by Anne Forbes
A bubble of fear shivered through Arthur as, from the depths of Arthur’s Seat, he watched the procession through the crystal, his eyes fixed on the Black Knight and his dreadful black flag. Sir Pendar’s flag! The Black Knight was once more going to go into battle on the slopes of Arthur’s Seat! The MacArthur had warned him what to expect and he knew that Prince Kalman and Lord Rothlan were in the audience to guard against trouble but seeing the flag filled him with dread. It was like living a nightmare all over again.
Seeing the terror in his eyes, Archie, Jaikie and Hamish exchanged glances and did their best to calm him down. It was all a pretence, they said. The swords were made of rubber, the lances were plastic and the knights’ armour was little more than painted cardboard. Nothing, they said reassuringly, was going to happen to him.
Arthur, however, barely heard a word of what they were saying. He was a dragon, after all, and had powers that were not given to the faery folk or the magicians either, if it came to that. A sixth sense told him that things were not as they seemed and he knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that someone, that very afternoon, was going to kill him.
The procession finished to rousing cheers from the audience and it was only when the speeches began that the eye of the crystal veered away from Colonel Jamieson who had risen to welcome the audience to the tournament.
The stable tent was huge and a hive of activity. The horses looked magnificent and after the excitement of the procession, seemed to know that today was going to be their day; the day they had trained for.
The black horse stood calmly as one of the red headed grooms adjusted its face armour carefully; its breastplate had already been tightened and it was now used to the feel of the long black cloth that hung over its back to the ground. Embroidered with golden swords, it was uncannily like that worn by Sir Pendar’s horse hundreds of years before.
The grey, undergoing the same treatment, stamped nervously. The loose folds of the scarlet cloth draped over its back was bothering it and as it whickered and pawed the ground restlessly, the Red Knight whispered to it soothingly, calming its nerves.
“He’s a bit nervous, Simon,” the groom said, joining him. “Knows it’s the big day, I reckon!”
Simon, the Red Knight, smiled. “I’m a bit nervous myself, Mac,” he admitted as the groom nodded and made to move on. Simon caught his arm. “Hang on a bit, Mac,” he said, thrusting the horse’s reins into his hands, “could you take over for a while? Thanks,” he added as the groom nodded, “I just want to go over something again with Peter. Won’t be a second!” He waved and moved off.
“Nervous is he?” Kenzie wandered up and stroked the grey soothingly.
“They both are!” Mac grinned. “Horse and master!”
Kenzie shrugged. “They’ll forget their nerves when they start,” he said. “Simon’s a pro. He’ll be fine!”
The afternoon wore on, event following event, until it was the turn of the knights. This was what everyone had been waiting for! The Black Knight and the Red Knight mounted their horses and, lances held aloft, set forth to try their fortunes in the lists.
“Come on,” Kenzie said to the rest of the grooms, “let’s find a good place to watch.”
They made their way to a small rise and watched as the Black Knight and the Red Knight took their positions at either end of the concourse and, at a signal from Colonel Jamieson, urged their horses forward. The jousting had begun.
Neil leant forward excitedly as the two knights, lances at the ready, galloped towards one another in a thunder of hooves. The Black Knight’s lance hit the Red Knight’s shield squarely in the middle and the impact threw the Red Knight off his horse.
There was a gasp of horror from the crowd but the Red Knight was unhurt. He sprang to his feet almost immediately and bowed low to the cheering crowd. Highland dancing followed the jousting, giving the knights time to prepare for their next event — fighting on horseback.
The Red Knight was ready first and, steadying his prancing horse, waited outside as the Black Knight adjusted the visor on his helmet so that only his eyes could be seen. It was then that Kenzie, checking the girth, noticed the golden hilt of the sword in his scabbard. His face changed and he looked up in alarm. It wasn’t one of the fancy rubber swords they’d been given; this was a real sword!
“Hey, Peter!” he grasped the Black Knight’s arm and looked up at him questioningly, “that’s a real sword you’ve got there! You can’t fight with that! It’s … it’s not … allowed …” His voice petered out as he met the knight’s eyes …met them and flinched.
