The New Age

by Chris D'Lacey

“What was that?”

  A distant, anguished cry wound its way into Prime Grynt’s eyrie.

  Commander Garrison turned his head. “It sounded like a call to battle.”

  He stepped away from Grynt’s side and made his way toward the cave mouth. Snow was still falling over the mountains. Wild flurries blowing across the eyrie were stacking up in layers along the entrance. In such conditions, voices traveled poorly. But a cry as stark as that rarely had an uncertain base.

  It came again, the cry, fierce enough to sweep the snowflakes aside.

  “That’s Grendel,” breathed Garrison. He flushed out his wings.

  “What?”

  “Grendel. She must be in trouble. I must go to her.”

  “STAY YOUR WINGS!” roared Grynt. “You’re going nowhere without my permission. Did you set the patrols I ordered?”

  “Yes, of course, but in these conditions, hunting for an enemy will not be easy.”

  “So most of the Wearle is out by the scorch line?”

  “Not all. I posted some at—”

  “I want them recalled.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t you see? This is it. It’s started. The coup. They’re coming for me—Gabrial, Grendel, and their band of rebels. Call your wyng. Every dragon you can trust. I want them here in force. There must be no … Are you listening to me?”

  A roamer called Gannet flashed past the eyrie, answering Grendel’s call with one of his own.

  “You hear that?” said Garrison. He turned to face Grynt. “That was a dragon pledging its allegiance to its future queen. If you’ve any sense, you’ll do the same.”

  “What? How DARE you talk to me like that! I’ll have your head for your insolence!”

  The dark purple lines around Garrison’s eyes contracted into an arrow shape. “No, Prime Grynt, you won’t. One move against me and I’ll turn the Wearle against you myself. Open your eyes. There is no coup. There’s never been a need for one with a queen-elect in our midst. You rightly assumed command when Galarhade died and the Wearle was in turmoil, but it was never going to be permanent. You know as well as I that if Grystina had lived you would have been bowing to her by now.”

  “Grendel is a surrogate! She has no claim to power!”

  “That’s not how the roamers see it. And my claws are closer to the ground than yours. The Wearle would die for Grendel if they had to. She’s not in want of your eyrie. All she wants—and deserves—is your respect. From the tone of those cries, something is wrong. I will call my wyng, but I’m going to Vargos where I’m needed. I advise you to do the same. I remind you, the Wearle is under threat. The creatures that attacked Gossana are dangerous—the servants of Graven, for all we know. A show of unity will hold the colony together. If you want to be the leader you aspire to be, put away your fears of rebellion and join me at Grendel’s eyrie.”

  With that, Commander Garrison nodded once, then turned and launched himself into the sky.

  First there were whoops of triumph. Then some rippling grunts of doubt. Then what sounded like notes of panic, followed by high-pitched shrieks of anger.

  “What’s happening?” said the treegirl Leif. Her fine, bracken hair was quivering again, sending out hazy plumes of dust, a sign that her heartwood needed water. It seemed like another age had passed since their brave but foolhardy stand against the Gibbus. She and Mell had been beaten for that and thrown into a shelter that stank of urine. No food or drink had been given. But at least no bodies had been brought back from the river. Mell was confident the other women and children had escaped.

  “A skaler flew over,” she said in reply, looking up through a hole in the thatch. “My eyes took sight of it, just. I swear it was carrying a young one.”

  Leif closed her eyes, trying to stop her sap welling up in the corners. Too great a loss of moisture now could be the end of her. “Then we’re doomed. I pray our end is swift.”

  “No, something is wrong,” Mell murmured. “The Gibbus are angry. Mebbe we are not done yet.”

  She shuffled her way to the door and looked out. The Gibbus were in a furious mood, scattering the snow as they ran about the clearing. The one with graying tufts on its face was screaming at another that was sitting on the ground. The skaler skull was lying at the creature’s feet, a ring of small fires burning around it. Colored stones had been placed in the bony eye sockets. The sitting one was bending over the skull, making gathering movements with its rangy arms. As Mell looked on, another Gibbus loped up. It spoke a harsh message to the gray and pointed in the rough direction of the river. In a terrible burst of fury, the gray one stamped on the skaler skull, breaking it at the second attempt. It picked up one of the colored stones. With a terrifying swipe, it cracked the stone against the head of the Gibbus on the ground. The creature fell back in a heap. Mell doubted it would ever wave its arms again.

