The Onyx Dragon

by Marc Secchia

  The Dragon’s voice was fiery winds blasting over barren Islands. So, Pygmy girl–or should I call you Dragoness? It has been too long since I cast you from the skies.

  Rambastion!

  All her flame turned to ice.

  Chapter 10: Dragon Renegade

  Pip CLUTCHED HER foundling, glaring across at the renegade Dragon, who lifted his paw to flatten it against the intervening crysglass. His talons flexed as if the Dragon imagined he were sharpening his talons upon a pestiferous Pygmy’s spinal column. Flame licked the glass hungrily.

  You look good in a cage, Rambastion, she blurted out.

  He should have been enraged. Instead, the Dragon only laughed curtly, Walked straight into our trap, little one, didn’t you? How’re you planning to escape now?

  Between them, the crowd began to scatter, screaming and flapping as if a rajal had pounced upon a flock of fowl. Nak mopped his brow with a large red handkerchief–a pre-planned signal, easily seen by Dragon sight from two miles above. Yet for Pip, none of this existed. She said, I’m taking this child home, Rambastion. Don’t even think of trying to stop me.

  The Marshal will reward me well.

  With life? Pip laughed in exact imitation of Rambastion’s tone. You’re serving the wrong master if you think that, Rambastion. He has already turned your colour and your mind. Your fires are dust to him. Join us, and choose life.

  Beside her, Jerrion hefted his massive war-hammer. “You go, lady Pip. I’ll rearrange that lizard’s fangs.”

  Nak and Oyda had their swords drawn; Silver looked stricken. “I can’t transform, Pip. I can’t transform, and I can’t reach that lizard …”

  What? Why was Rambastion waiting? Did magic’s scent tingle in her nostrils? Pip stepped out of the cage, glancing about. Immediately, a line of sinister men–or creatures–caught her eye. They ranged across the path in both directions, clearly moving against the tide of hysterical humanity. They were manlike, but the resemblance stopped there. Beneath their cowls, the slate-grey faces lacked eyes, but slit nostrils and small, puckered mouths were present. Each creature carried a loaded crossbow and each weapon was levelled at her–not at Silver, nor at Nak or Oyda. Undoubtedly, these creatures had no need of eyes to see. Pip imagined they had been scraped out of a cave somewhere. Sightless. Fusty. Deadly.

  Another figure leaning against the chabbik cage, right next to the crysglass window, caught Pip’s attention. “Telisia!”

  “Took you long enough, Pygmy scum.” Telisia pushed her hood back, revealing a pretty yet deathly pale face. Was she sick? “We had word of your coming a week ago.”

  “You turned Rambastion into an earthworm for a week?” Oyda chuckled. “Suits.”

  Telisia raised her hand. “Hold.”

  The Night-Red remained motionless, but his inner infernos raged audibly. His entire length smoked furiously as flames burned through the rock and soil piled upon his back. Pip squared her shoulders and willed her knees to remain firm. That initial burst of courage now seemed the foolhardiness of a bite-sized portion of meat presenting itself to the Island-World’s mightiest hunter. Meantime, she wondered what was wrong with Telisia, how she commanded a Dragon, and what those creatures were–doubtless beasts of Herimor, but whatever they represented, they could not be the messenger hawk of joyous tidings.

  For a breath, everyone stared at everyone else and nobody moved. Pip knew Nak’s signal would already have been relayed to the Dragons waiting in the wood. At top speed, they could cover the mile to the zoo in less than a minute. She had to stall.

  Rambastion made that decision easy.

  The huge Night-Red leaped out of the cage with a snarl of rage, surmounting the wall in an instant. Pip and Jerrion peeled off in one direction, Nak, Oyda and Silver in the other. Rambastion ignored the other three. He lunged for Pip, stretching out his right forepaw.

  Quicker than the eye could follow, Jerrion slammed his war-hammer into that outstretched paw. Rambastion, however many tonnes he was, staggered as the bone cracked audibly. Pip froze in disbelief. What? Somehow, Jerrion seemed possessed of a draconic power, for the giant moved again in a blur. Wham! The war-hammer thudded into the muscle of Rambastion’s lower left flank. The Dragon staggered. The Jeradian warrior’s third blow knocked the Dragon to his knees.

