by Anne Forbes
Circling interestedly, the grey dragons, too, watched the stumbling figure, their eyes sharpening as they saw their chance. Now, separated from the others, Lord Jezail was surely theirs for the taking.
40. Over the Edge
Neil froze as he saw the grey dragons swooping in, ready for the kill. The great streams of fire belching from their nostrils told him that the dragons meant business as, indeed, they did.
Eyes shining with determination, Nestor led his troop in a deep dive towards the scarlet-clad magician who, unaware of his danger, still stumbled along, muttering to himself feverishly.
Everyone turned as Neil leapt into action, jumping onto his carpet with a loud yell of alarm.
“Jezail!” Lord Rothlan shouted a warning as he realized what was happening. “Jezail, look out!”
Lord Jezail started at his words and looking up, saw the approaching dragons. By that time, however, Neil’s magic carpet was already speeding towards him, not only to save him from the dragons but to stop him from falling off the cliff edge which was dangerously close. There was a brief moment of total confusion. The grey dragons, seeing the approaching carpet, swerved wildly to avoid burning Neil to a cinder while Lord Jezail, suddenly realizing his danger, lifted his arm to hex the dragons out of the sky.
It was then that the cliff edge gave way beneath his feet.
Everyone watched in horror as he tried to regain his footing. The whole edge of the cliff, however, was slipping away from the side of the mountain and he slipped with it, disappearing with a shrieking cry amid the loose jumble of stones and falling rock that tumbled headlong into the valley below.
Prince Kalman ran to his carpet, forgetting that Neil had taken it. Where, he thought frantically, was the other one? Seconds were lost as Vassili’s carpet sailed hastily up and dipped gently to allow him on board. “After them,” he muttered, furious at the delay and seriously worried at what was going to happen; for he knew that Jezail might well be able to hex himself out of the avalanche and he certainly didn’t want him to start killing off the dragons!
His carpet swooped down, following the billowing cloud of dust. It was so thick that he couldn’t see a thing. Where was Jezail? And where had Neil disappeared to?
Neil, at that moment, was clinging to the edge of his carpet with one hand and holding his jacket over his head with the other, in the hope of protecting himself, however slightly, from the scatter of debris that surrounded him. The roar of the rockfall was loud in his ears and the choking cloud of dust made the carpet cough horribly. It was all he could do to stay on board as it rocked around like a boat on stormy seas.
“There he is,” Neil gasped as a flash of red showed briefly through the debris.
The carpet gave something like a grunt as it, too, spotted the flash of colour. With a deft flick, it shot over and slid swiftly underneath the startled magician who thumped down beside Neil in a flurry of scarlet.
Neil hurriedly grasped the somewhat dazed figure as the carpet swung hastily out of the path of the falling rocks. “Are you alright, Lord Jezail?” he asked, releasing him when they were clear of the tumbling rubble.
He felt the thin, old bones move under the velvet and felt an unexpected pang of pity for the magician who now looked more like an old tramp than anything else. His long hair was tangled, his eyes were wild and dirt smeared his face. His robes, filthy and torn, were hanging off him but under the remains of his shirt, Neil glimpsed the shine of gold.
Still gasping for breath, Jezail didn’t answer. He’d be all right, Neil thought, but it’d probably be some time before he recovered from the shock of his fall.
In this, however, he was quite mistaken. Magic gives great strength and, now safe on the magic carpet, Lord Jezail’s mind was racing as he planned his next move. He couldn’t believe his luck! Although his plans had come to nothing, he now, at least, had an ideal means of escape. All he had to do was get rid of the boy!
He continued to cough and, lifting his head, looked so piteously at Neil that the boy did, indeed, feel sorry for him. Jezail then threw out his hands, as if for comfort, but when the pawing fingers grasped Neil’s arms, they tightened viciously and his pleading expression changed to one of sheer evil.
Neil gasped in surprise — surprise that quickly changed to fear as, with a venomous smile, Lord Jezail pulled him up and made to throw him off the carpet. Instinctively, Neil grabbed at the front of the magician’s shirt. It was the only thing that was within reach of his fingers and he held on tightly. His mind was racing but he was quite determined that if he was going to go over the edge, then he was going to take Lord Jezail with him!
