by Marc Secchia
The beast’s stamping was nothing to that fragment of consciousness. The speck passed through his shadow. The ways of his soul-magic were laid bare before it, and the speck recoiled in horror. It fled toward the presence of one linked, forever, by chains of unbreakable magic.
A precious thread of memory became her lifeline. Sha’aldior? I’m lost.
A-Aranya? Where … I can’t see you. I’m so hurt, Aranya. Say the word and I’ll come to you.
I’m Aranya?
Princess of Immadia. You’re a Shapeshifter Dragon. A picture entered her mind. This is me. This was our promise, to which the twin suns bore witness.
Show me the path.
Here, my soul’s treasure. This is the way to life.
A candle-like flame flickered in her mind, growing to encompass her world. Sweet breath whooshed into her lungs, a cleansing agony. Aranya’s eyes snapped open.
Thoralian, directly across the sinkhole from her, whirled. How did you … he flung himself into the air, targeting her prone form.
The ground shook as if with an earthquake.
Aranya steeled herself to grapple with Thoralian as the low thunder increased. Her brain filled with images of smoke and chaos. From visions to misperceptions, now the impossibility of having moved over a thousand feet from Thoralian’s grasp without memory or apparent effort? The hard-packed soil beneath her body reverberated like a drum skin. Cawing, tearing at each other in their terror, the drakes began to scatter. They fled in every conceivable direction, including back down into the sinkhole from which they had emerged.
The Yellow-White Dragon’s wingbeat slowed as he searched the battlefield, his puzzlement clear.
Seeing that Thoralian was not attacking, Aranya tried to roll onto her paws. The sky shimmered at the advent of magic on a scale she had only imagined in the midst of her storm.
South of the shipyards, a paw rose to engulf the crown of a hill as easily as a man grasping a prekki-fruit in his fist. A flat, spatulate head lifted two thousand feet into the air, knocking aside several of King Beran’s dirigibles with casual disdain. It could as easily have swallowed them whole. An iridescent green tongue, longer than the biggest of Dragonships, tasted the air with several brief flicks before the creature’s muzzle oriented on the sinkhole.
A Land Dragon! Every scale on Aranya’s body threatened to lift off her back at the sight.
The serpentine body slithered between two hills, setting off an avalanche of rocks and trees. A single white orb dominated the middle of its forehead. Its gaze was like bathing beneath a torrent of magic, a stunning palette of colours and musical harmonies that teased the senses. But that eerie, reaming gaze passed over Thoralian–destroying her hope that it was him that the creature wanted–and lit upon the Amethyst Dragon instead. Animosity hammered her senses.
Aranya gasped, incapable of moving a muscle, as the creature sucked in a cavernous breath.
“TRAITOR!” The Land Dragon boomed, lunging forward.
Aranya scrambled aside, desperately, as a paw furnished with hundred-foot talons descended toward her, just as she might have swatted an insect. Her left wing hung at a useless angle. Whatever Thoralian had done to her shoulder, it would not bear her aloft. Soil and rock flew into the air as the Land Dragon’s talons gouged trenches where she had lain.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Thoralian whirling, scanning the battlefield with a cunning mien, spiralling away from the Shadow Dragon’s slow, laboured pursuit. Was this beast Thoralian’s ally? She could hardly imagine it. Thoralian wanted her alive, not smeared across the rocks.
Where could she hide from a Land Dragon, if she could not fly?
“FOUL TRAITOR!” Thunder, shaking the earth beneath her belly. Another swat, another frantic, fluttering leap. The Land Dragon’s outstretched talon–one of three pointing forward, and two shorter talons pointing backward, exactly akin to a Dragon’s foot–crushed the tip of her tail. “I’LL KILL YOU!”
Unnerved, the Amethyst Dragon hopped another sixty feet before flopping to the ground. The presence of a supreme, ancient creature stupefied her senses. The creature was so vast, the rear part of its body still lay somewhere behind the hills, while its shoulders abutted the sky. Aranya was far from measuring up to the monster’s ankle-bone. Despite the musty, damp overtones, its scent was unaccountably sweet and Dragon-like, yet redolent of a thousand mysteries. It drew breath, probably to destroy her with a deluge of fire.