  That was Emmaraz’s cue. The Night-Red’s belly vibrated like a hide drum as the fledgling struck with all the power of a two-mile vertical dive. Perhaps Rambastion had expected to play a trick on the youngster similar to what Silver had done to Pip. Whatever the case, the massive pirate Dragon was unprepared for their combined assault. Emmaraz savaged him unopposed, opening huge rents in his flank and belly before springing sideways at Maylin’s shout. He snatched up Nak and Oyda in one forepaw and Silver in the other.

  CHYMASION! Bellowing his battle-challenge, the hatchling snagged one of the grey creatures by the scruff of its neck and hurled it at Telisia, missing by inches as the girl seemed entranced by the sight of her younger sister, a Dragon Rider, nocking an arrow aimed at her forehead. The grey thing crunched into the stone and slumped, its neck crooked at an impossible angle. Arosia fired! Telisia waved a hand, flicking the arrow aside. Chymasion shuddered beneath an invisible blow. He stalled, bouncing off the felled Rambastion before skidding to a halt just beyond, mere inches from Pip’s feet.

  Arosia lolled from her saddle, bleeding at the mouth. The grey creatures leaped in with the speed and sinuosity of cats, wielding a blade or a crossbow in either hand.

  “Go!” yelled Pip, shoving Jerrion toward the Dragon.

  Use this, whispered Chymasion.

  Impossible strength flooded her veins. The hatchling must have helped Jerrion thus … suddenly, the grey things slowed. Pip slapped a crossbow bolt out of the air, vaulted over Jerrion, and kicked out. A pair of chins snapped backward. She dropped the child in Arosia’s lap, spun, and seemed to enjoy all the time in the world to catch a pair of bolts headed for Jerrion’s kidneys. She hurled them back at the attackers, taking one in the belly but missing the other. The grey creatures did not slow.

  Why could Silver not transform?

  With a volley of sharp, guttural barks, five creatures leaped at her, unnaturally graceful in their movements and quicksilver of speed. She saw the world afresh. Fires whiter than snow veiled her vision with thin yet inescapable translucence. Just the barest outlines of flesh and bone impressed upon her senses. Chymasion? This was his sight? Her hands blurred before her face. Arrows, blades, nothing touched her. The hatchling did not appear able to shield her, for two blades sliced through her flying clothing, but no metal reached the flesh. Pip lashed out with her left fist and both elbows and feet, pounding the Herimor creatures in the face, throat and groin areas. When the fifth stayed his ground, having stumbled to his knees, Pip head-butted him brutally in the nose.

  Chymasion’s power dissipated as the creatures fell away. She sprinted up the Jade Dragon’s tail and vaulted onto his back, pleased to see Arosia, blood-streaked yet sitting upright, clutching the child firmly to her chest. Jerrion was already seated behind them, brandishing his war-hammer.

  Pip shouted, Go Chymasion! Fly!

  Scrambling upright, the young Dragon staggered several steps before Telisia abruptly appeared right in front of his nose. Pip was quickest. As Chymasion jinked; she hurled her sword and spoiled Telisia’s crossbow quarrel, intended for someone on the Dragon’s back. Then she was clutching a spine-spike for dear life as the Jade Dragon ran vertically up a cage wall and sprang from the top, beating for the sky.

  Pip laughed as Telisia’s furious visage dwindled below. Great work, Chymasion. Telisia waved again, but only appeared able to buffet the Jade Dragons’ tail with wind as he powered away.

  Enemies incoming! bugled the young Dragon. Look north!

  Pip swivelled in her improvised seat. Over a dozen strong, a Dragonwing of Dragon Assassins sprinted for the zoo. No! What next?

  The Marshal had sprung his trap. Who could the traitor be?<
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  * * * *

  Pip trotted up Chymasion’s back and slipped between the two spine-spikes in front of Kaiatha, facing her friend. “Alright, Kaia. Start spilling. What did you two just do back there?”

  “Saved you from a roasting?” said her friend. In Ancient Southern, she added, “I Pygmy girl safe. Shh, infant.”

  Not bad. The little girl blinked. “Ancient One safe?”

  Safe? A Dragon? Pip laughed, explaining, “He’s a good Ancient One. Those dark ones are bad. Will you wear a … rope? Keep safe?” Switching languages, she added, “Jerrion, belt yourself in place. This is looking rough.”

  GRRARRRRGGHH! Silver’s cry split the cool morning skies. Pip. On my back. That was–freaking feral windrocs, those grey things are running as fast as we’re flying!

