Dragon Rigger

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  Crouching, he let his thoughts drift down into the under-web of his cavern's protective spells. He leaped, tugging at the exit spell as he spread his wings and beat downward. The cavern vanished from around him, and he was airborne over the mountains under a rose-and-violet dawn. He flew south toward the main encampment.

  When he arrived, he found considerable commotion in the camp. The guard dragons greeted him somberly as he circled overhead, and when he landed, the dour figure of Rockclaw limped out toward him. Rockclaw was too old and frail for battle, but he had the sharpest memory of all the draconi, and it was his duty to gather information and report it to the leaders. Usually when he came to report to Windrush these days, it was with bad news.

  "Rockclaw. You are about early, today."

  Rockclaw regarded him with dusty-seeming eyes. "Yes, Windrush. But not gladly. Have you heard the news of your brother?"

  Windrush exhaled a plume of steam. FullSky? Had the others learned, somehow, of FullSky? That was impossible . . .

  "WingTouch did not return from last night's patrol," Rockclaw said, with a shake of his head. "Nor did Loud-cry." The old grey dragon gazed moodily toward the south. "His patrol was attacked by drahls. Most of the drahls were destroyed—but those two have gone missing. FireEye said he felt someone die." Rockclaw sighed. "A search has begun, but—" He shook his head and left the sentence unfinished.

  Windrush's breath left him. WingTouch, killed by drahls? He could not have regained one brother in the night, only to lose another! "No!" he whispered.

  "It is hard news," Rockclaw agreed.

  "NO!" Windrush thundered, ignoring the looks he drew from the camp. Turning from Rockclaw, he leaped into the air and beat his wings, climbing in anguish toward the target cliff at the south end of camp. "WINGTOUCH!" Gaining altitude above the cliff, he banked and dove toward the target wall. "WINGTOUCH! LOUDCRY!" He loosed a great flame onto the wall and veered away, climbing again with pounding wingstrokes, circling for another pass. "Die, drahls!" he cried, as he hurled himself toward the wall for another pass. His flame scorched the rock.

  By the time he had started his third pass, at least half a dozen others had taken to the air to join him, and more were bestirring themselves. WingTouch and Loudcry had both had friends, and even those who did not know them as friends mourned them as brothers fallen in the war. Soon there was a small army of dragons flying out their grief and anger against the target wall—and even after Windrush had spent his own immediate rage, the others continued their grief flight, targeting the wall with fire that they were helpless to turn upon the Enemy.

  Windrush let out a long, flaming breath and spiraled down to land. He felt spent, and utterly at a loss. "Is Farsight about?" he asked the nearest leader, Stronghold. The tan dragon shook his head darkly, staring back at Windrush. "What is it?" Windrush asked, sensing that the other dragon had something to say.

  Stronghold clenched his talons, and grumbled throatily. "How much longer will you wait, Windrush? How much longer?"

  Windrush blinked and regarded the leathery, powerfully muscled dragon. "What do you mean?"

  "Strike at the Enemy!" Stronghold said. "Before we do it ourselves! Do you not hear your brothers calling for action? Will you wait until they challenge you for a new leader? Act, Windrush! Act!"

  Windrush stared at the dragon in shock. "Do you doubt my leadership? My garkkondoh? My honesty?"

  Stronghold hissed furiously. "No one doubts your honesty, Windrush! Certainly not I. But you are losing the will of your brothers. You are so absorbed in your . . . underrealm—" and he puffed great clouds of steam, which almost hid from Windrush's sight the other dragon's amber-glowing eyes, and the faces of others who were gathering close to listen "—and your demons and your visions. You test our patience, as we watch our brothers fall, and our lumenis vanish!"

  Windrush was nearly speechless. "How can you say—don't you understand—?"

  He was drowned out by a rising grumble from the dragons gathered around. "Take us to battle!" a dragon behind him cried. "Or someone else will!"

