Dragon Seeker (13 page)

“What on earth is Amgarad trying to do?” A puzzled frown crossed Lord Dorian’s face as he gazed into the crystal ball.

The other lords rose to their feet and wandered over.

“It looks as though he’s trying to wake Lord Rothlan up,” Lord Alarid’s voice was tinged with anxiety.

“Something’s going on,” Lord Alban said in alarm. “Widen the image, Dorian, and let’s see the rest of the magic carpets.”

“Dear goodness,” Lord Alarid whispered as he viewed the sleeping army, “they’re … they’re all asleep!”

“It looks as though Jezail was waiting for them and got his hex in first,” Lord Dorian said sourly as the eye of the crystal passed over the fleet of carpets.

“Oh! Come on, Dorian!” Lord Alban protested. “The MacArthur’s not a fool! He had a strong protective shield round his army.”

Lord Alarid raised a hand to silence him. “Shhh! Amgarad knows we’re watching,” he interrupted as the eagle raised its head eagerly. “Amgarad,” he spoke to the bird, “tell us what happened.”

“It was a hex,” the bird replied. “It sent everyone into a deep sleep and not only that, it’s altered the direction of the carpets. I’ve no idea where we are!”

Lord Alban, still pondering the strength of a hex that could break the MacArthur’s protective shield, looked towards the
Book of Spells
that lay open on a carved bookrest. If Clara had written out the spells for Lord Jezail, he thought grimly, then
it was more than likely that he’d find the hex within its pages.

Leaving the little group that clustered round the crystal, he strode hurriedly over and, leafing carefully through the pages of thick parchment, stopped abruptly, his eyes gleaming in
sudden
triumph. “This
must
be it!” he muttered, hastily lifting the heavy book off its stand. Carrying it over to the table where the crystal still shone brightly, he laid it down reverently. “What do you think, Alarid?” he gestured towards the page. “Do you think he’s used this one?”

Lord Alarid read through the hex and then nodded. “It’s more than likely,” he agreed. “Stand back, Amgarad,” he instructed, gazing deep into the crystal. “We think we can reverse the hex!” He then took a deep breath and read the spell backwards, word by word.

There was an anxious few seconds when nothing happened and then a sigh of relief rippled through them as they saw Lord Rothlan stretch lazily and sit up. Amgarad flapped onto his master’s arm and when he’d finished telling him what had
happened
, Lord Rothlan looked up, knowing that the lords could see and hear him.

“It looks as though everyone’s awake,” he said grimly, as raised, angry voices echoed round him. “There’s a real
hullabaloo
going on.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lord Alarid remarked dryly. “Your
carpets
seem to be heading south instead of east!” He looked up as Lord Alban, leafing hastily through the book, nodded his head and pointed to another spell.

“Let me try this one,” Lord Alban said, his fingers moving backwards over the words of the spell as he read it aloud.

The fleet of magic carpets fluttered uneasily as the hex was lifted. What had happened to them? They felt sick, ill and incredibly tired. All they wanted to do was land, curl up and
rest.

Lord Alban bent over the crystal. “Your carpets should be alright, now,” he said grimly. “Just be careful, Alasdair! With the
Book of Spells
in his hands, Jezail can get up to a lot of
mischief
!”

Rothlan nodded. “Thank you, Lord Alban,” he answered gratefully as the carpets began to lose height. “We’ll be careful!”

It was later on that evening when they had organized their camp and eaten dinner that Amgarad returned with bad news. Neil was nowhere to be found. He was quite sure that he’d returned to the same place and had searched for him until darkness fell.

At much the same time, the MacArthur arrived back from his inspection and, with a brief word to the sentry, pulled the flap of the tent to one side and looking round the lamp-lit interior, sat down heavily on a pile of cushions. One look at his face was enough. More trouble, Lord Rothlan thought, his heart sinking.

Seeing the MacArthur, Amgarad repeated his story, his head bowed in shame. He knew he’d made a bad mistake in leaving Neil but just couldn’t work out where the boy had got to.

The MacArthur didn’t say anything but looked grim. Losing Neil was a problem they could well have done without.

Prince Kalman looked at him shrewdly. Something other than Neil’s disappearance had upset him and he raised an
eyebrow
enquiringly.

“It’s the carpets,” the MacArthur said briefly, catching his glance and coming straight to the point. “They say they’re sick and can’t fly.”

“Can’t fly?” Prince Kalman interrupted. “What do mean, they can’t fly? We need them!”

The MacArthur accepted a cup of tea gratefully and took a sip before answering. “I don’t know what’s wrong with them,” he admitted, eyeing them all in turn, “but I believe what they’re telling me! And if they say they can’t go any further then they can’t,” he added stubbornly.

Prince Kalman and Lords Rothlan exchanged glances. This was serious.

