by Lucinda Hare
Why?
A shiver of disquiet passed through the Grand Master’s body as he handed his mount over to a groom. If Rufus knew of his treason, he would have been intercepted long before he even returned to the glen. He would be languishing in the deep prisons of Dragon Isle in chains, bound by Battle Magic.
How? How could the Earl suspect something? Well, he was forewarned. With a confident stride, and a smile on his face, he descended to his chambers.
‘Hugo!’
The Earl embraced his friend, before searching his face. ‘You’re tired,’ he observed, noting with surprise that the dark hair was streaked with silver and the deep indigo eyes so dark they almost looked black.
‘I know,’ the Grand Master smiled ruefully. ‘I’m getting older, and the flying was difficult in this weather! I had two mounts collapse from exhaustion and frost bite. But I’ve raised ten thousand veterans from the north.’ The Grand Master poured some wine to calm himself. ‘They are striking out to reinforce all our coastal garrisons as we speak …’ That much was true, only they would slaughter the SDS and Royal troops they found there.
‘My thanks,’ the Earl paused, reluctant to raise concerns about a man whom he loved like an older brother. ‘Hugo, your dragon at the Jousts …’
The Grand Master’s heart hammered as sweat trickled beneath his robes. He desperately needed his elixir and tried to still his shaking hands. His thoughts raced. Could his dark magic beat the Earl’s battlemagic yet? Could he disguise its use here at the heart of the Black Isle? Chaotic magic always had unforeseen outcomes. He summoned his remaining strength.
‘What of it?’ he looked puzzled, merely curious.
‘All thought the dragon to be rogue, but its behaviour could be seen in a different light. It behaved as a predator might.’
The Grand Master frowned, as if considering this view for the first time. ‘That is true,’ he conceded. ‘But the stallion was spurred to madness by the reckless behaviour of my kinsman, Duke Grenville. It was he who drove the dragon to pursue you, to settle an old score. Thereafter it was the dragon’s many wounds that led to so many injuries and deaths. I fear it took fright at the crowds, and that was … very unfortunate.’
‘Yet it did not die,’ the Earl persisted. ‘Why did the arrows not kill it? It had the physical strength of a predator even though it had no armoured hide.’
‘Ah,’ the Grand Master smiled as if delighted to reveal a secret. ‘I am discovered! I thought to use my knowledge and experience to breed domestic dragons that were tougher, more aggressive; that could be used by your SDS. I was hoping to have five hundred bred and trained and in the field for next year’s Spring campaign; a New Year’s gift to you. The Winter Joust seemed such a perfect place to show off the dragon’s qualities.’
‘Might you have unwittingly drawn upon the Maelstrom?’ The Earl held up a hand to forestall the angry protest forming on his friend’s face. ‘Hugo, you know you have always pushed the boundaries of learning; you ever seek after knowledge and sorcery that would be beyond the power of most to master. You delve more deeply in the ancient chronicles and scrolls … Think carefully. Have you unwittingly drawn upon the Maelstrom?’
The Grand Master vehemently shook his head. ‘No! Not knowingly!’
‘Hugo, will you then subject your findings to Inner Council, your dragons to the Breeders Guild, before we breed any more for the SDS?’
‘Of course,’ the lie came easily, as did the false smile.
The Earl nodded, satisfied. His daughter must be mistaken, but no wonder. Having to witness the slaughter in the Cauldron, being threatened by a rogue dragon which nearly took her life and his … She was still a young inexperienced child, and her imagination had run away with her. Mutually satisfied, they turned to the Inner Council tomorrow and the Earl revealed the astonishingly good news that Galtekerion was dead.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Duchess-in-Waiting
‘Ohhhh … are those real dragon opals?’
‘My! What a large diamond!’
‘Yes, isn’t it …?’ Armelia purred as she tilted her hand just so in the sun, the huge diamond engagement ring sparkling. ‘It is but one of the Dragonsdome jewels, and is quite priceless. And now that I am Darcy’s fiancée’ – she spread out her skirts and pirouetted so that the layers of silk stitched with thousands of jade beads could be seen – ‘I have been to Foresight and Hindsight’s Emporium for a fitting. I am to have whatever I wish for my wardrobe!’
