by Anne Forbes
For my mother, who loved Edinburgh
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
1. Jarishan
2. Amgarad Attacks
3. Faery Folk
4. The Great Whisky Robbery
5. Past Times
6. Secret Passages
7. The MacArthurs
8. Rothlan’s Story
9. The Dragon’s Lair
10. Pigeon Post
11. Plots and Plans
12. Operation Arthur
13. Firestones
14. The Loch Ness Monster
15. Summer in Jarishan
16. Emergency Flight
17. Magic Carpets
18. Mischief the Cat
19. Nightmare Times
20. The Pickpocket
21. Mobiles and Merging
22. The Edinburgh Tattoo
23. Kidnapped
24. Dragonfire
25. Preparations for War
26. Journey to Jarishan
27. The Storm Carriers
28. Clara’s Adventure
29. Amgarad’s Agony
30. Dragonsleep
31. Battle of the Giants
32. Healing Hexes
33. Prince Kalman
34. A Matter of Time
35. Here Be Dragons
Dance of the Dervishes
Copyright
Prologue
Had you seen him striding determinedly across the heather-clad landscape you would probably have guessed that he was a wizard or magician of some sort, for there was something indefinably evil and oppressive about the tall figure. A deep-brimmed black hat hid his face, a black crow clung to his shoulder and a long, black cloak flapped and fluttered in the wind behind him as he took the slope of the hill in long, even strides. Darkness seemed to cling to him and black clouds gathered and swirled in the sky above for the terrible figure was, indeed, a magician — none other than Prince Kalman Meriden of Ardray, one of the most powerful wizards in Scotland.
From the hilltop, the prince gazed over a grim, lonely valley where snow lay thick on the ground and the black waters of a broad river ran deep. As his eyes lifted to the mountains beyond, he gave a nod of satisfaction. It was as he had expected; for before him lay a magic land, a land where the sun did not shine and the snows of countless winters drifted thick and deep over moor and mountain. Such was Jarishan, the home of his hated enemy, Lord Rothlan.
The magician pressed his lips together in a thin line as he thought of the dangerous task that lay ahead; for Jarishan would not, he knew, be unprotected. Lord Rothlan was no fool. His sharp-eyed eagles might well spot him and he knew that if he were caught, he’d be shown no mercy. It was a risk, however, that he was quite determined to take for, if the old woman had been telling the truth and the lost crown did, indeed, lie under the waters of Jarishan Loch, then he had to make sure that he was the one to find it. The thought of Rothlan stumbling on it by accident didn’t bear thinking about! Excitement coloured his voice as he thought of the crown’s magic power. Despite the danger, he had to find it!
Looking at the mountains through narrowed eyes, he addressed the crow thoughtfully. “The magic shield is still in place, Kitor,” he said, addressing the crow. “A pity that I’ll have to break it to get into Jarishan, but there’s really no choice.” He paused to look searchingly across the deserted landscape. “But it will only be for a few minutes, after all. Once we’re inside, it can be restored immediately and then — then we can begin our search for the crown.”
Slowly the prince raised his arms, stiffened his fingers and chanted the words of a powerful spell. As he did so, a deafening crack of sound screamed through the high mountains on the far side of the river and for an instant they seemed to shiver and shake. The magician surveyed the scene through watchful eyes, for, as the mountains settled and stilled, an invisible hand seemed to sweep a grimy, grey film from their slopes, leaving the snowy peaks sharp and bright in the clear air. The magic shield that had surrounded Jarishan for centuries had been broken!
With a cruel smile on his lips he reached out his arm to cast another hex and although his voice was softer this time, the second spell was just as powerful as the first. Hardly had his words stopped echoing round the valley than there was a sinister rustling and tumbling in the heather around him and from among its tough, sinewy roots appeared hundreds of strange creatures: small, grey and shiny black. They glistened wetly in the mist, their dome-like heads pierced by round, red eyes, their mouths rubbery slits and their ears like the gills of fish. Such were the water goblins that Prince Kalman had called from the watery depths of Scotland’s lochs to do his bidding.
