Dirt by CC Hogan
Chapter 18 – To Plan a Rescue
Fren-Eirol awoke to a confusing array of faces gathered around her grinning with various degrees of success depending on species.
“Why are you all looking at me?” Her voice croaked, and she tried to clear her throat.
“I think they are pleased to see you alive, Snowy,” said a voice quietly in her ear.
“Eafa?”
“I am still here.”
“Fren-Eirol, I am Sen-Liana,” said an old woman, bowing formally in front of the sea dragon. “Welcome to my home.”
“Sen-Liana?” Fren-Eirol lifted her head gently, trying to avoid a dragon-sized headache that was waiting to pounce. “You mean … you are?”
“Eafa’s mother, yes. He is still working on the idea.”
“I can hear the resemblance,” the dragon muttered, mostly to herself. “What state am I in?”
“Bad,” the old woman told her. “But you were worse. Now you will live, but I would not have thought that possible two days ago; the Draig Wen have treated you well.”
“You have white dragons here?” The memories started trickling back. “Oh, of course, I remember now. I was brought here. Strange thought.” She smacked her lips. “Is that big man here with his pot of water?”
“Fren-Eirol, he is back with his family in Sarn-Tailin; we are many leagues from there,” Mab-Tok told her. “But my brother and I will fetch you water.” He and Mab-Lotok left to get the large water bag that the Draig Wen had been using to give the dragon water, even while she slept.
“Farthing?” Fren-Eirol peered up at the tall young man and the girl standing next to him holding his hand and obviously fretting. “I am sorry,” the dragon said to him as he came up to her. “We will get your sister, I promise.”
“We?” Farthing looked around in panic at Sen-Liana, who nodded to him. “Fren-Eirol,” he said gently. “You cannot fly. Your wing is too damaged.”
The dragon looked suddenly scared, tried to sit up too fast and cried out. From behind the tent came a low, mournful rumble. Sen-Liana turned to a white dragon and whispered something. The Draig Wen trotted around the back of the tent and with the others, rolled up the canvas. In through the opening came the great head of Bell-Sendinar, who had refused to leave the side of the smaller sea dragon. He gently moved his head behind Fren-Eirol and with a soft push, helped her to sit up. He made a deep, warm, whispering sound.
“Bell-Sendinar says you are to lean on him, as you are not strong enough yet,” Weasel told her.
“You understand him?” Fren-Eirol looked at the magician. “I only heard an odd noise in my head.”
“Apparently I do,” he answered, glancing sideways at his mother. He was still far from comfortable with all that he had been told, and was a long way from forgiving his mother or even wishing to, but he had been helped by the two massive Draig Mynyth Dun who had been gently pushing him to understand both them and himself, and the strange, unexplained connection between them all; something that he now knew his mother had misunderstood.
Fren-Eirol turned cautiously and peeked at her wing. She realised that it had been tied to her side so she could not move it.
“Is this permanent?” she asked, her voice shaky with the idea that she may be trapped here, unable to fly.
“No, it isn’t,” Weasel told her. “The white dragons say they can heal your wing, but it may take weeks and they are going to have to cut open your joint to do it.” He hesitated. “I will stay here with you.”
Fren-Eirol shook her head; the headache was beginning to creep up on her. “You mustn’t; you must help rescue Rusty and the Cwendrina and get them home.”
“Cwendrina?” Sen-Liana forgot to be quiet and Fren-Eirol winced. “So this is what this is all about!”
“Who is the Cwendrina?” Farthing asked, confused. Fren-Eirol sighed, realising her error.
“Sorry, it is meant to be a secret,” she said with a shaky voice.
“I will explain to them,” Sen-Liana told her. She looked from her son to Fren-Eirol pointedly. “Though quite why you should have been keeping it secret from those risking their lives with you is beyond me. Come, we should leave Fren-Eirol to rest.”
The sea dragon nodded her thanks. “Has anyone something for a splitting headache?” she asked.
