by Anne Forbes
“Are we nearly there?” she asked, looking up enquiringly at Count Vassili who had reined in his horse beside the door of the coach. He opened it for her and as she jumped down onto the stony verge, the blustery wind that scoured the high slopes of the mountain blew cold around her.
“Careful, Clara!” Count Vassili warned.
It was just as well that he did so, for she found herself standing unexpectedly close to the edge of a high cliff. Wrapping her cloak around her, she looked nervously over the wide valley that lay before her and drew in a sudden breath. This couldn’t be it, she thought in disbelief. It just couldn’t! For the scene that met her eyes was the stuff of nightmares. Even Maria, peering through the window of the coach, looked shocked.
Clara paled. There wasn’t a blade of grass in the valley below, nor room for one to grow. The entire landscape was one monstrous jumble of rocky slabs, thrown here and there as if by a giant hand. And, dominating this terrible valley, rearing high on a jagged spur of rock, loomed the massive, towering bulk of a huge, grey castle, its tall towers outlined against the blue sky. It just had to be Dragonsgard!
“Is … that … Dragonsgard?” Clara whispered, looking up at the count.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” he said shortly. He, too, was appalled at the sight of it, for he’d forgotten what a truly dreadful place it was. Meeting Maria’s warning glance, he dismounted hastily and walked over to Clara. She was standing stiff and still and, he thought grimly, was probably fighting back tears. As if she knew it was going to be her prison …
“We’ll make you as comfortable as we can,” he said awkwardly, knowing that the horsemen were within earshot and would most definitely be listening to anything that was said.
A strong gust of wind blew the hood of her cloak from her fingers and set her hair blowing wildly. Good, she thought, it would hide her face from the watching soldiers. They wouldn’t see the tears that were streaming silently down her cheeks. Smothering a sob, she ignored the count and climbed blindly back into the coach. Maria leant forward to comfort her but she shrugged her hands away and threw herself miserably along the bench seat. She’d been Jezail’s prisoner for ages, she thought helplessly. Why, why, why had no one tried to rescue her?
Maria looked despairingly at the count and even more despairingly at the jagged grey towers of the huge castle that brooded threateningly over the valley. She shivered as a cloud of unease dampened her spirits still further. Dragonsgard! She knew, without being told, that it was a dreadful, evil place.
The coachman cracked his whip and the coach once again jerked forward, rumbling carefully down the rough track that clung to the side of the mountain. Maria didn’t look out of the window. She had no head for heights at the best of times and the drop to the valley floor was staggering.
By the time they reached Dragonsgard, Clara had mopped up her tears and was sitting upright, red-eyed and silent. The horses, now bone-tired, hauled the coach up the last steep slope to the castle. A drawbridge had been lowered across what appeared to be a deep moat and the sound of the coach’s wheels changed as it rattled across. Clara looked down as they crossed. The moat was certainly deep but there was no water in it. Only rocks. There seemed to be nothing else in the valley. Just rocks and more rocks …
They entered a wide courtyard surrounded by the high, grey walls of the castle. Grooms appeared from an arched tunnel and, hurrying forward, bowed low to the count before taking charge of the horses, leading them wearily away towards what must, Clara thought vaguely, be the stables.
Their arrival had obviously been expected, for a tall man dressed in uniform stood at the top of a shallow flight of steps and saluted them briefly as they approached. “Major Strelitz,” he announced. There were no words of welcome, Clara noted, as he stood back stiffly and gestured to them to enter.
They glanced at one another grimly as they looked round the large hall. Clara wasn’t impressed. Paved in huge stone slabs, it was bitterly cold and looked unutterably shabby and depressing. A table and chairs sat in the centre and although some threadbare armchairs were grouped round a huge fireplace, no fire burned; nor, she noticed, was there any sign of logs in the iron baskets that stood dusty and untended at its side.
Maria looked at the count apprehensively. This was worse than either of them had thought and she was glad that she’d packed lots of warm clothes in the suitcases. They were obviously going to need them!
