Return to Dragon Planet: Book one of the Dragon Planet Trilogy

by S A Robertson

  Until Zerian reversed the policy and all humans were finally deported.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Oh, that’s not very difficult knowledge to obtain. However, what isn’t so very well known is that despite the border controls, you still have managed to obtain permits to run your tours in the northern, restricted territories of Nabistt. As you elucidated earlier.”

  “You work for the Elven Overseers Commission? Is that it? On behalf of the Ranger Patrol?”

  “Oh, hardly. Don’t concern yourself, Mr McCord. I’m not here to give you up to the authorities. I didn’t need to come all the way over here to do that.”

  “Then what is it? Blackmail? Because you know, for one thing, I haven’t got anything to give you. And for another, it looks like you have all you need. That sword on your leg must be worth twice what I could earn in a decade.”

  Nyara’s half-smile returned. “You have a keen eye.”

  “I think you wanted me to see it. Knowing what I know about you people, you don’t let anyone in on a secret unless it’s for a reason.”

  “Ah yes. I forgot. Your familiarity with the wiles of my kind.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Although, you do me a disservice if you believe I’m here to extort anything from you, Mr McCord.”

  “Then why mention it?”

  “Only because I want you to know I have some knowledge of your past. Quite a lot of it in fact.”

  “Really? Then are you going to get to the point any time soon?”

  “Ah yes. The famous human brevity I’m becoming acquainted with. I apologise. We elves, with so much time on our hands, are somewhat prone to procrastination.”

  “Long words too.”

  “So be it. I’ll not bore you with the details of what I know or how. Rather, I should tell you that I am here with the express purpose of soliciting your services as a hunter, Mr McCord. A profession in which you were engaged for some years on Terevell and, from what I understand, extremely successfully, too.”

  Blake felt his pulse quicken and a moment a silence fell across the room. Even the sound of Skreet, still clanging away in the hanger, seemed to fade, and Blake was simply left with the ticking of his own heartbeat.

  The elf raised an expectant eyebrow. “Did you hear me, Mr McCord?”

  “I don’t do that anymore,” Blake replied softly.

  “I understand. Very few people do. Or rather, I should say, very few people hunt the kind of game you did for at least three or four years in my country. It’s something of a dying art now too, as it happens. At least, since there are no royal games keepers to call upon any longer. Therefore, I find myself in need of a suitably experienced candidate. And your name, I’m pleased to tell you, is at the top of the list.”

  Blake continued to stare at Nyara. He realised his nails were biting into the palm of his hand. “So, you already know what I used to hunt?” he said.

  “Oh yes, Mr McCord. I’m fully aware of your particular skills. You’re what they used to call—rather quaintly I always thought—a dragon slayer. And I need you to kill one that has been causing rather a lot of trouble on my world.”

  2

  Blake McCord decided it was time he had another drink. For some reason, ever since the elf had invited herself into his office, he had been reluctant to drink in front of her. He expected it was wrapped up with his innate feeling of inferiority around the species. Now, however, since the cards had been laid on the table, such frailties somehow didn’t seem to matter so much. It seemed he had a skill that few people in this system possessed, offering him a weird flicker of self-confidence. Enough, at least, to allow him to take a gulp of whisky—which he suddenly had a need of anyway.

  He cleared his throat, letting the fumes subside, and said, “So you’re here because you want me to kill a dragon?”

  “Indeed. A very dangerous dragon that has been causing havoc in the Valloran Lowlands. It seems to have a lair located in the canyons of the Lekeyer Mountain Range, about one hundred leagues from the World Tree. So far it has concentrated its efforts on small communities. But it has been hunting voraciously in all that time. Many dozens of my people are already dead. Whole villages have been destroyed.”

  “Sounds bad.” Blake was fully aware his voice sounded casual. Almost cold.

  “Yes, Mr McCord. It is. And it will only get worse if the dragon carries on the way it does.”

  “And you haven’t approached anyone else about killing it?”

  “There were a couple of others we considered. But we decided neither were experienced enough. There aren’t many dragon hunters left in the system, it seems.”

  “We? And who’s ‘we’?”

  “Well, funding such a concern has not been easy. I have had to find a wealthy backer with aligned interests. Obtaining permits to enter Ilmaris is extremely expensive.”

  “And highly illegal.”

  “Quite. As I’m sure you are fully aware, only scientific ships on observation missions and ranger vessels are given permission to enter Ilmarisian airspace.”

  “So I take it the High King knows nothing about your little fishing trip.”

  And for the first time, Blake saw a faint hardening in Nyara’s eyes. “No. High King Zerian is strictly against any outside interference in this problem.”

  “Even though his people are being killed?”

  “He has a complicated relationship with such matters,” said Nyara. “For him, maintaining the balance of the land is paramount. The Balance is everything in Terevell. We are shown the way by the World Tree.”

  Ah yes, the World Tree, Blake thought. There was nowhere on the planet that wasn’t affected by its all-pervading influence. And while Blake had only ever seen it from the air—when he and Kaylen had emigrated to Ilmaris all those years ago—it had been a sight to behold. The idea that something living could become so colossal was still astonishing to him.

