“So, what do we know about the dragon’s hunting grounds?” he asked as Nyara came to stand next to him.
“That’s easy enough,” said the elf, trying her best to ignore the steel case containing Blake’s lance that had been set on the seat close by. “I’ve plotted its attacks since its arrival in the area.” She lifted an elegant finger, touching the ghostly map so that it swelled once again, dropping flashing beacons in a pattern across the landscape. Blake frowned. He quickly scanned various familiar landmarks, from the mountainous region known as the Shoulders of Lekeyer in the south, to the vastness of the temperate Great Eastern Forest. Confronted with the open lush, grasslands of the Vallaron Lowlands and the Emerald Hills, Blake felt a prickle of unease. The region had once been his home, and Kaylen’s last resting place. But that was not why he was so disturbed. It was the concentration of beacons clustered throughout their expanse. There had to be around thirty in all.
“Is that usual for a dragon?” Maddox asked then, holding his glass close to his chest. “The proliferation of attacks I mean. There seem so many.”
Blake didn’t answer at first. He was still frowning. “No,” he admitted. “And you say this has happened in the space of…what? Six standard months?”
“The attacks began here…” Nyara pointed to a grouping of beacons in the foothills of the mountains. “The same place it had targeted twenty years ago. Of course, back then the dragon was forced into these areas due to a drought that had affected the abath populations in the Southern Steppes. It pushed the herds much farther north. Now, however, the dragon seems quite content to keep to the lowlands and is ranging along the western flank of the Great Eastern Forest, putting many populations in danger.”
“I remember that drought,” Blake muttered. “I remember being told how there hadn’t been one in a generation. At least in that part of the world.” He looked farther north along the map to where the grandeur of the World Tree was hemmed in by the Petitioner’s Village.
“It was unusual, I admit,” said Nyara, with a slight frown. “Although not without precedent.”
“The point is,” Maddox went on, “the dragon has forced many elves from their villages and farms and now there’s a growing refugee problem. The Petitioner’s Village is swelling day by day. And those are the lucky ones. Anyone attempting to make the long trip to the World Tree risks encountering the dragon.”
“Then why don’t they take refuge in the trees?” Uldo asked behind them. He was leaning against one of the plastic seats, arms folded. “They’re elves, aren’t they? They could keep out of sight of the dragon easily.”
“Well, that’s because of the fear of the south western regions of the Deep Forest, Master Rorg,” Nyara said over her shoulder. “Many believe there are things that lurk there that are even worse than the dragon. Especially after dark, and especially if children are present.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“She’s talking about the Fae,” said Blake.
“The Fae?”
“It’s a legend. Some story about an ancient race that used to exist before the elves. And apparently they don’t take kindly to anyone crossing into their territory.”
“Then it’s just a superstition,” dismissed the dwarf.
“Maybe,” said Nyara. “But the forest is vast. And there are still many parts of it that are ill understood. All that I know for certain is that even the wood elves, who count the Deep Forest as their home, avoid such territories.”
“Well, whatever the truth of the matter,” Maddox said, “the elves avoid the forest as a refuge, so they are forced to move along the normal trade routes. Those who are willing to make the trip, anyway. Many refuse to leave their villages behind. A lot of them are simply too young or old to travel.”
Blake grunted. “Okay. So, what about the lair? What’s the location?”
Maddox lifted a hand to centre on the area closer to the southern mountains. “We’ve managed to triangulate its position judging from the attack pattern, and we believe it’s around here.” He pointed to an area south of the vast spread of the forest and north of the mountain ranges. “It’s in one of the canyons about fifteen klicks from the edge of the Gimrill Basin. Not a place easily accessible on foot.”
“Well, that’s no problem,” said Uldo. “We simply get that goblin pilot to drop us within a day’s march of the lair.”
“Except,” said Blake, studying the map, “the dragon will likely sense anything too large moving into its territory and come out to meet it. We really don’t want to alert it to our presence.”
“Exactly,” said Nyara. “Which means we need to land a few days hike away.”
Just then the vessel shuddered, and everyone wobbled slightly to steady themselves. All except Cid, who still sat unmoving, his huge hands resting on his knees.
“Looks like we’re under way,” said Maddox checking his watch.
Blake turned his attention briefly to the viewing screens where the Clipper could be seen slowly drifting into the distance. Then Nyara spoke and brought his attention back to the map.
“Well, we were thinking Garia’s Point would be a good spot for landing.” She took a step closer to the map and enlarged it again. “It’s a flat area of rock just west of the Arak Falls and surrounded by trees for cover. I reckon it will be large enough to land the RV.”
“The Arak Falls?” Blake was searching the sweep of the forest, trying to see where Nyara was indicating.
“Here,” Nyara pointed. “It feeds into the Shilita River and we estimate about thirty leagues to where we believe the lair is situated. As it’s masked by the northern flank of the mountains, the dragon shouldn’t see us coming.”
Blake frowned. “Thirty leagues? That’s what? A three-day hike?”
“If we make good time.”
“You know that area well?”
