by Lucinda Hare
Boom boom … Boom boom …
His own heart was racing as he stepped up to the watering trough. He unstoppered the vial with shaking hands and closed his eye. Would Quenelda ever forgive him? he wondered. Would she understand that Dragonsdome would be utterly lost and her life would be changed for ever if he disobeyed Darcy? The vile purple drops swirled on the surface and then were gone.
‘Here, boy,’ Tangnost croaked, the words sticking in his throat as he encouraged the dragon, his knees suddenly weak. ‘T-take a drink, boy …’
Supported by Root, Quenelda made her way slowly down the avenue towards the battledragon roosts. She felt lightheaded with fatigue, and although Root had made her dress warmly in a heavy flying suit, she felt cold and shivery. She had no plan other than to flee Dragonsdome and find her father. She was not going to Court to watch her brother made Earl: it would betray her father’s wishes utterly. Instead, she and Root were leaving with their dragons; they would be gone before Darcy returned triumphantly. The only thing she had to do was see Tangnost. He was like a second father to her. The idea of leaving him behind, of being without his strength and wisdom, made her heart thump fearfully in her chest. Maybe she could persuade the dragonmaster to come with them? He bore no love for Darcy.
I’m coming, Two Gulps and You’re Gone …
I am ready … The dragon dipped his head to the water trough. Next to him Tangnost bowed his head and openly wept.
Down in Dragonsdome’s labyrinth of kitchen pantries and cellars, Quester hastily packed bread, cheese, oats and apples into a saddlebag. Cold slices of smoked beaver and bear followed. There would be water aplenty churning off the mountainside, and Two Gulps would hunt for his own food: there were herds of deer and wild boar, elk and bears. The other bags already held travelling stove and flints, flares, a rope, candles and sleeping rolls. And a dozen feeding bags of honey tablets for Root’s cherished mount, Chasing the Stars. Satisfied, Quester set out for the roosts, carrying enough provisions and equipment to last Root and Quenelda for up to a month.
Boom … boom …boom … boom … boom …
One of the dragon’s twin hearts suddenly faltered and missed a beat. He coughed, sending a small flare of flame rolling over the water trough.
Quenelda stumbled and tripped. Scrambling to her feet, she gathered up her helmet.
‘Be careful,’ Root urged. ‘You’re very weak …’
The dragon’s heart faltered a second time.
Quenelda fell to her knees, crying out.
‘Quenelda? What’s wrong?’
She got to her feet, her face a ghastly white, then staggered backwards as if she had been punched.
In the roosts, the dragon stood stock-still, trembling. His mouth foamed and frothed. With a fearful thud, he dropped to his knees on the metal decking.
As she reached the outer paddocks, Quenelda’s knees buckled. With a sharp cry, she fell over again.
‘Quenelda!’ Root was really frightened now.
The dragon’s breathing slowed.
‘Can’t breathe …’ Quenelda’s breath was coming in laboured gasps, as if she needed to scoop the air up. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. She reached out blindly with her hands. ‘It’s Two Gulps! Guide me, Root,’ she pleaded, fear burning in her eyes.
Abandoning everything, Root went to Quenelda’s side and took her weight.
Dancing with Dragons … Two Gulps’ breath slowed painfully. Dancing with Dragons …
The dragon was calling out to Quenelda now – fear-drenched thoughts that had never plagued him on the battlefields.
Boom … boom … boom … boom …
‘I’m coming, Two Gulps! I’m coming!’ Quenelda’s body jerked in fits and starts as her muscles stopped working. Gauntlets fell unnoticed to the ground as Root tried to keep her on her feet. She felt so tired. She wanted to curl up … it was getting dark – and so cold …
The night is coming …
Hold on … hold on … Quenelda was weeping, barely able to see where she was going, the world refracted through a prism of tears.
‘Two Gulps!’ she howled out loud.
Quester nearly jumped out of his skin as the ghostly pair emerged out of the mist, Quenelda’s ragged call hanging in the damp air. Dropping the saddlebags, the esquire raced to their side. ‘Lady Quenelda, what’s wrong? What’s happening?’
Root’s anguished eyes met his. ‘I – I don’t know! It’s Two Gulps … She has to reach him.’
