Trav Zander is the second book I wrote. It's a sequel to Torbrek...and the Dragon Variation.

The cover design is mine.

You can read the first chapters further down this page.

A BIT ABOUT THE STORY...

Trav Zander is a freelance solver of problems. His latest job, for the appealingly large fee of fifty thousand ducats, is to locate a dragon in the mountains, and bring it to Carl of Thrales, recent inheritor of the kingdom of Ser. The dragon, Seraphine, bonds with Trav.

As it says in ‘A DRAGON FROM THE EGG: how to hatch, rear and bond with your own dragon’ by Sir Piers Tytherton:

‘Let it be remember’d by He that readeth this my Booke, (though indeed ‘tis without Rival for Excellent Counsel), the Man chooseth not the Dragon: ‘tis the Dragon which maketh his choice of Master, as his Heart ordains, and oft times his Preference is beyond the Wit of Man to comprehend. No Money return’d’.

Which means Carl of Thrales isn’t going to let Trav go in a hurry; he needs him, and kidnaps his young son, Kit, to encourage him to do as he’s told. It really doesn’t help that Carl’s beautiful mistress, Isolda, thinks Trav would make an interesting diversion from Carl, who can be heavy going. With relief, Trav and Kit escape on Seraphine to the protection of the Hundred Knights in neighbouring Calambria.

On the run from Carl, Trav encounters Tor, the only female Knight, who disguises herself as a remarkably inept palace maid to spy in Ser; Gun Morpeth, the flamboyant mountain bandit, and Carl’s chilling agent Corfe (areas of expertise: investigation, coercion, torture).

Danger and adventure follow.

Trav finds he can’t forget Isolda; but what are Isolda’s real feelings for Trav?

WHAT REVIEWERS ON YOUWRITEON SAY:

Graphos, writer, says:

'Yay, some decent fantasy! I've been waiting to get some fantasy to read for the last several assignments. These chapters weren't at all a disappointment. I really like the set-up; Trav is a great character - I like especially that his job is 'solver of problems': it steers well clear of possible cliches and there's something down to earth about it that I really like.
I also really love Seraphine; she so lovable! "Trav felt precarious, and not very comfortable" - that's good, too. I'm always rather annoyed by people who write characters that can automatically ride a dragon/horse/other animal perfectly the first time they try it. And I liked that you didn't make too much of the bonding thing right from the jump.
"He started high up, to leave plenty of space." That's a great line, so hopeless, resigned. Love it.
I'm going to stop being so specific, but generally I really, really like this story. The whole episode with Snap is great. I don't really have much bad to say about these chapters.'

Donald Bull, writer, says:

'My heart sank when I saw fantasy, not my cup of tea. The mention of dragons, only seemed to confirm my worst expectations. Despite this I enjoyed the piece a lot, hence the high marks I've awarded. While I realise there is an adult market for this type of writing, I can't help but think that you will score very highly with the teenagers (move over Harry Potter.)

I liked that Trav had very human qualities. All of the doubts and problems that we all suffer. Many writers fail to give their characters depth, especially in this genre.'

Gerry Marron, writer, says:

'Fantasy fiction isn’t what I normally choose to read but I thoroughly enjoyed this. I was hooked from the great one-line opening and read on enthusiastically.
What makes this novel stand out, I think, is the character of Trav Zander. He’s an excellent creation. He leaps off the page and is the sort of instantly-likeable, roguish hero I could easily spend a whole novel with.
Other characters are good too — I had strong visual impressions of Carl and the dragon. But Trav puts them in the shade. When I reached that part with Pom in chapter three, I was hoping it wouldn’t be too long before Trav reappeared on the scene.
The story is fluently written — you have a very easy-to-read style. It’s well-paced too, moving smoothly from Trav Zander’s viewpoint to that of the other characters.
Dialogue is excellent. Particularly those snappy opening exchanges between the king and Trav which do so much to paint Trav’s character. These are the best examples of dialogue, I think, but it’s good elsewhere too. In fact I couldn’t find any places where it seemed stilted.
After reading your sample chapters, I took a look at the one-page synopsis. The plot is good and seems to be well-planned. It offers numerous exciting twists and turns.
Teenagers would really enjoy this.'

JW Hicks, writer, says:

'Top marks all the way.This is a thunderingly good read. Loved the start 'I wish to acquire a dragon.' Hooked in one sentence!

Plenty of light touches, I especially liked the dragon and Snap great contrasts to the remembered death of Quintern and the horrible re-appearance of Corfe.

