16. The Tournament

There was no question about it — Arthur’s Seat had been totally transformed. Its grassy heights rose gently above the array of gleaming white tents and pavilions that formed the background for the tournament. It was, as Sir James had predicted, a wonderful spectacle. The grassy concourse was filled with people in mediaeval costume, visitors thronged the stalls and, mingling with the crowds, were jesters in multi-coloured clothes, their belled hats tinkling as they moved while pedlars, carrying trays of scarves, bangles and beads, shouted their wares. Even the usual vendors of popcorn, candy floss and ice cream had taken care to dress for the occasion.

The sun shone, flags fluttered in a gentle breeze and as crowds started to stream in from the High Street, the tiers of seating gradually started to fill up, while those unable to get tickets valiantly climbed the slopes, unfolding rugs, chairs and picnic hampers as they found a vantage point and settled to watch the spectacle from on high.

Neil looked at the scene with interest, glancing every now and again at Prince Kalman and Lord Rothlan who sat beside him. Dressed in their customary velvet robes and ruffled shirts, they were, in the circumstances, not at all out of place.

“Your mother didn’t object to your coming?” Prince Kalman queried.

“No, she was fine about it,” Neil answered. “I had to promise not to get up to mischief, though,” he grinned.

Lord Rothlan heard the conversation and smiled slightly. Although Neil didn’t know it, his parents had been hexed to cope with his sister’s disappearance and even his mother, who normally would have been worried sick, felt both comforted and secure in the knowledge that the world of magic would come to Clara’s rescue.

It was then that a very slight breath of magic filtered through the air. Although little more than a tremor it was enough to make Lord Rothlan stiffen slightly and look round curiously. Catching Prince Kalman’s eyes, he knew that he, too, had picked up on it. They looked round a trifle warily; nothing to worry about unduly but certainly close enough to ruffle their senses.

Thank goodness, the prince thought, that they’d put a strong protective shield round Neil. At least the boy was safe. His eyes searched the crowds as he tried to home in on the source of the magic but when the opening parade started, the feeling diminished and was lost altogether as the pipe bands marched past, heading a long line of performers. Groups of Scottish country dancers waved as they passed by, followed by Highland dancers, a troop of precision marchers and many, many more. The applause, however, grew to a deafening roar as, standards fluttering bravely in the breeze, Peter and Simon, the Black Knight and the Red Knight, splendid in shining armour, rode by majestically on their beautifully caparisoned horses; undoubtedly the stars of the show.

A bubble of fear shivered through Arthur as, from the depths of Arthur’s Seat, he watched the procession through the crystal, his eyes fixed on the Black Knight and his dreadful black flag. Sir Pendar’s flag! The Black Knight was once more going to go into battle on the slopes of Arthur’s Seat! The MacArthur had warned him what to expect and he knew that Prince Kalman and Lord Rothlan were in the audience to guard against trouble but seeing the flag filled him with dread. It was like living a nightmare all over again.

Seeing the terror in his eyes, Archie, Jaikie and Hamish exchanged glances and did their best to calm him down. It was all a pretence, they said. The swords were made of rubber, the lances were plastic and the knights’ armour was little more than painted cardboard. Nothing, they said reassuringly, was going to happen to him.

Arthur, however, barely heard a word of what they were saying. He was a dragon, after all, and had powers that were not given to the faery folk or the magicians either, if it came to that. A sixth sense told him that things were not as they seemed and he knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that someone, that very afternoon, was going to kill him.

The procession finished to rousing cheers from the audience and it was only when the speeches began that the eye of the crystal veered away from Colonel Jamieson who had risen to welcome the audience to the tournament.

The stable tent was huge and a hive of activity. The horses looked magnificent and after the excitement of the procession, seemed to know that today was going to be their day; the day they had trained for.

The black horse stood calmly as one of the red headed grooms adjusted its face armour carefully; its breastplate had already been tightened and it was now used to the feel of the long black cloth that hung over its back to the ground. Embroidered with golden swords, it was uncannily like that worn by Sir Pendar’s horse hundreds of years before.

The grey, undergoing the same treatment, stamped nervously. The loose folds of the scarlet cloth draped over its back was bothering it and as it whickered and pawed the ground restlessly, the Red Knight whispered to it soothingly, calming its nerves.