The Erth Dragons Book 1: The Wearle

by Chris D'Lacey

  Ren rolled aside as the blade crashed down, its scarred edge splintering the spoke of a wheel. He raised the horn and aimed it true, but Grystina was there in his head and she was saying, Too many. Flee. Flee! She was right. Men were coming from all sides now. Some had loaded their bows, awaiting Varl’s order to fire.

  How? Ren said. How shall I flee? But the answer was with him as soon as he asked. Closing his eyes, he i:maged himself on an open hillside, as light as a wind blowing through tall grass. And instantly he was gone, moving through the barriers of time and space as if he had done no more than push a hand below the surface of a lake.

  When he found his wits again he was clear of the forest and out of danger – on his knees in a nearby meadow, within touching distance of the scorch line.

  ‘Pupp,’ he whispered, anxious lest the wearling be lost or recaptured. ‘Pupp!’ he screamed, and immediately started back toward the forest. But Grystina changed his mind again.

  Seek them, she said. Gariffred will hide.

  Them? said Ren.

  The Wearle, said she.

  Ren looked giddily toward the mountains. In the sky he could see a blue dragon soaring. It looked like the one he’d hidden from three days earlier. Back then, he had needed to avoid its gaze; now he must call the beast to help. So he ran for the scorch line in open sight. Shortly, across it, he found himself stopped by not one, but two huge dragons. The blue one rose and blew fire above his head; the other released a roar so loud that Ren’s head went numb and blood ran from his ears. Yet somehow he managed to open his mouth and speak the word Pupp had used repeatedly to him, a word he knew they would understand.

  Tada, he said. Before he fell, exhausted, to the ground at their feet.

  Part Five

  Goyles

  27

  Although Abrial was the first to see the scales on Ren, Graymere was the one to work out what had happened.

  ‘He’s been bitten,’ the De:allus murmured.

  He nudged Ren onto his back. The boy’s arms flopped out in the shape of a cross. There on one hand were the tell-tale teeth marks. Spreading out from a star-like crust at their centre was a perfect set of soft green scales. They had already crossed the wrist and were forking toward the midbone of the arm. Graymere blinked his yellow eyes, but it made no difference to what he was seeing: a Hom infected by the sap of a dragon. In the entire history of dragonkind, nothing like this had ever happened before.

  ‘Look at this,’ said Abrial. He was sniffing at something that had rolled from the boy’s hand. ‘It’s dragon, I think. I’m not sure.’

  Graymere looked over. He saw the darkeye horn and thought immediately of the remnant of Rogan, now lodged inside the long scales on his leg. He scanned the piece that Abrial was sniffing at. It looked like a cranial stig. They grew in curving lines behind the ears and were of little use other than to serve a dragon’s vanity; the further they extended, the more imposing the dragon was considered to be. Oddly, the stig looked fully formed. That made no sense to Graymere. Stigs of such quality took years to grow. This one was far too small to have come from any adult dragon. ‘Is it burned?’ he asked.

  Abrial ran his nostrils over it. ‘I can scent no fire, just fresh Hom blood. How would the Hom get something like this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Graymere said quietly.

  But Abrial had a theory. ‘Do you think it could have come from the first Wearle?’

  By now, Graymere was thinking many things, most of all about that bite. ‘Abrial, I have something to tell you. Fanon Grendel believes that Grystina’s drake might still be alive.’

  Abrial sat up smartly, pricking the fins around his ears. ‘How? What does Grendel know?’

  Graymere let his gaze run deep beyond the scorch line, his optical triggers panning the hills. ‘There’s no time to explain. I have to start searching and you need to take this Hom to Prime Galarhade.’

  Ren stirred at this point. He gave a terrified start when he saw how close the dragons were and realised the drops of warm fluid on his chest were saliva, dripping from Abrial’s jaws. He scrambled away, still low to the ground. In an instant, Abrial brought his tail round and levelled his isoscele at the boy’s throat. The dragon growled, but all Ren heard was the rumble in his bones. His head was filled with mush, his hearing shattered by Graymere’s roar. He gestured in surrender and tried to speak, but in his fright the words were muddled and mostly Kaal. He saw the horn on the ground and went for it.

