He’s right, said Gabrial. I’ll take Gruder and two roamers and we’ll—
Wait, said Grynt. Stay on this course.
He surged forward suddenly. Gabrial broke the line and accelerated up to him. You’ve found the trail?
A faint trail, yes. I can’t be sure if it’s Gayl or the matrial. Until we know for sure, stay with the wyng.
With a powerful beat, Grynt swept another three points south.
On they flew, farther and farther away from the Wild Lands, but closer and closer to the scent. Until, in time, they came across an elongated hump in the windswept crust of white below.
The shape of an adult dragon.
Gossana.
She was lying on a patch of open ground, away from trees or other hiding places, close to a stream that was cutting a hazy black line through the land. A long gouge in the snow behind her suggested she had come down and skidded some way.
While Garrison gave the general order to circle, Gabrial and Grynt swept over the body.
The first pass told Gabrial what he needed to know.
Gossana wasn’t moving and Gayl wasn’t there.
They should have split up.
“Don’t land!” he heard Garrison call. “Flame around her first! The creatures can hide in the ground!”
“Do it,” said Grynt, sweeping past.
So Gabrial burned a circle around the matrial, quenching the snow and laying dead anything that might be hiding.
No creatures leapt up screaming in pain.
And still Gossana didn’t move.
Grynt waited for the ground to cool, then landed quietly beside her.
She was dead. He knew it before he could bring himself to look at her famously vindictive eyes. The sockets were empty, bloodied but clean. Her killers had taken those harsh red jewels and left her staring at permanent darkness.
Gabrial landed beside the Prime, Grendel next to him.
For a moment, none of these dragons spoke. In time it was Grynt, fire flickering in his throat, who whispered, “Godith, take her auma. Shield it in your heart of hearts.” He lifted his isoscele and touched it point to point with Gossana’s. It was the greatest show of kindness to the matrial Gabrial had ever seen.
Grendel said, “I don’t want her burned here.”
Grynt gave a solemn nod. Raising his voice to the sky he bellowed, “Pick her up. Take her back to the mountains.”
Two roamers glided down to lift her.
Gabrial shuddered as he watched the frame rise—a shudder that soon became a terrifying chill when he realized something was wrong about the lift. It was taking too much effort to pick Gossana up. The matrial was large, but the roamers Garrison had assigned to her were strong. They should have been handling her corpse with ease. It was heavier, clearly, than it ought to be, as if she had gorged herself before she’d died—or something weighty had been put inside her.
Then he saw it: a gash in the belly that had been resealed with some kind of gel.
“Put her down!” he yelled.
“What?” said Grendel.
“She’s been cut!” the blue shouted. “Something’s wrong! Put her down!”
He had intended to add the word slowly, but by then the roamers had opened their claws and dropped Gossana from a small tree height.
She hit the ground with a solid thump, landing not quite belly side down. The impact opened the gash and discharged a spurt of goo from the abdomen. For one moment, Gabrial couldn’t look. He feared the creatures had slain the wearmyss and cruelly sealed her inside Gossana. But it wasn’t Gayl that punched her way out of the hole. It was two large Gibbus.
Gabrial was still in shock when the first one came for him. It was three strides away when it was hit with a twisting column of flame. Grendel had taken it out. She turned to flame the other, but Grynt was already there. For the first time, Gabrial was able to witness how fearful a dragon Grynt could be. The Prime had his tail end around the creature’s neck and was holding it off the ground. It wriggled like a hung fish, gagging for air.
“Where are the others?” Grynt said calmly. “Show me and I’ll let you run.”
The creature kicked its powerful legs.
“Show me,” said Grynt. He tightened his grip.
The creature bared its teeth. Saliva ran over Grynt’s isoscele. “I should take your eyes for hers,” he said, “but that would be a poor exchange. You picked the wrong dragon to war with, creature.” And he tightened his grip again, until bones cracked and muscles melted and there was nothing left to support the beast’s head. The head fell to the ground and rolled down a shallow slope into the stream. With a cursory snarl, Grynt dropped the remains and cleaned his tail idly in the snow.
