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

like this: ‘Guh-wen’.
    And he unveiled to me the way heroffspring should be named. Traditionally,in dragon culture, a first born son wasnamed after its mother.
    And so I called the wearling Gawain.
    ‘Guh-wane.’
    And Galen approved of this.
    Guinevere could not hold back anylonger. She came sprinting to my side,only to have her attention divided betweenthe little dragon and its weary guardian. Eventually, she knelt at Gideon’s side. Ina craking voice she attempted to speak to

    him. His eyes remained closed, his wings still. “I think he’s dying, Agawin. We should take him to the caves. Gwilanna
    might be able to – uh-oh. This isn’t good.”
    I followed her gaze and saw we had company. Along the hill, poking its snout into the air, was a large brown bear. It had a look of cheery wonder in its deep-set eyes, and massive strength in its bulky paws. It sat up tall and squinted at us. My skin tightened all over my body – the equivalent, I guessed, of a dragon’s scales lifting.
    “That’s a young male. They’re trouble,” said Guinevere.
    “Tell it to stay back. You said you
    could talk to them.”
    “The old ones – the wise ones – yes.

    He’s curious. He could be a serious
    threat.”
    I closed my hands round the dragon tokeep him stable. “Do we run?”
    “Only if you want his claws in yourback.”
    The bear dropped down again andpadded forward.
    “What do we do? We’re a long wayfrom the caves. Why isn’t Gwilannahelping us?”
    “I don’t know, but she’s never likedbears.”
    “What’s that got to do with it? She’s not the one who’s about to get mauled!”
    This is a test , said the Fain.   The sibyl is waiting to see what you do   .
    The bear snorted and tossed its head. I

    felt Galen measuring the sway of its shoulders, judging its strength, agility and pace. Bones began to click all around my face as though he wanted to unlatch my jaw. Surely he couldn’t make fire in me? One belch would fry my brain to my skull.
    Guinevere stood up with Gideon in her arms. “We need to distract it, but my fain is still weak after making the pen.”
    “Your fain?”
    “A term we use when we imagineer constructs. It means… a higher way of thinking. A deeper, more focused form of concentration.”
    Can we do this?   I said to the Fain in
    me.
    All living creatures are capable of it.
    But?   I sensed a definite ‘but’.

    Your intent must be strong. You mustform the image clearly and you must not
    waver.
    The bear had broken into a lollopingtrot. The thought of being crushed in itsbrawny grip was beginning to sharpen myintent   well   enough.   A   believabledistraction. I had an idea. “What do theyeat?”
    “Sorry?”
    “Bears, Guinevere. What do they   eat ?”
    “Us, if we don’t get out of here.” She backed away up the hill.
    “No, I mean what’s their normal diet?”
    “Berries. Any form of bright berries.”
    “All right. Keep moving. If this doesn’t work, I’ll let Gawain go.”
    Gawain?   she mouthed.

    I nodded at the dragon. Its scalene eyeshad just blinked open – amber gems infolds of green. I prayed they would neverget close enough to see the bright pinklining of a brown bear’s mouth. “I knowthey can fly soon after birth. He’ll getaway – and you can take care of him.” Istopped walking and squeezed my eyesshut.
    “Agawin, what are you doing?”
    “Imagineering.” I pictured a bush sprouting out of the hillside. A green bush, laden with shining red berries, glistening with   early-morning   dew.   The   Fain sharpened the image and Galen flowed his auma into it. But what made the thought materialise strongest of all was a burst of energy from the young dragon himself. I

    felt no physical sensation of his help, no tingling in the hands or pulsing in the head, but for one intense indescribable moment, when all of time seemed to come together and light itself seemed to bend to my will, I saw