Dragonstar (Dragonfriend Book 4)

by Marc Secchia

  But, my dance –

  The Tourmaline’s hearts lurched in his chest. Failed? he said lightly. I think not. History shall play judge; histories which you have only begun to scribe. Now, whilst the five hundred of us bombard these scurvy carrion-eaters assailing our ally, you must catalogue the injuries your Human self reflects from your Dragoness self. That is vital information.

  You think I did well?

  For her sake, he must conceal the true extent of his horror at this unholiest of bargains she had struck. Grandion understood the imperative. He just did not understand the need to compromise, when the Star Dragoness had struggled so mightily; even if she had returned barely alive. Her life was enough. It must be. But to bargain with Numistar? His mind sieved through the details, the possibilities. Where was the crack in her logic? What was the Ancient Dragoness’ intent?

  Thinking only upon the Egg, he said, You did well. In a few months, the Sisters shall be Twenty-Seven and the cartographers can enjoy their arguments.

  I must help Numistar.

  Her thoughts were not so easily turned, but the demands of battle soon swept them away. Grandion led his Dragonwings in swingeing runs against the mobbing Land Dragons, while Numistar held the First Egg in her right paw and focussed, with the Star Dragoness’ critical, meticulous aid, upon completing the assumption of her corporeal form. One by one, her spirit fragments relinquished their Ice-Raptor hosts and they fell lifeless to the floor of the world. The Tourmaline realised that Numistar had not cohabited with or suppressed the life force of these creatures. She had invaded and destroyed them.

  Few Humans understood how rapacious the Dragonkind could be.

  Chapter 18: Censure

  TREMBLING, the Eggling slipped between a clutch of Dragon eggs. One thought dominated her mind. Hide. She must hide from him, the stalking nightmare; the father she feared and reverenced more than King Chalcion or Ra’aba. Dissolve. Nothingness would be perfect. If only she could osmose inside an egg, but the warm, nacreous rondure of each ovum concealed a magical secret – a Dragon’s fire-soul. No known force could penetrate a Dragon’s eggshell from without, save for sinister legends which Amaryllion had once hinted at, the ultra-rare egg stealers of Herimor.

  Her claws tapped the slightly yielding, gleaming jade eggshell. Let me in. Please.

  No, darling egg-sister. It cannot be. Oh. A male voice, tiny yet somehow, authoritative and reassuring.

  Why – please – he will destroy me! The seven-headed – the Onyx …

  She clutched another, a cymophanous sapphire orb. Please, I beg you.

  Mama? Mamafire? Is that –

  She was a mother? No, she was an eggling, never smaller nor weaker, thrust back into infantile terrors by the Onyx One’s majestic wrath. I love you all, she cried wildly, looking over the clutch of five eggs. Five? No, one stood aside, the shell she had once abandoned. It was a darker, more mysterious blue than the others, not the pure white of her shell-sister’s, resting nearby.

  Izariela … she realised in wonder. Izariela, whose name means ‘poetry of the stars’. Shell-sister!

  The eggling quivered within the shell, overcome with childish wonder. I … am? I am! Oh, Mamafire, I am incarnate!

  Dearest kin fire, our Mamafire will come. You are my shell-sister. I shall brood over your egg as her surrogate, yet I love you the same. See, my sibling shell lies here. Empty.

  Softly, she gathered the hyacinthine ellipsoid into her grateful paws. Her shield. An extension of the unique imprint of her fire-life, lonely and fireless now, but still distinctively Hualiama. This was the secret of Dragon eggs.

  The white egg giggled, So, un-birth yourself, star traveller.

  Un-birth? The horror of her situation faded to a dull, basal roar as she considered this strangest of notions. Amidst his soul-excoriating censure – ‘traitor’ was among the better names he had pounded against her abjectly bowed head – one key detail stood out. Immadior had gathered the First Egg back into her egg pouch, there to protect it for the aeons preceding its rebirth. Now, Hualiama had given the Egg over to Numistar Winterborn. To death.

  If anything should have undone her will to live, it was Fra’anior’s seething, limitless fury at her apparent betrayal.

  Deliberately, she picked up the dusky egg – so much of her shell-father in its inheritance, she realised, as though onyx in greeting starlight had birthed a chatoyant darkness shot with lucence – and placed it amidst the five eggs of her shell-siblings and children. She heaped them together. Then, the eggling burrowed down. Open.

