Song of the Storm Dragon

by Marc Secchia

  Zuziana smashed a drake with her tail and frazzled another which had intended to grapple with her best friend. Not today. Not on her watch. Then they wheeled amidst the flitting S’gulzzi bat-things, shielding against thousands of dagger-sharp mental attacks, their natural dark-fire magic impacting like fireballs against the Lesser Dragons’ minds. Brityx and Huaricithe drew tight, protecting her and Aranya. They sliced contrariwise through a dark tide, heading from Yiisuriel’s crown toward the Pit of Despair, briefly catching sight of a Thoralian amidst the hundreds of thousands of rippling black bodies, throwing back his muzzle and screaming as though he were drowning.

  Would it be too much to hope that the Thoralians had bitten off more than even three mouths could chew, this time?

  Then, she remembered her babies. Thoralian had to die. All of him.

  * * * *

  The Storm Dragoness powered through the battle, trying and failing not to expend her energy on the drakes and S’gulzzi darkening the starry night skies. Everywhere she turned, there was another dark body or another underslung jaw champing at a Lesser Dragon, or S’gulzzi clamping onto a Metallic Fortress Dragon, their acid-like magic chewing through armour as though it were a soft, sweet treat. Drakes mobbed the battling Dragonkind and S’gulzzi in their tens of thousands, clearly summonsed by the Thoralians to try to bail him out of the cesspit he had landed himself in. His clarion mental calls cut through the fray like shards of ice, rallying his troops and calling in the Land Dragons and drakes for additional support.

  For long minutes, the battle seemed deadlocked, with the drakes and S’gulzzi killing each other off at the same rate as which they arrived, and the Lesser Dragons stalking each other through the resulting mayhem.

  The Amethyst snaked her neck about, firing a barrage of precision fireballs with the aim of clearing a path to the Thoralians. She must not let them reach the Egg. That was her paramount concern, yet for now, the sheer numbers of S’gulzzi kept him afloat, as though he burbled atop a geyser of living bodies. Drakes rolled over her small Dragonwing in a shrieking wave, forcing the Lesser Dragons to fight for their lives.

  Pfft-pfft-pfft! Behind her came the sharper hss-crack! of Zip’s lightning attacks, and from her right shoulder, the shrill battle-challenge of a dragonet. Sapphire touched her, soothing a rent wing-membrane and a talon-strike she had taken to the throat. Wow. The dragonet had a few tricks up her scaly sleeves. Aranya only hoped she could see her friends safely through this conflict. The numbers of fallen already beggared belief. This would change the Balance of draconic powers and magic in the Island-World. It must.

  Where was Ardan? And where was her Storm? Why, o Fra’anior, could she not summon that power when she needed it most–o Daughter of the Whispering Zephyr?

  Despair occluded her Dragon-hearts.

  * * * *

  Ardan imagined a carter hauling up his animals with a screech of brakes as Gangurtharr executed a fancy brake-flip-turn, one of his Gladiator moves, and fell into formation with the Cobalt-Green Dhazziala, who headed up a monstrous Dragonwing of Dragon Riders and their heavily-armoured Dragons. He had never seen Dragon armour like theirs, scaled and banded, tooled by masters to protect the neck, flanks and upper limbs. Even their wing-primaries boasted shaped armour cladding.

  The First Hand turned to him without preamble. Report, Shadow.

  In terse, staccato sentences, Ardan described the situation as he understood it.

  Right, so what do you need me to do? Dhazziala asked at once. Not for her nuance, nor concern for his integrity, Ardan thought sourly. Oh! An idea …

  He said, How good are you at wiping specific memories out of minds, Dhazziala?

  She glowered at him. Expert.

  Good. I’ll need you to modify my memories, too. Can I ask for a volunteer–not you, with respect–First Hand? Someone attractive enough that I might feel … uh, passionate … about her?

  Meaning to rouse the oath-magic to wildfires?

  Aye.

  Dhazziala showed him a dazzling thicket of fangs. Thing is, Shadow, you wouldn’t remember the slightest detail. What do you think–Gangurtharr?

  The Gladiator-Dragon almost tangled up his wings in shock. What are you suggesting?

  Her rich laughter belled over them. Oh, you males. Let me inquire among our fearless Dragon Riders if any woman dares essay this unpleasant task. After all, to scorn a Star Dragoness is not a deed lightly undertaken. But you, Ardan–I would give my left wingtip to romance your Dragon!