“I have something I can try,” Mab-Tok said with a smile as he and Mab-Lotok returned with water.
Fren-Eirol looked at him suspiciously. “Has anyone else got something for a headache?”
“It really is ancient history, all this,” Weasel pointed out. “And most of it wrong. I think it is far more important that she is a girl that has been kidnapped with Farthing’s sister than she is some distant relative of a long dead matriarchal dynasty.” Farthing looked at him blankly. “They were thought of as queens, inaccurately.”
“Which just goes to prove how out of touch you are with human affairs, or you are basing all your knowledge on the conversations with a pile of card sharps in taverns.” Weasel’s mother seemed to have let her compassionate side slip.
“So, let me get this right.” There was no escaping that Farthing was angry. “My sister is captured by slavers, and the only reason anyone agreed to help me was because she happens to be with a forgotten queen? So, if that hadn’t had been the case, I would still be banging my head in a hole in Wead while my sister was facing life as a slave!”
“No, that is not it,” Weasel was emphatic. “I agreed to help before I knew anything about this. Trust me, you paying my bar bill off was not a factor. But I think Geezen used it as an unnecessary bargaining chip with Fren-Eirol; she would have helped anyway.”
“Doesn’t look like that from where I am standing.”
“Well, it should!” Weasel’s patience was getting thin with everyone. “That dragon would lay her life on the line for you and Mistry; she has done several times already. If it were just about the Cwendrina, we could have left you two with Sirrupp and come and done the job ourselves. But that was not the deal. From the very start, it has been about both girls, not one with the other one thrown in. So, get that through your thick head, because your arguments are not helping!” Farthing was close to storming out of the upstairs room where they had come to discuss their plans, but Mistry put a hand on his arm.
“He is right. Fren-Eirol has been there for you and me, time after time. You know it too.” Farthing sat down quietly, still angry, but at himself, not just the secrets that were coming out.
“However, that still does not tell me why this archaic title still has relevance,” Weasel continued. “We are going to try to rescue her anyway, and at the moment, as far as I am concerned, Farthing’s sister has first billing, if for no other reason than I have just spent the last few weeks with her brother who I now regard as a friend!”
Farthing looked up in surprise. Once again, he found that he had misread this most irritating of people. Sen-Liana sighed and sat down, looking so much older than the proud lady who had ridden down to their aid on the back of the mightiest dragon on Dirt.
“Two things are important,” she said. “Firstly, the sea dragons swore an oath of protection to this girl’s great, great, quite frankly I do not know how many greats, great-grandmother, the then Cwendrina. Sea dragons do not break oaths, however ridiculously long ago they are.”
“I know about the oath, mother, but it is a stupid reason for people to put their life on the line for someone who wouldn’t even be remembered by my father, if he were still alive.” Weasel had told the others about his little revelation when they arrived. “I guarantee you that most sea dragons will see this almost as myth. It is all so old.”
“I agree, the oath is not enough, though it is enough for the dragons, and there is nothing we can do about that. But there is another reason, which worries me. In the Western Prelates beyond the Western Alps, there are those that cling to ancient feudal ideals. Some of these are
“Have these people got anything going for them, or are they just another faction?” Mab-Tok asked. He had an insatiable curiosity for all things political.
“If you mean are they powerful? Yes, they are. Eafa, you know all this, you were brought up in Tepid Lakes on their border. They are like something from the ancient past over there. To a greater extent, they have been isolationists.”
“I haven’t lived there for centuries. So, again, what has this to do with this Precious Hearting?” Weasel asked his mother.
“I cannot claim vast knowledge, son, but in the last few centuries, the old Heinela families have risen to power again. If they discover the bloodline of the Cwendrina still exists, then that might unite them.”
“Geezen thinks the girl has no idea who she is. For that matter, Fren-Eirol didn’t know a thing until Geezen told her.”
“Who is this Geezen?” Weasel’s mother asked him.
