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

by S A Robertson

  Nyara studied Blake with her green eyes, then turned them on Skreet. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Skreet.”

  “Skreet is just fine, lady.” The goblin puffed out his chest. “We goblins don’t go in for fancy titles.”

  “Then Skreet it is. Alright, follow me. The others are waiting.”

  2

  They stepped through the door, immediately entering a short corridor that led them onto the research vessel. Blake sucked through an archway as he followed Nyara, then found himself on a metal walkway overlooking a communal area. Nyara moved quickly and lightly, her feet hardly making a sound as she hurried toward the stairs. But Blake slowed his steps as he peered over the balcony and to a small group awaiting their arrival. They were bathed in the ghostly light of a large hologram of Terevell, rotating languidly in the centre of the room. Its glow pulsed against a ring of white, helio-plastic seats and floating viewing panes, behind which a dwarf with a black beard and a man with red hair stood talking with each other.

  Blake paused at the balcony rail to quickly make his first impressions.

  The dwarf looked like he knew how to handle himself, with two lightning axes strapped to his back and a pair of heavy duty frag revolvers on his belt. He wore a thaumite-plated vest and a pair of black targeting goggles, reflecting the light of the hologram. Woven into his beard were small bones and totems, superstitious trinkets Blake had seen hunters wear many times before.

  In contrast, the man with the red hair, a hand resting amiably on the dwarf’s shoulder, seemed to Blake more like one of his tourists. The green tac jacket he wore looked brand new, as were his grip boots and pressure gloves. Neither did he carry any visible weapons. A mystery as to his presence in the room, then, but not quite as surprising or interesting as the last of the three.

  It was seated across two chairs at one time, unmoving save for its single pulsing green eye. Arms the size of a man’s thighs rested on powerful, hydraulic legs. It was the colour of rusted iron and looked like it had once been used for mining work, with its re-enforced shoulder flanges and dome-like head. Except Blake saw the torch cannons welded to its wrists, and the Starfall assault blasters attached to its shoulders. It was a converted for combat sentient mining automaton then, Blake realised; also known as a metal golem. Dwarf-made by the look of those runes on its breastplate.

  “Blake?”

  Skreet had stopped at the top of the stairs and was watching him expectantly. At the mention of his name, the dwarf and the man left off their conversation and swung their attention to the walkway. The metal golem, if it was aware of his presence, made no move at all.

  “And here he is!” exclaimed the man with the red hair excitedly. “The man of the hour!”

  Blake gripped the steel case in his hand a little more firmly as he paced to the top of the steps. He followed Skreet down until they arrived in the communal area, setting his bag of rations on the floor. Now, more than ever, he realised he needed another drink.

  “Mr McCord.” Nyara gestured to the gathering. “I’d like you to meet the rest of our party.”

  Blake bobbed his head, aware instantly of the varying degrees of warmth directed back at him. The dwarf seemed to regard him especially coolly, even though Blake couldn’t see beyond those black goggles. And perhaps sensing the lingering looks between them, Nyara said: “This is Master Uldo Rorg, Mr McCord,” and she gestured to the dwarf. “An experienced hunter like yourself. Although his expertise is mainly in behemoths in the White Swamps, and ettin in eastern Mhardul. He’s even tracked griffin in the north reaches of the Antorok.”

  “So you’re a dragon slayer, are you?” The dwarf growled, his goggles glittering in the fitful light. Blake noticed the lower part of one of his ears was missing, and there was a thick scar cutting through his lower lip. He only had three fingers on his left hand. “A distant ancestor of mine was said to have killed a great wyrm too. A Golden King Emperor in the southern regions of Brey. One of the last of its kind, so the stories went. This is its tooth. A valuable inheritance.” He touched a long, curved fossil hanging on a silver chain about his neck. “Now I mean to have my own chance.”

  “And you will, Uldo, you will,” said the man with the red hair, slapping the dwarf on the shoulder.

  Blake considered the relic hanging about the dwarf’s neck. He refrained from saying anything. It was likely a fake. Golden dragons, said to have once been the mightiest of all breeds, hadn’t existed on Terevell for over a thousand years. Such a tooth, therefore, would be rare indeed. But there would be time for reality checks soon enough.

