threw himself off Shardas and into the water, thrashed up onto the islet, and embraced me. I greeted him with equal enthusiasm: in fact, to my embarrassment, I began to cry.
“Th-they t-t-took her, I don’t know where,” I sobbed into his shoulder, while Shardas roared and sent spurts of water in every direction. Overhead other dragons circled, dragons I knew, like Niva and Feniul, who would have died rather than betray their queen.
“Both of you calm down!” Luka had to shout to be heard.
“Where is she?” Shardas’s eyes glowed with rage.
I sniffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize they had other dragons to help them—”
Shardas’s gaze softened and he swallowed the flames coming from his mouth.
“Creel, I am not blaming you,” he said in a gentler voice. “We all . . . Pots of firebane were thrown out of the jungle at us, and we were all helpless,” he explained. “I would never expect you to defend Velika alone. Did you see which direction they went?”
Gulping, I pointed to the arrows I had drawn in the sand. Part of my drawing had been washed away by Shardas’s violent arrival, and with a squawk I ran to retrace the lines before they disappeared entirely.
“I didn’t think there was anything in that direction,” Shardas said, studying the arrows and looking out across the water. “South and east? You are certain?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s where we’re going.” He lifted his head and roared out something in the dragon language. It was loud and harsh, and Luka and I put our hands over our ears until it was over. Then he turned to us. “Get on.”
Luka grabbed my basket and Shardas obligingly held out a foreleg. We managed to get on his back without dunking, and Shardas took off as soon as we were settled.
“Where’s Hagen? Is he all right?” I had to turn my head around as far as I could and shout the question, we were going so fast.
“He’s coming with supplies,” said Luka. “I think that’s what the dragontalk was about. Shardas has the rest of them waiting back on the islands. As soon as we find anything, they are going to gather food and follow.”
“How long since they left you?” Shardas called back to me, his speed never wavering.
“Since dawn.”
It seemed impossible, but he put on more speed, and Luka and I could do nothing but hunker down and cling like burrs. The usual exhilaration of flying was gone, stolen away by fear, and anger, and wind.
Frock Coat and Pigs’ Teeth
W e flew for days on end, and would have given in to despair except for little signs our quarry left behind, giving us hope. There was no real land, but here and there tiny clusters of islets would provide rest and clues. We found signs of fresh fires, dragon claw marks, and recently shed scales of dull brown and green, proving we were on the right path.
“I never knew the ocean was so vast,” I said helplessly one morning as I climbed up on Shardas’s shoulders with Luka.
“I don’t think anyone did,” Luka replied, grim.
We were all feeling bleak. Shardas’s raging had subsided into a dreadful silence, broken only by the occasional grunted answer to a direct question.
Hagen and a horde of other dragons caught up with us at one of the islets. I invited my brother to trade places with Luka so that we might ride together for a while, but Hagen told me that he much preferred riding on Feniul, who looked less likely to suddenly turn violent.
While I agreed that Shardas looked near his breaking point, it was all the more reason for me not to abandon him. So whenever he held out his foreleg, I clambered up and took my customary seat, with Luka behind me.
And we flew.
We came at last to a long, low island, curved like a sickle and covered with tall palm trees. We landed on the shore to rest, and a host of men in rough, brown kilts came out of the trees, wielding spears and shouting.
Luka leaped off Shardas’s back and went toward them with hands outstretched. I signaled to
“Th-they t-t-took her, I don’t know where,” I sobbed into his shoulder, while Shardas roared and sent spurts of water in every direction. Overhead other dragons circled, dragons I knew, like Niva and Feniul, who would have died rather than betray their queen.
“Both of you calm down!” Luka had to shout to be heard.
“Where is she?” Shardas’s eyes glowed with rage.
I sniffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize they had other dragons to help them—”
Shardas’s gaze softened and he swallowed the flames coming from his mouth.
“Creel, I am not blaming you,” he said in a gentler voice. “We all . . . Pots of firebane were thrown out of the jungle at us, and we were all helpless,” he explained. “I would never expect you to defend Velika alone. Did you see which direction they went?”
Gulping, I pointed to the arrows I had drawn in the sand. Part of my drawing had been washed away by Shardas’s violent arrival, and with a squawk I ran to retrace the lines before they disappeared entirely.
“I didn’t think there was anything in that direction,” Shardas said, studying the arrows and looking out across the water. “South and east? You are certain?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s where we’re going.” He lifted his head and roared out something in the dragon language. It was loud and harsh, and Luka and I put our hands over our ears until it was over. Then he turned to us. “Get on.”
Luka grabbed my basket and Shardas obligingly held out a foreleg. We managed to get on his back without dunking, and Shardas took off as soon as we were settled.
“Where’s Hagen? Is he all right?” I had to turn my head around as far as I could and shout the question, we were going so fast.
“He’s coming with supplies,” said Luka. “I think that’s what the dragontalk was about. Shardas has the rest of them waiting back on the islands. As soon as we find anything, they are going to gather food and follow.”
“How long since they left you?” Shardas called back to me, his speed never wavering.
“Since dawn.”
It seemed impossible, but he put on more speed, and Luka and I could do nothing but hunker down and cling like burrs. The usual exhilaration of flying was gone, stolen away by fear, and anger, and wind.
Frock Coat and Pigs’ Teeth
W e flew for days on end, and would have given in to despair except for little signs our quarry left behind, giving us hope. There was no real land, but here and there tiny clusters of islets would provide rest and clues. We found signs of fresh fires, dragon claw marks, and recently shed scales of dull brown and green, proving we were on the right path.
“I never knew the ocean was so vast,” I said helplessly one morning as I climbed up on Shardas’s shoulders with Luka.
“I don’t think anyone did,” Luka replied, grim.
We were all feeling bleak. Shardas’s raging had subsided into a dreadful silence, broken only by the occasional grunted answer to a direct question.
Hagen and a horde of other dragons caught up with us at one of the islets. I invited my brother to trade places with Luka so that we might ride together for a while, but Hagen told me that he much preferred riding on Feniul, who looked less likely to suddenly turn violent.
While I agreed that Shardas looked near his breaking point, it was all the more reason for me not to abandon him. So whenever he held out his foreleg, I clambered up and took my customary seat, with Luka behind me.
And we flew.
We came at last to a long, low island, curved like a sickle and covered with tall palm trees. We landed on the shore to rest, and a host of men in rough, brown kilts came out of the trees, wielding spears and shouting.
Luka leaped off Shardas’s back and went toward them with hands outstretched. I signaled to
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