Dragon Seeker (11 page)

Lord Jezail glowered at Clara as she entered the sitting room at the side of the count. She swallowed hard at the sight of him for he looked just as scary and horrible as ever. There were no words of greeting. Lord Jezail ignored her completely.

“Well?” he asked, glaring at the count. “Have you told her what she has to do?”

“Clara has agreed to write down the spells for you,” the count replied.

“Excellent,” Lord Jezail leant back, smiling nastily. “Sit her at that table over there,” he nodded sharply towards the window. “She can start at once.”

Clara went over to the round mahogany table where a stack of paper and a pen had been laid out in readiness. She hesitated and looked at him anxiously. “I need to touch the talisman,” she said, her voice rising nervously. “You
do
know that, don’t you? The spells won’t come unless I’m touching it.”

The count hastily drew another chair towards the little table and gestured to his master. “If you rest your arm here, Milord. As you did before …” he said, his voice trailing off.

“Yes, but no tricks this time,” Jezail growled. Rising
grudgingly
to his feet, he sat beside the little table and pulled his sleeve up to reveal the talisman. It shone, a bright band of silver, round his thin wrist as he rested his arm on the edge of the table.

Clara pulled her chair as far away from him as she could so that when she stretched her arm, it was only the tips of her
fingers
that touched the talisman. It was enough. Its magic flowed through her like a river and again she felt its happiness at being close to her.

“Write!” Lord Jezail snapped impatiently. “The faster the better. This is going to take all day as it is, without you wasting time!”

Count Vassili moved the pile of paper further along the table so that Clara could start.

“Are the words there?” he asked.

Clara nodded as she saw the spells in her mind and
hastily
started to write as Jezail twisted round in his chair to watch her, his eyes black and sharp.

Time passed and it all got a bit boring. Sun slanted in through the slit window as she wrote down page after page of the
Book of Spells
. Jezail sat beside her, slumped in his chair dozing fitfully while the count lay back in an armchair on the other side of the room, tapping his fingers worriedly as he wondered when the Lords of the North would arrive. He was pretty sure that they’d come in force to rescue Clara. So was his master, for that matter; which was why, after they’d laid their plans and organized the garrison of the citadel, he’d insisted that Clara write the spells down immediately.

It hadn’t proved quite as easy as that, however. Clara had been inside the crystal for a considerable length of time and had slept for the best part of two days before she woke up to the world. Maria had sat by her bedside the whole time, worried out of her mind, and Vassili, too, had been afraid; for he’d no idea if Clara might suffer any after-effects from her
imprisonment
. Watching her, however, eased his mind and he smiled as, now totally absorbed in her work, she finished a page, laid it on top of the growing pile in front of her and automatically reached for the next one.

As Clara continued writing, the silence deepened. Once or twice she stopped to stretch her arms, watching to see if Jezail would notice or if Count Vassili would raise his head
enquiringly
from across the room. Neither moved. She was pretty sure that Jezail was asleep as his rasping breath had become a slight snore but Vassili … she looked at him closely. His head had fallen back against the cushion and he was completely relaxed. He
must
be asleep.

Trembling slightly, she laid her pen carefully on the table and, looking at the last spell she had written, quietly folded the sheet of paper until it was small enough to go into the pocket of the little black jacket Maria had given her. In the course of the next half hour, she repeated this three times and then, with a sense of relief, continued writing. Lord Jezail would surely never know the difference.

It was Maria’s knock on the door that woke the two men. Jezail snorted and sat up with a start while Vassili opened his eyes, looking casually towards the door as Maria entered.

“I thought you might like lunch now,” she said, looking at Clara to see if she was alright.

Jezail muttered and, taking his arm off the table, rubbed it hard. It had become stiff and cramped and he wasn’t amused.

“Have you nearly finished, Clara?” the count asked.

Clara shook her head and stretched her fingers. “It’s a long book,” she said tiredly. “I’m only about half way through.”

“Maybe, we should leave the other half for tomorrow,” the count suggested, looking at his master.

