Dark Wyng

  All around, the Kaal looked on in shock.

  Ty was standing nearest to the body, waiting for it to twitch no more. His clothes above his waist were in some disarray, suggesting he and Bryndle had wrestled before a blow was struck.

  Ren stood up and ran at him. “This was done by your foul hand!”

  Mell dashed forward and placed herself between them, barely able to hold her son back. “No, Ren. Hold your wrath. Ty struck in our defense. A red fury had taken hold of Bryndle. He came vowing death on all in this shelter. See the cut in the flap where his blade first struck. Ty wrested the ax from his grip, but Bryndle raised a knife and flew at him again. What was Ty to do?” Mell turned to the crowd. “All of you standing here witnessed this. I say again, what was Ty to do?”

  A voice frail with fear called out, “Be gone, dark one!”

  Ren thought he heard an old man mutter the word demon.

  Despite this, Ren continued his argument. “He called me villain. Why? What had I done to anger him so?”

  “Walk away,” Ty hissed. He turned his back.

  Ren pushed his mother aside. “Are you what they call you, demon? Speak, Tywyll. Is Shade my father’s whinney enchanted?”

  “What?” said Mell.

  Ty stopped, mid-walk. “I told you to walk away, boy.”

  “Nay. I would hear about Wind,” Ren said.

  At the same time, a crow called out.

  Ty whipped around and looked to the skies.

  Someone screamed. Everywhere, eyes widened in fear. Fingers pointed at spaces in the clouds. Children started to howl and cry. Mutts whined and folded their ears. A harsh wind blew across the settlement, bowing every blade of grass in its path. Shadows as large as a shelter swept the erth. The air became less pleasant to breathe.

  Ren, said Grystina. The Wearle is coming.

  Feet stumbled before they ran. This way. That way. Crossing the paths of their own terror. Only Ren and Ty and Mell stood their ground. Mell shuffled closer to Ren, quaking as she gripped his arm for protection. Boom! Boom! The erth shuddered and cracked as one by one the skalers landed, creating a churning turbulence. One shelter was caught by an accidental wing that showered mud and thatch across the clearing. The crows dispersed like a flurry of embers. Six or more skalers formed a circle, bounding Ren and those who stood with him. Mell’s hair whipped across her face as she spun and looked at each beast in turn. “R-Ren?” She was white with fear.

  He too was turning, picking out the faces behind the fangs, wondering if he had any friends among them, wondering what it meant for him if he didn’t.

  He had his answer soon enough.

  The flat of an isoscele came down with a bone-crunching thwack! on his shoulder. “Surrender, boy, or lose your head.”

  Gallen. Who else?

  Ren’s heart slumped.

  He raised his hands slowly—a prisoner of the Veng once more.

  “No!” screamed Mell.

  Though she could not know what Gallen had said, she could see the sharp edge of his isoscele and no doubt feared the worst for Ren. She flung herself at Gallen’s tail and foolishly tried to beat it away.

  The commander’s battle stigs immediately went back.

  “Ma, no!”

  Too late the cry. With a click, Gallen opened his tail spikes.

  Mell gasped as a spike sliced into her hand, pinning it to the tail like a floating leaf.

  Ren made to move, but the weight of the isoscele and the keenness of its edge held him steady.

  It was left to Ty to go to Mell’s aid.

  “Mercy,” he said to Gallen.

  The Veng tilted his head as if his ears were deceiving him. Ren also blinked in surprise. He’d heard the word as clearly as the dragons had. Ty had called for mercy.

  In dragontongue.

  Ty gripped Mell’s wrist and with a rocking motion pulled her clear of the spike. Her thin flesh ripped against the spike’s serrations, spurting blood into the air. She screamed and fell into Ty’s arms, weeping in agony. He supported her as she dropped to her knees. With a calm, strong hand, he tore a piece of cloth from Bryndle’s robe and began to wrap it around Mell’s injury.

  Ren’s mind was now in terrible conflict. For here was his mother, cruelly injured, yet tended by a man who spoke in dragontongue and called himself Tywyll. He found the word playing across his lips again as Gallen instructed a purple roamer to come forward and pick Ren up.

