The temperature was dropping rapidly. Down below, the loch dwindled to a ribbon of mercury, then vanished into the pooling shadows. As they rose through the heavy layers of dust, constellations like diamond scatter pins winked into existence overhead.
Root huddled miserably in his heavy dwarf cloak, clinging to the saddle’s pommel for security, trying not to think about the huge expanse of darkness below him. It was his first solo flight at night – a heart-thumping mix of exhilaration and fear that pounded through his veins, leaving him shaking from head to toe. His head throbbed horribly and he was seeing double, though he hadn’t mentioned that to Quenelda. His neck ached, and the wet dragonwings dragged at his shoulders.
Storm, fly …
Quenelda was intent on Stormcracker, coaxing the sick dragon forward. Desperate to get back as swiftly as possible, and to avoid any possibility that the lone uncloaked Imperial would be sighted, she chose to strike out as the crow flies over unknown country away from the military roads to avoid detection. But within a bell, as the trees thinned, giving way to open moorland, the great dragon had begun to tire and falter. They were lost, and Root could barely stay in his saddle let alone navigate. Weakened by battle, starvation and brutal confinement, the battledragon’s flight faltered.
I must rest, Dancing with Dragons …
I will find a place …
‘Root? Quenelda called. Root do you know where we are?’
‘Wha-what?’ The young boy started awake. He had fallen into an uneasy sleep, trusting the battlegriff to follow Quenelda. He squinted at the stars but was still seeing double and nearly fell from his saddle.
‘Root, we are going to have to put down soon. Storm’s exhausted.’ Quenelda searched the moor below, trying to find a suitable place to put down. She had been too hasty taking off as dark fell, and she knew it. Why hadn’t she waited for dawn?
Then her heart thumped as a ripping sound rent the air. The canvas and pitch patches were giving way one by one! Dark league after dark league of moorland and stands of pine trees passed below them as Quenelda fought to keep as much height as possible above the treacherous bogs and marshes. If Storm put down there, he would sink into the mire and they would never get him out again. This must be what it was like trying to land after a battle, Quenelda realized, with an injured and exhausted mount. She bit her lip. Once again she had assumed that because she could fly, that would be enough. When was she going to learn?
Then a memory came to her from her other self; from her dragonworld memories. Long, long ago in the Elder Days, there had been Imperial dragoncombs in the glen ahead – combs rich with yellow seams of brimstone and cold pure water from the glacier. This was why she had chosen this way!
‘Root, head for the larger of the two glens. There are dragoncombs there.’
The boy was too injured and exhausted to ask how she knew. He nodded his head and then wished he hadn’t, as a wave of sickness took him. He clung on miserably as the mountains rose up on either side of them.
Quenelda knew the combs were there, but her memory came from long, long ago when winter lay permanently over most of the land. As a girl she had never been to this place before. How could they find the right waterfall in the dark, steep-sided valleys below? Quenelda wondered. She looked up at the rising moons sailing behind a latticework of clouds, and tried to take her bearing from the handful of stars still visible. But the stars too had travelled across the heavens since she last stretched her wings. Then one of the moons rose higher, and the river below leaped out like a pale scar on the black landscape, all milk and dark moonshadow. And suddenly she knew where she was. There it was: a glittering shower of foam that burst out of the mountainside, to crash down a deep gorge in a spill of liquid froth.
With a gentle thought, she turned Stormcracker towards it as yet another wing patch began to tear.
‘We’re going down, Root,’ she shouted. ‘Hang on and follow us! I’m making for the waterfall!’ With her dragon eyes, she could see I’ve Already Eaten’s silhouette above her against the sky, but the boy had been slouched forward in his saddle and might not have heard, so she sent the thought to his battlegriff, bidding him follow her.
Then Stormcracker’s wings gave way completely and battledragon and girl were whirling round and round, spiralling out of control. It ripped a scream out of her lungs. She knew in her heart of hearts that if they crashed Stormcracker would not survive the impact, let alone fly again. Her fingers tingled, sparking as bright magic gathered in her hands. Hot fire rose in her throat, but panic drove coherent thought from her. Fiery red bolts spun about her as she flamed her anguish. Parts of the mountain exploded in shards of rocks. Gorse bushes went up in flames.
Root clung on for dear life as I’ve Already Eaten followed the flaming, plummeting forms of Quenelda and Stormcracker towards the waterfall.
Storm! Storm! Fly! She commanded him, but it was no good. Stormcracker had no magic or strength left to give. The ground reached up to greet them.