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The trail they followed the next day was well used and followed a gentle gradient, winding up through the folds of the mountain as it slowly climbed higher and higher. They travelled through low brush and shrubs and then through stands of trees, some ancient, some only a few years old, new growth following fires. And every now and again they saw the bleached white bones of dragons shining in the sunlight.
Beansprout had dropped back to speak to Tom. “What do you think of magic, Tom?”
He looked at her, puzzled. “I don’t know. It’s just there I suppose.”
She rolled her eyes in frustration. “But aren’t you fascinated by it? It exists. It’s real. You tried to do some!”
“I thought I was going to die trapped in a spell forever. It was a motivating moment.”
“But how did it feel?” At his blank look she elaborated. “You know, when you read the spell and assembled all the things you needed, and then started to read it. How did it feel? Did your fingers tingle? Did the air change? What happened?”
“I don’t know. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t even think it would work. In fact I don’t think it did. Herne appeared and everything went Boom.” He threw his hands wide to demonstrate.
“So you didn’t feel anything?”
“No.”
Beansprout took a deep breath. “OK. Well what did it feel like in the spell?”
This time he had no hesitation. “That was weird!”
“Weird how?”
“Everything felt so ancient, as if I was trapped in time – you know, like one of those mosquitoes trapped in amber in Jurassic Park.”
“I’m not completely stupid, Tom. So it felt different?”
“Hugely different. Like time had no meaning. No–” he paused, considering. “More like I was outside time. Completely removed from it.” He looked ahead to where Nimue sat with Arthur. “It was immense. And terrifying.”
“Immense, that’s the word,” she said enthusiastically. “That’s what I felt around the cauldron. Did you feel the energy then?”
He nodded, remembering. “Yes, it was like an electric current. You had flowers in your lap.”
“It was the most amazing feeling. I felt connected to everything. I could feel this power surging up through me, like a spring. And I felt I was a small part of something really huge. I want to be able to do that.”
Now she had Tom’s full attention. “Do you?” he asked, alarmed.
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“No. It’s dangerous. It’s too big.”
“Well I’d have to learn. Properly. Nimue did, she’s human and look what she can do.”
“And she’s dangerous,” he said, as if that proved his point.
“Not really. It seems to me that Merlin was too persistent and she’d had enough. She had the ability to do something about it, so she did. Everything else was self-preservation.”
Tom started to feel annoyed. “So it was OK to put me in a spell?”
“No, of course not, that’s not what I’m saying. She misused her power and over-reacted. And has since apologised. But she obviously felt vulnerable.”
Tom narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re defending her? Because I can assure you she did not appear the slightest bit vulnerable at the time.”
“She might not have appeared it, but I bet she felt it! It’s a reasonable reaction under the circumstances.”
“I can’t believe you’re taking her side!”
“Someone needs to. Didn’t you listen last night? Can’t you imagine what it must have felt like? To have to put up with that constant attention?”
They had stopped and were now shouting at each other, their horses fretful, sensing the tension.
“I’m sure Merlin didn’t mean it.”
“I’m sure he did. He didn’t stop, did he? Selfish old bastard.”
The others became aware of the noise and whirled round.
“Are you OK?” Arthur called.
“We’re fine,” they both yelled, glaring at each other.
Arthur looked relieved and then confused. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
“Well, keep up then,” and he waved Woodsmoke and Brenna on, following them up the slope.
Beansprout’s voice dropped and she hissed at Tom as they started moving again. “If it was me and I had Nimue’s skills, I’d do the same thing. And I would like to think that as my friend and cousin, you would be on my side, instead of being overawed by the tales of some old man.”
She spurred her horse on, leaving Tom on his own.
––––––––
They halted for lunch, turning off the trail and sheltering from the sun beneath the spreading branches of a grove of old trees. Close by, a narrow stream wound through the undergrowth.
“Why is it getting hotter?” Beansprout asked as she dismounted. “Shouldn’t it be colder as we get higher up the mountain? Not that I’m complaining – it’s great.”
Nimue answered as she slid to the ground, holding her arm awkwardly and grimacing. “This place has a different climate to what you’d expect. It was designed that way because the fey in the Hollow like it hot. The unfortunate thing is, the dragons like it too.”
“Oh.” Beansprout’s enthusiasm was slightly dimmed. “By the way, Nimue, when we have a chance later, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Tom stopped halfway through getting his pack off his horse and looked over at Beansprout. She caught him staring, but ignored him and turned back to Nimue. Nimue was oblivious. “Of course, whatever I can help you with. You’re Beansprout, is that right? I think that’s what Arthur told me.”