“Sort of old friend of everybody. She is a midwife who never lets go. Spanked this one and his sister into the world and half of Wead-Wodder too, if I am any judge, and never lets any of them forget it.” Weasel sat on a chair at the big dining table and stretched. He had spent two nights watching Fren-Eirol, giving whatever aid he could to the white dragons, and was shattered.
“Why didn’t the Prelate send a search party for his daughter?” Sen-Liana looked perplexed.
“No idea, though the two never got on,” Weasel said. “Her mother died in childbirth and he ordered the child to be killed he was so upset. Geezen stepped in and persuaded him he was being stupid, but the damage was done.”
“But still,” his mother pulled a face. “To know she has been kidnapped by slavers and do nothing? That is extreme.”
“Well, that is all I know. Anyway, with any luck, he is going to get her back, whether he likes it or not.” The magician chuckled at his own sarcasm.
“Whatever the background, the girl is dangerous enough that this Geezen, and I suppose a whole line of people she is connected to somehow, has kept this part of the bloodline protected and hidden.” Sen-Liana rose from her chair with a creek, grabbed hold of Mab-Tok’s arm and leant on him. “I have missed you around here, you know?” She smiled at the dragon.
“You have had my brother here.”
“Lovely boy, but he is too tall and doesn’t fit in the kitchen.” She turned back to her son. “Our millennia old arguments aside, Eafa, you still have to rescue the girls which I think is difficult enough. Then you have to get them back across Bind and over the Yonder Sea with potentially one very wealthy and ungrateful Belin Tekkinmod on your tail. Added to that, you may have the problem of who the girl is. Eafa, you are going to need help, and at least I can help with the rescue.”
“How?”
“I will know more when Eofin gets back with Be-Inua, a Draig yr Anialr.”
“Eofin? My brother? Please, no!”
“No, you fool. There was nothing long-lived about any of the family other than you and I. This is your nephew, Eofin, allowing for several generations.”
“Oh, no, not another one calling me uncle!”
“Who is the other?”
“Moppy. She is my niece, according to Geezen. Actually, I think she is right; she has inherited Beala’s forgiving nature.”
“Your sister was the only person who ever listened to you.”
“I know, mother, she was one of the good ones.”
Farthing had had enough of this maddening history lesson. “When do we go?” he said, standing up.
“As soon as Eofin gets back with more information. Tomorrow late, I am hoping.” Sen-Liana turned to Mistry. “And you have something you need to do too, I believe.”
“Mab-Lotok will take me in the morning. It isn’t far.”
“I will come,” Farthing assured her.
“No, Farthing, not this time. I have to do this. Mab-Lotok is going to drop me at the edge of my village and wait for me out of sight.” She put her hand on his arm. “Whatever happens, Johnson, I am not staying there. I know my brothers will not want me, and will just want the farm and my goats. I have no say in the matter. In Tharkness, women are not allowed to own anything. I just want some things from the house, and must tell the neighbours about my father.”
Farthing looked over to the taller Draig Bach-Iachawr, standing slightly stooped with his head between the rafters of the high ceiling. The dragon nodded his head slightly in understanding. He would watch out for the girl. Sen-Liana took Farthing by the hand.
“I know you are frustrated and angry, lad,” she said quietly but firmly. “But if we do not do things in the right way now, your sister will be in even more danger, and that means we have to plan. You and your friends will not be going alone. I am sending others with you and my son, and that will give you the chance that otherwise I fear you would not have. It will still be dangerous; have no illusions about that.”
Farthing looked down at the ancient hands holding his own. He didn’t really understand what was going on between her and Weasel, but in her eyes, he saw the same thing he saw in Fren-Eirol and in Geezen. He could trust her.
“Lotok, now!” Mistry came careering out of the village dragging a huge sack clanking and clunking across the ground. “We have to go, right now!” Behind her, three men were giving chase, shouting at her to behave and stop, but they skidded to a halt when the oversized Draig Bach-Iachawr stepped out from behind a tree and roared, his eyes blazing. Mistry jumped in surprise and then scampered around to his back and threw herself into her saddle, dragging the large sacking bag after her. “Go, go, go, go! They want to marry me off!”
