Authors: Anne Forbes
“For goodness sake, don’t take any risks, Johnson,” Colonel Jamieson spoke briskly as the first of the two soldiers who’d volunteered to suss out the earthquake damage, dangled his legs over the wide split that had opened in the floor of one of the castle’s dungeons. “And that goes for you, too, Mason,” he added, turning to the other man who was still being roped up.
It was the deepest of all the dungeons and, until then,
everyone
had assumed that the bedrock of the castle lay underneath it. The opening in the rock, however, had caused more than a few raised eyebrows among the team of engineers, for the strong current of fresh air that blew from it, indicated that there was a lot more than rock under their feet.
Ian Johnson looked into the hole in the ground, assessing the possibilities. The opening, fortunately, was wide enough to give him plenty of room to manoeuvre but sloped steeply sideways into the depths.
“We’ll watch out, Sir. Don’t worry!” Stuart Mason grinned confidently, as he made a final adjustment to his harness.
Ian lowered himself carefully into the hole and, hanging on to the rope with one hand, shone his torch downwards,
hoping
to see how deep the shaft actually was. The incline made it impossible to judge, however, and as the voices from above grew fainter, he was grateful for the comforting sense of
security
the rope provided. Eventually, he came to the bottom of the shaft and, feet now planted firmly on solid ground, he relaxed and took stock of his surroundings. Shining the beam of the
torch this way and that, he was surprised to discover that this was no crack caused by the earthquake; he was in a tunnel … a tunnel that had been cut out of solid rock.
Ian frowned. Like every other soldier in the regiment, he knew about the underground tunnels that ran from the castle to the High Street and beyond. They were well documented, appearing on many of the old maps in the archives. He’d peered into a few of them himself but hadn’t fancied exploring them, knowing that over the years they’d become unstable; rockfalls making many of them actively dangerous. However, none of them, to his knowledge, had been cut out of solid rock — nor were they anywhere near as deep as this.
The silence around him was deathly and his torch, although powerful, only lit up part of the tunnel before the beam petered out into the darkness. The air, however, was fresh and turning the beam up the shaft, he pulled three times on the rope; the signal for Stuart to join him.
Stuart arrived several minutes later in a scatter of small stones, and was equally impressed. He looked at Ian and
whistled
in amazement. “Well, well,” he said, his eyebrows raised, “somebody’s taken a lot of trouble to carve out this tunnel — a whole lot of trouble!”
“That’s what I thought,” Ian nodded, unhooking his rope from his harness. “Let’s see where it leads! There’s plenty of fresh air coming through.”
Pulses racing, they shone the torch round the walls and set off, moving along swiftly and easily. They hadn’t, however, gone all that far when the tunnel stopped abruptly, blocked by a mass of earth and shards of rock. Not only that, a wide crack split the wall of the tunnel on one side.
“The wall seems to have opened up here,” Ian breathed, shining his torch into the wide cleft that stretched from floor to
ceiling. Cautiously, he stuck his head inside. “Hey, hang on a minute,” he whispered, “this is where the fresh air’s
coming
from. It’s blowing through here!” He edged further in. “And I can see daylight!” he added. “Come on,” he gestured, “there’s plenty of room. It gets wide enough to walk through. Might as well have a look!”
Stuart switched off his torch as daylight streamed in and then cannoned into Ian who’d come to an abrupt halt in front of him. “What’s up?” he muttered, before falling silent as they both took in the fantastic sight that lay before them. The cleft opened out into a small room that, like the tunnel, seemed to have been carved out of the rock itself. Lit by the stream of sunlight that poured through a gash in its outer wall, they saw a scene that took them straight back in time. Dimly remembered childhood stories of knights in armour and romantic castles flew through their minds as they gaped in wonder at the huge black flag with the golden sword in its centre that hung, lopsidedly, above a coffin; a stone coffin. Its lid had obviously come off during the earthquake as its shattered remains were scattered across the floor, but that wasn’t what held their attention for, from where they were standing, they could see that the coffin contained a body.
“Wow!” Ian breathed, excitement flowing through him like a river. “What’s this, then?”
“A knight by the look of things,” Stuart answered as they picked their way over the rock-strewn floor to peer inside, for the coffin contained the skeleton of a man in armour.
Ian frowned and looked round. It seemed a strange sort of burial.
