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

a deep scar in the ground. Whatever these dark-eyed creatures were, the skalers regarded them as mortal enemies.
    The battles raged for nearly three days. No man or woman of the Kaal (and certainly not Ren) ever believed the skalers would be beaten. Yet they were. The darkeyes prevailed, with two survivors. It was feared the two would lay claim to the land and call others of their kind to colonise the mountains. But no. More mystery followed. The survivors withdrew, secreting themselves in a cave half a day’s ride from the settlement. They were still there now as far as anyone knew, yet they had not challenged the new crop of skalers. Likewise, the second wave of skalers seemed unaware of the enemy in the cave. A bizarre situation, but one that the Kaal, led by Varl Rednose, intended to use to their advantage.
    The next morning, Ren heard more of their scheme. Varl announced it openly to the tribe. Let the darkeyes have Utal! Let his body be taken to their cave and shown to the creatures! They will know from the stink, if not the arm, that skalers are in the air again! Surely this will draw them out and encourage them to drive their enemy away!
    The Kaal roared their support, but nothing could be done without Targen’s approval.
    Targen retired to consider the plan. He would speak in dreams with the Fathers, he said, and announce his decision shortly. The men chewed on their frustration. They were ready to tie poor Utal to a sled and drag him to the darkeyes there and then. But Targen had spoken, and they must wait.
    Ren was relieved. Here was his chance to act. If Targen’s journey with the Fathers was long (and they usually were), Ren would have time to carry out a plan of his own, one he’d been hatching overnight.
    Under the hides where his father slept was a rare prize. When the burning darkeye had crashed on the settlement, some kind of horn had broken from its head and lodged in the wall of Ned Whitehair’s shelter. A small, hardened spiral of flesh, sharper at its tip than the best Kaal arrows. Ren had wanted it for his collection, but to his frustration, his father had claimed it. A trophy, Ned said, for arrowing the beast. It was the best relic in the Kaal’s possession, the only evidence they had of the darkeyes’ existence.
    Before he departed, Ren left a flower on his mother’s bed, hoping she would send his soul to the Fathers if he was brought back to her in a worse state than Utal. In truth, he could not explain this feeling in his breast, but his heart told him he must do right. His plan was simple. When night fell he would cross the scorch line, make his way to the great ice lake, bow down before the skalers and show them the horn.
    The darkeyes were coming. The beasts needed to be warned.
    And he, Ren Whitehair, would be the one to do it.

7
    He used the dung robe as he had before. The smell had turned even worse for the keeping, but this was the price Ren knew he must pay if he wanted to get among the beasts.
    The night was dry and idly dark. Even the sluggish, half-chewed moon failed to notice him crossing the scorch line. Only twice did he need to conceal himself, once from a startled hooter that glided away from the smell of his disguise, and once from a distant skaler. This time, the beast made no attempt to land.
    By dawn, he was deep into skaler territory, already climbing the sleeping mountain, so called because it rumbled with fire and smoke like an old man blowing wind from either end of his body. The beasts were often seen circling here. Skalers, because of their size and weight, needed good ledges on which to settle. And nowhere were the mountainsides more ragged than on the peaks that surrounded the great ice lake. Ren was certain he would find a whole clutch of skalers here. And why warn one when he might warn many?
    Travelling in the light was slow and dangerous. For a while, he was safe in the Whispering Forest, among the swathe of tall green spikers that thrived on the lowest