by Anne Forbes
“And still you serve him?” Clara said in a curious voice.
“He is my master and I have served him well,” Kitor said stoutly, but his voice nevertheless held a trembling note of appeal. “He will not leave me to die.”
“He’s killing you right now,” Clara snapped in exasperation. “Just look at you! You’re more than half-frozen already. Kitor, don’t you realize that by the morning you’ll be dead?”
But the crow would not listen to her and sat steadfastly on his spur of rock. The cold was terrible and his eyes dulled as it froze his blood.
Then, when he had all but given up hope, the light suddenly appeared, bathing him in its warm glow.
Clara saw it from the back of the cave and sat up in fear as it rested on the crow. Kitor, she saw, was now in a really dreadful state. His feathers, stiff and matted, were coated in frost and his face was pitifully thin and strained as he straightened bravely to face his master.
Kitor blinked dully as he looked into the light and, despite the crushing cold, his heart welled warm within him as he realized that his master had not, after all, forgotten him. Tears formed in his eyes and he could barely open his beak to talk. “Master!” he croaked.
“Ah, there you are, Kitor,” the prince’s voice was business-like. “What happened to the girl? Is she dead yet?”
Kitor’s frozen face showed no change of expression. He knew perfectly well that Clara was not dead but somehow he could not bring himself to say the words that might bring a thunderbolt to kill her. Whatever happened, he knew he could not bear to see her killed like Cassia.
“She died a few hours ago, Master,” his voice cracked pitifully. “The cold killed her.”
There was a brief silence. “You know, you disappoint me, Kitor,” the prince said dryly, “you really do. What do you take me for — a fool? I watched you in the crystal just a few hours ago and the girl was nowhere near dead then!”
“Master, I’m sure …”
“I trusted you, Kitor,” he said sadly, “and now … now I find that you are lying to me. So stupid of you! I always know, you see, when people are lying to me.”
Abject fear froze Kitor helplessly to his perch and Clara watched in horror as she saw the spark of hope fade slowly from his eyes. As he waited, numb with horror, for the thunderbolt that he was quite sure was on its way, the prince laughed as he saw despair dawn in the bird’s eyes as it faced death.
Clara’s reaction was swift, however. Grabbing a handful of stones from the floor of the cave she flung them at the crow and knocked him off his perch, even as the thunderbolt shattered the spur of rock.
The beam of light found him, lying on his back with his feet in the air, beak agape and eyes closed. And even as she watched, tears streaming down her face, the glow of the crystal gradually faded and left Clara alone in the icy darkness of the cave.
She could see Kitor’s body dimly illuminated by the light of the moon and crawled towards him, ignoring sharp jabs to her hands and knees from the broken rock that littered the floor.
“Kitor, Kitor,” she cried fearfully, “please don’t be dead!”
Kitor’s beak moved and she heard a faint, pathetic squawk as his wings fluttered weakly for an instant and his frost-rimmed eyes blinked. The thunderbolt had missed him by inches but he was so close to death that he barely felt the warmth of her fingers as she picked him up and wrapped him in the all-enveloping comfort of her cloak.
“It’s a magic cloak, Kitor,” she assured him in a whisper as she hugged him to her. “It’ll keep you warm and safe. Go to sleep now and by morning you’ll be fine.”
30. Rothlan Returns
It was no more than an overhanging rock but the Ranger thought that it would give them enough protection to see them through the night. He unpacked some of the food they had been given at Inveraray but no one seemed anxious to eat; their thoughts were with Lord Rothlan, Jaikie and Hamish. Hours had passed and still there was no sign of them.
Lady Ellan gently removed Amgarad from Rihan’s back. Ever since Sephia had brought him back, she had carried his frozen body under her cloak in the hope that its warmth would melt the ice that held him rigid.
Neil came up and stroked the stiff feathers with tears in his eyes. “Poor Amgarad,” he said miserably. “I hope Lord Rothlan will be able to counteract the spell. I wish he’d hurry up and come back.”