“Whoever put him here, laid his sword and his horn beside him,” Stuart muttered, moving closer, his eyes taking in the grinning skull that looked pathetically small inside the
crumbling
helmet. He took a step backwards. “That must be his standard!” he muttered, looking up at the black flag that hung on the wall above the alcove. “The sword on it looks like the one he was buried with. Look at the detail on the hilt. There’s a dragon curving round it. And see here, the same design’s on the mouthpiece of the horn.”
Ian nodded. “
What a find!
” he whispered, turning to
examine
the rest of the stone chamber. “We’re going to hit the
headlines
with this! Can you imagine the excitement it’s going to cause! Archaeologists are going to have a field day!”
“You can say that again,” Stuart agreed, and as Ian peered at Princes Street through the massive crack in the wall, he reached out to pick up the horn gingerly. “The horn seems solid enough,” he remarked, turning it over in his hands. Ian looked round at his words and before he could do anything to stop him, Stuart wiped the mouthpiece of the horn on his sleeve and blew with all his might.
Ian put his hands over his ears at the sound and even Stuart looked shaken.
“You shouldn’t have touched it,” Ian snapped in
exasperation
. “Honestly, Stuart, with a find like this, it’s really important that everything is left as it was found!”
As they stared at one another angrily there was a sharp crack of sound and a sudden flash of light that made them cower.
“What was that?” Ian gazed round apprehensively.
“I don’t know but I suggest we get out of here,” Stuart’s voice was urgent. “We don’t want the roof falling in on us!”
Ian nodded. “Put the horn back first, for goodness sake,” he said, his mouth stern. “I still can’t believe you actually blew it!”
Stuart stepped forward and placed the horn carefully beside the knight. “There,” he said, totally unrepentant. “I’ve put it back exactly where it was. No one will ever know that I touched
it!”
In this, however, Stuart was as wrong as it is possible to be; for the blast of the horn had rung out loud and clear, in every corner of the world of magic. It was heard by magicians,
hobgoblins
, trolls, giants and dragons … and they all knew what it meant!
“Thank goodness there wasn’t much damage, Father,” Lady Ellan said, settling comfortably in her chair as she glanced round the cavernous heights of the Great Hall that lay in the depths of Arthur’s Seat.
Her husband, Lord Rothlan, nodded. “We thought it might be a lot worse,” he admitted.
“It’s just as well that earthquakes don’t happen often in this part of the world,” the MacArthur observed sourly from the cushioned depths of his throne-like chair. “Gave us quite a shock, I can tell you.”
The great, red dragon that lay curled by his side, looked at him affectionately and stretched lazily. He was very fond of the MacArthurs, the magic people who lived inside Arthur’s Seat, especially Archie, who sat comfortably in the crook of his arm.
“Some of the passages that lead down to the store rooms have collapsed,” Archie said, “but Hamish and Jaikie say that they won’t take long to clear.”
Arthur blew a tiny puff of smoke and Archie turned to look at him warningly. He knew the signs. Arthur, delighted to see the MacArthur’s daughter, Lady Ellan, and her husband Lord Rothlan, who had just arrived through the magic mirror from their estate at Jarishan, was just itching to breathe a few
welcoming
clouds to show how pleased he was to see them. As this generally set everyone coughing and spluttering, it wasn’t exactly a popular pastime, however, and Archie was just about to say “no” very firmly indeed, when the dreadful, eerie blast of
a horn rang through the Great Hall.
Everyone froze in their chairs. Arthur gave a terrible dragon scream. His body convulsed as he buried his head in his wings, desperately trying to shut out the sound. Never again had he thought to hear that piercing blast. Its memory had gradually faded with the passing of the years and it no longer sounded in his dreams but now the old fear swept over him again; Sir Pendar’s horn!
Archie threw his arms round the trembling dragon, trying to comfort him while the MacArthur and Lord Rothlan looked at one another in horror and amazement.
“Pendar’s horn!”Lord Rothlan snapped. “How on earth …?”
Hamish and Jaikie rushed into the hall and, like Archie, went to comfort the dragon who was still shivering violently as old memories clouded his mind. Sir Pendar’s horn …
The hobgoblins in Morven looked at one another in disbelief as the sound of the horn swept through the mountain. It was so long since they’d last heard it that at first they hardly
recognized
it. Then, as memories returned, the tiny nodules on their heads started to sprout long, anxious tendrils and their
goat-like
little faces puckered anxiously. Sir Pendar’s horn!
With one accord they headed for the curving flight of steps that led to the blue and silver halls of their masters, the Lords of the North. Creeping upwards on tiny hooves, they peered at the curve of silver thrones that dominated the Great Hall. The lords would surely know what was going on.
