Dark Wyng

  “I have a question,” said Gabrial, in the silence that followed. “The De:allus said there were two goyles. If one is in the horse, where has the second one gone?”

  Garodor took a measured breath. “I believe it’s in the man we seized at Ren’s settlement.”

  “Ty!” gasped Ren, beginning to understand. He remembered Grystina’s thoughts when she’d met him: I sense more than a man. He shadows his auma and he does it well. “That’s why you didn’t find Waylen’s body! Ty is Waylen, changed by a goyle.”

  “I want that Hom here now,” said Grynt, thumping his tail down hard. The reverberation almost pushed Ren’s stomach through his ribs.

  Garodor looked out at the sky, a puzzled expression challenging his normally composed features. “Didn’t you send word that Gallen should bring him? Shouldn’t the commander be here already?”

  “Something must have happened,” said Gabrial. “We should investigate.” He exchanged an urgent glance with Garodor. Both dragons set themselves for flight.

  “Take me with you!” begged Ren, his senses still rocking with the horror of Garodor’s revelation.

  “Be quiet,” said Grynt. “You’re going nowhere.”

  “Unless it’s off the cliff, with my help,” Gossana muttered.

  “He could be useful,” said Gabrial.

  Garodor agreed. “The blue’s right. We still need to hear what the other Hom knows. And it will work to our advantage if Ty continues to believe that Ren is our prisoner.”

  “He is our prisoner,” Grynt rumbled.

  “You cannot hold me!” Ren snapped back. “I can phase and—”

  His rant quickly ended as a glistening claw pressed under his chin. “You’ve seen enough of us, boy, to know how deep this claw could penetrate. I could scratch out your soft Hom brain before you could even think of phasing.”

  “Prime—?”

  “Be quiet,” Grynt snarled, without looking at Gabrial. Drilling his gaze into Ren, he said, “I’m going to take the advice of my De:allus and give you one last chance to save yourself. You will learn everything this prisoner knows and give the information up to Garodor. Betray us and I’ll come for you myself. Is that clear?”

  Ren gulped and gave the slightest of nods. A greater movement would have lanced his throat.

  Grynt pulled his claw away. “He’s your responsibility,” he said to Gabrial. “Keep that in your impulsive mind.”

  “I will,” said Gabrial. “Ren … ?”

  Ren clambered onto Gabrial’s back.

  “Godith help us,” Gossana said. She looked scathingly at Grynt. “What kind of leader sends a Hom boy in search of a Veng commander? I’m going to my eyrie. I need to rest.”

  With barely a lift of her wings, she dived into the open and was gone.

  As Gabrial and Garodor prepared to do likewise, Ren looked starkly at Grynt and said, “Know this: I never wanted to war with you.”

  And without giving Grynt a chance to respond, he slapped Gabrial’s shoulder.

  And they flew.

  Since the day of his capture, Rolan Woodknot had been held on a steep, stark crag that projected skyward from a singular outcrop high on Mount Vargos. The crag was open to everything the skies could throw at it. An arch-shaped indent close to its base offered meager shelter from the storms that continually battered the crag, but nothing could keep out the biting cold.

  Rolan’s guard, a stout green roamer called Gus, who blended neatly with the dark gray rocks and the withering patches of lichen that grew on them, had kept him fed—or at least had tried to. Throughout the first day, Rolan had shivered with his head against his knees, refusing to look at the long-eared hopper Gus had killed for him. But on the second day, with the threat of malnourishment clawing at his gut, Rolan had turned in desperation to the offering. He had picked up the hopper and held it straddled across his palms. “Can’t eat this!” he’d wailed, spreading his thumb across fang holes stinking of congealing blood. He made biting movements, showing that he wanted to eat, but the kill was too wet, too raw. He opened his hands and dropped the hopper with a splat, gesturing at Gus to say it was useless, even putting out his tongue and making a face the way a moody child might. He let Gus see the blood dripping from his fingers. The dragon tilted its head and made rumbling noises. Hopeless, thought Rolan, and buried his head in his knees again.