  The opalescent surface cracked like crysglass.

  Nooo … screamed the Human girl.

  This is no womb. There are no terrors here, the eggling gentled her, sensing the siblings gathering around with the curiosity of unborn Dragonkind. Infantile, unformed telepathic questions teased her consciousness. First, she must offer comfort.

  The womb is darkness, whimpered the girl. It hungers …

  No, it is light, Izariela said, her spirit reaching out tentatively, abounding in warmth and love. All is eternal light, and the burning … always the burning …

  In a moment, Hualiama nestled within her shell, and a tiny glow swelled to fill that space. All around her were stars sprinkled across an enfolding surface that nevertheless seemed infinitely deep, and a Human girl peeked, then uncurled from her foetal position with a lithe flexion of her limbs, her mobile features alive with wonder.

  Blue-Star, it is … extraordinary!

  Six egglings chuckled, together at last.

  A dance step. White-fires swirled eloquently about a Human girl’s twirling fingertips. Don’t you see, Dragonsoul? In the myriad stars lie our strength, for our heritage is of Star-Fire, and every star is the incandescent, eternal soul of a Dragon – yet here, closer to home, this mystery pervades our verimost existence.

  The eggling’s claws fitted the eggshell back together like a petite soldier donning her helmet. Safe in her abode. Untouchable.

  After a moment that might have been quicker than a flickering optical membrane or as long as eternity itself, Dragonsoul turned to her fire-twin, and said, You’re being awfully mystical, dearest –

  SEVEN THEY SHALL BE!

  The Human girl’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ of shock. Um … sorry. I didn’t mean to – well, I did – but I didn’t. Where did that spring from?

  From the deepest melody of a beautiful heart, said a new voice, pouring over the unique clutch like a wave of warm honey. The younger egglings cooed in wonder. Truly, you are a Star Dragoness, and have been since before the beginning, Hualiama – blonde-hair, as your soul names you – how do you see so much?

  Mamafire. Hualiama bowed her fire spirit.

  The White Dragoness wound her body around the clutch, tighter and tighter, with a certain desperation that sought to draw them back into her womb, the egg pouch where a Dragoness created her clutch. This is an arduous fate, o bright fires of my hope. Few shall understand. Many hands and paws shall rise against us. Yet, as you have already prophesied –

  The Amethyst Dragoness of the North? Hualiama realised aloud.

  Aye. And other soul-echoes your prophetic cry evoked just now, said Istariela. Even I have only just apprehended the truth, and that is why I must protect my own with every fibre of my being. Seven they shall be, in draconic numerology, the number which symbolises perfection.

  I’m hardly perfect, Hualiama said tersely.

  I am, one of the other egglings boasted. How can I be less, Mamafire?

  The White Dragoness laughed with the merest hint of melancholy. Aye, and how fierily I love you – as the stars love their fires, so my fires cross the infinite reaches of time and space to be with thee. Tell them, Hualiama, my third heart. It is time they understood.

  Blue-hair stamped her paw crossly. Are you keeping secrets from me, Humansoul?

  Soul space, egg space, they were synonymous. Twirling past her Dragonsoul, the girl reached out and tweaked her twin’s nose. Liste
n up, jealousy.

  I am not jealous! You’re me. I get to take all the credit.

  The Human girl sang warmly:

  Seven stars they shall be, spread across time,

  White and blue, amethyst and gold,

  Indigo, onyx and … uh, white … again?

  Oops, that was a mess.

  Dragonsoul said, Beautifully sung, but I’m still about to steal the glory. You mean to express, o songbird of Fra’anior, the sevenfold strength of our future family of Star Dragons. Each of us contributes to the whole, and is indispensable. One of us to match each of our shell-father’s seven souls.

  Then, she laughed merrily as the dancing girl’s flying feet tangled up mid-leap, and she fell over in a heap of wobbly-kneed, chuckling amazement.

