SandRider

by Angie Sage

  Spit Fyre also was aware of two fast-moving objects on the plains some distance behind him. There was something familiar about them. They had, he thought, a feel of the Castle to them. He had at first wondered if it was his much-loved Imprintor, Septimus. But as they drew closer he could tell that sadly, it was not Septimus. Spit Fyre was intrigued. There was an air of Magyk about them and they were hurtling toward him at a surprising speed, but the dragon resisted the temptation to turn and look. He must remain immobile for now. He did not want to draw attention to himself. Not yet.

  With an unblinking eye, Spit Fyre watched the man lead the camel and donkey with their burdens up the dune. They stopped at the top and the travelers looked at him warily. The one in blue stared hard. “So he did do it,” Spit Fyre heard her say in an awed voice. “He really has turned a dragon to stone.”

  Spit Fyre felt the near-irresistible urge to yawn that always came before a breath of Fyre. How he would have loved to have aimed a blast at the shiny blue one and seen it shrivel up to a crisp. He put the thought from his mind and allowed his right eye to follow the group as they made their way down the dune toward the little group gathered around the Egg.

  The minutes passed slowly. After spending so long waiting so very patiently, Spit Fyre found it hard to contain his excitement. He longed to fly down and retrieve the Egg right now but he dared not risk it. He knew he was weak from lack of food and stiff from lack of movement—he could not risk a fight that he may well not win. His advantage must be in surprise and perfect timing. He had to get it right the first time. There would be no second chance.

  THE PRODIGAL RETURNS

  A lightening of the sky in the east told Tod that the night was nearly gone. The Palm of Dora was beginning to fade but in its place, at the foot of the vertical line of stars, was the dark shape of a tent. Sitting behind Tod, Kaznim saw the same. A thrill of excitement ran through her at the sight of her home, quickly followed by the terror of what she might find there.

  With the threat of the sand lions gone, the sleds were now traveling at a comfortable pace. The sand no longer stung the riders’ eyes and cut at their faces, and Tod and Oskar could actually see where they were going. They had now reached the beginnings of the gentle swell in the sand that rose up to form the ridge of the long dune above the star-strewn tent. A short conference between the riders—in which Kaznim took no part—led to the decision to head to the top of the dune. Tod hoped to be able to see the Egg from there. Oskar hoped for a quick descent, giving them the advantage of surprise.

  Ferdie was keeping watch on Kaznim. She did not trust the girl at all, but she could not entirely blame her. Ferdie knew that if the safety of her own little brother was at stake, she suspected that she might well do as Kaznim had done.

  They ascended to the ridge of the long dune and coasted quietly along the top. Soon the stone-still shape of Spit Fyre came into view. Tod turned to Oskar and Ferdie. “There’s a dragon up ahead,” she whispered.

  “A stone dragon,” Kaznim said. And then wished she hadn’t. How stupid could she be? It would be much better if they were too afraid of the dragon to go any farther. She quickly added, “It belongs to the sorcerer. It is there to protect the Egg. It will come alive if anyone but the sorcerer Imprints the Orm.”

  Tod, Ferdie and Oskar exchanged glances. No one knew whether to believe Kaznim. “Do we risk the dragon?” Tod whispered.

  “If it’s stone, then surely we’re safe,” Ferdie said. “It can’t become a live dragon in just a few seconds . . . can it?”

  Tod was not sure. She had heard many things about Darke Magyk and not all of them made sense. But a sudden change in the balance of the Wiz and a gasp from Ferdie drove the conundrum of stone dragons entirely from her mind—Kaznim was off and running fast.

  Skidding, sliding, hurling herself forward, Kaznim took the steepest part of the dune, which was too sheer for any sled. “Ammaa!” she screamed out, her voice piercing the silence. “Ammaa! Ammaaaaa!” The sounds fell away as Kaznim hurtled out of sight.

  The Tribe of Three stared at one another in dismay. Their only advantage was surprise and now that was gone. There was no doubt in their minds that Kaznim would very soon be telling everyone exactly who was on the dune—and why.

  Throughout their long ride across the sands, Tod had been thinking about what they would do if they were seen too early. She knew they needed a backup plan, and her brief stint as Oraton-Marr’s prisoner had given her an idea, but it was not a pleasant one. It was to use only as a last resort—and the last resort had arrived unexpectedly fast. “I’m going after her,” Tod said.

