Tytiana

by Marc Secchia

  Now, surely that was a service to royal Immadia of which any Dragon could be proud?

  Better still, the Albino Shapeshifter might decide not to perform extreme surgery on his guts after all. He must still be a few Islands off earning the moniker ‘noble Dragon,’ but – how’s about you go help clean up the mess you just created? And, his capacious Dragon stomach apparently agreed most earnestly with the notion of downing another trout. Delicious!

  About two hours later, give or take, and three more trout put to their eternal rest – the remainder of the displaced fish, he magnanimously decided to leave for the staff – he heard the dulcet tones of the Princess echoing throughout the watery basement, “Oh, Shapeshifter Jakani, do come out and face your fate.”

  He swore beneath his breath. Alright. Time to be a man. A Dragon.

  There she was, standing Dragoness-resplendent in the damp courtyard, her neck proudly arched and her wings settled back in a position of rest. Jakani slunk up the steps. ‘Come on, son. Straight spine, full of honour and integrity,’ his father would have said. Please let him be able to fly back to Helyon soon and set his family’s worries to rest. Isimi must be beside herself.

  Pausing upon the top step, he genuflected as Flicker had taught him, wings outspread and respectfully lowered. “O Princess Shalanya, most sorely have I wronged thee,” he heard himself say. Somewhere inside of him, a Dirt Picker was wondering at his Dragon’s formality. “Yet not all was for ill. How may I make restitution?”

  Fierce and bold she stared him down, but it was only for a moment. Even as his head began to dip, he heard the Princess of Immadia break into piping, undraconic peals of merriment. “O Jakani, you are a treasure!” she cried. “Out of foolery and sheer wilfulness, you have granted me a gift beyond imagination and I simply have no words to express my gratitude. I have release! The freedom of flying amongst rainbows! I have a Dragon power no-one has ever heard of, not even Flicker, and to see that poor old dragonet’s stupefaction when we worked out where you had gone –” she switched to the Dragonish tongue to fully express her gladness – oh, noble Jakani, my heart sings for the beauty of life unfolded before me!

  Well! One Jakani, speechless.

  Unfurling her wingtip, she reached out to caress his muzzle. “If ever you tire of this troublesome Tytiana, may I be first in line?”

  “Princess!” he choked out.

  Even her Dragoness managed to dimple at his expression. “I know true-fires love when I see it. But I will have my one kiss from the devious yet gallant Dragon, who will evermore be my hero.”

  Stepping forward, the Princess of Immadia lowered her muzzle and kissed him upon the cheek. Softly, as if speaking to the glory of the rising suns, she added, “The ancient blessings of Fra’anior the Ineffable Onyx be ever thine, o Jakani the Onyx-Gold, the suns unfailingly gladden to behold thy draconic splendour, and the melody of love fill thine days with rapture sweet.”

  He bowed as deeply as he could and came within a whisker of toppling upon his nose. “Likewise, o Princess.”

  “Now, let’s go rescue your beloved, this maiden of living fires.”

  * * * *

  There was thunder in the distance. A storm brewing. Tytiana grimaced as she practised flying low, finally having discovered a way of extending herself to include simple dragonfly-like wings sprouting between her shoulders that finally brought some stability to her hitherto less than impressive efforts. Could she fit out of those vents, she wondered? She must not clue these Dragons in to her burgeoning skills. Always the fire. Everything about her abilities and skills seemed to be keyed in to fire – quite unlike what Adazara had given her to expect. She herself was malleable fire.

  What crazy kind of Dragon magic was this?

  Whoever had first nicknamed her Tytiana the Red must surely in that instant have been touched by prophetic foresight …

  The thunder growled again. With it, she heard the Dragons concealed within the cavern stir restively, and one called out a sharp command, “Hold! The battle is not yet at paw.”

  A battle! Did the pirate cabals now gather?

  Bringing herself to a skimming halt, Tytiana paused beside her garment and then quickly gathered up the egg and cloth with a nervous swoop. That was not thunder, it was the sound of Dragons bellowing at each other followed now by a series of faint, faraway detonations that she imagined must be fireballs striking the Islands or their fortifications. Palming the egg, she deftly tugged the garment over her head. Maybe she’d burn it to cinders in the first rush of fire, but at least the Choice of House Cyraxana would face the enemy with an appearance of decency.

