I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  She nodded meekly.

  Dragon narrowed his eyes. In his experience, meekness and Azania did not belong in the same sentence. Not even in the same book!

  He removed his talon.

  “It’s all black and white to me,” she smiled. “Black Princess, white Dragon. No wonder we make such an awesome team.”

  They shook paw and hand solemnly.

  He said, “You know, we might be as different creatures as can be imagined, but sometimes I could almost swear that we were cut of the same hide and scale.”

  Azania, nodding, started as her gaze fell upon his neck. “Yarimda, are you alright?”

  “Never better, my dear,” she said. “I love hearing you and Dragon speak. Hands down, that was one of the best conversations I have ever eavesdropped upon in my nine and a half decades. Believe me, keyholes and my right ear used to be extremely well acquainted. It gives me hope for both races, Dragon and Human, and peace for when I pass on, knowing that two creatures of integrity will be stirring up trouble from one end of the continent to the other.”

  The Princess dropped her gaze, quite possibly as embarrassed as he was.

  “Yardi’s beckoning for us. Shake a paw, Dragons. I shan’t be growing younger any time soon.”

  They walked farther up into the walled city before taking a branching road toward the east. Yarimda rode upon his neck as if she were a queen.

  The city’s unrelenting white continued out into the mercantile and artisans quarter, but here at least people noticed them and paused to stare or comment to their neighbours. He understood that Dorline had been the subject of a decades-long feud with the Slasher Clan Dragons, but the populace did not seem to be alarmed. Maybe that was because they were not wheeling overhead thundering threats and swooping to fire-blast houses, just as a consideration?

  “We’re looking for Gamoz Blacksmith’s place,” Yardi said. “Apparently, we can’t miss it. They’re the biggest and best in the kingdom, and well-staffed. Even better, Dorline is famed for the quality of its weapons and armour. They said the same in Amboraine.”

  Azania said, “Will that couple you recruited travel here first?”

  “Aye. They’re game for an adventure.”

  “Here comes the guard,” her grandmother pointed out.

  Not everyone had their heads stuffed full of clouds. The city guard, clad in natty green robes and wearing full chainmail armour, trotted down the street in neat, businesslike formation. Ready for action, but aye, since no great effort at pillaging, snorting fire and stomping over the merchandise was being made, the fifty-strong detachment visibly relaxed as they approached.

  Routine. Couple of Dragons in town.

  Chalice nudged his shoulder. “Amazing how creatures can get on when we’re not ripping heads off or having knights poke at us with lances, right?”

  “Absolutely,” he purred. “Almost civilised.”

  “Product of high intelligence,” the Dragoness agreed. “Truly innovative, actual diplomacy.”

  “Help me down please, Dragon.” With the help of his forepaw, Yarimda descended. She arranged her knees with a soft groan, and leaned heavily upon her walking stick. “Some things about growing old are not to be enjoyed.”

  The leader of the detachment, distinguished by a green star he wore upon his chest, took pause as he stopped ten feet away. “Do I know you, ma’am?”

  “Conquiran Garamdi! Well met!” Yarimda said.

  “Yarimda-mah Ociane?” he spluttered, bowing a second time, deeper than before. “An unexpected honour. You are looking very well.”

  Dragon looked on in bemusement as the old woman straightened, as if a memory of being pervaded her person. Regal. “It is good to see you again, lad. I’d say something embarrassing, like, ‘my, how you’ve grown,’ but your men are listening. May I present my granddaughter, Yardi-mae Ociane?”

  Another bow. “Ma’am. I see the resemblance.”

  Yardi made an uncomfortable obeisance. “Conquiran Garamdi – you are the leader of all of Dorline’s military?”

  “Goes with the title, ma’am.” Clearing his throat, he said, “It is most awkward, I confess, but I must inquire what two women of your station are doing in our kingdom in the company of a disreputable desert scoundrel and two dangerous Dragons.”

  Station? Whatever did he mean?

  He could have fallen over laughing at Azania’s belligerent expression.

  “Behave yourself, scoundrel,” he whispered for her ears alone.