This has to be one of the best reads on the site. A satisfying story, full of places to go. Definitely a book for my bookshelf. I thought the dialogue really rolled and the characters and the setting really rocked.
I don't want to carp, I just want to admire. The very best of luck.'

Here are the first two chapters...

TRAV ZANDER

CHAPTER

1

Dragon quest

‘I wish to acquire a dragon.’

‘Did you have a particular dragon in mind,’ said Trav, ‘or will any old dragon do?’

‘Why?’ Carl of Thrales sounded suspicious. ‘Do you know of any dragons?’

‘No.’

Carl’s eyes raked him up and down as though he was having second thoughts, while Trav stood looking back at him. Carl was in his mid-twenties, and had inherited the kingdom of Ser six months ago on the death of his father; he had an air of sleek confidence, lolling as he was on his ornate gilded throne. A smooth face, a slight curve of the mouth and arched eyebrows gave him a calm superior air. Mouth and eyes, looked at separately, seemed to be smiling; taken together they were not.

Apparently shelving doubts raised by the unkempt appearance of the man in front of him, he said, ‘Zander, you come highly recommended. I’ve been assured you are discreet, or I wouldn’t have sent for you.’

‘Silent as the grave, drunk or sober is my motto.’

Carl gave him another dubious look.

‘You can rely on my discretion,’ Trav added. Katrin used to complain he never knew when to be serious. If he didn’t shut up he’d talk himself out of this job. She would have told him to wear something smarter, too. She’d probably have been right. Still, the guy wasn’t hiring him for his dress sense.

‘You work alone?’

‘Yes.’ Trav had tried employing people, and concluded it was not worth the hassle. He knew he could rely on himself.

‘Do you have any experience of dragons?’

‘Does anyone? There haven’t been dragons round here since my grandfather’s day. Like everyone else, I heard they were used in the battle for Tarragon.’

Carl eyed him doubtfully again, considering, then seemed to make up his mind. He leaned forward. ‘There’s a dragon at present living in a cave in the mountains on the border. I want it. I want you to find it, and bring it here.’

‘Supposing it doesn’t want to come?’

‘I have heard it said that dragons are rational animals, and in that case I give you full authority to offer it anything it asks for.’

‘Anything at all?’

Carl smiled. ‘Anything at all. But I leave the details to you. I just want you to get it, whatever that takes. I don’t care how you do it.’

‘Tricky job. Those caves are pretty inaccessible, and there’s a hell of a lot of them. And the one thing everyone knows about dragons is they’re big and breathe fire. How much are you paying?’

‘What are you asking?’

Trav did a fast calculation. Super-rich ruler of Ser, a prosperous little country; dangerous and unprecedented assignment; his own record of under-charging. Go for it. He said as casually as possible,

‘Forty thousand ducats.’

‘Very well,’ Carl of Thrales agreed, without turning a hair.

Damn, thought Trav, should have asked for double. He added, ‘Half in advance.’

Carl smiled again, but not a friendly smile. ‘Now you ask too much. Do you think I am not to be trusted?’

‘I don’t think anything. I don’t know you.’

‘You’ll get your money on delivery of the dragon. Take it or leave it.’

‘Without an advance it’s fifty thousand.’

Carl’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then his features resumed their former serene expression.

‘It’s a deal, Zander.’

Trav walked out of the palace trying to limit the smile that wanted to spread itself all over his face. He would have punched the air and whooped, but for the numerous Palace Guards he was passing. Yes, he’d done it…for the first time he was positive he was charging enough. And Carl of Thrales could certainly afford it. Trav had never been anywhere so elaborately and richly decorated as the room he’d just left. It was all new, too, must have been done after Carl’s father died. Fifty thousand ducats…real money at last.

Trav had a long-standing problem with money. He did not have enough of it. He was a hard worker, and had been in turn a bounty hunter, an arms smuggler to would-be rebels, a spectacularly insubordinate and therefore unsuccessful mercenary. These jobs had kept him alive, but that was all. Now he had found his metier working solo as a professional risk-taker, a trouble-shooter, a solver of problems. He excelled at it, and was never short of work. One satisfied customer handed him on to another.

But however promising the deal the profits never amounted to much. Quoting a price when each job was different was not easy; Trav had a regrettable tendency to underestimate the costs. Fearing to lose the work if he charged too much, he usually ended up charging too little. Now and then he actually lost money on a job. It was one of the things Katrin used to nag him about; one of the reasons she’d left him.

It was no accident she was now married to a very wealthy merchant, whom she obviously thought made a better father for Kit. When Trav insisted on paying towards their son’s upkeep, Katrin had laughed.