Once more the dark prince gazed across the valley to the cold mountain peaks that lay before him and cast a third spell; a spell that hid him and his water goblins from the eyes of the world of magic. Now, no crystal ball would see them moving downhill to the river; neither would they be seen crossing it.
Prince Kalman smiled in triumph. Jarishan was open to him at last.
1. Jarishan
However hard you try and however closely you look, you won’t find Jarishan on any map of Scotland. Jarishan is a magical place that lies, it is said, somewhere on the west coast among the heather-clad hills of Moidart. No one has seen Jarishan for many a long year, for it is a cold, icy place, the home of storms, mists and monsters.
It is also home to a magician, Lord Rothlan, who lives on an island in the middle of Jarishan Loch. His castle, tall and turreted, is surprisingly elegant and, in happier days when the sun was allowed to shine, was the envy of the less fortunate. Now its walls are dark, stained and cold; the golden days of summer but a memory. Lord Rothlan rarely thinks of them and, if he does, it is with anger and a desire for revenge; for over the years he has become dark and bitter. Yet he was not always so and there are those among the Lords of the North who still remember his charm and ready laughter.
His crime, however, had been unforgivable. Hundreds of years before, Rothlan had betrayed his fellow magicians and the ruling against him had been harsh. A magic shield had been placed around his lands; a shield that had kept him, and his people, prisoners within its invisible walls. He had not only been banned from the world of magic and magicians, but his domain had also been deprived of all seasons except winter. His once proud eagles shared his punishment and had been transformed into fearsome monsters, their feathers rank and foul. Rothlan felt his enforced loneliness severely and his anger had grown with the passing of the years until he had become a proud and vengeful lord.
Wrapped in robes of fur, he spent the days and years of his exile perusing volume after volume of the dusty, ancient tomes that had accumulated in his library over the centuries. Many charms were already known to him, and all wizards, faeries and goblins can merge with humans, birds and animals but from the crabbed writing that covered the yellowing pages of his books, however, he gleaned many darker, long-forgotten spells and enchantments.
The years passed and by the dawn of the twenty-first century, Lord Rothlan was not only more vengeful but also a magician of considerable ability. He spent much of his time reading in his study; a grand, richly-furnished room dominated by a glittering crystal ball. For hundreds of years the ball had revealed nothing more than a white swirling mist that hid the world of magic from his sight, and so accustomed was he to its opaque emptiness that he had come to regard it as an ornament rather than a means of communication.
The crystal, however, still retained its magic power and as Prince Kalman broke the shield that surrounded Jarishan, he unwittingly brought it back to life.
Lord Rothlan lifted his head sharply from his book as he became aware of a low, but hauntingly familiar, humming
noise. So long was it since he had last heard the sound that it took him a few seconds to place it, and when he did, the shock totally unnerved him. The globe was no longer dead but glowing with life and pulsating with energy.
Shaking with emotion, Lord Rothlan rose from his chair. With trembling fingers he drew close and, touching the crystal ball lightly, gasped as he felt the old, familiar surge of power run through him. Avidly he stared into the crystal as he had in times long past. It was clear … clear! No longer cloudy it glowed with a weird, unearthly light and in its depths he glimpsed fabulous jewels and vague figures. As he caught his breath in recognition they disappeared, blotted out by streaking, yellow and red flames, that for brief seconds curled round the inside of the glass. It was over in minutes. To his dismay the crystal started to fade and as it dulled, the mist returned and the crystal clouded over once more.
“Amgarad!” called Lord Rothlan, striding up and down the room in his excitement. “Am – garad!”
