by Marc Secchia
Asturbar against Ardan! A pinpoint strike of the battle-axe into a wing nerve-bundle sent the Shadow slewing away, momentarily disabled.
The Navy Blue cried, Aranya!
Now, Huari! They joined together, pounding Ardan with successive rapid-fire psychic strikes in the hope of breaking him free of the Thoralians’ hold upon his mind. He slipped away like dark, vengeful smoke to where they could no longer reach him.
The Amethyst had just spun around Asturbar’s back, protecting him from a fireball that had ‘death courtesy of Thoralian’ written upon it, and was searching for the as-yet unknown quantity of Azhukazi amidst the smoke and mayhem, when an agonised scream arrested her movement. A scream that whipped her straight back to Thoralian’s torture chambers in Sylakia, where she, Jia-Llonya and Yolathion had once been unwilling guests of honour.
Azhukazi held a tall girl of silvery-blue skin tone aloft, somehow arresting and excruciating her limbs with his terrible power, so that the bones twisted visibly with each wrenching motion despite his paws not moving an inch. From her viewpoint, she saw the girl from behind her left flank, so that even though she threw back her ebon locks as she shrieked a second time, Aranya could not see her face. Iridiana! Her lustrous dark hair undulated about her spare frame as the Necromancer’s great strength and magic held her helpless; beyond the rictus formed by those overstretched Human limbs, she saw Asturbar’s face turn as pallid as Immadian ice.
“IRIDIANA!” Asturbar roared.
Crimson trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“You have something of mine, Marshal,” grated the Iolite Blue.
“Wait. Don’t hurt her.” The Amethyst sidled behind a frozen Huaricithe, her every sense preternaturally alert as she watched the giant soldier seated upon Gangurtharr’s back. She sensed his goodness. His pain. What was he hiding? “I’ll get you the Jewels. Just stop the torture. Please.”
Azhukazi growled, “Be quick, or I will force every bone out through her skin, and turn this abominable little Chaos Beast into a puddle of liquid on your floor.”
* * * *
Charming, said Prime Thoralian, sharing his malicious amusement with the triplicate through their private telepathic link. I’m starting to enjoy that worm’s antics. I hope his hearts taste good.
Tertiary put in, So, this is a Chaos Beast? Pathetic. Nought to fear nor power to desire here, brothers.
Laughter gurgled in Ardan’s throat, but he was not about to allow the scarred Amethyst and her new ally out of his sight. They were too shrewd by far. The Iridium Dragoness had begun to display her outlandish powers, but this Necromancer was a hoary beast long in the fang and mighty in battle, confident in the unique abilities he wielded. To see bones come alive like that – a ghastly acidic taste squeezed into his craw as the Dragon considered the pain the girl must be subjected to. She was lean and lanky like Aranya, but that freakish blue skin lent her an alien cast.
“I’m waiting,” Azhukazi murmured, infinitely threatening.
Asturbar said, “Uh … Star Dragoness?”
“Don’t tell me – this treasure isn’t inside your stomach, perchance?” The Amethyst flicked a talon out of its sheath. Snick. Ardan did not understand her jest, unless she was trying to communicate something, or was buying time for another gambit she had planned …
’Ware her trickery, Masters.
Monitoring, they chorused, but their tone dismissed his concern.
Asturbar said to Azhukazi, “Yes, the Jewels are inside my stomach. That’s how I stole them. I would have the Star Dragoness perform a quick … ah, surgical extraction. Just don’t hurt Iridiana.”
Oh ho-HOO-HOO! sniggered the Thoralians, as the man’s pained tone struck a comical note.
“Go ahead,” Azhukazi sneered at Aranya. “Start at the neck and peel him slowly. It’s that, or this abomination’s death.”
A pregnant man? Whatever next? sneered Tertiary. Even Gangurtharr and Huaricithe appeared amused - fleetingly. The triplicate measured their stances. Mind the Navy Blue behind you, brother.
Aye, said Secondary. Observe, brothers. I sense fate’s paw will soon be upon us, once the Amethyst midwives this fool. Clearly, he swallowed the Jewels of Instashi in order to hide them from Azhukazi.
He’s the real threat, said Prime, calculating rapidly in his mind. Barely have we avoided his basal, glamour-faceted, ultra narrow focus rune magic constructs – what a matchless power! He bends the very fabric of reality, a death-grip of magic upon living substance … but how?
