The New Age

by Chris D'Lacey

  Garrison slammed down next to her. “Matrial, are you hurt?”

  “Of course I’m hurt!” she roared. Several sections of her wings were in tatters and the left side wasn’t folding as it should. One leg had been badly chewed. Around the back of her head, her famous sawfin array was cracked.

  “Can you fly?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said irritably. She twitched and shook herself. Her right ear was throbbing.

  “What are you doing here?” He sounded annoyed with her and was making no real attempt to hide it.

  “There were bodies,” she snapped. “A trail of Hom. All the way to the scorch line.”

  “I didn’t see them,” he muttered. But he had approached the settlement from another direction and could have easily missed them. “A trail? They baited you?”

  When she didn’t answer, he turned his attention to the dead around him. “What are these creatures?” He rolled one over, puzzled by the general hairiness of it. Eyes close together and darkly round, a hooded bone structure protecting the eyes, a wide mouth almost plucked of hair, a tiny flattened nose. It resembled a Hom with his face punched in.

  “How should I know?” she griped. “They came for me when I landed. They were hiding on the erth—in the erth—I don’t know.”

  Garrison studied the creatures again. He could see how they might blend subtly with the land. But to lose themselves in dirt and not be readily detected by a dragon? That made them a significant threat. “I give thanks to Godith that I arrived when I did.”

  “I don’t need males to fight my battles,” Gossana carped. “And if you dare speak informally to me again, I’ll be picking my teeth with your severed claws. Why are you here, anyway? You don’t look like a sweeper.”

  “I’ve been sent to take a Hom woman hostage. Have you seen any Hom—other than bodies?”

  “No,” she said brusquely. She twitched again. Her ear was prickling deep inside the void. A revolting trail of slime was running through half her head, it seemed.

  Garrison looked around him, recording an i:mage of the abandoned dwellings. “Perhaps the creatures drove the Hom out.” He felt a small sense of relief at that. He had no regard for the Hom, but it troubled him that any dragon, especially a Prime, should want to wipe out an entire colony of intelligent beings. “No matter. My duty is to you now. I must protect you and guide you back to safety.”

  “I suppose so,” she grumbled, still unable to bring herself to offer any gratitude.

  “When you’re able to, please fly ahead,” he said. “I’ll—Wait. What’s that?”

  “What’s what?” she huffed.

  He walked a few paces, kicked a body aside, and picked up the skull. “This is Veng.” He almost dropped the skull in shock.

  Gossana wriggled her ears again. What had these disgusting creatures done to her head?

  “This is from Gallen,” Garrison muttered. “But that would mean the creatures have crossed the line and been in the forest.”

  “I don’t care if they’ve been to Cantorus and back,” Gossana railed, swiping at one of the dead for good measure. “Just do your duty and escort me back to Vargos.”

  “Yes,” he said, more attentive to her now. “You must see the healer. Many scales are broken.”

  “I don’t need that idiot’s herbs.” She winced as she tested her wings, twisting her neck as far as it would turn. There was a soreness in her back, somewhere forward of her wings.

  Garrison approached at a courteous pace and looked over the ridge scales that ran up her spine, zooming his gaze so he wouldn’t have to touch her. He didn’t like what he saw. The creatures had torn some scales clean off and stabbed the soft tissue underneath. Green blood trails were flowing down her sides. “They’ve ripped a patch off your lower neck,” he reported. “There’s something in the skin crust. A dart made from wood. It looks deep and the angle is shallow. I’m not sure I should attempt to remove it. The healer—”

  “Oh, just pull it out!” she snapped. “I can’t be squirming all the way back to the mountains.”

  “It may be painful. I’ll have to use my teeth.”

  The dart’s shaft had splintered in the skirmish. But even a wearling, with their small claws, would have had difficulty getting a purchase on it.

  Gossana took a breath. “Just do it,” she hissed.

  And so Garrison leaned forward and carefully placed his jaws around the dart. Thankfully, the shaft was stout enough not to split against his fangs. He closed his eyes tight and pulled, successfully releasing the dart.

  Gossana burst forward as soon as it was done. “At last. Now get me away from this stinking place.” She tested her wings again. They were shot with holes, but she had enough resistance to be able to lift.

  Garrison spat out the dart. “Let me sear the wound.” It was a common service offered during battle if a dragon couldn’t cauterize an injury themselves.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Gossana said proudly. “It’s a scratch, that’s all.”

  “But, Matrial—?”

  Too late. She was in the air before he could reason with her.

  He spat again, to be rid of something foul on his tongue. Only then did he dare to glance at the dart. The tip was barbed and glowing.

  It had scratched Gossana’s skin all right.

  But a scratch was all it took to leave a trace of poison inside a body.

  When Garrison arrived to give his report, he again had to endure the Prime dragon’s wrath. The commander had returned without a hostage and brought news of another threat to the Wearle. None of this sat well with Grynt. But on this occasion, his anger was transmuted into clear and decisive orders.

  “Send word around the colony that all roamers, including any mappers beyond the scorch line, are to be recalled to the inner domayne.”

  Garrison nodded. “I’ll see to it immediately.”