Dancing with Dragons …
The dragon raised his heavy head, his dimming eyes searching for the young girl.
Boom … boom … boom … boom …
Tangnost looked up, aghast, as the ashen-faced girl stumbled into the lantern light, held upright by Root and Quester. Quenelda’s hair was plastered to her sweating forehead. Her golden dragon eyes were dim and unfocused. Spittle frothed at her mouth.
‘Save him,’ Quenelda screamed, tears coursing down her cheeks. ‘Save him, Tangnost! I know you can! He’s dying! We’re dying.’
‘Quenelda …’ The dragonmaster sprang nimbly to his feet, trying to stop her headlong flight towards Two Gulps. ‘You shouldn’t be here, lass.’ Then her words hit him. ‘We’re? What do you mean?’
Pushing past the dwarf with new-found strength, Quenelda knelt beside the battledragon, blindly searching for his head. The stallion raised his head wearily, his hot breath warming her ice-cold hands.
Boom … boom … boom …
Quenelda desperately tried to raise Two Gulps’ head, to cradle his great nose in her arms. Forgetting his fear of battledragons, Root flung himself down and used all his strength to wrestle the great head onto her lap.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ she appealed to Tangnost. ‘Why aren’t you doing anything?’ she commanded as the breath rattled in the dragon’s great lungs. ‘Two Gulps! Don’t go! Don’t go!’
One great yellow eye opened. A single dragon tear spilled hotly down the girl’s arms. Tears tracked down Quenelda’s cheeks to mingle with the dragon’s as she rocked backwards and forwards in her distress, cradling him as she might a child.
‘Two Gulps! Don’t leave me!’
Boom … boom … boom …
Dancing with Dragons, it is growing dark …
‘No!’ Quenelda screamed out loud as haunting dragonsong filled her head.
I go to dance with the dragons …
Boom …
A thousand memories shared in the blink of a closing eye. The last touch of his mind slipped away and was gone. Nothing took its place. With a long sigh, Two Gulps and You’re Gone died, the weight of his great head pinning Quenelda to the ground. A yellow scale came loose in her hand.
Quenelda frantically sought the dying spark in the growing darkness. I’m coming …’ Dragonsong took her and lifted her up on its wings. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and her head fell backwards against Root’s shoulder. She sighed with a slow expulsion of life, raising an arm to Tangnost in silent appeal.
‘I’m going to dance with the dragons too …’ she whispered. Her body sagged as the breath of life left her. Her fiery eyes dimmed and their light went out.
Root screamed.
Tangnost’s face was a mask of shock. ‘She’s dying, man,’ he shouted at the surgeon as Root, eyes wide with horror, knelt to cradle Quenelda.
‘Quenelda! Don’t go!’ the young boy cried desperately. ‘Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone!’
‘Don’t just stand there.’ Tangnost shook the professor. ‘Do something to help her!’
‘I’m a vet, not a physic,’ the professor said, aghast, hands shaking with horror. ‘What can I do?’
Tangnost looked up on the scene and raised his stricken face. ‘Thor’s Hammer!’ Tears ran down the dwarf’s horrified face. ‘We’ve killed the Earl’s daughter.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dance of Dragons
In this last dance of dragons
Our three hearts beat as one
But I must dance without you
For my time is almost done
In this last dance of dragons
I will fly with you no more,
We will never feel the wind
Beneath us as we soar.
In this last dance of dragons
I grieve to say goodbye,
For I will not be with you
When you spread your wings and fly.
In this last dance of dragons
You know I’ll wait for you,
For surely as the sun sets
You must dance with dragons too …
The witching hour of midnight was approaching. High in the belfry tower, beneath an inky sky bright with crushed diamonds, the goblins seized their frost-rimed ropes and the cold brass bells began to swing.
The deep sonorous sound shivered out across Dragonsdome twelve times. The last ringing note fell into silence, marking the end of winter and the beginning of spring. Light and dark, day and night hung in the balance, but light would now gain the ascendancy and the days grow longer.
