Chapter III: The Land of Ignis Springs

Dark Kalm saw the last of the Lunar children settling to sleep. The ink-black sky, dotted with crystalline stars, was infiltrated by the orange-scarlet light rays cast out by The Solar as it slowly rose above the mountains. Shadows stretched almost painfully from their hosts; the palm-like cycad trees, and the many shrubs and bushes dotted about the plains. The river snaked through the land, glittering from both star and sunlight. A shard of The Sky Mirror, it wound away from the forbidding mass of green that was the jungle, in a slow meander through the thorn scrub and out into the distant desert, that shivered in a premature heat haze and was lit red as blood by The Solar’s light.

The patches of ground that were too dry to own moss remained hard and cracked from The Solar’s rays, like miniature jigsaw puzzles, and dust was swept up into the invisible arms of the breeze as it whispered through the land. Distant cries of winged reptiles, Pterosaurs, echoed over the terrain, and the last of the mammals squeaked as they resided in their holes in the ground. Dark Kalm faded into the pre-Solar-zenith, and, one by one, the children of The Solar rose from slumber.

Almost in an instant there was movement. The motionless shapes that had dotted the landscape began to get up and walk, prance or waddle off to the river or to graze. Hatchlings scampered restlessly about. insistent upon waking their drowsy parents, playing in the shrubs or up in trees, or in the shallower parts of the river that split the land in two. As The Lunar’s temporary reign ended, beaten back by The Solar, the herbivores and other animals of the day became active.

There were many herds in this territory; the emerald green, duck-billed Saurolophi, small, podgy grey Protoceratopi, and huge, long-necked Sauropods, Nemegtosaurs, to name but a few. There were winged Pterosaurs, gliding on the air currents over the land, their shadows sweeping across the ground, and also curious, feathered insectivorous dinosaurs, with eye patterns on their wings, just like butterflies.

As the pre-zenith progressed, the air buzzed not only with the heat, but with the sound of insects. The heat-hazes rose from the ground as the intense heat of the day increased, and cotton clouds drifted by, their shadows on the ground, beneath an azure sky. Dinosaurs resided beneath the shade of cycad-palms or shrubs, whilst others bathed in the shallow parts of the river, attempting to wash away the stifling heat.

One group of dinosaurs remained active, but only just. These were the feathered green insectivores, Avimimi, and they had trapped river water in their feathers to keep themselves cool. Feathered only along the arms, they used them as nets to capture insects, running towards swarms of flies or mosquitoes, and gleefully munching on their catches. But they were doing more than just acquiring breakfast.

The Avimimi in this territory were on patrol. They kept an eye on the boundaries of the land, should any new dinosaurs enter or leave, and reported it to their master, who lived in the mountain. They kept an eye on how many successful hatches or births there were in each herd, and generally watched over everything. There were about two hundred or so of them, each of them about the size of a terrier, and in small groups they went about their duties.

This year, the amount of successful births or hatches had been high. In almost every case, all the eggs that had been left in the nest (after the occasional theft by an Oviraptor) had hatched, and so far, only one head-butter had been born dead out of the many pregnant does in that herd. This was good news for everyone, and now the territory was dotted with babies, scampering after their parents or playing the odd game of “Rough and Tumble” with their brothers and sisters. The Avimimi were still working out roughly the amount of hatchlings there were, counting them in small groups to make it easier.

Avimimi were one of the few dinosaurs who knew how to count (other examples are Oviraptors and Protoceratopi), yet they could only count up to about six. Therefore, if every Avimimus counted at least six babies to every clutch, they did not know how much it was, but they knew it was a large number and therefore a successful year. They had managed to eventually teach their master to count, although he was not as intelligent as they, and so he too knew if it had been a successful year for the dinosaurs’ breeding.

The Avimimi were running after herbivores now, just like their hatchlings, taking a final check on how many offspring there were initially.

“Ah, right, Holly,” an Avimimus nodded as he confirmed the number, “one successful birth…‘Hodge’…right. What about you, Kripps? Did your mate’s birth go all right? Ah, I am sorry. Okay then, what about you, sir…”

“More than six babies, Molly!” one exclaimed, “Good grief! More than I can count! Well done – congratulations! Three bulls, three cows…and another cow…and another…”

At last they had finished, and headed back to the mountain to report the news to their master, now it was confirmed. They jittered excitedly to one another, stopping occasionally to gulp down insects, as they headed for the huge rock formation that loomed up before them.

The mountain was in fact an extinct volcano, silenced by The Lunar’s power millions of years ago. The very river that flowed through the land began here, as did many other rivers, yet they snaked off to other lands before meandering down to the sea. They began from the springs in the volcano’s side, hence why the land here was known as ‘Ignis Springs’. The volcano itself was known as Ignis Peak, and in Ignis Cave, about forty or fifty feet up its rocky yet flatter side, lived their master and ruler of Ignis Springs.

“How many hatchlings did you count?” An Avimimus asked the leader of the colony.

“I counted more than six sixes of baby Saurolophi,” he answered, “and I managed to count about five groups of six baby Nemegtosaurs. It’s been a good year, hasn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

They arrived at the foot of Ignis Peak, and began to climb, their nimble claws serving them well. There was plenty of foliage to hang on to, and the mountainside here was not very steep; it had to be quite a shallow gradient otherwise their master would not be able to climb it. They passed nests of Pterosaurs on the rocks, and a couple of head-butters – Homalocephali – as they made their way up to the cavern.

“Whose turn is it to wake him up?” the second Avimimus asked. Unlike the rest of them, the master was a child of The Lunar, so he slept during the day. He only woke if he wanted a Solar-zenith snack, or if his Avimimi had something to report. It was rather impractical, having a Lunar child as their master, but in their eyes he was not like the other Lunar children.

One popular warning for hatchlings (who were children of The Solar) from their parents was:

‘Your fate will come sooner

If you converse with a child of Lunar’

but the dinosaurs in the kingdom felt the master was an exception to the rule. He was gentle and kind, and looked out for them, scavenging from carcasses for food. He was very friendly and approachable, unlike most other children of The Lunar, it was thought.

The Avimimi entered the cave before establishing who was to rouse the master, and moved forward into the gloom of the cavern. Shadows smothered everything; The Solar’s light had not yet reached the inside of the cave; it only managed that at a few hours before Light Kalm, and at first the Avimimi, whose eyesight was quite poor anyway, could not see their master.

Once their eyes had adjusted, they saw a large bulk reclining in the far corner, moving gently up and down as it breathed. Its breath was soft and echoed quietly. The leader of the colony advanced forwards, squinting, and gave a polite cough. There was a low, rumbling growl, and the shape shifted for a moment, and then settled down again.

The Avimimus coughed again, louder, and this time there was a response. The master rose, to a height of twenty feet or so, and stretched. His head was boxy, with colossal jaws, and two limp, spindly forearms at his side. He was about thirty-six feet long. A Tarbosaurus.

The feathered insectivores stepped back as the master threw open his jaws and yawned. Blinking, he gazed out of the cave and across the landscape.

“My, my,” he mumbled, “is it Light Kalm already? Oh, wait, I can’t even see The Solar…is it still Dark Kalm?” Oh, I can’t even get to sleep any more…I…”

“No, Sire,” the leader piped up, “it’s pre-Solar-zenith. We’ve woken you to give you news of the hatches you asked for. Confirmation.”

