Dragonfire

by Anne Forbes

  Lady Ellan grimaced when she heard that Dougal MacLeod had now become one of them. “I owe him a tremendous apology,” she sighed. “I don’t know quite how I’m going to phrase it either.” She gestured helplessly. “How does one apologize for a thing like that! Hamish and Jaikie were quite harsh with him, you know!”

  “I shouldn’t worry, Lady Ellan! When you get to know him, he’s actually quite nice!”

  Lady Ellan walked to the window and looked out anxiously. “It’s my father and his men that I’m really worried about! The storm carriers are fearsome creatures and it looks as though a blizzard is blowing over there. The mountains are white!”

  Lord Rothlan heard the latter part of her remark as he entered the room. “I have already called off the storm carriers so that Clara can make her journey in safety,” he informed them.

  Clara curtseyed shyly as he held out a large cream envelope, its elaborate red seal embossed with the crest of a swooping eagle.

  She traced it with her finger before looking up and meeting his stern gaze.

  “Amgarad?” she whispered.

  He almost smiled. “The crest of our clan has always been an eagle, Clara. Just as that of Lady Ellan,” and here he turned and bowed to her formally, “bears a dragon.”

  Sensing that it was needed, Clara’s carpet moved from the warmth of the fire and hovered beside her so that she could slip onto it easily. Lady Ellan moved forward and spread two furs on top of it.

  “Wrap up warmly, Clara. It’s still freezing in the mountains.” She then caught the carpet by its fringe and pulled at it gently. “The way is clear for you to find my father, but no more daring adventures, my friend!” she warned. “But I am grateful to you for bringing Clara to me. It was well done! God speed and look after Clara!”

  The carpet wilted slightly round the edges at her strictures and, satisfied that it was suitably chastened, Lady Ellan watched Clara as she climbed on, drew one of the furs around her, and disappeared. Lord Rothlan threw open a casement window so that she could leave and, as the carpet sailed through it, she called goodbye.

  Rothlan quickly closed the window as a blast of freezing air surged into the room and as they looked out across the loch, Lady Ellan pointed out the eagles, circling in the sky.

  “Your eagles seem to have weathered the storm well,” she remarked.

  He looked at them sharply. “Yes, I’d forgotten about them! Please excuse me, I must go to my crystal and call them in. They will attack your father and his men otherwise.” He left her at the window, wondering idly how long it would take her father to arrive. Not long, if he used a carpet, she thought.

  29. Amgarad’s Agony

  In the meantime, Clara’s carpet zoomed happily across the loch. Although the waves still flashed white with foam, she could see that the storm had abated and would soon die out completely. Her carpet was flying fairly swiftly and she bent forward eagerly, trying to catch a glimpse of the MacArthur’s army.

  The sudden departure of the storm carriers had come as a relief to the MacArthur’s men as they struggled through the blizzards and now able to use their carpets they had quickly made up for lost time. The summit of the mountain peaks now lay well behind them and it was only when the loch and castle of Jarishan appeared in front of them that the MacArthur called a halt and they gathered to make final plans.

  Clara, still clutching Lord Rothlan’s letter, was somewhat puzzled as her carpet dipped towards the ground so quickly. She’d barely left the castle and could see nothing on the ground but snow and trees and it was only as the carpet prepared to land that she saw them clearly. There was no sign of Neil but Sir James, Dougal and her father were there, standing on a slight rise talking to the MacArthur. As she materialized in front of them, there was a sudden stir and her father ran forward.

  “Clara!” he exclaimed. “Where have you been? We’ve all been looking for you!”

  “I’ve been with Lady Ellan, Dad,” she said. “I’m fine and so is she.” She then turned to the MacArthur and held out the letter. “Lord Rothlan gave me this letter for you.”

  They all looked at one another in amazement as the MacArthur broke the seal and glanced quickly over the contents. “Hmmmph!” he said. “He wants to talk, does he?”

  Clara smiled. “I think Lady Ellan has been busy!”

  So intent was everyone on Clara’s sudden appearance that no one noticed the eagles swooping down from the skies. It was Dougal MacLeod who gave the warning.

  “The eagles!” he shouted, “Look out!”