  Ardan’s legs twitched sharply as that deep, deep magic wrenched itself into wakefulness. Oh no. What had he and Aranya agreed to now?

  Then, a vast Green winged up to Gangurtharr’s other flank. The female Dragon Rider on his back, a giantess so wild and forbidding of mien that Ardan felt every hair on his nape crawl in different directions at once, stood up in the saddle, crashed her armour-plated fist to her breastplate, and roared, “Aaaarrrgghh, he looks a tasty morsel! I accept with pleasure, noble Dhazziala!”

  Ardan blenched.

  Every Dragon, Human and Shapeshifter in the vicinity burst into laughter. The oath-magic fizzed and danced.

  * * * *

  Storm lifted her. It bubbled in her veins and seethed in her stomachs. The song of Storm crackled along her limbs and filled her skull with an exquisitely intense pressure, like the wildest of Dragonsong mingled with drumrolls of thunder and the acrid tang of ozone.

  Aranya withheld.

  * * * *

  Zip saw the moment her friend changed. They were dodging through the thick of battle, supporting Genholme as she forged a path steadily toward the last place where they had seen the Thoralians, when Aranya seemed to shudder. Her talons contracted. Her wings flared sharply, cupping the air. A rare gleam entered her eye, a white so intense and beautiful, the startled Azure Dragoness decided it represented every colour crammed together, making that unique white at once pure, and the most complex colour in existence.

  The Amethyst Dragoness drew a single, unending breath, and the Island-World seemed to inhale with her. Thunder shook the Islands. Branch lightning crackled in thousands of locations around the horizon’s edge, lighting the deep night with a sinister amethyst radiance.

  FOLLOW ME!

  Sevenfold thunder slammed out of her throat.

  That was what shook the Azure. So much power, rising–could Aranya keep from going feral? Who could hope to master such magic? Her friend lurched again. White burst from her scales. Again! Fire raged from her nostrils, burning so heatedly, it scalded the air in waves of white.

  FOR THE ONYX!

  The peal of her thunder swept aside drakes and Dragons as though she shrugged fleas off her hide. Aranya exploded, pyretic. Zip thought at first that the Land Dragons had arrived in numbers, that the beams of many eye-cannons split the night, but it was the song of tempestuous, uncontainable Storm that filled the Star Dragoness now. Dragons and S’gulzzi scattered as she waded through the fray, tiny yet majestic, cutting and burning and obliterating any who dared to stand in her way. Even the notoriously aggressive drakes turned and fled, tails tucked between their legs like scolded hounds. Aranya burned them all across a swathe of miles. Gestures of her talons called down a rain sulphurous fire and blistering hail–if that was its true nature–from the suddenly clouded heavens, and somehow, Zip saw, the Amethyst discriminated between friend and foe with an instinct deeper and faster than thought.

  It seemed Fra’anior’s battle-challenge belled in a voice of heavenly lamentation. Shovelling drakes aside with blasts of wind, Aranya crashed spears of ice through their heads and left them for dead. Storm winds screeched over her scales, buffeting the spitting, sparking dragonet on her shoulder and the single white scale flapping wildly at her throat, yet she and Sapphire seemed forged in oneness. Was the dragonet helping? Aye, smaller but no less scorching bolts of lightning sparked from the dragonet, seizing up four S’gulzzi that tried to sneak up behind the Amethyst.

  Zip risked a half-glance aside. Th
e Dragon Riders were close, perhaps ten minutes away from the main battle. With a Storm-powered roar, Aranya curled up a wave of semi-embodied S’gulzzi and rammed them back down into the Suald-dak-Doon, crushing tens of thousands. Only the Thoralians resisted, shielding somehow with a shriek of urzul magic that cut across Aranya’s windstorm, making silvery sparks fly from her leading wing-edges, talons and scales.

  Pausing at last, the Amethyst eyed her battered foes balefully. The First Egg is mine, Thoralian. Yield or die.

  He snickered, Very impressive, little Dragoness. You’ve learned a thing or two since we last battled. So have I–and I have a power you know nothing about.

  She growled, Oh? What’s that?

  As a greasy, burning magic seized her mind, the Azure mewled in distress, yet no sound emerged from her throat. Her womb twisted as though caught in the throes of labour. Privately, Thoralian snarled, Now is the hour you choose the future of your egglings, Zuziana of Remoy. Do not fail them.

