by Lucinda Hare
Uncertain of Rising Wind's temper, she signalled the approaching battlegriffs to prevent her from taking off into Open Sky. Then the experienced battledragon made a suggestion of his own.
Shepherd ...
Shepherd? For a moment Quenelda was confused. Then she realized what her dragon was saying. Yes! Yes!
Quenelda had never seen this tactic performed but had heard of it being used to protect an injured mount from enemy fire when landing. This was how many hippogriffs fledged their young, protecting their backs until they could defend themselves. But would Rising Wind allow herself to be shepherded down? Quenelda gave Two Gulps and You're Gone his head.
The battledragon climbed upwards but Quenelda sensed he was beginning to tire. It had been months since he had been battle-fit and flown in Open Sky. This would probably be their last chance before Two Gulps was exhausted. As the battlegriff passed below, Two Gulps moved into her slipstream.
Tangnost's words came once again into Quenelda's mind: Remember, you are always vulnerable to attack from above and behind. No matter how well trained, a battlemount is at its weakest when neither you nor your mount can see your approaching enemy.
Quenelda and Two Gulps glided down gently so as not to provoke Rising Wind. Then the battledragon spread his wings above the smaller battlegriff, forcing her down to where a sea of anxious upturned faces followed their every move. With every stroke of her wings the battlegriff was slowing and losing height. Thirty strides ... twenty ... ten ...
All the while Quenelda was whispering to calm the mare: Slow down ... I will rid you of him ... Slow down ...
Hands stretched up to gather Darcy, but he was just out of reach and the battlegriff was beginning to climb again. Quenelda had no choice. Move alongside, she commanded Two Gulps and You're Gone.
With a powerful beat of his stubby wings, the Sabretooth dragon edged out of the hippogriff's slipstream and moved swiftly alongside her. Once again, without Quenelda having to express a conscious thought, he rolled to the left so that she could reach her brother.
Grabbing him by his boot, cutting her wrist on his wicked dragonspurs, Quenelda reached forward and neatly sliced through Darcy's stirrup leather with her flying knife. Her brother fell half a dozen feet into some bracken and thistles. Seconds later, as Quenelda and the two battlemounts climbed steeply, she heard the cheers.
With the release of her tormentor, the battlegriff's flight immediately began to slow and her anger to cool. Hush, Quenelda whispered as they circled Dragonsdome for one final time. Hush – he's gone ...
As they descended, she could feel the thud of her battledragon's two hearts matching her own rapid heartbeat, the elation of the chase stirring their blood, the exhilaration of having succeeded beyond her wildest dreams.
People were streaming towards the battlegriff roosts from all over Dragonsdome to join the vast throng of soldiers, stable hands and esquires already gathered there. Some of them were cheering; others looked stunned. Quenelda cautiously guided the battlegriff down over their heads to where Tangnost had ordered his esquires and men-at-arms to clear a wide landing space.
Strong hands reached up to take the battlegriff's harness. A red hood was quickly thrown over her head to calm her. 'Yer father will be right proud of ye,' the stablemaster said; a smile crinkled his face and brought a hint of colour back to his pale cheeks.
'Cool her down, then get her injuries seen to,' Tangnost commanded as the battlegriff's esquire began to lead her away. 'That was magnificent, lass,' he said, turning to Quenelda and finding a rare smile just for her, despite his anger. 'I think we can safely say that Two Gulps is fit enough to fly!'
For the second time in one day, Quenelda flushed red with pleasure. Tangnost's compliments were few and far between, and all the more precious for that.
Darcy's two friends pushed to the front of the crowd, open admiration in their eyes. Simon held a hand out to help the Earl's daughter dismount. Unused to such gallantry, Quenelda wondered what he was doing before Tangnost tilted his head with an amused smile. Bemused, she took the offered hand and mumbled her thanks as she stepped down from her battledragon's wing.
'That was amazing.' Rupert elbowed Simon out of the way. 'No one will believe it! And without a saddle or bridle!'
'Where on the One Earth did you learn the Stoner Ma—'
'Bearhugger!' a new voice called out.
