‘My apologies for not introducing myself on arrival but the dogs seemed to be having such a wonderful time that it seemed unfair to interrupt. My name is Vynda Vulf. I am the king’s hound master.’ Leaning forward she regarded the children with eyes that were too blue, pupils too dark, and then smiling with teeth which were just ever so slightly too long, said calmly, ‘And I am a werewolf.’
Chapter 7
The Dragon Master
‘I heard that, Vynda,’ said a small voice from just outside the bedroom. ‘Stop trying to scare the newbies. It won’t work. We all know you’re a vegetarian.’
‘Oh, poo balls,’ said Vynda, slumping back and looking far more normal than she had only moments before. The malevolent gleam in her eyes disappeared and a much more agreeable twinkle appeared. ‘You could have let me have some more fun, Breeanna,’ said Vynda, turning to Bree as she bounced into the room.
‘Vynda, please don’t call me Breeanna. You know I don’t like it. Makes me sound like one of those vampires floating round down at the courts. I know you’re doing it just to annoy me. Don’t worry about Vynda,’ said Bree, turning to Niamh and Grady. ‘She likes to think she’s scarier than she is but if she starts giving you trouble just scratch her behind the ears and she’ll roll over onto her back for a belly scratch. And we’ve seen her when she turns into a werewolf and it’s funny, really.’
‘What do you mean, funny?’ said Grady.
‘Well, most people who have been bitten by a werewolf turn into a big snarling wolf with a taste for meat. Vynda here was bitten by an Irish Setter which had been bitten by a werewolf, so she didn’t get the big teeth and nasty nature. She just turns into an Irish Setter for a day or so, running around and looking unbearably happy.’
‘Great, wonderful!’ said Vynda. ‘Thank you so much, Breeanna. Let all my secrets out why don’t you.’ Turning back to the children, Vynda continued. ‘Sorry about the interruption. Anyway, just thought I’d bring your friends back up. They were saying they were having a great time down with the other hounds but wanted to come up and see you. We don’t normally allow animals into the palace like this but your arrival is somewhat unusual, so I’ve bent the rules.’
‘Sorry,’ said Niamh, ‘but did you say the dogs told you they wanted to come up and see us?’
‘Why, yes,’ said Vynda. ‘There may be some drawbacks to being a werewolf ...’ – Bree coughed politely – ‘Oh, alright, weresetter,’ said Vynda, glaring back at Bree, ‘but it makes it much easier to control and talk to these boys and the rest of the hounds down below.’
‘Would you like to go down and see the kennels?’ asked Bree chirpily.
‘Sure!’ replied Grady. ‘But can we grab some food first? I’m getting hungry!’
‘You can go via the kitchens if you like,’ said Vynda. ‘There’s always someone there and I’m sure one of the cooks will be able to find you something.’
The kitchens turned out to be a cross between something out of the Tales of King Arthur and a modern hotel. Big stone walls were split by modern-looking benches and sinks. Freezers bulged with food and pantries for game were hung with various birds and carcasses swinging from hooks attached to the ceiling. The head chef, to whom all the faeries showed great deference, was a distracted little Frenchman of no great girth, with a pencil-thin moustache underneath an overly long pointy nose. He barely stayed still and flitted around the room almost as fast as the attendant faeries and, as the children came in, seemed far too distracted to take in a simple request for a snack. In his opinion a meal wasn’t a meal if it wasn’t three courses AT LEAST. Snacks were for peasants as far as he was concerned, so he huffed off waving his hands in the air. Pots bubbled away on the huge ranges tended to by the kitchen faeries who stirred spoons, seasoned soups, and kneaded doughs.
Eventually a less flighty and particularly solid-looking woman came to their rescue. ‘Don’t worry about Gaston,’ said the woman, who introduced herself as Marjorie Jamroll. ‘He’s a perfectionist but just a bit French, if you take my meaning. He doesn’t see the benefit of a bun and cheese when some brie, a baguette and a glass of Burgundy would also do the job.
Grady thought the only word you could use to describe Marjorie was “Matron” but her tone was pleasant, her manner caring, and the snacks she rustled up were divine. All in all he thought it was a detour worth taking.
They didn’t stay in the kitchen but munched as they walked. Vynda and Bree lead them back through what were obviously very old parts of the castle – tunnels burrowed through rock and then back up along winding staircases with flagstones worn smooth by the passage of time. ‘The castle was built up over centuries and centuries,’ said Vynda. ‘The deeper you go the older the building. There are tunnels and passages down here that we’re discovering even now.’
‘But surely the castle is so old there couldn’t possibly be anywhere undiscovered in it?’ said Niamh.
Vynda just smiled. ‘Don’t believe everything you see here, Niamh,’ she said. ‘The castle contains older magic than most of us can imagine.’
After a few minutes of walking and passing through more doors, Vynda stopped quite suddenly. Niamh nearly walked into the back of her. ‘Something is wrong,’ said Vynda. ‘That last turning should have brought us into the corridor which leads down to the kennels. Instead we’re heading in just about the opposite direction. I hate it when the castle does this.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Niamh. ‘How can the castle be doing anything?’ she said, glancing at her brother.
