The Pygmy Dragon

by Marc Secchia

  Maylin rolled her eyes at Pip. “She can’t be serious.”

  “To work, minion,” smirked Pip.

  To her surprise, the Pygmy girl found herself directing operations as the team stripped down to their swimming gear in preparation for Shimmerith’s bath. She showed them how to find and remove mites, and demonstrated the clearing of ear canals, to Yaethi’s vocal disgust. Soon, Kaiatha and Maylin were gaily tossing buckets of hot water over Shimmerith’s back, while Casitha and Pip wielded the brushes, starting at Shimmerith’s suggestion at the spine-spikes at the highest point of her back.

  “Ooh, that’s delicious!” Shimmerith groaned. “You’ve no idea how sensitive Dragon hide is. It might seem armoured and impervious to Dragon fire, but there are many nerve endings near the surface. Casitha, a little to your left. That spot itches.”

  “You’re nothing but an overgrown, scaly rajal,” Casitha said boldly. “You’re going to start purring in a moment.”

  “Dragons purr,” she said. “We sing, too.”

  The girls warmed to their work as the suns rose above the volcanic rim and the day’s heat truly set in. Pip spotted a family of rare giant tortoises grazing on the grasses along the lake shore, their distinctive sharp-edged patterning resembling Dragon scales to a remarkable degree. They stood four feet tall–her height, Pip reminded herself crossly. She wondered if tortoises had their own language. Might she have grown that vital half-inch to hit four feet tall?

  “You know, this is fantastic training,” said Yaethi, ever the practical one, wielding a file the size and shape of a sword on Shimmerith’s right foreclaws. “Why don’t they teach all first years about Dragons like this, rather than reading them scrolls of epic poetry? I’ve learned more about Dragons in ten minutes than the whole of the last six months.”

  “But your heart’s still racing,” Shimmerith purred sweetly. “Relax, little one.”

  “She’s just awesome,” said Maylin, sawing at a piece of sheep’s tendon stuck between the Dragoness’ teeth. “Would you look at these fangs?”

  “And beautiful,” said Kaiatha, scrubbing her way down to the barbed tail-tip. She said:

  Thou art my Dragon-love,

  Thou jewel of the suns-rise, thy scales,

  Alight with the dawn.

  “Our friend Rallix,” said Pip, as Shimmerith crooned her approval. “Sixty-third stanza.”

  “You’re nothing but a little show-off!” cried Maylin, shoving her into the pool. She didn’t mind, but the water was very hot.

  Pip, who had worked out why Shimmerith looked a little heavy in the belly, made it her business to deal with the Dragon’s neck and head. She knelt on top of Shimmerith’s brow-ridge, and whispered, Are you pregnant, Shimmerith?

  Am I growing fat, do you mean? Shh, don’t tell Nak. Yes, Pipsqueak. Three eggs.

  Wonderful news!

  Yes, but I need to brood soon and Nak’s not going to understand. He’ll think I hate him. The Dragon way is to go into seclusion, Pip, because a brooding Dragon mother is dangerous–it’s instinctive and impossible to control. Even the male Dragons respect that.

  As she spoke, Nak came jogging down the path from his roost, rubbing his eyes. But he perked up at the sight of a bevy of swimsuit-clad female students pampering his Dragon. Pip had to admit, he looked halfway decent in the new clothes Mistress Mya’adara had sent over for him, after she had overheard the laundry team shouting in disbelief at the state of what Pip had cleared out of his room. Nak positively strutted down the path, hooking his thumbs behind his shiny new belt-buckle.

  He said, “I say, is it an all-girls party, or can an old reprobate join in? Who are your delightful friends, Pip? Shimmerith, my beautiful Dragon-love, are these eager young students treating you as you deserve?”

  “Better than you,” she purred, her jewel-like eyes sparkling despite being half-slit against the bright suns-shine. “Take note, my Rider-heart. Take note.”

  Pip made introductions, rolling her eyes inwardly at Nak’s manner. Heavens above and Islands below, did he have to choose this morning to wake up early? Well, the hour was nearing noon. Shimmerith’s bath had taken far longer than anticipated.

  “Ah, Maylin,” said Nak, gazing deeply into her eyes before bowing fluidly over her hand. “Thy golden skin shines like a thousand suns, thou empress of the Eastern Isles. Thou needest no sword to slay a man but with thine molten gaze.”

  To her annoyance, Pip saw her brash, confident friend dissolve into a bowl of prekki-fruit mush. Yaethi cleared her throat as if to make a sarcastic comment, but she became Nak’s next victim.

