Fire Rider Page 7

  At least one had got away. From his slumped position, Jaron could only watch as the Ernots approaching them slowed. They were shoulder to shoulder, half-crouching with knives and axes held ready. Seven. Too many, there was no way through. And the valiant kelpra was nearly spent, his flanks heaving.

  ‘Good boy,’ Jaron whispered to him. ‘Brave boy, Cal.’

  The Ernots stepped closer, axes held ready. The kelpra snarled, lowering into a defensive crouch. They moved forward another step, more cautious with this one. Jaron closed his eyes, for a moment seeing his mother’s face in his mind. He opened them again to see Pache being dragged from Teller on the other side of the clearing. Teller was down on his knees, an Ernot’s arm snared in his jaws. Another Ernot swept up an axe, and brought it down.

  Pache screamed.

  And a sudden channel of fire roared down from above. The Ernot holding the axe simply disappeared, engulfed by flames.

  Jaron instinctively threw up his arms, the Ernot’s screaming ringing in his ears. Caliber reared – and he fell backwards, rolling over the kelpra’s rump and hitting the ground, a tortured cry wrenching out of his throat as the knife sticking out of his thigh tore at his flesh as it was knocked out. Weak from pain, he lifted his head.

  A huge red firedrake was flapping into the clearing, tearing the leaves from the trees with the force of its wings. It slowly circled in the air, letting loose another roaring channel of fire that slammed into the Ernots running towards it with axes and spears raised. Terrible screams rent the air and Jaron saw the sickening sight of bodies thrashing wildly on the ground amongst the flames. Another two came at the firedrake from the back, but a long thick tail whacked into them, sending them flying backwards and right into a beam of flame that suddenly razed down from above.

  Jaron squinted through the smoke now curling up. Lord Carna, sitting tall in the saddle. And Madrag. He felt relief course through him. But then the terrible smell of burning flesh that he remembered so well reached his nose and he nearly gagged.

  But he was not saved yet. An Ernot, fleeing from the red beast, was running towards him. Alarmed, Jaron flipped over and found the strength to yell, ‘Caliber!’ But the kelpra was off to one side, caught up with twisting the head off an Ernot. Jaron frantically dragged himself backwards through the scrub, but his back came up against rock. Glinting eyes fixed on him. An axe swept up. He screamed.

  Something snaked down so fast it was a green blur. There was a flash of teeth, and the Ernot was snatched around his torso and flung away like a rag doll. His guttural scream abruptly cut off as he slammed into a tree and dropped to the ground in a broken heap.

  Jaron blinked. Small stones suddenly cascaded down onto him and he raised his arm for protection as he twisted painfully to look up.

  A firedrake’s head was hanging directly above him, wings flapping as its claws scraped on the outcrop of rocks. Its position seemed familiar somehow. And looking over his shoulder was a face… Jaron tried to focus. It was Flick’s face… and Tarp. He looked back across the clearing and saw the red beast had landed. Carna was leaning over in the saddle, his head turning, searching.

  ‘He’s here!’ Flick’s voice shouted from above. Carna’s head jerked round towards them and Madrag’s neck folded in. His fire eyes fixed on Jaron.

  Caliber slunk across to stand next to his fallen rider, flanks heaving. ‘It’s alright, Cal,’ Jaron said. He wondered if the kelpra had even heard him, his voice was so weak now.

  The red firedrake took a step towards them, long claws digging into the earth. Incredibly, Caliber moved forward, snarling a challenge. Madrag’s nose curled up in a return snarl so loud it reverberated round the clearing. Caliber backed up slightly, ears pricked.

  ‘Please don’t hurt him,’ Jaron called weakly. ‘He’s only protecting me. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for him. Please.’ Carna stared at him, then at the kelpra.

  ‘He won’t leave the boy’s side,’ a calm, deep voice called down from above the clearing. A green was hovering in the air there, its rider looking at Caliber.

  Carna’s gaze shifted to above Jaron’s head. ‘Flick, can you lift the beast?’ he called out. ‘Will Tarp do it?’