  To the egg, she said, This time I’ll be ready, little one. Are you with me?

  A delicate, muffled sneeze trembled the ovoid in her palm.

  I’ll take that for aye.

  Chapter 24: Heavens Weeping Fireballs

  SHALANYA STARED DAGGERS at Flicker, clearly unable or unwilling to voice her thoughts. The white dragonet drew himself up self-importantly. “Why, I took your grandmother into battle, I did,” he announced. “I think I can handle this little aerial squabble.”

  Jakani winced. Flicker had more snark in him than twenty Dragons. Was this plain arrogance, or was the whole persona just for show?

  Pla’arna Cluster, which had just come into sight after the crossing from Gemalka at which they had rejoined the Immadian forces, was crawling with Dragons. Bronzed peaks jutted strangely out of the Cloudlands out there; his Human eyes struggled to resolve details through a dark-bronze patina that seemed to hang over the area. Pollution? No, volcanic smoke and dust, more likely. He saw several conical peaks billowing briskly over in the north-east quarter. Steadily, Immadian Dragonships swept toward a scattered jumble of toothy peaks and brooding, shattered crevasses. Foreboding tightened his chest. The dark Cluster was about to convulse with the battle he sensed brewing here.

  “A little squabble?” the Princess echoed faintly. “This has to be every Dragon north of Yorbik, noble Flicker.”

  “Picayune pipsqueaks prancing about their playpen,” he snorted. Jakani looked at Shalanya. She mouthed, ‘fancy word for small.’ Oh. Flicker continued, “Exactly. So be at peace, my shimmering star of the Northern skies. Not one of them wants to tangle with these lovely purple banners we’re flying. We are royal Immadia, save one grubby stowaway from Helyon.”

  “Don’t the pirates hate Immadia?” Jakani asked.

  “They’re worried we’re packing a Star Dragoness who will blow them all into stardust.”

  “Well, won’t they scoff when they see me?” Shalanya said bitterly. “Maybe I’ll just teleport them all to the bottom of the Cloudlands. Fly well!”

  “That, or flirt violently with them,” Flicker advised sagely. “You’re not half bad-looking as a Dragoness, Princess. Any of those bruisers out there would take you for a stunning catch.”

  “I’ll stun them alright! Gnarrr …”

  While his companions debated a flirtation-based battle strategy, Jakani gazed out through the forward crysglass windows and scratched the unfamiliar material of his black Specialist uniform. He sensed her. Even in his Human form, he sensed those matchless fires not far from his grasp, but it was as if Tytiana were a scent wafting upon the breeze, impossible to pinpoint, fascinating and fey and all too fleeting. Somewhere amidst these thousands of broken Islands there must be a clue as to her whereabouts.

  He eyed the disposition of the enemy forces. Even with his untrained eye, the main groups were obvious. A towering fleet of Helyon Dragonships kept to a tight formation above a cluster of Islands perhaps two miles ahead of him, while members of their Human forces appeared to have fortified a number of those tall, bleak-looking peaks poking out of the Cloudlands like a copse of petrified trees. The rock formations certainly were peculiar, reaching and twisting upwards and sideways like gnarled roots of granite. With a storm looming in the East and Dragons circling every which way, the even the weather seemed to be conspiring to encourage the inevitable
conflict.

  He had struggled to tell the Dragonkind apart at first, until Flicker had pointed out the Merxxian Heavy Dragonwing with their distinctive silver-linked metal Dragon armour making them fly more slowly, as they supported the Helyon forces mainly to the south. Their superior discipline showed in the dense, inch-perfect formations they flew. Some of their bigger beasts wore complicated harnesses that sprouted diverse catapults manned by Human crews, capable of firing disabling shrapnel or firing six-foot steel quarrels great distances. Shiver! Arrayed before them – between the fourteen Immadian Dragonships and the Helyon forces – were four distinct Dragonwings, the pirate cabals. Centre-east and centre-west were the Morazi and Death cabals, while farther around to the southwest the dangerous Talix lurked; opposite them to the southeast were the ragtag ranks of the Crimson Talons.

  Aerial combat looked far more technical and hazardous than he had imagined.

