Dragon Seeker (18 page)

It hadn’t, Colonel Braganz thought, been what you might call an easy journey. The track over the mountain would have been fine had it not been for the flat-bed trailers that Lord Jezail had insisted on bringing. They were long, heavy and awkward, sticking in every pothole and jamming round tight bends on roads that were precipitous, to say the least. They’d already lost one down a ravine and although he hadn’t said anything, he was pretty sure that his exhausted soldiers had quite
deliberately
allowed another to fall off the side of a cliff.

Falls of rock had frequently barred their way and he had more than a shrewd suspicion that
they
were no accident either. Once or twice his sharp eyes had picked out grey shapes slinking through the boulder-strewn valleys. Wolves! At the thought of wolves, his mind turned immediately to Count Vassili. Idly, he wondered what had happened when he’d reached Dragonsgard. He knew perfectly well that there had been no real need for an armed escort to accompany the coach and reckoned that maybe the count had been taken prisoner along with Maria and the girl. If that were the case, he thought, it would certainly account for the wolves; for it wouldn’t take long for word of Vassili’s capture to reach Trollsberg. Like Lord Jezail, Lord Onegin had his spies everywhere.

Urging his horse to a canter, the major rode to the head of his troop of dispirited horsemen where he found Lord Jezail slouched wearily in his saddle. The initial thrill of the
journey
had long since died away and despite Dragonslayer’s best
efforts to keep him cheerful and focused, he was tired, fretful and in a thoroughly bad temper.

The major’s face lightened, however, as two of his scouts appeared round a bend in the road and galloped up.

“What news?” he asked, praying that for once it would be good. His hopes, however, were swiftly dashed. The
horseman
saluted briefly. “There’s been a landslide,” he said quickly, avoiding Lord Jezail’s eyes. “The horses might be able to pick their way over it but there’s no way the trailers can get through. No way at all,” he added.

There was a silence. Colonel Braganz looked enquiringly at Lord Jezail. “Milord?” he queried. “What do you want to do? We can go back and find another road,” he suggested, “or
perhaps
we could go on ahead with the horses … and leave some troops to find another route for the trailers?”

“Do as you like,” Lord Jezail said sourly, waving a tired hand.

Colonel Braganz breathed a sigh of relief, and seizing the opportunity of getting rid of the remainder of the unwieldy trailers, issued brief instructions. “We’ll camp here for the night,” he ordered before his master could even think of
changing
his mind, “and tackle the landslide tomorrow.”

The wolves attacked as dawn lightened the morning sky. It came as a complete surprise and was certainly the last thing that either Colonel Braganz or his men had expected. They were in their own country, after all, and even the posting of sentries round the camp had been little more than routine. Indeed, when dawn broke, the sentries’ minds, far from
dwelling
on the possibility of a dawn raid, were firmly fixed on the rattle of cups from the mess tent where their morning tea was being brewed! It had been a cold night and the hot tea would be more than welcome.

Nevertheless, had the sentries been even slightly alert, they would have paid more attention to the horses. Tethered in long lines at the edge of the camp with heavy blankets draped over their backs against the icy wind, they’d spent a restless night — and it wasn’t the cold that had disturbed them, either.

It was the wolves. Their nostrils flared as they caught the scent of them on the wind for although they couldn’t see them, they could sense that they were near, hiding among the rocks on the hillside. Stamping nervously as the wolf-smell crept strongly round them, the horses whinnied anxiously and shifted on their hooves as the animals crept steadily closer as darkness faded.

It was only as daylight streaked the sky that the sentries looked in alarm at the horses who had started to rear violently, neighing with fear. By then, however, it was too late, much too late and for a few seconds they could only stare,
open-mouthed
, as a horde of grey wolves swept down the hillside towards them in a growling tide.

Not unsurprisingly, this totally freaked out the horses. Nervous to begin with, they reared in panic and, hooves
flashing
wildly, screamed shrilly. Breaking free of their tethers, they galloped, panic-stricken, round the camp, blundering into tents, knocking soldiers flat and one way or another succeeded in causing more havoc than the wolves themselves. Lord Jezail’s tent collapsed round him as he sat up to see what all the fuss was about and by the time he managed to struggle free from the tangled folds of canvas, the wolves had long gone.