  Seizing her hand earnestly, he sighed, “Ah, thou art the very splendour of the Northern Isles! Would that I were a scroll, that my life might be tenderly unfurled by thee, Yaethi of heavenly Helyon, and scribed in thy peerless hand.”

  Masterful, Pip thought, as Nak apparently fought some consuming emotion and lost the battle. Yaethi said something intelligent, like, ‘Thwibble,’ as she blushed to the roots of her hair.

  Amazing, isn’t it? Shimmerith said drily. Like a Dragon power for seducing Human ladies.

  Doesn’t work on me.

  Really, Pipsqueak? Or were you trying to entice him?

  Pip smacked her on the head. Rascal. You know me better than that.

  Careful Emblazon doesn’t warm you up for a snack. And, a chattering dragonet tells me Oyda was ranting about your behaviour yesterday. Watch out for erupting volcanoes, little one.

  For a moment, the shifting patterns of Shimmerith’s saucer-sized iris mesmerised her. Pip realised the Dragon was looking to the north. She staggered as an unexpected wave of desire blazed over her–where had that come from? Then she saw Emblazon, glowing like burnished brass in the late morning suns-light, furling his wings for a rapid descent. She felt a quiver run through Shimmerith as her belly-fires rumbled to life. Again, the power of a Dragon’s emotions overwhelmed her. She swayed and would have fallen save for Shimmerith’s quick catch.

  Pip? Careful, scrap.

  She chuckled. Now I’m just a scrap? She called to her friends, “Dragon incoming!”

  “Oh, it’s Emblazon,” said Kaiatha, retreating from Nak, who had been about to work his dubious charms on her.

  With a gust of wind that kicked up choppy wavelets, Emblazon landed in the shallows. His thick neck swivelled to regard the scene. Thou, my suns-light, he said to Shimmerith.

  Thou, the moons above my Island, she replied.

  “Shimmerith, you look like an insect being attacked by ants,” he rumbled, in Island Standard. “May I join you?” Casitha squeaked as Emblazon stepped barely an arm’s-length from her foot. “Easy, little one. I’m not as fierce as they say.”

  Nay? Thou surely frightened that little chick.

  Ay. Emblazon flexed mightily, playing to his audience just as shamelessly as Nak had. In his case, though, massively striated muscles popped everywhere and over a hundred feet of scales shimmered in the suns-light. Even Nak would find that hard to compete with. “Pip, does this service extend to other Dragons?”

  “Mighty Emblazon, we were just talking about the need for this type of training for all first year students.”

  “Were I Kassik, instantly approved,” he said, venting a fiery chuckle above their heads. “Apologies, little ones. Shimmerith, are you purring?” How fares our clutch, o blaze of the dawn?

  Thy eggs grow heavy in my belly, she said, coy and fey in her glance. “I am. Let me introduce you.” And Emblazon, Pip knows about our eggs.

  What?

  Pip stiffened at the note of betrayal in Emblazon’s voice.

  Shimmerith turned to Pip. Tell him, little one. He was on patrol. He doesn’t know.

  I … speak Dragonish, Emblazon.

  He stared at her for a very long time, his thoughts unreadable, his great flight muscles quivering with fury or dismay, she did not know which. But then, he smiled. So much for that secret. Pip, how … your magic …

  Kassik thinks I’m a Shapes
hifter Dragon, mighty Emblazon.

  His smile broadened. Finally, I understand. By the breath of the Great Dragons, this is a mighty portent! I look forward to meeting your transformed self, your Dragon-self. Before she could respond, he added, I welcome thee to the family of Dragons, Pip.

  She ducked her head, weeping in her heart.

  Nak had shucked his tunic top to join the team polishing Shimmerith’s scales–perhaps shamed into caring for his Dragon, Pip thought, still enwrapped in wonder at the side-conversation between the Dragons. How romantic they were. Her eyes lit on Nak. The Dragon Rider’s lean, muscular torso sported a number of spectacular scars. He was short for a man, only Maylin’s height, but broad in the shoulder and his palms sported a swordsman’s calluses. He had taken the first year class several times after she had broken Master Adak’s arm, and was as fast as a striking snake with his blade.

  She realised she was staring, and lowered her gaze. Maybe Shimmerith was right. How could Nak, of all people, make her feel this way?

  Standing upon Emblazon’s back, Maylin shaded her eyes, gazing back along the path to the school. “Oh, here comes Hardak. Over here, Hardy!”

