Dark Wyng

by Chris D'Lacey

  “No!” cried Grendel from the back of the cave.

  Gallen stepped in front of Gabrial as he tried to move toward her. The resulting roar of conflict made the Hom man shrink back and cover his ears.

  “Enough!” rapped Grynt. He turned again to Gabrial. “I am severely disappointed in you. After the battle with the goyles, I was prepared to believe that you had grown in stature and finally become worthy of your father’s lineage. And now this.”

  “My father—”

  “Be quiet. I haven’t finished. Until I order you otherwise, you will be confined to your eyrie.”

  “What?”

  “I said, be QUIET. Grendel and the wearlings will be allowed to stay with you. But you will not leave the eyrie, not even to hunt. Instead, you will suffer the indignation of others providing food for you and the orphans. Guards will be posted to make sure you comply. Disobey me again and you will all be returned to Ki:mera in shame. Do I make myself clear?”

  Gabrial shook his head in frustration. “If you harm Ren, it will set Gariffred against you forever. He may be an orphan, but he has Astrian blood. Many dragons on Ki:mera would rally to an Astrian drake, whether he’s a friend to the Hom or not.”

  “And you would fight for him?” Gallen hissed. He rolled back his lips to show all his fangs. “You dare to stand before us and threaten your Prime?”

  “I dare to point out the truth,” said Gabrial. He glanced at the terrified man. “We should settle our disagreements with the Hom. These clashes are dividing the Wearle and raising dark forces among us.”

  “Faah!” exclaimed Gossana.

  “I mean it. I feel it,” Gabrial growled. He pleaded with Grynt again. “Call off the hunt for Ren. Let me find him and bring him to you. He’ll listen to me. He can talk to this Hom. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  Grynt looked away. “It’s too late for that. The boy’s position has changed. He has set himself apart from us.”

  “Can you blame him? It was you who imprisoned him!”

  “Two Veng dead!” the Prime dragon snapped. “Hom involved on both occasions. This is war, Gabrial. I’ve told you before, dragons don’t negotiate with lesser species.”

  “Ren’s different, you know that. He has our auma.”

  “He’s a threat. That’s all I need to know. If there is a dark force around us, maybe it resides in him.”

  Gabrial sighed deeply and looked at Garodor. The De:allus dragon had been silent throughout. Even now he seemed content to take the stand of an interested observer.

  Grynt gestured at Gallen. “Get him out of my sight.”

  “Move,” said Gallen, squaring up to Gabrial, “or I’ll cut your other wing and make you crawl to your eyrie.” He bundled Gabrial back toward the lip of the cave.

  Over Gallen’s shoulder the blue dragon cried, “How are we to know the truth about this vapor if we don’t interrogate the Hom you’ve caught?”

  “There was no vapor,” Grynt said impatiently. “The Veng that raised the alarm was mistaken. It destroyed a rain cloud, nothing more.”

  “A cloud in the shape of a black dragon?”

  “I’ve heard enough.” Grynt sighed. “Take him away.”

  “Clouds don’t make such shapes,” shouted Gabrial. “And why there? Why did it appear at a cave where one of Gallen’s Veng lay dead?”

  “Fly!” the Veng commander growled, poking his tail into Gabrial’s chest.

  Gabrial extended his wings, being careful to look after the injured one. Gallen had done a good job there. Even with a dragon’s powers of recovery, the split was going to take days to heal. “Grendel,” he said. “I won’t leave without her.”

  “Oh, how touching,” Gossana puffed.

  Grynt tilted his head and gave a short command.

  Grendel was brought to Gabrial’s side. She stood up proudly, almost shadowing the blue. “When this is done,” she said to the gathering, “you will know that Gabrial was right. I want Gayl and Gariffred brought to us immediately. Or it will be your names ringing around Ki:mera, telling how poorly you treat our young.”

  And with a hiss at Gallen that made him recoil, she launched, and called Gabrial away with her.

  “Do I have your permission to punish her?” said Gallen. His claws were eager to draw some blood.

  Gossana gave a cynical sniff. “Being with that idiot blue is punishment enough for any female.”