  ‘Yes, if I get him by surprise,’ Flick replied. ‘Tarp lifts all the time in the games… slightly different cargo though.’

  ‘Okay, get him ready,’ Carna tapped his firedrake’s neck on the right side. It snaked its head over, luminous yellow eyes never leaving the kelpra. Caliber growled anew and stepped aside from Jaron to follow the firedrake’s movement.

  Suddenly, more stones showered over Jaron from above, who flinched then stared in amazement as the green firedrake, boosting down from the rock, grabbed the surprised beast around his middle in a vice-like hold with his scaled front legs, wings flapping. Jaron threw up an arm against the draught then watched, astonished, as his mount was lifted into the air, struggling against Tarp’s chest, legs thrashing and screaming with rage. He tried to bite, but Tarp had him under the armpits and he couldn’t reach anything. Tarp’s wing beats were laboured as Flick brought him to hover over Carna, who shouted up at the young rider with a cupped hand, ‘Get him to the Plains – if Tarp can bear it – the beast can find his own way back from there.’

  Flick nodded and with a last look over at Jaron he turned Tarp. With their yowling, snarling cargo they flew away over the forest.

  The boy flopped back, relief flooding through him. Caliber at least was safe – terrified, but safe. He closed his eyes.

  ‘Jaron?’ a deep voice said, surprisingly close.

  ‘I’m alright,’ Jaron murmured. Strong fingers caught his chin and tilted his head back. Liquid poured into his mouth. He swallowed painfully at first, then, as the cool water soothed his throat, his eyes snapped open.

  ‘Easy now,’ the voice said as the water bottle was taken away. The Raken lord’s tanned face was directly in front of him, the steely grey eyes regarding him solemnly. ‘Jaron, where else are you hurt?’ The boy felt fingers probing his chest through his thin racing shirt and winced with pain. ‘Bruised ribs, I think,’ Carna said to someone at his shoulder. Carna’s hand moved to his leg and gently peeled back his torn, blood-soaked trousers.

  Another face swam into view. Leathery… He recognised it from somewhere. Val, yes, that was it. ‘Not too deep, looks like knife rather than spear,’ Val said. ‘It can’t be poisoned or he’d be dead by now.’ There was a tearing sound just before Carna’s hands gently lifted his thigh. Val wrapped a rough strip of cloth around it and Jaron grimaced at the pain as he felt the makeshift bandage pulled tight.

  ‘The others…’ he began, but Carna cut him off.

  ‘It’s alright, Jaron, we’re seeing to them.’

  ‘How…?’

  ‘We were following you at a distance, but lost sight of the kelpra under the trees. Thankfully, Madrag has sharp eyes. Try not to speak for now, I’m going to lift you. I’ll be as gentle as I can.’

  Jaron nodded. Carna lifted him gently, but still he couldn’t stop a small groan escaping. He ached everywhere, and his thigh throbbed with renewed vengeance while his head swirled in a thickening red mist of pain. Carna carried him across the clearing, crowded now with Val’s green landed next to the red. Another green landed on the outcrop of rocks that Tarp had recently vacated. The clearing was a terrible sight. Riders, some laying deathly still, others stirring and moaning, were dotted amongst bloody kelpra bodies and the smouldering blackened carcasses of Ernots. Jaron saw Val was now kneeling over Pache, who sat with one hand to his head, his face turned towards the body of Teller, a hand laid on his mount’s blood-matted shoulder. The kelpra lay on his chest, eyes closed as though he were only sleeping.

  Carna’s firedrake lowered his head towards them as they approached and Jaron tensed, staring at the red beast. If Carna felt his body go rigid in his arms, he ignored it and didn’t pause as he strode over to his huge ‘drake.

  ‘No, wait,’ Jaron protested weakly. ‘I can’t�
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  ‘You must, there is no other way, Jaron.’

