by Marc Secchia
Without further ado, the Grey made a gesture with her paw and the doors drew apart several feet. Lia’s nape prickled at the presence of magic. Now the Dragons had telekinesis? Her reading of the lore-scrolls had suggested the ability was mythical at best. The Grey Dragoness strode forth, and directed a thought into the chamber: O mighty Sapphurion, the Princess of Fra’anior waits without.
An ugly snarl shook the doors mightily, as though a single, monstrous animal had voiced its fury. It throbbed right through Lia’s body, causing her heart to turn somersaults in her throat. Again, Sapphurion’s mental voice rang clarion-clear out of the hubbub. Away, spy. Wait a minute before we summon the Human. Brethren, this is Hualiama, the royal ward, called the Dragonfriend. By her hand was Ra’aba brought low.
Impossible! sneered another Dragon. Did she recognise Andarraz’s voice, the Green who alone among all Dragons, matched Sapphurion for stature? What trickery is Chalcion bent upon, this time? These Humans grow crafty.
No Human has yet been born who can outwit a Dragon, Sapphurion replied evenly. Send her in.
The Grey Dragoness pressed the doors open with her power. “Up to the platform with you, Human girl, and don’t tarry. Sapphurion does not suffer fools lightly.”
Hualiama approached the Dragon Elders with a definite stride that belied the storm raging in her belly. The twelve-foot-tall, gold-threaded quartz platform, crowned by a solitary chair, did nothing to conceal the draconic congregation gathered beyond it. Nine pairs of orbs suffused with fire as they regarded the Human girl. Seven blazed with malevolent, dark-orange swirls, one pair was a uniquely radiant blue-white, and the last considered her with a gentle effulgence, an altogether softer fire that Hualiama recognised instantly as belonging to the Red Dragoness Qualiana.
Now, she must exhibit the mettle of a Tourmaline Dragon who had fought two powerful adult males almost to a standstill. Squaring her shoulders, Lia marched up to her seat. As her eyes crested the top of the platform, it was to lock gazes with Sapphurion not five feet distant, and what she saw smouldering in his fire-soul caused her legs to seize up. Lia stumbled over the last step, barking her shins painfully and crashing to her knees before the Dragon Elders.
Were this a training fight, first score to the Dragons.
“The most sulphurous greetings of the Great Dragon to you, daughter of the Human King,” Sapphurion rumbled. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”
Her father ruled one Island-Kingdom, albeit an important one. These Dragons ruled all of the Dragonkind north of the Rift, and Sapphurion was foremost among their number. Hope was an illusion. The comparison crushed her spirit.
Burning with embarrassment before these Kings and Queens of Dragons, Hualiama rapidly found her feet and marshalled her manners. Flowing into an elegant Fra’aniorian obeisance, she said, “May thy sulphurous fires burn forever amongst the eternal fires of the Dragonkind, o noble Sapphurion.”
“Be seated.”
She began to sit before remembering Ga’athar’s idea. Lia slipped her Immadian forked daggers from her belt and, laying them on the platform, said, “I come in peace.”
Next, she reached up for the sword-hilts protruding above her shoulders and drew the Nuyallith blades with a bright zing of metal. Looking beyond the blades as she drew them slowly downward, Hualiama observed the effect on the Dragons. They seemed mesmerised, all nine sets of fire-eyes fixated on her movements as she bent her knees to place the enchanted blades beside the seat. Lia said, “I bind myself to peace.”
With that, she sat. Grim satisfaction curved her lips. Second score to the Human.
Sapphurion cleared his throat by way of expectorating a fireball to her right. “State your business, Princess.”
Before she spoke, Lia allowed her gaze to rest briefly on each of the Dragons, acknowledging them each in turn with a slight bow of her head. She identified the Green Andarraz, the Reds Zulior and Qualiana, who were egg-siblings, and Sapphurion. The other five Dragons she knew only from studying scrolls her father kept about the Dragonkind of Gi’ishior. Haaja the Yellow Dragoness she recognised at once, and the Brown male Tarbazzan, but the other Dragons’ names escaped her recall.
To war.
Hualiama said, Dragon-direct, “O mighty Sapphurion, I was present the day Yulgaz the Brown and Razzior the Orange attacked a male juvenile offshore of Ha’athior and buried him alive within the Island massif. Three months later, I rescued this Dragon from his cave by blowing the side off the mountain. We made oaths to each other–”
“Madness!” gasped Zulior.
