Beast Quest #1: Ferno the Fire Dragon (2 page)

A R
EAL
Q
UEST

T
HE SUN HOVERED LOW AND PINK ABOVE THE
distant hills. Villagers crowded into the market square, jostling for space. Tom had never seen the square so full of people, and they just seemed to keep coming. Tom had told his uncle Henry about the strange fire, and Henry had decided to call an emergency meeting of the whole village. Nothing like this had ever happened in Errinel before, and Tom couldn’t ignore the hard knot of nervousness in his stomach. From the low murmurs coming from the crowd, he could tell that everyone else was on edge, too.

Uncle Henry stood on a wooden bench in front of the villagers. Tom waited off to the side with his aunt Maria. She looked tired and worried.

“This meeting is open,” Uncle Henry announced. “Now, I’ve heard plenty of rumors, but let’s try to deal with facts.”

“The troubles get worse each day!” called John Blake.
“That’s
a fact!”

“Have you seen the river?” a woman asked. “It’s running so low that we will soon run out of drinking water.”

“We’re cursed!” an old man shouted. “I don’t believe in curses,” said Uncle Henry firmly. “But it is clear that our village needs aid. Someone must go to the king and request help, while the rest of us try to figure out why this is happening.”

Tom smiled. He could picture himself traveling to the city to ask for help and save his village. It
was the opportunity he had been waiting for! A real adventure! He stepped forward.
“I’ll
go to the palace.”

There were murmurs of astonishment from the crowd and a few chuckles.

“Trust the fate of our village to a boy? Ha!”

Uncle Henry spoke quietly. “No, Tom. You’re too young to take such a trip on your own. I will go as Head of Errinel.”

Suddenly, a young, ragged boy, smeared in soot, pushed through the crowd. It was Adam from nearby Dreen Farm.

“Help!” gasped Adam. “Our hay barn is on fire!”

“We’re all cursed!” wailed a woman.

“Gretlin! John! Take twenty men and fetch water from the river!” roared Henry. “The rest of you bring spades — if we can’t quench the fire we’ll bury it in mud. Quickly!”

Aunt Maria looked at Uncle Henry as the crowd
rushed to obey. “These people need you here as their leader,” she said quietly.

“You can’t go!” added Tom. “And who else can be spared? Harvest is the busiest time of year for the whole village.”

Uncle Henry turned to Tom. “Very well. You’re young and fit, and I have to let you go out into the world sooner or later. You may go to the king’s palace. But you must leave first thing tomorrow!”

Tom hugged his uncle. “I won’t let you down,” he swore, turning to hug Aunt Maria as well. His heart was doing somersaults. He couldn’t believe it. Tomorrow he was setting off for the palace on a real quest — a chance for adventure at last!

W
HISPERS OF
B
EASTS

I
T WAS STILL DARK WHEN
T
OM BEGAN HIS
journey. And as the sun rose, he saw that Errinel wasn’t the only place in trouble. He passed fields and meadows that lay black and dead. Dry ditches traced paths where streams had once flowed.

On and on Tom walked, ignoring his tired muscles and aching feet. He was determined to get to the city and talk to the king! As he got closer to the high city walls, other people joined him on the dusty road.

Men cantered by on horseback. Families walked beside donkeys weighed down with packs. He could hear them muttering to one another. One
farmer was selling sheep at the market; another hoped to get a good price for his oats and barley. But many of the weary travelers seemed to be fleeing famine and danger and, just like Tom, were heading to the palace to ask for help. Tom started to walk faster.

The city gates were open. As Tom passed through them he felt a new surge of energy. He was here at last!

He pushed his way through the narrow, crooked streets. There were tall wooden houses on each side of him and traders were standing by stalls, calling out to people to come and buy their wares. The air was muggy, the smell of cooking mingling with the market animals and the people jostling through the crowded street. Chickens squawked in cages, goats bleated loudly, and mangy dogs sniffed around the stalls for scraps of food.

Tom quickly jumped aside as someone trotted
by on a horse. It was so different from his village where everyone knew one another and stopped to say hello. Here, no one even looked at him.

Tom didn’t care, though. He had one aim — and that was to get to the palace! He could see it, towering over all the other buildings at the center of the city. The sun shone on its soaring purple spires and domes of sea-green glass.

