I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  Gazaram fell heavily. “Curse it, you black demon!”

  Dart! She destroyed another gem. And another! Tactical!

  With another violent twist, he freed the staff and swung at her. The Ranger in his paw fired an arrow, which skimmed the man’s neck as he spun with frightening grace. Azania blocked the staff’s shaft with her blade. As the man pressed to overpower her, cursing that he would remove the King’s head, she scraped the blade along toward his fingers. Gems exploded in sequence. He had to drop his grip or face having a few digits amputated.

  Dragon lined up his muzzle. Unfortunately, Gazaram stood between him and the Princess. The shot would skim the circular staircase in the centre of the chamber. Misfire, however, and he’d roast his Dragon Rider, or the King. His eye touched hers, as did his thoughts.

  Bellow, she breathed.

  At the same instant, she tripped over Azerim’s waving leg. Poor man. Beneath that heavy, padlocked black leather hood, he must have little idea of what was going on save that someone was trying to kill him and someone else, an unseen defender, had just sprawled over his lap.

  I AM DRAGON!!

  His sonic blast punched the Lord in the back. A silvery blade flicked upward at the same instant as the man lurched forward, losing his balance. Azania pierced his bowels deeply. Stuck beneath his toppling weight, she could not escape and neither could he fire, but the King twisted his chained body with a great groan, sliding them sideways. The ultra-sharp talon ripped its cut inches wider.

  Blergh! Nasty. Now he knew what Human guts looked like. So … organic. A greyish-purple colour, like a small octopus dangling its tentacles out of that rent.

  Lord Gazaram’s black gauntlet snapped out, gripping Azania by the neck with enormous strength. “Now you’ll die, little girl!”

  She choked, fighting hard, trying to kick him off.

  Must be galling to be gutted like a fish by a person he took for a child.

  At the same instant, soldiers boiled out of a hatchway in the floor, while the Sankir came down the stairs four at a time, unleashing an arrow that punched into the Lord’s shoulder. For a second, he found himself surrounded by four of Gazaram’s men, fighting for his life. Then, another Ranger leaped free of the stairway, her daggers glinting. Beautiful strike. One soldier died instantly, the other at her left hand, staggered as her dagger embedded deep in his shoulder.

  Freed, the Sankir beat back the remaining two and lunged for Gazaram. Still tangled up with the Princess, his hand gripped her throat relentlessly. She kicked his neck, but the man only bore down with maniacal strength.

  Azerim kneed him in the man-treasures, and appeared to collapse.

  As the Sankir bullied the Lord off Azania, she coughed and heaved a relieving breath. The Lord’s men tried to pull him backward toward the window, shielding him with their bodies. Aiming through the bars, the Ranger in his paw placed a shaft into one of the backs facing them. More soldiers rushed up through the hatch, but a Ranger’s arrow struck one of them through the face visor, blocking the stairwell with a dead body.

  The tall Ranger and the tiny Princess stalked Gazaram in tandem. The man swiped at them with his sword; a male Ranger knelt beside the King, quickly binding his thigh with a robe, while another worked expertly at his locks with a set of picks. Two more had joined the soldiers.

  Catching Dragon’s eye, the Sankir roared, “You’d better hide your Lord well, men, for I am bent on revenge!” He waved his sword in clear threat. “Come on, Gazaram! Where’s the youngest Prince?”

  “Taken care of!”

  The man lunged; the Sankir blocked his thrust, but his block impelled the blade into Azania’s arm. Blood welled immediately.

  She lunged. “Take that, Gazaram!”

  He recoiled. At the very same instant, her thought touched his mind. Dragon thrust his fully extended talons between the bars. The blow was anything but elegant; the longest point of his fore-talon pierced the nape of the Lord’s neck, despite his armour. Just three inches or so, but in the case of a Human, a deadly strike. Blood spurted out of the cut. Drawing back his talon, he warned Azania with his mind as he very, very gently blew fire onto the men’s backs.

  “Get the King out! Mind the lower hatch,” he roared.