“Sleek,” the Tarbosaur said irritably, “Don’t call me ‘Sire’. Right, yes, the hatches…” he yawned again and stepped out into the light. “…Good year, is it?”

“Exceedingly, Sire…I mean, Crow,” the leader corrected himself, “there are at least six hatchlings to every clutch, and all but one of the live head-butter births have been successful!”

“Wonderful, wonderful,” Crow nodded, still drowsy. He swayed on his feet unsteadily.

He was very dark in colour, brown but an almost bark-brown. Black meerkat stripes ran down his back, and his green eyes squinted in The Solar’s light. Unlike Vulcan, he was an adult Tarbosaur. He was still strong, yet not as strong as he had been when he had first taken over Ignis Springs and lived in Ignis Cave. He was admired and liked by everyone, with no exceptions.

“It’s almost Solar-zenith, Sire…Crow…,” the second Avimimus said hastily, “shall we send out another patrol?”

“What? Oh, yes, certainly. Is that all, Sleek?”

“Yes, Crow. We’ll send the others up with reports later, when you’re up and about.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

Then he turned and wobbled back into the cave and darkness.

“Don’t you ever have any doubts about this place?” Sleek asked his companion.

The other frowned. “What d’you mean?”
“You know, it’s like we’ve had it all too easy. No predators, apart from Crow, and those Oviraptors either eat shellfish or steal eggs. The occasional Pterosaur might take young, but apart from them, we haven’t got any real predators here. Crow tends to scavenge nowadays.”

“What, you’re saying it’s bad because we don’t have any ‘real’ predators, as you call it?”

“Well, I’m not sure. But surely there’s an imbalance somewhere. I don’t know…I suppose I’m just afraid this carefree life won’t last forever. Afraid that something, sooner or later, is going to come along and wreck it all!”

“Like a child of Lunar?”

“Perhaps.”

They fell into silence as they descended Ignis Peak. The Solar hung high at zenith, and the dinosaurs roamed beneath a cloudless sky. Shadows disappeared, and the herds groaned as the heat grew more intense, moving to bathe in the river or shelter beneath the trees. Some ventured into the outer fronds of the jungle, while others travelled over the hills beside Ignis Peak to drink from the lake that lay beyond. Sleek ruffled his feathers, muttering about lining them with water again to keep himself cool.

Once back on the ground, they headed towards the thorn scrub, where two of the sentries were posted. Others were posted at the jungle, hills and the cliffs, just watching should any new animals enter Ignis Springs, and generally keeping their eyes open. The idea of patrolling the area was one suggested by the Avimimi themselves; they were perhaps the most vulnerable of dinosaurs in the territory, and wanted to watch out in case any predators arrived on the scene that were unfamiliar to Ignis Springs.

Sleek and his companion were firstly going to report to each pair, inquiring of any unusual activities, or of course, new dinosaurs entering the kingdom, and then take over the shift. Other Avimimi would change with the current sentries, until Light Kalm, and again the shift would change. They arrived at the thorn scrub, picking their way through the prickly bushes and sand, towards the post. Two Avimimi were there, sat up in small trees, peering about. They gave a pleasant wave to the others as they advanced, and one of them jumped down from the tree.

“Solar-zenith, you two!” he greeted heartily.

“Solar-zenith,” Sleek smiled, “any news?”

The other shrugged, “Not much, only a couple of Oviraptors laying eggs. A bit late! Oh, and we saw a little group of Protos out in the desert, near the boundary line. They’re not from around here, though. Youngsters, probably last year’s clutch. They hovered about a bit, and then went away again.”

“There you are, you see?” Sleek’s companion nodded, “nothing to worry about.”

“We haven’t checked the other posts, yet,” Sleek said quietly.

“What’s wrong?” frowned the Avimimus up in the tree, “What’re you worried about, Sleek?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “It’s just that I’m worrie sooner or later, things are going to go wrong. Like new predators coming here and spoiling everything!”

“They haven’t come before,” said the other, “what makes you think they’ll come now?”

“I don’t know. Just a fret, I suppose, probably nothing in it.”

“Well, you two can go off duty, now,” Sleek’s companion changed the subject, “we’ll take over. Enjoy the zenith!”

“We will,” they replied as they headed back towards the plains.

The weeks went by. Day by day, Sleek’s fears were calmed, and the land was at peace, as it always had been. The terrain was overrun with hatchlings and offspring, scampering and playing, the exhausted parents grazing or dozing in the shade. There were several late layers, though. A couple of Oviraptors and Protoceratopi, were still expectant with eggs, and the job of counting them all had become extremely tedious for the Avimimi.

It was at Light Kalm, when some of the late layers’ eggs were being counted, that Sleek’s feared returned. They were at the thorn scrub, with a hen Oviraptor, Othelia, and her adopted son, a mammal named Zazlah, when the trouble arose.

Oviraptors were an odd-looking breed. Built like ostriches, they had long legs and necks. Their beaks were large and parrot-like, for cracking open not only eggs and fruit, but also shellfish they caught in the river. When the breeding season was over, the Oviraptors fed off shellfish instead of eggs, which they normally stole from other dinosaurs’ nests. Oviraptors were quite small, about four and a half feet tall when fully grown, sandy-yellow in colour, sometimes with a white underbelly and speckles, and a curious nasal bump and curved crest upon their heads.

“Five wonderful eggs,” Othelia smiled at Sleek, “the largest local Oviraptor clutch, I believe?”

“Yes, indeed. Congratulations. And where is the proud father?” The Avimimus ventured to ask, but bit his lip in case the reply was negative.

“Oh, him?” Othelia wrinkled her nose, “he’s gone off to get me some food. Lazy so ‘n’ so, he only does it after I nag him for ages.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s just eager to hang around and look at your lovely eggs,” Sleek said good-naturedly, “what a sight they are. When will they hatch?”

“In a few weeks,” Othelia replied happily, gazing down at Sleek from her great height, despite her reclining in the nest. He reciprocated the smile and awaited the father’s return.

Meanwhile, the father of the clutch, a cock Oviraptor named Filcher, was busy searching the thorn scrub for any unguarded nests of eggs. He would have gone to the river to catch some shellfish instead – it would certainly have been easier to do that – but all Her Ladyship wanted was eggs for supper. So, out he had been sent to find just that.

He looked uneasily to the west, where The Solar was sinking beneath The Sky Mirror, its reflection on the waves shimmering in golden crescents. He disliked being out so late; he was a child of The Solar, and usually by now all the children of light should be heading home to sleep or roost. Although there were no carnivorous Lunar children – besides Crow – in Ignis Springs, Filcher still found the hours of dark threatening, especially when it was a Dark Zenith.

He was torn between heading back and taking one last look for some eggs; if he went home empty handed he would have to put up with a raging headache for several days from Othelia, but it was almost bearable compared to being out in a Dark Zenith. He shrugged, and was about to return to the nest when something caught his attention.

A shadow was prowling about at the edge of the thorn scrub, where the plains went off into the hills beside the mountain range. The figure was slinking about, peering around and generally looking suspicious. Filcher instantly dived behind a prickly bush. Half fearfully, he gazed over the top, watching the stranger.

