by Marc Secchia
You pushed mightily to bring us this far, noble Leandrial, Zuziana said quietly.
You flew as the winds unleashed, Ri’arion added firmly.
Gang smashed his right paw against his chest. Honour to the prodigious Land Dragoness!
Aranya smiled wanly. In Human culture that accolade would have earned one a strange look at best, but amongst the Dragonkind, such words fit like a king’s best mantle.
Then Gang and Huaricithe, carrying Ri’arion and Zip-Aranya upon their backs respectively, launched themselves off Leandrial’s tongue, swooped out between the slabbed ranks of her tooth ridges, and set themselves to the climb. Ascending from a depth of three and a half leagues put considerable strain on a Dragon’s physiology, at once managing the enormous pressures and the associated decompression as they gained altitude, and the far greater effort of ‘swimming’ through viscid air. They left Leandrial nosing about in search of edibles upon the edge of that fathomless canyon, and struck out Northwest, with a goodly two hundred and fifteen leagues still to cover.
The plant layers were better defined here, somewhat removed from the Egg’s northward path, and so the Lesser Dragons had the experience of zigzagging through soupy layers of turquoise air as they flew a path through lily pad burgundy leaves over a mile in diameter that overlapped in successive layers, leading to a frustrating flying experience. They found clearer air but an adverse flow two miles above in a region frequented by the smaller classes of Borers. Aggressive shielding kept the predators at bay. Soon, it was as if they could slough waters off their wings, for the pressure differentials eased into territory that made the going progressively easier. This allowed Gangurtharr, who flew slightly ahead with Huari in wing position upon his right flank, to accelerate smoothly through the bioluminescent, floating plant layers toward the ceiling of grey above. Soon, they plopped into its gloom with a sense of imminent return to the world of wide-open skies. Freedom. Freshness. A congruent stretching of the wings and expansion of the lungs as each wing stroke broadened a touch more.
Fly well, my friends, Leandrial said from below.
We fly for the Onyx, said Zip. Come primed for battle, my friend. My scales say this will be a sharp conflict indeed.
I shan’t tarry, little ones.
Breaking free of the Cloudlands, the pair of Shapeshifters raced upward into a new world of dark granite Islands from which ropes of tan, spiny vegetation dangled toward the lower clouds as though seeking sustenance from that deathly realm. The skies above were bright, but ahead, the characteristic aged-green patina of the First Egg’s passage occluded the horizon, shooting its fires upward in great columns that sparked lightning and boiled with black smoke from their tops, as though – perhaps this was true – those fires burned untold tonnes of plant matter beneath the Cloudlands and ejected the ash and smoke in vast tornadoes that snaked about the storm front. Dark bands of cloud striated every horizon with ominous tenacity, and although they could not see that far, both Gang and Huari claimed to sense the marauding Drake packs.
Aranya said, Sapphire, what are you doing in there?
Make Ari strong, peeped the dragonet.
What do you mean? asked Huari. Are you healing her?
Diffidently, the reply came, Little stronger each day. My Ari be ready to take back her Shadow. Naughty Ardan forget Ari.
The other Dragoness chuckled bleakly. Naughty indeed, little one. Let’s fly, my Gangurtharr. They are already far closer to the prize than we had hoped for.
Will we beat Azhukazi hence? Zip asked.
Huaricithe said, We’ve no way of knowing – what we do know, is that our top priority is to penetrate that fortress and locate this Marshal Asturbar as quickly as possible. It looks as if the Drake packs have already swept through here. That means two things: refugees and lockdown. If we fly in as refugees, there are protocols to follow so that we do not immediately get shot down. Their House Wards will be primed so we would need to walk in and remain in our Human forms in order to gain entry, unless they have already been Spiked – that is, destroyed by magical means.
We forgot clothing for you ladies. Ri’arion snapped his fingers angrily. I –
I don’t care, said Huari.
Nor I, said Gang, but I take no responsibility if their women-kind faint at the advent of my nudity, which is the very epitome of magnificence.
I see! giggled Zip. Ri’arion –
I am not undressing for anyone! Uh, except, that is … his wife’s giggling clearly flustered the ex-monk. He spluttered, I give up! Aranya?