‘This castle is a lot trickier than most people think, Niamh,’ said Vynda, turning on her heels and striding back the way they had just come. ‘Sometimes it just decides it knows better than you do. Doors open onto corridors you shouldn’t be anywhere near and sometimes they don’t open anywhere at all. It’s very frustrating at times but you just have to trust the castle knows what it is doing. There’s a saying we have that goes: “If it takes you where you may not expect, then something good may often reflect.” Bit of a silly ditty really, but it’s very true. Usually it’s because there is danger one way or another, or sometimes someone has great need of you so the castle decides it will lend a hand by guiding you to where you most need to be. More often than not though I think it’s just because the castle has a wicked sense of humour and does it for the sake of doing it – because it can.’
‘But how does it do it?’ asked Grady, wiping crumbs off his chin. Niamh watched his inelegant way of wiping, talking and spitting crumbs out of a full mouth with just a little bit of disgust. No matter he was her brother; he was still simply gross at times.
Vynda strode on ahead of them. ‘Many wizards have studied it but as I understand it’s simply because there’s been so much magic used around the castle that it has absorbed the lingering remnants of the magic like a giant recycling compost heap.’ As the words finished leaving her mouth one of the paving stones suddenly tipped up ever so slightly, causing her to stumble. Niamh could have sworn she heard or felt a deep rumbling laugh as the hound master master stumbled and only barely managed to fling out a hand to prevent her falling flat on her face.
‘Oh, very funny, I don’t think,’ said Vynda with a scowl. ‘Guess it doesn’t like being referred to as a compost heap,’ she whispered back to the children. ‘Come on. We should be able to get to the kennels through here.’ They passed through another door but found themselves back in the same corridor they had been in when they realised they were going in the wrong direction. Giving an exasperated shrug Vynda seemed to accept defeat. ‘Okay. I give up. Lead on,’ she seemed to say to no one in particular.
Further up the corridor another door opened up seemingly of its own accord. Glancing at the children with a puckish smile Bree said, ‘Race you to it,’ and took off down the corridor ahead of them. Niamh and Grady needed no prompting. To cries of, ‘Come back here,’ from Vynda they raced after Bree. Vynda realised she had no option and, shaking her head with a smile on her face, she too took
to her heels in pursuit.
Bursting through the open doorway the children saw another passageway open up leading down towards the back of the castle. Without stopping they all continued the race turning this way and that as other doors opened and their route became clear. Eventually they found a doorway opening onto stone steps which spiralled around the outside of one of the towers. The steps lead down to a broad path paved with wide black flagstones. The children all pulled up together at the bottom of the stairway and waited for Vynda. They did not need to wait long as she bounded down the steps three at a time, leaping down the final five in one go and landing beside the children.
‘Enjoy that, did you?’ she asked.
‘Yep,’ they all replied, slightly out of breath. Grady noticed Vynda wasn’t even breathing hard, while they had put everything into the race.
Pausing for a moment Vynda looked around and said, ‘Oh, I see where we’re headed. I think you’ll enjoy this Grady,’ she said, turning. ‘This leads down to the dragon pens. I hadn’t planned on taking you there but there’s no harm making a detour. Follow me.’
Returning to a walking pace they followed the path through a stand of pine trees off to the side of the castle. It wound through the trees and down the slope towards the other side of the hills upon which the castle stood. The path changed from flagstones to a broad pine needle-strewn avenue. Sound became more muffled and the light from the sun was filtered out as they moved deeper into the stand. The children noticed a chemical-like smell wending through the boughs of the tree. A few minutes’ more walking through the forest brought the group out into daylight where a smokey haze lay over an enormous building made of thick stone walls and a slate roof. The building looked very workmanlike with little of the embellishments seen on the main castle buildings.
‘Lovely smell, isn’t it,’ said Vynda. ‘When you have a digestive system tuned to creating barbecue breath you shouldn’t expect anything better,’ she chuckled. As they moved closer to the building they could see the walls were an odd mixture of old blackened and charred stone and new clean stone – obviously repairs. ‘The walls have had to be built and rebuilt a few times,’ said Vynda. ‘It’s one of the problems when you breed and train dragons. Sometimes their flame gets a little too out of control when they get excited. Other times a couple of the young bucks decide to see who’s the strongest. At the end of those fights there’s usually only one dragon left as the other one has been blasted clean through a wall.’ Niamh and Grady turned to look at each other with incredulous faces.
‘How often does that happen?’ asked Niamh between mouthfuls of bun.
‘Oh, it hasn’t happened for a while now,’ replied Vynda. ‘Roland the dragon master is a whiz at keeping the stroppy ones separated. He’s very good at reading the temperaments of the beasts. When it comes to normal magic he is nothing special. But when it comes to dragon magic, which is a very rare and specialised kind of magic, he is quite extraordinary. If it wasn’t for the fact he’s not a terribly strong wizard you’d think he was one of the dragon masters of old. They were able to tame the big wild breeds which only live up in the great mountain chains now – alongside the mountain trolls and giants. Most people think they are only a myth as no one has seen any of the big breeds for a very long time now.’