Instinctively, he took a step backwards as fear gripped him, for Peter’s brown eyes were grim, ferocious and, somehow, triumphant. Dark and fierce, they seemed the eyes of a stranger.
17. Dragonslayer
Kenzie fell back with a cry as the Black Knight snapped his visor shut and, pushing him roughly out of the way, spurred his horse forward and cantered out of the tent to join the Red Knight.
“What was all that about?” Mac asked, looking at Kenzie anxiously.
Kenzie ignored the question. He was too busy looking after the two knights who were now riding together towards the concourse. “Look at the Black Knight’s scabbard, Mac,” he whispered. “He’s got a real sword there!”
“You’re joking!” Mac looked flabbergasted.
“That’s not all! When I tackled him about it just now … well …”
“Well … what?”
“I don’t think it was Peter on that horse. It was someone else. I saw his eyes through his visor. It wasn’t Peter, I tell you!”
“You’re out of your mind,” Mac said, looking at him in disbelief. “Of course it was Peter! Who else could it be?” Then he frowned as he thought of the sword. “But,” he stammered, “what on earth did he bring a real sword for?”
Remembering the look in the knight’s eyes, Kenzie hesitated. “To kill Simon?” he said, hazarding a guess.
The grooms looked at one another in horror.
“Come off it!” Mac objected. “They’re good friends!”
“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Kenzie muttered. “Hurry up! We might be able to do something!” And with that, they ran towards the crowds.
From the stands, Neil looked on in fascination as the two knights cantered briskly towards the dais. Their visors were closed and Neil wondered just how much they could see through the holes that decorated the front. Both knights and horses looked magnificent. The Black Knight, in trappings of black and gold, carried a black shield with a shining golden sword in its centre. His opponent, the Red Knight, sitting astride a beautiful silver-grey horse, was equally richly attired but his horse was draped in red and a red dragon rampant reared ferociously in the middle of his silver shield.
Lord Rothlan stiffened as they approached and looked at Prince Kalman with raised eyebrows; for the feeling of magic that swept from the knights wasn’t the mere whisper they’d sensed before. It was strong and powerful and it emanated from the Black Knight!
Completely oblivious, Simon, the Red Knight, smiled behind his visor. He was tense with excitement and full of confidence. They’d practised the fight over and over again; every move had been carefully choreographed and they both knew exactly what they were going to do and when they were going to do it. It would, of course, look alarmingly real to the watching crowds but, if the truth be told, there was really nothing dangerous about the fight whatsoever.
The two knights reined in their horses in front of the dais and it was then that Neil choked and gripped Lord Rothlan’s arm as, with a grand gesture, they drew their swords and saluted the assembled gathering.
As the Black Knight held the sword aloft, so that it shone and glinted in the sunlight, a tremor of fear and excitement gripped the crowd. Prince Kalman swore softly under his breath and Neil bit his lip. Dragonslayer, he thought, his heart sinking. It couldn’t be anything else. Magic blazed from its blade! He knew that the MacArthurs would be watching and almost wished he was wi
th them so that he could comfort Arthur.
Dragonslayer blinked in the sunlight. Then it saw the familiar slopes of Arthur’s Seat and glowed with happiness as the years rolled swiftly back. The only thing that took the edge off its feeling of delight was the fact that it was not Sir Pendar who held it in his grasp; for Lord Jezail was a weakling by comparison. He could barely hold the sword, far less wield it with the strength needed to kill a dragon! Indeed, it was only when it had suggested that Count Vassili take his place that the furious magician had downed half a dozen dragon pills and, bursting with new-found energy, had managed to convince it that he had the skills, and the strength, to kill a dragon.
Inside the hill, the MacArthur drew an unsteady breath as he saw the Black Knight holding the sword aloft. It was as though Sir Pendar had returned to life. The Black Knight was once more on their doorstep and Arthur was once more at risk. He was under no illusions for he knew the strength of the magic the sword commanded.
