by Marc Secchia
She clasped his wrist as he deposited her upon the ground beside Aria. Thank you, Dragon.
So much more than gratitude for the paw ride.
He made a gracious gesture. “So, what’s the plan?”
The Sankir said, “We estimate at least six hundred of the King’s troops have been jammed into the holding cells beneath the barracks. The barracks are a square of buildings arranged around a central courtyard. Battlements and defences atop, with a small open-topped tower on each corner. Now, if we can free those troops, we’ve permission to use the Palace as a fortress while we clear the rest of town. It’s solidly built, I can tell you that much. Aria, would your Dragonesses be willing to help free them? The barracks are well-defended by Gazaram’s men, and supplied with catapults and ballistae.”
“We’ll take them out!” Aria snarled.
“If I may?” Azania asked.
“What, Princess?”
Ignoring the clack of fangs toward her shoulder, she said, “We faced a similar situation in Skartun. I suggest a coordinated attack. We feint at the ground level to draw their attention. Meantime, a couple of Dragonesses attack every emplacement from above. Catapults aren’t built to fire vertically. The best they can do is to cover one another, which will be the basic design, correct?”
“Correct,” the Sankir agreed.
Aria smiled, “I can see why you value this Princess, Dragon.”
Hmm. A touch of feminine jealousy? Very draconic.
He said, “As you can tell, Aria, I make a very large, very visible target and I am not half the warrior any of your army are. Would it forever stain my honour in your eyes to confess that a certain leaning toward staying alive in order to continue to thrash the enemy does influence my thinking?”
She gave a delighted roar. “O Dragon! You’re hilarious. We are not unthinking warriors. Efficient, intelligent attacks are our style. I’m not used to working closely with Humans on military issues, by my dam’s egg, but I’ll take all the help I can get.”
A clash of fiery gazes!
Aria added, not without a challenging snap to her tone, “Even if I am a proud warrior, and a dominant Dragoness.”
“We have much to discuss,” he flirted brazenly.
By his wings, that was playing with fire, but she merely gave a smoky chuckle, “Later. Sankir, draw us a map. Let’s get this done. After we free the troops, we must fly north with all speed.”
One thing about the military-minded, they did not waste time. Not a second. Within five minutes, the combined force, minus twelve warrior Dragonesses and five Rangers who remained behind – to be supplemented just as soon as possible – poured aloft and through the streets. It was evening, the skies darkening rapidly now. Down below, no red helmet was spared. The Dragonesses made an enormous racket, bellowing and raging and vowing vengeance on the enemies of the crown. They rolled up to the barracks, situated upon the northern edge facing the taller hills, hurled a few boulders and bellowed threats, and promptly peeled off behind the nearest houses as the defenders responded.
At the same instant, Dragon’s battle challenge pummelled the air.
FEAR THE TALON THAT CARVES YOUR DOOM!!
Quite the mouthful. Perhaps only Azania understood the import of the thunder shaking the square, fortress-like building beneath them, for she gave a small chuckle.
No, he was not writing a scroll.
Her bowstring sang as his wings flared, making a man on the battlement cry out and pitch over the edge. His white flame roared over the triple emplacement on the corner, meant to cover the angles. Thunder and challenges shook the air as other Dragonesses hit their targets simultaneously. Most went in with flame and then claws, picking up the catapults and ballistae and tossing them aside, regardless of the men and women manning them. Rangers flipped off their necks, swords flashing.
On Dragon’s neck, the Sankir pointed to a long building on the western side. “Under there.”
Meantime, Aria waved in her other troops. They whirled out of hiding and charged the walls. Suddenly, the red-feathered troops stationed there discovered three undeniable truths. One, the barracks buildings were not very tall, even with the battlements atop. Two, their covering fire had just vanished. Three, courage and discipline were fearfully hard to maintain with vengeful Dragonesses stalking the rooftops behind them, as well as a sword-wielding charge coming in from the fore.
Many broke and tried to flee, but a number formed knots of resistance.
