Flight to Dragon Isle (7 page)

As the Month of the Wolf Moon drew to a freezing close, the snow had finally stopped falling. Dragonsdome and the Sorcerers Glen wore a thick mantel of white, the roads and viaducts of the glen were blocked, the loch frozen. Today the overcast sky had cleared, and it seemed as if, after months of confinement, everyone in the kingdom was out and about. But for Root and Quenelda and their dragons, the only place to be was in the air! Snow crunched beneath Root’s feet as he took his eager mare to meet Quenelda, who was leading Two Gulps out of the warmly glowing battledragon roosts.

Soon they were swooping above the crowded ice-locked harbours, and speeding over the loch towards the thick woodland that skirted the northern shore. The air was thick with dragons, griffins and hippogriffs. Seeing a dark opening beneath the snow-covered trees, Root and Chasing the Stars darted in. There was a strange breathless silence beneath the icy canopy, disturbed only when a branch weighted with snow snapped, or a pheasant called. Root and his mount deftly wove between the great pines, startling a herd of deer in a clearing. He could hear the cracking of brittle branches as Two Gulps battered his way through the trees behind them.

‘Root?’ Quenelda’s voice was muffled. ‘Root, where are you?’

Taking hold of a laden spruce branch, Root softly urged his dragon behind a huge pine. With a snort of smoke, Two Gulps crossed the little clearing, and then pursuing dragon and rider were almost upon them. Letting go of the branch, Root dodged out of the way as Quenelda and Two Gulps flew smack into a wall of snow. As the dragon collided with the branch, the pine tree shivered in protest, and more snow and frozen needles cascaded down, forcing them to land. Two Gulps shook his head and flamed to show his displeasure, melting more snow and drenching them. Quenelda shook her wet head, cursing as lumps of ice melted and trickled down her back. She could hear Root whooping with delight.

‘Right,’ she fumed as a large pine cone bounced off her head. Gathering up her reins, she urged her battledragon upwards in pursuit.

Catch him, Two Gulps! Catch him
…

I am trying
… came the short-tempered reply as Two Gulps struggled through the pine trees. As they failed to spot their elusive quarry, Quenelda belatedly realized that she might have a fearsome and highly trained battle-dragon of her own, but cave-dwelling Sabretooths did not have the manoeuvrability or the speed of a Widdershanks. She and Two Gulps took to the ground, and he stormed forward over the dense pine needles that coated the forest floor.

‘Arghhh!’ she screamed as the familiar magenta-blue dragon darted in front of her, and then, in the blink of an eye, vanished between the tree trunks. She looked up, then behind, then to her left, just as Chasing the Stars shot round Two Gulps’ starboard flank and disappeared again into the gloom.

Hot on her tail, Quenelda and Two Gulps thundered out of the woodlands into blinding sunlight reflected from banks of snow. Chasing the Stars continued to torment and tease the slower battledragon. She circled and spun in the sunlight, darting about as she had done in the Cauldron, until the clumsier Sabretooth was exhausted. As Chasing the Stars swung beneath him yet again, the bad-tempered battledragon flamed.

‘Oi!’ Root protested as he felt the warmth brush against his cheek and kiss his mare’s flank.

‘Oh, Two Gulps!’ Quenelda’s heart was not in the reprimand. She too felt like swatting the annoying Root out of his saddle. He was as bothersome as a cloud of midges.

‘Let’s race,’ she suggested. Two Gulps could do with letting off some steam after a long confinement in the roosts, and so could she. And of course, she always won, so – that would take Root down a peg or two.

Root’s eyes lit up. He was eager to show off his new-found ease with flying. ‘Where to?’ The young gnome still had to think about the geography of the Sorcerers Glen. Everything looked so different in the air, and there were so many other things to consider – tops of trees, gusts of wind, bridges, and collisions with other dragons, or bad tempered eagles.

‘The Old Broch,’ Quenelda suggested.

Root nodded. He could picture the ruins of the ancient circular tower that lay atop a knoll several leagues west of them.

‘On the count of three: three … two …’
Now, Two Gulps!
she whispered, to give her mount a head start. ‘One …
GO!
’

Chasing the Stars exploded into action. Despite his head start, without the help of a dragonpad, Two Gulps struggled to gain height and speed. The broken tail wasn’t helping either. As they piled sideways into another deep snow drift after rounding a stand of rowan trees too swiftly, Quenelda realized with disbelief that she was going to lose. By the time she arrived at the Old Broch, the other pair had landed and Root was leaning nonchalantly against his mount’s flank, chewing on a frosted blade of grass.