  For once, Grynt seemed to agree with her. “See to Grendel’s demands,” he said to Gallen. “Move the wearlings back to their eyrie—but do it gently. Use dragons Gabrial is familiar with. Find a roamer to do the hunting for them and to keep watch. A young dragon we can spare, no more Veng. Gabrial can’t try anything while he’s clipped. Go.”

  Gallen pulled in his claws and swooped away.

  In the silence that followed, Grynt said to Garodor, “You’ve been quiet. How far did you get with this?” He turned and looked at the Hom prisoner.

  Rolan was huddled against a dent in the wall as if he might draw some comfort from the rock.

  De:allus Garodor blinked his eyes, lighting the cave with a pale yellow glow. “It’s not been easy to commingle with. Its thoughts are muddled by the fear in its mind. But I did detect an interesting emotion. One that conflicts with Gallen’s report that this Hom was involved in the slaying of the Veng we found in the cave.”

  “Emotion?” said Gossana. She didn’t trust emotions.

  “It feels betrayed,” said Garodor. “It believes it was led into a trap.”

  Grynt’s eye ridges narrowed. “By its companions?”

  “No,” said Garodor, “by this.”

  He i:maged a crow.

  The man immediately kicked his legs and tried to press himself farther into the wall. Gossana, who was nearest to him, snarled in disgust and bared her fangs. “Why crows? They’re nothing but noisy scavengers.” She sucked in her saliva, arguably a sound more frightening than her growl.

  Garodor let the i:mage fade. “Scavengers, perhaps, but they mean something to him. I noted some were present when we found the Veng.”

  “Doing what?” said Grynt.

  “Watching. On whose behalf I can’t be sure. I have a theory, though, that I think you should hear. This business with the goyles may not be over. When the dead Veng was pulled clear of the cave, I inspected the interior and found traces of unusual skin deposits. I analyzed them before coming to this meeting. They contain high levels of fhosforent. They were shed by a creature undeniably dragon in origin.”

  “Goyles?”

  “Or a different strain of them.”

  Gossana shook out the tips of her wings. “I was assured that all the mutants were destroyed.”

  “From this Wearle, yes—but possibly not the first.”

  Grynt looked away uneasily.

  Garodor went on, “I think they might be survivors from the first conflict that lay dormant for a while.”

  “Doing what?” Grynt hissed.

  “Regenerating. Waiting for the optimum moment to emerge.”

  “As crows?” Gossana’s eyes changed color.

  “I don’t know what they are—or, more important, where they are,” said Garodor, “but I think this Hom does.” He put his isoscele under the man’s chin and tipped his head back against the cave wall. Rolan let out a frightened whine. A patch of warm fluid began to pool around his legs. “Gabrial’s right. We need to find the boy. I believe Gabrial when he says he knows nothing about the slaying of the Veng in the quarry. He may be hotheaded, but he’s not a killer. Even in my short time here I’ve come to see that he’s smart and loyal. I suggest you start the search for Ren right away. And make sure Gallen uses some restraint. We want the boy alive and talking. We need to know everything this prisoner knows before it’s too late.”

  “Too late—for what?” Gossana said.

  “More deaths,” De:allus Garodor said bluntly. And he pulled his isoscele away from Rolan and flamed the tip to be sure of removing any contami
nation.

  “Gabrial, it’s no use sitting here brooding.”

  Rain was spattering across the cave mouth, driven in on a sweeping crosswind. Gabrial was staring rigidly at the mountains, taking the brunt of the rain across his chest. Night was slowly closing in. Rumbles of thunder were shaking up the air. At the far right edge of the cave, standing guard, sat the lonely figure of Goodle. He turned his head when he heard Grendel speak, then looked away quickly as if he was embarrassed to be there.

  “The wearlings are missing you,” she said. “Come to the back of the cave. Please.”

  Gabrial shook his head. “I need to think.”

  She blew some air across his injured wing, letting the heat roll across the sensitive scales at the back of his neck. “Thinking’s bad for you. You need to rest.”

