Flight to Dragon Isle (8 page)

Armelia’s stinking dress had been removed for burning. Her maids, with Darcy’s permission, dressed her in a fresh gown from his mother’s extensive bridal trousseau. Having them dress her hair in the same fashion as in the portraits, she swept regally down the stairs as if she already belonged at Dragonsdome.

Darcy was smitten. With sour looks, those young ladies who had arrived for dinner to see how she had survived a day ‘becoming better acquainted with dragons’ acknowledged that they had been outdone. Darcy only had eyes for Armelia. He knew of her disastrous first encounter with his half-sister, and took little persuading over dinner that Quenelda had quite deliberately humiliated Armelia again in an effort to split them up.

Blinking back tears, bottom lip trembling as she had been so artfully taught at Grimalkin’s, Armelia explained that she had been prepared to fulfil the Queen’s ridiculous edict and to suffer such indignities because she had wanted to see Darcy before he left for Dragon Isle. Who knows, she trilled helplessly, when she would see him again?

Darcy was furious with Quenelda. ‘She is trying to make trouble between us. If you were my wife, all save the Queen would have to bow to you – including my wretched little half-sister!’

Not exactly the romantic and passionate declaration of undying love that Armelia had been angling for; that she had endlessly spun in her vivid imagination. But still … Darcy was to be hers, and in time Dragonsdome would follow! Could anyone ask for more?

And yet …

And yet …

Deep inside, Armelia now harboured a secret she would reveal to no one: she had actually enjoyed herself in the nursery roosts! It was the first time in her entire life that she had got her elegant, manicured hands dirty. A daughter of ancient nobility whose fortunes had fallen on hard times, she had been raised by a succession of nannies and indulgent parents who had lavished every last groat they had on her – including sending her to the exclusive Grimalkin’s College. Alliance to the greatest Earldom would restore her family’s fortunes and their rightful place at Court.

But privileged and pampered though she was, Armelia had never done anything for herself. She had never walked in the rain; she had never dressed herself, never washed a dish. Never handled a baby dragon …

As for commoners, the servants and soldiers were all but invisible to the ruling Sorcerers Guild. Theirs were the mundane tasks of life, freeing the upper classes to practise their High Magic, to enjoy the fruits of life. Yet Root’s quiet dignity and Quester’s friendliness had given her pause for thought.

And, Armelia had grudgingly acknowledged, in Quenelda she had met a girl who had thrown off the shackles of society’s expectations. A girl who was doing what she wanted to do, despite the nasty gossip that Darcy – and she herself – had spread at court. Given what she had seen of Quenelda, Armelia could very easily picture the Earl’s daughter on a dragon flying into battle.
And why shouldn’t she?
Armelia thought to herself in surprise.

This revelation had ignited a tiny flame of rebellion deep within her. Yes, she still wanted Darcy – but perhaps in time she could change him, soften his attitude towards his young sister. And she could certainly try to put an end to the relentless gossip at Court. Did it matter that someone was different?

She had revealed none of this to Darcy, of course, as he slid the wondrous ring onto her finger …

‘Galtekerion is dead.’

A wave of incredulity swept the Inner Council of the Sorcerers Guild. Had they heard the Earl Rufus correctly? Cheers broke out. Hats were hurled into the air. There had been so much bad news recently. Poor harvests followed by an early winter had drawn thousands to the city. That and the prospect of an early SDS campaign was rapidly eating up the Guild’s meagre resources.

The sight of hobgoblin weapons, artefacts and tools had caused muted comment and confusion. The Council had been anxiously awaiting the arrival of the kingdom’s most celebrated soldier.

The Earl limped to take his seat. He waited for the celebration to die down.

‘He died of wounds taken at the Howling Glen. Our scouts found a burial cairn deep within the mountain. They recovered weaponry about the body from all thirteen tribes – and this necklace.’ He held up the dragontooth amulet removed from the dead hobgoblin champion. ‘The sign of Galtekerion’s overlordship. And see there …’

He pointed to a hobgoblin standard next to the door. ‘If you look, masters, you will see totems for all thirteen tribes surmounted by a new symbol, the dragon’s head, the mark of Galtekerion’s overlordship. And these …’ He held up torques and bracelets of carved bone inset with gold. ‘This is Galtekerion’s personal rune. Many such were on and about the body.’

