by Lucinda Hare
Curl up, Stormcracker … Sleep if you can … Soon we’ll be home, soon you’ll be safe …
Home … home … The dragon obediently settled down, Quenelda coiled within his tail. Tangnost also chose to stay with him to monitor his progress. The web was clipped into place. It was all done quickly, efficiently.
The four Imperials rose up and spread their wings, their pilots checking that they were in no danger of getting entangled in the traces. Root took off beside them on his scouting Thistle dragon; he waved to Quenelda.
A horn rang out, short, long, short, long. As dark fell across the Western Highlands once again, tussocks of grass and heather were flattened as the Imperial Blacks took off from the floor of the glen to hold a hover at fifty strides. Abseiling down the bellies of their mounts, dwarf engineers checked the loading of the cradle straps. Quenelda signalled that everything was comfortable.
Within moments, the dragons were skyborne and heading southwest towards Dragon Isle.
*
It had been a long, tiring ordeal. Quenelda had slept fitfully, the rising and falling of the cradle lulling her and Stormcracker to sleep, only for the traumatized dragon to shake her awake with his restless nightmares. Flying for three days barely pausing for rest, they finally swept round the Dragonspine Mountains and into the Sorcerers Glen at dawn. Skilfully piloted, the dragons skimmed low across the loch, their cargo almost brushing the caps of the waves. Closer and closer the dragons sped towards the sheer, thousand-foot cliffs of Dragon Isle, and still they didn’t slow. And then they were gone, as if the island had swallowed them whole.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
An Unexpected Visitor
‘Root Barkley to hangar deck three. Root Barkley to hangar deck three.’
‘Wh-why do they want me?’ Root stuttered when Tangnost roused him and told him to get dressed. ‘It must be a mistake.’
The dwarf raised his eyebrows and remained silent, but his eye twinkled and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he led Root to a porting stone. The world blurred, and Root wobbled as he stepped off – he was still half asleep. Tangnost led him out onto a small flight hangar. A figure was coming down from the pad, his back to them. He lowered his hood as he turned.
‘Quester!’ Root shouted with joy.
The two friends hugged each other. Quester seemed his usual cheery self, although he looked weary and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Root’s heart suddenly thumped and his mouth went dry. Chasing the Stars! Had something happened to Chasing the Stars?
He could barely bring himself to ask when the hangar crew parted to reveal a Widdershanks being unsaddled.
‘Chasing the Stars!’ Root stumbled and almost fell in his haste to climb onto the pad. Hearing his call, the mare leaped across, scattering the deck crew. Root flung himself at his beloved dragon, hugging her neck fiercely. She bugled softly, her tongue flicking out to wipe away the hot tears that tracked down the young gnome’s cheeks. Deck and hangar crew stopped their work to smile at the noisy reunion. During these terrible times, good news like this was rare.
Root stood back to look at his dragon as she nuzzled him affectionately. A groom stepped forward with a feeding bag of honey tablets. Like Quester, the dragon looked well enough, although much thinner than Root remembered.
‘Come on, girl.’ He led her to an empty stall. ‘Let’s get you rubbed down.’
Quester was gulping down a second bowl of steaming porridge when Quenelda arrived. He was still trembling from his midnight flight to Dragon Isle. Tangnost had lit a pipe and was sitting quietly, letting the boy take his time. Root, who had just returned from bedding down Chasing the Stars, was not so patient.
‘What has happened?’ he prompted his friend. ‘Why have you left Dragonsdome?’
‘It’s dreadful …’ Quester’s voice faltered. ‘Felix DeLancy and his cronies are in charge. When you left’ – he looked at Tangnost – ‘the Earl appointed Felix Dragonmaster.’
‘Felix is Dragonmaster?’ Root could barely believe his ears.
‘Yes! Even the roost masters and mistresses have to answer to him. He doesn’t know what he is doing. The Lord Protector’s men came to collect the remaining battledragons – an Imperial went on the rampage after they failed to put a dragon collar on properly. Two apprentices died – it was horrible!’
‘Died?’ Quenelda was aghast.
Quester nodded. ‘Yes, Lady. They were torn to bits in the chaos. That’s why I had to leave. Dragonsdome looks like a battlefield.’