“Yes, Tom’s cousin. I’m so glad he’s back,” she said, smiling in a sickly way at Tom. “He’s so much fun to have around.”
A distant roar rocked the ground beneath their feet, ending their conversation. Apart from Nimue, everyone withdrew their weapons.
“That sounded closer than I’d like,” Woodsmoke said, scanning the sky.
They heard another roar, even closer.
“Is it coming for us?” Tom asked, alarmed.
“The dragons shouldn’t be this close to the main path,” Nimue answered, “but maybe something’s attracting this one’s attention.”
She turned to Arthur. Excalibur gleamed in a ray of sun. “Your sword, Arthur. It hears it. That’s what draws it close.”
“What do you mean, it hears it?” Arthur asked.
“It is made from the precious metals of the fey by the Forger of Light; it’s imbued with spells for protection and strength. It sings of where it was and where it is, as do all fey weapons of this quality.”
“But what about Woodsmoke’s weapons, and Brenna’s? They’re obviously faerie made too.”
“But they were not made with spells by the Forger of Light. Excalibur is a weapon of peculiar powers, Arthur. And dragons like such weapons. The singing comforts them.”
“You might have mentioned this before, Nimue,” Arthur said angrily, as the others warily eyed Excalibur.
“I honestly didn’t think,” she snapped.
“So if it comforts them,” Tom said as another roar sounded, “why does it sound so annoyed?”
“I presume because it wants Excalibur but doesn’t have it yet,” Woodsmoke answered, as a large shadow fell across them.
They looked up to see the scaly underside, powerful legs and broad wings of a dragon passing overhead.
“You should go. Leave me here, I can fight it alone,” Arthur told them.
They watched as the dragon turned and flew back in their direction. It shimmered bright blue and green in the sunlight. As it grew closer they could see its long neck and head, and its narrow red eyes. Tom couldn’t believe he was actually seeing a dragon, and from the pale look on Beansprout’s face, neither could she.
“It’s too late for that, Arthur,” Woodsmoke said, stepping out from under the trees’ cover and releasing an arrow at the dragon’s vulnerable abdomen. He called back over his shoulder. “Someone protect the horses!”
Nimue and Beansprout quickly retreated into the trees beyond the stream with the horses, which were now starting to panic. Tom heard Nimue shout, “Further back Beansprout, much further! Arthur, this would be a good time to restore my powers.”
Arthur shouted back, “Good try Nimue, but no thanks.”
Woodsmoke continued to fire arrows with unerring accuracy, a handful sinking into the dragon’s flesh, the others bouncing off its thick skin. It roared again, possibly in pain, but to Tom it sounded more like anger. It dropped onto the path in front of them, crushing the surrounding bushes, and they ran back to the trees, desperately seeking cover.
The dragon was easily as big as a house. Its long neck ended with a sharp angular head, its jaw filled with razor-sharp teeth, and its red eyes blazed. Thick scales like armour plating covered its body and neck, wrapping around its chest like a breastplate. Its broad wings flexed across its back and smoke steamed out of its long nose as it probed forward, its tail thumping and slithering along. Tom could feel the ground shaking.
For a brief second they froze as it raised its head, sniffing deeply. Arthur seized his moment and bounded out from the shadows, running with Excalibur extended before him. But the dragon immediately dropped its head and shot a long tongue of fire at Arthur, causing him to roll to his right. The dragon lunged after him.
Brenna, Woodsmoke and Tom rushed forward to distract it. With swords drawn, they rushed beneath its outspread wings and jabbed at any soft fleshy parts they could see.
The dragon roared and flames shot out, burning the dry grasses and shrubs in a wide semi-circle. Its huge muscular tail thrashed, and Tom rolled and scrambled out of the way, hacking awkwardly with his sword. One of the dragon’s wings clipped Woodsmoke, sending him reeling backwards.
Tom weaved beneath the bulk of the dragon, avoiding its stamping feet as it trampled the baked earth. Uselessly he stabbed upwards at the dragon’s soft underbelly, but he could barely reach it, and his sword only pricked its skin. He watched as the others ran to and fro, dodging around its flapping wings and streams of fire. The dragon brushed them aside like flies. Tom was so close to being squashed he couldn’t keep track of what was happening, then just as he was planning to dive out from under the dragon, Arthur skidded to a halt next to him. Again Tom stabbed wildly upwards, but Arthur was far more accurate and he wielded Excalibur expertly. He drove the blade into the soft flesh and pulled the sword along its belly, the blade moving easily, as if through butter.