Arthur gazed at the crystal, his eyes fixed on the sword. It was then that he realized that he’d secretly known all along that, one day, Dragonslayer would return to claim him and this — this, it would seem, was the day.
Archie, looking devastated, clung to the dragon in an agony of fear. The MacArthur reached out and grasping Jaikie’s arm, nodded towards the magic mirror, bidding him to tell the Lords of the North what was going on. Minutes later, they arrived, stepping one by one in all their finery to stand by the MacArthur’s crystal and watch the happenings on the slopes of Arthur’s Seat.
“Who is the Black Knight?” queried Lord Alarid.
“I think it might be Lord Jezail,” the MacArthur said shortly.
“And the Red Knight?”
The MacArthur shrugged.
“I still can’t understand it,” Lord Alarid frowned. “There’s no way that Dragonslayer could undo the hex I put on it!”
The MacArthur glanced at him, pursing his lips. “It’s Dragonslayer all right,” he said heavily. “I mean, just look at it!”
And as all eyes turned again to the crystal, they saw the magic that shone from the sword in a triumphant blaze of golden light.
It was as the knights turned from that crowds and faced one another, ready for battle, that the Red Knight noticed the sword for the first time and looked at Dragonslayer blankly. What the devil was Peter up to, he thought, poncing around with a real sword! Even from where he was, he could see that it was razor sharp. It would cut his sword in half the minute they began their fight, for goodness sake!
The Black Knight approached him threateningly, sword at the ready. Simon, still not sure what was going on, edged his horse backwards, holding his shield fearfully in front of him. He sensed that this wasn’t a game anymore. The Black Knight was deadly serious. But why on earth would Peter want to hurt him?
To Simon’s surprise, however, the Black Knight made no move to attack. He merely urged his horse forward, pointed his sword at his shield, and said some strange words. They were, of course, the words of a hex, but they were enough to convince Simon that Peter had chosen the worst of all possible moments to go completely bonkers.
It was then that his shield became heavy on his arm; so heavy that he balanced it on the side of his saddle to keep it from falling to the ground. He didn’t notice that the red dragon in its centre gleamed suddenly bright in the sunlight as Dragonslayer’s power drew Arthur from the safety of the hill to the grassy slopes outside.
The Lords of the North gasped at the power of the hex but could do nothing to counteract it, they could only watch as the great dragon gave a dreadful cry as he shimmered and disappeared before their eyes. Turning in horror to the crystal, they then saw the painted dragon on the Red Knight’s shield become ever larger as Arthur emerged from it in a sinewy, rippling tide of red.
Utterly petrified at the sight of the dragon, the Red Knight backed hastily away, his horse, rearing and whinnying shrilly. It took all of his skill to control the frightened animal and it was only when it was quiet that he hastily dismounted and led it quickly to one side. He not only needed to calm the trembling beast but also had to steady his own shattered nerves. A dragon! This hadn’t been in the script!
What on earth was Peter up to? He looked fearfully at the Black Knight who now stood in front of the dragon, sword at the ready. He must be mad! For the dragon, he knew, was real. He’d seen and felt its body writhe out of his shield. What was Peter thinking? How could he stand there, face to face with a dragon? Even as he watched, the great beast sent a stream of sparkling fire curling across the grass and his heart sank. The dragon was huge and obviously meant business!
The crowd tensed with excitement at the sight of the huge beast. Its appearance was totally unexpected and many people started to flick through their programmes, wondering how on earth they’d missed reading about this utterly fantastic act.
Colonel Jamieson, however, almost had a heart attack. He stiffened and leapt to his feet. looking totally stunned. A dragon! Where on earth had it come from? More to the point, who had organized it without telling him? It looked frighteningly real and the blasts of fire worried him. It had certainly never been planned as part of the tournament and his heart sank as he thought of Health and Safety …
Some people clapped at what they thought were the most fantastic special effects they’d ever seen but the applause faded and a ripple of unease replaced the initial excitement as Arthur stood before the Black Knight in all his splendour. He was a magnificent dragon and, spreading his wings, blinked in the bright sunlight. He had lived in the hill for so long that he’d forgotten the incredible blueness of the sky on a summer’s day, the all-pervading warmth of the sun and the sweet smell of newly mown grass. How wonderful the world was.