  She clenched her little fists. “Dragon …”

  Yarimda said, “While we are in town, we should like to brief you about the Skartun invasion of the south, Conquiran. Our companions are travelling through with us and mean this city and its people no harm. We seek to hire armourers and blacksmiths for the war effort. For my part, I plan to travel back to my native Hamirythe one last time. I would like to heal a rift in our family which has been allowed to fester for far too long. I know you are aware of the history, and of my part in it.”

  “I am, ma’am,” he said, his eyes resting upon Azania’s sword.

  She smiled at the Conquiran as if his suspicion were the stuff of delightful sunbeams.

  Suddenly, his knee collapsed as if he had been struck by a ten-pound hammer. “I fear I have made an unforgivable error! Forgive me – you are the daughter of King N’gala, unless I miss my mark?”

  “I am the Princess Azania,” she said. “Travelling in disguise.”

  Always gracious, but Dragon scented the tones of her emotions and knew her outward politeness for the show it was. He also touched upon emotions beyond –

  His paw snapped out, catching Yarimda as she slumped with a low cry.

  This was the start of a kerfuffle that consumed some time. Yarimda insisted she was fine; everyone else knew she was not. The Conquiran hustled her over to the nearest doctor’s office, a walk of just a single block. The tall, severe-looking man examined her, and said that the best option – and the only one – was rest.

  She was not well, he added gravely.

  “Dying?” Yardi asked. “We know. How … how long, doctor?”

  “Your grandmother is a strong woman, Yardi-mae,” he replied, “but she is also very elderly and not well. Her organ function is becoming poor and she is suffering considerable pain. I fear it will be a matter of weeks – I am sorry, ma’am.”

  Yardi rubbed her temples. “I knew; still, it’s so hard. All she wanted was to go home to the Kingdom of Hamirythe.”

  “How has she been travelling?” he asked curiously.

  “Dragonback.”

  “Pardon? I mean … I can ease her pain, but that is all I can do. Today, she must rest. Leave your grandmother with me, my staff will look after her overnight. I will consider how best you might fulfil her wish.” He made a superstitious sign with his hand. “May those who seek to bless the elderly, be blessed. Truly, you honour her long life.”

  When Yardi went in to see her, Yarimda was asleep.

  Chapter 17: Orphan Smiths

  GAMOZ BLACKSMITH’S PLACE WAS rather odd, as far as forges went. Even a Dragon could tell as much. First of all, it occupied an old schoolhouse over half a block long. The interior of one end had been knocked out to create a cavernous space in which no less than four forges operated. Space enough for a sneaky-pawed white creature to wander inside and take a good look around. Farther back was a busy leather-making trade – animal yokes, buckets and armour straps, as best he could tell. No trousers for females. Definitely missing a trick there.

  The whole place was run by children.

  He rubbed his eyes and checked again. The children did not evaporate, replaced by responsible adults. As best he could tell, the oldest ones could not be any older than Azania, and the youngest should not, in his opinion, be working anywhere near such a busy, dangerous environment.

  Yardi gazed about the premises, openly taken aback.

  After a few moments, one of the young men noticed them – a tall, spare, d
ark-haired youth. Putting down the weapon he had been working on, he took off his heavy gloves, rubbed his hands upon his apron as if to clean them, and approached.

  “Ma’am, ma’am, honoured Dragons. How may I help?”

  “This is Gamoz’s place?” Yardi asked.

  “Aye, ma’am,” said he, taking her for the leader. His tan cheeks flushed as he glanced at Azania, however. Dragon practically heard the ‘woof’ of his emotions. “May I fetch your order?”

  “No. I would like to examine a few samples of your work, please.”

  “At once.”

  Yardi inspected the farming implements, weapons and household items with an expert eye. The boy knew her for a smith with a single glance at her hands, never mind her muscled arms. His answers were as concise as her questions, covering processes, quality and finishing. Moving over to the leather tables, they did the same, sparring with words. A reply for every quick question. Salient details. Acknowledging a flaw which must have crept in.