‘Keep your money, I’m sure you need it more than we do. Lysle sees that we want for nothing.’

In spite of this, on each visit to Kit, he gave Katrin a bag of coins that she would immediately lay down somewhere. The last time he’d been, he saw the money he’d brought the time before, still sitting where she had put it weeks ago.

Thinking about Katrin had made Trav’s smile fade. He didn’t want to think about her. He put their failed relationship firmly to the back of his mind, and started to plan the dragon hunt.

* * *

Trav inched his way up the rock face, dusty and sweat-streaked, his fingers clinging to impossibly small crevices, on his way to the forty-third cave. He had been climbing since dawn, and was beginning to wish he hadn’t counted them. Trav believed in early starts, and besides, he didn’t know if dragons stuck to the same cave, so he needed to finish the task in one day. He did not want to complete his cave-by-cave search, only to find the creature had moved overnight to one he had already checked out, meaning he had to start all over again. Every now and then the unwelcome thought recurred that he had only got Carl’s word for it that there was a dragon here at all. Nobody in the nearest villages had mentioned it, when he’d asked casual-seeming questions about the mountains and what was up there.

Trav levered himself over the edge into the cave. At first glance it looked to be as empty as all the others, but he sat and leaned against the wall having a breather and waiting for his eyes to get used to the dim light at the back of the cave. Some of the caves went back into the rock a long way, and he was thorough. He had fifty thousand reasons to be thorough. He knew he had not missed the dragon so far, and that was the way he wanted to keep it.

Feeling thirsty, he got out his water bottle and had a drink. As his eyes adjusted he noticed something metallic-looking shining on the floor at the black back of the cave. He went over to see what it was, thinking of treasure. Gold, he thought, but what is it? He had never seen anything quite like it, and he was not sure what it was supposed to be; some ancient artefact, he guessed, beautifully made and perfectly preserved. In the near dark he could not tell if it was metal or carved and gilded wood. Putting out his hand, he touched it. It was warm. It twitched away from his touch. It was the end of a dragon’s tail.

He jumped back, his heartbeat accelerating.

A small voice said, ‘Go away now and I won’t breathe fire over you.’

Trav looked around him until he located the dragon’s head up by the cave ceiling, just visible over the top of the rock it was hiding behind. Big golden eyes were watching him from about fifteen feet away. Well within roasting range, Trav imagined.

‘Uh, could we just talk about this for a minute before you do something hasty you might regret…’ Trav edged away. ‘I’d rather not go just yet, because there’s something that maybe you would want to hear about. I came to put a proposition to you. You never know, you might be interested in it. Let me introduce myself, my name is Trav Zander. Trav short for Travis. No-one calls me Travis, though. Well, my girlfriend did, but only when she was annoyed with me. So she called me Travis quite a lot…we’ve split up now. Probably just as well. You don’t want to hear about that, though. Why don’t you come out from behind there? You look a bit squashed. Then we could talk.’

The dragon thought. ‘I’m coming out now, but remember I can breathe fire any time I want to. I’m very good at fire-breathing.’

The dragon backed out of its hiding place. Trav thought it big, not knowing the size an adult dragon attained. This one was only half grown, and attractive; Trav was somehow positive it was a female. Her scales were almost translucent, like golden glass. She seemed to glow in the gloom of the cave. Her shape was light and elegant with many pleasing curves. Once emerged into the larger space, she turned round and focused on Trav. Then she put her head right down to his level and looked closer. She shut her eyes and opened them again, intent on Trav. Her breath was warm and pleasantly savoury.

‘Hi,’ said Trav. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Seraphine.’

‘That’s a nice name.’

The dragon hesitated, then said, ‘It’s not the name I started with. I chose it. The man who reared me called me Goldie. When I flew away I wanted a better name.’

‘Why did you fly away?’ Talking was good. The dragon wouldn’t breathe fire while it was talking. Probably.

‘He was going to sell me, I think. I wasn’t sure I’d like where I was going. I thought I’d go and find some other dragons.’

‘Did you find some?’

‘No. I’ve got to think where to look.’

‘I’ve heard where there are some dragons. The Hundred Knights have got three. Maybe we could make a deal.’

‘What sort of a deal?’ said Seraphine, curling up comfortably on the floor of the cave and putting her head on one side. Trav was warming to her. He sat down too, by the edge of the cave with a panoramic view of country and sky behind him. She was a nice intelligent little dragon, and he’d never expected her to be so friendly. It surprised him how easy it was to read the expressions passing over her face, though it was so different from a human’s. He wouldn’t mind having a dragon like her; in fact he wished he had found her on his own instead of as Carl’s agent. A dragon might be useful in his line of work.