  Louder, said Grystina. Make them hear.

  “TYWYLL!” Ren shouted. He slanted his gaze and pointed at Ty.

  The roamer gave a start.

  Ty calmly continued to bandage Mell.

  Ren began to fidget like an irritated buzzer. Had Ty not heard him? Did the man not see the danger he was in? Did he have no fear?

  Gallen gave an irritated grunt and ordered the bewildered roamer to continue.

  It was De:allus Garodor who said, “Wait.”

  The roamer paused again.

  Gallen gave an irritated hiss. “My orders were to seize the boy if we found him here.”

  “And we will,” said Garodor, “after we hear why he spoke as he did. Well, boy?”

  Ren gulped and leaned away from the heavy isoscele. Sudden, angry movements made the scale rub dangerously close to a cut. “The girl,” he panted, in reply to Garodor’s question. His eyes flickered left and right for Pine. She was nowhere to be seen.

  She is here, said Grystina. I sense her, watching. She sits astride Shade, hidden from the dragons.

  “What girl?” the De:allus growled.

  “A companion. She … rides with him.” Why did Pine not show herself? “She identifies this Hom by the dark name ‘Tywyll.’”

  A light green dragon closest to Garodor made a noise like a startled whinney. It stood back a little and squirted some dung.

  Gallen’s snort of impatience smoked the whole area. “It’s a Hom,” he said, gesturing at Ty. “Kill it. In any way you choose. That’s an order.”

  “Wait,” the De:allus said once more.

  The roamer rocked back, retracting its claws.

  Garodor came forward and snorted at Ty. “You. Stand.”

  Ty stroked Mell’s arm and rose to his full height. He looked scathingly at Gallen and wafted away the Veng’s bitter smoke. He turned to face the De:allus.

  “How do you know our tongue?”

  Ty bowed his head. “I have traveled far.”

  So calm, thought Ren. So certain of himself in front of a beast many times his size. “Beware! He has enchantments upon him.”

  He was silenced by a flex of Gallen’s tail.

  “The boy mistrusts me,” Ty continued, staring into Garodor’s half-lidded eyes. “He believes he is the only Hom on this planet able to communicate with the heirs of Godith.” He paused while Garodor took this in. “Unless your ears deceive you, the boy is mistaken.”

  Much to Gallen’s muted pleasure, Garodor brought his tail around and put his isoscele under Ty’s chin. “Traveled? Where?”

  “About,” Ty answered. “These mountains are a speck upon the rest of this world. You are not the first of your kind to visit.”

  Garodor’s eyes shined a little keener, inviting Ty to keep on talking.

  “I speak not of this Wearle or the one that came before it. I speak of dragons from centuries past.”

  “Don’t listen to him!” cried Ren. “He’s—”

  But this time Garodor nodded at Gallen, who was only too pleased to turn his isoscele and strike the side of Ren’s head, a blow so firm it brought Ren to his knees. Mell scrambled over and cradled him against her. She spat at Gallen, who paid her no heed.

  “You are well informed—for a Hom,” said Garodor, instinctively revealing his fangs at Ty. “The name. How do you come to be called what you are? Answer me well or my angry companion will gladly flame you.”

  Ty reached up slowly and touched his black hair. “Among my kind, it describes my appearance. An uncommon name, yes. But a name, noth
ing more.”

  “He’s lying,” said Ren, coughing blood onto the erth. “He seeks to deceive you. He commands a wyng of crows and plans to steal Grogan’s heart.”

  And to Grystina, he added: My patience with Gallen wears thin.

  Be calm, she advised. Do not distract the De:allus from Ty.

  Garodor looked into Ty’s dark eyes, twisting the tip of his isoscele enough to lift the man’s chin as far as it would stretch. “You stand accused, Tywyll. What answer do you give?”

  “I say these words sound harsh,” Ty gurgled, “coming from a boy who speaks ill of your Prime. He speaks low of me because he is threatened. I rode here on a noble quest. I planned to parley for the heart, not steal it.”

  “Why?”

  “Such gems are prized. A dragon heart has healing properties.”

  “He makes bold that he can open it,” said Ren. He pulled a loose tooth and looked again for Pine. Still the girl was nowhere to be seen.