It was built a little like himself, yet more serpentine, and only about three feet high. It had a long neck and snout, and large blotches on each side of its head. On each big toe – Filcher shivered as he looked – there was a sickle-like claw, bigger than the others, which was held high off the dusty ground.

Filcher was half terrified and half fascinated. He had never seen this kind of creature before, and was mystified as to what it was or what it was doing here. His first thought was to report it to a sentry, but his curiosity got the better of him and he found himself, ever so quietly, slipping between the bushes towards the unknown animal.

As it looked up, Filcher ducked down and then realised that the huge blotches on either side of its head were its eyes. He gasped; he had never seen eyes so big before! They were serpentine and stabbed out at him viciously. At this, Filcher confirmed that he had never come across this dinosaur in Ignis Springs, and he doubted whether anyone else had.

The dinosaur snorted, and then turned, heading for the foot of Ignis Peak. Astonished, Filcher followed, keeping to the shadows. Surely one of the sentries must have seen it? The Oviraptor watched in amazement as the animal slowly began to climb the dead volcano. It skipped up the rocks with ease, using its lethal-looking claws for grip. It was heading towards Ignis Cave.

Filcher emerged from the thorn scrub, and crouched behind a cycad-palm. Well, at least Crow’ll take care of it, he thought, it’s Light Kalm, he should be up by now. But still he could not take his eyes away from the stranger. After a good few minutes of climbing, the shadow alighted upon the ledge before the mouth of Ignis Cave.

This’ll be good, the Oviraptor thought with a chuckle, if he goes in he’ll be eaten up right away! He won’t know what hit him!

But the dinosaur remained outside. It turned its head, listening to the sounds in the cave. Then it sniffed the ground before it, then up the wall beside the mouth, then up in the air, and then down the other wall, in a semi-circle, before once again putting its ear to the entrance. As if satisfied, the creature nodded to itself, and began to descend the mountain.

Filcher, alarmed, dived back towards the thorn scrub and hid behind a bush, cowering away. As the animal stepped upon the ground once more, it took one last look around before heading back towards the hills.

Thorne slipped away, into the shadows of the Light Kalm, to report to his master.

Chapter II: Vulcan

“A what?” Leech and Roinder said together, their faces twisted into confusion in the moonlight.

“I hope you haven’t just made that up, Thorne,” Roinder warned. The other shook his head irritably and explained.

A Tarbosaurus, a close relative of Tyrannosaurus Rex in the west, was a large carnivore, with serrated teeth and two spindly-looking forearms. They spoke only Dinosauria, and they were solitary animals, remaining with their mother until several months old, and then departing company of the family. Unlike Tyrannosaurs, Tarbosaurs did not mate for life, preferring to live and hunt alone. They usually dwelled on plains, or perhaps hilly areas, with large territories spanning several miles. They not only killed for food, but, like their relatives, they also scavenged and fed on carrion whenever the opportunity arose.

Thorne had seen one before. As a very young hatchling, no older than Leech, on their way to join the other colony at the swamp, they had seen one Tarbosaurus, plunging into the swamp after its prey, a duck-billed Saurolophus, that had become trapped in the thick mud. Although he had only seen it from a great distance away, Thorne had still been overawed by the size and power this carnivore appeared to possess.

“What’s the monster’s name?” Leech whispered.

“It’s not a monster. It’s a Tarbosaurus.”

“But what’s his name?”

“Never mind that,” Roinder said quickly, “What I want to know is what it’s doing here.”

The big carnivore craned its neck to look up at them, and then spoke in a weak voice.

“I was driven out of my home,” he croaked, “I was attacked by an Alioramus, and I ran for several miles to get away. My injuries forced me to collapse in this ditch, and now I am too weak to get out.” His eyes lit up hopefully, “I am very hungry – would you help me get some food?”

“Certainly not!” Roinder piped up, harsher than he had anticipated, “how do we know you’re not going to eat us? And why should we give you food? There’s barely enough here to feed ourselves!”

“Oh please,” begged the Tarbosaur, “please help me! I promise I will not harm you – and if you help me get well again, I shall reward you by protecting your colony from any danger.”

“Could you protect us from the monsters?” Leech asked meekly.

“Monsters? There aren’t any monsters, Leech,” Roinder insisted, “I’d have thought tonight would have taught you a lesson. There’s no danger around here, Tarbosaur,” he said firmly, “apart from you. So no, we don’t help you.”

“Don’t you imbeciles see?” Thorne sniped in reply, “he says he’s injured, right?”
“Yes, so?”

“So, the blood from his injuries will eventually attract other large predators. We are in danger.”

“-Because of him,” Roinder argued, “We weren’t until he came along.”

“So you are now,” croaked the young Tarbosaur, “and what I’m saying is I can protect you from any potential danger.”

“How can you?” Roinder went on, “You’re just a juvenile – what if an adult Tarbosaurus came along? Then what would you do? You say you were already beaten by an Alioramus.”

“…And they’re smaller,” Thorne added. The Tarbosaur cringed visibly; whether it was shame or anger glowing in his eyes, they could not see.

“At least I’d be better than nothing,” the carnivore muttered.

“Well, all right, then,” Roinder said eventually, “but you must promise not to hurt us.”

“I swear by The Lunar,” said the Tarbosaur, “you have my word.” He gazed up at them.

“Now could you please get me some food? I’m ravenous!”

Reluctantly, Roinder and Leech turned, Leech asking his brother about what their mother would say when she found him. Thorne remained by the ditch, looking down at the Tarbosaur.

“I told you it would work,” the blood-drinker grinned nastily, “that Leech is so gullible; tell him he’d have to eat a pile of Sauropod faeces to see a monster and he’d go ahead and do it.”

“Excellent work, Thorne,” the Tarbosaur congratulated, “you will be rewarded once I have my army.” He cocked his eye. “Was my acting good, do you think?”

“Superb, Sire,” Thorne nodded, “they truly believed you were injured, well, currently, anyway.”

“I’m worried about the younger one, Thorne,” he mused, “not the hatchling, but the other. A little too strong, I think.”

Thorne shook his head. “No, Sire, he isn’t really. Believe me, I’ve known him all his life. He’ll fall into line when it comes to it.”

He glanced behind him.

“You’d better go off with them, Thorne,” the Tarbosaur advised, “or else they’ll get suspicious. Go now.”

“Yes, Sire,” Thorne obeyed, bowing gracefully before heading off after Leech and Roinder. The Tarbosaur chuckled softly, and ducked back down into the trench.

*

Vulcan was his name, and he was a mid-juvenile Tarbosaurus. He had a couple of metres’ growing to do before he reached his adult height, but he was still large enough to intimidate most. He was a deep chestnut, with a white underside and brown stripes across his spine. His eyes were crimson and his claws and toes were a dirty white, smothered in mud from the ditch. He had come to be in this particular area after a fight back home.

He had been the youngest of the clutch of six, with three other brothers and two sisters. His mother, Kayne, had looked after them well, and raised six strong young Tarbosaurs. They had lived happily in the territory, food was in plentiful supply, and there were few or no enemies to contend with.

Vulcan had been the last to be taught how to hunt and kill, but once he had acquired the skill of ripping prey apart, he had used it as much as possible. In a few weeks he had wiped out a large family of mammals that had lived near the nest site, and attacked one of his brothers so viciously in ‘play’ that he had sustained an almost fatal injury to his throat.

