by Angie Sage
Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1: Sirin Sharma
Chapter 2: A Flight of Raptors
Chapter 3: Joss
Chapter 4: Coffee
Chapter 5: Allie
Chapter 6: Egg Count
Chapter 7: Lysander
Chapter 8: Edward and Decimus
Chapter 9: Visiting Time
Chapter 10: Flights and Fantasies
Chapter 11: The First Portal
Chapter 12: Silver Schemes
Chapter 13: D’Mara and Krane
Chapter 14: Compound Zoll
Chapter 15: A Purchase
Chapter 16: A Journey
Chapter 17: Prisoners
Chapter 18: Taken Away
Chapter 19: Kaan Lennix
Chapter 20: Sirin Alone
Chapter 21: Kaan’s Journey
Chapter 22: Silver Dreams
Chapter 23: Joshua Lennix
Chapter 24: Bellacrux
Chapter 25: Locks
Chapter 26: In the Chamber of the Grand
Chapter 27: A Farewell
Chapter 28: Dingbat
Chapter 29: The Muster
Chapter 30: A Crushed Owl
Chapter 31: Flight Plans
Chapter 32: One Hour
Chapter 33: Fights and Flights
Chapter 34: Knife Edge
Chapter 35: Midnight Crossings
Chapter 36: Pursuit
Chapter 37: Flight Vengeance
Chapter 38: Battle beneath the Stars
Chapter 39: A Kill
Chapter 40: The Last Throw
Chapter 41: Going Home
About the Author
Copyright
Night was falling on London. Thick gray clouds were tumbling in from the east, bringing with them the smell of the distant sea. At the top of the oldest, scruffiest tower block south of the river, Sirin Sharma switched on the light in the tiny apartment that she shared with her mother and their cat, Sammi.
There was a plaintive mew at her feet, and Sirin scooped up the small black-and-white cat. “Hey, Sammi,” she whispered as she peered out into the gathering darkness. Sirin held Sammi close as she looked down at the long lines of roofs far below, snaking away into the misty gloom. She saw streetlights glimmering a dull yellow, and pairs of car lights moving slowly, winking like little demon eyes. She looked up at the sky and watched the drizzle coming down, and, pressing her nose against the cold glass, she squinted and thought she could pick out the distant dark line of the sea.
A sudden wild gust of wind rattled the window, and Sammi twisted out of Sirin’s grasp and jumped down. Sirin pulled the thin curtains closed and turned back to reality, to the chilly little room where her mother was sitting on the scruffy sofa, wrapped in a quilt on which Sammi was now making herself comfortable.
“What would you like to do, sweetheart?” her mother asked. The unspoken on our last evening together hung in the air, heavy but unsaid.
Sirin had already decided. “Tell me about dragons,” she said at once. “And our stone.”
Her mother smiled. “I thought you might say that.” Her hand—delicate and fine like the foot of a bird, so thin that Sirin could see every bone—reached into her pocket, and she drew out a small soft leather pouch, from which she took a beautiful round stone encircled by a thick silver band with a loop on it. The blue-green metallic sheen on the stone seemed to move like oil on water. “Here you are, sweetheart,” her mother said, and placed it in Sirin’s outstretched palm.
Sirin closed her fingers around the stone. She loved how it grew hot in her hand. She imagined she could still feel the heat of ancient dragon fire, and she was always surprised by its weight, which was, her mother said, heavier than gold—“because this is what happens to any stone caught in a plume of dragon fire.”
Together Sirin and Sammi snuggled under the quilt and settled down to listen to their dragon story.
“Once there were dragons.” Her mother spoke the familiar words and then stopped to take a breath. Sirin heard the wheeze deep in her mother’s lungs and felt a chill of dread settle in her stomach. She squeezed the dragonstone harder and tried to concentrate on her mother’s voice as she continued: “A long, long time ago, so long ago that most people have forgotten, humans and dragons lived in harmony together. There were forest dragons, sea dragons, mountain dragons, and dragons from the great rolling plains, and as time went on, even city dragons.”
Her mother began to cough. Sirin ran to find a glass of water, and as the coughing subsided, her mother said weakly, “You tell me the next part, sweetheart.”
