Elowen began to climb up as well, and the wyvern turned a curious head around to look. Luckily, with Lug still stroking her neck, she didn’t seem to object.

‘Your turn, Lug.’

Walking slowly to the wyvern’s back, Lug reached up for Elowen’s hand and began trying to scramble up the scaly stomach. To his surprise, the wyvern stretched her neck backwards, gently grasped his robes in her lips and lifted him up to sit with his friends.

‘Well done, Gertrude!’ shouted Liska.

‘Her name is Myrtle,’ said Lug, patting the wyvern’s side. She blew out a trail of yellow smoke in appreciation.

‘Here we go then,’ said Liska. She began to run across the sandy mud, heading away from the mountains. Her eagle wings beat hard, slapping the ground once, twice, and then she was airborne, climbing into the mist-free sky.

Looking behind her, she saw the freshly named Myrtle beginning to follow. The wyvern ran on her two hind legs – like an ungainly, sprinting duck – but then her powerful leathery wings began to beat, sending her upwards just as quickly as Liska had taken off. Soon they were circling together right at the edge of the mist-cloud that hid the Shield Mountains. Liska could see Elowen pointing the way from Myrtle’s back, while Fishbone yowled with joy and Lug held on for dear life.

‘Goodbye, home. Goodbye Mother, Father. Ylva.’ Liska banked away from the sorcerous clouds that hid everything she had ever known, everything she loved, and headed off into the unknown, dangerous wasteland. She had a vision of her mother lying bandaged in an infirmary bed. Of her father and sister swooping down from the sky in their griffyx shapes, battling hordes of seepers. She wondered if she’d ever see them or Arborven again; whether the city would still be standing when they got back. Whether they would even return at all . . .

Fear mixed with nervous excitement at experiencing something so completely new coursed through her. It was almost too much for her, until she looked below and saw, on the mountain slopes, the tiny silhouette of a human figure flanked by a pack of hounds.

Thresher. Another few minutes and she would have been upon us.

Liska beat her wings harder, driving north as fast as the wind would take her.

Chapter 9

It was the longest distance Liska had ever flown. Below her rolled endless miles of dry, deserted wasteland. Nothing but rocks and sandy soil with the odd patch of trees or scrubland. Crooked strips of stream and river meandered here and there like lazy doodles on a page. Once or twice, far below, they saw dust trails of Poxpunk vehicles driving along hunting for prey. Apart from that, the Blasted Waste seemed almost lifeless.

Except for wyverns of course.