by C. J. Busby
***
Olivia and Adolphus were nowhere near Castle Perilous, and they were quite definitely completely lost. They had followed the river roughly north (they thought) for most of the day, but there was no sign of Max, or Sir Boris, or indeed of any very clear road. They were flying over a wild and empty moor, with no trees, and no houses, and it was getting dark. Olivia was starting to feel quite worried, and Adolphus was not at all happy.
“I’m tired…” he wailed. “My wings hurt. And I’m cold. And I’m hungry. Can we stop now?”
“But there’s nowhere to shelter,” said Olivia for the tenth time. “We need to find some trees or something. There might be wild animals, and there’s no wood for a fire.”
But Adolphus had had enough. He crumpled to the ground in a heap of flapping wings and rolled over onto his back with his legs in the air, as Olivia jumped neatly out of the way.
“I can’t… go… any… further,” he announced, and then flopped sideways and closed his eyes.
“Adolphus!” said Olivia crossly. “You can’t just go to sleep! Get up at once! We need to at least find some bushes or something.”
Adolphus rolled over and opened one eye. He sniffed. Then he sniffed again. His other eye opened and he grinned.
“Mmmm…” he said. “Food…”
And he scooped Olivia up, threw her onto his back, and went galumphing away in the direction of the extremely delicious smell he had caught wafting across the moor.
“No, Adolphus! NO! It might be anyone!” she shrieked, and tried to stop him, but she might as well have been a small child trying to stop a woolly mammoth. A few minutes later, they crashed over a ridge and saw below them a perfect sheltered spot, with a grassy bank, a small stream and a few stunted trees. A bubbling pot was sitting on the embers of a bright, warm campfire, and nearby a knight was sitting next to his tethered horse. Adolphus launched himself at the fire, and started dancing round the knight, waving his tail enthusiastically.
“Oh, yes, please, it smells delicious, we’re very hungry your honour, your worship, and it’s very cold and I’m fed up and a bit of stew would be lovely, please…”
Olivia covered her eyes with one webbed foot while she tried desperately to hang on to Adolphus’s neck-cord with the other. Most lone travellers, surprised by a bounding, hungry dragon (even a small one) in the middle of nowhere, skewered first and asked questions later. She and Adolphus were spit roast, for sure.
But she was wrong. The knight didn’t draw a sword, or grab a lance, or pick up a sturdy axe. He laughed, and spread his hands, and said:
“Well, well! A dragon! My luck’s in!”
Olivia took her foot away from her eyes and looked at him. Now she could see the man clearly, he didn’t actually look like a knight. He was thin, and had a rather lopsided face with a long crooked nose, and worn clothes. His horse, calmly chomping grass behind him, was rather old and sway-backed, and the little bundle of possessions nearby didn’t look like it contained armour or a sword. In fact, now she looked carefully, what she’d thought was a sword gleaming in the firelight turned out to be… a harp. He was a bard!
Olivia breathed a sigh of relief. Bards were a much gentler bunch altogether than knights. And generally more well-disposed towards magic and magical creatures. Half their stories relied on dragons and spells to make the plot work. They’d be safe with a bard.
The man held out his hand to Adolphus, who sniffed it happily and then looked meaningfully at the pot of stew.
“So, you’d like some food, eh?” said the man. “I was just about to serve myself. You can join me.”
He fetched a pewter bowl from his pack and ladled some stew into it, then threw a few pieces of meat down for Adolphus. Olivia slipped carefully off the dragon’s neck – but not carefully enough. Before she realised what was happening, the man had her back leg between his finger and thumb, and she was dangling upside down in front of his face in a very undignified manner.
“Aaargghhh! Let me down, you pig-faced slimy slug’s bottom!” she yelled, but all he heard was, “Craark! Craark!”
He put down his bowl and then gripped her more firmly in two surprisingly large hands, looking at her thoughtfully.
“Well, well. A rather odd-coloured frog. And travelling with a dragon. I think this might just be my lucky day. I think there’s every chance you’re a princess. It’s probably worth taking the risk and giving you a nice big smacking kiss.”