  “Leif! Be strong! They’re coming!”

  The gray Gibbus hurled the stone away and turned its mean eyes toward the shelter. Mell shuffled as fast as she could toward Leif, but the Gibbus were faster. Two of them stormed through the door. One grabbed Mell’s arm and dragged her outside. The other did the same with Leif.

  An angry conversation now took place between the gray Gibbus and another that was almost a whole head taller. Mell guessed from their mood that the skaler she’d seen was supposed to have landed in the settlement, guided somehow by the skull-waver. The fact that it had gone too far was forcing the Gibbus to alter their plans. The tall one drew a finger across its throat. It left Mell in no doubt about what it was demanding.

  She looked toward the mountains and started to say, “Ned, my husband. Ren, my boy. I love you bo—”

  Then the blow came and she said no more.

  The last she remembered as the stars began to settle was being hoisted on to the shoulder of a beast and carried away. After that, there was only darkness and cold, and the fading sensation of snowflakes falling against one side of her swollen face.

  Garrison flew toward Grendel’s eyrie, calling orders to the dragons circling Mount Vargos. Stay in the sky! Wait for my command! Four within range had heard the cry and flocked to Grendel. More would follow. Farther down the mountain, two more roamers were standing over what looked like the body of another. Streaks of blood along the mountainside told their own tale: The dead dragon had fallen from the eyrie. It could only be the guard that Garrison himself had posted there.

  With his primary heart thumping double, he landed in the eyrie and closed his wings. The first dragon he saw was the healer, Grymric. The old male was stretched out on his side, his eyes closed, his breathing labored. The mapper, Garret, was attending to him. There was no sign of Gossana. But Gabrial was here, taking instruction from Grendel. The blood had risen in Grendel’s face. Every line that defined her distinctive features was heightened in glowing pulses of green.

  Garrison caught his breath. “What’s happened?”

  Gabrial turned to him. “Gossana has gone wild. She attacked Grymric and killed the guard. She’s taken Gayl.”

  “She will be found,” Grendel said, her voice a growl. “So whatever you’ve come to tell me, Commander, I suggest you take straight back to Grynt. The dragons here have answered my call. Bow to me or war with me. That is the Law of the Wearle now.”

  Garrison bowed. “I’ve flown here against Grynt’s orders. He is in no doubt where my loyalties lie. What steps have you taken? Do you know which way Gossana went? Or what made her commit such an act?”

  Gabrial glanced at the stricken healer. “Grymric keeps muttering one word: wyrm.”

  Garrison reeled back, visibly shocked. “That must be why she was scratching her ear. If they’ve put a wyrm inside her, the creatures must be controlling her mind.”

  “The sooner we fly, the sooner we know,” snapped Grendel, aware that vital time was passing.

  “I’ve sent word to the sweepers,” Gabrial said, “asking them to congregate around the Hom settlement. I’m about to take a wy
ng out there to investigate.”

  Garrison looked doubtful. “I suspect that might be a futile journey. The creatures will know we’d search the settlement first. My hunch is they’ve sent Gossana elsewhere. Garret.”

  The mapper turned his head. “Commander?”

  “I need you here.”

  Garret touched his isoscele to Grymric’s side and went to join the others.

  “How is he?” Grendel asked, trying to stay composed. Grymric had always been a favorite of hers.

  “Mostly winded,” Garret replied softly. “The shock has wounded him more than anything. How can I be of assistance?”

  “We need targets,” said Garrison. “You’ve mapped areas outside the domayne. I need to know where the beings who attacked Gossana might be running to.” He described them for Garret, hoping the mapper could match them to a likely habitat.

  After some brief thought, Garret said, “This would be my best prediction.” He i:maged a map of a rocky wilderness, barely touched by green life or trees. “It lies far to the west of the mountains and spreads out over a vast plain. There are labyrinths under the rocky exterior—”

  “Labyrinths?” Grendel raised her head.

