Flight to Dragon Isle (25 page)

Then a sudden gust of wind caught them and the battlegriff was blown sideways. The air warped, and a huge Imperial Black shimmered into view just above him, great talons curled barely strides above his head. Root almost fainted with relief.

Quenelda wept until exhaustion took her. Magic never worked out the way she intended. It was as if the harder she tried, the more elusive and uncontrolled her fledgling powers became. She simply did not yet have the strength or knowledge to heal her father’s battledragon’s many wounds. Bound by baleful spells these many moons, the dragon’s own magic was exhausted. His injuries were too great and he was too weak. Nestling within the curve of Stormcracker’s neck, she slept deeply on through the night and into the next day. She woke, bleary-eyed and dry-mouthed, to find a fading yellow sliver of daylight streaming in through the fissure on the far side of the cave. She ate some of the salmon and oatcakes donated by the miners, and drank water from the freezing lake. Stormcracker hadn’t moved, but his eyes were open. Quenelda fed him the last meagre meal of brimstone then sank down beside him.

She lost track of time. Daylight. The dark of night again. Sleeping, waking, sleeping …

Fading daylight seeped through the cavern. Torchlight flickered dimly on the cave walls behind her, growing with the sound of footsteps … and voices – Root’s, and the deeper vowels of Tangnost, and a third Quenelda couldn’t identify. Then she remembered, and the tears began again. She had found Storm, only to lose him again. They were coming to put him down. She stood, head pressed against the dragon’s, listening to his shuddering heartbeats until Root ran over to her, enfolding her in a hug. His head was bandaged, but he was warm and had colour back in his cheeks.

‘I did it!’ Root was jubilant. ‘Quenelda, I did it! Tangnost’s here. The SDS are coming too! They let me fly ahead on a scout dragon by myself, just like my father! I’ve brought some field rations for Storm too – here.’

His joy was extinguished when he saw Quenelda’s pallor.

‘It’s all right! They’re not going to kill him! They are going to take him back to Dragon Isle! They have a cradle …’

‘A cradle?’ Quenelda turned in confusion as Tangnost arrived. ‘I don’t understand.’ She was ready to weep again.

Whatever Tangnost had been going to say died on his lips when he caught sight of the exhausted dragon, and even in the gloom of the cavern Quenelda could see the colour draining from his face. Instead, he only said, ‘Yes, he will be carried in a cradle by four Imperials. They are outside, at the foot of the waterfall. Do you think he could manage to glide down to where they are? We have a surgeon with us.’

Quenelda nodded.

‘Then we must cover his eyes. If he has spent ten moons in the mine, even the afternoon light will blind him.’

His companion, a young dwarf scout, beads braided in her dark hair, held up a heavy canvas hood with leather straps, as if asking Quenelda’s permission.

‘You will have to guide him.’ Tangnost added.

They will cover your eyes, Storm. To protect them from the light
…

But I do not want darkness
…

One-Eye says you may damage your eyes if you do not cover them, and then it will always be dark. This is only until we reach the combs of Dragon Isle … We must go through the water one more time, but I will guide you … Can you open your wings one last time so that we may glide down to where they await us?

The great dragon raised his head wearily.
I will try, Dancing with Dragons
…

Root watched in horror as the injured dragon burst through the waterfall. Quenelda was struggling to raise Stormcracker’s head to prevent a headlong rush to destruction upon the boulders below. He knew she would be using her growing powers, but they were not yet strong enough to come to the battledragon’s rescue; he tumbled down as awkwardly as a new-born fledgling, before landing heavily on the ground.

Exhausted, Quenelda looked around the wide glen; at the grey slabs of craggy rock that jutted out from the base of the mountains, and the scree-covered lower slopes. Yellow gorse hedged the margins with a splash of colour.

With a chirrup of greeting and two swift bounds, a smaller Imperial darted forward to wrap Stormcracker’s lacerated body in her own. Crooning softly, Soft Footfalls in the Air entwined her neck around his, raising his ruined head from the ground. The suppurating sores that marred his dull hide looked hideous compared to the brilliance of her scales; a sight that moved even the battle-hardened SDS troopers to tears of outrage.

Tangnost looked at the dragon with horror and doubt as they struggled to get him to his feet and furl his crumpled wings, wondering if he would ever grow strong enough to shed his old skin. If he couldn’t, he would never fly again.

‘Here …’ The dwarf wrapped Quenelda in a warm cloak. ‘Come and look.’ He led her over to where a dozen engineers were unloading heavy equipment.

An SDS Major strode over, his armour blending into the growing shadows. ‘Major DeMontfort.’ He saluted Quenelda. ‘Third Battalion Queen’s Armourers. If you’ll accompany me, Lady, I’ll show you what we’re going to do.’

Seeing her quizzical look as his crew rolled out a huge net and clipped it to four heavy chains, the major explained that it was a spider dragon net. Quenelda was still confused, and shook her head, trying to shed her own cobwebs. ‘I don’t understand. What are you doing with it?’

‘We call it a field cradle,’ the major went on. ‘It’s an idea your father came up with for returning injured dragons who could not fly from the battlefield, making use of your idea for critical-care cradles. It will be clipped onto a special harness on the escort Imperials.’

He led them over to the four dragons resting on the ground, pointing out the unusual harnesses and traces. ‘I suggest you just rest with Stormcracker until we’re ready for him.’

Quenelda nodded, and returned to the dragon’s side: the surgeon was feeding him some field rations from a nosebag. Chirruping softly, Soft Footfalls in the Air urged him to eat more, cleaning his wounds with her rasping tongue.

The surgeon smiled at Quenelda. ‘He’s as ready as we can make him. Can you command him forward?’

Stormcracker followed Quenelda blindly into the padded centre of the net, his lowered nostrils almost tickling her head.

‘I’ll stay with him, keep him calm,’ she said. Dusk was not far off now – she could hear the blackbirds calling in the thickets, and the cry of hunting wolves further down the glen.

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.

‘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!’

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.