  Amgarad, wings pulled back and talons outstretched, was a fearsome sight. Well in front of the rest of the eagles, he was heading straight for the MacArthur and, seeing that he had been spotted, let out a dreadful cry that froze the blood.

  The MacArthur looked up and saw him dropping like a stone towards him. He dropped Rothlan’s letter and his hand instinctively straightened to cast a spell. The soldiers cheered as a streak of light flew from his fingers to hex the evil bird.

  Amgarad didn’t stand a chance. The ray of light caught and held him in its beam for a brief instant before exploding with a vicious crack and, caught in mid-flight, the dreadful bird blew up in a shower of dirty, ragged feathers.

  Clara was appalled. “MacArthur!” she cried as the other eagles screamed wildly out of harm’s way and scattered across the sky. “MacArthur! What have you done?”

  “It’s for the best,” growled the MacArthur grumpily as Amgarad’s body hit the snow-covered ground with a thump.

  Clara turned to see if he were really dead. Perhaps, she thought, he might only be injured. Let him just be injured, she prayed, for Ellan had told her that Rothlan adored the bird. Fearfully, she moved forward to where he lay on the ground, frighteningly still amid the drift of fluff and feathers that still dropped gently from the sky.

  As she approached, however, Amgarad moved jerkily and sat up. As he staggered to his feet, Clara stopped and stared at him in disbelief. Amgarad was not dead; he was very much alive. But her eyes rounded in horror at the enormity of his plight.

  For Amgarad had no feathers! He stood there in the snow, a pathetic sight with a body like a plucked chicken. As he realized what had happened to him, he looked up and met her eyes with an expression of such abject shame and misery that she felt like bursting into tears. Shivering violently and trying to cover his nakedness with stubbly wings, he cringed before her in complete humiliation.

  Clara ran to him, snatching one of the furs from her carpet as she went. Quickly she wrapped it round him before anyone else saw his disgrace. She was furious with the MacArthur! How could he? How could he? Carrying Amgarad, she jumped on her carpet. “Take me to Lady Ellan!” she snapped.

  Ellan had watched the eagles swooping out of the sky with some anxiety and breathed a sigh of relief as she saw them abort their attack. Thank goodness, she thought, as she watched them scatter across the sky, Rothlan must have managed to get through to them in the nick of time. But where was Amgarad? Her eyes searched the sky frantically.

  Rothlan came in and stood beside her. It was his first question. “Where is Amgarad?” he asked, watching the eagles as they winged their way back to the castle.

  “Didn’t you speak to him?”

  “No, the crystal remained dull. Excuse me, I must go upstairs to find out what has happened.”

  Rothlan almost ran out of the room and Ellan, after a final glance over the waters of the loch, followed him apprehensively. By the time she reached the battlements, the birds were already perched round him and, pausing at the top of the stairs, she saw from his stance that the news had not been good.

  Grimly she moved towards him over the old stone flags of the upper reaches of the castle. Although the dreadful birds flopped and hopped out of her way as she approached, they crowded in behind her, croaking and hissing venomously. She touched Rothlan lightly on the arm and he struggled for composure as he turned to face her.

  “Amgarad is dead,” he said dully, his face
set. “Your father hexed him.”

  The cluster of foul-looking birds closed in threateningly; screaming and hissing with anger, many had their cruel heads poised to strike. She stood her ground and looked at him uncertainly. Did he plan to feed her to his birds? He must have read her thoughts, however, for he waved them back and once more turned to the battlements to gaze across the loch.

  Ellan followed his gaze and saw her father’s army at the edge of the water.

  “I will fight,” he said stonily, “to avenge Amgarad’s death, if nothing else.”

  “Lord Rothlan,” she said nervously, pleating the folds of her dress with anxious fingers, “I know things look black but I also know my father. He would never kill Amgarad.”

  “The eagles say that he did and they were there.”

  “I still don’t believe it!” she asserted defiantly.

  It was at this moment that Clara materialized from her carpet, clutching a fur-clad bundle that rested, strangely still, in her arms. The eagles flapped their wings warningly and Rothlan and Ellan swung round to see what had so disturbed them.

  “Clara!” Ellan gasped. For Clara’s eyes were streaming with tears.