Then at last the time came for the young Tarbosaurs to leave the nest. Vulcan’s two sisters had headed off, but Vulcan and his brothers had remained in an adjacent territory to their mother’s. Vulcan, hungry for power, had slaughtered all three of his older brothers, by separating them and battling each one, until the territory was his. It was at this point that the dark fire, hungry for power, had kindled inside him, driving him to kill any living thing that stood in his path.

For a while he had stayed in his new kingdom; little did he know it was already claimed, by a male Alioramus who had just left temporarily to answer a female’s call. When he returned, he was furious at Vulcan having taken over, and attacked him savagely. Vulcan barely escaped with his life, and fled from the land, until at least he had reached the swamps. Exhausted after his journey, he had collapsed in the trench, where he had later been discovered.

Vulcan growled as he wallowed in his memories of degradation; the fight with the Alioramus and his defeat had frustrated both him and the fire that raged within him; he must somehow regain his self-confidence and pride by ruling a territory of his own by fear. He grinned evilly at the thought of everyone cowering in his shadow, and shuddering when they heard his name or roar. Patience, he told himself, that will all come soon. He looked up towards the bank, and waited for the blood-drinkers to return with some food.

The weeks went by, each day with Vulcan becoming stronger and stronger. Leech, Roinder and Thorne hunted excessively whenever they could; Roinder made their excuse to their mother by explaining that him teaching his little brother to hunt would save her from the task. She was a little suspicious at first, but glad anyway that for once she did not have to watch over Leech.

But as the time passed, the mammals became scarcer and scarcer. Other blood-drinkers in the colony were beginning to wonder what was going on, and sooner or later, the three blood-drinkers knew the others would find out. There certainly had to be a reason for Thorne, Leech and Roinder going into the copse to hunt, since the mammals in there were the scarcest anywhere, and they did not seem bothered about the many hundreds of mosquito bites adorning their bodies afterwards. And why did they take their catches in there to eat?

Since Vulcan appeared to be fit and well, Roinder decided he would take up the problem with the Tarbosaur at every opportunity. He was apprehensive, however, as Vulcan was now as strong as he had been before the fight, and he was afraid of being attacked and eaten because of his protests. Nevertheless, something had to be done, if not by he, Leech and Thorne, then by the rest of the colony.

It had just passed Lunar-zenith, and The Lunar hung high in the sky in crescent form. The stars burned and spiked through the night, and wispy violet clouds drifted silently by. Insects cheeped in the bushes, dragonflies and moths whirred, and mosquitoes buzzed angrily. The trees rustled in the light breeze, and tiny mammals darted here and there between the shrubs.

Roinder, Leech and Thorne approached Vulcan, who was managing to stand strong in the trench. The two younger Saurornithoidi felt intimidated by his great height towering above them, but Thorne did not flinch.

“Lunar-zenith,” Roinder said meekly, “I…we, er, need to talk to you about…something…we…”

“The colony’s becoming suspicious,” Thorne butted in, reluctant to wait whilst Roinder stammered away, “because the mammal population is at an all time low. They also want to know why we keep going in here all the time; it does seem odd since the mosquito bites are enough to keep even a Sauropod away.  They’re becoming suspicious, and we think it’s time you moved on, now you’re fit and healthy.”

Vulcan narrowed his eyes.

“How many are there in your colony?”

“Plenty,” Roinder replied, edging slowly backwards should the big carnivore strike unexpectedly, “mostly males, but lots of mothers and hatchlings, too. And juvenile females, about our age.”

“Too many for the mammal and lizard populations to support,” Thorne said bluntly, “and it doesn’t help with you being here, either. The amount you eat…” Roinder gave him a warning look, but Thorne sneered.

“I have an idea,” Vulcan said quietly, “that will solve all of our problems. But I shall need to call a meeting, you and your kind. As many as will come.”

“We’re not going to fall for that, Mr. Monster!” Leech called out bravely, “you’re going to eat us all, aren’t you? Enough to cut our population, and enough to whet your appetite!”

Vulcan looked shocked.

“What, after everything you’ve done for me? No! Of course not! Besides, all of you would bring me down easily, before I could bat an eyelid! No, seriously, where is an appropriate meeting place for you all?”

Leech and Roinder looked doubtful, and a sparkle of fear danced in their eyes. They looked to each other apprehensively, and then to Thorne. The larger blood-drinker turned to the Tarbosaur.

“There’s a dry, rocky area,” he said slowly, “just above the swamp. It’s quite central, so you’d be able to address everyone who goes to the meeting quite easily.”

“Is it far from here? My leg’s still not as good as it used to be.”

“Not far, no.”

“What are you going to do?” Leech asked with fearful eyes.

“Nothing that will cause you harm,” Vulcan assured him, “just something that will help both me and your colony.”

“How?” Roinder pressed him, dissatisfied with the response, “How could a Tarbosaur help our colony?”

“All shall be revealed in the meeting,” the big carnivore nodded, “If you’d care to summon everyone.”

Light-Kalm the next day saw the entire Saurornithoides colony gathered about the swamp. They had never been clustered all together before, and so none had realised just how cramped the place was; it was not a wonder why the mammal and lizard populations had dropped so drastically. All apart from three knew nothing of the Tarbosaur, only that a meeting of extreme importance had been arranged, and that everyone was expected to attend.

The tension in the air was buzzing, like the flies over the swamp-water, and everybody was impatient to find out the reason for this summoning. Mothers were anxious to search for food for their hatchlings, who had also been expected to make an appearance, and young males were itching to resume their play-fighting games. Older males were bored, idly snapping at the occasional flies that whirred about their heads, and young females were reluctant to be disturbed from their hunting.

 Leech, buzzing with excitement, had eagerly dragged his mother and sisters along; at least they would be proved wrong, there were such things as monsters! They were at the very front of the assembly, before the largest of the rocks on the dry area, beside Roinder, and Thorne resumed a place adjacent to the rock. It seemed that he was the one to introduce Vulcan – much to Leech’s despair – and lead the whole meeting until the Tarbosaur took up his position.

As Thorne approached, a thousand snakes seemed to hiss and then everyone fell silent. Leech craned his neck to look over the top of the rocks, and back, over the crowd, should the monster come from behind, but there was no sign of Vulcan. Strange, he thought. In this vast space, a creature as big as him would easily be spotted; where was he hiding?

The rocks were too small for him to even crouch behind, let alone stand, so where was Vulcan? Perhaps he would rise out of the swamp, Leech thought, like a real monster; yeah that would be fun!

“Now, everyone!” Thorne cried, attempting to make his voice travel far enough so everyone could hear, “you are all wondering why I’ve brought you all here tonight, at Light Kalm. My reason is this; we have an extremely serious problem facing us at present. I’m sure you’re all aware of it, I doubt it has passed any of you by.”

“Look, just get on with it!” someone yelled. Thorne threw an icy glare in the direction of the speaker, who shuffled their feet and fell silent.

“It is the problem with prey,” Thorne continued, “there is a drastic shortage of prey. And since there are now young hatchlings in the colony, it is important that we do something about it. There are too many of us here for the mammal and lizard populations to support.”