  “We’re coming too,” said Ferdie at once.

  “No,” Tod said. “It won’t work if you come too.”

  “Why not?” Oskar asked.

  “Trust me, it won’t. Okay?”

  “Okay . . .” Ferdie and Oskar agreed reluctantly.

  “We’re here if you need us,” Ferdie said.

  “Ready and waiting,” added Oskar.

  Tod set off on the Wiz with a heavy heart. She took a diagonal route across the face of the long dune, keeping well below the dragon. Halfway down the dune, the encampment came into view. She saw the faded silver stars stitched across the roof of a large, circular tent. She saw the smaller tents gathered around it. She saw the dark, mirrored water of the pool beneath the long dune, the flat rock in front of the pool on which a fire was burning and people were gathered around. And then she saw the Orm Egg for the very first time—as large as a small child, deep blue, lying quietly in a dip in the sand, unaware of all the fuss it had caused. And was still causing. A flash of light from the rising sun touched the surface of the Orm Egg, which shimmered like water. Tod caught her breath with excitement. The Egg was beautiful. And even better, it was unhatched.

  The Wiz continued its downward path toward the encampment. It felt so wrong to be coasting along in full view of everyone, but Tod steeled herself to act the part she had set herself to play—and to act it well. Ahead of her she could see another party on a small camel and a donkey stumbling down the long dune, and as the Wiz drew slowly closer, Tod’s heart began to race with fear. She was heading toward two people she had hoped never to see again—the Lady and her tormenter of old, her mother’s stepsister, Aunt Mitza. Tod’s instincts screamed at her to turn the Wiz around right now and head away as fast as she could. But she resisted. She must keep going. For the sake of all the people she loved, she must get to the Orm Egg and then, when it hatched, she must Imprint it. That was all that mattered. And so Tod let the Wiz saunter nonchalantly down the long diagonal, drawing ever closer to the nest of vipers below.

  Suddenly Tod saw the tiny figure of Kaznim Na-Draa hurtle out of the shadows behind the star-covered tent. Her shouts of “Ammaa! Ammaa!” were closely followed by her mother’s answering screams of joy. Tod saw a woman in red robes lift Kaznim into the air and swing her around and around in utter delight. An unexpected twinge of sadness for what she had lost when her own mother died caught at Tod. She pushed the feeling away and allowed the Wiz to trundle on.

  And then, as Tod knew it surely would, the sled caught the eye of Oraton-Marr.

  AN ORM IS BORN

  The Wiz coasted to a halt beside the Egg of the Orm. Oraton-Marr looked down at Tod with an expression of annoyance. “Where have you been?” he snapped.

  Hating the thought of what she was about to do, Tod forced herself into role. She got off the Wiz and stood meekly before Oraton-Marr. “I am sorry,” she said. “I disappeared from your tower by mistake. I was . . . I was bored so I was playing around with some Magyk. It was a stupid thing to do, because I really do want to be your Apprentice. It is such a wonderful opportunity.”

  Oraton-Marr was impressed by Tod’s acquisition and mastery of a SandRider and her obvious talent for Magyk. His arrogance was such that he found it very easy to believe that Tod truly did want to be his Apprentice. “It is indeed a wonderful opportunity for you, Apprentice,” he told Tod. “H
owever, you are very late. I shall expect better timekeeping in future.”

  “I came as fast as I could,” Tod said. “And you were hard to find.”

  “Do not answer back!” Oraton-Marr snapped. He glared at those gathered around the Egg—Mysor, the Egg Boy, the three guards and an open-mouthed Kaznim, clutching her mother’s hand. Oraton-Marr now addressed them equally severely. “The Orm Egg is about to hatch. When it does you will all look away. You will not catch its gaze. If the Orm Imprints on anyone else I shall kill them. Do you understand?”

  There was silence. They understood.

  Oraton-Marr took advantage of having an Apprentice. He left Tod beside the Egg—with the instruction to fetch him at once if the Egg Tooth broke through—and he went to meet the party on the camel and donkey who were heading wearily toward the tents. Oraton-Marr greeted them and irritably beckoned the guards to help Drone get his sister off the camel.

  Horribly fascinated to see her step-aunt again, Tod stole a few glances in their direction, but as Aunt Mitza waddled toward the fire by the pool, Tod stared stonily down at the Egg and refused to catch her eye.

