by Marc Secchia
The Shadow Dragon hissed, “Thoralian deliberately destroyed this in order to slow us down, correct?”
“Looks that way,” Asturbar noted. “Are those the Rift fires ahead?”
“Aye.”
Aranya’s soft exhalation was made from her Dragon’s back. Mounted up double with Ri’arion, while Asturbar rode with Iridiana, they prepared to fly ahead as Leandrial slowed, for she also was unwilling to take needless risks until they understood the terrain ahead.
The Dragons launched powerfully out of the Land Dragoness’ mouth, beating their wings hard to make headway against the viscid air at this depth, an estimated four and a half leagues beneath Cloudlands level. It was hard to tell, because the Rift fires here were not an unending wall of dark flame as they had encountered before, but rather they seemed to commence ahead and above, where the grey-black base of the Rift sloped upward again. As they flew onward, the scene began to resolve and make sense. Where the sloping tunnel ended was essentially two miles above the Rift’s immediate ‘ground’ level, but the tunnel mouth ended above a canyon of unknowable depth which would need to be bridged if any Air Breather hoped to pass onward. The far side had to be four miles distant.
Very high above, flotillas of floating Islands dotted a pristine afternoon sky. The East-West band of Islands was narrow, however, and ended well before the first signs of the disruptive, black-shot crimson Rift fires. Indeed, to either flank as the Shapeshifters and their Human Riders looked about, the storms appeared to be far stronger than directly ahead of their noses and the depth much greater, so that the overall effect was of gazing out upon an immense archway of fire that met and mingled many miles above a long, curving mid-Rift ridge – meriatonium, no doubt.
The Passage of Dark Fires continued, just not quite as they had expected.
“Interesting,” said Ri’arion.
“Aye,” Zip put in. “It appears that if one simply walks the ridge after crossing the canyon, there’s a measure of protection. I can’t imagine it would be that simple, however. Perhaps Infurion’s creatures guard an inner gateway, or those Storm Elementals wreak havoc across it from time to time.”
Her husband said, “I agree. And any commerce would necessarily be forced to endure great depths, certainly greater than a Dragonship could traverse. It’s a pathway for the Dragonkind alone.”
The Rift’s fires burnished his face into stern planes as he spoke. The roaring out there was like endless waterfalls muted by the distance as the dark flames appeared out of nothingness and thundered upward with incalculable force and persistence, as though wishing to burn the stars above. Aranya shivered. Silly fears. Of the enemy, there was no sign. Nonetheless, she did not enjoy what she sensed out there.
“Come on,” she said quietly.
“I mislike this place,” Ri’arion said. “Look, you can see the remains of bridge pilings on the far side of the canyon.”
“A bridge strong enough for Air Breathers?” Nyahi mused.
“All fashioned for defensive purposes,” Asturbar added. “Leandrial ought to be able to swim across at this depth, unless that canyon hides further surprises.”
“A suspected surprise becomes an unsurprising surprise,” Zuziana joked.
The infantry soldier scratched his head. “I see now why Marshal Huaricithe decided to stay behind. She always had a canny nose for business, that one. When she secures the entrance to the Passage of Darkness with her forces, she will enjoy the pickings of commerce across the Rift. Dressing it up as ‘securing the southern route’ is pure ragion gas as far as I’m concerned.”
“Business and position,” Ri’arion agreed. “I had expected her motives to be – well, less blatantly mercenary.”
“She is representing Aranya in the Lost Isles leadership,” Ardan pointed out. “But I too am surprised she chose not to fly ahead with us. I thought she’d pursue the adventure with Gangurtharr rather than be content to play at politics. Why step back now?”
“She acted thus to free me,” said Aranya. “Between you, me and the Dragon’s scratching post, she was the only one acceptable to Yiisuriel because she’s a relative. I think it’s all for show.”
“You’re suggesting noble motives?” Ri’arion quirked an eyebrow.
“Amongst others,” Aranya said ruefully.
“You’ve been played.”
“Partly, Ri’arion. I guess I just struggle to feel too bitter after someone has helped us so much. I do feel naïve and less inclined to trust our allies as a result.”
“Aye. Has she relinquished her purchase rights or whatever that was?” he asked.