As they were standing looking around in dismay the officer in charge of the guard marched forward and, saluting smartly, handed Major Strelitz a letter. Count Vassili looked at him sharply and felt a stab of anxiety. Any letter from Lord Jezail should surely have been entrusted to him.
Major Strelitz took a long time to read the letter although it was obvious that it only covered part of a page. Clara felt the tension in the atmosphere. What was happening now? Nothing good, she thought, from the look of fear on Maria’s face.
Displaying no emotion whatsoever as he passed the letter to Count Vassili, the major’s face was unreadable. The officer, however, shot the count a triumphant glance. From what Lord Jezail had said to him before they left, he had a good idea of its contents.
The count’s lips twisted in an angry smile as he read the letter through. There was, as the saying goes, good news and bad news. The good news was that Lord Jezail had dispensed with his services. The bad news was that he was to be held prisoner in Dragonsgard.
He looked at the major shrewdly and then, lowering his eyes to the page, pretended to read it again. All the time, however, his mind was working with lightning swiftness. As a prisoner, he’d be of little use to Clara. It was best that he escaped now, while the great door was open and the drawbridge down.
“I’m afraid that you are to be my prisoner, Count Vassili,” Major Strelitz said smoothly.
“So it would seem,” the count admitted, handing the letter back and adding the words of a powerful spell to the sentence in a very ordinary voice that gave no one cause for alarm. Indeed, Clara was still trying to work out what he’d actually said when the count, in a shimmer of light, changed into a wolf.
There were a few moments of complete astonishment. Maria cried out, Clara took a hasty step backwards and the officer’s mouth dropped open in amazement. Count Vassili had been with Lord Jezail for so long that he’d tended to forget that he was of the Onegin, the wolf people of the north.
Vassili, taking advantage of the stunned silence, was through the great door and heading for the drawbridge before anyone had recovered their senses. The soldiers in the courtyard looked at him in some surprise as he streaked past but made no move to stop him and by the time the major rushed out, shouting for the drawbridge to be raised, the count was over and away.
Maria started to cry, but Clara comforted her. “He did the right thing,” she whispered, putting her arms round her. “It’s better that he’s free. He’ll find a way to help us.”
The hall was now a scene of complete confusion. Soldiers rushed in and rushed out again, voices shouted orders that no one seemed to pay any attention to and the drawbridge, hal-fraised, had to be lowered again to let the troops across.
As the horsemen galloped across the bridge, the major frowned. He should have known that something like this was going to happen! Ever since Lord Jezail had spoken to him through the crystal he’d been uneasy. Guarding the northern border of Lord Jezail’s domain was one thing and part of his job, but looking after prisoners in a place like Dragonsgard was quite another! And now one of them had escaped! Lord Jezail wasn’t going to be pleased, he knew that for sure. The girl, too, looked very young — yet he had instructions to put her in the highest tower in the castle.
In the course of his duties, Major Strelitz had, on occasion, carried out some unpleasant orders. This one, however, stuck in his throat. He was a decent man and as far as he was concerned, he wouldn’t have kept a dog in the highest tower of the castle for any length of time, far less a child. It was open to the winds and free
zing cold even on the warmest of days and now that winter was setting in …
He kept his opinions to himself, however, and found himself feeling rather glad that Count Vassili had escaped. Lord Onegin’s lands were not far distant and the count should reach Trollsberg within the day if he travelled fast. Perhaps his father might negotiate the girl’s release. Nevertheless, he looked frowningly at Clara — for Lord Jezail’s face when he’d spoken of her through the crystal, had been a vicious mask. Why did he hate the girl? Hate her enough to imprison her in Dragonsgard!
28. Wolf Pack
Seeing the fear on Neil’s face, the wolf materialized immediately. The boy wasn’t all that old and it seemed a shame to scare him, but he really had to find out who he was and, more importantly, what he was up to. Lord Jezail’s spies, after all, didn’t waste their time attacking nobodies and the crows had been very persistent.