  A funnel of smoke issued out of Gabrial’s handsome snout and was quickly picked up by the next gust of wind. Out of Goodle’s hearing, he whispered, “They’re going to kill him, Grendel. Goodle says they have a wyng out looking for him. If I don’t get to Ren before—”

  “Shush,” she said urgently. “We have a visitor.”

  She parted from Gabrial slightly as Garodor glided into the cave. The De:allus landed nearer to Goodle than to them and spoke quietly to that dragon before sending him away. Shaking off a light skim of rain, he folded down his green wings and crossed the cave mouth. Behind him, a faint flash of blue light briefly cracked the sullen night sky.

  “Is the guard dismissed for good?” The sharp rise in Grendel’s voice made clear the discontent she felt.

  “No,” said Garodor. “Goodle will be back.”

  “Kind of the Elders to give us a guard the wearlings are fond of, but are no longer allowed to play with.”

  “It was not my decision to make,” said Garodor. “I hope the wearlings’ confusion will be short-lived.”

  “What do you want, De:allus?” Gabrial asked bluntly.

  “To speak with you,” Garodor said.

  “I said everything I have to say at Grynt’s cave. Why has he sent you?”

  “He hasn’t. The Prime doesn’t know I’m here. Grendel, would you leave us?” Garodor looked toward the rear of the cave. “I think I hear your drake calling.”

  She nodded, grim-faced, and backed away.

  “Well?” said Gabrial, when she was gone.

  De:allus Garodor settled lower, as if he intended to be present awhile. He was an elegant dragon and made no puff of sound as he relaxed. “I’ve been going over all the battle reports. You showed great bravery against the goyles. It must have been hard, losing so many dragons—especially my old colleague, De:allus Graymere. I understand you were at his side when he died.”

  “I could do nothing for him,” Gabrial muttered, remembering the standoff he’d been forced to endure when Graymere had been wounded by a goyle, only then to suffer the further misfortune of crashing down among the bloodthirsty Hom.

  “I taught Graymere everything he knew,” said Garodor. “He had an excellent mind and would have taken my place one day. I was deeply saddened to hear of his death. Like me, he wasn’t interested in matters of command; he just wanted to explore the truth. You and I share that conviction, Gabrial. It would be to every dragon’s benefit if we could be friends.”

  Gabrial stared mournfully into the night. Vast storm clouds were blowing in from the sea. “How can we be friends? You’re the one who’s been brought here to take Ren apart.”

  “I can stop that if the boy cooperates with us. You’re right, he could be a valuable asset, a key to our greater understanding of the planet. He needs to be brought back safely.”

  “Fine words,” said Gabrial. He set his jaw straight. “But I hear Grynt’s voice, De:allus, not yours.”

  Garodor shook his head. “On my honor, I come to you out of my own volition. But I will speak for Grynt. You judge him too harshly, Gabrial. He’s impulsive, yes, and his decisions sometimes suffer for it. But this is a difficult time for him. It’s not easy managing a Wearle of this size. A Prime dragon needs to be strong, and needs to be seen to be strong. But a good one will listen to reason, eventually. I’ve persuaded him not to have the boy killed. But if anything else happens, I can’t protect Ren.”

  “Then let me go. Let me protect him.”

  “You know I can’t do that. Besides, what use would you be with a damaged wing?”

  “Then why are you here? What is it you want?”

  “An answer to a question. One I wanted to ask you in Grynt’s eyrie. I decided it would be in your interests if he didn’t hear it.”

  “What question?”

  “How did you know where to look for Ren?”

  Gabrial felt his eye ridges twitch. He stared at a permanently snowcapped peak, which was just beginning to reflect the storm’s light.

  “For what it’s worth,” Garodor went on, “I believe your account of what happened at the quarry. I’m just … intrigued to know what drew you there.”

  Gabrial lifted his shoulders, sending scale dust running down the frame of his wings. “The mines are closed. It was the obvious place to take him.”

  Garodor flexed a foot. “I’ve been to the mines. They cover a reasonably sized area. And there are numerous shafts and pits. You also had little free time in which to search. Yet you found the boy right away. That can only mean one of two things: Either the stars were shining on your quest—or you were guided to Ren’s location. Someone—or something—helped you, didn’t they? Tell me, Gabrial, does the boy command crows?”