“The paw of the Great Dragon,” Lia countered aggressively. “Obligated to me for his life, the young Dragon vowed to help me locate and rescue my family–the Human royals of Fra’anior–who had been abducted and exiled by the traitor Ra’aba, with the aid of the Orange Razzior’s paw. I come before you today to declare this: If my foolishness or ignorance brought dishonour upon that Dragon, to whom the Human King and his family owe a debt of gratitude which can never be repaid, I must right that wrong, or I too am foresworn.”
That was the most direct and delicate phrasing she and Ga’athar had been able to decide upon. Certainly, it skimmed over perilous secrets, which lurked amidst her words like hidden abysses. Much now depended upon how Sapphurion chose to respond.
He said, “The young Dragon was buried within Ha’athior Island?”
“I affirm that truth,” said Lia, with an inward gritting of her teeth. “It was Ra’aba who first cast me upon Ha’athior. A girl who is stabbed so deeply in the stomach that the blades exit beside her spine, before being tossed off a Dragonship, has little choice as to where she lands. I lived upon Ha’athior for a number of weeks before I was able to escape.”
The Dragon Elders shuffled their paws ominously, but made no other comment. She concluded they must already know her history. The huge Blue Dragon had raised this topic to press home his magnanimity at her expense. Mercy.
Sapphurion scoffed, “And you brought rich gifts to purchase the chance to redeem this mutual dishonour?”
“I did.” She touched her travel pack, “A rare scroll–”
Sapphurion’s snort billowed hot, curiously peppery air over her head. “I smelled its magic outside the hall. Don’t bother. I already possess a copy in my personal library.”
Lia bit her lip. “What would you wish, o mighty Dragon?”
His shrug was a mountainous flexion of blue Dragon hide, his stance uncompromising. “What do you offer which is not already possession of the draconic masters of our Island-World? Why not a token which speaks of the spirit of a Human who presumes to call herself ‘Dragonfriend’? Mighty paws for a tiny hatchling, say I.”
Most of the Elders growled their approval of Sapphurion’s withering sarcasm.
Sensing Qualiana’s regard, Hualiama’s eyes flicked to the Dragoness. A tiny circle of her fore-talon, a twitch of her wings just so–what did that mean? Her mind raced. What bauble or token could possibly impress the mightiest of Dragons? Nay, the mightiest had flown on to the fires of his kind just the day before, but he had left her a gift. Little Lia would have to rip open her chest and bare her soul, no less. She would parade her outrage and grief in a truly draconic manner.
The Human girl raised her chin. “O Sapphurion, I offer the gift of my dance.”
“Dance?” Low, spiteful, his chuckle came furnished with talons and a snarl of real thunder that made Hualiama clutch her chair, white-knuckled. “You offer a dance?”
“You may judge the gift when it is given.”
Lia distinctly heard his belly-fires bridle at the answering snap in her tone. Yet this was the Dragon way. Answer fire for fire, or be doomed.
Sapphurion crooked his paw. “Summon a musician to attend us.” Clearly, in his mien, she read the implication that the Human girl wore his patience thin. But could a father-Dragon’s heart deny the hope she offered his shell-son? Denied the chance to help Grandion himself, would Sapphurion reach out to her? Risky.
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With each footstep feeling more doom-laden than the last, Lia descended the quartz steps behind the platform and approached the Dragon Elders–approached their paws and knees, truth be told, for as a group they towered above her, a combined tonnage of scale armour, fangs and irritable Dragon fires she dared not guess at. Qualiana stood at Sapphurion’s right flank, wing to wing with Zulior, and Andarraz and Haaja to his left. Haaja was a noted Dragon scholar from the far south. The other four Dragons acted as their own group, she noticed–hoary old Tarbazzan, a younger-looking, sleek Green male, and two Reds. They shifted to create a semicircle about her that Lia’s gut suggested was uncomfortably akin to Dragons arranging themselves around a tasty dish.
Veiling her anxiety with outward unconcern, Lia limbered up with a few light stretches.