Trav started the negotiations. One of the reasons he had satisfied customers was his integrity. He believed every party to a deal should know all the facts, or it wouldn’t stick. In his time he had brokered a lot of deals. He told Seraphine about Carl of Thrales sending him to get her. He even told her about the fifty thousand ducats.

‘Who is Carl of Thrales?’

‘He’s the ruler of Ser. I don’t know much about him, he only took over recently. I come from Kimber myself. Carl’s father got hold of the country by staging a military coup twenty years ago. He was pretty good as unelected rulers go, had a reputation as a man of his word, hard but fair.’

‘Why does Carl of Thrales need me?’

‘He didn’t tell me, but I guess he wants to start a Dragon Battalion of his own. How do you feel about being a warrior dragon? He said to offer you what you wanted. What do you want?’

Seraphine considered. ‘First I would have to meet Carl of Thrales to see if I liked him.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘And if I liked him, then before I worked for him, I would want you to take me to meet the other dragons you spoke of.’

‘I’m sure that could be arranged.’

‘Also I want you to stay with me.’

‘Why?’

‘I would like it.’

‘I expect Carl’s got some guy of his own lined up to take care of you. And I don’t know that I want to work for him full time.’

Seraphine's expression became stubborn.  ‘Then neither do I. I’d rather work with you.’  Trav, though flattered and tempted, had not forgotten the fifty thousand ducats, or his reputation for doing what he had said he would do. He had an agreement with Carl. A compromise was called for.

‘Supposing he would agree to you working for him part time, say alternate weeks or three weeks out of four? If he wants you as a fighting dragon I don’t see he’d need you there every day. Then I’d have time for my own stuff, and you could help me if you wanted to.’

‘What if he agreed then wouldn’t let me go?’

‘How could he do that? If he wants you to work for him he can’t keep you chained up. You’re a dragon – you could always fly away.’

Seraphine nodded.

‘Then, if he agrees, we have a deal?’

‘Yes,’ said the dragon, ‘but there is something I should tell you. I was lying before. I can’t breathe fire, I’m too young. I will when I’m bigger.’

Trav grinned. ‘No-one’s perfect,’ he said. ‘I can’t breathe fire myself.’

* * *

The journey back to Carl’s palace in Ravendor, Ser’s capital, was much quicker than Trav’s journey to the caves, because the dragon gave him a lift on her back. Trav felt precarious; her scales, each the size of Kit’s hand, overlapped smoothly, forming a slippery surface. He sat between two of the central spines, which was not very comfortable. But he was staggered by how fast the trip was, flying straight as an arrow’s flight. It would be worth keeping a dragon just as a mode of transport.

They neared Carl of Thrales’ palace, and Trav told Seraphine to land in a formal walled garden just outside. She flew lower, level with the tree tops, then raised her head and beat her wings more vertically to slow down. Trav wasn’t expecting this; he grabbed her round the neck to avoid slipping off; her back feet landed, followed by her front feet, and Trav made an inelegant and unexpected descent on to the grass, upright but not quite sure how he got there.

Seraphine and Trav waited a minute while the palace windows filled with watching heads, then a guard came and led them under an archway through a court and into a large room. The big double doors closed behind them with a muted booming sound. Trav began to have misgivings. Carl entered, followed as he always seemed to be by an excessive number of guards. His eyes glowed when he saw Seraphine. He turned to the captain of the Palace Guard by his side and spoke to him.

Seraphine moved closer to Trav. She nudged Trav insistently, and looked at him round-eyed.

‘I don’t like him,’ she whispered.

‘You haven’t met him yet! He might grow on you.’

‘I don’t like him. I don’t want to work for him.’

‘Are you sure about that? You’re not going to change your mind?’

‘No. I don’t like him, and I never will like him. I don’t like it here. Can we go?’

‘That could be difficult. We shouldn’t have come inside.’ The guards had spread out round the walls while they were talking. ‘Just agree with what I say. The first chance we get, we’ll fly away.’

Carl approached and Trav introduced him.

‘Seraphine, this is Carl of Thrales. Thrales, this is Seraphine.’

‘Welcome to Ser, Seraphine,’ said Carl.

He beckoned to some of his men. ‘Take the dragon to its quarters.’ He turned to leave the room, saying to Trav, ‘Come with me.’

Trav followed him through the doorway. ‘Hold on a minute. Seraphine has come here like you wanted, but she has one or two requirements she’d like to discuss. You need to make sure you’re both happy with the deal.’

