The New Age

by Chris D'Lacey

  Although he would never admit it, a small part of Gabrial was slightly disappointed to find Prime Grynt still very much alive. His response to the news was predictably irate.

  “DEAD? Both of them? How?”

  Gabrial turned his face from the heat. “I did as you commanded and took the Hom girl to a high place—the edge of the domayne, the sea.”

  “Why there?” Gossana asked, her tongue snipping at the edges of the words. “Isn’t Skytouch high enough for you?”

  She had settled on the terraced side of the eyrie, poking a small fire with her isoscele. She flicked a probing look at Gruder, who was standing to attention just behind Gabrial. The sweeper, aware of her penetrating gaze, managed to keep his head held high and his stance solid.

  “There are unmapped caves in the cliff face,” said Gabrial. “I thought Ren could be hiding among them. When I arrived, Gariffred was there with a roamer called Gus. The drake became upset when he realized what was going to happen to the girl. His squealing maddened the Veng. One of them pinned him to the ground and threatened to crush his neck. That provoked Gus to attack.”

  “And what were you—the drake’s guardian—doing?” asked Gossana, weaving her words among the trails of smoke. “Appealing for mercy?”

  “Not mercy—restraint.”

  The female dragon stretched her neck so she could better see the hole in Gabrial’s wing. “Yet you fought alongside this renegade, Gus. Hard, by the look of it.”

  Gabrial’s reply was clipped. “The Veng threatened Gariffred. I had no choice. Kill or be killed. Isn’t that the Veng way?”

  Grynt snorted noisily, fire pocketing deep in his throat. “You,” he said, aiming his gaze toward Gruder. “What did you see of this?”

  “He didn’t arrive until it was over,” said Gabrial. “He helped me—”

  “I’m asking HIM!” roared Grynt. “Well, sweeper?”

  Gruder stared straight ahead, speaking his report as if it were painted in blood on the wall. “I saw no fighting, Prime Grynt. Only the bodies. And Gabrial, injured. Naturally, I came to assist him.”

  “Naturally,” Gossana repeated. “And the gallant Gus—where is he now?”

  “He fled.” Gabrial lowered his head. Even now he wasn’t happy promoting this lie, inventing the “minor details” that would blacken Gus’s character. “When the fighting was done, we argued. I said he should come to you and give himself up. He refused. He flew across the water, taking Pine with him. I was too injured to give chase.”

  “And the boy?” said Gossana.

  That was unexpected. Gabrial shook his head, unbalanced by the question. Should he tell them about Gariffred’s i:mage? Would they believe it if he did? “What does Ren have to do with this?”

  Gossana fanned her sawfin scales. The movement blew a lick of fire in Gabrial’s direction. “Was the boy not the reason for this luckless jaunt? Are you telling us that ‘Ren’ did not appear? That he did not leap heroically out of a cave and play a part in the slaughter or make any attempt to save the girl, even after she was … taken hostage?”

  “No,” said Gabrial. “I saw no sight of him.”

  “You swear to that?”

  “I do.” Gabrial laid his isoscele against his heart.

  Gossana let out a false sigh. “Then this is a worse disaster than ever. Not only are our last two Veng wiped out, but our worst enemy is still at large and half our Hom ‘bait’ has gone missing.”

  “Listen—” Gabrial began to say. He had decided he must tell them about Gariffred’s i:mage. The threat of Graven, though still unclear, hung like a dark cloud over his hearts. For all he knew, the boy was lurking invisibly in the shadows, hearing all of this. But Gossana only had ears for her own words.

  “All is not lost, however. I suggest you try again, Prime Grynt. We have the man ‘Rolan’ in our grasp, do we not?” Her throat hardened around the name as her callous gaze locked onto Gabrial once more. “And this time, as the blue is clearly unfit, I suggest it should be you who carries out the threat. Take the Hom to the peak of Skytouch yourself. If the boy will slide out of his shell for anyone, it will surely be you.”

  “No. Please, hear me,” Gabrial said.

  But this time it was Grynt who cut him off. “Get out,” he snarled. “You’re confined to the inner domayne until I decide what to do with you. Sweeper, go back to your duties. NOW!”