The truth is deeper, Masters. I see it as if Shadow reaches through flesh to control her verimost fire essence, Ardan supplied, using the Dragonish word similar to the Human concept of marrow to describe the fundamental fire pathways of the draconic being, which had mystified scholars and philosophers for centuries. What precise interaction between flesh, fire and magic caused a life’s fires to arise and persist within a physical body was a great mystery; greater still, the metaphysical conundrum of how fire essence shaped or described the draconic soul, and how its absence inevitably denoted death. Only Shapeshifters seemed to transcend this barrier, living both as ostensibly fireless Humans and as fiery Dragonkind.
The Thoralians turned this information over within their minds, before integrating it into their precious heritage data. Prime said, Yes. The techniques differ but the endpoint effect is the same, a manipulation of life essence itself. Final decision, my brothers?
Kill, the triplicate intoned. Eat.
The Amethyst prowled across the space separating her from Asturbar. A mere fledgling. How could she yet hold the triplicate at bay? It was inconceivable – ah! Her allies are aiding the exterior jamming, Masters, said Ardan. Somehow Aranya has constructed a feedback loop with the Land Dragoness called Leandrial. See to that, and her protections will fail.
Good thinking again, Shadow, Prime approved. Azhukazi’s attention is divided and Aranya’s shield is vulnerable to a neutralising Harmonic attack. Initiate the takedown, brothers. Shadow, stand ready. Countdown in three … two …
Lightly, Aranya said, “Remove the breastplate, soldier, or I will be forced to peel your hide.”
Ardan’s eyes burned upon her, before he shifted his regard to the other girl. Pretty little scrap. She would look good screaming in his paw.
With the perfection of timing made possible by the Thoralians’ deep mental bond, they attacked as a quartet. Shield down – Shadow – attack! All was accomplished within a pawful of milliseconds. Ardan left the Iolite Blue with a bruised jaw and the indignity of holding no prize whatsoever in his rapacious grasp. Bone-wrenching power hardly mattered when he applied it to nothingness, did it? Yet there was a fragment of awareness that seemed to persist, to suck away from her bones like quicksand reluctantly giving up its victim. Deep in his Shadow space, Ardan regarded the phenomenon with keen attention. Did that mean Azhukazi invested something of his own soul into that link? Only oath magic operated at this level as far as he was aware.
Intriguing. He folded the insight in the inmost part of his being, where even the Thoralians could not easily reach. A Dragon must have leverage. He must guard his secrets well.
Without, the world seemed as insubstantial as veils and shadows cast by veils, a landscape of fires and draconic light dominated in size by the dense, vermilion-fire fortresses of the Thoralians’ minds with their strong covalent-like bonds reaching like dark, fibrous hawsers between them, and the glorious radiance of Aranya, tiny in comparison, yet all the complexity, beauty and brilliance of Star-life indwelled her impossibly compact draconic form.
Ha! She stalked him! How?
Azhukazi was offended and sore to boot. He let every Dragon know of the theft with a volley of thunderous bellows. Ardan Shadowed twice, keeping Iridiana with him – she seemed too shocked to accomplish any of her trickery – but he was too distracted by the unaccustomed privilege of being hunted by a vengeful Star Dragoness to care much, anyhow. Aranya flickered around the chamber after him, seeming to an
ticipate his moves even if he sneaked through what he had come to term his Shadow space.
Could the oath magic thus betray his location? Embodying unexpectedly, he attacked her savagely through the bond, driving Aranya backward with a pained headshake. Ha. So the psychic wasp sting technique he had gleaned from the Thoralians – whang! Boots slammed against his muzzle. Suddenly, he wore a battle-axe in his eye socket that he had not even seen, and Asturbar’s blow rocked him to the bone – both literally and figuratively. This man-beast was strong!
Roaring, Give me back Iridiana! the Marshal tried but failed to wrench the axe blade free.
Make me, you fool!
Agony! Aranya stitched the Thoralians’ bodies and wings with a sustained volley of her blue-hot fireballs, laced with the whiteness of Star Fire, making the mental network almost disintegrate beneath the successive waves of agony they provoked.
Ardan panted, She’s been holding back!