Lady Ellan smiled reassuringly although fear lurked in her heart. Would he ever return? She looked back to the high pass that lay between the mountains they had just crossed. All in all, they had made good speed that day for by strapping the witches’ broomsticks to the sides of their horses, they had been able to see their way clearly through the snow. Neil, she knew, was tired but she had had to force the pace as long as they could hear the screams of the witches and the increasing noise of the storm.
At the time, Neil had joked about the storm carriers and hope had risen in her heart as she knew that it was possible that Rothlan had summoned them. Time passed, however, and as they flew from peak to peak and valley to valley the storm and the cries of the witches had long since faded and still Rothlan and the others had not returned. Now it was starting to get dark and they were not only hungry but the terrors of the day had left them totally exhausted.
The Ranger had just unsaddled the horses and was rubbing them down when Sephia started to whinny and prance. Lady Ellan’s horse started forward with a clatter of hooves and suddenly they all galloped off down the track, their wings spreading as they took to the air.
The Ranger started to run after them and then stopped, his face suddenly wild with hope, for three horses were flying towards them with riders on their backs. “It’s Lord Rothlan,” he shouted, “and Hamish and Jaikie!”
The horses arrived back in a confusion of beating wings and flying hooves. Rothlan slipped from his horse and hugged Neil and Lady Ellan and shook the Ranger’s hand. “Thank goodness we have found you, John. We spent ages following another trail and got hopelessly lost.” He looked round sharply. “But where is Clara?” he asked.
Lady Ellan looked apprehensively at him. “Clara went to rescue Amgarad, Alasdair,” she said, hating to give him bad news, “but the witches captured her.”
“I see,” he said. His face whitening. “Have you looked in the crystal?”
“It shows nothing,” she answered. “Kalman must be hiding her from us.”
His lips tightened. “And what happened to Amgarad?”
“He’s here,” she replied, tears stinging her eyes, “but the witches have hexed him, Alasdair, and I truly don’t know whether you can bring him back to life or not.”
Rothlan’s face hardened. “Let me see him.”
“He’s over here.”
They all followed her to where the great eagle lay, his wings stiffly outstretched. “I’ve carried him under my cloak all day,” she said, “in the hope that it might warm him.”
Rothlan looked suddenly weary and worried. “I wondered what had happened to Amgarad,” he said. “Thank heavens Clara managed to catch him before he hit the ground!” He looked at the Ranger with a grim smile. “I’m in her debt, John!”
They stared down at the body of the eagle, its eyes glazed and its beak parted.
“Can you save him, do you think?” asked the Ranger. “Is it possible?”
Rothlan nodded. “It’s possible,” he said, “I only hope I’ve enough strength left in me to counteract the spell. My magic is nearly spent. I not only used up a lot in hexing those blasted witches out of the sky but in the end had to call up the storm carriers. They saved the horses but I didn’t know that Amgarad had been hexed like this.”
“If we put all the firestones together, milord,” offered Hamish, “then perhaps you might be able to do it.”
“Yes,” agreed Jaikie, “and there are some in the saddlebags, remember? The ones the MacArthur sent with Amgarad when you were hexed by the Old Man of the Mountains.”
They spread all the firestone
s they had over Amgarad’s still body and as Lord Rothlan knelt in the snow, Lady Ellan beckoned them away so that he could concentrate on the spell.
Neil clutched his father tightly, tears running down his face as he prayed that the spell would work. Amgarad couldn’t die! He just couldn’t! Minutes passed and nothing happened. The Ranger and Lady Ellan looked at one another through fearful eyes. Could his spell have failed?
It was Hamish who approached Lord Rothlan and as he came closer he looked round for Amgarad, who was no longer lying stretched out on the ground, his wings stiff and straight.
“Milord?” Hamish laid a hand gently on Rothlan’s shoulder and from amid the folds of his cloak, he saw Amgarad’s eyes, bright and shining, looking up at him.
Hamish gave a yell of joy that brought the others at a run. “He’s done it!” he shouted. “He’s done it! Amgarad is alive!”
