by Marc Secchia
Was this the scent of a one-Princess revolution?
* * * *
In the early evening, he and Azania visited the former slaves of the Skartun, overseeing the removal of their body armour and head cages, and the treatment of many wounds. Some of these wounds were the burns inflicted inside their ear canals by the dreadful electrical inductors, which had caused permanent deafness in half of their number. One Dragoness was severely ill. Inzashu worked with her for over an hour, stabilising her condition, before moving on to help with the others.
They quizzed the Dragons. Encouraging signs! Two of the older males, Soar Windchaser and Ruthless Obliterator – Azania had a private giggle at their names – were able to speak, albeit slowly and in muddled, incomplete sentences. Their strong Skartunese accents were hard to follow, but with Princess Inzashu playing occasional interpreter, they worked out that the deaf Dragons had developed a basic form of sign language during captivity. In time, they would be able to brief King N’chala on many aspects of Skartun life, culture and military organisation. They were more than willing to turn a paw to rebuilding the city.
The Dragons confirmed that the Jabiz of the Skartun sought fresh Dragons. Those in captivity had never bred well, almost not at all. The Skartun leaders had ambitions to conquer realms south again of their lands, but felt their armies needed to be bolstered by new recruits.
So grateful were his kin for their rescue, Dragon felt his eyes prickle in reaction. Not tears. Dragons had no tear ducts. Instead, they relied on their natural fires to burn away impurities or airborne particles and insects.
What was this feeling, then? Similar to the leaking Azania had done in private, away from the throne room and the frayed emotions resulting from her encounter with her brother? Dragons lamented for a soul’s overshadowing sorrow, but rarely grieved on behalf of another. Kin-grief, as it was called in the Draconian language, was a rare, precious gift.
Azania gave him a subtle nudge. “Fly us up to the Palace?”
Weary. Aye, this too, he understood – grief exacted such a toll upon the body. Taking both Princesses upon his neck, he flew them up to the flat-roofed Royal Palace, teasing Azania along the way that there was no tallest tower in all the land to rescue Princesses from. Clearly a severe failing in the development of T’nagrun architectural design.
“Maybe we should find you a tower, Inza?” Azania tugged her sister’s leg.
“Ooh, where I should be rescued by a Dragon? The only problem I have with that, is the stinky Prince angle,” she chortled. “I mean, if he’s nice then no need for the Dragon, but what if he’s as nasty as your Prince Floric?”
“My Prince Floric? Wash your mouth out with soap, young lady!”
Inzashu chuckled merrily.
Dragon said, “There’s something more serious I wanted to discuss with both of you. I sense we might need to spirit you away from here, Inzashu.”
“That premonition of danger you had in the throne room?” she asked immediately.
“Aye.” Reaching up with his paw, he found her leg. “Smart girl.”
“That’s my knee,” Azania lied.
“Ditto for both Princesses,” he snorted. “When we get to your room, we should seriously consider our next moves. I’m thinking we spirit you away without tipping off the King … or your half-brothers.” As Azania began to protest, he said, “I’m not accusing Aragu of anything, mind. Nor have I any well-developed sense of where or how such a danger might arise. However, there is also the consideration that Nahritu-N’shula might have established other backup plans here in N’ginta Citadel.”
The older Princess let out her breath in a long, approving sigh.
The younger said, “All the more reason for me to stay. I can detect my mother’s return and work against her, if needs be.”
Azania said, “No, Inzashu –”
“That’s courageous of you,” Dragon said. “Let’s us three talk about this in private, later. No, don’t you growl at me. I don’t mean the older ones will decide for you. We’ll talk together.”
The girl patted his neck uncertainly. “I … thank you, Dragon.”
“I try. When I fail, I start eating cheeky Princesses.”
“Why did the Dragon need to be saved from the wicked Princess?” Azania teased unexpectedly.
GRRROARRRGGGH!!
“My thoughts exactly. Now, how’s about we run you a salt bath?”
“Genius,” he purred. “Clearly, I kidnapped you for your brains rather than your woefully skinny rump.”