  “Can … can we go downstairs?” Clara choked. “It’s all right, Lord Rothlan,” she said, seeing his face, “Amgarad is alive!”

  “Alive!” Rothlan’s face lit up as he shed a weight that had been almost too much to bear. “Is he injured?” Rothlan strode forward to take him from Clara’s hands. “Let me see what happened to him!”

  “No, no, not here!” Clara cried desperately as the other birds surged eagerly forward.

  Her words came too late, however. Rothlan grasped him from her arms and the fur fell to the ground. Amgarad perched on Rothlan’s arm for all the world to see.

  Clara stared at him in amazement, Rothlan nearly dropped him and Lady Ellan looked at him with dawning understanding. For Amgarad was not the naked, pimpled bird that Clara had gathered in her arms a mere ten minutes before, nor was he the foul, evil-looking monster that had attacked her at the well in Holyrood Park.

  Amgarad was an eagle — a fabulous, glorious eagle.

  Amgarad, it seemed, couldn’t quite believe his good fortune either. He stretched one talon and then the other, examining his sleek, feathered legs. He then looked down at his chest, stretched his great wings and finally realized just what had happened. His black eyes glistened with happiness and the call that rang out from the battlements was not the dreadful cry of the bird he had been, but the pure call of the eagle.

  Clara went to pieces, she was so happy. Shaking with emotion, she sobbed her heart out in Lady Ellan’s arms and didn’t see Rothlan’s delight as Amgarad flew from his arm and circled the battlements triumphantly.

  “Father!” Lady Ellan blinked as the MacArthur materialized from his carpet, followed by some of his men.

  Clara turned away, rubbing her eyes, as Lady Ellan moved forward to greet her father. The MacArthur then strode towards Rothlan, hand outstretched. Rothlan stepped forward and took it.

  “Well, Alasdair!” said the MacArthur, “nice to see you again. How’s the fishing these days?”

  Lord Rothlan’s eyes gleamed in amusement. “Pretty good,” was his reply, “the rivers are full of trout.”

  “And do ye still have that rascal of a ghillie? Whit was his name?”

  “Ye’ll be meaning auld Duncan!” interrupted Hector Mackenzie, who had just arrived on the battlements.

  “Hector Mackenzie!” the MacArthur shook his hand vigorously. “Ye havena changed a bit! There’s something I was aye minded to ask you …”

  Amgarad, resplendent in his new feathers, swooped to perch on his master’s shoulder as, deep in conversation Rothlan, the MacArthur and the rest of the men made their way through the narrow door that took them down to the main reception rooms of the castle.

  Clara and Lady Ellan looked at one another and burst out laughing. “Isn’t that just typical!” Ellan remarked. “Get them started on the fishing and you can’t get a word in edgeways!”

  30. Dragonsleep

  Lady Ellan and Clara were just about to follow the men downstairs when Jaikie and Hamish materialized on the battlements.

  “Lady Ellan!” Jaikie called, running over to her.

  “Jaikie!” she smiled delightedly. “And Hamish! How nice it is to see you both. But tell me, how is Archie? I hope he wasn’t badly hurt?”

  “Archie! Hurt?” Hamish said in a horrified voice. “I didn’t know that! When did it happen?”

  “Why, when Arthur attacked the castle! Archie was hit by an arrow.”

  “Hit by an arrow?”

  “Didn’t Arthur fly back to you? It was just before Rothlan called up the storm carriers.”

  “Jaikie,” questioned Clara, suddenly afraid. “Neil is with you, isn’t he? I haven’t seen him since we left Arthur’s Seat.”

  Jaikie and Hamish looked at one another and Hamish shook his head.

  “We haven’t seen him since we left Edinburgh either,” he confessed. “I thought he was with you!”

  “Where on earth can he be?” whispered Clara.

  “Do you think he might have been injured when we hit the shield,” hazarded Jaikie. “He … he might have fallen off his carpet and be lying injured somewhere.”

  “No, no, he wasn’t injured,” Clara was quite sure of that. “He was fine; he shouted to me to see if I was all right but his voice sounded far away. He wanted my carpet to fly closer to him.”