  “Nothing on the scale of Ki:mera,” said Garret. “We tested three small areas, but a dragon of our size could not gain access; the surface openings are far too small.”

  “But the creatures could hide in there?”

  “Yes. And take in a wearling.”

  Garrison ground his teeth. “What else can you tell us?”

  Garret reconstructed the i:mage to show them a view from ground level. “The highest aggregations of basal rock only stand a tenth as high as Vargos. The land is also dry. There is little in the way of food or water.”

  “You recorded no Hom-like movement there?”

  “None.”

  “That doesn’t mean the beings weren’t present,” said Gabrial.

  Garrison nodded, remembering the beasts’ ability to hide. “I agree. It’s a good place to start. We can use heat scans or scent if the creatures go to ground. But as Garret says, it is a long flight. If we commit too large a wyng and we’re wrong, we weaken our chances closer to home.”

  “There is a way to be sure,” said Garret. “Though it may be a fading hope by now. Gayl will be frightened. She’s likely to have left her … scent in the sky.”

  “You can track it?” said Grendel, pushing forward.

  Garret shook his head. “My olfactic glands are not up to such a task. Only dragons of the Zyolian line would have a sense of smell sharp enough to follow a trail that faint. As far as I know, there’s only one Zyolian in the Wearle.”

  “Who?” said Gabrial.

  “Me,” said a gruff voice near to the cave mouth.

  The new arrival rattled his wings and stepped forward. “Well, are you just going to stand and stare or shall we form a wyng and find this wearling?”

  “Prime,” said Garrison and Gabrial together.

  Grendel raised her head and stared proudly at Grynt. “The Prime will fly at my side,” she said. “Garret, find a competent roamer to take care of Grymric, then follow us.” She stared again at Grynt and nodded. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait!” Grynt cried, stalling the rush to fly. “If we’re to battle these creatures, we need to talk tactics. Grendel?”

  She nodded her consent.

  Grynt gave a curt bow. “Gabrial, get in the air and organize those roamers circling the mountain. When we fly, we go in a broad line together, low to the ground, ten wingspans apart. Grendel and I will be at the center. Garret will fly above us to give him the broadest view of the land. Any scents or sightings, send a call. Do not attack without my order. Is that clear?”

  Gabrial glanced at Grendel. “Gossana is not to be harmed,” she said.

  “Understood,” said Gabrial. He left quickly, barely moving the air.

  “Commander Garrison.”

  “Prime.”

  Grynt nodded at Garret’s i:mage of the wilderness. “Record this and give it to the roamers on the mountainside, then send them to your border patrols and have them fly … ?”

  “West,” said Garret.

  “Due west. They’ll find us quickly enough. Educate the messengers about this foe. Me too, as soon as we’re in the air. Go.”

  Garrison gave a stout nod. He recorded the i:mage and departed at speed.

  Grynt then turned to the mapper, Garret. “Give me a moment with Grendel.”

  “Yes, Prime.”

  “And, Garret, find some aid for Grymric. I want him closely guarded. Go quickly. Be ready to fly as soon as we leave the eyrie.”

  “I will,” said the mapper. And he too was gone.

  When they were alone, Grynt said to Grendel, “This is not the time for speeches, I realize that. I merely wish you to know you have my support. Show me where the wearmyss lies at night.”

  Grendel took him at haste to Gayl’s sleeping chamber. As he bent his snout so he might inhale and learn Gayl’s scent, Grendel said, “Grynt, there’s something you need to know. When the Hom that Grymric was treating died, he shed a fire tear.”

  Grynt brought his head up.

  “Gayl swallowed it,” she said. “Nothing happened, as far as I’m aware. I just want you to know that it’s not only dragon auma you’ll be fighting to save.”

  Grynt blew a line of smoke. “Is the boy involved?”

  Grendel shook her head. “We don’t know where Ren is. That’s the truth. All the evidence suggests these creatures are working alone. Grymric thinks they’ve put a wyrm in Gossana’s mind.”