Jezail, conscious of his danger, gave a snarl of fury and, twisting Neil sharply, jerked him off balance with such force that the collar of his shirt ripped and came away in Neil’s hand. So, too, did the gold chain round his neck!
Jezail, feeling the chain snap, shrieked in horror as he realized what had happened. He grabbed desperately at Neil but by then it was too late. Neil tottered on the edge of the carpet for barely a second before falling backwards into the void.
Screaming, crying and clutching at his throat, Lord Jezail knelt frantically at the edge of the carpet and saw his precious medallion flashing in the boy’s fingers. His medallion! He had to get it back!
Then his carpet jerked violently as a grey dragon streaked past, diving downwards at great speed. He sighed with relief. The dragon had seen what had happened and was going to save the boy. There was still a chance! He might yet be able to get his medallion back!
Nestor had watched the struggle on the carpet and had been totally stunned when Jezail had thrown Neil off! Despite the magician’s ruthlessness, he’d never for a moment believed that anything of the like might happen and, moments later, went into a dive that would have put a sparrowhawk to shame.
Claws outstretched, he managed to grasp the shoulders of Neil’s jacket mere seconds before he hit the ground. Wings beating frantically, he then proceeded to make the most deplorable landing he’d ever made, hitting the floor of the valley sideways on, so that Neil wouldn’t touch the ground.
Neil collapsed in a shivering heap beside the dragon as it loosened its claws. He felt sick. The ground had been so near, so very near. He’d felt it rushing up to meet him …
Nestor, groaning with pain, his wing crumpled under him, was more of a nervous wreck than he cared to admit. Thank goodness, he thought, that he’d reached the boy in time. He knew perfectly well that he almost hadn’t and shuddered in horror at the thought of what might have happened.
Gingerly, he heaved himself upright, his broken wing hanging uselessly by his side. The boy, stammering his thanks at being rescued, was unhurt, and that, he thought thankfully, was all that mattered. Dragon’s injuries heal themselves in time but although he knew the damage wasn’t lasting, a broken wing was the last thing Nestor needed! Especially here, on the valley floor where she was accustomed to roam …
“What are we going to do?” Neil asked tentatively, once they’d introduced themselves. He was still a bit nervous of this new dragon. Somehow he’d thought that all of the dragons in the valley would be the same as Arthur but this obviously wasn’t the case, for although Nestor seemed friendly enough, he was nothing like Arthur. He was altogether much fiercer; thinner, sharper and jagged, his shiny grey scales gleaming threateningly, like the polished barrel of a gun.
“Well,” Nestor shrugged, looking sourly at a huge tongue of rock that cut them off from the main valley, “if I hadn’t broken my wing, we could have flown over that spur of rock in seconds. As it is, it looks as though we’ve a bit of a walk in front of us. Do you think you’ll manage alright?” He looked at Neil shrewdly, for the boy still looked pale.
“I’ll be fine,” Neil grinned suddenly. It was true. He did feel a lot better. Just knowing he was alive acted as a tonic.
“Let’s go then!” Nestor said with a sigh.
Neil had already started when the dragon’s eyes caught the g
lint of gold. “I think you’ve dropped something, Neil,” he said suddenly, nodding at the ground.
Neil glanced down and saw what looked like a gold coin lying in the dust. He looked at in some surprise and then, seeing the torn strip of shirt that lay beside it, realized that he’d must have been holding on to it when Lord Jezail had thrown him off the carpet. “It must belong to Lord Jezail,” Neil said, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. “I noticed he had a chain round his neck when I was on the carpet.” Looping it round his fingers, he stuffed it casually in his jacket pocket and, walking along by the dragon’s side, promptly forgot about it as he scanned his new surroundings. What a fascinating place this was!
Nestor, too, was looking round sharply, his eyes missing nothing. He’d just worked out which part of the valley they were in and immediately felt uneasy. It was a place where the serpent sometimes lurked and although this wouldn’t normally have bothered him that much, the present situation was hardly promising. Not only did he have a broken wing, he had the boy to look after.