“I guess that makes me the butt of the joke,” came the talon-swift reply.
Inzashu made a scandalised gasp.
“The youngster’s a bit behind, there,” Dragon quipped.
Both Princesses groaned.
“Keeping up the rear … as usual.”
“Dragon, you are incorrigible,” Azania snorted. “Drumroll, trumpet salute.”
“That’s what Prince Floric does with his –”
“Dragon!”
“I rather hope not!” he snorted, ever so drily, and had the distinction of not one but two Princesses nearly falling off his neck, breathless with laughter.
In the bathing chamber at the end of the royal corridor, the maidservants filled a bathing pool for Dragon, into which they threw two sacks of salt and stirred it vigorously. He teased one of the maids that he could dangle her in by her toes and use her for a large stirring spoon, making her burst into tears. Great. Time for a gentle paw and an explanation, that aye, Dragons did indeed have a heinous sense of humour.
Then, he dunked his head and gargled salt water for a very pleasurable quarter of an hour or so, while they discussed plans. He bathed his eyes and tried rolling in the ten-foot bath, which really was not built for a fifty-three foot, multi-tonne Dragon.
“Feels great on the scales,” he said.
“I can imagine,” Azania said. “Oh, who’s knocking? It’s late.”
“Oh, don’t let them in to see my nakedness,” Dragon gurgled, trying by hook or by crook to immerse his whole tail at once. No way. “By my wings, I’ve never been this itchy in my life.”
“Is he serious?” Inzashu asked.
“Rarely,” her sister said.
It was King N’chala, relieved at last of his retinue of advisors, nobles, army generals and brothers. Without preamble, he launched into a prepared speech.
“I apologise for my brevity, but I’m late for my next meeting already. As you advised, the Skartunese remnant are indeed moving East, closing in upon the citadels there.” He scratched his neck, and heaved a sigh. “Please bear with me. One, I’m sorry I was harsh earlier, Azania and Dragon, but I am finding my way in terms of trusting people. This is a difficult time for the kingdom and also personally, as you can imagine. Two, when you leave, I would be most grateful if your flight path could veer toward the Kingdom of Amboraine.”
Azania said, “Amboraine? Oh, Princess Yuali?”
“Exactly.” Deftly extracting two small message scrolls out of a belt pouch, he said, “I’d be indebted if you could deliver this scroll to Princess Yuali, and this one to the King. Obviously, current events will be making a mess of our wedding plans. I wish her to know that I truly care for her, but making that commitment – could you phrase this nicely – is somewhat challenging, just now.”
Azania nodded. “Consider it done. You’re forgiven. I was brash.”
“And I was rude. Three, I need you to take Inzashu-N’shula with you when you leave – tonight, that is. You must leave tonight.”
They exchanged startled glances.
Dragon said, “The Princess is hardly in fit shape –”
N’chala shook his head. “I’ve received word of a Skartunese plot against your life, sister. I am so sorry, since we’ve hardly had the chance to get to know one another. I know no better way of protecting you than to dispatch you abroad with this Dragon.”
Inzashu said, “I wanted to stay to protect you, brother.”
&nb
sp; Though his face was graven of sorrow, the new King tried to smile. He gave up, saying between gritted teeth, “Thank you, but I could not stand to lose more family. Not now.”
Chapter 3: Aloft
PRINCESS AZANIA TUCKED HER younger but taller sister into bed with a kiss upon the forehead that Dragon thought looked like an experiment in affection.
“Now, I know it’s next to impossible, but please do try to get a couple of hours’ sleep, sister. We’ll wake you when it’s time to fly.”
“I guess I get to be kidnapped after all,” the girl said sleepily.
He rumbled, “Not sure if that’s by the wicked Princess or the devious Dragon.”
Worth a giggle.
Dragon sniffed around the rich bedchamber and glared balefully over the balcony at the royal gardens below. Nothing to like about this whiff of a plot. He could not for the life of him pin down the sense that somehow, somewhere, something was profoundly awry. Obviously. No clear vector of attack presented itself to his questing senses.
Gnarr. He would lie right next to the bed while they waited. Nothing and nobody would get past him.
