The Dragon Whisperer Page 7

  Root, nervously awaiting his first training session and feeling her withering stare pass over him, tried to make himself as small as possible, and watched the training arena.

  Bells jingled softly, and Quenelda looked up to where three dragons were tethered on roostpillars strung around the lip of the arena. By the size of their wings and length of their tails she realized the two Dales were elderly females. Tangnost favoured them for training because of their placid natures. The third was a whiskery old Viper stallion whose eyes were covered by a heavy leather hood with bells to keep him calm. Inexperienced esquires made careless mistakes, sometimes fatal ones. Trained battledragons, even elderly ones, rarely gave the unfortunate and the foolish a second chance.

  'Right, lads,' Tangnost said. 'You have all studied dragon anatomy and handling, and practised a running mount on the wooden dragon. Today you get your chance to try combat takeoff on a dragon in flight; in other words, the Stoner Manoeuvre.'

  A ripple of excitement spread out. His words were greeted with broad grins and nodding heads.

  'Make no mistake ...' The dwarf's eye raked them all fiercely. Smiles instantly vanished. One or two boys coughed. 'Forget the glamour. Forget about impressing the Earl's daughter.'

  Quenelda grinned. A few esquires blushed and shuffled their feet sheepishly, as if the dragonmaster had read their minds. A few glanced over their shoulders to look at her.

  'Your life may well depend on being able to master this manoeuvre and correctly identifying its corresponding bugle call,' Tangnost continued. 'So simply concentrate on getting it right! I know you can.'

  There were enthusiastic nods of agreement.

  Quenelda had watched countless combat takeoffs when patrols were scrambled; when the pilots and Bonecrackers had stormed up the outstretched wings of a stationary battledragon in preparation for immediate takeoff from the dragonpads. But she had never seen a combat takeoff with a dragon in flight – only in her imagination and in her dreams. Her eyes also lit up eagerly. Perhaps Tangnost was going to allow them to train with the old battledragon!

  'As you all know' – the dwarf's voice interrupted her thoughts – 'the famous Stoner Manoeuvre was named after one of the Earl's ancestors, Earl Stoner DeWinter, who fought in the Second Hobgoblin War. His Sabretooth regiment was ambushed by night in the caves of the Dead End Glen. The dragons were tethered to the rocks outside when the hobgoblins swarmed through the cracks in the back of the caves. Calling his dragon to him, he alone escaped without saddle or bridle by mounting his famous battlemare Nebula Nemesis as she swept down the hillside. That kind of advanced training on battledragons is taught only on Dragon Isle once you have qualified as cadet. Here you work with Dales.'

  There were a few disappointed faces, not least Quenelda's. They were not going to be allowed to train with the battledragon. She looked in resignation at the placid female dragons.

  Sensing the air of disappointment, Tangnost smiled grimly. The esquires still had a great deal to learn. Even if they thought they knew it all, this lesson would teach them otherwise.

  'Believe me,' he cautioned them, 'you are going to find this exercise difficult enough on an elderly Dale, let alone a battledragon. Now ...' The dragonmaster searched the stands, frowning. 'Root, where are you, boy?'

  'Here, sir!'

  Quenelda looked up in surprise to where her new esquire sat apart on the benches, clutching a large tri-horn. She hadn't even noticed him. His eyes were still swollen and puffy, but that didn't lessen her feeling of resentment.

  Tangnost nodded, then called to the groom standing beside the nearest occupied roostpillar. 'Right, lad. Release the tether rope and wake her up.

  Scrambling nimbly up the pegs inset into the stone roostpillar, the groom reached up and slipped off the dozing dragon's tether. Rheumy purple eyes snapped open and fixed him with a glare before the old mare switched her beady attention to the figures on the ground.

  'EEEeeawkk! EEeeeweeekk!'

  She let out the familiar keening cry of the Dale heard over the high moors, making Root jump up from his seat in fright. Quenelda shook her head as the nearest esquires openly laughed. The gnome was truly pathetic. How was she ever going to teach him to fly dragons if he behaved like this? A few heard her loud exaggerated sigh and followed her irritated glance with curiosity as the dwarf beckoned him forward.