Rothlan got to his feet and stood with the eagle perched on his arm. His face was drawn and exhausted but his eyes glowed with happiness. The spell had worked and Amgarad was restored to them.
Amgarad immediately noticed that Clara was missing and it was Sephia herself who told him how they had managed to pluck him, frozen, from the skies.
“Clara wasn’t hurt,” she assured the eagle. “The witches took her. They knocked her off my back and caught her on their broomsticks.”
“Take heart, Ranger, we’ll get her back,” Lady Ellan said, seeing the pain on his face. “I know things look black but believe me, she will take no harm. The Sultan’s spell will protect her.”
They ate well that evening on the remainder of the cold meat, oatcakes and cheese that the Campbells had given them. Indeed, Archie Campbell had pressed more on them than he could afford to give, such was his gratitude — for before they’d left Inveraray, Rothlan had magnificently repaid the Campbell chief for his hospitality. Noticing signs of want in the gaunt faces of the clansmen, he had cast a spell that lifted the blight that was affecting their cattle and, although Archie Campbell did not realize it at the time, his fortunes and those of his clan were to grow and prosper from that day forth.
Amgarad, too, fed well on an unsuspecting rabbit that had fallen victim to his claws and then spent the rest of the evening meticulously cleaning his feathers. Tomorrow, they would have to serve him well, for, like the others, he worried about Clara and planned to spend the day scouring the mountains for her.
In Edinburgh, Mrs MacLean was also worrying about her daughter. She’d been fast asleep when a picture of Clara had crept into her unconscious mind. Clara, lying in a cold, dark cave. Turning and tossing restlessly as the nightmare took hold, she cried out in her sleep but it was only when a brilliant flash of light streaked across her dream that she woke with a start and sat up in bed. After that, she hadn’t been able to settle and morning saw her heavy-eyed and consumed with worry.
“I just know something’s wrong with Clara,” she said aloud as she poured boiling water from the kettle into the teapot and carried it to the kitchen table. “Neil’s all right. Somehow I’m quite sure of that. But Clara’s definitely in trouble. I’m her mother, and mothers always know!”
As the tea brewed, she sat clutching and unclutching the firestone that Lady Ellan had given her. I must try to get hold of Sir James, she thought, looking at the clock. He’ll know what to do. But after breakfast, when she called Sir James, his housekeeper told her that he was away from home and even his mobile number was unobtainable.
She sighed. She could tell she was in a state from the way she was walking up and down the kitchen, twisting the tea towel in her hands. You know what you have to do, Janet, she told herself firmly. You just don’t have the courage, that’s what it is. And again she picked up the firestone that Lady Ellan had given her and saw the strange, sparkling dragonfire in its depths. But I’ve got to do something! Clara’s in trouble! I just know it!
She stared round the kitchen, totally ordinary and familiar and as far removed from magic as one could possibly imagine. And yet, she thought, here she was with a magic stone in her hand — a magic stone that could call up a magic carpet that would take her to Clara …
“Get a grip, Janet,” she said aloud. “You know you’ve got to call your carpet.”
With that, she went into the hall where she put on her coat and tied a scarf round her head. Placing the firestone carefully in a pocket of her handbag, she went into the garden, locked the door of the house behind her and standing on the garden path, took a deep breath. “Carpet,” she said firmly, and clapped her hands.
31. Arthur Casts a Spell
While Clara sat huddled, fearful and lonely, in the cave in the mountains and Mrs MacLean tossed and turned in the throes of her nightmare, other important events were happening in the world of magic; for the MacArthur had been busy and was now putting his cunning plan into action.
They were all there on the slopes of Arthur’s Seat: Sir James, Tatler and the Chief Constable, as well as a whole host of MacArthurs who had come to wish Archie and Arthur a safe journey. Standing on a crag, high up on the hill, Sir James, like the others, was bitterly cold and, stamping his feet to keep his circulation going, drew his winter coat closer around him. Despite its thickness, it was poor protection against a wind that was steadily freezing him to the marrow and, despite his excitement, he thought longingly of hot baths and central heating; for the slopes of Arthur’s Seat at two o’clock in the morning had little to offer in the way of comfort.