  Blake refocused. “So you’re saying he’s ignoring the problem?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t remember the High King’s position on this issue, Mr McCord,” said Nyara. “Surely you recall from your own experience what happens when a dragon makes a transgression into low-land populations?”

  “And what do you know about my own experience?” Blake said.

  “I told you, I have researched your background. And I know how you lost someone very dear to you. I also know why that was, and how it led to your choice of profession for some years afterwards.” Nyara leaned forward slightly. “Mr McCord, the High King’s attitude has not changed since the death of your wife. You must know he is a fierce adherent of the Unbending Way. His insistence in forgoing interference with any natural disaster, however much his people might suffer, is drawn from the old philosophies of the Priest King Karathus. Or should I say, that is the veneer of his opinion. When one scratches the surface, I’m afraid the Zerian’s motivations are much more mercenary.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Only that we cannot rely on any help from him. This operation must be highly covert. No one must know about our intentions, least of all the High King.”

  “Yet you trust me with this information?”

  “I trust you will not disseminate anything we have discussed here. Especially to those who might hurt the success of this mission should you choose not to accept it. Largely because it would not be in your interest to do so.”

  Blake smiled. “Ah. You mean, if I blab, you’ll blab to the Ranger Patrol about my permits.”

  “But that’s not within either of ours interests, is it?”

  “I guess not. And that’s fine by me. Because, to tell you the truth, Miss Nithirian, I have no enthusiasm for your offer either.”

  Nyara raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Listen, I’m sure you’re about to offer me a decent amount of money for this job…”

  “I told you, my backer is very wealthy.”


  “…but if I end up getting caught—with my record—I’m looking at a lot of prison time. And I mean, submerged-into-isolation-tanks-and-throw-away-the-key kind of prison time. You understand?”

  “Mr McCord, my people are dying.”

  “And you think that’s enough to persuade me? It’s not my fault your king won’t do anything for his own people. But that’s his business. And yours. You can’t expect to come here and try and drag me into some local dispute; put my life and freedom on the line because you can’t sort things out for yourself.”

  “This is hardly a local dispute, Mr McCord. Great numbers of my people have died. The elderly, many children, and honest landowners and farmers have been displaced making them vulnerable to other attacks. Surely, you of all people can empathise with this?”

  And that was enough to make Blake flush. “Excuse me?” he murmured.

  “I’m merely pointing out, that having been in the same situation yourself, you must recall what it is to fear the tyranny of a dragon attack. And for my kind, having been blessed, with such long life…well…”

  “It’s worse, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Well…I wouldn’t presume to suggest…”

  “To suggest what? That the life of an elf is more important than the life of a human?”

  “Of course not.”

  But Blake shook his head. “You people,” he said. “You never cease to amaze me. For the longest time I was just as mesmerised by elves as everyone else. I mean, how could you not be? Looking the way you do. All that magic and beauty. But that’s not the reality, is it? Not the truth of who you are.”

  “And what truth is that?” Nyara asked stiffly.

  Only for Blake to answer with another question: “Did you know my wife and I were pretty much the last wave of human settlers allowed on Terevell?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you’ll know it wasn’t too long afterwards that all humans were kicked off your planet. Too late, as it happened. At least, for us. ‘Cause, you see, back then I really believed that Terevell was the last chance at a wonderful new life. How could it not be? Long life? No sickness? A pristine environment untouched by pollution? A perfect place to bring up children and begin afresh, I thought.” Blake snorted. “More fool me, right? Of course, Kaylen knew it was a bad idea. She was always more sensitive to these things than me. But I badgered her anyway. Told her she was just scared and to take the chance. I persuaded her in the end. And at first, I was proved right. Not that there weren’t dangers. We weren’t that far from the Great Eastern Forest, and the local wildlife could be challenging. But so long as we had good perimeter security, that was just fine. The real difficulties were the locals. We were a little surprised to find them so stand-offish. Some of them downright rude. But I figured, we were interlopers in their land and over time we’d gain their trust. Except, that wasn’t how it worked out. Not when the dragon came.” Blake shrugged. “Perimeter fencing doesn’t work much on dragons. Truth is, not much of anything can really stop them. So hiding or running is your only option if you’re able to get a long enough head start. But what I didn’t realise… not until I’d gone into the local village seeking parts for my hopper…was that there wasn’t much of a chance at that either. Because most everyone had already gone. They were heading north to the World Tree looking for sanctuary there. Except no one had come to warn us. No one thought we were that important.” Blake’s eyes hardened. “They could’ve helped us, but they didn’t. And by the time I returned to the stead, it was already gone. The dragon had been ranging in the area for the last three days. Destroyed a farm to the south of us. Been picking off stragglers along the way. We were next in line. Or my wife was. So…I guess I was naïve to think elves were quite so wonderful and beautiful and magical as everyone said.”

