 The rain grew harder, the raindrops bouncing off the stone cobbles and very soon Tristan was soaked to the skin. Water dripped off his fringe into his eyes and down his nose and still he stared up at the window. He could just make out the back of Thoth’s head, and the outline of some other people, but nothing else. He was taking too long; he knew Tristan was there, it didn’t make any sense. Celidon took advantage of the lull and nudged at his fairy’s hand.
“Tris,” he said in his soft voice, “you should go inside, you’ve just recovered from a fever, you don’t want to catch a chill.” Tristan sighed; his familiar was right.
“Just a few more minutes,” he said, stroking one of Celidon’s sodden green ears, “then I promise we can go and find a fire and a hot drink.” The cu sith reluctantly agreed.
Suddenly, the infirmary window was thrown open and a rock landed with a splash in one of the puddles. The prince ignored it and looked back up at his friend’s window with a frown of concern. It looked as if Thoth were trying to climb out of the castle, which would have been a stupid thing to do because there was a shear drop to the ground below. Even Tristan had never leaned quite so far out of the third floor window and he climbed on the roofs on a fairly regular basis. He was about to shout out a warning when he caught sight of Tarquin hovering on the other side of the glass with a wicked look on his face. It all happened too quickly after that. One moment Thoth was safe and the next moment he was tumbling over the ledge. Tristan was convinced that he had seen his friend fall to his death and was unbelievably relieved when it transpired that it had been his mind playing tricks on him.
Abandoning the quintain Tristan ran out into full view in the yard and looked back up at the leering Tarquin.
“You bastard!” he yelled, his green eyes narrowed in unconcealed hatred. There wasn’t time to spare any more thoughts for Tarquin. The prince wheeled around and sprinted across the yard with Celidon on his heels.
“Angmar!” the prince shouted sprinting for the covered walk way where his uncle’s dragon usually waited whenever Mordred was in the main hall. There was a clear view into the building through the windows and Ang was always standing around staring at his fairy through the glass. Mercifully the great back dragon was there and as Tristan approached he tilted his head curiously to one side.
“Angmar, I need your help,” the prince urged the familiar with growing urgency, “please come.” The dragon didn’t move. Tristan knew that the beast could be temperamental but he also knew something that usually worked. “I’m Dred’s nephew,” he said with emphasis on the last word, “he would want you to help me.” That seemed to do the trick.
Angmar slipped somewhat reluctantly out into the rain and very soon his scales were shining with damp. He opened his great blue wings and took flight up to where Thoth was still hanging. The prince ran after him. He watched the dragon fly upwards until he was directly beneath Thoth’s body. “Let go!” Tristan shouted up as loudly as he could so he would be heard over the rain, “trust me, you’ll be okay, let go of the sill!” He held his breath and closed his hand around the trinkets that hung around his neck; a crucifix for God and a raptor tooth for luck. “Come on, Thoth,” he muttered under his breath for the second time that evening, “come on.”
---
Tristan ran along the corridor up the stairs. He rounded the corner just in time to encounter the very person he had been looking for, sprinting towards him from the other end of the long hall. Ignoring Tarquin’s companions the prince marched forwards and punched the older boy squarely in the jaw with his good hand. A pain shot through his knuckles but the pain was dulled significantly by the satisfying oof sound Tarquin made as he reeled backwards into his companions.
“What the fuck was that?” Tristan demanded a little breathlessly. He shook his hand in an attempt to ease some of the tension out of his fingers, “seriously, what the hell is the matter with you! You could have fucking killed him!” Suddenly all the frustration which had been building in Tristan since his fever had broken was turning into anger and that rage was, quite deservedly, all aimed at Tarquin. None of the other teenagers dared to intercede as the prince advanced again and took hold of the older boy by the collar of his shirt.
“You are perhaps the biggest dick I have ever met,” Tristan hissed from between clenched teeth, “teasing is one thing, bullying is another but do you really want to add murder to that list, Tarquin? Are you really that sick in the fucking head?” Tarquin glared at him with venomous eyes, his expression thunderous and his jaw a throbbing red. He closed his fingers tight around the wound on Tristan’s arm and squeezed hard. Tristan’s world blackened, the edges of the world closing in until all he could see through a small hole of light was Tarquin’s triumphant face. He felt like he was going to be sick. Celidon charged, his claws clicking against the hard floors as a great booming bark echoed along the corridor. In his alarm Tarquin loosened his grip on Tristan’s arm and the prince seized the opportunity as his familiar sailed past, avoiding them entirely. The other children scattered.
Tristan slammed Tarquin back into the wall.
“I swear to God,” he growled “I won’t forget this, and neither will you.” The prince took a step backwards and then gave Tarquin a sharp shove back into the wall. Satisfied, and with his heart pounding in his chest, Tristan turned and marched back off down the corridor. He ran again when he reached the bottom of the staircase until he made it back into the yard and back into the driving rain. He skidded onto his knees in the puddles and knelt beside Thoth, reaching out to rest a concerned hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Are you all right?” he asked urgently, his eyes wide and imploring, “what the hell happened?”
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