  The Rangers retreated; the men in front of the window screamed and broke. Nothing like overheated Dragon halitosis playing down one’s spine to liven up a man’s dancing skills. Meantime, the Princess skipped forward to execute a rapier-like strike with her talon blade, opening the Lord’s throat to complete the job. He collapsed; she retreated just as rapidly.

  “Lower hatch!” he thundered again, shaping the fire roughly with his tongue. It swept across the floor to the lower entrance, sending the men climbing up there into a scuttling panic.

  Stooping, the Sankir hefted the limp King onto his shoulder. “Up the stairs! Go!”

  With the way cleared by Dragon fire, the Rangers fled up the spiral staircase. The King left a trail of blood behind him. Briefly, Azania and a female Ranger clashed over who would be last. The Princess staggered upstairs first, clutching her side. The Ranger followed; a second later, he heard the trapdoor squeal shut. Drawing a huge lungful, he filled the chamber with clouds of pearly white fire. As much as he had breath for, until the flesh inside stopped sizzling and there were no more sounds of movement inside. So much did he give, the heat radiated back out of the window, forcing him to withdraw the Ranger he still held in his paw.

  Now he was properly stuck.

  Aria! Help!

  Chuckling rather grimly, she ordered four Dragonesses to grab him by anything that mattered and drag her Dragon out of the hole he had created for himself.

  Took a bit of doing.

  After all, from this viewpoint, his haunches obscured the entire sky.

  * * * *

  Working quickly, the Dragonesses extracted the Rangers and royals through the window the creature who possessed a welding torch for Dragon fire had thoughtfully carved out for them. They had padded the hole with a layer of robes which had been soaked in seawater, but the cloth smoked heavily and burst into flame as the last Ranger popped free.

  “Azania! Alright?”

  “Good thanks, Dragon. Various cuts and bruises, but –” He caught her as she wobbled. “Mostly alright. I need to sit down.”

  “You did great in there.”

  “And then, the draconic backstab. Epic,” she said, swatting his upraised paw with her hand. “Nice work, you!”

  “Azerim needs help, fast,” Aria put in. “Dragon –”

  “Right on it. Castle courtyard?”

  “Let’s move.”

  Scooping up the King, he leaped out hard and fast, taking them on a quick tour of the delightful battlements before folding his wings to execute a swift landing. Warriors both scaly and not patrolled above; the keep had been breached, and even before they touched down, the Sankir began to yell at his Rangers to find the youngest brother, or at least, find out his location. The staff had gathered inside the entry hall. Amongst them, the Lady of the castle stood apart, railing bitterly at everyone and everything.

  After discovering that the castle did not have a surgeon of any capability and the Lady was not exactly willing to help, Dragon poked his head into the hall and summoned up his most sensitive self.

  “Lady Gazaram! Your husband is dead and if you don’t shut your lying, treasonous trap, I promise I will immortalise you in charcoal as well!”

  She collapsed in a dead faint. Perfect.

  He glared at the rest of the servants. “Anyone else in a mood not to help?”

  Turned out they were all incredibly zealous. Amazing. However, the best they could offer was a nurse and a seamstress capable of very fine stitching, one Chanize. Aha – that would be the sweet-looking young blonde woman sitting in a rolling chair. His fires brightened.

  Doth yon Dragon devise a devious scheme? Something like that, anyways.

  Dragon pointed with his talon. “Rangers. Get King Az
erim on that table. Nurse, clean his wounds and you, girl, stitch whatever it is that’s bleeding so badly in his leg. Get the artery closed properly, hear me?”

  “Sir!” the pair quavered in tandem.

  “Where’s the nearest capable surgeon?”

  Over the waters at Lord Jenarzam’s castle was the agreed answer. The debate then became whether to move the King and do just one trip, or to go there and fetch the man in rising storm winds, which would take valuable time. Azerim was in bad, bad shape. Despite the boot, his foot had almost been cut in half and the gash in his thigh was deep – it had only nicked an artery, but he had lost a great deal of blood. The seamstress bent over him, needle and thread moving steadily while the nurse pinched off the flow and mopped up with her free hand.