  At length, Yardi said, “I’m impressed. Who runs this establishment? Is it only children employed here, and do you earn a good living wage? Is there a Master?”

  “Of course, ma’am. He’s in the back, taking stock. Shall I –”

  “Aye, fetch him, please.”

  With a polite nod, the earnest lad rushed off.

  “Not bad,” Azania commented.

  “The work or the worker?” Dragon teased. She waggled her tongue at him. “Did I catch you sneaking a look there?”

  “Like he didn’t.”

  “Oh alright, that excuses everything.”

  Her glare promised that a whole world of pain would shortly be delivered to his lair.

  “This is certainly an interesting operation,” Yardi commented meantime, glancing about the huge room again. “I’m not sure we’ll get any recruits here. Might need to look farther.”

  “How may I serve, ladies? Dragons?”

  As Dragon turned, Yardi stepped around his muzzle, and stopped dead in her tracks. “Garan!”

  “Yardi-mae!”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “Aye. A month shy of thirteen years.”

  The silence became so awkward, Dragon felt he could have bottled it and sold it as poison to the Skartun. At once, she said, “You broke my heart,” and the blacksmith whispered, “You left without a word.”

  Garan was a big, broad-shouldered man – big enough to be a hand taller than Yardi, who was no small woman. Dragon supposed Humans might call him a giant. Curly red hair! That was unusual, he understood. He had never seen a Human of such colouration – red hair and beard, tan skin perhaps from his work at the forge, and a freckled nose which gave him a mischievous air. Maybe if he had not been staring at his massive boots as if wishing he could be anywhere in Solixambria but here.

  Yardi raised her chin. “That was a long time ago. You seem to be doing well for yourself. Are these your children?”

  “Aye. All mine.”

  “All? My my, you have been busy.”

  The man flushed at her tone, his knuckles whitening on the belt of his smock. “I am not that man anymore, Yardi-mae. This is not what it seems.”

  “Exploitation of child labour? No, obviously not.”

  “These are orphans.” Dragon sensed the implosion of Yardi’s shame. Garan said steadily, “I would thank you for not shaming me in front of my charges. I run a registered orphanage here in Dorline, and what you see is my apprenticeship programme. I am training these children to be smiths, farriers, armourers, leather artisans and the like, so that one day, they can take their place in the world with a trade that will feed their families. I have thirty-two children here and another fourteen placed in other apprenticeships around the city.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Azania put in softly. Chalice agreed in the background.

  He glanced at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Aye – uh, is this your … daughter, Yardi? And Dragons? What are you doing here with Dragons?”

  The insult! He had only just noticed? Dragon pictured serving his head up on a large toothpick. Brains, fried, scrambled and spiced to perfection. Mmm …

  It was Yardi’s turn, pink of cheek, to gaze at her feet. He understood that this was courtship behaviour, usually between younger Humans – more Azania’s age, say. This pretence of reticence from both sides, which concealed all the other emotions. He sense scented attraction beneath all the hurts. It flung him away into the scent memory of a younger Dragon’s blundering attempts to impress various Dragonesses, which had inevitably ended in shame.

  Except with Ariamyrielle Seaspray.

  Somehow, having done nothing at all, it seemed he had managed to make an impression on her – following which, fate had turned around and paw-slapped him with a blow fit to shatter mountains.

  Sigh.

  Collecting his thoughts as Azania introduced him and herself as his Dragon Rider, no relation to Yardi, he wondered how a Dragon could possibly insert a talon and stir this fate in the right direction. Him being such a flaming genius at relationships and all that.

  He said, “You seem busy, Blacksmith Garan.”

  “Aye, but profits are poor. It’s been a brutal stretch.” Scratching his head, he said almost defiantly, “After your family made sure I was kicked out of Hamirythe and my reputation ruined, Yardi, I ended up here. I inherited a mountain of debt from my mother and the use of this place, which was covered by a punitive loan that crushed my parents. The stress killed them. I took over here on my twenty-second birthday.”

  “What changed you, Garan?” Yardi asked, ever so softly.