“What are you suggesting?” a mother called out, “That we eat our own? Our own hatchlings?”

“No…I…”

“Listen, what is this about, young’un,” a tiresome voice cried, “look at you, you’re near enough a hatchling yourself! Why have you called us here? One of your pranks, is it? We all know the problem,” he continued, “what we want is a solution. Not a juvenile like you lecturing us on what we already know.”

“If you’d let me get to the solution,” Thorne’s eyes flashed dangerously, “then perhaps I could help. But only if you listen.”

“All right,” said the same voice, “we’re listening. So tell us, what is the solution?”

“There are too many males here, to start with,” the blood-drinker resumed, “so, if a lare group of those males, young or old, went off with me and…someone else, we could relieve this territory of its falling prey population. The males, in the group that leave, could find new lands, and new foods, and have their own vast territory. As for females, we could not afford to take any from here,  but in the new lands, there are bound to be other, smaller colonies, who could join up with them. That way, there would be less crowding here.”

“He’s got a point,” some closer crowd members muttered amongst themselves. The gathering hummed for a while, considering the option, when Thorne stepped down, asking the males willing to depart to meet him in the copse before Lunar-zenith tonight. The meeting was over.

Leech was thoroughly disappointed; why hadn’t Vulcan turned up? Perhaps, he thought, Thorne had decided against it; displaying a carnivore like that to the colony would surely cause panic, especially for the parents and their hatchlings.

 “Mother,” he said, “can I go?”

“Certainly not!” she exclaimed, “whatever gave you such an idea? You wouldn’t survive!”

“Oh, come on, Mother,” Roinder said, favouring the idea of discovering new lands and journeying in a group, something he had never done, “I’d like to go. I could look after Leech. If there’re lots of males going, we’ll be safe.” The mother remained unconvinced, but did not answer her son.

As The Lunar clambered into Its throne in the sky, a huge group of male Saurornithoidi grumpily assembled at the copse, wincing and scratching at their mosquito bites. Almost every male in the colony was there, save for the fathers and the old, and there they stood, in the shadows, waiting expectantly for Thorne to appear.

Roinder and Leech had managed to persuade their mother to let them go; sorry as she was to see them leave, but Roinder was almost old enough to leave the colony anyway, if need be. Although he was not particularly good at watching over Leech, after she had seen how many other males were going, she relented, knowing that her young son would be well looked after. Besides, it would save her the trouble of watching him and bringing him up; her female hatchlings were more important as there were fewer females in the colony.

Leech was brimming with excitement, as was Roinder; neither had ventured out from the swampland before, and the idea of discovering and claiming new lands for themselves was greatly looked forward to by both. Leech could at last satisfy his craving for exploration – without his mother watching his every move – and Roinder had finally claimed complete independence from her. At least now he would not have to look after Leech all of the time; there were more eyes watching him now and ensuring his safety.

They all stood in the darkness, on the whole rather quiet, only small groups chattering enthusiastically. Most of the males were young, about Roinder’s age, with only one or two adults who had remained unmated, owing to the lack of females in the colony. Leech of course was the youngest, still quite dependent on others for food, but the hunting for Vulcan’s prey had certainly paid off; Leech was well on the way to acquiring the skill of stalking and killing.

“I wish they’d hurry up,” one blood-drinker was saying, “if I have to stand here any longer I’ll be eaten alive by these damn mosquitoes; Lunar curse them!”

At last Thorne emerged from the shadows. A great sigh of relief was released from the crowd like a gust of air, whispering away into the night, and Thorne cleared his throat and stared amongst them.

He could not believe his luck; over three hundred had turned up, perhaps more, all young, only a couple of full grown adults, all enthusiastic and energetic like himself. He fought hard to hide a snigger as he saw Leech amongst them. That one ‘ll be the butt of everyone’s jokes for a while, he thought. He turned to face the onlookers.

“Right,” he said briskly, “is everyone here? Good. Now, I need to reveal something to you that I didn’t mention at the meeting.”

A load groan rose from the crowd; they knew there had to be some sort of catch to this.

“This something,” Thorne continued, “is the very commander of our group; army, if you like. We’re joining forces.”

“Army?” Roinder piped up, “you never said anything about an army, Thorne.”

“You can’t expect to conquer new lands without fighting for them, can you?” Thorne glared at him. The crowd murmured, and Roinder and Leech felt suddenly uneasy.

“This commander of ours,” the blood-drinker went on, “can be highly dangerous, but trust me, he will not hurt any one of you. You need him, he needs you. It’s a balance; once we’re out there, anything can happen. We must all depend on each other.”

Behind Thorne, ready for its cue, a large shadow hovered about the mouth of the copse. Those who saw it began to edge away, unsure of what to expect; was that big shape meant to be there, or did Thorne not know about it?

“I present to you,” Thorne declared, stepping to the side, “the leader of our army: Vulcan, the great Tarbosaurus.”

The crowd shivered and cried out uncomprehendingly. Only three figures stood their ground, but two of those gave each other a worried glance. Those at the front of the crowd backed away, cautious, unnerved, whilst others looked about themselves apprehensively. What was a ‘Tarbosaurus’?

Their question was soon answered, for out of the copse stepped a huge dinosaur, about the height of a giraffe and the length of a small bus. Its head was boxy, its teeth sharp and its two forearms spindly. The Saurornithoidi were simply hypnotised by fear; none could move, transfixed. They had never, like Leech and Roinder, encountered any predators bigger than themselves before, and were both fascinated and terrified.

“Do not fear me,” Vulcan boomed, sensing their terror, “I am here to join you in you travels to find new lands. I will not harm you; any of you. We are all children of The Lunar,” he assured, “and we shall help one another. I shall fight for you, you shall fight for me. I am the commander of you, and in return I shall help you conquer lands rich in prey. I promise you a good life if you come along and be my army.”

For several moments, only the singing of insects could be heard. The group were frozen to the spot, bowled over not only by the Tarbosaur and its voice, but the nauseating stench issuing from its colossal jaws. Vulcan waited, expectantly. When there was no answer, he continued.

“I am grateful for the huge amount of you here,” he said, “it shows you all have a sense of adventure and craving for domination, as have I. Believe me, we shall make an unstoppable team.”

“What’s in it for you?” someone piped up, but immediately ducked out of sight. Vulcan glanced in that direction and narrowed his eyes.

“I too wish to conquer lands,” he replied, “but I cannot do it alone. I need the assistance of you all. I promise you, in the lands we conquer you can hunt to your hearts’ content. I too wish to hunt to my heart’s content, but as I said, I cannot conquer a land alone. We must co-operate to achieve our goals. I want the same thing you do.”

Once again the crowd began to murmur, the excitement and enthusiasm having returned. None of these blood-drinkers had ever been allowed to hunt to their heart’s content; at the swamp, food was scarce, so only the bare minimum of prey was allowed to be eaten, and this often meant scavenging from others’ kills. But Vulcan had opened up a whole new world for them, where they could hunt for sport and spite as well as food. A tongue of flame began to grow in each one of them, as slowly as the dark fire raging inside both Vulcan and Thorne began to consume them from within.