Lord Jezail shook his head. “We’ll have lunch,” he said
determinedly
, “and then she can go on writing until dinner if needs be. Maria can take your place if you like, but I want the whole book finished today!”

It was dark and Maria had long since lit the lamps before
Clara finally reached the last spell. With a sigh of relief, she put down her pen and slumped back in her chair. Her eyes closed. She was dead tired and all she wanted to do was sleep for a week.

“You’ve finished?” Maria queried, rising from her chair. “Thank goodness!”

Lord Jezail stirred.

“Master,” Maria shook his arm. “Master, Clara has finished writing.”

Lord Jezail looked from the neatly stacked pile of papers on the table to Clara. His eyes were suspicious. “Did you write down
all
of the spells?” he asked. “You didn’t leave any of them out, did you?”

Clara looked him in the eye. “I wrote them all down,” she said firmly, “and I didn’t leave any of them out.”

Her gaze was direct and honest and Jezail knew instinctively that she was telling the truth. He turned to the table and
fingered
the sheets of paper, his black eyes gleaming in triumph. The
Book of Spells!
It was his at last! Hands trembling, he picked up the top sheet of paper and scanning the spell
greedily
, started to read.

Seeing her master so totally absorbed, Maria took Clara’s arm and led her gently to the door. “Come on, Clara,” she
whispered
. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had some supper.”

Clara nodded, feeling the gentle crackle of paper in her pocket as she followed Maria down the spiral staircase. She hadn’t actually lied to Lord Jezail, she thought guiltily, for she had, indeed, written down every spell in the book — what she hadn’t mentioned was that four of them nestled safely in her pocket.

Count Vassili rose to his feet as Clara entered and pulled out a chair for her. She sat down, surprised to see that he had changed out of his velvet robes and was now dressed in a high-necked black jacket, breeches and riding boots. Not only that, a heavy fur-lined cloak lay over one of the chairs. Where, she wondered, was he going at this time of night?

She knew better, however, than to ask and, completely
forgetting
to tell him of the spells in her pocket, reached for her napkin, while looking in astonishment at the many steaming dishes on the table — quite different from their usual simple supper. “What’s this?” she asked, feeling somewhat
light-headed
, now that her ordeal was over. “A feast?”

The count lowered his eyes. “Not so much a feast as a
farewell
dinner, I’m afraid,” he answered a trifle grimly.

Alarm sparked in her eyes. “A farewell dinner?” she
questioned
, catching her breath.

“Yes,” he replied. “We leave the citadel tonight.”

“We?” she queried, meeting his eyes in startled surprise. “Me, too?”

He nodded. “Maria’s coming with us as well. She’ll be down in a second. She’s just gone upstairs to organize the packing.”

“So that’s why she bought me so much …”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “She didn’t know we’d be leaving the citadel any more than I did.” He rose to his feet and spooned a generous helping of beef stew onto her plate. “Please don’t worry about it, Clara,” he added, seeing her anxious face.
“You know that you’re safe with us. Now,” he smiled
reassuringly
, moving the potatoes and vegetables to within her reach, “eat well. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

A long journey! Hope sprang suddenly in her heart and she sat up straight, her eyes shining. “Count Vassili! Are … are you taking me home?”

His eyes dropped and he fingered his fork idly. Of course she would think that. She’d done what his master had asked, after all. His lips set in a straight line and he had to force himself to meet her eyes calmly. “No, Clara, actually, we’re going to … to Dragonsgard, one of Lord Jezail’s castles near the northern border.”

Angrily, Clara pushed her plate to one side. “But I did what he asked,” she protested, blinking back tears. “I wrote down all of the spells!
Why
can’t I go home?”

The count shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know Clara. He obviously wants you to stay in Ashgar — and it’s his decision, you know. I only obey orders. We leave for Dragonsgard within the hour!”

“Dragonsgard,” she whispered. The word sent a chill tingling through her. It sounded every bit as grim as the citadel. “I … will I like it there?” she asked dubiously.

The count was saved from answering by the entry of a black-uniformed officer who bowed low and clicked his heels together smartly. “We’ll be ready to leave by midnight, Count Vassili,” he announced.

