Tangnost strode up the wide avenue through the drizzle, the sound of his hobnailed footsteps dulled by the freezing fog. Moisture pearled on his jerkin. A foul day, he thought bitterly, for foul deeds. Behind him, the dragon surgeon, Professor Willowfellow, coughed loudly into his long grey beard, his sharp-nosed face a mask of outrage.
Dragonsdome’s Dragonmaster looked as if he had not slept a wink. His eye was shadowed and bleak. He had failed to deter Darcy from taking his revenge on Quenelda; failed utterly. The Earl-in-waiting had been furious when the Grand Master had demanded to know why his dragonmaster, Knuckle Quarnack, had been driven from Dragonsdome’s battleroosts – by Darcy’s little sister and his own Dragonmaster.
‘How dare you?’ Darcy’s colour was high. ‘How dare you defy my express orders? The Grand Master said you threatened violence …’
‘My Lord, any violence was of his own making.’
‘I am Earl!’ Darcy shouted. ‘You will obey me.’
Tangnost’s temper was rising. ‘The SDS are regrouping. Commander DeBessert has ordered that all dragons of fighting age are to be sent immediately to Dragon Isle. They will take to the field come the thaw.’
‘Who are you to countermand my orders? It is the Grand Master’s lands to the north that will be attacked first, come spring.’
‘My lord, none but the SDS may raise an army. It has been the law since the ancient Mage Wars. The Grand Master cannot ignore this.’
‘You,’ Darcy spat, ‘a commoner, to instruct me on the law! You presume above your rank. A time is coming when you and your kind will learn your place in the order of things.’ He was in the wrong and he knew it, but to be thwarted in his own hall in front of his friends!
Tangnost regarded Darcy with undisguised contempt and then turned to go. ‘Our remaining battledragons must be sent to Dragon Isle. I have work to do.’
But the worst had yet to come. Tangnost had listened to Darcy’s next order with disbelief and had immediately refused in horror. But what could succeed in the face of such reckless hatred? Darcy was implacable, bent on revenge.
‘You do as I command,’ Darcy threatened. ‘Otherwise that sister of mine will be sent to Grimalkin’s, where they will curb her wayward behaviour. Until she comes of age, it is my right as her brother to see that she is educated as a daughter of nobility should be. She will be sequestered behind the academy’s high walls. She’ll not see a dragon, let alone fly one!’
Tangnost’s weathered face grew pale. Anger sparked in his eye. To see that bright free spirit trapped in a cage … Quenelda would languish and die like those wild dragon fledglings that were kept in cages or on the leash as the latest fashion accessory.
‘You would barter your sister?’ he said contemptuously.
‘One way or another,’ Darcy threatened, ‘I shall clip her wings, or you shall do it for me.’
Gritting his teeth, Tangnost bowed his head bitterly. If he wished to protect Quenelda as the Earl had bade him, then Two Gulps must die – as Darcy had just ordered.
‘He dies tomorrow at dawn when she attends my Investiture Ceremony,’ Darcy said curtly, and then dismissed Tangnost with an imperious flick of his wrist.
And then my sister will be sent to Grimalkin’s anyway, and will for ever curse your name …
Tangnost and the Professor passed beneath the stone-vaulted roof and into the busy surgery, where half a dozen apprentices were already hard at work. Some were immersed in the deep ceramic sinks, cleaning instruments and scrubbing down benches. Two were bandaging a griffin’s injured fifth toe in one of the medic alcoves. There were five huge operating cradles slung from pulleys and extendable winches attached to the huge oak ceiling beams. A further four critical-care cradles hung in deeply recessed alcoves; drips and tubes, valves and funnels hung above them.
The bony, bespectacled surgeon crossed to his workbench, littered with diagrams and drawings, bones, stacks of books and papers. ‘Where did I put it?’ he muttered as he rummaged about, sending barkscrolls and sheaves of papers tumbling to the floor. ‘Tooth and nail!’ he swore as a flask smashed on the tiles.
‘Professor?’ A rosy-cheeked apprentice bowed. ‘Are you looking for your keys, sir?’ he offered tentatively. ‘They’re—’
‘Ah! I have them,’ Professor Willowfellow said, brandishing a large ring heavy with keys. ‘How do you want to do this?’ he asked Tangnost harshly. His job was to save life, not to take it, and he could hardly believe the dragonmaster had agreed to this. ‘Fast and painful, or slow and gentle? He’ll just go to sleep but it won’t be quick.’
