A Darkness of Dragons

by S. A. Patrick

  Erner was horrified. “That sounds far too risky, Wren!” he said. “Please reconsider! If only I could go with you, but it’s not Custodian business. Even the most stupid Sorcerer would think twice before incurring the wrath of the Custodians by attacking someone under their protection.”

  “If I might suggest something?” said Alia. She gave Erner a quick handshake. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Alia. Magic expert, friend of Tobias, long story.” She held up the little jar with the death puzzle inside. “The box which poisoned Rundel has an unusual magical style. I studied Underath’s curse and noticed similarities. Not quite the same, so I doubt Underath created the box, but he might have suggestions as to who did. It’s a starting point if you wish to find the culprit. So if you, as a Custodian Piper—”

  “Apprentice Custodian,” corrected Erner.

  “Indeed, but it means that going with them to Underath would be on official Custodian business. Just an idea.” She smiled, looking rather pleased with herself.

  Erner grinned. “And a very sensible idea,” he said. “It would mean a great deal to me, to be able to help my friends. I’ll gather my things and return shortly.”

  As Erner headed back through the gate, Tobias stepped forward and shook the hands of Patch, Barver and Wren in turn. “Now we must get inside and minister to Rundel,” he said. “Good luck with the journeys ahead, all of you!”

  Madder bade farewell too, then he and Tobias led the horses into the Abbey grounds.

  “I’ll follow in a moment,” said Alia. She turned to Wren. “You went to Underath to become a Sorcerer. How long have you known that was what you wanted?”

  “I think I’ve always known it,” said Wren.

  Alia nodded. “Watching you in Underath’s castle as you learned the basics of sorcery from his books, I saw your potential clear as day. I could understand if your brush with magic has put you off, but in a year or so it’s quite possible that I would consider taking on an apprentice…”

  “Really?” said Wren, excited.

  “Someone like me,” said Alia, wistful. “Eager to study hard. Dedicated and obedient.”

  Wren’s excitement seemed to drain away entirely. “Oh,” she said. “I thought you meant me.”

  Patch put an encouraging hand on her shoulder. “She does actually mean you, Wren.”

  Alia smiled. “Perhaps I should reconsider?”

  “No!” said Wren. “I can be all those things. Absolutely!”

  Alia nodded. “Well, if you do decide that sorcery is still your future…come and find me.”

  Once Alia had left, they sat on the grass by the road as they waited for Erner to return. Wren’s attention was suddenly diverted as a large beetle struggled through the grass near her feet. “Ooh!” she said, picking it up and biting into the juicy abdomen. “Blaaargh!” she cried, spitting it out. “That’s disgusting!”

  Patch shrugged. “It’s always been disgusting, Wren.”

  “As a rat those things are delicious,” she said. “But as a human…” She spat again, and scrunched up her face. “Yuck! That’s going to linger.” She gathered herself for yet another spit.

  Erner reappeared at the gate. He was leading three horses, and Brother Duffle walked beside him.

  “I’ve commandeered Rundel Stone’s horse for the trip,” said Erner. “And I borrowed a third from the Abbey. It will speed up our journey.” He handed one set of reins to Wren.

  “Brother Duffle!” said Barver. “I’m glad you came to bid farewell!”

  “You left this item in the pigsties,” said Duffle, handing something to Patch.

  Barver and Wren saw it and grinned. “Fox and Owls!” they both declared. Patch put it into his bag.

  Brother Duffle gave Barver a serious look. “Now,” he said, holding up a small glass jar. “An ointment for your shoulders and wing joints. Apply generously as required.” He handed the jar to Barver, who placed it in one of his harness packs. “How about trying a few flaps to see how you look?”

  “Okay,” said Barver. “I’ll try.” He stepped away to give himself space, and then started to flap his wings – very gently at first, but giving a couple of really strong beats at the end. “Feels good.”

  “Everything looks fine,” said Duffle. “You’re almost there. Be careful though! Promise me not to overdo things! And can I say, it’s been an absolute honour healing you.”