Then the strangest thing happened. As the waning moons rose high over Dragonsdome, first one, then a second wild dragon flew down to perch on the roof, throwing long blue shadows on the snow. The first notes of dragonsong curled around the chimney tops and up into the frigid night air. Soon there were a dozen, then a score, and then a hundred wild dragons alighted on the steep gables and towers of Dragonsdome.
More and more wild dragons gathered on the dragonpads floating above. In their roosts and stables, Dragonsdome’s remaining dragons and battledragons all turned towards Quenelda’s chambers. Too high for the human ear to hear, the dragons’ notes shivered and sang as they searched out the sleeping girl. Snow slid from the roofs in a flurry of mini-avalanches, and panes of costly glass cracked like caramelized sugar as the eerie notes penetrated Dragonsdome’s thick walls.
Outside, wrapped in his bear cloak, Tangnost watched them raise their snouts, and wept. Anger burned deep within him like a banked fire in the forge, the white heat hidden deep inside. Guilt racked him: he should have defied Darcy. He should have taken Two Gulps and Quenelda to the safety of Dragon Isle, and damn the consequences.
A song shivered out over the glen, to be answered by a thousand scaled throats. Was this his doing? Tangnost wondered. Was this a lament for a life that was now slipping away?
Rising and falling, rising and falling, the notes wrapped themselves around the Earl’s daughter. Sleep had always brought vivid, colourful dreams of times and places she had never seen. Dreams of dragons, explained away as childhood imaginings.
Now, as Quenelda lay unmoving, the yellow scale clenched in her hand, a new dream took hold of her, cradling her in its coils like a hibernating dragon. With a hiccup, her heart changed its rhythm.
Boom boom … Boom boom …’
It was warm and dark. Quenelda felt soft stirrings all about her. For the first time since the death of her father and Two Gulps, she felt strangely at peace.
Boom boom … Boom boom …
Come, said a dragon, warm breath a whisper of wind. You have walked the ways of the Wingless Ones. Come, Dancing with Dragons, let us show you our world. Let us show you your world. Come, dance with the dragons …
She opened her eyes to find herself in a vast dragoncomb warmed by purple flames. She rubbed against other small soft-scaled bodies: her roost litter. Vast coils about them uncurled. Dim light broke into her dark world, revealing an indigo dome pierced by a million stars.
Boom boom … Boom boom …
In her dream, Quenelda now clung to a sheer cliff edge, looking out over the sea. The air was alive with sounds and smells, dragons tending their new-born fledglings. The crush of dragons on the nursery ledges was tremendous, their warm breath curdling the sharp smell of urine and the pungent fishy odour of dragon dung. The cries of great black-beaked eagles filled the air as they swooped and dived, hoping to grab a fledgling. A female Imperial nursed her brood, a clutch of six babies nestled in the coils of her tail. Gently the mother nuzzled them forward, waddling and clumsy, towards the cliff edge and the frothing sea far below. Small wings, creased and untried, were spread.
Come, the dragons called to her. Come dance with us …
Then the mare nudged Quenelda on. In that heart-stopping first moment of flight, Quenelda’s frantic beating heart was replaced by another two, infinitely older, infinitely slower, with different memories. Her red blood cooled and thickened to blue, moving sluggishly through a web of reptilian veins. Pale soft skin hardened into diamond-hard dark scales that clothed her from tip to tail. Bones thickened and strength flowed through her outstretched arms that became vast curved wings, able to ride the winds. She felt heaven’s breath beneath her wings, lifting her, the endless starry night above. Dragonscaled from tip to tail, she swooped down joyfully towards the sea …
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Hibernation
Quenelda slept, cocooned from the cold white world outside.
On hearing of the calamity that had occurred at Dragonsdome, the Queen had sent her own physician and commanded the Earnest and Ingenious Guild of Apothecaries to search for a cure. The men in the yellow-tasselled tricorn hats of the Guild, with their weights and measures, pestles and mortars, came and went. Quenelda was forced to swallow potions, but none of them made any difference to the pale girl with sunken, bruised eyes. Warm and dark in her dream, she slept on.
One by one, the apothecaries declared themselves at a loss as to her condition. ‘I confess myself baffled,’ one said as he looked down at the girl. ‘She has virtually no pulse, and its beat is strange and erratic. Her blood barely moves, she barely breathes.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s almost as if …’
‘As if …?’ Tangnost pressed.
