Читать книгу The Saint of Dragons - Jason Hightman - Страница 12

Simon felt a large tongue licking his face. He was being eaten.

In shock, he opened his eyes and rolled on the floor. He scrambled to his feet, ready for battle. But the creature he was looking at was not a dragon. It was a horse.

Aldric must have moved Simon into the hold of the little ship while the boy was sleeping. He had put him down to sleep in the hay. Not very comfortable, thought Simon. Not very nice.

Nevertheless, he had slept without waking once, even with the tilting and swaying of the ship. He must have been totally drained.

He backed away from the horse and looked around. The hold had a tidy and sizable space for the animal, and along the wall there were some chickens in pens.

“Good, you’re awake,” said a voice from above. Simon looked up at the hatch that led to the galley. His father threw down a bunch of apples. “You can feed the horse.”

Simon looked up at him, but all he could see was his shape, lit by the bright sunlight flooding into the hold. Simon picked up the apples. He’d been awake two seconds and already he was doing chores.

“Give her some oats. You’ll find them in the wood bins on the port wall,” Aldric added, disappearing somewhere up above deck.

Simon threw some oats into the horse’s stall and held an apple out for it to eat. The horse chomped the apple eagerly. Simon was hungry himself. He took one of the other apples, sinking his teeth in for a big bite.

“DON’T EAT VALSEPHANY’S APPLES,” came a warning from upstairs. “SHE’S EARNED EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM.”

Guiltily, Simon swallowed. But he was still hungry and it made him a little angry.

“Does anybody care I’m hungry enough to eat Valsephany?” he said loudly.

His father came back down with a look of fierce annoyance on his face. “Eat Valsephany?” he repeated. “Eat Valsephany?”

“It’s an expression,” said Simon mildly. “You know. In America, we say, ‘hungry enough to eat a horse’.”

Aldric plucked the apple away from Simon and went to his horse. It gave a thankful neighing and fed from his hand.

“Valsephany is the greatest animal a man could ever have,” Aldric said. “Very few steeds on this Earth could withstand what she has withstood. Not many would be able to look a dragon in the eye and hold its course. Most horses would bolt away. Or their legs would buckle and they’d fall to the ground in fear. It has taken ages to prepare Valsephany for battle. She’s priceless.”

The horse seemed to understand, raising its head with a whinny of pride. Simon made a mental note. Never joke about the horse.

“I didn’t know she meant so much to you,” said Simon.

“We’ve grown up together,” said Aldric, putting his face against Valsephany’s. “We were trained for battle together by your grandfather, Veritus St George. Fascinating creatures. Did you know that thousands of years ago, horses were wee, small little fellows, the size of terriers? Now look at them. You see? Everything evolves.”

He may not have a sense of humour, Simon thought, but Aldric’s knowledge was impressive. He got the feeling Aldric knew a little bit about a great many subjects, but probably not a whole lot in depth about anything. He wondered if his father had ever had the benefit of the education he had received at the Lighthouse School.

“A horse is a perfect companion. When you get your steed, you’ll understand,” said Aldric.

A horse? For Simon? His heart leapt at the thought. But before Simon could be sure that’s what he meant, his father brought up something more pressing.

“If you’re hungry,” said Aldric, “there’s a plate of food over there on that old box. I was eating it while I watched you sleep.”

Simon looked at him with curiosity.

“I came down once in the night. I had to be sure you wouldn’t try to jump overboard,” his father said to the unasked question. “I need you for battle.”

Simon frowned. Oh, it was distrust, not concern, he thought. He reached for the plate, which was piled with meat, fried potatoes and onion.

Suddenly, a large red fox darted from the shadows and stuck its snout on to the plate.

Aldric looked over disdainfully. “Fenwick. I suppose I should have introduced you. Did I mention a horse was the greatest of all the animals?”

Simon stared at the fox, which seemed to be glowering unhappily.

“An old English fox is probably the worst,” muttered Aldric, shooing the animal back.

“He’s hungry,” Simon said, and held out some food which the fox took quickly.

“Oh, poor thing,” Aldric mocked him. “He’ll eat when he’s earned it. This stable is a mess, Fenwick. I have to tell you, Simon, he spends most of his time fishing alongside the boat, and he stinks at it. As a matter of fact, he just plain stinks.”

Fenwick gave what seemed to be a scowl. Then, to Simon’s surprise, the fox scurried its furry red body into the stable and began cleaning up, pulling tools back into their spots, using its nose to push boxes into place. Fenwick, apparently, had been expertly trained.