  “The honour was mine,” said Barver, shaking Brother Duffle’s hand. “And I promise to take things slowly.”

  They arrived in Axlebury three days after setting off from the Abbey. Wren was keen to reach Underath before changing back into a rat, so she could let the Sorcerer know exactly what she thought of him. As such, she’d been eager to push on at every opportunity. It had meant taking only a few hours of sleep each night, and Patch was exhausted by the time they rode into the village.

  Axlebury was busy, an early market drawing traders and shoppers in the central square. Barver attracted plenty of interest on their arrival, but his cheery greetings were enough to settle the nerves of the wary villagers.

  “That’s Fendscouth Tor,” said Wren, pointing to a large craggy hill some distance away. “Underath’s castle is on the far side.” All but one of the beads on her bracelet was entirely white now, and even that last bead had only the barest amount of colour left. “Oh hell’s bells,” she said. “I’m almost out of time.”

  Barver took a gentle hold of her hand, and looked closely at the bracelet. “You could change at any moment,” he said. “I’m afraid we must wait here until it’s happened. Underath will have to make do with our sharp tongues, instead.”

  Wren muttered to herself, but Patch caught Barver’s eye – they both knew it was better this way, as Wren would accept Barver and Erner taking the lead when they reached Underath’s castle.

  Barver reached for his money-purse. “That inn over there,” he said, squinting to read its sign. “The Old Raven. I’ll get rooms for each of you, and a stable stall for me. We should rest for the night, and see the Sorcerer tomorrow. And, right now, it’ll be somewhere private for Wren to, um, change.” As he spoke, he did some shoulder exercises that Brother Duffle had suggested. His flight muscles were almost back to normal, and once or twice on the journey he’d attempted flying for a few seconds at a time.

  Wren nodded. “That’d be welcome, but I think two rooms are enough. I’ll have changed back soon, and I won’t need a bed. I’d also rather not be alone once it gets dark. I’ll probably have nightmares about owls.”

  With the rooms arranged, Erner took the horses to the stables to tend to them. Wren went up to one of the rooms for privacy, and refused Patch’s offer to stay with her, so Patch and Barver ordered some small ale and sat in anxious silence at the front of the inn, sipping their drinks as they worried about her and waited for Erner to come back.

  After a while, Barver took something from his harness and looked at it warily.

  “Is that your mum’s letter?” asked Patch.

  Barver gave a big sigh. “Yes. The one I’m to open when I reach my destination.”

  “You haven’t been tempted to open it in advance, then?”

  “Of course I’ve been tempted,” said Barver. “But I won’t. Her instructions were specific. I must go to the place she’s described, any time after the Scale Moon, and only read the letter when I get there.”

  “The Scale Moon?”

  “The next full moon marks a special day in the Dragon Calendar, a few days from now. My wings are ready, I think. As long as I can remember the higher air currents at this time of year, I can ride the winds. If I set off soon I’ll arrive just as the Scale Moon rises.”

  “And would you have the strength for a passenger?”

  Barver frowned. “I appreciate the offer,” he said. “The thought of going alone is—” Patch thought he could see his friend’s eyes tearing up a little. “But my mother’s instructions are to open the letter in a dangerous place called the Sun Canyon, in the middl
e of a desolate, harsh desert known as the Dragon Wastes. Nobody lives there. Nobody even goes there.”

  “I still want to come,” said Patch. “If you can carry me for the flight?”

  Barver shifted his wings a little. “That won’t be a problem,” he said. “But it’s not you I’m worried about.”

  Patch nodded. “Wren,” he said. “The last thing she needs is danger. If Underath cures her then she’ll be happy for us to take her to her parents, but if not…”

  “Then she’ll insist on going with us,” said Barver. “In which case, I think you must stay here with her. There’s enough of my mother’s Vanishing Gift left for you to stay at the inn until I return.”

  “You’d have to sneak off without telling her,” said Patch. “And I don’t relish the look she’ll give me when she realizes what’s happened.”

  Barver laughed. “Wren is courageous, loyal and very stubborn. I can only begin to imagine her anger at us for being so protective.”

