He smiled, the image flickered twice and then faded from view, leaving me to mull over his words. Shandar’s support of Dragons seemed unequivocal, yet he didn’t appear to think you could trust them. Confused, and with his warnings about deceit filling me with unease, I began my walk into the Dragonlands, the Quarkbeast at my heels.
The hill was mostly scrubby moorland of heather and bracken. It was full of wildlife, which had learned to live without the fear of man. Rabbits sniffed at my ankles and the cows and sheep paid me little or no heed as I walked past in the warm summer air. After an hour’s climb up the hill the moor led down to a small lake. I trotted down the slope and walked around the water’s edge, peering at the fish in the clear waters and wondering what a loss this vast natural wildlife park would be when Maltcassion had gone. I knew from my geography classes that the lands covered an area of 350 square miles, slap bang in the disputed borderlands between the Kingdom of Hereford to the east and the Duchy of Brecon to the west. I reached the far side of the lake, walked through a spinney of silver birches and then climbed another hill from where I could see deep into the Dragonlands. It was a landscape without electricity pylons, buildings or telegraph poles. There were no roads, no railways, and no people. The vegetation had grown unchecked for centuries, and large oak forests covered half the area. The land was free and clear and seemed to stretch away for ever. It would take me a long time to explore it but I was in no hurry. In fact, if I were lost for a week it would be to Maltcassion’s distinct advantage.
I ran down the short slope and walked by a stream whose clear waters babbled excitedly about the rocks. Presently I came across a crashed aircraft. The loss of this particular aeroplane in fog one snowy night ten years previously had shown that the force-field was shaped like a dome with its highest extremity at five thousand feet. Only the very brave or the very stupid would dare to fly above the lands, as an engine failure would spell certain death. I looked into the plane; it was empty. The pilot and passengers would have been vaporised as the small craft came within the marker stones’ influence.
I forded a river, stopped for a drink and then descended on to a plain dotted by sheep and cows which came and went as they pleased, for the force-field seemed to have an effect only on humans. I followed the stream into a forest of Douglas fir, and as I did so I noticed an eerie silence fall upon the land. The soft and lush undergrowth absorbed the sound, so even my boots splashing through the brook seemed to make very little noise. After a few hundred yards I noticed that old cattle and sheep bones were scattered in the stream, so I guessed I was nearing my quarry. A little farther on I found a ruby the size of a man’s fist lying on the bed of the stream and several gold doubloons. Within a few hundred yards more we came across a large clearing in the forest.
‘Quark,’ said the Quarkbeast as we stood on the smooth compacted earth. In the centre of the clearing was a large stone, not unlike the boundary stones that ringed the Dragonlands. It was humming audibly in the still air, and above us a light wind moved the uppermost branches of the trees. Hidden in the compacted earth were glimpses of gold and the flash of a jewel from where the riches of the Dragon lay hidden. Here indeed was the lair of a Dragon. His food, his gold, his jewels. But where was the Dragon? There was no cave of any sort. Indeed, apart from a pile of rubble on one side of the clearing, there was nothing here at all. I guessed that Maltcassion had either flown out or was elsewhere on the lands. I turned to go when suddenly, in a clear and patient voice, came the words:
‘Well, look what we have here: a Dragonslayer!’
Maltcassion
I turned but saw no one.
‘Who’s there?’ I asked, my voice trembling. I thought I was the only one allowed in the Dragonlands. I looked around but still could see no one, and was just thinking of climbing the odd pile of stones to get a better look when I noticed, lying in the rubble, a fine red jewel about the size of a tennis ball. I reached out to touch it and a leathery lid covered the jewel and flipped back up again. I froze. The jewel moved as it looked me up and down, and Maltcassion spoke again:
‘Bit young for a Dragonslayer, aren’t you?’
The pile of rubble moved as he spoke and I felt the ground shiver. He unwrapped his tail and stretched it out, then, using it as a back-scratcher, rubbed his back just above where two wings were folded tightly against his spine.
‘I’m sixteen,’ I muttered indignantly.
‘Sixteen?’
‘In a fortnight.’
‘Well, that’s all right, then,’ replied the Dragon sarcastically, ‘bags of experience.’
He raised his massive head from where he had been hiding it between his two front claws and looked at me curiously. Then he opened his mouth wide and yawned. Two large rows of teeth about the size of milk bottles presented themselves to me. The teeth were old and brown and several had broken off. My eyes started to water at the smell of his breath, which was a powerful concoction of rotting animal, vegetation, fish and methane gas. He raised his head and coughed a large ball of fire into the air before looking at me again.
‘Excuse me,’ he muttered apologetically, ‘the body grows old. What’s that, by the way?’
‘It’s my Quarkbeast.’
‘Is that so?’ said Maltcassion as he leaned closer to look. ‘So that’s what one looks like. Does it change colour?’
‘Only when there’s too much silicon in its diet.’
‘Ah.’
He then dug his two front claws into the hard-packed soil and pushed with his hind legs to stretch. The power of his rear easily overcame the anchoring properties of his front, and his claws pushed through the solid earth like twin ploughshares. There was a large crack from his back and he relaxed.
‘Ooh!’ he muttered. ‘That’s better.’
This done, his wings snapped open like a spring-loaded umbrella and he beat them furiously, setting up a dust storm that made me cough. I noticed that one wing was badly tattered; the membrane covering was ripped in several places. After a minute or two of this he folded them delicately across his back, then turned his attention back to me. He came closer and sniffed at me delicately. Oddly, I felt no fear of him. Perhaps that was my training; I didn’t suppose I would have dared stand next to forty tons of fire-breathing dragon twenty-four hours ago without feeling at least some anxiety. I could feel the sharp inrush of air tug violently at me as he inhaled. He seemed satisfied at last and put his head down again, so once more his scaly skin looked like nothing more than a huge pile of rubble.
‘So, Dragonslayer,’ he asked loftily, ‘you have a name?’
‘My name is Jennifer Strange,’ I announced as grandly as I could. ‘I present myself to you by way of introduction. I sincerely hope that I have no need of my calling, and that you and the citizenry—’
‘Claptrap,’ said Maltcassion, ‘pure claptrap. But I thank you anyway. Before you go, could you do me a favour?’
‘Certainly.’
He rolled on to his side and lifted a front leg, pointing with the other to an area just behind his shoulder blade.
‘Old wound. Would you mind?’
I clambered on to his chest and looked at the area he indicated. Just behind a leathery scale was a rusty object protruding from a wound that had obviously been trying to heal for a while. I grasped the object with both hands and then, pressing my feet against his rough hide, pulled with all my might. I was just beginning to think that it would never come out when I was suddenly on my back in the dust. In my hands was a very rusted and very bent sword.