Shortly, a Human manservant appeared, wheeling a full-size Fra’aniorian harp in dark jalkwood with inlays and string-pegs of pure gold. While he arranged himself on a tall stool a second servant brought for him, Hualiama’s hands rose–trembling slightly–to loosen her headscarf and liberate her hair from captivity. If ever she needed the symbolic freedom she thus claimed, now was the hour.
The musician nodded gravely to her.
“Islands’ greetings,” said Lia, with courtly formality. “If I may, master musician, I would request the Dragonet’s Dance from the Flame Cycle.”
“And your desired tempo, lady?”
She marked the tempo briefly with her forefinger. “Whenever you’re ready.”
He bowed over the harp, hands poised with the supple grace of a lesser blue heron feeding beside a still lake, and with a slight but audible exhalation, he began the opening passage leading into the Dragonet’s Dance. Hualiama almost lost her nerve. She knew his style! She knew this man’s music, for every master musician had their signature style, his being a particularly adept usage of his extraordinarily long fingers to produce sixteenth jumps–double-octaves–on the strings of his instrument. Consumed by shock, the royal ward jerked awkwardly into her opening steps. Graceless, awkward, her feet seemed weighed down with lead boots.
This would not do. She could not fail her mission at the first hurdle.
Reaching deep into the corridors of her memory, Lia summoned the snarky laughter of the dragonet she had loved. How Flicker had loved to roost on her shoulder, curving his hot belly around her neck while pretending to pick lice from her hair with his talons. When she danced for him, fire had saturated his eyes and his talons curled in delight. At the very last, the Ancient Dragon had bid her dance as a parting gift, and Lia had spun across his mighty paw even as she danced among the paws and knees of the Lesser Dragons now, and the fire–oh, the glorious white fire–had filled her up to her throat, and burned in her being as though she would never be cold again, and the dragonet’s fire-soul had taken wing to dance with her. Who else in history had danced for an Ancient Dragon?
Heat exploded in her chest. It rippled along her limbs, crackling from her toes as she soared into a graceful aerial flare, imitating a dragonet’s outspread wings. Lia shimmered with white-golden fire, and the world shimmered before her half-shuttered eyes. Faster. Hotter. Lighter on her feet, flitting like flames embracing a dry twig, weaving Flicker’s dragonet-song into her dance. Swooping low. Sprinting five steps before springing upward, a triple somersault flowing without need for thought, now a series of the tight pirouettes Flicker had so loved to show off, because even a bat could hold no bragging rights over a dragonet when it came to aerial dance skills.
Thus, Lia danced for the Dragons.
Visions overcame her. She was lighter than air, burning brighter, flying so high her slippers seemed to prance upon invisible cushions, now the finale, the volatile inner potential no longer able to be withheld. The Dragons would know her spirit? Then see this!
She landed, exultant, and found herself wreathed in flame.
Hualiama gasped, “What?”
She threw herself to the ground and rolled over and over, trying to snuff out the fire.
Chapter 7: The Halls of the Dragons
Panting inelegantly, CHOKED with fear, Lia lodged beneath the arch of a draconic paw.
“Hush, little one,” said a well-remembered voice. Magic soothed her as a babe had once been soothed by a Dragoness. The paw lifted.
Alive. She was alive, and hale. Pushing up to her knees, Hualiama rubbed her arms and patted her hair in disbelief. Great Islands! What had become of the fire? Why had she not burned up? That was rather more of her spirit than she suspected Sapphurion had bargained for, but as she looked up at the Blue Dragon, past Qualiana’s talons which were still curved protectively about her, she perceived a fearful glint in his eye.
Rising, she stepped out from beneath Qualiana’s brooding presence.
“How is it that six years ago, a diminutive girl was able to defeat the preeminent swordsman of Fra’anior Cluster?” the Blue Dragon growled.
She had to find her voice. Lia grated, “As you see, Sapphurion, I have power. I was taught the forms of Nuyallith by a master, and have made them my own.”
“As you battled for the Human kingdom, you accused Ra’aba of being your father.”
“He is my father.”
“Can you prove it?”
“He tried to murder me, and when he failed, he sent Razzior in his stead to burn me. Isn’t that proof enough?” Fire roared twenty feet from Sapphurion’s nostrils. Apparently not. Lia began, “Your records will show, mighty Sapphurion, that two decades ago, an envoy came from the East to Gi’ishior–”
The Blue Dragon thundered, “I don’t want fireside tales, I want proof!”