The Thoralians thundered, BROTHERS – NOW!!
His prize transformed! Ardan’s fist clenched instinctively as a dragonet he initially mistook for Sapphire tried to sneak between his talons; both the Marshal and his girlfriend cried out, but their pathetic mewling was drowned out as the triplicate finally broke through, marshalling the full power of the First Egg and turning it to their cause. The Thoralians surged up and fought back, crushing the Star Dragoness and her minions with the uttermost savagery.
Aranya was reduced to a quivering lump upon the stone floor; incredibly, still endowed with strength enough to save her companions’ lives from being extinguished. Mentally, physically, magically, they were clamped down as with shackles fit to bind Ancient Dragons.
Dramagon’s lore, running rampant!
Now, let us seize victory. Azhukazi the Iolite Blue. Come to us, the Thoralians demanded, unleashing the deluge of their hugely augmented mental powers upon the trapped Dragon.
Before Azhukazi could draw breath, they crushed him like a gnat.
* * * *
Aranya lay immobile, paralysed by the awful power wielded by the Thoralians as they finally broke through her shielding and subterfuge, and turned the battle. It was as if the Yellow-White Shapeshifter stood upon her neck with all of his weight, crushing her windpipe, while her every muscle trembled in hapless enervation. Could this be a Word of Command, or its equivalent expressed in the urzul-terms of Dramagon’s lore?
She felt an utter failure to rise to the mantle of Star Dragoness or Fra’anior’s kin. Even this effort had turned to dust – how had she not foreseen this eventuality? Sheer, bloody-minded stubbornness? But to her surprise, she was neither cowed nor broken.
She was furious.
Nearby, the ghastly sounds of a Thoralian feast began. The leathery peeling, sucking sound of Dragon hide preceded the remaining pair ripping into Azhukazi’s chest to expose his still-beating hearts. Muscle and tendon parted as their extraordinarily elongated talons scissored through his flesh. They made this astonishing feat seem facile, like a Dragon settling upon his favourite snack. She sensed the reflected pleasure of the Thoralian still located outside the Mistral Fires’ fortress, but he would not join in. He guarded against the anticipated arrival of her allies. They would be too late to this battle.
Engage brain. Concoct an escape. What could she still do?
Yes. YEEESSSS … hissed the Thoralians, bending their muzzles to their macabre orgy. Cannibals! Was this act linked to the way they parasitized power? How had the Iolite Blue been overcome so easily? Was their dominance all down to the Egg, and was she next?
Nak would have muttered about smelling a rat – or worse, his own mouldy socks.
That old Dragon Rider was a master of the unpredictable, however. He would have goggled at Iridiana with such flagrant … she paused. Of course!
Aranya breathed, Iridiana, are you there? Mercy, my petal, can you move?
Asturbar, came the whisper. Boots, you must safeguard the Star … The Dragoness’ concern was for her, whom she barely knew! Tears pricked her eyes. This poor girl and her mighty soldier – what had they done to deserve to run into the demented, power-hungry Thoralians in the first flower of their love?
She lay with her right paw outstretched, frozen in the act of reaching out to the Marshal to rescue him from a heavy fall, there at the last, as she had attacked with unbridled power. Black patches on the pair of Thoralians’ hides still smoked from the searing power she had unleashed. Not enough. Barely a foot separated her from Asturbar. While her ear canals were transfixed by the exhibition of cannibalisation, Aranya’s concentration focussed upon the Azingloriax warrior. Scheming. Analysing the odds. There were possibilities as yet left untapped, here. He hid the Jewels in his stomach. Was that how he had stolen them from Chanbar, or perhaps even from this Necromancer?
Ari touch big Boots, Sapphire ordered.
Uh …
Treasure, she declared self-importantly. Treasure got wings on. Flip-flap fun!
Had she been able, she would have dangled her jaw. As it was, Human Aranya, Zip and the Azure Dragoness gasped simultaneously at the import of her words. Could this man have hatched dragonets within his substantial stomach? She spluttered, He’s … really …
Preggie! Like Zippy-Zappy! Full of lovely-lovely babies, like my Zippy.
Oh, darling petal, I could just kiss you, Zip cooed.
Asturbar’s expression at this mental interchange wobbled between astounded, bemused and insulted. He must think her schizophrenic at best; perhaps if her mind had been spitting rainbow-coloured fireballs, he would have been less disturbed.