  With a whump that fractured the surrounding soil, Graymere’s foot came down on the stig.

  Ren jumped again. Out of the balloon that used to be his head, he made sounds that were supposed to say, ‘No. Let me have that. I’ll show you what I can do with it.’ Foolishly, he slapped at Graymere’s foot.

  The dragon slapped back, catapulting Ren through the air like a fly. The boy landed on his back, groaned and passed out.

  ‘Take him to Galarhade,’ Graymere said again.

  ‘But I’m supposed to report to Veng commander Gallen. He—’

  ‘No, not Gallen. Take a route that will keep you clear of the Veng, especially Gazz.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do it, Abrial.’

  ‘But they’ll—’

  ‘Listen to me. The Veng killed Grogan.’

  That stopped the blue dead. ‘What?’

  ‘They were following Gallen’s orders. It happened at the mine. Grogan was sick, poisoned by fhosforent.’

  ‘Poisoned? How? Did you send him to Grymric?’

  ‘I wasn’t allowed to.’

  ‘By Gallen?’

  ‘By the Elders.’

  Abrial took a moment to let this sink in. His teacher. His per. His father’s best friend. His crusty old guardian. Dead? ‘You…you called him Grogan.’

  A ripple ran down Graymere’s neck. ‘Look into my eyes and tell me the truth: did you cause the quake at Vargos?’

  ‘No,’ said Abrial. How many times did he have to protest his innocence?

  ‘You weren’t attempting to create a physical eruption, just the illusion of one?’

  The blue turned his head away. ‘Do I look like an Elder?’

  No, you don’t, thought Graymere, and briefly wanted to run that line of inquiry deeper, but now was not the moment. ‘For what it’s worth, I believe you were falsely accused. And so does Grendel. Abrial, there’s something I need to tell you about myself and Fan—’

  ‘How did he die? How did the Veng kill my per?’

  Graymere sighed and shook his head. ‘Forget the Veng and any thoughts of vengeance. What matters now is that we find the drake.’ Likewise, Graymere chided himself, the situation with Grendel could wait; the blue would know about it soon enough.

  Abrial tightened his claws. ‘You truly believe it got out of the mountain?’

  Graymere flicked his snout at Ren. ‘Only a wearling would speak the word tada. Only a wearling could have wounded the boy this gently; you or I would have taken his hand off. The drake is out there somewhere. Dead or alive, he must be found.’

  ‘Where do we begin?’

  ‘I will search; you will return to Skytouch for help.’

  ‘But…if I find the drake, my honour will be restored and—’

  ‘Abrial, you’ve captured a mutant Hom. That alone will prove your worth to the Elders. Tell the Prime everything I’ve told you. If you’re lucky, he might let you fly the wyng that leads them back here.’

  A proud moment that would be. Abrial stood up a little straighter. ‘Should I take the stig he was holding?’

  Graymere lifted his foot. Though he’d come down on the stig with some force, he’d been careful not to break it. He picked it up and examined it closely, letting its auma feed into his. As he turned it in his claws, a coldness began to crawl through his
bones that had nothing to do with the chill in the wind and everything to do with Abrial’s earlier question, Could it have come from the first Wearle?

  ‘Say nothing of the stig,’ he said. And offering no further explanation, he tucked the piece away and spread his wings. He did not have an answer to Abrial’s query, except to say that whatever this thing was now, it had definitely been part of a dragon once. It was also tainted with a high concentration of fhosforent.

  Just like the remnant he’d taken of Grogan.

  28

  Abrial took the long way round, coming in on the ocean side of the mountains where the roamers were less likely to be circling and the threat of interference was much reduced. He held Ren clamped between his feet; the boy was alive but barely conscious. At a glance, it looked as if Abrial had been out hunting. It was only when he rounded the peak of Skytouch and glided across the great ice lake that he started to hear the calls.

  The blue! Abrial, the blue, is coming! Then the sky began to fill with overlapping roamers and jewelled eyes were glinting on every ledge.