And so Sirin wriggled back beneath the quilt, pulled Sammi onto her lap, and tried to continue the story she loved and knew so well. “The dragons were wise and ancient creatures who had great patience with us young and quarrelsome humans. Some people were lucky enough to become so close to a dragon that they stayed together for life. They even understood each other’s thoughts. When this happened, people said they were ‘Locked.’” Sirin stopped and looked at her mother. “Wouldn’t that be amazing, to Lock with a dragon?”
Her mother looked at Sirin’s dark green eyes, shining with excitement. She ruffled her daughter’s short brown curls and said, “It would indeed. But I’m not sure Sammi would like it. Cats and dragons do not get along.”
As if to confirm this, Sammi jumped off the quilt and stalked out of the room, her tail held high in disdain.
Now that she was eleven, Sirin understood that, however much she wished for it, she would never see a dragon. Dragons were long gone and were not coming back. Indeed, most people thought they had never existed at all. Sirin smiled wistfully. “Well, Sammi won’t ever need to worry about that,” she said.
“I don’t suppose she will,” her mother agreed. “Now, where were we?”
And so Sirin’s mother took up the story once again. And as night descended and the room grew dark, leaving only a pool of light around the sofa, Sirin allowed herself to forget her worries and be transported to a place where dragons and humans lived as equals, side by side. She listened to her mother’s familiar tale of the beautiful world that the dragons and humans built together and then, more sadly, how it fell apart. She heard how a group of dragons and humans became drunk on power and began to prey on others. How the dragons called themselves Raptors and, encouraged by their human Locks, developed a taste for human flesh, and the world became a fearful place with danger in the skies.
Sirin snuggled close to her mother and watched the shifting colors of the dragonstone glinting in the lamplight. “Do you think it was Raptor fire that made this?” she whispered.
“Who knows?” said her mother. “I like to think it belonged to one of our ancestors caught up in a dragon battle, and that they survived to tell the tale. There were a lot of battles in the last dragon days.”
“The last dragon days …” Sirin murmured sleepily.
In a soft, low voice, Sirin’s mother finished the story. “In the last dragon days, they say a silver dragon came through the clouds: bright as sunlight upon water, fast as quicksilver. And the Silver saved us. It led the Raptors up into the sky and took them away forever. They even say a Silver will come again someday …”
As if pleased the dragons had gone, Sammi reappeared. The little cat jumped up and snuggled into the quilt, purring softly. Sirin’s mother thought of the hospital, so bright, so loud and full—and yet so empty—waiting to take her in just a few hours’ time, and she knew there was something she must say. “Sirin, you know that while I’m in the hospital, you and Sammi are going to stay with Ellie, don’t you?”
Sirin nodded. She had been looking forward to staying with her friend Ellie, but now, as the time drew near, sh
e didn’t want to go anymore. She just wanted to be with Mum.
Mum coughed and continued. “And I know you’ll have a lovely time. But, sweetheart, I just want to say that whatever happens, I will always be with you. You know that, don’t you? Because mums are like dragons. They are forever.”
Not daring to speak, Sirin nodded.
They sat together quietly, listening to the distant sounds of the traffic in the streets far below, and at last Sirin fell asleep. Her mother looked down at Sirin, curled under the quilt, her eyes fluttering beneath their lids as she dreamed, and she decided to let her daughter stay sleeping where she lay, held close and quiet beside her.
They would spend their last night together, secure and warm in a circle of soft lamplight—for who knew what the future would bring?
A world away, at the top of Fortress Lennix, high on a mountain, a tall, thin figure in close-fitting tunic and trousers, a bright blue sash around her waist and her long cloak flapping around her heels, strode across a wide and windswept arena. Heading toward a small group of dragons—each and every one of them a fearsome Raptor—D’Mara Lennix, clan chief, watched the final rays of the setting sun send a rainbow of color glinting from the mix of Green, Red, Yellow, and Blue dragons.
