The Dragon Whisperer Page 18

  Dawn was not far off and the tide was turning as the Grand Master boarded his ship. The dragon chained beneath in the hold was sleeping after being allowed to feast on its prey. Two decades of planning, waiting and experimentation were about to reap rewards.

  'What's 'is name, yer lordship?' he heard a sailor ask as he boarded, snow swirling about him.

  'Midnight Madness ... His name is Midnight Madness.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Lady and the Tramp

  Root squawked as the decorative harness slipped down Two Gulps' flanks and engulfed him. For a moment he fought the weight of the trapping; then his legs gave way and he sat down hard.

  'Stay still.'

  Root could hear Tangnost's laughter as he lifted the heavy embroidered silk. He crawled out into sunlight.

  'Let's try again, lad.' The dwarf raised his brows – though he was hugely pleased with the gnome's progress and his growing confidence around the battledragon. And the changes in Quenelda were startling. She seemed to have lost the bitter edge to her tongue.

  Tangnost was no fool. He saw more with his one eye than many did with two. He knew how lonely Quenelda was, despite her dragons; how hungry she was for friendship. As she grew up it had only got worse. If dressing as a boy and riding dragons had ever been acceptable in a child, they were certainly not in a young lady. And the spiteful speculation about her mother dogged her footsteps. Young ladies openly shunned her, pouring scorn on her attempts to befriend them, on her dress, her hair, the way she strode about in flying boots. Quenelda pretended it didn't hurt, but he knew it did.

  Well, Tangnost thought, it no longer mattered quite so much. Quenelda and Root had both found something unexpected in each other. He glanced over at her. She smiled briefly from the steps before returning to polish the already gleaming bit and buckles of the tooled leather tack.

  They were working on one of Dragonsdome's smaller pads, permanently anchored near the sweeping stone steps of the east wing, so that the seamstress could be summoned if alterations were needed. The other pad was occupied by a gleaming carriage and three matching pairs of dragons. Half a dozen coachmen and footmen stood around chatting as they awaited their mistresses' return.

  'Lady Armelia ...' Quenelda had swiftly identified the DeBurgh coat of arms on the ornate carriage's door. 'Darcy's new sweetheart,' she explained to Root. 'She has only recently arrived at court. Young ladies' – her lip curled – 'attend court when they come of age. But all they do is dress up in petticoats and lace, dance, stitch tapestries, play music and catch a wealthy husband.' Her face showed what she thought of those shallow pursuits. Root smothered a smile. He could never imagine Quenelda trussed up in lacy skirts.

  But her attention quickly turned back to more important matters. Earlier, she had been bouncing with joy when she returned from telling her father the wonderful news that Root could fly. 'Papa says I am to have my own coat of arms! We can caparison Two Gulps for the winter jousts!'

  'Capa ... ?' Root had had no idea what she was talking about.

  'You know,' Quenelda burbled happily as he shook his head. 'When you see mounts dressed for festivals? You dress them in decorative trappings that match their lord's coats of arms?'

  Root looked blank.

  'Come on! I'll show you! Hurry! We don't have much time!'

  She had rushed him to the dragon armoury, where they borrowed great leather measuring tapes and dragon callipers from the forges. Two Gulps was measured from nose-tip to tail, wing to wing, and round his belly in a dozen places. The seamstresses of Dragonsdome had worked late into the night for half a moon to have the dragon's trappings finished in time for the winter jousts. Quenelda had chosen a gorse-yellow harness that matched the Sabretooth's scales, with small dragons picked out in flaming red. In time, she explained to Root, new devices would be added to her coat of arms that marked her passage to adulthood.

  'Isn't it beautiful?' she declared now. 'He looks magnificent!'

  Root grinned in agreement.

  'Let's saddle him up and take him out. That way we'll see if there are any problems we're missing.'

  Feeding Two Gulps the snaffle bit, Quenelda stood on the dragon's foreleg to slip the headstall on over his neck, then tightened the chin straps. Using the mounting block, Tangnost lifted the heavy double saddle and swung it over the battledragon's back, leaving Quenelda to tighten the girth straps.

