The Last Dragon Chronicles: The Fire Ascending by Chris D'Lacey

There
    was   something  between   its   talons. Something large.
    “An egg,” she said.
    I squinted again. “How can it be? Eagles don’t carry their eggs.”
    “Then there is not an eagle inside it,” said Gwilanna, who had come out onto the hillside with us.
    She is right , said the Fain. They werebuzzing like a nest of summer bees.   Theauma wave is almost too strong for us tobear .

    “It’s a dragon egg,” I breathed, as
    Galen locked onto it.
    One of great power , the Fain reported.
    “It’s coming down,” said Guinevere. “Itlooks exhausted.” She started tying up hermane of hair, in readiness to run to theeagle’s aid.
    “It’s hatching,” I muttered. “The egg ishatching.”
    She paused and looked across at me. “How can you tell?”
    I could see it as Galen expanded myvision. Cracks were developing all overthe shell. A rivulet of bright green fluidseeped out and flowed around the eagle’sfoot like a vine. There was a flash of light,and for several moments the bird was lit
    in a halo of rapidly-changing colours.

    Twice it tossed its head and squawked. Itswing beats faltered. But it didn’t drop the
    egg.
    “Come on,” urged Guinevere. “We’ve got to help it.”
    “No.” The sibyl pulled her back.
    “But it needs us, Gwilanna. It’s—”
    “Let the boy see to it.”
    The sibyl jutted her chin and away I went, with the breeze at my back, feeling for all the world like I might fly. I skidded to a stop a good distance from the caves. The bird flapped down, arching its golden-brown wings for balance. With another soft squawk it released the egg, which rolled against a tuft of grass and stopped. A few pieces of the shell had become detached. Through the gaps, I

    could see the young dragon struggling.
    The eagle sensed me then. It turned and opened its bright yellow beak, warning me off with a fierce spray of spittle. Despite its fatigue, it stood up tall with its talons forward, spreading its wings to their fullest extent. The white tips of its feathers were glowing, in peace. But in the beaded orange eyes there was only conflict. It would fight to the death to protect its cargo. I understood plainly. And so did Galen.
    The muscles in my throat adjustedagain. The words, when they came, burnedthe roof of my mouth and seemed to rip theinner lining from my lungs. But they wereeffective. This is what I said:
    “I am the spirit of the dragon, Galen.

    Lord of Kasgerden and the land beyond. Your work is done. You will deliver this
    wearling to me.”
    The eagle shuddered. It was almost spent. “I am Gideon,” it panted. “I have travelled far. I was sent to find shelter by the queen, Gawaine. This is her only surviving son.”
    A pitiful growl bubbled up in my throat. Gawaine. I knew the name, of course, and it was clear that Galen did too. His
    sorrow swept through me like a burst of rain. “Is the queen dead?”
    “No,” said Gideon. “She was attacked and had to enter stasis, helped by a healing horse. One of her eggs was stolen and destroyed. Her auma has been transferred to this one… ”

    With that, the eagle collapsed. Onceagain, a strange light flashed around him. He twitched a few times and curled his
    toes. I put out a hand and stroked his feathers. The auma of the dragon he’d carried for so long instantly began to commingle with me. There was a spark inside him, absorbed from the egg. He was going to live – and he was going to transform. But for now, all he would do was sleep.
    A quiet skrike turned my attention to the dragon. I knelt and sat the egg in my hands. A head had just poked out, with a jagged piece of shell still attached to it. A foot broke through, then a whipping tail. Slowly, I pulled each piece away until all that was left was a baby dragon, covered

    in a film of slippery gloop. It skriked again and wobbled its wings.
    This is the son of Gawaine , said Galen. In his roughened tongue it sounded