Aranya grinned. “She can try!”
“Aren’t we still convicted criminals in Sylakia?” Zuziana interjected sweetly. “Iridiana, did you know that your sister was once sentenced to death for burning the Emperor’s admittedly despicable louse of a son? She has a shady past.”
“And a shadowy present,” Ardan chuckled.
Iridiana made a face at Aranya that she hoped was meant for the rascally Remoyan. “We were both exiled. I can’t wait to meet this pirate we call King and father. And our Shapeshifter mother. Obviously, criminality runs in the family.”
“Oh, obviously!” Zip agreed fervently.
“Just you jolly well come out here so I can swat you, Remoy,” Aranya demanded.
“No.”
“Don’t disobey your Empress, whippersnapper! Disobedience being a Remoyan cultural norm –”
“Hey!”
“Be silent. I can tell you all about Remoyans, Asturbar and Iridiana.”
“Fascinating as this conversation is,” Asturbar broke in, “I suggest we dodge. Now!”
With that, the Dragons broke apart, beating their wings hard to beat Leandrial’s charge. Aranya was sure that she meant the gesture as a joke, but having a Dragoness of that size bearing down upon one like a runaway juggernaut did rather spur one on. Iridiana performed one of her sparkly chaotic escapes, leaving the Shadow Dragon to be buffeted about in her wake as Leandrial leaped from the tunnel mouth and into space. With a guttural, bone-quaking rumbling in the depths, fire blossomed throughout the canyon.
Shields! Leandrial cried almost joyously as she chased a mauve blur out into space, and then the grim, disruptive fires of the Rift surrounded them with a plethora of blasts and buffets.
Rocking, side-slipping and Shadowing, Ardan chased manfully after. He growled, Annoying. What’s the point?
That! Aranya melded with him as an unseen predator’s black tentacles lashed by below, missing the Shadow by a matter of feet. They chased away skittishly, checking that Leandrial was unhindered, but she too had perhaps taken the creature by surprise, and the great Dragoness was cheating in all sorts of ways to speed her glide across the divide.
That was big, came Asturbar’s quiet voice.
Certainly big enough to crunch my bones, Leandrial fluted cheerfully. Come on, little ones. Race you to the far side.
Whatever the beast was, it did not take kindly to intruders in its domain, but it failed to swat the shadowy force even once as Ardan worked with Leandrial to keep them safe. The last they saw of it, a sooty black body the size of Immadia Island or thereabouts crowned with a quintet of crimson eyes glared balefully at them as the Rift creature slithered back into the depths, waiting to ambush the next unwary traveller.
Leandrial punched a message through the waning fires meant for Yiisuriel’s psychic-aural nodes.
Then they were up and running once more.
The mounded path through the Rift curved gently into the distance, lit by the baleful fires to either side and above. That curvature meant that they could not see more than twenty-five to thirty miles ahead at any given time, despite the path’s six-mile width. The terrain rose and fell periodically as if crossing gently rising hills, all lit by a flaming suns-set. The magic that had so disrupted them before was indeed subdued by the strange path, so that only minimal shielding was required to maintain their own integrity. Iridiana in part
icular struggled with the effects on her chaotic magic, however, and was forced to take refuge in Leandrial’s cheek pocket in her apparently impervious cactus-rock form.
For the remainder of that day and most of the night following, the companions traversed the Rift path by the light of the gloomy, flickering flames. Soon it turned upward, snaking back and forth as the edges drew in. The Land Dragoness growled about the footing becoming more crumbly; the basal rock belonged to a geologically more ancient stratum. The heated winds driving through this section became spiteful and insistent, forcing Leandrial to dig her talons into the broad surface as she forged onward, mile upon mile, until they had climbed fifteen vertical miles from their starting point. The mighty storm fires closed in overhead until they knew that Yiisuriel and her kind would struggle to brave this route unless their shielding was able to cope with Dark Fires; indeed, the path had narrowed enough that all but the smallest of Yiisuriel’s kin would be unable to enjoy passage.
At length the fires drew back and Leandrial stepped into barrenness; a gigantic circle of the dark metal similar to that they had seen the Foam-Riders ride upon. Her head twizzled first side to side, then upward. “Look!” cried the Dragoness, pointing upward with her fore-talon.