  'Remember' – Tangnost's one eye made contact with each of his young esquires in turn while he rested his hand on Root's shoulder – 'in the heat and chaos of battle, commanders often rely on their bugler. You will have to memorize each and every call on Dragon Isle, all five dozen of them.'

  More groans rippled round the arena. Root's heart sank. Five dozen? He was struggling with just one.

  'I know' – Tangnost held up a hand – 'I know you think it's boring, but you don't want to find yourself isolated from the rest of your troop by hobgoblins because you misheard the command. So we'll begin by putting the dragon through the exercise so you can judge her pace—'

  'Or lack of it,' someone muttered sourly in front of Quenelda. 'That moth-eaten old hack isn't even going to get airborne! She's moulting!'

  '– and let her get her wings warmed up. Remember the theory of flight dynamics, wing ratios and wind vectors. Let's see how much you've been paying attention to your roostmasters and tutors. Right, Root, ready with the bugle?'

  The gnome nodded. He had been practising this one command in the stables until he was driven out by a barrage of brushes and a pail of mucky water. Tangnost had decided to break him into his training gently by giving him a task that he could manage despite his fear of dragons.

  'Combat takeoff! Combat takeoff!' Tangnost bellowed suddenly, making the esquires on the benches jump.

  Fumbling with nerves in front of Quenelda and the senior esquires, Root took a deep breath. A series of unsteady warbling notes that ended in a squawk earned him an exasperated glare from Quenelda and a sympathetic smile from a freckle-faced blue-eyed esquire before he managed to blow something akin to the right notes, even if they were a little feeble.

  The old Dale was not impressed either. Her hearing wasn't what it once was. She sat there blinking sleepily, forcing a red-faced Root to try again twice before she responded.

  'EEEeeeawkkk!' With an irritable shake of her head, she spread her wings. After a few feeble flaps she rose a foot in the air ...

  Thump! She landed back on the roost pole with an audible thud – to a chorus of dismay from the esquires. A few scales fell to the ground.

  The dragon made a second attempt. There was a collective intake of breath around the arena. Quenelda watched too, willing her to take to the air. Old bones creaked. The mare optimistically dipped down and up, wings half unfolded.

  Down ... up ... down ... up ...

  'That arthritic old bag of bones can't even fly!' one esquire muttered.

  'Why can't we at least practise on a young leaf-eater that can?' his companion wondered. 'We'll just look stupid flying that old creature!'

  Quenelda leaned forward and glared. 'Everyone knows why!' she hissed, making them jump. 'Everyone knows that there are no adult dragons to spare! They're all needed to support the war.'

  Red-faced, the esquires hung their heads.

  Fly, Eldest Grandmother, Quenelda urged the old dragon, using the formal speech of the Elder folk. Fly ...

  Perhaps all the dragon had been waiting for was some encouragement. With a triumphant squawk she launched herself into the air. It was touch and go as she dropped five feet before her frantic flapping saved her from collision with the stands. Slowly gaining height, she circled once above the arena before gliding down towards Tangnost.

  'When?' he bawled in his best parade-ground voice. 'Come on! When do I mount?'

  'Now!' some of the esquires called out.

  'No! Think about the timing!' Tangnost ducked as the short-sighted old dragon nearly flew into him; she skimmed over the arena. 'Think!' he warned them as she came round for a second pass. 'If
you mount too early, the dragon cannot raise her wings due to your added weight. At best she will be grounded and you will have to make an unassisted take-off, which wastes precious time. At worst she will rupture tendons and tear muscles, and you will have a lame dragon, easy meat for the hobgoblins. If you mount too late' – he looked at them – 'you miss the first vital winghold and your dragon leaves without you. Then you are easy meat for the hobgoblins!'

  Then the dragon was past the dwarf and working hard to regain the roost. With a few flaps and a sideways hop she settled down to preen contentedly, her hooked beak teasing out another loose scale.

  'Right.' Tangnost clapped his hands together. 'Let's see how you go with the real thing. On with your helmets and leg- and armguards. We don't want any broken limbs from wingstrikes!'