And before Olivia had a chance to even struggle, he had planted a firm kiss on her froggy head and…
WHOOSH!!!
Purple stars exploded around the campfire, and what had been a frog was suddenly considerably taller and heavier and distinctly human, sprawled on the ground at the bard’s feet looking very disgruntled.
“But… but… you’re not a princess!” he said, looking extremely surprised. “You’re… a boy! Are you a prince?”
“No,” said Olivia grumpily, picking herself up off the ground. “I’m a… squire. My name’s… um… Ned.”
“But how—?”
“I got turned into a frog by… er… an evil witch. So… well… thanks, I guess.”
The man stood up, and swept Olivia a deep bow.
“Caradoc the Bard at your service. Glad to be of assistance. Well, well. What excitement. Pity you weren’t a princess, though. I could do with a bit of spare cash. Might not have to go traipsing all the way up to Gore.”
“Gore?” said Olivia, excited. “You’re going to Gore?”
“Yes. Hoping to offer my services to Sir Uriel and Lady Morgana le Fay: ‘Caradoc the Bard, tales of bravery and sorcery a speciality… Winner of the Best Newcomer Award, Castle Emlyn Bardic Competition’…” He lowered his voice. “Of course, it’s only open to members of the castle, so it’s not very prestigious, but they won’t know that, eh?” and he winked.
Olivia grinned. This was perfect. A travelling companion all the way to Gore. And she didn’t even need to worry about reversing the frogspell when she got there. Well done, Adolphus!
A Fight!
Travelling with Caradoc the Bard turned out to be a much more pleasant experience than flying on Adolphus’s back. For a start, Caradoc actually knew the way to Gore, which took all the worry out of it. For another, he turned out to be full of amusing stories, mostly of his disastrous performances at various bardic competitions. Caradoc, it seemed, was really quite a hopeless bard, always forgetting the end of stories or breaking his harp strings at the crucial moment. And then there was the time he’d forgotten the name of the ugly old hag in one tale and accidentally replaced it with the name of the lord of the castle’s only daughter, who’d run out of the Great Hall in floods of tears.
“Yes, well, I don’t recall getting paid for that one – actually, I think they threw me off the battlements… Lucky they were only ten feet high – and the moat was warm for the time of year…”
Olivia laughed. They were coming to the end of a golden afternoon, ambling gently north on Caradoc’s horse, which was sturdier than it looked and quite happy to take the weight of both of them. Ahead, the road dipped down into a small copse of ancient elm trees that spread their branches right across the way, casting a deep shadow. As they passed into the cooler darkness, Olivia thought she heard a cry. The horse stopped, and twitched its ears. There!
It was definitely a shout. And the sound of clashing swords. Olivia twisted round to look at Caradoc and was glad to find that he was not looking in the least bit afraid. He was frowning, and pulling a long knife out of his saddlebag. He urged the horse onwards, and she drew Max’s second-best sword and took a deep breath as they cantered under the trees towards the sound.
***
Max and Sir Boris had been plodding on for what seemed like years. Max’s backside felt like it would never be the same again. The only good thing was that Sir Boris had finally run out of tales to tell and was reduced to the odd cheery comment about the weather. Max was just wondering whether to eat his las
t hunk of bread now, or save it for later, when he realised a band of armed men was blocking the road ahead, led by a young squire on a horse.
“Halt, knights, and state your business!” came the call from the rider, as he approached them slowly. “The Warden of the Great Grimpen Mire requires all travellers to—”
Suddenly the boy stopped, and peered forward and then laughed. Max knew that laugh. He knew the tall arrogant figure on the horse, as well.
“Snotty Hogsbottom!”
“Well, if it isn’t the weed Pendragon. Of course. On your way to the Spell School.” He sneered, and then turned round and cantered back to the soldiers. “These two need to be escorted to the castle for questioning,” he shouted. “They are dangerous outlaws. If they resist, arrest them!”
Sir Boris looked bewildered. “What on earth? What does he mean? Outlaws?”