  Fearful the Veng would cut across him, Abrial quickened his wingbeats and misjudged the approach to Galarhade’s settle – a magnificent depression in the upper half of Skytouch that resembled a dragon’s mouth, fully open. (It was the only cave on Erth ‘manufactured’ by flamework – a construction commissioned by Prime Greffan, leader of the first Wearle.) Abrial pitched forward on landing, swiping his tail to regain stability and smashing several ‘fangs’ of glistening ice that hung in spines around the lip of the opening. Luckily, he let go of Ren before he put down. The boy hit the cave floor and rolled forward, only to be pinned by the claws of Elder Grynt.

  ‘What in the name of Godith is this?!’ It wasn’t clear if Grynt was referring to the boy or the intrusion. Abrial decided it was probably both.

  ‘Elder,’ he panted, his head low, his wings at half-stretch. ‘I bring news from the scorch line.’

  ‘Get out!’ roared Grynt. ‘Since when did a traitor have the right to invade the Prime dragon’s settle and drop…filth like this?!’ He scraped Ren to the side of the cave. The boy hit the wall with bone-cracking force. He wailed in pain, but was silenced into a cowering huddle by the threat of Grynt’s formidable claws.

  ‘Elder, look at him!’ Abrial pleaded. ‘He has scales. De:allus Graymere believes he was bitten by a wearling – Grystina’s wearling.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Grynt, let him speak,’ said a voice from the shadows at the back of the cave. This time it was Prime Galarhade. He sounded weary, unwell.

  Grynt powered two columns of smoke from his nostrils. Twisting his face close to Abrial’s, he said, ‘You have the time it would take me to cut out your primary heart and skewer it onto the peak of this mountain. Trust me, blue, that would not take long.’

  Abrial nodded. He didn’t doubt Grynt’s words; the supreme commander of the Veng had not developed armoured breast scales for nothing. The blue allowed himself a gulp, then told the whole story, leaving out the parts about the stig.

  And then the claws did come for Ren. Grynt scooped him up and held him like the carcase of a slain animal.

  ‘Well?’ Prime Galarhade croaked.

  Grynt’s response was to give out a call that instantly brought two roamers to the settle. ‘Bring the healer,’ he said to one. To the other, ‘Summon G’vard and the Veng to Skytouch. Alert me when they are gathered.’

  With a whoosh, the roamers were gone.

  Grynt turned Ren left and right. ‘You say it spoke dragon?’

  ‘From the old tongue,’ said Abrial. ‘It said “tada”. A word that only a wear—’

  ‘I know how a young dragon speaks,’ snapped Grynt.

  Abrial bowed in submission. ‘Elder, may I return to the line to aid De:allus Graymere with the search for the drake?’

  ‘You may not,’ Grynt said with a quiet growl.

  ‘Speak to it, Grynt,’ Prime Galarhade said. Abrial could see him now, hunched in rest, eyes fully closed. He looked on the point of death, which explained why Grynt was here, giving orders.

  Elder Grynt shook the boy to bring his head forward. Ren was helpless, a rag in his grasp. ‘Pupp…’ the boy muttered.

  That made no sense to the dragon. ‘What are you?’ he growled, training his gaze deep into Ren’s eye. ‘Where is the drake you stole? If you speak our tongue, speak it now, before I crush you like a berry and drink your juice.’ He squeezed Ren a little, maybe hoping he would pop out a meaningful word, but all Ren gave was another cry of pain.

  ‘Grynt, we need it alive,’ said Galarhade.

  Abrial looked again at the Prime. Grynt seemed to be taking no notice of him.

  To Abrial’s relief, Grymric, the healer, landed in the cave mouth. He threw Abrial a questioning glance – a look soon bettered by the one he gave to Elder Grynt. ‘I was gathering herbs nearby when the roamers— What’s that doing here?’

  Grynt dropped the boy at the healer’s feet. ‘It’s been bitten – by a young dragon. The blue fancies it might be the drake, though we have no proof.’

  ‘The drake? The drake?’ Grymric spluttered.

  ‘Look at it,’ the Elder growled.

  ‘Here,’ said Abrial, pointing his isoscele at Ren’s infected arm.

