Knight Quest. Chris Blake

      “Aargh!” Tom shouted, flailing his arms and legs as he plummeted to the ground.

       Thump, thump, flump!

      Tom, Isis and Cleo landed heavily in some long grass.

      “Where are we?” Isis asked.

      Tom peered at the towering trees that surrounded them. He could hear the sound of flowing water in the distance. “I’ve no idea,” he said. He pointed to Isis and Cleo. “Look! You’ve got your normal bodies back again!”

      Cleo mewed, sat in the grass and started to lick the stripy fur on her outstretched hind leg.

      Isis prodded her tummy through the rough woollen tunic she was now wearing. She beamed at Tom. “That’s more like it!” she said. She stroked her plaits and fluttered the lashes of her kohled eyes.

      Tom watched Isis’s fingers play over the folds of the heavy grey cloak that hung from her shoulders. Her smile had vanished.

      “What is this ghastly scratchy thing?” she cried. She sniffed it cautiously. “It smells like a wet dog. Eeuw.”

      Examining the brooch that fastened his own cloak, Tom said, “See this?” He pointed to the tiny bronze serpents that twisted together in a beautiful tangle. “Dad’s got this kind of thing in his museum. They’re from the Early Middle Ages.”

      Tom wasstruck by an idea. “Are you still wearing your ring?” he said.

      Isis looked at her hand and nodded. “Good thinking,” she said. With her other hand, she touched the gold ring in the shape of a scarab. On it was a hieroglyph of her namesake, the Egyptian goddess Isis.

      “Help us, oh Isis. Give us guidance, oh goddess of magic and children,” she said.

      Out from the ring floated the silvery prophecy, which Tom read aloud to Isis.

       “In cavernous lair the dragons lie

       In wait for the foolish and brave.

       Come show your mettle, though you may die,

       Be you honourable knight or knave.

       If it’s treasure you seek, the king’s the man

       You need to see applaud.

       Seek challenge where the legend began,

       Find a stone within a sword.”

      The silvery words blew away on the breeze.

      Tom scratched his head. “I’ve heard of the sword in the stone but not the other way round.”

      Isis stroked a meowing Cleo. “Go on, Professor Smartypants. Tell me and Fluffpot all about it.”

      Tom tried to hide his smile. “Well, back in the fifth century there was this boy called Arthur, right? He was the only person able to pull out a sword that was stuck in a lump of stone. That meant he was the true King of England.”

      Isis folded her arms. “What a silly way to pick your ruler!” she scoffed.

      “Stop interrupting!” Tom said. “So, King Arthur was really big on chivalry and honour. His knights were noble, brave men. The king chose them to fight for him. They wore some pretty cool armour, with colourful coats of arms on their tunics and cloaks.” He remembered the medieval chain mail on display in Dad’s museum. “And they sat at a round table!”

      Tom thought for a moment. “The riddle makes it sound like we need to become one of King Arthur’s knights to find the amulet.”

      Isis raised an eyebrow. “It also mentions knaves. Be you honourable knight or knave. Maybe we could become one of those instead?”

      “A knave is an old-fashioned word for an unkind, dishonest person,” Tom explained, frowning.

      “Well, that’s no good. We’ll just have to become knights then,” Isis said decisively.

      But that seemed impossible to Tom, when he remembered stories about the Knights of the Round Table’s heroic deeds. How could two kids possibly become knights?

      “The riddle also mentions dragons,” said Isis. “I’ve always wanted to see a real, live dragon. Do you think we’ll be battling against them?” she asked.

      Tom scuffed the ground with his foot. “That’s the bit I don’t understand,” he aid. “Everybody knows dragons weren’t real.”

      Isis giggled. “Of course they were real. I saw dragons painted on the walls back in Egypt. How could the scribes have painted them if they hadn’t seen them? Duh!”

      Tom was suddenly distracted by the thunder of hooves behind them. A boy riding a large chestnut horse galloped into view. He was carrying a long, pointed stick in one hand, like a lance. As the boy drew alongside them, the stick slipped and poked Isis on the arm.

      “OUCH!” she shrieked and grabbed at her shoulder. Shaking her fist, Isis started to run after the boy. “Hey, you! How DARE you poke me! Come back here at once!”

      The boy reined in his horse and sprangout of the saddle. He was dressed in tight, grotty trousers and a mud-streaked brown tunic that looked like it had been made from a sack. There was a rope tied round his waist. Tom thought he smelled like Mum’s compost heap.

      “Oh, my word! I’m so, so sorry!” the boy said, bowing. “Did I catch you with my stick? Oh, my lady, a thousand apologies.” He turned to Tom and offered his hand. “I’m Alymere,” he said. “Al for short.”

      Tom looked warily at Al’s filthy hand but shook it anyway.

      “I’m Tom. This is Isis and her cat, Cleo,” he explained. “We’re travellers. We’re just passing through. Could you tell us where we are?”

      “Oh, well, you’re on the farm where I work,” Al said, treating them to a welcoming smile. His teeth may have been rotten, but he looked very friendly. “I’m a pig-boy.”

      Isis pointed at Al’s stick. “And does your job involve poking strangers with pointy sticks? Surely you didn’t mistake me for a pig,” she said stroppily.

      Al blushed. “Sorry again, my beautiful lady,” he said. “You look nothing like a pig.”

      Isis smiled and patted her hair. “Well, then, no harm done.”

      “But I was practising my knightly skills, see?” explained Al. He looked down at his muddy boots. “One day, I’m going to be one of King Arthur’s knights.”

      “King Arthur?” Tom gasped.

      Al grinned again. “The one and only. He’s coming to the village today.”

      Tom felt his heart beat faster as he remembered the words of the riddle. He looked over at Isis and winked.

      “The king’s the man, eh?” he said.

      Isis nodded eagerly. “Yes! Tell us more! It sounds dreadfully exciting.”

      Al mounted his horse and turned to the three travellers. “You lot must be thirsty. Why don’t you come to my hut for some mead and I’ll tell you all about it.”

      Al’s hut was shabby, with a patchy, thatched roof