  With much fuss the Lady was settled on some cushions from Karamander’s tent. Karamander’s sleeping baby daughter was lifted from the papoose on Aunt Mitza’s back. Oraton-Marr instructed Aunt Mitza to stand beside the pool with the child in her arms and then he addressed them all. “If anyone gets between me and my Orm—anyone—Mitza Draddenmora will drown the child immediately.”

  Karamander suppressed a gasp, but Kaznim did not supress anything. “No!” she screamed. “No! Not Bubba!”

  “I will not have any disturbance,” Oraton-Marr told Karamander. “Take your daughter to your tent and stay there.” Karamander led Kaznim away and as they disappeared into the star-strewn tent, an excited cry came from the sorcerer. “Breakthrough!” he shouted out. “Breakthrough!”

  Like a baby’s tooth pushing through the gum, a white point gleamed wetly at the top of the bump on the Egg. It was the Egg Tooth. It had pushed its way through the leathery skin of the Egg, and a serrated edge now revealed itself. Slowly, the Egg Tooth of the Orm began to cut its way along the length of the Egg.

  “All of you, turn around! Close your eyes!” Oraton-Marr barked.

  His sister, his servant, Drone, Aunt Mitza, the three guards, Mysor and the Egg Boy obediently turned away toward the shadow of the dune and the darkness of the pool.

  Oraton-Marr’s hand descended on Tod’s shoulder. “As my Apprentice, you will stay with me beside the Egg,” Oraton-Marr said. “You will close your eyes until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Tod said meekly.

  A tense silence fell. Head bowed, Tod discovered that she could raise her eyelids just enough to see the whiteness of the Egg Tooth as it sawed back and forth, its sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. She saw Oraton-Marr crouch down, put his hands on the Egg and lean over it, like a small child keeping a favorite toy for himself.

  The Egg Tooth slowly cut a slit along the length of the Egg, then it stopped moving. It wobbled for a moment, then it fell out like a milk tooth and lay wetly on the sand. For a few long seconds the Egg was still and all was suspended, motionless, while Oraton-Marr stared into the Egg, seeking the gaze of the baby Orm.

  Like a midwife at a difficult birth, Oraton-Marr was now leaning right over the Egg, intent on the stirrings inside. Safe in the knowledge that the sorcerer’s whole being was fixated upon the Orm, Tod dared to open her eyes a little more. She saw that the cut along the length of the Egg was beginning to gape and beneath she glimpsed something moving. Tod knew that any second now the Orm would hatch.

  Her heart beating fast, Tod readied herself. As soon as the Orm emerged, she would throw herself at the sorcerer and send him reeling. She would Imprint the Orm and then . . . Tod remembered Bubba clutched in Aunt Mitza’s iron grasp beside the pool. She swallowed hard. She could not think about what would happen next.

  A thin wail of pain came suddenly from Bubba—Aunt Mitza had pinched the child to stop her wriggling. And with the wail, Tod’s resolution evaporated. If Bubba drowned it would be because of her actions. What should she do? Tod no longer knew. She wished that Ferdie and Oskar were with her. Or Septimus. Or Dandra. She needed to talk about what was right. But there was no time for that. She was on her own.

  Tod was not quite as alone as she thought. After some discussion, Ferdie and Oskar had decided that whatever Tod might have said, she needed backup. They were now creeping through the shadows at the foot of the star-strewn tent and the Orm Egg had just come into view.

  Tod’s there, Oskar said to Ferdie in PathFinder signs.

  Is she okay? Ferdie signed.

  So far was Oskar’s reply. And then he added, I’m going to go for the Orm.

  Ferdie frowned. Tod said to let her do it on her own, she replied. Anyway, they’ll see you coming.

  No they won’t, Oskar signed. They’re facing the other way. And he told them to close their eyes. With that Oskar set off.

  Petrified, Ferdie watched Oskar pad noiselessly across the sand, heading for the Egg. Not one person reacted. She saw him reach Tod and blithely confident, she saw him tug at Tod’s tunic. Surprised, Tod swung around. Oraton-Marr caught the movement and glanced up.

  And then it happened.

  There was a flash of brilliant blue and a glistening, wet tail flipped out of the Egg. Oraton-Marr grabbed hold of it and pulled. Oskar was shocked. It was cruel to pull a creature out of its egg before it was ready. But Oraton-Marr did not care—he had the tail of the Orm in his own hands. The sorcerer leaned back to get more traction, and pulled as hard as he could.