  “Wait. How many sweepers are patrolling the line?”

  “Two, since the goyle attacks.”

  “Double it to four. Concentrate them in the area where Gossana was ambushed. Then assemble a wyng of fighting dragons, as many as you think you need, and take them to that forest.”

  Garrison looked up.

  “Burn it,” said Grynt, his words condensing on the air.

  “The whole forest?”

  “All of it. Every twig. I want the scent of that place stinging my nostrils by nightfall. Let’s flush these creatures out.”

  “But we don’t know for certain they came from the forest. We’ve never seen them on any of our territories before and—”

  “BURN IT!” Grynt roared. “Or it will be your skull they’ll be taking next. Do I make myself clear, Commander?”

  Garrison gave a solemn nod. “May I say something else?”

  Grynt glared at him impatiently.

  “I have concerns about Elder Gossana. She was wounded by a creature’s dart.”

  “Then she’ll mend. What of it?”

  “I believe the dart was poisoned. In my opinion, she should speak to healer Grymric. I tried to persuade her to go to him as we flew in. She refused.”

  “That is her right. Gossana needs no instruction from you.”

  “Of course.” He tipped his snout. “But the injury was deep and already festering. When I left her at her cave, she was giddy and talking in occasional riddles. She shakes her head wildly as if the poison has gone to her brain. I’m not sure she’s in control of herself.”

  Grynt sighed and drummed his claws. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two at the next orbit of Cantorus.”

  “Exactly,” said Grynt. “A mere wearling in comparison to Elder Gossana, who has lived through one ancestral war and borne four young who have gone on to build some of the sturdiest bloodlines on Ki:mera. You think a dragon like that can’t cope with a scratch from some long-haired Hom?”

  Garrison tipped his snout again. “I do not wish to denigrate the Matrial’s lineage or underrate her personal strengths. But th
e Hom are sly and this … tribe was clever enough to trap her. How can we be certain their poisons won’t harm her? Healer Grymric has studied the flora of this world and may know—”

  “Enough,” snapped Grynt. “Gossana’s no fool. She will rest for as long as she needs to and let her restorative powers do their work. If you’re that concerned, send Grymric to her, not the other way around. Send Grendel too. If either of them object, say I’ve ordered them to stay together for their own safety until we’ve investigated this new breed of Hom. You’d better post a guard. Well? What are you waiting for?”

  “One more question: Why was Elder Gossana at the scorch line?”

  “I have no idea,” Grynt said tiredly. “Now go.”

  Garrison left immediately, plotting a course for Gabrial’s eyrie high on Mount Vargos. There he found Grendel pacing the cave mouth, restlessly swishing her elegant tail.

  “What do you want?” she said as he landed. Her words were quick but not aggressive.

  Garrison gathered in his wings but didn’t sit. An indication he would not be staying long. “I bring orders from the Prime. You are to join Elder Gossana at her eyrie.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Earlier today, the matrial was attacked by a strange breed of Hom. I fear she’s been poisoned.”

  “What?” Grendel immediately stopped pacing.

  “Prime Grynt would like you to attend her while we investigate. Is Gabrial here?”

  “No, he’s with Grymric.”

  “Ah, yes.” Garrison recalled their earlier meeting.

  “Why? What do you want with Gabrial?”

  “I need him for my wyng.”

  Grendel stared across the misted mountains. “Fighting’s not an option for Gabrial right now. Besides, he’s injured.”

  Garrison nodded quietly. Somewhere in the space between those sentences lay a truth not yet spoken, he thought. “Not badly injured, if I remember. I’m sure a dragon as sturdy as Gabrial won’t let a nick get in the way of his duty—especially when he hears the Wearle is under threat.”

  And with that he exited, setting a course for Grymric’s cave.

  The healer was not exactly pleased to see him.

  “What does Grynt want now?” Grymric’s voice, like his body shape, radiated anxiety. It was sometimes said that whenever Grymric spoke it was as if he was trying to fend off disaster. And so it was now. “If you’ve come back looking for proof of the prisoner, we burned his remains to ash.”

  “I’m not here about your Hom.” Garrison dropped his wings to a close. “I bring a message from the Prime. You are required at Elder Gossana’s eyrie.”

  Grymric fought off a twitch above one eye. Only dragons with a death wish called on Gossana. “Why? What’s the matter with her?”

  “I believe she has a fever.”

  Gabrial emerged from the back of the cave. “Fever? How so?”

  Garrison held the blue’s gaze for a moment before addressing Grymric again. “A word of warning: She’s slightly delirious. She might not be entirely … welcoming.”

  “Is she ever?” the healer chuntered. He fussed about the cave for a while, gathering herbs with which to treat a fever. Then, poking his head between the two much larger dragons, he said, “I may be old, but I’m not a fool. I want no part of whatever’s going on. Gabrial, you need at least another day before you do anything you might … regret.”

  And with a shuffle and a huff, Grymric left them to it.

  “Well?” said Gabrial, repositioning himself in the open space to Garrison’s left. “You haven’t come here to talk about Gossana.”

