Dragon Thief

by Marc Secchia

  “Honestly? I’d rather have fire-and-brimstone Tazithiel.”

  “Shouldn’t take long with some meat inside my abused insides. Kal, we did it!”

  “Aye, we did.” Her gleeful jig brought a tired half-smile to his lips. “Can you blow on this? Too hot. One hundred and twenty-six hours aloft, my beauty. Can’t say I had much to do with the flying. You were awesome.”

  “Only, when I fell, you bore me up on wings of shadow.”

  Bah. Emotional fiddle-faddle. Kal desperately wanted to cry. Instead, before the dragonets returned, Dragon and Rider fell into the dreamless slumber of those who were in equal measure speechlessly grateful, and as worn-out as old shoe-leather.

  * * * *

  Situated at the base of the Rim-Wall Mountains, the cliffs received a whisker more than a half-day’s suns-light, making the afternoon a twilight time, and nightfall far earlier than Kal had ever experienced. They woke around dinner time to bathe, drink and consume another of the tame rodents which literally wandered over Tazithiel’s paw. The Dragoness was so amazed she almost allowed the creature to escape, but her stomach’s paroxysms won the day.

  Dancing dragonets, not ten minutes passed and she was off to hunt again!

  Six days remained until the solstice. For five of those days, Tazithiel and Kal scoured the cliffs for every hour given under the moons or the twin suns, north and south, high and low, and found enormous quantities of nothing. Well, they found sprawling empires of unfamiliar but spectacular foliage, including a range of purples that would have had the Immadian royal house dancing in rapturous approval, but the search proved utterly, frustratingly, fruitless. Truth be told, they were not certain what they sought, only that should there be a westward passage, an ‘opening of the suns’, it should be obvious and Dragon-sized, if not Ancient Dragon- immense. There were more dragonets than the entire known population of the Island-World and plenty of prey which had clearly never known the fang or arrow of a hunter, and innumerable species of unfamiliar birds, rodents and snakes, but no help and no clues.

  Tazithiel ate like a starving rajal, packing on the muscle mass she had burned during their marathon flight. Kal imagined he could see her shoulders bulging and flanks filling out before his eyes.

  The evening before the solstice, Kal plopped himself down beside a small fire he had built mostly for boredom’s sake, and sulked over the scroll of Ernulla-kul-Exarkin. Many hands. Why not many paws? Why not a leagues-long arrow pointing at the spot, marked with fluorescent Dragonship paint, screaming, ‘Look here, o intrepid explorer’?

  A Human finger curled around the scroll. “I’m bored, Kal.”

  If he were honest, which was as likely as the suns moving backward in the sky, Kal would have admitted he was in a mood as sour as a sackweight of haribol fruit dipped in vinegar. “Hmm?” He read further.

  “Distract me?”

  He made a noncommittal noise.

  Tazithiel moved around to blow in his ear. Her hair caressed his arms. “I’m very distractible right now, Kal. I’m frantic for your kisses. And I’m wearing only the thinnest of night air.”

  Great Islands, his body knew to be distracted even if his mind was floating somewhere in orbit with the five moons. If he could just tease the meaning out of this stupid, meaningless prophetic drivel! Find a key, a clue, a penetrable point …

  A pouty lip brushed his cheek. “Fine. I’ll show you the power of no hands, you cold, slithering reptile!”

  That was his last rational thought for a long while, because the Indigo Shapeshifter did indeed proceed to seduce him with no hands, which she kept folded across her chest, resorting instead to the impassioned caresses of many strands of hair. Suddenly, amidst a great deal of random sparking, an idea of subtle genius flashed into his feverish brain.

  Kal cried, “That’s it!”

  “This?”

  Nefarious enchantress. He forgot all about ‘it’ until the night was old.

  Human-Tazi slept upon his arm, her body curved against his as she had once lain lithe upon her Dragon hoard. He regarded his beloved fireflower Dragoness tenderly, tracing the White moonlight’s ethereal kisses upon her long, shuttered eyelashes, which delicately overlaid patterns he had never quite noticed beneath her skin, a delicate tracery of–star trails? Runic writing? Surely not. Kal wanted to shift closer to examine this phenomenon, but felt chary about waking her. After her unstinting efforts, the Shapeshifter more than deserved her rest. He, on the other hand, had discovered one of her hidden secrets by the light of the White moon, which would wax to its miniscule but star-like maximum tomorrow evening, on the night of the solstice.