Carl raised his eyebrows. ‘You are exceeding your brief, Zander. I hired you to bring the dragon here, not to act as its lawyer.’

‘You told me to offer the dragon what it asked. You haven’t heard what that is yet.’

‘No, I told you to bring the dragon here by offering what it asked. There is a difference. There’s no need for you to be involved further.’ He nodded at two guards who came and seized Trav’s arms and removed his weapons. Carl continued,

‘You made the same mistake with the fifty thousand ducats, I’m afraid. Again, it was just an inducement to get what I wanted. Now I’ve got the dragon, expendable is the word that comes to mind to describe you. Superfluous, that’s another one. Redundant, surplus to requirements, that’s what you are, Zander.’ Carl was enjoying himself. ‘Do you know, I really can’t think of any reason why I should want your services in the future sufficiently to hand over such a large sum now. A tiny fraction of that amount will keep you in bread and water in my dungeons for as long as you last. Far more cost effective, I think you’ll agree. Or, and this might be an even better idea, I could have you killed. Now that wouldn’t cost me anything at all.’

‘Release me, Carl, you lying devious scheming bastard, or the dragon will torch you and all your guards.’

Carl smirked. ‘Unlike you, Zander, I do know about dragons. I’ve done my research. This little specimen is not nearly full-grown. She won’t be breathing fire any time soon. But what makes you think she’d leap to your defence?’ He gazed thoughtfully at Trav. ‘I think I’ll send you to prison after all, keep my options open a little longer. Just in case I think of a use for you. That’s the nice thing about power. I can do anything I want. Absolutely anything.’

He snapped his fingers, and Trav was taken away.

* * *

Carl went to his library. His father had been a keen reader and collector of books, an enthusiasm he had failed to pass on to his son, but there was one glass-fronted locked bookcase on a wall apart from the others that was exclusively Carl’s. In it was a small collection of volumes, among the oldest and shabbiest in the library, that Carl had gone to some trouble to procure. He took out a key and opened the case, running his finger along the titles. Fogwatt’s ‘Guide to Rare Beasts’, Nicholas Campion’s ‘Compendium of Four-footed and Winged Creatures’, ‘The Natural History of Large Reptiles’, ‘By Wing and Fire, a Dragon Master’s Story’, ‘A Dragon from the Egg: how to hatch, rear and bond with your own dragon’ by Sir Piers Tytherton, ‘The Dragon Keeper’s Guide: a Manual of Dragon Lore’, Wyncham’s ‘The Compleat Dragon Master’…

Carl took out the last three books, and sat down in a comfortable chair by the window to find the information he needed. He suspected something inconvenient and irreversible had happened with regard to his dragon and Zander, and wanted to check whether he was right.

Ah…the first book he opened, right on the title page of Sir Piers Tytherton’s guide; there it was, a prominently placed disclaimer:

‘Let it be remember’d by He that readeth this my Booke, (though indeed ‘tis without Rival for Excellent Counsel), the Man chooseth not the Dragon: ‘tis the Dragon which maketh his choice of Master, as his Heart ordains, and oft times his Preference is beyond the Wit of Man to comprehend. No Money return’d.’

Carl closed ‘A Dragon from the Egg’ and flicked through the other two. They said much the same thing, at greater length. He put the books away and stood for a while, deep in thought.

CHAPTER 

2 

Isolda

Trav lay on the gritty straw that covered the floor of his cell, exhausted and worrying about his mother and his son. He had planned to take Kit to see her at the weekend, and she would be anxious when they did not arrive, thinking something had happened to him. And it had.

He was out of breath, having just finished the exercises he did daily in an effort to keep his strength. Every day it got a little harder. He knew his muscles hadn’t deteriorated in a week; the problem was simply insufficient food to fuel them.

When he arrived in the cell Trav’s overwhelming feeling had been disbelief. Carl could not intend to keep him locked up. He had done nothing. It seemed unreal. Perhaps it was just to teach him a lesson and prevent his making a fuss over not getting paid? For a day or two Trav had half-expected to be released at any moment, escorted to the city gates and told not to come back. He was now beginning to face the fact that Carl had meant what he said.

He looked up at the narrow slit window, with its uninspiring view of a stone wall. Not enough light made its way in for the cell ever to be anything except dim. Trav took off his boots and got to his feet, standing beneath the window. He gathered his strength and leaped up the wall, grasping the jutting edges of stone till his shoulders were level with the window. Tantalisingly, it was just wide enough to get his head through. They said where your head could go, your body would follow, but Trav was not able to get high enough to try before he slithered back down. One time he had got his arm into the window and grabbed the far side, but could not lever his weight over the edge. He had hung there, grimly sweating and struggling for five minutes before dropping to the floor.