‘Ooohhh!’
Armelia contemplated the gaggle of envious young ladies-in-waiting who surrounded her. Duchess-in-waiting! She could barely contain her glee! Tradition now entitled her and her parents to their own rooms in Dragonsdome and at the palace, and a larger retinue of servants and men-at-arms.
And yet it had all promised to be a total disaster when Darcy had arrived unannounced at the nursery roosts. Armelia had done what all ladies were taught to do in tricky situations: she had fainted. After all, her dress was already ruined, and if she were not careful, her reputation would follow. Good thing she had already laid the little dragon – little hatchling, she corrected herself – down beside its mother to suckle. Darcy had had no option but to lift her up and take her outside – to do less would not have been chivalrous. The pleasure of being swept up off her feet, eyelids a-flutter, was somewhat ruined when he unceremoniously dumped her on the nearest haystack. Muttering loudly about his clothes and the stench, Darcy had then headed for the palace and a fresh doublet, leaving Armelia and her ladies to await a carriage. It had not been an auspicious beginning.
But by the time she had soaked in the delicious warmth of a copper bath tub in front of a roaring fire, Armelia was feeling quite restored and had decided upon a new strategy. In the unused wing of Dragonsdome where she had now been given rooms, she had noticed several portraits of Darcy’s young mother, Desdemona. Following a scandal that was still the talk of the Court, Desdemona had been banished by the Earl for betraying him – but with whom no one had ever discovered. Darcy didn’t talk about his mother much, other than to blame his father bitterly for her early death. He was only six when she had been sent away, leaving him with memories of a beautiful dark-haired woman who granted his every wish in defiance of his father’s commands.
Armelia’s stinking dress had been removed for burning. Her maids, with Darcy’s permission, dressed her in a fresh gown from his mother’s extensive bridal trousseau. Having them dress her hair in the same fashion as in the portraits, she swept regally down the stairs as if she already belonged at Dragonsdome.
Darcy was smitten. With sour looks, those young ladies who had arrived for dinner to see how she had survived a day ‘becoming better acquainted with dragons’ acknowledged that they had been outdone. Darcy only had eyes for Armelia. He knew of her disastrous first encounter with his half-sister, and took little persuading over dinner that Quenelda had quite deliberately humiliated Armelia again in an effort to split them up.
Blinking back tears, bottom lip trembling as she had been so artfully taught at Grimalkin’s, Armelia explained that she had been prepared to fulfil the Queen’s ridiculous edict and to suffer such indignities because she had wanted to see Darcy before he left for Dragon Isle. Who knows, she trilled helplessly, when she would see him again?
Darcy was furious with Quenelda. ‘She is trying to make trouble between us. If you were my wife, all save the Queen would have to bow to you – including my wretched little half-sister!’
Not exactly the romantic and passionate declaration of undying love that Armelia had been angling for; that she had endlessly spun in her vivid imagination. But still … Darcy was to be hers, and in time Dragonsdome would follow! Could anyone ask for more?
And yet …
And yet …
Deep inside, Armelia now harboured a secret she would reveal to no one: she had actually enjoyed herself in the nursery roosts! It was the first time in her entire life that she had got her elegant, manicured hand
s dirty. A daughter of ancient nobility whose fortunes had fallen on hard times, she had been raised by a succession of nannies and indulgent parents who had lavished every last groat they had on her – including sending her to the exclusive Grimalkin’s College. Alliance to the greatest Earldom would restore her family’s fortunes and their rightful place at Court.
But privileged and pampered though she was, Armelia had never done anything for herself. She had never walked in the rain; she had never dressed herself, never washed a dish. Never handled a baby dragon …
As for commoners, the servants and soldiers were all but invisible to the ruling Sorcerers Guild. Theirs were the mundane tasks of life, freeing the upper classes to practise their High Magic, to enjoy the fruits of life. Yet Root’s quiet dignity and Quester’s friendliness had given her pause for thought.