  Gruder gave a shuddering nod. He licked his troublesome teeth, then took off with Gabrial close behind him.

  “Well?” said Grynt, watching them wheel away. “Speak up, Matrial. What is it you wish to say? Something is bubbling under your tongue. I hear it louder than a wearling’s fart.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” she said.

  “If it were obvious, I wouldn’t be ASKING you!”

  She gave a penitent nod. “He’s lying. They both are.”

  Grynt stared at the gray sky, simmering. “Why? What reason would they have?”

  “To protect the Hom—and this bond they claim to have with them. Gabrial has clearly set the girl free. And I think he knows where the boy is hiding. They’re plotting against you, Grynt. Don’t you see it? First they remove the Veng, then you.”

  Grynt extended his claws, making them squeal against the cave floor. In a deep voice laced with bitterness, he said, “Go to the cliffs yourself, alone. I want a full report on what you find there. Get me proof of Gabrial’s deceit.”

  Gossana rose to her feet. “It will be my pleasure, but I hardly think it necessary to dig for the truth. They will show themselves as traitors if you do as I suggested.” She made eye contact. “Strengthen the guard around the eyrie. Then have the man, Rolan, brought to you—and kill him.”

  “Taken him? What do you mean, Gus has taken him?”

  The sheer thrust of Grendel’s voice laid Gabrial’s stigs flat. Breaking such devastating news to her was never going to be easy, but he’d hoped for a little less fury than this. The golden braids along her face had almost combusted when she’d learned that the drake had been spirited away.

  “I thought he’d be safer, away from Grynt and Gossana. Maybe even from Graven.”

  “Safe? In the company of a renegade?”

  “That’s making it sound far worse than it is.”

  “Oh. So what you’re really telling me is you’ve wrapped Gariffred up in your little plot and condemned him forever if the truth comes out!”

  “Grendel, it’s not like that.”

  “It’s exactly like that. Why did you drag him into it? Gariffred didn’t kill the Veng, did he?”

  “They attacked him,” Gabrial retaliated. “Believe me, you would have admired his courage. Another year’s growth and—”

  “He’d be dead.” Grendel was close enough now to bite the end off Gabrial’s snout. “Hacked down or poisoned, ready to shed his tiny fire tear. When are you going to learn that fighting is not the answer to everything?”

  Gabrial put his head back, counting the jags of ice growing from the cave ceiling. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Of course you knew. You should have brought him back.”

  “Into a Wearle that doesn’t want him? And won’t formally Name him?”

  “I want him! Me. His mother in all but blood. Don’t I get a say in our wearlings’ future?”

  “I’m sorry,” the blue said, sighing as he bowed to her, “but at the time it seemed like the only option.”

  “Ohhh!” Grendel swept away in despair.

  “This colony is falling apart,” Gabrial argued. “We should leave while we can. Find new lands. Settle. Build. Other families from other colonies have done it.”

  “And put ourselves at war with Grynt?”

  “It’s our right to roam; Grynt won’t come after us.”

  “Of course he will. He’s the Prime of a colony sent here by the Higher. Ultimately, he has to answer to them. He’d have every right to outlaw us, Gariffred included, and call for reinforcements from Ki:mera. Not that he�
�d need them. Even without the Veng, we’d be heavily outnumbered. What’s you, me, Gus, and a couple of wearlings against a wyng of … twenty roamers?”

  “I don’t think the roamers would fight for Grynt. Not against us.”

  “You don’t think …” she muttered quietly to herself. “That’s precisely right, Gabrial. You just don’t think. I want Gariffred found. I want him with me.”

  Gabrial shuffled his feet. “Technically, he is.”

  “What?”

  “The Elders don’t know he’s with Gus; I didn’t tell them.”

  A look of thunder passed across Grendel’s face. Again, she came close enough to steal his breath. “If Grystina were alive, she would probably have taken your head off by now. And I still might. You think the Veng were savage opponents? They are nothing compared to me. I want Gariffred back in the safety of the Wearle. You have five days. After that, I go to Grynt and tell him everything you’ve just told me. Grynt may not think highly of Gariffred, but the drake is still part of this Wearle, his Wearle. He could have you arrested for sending Gariffred away beyond the care of his guardians.”

