I Am Dragon

Fear the talon that carves your doom!

Dragon Fires Rising: Book 2

By Marc Secchia

Copyright © 2021 onward Marc Secchia

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

www.marcsecchia.com

www.dragonsglory.com

Map © 2020 onward Marc Secchia

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Table of Contents

I Am Dragon

Table of Contents

Map of Solixambria

Chapter 1: White Flame

Chapter 2: Princess Power

Chapter 3: Aloft

Chapter 4: Ocean Always Rises

Chapter 5: Terror Clan

Chapter 6: Water Fire

Chapter 7: Fly High

Chapter 8: Blergh

Chapter 9: For Shame

Chapter 10: Fires Burn Bright

Chapter 11: Rushing On

Chapter 12: Rains in Amboraine

Chapter 13: Royal Visit

Chapter 14: Dragon Fires Rising

Chapter 15: Honourable Pillaging

Chapter 16: Beginning of the End

Chapter 17: Orphan Smiths

Chapter 18: Ocean Bright

Chapter 19: Ocean’s Calling

Chapter 20: Until Mornine

Chapter 21: Sea Serpent

Chapter 22: Fate’s Talon

Chapter 23: Wave Dragonhome

Chapter 24: Trouble’s Odour

Chapter 25: Fiery Nuptials

Chapter 26: What Aria Sang

Chapter 27: New Dragon

Chapter 28: Riders Aloft!

Chapter 29: The Gift of Fire

Chapter 30: Dark Fortress

Chapter 31: Talon Magic

Chapter 32: A King to Save

Chapter 33: Sunshine

Chapter 34: The Little Prince

Chapter 35: Old Friends

Chapter 36: Calling Afar

Chapter 37: To the Point

Chapter 38: New Beginnings

Chapter 39: Ocean, Arise!

About the Author

Map of Solixambria

Chapter 1: White Flame

DRAGON AND PRINCESS SKIMMED over the Obsidian Desert, tracking the retreat of a defeated, broken Skartunese army. Weapons, armour and bodies littered the footprints and occasional paw print that wound southward between the dunes. Not all of the bodies had stopped moving, but the dense flocks of black crows and bald-headed vultures acted unfussy about the general twitchiness of their meals. The macabre feast had reached a deafening pitch of jollity, if one was a carrion bird.

The meat course was not so cheerful.

Thin shrieks drifted up to the mismatched pair as they arrowed across a dawn painted crimson by the giant red sun, Ignis. As the sun peeked over the horizon, mighty crimson flares burst from its corona, visible to the draconic eye.

Dragon adjusted his spectacles self-consciously. “I do wish I could show you the sun’s flaming, Princess.”

“Trust you to be taking in the glories of the suns rather than the goriness of the scenery, Dragon,” said she, touching his head fondly with her slim, dark hand.

He said, “When an artist stands accused of not knowing the difference between black sand and even more black sand, the situation is dire indeed.”

“I shudder in horror.”

What an incongruous moment. Dragon shook his muzzle, considering the peculiarity of a mighty Dragon, formerly of the Devastator Dragon Clan of the Tamarine Mountains, actually carrying a Human upon his neck. Worse, by his sire’s egg, he called her his Dragon Rider. The histories might not look fondly upon this ebullient excess of chutzpah. Neither the Dragon nor the Human histories.

His Dragon Rider, by full title, Her Royal Highness the Princess Azania N’gala of T’nagru, the Black Rose of the Desert, was not the sort of character to lose sleep over such niceties. Leaning forward against his neck, the tiny royal pointed ahead.

“A Dragon.”

“Aye. Doesn’t look good.”

He slowed so that they could examine the fallen Dragon from the air. All too clearly, it was too late for this creature. His flanks no longer rose and fell; the fires of life had fled his eyes.

The Dragon still wore the slave cage upon his head.

Dragon shuddered despite himself. “Let’s fly on. We have to save the others.”

“Go, Dragon.”

A soul’s heaviness shivered in her voice.

They were both exhausted following the conclusion of a long battle the previous day. With the siege on N’ginta Citadel broken and the Kingdom of T’nagru saved from being ravaged by the merciless Skartun, they had barely had a chance to rest before setting out to rescue the five Dragon thralls taken back into the desert by the retreating army.

Why was their course veering more and more to the East?

Pumping his wings, he accelerated into the chase, ignoring a plethora of aches and pains that accompanied his every attempt to move or breathe. It even hurt to think. Fire check? Aye. His breath rasped in a throat as dry as the tall, sweeping dunes below and his newly opened stomach blazed with pain, despite his having drunk well before they set out.

Every self-respecting Dragon ought to obey his Princess, especially when she was right.

Four-foot-eight paragon of distilled vexation!

Diminutive she might be in comparison to her peers, but his courageous pet – wicked chortle, bwa-haa-harr –was an exceptional Dragon Rider. He would be forever grateful he had chosen to redeem her honour and pillage the Kingdom of Vanrace that day. Twenty years of his life a fireless Dragon, a laughingstock, a pariah. Now look at him!

Still a pariah, mind.

“Dragon, not here. Save the fires for when we need them,” she cautioned, alert to the eager rumblings of his innards.

Did she not know how his very soul yearned to breathe fire once more?

“You’ll get your chance in a minute. Look beyond that next dune.”

“They camped for the night?”

“Stopped for the day. The accepted method of making a desert crossing is to halt during the daytime and try to keep as cool as possible, digging a hole to try to reach cooler sands beneath. Then, one travels from evening until a little after dawn.”

“Isn’t this season impossible?”

“Meant to be,” the Princess agreed. “I wonder if they aren’t trying to surprise one of the more easterly Citadels? L’baru or V’naruk would be my best guesses.”

There they were! Six more Dragons, rather than the four they had expected. Four reds, an orange and a brown. Each had a handler seated upon his or her back. The rest of the army had been trying to dig down as the Princess had suggested, laying their cloaks over shallow holes dug in the sand. How could this strategy possibly work according to the laws of physics – if not by magic?

Azania patted his neck. “Let’s do this.”

Unhooking the additional claws that gripped his scales, Dragon passed his novel spectacles back to the Princess. “Thanks.”

She stowed them efficiently. “Roar?”

“Raw meat?”

“A raw roar, if you please.”

Cracking open his jaw, he thundered with roar-some power, I – AAMM – DRRAAGOONN!!

Cloth and sand ripped up before them, hurling a windstorm across the encampment. Perhaps seven hundred soldiers had camped here with the Dragons; the rest must have marched further on, he concluded. Dragon swooped sharply, searching for that familiar pain behind the massive keel bone of his chest that anchored his flight muscles. Skartunese warriors scrambled before them, crying out and trying to shield their eyes as the blast of his wings added to the mayhem.

For a second, all was fear. His fires had vanished. It had been a one-off; his familiar penchant for failure must of course take over – and then, with a detonation that jolted him to the core, white lightning skittered across his scales and forked off his tail, his wingtips, even his fangs.

Weird enough?

“Princess!”

“I’m –”

GRRRAAAOOORRRGGGH!!

A firestorm billowed out of his agape jaw. He had no control. No idea of what he was actually doing, only that the geyser of flame pouring out of this throat had to go somewhere other than back inside his body. Great waves of pearlescent white flame gushed over the soldiers arrayed around the Dragon thralls, a devastating sweep of destruction.

“Circle!” cried the voice from his back.

Her bowstring twanged at the same time. One of the Dragon handlers slumped in his saddle, a shaft jutting from his stomach. Orange fire billowed toward them. Immediately, he jinked in flight, whisking his Princess safely away from the blast. Most Dragon fire was limited in range to about twenty feet. His own – he had no idea. Nor the slightest yearning to help his pernickety brain develop an accurate estimate just now.

You’re in a battle, Dragon!

Following the plan, he swirled around the captive Dragons, clearing as wide a sweep as he could. Isolate the handlers. Pick them off.

Azania cursed unhappily as she missed her next shot. The handlers responded by urging their Dragons to scatter. The Princess shot another handler in the neck; he followed that up with a cunning tail strike, smashing one of the men off the orange Dragoness’ back.

“Stall,” she rapped.

Flaring his wings, he braked hard. His Rider steadied herself and then placed an arrow square in another handler’s back.

The problem was that the captive Dragons kept obeying their last command. Several tried to track his flight with their flame. All the years they had spent in captivity, however, made them slow to react. He shot over a red Dragon’s head before he could swing his fire onto target, performing another stall-and-shoot manoeuver with the Princess. The red clearly had no clue where his aerial foe had vanished to, for his eyes were further hampered by metal blinkers affixed to his head cage.

One handler left. Arrows spat around them as the Skartunese troops responded to the attack. Several men ran for the Dragons they had already cleared, while others sidled forward in groups, hefting their javelins.

“We’ll be picking them off all day like this,” he growled. “Let’s collect ourselves a few Dragons. Ready to give the orders, Princess?”

“Remember, my leg’s still in a cast –”

“Noted.”

Picking a red Dragon who faced entirely the wrong direction, he shot over and helped his Princess land on its back. Grabbing the silver inductor handles which were attached to the head harnesses by cords, she squeezed them to burn the Dragon’s ear canals. Brutal, but this was the only reliable method they had found so far. These lifelong slaves to the Skartun regime understood nothing but pain.

She said, “Dragon, the men in armour are your enemy. Protect your brother Dragons from them, including this flying one and his Rider. You will respond only to our verbal commands from now on.”

The Dragon lumbered off to attack the Skartunese troops with their black-feathered helmets, careless of any arrows they directed his way.

“Next,” he called, snaffling her back into his paw.

Two more successful raids later, and the tide began to turn in their favour. The Dragons blindly followed orders, attacking any Skartunese warriors who came into their line of sight. The enemy warriors viewed this betrayal in the dimmest of light, but many of them carried injuries and a massed Dragon attack was no laughing matter.

Together, Dragon and Rider hunted down the next two Dragons. Azania collapsed on the back of the second, clutching her leg. “Aah! That’s –” with a low scream, she pulled a dagger out of that same thigh. “What is this?”

What were the chances of another hit in the same place? Rounding upon the soldier who had struck with a chance throw, Dragon barbecued him in a stream of white flame.

“Die! Princess, are you –”

“I’m good.”

“Right, and I’m a bushy-tailed –”

“Shut up, Dragon. One more and the job’s done. Let’s do this.”

Snatching her up in his right paw, they chased the final handler who was goading a red Dragon into running away. Azania growled something unintelligible as she had to duck behind his paw to avoid a flurry of arrows and javelins, and dropped her bow by accident. She drew her Dragon talon dagger instead.

“Upside-down!” came the cry.

Chortling in realisation, Dragon allowed the tiny Princess to upend herself between his knuckles. She backstabbed the Dragon handler from her head-down position, caught one of the inductors in her hand, and issued new orders. Meantime, Dragon cleaned the last cockroach off his kin’s back. Now it was seven Dragons against the scattered Skartunese soldiers.

He swung Princess Azania back up into his paw. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Just a spot of blood.”

Surely he was the one who pretended bravado with the worst possible timing? Reaching over with his free paw, he carefully put pressure on the puncture wound with a pinch of his talons.

“Thanks, Dragon.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I do prefer my captive Princesses alive.”

“You’re never going to let that one go, are you?”

“No, I’m never letting you go,” he blustered, making her chuckle at the blatant misinterpretation. Dragon kin! Brothers and sisters! Help me clean up these Skartun scum! Target any men on the ground and wipe them out!

The carrion birds would feast this day.

* * * *

Slipping down her trousers, the Princess cleaned her new wound with water from her gourd and then bound it firmly using strips of material provided by Dragon. Skartun cloaks. Given his Princess-sharpened talons, creating bandages these days posed no problem at all.

Halfway through, he said, “Well, at least that Skartunese warrior over there got his dying wish.”

“What? Who?” she muttered, yanking a knot tight.

“He saw the Black Rose of the Desert in her underclothes.”

“Dragon, he’s dead.”

“Almost,” groaned the man. He was only four feet away, and in bad shape.

“See? Although, how anyone can be attracted to these twigs you call legs, is quite beyond this Dragon. Is this attractive, man?” He waved a paw illustratively.

Either it was the heat or the pain of his burn wounds, but the warrior’s eyes glazed over as he peered at the Princess.

She sniffed, “Oh, if I must. O warrior of Skartun, how do you keep cool during the desert crossing?”

“Not … telling.”

Azania primped her hair and did some sort of wriggle with her hips that he assumed must be suggestive. Now, if Ariamyrielle Seaspray had done that with her haunches …

“I’d really like to know,” she cooed.

The dusky Princess had turned a whole slew of knights, men-at-arms and rapscallions into her slaves with just such a glance. Not for nought was she said to be the most beautiful woman in the seventeen realms. True to form – and to the watching Dragon’s disgust – the man’s brains promptly evaporated, or some effect close enough to be indistinguishable.

“We carry coldstones,” he groaned, “green gems imbued with the power to – ahk!”

With a ghastly splutter, he passed into the afterlife. Azania glared at the man as if he had personally disappointed her.

Dragon said, “He’s dead, you can stop teasing him.”

Squirming back into her tight leather trousers, the Princess patted her good thigh and said, “Ever seen more powerful twigs than these?”

He shook his head. “Male Humans are idiots.”

“And male Dragons are not?”

“Obviously.”

“Doth mine ears hearken to the intellect-stealing, musical strains of sea spray?”

“Be quiet, woman.”

She pressed, “Sing you an aria?”

Gnarrr-Princess-kebabs!

“Just repeat after me, ‘Women are always right.’ ”

“Don’t push your luck, titch. Are you sure that leg’s alright?”

She eyed the blood already seeping through the pad of bandages. “No, not really. Want to cut up a few more cloaks for me?”

While his back was turned, his brave Rider face-planted in the desert sand of her native kingdom. Dragon rushed to her side with an aggrieved bellow. Aye, check one for the bravado. Gently, he tried to wipe her face clean of sand. He bathed her eyes and lips as best he could from her water gourd, alert to the fact that he should keep plenty aside for the trek back to N’ginta Citadel.

Humans. So frail.

What did that matter? He knew about being different. Why could he not simply apply that to a species most Dragons regarded as fleas, lice and cockroaches?

Because it was true of some? He could point to a few rather unsavoury Dragons, his own dam and two brothers being foremost among them. By his wings, such were the complications of family – as Azania knew all too well for herself.

If they walked fast enough, they would return in time for her eldest brother’s coronation at noon. King N’gala had not survived the treachery of a woman of Skartun, the enchantress Nahritu-N’shula, who had brought him low through her unusual magical gifts. She was also the mother of Princess Azania’s younger half-sister, Inzashu-N’shula.

The Psyromantic Mage had vanished into the desert, or within the citadel. No-one knew where she was, although the search was on.

Marshalling the Dragon thralls with a bellowed command, Dragon had them quickly hunt for as many of the green stones as had survived his fires. If a creature were honest, he would admit to being a touch shocked by the power at his command. His throat hurt worse than ever, and he wore six javelins and more arrows than he could count in various places around his body, but – oh, why not a little swaggering? He was a victorious Dragon once more. His legend grew!

Along with the ego, Azania would be quick to point out.

Big creature. Big ego, right?

Dragon and his six taciturn escorts backtracked for four hours before being met by an eager patrol from N’ginta Citadel. By then, Azania had recovered from dangling over his paw like an overused dishrag, to the relief of everyone.

The patrol leader saluted smartly. “Sir, the royal family awaits you both for the coronation ceremony just as soon as you are able. What can you tell us about the Skartun remnant?”

He briefed the man, meantime pleasantly picturing which body part he ought to surrender for calling a Dragon ‘sir.’ A foot? An ear? That would take a great deal of precision. Maybe a kneecap? Shortly, with Azania’s help, they arranged to fly on ahead while several soldiers from the patrol detail returned at a far slower pace with the Dragon thralls.

“The royals were waiting for us?” he pressed.

“Aye, sir. It’s –”

“Call me Dragon. Not sir.”

“Uh … Dragon?”

“Dragon by name, Dragon by nature.” He shrugged massively. “It’s complicated. Family affair, you see.”

“I see, s … uh, Dragon.”

And with that, the soldier trotted on with his detail. There might have been a couple of sighs of relief, which he ignored.

“Onward and upward, Princess,” he grinned, displaying a few fangs.

She said, “Hmm, do you know what, Dragon? Your breath has a certain salty freshness about it now. Rather bracing. If nothing else, that goes to prove the changes inside of you.”

He stretched as luxuriously as his bone-weary body would allow, and … crackled. From head to toe, he snapped and popped like fat spitting in a saucepan. They both started and stared at one another. Changes? Another stretch did not produce half as a worrying a sound. Still, his scales felt odd, almost furry underneath, for want of a better word.

Truly terrifying for a reptilian creature!

“I’m not sure that was a good sound,” Azania observed, sounding about as happy as the sagging, heavily damaged outer doors of her home citadel.

“The electrical charge didn’t affect you earlier?” he asked.

“When you started your electrolysis process by trying to frazzle everything in sight? No.”

“I’m sorry if that scared you. Would you like to ride in my paws again so that you can keep your leg raised?”

“Sounds good. I’m not sure I’m going to be walking anywhere during the ceremony. Or standing.”

“I’ve got you covered, Princess. Let’s go scare the new King.”

“Dragon!”

“Aye?”

“I like you, do you know that?”

Kicking up into the air, he eyed the bundle in his forepaws with great suspicion. Azania pretended complete innocence, but he was not fooled. Schemes and mischief practically oozed out of her pores. All that remained for him was to find out what she intended.

Who was the Dragon? He would sniff it out.

Chapter 2: Princess Power

THE KINGDOM OF T’NAGRU had never seen a coronation to compare, one attended by a Dragon carrying in paw a Princess of the realm who stole the show with her truly fantastical golden attire. He was not even sure it counted for a dress. More like stiff, layered golden armour. Had he any doubt about the state of the kingdom’s treasury, the weight of jewels and finery he clasped certainly made an eloquent statement, for starters.

A starter for a Dragon’s gold hunger would be another way of putting it.

Humans might drool over such riches. A noble beast of the air panted so loudly that the Princess told him to breathe more quietly. Rasping throat. He needed something to soothe this infernal itching. Maybe a draught of cool peppermint tea?

He’d be smelling like a walking bouquet soon.

When should he begin negotiations with the new King over his sister’s ransom? Gnarr-harr-haaa!

Still, with all the speechmaking and ceremonial nonsense occupying the Dragon’s portion of the afternoon, he was thoroughly bored by the time King N’chala finally finished receiving the fealty of all of his subjects – with one notable exception, to wit, the exceptional exception in his paw. Intriguing, he thought, meeting the King’s gaze across the chamber. Dragon arched his brow suggestively.

Extending his scent senses, he sniffed out the new King’s cold sweat.

Ah, his day had just improved a hundredfold.

The Princess said, “Could you help me please, Dragon? I don’t think I could limp over to the throne if I tried, but I really ought to congratulate my brother, and say my vows. He is my King, after all.”

“Which of these nobles should I squash first?”

“I’m sure N’chala will appreciate that service another day,” she said testily, “but for now, let’s try to behave ourselves. Somewhat.”

“I like you too, Princess, do you know that?”

“Ah, but for how long, Dragon?”

“You are not a bauble to be set aside on a whim.”

Suddenly, she trembled in his grasp. “Don’t make me cry, friend.”

With a polite basso rumble, he cleared a path as if by magic. Then, the massive yet subtle tread of a Dragon conveyed the Princess up to her brother’s throne. Dominating the space, he was able to stare down at the King even though the gorgeously carved throne stood upon a platform at the end of the hall, surrounded by all the magnificent finery of a proud and ancient desert kingdom. Given a less fraught time, Dragon decided, he would have loved to bring his easel in here and set up for a long, satisfying session of painting. The fluted arches, delicate frescoes and screens, and gold-leaf decorated treasure chests certainly created a most royal space.

As Azania spoke, he returned his attention to her.

“Brother, I wish to congratulate you upon your ascension to the throne of T’nagru, despite the grief and difficulty our kingdom faces at this time.”

He inclined his head, weighted down with the great crown – it looked terribly uncomfortable, Dragon decided. A statement regarding the weighty nature of leadership. Everyone knew that this Skartun siege had only been a precursor to a much greater invasion later in the season. One Jabiz out of thirty had tested their mettle, and breached the outer gates of the citadel with a monstrous Bloodworm which still lay on the sand outside the gates.

Did flesh rot in such a waterless desert climate? Or would it simply shrivel?

Unexpected thirst tickled his gravelly throat. He coughed aside, the sound echoing loudly despite the large crowd gathered for the King’s coronation event.

The Princess said, “I am sorry that I cannot make the formal genuflections, but my injuries will not allow. I would still cherish the opportunity to give you my vow, if you will receive it. I believe you will make a mighty and just King, N’chala. However, I must report that I find my loyalties divided. As you are aware, Dragon and I flew down to T’nagru of our freewill both to help the kingdom, and to prepare the Dragonkind for the invasion of these slavers. With the help of the brave soldiers of the kingdom, we have been able to free twenty-six Dragons. This achievement cannot be underestimated.”

King N’chala said, “The Kingdom of T’nagru has never been more grateful. In noble service, you and the Dragon have far exceeded all expectations.” Rising from his seat, he bowed formally, a beautiful desert obeisance. “Without you, all would have been lost. We are forever indebted.”

Every noble and soldier in the hall bowed with him, as demanded by tradition, Dragon realised belatedly.

“When I make my vows, I would want to reserve an unusual … freedom, for a Princess of the realm,” she continued, treading delicately upon conversational eggshells. “By law, I am still this Dragon’s possession until such time as full ransom is paid. I would not like to place my Kingdom in any jeopardy as a result of my unusual position.”

Her brother’s dark eyes flashed as he considered the implicit threat.

Azania held up her hand. “Furthermore, I would not want to strain the Kingdom’s finances in a time of war by demanding such a ransom, and Dragon agrees with me in this.”

Oh, he did, did he? This was news.

Good thing she was right. Again. He restrained a juvenile eye-roll.

“Here is our proposal,” the Princess continued, smiling. “We would like T’nagru to take care of these freed Dragons until such a time as they are able to make independent decisions regarding their future. Meantime, Dragon and I will fly north, seeking the help of others of the Dragonkind against the forthcoming Skartunese invasion.”

“I will not be manipulated.”

The King’s harsh reply cut into a simmering silence.

“You misunderstand our intentions, o King,” Dragon put in. “The time for manipulation has passed – we hope – and resulted in the unfortunate death of your father.”

“How do I know your magic is not active right now?”

“You have the oath of a Dragon.”

A tic pulsed in the man’s cheek. Suddenly, he realised, a fresh and different danger threatened. His eyes flickered to Inzashu, standing to the King’s right, garbed in similar golden finery. Her ten-foot train pooled around her. No warning of magic could he give her, but the glance was enough. The eleven year-old’s tiara bobbed slightly in acknowledgement. Perhaps her senses also burned to the rawness of N’chala’s grief?

Azania said, “Do our actions not speak loudly enough?”

“Sister, at the crucial hour, will you choose to serve Humankind, or the Dragonkind?”

“Both, I hope.”

He was almost certain King N’chala feared a draconic plot against the future of his kingdom. How could he even begin to explain that this act would be anathema to any true Dragon’s heart, when he well knew not all Dragons were so kind or honourable, in the Human sense?

Was honour the word to sway this young ruler’s heart?

As his emotions peaked, lightning crackled inside his jaw. N’chala and many of the nobles flinched. The other two Princes scowled as if he had just offered them a poisoned chalice each, compliments of the Dragon.

Shifting his paws, he sighed. “I apologise for my lack of manners. My powers are new and I have yet to learn all the appropriate controls. Please hear our heart, o King. We plan to leave with you a force of twenty-six Dragons who, it is my hope, will both defend and help rebuild your city far faster than you could manage with Human hands or endeavour. You know they have been shamefully misused. As a Dragon, I ask only that you treat them with honour, and not as slaves. For my part, my intention is to treat your sister and your kingdom with equal honour.”

“Our heart?” he said.

“We are Dragon and Rider. This too, is a new thing.”

N’chala said, “What of my sister’s honour? What about the price my father placed upon her head? For I will be plain with you, Dragon. You are one Dragon, of no Clan. You cannot claim to speak for any of your kind. However, I do rejoice to see my sister well and hale, even if she is engaged in an enterprise which many, if not most in this kingdom, regard as deeply unsuitable for a woman. T’nagru’s dealings with Vanrace were ill done and created a rift where solidarity was needed, especially at this time of war. Again, we have you to thank for restoring Azania’s honour in that regard.”

Suddenly, he smiled and opened his right hand. In the desert, Dragon understood, this was a precursor to settling a bargain. “Sister, what do you want?”

His steely gaze stilled a rising muttering in the hall.

In a clear, steady voice, she said, “To see you, King N’chala, and our beloved Kingdom of T’nagru prosper and be kept safe from the Skartun scourge. We would serve and protect these people, and thus, form a bulwark against a Skartunese invasion of the other Kingdoms and keep them from the Tamarine Mountains, where they seek more Dragon thralls.”

“And for the Dragon?”

“To see him grow into his powers as a mighty and noble creature of the air, and to be restored to honour, Clan and kinship amongst his kind.”

N’chala stepped forward boldly, until he was close enough that he could reach out to clasp her hand in his. “And you, beloved sister? You have no wishes for yourself?”

Prince Aragu blurted out, “Brother, I protest this shameful display!”

Without turning, the King said, “Do you?”

The middle brother of the three, Prince Yadaxu, said, “May we offer counsel, brother?”

“To a King fighting for his kingdom’s very survival? I will need all the counsel I can get, my brothers,” N’chala said, heavy of voice. “However, I will remind you both that this is our younger sister. Azania has always been one moved by her heart. As amply proven in these last few days, the heart of a woman is a force far more powerful than any of us imagined – both in spite and ambition, in the matter of Nahritu-N’shula, and in the power of a woman despised by her own father’s plotting. Yet Azania, if I hear her rightly, wishes to rise above the sorrow and mistakes of the past, and so the question comes to this elder brother’s mind, why? How far will she fly to pursue her dreams?”

He knew. Word must have reached him from Chakkix Camp.

Even as realisation set his hearts racing, Princess Azania said, “You are perceptive, King N’chala. I will admit, there is something special, exhilarating and perhaps, world-changing in the notion of being a Dragon Rider, and friend and companion to a Dragon as noble as he who holds me in his paw. However, it is as you say. My heart yearns farther – across the ocean.”

N’chala said, “Am I to understand –”

Again, Aragu burst out, “This is nonsense! Forgive that I must speak plainly, my King, but are we to believe that this disobedient and disgraced woman would fly all over the realms, spreading her seditious doctrine –”

“Still your tongue! I am your King! Have not enough died?”

The throne room rang with his fury.

After a pause as awkward as a Sea Dragon in the room, Dragon said, “May I give an answer?”

“Speak,” N’chala invited.

“First, we plan to consult with the Dragons of the Tamarine Mountains, finding one or a Clan who will speak for us. I believe that Dragon is Juggernaut the Grinder. We will ask the Clans to rise in power, wingtip to wingtip, and fly against the Skartun. In all honesty, o King, I cannot imagine such a brotherhood of Dragons coming to pass. We are famously clannish, hidebound and bearers of grudges in all five hearts, and that is my word as a Dragon. That some Clans will choose to fly is the best we can hope for.”

“After that, the Princess Azania and I plan to fly to the North, to the Vaylarn Archipelago. There, we have the promise of a Dragon army of warriors such as few have ever imagined. The Isles Dragons are masters of combat. Furthermore, as you may be aware, Azania and I had the chance to serve the young King of Vaylarn, Azerim, when his parents were struck down by treachery and poisoning. We hope to visit with him and see how they are faring. There is much trouble with Sea Serpents in their oceans. However, we also have it on the word of a Dragoness that Azerim still harbours great regard for Azania, despite the years which have passed since last they met.”

N’chala posed a query with a grim quirk of his lips.

He added, “We shall scent out the mettle of this young King’s heart, and his intentions toward the Princess Azania. If they are not worthy …”

He twizzled his neck and bared a few fangs expressively.

King N’chala grinned in return, baring his own teeth in a surprisingly Dragon-like statement of intent. “I believe we have an understanding, Dragon. Sister, is all this as you would have it?”

In a small voice, she said, “All that Dragon has said, is true.”

An eerie, scale-prickling silence pervaded the hall.

What would happen now? So many scents of discontent, outrage and distrust surrounded them. Dragon could not gain any clear sense of a future.

“Very good!” The King clapped his hands sharply, making more than a few people – and one Dragon – jump. “Citizens of T’nagru, I wish to make first official appointment as your King. I, N’chala N’gala of T’nagru, hereby appoint the Princess Azania N’gala as Roving Ambassador to the Dragons.”

Ah, how she leaped in his paw! Gasps arose from the crowd; he saw and scented naked fury in some. Dragon could not keep a grin from widening upon his lips.

“This is a new position in the realm, one carrying wide-ranging powers and authority. We shall speak about your duties and prepare letters of introduction to the Dragon Clans before your imminent departure,” he added. “Secondly, good citizens, hear my decree. I, N’chala N’gala of T’nagru, hereby decree that all citizens of our kingdom are to treat Dragons in a fitting and honourable manner, as creatures of intelligence and volition at least on par with Humans. If we are to survive this war, we must set aside old prejudices and forge a new path to freedom.”

With a grin that lit up his dark, bearded face, the young King paused to take in his sister’s utter bemusement and joy.

Heartily, N’chala said, “Ambassador, you and I need to discuss how we put a formerly rebellious Princess of the realm and her mighty Dragon to work. What say you?”

Azania voiced a wordless squeak.

Clearly bent upon ribbing her properly, he continued, “Sister, may I be the first to congratulate you upon your appointment to a position in which I believe you will add most immodestly to our Kingdom’s honour and renown? Furthermore, when you have recovered your tongue, may I humbly request the honour of receiving your vow?”

How his scales prickled! Never had he – nor the Princess, he was certain – imagined such an outcome. Traditions overturned. Nay, tossed out of the nearest window! Centuries of a woman’s so-called place in the Kingdom flouted, moreover, with full royal permission. Oh, N’chala was about to receive an earful from all his advisors and most especially his brothers, but this Dragon sensed something novel in the wind.

Was this the scent of a one-Princess revolution?

* * * *

In the early evening, he and Azania visited the former slaves of the Skartun, overseeing the removal of their body armour and head cages, and the treatment of many wounds. Some of these wounds were the burns inflicted inside their ear canals by the dreadful electrical inductors, which had caused permanent deafness in half of their number. One Dragoness was severely ill. Inzashu worked with her for over an hour, stabilising her condition, before moving on to help with the others.

They quizzed the Dragons. Encouraging signs! Two of the older males, Soar Windchaser and Ruthless Obliterator – Azania had a private giggle at their names – were able to speak, albeit slowly and in muddled, incomplete sentences. Their strong Skartunese accents were hard to follow, but with Princess Inzashu playing occasional interpreter, they worked out that the deaf Dragons had developed a basic form of sign language during captivity. In time, they would be able to brief King N’chala on many aspects of Skartun life, culture and military organisation. They were more than willing to turn a paw to rebuilding the city.

The Dragons confirmed that the Jabiz of the Skartun sought fresh Dragons. Those in captivity had never bred well, almost not at all. The Skartun leaders had ambitions to conquer realms south again of their lands, but felt their armies needed to be bolstered by new recruits.

So grateful were his kin for their rescue, Dragon felt his eyes prickle in reaction. Not tears. Dragons had no tear ducts. Instead, they relied on their natural fires to burn away impurities or airborne particles and insects.

What was this feeling, then? Similar to the leaking Azania had done in private, away from the throne room and the frayed emotions resulting from her encounter with her brother? Dragons lamented for a soul’s overshadowing sorrow, but rarely grieved on behalf of another. Kin-grief, as it was called in the Draconian language, was a rare, precious gift.

Azania gave him a subtle nudge. “Fly us up to the Palace?”

Weary. Aye, this too, he understood – grief exacted such a toll upon the body. Taking both Princesses upon his neck, he flew them up to the flat-roofed Royal Palace, teasing Azania along the way that there was no tallest tower in all the land to rescue Princesses from. Clearly a severe failing in the development of T’nagrun architectural design.

“Maybe we should find you a tower, Inza?” Azania tugged her sister’s leg.

“Ooh, where I should be rescued by a Dragon? The only problem I have with that, is the stinky Prince angle,” she chortled. “I mean, if he’s nice then no need for the Dragon, but what if he’s as nasty as your Prince Floric?”

“My Prince Floric? Wash your mouth out with soap, young lady!”

Inzashu chuckled merrily.

Dragon said, “There’s something more serious I wanted to discuss with both of you. I sense we might need to spirit you away from here, Inzashu.”

“That premonition of danger you had in the throne room?” she asked immediately.

“Aye.” Reaching up with his paw, he found her leg. “Smart girl.”

“That’s my knee,” Azania lied.

“Ditto for both Princesses,” he snorted. “When we get to your room, we should seriously consider our next moves. I’m thinking we spirit you away without tipping off the King … or your half-brothers.” As Azania began to protest, he said, “I’m not accusing Aragu of anything, mind. Nor have I any well-developed sense of where or how such a danger might arise. However, there is also the consideration that Nahritu-N’shula might have established other backup plans here in N’ginta Citadel.”

The older Princess let out her breath in a long, approving sigh.

The younger said, “All the more reason for me to stay. I can detect my mother’s return and work against her, if needs be.”

Azania said, “No, Inzashu –”

“That’s courageous of you,” Dragon said. “Let’s us three talk about this in private, later. No, don’t you growl at me. I don’t mean the older ones will decide for you. We’ll talk together.”

The girl patted his neck uncertainly. “I … thank you, Dragon.”

“I try. When I fail, I start eating cheeky Princesses.”

“Why did the Dragon need to be saved from the wicked Princess?” Azania teased unexpectedly.

GRRROARRRGGGH!!

“My thoughts exactly. Now, how’s about we run you a salt bath?”

“Genius,” he purred. “Clearly, I kidnapped you for your brains rather than your woefully skinny rump.”

“I guess that makes me the butt of the joke,” came the talon-swift reply.

Inzashu made a scandalised gasp.

“The youngster’s a bit behind, there,” Dragon quipped.

Both Princesses groaned.

“Keeping up the rear … as usual.”

“Dragon, you are incorrigible,” Azania snorted. “Drumroll, trumpet salute.”

“That’s what Prince Floric does with his –”

“Dragon!”

“I rather hope not!” he snorted, ever so drily, and had the distinction of not one but two Princesses nearly falling off his neck, breathless with laughter.

In the bathing chamber at the end of the royal corridor, the maidservants filled a bathing pool for Dragon, into which they threw two sacks of salt and stirred it vigorously. He teased one of the maids that he could dangle her in by her toes and use her for a large stirring spoon, making her burst into tears. Great. Time for a gentle paw and an explanation, that aye, Dragons did indeed have a heinous sense of humour.

Then, he dunked his head and gargled salt water for a very pleasurable quarter of an hour or so, while they discussed plans. He bathed his eyes and tried rolling in the ten-foot bath, which really was not built for a fifty-three foot, multi-tonne Dragon.

“Feels great on the scales,” he said.

“I can imagine,” Azania said. “Oh, who’s knocking? It’s late.”

“Oh, don’t let them in to see my nakedness,” Dragon gurgled, trying by hook or by crook to immerse his whole tail at once. No way. “By my wings, I’ve never been this itchy in my life.”

“Is he serious?” Inzashu asked.

“Rarely,” her sister said.

It was King N’chala, relieved at last of his retinue of advisors, nobles, army generals and brothers. Without preamble, he launched into a prepared speech.

“I apologise for my brevity, but I’m late for my next meeting already. As you advised, the Skartunese remnant are indeed moving East, closing in upon the citadels there.” He scratched his neck, and heaved a sigh. “Please bear with me. One, I’m sorry I was harsh earlier, Azania and Dragon, but I am finding my way in terms of trusting people. This is a difficult time for the kingdom and also personally, as you can imagine. Two, when you leave, I would be most grateful if your flight path could veer toward the Kingdom of Amboraine.”

Azania said, “Amboraine? Oh, Princess Yuali?”

“Exactly.” Deftly extracting two small message scrolls out of a belt pouch, he said, “I’d be indebted if you could deliver this scroll to Princess Yuali, and this one to the King. Obviously, current events will be making a mess of our wedding plans. I wish her to know that I truly care for her, but making that commitment – could you phrase this nicely – is somewhat challenging, just now.”

Azania nodded. “Consider it done. You’re forgiven. I was brash.”

“And I was rude. Three, I need you to take Inzashu-N’shula with you when you leave – tonight, that is. You must leave tonight.”

They exchanged startled glances.

Dragon said, “The Princess is hardly in fit shape –”

N’chala shook his head. “I’ve received word of a Skartunese plot against your life, sister. I am so sorry, since we’ve hardly had the chance to get to know one another. I know no better way of protecting you than to dispatch you abroad with this Dragon.”

Inzashu said, “I wanted to stay to protect you, brother.”

Though his face was graven of sorrow, the new King tried to smile. He gave up, saying between gritted teeth, “Thank you, but I could not stand to lose more family. Not now.”

Chapter 3: Aloft

PRINCESS AZANIA TUCKED HER younger but taller sister into bed with a kiss upon the forehead that Dragon thought looked like an experiment in affection.

“Now, I know it’s next to impossible, but please do try to get a couple of hours’ sleep, sister. We’ll wake you when it’s time to fly.”

“I guess I get to be kidnapped after all,” the girl said sleepily.

He rumbled, “Not sure if that’s by the wicked Princess or the devious Dragon.”

Worth a giggle.

Dragon sniffed around the rich bedchamber and glared balefully over the balcony at the royal gardens below. Nothing to like about this whiff of a plot. He could not for the life of him pin down the sense that somehow, somewhere, something was profoundly awry. Obviously. No clear vector of attack presented itself to his questing senses.

Gnarr. He would lie right next to the bed while they waited. Nothing and nobody would get past him.

Eventually, Azania finished packing their few possessions to her satisfaction. She buckled his neck saddle in place and tried to work out how to place one in position behind it, so that she could be close to her sister during flight.

“Why don’t you lie down?” he said eventually. “It’ll be a long night. I’ll keep watch.”

“Hour after midnight?”

“Done.”

Despite his better intentions, Dragon’s multiple eyelids all felt weighted with sand. He growled at himself to keep alert. Tucked in beside her sister, his dark Princess fell asleep between breaths. Should have thought to pack extra bandages. Rising, he padded over to the linen cupboard and stole a set of the kingdom’s finest silk sheets, suitable for royalty.

Some royalty claimed silken sheets made them itch …

His eyes narrowed. Itch? Just look at Inzashu-N’shula, who was not dreaming as he had imagined. She was scratching her arms, her legs, her neck, moaning in her sleep as she thrashed about and turned over, half-waking her sister with an accidental elbow to the nose.

Ah, the royal snout – he pulled up in surprise as Azania moaned in just the same fashion and began to scratch at her neck. Itching that madly?

By his sire’s egg, what … fire imploded in his belly.

“Poison! Wake up – wake up!”

Something in the sheets. A subtle white powder – ripping the covers off the Princesses, Dragon examined them as best he could. Rash! A fiery rash covered both girls upon their skin where it had been left exposed by their clothing. No! Don’t panic. Think. Powder. Water – the bathing chamber! Scooping up the sisters as they woke in shock, he charged literally through the doors of the royal bedchamber in an explosion of splinters and promptly skidded on the marble and hit the wall so hard the entire Palace reverberated. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he belted down the corridor.

“What the – my skin!” Azania gasped. Her sister started screaming.

“Poison!”

“Into the bathtub,” he cried, smashing through the next set of doors. Flimsy wooden screen. In a second, he dunked both girls in the half-full tub of salty water he had used before. “Quick. Rub your arms. Get it off your necks.”

“Blub,” said Inzashu.

He fished the younger girl out with a clumsy paw. Drowning her was not the point. She vomited at once, clutching her stomach with a loud groan. Azania did the same. Dragon urged them to wash as much as they could. Soap, too.

Azania called, “Dragon, could you fetch the pot of aloe cream from my dresser?”

Wretched girl. She looked as terrible as she sounded. When he returned with the stoneware pot, she thanked him for his quick thinking. Clearly, the real boon had been their travel clothes, he thought pensively. Had they been wearing those flimsy nightclothes that real Princesses were supposed to wear, so much more of their skin would have been exposed to this powdered poison. Even so, they were both shivering uncontrollably and set about another round of retching.

“Eat this,” Azania told her sister.

“Eat … the cream?”

“Aloe’s highly effective against this type of poison. Trust me, I was made to study this as part of the education Princesses take in keeping themselves alive.”

Interesting curriculum.

The second part of the curriculum involved changing their clothes. All of them.

Azania said, “I’m going to miss these leather trousers.”

“So are half the men in the kingdoms,” Dragon agreed, drawing a gasp from Inzashu and a mock kick from the older sister. “No mind. I’m sure we can find something even more scandalous for you both.”

Inzashu said primly, “I am not being caught dead in trousers.”

“Skartun must be an incredibly backward realm,” he teased. “I can’t see you flying well in desert robes.”

“No,” said Azania, pulling out her Dragon talon dagger. “We’ll wear the pantaloons and tunic tops. A swift spot of tailoring will resolve any issues with the full-length outer robes. When we get to Chakkix Camp, sister, we’ll purchase you something that’ll have the boys chasing your curves.”

“Azania!”

“Oops, slip of the old forked tongue there, as some Dragon I know would say.”

“Don’t drag me into this, Princess.”

Despite their banter, he realised that neither girl was doing well. They were in pain from the burning rash, their stomachs knotted up and their muscles leaping infrequently in spasms. When he inquired if they were able to fly, however, he earned a pair of glares that left him in no doubt as to the truth of their sisterhood, and of their mettle. By his sire’s egg, Human Princesses were clearly far more dangerous than the legends made out. No insipid, simpering nitwits waiting for their perfect Prince to fall out of the sky at the end of a rainbow around here.

Maybe they would fly a thousand miles to find their Princes.

Or, not settle for Princes at all?

Inconceivable!

By now, several Palace guards were peering through the bedroom doorway, asking what had happened. Azania briefed them, making them promise to have the maids burn all the sheets and not touch them with their bare skin. Most had known her all her life; their emotions were muddy, furious, and not a hint of treachery could he sense. They made vows of vengeance in the desert way.

He gave that a satisfied snort. No Dragon could have done better.

Then, Princesses safely seated astride his neck, he spread his wings and launched off the Princess’ balcony with supple grace. Smooth as silk sliding into a deep desert night. One moon of the triplets stood high, a thin white crescent that still shed enough light for the draconic eye to enjoy, if one had his –

“Spectacles?”

“Thank you, Princess.” He perched the spectacles atop his head.

Impudent mind reader.

Dunes leaped into relief ahead of him. Sculpted for aeons by the powerful desert winds, they stood stark in the faint white moonlight. In the deeper desert, they had seen dunes over three hundred feet high. These were half that height, but still impressive for their chiselled, serpentine curves and pristine splendour. No footprints. No animal trails, plants nor signs of water. Just emptiness stretching as far as the eye could see.

Azania leaned against Inzashu, who made herself comfortable against his neck. Both girls were strapped in tight on the leather saddles. Stretching out his body, he set about testing just how efficiently he could fly, adjusting his wingbeat for minimal bounce and maximal smoothness.

Soon, a snuffle against his neck revealed his success. One down.

“Dragon, please look out for fresh aloe plant,” Azania whispered. “Might be hard to find this far south, but we could do with more juice.”

“Of course. Where’s best?”

“Look for dips and flash flood watercourses, and around clumps of boulders. Might be well hidden in the cracks.”

“Right.” In a world of glittering obsidian sand? Hmm.

Swooshing his wings in efficient half-beats, he bored northward into the stillest of nights. Worrying about his charges. So cunning, that attack. Someone had carefully considered how best to access a Princess under a Dragon’s protection, and very, very nearly came out the winner. Shiver.

For four hours he coursed over the dunes, before the ripples smoothed out as if brushed away by a godlike paw. A new desert slowly unfurled before him, flat and featureless. Much more rock here, but it lay low and wind-worn. This region was called the central plains of T’nagru, he understood, the diametric opposite of what was called plains in the rest of the seventeen kingdoms. How odd it was that Vaylarn was never included amongst the seventeen. As an island chain lying three hundred and fifty miles offshore of the main continent of Solixambria, the most casual glance at a map identified it as a Dragon’s paw print in shape.

Capital city, Zunityne. Major lair, Wave Dragonhome. Primary danger, Sea Serpents. That was about as much as he knew about the faraway archipelago, apart from that it was also the birthplace of quite the most lethally attractive Dragoness he had ever met.

Ariamyrielle Seaspray, ocean tempest on wings. Twenty-nine feet of irresistible cobalt warrior Dragoness.

Promised to another male.

His muzzle turned to the darkling skies. Curse these fates.

On and on he flew, skirting another citadel before continuing out over the black, grassless plains.

As the first fires of dawn turned the eastern horizon into the crimson heart of a forge, Dragon spied a clump of boulders several miles off his right wingtip. Aha. He nosed about briefly, but saw and scented nothing green. Another clump lay near the horizon. His leathery wings creaked, spreading across the lowering moons. They should find shelter soon.

Check both heartbeats. Weak, but present. Aye. Rest and recovery needed.

Seven clumps investigated later, he spied the characteristic spiny, tooth-edged leaves of an aloe plant wedged deep in a crack. Circling, he put down in the lee of the boulders, which stood shoulder-high to him, at eleven feet tall – his crouching height, which Dragons traditionally used for a shoulder measure. Here was a nice bolt-hole for the Princesses, a shallow, wind-carved nook occupied by a fat, sleepy-looking desert adder.

Dragon brained it with a talon and slid breakfast down his throat. Oh! Catching the tail with his fangs, he pulled the snake out and snipped off a chunk for his Riders. Humans needed to eat so frequently.

“Mmm, regurgitated snake meat?” Azania said drily. “Can’t wait.”

“I can pre-chew it for you if you’d prefer?”

“Don’t be lazy, Dragon. I prefer pre-digested at the very least.”

“Very good, Your Highness. Would you like your aloe juice masticated, too?” Extending a paw, he helped her slide Inzashu off his neck, asking, “Should we have waited at N’ginta to get her more treatment, do you think?”

“With or without a poisoned arrow in the back?”

“True.”

“Let me show you how to pulp and squeeze aloe juice. We need to get more into her and cover every inch of this rash as well, or it’ll burn and blister. Do we have any spare cloth?”

“I stole just the thing earlier.”

She admired the white silk sheet he had pinched. “Why, you wily reptilian reprobate!”

“You are talking to a Princess-stealing Dragon, Highness. I’m very talon-ted.”

His friend groaned on cue. “Ooh, terrible pun. Reminds me of that old joke, what did the cat drag-in?”

“I don’t know,” he said, playing along, “what did the cat drag in?”

“I don’t know either, but it gave me paws for thought.”

“Gnarr-harr-harr, that’s awful.”

Did she mean to cheer him up? Or to distract herself from the pain this poison was clearly putting her through? Dragon helped her treat her sister; when Inzashu half-woke from her stupor, they were able to urge her to deploy her magic with his help – strengthening her, he hoped. For the young girl to turn her sensory magic to healing was a perfectly natural process; for him, it was a struggle. After treating her skin and helping her to drink aloe juice diluted in water, they settled in the relative shadow of the boulder and rested through the heat of the day.

Dragon tested a couple of the green coldstones. Emeralds? Or perhaps, emeralds turned to a different use, he thought, sniffing pensively at the unfamiliar magic. The cooling effect was definitely noticeable within an area of approximately two feet. Under shade arranged to minimise heat transfer from the air, he estimated temperatures between eight and ten degrees cooler than outside. It must have been enough to allow the Skartun warriors to survive that first desert crossing; admittedly, nowhere near the hottest time of the year, when desert temperatures soared off the Fangheat scale.

Inzashu stirred in the early afternoon and declared that she felt somewhat better. They whiled away the hours swapping stories of a childhood spent on the run in Skartun, a cloistered royal upbringing in T’nagru and a Dragon’s hatchling and fledgling days in the Tamarine Mountains.

What vastly different experiences they had as youngsters.

In the evening, a blistering sunset of the white sun, Taramis, kept them under cover until later than Dragon had planned for. He also drank a little aloe juice to soothe his raw throat.

“Your fires?” Azania asked.

“Aye. I’m not sure if it’s getting better or worse.” Scratching his flank restlessly, he said, “Do you remember how Hammaria the Devastator told me that an egg never forgets its origins?”

The Princess nodded. “Was that what you used to find your fires, Dragon?”

“I was thinking about that, and how at Chakkix Camp, Yarimda said, Ocean always rises. That was what I experienced, but it wasn’t an easy or a natural process. I had to literally tear it free – squeeze, and strain and tear it loose, using the electrical power from their machine.”

“It did look agonising, but also glorious,” she said.

“Glorious?”

“Well, first of all your eyes started to bulge as if you’d sat on a cactus –”

Brraa-haa-haa! he laughed.

“And then I feared you were having an epileptic fit, and you were jerking all over the place and smoking from beneath your scales – almost as if that power burned off a coating of some kind. I can only imagine what it did to your insides, Dragon, yet you are still flying. I feared you would be fried to a crisp, especially when you made Jabiz Urdoo shoot you yet again – stop looking at me like that.” She shivered delicately. “I worry about you, alright?”

Abruptly, she stood, but had to brace herself against his cheek. “Ooh, that feels terrible.” The Princess touched the scales beneath his eye. “True strength, Dragon, comes from the heart.”

His turn to shiver, all over, as if the stultifying desert heat had turned to ice.

She said, Then you cried, I am Dragon! I am fire!

His tongue flicked out to catch a salty droplet falling from her cheek.

“The ocean rose, and you became fire – beautiful, gleaming white fire– and you see, Dragon, it was never the crimson sunshine of Ignis that you should have been meditating upon! It was Taramis all along. You are kin of Taramis, the white of ocean spume, the purity and cleansing power of water.”

His jaw creaked agape, and stayed that way.

Where had this come from?

With a self-conscious giggle, she said, “Dabbling in deep Dragon lore not exactly being my forte …”

“No, it makes perfect sense!” Enveloping her shoulders in his paw, he said, “You are something else, do you know that? Clearly, the tiniest brains have the greatest ideas.”

“Tiniest brains?”

“Vanishingly miniscule,” said he, illustrating with his talons. “How did the Dragon thank the Princess?”

“By wiping out her enemies in billows of gorgeous white flame?”

“Aye, and then he said, ‘Fangs you very much.’ ”

“Aargh.”

“Could not have expressed it better myself. So, who’s keen on a long, long night flight?”

Considering what the Princesses had been through, actual keenness was far from the mark, but after slathering themselves liberally in tart aloe juice and drinking a little more, they made ready to fly north once more.

As the largest male Dragon he knew of in the Tamarine Mountains, Dragon had always been able to fly with great stamina. This night, he pushed on steadily, filled with thoughts about how air and water were not all that different, after all, and if he could learn to keep a pace that combined efficiency and conservation of energy with speed, he might be able to sustain flight far enough to risk the crossing to the Vaylarn Archipelago. Aria’s notes warned that the weather could be unpredictable and for part of the year, the winds were likely to be strongly opposed to a northerly crossing. Right now was the worst possible time.

Perfect planning.

Therefore, when he came down for a landing an hour before dawn, having sustained no less than ten hours in the air, it was with a sense of quiet satisfaction. Good flight. They had turned more easterly, headed directly for the ‘foot’ of the Tamarine Mountains. They might spy those from a height on the morrow.

Azania patted his neck. “Nice moves, Dragon. Fire check?”

Worried, Princess? Narked and grateful at the same time, he concentrated. Nothing … sss! He jumped in surprise. “Alright, that snuck up on me.”

Rubbing her eyes, Inzashu unbuckled. “You’re such a bright spark, Dragon.”

“No, don’t tell me you’re starting with the terrible puns, too?” he groaned, prodding her ribs with a talon.

“Oh – unintentional.”

“A flare of inspiration, perhaps?” he purred.

“Another day, another boulder,” said Azania. “More storytelling to pass the day, Dragon?”

“Of course. Dragons love a good, long tail.”

“Oh dear,” the Princess chortled, “I don’t know which is worse, poison itch or your jokes.”

On that note, they dozed another day away in the brilliant sunshine, and in the evening, repeated the night flight. It was early morning when Dragon realised he had dozed on the wing once more, and not only were the familiar white-capped peaks of the Tamarine Range spreading across the farthest horizon, but the landscape had changed once more. Cactus forests. This should have been Prince Floric’s landing place, he chortled nastily to himself. All shapes and sizes of spiky cacti predominated in this region, from beds of tiny barrel cacti no bigger than the ball of a Human thumb, to multi-branched monsters standing sixty feet tall.

Wing-weary, he landed in an open area yet again, scenting the air. Changing to the badlands, if he was not mistaken, and soon, that clean zing of the mountains would greet his swelling lungs. They must not only purchase armour and clothing for his Riders, but warm clothing as well.

Chakkix Camp awaited.

Chapter 4: Ocean Always Rises

“TARANGIS LIONBAITER!” AZANIA CALLED fondly.

“Princess Azania!” said he, wheeling into Yardi the Armourer’s cavern with a delighted smile. His eyebrows shot up immediately. “And in another development, Princesses hunt in packs? Who is this?”

“You’ve been warned,” Dragon agreed.

Azania shot him her patented glare.

One and a half days’ further travel had brought them up to Chakkix Camp. Old friends, old haunts and the same old smells. Delightful place. It remained the unimproved version of a Human cesspit of vice, iniquity and thriving business, at the shadier end of every imaginable spectrum.

“This is my sister, Inzashu-N’shula. Inzashu, this is our friend Tarangis Lionbaiter, a long-time business partner of our father’s.”

The younger princess smiled bashfully. “Azania told me how much you helped them.”

“Helped? Making me decent money, they are,” he guffawed. “Of course, it’s all about the money – but Princess, please put me out of my curiosity here. King N’gala has but one daughter that I knew of, the famous Black Rose of the Desert, unless by some hitherto unknown process, beauty has duplicated itself?”

As he spoke, he wheeled forward on the hard floor to first kiss Azania’s hand, then Inzashu’s. Dragon eyed him with a malevolent glare that suggested should any kisses be ventured in his vicinity, volcanoes would erupt. Sensitive soul that he was, Tarangis picked up on the vibe immediately. As the Princess filled him in on recent events, however, his jovial mood evaporated and he expressed his condolences to both girls and sober congratulations to Dragon on his feat of fire breathing.

At this point, Yarimda tottered through into the cavern, saying that her old ears thrilled to the voices of friends. Everything had to be repeated in greater detail than before. She insisted.

Dragon breathed fire into Yardi’s forge by way of demonstration.

Had they not all expressed their undying wonder, he would have been severely ticked off. Slice of the old ego there, Dragon?

How quickly one winged from despair at no fires to annoyance if one’s fires did not provoke an awed reaction. Was he truly this shallow a beast? Or more straightforwardly, one beset by fears and weaknesses common to any intelligent creature?

Once the need for suitable clothing surfaced, Yarimda took Inzashu under her wing. “Used to be an excellent seamstress back in the day, my dear child!” she opined. “Needle and thread defeat me due to advancing years, but I can design clothing suitable for the most delightful of Dragon-riding Princesses.”

Gnrrr – Dragon began.

Yarimda sent a zinger of a scowl his way. “Now, don’t you misbehave in my cavern, young Dragon. Go warm yourself by the forge. Go on!”

Yardi gave an exasperated gasp at her grandmother’s tone. Her eyes pleaded for understanding.

He made a token shuffle toward the forge. Not a great deal of space in this cave for a Dragon of his dimensions, and due to the open-mouthed forge, it was as warm as the deep desert anyways – warm enough that the Princesses had immediately removed the outer layers of their desert robes. Meantime, chalk and spare scroll in hand, Yarimda set about her designs. He peeked over her shoulder. Not just a decent hand, lady – slightly unsteady due to her advanced age, yet from her fingers flowed elegant robes, flattering lines and even secret storage pockets, he observed with a tail-wriggle of pleasure.

Artist!

“Dragon, why are you breathing over my shoulder?” she probed.

“Appreciating your work, ma’am.”

“Is that so?”

“With that talent, you could design scales for Dragons,” he returned, satisfied when her neck visibly heated up. He scented her delight.

“You are too kind to an old woman, Dragon.”

“Is that so?”

She laughed openly at his riposte. “Dragon, would you and your Princesses be open to the suggestion of flying an old woman back to Hamirythe Kingdom, to the shores of the ocean?”

“Grandmother!” Yardi protested.

“Now, child, I’ve been talking about this for at least a decade. You know my heart.”

It had been on the tips of his forked tongue to chuckle indulgently at her request, but now, Dragon stilled to a different realisation. She meant to die there. He had read that at the end of their days beneath the suns, old Dragons might sometimes be struck by an overwhelming desire to return to the lair of their birth. People shared this gift? How curious. Perhaps it was a commonality of a soul’s knowing?

This lore was deeper than most Dragons would allow of the Humankind in their worldview, but her desire could hardly be mistaken.

Glancing at Azania, who nodded slightly, he said, “Honoured Yarimda, we would most certainly be amenable, but you should know our flight path is no easy one – from here, we intend to swing around the mountains and fly up through the Blood Desert to the Umber Steppes, from where it is a steep climb to the lair of Juggernaut the Grinder. We would then fly over the high passes to the Kingdom of Amboraine and straight north to Mornine.”

“North until Mornine?” she jested lightly. “That could work.”

“Grandmother, that is a gruelling flight over the very roof of the world!” Yardi protested. “You are no longer a spring chicken of eighty, may I remind you? Ninety-four this autumn!”

“Child, neither of us have been happy in Chakkix Camp for many a year. Let’s talk about this. You’ve wanted to travel and find yourself a man –”

“Grandmother!”

Yardi flushed so violently, the colour moved down her tan throat and into her muscular arms. Intriguing response!

Dragon narrowed his eyes. “Is there a man?”

“No!”

“May I threaten to eat him if he does not treat you honourably?”

“Er … sounds good to me,” the armourer grumbled.

Her grandmother said blithely, “None in this camp anyways. Yardi, fly with us. Come see the ocean with me – come fly Dragonback, as I used to fly on Wavewhisperer’s back. I warn you, once you start …”

Tarangis Lionbaiter said, “Well, educational as all this is, I must ask, Princess Azania, if the new King might be amenable to continuing our arrangement?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Dragon put in testily, “What do Roving Ambassadors of T’nagru do, then – wander about the kingdoms looking vacuously pretty? Use your authority, woman!”

“Ambassador?” Tarangis chortled. “Old N’gala must be turning in his – ahem. Terribly sorry.”

Wince. Tasteless joke.

Azania clearly did not know where to look nor what to say.

The Lionbaiter rubbed his temples. “I apologise. It’s been a very long day. Princess, I will have my accountant turn in a statement of our business to you by morning. Suffice it to say, you and Dragon have enough credit to buy half of the clothing in this camp, not that you’d want it, mind. I can recommend an excellent tailor who will have you back in those lethal leather trousers in no time at all … grief, what is the matter with my tongue? I meant to say, he will have you suitably attired in a timescale of your choosing.”

Inzashu dared a little wink at Dragon. “Timescale?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Azania advised.

“I’ll send her right over so that you can ratify the Ambassador’s derriere – I mean, your new, upscaled agreement, Tarangis,” Dragon put in.

He smacked his thighs in delight. “I could not possibly comment.”

“I’m glad you know what’s healthy for you,” Azania warned, “unlike my Dragon, who has just dug himself a hole through which one can see the other side of Solixambria!”

Glare, glare.

After a moment, he chuckled smokily, for the first time in his life. So startled was he, he chuckled a second time.

Plainly angered by what she took for a snarky response, the Princess snapped her fingers. “Dragon! Heel.”

By tone, he knew she meant to tug his wings, he was just not sure how. “What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t help if you don’t know Human culture,” she complained. “To call to heel means, well – perhaps I shouldn’t … exactly …”

Yarimda pointed at the open forge. “Dragon, aim that way.”

“Oh, it’s that bad, is it?” said he, pointing his new fire-squirter anywhere but in the proposed direction.

Azania marched out of the cavern in a fake huff, calling back, “Dragon, we’re going to the tailor. Will you come along to protect us, please?”

He prowled along after, nursing the unfamiliar feeling of a stomach boiling with fiery fury. By his sire’s egg, he would need to be careful with these volatile white fires. Either that, or learn to keep his fangs firmly clamped shut. That idea would not be shared with the Princess. It would be used against him most unfairly, with a coy female smile.

Ten minutes later, he asked a perfectly innocent tailor’s assistant what ‘call to heel’ meant.

GRRAAA – BOOM!!

The entire side of the tailor’s tent, plus the next two over, went up in flames.

Sigh.

Turning to Azania, he said, “Do you want to pay for all this destroyed merchandise, or shall I?”

“Perhaps that wasn’t the wisest tease?” she said, rubbing her chin ruefully as they stood shoulder to shoulder, surveying the smoking ruin.

“Perhaps not.” Turning to the terrified tailor, he growled, “There goes that tidy profit Tarangis was just congratulating us upon, I fear. Tell me again how you were proposing to make her trousers fireproof? I feel we ought to get this detail just right.”

“A special leather treatment used by blacksmiths, Dragon,” the Princess reminded him. “Tailor, we’ll make good on all the damages. What’s next?”

He stammered, “M-m-measuring. Please, mighty Dragon, would you face the open air when I do so?”

“Why?”

“Because it involves me wrapping this tape about her –”

He pointed to the royal thighs.

Grrr-gnarrr – he struggled mightily, before jerking his jaw upward – BLAST THESE FLAMES!!

With a roar like a mighty ocean comber crashing upon a rocky shore, an incandescent white flower blossomed a hundred feet tall over Chakkix Camp.

Tailoring was a dangerous business.

Dragon lowered his muzzle with a toothy grin, blowing twin smoke rings from his nostrils. Nice! “Much as I enjoy terrorising the local populace, Princess, forgive me if I keep my nose in the air from now on. It’s not snootiness. This is called preservation.”

“I understand,” she smiled. “Tailor, what can we do to double the fireproofing?”

* * * *

The overloaded flying cart, alias the Dragon, glowered over the pile of gear he was supposed to be carrying in addition to no less than four riders, and added a curl of fire out of his nostrils for good measure. Unfortunately, the effect tickled his nose. Swiftly aiming skyward, he sneezed a plume of fire that licked the roof of the cavern.

“All essential?” he growled.

“Are we not feeling strong enough?” the Princess of Peskiness peeped pertly. Back to being an ornery, cranky chunk of male Dragon. Blame the early start.

“I hope for your sake this new clothing is as fireproof as they claimed,” he threatened.

“Who’s a scandalously handsome Dragon, then?”

“Me. Who’s a tiny Human about to be a Princess pancake, then?”

“My sister,” she said, without missing a beat.

They could not have been dressed less alike. Azania wore finely-tooled black boots, scandalously tight and certified fully fireproof black trousers, plus a shirt of the same sturdy material beneath her body armour. The Dragon talon blade hung at her right hip on a snazzy yet functional weapons belt. She had added three new daggers – one in each boot and one at the hip – and more weaponry in her slim, stylish vambraces. Silver trim on the armour, Princess? Crest of the desert eagle upon her belt? Aye, and she wore her curly sable hair loose, down to her middle-lower back.

Apparently, good taste need not be limited to ball gowns. Being the unconventional soul that she was, his Princess turned her outfit into a statement of lethal femininity. Slit of eye, he regarded the girl, who gave him the pointy-chinned, impudent appraisal right back. Based her fashion on a certain Dragoness they could both name, had she?

Including the attitude.

His wings buzzed with anticipation at the thought of this Princess displaying herself before King Azerim. Well, not that Humans formally courtship-displayed their attributes, but he had noticed several rituals that approximated this draconic tradition – modes of dress, flirtation, demands for ransom and covert admiration of royal posteriors, to name but a few behaviours.

Ah, Humans thought themselves so noble, so unlike the beastly Dragonkind!

Nonsense.

Her sister wore an all cream-coloured outfit of no style familiar to him – a one-off creation by Yarimda that comprised soft half-boots and full-length body-hugging undergarments, largely covered and flattered by a layered, charmingly tailored feminine over-dress of a darker cream shade that pinched in at the waist but flared into multiple splits to facilitate ease of movement. The layering made the silken material swish like a dress when she walked, but the functionality was also clear – multiple pockets for healing materials, a wide belt with generous pouches, and even places hidden in the collar and sleeves for equipment and aye, weapons. For the first time, she wore her black hair natural, a bouffant style that framed her face in at least six inches of curls. He blinked. Quite astonishing.

Inzashu smiled timidly at his zealous scrutiny.

He inclined his muzzle toward her. “You look amazing, Princess the younger. Let’s go.”

Azania cleared her throat.

“And you look lethal, Princess the older,” he added promptly, leaving her in no doubt that her immediate aggravation had been noted and sniggered at. “Come, o mighty Dragon Rider, your royal carriage awaits.”

“Wow, I didn’t get this treatment the first time you kidnapped me.”

“No, that day I whisked you forth in your royal bed and straightaway nearly landed us both in the moat. Lucky save.” He scratched at his flank and around his hindquarters. “Load up, ladies. I need no less than four minions to look after the mighty draconic personage these days, being such a mighty crisper of fabrics and annihilator of fripperies, and all that.”

Yarimda’s wrinkles arranged themselves into a fantastical smile. In fluent Draconian, she said, You remind me so much of my friend, Wavewhisperer! Dragon, this is such a gift to me. How can I thank you enough?

He said, To be blunt, you can tell us honestly how much travel you can cope with, honoured Yarimda. If you’re struggling, I want to know it right away. No holding out for the sake of the youngsters, or pride, or anything else … am I clear?

The old woman wiped away a tear. Clear as the waters of the Lumis Ocean.

Reaching out, he clasped her frail shoulders with his right forepaw. I can never be Wavewhisperer, honoured elder, but this much I would gladly do for you.

She snuffled against his scales.

Then, the three younger ladies set about the loading while he acted the courteous tyrant, refusing to allow Yarimda to lift a finger. Well, she got to hold her cane. That much was permitted.

Loading was in full swing when Tarangis turned up with a cheery greeting and an exasperated, “Alright, who told all my staff to start calling me ‘Dragonbaiter,’ eh?”

Both Princesses burst into merry peals of laughter.

His eyes flickered toward Azania’s legs before patently jumping to the enormous fire breathing quadruped grinning toothily right behind her. Tarangis gulped. Ah, tested and approved. Azerim did not stand a mutton chop’s chance in the back of a Dragon’s throat.

“Inzashu’s idea,” Azania claimed.

“Ah, always the quiet ones, eh?” Tarangis grinned, rubbing his neck. “Very good. Your Highness, we were able to source all the items on your list of healing ingredients and potions. This is for you.”

She accepted the leather satchel with murmured thanks.

“Secondly, regarding the matter of the coldstones you asked me to look into. A friend with expert knowledge claims that these are not Skartunese emeralds at all, but rather, a type of green tourmaline gem called verdelite – which leads to the rather more interesting and political issue. There is only one known source of this gemstone in all of Solixambria.”

“Where’s that?” Azania inquired, checking the saddle buckles on his neck.

Double neck saddle, double up on the back. Why had he agreed to this again? Daft nobility? Flying cart had nothing on this effort.

“The interior of the volcano on Terror Isle, I believe,” said he, passing the stone over to Dragon’s paw.

Dragon swore beneath his breath.

“I … don’t understand,” Inzashu said. “What does this mean, Tarangis?”

He said, “To clarify, this mage also examined the magical properties of the stone. The precise signature of the binding runes identify this, beyond doubt, as the handiwork of Terror Clan Dragons.” Worth another blistering word, which Dragon readily supplied. “Aye. We can reasonably conclude that there is a thriving trade between the Terror Clan across the Umber Steppes and the Blood Desert, to Skartun. Therefore, the Terror Clan may be plotting against all the Dragon Clans of the Tamarine Mountains, or against Humanity in general, or both.”

“Skartun’s buying in dark magic?” Yardi growled.

“Sure looks like it,” Azania replied. “I should write to my brother at once.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a scroll summarising the findings related to your inquiry, Ambassador,” Tarangis said formally. “If you would like to read and sign it, I’ll have it dispatched to King N’chala by a trusted courier today.”

The Princess said, “Tarangis, why are you doing all this for us?”

“Highness, the proceeds of good business are far more readily enjoyed in the current life than in the afterlife.”

“True.”

“During the last invasion, the Skartun butchered my family. I was the only one who survived. So aye, it is personal. Right now, I don’t see anyone else working quite so hard to stop this fresh invasion. I’m here to wish you lightning speed and favour with the Clans of the mountains – but trust me when I say, if the talon of Terror Clan lies beneath this, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Bending over his wheelchair, Azania gave him a hug and a kiss on the scruffy beard.

Instantly wound around her littlest talon.

One of his Dragon Rider’s finest qualities, he reflected, was that she had no idea what impact she had on people. Artless, her affection; a heart which knew no limits. Witness how she had extracted a certain morose Dragon from his lair and turned him into one who believed he could breathe fire, traverse oceans and change the face of his world.