“Did you read it?” asked Gabrial.
Grynt looked sideways at the young dragon. “Of course I read it. The creature’s mind was weak. It gave me everything I wanted to know. Its kind call themselves Gibbus. Garret was right about their location. They’re taking Gayl to the Wild Lands along with two Hom. What you see here is an ill-hatched plot, put into place because Gossana flew off course. You did well to spot the cut in her belly. You’ve stopped them getting to the heart of the mountains.”
Gabrial looked down at the matrial’s body. “She must have been fighting the wyrm. Why else would she stray off course?”
“Because she realized what was happening and was trying to save Gayl’s life,” said Grendel, making it sound like a statement of fact.
Grynt kicked aside the corpse of the Gibbus he’d killed. “True or not, that’s how she’ll be remembered.”
Gabrial glanced at the headless body. “You said you’d let it run.”
Grynt snorted at the blue’s naivety. “And have it sink its teeth into one of us? Bring the head; it might be useful. Burn the rest.”
“Gossana too,” said Grendel. “I’ve changed my mind. Set a fire all the world can see. Let the creatures know we’re coming. Let there be war.”
To Mell’s surprise, the Gibbus, when they ran, moved like men. Their stout legs hit the ground with vigor, taking them at speed across the roughest of terrains.
So it was that they reached the Wild Lands in far less time than Mell had imagined. It was a barren place where grass grew thinly in cracks of stone and barely a snowflake lingered. Not a great deal was known about the Gibbus, but Mell had heard it said they lived below ground in caves no Kaal would want to occupy. Looking at the changing landscape around her, she knew she must be close to her journey’s end.
She began to hear grunts of exertion and realized her carrier had started to climb. With an effort, she cast a glance to one side. The tribe was breaking formation, disappearing into the rocks through any gaps they could find. If Mell had given light to any hope of rescue, those thoughts were dashed when she saw how far the Wild Lands stretched. The rocks ran as far as the mountains grew high. She looked to the stony horizon and felt as if a wall had been built in her heart.
Without warning, her carrier came to a halt and dropped her like a sack of old bones. The back of her head struck a lump of stone. Taking no note of her cry of pain, the Gibbus hauled her toward a hole. It bundled her inside and sent her tumbling down a shaft that took its fair share of skin and blood. She slithered to a halt at the bottom, and there was grabbed by more strong hands. They dragged her along a winding tunnel that stank all the way of heat and decay. After several changes of direction and a journey across a perilous bridge, she emerged into a gigantic chamber. No daylight pricked this place, but the Gibbus had inserted fire pouches all around the walls. They lit the whole cave with a warm orange glow, though that was little comfort to Mell or her wounds.
Her entrance was greeted by a roar of scorn. The Gibbus who had dragged her this far now lifted her high above its head, as if she were as light as a caarker feather. It turned so many circles that the walls of the chamber blurred and Mell hardly knew she was being thrown until her body crashed to the ground once more. Every bony part of her erupted in pa
in, yet she still gathered strength enough to look for Leif. The girl was on her knees a few paces away. Her brittle limbs were weeping sap, but she didn’t look as badly treated as Mell.
They pulled Mell up until she too was kneeling and made her look at a fat Gibbus who sat atop an even fatter rock. It was old, this creature, with slow-moving eyes and even more gray on its pudgy face than the one that had led the attack on the settlement. That gray came forward and bowed to the fat one. Then it did something Mell could hardly believe. It put its hands to its head and produced a floating picture out of nowhere. Mell swallowed blood when she saw it. It was a vision of the guard she had killed in the shelter. The scene caused uproar within the chamber. Everywhere, Gibbus were calling for her head. The fat one wiggled a finger.
“No!” Mell screamed as two of them came for her.
They pulled her to her feet and dragged her closer to the gray. Keeping its cruel eyes firmly on her, it reached out sideways.
Another Gibbus put a knife in its hand.
To Mell’s surprise, her bonds were cut. Hands and feet. Two slashes. Swift.
