He did not, however, go straight to Prime Grynt, but elected instead to trace a path around the bulky northern face of Mount Vargos and stop off at Gossana’s eyrie. He touched down in a drift to one side of her cave, cupping his wings to stabilize his landing. The snow was already deep enough to trudge through. He nodded at a jaded guard who was huddled on a tapering settle near the entrance. The guard shuddered in response, loosening a dusting of snow off his shoulders. The only parts of him visible were his dark green head and thick black claws. He looked like an over-large wearling about to break out of an over-large egg.
The eyrie was crowded. Grendel and Gayl were there, and Grymric was just inside the cave mouth. He appeared to be waiting for the storm to abate.
“How is she?” Garrison asked.
Grymric looked anxiously behind him. Gossana could be seen by the light of a fire. The old matrial was lying on her belly with her head stretched flat to the floor. Her intimidating eyes were firmly closed. “You should have told me she’d been darted,” said the healer. “Her limbs have been weakened by poison. Grendel has sung her into a sleep.”
“Can you help her?”
Grymric looked into the stippled white sky, counting falling flakes for a moment. “I’ve treated the wound, but the dart was not the problem. Shortly after Grendel began to sing, Gossana started raking one side of her head just behind the ear. Look closely and you’ll see fresh cuts. If Grendel’s song hadn’t calmed her down, I think she could have sliced her neck wide open. It’s one of the most unsettling sights I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness.”
“There was a problem with her ear,” Garrison said, focusing his gaze on the wounds Grymric spoke of. “She complained about it twice before we took off.”
“Did the creatures do anything to her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we can only watch her and wait. There’s nothing more I can do. But make no mistake, her condition is serious. I fear for her life. The Prime must be informed.”
At that moment, Grendel came forward. “Oh, the dour commander again.”
Garrison bowed politely. “I came to inquire after Gossana. The Prime will be pleased with your efforts to calm her.”
“Hmph,” went Grendel, blowing an unintentional smoke ring. “Grymric tells me you’ve been talking to Gabrial?”
Garrison gave a slight nod. “Like me, he’s concerned about the new Hom threat. I’ve asked him to join my wyng when he’s ready. Where is Gariffred, by the way? I see the wearmyss is with you, but not—”
“He’s asleep, in the eyrie,” Grendel said curtly.
“Unguarded?”
Grendel narrowed her eyes. “The drake’s snores would drive away a whole wyng of goyles. Anyway, I suspect Gabrial has returned to the settle by now.”
Garrison gave a faint bow.
He left quickly after that, instructing Grymric to keep him informed.
And then he did go back and report to Grynt.
The Prime dragon, who seemed to be living in a permanent state of thwarted fury, laid out more orders. “The snow won’t last forever. As soon as it melts, you light those trees.”
Garrison found himself praying for a lengthy winter. “And in the meantime?”
“Organize patrols to watch the domayne. The creatures can’t move without leaving a trail.”
“And Gossana? The healer fears for her.”
That did seem to cripple Grynt’s rage. “She’ll recover,” he said with a grumpy sniff, and he retired to the back of his cave.
To the amazement of all concerned, by the next day, Gossana had recovered. When Grendel awoke the following morning, she was startled to see the older matrial standing over her, eyeing Gayl. The wearmyss was still asleep at that point, neatly wrapped up in her mother’s tail. It needed two requests from Grendel for Gossana to draw back. Only then did Grendel nudge the youngster awake.
Gayl wandered to the back of the cave to defecate. Meanwhile, Grendel rose up and said to Gossana, “You’re well. That’s good.”
Gossana flicked her head as if she hadn’t quite heard or understood. Her slanted eyes followed Gayl into the shadows.
“What is it?” said Grendel, blocking the wearling from Gossana’s sight. Her gaze flickered forward, gathering up the light. Snow was still falling. The guard’s breath was blowing across the cave mouth. For some reason, Grendel found that comforting.
“It was talking,” Gossana said, shaking her head as if the cold had gotten to her.