  He was suddenly hefted onto a shoulder, groaning as his ribs jarred him. With his head hanging over Carna’s back as he stepped up, Jaron caught sight of Pache being pulled up onto Val’s firedrake.

  ‘No. Wait,’ he protested.

  But now his body was being slid back down. For just a moment he was nose to nose with the Raken lord. His own wide eyes must have shown his terrified fear, but Carna’s gaze was completely calm and seemingly unaffected by all the horror around them. The lord gently placed Jaron sideways in front of him, careful not to touch his injured thigh. A strong arm went about his shoulders to hold him against Carna’s chest. ‘You will be quite safe, Jaron.’

  Mind frozen, Jaron couldn’t reply. Carna clicked with his tongue, and Jaron’s stomach fell away as the great beast leapt into the air with what seemed impossible speed. As the firedrake’s wings snapped fully open, Jaron’s stomach lurched back into place again. The boy tried to breathe but it came out in short panting gasps. Where he sat the front ridge of a great red wing rose and fell beneath his dangling feet, and he could see a single large hooked claw at the front fold of the wing, gleaming in the sun. He looked away and saw Val on his firedrake already up in the sky, Pache sat astride in front of the rider and clinging to a neck scale with both hands.

  They circled over the clearing and Jaron stared down at the battleground of bodies amongst the curling smoke. It wasn’t until the green below lifted off, with another rescued rider slumped over the front of the saddle, that the wing beside him suddenly rose, blocking everything below from Jaron’s sight. They were turning.

  Jaron stretched his neck to see round Carna’s arm. The other two greens were behind them now – and getting smaller, he realised. They were flying away from them. Why were they going in the opposite direction? some part of his frayed mind asked as the forest canopy passed by far below. The Notresia Range, with its stark jagged mountains, slid past underneath. They were definitely leaving Tiara behind. He wanted to ask why, but as another wave of nausea took him Jaron couldn’t manage it. He turned his face away into Carna’s chest. On top of his pain, and after the strain of the race and the attack – it was all too much. The boy finally gave it up and let the red swirling mist thicken and draw him down.

  8

  Jaron stirred and snuggled further under warm blankets. He felt so comfortable he dozed for a while longer; the bed was so unlike his own hard bunk in his room. As this thought sunk in, he frowned against the feather-soft pillow. Still reluctant to come fully awake, he rolled over on to his other side.

  Pain jabbed from his thigh and with a low cry he opened his eyes and sat up, hand flying to his ribs as they protested the movement. Exploring his leg, his fingers came up against stiff cloth under what felt like woollen trousers. Jaron lifted the blanket and peered through the half-light, tugging up the trouser leg. Clean bandages swathed his left thigh. Jaron stared at the dressing, remembering the knife. He pulled the blanket back up and winced again at his ribs. The shirt he was wearing was unfamiliar.

  Raising his gaze Jaron saw a large lantern burning softly from where it was set in the wall, throwing flickering shadows across the rough stone. There were no windows and Jaron tilted his head back to look up at a rounded stone hewn ceiling. He was in a cave, he realised then, but not of the damp, dark variety. A wide, soft leather chair sat in one corner with a colourful blanket thrown across the arm, a wooden table next to it with legs carved in a leaf pattern. On the other side was another lantern, its candle burning. A set of drawers stood against this wall with a jug resting on top along with a neatly folded cloth.

  Jaron sat up carefully. His head swam even with that small effort and he waited, eyes closed, until it felt the room had stopped moving. His ribs were sore but not too painful now he wasn’t lying prone. Propped up on his pillows, Jaron stared across from his bed to two enormous wooden doors that spread the width of the room. Set within these was a smaller, normal-sized door. Jaron eyed it for a bit then threw back the blankets, swinging his legs out with a grunt as his sore ribs protested. His feet landed on a warm fur rug and he wiggled his toes against the generous hair while rubbing at his thigh. Carefully, he stood up, his injured leg sending another dart of sore pain as the pierced muscle was forced to strain. Despite his swimming head there was no faintness although his knees wobbled and he wondered how long he had been unconscious. He took a step forward and nearly fell over when his damaged leg remained left behind. Regaining his balance, he tried again, this time just managing to lift his stiff hip enough to clear his foot from the floor. Hobbling badly, he made it across to the chest and found water in the jug. He looked for a vessel to pour it in and saw it back on a little table by his bed that he hadn’t noticed; a tankard that he assumed must be already full. He didn’t have the energy to retrace his steps and instead picked up the jug and drank deeply from it, feeling a small measure of strength returning to him as his thirst was quenched.