The gray barked a command. The guards let her go.
Mell looked up in confusion, rubbing her swollen wrists. Her red hair fell in sorry waves, almost cloaking the defeat in her face. “Loathsome creature, what do you want?”
It stabbed the knife into the ground and backed away.
A fight? Was that it? She was supposed to take the knife and defend herself?
She looked at the Gibbus and saw its eyes drift to a place behind her.
She turned slowly.
And there was the opponent they had matched her with.
The baby skaler.
“Spread out!” Grynt called to Commander Garrison as the Wearle came within sight of the Wild Lands. “Sweep the edges first, then bring the lines in slowly. Keep them high and silent. Report any movements on the ground to me.”
“You heard the Prime!” Garrison barked at his patrols. “Spread out and start looking! Speak in thought until you’re ordered to attack! No fire! No war cries! Go!”
This doesn’t look good, said Grendel as she raced over the first few pillars of rock. I see the holes Garret was talking about, but no way in for us. Do you still have Gayl’s scent?
She’s in there, I’m sure of it, Grynt replied. How deep, I can’t tell. Garret, can you chart these rocks?
I’m trying to, the mapper said, his gaze strobing back and forth across the terrain. His eyes flickered at remarkable speed as they bounced light waves over the coarse gray surface. The topography of this sector supports what I said earlier. We’re looking at a shallow subterranean network. Small caverns linked by bridges and tunnels.
Any large spaces? Gabrial asked, swooshing under Garret’s flightpath.
Difficult to tell. There’s so much rubble. It’s hard to construct an accurate i:mage.
What about there?
Grendel drew their gaze toward a skinny vein of water, one of only two within visible range. Blotches of greenery were spread around its shores. A dry shrub here, some weed cover there. Sad flowers, struggling to stretch their petals, cowered in the cold, flat air. To one side of the water, the rocks heaped up. Grendel could see no obvious openings, but she instinctively felt that something could hide there.
Garret had news to support that impulse. There’s a void underneath the highest stack.
How deep? asked Gabrial, his eyes scanning every warp and shadow.
Double your wingspan and more.
Size? said Grynt.
Trying to calculate it now. It’s big, served on every side by shafts and tunnels.
Gabrial dropped lower and circled the mound. Anything we can dig through?
Garret produced an i:mage for them. Given time we could break through the upper shafts. But any movement of erth is sure to send them running. As you can see, they have plenty of escape routes—if they’re in there, of course.
They’re in there, said Grendel. Even in thought, the dragons felt her snarl. This void, is it big enough to take one of us?
I don’t advise phasing in, Garret cautioned. Without knowing the inner contours of the void, your chances of transiting safely are minimal, especially as you’ll be passing through densely packed strata. The probability of atomic displacement is—
Thank you, Garret. I know the risks. Grendel came around in a circle. I’ll do whatever it takes to get Gayl out of there. I might end up half rock, half dragon, but it will scare those creatures out of their wits.
I phase faster than you, Gabrial said, sweeping by. If anyone is going in, it ought to be me.
Enough, snapped Grynt, zooming past. I’m not prepared to lose either of you. I agree we could do a lot of damage from inside, but there’s no guarantee we can save the wearling. They could take her down a tunnel and we’d be no wiser.
Then what do you suggest? By now, Gabrial was desperate to land and start pulling rocks apart.
Smoke, said Grynt. We take up positions where the tunnels reach the surface and blow dark smoke inside. We ought to be able to create a cloud to fill that cavern. Garret, do you agree?
Yes, said the mapper, tilting his head to continue scanning. I’m getting no traces of heat from the tunnels, which suggests they haven’t posted guards. But to give the smoke a chance to carry, we’d need to clear some of the access points. That’s going to take time—and stealth. If we start throwing rocks around, the echoes will travel.
Then we’ll be careful, Grynt said. We’ll work from three sides and leave the creatures an escape route. If the smoke doesn’t choke them, it will drive them out. When they come, we’ll be waiting. The wearling won’t like it, but she’ll survive.