  * * * *

  Lightning storms raged behind her eyes. Flicker gathered her close, soothing, while Grandion prowled nearby. Thrice, she jolted the dragonet with lightning strikes and once by throwing him off, yelling incoherently, but Flicker pressed his body against the pulse at her neck, purring affectionately, while the Tourmaline tyrant wrangled himself into a fine rage, and failed to conceal his approval at Fra’anior’s evident censure. Her limbs convulsed, then suddenly she was twitching, whimpering … a running or flying dream, he imagined. The kind of dream Flicker had suffered many times after that day he saved her from Razzior’s cowardly attack.

  Soon, she giggled.

  Grandion’s bug-eyes made him resemble a very large, squashed beetle, Flicker decided with a certain sense of self-righteous satisfaction. Serve that great waddling sheep right. Fancy taking Fra’anior’s side against Hualiama? After all, Fra’anior had only created their entire Island-World. What did he know? Flapping bully. He could just tie his seven necks in a nice knot and leave the awesomeness up to his girl. After all, he had taught her all her best moves.

  With a smidgen of assistance from Amaryllion.

  “Seven stars,” she said distinctly.

  In a flash, the Tourmaline loomed over her. “Stars? She speaks of the prophecy, Flicker.”

  After glancing about the small company gathered around the girl dreaming as she slept on atop one of the outlying columns of the northerly Spits – Elki, Saori, Isiki and the three potential Shapeshifters – the Dragon breathed:

  A life birthed in fire,

  Star Dragons sing starsong over her cradle,

  The Cloudlands rise up to bow,

  And the Islands roar at her name.

  … third Great Race will emerge from the shadows,

  And take their place at destiny’s helm.

  A time of rebirth, struggle and …

  … a multitude of stars plummet …

  The flickering movement of her eyes mesmerised the dragonet. Why was that? Why did he recognise – Flicker said, “She’s dancing in her soul, Grandion. Can you imagine?”

  The Dragon inhaled so hard, he snuffled up a length of her glorious hair filaments, white-blonde and sapphire intertwined. With a backward jerk of his head at the unbearable tickle, he snorted, “Aah, aaaaaaah –”

  “Duck!” yelled Elki.

  “Chhh – huh?”

  Human-Grandion landed on his bare backside with a thoroughly disgruntled grunt. Ha! Disgruntled grunt! Flicker congratulated himself on his clever wordplay. Not only the handsomest wings north of the Rift, eh? High intelligence, audacious of paw … he preened happily. Phenomenal. These inferior Lesser Dragons could only gnash their fangs in futile jealousy.

  “Here we go again,” grumbled Elki, snapping his fingers. “Trousers!”

  For her part, Saori shifted Hualiama’s Nuyallith blades, which she had kept for her since that abortive battle in faraway Immadia, away from her sides. “Don’t need her mistaking us for enemies,” she murmured.

  Heavy cloud cover occluded the night sky. The Dragonship fleet had paused right on the fringes of the Spits as the Dragon scouts forged ahead, checking the route for a suspected ambush. They had made camp in the only viable place, a tangle of fallen-over columns braced against a number of shorter, upright columns about three miles shy of the tall thicket of stone columns that reached into the never-ending storm above. Lightning flashed occasionally up there, but thunder growled constantly. The energies in this corner of the Island-World had always been regarded as strange and fey, and never more so than now, as Numistar walked around the northerly tip with the First Egg, while the Dragonships and Dragons of Grandion’s command planned to utilise the shorter-cut-through toward Seg Island, hoping to find Affurion and his nation of Lost Islands Dragons somewhere on the far side.

  Without warning, Hualiama began to glow. In seconds, she was white-hot and her clothes began to smoke.

  Flicker leaped away from her – the ungrateful wretch – with a yelp of dismay. “Take cover!”

  Grandion, frozen in an instant of pure lechery which Flicker loathed more than anything else in the Island-World, stared at the outline of her body as it sizzled right through her clothing. By his wings, she was already too dazzling to look at, but the Dragon would never be forgiven that gormless expression.

  Well, once Flicker was done gawking, too.

  “Away!” roared Grandion, sweeping Elki and Saori into his powerful arms.

  There came a distinct giggle. Starlight burst over them. Radiant. Shining with glorious, rippling purity upon the undersides of the clouds and lighting the dark columns for miles about, light burst over the combined army, tingling wings, making grizzled soldiers shiver and chuckle, and causing the white dragonets of Flicker’s command to burst upward in celebratory dance.