  “And this, Mr McCord, is Cid,” Nyara continued, turning her attention to the golem.

  Blake looked across the room to the hulking metal man who, for a moment, didn’t move. Then its huge head swivelled about, and its single green eye grew brighter.

  “Cid has accompanied Master Rorg on all of his most high-profile game trails,” Nyara said. “And he’s been updated with as much information on dragon hunting as is freely available through the Ranger Data Base on Genek IV.”

  “Dragon Slayer,” came a deep, grating voice, as if from the bottom of a well. “We hunt together.”

  “As you can see, Cid is a master at brevity,” the man with the red hair put in amiably. “But I think you’ll agree he’s a formidable addition to the party.”

  “I’m sure he is,” said Blake, eyeing the man again. “And who are you, exactly?”

  But it was Nyara who replied: “Why, this is our backer, Mr McCord. Thorstan Maddox.”

  Blake raised his eyebrows. “You’re our backer? The one who’s funding this whole show?”

  Maddox showed a line of perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. “Guilty as charged.”

  “But I didn’t know you were here to see us off, Mr Maddox.”

  “Oh, he isn’t,” Nyara replied. “Mr Maddox will be accompanying us on the hunt.”

  Blake took a moment. He frowned. “He is?”

  “Problem, Blake?” said Maddox. “I can call you Blake, can’t I?”

  “If you want. But nobody made any mention that you would be…”

  “I know, I know,” Maddox held up a hand. “I asked Nyara to be discrete about my involvement largely due to my business interests.”

  “And what business interests are those?”

  “Discrete ones,” Maddox answered, his smile widening.

  “Fair enough. I don’t really need to know where the money’s coming from, Mr Maddox. But I have to ask you how much hunting experience you have.”

  “Oh, well, let’s just say I know how to handle a hunting rifle, so no need to worry about that. When I was a boy, I used to stalk golden hinds in the Kremek Crags on Thirimal.”

  Blake smirked. Then he realised that Maddox wasn’t making a joke and the smirk faded. “Golden hinds? You’re serious?”

  “Never more so. But you should also know that I’ve climbed some of the highest mountain peaks in Kromor, travelled extensively through the jungles in the northern reaches of Mhardul, and even been diving off Siren Bay on Syrese. Suffice it to say, I like a challenge. And how often does one have a chance to stalk a beast like a dragon, eh? It hasn’t been done in decades. Not least a Red Matriarch. To do so with a fellow of your impeccable reputation, well, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Blake murmured, glancing at Nyara. “Although…I’m not sure there’s room for tourists on the trip.”

  Maddox’s smile didn’t falter. “And I understand perfectly. I do. But I promise not to get in the way. Besides, with your enviable record, I know I’m in safe hands. Four confirmed dragon kills? Three wounded? That’s quite something.”

  “I didn’t realise anyone was keeping score.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t easy to make proper confirmations, that’s for sure. Dragon slaying is often very anecdotal. But your name came up more than anyone. Very impressive, and a rare skill.”

  “Well, I guess there’s not much call f
or dragon slayers these days.”

  “Quite so. A great pity that is too, Blake. With the elves declining to properly manage their dragon numbers…well, we end up with dangerous situations like Nyara’s people have been enduring these last months. But we’re going to set that straight, correct?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it so easily,” Blake said. “Look, no disrespect, Mr Maddox…”

  “Maddox is fine, please. That’s what everyone calls me. Except Nyara, here. She’s far too formal for her own good.”

  “Okay. Maddox. You do realise dragon slaying is a serious business, right? I didn’t sign up for a safari.”

  “And nor did we!” Uldo Rorg growled, jamming his thumbs in his belt. “Of course, I tried to explain to the others that you might not be up to the task. I mean, how long ago have you been on a hunt anyway? Me and Cid here, we just came back from a long stalk barely a month ago. Gorgon trapping on Vargah. Ever tried to trap a gorgon, human? I’m still blind in my left eye. So, we’re more than capable of taking the reins if you want to pull out. Cid’s got enough fire power alone to bust open an orc bunker and fry everything inside. I refitted him myself.”

