by Marc Secchia
Lia suspected another dragonet crudity had just been elided. She said, Tell me how you learned to talk again so quickly?
Flicker stretched lazily, his tiny talons pricking her shoulder. My remarkable intellect notwithstanding –
Shall I sit on you and thus squeeze out a proper answer?
You graceless wasp-snapper! he retorted airily. You show a reprehensible lack of respect for a creature of my vast learning and stature amongst the dragonet warrens. Why, I was friends with an Ancient Dragon! I may lack a disturbing prophecy about my future, but I can safely reveal at least two aspects to you, Miss monk-kisser … he paused for dramatic effect.
Flicker!
That is my name, and a most fearsome and formidable duo of syllables it is! Saved your wretched hide, I did. Now, pay heed. I demand a permanent space on your pillow-roll and no fat, galumphing Tourmaline is about to oust me from my rightful abode at your right paw!
Lia sang across their private telepathic link:
What greater love upon the Islands,
Than a friend who perishéd,
That another might live.
With an improbably huge sniff from such a mischievous mite, Flicker nuzzled her neck, trembling. She stroked his flank affectionately. Sorry. Anguish-joy can be crushing. That moment’s blazed on my memory forever. How I wept over you …
After mastering his emotions, the dragonet whispered, I really can’t recommend the dying part, my precious straw-head. But for you, I’d make that leap ten thousand times and more.
Chapter 3: The Treasures of Immadia
To The Dragonfriend’s embarrassment, the Queen of Immadia threw her arms about Hualiama and gave her a long, warm hug. Grandion observed her discomfort through their oath-link. Despite her permission, a sense of intrusion attended his surveillance. She had been speaking to the dragonet, and then passion and fire and grief just spilled out of her like a Dragon’s fires run amok. Was this another of her strengths? He puzzled the nuances through.
Humans were odd. If the Queen perceived her grief and comforted her as a Dragon might nuzzle another’s flank in shared-grief-brotherhood, why should this noble fire-connection engender feelings of shame?
The petite, fire-haired Queen said, “I see you’ve been out recruiting?”
Shayitha growled, “Aye. Wanted criminals, sister, or I miss my mark. He’s a thief from the lower side … what is it?”
Hualiama seethed, but the fabulous amethyst eyes seemed to perceive a different reality.
Not even appearing to notice her sister’s hand gripping her wrist, Imaytha said dreamily, “I see … I see magic streaming and flowing like the aurora above, and a gift flowering, and … I see Immadia as from a great height, a jewel beset by numberless enemies. What a beauteous Isle, the ancestral seat, the place where the stars shall be at rest!” She blinked at Hualiama, clearly still lost in her vision. “Your lost kin shall always be welcome among us. Fra’anior, speed the day – o Fra’anior, is this thy child? That we should be honoured in her service!”
She knelt.
Hualiama looked stricken. “Uh, Imaytha, don’t – what are you doing?”
Imaytha whispered, “What I should have done before. I pledge my service and allegiance to thee, o Star Dragoness.”
In the silence that gripped their gathering now, the soldiers and Commanders and royalty of Immadia, those most beloved lips appeared to move, but no sound emerged. Could the Fireborn’s gift be about to emerge? No. Grandion narrowed his eyes, observing from the side and above. What magic was this, rising in triumphal chorus from the inmost treasuries of her being? What majestic creature was this who laid her hands, fingers interlaced, upon the bowed head of a Queen, and gathered the very stars in the train of an invisible cloak as she drew a deep breath, and pronounced in a powerful and steady voice:
“O Imaytha, it is my heart’s desire that the most sulphurous benediction of the Great Onyx shall rest upon you and your kin and your people from this day onward, for this I declare: you shall be the very shield and bulwark of the Island-World. Immadia and Fra’anior shall be allies forever! When all seems lost and evil runs rampant like crimson Cloudlands pouring across the Isles, hope shall rise from the mountains of Immadia and sweep forth like an auroral breath of the Ancient Dragons, and the world shall shiver at the advent of the Amethyst Dragoness of the North!”
A prophetic word! Shaken by the heroic power of her utterance, Grandion could only exchange wondering bugles with the two Dragonesses, who were clearly as shocked as he. What did this portend?
