Dragonfire (5 page)

A murmur of approval and relief greeted Sir James's words and the MacArthur beamed happily at his assurances. However, as an air of confident optimism permeated the hall, the Ranger wondered rather hesitantly if he should bring up the appearance of the strange, black bird that had attacked Clara and Neil.

“There is one thing that hasn't been explained, MacArthur, and it may well have nothing to do with you,” began the Ranger slowly, “but two nights ago, a great black bird attacked Neil and Clara while they were on the hill.

“It was a huge bird,” Clara interrupted, pushing her brown hair behind her ears and fixing the MacArthur with her clear blue eyes, “like an eagle, but its feathers were …” her nose wrinkled in disgust, “… they were horrible … like dirty, smelly rags …”

Her voice tailed off as she realized that silence had fallen throughout the great hall.

The MacArthur sat stiffly upright, a sudden, stern look on his face that frightened her. It was Hamish who eventually broke the silence.

“Amgarad!” he said aloud, in an awed whisper. “It must be. I can't quite believe it but …” he looked round wildly, “she's describing Amgarad!” He looked at the MacArthur and threw out his hands in disbelief. “After all this time! Master, how is it possible?”

The MacArthur raised his hand to quieten the spate of words.

“First of all let us listen to what the Ranger has to say, Hamish,” he said, turning to the Ranger, his face serious and
strained. “Tell me the story of this attack, Ranger, and miss nothing out, for it's important that we hear every detail.”

The Ranger retold the story of how he had followed the children and they, in turn, told their tale of the mist and the attack by Amgarad at the well.

“Was it only the bird you saw?” pressed the MacArthur. “You didn't see anyone else?”

As Neil shook his head the MacArthur sat back among the pile of cushions that heaped his chair and looked at Hamish thoughtfully.

“How very interesting that Amgarad should be here. I wonder how … and why?”

“And Lord Rothlan?” queried Hamish, walking agitatedly up and down in front of him. “If one is here, then the other must be here, too.”

“One would think so,” frowned the MacArthur, stroking his chin thoughtfully, “and yet, perhaps not.”

Sir James coughed. “Who is this Lord Rothlan? May we know?”

The MacArthur regarded him sombrely. “Alasdair Rothlan was, at one time, one of the most powerful and popular faery lords of the Highlands but he fell out of favour years ago when Prince Charles Edward Stuart came from France to claim the throne.”

“The Jacobite Rebellion of 1745!” Neil interrupted.

“As you say,” agreed the MacArthur. “The Jacobite Rebellion. Ach, it was ill-fated from the start and the Prince was badly advised but, as faeries, we naturally supported the Scottish House of Stuart. One of the Lords of the North, Kalman Meriden, was Bonnie Prince Charlie's strongest supporter, but Rothlan had no respect for the Prince and it was mainly because of him that the rebellion failed. Kalman was furious with Rothlan for betraying the faery cause and summoned the Council to judge him. Rothlan was exiled for the part he played and since then his lands have been ringed by magic. It is here,
in the hill that we hold the set of fabulous firestones whose spell keeps the ring of power round Jarishan.”

“Jarishan?” queried Sir James.

“Rothlan's great estate. It was once a place of great beauty but what it will be like now, I cannot tell. The sun never shines there and his famous eagles, his messengers of the skies … well, they were changed to travesties of their former majesty. That I didn't agree to, as they had done their master's bidding and the fault wasn't theirs, but Prince Kalman and the Lords of the North were adamant and I was outvoted. So the eagles became monstrous things, doomed to suffer with their master. As for Alasdair Rothlan; well, he was cut off completely from then on. I've never seen him since.”

“But surely,” Neil said doubtfully, “he must be hundreds of years old by now? And you …?” he broke off in embarrassment.

The MacArthur smiled. “By your time, I suppose, we are really quite ancient,” he admitted. “But we're faeries, you see. We don't age in the same way you do. Our time is different from yours. Alasdair Rothlan is still quite a young man.”

“And this Amgarad?” queried Neil.

“Amgarad was the captain of his eagles. I knew him well in the old days. A fine, proud bird.”

“He isn't now,” Clara remarked, remembering the foul monster that had attacked them at the well. Her heart softened in pity. “Poor Amgarad,” she said sadly.

A few days after Sir James's memorable visit, a triumphant Dougal MacLeod also found his way into the hill. As he made his way down the steep tunnels, he was bursting with pride at his own cleverness. Convinced that Sir James was engaged in a mammoth plot to defraud Customs and Excise, he had had no difficulty at all in picking up the illicit pipeline with a metal-detector. Its steady clicking had led him straight to a
slit-like
opening on the lower slopes of the Park, not far from the distillery itself. Suddenly, he stopped and sniffed. The aroma was unmistakeable. Whisky! Good Scotch whisky!

“Whisky!” he said aloud. “My, oh my, Sir James, I've got you this time!”

Gleefully he followed the tunnel downwards until he came to a large cavern. By this time, the smell of whisky was overpowering. Moving forward he flashed his torch around the walls of the cave, which, had he but known it, was Arthur's lair.