  Windrush drew a long, deep breath and turned to see who was present. Many were simple warriors, some were leaders. Their voices told him that Stronghold was telling the truth. If he wanted to keep the dragons united behind him, he could delay no longer. This was not the time to tell anyone about FullSky, or to speak of the ifflings, or of Jael. He saw it in the eyes of the dragons gathered, and in those emerging from the sleeping warrens to learn what was happening, and in those just now landing from their grief flight. These dragons were angry. They wanted battle, not patience, and if they did not find the leadership in Windrush, they would find it in SearSky, or in another. "I see," Windrush said at last.

  "Do you—?" began another dragon.

  "Silence!" Windrush roared.

  The grumbling stopped.

  Windrush hardened his gaze to a glare. "Leaders! To the Vale of Decision! Now!"

  Cries of triumph went up. Windrush expelled a long plume of smoke, and ignoring the shouts, leaped into the air. A dozen or more dragons followed, while others trumpeted their approval from the ground. Windrush flew southeast, over the target wall and over a low ridge of mountains, flanked by the flight of angry dragons. He crested the north wall of the Vale of Decision and dropped toward the dry stream bed at the bottom of the rocky vale. He landed on the flat command stone at the head of the valley and watched as the dragon leaders came in, soaring and blasting the air with fire. Farsight was not among them; the meeting would have to go on without him.

  "My brothers!" he called, his voice thundering out over the vale. He, too, was being carried along by rage. "It is said that the time has come to let our anger burn against the Enemy! What is your voice?"

  A rumble of approval went up, with smoke and fire.

  "One at a time! Give me your counsel! Give me your thoughts!"

  Another roar went up, as the dragons vented their rage. He waited a few moments, then bellowed for silence. When he had their attention, he called to the dragon sitting closest on his left, "Winterfall! Your counsel!"

  "Strike at the Black Peak!" trumpeted the sandy-white dragon.

  A fresh cry went up. Windrush expelled a doubtful plume of smoke. The Black Peak was a battle already fought. It was true, they had not stretched their limited fighting power to hold the peak where Jael had won her victory. And in the absence of spell-wielding guardian dragons, the peak was, for all practical purposes, under the Enemy's control again. But its value at this point was unclear.

  Windrush kept his doubts to himself. "Hailfar! Your counsel!"

  "Strike at the Dark Vale!" thundered Hailfar, next in the row.

  A less animated roar went up. Strike at the Enemy's heartland? The seat of Tar-skel's sorcery and terror, and perhaps his own dwelling place? If they could conceivably destroy the Enemy at the Dark Vale, the war would be won. But the Dark Vale was heavily protected by drahls, by Tar-skel dragons, and most of all by sorcery. Windrush knew perfectly well that his dragons could not win such a battle—not without far greater strength in the underrealm. Not without the knowledge and power of the Dream Mountain. Not without Jael. To strike there would be brave and futile, and would probably mean the end of dragonkind.

  Windrush nodded without replying. "SearSky! Your counsel!"

  To his surprise, the great black dragon hesitated. "Strike at the east camp of the Enemy!" SearSky finally called.

  Windrush flared flame from his nostrils. That, at least, was more sensible. The Enemy's east camp was a large gathering place of drahls and Tar-skel dragons—no easy target, by any means. But it was within a day's flight, and it was a target where they might have some hope of hurting the Enemy more than they would be hurt themselves. At least, they might, if they flew with this kind of rage in their hearts, but kept clear thinking in their heads.

  "Longtouch!" Windrush called. "Your counsel?"

  "East camp of the Enemy!"

  "Deepclaw! Your counsel!"


  "Black Peak!"

  "Stronghold! Your counsel!"

  "East camp!" thundered Stronghold.

  "Stonebinder . . ."