Eventually, Azania finished packing their few possessions to her satisfaction. She buckled his neck saddle in place and tried to work out how to place one in position behind it, so that she could be close to her sister during flight.
“Why don’t you lie down?” he said eventually. “It’ll be a long night. I’ll keep watch.”
“Hour after midnight?”
“Done.”
Despite his better intentions, Dragon’s multiple eyelids all felt weighted with sand. He growled at himself to keep alert. Tucked in beside her sister, his dark Princess fell asleep between breaths. Should have thought to pack extra bandages. Rising, he padded over to the linen cupboard and stole a set of the kingdom’s finest silk sheets, suitable for royalty.
Some royalty claimed silken sheets made them itch …
His eyes narrowed. Itch? Just look at Inzashu-N’shula, who was not dreaming as he had imagined. She was scratching her arms, her legs, her neck, moaning in her sleep as she thrashed about and turned over, half-waking her sister with an accidental elbow to the nose.
Ah, the royal snout – he pulled up in surprise as Azania moaned in just the same fashion and began to scratch at her neck. Itching that madly?
By his sire’s egg, what … fire imploded in his belly.
“Poison! Wake up – wake up!”
Something in the sheets. A subtle white powder – ripping the covers off the Princesses, Dragon examined them as best he could. Rash! A fiery rash covered both girls upon their skin where it had been left exposed by their clothing. No! Don’t panic. Think. Powder. Water – the bathing chamber! Scooping up the sisters as they woke in shock, he charged literally through the doors of the royal bedchamber in an explosion of splinters and promptly skidded on the marble and hit the wall so hard the entire Palace reverberated. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he belted down the corridor.
“What the – my skin!” Azania gasped. Her sister started screaming.
“Poison!”
“Into the bathtub,” he cried, smashing through the next set of doors. Flimsy wooden screen. In a second, he dunked both girls in the half-full tub of salty water he had used before. “Quick. Rub your arms. Get it off your necks.”
“Blub,” said Inzashu.
He fished the younger girl out with a clumsy paw. Drowning her was not the point. She vomited at once, clutching her stomach with a loud groan. Azania did the same. Dragon urged them to wash as much as they could. Soap, too.
Azania called, “Dragon, could you fetch the pot of aloe cream from my dresser?”
Wretched girl. She looked as terrible as she sounded. When he returned with the stoneware pot, she thanked him for his quick thinking. Clearly, the real boon had been their travel clothes, he thought pensively. Had they been wearing those flimsy nightclothes that real Princesses were supposed to wear, so much more of their skin would have been exposed to this powdered poison. Even so, they were both shivering uncontrollably and set about another round of retching.
“Eat this,” Azania told her sister.
“Eat … the cream?”
“Aloe’s highly effective against this type of poison. Trust me, I was made to study this as part of the education Princesses take in keeping themselves alive.”
Interesting curriculum.
The second part of the curriculum involved changing their clothes. All of them.
Azania said, “I’m going to miss these leather trousers.”
“So are half the men in the kingdoms,” Dragon agreed, drawing a gasp from Inzashu and a mock kick from the older sister. “No mind. I’m sure we can find something even more scandalous for you both.”
Inzashu said primly, “I am not being caught dead in trousers.”
“Skartun must be an incredibly backward realm,” he teased. “I can’t see you flying well in desert robes.”
“No,” said Azania, pulling out her Dragon talon dagger. “We’ll wear the pantaloons and tunic tops. A swift spot of tailoring will resolve any issues with the full-length outer robes. When we get to Chakkix Camp, sister, we’ll purchase you something that’ll have the boys chasing your curves.”
“Azania!”
“Oops, slip of the old forked tongue there, as some Dragon I know would say.”
“Don’t drag me into this, Princess.”
Despite their banter, he realised that neither girl was doing well. They were in pain from the burning rash, their stomachs knotted up and their muscles leaping infrequently in spasms. When he inquired if they were able to fly, however, he earned a pair of glares that left him in no doubt as to the truth of their sisterhood, and of their mettle. By his sire’s egg, Human Princesses were clearly far more dangerous than the legends made out. No insipid, simpering nitwits waiting for their perfect Prince to fall out of the sky at the end of a rainbow around here.