If he got his head at the right angle he could see a patch of pale blue sky.

Probably if he did get through he’d be no better off. It seemed to be a light well. No sound came from it. He subsided on to the thin straw again. The silence pressed against his ears.

He was also worried about Seraphine. Although she was a dragon, and surely dragons were not easy to browbeat, she was young and inexperienced and he did not trust Carl to treat her properly. Also, she seemed very attached to Trav for some reason, and might be missing him. He hoped she would have the sense to fly away as soon as she had the chance.

On the wall opposite the window, from shoulder height to the floor, the stone had a different texture. It was caused by a multitude of tiny grouped scratches; six verticals, crossed out by a diagonal line. Trav knew what they were; he had been trying to ignore them, not wanting to face their implication, but now he went over to look closer. Whoever had made the marks had organized them into groups within bigger groups. It was the record of a man’s life passing in this cell. Trav counted; nineteen years, seven months, two weeks and four days. Ten years’ end was marked by neat capitals, MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON ME . No other writing, no name. A chill fell on his heart. He sat under the window staring at the wall, imagining the prisoner who had been here before him.

Suffocating panic rose in him that a year, ten years, nineteen years from now he would still be here in God knows what sort of a state, life going on outside without him. Never feeling the sun on his back, not seeing Kit grow up. Not seeing anything except the four walls, the inadequate window, the cell door made of iron bars. How long could he hold on to his sanity alone in a cell?

Trav got up and took off his belt. He turned the buckle so the prong was apart from the rest. Carefully, neatly, he scratched six vertical marks and one diagonal in the stone wall adjacent to the one already covered. The stone was hard, and it took him the best part of an hour.

He started high up, to leave plenty of space.

* * *

Hours later, the clank of keys signalled the approach of the gaoler, a massive man who reminded Trav of a dancing bear he’d seen once at a village fete. It was time for one of the more exciting moments of Trav’s day; supper. The other highlight was breakfast. They didn’t seem to know about lunch down in the dungeons. Sometimes on a good day he got a bit of a conversation going with the gaoler, too, but he was a man of few words, slow on the uptake, and clearly terrified of befriending a prisoner. He must have been warned against it. Today there were four Palace Guards with the gaoler, and no food. Perhaps Carl had decided he definitely wasn’t going to have any use for Trav, and was taking appropriate action.

‘Come with us,’ one of the guards said. Trav got up and went with them, brushing off bits of straw, not feeling up to whatever was coming his way. They passed other cells, most of them empty, a few with huddled figures in them, then ascended stairs, went along dingy passages and through a door into a different zone, with the rich decoration Trav remembered from his first interview with Carl.

‘Where are you taking me?’

The guards took no notice and his question seemed to linger, ineffectual, on the air. They reached an imposing door, and a guard knocked. Carl’s voice said, ‘Enter.’ Two guards came in with Trav and stood inside the door on either side.

It was a dining room, not very large but opulent, its colour scheme a simple one of gold on gold, shown off to fine effect by the evening sun. Carl of Thrales sat at one end of a polished table, eating his dinner. At the other end sat a self-possessed young woman with pale blonde hair and a low-cut green dress. Carl glanced at him. Trav would have looked out of place in that room a week ago, but now, with seven days’ growth of beard, prison pallor and slept-in clothes, the contrast with Carl’s burnished good looks was extreme.

‘Take a seat, Zander.’ He pointed to the chair next to him. Trav sat and waited. Carl was helping himself to more cutlets. The smell of them made Trav’s mouth water. The young woman pushed back her chair, got up and walked over to Trav. She poured wine into a goblet and handed it to him, then resumed her seat. Carl looked at her curiously.

‘What did you do that for?’

‘I felt like it,’ she replied indifferently.

Carl turned to Trav, who was drinking. The wine was very good. He could feel it putting new heart into him.

‘You know, Zander, it’s just as well I didn’t kill you. It turns out I have a job for you after all.’

‘I don’t know why you think I’d take any job you offered me,’ Trav drawled. ‘You haven’t paid me for the last one.’

‘Come now, you cannot seriously have believed I was going to pay you fifty thousand ducats for a day or two’s work? I think we both knew that was just talk.’ He reached down beside his chair and picked up a bag and tossed it at Trav who caught it. ‘Five thousand ducats. More than generous, I would say.’