His voice reached the topmost turret of the castle where Amgarad, captain of the eagles, had his nest. Hearing the unaccustomed urgency in his master’s voice, the bird lifted his head sharply from the protection of his nest and flinched as a bitter wind, laced with the promise of snow, struck his unprotected head. Although the turret commanded a superb view of the surrounding area, it was hardly the most desirable of residences. Open to the four winds, its slit windows had no glass and there was little protection from the biting cold that penetrated every corner of the tower.
“Amgarad!” the call came again, more urgently.
Suppressing a sigh, for he had just managed to settle himself in a comfortable position, the monstrous bird lifted one talon after another and, with a careful delicacy born of long practice, clawed his way out of the mountain of sticks and thorns that served as his nest. With a flap of wings, he landed on one of the stone windowsills, teetering on its brink for a few seconds before plunging into the void.
Amgarad appeared at his best when in flight. He was an impressive sight with huge, black wings feathered against the rising air currents that allowed him to soar and swoop effortlessly over loch and mountain. Seen close, however, there was little about him that was noble. Despite his strong, hooked beak, he was an object of disgust; an evil hag of a bird whose rank, fretted feathers hung about him like a foul cloak.
Seconds later, in a flurry of wings, he landed on the windowsill of Lord Rothlan’s study and swooped to a perch near his master’s chair. Rothlan closed the window behind him and turned, his lips tightening as he viewed the dreadful bird. Meeting his glance, Amgarad closed his eyes in shame and hung his head. He opened them to find his master standing before him, his eyes understanding and blazing with a fire that he hadn’t seen in years.
His handsome face was, nevertheless, grim and angry. “I have never forgiven them for what they did to you, Amgarad. I suffer for you, believe me!” Striding over to the crystal, he stroked its smooth surface and his voice, when he spoke, was harsh and triumphant. “But it may well be, Amgarad, that our days in exile are coming to an end! And when I have my power back, how I shall make them all pay!”
“Master?” Amgarad’s voice trembled with hope. “How … how can that be?”
“The crystal, Amgarad! The crystal came to life this afternoon! Only for a short time but I saw in it those that I recognized!” He strode up and down the room trying to contain his excitement.
“Prince Kalman?” The great bird croaked horribly.
“No,” Rothlan frowned and shook his head at the mention of the name, “not Kalman Meriden. No, strangely enough, Amgarad, I saw the MacArthurs.” He shot the bird a keen glance. “You remember them? From Edinburgh?”
As Amgarad nodded, Rothlan spoke thoughtfully. “I saw the MacArthurs amid fire and flames. And I saw firestones lying on a heap of treasure.” He pursed his lips. “Could they be the stones that hold the magic shield in place around us?” He shook his head doubtfully. “Something is happening in the world outside our realm and whatever it is, it must be to our benefit; otherwise why would the crystal reveal it to me?”
He paced the floor and then stopped decisively in front of the bird. “I will consult with Hector and the rest of my captains, but first of all I must find out why my crystal has suddenly come to life. You must act as my eyes and ears, Amgarad. Something strange is going on and if the crystal doesn’t lie then it may well concern those in the hill at Holyrood. I am relying on you to find out.”
“Holyrood! You mean that I am to fly to Edinburgh, master? But … but how can I …?”
“The crystal gave me power, Amgarad. Not a great deal, the time was too short, but I have enough to break the magic ring that surrounds us. Enough to let you through.”
Amgarad took a deep breath and drew himself up proudly. “Master, I will go. Only tell me who or what I must find and I shall do my best.”
Rothlan sat in his great chair and surveyed the bird sombrely. “Come, perch here on the arm of my chair. Your journey will be long and there is much that I must tell you before you leave Jarishan.”
Night fell and servants came in to mend the fire and light the candles long before Lord Rothlan had finished instructing Amgarad. The sight of master and bird deep in conversation caused them to exchange glances and it was not long before a new spirit of anticipation entered the castle as whispered words spread an air of optimism.