In front of him, the black horse reared and bucked nervously, drawing Arthur’s attention to it and its rider. The Black Knight! He wondered if the MacArthur was right in thinking that it was Lord Jezail. Lord Jezail who had kidnapped Clara! His eyes narrowed dangerously for the very thought of Clara in the magician’s clutches made him forget his fears. He roared furiously, a thing he hadn’t done in years and, if the truth be told, gave himself a bit of a fright! But noticing that the Black Knight had backed away slightly, he roared again and then, wings outstretched, clawed his way over the grass towards him, blowing great gusts of flame that licked round the horse’s legs, making it rear in panic. Gone were the days when he had trembled before Sir Pendar. He was now a fully grown dragon and more than capable of looking after himself.
Now, angry dragons are not to be trifled with at the best of times and, despite the powerful hexes that surrounded him and his horse, Jezail trembled at the sight of the fearsome creature moving steadily towards him. The sword, feeling his fear and afraid that the magician might turn tail and run, sent a wave of power through him that did much to steady his nerves so that Jezail, regaining his confidence in an instant, relaxed and smiled nastily. Holding his horse with an iron hand, his eyes gleamed with triumph as the sword’s magic gripped him. He knew exactly what he was going to do and where he was going to strike.
He raised Dragonslayer aloft as Arthur gave another dreadful roar and, wings beating the air furiously, flew at the knight in a blinding blaze of fire.
In the stands, Neil watched, his heart in his mouth, as the Black Knight spurred his terrified horse forward to meet the dragon. “Arthur,” Neil whispered, his breath catching on a sob. “Arthur,” he pleaded, grasping Lord Rothlan’s sleeve, his eyes still on the dragon. “You must save him!”
“Wait,” Lord Rothlan said curtly.
Ignoring the great gusts of flames that Arthur blasted round him, Jezail galloped straight towards him and, lifting Dragonslayer, gave a cry of triumph as he thrust the sword deep into the dragon’s heart.
The whole crowd rose screaming to their feet as Arthur gave a great, shrieking cry, his body arching in pain as he writhed furiously in the air before collapsing in a heap on the grass.
18. Hoax He
x
Peter dismounted from his horse and looked at the sword in his hand incredulously. It was a real sword! How on earth did he come to have it in his hand? And where had the dragon come from? It was enormous. He took a few steps towards it but it didn’t move. It must be dead, he decided. But then, who had killed it? He looked again at the sword in his hand and turned white. Had he killed the dragon in some sort of dreadful dream? Was it possible?
He started in surprise as a gorgeously robed old man appeared at his elbow. A magician, Peter thought, without quite knowing why.
“Give me the sword!” the old man snapped and then, seeing that Peter was still in more than a bit of a daze, grasped it roughly from his hand. It was only as the sword flashed triumphantly in the sun that Peter dimly began to understand what had happened.
“Stay where you are,” the old man snarled. Peter blinked in surprise for although he’d worked out that the sword had made him kill the dragon, it hadn’t entered his head that anyone else might be involved, far less a magician.
Lord Jezail left him standing and ran quickly up to the dead dragon. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the magicians retaliated with a barrage of hexes but he was desperate to have some trophy of his great kill. Let him at least have the dragon’s tongue! His heart thudded and his black eyes gleamed with triumph! He’d done it! He’d killed a dragon!
It was only as he approached the dragon’s head that the suspicion dawned that something wasn’t quite right. His eyes sharpened. The head looked … well, it looked rather like rubber. Horrified, he bent down and touched it, his face incredulous. It was made of rubber! But it couldn’t be! His brain worked furiously. It had been a real, live dragon he had killed. He was sure of it!