  “That sounds impressive,” Blake said. “Except it won’t be much use against the dragon. At least, not this dragon.”

  The dwarf straightened. “Who says?”

  “I say. A Red Matriarch is by far the deadliest of all dragon breeds living today.”

  “Which is why we need you, Blake,” said Maddox.

  “Yeah, well, that may be so. But this hunt will be dangerous enough, I can’t spend my time worrying about your safety.”

  “I understand. Yet seeing as this is my charter, Blake, I’m afraid I’m really must be insistent. You see, my aim is to go down to the surface with or without you. I’m fully aware of the risks involved. And I’m paying handsomely for the privilege. But if those terms are unacceptable…well, I suppose we should shake hands now and you can be on your way. Although, Nyara tells me you could do with the money.”

  Blake threw the elf a sharp look. “She said that did she?”

  “And I also know who you’re in debt to. Grubs Daily has a poisonous reputation, even for someone who hails from Xoros. So, what do you say, Blake? In a week’s time, all your troubles could be over.”

  “Yeah. Or they could just be beginning.”

  Maddox chuckled at that. “Come now. Are you really going to get back in that rusty ship of yours and return to that dust bowl masquerading as a moon?”

  Blake sighed. He could feel Skreet’s huge eyes boring into his back. This was another kink in the plan that he hadn’t expected. Maybe Skreet was right. Maybe they should quit while they were ahead?

  Except, he thought, I really do need that money. And at least I’ll be running toward danger on Terevell, rather than running away from it.

  “Well?” said Maddox.

  Blake slung his steel case on a nearby chair. “Fine,” he said, trying to ignore the heat of Skreet’s disapproval behind him. “It’s your party I suppose…” And your funeral, he added mentally. Maybe all our funerals. “Now, any chance of a drink around here?”

  “Of course!” Maddox exclaimed, delighted. “You made the right choice, Blake. And I think I’ll join you in one too. We’ve still got a little time. Although we’ll have to be underway soon.”

  “And that’s why I brought Skreet.” Blake motioned to the goblin who so far seemed to have escaped attention from the rest of the group. But now that Blake acknowledged him, the dwarf’s embattled face darkened even more.

  “What happened to Reniss?” Uldo demanded.

  “I told you,” said Maddox, heading off to a cabinet in the corner of the room. “Blake wanted his own man to fly our bird in. Our goblin friend here has bags of experience. Isn’t that so, Blake?”

  “I can vouch for that.”

  “You see?” Maddox clinked around some bottles and uncorked one. “But tell me, Blake, what did you mean when you said that Cid wouldn’t be so effective against the dragon? I mean, he’s got cutting tools on him that can burn through dwarfish steel.”

  “He’ll still struggle against dragon scales,” Blake replied. “I’m surprised Uldo here doesn’t know that already, considering the family connection n’ all.”

  “I know how to hunt!” the dwarf snapped.

  “I don’t doubt it. And behemoths and ettins and griffins are all very well. But I’m here to tell you, dragons are different. They’re like nothing else. Their hides are harder than Iriolian diamonds. I’ve heard of dragons surviving thermo blasts. And believe me, when I first tried to hunt them, I learnt that to my cost.”

  “Then how did you kill them?” Maddox returned with two glasses. He gave one to Blake, offering the other to Nyara who shook her head and then to Skreet who also declined. Maddox shrugged and looked at Uldo, but the dwarf simply curled his lip and muttered, “Weak human urine.”

  Maddox smiled ruefully and cupped the glass in his hands. Presumably, Cid didn’t indulge.

  “I killed them with that.” Blake nodded to the steel case he had planted on the chair.

  “And what is that, Mr McCord?” asked Nyara.

  “It’s a lance,” Blake took a gulp of his drink. “An aethyne lance.”

  The reaction to that was as Blake expected.

  “Aethyne!” Nyara hissed, and she even took a step back, as if she had stumbled onto a basilisk lair. “You brought shadow-fire here!”

  “By the gods!” Uldo was even unable to keep a note of awe out of his voice. “Where in the name of Bolg did you get such a thing? Aethyne has been outlawed for decades.”

  Blake shrugged. “Let’s just say I inherited it. Like your tooth. And it’s served me well on many a dragon hunt. Aethyne is pretty much the only substance known that can make short work of a dragon’s hide.”