In this, they were not mistaken. The Lords of the North, old and wizened with age, had been dozing comfortably in their chairs after a good lunch. Now wide awake, they knew exactly what the blast signified.
Lord Dorian blinked irritably and looked at Lord Alarid, his
eyebrows raised. “I thought you hexed that wretched tomb ages ago, Alarid,” he remarked sourly.
“I did,” Lord Alarid snapped, an anxious frown creasing his forehead.
“The earthquake?” Lord Alban suggested, glancing round the semi-circle of gorgeously robed magicians. “It hit Edinburgh pretty hard and I understand there was some damage to the castle. You never know, it might have opened the tomb …”
The Lords of the North exchanged thoughtful glances and, rising to their feet, moved instinctively towards an oval table of beaten silver where a shining crystal ball rested on an ebony stand. Lord Alarid passed a hand over it and, as the lords crowded round, breathed in sharply as he saw two soldiers standing in the ruins of Pendar’s tomb. One of them was
holding
the horn!
As the eye of the crystal moved over Sir Pendar’s coffin, Lord Dorian stiffened. “Never mind the horn, Alarid,” he said, grasping the velvet sleeve of his robe, “hex the sword! Hex it now!
Now
!” he repeated, as Lord Alarid wavered. “For
goodness
sake, Alarid, stop dithering!
We
won’t be the only ones to have heard the horn!”
Hastily, Lord Alarid spoke the words of a powerful hex and as he watched the soldiers swing round at the sudden crack of sound, breathed more easily. The hex was in place.
“Someone else is watching through a crystal,” Lord Alban pointed out as the crystal registered the presence of magic.
“The MacArthurs, perhaps, or Lord Rothlan?” Lord Alarid hazarded a guess.
Lord Dorian’s eyes narrowed as he bit back a sharp retort. “Possibly,” he said icily, “but personally, I wouldn’t be surprised if we haven’t just stopped Lord Jezail in his tracks. He must
have heard the horn and now he’s seen the sword!”
There was a moment’s silence as his words registered. They all knew that Lord Jezail craved power. And Dragonslayer was enormously powerful!
“One way or another,” Lord Dorian continued, “there’s going to be trouble over this! Think about it, Alarid! He managed to get the talisman last year and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he isn’t working on some sort of scheme to steal the
Book of Spells!
He flung out his hand dramatically towards the crystal where the startled soldiers were looking fearfully round the tomb. “And now, this!”
Lord Alarid frowned in annoyance. “Relax, Dorian,” he said shortly. “Dragonslayer will never again slay a dragon. Not with
that
particular hex in place!”
Lord Dorian, however, wasn’t convinced. “That’s all very well,” he stated firmly, “but
Jezail
doesn’t know that, does he? Believe me; he’ll move heaven and earth to get his hands on that sword! Don’t forget that he was a Dragon Seeker of old!”
There was a long silence as the magicians considered the matter.
“You know, I think I agree with Dorian,” Lord Alban said thoughtfully. “Jezail was always ambitious, remember, and if he sees half a chance of getting his hands on Dragonslayer, he’ll take it! And you never know, Alarid … his magic is such that he might well be able to reverse your spell!”
The Lords frowned worriedly and Lord Alarid’s face grew stern at the thought of the terrible power of the sword that had killed many of the world of magic’s most precious creatures.
The minute their magic carpets soared into the MacArthur’s Great Hall in the depths of Arthur’s Seat, Neil and Clara knew that they had been right to come. They’d been at home playing Nintendo when they’d heard the dreadful sound of the horn and had known instinctively that something had happened in the world of magic. Something dreadful!
Neil, peering over the edge of his magic carpet, looked across at Clara and pointed at Arthur, for the huge red dragon was curled in a huddled heap, his wings covering his head. Everyone, it seemed, was trying to comfort him for he was
surrounded
on all sides by a crowd of MacArthurs.
Indeed, so concerned were the MacArthurs about their dragon that it was only Amgarad, Lord Rothlan’s great eagle, who noticed the carpets soaring in across the vastness of the cavern. He flapped into the air as they lost height and Clara waved to him delightedly as he circled round them. It was only when they landed, however, that Lady Ellan, the MacArthur’s daughter, turned to see what was happening. She came across swiftly and hugged them tightly. “It’s so nice to see you,” she said, “but you’ve chosen a bad time to visit, I’m afraid!”