  'There!' She stood back to admire their handiwork. The polished brass harness shone like mellow gold and the battedragon's scales were oiled to a mirror sheen. Quenelda climbed into the saddle, her smile radiant as the Sabretooth reared up on his hind legs. The effect was brilliant in the sunlight. Root knew the pair would stand out long before the crowds realized that she was a girl, that the dragon was a battledragon.

  'Yeeee-haaaa!'

  Quenelda frowned then groaned in recognition. 'Darcy!'

  Heads turned towards Dragonsdome. There was a distant whoop as a green-feathered hippogriff stallion appeared scant feet above the slate-blue tiled roofs and hurtled towards them. Her brother had left his reins slack – the mount was almost out of control. There were cries of consternation as everyone on the two landing pads scattered. At the very last moment Darcy, face flushed, heart thudding, stood in his stirrups and pulled with all his might to yank the headstrong young stallion out of his dive.

  'Eeeaaakkkk!'

  The hippogriff screeched as he levelled out between the two dragonpads, deafening Root and spooking the dragons harnessed to the carriage. The downdraught from his wings whipped Quenelda's hair into her eyes and drew a response from Two Gulps, who smoked warningly. Seconds later, whooping and cheering loudly, six other hippogriffs followed in Darcy's wake.

  Only Tangnost stood his ground as their claws and hooves passed perilously low overhead, his mounting fury evident as he swore in Dwarfish. Darcy was supposed to be grounded and yet here he was defying his father's orders, doubtless showing off in front of his young lady and her friends, who were walking in the ornamental garden below.

  Barely clearing the roof, the last mount's trailing hooves brought down several chimney pots; broken tiles rained down onto the courtyard below. As Rupert saw the battledragon smoking next to an infuriated Tangnost, he frantically pulled his hippogriff into a climb. Hot air buffeted the dragonpads as, at the last moment, he swerved and began to gain height.

  Pandemonium broke out as the coachman and footmen tried to dive beneath their coach. The dragonpads shook. As Root regained his feet he saw that an eye-watering pile of dragon dung was steaming gently in the frosty air: the gilded carriage was part buried. Coachman and footmen were cursing and gasping for fresh air. Blue feathers wafted lazily down on them.

  Root grimaced sympathetically as the smell hit him. Clearing up dragon dung was dirty work and the smell clung for days. Well, a dung cart would be along soon enough to dig them out. It was no longer one of his tasks.

  'Right ...' Tangnost rubbed his hands, putting aside his anger for later. 'You need to get ceremonial talon-sheaths on.'

  Root moved over to examine the curved metal casings. He had wondered what they were. He counted them – eight large, and two smaller ones for the dew claws.

  'You're going to be flying in very heavy air traffic,' Tangnost warned. 'We don't want any accidents if someone flies too close. Never forget' – he held Quenelda's eyes – 'that he is a trained battledragon. The moment you do, someone might die.'

  Quenelda nodded, suddenly sober. It was a big responsibility. She reached for a talon-sheath, hefting its weight in her hands before passing it to Root to show him how to put it on. She ignored the smell. Anyone who worked in the battleroosts was used to it. Down in the gardens, raised voices trilled and tittered in excitement as the hippogriffs landed. With a quiet smile of satisfaction Quenelda got back to work.

  The winter sun had sunk low on the horizon, casting long shadows, when the hippogriffs took off again, flying low over the paddocks towards the palace. Darcy was retur
ning to court and his last days of duty before joining the SDS. The young ladies turned towards their carriage. Puffing and blowing, Root put down the soft mallet and looked at the two remaining sheaths. Soon they would be done, and not a moment too soon. He was starving.

  Darcy's sweetheart, Lady Armelia, and a gaggle of friends reached the steps, their voices high and piping. Dressed in frothy lace, bright silks and pearls, they were followed by an elderly chaperone and a train of servants. A small fortune in gold and jewels glinted from hair and neck and fingers.

  Root gawped at them, his glance darting to Quenelda and back, before bending to his task once more. A waft of heady perfume tickled his nose as they swept past him without a second glance.

  'Eeuww ...' A beautiful girl with dark ringlets wrinkled her nose. 'What is that dreadful smell?'

  'It doesn't bear thinking upon,' one of her companions cried, frantically fanning her face.