2. Amgarad Attacks
If you lived in Edinburgh, you would know that at the entrance to Holyrood Park, just inside the gates of the park itself, there is a pretty stone cottage; the home of one of the Park Rangers. Behind this cottage sweeps the immensity of the park itself and the slopes of one of Edinburgh’s most prominent features; a high hill, shaped like a sleeping dragon that is known locally as Arthur’s Seat.
The Ranger’s children, Neil and Clara, had spent much of their childhood roaming the park: they knew its every nook and cranny, and over the years had learned many of its secrets.
In fact, while Amgarad winged his way silently eastwards, Ranger MacLean’s two children were having a fierce, whispered argument, whispered because they didn’t want their parents to hear what they were planning; or rather, what Neil was planning. Clara, who was afraid of the dark, was appalled as she listened to Neil’s latest scheme. She heard him out in silence and found that her hands were shaking.
“You’ve got to be joking, Neil,” she whispered. “You know what the park’s like at night! Full of tramps and weirdos! Mum’ll go mental! You know she will!”
“Chill, Clara! We’ve no choice! We’ve got to go, and it’s got to be tonight. They’ve stopped coming out during the day; I’ve been looking out for them for ages and they’re just not around anymore. Not Jaikie, not Hamish … not even Archie!”
“Do you think it has anything to do with the dreadful noises we keep hearing?”
“I’m sure it has! That’s why we’ve got to go to the well. We have to find out what’s going on!”
“I’m scared, Neil!” Clara protested. “You know I hate the dark! And,” she frowned, “I’ve a really bad feeling about going out on the hill tonight.”
“I’ll go on my own if you don’t come,” her brother promised. “It’s not only the noises, you know. It’s the birds and the sheep! They’re really nervous and as jittery as anything.”
Clara bit her lip. She knew Neil was right. There was something strange going on in the park; something really scary. “Okay, I’ll come with you,” she said decisively, “but only because I’d be just as nervous here, waiting for you to come back.”
Neil’s face lit up. “Great! I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Come on, let’s get ready for bed so that Mum’ll think we’ve gone to sleep when she comes in.”
Midnight saw the house dark and silent as the two children struggled into their clothes, trying to make as little noise as possible. Clara had almost fallen asleep as, one by one, the familiar noises of the house gradually ceased but excitement had kept Neil awake as h
e thought out the route they would take to the old ruin beside St Anthony’s Well where they had first heard the disturbing, dark rumblings.
“Did you put out the torches, Neil?” whispered Clara, poking her head round the door of his room.
“Yes. Here, where are you? Hold out your hand!”
Clara fumbled for the proffered torch and zipped it into the pocket of her jacket. Neil was excited but she had a premonition of danger and fear gripped her.
Just after midnight, when they were creeping down the garden path and slowly opening the garden gate that still squeaked despite their care, Amgarad swept on silent wings over the two brightly-lit bridges that span the Firth of Forth.
Amgarad’s journey hadn’t been without incident, and he had endured much since leaving Jarishan. Brave of heart and accustomed to being the undisputed master of the skies, he had unhesitatingly taken on all the strange monsters that had crossed his path during his flight and in doing so had done much to endanger life and limb. After a near-fatal encounter with a helicopter that had left him short of more than a few tail feathers, he had then taken on an articulated lorry with equally disastrous results. Reduced to a trembling but undaunted bundle of feathers, it had taken him some time to recover but, as a result, his approach to the unknown was now considerably more cautious.
He looked at the two bridges over the Firth of Forth with deep suspicion and hesitated. Finally, he circled wide to avoid observation, for in front of him lay the glittering vista that marked his destination — Edinburgh!
Looking in amazement at the swathes of light that lit up the night sky he felt a creeping sense of bafflement and unease. Since leaving Jarishan, it hadn’st taken him long to realize that the world had changed considerably. Grimly he hoped that Edinburgh’s old town would still be as he remembered it; a motley jumble of tall tenements between which ran alleys and ancient closes that hid secrets and, more importantly, offered shelter to the hunted.