  “They’re traitors. Both of them,” Gallen growled. “I say we put an end to this here and be done.”

  But Garodor’s thought-filled silence suggested killing was far from his mind. “Take them both to the mountains.” He pulled his isoscele away.

  “No!” cried Ren. “That’s what he wants! Gallen’s right. Kill him while you have the chance!”

  “Take them,” the De:allus repeated quietly.

  The purple roamer stepped forward again and clamped Ty nervously in its claws.

  “Get up,” hissed Gallen, giving Ren a kick. “Our new De:allus sees fit to postpone your overdue departure from life. Get up, boy. Now. And don’t even think about phasing or I’ll feed this woman to your favorite wearlings.”

  “No!” screamed Mell, as Ren began to separate from her.

  Ren held her off. “Ma, I must go. I will avenge the hurt they have caused you, I swear.”

  He glared harshly at Gallen. But reprisals, if they came at all, would not come that day.

  With a grip that could squeeze the air from a stone, Gallen snatched Ren up in his claws. And the dragons left as they had first arrived, in a cloud of dust and air, sweeping their giant shadows over the fading Kaal settlement.

  “You are seriously beginning to irritate me, boy.” Prime Grynt was leaning over Ren’s body, close enough to skewer a fang into his neck should Ren attempt to scrabble away. “I have a mind to slice you in half and feed a piece each to Grendel’s wearlings.”

  “Then you’ll learn nothing,” Ren said angrily. He was on his knees in Grynt’s eyrie, just the Prime and De:allus Garodor with him, plus a couple of guards at either side of the cave mouth. Gallen, having dropped him, had flown away to reassess his security network. “Where is Ty?”

  “Under guard, with the other Hom,” said Garodor.

  “Rolan? Is he hurt?” Ren raised his head. He wiped a little snot away from his nose.

  “No, but he will be,” Grynt put in, “unless you answer Garodor’s questions.”

  Ren slanted his gaze toward the De:allus. “If you’re half as smart as Graymere was, you’ll understand the danger you’re in.”

  Grynt snarled again and pushed his snout so close to Ren’s face that Ren could feel the heat drying up the spiker wounds. “Curb your tongue, boy. The De:allus, as I’m sure you’re aware, is more lenient than myself or Veng Commander Gallen. He takes pleasure in understanding your scheming Hom mind. But mark me well, he’ll slit your throat if I order him to, always assuming I don’t cut you first. I hear the word vengeance in Gallen’s reports and find myself wondering how long it would take the small animals of this planet to clean your scrawny carcass off the mountainside.”

  Ren turned his face away, fighting to keep his anger in check. “You’re wasting time. Ty plots against you. He wants Grogan’s heart, but I don’t know why.”

  “Was it you who taught him dragontongue?” Garodor asked.

  “No.”

  “Then how does he know it?”

  “I don’t know. Mebbe he told the truth. Mebbe there were other dragons here before you.”

  “Is that possible?” said Grynt.

  Garodor cleared his spiracles. As usual, he gave a knowledgeable answer, though Ren thought he noted a measure of uncertainty in the De:allus. “There have always been rumors of unauthorized fire stars. It’s not inconceivable that a rogue Wearle found this place and settled for a while. There was a lot of movement across the universe before the Higher established the voyaging laws.”

  “Then why have we seen no evidence of them?”

  “It’s possible we haven’t encountered them yet; the recent battles with the goyles have depleted your numbers and stopped the mappers exploring widely. The planet is large, remember.”

  Ren shook his head and laughed at them. “Ty is sly. As dark as his name suggests. He enchants all he meets yet kills without feeling. I tell you he is plotting something. He stole the spirit of my father’s whinney. How could you bring such a creature among you?”

  “Whinney?” Grynt twisted a nostril.

  “The Hom name for a horse,” Garodor translated. “Explain yourself, boy. What do you mean, he stole the beast’s spirit?”

  Ren put his hands to his hair and found it matted with dirt and blood. For once in his life he ached to wash it. It was barely white anymore. “Pine, the girl I spoke of at the settlement, took two whinneys to Bryndle Woodknot, the man Ty murdered, for feed and care. Bryndle saw a mark on the leg of Ty’s whinney that showed it to be my father’s old ride. Yet my father told me Wind was dead. And now she returns—with a twisting horn full out of her head.”