So, too, as it happened, had most of the horses.

Colonel Braganz strode furiously round the camp as his men made futile attempts to round up the few remaining animals while Lord Jezail clutching Dragonslayer to his chest, crouched quietly amid the debris.

“I didn’t mean it to be like this,” he muttered, looking down at the sword with tears of frustration in his eyes. “I wanted our journey to be … magnificent. As befits a Dragon Slayer of old and a great sword such as yourself. We started off so well! And now look at us!” He gestured round the wreckage of the camp. “The whole journey’s been nothing short of a disaster!”

The sword, red with anger, frowned and took a firm hold of its temper for it knew that with Jezail in this mood, it was never going to get anywhere
near
the Valley of the Dragons! “You forget, Lord Jezail,” it said encouragingly, “that the journey isn’t yet over. Don’t forget that the knights of old encountered many setbacks on their quests. You did, too, as a Dragon Seeker, didn’t you?”

Lord Jezail eyes dropped, his mind winging back to days long gone. “I was young then,” he said, looking at the withered old hand that clutched the sword.

Sensing his sadness, the sword sent a gentle surge of hope through the magician’s frail body. “Come, Lord Jezail, we haven’t far to go now and with me in your hand, you will, indeed, kill a great dragon. That I promise you!”

As his spirits rose, Lord Jezail looked round the camp and rose to his feet. Soldiers were leading in some of the horses that had strayed, tents were being dismantled and there was a general bustle as Colonel Braganz restored order to the chaos.

The sword was right, he thought. There was no question of turning back. They would go on! On to the Valley of the Dragons!

“I can see him,” Neil shouted. “Look, there he is!”

They crowded round the windows as Amgarad soared in over the roofs of the little town and headed straight for them.

Lord Rothlan breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the bird's triumphant flight. “He's got her,” he said. “I'm sure he has!”

Major Sallis opened the window wide as Amgarad, claws outstretched, swept in over the battlements and sailed into the room to land, in a flutter of wings, on the arm of one of the settees.

There was a heart-stopping moment as everyone crowded round the bird and waited to see if Clara would emerge.

As it happened, they almost missed her, she was so tiny.

Neil gave a horrified gasp as he glimpsed her but Lord Rothlan threw a hex and, in an instant, Clara was her normal size again. She looked round, blinking in surprise at her sudden change in height.

“Clara!” Neil hugged her and to her surprise, she felt a sob shiver through him.

“Idiot!” she grinned, holding him tightly, nevertheless. It was great to be back among friends. There was a babble of conversation as, smiling broadly, she hugged Prince Kalman and Lord Rothlan. Count Vassili introduced her to his father, Lord Onegin, and to Major Sallis who hovered uncertainly in the background.

Servants brought in trays, laden with a variety of dishes and it wasn't long before they were seated round the table enjoying
a hearty lunch.

It was only when they had finished eating and were sitting grouped round the fire that they heard Clara's story of how she had been trapped in the crystal and kept prisoner in one of the old Border keeps.

“I was really glad you were there, Count Vassili,” she said, smiling at the count, “but I knew you couldn't set me free while Lord Jezail was around. That's why I tried to escape by myself; and I almost made it!” she added thoughtfully. “I don't really remember what happened. I think Lord Jezail must have hexed me when I was running away. He did, didn't he?”

“You were lucky to get off as lightly as you did,” Vassili said, his face grim as he remembered the incident. “I've never seen him so angry before!”

Prince Kalman raised his eyebrows and shot a troubled glance at Lord Rothlan.

“Yes, but I knew he wouldn't harm me, not with you and Maria around,” Clara answered blithely.

The count said nothing but Neil thought that somehow he didn't look as though he believed her. “Er … who's Maria?” he asked curiously, thinking it a good moment to change the subject.

“Maria used to be one of the maids at the citadel,” the count answered. “Lord Jezail brought her along to look after Clara. You see,” he confessed, colouring at the memory, “I'm afraid I let the cat out of the bag as far as the
Book of Spells
was
concerned
. I know I should never have mentioned it but … well, I did. Of course, the minute he heard that Clara knew the hexes off by heart, he started making plans to kidnap her. He had it all worked out before we left for Scotland.”