‘Which dragon were they trying to take?’
‘Dangerous and Deadly.’
What the esquire had said suddenly sank in. ‘But,’ Quenelda said, frowning, ‘Dangerous and Deadly is an Imperial. They can’t take them. Only the SDS is allowed to fly Imperials.’
Quester looked anxiously at Tangnost, who put a hand on Quenelda’s knee, nodding at the boy to continue.
‘Not any more, Lady. The Guild has changed the law. The Lord Protector may now breed and own Imperials.’
There was a stunned silence.
Quester suddenly remembered his task.
‘A royal man-at-arms came secretly to Dragonsdome. He gave me this, Sir, from the Queen’s Constable, to give to you by hand.’
Tangnost took the proffered scroll. Examining the wax seal, he broke it and his rugged face paled.
‘What is it? Tangnost, what’s wrong?’ Quenelda’s heart suddenly thumped. Was it bad news of her father?
The dwarf shook his head in disbelief. ‘The Queen is betrothed to the Lord Protector. Once they are married, he will rule the Seven Sea Kingdoms through her! Then no one, not even the SDS, will be able to stop him!’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Dragon Lord Down
Quenelda was sleeping under a blanket within Stormcracker’s coils. Once again she was dreaming; he was dreaming. Four hearts merged until they beat as two, until the two were one dragon – one battledragon fighting for survival, fighting to protect his Dragon Lord, fighting and failing …
Boom … boom … Boom … boom … Boom … boom …
It was a familiar nightmare journey – a dream journey that had begun with the flight from the battlefield of the Westering Isles and would end here on Dragon Isle.
Dragonskull drums sounded. Up … Stormcracker was desperately trying to fill his damaged wings with air; trying to escape the carnage below. The blizzard was becoming worse, the wind howling.
Up he sprang into the sorcerous darkness. With every movement the grating bones in his injured hind leg flared white-hot with agony. Tendons burning, muscles aching, hearts pounding. A battlespell streaking through the air in front of him vented its power harmlessly in the sea. Another off to starboard struck one of the Razorbacks, which imploded. The splayed talons of Stormcracker’s hind legs were caught by a Razorback rearing up from the frothy caps of the waves. He tasted salt in his mouth, stinging his eyes, raw on his injuries. The hull of an upturned transport rose beneath him, then dipped away into the trough of the swell.
He must leave this battlefield, bearing his wounded Dragon Lord away from the Dark Magic that was devouring everything in its path. He had never fled from a battle before, and anger burned hot inside as he turned eastward. He had but one task now: to take his Dragon Lord home.
The Earl swam into consciousness, the threads of his mind brushing those of Stormcracker. His wounds made him cry out. Quenelda gasped in her sleep as she saw her father through the night eyes of his battledragon; saw the terrible burns down his right face and side – the melted armour that welded him to his pilot’s chair, the smoking ruin of his staff where corrosive Maelstrom Magic had eaten through his nexus.
He tried to turn his head, to call out, but his navigator was clearly dead, his Bonecrackers also badly wounded. None could come to the Earl’s aid. With his helmet gone and his staff burned beyond use, he could not reach his own Air Wing, let alone his Battlegroup – assuming there were other survivors in this white-out.
Then the darkness swam and he lost consciousness.
The thread snapped, leaving Stormcracker alone again.
Kkkkkaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkkkk!
The battledragon roared his loss into the night and Quenelda wept in her sleep, but the dragon’s nightmare would not release them from its grip. The battledragon could feel movement on his back, but with every passing bell it lessened as more Bonecrackers and Marines died and slipped off him. He called throughout the long night, dragonsong vibrating through the night air.
No answer came.
Pain washed over Stormcracker in waves now, making it hard to focus, harder to fly. The cold was biting into his talons and wings, the weight of snow pushing him perilously close to the waves. Weakened scales had fractured. But two Imperials had joined his flight for sanctuary, both as badly injured as he.
Quenelda turned restlessly, caught within the coils of a familiar nightmare, and as she turned, the dream fragmented and broke. She reached out in her sleep, trying to hold the pieces together, for it always ended here. But this time the dream continued.