The Queen staggered as Hualiama slumped against her, and the dragonet sprang aloft with a shrill cry of dismay.
Grandion dived forward upon his right elbow, snaffling Queen and Princess together into his grasp, but the Dragonfriend was already stirring, mumbling about the paw of the Great Dragon having cuffed her unawares.
He well knew the feeling of wanting to clip this Dragoness about the earhole from time to time!
The Tourmaline growled over her, making the small Immadian tremble at his draconic majesty, but Hualiama slipped an arm about the other woman’s waist and said, “Grandion, behave! Imaytha, Dragons like nothing more than to be seen as overwhelming and splendid, so you have to make sure you notice and compliment them – ‘o living gemstone, mighty thou art!’ Suitably poetic nonsense.”
Already, her flight soared to new, most singular heights. Grandion peeled aside his lips in a broad, many-fanged grin. Deliberately.
The Queen’s knees appeared to have forgotten how to hinge. Hualiama chirped away, showing her new fire-friend the smoother, tougher hide of the palm and the retractable sheaths of Grandion’s talons. She bade him spring a talon free, making the Queen draw back in alarm, and the expression on that stone-faced sister of hers was priceless indeed.
Lia said, “Much of dealing with Dragons is down to knowing their ways and preferences, o Queen. Their mores and social structures are just as complex as Human ones, if not more so, and they may be good or evil or indifferent, just as we are. The colours of the fire-orbs and the nuances of posture, especially the wings, clue us in to a Dragon’s feelings.” Grandion, lift us please. “Now, Grandion’s a very rare Tourmaline colour. Mizuki’s Copper and Makani, a Grey. The Dragons of Pla’arna, Gemalka and Herliss were more common colours, which usually points to the standard range of Dragon powers – fireballs and lava specialties for the Red, Orange and Yellow spectra, acid attacks for the Greens, wind and lightning for the Blues. Older Dragons however, often develop unique higher powers and specialties. I’ve heard of acid whips and kinetic powers that can slingshot lava attacks in unexpected ways, or explosive molten rock attacks – there are literally hundreds of nuances and possibilities.”
“Including mental powers,” Prince Elki put in.
Now, the fangs flashed. Grandion growled, “Dragons observe strict mores of behaviour regarding non-interference in other cultures, and by that I include draconic cultures, at all levels!”
Hualiama sent him a picture of quirked eyebrow.
Except for spying, meddling and information-gathering. Aye. And forcibly stealing powers from one’s oath-companion. Grandion stilled the irritable gouging of his talons, and returned an image of a very large talon flicking a certain Star Dragoness away over the nearest mountaintop.
With a bright giggle clearly designed to fuel his every fire, Hualiama said, “Now, reading the nuances of a Dragon’s fiery gaze is an art form in its own right – colour, speed, core temperature, glow and lucence … in fact, draconic healers check the tenor of the eye-fires before the body. Note these crimson tones of wrath against a white background – and here are white-fires, signifying Grandion’s innate purity of soul. An enraged, feral or evil Dragon’s eyes would likely show hot yellow or burgundy undertones. Also –” she pinched the Queen’s arm “– don’t let him mesmerise you. Grandion. You’re dreadful.”
“You’re jealous,” he purred, enjoying the rosy tones of her cheeks, and the rich magical
scent upon her skin as Hualiama’s pique rose. Aye, Dragoness. Quiver at the power of a male Dragon!
Lia’s finger almost touched his eye as she said, “This lovely jade green colour, Imaytha, is draconic avarice or jealousy. It’s seen as a positive, quintessentially draconic emotion. If I mentioned the name Ja’al, for example …”
“By the mountains of Immadia!” exclaimed the Queen.
The Tourmaline Dragon snarled, “I am not some chalkboard you Humans use to give lessons to children!”
With a flash of those lake-deep blue eyes, Lia whispered, “But your eyes are the very aurorae of your soul, Grandion.”
To his annoyance, Grandion’s belly-fires immediately set to seething like a small lake struck by a storm, and his eye-fires mellowed with ferocious pleasure. Her expression, coupled with the scent and wonder of her regard, set ninety feet of Dragon into tingling raptures. Grrr! The Dragonfriend shivered, as well she should!