  The roll call continued. The greatest number, in the end, favored the east camp. Certainly, it was the only place that Windrush could in conscience lead his dragons with even the slightest hope of meaningful victory. When the roll call was finished, Windrush sat silent for a few moments as the other dragons fumed among themselves. Finally he looked across the gathering and thundered, "Listen, then! Gather in three flights, two watches before the next dawn, to strike the east camp of the Enemy! Prepare, brothers—but do not speak of the target beyond this vale! Gathering dismissed!"

  A triumphant cry went up. Even those dragons who had wanted the greater targets voiced their approval. In truth, most of them did not care much about the target, only that they struck somewhere.

  Windrush watched as the dragons flew from the vale. His anger at WingTouch's death had not left his thoughts. But he could only hope that the dragons' anger, and the recent feeding, would be enough to fuel their bold action tomorrow.

  * * *

  Upon his return to the main encampment, Windrush was told that Farsight was urgently looking for him. He found his brother on a high outcropping, searching the camp with his silvery-clear eyes. The younger dragon looked deeply disturbed, and Windrush assumed that he knew why.

  "Farsight!" he called, shouting up to his brother.

  Farsight leaped down with half-furled wings. "Windrush, we must speak! Can you fly with me now?"

  Windrush agreed, and the two took to the air at once. Farsight urged them to fly northward, where they would be less likely to encounter others. "I missed you at the leaders' meeting!" Windrush said when they were alone in the sky.

  "I heard about WingTouch," Farsight muttered, his voice heavy with grief. "I'm afraid I have other distressing news, for your ears alone."

  "More bad news! First I must tell you—we fly against the east camp of the Enemy tonight. I trust that WingTouch's spirit will go with us. But I too have news that I have not yet spoken aloud. It concerns FullSky and the ifflings, and it gives me hope."

  "FullSky!" Farsight's eyes flashed. "You are full of surprises! If you can offer hope, then I will be grateful indeed. Because I must tell you what I overheard last night, in the darkness of the mountains. Windrush, we have a traitor among us. . . ."

  * * *

  By the time the two dragons had shared all of their news with each other, they had flown well north of the main encampment. Somber and silent, they circled back the way they had come. Farsight was cheered to learn that FullSky lived and fought with them, and that the ifflings were reaching out to the static realm to find Jael. But for Windrush, the news of a traitor was as troubling as the death of a brother.

  If only they knew the traitor's name! He did not criticize Farsight for avoiding a confrontation in the night—it had been the right thing to do, he was sure—but he desperately wished that he had been there himself. Perhaps he could have sensed the dragon's identity through the underrealm. Now they could only be watchful, and live in fear of betrayal.

  "Do you think, Windrush, that we should call off tomorrow's attack?" Farsight asked finally, voicing the question that both were pondering.

  Windrush beat the air with his wings. "I'm afraid," he murmured, "that that might cause even more harm. Our brothers are angry and impatient. I may have erred in calling for an attack—and yet, if I had not, I doubt that my leadership would have survived this day, or the next. The others have no understanding of the unseen battles; they only want to wage war with flame and wing."

  Farsight's eyes reflected the morning sun, as he answered cautiously, "Many of our brothers are foolish. But I think you may be right, Windrush."

  Windrush accepted Farsight's appraisal with a hiss of steam. "We will go on with the attack—but not speak of strategy until we are on wing. That much we can do to thwart our spy, at least. Farsight, we must keep this to ourselves. It will do no good to have rumor flying, and false accusations. But you and I must be alert."

  "Shrewd as drahls and more silent," muttered Farsight.

  Windrush glanced at him sharply. "Perhaps that, yes. What a way to put it, though. Farsight, I think I would like to know more of what happened to WingTouch. Shall we go speak with the survivors of his patrol?"

  Farsight didn't answer. But he began beating his wings harder, flying grimly back to the camp.