‘We won!’ he pointed out – rather unnecessarily, Quenelda thought as she brought Two Gulps down beside him.

‘But, Two—’

She opened her mouth to tell Root that it had not been a fair contest; that Two Gulps was handicapped by his broken tail. Then, with an effort, she bit back her protest. Kicking her feet free of the stirrups, Quenelda slid to the ground on her mount’s blind side so that Root couldn’t see her face. Rummaging in her saddlebags for a flask of bramble juice, she tried to understand why she was feeling as grumpy as Two Gulps.

The answer didn’t please her at all. She was
jealous
! It was a new emotion; no one had ever beaten her! No one! Flying dragons was what
she
did. It was an unpleasant experience, and fleetingly brought sympathy for the countless esquires she had humiliated and belittled for not keeping up with her. That feeling passed swiftly, however: Quenelda was not one to dwell on setbacks.

As Root and Chasing the Stars rubbed noses in mutual congratulation, Quenelda realized that the gentle dragon had changed as much as her master. They both had a new confidence since they had come to her rescue at the Winter Jousts. She had fulfilled her pledge to her father and more: she had taught Root only too well, she reflected wryly. Not that she was going to reveal that to her esquire, or anyone else. Quenelda moved round her battledragon and slid her helmet off.

‘Congratulations!’ She smiled, clasping Root’s hand in a military grasp. Not entirely convincing, but it was a good effort, and Root only smirked a little.

The Grand Master relaxed as he saw the brightly coloured spires of the Sorcerers Guild crowning the city skyline of the Black Isle. Now it was time to rest briefly before the Guild meeting tomorrow to discuss supplies and equipment for the XIII Stormbreakers’ fortress in the Howling Glen. He was elated but exhausted. His plans were complete. Right now the hobgoblins and their Razorbacks would be nearing the Westering Isles.

Having summoned the Maelstrom, he had for the first time successfully conjured a stable vortex from its dark depths; a whirling tunnel through the darkness that had allowed him to travel the huge distance from Roarkinch to the Brimstones in a fraction of the time it would normally take. Now he could reach and fight in the coming battle and return before any noticed his absence. His power continued to grow, but it had left the taint of the maelstrom on him; his hands shook and he felt sick and dizzy. His addiction to the elixir was growing; he needed it more than ever.

But as he flew closer, he could see the unmistakable outline of a fully armoured Imperial at rest on the Guild dragonpad. The battlebanners of the SDS and the DeWinters hung limply in the still air, although the Lord Hugo would have recognized that particular dragon anywhere. Then, as he was about to land on an empty pad, he felt it – barely, the faintest prickle on his skin … A ward had been cast about the Guild. It was Battle Magic without a doubt; subtle, barely discernible, but very powerful. Without the power of the Maelstrom he would have failed to detect it at all. The Earl Rufus was expecting trouble.

Why?

A shiver of disquiet passed through the Grand Master’s body as he handed his mount over to a groom. If Rufus knew of his treason, he would have been intercepted long before he even returned to the glen. He would be languishing in the deep prisons of Dragon Isle in chains, bound by Battle Magic.

How? How could the Earl suspect something? Well, he was forewarned
. With a confident stride, and a smile on his face, he descended to his chambers.

‘Hugo!’

The Earl embraced his friend, before searching his face. ‘You’re tired,’ he observed, noting with surprise that the dark hair was streaked with silver and the deep indigo eyes so dark they almost looked black.

‘I know,’ the Grand Master smiled ruefully. ‘I’m getting older, and the flying was difficult in this weather! I had two mounts collapse from exhaustion and frost bite. But I’ve raised ten thousand veterans from the north.’ The Grand Master poured some wine to calm himself. ‘They are striking out to reinforce all our coastal garrisons as we speak …’ That much was true, only they would slaughter the SDS and Royal troops they found there.

‘My thanks,’ the Earl paused, reluctant to raise concerns about a man whom he loved like an older brother. ‘Hugo, your dragon at the Jousts …’

The Grand Master’s heart hammered as sweat trickled beneath his robes. He desperately needed his elixir and tried to still his shaking hands. His thoughts raced. Could his dark magic beat the Earl’s battlemagic yet? Could he disguise its use here at the heart of the Black Isle? Chaotic magic always had unforeseen outcomes. He summoned his remaining strength.