That was the thought that buoyed his wings as he arrowed into a sky brightening from the deep purples of early dawn to ruddy furnace fires. That, and Yarimda’s laughter. Yardi had a death grip around her grandmother’s waist, holding onto an improvised saddle strap anchored to his neck. They rode in tandem, as did the Princesses upon his back, just behind the Dragon bow mount. The muscular armourer muttered as if she might be praying. Yarimda giggled like a young girl and wiped her eyes on her sleeves. The wind, of course. Nothing to do with the emotions turning her colours blue and yellow and pink, and as turbulent as the ocean.

His five hearts quickened with a fierce, pounding rhythm of joy as he recognised the longing they shared. Ocean rose inside of her, too.

Ocean always rises.

Chapter 5: Terror Clan

THE FLYING CART ITCHED worse than the two Princesses. Their skin, at least, although it had blistered and then peeled in numerous places, was recovering with gratifying speed thanks to an additional treatment Tarangis had sourced for them. Back in debt, of course. Seven paintings sold were not about to cover a spot of unintended obliteration, plus all their spending on clothing and supplies in addition to Tarangis’ earlier advance of several gold bars. Resting over lunchtime in a wooded vale in the foothills of the Tamarine mountains, he scratched endlessly at his scales, all over. The rasp of his talons was matched only by his incessant grumbling.

He wished he had never imagined what it might be like to have shivery Human skin bobbles beneath his scales. This was as if he had been doused in itching powder, infested by fifty billion scale mites, or contracted a nasty bacterial hide infection.

To distract himself, he told Yarimda the tale of their doings since last they had met. Ten minutes into his story, she vented a delicate snore.

Azania gave him one of her looks.

“I’ll have none of your cheek, woman,” he groused.

“Did I say anything?”

“For a change, no, but you were definitely thinking it.”

“Are you telling me to stop thinking?”

Conversational porcupine! Gnashing his fangs, he gazed into the distance.

The three younger women worked at weapons training together and shooting arrows at targets until the early afternoon, when they set out for another stint in the air.

Their chosen flight path curved over the south-eastern foothills of the Tamarine Range, a dry but wooded range of hills that smelled strongly of pine scents and bitter herbs. They kept to the vegetation belt without intruding on the Blood Desert itself; in the early evening, Dragon spied a smaller Bloodworm through his spectacles.

What did monstrous worms do for fun? Burrow beneath kingdoms?

Turning north with the vaulting ranges of snow-capped peaks to their left paw, he searched for a campsite while Yardi and her grandmother engaged in a heated discussion about how much travel seniors could handle, even if they were having the best time of their life.

“There, beside that hot spring,” Azania suggested. “Is that a small buck?”

“Aye. Shall we sneak in?”

“He sneaks?” Yarimda inquired in surprise.

“You’ve no idea how quiet and sneaky a beast of Dragon’s size can be,” Azania said truthfully. “Show her, Dragon.”

Drawing his magic about him, he silenced the wuthering wind, his breathing, even the thudding of his hearts which Azania told him she could hear during flight.

“Awesome,” Inzashu chirped.

“Shh!” said everyone else.

Silent as a drifting snowflake, they ghosted down toward the multihued springs, set in a shallow green valley, which possibly arose from mountain meltwater, Dragon surmised. Out there in the rust-red desert wasteland, there seemed to be no moisture at all. Would the suspected trade route follow the coastline, or would the flying route parallel the mountains here, as they were doing?

As he came down into Azania’s range and the Princess landed a perfect shot to the heart, he found an answer of sorts. He spied paw prints in the crusty white salts beside the steaming spring, the most easterly of a set of at least five.

Why else would Dragons be out here?

After setting down and unloading, he took a long, long soak in the hottest spring. Glorious. The heat unknotted his weary muscles. Every ten minutes or so, he could enjoy a hot shower from a regular geyser. This was a balm to his unbearably itchy hide. Maybe he would just sleep right here. The crusty salts looked and smelled tempting, despite being every colour of the rainbow. The girls set up camp, did their laundry – he lazily pictured hanging up Dragon scales to dry – and Inzashu changed her sister’s crusty bandages. The double wound had puckered up and was oozing a few nasty yellow spots Dragon could have done without seeing.

Human bodies – blergh!

“A hot salt water soak would be best,” the younger Princess announced. “Clothes off, sister, and find a pool you can tolerate.”

Hand to bosom, pretending – he was not quite sure what this was, but it might be related to the literary idea of maidenly palpitations, which he was convinced Azania had never experienced in her life – the older sister declaimed, “Oh, not near yon fearsome beast!”

“Sister, that snaggletoothed monster, that fiendish four-pawed –”

“Snaggletoothed?”

Fire dribbled from his mouth, contributing to the general heat of his pool. Once, he had been a beast of enormous draculinity. Now look at him!

“Fie, hearken how he awakens in fearful, panting majesty, sister!” Azania cried.

“Ah, I tremble that he did not even let me finish my one and only polished sentence, and now I am laughing too hard to think of any more creative insults –”

“I can always come up with a few extra.”

Rising from his pool, Dragon stalked over toward them. “I think I’ll practise my Princess-throwing skills now. Which pool did you want to try?”

“The one not overrun by a formidable monster,” she crooned.

To his annoyance, his new fire stomach promptly began to rumble as if he had swallowed a small but decidedly angry Dragon. Even though the girls’ laughter irked him, he decided to play with the sensation, experimenting, perhaps learning an element of control.

No chance. Once it was present, the fire had to be expelled. Was that to do with the electrolysis process, whereby his lightning magic worked upon highly flammable gases? He let the flame play from his lips, governing the flow with his throat and tongue. The sensation was marvellous, like playing with silken cloth that slowly, endlessly whispered up out of his body – but soon, the familiar tingling spread all over, and with it came the excruciating itching.

Scratch, scratch, SCRATCH!! GNARR!

Tell me about these fires, Dragon, Yarimda invited. I understand that you’ve found the song of your ocean. Now, if you had never breathed fire in twenty years, we must expect things to change. You are fire. Fire is the Dragon – but moreover, your fire is unique amongst Dragons of the air, as I understand it. That will mean changes to your physiology, some of which are clearly uncomfortable.

By my wings, that’s an understatement! he growled, watching his talons curling helplessly at the jangling sensations playing up and down his nerves. I thought – wrongly, it seems – that after I found my fires, everything would be easy.

Serenely, she said, But it is. Your fire arises at a thought.

He scratched his rump glumly.

Come on. Tell an old lady all about it – and this time, I promise not to fall asleep, alright?

Fire! He gulped twice, threw back his head, and lost it.

Yarimda cocked her head and watched his flame gush and gush and gush. Eventually, she said, Now that’s a breath weapon worthy of the name, Dragon! Come on, let’s get to work on you.

An evening’s pleasant conversation, theorising, testing and experimentation came topped off with three-quarters of a delicious fire-grilled bushbuck prepared by Yardi. Skills beyond the furnace and metals, clearly, he approved, washing it down with long sips of water and several chunks of rock salt.

Dragon let out such a belch, it almost flattened Princess Azania’s hair.

“Dragon!” Inzashu squealed.

“It’s cultural,” said her sister. “When among Dragons, you will need to learn to burp – like this. Brrraaa-ooouu-arrrpp!”

“What a rip-snorter!” Dragon approved.

Inzashu-N’shula had a helpless fit of the giggles. They had no idea how rude it was to belch in Skartun, clearly. People had been murdered for lesser offences. Often.

With four little Humans to guard during the nights, Dragon had to spread himself wider than before. He took the Princesses upon his forepaws and nestled the other pair in the crook of his tail, spreading his wing over them later on to ward off the night chill. Four cosy fleas – meant in the fondest sense of the word, of course. Oops. Fleas preferred fur to scales. Pah!

His kind always slept with one eye open a crack. Nothing bothered them out here, however. Come a dawn of towering sky fires over the ruddy desert, they broke camp and flew on, ever northward, seeking the next landmark of the broad, sluggish and highly dangerous Skaggar River that divided the Blood Desert from the Umber Steppes.

He flew fast but in shorter stretches for Yarimda’s sake. The barren crimson rock of the Blood Desert passed beneath them all morning, about half a mile below. Before noon, they already caught sight of the turquoise, meandering river in the distance.

“Dragons on our tail,” Azania gasped.

“What?” He turned his neck sharply. “Gnarr, I wasn’t paying attention. Pass my spectacles, please?”

“The clouds didn’t help,” the Princess pointed out. “Must have been trailing us for a good few miles to have gotten this close. Shrewd.”

Inzashu inquired, “Are they friendly, Dragon?”

He took a long look. “I highly doubt it. Those are no Dragons I’ve ever seen around the Tamarine Mountains. Judging by the wing angles and speed, my guess is that they’re chasing us.”

“Terror Clan?” Azania guessed.

“Spavined rock-chewing lizards!” he gritted between his fangs. “Aye, that’s a good call. Three adult male greens. Three on one is not cheerful odds.”

“Three on five.”

“Princess, I – I should have kept a better watch. They’re already too close to hide from or outfly. I’m heavily loaded.”

“You are indeed,” Azania agreed. “Yardi, can you handle a bow and supply Dragon with quarrels? I’ll set up the Dragon bow up top. Inzashu, there’s a bow and arrows in the gear beside your left knee. Yarimda –er …”

“I can handle a bow,” she said.

“Good,” he agreed.

“Dragon, remember what Juggernaut said about protecting your Rider with your wings?”

“Aye. We mustn’t let them get too close. I can handle anything coming in from below, but it’s the vertical attack that’ll be problematic given the way we’re burdened. If they’re smart, they’ll figure that out straight away. Girls – ladies, even – helmets and protective gear, please. It’s very likely we’re going to feel some flame. Our strategy will be to lure them in, then try to get shots away with the Dragon bows and my flame, which has a range no Dragon will expect. Yarimda says it’s far hotter as well. If we can incapacitate one and wound another in that first tangle, we’ll stand a chance.”

Quietly, for him alone, Yarimda whispered, Three on one is deadly odds, Dragon. We’ve put you in mortal danger.

I’ve never run from vengeful Terror Clan Dragons before, honoured Yarimda. This was completely unexpected. My question is, where did they come from and how much do they know about our capabilities?

Aye, right you are. You’ve got this, Dragon. Courage!

Stretching his wings to gain altitude, he led the greens on a merry chase toward the canyon from which the Skaggar River poured down out of the mountains. This gave his crew time to arm themselves. They donned gloves and helms in addition to their armour, and even neck protection meant to ensure that at least a quick blast of Dragon fire would not penetrate. Meantime, the trio of greens came on fast, flying aggressively to catch up.

Would there be a nice river cavern down there in which to hide, change the odds …

“Spectacles, Dragon,” Azania reminded him.

“Thanks. Yarimda?”

“I’ll pack them away, young Dragon.”

“What’s in the river that’s so dangerous?” Yardi inquired meantime. “Pretty colour but quite shallow, I think. How many quarrels, Dragon?”

“Three, please.”

Azania said, “Shoals of carnivorous fish. Nasty creatures. I once saw a trader who had managed to bring some down to N’ginta Citadel, wanting my father to breed them in the water cisterns. Father suggested the man jump into a barrel with his own fish. Never had time for fools.”

Dragon! Stop and fight, you slack-winged coward! Donkey! I spit upon your ancestors’ accursed eggs!

“Donkey? Sure getting creative,” he growled. “I guess that confirms the friendliness angle. So, team, do we wait for them to take up their positions, or shall we spring an ambush of our own?”

“Ambush,” said three voices.

Yardi threw up her hands. “Whatever keeps us alive!”

Whirling on his wingtip in a Juggernaut-approved aerial tactic, he kept his momentum moving away from the chasing Dragons, contrary to expectation. All three almost stalled as they anticipated the attack. Picking the nearest target, Dragon charged him, bellowing, Terror Clan scum!

He did not give the roar his all. Save that surprise for closer combat.

Ho, brothers, it’s the flying turd from T’nagru!

So, they knew. How? Where was their lair, their base?

Closing to within a hundred feet, he and Azania unleashed quarrels simultaneously. The enemy green shimmered and split in two! The quarrels hurtled uselessly through nothingness.

Azania spluttered, “What the –”

Suddenly, he was charging at something he knew to be an illusion – only, which was –

“Left, Dragon!” Inzashu screeched. “Sorry –”

“Don’t be sorry, keep calling!” Loading his second quarrel, Dragon let loose from a distance of less than thirty feet. Thwock! Dead centre in the chest.

Then he furled his outer wing, throwing them sharply aside and straight through the illusion. Two smaller bowstrings sang. The winch squealed as a wave of orange fire and heat billowed toward them. He threw up his other wing, shielding his Riders as he took them rapidly past the deeply wounded enemy Dragon, angling for a second Green, who repeated the dividing manoeuvre. The acrid stench of dark magic burned his nostrils as he closed in. The third enemy climbed higher. No time to worry about him as yet.

“Inzashu, which one?”

“He’s … oscillating! Switching … left, now right …”

Cursed dark magic! Lifting his bow, Dragon aimed deliberately and shouted at Azania, “Shoot the right on my mark, Princess!”

His quarrel spat forth with an ugly whurr! At the same time, he pursed his lips and summoned a deathly stream of fire, targeting the image on the left. A flicker of the magic warned him as the Dragon leaped somehow into that incandescent space, and screamed as the searing white fires immolated him. Two arrows plunged into the fires; he could not have told if they hit home, but his Riders were doing their best.

“Now, Princess!”

The green oscillated into his other form again, only to be instantly spitted in the neck by Azania’s quarrel.

“Left and below!” Yardi cried.

The archers fired again as the first green closed in, orange fire gushing from his throat. The instant the arrows sped away, he rolled, presenting his belly and paws to the blast. A tail-lash kept the green away as they corkscrewed apart, but a quick talon tore a six-foot rent in his wing. Dragon cursed in pain.

The middle Dragon was done, falling limply toward the river. A lucky shot; it must have severed the spine or pierced a major artery.

He circled this wounded beast, trying to keep the right distance as well as looking out for the third green, somewhere above. Learning drummed through his mind, issues he knew of only from study. Taking the height was a dominant position in aerial combat, a statement of aggression and danger for the lower creature. Would they attack simultaneously? They must.

“Loaded,” Azania said.

“My shot’s the feint,” he called.

“Go!”

Surging forward in the air, Dragon fired immediately. Whurr! The Terror Clan green blurred away once more. Handy trick, that, but the second he stabilised, Azania fired a second quarrel and he wore it in the thick muscle of the left shoulder. It did not even penetrate more than three feet. Closing the gap as the other Dragon whirled sideways under the impetus of the shot, he opened his jaw and thundered:

I AM DRAGON!!

The sonic attack stunned him for a vital half-second. Smashing into the other Dragon’s left wing, he yanked it sideways with his forepaws and sank his fangs up to the gums into the upper wing joint, delivering a deep, disabling bite to the sinews.

Azania screamed, “Dragon, above –”

KERBLAM!!

They all rattled together like seeds in a pod as a massive weight smashed into his hindquarters. Pain ripped through his lower back as the third green stabbed his talons deep, hanging on as he dragged Dragon off his fellow marauder.

Brown traitor! You will die like the dog you are! he snarled, sinking his claws in a second time, this time in the lower belly.

He bellowed as the weight dragged him through the sky; he tried to tumble to throw the other off, but the Talon Clan beast was cunning, hanging on with his hooked forepaws and great strength. Pain pulsed through his body as the Dragon ripped at his flanks and tail.

Two greens plummeted helplessly. His wing-bite had been near-perfect, severing the major sinews and nerve bundles serving the wing – still, the Dragon might recover and come to a safe landing, if he did not splash down in the river. Even for a Dragon, that would be fatal. This third one, however, had him in a talon-lock that could easily lead to mortal injuries. He must shake him off or face being disembowelled or having fangs chew down into his spine. Dragon lashed his tail and tried to claw upward with his hind paws, but the wrestler’s lock-pawed grip on his lower belly region was inch-perfect.

Terror Clan traitor! he bellowed.

The green roared, There is no dishonour like bearing Humans upon your back!

Struggling and writhing, he fought to throw the other off. No good. Think, Dragon. Think! Twizzling his neck, he peered over his shoulder. What do you even want with the Skartun, you fools? Don’t you see that they will enslave you, too?

The other Dragon just grinned malevolently, raising his paw. Only a witless slave of Humans stands against the Terror Clan. We will rule all the Dragonkind after this! So tell me, brown slug, which shall I eat first – the little black Princess, or the other one?

He roared the first thing that came to mind. “Princess, cut loose and jump!”

Inzashu screamed as the green’s talons raked her back. She was the hindmost rider, the one in the most danger from this Talon Clan thug. Orange fire surged behind his fangs, but in that instant, Azania’s talon dagger flashed, severing her sister’s saddle belt. Grabbing her about the waist, she dived overboard, bouncing off his flank before falling free.

White fire thundered across his own back, singeing the Dragon’s face. Blinded! The grip released and he fell away, tearing at his eyes and screaming a Dragon’s lament.

“Princess!”

Folding his wings, Dragon rocketed in steep vertical dive toward the river, which was far closer than he had imagined. Air, water, clouds, mountains blurred before his gaze. Not going to make it. The Princesses would be eaten alive!

Chapter 6: Water Fire

SMACKING HIM ABOUT THE earholes with her bow to gain his attention, Yarimda yelled, “It’s too shallow for a dive! Pull up!”

Shallow? Curse it! His weak eyes were no good in situations like this.

Flaring his wings at the last second and adjusting toward where he saw a splodge of tan next to a darker splodge beneath the bright turquoise waters, Dragon landed clumsily, throwing up great white plumes of spray to either side. Poking his muzzle beneath the surface, he was shocked to find everything … clear. Crystal clear, from the rocky bottom to the school of silvery fish mobbing the Princesses, who were trying to swim to the surface while hampered by the weight of their clothing and armour.

The coverage must have saved them, because he saw crimson trailing like a ribbon from Inzashu’s shoulder. The fish loved that, but so far they could only tear at her armour. Instinctively, he pursed his lips and breathed forth his fire. Close, but not directly at them.

In fact, twizzling his neck, he drew a neat circle around their bodies. The silvery fish flitted away.

Azania hung limp in her sister’s arms!

Powering forward with wings and webbed paws pumping, he scooped them up and then breached again. Paddle for safety. He was not sure how to launch himself out of water; now was not the moment to experiment, despite the multiple pinpricks of pain from the fish nibbling at his wounds. They were only a hundred Dragon paces from the northern shore.

“Good work, Dragon!” Yarimda yelled.

Yardi smacked a fish off her grandmother’s arm. “Get off!”

Powering through the water, he surged up over several boulders and then up the bank, beginning to shake himself before realising that ninety-four year-old elders probably would not appreciate such a violent jolting. Majestic Dragon-battling grand-dams!

Gnarr! he approved. Good work, my Riders!

“What’s that?” Yardi asked as he placed the pair of Princesses upon a soft sandbank. Warm, creamy sand. Lovely. Especially since it came without carnivorous fish.

“I said, excellent work.”

Lifting her sister, Inzashu smacked her several times between the shoulders. With a choking cough, half of the river came flooding out. She gasped, heaved a ragged breath and bent over, hacking away. Azania was waterlogged but alive, which was the important part. All alive – they had beaten the odds!

Yardi and Yarimda unbuckled meantime.

The older woman hobbled around to his side, drawing her dagger. “Persistent, aren’t they?” she snorted, spearing at fish which were still stuck inside his wounds, trying to eat their way deeper.

Great. As holey as a moth-eaten carpet.

Yardi rushed around to his other flank to help out there. At the same time, Dragon glanced about for the Terror Clan Dragons. One lay slumped upon the far side of the river, his neck twisted at an impossible angle. Two had fallen into the river; both were surrounded by a boiling mass of white, which he belatedly realised was the toothy fish fighting one another to get at the feast. One was dead, but the other, the wing-bitten Dragon, was being eaten alive.

BWAA-HAA-HARRR!! he thundered over the river.

Worm! shrieked the stricken Dragon, thrashing around with his one working wing. The other had already been eaten away to the bone. Help me – we’ll defeat – aiee! Cowardly worm, don’t just … stand there!

The sight turned his stomach.

Call me Dragon! he thundered, spinning upon the sand to vent his spleen upon the unfortunate traitor. It’s the last thing you’ll ever do!

“Dragon!” Azania gasped.

“What?”

“You knocked Yarimda over – and, aren’t you going to go help him?”

“That cold-hearted coward? Help? What a vile, unthinkable idea. He’s getting the death he so richly deserves, attacking us in a trio. That, Princess –” he stabbed a talon toward the wailing, writhing Dragon “– that is called justice.”

Inzashu wept.

He stooped over the younger girl, indignant. “Come now, Princess. Does that beast not deserve the most horrible fate imaginable?”

“Aye, but that – that … oh, Dragon! Listen to him.”

It dawned upon him, from her reaction and the shadows in Azania’s eyes, that Humans did not prize suffering the same way Dragons did. What thrilled him – the sounds of a cowardly, defeated creature meeting a most befitting end – distressed his companions far beyond what he could bear to inflict. How had he never seen it this way before?

Was there only one path to honour? No.

With a slow nod, he said, “For your sakes, I shall end him.”

Rising, he coiled his legs and launched out over the waters, spreading his wings in a quick glide. In a moment, he hovered above the other Dragon, wondering if he could bring himself to act against everything he had been taught, what he had imbibed from his sire, dam and Clan – traditions and values which bound him so deeply, he realised. Was he that creature? That old Blitz the Devastator? Or could he be something new?

Please – PLEASE! the green begged shamefully.

It was not about right or wrong, so much as learning to value differences.

To kill now was disgraceful, but who else would ever know? If he cared so much for what other Dragons believed, why had he ever chosen to bear a black Princess upon his back and to declare her his Dragon Rider? Could he ever become himself if he followed their hidebound thinking?

A decision clarified in his mind. He breathed, May your soul find rest, brother.

The Dragon’s agonised eyes registered disbelief and … relief.

Pursing his lips, he directed a stream of white-hot fire down upon him, raising enormous clouds of boiling water and smoke, until the thrashing stopped. The remains of the body drifted away on the current. Back came the fish to finish the feast, those not already fried in the scalding water.

Flicking his wings, he returned to the sandbank, wondering what under the suns he was feeling. Disbelief, or relief of his own?

How odd.

Azania said softly, “Thank you, Dragon.”

He inclined his muzzle, and snuffled gently at Inzashu’s back. “You are wounded and need treatment. I’m sorry about … about being such a Dragon. You see, in my culture, it is regarded as detestable to end suffering before full measure has been returned to the perpetrator of the wrong. We see it as a kind of righteous balance, I suppose. It must seem an awfully strange belief to you.”

She sniffed, shivering at his touch, but then swivelled on her heel to face him. “I … I understand, I think.”

“You do? Ah, sorry.”

“I suppose it’s very silly of me to think that a Dragon will behave, believe and simply be just like a bigger Human.” Inzashu made a very tiny, tremulous quirk of her lips. “What would you say if I told you that many Skartun will kill an infant if its upper teeth come in before the lower ones? They believe the child is cursed.”

Blergh! he spat, taken aback. “You’re serious?”

“Sad,” she said.

Reaching out, he gave her an awkward paw hug. “I know that these are meant to work marvels for the Human heart by a process no Dragon understands.”

She shivered. “I haven’t had a great many hugs in my life. Nahritu-N’shula was not a believer in physical affection. I had most of mine from a nurse companion who travelled with us for some years, because an eminent Psyromantic Mage could not be bothered with caring for a whinging infant.”

So bitter, at eleven years old.

This was her life’s experience. Deliberately, he said, “Well, I haven’t had many hugs either. Very undraconic. In fact, many Dragons believe Humans carry unnameable infectious diseases. The way they talk, you’d imagine their scales were in danger of falling off.”

“Like yours?” Azania said, pulling at his tail.

To say he jumped was an understatement. He nearly leaped out of his scales. WHAT?

The Princess held up a scale. “I think you might be shedding.”

“DRAGONS DO NOT … sorry, but …”

She prodded at her ears. “Please, Dragon, I understand that you’re upset, but those sonic effects are going to burst my eardrums one of these days. It hurts when you’re that loud.”

“Sorry!”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, but don’t Dragons lose scales all the time?”

He stared at the patch on his mid-tail. Not like that. Not as if he had mange. Lifting the next one over with his talon, he felt how loose it was. How flimsy. Upon investigation, he noticed many other brittle patches peppered up and down his flanks, along his back, and right down to the end of his tail.

Not to mention the holes the green had clawed in his hide, oozing copious quantities of silver blood. No flying on today.

He said, “My quest for new fires appears to have taken an unexpected turn.”

“Plot twist,” said the Princess.

“I don’t like plot twists; they hurt,” Dragon growled sulkily. “Could I have a new author, please?”

Azania smiled, “I’ll hire a decent one, tomorrow. Instant new coat of scales. For now, let’s get you patched up, my friend. I don’t like the idea of you leaking quite so much.”

“Dragons do not leak!”

* * * *

Unfortunately, that was not entirely true. He oozed. A lot. Nor had the Terror Clan beast bothered to clean his talons before tucking into his guts with zest. Desperately wanting a swim to clean off and relieve his inflamed scales, Dragon wallowed about in the shallows but still had to flame the waters regularly to keep the little pests from nipping around his ankles. When one absconded with a scale, he decided that enough was enough. In what may have been described as a temper tantrum, which he should have grown out of by the time he was five, he turned fifty feet of river into a steam bath.

The water did not care, but the barbecued fish did.

With utter predictability, his fish dinner tasted as disgusting as it looked. Spiny, oily and altogether disagreeable.

Time for a nap on that sandbank.

“Tuck you in with a duck-down pillow and silken sheets, Dragon?” Azania cooed.

“Watch out, I’m known for my biting humour.”

“Aye, your jokes have a real snap.”

“Sharp wit, Princess.”

“I have you to sharpen my claws upon, gnarr,” she chuckled, pretending her fingers were rending talons. Decent impression. Never in a million years would he admit how amusing she was.

“How’s that hole in your hide, Highness?”

“Shall we compare? Or are you just going to be all ‘holier than thou?’ ”

This time he guffawed so hard, he sprayed sand in her face.

Served her right.

He added, “I am holier than thou, but then, I have much more scope to be holy than you.” Flexing his shoulder muscles to illustrate the point with suitable draconic gravitas, he reached out to chuck her beneath the chin. “Quantity over quality, say I.”

“The art of the self-defeating argument.”

“I am perfection personified.”

“How do you personify a Dragon? Dragonify?”

“Good point. On a more serious note, is your sister alright?”

“Long but shallow scratch, thankfully. The armour took care of the worst, but that piece is never going to be wearable again. Even Yardi can’t rescue it.”

The armourer nodded. “That wasn’t a friendly pat upon the shoulder.”

“My first all-out Dragon battle. Yours?”

Yardi nodded pensively.

The silly question being a different, related art. Chuckling to himself, Dragon went to chat to Azania. They needed to work out a plan to get Yarimda up to a height she would never have been before. He had to admit to a longing for it just to be the two of them again. Maybe that day would come again. For now, he must be a parent with responsibilities.

Having opted not to light a fire that evening for fear of being spied upon from afar, they slept a short ways from the river, under cover of a large copse of gum trees. In the morning, they rose lazily from their sandy beds. A couple of their number decided they might not be leaking too badly, and within an hour, were on their way on a north-westerly heading, up toward the snowy slopes of the higher mountains. The battle had taken far more out of him than he had imagined, Dragon discovered. It was he who had to call for an early lunch break.

After lunch, they flew two more shorter stints, ending in a green valley of medium height, one endless meadow of mauve flowers that ran for twenty miles or more up into the Tamarine Range. At Yarimda’s request, they strolled along slowly for an hour, enjoying the warm afternoon sunshine and the fragrant mountain airs.

“So clean. So pure!” Inzashu exclaimed, filling her lungs with delight.

One forgot what it was like to see the world, Dragon told himself, doing the same. Adjusting his spectacles, he gazed about. Forget about the dusty heat and all that death down in the desert – yet he could not help but consider how the sands would run dark with blood once the Skartun armies returned in the full panoply of their might, their dark-tufted helms waving in the breeze. He paused to examine wildflowers close up, and told Inzashu how he would bury her in snow up to her neck.

“Oh, I’ve never seen snow before!” she cried. “Only from a distance, like this. Skartun doesn’t have snow. Is it truly cold?”

“Can you feel the chill in the air? That’s a foretaste.”

“Aye. It’s … bracing.”

He did not have the heart to clarify that they were barely up to one-third of the height they would need to fly to reach Juggernaut’s lair. Instead, he told her that tomorrow, they would be flying over snowfields and between peaks that never lost their white robes. With an ounce of luck, she might see wolves or panthers, and most probably they would be met by a Dragon or two – hopefully friendly ones this time, on the alert for intruders in their territory. He picked pensively at his scales.

When it was time to put his best paw forward, he was looking worse and worse. If he did not know better, he feared to lose the entire coat of scales. What happened then? He had never heard of a draconic moult. Perhaps this was a peculiarity of Sea Dragons?

“Oceans on your mind, young Dragon?” Yarimda inquired.

“A bit,” he admitted.

“Could we find a place to rest? I grow weary, even of joy.”

“At once.” She gave him a withering glance that suggested a keen youngster was being far too polite. “Honoured Yarimda, it might sound trite, but I was worrying about my scales. Dragons of the Tamarine Mountains are not known to moult.”

“A worm forms a chrysalis, and out comes a butterfly.”

There, old narked Dragon made his appearance with a low growl. Worm! She dared the comparison?

Yarimda arched her left eyebrow.

He chose to say, “I would make for a severely overweight butterfly.”

“Oh, severely,” she agreed. “This old woman was trying to come up with a plausible link between the probable origin of your egg and the change to the Sea Dragon migration.”

“Indeed?”

“I remembered a tale I once heard in my youth, of a Dragon who was tragically killed in a storm – near the Kingdom of Amboraine, actually. Do you know of Bonewhite Valley?” He shivered. “Aye. How is it, Dragon, that after all these years – decades, even – the Dragonkind still have a communal aversion to that place? Almost as if there is a racial memory shared from dam to egg, and Dragon to Dragon.”

He could only shake his muzzle. Deep, uncanny lore.

She said, “Here’s a nice spot. Let’s camp here. Azania, would you be a dear and prepare me a sweet herbal brew?”

“Of course, Yarimda. What were you and Dragon talking about?”

“Creepy things,” he intoned, blowing on her hair. “Eerie, ghostly stories.”

“Stop bothering your Princess like that, young Dragon,” Yarimda said tartly, rapping her walking stick against his lower jaw.

Azania thought she could hide that smile from him? Wretch!

He threatened her with a talon behind the old woman’s back. Azania pasted on an innocent expression.

After repeating the story for the Princess, Yarimda added, “I wondered if there might not be a scent memory, to use the Draconian word, which changed the Sea Dragons’ behaviour. Say there was a place from which your egg was stolen, be it by force or by guile, to your dam a tragedy no less than that of Bonewhite Valley. Say that place became to Sea Dragons just such an aversion – nothing you ever think about or could put a talon to – which made them take a different route.”

He rasped, “Where? Up north and all the way around the Vaylarn Archipelago?”

It made sense. With the route changed, the Sea Serpents had found the seas between Vaylarn and the mainland much to their liking. That spelled the end of Azerim’s fleet, and indeed, all coastal shipping from Lymarn in the south to Ermine in the far northeast.

“Possibly. The annual Sea Dragon migration is one of the greatest natural wonders of our realm, young Dragon. I imagine they might circumvent Solixambria itself, or even our entire world in the course of their journeying. It is a sight – ah, such a sight – as to infuse the music of the deepest seas with the magic of one’s soul. I remember it well …”

Sitting upon a blanket the Princess had laid out for her, the old woman clasped her hands to her chest, suddenly lost in the mists of time and remembrance.

After waiting a moment to see if she would speak more, Dragon departed soft-pawed to help Azania light a fire – Dragon the firelighter!

Joy in the smallest things. Even if he exploded her pile of sticks on the first attempt.

Chapter 7: Fly High

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, LEAVING a pile of brown scales behind him that he was not at all grumpy about, Dragon winged steadily up-valley between the jagged, white-tipped peaks. By mid-morning, however, the weather had changed for what he liked to call a miserable mountain special. Low, brooding clouds came rolling toward them, soon obscuring the towering cliffs and white-dusted slopes. The chill breeze freshened by the minute, blustering and buffeting like an angry bully blowing his threats.

Suddenly, all was grey and damp. His Riders shivered.

“I’ve never flown through a cloud before!” Inzashu cried, waving her hands as if she could catch the moisture.

Ridiculous girl. He cracked a huge grin.

“I can’t feel my nose anymore,” Azania put in, sounding surprised.

“Hmm, a blue-black Princess, how intriguing,” he said. “Anyone else feeling cold, you poor things?”

At least two people kicked him, if not three.

Since he did not know this terrain well, he reduced altitude until the lay of the ground became clear. Gone, the pretty mauve carpeting of flowers, replaced by dry brown boulders and tan, high-growing clumps of grasses, as tall as Azania. Not saying much, mind, since she was all of four feet and eight inches tall – but she acted taller, he had always thought. Something about the way she filled a lair, or a room, with her presence.

Dragon said, “Bear with me for a moment. I don’t know the area, but usually, caverns start about half a mile higher up , where you see the foot of those vertical cliffs –”

“See?” Azania put in mildly.

“I was speaking metaphorically,” he snorted.

“Ah, I would have completely missed the allusion, but thank you for the Dragonsplanation.”

“The what and how much?”

“A Dragon explanation – I just made that up,” she chortled. “It’s to do with the way certain male creatures must point out the blindingly obvious to the ignorant little females –”

“I’d say, ‘Be silent, little female,’ but as I understand this to be a physiological impossibility for Humankind’s so-called fairer sex …”

“Ooh, fighting talk.”

“If you can’t stand the heat –”

“Don’t pull the Dragon’s tail!” Inzashu yelled, startling them all into laughter.

“Excellent twist,” Yardi smiled back over her shoulder. “I was going to say, don’t stick your hand in the forge, or the Dragon’s jaw for that matter – here, grandmother. Cover your mouth and nose like this against the cold.”

“I am not that feeble yet!”

“Clearly not. Would you like to light our next fire with your Dragon breath?” her granddaughter put in sweetly.

“No need for rudeness, child. Dragon, if you’re intending to find a cave –”

“Ooh! Look, there’s snow on the ground!” Inzashu exclaimed. She was having a squealing morning, Dragon thought sourly, then decided he felt sour about feeling sour. Why slap down another’s joy? “So white! So gorgeous! So fluffy!”

Although, what it was with Humans and fluff, he could not fathom.

And the need to squeak at that ear-hurting pitch. Totally unnecessary, in his expert opinion on the subject. Dragonsplanation indeed!

Yarimda huffed, “Well, if some people would let the old lady with the creaky bones finish, we are not about to find a cavern flying up the middle of a valley in a cloud! You need to go to the edge, Dragon.”

Tell a Dragon how to fly?

“Except for that, grandmother?” Yardi said, pointing.

Four pairs of Human eyes and one pair of Dragon eyes stared at the great hole in the ground in surprise. Perfectly round. Unknowably deep. One thing was for certain. He was not going anywhere near that hole without knowing exactly what had made it. That something was either a natural process, or a creature roughly the size of a Bloodworm.

He growled, “While that’s intriguing, I am not going down there for all the gold in these mountains.”

“Dragon instinct?” his Princess asked.

“No, it’s a vertical hole. The snow which is about to arrive would still be falling on our heads down there, Highness. Then my scales would get wet and I’d be even crabbier than usual. Trust me, none of us want that.”

On that self-deprecating note, he sideslipped in the air and began to hunt in earnest for a cave in which to hide his hoard of Human females, odd collector that he was.

Jolly mountain weather. Predictable in its unpredictability, which had to be the very definition of feminine logic.

There. Dragonsplain that! Or not, if one wanted to live a long life.

* * * *

A brief but violent mountain squall shrouded the upper valley in white. Spring in one place, and a blizzard eighteen miles on. Having found a shallow but serviceable cavern, Dragon blocked most of the weather by dint of planting himself across the entrance. A bitter wind moaned over his back. When it became clear that his Black Roses of the Desert were shrivelling somewhat due to the plummeting temperature, Dragon trialled warming the cavern by breathing fire toward the back. Very soon, he had four eager pairs of hands warming themselves beside the stream of his fire.

All part of the service. Flying cart, royal conveyance, firelighter and now oversized cavern warmer. He was definitely moving up in the world.

Better not sneeze. That could end badly.

As the storm died down, however, the younger Princess decided now was the time to go romp in the snow. Dragon had barely uncurled himself when she returned with a shriek. “Wolf!”

“I’ll pop out and talk to it,” he offered, rising with a yawn and a stretch.

Faced with a Dragon, the grey wolf and its nine hungry companions proved to be poor conversationalists. A swift clack of his fangs sent them sloping off minus the intended royal breakfast. Could they have been using this cavern? There had been no particular canine smell he could detect. Nonetheless, he was the apex predator around here. Wolves? Good riddance.

With a regal sweep of his forepaw, he said, “Playtime, Princess?”

Even eleven year-olds found that tone discourteous.

No mind. Pretending to root about in the snow while he stealthily gathered a large pawful, he said, “Snow is light, soft and very cold, Princess – want to try some?”

“Dragon. Dragon!”

He chased after her, chortling, “Snow shower for you today?”

“No!”

“Snow, did you say? Say, ‘no snow snow no no snow snow no snow’ very fast. It’s that lisp of yours.”

“I do not – Dragon!”

One freshly frosted felon. Glare!

“Don’t go wearing my name out now. I must say, you look very fetching with snow in your curls. Truly the winter Princess.”

Voicing what had to be a Skartunese war cry, she scrabbled for snow of her own. “You had better start running now, Dragon! When I catch you, you’re going to get one in the fangs, I swear …”

She had an excellent arm on her. Human snowballs were tiny, but that was hardly the point. They gambolled about until she declared her fingers were so numb they hurt. More logic that made complete sense. He had the same sensation in his paws. Since Yardi had put a kettle on for tea – most civilised, everyone agreed – they decided to have a warming herbal brew before flying on. Inzashu added herbs to stimulate blood flow. Eminently sensible.

Pity she could not simulate a desert sun, she muttered.

“Tired of the snow already?” Dragon goaded.

“Never! The toes don’t agree, however. In fact, I’m not sure how many I have left.”

“We should check her circulation,” he said at once. “Humans are susceptible to frostbite. Take off your boots, Princess, and let someone tickle your feet.”

Azania snorted, “That’s not the treatment.”

“How would you know, o Princess of baking sunshine?”

“Wicked beast, I’ll check my own toes, thank you,” Inzashu said boldly.

Dragon promptly plucked her up and hung her upside-down by her feet, despite her protests. “Wicked beast? I’ll paddle your pampered behind, I will. That’ll be good for the circulation, I promise!”

She folded her arms and glared at him. “What’s this, pick on the Princess day?”

“I am very picky about my Princesses, aye. Only the best will do. Say, have you ever been dumped headfirst in a snowdrift?”

“Dragon!”

“Just can’t stop calling my name, can you?”

Azania said, “Save it for Ariamyrielle Seaspray, will you?”

“Ooh, there’s a Dragoness in the picture?” The imp in his paw waggled her eyebrows. “Is she pretty? Is there a romantic story involved? Azania –”

“By my wings, not enough snow to dump you into. Narrow escape, Princess.”

“Tell me the story, please?”

“Do I have to?”

“Come on, Dragon, you can’t leave it like that. You know I’ll just get everything from my sister anyways. Want to get your version out first?”

Azania snorted, “When we do find a snowdrift, Dragon, dump her in it for me, would you?”

Delightfully deadly warrior Dragonesses who lived on faraway islands were clearly the stuff of dreams, in Inzashu’s opinion. Pest, she would not leave him alone until she had every salient detail, and then it was tragic, romantic, beautiful, a match made in the very heavens. There just had to be a good outcome, she announced. Fate could not possibly cut him off so cruelly.

Could it not? Ah, the innocence of youth.

Following the storm, the air was crisper than ever. The peaks stood exquisitely delineated against the crimsons and purples of the evening sky. Flying on, Dragon’s directional sense told him that Juggernaut’s lair was behind the next range of peaks, but the easterly pass he had expected was not yet apparent when he felt Yarimda surreptitiously rubbing her chest.

Her response to his query seared his ear canals.

No mind. A lifetime’s strict diet of respect for one’s elders tempered his natural draconic ire at the rebuke. The only issue was that his previous idea of always being stoic was now undermined by the ebullient fires forever ready inside his throat, and the blasted itching of his hide. Agonising! He flew onward until at last he spied the high pass to the west, shadowed now by the setting suns. Time to find another suitable place to overnight.

They needed to prepare Yarimda for the hop over the top.

“Ready to roll?” Azania asked the following morning, as Taramis set the snowfields ablaze.

“Do I look that fat?” Dragon inquired, trying to push out his lean belly.

All this flying was packing on the muscle. He was quite sure that his shoulders bulged at least a foot wider than before, and no, that was not his natural, well-developed male ego speaking. Besides, any Dragon with a hide in his condition had nothing to boast about. Flying rug. Not a good sort of rug, either. This one had been liberally chewed on in places, and was starting to hang off him like badly fitting Human clothing.

Not good. Nor pleasant.

What he wanted was a hide that fit like Azania’s trousers.

One that might earn more than a passing glance from a cobalt Dragoness, to pick no example in particular.

Bundled up in every scrap of clothing or blankets they owned, his four Riders took their positions. This time, Inzashu-N’shula took the neck seat behind Yarimda, where she could monitor her and touch her with magic if needed, while Yardi gingerly settled herself onto the seat behind Azania and buckled herself in with white-knuckled hands. The armourer still acted uncomfortable with the idea of flying Dragonback.

“All passengers aboard and strapped in?” he rumbled. “This flight is leaving in one minute. In the event of another vengeful flight of Terror Clan Dragons appearing, no-one is to jump overboard this time. We will outfly them into Grinder territory –”

Yardi grumbled, “Can we not talk about going overboard, please?”

Azania said, “On that note, there’s our first draconic visitor – see, right up there? She’s sunning herself at the top of the pass.”

“Oh, well spotted,” Dragon noted. “Let’s go give her greeting.”

Taking off with care for the oldest member of the team, he flew steadily up the pass under the scrutiny of the light yellow Dragoness. No rush. Unconcerned manner. Nothing to see here but the impossibility of a Dragon carrying four Humans upon his back – nothing new under the suns, right?

The pass had to be all of eighteen thousand feet, a vertical climb of over a mile from their previous altitude. Dragon attuned his scent ability to Yarimda’s breathing and sense of herself, finding the rich desert-rose scent of Inzashu-N’shula already present. He chuckled. Well named for the rose, these Princesses. Despite that she was a youngster, he knew her for his better in matters of magic. He had the strength of Dragons to his credit, however, so between them, he was confident that they could keep the old woman safe despite the danger.

The yellow Dragoness waited until they had almost reached her altitude and started to sweep forward over the long snowbound saddle of the pass, before making a lackadaisical launch of her own. Nothing of her posture indicated aggression.

Shortly, she circled and drew alongside and a little above, assuming the position that declared she was Grinder Clan, in Draconian speak, the territorial-dominant Dragoness.

Ho, nameless Dragon, strength to your wings, she called. Are you he who carries the Princess Azania of T’nagru as … flight companion?

Her query betrayed disbelief.

Aye, that I do. I am Nameless and of no Clan. Call me Dragon. We fly to Juggernaut’s lair this day, peaceably seeking what little peace he offers those who take up his training regimens.

She chuckled smokily. I am Chalice the Grinder, Dragoness of this territory.

He genuflected with his wingtips. Strength to the Grinder Clan. Forgive me if I fly swiftly on, o Chalice, but I carry upon my back one of no less than ninety-four years beneath the suns. We must bring her quickly back down to a safer elevation.

I am well … enough, Yarimda gasped. Please make all speed, Dragon, I beg you.

Her heart rate was too quick, surely? He had no idea what it should be for Humans, but all of their pulse rates had quickened considerably as they climbed. Inzashu’s magic enwrapped the old woman, strengthening, soothing, even oxygenating the blood.

Chalice echoed the genuflection. Strength to your paw, Dragon. You will need it to face those who wait ahead. I shall fly with you, for I also am bound for Juggernaut’s lair this day.

Escort? Subtle.

Stretching his wings to their utmost now, Dragon piled on the speed. To his surprise, he began to draw ahead of the Dragoness almost immediately. She could not keep up – in a few minutes, she waved and called for him to hurry on. His struts and wing bones creaked audibly at the lateral and wind-shear forces he exerted against the thin air, while he kept so low to the barren white saddle between the peaks shading the skies to either side that several times, his tucked-up paws kicked up puffs of snow.

Beyond the saddle was a high plain just a few miles in length, dominated by extraordinary mauve clusters of boulders.

“Fairytale garden,” Azania gasped.

Not only that, but there was no snow. The rich mauve colour extended to the ground, but the smaller rocks were covered in many places with bright red, green and yellow mosses.

Incredible! Mental picture for when, if ever, he got back to his beloved artwork.

How he missed painting.

Imagine splashing this mountain scene upon a canvas, or somehow capturing the endlessly changeable billows of the ocean.

“Dragon?” Azania called, at the same instant he glanced sideways at one wing, then the other, in confusion. His wingbeat had … changed?

A Dragon’s wingbeat was like breathing. Usually, one did not need to think about it. As he lost headway slightly due to his surprise, he was forced to lightly run over the top of several boulders before he pulled his wings and thoughts toward himself and found his normal rhythm again. His old rhythm, which meant …

Ocean always rises, Yarimda said, in a strangely high-pitched voice.

Smug, he felt, but she had a right to be. Years must give people wisdom like that. The ability to place a finger precisely upon the insight he had been struggling toward.

Rest in … the oc …

Oh no!

“Yarimda!” he bellowed.

Dragon’s neck vertebrae popped as he struggled to look back at the first neck position. From the corner of his eye, he saw a sight that had always intrigued him before he learned what it truly meant. Yarimda and her granddaughter were much paler of skin than the Princesses; the colour Humans called white, but was really a kind of light tan-pink. Just as black was not black, but many variations on deep, attractive browns – speaking as a member of the brown association, of course.

Foolish beast! He snapped his mind back into order. Yarimda was blue. The kind of blue that did not go together with Human health in the slightest. Hypoxia. Somehow – oh, by his sire’s egg, it was Inzashu who had lost control of her magic!

At once, he replaced what the Princess had been doing with his own, less sophisticated and sensitive framework. Colours brightened, galvanising his magic to greater heights of effectiveness. There. Breath restored. Even the sense of their blood flow hearkened to a susurrus upon the seashore just as he remembered from the Lumis Ocean. His own was more complex, but no less reflective of the life pulsating within.

A Dragon swam in triumphal majesty through the air.

He revelled in the blast coursing over his sensitive wing membranes, in the protective flickering of his narrowed eyelids, in speeding low over the mosses and lichens. Blowing over the end of the plain as if a Bloodworm were chasing him, Dragon focussed his energy into shooting down a long slope, seeking a safer, lower altitude for his passengers.

Even Azania and Yardi bent low over his back.

Battle speed!

Never had he flown like this. His thrusting wings were making a more convoluted action in the air, more a figure of eight than a standard rowing motion, which reduced drag as well as producing power both in the upstroke and downstroke. How was this? A resonant drumbeat of joy pulsed in his Dragon hearts.

Up on his back, a Princess chuckled, Fly, Dragon. Fly! Oh, how he thunders over the mountains!

The wind’s roaring did not drown out her voice?

Somehow, through slipstreaming or angles or something to do with his body position and speed, he heard her as if she were talking right inside his ear canal. Drop! Hurtling over a cliff, he swooped into a rapid descent, realising that Juggernaut’s lair lay not far ahead, and for sheer exultation, he might just crack open his jaw and – a cramp seized his hearts.

My sire!

Blaze the Devastator was present. Whatever was his father doing up at Juggernaut’s lair?

All the old feelings came crashing back into his breast as his poor eyes followed the far sharper lead of his scent senses. The familiar flame-orange dipped over the edge of the crater. Were his brothers with his sire? Not unlikely. His hearts crashed around his paws at the thought. Gone, the joy. Vanished, the beautiful oceanic sounds that had hurtled him across the miles at a speed he could scarcely credit. That was a thirty-mile sprint. Thirty!

He panted hard, not only because of the physical exertion.

A tiny hand patted his scales. “Alright, Dragon?”

“Not so much.”

Yarimda croaked, “That was your sire?”

“Aye, but we must not admit it. I am an outcast, unknown to these Dragons – but known, if that makes sense. It’s easier if we pretend we don’t know each other. I’ll be treated with stiff formality at best. What’s imperative is that we get our message across.”

His voice trailed off as his slack wings took them over the cliff’s edge. Far from being the quiet retreat he had yearned for, Juggernaut’s lair was a busy hub of Dragons hailing from at least seven Clans that he could identify at the tap of a talon. Perhaps more. That was nothing compared to the anxiety of gazing down and seeing his brothers Brand and Brawl strutting their stuff around his sire, greeting the Dragonesses, trying to get wing-touches with Juggernaut – blergh!

Was it wrong to hate his kin so?

Brand the umber, sly and suave. Brawl was the same burnt orange as his sire; as Dragons said, born in the same scales. Together with his sire, they must represent the Devastator Clan at this gathering.

The draconic congregation hushed dramatically at the sight of a shabby, moulting Dragon of considerable size arriving in their airspace with four Humans clinging to him like fleas to a deer’s ears. Four! Jaws creaked, fire spat here and there, and wings quivered with indignation. Best guess? None of these Dragons had ever seen, or even imagined, indignity to compare. His brothers must be livid! Trying to rescue his shattered dignity with a whirl of his wings, Dragon hovered above the training ground, seeking wing space to land.

Then, a bellow reached his ears that almost made him shed his wings in shock. Dragon! How fared the war in T’nagru? Juggernaut thundered. Give us that battle roar I taught you!

Chapter 8: Blergh

GRATITUDE FUSED WITH THE cauldron of nausea churning in his stomach as the import of Juggernaut’s greeting hit him on many levels at once. Brotherhood, acknowledgement and a path to such honour as he could scrape together, delivered in one breath.

Yarimda kicked his neck with her heels. “I’m blocking my ears, young Dragon.”

He wanted to laugh, or weep, he knew not which. The years had taught him to hide his face at moments like this – yet he was changing, becoming something new. Could he believe it?

A ninety-four year old Human woman flew wing guard with him.

Sucking in a deep, ragged breath, he paused – and breathed in a bit more, until his ribs ached. Focus. He had one chance at this. Blitz the Fritz was dead and buried. He was a Dragon who had shot down a Bloodworm, frazzled Jabiz Urdoo in his own juices and carried a matchless Princess upon his back.

III – AAMM – DRRAAGOONN!! His sonorous roar reverberated off the tall grey cliffs of the sinkhole.

Auditory shock! Brand and Brawl smacked together and tangled wings, while many of the other Dragons reacted by assuming instinctual defensive postures and emitted involuntary spurts of fire. Using the space created by the reeling group, he landed gracefully – for once – and strolled over to greet the orange-black warrior Dragon.

Master. Apologies for the intrusion.

No, Dragon. I am glad you came, said he, touching wingtips as if they were old friends. Will you light our understanding with your testimony?

We shall. We flew directly from T’nagru, as you suspected. N’ginta is safe, but a far greater danger lurks in the desert.

Turning, Juggernaut offered a courteous paw first to Yarimda, but seeing she had already alighted and was trying to arrange her rickety knees beneath her with Inzashu’s help, he lifted the paw high instead. “Princess? Honoured guests? This way, please.”

Master politician. Dragon could only shake his head and take notes.

Remembering his manners, he introduced his group to the master warrior, from oldest to youngest following the draconic tradition.

In flawless Draconian, Yarimda said, Juggernaut the Grinder, your reputation precedes you. You are a master teacher.

His eyes widened at her fluency in the draconic tongue. Honoured Yarimda, you and your granddaughter shall room with me in my own lair. We are a little busy, as you can tell. Much ado about happenings beyond the desert. With a wink back at the walking sack of hide, he added, Dragon, you’ll sleep outside, of course. Princesses, this way, if you please.

In the guise of taking care of the elderly, he slipped them away into his small lair.

Once inside the cosy space, the Master settled Yarimda in a comfortable nest of cushions and fetched water for her. Inzashu rooted out herbs for her to eat and a couple of peppery oils that she rubbed into her wrists and temples. Meantime, Dragon made stumbling explanations.

“You are moulting,” Juggernaut confirmed bluntly. “Heard it happens with some Dragons of the Archipelago. Don’t worry, you’ll probably still have draconic hide underneath – imagine the bits leaking out between your ribs otherwise?”

Inzashu giggled as he prodded her ribs, exactly as one would tease a hatchling. He tried not to show surprise. The warrior Dragon liked younglings? Revelation!

Juggernaut aimed a glance sourer than a hundred lemons in his direction.

Ahem. Moving swiftly on … he said, “Did you hear –”

“Aye, Dragon. Reports reached the Tamarine Mountains of a Skartun army besieging N’ginta Citadel, including the detail that they field Dragon slaves in battle. This is what has riled up our kin – not many, by my wings – but some. These ones may decide to act, but as you know, agreeing on anything between the Dragon Clans may take a considerable length of time. Not to mention the politics. Blood will be spilled. Your reports will be invaluable.”

Turning to Yardi, Juggernaut said, “So, you’re an armourer? Ever worked with Dragon armour and forges heated by Dragon fire and magic?”

“No, Master,” she said.

Intrigued by his manner, Dragon put in, “Were you looking for an armourer, Master?”

His muzzle bobbed curtly. “There are three Grinder Clan smiths who specialise in Dragon armour, but even they will tell you that many of the smaller components, joints, buckles and so on, are far better produced by skilled Human hands. I am hiring. Interested?”

Smiling at his bold manner, Yardi said, “I’ve never worked with Dragons before.”

“Is this body armour your work?”

“It is –”

“You’re hired.”

“Dragon,” she said, pushing his paw away, “you are very forceful. Two things. One, I cannot afford to work for free. Two, I would need to settle my grandmother in Hamirythe Kingdom before committing to a war effort.”

“How long would you need? What is your price?”

Folding her muscular arms across her chest, she stared at the warrior Dragon. Bold! Clearly, something passed between them, because Juggernaut cleared his throat and twin spots of colour appeared in Yardi’s cheeks. She said, “I’m inspired by Princess Azania, honoured Juggernaut. I would gladly serve the Dragonkind with my talents and seize the chance to learn new skills. I would take … one standard gold bar a month.”

Azania’s eyebrows shot up at her price.

The Dragon dipped his chin. “I demand nothing but your best work, that you recruit at least ten more blacksmiths and armourers during your travels to the North and West, and I will push you to work harder than ever before in your life –”

“You want me to manage a team of Human smiths?”

“Can’t handle the job?”

“I don’t browbeat easily, Dragon!”

Juggernaut’s gruff laughter broke the tension. “Exactly what I like best about you. If I wanted to recruit a waif, I’d find some expensive little chit of a desert Princess –”

“Excuse me!” Azania almost howled.

“Something I said, Highness?” the gladiator snorted humorously.

“Yardi, do me a favour and shrink his hoard, would you?” she complained.

She said, “For that service, I’ll offer two gold bars a month, and a percentage of each Smith’s wages –”

“Done!” Juggernaut growled, biting back on a curl of flame. “Or would you like to press me on the percentage, too?”

“Ten?”

He stuck out his paw. “When can you start?”

Azania put in slyly, “I wonder how many single Armourers a woman can recruit in a hurry?”

Yardi mimed flicking her away like a beetle. She shook Juggernaut’s proffered talon gravely, saying, “Not quite the future I expected, but life can be strange sometimes. Dragon, would you consider flying us as far as Dorline or even Fara’ane? I’d return far quicker.”

He drawled, “How may I best fleece you, rich girl? Two gold clinkers per mile?”

“Even I can’t afford that,” his Princess pointed out.

After a shared chuckle, they decided they had better talk about strategy.

* * * *

The rich, tropical vegetation of Juggernaut’s lair depended upon underground volcanic activity. Compared to the snowy mountains all around, the humid heat was a balm, the perfect medicine for weary wings. Despite that there were plenty of springs about, all were in use. Evidently, cooking one’s posterior was an aid to enthusiastic conversation. One such pool was occupied by his sniggering brothers, cosying up to a pair of grass-green Obliterator Dragonesses. Pah. Their commentary on the state of his scales made the Dragonesses giggle merrily. To his great annoyance, his brothers were both funny and accurate – but then, a pair of muzzles were summarily put out of joint when one of the Dragonesses cooed:

So, you fought in a real war, Dragon?

With help, he grinned in realisation. Razed whole troops of Humans, devastated their encampment and rescued twenty-six Dragons from captivity.

And contracted the world’s worst case of scale rot, Brawl put in snidely.

The Dragoness winked at him over his brother’s back. That must have taken a real Dragon.

Ooh, his brother’s face! His lips curled as if he had been force-fed curdled milk. Seemed not every Dragoness was overcome by his brothers’ dubious charms.

He may have smirked. Just a little.

Toward noon, Dragon took a walk with Inzashu-N’shula in the opposite direction from the brotherly boudoir. As they pressed along through the lush, fragrant leaves, she said, “You’re looking fierce, Dragon. Is this the part where I get roundly told off for failing Yarimda?”

“Actually, no. I was thinking about my brothers. We failed – don’t laugh like that. You were protecting Yarimda, right?”

“Supposedly.”

“Don’t sulk. Despite that I understand some males find it endearing, it is unbecoming in the Human female. The reason your magic failed was because of oxygen deprivation, not inattention. Put another way, we were so fixated on protecting Yarimda that we forgot about protecting you. People – and Dragons – react differently to altitude. There are records of Dragons flying no higher than we did and falling out of the sky. Lack of oxygen can scramble a brain like a Dragon’s talon scrambles brain in the skull, do you see?”

With a wan smile at his phrasing, the Princess said, “I feel a bit better, but not a whole lot.”

“Aye. We came within a scale’s width of killing her.”

“See why I fear magic so much? I know one can only do one’s best, but what if it isn’t enough?”

“Why is the wind?”

“Eh?” Her pensive frown deepened. “What does that mean?”

“Among Dragons, we say ‘why is the wind’ to refer to what cannot be explained, or predicted – a kind of shorthand for fate, I suppose. Wind blows where it pleases. You cannot see it except by its effects. Those effects might be fair or foul, without logic or reason. Why is the wind? It simply is.”

“Interesting idea, given how the wind lifts every Dragon.”

Just when he thought he had figured Humans out, something like that popped out and he realised how different, and how deep, the thoughts of another species could be.

Puzzling over this, he paused as a tiny voice cried, Dragon, Dragon, where’s my best Dragon?

Sapphira!

The blue hatchling came barrelling up the path, most likely outrunning her parents.

She had grown! The hatchling stood over chest-high to Inzashu. She had visibly put on muscle and sprouted in all directions. She’d be flying without any trouble now, he assumed, greeting her with a fond wingtip slap and a brotherly nudge – his knee against her shoulder.

See? My wing’s fine now – and I’m flying again. You look funny. Is this your Human? She smells strange. By my wings, my sire and dam said to say to you that I’m so happy that you saved my life and I am because I’m pretty; don’t you think I’m pretty? How did you live when they sent you away? Do I talk too much?

Blink, blink again, as he summarily failed to sort through that outburst in a hurry.

Sapphira, this is Inzashu-N’shula.

What kind of a funny name is that? A Human funny?

Call her Inzashu, he said. “Inzashu, this is my friend Sapphira, the hatchling I told you about.”

“Humans talk silly,” the hatchling chirruped, batting her eyelids at the Princess. “Are you pretty? Are you a dam or a sire?”

“I am a girl, like you. A youngling.”

“Ooh, we can be … friendly? Can we? Why have wings you not?”

“Because I’m a person and you’re a Dragoness. We’re different, see? But you are very pretty. Can I touch your scales?”

“I’ll bite you!” Dragon, she … hee hee hee. How I say – “Sorry? I’m a wild, bad Dragoness.”

The Princess smiled, “And I’m a wild, bad Princess from Skartun.”

Humans like to touch, he put in meantime, just in case either of them had more wild ideas. Their skins are very soft. Please don’t bite her. It won’t go well.

The hatchling cooed and practised making eyes again. “Dragon say no eat friends. Is okay? I some Human learn good, by my wings.”

“Not eating friends is very wise,” Inzashu agreed. “You’re cute.”

“I am so not. I am some mighty stuff!”

Talonfire! Gemira! He greeted the mated pair fondly. Judging by the crimson Dragon’s gait, Talonfire had fully recovered from the lightning strike he had taken. His attractive light blue mate’s smile of greeting faded as she took in his condition. Juggernaut says I might be moulting, he said defensively. Ugly, isn’t it?

Moulting? Well, that’s … rare, Gemira stammered. Are you well, Bl – Dragon? Sorry.

I’ve seen a few battles since last we met, but my fires – I found my fires, at last. This may be the reason I am changing, we think.

Talonfire said, Chalice the Grinder was just singing your praises. Said she’d never seen a Dragon fly like he had a hurricane behind his tail. She’s regarded as quick. What happened to you, brother?

He shrugged. I wish I knew. All theories accepted.

You breathe fire now? May I –

Carefully, he let a trickle of fire slip up his throat and lick around his fangs.

The colour! the Dragoness gasped.

Talonfire clasped his shoulder, choking out, Brother this is the best news I ever – it’s wonderful! You cannot let them see this. Under no circumstances –

What? Why ever not?

White fires belong to Sea Dragons. This tells absolutely everyone that either Blaze is not your sire, or Indigofire is not your dam. The dishonour would be unthinkable.

Throwing back his muzzle, Dragon growled an imprecation at the sky.

Why? Why him?

Talonfire was right. Curse it, why had he not made the connection himself? He had only to open his mouth to condemn his sire, to ensure that his station amongst Devastator Dragons would never be honoured again. Legends of Sea Dragons were told in every lair around the mountains. The white fire – perhaps a touch different to his multihued white, but he did not know this for a fact – was enshrined in lore. Dragons of the air took after Ignis, the flaming red giant sun. Dragons of the ocean favoured Taramis the white, in some legends the father of all Dragons of white fires.

Both of their heads lifted as a Dragon’s roar sounded from near Juggernaut’s lair.

Time for his testimony.

How would his word be received?

* * * *

His sire Blaze addressed the congregation of adult Dragons assembled upon the famous sands of Juggernaut’s training ground.

I am Blaze the Devastator. I do not claim to speak for any Clan or Dragon. My aim is for all Dragons assembled here to hear the truth regarding the reported Skartunese invasion across the southern deserts. As every Dragon knows, the wickedness of Skartun represents a deep and terrible scar in our scent memory. We are Dragonkind, free creatures of the air, never enslaved. Our histories record that many were captured and carried off, but we did not understand how – nor did we cross the deserts to avenge our brothers and sisters.

Now, after thirty years, report has reached the Clans that the Skartun have returned, seeking fresh blood to swell their armies. We are fortunate to have a Dragon present who has just flown up from N’ginta Citadel in T’nagru. We will hear his word.

Who is this tattered beast? a voice called from the crowd.

Blaze said, This Dragon was once a Devastator and is known to us. He was cast out of our Clan for three years and three days by my judgement. He chooses to carry with him the Princess of his possession, Her Royal Highness Azania of T’nagru, the Black Rose of the Desert.

With him? another voice called. We all know what we saw, brothers!

Upon his back, his sire acknowledged. An ugly muttering rose from the Dragons. More than one spat beside their paws, or declared him accursed by the sign writ upon his very scales.

Turning, his sire said, Will you swear, upon your fires, to tell –

He has no fires!

Ah, the old laughter. Sizeable as he was – brawnier than any other Dragon here – he had never felt smaller, worth less, the talon point of every joke and the very definition of what it meant to be despised by all. All? Most, but not all. Juggernaut stood strong for him, and perhaps his sire too, although he had never worked out how to show it.

Blaze sighed, Let the one who has seen, speak.

May his tongue not be a plank, this day. Lifting his muzzle, he said, Dragons, I swear by the fires of Taramis and the quickening of my own draconic soul, to speak nothing but the truth before this congregation.

Silence.

The unusual oath seized their attention. In tones chosen to be measured, and not boastful or proud as most Dragons would be when telling such a tale, he began by confirming in stark outline how he had kidnapped the Princess Azania, and come to fly down to T’nagru in defence of her kingdom. Having attributed her becoming his Dragon Rider to his poor eyesight and lack of fires, it was only when he began to describe how the Dragon thralls had been enchained and forcefully subjugated by such pain that they could not even fly, that the muttering and disbelief gathered momentum. Such was the desolation of his hearts as he portrayed their fate, even his brothers suspended their sneering.

Next, he passed over to Princess Azania to relate her own father’s demise at the hand of Nahritu-N’shula. She revealed the secret of the magic which the Skartun armies had discovered which helped them to cross the desert, but not its origins, noting only that from her home citadel, they had flown up to Juggernaut’s lair on a mission to bring word and detail of the invasion to the Dragon Clans. Concluding, she appealed with passion and force to the wisdom of the Dragonkind, that the Clans should unite and fly in defence of their kind.

As ever, she spoke with eloquence he could only marvel at.

Thanking her and Dragon, Blaze declared several hours’ break for counsel among the Clans and reflection upon all they had heard. At suns-set, they would reconvene for the cross-examination, a classic draconic council technique by which, it was believed, all aspects of a story or issue would be examined and exposed by the heat of fire, as truth or lie.

Chapter 9: For Shame

WISPY CIRRUS CLOUDS DRIFTED high over the sinkhole, brush strokes painted upon the heavens by the lightest of paws. As Dragon, Azania and Yarimda joined the Dragons on the light grey sands of the combat training ground, he reflected upon Talonfire’s words. In one breath he could prove everything he had ever wanted – and wreck everything, too. Had he ever been in a tighter quandary?

His Princess agreed. He had already disrespected his dam. How could he do the same to his sire?

There had to be a better way.

An old saying ran through his mind: Burned if you do, burned if you don’t. What did honour mean to creatures to whom this value easily ranked highest of all, when there was no path to attain it?

He wanted to tell Azania how stunning she looked this evening. How her childhood friend, King Azerim, would gnash his fangs in helpless worship of her character, her integrity and aye, her physical beauty. Some people were born as royalty, born into a position. She was royalty. It fizzed in her blood and surfaced in the spark of her dark eyes and the tilt of her definite chin. The smallest being in the congregation was by no means the least.

Would these Dragons see her as he did?

As they took their positions, it immediately became clear that several of the Clans could not wait to tear into them. There must have been discussion already. Heated discussion.

This was no Clan council. This was Clan against Clan.

With the thunder of his throat, his sire called the assembly to order. We begin the cross-examination. Flare the Bonfire, would you share?

The elderly crimson Dragon said, “Princess Azania, Dragon, I carry upon my body remembrance of the Skartun. Here upon my secondary wing joint, you see the scars from where I was wounded and struck down, unable to fly as our brothers and sisters were carried off into this slavery you so eloquently described. Had I not flown, I should have walked. Had I not walked, I should have crawled upon my belly! My shame burns deep. We Dragons stood wounded, divided and stunned by this attack, for which vengeance has never been taken in all the years since.”

Rising from his crouching posture, he limped toward her. After a moment, he reached out and clasped her shoulder. Touch! A powerful gesture of solidarity.

“My Dragon hearts burn for your loss, Princess, and the losses experienced by your nation. T’nagru is our bulwark against Jabiz Urdoo and this Mage. Many Dragons here believe that our kind cannot be controlled by magic, force or any other means. Yet hundreds, hundreds of Dragons were carried off that day. Some historians argue that they broke the might of the Dragon nation. Who here has not lost one of his or her Clan? Dragons?”

A collective roar shook the evening air.

“Have you the names of any of these you called Dragon thralls? Who were they?”

Glancing at Dragon, she said, “They were recovering from a terrible ordeal. Only two were able to speak –” Gnarr! What is this! many growled “– when we left N’ginta Citadel. We know Soar Windchaser and Ruthless Obliterator as those who –”

“Ruthless? My uncle Ruthless lives?” A green Dragoness rose, so agitated that she stepped upon the paws of the Dragon beside her.

“Aye, we believe so,” Azania said.

“You lie! No Obliterator Dragon would ever subject himself to such dishonour, such craven, belly-crawling behaviour. This is an outrageous insult to the Windchasers and the Obliterators.”

At once, accusations and counter-accusations flew back and forth.

She must be publicly labelled a liar, yet his kind only thought about the insult to themselves and their precious honour? Azania stood her ground, serene.

“Tell us of these cages!”

Dragon said, “The control is achieved with a dark magic infused with physical equipment. A metal cage was fixed around the Dragon’s head and muzzle, forcing two probes deep into the Dragon’s ear canals. They called them inductor rods. A handler sat upon the Dragon’s back to control the rods. By squeezing the handle with his hands, he shot electricity deep into the ears. The pain is like nothing else I have ever experienced.”

Openly enraged, the green spat, “Yet you stand here, and our kin were enslaved. What makes you so special, Dragon?”

“Perhaps only my size.”

Or his ego!

His desire for prominence among the Clans! another voice cried.

Azania said, “I placed my own hands into a Dragon’s ears to check the damage. The insides of the ears were scarred and damaged, some so badly that half of the Dragons we were able to rescue were deaf. Possibly, the damage is permanent. In addition, they had an instrument we called a lightning cart. It collected lightning into metal coils as tall as I stand, and shot charged quarrels attached to the instrument by a long wire. This is how they bring Dragons down – striking them as if by lightning. As you can see from Dragon’s hide, and Talonfire the Smiter will confirm, being struck by a violent electrical charge is no pleasant experience, even for a Dragon.”