  “Mama …” The wearmyss, Gayl, wandered into the argument. She pawed at Grendel, clearly upset by the raised voices.

  “Shhhh, little one,” Grendel reassured her. “Tada is hurting from his wound. It somehow seems to have affected his mind.”

  Gabrial snarled lightly and rustled his wings. “I need to see Grymric urgently.”

  That seemed to come as no surprise to Grendel. “That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said all day. Ask him for an herb that can keep your battle stigs locked down.”

  “In five days,” he countered, “you’ll see I was right.” He looked at Gayl. She still had Pine’s flowers draped around her neck. “When you’re ready, tell her Pine is well and with Gus. It’s because he wants to protect the girl that he’s accepted the blame for slaying the Veng. She saved his life on those cliffs, Grendel. And now I’m going to try to save Rolan’s.”

  And without another word, he turned toward the light, caught what he could of the wind, and flew.

  “Tada!” cried Gayl, scampering after him.

  “Gayl, come here,” Grendel sighed, turning her head to one side to think on all that Gabrial had said. When she glanced at the cave mouth again, it was empty. “Gayl?” she muttered, looking all around. “Gayl? GAYL?!”

  Half a wingbeat took her straight to the edge. She looked down the craggy mountainside, worried for a moment that the wearmyss had fallen.

  But Gayl, like her brother, had found her wings.

  She was a hazy dot in the murky sky, on a gliding descent that would take her across the great ice lake—following the scent of her guardian, to the cave of the healing dragon, Grymric.

  “Gabrial!”

  Grymric was pleased to see the blue—at first. Then he noted the hole in the wing and his aging eye ridges creaked around the edges. When Gabrial presented with a serious injury, it was usually a sign of trouble within the Wearle.

  “You’re hurt,” he said. “I’m surprised you’re flying. Is that a fighting wound?”

  “Better you don’t know the details,” said Gabrial.

  Grymric cast an anxious glance outside. “Not goyles again?”

  Gabrial shook his head. “Personal dispute.”

  Was that worse than a goyle threat? Grymric decided it was better not to ask. “Well, turn to your side. Let me view the wound properly.”

  “It’s nothing. Just a tear. It will heal itself soon. I’m not here about the wing. I’ve come to take the Hom man away. Where is he?”

  He leaned sideways, peering deeper into the cave. Toward the back, half lit by the light from a small fire, lay the man Ren had called Rolan Woodknot. He wasn’t moving or making any sound.

  “WAIT!” Grymric shifted his wiry frame to block Gabrial’s forward step. “What do you mean, ‘take him’? Take him where?”

  “You need to trust me, Grymric. We don’t have much time.”

  “He’s weak, Gabrial. Moving him could kill him.”

  Gabrial stared into the healer’s eyes. “He’ll be thrown off a mountain if I don’t get him out of here. Grynt’s orders.”

  Grymric swished his tail, sending a pile of leaves into the fire. “But that’s barbaric. Why would Grynt do that?”

  “He thinks it will flush Ren out of hiding. Let me by, Grymric. Grynt’s roamers could turn up at any—”

  At that precise moment, Gayl landed awkwardly in the cave mouth, overflapping so much that Gabrial was fooled into thinking that a much bigger dragon had arrived. He swept around and roared a ferocious warning, a hooked flame spiking out of his throat. Luckily, it curled over Gayl’s head, close enough to cause the young dragon to squeal but high enough to leave her physically untouched. Gabrial quickly sucked back, reducing the flame to a puff of smoke that escaped through his teeth as he clamped his mouth shut.

  “Gayl?” he spluttered when the shock had passed. “What in Godith’s name … ?” He looked at the sky and wished he hadn’t. Grendel was arriving fast.

  She banged down, issuing a screech so piercing it made poor Grymric’s teeth vibrate. His precious leaf collection was immediately scattered; it was soon raining herbs all over the cave.

  Gabrial had never seen Grendel so enraged. She looked ready to carve him open.

  “It was an accident,” he said, wisely stepping back. “She surprised me, that’s all.”

  Grendel punched a fireball out of her nostrils. It burst in a weak flare against his chest. He backed away again, careful not to growl.