  Jin gasped, “My scars –”

  He collapsed, as did Brazo and his sister, but they did not change. Even Flicker felt that shift in his fires. Every Dragon in the encampment stared as the light moved. Sat up. Rose, burning so brilliantly that the rock smoked beneath her bare feet. In a mighty voice, Lia yelled, “Flying monks!”

  Flicker’s jaw dropped open. What?

  Then, he looked toward where an arm formed of starlight appeared to be pointing. He gurgled with delight. “Hey, it’s egg-head!”

  * * * *

  “Arise to battle!” roared Grandion, flapping his arms – curse it!

  “With me, Grandion,” Mizuki ordered, adding a playful whirl of her fire-eyes. “I want the destroyer of Ice-Raptors on my back. Elki! Stop sleeping –”

  Prince Elka’anor bounded to his feet, gripping Saori’s wrist in his hand. “Toss us.”

  The Copper Dragoness flicked her Riders onto her back as they had practised.

  “Makani!” roared Lia.

  “I can’t touch – oh.” The Grey Dragoness blinked as darkness rediscovered its place in the Island-World. “Up.” Snatching up her blades, Hualiama leaped into the Dragoness’ paw. The Grey snapped, “Sumio, protect the fallen Dragons.”

  Grandion bellowed at Elki as the Prince thrust a pair of trousers into his face. “This is not the time!”

  “Well, she’s –”

  The Prince indicated his sister.

  “Wearing an optical shield,” growled the Shapeshifter Dragon, even more annoyed than the surprise appearance of dozens of blue-robed monks bounding gracefully over and between the columns like winged cliff goats – they could actually fly, unlike him in his Human form – had already made him. How dare his female seek to conceal her person from his magnificent presence? “I have to say –”

  “Windroc droppings to that,” Elki overrode the Shapeshifter furiously, strapping himself in. “Move, Dragon!”

  Judging by Hualiama’s grip upon those blades, Grandion knew he was about to be chasing his girl uselessly from a distance – again. Fine. He had thirty seconds. How hard could it be to don trousers, Dragonback, flying toward a battle at a speed of well in excess of thirty leagues per hour?

  “Hold on!” cried Saori.

  The Tourmaline inadvertently sat on a spine spike as Mizuki jerked to avoid a crossbow bolt from one of the pursuing Dragonships. His agonised yell nearly spli
t the clouds above. Human hind parts were more sensitive than he had ever imagined! Grr! Certainly, if the army of the Yorbik Free Federation had not been forewarned by Hualiama’s light show, they knew the reality now. There had indeed been a trap.

  The throbbing pain in his punctured gluteus muscle made him screech irritably, Dragons! The monks are allies. Destroy the rest!

  Nearly seven hundred irascible Dragons fell upon the Dragonships of Yorbik with the fury of the battle-hungry predators they were. The battle was sharp, furious and horribly one-sided. The Dragons savaged each other to get at the spoils. The monks bounded into the myriad hiding places amidst the cracked and fallen columns, while Hualiama shot through the air in her silvery-slingshot guise, waving her gleaming blades with a series of precision blows that freed the monk Ja’al and four of his cohorts from an enveloping net before they had time to fall to their deaths in the depths below.

  She screamed around Ja’al with a celebratory quadruple barrel roll the envy of any dragonet old enough to have cracked the eggshell, and summarily whisked the bemused monks over to a Red Dragon’s paw. Catch.

  Grandion’s heart turned a bilious shade of envy.

  Then she and Flicker were off, darting between the marauding Dragons and the bulky Dragonships, creating mayhem. Aggrieved Dragons stormed after the pair, discovering a further twenty-five or more Dragonships lurking amidst the pillars. Grrraaa-boom! BOOM! Orange flares of Dragon fireballs proclaimed the demise of those Dragonships. To his sorrow, the Tourmaline saw three Dragons fall to the powerful Dragonship-borne crossbows, and one to an enemy Dragon, and he still had one leg stuck inside his trousers! The Eastern warrior linked arms with him, keeping a clumsy Shapeshifter from tumbling off Mizuki’s back while he struggled with the unfamiliar clothing.

  Clothing for battle? Ridiculous!

  Yet amidst all this, his draconic seventh sense pricked his consciousness. Nostrils flaring to scent the breeze, his gaze snapped upward.