  “You’ve seen this beast?” Grynt asked the De:allus.

  “No,” said Garodor, tightening his eye ridges. “A mistake on my part. I will seek out the girl when this is done and bring the beast here.” He turned back to Ren and changed the subject. “Tell me about the cave.”

  Ren looked up. Each scaled head was twice the size of his puny chest. He had never felt quite so small in front of the dragons before. “Cave?”

  “The place where your ill-fated friends slew a Veng.”

  “Speak,” said Grynt, flashing a claw, just to remind Ren his life was on the line.

  With a tingle of fear in his voice, Ren said, “My father and others were journeying there to raise two resting darkeyes against you. Their party was attacked and the dragon killed. That’s all I know.”

  “Darkeyes?” Garodor tilted his head.

  “Aye. This is how we called the goyles.”

  “And there were two? In the cave? You’re sure of that?”

  Ren nodded. “Two were spoke of, but none were found.”

  “Go on,” said Garodor.

  Ren lifted his shoulders. What more could he say? The dragons had seen the cave for themselves. “In the end, it were nought but a false quest. My father came home in sweat and torment saying there were no darkeyes there.”

  “That would confirm my findings,” said Garodor, “about the skin deposits.”

  “Skin?” said Ren, glancing at his arm.

  A growl gathered in the back of Grynt’s throat. His anger came down on the boy once more. “Why have you said nothing of these goyles till now?”

  Ren shied away from the heat of Grynt’s breath and the sticky drool leaking off his fierce jaws. He shook his head at the irony of the question. “I tried,” he snarled. “I chanced my way across the scorch line to warn you that my people were planning to turn these creatures against you. Then the battles began and there was no need. If the goyles are all dead, why does this vex you?”

  Garodor flexed his tail. He extended his foreclaws and tapped them together. “The Hom you call Rolan was captured on the hill outside this cave. Why was he there?”

  Ren sighed and scratched the back of his neck, where a nibbler was doing its best to burrow into one of his wounds. So many questions. So much time slipping away. Time that could be spent interrogating Ty. “Rolan had gone with Ty and others to take back the body of Waylen Tr
eader, the man who slew the dragon. But they could not gain passage into the cave. The rest your murdering Veng must know.”

  Despite the rebuke embedded in these words, neither Garodor nor Grynt responded angrily. Grynt merely turned to Garodor and said, “There was no mention of a Hom body in your report.”

  “What?” Ren raised his head, almost twisting his ears like a dragon would. “That cannot be. Waylen were left for dead aside the dragon. I heard this too from my pa’s own mouth.”

  “Could the goyle have eaten it?” Grynt asked.

  Garodor’s bright yellow eyes rolled inward, his gaze focused just beyond the tip of his snout. “There was no evidence of feasting. No Hom remains, but …”

  “No, no,” Ren insisted, as the wind blew around the sides of the eyrie and panic danced in his youthful heart. “I tell you true, there were no goyles.”

  But if that was so, where had the ugly creatures gone? And, more important, where was Waylen? “Let me speak with Rolan,” Ren pleaded again. “If evil was done at that cave, he will know something of it.”

  At last, Garodor agreed. He nodded at Grynt, who barked, “Guard!”

  The roamer on the far right snapped to attention.

  “Find Veng Commander Gallen and tell him to bring the Hom prisoners to me. Quickly.”

  The roamer hurred in acknowledgment, spread its wings, and flew.

  Ren stood up, finding balance difficult. After being slashed by spikers, knocked senseless by an isoscele, and then squeezed like a berry in Gallen’s claws, his body was begging to lie level with the erth. But all the while his mind was buzzing, about Ty, the missing goyles, and not least his perilous promise to Grogan. “Where’s the heart?” he asked. “You must protect Grogan’s heart. If Ty steals it—”

  “No power in this world could release that dragon’s fire,” said Grynt. “And I won’t be distracted by your superstitious babble. The heart will be safe, wherever it’s kept. Even your favorite blue could surely not fail me in that task.”