“Well enough. My father once took me through the area to learn my woodcraft. We can simply follow the river up to the Ariad Pass and that would take us into the Undul Canyons and the dragon’s lair.”
“Alright then…” Blake nodded. “I think that’s our way in. What about a pick-up point?”
“You mean if we’re successful and the dragon is slain?” said Nyara.
“Yeah. Somewhere Skreet can land the RV as close as possible to the lair so we can get out fast.”
“Well, that’s just the thing,” Maddox said. “Even if we wanted to get any closer, we couldn’t. Nyara tells me the southern regions of the Great Eastern Forest are thick with giant briarwood trees, so it will be impossible to land the RV there. Or in the canyon, for that matter, which is too narrow. To the south of the forest are the mountains.”
“So you’re saying there’s nowhere close by Skreet can pick us up?” Blake said, doubtfully.
“Not within a three-day march,” Nyara admitted. “The closest landing strip is at least ten days away to the southwest. An old ranger outpost. But it’s too exposed. And too far, considering the permits Mr Maddox has secured will only last us five standard days.”
Blake remembered the outpost. It was once used as an immigration processing centre. He had landed there himself with Kaylen all those years ago to make his new life. Nyara was right. It was too far if the lair’s location was accurate.
“So, if we only have five days, and it’s a three-day hike to the lair, we’ll only have two days to return to the research vessel in time to leave. Is that even possible?”
“If we push through the night, yes,” said Nyara.
“And you’d be able to lead us back through the forest in the dark?”
“I believe so.”
“You don’t sound very certain.”
“Finding my way is not a problem, Mr McCord,” Nyara said. “We simply follow the river back the way we came. But once the sun goes down, and if one is abroad, the southern forest presents different challenges.”
“You mean the local wildlife, right?”
“Different creatures
are abroad at night and will have an advantage over us in the dark.”
“Yeah, well, whatever the difficulties,” said Blake, “it looks like we don’t have much of a choice but to go straight back the way we came. Although, I guess as long as we’re not carrying any injuries and we move with purpose, it’s the best we can hope for.”
“So, we’re set?” Maddox asked, tentatively.
“As long as she can guide us to the canyon, yes,” said Blake, motioning to Nyara.
“Then we have our way,” said Maddox, brightly.
“Yeah. If we even get there.” Blake looked over their route again critically. “We haven’t even got across the border yet.”
But Maddox was already waving a placatory hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that, Blake, my friend,” he said and wandered away from the map. “Crossing the border is the least of our worries. Have another drink and relax.”
2
Turning down the offer of a drink wasn’t easy for Blake. Yet he saw no sense in showing the weakness in public. Instead, he simply headed over to his belongings, picking them up and slinging them on a countertop by one of the viewing panes. Looking out into space, he noticed the Clipper and the blinking buoy had already vanished into darkness, and Miria was nothing more than a diminishing red ball. By contrast, Terevell was growing larger all the time, the lush greens and warm browns of its continent, surrounded by the deep blues of its ocean, was not only entwined by swirling white cloud systems, but by two sparkling, intersecting rings. These weren’t natural phenomena. Rather, this impressive feat of engineering was how Terevell protected itself from unwanted intruders: a vast, interlinked series of waystations, check points, and gates permeated by invisible zone shields. Constructed half a century ago by the joint efforts of the Elven Conclave and the Free People’s Assembly, it was the only means of ingress to the planet’s surface. And to cross this vast, unnatural border, their research vessel would have to first dock at a checkpoint and have their permits scrutinized. Blake was familiar with the practice very well. Every time he had come to Terevell to take tourists to the north western expanses of the country of Ilmaris, he had had to endure the suspicions of the Border Guards. Only after the Clipper had been tagged (a process whereby a tracker was fitted to the ship’s console to make sure it didn’t deviate from its predestined path) was the vessel allowed to make its way down to the surface. All pretty straight forward. Except what Blake couldn’t figure out was how this ship was going to escape being tagged. Even if Maddox had somehow managed to swing it so that their tracker allowed them to flirt with the dragon’s territory, it wouldn’t take a genius to work out they had been responsible for hunting the beast.
Blake turned from his reflection in the viewing pane and considered Maddox for a moment. Nyara hadn’t told Blake that their backer was going to accompany them onto the surface. He supposed she hadn’t wanted to give him yet another reason to refuse her. Still, Maddox was a dangerous addition. The dwarf’s bravado was one thing, Maddox’s inexperience quite another. It could very well get them all killed, and it made him mad to think he had already been deceived. Not that it surprised him particularly coming from an elf.
“I’m glad to see you’re looking much healthier than when last we met, Mr McCord.”
Blake, still focused on Maddox, hadn’t noticed Nyara’s approach. He turned about quickly, reminded once again how much he hated her peoples’ unequalled stealth.
“Damn it, lady,” he grunted.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I wasn’t startled. It just creeps me out, is all. The way you elves move.”
“It looks like you’ve lost none of your forthrightness, however. Pity I don’t have a potion for that.”