  “He might have broken through the shield with Arthur,” ventured Hamish.

  “If they’re all missing then they’re probably still together,” said Ellan. “Remember, I was only able to see Arthur and Archie. Neil would be invisible on his carpet.”

  “We’ll get a search party together. What do you think, Jaikie?”

  Jaikie nodded. “You tell the MacArthur and I’ll get the men organized.”

  A far off shout from the shore sent them to the battlements. At the edge of the loch, soldiers were swarming round a dilapidated boathouse.

  “Carpet!” snapped Jaikie, clapping his hands. “Something’s happening over there! Let’s go!”

  As if sensing their urgency, the carpets took them over the loch at a tearing speed that brought tears to Clara’s eyes. Jumping off, they ran towards the boathouse where an officer greeted them with relief.

  “It’s Archie and the boy, Neil! They were in the boathouse when we went to check it over. The thing is, sir, we can’t wake them up!”

  “They’re not … not …?” Clara couldn’t utter the words.

  “No, Miss Clara,” the soldier assured her, “just asleep!”

  The soldiers guarding the boathouse parted to let them through and in its damp recesses they saw Archie and Neil lying fast asleep. Clara gasped and put her hand over her mouth at the sight of the arrow that pierced Archie’s arm.

  Hamish and Jaikie looked at one another grimly as Ellan bent over them and put a hand on their foreheads. “Dragonsleep!” she pronounced.

  Hamish gestured to the officer. “Have them taken to the castle!” he ordered.

  “Dragonsleep!” echoed Clara, as some soldiers entered and lifted the still bodies onto stretchers. “What does that mean? Will they be all right?”

  “Arthur has the power to send people to sleep. It depends on how long he’s put them out for!” Ellan looked at them considering. “Personally I’d say it’ll be some time yet before they wake up.”

  “They’ll be all right. Don’t worry about that,” Jaikie assured her, seeing that Clara still looked alarmed. “It’s Arthur that won’t be all right, for when I get my hands on that dragon I’ll … I’ll …!” He waved his hands in the air, unable to decide on a suitable fate for Arthur.

  “Give over, Jaikie!” snapped Hamish, “We’re wasting time! Let’s try and work out what must have happened!”

  “Well, Arthur was here for a start,” said Clara, sniffing the air. “I can smell his smell.”


  “Yes, yes, he must have been here. But where has he gone? And why would he put them to sleep and leave them?”

  “Especially as Archie was wounded,” agreed Clara.

  “They probably came here to shelter from the storm. I doubt if they’d take on the storm carriers,” decided Ellan.

  “But why would Arthur leave them? Archie was wounded. Arthur would rather die than leave him.”

  “It must have been something very important then,” said Clara seriously. “And something he didn’t want to tell them about. Something he wanted to do on his own. I bet he put them to sleep because he didn’t want them to know where he was going.”

  “But where did he go?” Jaikie persisted.

  “Did you see him again, milady, after Archie was hit?”

  Lady Ellan shook her head. “The storm carriers were all over the place. He couldn’t have flown anywhere. Even dragons don’t argue with storm carriers.”

  “Clara,” said Hamish in a strange voice. “What did you say when we first came in here?”

  “I asked if they’d be all right.”

  “After that! Think! About Arthur. You said you knew he’d been here.”

  “Well, yes,” said Clara. “I can smell him, can’t you?”

  “There is a musty smell in here,” said Lady Ellan, sniffing the air. “But surely it’s just the dampness of the boathouse?”

  “It’s not Arthur,” Jaikie said positively. “Dragons don’t have a smell.”

  Clara looked mutinous. “Yes, they do,” she asserted. “Maybe you’ve just grown used to it but when he came back from Loch Ness, I noticed it.” She wrinkled her nose. “A funny, musty smell.”

  “Water goblins!” whispered Hamish, appalled.

  Lady Ellan paled. “Water goblins!” she repeated. “Hamish, are you sure?”

  “Water goblins!” Jaikie was astounded. “But what would they be doing here?”

  “I don’t know, but maybe Lord Rothlan can tell us!” Hamish ground out. “One thing’s for sure! Arthur didn’t take to the skies, milady. He took to the loch!”