“The Egg!” Ardan shouted at once.
Hellish winds whistled across the bleak, dull grey surface. Leandrial dug in and hunkered down, her entire body shuddering as she gazed skyward and opened her jaw slightly to allow her small Riders to see better, too.
Familiar, towering red walls of Rift fire, laced with black edges and screaming of disruptive magic, greeted their awed gazes. It was akin to standing within a moving well and gazing at a tiny patch of sky, only this patch was leagues above and the well’s shaft was the vortex of a fiery tornado. As the eye rose, the fires swirled like an uncontrolled centrifuge, faster and faster, attaining speeds of such unnatural magnitude that a Dragoness’ eyes could not reliably estimate them. A shining spot in that star-speckled portal of sky was the Egg. Great, whirling columns of rufous fire bore it aloft at a tremendous speed, buoyed by the tornado winds that battered them so relentlessly below. Leandrial’s talons screeched as she clung on with will, might and magic.
If the Thoralians were present, she assumed they must be above the Egg. Dragoness Aranya narrowed her eyes. Something struck her as familiar about this scene, yet strange. What was this sentient, brooding quality in the fire? The presence she sensed all around …
Infurion, she realised aloud.
They stood within Infurion’s body. He was the one lifting the Egg!
Ardan swore luridly. He’s betrayed us!
Ri’arion’s teeth ground audibly. Doesn’t look good. Stay alert, my friends.
Aloft! Leandrial cried at once. Chase the Egg lest the enemy escape once more!
This was a scenario they had not anticipated – here, in the middle of the Rift, Infurion was helping the Thoralians launch the Egg to the Mystic Moon! In a flurry of confusion, Ardan snaffled up Ri’arion and Asturbar, who had been looking for his Dragoness only for her to flop over the Amethyst Dragoness’ paw in one of her vine forms before springing into a protective diamond bracelet. As she sensed the motion clasping about the wrist of her forepaw, Aranya inanely found herself imagining a line in draconic jewellery. Dragonesses would go wild for this. Or was that Zip’s thoughts slipping into her own as they melded, ready for battle?
Remoy! Focus.
Here, Immadia. With you.
She sprang vengefully aloft but immediately slewed to her right flank as the winds pummelled her wings, bending the sensitive struts almost to breaking point. Up! Up, Ardan, she snarled, adjusting. Sapphire, where –
Safe, Ari, squeaked the mite from her left forepaw.
Oh! Aranya did not even remember grabbing her, but Sapphire was nothing if not resourceful. She had her brood gathered tightly about her flanks, and her tiny fire eyes burned fiercely. The dragonet was ready for anything.
Ri’arion linked in with Ardan as they had done many times before. Go, Shadow! Take us high and fast!
Infurion must be against them. What honourable reason could he possibly have for helping the Thoralians abscond with the First Egg? Aranya set her jaw. This was one race they had to win. The Academy was already in mortal danger.
Chapter 25: Paw Slap, Reprised
ARDAN MATCHED ARANYA wingbeat for wingbeat. For all her lack of size, the Amethyst had matured into a fantastic flyer. A bigger Dragon should have left her in his dust. As it was, he almost had to bust a wing to keep up with her as they spiralled upward, slung about by the swirling winds but using bone, muscle and magic to wrest the blast to their advantage.
One league. Two. It was already obvious that they were not catching up. The Egg was rocketing toward low orbit and they would be left gasping in its wake.
Then, he sensed a shift in Aranya’s mood. The fury that blazed within. Umbrage linked with her unique form of resilience.
Aranya –
I will not be treated like this! I am the Storm!
Her powers flooded out, seizing Infurion’s winds like a Dragon seizing a hapless ralti sheep by the scruff of the neck.
Twisting the tempest to her beck and call, she snarled at Ardan, Furl and brace!
The Shadow snapped his wings to his sides as with a terrible roar, her windstorm struck them from beneath. The screaming sound was like a feral Ancient Dragon belling her majestic wrath. The stress, insane. Had he kept his wings outstretched, they would have been ripped off. As it was, he could not even hear himself think. All he knew was the need to keep stable and hold tight as they hurtled upward, aimed like an arrow at the First Egg.