Arthur, as it happened, was in an extremely bad temper. Since their visit to the hill, Sir James and Jamie Todd had been busy in the distillery and between them had managed to rig up a powerful pump that in a few days had reduced Arthur's wonderful lake to little more than the odd puddle. Bored and disgruntled, he lay (as dragons do) on his bed of treasure and bemoaned his loss.

It so happened that the beam of the torch passed over Arthur as he reared his horned head to investigate the unaccustomed sound of the metal-detector. Dougal MacLeod froze in absolute horror as his brain registered the unbelieveable sight of a creature he had previously only seen in the décor of Chinese restaurants! Interestedly, Arthur watched as the beam of the
torch stopped abruptly and then, gingerly, moved slowly back to light up not only Arthur, but also the magnificent treasure that he lay upon. Amid the glittering piles of gold plate, sovereigns and ornate crowns, sparkled rubies, sapphires, diamonds and emeralds but, more startling than any of them, were jewels that shone with a translucent amber brilliance that pierced Dougal to the heart.

Transfixed by the sprawling glory of the treasure, he was brought sharply back to reality as the dragon moved its sinuous body and bent its great head to investigate the intruder.

Gasping in horror at the sudden movement, Dougal involuntarily jerked his torch upwards, blinding Arthur with its glare. The dragon reared in annoyance, spread his wings and gave a roar that shook the cavern, totally drowning out Dougal's scream of fear as he dropped his metal-detector and ran for his life.

It was much later that Hamish entered the MacArthur's Hall followed by a prisoner who shambled unwillingly after him. Hamish bowed before the MacArthur and gestured towards the bound man at his side.

“His name, he says, is Dougal MacLeod. I'm thinking that he's the man that keeps count of all the whisky in Sir James's wee factory outside.”

The MacArthur looked disapproving. “I hope ye will not be referring to Sir James's grand distillery as a ‘wee factory' in his hearing, Hamish. You know how proud he is of it. Now, where did you find this fellow?”

“In the tunnels, MacArthur. He must have found Arthur and got a bit of a fright, for we found this weapon in his cave where he dropped it.” Archie stepped forward and waved the metaldetector at MacLeod, who cowered back.

“Who are you?” thundered the MacArthur. “You come here to threaten us! With weapons!”

“No, no,” gabbled MacLeod frantically. “Nothing of the kind! I was only following a pipeline from the distillery. It led to a big
cave with … well, what looked like a dragon in it!”

“It was a dragon,” confirmed the MacArthur. “
Our
dragon. Do you have any objection to our having a dragon?”

Hastily, MacLeod retracted. “No … no,” he said. “None in the world. It was just a wee bit unexpected, that's all.”

“Unexpected! Un – ex – pect – ed!” He took the metal-detector from Archie's hands and waved it at Dougal MacLeod. “Do you expect me to believe that? You come here with this fearsome weapon to kill our dragon and then say it was unexpected!”

“But I didn't come here to kill your dragon,” wailed Dougal.

By this time, the MacArthur had worked himself into a fine old rage. “You're all the same,” he screeched. “All the same! All out to kill these poor, harmless, inoffensive creatures with your swords and your lances. Just so that you can go back home and boast of having killed a fierce dragon. Take him out of my sight, Hamish!” He gestured dismissively.

“But please …” Dougal struggled violently as Hamish led him, none too gently, out of the Hall.

“Come, Archie,” beckoned the MacArthur. “You know the Ranger's house. Go and tell him, or one of his children, what has happened. Ask him to tell Sir James that we have a prisoner in the hill and that his name is Dougal MacLeod.”

At first glance, there was really nothing remarkable about them at all. Two ordinary-looking pigeons sitting on the windowsill of an Edinburgh school was not guaranteed to excite much interest in passers-by at the best of times, and it had to be admitted that this was hardly the best of times. The weather had again turned cold and the thick mist, known to Edinburgh residents as the “haar,” had returned.

Cars and buses, their visibility now reduced to almost zero, picked their way tentatively up and down the narrow confines of the High Street and the hardy citizens of the Canongate were far too interested in finishing their shopping to worry about a couple of pigeons.

Had they been more attentive, however, they would have realized that the pigeons, on their lofty windowsill, seemed a strangely anxious pair. Their beady eyes missed nothing as the mist swirled coldly round the school playground. “I don’t much like this haar, Jaikie,” remarked one. “I think his lordship must have conjured it up!”

“Ocht! You’ve got his lordship on the brain, Archie!” replied Jaikie. “Ever since Clara told us about that bird that attacked them on the hill.”

“Well, who else could it be but Amgarad? Feathers like dirty rags, she said.” He shivered. “And Amgarad on the loose means that Rothlan isn’t far away!”

“But why would he send a mist? Edinburgh weather is always changeable. It’s often like this,” Despite his words Jaikie was not nearly as confident as he sounded and looking rather anxiously around, shrank a bit further back against the window.

“Aye. There’s probably nothing in it. Just another haar,”
remarked Archie.

“As long as Amgarad isn’t in it!” muttered Jaikie. “We’re pigeons, remember!”

