This was all she needed, Clara thought as the coach pulled up yet again. Never had she been so totally and utterly fed up. What with being bored to tears, worried at what awaited her at the end of the journey and feeling sorry for the horses as they laboured up the side of the mountain, she’d had a trying time. Maria had done her best to lighten the atmosphere but it had really all been a bit nerve-racking — for it had been a slow, difficult climb over the pass. The road, for a start, hadn’t been intended for coaches and they’d had to stop several times so that rocks and boulders could be cleared to one side. As it drew up at the side of the track for the umpteenth time, she consoled herself with the thought that at least the exhausted animals, breathing heavily through their nostrils, would be glad of the rest.
“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 freezing 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!