Neil, knowing nothing of the dragon’s worries, was gazing at the valley with interest. It was a strange place, he thought, a bit like the pictures of the moon that he’d seen on television. Outcrops of rock reared up here and there and between them, great cracks ran in jagged lines along the valley floor. Before Nestor could stop him, he ran across the dusty ground and peered down into one, drawing back abruptly, astonished at its depths.
“I wouldn’t like to fall down there,” he admitted, as Nestor’s head reared worriedly.
“Best to keep away from them,” Nestor agreed, keeping his voice calm with an effort. He knew that it was from just such a chasm that the serpent might appear and he quickened his step, grimacing slightly as he lifted his broken wing well clear of the ground.
Neil nodded and as he strode along he looked up at the dragon with an excited smile. He’d been a bit worried about its wing but, although clearly in pain, the dragon seemed otherwise okay. Despite its awkwardness, it was covering the ground at quite a speed. So much so that half the time he had to run to keep up with it!
“Look,” he said, casually, “there’s a track of sorts over there and it’s heading in the right direction. It’ll make it a lot easier for you if we follow it!”
Nestor followed his pointing finger and paled at the sight of the smooth, rounded track that wound gently among the scatter of jagged rocks that littered the valley floor. He knew at once who had made it and hissed in fear. She was nearby …
It was as they reached the end of the outcrop and were about to move down into the main valley that they heard someone screaming.
Nestor lifted his head at the sound, wondering anxiously what was going on. He knew it wasn’t one of his dragons for no dragon ever made a noise like that. The screams were dreadful and seemed to be coming closer. “Come on,” he said urgently, “whoever it is, needs our help!”
As they rounded the corner, the main valley, wide and spacious, suddenly opened up before them and Neil gave a cry of joy as, pointing dramatically at the sky, a host of grey dragons suddenly appeared.
Nestor, although delighted to see them, drew his brows together in a frown for they were in no sort of order. Circling and swooping wildly in total confusion they drew ever closer; and it was as the sound of the screaming increased that they saw the reason why.
Neil froze and even Nestor drew back at the fearsome sight that met their eyes.
Lord Jezail appeared, still screaming frantically as he ran towards them. His robes were torn and filthy, his hair a tangled mess and his face totally and unmistakeably mad — for behind him a huge serpent reared, hissing viciously as it snaked swiftly after him. So huge was the serpent that Neil barely noticed Prince Kalman racing up behind on a magic carpet. Nestor did, however, and despite the urgency of the situation sighed with relief. At a time like this, a magician was just what was needed.
Neil clenched his fists so that his nails dug into the palm of his hands. His eyes were like saucers. What were they going to do? It was a huge snake, bigger than anything he’d ever seen in the zoo; its body, thick and powerful, was almost the same colour as the rocks in the valley, its black eyes gleamed and its great jaws were agape as it slithered swiftly after its prey, tongue flickering greedily, ready to strike.
Neil was never to know if Lord Jezail actually caught sight of him and perhaps lost his footing as a result. Maybe, as Prince Kalman told him afterwards, maybe the magician just tripped over his robes. Whatever the reason, Lord Jezail stumbled and fell heavily.
He didn’t have a chance.
The serpent reared triumphantly and it was just as it was about to strike that both Neil and Prince Kalman threw a hex.
Prince Kalman jumped down from his carpet and rushed towards Lord Jezail who lay sprawled on the ground.
Neil, too, ran forward, shaking like a leaf. He’d thrown a hex! How he’d managed it, he didn’t know, but he had! The power had flown automatically from his fingers and the words had sprung instinctively from his lips. He ran forward, anxiously, knowing that he’d hexed the serpent before it struck. Why then, wasn’t Lord Jezail scrambling to his feet?
He knelt beside the prince as he bent over the still figure. One touch was enough. “I’m afraid he’s dead, Neil,” the prince frowned, looking decidedly puzzled as he slipped his arms underneath the limp body. It was only as he turned the magician over and lifted him to a sitting position that Neil saw the wound that scarred his forehead.