  Pip chuckled briefly at the sight of Silver wearing his trousers on a skull-spike. Ah, the joys of transformation. A few hundred feet below, the grey creatures were indeed keeping pace, hurdling obstacles with the enthusiasm of a herd of buck in mating season. She saw no sign of Telisia, but that girl seemed capable of almost anything–controlling Dragons, transforming, vanishing upon a handy breeze and, lest she forget, a dash of murder by way of entertainment.

  Silver extended his wing with a peremptory waggle. “Now.”

  What if he was the traitor? Rising, Pip stepped onto his tertiary wing-joint, the equivalent of the Human wrist, and ran the length of his primary wing bones to his shoulder, taking care not to place her feet on the thin, flexible wing-struts. Please let him not read the suspicion rife in her mind.

  “Help!” The wind’s buffeting made her slip on her final step from wing-bone to shoulder. Silver’s paw arrested her fall with draconic reaction-speed. He flicked her atop his shoulder effortlessly. “Great catch.” Pip slipped into position, masking her trepidation with a playful, “You’re a nice boy-Dragon. What’s your name?”

  Silver’s laughter gurgled up his long throat. “You may address me as, ‘O Magnificent Plucker of Pygmies.’ ”

  “Silver, what are those things?”

  “Some form of shuzzalich.” Pip clucked in annoyance. “A swamp-dwelling magic hunter,” he clarified promptly. “Most people call them Leeches. They’re tough, fast and deadly. But Leeches are most famed for never giving up on a hunt–the only way to escape them, once they have your scent, is to fly to another Island.”

  Or to kill them, said Chymasion, flexing his talons.

  “They sound as delightful as my sister,” Arosia called over.

  Pip said, “Right. I’ve a few questions. How can I hear Arosia, who is a hundred yards away, as clearly as if she’s talking in my ear? And what did Chymasion just do to Jerrion? Big as he is, I don’t think even a giant can hammer a full-grown Dragon to his knees. It’s impossible.”

  Roaring rajals. She really needed to erase that word, even the notion itself, from her vocabulary.

  Emmaraz and Chymasion veered rapidly to follow Emblazon’s lead, the Dragonwing forming up with instinctive ease. The Jade hatchling dropped Oyda and Nak off with their respective Dragons. The group exchanged information rapidly. What had transpired? Who had seen what and what could they conclude? The Leech-creatures. The Pygmy child, perfect bait for the trap. Arosia received Shimmerith’s healing touch, as did the child, although she shrieked and buried her face in Arosia’s arms. What of Telisia’s authority over Rambastion? And her unprecedented ability to prevent a Shapeshifter from transforming? All this took valuable minutes as they fled eastward, leaving Sylakia Town far in their wake.

  Silver said, “I’m afraid your sister may be in mortal peril, Arosia. The Marshal’s power burns too fiercely within her–a terrible design has been wreaked within her being by poison or magic, perhaps both, to grant her these powers and abilities. I’ve seen the Marshal twist the First Egg’s supreme magic to corrupt his minions. And Chymasion, if I’m not mistaken, you’re a … I don’t have a word for the Dragon capability. It’s legendary. You amplify magic.”

  “Catalyst-synthesizer,” said Pip. “Page sixty-seven of your father’s notebook, Kaiatha.”

  Duri threw up his hands in mock-disgust. “How does she do that? How many times have you read that diary, Pip?”

  “Once,” she replied.

  “Aren’t you going to check the reference?” suggested Nak.

  Kaiatha shook her head. “What’s the point? She has eidetic recall. Totally annoying.”

  “Catalyst-synthesizer Dragons awaken and amplify the magic around them by means of an internal mechanism which is little understood,” Pip quoted. “It is said the Ancients relied upon Chayvuron, a two-headed Ancient Dragon of Green colour, to focus and enhance their magic during their mightiest feats of Island-raising. I’m sorry, Kaia. I should’ve been paying more attention to the notebook.”

  Oyda put in, “Pipsqueak, just to tidy up your earlier question, we Riders hear through our Dragons’ senses. It’s a function of oath-magic.”

  Chymasion said, “Noble Oyda, may I elucidate your point? I believe this power is a function of the innate draconic ability to see and interpret sound-waves at medium distances. At close range, the ear-canals take over this function.”

  “Sound has waves? Slap me over the head with a windroc!” Nak exclaimed. “Alright. Insatiable Pygmy curiosities aside, we need to escape. I don’t think we want to argue with fourteen fully-grown, horribly unsightly Night-Reds.”

  “And their friends,” said Pip. “I sense Dragons directly ahead. Behind those clouds.”

  Grr! Emblazon snarled. When were you going to tell us, hatchling?