The dwarf moved away to greet an apothecary, who was already kneeling beside Guy. Beyond them, Quenelda saw that some apprentices were lifting a body half covered by a cloak. Then the cheering crowd closed in and her view was blocked.
'What happened?' she called out. 'What happened?'
A dozen voices began to answer her, but they tapered into silence. Then she saw Darcy pushing his way forward, brutally elbowing the crowd aside.
They gave way reluctantly, sullen muttering and muted laughs hastily turning to coughs as he passed by.
Laughing! They're laughing at me! Darcy's glare raked the crowd for culprits, but their gaze remained firmly fixed on the battledragon and rider in their midst.
Rupert turned to him sympathetically. 'Darcy—' he began, then stopped mid sentence. Although his friend had two swollen black eyes where the battlegriff's wing had broken his nose, his armoured racing leathers had kept him from any serious harm. But it was the expression in his eyes that made Rupert falter.
'Guy's hand ...' he began. 'It's—'
But Darcy did not so much as glance at his injured friend; he had eyes only for Quenelda.
Unaware, flushed with success, she stepped away from Simon to embrace her brother. 'Darcy! How a—'
But even as he bent to embrace her, his eyes were filled with such loathing that the words died in her throat.
'How dare you?' he hissed into her ear, his normally handsome features twisted and ugly, his grip on her upper arms painful. 'Little show-off! You did that deliberately! Embarrassing me in front of my friends – in front of half of Dragonsdome! You little upstart! You don't belong here. You've never belonged here. My mother died after Papa cast her aside. She was a noblewoman! Your mother was a nobody, a commoner, and so are you. Our father may have brought you to Dragonsdome and given you a title, but that means nothing. You should remember exactly what you are: a base-born bastard.'
Quenelda reeled back from him, hurt and bafflement on her face. Everyone knew her father had made a loveless, political marriage to Darcy's mother that had ended in bitterness and divorce. She had heard stories about Desdemona DeWinter: her dazzling beauty, her extravagant life at court, her shallow, selfish behaviour and her contempt for her husband. It was the fabled DeWinter wealth she had wanted, not the young heir to Dragonsdome. When she betrayed Quenelda's father, young Rufus DeWinter had no choice but to banish her from his life and from Dragonsdome. Was Darcy still so blind to her faults? Quenelda opened her mouth to protest, but the look of hatred was still burning in her half-brother's eyes.
'Papa isn't always going to be around to protect you ... I'll get my own back,' he snarled.
'What—? What do you mean? What do you mean you'll get your own back?'
'One day,' he said softly as he turned towards the crowd with a smile on his lips that didn't reach his eyes. 'One day Papa's luck will run out. They all die, sooner or later. And then I'll become Earl, and you and your dragon will pay for today.'
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grounded
'You're grounded. The dragonmaster has been informed.'
'What?' Darcy was incredulous as he flung his helmet on the floor in a rage. 'He was just a stupid commoner! Just a gnome. What does it matter that he died?'
'Just a stupid commoner?' The Earl Rufus's voice was menacingly quiet. His eyes coldly considered his son. 'He was a young boy of ten. Last time it was just a dumb dragon you killed, never mind that she was one of our best breeding mares. Do you realize how vital pedigree battlemounts are in this war? And how about your friend, Guy? Does his injury not matter either? He was expected
to take his place at his father's side on Dragon Isle.'
Darcy shifted uncomfortably.
'He will never fly with the SDS now.' The Earl shook his head. 'Or any frontline regiment. His father, the Commander of the Night Stalkers and one of my oldest friends, is furious, and rightly so. When are you going to learn, Darcy, that you have a duty of care to those around you?'
Darcy yawned. He had heard it all before. He would apologize, his father would return to the war, and life would go on as before. Simon and Rupert and a group of friends were waiting for him. They were going out to the local tavern for a night's drinking and gambling.
'And servants, Darcy, cannot be bullied and intimidated by inappropriate use of magic. Only undisciplined children behave that way. Magic may compel obedience, but it does not win hearts and minds. You must earn their respect and loyalty, both on and off the battlefield.'