I am a Shapeshifter Dragoness. I could use an opacity shield, but I fear I must conserve every fraction of energy I have for the fight. The Thoralians are offshore. She pointed back to their right flank. They are several hours behind us but coming fast. I think, from the flickering I sense, that they are somehow using Ardan’s Shadow power to accelerate their progress beyond normal speeds, leaping five to six leagues at a time. He is in considerable pain.
She said the last sadly, prompting Gang to snarl, He is the enemy until proven otherwise, Star Dragoness!
I know. We must fly faster.
Deploying shaped aerodynamic shields, the pair of Shapeshifters winged rapidly into the gathering gloom, even though the day was but young. It would not grow dark, they saw, for the Egg’s fires irradiated the entire horizon an eerie green colour, flickering white where the lightning flashed. They raced past jagged, tangled Clusters of Islands, trying to keep low where there was cover to fool any possible scrutiny by the Thoralians, but they need not have bothered for at least half of their flight. Then, they came up behind the marauding Drake packs and the game was up.
At fifteen to twenty-two feet in wingspan, the Drakes were fast, manoeuvrable fliers, besides being aggressively territorial. These first few they spotted were loners or injured and so easily avoided, but they quickly began to see a pattern in the deployment of the bustling packs – they were systematically searching the Islands and destroying any Human or Dragon denizens they could find, swarming into cracks and caves, checking every possible bolt-hole. Could they be searching for the Jewels?
Even the fast-flying Lesser Dragons now came under increasingly heavy attack. As pack hunters, the Drakes were acutely alert to the behaviour of their peers across a wide area. Aggression or battle was a signal to band together against the common enemy. Their flight path became more and more crowded the further they proceeded, and their progress slowed accordingly, until Gang gave in and unleashed a few exasperated fireballs.
Zip called, “Hold on. We need a diversion.”
“What sort of diversion?” growled Huari, swerving to avoid a Drake pack descending into their flying space. Crimson wings wuthered furiously as the Drakes struggled to match their high-speed manoeuvring.
“Something like what we pulled on those Land Dragons –”
“I wasn’t there, remember?” said Aranya.
“No, but I was,” said Ri’arion. “Zip was brilliant. She had them chasing phantasms across half of Herimor.”
“Here, the Thoralians will spy the disturbance,” Gang pointed out.
“Short-lived phantasms?” suggested Zip.
“I’ll manage this,” said Ri’arion, rubbing his hands briskly as if the act of conjuration required additional warmth.
Five seconds later, a passable imitation of an Azure Dragoness appeared two hundred feet off their port flank. With a brazen waggle of her tail, she darted away across the Islands. A hundred panting Drakes immediately gave chase.
Zip regarded her husband coolly. “Really?”
“What?”
“That business with my hindquarters?”
He shrugged. “I aim for realism.” She growled at him. Oops. Dragoness! “Frightfully shapely hindquarters, might I add. I miss that sassy wriggle.”
Gang snorted, “In other words, no-one can see any sane creature chasing his backside, right?”
Wiggle or none, the Azure proved an irresistible target for Drakes, and Ri’arion, perhaps enco
uraged by Zuziana’s reaction, pushed himself to ever-improving efforts to confound their attackers. She disappeared into foliage, ‘ambushed’ groups of Drakes, and slipped away like the phantasm she was, leaving the beasts rending each other in their impassioned fury. He started sending her out ahead, drawing the Drakes into snarls attacking nothingness while they ghosted by, heavily shielded now to try to prevent detection.
Passing through the wild region in a further five hours of non-stop struggle that brought the hour to noon and the advancing gloom to an early twilight, the companions paused at a dense Cluster, perhaps fifty Islands strong, to take water and hunt briefly. Gang and Huari were most happy with the succulent rodent meat, but Zip found Aranya’s sensibilities taking over and had to shut her eyes and bolt her portion whole. Call her a Dragoness? Gangurtharr teased her about enjoying the feeling of live kill scrabbling haplessly at the insides of his throat on the way down.
Then it was on and on through the tangle of dark, mostly dry and dusty Islands arranged in great wedge-shaped flotillas, sooty black on the sides and topped with suns-kissed tan and golden vegetation, homing in on the coordinates by which Fra’anior had identified the Mistral Fires.
Within, Zip heard Aranya speaking rapidly to her Dragoness. Calculating. Searching for the elusive creature she had identified out here. Groaning softly, They’re killing Ardan to make time. Where are they now – oh, holy Fra’anior! Go! Huari, Gang, go!
