Masters of Air & Fire

By Lucy D. Ford

Three young wyrmlings lived on the green slopes of Hot Mountain. Then their peaceful world was shattered by the eruption of their volcano home. Now they must struggle to survive in a world dominated by beings alien to them: humans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deby Fredericks
• Release date: Feb 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987616208

Book preview

Chapter One

The wyrmling Orlik sighed blissfully as he eased himself down in the wyrms’ nest. He closed his golden eyes and stretched out his long scarlet neck and tail, ready to take a nap.

Get up! Grass rustled softly as Romik lit nearby. You have to help me. The nest isn’t ready yet.

Help with what? Yazka, the third wyrmling, was stretched out nearby. Orlik could picture the way her spiked crest rose in irritation. The female wyrmling was always annoyed these days.

The nest is ready. Orlik rolled onto his back and spread his leathery wings to absorb more of the sun’s heat. Wrotha will be happy.

The wyrms’ nest was a wide patch of sandy earth carved out from the flank of Hot Mountain. Pine trees ringed the level ground. Churned soil showed where smaller trees that encroached on the nest had been torn out and stacked around the perimeter. The resulting wall would keep most four-footed invaders out. If any predators did get through, the young wyrms would eat them before they ever got near Wrotha’s eggs.

We need more grass, Romik said, though a soft scent told Orlik he was already spreading fresh grass over the ground. With sun and the mountain’s subterranean heat, the grass would soon dry into a fine bedding.

We have enough. Orlik yawned. We spent all morning flying back and forth, cutting grass and bringing it here. His talons ached a little, remembering. He flexed tired wings to bask in the soothing warmth of the nest.

Wrotha has to cover her eggs on cold nights, Romik insisted. We still need more grass.

Orlik opened his eyes, but he didn’t get up. We’ve been to every meadow in Wrotha’s territory. The plants need a few days to grow back.

Can’t you both be quiet? Yazka darted glances between them as if she couldn’t decide who was bothering her more.

The three wyrmlings, Orlik, Yazka and Romik, had hatched together in this same nest. Until their return a few days ago, they hadn’t seen it in three years. Once they had had learned to fly after their parent, the great wyrm Wrotha, the breadth of her territory had been open to them. Bloody remains of a doe demonstrated the hunting skills they had all been learning.

The nest seemed oddly small now. And — Orlik shifted uncomfortably — the ground was hotter than he remembered.

It’s for Wrotha, and for her new eggs, Romik said.

Yazka rustled her wings. Orlik is just lazy. He didn’t even hunt this morning. I did it.

That was true, but Orlik didn’t understand why Yazka had to turn everything into a contest. And she always agreed with Romik.

I know when I’ve done enough. Orlik felt his crest rise, too. His hide prickled as yellow and black patches showed his anger.

Yazka ignored Orlik. I’ll come with you, Romik. I’m not too tired. She trumpeted the words, her crest showing aggressive yellow streaks.

Go, then, Orlik snorted. He knew Yazka was goading him, but that didn’t keep the words from stinging. I’ll stay here and guard the nest. That’s what Wrotha told us to do.

Romik hesitated, looking at Orlik uncertainly. Yazka opened her crimson wings and crouched to fly. A low growl stopped her. It was as deep as the voice of an angry bear but vast as the mountain that made it.

What’s that? Orlik cried.

He rolled to his feet just as the ground jerked sharply. Hot Mountain shuddered in long spasms, like the struggles of a dying animal. The wyrmlings tottered and balanced with their wings.

Flocks of birds burst from the treetops as Hot Mountain’s roaring filled the air. A few saplings tumbled off the wall around the wyrms’ nest. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the commotion died away. Earth and forest went still. Dust rose through the trees as rocks clattered down the mountainside nearby.

The three wyrmlings stared at each other, crests high and wings wide, crimson hides pulsing with black and white streaks of alarm. Hot Mountain still seemed to boom at them. Slowly, Orlik realized that what he heard was the thunder of blood in his veins as he fought to stay calm.

What happened? Romik bugled with fear.

It’s nothing. Yazka rustled her wings shut, pretending she hadn’t been scared. Hot Mountain just has a stomach ache.

I think it was more than that, Orlik answered warily. His spine felt stiff with fear.

Yazka’s crest flared as she hissed, You always have to be right about everything.

What? Orlik’s own crest streaked yellow at the unfair accusation. It isn’t right or wrong. The mountain —

A wild cry interrupted them. Wyrmlings!

More birds scattered as Wrotha soared over the ridge above the wyrms’ nest. Orlik’s spine relaxed at the sight of her. Spring sunlight glinted off the scaly plates along her neck and tail, but her long body was swollen with pregnancy and her splendid wings could barely hold her aloft.

We’re here! Romik dashed forward, half flapping and half running.

A lesser tremor shook the ground as Wrotha landed heavily. Her yellow eyes blazed like a pair of new suns as she scanned the nest to be sure her young were safe. Romik ran under her wings, rubbing against her like a hatchling.