“I’m sure this wasn’t exactly your idea of a wonderful Halloween,” said Aldric. He looked at the black knight mask in the hay. Somehow it had made it through the ride, in Simon’s satchel. “Interesting choice. It wouldn’t offer you much protection, though. Our armour is strong as titanium – it’s overlaid with an alchemical resin created by my magician friend Maradine, who died long ago. There’s still enough of it left for your armour, if I can adjust it for your size, but I doubt you’ll need any of it on this trip.”

“Why is that?” asked Simon, munching on a hard piece of black meat. He was thinking a suit of armour would be a very remarkable thing to own.

“This dragon we’re after, he’s an urban dragon. We’ll have to disguise ourselves. The armour is what gives you away. The strong magic in it makes the dragon’s teeth ache. He knows when you’re coming. So we end up with a choice. Protect ourselves and lose the element of surprise, or go in with a tremendous shock, but with no armour to protect us.”

“This is unreal,” mumbled Simon. Shining armour, urban dragons. He realised he was actually starting to believe this insanity.

“I assure you,” said his father solemnly, “the White Dragon is very real.”

“White Dragon,” Simon repeated. “Is that what you call it?”

“Yes. He’s the last of the bunch. That’s his brother you’re eating,” said Aldric, casually.

Simon had been chewing on the tough, greenish-black meat for some time. Now he felt sick.

“I’m eating it?”

“Yes, with some pepper.”

“I’m eating dragon meat?” repeated Simon.

“Well, why not?” Aldric asked him. “Dragonmen eat humans every chance they get. They do it for pure pleasure, just to spite us. We are a delicacy to them. They cover us with a hot milky syrup.”

The dragon meat tasted like very old beef. Between the motion of the ship and the bad meat, Simon thought he might throw up.

“I’m not feeling well,” he groaned.

“I thought you wanted proof,” Aldric replied.

“This isn’t exactly proof,” said Simon. “This could be old deer meat, or dead alligator. It just doesn’t taste good. What are you trying to do to me?”

“Simply keeping you from hunger. It took time to clean that off my sword and cook it up right,” said Aldric. “This one was known as the Vermin Dragon because he had a fancy for eating garlic-covered rats, and he ended up tasting rather good, if you ask me.”

Simon looked at his father with utter disbelief. “Well, you sure have thought a lot about this.”

The older St George looked irritated. “In a few hours,” he said, “we need to be ready for combat. I had hoped my word would be enough for you.” Simon didn’t know what to say. “But I did promise I’d show you the truth.”

He motioned Simon to follow. “I didn’t want to frighten you, but if you insist, so be it.” He walked to the back of the hold and opened a series of locks on a heavy metal door. “In you go,” he told his son.

Simon wasn’t sure he wanted proof any more.

The room ahead was dark as a shark’s belly and it gave off a musty smell from being closed up for a long, long time.

Fenwick, the little fox, had found business at the back of the ship, cowering fearfully.

Simon stalled, looking at Aldric: “Shouldn’t you be running the ship?”

“It runs itself.”

“Runs itself?” said Simon. “You have that kind of machinery on board? You don’t even have electricity.”

“The ship runs on magic,” grumbled his father, “using devices made by my late friend Maradine, and they know the way. Now, stop stalling.”

“I’m not stalling. I just had some questions.”

“It isn’t pretty in there, but you need to see it,” said Aldric.

Simon swallowed hard.

“You asked to see it,” said Aldric.

“I know.”

“Then go!”

Simon entered the dark room. The ship swayed to one side and it spooked him even more. Aldric entered behind him and clicked on some dim brass lights. The first thing Simon saw was a giant set of teeth. He almost jumped back from the shock. They were set in a skull the size of a small car. It was like the skull of a Tyrannosaurus rex, but it had long, goat-like horns jutting upward from the head. The eyeholes alone were big enough for Simon to walk through. The boy stayed at the door, clearly disturbed.

“Oh, come on, don’t be afraid,” said Aldric in disgust. “You can see it’s dead. Dead as Friday’s mutton. For heaven’s sake, you’re going to have to show some guts. We’re going after the real thing in a few hours.”

“But it’s so big,” said Simon. “I didn’t know it was so big.”

“That’s an old dragon,” said Aldric. “It’s six hundred years old. Haven’t you been listening? Dragons today are man-sized. They don’t look anything like this.”

The bones around the mouth and nose of the skeleton were black. The fire it spewed out must have burned the bone over time.

“What do the Dragonmen look like?” asked Simon.

“Like this,” said Aldric, and he thrust another skull into Simon’s face.

