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

or woman must contest the beasts. But Targen the Old had not mentioned boys. And what kind of boy concerned himself with laws when his heart was beating to the spirit of adventure?
    Ever since the first group had burst through the sky and driven the Kaal tribe out of the mountains, the beasts had been despised by the men. A few brave souls had crossed the scorch line in defiance, but all had returned to the settlement in terror, many with hot blood running from their ears, clouds across their vision or blisters on their skin. Thus far, the skalers had killed no men, but their forceful defence of the mountain territories suggested they would burn to the bones anyone foolish enough to provoke them to excess. Nothing got past their patrols anyway. The eyes of the beasts were so advanced it was said they could see the smallest scratcher scurrying through grass from the highest clouds above. And even if a man did manage to hide, he could not conceal the scent of his body.
    But as much as men mourned the loss of their caves, it was all Ren could do to contain his excitement about the skalers. Awed by their power, he was eager to be near them and learn their ways. He was often chastised by his father for climbing to high places from which he might watch them, and banned from making drawings of the beasts. ‘What Kaal,’ Ned had thundered in exasperation, ‘would wish to look upon a rock and see the eyes of a skaler looking back?’
    None of this hampered Ren’s ambitions. If a curfew was placed upon him, he simply waited out his father’s temper and amused himself with the cache of skaler artefacts he kept hidden among the hides on which he slept: two talons, a chipped scale that sparkled under moonlight, and the charred bones of several unfortunate animals. What would it feel like, he wondered, to run his hand along a whole row of scales? Or ride upon a beast as it soared above the mountains? Such fancies played with his dreams, but dreams were all they were destined to be, until the morning of the fateful hunt, the day he saw Utal Longarm burn.
    Ren had been out catching snorters with the men when two huge skalers had ranged across the sky. Utal had dared to challenge them. Utal, who stood higher than any man in the tribe, had ripped his robe wide open at the neck, bared his chest and roared at the beasts to give the mountains back to the Kaal.
    Ned, who was leading the hunt that morning, turned his whinney round and said, ‘Utal, step back from the line. If you bring the beasts down, we all burn.’
    But Utal had been drinking the juice of many berries and his head was not where it needed to be. He began to dance and sing a lewd song. Stomping left and right, he flapped his arms in a mocking imitation of beating wings. ‘Harken to me, skaler! I’m flying!’ he boomed.
    It amused the men, but not Ren’s father, who was watching the beasts with a wary eye. ‘Oak,’ he said, to the man astride the whinney nearest him, ‘I propose you tie your brother to his mount if you wish to hear him snoring tonight.’
    Oak laughed and pulled on his reins. ‘Utal, stand back,’ he called. ‘Ned fears you might be worrying the beasts. Don’t poison them with your breath, brother!’
    It was a decent attempt to calm the situation, but Utal continued his clownish antics. And now Ren was growing concerned for him as well. A skaler the colour of fresh spring grass was raising the horns that grew in sharp lines from the back of its head. Ren had seen many skalers do this just before they swept to take prey.
    The beast was preparing to attack.
    ‘Utal, it’s coming!’ he called.
    Still Utal refused to listen. He lifted a foot and dangled it over the scorch line. Then he pulled up the lower half of his robe and made water on the skalers’ territory.
    The bright green beast gave a quiet snarl and bared more fangs than Ren could count. Almost leisurely, it glided down and produced a burst of fire that made the hair crackle on Utal’s