  Grymric mashed the air with his jaws. ‘I…this is astonishing. Has De:allus Graymere seen this?’

  ‘He’s at the scorch line, looking for the drake,’ said Abrial. ‘We found—’

  ‘Be quiet,’ snapped Grynt. ‘Can you make it talk?’

  ‘Talk?’ said Grymric.

  ‘It knows some dragontongue,’ Abrial said, buffering another dark gaze from the Elder.

  Grymric ran his gaze over Ren. ‘It would talk better if you didn’t break it,’ he muttered. ‘I have herbs to restore it, but it will take time.’

  ‘We don’t have time,’ Grynt said, as a high-pitched call reached across the cave mouth. The Veng were coming together. This was confirmed a moment later when Gallen swooped into the cave.

  His first look also fell on the blue.

  ‘There’s been an incident,’ barked Grynt, to draw Gallen’s attention. ‘Call your full wyng. Give half to G’vard and lead the rest yourself.’

  ‘Incident?’

  ‘At the scorch line.’

  Gallen glared at Abrial again. ‘What position?’

  ‘Show him where you found the boy,’ Grynt said.

  ‘Elder, I can lead the wyng my—’

  ‘Show him!’ the Elder roared.

  And so Abrial i:maged it as best he could.

  ‘Take mappers if you need to,’ Grynt told Gallen.

  ‘What are we looking for?’ the Veng commander said, his mean eyes thinning as they scrutinised Ren.

  ‘A dragon. A small one. Grystina’s drake. Fly as far beyond the line as you need to. Kill anything that resists.’

  ‘No, use restraint,’ Prime Galarhade said.

  Grymric leant toward the shadows. ‘The Prime…?’ he queried.

  ‘Unwell,’ said Grynt, ‘falling in and out of confusion. Your herbs had better be strong, healer. Under the edicts of Ki:meran law, I am leading the Wearle now – and my judgment is sound. Gallen, go.’

  The commander was strangely hesitant. ‘We are missing five Veng, including Gazz.’

  Hearing that name made Abrial start. Hadn’t Graymere warned him to avoid Veng Gazz? And now he was missing? How? Where?

  ‘Then find them,’ said Grynt. ‘And be quick about it.’

  Gallen gave a sharp nod. With another fierce look at Abrial, he left.

  Grynt turned his attention to Abrial and the healer. ‘You will speak of this to no other dragon. When the drake is found, this thief will be dealt with.’

  ‘How?’ sa
id Abrial.

  Grymric cast his gaze to the floor.

  Grynt said, ‘It will burn before the whole Wearle.’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘But what, blue?’

  ‘It ran to us, Elder.’

  ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means,’ Prime Galarhade said in the background, ‘that the Hom may have formed a bond with the drake and crossed the line because it needed our help. Would you reward such bravery with burning? We need the Hom alive. It must be given to the De:allus for examination. It may even have links to the first Wearle. Grymric, attend to me now.’

  Grymric looked at Elder Grynt, who nodded.

  ‘And the Hom?’ Grymric said. ‘Shall I try to heal it?’

  ‘No,’ said Grynt, narrowing his ridges. ‘I know better how to get information from him.’ He raised his head and looked squarely at Abrial. ‘It pains me to say it, but you have done well.’

  Abrial swallowed a ball of smoke. ‘May I now aid De:allus Graymere with the search?’

  ‘No. You will return to the line and continue to sweep until this is done.’

  Abrial dropped his wings. Elation and disappointment in the space of two sentences.

  ‘This is not a punishment,’ Grynt was swift to add. ‘With the Veng engaged beyond the line it is more important than ever that you watch for Hom movement. Prove your worth now and your honour will be restored.’

  ‘Really?! I—’

  A quick cough from Grymric warned the young dragon not to push it.

  ‘Go swiftly,’ Grynt said. ‘But before you do, you will carry out one more task.’

  Abrial bowed and awaited the command.

  ‘Get this thing out of here and never bring it back.’

  ‘Where shall I take it?’

  Grynt looked down at Ren’s battered body. ‘We need to see into its mind,’ he said. ‘Take it to Elder Givnay.’