The deep green sea swell frothed below. It was littered with wreckage: the flat hulls of overturned ships; broken spars and rigging; frozen bodies, all deathly white, hard as ice. A riderless Frost dragon flew frantically past, heading for the open sea. A second followed, its pilot slumped around its neck. Up ahead, the ice shelf rose sheer to the horizon, and upon it stood a fortress of ice, ramparts glittering in the cold light.
The Earl came to. It was day. They were nearing the Ice Fortress and sanctuary. He could see dragons circling, and galleons at anchor rode the deep swell. Healers … warmth … revenge …
‘Thank the Gods!’ His voice was barely audible, unrecognizable even to himself as Stormcracker swept towards the fortress. He frowned through the pain. Something was wrong. No patrols had come out to escort him. Scouts should have found him bells before. Several galleons were on fire. There was fighting on the ramparts. Had the hobgoblins attacked the garrison while the SDS were gone? Then he saw it: the banners that flew – the red adder on black!
‘Cloak,’ the Earl croaked. ‘Cloak, Storm.’ Combining what was left of their strength, they disappeared.
Treason!
A badly wounded Imperial was already putting down on the ice close to the fortress. Friendly faces below were encouraging the exhausted crew to dismount and then they were ruthlessly cut down by men bearing the badge of the Grand Master! There was a flash of sorcery, and the unwary dragon was despatched
Frantically banking Stormcracker to starboard as spells streaked out to where his position had been barely moments before, battledragon and Commander sought to put as much distance as possible between them and their forward base. Cursing, raging bitterly, the Earl turned Stormcracker south east, towards the distant Inner Isles and the mainland.
Quenelda cried out in her sleep as the images began to fade like smoke in the wind, then sank deeper into Stormcracker’s nightmare. The blizzard raged. They were flying now, scant feet above the waves, hearts pumping weakly, weaving between huge icebergs that rose and fell on the deep sea swell.
Dark was falling winter-fast. There was a break in the snow-storm, but no land in sight. In the rapidly failing light the Earl had Stormcracker put down on one of the rolling icebergs, a dangerous, desperate manoeuvre. They woke to daylight. Freezing sea water encased the dragon’s wings and armour, and many more of the critically injured had died in the night.
‘Up, Storm!’ The Earl urged his exhausted battledragon up, else they would all die. Stormcracker struggled weakly into the air, frost biting into his wings. Day followed endless night as they landed time after time, no longer knowing where they were in the endless blizzard. They must be flying in circles. And as each day passed, Stormcracker sensed the Earl slipping away, and the last of his own hope and strength fading.
Then the curtain of snow parted momentarily.
There! There were island cliffs directly up ahead, heron-grey, rising up to stark mountains. But they could not gain height – too injured, too tired. They would die at the foot of the cliffs, broken and freezing on the rocks.
Wait! There was a small sandy cove. The Earl turned his dragon towards it. Now they were landing clumsily, tumbling, collapsing on the shale, as Stormcracker’s wounded leg and wings gave way. Hot pain … oblivion took them all …
Voices drew them back – the familiar guttural language of the dwarfs. Longships were drawn up high on the beach, bright shields and sails the only colour in the rising storm. Clansmen were picking their way amongst the dead and wounded, careful of the dragon’s dreadful injuries. Urgent voices called as they found the Earl. He was rambling, in a high fever, as they gently lifted him down a wing; then exhaustion and pain pulled the dragon down into darkness.
Stormcracker became aware that Thunder Rolling over the Mountains had gone; no sense of his bonded master existed. He roared his distress – roared until his strength left him.
Lost … So alone …
Tears rolled down Quenelda’s cheeks. Dark days followed in the freezing cold, as winter storms lashed the coast. The dragon floated in and out of consciousness, alone with the dead and dying. And then, on a calm night, as the snow fell silently, the hobgoblins came. Swarming … swarming up out of the sea. Dragons and ships and men arrived. The few Wingless Ones who had survived were questioned and killed by a tall scar-faced man dressed in black – the Lord Protector’s Dragonmaster. Then another sorcerer’s face, malevolent and pale, floated into the dream …
At the sight of that face, Stormcracker roared in his sleep. Panic flooded the sleeping dragon and girl.
