Dragon Seeker (10 page)

They rose like a cloud to meet him.

Dragons! Dragons of all shapes and sizes! So many of them that they darkened the sky!

Arthur flinched at the sight of the oncoming horde and almost fell out of the sky in fright as they flew towards him. He’d expected a reception committee of some sort for he was quite sure that the Valley of the Dragons would be well guarded, but this was something else! There seemed to be hundreds of them and, he noted apprehensively, they didn’t look particularly friendly either for the silver-grey soldier dragons in the front rank were breathing clouds of smoke and great bursts of fire.

His eyes dilated suddenly when, at a signal from a very old dragon who seemed to be their leader, the mass of dragons split in two and, swerving to both right and left, swept round him in a mass of horned heads, steadily beating wings and ripples of fire.

The ancient dragon, whose scales had quite definitely seen better days, spoke in a somewhat wheezy voice. “I am Gladrin the Great, Lord of the Valley of the Dragons,” he announced. “Who are you and what is your name?”

“They call me Arthur, Milord,” Arthur replied.

The old dragon searched his memory. “Arthur?” he repeated slowly. “If you are the Arthur I have heard of then you must have travelled far …”

Arthur relaxed. He bowed his head respectfully. “Milord, I have come from Scotland,” he replied, his voice friendly but
steady. “I bring a message from the Lords of the North who send you their warmest greetings.”

Gladrin’s expression changed. He had heard of the Lords of the North and if this was the dragon he’d heard tell of in ancient tales then they were, indeed, honoured; for Gladrin, like all dragons, was well versed in history and knew Sir Pendar’s story. He dipped his wings and bowed his head. “Welcome, Arthur,” he said graciously. “Welcome to the Valley of the Dragons.”

So it was that Arthur, escorted by Gladrin and a whole host of dragons, soared high over the dizzily towering peaks and pinnacles that guarded the fabled Valley of the Dragons and landed in quite the strangest place he’d ever seen.

Apart from the open stretch of ground where they’d landed, it was a place of light, cream-coloured rocks. Jagged hills and rocky ravines rose steeply towards the surrounding cliffs that stood, almost white, against a sky of the brightest blue. While the hills and high peaks blazed brightly in the sunshine, dark marks here and there indicated the presence of what Arthur thought might be doorways or entrances to tunnels.

And there were dragons everywhere.

Before the alarm had been raised, the Valley of the Dragons had presented a peaceful scene that hadn’t changed much over the centuries. Draped lazily over smooth shelves of rocks, the female dragons spent much of their day sprawling idly in the heat of the sun watching over their adventurous young in case they flew beyond the high peaks that protected them from the outside world. Now, however, they looked on, wide-eyed and anxious, as dragon after dragon soared in to land. They’d no idea what was happening. Visiting dragons were more or less unheard of, but of one thing they were quite sure — a stranger in their quiet valley meant that change was on its way.

Unaware of the consternation he was causing, Arthur was
quite overwhelmed. The Valley of the Dragons was a fantastic place, he thought, looking round in amazement. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined it being quite like this. And if the cliffs were the homes of the dragons, there must be
hundreds
of them for the valley seemed to stretch for miles.

Bowing to Arthur, Gladrin gestured to Nestor, captain of the grey soldier-dragons who, carrying slender, spiky spears in their claws, immediately formed a guard of honour. Then, at a sharp word of command, they all made their way towards the high, steep slopes that fringed the valley.

Arthur had been right in his assumption that the dragons lived in caves and marvelled as he saw a myriad of openings hidden deep in the craggy clefts of the rocks. Gladrin escorted Arthur into what was, obviously, his cave. The opening, although wider than the others, narrowed quickly and the
passage
that sloped steeply downwards had walls that had been brushed smooth by the wings of countless dragons over the ages.

Gladrin’s halls, when they reached them, were not nearly as grand as those of the MacArthur but were stern and impressive in a dragon sort of way. Ancient hangings lined the walls but what took Arthur’s attention was the enormous fireplace that dominated one side of the hall, the iron baskets by its side piled high with logs. He smiled slightly for the MacArthur had told him that in winter the snow in Ashgar lay deep in the
mountains
.

The floor around the fireplace was scattered with a variety of rugs and cushions and it was here that the dragons settled, looking expectant and excited — for word had swiftly spread that their unexpected visitor was none other than Arthur, the legendary dragon of Sir Pendar’s famous story.