“What?”
“Just go!”
The dragon span around as the men recovered from their surprise. He ran ten paces with them on his tail, while Mistry pulled the bag clear of his wings, then spreading them wide, he leapt into the air. He flew up straight a hundred feet then turned and dived back toward the men. They slid to a halt, took one look at the dragon diving towards them with talons extended, and ran like fat gazelles back into the village. Mab-Lotok roared with laughter, swooped into the sky, and turned back towards the mountain.
“Who were they?” he called back to the still panting Mistry.
“My brothers and our neighbour,” she shouted back. “Seems like they have been working out a way of taking our land while we were off at the market, and I thought that bloke was our friend! When I turned up saying that dad was dead, they pounced and that pervert of a neighbour said he would take me off their hands as a new wife. Apparently, Tilly, his wife, died a month back. Sad, she was nice. He has to be at least 60 and as greasy as a half-cooked cockerel!”
Mab-Lotok chuckled at the description but then felt Mistry begin to shake and heard her sobbing. Below, he saw a small isolated clearing in the thick forest that separated the mountains from the farms. They were a fair distance from the village already and there was no trail here, so he landed. Mistry slid off his back, sat on the ground and wept, her face buried in her hands.
“That was my home!” she cried at him. The dragon leant down and held her hand.
“I know, Mistry. I know.” He said no more, there was little he could say, so he sat by her side and let her cry it all out till she could cry no more. They sat for another half-hour in silence.
“Shall I take you to the Abbey now?” he asked gently. “People are waiting for you there.”
Mistry nodded and glanced over at her big sack. She opened it and emptied it out onto the grass. There were some pots, a couple of boxes, some tools and wooden cheese moulds, a bundle of c
“That is all I really need. The rest can stay in the past.”
“What is the box?”
“My father made it for me when I was little to keep my jewellery in. We could never afford any and it is empty, but it has him inside somewhere.” She tucked it into her shirt and threw the small bundle of clothes over her shoulder. “Come on,” she said as she climbed onto the dragon and sat in the small saddle. When Mab-Lotok flew up into the sky and to the mountains, she didn’t even look back.
Weasel eyed his distant nephew suspiciously, waiting for the inevitable “uncle” reference, but it hadn’t come yet. The tall, tough, man in his middle years had merely shaken his hand and then walked to the dining table and laid out a map.
“You are lucky,” Eofin said. “Tekkinmod’s hall is not far from the edge of Great Plains, but it is in a steep, unforgiving gorge. The man is arrogant, by all accounts, and the people of that part of Wessen are afraid of him, while they owe him both loyalty and their livelihoods. In consequence, this is no fortress, though men are guarding the building which is difficult to get to.”
“Can you just attack it?” Sen-Liana asked.
“Not easily, great mother. It is very narrow and dark. To be honest, I have no idea why anyone would want to live in such a dismal place. There is not much room to turn in there, as Be-Inua pointed out, so it gives him some protection, just enough to get the Dummerholes in and out. There are two of them and they are kept in the open, but one of them is wearing heavy leathers, so I assume that he is used as a fighter and not for riding. He will be unpredictable. Horrible, and so against everything that is a true Calliston. So, either way, stealth would be better.”
“A distraction might be good,” Weasel suggested, studying the map. “I assume that when it comes to stealth, you think that we should break into the building. That would limit us to just humans, but if those dummerholes were lured away and some of the men followed, then that might make life easier.”
Eofin shook his head. “Dummerholes do not lure, you beat them into action. To be honest, if we pull a trick like that, then they are going to know that something is up and will be protecting the girls and other valuables. If the girls are redheads as you describe, this man Tekkinmod will think of them as his most prized possession. Talking of which, he is not there, at least not yet, but he is due back in the next few days from the ices; he has been hunting up there. So, hopefully, that means the girls will still be untouched.”