  “It’s good that she means so much to you,” said Patch.

  “She does,” said Barver. “She reminds me of someone, you see.” He shook his head slowly, looking sorrowful. “I was a lonely soul as a child. As the only dracogriff, the other children both feared and mocked me. I had one great friend. My young cousin, Genasha. I’d known her from the day she hatched. Independent, short tempered and rude!” He grinned.

  “That does sound like Wren,” said Patch.

  “And honest, and loyal, and funny. Yes, Wren reminds me very much of Genasha.” He fell silent for a moment. “The year before I left for adventure in the Islands of the Eastern Seas, Genasha died. Her blood thinned. It’s a common enough disease in dragon children, but most recover. She did not.” He closed his eyes. “My mother behaved very oddly after Genasha’s death. She never once mentioned her name, and if I spoke of my cousin she would become cold. It seemed as if her heart had turned to ice. It was the breaking point for our relationship. Genasha’s death hit me very hard, but my mother didn’t seem to care at all. That’s why I left home, and why I didn’t speak to my mother again.”

  They finished their ales in silence, and the innkeeper came to fetch their empty tankards. “Another drink, lads?” she asked.

  From above them came an awful scream, which was suddenly cut short and replaced by a few seconds of squeaking. Then there was silence.

  The innkeeper looked up to the window of one of the rooms they’d rented. “That’s your friend?” she said, eyes wide with panic. “We must help!”

  Patch’s throat was dry, hearing such a horrible noise coming from Wren. “I can assure you everything is fine,” he said. “Our friend has…a severe terror of spiders.” It was the best he could come up with on the spot. “She must have seen one.”

  “Oh!” said the innkeeper. “Fair enough. They do get very big in this old place.”

  “I hope Wren’s okay,” said Barver, once the innkeeper had left.

  Patch nodded. “I’m thinking two things,” he said. “The first is that we shouldn’t wait until tomorrow. We need to get to Underath right away and free Wren from this curse, whatever it takes.”

  “Agreed!” said Barver. “What’s the second thing?”

  Patch shivered. “That I’ll have to get rid of every spider in my room to have any chance of sleep tonight.”

  Patch left Barver and went up to check on Wren. He knocked gently and entered. Wren was on the bed, curled up. Patch sat next to her and she climbed onto his shoulder, still trembling. He could see markings in the fur running around her midriff, and pointed them out to her: a series of grey circles, one of which was slightly blue. The bracelet was part of her in rat form, he realized – when the circles all turned blue, she would be ready to change again. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he said.

  Absolutely, signed Wren. Let’s go and see Underath, right now.

  Patch nodded. “I was thinking exactly the same thing,” he said. “First though, I have a little job I need to do here.” He took his Pipe out from his pocket. “Let’s see how my new Pipe handles these critters!”

  Critters? signed Wren.

  “You’ll see,” said Patch. He stood and opened the door, and also the door to the second room they’d rented, across the corridor. He started to play. He built a gentle Dream, but it sounded very different to the one he’d made for the rats in Patterfall. The note lengths, for instance, were far shorter. His target, after all, was much smaller than a rat.

  It was the money spiders who appeared first, dozens of the tiny dots coming out of the beams above them and drifting to the floor, where they formed a line. Then the larger ones peeked out, intrigued, perhaps ten or fifteen of them emerging from between floorboards. At last, the real biggies came out of hiding from under the bed and behind the few bits of rough furniture in the room. Patch’s eyes went wide; Wren stared at them. There were only four, but four was more than enough when they were that size.

  Patch changed the Song slightly, and the eager spiders traipsed across the corridor to the other room, where the Song made them think the juiciest of all the world’s flies awaited them. Journey completed, Patch closed the other room’s door and returned. “When we get back, we’ll all spend the night in here, I think,” he said.

  I’m not good with spiders, signed Wren.

  “Me neither,” said Patch. “I pity whoever rents that room next.”