As for Imaytha? She appeared to be on the verge of swooning.
Hualiama said, “Well, there’s certainly much to learn. O Queen, am I to conclude that you wish to fly to the North with us?”
“Aye.” The Immadian beauty turned away from his eye, rubbing her temples. Ha. Take that, little Humans!
Still, his simultaneous assessment of the Dragonfriend’s depressed magical potentials led him to pour strength into her through their oath-bond. Hualiama would drop rather than admit weakness. Dragoness. Why had he failed to apprehend her true nature from the first? Because it was unimaginable. As for her admission that even Fra’anior himself had not anticipated this possibility – did that not suggest a draconic plot between Istariela and Amaryllion? Could she be the shell-daughter of a different Ancient Dragon? Surely not. He must hide these dark-fires speculations deep …
Meantime, Imaytha was telling Hualiama that they should delay by a day to provision and inform an expedition properly. “We’ll take you to the secret caves,” she said. “You can consult the lore scrolls there. Dragons cannot enter, however. They’re deep in the mountains, so by terhal the journey will take a goodly number of hours –”
“Walk?” Grandion purred. “Why should the peerless Queen of Immadia trudge through the snows?”
Grandion – Hualiama bit off her thought, but he read her well enough. He flirted; she was jealous. A Dragoness would just have bit his shoulder – unholy talons!
He coughed in amazement. Her punch had been thrown so fast, he had barely begun to move when her fist smashed against his lip with magically-enhanced strength. That actually hurt, you wretch!
Bruise for bruise. I know she’s far prettier than I am, Grandion, but you –
He snapped reflexively, By whose measure? With respect to Human females, my fires have always and only burned for you, for your beauty and your fires alone.
She could not miss the truth-indicators laden in his speech, and the slight aura of surprise as this admission slipped out. Truly? So it was, and Grandion found his own delighted laughter burbling across his lips.
Hualiama reached out to stroke his scales near the eye. You are not sweet. You are the scorching gift of the suns to my soul.
The Tourmaline swayed as his knees threatened to cave in. Oh, Blue-Star!
* * * *
Mounted upon three Dragons – all that remained of their force, although the Northern Dragons had promised to join them if they began a southward strike for Fra’anior Cluster – the mixed expedition flew into the mountains, a surprisingly large territory that bordered the city of Immadia and the relatively small plain that fronted it. Imaytha noted that there were villages situated all around the Island’s edge, above the terrace lakes, and a few on the outlying Isles, reachable only by Dragonship in good weather, which meant just over half of the year. There had not been contact with the Islands beyond the mists in over forty years.
“Ice-Raptors,” the Queen said, the succinct, terse tenor of her voice speaking volumes. “They’re a plague. They breathe a kind of breath of ice we call cold-fires, unlike the warming flame of your kind, noble Dragons.” As she spoke, the Dragonesses flanking Grandion conveyed her speech to their Riders. “They fly in with the winter storms, these furry white Dragonkind – I guess – which grow almost as large as noble Mizuki, and destroy our villages, raid our cattle and terhals, and in the bad years, even attack the city itself. That’s the primary reason for the heavy defences you observed, Princess Hualiama.”
“Please, Your Majesty. Just call me Lia.”
Imaytha hugged her from behind, around the tourmaline spine spike that stood between the two petite women. “Only if you drop the honorifics yourself, lady Dragoness. Is flying Dragonback always so … so …”
“Overwhelming?” Lia asked, squeezing the Queen’s right arm. “Aye. I cried, the first time – when I wasn’t screaming. Grandion decided he might show off with a few twirls around the clouds, and two-mile dives and suchlike. I was terrified.”
Grandion inquired archly, “Do you remember what you sang?”
“Aye. I feel I’m still that girl, Grandion … a girl whose soul has taken flight. The wonder never stops squeezing my heart into prekki-fruit mush.”
“Because I’m so awesome,” the Tourmaline sniped.
“I heard that, you overgrown firelighter,” Flicker sniffed, “and I’ll have you know, I own exclusive rights to all of the awesomeness north of the Rift.”
“Your indubitable Majesty,” Elki teased the dragonet, distracted for a second from cuddling with Saori on Mizuki’s back.
