The Erth Dragons Book 1: The Wearle

by Chris D'Lacey

  31

  Ren Whitehair ached, in places he never knew a boy could ache. One side of his chest was so weak and tender that the lightest touch made him want to cry out. He dragged his left foot into the light and saw that the ankle was swollen, blue. There was blood on his robe and in his mouth as well where he’d bitten his tongue after hitting the wall of the cave. Blood was also plugging his nose, making breathing difficult and thick. Through his left eye, the world was a dull grey blur; his right was puffy and closed. And his ears, still singing after Graymere’s roar, just seemed to be filled with mud. He coughed and felt it keenly in his side, but heard only a muffled expulsion of air. All the same, he had senses enough to know that he was in another cave with another dragon. Every hair on his skin felt the fear as the skaler slanted its head so close that Ren could have put his fingers in its nostrils. He cramped his limbs and tried to make himself small. But it hurt to move and what was the point? Big or small, the beast could rip him apart any time it chose.

  ‘I am Ren, of the Kaal,’ he croaked, his tongue pressing painfully against his teeth. The sounds, of course, meant nothing to Givnay. And without the aid of the darkeye horn (and Grystina therefore lying dormant) Ren could form nothing but the simplest words of dragontongue. He tried again, in Kaal. ‘I came in fair heart to warn o’ the darkeyes. Never wanted to take the pupp – aagh!’

  His head jerked back as though a hand had brutally gripped his chin and pushed him hard against the wall – such was the force of Givnay’s mind as it entered Ren’s consciousness. Ren had never known a feeling like it. It was as if he’d plunged his head into a river and his ears had failed to keep the water out.

  You understand me, don’t you, Hom?

  The voice blew through him like a sudden gust of wind. Ren tried physically to speak, but could muster no more than a stuttering rasp.

  I advise you not to resist me, said Givnay. You may think you are blessed with the strength of a dragon, but I could claw your puny mind to shreds and remove your disgusting arm with one bite. He snapped his teeth to emphasise the point.

  ‘I swear, I done no wrong,’ Ren said. He turned his face away from the fangs.

  You’re going to show me what you know, said Givnay, right from the moment you came to Vargos. If you don’t, I’ll suck it out of you. Believe me, Hom, that would not be pleasant.

  A vision of the scorch line filled Ren’s mind.

  Cross it, said Givnay. Show me how you fooled that idiot sweeper.

  He widened the i:mage to bring in the mountains. Ren wept a little to see them. At a basic level, the mountains were what this fight was about. Slowly, he relaxed into his memories. The skies across the i:mage darkened to evening and he saw himself fit and well again, a young boy driven by the thrill of adventure, changing robes, smelling of dung, hiding flat to the ground from skalers.

  Givnay snorted in contempt. Continue.

  Ren showed him everything he could remember, his entry into Vargos, his rescue of the drake, his strange encounter with Grystina. All of it had Givnay bristling. Then Ren showed him the scene on the hill, and how he’d tried to release the drake, only to see it attacked by a dragon with a broken fang. Givnay looked at that memory twice. Only then did he break the connection.

  All the pain of Ren’s injuries immediately rushed back, squeezing another groan from his lips. His head felt like a scrubbed-out pot. Snatching for breath, he said, ‘The pupp were barely born. What’s it ever done? Why would your kind want to kill it?’

  He swung his head up. The veil across his left eye cleared momentarily and he saw Givnay sitting there, deep in thought, grating one set of claws against the other. It was hard to determine the dragon’s size, for the soft grey twists of his long, lean body were blending partially into the rocks. Only the light from his pale green eyes gave any form to his head and neck. Ren panned his gaze further around the cave. Apart from the bones of some unlucky animals, the place was bare – except for an item balanced on an isolated pillar of rock not far from Ren’s right shoulder.

  At first, he thought it was just a large stone. But after straining a little he saw it was shaped like a cluster of berries. It was dark, the same shade as the horn he’d taken from his father’s bed. Perhaps if he could touch it, Grystina would rise and the fire would come? Then he might speak more freely to this other.

  He sat up and shuffled sideways.

  In a glint the dragon turned, claws extended.