“Unbelievable! Simply unbelievable,” the green Dragoness hissed.

From this to the control of the Bloodworm, the dark magic they had encountered gave many of the Dragons a deep sense of unease. They expressed this by snapping at the story’s details, questioning even the smallest particulars. At length, Inzashu-N’shula’s part in the tale came to light in such an explosion of hatred that Dragon shifted to stand protectively over her.

Bite back the flame! Bite it!

Blaze thundered the assembly back into some semblance of order. “We do not attack hatchlings and younglings! She is eleven years old! Hold dignity close to your Dragon hearts, brothers and sisters. Were we not all born, shaped by the heritage of our sires and dams? Which of us could change that?”

He dared not glance at his sire. Could this be the same regret which had touched his words before, as he cast his son out of lair, Clan and fellowship?

Approaching the girl, he said, “You stand with the Dragons?”

“Aye,” she quavered.

“Touch me. Convince me of this mental power you claim.”

Poor thing! Inzashu said, “Dragon, Blaze of the – I … I made an oath I would do no harm with my power. Nor … meddle.”

“That is well and fine, child, but you stand before Dragons now. My kin need to understand what we are facing – you must see, surely, that the power to control a Bloodworm or turn a King’s mind challenges those who have always seen their thoughts as inviolable?”

“Aye. I believe my mother must have found a way to imbue objects with power, but perhaps also, to draw upon the strength of many to enhance her powers. That is why the army marched with her to go fetch the beast.”

“A sound conclusion, agreed. So, show me. Convince me.”

Closing her eyes, the girl gathered herself. He touched her mind lightly, conveying strength. In a second, he felt her reach out and in a way that escaped him, she placed a tickle inside Blaze’s left ear. After a moment, he scratched absently at the spot. Inzashu shifted. He tickled his right ear, then his lip, then appeared to discover a fly on the tip of his nose.

A second later, both of his wingtips jerked at the same time. GNARR!!

The Princess halted at once.

Blaze delivered a glare that perfectly matched his name. “That was … instructive.”

“My mother – my dam’s power is unusual,” the girl added in a wavering voice. “We had the coldstones checked by a Mage. He believed they might be traced to dark magic –”

“Human or Dragon?”

“Dragon.”

“Terror Clan magic,” Dragon clarified. “The traces –”

Even the Terrors would not stoop to this!

Working with the Skartun?

Unthinkable!

Again, the Dragons bellowed and argued with one another. Inzashu was made to explain her assertion five different ways, and then to demonstrate her powers on two other Dragons. Both gnashed their fangs almost at once, before the accusation zinged forth from none other than his brother, Brawl – could this all be a Terror Clan plot against the Dragonkind, and were these Princesses and this Dragon not complicit in it?

Cunning, his brother. Having started the bonfire with a small spark, he allowed other Dragons to pick up the accusations. How could they trust these black-hearted Humans – racial slur most certainly intended? Could Dragon prove that his so-called Rider had no influence over his thoughts right now? Was it not convenient that the T’nagrun Princess had arranged to be kidnapped by a weak-minded, isolated Dragon who had been such an ill credit to his Clan, he had been cast out?

Warpaw the Wrecker chipped in with, “How can we even be sure that he has met Ruthless the Obliterator?”

“Aye!” half of the congregation roared.

“This Dragon fancies himself an artist,” his brother Brand said slyly. “Can you draw this Dragon you supposedly rescued for us, fireless one?”

Blaze clicked his talons toward Yardi. “Scroll and charcoal!”

“I’ll help you fetch them from my stores,” Juggernaut put in. “Come with me.”

Meantime, Brutal the Smasher said, For our part, we Smashers cannot believe a single Dragon, however much help he might have had from that little two-legged creature, could demolish an entire Skartun army. How is this credible, brothers? How do you explain yourselves?

Strategy and good fortune, he replied directly. We have given all the details of the battle’s flow, as accurately as we remember.

Yet a discredited, Clanless Dragon comes out of this with the cleanest paws in history, does he not?

Aye, by my wings! many Dragons agreed.

Send some of your number south, if you cannot believe our sworn word, he responded robustly.

Brutal growled, Fair enough. Here’s your scroll. What do you have to show us, artist Dragon? I am Brutal the Smasher. Think your stature impresses me?

No, but then, neither did the Smasher’s jealousy.

With the help of Azania and Inzashu, he spread out the large piece of scrolleaf – two feet by six, the standard size for draconic messages. Selecting a stick of coal, he summoned up the picture he remembered, having to swiftly banish a vivid scent memory of a cobalt face he would far rather be painting, and set to work. Strong, stark lines. How exactly had the head cage been shaped and fitted? Hmm, around the jaw, and –

Azania pointed to the skull ruff. “Underneath here.”

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Meantime, Yarimda told Blaze what she knew of this itinerant Dragon – not touching the issues of his past or birth, but rather what she knew of him in the present. She confirmed the exact times and dates of both of their visits to Chakkix Camp, and described the purpose of her journey onward. Dragon wished to honour her, as she put it, by helping her return to her birthplace beside the ocean.

Shortly, Brutal turned to the green Obliterator Dragoness. Scythe, is this your kin?

Stepping up, she cocked her head to gaze at the partial bust of Ruthless, and gasped. Her reaction was enough. It is he. Roughly, she plucked up the piece of scroll and showed it to the other Dragons. This is my uncle – whom this Dragon could not possibly have met, otherwise. He was lost thirty years ago, long before the spark of this Dragon even entered the eggshell.

They gaped at the image. Many openly spat or dribbled fires in shock.

Dragon could only imagine how they felt. He had sketched the head cage as frankly as he could, including the clamps holding the ear inductors in place. The device was every bit as ghastly as they imagined.

Shifting forward, Azania reached up as she said, “These are the inductor rods. The cage is welded on – through the jaw, as you see. They remove two fangs either side to bridle the Dragon –”

Every creature present flinched.

“Aye, I am sorry, but this is a faithful representation of the Skartunese torture device.”

Brutal spat, “By my sire’s egg! If this is truth, Princess, then I will be the first Dragon to fly south. Who is with me?”

A thunder of approbation!

Still, he caught a glint in his brothers’ eyes as they looked on. Their work was far from done, was it not? What more could they be hiding behind their sober, attentive expressions?

For over an hour, into the fullness of a moonlit night, the talk majored upon political and practical issues. Who should lead a strike force of Dragons? Which Clan should take pre-eminence? What armour and equipment should be prepared in order to ensure that the dreadful lightning-bolt quarrels, as they called them, stood far less chance of bringing a Dragon down? The Princess’ later plan of seeking additional aid from the renowned warrior Dragons of the Vaylarn Archipelago met with quick approval once Juggernaut threw his weight behind the idea.

He could not rest. Brand and Brawl were up to something. He knew them too well.

At last it came; yet when it did, the surprise was still complete.

Brawl called the assembly to order one more time, asking if there was any aspect of the report which still required cross-examination.

“Aye, all of it!”

The aggressive bellow caught everyone by surprise.

“Brand?” his sire inquired.

Setting his stance pugnaciously, the younger Dragon said, “I call this account a fabrication, and this foul creature the worst kind of liar and deceiver. How do we know he is not working paw-in-paw with the Terror Clan himself?”

Dragon growled, “I swore to –”

“Every Devastator Dragon knows the kind of words that proceed from your mouth, Dragon. Aye, this dilapidated brown is known to us – he is notorious for being a miserable creature, so afflicted by his fireless state that even while part of a Clan and family, he lived as a pariah and cursed his own dam. This is a gentle, pacifist soul who never raided a village or burned so much as a candle in his entire life. He’s an artist and one who, unlike any true Dragon, bears Humans upon his back. Imagine the desperation. The anguish. What vileness of hearts leads a Dragon to curse the egg sac that bore his very life?”

He began to respond, but Blaze held his wings high. “Make your point, youngling.”

“Simply this,” Brand said. “Whenever I hear such a fabulous tale of bravery and sacrifice on the part of an all-conquering hero, I ask myself who stands to benefit? What am I being asked to believe?”

Flare the Bonfire snarled, “You would school your elders, youngling?”

“Never, honoured elder,” he snapped at once. “It was Brutal the Smasher who said it best – which quad of paws comes cleanest in this tale? We are being asked to believe that in a matter of several months, a shy, fireless Dragon jumps from solitary lair to being a decimator of entire armies, all on his own. Here upon his flanks, we are told, lie the marks of a battle with alleged Terror Clan Dragons. Truth or not, one Dragon defeating a trio of greens whilst encumbered with four Humans is a legendary tale, one which even Master Juggernaut would be proud to own – and you are a master, honoured elder, but even your training is limited to the beast and not to miracles, is it not?”

Juggernaut bared his fangs.

Bowing fluidly, his brother turned to Dragon. “Truly an astonishing feat. So, tell us again, how many Skartunese warriors did you blow away with your non-existent fire in the heat of that final confrontation with Jabiz Urdoo?”

“I told you, the lightning machine triggered my fires,” he rasped.

His hearts pounded like massive log drums jammed inside his chest. Acidic bile gurgled in his throat. This could lead to only one conclusion.

“Whereupon you incinerated hundreds with the ravaging breath of your jaw? How wide and far did your fires rage, o Dragon? How many houses did you immolate? Was their regiment as large in extent, say, as this training field? Half the size? A quarter?”

“I swore –”

“With the same mouth that cursed your dam, aye. How are we, and all of these Dragons gathered here, to believe a word you say?”

“Why don’t you breathe fire, youngling?” Flare the Bonfire asked. “Show us.”

“I … cannot.”

“Lost those fires all over again?” Brawl sneered. “It’s all so convenient, isn’t it? Just like the bodies of those three Terror Clan Dragons were lost in the Skaggar River.”

Facing his brothers, he said, “I have given a truthful account. Could it be that you –”

“Your mental state is lamentable,” Brand interrupted. “You know what I see? A shabby coward who is so frantic to regain his honour, he would do and say anything at all. Nothing is beneath you, is it? No taboo cannot be broken. Let me guess – did you kidnap this tiny Princess, or did she kidnap you?”

The Dragons almost fell over laughing as Brawl illustrated her size with his talons.

Horror settled as ice in his bones.

However, his brother was not finished yet. “Or perhaps, a discerning Dragon might smell out another explanation. A plot born in T’nagru, or deep in the foetid bowels of Skartun, against the Dragonkind? Perhaps the Princess has been manipulating you, and all of us, all along?”

“I don’t understand,” Chalice fluted. All eyes turned to her interruption; her eyelids flickered wildly as she put in, in a breathless rush, “I saw him fly, and I can swear I’ve never seen such speed. That cannot be faked.”

“Unless your mind was somehow twisted by the youngling,” another Dragoness put in.

All of the faces surrounding him registered doubt, confusion and even outright fury. The old words wanted to worm their way into his mind, but he refused them. This time, he would stand tall. He would take the dishonour exactly as it was meant – but not for the perverse yet oh-so-believable reasons his brothers had advanced. Above all, Blaze must be protected.

Why not simply breathe fire? Flare insisted.

Brutal thundered, Aye! What is this, youngling? Has your mind indeed been addled? If indeed you found your fires after all these years – Ignis himself be praised! Show us! What are you waiting for?

Chalice put in, Show us, Dragon. Show me.

For by his words, she too stood impugned; bested by a Human child.

No. None of this mattered. For once, this Dragon would do his duty by his sire. He would be the son of his wing who reflected no shame upon the Clan, nor upon his birth.

He said, Dragons, I have nothing more to share and no proofs to offer. I ask only that you consider the existential threat to our kind arising from the South, and act with the wisdom I have always known is far, far greater than any that which this Dragon may claim. Consider T’nagru. Consider the terror of Dragon slaves, and let none – his gaze rested deliberately upon his brothers – let none divide you. May you always soar as the suns, brothers and sisters.

Whirling upon his heel, he began to walk away.

HALT, DRAGON!

Chapter 10: Fires Burn Bright

HIS TALONS CLENCHED INVOLUNTARILY in the grey sand as his sire’s bellow cut through the hubbub. He did not turn. Could not. Had his paws been welded to the ground, he would have been no less effectively immobilised.

Blaze called, Brother Dragons, I too know this Dragon. I have spoken with this Princess. I cannot believe that either would lie. If Dragon says he breathed fire, then he breathed fire.

But, sire – Brand began.

But, indeed. Just as the young Princess gave us a demonstration, Dragon –

No! I will not.

Do you refuse to offer proof?

Trembling, he bade his wings still and his fires withhold. Please. Anything but this! At last, he turned to face his sire. Did he not know? Could he not imagine what this might do to him?

Eyes so dark with emotion they appeared almost fireless, fixed upon him across the short space that separated them. Blaze seemed on the point of speech, but the words must have stuck in his throat. Strange, unknowable colours played upon his scent senses, a brew too complex to evaluate immediately. He understood. He wanted this, but feared it, too. That acrid scent was clear. After the longest, most fraught hiatus he had ever known, his sire’s head bobbed up and down.

A fire bomb imploded inside his chest. No! He could not mean …

Truth. Was there any force more brutal, any light that shone brighter beneath the suns? His sire could not mean it. Surely not!

As he dithered, Princess Azania jogged over to Blaze. He lowered his great muzzle to attend to her whisper; after a few seconds in which no Dragon dared shuffle so much as a wingtip, he nodded again and whispered something back to her. His talon tapped the top of her right shoulder, just once, a draconic signal of acknowledgement of a service rendered. Then, the orange Dragon raised his head to the stars as if seeking answers from the cosmos.

The congregation stilled.

He said, What a Dragon chooses to do with their own honour, is a matter for them alone. However, when a Dragon chooses to sacrifice their honour that another might remain blameless, then that is a demonstration of integrity – which is, I believe, one of the highest forms of honour known to the Dragonkind. We might even call it a true expression of love.

Perhaps there were Dragons here who did not understand, but many did. The way Azania gazed at him, he knew her heart wept for joy as only a Human heart could.

The very night air took a collective inhalation.

This Dragon was the son of my loins, Blaze added. One day, I believe he still will be, and this imperfect sire can only wait and hope for the honour such a day will accord him. Now, Dragon. Have you fires?

I … do, he croaked.

Then, please. Show us all who you are.

His sire genuflected respectfully. Beside him, Azania wiped her eyes. For his part, his head had just come disconnected from the rest of his body, feeling as if it were floating mysteriously above the ground according to a process hitherto undiscovered by science.

Was this an apology? Fury shaped the fires suddenly come alive in his chest.

Best clear the way, Yarimda called out suddenly. Her aged tones quavered in her throat, but the motion of her walking stick was more than firm. You Dragons, step aside, please. Make a path.

They gaped at her.

Right to the back! I mean it – shift a paw there, younglings. Only respect for an elder kept them from grinding their fangs in her direction. Now, young Dragon, see that tree?

He nodded. Not terribly well, but an outline in the darkness was enough.

I’d like a nice big bonfire, please.

Every Dragon around them measured the distance with palpable incredulity. Eighty feet? No Dragon could expel his fire that far.

Glittering of eye, his brothers looked on as Dragon tried to remember how to breathe. So queasy. The incident with the stomach full of oil played in his memory. He had never been the best performer under pressure. Too dreadful to imagine if the fires chose this moment to disappear once more!

A cane thwacked him in the knee. Dragon, pay attention. Imagine Jabiz Urdoo over there – now, paint him for me!

He did not.

What he painted, was that moment the Jabiz had lifted Princess Azania by her hair. He evoked the way the man’s lips twisted as he spat into her face. Then, he deliberately threw him against the electric machine. Man-toast. Ah, the sickly-sweet stench of flesh roasting upon a spit of his own making. The epitome of justice.

A crackling akin to a bonfire spitting to its full height emanated from the depths of his chest. For want of a better description, everything tightened up – every muscle in his body scrunched up painfully, and his strange ignition stomach or organ spread white heat through his chest, causing his heart rate to double. Even his scraggly hide sucked against his body, perhaps drawn close by the electric potentials building inside? The sensation was uncomfortably close to the idea of wearing clothing. Pah!

Dragon picked Yarimda up and placed her out of his firing line. Excuse me, honoured elder. It is safer for you over here.

Cracking open his jaw, he willed the blaze forth. What joy! What incandescence! Like a wave rushing toward the shoreline, the power built inexorably to a peak that threatened to consume his being. Rumbling. Roaring. Frothing with turbulent abandon. Then, with the same force a wave carried to its apex before crashing to its end, it could no longer be denied.

His throat reverberated. Stretched. Opened!

GRRRAAAOOORRRGGGH!!

White flame jetted out of his maw. So sharp and ready were the magical and physical processes, the muscular squeezing produced a fine, high-speed stream of brilliant fire that illuminated faces and scales as it raced down the channel Yarimda had cleared for him. Sixty feet from his body, the plume abruptly widened in a bloom of destruction that rolled toward the tree in a fiery, unstoppable embrace.

The pristine light highlighted the gleam of fangs in many watching draconic faces as his flame streamed forth, endless, mesmeric and dazzling. Even the low, eager hissing sound it made was a statement of lethal beauty.

Never had he imagined he would produce fire like this. How could it belong to him? A common, muddy brown Dragon had no business producing flame that seared the air like white-hot talons.

With a muted whomp, the tree gave up the unequal battle. Flames gushed toward the heavens.

Rage, o Dragon hearts! Rage!

“Alright, Dragon,” the Princess breathed. “That was awesome.”

Reluctantly, he clenched the flame between his fangs, cutting it off. Darkness washed over the Dragons; deprived of the brilliance, the night became that much deeper and darker.

Nefarious deeds were at paw. A sire chose to save his son’s honour, at his own expense.

Quietly, he noted, As I attested, I found my true flame.

On another occasion, the stunned response might have been hilarious. Jaws sagged. Paws clenched. Wings flared in odd directions, eloquently describing the consternation of every Dragon, especially his precious brothers. Orange fires dribbled unheeded from many a jaw as they stared at him as if he had turned into a monster straight out of legend.

He could not better have dropped a mountain upon their heads.

Or, kicked his brothers square in the Dragon jewels. A severe temptation at the best of times.

Pitching his voice to carry, Blaze said, Here in the gaps left by your wounds, Dragon, especially when you poured forth your flame, the new hide shows white. It is said no Dragon can change his colour – but look, you will do the impossible.

A talon plucked at his flank. Sawed at the loose hide.

Uh …

That squawk was the limit of his speech at this juncture.

With a wicked chuckle, Yarimda cried, Who would like to pluck a Dragon like a fresh fowl? Come help, Dragons!

Me, Juggernaut rumbled. Tear him apart, Blaze?

With pleasure!

“I’ve just the tool for the job,” Azania chortled, drawing her talon dagger with a bright zing of metal. He decided he loathed the fact that she understood enough Draconian to know what was going on – and that fervent expression? Deadly Princess!

Hold on! Dragon heard himself bleat.

“Do tell us if something hurts,” his Princess added, with a roguish grin. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to do this for the longest time.”

“It’s soft under there, and – ooh!”

“Rrrrrriiipp it up!” she sang out. “Come on, Juggernaut, flex those muscles!”

Something was totally wrong about this picture. Dragon hide was not supposed to rip like tough cloth. Nor was it supposed to tear off in long strips that left him looking like one of those slatted fences he had seen in Aluxon, capital of the Kingdom of Alaxarmis. Dragons did not bother to skin their prey before consuming it. Waste of good nutrients. Now, his friends mobbed him to gleefully strip his hide like a troop of Human cooks preparing meat for the pot.

Dreadfully unhappy.

How humiliating was this?

Especially since the whisper about his white fires began to make the rounds of the Dragons, until it reached the ear canals of his brothers and managed to meld with something resembling sensible thought in there. Impossible as he felt it might be for their jaws to dangle further, they actually slapped down upon their forepaws, giving new meaning to the phrase, ‘slack-jawed idiots.’

Enjoyable, in a terrifying sort of way.

“BY MY WINGS!” he roared as Juggernaut ripped right up to his row of spine spikes, where the old hide finally stuck.

“Princess, you could start chopping along here,” the warrior suggested.

“Stuck?” she asked. “With pleasure.”

“Gently with my new scales,” he protested, trying to twizzle his neck around to see what was going on.

Odd colours? The major part of most of his white scales was the same reflective sheen of his fires, but there was a strong underlying brown pattern too, highlighting the edges and undersides of some but not all scales. Not his old brown. This was a deep, lustrous gold-infused brown which nonetheless displayed the same pearlescent sheen of the white. Highlights? Background and edging colouration? As an artist, he imagined the effect might be quite striking, if for the life of him he could work out what the patterning meant.

Brawl staggered toward them, gasping, Sire, it cannot be … what is this? Who …

Blaze snarled, You share a sire, but not the same dam. Clear enough?

Distracted by the fact that Azania was working her way along his back, chortling charming, Princess-like things such as, ‘Dragon kebabs,’ ‘slice and dice,’ and ‘I’m sure I have a glittering future as a butcher,’ he bellowed in shock as Juggernaut ripped his way down his tail. A whole cone of dilapidated hide came off in his paws, along with a few scraps of new. Several patches began to bleed.

“Sensitive!” he protested.

“Poor, sweet little Draggy need kissy better? Mweh! Mweh!”

“Princess, I am not a forgiving creature!”

“Just trimming off a few of the crustier bits. Hold still. You are still my favourite Dragon, after all. Consider this a demonstration of friendship.”

“Don’t you know how Dragons carry grudges? Inzashu, don’t you dare – GRAARRRGGHH!”

Thankfully, he aimed at the sky this time. The entire sinkhole lit up as if lightning had struck from clear skies.

* * * *

Very late, a soft tread alerted Dragon where he dozed beside the entrance to Juggernaut’s lair. He thought it might be Brand or Blitz come to exact a misguided revenge, but it was neither of them.

Sire, he whispered.

Are you alright, son?

I am not your son, remember? More bitter than he had intended. Biting his lip to quell his emotions, he raised his muzzle to regard Blaze.

Can I explain? I was young, ambitious and enamoured of Indigofire –

Stop. Please, enough. Dragon heaved a sigh worth the weight of ten hearts rather than five. Just now, I cannot … hear what you have to say. Maybe one day, I will be ready to receive your word.

Is there no forgiveness left –

Twenty years! Twenty years you let me suffer and now you beg forgiveness? Sucking back his fires, he considered how close he had come to flaming his own father. Perhaps Blaze expected it; even wanted a sign of punishment. I cannot go there, not yet. This betrayal is far too raw.

Literally. His hide bled in a few places where the vigorous act of being stripped by large, energetic helpers had torn at the far softer new hide beneath. No battles for a few months, Juggernaut had advised balefully, until his hide hardened again.

Just like a hatchling.

Inside of him was a youngling who had always yearned for his father’s love. How did one ever, ever restore such a rift?

Examining his hearts, he discovered a surprising truth. Slowly and thoughtfully, he said, When the three years and three days have passed, I promise upon my oath that I will come to speak with you about this, Blaze the Devastator. Until then, I cast you out of my life. You are not my sire. I have no sire, for that Dragon is a despicable thief and one who stood by and let abuse endure for far too long – and for what? To satisfy his pride and selfish ambition?

The other heaved a huge sigh.

Dragon said, I would know one thing –

Anything.

What was her name?

Sirensong.

So many questions. Had he loved her? Was it but a dalliance? Was she alluring? Had he treated her well, or decimated her very Dragoness hearts – he must have? What mother would have given up her egg? Or could there be more tragedy waiting for him somewhere out there in the Lumis Ocean?

At length, Blaze said, For what it is worth, I have never been prouder of you, Dragon.

Now, after twenty years?

Hatred? Bitterness? Relief? He had no idea what he felt – most of all, an all-pervading sense of numbness. He wished nothing more than that his sire would leave him alone. Forever.

Very soon, the heavy tread departed.

Perhaps his sire fled.

Sirensong. One more reason for him to fly up to the Vaylarn Archipelago. If he was not mistaken, the annual migration should arrive in five to six weeks’ time, if anything they had learned and surmised was correct. Would she be swimming with the Sea Dragons? Might he see her …

“You alright?”

He nearly shed his new scales in fright. “Princess. No.”

“Would you like company?”

“Not really.” How much had she overheard? Everything? “Only if …”

“I understand.”

Stepping over his crossed forepaws, she slipped into her usual place in the crook of his neck. Said nothing. Asked no questions. Did not act like anything but a perfect friend cosying up for the night. Irrationally, that was exactly what broke him.

Covering his Princess with his wing for warmth, his shoulders shook. He tried to clamp his muzzle shut with his paws. Vain hope. The first lament was not long in coming. Moans wrenched from the depths of his soul.

What fool had first uttered the phrase, ‘big Dragons don’t cry?’

What a heaviness of grief. He could only release it as best he knew how, or face being crushed.

* * * *

His kin flew on just as Dragon stirred to the awareness of a Taramis-first sunrise. He hoped that Blaze flew to make things right with Indigofire. To warn her of what must surely come; the price that must be paid for what they had surely plotted together. What had broken his sire’s resolve to keep the secret buried deep? Could it be that such secrets carried a dreadful weight of their own? Or had his hearts burned for the fate of his son? He wanted to believe it.

Some Dragons had already flown on the previous evening. They agreed that Juggernaut’s lair would be the base of operations. A small mixed group planned to travel south within a day or two to speak with King N’chala and to bring reports back to their respective Clans. The Obliterators, who had a blood feud with the Terror Clan, departed muttering about plans to ‘see to those Terrors once and for all.’

He approved.

The previous evening felt like a dream – or nightmare – until he spied the still-smoking tree on the other side of the training ground.

Gnarr. With extra gnarliness.

How to annoy oneself with one’s own puns.

Naturally, Azania slept the sleep of the innocent, one of the greatest lies under the suns. Inveterate rascal. He muttered, “ ‘Dragon steaks. Oh, I’ve been wanting to carve a little of the male ego out of you for months, Dragon.’ Right, Princess. The feeling happens to be mutual …”

His crackpot monologue ended at the sight of white paws peeking out from beneath a wing that was definitely turning white, with those rich brown tones tracing the veins and struts, like the veins of an autumnal leaf.

Not too many half-air half-water Dragons about, were there?

How was he even supposed to think of this colour as him? Although, warming up his ego a tad, one must admit it was a far more fetching colouration than his old ability to blend in with swamps, mud flats and sundry roof tiles. He refused to miss that gift. Now, he could hide amongst melting snow. Perfect disguise for the Obsidian Desert, right? Would not stick out like a sore talon everywhere he flew, oh no.

Pah. Enough of the jaundiced thoughts already. Chalice the Grinder, peering out of the mouth of the cavern where she must have rested, was giving him the kind of fiery eyeball he was most definitely not used to receiving from any Dragonesses.

Not that he should be complaining.

“Dragon, where’s Azania?” Inzashu asked, stepping out of Juggernaut’s lair.

“Curled up with me last night,” said he, tilting his wing so that she could see. “You know what your sister’s like.”

“I’m like what?” Azania yawned, stretching. Her eyelashes fluttered. Human males were supposed to fall for tricks like that, similar to how Dragonesses flicked their eyelids, he supposed.

“Ah, I’ll think of something. Best friend in all of Solixambria.”

A slow grin lit up her face. “Scale check?”

“Call me snow white.”

“Huh, and here I thought you’d be a nice creature of colour, like me. You’ve gone over to the dark side – uh, alright, that failed rather miserably. The lighter and brighter side, right?”

“I still have one paw in the brownish gold camp,” he sniped, “and what’s all this silliness about colour anyways? Have you ever met a person who is of no colour? It’s completely illogical. Everyone has colour! It’s like saying, ‘A Dragon of scales.’ ”

“Really?” she said.

One sarcastic warning shot. He refused to listen.

“Let me warm you up to the facts, Princess. White people are not white, they are a pale pink with nasty hairy bits. You can’t hide them in a snowfield with the best will in the world. Black people are not black, or they’d blend in with the average lump of charcoal. They are various shades of brown, again with the socially unacceptable hairy bits. You Humans are completely unreasonable when it comes to colour. And hair.”

“Connotations, Dragon. ‘Black’ means much more than –”

“Lunacy. Don’t tell me to see what isn’t there. You are not a black Princess, you are a shade of brown – a very pleasing shade, may I add? At least, seventeen kingdoms’ worth of Human males agree with me on the subject.”

“Dragon, it’s far too early for you to be so feisty. Go work off some energy. Flirt with whatshername over there.”

“Look, brownness of skin does not equate to fitness for slavery.”

Princess Azania rose, stretched once more, and promptly kicked him beneath the jaw!

“What was that for?”

“I like kicking white things.”

“WHAT?”

“Oh, whiteness doesn’t equate to fitness to being kicked when I please?”

He glowered at her. “Very clever lesson, Princess.”

“Aye. Anyone would think that with a lifetime’s being the wondrous Black Rose of the Desert, I might have had a chance to reflect upon a few of the issues. While I value your perspective on the subject, Dragon, I …” she chuckled softly. “I guess, what with you having literally just changed your hide, you will enjoy a number of insights all too soon. One such insight is skulking over there hoping you’ll go give her polite greeting. Go on, Dragon.”

“Azania, I –”

“Shoo!”

“I don’t wear shoes,” he groused.

Reaching up, she touched his jaw where she had kicked him. “Much as I wish you could sometimes live within my skin for but a day, I imagine the reverse is also true. Are you really alright this morning, Dragon?”

“Far, far better for having a friend like you.”

Turning, he waggled a talon at Princess the younger, standing wide-eyed in Juggernaut’s entryway. “No, I am absolutely not sweet, nor sappy, nor anything else you were just thinking! In a male world, you now pretend I said nothing at all.”

The girl giggled, “Men are so weird. Males, even.”

Linking arms with her sister, Azania said, “You don’t know the half of it. Come on, Inzashu. Let’s go do mysterious, inexplicable female things that completely bamboozle the macho mind.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Inzashu agreed at once. “Dragon –”

GNARR-OFF WITH YOU!!

Chapter 11: Rushing On

JUGGERNAUT THUMPED DRAGON UPON the shoulder. Fly with me.

Busy times at the lair, Master Juggernaut?

Shut your oversized, flapping gob and get airborne before I kick you so hard, you’ll bounce off the moon!

Clear enough.

Raising his wings, he roused himself into a proper flap.

As they worked hard to gain altitude, he called over, How’s it working out with your new armourer?

Very good. She knows her business – no experience with Dragon armour as yet, but the skills are solid, as is the attitude. I will be pleased with her work.

Unusual for the gruff Dragon to be so effusive.

Could this strange business of regard for Humans be infectious? Watch out, mighty Dragon! Cough, sniffles and an appalling case of Humanitis?

Your sire took a great risk, he commented. I never would have thought it of Blaze the Devastator – but I don’t know that your old Clan will be so forgiving. Will you search for your dam in the North?

Aye, Master.

Good. Consider this an essential part of your formation. A true warrior understands who they are. They might not like or accept everything they discover. That is a different issue. Tracing the pattern of who we have been informs our present, and allows us to hone our training for the future. You see, Dragon, some things we cannot choose about ourselves, but some things we can shape, actively and mindfully, to become who we want to be. Your scales will be the colour they will be. Nothing can change that. But you can choose to hate your sire, or shun him, or accept his flaws, or anything between. Understand?

I do. He looked to the day, to the soft azure-orange sky and a towering weather front building in the East. It isn’t easy, Master Juggernaut.

Aye. It will take time, is all I can say. No other can fly this course for you.

What nuances of memory traced his words, Dragon could not say. In silence, they winged up into the great dome of the sky, where Dragons reigned supreme.

Juggernaut said, Chalice spoke highly of you, Dragon.

She did, he replied, keeping his tone neutral. Interesting how he brought her name up.

Show me. Race me to that peak.

Only if you will promise to hear me out on a particular subject when I beat you wings and paws down, Master.

The warrior glared at him. What is this?

A promise I made to someone.

Huh. See if you can keep up, youngster!

With a great clap of his wings he was off, surging into the lead with the power and grace that Dragon expected of him. Juggernaut was a subtle, effective flyer perhaps out of keeping with his name, but definitely in keeping with his combat philosophy. Never waste energy. Efficiency increased speed, keeping one alive.

For half of the three-mile flight, he struggled to find that novel rhythm again. He fell five Dragon lengths behind, then ten, as his ineffective exertions snarled him up. The orange Dragon powered ahead, indefatigable.

Twizzling his neck, Juggernaut roared, Don’t make a fool of Chalice, youngling! Fly!

Second time.

Perhaps he was right, and Chalice’s intuition was on target …

Shutting his eyes – decent sight was overrated, anyways – he set upon painting swells upon an imaginary ocean. His body began to undulate. Suddenly, as if something clicked, his parts all began to work together and he accelerated past Juggernaut as if the older Dragon were hovering in place, not making his maximum effort. Gruff laughter! No chance even of matching him. He hurtled toward the peak and around it while the older Dragon was yet more than half a mile off, his own laughter thundering out of his chest for sheer elation.

Stalling and swerving to fall in line with his slower wing companion for the return journey, the Master said in a tone of clear approval, Old Dragon, new tricks. Is that a swimming stroke? Could you teach it to me?

So that you can impress her? he said lightly, before he thought the better of his words.

A fiery growl thundered across his bow. If we are talking about whom I think we are talking about, Dragon, then it is more than clear that it is you who stokes her fires.

I thought so, too. By my sire’s egg, I was badly mistaken.

What? Last night, her eloquence rose for your fires. I am not mistaken.

Dragon met Juggernaut’s gaze with all the honesty he could muster. Do you want to know why?

Surprise me.

Why could he never approach these matters in a sensible way? He had just thrust his talons into all the arguments he had been so carefully mustering, and ripped everything apart. Blitz the Fritz in full cry. How he hated that old nickname!

He said, She hoped to gain favour by supporting your position.

The older Dragon gave this argument short shrift, barking out a rude response.

Dragon said, Hear me. I went to Chalice the Grinder this morning expecting that she favoured me. As it turns out, that is a common mistake males make due to a muscular issue with her eyelids. What she wanted to know, was why you shun her? She asked me to speak with you, since we share –

This discussion is over!

You promised you would hear me.

Not on this subject – GNARR!! I must. Teach me the wing stroke before I clout you around the ear canals. This is how we do it.

With a limber barrel roll, he suddenly left his position at Dragon’s right wingtip and turned up directly above him. By his wings, had those Talon Clan greens been capable of such a manoeuvre, he would not be here today to remember their meeting. In a second, he felt the older Dragon’s paws touch and grip his shoulders. His hind paws rested four feet above his haunches, also holding on without any use of the talons. Double Dragon. He had not known this could be done, either. Juggernaut still worked his wings, but the connection allowed him to sense exactly what the lower Dragon was doing.

After a short struggle, he worked out how to demonstrate the stroke pattern without snarling up both sets of wings.

Faster, Juggernaut ordered. This uses the muscles very differently to what I am used to.

It’s strange, isn’t it?

A very different dynamic. I will have to study this. I’m not sure I could ever do the stroke as naturally as you, but it does appear to offer incredible speed over shorter distances – given high energy output.

Surprise value for combat? Dragon suggested.

Aye!

Together, they passed over his training ground, whereupon the warrior Dragon broke off and led the way to a hot spring that fed a wide, mauve-tinged pool. Here, they settled into the steaming waters. Only then did he growl that he was ready to listen.

Chalice the Grinder was older than Dragon had supposed, thirty-six years of age. She had been mated before, but her mate had perished of a brittle bone disease. She had cared faithfully for him during a long, lair-bound illness of eleven years. She described herself as socially awkward – rather similar to someone else with a brand new white hide, one might argue. The tic in her eyes, which manifested when she was stressed, often led Dragons to believe she was flirtatious and coy. On the contrary, she was shy and often unsure of herself. Juggernaut’s behaviour toward her had struck her as particularly harsh and unjustified.

Everyone knows I desire no mate, Juggernaut said quietly. However, I may have encouraged her … that was a mistake. I don’t dislike Chalice. I was not fully aware of her story.

Sinking deeper into the pool, Dragon muttered, I’ve no idea why she asked me to speak to you. I’ve no talent at relationships.

The Princess seems to have survived your dubious talents, unscathed.

The dry joke brought forth an even dryer chuckle. Master, why were you jealous when Chalice spoke highly of me?

Now, his gaze lidded. Was I? Why are you suggesting this?

Because I’m young and idealistic and a fool when it comes to females? he offered glumly.

Youngling! Spit that rubbish out this instant!

Dragon blinked as Juggernaut’s roar swooshed hot water into his face. Eh?

I don’t stand for lies. What I also do not stand for, is brash young Dragons trying to tell me how to feel and run my life! Have you finished mangling this subject? Or are you going to plead that I give this Dragoness a chance?

No, Master.

A low growl across the pond turned into bubbles as the warrior Dragon immersed himself. He came up snorting and shaking out his wings in pleasure. Marvellous substance, water. Truly extraordinary how it could be so many things – cleansing, refreshing, warming, terrifying, life-giving.

An eye full of yellow fury glared across the waters.

Courage, Dragon.

Quietly, he said, Perhaps due to my being half a Sea Dragon, o Juggernaut, I have a particular magical capability which allows me to scent sense something of the feelings of both Dragons and Humans. I am not skilled in the art by any means, but I will be open and tell you that you may not realise exactly how you feel about Chalice, and – I AM SPEAKING!

The eye blinked. Aye, he dared. Dragon feared a world of pain was about to erupt. His hearts bounded around inside his chest like a quintet of startled deer. No. He would finish. Bury the disaster he had been. Juggernaut could do what he liked afterward; that was his responsibility.

Holding up a paw, he managed to say steadily, You’re right. It is absolutely not my place to speak to you of such things, Master. I lack the faintest inklings regarding your past, your inner thoughts and state, or anything else – but if you asked this idealistic fool over here what he would want to say to you, then it is simply this: Give yourself a chance. You do have fiery regard for Chalice. Maybe you are denying it for reasons you cannot divulge? You took me in and mentored me when I saw nothing of my true self, only pain. I know little, but one thing is clear to me: you are worth loving, and deserve to be loved.

How naïve he sounded. Blergh. Wash the tongue with a caustic!

When Juggernaut did not speak, appearing to have gone to sleep, he surreptitiously pulled himself out of the water and began to pad away.

Dragon.

He glanced back over his shoulder. Master?

You do know that you not only have the biggest butt in these mountains, you’re also the biggest pain in the butt?

What the – he blinked, ten times. The grin that showed just above the water did not change in the slightest. Rude, yet true in the most infuriating way possible. Did that mean …

I will speak with Chalice. Now, get out of here before I loosen a few of your fangs as I really ought to.

Result!

* * * *

That afternoon, they packed and prepared for the northerly run to Amboraine. While it was not far as the Dragon flew, the vertical height of the final pass posed the main challenge to even the draconic traveller – a whopping twenty-three thousand feet. The alternative was a four-day flight around the mountains to the East, which carried the distinct possibility that they might encounter a few Terror Clan friends once more.

The type of friends who only wanted to get close enough to slip a talon between one’s ribs.

He was not a happy Dragon.

“Did you know your new patterning makes it look as if fires are playing along your flanks when you fly?” Azania chirped.

“How nice.”

“I can trim the excess hide a bit more around your head, where it’s looking tatty.”

“Tatty? You are too kind, Highness.”

“How is my hair?”

“You tamed the frizz? Astonishing.”

“Frizz? Bad, bad Dragon!” she growled, making to stomp off in a huff. “You’re in a foul mood – let me go!”

Clasping her in his right forepaw, he wagged the fore-talon of the left beneath her definite little chin. “Behave. Just because I’m outvoted on the route doesn’t mean I have to like it. Apologies for the undeserved growling session. So, I observe that you have used a slightly heavier, silkier hair oil with a wonderful fragrance – Hulbine lilies and attar of crimson desert rose, am I correct?”

“Er … aye?”

Her tone implied how weird it was that a male Dragon should know such feminine matters so well.

“Very good,” he purred, almost tripping over his own ego in the process of adding, “the quality of curl and the lustre of the individual filaments, to my disbelief, has improved from merely arresting to outright jaw-dropping. Congratulations, Highness.”

“Dragon, stop mocking me.”

Instantly, he regretted his tone. She was sensitive about her hair, just as Dragons were sensitive about their scales. “The admiration is sincere. Listen to what I say, not to how I say it.”

“Do as I say, not as I do?”

“Quite,” he grinned, then ironed his lips straight. “Are you also nervous about flying North? Not the immediate North, I mean …”

“Aye. How are you with people kissing your paws, Dragon?”

“Blergh.”

“I thought so. Therefore, settle for my grateful thanks. I had not realised what was making me so ratty.”

“Ratty?”

“The Human equivalent of a nasty scale rash.”

“Ooh, how you conjure up my very worst nightmares.”

Laughing, they walked up together to Juggernaut’s lair, where the Princess fetched her talon dagger and informed him that she was his beautician. Purr! In a manner of speaking. She tidied up the loose scales and hide with a steady hand, sitting right atop his head. This drew a number of very strange looks from the Dragons who were still about. When she fished a great glob of brown wax out of his previously infected ear with a wooden spoon, Dragon teased her that she would shortly have Dragons lining up for the full treatment.

Much better. He could hear all of her complaints at his awful jokes now.

True enough, Flare the Bonfire shortly wandered over to inquire if a Princess could not be persuaded to check his ear canals, since he had not been hearing well on the left side for seven years.

“Oh, sister dearest?” Azania called sweetly.

“What is it?”

“Could you help honoured Flare here, please? It’s a medical issue – a hearing problem.”

Twenty minutes later, having gathered an audience of fifteen increasingly voluble and amused Dragons who were nothing if not keen to offer the best advice, she deftly employed a blacksmith’s pair of pliers to extract the offending object from his ear.

“A blue diamond!” she gasped.

“Too much rolling about in your hoard, honoured Flare?” Warpaw the Wrecker chortled.

“Seems so, seems so.”

He shook his head, completely forgetting he had a Princess aboard. Chalice snaffled her up before she fell too badly.

“Mmm, nice catch,” Juggernaut approved. “Starting with your own Princess, Chalice?”

“I’d prefer a Prince – with respect, Inzashu,” she said shyly, squeezing her eyes shut before the quivering became too pronounced.

Azania said, “You could start a whole new tradition of kidnapping pretty Princes for sport and holding them ransom, until their Dragon-riding Princesses come to the rescue.”

“A modern twist on the old ways,” Dragon agreed heartily.

Flare passed the diamond to Inzashu. “It’s yours, with my thanks.”

“Honoured Dragon, I could not possibly … I am grateful, of course,” she spluttered. “A king’s jewels should be proud to showcase such a gemstone. It’s huge!”

“Better out than in, I’ve always said,” he replied testily. He ambled off as if that comment settled the matter for good.

Inzashu asked, “What do I do with this?”

“Well, don’t get it stuck in your earhole,” Dragon advised.

* * * *

A bright and fair dawn greeted the travellers. Down in Juggernaut’s warm sinkhole, energetic birdsong was the order of the day, along with the raucous honking of a group of blue-necked mallards somewhere down near the hot springs. Loud feather-brains! Was there time for roast duck times ten? Probably not, unless he tried to flash-barbecue them with his new skills?

Juggernaut stumped over to greet the team loading Dragon. “Chalice will fly with you.”

“How come?” Azania asked.

“When Yardi recruits my armourers and blacksmiths, I’ll want them to travel here. There’s a viable ground route into the mountains from near Dorline, especially in the summer, but it’ll require an escort from someone who knows the territory,” he explained. “Chalice can bring them safely through.”

“That’s a good idea,” Dragon agreed.

“I’m full of good ideas,” came the baleful reply, but he flicked wingtips with the pretty yellow Dragoness, making her jump. “Hope to see you back here soon, Chalice? Don’t tarry.”

The Dragoness shook her head as if she had received a robust wallop.

Juggernaut flexed his muscles, and then shoulder-thumped Dragon on the way past. Low of voice, but at a volume he suspected was perfectly calculated to carry, he said, You look after her for me, alright?

Of course, Master.

His snigger turned into a stifled cough. Juggernaut needed a few lessons in tact, in his estimation, but the results appeared inarguable. By the time they were airborne, Chalice still did act as if she knew what she was doing with her wings. No need to flap, indeed. She floated in a bubble of happiness.

Sly old reptile. Juggernaut had not waited long to make his move on the Dragoness, had he?

Light white cumulous clouds drifted from the East, catching Ignis’ crimson blaze around their edges. The Princesses played at spotting different cloud animals as the two Dragons winged up out of the lair and down a long, slight slope toward the wall of a distant mountain range. Mighty peaks! Several were over thirty-one thousand feet in height, well beyond the height even a Dragon might fly with impunity – so tall, indeed, that their purple heads stood disrobed of the snow that blanketed their lower reaches.

They flew for forty-five miles along a snowbound valley that wound back upon itself like a constrictor, climbing steadily. At Chalice’s pace, this flight took the whole morning; selecting a spot where the dark ground and a couple of green bushes proclaimed the presence of a fumarole, Dragon brought them in for a landing. The Humans needed a break.

So did he, before they tackled that high pass.

Once the Humans had all dismounted and wandered off to hide behind bushes and stones, to Chalice’s amusement, she said to him, So, you spoke with Juggernaut?

Me?

Liar.

He chuckled gruffly. We had a Dragon-to-Dragon chat, aye. Why, did he say something to you?

Only that he had mistaken my intentions and wronged me, and would appreciate the chance to work together more closely in the future. The yellow Dragoness cracked her jaw open in a shy smile. Was it very hard work, convincing him?

No. I did no pleading or begging, and as you can see, I even avoided being beaten to a pulp for my temerity.

How?

He said, ‘Work closely together’ – in just that way?

She sucked in a sharp breath. Aye …

Well, it appears you must have made quite the impression, Chalice. I’ll tell you, dozens of other Dragonesses have tried and failed, but you – ouch!

The Dragoness snorted, Don’t even pretend that little tap hurt you. Dragon – the truth, please.

I told him to give himself a chance.

That brought Chalice up short! What? What do you mean?

I don’t know either. Juggernaut has always been a famously private Dragon. He’s told me nothing about his past. However – Dragon nudged her shoulder playfully, and teased in a lilting growl – I think his fires burn ever so bright for the yellow, the yellow, the fiery little yellow …

She clouted him again.

He grinned to himself. Job well done.

Chapter 12: Rains in Amboraine

AFTER LUNCH, THE RIDERS switched positions once more. Inzashu with Yarimda. Azania considerably out-muscled by Yardi. Seeing them together, it became clear to him that adult Humans varied in stature and bulk as much as Dragons. At six feet and two inches of solid muscle, Yardi stood a foot and a half taller than the Princess and measured a foot wider, too. She must weigh at least two and a half times his tiny Rider. Interesting. He wondered if Humans treated bigger people as special. His unusual stature amongst Dragons made others leery of him, or painted a target upon his back.

Such a massive bruiser.

So intimidating.

GNARR!!

“Something you’d like to share, Dragon?” Azania asked politely.

“Just clearing my throat,” he suggested, flexing his shoulders until the muscles rippled beneath her feet. Would Aria like the new, freshly peeled look?

Imaginary conversation: Aye, Aria, I’m like an onion, a complex, virile creature of many layers. And she would reply: Shall I peel you a little further, you big beast, to reveal yet more complexity?

Ouch. Not very appealing.

True to form, his reaction had absolutely not passed the Princess by.

“Ready to assault the high passes, team?” he roared.

Various ‘aye’s’ and ‘ouch, my ears’ greeted his outburst. On that note, they winged up into the sky in a long, long thirty-five-degree incline. After an hour, Chalice complained about his holding back for her. Dragon snidely suggested he might take her upon his back as well, which had the desired effect of firing up her rage as the slope turned to sixty degrees, finally soaring into a spectacular vertical cliff face that had the advantage of hosting a breeze that could only be called a thermal by virtue of the fact that it was warmer than the biting cold that otherwise surrounded them. Nice rest. Both Dragons spread their wings and circled upwards. He helped Inzashu to check all their Riders, including herself.

“You’re doing better this time,” he told her.

Desert Princesses were not half bad at growling, he had discovered. Now was such an occasion.

Chalice said, “I scent bad weather on the other side of the pass.”

“Storm?”

“Aye. I’ve a reliable weather sense.”

Intriguing. Like his emotional sense? He had heard of weather senses and even a gold-sniffing sense, for that matter.

“Let’s put down where the ridge flattens out, up there,” he suggested, pointing with his foreclaw. “Get our Riders ready for a rough ride – reason being, we need to straightaway go down the other side to get everyone back to a safe altitude.”

“Very good.”

“Is the Kingdom of Amboraine all white people?” Inzashu asked unexpectedly.

“Very much so,” Yarimda said. “All of the Kingdoms north of the Tamarine Range are white-skinned apart from Vaylarn, as best I know.”

“Kind of strange to imagine it,” she said.

“You’ve been to Chakkix Camp,” Dragon said.

“Mostly white, with a few tan and desert folk,” Yarimda pointed out. “Darker tones are definitely in a minority unless you’re in the south – and Thobe, Trondis and Lymarn, I believe. Are there not many peoples beyond Skartun, Princess Inzashu?”

“Very many,” she agreed. “Only one tribe is white. They are called albinos – not in a positive sense. Many people hunt them for their body parts, said to be useful in dark magic rituals.”

“Isn’t that in the realm of Unicorns?” Dragon asked.

“Mythical,” Azania said, at the same time as her sister said, “Real.”

They shared sisterly glares-into-smiles. The older sister made an inviting gesture with her hand.

“I once spent several months in Altyrine while living with my mother,” she said. “She was hunting Unicorns. I was young, but I remember that was the first time I learned that she was evil – this beautiful Unicorn foal, as black as the darkest night, had his hoof caught in her snare. I remember his terror all too well. We spoke … he helped me to understand, and I let him go. Nahritu-N’shula was so furious. I … I remember that, too. It was the first time she beat me until I bled.”

She rubbed her arms.

Raising his paw, Dragon touched her knee. “I am sorry about your dam, Inzashu.”

“I’m sorry about yours.”

“I guess we share that dam problem,” he put in helpfully, and then when everyone shouted at him, had to splutter that it was an unfortunate slip of the forked tongue.

Great. He’d misbehave more in the future if this was the kind of hornet’s nest he could stir up!

Could command of Equitone, the horse language, run in the family? Mental note to check that one of these or those days.

Shortly, they put down on a steep slope at the foot of the final climb up the pass, a crack between peaks which over many years must have been filled with snow and ice. Chalice urged quiet and haste due to the instability under paw. Right she was. The very instant they took off once more, the slope shifted and an avalanche began that quickly spread over a width of several hundred Dragon-lengths.

He nodded to Chalice. “Good call.”

The Dragons winged upward once more, each wingbeat tougher than the last. The air became noticeably thinner, their heavy breathing steaming like smoking fumaroles as they worked their way up the endless slope. Inzashu worked initially with Yarimda, but soon had to support the others as well. Here they went. Over the top and out onto a plain of several miles that led to one more smaller ridge. Beyond that? Nothing but a gorgeous blue sky into which the white tops of cumulonimbus billowed upward, visibly gaining altitude every second.

Decent storm, he gasped.

It’s boiling up nicely, Chalice agreed. Still ten miles off, but closing in fast. We need to shift tail, Dragon.

Aye. Slipstream me.

Thunderstorms could reach heights of over ten miles, Dragon knew from measurements taken from these very slopes. Another moment with his nose buried too deep in a scroll. No overflying anything like this. As they panted along and finally hit the top, he realised just how skewed his perspective had been. Monster!

“Wow!” Azania exclaimed.

“Spectacular even without my spectacles,” Dragon agreed. “Come on, let’s fly!”

Yardi said, “Azania, are his jokes always this bad?”

“No, they are wonderful,” she said. “Truly magnificent exemplars of intellectual prowess and mental agility.”

“One speculation is that you’ll be walking from here on out,” he clarified.

Yardi burst out laughing. “Figures.”

“Does indeed. So?”

“Wonderful sense of humour – cough, cough,” she replied.

“Cheeky. Drop you off halfway, shall I?”

Tilting onto the downslope now, he and Chalice picked up speed – which was just as well, because the wind began to gust directly into their muzzles. They charged together down a long V-shaped valley which must offer wonderful views of the lowlands beyond to those equipped to enjoy them. He saw a blur of green beneath a grey-black wall. The upper clouds turned crimson as Ignis eclipsed Taramis, but the red giant was in turn partially eclipsed by two moons. That lent the storm a malignant cast that made his new scales prickle urgently.

Careful as we go over the edge here, Chalice cautioned as they approached the end of the valley. It’s a drop like few others, and known for the vicious wind shear. Gain some height.

He followed her caution. Two hundred feet clearance as they hit the end. Sheer cliff! No wonder this was no viable route for foot traffic, for the drop off the far end was prodigious, perhaps exceeding seven thousand feet in several giant steps.

The yellow Dragoness cried out as the storm winds buffeted them sideways.

Dragon sideslipped with her, trying to control his speed and descent, to shadow her until she could regain control. Chalice wobbled as she righted herself. They swept outward in a fast descent, driving away from the immediate danger but further into the storm. Pockets of air caused them to wobble violently again, dropping tens of feet before suddenly pummelling them upwards. Dragon rode the roughness as best he could, but he felt every one of his riders’ cries as they were hammered mercilessly side to side, up and down.

Krack! His head twisted in shock. One of the leather belts on his back had snapped, slewing Yardi sideways. Azania grabbed her by the boot, but the larger woman’s weight combined with the gale-force wind was too much. Her fingers tore away. With a cry, the armourer slid out onto his wing surface.

Chalice whipped beneath him, clearly aiming for the catch, but a violent downdraught sent her tumbling; it collapsed his wing, too, but he barrel rolled with the wind’s punch to come in above Yardi – not where he intended, however. Hind paw snatch! He scragged her in the region of her extremely well-padded rear end, given how well they had covered up for the extreme altitude, and juggle-bundled her into his other rear paw before everything unravelled and he lost her again.

Tipping, struggling and jerking about, he righted himself. Now it was his turn to chase Chalice’s tail for a change, after she had been chasing his for the last hour.

“Yardi?” he called.

“Alive!” Aye, and as pasty as a poorly cooked Human pie. Good enough.

The storm winds finally eased as they continued to lose altitude, but now the rain sluiced down until Dragon could barely see ten feet ahead. The Dragoness led them lower and then a short ways along the cliffs to the west, until suddenly they flew in beneath an overhang and the rain stopped as if a door had been slammed shut.

Azania said, “Phew. Tell this desert girl again what’s to like about torrential rain?”

“Or storms?” the quivering bundle in his hind paw moaned.

“Or miles-high cliffs?” Inzashu put in.

“You silly children, that was amazing!” Yarimda crowed, throwing back her hood and shaking water out of her hair. “Decent flying, Dragon. What an adventure. Is that a cavern over there? Let’s land, please. This old lady needs to water a bush – too much excitement for the old bladder, I’m afraid.”

“Too much information,” Azania murmured.

Since Dragons usually landed on their hind paws first, he passed Yardi up to his forepaws before landing deftly on the rocky forecourt of the desired cave.

Chalice was already sniffing it out. “Wolf cubs. Let’s pick another further along.”

Everyone needed a rest after that short but entertaining episode. Dragon decided that when he wrote his memoirs, he would call this section ‘up and down the mountain.’ Was that not all there was to it?

* * * *

“It is plain that the rain in Amboraine gives great cause to complain,” Yarimda rehearsed with Azania and Inzashu, stressing the vowel glides of the Northern dialect.

“It is plain this rain does not fall down the drain, but onto my brain,” Inzashu quipped.

“If I may explain,” Chalice snorted, cracking one eye open.

Dragon sniffed loudly, “Puns are such a pain. Please refrain.”

“Don’t strain,” Azania said. “Look, I don’t think this weather is going to give up anytime soon. What say you we fly on to Amboraine and get dry there?”

“Dragons don’t melt in the rain.”

His Princess said, “It’s only twenty-seven miles from here. I want to check Aria’s tide schedule, but I’m worried about smudging the ink, what with everything being wet around here. No dry firewood either.” She pouted, “I want my silken sheets, a fragrant hot bath, fresh incense, girly clothes, a decent meal, a chance to primp my hair and paint my fingernails – is that too much to ask?”

“Aye,” he growled. “Watch out, I might mistake you for a real Princess.”

“Dragon!”

“Sorry, I mean a real storybook Princess. Not a real-real one.”

“Thin ice.”

“Do you rather mean the revolutionary sword-waving, Dragon-riding, battle-winning, kingdom-saving, setting leather trousers smoking sort of –”

“Dragon!”

He showed a few fangs lazily. “You haven’t tormented any knights in weeks. Losing your touch?”

Inzashu put in, “Why do dragons always sleep during the day?”

“Eh?” he grunted.

“They fight knights.”

GNARR!! “That’s a joke worthy of me.”

Yarimda said, “Call me old-fashioned, my dears, but I say that a true lady is entitled to wear whatever she likes within the bounds of decency without caring what others think – or indecency, in the case of a husband –”

“La la la!” Inzashu chuckled, covering her ears.

“There’s a good girl,” the old lady said, with a wicked smile. “You give that Azerim something to look at, Azania, and he’ll never look elsewhere.”

Blushing, Yardi said, “Grandmother, what kind of advice is that?”

“Good, honest advice. Just so we’re clear, it can be anything from the most magnificent ball gown to your silken scanties to just bare skin – you just wear it like a Dragoness wears her scales, and smoking will be the least of what you achieve.”

Inzashu puffed out her cheeks. “Ah … thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. What say you, sister?”

“Help?”

Yardi put in, “Grandmother, you’re absolutely terrible.”

“It’s about confidence – something you could stand to learn, dear one.”

“Me? I’m a muscly chunk of woman. Nothing girly about me.”

With a decent eye roll for a ninety-four year-old, she retorted, “You are curvy. Even your muscles are curvy. Yardi, you need to bear your body with confidence. You are big and beautiful; that is nothing to be ashamed of. By the time you reach my age, you’ll realise how silly society’s ideals are. I’ll give you a guarantee. Somewhere out there is a special someone whose eyeballs are going to pop out on stalks at the very sight of you, let alone when they discover the beauty that lives inside of you.”

Even Dragon had to glance away as they shared a tender hug. Such raw emotion. Would he be like this one day, aching to pass on just a few more of life’s lessons to his progeny before he passed beyond the fires of life?

With that, Yarimda declared her old bones were getting chilled.

Flying on … which meant soggy cloaks, steaming wet scales and a pounding rainstorm. Perfect.

Dragon flicked his wings as his team mounted up. “You don’t want to take a few fleas aboard, Chalice?”

“Oh no, you’re such a big, strong Dragon and doing such a fabulous job carrying all those people and equipment, I’ll just admire you from over here.”

He pretended to preen. “Don’t admire me too much, or some other males might become jealous.”

The yellow Dragoness smacked his hind leg with her tail. “Insolent youngling.”

“Rain’s easing up – as in, diminishing from a raging torrent to a spirited river,” Azania chuckled. “Come along now, stop admiring yourself and shift your oversized behind, Dragon. I’ve a royal appointment to keep.”

“At least you won’t be half as smelly by the time we get there, Your Highness.”

With that, he stepped out into the streaming rain.

By the time the two Dragons spied the fortress town tucked up against the mountainside, it was not possible to be any more drenched. Inzashu had given up trying to wring out her clothing, or even complaining that she had no idea there could be so much water in the entire world. New rivers danced down the cliffs behind the city in playful white plumes. On the flat farmlands below the outer battlements, puddles ran together to turn into ponds and lakes. Not good for the crops. Was this unseasonable rain?

A break in the clouds presaged the rain finally deciding that enough was enough, at least for the moment – but as it cleared, they spied the next weather front looming close behind. Any more of this, and they would not be flying up to the Vaylarn Archipelago. Summer was supposed to be balmy weather.

He could not imagine flying through an oceanic storm.

Popping his spectacles on his head, he eyed the fortress city with interest. Someone must have had a few feisty neighbours in the past. No less than four semi-circular granite battlements protected the city. Right at the rear was a castle, carved back into the cliff itself if he was not mistaken.

It would take quite the hammer to crack this nut.

“Those lower gates are a touch small,” he commented. “Chalice might fit, but I –”

“Need to go on a diet,” his Princess giggled, kicking his back. Her boots squelched. “Do Dragonesses like skinny butts, Chalice?”

Chunky is hunky. How do you translate that, Dragon?

“I’m the toast of the Tamarine Mountains?”

Azania said, “Keep lying right through those fangs, Dragon. Chunky is hunky, eh? I think we can go with that – but you can’t fit through that outer entryway, that’s for certain. Over to your left wing, Dragon, there’s a marketplace. Shall we land there and walk up?”

“As long as those guards on the battlements don’t get too excited.”

Chalice hissed, “Vertical drop? They can meet us in the marketplace – if they dare.”

The Princess said, “Dragons. I give up! What is it about your devious, fiery hearts that you love to scare Humans witless? Is it some predatory instinct?”

“Hours of fun,” he purred.

Chalice shrugged. “I’ve never tried, but it sounds enticing. Do they scream and panic and run around like headless chickens?”

“Fairly much. Try not to step on any. Nasty, squishy, warm fluids between the talons. Blergh.”

“I need to brush up on my pillaging.”

“Me too. Royal roar to announce your arrival, Princess Azania? Mwaa-haa-haa!”

“As long as you promise not to harm so much as a mouse while we’re down there, be my guest. This is an official royal visit with a kingdom that might very soon be allied with mine through marriage. For my brother’s sake, best behaviour. You too, Chalice.”

The Dragoness winked. “As you command, Highness.”

“Or, if they threaten you …”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Dragon, would you just get on with strutting your stuff?” Azania cried. “Aye, you are handsome! Aye, you’re so huge my eyes water just thinking about it! Aye, you’re a fire breathing, muscle-stuffed egomaniac … we understand all of this! Block your ears, everyone, because mister pompous over here just has to show off his masculinity!”

“The word you’re looking for is, ‘draculinity.’ ”

“Whatever!”

Cupping his paws to his mouth, he voiced a cry that was more sonorous and haunting than he had expected. He almost cut it off in surprise. What was this? But then his usual thunder reasserted itself, and he boomed, I AM DRAGON!!

Ah, rattle those windowpanes and shake behind locked doors, puny Humans!

Two Dragons were flying to town.

Chapter 13: Royal Visit

THE CAPTAIN OF THE Watch bowed with faultless formality. “To what do we owe the honour, Dragons?”

His men, however, continued to hide behind a wedge of shields. Dragon wanted to be genteel and point out that their armour would not exactly save them from becoming hot tinned food, should the fancy take him. Darn it. Why, by his itching wings, had he agreed to behave himself?

Oh, just a talon’s width of fun. Why not?

He raised his forepaw for Azania. “Your Highness?”

Despite the dripping cloak and waterlogged boots, his progressive royal was never one to miss the opportunity to seize an occasion by the scruff of its neck.

She stepped regally onto his palm. “Honoured Dragon.”

He conveyed her to ground level, whereupon she nonchalantly stepped off as if they had practised this manoeuvre a thousand times, glanced about as if she owned the very heavens, and bowed formally to the guards.

“Good sirs, I am Her Royal Highness the Princess Azania of T’nagru, here on an official royal visit to my sister-to-be, the Princess Yuali of Amboraine.”

“Your Highness,” said he, bowing once more. “How may I best serve you?”

Ooh. He wanted a few servants to call his own. Maybe a royal butler. And fifty staff! This man pleased his draconic hearts very much indeed.

“I should greatly appreciate it if you would appraise King Harilan of our presence. Please convey our apologies for the unannounced nature of our visit and our mode of arrival. The Dragons will harm nothing and no-one here during our stay. You have my word of honour.”

“And mine,” Chalice cooed, looking his men over.

They shrank back a step. Two actually fainted, slumping to the cobblestones with resounding clangs of their helmets.

“Is this normal?” she inquired.

The Captain appeared utterly unfazed. “They’ll recover. Cohort! I want two men to run to the castle at the double, two to alert the battlement leaders, and four to inform the town criers that the populace should not be afraid of the Dragons. The rest of you, form an honour guard for our visitors. Follow me, Your Highness. I should be grateful to receive all of your names to ensure that you may be announced properly. The King was injured whilst out visiting the villages to the east, I regret to report, and thus has been delayed. He should arrive tomorrow.”

“I am sorry. Will he recover?”

The Captain said, “Highness, the injury is said to be grave. His horse slipped and fell upon his leg.”

“My sister is a magical healer. If we can be of any help at all …”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

Another Human warren. The streets through which the escort led them were not large to begin with, and matters did not improve. Each house was two to three levels in elevation, the lower being made of solid stone blocks, while the upper floors were made of dark timber frames that contrasted prettily with the whitewashed filling between. For Dragon, the issue was that the upper one or two floors of the houses overhung the road at crazy angles, almost as if the buildings leaned together in conspiratorial conversation. His shoulders did not appreciate the conversation quite so much.

“Grr, sorry about your house,” he growled, setting another building creaking upon its foundations. The person who had been peering out of the upper window fell back with a low cry. Another fainting episode?

Chalice said, “You might need to fly up to the castle, Dragon.”

“I will not leave my Princess.”

“I’ll watch over her.”

The Dragoness fit. Looking ahead … he stood no chance. Not even if he slunk along on his belly, which was not happening. Seat for Princess’ rump, aye. Crawling, no. Even he had his limits – not many, nowadays, but there it was. He did not want to break down anyone’s dwelling.

He said, “Try not to make too many of them faint. Yarimda –”

“I’ll continue riding, if it’s all the same to you, Dragon. It’s been a long day’s travel.”

“I’ll sit with you, grandmother,” Yardi decided at once. “Inzashu, you walk with your sister and try not to look quite so amazed at all these pale faces around you.”

She giggled. “Was I staring?”

“They’re all staring at you – probably never seen a black person in their lives. Act normal. They’ll soon figure out you’re a real flesh and blood person.”

“Smile like me, and hope yours doesn’t make them faint,” Dragon said helpfully. “See you up top, Princesses.”

After switching about, he walked back to the nearest open space, a communal fountain, and decided he could make the jump without risk of random demolition. “Watch out, folks. Hold onto your hair.”

As he coiled and sprang upward, he heard a child yell, “Wow, mommy! Did you see him go?”

Obviously not one of the fainting mob.

Go he did. A series of rapid, circumscribed wingbeats saw him clear the rooftops without slamming his wings into any of the houses. Beating a town flat? Straight to the top of his to-do list. Dragon swung up over the town, dislodging a couple of roof tiles with the blast of his passage. Little white dots of faces swung about to follow his progress as he surged up over the large battlements, and baulked at the last. The courtyard below looked less than immense.

“Battlements?” he suggested to Yardi.

“You’re the Dragon.”

“Undeniably.”

Clearly, the couple of soldiers stationed upon this stolid, eight-foot-thick battlement knew what to do when their doom was upon them. They fainted. Shocked, Dragon performed a landing lunge that both bruised his sternum and put him in position to catch one of the hapless fools before he fell fifteen feet into the courtyard below.

“Nitwit!” he snarled.

“Excellent reflexes, Dragon,” Yarimda approved. “Pop him out of the way, the poor boy. Oh, quite the reception.”

He glanced up. A confused crowd milled in the large main doorway of the castle, at the top of a low set of stairs that repeated the semicircle pattern. Nobles, perhaps, or courtiers. All were richly dressed. The girl in the front wore a tiara – she was perhaps Azania’s age, but as pale as his Princess was dark, and her hair beneath the simple tiara was straight and blonde in contrast to the fine sable curls of the desert-born. Her face was sweet and open, but this one clearly had some sort of backbone, for she stood apart amongst her court for her serenity as she faced most likely the largest Dragon anyone in this Kingdom had ever seen.

Definite potential.

Hearing Chalice’s paw step approaching in the tunnel below and to his left that must lead into the courtyard, he poured down off the balcony with all the sinuous grace he could muster.

Bowing upon his foreleg, he smiled and said, “Princess Yuali, may I present –”

At least twenty people atop the steps promptly fainted – actually, all of the females bar the Princess, who turned the colour of a freshly starched sheet, but held her nerve. Not only that, but every swain and companion from the youngest to a sprightly, white-bearded elder of some sort, caught their female in their arms and lowered them solicitously upon an arm or a lap. Rehearsed? All except for the two younger men who flanked Princess Yuali. They were left standing in foolish tableaux, hands extended as if pleading for their lives.

The males set about reviving the females with smelling salts and, in some cases, kisses or tender entreaties.

How truly bizarre.

The blonde Princess descended the steps gracefully, extending her hands in greeting. “Azania! I bid you most warmly and royally welcome to the Kingdom of Amboraine.”

“Uh, that’s Azania. I’m Inzashu, her younger sister.”

“Azania – Azania! I am so sorry, I had no idea – you’re so tiny – ah … I mean, welcome, Princesses. Oh, another Dragon? You truly travel in style.”

“I am a Dragon Rider, and this is my magnificent Dragon,” she said proudly.

He growled in pleasure. Magnificent! Now, when could he have that inked on a scroll and sealed with the royal seal? Or, could she be tugging his wingtips?

“Oh!” cried the foreign Princess. This time, surely, she would faint … but no. With a gracious gesture, she added, “Welcome to Amboraine, Dragons. We have never received quite such a delegation before. I apologise, but my father the King is not available to receive you, nor the Queen.”