What about the Hom they’ve taken prisoner? said Gabrial.
I can’t help them, Grynt said bluntly. Our priority—your priority—has to be the wearling. I’ll give the order not to flame any Hom that escape, but I can do no more than that. Grendel?
Agreed, she said, gliding around.
Gabrial?
The blue sighed heavily. Agreed.
Grynt banked and dropped another tier lower. Show Garrison the i:mage and bring the roamers in. Let’s give these creatures something to think about. Begin.
Although she had never experienced the terrible drain of dehydration before, Leif had been warned of the symptoms many times. Cracking joints. Withering fingers. Hair strands drooping and falling out. Grinding splits in any part of the body, especially across the neck and shoulders.
A slow, slow closing-down.
Despite the thunder of voices around her, Leif was back in the Whispering Forest. She was running with the flutterflies, chasing sunbeams through the trees. The bracken was dry and light underfoot. Frooms grew everywhere, ripe to pick. The scent of pollen was heady, but fresh.
Sprites were all around, in the trees and not. They hid as fast as a raindrop falls whenever Leif tried to look their way. She laughed, for she knew the games sprites liked to play. They were leading her somewhere.
Into the clearing.
Straight to the boy.
She skidded to a halt. The boy was sitting at the base of a tree, balancing a cone on the palm of his hand. It was dry and woody, perfectly formed. Its dark brown scales were fully open.
Ren Whitehair, said Leif. She pointed at him as a small child might.
I am, he replied. Will you sit with me, Leif?
She sat, cross-legged, and picked a wild froom. She hooked a finger under the cap and peeled it. You are not of the forest, Ren Whitehair.
I am not, he replied. But I care for it as you do. I like its forms.
The cone in his hand closed up for a moment. When it opened again, tiny stars were glistening in its woody nooks.
Those are strange seeds, Leif said, craning forward. What manner of tree will grow from them?
Until they are sown, I cannot say, Ren answered.
Leif licked a finger and touched the air. There is no wind to spread the seeds.
The scales of the cone opened wider still, making a pleasant popping sound. The wind for these seeds blows from another world, Leif.
Leif thought about this as she ate her froom. I carry a cone for luck, she said brightly. She pointed to her middle, where her robe made a pocket.
This is that cone, Ren said kindly. I have borrowed it, Leif. It was parched and sore in need of water.
Leif stopped peeling. She felt her pocket. Dry and unfilled. Her heartwood, she realized, felt the same. She clamped her arms suddenly and looked around her. She thought she felt a crack beginning in her shoulder. Am I dying, Ren Whitehair?
Changing, he said. He handed her the cone.
Leif dropped it gratefully into her pocket. She looked up. The sky appeared to be made of stone. No blue, no cloud, no birds, no tops. Her throat ran dry. Sap seeped from her joints. An angry wave of noise began to close in around her. The brutal chants of an army of Gibbus momentarily invaded her fragile delirium. Will you light my way, Ren Whitehair?
My mother will, he said, fading from her. My mother will light the way for all, Leif.
When the time is right.
The skaler was gangly, unsteady on its feet. Not much bigger than a rangy mutt. But it was hurt and in pain and could rip her wide open. Mell was sure of that.
The Gibbus screamed at her to pick up the knife. Mell was one bound from it; the skaler, three. She shook her head and looked at her foe. It was a beautiful thing, as dark as the juice of a purple thornberry, with wings a little lighter and a tail of matching shades. Until moments ago, when the Gibbus had cut it free of its cradle, the beast had been crying great sheets of distress. Wailing for its kin. Its guardians.
Its mother.
That last thought brought Mell down to her knees.
The Gibbus roared, enraged by her weakness. One capered around her, smacking its repugnant teeth in anger. It kicked a spray of dust into her swollen face. The dust burned in her cuts and dried her tongue. She fell forward, coughing, and placed her trembling hands on the erth. Forgive me, she whispered to the Fathers of her tribe. Forgive me, but I will not fight this pupp.
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