  “I thought this was an all-girls party,” Yaethi pouted.

  Maylin offered a grin so innocent that everyone knew something was going on. “Oh, I’m sure it’s just coincidence. Anyways, Nak’s here. I’ll go give him a push.” She walked off quickly, with a slight but discernable bounce in her step.

  “Hmm,” said Yaethi. “I smell a large, hairy, stinky–”

  “Six-weeks-dead rat,” finished Pip.

  Nak asked, “What’s the gossip? Are they roosting together?”

  As Maylin helped Hardak up the last uphill section, Yaethi gave Nak a withering look. “Students do not roost together, Rider Nak. It is strictly forbidden.”

  “Ooh, strictly,” muttered Nak, in a way that made Yaethi blush again.

  Third year Hardak threw them a jaunty salute. “Ho, hard-working first years. Rider Nak. Mighty Emblazon, Shimmerith. Need an extra hand–or a pair of wheels?”

  Pip had heard his story. Hardak had lost most of his left leg and the right below the knee to a feral Dragon, which had attacked a Dragonship he and his family had been travelling in, just off his native Island of Tarraga in the far northeast. He had been the only survivor, saved by a Dragon who happened to see him falling past her roost and plucked him from a certain death seconds before he fell into the Cloudlands.

  Emblazon said, “Just wait till you get a Dragon to ride, student Hardak. Wings are better than wheels.”

  “Much.” He mopped his forehead. “That was a bit of work. Maylin, would you hold the chair still, please?”

  Unclipping his seatbelt, Hardak perched on the edge of his wheelchair for a moment before diving neatly into the pool. He was a powerful swimmer, his chest and arms very muscular from years of having to do all the work.

  Pip noticed Maylin make a small gesture to Emblazon. Ha, so it was planned. The Amber Dragon growled, “These students are here to work, Hardak. How are you at polishing fangs?”

  “I’ll get straight to the point, o mighty fanged one,” he punned, snagging a hold on a boulder at the edge of the pool. Everyone who was listening, groaned. “Maylin, look sharp there. I’m going to make those teeth gleam.”

  “If you don’t, I might have to fire you,” offered Emblazon, somehow producing so much smoke that his nostrils billowed like a blacksmith’s forge.

  “Stop the torture,” groaned Nak.

  “It’s a form of pun … ishment,” said Hardak.

  “Mercy, please,” begged the Dragon Rider.

  The tinkling notes of Casitha’s harp plucked the still noon air as if the sultry heat were a thick, living thing. Emblazon wriggled down into the hot pool and invited Kaiatha to throw buckets of water over his broad back from the vantage-point of a nearby pumice boulder.

  Without being bidden, Nak began to teach them Dragon and battle-lore, but his delivery was not the dry delivery of the Journeymen and Mentors. He spiced up his tales with anecdotes and interesting homilies, and had to be begged by both Yaethi and Casitha before he would talk about himself. Of course, Nak being sweet-talked by two pretty girls was only ever going to produce one result. He sang them several long lays, the epic sung poetry of Dragon lore, to Casitha’s accompaniment on the forty-stringed Remoyan harp. Nak had a very fine baritone voice. To everyone’s delight, Shimmerith and Emblazon joined in, their Dragon voices soaring above the jade-chased lake waters.

  Oyda approaches, said Emblazon, suddenly brusque. We patrol this evening, thou my beloved. Kassik’s thoughts dwell upon this evil.

  Shimmerith stretched her spine luxuriously. Fly strong and true, my third heart. Don’t you think this additional training of students is a fine idea?

  We need more ready Dragon Riders, Emblazon agreed. Even these young ones; they are ready. Will you convince Kassik? You have his ear.

  I will speak to Kassik, thou my soul’s fire.

  Oyda cast the gathering a jaundiced eye. “Why wasn’t I invited to this party? Emblazon?” Her frown deepened as she caught sight of Nak, behind Shimmerith. “Oh, I see–it must be a hardship for you, Nak, frolicking in a hot pool with these students.”

  Nak, with a flip of his dark, shoulder-length hair, said, “We were polishing your Dragon, Oyda. Indeed, Casitha is so much your twin, it was as if you were here.”

  “What, no poetry for me this day? Or has it been wasted on the Pygmy girl?”

  She’s only jealous, Shimmerith whispered to Pip.