“We heard the news,” Azania said, clasping the other girl’s hands as if intent upon keeping her on her feet. “I trust your father will return safely. Inzashu has a healing gift. If we can be of any assistance, please allow us to offer help.”

“We’d be most honoured.”

Her courtiers began to revive as Dragon helped Yarimda dismount, and the Princess indicated that servants should come and help with their belongings. That more than half fainted along the way attracted no comment whatsoever. Yuali meantime made introductions. The two younger men who had flanked her were her fourteen year-old twin brothers Garaine and Ramuine; both appeared very much taken with Inzashu, kissing her upon either hand simultaneously. She did not know what to make of that!

Dragon considered threatening to trim their fingers if they did not keep their hands to themselves. He had heard things about teenage boys one could not repeat in polite company.

Queen Sahira had taken to her bed, indisposed, at the news of her husband’s accident. Azania passed the Princess the pouch of scrolls from her brother, stating that she was looking forward to the day that they became family.

“Your cloak, Your Highness?”

“Thank you,” said Azania, slipping the sodden garment off her shoulders.

There was a collective gasp around the courtyard.

Most of the men collapsed on the spot.

Dozens of women cried, “Oh, the scandal!” and did another round of fainting of their own – delicately folding up upon their male companions once more, Dragon noticed with an eye which was growing severely jaundiced due to all these vapid goings-on. Not one lovely coiffed head struck a stone. All landed with miraculous poise and perfection upon an arm, a chest, a lap. What strange malady afflicted Amboraine?

Princess Azania smiled uncertainly at her hostess. “Woman in battle gear?”

Yuali nodded. “You wear … those? Wow.”

“Riding a Dragon wearing skirts would be ridiculously impractical.”

“Of course.”

A few more men fainted. All of the servants had dropped like flies. He quickly checked that no-one else was trying to throw themselves off a battlement. Oh, alright. Toss good behaviour in the Lumis Ocean, by his wings!

He growled, “Princess Yuali, tell me truly, is fainting a national pastime?”

“Quite ridiculous, aren’t we?” the other Princess snorted. She stood a full head taller than Azania, and had yet to let go of the other’s fingers. “I suspect I’m going to enjoy this visit a great deal. Princess in trousers indeed. You’d think that the world stopped turning a hundred years ago, the way we behave around here.”

She directed a glare at her brothers. “Stop blushing.”

They spluttered their way through a couple of sentences that contained not an intelligible syllable between them.

“Would it help if I wore a dress?” Azania inquired archly.

“A prerequisite for the slightest hope of intelligent conversation, it seems.”

Dragon put in slyly, “Ah, the trousers that slew a nation.”

Chortling behind her hand, Princess Yuali said, “The stories we’re going to have to put up with after this. Desert barbarians, wicked Dragons and outrageous trousers. Our poor kingdom has never seen a scandal to compare – but Princess, such a sudden visit … this isn’t just sisterly concern, is it? What happened, is something wrong?”

“War. The Skartunese invaded.”

“Oh no, that’s terrible. We’ll have to find a way to help T’nagru.”

He purred happily. It was becoming clear that this generation of Princesses must have thrown the rulebook out of the window. Another victim … mwaa-haa-hargh! Corruption being an integral part of the service.

* * * *

Princess Yuali not only had a pleasingly well-developed backbone, she was practical, too. She had messengers visiting all of the blacksmiths in the city before dark, choice portions of veal brought for the Dragons – one could hardly refuse such succulent offerings – and a chamber prepared for the Princesses which overlooked a small, private courtyard assigned to the Dragons. Her mind was clearly preoccupied with her father’s reported condition, however.

Late in the evening, Dragon leaned his forepaws upon the balcony just eight feet above the courtyard where he and Chalice had been resting, while he and Azania looked over the map and tidal almanac Aria had provided.

“You still game for this, Dragon?” she asked.

Sober question. “Aye. If this was only about me, I don’t think I’d do it. I must face the fear that she will already be gone – and no, I’m not sure there would ever be another. I couldn’t imagine as much, right now. I would make it clear to the Isles Dragons that we need an army, nothing more. You?”

“No Aria –”

“Would be brutal, aye. There’s a good chance we might also be able to wait for the migration. I’m not sure even the Skartun could cross the desert in the height of summer.”

“No. As for me, I guess I’d have to admit to feeling mildly terrified. Everything could change. Or nothing. Nonetheless, this is my duty to my kingdom. If we could come away with a small army of warrior Dragonesses who don’t have loyalties to other Clans but to you and me … I would feel a great deal better about the storm that’s about to hit T’nagru. As you’ve said before, fifty of Aria might make all the difference.”

They examined the map together.

“So, up to these islands on the northernmost tip of Mornine, which will give us the best angle to reach this pair of specks,” he said, tracing the route with the tip of his talon. “Then, we fly almost directly north for the worst and longest stretch of the trip.”

“And land on this gnat’s backside over here,” Azania agreed.

“Aye. It’s not even marked as a proper island, more a reef, which is barely visible even at the lowest tides.”

“The previous stop isn’t great either. Three feet above sea level if we’re lucky and it’s pretty calm, or we’re definitely getting our paws wet. After that, it’s fairly much west with the trade winds for the run in to the Dragon’s talons. We can choose to jump onto Wave Dragonhome on the first major island, or Zunityne on the second. Whose love life do we start with first, do you think?”

They stared at one another.

“Yours.” Both spoke at the same time. Chuckle.

Azania said, “We should ask after Ariamyrielle at Wave Dragonhome first. That makes sense. Depending on what we learn, we fly on to Zunityne, where she might be anyways, and snaffle me up a nice King for breakfast.”

“Ho ho, very draconic of you, Princess.”

“Rubs off after a bit, doesn’t it?”

“Roast royal thigh?”

“Mmm, tasty.”

“Man fillet?”

“Stop making me drool.”

“You are positively wicked, sister,” Inzashu complained from over at a desk, where she had been reading a tome from the royal library on healing herbs. “My ears are burning.”

He growled, “Younglings should learn to listen only when they are supposed to. It’s a terrible habit you’ve picked up.”

“Years of fearing how my mother’s ambitions would affect me. Ah, sorry.” She rubbed her temples tiredly. “Not the most cheerful soul, am I?”

“Inzashu, you’ve been through a great deal,” Azania said stoutly.

“The instinct for self-preservation runs deep,” Dragon agreed. “So, when are you planning to tell us that you’re thinking about staying here to treat the King?”

The girl gave him a startled, even frightened glance. “I …”

Gnarr, he berated himself. “I apologise. That was every bit as intrusive as I’ve always promised I would never be. Your feelings were so clear this time … still! Sorry. I wonder if working together has made us more sensitive to one another?”

“I’ve noticed a few things emanating from you too, Dragon, but I’ve been trying very hard to bite my lip.”

“Well, that definitely makes you the bigger creature.”

“Bigger? Bigger?” Inzashu spluttered.

Suddenly, they all saw the funny side of a serious conversation. Dragon sniggered at his slip-up, Azania pretended to become all huffy about how Inzashu was clearly the bigger, older and wiser person and she would forever be doomed to live in her little sister’s shadow, and with that, their rapid-fire interjections became very, very silly indeed. Dragon laughed so hard he began to hiccough, forcing him to have to dive outside to let rip with a mighty snort of fire. That set Azania off. She had the best laugh when she truly let go; an infectious, throaty gurgle that kept setting everyone else off. Even Chalice came over to join in the fun.

How beautiful a paws for laughter, Dragon told her.

Hilarity!

Not so great for the flowerbeds outside, however. They suffered a rather dreadful fate.

* * * *

The following morning, Princess Yuali took the royal sisters for a guided tour of the fortress city. Time to show off the dark-skinned infidels from the desert to the marvelling populace, Dragon muttered sourly.

Azania brought back a rather less testy report. Exhibit number one, two foreign Princesses – the older dressed in very decorous Princess attire for a change; a gorgeous deep red gown that suited her literally to the ground – had received a rapturous reception. Flowers, cheering and an honour parade around the city. These Humans. Always an excuse for some sort of party or occasion whereupon they would dress up and behave in lunatic ways. Truly astonishing.

“And here I thought the peasants were rioting,” he sniped.

Yuali’s eyes popped wide.

“They tend to do that around Dragons,” he confided. “We torch their barns and they come after us with pitchforks and axes.”

“Nothing like that in this kingdom,” Azania put in hastily.

He purred, “Of course not. The citizenry is wonderfully well behaved. However, our Yardi has only managed to entice one blacksmith from an entire kingdom into a future of glorious riches. Blacksmith plus wife, to be fair. That is a poor performance from Amboraine, Highness.”

His Princess gave him a fierce glare. “Stop winding everyone up. Chances are very good they will send a strong army down south.”

“Trying to defuse the tension around here.”

“If you want to go defuse something, would you take a quick scout and tell us how soon the King will be here?”

As if triggered by her words, a trumpet fanfare resounded from the highest tower of the castle. Dragon eyed it with interest. He liked high towers, especially those that claimed to be the highest tower in the land. In particular, he liked what he had found inside one just recently. Pleasant memories!

Endless trouble, mind.

Only the best sort of trouble. The kind of trouble that got a Dragon all fired up – polish up his finest evil Dragon laugh, hurgh-hurgh-urgh! Maybe the King should be greeted with the sight of a huge white Dragon sunning himself atop his tower.

No, he was a sick man. Where had that nasty idea popped up from?

Suddenly, the trumpets rang with a completely different sound. Urgent. Stirring!

“What’s that?” he snapped.

“It’s an alarm – someone must be attacking the King’s party!” the blonde Princess cried. “Oh, Dragon –”

“Azania. Chalice. With me!”

Ten seconds later, he launched out of the castle courtyard as if he had been shot from a Dragon bow. Never mind sunning himself atop a tower. He had a much better greeting in mind for King Harilan.

One that involved decimating his enemies.

Chapter 14: Dragon Fires Rising

WITH YUALI’S FINAL CRY about bandits ringing in his ears, Dragon was more than startled by his initial view of the battle site. The King’s party, carrying the royal white banners of Amboraine, must have just emerged from the treeline about two miles from the city when they had come under attack by what struck him as a compact but well-organised army. Actual knights. Not ragtag bandits. He concluded as much even from a distance, by the colours of their armour and the well-ordered deployment of troops.

He pointed his fore-talon. “Renegade lord fielding a proper army?”

“Looks like it,” Azania said.

“Where’s the King?”

“He’s on a pallet right in the centre. See where his cavalry have encircled him? They’re trying to get him aboard a horse or he might be crushed by the hooves.”

“We’ve – probably – a hundred knights riding in support from the city,” Chalice called over.

On the negative side, there were plenty of light cavalry already at play upon the field of battle, with azure blazes on their shields and uniforms. They fanned out rapidly, engaging the rearguard of the King’s column as they rushed to form ranks and resist.

“That’s good, but our allies will be too slow,” he said. “Chalice, I’m going to do my sprint. Will you come in behind and mop up anything I leave with extreme prejudice?”

“Done. Go, Dragon.”

Drawing a deep breath, he threw his power into the flight. He accelerated so hard, Azania, who had not had time even to throw a saddle onto his neck, had to cling on for dear life. She had her bow and arrows, however, having been armed with the intent of going target shooting. This would be high speed practice. Minus a saddle or belt to hold her on.

She hiked up her dress and clung on with her feet and knees. “The reason I wear trousers is – this!” she shouted angrily.

“I know. Careful, alright? You’re not wearing armour either.”

“You’re as soft as a hatchling, Dragon.”

Grrr! “Totally forgot. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Use your fire as much as possible. They’ve a detachment of archers just at the treeline. What else? Foot soldiers engaging the King’s Guard, and – I make that at least forty heavy knights and up to a hundred light cavalry. They’re going to try a charge to break through to the King.”

“I see that.”

He did not know a great deal about cavalry tactics, but he had read about the use of heavy cavalry to break enemy lines. The King’s detachment of foot soldiers rushed to form a shield line facing those heavy knights. Pity those men. They were about to become a metal sandwich. The King’s cavalry, about fifty in number, drew themselves up with impressive discipline – but they were well outnumbered, four to one by his estimate.

Why the inadequate protection? Was this due to rushing back to the capital for medical treatment? A King’s false sense of security?

“More soldiers moving among the trees,” Azania noted. “This is a serious attack.”

“Cowardly sneak attacks tend to be,” he grumbled. “Ready to show these fools what it means to ambush allies of T’nagru?”

“Ambush the ambushers. Nice.”

“Or just beat them around the head with a few trees?”

“Whatever works.” The Princess wriggled about as she tried to use her ornate waistband to tie herself on somehow. “Not enough material. This will be a test of my leg muscles. Ready.”

Arrow to the bowstring. Fires bubbling just below boiling point.

Those fools would burn!

Dragon swooped low across the grassy meadow, still visibly soggy after the heavy morning rains. The weather was overcast but not raining just now. A low rumbling of hooves carried to his ears as the attacking knights began to sweep forward, picking up speed as they trotted toward the King’s position. He pumped his wings furiously. Close timing. Once they tangled up, he would have a much harder time separating out friend from foe. But if they could hit in one clean sweep …

Azania called, “Save a roar for scaring the light cavalry. The heavy mounts are trained warhorses. They might not spook easily.”

Smart. Always thinking.

He felt her knees tighten and heard a snick as she plucked an arrow from the quiver. His chest tightened from within as the fire built down low. Did his chest even glow? Might need to test that out one night.

Half a mile. Top speed. Totally committed. His every sense reached out, measuring, evaluating, plotting, deciding. The attacking cavalry surged as they mounted a full charge. Thundering hooves! Clods of grass and mud sprayed behind them as if a massive beast rent the ground with its talons, smoking and snorting prior to falling upon its hapless prey. Fifty Dragon lengths. Fifteen. His wings flexed with supple grace as his neck curved sideways. They would pass almost directly over the King’s troops.

Fire laced his throat with beautiful, molten heat. No reason to question how this was even possible. He was Dragon. Hearts afire!

GRRROOAARRGGHH!!

Six strides before the heavy cavalry struck the King’s shield line, white Dragon fire slashed into the faces of those charging knights. So fast was he moving and so quick his head movement to try to spray along the length of the line, he missed several. They struck hard and heavy. Horses shrieked, their hooves lashing like crazed wheat mill, while the knights struck out with their longswords. The rest of the line collapsed as if by magic, smoking bodies and ruin sliding up to the King’s foot soldiers.

Briefly, he saw men peering from behind their shields in utter shock as a Dragon roared overhead.

Thwock! Azania’s precise shot took out one last knight, right at the end.

“Swerving.”

She clamped onto his neck as he adjusted direction, continuing the rush toward the light cavalry force harassing the King’s rearguard. They broke and scattered in all directions.

I – AM – FIIIIRRREEE!!

Superheated white clouds of fire billowed over the field as they chased the light horse away. Stretching out his paws, he plucked riders off their mounts and threw them at the dense regiments of foot soldiers which had emerged from the treeline. Kerump!

Brraa-hurgh-HARGH!!

Clapping his wings sharply, he shot upward to avoid the trees and then began his turn to line up a second pass. Here came Chalice, a furious yellow dart. Reaching the last few of the heavy knights as he circled, she kicked out with her hind paws. He heard the impact right across the field. Crunch! The azure shields fell.

Raising a robust cheer, the King’s knights extended their own charge, rolling up the flank of light cavalry as the enemy riders tried to flee.

“Those foot soldiers are trying to reach the King!” Azania cried.

Fierce fighting raged down there. A sixty-strong detachment engaged the King’s last line of defence. His shield wall had turned to run back toward the skirmish. Dragon eyed up another regiment to his left paw. Ugh. Leave them for the moment.

“Let’s get in close.”

As he shot back over the treeline and out toward the beleaguered royal force, Dragon felt a handful of arrows lodge in his soft hide. Great. Might as well invite them into his lair, too. Skimming in once more, he angled his body for the hit. Nothing subtle about this. A Juggernaut belly-and-paws landing crushed half a dozen of the enemy as they scrambled to get out of the way. Tail lashes, paw strikes and several violent snaps of his jaws dealt with several more. From the corner of his eye, he saw Chalice barrel into the other regiment, full-bore. Battle madness? Really, he needed to teach her that the old methods only got a Dragon hurt.

That said, here was a fool waving his sword in his face.

Dragon punched him atop the head. Clang!

“Take that!” Azania yelled, stabbing a soldier in the throat with an arrow as he tried to drag her off Dragon’s neck.

He whirled, stamping on and tail-slapping every scrap of blue he could see. Careful with the white. Several of them were lining him up with javelins!

“We’re allies!” he roared.

“Friends of Amboraine!” Azania yelled, ducking a stray javelin. “For the King!”

They understood that bit.

Someone shouted, “The Dragon’s with us! Strike the blue, men! For the glory of Amboraine!”

Aye, this bloody brawl was glorious. Nitwit.

Reaching over heads, Dragon poked and slapped enemy soldiers with his bared talons until they decided that retreat was an excellent idea. Should have figured that out the moment he rose out of that city in a vengeful rage!

Turning, he sprayed their backs with white fire – thwock! Thwock! Neat arrows dispatched two soldiers hacking around his flanks with their swords.

“Chalice! She’s in trouble!”

Surrounded by forty or fifty men and coming under a withering hail of fire from the archers now, the Dragoness was sore beset. His ire rose, unstoppable. Thundering a stream of unintelligible words, Dragon flap-skim-charged across the battleground, smashing a couple of unlucky enemy soldiers aside as they dared to linger in his path. Four or five soldiers had a hold of her right wing, trying to weigh her down and chop it off. Orange fire billowed around them.

How could he hit all those soldiers clustered around the Dragoness?

“Fire underneath!” Azania cried, at exactly the same time as he roared, Chalice! Jump!

She leaped ten feet into the air as his white fire hosed beneath her paws, sweeping left and right to set a number of the pests dancing in agony. The Dragoness lashed her tail as she landed, crushing more; they briefly clashed shoulders before rounding on the remainder of the soldiers. They tried to break and flee, but it was already too late.

Off to the archers, another charge!

Dragon groaned. Mad, destructive and – did he have to? Chalice began to fry archers as he dealt with a few last soldiers. Fine. Whirling, he aimed along the treeline and set about cutting them down with slow deliberation.

Rather peeved at all the holes in his nice new hide!

Frankly, aerating a Dragon was not about to make them any lighter in the air.

He only stopped when he saw his line of fire might put Chalice in danger; meantime, Azania calmly kept his flanks and tail clear of any trouble.

“Ran out of arrows,” she grumbled.

“Just in time.”

The last stragglers fled back into the trees – those who could still run. The King’s party slowly untangled themselves and rose from their defensive postures, while the knights chased down the survivors and accepted their surrender. Pah, he grunted, puffing air through his heated cheeks. Thirsty, after all that – could he assume his fire might run out if he burned himself dry? Water must come from somewhere to furnish this oceanic electrolysis process.

Sea Dragons clearly had no such problem.

“Well, my lovely Princess,” he said. “Shall we go bid the King a good day?”

“How very Human of you,” she grinned.

“Fighting talk.”

“Oh, this Princess doesn’t just talk. I walk the walk – or ride the ride, whichever you prefer, Dragon.”

Gnarr-nrr-GRR!

* * * *

King Harilan greeted them cordially from his litter, upon which his broken leg now lay, heavily bandaged and splinted. Crimson stained the bandages. Despite his pale, sweaty sickliness, he brightened once he discovered who his visitors were.

“Allies, friends and soon to be family!” he said in his Northern brogue. “No thanks are enough, for we could not have stood this day without your aid.”

“Grateful to serve, my King,” Azania smiled, accepting a formal kiss upon her knuckles. Dragon tried not to wince. This Human idea of pasting one’s saliva upon another creature’s skin nauseated him. “This is Dragon – we call him Dragon for reasons I can explain another time – and this yellow beauty is Chalice.”

Harilan nodded cordially. “You both wear your wounds with pride. May your wings soar, Dragons!”

“And yours, o King,” Chalice fluted, openly surprised at his knowledge of draconic custom.

“As a white Dragon you are most unusual – not albino, by my mark?”

He said, “No, sire. I believe I am half Sea Dragon. That is the reason for the white fires you saw, and for my physical size.”

“Blazing,” he said.

And then some. You barbecued my belly, Chalice teased.

“Forgive me …” The King’s face twisted in pain. “I must hurry to the healers.”

Azania said, “We shall escort you.”

To his Captain of the Guard, the King said, “Track those men and bring report, will you? This will be Lord Varlan’s crew, unless the fever has me hallucinating.”

“Aye, my King!”

With that, they rushed the royal up to his castle. Crowds gathered to greet him along the way, with muted cheers and many encouraging cries and wishes for him to get well. Popular. Harilan roused himself a few times to wave, but his suffering was clear.

Reminding himself that this town was not built for mighty beasts of his stature, Dragon joined Chalice in winging up to the castle.

Landing, the Dragoness teased, We’ll have to pluck you, wing brother.

Azania laughed, This must be a new record.

Evidently, I make an incredibly attractive target, he agreed immodestly. You’re wearing a few arrows yourself, Chalice, and at least three lances I can count. How’s that wing?

Well enough to fly, but those scum did a decent job trying to chop me up.

Newly dead scum.

Aye – gnarr! she growled. That was some impressive fighting for one your brothers seemed to think had never lifted a paw in combat.

I blame Juggernaut. You fought with fire.

Chuckling like a pair of old friends, they set about plucking one another of arrows, javelins and lance points while Azania ran to brief Princess Yuali and to prepare her sister. The surgeon had already dismissed her help as unwanted, even insulting, but Yuali promised they would smuggle her in just as soon as the old fool departed. Inzashu acted phlegmatic as she helped Chalice dig out a couple of javelin points, and told them she had seen the leg. Bone poked out beneath the knee, and there was a break mid-thigh in addition. He stood a good chance of losing the leg entirely if the surgeon did not know his business. Yuali was understandably upset. The Princes thought their father was a hero; the bravest man in Solixambria.

Three hours later, Dragon snooped outside the King’s chambers as the three Princesses slipped inside to attend to the heavily sedated King.

The man’s colours were all wrong, he sniffed out immediately. Fascinating. Could pain or infection do this to a person? The wound was already two days old. Or … he tapped quietly on the balcony doors, left closed apparently because fresh air was a terrible idea for any convalescent. Primitives. Barbarians! And they had the cheek to reject magic as a solution when all they relied upon was superstition and not sound science. Inzashu came over to speak with him.

She said pensively, “Good job on the lower break, but he left a bone splinter loose that I had to reposition. Terrible job on the thigh. Completely misaligned. Can you reach him from here? I need to readjust the bones and I’m not strong enough.”

“I can try. You’ll coach us, right?”

“Do my best.”

At her direction, the two Princesses and two servants held the King down while Dragon gingerly – biting his tongue – exerted pressure by pinching his knee and pulling downward. Sweat. Grumble. Check, no. Again. Inzashu cautioned him several times to use less strength. As directed, he made a slight twist while the poor man moaned even in his drugged-up state, and then, click.

“Did you hear that, Princess?”

“No, but – thanks, Dragon.” Her hands palpated the King’s leg with great care. “That’s done it.”

“Where did you learn to set bones, Inzashu?”

“Learned the trade in a field hospital,” she said. “The Skartun have a great many disagreements with a great many nations. I only discovered what my mother was doing there when I was nine. She wanted bodies to experiment on. Dead or alive.”

Azania’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “Truly?”

“Aye. Dragon, how does he feel to you now?”

He reached out with his senses. “Far better. Still, I don’t like the scent of that wound.”

“Me neither, but the surgeon did clean it thoroughly. Can’t fault him there. I might see if there are a few apothecaries in town who could supply herbs and essences for burning here in the room. The vapours might help, in this case. Yuali?”

“I’ll assign someone to help.”

“I meant, would this be acceptable in your tradition?”

“Aye, more than acceptable. I cannot thank you enough for all your help, Inzashu. It truly is fate’s providence that you arrived in perfect time.”

She smiled tiredly. “He’s not out of the woods yet, as you northerners say, but I’d like to think that leg’s safe now. Much depends on how the next couple of days go.”

The girl startled as Princess Yuali drew her into an embrace.

* * * *

The King’s condition deteriorated over the following day and a half, but with a nudge from Inzashu-N’shula abetted by a fretful white Dragon, his fever broke that evening and the man sweated it all out, which was supposed to be good news for Humans. Not so good for one with nostrils as sensitive as a Dragon’s.

The range of Human whiff and pong was truly astounding.

Like a Dragon with bad digestion, he teased Azania. That could be impressive, too.

Before they departed, a few jobs. One was for his Princess to weep copiously over her little sister’s understandable desertion, as she put it. Yuali and Inzashu planned to join the army which Amboraine had already begun to muster with the help of the surrounding kingdoms, and eventually to make her way down to T’nagru, if Dragon and Azania did not catch up with her first. The second job was a special request from a grateful king.

“You wouldn’t mind awfully if I asked you to pay a visit to Lord Varlan on the way north?” he asked, propped up on his cushions. Dragon peered in through the window. “A strong force is on its way there as we speak, but besides his annoyance value, Varlan has a highly secure castle with not less than three outer gates. It has withstood every siege in two hundred years.”

“Interesting,” Dragon purred. “Do my nostrils detect a whiff of honourable pillaging in the air?”

Harilan chuckled weakly, his bearded face breaking into a grin. His daughter often had the same expression, and they shared the same hardy, not-fainting heritage so absent in the rest of their kingdom.

He said, “Honourable pillaging? Music to this ruler’s ear. To wit: my knights should be most grateful if Varlan’s gates could be reduced to a state of not working or rubble, whichever works best, before their arrival day after tomorrow. They will do the rest.”

Mmm, Dragon agreed, rubbing his keel bone as the heat blossomed immediately.

“Listen to him,” Azania smiled.

“That low roaring –”

“That’s the sound of Dragon fires rising, my King. I think you just made my Dragon’s day.”

Chapter 15: Honourable Pillaging

ONE LESS IN NUMBER, they took their leave of Amboraine the very next morning. Many hugs. Even one for Chalice, who graciously received the Human touch, despite that Dragon was convinced he smelled deep consternation. Ah well, one did not change a Dragon’s scales overnight.

For every rule, an exception.

He peered at himself. How peculiar to have shucked one set of scales for another, almost like a Princess changing her clothes. Silver scabs from all the arrow wounds spotted his new scaly robes. Even his wings were now turning properly white on the surfaces, but the rich brown-and-gold patterning remained … engrained, he supposed, in many places. Azania said he looked most fetching and unique. Dragon agonised over what Aria would think. As if it mattered. She would be mated with another. What could he do to change this fate? Nothing.

He hugged Inzashu. “Now behave yourself, young lady, and don’t stir up any more trouble than your sister would.”

“Thanks for everything, Dragon,” she said. “We’ll fly together again, won’t we?”

“Absolutely. Just as soon as I find you the right boy Dragon so that you can boss him around and tell him what to do.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Nasty little liar,” he growled, pretending to swat her behind.

“Dragon, Aria will be yours, you’ll see.”

She had the strangest way about her, sometimes. The air of a Mage, some called it. Was this a childish faith that life always served up good outcomes and happy endings to tales, or something more? Could her unique gifts encompass foresight?

This fearful hope lurked uppermost in his mind as they winged out over the endless forests of Amboraine. The drizzle began within ten minutes of their departure. Naturally.

Seizing her opportunity, Yarimda set about teaching them a fifteen-verse song that claimed to describe every important detail of the culture of her native Kingdom of Hamirythe. He learned about a boy whose nose was pinched off by a crab, how to make a seaweed trumpet, the belief in a type of mermaid called a sea siren that lured sailors off to a terrible fate, and the custom of ‘skulling,’ which involved displaying the preserved skulls of one’s deceased relatives upon the mantelpiece. This last one was even true. One commonly dug up one’s relatives seven years after the burial, she informed them.

Yardi shuddered. “A nation of grave robbers?”

“Isn’t it marvellous to understand one’s heritage?” the old lady tittered.

“Rattle those family skeletons,” Azania said.

With an unimpressed hiss, Chalice said, “That one would even touch the bones of one’s ancestors is unthinkable.”

“I have to agree,” Yarimda said. “People believe it’s a way of honouring the ancestors, but I always found it macabre to be eating dinner with the toothy grin and hollow eye sockets of Great-Aunt so-and-so staring down at me. Let the dead lie in peace, say I.”

Too true. It was rumoured that the Talon Clan lined their lairs with the bones of their ancestors.

Flying two three-hour stints, they reached the location carefully shared with them by the King’s cartographer; a short, deep ravine that abutted a huge mountainous outcropping locally called ‘The Anvil’ for its flat top. Beyond, they would find the Rillimis River, effectively the northern border of the realm of Amboraine. Lord Varlan’s impregnable castle lay nestled within this ravine.

Landing carefully out of sight, Dragon and Chalice searched for and located a well-concealed campsite where they might wait for nightfall. Training with her, he passed on a few lessons which Juggernaut had taught him, and learned a new vertical tail whip technique in return. He recalled seeing Aria doing this one, a particular undulation of the hindquarters that generated considerable centrifugal force. Naturally, the slightest inclination of his thoughts toward the lethal whipping action of certain hindquarters, notably those of cobalt colouration, instantly wrecked his concentration.

Occupational hazard.

Nightfall came early and drizzly. Exactly what the wicked Dragon had ordered off the menu.

“I’m going with you,” Yardi stated, when asked.

“Why?” Dragon said.

“Someone has to get inside the gatehouses and spike the mechanisms of the portcullises. That’s my job. I’m a blacksmith and armourer. Me and gears …” She flexed her shoulders meaningfully, and when that did not change his expression, patted the large hammer he noticed had made its way into her equipment. “My job isn’t all about shaping and crafting, Dragon. Sometimes, a good old-fashioned round of demolition is called for.”

He displayed twenty fangs. “Have I told you how much I like your attitude? So refreshing. Plus, I see our wardrobe has also undergone a little modification – do I spy actual trousers?”

“If a Princess can flaunt it, so can I. These are utilitarian, hard-wearing and surprisingly comfortable.”

A blush belied her words, however.

“Kingdoms have toppled over less,” Yarimda put in dryly.

“You approved, grandmother.”

“It’s all the rage in man-snatching equipment, my dear. Lockable metal cages, wild panthers and snug trousers are all a girl needs –”

“Grandmother! You are positively wicked.”

“Oh, live a little. Now, you children run along and play with the nice castle.”

“The previously unconquerable –”

Yarimda quelled Dragon with a look. “I am speaking, young fire breather! I plan to relax right here. I’ve a fire and this lovely wineskin of red someone appears to have snuck into my belongings. Fresh from the King’s personal cellar, I believe. Can’t imagine how it might have got there.” Chuckling at her granddaughter’s scandalised expression, she added, “I asked, of course. King Harilan wanted to give me a gift, but I don’t need anything, not where I’m going. I suggested a suitable vintage might ease the chill of these damp Amboraine nights. Young Harilan has commendable taste, I must confess.”

Yardi folded her arms. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

“Not in ninety-four years.”

“You’re an inspiration.”

“Are you lot still here? I was planning to enjoy the peace and quiet, at least until the screams, crashing and burning begin.”

“How’s about we go plan our pillaging?” Dragon said heartily.

“What an excellent idea,” Yarimda grumbled. “Have fun.”

Armed and dangerous, they took a slightly roundabout route, flying a mile to the south before scaling the heights and doubling back. Shortly, they knelt or perched upon the lip of the ravine, gazing down at the lamps and fires flickering in the darkness.

“Anyone can see why he chose this spot,” Chalice growled. “So, those will be the outer fortifications, the middle wall is here beneath us, and there’s one last set beside the castle itself, I make it. Those look … challenging.”

“Aye, but the middle gates could be dealt with from the inside – nothing too scary there,” Yardi commented. “Big crossbar, big Dragon.”

“You speak my language,” he purred.

“What if we attack the outer and inner walls simultaneously?” Azania suggested. “Dragon on the outer gates and us three girls see if we can sneak in and deal with the inner ones? Can’t imagine they would shut the portcullis as a matter of course. Not unless directly threatened.”

Chalice narrowed her eyes. “I see guards on both sides of the battlements plus movement at ground level.”

“Aye. They’re on the alert, as expected,” the Princess agreed. “Shall we do this?”

Yardi said, “If they get the drop on you, Dragon, don’t go bend that portcullis, alright? It’ll be easier for us to raise it again and then smash the mechanism. Otherwise, you’d have to dismantle that entire wall to get the King’s men through.”

“Understood.”

That would require more than a dint of muscular flexing.

Chalice said, “The mechanism is probably worked from that little room on this near side of the ravine – see the light? Flame that, and nobody should be dropping anything anywhere.”

“Good luck, Dragon,” Azania said as they clasped paws and hands.

“May you soar, Princess. Chalice. Yardi,” he growled. “Be safe, be strong and be smart.”

As they snuck away, he heard Yardi whisper, “Is he always that protective of you, Princess? I never imagined such sweetness from a Dragon.”

“Aye, he’s all the rage,” she joked back. “But never call a Dragon –”

Their voices faded.

Grrr! Just the commentary to warm up his fires.

A bright white fright sneaking through the night, he padded up and over a small ridge, angling for the outer gate. His senses reached out – oh! He noticed a guard station right up here. Cunning, now that he thought about it. He had approached within ten yards before he realised what he was seeing.

Taking glance back over his shoulder, he spied Chalice’s signal; a brief flare of orange jetted out between her fangs. He made a slow count of two hundred to allow the girls – har-har-haaarrgghhh, the Dragoness’ sour expression at being called ‘one of the girls’ – to get into position. No chance of seeing them from here. Was he truly protective? Overprotective? Maybe, but his theoretically captive Princess had been there for him when all he wanted to do with his life was to throw himself off a cliff and never open his wings. He owed her everything. She might say the same, considering the circumstances from which he had rescued her.

How could he ever give this girl to another?

That King Azerim had better be the best, noblest, brightest, worthiest, most honourable – he laughed at himself, and reeled off a list as long as his tail. He had better be all of those things, and stupidly handsome and completely besotted with his Azania besides, or he would gut him like a fish!

On the count of one hundred and sixty-three, a soldier emerged from the door, untying the laces of his trousers. “Nature calls,” he called back inside. “No looking at my cards.”

Dragon froze. Icicle. I am the night.

Singing an inane little ditty, the fellow proceeded to relieve himself at surprising length, making sounds of grotesque satisfaction all the while. Then he turned, and looked directly at the fifty-three-foot monstrosity lurking behind him.

He smiled courteously. “Greetings.”

Unfortunately, this man was a screamer rather than a fainter.

Clearly a detriment to his kingdom, Dragon decided, removing his talon from the man’s chest. Not screaming any longer, was he? Darting over to the guard post, he smashed down the door and scrabbled about inside, crunching several men up together with a table and a bed, perhaps. He flapped his paw back and forth until nothing moved or squawked in there anymore.

Time for this Dragon to shift his tail.

Over the edge he dived, angling for the glint of light Chalice had pointed out. His lips pursed. Despite the blurriness, he took aim and filled that spot with his fire. There. Nobody left to operate the portcullis. On to the outer entryway, which needed a gentle, loving sort of tap. As he landed, Dragon darted into the wide tunnel that led to the outer gate, a thick timber arrangement that lifted like a drawbridge from above a deep moat. He struck it with his shoulder, rattling the mechanisms so powerfully that he heard stone falling off the battlements. A little aged, perhaps? Kick! Kick! Nothing but a good rattle. Might have to burn through the chains and ratchet system, if he could.

Dragon backed up, preparing himself for another charge, when he heard a loud squeal right above his back. By his wings, the portcullis!

Must have flamed the wrong room.

Fright lent his paws wings. From a coiled position, he launched into an all-out charge. The metal tips of the portcullis smashed down upon his tail, but he wrenched through and hit the massive timbers of the outer door so hard, splinters exploded from the ratchets at its base and the chains at the top.

It fell outward slowly. Graboom!

Perfect path into the castle. If the defenders had not been awake before, they certainly were now.

Faint cries sounded from further away.

Swarming up to the top of the battlement, he punched, flamed and tail-slapped the gate guard out of his way, clearing the area. Where was the gatehouse that controlled the portcullis mechanism? There. Opposite side from what Chalice had – no, he had hit the wrong room, as suspected. Foolish mistake!

Gnashing his fangs, he did the necessary.

No reaching inside there. The window was too narrow and the stairway too long for his paw. He’d leave this job for Yardi. Whirling, Dragon raked the deep darkness at the bottom of the gulley with his gaze. Night sight was no problem for the Dragonkind, but his ability to focus was doing its absolute worst. He nearly missed a soldier almost beneath his paws. A sword pierced his gut.

GNARRR!!

Thump. Dragon dropped the body in the stream which ran alongside the paved road leading to the second gate. No more men here.

Beyond the second battlement, he heard Chalice’s roar and the clash of steel upon steel. Were the girls in trouble? One way to find out – charge!

Arrows and then javelins spat at him out of the darkness. Defenders up on the battlement. Gathering his legs, Dragon sprang sideways and then ran up the steep side of the gulley, throwing them off their aim, before leaping free with a violent, exuberant twist that brought him down atop the gully-spanning wall. Four-pawed catch.

He bared his fangs in fury. BBRRROOOARRRGGHH!!

White fire blasted out of his jaw, bathing the length of the battlement in blistering flames. Several men leaped away before the fire reached them, but a fall from this height for a Human was no trivial matter, he had learned. Dull thuds proclaimed their demise. That left this gate unguarded. Next, he must deal with whatever trouble had beset Azania and Yardi. Ripping the huge crossbeam out of its slots with a violent flexion, Dragon hefted the wood onto his shoulder and rushed toward the innermost gate, where Chalice’s flame flared bright through the cracks.

“Get that net secured!”

“Ballistae – load up, you fools!” another voice cursed.

Clong! “Take that!” Yardi’s voice, no doubt punctuated by the fine ring of her hammer.

He loved grammar, especially when an exclaiming enemy came to a full stop.

One must always be sure to hammer a point home.

Thundering in rage, Dragon leaped for the top of the final battlement, and came up short. The crossbeam slewed off his shoulder, knocking three soldiers off the wall.

Why had he even been carrying the beam?

Bruised ribs, scraped belly and a wrenched knee later, he was over. Fire! White hosed from his mouth, bathing the battlements, the courtyard and the castle itself as he used the brightness of his fires to target the enemy wherever they moved. Chalice squirmed beneath a heavy reinforced net, while a squad of soldiers tried to fight their way into a narrow stone doorway that must lead to the portcullis mechanism.

Dragon slapped them aside with the flat of his paw. “Leave my women alone!”

Whirling, he tail-lashed them on the fly, crumpling the squad against their own battlement. “Stuff that up your semicolon!”

Erm … whatever.

“Princess, alright in there?”

“Now we are, thank you. Yardi’s hurt but alright. Safe to come –”

Whurr-whap!

Dragon roared as a ballista quarrel slashed through his upraised wing, missing the arch of his spine by a talon’s breadth. Trying for the disabling shot, were they? Consumed by a blind fury, he sprang twenty feet into the air and clawed his way up the side of the castle, beating his wings to help him reach the ballistae set on a pair of turrets. The quickness of the second crew saw a quarrel embedded shallowly in his right flank, a long wound but not deep, as he dealt with the first ballista. He sprang over and smashed the second off its mount.

By then, Chalice had thrashed free of the net and was making merry down below, clearing the courtyard area.

Yardi called, “Smashed the mechanism. Just the gate now, Dragon.”

Rushing down the side of the castle, he paused briefly to aim fire at several faces he glimpsed in the narrow windows.

Little dots in stone parentheses.

He landed hard but safely and stalked over to the castle’s main doors. They had been barred at multiple levels, as best he could tell.

“Fire them!” Azania ordered, rushing up to his neck.

Pure white billowed before him. Thirty seconds. A minute. The Princess picked off an archer, while Chalice amused herself by setting the keep’s door and then the wooden storage sheds inside the battlements on fire.

His white stream guttered.

“Oh! That hasn’t happened before.”

The main gates were burning merrily now, however. He hoped he could produce an artistically charred ruin for the King’s forces to admire on their way in.

Dragon cracked open his jaw. No fire at all. He had a raging –

“Drink from the fountain?” Azania suggested.

“Good idea.”

He drank thirstily, while the Princess helped Yardi to secure a temporary bandage around her left forearm. Sword cut. He gulped hard as with a dull whomp inside his chest somewhere, the ignition process restarted and he had to gush fire once more at the gate, or something inside of him might tear all over again. Imagining himself to be a blacksmith, he played the stream against the crossbeams and locks, experimenting with where the fire was hottest. Metal dripped and ran like water.

Grr! Chalice snarled. GNARR! “Stupid door!”

A loud crash advertised more destruction. Having a merry old time, Dragoness? He saw darkness through the massive timbers now. Turning about, Dragon cocked his hind paw and smashed the wood apart with a powerful kick. GRABOOM!

“Maybe rip that one off its hinges?” Azania suggested politely.

He wanted to warn the little Human not to sneak up on a Dragon while he was engaged in honourable pillaging, but realised that would only sound foolish and ungrateful. Instead, he said, “I think you could do it at this stage, Princess.”

He pressed through the stone archway and finished the job, heaping up the burning timbers in order to maximise the damage.

“Yardi? Princess? Let’s mount up.”

Chalice purred, “Just when I was getting started.”

“I left an entire gate for you to tear apart,” he grinned back. “Yardi, I dropped that outer portcullis by mistake. Shall we take a stroll out of Lord Varlan’s castle, tidying up a few items along the way?”

After all, one would not like to leave any participles – or particles – dangling.

Dragons preferred complete sentences. So erudite.

Chapter 16: Beginning of the End

SMOKE STILL BILLOWED OUT of the castle by the next morning. Something must have caught in there. Unlucky. A nice, thick and symmetrical plume, however. Rather tasteful, all things considered. To his left, the Princess changed Yardi’s bandages.

He sidled over to admire her stitches. “See? You can do fine needlework, Princess.”

“Hardly a skill I prized until now. Still, all that instruction does seem to have come in useful, especially as pertains to sewing up your mouth – I mean your flank, Dragon.”

“Very funny.”

“I know, I’m in stitches.”

“Sew what?” he guffawed. “Keep needling me until you find the right thread.”

Contrived, one had to admit. Worth at least half a snort.

Up and away they flew. The route was northerly at first, skirting the foot of The Anvil, before the Dragons were able to swing their muzzles to the northwest for the straight run to the Kingdom of Dorline. With Yarimda taken moderately ill, they flew four short stints during the course of the day, crossing the Rillimis River on the second leg. Dense forest cover stretched to the horizon, a beautiful sea of summery greens and a few patches of deep burgundy leaves to break up the monotony.

Dragon worried over his passenger. Ninety-four was a ripe old age to be gallivanting around the kingdoms as a Dragon Rider. Far from being daunted, Yarimda alternated between dozing in Yardi’s arms and telling him she was having the time of her life.

She said he was a gift.

He actually blushed in all of his fires. Grr. Giving the elderly license was one thing. Having to put up with compliments, however well meant, was quite another.

The next day was Yardi’s turn to be taken ill – in her case, in bouts of alarming violence that started during the night. All the worst of Human illness, too, with nasty, offensive things coming out of both ends, sometimes at the same time. Yarimda distracted her Dragon companions by telling them story after story. She had lived a full and exciting life, she claimed. By sundown Dragon was more than convinced, but the old woman talked beyond midnight. He did not grow bored, not even once. Fascinating! Especially her descriptions of Sea Dragon song language. Experimenting with his new bugle, she agreed that it sounded similar to what she remembered from her beloved Wavewhisperer.

He might have a built-in capability, with not the foggiest notion how to speak a single word in their tongue. Perfect.

Blank slate. Clay to be moulded.

He grimaced. All he needed was his long-lost mommy, to put it in the Human way. Azania had lost both her parents. What right had he to feel unfortunate in any way?

With Yardi doing her best impression of a limp but recovering dishrag, they journeyed on into the Kingdom of Dorline. Human homesteads appeared to be few and far between, but they stopped at a likely-looking place in the late afternoon to inquire after herbs to help Yardi’s upset stomach. With the Dragons standing a short ways off and out of sight, so as not to upset anyone, they greeted Azania by setting their pack of hounds upon her.

It could have gone badly. So badly.

He did not understand the pack’s baying until the last second. Chalice was already streaking ahead, but the thought had been in his mind that the canines intended to greet his Princess.

His roar hit a shattering peak that threw the dogs into confusion for long enough that the charging Dragoness was able to blow fire in their direction and keep them at bay. She skidded to a halt above Azania, somehow managing to keep her great paws from stomping her flat.

He remembered charging, too; and an incongruous moment when the jet stream of his fire picked the hounds up and flung them away in the blink of an eye, so fast that only a couple were actually engulfed in flame. After landing in a smoking heap, the rest were able to run away, yowling in fear. Then he was at Chalice’s side, panting, snarling, wondering what to do with all the fire churning inside of him.

A sense of knowing shook him to the core: The flash of a fang, and her life could have been much shorter.

Emerging from behind Chalice’s paws, Azania gasped, “I think they thought I was a ghost. Or a corpse.”

He turned slowly toward the wooden house.

“Dragon. Dragon! Don’t –”

“Don’t what? Give them a piece of my mind?”

“They’re just … frightened.” She said it as if the realisation had only just struck her. “They’re frightened of me. My blackness.”

Staggering up to them, Yardi said, “People are often afraid of – blugh!” She threw up. “Sorry. Differences. Let me go and knock at the door. Maybe I’m white enough not to earn the dog treatment.”

He stared at Azania.

“Look, as you can tell, not all black peoples’ experiences are the same, nor are they the same in different places,” she muttered. “I’m alright, Dragon. Shocked and … sad, I suppose.”

“Angry?”

“Spitting mad. They’re so ignorant, yet I understand why.”

“Aye. The woman inside just said she’s never seen a black person before.” Nudging her shoulder gently, he said, “And here I thought you had earned your very first mob of pitchfork-wielding peasants. Doubtless you can look forward to that pleasure in the future, Princess.”

“Hopefully not. I’m not a big, stinky, fire-stuffed reptile, after all.”

“Almost, but I have noticed a few differences.”

“A difference in scale?”

“Me being upscale and you, downscale?”

They shared a gloomy chuckle together. Amazing to him – he should not be amazed, but even so, he was – that at this most shocking juncture, her spirit shone. Bravery was not always what he expected it to be.

She said, “Inzashu said I should share this joke with you: ‘Why do Dragons make such great musicians?’ ”

He frowned. “No idea.”

“They know their scales inside out.”

“Groan.”

“I told her that’s what you’d say.”

Half an hour later, they shared the Dorline tradition of an afternoon cup of bark tea and ginger biscuits with a family of seventeen, sitting beneath a huge, spreading tree in their front yard. Following Dorline culture, the husband, wife and five children lived together with his brother and wife and their three, plus various other relatives that Dragon never did get straight.

They all stared at the Princess as if she had dropped from the stars above. However, it was the children that surprised him most. They accepted her within moments. Had it not been for the mother’s reaction, most of them would never have had a second thought about a black-skinned person – just now, two girls sat behind her playing with her hair, and another little boy had plopped himself down in her lap with the air of one who never intended to leave.

Was this business of noticing difference inborn, he mused, or learned?

When did Dragons learn to value blue scales above brown, for example, and who taught them to fear the white fire of Sea Dragons?

On another note, who taught his kind that Humans were fleas, cockroaches and vermin? Or that they did not deserve to be treated with dignity and respect? Shame at who he had been before burned from his paws right up into his wingtips. He had thought these things. Lived these lies. Should have known better, Dragon – but it was easier just to wing along with others and not think too deeply about it, wasn’t it?

Four children played happily between his paws. The adults smelled deeply unhappy about this, he had noticed, but everyone politely ignored the perfectly obvious. Perhaps they feared to point it out, lest he become angered and sup upon their tiny progeny?

One tripped and fell. He plucked her up and righted her. “There you go.”

“Thanksh, mishter Dwaggin,” she lisped.

Oh, alright then. Human children could be tolerable, at times. Although, this lot had clearly never learned a healthy fear of the Dragonkind.

He hoped none of his kin ever happened along to teach them.

* * * *

Reinforced with herbs that ought to settle Yardi’s misbehaving stomach, two Dragons and three Humans flew on up to the Kingdom of Dorline, to the City of White. White people wearing white, who lived in whitewashed houses with white roof tiles. It was a matter of some relief to the eye that local competitiveness appeared to major upon growing flowers lusher and more beautiful than one’s neighbour.

Also, all of the citizens acted weirdly detached. They wandered about the broad, white-cobbled streets with an air of deep contemplation. Far too deep to notice two Dragons strolling into town. They merely avoided the approaching Dragons as if they were oddly mobile houses.

Yardi said, “There’s meant to be a Blacksmiths’ Quarter here somewhere. I’ll go ask for directions.”

“How odd. They don’t even notice you, Azania,” Dragon commented.

“I was thinking about what you said about seeing difference,” she replied, her mind evidently not dwelling upon a place a white Dragon could blend into perfectly. “It should matter, yet it should not.”

“Aha. At the same time, right? As in –”

“They should be held in tension. Aye! Differences absolutely matter. Differences are what make for uniqueness and diversity, art and beauty; it’s what makes us stronger. Yet differences are not to be feared – even, not to be noticed at all. Why should it matter that Yarimda is light and I am dark? We are both Human beings; we bleed the same, yet we’re also very different.”

“We fear the other, that which is not us, the not familiar,” he said. “We Dragons joke that like likes like – it’s just Dragon nature. And Human, if your frown is anything to judge by.”

She thought out loud, “I guess it’s what’s inside that matters, isn’t it? It’s about how in the case of that family we met, perhaps one is taught from a young age to fear the black robber from the desert. I’ve never been mistaken for a robber before. It’s as stupid as believing black people hide better in the dark, so we must of course be wonderful robbers and own the night. Built for it.”

“Blergh.”

“Precisely my point. I was wrong to be so furious with you before.”

“Ah … about what?”

“Last time we spoke, when you lectured me about there not being any actual white or black people. I kicked you. I mean, if you don’t see me as black, then you don’t see all that I am! You don’t see me! Blackness is my core identity – or at least, what I’ve always been taught is my identity. I guess I’m starting to learn that identity isn’t necessarily rational or even coherent, and it’s far more complicated than I ever imagined. The Black Rose of the Desert is as much an idea and an ideal of beauty, as I am a real person. Those knights were all chasing an idea about my identity, but they had no clue who the real Azania is. This person who befriended a Dragon and somehow stumbled into becoming a Dragon Rider – that hardly feels real, oftentimes, yet it is me.”

Raising a paw, he touched her cheek. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m so happy.”

Just when he thought he understood the first thing about a Human woman.

“Oh Dragon, you’re so silly. My heart is so full it could burst, but right now, happiness has bubbled to the top, because I believe I’ve learned something.”

“So have I.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I do think I’m thinking what you’re thinking, but you had best tell me in case I’ve somehow got it wrong. There’s a fairly high chance.”

“Is there?” the Princess smiled, clasping his paw with both hands. “You’re the best friend ever. What I wanted to say is … I’ve realised that it doesn’t matter. What a release! I feel so light, I’m almost floating – because skin colour has been such a burden for me, bigger than any mountain. This nonsense that I’m supposed to be the most beautiful woman in Solixambria because by some cosmic accident I was born black, born a Princess, and –”

“Stop,” he growled. “First talon, you are beautiful for many reasons, and aye, some of those do have to do with differences. Smallness, darkness, crazy curly hair, physical magnetism, and let us never forget the ability to make trousers smoke –”

“Dragon! Serious conversation. Mmm?”

He pressed his talon to her lips. “Be silent until I have finished being exasperating. Now, where was I? Aye, more importantly, I could expound many points relating to your character and deeds, and the fact that some people are born into royalty and some are royal, and there’s a royally enormous difference right there. Second talon, you were and are no accident! What a frightful pile of droppings that statement was, I can hardly begin to spit off the end of my forked tongue. Do we understand one another?”

She nodded meekly.

Dragon narrowed his eyes. In his experience, meekness and Azania did not belong in the same sentence. Not even in the same book!

He removed his talon.

“It’s all black and white to me,” she smiled. “Black Princess, white Dragon. No wonder we make such an awesome team.”

They shook paw and hand solemnly.

He said, “You know, we might be as different creatures as can be imagined, but sometimes I could almost swear that we were cut of the same hide and scale.”

Azania, nodding, started as her gaze fell upon his neck. “Yarimda, are you alright?”

“Never better, my dear,” she said. “I love hearing you and Dragon speak. Hands down, that was one of the best conversations I have ever eavesdropped upon in my nine and a half decades. Believe me, keyholes and my right ear used to be extremely well acquainted. It gives me hope for both races, Dragon and Human, and peace for when I pass on, knowing that two creatures of integrity will be stirring up trouble from one end of the continent to the other.”

The Princess dropped her gaze, quite possibly as embarrassed as he was.

“Yardi’s beckoning for us. Shake a paw, Dragons. I shan’t be growing younger any time soon.”

They walked farther up into the walled city before taking a branching road toward the east. Yarimda rode upon his neck as if she were a queen.

The city’s unrelenting white continued out into the mercantile and artisans quarter, but here at least people noticed them and paused to stare or comment to their neighbours. He understood that Dorline had been the subject of a decades-long feud with the Slasher Clan Dragons, but the populace did not seem to be alarmed. Maybe that was because they were not wheeling overhead thundering threats and swooping to fire-blast houses, just as a consideration?

“We’re looking for Gamoz Blacksmith’s place,” Yardi said. “Apparently, we can’t miss it. They’re the biggest and best in the kingdom, and well-staffed. Even better, Dorline is famed for the quality of its weapons and armour. They said the same in Amboraine.”

Azania said, “Will that couple you recruited travel here first?”

“Aye. They’re game for an adventure.”

“Here comes the guard,” her grandmother pointed out.

Not everyone had their heads stuffed full of clouds. The city guard, clad in natty green robes and wearing full chainmail armour, trotted down the street in neat, businesslike formation. Ready for action, but aye, since no great effort at pillaging, snorting fire and stomping over the merchandise was being made, the fifty-strong detachment visibly relaxed as they approached.

Routine. Couple of Dragons in town.

Chalice nudged his shoulder. “Amazing how creatures can get on when we’re not ripping heads off or having knights poke at us with lances, right?”

“Absolutely,” he purred. “Almost civilised.”

“Product of high intelligence,” the Dragoness agreed. “Truly innovative, actual diplomacy.”

“Help me down please, Dragon.” With the help of his forepaw, Yarimda descended. She arranged her knees with a soft groan, and leaned heavily upon her walking stick. “Some things about growing old are not to be enjoyed.”

The leader of the detachment, distinguished by a green star he wore upon his chest, took pause as he stopped ten feet away. “Do I know you, ma’am?”

“Conquiran Garamdi! Well met!” Yarimda said.

“Yarimda-mah Ociane?” he spluttered, bowing a second time, deeper than before. “An unexpected honour. You are looking very well.”

Dragon looked on in bemusement as the old woman straightened, as if a memory of being pervaded her person. Regal. “It is good to see you again, lad. I’d say something embarrassing, like, ‘my, how you’ve grown,’ but your men are listening. May I present my granddaughter, Yardi-mae Ociane?”

Another bow. “Ma’am. I see the resemblance.”

Yardi made an uncomfortable obeisance. “Conquiran Garamdi – you are the leader of all of Dorline’s military?”

“Goes with the title, ma’am.” Clearing his throat, he said, “It is most awkward, I confess, but I must inquire what two women of your station are doing in our kingdom in the company of a disreputable desert scoundrel and two dangerous Dragons.”

Station? Whatever did he mean?

He could have fallen over laughing at Azania’s belligerent expression.

“Behave yourself, scoundrel,” he whispered for her ears alone.

She clenched her little fists. “Dragon …”

Yarimda said, “While we are in town, we should like to brief you about the Skartun invasion of the south, Conquiran. Our companions are travelling through with us and mean this city and its people no harm. We seek to hire armourers and blacksmiths for the war effort. For my part, I plan to travel back to my native Hamirythe one last time. I would like to heal a rift in our family which has been allowed to fester for far too long. I know you are aware of the history, and of my part in it.”

“I am, ma’am,” he said, his eyes resting upon Azania’s sword.

She smiled at the Conquiran as if his suspicion were the stuff of delightful sunbeams.

Suddenly, his knee collapsed as if he had been struck by a ten-pound hammer. “I fear I have made an unforgivable error! Forgive me – you are the daughter of King N’gala, unless I miss my mark?”

“I am the Princess Azania,” she said. “Travelling in disguise.”

Always gracious, but Dragon scented the tones of her emotions and knew her outward politeness for the show it was. He also touched upon emotions beyond –

His paw snapped out, catching Yarimda as she slumped with a low cry.

This was the start of a kerfuffle that consumed some time. Yarimda insisted she was fine; everyone else knew she was not. The Conquiran hustled her over to the nearest doctor’s office, a walk of just a single block. The tall, severe-looking man examined her, and said that the best option – and the only one – was rest.

She was not well, he added gravely.

“Dying?” Yardi asked. “We know. How … how long, doctor?”

“Your grandmother is a strong woman, Yardi-mae,” he replied, “but she is also very elderly and not well. Her organ function is becoming poor and she is suffering considerable pain. I fear it will be a matter of weeks – I am sorry, ma’am.”

Yardi rubbed her temples. “I knew; still, it’s so hard. All she wanted was to go home to the Kingdom of Hamirythe.”

“How has she been travelling?” he asked curiously.

“Dragonback.”

“Pardon? I mean … I can ease her pain, but that is all I can do. Today, she must rest. Leave your grandmother with me, my staff will look after her overnight. I will consider how best you might fulfil her wish.” He made a superstitious sign with his hand. “May those who seek to bless the elderly, be blessed. Truly, you honour her long life.”

When Yardi went in to see her, Yarimda was asleep.

Chapter 17: Orphan Smiths

GAMOZ BLACKSMITH’S PLACE WAS rather odd, as far as forges went. Even a Dragon could tell as much. First of all, it occupied an old schoolhouse over half a block long. The interior of one end had been knocked out to create a cavernous space in which no less than four forges operated. Space enough for a sneaky-pawed white creature to wander inside and take a good look around. Farther back was a busy leather-making trade – animal yokes, buckets and armour straps, as best he could tell. No trousers for females. Definitely missing a trick there.

The whole place was run by children.

He rubbed his eyes and checked again. The children did not evaporate, replaced by responsible adults. As best he could tell, the oldest ones could not be any older than Azania, and the youngest should not, in his opinion, be working anywhere near such a busy, dangerous environment.

Yardi gazed about the premises, openly taken aback.

After a few moments, one of the young men noticed them – a tall, spare, dark-haired youth. Putting down the weapon he had been working on, he took off his heavy gloves, rubbed his hands upon his apron as if to clean them, and approached.

“Ma’am, ma’am, honoured Dragons. How may I help?”

“This is Gamoz’s place?” Yardi asked.

“Aye, ma’am,” said he, taking her for the leader. His tan cheeks flushed as he glanced at Azania, however. Dragon practically heard the ‘woof’ of his emotions. “May I fetch your order?”

“No. I would like to examine a few samples of your work, please.”

“At once.”

Yardi inspected the farming implements, weapons and household items with an expert eye. The boy knew her for a smith with a single glance at her hands, never mind her muscled arms. His answers were as concise as her questions, covering processes, quality and finishing. Moving over to the leather tables, they did the same, sparring with words. A reply for every quick question. Salient details. Acknowledging a flaw which must have crept in.

At length, Yardi said, “I’m impressed. Who runs this establishment? Is it only children employed here, and do you earn a good living wage? Is there a Master?”

“Of course, ma’am. He’s in the back, taking stock. Shall I –”

“Aye, fetch him, please.”

With a polite nod, the earnest lad rushed off.

“Not bad,” Azania commented.

“The work or the worker?” Dragon teased. She waggled her tongue at him. “Did I catch you sneaking a look there?”

“Like he didn’t.”

“Oh alright, that excuses everything.”

Her glare promised that a whole world of pain would shortly be delivered to his lair.

“This is certainly an interesting operation,” Yardi commented meantime, glancing about the huge room again. “I’m not sure we’ll get any recruits here. Might need to look farther.”

“How may I serve, ladies? Dragons?”

As Dragon turned, Yardi stepped around his muzzle, and stopped dead in her tracks. “Garan!”

“Yardi-mae!”

“It’s been a while.”

“Aye. A month shy of thirteen years.”

The silence became so awkward, Dragon felt he could have bottled it and sold it as poison to the Skartun. At once, she said, “You broke my heart,” and the blacksmith whispered, “You left without a word.”

Garan was a big, broad-shouldered man – big enough to be a hand taller than Yardi, who was no small woman. Dragon supposed Humans might call him a giant. Curly red hair! That was unusual, he understood. He had never seen a Human of such colouration – red hair and beard, tan skin perhaps from his work at the forge, and a freckled nose which gave him a mischievous air. Maybe if he had not been staring at his massive boots as if wishing he could be anywhere in Solixambria but here.

Yardi raised her chin. “That was a long time ago. You seem to be doing well for yourself. Are these your children?”

“Aye. All mine.”

“All? My my, you have been busy.”

The man flushed at her tone, his knuckles whitening on the belt of his smock. “I am not that man anymore, Yardi-mae. This is not what it seems.”

“Exploitation of child labour? No, obviously not.”

“These are orphans.” Dragon sensed the implosion of Yardi’s shame. Garan said steadily, “I would thank you for not shaming me in front of my charges. I run a registered orphanage here in Dorline, and what you see is my apprenticeship programme. I am training these children to be smiths, farriers, armourers, leather artisans and the like, so that one day, they can take their place in the world with a trade that will feed their families. I have thirty-two children here and another fourteen placed in other apprenticeships around the city.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Azania put in softly. Chalice agreed in the background.

He glanced at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Aye – uh, is this your … daughter, Yardi? And Dragons? What are you doing here with Dragons?”

The insult! He had only just noticed? Dragon pictured serving his head up on a large toothpick. Brains, fried, scrambled and spiced to perfection. Mmm …

It was Yardi’s turn, pink of cheek, to gaze at her feet. He understood that this was courtship behaviour, usually between younger Humans – more Azania’s age, say. This pretence of reticence from both sides, which concealed all the other emotions. He sense scented attraction beneath all the hurts. It flung him away into the scent memory of a younger Dragon’s blundering attempts to impress various Dragonesses, which had inevitably ended in shame.

Except with Ariamyrielle Seaspray.

Somehow, having done nothing at all, it seemed he had managed to make an impression on her – following which, fate had turned around and paw-slapped him with a blow fit to shatter mountains.

Sigh.

Collecting his thoughts as Azania introduced him and herself as his Dragon Rider, no relation to Yardi, he wondered how a Dragon could possibly insert a talon and stir this fate in the right direction. Him being such a flaming genius at relationships and all that.

He said, “You seem busy, Blacksmith Garan.”

“Aye, but profits are poor. It’s been a brutal stretch.” Scratching his head, he said almost defiantly, “After your family made sure I was kicked out of Hamirythe and my reputation ruined, Yardi, I ended up here. I inherited a mountain of debt from my mother and the use of this place, which was covered by a punitive loan that crushed my parents. The stress killed them. I took over here on my twenty-second birthday.”

“What changed you, Garan?” Yardi asked, ever so softly.

His fingers trembled. “Y-You … actually. What I did – I’ve never regretted anything so much in my life – I searched for you for three years, woman! All over the Northern Kingdoms.”

“I ended up in Chakkix Camp.”

“Chakkix? That’s –”

“Northern T’nagru. You … searched?”

He heaved a massive, defeated sigh. “What does it matter? What are you doing here, Yardi-mae? Look, I don’t … have time for a … for this. I’ve mouths to feed. Times are hard. This may look like a busy operation, but we are stretched to breaking point, what with the new taxation regulations and a drop in business since the war with the Slasher Clan ended – which is good, but not good, if you follow my meaning.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“Have you business for me? I will take anything you have and give you the best prices in town. You’ve seen the quality of our work.”

Poor Yardi. Dragon smelled her out once more, and purred at once, “Actually, Blacksmith Garan, you sound like just the man we need.” He ignored his companion’s startled headshake. “There is war in the south, A Skartunese invasion – this is the Princess of T’nagru, by the way.”

His jaw dropped. “Ma … uh …”

“I know. Far too beautiful for her own good, isn’t she? Anyways, we’re recruiting blacksmiths to support the war effort, and that’s where you come in.”

The man’s eyes jumped all over the place – Dragon to Dragoness, then to the Princess who quietly apologised for her Dragon’s behaviour, and then to Yardi, where they lingered – absolutely unmistakably, his gaze lingered. With intent. Since the dawn of time, Dragons and Dragonesses had looked each other over just like that. Clear enough that his feelings might as well have been inked upon a scroll.

“No. With respect, Dragon, no,” he grated. “I am not your man. I can’t leave this, don’t you see?”

Dragon stroked his chin as if taking a pause for thought. In reality, he was begging Yardi to intervene, but she had lost her tongue. “Why don’t we just take all of you?”

“All?” Azania, Yardi, Chalice and Garan gasped at once.

“Everything. All. Was I unclear? Every last child, even those in your nursery over there.”

“These children depend on me. I have responsibilities. Look, Dragon, you can’t just come stomping in here and upend everything I’ve worked so hard for.”

“Ah, but I can. I’m a Dragon. Excuse me – achoo!” He sneezed aside, very careful to aim at no-one. Flame licked out of his nostrils. “Look, Garan, you can’t just refuse us until you know what we’re offering.”

He twined his arms across his chest, still shaking his head. Brawny fellow; Yardi’s surreptitious glance betrayed her appreciation of his powerful biceps and forearms. There. Humans and Dragons were more alike than anyone supposed. Size mattered.

He had this under control.

His Princess said, “What are you suggesting, Dragon?”

“Do you have an office, Garan? Somewhere we can talk in private?”

“That door.”

“Good. Let’s go over there.”

At the doorway, everyone paused. No Dragon could fit inside his cluttered office, but that was hardly the point. With a grin as wicked as the points of his fangs, Dragon raised a paw and gently but unstoppably pushed Yardi and Garan inside together. “Talk.”

Yardi’s glare behind the blacksmith’s back was a study in fury … and yearning.

The blacksmith spluttered, “And what are you going to do, Dragon?”

“Me? I am going to ask your nice apprentices to file my talons and burnish my scales. Then, I plan to have a little snooze, somewhere out of the way – but beware, I shall have one eye open. If the two of you dare to emerge without some kind of deal, I will be a deeply frustrated, irritable, nasty piece of Dragon you won’t want within a hundred miles of your forge. Do we understand one another?”

“Dragon, you are evil,” Azania said primly. “I apologise –”

“Oh, be quiet. You are my captive Princess and you will do what I say.”

She folded her arms and tapped her right foot.

Reaching out, Dragon pulled the door shut, making Yardi jump to get out of his way. He called, “I mean it! Talk. Deal! Positive or negative, I don’t care, as long as you explore the idea properly. As for you, Princess –” he winked massively at her “– I think we need to have words over here.”

She shook her head in consternation, but her smile had never been more brilliant.

“What?” he growled.

“You’ve turned into quite the despot.”

How he purred!

Chalice said, “Truly masterful, Dragon. That’s how to treat Humans.”

“Aye, I agree. Every now and again, these silly little Humans just need a subtle paw to shove them in the right direction.”

The Princess giggled, “Oh, you were inconceivably subtle, Dragon. I mean, I had no idea what you were doing. Oh, I get it now! You don’t think they still like each other, do you? I must have completely missed that.”

He snapped toward her hair. “Shut it, pipsqueak.”

“Bully.”

“I know. Isn’t it marvellous how one can learn new skills?”

“Indeed. After all, I aggravate Dragons for a living.”

* * * *

Garan’s capable apprentices could sharpen Dragon talons with the best of them. They were also a dab hand at buffing and burnishing scales. He and Chalice positively gleamed by the time they were done.

However, their friend was nowhere to be seen.

Still talking?

Hmm. Rising, he padded over toward the office despite Azania’s quiet protest. The door was shut, but the office had a window covered by curtains inside, only, they had been left open a crack. Putting his eye to the right spot, he peered inside … and almost shed his scales laughing.

He padded back to Azania. “It’s going well.”

“Well?”

“They aren’t talking.”

“No? Is something wrong? What could we have –”

“Princess, I understand it is a positive sign when two people start sucking one another’s faces, correct?”

“Dragon!”

“Grotesque, I know. What about when she grips his rump like this and squeezes so?” He made the appropriate motions with his paws.

“Dragon! They are not … are they?”

“No, it’s not what you are thinking. They are still fully clothed. Unless Humans –”

“I was not thinking – you wicked reptile!” she squealed. “Will you stop pulling my leg? You’re terrible. Oh … Jossun, was it?”

The dark-haired youth smiled uncertainly at her. “We’re meant to be closing up. Is Master Garan still in there with the lady? They must have a lot to discuss.”

“They’re friends from long ago,” the Princess said. “Tell me, is he a good Master?”

“Oh, ma’am – the best! I do hope you have some work for us, though. The Master has been very worried lately. He keeps it to himself, but I hear him walking up and down sometimes at night. He’ll say he’s looking after the little ones, ma’am, but …”

She said, “We hope they can agree. Please, call me Azania. We’re of an age, aren’t we? I’m seventeen.”