  To her horror, she saw her paws curl, talons fully extended from their sheaths. Aranya winged just below and ahead of her. Darting forward, Zip sank her talons into her best friend’s neck and triggered her lightning power.

  Chapter 34: Requiem of Dragons

  AGony speared into her neck and head, cutting off the flow of her Storm power as though a spigot had been stoppered. For a long, long moment, Aranya could not understand what had happened. She smelled the sickly sweet stench of charred flesh–her own. The only Dragonkind near her had been Zuziana and the dragonet on her shoulder, but Sapphire’s spitting fury provided a vital clue, as much as Zip’s wild sobbing as she tore her talons free.

  Kill her! snarled Thoralian.

  Sapphire hissed, Traitor! Shoot her, Ari! It was Zip!

  I … cannot. N-N-Never, sobbed the Azure.

  The pain throbbed so sharply, Aranya could not feel the rest of her body. Flinging Zuziana off her back with a convulsive shudder, she stared blankly at her best friend. Zip? Zip, you …

  Talons dripping golden blood. Eyes, distraught and terrified beyond comprehension.

  Icy talons seized Aranya’s mind. Kill each other.

  Zip quivered, still sobbing, but she rebuffed the Thoralians. I’d rather kill myself. I’d kill my babies first before you have them–never, Thoralian. Never!

  Thoralian … Zuziana! What had he done to her? Molten fury ignited in Aranya’s breast. Yet in the split second she began to release her fire, the Thoralian-triplicate roared, STOP!

  The Word froze her. Aranya could not flick a claw, nor move a muscle. Her lungs would not inflate.

  He turned to Zuziana. Kill your friend. KILL HER!

  Only the very fringe of his crushing, triple-strong mental power washed against Aranya’s mind, yet she almost succumbed. As a linked triplet, Thoralian was exponentially stronger than before. No need to cajole. He aimed to diminish, to engulf and dominate and destroy lesser minds, yet Zip was beyond reaching, now; the instinct of a mother fearing for her babies stronger than anything the Thoralians could throw at her.

  Sobbing, she dug her talons in toward her womb. Don’t. I will kill them first, I swear, Thoralian. I will never betray my friends for you, even should it cost my life.

  You seal your doom, little Azure, sneered the Yellow-White Dragons. I always knew you lacked the courage. Yet know this, I can stop you, too, before your talons do more than draw golden Dragon blood. With the Egg’s power, I will extinguish your mind and leave a husk which shall bear my progeny. All you will know is eggs swelling so large in your belly they will split your flesh like an overripe melon–STOP!

  Zuziana halted mid-sob. Her paws quivered. Oh, Zip! Aranya had never loved her friend more. Thoralian had forced her into this by some vile trickery or threat against her egglings, yet she had balked.

  Thoralian disparaged her, but the Amethyst saw the true face of courage.

  * * * *

  A Word of Command! Ardan gasped as the constant singing of oath-magic within him, arrested. Paralysed. It seemed his soul was ice, that he must also be paralysed. He could but observe from a distance of a mile and a half as the Dragon Rider wing forged into the heaviest fighting yet, as the Thoralians seized both Amethyst and Azure with that most legendary power. None could resist. And even from this distance, his mind quailed at the font of strength that was Thoralian, at the malice shining from three pairs of sallow eyes as the triplet circled his victims-to-be, bludgeoning them with his mind.

  He must intervene. How could he reach them?

  Brityx and Huaricithe screamed in, but a touch of the Thoralian-mind mobbed them with hundreds of drakes. He saw the surface of the First Egg briefly appear amidst the miles-wide sea of S’gulzzi; almost, the prize was within reach. Aranya had risked all to bring this situation about.

  Then, his sharp, searching eyes caught a flash of sapphire scales on Aranya’s shoulder.

  Sapphire!

  What could a dragonet–

  Inverse, Dhazziala interjected, sounding so mournful his mind attuned instantly to her words. You are the Shadow. Not a lesser being. The Shadow has power in its own right. It is the inverse of light, its muse, its companion, its ever-present antithesis. Only you can find a way. Magic is opposites, Ardan. Opposites, and antagonistic forces.