Anger sparked in Tangnost’s eye. ‘Gentle, damn you!’ he snapped. ‘I don’t want to be doing this any more than you, Willowfellow. It’s nothing less than murder, and I know it! But what can we do but obey? We’ve lost half our dragons to that … to the Grand Master already.’
The surgeon’s eyes softened. ‘Your pardon, Dragonmaster,’ he said, bowing his head, the bells on his cap tinkling gently in his agitation. ‘I know how you love each and every one of your charges.’
Tangnost shook his head to clear the red mist of anger that clouded his eyes. ‘Your pardon also, old friend. This is an ugly business and no mistake.’
The professor nodded and led the dwarf along a corridor to a heavily barred door. A tap of his staff and the application of the correct key, and the heavy door swung silently open. Taking a deep breath, Tangnost stepped into the deep thick-walled vault that housed the raw ingredients for battle munitions, hexes and curses. Concoctions distilled from dragon venom were sealed with powerful spells.
Selecting one and resealing the vault, the professor led Tangnost towards the battleroosts.
Two Gulps and You’re Gone nickered in recognition, smoke curling from his nostrils in welcome.
‘Here, boy.’ Tangnost laid his hand against the dragon’s chest. He could feel the slow beat of the twin hearts.
Boom boom … Boom boom …
His own heart was racing as he stepped up to the watering trough. He unstoppered the vial with shaking hands and closed his eye. Would Quenelda ever forgive him? he wondered. Would she understand that Dragonsdome would be utterly lost and her life would be changed for ever if he disobeyed Darcy? The vile purple drops swirled on the surface and then were gone.
‘Here, boy,’ Tangnost croaked, the words sticking in his throat as he encouraged the dragon, his knees suddenly weak. ‘T-take a drink, boy …’
Supported by Root, Quenelda made her way slowly down the avenue towards the battledragon roosts. She felt lightheaded with fatigue, and although Root had made her dress warmly in a heavy flying suit, she felt cold and shivery. She had no plan other than to flee Dragonsdome and find her father. She was not going to Court to watch her brother made Earl: it would betray her father’s wishes utterly. Instead, she and Root were leaving with their dragons; they would be gone before Darcy returned triumphantly. The only thing she had to do was see Tangnost. He was like a second father to her. The idea of leaving him behind, of being without his strength and wisdom, made her heart thump fearfully in her chest. Maybe she could persuade the dragonmaster to come with them? He bore no love for Darcy.
I’m coming, Two Gulps and You’re Gone …
I am ready … The dragon dipped his head to the water trough. Next to him Tangnost bowed his head and openly wept.
Down in Dragonsdome’s labyrinth of kitchen pantries and cellars, Quester hastily packed bread, cheese, oats and apples into a saddlebag. Cold slices of smoked beaver and bear followed. There would be water aplenty churning off the mountainside, and Two Gulps would hunt for his own food: there were herds of deer and wild boar, elk and bears. The other bags already held travelling stove and flints, flares, a rope, candles and sleeping rolls. And a dozen feeding bags of honey tablets for Root’s cherished mount, Chasing the Stars. Satisfied, Quester set out for the roosts, carrying enough provisions and equipment to last Root and Quenelda for up to a month.
Boom … boom …boom … boom … boom …
One of the dragon’s twin hearts suddenly faltered and missed a beat. He coughed, sending a small flare of flame rolling over the water trough.
Quenelda stumbled and tripped. Scrambling to her feet, she gathered up her helmet.
‘Be careful,’ Root urged. ‘You’re very weak …’
The dragon’s heart faltered a second time.
Quenelda fell to her knees, crying out.
‘Quenelda? What’s wrong?’
She got to her feet, her face a ghastly white, then staggered backwards as if she had been punched.
In the roosts, the dragon stood stock-still, trembling. His mouth foamed and frothed. With a fearful thud, he dropped to his knees on the metal decking.
As she reached the outer paddocks, Quenelda’s knees buckled. With a sharp cry, she fell over again.
‘Quenelda!’ Root was really frightened now.
The dragon’s breathing slowed.
‘Can’t breathe …’ Quenelda’s breath was coming in laboured gasps, as if she needed to scoop the air up. Black spots danced in front of her eyes. She reached out blindly with her hands. ‘It’s Two Gulps! Guide me, Root,’ she pleaded, fear burning in her eyes.