“Seventeen? But you look like a doll, barely twe – uh, sorry, ma’am. I just thought –”

“That’s alright. A lot of people say that. My people are petite to begin with, and I am one of the smaller ones of a small nation. I’m tough, though.” She flexed her right bicep. “See?”

“Impressive,” he lied.

“What’s impressive is this place,” she smiled back. “Quite the team.”

“We all look after each other. We have to. Most of the kids here don’t know their parents, or they lost them in the wars. Sometimes kids are just dumped on our doorstep. Not everyone is as good as the Master – ah, here he comes.”

The pair were taking pains not to look as if anything had happened, but Dragon saw his fingertips brush hers as they approached.

Garan flicked his head. “Jossun. Gather the troops, lad. We’ve something important to discuss. Yardi-mae, please come by tomorrow evening. We should have an answer for you by then – but I’d like to invite you for dinner, to … ah, meet the children and learn about what we do. Princess, I expect you’ll be wanted at the palace?”

“Indeed. This evening.” She wrinkled her nose. “I might have to dress up, I guess. Or, what are your feelings about women wearing trousers, Garan?”

He almost jumped out of his skin. “Uh … you’ll find I’m quite progressive, ma’am.” He tried and failed not to glance at Yardi’s legs. “It was most certainly an interesting proposition, as your Dragon suggested.”

Dragon put in dryly, “Did you clinch a deal?”

Azania gave him a warning glare which Yardi picked up on. The blacksmith’s pulse flickered wildly in her neck.

He added, “Well, I hope you explored her options, Garan – I mean, by my wings, what a slip of the forked tongue! I hope you’ll have a positive reply for us tomorrow evening. The Dragons will need all the help they can get, or I’m afraid the Skartun may choose to rearrange the seventeen kingdoms to their liking.”

The minute they were out of sight of the forge, Azania slapped his neck – hard, for her. “Dragon, I can’t believe you said that!”

Yardi growled, “What did I miss?”

“Oh, you didn’t miss anything, I believe,” he purred archly.

Azania spluttered, “Dragon! What’s gotten into you today, that you must –”

“Me?” Turning to Yardi, he said, “Confession time. Since your negotiations were taking a while, I peeked through the window. You were talking –” the woman’s eyebrows shot up “– aye, talking fluently with your hands, and your body, and then with your lips …”

Yardi turned the colour of the sunset. “You – you!”

“Just call me Dragon.”

“Azania, where did you get him?”

“Corner shop, priced to fly off the shelf.”

Gnarr-hrr-hrr, he chortled. “For my part, I got short-changed at the second-hand royal sale.”

Even Chalice smacked him for that one.

* * * *

Three days later, with travel sums having been done, goodbyes said and promises made, Dragon and Chalice set wing for the westering suns. They planned to fly all together to Hamirythe, where Dragon and the Princess would promptly turnabout and fly almost the same return journey. Two long sides of a very flat triangle, as Azania put it. The other option would have been to cool their heels at Mornine for over a week, which did not make a jot of sense.

Chalice bore Yardi upon her back.

The Dragoness did not appear overly comfortable with the arrangement, but she had requested it, claiming the need to practice for the return journey. No way was she walking from Hamirythe to Juggernaut’s lair!

Excuses. He grinned to himself. Corrupted another Dragon into doing the unthinkable. He would just change Solixambria one creature at a time.

Dragon bore Yarimda in a lightweight travel litter. She was not well enough even to sit for long periods of time, but her complaining about her mode of transportation certainly sounded lively enough. Doctor’s orders. He kept his forepaws curled about her bed. The comments could just wash off. This first stretch of a couple of hours until nightfall was just to test her out and assess if she would be able to cope with the far longer journey.

Hamirythe was within reach. He could smell it.

How had she kept her condition hidden for so long? One tough woman.

“So, you still have a deal?” Azania prompted, calling over to their friend from Dragon’s neck to where Chalice flew slipstream just behind and slightly below his left wing.

“We do. Garan plans to make everything ready by the time I return. He’ll finish up all his orders and hand the forge over to a group of his graduates, who are keen to take over the business. The children were more than excited to embark on an adventure. Over forty! I do hope Juggernaut knows what he’s getting into …”

The Princess said, “Rest assured, when he sees how they work, he’ll be more than grateful.”

Chalice put in, “You’ll need to be open with him about your relationship with Garan, but the point regarding giving orphans a hope and a future – that will not be lost upon him. Nor upon any Grinder. We may not be the most forward-thinking Clan, but we do like to fly against a trade wind.”

“Why is the wind?” Azania asked.

The Dragoness chuckled appreciatively. “Why is the ocean breeze, o Princess?”

“Quite.”

Yarimda called weakly, “The question is, granddaughter, do you know what you’re getting into?”

Stiff-backed, she stared at her relative.

“Dear one, I do believe people can change,” she smiled. “Please don’t misunderstand; you both explained everything and I accept that. What I meant is, should all proceed as I hope, are you ready to be a mother of over forty all at once?”

The blacksmith shook her head. “I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve no idea what I’m doing. But I am getting along to be thinking about my own children, grandmother. This is a cause I could … I could thrive in. I truly believe that. I’m not saying it won’t be probably the hardest thing I have ever tried – but the most worthwhile? Aye. Best of all, I won’t be running away from my past anymore. Nor will he.”

Perceptive.

“He isn’t the only one who has changed, child.”

Oh, by his wings! This was so intimate, he could barely stand to overhear.

After a moment, he said, “She’s fallen asleep again.”

Yardi wept silently.

Chapter 18: Ocean Bright

IN FOUR LONG DAYS of flying, the pair of Dragon Rider teams crossed half the breadth of Solixambria, covering hundreds of miles with the aid of a variable breeze from the northeast.

“We’ll be flying against that all the way back,” he told Azania.

She made a face that would have shocked any decent Princesses right out of their dainty slippers.

Leaving the dense, tall forests of Dorline in their wake, they swept over a wild hill country where wooded hilltops punctuated dark green streams and patches of saltgrass. Nothing much of use grew in the briny soils. Midway through the journey, they flew across the Taribonli River, well to the north of the ruined, deserted kingdom, and then joined the busy coastal road for the run across the Hamirythe peninsula, past the rugged, windswept coastal mountains famous for their bamboo stands and man-eating tigers, and on to the edge of the Lumis Ocean once more.

The capital city, Hamir, was a gorgeous cluster of blue-tipped turrets and spires located upon the edge of a sheer white cliff that cut away into the turbulent ocean. The Ociane family was one of the wealthiest and most prominent in the kingdom, owning a massive mansion right on the cliff tops. Yardi’s father was a Lord. He would never have thought it of her. Curious what people, and Dragons, might hide beneath their scales – just as Azania had been mistaken for a robber for the first time in her life.

He had not stopped tugging her wings about that.

As Yardi directed them into the grounds of her family mansion – a pretty castle with whitewashed walls and blue turrets, for all intents and purposes, comprised of two interlocking pentagons with no less than eight towers and a permanent staff of a mere two hundred and sixty servants – the Princess reflected out loud about her upbringing in comparison to what she had seen of life so far out in the rest of the kingdoms. So privileged. All the wealth, means and station she had always taken for granted; the effortless assumption that her every care and whim would be taken care of by servants.

“I do love wandering the world in disguise,” she murmured. “Plus, there’s this teensy-weensy matter of the chance to fly wherever we wish. That is a gift, Dragon. Truly, a gift.”

“Aye, one we Dragons don’t half take for granted,” he agreed.

“Looks like the servants are awake.”

The mansion resembled a freshly disturbed anthill.

“I can’t wait to go fishing,” he said. “I’ve a yen to toss something fresh and salty down my gullet. Have to be on the lookout for Sea Serpents, I suppose. Did Yarimda tell us that the beaches are right at the foot of the cliffs?”

“Aye, in these tiny inlets. Some are only accessible at low tide.”

Deep he breathed of the saltiness in the air. Wonderful! Was it pleasure at the fresh nip of that scent, or something deeper, perhaps a connection with the oceanic demesne? He could not imagine what it was like out there – underwater, or a thousand miles from land. The ocean was said to be a realm far, far vaster than all of Solixambria.

He also realised that this would be one of the hardest leave-takings of his life.

How fond he had grown of Yarimda.

Deliberately circling in a short ways over the stark white cliffs merely so that he could appreciate the glare of Taramis upon the spume-tossed waves, Dragon crooked his neck in surprise at Azania’s exclamation:

“Look, there’s a rider coming out of town. Fast.”

“My father,” Yardi called. “I’d know that blue cloak anywhere.”

Would he be as terrified the day he returned to the family lair, or the moment they faced the open ocean, knowing there could not be the slightest mistake? Would Aria be his and Azerim hers?

He said quietly, “Azania? When we face our fears, remind me to be gracious.”

“You always are, Dragon.” A tiny hand stroked his neck scales. “Far more so than me.”

She knew exactly where his thoughts dwelled.

Yarimda stirred in his paws. “Dragon? Do me a favour?”

“Aye?”

“Call her. Call my … Wavewhisperer.”

“I don’t know how.” She sighed. “I will try. Can you tell me –”

“Ocean always rises. It knows. Why is the wind?”

In the simplest words, she broke down his unbelief. Five hearts stirred within him; a strange tingling spread from the centre of his breast across his scales and out along his wings and tail. The tips sparked, as if he were charged with electricity once more. He could not have put a talon upon what he understood inside of him, only that her words must be true in some way that defied logic.

Why is the wind? Why are the waves?

Gazing out over the Lumis Ocean, he sent forth the searching of his soul.

A sound like a soft, fluting groan built within his chest. It was not the thrilling bugle of before, but something far more personal. A lament? Almost. Nay, an expression of yearning that seemed to form deep within his bones, and resonated out of him far, far beyond the limit of what he could have imagined a simple sound could convey.

≈Wavewhisperer,≈ he sang, and almost choked up in shock before he managed to continue, ≈Friend needs … come.≈

“What was that?” his Princess asked. “So powerful. Did you just … communicate?”

“That’s … my Dragon,” Yarimda whispered.

Ah! His grief song keened within him as Chalice led the way to their landing on an open area of green lawn that abutted the cliff’s edge. Only a perfect white fence separated a walker from disaster.

He touched down with the greatest care possible, soft-pawed so as not to jolt Yarimda, but still she groaned slightly.

In a broken whisper, she said, Dragon, I thank you for your selfless service. You have brought this soul home. Perhaps on the morrow, I will ask you to take me down to the shore, and we can call for her again. She will come, you will see. She will take me home to where my heart has always been.

To the ocean. Some part of her was already out there.

He bowed deeply. Yarimda, this Dragon soul has been honoured to travel with you.

Cradling her pallet most tenderly in his paw, he carried her up to the house, to where perfect ranks of servants clad in white awaited them. Hoofbeats thundered up the stone path that led to the house. That was the only sound in all the world, save the faraway, restless voice of the ocean at the bottom of the cliffs, and the haunting cry of a seabird.

When the servants recognised Yardi-mae, a ripple ran through them. A murmuring. Some bowed, others looked openly incensed.

When they saw whom he carried in his paw, numbers began to weep.

“Raise me up that I may see, Dragon.”

He tilted her bed so that she could gaze upon the faces of these she so clearly loved.

Yarimda whispered, “Oh, my dear ones, I should never have left you. I have been the cause of so much hurt. Will you ever forgive me?”

“Mother! Mother – and Yardi-mae!”

The rider leaped off his horse. An elegant, silver-haired man he was, perhaps in his seventies, but he was stained with sweat and breathless from his gallop up from the town.

“You came. Oh, you came!” he wept. “You swore you never would.”

“People make stupid oaths and foolish promises, Ivarn,” Yarimda said, holding out her arms. “Do I have a story for you –”

“I see that. You always loved to make an entrance, mother.”

“Oh, this Dragon? I picked the best, of course.”

Lord Ivarn ran to her. He enfolded her in his powerful arms, wailing like a child. After a moment, an arm reached out and beckoned to Yardi. She fell into her father’s embrace.

* * * *

Dragon, Chalice and the Princess slipped away while no-one was looking. Easy. The family had carried Yarimda off inside the house as if she were a great trophy, and why not? They promptly forgot all about their visitors.

He led them back to the cliff side, where a giant black walnut tree spread over both land and ocean a mile below. A hundred and five feet tall, the bookish Dragon within him estimated as they approached.

“I think we’ll just settle down here,” he suggested.

Azania said, “They might notice a couple of Dragons in the garden at some point, but there’s really no rush. Shall I remove our saddles? Chalice?”

“Thank you, Princess.” The yellow Dragoness blinked slowly. “I’m exhausted, but I finally understand two new things: one, why the Human tradition of hugging is important, and two, exactly why you two invented Dragon Riding.”

“That wasn’t us. Yarimda gave me the idea,” Dragon admitted.

“That was Dragon Swimming,” Azania corrected, then chuckled brightly. “Listen to me – I’m starting to sound as pedantic as you, Dragon.”

“I am far too wing-weary to give you the drubbing you deserve, little girl, but remember, a Dragon never forgets. I am storing all these things up, I warn you.” He breathed down her neck, making her sable curls rustle slightly against her shoulders. “You’re just a morsel.”

Whirling upon her heel, she planted a kiss upon the point of his nose before he could pull away.

“What was that for?” he gasped, rubbing the spot.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Rub it away. That’s just rude – and don’t you go scowling at me now. I’ll unload our gear just as soon as I can. It is getting less and less the farther we travel. That kiss was to remind you that I’m a big, dangerous, Dragon-Riding Princess, and you’re just a sweet little Dragon I completely conned into carrying me halfway across the continent.”

Gnarr, he disagreed, his most obnoxious effort.

“Indigestion?”

This time, he did swat her, and instantly regretted it when she fell over. “Sorry.”

Springing up, she kicked him in the ankle bone. “Pick on someone your own size, Dragon.”

“Ah, but I am, in worth.”

She shot back, “Oh? Do you know what I say to that?” Gnarr!

They both burst out laughing.

Chalice looked at them as if they were completely barmy.

Night had fallen by the time someone managed to remember that there were Dragons skulking in the gardens. Possibly Yardi, they thought. A stream of visitors had been arriving from late afternoon until just after the suns set in the farthest reaches of the ocean. Dragon and Princess sat beneath the spreading walnut tree, watching the suns set the darkening, ever-restless ocean alight with magic and mystery.

Were these Yardi’s relatives? Exactly how much explaining was going on in there?

He snuck a paw behind Azania’s back; she leaned against him with a long, long sigh and closed her eyes for a few minutes.

His family was right here.

Hard, amidst the poignant beauty of such an evening and a homecoming, to remember that very far away, across the desert, the Skartun war machine was warming up to wage total war upon these kingdoms. People here had no idea. They had their idyllic lives beside the ocean, their city of perfect blue turrets and their effortless comfort in riches. Was that necessarily wrong? People and Dragons alike often yearned most for peace, love and security.

Even an idyll such as this could conceal a broken family.

Azania spoke politely to the senior servant who had come to apologise to them. A butler, she said. What Dragon understood of butlers was that they were the kind of servant who thought they were more important than any other servant. This stiff-kneed elder was humble and sincere, by the scent of him, and affrighted of Dragons.

Clearly, one should take the stories he had read with a healthy dose of fiery scepticism. None of them had Princesses escaping from high towers and flying away Dragonback. Foolish writers. What did they know?

The butler led them along a garden path to the north side of the house, where a gorgeous reception room opened out onto a patio area that overlooked the moonlit ocean. Artworks of ocean scenery adorned the room’s walls; he decided promptly that he should have a look … if he could fit through the doorway, that was. Job for the spectacles and an outdoor viewing, more likely. Even the twelve-foot interior roof height would pose a challenge.

No Dragon wanted to be dragging the candle chandeliers off one’s host’s ceiling.

What did the Dragon drag in?

Murr-hurr-hrr!

Relatives and friends chatted amiably around chest-high tables set upon the grey granite flagstones, or lounged in comfortable couches off to one side. A most genteel gathering, although one or two guests seemed bent upon emptying the Lord’s wine cellar as fast as possible. Oddly, despite the enormous gulf of difference, it reminded him of a Devastator Clan family gathering. Earnest conversation, laughter, in-jokes and the ease of long, long friendship, mingled with darker undertones. Always something concealed beneath the scales at such gatherings. A troublemaker. A pariah. A creature on the fringes desperately hoping for acceptance – that had always been him.

Hard not to feel those echoes here.

The gentry of Hamirythe wore flowing trousers and loose-sleeved shirts for the tall men, generally in shades of blue with white, cream and coral tones, while their women wore elegant full-length dresses gathered high at the waist. He almost did not recognise Yardi, who had changed from her travel clothing into a powder blue evening gown.

“She looks splendid,” Dragon said, nudging Azania.

“I feel rather underdressed, but I doubt any of their clothing would fit. Quite tall as a people, aren’t they?”

He curved a talon about the small of her back, feeling unaccountably possessive. “You’re a desert barbarian. Maybe you should behave like one – you are the only woman wearing a weapon.”

“I am too weary to care about that.”

“For the record, you are as resplendent as always.”

From her other side, Chalice purred, “Let the Dragoness wear her scales, say I. Look, the servants have prepared flame-grilled veal for us.”

“Thoughtful,” Dragon agreed, licking his chops. His belly growled eagerly. “Where did they get peppers – ah no, those must be something similar. Delicious aroma, wouldn’t you agree, Chalice? Just imagine that meaty umami flavour upon the tongue …”

She flicked her wingtips in amusement. “Males. Stomachs on paws.”

“May I?” he asked.

The Dragoness’ eyelids flickered in that way he remembered. “Please.”

To his surprise, a servant appeared at his elbow as if summoned from the aether by magic, bearing a golden platter of steaming, perfectly chargrilled veal. “May I interest sir in a snack?”

Forgive the poor serving girl. She looked as pasty as if Dragon had asked her to investigate the inside of his gullet.

“Thank you,” he said, flicking his fore-talons out of their sheaths.

Gasp!

Dragon paused, and waggled his talons in the light. “I apologise for the state of my cutlery. I wish you to know that even the most ravenous quadruped is perfectly capable of distinguishing between a pretty girl and the offerings upon her platter.” He plucked up a joint with judicious care. “Chalice, this is for you. Now, one for me.”

She quavered, “Will that be all, sir?”

He forgave her the racial slur. Who called a Dragon ‘sir,’ as if he were some knight?

He said, “Do call me honoured Dragon, and Chalice ‘honoured Dragoness.’ Keep this delicious veal coming, and we shall be the very best of friends.”

The serving girl departed with a lurch, as if her knees had come slightly unhinged.

With a wink, Azania said, “My, Dragon, we do have a way with the ladies.”

He purred contentedly.

Excusing himself from the group he had been chatting with, Lord Ivarn strolled over with a woman who must be his mate, he assumed. She was as tall as Yardi but twice as plump in all dimensions. By his wings, it appeared that Human women could have ample haunches after all! How refreshing. Although, despite their woefully diminutive dimensions, Azania’s buttocks – one must use the correct terminology for Human females, and never mention the aforementioned body feature in polite conversation, he reminded himself with a fussy flick of his wings – possessed a power out of all proportion to expectation. He had seen men turn into mindless idiots at first glance.

Lord Ivarn said, “Welcome to our home, Princess Azania. This is my wife, Lady Ishana.” They greeted one another cordially. Azania introduced Dragon and Chalice. Ivarn continued, “Please forgive our preoccupation with my mother’s return, and our daughter’s, too. We did not even give you a chance to refresh yourselves.”

“I’ve been made most welcome, my Lord,” she said, smiling up at him.

“I understand that you flew our daughter and my mother all the way up from Chakkix Camp in T’nagru?”

“We did. It was Yarimda’s wish, which my Dragon was gracious enough to honour.”

Both of their eyes danced with wonder. “You … ride? Uh …”

“Many times in his paw, or more recently upon his neck here, or at the top of his shoulders,” Azania said, pointing out the spots. “That’s our battle position. We worked out a way to mount a Dragon bow, and to have me strapped in so that both hands are free to fire either arrows or quarrels. A Dragon is a mighty and deadly foe, as the Skartun learned to their detriment at N’ginta Citadel, but a Dragon who is additionally armed with ranged weaponry, oil bombs or other assorted nastiness, is truly terrifying.”

Lady Ishana said, “We heard report that you two took on an army of thousands, together?”

Her tone posed the lightest of questions.

“Aye, my Lady,” Azania said. “I know I don’t look like a great, muscular knight, but this Dragon has inspired me to become the best warrior I can be. You’ll be surprised what a girl can do.”

Dragon put in, “Azania’s skills pulled me out of trouble upon many an occasion. However, her greatest gift was to help me find my fires. I was a fireless Dragon before, outcast and belittled. Now, I have discovered fires like unto the Sea Dragons of yore.”

He showed the tiniest, controlled output of fire upon his tongue.

Lord Ivarn puffed out his cheeks, and then said excitedly, “I can’t believe it! White – look, Ishana! Do you remember …”

“Of course I do, darling. We used to watch the migration together.” She squeezed his arm fondly. “I was just thinking that when I first saw you, Dragon. You have the ocean in you, do you not? Your unique colouration and this tell-tale white fire say it all.”

He said, “One of our wishes, Lady Ishana, is to reopen the shipping lanes up to the Vaylarn Archipelago. It’s a great mystery why the migration stopped. We hope to change that.”

Ivarn began to crow, “That would completely revitalise the coastal –”

Heads turned as a loud, belligerent voice broke out amongst the drunken guests. “A toad, I tell you! A slimy black toad!” “Great-Uncle, hush.” “He’s had too much.” “What’s new about that? He was off his feet by lunchtime, as usual.”

The drunkard raised his glass. “I’m empty! Fill me up, you fools. Do you train your servants as badly as you govern our little land, Ivarn?”

Yardi marched through the guests toward them. “Azania, I’m sorry …”

What was this? Had that man insulted the Princess?

“My precious brother,” Ishana moaned meantime. “Why is it that every family has one of these?”

Staggering to his feet as he threw off the hands that tried to restrain him, the man pointed dramatically at Azania. He slurred, “Her. That’s the one! What’s a black toad doing here? Hop back home, toad!”

The Princess froze.

Chapter 19: Ocean’s Calling

DRAGON’S PAWS CLENCHED SO painfully, he ripped up several flagstones. Never had he so badly wanted to smash a man out of existence, but somehow in the pounding, migraine-like fury that raged inside of his skull, he realised that there were others present. Innocents, in a manner of speaking.

That drunkard; that racist fool!

Lord Ivarn began to roar in fury, but Ishana snapped, “No, Ivarn. Allow me!”

Clenching her fists, the large woman marched through the guests like a Dragoness pressing through ocean waves. As she approached her brother, she snarled, “I’ve had enough. Quite enough! You’ve been an embarrassment to the family for years, you blowsy old sot!”

“Ishana …” The man’s eyes tried to focus. “Why, if it isn’t my flabby, overblown little –”

Crack!

The Lady was a big woman, solidly built through the beam and in the shoulders. She hit him open-handed, with the full force of her body behind the buffet – much as Azania had learned to punch from Juggernaut, Dragon realised with belated, fire-cooling delight. She hit him so hard, his neck snapped about and he twirled twice in the air before falling insensible to the ground.

His head even bounced, as if the very ground had shuddered to feel the touch of such a man.

Dragon wanted to wash out his ears. Black toad? Blergh! The full import of the insult had only just begun to burn through his mind.

Ishana dusted her hands balefully. “That’s quite enough of that.” Her gaze openly threatened the others of that group – her relatives, most probably. “While we’re having a day of dusting off skeletons, any other racists in my family want to raise their voices? Because I’m in a mood, I warn you!”

Silence.

“I will have you behave with the uttermost decorum in my house, toward my honoured guests – do we understand one another?”

Her relatives nodded like a flock of parakeets caught featherless and embarrassed.

Or, legless?

She said, “Servants, could you kindly lock my brother in an empty storage cellar? I believe we will keep him there for as long as it takes him to dry out. Princess Azania … words fail me.”

His Princess bobbed her head, still speechless.

With a polite nod, Dragon said, “My Lady Ishana, you were magnificent. Thank you for giving an apology of surpassing eloquence.”

“The least I could do,” she replied.

The girl turned into his paw, shaking as she pressed her forehead against his leg. What a heart’s cramp! Dragon drew his wing about her, more to shelter her from the stares than by way of comfort. A tiny body shook against him. He could only imagine the nausea and humiliation, consuming every iota of self-worth that ever had built up inside of her. That fool had torn her apart with a few repulsive words.

However, a minute or two after the servants had carried off the unfortunate man, the Princess in his right paw wriggled. She wiped her eyes, shook out her curls and dried her palms upon her trousers.

Up came that chin. “Shall we, Dragon?”

“Always.”

He shook his muzzle, buzzing with disbelief. Broken and back in the course of a couple of minutes.

What kind of power was that?

Still, the Princess confounded him when she crept out of the chambers she had been given in the middle of the night and came to join him and Chalice beneath the giant walnut tree, saying only that she felt unsafe in the house. She curled up in the crook of his neck.

Waking at first light, Dragon found his Princess already wakeful, and pensive.

He touched her shoulder. “Fly with me?”

“Flyaway Princess? You know me so well. I should appreciate that very much.”

“Up on my neck. Hold on.”

She whooped as they swooped from the cliffs, picking up speed at a ridiculous rate. The Princess chortled as he straightened over the glittering waves and beat his wings to take them shooting away from the white cliffs, until they were but a thin line above the blue. Taramis peeked over the rim, unbearably white with a vast halo of crimson spreading in a semicircle above, like a vast eye gazing warmly upon his world.

“Dragon, am I wrong to let something like that … get to me?”

“We can’t predict what will spear deepest,” he replied, gaining height. “My brothers used to call me the brown slug. Plus all the jokes about being fireless. I remember every last one.”

“Black toad. Where do people come up with these things?”

Headshake.

Leaning close to his neck, out where blue described the entire world, she whispered, “Am I wrong or ugly inside to have enjoyed that slap so much? I can still feel the echoes this morning.”

“No. That was the sound of justice.”

“I feel guilty.”

“No need, but I understand what it is to have all these ugly, mixed-up feelings toward my brothers and sire and dam because of how they treated me. I thought I was the one in the wrong – I still do, in some ways. It hurts to swallow all that, all the time. Maybe if I was stronger I could keep swallowing it all my life, but the truth is, I’m not that Dragon. It had to stop. Enough was enough. Same with that drunken fool, you can’t just let someone go on hurting a family all their lives.”

Azania nodded. “What’s that strange patch out there? The lighter patch – wing that way a minute please, Dragon?”

Ten minutes later, they hovered over a patch of Sea Serpents. Not big ones, but these azure serpents were twenty to thirty feet long, powerful and muscular, with a long, flexible dorsal fin and other pairs of fins along the body. They tore into the corpse of a Sanbris Whale. Their grotesquely elongated front fangs flashed in the water as they wrestled each other to rip choice portions of the meal. Feeding frenzy! No love lost here. Even from a height, Dragon could sense the bestial hungers that drove these creatures to feed so voraciously.

“I hate to remind you, Dragon, but we’ve a breakfast invite with the leaders of Hamirythe.”

“Aye. We should return. Sea Serpents look charming. The tales have them up to five times bigger. Can’t wait to meet their grand-sires.”

As the cliffs rose again above the waves in the distance, she said, “How do you shake it off, Dragon?”

“Shake it off?”

“The guilt.”

“Oh, like a wingtip shake? I see … I don’t know. Maybe … maybe you brush up on your evil Princess laugh?”

She must think him awfully strange.

After a moment, she teased, “Don’t you mean your evil Dragon laugh?”

“No, let me hear your best evil Princess impression. Mwaa-haa-harr!”

“Dragon, I do not do evil Princess! I am always polite.”

“I’ve seen how polite you are with a Dragon bow in hand, or hurling flaming oil bombs into enemy ranks. Every self-respecting Dragon Rider Princess needs a wicked laugh. Come on. I can’t hear you. No more protests, Highness. Action.”

She said, “Alright, then. Mwaa-haa … I feel stupid.”

“You do sound like a mosquito. From the belly, with full expression.”

“Mwaa-haa-harr?”

“More gusto – BRAAA-HAA-HARRR! See? Let it ring!”

“Braa-haa … ha ha ha … this isn’t working.”

Dragon snorted, “Pathetic. Try again – no, pretend you’re gargling splinters of glass in your throat. Let it rasp. Imagine you’ve snuck into Prince Floric’s bedchamber late at night, and you want to put the fear of Dragons into him. You’re going to scare him so badly, he will hide in his castle for the rest of his life and never look at another Princess again.”

“Dragon!” she giggled. “Oh, alright. Mwaa-harr-hargh!”

“Not bad.”

“Gnarr-harr-hargh-arrrgh!”

“Made me shiver, that one. Come on, you pint-sized pirate. Louder!”

Raising her fists to the sky, she roared, Mwaa-harr-harr!

MWAA-HAA-HA-HARGH!!

“Listen to this one – gnrrr-hrrr-HARGH!”

“I do believe you are now able to impersonate an evil Princess. Congratulations.”

“Thank you for the lesson, Dragon. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

* * * *

Ruling a kingdom was wildly overrated. Boring! After a frightfully dull day marked by frightfully dull chatter with people who were, in the main, frightfully dull, Dragon whisked his Princess into the blue yonder for a much-needed breath of fresh air. She practised her wicked laugh.

Developing nicely.

Dragon gave his best window-rattling thunder upon departing, and had the distinction of many people running into the streets to wave their fists impotently at the sky as he winged off.

Ah, she might struggle with wickedness, but he had it built right into his five Dragon hearts.

Flying up to the mansion, they kidnapped Yarimda and coasted down to the nearest beach. She was desperately weak and sick, but being herself, she had a few definitive requirements. One was to walk barefoot in the sand. A little sleight of paw allowed her to at least pretend, even if she was taking almost none of her own weight. The next request was to swim. Much, much easier. He simply floated her upon his paw, and the natural buoyancy of water did the rest.

Azania stripped down and had a swim too. The luminous waters were as warm as ever, but Dragon spied the non-wavelike curves of a couple of large azure Sea Serpents lurking not far offshore. Busy waters. Greedy maws.

Dipping his muzzle into the water, Dragon experimented with spurting his fire. Despite that he knew it worked from exactly one prior experience, fighting off carnivorous fish in the Skaggar River, he was surprised how well it performed. White fire bloomed beneath the water in a long bubbling jet, all of fifty feet – less distance than in the air, but still a respectable effort in his ever so humble opinion.

Oh, fine. Strut that pride, Dragon!

His Princess agreed. “Excellent effort. Did I see you drinking some seawater as well? Was that for the salt?”

“Aye. I feel I needed it,” he said. “Don’t know why.”

“Freshly salted Dragon?” she smiled.

“I’m so insalted.”

“Don’t get your tang in a knot, now.” He waggled his tongue. She chortled, “Exactly. My puns keep getting worse, don’t they?”

“Aye, conversation should not be too liberally salted –”

“With de-salt-ory comment?”

Sharp.

After returning Yarimda to the beach, Dragon collected driftwood and built her a roaring fire so that she did not get cold. While she and Azania sat watching the suns dip beyond the ocean, chatting non-stop, he tried to learn how to take off from the water without kicking off the bottom with his paws.

Failure.

≈Wavewhisperer? Wavewhisperer, come.≈

This was the limit of his vocabulary this day, even though he tried numerous times. Was he trying too hard? Why if some words came naturally, did others not follow?

He had no answers.

One could only hope that Yarimda was right. Perhaps the ocean alone knew. He begged the very waves to rise to his calling, and fetch an old friend to bear her to her final rest.

* * * *

After tarrying in Hamirythe as long as they could, Dragon and Princess took their leave of their friends. The aching in his hearts was every ounce as weighty and poignant as he had imagined.

For Chalice and Yardi, the promise was to see them again. For Yarimda … the outpouring of his grief became so strong, he misplaced the ability to speak.

It was she who spoke to him in a whisper, as he leaned close, “I have played my part, Dragon, and lived a good life. Wavewhisperer will come, you’ll see. Thank you for this gift you chose to give an old woman. May it be returned to you tenfold. Take care of that girl for me, alright? She needs you more than she will admit.”

He stroked her cheek with the tip of his sheathed talon.

His Princess muffled a sob.

“Don’t weep for me, my precious Azania. I will depart the shores of Solixambria a happy woman.”

Yarimda spoke with him a little longer as she had strength, her mind wandering to her love of the ocean, and riding upon Wavewhisperer’s back. See? She was the first Dragon Rider. What he listened to most of all, was her heart. No Dragon hoard in the world could compare to this treasure.

At last, he managed to choke out, Yarimda-mah Ociane, may you soar evermore.

I have already with you, my wonderful Dragon.

When they turned their faces to the rising sun and flew out of Hamirythe, he began to grieve so helplessly, Azania rightly asked him to put down on a quiet hillside before he crash-landed somewhere. They held one another.

“I only hope Wavewhisperer will hear her call. I could not bear it if she did not,” he managed at last. “Fate should never be so cruel.”

“She has faith.”

“Aye.” He shook his muzzle slowly, and shivered with feelings he could no longer understand. “A lesson for this Dragon, for certain.”

“And for this girl. Come on, Dragon. We’ve a ways to fly.”

“North until Mornine,” he said lightly.

He flew hard and steady for the green coastal mountains of Hamirythe, reaching them mid-afternoon against a wind rising toward gale force. It thrashed the towering heads of the tall bamboo forests mercilessly. After resting a couple of hours, they beat across a short but windswept stretch of ocean and put down on a tiny, sandy islet on the edge of the Tariboli River Estuary, where the ocean ran brown from silt and grey riverine sharks jagged hungrily through the brackish waters. Azania eyed up the busy feeding grounds and suggested she would rather play with the nice Dragon than those evil beasts.

“They aren’t evil, they’re just animals obeying their instincts,” he protested. Phew. This coastal wind was something special. Spray blasted off the ocean, stinging his still-soft scales.

“I prefer your instincts.”

Grrr.

“You’re such a sweet, kind Dragon,” she said, patting his neck. “Besides, you’re my Dragon.”

GNARR!!

“What, I get to be your possession but you don’t get to be mine? That is not how this relationship works.”

Ooh, cross, was she? Stamp of the little foot there?

He purred, “How does it work, Highness? Would you prefer to tell the story?”

“Why, so I would. Once upon a time, a sweet Dragon was innocently painting flowers in his lair, when who should happen along but the wickedest Princess in the land. She took one look at him and cried, ‘Ah, this talented Dragon shall be mine!’ Mwaa-haa-ha harrr!”

He fell over laughing.

“Nice. Stay there,” she grinned. “You make a wonderful windbreak.”

“I abase myself before your dainty slippers, o mighty Dragon-kidnapping Princess.”

“Ah, my day just improved.”

The wind dropped during the night, but the following day dawned blustery and dull. They scooted across the estuary, labouring against freshening winds, and decided to make directly for Fara’ane on the far side of a wide bay. Bad idea. Five hours of non-stop gale-thumping later, he put down on the beach at the far side. His wings threatened to fall off. Lungs burning. Body on fire.

“I vote for walking. It’s easier.”

Azania agreed, “Well done, Dragon. I’d flap my arms if I thought it would help.”

“You are very streamlined.”

She gave him a beady-eyed glare. “Is that a sizeist joke?”

“Would I tease a shrimp?”

“Oh my, the colossal granite boulder has gained the power of rudimentary speech. The science of evolution is real.”

“I just evolved into a ruthless Princess-snapper,” he chortled, clacking his fangs near her knees.

She dodged smartly. “Hey, go ooze back into your primordial swamp, will you?”

One Princess in fine fettle! They strolled up off the beach, searching for fresh water. Azania wanted to refill her gourd and to relieve herself. Scenting wood smoke drifting on the breeze, he circled her position a short ways away – protection balanced against privacy. Humans even had private rooms in their dwellings where they produced their waste, whereas for Dragons, the matter was always purely functional. Pit, river or airdrop, who cared where it landed? What little survived the digestive process emerged as pellets with almost no smell whatsoever.

A soft harrumph of breath made his paws freeze. Soldiers? Knights? What he had heard was one of their mounts blowing air from its nostrils.

Azania’s voice carried to his ear canals, “Were you spying on me in the bushes, sir?”

“Never, milady. Merely waiting for you to finish so that we can have a little … chat. You and me.” A voice with enormous slug factor. High, arrogant and far from as charming as the man imagined he was. “You’re a long way from home, girl.”

“Am I?”

“I wouldn’t try to run, if I were you. My men have you surrounded. Wouldn’t want to hurt you now.”

Dragon drifted through the bushes, low and silent. Every sense on the alert. Drawing his magic around him to blend in with the sounds of the forest, the whisper of leaves, the soft birdcalls. Not a twig must be disturbed. Softly, he hooted the call of a Tamarine night owl, twice – their agreed signal so that she would know he was near and alert to her need.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Obviously, you are the surpassingly beautiful Black Rose of the Desert,” said he, sounding puzzled. “Where are your companions? How came you to be trespassing on Fara’ane land?”

“Oh, I flew here.”

“You will fetch us a very fine ransom. We were hunting tigers, but you are a much greater prize by far, Princess.”

Politely, she said, “I should warn you that ransoms are only useful to men who remain alive to spend them.”

Several men sniggered; the nearest must be standing just beyond a screen of broadleaf trees ahead of him. There. He spied a glint of armour. Dragon bared his fangs. Hello, little victim. Shall we measure your entrails, together?

“So, in the code of chivalry, good knight,” the Princess continued to string him along, “where does the kidnapping of foreign Princesses fit in? Again I must warn you, I am no damsel in distress, and I do know exactly where I am and what I am doing here. You clearly do not. I’d desist and go after the tigers, if I were you. They are much easier prey than me.”

“You’re threatening me?”

Not the sharpest talon in the paw, this one. Dragon spied him between the trees now. A big man clad in plenty of plate armour, he had removed his helm and was scratching his blonde head, clearly nonplussed at the idea of any girl talking back to him. Sassing him, even. The brain clearly balked at handling such conundrums.

He said, “We are ten men –”

“Then I have you outnumbered, one to ten. I like these odds.”

“What? Are you quite mad?”

“Now you’re being downright insulting,” she observed mildly. Need? This royal was holding court! “Gentlemen, I’ll give you one last chance. Turn and flee right now, or I cannot be held responsible for the consequences.”

“I’ll squash you like a bug, little girl!”

“Oh, no! My Dragon’s right behind you!”

The knight shouted, “What kind of an idiot do you take me for – get back here!”

Dragon snuck his paw around the tree. Squish. One down.

Arrows whirred through the trees and bushes, but Azania had dived and rolled, wriggling beneath a spray of brambles. Two men tangled themselves up and fell back, cursing, as she used her tiny size to best advantage and sprinted with great agility between the trees. The knight and his men blundered after, shouting and brandishing their swords. She ran right up to his paws.

She grinned. He grinned back.

The knight charged around a tree, and ran straight into Dragon’s fist. Blam.

On his backside, the man looked up and saw his doom smiling down at him. His stomach made a horrid gurgling noise. One second later, the full whiff hit Dragon’s nostrils. Blergh!

“That kind of idiot,” Azania said.

Two of his men tripped over him. The knight shook, and lay still. Dragon herded another four wailing men-at-arms aside with his tail, and smashed them to the ground. “Shut up, you yapping fools!”

He turned. One of his own men had accidentally run his sword through the knight’s neck. Oh well. One less fool to use up Solixambria’s good oxygen.

The Princess clashed swords with another man, then knelt and cut his leg smoothly out from beneath him. The blade smacked audibly against his thigh bone, a terrible cut. Tigers were definitely easier prey. They did not stalk that last man with a Dragoness-inspired wriggle of their hips; paralysed by indecision, the last of the knight’s men stood stock-still as Azania smashed the fist holding the hilt of her sword up beneath his chin. Inch-perfect uppercut.

She wrung her fingers. “Ouch. He won’t be eating for a few weeks. Broke his jaw, I think.”

“I hope so. Juggernaut would be proud.”

“And this other Dragon I know?”

“Oh, he thinks you’re turning out to be as dangerous as a wrathful Dragoness. So cool under pressure.”

A smile touched her lips. “You are kind. I should not have let them sneak up on me in the first instance. I just thought it would be a great deal quieter here. Maybe we should give Fara’ane the skip? Yardi did warn us they were unlikely to be cooperative.”

“We are behind schedule.”

“Aye, I know. Want to finish off any more of these fools?”

“Not so much. Gratuitous slayings are not my style, unless your honour demands it? Nay, even then I would –”

“We’ve done enough.”

With that, they left the scene of the battle behind and walked on.

Chapter 20: Until Mornine

IT TOOK A FEW hours of hiking before the one with paws worked out what had been bothering him.

He said, “We’re flying at the wrong time of the day.”

Azania replied, “I was just enjoying the walk, and now you’re talking about flying again? What does it take to make a Dragon happy?”

“Aye. Not right now. We’re behind schedule, because the coastal wind always rises in the afternoons. We need to fly in the evening, or early morning and rest in the afternoons. No point in killing ourselves; just wait for the wind to die down and carry on.”

She clapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh!”

“Exactly. Except that we need something this size –” he held up his paw “– because that’s how silly we’ve been. Secondly –”

The Princess groaned. “Who woke you up? And, when?”

“Here’s the deal, my feisty four-foot friend.”

“Alright, I’m listening, my fiery four-footed fiend. I mean, friend.”

“Ha!” he snorted. “Good one. Having applied some actual brain matter to the issue of our onward journey, I have concluded that we either need to move our schedule forward twelve hours, or back twelve hours. Reason being, we do not want to be searching for a tiny reef – our second stop – in the middle of a great big ocean in the middle of the night.”

“Oh … rude words.”

“In copious quantities, I have to agree.”

“This must be the Kingdom of Infectious Stupidity.”

He nudged her shoulder playfully. “Makes me the King of the realm.”

“Dragon, I regret to inform you that you really do not fit in around here. I vote for a power nap, a nice snack and flying swiftly on when the wind drops.”

“Perfect. I’ll race you. First one to start to snore – zzz.”

“Didn’t hear you. I’m already asleep.”

After a fine afternoon’s investigating the interior of his eyelids – ahem, that might have been for about ten minutes before he nodded off – Dragon woke to the curious sensation that he was being watched by predatory eyes. The scaly one not being accustomed to any creature considering him for his edible properties, he flicked open his eyelids and checked the most important detail first. Azania. Compact fire going, roasting something on a stick that smelled delicious but was so tiny, it would not even touch the sides on the way down his gullet. Left, right, up … aha.

Tiger, meet Princess. Princess, run from tiger.

Only, the unruly non-conformist royal this girl had turned out to be, she was not running from anything.

“He’s been there for a while,” she croaked.

“The terrible predator has been there for a while, the extremely edible Princess said,” he corrected, stretching lazily. “Following which, the wise tiger bolted for the hills, yowling piteously …”

Unfortunately, this was not a wise tiger. He was young and salivating at the prospect of a royal dinner. Dragon showed him a very large mouthful of fangs, backed by white fire. This time, wisdom was duly communicated and the tiger leaped down from his low branch, skedaddling at a pace which would undoubtedly ensure a longer life than the one he had been contemplating a few minutes before.

“You didn’t run?” he purred.

“Show my back to a tiger?” she retorted. “Besides, I only noticed him a minute ago. In case you didn’t notice …” She held out her hand. Shaking like a leaf.

“You are stupidly brave, Princess. Emphasis on the ‘stupidly.’ ”

“Listen, you!” The left hand perched upon her hip, while the right aimed the skewer at his nose as if she planned to do some excavating with its red-hot tip. “Exactly how brave do I need to be with a fifty-foot monster guarding my back?”

“Good point.”

Helpful at this juncture not to mention quite how deeply he had been sleeping.

“To be honest, I really thought a tiger wouldn’t come within a mile of Dragon. The tiger’s the stupid one around here!”

“Followed by a second, equally excellent point. I hereby retract the adverb.”

“You are a lucky Dragon.”

“That I am.”

She blushed at his tone. “Stop that. Better still, save it for Aria.”

“She’d braid four leaves into a garrotte and murder me.”

“A third point, far more excellent than the previous two,” the profoundly wise and perceptive Princess pointed out. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “You were sleeping with one eye open a crack as you told me you always do, right?”

By his sire’s egg, she knew him far too well.

“Ahem –”

“Dragon! You …”

“I am embarrassed and deeply apologetic, Azania.”

“Apology accepted.” She blew on her meal to cool it. “For that, I graciously permit you to bear the royal personage unto the Kingdom of Mornine.”

“It shall so be done, and even with my eyes open.”

“Wings outspread?”

“Don’t push your luck, Princess.”

Flying at sensible times of the day and night, Dragon and Princess made mincemeat of the miles to Mornine. They practised island-hopping, flying as directly as possible between Fara’ane and their destination without taking the ever so slightly longer coastal curve. Their aim was a tiny island off the northernmost tip of Mornine, which Aria had clearly marked on her diagram as the launching point for her epic ocean-crossing feat.

From there, Aria had made two shorter hops before braving the perilous eight-hour unbroken stint that would land them on a tiny reef literally in the middle of nowhere. Then, a longer and a shorter hop should bring them safely to the lowest talon of Vaylarn Archipelago. Dragon recited the times in his head. Three, four, eight, five, three, two. Just over a full day on the wing, not counting the rest stops. A mere three hundred and fifty miles across fickle, windswept oceans infested with Sea Serpents.

One mistake … aye, better not be thinking that way.

Feeling strong! Gnarr!

The crucial part would be to find that tiny reef during daylight hours and at the start of the low tide phase, giving him enough time to recover before the next stint. Oh, and plead with the weather gods for perfect conditions. If a sea squall blew up, they might need to make a very quick decision to turn back or press on.

The final island on the sensible side of the mad crossing was a dry, low mound of sparse grass crowned with four copses of towering coconut palms. Pristine turquoise waters lapped upon white beaches. This was a foretaste of the Archipelago. Dragon understood that the climate up there was tropical, but the soils on the whole were not overly fertile. Aria had spoken about the King’s programmes to invest in soil conservation and enrichment, which were starting to bear fruit – literally. Tough climate and salty, sandy soils with little loam, however. Until the Sea Serpents had taken over, they had even been experimenting with importing compost from Hamirythe and Thobe.

The Isles Dragons had previously lived mostly off fishing. That was now far more dangerous. How were they coping? Speaking from a wealth of first-paw experience, hungry Dragons were not nice Dragons.

Nor were impatient ones.

Unfortunately, as they waited and rested from midmorning until their expected mid-afternoon departure, the northern skies began to darken. First, an artist’s smudge along the horizon with a piece of coal. Then came a freshening breeze. Over the course of several hours, the horizon turned a fetching version of gloomy green-black.

“You couldn’t pay me to fly into that,” Azania observed.

“No, and besides, your ransom is far too valuable to consider tossing you into that storm.”

“Did you have to bring up that old nugget?”

“Sorry. Any better ideas?”

“How’s about we go terrify the local populace into giving us a sheltered place to sleep?”

“Wicked music to a Dragon’s devious hearts,” he purred, screwing up his muzzle into the most terrible expression he could manufacture.

“Oh, something stuck between your fangs. Hold on.” Using the tip of her talon dagger, Azania extracted the offending strip of venison. “Phew, that’s been there a few days. Dragon, before you meet that frisky cobalt assassin, we need to talk about your nasty bachelor habits –”

“Nasty bachelor – WHAT?”

“Look, speaking as the only female with the gumption to tell you the truth straight to your face – but not that straight,” she said, ducking to one side of his jaw, “your breath just now, Dragon, does have a certain sewer-special bouquet about it. Last week’s buried bones, and all –”

GNARRGGHHH!!

Fire spurted involuntarily out of his mouth. That … pest!

Stepping back because of the heat, the Princess said, “Is that the way Dragons clean their teeth and throats? I can smell roast meat for certain. Do you have to swish the fire around a bit? Gargle fire?”

He growled, “I don’t actually … know.”

“Give it a whirl.” He glared at her. “Alright, a swirl. Better? Look, you’d rather I told you, wouldn’t you? Here, let me hold your big old paw and you follow my lead, alright, Dragon?”

Now Human baby talk? The Princess had the gall to take a swig out of her water bottle and show him how it was done! After that, immediately on to wondering how big a toothpick a Dragon would require, and where he could find a mirror to work with?

He prodded her thigh. “Sharpen this thigh bone, shall I? Looks about the right size.”

Azania chortled, “Hint taken. I’ll start packing.”

Putting on his own baby voice, Dragon cooed, “Here, let me hold your sweet little hand and I’ll just lead you inside here, alright, Princess? You just keep going down this nice tunnel until you find my stomach –”

“Dragon! Get off.”

“Don’t you want to check my fangs from the inside?”

“Not overly. Although, in a pinch, I guess your mouth might make a pretty sneaky hiding place. As long as it doesn’t get too warm in there.”

“Couldn’t imagine us having to do that,” he said. “Righto, let’s be on our way. My terrible Princess wants to terrify another poor, innocent city. That sounds much nicer than waiting out here for that storm to blast and inundate us.”

* * * *

Mornine must once have been a thriving community, but now it showed every sign of dilapidation. Peeling paint. Warehouses left to go to ruin. A large port deserted; the fleet had all been drawn up onto sandbanks higher up the river mouth which the town straddled, and the river blocked with nets. The hulks rotted and rusted up there. Hardly any vessels looked seaworthy. Along the port’s main quay, where they landed, old fishermen sat around, telling stories everyone had heard a hundred times before.

Had they needed any further proof of the devastating impact of the Sea Serpent invasion on the coastal trade, Mornine’s bedraggled air was more than enough. It had the air of a mildly confused elderly gentleman wondering how the world had changed while he was not paying attention.

He and Princess Azania wandered up to the ruler’s mansion to cash in her royal ticket to a free lunch in whatever kingdom they visited.

Handy skill.

King Jos Mandar Umalitran tar-Dane, Sovereign of the North and various other titles that he waved his long, thin fingers rudely at, was a non-standard fellow in his own right. He was as skinny as a reed, touching six feet and eight inches tall, had a piratical peg leg and but one eye, but appeared to be as jolly a fellow as they had ever met. He and Gangbuster the Crusher would get on famously. He also nursed a long-running feud with the Terror Clan Dragons, which meant they were destined to be the best of friends, he opined.

“Miserable weather for two days, and then mixed after that, lass,” he boomed, waving a drumstick of some unfortunate fowl in Azania’s direction. “You might be dodging squalls up North, my old bones tell me. And these bones never lie.”

“How long before the weather settles down?” Dragon asked from his position on the balcony alongside the King’s dining hall. Despite his startling thinness, this was clearly the ruler’s favourite place in the entire kingdom, and perhaps in the world.

He sniffed the air. “Couple of weeks. Say, big fellow like you, you don’t want to go burn out a few Terror Clan lairs while you’re about it?”

“There’s reason for haste,” he said. “We’d like to meet the Sea Dragon migration if we can, o King.”

“Ah,” said he.

Dragon sniffed the tenor of his emotions.

Far more to this carousing King than he let on, wasn’t there? Azania’s eyes touched his briefly. She might not have outright magical senses, but this feminine intuition she spoke about stopped up that gap in ways he had yet to fathom, but greatly admired.

The Princess said, “O King, we’d value your advice. I will tell you of our own discoveries relating to the Terror Clan and our desire to restore the old migration path, if you would share your wisdom as an old salt –” Dragon blinked at her phrasing, before he realised from context it must be something to do with this man having been a mariner “– regarding the behaviour of the tides and the weather.”

Raising his goblet of wine in salute, the King said, “I appreciate your candour, Ambassador, especially refreshing in a murky world of kingdom politics. If the Sea Dragon migration could be restored, that would mean everything to us.”

She smiled. “So I understand. I had no idea things had become so bad.”

“Aye, that it has, lass. Now, let’s speak, and eat. More wine?”

“No thank you, lest this Princess disgrace herself by sliding beneath your well-stocked table. Meat, Dragon?”

“More fowl would be fair,” said he.

“Ah, I cackle at such jokes,” Jos said, producing a very fine example of a deafening cackle.

Dragon bowed and said, “Most pheasant of you to say so, o King.”

They spoke for a long time. King Jos promised to raise an army in support of T’nagru if she and Dragon promised to speak to their kin about the Terror Clan’s depredations. They regularly raided all the Human Kingdoms around the great bay area south and west of the Terror Isles – Mornine, Barine, Hulbine, Onyxil and Ermine. From his description, Dragon realised that the Terrors might well be more powerful and numerous than his own Devastator Clan. How did they thrive so well?

The King drank like a fish but never grew drunk. Azania soon gave up on even pretending to sip at the rich, heady red vintage he pressed upon her, and moved to fruit juices.

As the storm swept in, bringing moaning winds and thunderous rain, Jos finally came around to the point he had hinted at regarding the tides. He said, “If you want to be up north in time for the migration – if that’s where it is these days, north again of the Archipelago - you have three days in this long lunar cycle. You will be landing somewhere on a reef, I assume?”

“I apologise, but the exact route is not our secret to share,” Azania said.

“No problem. But it’s a low landing, hence the timing of your journey?” the King said, sharp as a brass tack. When they nodded, he picked up a ripe orange and said, “Let me illustrate it to you this way. Imagine this fruit is the world. My right hand shows our two suns and three moons. As you know, the tides are affected by the complex actions of these bodies as the moons orbit our world, and we move around the binary sun – at least, according to accepted theories first developed by Dragon astronomers over four centuries ago.”

“When the suns and moons all line up, it’s like gravity squeezes the fruit – so – causing it to bulge and flex. Extra-high tide, extra-low tide. When the moons and suns are more separated, the effects can cancel one another out and create periods of much more even tides, but if you keep your eye upon this orange I am slowly pulverising, you’ll notice that those tides are not as low as the lowest tides. A low reef might be permanently covered over during such a time.”

“Aha,” Dragon purred.

Jos said, “To the point. What you need to know is that the tidal almanac you are following, is also subject to an eleven-year cycle. Setting aside all the complexity, over the next three days you will enjoy the benefit of the lowest low tides and not very strong high tides. After that, despite what your almanac says, we pass immediately into a season of unusual medium tides – the eleven-year tide change. I’d estimate the general ocean level will remain as much as seven feet higher than normal even during a standard spring low tide. That will last for a period of ten weeks.”

Azania raised her eyebrows. So, Aria had either been very fortunate or very smart.

“I’d assume the Archipelago will be cut off even by air for this season,” he added, in case there was any uncertainty about his advice.

The Princess rose to offer a graceful desert genuflection. “Thank you, o King. Aye, the mid-landing is very low indeed. Two feet above sea level at low tide. And tiny, according to our records.”

He said, “Best to search for that spot during the daylight hours. The storm will ensure there’s no nocturnal phosphorescence for at least a few days – but you may very well be able to see the disturbance effect of even a small reef from a height, for a distance of miles. Look for colour and pattern changes on the surface. And lastly, I should advise you that Sea Dragons and Sea Serpents ride out storms by going deep. If you’re in trouble in a squall, consider landing and swimming for it. Dragons are very good swimmers and you’re unlikely to be bothered by Serpents in rough conditions.”

Toasting Dragon with his goblet one more time, he said, “Especially white Dragons.”

* * * *

Mid-afternoon two days later, the storm scooted away as if chased off by a bigger, more terrible foe. It left pristine azure skies in its wake, but also choppy, troubled waters. Jos had warned of unexpected tidal maelstroms developing as the medium-calm period asserted itself.

Truly, who thought this crossing was a good idea?

Back upon that last, most northerly islet off Mornine, they saw how the tides must have inundated the land and carried off many coconuts. Azania cut one open and tried the milk inside.

“It’s good,” she reported.

“Hmm, tasty,” Dragon agreed, after tossing his half down the hatch.

“Glutton.”

“Need to keep my strength up,” he said, stretching his wings carefully. “Ready for this?”

She drew an instrument out of her bag. “Ready once I set this up. Believe it or not, I almost forgot we had it.”

“What is that?”

“A Hariskon Celestial Navigator,” she said. “This is the most accurate and reliable navigation instrument ever developed by mankind – actually, in collaboration with Dragons, I believe. It is also Yarimda’s gift to us.”

“I thought they had all been lost? The art of making these … it’s magical!”

“If you say so,” the Princess said blandly, causing generations of Dragon scientists to turn over in their graves at her crass attitude. “Alright. Let’s see what it does.”

“Thank you, Yarimda,” he whispered to the ocean.

Having affixed a fist-sized red gemstone atop a short silver metal staff furnished with Dragon-like claws that gripped facets of the gemstone, she fiddled with the buttons and knobs running the length of the hand grip. As a slight hum emanated from the instrument, Dragon’s scales prickled. The red colour drained out of the gemstone, leaving the image of a compass suspended inside the clear crystal. It hummed again as it calibrated itself, detecting the suns and moons. Magnetic and true north appeared in tiny script; next, representations of the two suns and the moons.

“Should change automatically to reading the stars at night,” she muttered, holding the handle close to her eyes so that she could read the dials. “Let me get the first leg set … forty-three point two degrees north of west, to the two pimples –”

“The what?” he snorted.

“Our first major stop is called the two pimples, Jos told me. Volcanic islands –”

He groaned, “Volcanic? Now you tell me?”

“One is dormant. The other … less so, shall we say? It oozes constantly.”

“Ooh, do you have to stoop so low?”

“Weak stomach, Dragon?”

They peered together at the tiny display. He said, “I wish it could be larger – oh!”

“Nice feature,” said the Princess. “Slightly smaller, please?”

The display adjusted again.

“They certainly don’t make them like this anymore!” he said feelingly.

“Too right. I’m ready now, Dragon.” As he punched off the sand with the girl clinging to his neck, he heard her whisper, “Be with us, destiny. Bring us safely to Azerim and Aria.”

With his speed and power, Dragon knew he would be able to compress Aria’s flying times on the first stretch. Rather than taking the longer route with the extra hop she had been forced to employ, they set off directly for the memorably named pimples. Due to the constant lava flow, the glow and smoke should make it an unmissable target even during the dead of night. Good in theory. The Princess stiffly dismissed Dragon’s needling about Human attitudes toward hot squeezable pimples and other puberty-related bodily delights.

“Royalty knows nothing about such sordid topics,” she fibbed – royally. “A hair to your left nostril, Dragon.”

“What kind of directions are those?” he grumbled.

“Amusing ones.”

Provocative. “I’m glad we’re amusing ourselves back there, Princess.”

“Just remember who sits upon whom in this relationship, Dragon. I’m staging a coup.”

“The seating arrangement can always be switched around.”

“Have I told you recently how wonderful, strong, handsome, noble, powerful, fiery, ferocious, majestic and intelligent you are?”

“Mwaa-haa-haaargh! Nice list. I’m flattered.”

“Where’s my list?”

Dragon peeked back from the corner of his eye. “What’s that you’re doing with your mouth?”

“It’s called a pout.”

“What does this expression signify in Human culture?”

“That you’re absolutely no fun.”

“Gnarr,” he rumbled. “I think my list for you just evaporated.”

Spreading his wings, Dragon soared steadily into the storm-washed blue skies. The white sun peeked around the corner of the giant red, turning the colours of sky and ocean starker, literally sun-bleached by the pinpoint power of that white gaze. Ahead, light blue ocean rippled to the horizon and beyond. Behind, that last spit of land slowly sank toward the waves from their perspective. Azania too became quieter as the last, rough-fronded coconut palms disappeared from sight.

Hard to imagine there was more land out there.

With a pensive note in her voice, his Rider said, “It’s like a desert, isn’t it, Dragon? A great, watery expanse – I imagine that there’s all sorts of life hidden below the surface, but it still looks as if there’s nothing. See how the colours are changing as we go deeper?”

“Aye, I do,” he said, touching the spectacles to reseat them. The focal distance from his eye differed, especially when he was tired, he had noticed. “This would be a lonely route to travel on one’s own.”

“Aria did.”

“Always focussed.”

“Apart from when you turned her head.”

“I only wish I knew why.”

She kicked his neck. “Stop being a thumping great misery-guts. Scared?”

“Real Dragons are never scared. Honest ones, however …”

Chapter 21: Sea Serpent

THEY FLEW DIAGONALLY TOWARD the setting suns, thrilling to the glorious, infinitely subtle changing of the colours through evening into night. Ignis set the waves aflame with golds, crimsons and orange, sparkling off the swells a mile below their flying altitude. As the belly of the Lumis Ocean swallowed the giant red sun whole – an impossible illusion if one paused to think about it – the corona lit up with mighty flares that threaded the deepening purples above. A wide lane of fire burned across the waters toward the awestruck Dragon Rider team. Even when the sphere had vanished, those wispy fires licked heavenward above the horizon for over an hour.

Beauty to scribe sonnets upon the most jaded, fearful of hearts.

Azania said, “We’ve passed Aria’s first stop. The orb is adjusting to show the stars – would you like to see, Dragon?”

“I would.”

Unstrapping her thigh belts, the Princess climbed the final arch of his neck, stepped over his skull spikes as if this were the most natural action in the world, and knelt upon the top of his head. A slim brown hand brought the orb into his right-eye field of vision.

“Slightly further away – perfect, thank you,” he purred. “That’s … wondrous. A celestial starscape inside a crystal. Who would have thought?”

“See, there’s a hair-thin line tracing our progress?” she said.

“Aye, and I make us two royal hairs south of the target,” he agreed, adjusting the flight path slightly. “I’m so thankful that this evening is wind-still for a change. Another two and a half hours, do you make it?”

“Sounds about right,” she said. “Do you mind me sitting on your head?”

“Do you mind me flicking over the moons?”

“Ha ha.” After a few minutes, she said, “Know any good songs?”

“A few.”

“I’ll go one for one with you. Help us pass the time.”

Also, it would help them not to think too hard about what might lie ahead. He knew he must face fate head-on. No escaping, avoiding or hiding, as he had done in the past – but perhaps the hardest trial of all was the waiting. The not knowing. Hope’s stubborn breath burned in his hearts, almost paralysing in its intensity.

Azania had a sweet yet slightly husky singing voice which had seen training by her royal tutors. All proper Princesses were musical, of course. He had no formal training, but since Dragons sang at many occasions, among them births, deaths and family gatherings, he had a reasonable command of melody and rhythm. What he did not have, was command of his new voice.

Becoming white was more troublesome than he had imagined.

“No mind,” Azania said brightly. “I’ll teach you. Two gold clinkers per song?”

“Sold to the pretty girl in black.”

“Flatterer.”

On and on they coursed, melodiously.

About an hour before midnight, Dragon spied the gentle orange glow of lava from afar and they made one more course adjustment, aiming for the second pimple. The one that was not erupting. Grotesque image.

Winging in to land, Dragon observed that the pimples were a decent size, perhaps fifty Dragon paces across, but barely a ridge above the ocean level. The one oozing lava was doing the better of the two, which was not much of a recommendation. The rock was black, igneous and jagged. No problem for draconic paws, but Princess Azania would not be sleeping upon this, if he had his way. He supposed that if the volcanic activity continued, the two pimples would soon merge into one. Still, with a few hours remaining until high tide, they might yet get wet.

Azania agreed. “Maybe sleep up on your back? Do you think you could fold your wings to make me a decent royal boudoir?”

“At your service, Your Royal Highness.”

“I’m grateful, Your Fiery Majesty.”

“Ooh,” he purred.

And on that note, they both fell asleep within minutes. He stirred when the wavelets touched his nose, but the water only rose to a couple of feet up his body by two hours before dawn, drawing a great hissing and bubbling from the volcanic vents. Due to the position of the moon, the schedule now put the next low tide an unusual eleven hours away on its complex schedule. Aria’s notes stated that the reef resting spot would likely only be visible for an hour before and an hour after the tide’s lowest ebb.

Despite the dawn’s beauty, Dragon rested deliberately until the hour came for their departure. This was the critical leg; the longest and most dangerous. He tested the air with his senses; so fresh, it zinged down his nasal passages and into his lungs. Azania fiddled with the orb.

“Not sure something out here isn’t making it misbehave,” she said finally.

“Keep an eye on it, and let’s make sure we navigate by our reckoning as well,” he instructed. “Or –”

“No.”

“Good. We’re agreed to go on?”

“More than,” she growled, checking the straps of the Dragon bow on his left flank. They had packed as lightly as possible, but retained the weapon as a necessity. “Remember, this is the one day we have to make this crossing. So, eight point four degrees west of north. How many hairs do you make that?”

Touching her hair with his talon, he said playfully, “But these hairs are all curly. I’m totally confused.”

“Oh, come on!”

“For the record, I like your hair.” The Princess eyed him wrathfully. “It’s all frisky, complicated, unmanageable and frightfully hard work at the best of times …”

“Shut those fangs before I shut them for you, Dragon.”

“And it gleams like a raven’s wing –”

“The hole has been dug and you are deep inside, so put a cork in it,” she informed him pithily. “Onward, my faithful steed! To the heavens!”

Northward they forged, on into the immense unknown. Endless ocean all around. The suns rose and rose, baking Dragon and Rider in a white glare until noon, when the red giant once more eclipsed the white and a northerly breeze sprang up, forcing him to press harder and harder to maintain their tight schedule. They passed over a pod of smallish whales being chased by a wide wedge of light blue Sea Serpents. No small creatures, these. The undulant curves appeared to be twice the length of any of the whales, and they were moving quickly.

Azania peered at their navigation crystal and suggested that it had settled down and that they were on course once more. Time was tight. Once again, Dragon forced his aching wings to pick up the pace. He could feel every mile they had already flown in his body; he had done ten hours on the wing before, but this was both a distance and a time challenge, and that had not included working against a headwind. Was the weather changing again?

Into his sixth hour of flight, he rested several times on the wing before powering on once more. Seven down. Just one more to go, and they should reach the reef. Both sets of eyes scanned ahead and to the sides as they flew at an altitude of a mile and half, where the wind seemed not as strong.

Azania tapped the crystal again. “Not good. Our path’s meandering about like crazy in here, and I know we’re steady as she goes, according to the suns.”

“Eyes peeled, Princess.”

“Do you have any idea how nasty an image that is, Dragon, especially since I’ve seen you eat eyeballs?”

“Wouldn’t miss them for the world,” he grinned, easing his shoulders one more time. “Pop, crunch, slurp – although, I’ve never actually tried peeling them. Seems a waste of good juices.”

“Deep breaths. Easy does it,” she advised.

“Want to climb off and push from behind?”

“Wish I could.”

“We’ve got this, Princess. Can’t imagine how Aria did – there! No, that’s a Sea Serpent.”

Both Dragon and Rider narrowed their eyes, looking off his left flank and ahead. Odd how that serpent was coiled up, however, almost as if it were sitting right atop …

“The reef,” they both said at the same time.

Azania said a bad word. Dragon offered one even worse.

She snarled, “Of all the freaking places in the Lumis Ocean, it had to pick our reef? What is this? I mean, that’s obviously the spot, right? We’re on time –”

“Aye, and his coils lie horizontally, like one of those desert turbans. On the one paw, we might be grateful he’s shown us the exact spot. On the other paw, I’ve a bad feeling about his size. That’s the granddaddy of all Sea Serpents, if I’m not mistaken.”

“It’s not exactly like we have a choice, is it?” the Princess snapped.

“No. We need to fight for our place.”

“Against one of the most territorial and aggressive creatures in the oceans? Perfect. I’ll go mount the Dragon bow, shall I?”

“Let’s do this. No quarter!”

“Not even a hundredth of a – whatever. See if you can pinpoint the head. I’m going up.”

By up, she meant onto his shoulders. Shortly, he felt her affixing the flexible mount to his uppermost spine spike, and she settled the weapon into place. She double-tied everything down and packed away the navigation crystal. Azania donned her body armour and placed the quiver of eight-foot quarrels where she could reach it easily. Dragon handed back his spectacles.

“Ready,” she said.

He tilted his aching wings into a long, fast dive. By his sire’s egg, he was tired – and they had another five-hour stint to look forward to after this short rest.

Ornery mood?

Aye, and then some. He refused to let some overgrown water snake steal their future. Not today.

Closer. Closer still. One brute of a Sea Serpent waited for them upon that reef, its coils half as thick as his body and perhaps three times his length, although it was difficult to estimate given the way it was coiled up, layer upon layer, hiding the head and muzzle.

“Together?” she said. “I’ll fire when you’re in range.”

“Together!”

Dragon swooped. Battle speed. Hit it hard; hit where it counted.

At the last instant, as the white-hot flame began to spurt out of his mouth, he saw one vindictive yellow eye peeking out of a slit between the coils. Cunning serpent! The Dragon bow sang as Azania let rip; flesh sizzled and burned as he directed his fire right at the eye … and the coils exploded in front of them. A huge head lunged out, taking a bite that never found its target. Azania cried out as he jinked wildly, holding his fire on target for as long as possible before breaking away and circling.

Ripples stilled where the serpent had vanished.

One tiny cream-coloured reef. Barely wide enough for two Dragons’ paws – how the creature had managed to pile itself atop that, he had no idea. Nor how Aria had known how to find it. That was one smart, courageous Dragoness.

“Gone?” she panted. “I hit the head for certain.”

“So did I – but I don’t like this. I’ve a bad feeling that we only stung the beast.”

“What choice do we have? You must rest.”

“Aye.” He shook his muzzle, circling several more times. No movement beneath the water. The ripples had vanished. “We’ll land. I’ll try to take a look around underwater. Keep the bow armed and the eyes sharp.”