And, Armelia had grudgingly acknowledged, in Quenelda she had met a girl who had thrown off the shackles of society’s expectations. A girl who was doing what she wanted to do, despite the nasty gossip that Darcy – and she herself – had spread at court. Given what she had seen of Quenelda, Armelia could very easily picture the Earl’s daughter on a dragon flying into battle. And why shouldn’t she? Armelia thought to herself in surprise.
This revelation had ignited a tiny flame of rebellion deep within her. Yes, she still wanted Darcy – but perhaps in time she could change him, soften his attitude towards his young sister. And she could certainly try to put an end to the relentless gossip at Court. Did it matter that someone was different?
She had revealed none of this to Darcy, of course, as he slid the wondrous ring onto her finger …
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The SDS Have Been Scrambled
‘Galtekerion is dead.’
A wave of incredulity swept the Inner Council of the Sorcerers Guild. Had they heard the Earl Rufus correctly? Cheers broke out. Hats were hurled into the air. There had been so much bad news recently. Poor harvests followed by an early winter had drawn thousands to the city. That and the prospect of an early SDS campaign was rapidly eating up the Guild’s meagre resources.
The sight of hobgoblin weapons, artefacts and tools had caused muted comment and confusion. The Council had been anxiously awaiting the arrival of the kingdom’s most celebrated soldier.
The Earl limped to take his seat. He waited for the celebration to die down.
‘He died of wounds taken at the Howling Glen. Our scouts found a burial cairn deep within the mountain. They recovered weaponry about the body from all thirteen tribes – and this necklace.’ He held up the dragontooth amulet removed from the dead hobgoblin champion. ‘The sign of Galtekerion’s overlordship. And see there …’
He pointed to a hobgoblin standard next to the door. ‘If you look, masters, you will see totems for all thirteen tribes surmounted by a new symbol, the dragon’s head, the mark of Galtekerion’s overlordship. And these …’ He held up torques and bracelets of carved bone inset with gold. ‘This is Galtekerion’s personal rune. Many such were on and about the body.’
We immediately sent out long-range reconnaissance patrols to verify this discovery. The Frost dragons can still fly in this filthy weather. They all report the same thing: the thirteen tribes are riven with infighting, each tribe’s champion seeking to take Galtekerion’s place. Many are starving, fighting amongst themselves for food. The weakest have slipped into hibernation and died; their bodies litter the ice. There can be little doubt: their Warlord is dead.’
The chamber finally quietened.
‘We are going to strike now before they choose another. And we are taking the Tunnel Rats with us. We are going to destroy the spawning pools.’
That left the Guildsmen breathless for a moment, and then they cheered their Champion’s audacity.
‘I have spoken to the Queen: the SDS have been scrambled, all our men recalled. We leave for Dragon Isle tonight, and the Howling Glen tomorrow. From there, we fly to our forward base out on the ice. Advance elements, including all our ground attack dragons, are already on exercise there, and Frost dragons have located the islands by flying from iceberg to iceberg.’
‘But, my lord,’ said a tall balding Guildsman, looking worried, ‘we have not been able to move up the supplies and equipment you need. The passes have long since been closed. We were hoping that if there was a break in the weather, we could ship supplies to you for the early spring. And as for more dragons …’ He fell silent.
‘Our battlegalleons and transports have been iron-clad so that they can break ice. My Cairnmore mine in the Brimstones has been shipping ore over the last five summers to the Howling Glen; more than enough brimstone for a short winter campaign. Each dragon will transport their own supplies. As you know, four of our regiments have been practising flying and fighting in blizzards for over two moons. We are using High Magic and Battle Magic as we have never used it before: to keep airborne and operational in winter. The SDS fly tomorrow. We will not fail.’
‘I will personally coordinate moving what supplies and equipment we can up to the Howling Glen,’ Hugo Mandrake, the Grand Master, promised. ‘And if possible our galleons will try to support your forward base on the ice with men and supplies from royal coastal castles and keeps, though I fear they are all ice-locked.’
Guild and masters alike stood in tribute to the SDS Dragon Lord. ‘May the gods bless you, and fly with you on Wings of Vengeance!’