“It’s been a long journey and when they say they really
are
exhausted, I believe them,” the MacArthur said apologetically, “but as for feeling sick and ill! Well, if you ask me, that’s another of Lord Jezail’s hexes! Sick and ill, I ask you! Just tell me! Since when have magic carpets ever complained of feeling sick and ill?”

Amgarad squawked and flapped his wings but Archie, Hamish and Jaikie said nothing and even Lord Rothlan and Prince Kalman didn’t argue. The MacArthur, Lord Rothlan thought, was probably right.

Prince Kalman looked round, tight-lipped and angry with himself for underrating Jezail’s power. He should have known from the start that he’d have some powerful hexes up his sleeve. Too late, he remembered the citadel’s massive library of books on magic lore. Now, to cap it all, Jezail had Clara’s version of the
Book of Spells
to add to his collection!

“In that case, I think we’d better camp here for the next few days,” he said, looking at the MacArthur for approval. “Amgarad can start looking for Neil first thing tomorrow morning while we do what we can to make the carpets comfortable. I’ll ask Lord Alban if he can help.”

The MacArthur nodded. He’d been just about to suggest it.

The prince, looking ruefully at Lord Rothlan, took a small crystal ball from the pocket of his cloak and set it on a nearby cushion. “Time to tell the Lords of the North the mess I’ve
made of things, Alasdair,” he said bluntly. “But first of all, we’ll have to find out if Lord Jezail used a hex from the
Book of Spells
to make the magic carpets sick — for we can’t reverse it until we know which one it was!”

“Don’t blame yourself too much, Kalman,” Lord Rothlan said, leaning forward and putting an arm round his shoulders. “It’s not your fault that the carpets are ill.”

“You
do
realize that if they don’t recover soon, we’ll have to
march
to Stara Zargana,” the prince said grimly as Lord Alarid’s face appeared in the crystal.

Hamish and Jaikie, who had a fair idea of the distance involved, looked at one another in dismay. It would be a long walk!

“I’m not looking forward to it either,” the prince said
seriously
, seeing their faces, “but we’ve no choice. Getting Clara back
must
be our first priority!” Then, turning to the crystal, he told Lord Alarid what had happened.

“And Neil?” queried Lord Alarid when he’d heard the story. “What about him?”

“Apparently, Jezail’s hex didn’t affect him,” Lord Rothlan interrupted. “Amgarad took him off his carpet to safety before flying back to try and help me.”

“So he’s on his own?” Lord Alarid sounded shocked.

Archie, Hamish and Jaikie looked at one another
apprehensively
for although Neil wore a firestone, he had no magic to speak of.

“He’s in a dangerous position,” Lord Alarid said sharply. “Jezail will have spies everywhere.”

“He’s a sensible lad,” Lord Rothlan frowned. “I’m sure we’ll find him.”

Lord Alarid turned from the crystal as though someone were talking to him. “Excuse me, Alasdair, I won’t keep you
any longer. Lord Alban is working his way through the
Book of Spells
at the moment. I’ll let you know the minute he finds the hexes you’re looking for.”

As his face faded, Lord Rothlan looked at Prince Kalman regretfully. They both knew that Lord Alarid wasn’t at all amused at the turn events were taking.

“Neil must be worried sick,” Lord Rothlan said, “and he’ll be hungry, too,” he added.

“He’s wearing a thick cloak so he ought to get a reasonable night’s sleep,” Prince Kalman said slowly, seeing his distress. “You’re right, Alasdair, he
will
be hungry but he’ll last out until morning.”

Lord Rothlan nodded. “I’ll send Amgarad out to look for him as soon as the sun comes up.”

I hope nothing’s happened to him, Neil thought, shading his eyes against the sun as he scanned the skies for the hundredth time. Where, he wondered, had Amgarad got to? He knew he wouldn’t have let him down without a reason, which made things even more worrying. Glancing anxiously at his watch, he decided to give him another hour. If he hadn’t turned up by then, well … he’d have to work out what to do next.

Spreading his cloak over the grass, he settled himself against the trunk of a huge oak tree that stood at the edge of the wood. Although the sun was warm, summer was fading. The great tree was already losing its leaves and acorns lay scattered among the grass. Birds twittered and chattered among its branches and an old crow regarded him with beady eyes from its perch on the rickety old fence that bordered the path. It watched him for a while and then, stretching its wings, flew off. Apart from the distant roofs of the village, there was little else to see, for the forest around him seemed to stretch for miles; a green blanket of trees that covered the countryside.

The hour passed incredibly slowly with no sign whatsoever of the great eagle although he kept his eyes fixed on the sky all the time. He felt worried and depressed. They’d set off for Ashgar in such high spirits and now all this had happened! Everything had gone wrong.

Time passed and he half-dozed in the sun. Stretching lazily, he checked his watch yet again and looked expectantly at the sky but there was still no sign of Amgarad. His spirits fell as
worry set in and the dangers of his situation started to dawn. If Amgarad didn’t come back, he was on his own — on his own in a strange country. What was he going to do now?