Trav put it on the table in front of him. He waited. Carl waited too. It turned into the sort of silence where the first person to break it would be capitulating. The young woman sat back in her chair watching them, a slight suggestion of a smile on her face. Trav finished his wine and put the goblet down beside the money. A long minute passed. There was a scratch on the door, and servants came in to clear the plates and serve the next course.

‘He will have some,’ said Carl, and a plate of some light pastry confection with cream was placed in front of Trav. It was a delicious change from the past week’s meagre diet. When Trav’s dish was as clean as if a cat had licked it, he looked up. The other two were barely halfway through theirs, the woman toying with her pudding while studying him with green eyes that matched her dress.

The pudding plates were removed and brandy, fruit and nuts put on the table. The setting sun was deep amber, and most of the light in the room now came from the candles. Carl gestured for the servant to pour the brandy, and nodded impatiently when the man paused for permission before serving Trav. Carl shifted in his seat then spoke as though there had been no hiatus in the conversation. The woman’s smile intensified for a moment.

‘You’re to take over looking after the dragon. Train it for war. You’ll stay where I put you in a house in the city until I tell you you can go, and not take the dragon out flying for more than an hour at a time. If it escapes, I will hold you responsible. Keep away from the palace, the Guard has orders not to let you past the gate. Try it and you will be punished. One hundred ducats a week, if I’m satisfied.’

‘I’ll consider your offer.’

‘You will accept my offer.’

‘What makes you think that?’

Carl reached for some grapes and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. He did not seem to do pleasant smiles. As he got older this would spoil his looks.

‘He’s a nice child, little Kit. I think that, and I’m not even his father. I’m certain you wouldn’t want anything disagreeable to happen to him.’

Trav sat, stony faced. In his cell he had reckoned his situation could not get much worse. He had been wrong.

Carl continued, ‘He likes it here. I’ve given him a nice apartment in the palace, and even brought his mother to look after him. I thought he might miss her, if I’d brought him here on his own.’

‘You brought my son here?’

‘Yes. You can see him tomorrow. I’ll send a guard to get you. But you understand why I’m entirely sure you will do as I wish.’ He turned to the guard. ‘Take Zander to where he’ll be staying.’

Trav got up stiffly. The green eyes were still on him as he left the room.

* * *

Trav followed the guard out of Carl’s dining room and the palace, across the courtyard to the fortified gate in the surrounding wall, and along several streets. They reached a narrow door in a small building adjoining a much larger one with a walled grassy area to one side of it. The guard departed. Trav realized Carl wasn’t bothering to have him guarded, and indeed there was no need. He would stay as long as Kit was there. Kit was the one who would be guarded.

Trav went inside, lit a candle and looked around. The accommodation was simple, but quite adequate; one main room on the ground floor, and off it a kitchen and a room to wash in, with stairs leading to a bedroom above. As far as he could see in the dark, there seemed to be a small garden behind it. He came downstairs, took off his clothes and washed. It was good to feel clean. Reluctantly, he got dressed again in the same things; he did not have a change of clothes and would have to buy some as soon as possible in the morning.

He left the house. There was no point searching for Kit tonight, as he would be in the palace, probably asleep, and the guards would not let Trav in. You can see him tomorrow, Carl had said. But he wanted to find Seraphine. He wandered about for a while, and bought himself a pie from a street stall before a guard challenged him. Trav told him he was looking for the dragon he was to be in charge of, and was directed back to where he had come from. Seraphine was in the large building next to his. There was a big dragon-size door, bolted on the outside, with a small one within it. He pushed open the little door and went into the vast arching space.

Seraphine was over by the far wall, shuffling sadly beside it in the moonlight that came through the high windows, pushing a ball along the floor with her nose. Her scales had gone a dull mustard colour, like tarnished brass.

‘Seraphine!’

The dragon looked up, saw him and hurtled across the room. She skidded to a stop and put her head, surprisingly light for its size, over his shoulder. Trav patted her. His neck felt damp.

‘Seraphine, are you crying?’

‘No,’ she said, pulling back her head and looking at him. Another big tear spilled out of a golden eye and Trav wiped it gently from her face. ‘I didn’t like it here on my own,’ she said. ‘I thought perhaps you had died. I stayed in case you hadn’t. They wanted me to fly and things but I didn’t want to so I didn’t. They got cross. I didn’t like them. Can we fly away now?’

‘Not yet,’ said Trav. ‘Let me explain.’