  Nak rose to the occasion. “The fledglings burned her clothes, Oyda. What was she supposed to do, borrow mine? Even a greater three-horned toad would have turned up his nose at that idea. No, Oyda, no poetry today. Just my heartfelt admiration for my fellow-Rider, who is as able as she is fair, and commands the respect of Dragons and Riders alike.”

  Oyda seemed to be fighting off a smile. “Did you eat some funny mushrooms, Nak?”

  “No, did you?”

  Again, Shimmerith breathed, See how she looks at him? If you were a Dragon, you’d know her pulse-rate is elevated, her breathing faster than warranted by her walk, and her pupils dilated. These things denote attraction amongst Humans.

  Emblazon put in, Then can the little one explain how on the Islands, if there’s so much attraction, our two Riders manage to provoke each other so mightily?

  Pip shook her head. Love is a mystery, Emblazon.

  Shimmerith said, There’s a quote by Istariela, the Star Dragon, ‘Love is a mystery greater than Dragon-fire, deeper than the Cloudlands and more beautiful than a Mystic moon rising over the Isles.’

  Star Dragon? Wow! The mind boggled, Pip thought. Just when she thought she had learned a few things about Dragons, they sprang another surprise on her.

  Oh, look! That’s too precious, said the Dragoness. They can’t be a day out of the egg.

  Pip felt a surge of motherly protectiveness from Shimmerith as they watched a mother Dragon bringing her two Red hatchlings, a male and a female, down to the hot spring. Emblazon immediately shifted to make room. The hatchlings were at least twelve feet long from nose-tip to tail, but they were so young that their legs wobbled and their scales had a baby-soft, crinkled appearance. They goggled at the Humans. Emblazon’s smile had them scurrying behind their mother’s legs.

  These are Humans, my brave little fire-breathers, explained the mother. We’re friends.

  Kaiatha smiled at them. “Come here, cuties.”

  Mamafire! She bared her teeth at me.

  That’s called a smile. It’s friendly. Now–no claws, son. Their skin is soft and easily broken.

  They’re smaller than I expected, Pip said to Shimmerith.

  Dragons double in size within the first year of life, she replied.

  The Dragon mother added, If you eat all of your sheep brains, my brave hatchlings, and practice your flying every day, you might even grow as large as Emblazon.

  Ooh,
said the female, her baby eyes wide with wonder. He’s as big as an Island, Mamafire. Isn’t he?

  Huh. The second Red snorted, very close to Pip. They’re all girls. Yuck. He sniffed her outstretched hand curiously. Mamafire, why does she smell like a Dragon?

  Chapter 20: Dragon Pirates

  Casitha came back glowing from her first patrol with Oyda and Emblazon, a surprise assignment from Master Kassik. He seemed grimmer than usual when he spoke to Pip and Casitha, having tracked them down in the infirmary. Pip wondered what weighed down his Island. The following evening, it was Pip’s turn. Training. Always training–much more for her now that Kassik had extended her schedule.

  “The school always seems so quiet after the cuts,” said Oyda, showing Pip how to fasten Emblazon’s saddle-girth. “Tuck the straps right beneath the armpits. Buckle it as tight as you can. The strap should run just behind the bulge of the primary flight muscles, or his first wingbeat will snap it like a suns-brittle thread. Good, Pip. Always check the condition of the leather. You don’t want to lose a saddle in battle. Your Dragon might catch you, but if he’s tangled up with another Dragon …”

  “I flew bareback on Zardon,” said Pip, wondering where in the Island-World the old Dragon might be. He had promised to return. “This seems much more secure.”

  Oyda nodded. “Armour, Pip?”

  “The blacksmiths haven’t adjusted the fit as yet.”

  “Ay, they had to do the same with me. A leather jacket’s better than nothing. Right. Weapons check? Do I spy a pair of Immadian forked daggers on your belt, Pip? Where did you get those?”

  “They were a gift from Master Adak.”

  “Oh?” Oyda waggled an eyebrow at Pip as they mounted up.

  “Along with, ‘I expect big things of you, Pip.’” She chuckled, knowing exactly what Oyda was hinting at but refusing the bait. “These are three inches longer than Immadian standard, apparently. Perfect for me. With the double blades, I can capture and even snap an opponent’s weapon.”

  The Rider added, “And they’re sharp enough for surgery. Sweet.”

  Pip buckled herself in, one spine-spike behind Oyda on Emblazon’s broad back. He was built like an Island’s foundation. She checked the quiver of arrows next to her left calf. “Ready, Dragon Rider Oyda.”