Careful, Orlik said as he approached. Romik would be stepped on if he didn’t keep out from under Wrotha’s feet.

Yazka huffed, giving her opinion of Romik’s antics. She busied herself replacing the trees that had been shaken off the wall.

With an affectionate rumble, Wrotha stepped away from Romik. She folded her wings and settled on the warm sand with a deep sigh of relief. Romik continued rubbing against her. Orlik lay down nearby, close enough to breathe his parent’s comforting, musky scent without Romik bumping him.

Wrotha watched Yazka for a moment, then said softly, You don’t have to do these things for me. I’ve prepared my own nest before.

We want to, Romik crooned. He bounded over to rake at the meadow grass with his talons, spreading it to dry more evenly.

Orlik knew Wrotha would expect them to help her once she had laid her eggs. They would guard the nest and hunt for the new hatchlings, until it was time for them to scatter and seek their own territories. Orlik had a faint memory of older siblings doing the same for their clutch.

Still, the recent earthquake had left him feeling nervous. Why did the ground shake like that?

Hot mountains do that, sometimes. Wrotha’s crest rose and fell in a shrug. When I was hunting near the lake I brought down a moose. Then the earth trembled. I had to leave before I could eat it.

I’ll go get it, Orlik offered, knowing she had abandoned her prey to make sure the wyrmlings were safe.

The next moment Yazka cried, Let me do it!

They both bristled, crests flaring. Yazka lashed her tail, threatening to hit Orlik, but Wrotha stopped their quarrel.

Wyrmlings. Her own crest was streaked with the green of good humor. It’s a moose. You must work together to bring it back.

Orlik ducked his head to show obedience. Yazka lowered her crest, faint streaks still showing. Orlik wasn’t surprised. Yazka was the biggest wyrmling. Nobody but Wrotha could tell her what to do. They took to the air together, to bring their parent her meal.

Chapter Two

The two wyrmlings struggled up from the meadow with the carcass clutched between them. It was a bull moose, as heavy as one of the nestmates would be. Flying so close together was difficult. Their wings kept crossing, and it hurt. Orlik did his best to keep his crest down, though he felt sure Yazka could have avoided at least some of the slapping. It was just like her to not care about anyone else.

They landed and quickly separated. Yazka stalked off, irritable again. Orlik stretched his wings to full spread, enjoying the space to do it without hitting anything. Romik dragged the moose over to Wrotha, who lounged in the warm nest.

Eat it.

I never knew a male to fuss so much. A blush of green showed her affection. Romik rubbed against her again, but backed away when the great wyrm lowered her head to tear at the carcass.

While Wrotha ate, Yazka amused herself by flipping a stone across the ground and pouncing on it with talons extended. Romik watched, occasionally making a playful grab. Yazka retaliated by whipping him with her tail. Stone forgotten, they circled each other, both trying to score a tail hit while blocking with their wings.

Orlik backed off and found a little hollow that had been his favorite resting place when he was smaller. He brushed some of the grass aside and lay down in it.

Beyond the fringe of trees, Hot Mountain loomed. It always wore an icy crown, even in the height of summer. The setting sun turned the white snow bright orange, like wyrmfire. A dark plume rose from the summit. Orlik hadn’t noticed it earlier, before the earthquake.

Romik soon lost the tail-slapping contest. He hurried over to fuss with the meadow grass that Yazka had scattered. Yazka preened as if she had won a major battle.

Why are you playing with that? she demanded. You should act more like a wyrm.

Romik looked hurt, and Orlik said, Leave him alone.

Yazka responded by talking even louder.

"You can’t go around being so kind, she blared at Romik. That’s why you lost the fight. You’re too nice. It’s a weakness. You have to take what you want in life."

You don’t have to be a bully to get what you want, Orlik snapped, seeing Romik cringe.

It’s a lot faster, Yazka sneered. Right, Wrotha?

Wrotha licked her bloody muzzle and eyed the three of them. Finally she said, You’re both right.

The wyrmlings waited, but that was all she said. After Wrotha went back to her meal, Yazka prowled around the clearing, unsatisfied by her victory. Romik padded over to smooth out the grass near Orlik.

Don’t listen to her, Orlik murmured. An irritable hiss from Yazka silenced both of them.

Once again Orlik shifted in place, uncomfortable with the heat rising from the nest. Questions plagued him. Hot Mountain had always been there for their brood, a beacon at the heart of Wrotha’s territory. Orlik thought of it as a protector, like Wrotha herself. Yet Wrotha was changing as the eggs grew within her. What would happen if Hot Mountain changed, too?

As if to reinforce his worries, a second tremor shook the nest. Wrotha stopped eating and Romik stumbled over to her, seeking comfort. Orlik stayed where he was. If he had a stomach ache, he could dig up ginger roots to chew on. If Hot Mountain was sick, there wasn’t much the wyrms could do about it.