  Leaning against the chest and wiping his mouth with the cloth, he stared at the small door. Setting down the tankard and cloth, he lurched over to the wall to use it for support. When he reached the door, breathing hard even with the short effort, Jaron tugged at the handle. The door wouldn’t give and the panicked thought crossed his mind that he was shut in. He pulled harder still, and to his relief the thick wood swung open with a creak. A blast of cold air rushed through, so unexpectedly powerful it nearly knocked him over. He managed to catch himself and poked his head out into the wind.

  A rock ledge spanned out from the door, wide and smooth. The view beyond it was of an alien landscape and Jaron stared in disbelief. Mountains rose up against a cloudless blue sky, bunched close together like rotten teeth, and he counted four from where he stood. Each seemed to be made up of layers of different coloured stone and all along the lighter ridges were holes, like burrows that had been bored into the mountain face at various levels. Or like caves, he realised, caves like the one he was standing in now – with no way out or off. Fear clenched his throat. Was he in a prison of some sort?

  He held onto the door frame for support against the wind before leaning out for a better look. His shirt plastered flat against his skin and he shivered in the cold blast, not trusting he would even be able to manage the step. Craning his neck, he saw a wide grassy basin nestled in front of the mountains with a river meandering through it that opened into a lake. There were small figures of people moving alongside the wide ribbon of water. The mountain air was so cold and crisp it burned his nostrils. Jaron tried to keep calm. Prison would not have such a soft bed, he told himself, nor take care to make him well again, there was no need to panic.

  Just then, he saw the firedrake. It was wheeling in the air above him. With an open mouth he stared at it in disbelief. He saw another coming over a mountain, soaring into the air above the grass plateau. As he watched it angled its wings and dipped lower, riding the wind. Before he had time to let his breath go there came another, and another – until the air was full of screeching green firedrake. They wheeled in clouds so thick they darkened the sky and Jaron stared, mind still trying to register what he was seeing, his ears assailed by the volume of their calls. Now and then one would peel off to land on one of the ledges, until the whole flock was moving, separating out to land at their various caves. Jaron saw riders dismounting and walking inside while their firedrakes furled their wings and settled out on the ledges.

  ‘Rakenar,’ the word came out in a hoarse whisper. He was in the northern mountain city of the Raken, at a ledge where firedrake came in to land.

  Next moment he was turning, ignoring the pain. Nearly falling, he saved himself by grabbing the door edge. Fear gave him extra strength and with an almighty push he managed to get the thick door shut and leant against it, eyes closed as he held his ribs while his breath came in short strangled gasps.

  ‘Jaron?’ He lifted his gaze to see his mother standing in the room. With tears in her eyes Rel
la lifted her arms and her son stumbled across to fall into his mother’s clutching embrace.

  ‘But why are we here? Why didn’t Lord Carna take me back to Tiara?’ Jaron was back in bed and Rella had pulled up the chair to sit beside him.

  ‘Carna wanted us both here, Jaron,’ she paused. ‘He blames Bell, as do I.’ When Jaron stared at her, uncomprehending, she sighed. ‘I don’t know why Bell thought to put the racecourse so close to the Ernots’ territory, it was asking for trouble.’ She pursed her lips. ‘In his usual self-important way, he thought the Ernots were beaten after their raids were thwarted by the firedrake. He gave little thought to the danger he put you all in.’ She brushed her long hair away from her face and Jaron thought how drawn and tired she looked. He squeezed her hand where it lay entwined with his on the blankets.