by Paul Collins
‘I know what I’m doing – let me prove it.’
‘I hate that expression,’ said Jelindel.
‘Now stay in those saddles and strap in. The takeoff could be interesting.’ Hargrellien pressed the RUN pedal and the huge legs began to lumber along. When her left foot pressed the FLAP pedal, the wings began beating.
‘You and Daretor will have to feed the wings once we’ve been aloft for a while. There should be sacks of fruit and refuse in the storage bins at the back.’
The takeoff was not at all interesting, and the airliner rose smoothly into the sky. Hargrellien raised the enormous legs, then tugged at the lever which activated a thunderous BUK BUK BUKCAW! of triumph.
‘Sezel in a few hours,’ announced Hargrellien. ‘Care to look out of the windows at the view?’
‘No!’ called Daretor and Jelindel simultaneously.
After Hargrellien levelled out, Daretor began feeding the wings fruit and refuse. Jelindel remained in her seat, recalling that the last time she had travelled at this height had almost been the death of her.
‘What is involved with being a scholar?’ asked Daretor in an attempt to take his mind off their current plight.
‘A very large amount of reading,’ said Jelindel. ‘Are you serious? Daretor the scholar.’
‘It would be nice to have something in common with you. After today, the quiet of the library seems far more appealing than the glory of the battlefield.’
‘Strange to think that it will all be over in just hours,’ said Jelindel. She caught herself at the transparent lie. Their type never knew peace. But they deserved to dream, after all they had been through – at least for the moment.
‘And then we are free, and we can rest in peace,’ said Daretor, equally caught up in Jelindel’s lie. ‘Does Sezel have any really nice inns, I wonder? Quiet inns, with big, soft beds and lindrak-proof doors?’
‘Lady Forturian has a spare room,’ said Jelindel, leaning her head against his. ‘And in all of the world you will not find a more quiet or secure house to spend a night or two. Although time simply drags there.’
‘I’ll never be bored so long as I’m with you,’ Daretor said. ‘Do you think she will mind us staying there?’
‘Oh, we shall have a welcome, Daretor. I am sure of it.’
‘Airliner is a boring name for an airship,’ called Hargrellien from the steers-saddle. ‘I think this ship should be called the Dragonwings.’
‘An apt name,’ Jelindel agreed, snuggling up to Daretor as they banked and caught an updraft.
EPILOGUE
The Dragonwings perched on a roof near Lady Forturian’s house while its passengers made sure that they were welcome. Hargrellien’s first priority was to find a crew member to feed the airliner’s wings. It came as no surprise to anyone that Lady Forturian had such a person on hand.
After they had made their farewells, Hargrellien walked the Dragonwings through the port. Nobody was inclined to oppose it or ask for papers. It managed to hop the city wall after several attempts, then it took a long run along the sand flats, became airborne, and slowly gained height. There was a BUK BUK BUKCAW! of farewells as it passed over Lady Forturian’s house, then it was gone.
Jelindel and Daretor stayed with Lady Forturian for some months, recuperating, although only a day passed on the outside world. The time anomaly was a secret that Jelindel kept from Daretor till they left.
During those months, Hargrellien’s lindrak faction built up the squadron of airliners, and slowly but surely they became the power they once were. Only no ruler held sway over them.
Across the continent, with his core army shattered, the Preceptor found himself facing rebel movements and armies on every side. Before long he was nothing more than a dangerous warlord with a small but efficient army.
Fa’red fared a little better. Within a month he had a dozen new airliners in the skies, dropping firepots on cities whose rulers opposed his will, and spying on armies from above. Several of the rebel movements allied themselves with him. Five months after Jelindel and Daretor had escaped, he gained another, but stranger, ally.
‘Claims to know the Countess Jelindel dek Mediesar and the swordsman Daretor,’ said the guard captain as he stood before Fa’red.
‘And his name?’ asked Fa’red with a faint smile.
‘He says it is Zimak. Big fella, but needs the fat sweated off him.’
‘Then do it,’ said Fa’red. ‘Have him seized and make him sweat. I cannot have the man who was once the closest of allies with Jelindel and Daretor thinking he has something of value to offer me, or he might raise the price of his cooperation.’
‘So you have a use for him, Master?’
‘Oh, yes. If it comes to that, I have a use for all three of them.’
‘Master,’ the guard captain said. He bowed to take his leave. Fa’red gazed out over the verdant Skeltian grasslands. He clasped his hands behind his back and sighed contentedly. Now he had Zimak.
The thief was the weakest of the three, but he could be used to draw them back together. And when that happened, he would be ready and waiting …
Critics rave about Book 1 in The Jelindel Chronicles
Paul Collins
An all-powerful, enchanted mailshirt from the stars.
Six links are missing.
An orphan, a streetwise urchin and a swordsman must find the links before the greatest evil known descends upon Q’zar.
‘… a thrilling and wonderfully imagined quest …’
Isobelle Carmody
‘Dragonlinks is fantasy and adventure at its highest.’
Courier Mail
‘This is quest fantasy at its best. Not to be missed. Highly recommended.’
Reading Time
‘I enjoyed this book immensely. It’s fun, action-packed and contains everything on my favourite fantasy checklist.’
Educare