  Ren pointed at the ‘rock’, which was now just above the height of his head. ‘I would hold it,’ he said, and reached out for it.

  Givnay immediately bared his fangs. Ren, fearing a strike was coming, somehow found the strength to duck. Crack! The dragon’s claws struck a point on the wall where a moment ago Ren’s head had rested. They hit with such force Ren heard the tips break. Givnay gave a strangely smothered squeal. He pulled back, holding an arm to his breast. Instinctively, he whipped his tail around and lashed at Ren with a swipe that would have removed the boy’s head had the stone pillar not stood in the way. The pillar shuddered. The strange object rolled off. It landed with a thump on the floor of the cave. Givnay hissed, inviting Ren to go for it. Ren knew he would have no chance. One lunge and he’d be joining those animal bones. He lifted his hands in surrender, shaking his head and saying, ‘You take it.’ For that was why he believed he’d been attacked, because the thing (it looked like a heart close up) was some sort of sacred relic.

  Whether he was right or wrong, he was spared by the arrival of two other dragons – the green kind, almost identical in size. There was an urgent look in their amber eyes. They spoke rapidly to Givnay (who had swiftly extinguished his temper) and one of them gestured at Ren. Ren’s ears were still clotted with blood, but he didn’t need to hear a word of dragontongue to read the message the green dragons were conveying.

  The colony was under attack.

  Givnay sucked in through every pore. Still nursing his shattered claws, he glanced at the sky and then at Ren. The interruption had clearly irritated him. All the same, he gave another stifled grunt and before Ren knew it he was in the grip of claws again. The green dragon nearest to him picked him up and flew him at great speed out of the cave. As the cold air hit his battered body, Ren looked at the ice sheets below and half hoped the beast might drop him. He was so giddy with pain that death would be a welcome relief.

  But the journey was short and the dragon put him down, gently for once, back at the first cave they’d brought him to. Givnay and the other green followed them in. There were a host of others there now, including the most beautiful skaler Ren had ever seen. She (he guessed it was a female) had intensely blue eyes and golden patterns on her purple face. She was shielding a young one under her wing. Ren was sure it was the infant he’d last seen wrapped in Grystina’s tail. He tried to signal to it, but was dragged to one side and put under guard.

  A row of dragons was posted at the front of the cave. What they were watching for, Ren didn’t know, but before long he heard a rumble of voices and the dragons parted to let another one in. Trapped behind his guard, Ren failed to see it. But the sudden clustering of bodies suggested something important was happening. The large dragon with the silver breast that had done so much to cause Ren’s pain gave a sharp roar and the crowd fell back. Then, at last, Ren had a clear view. At the front of the cave was the blue dragon that had carried him into the mountains. Between his feet was Gariffred, the drake, shaking off the strands of a broken net.

  Ren filled up with joy. ‘Pupp!’ he cried. ‘Pupp! Pupp!’

  Every jewelled eye fell on him. And that allowed the drake a moment of freedom.

  Skriking weakly, he hobbled toward Ren, dragging his injured wing along the floor.

  Using every scrap of strength he had left, Ren forced his way past his guard. And there, in Galarhade’s settle, in sight of the senior dragons of the Wearle, he gath
ered the wearling into his arms and stroked its spiky head, saying, ‘Galan aug scieth. Galan aug scieth.’

  I am you and you are me.

  ‘Tada,’ the drake said wearily.

  And rested his head on Ren’s blood-stained shoulder.

  32

  They were parted quickly, Ren and the drake. Then the arguments began.

  ‘This is an outrage!’ Gossana roared. Despite the presence of so many males, the matrial dragon still dominated her surroundings. One blast of her voice had created a tidy space around her. ‘Not only do we have this Hom in our midst but you stand by and let it hold the drake?’

  She rounded on Grynt, whose response was swiftly interrupted by Abrial.

  ‘The Hom helped us save it. They have a bond.’

  ‘Bond?’ Gossana snarled at him. ‘You really are more stupid than I ever thought possible. And still a traitor, despite your lucky…find.’

  ‘No. I believe him.’ Grendel came forward. ‘I’m convinced the boy rescued the drake from Vargos. We all heard the words he spoke.’

