Thunder rolled over the mountains. Lightning stabbed, its forked branches like blue veins in the sky. Root was soaked to the skin, at his wits’ end. He and Quester had searched the roosts and the stables, then the paddocks. No one had seen Quenelda since she had fled the Great Hall.
‘She’s taken Two Gulps.’ Root was shaking with cold and fright. ‘She can’t fly in this!’ He looked at Quester. ‘Can she?’
His friend nodded his head, knuckling water from his eyes. ‘If anyone can, friend Root, it’s Quenelda.’
The storm was ferocious. Quenelda’s mood was as wild and unpredictable as the dark roiling clouds, her thoughts spinning like the wind.
Papa, where are you? The same plea kept going round and round in her head. Where are you?
The sudden storm had come out of nowhere, forcing Two Gulps to land on the deep snow-bound slopes of the glen. Freezing water ran in rivulets between his gleaming scales, and Quenelda was long since drenched to the bone. She had no idea where they were. She had fled without thought to where she was going, and the big Sabretooth was becoming increasingly concerned. It might be raining, but it was still freezing and could turn to snow in a heartbeat.
We must return to the roost … Two Gulps’ thoughts were gentle but insistent as the temperature dropped. Quenelda had yet to shed her soft juvenile skin for scales, and Two Gulps was increasingly anxious.
Dancing with Dragons … we must return to our roosts or you may also die … The thoughts nudged at her. Dancing with Dragons …?
The battledragon could feel the Earl’s daughter slipping away from him, just as his previous master had done when they were both badly wounded in a skirmish on the Isle of Midges. He did not want to lose her too: they were bonded for life, and he wanted to be at her side when she spread her own wings and flew for the first time.
When he had first met Quenelda, Two Gulps had been confused. She had the soul of a dragon and spoke the language of the Elders, but she was definitely the wrong shape. She was neither dragonkind or mankind, he realized with awe, she was Onekind – what the No Wings called a Dragon Whisperer. And she was powerful: the ancient magic of the Elder Days coursed through her veins. He could see it shining from her like a star at night, and knew that it was up to him to protect her until she came into her power.
Two Gulps gravely considered what to do. He had called out to brothers and sisters, but there were none nearby; no doubt all were settled down in their cosy roosts and caves, where all sensible dragons should be in weather like this. This bitter cold cracked his scales, and his stubby wings had no control in the crazed wind that pushed him this way and that, but he had to protect his mistress. He knelt on the icy boulders and nudged her. Mount, Dancing with Dragons. We must fly … He blew warm breath over her. She stirred.
T-T-Two Gulps? Quenelda was shaking now with shock and cold. Dimly aware, as if in a dream, she did as he commanded, collapsing over his wings and neck. Two Gulps sprang up into the storm.
The weather and his small wings forced him to fly low, but even so the wind snatched and grabbed at him. Trees loomed, branches slapped at them, and then they were clear and skimming scant strides above the ice-bound loch towards the Black Isle. Hailstones rattled down on the ice. Rising up and up, Two Gulps wove between the spires and chimneys of the city, and was heading over Dragonsdome towards the battleroosts and warmth, when a powerful gust caught him. Dragon and girl were swept up towards the underside of one of the landing pads, where the great chain-link anchors swung. As Quenelda slipped from his water-licked back, Two Gulps turned and swooped after her, arresting the virtually unconscious girl’s fall. Then, as he scrabbled frantically, Quenelda began to slip down, leaving him with the empty jerkin. Desperately, Two Gulps lunged and caught her in his open mouth, great serrated teeth holding her tenderly; he scrambled frantically onto the edge of the landing pad careful to keep her safe.
The sky lit up. Root squinted up through the stinging rain, wondering if he had really seen a dragon landing on the Earl’s lowered pad … Yes, he’d swear just for a moment he’d seen something – some frantic movement.
‘Quenelda! Quenelda!’ It was useless. The wind snatched the words from his mouth, drowning them out with its banshee shriek. Root turned, peering through the hail. ‘Quester, I think she’s up there!’
The deep growl of the thunder vibrated through the dragonpads, tingling through Root’s hands as he clambered up the outer gantry stairs. A stray tendril of energy coursed through the metal, snapping Root’s hand back in a flurry of tiny sparks. With a cry, he stumbled heavily against the steps, his braided hair radiating out like a dandelion. Ignoring his burned hands, Root stumbled on, scrambling up as fast as his legs would go.
‘She’s up here! She’s up here!’
Quenelda lay unmoving on the deck. Two Gulps stood protectively over her, wing outstretched to shield her from the storm, anxiously nuzzling, calling to her.
Dancing with Dragons …?
Root swallowed. How was this protective battle-dragon going to react if they tried to take Quenelda from him?
‘Quenelda?’ The girl didn’t respond to his urgent call. He squinted into her face. Her eyes were open, black and unseeing. He shook her, but still she gazed past him at some inner horizon.
Root realized with horror that she wore no cloak and her clothes were ragged and ripped. Her skin was chalk-white, blotched with red where hailstones had struck her. She had gone out without a flying suit on! Her face looked thin and pinched. Clumsily Root pulled off his cloak and threw it round her shoulders. It slapped back against his face like a deranged bird.
Quester laid his cloak down on the landing pad. ‘You lift under her arms, friend Root, I’ll take her legs. We need to get her inside and send for the physician.’
‘Here, lads’ – a familiar, comforting voice came from behind them – ‘give her to me.’ Tangnost briefly searched the girl’s blank face. He had seen that distant look many times before on troopers who had seen too much for their battered minds to take in.
Root anxiously held out a hand to touch her ice-cold face. ‘Quenelda?’
‘It’s no use, lad. She can’t hear you.’
Lifting her effortlessly, the dwarf swaddled her in his cloak. ‘Quester, do you think you can take Two Gulps to his roost? Get the flight deckhands to lower the pad down as far as it will go. C’mon, Root,’ he said, nodding towards the keep. ‘We need to get both of you inside.’