Aye, well said, growled Andarraz. Child of the Dragon, she called herself. I remember it well.
As the Dragon’s thunder subsided, Lia shouted, “That man killed my friend with ruzal; you promised me Dragon justice! What does it matter, unless Ra’aba is dead? He’s alive, isn’t he?”
“Insolent mite!” Sapphurion roared, pounding toward her. His massive paws shook the ground beneath her feet as though he beat an impossibly enormous drum. “How dare you accuse–”
“Her accusation rings true,” Qualiana snarled, right over the top of Lia’s head.
“Don’t interrupt!”
“Then speak, though it burns your pride!”
As Qualiana and Sapphurion’s fires mingled twenty feet above her head, Hualiama wanted to jump up and down, yelling, ‘I’m down here. Speak to me.’ In a moment she’d be squashed between two bickering Dragons and that would spell a messy end for the Dragonfriend. Yet suddenly, Sapphurion’s muzzle descended to waft the scorching breath of his nostrils across her face.
He hissed, “Ra’aba escaped.”
Qualiana sighed–and it was only that sigh which stopped Lia from screaming her fury to the five moons. Her father was alive! Fomenting discord, no doubt, contaminating Dragons with his strange mental powers … but she must remember why she had come. Sapphurion’s Island-roots ran deep. He would have his reasons for mistreating her like this. Could she forgive him? And navigate a way out of this terrace lake of strife she paddled in?
“My proof is that the Maroon Dragoness swears to my parentage,” she said, softly. “I can show you my memories as I did before, mighty Sapphurion.”
“Trust the word of Ianthine?” Tarbazzan the Brown interrupted. “What manner of fools do you take us for, girl?”
“Aye,” growled Andarraz. “A true word, mighty Tarbazzan. What if Ra’aba has taught her the power of ruzal? Is this not his scheme? What Human child would dare approach the Dragon Elders with such a ridiculous tale, had she not been coached? Child of the Dragon? Prophecies of a third great race in the Island-World? Slug spit and windroc droppings!”
He capped his speech with a gout of flame that he aimed upward, above the other Dragons.
Before Sapphurion could speak, Haaja added, “Memories are easily implanted. Ianthine has twisted your mind, child. Of course you believe her lies. That’s her power.”
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In a small voice, Hualiama said, “My mother is Azziala of–”
“The Dragon-Haters? I remember her,” said the Brown Dragon. “She left suddenly. Strange business.”
Balling her fists, Hualiama shouted, “Because Ra’aba assaulted her right here in your precious Halls of the Dragons, and you did nothing to protect her! Nothing!”
“Filthy accusations, you worm!” roared one of the Reds, pouncing.
Before she knew it, Qualiana’s paw snaffled her up and the Red Dragoness clashed with her fellow-Red, shoulder to shoulder, with an impact that rattled Hualiama’s teeth. The Dragons cuffed each other before Sapphurion charged between them, knocking the Reds apart with a surge of his magic.
There was a hot silence of panting, sulphur-tanged breaths and clenched claws.
From the safe haven of Qualiana’s paw, Lia called, “I remember returning in Ianthine’s paw and you, Qualiana–you rescued me from Ianthine and gave me to the Human King for adoption. These are not lies! Why would Ianthine carry a Human child halfway across the Island-World were there nothing to gain by it?”
“Why indeed?” said Zulior, looking to Sapphurion for his lead.
It’s impossible! How could that shape-twister be her father? Andarraz demanded. Is there more to this ruzal than we suspect? The Maroon Dragoness roams free. No Dragon is safe …
Silence! Sapphurion commanded. Even these walls have ears.
Mercy! Pray that the Dragons thought her speeding heart was merely due to anger or fear, and not the terrifying knowledge that Ianthine had escaped her draconic imprisonment. No wonder Amaryllion had feared for her safety.
The Blue Dragon loomed over her. “How can we trust one touched by ruzal?”
“I gave my gift in good faith …” Lia’s voice trailed off under the force of his glare. Her temper finally boiled over. “Why do I sense I’m the only one trying to help Grandion here?”
“Do not speak that traitor’s name–”
She screamed, “What kind of father are you? What father abandons his child, and tries to murder them?”