As they stood there, huddled against the biting wind, the MacArthur, Tatler, Sir James and the Chief Constable all peered at their watches from time to time and, as the hour approached, Sir James started the countdown. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero …” he muttered.
When he reached “zero,” they all looked up expectantly, casting their eyes over the vast stretch of lights that glittered, spider-like, over Edinburgh and beyond and, exactly as planned, each and every light went out. Emergency generators suddenly cranked into life all over the city, electrical engineers swore as they were dragged out of bed to attend to the emergency and those hapless individuals caught in the dark, were reduced to feeling their way home without even the comforting gleam of moonlight to help them on their way. It was a moonless night, which was exactly why the MacArthur had chosen it!
Sir James switched on his torch, as did the others, and turned to look at the side of the hill where Archie and Arthur were waiting.
He was a magnificent dragon, thought Sir James, as he watched Arthur move out of the tunnel, clawing his way awkwardly towards them. Curls of smoke blew from his nostrils as he flapped his wings, delighted at being above ground again.
Archie, dressed in sheepskin from top to toe, made his way over to them, guided by the light of their torches.
“You look a bit like an Eskimo in all that gear,” Sir James laughed, pulling at the fur-lined hood that framed his face.
“Aye,” Archie grinned, “but on a night like this, I’ll need every bit of it. And it’ll be colder still once I’m out over the sea.”
“You’re quite sure you know what you’ve to do then?” checked the MacArthur.
Archie nodded and indicated the saddlebags that hung over Arthur’s back. “It’s all there,” he nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. Arthur’s looking forward to the fun of it all and,” he said looking around, “as it’s a dark night, I doubt if anybody out there’ll spot us!”
“Watch out for the oil rigs, though,” Tatler cautioned. “They have their own power supply and they’ll be as brightly lit as Christmas trees.”
“I’ll mind out for them,” Archie grinned, climbing onto Arthur’s back and gripping the saddle as he settled himself comfortably.
Arthur listened carefully as the MacArthur spoke to him seriously and nodded his great head understandingly. “Remember, Arthur, their radar can’t pick you up. Just avoid the ships’ lights and you ought to be okay.”
The MacArthur then stepped back and they a
ll waved to Archie as Arthur’s wings started to sweep through the air with increasing strength.
“Good luck,” Sir James called as they watched the great dragon soar effortlessly upwards, his massive bulk swallowed immediately by the darkness of the night sky.
“How long,” asked the Chief Constable, looking after him in wonder, “do you think it’ll take him?”
“The best part of the night, I should think,” answered the MacArthur. “He has quite a way to travel, you know — although, of course, a lot depends on where the French fleet is lying!”
Archie was well-nigh frozen stiff by the time the French fleet came into view. Although he’d been alert and excited as they’d soared over the invisible mass of the darkened coastline, the monotony of flying over the dark waters of the North Sea soon palled as an occupation; especially as the night was pitch black and he couldn’t see anything at all.
Arthur, however, being a dragon, didn’t suffer from this disadvantage, for his wonderful eyes could see equally well in both the dark and the daylight. Flying directly out to sea, he gave a couple of brilliantly lit oil rigs a wide berth, avoided a few helicopters and then, veering southwards, curved towards the fish-rich waters of the Dogger Bank where he was pretty sure he would find the French trawlers and their accompanying naval escort.
Archie’s first indication that they were approaching the French fleet was the sudden gleam and twinkle of lights from a myriad of fishing boats, and a more stately glow from vessels that were obviously much bigger.
“There they are, Arthur! It must be the French! Gosh, there are loads of boats!” Archie said excitedly.
“Let’s check,” Arthur said, losing height rapidly until he literally swooped over the waves so that Archie could read the names on the sides of the trawlers.
“Marie Claire,” Archie read one of the names aloud, “Cherbourg.” His brow creased. “Cherbourg,” he repeated. “That’s a French port! It’s them, all right! Come on, Arthur, let’s get started!”