What? snapped Huari.
Rapid-fire, Aranya said, I’ve detected a large Dragonwing approaching from the North – Azhukazi is my guess – and then the Thoralians are racing ahead of a sizeable battlefront arriving from the East. They’ve swept up tens of thousands of Drakes in that storm, Huari. Coming so fast! Ardan’s in agony …
Gang said, Scrap, we simply can’t get there in time. We’re at least an hour out and –
SHIFT!
Chapter 10: The Mistral Fires
ARdan BLINKED AS Aranya winked out of the ambit of his senses. Disappeared. He searched. Searched again, and on the periphery of his awareness, discovered a gleaming white trace, the psychic-echo-image of her Star Dragoness soul. The Dragon grunted, What?
What do you mean, what? snapped Prime. Don’t tell me you’ve lost the Star Dragoness yet again? Where is she? Everything was proceeding according to –
She just jumped seventy leagues. The Shadow Dragon inadvertently dribbled fire from his lower lip as his brain tried to connect the Isles of truth. Whatever the schedule had been, it had just leaped off the proverbial Island with a pert flick of its tail, and absconded. Now, they’re halfway to the target, and –
Take us there! Now!
Wait, said Secondary. The timing is exquisite. We give Azhukazi time to run into the Star Dragoness inside that fortress. Aranya will fight the Necromancer as she must, for her morals will allow nothing else. They will damage and weaken each other. At the opportune moment, we pluck the spoils from their dying talons.
The Marshal? said Tertiary.
EXCELLENT PLAN! boomed Prime. He’s nothing, nor is that prize he wants – the Jewels of Instashi. All that matters is the power of Necromancy. Let that pathetic rabble duel with Azhukazi.
Agreed, intoned the triplicate.
The long, muscular forms of the Thoralians turned as one to regard the Shadow Dragon. He shivered at the malicious amusement communicated by the deep, earthy orange tones of their eyes, as they tightened the adamantine bonds upon his mind.
Earned yourself a reprieve, Shadow? sneered Prime. Ready yourself for battle. Yours will be the responsibility of tearing the Star Dragoness’ hearts from her chest, and consuming them as the fires gutter in her still-living fire eyes.
No …
SUBMIT, SHADOW!
The last embers of resistance guttered within his great hearts. Aye, Masters. All shall proceed as you wish.
Of course it will, growled the Prime. We are the greatest power of this epoch. Organise the Drakes for our assault. Prepare to consume Azhukazi’s powers, my brothers!
Backed by the whirring wings of thousands of crimson Drakes, the Thoralians forged eagerly into the gloom of the Egg storm, the first true usage they had found for the Egg’s powers. It had been difficult in the extreme to harness those fey energies, but via the judicious application of urzul, which they had learned of from Infurion during their last crossing of the Rift but finally stolen by successfully parasitizing a S’gulzzi in the Pit of Despair, the Thoralians knew that they now enjoyed viable access to the greatest font of magical power in the Island-World. Even the Star Dragoness must succumb.
Satisfactory.
Still, they must never become complacent. Dramagon was a famously harsh taskmaster who set only the highest standards in his scientific endeavour, and had a documented habit of executing underlings who displeased him in even the slightest degree by inviting them to participate in his most hazardous experiments. Few survived; those that did were often unrecognisable from the persons or creatures they had been before. Cognizant of the Shadow Dragon’s listening mind, the Thoralians drew him closer into the fold as they set to calculating the possible measures and countermeasures they could take against the enemy. Thanks to Ardan’s input, they now had first paw knowledge about the Immadian Princess’ every capability and power, how she thought and the influences that would inevitably drive her behaviour. After a moment, they hit upon a novel idea. A feint within a feint. This, the Star Dragoness would never anticipate.
The Thoralians chuckled softly, in perfect concert. Victory was assured.
* * * *
Aranya had assumed the worst, but even so, the scale of destruction they passed on that last mad dash toward the Mistral Fires’ fortress was grievous. Crash landed, burnt-out Dragonships. Flayed, half-eaten carcasses of Dragons. Scattered, charred lumps which had once been Human or dragonet, or other creatures she could not identify from the remains. Oily black smoke billowed vigorously into the skies, proclaiming that the Mercenary House had come under heavy, sustained bombardment. Many refugees had tried to flee here. A great number had not survived the journey, harried and ultimately destroyed by the merciless Drakes – the same packs that now swirled across their route, searching fruitlessly for an enemy who kept evaporating into thin air.