Chapter I: The Beast of the Trench

The warm yet chilling breeze carried the scent of blood for miles. Those ignorant of the final battle that had taken place upon the extinct volcano, Ignis Peak, soon realised that something colossal had happened, something that would change the lives of everyone who had lived in the land of Ignis Springs. It was an event that would be told over and over to the forthcoming generations of dinosaurs and animals, by those who had inevitably survived the terrible ordeal.

The foot of Ignis Peak was splattered with blood and strewn with dead or injured bodies. Small tongues of flame crackled here and there, reminiscent of the huge fire that had consumed ninety per cent of the vegetation that had managed to thrive on mountainside, and the walls of the extinct volcano belched thin grey smoke into the sky. As Dark Kalm approached, the injured were gathered from below and taken away to rest.

The adult Saurornithoides regarded the sight with a shudder. He too had been marginally involved with the battle, but had been spared by the enemy. He had been the second henchman of the tyrannical ruler, whose actions towards Ignis Springs and its inhabitants had prompted war. The ruler had brought this on himself, the henchman felt sure of that, and knew that no one, including himself, should have meddled with that species.

The Saurornithoides, or blood-drinker, was one of the only survivors in the blood-drinker army. They were small predators, about three feet tall when fully grown, with long necks, green skin, often patterned with dark spots, and large sickle-claws on each big toe. Most disturbing of all were their eyes; huge, golden orbs that seemed to burn right through anyone who dared look into them. They used their excellent vision when hunting in small groups for lizards and mammals that emerged at Light Kalm. There were less survivors out of the couple of hundred or so that had taken part in battle, since the enemy had cut them down like corn.

The henchman’s name was Leech, and he had been present since the very beginning. The war had been the result of events happening over the past couple of years, and in those two years, Leech had not only lost his older brother, Roinder, but his once fanatical obsession to explore. As a hatchling, he had often disappeared from the nest on expeditions into the surrounding area, but experience and tragedy had now taught him otherwise. It had been because of his inquisitive nature that his master had risen to take over Ignis Springs, and had brought terrible consequences upon them all as a result.

Leech heaved a sigh of both relief and sadness; it was all over now. The old ruler would regain his post, and Ignis Springs would be as peaceful as it had been before they arrived; Leech just wished Roinder had been here to see it through to the end. He gazed around at the herbivores as they edged nearer the mountain, inquisitive, curious, some shocked and traumatised. Leech saw one herbivore he recognised; one of the main rebels, disappearing into the jungle. The blood-drinker shuddered; he could never go in there again, despite it being ‘safe’ now; too many memories.

He continued to watch the female Protoceratops – Ferne, he believed her name was – as she plodded into the foliage. She was a plant-eater, about the size of a small cow, with grey, pebbled skin, matching the colour of the smoke that was drifting up from Ignis Peak, with chestnut speckles on her body. She was a distant relation of Triceratops, with the headshield and parrot beak, but with no horns. Two distinctive jet black blotches adorned her neck frill. Judging by her podginess, Leech assumed she was going to lay eggs. The thought of stealing them crossed his mind, but he soon dismissed the idea – there were barely any plant-eaters left – he decided he had better let her alone to raise her young, and hopefully allow the herbivore population to recover.

The now ex-henchman lay down beneath a cycad palm, watching The Solar slowly rise over The Sky Mirror. The waves of The Sky Mirror lapped gently against the rocks on the beach, over the cliff, and its ocean song was carried by the wind. A lone Pterosaur shrieked and wheeled over the sea, silhouetted against the rising sun, and the heat haze began to rise from the ground as The Dark Kalm faded into the pre-Solar-zenith.

Leech half-shut his eyes, and a comfortable smile contorted his lips. He pictured his childhood once again,  when the whole colony of Saurornithoidi had lived by the swamps, hunting the mammals and lizards there, and thriving happily together. He shut his eyes, and began to relive the very beginning of the Dark Era.

*

“Leech?” called an agitated voice, “Where are you?”

The hatchling in question giggled and ducked away into the bushes. His mother growled and shook her head.

“Roinder!” she called, “help me look, Leech’s run off again!”

Leech scampered away into the copse, intent on exploring a new world, one he had been denied experience of by his protective mother. He raced through the undergrowth, jumping ferns, rocks and fallen logs, bolting deeper into the wooded area.

“By The Lunar,” Leech’s mother cursed, “when I get him home I’ll…”

“What’s the problem, Mother?” another blood-drinker asked. He was a mid-juvenile, about two thirds grown, with dark green skin and a splash of amber on his chest, running underneath his belly and tail. His eyes were large and curious, and on each big toe he carried a sickle-like claw, just like the other blood-drinkers in the colony.

“I think you can guess,” she replied tiresomely, “your little brother’s run off again. I don’t know which way he went.” She turned to Roinder suspiciously. “I hope you haven’t been telling him outrageous stories again; I’m sure they’re the reason he wanders off – probably wants to search for those ridiculous monsters.”

“Me?” Roinder cried, “I don’t tell them! It’s Thor-“

“Never mind, just help me look for him!” his mother snapped in reply.

Meanwhile, Leech, oblivious to the concern and aggravation he was causing everyone, skidded to a halt, deep in the copse, to catch his breath. At least he would be out of sight and earshot by now, and he could get down to some exploring. He did not understand why his mother did not let him out to see this beautiful, amazing new world, besides, the evil monsters only emerged at Dark Zenith. What was she afraid of?

Evil monsters. Leech suddenly felt panicky; before his impulse to explore had led him off into the fading glow of Light Kalm, he had not been able to check whether it was a Dark Zenith tonight. What if it was? He could be ambushed and eaten up by the horrors that lurked in the shadows. He shifted and fidgeted uneasily as the trees towered above him. In the dying light, everything was silhouetted, and the ferns and shrubs seemed to have taken on grotesque forms. The density of the copse oppressed little Leech, and he regretted his actions.

Insects cheeped in the bushes, electric-blue dragonflies buzzed overhead, in unison with mosquitoes, and twigs snapped and leaves rustled as the mammals emerged, their bright eyes reflecting the light of the stars as they twinkled in the sky above. Tickly ferns brushed against Leech as he moved slowly deeper into the copse, leaving splashes of water from previous rainstorms on his body.

The hatchling jumped and cried out in fear as something came crashing through the undergrowth behind him. He cringed and prepared to flee, but a pair of jaws clamped around the nape of his neck and lifted him clean off the ground.

“Please!!” wailed the baby blood-drinker, “Please don’t eat me!!”

There was a grunt as whatever was holding him attempted to speak whilst he was in its mouth, and then Leech was lowered to the ground again. Leech spun around, stricken with fear, to catch a glimpse of his assailant before the final blow, but his heart slowed, rivers of relief rushing through his veins, as he found himself staring up at his older brother.

“You scared me!” Leech whimpered, “I thought you were a monster!”

Roinder frowned.

“Won’t you ever learn? There’s no such things as monsters – you shouldn’t go believing anything he tells you – he’s just trying to frighten you! Besides,” he added, pointing up at the sky, “it’s not Dark Zenith anyway. It’s gibbous. See?”

Leech looked gladly up at the sky, where The Lunar hung, full except for a tiny cap of shadow on its brow.

“Come on,” Roinder said sympathetically, “you’d better get back to the nest, or Mother will have it in for you.”

“I bet she does, anyway,” Leech muttered, relieved that he had not been caught by a monster, but irritated since he had been found, and allowed Roinder, though reluctantly, to take him back to the nest.

