Flight to Dragon Isle

by Lucinda Hare

  As Quenelda stood on the lower steps of the throne, there was a grating sound, as if a huge weight of stone were moving.

  ‘They’re turning!’ Root was standing in front of Tangnost, the dwarf’s hands resting reassuringly on his shoulders. Tangnost nodded.

  The six dragons now faced inwards. Their eyes burned gold, and purple smoke rose from their nostrils. Spreading their wings till each wing-tip touched the other, they bowed their heads to the young girl. As she came closer, each in turn stepped forward to blow softly on her face, and she rested her head against their muzzles in greeting. As she accepted their fealty, she named them:

  ‘Rashinan whose wings are swifter than wind …

  Torgrimble whose voice is louder than thunder …

  Moranth whose breath is hotter than fire …

  Fafnir whose scales are harder than stone …

  Abraxis whose talons are sharper than flint …

  Stoorworm whose power is greater than creation …

  ‘My brothers and sisters’ – Quenelda’s power was such that her whispered words reached every ear – ‘the dark of the Abyss is rising. The time will soon come when I will shed my skin and spread my wings. When that time comes, I shall summon you to my side once again …’

  ‘So,’ Tangnost said, so softly that Root only just heard him, ‘the journey has begun. Who knows where it will take us?’

  And then, with a clap of thunder, the chamber went dark.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Coming Home

  Quenelda came back to her own body slowly, rising through the dreams that clung to the edge of consciousness like memories, the whisper of countless dragons a murmur in her mind. She lay there quietly, eyes closed, as her other senses slowly unfurled like a fern touched by sunlight. She was lying on a crisp linen sheet beneath woollen blankets and furs. The smell of pine resin hung in the air, although the wall sconce had long since died and the room was now in darkness. A fire smouldered in the grate.

  Physically she felt weak, but there was a strange hot energy that now flowed through her veins, a fire that burned inside. She was somehow changed, but how? She flexed her hands. Instead of talons she definitely felt fingers and toes, which was a relief. No tail or armoured snout. No scales … No, that was not quite right, was it? She opened golden eyes and lifted her right arm from beneath the covers. Darkness held no secrets from her reptilian inner self. There, on the palm of her hand, was a gorse-yellow scale. It was soft, but rapidly hardening like a newly laid egg. Even as she looked, it seemed to sink into her skin so that she could see the lines on her palm through it. But when she touched it with a finger, her palm too was as hard as a scale.

  ‘Oh, Two Gulps …’

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered Two Gulps and You’re Gone. He was dead. She knew with utter certainty that he was – although there was a part of him still with her, within her, which would be with her till she died. She squeezed her hand as tears tracked down her face. Two Gulps was gone. Her father was gone.

  Then someone close by turned restlessly, and sighed in his sleep. Sitting up, Quenelda could see the figure curled up in front of the hearth. It was Root. Where was she? She looked around the chamber. She was surrounded by warm dark rock hung with tapestries. There were no windows. A precarious stack of barkscrolls lay beside a chair, along with a mug and some pieces of charcoal.

  ‘Dragon Isle,’ she said out loud, resisting the urge to spread her wings and hop from the bed. ‘I’m home.’

  Root jumped awake like a jack-in-the-box, and was at Quenelda’s side in two heartbeats. ‘You’re back!’ he said shyly, taking her hand in his. ‘I’ve been so worried. Tangnost told me to be patient, that you’d come back to us.’ He grinned at her with sheer joy. Exhausted, and more than a little confused, she found herself smiling back.

  ‘Wait! Let me get some light.’ The gnome boy held a taper to the fire embers, and lit candles about the chamber. Coming back, he sat by her side and looked at her. The fire in her eyes had died back to amber. She was pale and thin, but that was hardly surprising.

  ‘I’m starving,’ she said, looking about for her clothes. ‘Why are we on Dragon Isle? How long have I been in bed?’

  Root looked at her. How do I tell her that the world has changed? Dragonsdome is gone. The SDS is broken. She doesn’t remember visiting the Heartrock …

  ‘A while,’ he said carefully. ‘But everything’s all right now. Tangnost is here too. He has stood watch by your bed every day, when he wasn’t in the flight hangar and roosts.’

  Quenelda’s tummy rumbled.

  ‘Why don’t I get you some food, and then I’ll explain what’s happened.’