  His fingers trembled. “Y-You … actually. What I did – I’ve never regretted anything so much in my life – I searched for you for three years, woman! All over the Northern Kingdoms.”

  “I ended up in Chakkix Camp.”

  “Chakkix? That’s –”

  “Northern T’nagru. You … searched?”

  He heaved a massive, defeated sigh. “What does it matter? What are you doing here, Yardi-mae? Look, I don’t … have time for a … for this. I’ve mouths to feed. Times are hard. This may look like a busy operation, but we are stretched to breaking point, what with the new taxation regulations and a drop in business since the war with the Slasher Clan ended – which is good, but not good, if you follow my meaning.”

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  “Have you business for me? I will take anything you have and give you the best prices in town. You’ve seen the quality of our work.”

  Poor Yardi. Dragon smelled her out once more, and purred at once, “Actually, Blacksmith Garan, you sound like just the man we need.” He ignored his companion’s startled headshake. “There is war in the south, A Skartunese invasion – this is the Princess of T’nagru, by the way.”

  His jaw dropped. “Ma … uh …”

  “I know. Far too beautiful for her own good, isn’t she? Anyways, we’re recruiting blacksmiths to support the war effort, and that’s where you come in.”

  The man’s eyes jumped all over the place – Dragon to Dragoness, then to the Princess who quietly apologised for her Dragon’s behaviour, and then to Yardi, where they lingered – absolutely unmistakably, his gaze lingered. With intent. Since the dawn of time, Dragons and Dragonesses had looked each other over just like that. Clear enough that his feelings might as well have been inked upon a scroll.

  “No. With respect, Dragon, no,” he grated. “I am not your man. I can’t leave this, don’t you see?”

  Dragon stroked his chin as if taking a pause for thought. In reality, he was begging Yardi to intervene, but she had lost her tongue. “Why don’t we just take all of you?”

  “All?” Azania, Yardi, Chalice and Garan gasped at once.

  “Everything. All. Was I unclear? Every last child, even those in your nursery over there.”

  “These children depend on me. I have responsibilities. Look, Dragon, you can’t just come stomping in here and upend everything I’ve wor
ked so hard for.”

  “Ah, but I can. I’m a Dragon. Excuse me – achoo!” He sneezed aside, very careful to aim at no-one. Flame licked out of his nostrils. “Look, Garan, you can’t just refuse us until you know what we’re offering.”

  He twined his arms across his chest, still shaking his head. Brawny fellow; Yardi’s surreptitious glance betrayed her appreciation of his powerful biceps and forearms. There. Humans and Dragons were more alike than anyone supposed. Size mattered.

  He had this under control.

  His Princess said, “What are you suggesting, Dragon?”

  “Do you have an office, Garan? Somewhere we can talk in private?”

  “That door.”

  “Good. Let’s go over there.”

  At the doorway, everyone paused. No Dragon could fit inside his cluttered office, but that was hardly the point. With a grin as wicked as the points of his fangs, Dragon raised a paw and gently but unstoppably pushed Yardi and Garan inside together. “Talk.”

  Yardi’s glare behind the blacksmith’s back was a study in fury … and yearning.

  The blacksmith spluttered, “And what are you going to do, Dragon?”

  “Me? I am going to ask your nice apprentices to file my talons and burnish my scales. Then, I plan to have a little snooze, somewhere out of the way – but beware, I shall have one eye open. If the two of you dare to emerge without some kind of deal, I will be a deeply frustrated, irritable, nasty piece of Dragon you won’t want within a hundred miles of your forge. Do we understand one another?”

  “Dragon, you are evil,” Azania said primly. “I apologise –”

  “Oh, be quiet. You are my captive Princess and you will do what I say.”

  She folded her arms and tapped her right foot.

  Reaching out, Dragon pulled the door shut, making Yardi jump to get out of his way. He called, “I mean it! Talk. Deal! Positive or negative, I don’t care, as long as you explore the idea properly. As for you, Princess –” he winked massively at her “– I think we need to have words over here.”