  He could not touch Aranya. Her mind was beyond his reach, now. Nor Zuziana. But the spark of Sapphire’s consciousness welcomed him, and her clever little memory played back not so much the Word Thoralian had spoken, but the extraordinary, immutable constructs of magic that held them fast. He saw Sapphire’s gift and smiled at the mental image the faithful dragonet showed him–that of a parakeet. She was an imitator. Therefore, might she not also un-imitate?

  Ardan wrestled the ideas through his thick-as-mud mind. He must reach beyond incapacity and disbelief, and the inner devaluing of his existence. Thou too art mine, Sha’aldior! Fra’anior had predicted Aranya would need him. Was Shadow of Onyx, the darkest of strength? Let it be!

  Suddenly, he surged, snapping the saddle-straps as though they were crumbling scrolleaf. Beneath him, Gangurtharr’s wingbeat hitched in surprise. Ardan? Did you Shift?

  Nay. He only wished. But his vision was clear. There was another way.

  His chest swelled. I AM SHA’ALDIOR!

  Ardan’s core strength flooded forth, not directed at the unattainable song of his heart, but to flood into the smaller but no less worthy Dragon-heart that gripped Aranya’s shoulder with her talons. Should a Dragoness possess a fourth heart? Its name was Sapphire.

  Immediately, the dragonet parroted back the draconic rune-language he invented, like the relief effect of an engraving. Oddly, this emerged as, Be free!

  Sha’aldior chortled gleefully as Aranya’s sevenfold wrath split the night asunder.

  Sorry, Thoralian, he chortled. All bets just shifted to the Dragoness who’s about to flay your stinking hide and kick the remnant into oblivion.

  * * * *

  Oath-magic was deep and ethereal, operating below even the subconscious level in her Dragoness’ perception. But the grieving anger of her Humansoul was real and palpable, and the germ of her Storm worthy of the majestic panoply of her grandfather’s most shattering wrath. It was so visceral, that threat against Zuziana’s unborn babes, that Aranya found herself catapulted beyond rational response. She waded across the Pit of Despair, smashing the Thoralians with blast after booming blast, her thunder pummelling the triplets like ragged cloth dolls across the Suald-dak-Doon. Lightning poured from her clenched fists in concussive blows. Boom! Boom! BOOM! The three Yellow-White Dragons shielded and dodged and deflected, carving canyons through the swarming S’gulzzi as the force of Aranya’s overwhelming attack pounded them up and down, back and forth, and in that fury there was a sobbing of thunder and a hysterical storm-wind that shrieked the exact notes of her ravaging grief, the suffering of a Dragoness and the anguish of an Island-World at war.

  Maddened, the Star Dragoness punished the Thoralians while the urzul magic in the P
it sang a low, fervent song. This was true power. Inciting. Spellbinding. A voice of untrammelled magic.

  Then, Aranya became aware of a gentle touch upon her shoulder. Ari scary! Not forget self?

  Sapphire, terrified–of her!

  Gradually, by degrees, she relented, until Aranya faced the tattered, smoking Thoralians across a short space. She wheezed, Give it up, Marshal. Your power is broken.

  All for nought, spat one of the Thoralians. Whole fangs dropped from his broken mouth as he slurred, You see, Aranya, your mother’s condition is untreatable. I can show you.

  Knowledge lurked at the edge of his mind, hers for the taking. Despair instantly sheathed her bones in ice. Aranya knew his words for truth. Perhaps for the first and only time, Thoralian spoke honestly, for by this, he meant to break her hope. They had used a complex, unique formulation of Shapeshifter poisons on Izariela, seven of which had no known antidote. Despair! Her Storm surged …

  Unnecessarily, viciously, the Thoralians added, You can never save your shell-mother. There’s no way, by any form of magic or physical substance, she can be saved. Whatever enters her body will complete the corruption of her Shapeshifter form. She’s as good as dead.

  If Aranya had cried for Izariela, her tears would have constituted the killing stroke.

  She reeled. No … no, no, no!

  Thoralian cried, Now, let my Theadurial–ARISE!!

  Gleaming in the fell light of the moons and the fires of the Dragonwings writhing in fatal contest above the Lost Islands, Land Dragons poured up the flanks of the Air-Breathers and attacked the final shield still separating the Island-World from the ravaging S’gulzzi.

  * * * *

  All was ice. Her world, shattered. Aranya floated above the Suald-dak-Doon, unable to think, unwilling to process what she had just heard. Lost. Thoralian must pay. Yet she was powerless to lift a talon.