“How did you find this out?” Weasel was impressed by Eofin.
“They are in a barren gorge and they have to buy everything in. I went and sold them two dozen chickens.”
Weasel barked out a laugh. “Why chickens?”
“Well, to start with my father was a cook, so I knew what I was talking about, and secondly, kitchen staff can never keep their mouths shut.” He grinned.
“If not a direct attack, what do you want to do?” Sen-Liana had called for tea and was pouring it out into beautiful ceramic mugs. Weasel had to admit that his mother’s life here was far from a hermit in a ruin, and he almost envied her.
“I can’t pull the chicken trick again, but we could get in at night if the Draig Bach-Iachawr can drop us on the cliff above the building and we rope down. There is a ledge that might just be big enough, but it is a long drop. Getting back out might need to be more direct, however, and maybe your distraction idea could play a part there.”
“You mean fight our way out?” Weasel liked a good fight, but he also like stacked odds that were in his favour. This sounded the wrong way around.
“If once we are inside their attention could be drawn, then we can get onto the roof of the building and that would allow the Draig yr Anialr to come and grab us.”
“Us?”
“Two is not enough, uncle, and it will need three or four of us I reckon.” Weasel tried not to wince as his nephew nailed him into the uncle-shaped box.
“Who?”
“You and Farthing, myself and one of my men; Gellin, probably. He is young, fast and an amazing climber.”
“Why Farthing? He is strong, but he is no fighter.”
“This is to rescue his sister and the Prelates daughter. This should be his undertaking and so he needs to be there. The dragons will prefer that.”
“Who are these other men, Eofin?” Weasel asked suspiciously.
“My family have been living at Ponack in the Sand Hills for ten generations, Eafa, working closely with the Draig yr Anialr. We often offer protection for the Pharsil-Hin and their caravans across the Eastern Plains. The entire plain and the desert are peppered with different bandit groups, often allied to the Keffra-See in An-Hellern, and there is no law there. The Nomads, who are the eldest of the people of the plains, often get caught up in minor wars or just get attacked for being in the way. They pay us to protect them.”
Weasel sighed. “I am so out of touch with Bind and I am sorry Eofin. Your people have a long and noble history, but I had no idea that Ponack in the Sand Hills still existed. How many are there of you here?”
“Ten riders and ten dragons.”
“You still call yourselves riders? I often hoped the traditions with the Draig yr Anialr had survived.”
“The Draig yr Anialr have no interest in the politics and gossip that so obsess the Draig Morglas and Draig Mynyth Coh, Eafa,” his mother explained. “I doubt you ever saw them in Taken.”
“No, I didn’t. One thing concerns me,” Weasel said, running his finger over the map. “You are going to use the Draig Bach-Iachawr to get us onto the ledge at night because of their good night sight, which counts Mab-Lotok out, by the way.”
“There are a few others of his size here,” his nephew supplied.
“But assuming that works, and we rope down to the house and get the girls, then your big desert dragons will have to fly down a narrow gorge in the dark and pluck us off a roof.”
“Yes, that is a problem.” Eofin looked thoughtful. “We don’t need much light, so as long as we can do this at dawn or maybe just before, they should be fine.”
“Then we rope down onto the roof at night so they can’t see us up on the ledge, and we wait till just before dawn to rescue the girls. Will the others be able to see us from somewhere when we climb back to the roof?”
“You will see it for yourself. The opposite wall of the gorge is inaccessible without an arduous climb except to anything that flies, and we can see straight down to the building from there. We will gather there first, then it is a short flight across to deliver us to the ledge on the other side, and my flight can fly straight down to pick us up. I have an idea about that distraction. At the north end of the Eastern Plains, it is very rocky, and we have found that dropping bags of rocks on people is a really good way of dissuading them from attacking. So, if we collect some big rocks that the dragons can drop on the fighting calliston,”
“Then if you upset him enough, he should become uncontrollable.” Weasel grinned.