One young red Dragoness toppled off a sloping tile rooftop with a severe wing injury. Others picked up javelin, arrow and sword injuries as they mowed through the defenders and broke into the barracks buildings, seeking to secure the area. Dragon swerved for the red as she clawed at the wall and guttering, her weight breaking stone, tile and wood.
Got you. Plucking her up by her waist, he brought her to safe landing.
“Nice catch,” Azania said. “Sankir –”
“With me, Princess!”
“Right behind you,” Dragon said.
Not exactly. He could not hope to fit inside. Forced to watch and then track her by scent and sensory magic, he huffed in frustration as the Sankir, plus the Princess and a squad of six Anhoyal Rangers disappeared below ground. A frustrating wait followed. Rangers combed the other buildings, but it quickly became apparent that the King’s soldiers must have been rounded up and herded below ground en masse. No-one could find the keys.
The Princess popped her head out of a ground floor window. “Dragon. Looks like they’re stuck down there and were left to rot, no food or water. They’ve been trying to break out with a couple of daggers they smuggled in.”
“No chance of smashing down the doors?”
“The quarters are very narrow. Aria barely fit inside the entry tunnel. She tried the door, but it is ironbound. She could only rattle it.”
“What’s the distance?”
“Hmm. Good thinking.” Turning, she pointed. “It’s down that stairwell you see behind me, and then twenty paces along.”
“Fifteen,” said the Sankir, popping up behind her. “Twenty if you’re – you know.”
“Vertically challenged?” Dragon purred.
The Princess smacked his nose. “Shut it, Mister Large.”
Landing in the courtyard area between the barracks buildings, Aria paced over to him. Her scales gleamed in the lantern light. Some kind soul must have lit the lanterns around the courtyard just before the attack.
“Plans?”
He said, “Kick down this wall, insert my muzzle as far as it will go down that stairwell –”
“While I spank your backside?” Aria inquired.
“What?” he spluttered.
“Won’t that make the fire squirt out faster?”
“Aye!” To his embarrassment, his scales heated up at her tone.
“There,” she said. “He’s primed for action. So predictable. I do love the glowing effect.”
Gnnnrrr-gnarr-GRR!
Aria just winked at the Princess. “Could not agree more. Come on, I don’t pay you for your prettiness, you know. Put those mighty muscles to work.”
“Did someone call for a demolition?” he rumbled.
“Most certainly did!” the Sankir agreed. “Just let us get out of your way first, Dragon.”
Once the little Humans had cleared the way, Dragon flexed his muscles and checked his hind paws. A dozen Dragonesses looked on with interest as he lined up his back-kick. BOOM! Right beside the window. BOOM-BOOM! The building shook. Between kicks, he heard the Sankir down below shouting through the dungeon door to the troops.
“That block’s shifting,” Azania advised.
“Stand back!”
Winding up, he cracked the block out beside the window. Then another. A whole section of blocks collapsed back into the room – each was solid sandstone, three by two by two feet in dimensions. Eager Dragonesses swarmed into the gap, pulling out the rubble.
The desert Princess said, “I love
a Dragon in demolition mode, don’t you, Aria?”
“Mmm,” she purred. “Watch out!”
In their eagerness, the Dragonesses provoked a small landslide as part of the wall and the floor above abruptly collapsed. He must have undermined a roof beam, but the place was well built. The breach did not extend far. Dragon waded in gallantly to lift the beam off an overzealous yellow Dragoness, whose wingtip pat of thanks nearly put Aria into murder mode. With a couple more well-placed kicks that did nothing for the bruising probably developing on his heel – ignored with massive draculinity, of course – he opened the room to the night air.
Aria growled, “I’m going to call you Wrecker from now on.”
“Wrecker the reckless?” he grinned.
Making an extravagant desert-style bow, Azania declaimed, “I hereby name thee Lord of Destruction and Wrecker of Human civilisations, thou Paw of all Pestilence, harbinger of the fiery winds of Taramis itself, the mighty White Dragon!”