The soldier growled, Suffering murgalizards, what’s a Zippy-thing?
With a clear mental image of screwing up her tiny muzzle in disgust, the dragonet said, No smoochy Zip. Nice-nice Marshally – Ari hurry!
Asturbar clearly chewed back on a few flavoursome soldierly words and reached for his Dragoness instead. He’ll turn to me next, came the muted, despairing thread of Iridiana’s presence. Strength, Boots. Protect … birth him …
Help the Marshal give birth? She could do that, if only she could touch the man. Summoning her utmost power, Aranya began to scrape her paws across the warm stone floor toward him. Thoralian’s hold was immense, but lacked the absolutely unbreakable structures of a Word of Command. Her paw scraped and shuddered to a halt. Enervated.
An answering quiver from the soldier. Aye, come on, you big lump! Zip carolled. Do it!
Asturbar’s thick fingers resembled muscular caterpillars as they combat-crawled across the stone in response to her tiny, abortive attempt. Aranya smiled at him. Well done, soldier.
He seemed very capable in Dragonish, enough that he enjoyed telepathic communication with his Dragoness. Their bond also spilled into the emotional and cognitive realms, it appeared, for the soldier jerked painfully the instant Iridiana snapped into action in Ardan’s paw, trying to create a diversion to deflect attention from their slight movement toward connection. She sped into that crazed multi-transformation capability she possessed, her rattletrap quasi-draconic assault of lightning-spitting violet eels first unnerving the Shadow Dragon into trying to escape through Shadow space, and then in the instant he reappeared, she smashed him perhaps fifty times in succession in the jaw with what Aranya could only describe as silvery fountain of exploding Dragon paws, before burning his throat and spearing his chest with a spiny … thing. Ardan thundered his fury!
Kill! His talons sieved a pawful of dust. Rend! His jaws closed upon a pyre of flame that sprouted fangs and sliced his lips and tongue in a dozen places as she wriggled free of his bite. Grapple! She fizzed free with a giggle and a reflexive swipe at his snout.
The fingers twitched like a dying fish. Closer.
Azhukazi lay in a convulsing heap before the Thoralians’ paws. Gobbets of fire mixed with golden Dragon blood spurted out of his mouth and gaping chest with every laboured heave of his final death rattles. The incongruity of split Dragon sight speared her sorely. With her left fire eye, she saw
the Thoralians sigh with deep satiation as they finished leering over their victim. Now they glanced up with unmistakable scorn to regard the frustrated Shadow Dragon’s antics. To her right flank, Asturbar’s obstinate finger-march continued. Five inches. Four. She forced her quivering paw over a smidgen. Just a touch … more …
The Thoralians sneered, Very well. Shadow, stop playing with the fledgling. Bring me this treasure the Iolite Blue valued so dearly.
Ardan said, I can’t –
You are weak, Shadow. There. She is held.
The Shadow bawled out a horrific laugh as he tried to smash Iridiana between his forepaws. The power he released was a thunderclap of darkness, a terrible detonation exacerbated by his towering anger. Aranya and Asturbar cried out in concert; her reflexive mental counterstrike forced him to partially miss his first attempt, making him look like a juggler comically fumbling a lively lilac baton, but the triplicate’s power swelled and the second blow struck the pretty fledgling far harder, driving her with a bone-jarring impact against the unyielding blockade of Ardan’s chest. She slumped into a strand of indigo-coloured flowers, pouring out between the Shadow Dragon’s talons as he struck a mighty pose that declared the destruction of his enemy. He disdained even to look upon the Iridium Dragoness, but Aranya detected a flicker of life in her uncanny body. Unconscious, but alive.
Flowers? A dracofloral form? This girl was either the greatest master of physical Shapeshifting she had ever encountered, or her fey power was rooted in the forbidden madness of Chaos. Either way, she was not about to allow the Thoralians free rein with her new ally.
Later, she must consult Fra’anior about the conundrum Iridiana represented.
Ardan! Fire eyes ablaze with a majestic, seething fury such as only the Dragonkind could summon, the Shadow Dragon rent the stones with his smoking onyx talons as he returned her gaze. Aranya shuddered at the malice she beheld in his demeanour.
