The Erth Dragons Book 1: The Wearle Read Free Page B

He swung toward G’vard again, apparently attempting to loop around him. This was a dangerous strategy. Halfway through the manoeuvre, G’vard twisted and caught hold of Gabrial’s leg (the unscaled part between the knee and the foot), almost dragging the youngster to him. It was a terrifying moment, echoed in the gasps from the mountain tops. Yet somehow Gabrial wriggled free, banking away toward the only volcanic peak in the range – the open crater of the mount they called Vargos.
    G’vard roared and gave chase. The watchers rumbled, thinking the blue was fleeing. But this was all part of Gabrial’s deceit. He had saved enough energy to put a decent space between himself and the white. And as he flew over Vargos, in his wake he created his i:mage, a huge eruption of volcanic splinters – fire, hot embers, fizzling rock, spits of lava, dense black smoke. It took a huge amount of mental energy. Indeed, as he landed on the far side of the crater and turned to look for his pursuer, he almost toppled into the fearsome caldera his mind had created. The eruption looked incredibly real. It was almost as if the thrill of battle had strengthened his i:mage and shaken the entire mountain awake. Deep in its belly, it was grumbling worse than per Grogan at sleep. Gabrial thought he heard the sound of splitting rock, but ignored it as he set himself, ready for G’vard. He was hoping the white would come through the i:mage with his eyes closed – as he would if shielding himself from real sparks. Then Gabrial could pounce, steal a scale and win. But G’vard was nowhere to be seen. And the mountain was growling like a thing possessed. Out of it came a dreadful cry – a cry that sent a shiver running right through Gabrial. It was Grystina, calling to say she was in danger. She was birthing in this mountain, Gabrial realised. She was here , in the caves of Vargos.
    In two wingbeats he had crossed the crater to the other side, though it might have been better for him to sink into that hole and never come out. What he saw as his i:mage dispersed struck a chord of terror in all three of his hearts. Dragons were descending from the mountain tops, swooping on an area halfway down Vargos, coming away with great lumps of stone. G’vard was among them. So too, per Gorst. A whole section
of the slope had collapsed, in a slurry of rocks and churned-up snow.
    With a flap of wings, per Grogan landed beside Gabrial.
    ‘W-what happened?’ Gabrial stuttered, blinking in shock.
    ‘What were you thinking ?’ per Grogan hissed, steam emerging through the gaps in his teeth. His eyes held a deeply troubled look.
    Gabrial was shaking. What had he been thinking? Embers. Smoke. A distraction, nothing more. Not this. Not a landslide. That just wasn’t possible.
    ‘The mountain cracked,’ per Grogan said, as if he’d like to pick it up and drop it on Gabrial’s foolish head. ‘Did you i:mage a solid rock fall?’
    ‘No,’ said the startled blue. ‘I…I can’t do that, you know I can’t.’ He looked at the frantic activity below. The whole Wearle, directed by an Elder called Grynt, was trying to free a passage through to Grystina and her precious wearlings. Gabrial shook his head in horror. ‘We have to go and help.’ He put out his wings.
    ‘No,’ said Grogan.
    Gabrial looked into the old dragon’s face. Lines were creasing around Grogan’s eyes. ‘But—?’
    ‘They may turn on you, Gabrial. Godith have mercy, it would be better if you fled.’
    ‘But I didn’t do anything,’ Gabrial repeated. ‘I can’t i:mage physical effects.’
    Per Grogan fanged his lip. ‘That’s not the way the Veng will see it.’
    Gabrial tightened his claws, sending a small stone tumbling down the mountainside. Grogan was right; if the Veng set upon him they would rip him to pieces and ask questions later. But his fate truly rested on the judgment of the Elders. ‘I’m innocent,’ he said. ‘I have nothing to fear. We must aid Grystina. If