Dragon Seeker

by Anne Forbes

  As the great doors of the citadel closed slowly behind them, the horses picked up speed, sending the coach rattling across the curved, stone bridge that divided the citadel from the narrow streets of the town. Clara craned her neck and could just see the frothing, white water of the rushing mountain stream that passed below.

  Despite the lateness of the hour, a few people in Stara Zargana were still awake and curtains parted fearfully in the windows of several houses as the coach, with its escort of dark-clad riders, clattered swiftly through the winding streets, heading towards the great road that led north.

  23. Magic Carpets

  As the first fingers of daylight slipped across the morning sky, a fleet of magic carpets soared across the tree-clad mountains that marked the western border of the tiny state of Ashgar. It had been a long journey and the carpets, cold and tired, sighed with relief at the thought that there wasn’t much further to go. Not that anyone had seen them, of course, as the MacArthur’s mighty army had travelled across Europe quite invisible to human eyes.

  Neil woke up as the sun rose and, blinking tiredly, felt a moment of panic as he felt the wind on his face. Then he remembered. He wasn’t cosily tucked up in bed at home; he was cold, stiff and shivering on his magic carpet! Sitting up carefully, he drew his cloak closer.

  Although he couldn’t see any of the carpets around him, he knew that they were there, flying in tight formation. Prince Kalman’s carpet was to his left and Lord Rothlan with Amgarad, his great eagle, flew to his right. Ahead, however, lay the invisible host of magic carpets that carried the MacArthur and his troops, into battle. Interestedly, he peered over the edge of his carpet and saw thick forest stretching almost to the horizon.

  “Good morning,” he called tentatively, wondering if the others were awake.

  It was Prince Kalman who answered. “Good morning, Neil,” he replied. “I was wondering when you were going to wake up!”

  Lord Rothlan then chipped in. “Are you all right, Neil?” he asked, amusement colouring his voice. “I was just about to send Amgarad across to peck you awake!”

  “Morning, Lord Rothlan,” Neil replied. “I slept like a log, I’m afraid. I must have been really tired! Are we nearly there?”

  “Not far to go now,” Rothlan replied. “We’ve just crossed the border into Ashgar. That road, down there on your right, beside the river, runs to Plevitz, the capital. It’s more of a big town than a city.”

  “The rest of the country hasn’t changed in centuries,” Prince Kalman added. “Just small farms and the like — and forests, of course. Most people still travel round on horseback.”

  “Just as well that we have magic carpets,” Lord Rothlan observed thankfully. “It’d take us the best part of a week to get to Stara Zargana otherwise.”

  Although they chatted now and then, the time passed slowly. Neil felt a lot better when the sun climbed higher in the sky and warmed him through. Everyone had brought sandwiches and bottled water for the journey and he didn’t take long to finish his. The cold mountain air had given him an appetite.

  When his carpet started to lose height Neil felt a thrill of excitement. “Are we nearly there?” he queried.

  “Yes, that village ahead’s called Hilderstein,” Prince Kalman said. “The old hunting lodge I told you about is just a few miles further on.”

  The hunting lodge, Neil knew, was to be the base of their operations. In years gone by, when they’d regarded Lord Jezail as a friend, the prince and his father had lived in it while hunting wild boar in the forest. Indeed, it was a map the prince had drawn showing the lie of the surrounding countryside that had done much to convince the MacArthur that its position, although isolated, was ideal. It was so remote that, with any luck, none of Jezail’s spies would ever guess that they were there.

  The only problem, Neil thought, was that he was going to have to stay at the lodge, kicking his heels, while the others enjoyed all the excitement of going to war. The MacArthur had been quite definite about it. There was no way he would allow him to take part in the battle for the citadel.

  No one expected the hex that hit the MacArthur’s army.

  Not that they knew anything about it, since Lord Jezail was a wily soul as well as being a powerful magician. Leafing through Clara’s spells, he had chosen the hexes carefully. The first was a quiet, subtle hex that immediately sent all of the MacArthur’s troops into a deep, deep sleep. He followed this up with another which, if anything, was the more dangerous of the two, for it knocked all of the magic carpets completely off course.

