Tangnost sighed. The world as they knew it had changed. The impossible had happened. The SDS had been annihilated, betrayed by a sorcerer who now ruled the kingdoms in all but name, and none but a handful knew the truth. North of the Old Wall, all but one of the SDS fortresses had fallen to the hobgoblins. Amidst all the ruin and despair, there was one spark of brightness to offer the fatherless young girl Tangnost now took under his protective wing. As they arrived at the maternity roosts, he prayed to his gods that he was doing the right thing.
Only cave-dwelling dragons were raised on Dragon Isle itself – ancient home to Imperials, and now also to Sabretooths and Spitting Adders. The roosts deep inside Dragon Isle were dark and warm, the tang of raw meat overlaid by brimstone and phosphor. Tangnost led Root and Quenelda to where a Sabretooth mare was lying on a bed of broken rock and shale; her litter of nine a faint gleam of talon and scale in the darkness, that slithered and flamed as they played and pounced on each other in mock battle.
‘When were they born?’ Quenelda’s question was a whisper, as if everything depended upon the answer, which it did.
‘Five weeks ago.’ The elderly roost master Tam Brandywine glanced curiously at the Earl’s daughter.
Root could see her hands shaking. He moved up next to her to shield her from curious eyes.
‘Are they …?’ Quenelda barely dared to breathe. These small fiery Sabretooths could only belong to her beloved dead Two Gulps. Why else had Tangnost brought her here?
‘Yes,’ Tangnost said huskily, tears welling.
Quenelda put out her hand to clasp his strong hand in silent thanks. Root realized that she, too, was crying, and decided to put his arm about her as well.
The roost master studied them surreptitiously in the gloom, dwarf and gnome and girl: the legendary Bonecracker and Dragonmaster who had defied the Lord Protector to spirit away a girl who was now his daughter in all but name; the dark-haired gnome who had somehow been raised from commoner to esquire; and the dead Earl’s daughter who had wanted to fly in the SDS since she was a babe. An unlikely trio, yet their deep affection and love for each other were obvious to any who saw them together.
But – he sighed – it just wasn’t normal. The ruling sorcerers never mingled with commoners, the different peoples of the One Earth never mixed, save here on Dragon Isle, and girls never flew with the SDS. Everyone had their place and their allotted tasks: it had always been thus. To challenge such social strictures, to attempt otherwise, would only end in grief.
Quenelda stepped over the wall and raised her gaze to the Sabretooth mare. So this was Two Gulps’ mate. She bit her lip.
Firestorm Bright Eyes – may the wind sing under your wings …
Dancing with Dragons, the young mare acknowledged. May you dance with the stars …
Your litter-pack are strong and many …
My mate was strong …
Quenelda closed her eyes, unable to stop the tears from falling. The mare moved forward, surprisingly delicate, picking her way through her squalling fledglings to where Quenelda stood, her brow gently coming to rest against the girl’s. Quenelda placed her hands on either side of the scaled head and blew softly. The Sabretooth blew gently back, ruffling her hair.
‘Odin’s beard!’ Tam was stunned. ‘Ain’t never seen nothing like it, Dragonmaster.’
My mate was proud to bear you into battle to save Thunder Rolling over the Mountains… Now your scales are hard – you will take revenge on those who took his life …?
I swear it … Quenelda’s eyes flared gold in the darkness.
Root found that he was no longer afraid, but the roost master stumbled backwards with a cry, tripping over a cauldron of coal and falling heavily to the floor.
Ignoring him, Tangnost in turn reached up to hold the mare’s bridle, blowing softly on her muzzle.
One-Eye … He could not hear the mare’s welcome, but she blew softly back.
Head resting against her, Tangnost spoke, his voice muffled. ‘We decided to breed from Two Gulps early; since he became your mount, your Lord father wanted his pedigree bloodline for the battlefield as soon as possible, so he was put to stud with the best mare we have.’
He lifted his head, lantern-light catching his craggy face as he looked down at Quenelda. ‘Your Lord father was going to give you the pick of the litter to train; the rest were destined for the Academy and esquires to raise. The Commander says the pick of the litter is still yours as your father wished, and I’ll teach you how to train him for battle as your father intended. Only now he will be your mount, so choose wisely.’
Quenelda nodded, knowing what a tremendous privilege was being granted to her. With so many dragons injured and dead, the SDS were nonetheless still allowing her to choose the best fledgling. She considered the little dragons that were mock-fighting, tumbling and cuffing each other at her feet. Small bursts of flame lit up the dark warmth as she knelt down.
‘In you go, lad.’ The roost master beckoned a roost-hand forward. ‘Fetch him out.’ He pursed his lips with satisfaction, and nodded knowledgably at Tangnost. ‘Pick of the litter for ’er ladyship.’