Amgarad, his great wings beating the air, swooped down to land on Clara’s shoulder and she winced slightly as his claws dug deep into her jacket. Neil looked on admiringly as the bird settled its wings and started to pull gently at Clara’s long brown hair with its frighteningly curved beak.
“What’s the matter with Arthur, Lady Ellan?” Neil asked.
“He’s not ill, is he?”
Several heads turned at the sound of his voice. The MacArthur, himself, looked up as did Lady Ellan’s husband, Lord Rothlan, who was deep in conversation with Sir James Erskine, the owner of a local distillery. After several adventures involving a variety of goblins, monsters and magicians, he too had become familiar with the MacArthur’s world, wore a firestone and had his own magic carpet.
The eagle answered, shifting on his claws. “The voice of the horn frightened him,” he said. “Did you hear it too?”
Clara nodded, her eyes apprehensive. “We thought it was a horn,” she said. “It sounded … I can’t describe it … it made my blood freeze!”
It was then that Sir James walked over and shook their hands warmly. “Hello, you two,” he said with a smile.
“Hello, Sir James,” Neil’s expression relaxed and he grinned. “We heard that you’d been in the States for a while. Are you back for good?”
“No, this is a flying visit, I’m afraid,” Sir James replied. “I still have business to finish off when I get back to New York.”
“That sounds impressive,” Clara said, looking up at him. “Did the MacArthur tell you that we’ve moved house?”
Sir James nodded. “Yes, he did. So, how are you enjoying living in the Borders?”
“Well,” Neil said after some consideration, “we still miss Edinburgh but the country’s nice as well. It’s different. We’re taking riding lessons and stuff like that …”
“And we’ve made lots of friends at school,” Clara added.
Sir James raised his eyebrows. “Aren’t you missing
something
out?” he queried, hiding a smile. “The MacArthur’s just been telling me about a whole lot of witches and a certain
Book of Spells
?”
Neil grinned and told him briefly how they’d flown to the witches’ castle in the middle of the night, crept inside and
stolen
the precious book from their library.
Clara, however, frowned; for their set-to with the witches hadn’t been at all the light-hearted adventure that Neil was painting. Stealing the fabulous
Book of Spells
from the witches’ castle had been one of the most frightening events in her life and, as she now realized, the consequences were still with her. Thinking back to the time when she’d had the book hidden in her room at school, she now reckoned that it had
wanted
her to learn the spells. It was a magic book with its own power; and the spells, written in the language of old magic, had somehow imprinted themselves in her brain. How she
wished
they’d never stolen it!
It was then that Lady Ellan interrupted their conversation and, putting an arm round Clara, gestured to the dragon who had folded his wings back and was being cosseted by the little people. “Come and say hello to Arthur,” she whispered. “He’s very upset and frightened at the moment. I’ll explain things to you later.”
Neil followed her over to where Arthur lay and patted the dragon awkwardly but Clara flung her arms round his neck and laid her cheek against his scaly head, murmuring words of comfort as a shudder ran through the length of his body. “Don’t worry, Arthur,” she whispered, “we’ll all look after you! You know that!” The dragon gave a long sigh and his
wonderful
eyes opened for a few seconds before closing again. It was enough. She knew he was happy to see them.
Archie, one of a little group of MacArthurs, looked at them seriously. “He’ll be alright,” he whispered. “He just needs a bit of time to get over the shock.”
Jaikie nodded at them reassuringly. “He’s much better than
he was. Don’t you think so, Hamish?”
“Is it because of the horn we heard?” Neil whispered as they moved towards the dais where the MacArthur was arranging the pile of cushions on his ornate chair. Hamish nodded briefly as they sorted themselves out. Lord Rothlan and Lady Ellan opted to share a divan but everyone else pulled up chairs, stools or cushions.
Lady Ellan, who had overheard Neil’s remark, looked round the little group with a slight smile. “You must all have been wearing your firestones to have heard the horn,” she observed.
“May we ask whose it was?” Sir James asked, looking from her to the MacArthur. “It made my hair stand on end!”
“Aye, and so it might!” the MacArthur began in a grim voice. “It’s a story that goes back hundreds of years to the time when Arthur came to the hill.” There was a murmur of surprise at this as, until then, no one had really given much thought as to how Arthur had come to live in Arthur’s Seat. “The horn you heard,” he continued, “belonged to a knight called Sir Pendar who had a sword called Dragonslayer. The name,” he said sourly, “speaks for itself — for Dragonslayer is a magic sword with an
overpowering
desire to find and kill dragons.”