ARANYA!
Infurion’s bellow struck them amidships, but the Immadian Shapeshifter was in an implacable temper. Their speed shovelled the Ancient Dragon’s roaring right back at him; the Shapeshifter pair rocked violently but continued to accelerate to greater speeds.
The vast fiery face of Infurion peered out of the Rift flames now, jaw agape in fury or wonder, they did not know, but when he spoke his mental and physical voice was not unfriendly. Uncompromising, aye, but not averse.
Aranya. Stand down. In this battle, thou canst not prevail.
The Egg! What is within –
It is thee they desire! The Thoralian triplicate covets thy powers and fires to twist thee, far above! Infurion’s miles-long muzzle lifted to indicate the skies. When they avail themselves of Star Dragoness magic, all shall be lost. Stand down, I adjure thee! Mine plans are formed, and sound of conception.
We cannot stand down, Infurion – with all respect.
Show me.
Aranya shot him a mental representation of the Pygmy Dragon shut away inside of the Egg. She provided the best data they had on the Academy and its inhabitants.
Ah, thundered Infurion, as his fires rippled up the miles-tall height of his body. Moving to what Ardan belatedly realised was a private form of communication, he said, Deal with me. None can resist the Thoralians here. Thou hast failed in the charge established that first time thou entered mine domain, Star Dragoness. Does the triplicate not roam free? What of the Egg?
The Amethyst gritted her fangs. Mighty Infurion –
Thou art Storm and mighty amongst thine tiny kind, but no Ancient Dragon art thou. Now is the hour for those greater than thee to take up this battle. Stand down!
We … cannot.
Almost, she pleaded with him. Desperate. Ashamed.
Infurion was furiously unimpressed. His mind lashed out, but Aranya combined with Ri’arion and Zuziana to protect them from the psychic lashing. Then, he blasted them with speech laced with derision-honour-imperative indicators:
FOOLS! HEED MINE COMMANDS! SHALL I TEACH THEE THINE PLACE, THOU MITE?
Aranya just set her jaw as she rode her storm, and Ardan loved her for never compromising. She did what was right, no matter what. She replied, I know mine charge, which comes from Fra’anior’s own mouth, great one. Can I deny the progenitor of
mine own flesh and blood?
Join me and see, said he. I have infiltrated the Egg to locus-lock upon she whom thou desirest, this Pygmy creature.
They gasped!
Speak with her, and know mine fires incline toward thy cause.
* * * *
How could they trust Infurion?
How could they not?
At the speed of thought, Zuziana batted the odds about with Aranya and Ri’arion. If there was half a chance he could show them a way to the Pygmy Dragon and hopefully thereafter, the Academy, they had to seize it.
She watched curiously as Aranya followed Infurion’s proffered thought monad, subsumed it into herself, and then reached mentally for the Egg with a tiny, wormlike penetrative tendril based on Earthen Fires magical constructs. Immediately, a hazy picture formed in her mind. Dark limbs. An elfin chin not dissimilar to her own. A child, sleeping!
This was the famous Pygmy Dragoness? Saviour of the North?
She’s nothing but a child! Zip blurted out.
* * * *
The Pygmy was real! Alive!
Time to waken, Pip, Aranya whispered. We are friends. Do you hear me? Wake up.
Torn between watching Infurion’s expression, keeping a draconic eye on the Egg and the distraction of their long-coveted goal appearing in Aranya’s mind, Ardan could not help but steal glances. The Pygmy girl! As the image resolved, he saw the perfect innocence of a child in repose, yet he knew that one of her race could be much older than she appeared. Nak and Oyda’s memories had suggested she had been but a young teen when she had stood against a Herimor Marshal and his vile Nurguz, before spiriting victory away into the dusty annals of history.
Here she was: a tiny, dusky beauty. Breathing. Suspended, apparently, in a lake of seething draconic white fires as though she were a dark jewel nestled in a great field of the finest white Helyon silk.
Her eyelashes fluttered.
Good, Pip. Wake up now, Aranya murmured. We need you, please. The danger has never been greater.
Black eyes slid open reluctantly and regarded them without comprehension. An interrogative chirp escaped her slack lips.
