The Dragon's Apprentice by Dugald Steer

Author:Dugald Steer [Dugald A. Steer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: the_dragon_s_apprentice
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction
Published: 2012-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

“Why would they follow us?” Beatrice asked.

“If they can take the Dragon’s Claw from you before you have a chance to exchange it,” Mr. Anderson explained, “then they won’t need to spare Torcher’s life, will they? And they might manage to put an end to Scramasax, too.”

I suddenly felt rather sick, both from the discomfort of the journey and at the thought that we could have led Dragonsbane straight to Scramasax’s lair.

The cart drew to a halt at last; we had reached the foot of the mountain. Mr. Anderson turned to us. “We shall have to walk from here,” he told us. “But we need to be on the lookout in case there is an S.A.S.D. volunteer guarding the route to Scramasax’s lair.”

“Couldn’t we ask them to help us?” Beatrice suggested.

Mr. Anderson looked horrified. “We must avoid them at all costs! If, as you suspect, there is a traitor in the S.A.S.D., we shall have to be extremely careful whom we trust.” He turned and began scanning the mountainside. “Now, which way is the lair?”

“The tunnel entrance lies on the other side of the mountain,” I told him.

Mr. Anderson tied up the pony and ran a little way along the various tracks on the mountainside. “Let us take a route that avoids the main path,” he suggested as he ran back to hoist the mysterious box from the back of the cart.

“Are you sure you are going to need all that equipment?” asked Beatrice. It would certainly slow us down.

“Possibly not, but I can’t leave it here for just anyone to find,” Mr. Anderson answered. “Besides, it may come in useful. So, Daniel, if you don’t mind, could you help me carry it?”

I took one end of the long box. Between us, we could just about manage it. The box swung as we carried it, making the equipment inside clang and rattle as we went. We edged slowly round the mountain, the box growing heavier with every step. I wondered what kind of equipment could possibly be worth so much effort.

At last I caught a whiff of a familiar sulphurous odour. Further along the track lay a scattered trail of deer and sheep bones that had been picked clean: we were close to the lair at last.

We hid behind a rocky outcrop for a short while, to avoid coming into contact with anyone from the S.A.S.D.

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone here,” Beatrice whispered after a while.

“Nor is there any sign of Dr. Drake,” said Mr. Anderson, looking about for movement. “I think we will need to speak to Scramasax ourselves.”

We walked a little further, cautiously drawing closer to the lair.

“What is your plan?” asked Mr. Anderson under his breath. He began lowering his end of the box, and, with relief, I did likewise. We peered curiously into the dark, craggy cave entrance.

“Unless you have a better idea, we planned simply to go in and talk to her,” I explained. “But it’s going to be difficult. She has a terrible

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