Still, the press of Drakes was so thick that no direct flight was possible.
Heavily shielded to hide their presence from the Dragonwing that Huari had confirmed was Azhukazi’s forces, the companions arrowed toward a floating Island of considerable proportions, its stippled base heavily infested with decades of ragion growth. A small landing stage which usually lay outside of the House Wards had been scorched. Debris littered a huge, barren field outside of the underground fortress, which its main entryway overlooked. She understood these fosse-crossed fields were the main theatre for the staged infantry battles that Wyldaroon custom demanded – that point had long since passed here, the battlefield turned over to the corpses of soldiers, Dragons and civilians. Curiously, she saw no wrecked Dragonships, but then she noticed that a creative defender had stuffed a gaping V-shaped hole above their main doorway with an amazing miscellany of remains, and chained or welded it all together in a messy heap over two hundred feet tall, effectively denying entrance to any Dragonkind or Drakes. Would they have left a Human-sized entryway beside or beneath it?
As the scene resolved before her weakened eyesight, Aranya also noted that the rectangular hill fronting that blasted field was actually the upper battlements of the underground fortress. Azhukazi’s Dragonwing appeared to be focussing their attack at the top of the fortress, where by the crashing sounds that now reached her hearing, Azhukazi’s creature must be attempting to hammer its way through the top of the Mistral Fires’ House. Each repetitive, booming report drowned out the clamour of hundreds of attacking Lesser Dragons led by Shapeshifters, their colours standing in stark contrast to the mass of Grey-Greens – the battle challenges, the heavy detonations of magma-laced fireballs and the sharper hiss of lig
htning strikes – while the defenders appeared to be putting up a spirited account of their own.
That was why a frontal raid by a nude teenage Princess made perfect Isles sense. Her grin felt frayed at the edges. Less than amusing.
Beran would have lauded this resistance. They were excellently organised and disciplined. Counterattacks of bolts, shrapnel and even explosive devices speared into the sky in concerted volleys, making it difficult for targeted Dragons to avoid mass damage. Even as she watched, five heavily wounded Grey-Greens bellowed their way to crash landings above the House.
Pointing with her left fore-talon, Huari turned her muzzle to snap toward her Rider, There’s a gap in the debris – what’s the inane smile for, Aranya?
Nothing. Just, it’s just not the first time I’ve assaulted the enemy in the nude. My Dragoness thinks I’m being ridiculous, but – oh! This is going to sound like some ghastly exercise in vanity …
Your scars? her relative guessed, correctly. I’m sorry, Aranya. I understand – any decent person would.
People are dying and I’m thinking this? I hate myself! Sighing just once, she mentally buried that raw scream and all the shame. Mercy. I’m ready.
With you, petal. Strength to your paw, Zip said softly.
Gangurtharr and Huari charged toward the blockaded entryway, shielded up to the ear canals. The bombardment had been so heavy here that rock had run like water; still, Aranya thought she detected the paw-work of a Brown to fuse this mess together. A dark, jagged passageway stood ahead of them as the pair of Shapeshifters landed as close to the entryway as Dragons of their size could manage. They cast their magical cloaking aside. A chorus of swearing from the defenders greeted their appearance – ruse successful, in that case. Aranya heard a familiar creaking of catapult cords and winches as engineers rushed to orient their weapons.
Huaricithe made a definite gyrating gesture with her wingtips – the ally-subordination signal – while Gang boomed, “We’re allies! Do not fire!”
Springing to the ground, Aranya staggered as her knees threatened to give way. The two Dragons Shifted with a loud whap-whomp! of displaced air. A sharp stench of molten rock, Dragon sulphur and burning timbers seared her nostrils as Aranya took her first breath of the air issuing from the Mistral Fires fortress. Ignoring several cries to stay put, the foursome dashed into the narrow passageway and began picking their way through the debris. Gang was particularly vocal, swearing at everything in sight as he bruised first his forehead, then barked his shins, and stubbed a toe for good measure. They scrabbled over the carcass of a Dragonship and under twisted stanchions. Huari gave her Dragon instructions in how to contort his massive frame in the right places.