They landed gingerly. Dragon peered about underwater, where to his surprise, his eyesight was clear. The main reef must cap an underwater mountain, he decided. It lay ten to twenty feet below the surface for the most part, and covered an oval area perhaps fifty Dragon paces wide and eighty long. Only this single spire, apparently old coral to the non-expert eye, broke the ocean’s surface. Hordes of colourful fish swarmed about the area; the bright neon colours and variation were breathtaking. No sign of the serpent.

He did not believe it for a second.

Five minutes later, he checked again. Ten minutes. Nothing. He tried to shake out his wings. Azania massaged a restorative oil into the major flight muscles and primary wing joints, bringing a deep-seated, tingling relief that made him groan.

One more check. Nothing.

Dragon forced his muscles to unclench. How much rest could they get away with?

He watched the ripples in front of his nose. Such a tiny perch. He modulated his breathing, concentrating on oxygenating the blood again after all the energy output, drinking a little seawater to help remove toxins. He could not quite relax.

“Dragon, fly jump!” Azania yelled.

At the same instant as his thighs bunched and launched, a huge wave burst over them, out of nowhere. He tumbled into the water, thinking that the serpent had – what, spat them off the perch with a jet-stream of water? Flex the wings. Keep to the shallows. Azania had been knocked away, but she hung onto his left wing as the water pummelled them due to the violent movement of a huge body nearby. Dragon surged away as the powerful serpent circled the mound, hunting them. Up again? The Princess needed to breathe.

Barely had he scrambled out and his Rider found her way back to the Dragon bow, when the Sea Serpent struck a second time. Powerful coils whipped toward them. Azania took her shot, burying a quarrel up to the fletching in the blink of an eye, but he was forced to jump and then dive as the muzzle, filled with backward-sloping fangs, struck like a cobra toward his left wing. They hit the water hard, together.

Forced deeper by a coil rolling over his back, Dragon pounded the water with his wings and struck out with his talons and fire, gouging bloody trenches and dark, charred channels in the giant Sea Serpent’s flesh. Fighting underwater was a strange, almost languid interplay of strike and counter-strike, where every movement slowed down so much that his brain ran ahead while his body lagged behind. He surged through the water to punch Azania away from a sweeping bite. Coils! He arched his back as a muscular, serpentine length slipped beneath his belly, but his forced dodge only found a denser, more confusing thicket of serpentine coils. His fire hissed out.

Trapped! The beast had wound itself around his body! The serpent squeezed him with monstrous strength. Dragon burned and burned it again around the eye; now he was free, gulping a massive lungful of air before the mighty grip tightened again around his middle, and the Sea Serpent dived. Here came Azania! The lithe, tiny girl hung grimly onto the edge of the Sea Dragon’s jaw as the water rushed by, the pressure increasing with the depth. He groaned as those powerful muscles clenched again, causing his ribcage to creak. Never had he felt a grip like this!

Twisting a Dragon bow quarrel about in her hands, Azania plunged it deep into the serpent’s burning yellow eye.

Convulsions tore them through the water.

Mighty as the body was, it thrashed about atop a deeper ridge with Dragon helplessly trapped in its coils. Up again? Down? Where was the surface? He dared not strike out with his fire for fear that he might burn Azania – there she was! She rolled over and over, helplessly sucked about by the tow. The girl was still trying to draw her Dragon talon dagger to do more damage, when he saw her head strike a lump of coral.

A tiny ribbon of crimson trailed from the spot as she went limp.

Reaching out with his forepaw, Dragon somehow managed to snag the tip of her boot as the azure Sea Serpent thrashed into a powerful rotation that wrapped his wings about his body. Then, they were tumbling into deeper water. Sinking slowly as they scraped down the side of the reef, he had a moment to cry in a desperate bugle:

≈Azania! Help us!≈

What could he do? She needed air, but could not possibly swim.

The only option came to him in a flash. He would not be able to use his fire anymore, but he might just save her life – this girl who had taken on a Sea Serpent a hundred times her size.

He stuffed her into his mouth and sealed his lips.

Carefully, forcing air up out of his lungs with the help of those terrifyingly powerful coils, he pushed the seawater out, hoping to create a bubble in which the girl might rest. Meantime, he raked the Sea Serpent repeatedly with his talons. It wouldn’t let go? He would cut right through this thing! He quarried great hunks of flesh out of the trench he had begun, digging deeper and deeper through the dense muscular layers.

Come on, Azania. Come on!

Something shifted in his mind. ≈Come on!≈

Squeeze himself loose! Could he make it – the Sea Serpent shifted and the grip tightened enormously, almost forcing the last of his air to burst from his lungs. The girl shifted weakly upon his tongue, coughing and spluttering.

≈Alive!≈

Who was that? What was that gorgeous music?

Suddenly, Dragon thrilled to a majestic, sonorous challenge that seemed to arrive from every direction at once. Dimly, from the murky blue, he spied the white form of a Dragoness sweeping toward them. Fire hosed from her mouth, latching unerringly onto the Sea Serpent’s head. The creature screamed and thrashed beneath the unrelenting assault, its massive coils finally releasing the pressure. A coil slammed into his bared throat, forcing a reflexive swallow. Whirling away in a gush of water, he backed-kicked as the azure fangs drove toward him once more; by some combination of a complete fluke and incredible skill, his heel smacked the quarrel stuck in its eye, driving it six feet deeper – perhaps, right into the brain. A terrible scream faded into nothingness.

The body sank.

Dragon? Dragon, where – I’m stuck – heeeeeelp!

Hold on, Azania!

Boots, hands, knees and elbows scraped the inside of his gullet, far too low down!

Azania! Stay there!

Nooo …

Terror drove him upward to the surface more quickly than he had ever swum. No! What a fool, this Blitz the Fritz, this accident-prone moron. He had just contrived to swallow his best friend in the world!

Bursting into the air in a wild spray of water, he opened his mouth and deliberately punched himself in the gut. Air burst out of him, shifting the Princess upward. Come on, come on Azania – climb!

Can’t … stuck …

The tickling deep in his throat was too much. Dragon vomited up the contents of his food stomach. A painful pressure built in his throat before Azania shot out in a spray of steaming digestive juices, yelling all the way to an awkward landing in the water, which instantly stopped her skin burning, he assumed. And shut her up.

He fished a very, very bedraggled Princess out of the waves by the scruff of her neck and popped her up onto the scrap of reef.

“I am so, so sorry.”

Azania coughed and hacked a bit more, saying between fits, “No … thank you … saving me. I only remember … sinking, then coming to in your … aaah! Grief, I feel awful.”

He rubbed her back gently. “Alright?”

“Aye. Remind me next time not to take on a Sea Serpent, alright?”

“You killed it.”

“I – uh, what? Dragon, that’s ridiculous. No-one will ever believe that you almost swallowed me down there to save my life, but … how?”

“You stuck a quarrel in its eye. I kicked it in deeper, and that’s what killed the beast.” Dragon pressed his tail downward, finding the reef so that he could rest without having to tread water. “It’s definitely dead, trust me – but who was that Dragoness who helped us?”

“The who and how much? Oh, do you mean the music we heard?”

He glanced about underwater, but whoever their benefactor had been, she was gone.

How peculiar.

Chapter 22: Fate’s Talon

DRAGON SLUMPED OVER THE scrap of reef, loathe to move a muscle. For the first time in his life, he understood the fear of constrictors. Several of his ribs might have cracked. He was certainly in enough pain.

He had also turned into the local clothes drying rack.

The indignity!

Having stripped down to her bare hide, Azania rinsed out all of her clothing and hung it across his upper back to dry. Aye. The nerve of that girl! Beggared belief. He told himself that had they not just been through a life-or-death battle with a monster Sea Serpent, he would not put up with such behaviour. Then again, what would he not do for a Princess who dared to poke a hundred-and-twenty-foot Sea Serpent in the eye for his sake?

Clothing rack? Pah. Hatchlings’ play.

Azerim had better appreciate her not turning up in clothing slathered in Dragon vomit.

The tide was beginning to turn.

Princess Azania paddled just off the tip of his outstretched right wing, which lay flat in the water, taking childlike delight in watching the antics of the tropical fish. He could watch them all day, too. So many peaceful schools drifting about, each one differing in details. Stripes and flashes, rainbows and brilliant, frilly bodies that flaunted their raiment – he could watch this for years and never run out of subject matter for his paintings. Incredible.

Dipping his head lazily, he called, ≈Thank you.≈

≈Dragon,≈ burble, burble, tweet and sing, which evidently had meaning beyond his current abilities ≈– you? What –≈

He wished he understood. Honoured Dragoness, thank you for your timely aid. Where are you?

You are of the air? Or, ocean? Even speaking Draconian, her voice was melodic, yet very, very old. White rose from the depths. Her colour was not pure white, but a delicate rose-white. I chased our foe to finish it all, even the eggs.

Oh. Dragoness, you saved our lives. We cannot thank you –

Our? Who is our, o strange Dragon, whose song I recognise from before? Why did you call unto me?

As the huge old Dragoness approached – she had to be every inch of one hundred and twenty feet in length, Dragon estimated – he had another shock. She was blind! Both eyes were rheumy with age and completely white, with not a hint of fire in them. How she cocked her head confirmed the impression.

Intuition leaped.

≈Wavewhisperer?≈

Aye, I am Wavewhisperer. Who are you, strange one? What is this tiny fish who paddles beside you?

Fate’s talon! Shock and gratitude imploded inside his belly. Of all the coincidences in the world, this one took his breath away.

He said, I am called Dragon, and my companion is the Princess Azania of T’nagru, a Human. We are friends of Yarimda.

≈YARIMDA! O, I COME!≈

Her powerful bugle practically lifted Azania out of the water. The Princess giggled, “You are Wavewhisperer? Oh, how truly wonderful it is to meet you! We have heard so many things about you. Many, many a story – all good, I promise you. Will you tarry a moment, please?”

“If you tell me, o Princess, who is this Dragon of both sea and air?”

Swimming closer with easy strokes, Wavewhisperer reached out her paw. May I see both of you?

Of course, said Dragon. I am – I was, a Dragon called Blitz the Devastator –

Devastator? Traitors!

Please, let me explain, honoured Wavewhisperer. I believe that my sire is Blaze the Devastator –

A curse upon his egg, that thief and murderer most foul! The aged Dragoness thrashed the water in her rage, forcing Azania to hang onto the trailing edge of his wing or be swamped.

– and my dam, Sirensong.

≈You – the lost egg?≈ Melodic wonder! Her fury stilled as if a towering wave had unaccountably frozen mid-break.

I may be, honoured Dragoness. I wish to find out. Is Sirensong …

She’s alive, youngling. I saw her during the last migration. The Dragoness’ paws touched him, feeling his musculature, the lay of his shoulder muscles, his muzzle and then his webbed paws. Ocean you are, yet small for a young adult male. How many cycles – I mean, years – have you?

Twenty.

Can it be? All Sea Dragons thought you lost, murdered by those traitorous, egg-stealing Devastators! Cupping Azania as if she were a jewel, the Dragoness touched her lightly. Now, you are a tiny one. Are you a child, as was my Yarimda when first I met her?

No, I’m seventeen. I am merely small amongst the Humankind, honoured Dragoness, Azania replied. Buzzing with excitement, Dragon wondered at the improvement in her spoken Draconian. Impressive. Are you meeting to travel with … uh, her?

Aye. This Dragon – he called me, so aye, I came. Ocean always rises.

Wavewhisperer had been living for the last eight years on the far side of the Vaylarn Archipelago, she told them, since she was no longer capable of swimming the annual migration. It had been a lonely time, but several of her friends had spent the last year with her and had now flown North, awaiting the arrival of the pod of Sea Dragons, as she called it. The migration route had changed. Exactly as suspected, since the incident in which his egg had treacherously been stolen by Blaze, Indigofire and several other Devastator Clan Dragons, the Sea Dragons had opted to circumvent the Archipelago rather than travel past Hamirythe as before.

Out of the blue, Wavewhisperer said, The language will come to you. It is born into us. When you call for Sirensong, you say her name like this: ≈Sirensong.≈

Oh, that’s beautiful! Azania said. ≈Sss … ribble?≈

Humans do not speak Dragoceanic.

Could I learn?

Wavewhisperer touched her knee, where she was seated upon Dragon’s forepaw. You remind me so keenly of my friend Yarimda. Do you ride this Dragon’s back, too?

Aye. We were conspired by you, honoured Dragoness.

Inspired, he corrected delicately. The Princess smacked him nonetheless.

On her tenth try, Azania managed to say, ≈Sirensong?≈

≈Very good!≈ Wavewhisperer sang.

She taught him how to communicate via long-range greeting. There was a particular pitch to the voice that carried afar, even hundreds of leagues, the measure familiar to Sea Dragons. At Dragon’s request, she clarified that a league was 3.45 miles.

≈May the ripples ever buoy your wings,≈ Dragon repeated carefully, struggling to get the intonations just right. ≈May your song resound to the deepest deeps. May your toes curl …≈ Uh, what was that?

Bursting into melodious laughter, the Dragoness said, That is what happens when you begin to learn Dragoceanic, my young friends. It … rises. I cannot say it better.

The Dragoness told them that she knew in her waters that it was Yarimda’s time, as it was hers. They would swim one final migration together, the eternal migration. That was where she had been bound when she responded to their cry for help.

After an hour of pleasantly getting to know one another, with the tide rising fast, Wavewhisperer said she had to swim on – both with reluctance at having to leave new friends behind, and great joy at her homecoming. She thanked them for helping Yarimda return to Hamirythe, and wished them the very best fortune in all the oceans. Sirensong would be tumbling in the waves to meet her son.

When Dragon bade her swim fast and carefully, she laughed and said, Usually, we only take on Sea Serpents of this size in pods of no less than ten. I plan to swim fast, younglings. Fast and far. How do you say it – may your wings soar?

Aye, he rumbled. May you swim true into eternity, Wavewhisperer. Please give Yarimda one last greeting from us.

I shall.

With that, she departed swimming in a south-westerly direction, while Dragon and his Princess made ready to make the next hop, a five-hour flight almost due west. This little knob of reef was already underwater.

The tides of fate waited for no Dragon.

* * * *

They flew with their faces set to the suns’ fires. However, that was not the full story. Another weather front arced down from the North with ominous bustle and purpose, its brooding battlements picked out in dusky oranges and sooty reds by the departing suns. Not good news. This next island was meant to be another low mound; those coming after were much taller and likely to be safe for landing upon, besides being far closer to the Archipelago mainland. Even from a height, they could observe the swell picking up almost by the minute.

“Another decision coming up,” Azania said.

“Aye, what’re you thinking? Neither back nor forward works well in heavy seas. However, if we choose to press on, keeping on track in that blow during the night … hmm?”

She said, “The Hariskon Celestial Navigator is behaving itself again, as best I can tell. Would you like to review the data with me? I’ve set in the next two stops, which is the most it can do.” At his nod, she unhitched and climbed his skull again. “Here we go. We should reach the next stop an hour after nightfall. If we are able to rest, it is then three hours plus two, unless … if, and only if you’re feeling strong enough, we could choose to go for the toe.”

“The talon?”

“Whichever works best for you.”

“In my most nit-picking voice, dry land is what works best for me. Why don’t we see what our stop looks like and how much rest is possible? That three-hour hop might be almost directly into heavy headwinds, whereas the point of that talon would have the partial benefit of a crosswind.”

“I agree.”

By the time they reached the mound, the low top of what appeared to be a substantial underwater landmass, the wind was already scudding through and the waves breaking with a booming sound audible from afar. White spray kicked up from the crashing waves led them directly to the rest stop – already, water sheeted right over the top. Not a pretty sight – spectacular but deeply unwelcome, Dragon grumbled in what might have been a bit of a dire monologue about how much he appreciated all the perils of a changeable ocean.

Azania chirped, “Doesn’t look overly restful, I must say.”

“Swimming on land,” he agreed.

Reaching forward, she patted his cheek near his left eye. “You’re the one doing all the hard work here. I’ll put up with anything – so, if you need rest, I’ll gladly get soaked.”

Since someone’s wings were about ready to fall off, a rest it was, such as one could attempt whilst being swatted by large waves every ten to fifteen seconds. Perching on a wet rock, pummelled by waves in rain that was becoming more torrential by the second – oh aye! Perfect. A primal quality to the howling winds and brutal oceanic waves thrilled his Dragon hearts, directly counter to his concerns about Azania. Yet she sat still upon his neck and even dozed a few times, before waking with a snort and a splutter when a particularly large wave inundated them both despite his folded wings covering her seat as best he could.

Dragon scented the winds and the mettle of his hearts. Meantime, another huge wave thundered over them. Worsening by the minute, this storm threatened to wash them right off the rock despite his four-pawed grip.

He said, “Let’s set course for the talon.”

“Are you certain?”

“Between two horrible options, it’s the one I have more confidence in – thoughts?”

“I’m with you. One thousand percent.”

Annoyed at himself that he found it so countercultural to be asking a female, and a Human at that, for her opinion – was he truly such an old bag of draconic stodge – Dragon waited for the Princess to make the necessary adjustments to their navigator.

Gruffly, he said, “Don’t lose that thing, alright? Tie it on to yourself, or something. I mean only to say that it’s bound to be a rough run.”

“Good idea.”

Why was she being so agreeable? He was not accustomed to this misbehaviour.

Blinking saltwater out of his eyes, Dragon prepared himself mentally for the launch. It needed to be hard and high before the gale force winds knocked him down again, or deformed his wing strokes enough that he crashed immediately into the water. Despite that his kind were masters of the air, few sensible Dragons would care to fly through a tempest as wild as this. Nor would most try to fly across the open ocean, for that matter.

Rough was one word. Insane, another.

“Ready to fly,” Azania said.

Spreading his wings, he launched upward into the teeth of the blast, spreading his wings to control his ascent and use the wind to gain altitude. Balance was key. Up, up again. When he began to approach the low, scudding grey clouds, he wheeled with control and rode the blast away to the West.

Immediately, he knew this would be the most challenging flight of his life. The wind was a live animal, like wrestling that Sea Serpent all over again. The gale winds howled their intended direction of travel from a few compass points east of pure northerly, always pushing them away from true west. Go for the slow curve while he still had strength enough?

On and on he struggled, through a dark, lightning-shot world of rain, heaving waves and shrieking winds. His strength began to fade. Every time his wings wanted to collapse, he took a deep breath and told himself, just one more beat. And one more after that. Azania clung to his neck, calling encouragement every few minutes, and trying to help him maintain the right heading. Despite their best efforts, his fear was beginning to be realised, that they might be swept in to the south of that first talon, and therefore be faced with a longer flight to the first of the three major Archipelago islands.

He had never flown in winds like this. Winds that shrieked and bullied, threatening to crumple his wings. Could it be a hurricane? The waves were being pounded flat now, the sleet flying in sideways.

Dragon turned to face the wind. He had to.

Despite his flapping, they were being blown backward.

He called, “Princess, I can’t carry on. Are you willing to try swimming beneath everything?”

“How? In your mouth – oh no! Please –”

“It’s the only way.”

She peered around at his eye, shaking her head. Azania was more than soaked. She might as well be already swimming. His Rider was also wan, quite possibly as exhausted as he felt, Dragon realised. Swiping water out of her eyes, she clearly came to a decision.

“How would it work?”

“I can stay submerged for up to fifteen minutes at a time, maybe only ten if I’m working hard. So I’d come up every so often for breath, but otherwise, stay beneath the surface. You call directions from inside.”

“You – you heard me, last time?”

“Clearly.” His voice cracked. “Every word.”

“It’s alright, Dragon. I trust you. I’ll … maybe I’ll try to tie myself to your fangs, or something. And I promise you, if I go down that gullet again – ugh – I will cut my way out from the inside, do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

She growled, “No swallowing!”

“Princess, you taste terrible, I’ll have you know.”

“Great, thanks.”

“I prefer red meat to black.”

“That is a tasteless joke and you know it.”

Since they no longer had a Dragon bow or quarrels to concern themselves about, Azania took her small travel pack in hand, and then unstrapped herself gingerly from her saddle mount. It took some fiddling with buckles stiffened by prolonged exposure to the seawater to loosen herself, then she climbed down into his paw, and from there investigated the lay of his jaw.

“This is a peculiar form of madness, I’ll have you know,” she muttered.

“Our relationship always has been.”

“I wonder if I can braid your tongue around your fangs?”

“Sounds suitably terminal.”

Stepping gingerly over a row of fangs he happened to be rather proud of, the Princess investigated the situation inside. Sheltered. Warm. Could become extremely toasty.

Pushing his tongue over with what felt like a foot, she said, “At least your mouth is dry. Right, I’ll tuck in here beneath your tongue. Space enough for a small package. Okay with me tying on?”

“Sure, my little scrap of fang floss.”

Definitely a kick for that. “I have been called many things in a short time, Dragon, but that is easily the most insulting of an impressive range of nonsense! Shut your gob and let’s get to shore. You’ve work to do and you’re wasting good breath.”

Feisty and furious.

“Shutting the pet in her royal cage …”

“Drag – mmm!”

Ah, he loved winding her around his smallest talon. Muffled shrieks inside his mouth. Really, this was far too much fun, apart from the part where they might both die if he didn’t do exactly as she said. What surprised him most was how his bodily instincts took over, trying to convince him that something tasty wriggling upon his tongue simply had to be tossed down the hatch. His stomach rumbled hugely.

Shut up, no, don’t do it, Dragon!

Do what?

Sigh. Time to explain how the apex predator of Solixambria had certain instincts that most certainly did not include guzzling their best friends, all appearances to the contrary.

Meantime, he dived down to sea level. So strong was the gale now, it was becoming hard to distinguish between the water and the rain sheeting above it. Blasting water filled the whole world. He landed with a jolt and submerged.

Instant calm. By his wings!

There was nothing to see bar endless fields of blue, but the contrast shocked a tingle back into his weary wings. All was serene just a few tens of feet below the surface. Crazy. And he had been battling so long and so hard, for what?

Stretching out his body, Dragon began to rotate his wings in the new motion he had learned – the much longer, more languid yet more powerful motion of swimming. It strained different muscles and worked the joints in unfamiliar ways, but with a decent effort and concentration, he worked out how to add supporting thrusts of his webbed paws and even an undulation of the tail to which Wavewhisperer – supremely graceful in her native element – had introduced him. He surged through the water. Powerful. Agog. Savouring each and every novel sensation in a realm that was half of his heritage.

No, it did not feel like home. Not yet. Perhaps that would develop with familiarity, but the idea that popped into his head was of a long-overdue homecoming.

He would always be half and half. The new challenge he recognised now, just as Juggernaut had wisely noted, would be to reconcile his heritage. To become him – to know who that Dragon was and what he stood for.

Three nostril hairs and one scale to your right paw, Dragon, said the voice inside his mouth.

There’s a current pushing us as well, isn’t there? he guessed, making the correction.

Aye, the titbit tickling his tongue agreed. We’re getting quite well off course. We’ll need to fight to stay northerly enough, I suspect.

Alright. Keep calling the compass points.

In about ten minutes, he surfaced into howling waters and low, lashing waves, the Lumis Ocean churned up into a frenzy. Diving again, trying to keep the movements smooth, fluid, economical. Strange how close swimming was to flying. Thicker air, essentially.

He gathered his courage. No giving up. No rest. Not until I bring my Princess safe to shore.

Thinking aloud again?

This time, he heard a smile in her voice.

Chapter 23: Wave Dragonhome

SWIMMING FOR HOURS, THEY cut through storm and ocean, before picking up an unexpected current that swept them in a curve between the lowest talon and first island southeast of Wave Dragonhome. By this time, Dragon was so enervated that he could barely swish his wings in the water – but with the aid of this steady current, he did not need to. He lifted his muzzle out several times to peer blearily at the rocky shore they could not possibly reach as they swept past, heading more westerly now.

Was it dawn already? Where had the hours flown? It must be over nine hours since their last stop.

He must gather his strength. One more barrier loomed ahead. Wave Dragonhome stood atop a magnificent crag, a truly draconic perch from which to survey the world. He could not even see the tops of the cliffs in the storm, but they were every bit as majestic as some of the cliffs in his native Tamarine Mountains. Black and unrelentingly sheer for at least a mile until they vanished into the clouds; dashed by enormous waves at their base. White spray exploded forty and even fifty feet into the air, the dull booming having conducted through the water to their hearing for the last few miles. Jagged, toothy rocks waited like the grimmest of greeting committees.

They were being dragged toward another pummelling.

Absolutely no way, either, he could make that flight up the cliffs. Not in this weather. Not in his state.

Look for a crack or somewhere to make landfall! Dragon heard himself bellow.

Alright, alright, keep your scales on.

Princess Azania knelt in his jaw, searching avidly, having to shield her eyes from the driving rain and sea spray. Ah, Seaspray!

Princess, is that something … a crack?

Aye. Take us in easy. I’ve got the bearing – maybe a tiny beach? That’ll do. Submerge if you need to.

Good idea. Given how the tide ripped across the rocks, however, he had no illusions about whether the water or the air would be the easier route. Only, taking off right now? No. Instead, they rode the increasingly powerful surges of water as the ocean raced in to land, crashed upon the rocks, and then sucked back with a violent counter-tow. Underwater, white bubbles and froth filled his vision, but he soon became aware of the bottom shelving up. Nothing smooth about those rocks down there.

Maybe ride one of these brutal swells in? Keep the paws ready for kicking off the bottom, but use the ocean’s own power to glide over the worst of the danger?

Gathering his wings, he waited for a suitable wave. Thrust! Swim! Go, go!

Up and over they surged amidst a massive swell of white water. He could barely see, but he kept his wings moving and his paws scrabbling, taking them over the sharp-edged ranks of rocks in a mad scramble. Left paw! He lunged away from the cliff face, bellowing as something tore his flank and then his trailing tail. Smacking his knees to no end, he lurch-thrust-flopped over the final rank of stone teeth and landed flat on his face on the shore.

Uhh … not elegant …

Jaw, please.

Even that took an inordinate effort.

Dragon cracked open an eye as the Princess clambered stiffly out between his fangs. They had landed on a pocket-sized beach of pristine white sands, sheltered from the raging tempest by sheer cliffs.

She touched his cheek. Well done, my Dragon. You were – and always are – magnificent. Welcome to the Vaylarn Archipelago.

I feel as if the ocean just regurgitated me.

Too true, she chuckled. Come on. Drag yourself up a little ways out of the water. Then, you can sleep. I’ll keep watch. It’s the very least I can do.

Thanks.

Stretching her limbs into a star shape that no Dragon could hope to emulate, the tiny Princess turned and smiled at him. We did it! Happy dance!

Ugh, glad you have the energy.

Come on, shift that old carcass, you wonderful grump. Up onto the beach now. Two more steps …

Pestiferous Prin … he fell asleep mid-sentence.

* * * *

Dragon awoke feeling like a sack of lead dumped in an unexpectedly salty desert. Cracking an eye open, he took a moment to try to figure out if he could possibly move. Everything hurt as if he had wrestled all night with a hundred Sea Serpents and come off the loser. Badly.

Still, his best friend slept in his paw.

That was his Dragon hoard. Right there.

The navigator orb rested upon her bosom, which rose and fell with each shallow breath. Dragon wondered idly how it was that her Draconian had suddenly taken a giant leap forward in vocabulary, complexity and fluency. Could it be that a process similar to the idea that Dragoceanic was somehow built into the heritage of every Sea Dragon, pertained to the Humankind? The very idea would throw a few scaly noses that he could name severely out of joint. Humans learning draconic languages by innate ability? Unthinkable!

In Azania’s case, the evidence definitely fit the theory.

A firm poke in the eye for draconic scholarship.

As to why he was muddling through the intricacies of inter-species linguistics right now, he could not imagine. Shaking his head at the random mental antics intruding on sensible thought, Dragon curved his head around to observe the crystal. A laughably wriggly red thread led to their current location; if he had it right, right beneath Wave Dragonhome. Well. Only a couple of hundred miles off course. Nothing to worry one’s wings about, right?

This spotless white sand qualified as the most beautiful, solid, welcoming patch of ground he thought he had ever stepped paw upon. Above, a blue-washed sky proclaimed that the storm had blown over. Several white blobs that he took for gulls drifted across the lapping waves just offshore.

Hard to imagine the monstrous swells they had arrived in.

His dinky Princess chuckled in her sleep. Hmm. A fond scent memory? Warm thoughts of the egg sac that bore her? Mammals had wombs. There his brain went again. Insert arbitrary information lifted from his cranium.

“Are you watching me, Dragon?” she murmured.

Not even opening her eyes?

He said, “You smiled in your sleep, which distracted me while I was looking at our route.”

“As tangled as my hair?”

“Almost. Some pretty spiffy navigating there, Princess.”

“I only applied what King Jos taught us about the likely route of the currents,” she protested. “We certainly put a few miles under our belts, didn’t we, my strong and totally awesome friend?”

“Mmm,” he purred. “Beneath our wings, you mean.”

“Same thing.”

Decline the bait. “So, game for a short flight, Princess? Hop to the top and meet the mighty Dragonesses of the Archipelago. Hope they are vaguely friendly toward a large foreign male and his sidekick, the dark assassin of the desert?”

“Intriguing pair. I simply must meet them,” she joked back, yawning and stretching. “Mid-afternoon already?”

“I’m surprised they haven’t found us yet. Aren’t you?”

“Quite.” She rose with a lithe flexion and dusted the sand off her trousers. “Given how relentless and martial Aria was – very odd indeed.”

“Too right.”

Forced by the size of the bay to wade out into the sea before launching into the air, Dragon drifted a short ways along the dark cliffs before finding the updraft he had been searching for. The steady flow of tangy, briny air made the ascent straightforward, despite that the cliffs were half again as high as he had imagined. Only the seabirds nesting on the cliffs did not appreciate their arrival. A raucous chorus of honks and caws accompanied their rise to the top, a truly majestic vantage point that commanded a view out over the sparkling Lumis Ocean to the south and east. Spinning slowly in the air with a stirring action of his wings, he and Azania gazed over the Archipelago with growing delight.

From phenomenal dark cliffs on the near side to craggy volcanic mountains alongside palm-fringed white beaches in the distance, the first island, sometimes called ‘Dragon Island,’ had many kinds of beauty that somehow blended into a seamless whole. The interior mountains and cliffs were uncompromising, talon-edged massifs that appeared to have shrugged off the effects of time and erosion. The talons off his right wing completed the Dragon’s paw effect to perfection. The two they could see before a headland obscured their view, were stark stone surrounded by the bluest of oceans. Away to his left, the landscape mellowed into offshore coral reefs, green meadows, rampant piles of wildflowers and hundreds of the ubiquitous coconut palms.

Dragon realised he had mistaken the location of Wave Dragonhome. Here atop the cliff was nothing bar what he took for a quartet of combat circles. The real action happened beneath his paws, inside the cracks and tunnels that his careful survey revealed created a honeycomb effect that might penetrate deeper into the headland than he had imagined.

The Dragons must have lairs below, yet all was quiet. Eerily quiet.

Fire stood hot in his chest as they completed the circle. Nothing and nobody; only the haunting cries of the seabirds.

“Let’s go find our –”

“Dragon, you’re bleeding!”

“Oh, so I am. Quite a lot, come to think of it.”

The Princess stared along his flank. “Is that part of your intestine dangling in the breeze?”

“Seems so. Pretty good cut, right?”

She shouted at him. A lot. Apparently, flying about with a seven-foot rent in his soft new hide, with a fat coil of silvery intestine poking out of it, was rather far from a courageous show of male draculinity, in her worldview. Claiming she should not worry was a slap in the face of friendship, as it turned out.

Humans had the oddest ideas.

They also steamed up impressively when they were mad at someone they cared for. That, he understood – but what of wearing one’s wounds with pride? No. Far from it. Clean, stitch and hide was the Human way.

Accordingly, one narked Dragon and one fuming Dragon Rider burgled the lair of the most dangerous Dragons either of them knew. Death wish, plus.

It took them several tries before they found a narrow slash in the cliffs that led into a complex cave system inside, all lit by quartzite crystal inclusions that must conduct light from the surface deep into the dark igneous caverns. Or, were these ancient watercourses? Lava flows? Dragon puzzled over the phenomenon as they explored the lairs. Unnerving. Not a breath of a Dragon about, yet everything looked as if it had simply been left, abandoned, on a moment’s notice. Every sign and scent pointed to this fact.

In low tones, they discussed a way of life very different to what he was accustomed to. The workshops were amazing, producing fine pieces of skull, scale, paw, neck and tail jewellery for the adornment of Dragons. Another workshop appeared to be a perfumery. Glittering golden hoards stood unguarded. They found a whole area of tunnels where these Dragons appeared to grow vegetables in the semidarkness. Soon, they wandered through unattended forges of a design he had never seen before. Each furnace stood a hundred feet tall. Here, Dragon artisans must produce the mighty blades Aria had wielded, by a process that had to combine ores, Dragon fire and heat, and magic. Here was a mighty cavern clearly designated for combat training, carried out in a wide, clearly demarcated circle. Weapons racks and armour stood to the sides.

There were no eggs, no young, no old, no sign of life anywhere, yet recent paw prints on the sandy cavern floors abounded.

What could drive Dragons out of their lairs?

Might there be no natural predators or enemies, so everything could simply be left … he shook his muzzle.

“At last, this looks like a healer’s cavern,” Azania exclaimed.

“I wonder what they’ll make of Human boot prints all over their caverns when they return?” Dragon said glumly.

The Princess grinned. “I think we plan to be very far away by then, don’t we? I mean, if we can’t find a single Isles Dragoness up here, we’re going to have to hunt further. Maybe fly on to Zunityne and ask around there? Can’t imagine where they’ve all disappeared to.”

“Aye, good plan.”

“Found the needles.” Wicked grin.

“Here’s thread, and a nice little fountain for cleaning me up. Perfect. Naughty Princess, I hope you were paying attention in your needlework classes.”

“Not enough. Come over here, you big, bad Dragon, and stick out your tongue.”

She waved a needle as long as her hand.

“Very funny,” he groused.

Dragon taught her the basics of cleaning and stitching – first the intestine itself, cut in three places, and then the inner layer of abdominal hide and muscle, and finally the outer hide itself. The wound was large but not serious, unless infection set in, but this healer’s cavern was well stocked with antiseptic powders and even scale-cloth, a metallic weave which they glued over the rent. It should come off naturally in a couple of weeks. He chewed up and swallowed a couple of large mouthfuls of healing herbs.

Azania moved to the second cut on his tail.

By now, the light had faded noticeably. They decided to backtrack to an underground pond they had found, where Azania washed the crusted salt out of her clothing, and he warmed her brown hide by carefully blowing his fire nearby.

“What would Azerim make of this?” he gurgled, reaching out.

“Dragon! We do not prod a lady … there.”

“Your haunches? Why ever not?”

“I’m nude.”

“You are as you were born, which is perfect. Clothing is such a silly affectation anyways. Can’t imagine why your kind bother – oh, do you mean that if you were fully clothed, that gesture would be fine?”

“No!”

“Not even with Az –”

“Don’t you start with me, Dragon. Would you touch Aria’s haunches just like that? No! You’d lose a talon before you could blink with those kaniaxi blades of hers.”

“Very true,” he agreed judiciously.

“Same goes for Human females. So, keep your paws to yourself, you reptilian reprobate.”

“Pernickety Princess.”

“I am so not the pernickety one around here, mister he whose wings must be arranged in exactly the same way every night before he falls asleep.”

“And you wonder why I’m so tempted to swat you into shape. May your dreams soar, Princess.”

“And yours too, my adorable Dragon.”

“Clobber, pummel, flatten, roll out, twist into a lovely pretzel with strangely fuzzy bits hanging out of it?” he growled.

“What an eloquent master of debate you must be. Zzz. Already asleep.”

* * * *

The following morning, Azania woke him with a joke. “Say, which side of a Dragon has the most scales?”

He checked his wounds. “Definitely the right.”

“The outside!” she chortled.

“Oh, by my wings, what a groaner. It’s far too early for that.”

“Wakey wakey, Dragon.”

“Somebody’s excited to go find Azerim,” he growled balefully.

“Terrorcited,” she agreed.

“Quite. Well, the early Dragon makes the kill.”

“All things considered, I’d prefer not to kill my man right away, if that’s quite alright with you?”

“If he has another woman …” He punched his fist into his palm. SMOOOSH!!

“Why, you do care. Permission granted.”

On that note, he and Azania chuckled their way up to one of the entryways, and Dragon launched out into a perfect isle dawn. Rose reds blushed over the ocean. White, cream and azure seabirds were out in force on an early fishing expedition, bombing the waters offshore in great, swirling battalions. Adjusting his spectacles, Dragon looked on as dozens of Sea Serpents cut through the waves and mayhem, hunting as a pack. Frightening.

This Dragon liked his nice, new white hide minus rents and holes, he decided.

Curving westward, they set course for the Human city of Zunityne, a long day’s flight downwind. That was the saving grace, a gentle easterly breeze that buoyed up his aching wings. The route cut over the rocky coastline with its many tiny offshore islands and back over the mainland again, becoming much lower and smoother as they reached the western tip of this major island after three hours on the wing. Phew. Dragon rested on a perfect white beach in the shade of thick clumps of coconut palms, beside a sparkling blue ocean. So idyllic. He took note of the soil issues that Azania had spoken of. Much was sandy and sparse, the interior sedge grasslands and khaki green swamps they had passed over, salty and unfit for most cultivation.

Toward noon, they lifted off once more and crossed the wide, turbulent channel between Dragon Isle and Human Isle. This one had a fringing of dark cliffs again facing the east, but they were more fractured and they caught sight of their first Human dwellings nestled in a few of the pristine bays. Simple grass-woven huts with palm-leaf roofs hid in the thick tropical foliage alongside the beach, occupied by brown-skinned people.

Dragon snuck a little closer to take a look.

“They’re naked,” Azania whispered.

“You’d fit right in.”

She kicked his neck with her heel. “Behave. Azerim did say that some of the remote tribes were cannibals.”

“I guess we haven’t seen much of the more primitive side of Human civilisation, given as we’ve been hopping from one city to the next,” he agreed. “Very different out here, however. They must be very poor.”

The Princess waved to a few of the children on the beach.

One waved; the rest screamed and stampeded back to their huts.

On this island, the vegetation was thicker and more tangled, a real tropical jungle in places. The heat and humidity built up as the day wore on, but the sea breeze kept them cool enough. Dragon powered along past the first signs of active cultivation, rude roads carved through thick brush and a few small interior towns with red tile roofs and whitewashed limestone walls, before they passed around a range of small coastal mountains with the characteristic conical tops of volcanoes. The slopes were green and lush; he wondered why the volcanic soils here were not useful for cultivation, or at the very least – aha!

“Orchards,” he said, pointing with a talon.

“Aye, and vineyards.”

He swept low over the mountainous slopes, scenting the air with delight. Floral fragrances abounded, along with the more citrusy zest of fruit and the thicker, heavier scent of tropical undergrowth. Pockets of tall hardwood trees grew in sheltered gulches, and a number of rivers wandered down from the mountain slopes toward a pair of pretty lakes. Beyond that, resplendent in the red-golden late afternoon sunshine, lay Zunityne.

“Gorgeous!” Azania gasped.

Quite right. The city nestled in the arms of a bay no self-respecting artist could have described as anything but a tropical paradise. Unspoiled curving beaches, extensive flower gardens and coconut palm plantations, a gleaming turquoise ocean with the characteristic darker, dappled patches of coral reefs just offshore, hundreds of colourful houses and larger buildings with red tile roofs tucked in amongst lush stands of purple, orange and red bougainvillaea – absolutely picturesque. Five larger oceangoing vessels stood upon the sands; they must have been rolled up there somehow, he assumed, in order to keep them out of reach of the Sea Serpents.

He frowned and pointed ahead. “Why’s a flight of Dragons leaving the city?”

“No idea, but they’re in quite the flapping hurry, aren’t they?”

“Aye – go down?”

“I don’t like it either,” she agreed, shivering slightly.

His exact feeling! Immediately, he flexed his wings, hurtling them into a steep descent that concealed their approach behind a green hill just a couple of miles shy of the city.

“Are you scenting what I scent?” he said. “Wrongness –”

“Aye, I think so. It could be linked to Wave Dragonhome being empty, or not, but – are those all Dragonesses?” He agreed eagerly. “Is it just me, or are they flying … suspiciously?”

Dragon shrugged. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Aria wasn’t –”

“Seven reds, three oranges, four yellows, a pale purple and light and dark greens numbering five, but no blues and definitely no cobalt.”

“Wow, someone was watching those tails most diligently.”

He gurgled with pleasure, touching the spectacles. “Thanks to these, I have just experienced the particular affliction known as male eye strain.”

Oh, those butterfly wings, those razor edges, those flashing glances he could only imagine from this distance. Never had feminine splendour come so deliciously sharp, so perilous, so irresistible. Was he mad to think this way? Smitten? A foolish Dragon with a death wish?

Azania pretended to preen like a Dragoness and patted her own behind. “Oh, I hope to cause Azerim great suffering.”

“I’m not sure ‘suffering’ is entirely the term we are after, in this instance.”

Chapter 24: Trouble’s Odour

LANDING ON A GRASSY slope behind the bare knoll, Dragon and Princess stalked up to the top and peeked over. The flight of Dragonesses made snappy speed toward the West. Not from Wave Dragonhome, then? Or were they? Discussing the oddity in low tones, they agreed that they had too little information about the lairs and politics of the Archipelago to make much of a judgement. Ariamyrielle had revealed that her labour for the Human was not popular in all quarters, but exactly how the draconic power hierarchy worked, apart from the structure being matriarchal, they had no idea.

Was something afoot, or a-paw? Almost definitely. Should have pressed her for details while they had a chance.

The city had no gates, but several times they caught sight of squads of soldiers with red-feathered helms rushing about, and dark, oily smoke rose from three locations. Suspicious.

Azania said, “Why don’t we go down into the city to see what’s going on? They’re used to Dragons being around, from what Aria said. We find the Palace, but instead of me introducing myself as a Princess, why don’t you pretend to have an urgent message for Azerim, or the King and Queen? Let’s see how they respond. I’ll stay in the background.”

“Good. That’s better than any of my ideas so far.”

“You had ideas?”

He mimed blowing through his empty paw. “Lots of nothing.”

“That’s unlike you – but if I know you at all, you need information to feed that brain. I think I’ll wear my grey travel cloak and my desert veil. If anyone asks, I’m in mourning.” As he began to raise his head, she placed a cautioning hand on the side of his muzzle. “Wait. Those Dragonesses aren’t out of sight as yet. You’re unusual enough to attract attention.”

“Highly attractive. That’s me.”

“If you say so, o scaly hulk of conceit.”

After forty minutes on the wing, the Dragonesses disappeared into the westering suns. Azania donned her veil and drew up the hood of her nondescript travel cloak.

“Best paw forward, Dragon. Fly casual.”

Ah, her favourite saying for times such as these, when the odour of trouble filled the air, but they chose to fly directly toward it anyways. As they neared Zunityne, it became more than clear that the city was under the control of the red-feathered soldiers, but no obvious battles raged, so it was impossible for visitors to tell who was actually in charge. Sailing over the harbour, they observed many heads turning to track their progress. Agreeing on the most impressive-looking building, a mansion painted the colour of the sky, with red roof tiles and many gorgeous colonnades, they landed outside of the gates – a deliberate choice both for social niceties, and practicalities. The grounds held many tall trees and little space for a large Dragon to land or take off.

Azania slipped down immediately, as agreed, and kept pace with him as he strolled up to the heavily-guarded gates. Tiny shadow. Hulking brute.

These were not a friendly bunch by any means.

“Greetings,” he called amiably. “I bring an urgent message for King Azerim.”

Despite the tropical climate, his announcement introduced a most wintery nip to the air.

A soldier wearing golden epaulettes upon his natty crimson blazer stepped forward and saluted smartly. “The King is not present, Dragon.”

“Oh. Where’s he gone?”

Bleak glares. Hands hovered near the pommels of swords.

He said, “I do apologise. We seem to be rather late; the rest of our group just left, I believe?”

“Aye. They’re bound for Mykita Lair, with the rest of your kind.”

The soldier’s glare suggested he ought to know exactly where that was, and why they were going there. It also managed to invite them to depart forthwith; all in all, a decidedly eloquent operation for a mere glare.

Aha. So, they knew where the Wave Dragonhome Dragons had flown? Interesting. Mykita lay on the next and last major island West, the trailing heel of the Archipelago. He opted to make an amiable bow, something Humans did – but this only deepened their frowns.

Ugh. Mistake?

King and Queen, Azania’s voice tickled his ear.

“My good fellows, I do hope you can help,” he said, with a pacifying grin. Two dozen brown-skinned soldiers contrived to become as pasty as Hamirythe white at the sight. “Could I perhaps deliver my message to the King and Queen? I have heard they were ill –”

“They are, and are taking no visitors!” the leader barked. “Give it to me. I’ll see that the message is passed on.”

“It is of a somewhat … sensitive nature,” Dragon temporised. “I’m – well, dash it all, this is so awkward. I’m late for Mykita, you see, and I’ll get into serious trouble if I don’t catch up. You know what those Dragonesses are like!”

To a man, they flinched. Hmm.

Good angle, Dragon, Azania spoke again. Back to Azerim …

Extending his every sense and trying for his best pleading tone, which did not come easily to a Dragon, one might argue, he added, “Perhaps I might catch up with the younger King, wherever he has gone? Could you please – I wouldn’t normally ask, but I’m new at the job and if I don’t get this right – you know.”

He made a cutting gesture across his neck.

The hard-eyed leader had the nerve to guffaw. “Too right. You’ll find our King has departed to attend Aria Seaspray’s – nuptials, I think you Dragons call it?”

“Oh,” he said, trying his best to look like Blitz the Fritz, confused and gormless.

Not hard. Nuptials!

Rip out his hearts and toss them to the Sea Serpents! Please, by his sire’s egg, by all that Dragons held sacred, let this news earthquake not be true …

“Over at Mykita Lair!” the soldier said impatiently. “You’ll have to give it your best to be there by sundown for the ceremony – good luck, Dragon. You’ll need it!”

His men laughed nastily.

Mount up, Azania, he said, very quietly. “Thank you very much. You’ve been most helpful.”

The soldier saluted flippantly.

Dragon parked him at the top of his menu, main dish. Filthy liar!

Sensing the Princess’ weight upon his neck, he waited a second for the click of her belt buckle, before coiling his thighs and springing into the air with tremendous power. Flexing his wings, he pulled away out of bowshot before the soldiers could get any ideas.

“Freaking imposter!” Azania steamed.

“Aye, plus he was lying through his fangs about Azerim. Do you think this is a coup, Princess? Surely –”

“Without a doubt, something smells rotten in Zunityne. Dragon, we need Aria, and we need her fast. How long until the suns set?”

“This season? Two and a half hours, maybe?”

“Mykita is a straight westward run from here. Why would all the Dragons go there at once?”

“For Aria’s nuptials?” He hated how his voice broke.

“Is she that important on the Isles?”

“Look, why don’t we just ignore that, and turn around and sack Zunityne until we find Azerim?”

The Princess had the grace not to point out that was unarguably the stupidest idea he had ever voiced, nor to suggest where it might have originated and why. Instead, she said, “The crystal says it is eighty-eight miles to Mykita.”

“Too far. Look, the suns – we’re much farther north … so my guess –”

“I’ve already adjusted for the latitude. Besides, ‘too far’ would be true if we were talking about most Dragons. However, we are not talking about your average Dragon here. I happen to be seated upon the biggest, baddest, strongest and fastest Dragon in the Tamarine Mountains, and perhaps in all of Solixambria. Do you know what else?”

“What?”

“He’s a fighter and a lover.”

Gnarr.

“That soldier was lying about Azerim, right?”

“Aye. He lied about Azerim, but not about the nuptials. As best I could smell out, that was the absolute truth.”

The Princess said, “Then, for both of our sakes and the sake of this Kingdom, Dragon, we need to shift tail for Mykita Lair. I am sorry. Azerim needs us – and I am not implying your love life is worth less than mine. You cannot stop her nuptials if you are not there.”

“Stop the – Princess! The dishonour!”

She patted his neck, which had gone stiff with outrage. “No, you silly old stick. Please listen. Am I allowed to be the female in your life who can speak a pinch of wisdom when needed?”

He growled, “Alright! Uh … alright, in a less belligerent tone of fireball. I’m listening.”

“Thank you. So, speaking as a female, you need to give her the choice. Let her know you are present. Then, you must trust her to make her choice.” He said a rude word. “Aye, your very presence might make that choice unbearable; it might make all the difference, either positively or negatively. Yet if you are not there, you will never know for certain and neither will she. And that, Dragon, you would regret for the rest of your life. I have a sense of how you feel about her. I cannot imagine how hard this must be for you, especially given your history, but hear this: I know for a fact you are the better Dragon. I don’t care who that other male is. I know you. I know your courage and your mettle and your fire.”

“I …”

Speechless.

Five hearts he had, but they all seemed to be fighting for space in his throat at once.

Quietly, she said, “We have flown together many a mile. My friend, Ariamyrielle Seaspray would be a fool to choose any other, and that is a fact. Trust my judgement, especially if you cannot trust your own hearts to speak true through the pain and fear, just now. This is your moment, Dragon. You must seize this day and make it your own.”

He choked out, “This … this is why you are my Rider.”

“Aye?”

“This is why this Dragon is honoured beyond measure to bear you aloft. Because you soar, Princess. You soar.”

“Then, let’s fly into the suns, my Dragon.”

INTO THE SUNS!!

“Again!” she cried, raising her fists to the sky.

ARIA, I COME!!

His thunder brought the city below to a standstill.

* * * *

Dragon churned the air with his wings. Higher meant faster. Could he maintain altitude and keep them both safe with the magic he had learned from Inzashu, yet bring them eighty-eight miles in what would have to be the longest, fastest Dragon sprint in history? He had heard of Dragons making thirty miles an hour; forty when swooping from a height during battle. No story he had read or report of Dragon capabilities had his kind sustaining such a burst for more than a couple of minutes at a time.

Then again, how many half-ocean half-air Dragons were there?

The Dragon and his Rider shot away from the shores of Zunityne as if a thousand Sea Serpents were snapping at their heels. He moved straight to the powerful swimming stroke he had discovered, while Azania made herself small against his neck, even drawing up her feet so that he could lengthen his body, shielding her from the blast with the edge of his skull ruff.

As he mounted into the sky, the Archipelago spread around them. Several smaller islands stood offshore of Zunityne, covered in mangrove swamps in which narrow waterways glistened secretively. They understood from the maps they had pored over together that Mykita Lair lay right on the north-western tip of this third island they saw in the distance. Coral reefs festooned this area, leaving only the narrowest shipping lanes, but there were numerous Human fishing vessels with tiny white sails pottering about the shallow oceans – perhaps shallow enough to stymie any Sea Serpent attacks?

Harder! Harder! They rose into a patchy layer of cumulous clouds.

“Disguise,” Azania breathed.

Ha. She was right. White Dragon against white clouds. Could do worse.

Now, he cruised amongst beauty. Soft, innocent flotillas of clouds surrounded them, flattish on the undersides and cotton-puff fluffy on their tops. The suns dipped toward the horizon, slowly, yet never faster in his opinion. If only one could arrest time. Just this once, tell the suns not to go fishing in the farthest oceans.

“Breathtaking,” the Princess said.

“Aye. Even I’m pausing for a peek. My life might just be about to end in a headlong dive into a cliff, but I’m definitely going to go out enjoying the view.”

“That’s the attitude,” she said sarcastically.

“I know. I’m a sunbeam on wings.”

The resident sunbeam rested twice for thirty seconds at a time, before resuming the relentless wingbeat. More power. More! No, smoother wing strokes. More cunning, more dextrous awareness of the changeable winds and air pressures that kept them aloft. This one for Yarimda. This next, for Wavewhisperer. Another for Inzashu. One more that would bring him closer to his dam. Ten for his Rider. Twenty!

Pouring over the last of the channel’s thirty-mile width and on to the next island, the greenest yet, Dragon groaned at the strain. Pretty useless if he burst a few hearts trying to get there on time.

Azania said, “As best I can tell, we’re bang on target.”

“If we can sustain this pace. I’m in agony.”

“Spectacles?”

“You look for us. I’m afraid they’d only blow off my head.”

“Alright. I think I can see that group of Dragonesses ahead. It’s heck of a far, however. We might overhaul them before they get there.”

“Serves them right. Slackers.”

“Only because you’re so quick, Dragon. Next idea. Focus your magic into yourself. You were able to help Inzashu with healing, right? So, heal yourself.”

He tried, and after a few minutes, found some measure of relief. Ten minutes later, he was gasping again, however, his wings burning and shaking. Risk a swift glide? He had to.

She said, I wish I could do something to help him. This beautiful Dragon’s doing all the work and here I sit like an overgrown, less wrinkly version of a prune –

A gasp of laughter tore from his chest. A prune?

Azania’s turn to gasp! She said, “How did you know what I thought, Dragon? I didn’t speak aloud.”

“No? Not a word of a lie?”

“I said I didn’t!”

He said in his mind:

O beauty serene,

Her soul’s breath trembles,

The clouds of doubt …

Now, poetry? Whatever moves your wings faster, you great big lug! Save your breath for flying.

Dragon bit his lip. Impossible!

Yet, had they done this before? How else might she have developed a sudden command of fluent Draconian, if not by this route – this togetherness of mind? This energy called … telepathy?

She said, “Now is not the time to be silly, my friend. Energy is for flying.”

He thought, No, energy is for hanging disrespectful Princesses off the nearest cloud and thwacking their pert behinds into shape.

Dragon! You are so inappropriate!

It’s only a thought.

Only a – she pulled up at last. Her body quivered against his neck. So do you hear this – go stuff a cork up your left nostril, you impossible nuisance?

Cork, left nostril –

No way! I’m thinking like a Dragon.

At last. The first Human being in history to achieve enlightenment.

Dragon! She laughed, however. How she laughed! Then, she said, Some things in life are truly unexpected, like paws appearing through tower walls, and having a secret language to share with my best friend. This is so amaaaaa-zing!

There she went with her happy dance routine.

Why had her zest for life ever annoyed him? She was the perfect foil to his trenchant inner voice, the one that flayed him more surely than his family ever had.

Azania said, Alright, then. If we can do that, try this.

After a long wait, she explained that she was trying to share her strength with him, just as Inzashu and he had been able to support one another.

Excellent idea! he enthused.

The distraction of experimentation was more than welcome. Azania, mentally, was the diametric opposite of her sister. Inzashu was structured, trained, disciplined. Everything she did felt well thought-out and logical. The older sister was a bonfire, spitting with ideas and capability but no framework within which to realise what she was capable of. Yet, as always, their compatibility somehow seemed rooted in difference rather than likeness, as deep as Dragon and Human, black or white, male or female. Perhaps Aria was similar to her; perhaps that was the cause of the spark between them?

To be honest, he had no real idea. Why was the wind?

Why was … love?

Too many doubts swirled in his mind to allow that word sway. How could he allow himself to think of her that way, when he hardly knew her at all? At most it must be attraction, a lethal infatuation.

Then, he and Azania found one another. What was this between them? They shared strength, the miles now flowing joyously beneath their wings, the stroke strong and smooth and indefatigable, the drifting clouds their company only for so long as it took them to overtake and leave them far behind. His hearts sang. His powerful body rejoiced in its labour.

Dragons said that there was nothing new under the suns, yet here they were. Dragon and Dragon Rider. Stronger together.

Get through this, and there might be hope of rescuing Azerim.

That must be his hope. Should all else fail, he must do what was best for his Princess.

Chapter 25: Fiery Nuptials

FIVE MILES AWAY, THE dormant volcano of Mykita Lair cut a stark, lonely outline against the backdrop of the setting suns and the fiery ocean beyond. The cone was green and lightly forested, silhouetted against the vast bulk of the giant red sun, which touched the horizon now, sinking by the second.

Creeping up his skull, Azania pressed his spectacles into place. “What do you see?”

Many Dragons winged toward the site. He had entertained notions of arriving like a white thunderbolt from the blue. Now, he considered a different approach.

Sneakily does it.

“There’s Aria! I see her! She’s right in that clump of Dragons that are just flitting over the rim, Highness.”

They watched the Isles Dragons disappear within.

“Going to be close,” she commented.

“I’m sure there will be oodles of draconic pomp and ceremony before any actual vows are exchanged.”

“Plan?”

“I plan to land on the far rim, against the setting suns. See what’s happening. That group behind us won’t arrive for another hour at least. Before then – whatever happens, happens.”

What might just happen beforehand was the final demise of his wings.

Ready to drop off.

His flight muscles burned like never before. His chest ached, the joints protested every movement, and the strain of exhaustion burned through both of their bodies. If any fighting was required, he would just have to request a recess until the morrow. This Dragon was done.

A mile off, they both startled and cried out as a knot of draconic bodies burst out over the rim, fighting as only fabulous martial artists could. The Dragonesses swirled into the air and around the cone, at least two dozen in hot pursuit of none other than an unmistakeable cobalt beauty, Ariamyrielle Seaspray. Even from this distance, they beheld her panic and fury. She knocked out four in a blur of action before the mass subdued her and wrestled her back toward the dormant caldera.

Azania let out a breath she had clearly been holding. “That looks familiar.”

It took him forever to work out what she meant – a reference to the day he had found her, chained to a bed in that high tower with Prince Floric fully prepared to violate her honour. What kind of nuptials were these if these Dragonesses had to subdue the victim?

Aria was not going quietly.

The Princess snarled, “What the hells are you waiting for, Dragon?”

“Right you are.”

Folding his wings, he plummeted from the sky.

No time to think anymore. No time for plans. All he knew was the whistling rush of the wind in his ears, and the incongruous sight of a flower-festooned flight of male Dragons turning stately loops inside the caldera. The Dragonesses appeared to be mesmerised by the performance. Not one looked up as the speed of his drop hit terminal velocity.

Azania clung to his neck like a limpet. I’m fine. Don’t slow down.

Death dive? No. This was a life dive.

There had to be five hundred Dragons packed inside that caldera, many more than he had expected. The females were small and razor-sharp, like Aria, and all were armed with the deadly kaniaxi blades Aria wielded to such incredible effect. The males were chunky and plump in the belly. Indeed, what he would have taken for Dragons being rather overweight must be a most desirable trait here in the Archipelago, to the point that their wings looked faintly ridiculous. Could they even fly far, or did they waddle?

The younger set stood around the fringes, intermingled with the hatchlings, fledglings and egg-heavy females.

In contrast to the green outer slopes, the interior of the caldera was black volcanic sand, with a murky, circular crater lake right in the centre. Beside this stood a male – he assumed – festooned in quite the most astonishing collection of jewellery Dragon had ever seen. He wore so much gold and silver and gemstone finery, the poor thing could barely stand, let alone could one tell his actual colour with any certainty. A king’s ransom had nothing upon what that chump wore – the lucky groom, to jump to his second conclusion.

Was it wrong to hate his guts at first sight?

Not far from the groom, a pile of bodies twitched and twisted as if possessed of a weird, alien form of life. Eventually, Ariamyrielle Seaspray emerged with three Dragonesses holding either wing, several clasping each paw and her tail, and two sitting upon her back to hold her down. Two more gripped her head and neck in what looked to be painful headlocks.

A larger copper female took a stance between the shy male and the spitting mad female.

Let me guess, Azania said heavily. Surprise wedding?

Oh! Finally, what he was seeing made sense. Aria must have been royally duped.

The Isle Dragons fairly filled the caldera from rim to rim, but they all stood upon the sands and a little ways up the sides. The centre looked awfully uninviting. Might as well hop onto a Dragon-sized gallows and pull the noose tight by himself. The copper female began to make a speech they could not hear. Her audience ruffled their wings in time with her statements and thundered their approval. Morons.

I heard that.

Gnarr!

Oh, I agree. Now I see why Aunt Ignita taught us that every culture has its dark secrets. Remember that lecture?

Aye, I do.

How bad – whatever that meant – must Aria have been to merit this treatment from Clan and kin? Certainly, she could not have told him the full story. Far from it. Nor did she know much of his history, he reminded himself, because he still found it difficult to share details about what he had been through.

So many scars.

Maybe they had more in common than he had imagined?

Whatever that speech was all about, the copper female held them in the palm of her paw. Not one Dragon noticed the white comet plunging from the skies. Annoying and an ego-crusher, but actually rather useful in the greater scheme of things, for he had never in his life enjoyed direct confrontation. It rubbed against the lay of his scales.

Flaring his wings, Dragon brought them to a hard landing just ten Dragon paces below the rim on the outside, and willed his numb knees to do something useful.

Gallop up there. Show himself. Invite instant death.

Perfect plan.

So, my daughter. Ready to make your vows and do your Clan proud?

Not on your – her voice choked off.

She’s ready, the female announced. Dragons of the Isles, let this joyous day roar to the heavens! By the right vested in me as the First Warrior of the Isles, Potentate of Dragonesses, Mighty Sceptre of Oceanic Justice and Ruler of the Waves, I, Charielle Seaspray of the Dragons of the Archipelago, declare these nuptials open. First paw, according to Dragon tradition, if any creature has reason under draconic law to object to the long overdue union of my first and most precious egg, Ariamyrielle Seaspray, to this choice male of the finest lineage, let her voice her thunder now, or forever hold silence in all five hearts!

Every Dragon held their breath. Aria squirmed and struggled, but the two bigger Dragonesses holding her had her jaw clamped shut. Nonetheless, she still managed to make a decent racket. That would be Aria, through and through.

His throat worked. Aria, o Aria …

I object!

At first, he had no idea where the scream had come from.

Princess Azania! She stood upon his neck, screaming defiance and shaking her fists in a fury. The only problem was, those in the centre did not hear her above the sounds of Aria’s struggling. A couple of heads beneath them turned as if casting about for a sea bird which had the temerity to caw at the wrong moment.

Raising her right forepaw, Charielle Seaspray said, I there –

III – AAAMM – DRRRAAGGOONN!!

The belling of his draconic outrage cracked across the caldera. Dragons and Dragonesses alike almost tripped over their paws as the sound waves, with the benefit of excellent acoustics, echoed around the space multiple times.

To his shock, Azania popped a finger out of her ear. I knew you’d do that. Voice your objection, Dragon. She closed her ear again.

I OBJECT!! he boomed.

Very objectionable of you, she agreed brightly. Alright. Next move?

Hold on tight.

The Isles Dragons watched in stunned tableaux as he tipped off the rim of their caldera and floated down toward the centre upon wings that threatened to buckle at any second. Landing neatly between Aria and her dam, he gathered his paws beneath him and gazed down upon Charielle Seaspray with what he fervently hoped was an expression of terrible majesty.

Terribly tired, more to the point. Ready to pitch forward on his nose for a second time, and sleep for a year. Now that would be truly majestic.

Summoning up his inner younger brother, he snarled, I don’t believe I was invited to the nuptials.

Who are you, noble … Sea Dragon?

Tell me, Charielle Seaspray, is it common at such a happy event for Isles Dragons to chain down the male so as they cannot move, and to force meaningless oaths and vows into a female’s mouth? For once in his life, words flowed from his tongue, rich with sarcasm and ripe with meaning. May I meet the intended couple fortunate enough to merit this tender care from the Dragons of the Isles, whose reputation flies so high?

Turning his flank upon the prickly copper Dragoness as if she did not matter, Dragon courteously made a paw step to help Azania to alight. He formed his shoulders into an intimidating bunch as he stepped toward Ariamyrielle Seaspray – more for her captors, than her. Did she recognise him? Not as yet, perhaps. She suspected much …

The Isles Dragonesses murmured in shock and amazement at a Human turning up amidst their congregation.

Charielle spat, “You … dare? Who are you?”

Throwing back her hood, the tiny girl bowed all around. Honoured Dragons of the Isles, I am the Princess Azania of T’nagru, the Desert Kingdom, appointed Ambassador to the Dragons.

Aria’s jaw would have dropped if it were possible.

Her despairing eyes flickered with new fires as she mouthed, Dragon?

The Dragoness roared meantime, Why are you here? What is this – a sand crab riding upon a Dragon?

Our kingdom being under threat of invasion by the Skartun, who enslave Dragons, lock them in metal cages and torture them in the most unspeakable ways, Azania explained, Dragon and I flew over the ocean to seek aid from the mightiest Dragon warriors of all, the fabled Dragonesses of the Isles. You are these, are you not?

Of course we are!

Focussing upon Aria, Dragon thundered, Release her at once!

Half of the Dragonesses holding her sprang loose, assuming defensive postures that reminded him how hatchling-soft his nice new hide was, and how much he preferred it un-holey, while the others clung on tighter.

Released to speak, the Cobalt Dragoness spluttered, D-Dragon? You – it’s you, isn’t it?

Aye, Aria. The new, improved me, come to –

Mmm, she purred, before clamping her jaw shut, but it was enough. Too much.

Utter betrayal of her feelings.

Aria’s dam screeched, Unacceptable! Vows will not be broken while I am potentate of these isles. Warriors, seize this ridiculous foreign male!

Four warrior Dragonesses sprang at him, intent on some sort of disabling nastiness.

He did not pause to ask questions or comment on how pretty their butterfly-like wings were. STOP!! His sonic thunderclap reverberated out of his chest, smashing two down and two aside. They landed in moaning heaps; one Dragoness bled out of both ear canals. I would not suggest you try that again.

Ooh. He actually sounded as if he knew what he was doing.

Novel.

In a flash, Ariamyrielle Seaspray wriggled free of her stunned captors and rushed to his side – one, to greet him with a stinging wing flick, and two, to assume a protective, belligerent stance before his nose, wings outspread, fangs bared, slender Dragoness haunches gleaming …

Surprise? he managed to splutter.

Might have been a second’s distraction there, but he was not telling.

A world better than today’s first surprise, she snarled. Anyone who wants a piece of this Dragon will have to come through me! It …really is you, Dragon? You’ve changed.

Quite a bit, I guess – uh, you haven’t? I mean … He flicked her back with his wingtip. You look as dazzling as ever, but we’ve a small problem –

The hundred Dragonesses lining up to tear us limb from limb? “Princess Azania!” Reaching out a paw, Aria touched the girl’s shoulder, and then drew her firmly back to her side. “Welcome to the Isles. Good flight?”

“The best.”

To his surprise, the talon dagger sprouted from her right hand. Ready for action.

This was all the greeting they had time for. The copper Dragoness stalked toward them with sinuous menace, backed by two hundred steely-eyed predators. The males just stood around looking bemused. Was intelligent thought even part of the deal around here? On the contrary, the Dragonesses looked more than prepared to kill, which was expected. What he had not expected, was how a large Dragon could feel exactly as if he were a choice portion of meat about to be reduced to kebab-sized portions and grilled in the twinkling of an eye.

Why did you come? Aria hissed from the corner of her mouth.

Long story, but I am here for you, Aria.

For me?

Confident in her superiority now, Charielle Seaspray purred, I see how it is, now. This foreign Dragon has distracted you from your true purpose, daughter, and twisted your hearts away from your sworn word. What promises has he made to turn your wilful head? Riches? Power? Honour? None of these matter. At the end of this day, your honour, loyalty and service belong to your Clan by blood-right and birth. You shall obey –

This is honour? Azania queried.

Human child, you know nothing of our ways, nor of this Dragoness’ history of headstrong, anti-draconic behaviour, the copper female responded.

I know no other crossed the ocean to save a King and Queen.

In flagrant disobedience to the direct orders of her elders! She is reckless, impulsive and unbiddable. No. The time has come for my daughter to stand by her betrothal promise and be bound to a good, steady male –

Unlike me?

I don’t even know what you are, let alone who, she spat back.

I am the Dragon standing between your daughter and the dishonour of this unwanted, joyless, loveless match. I am here, because I want to give Ariamyrielle Seaspray the chance to choose her own future.

Thanks to the Princess.

In most of the Dragonesses facing him, he read only ire – but many, perhaps fifty or more, stood a little aside from this main body. They were younger Dragonesses, perhaps around Aria’s age and a little older, and they wavered between the chains of tradition, obedience and elder-honour, and the desire to stand beside Aria. Her thoughts or inclinations, he could not read at all. He baulked, shutting down his senses, even though they trembled on the cusp of touching her chaotic feelings.

Please, please, please let her understand!

Choose? We will rend you limb from limb, foreigner, and she can choose your spineless carcass!

He raised his muzzle. Stand tall. For once in his life, he would stand tall and proud, and not yield. You have no idea what I am capable of.

Dragon, please … Aria begged.

How many of you are prepared to die? he snarled.

Dragon, I – I would stand with you, but I could not … if you were to perish … I …

That warrior demeanour cracked like a dropped vase. Aria gave a grieving sob, a lamentation, that tore his hearts. She feared for him. By coming here, he had placed her in an invidious situation, where she would choose that other male only for the reason that it would ensure his survival.

I must do this for you, Aria.

Dragon, no! she cried.

The Princess called, Is it not strange, Charielle Seaspray, that troubles beset King Azerim at precisely the same time as all Isles Dragons and Dragonesses are present at this event, eighty-odd miles away? We passed a late contingent of Dragonesses inbound from Zunityne on the way. What were they up to, over there?

What? Aria gasped.

Coup, Dragon said tersely. Red feathers on their helms –

Lord Gazaram?

No idea. City full of soldiers, King and Queen not available, Azerim vanished …

Charielle smiled thinly. Human problems are no concern of the Dragonkind, apart from some few of our ranks who take pity upon the poor creatures. Now, Dragon and your … Rider, I will give you but one chance at mercy. Extraordinary mercy, which is not often exercised beneath my iron paw, as my own daughter will tell you. Fly on. Fly home and take this little leech with you.

