He had taken a battered volume from a small cupboard and held it out to me. Etched in faded gold upon the cover was: The Dragonslayer’s Manual. I placed my hand on the worn leather and felt a feeling like electricity tremble in my fingers, run up my arm and tingle along my spine. As I closed my eyes images of battle entered my head, memories of Dragonslayers long dead, passing on their wisdom of centuries to me. I could see the Dragons in front of me, their faces, their ways, their habits; I felt the beat of a wing and heard the whoosh of fire as a Dragon set fire to a village. I was upon a horse, galloping across a grassy plain, a Dragon bellowing a fearful yell and igniting an oak tree, which burst into fire like a bomb. Then I was in an underground cavern, listening to a Dragon telling me stories of long ago, of a home far from here, a land with three moons and a violet sky. He spoke of a hope that humans and Dragons could live together, of old things passing away and a new life without strife. Then we were on the coast, running along the beach with a Dragon splashing beyond the surf line. I could see the images, and smell them and almost taste them . . . when, abruptly, it all stopped.

‘Time’s up!’ said the old man, grinning. ‘Did you get it all?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Then answer me this: who was the second Dragonslayer?’

‘Octavius of Dewchurch,’ I said without thinking.

‘And the name of the last horse in my service?’

‘Tornado.’

‘Correct. You have the knowledge. Now swear on the name of the Mighty Shandar and the Old Magic that ties you to your calling, that you will uphold every rule of the Dragonpact until you are less than dust.’

‘I swear,’ said I.

There was a crackle of electricity and a fierce wind blew up inside the building. Overhead I heard a peal of thunder and somewhere a horse whinnied. The Quarkbeast Quarked loudly and ran under the table as a globe of ball lightning flew down the chimney, floated across the room and evaporated with a bright flash and the pungent smell of ozone.

As the wind subsided, the old man became unsteady and sat on a nearby chair.

‘Is anything the matter?’ I asked him.

‘I am sorry if I have deceived you, my child,’ he murmured softly, the brisk energy that he seemed imbued with not more than two minutes ago having left him entirely.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, anxious not to leave my new friend and master.

‘I have been economical with the truth,’ he answered sadly. ‘Sometimes it is necessary for the greater good. You are not an apprentice, you are the Dragonslayer proper. I will not be joining you on Sunday; you will go alone.’

‘No—!’