‘What of it?’ he looked puzzled, merely curious.

‘All thought the dragon to be rogue, but its behaviour could be seen in a different light. It behaved as a predator might.’

The Grand Master frowned, as if considering this view for the first time. ‘That is true,’ he conceded. ‘But the stallion was spurred to madness by the reckless behaviour of my kinsman, Duke Grenville. It was he who drove the dragon to pursue you, to settle an old score. Thereafter it was the dragon’s many wounds that led to so many injuries and deaths. I fear it took fright at the crowds, and that was … very unfortunate.’

‘Yet it did not die,’ the Earl persisted. ‘Why did the arrows not kill it? It had the physical strength of a predator even though it had no armoured hide.’

‘Ah,’ the Grand Master smiled as if delighted to reveal a secret. ‘I am discovered! I thought to use my knowledge and experience to breed domestic dragons that were tougher, more aggressive; that could be used by your SDS. I was hoping to have five hundred bred and trained and in the field for next year’s Spring campaign; a New Year’s gift to you. The Winter Joust seemed such a perfect place to show off the dragon’s qualities.’

‘Might you have unwittingly drawn upon the Maelstrom?’ The Earl held up a hand to forestall the angry protest forming on his friend’s face. ‘Hugo, you
know
you have always pushed the boundaries of learning; you ever seek after knowledge and sorcery that would be beyond the power of most to master. You delve more deeply in the ancient chronicles and scrolls … Think carefully. Have you unwittingly drawn upon the Maelstrom?’

The Grand Master vehemently shook his head. ‘No! Not knowingly!’

‘Hugo, will you then subject your findings to Inner Council, your dragons to the Breeders Guild, before we breed any more for the SDS?’

‘Of course,’ the lie came easily, as did the false smile.

The Earl nodded, satisfied. His daughter must be mistaken, but no wonder. Having to witness the slaughter in the Cauldron, being threatened by a rogue dragon which nearly took her life and his … She was still a young inexperienced child, and her imagination had run away with her. Mutually satisfied, they turned to the Inner Council tomorrow and the Earl revealed the astonishingly good news that Galtekerion was dead.

‘Ohhhh … are those
real
dragon opals?’

‘My! What a
large
diamond!’

‘Yes, isn’t it …?’ Armelia purred as she tilted her hand just so in the sun, the huge diamond engagement ring sparkling. ‘It is but one of the Dragonsdome jewels, and is
quite
priceless. And now that I am Darcy’s fiancée’ – she spread out her skirts and pirouetted so that the layers of silk stitched with thousands of jade beads could be seen – ‘I have been to Foresight and Hindsight’s Emporium for a fitting. I am to have whatever I wish for my wardrobe!’

‘Ooohhh!’

Armelia contemplated the gaggle of envious young ladies-in-waiting who surrounded her. Duchess-in-waiting! She could barely contain her glee! Tradition now entitled her and her parents to their own rooms in Dragonsdome and at the palace, and a larger retinue of servants and men-at-arms.

And yet it had all promised to be a total disaster when Darcy had arrived unannounced at the nursery roosts. Armelia had done what all ladies were taught to do in tricky situations: she had fainted. After all, her dress was already ruined, and if she were not careful, her reputation would follow. Good thing she had already laid the little dragon – little
hatchling
, she corrected herself – down beside its mother to suckle. Darcy had had no option but to lift her up and take her outside – to do less would not have been chivalrous. The pleasure of being swept up off her feet, eyelids a-flutter, was somewhat ruined when he unceremoniously dumped her on the nearest haystack. Muttering loudly about his clothes and the stench, Darcy had then headed for the palace and a fresh doublet, leaving Armelia and her ladies to await a carriage. It had not been an auspicious beginning.

But by the time she had soaked in the delicious warmth of a copper bath tub in front of a roaring fire, Armelia was feeling quite restored and had decided upon a new strategy. In the unused wing of Dragonsdome where she had now been given rooms, she had noticed several portraits of Darcy’s young mother, Desdemona. Following a scandal that was still the talk of the Court, Desdemona had been banished by the Earl for betraying him – but with whom no one had ever discovered. Darcy didn’t talk about his mother much, other than to blame his father bitterly for her early death. He was only six when she had been sent away, leaving him with memories of a beautiful dark-haired woman who granted his every wish in defiance of his father’s commands.