“Dragon,” the T’nagrun Princess said firmly. “A word?”

He was unwilling to be separated from Aria, but she led him only as far as the small pond. Standing on her tiptoes to reach his ear, she said in her mind, Drink. You’re far too dry for what you’re planning.

I am? Bending his neck, he took a nice, long drink. Horrible water, mind.

He had not even noticed the absence of his fires, but now, that still unfamiliar bubbling and rumbling ignited in his belly. Dehydration after the ultra-long sprint. What would he do without this girl?

You are amazing, do you know that?

If you insist, she smiled uncertainly. What now? Fly and escape?

No, that will not solve anything. I think I need to shame Aria’s dam without killing her. Shame her into giving Aria a choice.

Alright. Do you think that’ll work?

It’s the only idea I have. It’ll go one of two ways. She’ll agree to a bargain, or she’ll refuse and try to kill me anyway. Can’t imagine they’ll just let us go. Talon in the back and all that.

Chapter 26: What Aria Sang

STALKING BACK OVER TO Aria’s side in a deliberate display of strutting male arrogance, which he doubted any of these Dragonesses had ever seen in their lives, he pointed a fore talon at Charielle, and purred, I’m calling you out, Dragoness. Let’s settle this, you and me. Single combat.

Aria gasped, Dragon, no!

Single combat? You fool, we don’t fight gentle males. They’re too valuable.

She’ll murder you! Dragon –

Listen to my little Aria, foreigner. Listen to her song. Leave while you still have wings upon your back.

Alright, brothers. They had taught him a thing or two about how to speak. He sneered, Why, are you only brave when you have a few hundred Dragonesses to back you up, Charielle Seaspray? Tell you what, I’ll make you beg for mercy. When you do, you will give your word to allow Aria free choice.

No deal, she grinned.

Afraid? How many others would you like to die with you? Five? Ten? I’ll fight as many of this miserable bunch as you want – as many as it takes to fire your courage like a true Dragoness!

A volley of snarls greeted his insults, punctuated by Aria’s plea, Dragon, what are you doing? Are you mad?

No, Aria. Do you trust me?

I … she shook her muzzle slowly, but said, I do.

The flat sincerity in her voice rocked him. She did? What had this Dragoness ever seen in him? Why did she treat him so well?

A mystery for another time.

Strengthening his voice, Dragon roared, I say Isles Dragonesses are fireless fools, bereft of honour and lacking true leadership! No Dragon or Dragoness should be forced into making an oath. It is not right. We are creatures of the suns and of the winds, free to fly where we please. Our loyalty is given for honour; the deeds of our paws are best shaped by the true and pure fires that rage in our hearts. I say this Charielle Seaspray has forgotten her fires. I flew across the oceans to the Vaylarn Archipelago in search of the greatest warriors of our age. What a shocking disappointment you are.

No reply; just that toothy, pugnacious smile from the Dragoness. Her audience shifted closer, bellies low to the ground, waiting on her signal.

Raising his right wing, he draped it over Aria’s shoulders in an intimate, lingering gesture. I intend for Ariamyrielle Seaspray to become –

He missed the moment Charielle moved. So quick was she, the copper Dragoness was already in the air, sending a brutal tail-whip in his direction, before his right paw even twitched off the ground. He twisted his head to lessen the impact at the same time as he managed with an awkward swipe to partially block the blow with his upraised paw, breaking her momentum. That paw went numb. She spun off in pursuit of likely her real target, his left wing. Aiming to disable him from the start.

Dragon flamed her backside in passing.

The action was not at all planned. As she ripped past along his flank, her wing’s razor edge opened a long cut, but then she shrieked in agony as the pain bit deep, completely missing her wing strike. The Dragoness, rear end aflame, hurtled into the watching circle of her warriors where she sat inelegantly and then rolled on the black sand, snuffing out the blaze.

Gnashing his fangs, he roared, GRRRAAAOOORRRGGGH!!

No fires. He had to save those. This was the battle challenge of an adult male Dragon, full-throated and deafening.

Two Dragonesses came at him from the corner of his vision. Dragon began to swing about, but Aria was far faster, rolling smoothly over his back to smash into them with a blistering series of kicks, punches and bites. He set another female backside – a very fetching set of green haunches – afire with a reflexive burst of flame. Screaming, the Dragoness rocketed off to splash down in the pond in a great spray of water and steam.

I AM DRAGON!!

His triumphal bellow set them on the back paw. No doubt these Dragons had seen white fires before, but only ever in the ocean. They were not without courage, facing him as a massed group standing shoulder to shoulder, but he wondered briefly if there was not something primal about the unique power of white flame and bellicose thundering that gave them pause. A second’s hesitation. In that moment, he spat a fine stream of fire out from between his fangs, shaping the flow with his tongue and lips. He did not aim to hurt or maim, but directed the fire as close to their forepaws as he dared, blistering the sand and creating a sweep of volcanic glass from the extreme heat.

The bulging eyes that greeted this feat were a sight to behold. Utter disbelief. Only he knew that his breath weapon was not half as invincible as it must look just now. Quick. Change … something. Anything!

Placing his wing once more over Aria’s shoulders, a draconic statement of possessiveness, he said, Ariamyrielle Seaspray, will –

I choose you! she bugled sweetly. Oh Dragon, I choose … you! This is my song!

Joy detonated inside his chest. For the longest time, he could not remember how to breathe. Were his hearts even beating? Then came the pang of self-doubt, the acidic voice that told him he could never deserve a creature like her. What was he even thinking?

He blurted out, Do you … uh, really? What?

Shall I twist your wing off to prove my point? Nothing could make me happier.

Was that the thought of twisting off his wing, or … chuckling softly at himself, he dared to nuzzle her cheek. Her scale scent was tropical flowers. Heady stuff! He replied, Me happier, too much. Uh, I mean – what did I just say?

She whispered, Dragon, you’re so –

Enough of this! ENOUGH! Charielle Seaspray staggered toward them, clearly in significant pain. Her scales were burned and blistered in wide patches. Her paws gripped the hilts of her twin kaniaxi blades as she snarled, So, your true agenda is revealed. You would overthrow the order of law and rule around my Isles. Traitors! This is what you planned all along.

That is not the case, honoured Dragoness, Dragon said respectfully. These are my demands. One, grant me permission to court your daughter with the honour and in the fashion she deserves. Two, allow us to attend the annual migration in peace, where I hope at last to find my dam. Three, support us in taking forces to King Azerim’s aid, and condemn those Dragonesses who helped stage or abet the coup against the Human Kingdom. Four, permit me to recruit a warrior force to fly back to the mainland in support of those kingdoms beset by the Dragon-enslaving Skartun.

She snarled her hatred deep in her throat.

He said, I’ve zero desire to overthrow your rule. However, if a mistake has been made, I expect redress of fitting nature – not to me, but to these fine Dragonesses and Dragons you lead. We shall leave you now to your deliberations. May your fires burn with all wisdom this evening, Charielle Seaspray.

Her fury burned, but she could find nothing to say. Not immediately.

Azania? Aria? Are you with me? he said.

Always, they chorused.

He could not even feel his wings as he stroked up and over the rim, and set course for a beach just a mile to the north. This time, it was not the tiredness.

* * * *

Just like old times; only, it was not. Aria, Azania and Dragon camped on the wide white-sand beach, watching the cream crabs scuttling up and down into their holes above the high tide line. Clumps of boulders the size of Human houses dotted the beach and the nearby ocean, giving each pocket of sand a cosy, sheltered ambiance.

He felt as awkward as a fledgling experiencing his first flare of fires for a Dragoness. The cobalt marauder clearly felt exactly the same way. They lay close upon the warm sands, but could not quite bring themselves to touch.

“So, did you –” they said at the same time.

Awkward grins.

Azania said, “May I describe what we saw in Zunityne, Aria? So, we flew in. There was fire rising from three buildings, and soldiers all over the city wearing crimson jackets and gold helms decorated with a tuft of red feathers – like that parrot we saw, weren’t they, Dragon?”

“Gazaram!” Aria spat.

“Aye, that’s right,” he said. “We landed at the Palace. They lied, telling us that Azerim was up here at Mykita Lair – where is the actual lair, by the way?”

“That headland up there,” Aria pointed with her left wingtip. “More sea caves.”

“Oh. I guess we didn’t notice, as we were in such a flaming rush to arrive.” Dragon settled his wings deliberately. Dignity and gravitas mingled with the tingling urge to crash through the waves in jubilant dance. “You see, we arrived in Zunityne just after mid-afternoon. They also told us that the King and Queen were not receiving visitors, and that all the Dragons were here at Mykita Lair – surprising you?”

“Surprising me is one way of putting it.” The radiance of her eyes dipped toward darkness, before strengthening once more. “I never expected my dam to act so … ruthlessly, and decisively. I have been avoiding Charnal – that’s the male whom I was promised to. Inventing errands, flitting here and there, helping Azerim and his parents, who are much better, by the way. Weak, but recovering. That poison was brutal. We hope they’ll be able to walk again.”

How he wished now that they had brought Inzashu up to the Isles!

“I’m glad they’re better. Where do you think Azerim could be?” Azania asked.

“Best guess? Lord Gazaram will be holding him hostage in his high-security tower. He’s very proud of it – a metal-clad stone tower that’s part of his fortress. It lies on the northern tip of the Human Island, as far from Zunityne as one can get and still be on the same landmass. He’s long had ambitions regarding the throne.”

The Princess said, “Aria, do you also think that the timing stinks?”

“Like a week-old fish.”

The early evening was wind-still, but the waves kept lapping and hissing on the seashore, foaming gently as they arrived and pulled away. Looking out to sea, Dragon noticed white breakers at the edge of the reef, about two hundred Dragon paces offshore. Another magical location. What lay out there? The Sea Dragons must know. Would they be able to see the migration from here, or would they have to fly out to wherever they rested and could be found? How did a Dragon live all their life in the water and never leave it?

Aria touched his paw. Today’s best surprise was you two. I just couldn’t believe it; first that yell – I had no idea where that came from – then, ‘I am Dragon. I object!’

That was the objective, he joked gruffly.

Around you, he loses all objectivity, Azania put in.

Dragon pretended to smack her as Aria’s eyes brightened toward gleaming yellows and zesty blues. He growled, Must I confess?

A definite edge entered Aria’s voice. Did you … mean it, Dragon?

Which bit?

How are the fires of a Dragoness’ hearts a topic for joking? Her talons scraped the sands with a rough, rasping sound, reflecting the turbulent state of her emotions. I didn’t give you the chance to finish before leaping in – you do feel the same way, don’t you?

Dragon growled, With respect, razor wings, we nearly killed ourselves crossing a small ocean for you! Ugh. And now he sounded like a grumpy grand-sire. Deliberately risking life and limb, he shuffled closer and extended a wing over her sharp spine spikes and tense shoulders. Ariamyrielle Seaspray, I appreciate that in your culture, Dragonesses are the pursuers. Although I do have a few questions regarding how that works with arranged mate-matches, being as –

The skills and crafts of males are valuable, so there’s a great deal of jostling over – will you just answer my question?

Pithily, Azania put in. Dragon’s never short of words, counting in thousands, that is. Or pedantic cartloads, linguistic budgets the size of small kingdoms, and so on.

Snaffling her into his paw, he tucked the girl beneath his chest and wrapped both paws around her, muffling her protests. There. Much better.

The Dragoness’ face was a picture. ‘You treat females like that?’ it said.

He pretended to look unconcerned.

Aria said, Razor wings?

A reference to but one of your lethally attractive features.

Oh. I see. Is this a term of endearment?

Dragon pretended to consider her question. Does it cause an insolent male to lose a paw? If not, then aye.

Am I truly that terrifying?

Me moth, you candle.

Her flanks shook with laughter. Dragon, you are so different – obviously – to any other Dragon I have ever met. I am sorry if I misunderstood. Do you – how do I even ask this? Whatever’s happening in my hearts is beyond my experience.

Mine too.

I’m not even sure what happened back there, but I do know that this is right. I’ve never been so certain about anything in my life.

Aye … at some point, he would remember how to breathe, wouldn’t he?

Curving their necks, they stared into one another’s eyes for the longest time. He was so much larger than her. Several times the tonnage, far bulkier in the shoulders, his back five feet taller when they lay alongside each other, his muzzle wider, blunter and taller than hers by a large margin. His fires sighed all at once, causing her lips to curve slightly away from her fangs. So perfect. Her tropical aroma teased his nostrils, reminding him that one of the caverns they had peeked into at Wave Dragonhome was a perfumery.

A Dragon feared to speak to break the stillness, for this starlit evening breathed life’s greatest magic. Finally, he managed to distil the million things that he wanted to say to her into just four words. Epic feat, but in the end, doable.

Aria, I choose you.

Reaching out a paw, she caressed the soft scales beneath his left eye. You’re so beautiful.

He blinked.

Uh, I mean, is it alright to say that to a male? You are. No insult intended. These scales – I say, the scales suit the Dragon. Majestic. And your white fires … stars above, this female’s wings tingle. Very softly, she said, I feel a little shy around you. I’ve never imagined feeling this way about anyone.

He tucked her closer with his wing.

After a little while, the Princess tapped his palm. Oh. Forgot his captive might need also to breathe occasionally. He let her out. To his surprise, she did not have a snarky or teasing word for him. She merely winked and seated herself cross-legged on the sand before their muzzles.

Azania said, “Aria, what do you think will happen now?”

She said, “I know some of those Dragonesses who arrived late to the caldera. They are part of a faction opposed to my dam’s rule; known troublemakers. I suspect that when my surprise nuptials were arranged, they took the chance to install a new power in Zunityne following some secret arrangement aimed at bringing power or prestige to their position. Gazaram, Hozim, Larazu and Jenarzam are four northern Lords who oppose the crown. Azerim and his younger brothers, possibly, will be held hostage against the King and Queen’s abdication.”

The Princess said, “How does it work with two Kings?”

“It’s a strange arrangement, but under Archipelago law, a King can be appointed to support the work of the Crown, so aye, two Kings are completely possible. Azerim being the active one during his father’s long illness, and his father, Varazim, effectively being a figurehead, yet under law, holding the ultimate authority. He could strike down a decree of Azerim’s, for example, or refuse to sign something into law. That’s my best understanding.”

“Peculiar.” Azania shook her curls. “Never in the desert, that’s for sure.”

The Cobalt Dragoness touched her knee. “Princess, we will find your Azerim, never you fear.”

“Your dam –”

“Trust me, she’s a wily one. She’ll come out of this smelling like the best perfume. In Isles Dragon culture, such a plot regarding my future is highly regarded. Desirable, clever, warlike, draconic and a true talon of leadership.” Aria grinned at their startled expressions. “As is my right to wriggle free of the arrangement. Aye, Dragon, to break my word is dishonourable, but –”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Sorry? I will rip that word out of your entrails!”

“Eh?”

“Just tugging your wings, handsome,” she purred coyly, making all his fires go whomp-a-whooosh! “Clean blades slice best. Prediction?”

“I will never say sorry again,” he promised, which in itself, was predictable.

“Don’t,” Aria agreed. “Let me tell you why. You are … well, at least half Sea Dragon, right? The white fires, the scales, so sleek and gleaming and mrrrr-yum!”

“Right!” he yelped, shivering at her teasing touch. “My sire is Blaze the Devastator, my dam, to my best knowledge is Sirensong, a Sea Dragoness. We hope to find her in a few weeks, when the migration passes by. I’ve never met her.”

“That would be amazing,” Azania put in.

“Indeed,” Aria nodded gravely. “So, I predict that the Dragonesses will assess your value in certain set dimensions – economic, political, military, potential to sire powerful hatchlings –”

“What?” he gasped.

The Princess chuckled merrily.

“They will conclude that to have you on the side of the Isles will be a tremendous boon,” Aria smiled. “You have courage, an aura of dominance and an incredible breath weapon. You crossed the ocean to reach the Archipelago, a notable feat that demonstrates your strength and intrepid spirit. Having faced down Charielle herself, you proved you are skilled both in battle and diplomacy, and you represent a link with the Sea Dragons. Times are not easy here on the Isles. We Dragons feel isolated. Maybe you could change all that. And aye, your potential to sire eggs will merit lively discussion. Many Dragonesses will slaver over your brawny muscles and hefty size, and wonder openly at the dimensions and potency of your –”

She pointed a wicked talon at his nether regions.

Eeep! he managed to splutter.

Azania hooted with laughter. He blushed so furiously, his white scales began to glow from within. Robbed of speech!

“I might have to fight to keep you. And as for these parts –” she waved her paw illustratively “– I plan to keep those very much for myself. Deal?”

Fanning her face, the Princess said, “And I thought you were the inappropriate one, Dragon?”

“I fear I may have been eclipsed,” he groaned, trying and failing to gain control of his fiery blushes. No chance. His glowing scales now lit a patch of beach around them. Interesting effect. Aria seemed suitably impressed! “Still, with regular, vigorous exercise and experimentation to learn the best techniques –”

Azania squealed, “Dragon! Honestly? Here they come … no, they’re only fighting, it seems.”

Soberly, the threesome regarded the fangs-and-talons mêlée which briefly appeared over the rim of the caldera, before sinking out of sight again. No quarter? That must be a battle to the death, or otherwise, these Dragonesses enjoyed tearing each other to pieces for the entertainment provided by all that blood and gore.

The cobalt warrior growled, As I said, a lively discussion. Since it might take a while, do please tell me what you two have been up to since last we met? Every last detail. When last we parted, you wished me all happiness and that I would know who it is that I am and what I want. I cannot say I know who I am, for that is only starting to become clear, but I believe that you both have a part to play. But I do know what I want.

What’s that? he asked.

Rescue Azerim, save the Human kingdom, normalise relations between Humans and Dragons around these Isles, help you find your dam – her fangs gleamed again as she ran out of talons on that paw, and started on the other – romance your every scale, thrash a few Sea Serpents, raise an army and go pound the Skartun into the desert sands –

All at once? Azania quipped, drawing a chuckle from the Dragoness.

He said, Knowing Aria, that’s only the beginning.

Chapter 27: New Dragon

LATE THAT EVENING, A battered, bloody and jubilant crew of Isles Dragons flew over to invite them back to the caldera, where the male Dragons promptly whisked him aside to take part in a traditional dance. Aria joined her dam. Far from being cowed or apologetic, Charielle Seaspray acted elated, proud of her daughter and every inch in charge.

As it turned out, the detriment of Aria’s dishonour was easily outweighed by snagging herself such a well-proportioned, desirable monster of a white Dragon … blah blah, he let the compliments wash over him in a daze of happiness. Quite the catch. Surpassingly handsome. Strong as the very ocean. Mmm, he thought, I’ll savour that one!

So you should, Azania agreed, ever so droll.

Nuisance.

Her dark eyes twinkled. You love the attention, really.

Bidden to roar, he gave them his best, I AM DRAGON!!

Nice one! Making over two hundred Dragonesses shiver deliciously in their scales did happen to do wonders for one’s self-image. Truly miraculous.

Ahem. As a male, that would be part of the territory.

On a rather less egotistical note, he then went through the wringer repeatedly as Aria fought five eager challengers for his paw. Having nearly died of nervous anticipation five times over and bellowed himself hoarse in her support, she snuck up to him afterward and whispered in his ear that the bouts were really just for show, and wasn’t he a nice male to be so anxious and vocal for her sake? Gnarr. Tradition demanded it. Oh, and the broken hind paw she had inflicted upon one of her assailants? Their fault, they should have given over rather than trying to wrench free from her submission hold. Hmm. From the way they fought, he had concluded the other Dragoness would rather have chewed off her own paw than give up.

After the formal bouts, four Dragonesses returned from hunting in the deep waters ten miles offshore, bringing a fifteen-foot, seventeen-hundred-pound whopper of a black marlin which they dropped at Dragon’s paws.

A promise gift, they said.

What do I do with this? he inquired.

Charielle said, You prepare the fish for your promised one, Dragon. This is Isles tradition.

Hmm, he purred, chest swelling at the prospect of proving what a domesticated beast he was. Any herbs and spices about?

His request almost triggered a minor war. Thirty Dragonesses immediately offered to fly to Mykita Lair to fetch whatever he needed. With that underway, he contemplated how best to approach this demonstration of the appropriate male household skills. Aye, chief cook, cleaner, Princess-napper and worshipper of all things cobalt. Very well. He could do domestic with the best of them.

Bring me ten palm fronds and ten coconuts! he demanded.

Another mad scramble.

Excellent. Cracking open his jaw, he snipped the fish’s head right off and set that aside. Then he sliced it open lengthwise and deboned it with the efficient application of work he had learned on river fish, only on a far smaller scale. Everything in the ocean was bigger. He cleaned out the guts and threw the mess onto the sand. Picking through the offerings of herbs and spices, he prepared a tangy blend together with the coconut milk and liberally basted the inside of the fish, before husking several of the coconuts and adding neat talon-cut slices to his preparation. Picking up the great fish between his paws and pinching it shut, he flame-grilled the monstrous portion with plenty of attitude intended to disguise his decidedly unreliable control of his fires – flexing the muscles, adding snarky commentary, paying attention to every detail.

Only the best for Aria!

Meantime, the excited Dragonesses added a chorus of encouragement of his efforts, much of which was decidedly blush-worthy.

When the steam and piquant scents combined with char reached what he judged to be their peak, Dragon tried to strip off the skin. Fail. It did nothing of the sort.

Aria popped over for an inspection. I like it crunchy.

I haven’t much experience of preparing ocean fish, he admitted.

Smells fabulous.

Very good! Laying out the monster on a bed of palm leaves, Dragon flipped it open to release a rush of fragrant steam. Oh, by his wings! His stomach vented a great rumble.

I’ll take that as the cook’s own compliment, Aria gurgled. Right. We take turns to feed one another.

He cut her a respectable portion and popped it into her jaw. Aria eyed up the fish, mimed looking at a three-foot section, and to rowdy cheers, played to her crowd by suggesting bigger and bigger portions. Each time she pretended to have decided, she took another look at him – shoulders, chest, haunches and aye, between his hind legs – and increased the size of what she intended to cut for him.

Dragon then picked Azania up and used her to measure his suggested portion, provoking howls of laughter amongst even the males.

She folded her arms across her chest, and teased, “You’ll pay for that!”

“On the contrary, expensive Princess, I expect your ransom to cover any outlay on my part. She’s very valuable,” he explained to Charielle.

“You sell royals?”

“Barbaric custom with a long and sordid history, I know,” he agreed.

His prospective dam-to-be eyed him balefully, and purred, “You had better be pulling my leg, Dragon, or I’ll pull yours right off. Do we understand one another?”

Like dam, like daughter, eh?

“Perfectly,” he said, with his most diplomatic face pasted in place.

Toward midnight, as Charielle Seaspray drew her daughter aside for a private consultation, he sought out Charnal to speak with him. What a shy, gentle Dragon! A little prodding revealed that he was a master perfumer; Aria was wearing a personalised scent he had created for her. The real customers for his magic-infused brews, however, were the males. They were the most fragrant group of Dragons he had ever met, bar none, and it was nothing like the normal musky male odour he was used to, especially in bachelor quarters.

Charnal held nothing against him, he said.

As he chatted with the much smaller Dragons, he had a sense of being a bigger brother among friends. These males would have been the ones excluded by his kin; laughed at and jeered roundly for their soft-spoken ways, yet perhaps for the first time in his life, he felt he stood among peers. They could not believe he was an artist like them. Different aptitudes, but the similarity in spirit was more than clear to him. The males chortled politely at the notion of such a big bruiser having a softer side. Their disbelief, funny on the surface, struck a niggling nerve within. Hide it. No need to antagonise any more creatures here; had he not done enough already?

What a result, though!

Re-joining Princess Azania, he noticed in her eyes how tired she was. Oddly, her weariness seemed to rush over him as he realised he could not even stop dragging his tail about. His final steps were tiredness-drunk.

She said, “So, one love life underway, Dragon?”

“Certainly appears positive,” he grinned.

“She can’t keep her eyes off you, in case some unobservant males have failed to notice the lay of the sands, or however you say that in Draconian.”

“I have to admit, I’m so tired I’m not really seeing straight anymore.”

“Need your Princess to tuck you in?”

“Sounds brilliant. As long as I get a bedtime story as well?”

“So demanding.”

Lying down upon the warm black sand, he offered his paw. She came gratefully to him. He tucked her close beside his lower left chest, curved his muzzle protectively about the nook he had created and slipped his wing down to complete the picture. How many times had they slept like this? How many more times would there be, if she found Azerim and he had Aria? Would that change everything?

What would he not give to guarantee for her the same fortune which had smiled upon him?

So many questions. Would Aria tolerate King and Princess as friends, as his Dragon Rider; might it be possible for the young King to become a Rider, too? Would anyone else want this special relationship he shared with Azania?

Softly, he whispered, “Tomorrow, we go rescue your King from his high tower, where he pines for sight of his Black Rose of the Desert, weeping copious bitter tears –”

“Dragon, you’re so silly. In the tales, Kings are never stuck in towers.”

“That’s what makes this real life, Princess.”

“Aye. Is it ridiculous to admit that I still want to pinch myself, sometimes, when I think about who I am with and where we are?”

“No, it isn’t.”

He snuck a peek at Ariamyrielle. Her fangs flashed in an immediate smile. So happy!

That was the thought that followed him into the hinterlands of his Dragon dreams. He had made someone happy. Just now, at this moment in his life, his paw held this power.

As incredible as the whitest of fires.

* * * *

Dragon woke slowly, with the sense that he needed a crowbar to peel his eyelids off his eyeballs to stand even half a chance of waking up. Empty paw!

He was up and snarling before his brain caught up. Oh. Princess Azania chatted amiably with Aria just a few feet away. Fifty or so Dragonesses looked on, their forms wreathed in a chilly sea fog. As one, they startled at his sudden movement and then sighed over his rightful concern for his promised one.

Or … something like that.

Was he dreaming?

Brain-befogged in his own right, he gaped at the audience. Did fifty-odd warrior Dragonesses often stand around waiting for a Dragon to wake? Pretty crew. All armed to the fangs. Colourful butterflies with decidedly nasty intentions that he fervently hoped were directed exclusively at his enemies. Oh. These were the younger Dragonesses? Must be. One or two were older, distinguished by their scars and larger size, but the rest were the younger set who had stood apart in apparent support of Aria.

Dragon, you’re awake at last, the Cobalt Dragoness fluted. Bad dream?

No. I missed Azania from my paw. Uh …

That smile! He pinched his paw surreptitiously. Awake. Not dreaming. The most stunning Dragoness in Solixambria was making fiery eyes at him. Five hearts frolicked within his chest.

She said, Dragon, meet our army. Dragoness army, meet my Dragon.

HAAI-ARR!! The group roared as one, drawing their swords so fast he only realised they were saluting him once the gesture was completed.

By my wings! he grunted, taken aback. At … ease, warriors?

HAAI-ARR!! The small forest of kaniaxi swords miraculously returned to their sheaths without amputating random body parts.

He glanced about. Fog?

Unseasonable but welcome, Dragon, one of the older Dragonesses called.

Aria said, Last night, my dam gave me command of fifty-two fine warriors. These Dragonesses have promised to follow us to the far side of Solixambria in support of the T’nagrun people. We just need to work out how to cross the ocean.

Azania nodded. Also, Charielle apologised for ‘testing my mettle’ last night with her comments regarding Humans – how very dry her irony – and promised a new era of cooperation with Isles Humans and beyond if the Ambassador to the Dragons can live up to her mighty title.

Ooh, the draconic backbite? he groused.

Quite. The rule of talon around here is to test a warrior’s mettle, the Princess replied. Being female, I am also up for testing.

Interesting leadership style. Certainly one way to keep one’s allies and enemies alike on the back paw, while providing a convenient excuse to wriggle out of blunders, too. Smart. He did not admire or condone the strategy, but he could see how it would work. Azania was more than up to the task. Not that he was biased. Not even to the tune of four feet and eight inches of snark-a-licious Human royalty.

Showtime.

Flexing his muscles in the most massive display he could physically achieve, Dragon twizzled his neck, flexed his wings, and prowled over to Aria with predatory intent. He distinctly heard her belly fires hit a pitch of excitement as he paused before her, and then lowered his muzzle to nuzzle hers, cheek to cheek in the draconic way.

May dawn’s fires burn as brightly in your eyes as upon your scales, Ariamyrielle Seaspray, he declared in ringing tones. Unorthodox. Hope that melted her hearts!

It’s rather foggy out, she grinned.

The metaphorical shall become literal the instant this fog burns away, he chuckled. Good morn, Princess. What’s the plan for the day?

Why, I wish to catch me a King, she purred.

More than fifty Dragons around her inhaled as one. Dragoness! So authentically draconic, even the Princess caught the vibe and played it up by pretending to flick out her wings and check her talons. Then, she bared her neat row of white teeth. Who’s ready to fly?

The murmur that rose from the Dragonesses was at once approving, zealous and the stuff of chills running up and down his spine.

Aria said, Flying to the south, we’ll pick up a troop of Anhoyal Rangers. We’ll need their help in two phases; firstly to infiltrate Zunityne and activate, brief and organise loyal forces there, and secondly, to help us infiltrate Lord Gazaram’s fortress and secure the King. We’ve learned that it’s deliberately been Dragon-proofed. Also, we need to learn the fate of Azerim’s four younger brothers and then plan our next move accordingly.

Four more brothers? Dragon echoed.

Aye, but as the crowned King, he’s the key, the cobalt warrior explained. We’re concerned that the hostages might have been split up as well. One for each rebel Lord, or something like that. The older King and Queen will be easily controlled due to their illness, and confined to their royal chambers.

That sounds messy, he growled unhappily. One thing I do know, is that the Palace building could be controlled by a small number of Dragonesses with orders to hold particular chambers or floors.

Princess and Dragoness stared identically at him.

We should isolate the royal chambers. It’s an idea, he said, on the defensive. How do Humans communicate quickly around these islands?

Homing pigeon, Aria said.

Then we know what to do, don’t we? It might take more than our number, however.

Aria narrowed her eyes. Do what, Dragon?

Oh. Was she not used to taking opinions from a male – did she not know him? Or could this be a culturally tricky moment? Hmm.

Best paw forward.

With careful respect, he said, Aria, if we can isolate the north of Human Island from being warned by pigeon, we take these Rangers and go hit the Palace – hard and fast. Dragon bombardment. Land them on the roof, the grounds, on balconies, whatever it takes. Is your dam still around? We’d need a screen of Dragons right across the width of the island to make this work.

The Dragoness shook her head slowly, eyes narrowed in calculation. Then, she smacked him upon the shoulder. Excellent idea. Council?

The two older Dragonesses plus three younger joined them and discussed the strategy briefly.

One more thing, he said. Who among these warriors is willing to carry a Human upon their neck?

Aria growled, Dragon, you are too much!

It’s a question of timing, he argued. We need to move fast. You aren’t going to catch anything infectious, or is this idea a stain on a warrior’s honour?

Not mine, said one of the older Dragonesses.

Another agreed, Nor mine. Carrying allies into battle is like carrying additional weapons. Whatever gets the job done.

Show of paws! Aria roared. Who is prepared to carry a Human Ranger into battle? About thirty Dragonesses raised their paws. The sweep of her eyes came around to Dragon. And what’s this?

He checked his splayed talons. I’ll carry ten. Just saying.

With an exasperated huff, she growled, You’ll do as you’re told, Dragon!

Best let that one go.

Ten seconds later, with a hop, skip and a jump, the Princess strapped herself aboard in her usual place. Dragon launched into the air the instant he had wing space, chasing the Dragonesses up into the thick, salt-scented mist.

Turning into quite the rascal, aren’t we? Azania thought privately to him.

It’s catching.

Are we having fun yet?

Picked up the attitude from this crazy desert Princess I kidnapped in the south.

Mister ‘I’ll carry ten,’ who were you trying to impress?

One guess.

After communicating with Charielle Seaspray and receiving her agreement to support their plan, the Dragoness army swept south in a flying wedge, slipstreaming one another in perfect formation. Frightening discipline. Aria was one of four blues. Another was the oldest Dragoness, fifty-one year-old Yalia, who was a much lighter blue than Aria, the colour of ocean shallows over a reef. The other two were a most unusual pair, twins hatched of a single egg, primarily turquoise in colouration with the usual dramatic wing flares and features that gave them that deceptive butterfly-like appearance.

Fifty-three cutthroat warrior Dragonesses, one Human Princess, and the white behemoth bringing up the final position of one arm of their wedge. Best escort beneath the suns. His chest hurt from feeling so swollen. Or was that the aftereffects of yesterday’s sprint?

They cut wing across the jungle-bearded spine of the island toward a wide bay said to be dotted with myriad, heavily overgrown islands. The foliage dripped in the mist, with individual trees rising out of the ghostly atmosphere to a height of two hundred feet. Dragon did not see too many dots, but as they headed out over the waters again after a three and a half hour flight, the mist began to lift enough for him to see the plethora of small, bougainvillea-overrun islands where the King’s crack regiment, the Anhoyal Rangers, had a jungle training camp.

Just the kind of place to do nasty things to fresh recruits.

However, the lead Dragoness spied a white sail just vanishing into the mist several miles ahead – how, Dragon had no idea, because the outer end of the bay was still soupy at best – and so the Rangers had the memorable shock of being tracked down by a flight of Dragonesses.

They saluted when they recognised Aria.

Dragon liked them at once. Gruff, rangy and nut-brown of skin, the Rangers were lightly armed and armoured, but had that air of understated confidence that pointed to them being men and women of action. He knew Dragons like this: Gangbuster and his own sire, Blaze, to name but a couple.

In neat formation, the small, speedy sailing craft pulled up on a sandbank large enough to accommodate fifty feisty, fiery females.

Aria brought over the Sankir, or troop captain, to meet her crew. The rest of his troop lined up neatly nearby. Eighty men and women on their way to Zunityne, having just received word of the coup, he was telling Aria.

“I am Sankir Farizam, ma’am, Dragons!” he saluted smartly.

“Sankir!” Azania smiled.

Poor fellow. He did a triple-take. Face, outfit, face. Tan as he was, he coloured as he realised that he had just looked the girl over with far more than polite interest. “Uh, ma’am … you do look familiar …”

Oof. He stank of embarrassment.

“You are not allowed to say, ‘my, how you’ve grown,’ because that would be wholly untrue.”

Her smile reached her eyes, daring him to make the connection.

“Princess! Princess … Azania, of T’nagru! Your Highness, what are you – excuse my astonishment – doing all the way out here? And, how? How wonderful you look, Highness. You’ve grown into a most striking young woman.”

She said, “It is lovely to meet you again, Sankir. It has been far too long – I recall that you were Azerim’s bodyguard during your tour of the kingdoms. We met in the Kingdom of Ayren, correct? You rescued me from a dreadful fate when Azerim and I were playing and we knocked over that sculpture.”

So, he must know that Azerim and Azania had made friends. What thoughts must be rushing through his mind just now? Dragon could almost hear his brain fizzing as it jumped to conclusions.

He grinned, “Aye, that I did. Soldiers! We have royal company – this is the Princess Azania of T’nagru, the Black Rose of the Desert.”

Eyes popped, but they all bowed respectfully, taking a step forward before swooping low in a style that must belong to these isles. Azania returned one of her flowing desert greetings. Once again, she was the smallest by a head; these islanders must be tall and rangy in frame, he thought, unless they only recruited to a particular minimum height? All were nut-brown of skin, shades lighter than her, however.

The soldier said, “The sea lanes cannot be open, surely?

“Sankir, I flew to the Archipelago with my Dragon.”

Dragon rumbled, “The Princess of T’nagru is my Dragon Rider, and I am honoured to fly together with her.”

Epic jaw-dangler.

He and Azania gave a wicked laugh at exactly the same time.

Turning to the men and women, the Princess said brightly, “So, given the rush to get to Zunityne, who would like to fly there aboard a Dragon?”

Exactly two women leaped into the air, shouting, “Me!”

The rest gasped as if she had slugged them each in the gut, simultaneously.

Chapter 28: Riders Aloft!

THE CHOSEN DRAGONESSES STARED at the Humans, and shuffled their paws in the sand. The chosen crack troops stared at the Dragons, and shuffled their boots in the sand.

Dragon pictured kicking sand in everyone’s faces.

Azania clapped her hands sharply. “Wake up, everyone! We’ve a kingdom to plunder!” Only Dragon chortled at her joke. She said, “Alright … uh, Dragon. Any ideas how to make this happen?”

“Me? I think … aye. Here’s what we’ll –”

He paused as Aria growled, “Would you two just like to take over?”

Oh dear. Issues of a romantic nature. He said, “Sorry. With your permission, my little Drag – oh, help! That came out all wrong!”

Withering glare. Keeping her lethal paws to herself, however, she purred, “I promise to make you pay for that audacity later, handsome.”

Whooooff! His fires raged to life at her coquettish tone. The watching Dragonesses chortled in smoky appreciation. Nothing for it. Before he conducted an unfortunate decimation of their new allies, Dragon jerked his muzzle aloft and let rip with a thunderous roar and a plume of flame that raged eighty feet tall. When he felt ready, he cut it off and returned to the conversation.

“Sorry, fire breathing is quite new to me,” he explained. “Bit of a lack of control, sometimes.”

Aria did not look unimpressed. Nor did the rest of their army.

“Permission granted,” she said, with a fangs-flashing smile coupled with a saucy wink.

Dragon almost lost it a second time.

Swallowing back all the unruly fire, he said, “Right. Dragonesses, I want you to sniff your way down the line. Trust your instincts. When you find the right person, pair up with them. Get them onboard and settled. Men, mind your manly jewels when you mount up. These Dragonesses are sharp.”

Many of the women chuckled; one called, “And what about us, Dragon?”

“Don’t pop those bosoms, ladies!”

That cracked the tension like a clay pot dropped off a cliff. Suddenly, an air of nervous excitement overtook the entire congregation as Aria led her way down the line, picking a tall, strong brown-haired woman. The other Dragonesses jostled behind, picking here and there until Dragon was left with the remainder.

All females.

“Are you trying to tell us something about male Dragons and harems?” Azania sniped, drawing a poisonous glance from Aria.

That would be a jealous Dragoness. One and one only, that glare told him.

Or, a fate indistinguishable from death.

“Let’s get these women tied on,” he said grandly. “Use your belts, little Humans, and hang on tight, especially on takeoff. My crew, we’ll try a running, skimming takeoff to make your first flight as smooth as possible for you.” He curved his head to eye the women seating themselves gingerly between his skull spikes. Eight above his shoulders and down his back, two behind Azania on his neck. “Hold onto one another, and trust me to do the flying. I’ve flown Princess Azania from T’nagru to the Archipelago without dropping her once.”

“We did have a long swim, however,” she put in.

“Not helpful, Princess,” he growled. “You see, she was inside my mouth at the time.”

Maybe that wasn’t the most helpful comment either.

He watched the Dragonesses launching into the sky. Their pretty but highly flexible wing structures did things he could only dream of. Soon he was left alone, along with the soldiers who would return some of the vessels to their base camp, before setting sail for Zunityne to support the Rangers there later. After walking up to one end of the sandbank, he dug his talons into the soft sand and called, “Ready?”

“Is that possible?” one of the soldiers called.

Her squad leader clipped her around the earhole. “Respect the Dragon.”

Azania said, “She’s right; there’s nothing quite like Dragon flight. Dragon, show them what you’re made of.”

The extra weight he bore had to be over half a tonne, he reminded himself as he raised and flexed his wings back and forth, loosening up the muscles. Time for a run. Digging in his talons, he pressed into a powerful sprint along the sandbank. Enough speed and the slight headwind in his favour, and he could call a warning before leaping into the air with a tilt of his wings that took him clear of the water for the all-important initial wingbeats that gained altitude and flying momentum. A couple of the Rangers whooped.

He gazed ahead at the Dragonesses disappearing into the bank of sea fog ahead. “Is it normal that it sticks around like this?”

“This weather can occur around the changing of the seasons,” said a Ranger on his neck, sounding breathless. She had the right idea. “Colder currents from the north bring in the fog; usually, it’s a sign that the Sea Dragon migration is near, because the cold waters bring important nutrients to the oceans around these isles. Used to be you could see them from this side of the islands, but nowadays, they pass around to the northern side. Some years they rest up and around the talons for a few weeks, playing, mating and hunting Sea Serpents, but they never stay long. Restless creatures. I do wonder what drives them.”

Will I want to take part in a migration one year? he thought privately.

Azania said, Do you feel the itch?

No. But what an experience it would be. Imagine seeing the world that way?

Incredible, without a doubt. He sniffed the mischievous purples and pinks popping into her emotions as she said, You know, it would be easy to get lost in this fog. What say you we beat Aria and the Dragonesses to the eastern tip of this island, where we agreed to rest?

How you lead me astray, Princess.

I’m just along for the ride, she chuckled, patting his head.

Hardly! Yet he well knew how fragile confidence could be. Would she ever grasp all that she had done for him? Could he find a way to tell her? Build her up from the inside?

A gristly thought to chew upon.

Picking his wingbeat, he accelerated smoothly into the enveloping greyness.

* * * *

Rolling on his back on the warming beach sand, Dragon peered sideways to see Aria spearing out of the dissipating fog bank with a certain vexed gleam in her eye. Loving it!

She led her Dragoness army in at a healthy clip; every last one of whom was doubtless wondering what their leader should do with an insubordinate male like him. This must go against the grain of their culture like a paw rubbing scales up the wrong way. Playing it cool, Ariamyrielle brought her army in to a neat landing beside the stream which ran across the beach and into the ocean. The Dragonesses paused to slake their thirst, just as he had done, first at the stream and then in the ocean. His body needed salt, a strange new compulsion.

Aria called, “Council. Princess. Sankir. Dragon – stop fooling around over there.” She clicked her talons at him, as one would summon a naughty hatchling! “Come. Let’s talk assault strategy.”

With a low growl, he stalked toward her, hot words burning unsaid upon his tongue.

The cobalt warrior frowned. “Something I said?”

“The talon click!”

“Oh. Oh! That’s just how we talk to males on the Archipelago. Is it –”

“Insulting? Gnarr! Highly, where I come from.”

“A cultural difference, then. You’re a big Dragon. Swallow your pride. We’ve more important things to talk about.”

Azania laid a hand upon her neck. Easy, Dragon. Later. Help me focus on the mission. Please?

Shaking with suppressed rage, he joined the team watching Sankir sketch in the dirt. Neat hand, he approved, as a map of the Palace grounds and a section of the main building appeared in the dirt. The Ranger explained that King Varazim and Queen Vyioli – her family were originally nobles but also refugees from the destroyed Kingdom of Taribonli, who had resettled on the Archipelago – had private chambers on the third floor of the east wing. The initial intelligence his team had received pointed to the royals being held under house arrest there; they would be heavily guarded, but mostly from inside the building, with other enemy troops stationed in and around the grounds.

Azania pointed to the elevation sketch of the building. “How tall is that balcony, Sankir Farizam?”

“Over thirty feet,” he said. “The doors are solid and the windows armoured, and – oh!” His dark eyes twinkled; Dragon suspected he had a very soft spot for the Princess. “We would consider deploying a very large Dragon, methinks?”

“As I thinks, so I do,” she joked.

Dragon put in, “Well, these small Dragonesses could not easily reach that height, but if the doors or windows are large enough …”

“Mrrrr-yum, I like your idea,” Aria agreed, touching his left wing. Apology included?

Rather less grumpily than a moment before, he explained, “Open windows, insert Dragonesses and Rangers. That should take care of matters inside the royal chambers. I could not be useful inside that building, judging by the dimensions. If there are catapult emplacements or enemy squads deployed inside the grounds, however … squish-gnarr-SPLAT!”

“Nice!” Azania growled.

The Sankir’s eyes popped wide.

Dragon said, “We’ve fought battles together, Sankir, most notably breaking the Skartunese siege of N’ginta Citadel. Azania is smart, quick on her feet and a deadly shot with a Dragon bow. We should tell you our story when we have time. Now, how long do we have to hit the capital? When’s the best time? Aria, just point this angry Dragon in the right direction!”

“Fire to my hearts,” the Dragoness purred.

Back on track.

“Let’s talk troop numbers and walk through the assault in detail,” said the Sankir. “One, we infiltrate the city and tap our contacts, confirming the royals’ location. Two, hit the Palace hard. Three, secure the building and the perimeter if possible.”

“Four, try to learn exactly where Azerim and his brothers may have been taken?” Azania suggested.

“Aye, good,” he agreed. “Aria, thoughts on the timing?”

“They will expect a night or pre-dawn assault, if anything,” she said. “I suggest we attack half an hour before sundown, right out of the setting suns. Today is Taramis ascendant. Which means, five, we should prepare contingency plans and alternative options for the Palace assault, and six, immediate plans to split up and fly north as quickly as Dragon wings can take us. Let’s do this. We have an hour and a half at most. I want to hear all ideas and concerns. Keep it snappy.”

They put their heads together.

Half an hour later, Dragon, Azania and two Rangers left for the first mission. He winged rapidly across the bay, keeping so low to the ocean that his wingtips regularly kicked up small splashes of spray. Three miles before the city, he took two terrified Rangers and one smug Princess into the snug confines of his jaw and submerged. They swam for the coastline, aiming for a small, secluded bay known to the Rangers, where an associate should be waiting for them.

Associate? Dragon gurgled.

I wonder if poor old Azerim knows how many ways his nice kingdom can be burgled? Azania’s mental voice was one huge grin, but it failed to hide her deep concern.

From several hundred Dragon paces offshore, he popped his jaw up briefly to give his cargo a breath of fresh air. Three persons used up his air supply much more quickly than one.

“He’s there,” the female Ranger said, wriggling on his tongue. “Let’s go terrify him.”

“That’s the spirit,” Azania approved.

A primordial beast walked out of the ocean, terrifying the local populace, numbering one.

The monster cracked open his jaw, revealing three Human heads who were terribly grateful not to be decorating his fangs, or sizzling delicately in his digestive juices.

After that the local populace emerged from hiding, quite possibly more shocked by the tightness of Azania’s trousers than the size of the fiery quadruped hulking behind her, to said quadruped’s vast annoyance. Although, when it came to his attractiveness to the Human male, he could not exactly compete with the Black Rose of the Desert. Might as well accept his fate.

Stop it, Dragon, you’re making me blush.

Oops. Sorry. Thinking aloud is a bit of a habit.

The Ranger had plenty of information for them; most importantly, that the King and Queen were definitely being held in their private chambers. He even knew how many troops were stationed inside each room, as well as outside the doors.

“Have to make it a smash and grab raid,” Azania noted. “Securing the royals is the number one priority.”

“They’re still mostly abed,” said the Ranger, eyeing up the royal legs.

Dragon flexed a talon beneath his nose. “Eyes.”

Dragon, please.

Dragon, please chop out his nasty little eyeballs? he grumbled back.

Intriguing to see how brown people could turn pale. Almost chameleon-like in ability, when properly threatened. No, he was not repentant. Not where her honour was concerned.

After the Ranger associate had shared all of the important points he had to make, Dragon took his Princess in jaw and slipped away across the reef once more. Gorgeous tropical fish, corals and plants! He had never imagined the ocean could be so colourful. Once they rescued this King and blew his little mind with all that was Azania, he would love to spend some time painting some of these scenes he had captured in his mind. Just … take a rest, from all this traipsing around Solixambria. Wars, coups, political shenanigans and romance.

Busy times made for busy Dragons.

This Dragon’s head spun as he slipped through a deeper channel between the reef and out into more open water offshore of Zunityne. He kept a close lookout for Sea Serpents, but the islanders had already told him that they preferred deeper, cooler waters rather than the shallow, considerably warmer coastal waters. The bottom here was sandy, about fifty feet deep, with scattered patches of green or purple seaweed.

So cool and lovely. How had he never awoken to this awareness of the glorious embrace of water?

Three miles offshore, he attempted his first in-water take-off. The actual attempt was rather less elegant than the theory stuffed inside his head, but by dint of diving deep and then exploding upward in a vertical breach, he was able – just – to clear his wings and thrash his way into the air.

Phew. Water was also heavy.

Back across the channel they skimmed, making top speed, meeting up with Aria’s force about two-thirds of the way to the far shore. Re-joining the wedge of warrior Dragonesses in the right wing position just behind Aria’s lead, they relayed the information received from the Ranger. It was gratifying to know that the kingdom’s forces were still working for the crown, the Cobalt Dragoness noted with satisfaction. Exactly as she had expected.

How had her work for the crown developed, Dragon wondered privately? Why the sympathy for Humans, which went against trends amongst his kind? He must ask for the story when they had a private moment together.

Didn’t even swallow any Rangers along the way, he put in once the serious talk was dispensed with.

She grinned. Feeding that beastly big gullet of yours must be quite the challenge.

Do you cook, Aria?

NO!!

Pah. Another cultural gaffe.

The Princess said, Aria, question. What will eat more than a Dragon?

A very hungry Sea Dragon?

No, two Dragons.

She guffawed merrily. In another cross-cultural surprise, Isles Dragonesses appreciated the sense of humour Dragon and Princess loved most.

Encouraged, Azania said, And, what happens if you kiss a Dragon? When no-one knew that, but the Dragons had finished expressing disgust and a few married Rangers had exchanged bawdy suggestions with their spouses, she said, I don’t know either, but you could ask a piece of burned toast.

Roars of laughter!

Mid-air, Dragon received onto his back the six Rangers chosen to lead the assault into the Palace. Several commented that the challenge of aerial transfer reminded them of their early Ranger training, which majored on physical, mental and survival tests and the odd bit of hazing of recruits. He knew a thing or two about hazing! They swapped a few stories before, of one accord, Dragons and Humans alike dropped the banter to focus on the mission.

Flying northeast, they swung in line between the city and the setting suns. Taramis emerged as predicted, bathing the tranquil early evening ocean in brilliant white light. Anyone on the lookout in the city would have to look directly into the white-hot sun to see them coming. Absolutely the idea.

Remember, only red jackets and red feathers are enemy, Aria called. Take guidance from your Rangers. Dragons, battle speed!

He switched into his sprinting stroke, only for Azania to immediately warn him against racing ahead. Sigh. Throttle back and try not to be too narked when Aria growled at him to maintain the correct timing for the initial strike.

The city came up faster than expected. They blew over a ridge liberally tufted with tropical trees covered in great streamers of a flowering purple creeper, and suddenly the clay tile roofs flashed beneath them. Teams of ten Dragonesses apiece peeled off efficiently, bound for the Palace roof, different areas of the grounds, and an assault on the front door – more a feint than a serious attack, to throw the enemy soldiers off their real intent.

Dragon angled for the east wing.

“See that line of windows below the roof, Dragon?” Sankir Farizam pointed. “From the end count three, then there’s a balcony door. The next two windows are the royal bedchamber. Then, that next door’s their private balcony. Got it?”

“Clear,” said Dragon.

Aria smacked his haunches with her right wingtip. “Go!”

He surged into the lead. Four red-plumed helmets stood on the roof. Timing his arrival with a swing of his head, he hurled fire in their faces. Flare the wings! Brake hard! Stalling with a series of powerful wingbeats, he touched down only with his hind feet, gripping the balcony railing with his forepaws. The Rangers ran up his forearms and stood aside. Taking half a glance at the incoming Dragonesses, Aria in the lead, he smashed in the balcony doors in an explosion of glass and wood splinters, but the window only reverberated and stayed whole. Drawing back his fist, he hit the glass with flame and fist simultaneously at the same instant as the rushing wind of Aria’s wings brushed his back, and the Dragoness punched through what was left.

The Rangers darted through the broken doorway a second before the next Dragoness arrived. Perfect entry to the gap. Even though it scraped her flanks either side, she somehow had her wings folded back and out of the way. She skidded through on the marble flooring, shovelling soldiers out of her way.

“Azania!” Aria called. “King and Queen.”

“Coming!”

Light footsteps ran up to his paw; he tossed her lightly through the doorway. She took the boost smoothly, dashing inside to check on the royals. Aria had contrived to land upon their oval bed in such a way as to shield them with her body; with her right forepaw, she waved an eight-foot kaniaxi sword to devastating effect. Catching sight of a red helmet cowering beside the window hangings on the near side of the room, Dragon reached through the window and plucked him out before he developed any ideas regarding actual bravery. Meantime, three more Dragonesses whipped through the balcony door in quick succession.

“Your Majesties, are you well?” Azania asked.

“Thanks to you,” the King rasped. “Who are – who – I know Ariamyrielle, but girl, you look … T’nagrun?”

“We know you,” the Queen whispered.

At the same time as the Princess said, “Azania of T’nagru at your service, Your Majesties, with a Dragon army.”

She glanced up as Aria’s body quivered at an arrow shot point blank into her flank. One of the other Dragonesses sliced the enemy warrior in half, literally cleaving their torso in two. Two stood ready at the doors of the royal chambers, prepared to storm the rest of the apartment. With his free paw, Dragon caught Rangers tossed down to him by incoming Dragonesses. The quarters for Humans were luxurious, but less so once one tried to stuff rooms full of murderous scaly beasts.

Queen Vyioli nodded eagerly. “The little Princess! You remember her, don’t you, darling?”

“Of course I do. King N’gala’s youngest, correct? What joy you bring –”

She bowed briefly. “Catch up later. Do you know where your children are?”

“Taken to the North,” Vyioli quavered.

“Where?”

“Lord Gazaram’s citadel, we assume.”

Dragon eyed the soldier clasped in his fist. “Do you know? Tell me!”

“Not speaking.”

“TELL ME!”

“My lips are sealed,” he said defiantly.

“We’ll see if we can’t peel them open,” he snarled. Ignoring an invitation to do his worst, he shifted his grip and then set about melting the man’s boots. “You see, I’m a Dragon.” He paused to take stock; the man did not stop wailing. “I’m not a nice, friendly soldier. Not even an enemy soldier. I like my meat grilled. Left foot or right?”

Brutal he may be in Human eyes, but Dragon’s idea of mercy was to leave the man injured but alive. It took a few minutes of demented screaming, but eventually he tore from the soldier the names of the Lords and the children they had taken captive. Those who warred on children? He had no sympathy. Dropping the man off with several Rangers at the base of the building, as the sounds of fighting drew farther away, he rose up on his hind paws once more, and called to Aria and Azania.

“It’s more complicated than what we thought. They’ve split the children up between Gazaram, Hozim, Larazu and Jenarzam. Each Lord holds one hostage, but he didn’t know the whereabouts of the youngest –”

“My babies!” the Queen cried out, and fainted.

Dragon nodded slowly. For the first time, he understood why Humans fainted. Somewhat.

Chapter 29: The Gift of Fire

LEAVING AZANIA BRIEFING THE King, who sounded moderately awful but grateful, Dragon took to the air to do a little cleaning and tidying around the Palace grounds and building. Between them, the Dragonesses and Rangers had left slim pickings. While fighting still raged deeper within the building, the east wing was now reportedly secure. Dragon surprised a squad of Gazaram’s finest trying to sneak out of a side entrance.

Man meat done medium-rare, anyone?

Pausing to tank up from one of the handy ornamental fountains, he sprang into the air and wandered off for a few minutes to see if he could not find any of those pretty red plumes about Zunityne. Not a very large city. He found one pocket down by the harbour and did a round of cockroach extermination at the expense of no less than nine javelins in his hide. Perhaps being called cockroaches fired them up? Either way, they had to be the javelin champions of all Humankind. One lodged deep inside his left nostril, which was now bleeding and jolly sore after he had been forced to pick his own nose with the equivalent of a large pointed stick.

Perhaps Dragons who went looking for trouble might get their just desserts?

Just desert that smoking heap of bodies. Move on!

Ugh. His puns really were on a downhill run. Swooping back over the city, he surprised a squad of red jackets on the move up toward the Palace, and turned them into dessert, flambeau-style. Quite an improvement, if he did say so himself. Barely a shriek escaped the raging barbecue.

Back at the Palace, Aria had gathered her Council and the Sankir in front of the east wing for a quick consultation. Her eyes brightened perceptibly in his blurred vision as he swept in to land, having to execute a quick vertical drop between the tall trees and the azure Palace building. He noted a green Dragoness stationed at each window of the royal chambers. The Sankir’s troops had barricaded the front door of the Palace building. Four Dragonesses prowled alertly on the rooftops.

Turning to him, Aria said, Seen battle, Dragon?

Tidying up in town.

The Sankir said, “We were just discussing a swift assault on the army barracks in town before taking off for the North.”

While the cobalt warrior looked gratified by his holey state, Dragon’s gaze took in the Princess standing on the balcony. She gave him the desert death-stare.

That glare could freeze a Dragon’s very fires.

Paw down, Highness?

As she stepped onto his upraised paw, he realised a singular truth. He was not the only one who felt protective of their bond. A vision of a glittering Dragon hoard stood clear in his mind, symbolic of the worth she represented not in a functional economic sense, but in much deeper ways that elevated his draconic soul. He struggled for a moment to put words to his feelings. When had a simple collaboration between a Dragon and his Princess come to signify all this?

Why was the wind? Why was friendship or companionship or love?

With Aria he had a romantic connection, but none of these complicated ideas introduced by a Dragon Rider. All he knew, was that this was why Humans were not fleas, not even this tiny Princess who rode upon a large Dragon’s back. That image was wholly wrong.

Privately, he said, I apologise if I hurt you, Azania. Too hasty, these fires.

I wasn’t there for you.

I didn’t let you be – I … I ran away. He started at the insight. I suppose I was trying to prove something that ought not to need proving.

Ah, I never thought about it that way. I’m also trying to prove something, I guess. To whom? And why? There are times a girl just feels so … little, inside. And out.

Even a thumping paw monster feels the same. His five hearts warmed as they shared a mental smile, a realisation of mutual understanding. One paw in front of the next, Princess.

She clasped his wrist as he deposited her upon the ground beside Aria. Thank you, Dragon.

So much more than gratitude for the paw ride.

He made a gracious gesture. “So, what’s the plan?”

The Sankir said, “We estimate at least six hundred of the King’s troops have been jammed into the holding cells beneath the barracks. The barracks are a square of buildings arranged around a central courtyard. Battlements and defences atop, with a small open-topped tower on each corner. Now, if we can free those troops, we’ve permission to use the Palace as a fortress while we clear the rest of town. It’s solidly built, I can tell you that much. Aria, would your Dragonesses be willing to help free them? The barracks are well-defended by Gazaram’s men, and supplied with catapults and ballistae.”

“We’ll take them out!” Aria snarled.

“If I may?” Azania asked.

“What, Princess?”

Ignoring the clack of fangs toward her shoulder, she said, “We faced a similar situation in Skartun. I suggest a coordinated attack. We feint at the ground level to draw their attention. Meantime, a couple of Dragonesses attack every emplacement from above. Catapults aren’t built to fire vertically. The best they can do is to cover one another, which will be the basic design, correct?”

“Correct,” the Sankir agreed.

Aria smiled, “I can see why you value this Princess, Dragon.”

Hmm. A touch of feminine jealousy? Very draconic.

He said, “As you can tell, Aria, I make a very large, very visible target and I am not half the warrior any of your army are. Would it forever stain my honour in your eyes to confess that a certain leaning toward staying alive in order to continue to thrash the enemy does influence my thinking?”

She gave a delighted roar. “O Dragon! You’re hilarious. We are not unthinking warriors. Efficient, intelligent attacks are our style. I’m not used to working closely with Humans on military issues, by my dam’s egg, but I’ll take all the help I can get.”

A clash of fiery gazes!

Aria added, not without a challenging snap to her tone, “Even if I am a proud warrior, and a dominant Dragoness.”

“We have much to discuss,” he flirted brazenly.

By his wings, that was playing with fire, but she merely gave a smoky chuckle, “Later. Sankir, draw us a map. Let’s get this done. After we free the troops, we must fly north with all speed.”

One thing about the military-minded, they did not waste time. Not a second. Within five minutes, the combined force, minus twelve warrior Dragonesses and five Rangers who remained behind – to be supplemented just as soon as possible – poured aloft and through the streets. It was evening, the skies darkening rapidly now. Down below, no red helmet was spared. The Dragonesses made an enormous racket, bellowing and raging and vowing vengeance on the enemies of the crown. They rolled up to the barracks, situated upon the northern edge facing the taller hills, hurled a few boulders and bellowed threats, and promptly peeled off behind the nearest houses as the defenders responded.

At the same instant, Dragon’s battle challenge pummelled the air.

FEAR THE TALON THAT CARVES YOUR DOOM!!

Quite the mouthful. Perhaps only Azania understood the import of the thunder shaking the square, fortress-like building beneath them, for she gave a small chuckle.

No, he was not writing a scroll.

Her bowstring sang as his wings flared, making a man on the battlement cry out and pitch over the edge. His white flame roared over the triple emplacement on the corner, meant to cover the angles. Thunder and challenges shook the air as other Dragonesses hit their targets simultaneously. Most went in with flame and then claws, picking up the catapults and ballistae and tossing them aside, regardless of the men and women manning them. Rangers flipped off their necks, swords flashing.

On Dragon’s neck, the Sankir pointed to a long building on the western side. “Under there.”

Meantime, Aria waved in her other troops. They whirled out of hiding and charged the walls. Suddenly, the red-feathered troops stationed there discovered three undeniable truths. One, the barracks buildings were not very tall, even with the battlements atop. Two, their covering fire had just vanished. Three, courage and discipline were fearfully hard to maintain with vengeful Dragonesses stalking the rooftops behind them, as well as a sword-wielding charge coming in from the fore.

Many broke and tried to flee, but a number formed knots of resistance.

One young red Dragoness toppled off a sloping tile rooftop with a severe wing injury. Others picked up javelin, arrow and sword injuries as they mowed through the defenders and broke into the barracks buildings, seeking to secure the area. Dragon swerved for the red as she clawed at the wall and guttering, her weight breaking stone, tile and wood.

Got you. Plucking her up by her waist, he brought her to safe landing.

“Nice catch,” Azania said. “Sankir –”

“With me, Princess!”

“Right behind you,” Dragon said.

Not exactly. He could not hope to fit inside. Forced to watch and then track her by scent and sensory magic, he huffed in frustration as the Sankir, plus the Princess and a squad of six Anhoyal Rangers disappeared below ground. A frustrating wait followed. Rangers combed the other buildings, but it quickly became apparent that the King’s soldiers must have been rounded up and herded below ground en masse. No-one could find the keys.

The Princess popped her head out of a ground floor window. “Dragon. Looks like they’re stuck down there and were left to rot, no food or water. They’ve been trying to break out with a couple of daggers they smuggled in.”

“No chance of smashing down the doors?”

“The quarters are very narrow. Aria barely fit inside the entry tunnel. She tried the door, but it is ironbound. She could only rattle it.”

“What’s the distance?”

“Hmm. Good thinking.” Turning, she pointed. “It’s down that stairwell you see behind me, and then twenty paces along.”

“Fifteen,” said the Sankir, popping up behind her. “Twenty if you’re – you know.”

“Vertically challenged?” Dragon purred.

The Princess smacked his nose. “Shut it, Mister Large.”

Landing in the courtyard area between the barracks buildings, Aria paced over to him. Her scales gleamed in the lantern light. Some kind soul must have lit the lanterns around the courtyard just before the attack.

“Plans?”

He said, “Kick down this wall, insert my muzzle as far as it will go down that stairwell –”

“While I spank your backside?” Aria inquired.

“What?” he spluttered.

“Won’t that make the fire squirt out faster?”

“Aye!” To his embarrassment, his scales heated up at her tone.

“There,” she said. “He’s primed for action. So predictable. I do love the glowing effect.”

Gnnnrrr-gnarr-GRR!

Aria just winked at the Princess. “Could not agree more. Come on, I don’t pay you for your prettiness, you know. Put those mighty muscles to work.”

“Did someone call for a demolition?” he rumbled.

“Most certainly did!” the Sankir agreed. “Just let us get out of your way first, Dragon.”

Once the little Humans had cleared the way, Dragon flexed his muscles and checked his hind paws. A dozen Dragonesses looked on with interest as he lined up his back-kick. BOOM! Right beside the window. BOOM-BOOM! The building shook. Between kicks, he heard the Sankir down below shouting through the dungeon door to the troops.

“That block’s shifting,” Azania advised.

“Stand back!”

Winding up, he cracked the block out beside the window. Then another. A whole section of blocks collapsed back into the room – each was solid sandstone, three by two by two feet in dimensions. Eager Dragonesses swarmed into the gap, pulling out the rubble.

The desert Princess said, “I love a Dragon in demolition mode, don’t you, Aria?”

“Mmm,” she purred. “Watch out!”

In their eagerness, the Dragonesses provoked a small landslide as part of the wall and the floor above abruptly collapsed. He must have undermined a roof beam, but the place was well built. The breach did not extend far. Dragon waded in gallantly to lift the beam off an overzealous yellow Dragoness, whose wingtip pat of thanks nearly put Aria into murder mode. With a couple more well-placed kicks that did nothing for the bruising probably developing on his heel – ignored with massive draculinity, of course – he opened the room to the night air.

Aria growled, “I’m going to call you Wrecker from now on.”

“Wrecker the reckless?” he grinned.

Making an extravagant desert-style bow, Azania declaimed, “I hereby name thee Lord of Destruction and Wrecker of Human civilisations, thou Paw of all Pestilence, harbinger of the fiery winds of Taramis itself, the mighty White Dragon!”

He blinked. “By my wings, is that an official statement, Ambassador?”

“Would you like it to be?”

“Gosh, I think it might make me sound a little pompous, wouldn’t you say?”

“Poetic license.”

“Any decent poet would be turning in their grave right now.”

“Oh hush, Dragon. News is what we make it.”

“That’s fake news.”

“Who cares if it’s fake? It sounds good, and besides, it’s satisfying. Rolls off the tongue.”

Wriggling a little to get beneath the roof level, he pressed over to the stone stairway. It was a simple affair protected by a solid trapdoor which had been thrown back by the invaders.

The Sankir trotted up the stairs beneath his nose. “Right. The blasted door is straight ahead of you. I have the men and women inside pressed back as they can, so no need to withhold – but the space is tight. If you can, direct your white fires more to your right paw, because that’s where the locking mechanism is. Pardon my question, but are you sure your fires are hot enough to melt metal?”

Pausing to glance at Aria, he smiled, “Metal, Dragonesses, it’s all the same to me.”

Whoosh! She coughed fire.

Azania leaped aside with a yelp. He reached out to slap the flame off her buttocks – gently. One did not want to launch one’s best friend over a nearby building by mistake. Jolly good thing those trousers had been made fireproof, wasn’t it? The Cobalt Dragoness apologised. So did he. After all, he had to confess that someone had set her off.

Checking her rear end, the Princess growled, “I’ll have no indecent jokes from you, Dragon.”

“Why, can one not talk about a flaming hot rump in your culture?”

“No!”

“Not even if it’s true?”

The Sankir’s grin flashed in his brown face. “No, we all go about pretending it isn’t true, whilst thinking something else. That’s the way Humans work. All sorts of silly taboos.”

Azania said, “You are not exactly helping. Dragon, go stick your face down that hole and stay there until the job’s done. Sankir, get over here. Are you married?” When he shook his head, she growled, “Well, you should be. Anyone on the horizon? Aria?”

“No idea,” she growled. “Fight your own battles, Princess.”

While he stuck his nose underground and took aim, Azania pestered Sankir Farizam to confess. To his surprise, the hard-bitten Ranger’s reaction revealed that he was definitely hiding something. The Princess was not oblivious – the female equivalent of his colourful emotional sense. What surprised him was her persistence. He drowned out her voice by directing his fire down the tunnel. Brilliant light irradiated the dark, dry dungeon walls, carved out of solid sandstone if he was not mistaken. That must have taken some labour. At the end of the passage, about seven or eight Dragon paces away, was a sturdy door meant to keep the riffraff in.

He played with the thin stream of fire. Tongue control. Hmm – three locks, if he was not mistaken. Shortly, a yell from inside gave him pause.

“What is it?” Incoherent yells? Rather testily, he boomed, “Can I hear from less than ten at a time?”

“Sorry, mighty Dragon, your flame cut right through.”

“Everyone alright?”

“One burned arm, but it’s not serious, sir.”

Gnarr. Call him sir, and it would get serious. Fast. “Fine. Sorry! I’m aiming high next, and then I’ll try the lower lock.”

“Everybody duck!”

Quack, he thought, making Azania giggle.

Fire, too much fire, not the right fire, the right fire but not in the right place … he grumbled to himself as he went back to work. Amazing how fast one went from fire poverty to complaining about the fire one had. Was he ungrateful for the gift of fire? A metaphor which could readily be applied to life, and he must remember this lesson well.

A couple more longish burns later, and the Sankir braved the heat in the passage to go and encourage the dungeon door to swing open with the aid of a large sledgehammer he had discovered somewhere.

Anything to escape Azania’s relentless enthusiasm for romance.

Suitably encouraged, the door gave way and hundreds of dishevelled but grateful Vaylarn Archipelago soldiers began to pour out of the dungeon. After thanking Dragon, they one and all made a collective dash for the lavatories.

Dragon peered at this phenomenon in startlement. Humans, eh? So little control of their bodily functions. Still, he perfectly understood the desire not to defecate beneath one’s own paws. Even Dragons disposed of their pellets in a reasonable fashion, and decried bombing other creatures from a height, unlike the disgusting seabirds around these parts.

He growled, “Could I have a –”

“Trough of water right here,” Azania said. Hmm. Mind reader?