  I-I only j-just–

  Dragons burst through the heavy cloudbank ahead of them–Night-Reds, chillingly uniform of colour and demeanour, as indistinguishable from one another as pebbles on a terrace lake beach. Not one was less than a hundred-foot adult, sooty red-black in colour, with strangely ragged Dragon hide and widely-flared skull-spikes. Their eye-fires blazed balefully against the dull grey backdrop of clouds. Hot on their tails–literally–came a Dragonwing of Sylakian Reds and Greens in swift pursuit. Pip quickly lost count amidst suddenly crowded skies. Two dozen of each? No, an additional Dragonwing of Assassins slipped free of the clouds, orienting on the Academy Dragons.

  “Help from Sylakian Dragons?” Emblazon spat.

  Shimmerith said, “No mind, my flame-heart. Today, they are our friends.”

  “I appreciate battle, but I don’t understand why we aren’t making a strategic retreat?” Maylin asked.

  The Amber Dragon champed fire between his fangs. “Apart from the shame of turning tail like the most craven of ralti sheep, little one? With our younglings in tow, we cannot outfly those Dragons. Our only chance is to pick a battleground and fight. I hoped for caves or mountainous terrain. We enjoy neither of those, but we are less outnumbered than before. Now, prepare to engage!”

  Maylin’s reply was a grim nod.

  Four Dragonwings converged in the skies above Sylakia.

  Nak said rapidly, “Chymasion, support Silver, Shimmerith and Jyoss. Oyda, Kaiatha, you’ve the most powerful Dragons. Engage the enemy Dragonwing head-on, but stick together. Blind them with flame; destroy them with augmented lightning attacks. Or, whatever works.”

  “I like that bit of the plan,” Oyda laughed.

  Emblazon filled his lungs. GNNNNAAAARRRGGHH!!

  Emmaraz called over, I quarried holes in his hide, but Rambastion rises from the zoo. How’s that even possible?

  No time. I need your strength. Fly with me, Emblazon snapped.

  The young Red swelled visibly. Ay.

  At the Dragons’ combined speed of approach, the time for dialogue was over. The Marshal’s forces clamoured together in deafening chorus, a mass-challenge that rumbled like ominous thunder across the low, wooded hills. Amber, Copper and Red responded in kind, their belly-fires roaring their rage as much as their throats. Shimmerith and Silver threw up shields. Pip exclaimed in disgust when she realised she had no weapons–but Silver rem
inded her she had two mighty weapons, heart and mind. At once, she offered herself to a mind-meld with her Dragon. Pip entered a world of glittering enchantment, a tracery of mystic potentials at once heart-wrenchingly beautiful and stronger than forged steel. Here was Silver, adamantine of purpose yet mellow toward her presence. She sensed the flexing of flight muscles and tasted the tension of powers coalescing behind controlling barriers, awaiting the ecstatic instant of release.

  There was no hint of treachery in his inmost being.

  She sighed, relinquishing her much gnawed-upon reservations. Now they were one, wing and mind, Shifter-souls roused to a pitch of harmony Pip had never experienced before. Dragonsong vibrated within her at a level far deeper than the conscious. Oh, sweet agony! She held her transformation just barely in check.

  Roaring their battle-names, the colourful Academy Dragonwing collided with the Marshal’s dark hordes. Suddenly, all was instinct. Wingtip control. Talons rending. Silver’s white-hot lightning exploded through two Night-Reds. They were instantly slain, multiple smoking holes appeared as if by magic in their hides. Shimmerith stunned another; Emblazon finished a Dragoness with a mighty claw-stroke that penetrated the brain. She glimpsed Tazzaral flashing by, entangled with a hoary monster of a Dragon, while Jyoss cartwheeled beneath the fighting males to leave a bloody furrow scored forty feet long along the enemy Dragon’s belly. As the Night-Red arched in agony, Tazz executed a brutal bite behind the skull. The Dragon slumped instantly.

  Thou lethal beauty! thundered the Copper.

  Thou, the right paw of wingéd justice! Jyoss bugled back, side-slipping a Night-Red’s attack with great cunning. Silver rent the enemy Dragon’s wing in passing.

  Four dark Dragon Assassins ganged up on Chymasion. Silver and Shimmerith scattered them with psychic blasts and chain lightning respectively. Tazzaral shook off a marauder and buried his fangs in the throat of another, while Emmaraz plunged like a red suns-beam through the fray, driving a pair of Dragon lances fifteen feet deep into his opponent’s flank.