  Kal’s heart leaped into his throat and began a wild war-dance.

  Reaching out with his free hand, he snagged the scroll and held it up to the moonlight. Thank the Islands he had surreptitiously substituted the original for the copy before setting out. On the back he found nothing. Trying to see through it, he saw nothing. But on the front in the margin, Kal found a brief phrase inked in the faintest possible script, which he eventually made out to read:

  Speak to the White moon,

  Of the seventh rune.

  The seventh rune? Dragons regarded seven as a mystical number. Something about the seventh rune … he quickly scanned the text. Pick out the seventh rune. No, perhaps the rune commencing each seventh line. Backwards? Nothing made sense. Being a thief, he had a certain facility with encoded messages and inks which only appeared under the right type of light or chemical treatment–those techniques were as old as the Islands in a world where messages, especially those sent by message hawk, necessarily passed through many hands.

  There it was again. Many hands!

  “What’re you doing?” Tazithiel murmured.

  He read across to the seventh rune. “Tazi, what does this rune here mean? This starburst with wavy lines above and below?”

  “Silly man, can’t you sleep?”

  Kal kissed her forehead. “One little favour. Please. I can’t stop thinking.”

  Cracking open one gleaming indigo pool of magic, Tazithiel focussed on the scroll. “It’s a mystic symbol, Kal, called cipher in ancient Dragonish. The rune of mystery.”

  “Mystery and shadow …”

  “Sleep. Before I kick you right up your solstice.”

  What if he touched the scroll with his Shadow power? Kal froze. “Squeaky little rajals! Tazithiel!”

  “Hold it still, genius.”

  Now she was fully awake. Tazithiel slapped her restless hair down. The White moonlight seemed to waver as it passed through the translucent scroll, touching a few scattered runes which it picked out in silver. Metallic ink which did not respond to his Shadow power? Kal shadow-scratched his invisible beard.

  Tazithiel read slowly:

  A passage ne’er trod by Dragon’s paw,

  A mark above an ancient door,

  A thief to steal its secret lore.

  A power of many hands, eighty-four,

  Shall she not sing, o Dragoness of yore?

  Raise the Island-bridge! Make way for the suns!

  Her voice shook as much as Kal’s hands as she read the runes again, pausing in fearful contemplation at the words ‘thief’ and ‘Dragoness’.

  “L-Look,” Kal stammered, “The rune for ‘Dragoness’ has its own special colour, apart from all the others. It’s very old, but I’d swear there’s a hint of indigo pigment mixed into the ink.”

  “Aye.”

  For a long moment they lay still, so shocked, the only sound or movement between them was the identical pounding of heartbeats, for the night had grown stifling and Kal felt as though he could not draw enough breath into his lungs.

  “Kal, this is a joke. Someone who knows us, it has to be … doesn’t it? This must be Aranya’s handiwork. The indigo couldn’t possibly refer to me.”

  Clasping her hands, Kal grated, “You are special, Tazithiel, and worthy. That’s no accident of birth, I assure you. It is who you are. Do not let Endurion�
��s legacy speak beyond the grave. You are so much more than that.”

  “Harsh.”

  “I’m sorry. I spoke ill.”

  Suddenly, her distant expression cleared and she bit his shoulder with mock-playfulness. “You should learn never to apologise to a Dragoness, Kal, especially when you’re right. So, genius, where’s this door to the West?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest notion,” he admitted. “I thought we’d ask directions from the Dragonkind who live here.”

  “From dragonets?”

  Kal found a tiny green dragonet who repeated the stock lines about superior beings. Clearly, these creatures were very set on defining their place in the world. While Kal inquired about their Dragonish wisdom, Tazithiel threatened to turn the mite into jewellery. That sparked a squeak of terror and an instant dive into the foliage from their little helper.

  Wow, you’re a help, Kal groused.

  Superior flying monkeys! snorted Tazithiel. You’ll have no help from their kind. Come on. I’ll transform and we’ll take another look.