  Outside, Aria gave her orders. No sign of the little boy so far, but the Anhoyal Rangers had not yet finished their search. One of the servants thought he might have heard Gazaram talking about hiding the boy somewhere out along the coastline, but he did not know where.

  “Can someone get me up onto the table?” Chanize asked, wiping her brow. “Can’t see from here – oh, Sankir Farizam?”

  “Chanize. May I help?”

  “Gladly.”

  Dragon scented the emotions between them. All the colours of a mountain meadow in the high summer. He grinned toothily, summarily terrifying every single person who was looking at him just now. High time for draconic mischief after all this brutal fighting and killing. He looked on as the girl put her arms around the man’s neck and he lifted her easily onto the table. That bloom of colour in her cheek. A hitch in his breath and the care he took with her person.

  Aye! Gnarr. Move over for the Dragon in the house!

  Brusquely, he said, “Once you’ve shut off that bleeding, let’s plan to sprint with the King over to Lord Jenarzam’s castle. Who can pack travel bags for the nurse and the seamstress?”

  Chanize glanced up. “Uh, my Lord Dragon –”

  “Congratulations. You have just been accepted into the service of the Crown.”

  “I have?”

  Squeaky. Just how he liked his women.

  “That’s right,” Azania agreed, smelling the romantic subplot with infallible instinct. “Royal authority, straight from the King and Queen themselves. We have the power to put this rebellion to rest and secure the King and his brothers by any means we deem necessary.”

  “You can’t do that. She’s a bondservant,” the Lady Gazaram groaned, having recovered a few of her senses, by the sounds of her whining.

  “Oh, I can and I will,” Dragon growled. “I require her service.”

  The nurse said, “And me?”

  “Bind that leg and foot. We need to minimise the bleeding until the surgeon can see him.” He leered at the servants. “Woman. Go pack, or must I persuade you?” Fire leaked from between his fangs.

  Don’t overdo the tyranny, Azania half-laughed half-scolded playfully.

  She knew exactly what he was about.

  Also, Chanize was now properly terrified of him. Sigh. Best rectify that detail once they were up in the air. He gave her a parting snarl as she wheeled out of the hall. The Sankir looked desperately unimpressed. Obviously some peoples’ brains were exhausted and misfiring badly. He’d get the idea just as soon as this despotic Dragon executed part two of his wicked scheme. Just now, he demanded that Azania’s injuries also be seen to so that she could embark on a flight.

  Aria stepped up beside him. We might find ourselves searching this area on foot and by wing. I’ll see what the other groups have come up with; see that as many Princes as possible are secured.

  They might be keen to help with the search, he suggested.

  Good idea. You’re as full of ideas as you are mischief, aren’t you? He rumbled immodestly. So, here’s the plan. You sprint for Jenarzam and I’ll rendezvous with the other teams at my lair as planned. I would have wanted to show you my place, but our job is far from complete. We’ll come find you when we can. Saving King Azerim is our top priority. Fly safe and strong, Dragon.

  You too, Aria.

  His undisguised longing surprised them both.

  After a moment, she stroked his flank with her wingtip, a gesture definitely on the intimate side of friendly. I’ve never appreciated having a big, powerful male at my back as much as today. You shone in battle, Dragon.

  Thank you!

  With that, she was off to make more arrangements. He buzzed with elation. What a high compliment from the lethal Isles Dragoness!

  Dragon arranged his little Humans to his satisfaction. The Princess would take his neck, of course. They fastened the King to a stretcher and perched him atop his shoulders, alongside the spine spikes, before slinging ropes about his chest to fasten him in place.

  “Up top,” he ordered. “Nurse, seamstress, Ranger, in that order. Get yourselves tied on.”

  “We … fly?”

  Chanize’s little brain had evidently just turned up the right conclusion. About time.

  “I’d attach wings to your wheelchair if I could,” he said. “I’m sorry if this is second best.”

  “Second best?” Her eyes grew round and shiny.

  He said, “I’ll carry your wheelchair in my paw, for when we arrive on the other side. Now, milady, paw up?”