We immediately sent out long-range reconnaissance patrols to verify this discovery. The Frost dragons can still fly in this filthy weather. They all report the same thing: the thirteen tribes are riven with infighting, each tribe’s champion seeking to take Galtekerion’s place. Many are starving, fighting amongst themselves for food. The weakest have slipped into hibernation and died; their bodies litter the ice. There can be little doubt: their Warlord is dead.’

The chamber finally quietened.

‘We are going to strike now before they choose another. And we are taking the Tunnel Rats with us. We are going to destroy the spawning pools.’

That left the Guildsmen breathless for a moment, and then they cheered their Champion’s audacity.

‘I have spoken to the Queen: the SDS have been scrambled, all our men recalled. We leave for Dragon Isle tonight, and the Howling Glen tomorrow. From there, we fly to our forward base out on the ice. Advance elements, including all our ground attack dragons, are already on exercise there, and Frost dragons have located the islands by flying from iceberg to iceberg.’

‘But, my lord,’ said a tall balding Guildsman, looking worried, ‘we have not been able to move up the supplies and equipment you need. The passes have long since been closed. We were hoping that if there was a break in the weather, we could ship supplies to you for the early spring. And as for more dragons …’ He fell silent.

‘Our battlegalleons and transports have been iron-clad so that they can break ice. My Cairnmore mine in the Brimstones has been shipping ore over the last five summers to the Howling Glen; more than enough brimstone for a short winter campaign. Each dragon will transport their own supplies. As you know, four of our regiments have been practising flying and fighting in blizzards for over two moons. We are using High Magic and Battle Magic as we have never used it before: to keep airborne and operational in winter. The SDS fly tomorrow. We will not fail.’

‘I will personally co-ordinate moving what supplies and equipment we can up to the Howling Glen,’ Hugo Mandrake, the Grand Master, promised. ‘And if possible our galleons will try to support your forward base on the ice with men and supplies from royal coastal castles and keeps, though I fear they are all ice-locked.’

Guild and masters alike stood in tribute to the SDS Dragon Lord. ‘May the gods bless you, and fly with you on Wings of Vengeance!’

The Earl stopped on the steps to the dragonpads as his men mounted.

‘There is another pressing reason, Hugo, why we fly now. The Narwhal, Orca, White Fox and Ice Bear clans report that the ice shelf is still creeping south. Reconnaissance patrols confirm it. By the time spring comes, unless there is an early thaw in this cursed weather, the ice will bridge the sea from the Westering Isles to the mainland. The hobgoblins must be stopped before they breed and swarm onto the ice, else we will never hold them back. They will come in their millions.’

Ah … it was too much to hope that this would go unnoticed
…

‘You wish me to keep this news secret?’

‘Yes. It would cause widespread panic. The high passes are still blocked. The roads will soon be a quagmire that would trap everyone. In this weather they would die in their droves trying to reach safety.’

‘And your tactics?’ The Lord Hugo tried to keep the eagerness from his voice as the Earl prepared to mount.

‘We will attack when it is full dark in three weeks’ time. Detailed tactics have been hammered out by our Strike Attack Group since the assault on the Howling Glen. The forward briefing with my senior officers takes place tonight on Dragon Isle. Darcy will attend. It is time my son developed an appreciation of the many aspects of warfare.’

‘He is flying with you?’

‘No.’ The Earl’s face showed fleeting sadness. ‘He would be a danger to himself and those around him. No, Darcy will be attending the Academy with other cadets: he will have to earn the rank that should have been his by right if he had taken his responsibilities to heart. He will temporarily be assigned duties on Dragon Isle, once we have flown. We are taking so many that we leave only a skeleton garrison.’

The Grand Master clasped the Earl in a firm embrace. ‘Take care, Rufus,’ he said. ‘Don’t take risks – your injuries are yet to heal fully. May the gods fly with you, old friend.’

As he watched the Earl take to the air, he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.
A skeleton garrison? And Darcy being privy to the tactics to be employed?

Perfect
…

‘What’s happening?’ Quenelda stood to one side as her brother stormed past, blind even to her in his fury.

