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After a long bloody battle with sinew and tendon, Arthur finally extracted the dragon’s heart. He was slick with blood, and Woodsmoke wasn’t much cleaner. While Woodsmoke washed his arms at the edge of the stream, Arthur stood in the middle, sluicing water over himself and scrubbing his skin with grass to get rid of the blood that had hardened in the sun.
When he was clean, Arthur turned to the heart. It sat on the bank streaked with dried blood. “I suppose I’d better clean this,” he said to the others, who had crowded round. “I thought we were going to eat on the road?” he added, noticing they were munching on dried meats and cheese.
“That was before we realised slicing out a dragon’s heart was going to take half the afternoon,” Tom said, through a mouthful of food.
“An hour is not half the afternoon.”
Arthur had worked quickly, but extracting the heart without damaging it had taken longer than expected. He’d needed Woodsmoke’s advice on slicing through arteries as thick as his arms, and the enormous muscles that anchored it.
The heart was big – the size of a cartwheel – and was an irregular round shape. At the moment it was covered in gunk. It looked like an ugly chunk of flesh, and it smelt rotten, like fungus-filled earth that had never seen the sun. But as Arthur scrubbed it clean it began to transform and shine in the sun. Slowly a pale ruby red stone was revealed. The surface was mostly pitted and cloudy, but clear lucent patches began to appear, allowing them a glimpse inside the stone, where they saw thick veins of gold, and a black star in the centre.
“That’s clean enough for now,” Arthur said, satisfied.
“The gem workers of the Hollow will polish it up. You won’t recognise it once they’ve finished with it,” Nimue said.
Woodsmoke fetched a large blanket from his pack. “Here, use this.”
They rolled the gem in the blanket and secured it to the tent poles strapped to one of the horses.
“What do I do with the rest of it?” Arthur looked at the dragon carcass. Its bright green and blue scales still shone in the sun, and from the path you couldn’t see the wound in its side, or tell that its head had been separated from its neck. It looked like it was sleeping.
Nimue struggled back on to Arthur’s horse. “The goblins will come and collect it soon enough.”
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“I can’t believe I’ve seen a dragon! And then Arthur killed it,” Beansprout said to Tom, a note of sadness in her voice, as they rode up the mountain. The two of them had spent some time examining the dragon while Arthur carved out the heart, feeling its hard skin and thick scales.
“Well yeah,” Tom agreed. “But it would have killed us, so ...”
Beansprout had managed to free a scale from the dragon’s body, and she turned it over in her hands, admiring the way it glistened in the sun. “Look at it!” she said. “It’s so beautiful. What do you think they’ll do with the rest of the body?”
“Break it down like an old car, by the sound of it. From what Brenna said, there’s a whole industry built around dragons and their gold. You could have that made into something. Maybe a decoration for your bow, or your knife hilt.”
“I suppose so, although it seems a bit grizzly,” Beansprout said, re-pocketing the scale.
Woodsmoke had picked up the pace after their stop, and as the sun dipped to the horizon they neared Dragon’s Hollow. They were high on the mountain and the two peaks rose ahead of them, the path leading to the natural depression between. The road widened and flattened, and as they rounded a bend the great walls of the town came into view. The gates were made of burnished rose gold, and on them, inlaid in silver and black metal, was an ornately carved roaring dragon, its wings spread in flight. The high city walls were solidly built of thick stone, extending on both sides to the edge of the peaks. Along the top, carved stone dragons glowered menacingly.
“Is this wall to keep dragons out?” Tom asked, thinking surely that was impossible.
“No,” Nimue answered. “Nothing keeps dragons out – except the sorcerer’s spell. The wall is to keep out those who would attack the Hollow. And that really would be foolish, so no one has tried for a long time.”
“So why such enormous gates?” Beansprout asked.
“Because it looks good, and besides, you never know. Sometimes people do stupid things for gold.” Nimue shrugged.
“How do we get in?” Arthur asked.
Nimue pointed to the small figures on top of the wall. “The sentries will let us in.”
As they approached, the gates began to swing slowly back, revealing a cavernous tunnel beyond. A booming trumpet call echoed out of the tunnel, and half a dozen fey on horseback came to meet them. They were richly dressed in bright silks, and their horses had elaborate bridles, their manes woven with strips of silver and gold material.