Once Arthur had been introduced to the notables of
Gladrin’s court he looked at them all and lowered his eyes sadly as they waited expectantly to hear the reason for his visit. They were all so polite, so interested, so excited to see him and yet he knew that within the space of the next five minutes he was going to give them news that would destroy their nice,
comfortable
little world. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Perhaps the dragons sensed this for, as the silence
lengthened
and Arthur said nothing, Gladrin spoke gently. “You come bearing bad news, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded his head. “I do,” he said sadly. “It … it
concerns
Lord Jezail.”

The dragons stiffened where they sat and eyed one another apprehensively. Some of them hissed angrily, remembering how, in times past, the Dragon Seeker had hounded them from mountain to mountain until they had found safety in their precious valley. They blew clouds of angry smoke down their nostrils, but still no one spoke.

“We have the power to deal with Lord Jezail,” Gladrin frowned, looking puzzled.

“It’s a bit more serious than that,” Arthur said, unhooking a bag that hung round his neck. He pulled at it with his claws until it opened wide enough for him to tip the crystal ball it held, onto the carpet. “Lord Alarid wishes to speak to you
personally
, Lord Gladrin,” he said. “He wants to tell you himself why the Lords of the North have decided to declare war on Lord Jezail and why he is bringing an army to Ashgar.”

“War?” Gladrin looked and sounded astounded, as well he might, and a hiss of unease rippled among the assembled dragons.

“The Lords of the North will explain everything,” Arthur assured him. “It’s a long story. In fact, it started when Sir Pendar tried to kill me with Dragonslayer all those years ago …”

Dragonslayer! The very mention of the word sent a
piercing
stab of terror through the heart of each of the assembled dragons.

Before they could start asking him awkward questions, Arthur hastily placed the crystal on a cushion where it rested in full view of the dragons and, conscious that they were all watching him, passed a rather shaky claw over it. It was the first time he’d used a magic crystal and his heart beat faster than usual as he muttered the magic words and wondered what would happen if it didn’t work. The crystal, however, as if
sensing
his anxiety, behaved beautifully and glowed brightly.

The dragons gasped in awe and regarded Arthur with great respect; for a dragon to use a magic crystal — that was really impressive! Arthur, quite weak with relief, hid his trembling claw so that they wouldn’t see how nervous he’d been and smiled thankfully as Lord Alarid’s face appeared in the crystal.

Once the initial polite greetings had been gone through, Lord Alarid, in a sombre voice, told the dragons the story of the earthquake and how Lord Jezail had hexed Sir Pendar’s sword. He also mentioned Clara’s part in stealing the
Book of Spells
from the witches but, Arthur thought, it was doubtful if many of the dragons heard this part of his story as the thought of Lord Jezail and Dragonslayer had sent their minds into a complete spin.

As the enormity of situation dawned on Lord Gladrin, he looked at Lord Alarid with fearful eyes. “You must know that we are defenceless against the magic of Dragonslayer,” he said apprehensively.

“That’s why Arthur insisted on flying out to warn you,” Lord Alarid explained, “so that you would be aware of your danger.”

“We are more than grateful to him, Lord Alarid,” Gladrin nodded, “and you can be quite sure that we will welcome you and your army to Ashgar. Dragonslayer is a threat to us all.”

“There now,” Maria said with a smile. “Don’t you think you look pretty?”

Clara looked at her reflection in the long mirror and
nodded
. She did, indeed, look pretty in the new clothes that Maria had brought her. They were a big improvement on her jeans and T- shirt which now lay in a heap on her bedroom floor. She’d been wearing them ever since they’d arrived back in Ashgar and they looked indescribably tatty.

Looking round the bedroom she found it hard to believe that she was in a foreign country and wondered how they’d travelled. Probably by magic, she thought. Not that she
remembered
anything after Lord Jezail’s hex had hit her, but she assumed that she’d been put back in the crystal again for she was still quite stiff.

“All the young girls in Stara Zargana dress like this,” Maria chattered on. Smoothing the print skirt with its colourful braid trim, she adjusted the gathered neck of her white blouse, and stood back to admire her. “Now try this on,” she instructed, holding up a little black jacket. “The weather’s not nearly as warm as it was yesterday and we can’t have you catching a cold now, can we!”

“Thank you, Maria,” Clara said gratefully, looking at the pile of new clothes that lay scattered across her bed. “You’ve been very good to me and … well, you didn’t need to buy me so much.”

