisions cart. There was also one other horse that seemed to be a spare.

  “Just waiting for the last of the supplies to be loaded,” said Wyrd, brightly.

  “You would do well to mind your own business, dwarf,” said Osprey.

  Drains replied with a long, hard stare that caused Osprey to look away.

  “I may be a dwarf,” said Drains, “but that doesn’t make me subhuman. And your orc needs to get a move on. It’s a long journey.”

  “You really think we can reach Tintagel in three days?” asked Wyrd.

  “If we’re lucky,” said Drains. “And we don’t fall foul of any trolls, giants or worse.”

  “It’s your job to help us avoid them, dwarf,” Osprey told the dwarf.

  “Easier said than done, innit?” said Drains. “Lots of things look okay from a distance but they’re not always what they seem, are they? What are you, anyway? Some kind of wizard?”

  “My name is Osprey,” said the wizard stiffly.

  “You mean you’re Merlin’s brother? He’s told me all about you. Why don’t you just change yourself into a bird and fly to Vortigern’s court?” asked the dwarf. “Do us all a favour.”

  “My instructions are to ride with Sir – er, Prince Artorus and act as his advisor.”

  “You wizards,” chuckled Drains. “You think you know it all.”

  “Osprey is very learned,” said Wyrd. “He taught me more or less everything I know.”

  “Yes, well, there’s a lot they don’t tell you in books,” said Drains, “and there’s a lot they tell you in books that isn’t true. But I daresay you’ll soon be discovering that for yourself, Prince Artorus.”

  Drains spoke these last two words very clearly and with a broad wink. Clearly, Drains knew Wyrd’s real identity. Wyrd just hoped the dwarf was trustworthy.

  “Looks like that orc’s finally finished loading,” said Drains. “About time.”

  “Are we all ready?” called Wyrd.

  Murmurs of assent came from the bugbears, knights and Lothar the lizard-man.

  “And you, Slinker?” called Wyrd.

  Slinker the orc didn
’t bother to reply but slithered into position on the provisions cart and took the reins.

  “Goodbye, Mother,” said Princess Melisande, tearfully. She looked as if she was regretting the whole idea of marrying Prince Catigern the Mighty.

  “Farewell, my dear!” said Queen Elinor to Melisande.

  “Look after my daughter,” said King Otto gruffly to Wyrd, with a lecherous wink. “If you catch my drift.”

  “Goodbye, Mel,” said Princess Beatrice, with a hint of malice. “Best of luck with Prince Catigern!”

  Wyrd turned and counted the members of his expedition. The princess, Osprey, two knights, a lizard-man, four bugbears, an orc, Drains and himself. Twelve, in all.

  “Wait for me!” said a distant female voice that Wyrd recognised.

  Wenda was running out of the stables in a travelling outfit that, though boyish, made her look more feminine than usual.

  “Oh no,” murmured Sir Kay to Sir Ector. “You know how many that makes in our party?”

  “Not…?”

  “That’s right. Thirteen.”

  “Unlucky for some,” muttered Sir Ector.

  Sir Kay emitted a nervous, high-pitched giggle that made his horse rear.

  “If you ask me, not that anyone ever does,” said Sir Ector, with the joie de vivre of a man expecting shortly to be hanged, “it’s going to be unlucky for all of us.”

  Wenda climbed on top of the spare horse and flashed Wyrd a broad smile that made his heart lurch in a way that it never had before.

  “You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?” she asked.

  ***

  The sun was low in the sky as the party reached the brow of the last hill in Atlantis. They looked down on the lush fields, the dark green forests and the sparkling rivers of Lyonesse to the east. Wyrd thought he had never seen a lovelier view – or a more daunting one. Lyonesse spread out far into the distance and beyond it the grey, distant crags of Cornubia.

  “I think we should stop here for the night,” said Wyrd.

  “Very good,” said Sir Ector. “But it will need to be a long ride tomorrow.”

  “Better that than risk being ambushed in the dark,” replied Wyrd.

  “True,” acknowledged Sir Ector. “And this is a splendid vantage point.”

  As the party prepared for the night, hanging up garlic and crosses to ward off any curious vampires, Drains went up to Wyrd and mumbled, “Come with me for a moment, sire?”

  It was more of a question than a command, but Wyrd was intrigued and he followed up the hill, to where trees hung heavy with apple blossom and the scent filled the air.

  “What is this place?” asked Wyrd.

  “They call it Avalon,” replied Drains. “The place of apples.”

  “I think I should like to be buried here,” said Wyrd.

  “I daresay that could be arranged,” said Drains.

  “It’s so peaceful.”

  “And sweet-smelling,” said Drains. “I fly here occasionally, to get away from my own pong.”

  “That’s true,” said Wyrd. “I can’t smell you at all. The apple blossom’s so strong.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not why I brought you here,” said the dwarf, pointing westwards towards the setting sun. “Nor is that. Though it is quite a view, isn’t it?”

  It was the most glorious sunset that Wyrd had ever seen: a clash of hues – orange, pink, vermilion and blue – that took his breath away. Away to the north-west, just out of sight over the horizon, lay Castle Otto. With a pang of regret, Wyrd wondered if he would ever see it again. For all its frustrations and dangers, it had been his home for most of his childhood. Who knew what terrors lay in front of him to the east?

  Wyrd sighed.

  “That’s a sad sigh,” said Drains.

  “I was just wondering if I would ever see Atlantis again,” said Wyrd.

  “I doubt it,” said Drains.