“Tom, move – now!” yelled Arthur, as hot blood and guts fell to the ground and the dragon’s legs started to crumple.
They both dived outwards as its body hit the ground. The dragon was dying, but it continued to attack, spraying fire in all directions, grass and trees flaring into flames. But the bursts of fire became shorter and weaker as the dragon’s head dropped lower and lower. Woodsmoke and Brenna hacked at its neck, their swords barely denting its thick scales.
Arthur raced across the smouldering grass and stood next to them. He raised Excalibur high above his head and then brought it down in one swift stroke. It sliced through the neck cleanly, severing the dragon’s head from its body.
For a few seconds the dragon’s long neck thrashed about, blood spurting from the open wound before pooling thickly on the ground, then it crashed to the floor.
Tom staggered to his feet, gasping for breath and coughing. A veil of smoke choked the air and he trampled down the flames where they licked the dry grass. His eyes stung and he blinked rapidly as he made his way over to the severed head, the dragon’s eyes glazing over already.
Nimue’s voice disturbed the silence. “You must cut out the heart.”
She stood on the edge of the charred clearing, Beansprout next to her. They carried large bundles of bush they had been using to beat out the flames, and were singed and black with soot. Beansprout had a smear of blood across her cheek.
“Why?” Arthur leant against the dragon, breathing heavily.
“Here, in the Other, dragons have many special properties they do not have anywhere else. They live for gold, gems and precious metals, because part of them is made of those things. After death, parts of the body transform into jewels, except for the heart. It must be cut out immediately after death; only then will it transform into a gem that is highly prized here – dragonyx. And by cutting out its heart you claim the dragon as yours, which means you keep all profits from its body.”
Arthur looked confused. “That’s crazy.”
“It’s true,” Woodsmoke agreed, “or at least, so I’ve heard.”
Woodsmoke and Brenna were trying to stop the fire spreading, kicking dirt over patches of flames, and hacking off burning branches before whole trees could catch.
“I have no wish to butcher the creature any further,” Arthur answered. “And besides, it’s huge. It will take too long.”
He was right. The dragon had brought down several trees and now completely blocked the path with its bulk. It had fallen forward onto its chest and stomach, and its enormous wings had wrapped around its front and sides as it had tried to protect itself from further attack.
“Arthur,” Nimue sighed. “You have no money here, no prestige. This will give you security. And although this isn’t the biggest dragon I’ve seen, it’s big enough. And hardly anyone sees dragonyx any more.”
Arthur hesitated, clearly tempted.
“As much as I hate to agree with Nimue,” Woodsmoke said, “she’s right.”
“But the longer we stay here, the more at risk we are. We could be attacked again,” Arthur reasoned.
“Then I suggest we’re quick,” Woodsmoke said decisively. “We’ll take the heart, eat on the road, and get to Dragon’s Hollow before dark. As fun as this was, I don’t particularly want to be attacked again. And,” he added, “it means you won’t have to run errands for Vivian again.” He looked pointedly at Nimue.
Ignoring Woodsmoke’s jibe, Nimue walked over to Tom. “May I?” she asked, indicating his sword.
Tom handed it to her wordlessly, and they watched as Nimue pulled the wing aside with Woodsmoke’s help and thrust the sword into the dragon’s right chest. It barely pierced its horny skin.
“Right here,” she said to Arthur.
Arthur started cutting into the dragon’s side, around the spot Nimue had indicated. Hot, thick blood oozed out of the gaping wound, splashing him. He stripped off his shirt and removed his boots.
Woodsmoke pulled his hunting knife from his pack and helped Arthur slice through the layers of muscle and bone. “I’m afraid I’m not much help, Arthur. I haven’t carved open many dragons.”
“That’s all right – I’m not planning on doing this again.” Arthur hacked and carved and hacked and carved, stopping and starting until he could see what he was looking for. Thick muscles and wiry tendons glistened in the light.
“Is that gold?” Arthur asked, seeing a glint of yellow along a huge ropey tendon.
“Probably,” Nimue said, trying to get a better look.
Arthur straightened up. “Is this another reason dragons are hunted?”
“You made this look easy, Arthur,” Nimue said wryly. “Many perish trying to kill dragons. There are probably as many bones of fey here as bones of dragons. That’s why the city needs Raghnall’s spell.”
“Well when I see this sorcerer,” Arthur said, continuing his grizzly business, “I’ll tell him his spells aren’t working.”
“Perhaps because Excalibur is stronger,” Nimue said softly.