But as he reached the palace courtyard, Tom found that his way was blocked by a crowd of people. There was a long line, and it was moving very slowly toward the King’s Clerk — a tubby little man sitting behind a large table, scratching on paper with the inky stalk of a feather. He was talking to a ragged old man who seemed close to exhaustion.

“Now then,” said the Clerk primly. “Where are you from?”

“We’re doomed,” gasped the ragged man. “If the king will not help —”

“Sorry, I’m a little deaf,” the Clerk apologized. “What did you say?”

The ragged man groaned. “I said, we’re doomed!”

“Ah, you’re from the village of Weirdoom,” said the Clerk, carefully writing this down.

“Where’s that?”

“No, no,” said the ragged man impatiently, “I mean, we’re
all
doomed!”

“The village of
Wirral
doom,” the Clerk corrected himself, crossing out his first entry.

“Oh, this is hopeless!” Tom said. “At this rate, I’ll be here till next Tuesday!”

“I don’t think we have that much time,” said a stout man with a beard down to his knees. “In the West we’ve been hit by tidal waves. We need help to build sea barriers!”

“There are terrible blizzards in the North,” said an old woman. “The whole kingdom is in danger! And mark my words — the Beasts have done this.”

“The Beasts?” scoffed the stout man. “You must be joking!”

“Joking, am I?” The old woman glared at him. Her skin was lined and pale like parchment, but her eyes were a fierce blue. “It’s
them,
I tell you!”

Tom frowned. Like every other child in the kingdom, he had heard tales of the Beasts. They were strange creatures, dragons and sea serpents, said to dwell in the darkest corners of Avantia — though no one had ever seen them. “The Beasts are only make-believe,” Tom protested. “Stories to scare little kids.”

The old woman looked at him. “If no one believes in the Beasts, how will they ever be stopped?”

“Well, I never heard any tales of them causing droughts or floods,” Tom insisted, turning away from her.

“Something has happened,” she said. “Something to turn them against us and destroy our land. Yes,
something evil has disturbed the Beasts this time… .”

“What?” Tom spun back around. But the old woman had gone. “Did you see her?” Tom stared at his neighbors, baffled. “Where did she go?”

“Who cares?” said the stout man. “It’s one less person in line.”

Tom fell silent. He found himself thinking of the strange shadow he had glimpsed in Gretlin’s field. Could it have been cast by a Beast? He suddenly realized that fires as big as the one at Gretlin’s wheat field did not happen naturally … something had started that fire. Something
huge.

Suddenly, Tom felt another shadow fall over him. He looked up but found only storm clouds blowing in swiftly over the city.

Anything might be lurking up above the clouds. Anything at all.

T
HE
C
OURT OF THE
K
ING

T
OM MADE UP HIS MIND.
W
AITING WAS GETTING
him nowhere. If he even made it to the front of the line, his complaint would be one of hundreds. He’d come to ask the king for help and that was exactly what he was going to do — even if it meant sneaking into the palace! He struggled through the crowds and out of the courtyard.

The pale light of the moon shone down on Tom. He started to circle the palace. “What I need is an open window,” he muttered under his breath. “Or an unlocked door.”

Guards were posted all the way around the palace walls. By the time Tom reached the eastern gateway,
manned by two guards, he didn’t feel so sure of himself.
Perhaps lots of people have tried to see the king,
he thought, moving farther into the shadows.
Maybe they’ve been locked up in the dungeons.
…

Suddenly, there was the sound of running footsteps. A young, ragged lad stumbled out of the night toward the palace.

“Open the gates!” the boy shouted hoarsely. He was around Tom’s age, caked in dirt. He clutched a piece of armor in one hand and a parchment scroll in the other. “I bring word from Sir Caldor. I must see the king!”

To Tom’s surprise, the guards opened the gates and then rushed to help the boy, leaving the gates wide open.

This is it!
Tom thought.

He sprinted over and ducked inside behind the guards’ backs.

“Not so fast, boy,” said a voice behind him. Heart pounding, Tom looked back. A guard was
moving toward him, crossbow aimed. Tom had to think quickly. He was dirty, tired, and hungry from days of travel. He didn’t look like he belonged in the palace at all! But he had to take a chance.

“Kitchen delivery,” Tom said quietly, pointing at his rucksack.