Abandoning everything, Root went to Quenelda’s side and took her weight.
Dancing with Dragons … Two Gulps’ breath slowed painfully. Dancing with Dragons …
The dragon was calling out to Quenelda now – fear-drenched thoughts that had never plagued him on the battlefields.
Boom … boom … boom … boom …
‘I’m coming, Two Gulps! I’m coming!’ Quenelda’s body jerked in fits and starts as her muscles stopped working. Gauntlets fell unnoticed to the ground as Root tried to keep her on her feet. She felt so tired. She wanted to curl up … it was getting dark – and so cold …
The night is coming …
Hold on … hold on … Quenelda was weeping, barely able to see where she was going, the world refracted through a prism of tears.
‘Two Gulps!’ she howled out loud.
Quester nearly jumped out of his skin as the ghostly pair emerged out of the mist, Quenelda’s ragged call hanging in the damp air. Dropping the saddlebags, the esquire raced to their side. ‘Lady Quenelda, what’s wrong? What’s happening?’
Root’s anguished eyes met his. ‘I – I don’t know! It’s Two Gulps … She has to reach him.’
Dancing with Dragons …
The dragon raised his heavy head, his dimming eyes searching for the young girl.
Boom … boom … boom … boom …
Tangnost looked up, aghast, as the ashen-faced girl stumbled into the lantern light, held upright by Root and Quester. Quenelda’s hair was plastered to her sweating forehead. Her golden dragon eyes were dim and unfocused. Spittle frothed at her mouth.
‘Save him,’ Quenelda screamed, tears coursing down her cheeks. ‘Save him, Tangnost! I know you can! He’s dying! We’re dying.’
‘Quenelda …’ The dragonmaster sprang nimbly to his feet, trying to stop her headlong flight towards Two Gulps. ‘You shouldn’t be here, lass.’ Then her words hit him. ‘We’re? What do you mean?’
Pushing past the dwarf with new-found strength, Quenelda knelt beside the battledragon, blindly searching for his head. The stallion raised his head wearily, his hot breath warming her ice-cold hands.
Boom … boom … boom …
Quenelda desperately tried to raise Two Gulps’ head, to cradle his great nose in her arms. Forgetting his fear of battledragons, Root flung himself down and used all his strength to wrestle the great head onto her lap.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ she appealed to Tangnost. ‘Why aren’t you doing anything?’ she commanded as the breath rattled in the dragon’s great lungs. ‘Two Gulps! Don’t go! Don’t go!’
One great yellow eye opened. A single dragon tear spilled hotly down the girl’s arms. Tears tracked down Quenelda’s cheeks to mingle with the dragon’s as she rocked backwards and forwards in her distress, cradling him as she might a child.
‘Two Gulps! Don’t leave me!’
Boom … boom … boom …
Dancing with Dragons, it is growing dark …
‘No!’ Quenelda screamed out loud as haunting dragonsong filled her head.
I go to dance with the dragons …
Boom …
A thousand memories shared in the blink of a closing eye. The last touch of his mind slipped away and was gone. Nothing took its place. With a long sigh, Two Gulps and You’re Gone died, the weight of his great head pinning Quenelda to the ground. A yellow scale came loose in her hand.
Quenelda frantically sought the dying spark in the growing darkness. I’m coming …’ Dragonsong took her and lifted her up on its wings. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and her head fell backwards against Root’s shoulder. She sighed with a slow expulsion of life, raising an arm to Tangnost in silent appeal.
‘I’m going to dance with the dragons too …’ she whispered. Her body sagged as the breath of life left her. Her fiery eyes dimmed and their light went out.
Root screamed.
Tangnost’s face was a mask of shock. ‘She’s dying, man,’ he shouted at the surgeon as Root, eyes wide with horror, knelt to cradle Quenelda.
‘Quenelda! Don’t go!’ the young boy cried desperately. ‘Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone!’
‘Don’t just stand there.’ Tangnost shook the professor. ‘Do something to help her!’
‘I’m a vet, not a physic,’ the professor said, aghast, hands shaking with horror. ‘What can I do?’
Tangnost looked up on the scene and raised his stricken face. ‘Thor’s Hammer!’ Tears ran down the dwarf’s horrified face. ‘We’ve killed the Earl’s daughter.’