  ‘Mimicry,’ the matrial scoffed. ‘Can’t you see they’re cunning, these creatures?’ She turned her head and spat at Ren.

  Gariffred immediately skriked his disapproval, which earned him a harsh rebuke from the queen.

  ‘Have a pity. He’s injured,’ Grendel growled, gathering Gariffred close to her. ‘Isn’t it clear he feels for the boy?’

  Gossana came snout to snout with her. ‘You need to dip that pretty purple head into the lake. Hopefully, the ice will clear your mind of any more of these false romantic fantasies.’

  But Grendel persisted with her argument, saying, ‘When was the last time you taught a wearling a phrase as demanding as galan aug scieth? The boy would only hear that from an adult dragon, which gives weight to the theory that—’

  ‘ENOUGH!’ barked Grynt, finally taking control. He forced Grendel and Gossana apart. ‘There are more important issues at stake than your petty bickering. The drake is returned and we rejoice in that. In time I will hear all sides of the story and will decide what is to be done, especially about the boy. How bad is the drake’s injury?’

  ‘A small wing tear,’ said Abrial. ‘No bones were broken.’ He examined his own wing. Already, the severed edge was starting to seal itself for repair.

  ‘Good,’ said Grynt. ‘Then it will heal quickly and won’t be too painful if we have to move them.’

  ‘Move them?’ Grendel looked around for an explanation. ‘What’s happening? Why are we gathered here? And where is Prime Galarhade?’

  Grynt replied, ‘The Prime is unwell. He is under close supervision in the healer’s cave. Myself and Elder Givnay are ruling in his absence.’ He glanced briefly at the mute, who had gone back to his poised observational state. Grynt went on, ‘You have been brought here for your protection. We have received reports of an unknown enemy, flying near to the—’

  ‘Not unknown,’ said Abrial, panting a little, still cooling down after his exertions. ‘The enemy are Veng, mutated.’

  Veng? Mutated? The words flew around the cave like a chill wind.

  Grynt silenced the murmurs with a sharp growl. ‘What evidence do you have of this?’

  ‘The D—’ Abrial paused and looked hesitantly at Grendel.

  ‘What?’ she said. She drew the wearlings to her.

  The blue lidded his eyes a little. ‘De:allus Graymere was slain by them.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Grendel, echoing the shocked response of others. (Gossana merely sniffed and made circles of smoke.) ‘Graymere? No. Say it’s not so?’

  ‘It is so,’ Abrial said gently. And now he understood (or thought he understood) why Graymere had wanted Grendel’s forgiveness. She was in her laying cycle. They must have…courted. The thought that Grendel might have been in love with another dragon tugged at Abrial’s second heart. But how much worse must it have been for Graymere, knowing he would never see her again?

  Even Elder Grynt looked disturbed by the news. ‘I asked you for evidence,’ he said very quietly. ‘Did Graymere find something?’

  Abrial nodded. ‘Veng Gazz was changed by fhosforent.’

  ‘Changed? To what?’ Gossana shortened her snout.

  ‘Into a kind of…goyle,’ said Abrial, finding a word from the old tongue. ‘They are smaller than us, dark of colour. They have no fire, but their spit can burn through a layer of scales.’

  ‘I believe it,’ Grendel muttered, her eyes still wide with shock. ‘Gazz was stealing fhosforent from the mine. Graymere knew but didn’t— He was concerned about the effects the fhosforent was having. He— Oh, Graymere.’ She sank into a huddle. Gayl, the female wearling, whimpered and licked her guardian’s snout.

  ‘It was Gazz who attacked him,’ Abrial said.

  ‘You saw this?’ Grynt asked solemnly.

  ‘De:allus Graymere told me so. I only found him after I’d taken Gazz down.’

  ‘You killed a Veng?’ Gossana hadn’t lost the sneer in her voice. She flipped her tail in further disbelief and caught Gariffred a glancing blow across his snout. The wearling squealed in complaint and nipped her. Gossana, her red eyes blazing, turned on him with every fang showing.

  ‘Stop that!’ screamed Grendel, on the point of blowing fire. ‘Anyone would think you wanted him dead!’

