by Marc Secchia
Come morning, the Dragonship was still there. Closer.
Elki employed one of Lia’s swords as a mirror to help him trim his beard. “They’re making good speed for a trader, aren’t they?”
“Very good.”
“I fear neither man nor beast, for my sister’s the best Dragonship pilot of Fra’anior Cluster.”
Hualiama favoured this with a withering glare. “Aye? Do I know thee, thou suddenly complimentary Prince of the Towering Volcano?”
“Fine, o irresponsible imp, who boasts the temper of a rajal with a wasp stuck up its left nostril, and whose hair that resembles an unwashed goat’s pelt. Better?”
“No! I’m pedalling.”
“Oh, what are you peddling, most winsome of wenches?”
“WENCH?” Her roar staggered Elki and it also hurt her throat. Hualiama dropped her gaze, thinking, ‘Mercy … the magic’s turning me into a freak.’ She grumbled, “Sorry.”
They spent the day in a curious, silent race. No amount of adjusting sails or feeding the turbines gained them a single foot. The trailing Dragonship drew closer–given as it was five times their size, they could probably afford fifteen men at a time on the manual turbines, fondly called the back-breaker, working in hourly shifts. Over a long haul, Hualiama knew their extra power would prove decisive, unless the wind picked up. There was neither sign of wind, nor of a handy squall in the cloudless skies. If that Dragonship was a trader, she was a bearded goat. The decreased distance allowed her to make out twin catapult emplacements, unusually, placed on a frame alongside the side-mounted turbines, and three war crossbows spaced in front of the forward crysglass windows. No trader packed that much heavy weaponry–perhaps a smuggler, but that made them a rajal’s whisker short of pirates, in her opinion.
All they needed to see now was the red rajal pennant of a pirate.
Overnight, the chase continued. Come dawn, with the Dragonships a hundred leagues east of Syros in the vast gap between the Islands, the pirates showed their colours. They were just a few hundred feet astern and gaining every minute.
“Up we go,” said Lia. “I’ve read that there’s more wind at higher altitudes.”
“But doesn’t the cold reduce our lifting power?” asked Elki. “Won’t we burn too much fuel?”
“If we run out, we’ll burn your favourite shirt,” she replied. “Set aside three cords of wood and bring the rest over here.”
Carrying thinly to them on the wind, a voice cried, “Stand to!”
Hualiama growled, “Stand frigging nothing. You let me aboard your Dragonship, I’ll beard the bunch of you.” She caught Elki, wincing, stroking his facial hair. “Ready? Hold on.”
She smacked the turbine controls and hauled in the sails simultaneously. The Dragonship lurched into a rapid ascent, landing Elki in a heap atop the firewood. The gap opened rapidly as the more manoeuvrable solo Dragonship powered aloft. Far from complaining, her brother began to hand firewood up to her as the airship’s nose pointed at the sky.
The pursuing vessel tilted upward. They distinctly heard the beat of the turbines pick up.
“Pray for wind,” said Hualiama.
Four hours later with no improvement in the wind, the bigger Dragonship ran them down. A little man hopped up and down on the forward gantry, between a dozen or so heavily-armed fellows, screaming, “Stand to! Stand to!”
To a man, they wore an unfamiliar style of banded armour, and had long, raven-black hair that they wore tied at the base of the neck with a leather thong. Their slant-eyed, steely regard came from faces high in the cheekbone and pinched in the cheek, and their skins were noticeably sallower than her tan Fra’aniorian tones.
“Shall we warm up the hunting bow?” asked Lia.
“Down!” Elki pulled her down as a six-foot crossbow quarrel buzzed toward them, puncturing the sack just above their heads.
“The next one will burn you with fire!” yelled the man.
“Odd little fellow, but he does have my full attention,” Elki drawled. “Where’s he from, do you think? Are they all that small in the East?” Cupping his hands, he shouted across the divide, “What do you want with us? Piracy is outlawed among the Islands.”
“I don’t see any Islands,” came the answer. “Now, stand to and prepare to be boarded, for I am the dread pirate-lord Qilong, scourge of twenty-two Islands!”
Elki stiffened, trying not to laugh. From the corner of his mouth, he whispered, “Am I mistaken, or did he just extol the size of his manhood?”