Blake narrowed his eyes. “Look, there’s nothing in our agreement to say we have to like each other, okay? It won’t have any bearing on the expedition.”
“I sincerely hope not. For I’m not sure there’s one of us you approve of.”
“Well, if you want an honest opinion, I can’t say anyone here fills me with the greatest of confidence. The dwarf sounds reckless and too full of himself. The golem—well, who knows what’s going on in his mechanical brain. But at least they have some hunting experience. Maddox, on the other hand, could turn out to be a liability.”
“Yes, well, I did try to discourage Mr Maddox myself, if it’s any consolation. But it was either accepting him or I would not have been able to organise the expedition.”
“Is that right? Even though you could probably sell that Spirit Blade of yours and pay for all our fees two times over.”
Nyara briefly dropped her eyes to the weapon strapped across her chest. “It’s not as precious as you might think.”
“Don’t give me that. The hilt is pure dragon ivory.”
“Ah yes. I should’ve known you of all people would be an expert in such matters. Then again, I could ask the same of you, Mr McCord. A cold iron lance might have easily paid off your debts to the homunculus. Why didn’t you sell it?”
“You think offloading cold iron is that easy?”
“I’m sure with your resources, Mr McCord, you would have found a way.”
Blake said nothing, regarding the elf bluntly.
Nyara smiled. “Yes. As I thought. We all have our reasons to cling to the past. That being said, even the wealth generated from my sword would not have seen us through the Border Gates. Mr Maddox not only had the means but the expertise.”
“So you say. Although we’re not through yet.”
“Perhaps you should have a little more faith.”
“In whom? You? Or Maddox?”
“Both.”
“Not exactly a great choice,” Blake said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going up front to see how Skreet is getting along.”
And he stalked away, heading for the cockpit.
3
Skreet always looked at home behind the controls of a space vessel. As Blake ducked through the low doorway and into the cockpit, clinging onto a grab rail overhead to ease himself into the cramped space, he was reminded of when he’d first met the goblin. Skreet had been working for a dwarfish mining concern back then on the planet of Mardhuhl, also known as the Land of the Giants. The dwarfs were there in contravention of the Kharg-Rillion Covenants, of course, drilling for sun stones on the Gorsg Plateau. But they needed protection from the bands of cyclops that were roaming the area. Blake had been brought in to keep the cyclops away from the perimeter. His reputation as a hunter of some renown allowed him to charge a more than lucrative commission to finance his next dragon hunt on Terevell.
Not that reputation alone was any measure of success.
After two of the crew had been badly injured during a cyclops ambush, Blake had been forced to call in a rescue ship to lift them to safety. The cyclops had pinned them against a ridge of high rock during a gathering lightning storm. Blake was running out of ammunition. It was only a matter of time before their attackers managed to reach the narrow alcove they were defending. What made matters worse, was that when the dwarfs learnt about the worsening storm, they seemed more than a little reluctant to send in one of their ships. Indeed, it looked as though they were going to leave the party stranded.
Blake supposed it was fate, therefore, that Skreet had not long returned from Kromor for another pickup. Not least because his dwarf employers had viewed him as a more expendable pilot than their own kind.
It had been no mean feat for the goblin to extract Blake and his party off that ridge. With the storm having swelled to almost hurricane force, and the cyclops using their bolt spears to direct lightning strikes toward the cargo hopper, it took the skill of a great pilot to avoid either crashing the craft into the cliff or taking a hit that would have breached its hull.
Not long after Blake had returned to the mining base, he had offered Skreet a job. Better he works for someone who would appreciate his skills, he told him, and be part of a real team. They had been in
separable ever since. Skreet had even followed Blake into the tourism business despite the drop in wages.
“How’s it going up here?” Blake asked as he slipped into the seat next to the goblin.
“Oh, this is the easy part.” Skreet flipped a couple of switches. “Although, I don’t suppose our new boss has given ye any idea how we’re going to avoid being fitted with a tag, huh?”
“He seems to think it’ll be a breeze…”
“What’s wind got to do with it?”
Blake smiled. “Nothing, I guess. So, where are we?”
“We just passed the last marker, and a Loop Jet is tracking off our starboard bow since we entered Terevellian border space.”
Blake looked at a panel. He could see a faint pulse sliding through the three-dimensional image.
“Border Scout, huh?”
“Yup. They make me awful nervous, Blake.”
“Yeah, well, they make everyone nervous.” Blake levelled his eyes back to Terevell, slowly soaking closer and closer in the broad viewing screen. “But that’s their job. Keeping us ne’er-do-wells on our toes.”
EIGHT
1
Gemini Sohn waited for the elevator to reach her desired floor, tapping her foot impatiently. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her going. She had had less than three hours sleep in the last forty-eight, having raced as urgently as she could to the Ranger Patrol HQ. The Freezer Ship containing the processed cockatrice eggs wouldn’t reach HQ for another few hours. And usually, Gemini would accompany the ship on her way back, just to make sure they were safely returned. But she was too buzzed about the dragon hunt revelations that she wanted to make a report right away.
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