The Earl stopped on the steps to the dragonpads as his men mounted.
‘There is another pressing reason, Hugo, why we fly now. The Narwhal, Orca, White Fox and Ice Bear clans report that the ice shelf is still creeping south. Reconnaissance patrols confirm it. By the time spring comes, unless there is an early thaw in this cursed weather, the ice will bridge the sea from the Westering Isles to the mainland. The hobgoblins must be stopped before they breed and swarm onto the ice, else we will never hold them back. They will come in their millions.’
Ah … it was too much to hope that this would go unnoticed …
‘You wish me to keep this news secret?’
‘Yes. It would cause widespread panic. The high passes are still blocked. The roads will soon be a quagmire that would trap everyone. In this weather they would die in their droves trying to reach safety.’
‘And your tactics?’ The Lord Hugo tried to keep the eagerness from his voice as the Earl prepared to mount.
‘We will attack when it is full dark in three weeks’ time. Detailed tactics have been hammered out by our Strike Attack Group since the assault on the Howling Glen. The forward briefing with my senior officers takes place tonight on Dragon Isle. Darcy will attend. It is time my son developed an appreciation of the many aspects of warfare.’
‘He is flying with you?’
‘No.’ The Earl’s face showed fleeting sadness. ‘He would be a danger to himself and those around him. No, Darcy will be attending the Academy with other cadets: he will have to earn the rank that should have been his by right if he had taken his responsibilities to heart. He will temporarily be assigned duties on Dragon Isle, once we have flown. We are taking so many that we leave only a skeleton garrison.’
The Grand Master clasped the Earl in a firm embrace. ‘Take care, Rufus,’ he said. ‘Don’t take risks – your injuries are yet to heal fully. May the gods fly with you, old friend.’
As he watched the Earl take to the air, he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. A skeleton garrison? And Darcy being privy to the tactics to be employed?
Perfect …
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Dragonsdome Ring
‘What’s happening?’ Quenelda stood to one side as her brother stormed past, blind even to her in his fury.
Root cried out as Darcy deliberately pushed him aside, spinning him into the wall. Up ahead, Quenelda ran into her father’s study. ‘What’s happened? Papa?’
The Earl turned from the table as Root entered, rubbing his shoulder. ‘Galtekerion has died from wounds in the Battle of th
e Howling Glen. The tribes are breaking apart, fighting amongst themselves. We are going to strike now, while they are leaderless, half stupid with starvation and ready to hibernate.’
‘But … but you aren’t ready,’ Quenelda protested. ‘You haven’t had time to rest and rearm, to test your winter armour. It’s too cold for some of the dragons …’
‘I know,’ he said gently. ‘We will lose many men and dragons before we even reach the Isles. Hundreds who are injured will never return home, will freeze to death. I—’
‘But why?’
‘Because it will secure a victory unlike any we have known. It will secure peace for generations to come!’
‘When do you leave?’
He came to stand beside her, took her chin and tilted it. ‘Tonight for Dragon Isle. Tomorrow we fly north to rendezvous with the IV and the XVIII at the Howling Glen. The Ice Fortress is already operational. The engineers and the northern clans have moved huge supplies across the ice. We will airlift apothecaries and surgeons with us, so Tangnost will depend upon your help. Hugo’s troops will man and supply the coastal castles, and provide support for our forward base if the weather allows. For the first time ever, Goose’ – the Earl’s eyes gleamed fiercely in the firelight – ‘we take the fight to the hobgoblins!’
At the mention of the Grand Master, sudden foreboding gripped Quenelda. Why, oh why was she not a boy, so she could fight at her father’s side? The Earl saw it in her face, the tense shoulders and knotted fists at her side. He gathered his daughter closely to him. ‘I know you want to be flying with me. I was going to do this before I left in early spring, to announce before the Queen and Court …’
Her heart thumped. ‘What?’
The Earl pulled a heavy ring from his finger: two golden dragons entwined. As Root stepped back in amazement, the dragons slithered and separated, forming two rings. The Earl gave one to his daughter and returned the second to his finger.