  The esquires swiftly formed a line, each desperate to be the first to succeed and the first to impress Quenelda, whatever the dragonmaster's warnings. They soon discovered that theory and practice were two entirely different things.

  The first to try was a gangly youth dressed in a fine grey wool tunic and a heavy fur-lined cloak, which he refused to part with in the chill wind. Despite the slow progress of the elderly dragon, he was too hesitant, got a leg wrapped around his cloak and missed the wing completely, falling with a bone-jarring thud – to the catcalls and jeers of his friends. Quenelda laughed with them as he fussed about shaking the dust from his cloak. Hopeless!

  Tangnost sighed. 'Next! Come on now, don't be shy!'

  The second esquire fared marginally better. As the dragon swept slowly by, he leaped lightly onto her wing, but then his boots slipped. The rising tip of the leathery membrane caught him under the jaw and sent him tumbling to the ground, laying him out cold.

  'Thor's Hammer!' Tangnost swore and strode over. He reached down to lift one of the hapless boy's boots, and let it go in disgust. 'How do you expect to be able to grip without proper boots on? Studs!' He lifted one of his own booted feet to reveal the short sharp spikes needed to grip

  the dragon's wing. 'Flying boots, boy,' he scolded, hauling the dizzy youth to his feet effortlessly with one huge hand. 'Flying boots with studs, or one slip and you're dead! Remember, the hobgoblins don't take any prisoners. If anyone else has forgotten theirs, go and sit on the bench. You'll not be trying today.'

  There were some disappointed faces as four other esquires trudged disconsolately back to their seats.

  One by one the remaining esquires tried their luck, their loud boasts coming to nothing until the freckle-faced esquire stepped forward. He had a quiet, confident air and a ready smile. Now he stood balanced perfectly on the balls of his feet and waited.

  The bugle warbled. The dragon glided earthwards, closer and closer, before a gust of wind caught her and she rolled to one side. The esquire swiftly adjusted for her erratic flight path. Quenelda sat forward. This boy looked like he knew what he was doing.

  Barely had the tip of the mare's left wing touched the ground when the boy leaped lightly up her leathery wing ridge. Gripping the pommel in one smooth movement, he swung himself up and into the saddle even as the dragon's wing rose. At the downward stroke he had the reins in his hands. To a chorus of cheers he turned the dragon in a slow circle to gain height, accepting the applause of his fellow esquires. Then he gently put her down on the roostpillar before nimbly descending.

  Tangnost was delighted. 'Well done, Quester!' He thumped the boy heartily on his back, making him stumble as he headed towards his friends. Quenelda smiled and shook her head. The dwarf never knew his own strength.

  'Let that be an example to you all!' the dragonmaster boomed, in high good humour. 'Quick now! Who's next?'

  The instruction continued, using the second Dale. Wind vectors, body ratios and wing beats. Over and over, Tangnost drummed the lesson into them. One by one the esquires tested themselves. Some, like Quester, were doing well, but others, Quenelda thought, had no instinct for it. Two were packed off to the hospital barracks with minor injuries, followed shortly by a third with a broken leg. She shook her head. They were just hopeless! Only the one called Quester had caught her eye. She wondered if she could talk her father into making him her esquire instead of Root ...

  Quenelda let her mind drift, once more imagining herself racing up the wing of a battledragon, leaping into the air on some daring mission at her father's side. She sighed. There was not much chance of that happening. If only she could get a chance to show the dragonmaster what she could do. If only ...

  Tangnost cast a glance at Quenelda. Her eyes had a familiar faraway look. His lips twitched briefly. He had no doubt that in her imagination she was racing up a wing and soaring up into the sky ... He nodded to himself. Time to test not just her ability, but her temperament. Time to see how she coped with being the centre of attention.

  'Quenelda?'

  She was in the saddle now and flying straight as an arrow towards her father ...

  'Quenelda?'

  Quenelda blinked the daydream away and flushed when she realized everyone was staring at her. 'What?' she asked defensively.

  Tangnost beckoned her forward from the benches. Some of the esquires cheered, but the low undercurrent of complaints that had begun when he first called her name grew in volume as she walked down the steps.