  With Wren on Patch’s shoulder, they set off to Fendscouth Tor. They’d left the third horse – the one borrowed from the Abbey – back at the inn stables, getting a well-earned rest that Patch was quietly envious of.

  The way was steep, through windswept scrubland. As they rounded the Tor, Underath’s castle came into view, sitting on the edge of a forest that swept down towards a large lake.

  “You two stay here,” Erner told Wren and Patch. “This should be safe enough for you, while Barver and I speak to Underath, and see how things are.”

  Wren grumbled, but conceded that it was for the best.

  Barver flexed his wings. “I think I’ll try a bit of air time!” he said.

  “Be careful, big fella,” said Patch. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  With a great leap and a huge grin, Barver took off. Patch watched with mixed feelings. It was a delight to see him enjoy himself so much, but being out of practice didn’t lend itself to graceful flying. Soon, with a heavy landing, he was back on the ground.

  “Feels good!” he said. He reached up and rubbed his shoulder.

  Patch got off his horse and sat on a nearby granite outcrop. He was wearing his bag across one shoulder, eager to keep the Hamelyn’s Mask close by rather than leave the bag tied to his saddle. Its value was too great – either Barver would manage to strike a bargain with Underath, with Wren’s cure in exchange for the Mask, or the Mask would fetch a good price later and give Patch his chance at a new life.

  Erner galloped towards the castle. Barver ran beside him, occasionally going airborne for a few seconds. At one point he veered off route and plunged down unnervingly before recovering.

  Hmm, signed Wren. I think I’ll let Barver get the hang of flying again before I ask for a ride.

  With a while to wait, Patch reached into his pocket and unfolded the paper he’d written Alia’s prophecy on. Wren stared at it.

  I remember hearing those words! she signed. I thought I dreamed it!

  “Alia spoke them in the circle of salt. She couldn’t remember much and was worried she’d given me some kind of prophecy. She seemed so anxious about it, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d done exactly that. A prophecy that someone would betray us, but that we could recognize them by the words they would speak.” He read the words aloud: “They thought they had us. But we’re almost clear. Just the ridge to go. What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong?” He shook his head. “‘Get away when you hear the words,’ Alia said, ‘as quickly as you can. Run!’”

  Wren nodded. I heard her, she signed. Then she
spoke in a curious way, right?

  “Indeed,” said Patch, thinking back. “Although pretty much everything was curious at the time. Her glowing eyes, for a start.” An odd set of words, don’t you think? Alia had said, almost conversing with herself. I agree, very odd! What say you, Patch? The lad’s gone so very pale. The day’s been quite a strain, I imagine.

  He shivered at the thought of the fiery red eyes.

  The words on the paper seemed to taunt him. He groaned. “I wish she’d not said anything. I’ll be listening out for it every day and it could be years before it happens. Decades, even.”

  So ignore it! signed Wren. From what little I know, prophecy is usually more trouble than it’s worth.

  “Ignore it?” said Patch. “Easier said than done.” He folded the paper up and returned it to his pocket.

  After a while, they saw Barver flying back towards them. Below, Erner was galloping on his horse.

  Wren frowned. Are they running away from something? she signed.

  Patch made sure Wren was secure on his shoulder before he mounted his horse, ready to speed off if necessary.

  “Wait there!” cried Erner. He pulled up in front of them as Barver landed heavily, out of breath. Erner’s concerned expression wasn’t encouraging. “You need to see this,” he said.

  They left the horses grazing outside the main gate of Underath’s castle and approached the entrance.

  “The doors lay slightly open when we arrived,” said Erner. “I called out and got no response, so entered carefully.” He pushed the doors wide to reveal an entry hall. It was chaos inside. Every piece of furniture was upended. Glass littered the ground, and the smell of stale wine and ale filled the air. “This is what I found. Everywhere I looked is the same.”

  Wren stared at the mess in horror. We have to find Underath, she signed.

  “His griffin is not in the courtyard,” said Barver.

  “Whatever happened here, it was weeks ago,” said Erner. “There’s rotting food on a table upstairs. I found his study. All his books were gone. I suspect the Sorcerer has fled.”