He blinked. “By my wings, is that an official statement, Ambassador?”
“Would you like it to be?”
“Gosh, I think it might make me sound a little pompous, wouldn’t you say?”
“Poetic license.”
“Any decent poet would be turning in their grave right now.”
“Oh hush, Dragon. News is what we make it.”
“That’s fake news.”
“Who cares if it’s fake? It sounds good, and besides, it’s satisfying. Rolls off the tongue.”
Wriggling a little to get beneath the roof level, he pressed over to the stone stairway. It was a simple affair protected by a solid trapdoor which had been thrown back by the invaders.
The Sankir trotted up the stairs beneath his nose. “Right. The blasted door is straight ahead of you. I have the men and women inside pressed back as they can, so no need to withhold – but the space is tight. If you can, direct your white fires more to your right paw, because that’s where the locking mechanism is. Pardon my question, but are you sure your fires are hot enough to melt metal?”
Pausing to glance at Aria, he smiled, “Metal, Dragonesses, it’s all the same to me.”
Whoosh! She coughed fire.
Azania leaped aside with a yelp. He reached out to slap the flame off her buttocks – gently. One did not want to launch one’s best friend over a nearby building by mistake. Jolly good thing those trousers had been made fireproof, wasn’t it? The Cobalt Dragoness apologised. So did he. After all, he had to confess that someone had set her off.
Checking her rear end, the Princess growled, “I’ll have no indecent jokes from you, Dragon.”
“Why, can one not talk about a flaming hot rump in your culture?”
“No!”
“Not even if it’s true?”
The Sankir’s grin flashed in his brown face. “No, we all go about pretending it isn’t true, whilst thinking something else. That’s the way Humans work. All sorts of silly taboos.”
Azania said, “You are not exactly helping. Dragon, go stick your face down that hole and stay there until the job’s done. Sankir, get over here. Are you married?” When he shook his head, she growled, “Well, you should be. Anyone on the horizon? Aria?”
“No idea,” she growled. “Fight your own battles, Princess.”
While he stuck his nose underground and took aim, Azania pestered Sankir Farizam to confess. To his surprise, the hard-bitten Ranger’s reaction revealed that he was definitely hiding something. The Princess was not oblivious – the female equivalent of his colourful emotional sense. What surprised him was her persistence. He drowned out her voice by directing his fire down the tunnel. Brilliant light irradiated the dark, dry dungeon walls, carved out of solid sandstone if he was not mistaken. That must have taken some labour. At the end of the passage, about seven or eight Dragon paces away, was a sturdy door meant to keep the riffraff in.
He played with the thin stream of fire. Tongue control. Hmm – three locks, if he was not mistaken. Shortly, a yell from inside gave him pause.
“What is it?” Incoherent yells? Rather testily, he boomed, “Can I hear from less than ten at a time?”
“Sorry, mighty Dragon, your flame cut right through.”
“Everyone alright?”
“One burned arm, but it’s not serious, sir.”
Gnarr. Call him sir, and it would get serious. Fast. “Fine. Sorry! I’m aiming high next, and then I’ll try the lower lock.”
“Everybody duck!”
Quack, he thought, making Azania giggle.
Fire, too much fire, not the right fire, the right fire but not in the right place … he grumbled to himself as he went back to work. Amazing how fast one went from fire poverty to complaining about the fire one had. Was he ungrateful for the gift of fire? A metaphor which could readily be applied to life, and he must remember this lesson well.
A couple more longish burns later, and the Sankir braved the heat in the passage to go and encourage the dungeon door to swing open with the aid of a large sledgehammer he had discovered somewhere.
Anything to escape Azania’s relentless enthusiasm for romance.
Suitably encouraged, the door gave way and hundreds of dishevelled but grateful Vaylarn Archipelago soldiers began to pour out of the dungeon. After thanking Dragon, they one and all made a collective dash for the lavatories.