  They found out soon enough. There was a short silence as Tangnost thumped a talon-sheath home. Above them, the servants were doing their best to sweep the steps, but their small shovels had not yet cleared the steaming dung.

  'You, boy,' the girl said haughtily to Quenelda, who was lifting the final talon-sheath. 'Clear that ... that ...' She waved a fan in the general direction of the unmentionable obstacle.

  Quenelda ignored her and picked up a file before kneeling to examine the ragged edge on Two Gulps' claw.

  'This instant!' the young lady demanded, spots of colour rising in her cheeks. 'We are to attend court this afternoon. Boy!'

  'Me?' Quenelda turned slowly, eyebrows raised.

  Root held his breath, aghast. Even Tangnost paused to watch with interest. Smoke curled warningly from Two Gulps' nostrils. The young ladies seemed oblivious to the battledragon. They're like me, Root thought. Like I used to be. They don't know one dragon from another!

  Slowly, deliberately, Quenelda looked Armelia up and down, from the extravagant hat and golden furs to the high pointed heels that peeped out beneath layers of petticoats. 'And who are you to command me?' Her soft tone was deceptively silky. Despite her question, she clearly knew who the young lady was; just as it was clear to Root that the young lady had no idea whom she was addressing.

  The girl's eyes widened in outrage. 'How dare you question me? I will see you punished for your impudence!' Nonetheless she answered, unable to keep the pride from her voice. 'I,' she announced, nose in the air, 'am the daughter of the Duke of Cawdor. My father is the Queen's treasurer,' she added for good measure.

  'And I,' said Quenelda, smiling sweetly but with a knife-edge to her tone, 'am the daughter of the Earl Rufus, SDS Commander and Queen's Champion.'

  There was a shocked silence. Smoke pooled across the landing pad, eddying around the young ladies' ankles.

  'You're Darcy's half-sister?' Armelia's lip curled in disbelief even as her mind noted the aristocratic voice, the proud bearing. 'You can't be!' She laughed hysterically, then realized that no one else was joining in. They were all watching her with fascinated curiosity. She looked back to Quenelda, seeing past the patched jerkin and flying boots, the blonde hair tied back off her face, to the tawny eyes that now blazed with anger. Her eyes darted to the battledragon behind and widened as she recognized that this was no domestic dragon, despite its trappings. Darcy's half-sister?! She hadn't believed all the gossip at court. It was simply too outrageous to imagine a girl in boy's clothes flying dragons. But ...

  Root could see the exact moment when realization dawned, for the colour suddenly drained from her face.

  'M-my lady,' the girl stammered as she sank into a hasty curtsy, followed by her companions. 'We' – she hesitated for a second, clearly not wanting to say what she really thought – 'did not recognize you.'

  'No,' Quenelda said coldly, unforgivingly. 'Evidently you didn't.'

  Sensing his mistress's anger, Two Gulps stretched his head over her shoulder. There was a crackle, and a purple flame rolled out to lick the young ladies' feet. It was weak, just a breathy warning, barely visible in the sunlight, all smoke and no fire, but it was enough.

  Hysterical shrieks rang out. The girls stepped backwards, each trying to hide behind the other. There were squeals of dismay as one landed in the dung; two others slipped and fell down beside her. Quenelda's eyes shifted from them back to Armelia, whose dress was smouldering at the hem. Two horror-struck white-rimmed eyes looked out of a sooty face.

  For a moment Quenelda was equally aghast. Then her shoulders heaved and a laugh took hold of her. Tangnost coughed to hide his own smile. Quenelda doubled up in laughter.

  'You ...' Armelia stamped her foot and then instantly regretted it. 'How can I attend court dressed like this? I didn't believe the stories, but you're just as they say! No wonder Darcy is ashamed of you! You're no lady! You're no better than a tramp! Like your mother!'

  Quenelda's eyes flashed coldly. Two Gulps' neck snaked out. He opened his mouth, revealing his foot-long incisors. With a squeal, Armelia and her friends took to their high heels.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The Winter Joust

  The Sorcerers Glen sped by, the air crisp enough to sear the back of the throat. Iron-coloured clouds hung low over the mountain peaks, heavy with the promise of snow. When Quenelda turned her muffled face to see how Root was doing, he saw that she was pink with cold. Harnessed in new brass and blue leather saddle and bridle, Chasing the Stars had positioned herself just above and behind Two Gulps. Root leaned forward to pat the dragon fondly before signalling back that they were both doing well. The freezing air made his eyes water, but he had to admit that the view was magnificent from this height.