The shimmer of light that had miraculously transformed one of the grey wolves into a soldier left Neil gaping open-mouthed at the tall, dark-haired man who now stood before him. Resplendent in a grey tunic trimmed with gold braid, breeches and jack boots, Major Sallis was as impressive as he was unexpected.
The Onegin, the wolf people, Neil thought excitedly as he leapt to his feet, his eyes full of hope. He then took a couple of steps backwards as the wolves, fur bristling menacingly, showed their teeth and growled warningly. Two of them even darted forward and snapped at the edge of his cloak.
“Get off, will you,” Neil said, pulling it round him.
There were a few moments of utter silence as the wolves looked at one another, their pale blue eyes mirroring their astonishment. Major Sallis stiffened, just as dumbfounded. An English child!
“I know who you are,” Neil said. “You’re wolf people, aren’t you? They call you the Onegin.” He bowed low, saying his name as he did so.
A slight smile twisted the major’s lips as he inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I am Major Sallis of the Onegin Guard,” he said. His tone was pleasant but even as he spoke his mind was working furiously as he wondered what on earth was going on! He hadn’t heard of any English people roaming the countryside, far less children! Indeed, had it not been for the crows, he might never have picked up on this one. He’d obviously missed something vital along the line which was unusual to say the least. He prided himself on knowing everything that was going on in Ashgar and wasn’t accustomed to surprises. Certainly not surprises like this, for his sharp eyes had noted the T-shirt, jeans and trainers under Neil’s cloak. “Tell me,” he queried, “how does an English boy know of the Onegin?”
His voice wasn’t unfriendly and Neil took heart. “Actually, I’m Scottish,” he said, meeting the major’s pale blue eyes honestly, “and I know Count Vassili.”
There was another silence.
“And … where exactly did you meet Count Vassili?”
“I met him in Scotland. Last year.”
This was true. All of the wolves knew it.
“And how did you come to Ashgar?” queried the major.
“I came on a magic carpet,” Neil answered. He didn’t see any point in telling lies. If the Onegin worked for Lord Jezail, then they’d very soon hear about the magic carpets.
“On a magic carpet!” Major Sallis took a deep breath. “Well, well …”
“Honestly, I did,” he added, seeing the look of disbelief on the major’s face. One or two of the wolves shifted restlessly but the major quietened them with a wave of his hand.
“And why would you come to Ashgar on … a magic carpet?”
Neil saw the amusement on the major’s face. He thinks I’m lying, he thought angrily, feeling his temper rise. “Can I ask you a question first,” he said abruptly.
“Go ahead,” the major said.
“Do you work for Lord Jezail?”
Again there was a silence. The wolves looked at one another. By sheer accident they seemed to have stumbled on something that could be important.
At the mention of Lord Jezail’s name, the major’s face changed abruptly. Gone was the easy-going friendliness. His expression turned as hard as stone and his blue eyes were icy as he raised an eyebrow. “What do you know of Lord Jezail?” he asked coldly.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Neil pointed out, standing up to him bravely.
“I’ve no intention of answering it,” the major said. “You will come with us to Trollsberg to be interrogated properly.”
“And if I don’t want to go?” Neil queried, his voice wary.
The major smiled but there was no amusement in his eyes. “The choice is not yours,” he said, holding out both his hands towards him. “Take my hands,” he instructed.
As the circle of wolves growled threateningly, Neil realized the folly of making himself invisible. If he tried to run, he wouldn’t get far. They’d smell him out! Grudgingly, he moved forward and placing his hands in those of the major, felt a shimmer of warmth.
It was when the comforting warmth was replaced by a decidedly chill breeze that Neil opened his eyes. The dark hillside had disappeared to be replaced by the battlements of a stone castle. This, he thought, must be Trollsberg, wherever it was. He’d never heard Prince Kalman mention it and yet the castle was rich and very grand. The soldiers, smart and well-dressed, all wore heavy woollen cloaks to protect them from the cold and the steel helmets that hugged their heads were emblazoned with the head of a snarling, grey wolf.