  Looking out idly from the window of his study, Jezail smiled nastily. Wherever the MacArthur and his army ended up, it certainly wasn’t going to be anywhere near Stara Zargana!

  His black eyes glowed with satisfaction as he turned to his desk where the sword lay, glowing gently. Dragonslayer! He could still hardly believe that it was his! Lifting it up, he held it in the palms of both hands and told it of the spells he had just cast. “They were from the Book of Spells,” he said proudly. “I made the girl write them all down.”

  The sword glowed red with anger. “You didn’t tell me she had written them all down!” it said furiously. “I would like to have questioned her about them. Some of them might have been useful to me! Didn’t you think of that?”

  Lord Jezail had, indeed, thought of just such a possibility; which was why he’d had Clara write the spells out in his sitting room rather than in his study. He’d seen enough of the sword’s magic to know its power and, as far as he was concerned, giving it access to the Book of Spells was quite out of the question.

  “Bring her here!” the sword said commandingly. “At once!”

  “Oh, she’s not here anymore,” Lord Jezail answered, shaking his head. “Once she’d finished writing the spells, I sent her away.”

  The sword fizzled with rage.

  “I thought it best,” Lord Jezail explained, stiffly. “So far, I’ve dealt a deadly blow to the Lords of the North and their army but they might well recover. Anyway,” he continued, “if there is going to be any fighting here, I certainly wouldn’t want a child in the citadel. I’ve sent her to Dragonsgard.”

  “Dragonsgard?” asked the sword.

  “A castle of mine, on the northern border.”

  “Why?” queried the sword, sharply. “Surely the girl would be more useful here? If things go against you, you could use her as a bargaining chip!”

  “Actually, sending her to Dragonsgard was mostly an excuse for getting rid of Count Vassili,” Jezail admitted, scowling suddenly. “I’ve been suspicious of him for a while. Not that he’s been plotting against me or anything like that but he’s become tiresome; always finding fault and objecting to my plans.” He paused and then added. “For instance, he would have done everything he could to stop me from taking you to the Valley of the Dragons.”

  A wave of approval burned through the sword.

  “He’s in for a surprise when he arrives at the castle, too,” Lord Jezail added, smiling nastily. “You see, Vassili is a magician of sorts and I can’t have him interfering in our plans. I gave the officer in charge a letter for the Governor of Dragonsgard instructing him to imprison them all, the minute they arrive.”

  Dragonslayer glowed. The magician had, indeed, done well and although he didn’t approve of the girl being sent away, she could still be useful if things didn’t work out as planned. All in all, everything was working out nicely, for now that the magician had hexed the MacArthur’s army, the threat of battle had been nipped in the bud leaving the magician free to march to the Valley of the Dragons.

  As the strength of the sword’s desire swept through him, Lord Jezail fell under its spell and immediately started to make plans. The Valley of the Dragons lay in a remote corner of Ashgar. There was work to be done!

  While Lord Jezail busied himself, making arrangements for his forthcoming journey, the MacArthur’s army on their magic carpets continued to sail majestically through the sky, totally unaware that
they were completely off course or that their riders were fast asleep.

  All except Neil, that is. He sat up abruptly as the carpets changed direction. What was going on? He heard Amgarad give a loud squawk of alarm and fear gripped him.

  “Lord Rothlan!” Neil shouted. He waited, but there was no answer. “Prince Kalman!” he called. Again there was silence.

  “Amgarad!” Neil shouted. “Amgarad! What’s going on?”

  Neil gave a sigh of relief as Amgarad became visible as he left Lord Rothlan’s carpet in a flap of wings, then promptly disappeared again as he landed on Neil’s shoulder. “Ouch!” Neil winced as he felt the bird’s claws penetrate the thick stuff of his cloak.