  “What?”

  “I saw them in the mind of the Hom we captured. The man fears them greatly. I’d like to know why.”

  “Ren has never shown a liking for crows.”

  Garodor wrapped his tail across his back. “They were frequently around your old cave. Perhaps he learned to control them there?”

  “Or perhaps the De:allus is thinking too cleverly for once.”

  Grendel stepped forward out of the shadows.

  “You forget, there was a Veng on the ground,” she said. “Gallen was lazy enough to post a vivid green dragon in open daylight. It would show up brighter than your unlidded eyes. That’s what drew Gabrial to the right place: a mixture of fortune and Veng stupidity.”

  “Fanon Grendel—”

  “Matrial Grendel,” she corrected him, making him bow. “We thank you, De:allus, for your concern about Ren, but I would ask you to leave the eyrie now. My wearlings are a little frightened by the storm and I must attend to Gabrial’s wing. And, look, here’s Goodle returned with food. Our pleasant, trustworthy guard is attending to our needs as well as to yours.”

  Goodle landed quietly in the same place he’d left. He dropped a bloodstained goat on the floor of the cave and nosed it, with little enthusiasm, toward Grendel. He went back to his formal position, shuddering as he looked out into the night.

  “Very well,” said Garodor, rising up. “I will, of course, inform you of the outcome of the search. I’m sure it won’t be long before we have some news. I hope, for everyone’s sake, it will be good.”

  And he tipped his head to both of them and flew.

  How much of that did you hear? asked Gabrial, placing the words, by thought, into Grendel’s mind. He glanced at Goodle, who seemed more concerned about the growing storm than in overhearing any kind of conversation.

  Most of it, said Grendel, beckoning him deeper into the shadows. I had to get rid of him before Gariffred drew his attention.

  Is he well?

  Oh, yes. He’s more than well. Eager to show you something.

  Gabrial caught her eye. Even in the darkness, their jeweled blue surfaces were softly glowing.

  I know how you found Ren’s prison, she said.

  Gabrial drew closer. He’s i:maged something else? A new location?

  She nodded.

  He glanced at Goodle, who was still peering at the clouds as though trying to predict which one would produce the first clap of thunder. “Show me,” he
whispered, far enough away from the cave mouth now.

  To his surprise, Grendel dipped her head.

  “Grendel? I have to—”

  “No,” she said firmly. “You don’t leave the cave. One more breach of their trust and you’ll be no livelier than that.” She nodded at the motionless goat. “I couldn’t bear it if they hurt you again—for good.”

  He stroked her back with his isoscele. “If I don’t go, Gallen will succeed with his search. There are only so many places Ren could hide, and he won’t be able to shield his scent for long. Gallen’s no fool. He’ll know to sharpen his sensors in case Ren tries smearing himself with our dung again.”

  “Yes, I’ve thought of all that,” she said, nervously raking the ground. “I agree, we have to act quickly.”

  “Grendel, you’re not going to tell them where he is? If you give Ren up—”

  “You think I would? After everything we’ve been through?”

  “No. So … ?”

  She took a deep breath. “I have a plan. It’s dangerous, but I think it will work. And it has to be now, while the storm is breaking. I’m going out to search for Ren.”

  “You? No!”

  “Shush,” she said. She glanced across the eyrie. A flash of lightning had just made Goodle jump.

  “You are aware we’re under guard here?” Gabrial hissed. “I know Goodle’s about as fierce as a feather in the wind, but he still has eyes. How do you plan to get past him?”

  “Because I know something about him you don’t.” She turned her head and stared at the skyline. “Goodle is terrified of lightning.”

  In general, dragons flew in all weathers. Some conditions they actively welcomed. Snow, for instance, cooled their wing joints and enabled them to take on water if they needed to, especially on longer journeys. And though extremes of temperature were never ideal, dragons could adapt to either state. During winter, their scales provided a thermal barrier against the cold, but were equally effective at deflecting the heat of the Ki:meran sun. When lifted by just a few degrees, the scales could be slid back minimally to ventilate softer tissues beneath. Rarely did a dragon look at the skies and decide it would be unwise to fly.