  *

  ‘… and I’ve been learning to navigate! I’ve been sitting in with the cadets. I can read maps and …’

  Quenelda sat in front of the blazing fire, wrapped in a heavy shawl, with the remains of a meal scattered in front of her. She was stunned. Root had been talking non-stop for over two bells, relating all that had happened to them over the two moons she had been asleep. She had no memory of the Heartrock at all, and the hardest part had been talking about Two Gulps. Quenelda’s grief was still as raw as it had been the day she fell unconscious, and Root had held her while she sobbed. Hesitantly he had explained what Darcy intended; that Tangnost was protecting Dragonsdome’s heritage; that the Dragonmaster’s grief was no less than hers. That Darcy in the end had betrayed them anyway, and the pedigree battledragons and battlegriffs were all gone.

  ‘Tangnost’s been tormented since you fell unconscious. He’s afraid you’ll hate him, but he had no choice. He’ll explain.’ Root looked at his friend anxiously. ‘Will you see him?’

  Tangnost paced up and down. This was ridiculous. He had faced battle a hundred times, and not felt so afraid. He reached the open door, took a deep breath and stepped in. Quenelda swung round. For several heartbeats they stood immobile, staring at each other, each afraid of what they would see in the other’s eyes. Then the moment passed, and a twelve-year-old girl’s anguished tear-filled eyes met an old dwarf’s oak-brown one.

  ‘Oh, Tangnost!’

  He opened his arms. In two strides he had her in a bone-crushing bear hug. ‘Thor’s Hammer, child! We thought we’d lost you!’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Under a Dark Cloud

  Tangnost and Quenelda spent the rest of the day talking quietly. As the sun slowly sank westward, Root left to fetch food and drink, feeling content to just listen as Quenelda described her vivid dreams of distant peoples, times and places. His friend was back, and that was all that mattered.

  Knowing she must be weak and disorientated, Tangnost gently told Quenelda all that had happened to Dragonsdome and the SDS since she slipped into her deep sleep. Although he wished to protect her from further distress, Tangnost could not conceal the huge changes she would soon see for herself, nor the devastating news that no rumour or evidence had been found to suggest that her father or anyone else had survived the battle. Quenelda also learned of the fall of the Howling Glen and the Nightstalkers, the death of William DeBurgh and the high cost to the SDS of holding the line.

  DeBurgh? ‘Armelia’s uncle?’ There was hardly a family in the kingdom that had not lost men in the battle.

  Tangnost nodded grimly. The SDS had lost their Commander and three Strike Commanders in little under two moons, but more was to come.

  ‘North of the Old Wall is still lost, but the Howling Glen has been retaken, allowing us a forward air base.’

  Quenelda’s eyes brightened as he knew they would. ‘Then the SDS is fighting back?’

  Tangnost hesitated, then blew out a cloud of smoke from his pipe as if to mask his words. ‘No. The fortress was retaken by the Lord Protector and the Army of the North,’ he reluctantly conceded.

  ‘The Lord Protector?’ Quenelda looked baffled and glanced at Root, who was fiddling with his boot laces. He hadn’t mentioned any Lord Protector. ‘Who’s that? What Army of t
he North?’

  ‘The Guild feared that the SDS could no longer protect them. They petitioned the Crown to let the Grand Master raise an army in his lands. He took personal command and led an army of raw recruits to retake the fortress. Of course, no one save us knows how he truly did it; that the hobgoblins are his to command. Following that great feat of arms,’ Tangnost growled, ‘the Lord Hugo was made Lord Protector of the realm and is hailed as the new Champion of the people. He is now the most powerful man in the Seven Sea Kingdoms, and the SDS have been all but forgotten. Most available dragons, troops and gold from the Royal Treasury are diverted north to his lands beyond the Old Wall.’

  Quenelda leaped to her feet as Root bit his lip unhappily. ‘But he’s a traitor!’ Her voice rose shrill with denial. ‘He betrayed the SDS and the Queen.’

  ‘He has proved himself cunning beyond imagination. Who will believe him a traitor now that he has retaken the Howling Glen and returned it to the SDS? Who would believe us?’

  A knock on the door forestalled Quenelda’s protest. A young SDS knight entered and bowed respectfully to her. It was Guy DeBessert.

