Flight to Dragon Isle (16 page)

‘The Heartrock?’ Jakart DeBessert suggested, swiftly understanding the Dragonmaster.

Nodding, Tangnost was suddenly certain. ‘The Heartrock.’
Where else would she go? She’s come home
…

‘None have set foot within the Heartrock in over two thousand years,’ the Commander said gravely. ‘If it is so, then we should bear witness. Come,’ he ordered his officers.

Root was running to match the dwarf’s urgent stride as they stepped away from the porting stone. ‘What’s the Heartrock?’

‘As its name suggests, it lies at the heart of Dragon Isle. You must have seen the great causeways …’

Root nodded. They were impossible to miss – slender black viaducts arcing above a deep pit leading into a core of darkness. The guards wore frightening helmets with long snouts and teeth that hid their faces, and intricate black armour that swept back from their shoulders like folded wings. They truly looked half dragon, half man.

‘The guards wouldn’t let me past …’

‘With good reason,’ DeBessert assured him. ‘There are deadly wards woven about the Heartrock, the very rock is imbued with ancient magics.’

‘It is where the first Dragon Whisperer was fostered with his six brothers,’ Tangnost explained. ‘Where Son of the Morning Star was nursed by an Imperial with her brood, so that he grew to become half dragon, half man. None save a Dragon Whisperer has ever unlocked its secrets.’

Root’s eyes widened. ‘But why should she be there? I don’t understand.’

‘Only the SDS and the royal line even know of its existence. The lost Dragonsdome Chronicles apparently record its secrets. All that we know of the Heartrock was recorded there. Legend says that only a Dragon Whisperer may unlock the Heartrock’s secrets. It is death to any others who try.’

‘What?’ Root was horrified.
What if we’re wrong?
he wanted to ask.
What if she isn’t a Dragon Whisperer?

Tangnost squeezed his shoulder as if he had read the boy’s mind. ‘Have faith,’ he said softly. ‘She will come to no harm.’

They turned a corridor and descended widening stairs that opened into a spacious sloping passageway. The glassy black symmetrical tunnel was so flawless that Root knew without being told that this was one of the ancient Imperial combs. Flickering movement caught the edge of his vision. When he looked closer, he realized that the rock face was alive with runes of liquid gold, constantly shaping, merging and re-forming, which travelled beside them, bathing them in a soft glow. The place was alive with the breath of antiquity. Although he knew no magic, the power of it made Root’s skin tingle.

‘Dragonrunes,’ Tangnost said, seeing the boy’s wide-eyed glance. ‘The lost language of the Elders. None now know their meaning.’

Up ahead of them, the Commander and his officers had come to a halt. Soon Root could see why. Instead of standing to attention guarding the bridge, the blackarmoured guards were turned inwards, kneeling, heads bowed, facing towards the Heartrock. The wings on their shoulders and helmets were fully spread, and the eyes of their helmets were burning bright gold. Their swords were unsheathed, the tips resting on the ground as if in homage.

DeBessert shook his head. ‘They won’t respond. It’s as if they are frozen in place.’

They all looked across the stone bridge to where light flickered up ahead. A sheer wall rose in front of them, soaring up into the darkness. Quenelda was standing motionless in front of it, a burning brand raised above her. Finally daring to believe, Root started forward, his joy at seeing his friend alive overwhelming him.

‘Quenelda! You—’

Tangnost firmly held him back, a finger to his lips for silence, but the young girl did not appear to have heard their arrival. She continued her quiet scrutiny of the rock face. Puzzled by her silence, Root looked at what she was studying.

The ancient frieze, carved into the rock thousands of years before, was of an Imperial with her brood. The unfolding story written in stone depicted six fledglings and a tiny child within the mother’s coils. Then the child became a young man, dwarfed by the six dragons about him.

As Root’s eyes followed the narrative illuminated by Quenelda’s flickering brand, he became aware of light footfalls and the murmur of many voices as cadets, sentries and officers congregated quietly behind them. Word of what was happening was passing from mouth to mouth like wildfire.

Quenelda moved on to where the young man stood, arms spread, on a high cliff. Then, as he raised his arms and stepped into the void, his arms lengthened and became wings; scales armoured him from snout to spiked tail and he became a mighty Imperial dragon. His six brothers joined him as they flew skyward.

Stepping backwards, replacing the brand, Quenelda spread her arms. The lamps set on the walls died down. A golden nimbus flickered about the Earl’s daughter, suggesting the fluid outline of a dragon. Then the lamps flared brightly again. There was a collective gasp. The wall was gone, and a vast darkness was revealed. A wash of biting cold air rolled over them. A whisper of amazement echoed around the combs, and then those watching held their breath as Quenelda stepped forward.

Tangnost stopped breathing. He had waited for this moment since the day Quenelda was born.

Pinpricks of light blossomed. As all eyes were drawn upwards, stars winked into existence until the dome blazed with their light, and the secrets of the Heartrock were revealed. The entire paved floor below radiated out in circles, until its far reaches were lost in shadows; and at its centre stood the legendary dragonbone throne. The aged bones of that first female Imperial were lustrous ivory, polished gold by age. The sorcery trapped within them and in the great ivory fangs, was potent, an almost visible aura. Drawn by its song, the Battle Mages moved quietly forward through the crowd. Even Root felt the underlying hum that raised goose bumps on his arms.

Ringing the throne were six dragons carved of black granite, gazing outwards like sentinels. Each one seemed perfectly rendered, but as Tangnost watched Quenelda approach the dragonbone throne, something subtle changed, and the statues became more than simply stone. Energy radiated from them. There was a sense, he realized, that the statues were merely sleeping, hibernating in the cold depths of timeless winter as Quenelda herself had done; awaiting the arrival of spring with the promise of rebirth.

Awaiting a summons …

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.

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!’

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?’