‘It’s almost as if she’s gone into hibernation.’
Stricken to his core, the dwarf stood watch over the girl he thought of as his daughter, while Dragonsdome and the Seven Sea Kingdoms disintegrated and fell to disaster about him.
Spring came late – too late. The starving hobgoblins spawned and swarmed. Crossing the ice that joined the Westering Isles to the mainland in their millions, they fell upon every living thing in their path. While the dwarf clans of the high-cliffed Northern and Inner Isles fought for their very survival, hobgoblins on their Razorbacks entered the deep sea lochs of the west, carrying their hobgoblin masters deep into the heart of the Seven Sea Kingdoms. Unaware, Quenelda slept on as the undermanned fortresses of the Stormbreakers and Nightstalkers were isolated and besieged, and the hobgoblin banners swept across all the Northern Highlands virtually unopposed.
Abandoning the Howling Glen to the inevitable, their newly promoted Strike Commander, William DeBurgh, Armelia’s uncle, rallied his shattered regiment to protect the tens of thousands of refugees mired down in appalling weather on the military road south. Fighting a futile rearguard action, they fell to the last man and dragon. Mustering fresh troops from the Winter Knights, Shadow Wraith and Firestorm regiments, the new SDS Commander Jakart DeBessert, took the field north of the Brimstones to face converging hordes of over a million hobgoblins, and barely halted their advance at the cost of half his command. And there, where a line of crags rose up above the moorlands between the northern Brimstones and the mountains to the east, the SDS engineers began repairing the Old Wall, a relic of the First Age. Within half a moon, cut off by appalling weather that grounded their Imperials, and surrounded by hobgoblins and Razorbacks, the Nightstalkers’ fortress fell with no survivors. The panicking Guild called on the Grand Master to raise an army in the name of the Queen.
Hushed voices drifted in and out of Quenelda’s hearing. The belfry counted out the hours, then days and weeks, but her hearts beat to a different, slower rhythm. As the Sprouting Grass Moons gave way to the Corn Planting Moons, and the hobgoblins were finally beaten by the Grand Master’s newly formed army, Root quietly despaired for his friend’s life. The weight was dropping aw
ay from Quenelda, from her high cheekbones and slanting brows. There was no longer any doubt: the Earl’s daughter was dying. Giddy with relief at their belated victory over the hobgoblins, the rejoicing Guild called upon the Queen to bestow the new title of Lord Protector upon the Lord Hugo Mandrake, with a writ to raise taxes and an army of his own.
The peoples of the Seven Sea Kingdoms had found a new champion.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Queen’s Apothecary
As spring turned into summer, there was no reason to hope, but Root and Tangnost maintained their vigil beside Quenelda’s bed. One morning Root lay sleeping on a pallet as Tangnost sat watchfully by the fire, smoking his pipe, when a guard knocked on the door, interrupting his bleak thoughts.
‘The Queen’s Apothecary,’ he announced, with hope in his voice. Perhaps this one might succeed where all others had failed. He fervently hoped so.
An elderly man shuffled in, leaning heavily on his Arch Mage’s staff, back bowed with age, the triple-tasselled hood of the Artful Apothocaries Association leaving his face in shadow. Behind him, three apprentices carried the tools of his trade: a small portable cauldron, brass scales, weights and measures, a pestle and mortar, pouches and jars of ground herbs and leaves and crystals, unguents and pastes. The old man fussed about his apprentices’ preparations for a minute or two before turning towards Tangnost. He suddenly straightened and threw back his hood. Keen grey eyes flashed.
‘My Lord Constable!’ Tangnost made to bow.
‘Nay, man, no ceremony here,’ Sir Gharad urged him. ‘How is the child?’ A bony hand was laid against Quenelda’s pale cheek.
Tangnost shook his head sorrowfully. ‘No change, my lord.’
‘We feared it was so.’ The old man bit his lip. ‘I come bearing urgent news. It is no longer safe for the Earl’s daughter to remain here. With his armies successful in the north, the ‘Lord Protector’ has returned.’ His smile was ironic. ‘You may have heard the celebrations?’