  ‘My father sends his greetings, Lady Quenelda.’ Having witnessed the scene at the Heartrock, Guy was still wide-eyed with awe. ‘All are glad you are recovered. They tell me that you flew’ – he hesitated, knowing mention of her dragon would be painful – ‘Two Gulps to rescue Darcy after the battlegriff bolted, and that you executed a perfect Stoner Manoeuvre. I wish I had seen it!’ he added wistfully, unconsciously rubbing the stump of his right hand – the legacy of Darcy’s foolhardiness. ‘I am heartily sorry Darcy had your dragon killed.’ Guy shook his head. ‘How could he do such a thing to such a magnificent creature?’ Seeing tears in Quenelda’s eyes, his words tapered away to silence. Tangnost raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

  ‘Dragonmaster.’ Finally remembering his errand, Guy stood to attention. ‘My lord father asks if you would attend him in his quarters?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Root suggested, ‘you’d like to explore the fortress? If you are feeling strong enough?’

  Tangnost nodded. ‘I will join you both later. Don’t tire her,’ he warned Root. ‘Much has changed,’ he cautioned Quenelda gently before he left, ‘since you were last here …’

  Quenelda nodded.

  Despite Tangnost’s warning, Quenelda was still shocked by the air of despondency that hung over the island like a dark cloud. Always to the fore of the fighting, and stretched to breaking point by recent heavy losses, the elite SDS had paid a terrible price during the Battle of the Westering Isles and its dreadful aftermath. It was now a shadow of its former glory.

  As Quenelda and Root took porting discs down into the rock combs, they passed through empty guard rooms, dark foundries, armouries and half-empty barracks. Only the hospital wing was still crowded, overflowing into a barracks room.

  The unseen sun was high overhead as Quenelda and Root, now joined by Tangnost, were welcomed to the battleroosts by one of the SDS Dragonmasters – a grizzled and badly scarred veteran called Loki Strongarm, also of the Bear clan and one of Tangnost’s second cousins, who limped heavily on crutches. He saw Root’s horrified gaze resting on the scar that slashed across his face.

  ‘Took an injury in the Howling Glen,’ the barrel-chested dwarf explained, ‘when they attacked the fortress last year – a hobgoblin cleaver. That’s how I came to be sent here to Dragon Isle. It was quite a battle.’ He nodded to Tangnost, one veteran to another. ‘Two hobgoblin banners right under our noses! Nearly caught us by surprise, but the Earl’s scout gave us warning.’

  At the mention of the Howling Glen, Root bit his lip and turned pale. Tangnost reached out a hand to squeeze the boy’s shoulder in sympathy.

  ‘That was my father,’ Root said quietly, head held high.

  ‘This is Oakley’s son, Root,’ Tangnost added. ‘Now the Lady Quenelda’s esquire.’

  The dwarf’s eyes widened. Grinning, he reached out a hand and clasped Root’s wrist in a bone-crunching soldier’s grip. ‘Your father saved us, son. He was a good man.’

  Root smiled weakly, trying not to wince.

  As they toured the dragoncombs, Quenelda discovered roost after roost standing empty, the names carved on the archways a mute reminder of how many had died at the Westering Isles and subsequent battles. And there were few to take their place; the maternity roosts could not keep up with demand.

  ‘Just like Dragonsdome.’ Quenelda was aghast. Where had they gone?

  ‘Just like Dragonsdome,’ Tangnost agreed. ‘And most juveniles from the Royal studs now go to the Army of the North.’

  The Army of the North! Quenelda already hated that name. Lord Protector, indeed! How could the Queen have done it? No one could replace her father! She knew that those Razorbacks were of Mandrake’s creation. He was the traitor. Why couldn’t anyone else see it?

  And the roosts that weren’t empty were occupied by exhausted battledragons: Imperials, Vipers, Adders and Magmas, Frosts, Vampires, and the Lesser Chameleons and Thistles used by scouts and couriers; most of them injured in one way or another, their scales and eyes dulled by fatigue. Their anguished whispers filled Quenelda’s head. And worse, they were painfully thin, skin stretched over jutting ribs and parchment-thin wings. They looked half starved.

  Quenelda turned to Loki. ‘But why are they all so thin? So sickly?’