“If we do that at dawn, they won’t know what the hell is going on.”
“Have they got dragons?”
“What, with dummerholes? What dragon would work for them?” It was true enough. There may be arguments about whether dragons and callistons were in fact related, but when it came to dummerholes, they were brothers in arms. No dragon would work for someone who went around performing frontal lobotomies on their relations. Weasel tapped the map and ran his finger around the thumbnail sketch of Tekkinmod’s hall.
“So, that only leaves where in the hall the girls are.”
“That was the easiest to find out, though it gives you the biggest problem,” Eofin said with a frown. “They are being kept in a room right next to the kitchen. They were taken water while I was there and I cou
Weasel bit his lip in annoyance and then a wicked smile crossed his face. “I need a chat with Mab-Tok,” he said. “I think the kitchen staff will need to have an unexpected problem with the quality of the water supply.” Eofin and Sen-Liana looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Farthing had been taken through every step of the plan by Weasel and it had lifted his mood enormously; he had actually slept well the previous night. Mistry had not wanted to talk about what had happened in the village though Mab-Lotok had given a few sketchy details. She had spent the night with Fren-Eirol while Sen-Liana had forced Weasel to go to his room and sleep properly. Come morning, Fren-Eirol had made it clear to her that she was not part of the rescue. “If I cannot be there to protect you,” she had said, “you are not going.” Mistry’s protests were ignored by the stubborn dragon, but with little sleep and the abrupt way her previous life had ended still haunting her, she gave in quickly. Farthing had left her with the sea dragon and the immense black dragon who was still refusing to leave Fren-Eirol’s side.
Farthing was now sitting on one of the great Draig yr Anialr, the desert dragons who coexisted with humans in the far north of the Eastern Plains, the vast, arid tract of land that made up the eastern third of the continent of Bind. In many ways, these desert dragons reminded him of sea dragons. They were of similar size though much slimmer on the back and extraordinarily graceful and powerful. Their colouring was mostly a sandy-tan with distinctive cream markings on their heads and bellies. They came across as a fearsome people and wore oothen hides for protection, and leather decorations around their horns and bodies. There was no doubt that they were prepared for a fight. Farthing sat on a hide into which had been stitched intricate patterns that depicted ancient stories, the dragon had told him. He had to admit the straps and ties of the hide made flying a lot easier than on Fren-Eirol, but promised himself he would never tell her that.
The inhospitable country of Great Plains was laid out below him like a map. It was a stony scrubland and with few trees and no forests. There was little to offer relief to the dry grass of the near flat expanse that spread across the one hundred leagues between the farmlands of Tharkness at the foot of the Black Hills and the dramatic wall of the North Hoar Ridge. Cut through the middle like a wound was a broad, fast river, a pale blue strip fed from the glaciers of the far Hoar North and the rains that plagued the ridges of Wessen. A chill wind blew across the plain, and the talkative dragon Be-Elin warned him the mountains of the ridge were colder than the Black Hills. He was glad for the warm riding leathers that she had given him to wear.
They were a flight of fifteen dragons and six humans. Mab-Tok and three other, larger Draig Bach-Iachawr flew solo, their sole purpose to ferry the four rescuers across the gorge at night using their better night sight. The ten Draig yr Anialr, four without riders, would take the fight to the dummerhole and any men in the gorge, and would collect the rescuers and the girls from the rooftop. The last dragon, riding behind Weasel, was the small Draig Wen, who had taken it upon herself to fetch and carry for the magician, much to the amusement of many of the others. It had taken a while to coax a name out from her as the small white dragons did not have a need for them when conversing among themselves in their chattering language or with the black dragons. She had admitted that she had always liked the name Lilygwin which was a small-flowered white herb that grew everywhere and was used in medicines and cooking across Dirt. So, Lilygwin or Lily, she had become. Her role was simple and, hopefully, unnecessary. If it all went wrong, she would summon the massive black dragon, Bell-Sendinar.