“I got you a few winter things as well,” Maria confessed.
“The summer’s almost over and the wind’s really quite chilly this morning.” Her eyes, however, were troubled and more than a little afraid. She liked Clara and would do what she could to protect her, but using a hex to attack Lord Jezail hadn’t been at all wise and her master had by no means forgiven her. “Come downstairs and have some breakfast,” she urged, banishing her worries from her mind.

Clara sighed. Really, she couldn’t have had nicer jailers than Maria and Count Vassili. They were both very kind to her but although they did everything they could to please her, she was still conscious of being a prisoner, for they were careful never to leave her alone.

“Doesn’t she look lovely, Count Vassili?” Maria said as they stepped from the narrow, stone, spiral staircase into one of the lower rooms of the tower. Compared with some of the other rooms in the citadel, it was quite simply furnished, for which Clara was grateful. Ornate crystal chandeliers, tapestries and Persian carpets weren’t really her thing at all and she liked her little sitting room with its homely, carved furniture and deep, comfy armchairs.

Vassili looked up and nodded approvingly. “What have we here?” he queried, smiling. “An Ashgari princess?”

Clara gave a mock curtsey as he gestured towards the table where breakfast was laid. She was hungry and, pulling out her chair, missed the look that passed between Maria and the count. It was one of extreme unease for earlier that morning Lord Jezail had informed them that he wished to speak to Clara later on in the day. His tone had been grim and
uncompromising
and the count knew that he wasn’t going to take any nonsense from Clara. This time, she would have to copy out the spells and if she wouldn’t, he would use force. The thought made him wince as both he and Maria knew the pressures that
could be brought to bear on her.

They chatted quite cheerfully throughout breakfast. Maria had mentioned a walk through the town and Clara was quite anxious to see it. The quaint, red-roofed houses of Stara Zargana had fascinated her and she longed to explore the
narrow
, twisting little streets that she could see from the slit
window
of her bedroom.

“Are you going to come with us this morning, Count Vassili?” she enquired.

The count, looking startled, glanced at Maria. “Where were you planning to go?” he asked.

Clara smiled as she buttered a piece of toast. “Maria promised me yesterday that she’d take me on a walk through the town this morning …”

Her voice petered out as she saw his expression change.

“I … er, I don’t think Maria meant today,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

Clara looked at him fixedly, her heart sinking. “Lord Jezail wants to speak to me, doesn’t he?” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “He wants me to write down the spells!”

Maria gave a sudden cry of distress and, pressing her napkin to her mouth, rushed from the room.

“Clara,” the count reached forward and grasped her wrist. “Clara,” he repeated, looking into her eyes, “this time you
must
write the spells down for him.
All of them
. If you don’t, he’ll
make
you — and, believe me, that won’t be very nice.”

Fear flickered in her eyes but, as the count sat back satisfied that she’d taken his warning to heart, she spoke again, her voice thoughtful. “Can I ask you something, Count Vassili?”

He looked at her in surprise. “You can ask me anything you like,” he said.

“Would you promise not to tell Lord Jezail what I asked?”

“He is my master,” he reminded her dryly.

“I know, but … sometimes you don’t approve of him, do you? Like just now, when you told me he might hurt me to get me to write down the spells.”

The count pressed his lips together and, pushing back his chair sharply, walked over to the window. Staring unseeingly at the mountains he suddenly longed for home. He’d had more than enough of Lord Jezail and his schemes. If it weren’t for the book he was searching for, he’d have left his service long ago.

“You see,” Clara said, rising to her feet and catching him by the arm, “there are some spells that I don’t think Lord Jezail ought to know.”

“I can’t advise you, Clara,” he said, holding her by the shoulders and looking at her straightly. “You must do as you think fit.”

“Do you think he would know if I didn’t tell him them all?” she whispered anxiously.

He paused and released her. “There’s no way that Lord Jezail knows what’s in the
Book of Spells
, Clara. Does that make things easier for you?”

She nodded and her face cleared as she smiled in relief. “It does,” she said. And then she added in a strange voice. “You have been very kind to me, Count Vassili. I won’t forget it.”

Maria came back into the room and, seeing from Clara’s face that she knew what was in store for her, ran forward and hugged her hard. “Don’t you worry,” she said in a voice tinged with tears. “You just tell him what he wants to know and
everything
will be all right!”