Root cried out as Darcy deliberately pushed him aside, spinning him into the wall. Up ahead, Quenelda ran into her father’s study. ‘What’s happened? Papa?’

The Earl turned from the table as Root entered, rubbing his shoulder. ‘Galtekerion has died from wounds in the Battle of the Howling Glen. The tribes are breaking apart, fighting amongst themselves. We are going to strike now, while they are leaderless, half stupid with starvation and ready to hibernate.’

‘But … but you aren’t ready,’ Quenelda protested. ‘You haven’t had time to rest and rearm, to test your winter armour. It’s too cold for some of the dragons …’

‘I know,’ he said gently. ‘We will lose many men and dragons before we even reach the Isles. Hundreds who are injured will never return home, will freeze to death. I—’

‘But why?’

‘Because it will secure a victory unlike any we have known. It will secure peace for generations to come!’

‘When do you leave?’

He came to stand beside her, took her chin and tilted it. ‘Tonight for Dragon Isle. Tomorrow we fly north to rendezvous with the IV and the XVIII at the Howling Glen. The Ice Fortress is already operational. The engineers and the northern clans have moved huge supplies across the ice. We will airlift apothecaries and surgeons with us, so Tangnost will depend upon your help. Hugo’s troops will man and supply the coastal castles, and provide support for our forward base if the weather allows. For the first time ever, Goose’ – the Earl’s eyes gleamed fiercely in the firelight – ‘we take the fight to the hobgoblins!’

At the mention of the Grand Master, sudden foreboding gripped Quenelda. Why, oh why was she not a boy, so she could fight at her father’s side? The Earl saw it in her face, the tense shoulders and knotted fists at her side. He gathered his daughter closely to him. ‘I know you want to be flying with me. I was going to do this before I left in early spring, to announce before the Queen and Court …’

Her heart thumped. ‘What?’

The Earl pulled a heavy ring from his finger: two golden dragons entwined. As Root stepped back in amazement, the dragons slithered and separated, forming two rings. The Earl gave one to his daughter and returned the second to his finger.

‘Papa!’

‘Put it on, Goose. Go on. You have earned it.’

Quenelda tentatively tried the big ring on her thumb. ‘It’s too big – Oh!’

The Earl smiled as the dragon curled comfortably about his daughter’s thumb. She held it out at arm’s length, feeling its warm weight. ‘I’m heir to Dragonsdome?’

Root was stunned, eyes shifting between the Earl and his daughter.

Her father nodded. ‘Yes, you are. Darcy forfeited that right at the Cauldron. All the kingdoms saw for themselves what manner of man he is. He will never be a leader; no one will respect him or follow him in battle.’

‘You’ve told him? That’s why he is so angry?’

‘Yes. He has been ordered to report to Dragon Isle. He would squander Dragonsdome’s inheritance and wealth, not use it to protect the kingdoms. He must never inherit, thus I give the ring to you now so that all may know my wishes should I not return.’

‘Papa!’

‘Never fear! The hobgoblins do not know we are coming, and we will deliver a blow from which the banners will never recover. The war will be ended, and I will be home far more often to watch my daughter grow up. Ah, Goose, don’t cry. Watch for us when the moons wax.’ He turned to Root. ‘I charge you to care for her until I return, young man.’

‘I will, my Lord,’ Root said, acknowledging the Earl with a slight bow of his head.

The boy was growing up fast
, the Earl mused.

‘And Tangnost?’ Quenelda asked. ‘Does he go with you also?’

‘No. Dragonsdome remains in his care. I need him here to keep an eye on everything … These are dangerous times.’

The SDS Commander sat on the upper slopes of a glacier and watched as his battlegroup deployed about the Killing Caves of the Westering Isles. Below him, the massed ranks of his own FirstBorn Regiment stretched out across the slopes of the dormant volcano at the heart of the island.

Wave after wave of cloaked Imperials took up their positions in support of the heavy cavalry and troll marines now disembarking from transports and battlegalleons anchored close off-shore. Overhead, Imperials flew inland before stopping to hover at five hundred strides.

‘Go! Go! Go!’

Ropes snaked down, and barely half a bell later, three hundred strike teams – nearly ninety thousand lightly armed Bonecracker commandos – had abseiled down and swiftly taken up position at the inland entrances to underground caverns and combs that riddled the island.