The stable hand put on some heavy leather gauntlets and moved into the roost beside Quenelda, talking soothingly to the mother all the time. ‘There, Bright Eyes … Just having a look at your young ’uns … there …’ He waded through the mass of small scales and talons, armour clicking as they came into contact with his ceramic plates. There were grunts and excited squeaks, and a few hastily smothered oaths, before the boy emerged with a small dragon struggling furiously in his arms. It was trying to turn its head so it could flame him. Another was enthusiastically hanging onto the bottom of his armoured leather kilt. A third was being dragged along upside down, its teeth firmly clamped around the boy’s ankle. He had lost a gauntlet, which was being eaten by a plump pear-shaped fledgling in the far corner of the roost.
‘Aye, they’re a feisty bunch,’ the roost master said proudly. ‘Going to do us proud, they are. Fighters one and all. Well,’ he amended, muttering darkly in the direction of the plump baby dragon, ‘most of ’em, anyhow … Time that one was culled.’
The stable hand brought the struggling fledgling over to Quenelda, cheerfully wiping the blood from his nose where it had managed to catch a sharp little talon.
‘This here’s the one for – for you, miss — Ouch! Gerroffmyear … Strong lower back, powerful hindquarters, long toes – he’ll crunch a hobgoblin or two. Well – ouch! – developed jaw! And look at these teeth, Lady. OUCH! Letgoofmyfingerssssssss …’ The stable hand smiled gamely through gritted teeth. ‘Ow!’
As soon as he released it, the fledgling barrelled away to attack one of its litter-mates, and the pair rolled and spat fire at each other under their mother’s proud gaze.
But Quenelda’s eyes were fixed elsewhere – on the dragon slowly waddling over to her. Fat as a butter barrel, it had finished the gauntlet and was coming over to inspect what she was offering on her outstretched palm.
‘Oh no, Lady.’ Tam was horrified at her choice. ‘I thought she was a good judge of dragonflesh,’ he muttered to Tangnost behind a hand. ‘No, Lady,’ he said more loudly. ‘That one’s no good. Doesn’t fight, just eats. Too lazy. Too heavy.’
Food …?
Quenelda looked into the quietly intelligent eyes that held her gaze as it gently took the proffered honey tablets one by one and ate them with obvious delight.
More …? it asked hopefully.
Quenelda emptied her pockets, and the little dragon emptied her hand. Its distended stomach rumbled and it burped happily. Behind Quenelda, Root, Tangnost and the roost master all ducked behind the roost wall as a toxic flame rolled over them.
‘Phew!’ Root nearly gagged. ‘What’s it been eating?’
‘So far today: scale oil … the lamp … a leather apron …’ The roost hand thought about it … ‘a pair of claw clippers …’
They risked a look. Quenelda hadn’t moved. Although her jacket was smouldering in several places, not a single hair on her head was singed, causing the roost master to rub his eyes in disbelief, and Tangnost’s one eye to narrow in thoughtful speculation. Root beat out a spark on her jacket that was threatening to take hold. Quenelda appeared not even to have noticed. She had eyes only for the fledgling.
This baby Sabretooth was the one. Quenelda knew it; had known it from the moment she saw him. He was so similar to his sire. He bore the same red blaze behind the left eye as Two Gulps had, the same oversized canines. Her eyes travelled over scale and claw. The same large golden scales in a mosaic pattern tapering to the tail … And no – it wasn’t possible. Quenelda drew a sharp breath.
‘What?’ Root frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘The tail …’
All eyes looked at the stubby little tail currently being used by the baby Sabretooth to try and lever himself out of the pen to get at the brimstone scuttles stacked nearby. He jumped and bounced off the wall, big feet in the air, crooked tail thrashing helplessly.
There was a short silence, broken by Tam.
‘Aye, born with a crooked tail to boot, lady. Another reason why you don’t want this ’un. Runt o’ the litter, ’e is.’
Both Tangnost and Root ignored him. He looked at them in bafflement. All three of his guests were staring fixedly at the fledgling’s crooked tail.
The little dragon gave up the impossible task of escaping and waddled over to the empty brass scuttle, sniffed it and began to eat it with apparent relish. There was the sound of crumpling metal. Root winced.
‘Is there anything he doesn’t eat?’ Quenelda asked.
The roost hand shook his head. ‘Don’t think so, miss,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Will he ever get airborne?’ Root asked dubiously.
‘Don’t think so, sir.’
‘Wing-to-weight ratio …’ Root nodded knowledgeably, earning him a surprised glance from the roost master.
‘I want him.’
‘Lady?’ Tam was taken aback. ‘But, Lady—’ he began, till Tangnost squeezed his arm warningly and nodded.
‘I want him,’ Quenelda repeated defiantly.
A quiet smile played over Tangnost’s lips. He had been right. This fledgling was most like his sire, Two Gulps and You’re Gone. ‘What are you going to call him?’
Quenelda grinned, making his heart ache.
She looked back down at the plump fledgling.
‘Two Gulps Too Many …’