Flight to Dragon Isle by Lucinda Hare Page A

pools, landing in the middle of the attacking Bonecrackers.
    ‘Now, my warriorsssss,’ Galtekerion hissed, a huge war mallet in his hands as he crushed a dozen commandos. ‘Now we strike back at the Dragon Lordssss. It is they who are trapped.’
    Weapons spun and commandos died before they even knew what was happening. Nets dragged the exhausted cave dragons into the deep pools.
    In the deeps, the ominous beat of dragonskull drums began.
    Boom … boom …
    Crying out their ululating cry, the elite warriors leaped out of the caves and onto the open battlefield, intent on total destruction of the SDS.
    The Earl Rufus frowned. More and more hobgoblins were surging out of the combs which should have been completely cleared. There was no sign of his Sabretooths or Adders, and the thunderous detonations of the Tunnel Rats had ominously fallen silent.
    Sensing that the tide of the battle was turning, the Commander signalled three wings of his waiting FirstBorn regiment to engage the enemy immediately. Time to see the battlefield for himself.
    ‘Mount up, Time to stretch our wings!’
    Brothers … sisters … Stormcracker sang as he raised his wings and bared his fearsome teeth.
    ‘Dive! Dive! Dive!’ The Earl’s deep voice carried over the chaos of the battlefield, as purple smoke from Stormcracker’s nostrils billowed about him. The cloaked Imperials glided down over the glacier through the churning rainbow smoke, flaming as they went, a lung-searing whirlwind of hot wind, fire and death. Howls of rage and a rain of arrows and darts rose up to greet them.
    Death, death to the dragon-eaters , the dragons sang as they battled amongst the hobgoblins surging onto the beaches, crushing and breaking and burning.
    Boom … boom … boom …
    Galtekerion faltered as wave after wave of hated Imperials materialized on the battlefield, deploying fresh troops and vaporizing his warriors. Doubt niggled at the back of his mind as spells and incantations arced and exploded in prisms of light, brilliant against the darkness, as the Dragon Lords unleashed their battlemagic on the field and his banners fell back against the crumbling cliffs. Bolts of fire rained down, punching holes in his massed ranks. Even with the trap reversed, the battle now hung in the balance.
    Boom … boom … boom …
    ‘Stay in formation …’
    Flanked by his cloaked household guard the SDS Commander banked slowly over the cliffs and beaches, studying the seething battle below. If he didn’t know better, he would say that the hobgoblin banners were fighting in wedge formation, heaviest warriors to the fore, the lesser tribes behind with nets and spears.
    And they were not creatures roused from semi-hibernation, unarmoured, weak and weaponless, like those who had been driven out of the combs with the first strike attack. These huge tattooed warriors were fully armed veterans from all thirteen tribes fighting together, ragged tribal standards whipping in the wind. Then he saw another topped by a dragon skull in the thick of the press.
    ‘Galtekerion!’ he breathed in horror, searching the seething hordes below. The Warlord was clearly alive and held back his best troops, as if he had known all along what tactics the SDS would employ! He was directing the tribes according to their fighting strengths, a tactic hitherto unheard of amongst the undisciplined thirteen tribes. This was a trap!
    ‘Fall back!’ he ordered his officers. ‘First Born and Nightstalkers, combat retreat. SeaReavers, cover us …’ The Earl’s standard bearer raised his battlestaff. Two balls of red streaked into the air to explode, followed by white.
    ‘Combat retreat! Combat retreat!’
    Seeing the SDS waver in uncertainty, Galtekerion roared: ‘SSSSSSSSummon them!’
    A horn blasted out, the sound carrying far beneath the icy water. Its call was answered by a fearsome cry that promised death.

C HAPTER S IXTEEN
Treason!
    All about the island, the remnants of the Earl’s army were