The Dragon Master's Son 2

Chapter 2

'They are either very confident or very stupid,' John thought to himself, as he bumped along the rutted road in the back of the wagon, on top of all his father's work tools. If he had been a half decent apprentice, then by his age, with these tools, he would have been able to stun a fully grown adult. Maybe even a small group of men. But John wasn't an average apprentice. When it came to magic, he had the potential to be exceptional. He had been told, by his mother, that he was the sort of talent that came along once a century. Already, the dragon master, John’s father, was in awe of his powers: powers he had gained from his mother. Hadn't he just, with the flick of his wrists, frozen a dragon in flight? But for now, he needed to play his part. Be the dragon master's innocent son. He needed information. Where was his father? Who had taken him? What did they want? Was it the same people who had sent the dragon to pluck him from the stream? Yes, for now, John needed to wait, watch and learn all he could.

A particularly vicious rut bounced John out of his thoughts and out of his seat. With a loud crack, he landed painfully on the buckle of a dragon harness. As he rubbed his bruised bottom, John realised the wagon had come to a stop. The canvas doors at the rear of the wagon were thrown back. The officer stood there with one of the scouts.

“Out!” he barked. John did as he was told. As he jumped off the back of the wagon, he saw instantly what had caused the vehicle to stop. Three spokes in one of the rear wheels had snapped clean in two. As he stared at the wheel, John heard the officer's next order.

“The wagon needs to be made lighter, so we can change the wheel. You,” he pointed at John, “Empty all of the dragon equipment out of the wagon, onto the verge.” He indicated. “Exactly, there!”

Half an hour later, John sat exhausted over a heap of equipment that now lay all over the grass. Perspiration dripping from his nose, John slumped happily down on the roadside bank and rested amidst his father's tools.

The road was one of the few into Harburn, the King's fortified capital, but it wasn't overly busy. During the whole of the time he’d spent unloading the wagon, John had only seen one cart and two men go by. Now, as appeared usual for this road, it was completely deserted. John closed his eyes and tried to give his body, and his mind, a short rest. But what was that? John could hear a long, slow inhalation, followed by a quick, loud exhalation. Like a horse, only much bigger. And the sound echoed, as if it was in a cave.

John quickly opened his eyes. Nothing. The road was deserted. Just himself, the tools and the broken wagon. Not even the officer and his scout, who had long since disappeared along the road. The horse at the front of the wagon was quietly nibbling the few blades of grass it could reach.

Again, John closed his eyes. This time, the snorting sound in his head was louder. The echo of the cave was fuller. He could make out the sound of iron clanking on iron, the sound of a chain. John kept his eyes closed, concentrated on the sound. Where was it coming from? What did it mean? The sound built; snorting on clanking, clanking and echoing, a snorting and clanking that built to a deafening, frightening crescendo John could no longer bare.

His eyes sprung open and the snorting ceased, only to be replaced by the steady footfalls of a horse. John turned his head to see not one but two horses, making their way towards the town. Astride the furthest horse was a man John took to be a knight. He was large and muscular and his eyes scanned the trees, the bushes and John with great suspicion. But John's eyes were drawn to the other rider. She sat erect and regal in her saddle. Her hair was long and dark. It was smooth and shone in a most unnatural way. Her fringe was geometrically straight and her face was the cleanest and whitest John had ever seen. From her shoulders, hung a cape of stunning, angry scarlet. For the briefest instant, her eyes darted in John's direction. He felt their power like a lightening bolt in his chest. He caught his breath, and then her eyes were gone. Now all John could see was her departing red cape.

A fist struck the side of his face and spun him onto a pile of books.

“Don't you dare stare at the Princess!” the officer growled. “You're not good enough to look at her.”

'So,' John thought, not bothering to get up, 'she's the princess.'

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