Niamh and Grady were practically beyond reacting to extraordinary tales now. Just this morning they had been at Avalon’s End and a world away. But now they were about to meet a dragon keeper and were being lead by a werewolf ... or weresetter. Only a few days earlier they would have laughed at the idea of trolls and giants in the mountains – let alone big dragons. Now though, they had little reason to challenge the outlandish tales.
‘Best be careful going in here,’ said Vynda as they made their way around the side of the building. ‘No telling what they might be up to.’
A view of the harbour opened up before them as they made their way around the front of the stables. The pens faced away from the main castle and out towards the harbour which lay between enfolding arms of land – the remains of a collapsed volcano wall. Away to their right the hills wound away in a long sinuous curve which bounded the head of the harbour. A small island sat towards the head of the body of water. Another large castle-like building sat in the middle of it and even from this distance the shapes of small dragons flying to and from it could be seen with the occasional broomstick zipping along.
‘What’s that place, Vynda?’ asked Niamh, pointing off to the island.
‘That’s the Sorcerer’s Isle. Only those who have been elevated to sorcerer or sorceress can visit the place. It’s where the really advanced experimental magic is developed. But there aren’t too many sorcerers there these days. There hasn’t been a new sorcerer named for the best part of twenty years – your father was the last one. They just don’t seem to be coming through any more. Some people say it’s because we’ve become lazy using iWand’s and the like.’
‘What do you think?’ asked Grady.
Vynda looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Well ...’ she started, hesitating before answering. ‘This is my wand,’ she said, pulling out a dark wooded wand from her jacket. ‘I have an iWand but I rarely use it. Some people think I’m a bit mental but I don’t like the new wands. There’s something special about the old wands. And there aren’t that many makers of the old wands left as they are more expensive, but the magic you can do with them is so much more precise and satisfying. Maybe we have got lazy.’
They continued round to the front of the building where the smell became much stronger. ‘Roland!’ called Vynda, ‘are you there?’
Inside the building the children could make out a number of stalls much like those in the stables beside their old home at Avalon’s End. These stalls though were bigger and sturdier with thick tall stone walls separating wide deep spaces. Every one of the stalls held a dragon – some small, some much bulkier, some sleek and alert while others dozed in a rumpled pile on the smooth river stones which served as bedding rather than straw.. Grady noticed there were no wooden supports anywhere inside the space. The roof was held up by buttressed vaulting and the slate on the roof rested on thin strips of rock which seemed to have been hewn directly from the ground in that state.
A rough voice shouted out; ‘Be careful! There’s a juvenile silverback in here with a cold so he’s a bit unstable right now.’ The children peered around the edge of the stable entrance a bit further as a thin lanky figure started to unfold from behind one of the stable’s walls. When Niamh had first heard the term dragon master a series of images had flooded into her mind of what that person might look like. There were visions of a big burly giant of a man dressed in leather mail with a whip in his hand to control the creatures; of a graceful elf with magical powers to control the dragons with just a touch; and of a wise and old gentle master who cared for his charges with the love of a father. The image she didn’t have though was the sight that greeted her eyes now. Roland turned out to be shabbily dressed, stick thin, and slightly vacant-looking – hardly a sight to inspire confidence.
‘Oh, it’s you, Vynda,’ said Roland, walking out from behind the stall. The clumsy image developing in Niamh’s mind of this odd character was added to when he stumbled over a loose flagstone. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, catching himself on Vynda’s shoulder. ‘So, are these the two new arrivals then, the ones causing all the castle routines to be upset?’ he asked, looking at Niamh and Grady.
‘Yes, this is them,’ replied Vynda, smiling. ‘Allow me to introduce the Prince and Princess Grady and Niamh,’ she said with a bow and flourish of her hand towards them.
‘Really,’ said Roland, in a distinctly unimpressed tone. ‘Well, they are not at all what I thought they’d be,’ he said to Vynda. ‘They look far too normal.’ Turning back to the children he extended a hand. ‘How’d you do,’ he said. ‘Roland Ruffelbane at your service, dragon master to the king. And the best breeder of racing dragons you’ll meet in this land if I do say so myself.’
Roland didn’t even turn around. ‘Occupational hazard with these things. That silverback has been causing me all sorts of trouble. They don’t normally get colds but this one has been keeping me busy for a while. Just means you need to have eyes in the back of your head.’
The children picked themselves up from the stable floor where they had thrown themselves when they saw the flames coming. They looked back with surprise at Roland as they dusted themselves off. ‘How did you do that so fast?’ asked Niamh, with wonder in her voice.
‘In this game there are only two types of dragon keepers, Niamh – the toasted, and those waiting to be toasted. I’ve been in that second group for a long time and I hope to stay there for a while yet.’ Turning back to Vynda he went on. ‘So what would you like me to show these two then? I presume you didn’t bring them down here just to give them a scare from a nasally dragon.’
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