Panting in desperation, Aranya flipped herself over the sinkhole’s edge.
Chapter 31: Ambush
Not for the first time in her life, Aranya fell through space.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, the Land Dragon plunged into the hole after her, the thunder of its challenge chasing the Amethyst Dragon into the depths. “FLEE, YOU WORM!”
Tumbling into the sinkhole, Aranya’s first concern was to not plunge to her death. She tried to extend her lamed wing, but the numbness in her shoulder made flying impossible. Impulsively, she grasped one of the hawsers of the lift system, and tried to employ that as a brake. Her Human hands would have been shredded, but her tough Dragon hide suffered no friction burns.
She glanced upward. The gleaming white eye was just a few hundred feet above and closing the gap, the paws reaching out to pull the creature along, its claws penetrating the naked rock with ease. The Land Dragon moved with the elegance of a snake slipping into its burrow, only this creature filled the sinkhole in its entirety. An unexpected swipe knocked her off the hawser. Aranya tumbled through the air, falling through the roof of a cavern so vast that its farther reaches were lost in darkness. How deep underground was she? The cavern floor! With a trickle of her Storm power, Aranya somehow managed to cushion her landing. Despite that trick, her right hind leg collapsed beneath her. Flap! Scramble!
Aranya screamed as the Land Dragon’s five talons speared down around her, a perfect cage stronger than any metal. She tried to whirl, only to discover that she was pinned in place by her own hide. One talon had passed through her left wing, another had sliced shallowly through the muscle of her right flank, opening a gash twelve feet wide. A third trapped her hindquarters, while the remaining two talons formed a ‘V’ either side of her neck.
A soft sob of horror escaped her as she grasped her predicament. The talons were buried six feet deep in solid rock, turning her into an Amethyst Dragon skewer.
Holding that paw firmly in place, the Land Dragon slithered down the sinkhole, gathering its serpentine length into a mound that threatened to fill the cavern. The white orb did not spare her its spiteful, withering output. The creature laboured for breath for a few moments, its lungs heaving with a sound that Aranya recognised only too well from her own condition, before picking up the assault.
The Land Dragon snarled, “You lying little parasite! Any last regrets before I slice your puny head off your shoulders?”
Regrets were an excellent idea, Aranya deduced. Clearing her throat, it took her two tries before she managed, “Regrets? Only that I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“LIAR!”
No gentler than a Dragonship exploding inside her skull! Aranya clapped both forepaws over her ear-canals. Boulders dropped from the cavern roof at the force of the Land Dragon’s accusation. Lowering its head, the Land Dragon extended a single talon of its left forepaw and slid it with cold deliberation between the bars of Aranya’s cage, pinning her head and neck to the ground. At that size, the talon wasn’t terribly sharp. Aranya realised she was about to have her head sawed off by the equivalent of a super-sized blunt knife.
“Please, mighty Land Dragon. What have I done to offend you?”
Where was her magic, oh please, just a touch of Star Dragon fire to burn her way free … and while she tried to convince this mad giant to believe her, Thoralian had the freedom to kill and take over minds. Or would he flee, seeing his army in tatters?
“What have you done? You miserable cretin! Only
, you gifted the First Egg to Shurgal and the Theadurial, commencing a hundred and fifty years of misery and imprisonment for my kind!”
What? Aranya echoed, “The First Egg?”
“You deny this knowledge?”
Suddenly, her mind served up the only possible explanation, although she did not understand it in the slightest. “You’re Leandrial!”
“Ah, so you do remember me.” The talon pressed down harder, apprising Aranya of her mistake. “Tell me, why should a Lesser Dragon lie? There was only purity in your hearts when you promised to return the Egg to me. YOU PROMISED!”
“Leandrial, you’ve captured the wrong–unh!” She choked beneath the terrible pressure. I must … speak.
Silence!
A whisper of wings came from the direction of the sinkhole. Aranya heard, “You let my friend go, you bully!” Zuziana? Her friend fluttered up to the Land Dragon’s eye, flying poorly, her wings apparently more holes than membrane. “Let her go! Haven’t enough Dragons died today?”
Perhaps the Land Dragon expected an attack, ludicrous as it was from an Azure Dragon whose wingspan was less than the breadth of her oval eye. Leandrial jerked backward, taking a vast breath which sucked Zip irresistibly into her left nostril. Then she sneezed, shooting the Azure Dragoness across the cavern in a spray of unmentionable proportions.