  Two minutes later, as Dragon and Rider prepared to depart, a flight of dragonets came bursting out of the foliage beneath a fallen tree-trunk that hung thousands of feet down the near-vertical cliff. Pests! Insulters! Low-lives! they chattered angrily. Inferior nonsensical intruders.

  I’ll nonsensical you, you cloud of buzzing mosquitoes, snarled Dragoness-Tazi.

  Suddenly, the whirling ranks opened and a large green dragonet faced them. She was at least five feet from muzzle-tip to tail, and seven feet in wingspan. Her muzzle was whitened with age, but her flame-eyes seemed shrewd and alive with intelligence. She looked Kal over disdainfully, and Tazithiel with evident animosity.

  The dragonet said, I am Tenzor, warren-mother of the hatchling you threatened. What is this beast, a jumbo dragonet?

  Tazithiel hissed, I am a mighty Dragon!

  Evidently, great size does not imply great intelligence, the warren-mother hissed back. You’re one of the legendary Lesser Dragons? Why indeed are you called ‘lesser’, if we are not superior?

  The Indigo Dragoness choked with rage.

  Oh, I see a contraption upon your back. You’re nothing more than this two-legged creature’s beast of burden.

  Kal leaped! With a desperate waft of his hand, he turned his Dragoness into Shadow a split second before her fireball incinerated them all. Beast of burden, aye, he panted. A hundred pairs of angry dragonet eyes burned at him. And you are all incredibly … superior. Of course. We–that is, my feckless companion and I–have travelled many thousands of leagues from the lands of the East to seek the unequalled wisdom of the great oracle Tenzor. We humbly beg your aid.

  At that moment, Tazithiel discovered that her shadow-form could drift away from his hand. Re-appearing, she growled, I am so going to bite your head off, Kal …

  Dodging her unamused snap, Kal wrapped the Dragoness once more in his Shadow power, securing her in place this time. I will handle this mighty dray beast, he declared. And, taking a deep breath, the thief turned his skills at verbal embroidery to the business of stitching them a way out of the mess Tazithiel had created.

  After half an hour of non-stop gabbling, he had the dragonets convinced that the stars shone merely for the chance to gleam off their inexpressibly superior hides, that their mission was vital to the continued existence of all Dragonkind and that nothing in creation could possibly compare to the superb wisdom of the celebrated Tenzor, who he reduced to a purring lump of draconic putty in his very clever, manipulative hands. Meantime, he wondered when Tazithiel made Kallion-soup of his discourteous person, what exact flavour of dead she might aim for.

  At last, Tenzor drew herself up with a flick of her wings and a haughty twitch of her tail. Certainly, we dragonets know precisely what you lesser ones seek, she declared. Our communal mind-histories speak of an area of mountains the Ancient Ones marked with the sweep of their mighty talons. It lies two moons’ travel south of here.

  Beyond the Rift–uh, the place of unending storms?

  No. Kal heaved a sigh of relief. Tenzor added, We call it the place where Dragons slumber.

  * * * *

  With twenty yapping dragonets and an insufferably patronising warren-mother in tow, Dragon and Rider flew southward. The green dragonets were slow, garrulous and wont to linger at every other warren to exchange pleasantries. By dawn they had covered little more than twenty leagues. Kal had reached a sizzling level of exasperation; Tazithiel was evidently happily engaged in building her list of ways to cook Dragon Rider potage.

  O mighty warren-mother, he inquired, how far have we travelled?

  One day of one moon, she cooed back. I have asked many times, but the place you seek always lies beyond.

  Kal stiffened. Aha. So she knew less than she claimed? Time for a brainwave. Mighty warren mother, my companion and I wish to propose a way in which you and your warren-mates might travel in extreme comfort while we undertake our quest. Are you prepared to travel far?

  Of course. You cannot possibly succeed without our aid.

  Kal rolled his eyes at Tazithiel, who made a flicking motion of one talon against another. Bah. That was probably the Indigo Dragoness dismissing a Human several leagues from her presence with a swat of her mighty forepaw.

  My beast of burden shall convey us all. Privately, he said to Tazithiel, Fifty leagues minimum, then stop to check. Alright? They don’t seem to understand the concepts of today, or leagues, or urgency …

  Tazithiel showed him a fireball roiling ready on her tongue. I’m thinking that an aeon or two of your miserable servitude might placate me, Kal. However, if only to attain our goal, I shall bear the indignity. To the dragonets, she said, Take positions between my spine spikes, noble kin.