“Ignorant princeling,” Flicker growled, stiffening beneath Lia’s soothing hand.
Dragon angers. How well she was beginning to learn their true impact on draconic behaviour; nothing compared to the experience her Dragoness’ conflagration rising and falling like a distant magical waterfall whenever her second-soul essence moved closer to her active consciousness. The awareness of this additional facet of her personality seemed to move from perihelion to aphelion over an irregular period of time, or according to requisites she had not yet understood. Now, Dragonsoul was alert and close. At other times, she seemed to rest and renew her energies, yet how could a spirit or disembodied existence be understood to sleep? The same pertained to her Humansoul. Moreover, she shared and communicated with herself in ways that might be described as having a best friend who was closer than her own shadow.
Right now, she knew that her Dragonsoul smiled warmly, for affirmation and understanding of an ardent draconic character embraced her thoughts.
Rather like a mental hug, she imagined, reflecting the sensation to Grandion. Discern, o Dragon, how my soul’s manifestations interact.
Enchanting, he returned, engrossed in his reflections.
As the Dragons flew up into the mountains, a silence of snowy slopes and dense pine forests in the lower reaches drew imperceptibly about them, stilling conversation and saturating souls with the awareness of stark, natural grandeur. Lia did not want to admit it, but she was grateful that the Immadians had agreed to accompany them. She and Grandion knew so little about the world of frost and snow. Aye, she had been Reaved, and one lesson she had learned was that she never, ever again wished to be frozen solid. How had she even survived? Through the Shapeshifter bond alone, she imagined, thinking it through now.
Her soul had flown, and returned to her flesh. Flicker also lived, even though his egg had been frozen for years, perhaps centuries.
Hualiama said, “An alliance with Dragons could protect Immadian shores.”
“We have not Fra’anior Cluster’s ancient kinship with the Dragonkind,” Shayitha replied from Makani’s back, where she sat in the third position behind Jin and Isiki. Prince Qilong was the fourth member of their quartet, his face appearing pale and pinched, but composed. “Relations soured approximately seventy years ago when the Dragons of Herliss, under Jazugi the Red, began to raid our villages in search of slaves.”
“Jazugi hailed from Fraxx,” Grandion noted, with a, ‘that explains everyth
ing’ heaviness to his comment. “The Dragons dealt with him.”
“After eleven years!” Shayitha hissed.
“That was not our fault!” hissed the Tourmaline.
“Oh, the hundreds of messages we sent flew off with the windrocs? Sorry, I forgot!” snapped the Immadian Princess.
“Most did go astray,” Grandion replied, with less heat than Lia would have expected of him. “Vargurr the Green saw to that.”
“Vargurr? That’s not what we heard!” Shayitha growled.
Stiffly, Imaytha said, “Shayitha’s right. The blame was laid on agents of the Yorbik Free Federation. The King of Immadia, our grandfather, responded by cutting off all Immadian airspace from draconic incursion. We are now labelled traitors by some of our people. Grandion?”
The Tourmaline rumbled, “It is not hard to understand. Vargurr the Dragon Elder was formidable, influential and richly paid in red gold of Erigar, the colour of his base treasure-lust. I believe that when he was assassinated, itself an event reeking of unsavoury draconic politics, there were celebrations in numerous roosts of Gi’ishior. Believe me, o Immadians, nothing could ever repay the blood of those he stole, over two thousand slaves in all. Just before he was defeated in battle, Jazugi the Red decreed that all of his Human slaves should be executed rather than returned to their home Island – that shameful null-fires son of a spavined windroc, may his name ring with disgrace forever! He is no Dragon, who lacks honour!”
He spat aside, a brief stream of fire that bathed the gorge beneath and around them in orange.
So much of his character was honour-driven, Lia realised afresh. It was often disguised beneath his growls and snarls, or a flick of his wings; his basal integrity breathed through their connection. Was she dishonourable in comparison? Or was it simply that she danced so much more lightly through life, skating over by instinct what Grandion wrestled with beneath his stoic, ‘I’m such a big strong Dragon’ exterior, through his regrets and the oftentimes profoundly complex tenor of the kaleidoscopic thought-fires she sensed in him?