  Silence crept into the room around them. Blake took the opportunity to sip at his drink, until—when the quiet was almost too much to bear—Nyara said, “Mr McCord. You must know how very sorry I am for your loss…”

  “No you’re not,” Blake said. “You didn’t know my wife. Same as I don’t know your people. Not really. I think we should leave it at that. But thanks for your interest in my past.”

  3

  Slowly, Nyara pushed to her feet. She considered Blake with searching eyes, as if she expected him to offer some further comment. Instead, he just watched her until she pulled the chair back into position by the desk and carefully buttoned her coat.

  Then she said, “Although you might not believe this, Mr McCord, I do understand your grief. And knowing what I do about your story, I didn’t expect you to welcome my offer eagerly. That said, I did hope you might see past the differences between our races for the greater good.”

  “The greater good? What does that even mean?”

  “It means that in some ways, Zerian is right. There is an imbalance in the world. I just see it differently. The High King believes the arrival of the dragon is a natural thing. That the World Tree is making a necessary correction. But I believe the dragon is the imbalance, and the scales must be tipped. This creature kills almost arbitrarily, as if it enjoys what it’s doing. So, it must not be allowed to exist.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes. And I also didn’t tell you exactly what kind of dragon it is, either. What species it is.”

  “You didn’t. Is that relevant?”

  “It may be to you. It is what we call a Red Matriarch. A great crimson wyrm. Just like the one that murdered your wife.”

  Blake clenched the drink in his hand but said nothing.

  Nyara went on. “So, as I’m sure you’re aware, there are very few of these dragons in our world. Perhaps no more than twelve breeding pairs. In other words, I think it very unlikely that since your wife died, another such beast would have transgressed into an already established territory.”

  “You’re saying it’s the same one.”

  “Most likely. The one my people call Rygorath—the Red Death.”

  “And you think it makes a difference to me?”

  “I think you spent four years after your wife died hunting dragons in an effort to find the same monster that killed her. But by then the dragon had taken itself off, probably into the higher mountain ranges, and you were denied the opportunity to slay it.”

  “Maybe I don’t want that opportunity any longer.”

  “Maybe you don’t. However, if you will not destroy the dragon to help my people, whatever they have done to you in the past, and you will not do it for the memory of your wife, perhaps you will do it for yourself, Mr McCord. I saw you in the bar last night. You took quite a beating.”

  “You were there?”

  “I was looking for you after I left the message.”

  “Well, now you’ve found me. And we’ve had our chat. And you can be on your way.”

  “Indeed, I can.” Nyara nodded. “Thank you for your time, Mr McCord.”

  Nyara eased her hood over her head. However, before she left, she reached into the pocket of her coat and took from it a small, delicately crafted bottle, holding it up to the light.

  “What’s that?” Blake asked warily.

  “I’m surprised you don’t recognise it. It’s a gift.”

  “Look, whatever it is…”

  “It will heal your wounds. Waters from my world. Remember? The secret to our long life. And yours. At least, for the short time you lived among us. Really. I want you to have it. It’s not a bribe. Just something to remind you of how precious Terevell is. And if you change your mind, you can trace my call to your office to contact me. I will be leaving Miria in forty-eight standard hours, and we will take our chances with the dragon as we are. Of course, I’d rather it was you who leads the mission.”

  “Well, don’t count on it,” Blake replied. “And you can take that water with you. I don’t need it.”

  “Oh, I think you do, Mr McCord. More than you know.” And without retrieving the glass bottle from the desk, Nyara Nithirian turne
d and swept silently from the office, not even offering a look behind her.

  THREE

  1

  Great gouts of poisonous black smoke and livid flames plagued Blake’s dreams. He was searching in panic, trying to reach Kaylen’s cries through the fumes. And sometimes, he was aware of something vast and sinuous, coiling about him. But whatever toxic nightmare welled up in his sleeping mind, he was always helpless. There was no weapon in his hand to aid him; his legs were like concrete, his eyes burning and throat raw.

  Until distantly he became aware of a faint and urgent peeping, slowly loudening.

  Blake’s brow tightened. The peeping was nagging at his eardrums painfully. And now he was aware of a hard, white glow penetrating his eyelids. He groaned. Gradually, he began to remember where he was. That incessant, monotonous screeching was the alarm, and that searing white light was the morning. Phyllis had opened the blinds. He was at the hanger, and not on some blasted landscape. And a new day had dawned.

  “Christ…” he grunted, “Phyllis! Turn off the damned alarm!”

  The chirping stopped. Blake drew up a trembling hand to knuckle away the dry crust on the corner of his mouth. But that was a mistake. Because when he pulled his hand up from under his blanket, his ribs screamed. He let out another curse. Otto had been right. Cracked ribs at the very least. And his head was pounding like a drum too, although after the rest of a bottle of whisky it was difficult to say exactly who the culprit was to such discomfort.

  Blake lowered his hand and closed his eyes again. Kaylen’s face flitted briefly across his consciousness. But it was soon replaced by memories of an elf, studying him with strange, direct eyes.

  Except, that wasn’t a dream, was it? He told himself. She was really here.

  And as if to confirm it, Blake looked across to his desk where the bottle she had given him still stood.

  Then a voice said: “What’s that?”