The wall of the North Hoar Ridge grew in height and breadth as they flew fast and low across Great Plains, pacing themselves for the sake of the slower, smaller dragons. Called simply the North Wall by the locals, it was well named; a jagged, unrelenting cliff up to three and a half thousand feet high and backed by mountains of ten thousand. Farther north, the mountains became higher still; an alpine range that included the remote Mount Wesser, sometimes known as the Black Mountain, the tallest mountain in Bind. Some said it was the home of the black dragons.
Farthing watched the young woman who was riding another of the dessert dragons to his right, leaning forward into the wind, her hair, decorated with leather strips and beads, blowing out behind her. She was one of the nomadic people, the Pharsil-Hin, that this band of warriors strove to protect. Her skin was ebony and her hair black, though she wore the leather of the riders and not the clothes of her people. Farthing was reminded of the woman they had seen at the slave market with sadness. This was a mixed band; drawn together by a bond each had developed with the dessert dragons. There was a closeness between peoples here that Farthing found difficult to fathom, an understanding between species that would have seemed impossible had he not seen glimpses in the relationship between Weasel and Fren-Eirol. They were helping him to rescue his sister, a person they did not know, the sister of someone they knew little about, and they did it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, no questions asked. So natural was it that he had feared to ask them why because it might sound stupid or worse, offensive.
“When we reach the wall,” Be-Elin called to him, “we will be flying very close to the rocks. Do not shift around so I have the freedom to move quickly and efficiently.”
“Am I sitting forward enough for your wings?” he called back to her. “You are different to Fren-Eirol.”
“Ah, you are used to this, then. My apologies for instructing you, Johnson Farthing.”
“Please, just call me Farthing, and yes, we have come from The Prelates with Fren-Eirol. I am no expert, but I have flown as high as the Scimra and as low as we are now.”
“Then you have flown far more than many who are not of Ponack, Farthing, and I am glad to be flying with you!”
Farthing put his hand on the dragon’s neck to thank her for her kindness as he did with Fren-Eirol. The dragon glanced back in surprise. A rumble coursed through her body and she wriggled her shoulders a little. Farthing sat up fearing he had done something wrong, but the young dragon carrying the nomad woman burst out laughing.
“Oh, you are in big trouble now, mate. Be-Elin is purring!”
“Shut up, Mab-Abin!” Be-Elin snapped testily, and then apologised for her rudeness to Farthing.
They were certainly an interesting people these desert dragons, Farthing noted, but he suspected that in the morning when they confronted Tekkinmod’s men, he would see a very different side to their nature.
The dragon carrying Weasel pulled in alongside and the magician pointed at the high cliff, now but minutes away.
“Familiar?” Weasel shouted over to him from two wingspan’s distance.
Farthing waved yes and pointed upwards. “Updraughts?”
“Probably,” the magician called back and then shouted something to the dragon he rode. The dragon said something back and the magician smiled. “He says yes; so hang on!”
Farthing grinned and settled himself tightly and neatly on Be-Elin’s back. She laughed in approval and changed her inclination so she was flying at the cliff head-on; the other dragons in the flight followed suit. Just as she reached the cliff, she billowed out her wings and the vacuum created when the wind blew down across the cliff top and out across the plain, sucked them straight up and over the cliff with a whoosh. Farthing gasped and then yelled in glee. Ahead of him, Eofin and Be-Inua had already landed on a grassy area, and the others gathered around them.
“From here it is only five leagues to the gorge, but it is rough going,” Be-Inua warned. “I am worried about noise, so we will spread out and not all arrive at once. Sound carries over these mountains far too easily, so no talking, Be-Elin!” The young dragon huffed, and despite the seriousness of the moment, Farthing chuckled and whispered his thanks to the dragon for having ch
One by one, they took flight again, but this time, they left a good minute or so between each of them, and silently twisted and turned their way through the crags. It was a short flight, but a difficult one, and Farthing found himself concentrating, trying to predict which way Be-Elin would turn next. When they landed a little way back from the cliff, Be-Elin turned her head and blinked a silent thank you to him. He bowed back to her with thanks of his own, then quietly slid down off her back and made his way to where Eofin lay, looking down into the gorge.