“Qilong,” Lia chortled. “And, only twenty-two Islands? Not much of a pirate, is he?”
“He’s the pirate aiming a bushel of weaponry at us,” Elki noted. “That gives him all the bragging rights, in my opinion. Now, we’re not carrying much of value apart from you, my infinitely precious sister–” he quirked an eyebrow at Lia “–so why don’t we just talk nicely to him, and hope he’ll let us go?”
“Aye, because when he learns we’re runaway royals of Fra’anior, he’s not going to want a ransom, oh no.”
“Oh. No.”
“Indeed. I’ve a better idea. We’re going to board him.”
“My ralti-stupid sister is planning to attack a pirate vessel stuffed to the eyeballs with vicious, bloodthirsty brigands?”
Hualiama puffed out her cheeks. “I knew the compliments wouldn’t last. Aye. That’s my plan.”
From fifty feet aft and below them, the short, dark-haired pirate cried, “Qilong, masterful pirate-lord of thirty-six Islands, demands you stand to, or he shall feed your sorry carcasses to the windrocs!”
“Not the sharpest stick in the bundle, is he?” said Lia. “Hold on, and when I say hold on, do it properly this time.”
Shutting off the flow to the turbines, Lia punched the release for the spinnaker. She let out the side-sails, and gripped the emergency gas release. The effect was as if she had thrown out an air-anchor. The pirate vessel was steaming along happily when their intended victim stalled in the air. As the larger dirigible surged beneath them, Lia yanked the gas release cord. Shweesshhh! The balloon deflated as though torn by a Dragon’s claw. They dropped right on top of the enemy vessel’s hot air sack.
The Princess of Fra’anior rapidly uncoiled a length of rope and tied it to one of her Dragonship’s hawsers. “Make sure I don’t pull us right off the top, alright?”
Elki’s lips curled as though she had force-fed him a mouthful of rancid haribol fruit. “Lia–”
“Dread pirate-lord of ten Islands?” she yelled.
“Aye, I’m Qilong!” came from below.
Lia wound the rope about her right wrist, crossing it several times to prevent slippage. She gripped the free end in the same hand. “Let’s hope this works as planned.”
Orienting on the sound, she ran over the nose of the pirate Dragonship and leaped into space. The rope snapped taut, wrenching her forearm, but the armoured wristlet could resist worse punishment than a rope-burn. Lia swung back in, accelerating with the drop, drawing her knees up to her chest. She sped right between the crossbow emplacements.
Hualiama had a half-second to revel in Qilong’s shocked expression before she kicked out, booting the dread pirate-lord of an uncertain number of Islands right through the forward crysglass panels of his Dragonship.
Chapter 11: The Men of Merx
SHards EXPLODED IN Lia’s face as she and the pirate-captain smashed through the crysglass, which thankfully was a thinner, inferior variety compared to the reinforced type used by her father’s Dragonships of war. The momentum bundled her over his body. Hualiama fetched up against the helm, a wide, spoked wheel under the command of a man-mountain, quite the largest Human she had ever laid eyes upon. Despite the coal-black of his eyes, his orbs appeared to blaze at her from their narrow slits in his rotund face.
Quick. Shaking glass out of her hair, Lia reached for Qilong.
Her head jerked backward as something snagged her hair. An irresistible force hauled Hualiama into the air by her brai
d. Dangling, she still attempted a swipe at Qilong, but missed. She swung instead for the huge man, but he blocked her strike with a forearm which had to have an inch of armour wrapped around it. The Nuyallith blade spun from her numbed fingers.
“What shall I do with the little dragonet, master?” rumbled the man.
Qilong picked himself up gingerly, evidently ruing the force of that kick. Lia reached at once for her daggers, but an arm the size of her torso clamped her to the man’s chest. Mercy, she had no idea how many sackweight he weighed, but it had to be at least ten of an undersized royal ward. She was helpless.
“Who dares attack Qilong, frightful pirate-captain of thirty-nine Islands?” wheezed the pirate captain.
An Ancient Dragon’s name burned inside of her. Perhaps it would not be the smartest move to rip apart the Dragonship which kept them above the Cloudlands, however. If they had hydrogen sacks amongst the hot air sacks, then she might just finish them all in a suns-hot fireball.