  Amgarad was too angry to apologize. “It was a hex, Neil,” he said grimly. “We should have known Jezail wouldn’t let us fly in unchallenged. Everyone’s asleep on their carpets and I’ve no idea where we’re heading. The carpets have changed direction completely!”

  “Do you think they’re heading for Stara Zargana?” Neil hazarded a guess.

  “I don’t think so,” Amgarad said. “We seem to be heading south …”

  “Can’t you wake Lord Rothlan up?” Neil asked.

  “I tried,” Amgarad said, “but it was no good. He’s in a magic sleep. He’ll only wake up when the spell is lifted …”

  “… and by then he might be Lord Jezail’s prisoner!” Neil finished the sentence.

  The great eagle nodded its head worriedly.

  “And me as well,” Neil added grimly. “What can we do, Amgarad? If I could get off the carpet, I might be able to help in some way.”

  Amgarad looked at him in surprise. “Of course you can get off,” he said. “Anytime you like! All you have to do is merge with me!”

  Neil’s eyes gleamed. He’d forgotten about merging. Nevertheless, he hesitated. It wasn’t an ideal option for he’d no idea if he’d see his magic carpet again but at least if they were both free they might be able to rescue the prince and Lord Rothlan. Looking back, he searched for Hilderstein and saw it nestling among farmland at the edge of the forest. “Let’s go to that village, Amgarad,” he said. “Then we can ask someone where the hunting lodge is. If the spell’s lifted then that’s where the prince will come looking for us.”

  Amgarad looked unsure but with every second that passed, the village was drawing further away. Neil didn’t hesitate. He put his arms round the eagle and immediately merged with him.

  It was really quite fantastic, he thought, for in an instant, he saw the world from a different perspective. Now he knew the meaning of “eagle-eyed” for as Amgarad flapped his great wings and swooped downwards, he could see the earth beneath in the most fantastic detail down to the smallest blade of grass. The flight, however, was all too short and stepping out of the bird onto a footpath, he looked round in a bit of a daze. He couldn’t believe he’d merged with an eagle. It was amazing!

  Amgarad had landed at the edge of a wood and, perching on an old fence, barely waited until Neil demerged before flapping his wings to soar skywards again.

  “Amgarad?” Neil was startled. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve just realized that I can’t leave the carpets, Neil. I have to stay with them, at least until I know where they’re heading. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can. I must go. I’ve got to catch up with the carpets!”

  The carpets, however, had travelled for quite a few miles before he managed to catch up with them and by that time he was regretting having left Neil alone on the ground. They hadn’t thought it through properly and now Neil was on his own in a strange land. He had an uneasy feeling that the prince and Lord Rothlan weren’t going to be at all pleased with him.

  As for Neil, he waited and worried beside the fence for hours — but Amgarad didn’t return.

  24. Night Watch

  Arthur went to bed early that night, completely worn out by his long stint of sentry duty, for he had insisted on doing his bit in protecting the Valley of the Dragons. Within seconds of rolling himself into a comfortable position among the rocks that formed his bed he was fast asleep. Indeed, so deep was his sleep that he didn’t hear the red dragons as they closed the entrance to his cave. This was the first task of the night watch and the dragons took their duties seriously, moving round all the caves in the valley, closing the openings with huge boulders that fitted snugly into the entrances of the tunnels.

  It was exhausting work, for the boulders were heavy, but the dragons were strong and as their leader flew round to make sure that no cave had been left open to the night air, they flew to their perches atop high pinnacles of rock, their eyes sharp and alert for they knew that she would be hungry. It was many months since she’d managed to kill and eat a baby dragon — and every night since had been a battle of wits as she crept cunningly between outcrops of rock, trying to reach the caves on the hillside where the dragons slept. Tonight was a dangerous night, for the full moon shone brightly on the creamy rocks of the valley, leaving deep areas of shadow where … she … could move unseen.

  She was there. And she was hungry. Very hungry. Slithering upwards, the great serpent rose from the depths of the deep crevasse she called home and, stealing through the shadows, slipped silently across the smooth rocks to feast, hopefully, on dragon flesh. Preferably baby dragon flesh, she thought, hissing softly to herself; so much more tender and appetizing than the tough, ancient, hundreds-of-years-old variety and so much easier to swallow!