“Midnight?” the count queried, looking up as Maria entered and slipped into the chair beside Clara. “Surely you can be ready sooner than that?”

“Lord Jezail has instructed me to provide you with an escort. I’ve detailed six men to accompany you.”

Maria and the count exchanged brief glances but the count’s
voice remained calm. “That was extremely thoughtful of Lord Jezail,” he remarked. “There might well be brigands on the road.”

“With your permission, Sir, we’ll be loading extra stores on the coach.”

Coach? Clara picked up on the word. They were going to be travelling by bus?

“Of course,” the count agreed. “Oh, and Colonel Braganz …” the count added, before the man could turn away.

“Sir?”

“See that there are plenty of thick blankets in the coach for the ladies. The night air is cold and we’ve a long journey in front of us.”

“Yes, Sir,” the colonel saluted briskly and left.

It was well after midnight, however, before Clara and Maria, clutching warm, hooded cloaks round them, walked down a shallow flight of steps into the deep courtyard of the citadel.

Torches flared on the high walls sending fantastic shadows across the cobbles where a coach drawn by six black horses waited in the moonlight. Behind the coach, a troop of cloaked horsemen with an officer at their head, waited in twos, ready to move off, their horses moving restlessly, harnesses jingling as they tossed their heads, snorting softly.

Clara stopped dead, her eyes widening in amazement. A coach, she thought, a proper old-fashioned coach! How could she have been stupid enough to think Lord Jezail would have anything as ordinary as a bus! Anyway, the thought crossed her mind fleetingly, where would he get petrol from? Dismissing the bus from her mind, she gazed in awe at the coach: its wheels were huge and brass fittings gleamed fitfully in the light of the flares as the horses stamped impatiently. The
coachman,
perched at the front, was well wrapped up against the chill breeze and holding the reins at the ready, watched them approach.

A sudden clatter of hooves interrupted her thoughts and she swung round to see Count Vassili riding across the courtyard towards them. He pulled up beside the coach, returning the salute of the officer in charge of the escort, and looked
enquiringly
at Maria. “Do you have everything you need for the
journey
?” he asked briefly.

Maria nodded as a soldier stepped forward and, opening the carriage door, pulled down a step so that she could enter easily. “I think so,” she said, nodding to the cases and boxes strapped at the back of the coach.

“Good! Then we’re ready to set off! In you get, Clara,” he gestured as she hesitated at the door of the coach. “There are lots of blankets inside, so you can stretch out and get some sleep.”

“Sleep?” Clara looked at him, her eyes sparkling. She was so excited at the thought of travelling in a coach that her tiredness seemed to have left her.

The count smiled ruefully, knowing that within the hour she’d most likely be bored stiff and probably quite
uncomfortable
; for the road to Dragonsgard was unpaved and, in some places, little more than a pot-holed track. “I’ll be riding beside you,” he said, pulling his cloak round him, “so you only have to call if you need anything.”

Clara gave a final glance round the high walls that enclosed the courtyard and climbed into the roomy interior of the coach. Settling herself comfortably, she grinned across at Maria. The coach could, she thought, hold six people comfortably, not just two. Then she turned and peered through the little side
window
as an order was given.

The soldiers who’d been holding the horses’ bridles, promptly
stepped back from their heads and, as the coachman shook the reins, the six black horses pulled on their harnesses. With a jerk and a rumble of wheels, the coach started forward. They were off, Clara thought excitedly, peering out as they passed slowly under a dark archway into the night.

As the great doors of the citadel closed slowly behind them, the horses picked up speed, sending the coach rattling across the curved, stone bridge that divided the citadel from the
narrow
streets of the town. Clara craned her neck and could just see the frothing, white water of the rushing mountain stream that passed below.

Despite the lateness of the hour, a few people in Stara Zargana were still awake and curtains parted fearfully in the windows of several houses as the coach, with its escort of
dark-clad
riders, clattered swiftly through the winding streets,
heading
towards the great road that led north.