D’Mara watched with approval as the sun disappeared behind the vast bulk of Mount Lennix, which reared up behind the fortress, and a deep shadow fell across the dragons. This was the First Flight, the elite force of Fortress Lennix, and D’Mara disliked seeing sunlight on their scales, making them sparkle like jewels. For D’Mara Lennix, dragons were serious creatures of power and darkness. She glanced up at the mountain peaks surrounding the fortress and noted with satisfaction the stillness of the air and the clear sky. It was a good night for a raid.
D’Mara’s pointy, steel-tipped boots clicked their way rapidly across the landing yard, which occupied the entire top of Fortress Lennix: a massive square edifice of granite with its roots sunk into the bedrock of the mountain pass many hundreds of feet below. It was here, in a warren of chambers connected by a maze of passageways, that the dragons of Fortress Lennix lived.
Many had been hatched and raised at Fortress Lennix from eggs raided from their once tranquil homelands, their peaceful dragon natures warped by their Raptor upbringing. Others, in search of power and excitement, had defected from their tribes, and some of them had ancestors who had Locked with members of the Lennix family way back in the mists of time.
Like any band of ambitious, aggressive creatures living in close proximity, factions had emerged among the Raptors. Until recently these had been finely balanced and of no threat to the Lennixes themselves, but lately D’Mara had become aware of a group of younger and more impatient Raptors who were growing dangerously restless. Now, for the very first time, she felt a flicker of anxiety as she walked across the wide, windswept courtyard toward the raiding party, uncomfortably aware that a young Red named Valkea, surrounded by her cronies, was watching her every step.
Among the First Flight was one human: Edward Lennix, D’Mara’s husband, and leader of the raid that night. Edward—a foxy-looking man, square-set with slightly bandy legs, wearing his dragon riding leathers and a red sash—watched D’Mara’s progress with impatience, tapping his spurred raiding boots impatiently upon the cobbles, anxious to be off. “I don’t see what she’s fussing about, Decimus,” he remarked to the powerful, battle-scarred Red who was his Lock. “Wish she’d let us get going. I reckon we’re in for a good night’s hunting.”
Decimus looked down at the man he knew better than any creature—dragon or human. Like all dragons, Decimus spoke his species’ own language, a lilting melody of sounds known as dragonsong, but Edward had never gotten the hang of it. The only words Edward could understand were kill, fire, and—oddly—kitten. And so, in the way that only Locks could, Decimus sent a message straight into Edward’s mind: All in good time, Lennix. Savor the moment. Those Greens are worth the wait. And then he sent a blast of hot, pig-scented breath down onto Edward’s bristly mustache.
“You’re right, as ever,” Edward agreed. “Permission to come aboard?” It was exceedingly bad form to climb onto a dragon—even one’s Lock—without asking first, and Edward Lennix was a stickler for good form.
Permission granted, Lennix was his answer, and Edward swung himself up into the dip at the base of the dragon’s neck. He leaned back and settled himself against Decimus’s broad shoulder blades, pleased that by the time D’Mara reached him, he was no longer at his usual height disadvantage.
“Good evening, D’Mara,” he said, raising his left arm from the elbow in a Lennix salute. In deference to family, he did not clench his fist but kept his palm open outward.
“Good evening, Edward. Good evening, Decimus,” D’Mara replied, returning the salute. Prudently, she stopped at a safe distance from Decimus, who, unlike Edward, was not afraid of her. Decimus enjoyed occasionally stepping on D’Mara’s foot accidentally-on-purpose in retaliation for the insults D’Mara regularly hurled at his Lock.
D’Mara surveyed the impressive group of dragons lined up behind Edward and Decimus. Impatient to take flight, they were striking sparks off the cobbles with their talons, their hot breath sending clouds of steam into the air. Pleased as she was with the array of power before her, D’Mara was not entirely satisfied. “Edward. Where are the other riders?” she demanded.
“I’m running this raid, not you, D’Mara,” Edward replied with confidence born from being seated on Decimus. “Once we’re away, I don’t want any orders given but my own.”
D’Mara was edgy: Edward seemed unaware of how important their mission was. “Edward, Decimus, listen to me,” she said urgently. “You do both know what you are looking for, don’t you?”
Decimus did not deign to reply, but Edward was affronted. “Eggs,” he snapped.