  But, amazingly, his captor seemed to understand. Gus had heard from other roamers that the Hom liked to eat their meat hot. So he picked up the hopper and moved it to a flat rock, then roasted it in flame, cooking it in seconds. With a look that suggested his actions were a waste of a perfectly good kill, he tossed the charred hopper back to Rolan. Rolan scrabbled after it. He picked it up at the third attempt, the blood on his fingertips fizzing and bubbling against the heat. He tore away the blackened fur and bit into the sweet, hot muscle underneath, nodding gratefully at Gus as he ripped and chewed. The dragon sniffed and settled back to his duties. Rolan ate on, and learned that day that skalers were not the pitiless brutes he’d always been led to believe. It was a lesson that would come to have serious consequences on the fourth day of his captivity.

  That was the day that another roamer brought Ty to the crag. Rolan leapt up as soon as he saw him. Even before the dragon could drop its cargo, Rolan had picked up a stone and hurled it at the rogue. The stone missed by some way and clattered down the mountain. Gus responded with force, pinning Rolan back against the rocks.

  “Kill him!” Rolan cried, making claw shapes with his hands. “He walks with evil! Kill him! I command you!”

  Raar! Gus bellowed, spraying specks of hot saliva.

  Rolan shrank back in terror, protecting his ears.

  The approaching dragon put Ty down, less than five paces away. It exchanged a few sounds with Gus, then took off, leaving Gus to guard both men.

  Ty, none the worse for being clamped, adjusted his clothing and smiled darkly. Without looking at his fellow prisoner, he said, “We meet again, Rolan Woodknot. I took you for a dead man. Clearly, I was wrong.” He hunched down as comfortably as the space would allow, shaking his dark hair off his shoulders. “A fine view,” he said, panning his gaze across the silent hills.

  “How can you talk of such things?” spat Rolan. He took a threatening step forward, only to be warned away by a low rumble from Gus. The dragon had settled on the peak of the crag, but was ready to intervene at the first sign of trouble. “I saw what you did to Pine. If this beast were not present—”

  “You would throw yourself at me and find yourself dying at the foot of the mountains.” Ty turned his head and looked at him harshly. “Tell me, Rolan. Speak it true: How badly do you want these beasts defeated? How much do you want these mountains returned to the Kaal?”

  “I would pick up these mountains and walk with them before bending my ear to any foul oath of yours. Before my eyes, you slew an innocent child. I will avenge Pine’s spirit if I have to hunt you down in this life or the next.”

  Ty flicked a grain of rock off his knee. “You speak bravely, boy, but your threat has no substance. What you saw by the cave was a change in Pine. She is not dead. Her memories and more still float within her. I opened the vessel that contains her spirit and gave her strength beyond her means. I did the same for Waylen Treader. Look upon me now. Is this not the man you once called friend?”

  And right before Rolan’s astonished eyes, Ty’s dark hair faded to the color of wheat and he changed his features to resemble Waylen’s.

  Rolan was immediately sick to his stomach. He bent forward and retched, coating the crag in a foul yellow slick. Gus snorted impatiently and stretched his neck to see what was happening. Ty, who had transformed for only an instant, pointed the blame at the latest batch of hopper remains, then stared at the sky as if nothing had happened.

  Gus grunted and settled back on his perch.

  “What are you?” growled Rolan, when the bile had ceased to burn his throat.

  “I told you,” said Ty, his
gaze drifting to the far horizon. “I was dragon once, noble, kind of spirit. I was sent from my world to explore this place. We were ordered by our Prime to seek out and mine an ore called fhosforent. Working with the fhosforent changed our nature, mutating us into the form you call ‘darkeye.’ The mutation was harsh, impossible to control. One of our hearts was destroyed in the change, cutting our sacred bond to Godith.”

  “Godith?”

  “The Creator,” Ty answered, growling as his thoughts pored over the word. “She who made dragons in Her i:mage. The mutation turned us against Godith and everything that looked to Her light for guidance. So we fought the i:mage we had once been proud of. We defeated the dragons, leaving two of us surviving.”

  “The two that were tracked to the cave.”

  Ty nodded. “By then we were changing again. Our bodies were shrinking, no longer of use. By the time Ned Whitehair found us, our transformation was almost complete.”

  “The pink mist,” said Rolan, knuckling his freezing hands together.