  “Actually, I have,” the commander replied. “But that can wait for a moment. Please, lower your isoscele. I’m not here to challenge you. Surely you’ve done enough fighting for one day?” He squinted at Gabrial’s injured wing. “Clumsy accident you had—though I suppose such things are to be expected if you cross the path of the Veng.”

  Gabrial glanced outside, half wondering if they were truly alone. “Is this an interrogation?”

  “No. Though I’d like to know what really happened on those cliffs. I share a common lineage with Gus. It pains me to hear him accused of crimes against the Wearle. I don’t believe for one moment he struck without cause.”

  “He didn’t. The Veng threatened Gariffred.”

  Garrison nodded. “And is it true that Gus fled?”

  “Not exactly. He was happy to accept the blame and leave. He took the girl, Pine Onetooth, with him.”

  “Why?”

  “She healed his injuries.”

  “How?”

  “Flowers. Magicks. I don’t really know.”

  Garrison wrinkled his snout in thought. “Are you planning to join them—when you’re mended?”

  The blue dragon stiffened his jaw. “That would be an act of treason, Commander.”

  Garrison stretched an idle claw. “Leaving the Wearle of your own free will, even if others join you in peace, is no violation of our laws. No one can stop you going across that sea. But the Veng slayings do complicate matters. When news of that incident spreads, the colony will suspect you of challenging Grynt’s leadership, no matter how much you try to deny it. Even if your loyalty to Grynt were shown, the problem of Gus will not go away. The idea of being a fugitive will prey on his mind. It will eventually draw him back to the mountains to settle any score he thinks he has. I can prevent that happening.”

  “Isn’t it your duty to bring him to justice?”

  Garrison gave a self-contained hmph. “These are difficult times, Gabrial. Traitors. Mutants. The shadow of Graven lurking over the colony. We need unity. Understanding. Strength. That’s not what I’m seeing from Grynt or Gossana.”

  “Are you suggesting a dark wyng should overthrow them?”

  “No … but if things were to get out of control, I want to know I have your support.”

  “Why me?”

  “You’re the queen’s guardian, and the key to securing peace with the Hom. The roamers are fearful of the boy’s threat. If any dragon can settle the Wearle, it’s you.”

  Gabrial flicked his isoscele, first one way then the other. “Why should I trust a dragon who answers directly to the Prime?”

  Garrison peered outside for a moment. The gloom that seemed to have been gluing the world together was now at its dullest. Even the fog that normally hung in the vales had retreated from the brooding pressure of the sky. The grayness was crushing everything it touched. “Right now, I should be burning down the forest that lies near the scorch line, slaughtering countless innocent species and making a terrible scar upon the land. Instead, I find myself sitting here, trying to secure an alliance with you. I’m prepared to fight anything that would harm us, Gabrial. And mark me well, that includes the Hom. But by the grace of Godith, I cannot bring myself to inflict needless destruction on a world as full of beauty as this.”

  “Then why has Grynt ordered it?”

  “Something is lurking in or near those trees.”

  Garrison explained in detail what had happened at the settlement.

  The first word to come out of Gabrial’s mouth was “Hairy?”

  “Like Hom, but more agile. They have a sad look about them.”

  “Why would they attack us?”

  “That is still to be determined.”

  “Do we know their numbers?”

  “No. We can’t even be certain they populate the forest.”

  “Then how did they get Gallen’s skull?”

  “I assume they came to the burn site and took it. What I find odd is that none of the sweepers, you included, has ever reported seeing these creatures.”

  “Could they have come from farther out?”

  “Possibly. We need to be wary of them. When I arrived at the settlement, many of the creatures were invisible to me. When I questioned Gossana about it, she said they were hiding in the erth. How, I cannot say. Grynt has asked me to double the sweeper patrols and call back the mappers, b
ut I think we should be more active than that. Tomorrow, when you’re fit, I want to take a wyng and explore the whole area around the Hom settlement.”

  Gabrial blew a long line of smoke. Talk of the settlement had made him think again about Ren’s whereabouts. Surely, if the settlement was under threat, the boy would go to the aid of the Kaal? His mother, Mell, was still there, after all. “What about the forest? Will you defy Grynt’s order?”

  Garrison glanced outside. “I can’t burn a forest while its trees are wet.”

  Gabrial switched his gaze to the cave mouth.

  The dark Erth skies had heard Garrison’s anguish.

  It had started to snow.

  The snow came down suddenly, as if the weight of gray had proved too much and the sky had no choice but to shatter its debris over the land. Flakes as large as tertiary scales set fast where they fell, repelling the threat of any warm surface. All that melted was the color of the land. White became the new silhouette. Snow redrew the contours of the mountains.

  “I must go,” said Garrison, poking his long snout into the flurries. “Grynt will see this and modify his orders. I need to know what he’s planning. Will you think on what I’ve said?”

  The blue gave a silent nod.

  “This world has much to offer us,” said Garrison. “One day, Grendel and your wearlings will rule it. I trust you and I will stand proudly beside them. For my part, the bond begins now.”

  With that, he touched his isoscele to his breast, then launched away smoothly from the cave, punching a temporary hole in the storm before the flakes closed in to shield him from view.