Simon almost screamed, but he held it in. The skull in Aldric’s hand was indeed smaller. It was quite a bit larger than a human skull, though, and shaped like a little replica of the giant fossil nearby.

“This is the skull of the Dragon of Seville,” said Aldric. “The first dragon I took on, when I was about your age. He was an ugly Pyrothrax. Had six rows of teeth. See? Like a shark.” Simon ran his fingers over the old teeth. Still sharp. “Father and I went in together. It was the first time I’d been out of England. Easiest serpent I ever killed.” His voice took on a melancholy tone. “The next one would put an end to Dad.” He took the skull back and set it on a shelf with at least a dozen more such skulls.

Simon’s eyes were drawn to several steel cases with glass doors on them. Inside the cases were lighted torches. Some of the torches burned green, some blue.

“Serpentfire can burn for a very long time if the magic is strong,” said Aldric. “It’s hard to handle, that kind of fire, it seems to have a mind of its own, but it can be a good tool if you have nothing else. You never, ever want to use it unless you need it. I keep it around in case of dire circumstances. I hate to admit anything Serpentine can be useful.” Absentmindedly he picked up a dragon’s claw from a pile of them on the table and used it to scratch his neck.

The room had a smell like old leather. On several cabinets and hung on the walls were layers of dragon hide. Simon reached out and touched the closest. It felt leathery and tough and scaly, like a snake, in parts.

“Serpent skin resists fire,” said Aldric, “unless the fire is from another dragon. Another good reason to keep serpentfire around. It used to be that the best way to kill a dragon was to introduce it to another dragon.”

“Really? They don’t like each other?”

“Oh, they despise each other. They despise everything, really. They’re just gluttons for hatred,” Aldric revealed. “It all goes back to the Queen of Serpents. Once she vanished, they turned against each other, all blaming the other for what had happened.”

“That was thousands of years ago,” recalled Simon.

“Yes, but they’ve never got over it,” was the answer. “They have long memories.”

“They?”

“It. I keep forgetting, there’s only one of the terrors left,” smiled Aldric. “We’re soon to be out of a job, aren’t we? Maybe we’ll go into the fishing business. Or, who knows, maybe this last one has a treasure we can make off with. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

He took the dragon hide from Simon. “It’s nasty material, this is, but you can drive a silver sword or a silver arrow through it if you move fast. You need the right weapons.”

With that, he clicked on another light, and on the far side of the room Simon could now see an entire wall filled with suits of armour and dragon-fighting equipment. There were swords of every kind, crossbows, shields, bows and arrows – everything made of silver.

It was an amazing sight. The boy’s jaw dropped.

He felt something brush against his leg and looked down to see Fenwick carefully moving in next to him.

“Get out of here, you fish-mongrel,” Aldric yelled at the fox, to no effect. “He seems to like you.”

But Simon’s eyes were on the weaponry.

“The favourite weapon of the Dragonhunter,” explained Aldric, “is the silver crossbow.” He went over to the wall and handed one to Simon. It was heavy, like holding a bowling ball.

“This one is yours.”

Simon stared at it in disbelief. “This is how you slay dragons?” he asked.

“No, this is how you harm dragons. Silver can hurt a dragon, but their skin regenerates over time. There is only one way for us to eliminate a dragon – to destroy it completely. And that is with a deathspell.”

“A what?”

“Long ago magicians discovered that every dragon has a spell that will bring it to an end,” Aldric related, “and every spell is written into the Book of Saint George. I know all the words to the spells; I’ve committed them to memory and so shall you, for the last of the creatures. Each dragon has a weakness. A soft piece of flesh in the middle of its chest, right over its heart. Its weakest part. You lay your hand on its heart, press against this skin and call out the deathspell. And the dragon will … expire.”

“What happens then?”

“They all go down differently,” said Aldric. “You’ll see it for yourself.”

Simon could hardly believe it. He was really going to hunt a dragon. He looked at his silver crossbow and noticed for the first time that it was covered in spell-writing. Runes. An enchanted protection of some kind.

Then he noticed a small piece of glass fitted over the middle of the weapon, and inside that glass was a small, burning light, a silver oval that was beating like a heart. The crossbow had a heart!

“It’s alive,” said Simon.

“Of course it’s alive,” said Aldric, “everything enchanted is alive. It will try to help you as best it can.”

The boy scratched his head, unnerved.

Fenwick sniffed at the crossbow. He seemed worried.

“Will you show me how to use it?” Simon asked.

There was a glint of pride in Aldric’s eye when he nodded.

“Our first and last hunt.”