“I hope she's alright … Maria I mean,” Clara said, sitting up suddenly. “She smuggled me out of Dragonsgard in her pocket.”
She saw their glances of surprise. “There was a protective shield round the tower,” she explained, “so when I couldn't reach Amgarad, Maria carried me outside so that I could merge with him. She wasn't a prisoner, you see. She could go anywhere she liked. So nobody stopped her.”

“We obviously owe Maria a great deal,” Prince Kalman said. “And you, too, Vassili,” he smiled at the count as there was a general murmur of agreement.

“Just a minute,” Clara's eyes gleamed suddenly. “I've got something for you, Count Vassili,' she muttered, fishing in the pocket of her jacket. To her relief, she heard the crackle of paper and pulled out some folded sheets. “This one,” she said, separating it from the others, “is for you. I didn't have a chance to give it to you when we were at the citadel. Everything happened so quickly that night.”

Vassili reached forward, smiling easily as he took the paper from Clara's hands. He couldn't think what it was and gave it a brief glance. Then his expression changed abruptly and he leapt to his feet, his face white and his hands trembling.

Lord Rothlan rose to his feet, looking startled, and Prince Kalman put an anxious arm round the count's shoulders. “Are you alright, Vassili?” he asked.

Vassili ignored the prince and looked at Clara in sudden understanding. “
The Book of Spells
?” he said. “It was there?”

Clara nodded and blushed. “I thought it was quite an
important
spell,” she said, “so I kept it for you.”

“Look at this, Kalman,” Vassili said, turning the paper so that the prince could read it. Prince Kalman took it in his hands and looked at it in growing amazement as a delighted Vassili stepped forward, gripped Clara round the waist and swung her, legs flying, round and round in a circle.

Lord Onegin blinked in surprise. His son had always been
a bit too serious for his liking and yet, here he was, behaving like a teenager.

“I'm sorry, Father,” Vassili apologized, putting Clara down and more or less grabbing the paper from the prince. He thrust it into his father's hands. “Forgive me! I should have shown you this first! Read it!”

“What is it?” Neil asked Clara as she recovered from her surprise and straightened her jacket somewhat dizzily.

“It's a wolf spell,” Clara said, amazed at the excitement it had caused.

Prince Kalman, watching an expression of wonder cross Lord Onegin's face as he read the paper, shot her a strange glance. “Well done, Clara,” he said approvingly. “From the look on Lord Onegin's face, I think you've just saved the wolf people. Vassili's been looking for that spell for years.”

“We must call the wolves,” Lord Onegin said in a strong voice that nevertheless trembled with emotion. “We must call them all.”

No longer frail, he was filled with a new energy that
straightened
his back, lit his eyes and commanded complete respect. Major Sallis ran to open the door for him. This was the Lord Onegin of the past! And if the spell was what he thought it was, then there was hope for them all!

They followed him out of the room; along corridors, up flights of stairs and through doorways until they came to the upper battlements of the castle. By then, the entire castle knew that something important was happening and a whole host of people watched as Lord Onegin looked out over his lands.

With trembling fingers, he unfastened a horn from his belt and, raising it to his lips, blew a series of long and short blasts.

The sound of the horn died away, and there was an excited murmuring and a muttering among the people of the castle.
What had happened for Lord Onegin to give such a signal? He was calling in all the wolves from far and near.

As the sound of the horn echoed throughout Ashgar there was a sudden silence. In the forests and fields, by rivers and streams, wolf packs came to a halt and turned their heads towards Trollsberg. Blue eyes met blue eyes as the wolves took in the meaning of the summons. The signal to return. Frail wolves, thin wolves, sleek wolves, starving wolves, old wolves, young wolves … all the wolves of Ashgar set their faces to the north and moved steadily towards Trollsberg. Whatever was in store for them, the call could not be disobeyed.

Count Vassili looked on, smiling tremulously. “They will come,” he said.

“And we will make them whole again,” his father replied. “With this spell, we will make them men!”