Max groaned. “He knows we’re not. But they’ll chuck us in the dungeons for a week and then claim it was all a mistake. Meanwhile I’ll miss the first week of Spell School. Slimy rotten scheming dung beetle!”
Sir Boris narrowed his eyes and contemplated the band of armed men approaching them, Snotty behind them. Boring he might be, but a coward Sir Boris most certainly was not.
“Right then, Max. There’s only five of them and a squire. You take the boy; I’ll deal with the soldiers. Swords ready!” He drew his sword and urged his horse on towards the troop. Max gulped, and drew his sword. Ferocious poked his head out of Max’s tunic.
“What? Fighting? Are you mad?!”
“I have to,” said Max through gritted teeth. “Snotty is going to stop us getting to Gore otherwise, and apart from missing the Spell School, I won’t be much use to Merlin stuck in a dungeon for a few weeks.”
“But a sword?” said Ferocious, eyebrows raised. “You’ll never hit Snotty with a sword, not when you’re riding a horse! Use a bit of sense, Max. Chuck a bit of frogspell at him!”
“Ferocious – you’re a genius!” said Max, relieved, and reached for his saddlebags. There it was – the almost full bottle of blue gunk.
Snotty was cantering towards them, while Sir Boris wielded his sword manfully, holding off all five of the soldiers. Max raised the potion bottle and grinned.
“Ha! Want to be a frog, Hogsbottom? Like your father? He made a very fetching one!”
Snotty blinked, and pulled up his horse, but it was too late. Max hurled a blob of blue potion straight at his face. It splattered over Snotty’s forehead and trickled down into one eye, but Snotty remained very much a boy. Max gulped.
“So!” laughed Snotty. “Got it wrong this time, eh? You always were terrible at spells, Max. Must have just got lucky, the first time.”
He waved his sword in the air and then brought it crashing down, right where Max’s head would have been, if Arnold hadn’t neatly sidestepped. Unfortunately, this meant that Max fell off, with a shout of surprise, and landed, winded, on the stony road. Snotty leapt off his horse and was standing over Max in a moment, holding his sword to Max’s neck.
“Right, Pendragon. You’re coming with me.”
But at that moment a blur of blue-green came hurtling through the trees and Snotty was knocked flying by a vision of claws, wings and forked tail.
“Adolphus?” cried Max, hardly able to believe his eyes. But the next second two more figures had thrown themselves into the fray and were laying about Snotty’s men with energy and determination. Max saw one of the soldiers go flying, knocked over by an expert uppercut to the chin. The rather short figure that had delivered the killer punch looked extraordinarily like…
“Olivia!” he yelled. “What are you doing here?”
He scrambled to his feet, found his sword and went charging in to help. Unfortunately, the first thing he managed to make contact with was the top of Adolphus’s head. The small dragon went down like a stone.
Sir Boris was fighting valiantly, and Olivia was managing to deliver a few useful blows alongside the tall stranger with the long knife, but now that Adolphus was out of the equation the five soldiers were gaining ground. Worse, Snotty, looking rather dazed but determined, was about to join the fight again. It looked like it was the end, but then Max heard a crashing sound, and a large knight dressed in black armour came charging down the road behind them waving his sword.
“Tally ho!” he shouted. “Unhand these travellers, you villains!”
The new knight was not only rather nifty with his sword; he was also extremely large and very fierce. It wasn’t long before Snotty and the soldiers decided the odds were no longer in their favour, and beat a rapid retreat, scattering down the road and out of the wood.
There was a moment’s silence, while they all gathered their breath. Adolphus crawled out from under a bush, groaning and shaking his head feebly. The new knight took a step backwards as he saw the dragon.
“Adolphus?” he said, from inside his helmet.
Max and Olivia turned at the sound of his voice.
“Father?” said Max.
The knight pulled off his helmet and looked around.
“Well, I say. Found you all at last. Been riding all day looking for you. Just as well I caught up when I did, eh? What on earth’s been going on?”