  “Don’t just stand there, Apprentice,” he snarled. “Help me pull! And you, boy,” he snapped at Oskar. “Pull!”

  “But you’ll hurt it,” Oskar protested.

  “Rubbish!” Oraton-Marr grunted with the effort. “It’s an Orm, for goodness’ sake. It eats rock.”

  But Oraton-Marr was hurting the Orm. Its tail felt as though it was being wrenched from its body, and the little Orm, still inside its Egg, quite reasonably became convinced that something was trying to eat it. It switched into attack mode.

  No one wants to be near a young Orm in attack mode—let alone holding its tail. Suddenly the casing of the Egg flew apart as though an explosion had happened from within. Oraton-Marr went staggering backward but he did not let go of the tail. The Orm—five feet of slippery, spiky, wriggling, snapping fury went flying through the air and arced up, taking Oraton-Marr with it. As it went, its little wing bones began to flap and the soft membrane between them opened out like a parachute. But the dead weight hanging from its tail was pulling it down and so the Orm did the only thing it could. It dropped its tail. Oraton-Marr plummeted to the ground and lay senseless on the sand, a cold blue tail clutched to his chest.

  The Lady heard the thud. She sneaked a look, staggered to her feet and set off toward her brother. “Orrie, Orrie!” she screamed.

  Tod and Oskar raced after the Orm, which, with no tail to balance it, was flying erratically away, dipping and soaring. “Hey!” Oskar yelled. “Hey! Ormie, Ormie! Look at me! Look at me!”

  Karamander Draa rushed from her tent. She saw the sorcerer unconscious on the ground and the woman in blue hovering over him like a giant, predatory butterfly. She ignored them and raced to the pool. The woman with Bubba wheeled around and Karamander saw the flicker of fear in her eyes as she strode toward her. She took her baby with no resistance whatsoever. Then she turned her back on the woman and walked quickly away to the tent. “Kaznim!” she yelled as she went. “Come here. Take Bubba, please!” Kaznim came running and in a moment she had her baby sister in her arms and was watching her mother stride over to the stricken sorcerer.

  Karamander Draa had come prepared. She knelt down beside Oraton-Marr, elbowed the Lady out of the way and sent her reeling backward onto the sand where she lay stranded like a beetle, yelling for help. No one came. />
  From her pocket Karamander took a vial of black liquid labeled “HeadBanger. Maximum strength.” With a long pipette she dropped the liquid into Oraton-Marr’s mouth, then she held his nose closed until he swallowed it. Brushing the sand off her robes, she stood up. “Get out of here,” she told the Lady, who was struggling to her feet. “And take your filthy sorcerer with you.”

  “You’ve killed him! You’ve killed my Orrie!” his sister wailed.

  “I do not kill,” Karamander told her. “I have sworn to uphold life. He is asleep. He will sleep for seven days. And when he wakes he will have the worst headache imaginable. I have something that will cure it if he wishes to ask me. But he will have to come to me in person and ask very, very nicely indeed.” With that she turned and went over to her Apprentice.

  “Mysor,” she said. “See these people off the premises, will you?”

  Mysor smiled. Nothing would please him more.

  IMPRINTING THE ORM

  The tailless Orm lurched away into the desert on a roller-coaster flight, heading toward the rising sun. Leaping uselessly up into the air, arms reaching for the Orm, Oskar followed the shimmering, oddly truncated scrap of blue. It was his Orm; he had loved it at first sight. No one else could Imprint it—no one.

  From somewhere far behind him, Oskar heard Ferdie yell, “Watch out! Watch out!”

  But Oskar—intent upon his dance with the Orm—took no notice. It was only when the shadow of the dragon fell across him that Oskar looked up and saw two great taloned feet heading, it seemed, straight for him.

  It was not Oskar but the little Orm that Spit Fyre wanted. However, he got both. As Spit Fyre’s huge feet curled gently around the body of the Orm, Oskar at last timed his leap perfectly and grasped the Orm. It was slippery from the Egg and gritty with sand. Oskar wrapped his hands around its belly and the next thing he knew he was shooting vertically up in the air, looking into the irritated eye of a dragon. It was then that Oskar had second thoughts, but it was too late—he was now dangling fifty feet off the ground and far below he could see Ferdie and Tod running around like a couple of demented ants. He pushed away his fear and concentrated on the Orm. He must get it to look into his eyes. He must.