  Ty nodded. “Aye. That was our auma. You saw it reawaken Pine.”

  Rolan tightened his fists. He well remembered the horror of that moment. “And what of Oleg and Cob? You called a skaler down upon them. What hope did they have of waking again?”

  His angry tone made Gus stretch forward. The dragon smoked both men and let them see his primary fangs. Rolan lifted his hands in surrender. Gus snorted and again pulled back.

  “I needed a passage into the cave,” said Ty. “Only a dragon could move those rocks. I had not planned to kill Oleg and Cob. But they were nothing to me. And they were dead men as soon as Cob became trapped.”

  “And me? What was I to you?”

  “You were the companion I wanted, Rolan.”

  Rolan shook his head in disbelief. “You would have cut me the way you cut Pine?”

  “In preference to the girl, aye. She was nought but a whimsy; an easy vessel if you were lost—though it would have amused me to see her try to sing herself clear of a dragon’s flame.”

  Rolan fired a gobbet of spittle at him. “Have that for your ‘amusement’ and your ‘preference.’ I would rather die in a skaler’s flames than make a friend of you.”

  “Then you are a fool.” Ty wiped his face. “In this form, you would have many powers. The whole history of your birth line would be known to you. Imagine that. Knowing all that your Fathers have seen. Knowing the true history of men and skalers …”

  “You mock me, villain. I care nought for your riddles.”

  “Then pray. For that is all you have left. Darkness is about to descend on this world. I serve a new master, and so does Pine. His blood is in the mountains, his heart is in the air. A legend is ready to rise again, Rolan. Graven, son of Godith, is here. The black dragon is coming.”

  A sudden scraping of feet above them announced the fact that Gus was moving. He appeared to have spotted something in the sky, though it was too far distant for Rolan to see. Ty was as calm as he had been from the start. But as the object drew closer, furrows of surprise appeared around his eyes.

  Rolan, likewise, was equally stunned. “Is that … Shade?” he muttered.

  A white whinney, with wings, was flying toward them, traveling as smoothly as any bird. As it drew nearer, Rolan could see that it was indeed Shade. On her back sat Pine, one hand on Shade’s mane to guide her, the other hand clutching what looked to Rolan like a large stone.

  “What breed of magick is this,” Ty muttered, in a manner that suggested he did not approve of this new development in the horse. “At least she has the dragon heart.”

  Gus rose to his full height and roared a warning.

  Shade flew on, lowering her head so the horn was pointing firmly at the dragon.

  Gus roared again. The crag shook as his giant wings extended.

  “Choose now, Rolan Woodknot,” Ty said calmly. Despite the narrowness of the ledge, he jumped to his feet. “Your skaler guard is about to fall. If you would be victorious, join me.”

  Shade swept overhead.

  Gus turned clumsily to watch, sending a shower of gravel down the crag face. His tail thumped the rocks, scattering some of the hopper remains.

  “Why does she wait?” growled Ty. He shouted at the sky, “Why do you wait, girl? Kill it and be done.”

  “Ty.”

  Ty turned to see Rolan on his feet. Rolan was holding a sharp-ended hopper bone.

  “I choose them,” said Rolan. “I choose the skalers.”

  And without hesitation, he drove the bone toward Ty’s neck.

  Ty saw the strike coming and immediately transformed into the shape of a crow. The bird was bigger than Rolan remembered, but that would be part of Ty’s undoing. For Rolan, despite his disaffection for violence, had always been quick with a blade.

  And so it happened that the point of the bone made a vital contact with the body of the crow, tearing enough of a hole in its breast to rip out feathers and cause a leakage of the “auma” Ty had spoken of. The mist puffed out in a haze of pink. But as it began to swirl and regather, it was blown some distance away from the wound in the downdraft of air as Gus took off. The crow screamed, more in annoyance than pain, and flew at Rolan’s face. It went straight for his eyes, claws out, raging. But Rolan, remembering the attack on Oleg, was ready for it. In a flash, his hands went up and he caught the bird in a muddling fury of wings and claws. Yet try as he might to murder the thing, he did not have strength enough to snap the shoulder bones or crush the belly cradle inward. And all the time the beak was jabbing, jabbing and snapping, forcing him to turn his face away. This was how he came to lose an ear. For the thing he had least expected was that Ty, in this form, would be able to issue the same kind of venom usually seen from the mouths of darkeyes.