“Very funny, Edward,” D’Mara snapped back in return. She took a few steps forward, and for one heady moment, Edward thought she might kiss him good-bye. “Just remember what I said about the affinity between Greens and Silvers; I am utterly convinced the Greens are harboring a Silver egg. A Silver!” D’Mara told him. “You must clear this nest. Get to the very dirt at the bottom of it. Scoop it all out. Take everything. Have you told the flight that?”
“The flight is under orders to raid the nest and scrape it clean. And that is what the flight will do,” Edward replied coldly. He leaned down, and in a low, angry voice, he added, “I will not be questioned in public in this manner, D’Mara. Especially about this obsession of yours.”
D’Mara’s steely dark eyes glittered angrily beneath their hooded lids, and her intricately twisted braids seemed to coil themselves even tighter, like little black snakes getting ready to strike. “I will question you as I see fit, Edward Lennix. Get me that Silver. It has to be there. It has to be.”
D’Mara ground her teeth with frustration. She would have led the raid herself, but her own dragon, Krane, was recovering from the dreaded scale fever, and she would fly no other.
Edward sat back and stared stonily out into the distance. “D’Mara,” he said coldly, “I have told you that if the Silver egg that matters so much to you really is there, we will get it. We will get it and we will bring it back here. That is my word. And my word is my bond.”
D’Mara glanced back to see Valkea and her crew eyeballing her. “It might be a matter of life or death. For us. For our whole family, Edward.”
Edward gave a snort of laughter. “Oh really, D’Mara, don’t be so melodramatic. I know you just want another trinket.” Edward saw a fearsome look of thunder cross D’Mara’s features and he backtracked fast. “We’ll get you your Silver,” he promised.
“See that you do,” D’Mara said curtly. And then she turned on her metallic little heel and strode away.
From deep in the shadows a massive, although somewhat faded, green dragon watched D’Mara go. Bellacrux, the Lennix Grand and most ancient of all Lennix dragons, made a point of knowing all the business of F
ortress Lennix. Bellacrux’s acute hearing had caught every word that had passed between D’Mara and Edward, and now her mind was whirling with the exciting possibilities a Silver egg would present. A Silver! She had waited countless years for this.
Bellacrux watched D’Mara push open the doors to the Lennix quarters and disappear inside. The old dragon’s keen eyes followed D’Mara’s rapid progress up the stair turret, her slender form silhouetted against the warm yellow lamplight, and as D’Mara appeared in the darkened window of her room at the top of the watchtower, Bellacrux methodically sharpened her talons upon the grinding stones placed at the feet of every arch—a Silver was something one needed to prepare for.
It was time for the First Flight to leave. They took off in the traditional way, along the wide, cantilevered runway of stone that stuck out like an enormous diving board from the ramparts of the landing yard. The first to go was, naturally, Decimus. The heavy-footed dragon thundered along the runway, and at the very last second—when even Edward had begun to wonder if this would be the time Decimus plunged over the edge like a rock—the dragon rose slowly into the air and then circled above, watching as one by one, the rest of the flight took to the air.
Bellacrux sharpened her last talon and looked up at the wheeling dragons as they jockeyed for position behind Decimus, taking up the distinctive arrow formation, their white underbellies each proudly bearing the three-pronged Raptor tattoo. Bellacrux’s keen gaze followed the arrow of the First Flight as it headed off down the long, narrow pass that would take the flight out of the mountains and set it on its way to the Greens’ secret valley, which was—alas for the Greens—secret no more.
Bellacrux watched until the dragons were distant specks in the night, and then she took the wide, winding walkway down to her chamber in the top floor—Level One—of the Raptor Roost. She walked slowly across the Grand Atrium, and when she reached the huge, ornately decorated double doors that led into her chamber, she aimed a quick burst of hot air at the boots of her old servant, Harry, who was taking a nap. He leapt up and began to pull the huge doors open while Bellacrux waited, impatiently tapping her sharpened talons on the shining marble floor. The doors swung open, Harry gave a bow, and Bellacrux walked into her magnificent green-and-gold chamber, freshly cleaned, strewn with soft rugs and huge embroidered cushions, with a low table of fruit and lean meats awaiting her attention—as befitted the Lennix Grand.