She blustered, “Desist from this attack, Qilong, or I shall use the force of my magic to blow your Dragonship into the Cloudlands.”
Qilong nodded slightly. Just as from the corner of her eye Lia saw Elki descending on a second rope on the port side of the Dragonship’s navigation cabin, a huge, meaty paw smashed down on the top of her head. Blackness snatched her away.
* * * *
Lia’s eyes fluttered open to behold the opulent hangings of a bed fit for royalty. Four posts reached the cabin’s ceiling. The bedframe was swathed in fabric decorated with unfamiliar lake scenes and creatures she had no words for, being part-person and part-fish. The mattress could have served for a Dragon’s couch–well, perhaps a hatchling’s couch. More worryingly, she found herself shackled hand and foot to those sturdy bedposts, leaving her splayed helplessly in the centre of the vast, plush bed.
Rapidly, Lia took stock of her situation. Her weapons lay on a hand-carved jalkwood desk on the far side of the cabin. Every feature and fitting boasted the utmost luxury, from the fabulous paintings covering every square inch of available wall, to the golden, jewel-encrusted navigational instruments lying beside a magnificently illuminated map, fully fifteen feet long and ten high, that dominated the wall to her left. An oddly shaped sack lay next to the desk. Did it hold a person? A captive, like her?
Elki breezed in through the doorway. “Awake, sister?”
She stared at her brother. No chains, no bruises, and heaps of that attitude which invariably infuriated her and drove his mother up the proverbial Island cliff.
“So, how was your one-woman assault on the splendid flagship of Qilong’s fleet, he who is the most notorious pirate-lord of fifty-six Islands?” As he spoke, Elki casually scratched his ear. No, cupped it. A listener?
Hualiama bit back words which would undoubtedly have scorched the air. “Ill-conceived?”
Elki grinned encouragingly. “And, as a weak-willed female, you tremble in fear of the titanic bane of the Islands, the formidable and enigmatic Qilong?” Lia’s tested the chains, but she was well and truly secured. “You abase yourself, puny and worthless female, before his majestic presence, do you not?”
Why the hyperbolic insults? Lia ventured, “I … do. Er, who’s in the sack?”
Elki shook his head. “The sack contains another vacillating example of the fragile female kind.” The sack made muffled screeches of protest, as though it hid a windroc rather than a person. “Qilong’s future bride, I believe. In the sack, so to speak.” Lia was not certain, but it did sound as though the sack’s inhabitant was making gagging noises. So, she knew Qilong? Perhaps she could be an ally.
“Now, the indescribably mighty Qilong will practice his skills at ravishing ladies upon you, my gentle sister.”
Lia’s jaw dropped. Before she could protest Elki’s rapscallion wink, the door slammed open and the petite pirate captain swaggered in. He wore highly polished, knee-high boots over purple and yellow striped tights. A flowing maroon shirt covered his upper body, so broad and muscular in the shoulder that Hualiama could only imagine that the fates had gifted him that stalwart frame in recompense for his lack of height. Multiple knife-laden bandoliers criss-crossed his chest, while no less than three swords and a war-hammer hung from his broad leather belt.
“I am Qilong, dread pirate-lord of ninety-one Islands!” he roared, standing legs akimbo at the foot of the bed. “Prepare to be ravished, o scrumptious strumpet!”
Blast him, behind Qilong her brother smiled genially, while a selection of Qilong’s men trooped in, including the man-mountain who had given her a massive headache. They were not the motley collection of gap-toothed rascals and scraggly-haired ruffians she had expected from a pirate crew. Too neat. Too straight-backed. Lia frowned, but became distracted when the sack hissed viciously. This evidently prompted Qilong to strike another martial pose.
“Behold, my future wife!” he boomed, flicking his shoulder-length, jet-black hair back from his face in a clearly rehearsed gesture.
Lia could barely summon her powers of speech. It did not help that Elki was contorting his face into what appeared to be a selection of the shapes of the known Islands, while the pirate crew, to a man, sniggered behind their hands. Now Elki held a finger to his lips. Be quiet? What in all the hellish fires of a Cloudlands volcano was going on? She was not about to lie about idly while some pirate popinjay exercised his nasty fantasies on her for the entertainment of his crew!
Why was she still fully dressed?
