Read Online The Erth Dragons Book 1: The Wearle by Chris D'Lacey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chris D'Lacey
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reckless venture. Indeed, it wasn’t until he was halfway to the top that his folly was realised and the first note of panic set in. Whup! Whup! Whup! A skaler was approaching. Ren’s heart immediately beat a new rhythm. Breathless with fright, he looked over his shoulder. The thing was out of sight, somewhere behind a bulge in the hill. But the onrushing clatter of wings suggested it would fill the sky at any moment. Ren was in a hopeless position, his arms and legs both fully exposed. If he was seen – and the skaler would have to be blind to miss him – the beast could melt him with an arc of flame. Frantically, he looked for somewhere to hide. Again, his luck was in. Down to his right the rock face darkened and he could see a crescent-shaped split in the stone. Using all his strength he swung himself sideways and dropped onto a sill just in front of the split, gouging his left knee as he fell. It was all he could do not to cry out in pain. Somehow, he managed to grip his knee before the blood could bubble freely to the surface and send its warm scent into the air. He rolled into the opening, out of sight. The skaler flew past, blowing up a cloud of dust and grit. Ren stalled for as long as he could before opening his lungs and coughing out the dirt. The skaler was gone by then, but something had heard Ren’s burst of noise. A growl, not unlike a row of deep clicks, came creeping out of the belly of the mountain. Ren turned his head and stared into the darkness. There was something in here.
Something huge.
8
That was the moment Ren should have escaped, while the skalers were diverted by the fight above the valley. He should have dressed his wound, counted his blessings and fled. Blood was leaking fast through his fingers. His lungs were lined with grime and dust. Climbing was going to be painful at best. And he didn’t need Targen the Old to tell him that whatever had made that clicking sound would not stop to think about taking off his head if he poked it close within biting range.
He stared into the darkness again. By now his eyes were making use of the light and he could see he was in a narrow cleft, no wider than his outstretched arms could span. The crack ran some way into the mountain, tightening at its end where the light grew dim. With the skalers occupied, Ren slid down and attended to his wound. The gash was the length of his smallest finger and dark with grit at its puffiest end. He picked out as many chips as he could, then spat on his hand and rubbed the spittle into the cut. It stung like the tips of a hundred spikers, so sharp he couldn’t stop himself yelping. Again the darkness answered, with a growl even more threatening than the last. But on top of the warning was a grating squeal that could only have come from the throat of something small. Ren’s heart pounded again. For now he had guessed what was in the mountain: a female skaler, maybe with young.
It was madness, he knew, to even think of going closer. He had once seen his mother give birth to a child (a brother that had not survived) and she had screamed foul murder at any man who tried to approach, especially Ren’s father. But Ren had also known the joy of seeing and holding a new-born mutt, and the lure of the skalers proved too much. Quickly, he tore off a piece of his under-robe (the cleanest patch he could find) and tied it tightly around his knee. Then he hopped to his feet and started to feel his way along the cleft. The light from outside was quick to grow faint, but he was soon drawn forward by a deeper, yellower glow. It occurred to him that it must be fire, because the air all around was thick and warm and seemed to be competing for his every breath. On he went, aware that the passage was leading him down, until sixty paces forward, his progress was stopped. A wedge of stone was blocking the upper half of the cave, creating what amounted to a tunnel beneath it. The only way through was on his belly or his back.
He got down
Something huge.
8
That was the moment Ren should have escaped, while the skalers were diverted by the fight above the valley. He should have dressed his wound, counted his blessings and fled. Blood was leaking fast through his fingers. His lungs were lined with grime and dust. Climbing was going to be painful at best. And he didn’t need Targen the Old to tell him that whatever had made that clicking sound would not stop to think about taking off his head if he poked it close within biting range.
He stared into the darkness again. By now his eyes were making use of the light and he could see he was in a narrow cleft, no wider than his outstretched arms could span. The crack ran some way into the mountain, tightening at its end where the light grew dim. With the skalers occupied, Ren slid down and attended to his wound. The gash was the length of his smallest finger and dark with grit at its puffiest end. He picked out as many chips as he could, then spat on his hand and rubbed the spittle into the cut. It stung like the tips of a hundred spikers, so sharp he couldn’t stop himself yelping. Again the darkness answered, with a growl even more threatening than the last. But on top of the warning was a grating squeal that could only have come from the throat of something small. Ren’s heart pounded again. For now he had guessed what was in the mountain: a female skaler, maybe with young.
It was madness, he knew, to even think of going closer. He had once seen his mother give birth to a child (a brother that had not survived) and she had screamed foul murder at any man who tried to approach, especially Ren’s father. But Ren had also known the joy of seeing and holding a new-born mutt, and the lure of the skalers proved too much. Quickly, he tore off a piece of his under-robe (the cleanest patch he could find) and tied it tightly around his knee. Then he hopped to his feet and started to feel his way along the cleft. The light from outside was quick to grow faint, but he was soon drawn forward by a deeper, yellower glow. It occurred to him that it must be fire, because the air all around was thick and warm and seemed to be competing for his every breath. On he went, aware that the passage was leading him down, until sixty paces forward, his progress was stopped. A wedge of stone was blocking the upper half of the cave, creating what amounted to a tunnel beneath it. The only way through was on his belly or his back.
He got down
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