  ‘Brimstone.’ The dwarf shook his weary head. ‘Shipments aren’t getting through, and those that reach us bear low-grade ore – ore that would once have been rejected. The best is requisitioned by the Lord Protector in the name of the Crown. We send couriers, but all the Royal and DeWinter mines are now guarded by the Lord Protector’s men, and they insist the shipments are being sent. Guild galleons are raided by pirates.’

  Loki sighed with frustration. ‘Even our own battlegalleons are being attacked by Razorbacks. We have lost dozens on escort duty. They simply vanish during the night.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Tangnost agreed dryly. ‘Since the SDS are so sorely pressed, the Lord Protector has taken it upon himself to provide escort duty with Crown troops, to prevent any further hobgoblin incursions … but they too disappear …

  Next they visited the upper flight hangar cavern at the top of the cliffs, built about and beneath the Seadragon Keep. The once glorious pedigree dragons of the Rapid Reaction Force were exhausted; they had flown too many sorties. Racked by coughs and minor injuries, worn out Harriers and Imperials slept fitfully in the flightroosts, ready for immediate takeoff; their sleep disturbed all too often as they were scrambled to repel a hobgoblin incursion. One patrol was sweeping in as another was taking off.

  All at once the dragonhorn sounded, its deep sonorous boom making the air in the combs vibrate about them.

  ‘Scramble! Scramble! Scramble!’

  The flight hangar exploded into action. Already armoured and saddled, ten dragons were roused and led outside onto the cliffside combat pads by ground crew. Girths were tightened, straps adjusted, feedbags removed. Fully armoured pilots and navigators stumbled out of their hammocks and raced towards their dragons, swiftly climbing the rungs set into the dragon saddles and girths. Settling into their high-backed combat seats, they buckled on helmets, clipped dragoncloaks to flying harness, slung black swords about their hips, their battle staffs already holstered at their knees

  Dwarfs pounded out of the northern barracks, collecting shields and axes and war mallets from the racks as they ran, without missing a step.

  ‘Go! Go! Go!’

  Behind the two SDS Dragon Lords, two-score commandos mounted two at a time, storming up the dragons’ great tail plates. One tripped and fell, sending another half-dozen sprawling down the wing in a tangle of weaponry.

  Quenelda could feel Tangnost’s concern, though the dragonmaster said nothing. There was nothing to be done about it: after all, there were too many half-trained recruits, too many veterans, too few overall to fully man each dragon.

  Ground crew cleared the pads
. The dragons powered up, great wings sweeping up and down, warming aching muscles, stretching tendons. Landing lights winked from amber to green.

  ‘Wingwraith, Wingwraith, you are cleared for immediate takeoff. Wind westerly, twelve knots and rising. ETA on the Isle of Storms, sixteen bells and counting.’

  ‘We are good to go.’

  ‘Good hunting, Wingwraith. Seadragon Keep, over and out.’

  Within moments, Imperials and swifter Harriers of the SDS were swooping down, gathering speed before arcing up into the air and heading for the Westering Ocean.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Broken and Burned

  The hospital wing was worse – a nightmare of suppurating burns, torn limbs and broken bodies. The dragonsmiths, surgeons and their esquires were on the point of collapse. Young cadets from the Battle Academy above had been summoned away from their studies and textbooks to assist; but the hollow-eyed youths were stumbling with weariness.

  As they moved amongst the roosts, the stink of burned flesh made Root gag, but Quenelda cried out in horror. Hands held against her ears, she reeled under the waves of pain and anguish from the injured dragons that washed through her.

  She turned to the nearest dragon. Swiftly she then moved from roost to roost, till her head ached.

  ‘I would like to help nurse the injured,’ she said to Loki. There is still a deep infection beneath these wounds.’ She gestured to Storm from the North’s chest. ‘The poison is gone, but it will need your care and knowledge to heal her. Warrior Windsong has a hairline fracture to her third torlock bone. Crunch Beneath my Talon has an arrowhead lodged beneath his quipsom, which is why he’s so agitated … and the stitches around Pounce in the Night’s amputated hind leg need to be redone. They’re too tight, perhaps an apprentice stitched them – and they give him a lot of pain. And …’

  ‘Well, I’ll be blowed, Cousin Tangnost,’ the watching Dragonmaster said, dealing his cousin a thumping blow between the shoulders that made Root’s knees feel like buckling in sympathy. ‘I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it.’