He looked at the roofs of the houses that showed through distant trees. He could, he supposed, work his way over towards them and ask someone for directions to the hunting lodge and perhaps, too, someone might give him something to eat. It was a long time since he’d had breakfast …

He looked doubtfully at the sky, willing the eagle to appear for he knew that if he moved on, Amgarad would never be able to find him. “I think I should stay put, at least until morning,” he said aloud, “and if he hasn’t turned up by then …well, then I’ll know something really
has
happened to him!”

It was a grim thought. He leant back against the trunk of the tree and sighed, his eyes scanning the horizon yet again. The only thing in the sky was a flock of crows. He watched idly as they swooped through the sky towards him. Flock, he thought, was the wrong word. A flock of sheep, a herd of cattle … he searched his mind and then it came to him … a
murder
of crows.

It was as the crows drew closer, however, that he sat up and scrambled to his feet in alarm, gripped by a sudden feeling that the crows were heading straight for him! Grabbing his cloak, he ran into the shelter of the forest; but the trees didn’t stop the crows. They dived in underneath the branches and cawing loudly, swooped after him. It was as he floundered through a scatter of bushes that he thought of his ring! He looked at it in some surprise, amazed that he could have forgotten it. “Stupid idiot!” he muttered to himself as he changed the ring over to his other hand and promptly became invisible.

The crows almost fell out of the air with surprise at his
sudden
disappearance and fluttered round, unsure of what was
going on. There were so many of them that they flew into one another; wings got tangled and, as tempers flared, several of them pecked out angrily.

Neil stayed very still, knowing that they would sense the least movement and the slightest rustle of leaves. Half an hour passed but they were a determined lot, flapping here and there, chattering and cawing loudly. By then, Neil was so stiff that he worried about getting cramp. It was ages before the crows decided that enough was enough and, at a squawked command from their leader, flapped heavily into the air. Neil watched in relief as they rose into the sky, thinking that they had given up the search for him. The crows, however, had other ideas and although they didn’t enter the forest again, they didn’t leave it either but flew around above the tree tops, cawing loudly.

A murder of crows, Neil thought grimly as he relaxed and stretched his weary limbs. “If they
had
got hold of me, they
would
have murdered me,” he muttered, thinking of the size of their beaks. But how had they known he was there, why had they hung around for so long and who had sent them? Maybe, he thought, they were Lord Jezail’s spies; and it was then that he remembered the old crow that had been sitting on the fence.

Scared to go back to the place where Amgarad had left him, he made his way quietly through the trees until he stumbled on a track. It was by no means straight, but meandered
gently
among the thick growth of trees. It must go somewhere, Neil reasoned and, as he followed it deeper into the forest, the squawking of the crows gradually faded. It was only when he couldn’t hear them anymore, however, that he changed his ring back over to his other hand and strode along, hoping to find a hut of some sort where he could shelter for the night.

It was as darkness began to fall that the trees gradually thinned out. The path rose steeply over outcrops of rocks,
leading
him to a sparkling stream that bubbled cheerfully downhill. Cupping the water into his hands he drank his fill and then sat back, wrapping his cloak around him for warmth. The path seemed to have petered out and he was seriously worried about going any further. It was with a heavy heart that he finally lay down and soon, worn out by tiredness and worry, his eyes closed. But before he fell asleep, he’d decided that first thing next morning he would follow the path back through the forest and wait once more for Amgarad to return.

The night darkened, stars glittered and the light of a full moon bathed the hillside in its gentle glow. It wasn’t the
moonlight
that woke Neil, however. He opened his eyes in alarm and sat up, suddenly very wide awake indeed. Something, some noise, had penetrated his dreams. What was it? In the
moonlight
he could see the outline of the forest against the night sky and the bare hillside around him. Everything seemed very still and quiet; the only sound being the chuckling gurgle of the little stream as it tumbled over its rocky bed. He listened hard and had just decided that maybe an owl or some creature of the night had disturbed him when the sound came again.

This time, he knew exactly what it was. Turning white, he straightened abruptly as the howl of a wolf echoed eerily through the still night air. Wolves, he thought. Wolves! It was more than possible. This was Central Europe, after all, and he knew that wild animals still roamed the forests. Hadn’t Prince Kalman talked of hunting wild boar?

Another wolf howled. And this one, he thought, sounded a lot closer.

He saw them as they emerged from the forest — dark,
slinking
shapes, darting here and there, noses to the ground as if they were following a scent. Which they were, he thought. His scent! They were closer now. He could hear their snuffling
breaths and the scrabble of their claws on the rocks as they bounded upwards in great leaps.

Neil thought of changing his ring over again but dismissed the idea as soon as he thought of it. The wolves weren’t like the crows. They’d follow his scent and track him down wherever he went. He swallowed hard. He could see them quite clearly now; at least seven or eight of them. There was nothing nearby that he could use as a weapon, either. Not even a stick or a loose stone. In minutes, he was surrounded by the creatures.