The Azure Dragon braked, dripping slime, and darted back toward Leandrial.
Leandrial snapped, “Be off with you, pest, or I will swat you as Pip over there deserves.”
“That’s Aranya. She’s called Aranya.”
“Are you a liar, too?”
“No, but–” Leandrial pursed her lips, and blew Zip across the cavern. The Azure Dragoness fluttered gamely, but ended up being plastered against the far wall. The Land Dragon spat a blue glob of spit at her. Glue attack, Aranya realised. She had never seen one before. Stuck like a fly in a spider’s web, Zuziana still yelled, “She’s not the Pygmy Dragon!”
“Be silent, before I glue your mouth shut.” Leandrial rounded on Aranya. “Now, you deceitful speck of filth, I shall crush you as you deserve.”
Please, Aranya pleaded, you’re letting Thoralian escape. He’s the one who wants the Egg. I’m not–
Ari hurt? Big Cloudland Dragon hurt my Ari?
Sapphire? To Aranya’s increasing bewilderment, the dragonet sped along the immense mound of Leandrial’s back, chirping and squeaking in evident distress. Leandrial shivered. The Land Dragon raised her head, her brow-ridge beetling as Sapphire landed on the point of her muzzle. Sapphire seemed mesmerised, no bigger than a mosquito perched on the Dragon’s nose.
They spoke too quietly for Aranya to overhear.
The Land Dragon’s eyelid shuttered momentarily, the magic changing structure into a new, searing harmony. Leandrial said, Oh? Is that so, little one? Oh …
Aranya did not wish to hold her breath any longer for an answer, but the pain and weariness enfolded her in equal measure. So much fighting. So much death, and for what? Thoralian lived, his drakes were free to roam the Island-World, and Leandrial had just proven Jia-Llonya’s ‘bite-of-Aranya’ theory. Bleak irony.
She asked, Sapphire? What’s she saying to you?
Ari good girl, squeaked Sapphire, making the word ‘geeurrl’ sound unfamiliar and exotic.
Leandrial said ponderously, “The dragonet says you have lived but seventeen cycles of the suns upon this Island-World. She says you are no egg-stealer. And that your colour–I do not understand this word–is not what I seek. I cannot fathom it. How can I avenge my people, as the Ancient Dragon demanded, if you are not the one? My magic does not lie.”
Suddenly, the Land Dragon subsided. Her talon lifted, freeing Aranya’s neck.
If she could just pluck a burning coal of understanding from amongst the embers of the battle, Aranya would have been delighted. Zip attacking a Land Dragon? Sapphire saving her life? Next, the Islands would soar off their foundations to do a merry dance beneath the five moons.
Inanely, Aranya said, “Fra’anior is bigger than you?”
“Bigger, and infinitely more powerful, little one,” said Leandrial, in a voice devoid of comfort. “He’s an Ancient Dragon. Do you not know such things?”
The talons retracted from the rock with a scale-prickling screech. The Amethyst Dragon groaned as her wing and side were freed.
“Rise,” said Leandrial, scooping Aranya carefully onto her paw before any protest could be made. “I have wronged you. And this little one, who dares to dispute with a Land Dragon?” She used one mighty talon as a spatula, scraping Zuziana free from the wall. “Brave fledgling.”
Aranya smiled at her friend as they huddled together on the Dragon’s paw, awed, broken, drenched in wonder. “You’re a mess. Been in a battle?”
“You’re not so pretty yourself,” said Zip, and then groaned. “Oh, great Islands, could I but cut out this tongue and toss it into a Cloudlands volcano!”
“It’s alright. Leandrial, Thoralian is still–”
“We shall surface, but I no longer sense his presence with us.”
Aranya groaned, but the Azure Dragon shouted, “Then it’s all your fault, you great, galumphing Island-biter!”
“Zip!” Aranya cried.
To be the object of Leandrial’s laughter was akin to drowning in a raging river. Aranya and Zuziana found themselves pressed up against her curled talons, their bodies pounded by each successive guffaw. Soon, however, the laughter ceased and Aranya knew that a darker truth had punctured the Land Dragon’s good humour. Thoralian would hunt for the First Egg. With that power, he could twist even Land Dragons to serve his will.