* * *

Seraphine did not want Trav to go, so just for that night he fetched himself a blanket and stayed with her. He told her stories to get her to sleep as he used to with Kit, and fell asleep himself on the straw beside her. It was thicker and newer than the straw in his cell had been. In the morning he woke and crept out so as not to disturb her. He wanted to have a wash, shave and change before he saw Kit. As he emerged yawning and blinking into the daylight, he saw the blonde who had been dining with Carl knocking on his door. She was composed and elegant in midnight blue today. She looked at him, seeing he was no better turned out than he had been the night before.

‘Do you always sleep in your clothes?’

‘Doesn’t everyone? Saves valuable time in the mornings.’

He opened the door and she followed him in. She gazed around her with interest before she turned to Trav.

‘Carl didn’t introduce us. He can be so crass. I’m Isolda.’

‘Are you Carl’s wife?’

She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. ‘Hardly. When he marries, it’ll be to the most highborn princess who will have him. I’m just for now.’ Her voice was cool and amused.

‘You look like a princess to me.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Not that I’ve met any.’

‘Don’t spoil it.’

‘Wouldn’t Carl mind you being here?’

‘I’m not just going to do what Carl wants me to do.’ She moved a little closer, and he could see her eyes really were as big and green as he had thought them. The only other eyes he’d seen that colour belonged to a cat. Her skin was pale and flawless. Her voice went lower, but every word was still distinct. ‘I’m trying to work out what makes you so attractive, even though you’re far from rich and your clothes are a mess. Perhaps it’s your nice straight nose. And your eyes, sort of kind but wary… Maybe it’s simply that you’re so different from Carl. And it’s ridiculous, but I’ve always had a weakness for men with a few days’ stubble...’ She ran a finger along his jaw.

Trav was not a vain man, but even so he could hear alarm bells going off. He backed away.

‘Don’t you think I’ve got enough trouble with your boyfriend already? Give me a break, Isolda. There must be dozens of men around here who don’t remind you of Carl. Some with full beards, probably.’

‘Unfortunately they are all scared of him. I thought yesterday I’d met someone who wasn’t,’ she said, with a hint of coolness in her voice.

‘You thought wrong. I’m scared of Carl all right. I’m scared of what he could do to Kit, I’m scared of what he might do to Seraphine, and I’m scared of what he might do to me. Okay? I’m not a hero, I’m just an ordinary man who wants to get back to his ordinary life with his son. Preferably in one piece, with all the arms and legs I had when I started out. Put that together with the poverty and the scruffy clothes, Princess, and you can see there’s nothing about me that could interest a girl like you. Nothing at all.’

‘You’re right,’ Isolda said. ‘I made a mistake. I’ll see you around.’

* * *

The guard, when he arrived to take Trav to see his son, did not escort him to the palace but to an open space of grass surrounded by trees. As he got nearer, Trav could hear the shouts of young men and the thud of a ball. There in the middle of a football game was Kit’s fair head; he looked small among the much taller guards. Trav saw with relief that he seemed fine, and was evidently enjoying the game. Katrin stood watching, and he went and joined her.

‘Hi, Katrin.’

She ignored him to start with. He remembered this tactic of hers from their time together, and a great weariness swept over him. Foolishly, he’d hoped she would be an ally. He should have known she would be furious with him. She flushed, and spoke still looking ahead.

‘I don’t know how you’ve got the face to speak to me after what’s happened.’

‘Come on, Katrin, how was it my fault?’

She turned. ‘How was it your fault? We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you and your stupid job. Our son’s life is at risk because you’ve upset someone important. You weren’t clever enough to keep in with Carl, or keep us out of it. You must have fouled up big time for him to kidnap our son.’

‘It wasn’t like that…’

‘I don’t want to listen to your excuses. I had enough of them when we were together. I’m sick of them and I’m sick of you. I can’t believe you’ve got us into this mess. I’m telling you, you’d better do something to get us out of here again fast.’

Katrin was shaking. She’s angry because she’s afraid, thought Trav. He tried to comfort her.

‘It could be worse. Kit looks happy enough for now, and at least you’re here with him. And Carl won’t do anything as long as I do what he says.’

‘Terrific. I don’t know why I’m complaining. My son being dragged away from home by soldiers and held hostage, that doesn’t matter at all because I’m a prisoner too. And you say his safety depends entirely on you, so of course now I’m completely reassured.’

There was a cheer as Kit kicked the ball between the piles of guards’ jackets and sword belts that marked the goal. He spotted his father and ran over. Trav picked him up and swung him round. A young, pleasant-faced guard followed him, hanging back a little.

‘Did you see me score? I’ve got to go back, the game’s not finished yet. Are you watching me?’

‘Yes,’ said Trav.

Kit ran off, the guard loping easily beside him. Trav went and sat down, his back against a tree, some way away from Katrin.