“Oh, by The Lunar, Leech!” his mother cried, “You had me terrified! I thought something had happened to you!”

“It’s all right, Mother,” Leech assured her, “Roinder said it’s not Dark Zenith tonight. That means no monsters!”

“I knew it,” she sniped at her older son, “I knew you’d been telling him horrid stories! What if there were crocodiles in the copse, hmm? Because it’s not Dark Zenith, Leech would probably think he was safe!”

“No,” Leech butted in, “I…”

“Mother, there are no crocodiles here,” Roinder said gently, “not in the swamp.”

“I used them as an example,” she retorted, “he could have been lost! Left to die of hunger, or worse, taken by Pterosaurs!”

She heaved a sigh and looked down at her young son.

“You should have learned by now,” she said quietly to Leech, “that an inquisitive temperament can be fatal. You all know what happened to your father after he followed his curiosity. That’s the trouble, Leech. You seem to have inherited it. One of these days it’ll cause you great problems, I can tell you that now.” She looked to Roinder. “Right, I’m going off to get some food for the littl’uns. I’d be obliged if you’d stay and watch them Roinder,” she added, “but if I hear you’ve been telling them stories again…”

“I won’t Mother,” Roinder replied, “I never have. It’s-“

“Just watch them until I get back, I’ll be as quick as I can.” With that, she disappeared down towards the swamp, as The Light Kalm faded into the pre-Lunar-zenith.

“-Thorne,” Roinder finished. He glared down at Leech who cowered in his shadow. “Great,” he growled, “now I’m lumped with baby-sitting duty, no thanks to you. Why do you have to keep running off like that?”

Leech was about to make an excuse for himself when a dark shadow alighted on a nearby rock. Leech’s three sisters, who were in the nest with him, shrank down upon the bedding of leaves and ferns, and Leech himself stiffened.

“You make a fine wet nurse, Roinder”, the shadow said in an icy voice.

“Go away,” the other snapped, “you’re positively the last dinosaur I want to speak to right now. It’s because of you , Thorne, and your pathetic made up stories, that my little brother keeps running off – and I get blamed for it!”

Thorne laughed softly.

“Made up are they? Then how do you explain the shortage of mammals in the copse, when no one hunts in there? And also why does no one hunt in there?”

“Stop it, Thorne,” Roinder glared, “I only said that to Leech because he was scared – I don’t believe in all that claptrap. And no one hunts in the copse because there are too many mosquitoes in there. Did you see Squit come out of there the other pre-zenith? He was covered in bites from head to foot!”

“Say what you like,” Thorne said nastily, “there’s still a shortage of mammals in there.”

“Tell me about some other monsters, Thorne!” Leech piped up, “Please!”

“You shut up, Leech,” his brother growled, “I don’t want you getting any more stupid ideas into your head. I’ll get blamed!”

“Very well,” Thorne smirked, ignoring him, a sadistic glint in his dangerous eyes, “there are tales of another species of monster that I’ve heard. No one has actually seen one and lived to tell about it. Rumours are, that they’re like ghosts, and just as silent.”

Leech’s sisters cringed, one of them covered her ears, but Leech remained fascinated. Roinder turned away in utter distaste.

“It’s said,” Thorne continued, “that they just appear out of the shadows, and close in on their helpless victims. They have high-pitched screams, and when they sense fear, they make a strange purring noise. When they’re ripped their victims to pieces, they skin them, and hang their hide on a tree as an example to others who trespass on their territory during Dark Zenith.”

“Wow,” Leech breathed, “do you think they’re the ones who’re killing all the mammals in the copse?”

“No,” Thorne grinned nastily, “they attack much larger creatures; I heard they brought down a Nemegtosaur in the blink of an eye. They say they live further north, in the huge jungles, where there’s plenty of prey.”

“A load of rubbish!” Roinder dismissed it all, “where do you get these stories, Thorne? From someone who drank a bit too much swamp water?”

“What do you think’s killing all the mammals?” Leech asked Thorne, both blood-drinkers deaf to the other’s remark.

“I don’t think,” the other replied, “I know what’s killing all the mammals.”

Roinder groaned and rolled his eyes, giving his three younger sisters a here we go again look.

“What kind of monster is it?” Leech queried enthusiastically, “is it the one with the poisonus barb on its tail, or the one that could scoff a whole herd of Sauropods at a lick?”

“No, this one is bigger, with razor-sharp fangs, and a roar that could shatter every heart on this side of The Sky Mirror. It lives in the trench in the copse.”

“Really? Why doesn’t it come out?”

“Any source of light kills it,” Thorne told him, “even that of The Lunar. It has to stay in the trench in the copse, there’s too little shadow elsewhere. But it’s probably dying,” he added, “mammals aren’t enough of a diet for it, not at that size.”

“So it’s not dangerous, you know, if it’s dying?” the hatchling asked.

“No, not unless you go right up to the edge of the trench.”

“Okay.”

“I hope at least you lot have ignored that entire conversation,” Roinder muttered to his sisters, “just a load of claptrap. All of it.”

For a moment there was silence, save for the hum of insects and the buzz of gnats down by the swamp. The air was still and warm, and high above the last few stars emerged, burning through the cloak of night that had drifted overhead. The Lunar was low in the sky, and not a cloud was in sight. Then they heard footsteps. Thorne licked his lips as he smelt blood, and he stepped back into the shadows. Leech’s mother advanced, carrying two dead mammals.

“Here you go, my little ones,” she said kindly, depositing one of the kills in the nest for her young. They writhed and wriggled like snakes as they clambered over one another, each attempting to grab the kill and keep the sweet meat all to themselves. Leech did not follow his sisters, instead he turned to look back at the copse.

“Here you are, Roinder.” The mother handed her eldest son the other mammal. “Thank you for watching them…oh, pre-zenith, Thorne,” she greeted, yet with a touch of ice in her voice as she noticed the shadow standing there. Thorne grunted and gave a faint nod to show he had heard, but did not return the greeting.

“You can go now, Roinder,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off Thorne. Roinder frowned.

“Don’t you want any food, Mother? I’ll go and get some more mammals, if you want.”

“No, I’m all right. I’m not really hungry, and anyway, I’ve got to keep my eye on Leech…” she stopped short. There was something wrong, something wrong with the hatchlings in her nest, but she could not put her finger on what it was. Then she fumed as she realised that there were only female hatchlings in the nest (she could not count the number of hatchlings to check) and that Leech was gone.

“I don’t believe it!” she cried, “He’s disappeared again!” She snatched the mammal out of Roinder’s claws, “Some baby-sitter you are! Leech has run off again!”

“But he was here just a minute ago!” Roinder protested. He glared across at Thorne.

“You!” He snarled, “he’s run off to find that beast in the trench, hasn’t he? I knew it! Come on, this is all your fault! You’re going to help look too! Leech!” he bawled, spotting something wriggle away into the bushes on the edge of the copse, “Leech!”

*

“Where on Earth is the trench?” Leech thought to himself as he darted through the foliage, picking his way through prickly bushes and shrubs. He just had to get there. He just had to see the monster before it died. That would be a discovery. Thorne said it would not attack him unless he went right up to the edge of the ditch; if the monster was indeed that big, Leech felt he would not need to go too close in order to see it.