  Wherever you looked the air was full of dragons, hippogriffs and griffins, dressed like their riders and lords in bright carnival colours. Two- and four-, even some six-door carriages whisked by, drawn by teams of matching dragons, scales polished to a mirror finish, harness bells jingling. Glossy-feathered griffins and gloriously coloured hippogriffs dropped out of the sky, their keening calls carrying clearly in the crystalline air. And below, the loch was alive with large galleons and rowing boats ferrying both the privileged and the poor to the greatest jousting festival of the year.

  Now that Quenelda was riding out as a young lady, her father had insisted she wear a dress. She had chosen the plainest and darkest possible and still looked uncomfortable. Only Root appeared to have noticed the heavy buckled flying boots that peeped out from beneath the layers of petticoats.

  The Earl flew wing to wing with his daughter and marvelled at the changes he saw in her; the hint of the woman she would become. There was a sense of control about her, a new sense of calm. A year ago she would not have been so disciplined. She would have thrown her mount into a reckless race with her esquire, delighting in his failure. He glanced at the boy on Chasing the Stars and shook his head in wonder. That the two were friends was easy to see. That they was coming to the jousts at all was little short of a miracle. He had doubted whether Quenelda would master her impatience enough to be able to teach another what she knew instinctively.

  Soon the storm of dragons was so dense that Two Gulps and You're Gone, Stormcracker and Chasing the Stars had to duck and dive to weave their way through the traffic, and Root started to feel uncomfortable. Dragons and carriages made way for the Earl's banner, but still their passage was turbulent. Once again the gnome's stomach was in danger of betraying him, and he wished he had not eaten quite such a large plate of haggis sausages and eggs before leaving. Trying desperately to think about something other than food – anything at all – Root lifted his new brass and leather telescope – a gift from Quenelda, along with a fully equipped flying suit and harness – and searched the distant loch for the royal castle of Crannock, home of the Queen.

  The great mountain ridge of the Dragon's Spine sped by to the north, and the peaks of the Seven Wizards flanked the great sea loch to the south. There! On a high cliff on the southern shore of the loch beneath the great snow-capped peak of the
White Sorcerer Mountain, the lofty towers and battlements of Crannock Castle swiftly grew larger. Root saw dozens of banners and the royal standard snapping in the wind. Rising out of the sheer cliffs, the castle looked as if it had simply grown out of the bedrock. He found it impossible to tell where cliff ended and castle began.

  The paddocks and practice lists beyond were packed with dragons, their hot breath clouding the frosty air like billowing white sea haar. Raised wooden walkways that wound between tents, pavilions and pens were crowded; merchants, minor lords, soldiers, artisans and citizens streamed towards the arena that lay behind the castle's high curtain wall. Guards posted on the tower pads sat motionless on their blood-red Magma dragons, while dozens more patrolled the skies above.

  Approaching from the north, the Earl's flight of six dragons swirled down around the inner bailey walls.

  Quenelda's heart fluttered with fierce anticipation. She had attended court jousts along with her father for as long as she could remember, but the magnificence of the palace, the raw energy that tingled in the air, never ceased to thrill. Deftly weaving between the towers and turrets, she put Two Gulps down on one of the small dragonpads that crowned the tall spiralling Winter Tower. As Queen's Champion, the Earl DeWinter had many privileges; direct entry to the castle was only one of them.

  There was a loud flapping of wings, followed by a thump as an overconfident Root angled down too steeply behind Two Gulps. With a hastily muffled squawk, the gnome was toppled from his mount to sprawl on the landing deck. Kindly pretending not to notice, the Earl and his daughter dismounted. Leaving the dragons to esquires of the Queen's household, the group made their way over to a stairwell that spiralled downwards into the bright bustling heart of the castle.

  Root followed the Earl's retinue through corridors hung with paintings and costly mirrors, and down sweeping stairs into a huge colonnaded hall crowded with courtiers and knights and aristocrats.