As soon as he looked over the edge, he realised why they needed to be so quiet. It was five hundred feet down to the road leading to Tekkinmod’s hall, but it was patrolled, and there was no foliage to deaden any sounds. He could hear the men below talking, but he could not make out what they were saying. Weasel lay next to them as did Gellin. Without using words, Eofin pointed out the hall and the ledge that was a good three hundred feet up a sheer face above the roof. The hall was long and narrow, a plain, stark structure, built partway into the rock. The top floor was smaller than those below, but it had a wide paved terrace around it and a flat roof immediately below the ledge far above. Farthing guessed that these were Tekkinmod’s private quarters. Below that were two other floors and an extension at ground level housing the kitchen. Below that, down a few steps at the nearest end of the building, was the bottom of the gorge, and standing there, chained, were two huge callistons.
Farthing had never seen one of the beasts before and he was shocked. They had to be three times the size of Fren-Eirol, and stood upon four huge legs making their forearms look tiny, though in reality they were much bigger than his own. They were thicker set than the flying dragons and had a long, low-slung shape with broad backs and relatively short necks. The heads did look very similar to dragons, although they had shorter snouts and were much wider. One of the callistons was draped in a massive hide, reminiscent of that worn by Be-Elin, and the other was covered in thick leather armour and wore a leather helmet covered with vicious looking spikes. This must be the one trained to fight, and Farthing would not want to be near that beast when it lost control.
Eofin waved them back from the edge and they crept quietly to a sheltered area where the dragons had gathered. He took out a skin of water and they shared it between them.
“We will have a cold camp here, and in the early hours, the four Draig Bach-Iachawr will take us across to the ledge. We should sort out our ropes now so we are ready.
“Where is Mab-Tok?” Farthing asked, looking around.
“He is scouting farther up the gorge to get a better idea of where they are flying since it will be pitch dark.” He pointed up. “No moons tonight, which is both good and not so good. We will be abseiling down the cliff in almost total darkness and it is a long drop.” He turned to his uncle. “Eafa, great mother told me of a trick you could do when you were young with gauging distances. Can you work out how far it is from the ledge to the roof?”
“I had forgotten that; yes, I can. Why?”
“I can then tie knots in the rope, and in the dark, we will know how far down the cliff we are.”
It was an ingenious idea and Weasel crept to the edge and made his estimate, then they sat and ate a cold supper and made up their ropes. When Mab-Tok returned, Eofin gathered them around again.
“When we land on the ledge, our friends here will hold the ropes while we climb down. We are only using two ropes so each one is being held by two dragons. We can’t risk nailing in pitons because of the noise.” They had spoken about this already before they left in the morning, but Eofin had years of experience as Dragon Leader at Ponack, and if he felt it necessary to repeat instructions, then Farthing was not going to object. His heart raced as he looked across to the cliff edge. He knew he was tall and strong, but he was no fighter, and he had never put himself in danger like this. Eofin turned to the small dragons.
“Once we are down, coil the ropes back up quietly then head straight to the Black Hills. Once we have the girls, we need to get out of here as high and fast as we can. There will be no need to hide our presence at that point and you will be unable to keep up. The Draig yr Anialr are the fastest of all the dragons, outside of the black dragons,” Eofin added for Farthing’s benefit. “Even a large sea dragon like Fren-Eirol would be unable to keep pace with them.”
Everything agreed, Farthing settled himself against a rock next to Be-Elin and closed his eyes. He was certain he would not manage to sleep much, but he would grab what he could. Tomorrow he would see his sister again for the first time in weeks. In their entire lives, they had never been separated for much more than a day and always knew where each other was. It was the constant that kept them strong. He hated to think how his sister had fared and what he would find.