The Earl's jaw hardened: he could tell Darcy's attention was drifting. 'Being an Earl's son is not just about having the best of everything, or having your own way all the time. I banned you from the battleroosts. You deliberately disobeyed me. There are many responsibilities that go with the title of Earl, and if you are ever to inherit the earldom, you are going to have to convince me that you merit it.' He paused, waiting to see if his son was even listening.
'What? Merit it?' Darcy echoed blankly as what his father had said sank in. 'If? If I ever?' He sprang to his feet. 'I'm your heir!'
'No, Darcy. Dragonsdome is no longer yours by right. You will have to earn it. I am tired of your irresponsible behaviour and your tantrums. Your little escapade with a battlegriff cost one life and put many others at risk, not least your sister's.'
'Half-sister!' Darcy spat, a lifetime of jealousy and resentment rearing up within the two words. 'No one apart from you even knows who her mother is! She could be anyone, even the lowliest servant! It's a disgrace to my mother's noble birthline. It's—'
Anger flared openly in the Earl's eyes. 'I have decided that you are to be enrolled at Battle Academy immediately, whether you wish to or not. They will teach you discipline and responsibility. They—'
'B-but I'm to be a captain in the Queen's Second Unicorn regiment!' Darcy pleaded, suddenly contrite. 'The Grand Master has promised me the best stallion in his stables on my promotion, a golden unicorn! I am to command a troop of my own: Darcy's Dragoons.'
'No,' the Earl said softly. 'No, Darcy. No son of mine is going to avoid active service by hiding behind pomp and ceremony. I had hoped that you would come to this view yourself, but since you have shown no sign of growing into your responsibilities, I have taken this decision. You will enrol with the SDS and enter as a lowly cadet. Artisan's son or Earl's son, you will all be equals on Dragon Isle. You will have to earn your promotion there, not buy it. If you disobey me in this, you will forfeit the earldom.'
'You can't do this!' Darcy shouted. 'I'm noble born! Command is mine by right! Only commoners and younger sons are cadets. You can't do this!'
'I think you will find,' his father said, 'that there is very little I can't do.'
Darcy turned and ran from the room in rage, barging past Tangnost, who was waiting outside.
'My Lord Earl?' the dwarf enquired, motioning after the departing boy.
The Earl Rufus smiled ruefully as his rain-soaked dragonmaster entered and accepted a welcome mug of mulled wine from a page. Tangnost nursed it gratefully. He was not as young as he used to be, and the endless cold was making his wounded thigh ache.
Like his lord, he had just returned from Dragon Isle, where he had seen for himself what the SDS were planning. He had spent five days conferring with other SDS dragonmasters from all over the Seven Sea Kingdoms, discussing tactics and training. It had given him a great deal to think about, and he had a few ideas. He had sketched them to Dragonsdome's foundry master, who had promised to have both equipment and arms for three troops ready by the week's end. The Earl let his dragonmaster settle comfortably, content to let him take his time.
'Can we do it?' he asked as Tangnost drew on his pipe. 'Will the recruits be ready in time? The task of replacing them would fall to you here at Dragonsdome. You have only two moons before they must go to Dragon Isle for full-scale exercises. The full resources of Dragonsdome will be at your disposal.'
Tangnost nodded, thinking of the wondrous things he had seen on Dragon Isle. Operation Crucible was bold and dangerous in the best tradition of the SDS. The Westering Ocean was a wild and dangerous place even in midsummer. But in winter none dared sail its stormtossed seas, where rocky shoals and icebergs lurked in freezing fogs to sink unwary ships. But getting the SDS to the Westering Isles was a task that fell to others; his was to make the regiments up to full strength in a fraction of the time it normally took. Dragon Isle's imperial pilots and navigators had been training for weeks with battleseasoned veterans drawn from all seven regiments. It was no easy task for them – but for raw recruits? It was a daunting undertaking, but what a challenge! He had been desperate to be involved, frustrated that his injury kept him from frontline operations. His instincts were no longer battle-honed – it was years since he had lifted his axe in anger. But ...
The Earl saw the determined line of Tangnost's jaw and knew the answer even before he spoke. 'Yes, my lord. We can do it!'