Maybe they would fly a thousand miles to find their Princes.
Or, not settle for Princes at all?
Inconceivable!
By now, several Palace guards were peering through the bedroom doorway, asking what had happened. Azania briefed them, making them promise to have the maids burn all the sheets and not touch them with their bare skin. Most had known her all her life; their emotions were muddy, furious, and not a hint of treachery could he sense. They made vows of vengeance in the desert way.
He gave that a satisfied snort. No Dragon could have done better.
Then, Princesses safely seated astride his neck, he spread his wings and launched off the Princess’ balcony with supple grace. Smooth as silk sliding into a deep desert night. One moon of the triplets stood high, a thin white crescent that still shed enough light for the draconic eye to enjoy, if one had his –
“Spectacles?”
“Thank you, Princess.” He perched the spectacles atop his head.
Impudent mind reader.
Dunes leaped into relief ahead of him. Sculpted for aeons by the powerful desert winds, they stood stark in the faint white moonlight. In the deeper desert, they had seen dunes over three hundred feet high. These were half that height, but still impressive for their chiselled, serpentine curves and pristine splendour. No footprints. No animal trails, plants nor signs of water. Just emptiness stretching as far as the eye could see.
Azania leaned against Inzashu, who made herself comfortable against his neck. Both girls were strapped in tight on the leather saddles. Stretching out his body, he set about testing just how efficiently he could fly, adjusting his wingbeat for minimal bounce and maximal smoothness.
Soon, a snuffle against his neck revealed his success. One down.
“Dragon, please look out for fresh aloe plant,” Azania whispered. “Might be hard to find this far south, but we could do with more juice.”
“Of course. Where’s best?”
“Look for dips and flash flood watercourses, and around clumps of boulders.
Might be well hidden in the cracks.”
“Right.” In a world of glittering obsidian sand? Hmm.
Swooshing his wings in efficient half-beats, he bored northward into the stillest of nights. Worrying about his charges. So cunning, that attack. Someone had carefully considered how best to access a Princess under a Dragon’s protection, and very, very nearly came out the winner. Shiver.
For four hours he coursed over the dunes, before the ripples smoothed out as if brushed away by a godlike paw. A new desert slowly unfurled before him, flat and featureless. Much more rock here, but it lay low and wind-worn. This region was called the central plains of T’nagru, he understood, the diametric opposite of what was called plains in the rest of the seventeen kingdoms. How odd it was that Vaylarn was never included amongst the seventeen. As an island chain lying three hundred and fifty miles offshore of the main continent of Solixambria, the most casual glance at a map identified it as a Dragon’s paw print in shape.
Capital city, Zunityne. Major lair, Wave Dragonhome. Primary danger, Sea Serpents. That was about as much as he knew about the faraway archipelago, apart from that it was also the birthplace of quite the most lethally attractive Dragoness he had ever met.
Ariamyrielle Seaspray, ocean tempest on wings. Twenty-nine feet of irresistible cobalt warrior Dragoness.
Promised to another male.
His muzzle turned to the darkling skies. Curse these fates.
On and on he flew, skirting another citadel before continuing out over the black, grassless plains.
As the first fires of dawn turned the eastern horizon into the crimson heart of a forge, Dragon spied a clump of boulders several miles off his right wingtip. Aha. He nosed about briefly, but saw and scented nothing green. Another clump lay near the horizon. His leathery wings creaked, spreading across the lowering moons. They should find shelter soon.
Check both heartbeats. Weak, but present. Aye. Rest and recovery needed.
Seven clumps investigated later, he spied the characteristic spiny, tooth-edged leaves of an aloe plant wedged deep in a crack. Circling, he put down in the lee of the boulders, which stood shoulder-high to him, at eleven feet tall – his crouching height, which Dragons traditionally used for a shoulder measure. Here was a nice bolt-hole for the Princesses, a shallow, wind-carved nook occupied by a fat, sleepy-looking desert adder.