“It wasn’t the serpent that killed him, Neil!” the prince muttered. He stretched out his hand, his fingers closing over a sharp stone that lay, half-hidden, in the dust. “It must have been this! He tripped and fell on it …”
“But he had a protective shield round him,” Neil argued, still shocked at what had happened. “Even Arthur’s fire couldn’t burn him …” His voice drifted to a halt as his hand crept to his pocket where the gold coin lay and he swallowed hard as he realized what must have happened.
Prince Kalman looked at him thoughtfully but said nothing. Questions could come later.
“To be frank,” he said gently, “it’s a better death than he deserved. He was, truly, a vicious man.”
It was then that the grey dragons swooped down from the sky and landed in a tangled heap of wings and claws beside them. Nostrils flaring, they hissed in relief at the sight of the serpent whose body lay sprawled in the dust. She was dead! Dead at last! They looked at Nestor, their eyes shining with relief. She would no longer terrorize the valley.
41. The Gold Medallion
The great castle at Trollsberg was a scene of bustling excitement. Never had it entertained so many visitors at one time. The kitchen staff had doubled overnight, working in shifts to cope with the new arrivals — they’d even set up special field kitchens in the meadows outside the town where the MacArthur’s army was camped.
Sitting by the fire in the Blue Salon, Neil relaxed and watched Major Sallis and Clara idly. They had found a pack of cards and were playing some sort of Snap. He shifted slightly in his chair, feeling guiltier with every moment that passed, for he still hadn’t told Clara about the magic coin — and the longer he left it, the harder it became. He hadn’t mentioned it to the prince either and he knew that he should have handed it over to him straightaway while Lord Jezail was lying dead in the dust.
The prince, to give him his due, had coped with everything with his customary efficiency. He’d mended Nestor’s wing with a hex and set a dragon guard round Lord Jezail’s body until he could arrange for it to be transported to Trollsberg. As for the serpent, Neil shivered slightly at the thought — the dragons had taken care of it themselves. Strung out along its length, they’d lifted it in their claws, carried its heavy, lifeless body over one of the deep chasms that cracked the valley floor and dropped it into its depths. She would trouble them no more.
So many things had happened all at once that there hadn’t really been time to say anything about the coin. It h
ad all been so horrible and a million things had been crowding his mind. He surely couldn’t be blamed for not mentioning it. And when Prince Kalman had brought him back to the top of the cliff on his magic carpet, he’d still been more or less in a state of shock. The magicians, although horrified at his appearance, had greeted him with relief and Clara had run forward with tears in her eyes — his magic carpet had returned without him and she’d obviously been thinking the worst! Even Arthur had surged forward, looking at him with concern.
And, once again, the moment had passed — for the prince barely had time to tell Lord Rothlan and Count Vassili of Lord Jezail’s death when Nestor, once more in charge of the grey dragons, flapped out of the sky to land beside them. He bowed low to the magicians and to Arthur and hurriedly announced the arrival of the MacArthur’s and Lord Onegin’s armies.
And that, Neil smiled ruefully, had kept everyone busy for the rest of the day. Not that either he or Clara had known anything about it, for the prince had immediately instructed Arthur to take them both back to Trollsberg before the rest set off on their carpets. Perhaps a hex had accompanied his words, Neil thought, for once they’d arrived at Trollsberg on the dragon’s back — to the stunned astonishment of the guards, who’d never seen a dragon before — all they could think of was hot baths and sleep. Worn out by the excitement of the day, they’d tumbled into bed and slept long and heavily, waking up sluggishly the next morning to the crowing of cocks.
It was Major Sallis who had told them over breakfast how the two armies had joined forces and between them had rounded up the scattered remainder of Lord Jezail’s army. The black-clad Citadel Guard, he said, had put up no sort of fight but had surrendered immediately on hearing of their master’s death. Then he described the return of Lord Onegin to Trollsberg, the arrival of the MacArthurs on a fleet of magic carpets and the burial of Lord Jezail in one of the vaults in the wall of the castle. It had been an exceedingly formal occasion, he said sombrely, and one that all of the magicians had attended. The death of a Dragon Seeker was always marked by special observances and Lord Jezail’s body had been buried with all the honour and ceremony that was his due.