Luckily Sir Bertram’s saddlebags were absolutely full of cakes, ale and cold meat (“Never know when you might need a little snack!”) so their explanations took place over a rather sumptuous roadside picnic. Some bits of the story were left out and others glossed over. Olivia and Max had a huddled and private conversation that involved a lot of outrage on his part, and much apologising on hers, before two potion bottles changed hands. Sir Bertram gathered early on that as far as Caradoc was concerned, Olivia was a boy, and he decided not to reveal her secret. In fact, Sir Bertram was hatching a bit of a plan of his own.
“Well now,” he said, as he happily devoured his fourth chicken leg. “It seems to me, we may as well all go on to Gore together. Not so far now, and after all, Morgana’s a distant relative of mine. May as well pay her a visit now I’m so close. And there’s damned fine hunting to be had in this corner of the kingdom, by all accounts.”
He looked down at Olivia, and winked. “Besides, I think you could probably benefit from a bit of training, eh, young Oliv–er? If you’re going to be up to the Squires’ Challenge? All the squires at Gore are very well trained, I’ve heard…”
Olivia’s eyes shone. “Yes! That’s just what I was hoping. Brilliant!”
“That’s settled then,” said Sir Bertram, and took a deep pull on his bottle of ale. “I’ll send a swift to your mother, let her know.”
Caradoc leant over to Olivia, looking confused.
“I thought you told me your name was Ned?” he said.
“I did,” said Olivia. “It is Ned. Short for Oliver.”
***
Gore, when they finally got there, turned out to be surprisingly beautiful. The Great Grimpen Mire and the swampy lakes for which it was famous stretched out to the north, but there were glimpses of blue sea to the west, while immediately around the castle was a lush green landscape of meadows, streams and wooded valleys. Beyond the distant lakes they could see mountains clear against the blue sky, and the white stone of the castle glowed in the mellow afternoon sun.
Lady Morgana le Fay, who met them when they arrived, was every bit as terrible as Max and Olivia remembered. She held out her arms and smiled but they felt as if an icy wind had just breathed down their necks.
“Welcome, welcome, my dear Bertram,” she said, and her voice dripped with sweetness but her eyes stayed hard. “So you’ve come to stay as well. How delightful. I shall make sure you have the most comfortable quarters we can find. And this is…?”
She turned to Olivia, who shivered, and then looked defiant.
“Er… well… my… er… Griselda’s cousin’s boy. Oliv–er. Came along with me to get a bit of training with your squires. If that’s all right?”
Lady Morgana looked hard at Olivia.
&nb
sp; “Indeed. The family resemblance is… striking. Well my dear… Oliver. We’ll have to put you in with Max, I think. I’m sure you’ll enjoy each other’s company.” And she laughed her icy, tinkling laugh and they both tried not to shudder.
But that night, curled up in bed with the candles glowing, warm and well fed, they were both feeling a lot more confident.
“She can’t do much, with Dad here,” said Olivia. “She won’t want anything to go wrong before the king comes.”
“No,” said Max, yawning. “I reckon we’ll be fine. She won’t dare do anything to either of us.”
But he was wrong. Lady Morgana le Fay had a very carefully organised plan for the king’s visit. And it quite definitely involved something rather nasty happening to Max.
Spell School and Squire Training
Max arrived for the first lesson of the Spell School rather late, clutching his cauldron and his bag of books and spell ingredients. The room used for magic lessons was near the back of the castle, a large airy chamber with high ceilings and a stone floor. Scattered around the room, a dozen or so young apprentices were unpacking and sorting out their equipment. Max slipped into a space and glanced around at the others. To his left was a short, stocky girl with fair hair and a friendly smile, and in front of him was a boy with red hair and a very new-looking, shiny cauldron. Max looked down at his misshapen and battered cauldron and fervently hoped it would work.
“Right then, people,” came a loud voice from the front of the room, and a tall, thin young wizard with a long face walked in. “My name is Aleric of Ullswater, and I am in charge of all lessons except the most advanced, where Lady Morgana le Fay will graciously condescend to teach you herself. I insist on absolute concentration and obedience in my classes. Any student who does not pay attention will be turned into an orange mushroom for the duration of the lesson.”