  “Why did you call her?”

  “I didn’t. She followed me.”

  “Are you planning to send her away as well? Are you going to give Gayl to another of your dark wyng?”

  “No!”

  He shied away as more fire flowed from her snout.

  “Grendel, he meant no harm,” cried Grymric. “Not to Gayl, anyway.” He placed his isoscele between them, urging calm.

  Grendel retracted her fangs and turned to the healer. “How much has he told you?”

  “Some details. Not all. Things I don’t understand and probably shouldn’t be a party to. Listen to me, both of you. This is a dangerous course you’re on. If one of you is openly defying the Prime and you cannot find kindness between yourselves, what hope do we have for the future of the Wearle? I beg you to be of one heart. Gabrial, you cannot move this man. His wounds are bad and his body is not repairing well. One of his arms has withered. I don’t know how to help him. But I’m certain of one thing: Physical upheaval will be too much for him to take.”

  Gabrial turned his back on them both and quickly walked over to Rolan. The fire flickered almost to nothing as he said, “I promised Gus I would kill him if nothing could be done.”

  “No,” said Grymric. “He may be Hom, but he’s in my care. I can’t just stand here and see him slain.”

  “Then let me take him. I tell you, Grynt is coming.”

  “You know I can’t allow that either.”

  “Then it has to be death.” The blue raised his isoscele.

  “STOP!”

  The male dragons looked warily at Grendel. Her bitterness had morphed into a glare so imperious that Gossana herself would have bent a knee. “There is another way.” She turned to Grymric. “Do you have an herb that can make him seem dead? So that he won’t feel any pain?”

  “There are certain … supplements,” Grymric said. He felt his throat pinch. “But feeding anything to him is difficult, and I could only guess at the dosages. The Hom body is not like ours. It takes time for herbs to work and—”

  “We don’t have time,” Gabrial cut in, continually checking the sky for roamers.

  “A poultice?” asked Grendel.

  Grymric shook his head.

  “Then he’s doomed,” she said bluntly. Her face grew serious. “Very well. Do what you have to, Gabrial. But hear me well: My threat still stands. Gayl, come away.”


  All through this conversation, the wearmyss had been at Rolan’s side, sniffing the body as if she’d like to sink her fangs deep into it. Grendel was on the cusp of calling her again, when out of nowhere Grymric said, “Cold flame might do it, though it could just as easily finish him off. Why, Grendel? What were you thinking?”

  She turned her head suddenly and looked at the sky.

  “They’re coming,” said Gabrial, his battle stigs rising. In the distance, still quite small, three roamers were flying in an arrow-shaped formation on course for the cave.

  “Do it,” said Grendel, flicking back her head. She looked harshly at the blue. “Cool him. Quickly. Then kill the fire and get to the rear of the cave.”

  “Why? What—?”

  “Just DO IT, Gabrial—and don’t start anything!”

  Although he had no idea what Grendel was planning, Gabrial bundled Gayl out of the way and did as Grendel had instructed. Cold flame was a peculiar anomaly that all dragons knew how to produce. It was really nothing more than a fast exhalation of icy breath, called a flame because it colored the air blue as it streamed from the nostrils. Gabrial ran it all over Rolan, choosing only to miss the exposed face. The man looked gaunt enough without the need to have the warmth frozen out of his expression. When it was done, Rolan looked little different, though his skin had changed to a pale shade of yellow and crack lines were forming in the joints of his toes. The rise and fall of his chest could no longer be seen.

  Gabrial backed away into the shadows, allowing Grendel close to the body. Before he could stop her, she had raised her isoscele and with one swoop cut off the withered arm. The stark ferocity of the act stunned Gabrial to the core. But all he could do was retreat into the shadows. The first roamer had landed. In the flurry of its entrance, Grendel calmly bent down and whispered an instruction into Gayl’s ear. Then she drew a measured breath and turned to the front of the cave again, where Grymric was already speaking.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, though the words came out as a shaky squeak.

  The roamer, a large purple dragon with dark golden eyes and rows of blue studs along his robust jaw, closed down his wings and strode purposefully forward. The other two perched where space would allow, just outside on the lip of the cave mouth.