“It?” said Grendel. “Do you mean Gayl?”
“Hom words,” Gossana said, snarling lightly. She stepped away swishing her tail.
Grendel furrowed her brow slightly, making the dew on her ridges fizz. She thought back to the incident with Rolan’s “fire tear.” Was Gayl speaking Hom a result of that? “We all growl in our sleep,” she said. “Gayl spent some time with the girl we were holding. She learned some Hom words from her, no doubt.”
“They hunger,” said Gossana, clearly not listening.
Grendel shook her head in confusion. They? Was Gossana talking about wearlings? They always “hungered.” It reminded Grendel that Gayl hadn’t eaten for the best part of a day. A fact the youngster would soon start to make plain.
At that moment, she heard a flutter of wings and saw Grymric speaking with the guard. The healer came in. He too looked stunned to see Gossana on her feet, even if the matrial’s famously harsh eyes had greeted his arrival with a swift change of color.
“Well, well. This is a welcome …” He was going to say surprise but thought better of it. “Matrial, may I ask how you’re feeling?”
Gossana gave a violent twitch. She thumped her tail and looked again at Gayl. The wearling had wandered to her mother’s side and was, as predicted, calling to be fed.
“Grendel?” said the healer, making signs toward Gossana.
“Confused,” Grendel whispered, putting her head close to his.
He nodded. “But physically improved.”
“Apparently.”
“Feed,” said Gossana, making Grymric jump.
“Yes, yes,” he called. “I’m sure the roamers will bring something soon.” It was routine, when dragons were being protected, for others to hunt on their behalf.
But Grendel, who had never liked the practice, didn’t want to be listening to a baying wearling on top of having to deal with Gossana’s odd behavior. A hefty mouthful of succulent meat might hasten the matrial’s recovery, she thought. Or at least shut her up for a while. And so she said to Grymric, “While you’re assessing her, I’m going out.”
“What? Where?”
“Only to hunt.”
“Is that wise? Will the guard allow it?”
“I’m the queen-elect, Grymric; I make my own decisions. I’m here to help with Gossana’s recovery, not because I feel threatened. I don’t need Grynt’s protection.” She bared her impressive fangs. “I’m not going far.”
And before the healer could protest any further, Grendel was at the front of the cave. There followed a short-lived exchange with the guard. Then, with a whup of her wings, she was away, unaware that Gossana had watched her exit with the sort of precision that bordered on obsession.
Grymric, however, had noticed the look and felt a long shiver of fear run through him. There was something not right about that stare. It was almost as if Gossana wasn’t there and something alien was looking through her eyes.
“Matrial, may I examine you?”
He stepped into her space, bowing politely as she rose up.
He could never have seen the blow coming. She hit him so hard with the side of her tail that he spat two fangs through his upper lip. He slumped over, making no sound. The thud of his body against the rock was glossed away by a whistle of wind.
It was Gayl who alerted the guard. Her screech brought him clumping into the cave mouth. He stood perplexed for a moment. But as he twisted his neck to look at Grymric, Gossana plunged her isoscele into his throat a
nd screwed it hard to be sure of ripping the breath right out of him. His eyes froze. The snow clinging to his breast flowered green. Gossana withdrew her isoscele. The guard wobbled once and tipped over the mountainside, helped by a push from Gossana’s tail.
She immediately looked for Gayl.
But the wearmyss was already gone.
Gayl had launched herself into the open sky, her small, inexperienced wings bravely battling the frigid snow and the crosswind driving it in grueling swirls. She was strong, but not as strong as Gossana. When a set of firm claws grasped her underbelly, Gayl must have been briefly relieved. But there was no gentleness in that grip. No attempt to support her against the storm. Gossana had followed her into the blizzard and was already rising away from the mountains with Gayl as her captive.
“Mam-maaa!” the wearling wailed.
But all she heard was Gossana’s strange voice.
“They hunger,” the matrial said again as she beat a path toward the forest.
And together, they disappeared into the white beyond.