  Her tongue flickered several times as she smiled in cold amusement, for her chances this time were more than good. The dragons had been careless that morning. So excited were they at the arrival of this new dragon that they hadn’t noticed her watching. But she had been close. So close that she had heard them talking of Arthur in hushed tones. Arthur, she thought contemptuously. What kind of a name for a dragon was that, for goodness sake! And, putting Arthur out of her mind, she cast the red dragons a calculating glance as she slithered slowly and carefully upwards towards the cave entrance she’d marked out as her target for the evening. It had, she’d discovered, housed a rather nasty baby dragon who was so badly behaved that it drove its mother to distraction. It really deserved to be her supper. In fact, she reckoned she’d be doing the mother a favour, getting rid of such an awful brat! She certainly wouldn’t miss him and as he was on the plump side, her mouth watered in anticipation.

  Reaching the entrance to the cave, she reared her thick length behind her in undulating curves and pushed against the side of the boulder. It was moving, she thought excitedly. She only needed a small opening to get through and once in the dragon’s lair, a quick bite would be enough to put the dragons to sleep. Getting out again with a young dragon filling her stomach, however, was definitely something else and gently, ever so gently, she widened the hole. Slithering softly down the tunnel, she arrived in the cave where the dragons lay on their rocky beds, snoring loudly, blissfully unaware of their danger.

  It was all the fault of the wretched child, she thought afterwards, nursing her burns and bruises. Who else, after all, would have left sharp stones lying around in the dark! Her hiss of alarm as they’d pierced her scales had been more than enough to wake the dragons and the father had got in a good few searing blasts of fire before she’d managed to turn round and streak back up the tunnel again.

  Then, of course, the red dragons, alerted by the noise, were already diving towards her, flames belching from their mouths. It had been a tricky journey home. The thought of it made her shudder as, slithering in a mad panic from rock to rock, shadow to shadow, she’d done all she could to avoid them. Lashing out with her tail when they got too close, she knew she’d caused them some damage but there were so many of them that her efforts had been of little use as they swooped on her unprotected body, raking it with their claws. The flame of their breath lit the valley and sent the shadows fleeing so that her last, few, painful yards, in full view of her attackers, had been a nightmare of pain and horror.

  Arthur rose bright and
early the next morning and stretched lazily on the heap of rocks and stones that served as his bed. It wasn’t quite what he was used to, of course, and for an instant he thought longingly of Arthur’s Seat and the ever-so comfortable heap of wonderful treasure that he snuggled down into each evening. He sighed inwardly, missing the gleam of gold, the sparkle of precious jewels and the slippery slide of sovereigns under his claws. But then, he supposed, this was an adventure and you couldn’t really expect home comforts.

  It was then that he discovered that it was dark. He frowned, knowing that by this time light should have been streaming into his cave. Something was most definitely wrong! Feeling his way over to the tunnel, he scrambled upwards and, on reaching the top, found the way barred by the huge boulder that fitted across the opening. Not a chink of light shone through and he was just about to put a shoulder to it when the rock rolled away from the entrance, leaving him blinking in the dawn light.

  The red dragon was very apologetic and more than slightly ashamed. “I’m very sorry, Arthur, Sir,” he gabbled distractedly. “I’m a bit late today. She was on the prowl last night, you see, and she made it into one of the caves. Fortunately the dragons woke up and … it was quite a battle, I can tell you!”

  Arthur noticed that one of the dragon’s wings was badly torn.

  “Did you manage to kill her?”

  The red dragon shook his head. “No, she escaped into her den but she was badly injured. You must excuse me, Arthur, Sir,” he said pleadingly. “I’m late as it is this morning and I’ve loads more rocks to remove.”

  “Go ahead,” Arthur answered, looking across the valley to where a veritable army of red dragons was hurriedly removing the great round boulders that blocked the tunnels that led down into the dragons’ caves.