  Chapter 16: Dragons in Flight

  The night was cool but not cold, as the dragons took to the air. They flew with a fierce determination, and they flew as quietly as a flight of more than seventy dragons could fly. They moved like a gust of wind over the valleys and ridges. On Windrush's orders, they strove to disturb nothing, to be heard by neither wakeful nor sleeping creatures, to give no warning of their approach. If a stirring animal, or a drahl, should have glanced upward toward the faint night-time glow of the sky, it might have sensed the pattern of shadow against the clouds, or heard the muted fluttering of wings. But if good fortune flew with the dragons, they would strike the enemy without warning.

  If good fortune flew with them. Windrush's thoughts were heavy with the report of WingTouch's patrol from last night, and the near certainty of WingTouch's death. He was nagged by an undefinable sense that this attack was somehow a mistake. But he kept his doubts to himself, so as not to infect anyone else with them. He tried to think like Rocktooth and FireEye, who had eagerly joined this mission hoping to avenge WingTouch's death.

  It would be a demanding flight for the dragons—not so much for the distance to the enemy camp as for the terrain they had to cross to reach it—especially the treacherous ridge of the Borderland Mountains, a jagged range which lay just beyond the Valley Between and which clearly demarcated the beginning of the Enemy's territory. If they could cross the Borderland Mountains without incident, and without being detected, that in itself would be a great success.

  It was not Windrush's plan to pass over the mountains in a single formation; rather, they would divide into three groups. One, led by Stronghold, would veer far to the left to the Hermitage Pass and approach the enemy camp from the south, on the Enemy's side of the ridge. Another, led by Farsight, would fly northward to the Pass of the Black Mountains, not far short of the Black Peak itself, where a glowering fire from the static realm still shone over the broken mountains. Farsight's group would come upon the enemy from the north. The main group, led by Windrush, would go straight west, over the summit of the Borderland Mountains.

  That crossing lay ahead of them yet. They had just completed their flight over the ragged slopes of the Scarred Mount Ridge, site of many small conflicts between dragons and their foes, including the one that had claimed WingTouch. As that ridge receded behind them, they soared high over the dark plain of the Valley Between, flying west toward the Borderland Mountains. The Valley Between was not a place where dragons dwelled now, but it was far from deserted. Dragons of both sides patrolled here, and drahls were often spotted moving up and down the ridges in their missions of spying. Numerous shadow-cats made their homes here, too, as well as small flyers and sprites and lesser animals. Most of them had no role in the conflict, though a few did serve as sentinels for the dragons—and others, Windrush suspected, served as spies for the Enemy. If any of those spies witnessed the dragons passing, he hoped that their reports to the Enemy would not arrive before the dragons themselves.

  In a happier time, lumenis groves and draconic gardens had speckled this broad valley. All were destroyed now, ravaged by the servants of Tar-skel, or by his sorcery. Passing over these dark lands that had once borne such fruit, Windrush felt an ancient anger rising from deep within, raging against the one who had done this to the land. He nurtured the anger; it would make him fight all the more fiercely. He sensed that the others, flanking him, felt the same rage as they flew over the Enemy's desolation.

  The night was wearing long as their flight brought them over
the foothills of the Borderland Mountains. Windrush spoke softly to the others, sending word back through the company that the north and south flanks were to split away now. "Quietly," he urged them. "Quietly!"

  Glancing back, he saw the flanks separating, the glowing coals of myriad dragon eyes vanishing to the north and to the south. Behind him, the center group continued strong. Windrush faced into the west wind and picked up the pace of his wingbeats. It was time to start gaining altitude, to climb for the crossing over the most difficult mountain range in the realm.

  * * *

  The air felt strange this high. It had a different character, a different quality of presence, a different undersmell. Perhaps it was the mountains more than the altitude; perhaps it was the nearness of Tar-skel magic. Windrush knew that it was possible to fly higher—he had done so himself during the lumenis vision—but few dragons ever did, and even at this height, he had a sense of flying near the very edge of the realm. Exactly what might happen if he flew beyond the limits of the realm, he didn't know; but he thought it would not be good to try. Even now he felt a sense of separation between mind and body that reminded him of movement through the underrealm.