Given the tenderness of his age, Gariffred was a powerful flyer. He had needed Gus’s help to rise to a suitable cruising height, but once “launched” on a level course, he was clever with the wind and the updrafts of air coming off the sea. Yet, the farther from the mountains they went, the more Gus realized the wearling’s prowess would be of little benefit. The sun had dropped low enough to kiss the horizon and was spreading its light across a body of water that refused to reveal any place to land.
It was time to make a critical decision.
If he chose to take the drake between his claws, Gus knew they could still turn around and reach the domayne under cover of the night. He could end this bold “adventure” right here. Conflict and shame awaited him in the mountains, but was that any worse than the agonies of guilt and responsibility that were weighing heavy on his hearts right now? He had placed his absolute trust in Pine, hoping the girl would lead them somewhere. From the outset, she’d seemed certain land would come. There! That way! Turn, skaler! Turn! Her spirited directions had spurred him on. But the risk of failure was growing too great. He dared not ignore the drake’s needs any longer. They must turn back, before the ocean claimed them all.
He swept over Gariffred and told the young dragon to close his wings.
The drake flapped on, wheezing audibly through his spiracles. His will to keep going was admirable to watch, but his upstrokes were falling short of their best. Suddenly, he missed a beat on one side and dropped through the cloud layer, out of control. He flapped hard to avoid going into a spin, but that moment of panic had sapped his reserves. With a tired gra-ark, he dropped his wings. Gus was quickly in position to clamp him. The big dragon immediately soared higher, praising the youngster for flying so far, unaided. The drake certainly had Astrian auma in his blood.
Meanwhile, Pine was shouting again. There, skaler! There!
Where? Gus could see nothing but open sky.
He felt Pine twist her body and got the impression she was looking around. At the same moment, something small and colorful flashed across his vision. More important, a line of light, like the opening to a fire star, seemed to ripple the air in front of him. For an instant, he froze, as if time itself had stopped momentarily. Then he was bursting forward again, flying at speed with all his sensory awareness intact. Gariffred was firmly in his grasp; Pine was still riding on his shoulders.
But all around them the world had changed.
The sky claimed his attention first. The rush of air through his spiracles was warm and pure, free of the clogging microspores he was constantly filtering out in the mountains. It tasted sweeter on his tongue and had a thinner composition, but it was breathable and seemed to want to work with his body in a way he had never experienced before. He felt a renewed strength in his wings and thought them a little less cumbersome to lift. Every stig on his head pinged taut, while his optical triggers whirred with the sort of pinpoint accuracy that wearlings enjoyed when they first saw sunlight. Even his tired old scales began to recharge themselves in fresh clean patterns, enhancing the dormant purple in his system, buried underneath the dominant green.
But the strangest sensation was in his fire sacs. The change of atmosphere had made their membranes quiver. It was almost as if the air flowing through them was keen to cause a minor ignition, to learn how that part of a dragon worked.
And now he noticed the sky was orange—a pale reflection of the water below, which had lost its opaque density and was flowing clear and shallow to a bottom.
And in the water, there was land. Lots of land, in island clusters. Wherever Gus looked, he saw dabs of green melting into the distance. Every shape the eye could invent. Plump bays and twisting river inlets nibbled at the intricate array of coastlines. Most, but not all, were heavily wooded.
From above, each isle appeared quite flat. But as Gus descended and panned his gaze wider, the islands spooled up out of the ocean to show themselves at varying heights. He swept over the first, scanning for any signs of life. He saw and scented no animal auma, not even on the open patches of green. The only feature that caught his eye was an area of crusted orange stone. It appeared to be ordinary bedrock, pocked by a network of odd-shaped holes. Here and there, stones were stacked in chaotic layers, forming high towers that listed so badly they must have been held together by faith. One of them rocked as Gus swept by.