  'Just because she's the Earl's daughter,' one muttered. 'She's far too young!'

  Another scowled. 'Girls in the SDS! That'll be the day ...'

  'As if a girl could do better than us ...'

  Tangnost watched her come forward reluctantly. It was the first time he had included her in a lesson. And one way or another, this was going to be a hard lesson for her to learn.

  She takes flying for granted – the Earl's words echoed in his head – she is young and thinks she knows it all. Nor does she understand that others have to learn to fly, have to overcome fear and stretch themselves to the limit to succeed. I want you to teach her to consider those about her, whoever they may be. Teach her to be more tolerant of their failures. And show her what it means to fail, because sometimes she will. We all do. She needs more discipline.

  'I think you're ready, don't you?' Tangnost asked as the girl stood beside him.

  Quenelda suddenly felt awkward. She spread her hands in protest. 'But ... I've never tried ... I've only practised on the wooden dragon,' she finished lamely, her face flushing. None of the esquires had practised on a dragon before and she had just been thinking how much better she could do. It was what she had wanted all along, so why was her heart pounding? She scanned the esquires' glowering faces on the benches.

  Tangnost stood silently, letting her take her time.

  Gritting her teeth, she nodded. She was ready!

  'Take the Viper.'

  'The ... the Viper?'

  'Aye, lass, if you think you're up to it?'

  Quenelda looked up at the old battledragon. She could do it, she knew she could!

  'Then, in your own time ...'

  As she instructed the groom to remove the Viper's hood, the murmuring swelled to a chorus of disbelief. Ignoring it, Quenelda checked the dragon over visually, then quested out to lightly touch his mind, immediately knowing his name.

  Windswept Warrior, may the wind always sail under your wings. She greeted the Viper with respect, as was his due as a retired battledragon and Elder.

  Dancing with Dragons, may you ride the stars for ever, the Viper acknowledged grumpily. It is cold and my wing aches ... When may I return to my roost?

  Your wing ... ?

  A fat Wingless One – he was careless.

  When did this happen?

  Before the last dark fell.

  Yesterday, Quenelda thought, gritting her teeth with mounting frustration. One of the esquires hurt him yesterday! Ruining things for her! Just when she had a chance to show them all what she could do; that she was as good as them, if not better.

  Disappointment curdled sourly in her mouth. But she was so light on her feet, she thought; light as thistledo
wn! And she could do this, she knew she could. She would show them all. The trick was to leap as high as possible and step only on the leading edge of the wing and into the saddle, placing little or no weight on the membrane of the wing itself. Heavily armoured battledragons were different – you could mount the wing from any angle.

  Can you fly for me, Windswept Warrior? Even as she said the words, Quenelda knew she should not be asking. She also knew that, as a battledragon, he would not refuse her. The Elders were a proud folk.

  In answer, he spread his wings. A total hush fell around the arena. Tangnost was watching her keenly.

  Taking a deep breath, Quenelda balanced herself as she had seen the dragonmaster do. She heard the mutters of derision and outrage but shut them out. Closing her eyes briefly, she prepared herself, unclenching her hands, relaxing her shoulders, swallowing away the lump in her throat. She tilted her head to one side and raised her eyes to watch the dragon. She gauged his wingspan to be as wide as she was tall, about five strides, and she knew that predators had a far faster wing beat so that they could catch their prey.

  She raised her hand to signal that she was ready. Root raised the bugle to his lips, determined to get it right, if only this once. 'No!' Tangnost ordered quietly, indicating he was to put the bugle down. Let's she how well she can talk to him; what she can learn, he thought.

  Baffled, the youth obediently lowered the instrument. A confused murmur ran around the arena.

  Quenelda was oblivious to it. Fly for me, Windswept Warrior ...

  She was aware of nothing but the dragon. She was watching him intently. Watching as his still powerful hind legs gathered, then sprang twenty feet into the air. Watching as he circled around to gain height, noting that he could fly with only the slightest hesitation before gliding down.

  He was fast despite his age, much faster than the Dale, faster than a heavy Sabretooth. Quenelda knew she would have only a matter of seconds in which to mount, and then he would be past and she would fail just as they all expected her to.