  “You think so? Do you remember when you first brought me here, seven years ago?”

  “I wouldn’t be too nostalgic about it,” said Drains. “From what I’ve heard, your life here hasn’t exactly been one long holiday.”

  “No,” said Wyrd, “but I’ve learned a lot.”

  “Yes,” said Drains, “you have. I can see you’re very nearly a man.”

  “I just wish I knew who I was.”

  “That’s easy,” said Drains. “You’re you. Wyrd.”

  Wyrd laughed, with a trace of bitterness.

  “But Wyrd isn’t my proper name, is it?” asked Wyrd. “It’s not the name my real parents gave me, whoever they were. I don’t even know that!”

  “I do,” said the dwarf, in a low voice.

  When the dwarf spoke it was with a seriousness that Wyrd had not heard in his voice before.

  “Is… is there something you want to tell me?” asked Wyrd.

  “There is,” said the dwarf. “But – bloody hell, what’s that?”

  Wyrd looked in the direction Drains was looking, away to the north.

  “Aren’t those dragons?” asked Wyrd.

  “Too right, they’re dragons,” said Drains. “And there’s six of them.”

  “They’re being led,” said Wyrd. “By a bird of prey. It’s Buzzard!”

  “Can you see who’s riding the first dragon?” asked Drains. “Oh my giddy aunt, it’s her!”

  “Her?”

  “The one you call the dragon lady,” said Drains. “The one who destroyed your village.”

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Unless I’m very much mistaken,” said Drains, “she’s come here to destroy Atlantis.”

  33

  The Dragon Lady

  Heroic events and awkward questions

  Mrs Scraggs had known for a long time that this moment would come. She’d climbed the steps from the kitchen and her sharp ears caught the swish of dragon wings and the rumble of approaching krakens.

  The one thing she knew was that she wouldn’t go quietly. She tried to remember spells that she hadn’t used for years and shook her head. It was no good. She’d just have to use her trusty leg. She unscrewed it and hopped on to the northern battlements of Castle Otto.

  There, not a hundred yards away, was Buzzard flying ahead of a half-dozen dragons. On the first of these perched the once-familiar form of Merlin’s mother.

  Without hesitation, Mrs Scraggs lifted her wooden leg on to her shoulder and aimed it at the invader. No sooner had she fired it than she knew she had missed. Buzzard had flown in front of his mother and taken the force of Mrs Scraggs’ magic in the middle of his chest. It burned a hole there. Buzzard looked down at it and shrieked in a way that was half-bird of prey and half-human. He fell to earth, and Mrs Scraggs knew with grim satisfaction that by the time he hit the ground he would be dead.

  She concentrated and tried to use her witching talent to reload, but before she could do so the leading dragon had landed above her on the battlements with a deadly screech.

  “Buzzard was my eldest son,” said the woman on the dragon’s back. “That was a foolish thing to do.”

  “I was aiming at you,” said Mrs Scraggs.

  “You knew I was coming?” asked the dragon lady.

  “I’ve known for years,” said Mrs Scraggs. “Ever since that boy came here.”

  “What boy?”

  “The boy you have come here to kill.”

  “Send him to me, and I might not have to destroy Atlantis,” said the dragon lady.

  “Of course you’re going to destroy Atlantis,” said Mrs Scraggs. “I’ve known you would do that as well.”

  “There’s something about you that’s familiar,” said the dragon lady.

  “We were at school together,” said Mrs Scraggs.

  “School friends?”


  “Not really,” said Mrs Scraggs. “You bullied me. Said I was ugly. Stupid. Malformed.”

  “Did I?” asked the dragon lady. “It was such a long time ago. That was really no reason to murder my son.”

  “I was trying to kill you,” said Mrs Scraggs.

  “Oh yes,” said the dragon lady. “Then you won’t mind if I kill you, will you? I mean, it seems only fair. You are so ugly, so stupid and so malformed.”

  With that, the dragon lady pointed her sceptre at the old witch. The last thing Mrs Scraggs saw before she turned into a pile of dust was the smiling, triumphant face of the girl who had tormented her at school.

  ***

  “The dragons!” said Wyrd, peering into the distance. “They’re setting fire to the castle!’

  “It’s what dragons do,” said Drains, with a shrug. “Famous for it.”

  “And what are they?” asked Wyrd, pointing to the massive sea monsters emerging from the sea to the north of the castle.

  “Krakens,” said Drains.

  “They’re like giant squid,” said Wyrd.

  “They are giant squid,” said Drains. “That’s what krakens are.”

  “What are they doing?” asked Wyrd. “Why are they waving their arms about?”

  “They’re making a tidal wave,” said Drains. “It’s fire and water against stone. With them and the dragons working together, this is the end of the castle. And Atlantis. And probably us.”

  An enormous tidal wave broke over the castle and filled every valley on Atlantis, turning it into dozens of islands. Fires went out in the castle, but soon the circling dragons had reignited them.

  “We have to stop them!” cried Wyrd.

  “How are we going to do that?” asked Drains. “We’re miles away. And, by the look of it, we’d need to swim.”

  “It’s me she wants,” said Wyrd. “And I know how to attract her attention.”

  He put the wyrd horn to his lips and, for the second time in his life, he blew.

  “What are you doing that for?” asked Drains. “You must be mad!”

  “Just do as I say,” said Wyrd. “I’m going to hide.”

  And he whispered in Drains’ ear.

  “Now I know you’re mad,” said Drains.

  “Just do it,” said Wyrd.