Approaching familiar ground, Leech stopped again to catch his breath, and then realised he had been too hasty. It was not a Dark Zenith tonight, therefore the monster would not be there. He cursed his luck; when he was found, they would surely realise his purpose for going in here, and at the next Dark Zenith, they would keep an uninterrupted watch on him. By the Dark Zenith after that, the monster would be dead, and would have shrivelled away into nothing, so Leech would never get a chance to see it.

Well, I might as well make the most of exploring, anyway, Leech thought, and continued to dash through the undergrowth.

Not far behind him he could hear his brother and mother calling him. Leech ignored their insistent cries, and trekked deeper into the copse. The surrounding foliage seemed to stretch away forever, and once again the trees towered above and loomed over him threateningly. Leech did his best to pay them no attention, but still he felt vulnerable. He crashed through the bushes and shrubs, paying no heed to the tears engraved in his tender flesh by their prickles. He halted for another rest – battling through hedges was exhausting – once he was sure Roinder and his mother were out of earshot. His panting was hoarse and exceptionally loud, but it was then that Leech heard the noise.

It was a low panting, one that accompanied his own. It was softer than the wind, a crackled and choked sound, backed by a deep, rumbling growl, like a harsh purr. Leech held his breath and listened intently. He was not imagining it, there was certainly some kind of breathing, coming from beyond the trees up ahead. A million fears flashed through the hatchling’s mind.

Suppose it was one of those ghosts, the ones that flayed their victims? The breathing was backed by a sort of purr, was it one of them? No, as Thorne had said, the copse was too small for them to ‘haunt’, as was the prey in the copse. It was not a Dark Zenith tonight, no monsters, so what could it be?

Leech edged closer, and then froze like a statue of ice. There was something moving beyond the trees.

Something big.

The silhouette rose, as if out of the earth, and stopped about eight feet above the ground. It look Leech a few moments to realise it was a head, attached to a muscly neck that protruded from the ground. Then the realisation dawned on him.

Up ahead was the trench. The head was rising out of it.

It was a large, boxy head, about four feet long, with a colossal pair of jaws, and sharp serrated teeth. A tiny, limp tongue waved idly as the creature yawned, opening its jaws wide, and releasing a vile stench that almost knocked Leech off his feet. It was a nauseating smell of stale blood, death and decaying meat. Gnats whirred in dark clouds around the creature’s mouth, and then the head ducked down below the line of trees once more.

Then it was the monster, Leech thought, Thorne must be wrong, this thing must live here all the time, and not just at Dark Zenith. The hatchling gulped. If Thorne had been wrong about this one only emerging at Dark Zenith, who was to say he was not wrong about the others? Leech swallowed nervously, as the thought of the monster with the barbed, poisonous tail, and the one that could lick up a whole herd of Sauropods in an instant, being in the copse with him, crossed his mind.

There came a low grunt from the trench, but before the monster’s head reappeared, Leech was off, like a bullet shot from a gun, back to tell Thorne and Roinder what he had seen. He ran into a large shape as he bolted, and cried out in fear. He looked up to see Thorne staring down at him.

“The…the monster…” Leech gasped as he fought for his breath, “the…the one in the trench…it’s there! It’s there right now! I saw it!”

Thorne did not answer, and Leech was about to reinforce the news when Roinder approached. At first he did not see his younger brother crouched in the ferns before Thorne.

“He must be here somewhere,” he said, “where’s the…Leech!” he cried, having spotted him, “You idiot! Why did you run off like that? You’re in for it now!”

“We’re all in for it!” Leech interjected, “The monster’s in the trench! I saw his head! He was huge! And he looks hungry! Come on, I’ll show you if you don’t believe me!” and before Roinder could make a grab for him, Leech had turned and shot off in the other direction, calling for them to follow.

“By The Lunar…” Roinder spat, “come on!”

He and Thorne tore after the hatchling, and finally caught up with him. He was beckoning them to follow but to keep quiet, as cringed down in the ferns, opposite the line of trees. Agitated, Roinder ran up to him.

“If this is a joke,” he warned, “or one of your stupid games…”

“Shhh!” Leech hissed, “He’ll hear you! Listen!”

Irritably, Roinder obeyed, and his eyes widened slightly as he heard the breathing of the huge creature. Thorne sauntered up, a smug expression lining his sinister features. He had no need to open his mouth; his eyes said the words I told you so.

“He’s down there,” Leech indicated to Thorne as he advanced. The two older blood-drinkers tiptoed closer to the area beyond the trees, watching for the edge of the ditch.

“Well,” Roinder admitted as he saw a dark shape moving up and down in the trench, “there’s definitely something down there…”

“Of course there is!” Leech insisted, “I saw it!”

Roinder and Thorne moved closer, leaning forward to peer into the ditch. It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the thicker blackness in the trench, but once they did, Roinder and Thorne stepped back and stifled a gasp.

Below them, in the shadows, lay the largest dinosaur Roinder had ever seen. It was about twenty five to thirty five feet long, and about fifteen feet high, perhaps less. The sharp teeth told them it was a carnivore. Its large boxy head was pressed against the wall of the trench, and the rest of the body was twisted at rather awkward angles. In the darkness they could only just make out small brown stripes running down along its spine, like a meerkat. Its skin was pebbly, like a rugby ball, and it had two spindly forearms curled up like shrimps against is broad chest.

Roinder turned to Thorne, satisfied.

“That’s no monster,” he muttered. Then a tiny flap of skin, on the side of the large dinosaur’s head, retracted as its eye flicked open. It was dark red, almost black, with a large slit-like pupil down the middle, like those of the blood-drinkers, only slightly more serpentine.

Leech, who had crept up for a better look, was disappointed it was no monster, but struck dumb with awe by its size just the same. Neither he or Roinder had ever seen such a big carnivore; the big meat-eaters tended to live on plains, in forests or in thorn scrub, where more prey was abundant, and so they never realised that carnivores bigger than themselves existed. They knew of large herbivores, but had only glimpsed Sauropods in the distance, so they had no idea how big other dinosaurs could be until they were up close to one.

When its eye opened, Roinder and Leech gasped with fright and stepped back, but Thorne, who had encountered such beasts before, stood his ground; obviously this specimen was injured or weak from lack of food, otherwise it would have attacked the whole colony for meat by now. He gazed down at the carnivore, and in a cold voice, recited in the universal language of Dinosauria*:

“Reveal to me thy name,

Are you creation of dark or of flame?

Be you child of Lunar, you carry my blood,

Be you child of Solar, I shall drain your heart’s blood.”

The carnivore stared dismally up at Thorne, and replied in a weak and pained voice in Dinosauria:

“Injure me not, I am no child of flame,

I was created when the darkness came,

I carry the blood of a Lunar child,

So your heart and mine shall be reconciled.”

Leech and Roinder watched this ritual with fascination. Roinder had learned from Thorne that it was one of the few safe ways to establish respect with other species of carnivore.

“What is it?” Roinder breathed.

“It’s a Tarbosaur,” Thorne answered.

* Most dinosaurs, if not all, speak Dinosauria. Some know others besides Dinosauria, which they use amongst themselves; blood-drinkers, though rarely, use Theropoda to speak to one another.