Free Flight to Dragon Isle by Lucinda Hare

T HIRTEEN
The SDS Have Been Scrambled
    ‘Galtekerion is dead.’
    A wave of incredulity swept the Inner Council of the Sorcerers Guild. Had they heard the Earl Rufus correctly? Cheers broke out. Hats were hurled into the air. There had been so much bad news recently. Poor harvests followed by an early winter had drawn thousands to the city. That and the prospect of an early SDS campaign was rapidly eating up the Guild’s meagre resources.
    The sight of hobgoblin weapons, artefacts and tools had caused muted comment and confusion. The Council had been anxiously awaiting the arrival of the kingdom’s most celebrated soldier.
    The Earl limped to take his seat. He waited for the celebration to die down.
    ‘He died of wounds taken at the Howling Glen. Our scouts found a burial cairn deep within the mountain. They recovered weaponry about the body from all thirteen tribes – and this necklace.’ He held up the dragontooth amulet removed from the dead hobgoblin champion. ‘The sign of Galtekerion’s overlordship. And see there …’
    He pointed to a hobgoblin standard next to the door. ‘If you look, masters, you will see totems for all thirteen tribes surmounted by a new symbol, the dragon’s head, the mark of Galtekerion’s overlordship. And these …’ He held up torques and bracelets of carved bone inset with gold. ‘This is Galtekerion’s personal rune. Many such were on and about the body.’
    We immediately sent out long-range reconnaissance patrols to verify this discovery. The Frost dragons can still fly in this filthy weather. They all report the same thing: the thirteen tribes are riven with infighting, each tribe’s champion seeking to take Galtekerion’s place. Many are starving, fighting amongst themselves for food. The weakest have slipped into hibernation and died; their bodies litter the ice. There can be little doubt: their Warlord is dead.’
    The chamber finally quietened.
    ‘We are going to strike now before they choose another. And we are taking the Tunnel Rats with us. We are going to destroy the spawning pools.’
    That left the Guildsmen breathless for a moment, and then they cheered their Champion’s audacity.
    ‘I have spoken to the Queen: the SDS have been scrambled, all our men recalled. We leave for Dragon Isle tonight, and the Howling Glen tomorrow. From there, we fly to our forward base out on the ice. Advance elements, including all our ground attack dragons, are already on exercise there, and Frost dragons have located the islands by flying from iceberg to iceberg.’
    ‘But, my lord,’ said a tall balding Guildsman, looking worried, ‘we have not been able to move up the supplies and equipment you need. The passes have long since been closed. We were hoping that if there was a break in the weather, we could ship supplies to you for the early spring. And as for more dragons …’ He fell silent.
    ‘Our battlegalleons and transports have been iron-clad so that they can break ice. My Cairnmore mine in the Brimstones has been shipping ore over the last five summers to the Howling Glen; more than enough brimstone for a short winter campaign. Each dragon will transport their own supplies. As you know, four of our regiments have been practising flying and fighting in blizzards for over two moons. We are using High Magic and Battle Magic as we have never used it before: to keep airborne and operational in winter. The SDS fly tomorrow. We will not fail.’
    ‘I will personally co-ordinate moving what supplies and equipment we can up to the Howling Glen,’ Hugo Mandrake, the Grand Master, promised. ‘And if possible our galleons will try to support your forward base on the ice with men and supplies from royal coastal castles and keeps, though I fear they are all ice-locked.’
    Guild and masters alike stood in tribute to the SDS Dragon Lord. ‘May the gods bless you, and fly with you on Wings of Vengeance!’
    The Earl stopped on the steps to the dragonpads as his men