  Just now Morazi and Death were ‘flexing their muscles’ as Flicker politely put it, essentially arguing over which of their evenly matched forces would take on the might of Helyon. Smoke already drifted upon the wind as the massive Dragons thundered and clashed with each other in a loose, rolling rumpus, soon drawing blood but not doing each other lethal damage. Not just yet.

  Jakani totted up estimated numbers, helping one of the Immadian Specialists as she jotted down tactical notes on a scrap of scrolleaf. The Merxxian force was seventy Dragons strong. Morazi and Death each fielded perhaps eighty battle-ready Dragons, the Talix but three dozen, and the Crimson Talons, upward of a hundred beasts. Shifty movement here and there upon and between the Islands betrayed other Dragons watching and waiting; perhaps those of no allegiance or additional concealed forces that might rise to sway the course of a developing battle. As for Helyon, they flew no identifying colours, but he assumed their thirty-four armoured and fortified Dragonships, stationed at altitudes of up to three miles above the Cloudlands to provide heavy covering fire from their powerful multi-firing catapult and net-casting slingshot emplacements, must somehow belong to High Master Juzzakarr – at least, that was the rumour on the winds.

  Juzzakarr was here to set the Dragons at each other’s throats.

  Lowering of suns, the late afternoon seemed bronze-etched, casting the Islands of Pla’arna into this baleful metallic cast that so unaccountably disturbed him. Jakani could not make sense of his feelings. Perhaps it was the scent of smoke or the anticipation of his first battle. Perhaps it was the high stakes. Why could he not locate Tytiana? Was she being hidden aboard a Dragonship or down on one of those Islands? Was she being kept prisoner? What was the High Master’s strategy?

  The Dragons were mostly Reds, Yellows and Greens, with a smattering of Blues and Browns. Jakani eventually picked out the heavily armoured Adazara the Teal amongst the Dragons of Merxx, but of Excorion, there was no sign. Why? He was about to point this out to his companions when Flicker elbowed him sharply in the ribs and exclaimed:

  “Watch the Talons, boy!”

  “Why?”

  “They’re drifting. Watch and learn. It’s all calculated to look random.” Flicker had ordered him to remain behind the crysglass so that he could be less easily identified. Now his hoary white paw tapped upon the armoured sheet glass excitedly. “We’re about to see some action.”

  True. Now that Flicker mentioned it, the ragtag cloud of Dragons slowly circling a position he had picked out above an Island that looked like a twisted claw canted at fifty degrees from the vertical, was slowly drifting toward the Morazi flank. Ever so casual.

  Suddenly, the very wrath of the heavens lit up the Morazi Dragons. Jakani gasped, “How?”

  A hundred strong, the Talons manoeuvred like a flock of sparrows startled by a hawk, hammering single Dragons they had somehow picked out of the masses in teams of three or four. Crimson fireballs streaked the afternoon skies as the thunderous rumbling generated by the conflict reached his ears. The Reds and Oranges attacked with their powerful fiery breath that majored on signature fireballs, fire spears, molten lava and even blazing lassoes that tangled up wings or tightened around bodies, inflicting terrible wounds as they persisted for several tens of seconds. Several stricken Dragons immediately tumbled out of the sky; one pair was tangled up and still scrapping as they fell into the grey Cloudlands and vanished from sight. He saw the shimmering of Blue Dragon shields like waves of heat rising from a stony, exposed road, and a devastating ice attack that stitched a Green’s flank with spears of ice so large, his Human eyes could perceive them from this distance.

  Flame rose behind his dry-socketed eyes and seared his throat. Unnh, I –

  Peace, Jakani, Shalanya said, reaching up to grip his shoulder with a surprisingly strong hand. Dragoness. Of course. You are experiencing the battle-readiness of draconic emotions. Do not deny what you feel. Rather, channel your rage, readiness and rising potentials into your senses, and search again for Tytiana. Flicker, what say you we wing over at a suitable juncture and speak with this High Master Juzzakarr?

  One thing, Jakani remembered abruptly. Odd. How had this remembrance slipped into his mind, if not from the very emotions that were sharpening his senses right now? Juzzakarr always wears a strange, and I have to say, really creepy red ruby upon his chest.

  Indeed? said Flicker.