  He delivered a speechless young woman into the Sankir’s capable hands. Farizam helped her to settle on a temporary pad and took the seat right behind her. Both women’s hearts thrashed madly as he checked they were secure, and then, with a gruff warning, he stepped up the stairs and climbed up onto the dark battlements. No launch that would jolt the King. Various gasps ensued as he gripped with his talons, testing the rising winds. Tailwind. This promised to be a good flight.

  Turning to check over his shoulder, he growled, “Sankir, you’ll need to call directions. Everyone, hold on tight. I’ll be flying very fast. Sankir, you’re responsible for that girl in front of you. Forgive me, but for the sake of her balance, I’d prefer you hold her firmly about the waist.”

  You old fraud! Azania snorted fondly.

  The dark-haired Islander’s face was a study in angst.

  “Dragon’s orders!”

  Without waiting to see what the man would do, he tipped forward from the battlements and spread his wings upon the breeze. They had a King to save.

  * * * *

  Pumping his wings with all his strength, he shot out over the channel dividing Human Isle from the Dragon one. There was only a small enclave of Humanity on this first large island of the Archipelago’s Dragon paw; it was the most populous but also the poorest Archipelago. The King had been of the opinion that Jenarzam might have been coerced by the other three Lords, but that his actions might be forgivable – possibly. Of the four, his death had been desired the least.

  A Dragon appreciated such a codicil.

  Gazaram had merited no such special treatment. Fancy trying to hurl a youngling to his death for the sake of a feint? Despicable. Aria had rescued the boy, but many other soldiers, servants and several Rangers had perished. Two Dragonesses had not survived the battle.

  About ten minutes into the flight, he checked back over his shoulder and called, “Chanize?”

  “You know my name?” she gasped. Despite the very late hour – perhaps three hours before dawn now, he estimated – the girl appeared quite awake.

  “Of course I do. I take pains to learn the names of all my valuable captives.” He grinned. “Just teasing. Good flight? Comfortable?”

  “Aye, thank you, uh … Dragon?”

  “Is the Sankir holding you properly, Chanize? Do you feel quite safe?”

  Her medium green eyes brightened. Not that it was possible for a fireless Human, but he was quite sure he detected a spark in there. Or was that just a glint of reflected starlight?

  “I am quite scared, Dragon.”

  “Sankir! You are failing in your duty,” he grumbled.

  The man guffawed, “More of those ‘Dragon’s orders,’
eh?”

  “Let me advise you to obey,” the desert Princess put in, wide-eyed. “He gets incredibly grumpy, otherwise. He’s also a complete tyrant when it comes to arranging matters to his satisfaction.”

  Dragon said, “Could not have said it better myself.”

  After a second, the girl pressed her head against Farizam’s chest, and his hands tightened about her waist. He might not have been aware, but his habitually soldierly expression softened, and his nostrils flared slightly as he took in the girl’s scent. Beneath his body, he made a surreptitious fist pump.

  Win goes to the Dragon.

  One more thing. With a displeased huff of hot air, he said, “Chanize, I dislike bonds of servitude. Would you like me to petition King Varazim on your behalf to have you released from Lord Gazaram’s service?”

  “I … I could not ask such a thing.”

  “Would it make you happy?”

  “Over the moons!”

  “That’s good enough for this Dragon.”

  Chapter 33: Sunshine

  COMPARED TO LORD GAZARAM’S architectural monument to a misshapen desert cactus, Lord Jenarzam’s castle was positively homely. A broad, tan-coloured rough pentagon, it enclosed a hilltop commanding a view of Seal Bay, a sparkling teal estuary that played home to an estimated fifty thousand playful silver seals. They could play right down his throat, mmm. Tasty. Beyond the bay lay a further sprinkling of black-tipped coastal mountains, their green grassy sides dipping at dizzying angles into the bay and the Lumis Ocean beyond. Tan coastal plains surrounded the castle, but soon gave way to the tumbling, flower-festooned tropical vegetation he was starting to take a fancy to.

  Gorgeous view.

  Right on top of the broad, flat top of the Lord’s gatehouse, a chunky white Dragon was busy deciding if he could be bothered to shift his chunky backside a smidgen to better enjoy Taramis’ brilliant white glare. Nah. Too much like actual effort.