“Well, I didn’t ask to be a pigeon!” retorted Archie huffily. “I wanted to be an eagle, didn’t I? This pigeon business is just a dead loss. Why couldn’t we have been eagles instead of stupid pigeons? What a life! Nothing but cooo, cooo and peck, peck all the time. My feet, let me tell you, are blooming freezing!”

“Archie! Will ye haud yer whisht! An eagle! We’re supposed to be unobtrusive, we’re supposed to melt into the scenery and you — you want to be an eagle! For goodness sake, this is the High Street, no’ the Highlands! We’re no’ here to cause a sensation and if it weren’t for your stupidity, we wouldn’t be here in the first place!”

“I ken! I ken, but I’m that cold and starving hungry. How long do they keep these children in the classrooms for anyway?”

Jaikie fluffed his feathers against the chill mist and shifted on his claws. “Don’t ask me,” he muttered, “but Hamish said we had to talk to Neil, so we’ll just have to hang around until they let him into the playground.”

Archie eyed him sulkily. “Let’s do something then. What about taking a look through the windows to see if we can see him or Clara?”

Neil, as it happened, wasn’t hard to find. The pigeons spotted him at the first window they looked through. The children in the class looked up as the birds fluttered against the glass.

“Look, Miss! Pigeons!”

“Yes,” agreed the teacher, “and you have all seen pigeons before, so don’t try to change the subject. Now,” she looked at the clock, “make a line by the door. It’s time for play.”

A short time later Neil followed the rest of his class downstairs, full of excitement at seeing the pigeons. They’d never, ever, come to the school before. Something really important must have happened, he thought, for them to take
such a risk.

The school janitor, Old MacGregor, stood dourly by the playground door. Neil saw him peering suspiciously into the mist and hurried towards him. A thin, dirty-looking black and white cat seemed to be the object of his wrath. He stamped his foot at it threateningly as it tried to slink into the warmth.

“Shoo! Shoo!” he shouted at it, “go on, off with you!” The cat miaowed pathetically and backed off into the mist.

“Dinna you be feeding that cat,” the janitor called after Neil as he went into the playground. “I’ve seen you encouraging it with bits of sandwich!”

“But it’s a stray and it’s starving, Mr MacGregor,” Neil protested.

“I’m no’ having it here! Now mind what I say or I’ll be telling your dad on you!”

Neil grinned at him, knowing that the threat was an empty one, and slipped with the rest of his class into the swirling whiteness of the haar. He walked to one side and had barely taken the sandwich from his pocket when he felt the cat rubbing round his ankles. Kneeling down, he undid the plastic bag and broke the sandwich up for her. Poor thing, he thought, she was so thin and the summer holidays were near. Who was going to feed her then?

A burst of loud laughter told him that Graham Flint and his gang were nearby. The cat heard them too and alert to danger, disappeared before he could give her the other half of the sandwich. It was only when he looked round to call her that he realized how really thick the haar was. Fear gripped him for an instant as he remembered his last encounter in such weather. Quickly, he groped his way towards where he thought the school wall ought to be and sighed with relief when it loomed in front of him. Now that he had his bearings, he felt more confident. “Hamish!” he called quietly. “Hamish!”

There was a sudden flap of wings as two pigeons fluttered down to land on his shoulders.

“Hello, Neil,” said one. “Hamish couldn’t come. I’m Jaikie
and that’s Archie.”

“I thought it was you when I saw you at the window. What’s happened? Is anything wrong?”

“We’ve brought a message from the MacArthur for you to pass on to your father and Sir James. That man, Dougal MacLeod, he got into the hill and discovered Arthur!”

“Dougal MacLeod! In the hill?” Neil gasped at this particular piece of information. “Gosh! That’s a disaster!” he muttered, horrified. Then he visualized the effect it would have on Sir James. “Good Lord!” he whispered, “Sir James will go absolutely mental! But what happened? Where is he now?”

“He’s in the hill. We have him prisoner. The MacArthur wants to see Sir James urgently.”

“I bet he does,” said Neil feelingly, “but look, there’s a problem. I’ll not be able to leave school until half past three.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Jaikie, “as long as the message is passed on.” He flexed his wings as if to fly off, but Archie had seen the sandwich in Neil’s hand.

“Hey, we don’t need to fly back just yet,” he said, leaning forward and rubbing his head against Neil’s cheek.

“Don’t tell me, Archie,” grinned Neil. “You’re starving hungry as usual, am I right?”

“I really am, Neil, and your mother makes grand sandwiches!” cooed Archie.

Neil held up his sandwich as Archie and then Jaikie hopped down his sleeve and started to peck at it hungrily. They were still pecking away happily when Graham Flint and his cronies appeared suddenly.

“Here he is!” said Graham Flint triumphantly. “Will you just look at him! He’s feeding the pigeons now! At least it’s a change from that manky old cat!”

There was a burst of laughter as they crowded nearer. Jaikie and Archie fluttered into the air in alarm as the boys came closer but they had their own built-in means of retaliation. As they flew over Graham Flint, they dropped two rather large
calling cards — and despite the mist, their aim was true.

As Graham clawed the white muck from his hair, the pigeons soared above the school. “If only we had both been eagles,” was Archie’s regretful remark as they flew back towards the hill.