Satisfied, Earl Rufus had one last thing on his mind. 'Bark Oakley's son. How is he doing?'
Tangnost paused, thinking. 'He is making progress, my lord. He is eager to please. But ... he still fears dragons, and—'
'And my daughter is impatient to prove our choice of esquire wrong?'
Tangnost's answering smile was enough.
'Well' – the Earl nodded – 'the moment you are happy to relinquish his training into her care I want you to take overall charge of the Bonecrackers. Requisition whatever men, equipment and arms you need. In one moon you will begin night-time exercises with the Night Stalkers. Our winter campaign against the hobgoblins must be successful: the future of the Seven Sea Kingdoms depends upon it.'
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hobgoblins
It was a freezing night; cold white stars freckled the black sky, but the crescent moons had yet to rise. Darkness pooled in the Never Ending Glen below. A Vampire dragon dropped softly out of the darkness to land within the crumbling walls of a derelict old castle, ruined centuries ago in the Second Hobgoblin War. All but one of its escorts remained airborne, keeping watch for the SDS. It would not do to be found here.
'I will not be long.' The Vampire's rider dismounted, his breath blooming in the frigid air. 'Wait here, Knuckle. We must be back at the Guild by dawn.'
'My lord.' The man bowed as he took the Vampire's reins, holding his own mount in readiness.
Drawing his staff from his saddle holster, the black-cloaked figure moved confidently across the rotten drawbridge and into an inner courtyard, where he pressed a stone rune carved onto a wall, near invisible in the gloom. It flared briefly beneath his touch. Then, with a soft click, a stone door opened inwards to reveal steps descending into the castle depths. The man stepped through and the doorway closed behind him, leaving no trace.
He cast a small illumination spell with his fingers and the wall sconces flared into life. Then he made his way down the steep steps to the subterranean caverns.
The smell of salt grew sharper, and chains clanked in the shadows. His soft footsteps echoed as he reached a cavern where the sea sucked at the rocks.
The man smiled grimly and moved across to where a circular hole some five feet in diameter was sunk into the bedrock of the chamber. But this was no well. The water here slapped and gurgled in a steady rhythm as it slowly rose higher. The water here was tidal, connected to the distant sea by a maze of underwater caverns and tunnels that spread out into the deep loch nearby.
A strange curled horn with a long pipe was inset into the stone, its mouth many feet below the level of the sea. The man blew into it, sending eerie notes out across the sea, summoning hobgoblins to return .
..
Water frothed over the edges of the hole, heralding the arrival of the first guest. Bulbous webbed fingers reached up and effortlessly gripped the slimy rim with their suckers. The hobgoblin slithered out and flopped onto the floor before powerful thighs propelled it upright.
In the flickering light the hobgoblin's skin glowed with a faint sheen of phosphorescent green. It carried dented weapons recently stolen in battle, wearing them over a rusting hauberk of metal rings taken from a Bonecracker, and a helmet made from the skull of a juvenile Viper, encrusted with barnacles. A necklace of human finger bones and hanks of rotting hair, each one representing a kill in battle, rattled against his armour. Luminous eyes, used to the dark of the ocean, searched the cavern. Its thick lips drew back in a sibilant hiss, baring pale serrated teeth that caught the dull light. The bulbous air sack in the hobgoblin's throat bobbed. Its gills bubbled and dribbled as it expelled water and drew air into its lungs.
'SSSSorcerer Lord.' The creature squatted respectfully on bended knees before raising itself up to its full height of over six feet, its eyes level with those of the figure who stood before it.
'You have a messsage for my massster, Galtekerion?'
The man nodded. 'Y-yes ...' he croaked. He fingered his bruised and bandaged throat and tried again. It did not do to show weakness in front of hobgoblins, or let them scent blood. 'When the harvest moons are full, I will come to the Westering Isles. I will take the dragon you have been training for me. Tell your master to ready his warriors for battle before the frost moons wax.'
'Ssssssssssssss, it isss ssso? That isss good. Our food runsss low. The tribesss are restlessss for bone and blood before we sssleep. You promissssed usss a victory.' Its hiss died away. The tide sucked loudly in the cavern. 'In return for our allegiance.'