Instinctively, Woodsmoke, Arthur and Brenna reached for their weapons, but Nimue stopped them, saying in harsh whisper, “Wait!”
An imperious fey, dressed in rich scarlet, led the group. His hair was as red as his clothing, and he had a long beard plaited with silver thread. He bowed his head briefly before addressing Arthur. “Who do we have the honour of welcoming, mighty dragon slayer?”
Tom wondered how they could possibly know about the dragon, when Arthur answered smoothly and courteously. “I am Arthur, King of the ancient Britons, Boar of Cornwall, Twice Born, Wielder of Excalibur gift of the Forger of Light. To whom do I owe the pleasure of this welcome?”
“Magen, Chief Slayer of the Dragon Guard.” He stared at Arthur, a hint of challenge flashing in his eyes. “We are here to escort you to Dragon’s Hollow. The Sorcerer requests your presence.”
“Well,” said Arthur evenly, giving a smile that wasn’t quite a smile, “it’s fortunate that it is the sorcerer we are here to meet.”
Magen raised his hand, and from out of the tunnel behind him came a huge eight-wheeled cart pulled by four large purple lizards. On the back of the cart were a number of big burly creatures covered with warts and thick green skin.
“Goblins,” Woodsmoke explained to Tom.
“The dragon belongs to Arthur,” Nimue said to Magen. “He has the dragonyx.” She nodded to where it hung behind Woodsmoke.
If possible, Magen looked even more annoyed. “In that case, the sorcerer requests your permission to bring back the dragon body for dismemberment.”
“My permission?” Arthur asked, clearly confused.
“As the dragon belongs to you and not the city, you must agree to its dismemberment. You will receive all monies as are due to you, minus the fee for transformation,” Magen explained impatiently.
“In that case,” Arthur said, “yes I do.”
As the cart trundled past them, Magen turned. “Follow me.”
The temperature dropped once they were in the tunnel, and Magen was visible only as a dark silhouette ahead until they emerged into a small square dappled in the cool purple shadows of twilight. Around it was a warren of buildings and narrow lanes. In the pale light the buildings shimmered from the dusting of gold that patterned the stone.
They continued down a long central avenue, passing beneath balconies with cascading flowers and greenery. The place looked wealthy and well cared for, the buildings ornate with detailed embellishments in metals of many colours. This was a very different place from the Meet. Occasionally they passed locals wandering back from the town centre, dressed in fine linens with trimmings of embroidery and lace.
Dragon’s Hollow was well named, as it sat encircled by the shoulders of the two peaks on either side. It had trapped the heat of the day so that as night fell, warmth poured from the golden stone around them. Tom grew sticky and tired and wondered impatiently how long it would take to get to the sorcerer. He began to daydream of cold showers and icy drinks, but when they rounded the next corner, all such thoughts left his mind rapidly. They stumbled to a halt and looked around, awestruck.
In front of them was a large perfectly round lake, from which rose an enormous dragon fountain made of coloured glass, precious metals and luminous gems. Like the dragon on the gate, its wings were spread in flight, and its head was looking down upon them. Instead of flames, water poured from its mouth.
Palatial buildings were set around the pool and against the curved bowl of the peaks. In the dusk, the buildings glittered with thousands of lights. Hundreds of faeries milled about the central space, strolling around the pool and across the bridges that spanned it. Entertainers had set up in nooks, and at the start of the bridge ahead was a group of fire-breathing faeries, shooting flames of orange, blue and green high into the sky.
The first person to find their voice was Brenna. “I had no idea of the scale of this place.”
“We seek to keep its splendours to ourselves.” Magen stood next to them, waiting until they were ready to follow him.
“I can tell why,” Arthur murmured.
“Some of the greatest weapons of faerie are made here,” Magen said proudly.
“Is this where the Forger of Light lives?” Arthur asked.
“Not any more.”
Changing the subject, Magen pointed to the far side of Dragon’s Hollow, to a vast house on the mountainside, glittering with inlaid silver and rich black marble. Its many windows lay in darkness, except for the top of the house, where a solitary light burned. “That’s where we are heading – The House of the Beloved.”