“Yes,” Lord Rothlan mused. “Poor Sir Pendar! I’ve often felt sorry for him!”
“Poor Sir Pendar?
” repeated Neil questioningly.
Rothlan nodded. “Just think about it, Neil. The sword’s
natural
instinct is to find and kill dragons,” he explained. “Once he laid his hand on Dragonslayer, I doubt if Sir Pendar had much of a say in his choice of career. The sword’s magic would have taken him over completely and driven him on to kill more and more dragons. Mind you,” he added thoughtfully, “he probably did very well out of it, too …”
“How do you mean?” Clara sounded puzzled.
Lord Rothlan turned to look at her. “Dragons are, as you know, magic creatures, Clara, and, like everything else, magic has its price. Apothecaries …” he stopped as he saw Neil frown over the word, “I suppose you’d call them chemists or pharmacists, nowadays,” he explained. “Well, they used to follow knights like Sir Pendar round the country. Wherever
he
went,
they
went and once he’d killed his dragon, they’d pay him for its body. Then they’d drain its blood, remove its tongue and collect its scales and things. Not its flesh, for dragon’s meat is poisonous to humans.”
“Its
tongue
?” echoed Neil.
Lady Ellan nodded. “In those days, people believed that if you possessed a dragon’s tongue, no one would be able to
poison
you. Kings and princes paid a fortune to own one.”
Clara gave a horrified gasp at this and looked across at Arthur, hoping that he couldn’t hear what was being said. The MacArthur, following her glance, lowered his voice and went on to tell them what had happened on that fateful day, long ago — but it was only when they heard of Sir Pendar’s burial in the castle rock that they understood Arthur’s fear at the sound of the horn. No wonder he was afraid! It meant that Dragonslayer had been found and was free to work its magic again.
“The minute we heard the horn,” Lady Ellan said, “we looked in the crystal and saw what had happened. The
earthquake
had cracked open the tomb and some soldiers were there from the castle. We think they were probably investigating the earthquake damage and had stumbled on the tomb by accident. From what they were saying, it was obvious that they had just found it.”
“It was one of the soldiers who blew the horn,” Lord Rothlan added.
The MacArthur nodded. “Fortunately, Lord Alarid, too, used his crystal and saw what had happened. He hexed the sword immediately,” he continued, “and put a protective shield round it so that it can’t be used against dragons.”
At this, they all turned and looked at Arthur.
“But Arthur — well, you can see for yourself. It’s brought back all his old nightmares!”
Sir James frowned. “The newspapers are full of the
discovery
,” he said slowly, “but there’s a lot they’re not telling us. Colonel Jamieson obviously doesn’t want people scrambling up the rock face to get in from the outside. The artefacts will be valuable.”
“What do you think he’ll do with them?” Clara asked.
“Put them on display, I should think,” Sir James answered.
“And the skeleton?” Neil asked.
Sir James looked serious. “Sir Pendar himself? Well, I read in the
Scotsman
this morning that he’s going to be given a proper burial in the castle. They’re going to make a big thing of it, by the sound of things.”
“It’s the sword we’re really worried about,” the MacArthur said frankly. “We’re afraid that Lord Jezail may try to steal it. He’d like nothing better than to own Dragonslayer.”
At the mention of Lord Jezail’s name, Sir James looked at the MacArthur sharply. Even Neil and Clara sat up and took notice for, from what they’d heard in the past, he was definitely not a magician to be trifled with. Neil’s eyes gleamed with excitement but Clara felt her stomach sink.
“Lord Jezail!” Sir James repeated, startled. “In that case,” he said slowly, “I think it might be a good idea to pay Colonel Jamieson a visit. I’ll go up to the castle tomorrow morning and find out what’s going on.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” the MacArthur smiled
gratefully
.
“We need to know exactly what they’re planning to do with the sword.”
“No problem,” Sir James assured him. “I’m sure Jamieson’ll tell me what he has in mind. I got to know him quite well when I gave the commentary at the Tattoo … as you all doubtlessly remember!” he added with a knowing grin.
Neil and Clara laughed at the memory but Lady Ellan blushed and Lord Rothlan chuckled at this reminder of the time when they had both been enemies.
“If this sword is as dangerous as you say it is,” he continued, looking at the MacArthur, “then the least I can do is make sure it’s properly guarded!”