Armed sentries led them from the battlements to the interior of the castle. It was quite a long journey and made him realize just how large it was. Several flights of stairs and miles of stone corridors later, they arrived at a busier part of the castle, eventually reaching a tall, arched door. Pushing it open, the sentries stood by and saluted.
With a gasp of amazement he looked down the length of what was obviously the castle’s Great Hall. A multitude of banners fluttered from the ceiling, tapestries hung between the rows of pillars set into the walls and the entire hall was filled with grey-clad, jack-booted soldiers.
Major Sallis stopped dead at the entrance, catching his breath in surprise at the sight that met his eyes. Looking at him sharply, Neil felt that this was not what he had expected to see.
The soldiers, seeing the newcomers, fell silent and stood aside to let them through; looking somewhat curiously at Neil as he walked beside the major down the long red carpet that ran length of the hall towards a raised dais where a tall, grey-haired man dressed in heavy velvet robes sat on a grey stone throne. His nobles turned as they approached and the sudden murmur of excited conversation died as Major Sallis halted and bowed low. Neil followed suit and waited to see what would happen.
“Lord Onegin,” the major began, “Please forgive me for interrupting your discussions, but I bring you a Scottish boy that I found in the hills near Hilderstein. He has a strange story to tell and … er …” he raised his eyebrows doubtfully, “he claims to know Count Vassili.”
“Does he indeed?” Lord Onegin said, a smile curving his lips. “Well, that is a matter that is easily solved. What is your name, boy?”
Neil bowed but before he could open his mouth an amused voice spoke. “His name,” it said, “is Neil MacLean.”
Major Sallis’s head jerked and he drew his breath in sharply. Count Vassili! Here! In Trollsberg! He was falling down on the job! What else had happened in Ashgar that he didn’t know about?
Neil, for his part, almost fell over, such was his surprise. He hadn’t recognized the count among all the splendidly dressed nobles of Lord Onegin’s court.
“Count Vassili!” his voice mirrored his relief. “Thank goodness you’re here. I need your help … really badly.”
“Now, why am I not surprised?” Count Vassili said, hiding a smile as he stepped forward to grasp Neil’s hand.
Neil grinned. He knew his German teacher of old and, despite his association with Lord Jezail, trusted him. “Just wait,” he said, looking him straight in the eye, “until you hear what I hav
e to tell you!”
Count Vassili shot a glance at his father and receiving a nod of assent looked at the major. “We will talk to Neil in the Blue Room, Sallis,” he commanded. “At once!”
29. Dragon Quest
Colonel Braganz, entering Lord Jezail’s study, saluted smartly. “The troops are ready to depart, Milord,” he announced.
His voice was even enough, but inwardly the colonel was a very worried man. He’d discussed the matter with his master the previous day and still couldn’t believe that Lord Jezail had ignored his advice. The magician, he decided, must have gone mad for, as far as he was concerned, it was the height of folly to make the journey to the Valley of the Dragons while an enemy army lay virtually on their doorstep. And to leave the citadel so lightly guarded … it was just asking for trouble!
He was not to know, of course, that it was the sword that had filled Jezail’s mind with the urgency of making a journey to the Valley of the Dragons. It only cared about killing dragons and the fate of the citadel meant nothing to it. Indeed, such was its power that it didn’t enter Lord Jezail’s head for a second that he was actually being controlled. That being the case, he’d shrugged off Colonel Braganz’s arguments quite casually; for even the troubling thought of the MacArthur’s army had somehow become quite unimportant.
Now, crouched over his magic crystal, Lord Jezail looked up at this announcement with an expression on his face that made the colonel stiffen. What, he wondered, had happened to put his master into such a fearful temper?
Gathering his robes round him in a swirl of velvet, Lord Jezail rose to his feet and started to pace up and down the room, muttering to himself furiously. He was beside himself with rage for Major Strelitz had just told him of Count Vassili’s escape from Dragonsgard. It was the last thing he’d wanted to hear — and on today of all days, when he was about to set out with Dragonslayer on their Great Quest!