by Anne Forbes
He hadn’t, however, reckoned on the ruthless cleverness of the soldiers who had hounded him over the countryside, allowing him no time to rest by day or by night. And now the end had come. He was exhausted and knew that he could go no further. He was going to die in this strange place, far from home and no one would ever know where or how he had perished.
There was a sudden shout and the chilling blast of a hunting horn. The dragon’s heart sank. The soldiers had spotted him. This truly was the end. He folded his wings over his ears to shut out its dreadful call. Again it rang out; a strange inhuman sound that froze the blood in his veins.
Tears spilled down his cheeks as he looked round hopelessly for help. Nearby, a rugged grey castle, set on top of a black mass of rock, loomed against the morning sky and, from the cluster of houses crowding its base, he could see men and women running over the fields towards him. Roughly clad, they were nothing like the fine soldiers who had chased him over moor and hill; flags waving, armour gleaming, swords shining. Moving in from the left, he could see them already, marching in ordered columns with their leader riding in front, his black flag embossed with a golden sword.
The soldiers fanned out round the base of the hill, waving their swords threateningly at the townspeople who now thronged the lower slopes in ever increasing numbers. Minutes passed and it was only when some sort of order had been established that the knight cantered forward, the black plume on his helmet fluttering in the breeze. All eyes were focused on him when, with a wide gesture, he set his right hand against the golden hilt of his sword. A dreadful silence fell as he slowly drew it from its scabbard and held it aloft.
Everyone watching knew immediately that it was no ordinary sword. The soldiers who had, in the past, witnessed the deaths of many dragons, were silent but a troubled, uneasy growl rose from the ranks of the townspeople who stiffened with fear at the blinding blaze of magic that radiated from its blade.
“Come, dragon,” the knight shouted, urging his horse forward. “Come, dragon, so that my sword may drink your blood. Have you not heard of Dragonslayer? It has come for you!”
The dragon had, indeed, heard of Dragonslayer. He trembled. This, then, was the terrible sword that all dragons feared. No wonder the soldiers had always been able to find him. The sword would have led them to him, wherever he had hidden. Dragonslayer! The magic sword whose blade could pierce the scales of dragons. This then was Sir Pendar, the Black Knight, the famous Dragon Seeker!
Sir Pendar, for his part, looked at the dragon almost petulantly. It really was too bad, he thought irritably. He’d so wanted his fiftieth dragon to be a great beast; a huge, fire-breathing monster that he could boast of in the halls of kings and of princes. And what did he get? This miserable, half-grown specimen that probably couldn’t breathe a candle’s worth of fire! He pressed his lips together in annoyance. Killing it was really hardly worth his while. Nevertheless, he thought, as he heaved a sigh, a dragon was, after all, a dragon. Urging his horse forward, he straightened in the saddle, brandished his sword and prepared to charge.
Helpless against the magic that drew him inexorably towards the blazing sword, the dragon rose to his feet, his claws digging into the earth as he prepared to meet the enemy; for even young dragons knew that death had to be faced bravely. Shaking with fear, he gathered the remains of his courage and moved forward awkwardly across the rough ground to meet the Black Knight and Dragonslayer, his terrible sword.
Sir Pendar’s eyes glistened as he urged his horse to the gallop.
With all eyes on the charging knight, it’s hardly surprising that none of those watching witnessed the arrival of yet more actors in the unfolding drama. Perched on a rocky bluff above the dragon, they appeared out of nowhere. Gorgeously dressed in velvets and furs, they were magicians of great power who, more than a little taken aback at what was happening on their own doorstep, had decided to take a hand in the matter.
It wasn’t often that they chose to interfere in the world of men but dragons are magic creatures and they guessed that it must have been this that had drawn the creature to them. They’d tut-tutted a bit at first, for they were very old, but given that the whole affair had taken them by surprise, were determined to do their best. The dragon had come to them for help and this must certainly be given. And, as they, too, had heard of Dragonslayer, they very quickly decided that here was an ideal opportunity to remove the sword, once and for all, from the clutches of the world of men.
So it was that even as the horseman rode at full speed towards the dragon, one of the magicians stepped forward and, lifting his arm, sent a streak of light flashing from his fingers. The result of the hex was only obvious when the horse careered headlong into the invisible barrier that had risen between it and the dragon and, not unsurprisingly, crashed to the ground. Its rider, too, fell heavily and before the startled soldiers could move to help their master, the horse, hooves flailing wildly, rolled over him. Thus, Sir Pendar, with a cry of anguish, met his end.
No one was more surprised by this turn of events that the dragon himself who stood rooted to the spot, unable to believe that he had been spared. Vaguely, he wondered why the soldiers and the townspeople were backing off and making no move to assist the knight or gather the reins of the sweating, shivering horse, which had, by this time, struggled unsteadily to its feet. It was only when he turned his head and saw the wonderfully dressed individuals making their way towards him that he understood. Magicians! Like the townspeople, he recognized them for what they were and immediately sank to his knees. They had saved him.
The eldest of the magicians stepped forward and, lifting both of his hands for silence, addressed the fearful crowd. “Hear me, people of Eidyn,” he said in a stern voice that rang over the hill-side, “and do as I command! Bury the knight, Sir Pendar. Bury him deep in the rock of your castle yonder and place his sword and his horn by his side. I, Lord Alarid, command you so to do!”
He surveyed them grimly as they muttered and murmured among themselves. At any other time, he might have worried that the sword would be fought over but, given the powerful hex in his words, knew that there would be no squabbling. They would follow his instructions to the letter.
Before the soldiers could move towards their stricken master, however, the magician turned from them towards the hill. Again, a flash of light flew from his fingers and, to gasps of amazement, the bluff of rock split apart in a sharp crack of sound. This was followed by a petrified silence as the huge, carved door that had been revealed, swung slowly and majestically open. More, however, was to come for, from the doorway, small faery folk appeared. Full of excitement, they ran to the dragon and welcomed him warmly.
The kneeling dragon struggled confusedly to his feet as they clustered round. After the perils of his journey, he was quite overcome. His wonderful eyes lost their look of fearful dread and started to glow as he saw the kindness in the faces of the little people who were urging him to come with them into the safety of the hill.
He drew a quivering breath as, heart swelling with relief, he realized that a new life lay before him. With no hesitation whatsoever, he turned his back on the outside world and, escorted by the magicians and the faery folk, stepped forward through the massive doorway, into the hill.
Copyright
Kelpies is an imprint of Floris Books
First published in 2010 by Floris Books
First published as an eBook in 2013 by Floris Books
© 2010 Anne Forbes
Anne Forbes has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the Author of this Work.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the prior permission of Floris Books, 15 Harrison Gardens, Edinburgh
www.florisbooks.co.uk
The publisher acknowledges subsidy from Creative Scotland towards the publication of this volume
British Library CIP Data available
ISBN: 978–178250–077–3
Anne Forbes, Witch Silver