  One word was all that was required in Dragonish to express a wide range of connotations, and so Jakani knew at once that the dragonet’s interest was piqued, that this intelligence may well be vital, and that Flicker suspected the High Master of foul play. Tytiana had mentioned the same sensation, he remembered, while they had been travelling North with Excorion.

  After describing the gem as best he could, he said, “When I noticed it, I had a really weird sensation right in here.” He touched his chest. “Tytiana also stressed that when Juzzakarr handled the gemstone, it made her feel vulnerable. Like a soul’s chill, she said. That’s what I sensed just now.”

  Flicker reached up, and then said crossly, “Kneel, you grubby wretch. I can’t reach. We need to check if there’s any influence on you right now.”

  “What … kind of influence?” Jakani asked.

  Shalanya said, “Without an inordinate amount of explanation for which we don’t have time right now, noble Jakani, suffice it to say that Dramagon the Red liked to leave fragments of his evil power lying about the Island-World as nasty surprises to lure in the unwary, particularly the unwary possessed of magical power or eager to gain it for themselves, and to turn them to his purposes – spiritually, mentally, emotionally and most of all, magically speaking. The nastiest gifts, he liked to pass on to his favourite servants. Rings, brooches, enchanted weapons, scrolls of profane lore, and suchlike. Keepsakes.”

  “So, that gem – Juzzakarr isn’t …”

  “We don’t know,” said the Princess. “He might be a Shapeshifter himself. He might wield great power, say, over those mercenaries by virtue of some bequest of Dramagon’s, or the gemstone might have been passed down through the family without particular knowledge of its powers, for generations.”

  “Tytiana did call him strangely ambitious. Also, Adazara didn’t think he was a Dragon.”

  Shalanya said, “You mean the same Adazara who works for him?”

  Tiny and cute she might be, with her baby-pink eyes and sweetly rounded features, but sometimes she seemed as old as the foundations of the very Islands.

  Jakani cleared his throat. “Alright. I feel foolish now.”

  “Very good. Despite the granite cranium, this pitiful wretch might actually be teachable,” Flicker complimented him in his typically back-handed, or was that back-pawed, way. “Turn around and watch the battle, noble Jakani. Learn.”

  Truth be told, he had been watching out of the corner of his eye all along. At first the Morazi had seemed surprised and about to be rolled up, chewed thoroughly and spat out, being quickly struck in the rear by the Dragons of the Death cabal, but on that battlefront there seemed to be far less damage. As the minutes tick
ed by, punctuated by immense battle roars, the detonations of exploding fireballs and the sharp skiss! of lightning attacks that left jagged streaks across his vision, he began to see a pattern developing. The great beasts tangled in a mêlée that had to span two vertical miles, and approximately one mile in diameter. Now and again scuffles spun off this seething mass of bodies. He saw wings ripped and fangs champing bloody holes into supposedly armoured Dragon hide, fireballs blasted into faces and deft ambushes sprung from dark holes amidst those rat-chewed Islands. But on the whole, the Talons appeared to be having the worst of it from both sets of foes.

  Meantime, he felt a whisper against his mind. Don’t … he began.

  Don’t you trust me to meddle with your mind? Shalanya said archly. Ouch. I’ll be just as careful as you were with me. By the way, remind me to teach you how ward constructs actually work. I find it incredible that you achieved what you did hacking around with an antiquated and largely discredited technique.

  Maybe that’s why it worked on your sophisticated brain? he suggested.

  Oh Jakani, how you make me blush.

  Suffering caroli, one comment like that and Tytiana would attack this tiny Princess like a feral Askarmyn Tiger rending her dinner.

  That image was rather more pleasing than it ought to have been.

  Without warning, the whole battle seemed to implode and then reconfigure itself. Suddenly it was the Crimson Talons under huge pressure as Death and Morazi both rounded upon them with terrible savagery. Jakani’s heart stood in his throat as the carnage unfolded. Trapped! Suckered! The largely Red Dragonwings fragmented as two, three and four attackers pounded individuals simultaneously, and suddenly there were stricken Dragons plummeting from the skies and attempting to limp off, heavily injured but pursued to the death. He saw a Dragon with one wing bitten off at the root, golden blood visibly spurting from the major arteries which would have fed the thousands of ancillary wing muscles, being attacked even when grounded. Three burly Browns destroyed the enemy creature.