‘His Imperial is barely alive, my Lord.’ Knuckle Quarnack watched the hobgoblins devour the dead with disgust.
‘Where is the Earl?’
‘There is no sign of him. We have searched the island. His seat is badly buckled and damaged and his navigator dead. We have found scores of dead Bonecrackers, but no trace of their master. Those few who were still alive knew nothing.’
‘Impressive, the voice said thoughtfully, ‘that they made it this far. Very well. I will break this dragon and make it mine – how the mighty SDS have fallen!’
With that, the Grand Master lifted his staff. A tear ripped through the air revealing a whirling darkness beyond that engulfed the mighty battledragon in its fearful embrace. Everything splintered into razor-edged shards and fragmented memories of cruelty and servitude, of cold iron and pain, and a never-ending darkness.
Lonely … so lonely …
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Dragon Quest
‘Quenelda? Quenelda?’ One of Tangnost’s strong hands was gently shaking her; his voice was gruff with concern.
Quenelda woke with a start, shivering despite the heat in the roosts. Two Gulps Too Many’s long tongue was washing her, the small dragon trilling anxiously at her distress.
‘What is it, lass?’ Tangnost’s dark eye was troubled as he helped her free herself from the twisted blanket’s grip. ‘You’re white as a ghost. You were shouting. Stormcracker was trying to flame …’
Quenelda swung round to look at the smoke still pouring from the battledragon’s nostrils. He was still rumbling in his sleep. She turned her tawny eyes to the Dragonmaster.
‘H-he did s-survive the battle. He and Storm, they landed on an island … And it was the Lord Protector,’ she spat, ‘who betrayed them.’
Tangnost helped her out from Stormcracker’s coils, then quietly guided her to the officers’ mess. Dragging a chair close to the fire, he motioned for her to sit, first dipping into the pan of hot milk on the range and giving her a steaming cup. Drawing deeply on his long curved pipe, he pulled up a stool and sat down in front of her.
‘Lass’ – he put a weathered hand on her knee – ‘what makes you so sure your father survived?’
‘S-Storm’ – her hearts were beginning to slow as Two Gulps Too Many rested his little head on her knees – ‘he knows. He remembers
in his dreams.’
‘Does he, now?’ said Tangnost, leaning forward.
‘The nightmares have always ended as I … as Storm’s trying to get away over the battlefield. But this time there was more.’
‘Go on,’ he encouraged her.
‘After escaping the battle, they flew through the night to high cliffs of ice with a great fortress. But the garrison was destroyed, and there were dead dragons everywhere on the ice. There were galleons flying … flying the …’
‘Red adder on a black background?’ Tangnost guessed.
Quenelda nodded. ‘The Grand Master’s men,’ she whispered. ‘He killed the survivors …’
‘He betrayed the SDS; they flew into a trap.’ Tangnost’s eye blazed. ‘I knew it, in here.’ He clenched his fist over his heart. ‘Razorbacks – they are doubtless of his conjuring. And now he builds an army in the north greater than any in the Seven Sea Kingdoms, and all in the name of the Queen, soon to be his wife.’ He shook his head. ‘How very clever. The populace believe him to be a hero. He held the line in the north, relieved the besieged fortress of the Howling Glen. He alone kept the hobgoblins at bay, because they are his to command. The Guild give him whatever he asks for. They are blind to his ambition.’
‘Papa then guided Stormcracker east towards the Inner or Northern Isles. He flew for days – putting down on icebergs till they reached land!’
‘What?’ Tangnost felt his heart leap. It was an exercise practised by the SDS for this campaign, but only for extreme emergencies. It was very dangerous, only the best pilots and highly trained dragons could do it. There was no way Quenelda could have known about it. ‘I – I don’t know where,’ Quenelda continued. ‘It never stopped snowing. But finally they put down on a tiny beach below high cliffs, and then longships came, and they found and rescued Papa …’ Quenelda’s voice cracked, anger sparked. ‘Though they left Storm and the others. Left them to be killed by the hobgoblins!’