  Fzzzt!

  Out came a vicious jet of it. It burned with savage intensity, melting the shell of Rolan’s ear and hissing along the walls of the canal that fed into his throat. Rolan screamed for all creation to hear, for it seemed like the center of his head was ablaze. He backed away, shaking his head. In doing so, he lost his balance—and fell. Even then he had the presence of mind to cling tighter to Ty, hoping, perhaps, that whatever impact awaited him would also crush the evil in his hands. But the crag, though steep, had many swellings and spurs. One of those spurs stopped Rolan’s fall, catching him like a piece of blown rag in the pincers of a narrow rift in the rocks. It was enough to force him to let go of Ty. The bird fluttered away, leaving Rolan for dead. Rolan, his chest stoved in at one side and his head half eaten, knew his part in the fighting was done. Before he passed out of consciousness, the last thing he saw was Gus turning, about to bear down. “Burn it,” Rolan whispered. “Burn this evil.” And all went black for him.

  Gus’s principal orders were very plain: guard both Hom; punish them if they try to escape; above all, keep them alive. The last thing Gus had expected to see was the two men fighting. And then one become a crow! He immediately wanted to confront the crow. There was a growing rumor among the Wearle that the birds were plotting against the dragons, absurd as that might seem. It was the sight of the flying horse, however, that propelled him into the sky. Ever since the goyle attacks, any sizable creature with wings had to be considered a serious threat. So as the horse flashed over and veered away, Gus took off in pursuit, challenging the beast to identify itself. Within a wingbeat or two he was in its slipstream, gaining with every flap. He locked his battle stigs into position and sucked in air to ignite his fire sacs. Pine looked over her shoulder for him. She smiled and slapped the whinney’s neck. Shade flashed her tail and performed a roll, fading out of sight as she twisted. In confusion and panic, Gus flamed the broad area in front of him. The flames died in a pretty array of whorls.

  Nothing squealed or dropped out of the sky.

  Meanwhile, with Rolan helpless and beaten, Ty was trying to stabilize his auma. The stiff flow of air around the crag had strung the pink mist into a cloud. A simple act of concentration was all
it required to collate the wisps into a tidy trail, ready to be drawn into the wound site on the crow’s belly again. But as Ty was about to complete the act, Pine brought Shade to appear in front of him.

  “Ark! Stay back! You’ll draw the dragon!”

  Ty was right to be concerned. Every segment of Gus’s brightly jeweled eyes was sweeping the sky, looking for the horse.

  Shade hovered in front of the crag, the hustling beat of her wings disrupting the auma trail even more. Pine stroked the pure white mane and said, “But I can outfly any skaler, Master. See plain my endeavor. Now we both have wings.”

  There was a caustic charge in the way she spoke these words, for she was in control of things now. “Look, I found the heart,” she said brightly. “It was in the cave, where the crows showed it to be. I stole it with ease.”

  “The dragon!” Ty rapped out another reminder. He flew to a less-exposed part of the crag.

  Without another word, Pine stretched her fingers over Shade’s horn. A bolt of energy surged from its tip. It lit up the auma trail and blew it apart, creating even more strands than before.

  “What are you doing?” caarked Ty, the crow voice weak.

  “Winning,” said Pine. “You were right: The horse has many gifts. When Graven awakes, he will glorify me, and me alone.”

  Shade pricked her ears and gave a warning snort.

  “Aye, I hear it,” Pine said calmly. “Good-bye, Ty.” She clicked her tongue and the horse flashed away.

  A heartbeat later, Gus appeared in the space she’d deserted. He had detected the activity and phased to mount a blistering attack. An impossible roar of heat and fury swept toward the crag. The fires lashed around the rocks, vaporizing water pools, cremating plant life, catching Ty’s auma, setting every strand of pink alight. Like fuse trails, they closed at speed on their goal. Ty screeched in alarm, but there was no escape. The wisps burned down and exploded where they met at the body of the crow. Ty was gone in a spreading star of gray-and-white smoke, not even a feather to mark his end.