The Erth Dragons Book 1: The Wearle by Chris D'Lacey

sealed and matted, the other popping out like a hard grey pebble.
    The tribe gathered around a fire to mourn him. They drank the juice of many berries. The talk among the men grew loud and dangerous. They shook spears at the mountains and called for vengeance. But what hope did they have of killing a skaler when they could not even get near to the beasts?
    This was the moment an unexpected voice spoke up.
    ‘Ren Whitehair knows a way.’
    The voice belonged to a girl, Pine Onetooth, so called because she had one strong tooth in the middle of her mouth, gaps to either side of it.
    ‘What’s this?’ said Ned, while Ren was busy stilling his heart.
    Pine came into the light. A frail girl, thin as the flower stalk hanging loose between her fingers. ‘Two days afore, I see’d him washin’ long in the river.’
    ‘Washing?’ scoffed Ned. ‘Away with you, girl. The boy’s mother likens him most to a snorter. If he could bathe his bones in mud, he would do it.’
    The men laughed, but Oak Longarm took up Pine’s words. ‘What mean you, Pine? Why would seeing Ren in the river be aught to do with the skalers?’
    Pine did not answer. She simply looked at Ren and skipped away into the night.
    ‘Well?’ said Oak. He turned his attention now upon the boy.
    But Ned Whitehair was in no mood to amuse himself with the ways of children. ‘Ren, be gone. Your bed beckons,’ he said. He flicked a twig into the fire and ran a hand through his hair. The loss of Utal had hit him hard.
    ‘Nay, I would hear his piece,’ said Oak. ‘The boy is quick of mind and purpose.’
    This was met with a grunt from Oak’s right. Varl Rednose, a man with an oval belly and a beard so dense it was a wonder nothing nested there said, ‘Perhaps your boy would tell us our business, Ned? Shall I loan him a spear and point him at the mountains? He might bring us back a juicy skaler leg to roast.’ He broke wind, making the fire flutter. The men laughed loudly, but their mood remained sour.
    Ned said, ‘Varl, he’s a boy. Let him be.’
    ‘Aye, but he likes the beasts fondly, doesn’t he?’ Varl stared at Ren as if he meant the lad mischief. ‘Why do you stand among the grieving, boy, when your heart flies the other side of the scorch line?’
    ‘Ned!’ Oak gripped Ned’s arm before he could retaliate. ‘What good would it do to fight among ourselves? How will that bring my brother justice?’
    Varl burped and wiped an arm across his mouth. ‘I tell you all there will be no justice until we put a sword through a skaler’s throat. But let us hear what Whitehair’s boy has to say. My gut is sore in need of humour.’
    ‘Well?’ said Ned. He switched his gaze to his son.
    The eyes of the Kaal tribe turned upon Ren, pressing the story out of him.
    ‘I…I know a way to cross the line safe,’ he said.
    ‘What?’ said Ned. ‘What blether is this?’
    ‘Ned, give him air,’ Oak Longarm said. He met Ren’s gaze again. ‘You have made your boast, Ren, now you must share it.’
    Ren could feel himself shaking inside. There was a terrible, terrible conflict here. If he did not say his piece he would be sorely ridiculed before his father. But if he revealed his method to the men, he was opening up the way for a possible attack on the creatures he loved. But what if the Kaal did cross into skaler territory? One man? Two men? A whole tribe? What harm could they do to the winged giants?
    And so he spoke his truth. ‘Dung,’ he said.
    A portion of the fire collapsed, scattering cinders across the erth.
    ‘Dung?’ Varl said. ‘Have my ears turned soft?’ He stood up, swaying. ‘DUNG?’ he thundered. ‘Are you mocking us, boy? It was dung that took out Utal’s eye!’ He hurled a stale, chewed bone at Ren, and not even Ned could object to it.
    ‘But…it works,’ Ren shouted over their derision. He looked at Oak, who had turned his head away in disappointment. ‘I covered a robe in their scent and went beyond the line. I hid from