  “And no wonder,” Nyara breathed, staring at the case in revulsion. “Aethyne is an abomination, Mr McCord. Anti-magic drawn from poisonous cold iron. The dwarfs should never have mined the metal in the beginning.” She shot a disgusted look Uldo Rorg’s way. “And certainly not employed those creatures on Xoros to exploit it.”

  “Hey!” Uldo grumbled. “Don’t lump me in with Bolfus Bloodhand and his fanatical priests. Not all dwarfs agreed with the use of aethyne against your planet, you know. Even if we were at war.”

  “Oh, how convenient. It seems to me that every dwarf I’ve ever met is of the same opinion. And yet too few protested at the time. Nor can you tell me your king didn’t know those weapons weren’t being developed on Xoros. Now half of the Terevellian Northlands are still contaminated a thousand years on. Even the World Tree’s roots cannot extend there. The dwarfs were responsible for a wasteland.”

  “Which proves how effective aethyne can be,” Blake intervened, drawing Nyara’s eyes before things got too heated between her and the dwarf. “The fact is, without cold iron, unless you hit the dragon at the right spots, you’ll have a tough time killing it at all. For one, you’d have to get close enough for any armour piercing round to make any difference, and then you’d have to be accurate. That means sustaining fire under its jaw, or its lower belly, or even under the wing. But with this lance you have more areas of attack: the breast, some places down the flank, and alongside the spine. But principally the head, and specifically just behind the ear. That’s your best hope. The armour’s not so thick there, and once you drive the point home, deep enough in the flesh, you might be lucky enough to poison its blood too. Either way, to kill it you’ll still need to avoid its breath which can melt pretty much anything save green granite.”

  “But what about the eyes?” Uldo asked. “Surely they can’t be as protected as the rest of the beast. You could blind the thing and take it down at your leisure.”

  “Not easily. Even the eyes have a thick translucent second skin, so only a high velocity round could potentially blind it.”

  “Well,” Maddox dropped the corners of his mouth. “Looks like you went to the righ
t fellow with the right tools.”

  “There’s nothing right about aethyne or cold iron,” Nyara said tightly. “It’s a sickness. A curse. To use it is dishonourable.”

  “Dishonourable?” Blake snorted. “Listen, I never said there was anything noble about dragon hunting. It’s a fight to the death, plain and simple. And don’t think a dragon wouldn’t do anything in its power to kill you if it has the chance either. They’re ruthless. Spiteful. Vengeful even.”

  “Vengeful?” said Uldo. “But it’s just a beast.”

  “Don’t be fooled. Dragons are smart. Cunning. And they don’t just kill to protect themselves or their territory either. They kill anything that gets in their way just to prove it. Sometimes even for fun. So, if you want to survive, aethyne is the best bet. Otherwise, we’ll have little chance of success.”

  SEVEN

  1

  A moment of sober silence followed Blake’s grim assessment, until Maddox eventually said, “Well, that’s food for thought, Blake.”

  “He means that’s something to keep in mind,” Skreet piped up for the rest of the group.

  “Quite so, little goblin,” Maddox smiled. “Quite so. And now we know the rules of the game, I suppose we need to work out how we achieve the goal. Perhaps we should give you a little background, Blake. Tell you what we’ve learnt about the dragon so far.”

  “Alright.” Blake drained his glass and set it on the table. “But first we should get ourselves moving, don’t you think? Okay, Skreet?”

  “Absolutely!” The goblin threw down the duffel bag next to the others, then headed toward the stairs.

  “I’ll show you where everything is,” Nyara offered, starting to follow him, only for the goblin to wave her off.

  “That’s fine, that’s fine. I know my way around ships, lady.” And without a look behind him he scrambled up the steps and was gone.

  Once Skreet was on his way, Maddox stepped up to the spinning hologram of Terevell. Reaching out his hand to the huge, single Continent of Mardea surrounded by its gigantic ocean, he pointed to the middle kingdom of Ilmaris. The globe swelled before rotating and transforming into a horizontal map, all the peaks and troughs of the terrain accurately laid out. Blake stepped closer.