  Truly, a beast of burden.

  Chapter 36: Thusly Written

  BY NOON, EVEN the incorrigible dragonets had wilted like flowers in Fra’anior’s dry season. They had travelled an estimated three hundred leagues southward in the blazing suns-shine, stopping seven times to make inquiries. Beyond, always beyond.

  At their eighth stop Kal accompanied Tenzor to her meeting with a yellow warren-mother, who was evidently as much enamoured with Tenzor’s great age as she was with creatively insulting the first Human she had ever met. Eventually, after interminable pleasantries and inquiries after the health of one’s internecine web of relatives using a plethora of Dragonish terms Kal could not even pretend to understand, there came the inevitable pronouncement. Beyond.

  Kal breathed stertorously. He privately listed the advantages and disadvantages of six different ways of strangulating dragonets, before saying, My means of transportation grows weary. Pray tell, what are the signs of the place where the Dragons slumber?

  Why the cliffs of golden black, of course, replied the yellow warren-mother.

  Golden black! Golden … flying ralti sheep!

  Fumbling with the scroll, Kal ignored the two warren-mothers casually discussing what form of insanity inhabited this slug-brained wingless monkey-creature. Wasn’t there a reference … aye! Aloud, he declaimed:

  Beneath the solstice suns,

  Upon cliffs of golden black,

  It shall be found thusly written,

  ‘Fra’anior’s Way.’

  How far is it? he yelled. Er, that is–

  The yellow warren-mother’s eye-fires whirled with apparent pleasure. See? It became excited upon plumbing the matchless communal wisdom of the yellow dragonet-kind, my kin-sister. We are the superior colour.

  The greens looked as though they had been collectively force-fed toxic slugs.

  With studied calm, Kal inquired, How far to these cliffs of golden black, o highborn warren-mother?

  Half a moon, came the reply, barely comprehensible amidst a surfeit of preening and puffed-up aerial acrobatics by all the yellows.

  Right, greens! Kal called. Let’s make haste.

  Cue one almighty squabble. Yellow clashed with green. Dragonets dived and clawed
and shrilled their little challenges. The Human folded his arms. Great. More time lost.

  Kal, Tazithiel called. I fear we must leave the mighty dragonets to discuss which is the superior colour.

  Snatching her Rider off the cliff’s edge with an invisible whiplash of Kinetic power, Tazithiel performed a spectacular backflip into space. He wailed, Tazitheeeee … yell!

  Bah. Draconian show-off. Kal folded his arms and tried to act casual about flying two hundred feet behind his Dragoness over a three-mile drop into the khaki green Cloudlands. The Indigo turned and spotted his smirk. Her brow drew down. Ten seconds later, Kal found himself bridging the gap between her fangs with his hands and feet, hanging upside-down just above her forked tongue.

  Now was no time for courage. He cried, “Aye, you are the superior beast!”

  “I didn’t hear that.”

  Sulphurous smoke billowed around him. “You’re the superior beast! Tazithiel!”

  “Oh, you think so? Thanks, Kal.” The Dragoness deposited him in the Dragon Rider saddle with solicitous care. “So what’s the plan, o superior man? I can easily call you the superior man, because there isn’t another within two thousand leagues.”

  Kal tightened his straps. “Southward ho!”

  “I know that. But doesn’t the line ‘beneath the solstice suns’ mean that we need to arrive before the suns disappear behind those mountains? As in, we’ve less than an hour?”

  He mouthed a terse expression of fury.

  “Let’s go supersonic.”

  “Faster than ever?” Kal waved his hands, snapping, “We’ve been foolish. Angle away from the Rim-Wall, Tazithiel. Keep a balance between seeing as far as possible and staying parallel. If you see cliffs of golden black, sing out like you’ve never sung before.”

  “Right. Slap me with your power, Rider.”

  TAZITHIEL! Her Dragon-challenge bellowed over the Cloudlands.

  Kal slapped her with his utmost strength. Oh, he had been meaning to do so since before he could remember. He slapped her so hard in the withers, Tazi’s tail struck her stomach between her legs. For that, he paid with acceleration so powerful that he blacked out for a few seconds.