Uttering a soft word in a draconic tongue, Leandrial bathed them in magic. Healing magic, Aranya realised, gritting her fangs as feeling returned to her shoulder, and the large slice in her side drew back together with an uncomfortable stitching sensation.
Aranya said, “Thank you, Leandrial.”
Zuziana flexed her wings gingerly. “Thanks, but how am I ever going to get this glue off?”
Thoralian’s underground realm was more extensive than she had imagined. Glancing about, Aranya observed numerous secondary chambers and tunnels leading away from the main cavern. Some would have housed the drakes. Would there be other holding chambers for the Shapeshifters he had captured over the years? Other secrets to be plumbed?
There was no time for speculation. The Land Dragon closed her talons around the two Lesser Dragons, and surged into the long tunnel that led to the surface–what to Aranya or Zuziana was a sinkhole ten Dragons could have flown down together without the need to touch wings, but to her was a snug burrow. Sapphire darted between Leandrial’s talons to throw herself at Aranya, whining, crooning and generally making a happy fuss.
You brave creature! said Aranya. Did I see you with Zuziana, fighting the drakes?
She saved my hide, the Remoyan put in. Drakes don’t like their eyes being clawed out, and Sapphire was too quick to catch.
Sapphire celebrated Zip’s compliment with a spiralling triple somersault.
* * * *
The brilliant morning sky showcased a fading battle between the remnants of Thoralian’s fleet, who continued to give no quarter, and King Beran’s now-dominant forces. Ja’arrion and Va’assia, both battle-scarred and streaked with soot and golden blood, led a depleted Dragonwing against the Sylakian ground forces, which included half a dozen Red Dragons–the only other Dragons left alive.
Aranya gazed about in full knowledge that Thoralian had either fled or hidden himself, as the Land Dragon had suggested. Should she be relieved, or furious? His probable escape soured any sense of victory she might enjoy. In truth Thoralian would most likely have killed her; that knowledge was no comfort, for she had been prepared to die. A cowardly retreat was the one scenario no-one had considered.
With Thoralian went her hope for her mother’s recovery, another bitter blow.
Zip, never one to be cowed for long, looked about with an alert a
ir. “Leandrial, you couldn’t help us tidy up here, could you?”
The Land Dragon hesitated. “What would you have me do, little one?”
“General Zuziana of Remoy,” said Aranya.
The Azure Dragoness favoured this sally with a scowl. “Attend closely while I outline the actions you can usefully take, Leandrial.”
The great white orb blinked, twice. “Are you always this impudent?”
She heard signals on King Beran’s flagship. Aranya’s belly cramped in shock. She sprang into the air, shouting, “No, Dad! Don’t shoot!”
The Immadian Dragonships hovering over the sinkhole let fly at Leandrial with every weapon they commanded. Most of the crossbow quarrels pinged off her hide, or plugged into it without doing the slightest damage. But those aimed at her eye were intercepted by Aranya, who flung herself on an intersecting trajectory. She stopped a brace of bolts with her shoulder and three with her flank. Aranya slumped on the Land Dragon’s muzzle; faintly, hearing the commands not to fire again.
She groaned, “Oh, that was ralti-stupid.”
“Indeed,” rumbled Leandrial, catching the Amethyst Dragon in her paw. “Their tiny darts could not penetrate my eyelid. But you are plucky, little one. I shan’t forget.”
“Lift me up to that Dragonship,” gasped Aranya. “I must speak to my Dad.”
* * * *
After the battle had subsided and Dragon-Aranya had spent three hours being patched and sewn up by Jia-Llonya, Va’assia and a team of medics, she limped over to the table where Chikkan had been working on Yolathion. The Amethyst Dragoness looked on curiously as he adjusted the devices–akin to large, complex splints–covering Yolathion’s limbs.
“These help straighten the bones,” said Chikkan.
“Really? It isn’t painful?”
Aranya glanced about, imagining that Thoralian might leap out from behind a bush at any moment. Where had he disappeared to, and how? He might still be lurking about in his Shifted form, using an army of thousands as cover while he spied on Aranya’s doings, but she doubted it.