Addressing the bed-hangings with gusto, Qilong demanded, “Declare to me, o weeping maiden, what is the antidote for the poison with which your darts secreted in your … your … um, in there–” he waved in the direction of her left foot “–laid my men low?”
His men had raided her bodice? Her expression must have resembled thunder, because Elki turned as pale as freshly sheared ralti wool. He made a series of increasingly desperate ‘simmer down’ gestures. So, the men wanted to play games, did they? This Princess had an inkling of how she might turn the situation to her advantage. Hopefully, a few hints Master Ga’athar had given her about Eastern culture might just save her hide.
And she would destroy her brother later.
Hualiama pursed her lips. “Oh unimaginably puissant master of one hundred and eight Islands, wilt thou not ravish thy unwilling captive?”
“At once!” shouted Qilong. “Er … what are you doing with your lips?”
“Preparing to be ravished.”
His dramatically outflung hand quivered. “What do you mean?”
“Ravishing means we touch lips,” Lia smiled. Smirked, really. Perfect. “We exchange saliva.”
“Ew!” squealed the dread pirate-lord.
“Of course! Every maiden longs with bated breath for the touch of a terrible pirate’s lips upon hers.”
Hurt failed to describe what she’d do to Elki. She’d tie his foot to a rope and drag him backwards through a swamp, and may the leeches infest his armpits like clumps of ripe prekki-fruit! She would practise her carving skills on his thick skull until she had a decent trophy she could use as a candle-holder in her room. And that was just a start!
Qilong’s expression suggested he had discovered a Dragoness in his bed. “You want me to … no. That’s vile!” He screwed up his face. “The diseases I’d catch … no. Unspeakable!”
“Ravish me, o dread pirate–”
With a sob, his courage snapped and Qilong bolted out of the cabin, shrieking in what sounded suspiciously akin to mortal terror. Most of his men filed out after him, sighing or shaking their heads. One remained, who frowned as Hualiama rattled her chains purposely.
“First Mate Genzo, my lady.” He bowed curtly in her direction, barely a nod of the head. “As you can tell, we’re a pirate vessel of a somewhat unusual nature.” Although his Island Standard was heavily accented, Genzo’s delivery was grammatically perfect and mellifluous, as though he chose to deliver his phrases with the skill of a trained singer. “The chains must remain.
Please accept my apologies in this matter, but His Royal Highness Prince Qilong of the Kingdom of Kaolili might otherwise fling himself into the Cloudlands should he encounter you unexpectedly in a corridor.”
Elki offered a typically Fra’aniorian flourish with his bow. “My dearly chained sister, I believe your honour is hardly imperilled in this situation–”
“Apart from fifty other lusty crewmembers, no!” Her sarcasm could have stunned a Dragon. Her brother flushed. “Pray explain about the poor girl in the sack, Elki, if I was to be the appetiser to the main course?”
The First Mate disagreed, “Oh no, the Prince has declared you are his new best love, Hualiama.”
The sack fiercely disputed this idea.
“He’s enamoured with what he calls your golden suns-beams hair,” Elki explained, drawing a further stifled howl from the other prisoner.
Lia snorted, “If he knew what he was up against–ah. Ahem.” Now was hardly the moment to mention Grandion. “So, how can we return his attention to the smelly old sack over there?”
Genzo scratched his short, pointed goatee and grunted, “Don’t know. His father will execute us on the spot if His Highness returns without the courage demanded of a citizen of the Kingdom of Kaolili. The girl in the sack seemed a good plan at the time.” His despondency was matched only by the person in the sack beating their head repeatedly against the cabin wall. “Turns out she was a maiden, alright, but she hails from a warrior tribe of Eali Island. The pirates we pinched her from planned to sell her to a secret gladiator society down in Sylakia. You know, fights to the death, weaponless women pitted against starving rajals. Barbarians. Wouldn’t know honour if it punched out their teeth.” He spat accurately on Elki’s boot.
The Prince of Fra’anior took this perfectly in his stride. He spat back at Genzo, missing his target, however.
“So,” Lia mused. “Would it be honourable if I could convince sack-lady to marry Prince Qilong?”
The First Mate made a universally rude gesture. “You can try. He’s an–” he mouthed the word, ‘idiot.’