He chose his landing site with care, dropping Gariffred by a pool of water on a stretch of land where the ground was level. There was a catchment where long-leaved plants with speckled red fruits sprouting fresh from their cores were growing around the edge of the pool. “Eat nothing,” he said to Gariffred, bending his body so that Pine could slip easily off his back. Then he flew to the nearest, highest point—a huge, unnatural arc of stone that looked like a giant bone stuck in the ground.
“Girl, what is this place?”
“I know not.”
She dipped her hand into the pool from which Gariffred was drinking. The water sparkled bright and clear in her palm. Gus gave a start when he saw the drake glugging. But the wearling was suffering no ill effects, and after a flight like that, he needed water more than he needed caution.
“You must know,” Gus continued. “You were the one who led us here.”
Pine glanced out to sea. “Nay, skaler. The islands spoke. They drew us here.”
Gus sighed heavily. The islands spoke. This was no time for stupid Hom games. He looked around for dangers, his big broad nostrils sifting messages wrapped in the breeze. Something small and warm-blooded was near. Something lively that could make its way at speed. In and out of these holes, perhaps? He trained his gaze on the nearest run of rocks. “How did we come upon this place so suddenly?”
Pine knelt beside Gariffred and picked a white flower with a bold orange center. “There was a slit,” she said.
“Slit?” he repeated.
“A line between worlds.”
Gus tightened his claws and thought about the flash he’d seen. For some reason, his mind was trying to tell him that a brightly colored bird had crossed his path. His second heart stuttered. The air immediately swept into his nostrils, found his beating center, and calmed it. “We passed through a fire star?”
“Nay, skaler. We passed through a slit. The Fathers of my tribe knew the lines well—and the spirits that commanded them. In the days before now, they used them often.”
Gus snorted in disbelief. Slits? Spirits? The girl had lost her mind.
He stared at the uniform orange sky, lit by no sun he could see. None of this was making sense. Every fire star he had ever passed through left a trace when it opened or closed. The sky here had healed in an instant.
For the first time, it struck him that they could be lost.
Pine stood up with a small cache of flowers. She wiped one hand down the side of her robe. “They know,” she said.
It took Gus a moment to realize her gaze had settled behind him. He s
wept around awkwardly, dislodging crystals of stone off the arc. And there was the source of the scent he’d detected.
Popping their heads out of every other hole were a bunch of nervous, brown-eyed creatures. They were so like the orange rock in color they could have been natural extensions of it. Gus was stunned. The beasts resembled dragons in every way, but dragons stripped of all traces of ferocity. Their eyes were so appealing he couldn’t bring himself to raise a roar, let alone spout a line of flame. His mouth fell open and the creatures all dipped back into their holes, frightened, no doubt, by the sight of his fangs.
He flew to the ground to stand beside Pine. She scolded him for scaring the creatures off. But one by one, they popped up again. Following a little chatter between them, one creature, about twice the size of Gariffred, climbed out and settled on a chunk of stone. Gus was naturally wary, but the creature posed little threat. Its tail possessed no isoscele. Its feeble claws could serve no purpose other than to help it scratch or climb. Likewise, the wings were less sturdy than a dragon’s and almost transparent. And all that differentiated this individual from most of its companions was a set of white frills around its ears. Gus thought it might be a female.
Pine clicked her fingers, trying to encourage the creature to her.
It crouched low and began to creep forward. But as Pine reached out to stroke its snout, Gus flipped his tail across her chest and said, “Wait. What are these beasts?”
“Dragonkind,” she sighed. “What else?”
That’s what Gus intended to discover. If they were of dragon origin, these things, they ought to know his words. He repeated the question for them, applying force to his words but finding it strangely difficult to growl.
What are you? We? What are we? What?
The words bobbed between the heads in a form of dragontongue far less guttural than any dragon would have used. But the creatures had grasped the sense of the question.
The brave one sat up and bowed. “We are Worvonn,” it said.
That was how it sounded to Gus, anyway.
“War-Veng?” he said in reply, trying to put a meaningful slant on it, even if it did offend his tongue to mention the foul sier pents again.
The New Age Page 10