  ‘It’s a nuisance. Keep it under control!’

  ‘BE QUIET!’ Grynt thundered again. ‘I would remind you both of the seriousness of this situation. We are threatened by a dangerous, unfamiliar opponent that has killed a highly-respected dragon. Your trivial squabbling is an insult to his memory. Any more of it and I’ll throw you both onto the mountainside without so much as a smoke ring to protect you. Now, you were saying?’

  Abrial jumped to attention.

  ‘Speak, blue! You said you killed Gazz?’

  Abrial nodded. ‘He engaged me in combat, without provocation. I had no choice. Elder, I must show you something.’ He brought forth the piece of darkeye that Ren had been carrying.

  ‘A burned stig?’ Gossana’s words were still laced with scorn. ‘Is that all you left of Gazz after your heroic conquest?’

  ‘This didn’t come from Gazz, and it’s not burned,’ said Abrial. ‘It was in the boy’s hand when he came to us. De:allus Graymere believed it might have come from a previous goyle – one mutated in the first Wearle.’ He gave it to Grynt. ‘Feel it, Elder.’

  Grynt closed his claws around it for a moment, then passed it on to Elder Givnay.

  ‘Now compare it to this,’ said Abrial, handing Grynt the wing bone from Grogan.

  ‘This is newer,’ said Grynt, ‘but its auma is similar.’

  ‘It came from per…Rogan,’ Abrial said.

  By now this dialogue was causing a considerable stir among the roamers. In addition to Abrial’s use of ‘goyle’, a more chilling word was again being whispered: Tywyll. A reference to the fabled aumaless dragon, supposedly a fallen wearling of Godith. A black dragon that carried no fire and whose eyes reflected no light.

  The atmosphere in the cave had suddenly become highly charged with fear.

  ‘Look at the boy,’ Grendel said suddenly.

  Ren was stretching his scaled arm, appealing to Givnay to give him the stig. Givnay was rolling it in his claws and showing no sign of granting the request.

  ‘Elder, let him hold it,’ Grendel said.

  ‘What? And kill us all?’ Gossana said sharply, saliva dripping like slime off her jaw. She flapped a wingtip at Grynt. ‘How do we know that the boy is not in league with these “mutants”? How do we know he won’t call them to the cave?’

  ‘If the boy was our enemy,’ Abrial argued, ‘why would he befriend the drake? The drake respects him. It called him “father”. You heard him as well as any of us.’

&nbs
p; Gossana blew a line of smoke his way. ‘A young dragon will imprint on anything that shows it kindness, you idiot. A falling leaf could lead this wearling astray. Befriending him would make him easier to capture. Have you considered that?’ She looked at Grynt again. ‘How can we be sure that the stig is not a keepsake; a trophy?’

  The Elder agreed. ‘You,’ he said, to one of the roamers. ‘Take the boy to a high ledge on Skytouch. Make sure it’s one he can’t escape from.’

  Abrial almost reared in shock. ‘But if the goyles come, they’ll kill him.’

  ‘Or not,’ said Grynt. ‘If he’s in their command. Until we’re certain, he’ll be treated as a prisoner.’

  ‘No. You can’t—’

  ‘I AM YOUR ELDER!’ Grynt roared, a flare of purple around his jaws. ‘It is not for you to challenge my ruling. Your rescue of the drake has won you great favour. It will be reported to the Prime when he is well enough to listen. But if he should die, your future is with me. You would do well to remember that.’

  Abrial bowed and fell back. He glanced up at Grendel. She looked as frustrated by this ruling as he did.

  ‘Take him,’ said Grynt.

  The roamer came forward. And while Grendel calmed Gariffred as best she could, with one scoop Ren was lifted and gone.

  A not-too-distant cry from outside turned every dragon’s gaze to the sky.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Grynt asked.

  ‘Flames over Vargos,’ came the reply.

  The battle was coming closer.

  ‘I demand to be released from this cave,’ said Gossana, her strutting arrogance oozing forth again. ‘I cannot be around frightened wearlings – their scent will draw the mutants to us.’

  ‘How can you say such a thing?’ said Grendel.