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you a little late?” he asked, clearly suspicious.

Tom had a feeling this was a test. “Am I? Then I’d better hurry!” he said, taking a few steps forward.

The guard looked uncertain but lowered his weapon and let him pass, giving Tom a final piercing stare. This boy did seem somehow familiar… .

“Yeah, you’d better. And don’t even think about sneaking through the front gate again—I don’t care how much longer it takes to go around!” the guard shouted at the boy’s back.

Tom walked forward confidently. He didn’t dare look back until the guard was out of sight.
Another close call,
he thought to himself.
Now I need to find the king!

Sticking to the shadows and staying close to the walls, Tom cautiously explored the palace. A delicious smell of roasting meat and vegetables came wafting toward him through a door that was slightly ajar. His stomach growled. It seemed like ages since his meal of bread and cheese the day before.
The palace kitchens must be in there,
he said to himself.
My excuse already worked once. Maybe if I go in, I’ll find a way of getting to King Hugo.

“Act like you own the place,” he muttered, marching up to the door. “Then no one will question what you’re doing here.”

Excitement and fear beat through him. Would he get away with it? All he knew was that the future of his village depended on it!

As soon as Tom walked in, he was struck by a heat so fierce it reminded him of the forge at home. Huge iron cauldrons hung over open fires. Red-cheeked
maids milled about, stirring the steaming stews and laying out food on silver platters.

A huge, doughy woman bustled up to him, blond curls escaping from her lacy cap. “Ah!” she cried. “You must be the new kitchen boy the Chamberlain sent.”

“What? Oh, yes, that’s right,” Tom agreed quickly.

“I’m Cook,” the woman continued. “Thank goodness you’re here! Two serving girls are off sick and the king’s supper is almost ready to be served.”

“The king’s supper?” Tom gulped. “You want
me
to serve food to the
king?”

“You? Don’t be daft, the head usher tends to him!” Cook gave a hearty laugh. “But the king is dining with his lords and ladies of the Inner Council tonight. You shall help to serve them what little food we have left!” She wiped her nose on the back of her hand, then threw a handful of herbs
into a cauldron. Tom couldn’t believe the food shortages were affecting the palace. The troubles were even worse than he had imagined.

In a daze, Tom followed Cook over to where platters of food waited, ready for serving. A steward gave Tom a quick lesson in balancing the platter with his hand held high above his head. Then he turned on his heel. Tom followed him and the other servants up to the beaten-bronze doors of the royal dining chamber.

The head usher led the way inside and Tom’s heart beat faster. There was King Hugo himself, seated at a long table lit by tall candles. He was surrounded by grim-faced lords and ladies. Tom felt his breath catch in his throat. He had somehow managed to trick his way into the very heart of the palace! This was surely his chance to talk to the king.

But, looking at the majestic figure at the head of
the table, Tom suddenly felt nervous. What should he say? Should he bow? What if King Hugo had him thrown into the dungeon?

Remember everyone at home,
he told himself.
You can’t back out now.

Squaring his shoulders, he carried his platter to the far end of the table. A short, elderly man with a wispy white beard sat there. He was dressed in a gown of faded red silk, a pointed hat perched upon his head. The old man’s gray eyes seemed to glow in the candlelight, as bright as the jewel he wore on a chain about his neck.

I thought only wizards dressed like that,
Tom thought to himself.

“Well, a blacksmith would look pretty stupid in these clothes, wouldn’t he?” said the old man with a smile.

Tom gasped. “You read my mind!”

“That’s because I
am
a wizard,” the old man
murmured, watching him closely. “But what are
you,
I wonder …?”

Tom didn’t have a chance to reply. The dining room doors flew open. The ragged young boy with the piece of armor and parchment scrambled inside. Two guards followed closely behind him.

“Forgive me, sire,” the boy croaked. “I am Robin, squire of Caldor the Brave. I come to you at his command.”

The king rose to his feet. “Greetings, Robin,” he said. “But where is Sir Caldor?”

Robin’s eyes brimmed with tears as he held up the piece of armor — a scorched breastplate. “He’s been burned to death by a dragon. Our quest is over.”

King Hugo groaned. “My bravest knight has perished,” he cried in despair. “Our kingdom is surely doomed!”