  Grynt breathed out silently. “Very well. I have what I need. Let’s fly.” And with the cave floor pounding to the beat of his steps, he moved toward the cave mouth and launched himself into the snow-filled sky.

  When Mell woke, she was on the ground, her face smudged into a layer of snow. Her cheek ached fiercely on that side, hands and feet both rigid with cold. She had to flex her fingers a number of times to allay the dread that the Gibbus had maimed her. She blinked and saw Leif on the ground nearby. The treegirl wasn’t moving.

  “Leif.”

  The word was barely off Mell’s lips when one of the Gibbus hauled her to her knees and forced her to look straight ahead.

  On the ground a little way in front of Leif was the skaler Mell had seen fly over the settlement. The beast was motionless, probably dead, surrounded by a crowd of shrieking Gibbus. On a shout from the Gibbus holding Mell, the bodies parted a little. Now Mell saw the reason for their taunts. A young skaler was trapped beneath the big one’s body. It was alive and baying for help.

  Not since the Kaal had been driven from the mountains had Mell ever thought she’d feel pity for a skaler, but her heart went out to this little one now. Perhaps, in time, it would be her foe. But all she could think of at present was its anguish.

  Through a blur of pain, she watched the Gibbus arrange themselves along the big skaler’s body. With a collective shriek they pushed hard enough to roll it back a little and free the pupp. One of its wings was broken. The tribe screeched again and flapped their arms, mocking it. The skaler roared back but made no fire. It snapped at one Gibbus and almost took a paw. The gray leader barked a command. The pupp was quickly restrained, then bound in a cradle of sticks and twine.

  Two Gibbus picked up the cradle, and a group of them began to lope away at speed. One of the stragglers picked up the sickle Mell had used to such deadly effect. Her heart pumped, as she feared they would turn it against her. How much did a young skaler eat at one meal? A hand? A foot? Either cut was easy for a blade like that. But the target was not Mell. She twisted her face away as she saw the blade swing toward the dead skaler’s eye. At that point, one of the Gibbus slung her over its shoulder and carried her away, sparing her any more gruesomeness. She saw Leif picked up and heard the girl cough. Thank you, Mell whispered to the Fathers. They were both alive.

  For now.

  The line of dragons was quickly
formed. Spearheaded by Grynt and Grendel, they made their way at speed toward the western reaches of the scorch line. There the storm began to ebb and they were given better sight of the land. Every green thing was pasted white. It was the most beautiful vision of Erth Grendel had ever seen.

  “Anything?” she cried.

  Grynt’s voice burst through the last of the blizzard. “No! I may need to go on ahead! I’m picking up the wearling’s scent on you! It’s confusing me! Who’s that?”

  Another dragon was approaching from a forward angle.

  “It’s Gruder!” Gabrial called, shaking snow off his snout. He sent the sweeper a cry of recognition.

  Gruder swept over them and quickly doubled back, dropping into the space between Gabrial and Grendel. Are you searching for Gossana?

  The words flowed into Gabrial’s mind. It was easier to commingle with others in flight, rather than fight against the noise of wind pressure.

  Yes, she has Gayl. Have you seen them?

  No. But a short while ago I picked up a female scent near the scorch line, farther along toward the sea. I thought nothing of it until I got word from Garrison’s patrols that something was wrong and Gossana was involved. I was coming to report it. If I’m right, you need to bank ten points south.

  “South!” Gabrial screamed to every dragon within earshot. He quickly changed course and was pleased to see the whole line slot into place.

  “Has he sighted them?!” called Grynt. He eyeballed Gruder.

  “No! But he had a trace on Gossana!”

  Grynt called to Garret. “Mapper! Report!”

  Garret was in place above Grynt and Grendel, the only dragon flying higher than the rest. The Wild Lands are vast, he replied, spreading his thoughts among the whole wyng, but this course will take us away from them. My advice is to split up—half to follow the trail Gruder detected, half to fly for the Wild Lands.

  I agree, said Garrison, joining in. Gossana could have dropped Gayl into the creatures’ clutches by now. They could be using the matrial to draw us away from the wearling.