Dragon peered at this phenomenon in startlement. Humans, eh? So little control of their bodily functions. Still, he perfectly understood the desire not to defecate beneath one’s own paws. Even Dragons disposed of their pellets in a reasonable fashion, and decried bombing other creatures from a height, unlike the disgusting seabirds around these parts.
He growled, “Could I have a –”
“Trough of water right here,” Azania said. Hmm. Mind reader?
“Did we lose a –”
“One Dragoness is too injured to fly,” she replied before he even posed the question. “Plenty of minor injuries, but that one was an unfortunate accident due to the snap-recoil of a ballista. Fractured her secondary wing bone, left side. Aria’s having a hard time convincing her to stay.”
It struck him that Aria might resent his interference, but they were also short on time. If any single message got through that the capital city had been retaken, Azerim or his brothers might be endangered.
He walked over. Gyrielle, is it?
The orange Dragoness nodded, straightening as she realised he knew her name. She said, Dragon?
He said, I know this is not what you want to hear, Gyrielle, but if Aria’s asking you to go up to the Palace and swap out with another warrior, then please do that. We need you back on the wing as soon as possible. I am asking you, please, please be ready to fly south with us. There will be battles against Sea Serpents here and the Skartun slavers in the south. We will need the full measure of your swords, your fire and your courage.
Gyrielle arched her neck proudly. I want to fight!
That you will, that’s a promise. When the enemy rises against us in their tens of thousands, Gyrielle, that’s when we will need you most.
Aria put in, Furthermore – thank you, Dragon – I need a squad to finish clearing this town. The Sankir tells me there are still substantial enemy forces from the four northern Lords at work here, endangering the citizenry. Three more volunteers to join Gyrielle and the kingdom’s soldiers!
The Dragoness genuflected fiercely. This, I shall accomplish.
Chapter 30: Dark Fortress
POWERING UPWARD INTO THE fully dark night sky, sprinkled with constellations he could recite by name, Dragon tuned his ears to Azania, riding his neck with the Sankir in second position. Gnarr. Put his arms around his Princess, would he? Those hands had better behave themselves, or he’d chew them off slowly!
Azania said, “Your men told me you were married before, Sankir Farizam?”
Oh. Had he misjudged the man? He tuned in to listen.
“Aye, for six years. I lost my wife and three children to Sea
Serpents.”
Heat like heartburn built inside his chest as the desert Princess whispered, “I’m awfully sorry. I had no right to –”
“That’s alright. She was a merchant’s daughter from the Isles, but her father originally came from the Kingdom of Onyxil. He found the Archipelago very much to his liking. Still lives about twenty miles from here, actually, out near the mangrove swamps. She was returning from Onyxil with our children when they were attacked and sunk. They must have drowned, or –” his voice cracked “– or worse. Ever since, I’ve hated myself for not going on that trip.”
“You wanted to die with them?”
“Aye.”
“That’s so hard,” she said, clasping his hands in hers.
“It was nine years ago, before we were forced to close all the shipping lanes,” he added. Grief still shaded his tone. “We were aware of the danger, but I guess … I guess we just thought it would never happen to us. The ship had a Dragoness escort, even. All three were killed in the battle – shot out of the air and drowned or crushed, is what I heard. There was only one survivor, a young man. He never recovered his right mind afterward.”
“I’m sorry to hear of your tragedy,” he rumbled, causing the man to startle. The eight Rangers on his back murmured between themselves.
Azania said, “Sankir, I’m sorry if my teasing was hurtful.”
After a long silence, he said, “I have told myself I should be over it by now, but how do you ever recover from such a grief?”
“I lost my father a few months ago. It’s … impossible. I have no answers.”
Farizam touched her shoulder in sympathy.
Dragon spread his wings into a resting glide position. He flew wing-second to Aria’s lead. He wanted to tell her that he moved a great deal more wind than her and was the more powerful flier, so he should take the front position. No. When it came to warrior Dragonesses, her place was at the forefront of the flying wedge. The Dragonwing already found his presence strange enough. Pick one’s battles. Sneak his ideas into their heads slowly.
Even the fact of a male flying with them into battle was novel enough!