“Did we lose a –”

“One Dragoness is too injured to fly,” she replied before he even posed the question. “Plenty of minor injuries, but that one was an unfortunate accident due to the snap-recoil of a ballista. Fractured her secondary wing bone, left side. Aria’s having a hard time convincing her to stay.”

It struck him that Aria might resent his interference, but they were also short on time. If any single message got through that the capital city had been retaken, Azerim or his brothers might be endangered.

He walked over. Gyrielle, is it?

The orange Dragoness nodded, straightening as she realised he knew her name. She said, Dragon?

He said, I know this is not what you want to hear, Gyrielle, but if Aria’s asking you to go up to the Palace and swap out with another warrior, then please do that. We need you back on the wing as soon as possible. I am asking you, please, please be ready to fly south with us. There will be battles against Sea Serpents here and the Skartun slavers in the south. We will need the full measure of your swords, your fire and your courage.

Gyrielle arched her neck proudly. I want to fight!

That you will, that’s a promise. When the enemy rises against us in their tens of thousands, Gyrielle, that’s when we will need you most.

Aria put in, Furthermore – thank you, Dragon – I need a squad to finish clearing this town. The Sankir tells me there are still substantial enemy forces from the four northern Lords at work here, endangering the citizenry. Three more volunteers to join Gyrielle and the kingdom’s soldiers!

The Dragoness genuflected fiercely. This, I shall accomplish.

Chapter 30: Dark Fortress

POWERING UPWARD INTO THE fully dark night sky, sprinkled with constellations he could recite by name, Dragon tuned his ears to Azania, riding his neck with the Sankir in second position. Gnarr. Put his arms around his Princess, would he? Those hands had better behave themselves, or he’d chew them off slowly!

Azania said, “Your men told me you were married before, Sankir Farizam?”

Oh. Had he misjudged the man? He tuned in to listen.

“Aye, for six years. I lost my wife and three children to Sea Serpents.”

Heat like heartburn built inside his chest as the desert Princess whispered, “I’m awfully sorry. I had no right to –”

“That’s alright. She was a merchant’s daughter from the Isles, but her father originally came from the Kingdom of Onyxil. He found the Archipelago very much to his liking. Still lives about twenty miles from here, actually, out near the mangrove swamps. She was returning from Onyxil with our children when they were attacked and sunk. They must have drowned, or –” his voice cracked “– or worse. Ever since, I’ve hated myself for not going on that trip.”

“You wanted to die with them?”

“Aye.”

“That’s so hard,” she said, clasping his hands in hers.

“It was nine years ago, before we were forced to close all the shipping lanes,” he added. Grief still shaded his tone. “We were aware of the danger, but I guess … I guess we just thought it would never happen to us. The ship had a Dragoness escort, even. All three were killed in the battle – shot out of the air and drowned or crushed, is what I heard. There was only one survivor, a young man. He never recovered his right mind afterward.”

“I’m sorry to hear of your tragedy,” he rumbled, causing the man to startle. The eight Rangers on his back murmured between themselves.

Azania said, “Sankir, I’m sorry if my teasing was hurtful.”

After a long silence, he said, “I have told myself I should be over it by now, but how do you ever recover from such a grief?”

“I lost my father a few months ago. It’s … impossible. I have no answers.”

Farizam touched her shoulder in sympathy.

Dragon spread his wings into a resting glide position. He flew wing-second to Aria’s lead. He wanted to tell her that he moved a great deal more wind than her and was the more powerful flier, so he should take the front position. No. When it came to warrior Dragonesses, her place was at the forefront of the flying wedge. The Dragonwing already found his presence strange enough. Pick one’s battles. Sneak his ideas into their heads slowly.

Even the fact of a male flying with them into battle was novel enough!

By his dam’s egg, he was weary in every bone of his body. They faced another long haul up to the northern edge of the island – not far from where Aria’s personal lair was located, he had learned during one of their briefings. Two Lords lived on headlands of this island, one on the large island between the major Human and Dragon domains, and one just shy of the interior mountains, on the western slopes. Gazaram’s fortress was regarded as easily the most challenging to penetrate. The others were more standard castles, vulnerable to an air attack. Almost as if Gazaram had expected such a day …

To Aria, he said, I am concerned about Lord Gazaram’s level of preparedness. We should scout the castles with extra care before engaging.

We know this, she said, but her tone invited explanation.

The detail of the metal tower bothers me. Why should he expect Dragon attack? We know they likely worked with this faction against your dam. It seems an unusual precaution to take. Either he’s playing the long game, or he knows something we do not. I … could not say what that might be, but my scales itch.

Your scales, Dragon? the orange Dragoness to his left wing queried.

Before he could reply in wrath, the Princess put in quietly, For example, were there ever any suspected links to the Terror Clan?

Aria said, Not to my knowledge.

At the very same time, the light blue Yalia said, There were rumours. The Dragonesses eyeballed one another over his back. You were much younger then, Aria Seaspray. This was before – I forget. Maybe ten or twelve years ago? Just around the time your dam assumed leadership of the Isles Dragons. We were much more fragmented then, as you’ll know from the histories. What I know is two things: one, there were rumours of Terror Clan visiting our shores, and two, rumours that they were the sinister talon behind Faylielle’s assassination. I have no proof. Your dam might well know more. As to potential cooperation with the Humans? No idea.

The cobalt nodded. I did not know this.

Dragons and Humans alike digested this for a few minutes.

Turning, the Cobalt Dragoness called, “Be on the alert for dark magic at the citadels. Let’s reconfigure the teams to distribute our most capable magic users amongst the four hit squads. We leave no stone unturned when we scout, we hit them hard and acquire each target as planned. Rendezvous at my lair after the mission is accomplished. Remember that the youngest brother, the six year-old, has not yet been located. Upon acquisition, question your target about him. We must find little Varazim – they call him ‘tay-Varazim’ after his father.”

Acquisitions. Targets. He had the impression Ariamyrielle Seaspray liked to acquire targets of the large scaly variety.

Onward they sped, making for the southerly tip of the small but rugged mountain range that formed the spine of this island. They passed the lantern lights of seven towns along the way – more than Dragon had expected, although they were individually quite small. In general, each was the heart of a single Lord’s domain. Here and there, they saw the pinprick lights of tiny hamlets. Indeed, there were so many thousands of small islands and reefs offshore, the Sankir was telling Azania, it was a standing joke that every Human owned their private island. At least one palm tree and a strip of beach. She tugged his leg about inviting him to her private beach – the whole of T’nagru.

Just missing the water.

Charielle the copper Dragoness joined them in the sky, seeking news. Three homing pigeons had been destroyed that she knew of; Aria related developments in Zunityne and what they had learned before her dam left again. They would keep the line until after dawn, by which time they hoped to have good news.

At last, they saw rising ahead the silhouettes of the mountains one hundred and twenty miles northwest of Zunityne, and to their right paws and hands, a gleaming silver bay. The Lumis Ocean put on its most glorious show. Dragon ached to immerse himself in the phosphorescent gleam. He pictured a midnight swim with Aria. How romantic. Even Azania must be impressed by the sappy sonnets of his Dragon hearts.

The Cobalt Dragoness brought them in for a landing on a wide white strip of beach fringed with tall, tufty palm trees heavy with a fine crop of coconuts.

Dragon sniffed the air. “Humans nearby?”

The Sankir said, “How do you smell them upwind?”

“You Humans have your own very special reek,” he suggested, elbowing the man in a comradely fashion. Dumped him in the sand. “Ah, sorry.”

“Save it for someone else,” he growled, coming back with a shove of his own.

Dragon lurched toward the water, and decided that was a good idea. Salt. Yum! “Join me?” The Human leader walked to the water’s edge with him while Azania helped one of the Rangers to redo a bandage. He said, “Just between us males, I scented earlier that you might indeed have someone special. Am I right in thinking this person might be up at Gazaram’s fortress?”

He laughed curtly, “Is much hidden from you?”

“I sense emotional states, sometimes. Call it a Dragon sense.”

“Much more to you than just the lumpy muscles, isn’t there?” he said, wading into the shallow, lapping surf. Lowering his voice, he added, “I’m afraid you and Azania read me all too well. I must be an open scroll to you both – aye, she is Gazaram’s bondservant, and … special, to me. I have four times tried to buy her back. No chance.”

“This bond is a kind of indentured slavery?”

“As good as.”

“So, shall we just kidnap her for you and be done with?” He rubbed his paws in simulated glee. “I have experience with kidnapping damsels in distress. I can highly recommend it.”

“Azania claims she kidnapped you.”

“Close enough. I was a hopeless, lonely sack of misery when she came into my life, kidnapped my Dragon hearts, and with her inexplicable feminine wiles helped me change into what you see today. Brown Dragon to white. A runaway weakling to a creature who is … more – one who crossed an ocean, and has hope for the future. Those are not inconsiderable achievements.”

Sankir said, “What I hope for would be … inappropriate.”

“How so?”

“She is twenty-three. I am thirty-seven.”

Dragon shrugged. “Age gap? Pah! Don’t be ridiculous. Is that all?”

“No. There’s a story. When she was six and I had just entered the King’s service, I was stationed up here for a few years. Chanize – that’s her name – had an accident while she was exploring out on the reef. She stepped on something called a Hybraki Stonefish. Both feet. The poison is slow-acting but invariably lethal. I saw her in trouble as the tide was rising, swam out there, and brought her back. The surgeon had to amputate both legs at the knee to stop the poison from spreading. She lived.”

Taking a deep breath, he said steadily, “When she stepped on that fish, she knew she’d lose her legs. She begged me to leave her out on the reef, to let her die. But I had to be the hero. I brought her back and gave her over to the surgeon. Her feet were already turning black. Chanize said she’s happy to be alive and that she’s always been grateful to me …”

“So, I’m not great with Human emotions.” Dragon put his forepaw around the man’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “Help me to understand. Am I hearing that you feel torn between guilt and a sense that any feelings she might profess for you would be clouded by obligation?”

“Aye … aye! Can’t believe I’m having this conversation with a Dragon.”

He wiped his eyes.

Dragon felt the same, although his weak eyes failed to leak. “Have you spoken with Chanize about these things?”

“No! I can’t! Well, physically I can’t, because Gazaram keeps her under lock and key. She’s one of the finest seamstresses in the kingdom and so her contract is profitable. Amazingly –” how bitterly the word rang in the night air “– she has not managed to pay off her debt as yet. I smell a rat. And obviously, she can’t just run away. One needs the use of legs for that. Look, most of all, I just want her away from Gazaram. He’s misusing her and that is wrong.”

“Right you are.” He squeezed the man’s solid shoulders one more time. So much bigger than his Princess! “Leave it with this Dragon. May I inform Aria and Azania?”

“Perhaps that would be best. My judgement might be clouded.”

* * * *

Clouded judgement might better be described as the sensation of being the only male Dragon amongst a Dragonwing of forty, flying alongside and behind the beauty whose every wing flexion made his hearts turn rapturous somersaults. Close enough. Maybe less poetic, but the effect was no less devastating. He occasionally found the patterns and movement so hypnotic he had to look elsewhere for a moment, or he might have flown headlong into a mountainside without even knowing what had hit him.

Clouded also described the weather, which was for the better. Cover for nefarious deeds. Localised storm? He scented moisture and stronger winds pushing at the ever-restless oceans.

The Dragons split up as planned. Two hours after midnight, Aria led her smaller battle group out over a rocky isthmus and around via a coastline that once again, on the eastern edge of an island, was a jag-toothed Dragon lying in wait for the unwary. Up here rocky teeth bit the sky with savage intent, while deep cracks and canyons abounded. Some were inlets for the ocean. The single access road – one used the word with a wince – visible a mile to the interior, was a white-paved, torturous failure to tame the wild landscape.

Carts just gave up out here. For the last twenty miles, Lord Gazaram had donkeys haul his goods up to his citadel.

The castle, home to the crustiest, most infamously bad-tempered Lord in the Archipelago, certainly made a statement. It stood upon a solitary island just off the mainland, reached by a well-defended bridge, surrounded on all sides by water. Not only were the black battlements windswept and rugged, some thoughtful designer had decorated them with spikes and busts of traditional island creatures – all the friendly sorts, like spitting sea serpents, spiny urchins, barracuda, stonefish and poisonous corals, to name those Dragon could recognise through his spectacles.

Sure looks like the architectural equivalent of an angry porcupine, he grumbled as they swept in low along the coastline, hugging the shore for cover.

Glasses? Aria raised her brow ridges.

They help me to see. I’m good underwater, I’ve discovered. Useless above it.

What’s the exact issue? she asked.

I’m pretty badly short-sighted. Everything’s blurry from about the length I can hold my paw in front of me. I was sort of hoping that once I discovered my true fires, this debility would … go away. He smiled wryly. Azania has many times been my eyes in battle.

I see.

Me, not so well.

She chuckled softly, And here I thought you were just fluttering your eye membranes at me. We never spoke about the details before, did we? Not apart from your need to consult an optometrist regarding your severe conjunctivitis – how’s that been?

Actually, I haven’t thought about it in weeks.

Azania said, I wonder if the regular immersion in salt water is helping? You’re right, Dragon. You’ve stopped itching. However, your sight is still worst when you’re tired.

Her perceptiveness still had cause to surprise him. He nodded. Aye, that’s right.

The Cobalt Dragoness said, Alright. So, that’s the main fortress. You’ll enjoy Gazaram’s favourite iron tower. It’s something else.

Just as tasteful? Majoring on the ‘evil overlord’ décor and cladding only a self-respecting executioner would be proud of?

Dragon! Azania snorted.

Well, clearly some men like to wear their dungeons inside out.

Aria stared at him as if he were mad.

The strike team drifted along past the fortress. One last, very tall sea stack stood at the far end, separated from the main castle by another short bridge. What a miserable, eerie place. He squinted into the darkness. The stone stack, some eighty Dragon paces tall, almost completely surrounded a sheer metal tower which had been built inside what he took for a dormant volcanic pipe. Only the top twenty feet or so surmounted the encircling stone. Those twenty feet were as heavily armoured as he had ever seen. Narrow slits for ballistae. Thick metal. An air of foul magic, the cawing of crows about the place as if they had been attracted here by carrion. The magical and other echoes around this place made him shudder.

Below, the Human-sized entryway was a barred metal gate set between two imbedded gatehouses. A couple of vertical cracks in the stone showed that the metal tower inside was smooth and unrelieved, with almost no space for any Dragon to manoeuver around it.

Impregnable? And then some.

His scales prickled. That sense of dark magic, that focussed intent … he bellowed at once, Evasive action!

A hail of ballista quarrels hissed out of the darkness. Had they not been forewarned, the flight of ten Dragons would have been cut out of the sky. As befitting the largest target, he now wore two shots in his left shoulder. The others hit did not fare as well. One Ranger died instantly as a shot pierced his chest, and one green Dragoness tumbled toward the waves.

He dived at once. More quarrels whipped through the darkness. Where were they even firing from? How were they so accurate?

Split up! Execute the plan! Aria roared.

Rescuing one of their number was far from the letter of the plan, but a couple more holes in his hide would only add to his long list of aches and pains. Extending his talons, he gripped the Dragoness by the shoulders and dragged her bodily sideways through the air, ending up beneath the bridge between the mainland and the castle. Unconscious? Draping her atop a flattish rock, he heard Azania unbuckle. She jumped down and put her ear against the Dragoness’ throat.

“No heartbeat!”

Stopped her hearts? What magic was that?

At once, he pushed her over onto side and raised his fist. Thump! Thump! “Check her.”

“Nothing.”

He hit again, twice and then three times, to no avail.

Thump! The Princess added her own, fists-doubled punch. She listened again. “There it goes!” Azania mopped her forehead.

The Sankir said, “One Ranger to stay. Brief her and get her back into battle if you can.”

“Me!”

“Thanks! Let’s go,” Azania said. “We’re needed up at that tower.”

The Sankir pressed a bow into her hands. “Heard you’re useful with one of these. If you see a tall, greasy-haired man with a love of flashy black leather cloaks – he’s our rebel Lord.”

Dragon launched sideways, taking advantage of a sea breeze to whisk him aloft. Time to sniff out the stench of evil magic around this dark citadel, and end it. Otherwise, he had an awful sense of what Azerim’s fate might be. Backed into a corner, the Lord might just decide to end his captive’s life.

He hissed, Gazaram, fear the talon that carves your doom!

Chapter 31: Talon Magic

IMMEDIATELY, HE CAME UNDER fire from the so far ridiculously accurate defenders. However, they faced a capable enemy. Five Dragonesses swarmed over the battlements, kicking catapults and slicing apart ballista crews with horrific precision. They never seemed to be quite where the defenders expected them. Azania picked off a couple of defenders on the battlements, while he rapid-fire hit a series of arrow loop slits lower down, silencing the archers behind. They wheeled past a fierce battle for the inner keep.

Tower door lower right. Hit it! Azania yelled.

A stream of white fire ignited the defenders trying to bar the door against ingress.

And the left! Hit the keep door!

He spat again, surprising himself with a precision blast that set the front doors of the inner keep alight. In that glow, he saw a silver-edged black cloak swirling away; a big man who moved like animate shadow, marshalling the defenders.

Gazaram!

I know, the Princess panted. Took a shot but missed him. To the tower!

He burst over the short gap, alert for more mischief. What he saw was Aria diving toward the tower, only to veer off and come within a scale’s width of braining herself on the rock below that top section.

What the … WHAT?

The world turned upside-down. Jangled to his core, Dragon veered off instinctively and achieved two things: one, a stream of fire that still managed to hit the target, and two, he bounced off the summit of the sea stack with a great deal less elegance than the cobalt warrior. The warriors on his back cried out, rattled like him.

Wheeling away, he collected his senses. The sky and ground switched places and behaved themselves once more.

“Dragon, what was that?” Aria’s call alerted him.

“Dark magic!” one of the Rangers cried.

“Some kind of directional pretzel magic,” he spluttered, “plus a very powerful repulsive force. I mean, it completely scrambled my balance and seemed to flip my vision?”

“Mine, too,” his Princess agreed. “We have to break in there. Fast.”

“Effect on Humans?” he asked.

“Nil. I sensed something going on, but nothing like – Aria duck now!”

A silver ballista quarrel hurled past the cobalt warrior as she flicked out of its path with the most incredible reactions Dragon had ever seen. The quarrel grazed her chest before arcing away into the pounding surf, where it struck a rock and detonated with a crack! Electricity! At once, his mind spun back to the lightning machine the Skartunese had used to strike him down. Somehow, these quarrels stored an electrical charge powerful enough to stop a Dragon in their tracks. Was this a new Terror Clan technology?

He summarised this information for the openly shocked cobalt Dragoness; whirling toward the rest of the fight to warn her team, she ordered him to stay away from the tower until she returned.

His ears, however, detected a different sound above the rising hissing of the wind – a whine he recognised all too well. The weapon needed to be recharged. A window of opportunity was open if they acted swiftly. Three warrior Dragonesses circled the metal tower. Seven Rangers to land on the summit, if they could.

Azania, how can we –

I’ll be your eyes. Close them.

WHAA – GNARR!!

Nice Dragon. Good boy, she said, patting his neck. Her tone did not exactly make matters better. Humans talked to hounds like that! At once, however, her mind explained, Speed of thought. Trust me. We can shut that weapon down if we work together, but you’ll need to –

I do trust you.

Trust someone else to be his eyes? This might be the hardest thing he had ever done. Even though he knew Azania better than any other, and they had flown together for months, the act of giving over was one of the hardest things he had ever done. It spat in the eye of draconic pride. Yet the way the dark magic had turned his brains into scrambled egg – it was defence on a whole new level. The Terror Clan knew what they were doing. He would try to protect his mind, but if he did not understand the first thing about how the magic worked …

He called, Dragonesses, we’ll try to shut that weapon down. Will you feint for us? Be wary of that foul magic.

One snapped toward him, Aria’s orders!

NOW!

Squeezing his eyes shut, he readied himself for the Princess’ directions.

Farther around, farther … ninety degrees to your left wing – right now! Aim – higher, her thoughts came in thick and fast. By his sire’s egg, he was not used to being peppered like this. Hundred, ninety, eighty … FIRE!

The world rotated around him, but even as she was yelling at him to remain steady, he found his steadiness – her mind. A rock amidst chaos. Following the minutest promptings of his mind, he focussed his fire and directed it slightly farther upward, before breaking off a millisecond before a violent yet muted explosion smashed against his ears.

The Princess gave a crow of triumph. That’ll show them!

The whirling and tumbling did not abate, but she guided him to a swift landing on the rocky collar around the top of the tower. The Rangers deployed swiftly. Their mission was to find a way inside, to locate and secure King Azerim with all speed. His nostrils flared. The scents of smelted metals, Human flesh and other strange odours filled his senses. His stream of fire must have blown up whatever they had been using to collect or amplify electrical energy. Frightening power. He tried to risk a glance over at the main castle, but his eyes were not doing what they ought to. Towers smeared across the night sky, outlined by one of the moons which lay low but full to his left wing. Was that south? Or north? No way of knowing.

Let’s go help Aria, the voice inside his mind said. Still with me, Dragon?

I’m good. Lead on.

The fire-breather led by the flea.

Too funny. His humour sliced through her stiff response.

They whipped off the sea stack again, her trickle of response suggesting that the mighty Princess had just kidnapped herself a Dragon. Immediately, her thoughts threw eight or ten quarrels at him at once; Dragon slewed between the onslaught and avoided all but one, which pinned him beneath the tail adjacent to the sensitive male parts. Close one. He planned to put those to good use one of these or those days. Would not do to field an injury just there, now!

Azania sent him screaming around the castle, winkling out knots of enemy soldiers, catapults and the odd ballista. Frustrating how good her eyes and battle awareness were. Less impressive how it took them three or four attempts on average to hit any given target, especially since there were ridiculously talented warrior Dragonesses to avoid at every wing flip. Swallowing back a great lump of stinging pride – it helped that they smashed straight through a flagpole she had not seen and warned him about in time – he set about figuring out if he could do more. Could he enhance her awareness, somehow? Perhaps he might filter smells and mix in a draconic awareness of emotions seeping from behind battlements and deep inside well-hidden, crafty lairs that housed archers and ballista engineers alike? Not that one! Innocent children …

Within fifteen minutes or so, it became obvious that the tides of battle were turning. Only the odd ballista was left in operation. He helped burn and smash open the doors to the inner keep. The Rangers rushed within to disable many booby traps and find their way to the staff.

Where’s Gazaram? Find me Gazaram! Aria thundered from the far side of the castle. Dragon. Tower plan four!

That was code to inform him that matters were not proceeding well with the Rangers attempting to penetrate the tower. After accepting a fresh quiver of arrows from a Ranger, the Princess directed him over to the far side. Both searched every shadow for sign of the Lord.

So many places to hide. Nooks and corners and spikes, archways and monsters and overhangs. This castle was a maze.

Flying over to the tower, they found the defenders silent, but the metal structure stood inviolable. Rising winds plucked fitfully at his wings. His emotion-sensing magic could not detect the man either. Dark magic was devilish stuff. He had to get better at this.

The Sankir met them up top. “Haven’t gotten inside as yet. We think Azerim’s being held two levels down from where you blew their machine up.”

Dragon shook his head. His eyes wandered in opposing directions. Headache! “Defenders?”

“Thick on the ground and persistent. Orders seem to be to hold at all costs. We think the King is fine so far, but haven’t got eyeballs on him. Do you think you could melt a way inside?”

“Give it my best shot.”

Puff out that chest. A touch of swagger. Azania certainly rolled her eyes behind his neck as he acted the male Dragon, but she helped him to focus on a spot a foot beneath the room they had blown up, and he started the hard work of melting down the metal. So thick! If he cracked open one eye or another, the stream of white fire appeared to wander sideways, bent toward his paws or bled up into the moon. Only Azania’s presence of mind kept him on track.

The tower’s metal cladding glowed red hot, white where his fire struck it directly.

It’s going. Melting slowly, she encouraged.

Gazaram!

Aria’s cry distracted him. The man advanced onto the bridge at the head of a wedge of warriors all identically clad in unfamiliar banded silver armour. They bore tall oval shields. In the centre of each was a single green stone he recognised with a cold shiver – literally. Coldstones! Only, he also knew them as verdelite, a carrier of magical power. They must have uses apart from keeping an atmosphere cool. Was this stone at the heart of Terror Clan magic?

He bellowed a warning to Aria. Was she even listening? Swooping, the Dragoness clashed violently with the group of men, but they repelled her attack with apparent ease. She did not even appear to harm them despite multiple strikes that were faster than his eye could follow, or Azania’s. After she had beaten them back a couple of feet, the Lord’s warriors drew their swords and advanced upon her.

The weapons glowed with an unholy, greenish light.

Not looking good down there, Azania muttered. Keep drilling that hole!

His flame stuttered.

Blergh. Perfect timing – no, there it went again. A fresh rush poured out of his throat. The metal hissed and bubbled as he stepped toward it, focussing the brilliant beam of white light, willing it to cut deeper, deeper still!

Dashing to the edge, the Princess peered down. They’re pushing her back, Dragon! Some kind of shield … I think?

Go help?

She might kill us afterward, but better that she’s alive to do so!

Faultless logic as always, he grumbled as she swung onto his neck. Doesn’t it ever get boring?

When I’m flying with you? Never, she glibly deflected. Sweet little thing. He had five hearts and every single one of them had a fiery spot for her. What the heck is that weapon Gazaram’s wielding?

As he cleared the tower, his vision finally rushed back together again, from opposite ends of Solixambria, it seemed. Clever trick.

Good thing he still had a brain. This dark magic was a fearful thing, even for a bruiser like him.

Gazaram wielded a metal staff about six feet in length. A shining two-foot blade protruded from either end. The shaft was liberally studded with gleaming green verdelite gemstones, useful both as handgrips and to supply the eerie power with which he was steadily beating Ariamyrielle Seaspray backward. Her mighty blades smoked where they clashed. Clearly, the warrior Dragoness was at the ‘what the infernal hellfire am I facing here?’ stage of working out her combat strategy, because she gave up ground steadily. Was she concerned about the state of her weapons?

Gnarr-blasted-death! he swore furiously as one of her swords snapped just as he thought about it.

Dive! Dragon collected his fire inside his chest. One hit. One was all it should take. He would sweep Gazaram right off that narrow bridge and smash his followers into oblivion.

Lord Gazaram’s dark cloak swirled around his tall, blocky frame as he whirled his staff through the air, more than holding up against what Dragon would have taken for Aria’s far superior martial arts skills – or was she now in the tower’s ambit, as confused as he had just been? Multiple cuts appeared on her body and wings as if by magic in the couple of seconds it took him to hurtle down to the level of the bridge, which arched about forty feet above the surf.

In the instant his leathery wings snapped open and Dragon made his swoop for the men, fire gathering behind his fangs, the man whirled and plucked from amidst his men a small, squalling bundle of humanity.

The youngest brother!

Azania cried out like a lone gull, despair and rage mingled in her voice.

A gust of wind picked him up and hurled him toward the bridge. Hold fire! At the last second, he yanked his left wing up and out of the way, slewing sideways as he shoulder-smashed Gazaram’s guards into the ocean below. Both he and the Princess snatched for the boy, bundled up in black cloths, but their adversary swung him away from their grasp with a low laugh. He back-thrust with his strange sword, gashing Dragon’s neck deeply.

As they hurtled away, both Dragon and Rider turned to glance over their shoulders. No need of sound to hear what the man said.

Holding the writhing bundle aloft, he called, “Why don’t you play catch?”

With that, he tossed the child off the bridge.

Aria dived in an instant. The shadowy figure swirled past her, hacking into the frilly trailing edge of her left wing as he vanished into the gloom around the tower’s gate.

Azerim! he gasped.

Drink some seawater, quick. You’re dry again.

How did she know and he didn’t? Dragon dipped his wings, taking them down to skim over the surging water. Experimental. Lowering his jaw, he let the cool water froth between his fangs and down his throat.

“Darn, he hit me,” Azania growled, sounding aggrieved.

“Where? Are you alright?”

“My … uh, right breast,” she said. “No jokes.”

“I hope Azerim is good with bandages,” he chortled on cue, earning himself a slap. “Up we go.”

“It’s bleeding more than I’d have expected.” As they raced up the weathered side of the sea stack, she dug a length of bandage out from her belt pouch, tried a couple of things, and with a sigh, stuffed her cut full of cloth. “It’ll have to do. I haven’t got anything long to tie around your neck – besides, your blood’s very hot.”

“I’ll live,” he muttered.

“You’d better!”

This was all the conversation they had time for. Re-joining the Rangers at the top, they met with the Sankir. “Hole’s tiny. Maybe big enough for one,” he suggested, looking at the Princess.

“No,” Dragon growled.

“There’s a barred window lower down where you can see the King,” he added. “He’s chained up pretty thoroughly. Wrists and neck to the wall, hood over his head. I’ve no doubt Gazaram’s going for the kill. We’ve two archers watching the window, but from what I just saw down on the bridge … we’ve a minute. Maybe two at most.”

Azania eyed the hole they had quarried earlier. “How hot –”

“Red hot,” said the Anhoyal Ranger leader.

“Toss me through.”

“NO!” Dragon growled. “You are not facing that man alone!”

“We’ve no time. Azerim’s dead otherwise. Throw me through, and then try to deepen the hole to get a couple more Rangers inside, alright? The second you hear me call, get your scaly butt down to that barred window … you’ll know what to do.”

For Azerim? he asked.

I’ve no choice.

He nodded at once, sensing her frustration, desire and courage. I understand. Let’s do this – together?

She clutched his upraised paw. Always.

If you see any large green gems in there, destroy them – from a distance, alright?

Got it.

Shuffling toward the tower – one of three in his vision just now – Dragon prepared to do what he hated most. Aye, this despairing Dragon planned to toss his Princess directly into danger.

She unstrapped from his neck and stepped down into his paw. “Get me close. I’ll dive through, I think. Practised this plenty of times during my illegal gymnastics classes, but never through a red-hot window. Lower, lower … good. Steady paw, please.”

Right. He had to hold his wrist with the other paw. Shaking like a reed.

Her feet pressed down briefly, and then she arced through the hole like a trout disappearing into a waterfall.

Azania tucked and tumbled neatly. A second later, she was back at the smoking hole, saying, “All good. There’s a hatch here. Bow, quiver?”

He tossed them through gently. “Be careful.”

“Stay close, Dragon?”

GNARR-AAAYYYEE!!

“Eloquent.” She knelt, working the hatch mechanism. “Open that window quickly. Might need help fast.”

He smelled death in the air; whatever had been located inside that room, it was a pile of smoking slag and the men or women operating it had perhaps been vaporised. Nothing recognisable was left, anyhow, as best his muddled vision could make out.

Drawing back, he let loose again, trying to achieve the ultimate cutting focus with his white fire. Make the hole bigger. Get some Rangers through to support the Princess. Fury lent his efforts power and heat. He carved through the ridiculous ten-inch metal cladding, causing huge showers of hissing white sparks to fly free, and then he hit the foot of stone beneath. The Sankir meantime briefed him that two Rangers on ropes were watching the King’s window thirty feet below. Another Ranger helped him to direct his flame.

Suddenly, another explosion shook the tower.

Azania!

Fine … shaken some, but … whoa!

Whoa indeed! Another silly expression, but it perfectly described all his senses rushing back together and behaving themselves again. Excellent. Meantime, Aria flitted to a landing right beside his flank.

Wrong boy. Decoy; not the King’s little brother. I left him with helpers below.

Azania’s dropped the tower defences.

Got three Dragonesses trying to break in below. Gazaram’s inside. How’s it going here?

Far too slow!

Inner hatch open. I see Azerim, he heard from the Princess.

She’s reached Azerim.

Aria narrowed her eyes. How are you communicating with her?

Time to drop her jaw. Thought.

Mission accomplished! As he continued to try to carve that gap around the window wider, he saw her mouth unhinge slowly. Telepathy – you – and her? Impossible …

Disbelief, jealousy and more.

If there was to be something between them, Dragon realised with sinking hearts, she would have to learn how very different a creature he was. He had never been one to fly with the Clan. Difference could be painful and lonely, or beautiful and unique, and everything in between. Much would hinge on her ability to accept who and what he was – and he, her uniqueness.

Azania’s cry arrested his thoughts. “Gazaram! Stop right there!”

Dragon froze.

Chapter 32: A King to Save

THE GASP OF HIS fear gushed fire out of his throat. Stone and metal exploded back toward his face. Dragon ducked instinctively, protecting the Rangers beside him with an outthrust wing. Molten metal splattered his wing and hide, drawing a pained grunt from him.

“Gazaram!” he snarled.

The Sankir shouted, “Swords! Clear that window. Get Rangers inside, now! Go, Dragon.”

Another space into which a very large Dragon ought not to be trying to insert himself. Just not a good idea. The window, with two Rangers dangling beside, was fifteen feet below the top level of rock that surrounded the metal tower. Head down. Off he went.

As Dragon slithered downward, trying to extend his neck and make his shoulders small, he heard a sharp scuffle inside. A male grunted in vexation. Clash of sword blades. Thonk! That horrid sound preceded a man’s muffled groan, and another curse rose from the Lord:

“I’ll kill you, puppet King!”

A low, female scream, “Over my dead body! Take that!”

“Unh! Dead will suit you just fine.”

“Try me.” Cling! Clang! They clashed robustly.

Gazaram roared, “Who by the hellish Northern Lights are you, girl?”

“Your worst nightmare.”

Skiss! “Aargh! What the – what’s your magic?”

What? Had the talon blade done something to Lord Gazaram that Aria’s blades had not achieved? His slide snagged and snapped one of the ropes holding a Ranger, but he caught it a fraction of a second before the end whipped out of his paw.

“Sorry. Grab my paw, here.”

She climbed into his grip as he braced himself between rock and metal. Peering through the bars, he took in the scene. At the far end of a metal-clad, circular chamber, Gazaram tried to wrench his blade free of the King’s boot – Azerim must somehow have blocked a blow. He was chained to the wall. That blade looked deeply embedded. Blood spurted out of the wound as the Lord struggled to free his staff. Another wound on the chained man’s lower left thigh was so severe, he saw a white glint of what he took for bone.

In the same instant, Azania darted forward, spearing one of the green gems on the staff’s length with the point of her talon blade. The gem fizzed and sparked violently. The Lord swung a heavy boot. The Princess rolled smoothly to Azerim’s side, dodging the blow and causing him to lose his balance.

Gazaram fell heavily. “Curse it, you black demon!”

Dart! She destroyed another gem. And another! Tactical!

With another violent twist, he freed the staff and swung at her. The Ranger in his paw fired an arrow, which skimmed the man’s neck as he spun with frightening grace. Azania blocked the staff’s shaft with her blade. As the man pressed to overpower her, cursing that he would remove the King’s head, she scraped the blade along toward his fingers. Gems exploded in sequence. He had to drop his grip or face having a few digits amputated.

Dragon lined up his muzzle. Unfortunately, Gazaram stood between him and the Princess. The shot would skim the circular staircase in the centre of the chamber. Misfire, however, and he’d roast his Dragon Rider, or the King. His eye touched hers, as did his thoughts.

Bellow, she breathed.

At the same instant, she tripped over Azerim’s waving leg. Poor man. Beneath that heavy, padlocked black leather hood, he must have little idea of what was going on save that someone was trying to kill him and someone else, an unseen defender, had just sprawled over his lap.

I AM DRAGON!!

His sonic blast punched the Lord in the back. A silvery blade flicked upward at the same instant as the man lurched forward, losing his balance. Azania pierced his bowels deeply. Stuck beneath his toppling weight, she could not escape and neither could he fire, but the King twisted his chained body with a great groan, sliding them sideways. The ultra-sharp talon ripped its cut inches wider.

Blergh! Nasty. Now he knew what Human guts looked like. So … organic. A greyish-purple colour, like a small octopus dangling its tentacles out of that rent.

Lord Gazaram’s black gauntlet snapped out, gripping Azania by the neck with enormous strength. “Now you’ll die, little girl!”

She choked, fighting hard, trying to kick him off.

Must be galling to be gutted like a fish by a person he took for a child.

At the same instant, soldiers boiled out of a hatchway in the floor, while the Sankir came down the stairs four at a time, unleashing an arrow that punched into the Lord’s shoulder. For a second, he found himself surrounded by four of Gazaram’s men, fighting for his life. Then, another Ranger leaped free of the stairway, her daggers glinting. Beautiful strike. One soldier died instantly, the other at her left hand, staggered as her dagger embedded deep in his shoulder.

Freed, the Sankir beat back the remaining two and lunged for Gazaram. Still tangled up with the Princess, his hand gripped her throat relentlessly. She kicked his neck, but the man only bore down with maniacal strength.

Azerim kneed him in the man-treasures, and appeared to collapse.

As the Sankir bullied the Lord off Azania, she coughed and heaved a relieving breath. The Lord’s men tried to pull him backward toward the window, shielding him with their bodies. Aiming through the bars, the Ranger in his paw placed a shaft into one of the backs facing them. More soldiers rushed up through the hatch, but a Ranger’s arrow struck one of them through the face visor, blocking the stairwell with a dead body.

The tall Ranger and the tiny Princess stalked Gazaram in tandem. The man swiped at them with his sword; a male Ranger knelt beside the King, quickly binding his thigh with a robe, while another worked expertly at his locks with a set of picks. Two more had joined the soldiers.

Catching Dragon’s eye, the Sankir roared, “You’d better hide your Lord well, men, for I am bent on revenge!” He waved his sword in clear threat. “Come on, Gazaram! Where’s the youngest Prince?”

“Taken care of!”

The man lunged; the Sankir blocked his thrust, but his block impelled the blade into Azania’s arm. Blood welled immediately.

She lunged. “Take that, Gazaram!”

He recoiled. At the very same instant, her thought touched his mind. Dragon thrust his fully extended talons between the bars. The blow was anything but elegant; the longest point of his fore-talon pierced the nape of the Lord’s neck, despite his armour. Just three inches or so, but in the case of a Human, a deadly strike. Blood spurted out of the cut. Drawing back his talon, he warned Azania with his mind as he very, very gently blew fire onto the men’s backs.

“Get the King out! Mind the lower hatch,” he roared.

The Rangers retreated; the men in front of the window screamed and broke. Nothing like overheated Dragon halitosis playing down one’s spine to liven up a man’s dancing skills. Meantime, the Princess skipped forward to execute a rapier-like strike with her talon blade, opening the Lord’s throat to complete the job. He collapsed; she retreated just as rapidly.

“Lower hatch!” he thundered again, shaping the fire roughly with his tongue. It swept across the floor to the lower entrance, sending the men climbing up there into a scuttling panic.

Stooping, the Sankir hefted the limp King onto his shoulder. “Up the stairs! Go!”

With the way cleared by Dragon fire, the Rangers fled up the spiral staircase. The King left a trail of blood behind him. Briefly, Azania and a female Ranger clashed over who would be last. The Princess staggered upstairs first, clutching her side. The Ranger followed; a second later, he heard the trapdoor squeal shut. Drawing a huge lungful, he filled the chamber with clouds of pearly white fire. As much as he had breath for, until the flesh inside stopped sizzling and there were no more sounds of movement inside. So much did he give, the heat radiated back out of the window, forcing him to withdraw the Ranger he still held in his paw.

Now he was properly stuck.

Aria! Help!

Chuckling rather grimly, she ordered four Dragonesses to grab him by anything that mattered and drag her Dragon out of the hole he had created for himself.

Took a bit of doing.

After all, from this viewpoint, his haunches obscured the entire sky.

* * * *

Working quickly, the Dragonesses extracted the Rangers and royals through the window the creature who possessed a welding torch for Dragon fire had thoughtfully carved out for them. They had padded the hole with a layer of robes which had been soaked in seawater, but the cloth smoked heavily and burst into flame as the last Ranger popped free.

“Azania! Alright?”

“Good thanks, Dragon. Various cuts and bruises, but –” He caught her as she wobbled. “Mostly alright. I need to sit down.”

“You did great in there.”

“And then, the draconic backstab. Epic,” she said, swatting his upraised paw with her hand. “Nice work, you!”

“Azerim needs help, fast,” Aria put in. “Dragon –”

“Right on it. Castle courtyard?”

“Let’s move.”

Scooping up the King, he leaped out hard and fast, taking them on a quick tour of the delightful battlements before folding his wings to execute a swift landing. Warriors both scaly and not patrolled above; the keep had been breached, and even before they touched down, the Sankir began to yell at his Rangers to find the youngest brother, or at least, find out his location. The staff had gathered inside the entry hall. Amongst them, the Lady of the castle stood apart, railing bitterly at everyone and everything.

After discovering that the castle did not have a surgeon of any capability and the Lady was not exactly willing to help, Dragon poked his head into the hall and summoned up his most sensitive self.

“Lady Gazaram! Your husband is dead and if you don’t shut your lying, treasonous trap, I promise I will immortalise you in charcoal as well!”

She collapsed in a dead faint. Perfect.

He glared at the rest of the servants. “Anyone else in a mood not to help?”

Turned out they were all incredibly zealous. Amazing. However, the best they could offer was a nurse and a seamstress capable of very fine stitching, one Chanize. Aha – that would be the sweet-looking young blonde woman sitting in a rolling chair. His fires brightened.

Doth yon Dragon devise a devious scheme? Something like that, anyways.

Dragon pointed with his talon. “Rangers. Get King Azerim on that table. Nurse, clean his wounds and you, girl, stitch whatever it is that’s bleeding so badly in his leg. Get the artery closed properly, hear me?”

“Sir!” the pair quavered in tandem.

“Where’s the nearest capable surgeon?”

Over the waters at Lord Jenarzam’s castle was the agreed answer. The debate then became whether to move the King and do just one trip, or to go there and fetch the man in rising storm winds, which would take valuable time. Azerim was in bad, bad shape. Despite the boot, his foot had almost been cut in half and the gash in his thigh was deep – it had only nicked an artery, but he had lost a great deal of blood. The seamstress bent over him, needle and thread moving steadily while the nurse pinched off the flow and mopped up with her free hand.

Outside, Aria gave her orders. No sign of the little boy so far, but the Anhoyal Rangers had not yet finished their search. One of the servants thought he might have heard Gazaram talking about hiding the boy somewhere out along the coastline, but he did not know where.

“Can someone get me up onto the table?” Chanize asked, wiping her brow. “Can’t see from here – oh, Sankir Farizam?”

“Chanize. May I help?”

“Gladly.”

Dragon scented the emotions between them. All the colours of a mountain meadow in the high summer. He grinned toothily, summarily terrifying every single person who was looking at him just now. High time for draconic mischief after all this brutal fighting and killing. He looked on as the girl put her arms around the man’s neck and he lifted her easily onto the table. That bloom of colour in her cheek. A hitch in his breath and the care he took with her person.

Aye! Gnarr. Move over for the Dragon in the house!

Brusquely, he said, “Once you’ve shut off that bleeding, let’s plan to sprint with the King over to Lord Jenarzam’s castle. Who can pack travel bags for the nurse and the seamstress?”

Chanize glanced up. “Uh, my Lord Dragon –”

“Congratulations. You have just been accepted into the service of the Crown.”

“I have?”

Squeaky. Just how he liked his women.

“That’s right,” Azania agreed, smelling the romantic subplot with infallible instinct. “Royal authority, straight from the King and Queen themselves. We have the power to put this rebellion to rest and secure the King and his brothers by any means we deem necessary.”

“You can’t do that. She’s a bondservant,” the Lady Gazaram groaned, having recovered a few of her senses, by the sounds of her whining.

“Oh, I can and I will,” Dragon growled. “I require her service.”

The nurse said, “And me?”

“Bind that leg and foot. We need to minimise the bleeding until the surgeon can see him.” He leered at the servants. “Woman. Go pack, or must I persuade you?” Fire leaked from between his fangs.

Don’t overdo the tyranny, Azania half-laughed half-scolded playfully.

She knew exactly what he was about.

Also, Chanize was now properly terrified of him. Sigh. Best rectify that detail once they were up in the air. He gave her a parting snarl as she wheeled out of the hall. The Sankir looked desperately unimpressed. Obviously some peoples’ brains were exhausted and misfiring badly. He’d get the idea just as soon as this despotic Dragon executed part two of his wicked scheme. Just now, he demanded that Azania’s injuries also be seen to so that she could embark on a flight.

Aria stepped up beside him. We might find ourselves searching this area on foot and by wing. I’ll see what the other groups have come up with; see that as many Princes as possible are secured.

They might be keen to help with the search, he suggested.

Good idea. You’re as full of ideas as you are mischief, aren’t you? He rumbled immodestly. So, here’s the plan. You sprint for Jenarzam and I’ll rendezvous with the other teams at my lair as planned. I would have wanted to show you my place, but our job is far from complete. We’ll come find you when we can. Saving King Azerim is our top priority. Fly safe and strong, Dragon.

You too, Aria.

His undisguised longing surprised them both.

After a moment, she stroked his flank with her wingtip, a gesture definitely on the intimate side of friendly. I’ve never appreciated having a big, powerful male at my back as much as today. You shone in battle, Dragon.

Thank you!

With that, she was off to make more arrangements. He buzzed with elation. What a high compliment from the lethal Isles Dragoness!

Dragon arranged his little Humans to his satisfaction. The Princess would take his neck, of course. They fastened the King to a stretcher and perched him atop his shoulders, alongside the spine spikes, before slinging ropes about his chest to fasten him in place.

“Up top,” he ordered. “Nurse, seamstress, Ranger, in that order. Get yourselves tied on.”

“We … fly?”

Chanize’s little brain had evidently just turned up the right conclusion. About time.

“I’d attach wings to your wheelchair if I could,” he said. “I’m sorry if this is second best.”

“Second best?” Her eyes grew round and shiny.

He said, “I’ll carry your wheelchair in my paw, for when we arrive on the other side. Now, milady, paw up?”

He delivered a speechless young woman into the Sankir’s capable hands. Farizam helped her to settle on a temporary pad and took the seat right behind her. Both women’s hearts thrashed madly as he checked they were secure, and then, with a gruff warning, he stepped up the stairs and climbed up onto the dark battlements. No launch that would jolt the King. Various gasps ensued as he gripped with his talons, testing the rising winds. Tailwind. This promised to be a good flight.

Turning to check over his shoulder, he growled, “Sankir, you’ll need to call directions. Everyone, hold on tight. I’ll be flying very fast. Sankir, you’re responsible for that girl in front of you. Forgive me, but for the sake of her balance, I’d prefer you hold her firmly about the waist.”

You old fraud! Azania snorted fondly.

The dark-haired Islander’s face was a study in angst.

“Dragon’s orders!”

Without waiting to see what the man would do, he tipped forward from the battlements and spread his wings upon the breeze. They had a King to save.

* * * *

Pumping his wings with all his strength, he shot out over the channel dividing Human Isle from the Dragon one. There was only a small enclave of Humanity on this first large island of the Archipelago’s Dragon paw; it was the most populous but also the poorest Archipelago. The King had been of the opinion that Jenarzam might have been coerced by the other three Lords, but that his actions might be forgivable – possibly. Of the four, his death had been desired the least.

A Dragon appreciated such a codicil.

Gazaram had merited no such special treatment. Fancy trying to hurl a youngling to his death for the sake of a feint? Despicable. Aria had rescued the boy, but many other soldiers, servants and several Rangers had perished. Two Dragonesses had not survived the battle.

About ten minutes into the flight, he checked back over his shoulder and called, “Chanize?”

“You know my name?” she gasped. Despite the very late hour – perhaps three hours before dawn now, he estimated – the girl appeared quite awake.

“Of course I do. I take pains to learn the names of all my valuable captives.” He grinned. “Just teasing. Good flight? Comfortable?”

“Aye, thank you, uh … Dragon?”

“Is the Sankir holding you properly, Chanize? Do you feel quite safe?”

Her medium green eyes brightened. Not that it was possible for a fireless Human, but he was quite sure he detected a spark in there. Or was that just a glint of reflected starlight?

“I am quite scared, Dragon.”

“Sankir! You are failing in your duty,” he grumbled.

The man guffawed, “More of those ‘Dragon’s orders,’ eh?”

“Let me advise you to obey,” the desert Princess put in, wide-eyed. “He gets incredibly grumpy, otherwise. He’s also a complete tyrant when it comes to arranging matters to his satisfaction.”

Dragon said, “Could not have said it better myself.”

After a second, the girl pressed her head against Farizam’s chest, and his hands tightened about her waist. He might not have been aware, but his habitually soldierly expression softened, and his nostrils flared slightly as he took in the girl’s scent. Beneath his body, he made a surreptitious fist pump.

Win goes to the Dragon.

One more thing. With a displeased huff of hot air, he said, “Chanize, I dislike bonds of servitude. Would you like me to petition King Varazim on your behalf to have you released from Lord Gazaram’s service?”

“I … I could not ask such a thing.”

“Would it make you happy?”

“Over the moons!”

“That’s good enough for this Dragon.”

Chapter 33: Sunshine

COMPARED TO LORD GAZARAM’S architectural monument to a misshapen desert cactus, Lord Jenarzam’s castle was positively homely. A broad, tan-coloured rough pentagon, it enclosed a hilltop commanding a view of Seal Bay, a sparkling teal estuary that played home to an estimated fifty thousand playful silver seals. They could play right down his throat, mmm. Tasty. Beyond the bay lay a further sprinkling of black-tipped coastal mountains, their green grassy sides dipping at dizzying angles into the bay and the Lumis Ocean beyond. Tan coastal plains surrounded the castle, but soon gave way to the tumbling, flower-festooned tropical vegetation he was starting to take a fancy to.

Gorgeous view.

Right on top of the broad, flat top of the Lord’s gatehouse, a chunky white Dragon was busy deciding if he could be bothered to shift his chunky backside a smidgen to better enjoy Taramis’ brilliant white glare. Nah. Too much like actual effort.

“Refreshments, my Lord Dragon?”

Ah, that would be his private butler. What a wonderfully civilised notion.

One might almost argue that Lord Jenarzam’s apology was hitting its full stride. Eye to the future and all that. He had good taste. Talking about taste, he idly picked over the offerings and treated his gullet to a nine-foot length of moray eel roasted to perfection. Succulent.

“Do convey my compliments to the cook,” he rumbled. “The fare is excellent.”

“I shall, sir. Would sir like anything else?”

If sir had not been feeling so lazy, he might have bitten the earnest middle-aged man for calling him sir, a Human title. No, he was feeling magnanimous. Let this fellow escape with his head. Especially since his stomach was ever so appreciative of the attention.

He said, “No, thank you. Before you leave, allow me to relieve you of your burden. This red fish is particularly excellent.”

“The Ruby Snapper, sir?”

“Aye.”

Dragon’s ear quickened to a light footstep. Azania. A touch awkward in her gait, however. He curved his head at once to check her over as she ascended to the rooftop. Arm, body and breast. The Princess wore her wounds proudly – as well she should, having saved Azerim’s life fairly much single-handedly. She also wore her talon blade prominently on her hip. Stars above, he loved her attitude. Sass, spark and zest. That young King had no idea how lucky he was to have captured prime place in her heart.

“How are you, Princess?”

“Stitched up and sore, but fine. You, Dragon?”

“Feeling exactly the same; thinking deep and positive thoughts about closing all of these holes in my hide.”

Her smile quirked up at the corners. “I see. Very hard work. Deep thoughts.”

“Quite. So, is our King still as handsome as when you plucked that evil hood off and beheld his chiselled jaw and rugged good looks once again?”

“Dragon, you’re a pest.” Walking around his head, she leaned against his upper shoulder, in the protective curve of his paw. “Confession? That jawline is infeasibly chiselled. If I start any unsociable drooling, you have permission to poke me with a – ouch. Thanks, I think.”

He grinned, withdrawing his talon. “Like that?”

Gnarr.

“What about that wild hair, Highness?”

“Mischievous,” she agreed. “Longer than I expected. I have to say, spending days with one’s head locked inside a stuffy leather hood is not generally regarded as beneficial to any Human hairstyle.”

“Nut brown with blonde highlights and a hint of aesthetic waviness?”

She wiped her lower lip. “Oh, stop it.”

“Much more importantly, how is His Majesty doing?”

“Still asleep. The surgeon piped a fair amount of restorative brew down his throat.” Her sigh conveyed a weight of worry. “Says he needs to sleep for as long as it takes, and he’ll have himself and an assistant on hand all hours to monitor him. Chanize did a fantastic job. Fine hand on the essential stitching. The right foot … that’s not great. Dragon, thanks for trying to strengthen him with your magic. You almost collapsed.”

“It was nothing.”

“A highly significant nothing, then.”

Drawing his Dragon Rider against his scales in a hug that enveloped her tiny person, he said, “Now to the waiting and the healing. This is the hardest part.”

“Isn’t it just?” She patted his neck, and in a muffled voice, teased, “Don’t you worry now, Dragon. I’m here for you. You can cry on my shoulder. I’ll hold your little paw and tell you everything’s going to be just fine.”

“Rascal!” he snorted.

After a long, long hug that he appreciated more than perhaps any other Dragon would have admitted, she added, “We did it.”

“We did it. You did it! I was just watching through the jail bars.”

“As if. You’re amazing, Dragon.”

“You’re pretty impressive yourself, for a cute desert blossom.”

“If I had fangs, you’d be toast right now.”

“How is that statement logical?” Chuckling, he added, “To catch you up, there’s no word from the search as yet. We had a Dragoness report half an hour ago – apart from, that the Princes are having the time of their lives. Boys racing around the Archipelago on Dragonesses. You get the picture.”

“I do. Missing Aria yet?”

“It’s only been a matter of hours. Would I be so shallow? Don’t you dare – you dared!” Grrr!

“Grrr yourself.”

On that mature note of history-changing significance, the Princess settled down between his forepaws and breathed out a gust of air. Bone-weary. Healing. Victorious!

She did not snore. Just a faint snuffling as she nodded off.

Dragon’s eyes lidded. He jerked awake as a shadow crossed his nose; just an attractive orange Dragoness flitting overhead on patrol. Pah. Unfaithful thoughts. Aria certainly had her troops hopping. They had lost five Dragonesses in the assaults on the four Lords; eight more had been laid low with severe wounds but should recover in time for the flight south to the mainland. The King was their biggest worry. If infection set in, he could be in real trouble – and he was fairly sure Lord Gazaram had not been the sort to concern himself with the cleanliness of his blades before he stuck them into people, judging by the tales told by his servants.

Time to work on his majestic snoozing in the sunshine. A skill wholly necessary to his personal growth as a creature of fiery intelligence and bourgeoning combat prowess.

* * * *

When a Dragon sense awoke, it was like a claw pricking at the back of his mind. Cracking open an eye, he checked his surroundings without giving anything away. Aha. That emotional scent, as evocative as her personal scale scent – Ariamyrielle, sneaking up on him from behind. Wicked Dragoness!

Appreciating the view back there? he purred.

Dragon! she snorted in delight. Playing at the sleeping predator, are we?

She rubbed along his flank and flicked his wing edge playfully as she approached, slinking with feline intent up to where he could best appreciate the yellow-white flame filling her eyes. How he shivered at her ardour!

Nuzzling her neck, he purred, Fancy meeting you here, o treasure of the Vaylarn Archipelago.

Not every day I get to meet a true monster around my Islands, she purred, tickling his chin with her talon tip. How’s our scale-sized desert rose?

Very sore, I fear, but recovering. Your wing?

Bad, but improving. We brought the Princes back for the night. They want to keep searching for their brother in the morning. We covered a great deal of ground, but not enough, it seems. And, they would like to meet you two. Unsurprisingly! They’ve been in to see their brother, and are currently destroying the cook’s best offerings in the hall.

Under guard?

She gave him the fiery eyeball.

Wry grin. Obviously, I am half a mile behind the plot, as usual.

You do the handsome part, I’ll do the intelligent. Ooh, fighting talk! He mock-snapped toward her shoulder. Come on, he whose scales dazzle whiter than white. Time to meet the Princes of the realm.

He shifted slightly to check on the precious cargo.

I’m awake. Azania’s voice was a smile.

Aria hopped down from the battlement with another of those ridiculous, butterfly-like manoeuvres her complex wing structure and far lighter body weight allowed. Her left wing did react noticeably differently to the right, courtesy of all the bandaging and stitching. For his part, Dragon took the scenic route, with slightly more than seemly gravitas. Hop, spread the wings, land like a mobile boulder beside the far more delicate Dragoness. He popped Azania onto her feet.

What a gentlemonster. Chortle.

The Humans had thrown open the doors of their Great Hall for visitors of a size and bulk they did not often entertain. Their original building calculations, however, had failed to account for one who was half Sea Dragon. Wrapped up in chatting to Azania, he promptly got his shoulders stuck in the doorway. Or, one might argue, some Dragon might have discovered an opportunity to showcase his massive physique.

“Oh, I’m stuck!” he said loudly.

Aria did not even turn. “I doubt it. Shake a wing, Dragon.”

He scraped a little this way and that, and then flexed his upper body and flight muscles, making the doorposts groan alarmingly. Mwaa-haa-harr!

Show-off, Azania said politely. Oh look, they’re like peas in a pod.

Close. Different-sized peas in a pod.

Pedantic.

The young Princes, said to be sixteen, fourteen and ten years old respectively, had graduated from goggling at the beast filling up the doorway to gaping at the Princess. The most beautiful woman in the seventeen realms tended to have that effect on a room, Dragon had observed. Take, for example, the servitor just exiting the hall through the servants’ door, who had just introduced his nose to a doorpost of his own. Or the other fellow, who barked his shins on a bench. Ouch. Deserved that.

“Oh, you are stuck,” Aria purred in a way that promptly introduced ‘stuck’ to the flow of his thoughts.

“Aye, so it appears,” he agreed. With a little forethought, he inserted one paw and shoulder through the door, wriggled his shoulders, lashed his tail in annoyance and flattened a servant behind him – made an apology – and managed to scrape through. That said, his intended swagger was more of a stagger.

What a hero.

As they approached, the three Princes stood up politely and made their stiff, formal Archipelago bows. Like they had a javelin stuck up their spines. Princess Azania responded with a fluid desert n’gandila-vaa, a formal greeting for royalty, he understood. The boys instantly mislaid all rational thought and stood about gaping like a trio of trout bereft of water.

Ah, Princess power. Nothing quite like it under the suns.

Catching up – in his world, that meant taking three large strides across the hall – he nudged Aria delicately. “Are these the fine Princes of the realm?”

Subtle.

Aria nodded, stepping on his right forepaw as she bowed. “Your Royal Highnesses, may I present Her Royal Highness Azania, Princess of T’nagru, called the Black Rose of the Desert. Azania, these are their Royal Highnesses Gathazim, second in line to the throne, and Harazim and Tahluzim. We are only missing King Azerim, and tay-Varazim, the youngest, whom the Princes have spent all day searching for.”

Dragon almost chuckled. Azania was of a height with ten year-old Prince Tahluzim.

All were deeply tanned of skin, with the same wavy hair varying in shade from medium brown in Gathazim to black for Tahluzim. They wore tough tan trousers and identical light blue shirts, which contrasted pleasantly with their brown skin.

With a second bow, Azania smiled, “I understand that you three became Dragon Riders today?”

They nodded eagerly.

“This is my Dragon, whom I am honoured to ride. He is a Dragon we simply call Dragon – it’s a bit of a story. Dragon, Princes. Princes, Dragon.”

Three sets of royal eyes popped in ways that did pleasing things to someone’s ego.

“I didn’t know Sea Dragons walked on land?” Harazim blurted out. His colour deepened when he realised everyone was looking at him. Dragon pegged him as the shy one, and a lover of lore like himself.

“Perceptive, Prince Harazim,” he approved. “I believe I am half Sea Dragon.”

Aria said, “Naturally, the tiniest Princess gets the biggest Dragon.”

“Naturally.” Azania winked at the Princes. “I am awfully demanding, especially when it comes to having the biggest and best – with respect, Aria!” The cobalt warrior stepped on his paw a second time, audibly annoyed by the gaffe. “Right now, I demand dinner. Is there space at this table? And who will volunteer to tell me the most embarrassing stories about Azerim you can remember? I definitely need ammunition for when he wakes up. How’s he doing?”

Hard to believe that much charm could exude from so tiny a person. Within a minute, the Princess had her audience twisted around her smallest finger – the pinkie, a very odd word where a black person was concerned. Maybe if she dipped it in paint!

Despite her shenanigans, Aria was as tired as he. They slept alongside one another in the courtyard, and woke at dawn. The search must continue.

Three excited Princes and an amused Princess took off after breakfast, bound for the eastern edge of the island which lay south of Lord Gazaram’s territory. Village hopping. Most of the Humans acted overawed by the unexpected visitors, and were quick to offer help. Indeed, word of the search had even spread overnight. The royal cavalcade gained cheers and admirers everywhere, but to their frustration, they unearthed plenty of rumours – helpfully offered – that always turned out to be fruitless.

They paused on a remote beach to take stock.

“Far too imaginative, you Humans,” Dragon growled at Prince Gathazim, who skipped out of his way with aplomb.

At six feet and five, he was the tallest of the brothers. He was also the most skittish around Dragons. A brave and bluff warrior, he talked a good talk, but was desperately worried about the youngest brother, which Azania quietly told him was very sweet. Harazim was a quiet, studious lad, not at all the warrior type. Tahluzim openly hero-worshipped Azerim. He had very moist eyes by the end of the afternoon, when Aria started to talk about needing to return around suns-down.

All in all, these boys were no perfect family, but their care for one another shone. How he wished he could have enjoyed the same with his siblings.

Dragon clacked his fangs at no-one in particular.

Gathazim jumped again.

“Stop tormenting him, Dragon,” Aria growled.

“I wasn’t –”

“Relax! Stop trying to steal the limelight. Just be a normal male for once.”

Normal? Something inside of him shrivelled.

Was that what she wanted?

No, don’t you ever try to be normal, Azania’s thought interrupted.

Nausea spread through his stomach. Aye, but to some, different was not cause for celebration, it seemed. An accident of birth, a dam he had never met and a heritage he was still grappling with. Normal was the thing he would never be, not around this Archipelago, nor in his native Tamarine Mountains. Nor among the Sea Dragons, he suspected. What if he was overcome with the desire to migrate with them? Leave behind everything he had here?

Enough misery! He sent Azania a mental picture of him pulling up his big-Dragon trousers.

Her giggle made Aria round upon them. “What! What exactly is so funny? We’ve a lost Prince to find and not enough hours in the day to find him!”

If only she knew you as I do, slipped through Azania’s mind.

Aloud, she fibbed royally, “Dragon and I were just outbidding one other. He said ten, I say twenty more hamlets. What say you, Prince Tahluzim?”

“I will do thirty on my own!” He punched his chest. “Uh, if Valyrielle is willing, that is?”

The orange Dragoness grinned. “Lightweight. We’ll do forty, minimum.”

Drawing a steadying breath, Aria ordered, “Let’s go. Spread out and keep going – the moons will be full tonight. Let’s not leave a single stone unturned.”

Her look aimed at Dragon was unreadable.

Normal. He feared he’d be sick.

Tracking south, the Dragonwing spread out from the coastline to the mountains, rising and falling in regular cadence as they visited different hamlets and homesteads. The suns dipped behind the mountains, sending long fingers of shadows searching across the thick jungles. Since he was too large to land easily amongst tall, creeper-covered tropical thickets, Dragon and Azania had drawn the coastal strip. Many times, the hamlets were within walking distance of one another – he ran – and often tucked up along streams that reached the coast. It struck him that people were not afraid of Dragons here. Not like on Solixambria’s mainland, where the arrival of a huge paw-stomper was so often cause for fear and panic.

Azania questioned the villagers efficiently. Each time, after finding out that the young Prince was not present, they found out where the next hamlets or houses were.

Move on.

As Ignis poured down beneath the horizon as if the land or ocean were glugging away the enormous red sun, they encouraged one another. One more. Another. Rinse and repeat. There came a false alarm that brought everybody winging over in great excitement, only … he was not the Prince. Startling resemblance, but no.

He and Azania returned to the coastline as the moons rose, turning the shallow ocean waters as silver as a Princess’ jewellery. They searched now by candlelight, lamplight, firelight and scent. Digging his talons into the white beach sand, Dragon rushed from house to house. Always the same.

“Shall we fly over that headland?” Azania asked.

Dragon peered ahead. A rocky jumble rose sheer out of the waters – isolated from the beach by a rising tide. A few tropical bougainvillaea tufted the top like a very bad Human haircut.

“There’s a boy – look,” she said.

“I just smelled him. What’s he doing?”

“Taking a load of driftwood out to those rocks …” she mused. “Someone lives there? Scent the –”

“I’ll scent the –”

They chuckled quietly. Same thought. He shrank back into the cover of a dune. They watched the boy wading along until he disappeared into the darkness around the boulders, holding his bundle of bleached sticks high to keep them dry. He was not the Prince. Too old. He had a Dragon sense about that place, however. Danger? Too far for his senses to detect anything.

Drawing his magic about them, he stalked up the beach. Just a large patch of white. No. Why not use the water, his supposedly native element? Changing direction, he waded out into the waves about a quarter-mile from the rocks.

“What are you doing?” the Princess asked.

“Making sure you don’t stink when you see Azerim again,” he said, submerging until only his head and hers showed.

“Wow, thanks for the compliment.”

“Scrub those armpits, my dear Princess. Festering cesspits of nastiness.”

She took pause. “Are you smelling infection?”

Dragon said something very rude. “Aye! Sorry, I didn’t add one talon to the next … I believe the salt water immersion should help. Are you alright, Princess?”

“I don’t feel great. The water’s cooler than it ought to be, if that makes any sense at all.” She wriggled against his neck. “Oh … it’s my breast. Hot and – ouch. That can’t be good.”

“Usefully, I shall refrain from referring to your breasts as ‘hot’ around King Azerim. Deal?”

“Deal!” she chortled.

Keeping low in the water, he paddle-scrambled over the reef toward the rocks, approaching from the ocean side. He definitely smelled someone in there now – quite a few people, he realised belatedly. The scents of their emotions were not as he remembered from Gazaram’s castle. More … wary, perhaps, and not enemies or dark-hearted as he would have expected of men holding a young Prince. What was this? Could it be –

“Halt! Who goes there?”

In a second, the Princess scrambled to her feet, waist-deep in the surf. She called, “We are with King Varazim, searching for Prince tay-Varazim.”

Had she listened in to his thoughts?

“Who are you, o dark spirit of the ocean?” Fear trembled in the voice. “Stay back!”

Chapter 34: The Little Prince

AMONGST THE NAMES SHE had been called, to his knowledge, this was unique. Was it because she had emerged seemingly from the deeps? Easy to imagine how Archipelago Islanders might be superstitious about creatures which rose from the surrounding ocean. Most of the people they had met this day had never imagined someone being as dark as her; again, most found her an exquisite curiosity, like an exotic painting or animate artwork.

Bracing his paws upon the reef, Dragon rose. And rose. The quartet of roughly dressed men and women who had emerged from a gap high amidst the rocks, drew back in shock.

He said, “Dark, aye. Spirited, most definitely – but this woman is flesh and blood like you Humans, and no spirit. We are Dragon and Dragon Rider, and we seek the young Prince tay-Varazim, in the name of the King. This is Princess Azania of T’nagru.”

“T’nagru? That’s on the other side of the world,” one of the men exclaimed.

“They are said to be dark,” the other noted.

“Aye, and wont to dislocate men’s eyes from their sockets,” his female companion added sourly. “Be off with you both. There’s nothing for you here.”

“Lord Gazaram is dead,” Azania noted politely.

Dragon sniffed the air meantime, and listened intently. Was that a younger, faster heartbeat back inside the rocks somewhere?

“We’ll believe that when we see it,” the first man blustered.

“Unfortunately, I did not leave a great deal to examine, unless you feel like picking through his ashes.” He did not intend to threaten, but a hint of irritation was more than enough to convey that impression.

I’m sure they’re hiding him, he added for the Princess’ benefit.

Call Aria?

Aye. Might be the safest option. Aloud once more, he said, “Do any of you know Ariamyrielle Seaspray? And the other Princes?” A stifled gasp within the rocks. At their nods, he said, “Since you do not believe us – which I do understand, given the circumstances – shall I summon them here? They are nearby.”

“Aye, you do that,” said the sour woman.

Raising his muzzle to the sky, he almost lost it with a guffaw as the Princess stuck her fingers into her ears. Wise. He let out a wild, triumphal bugle that must have echoed for a mile about, and launched a bolt of white fire just as high into the sky, where – to his eternal shock – it exploded in a wide burst of sparks.

“Pretty,” his companion approved. “What do you call that Dragon power?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“It’s kind of an explosion … an artwork … of fire?”

“Fire-art-work?”

“Firework for short?”

He purred, “Excellent. Time to update the dictionary.”

To the men and women, who must be soldiers in disguise, he said, “Don’t go anywhere. We will not trouble you meantime.”

Within seconds, the bugle began to pass down the chain of nearby Dragonesses. They called to one another, summoning the whole force to the coastline. Eyes grew round as Dragonesses shaded the moons. At their forefront was Aria, and beside her in wing position, none other than Charielle. He was not aware she had joined the search.

Five hearts thumped together inside his throat. Hope he was right …

Azania pointed. “The Princes come riding on Dragons.”

Kerpoof. Little brains, blown. They clearly recognised both Ariamyrielle and her dam; the three Princes were a bonus. The fact that Anhoyal Rangers and Princes alike rode Dragons was too much. Jaws catching flies. He loved it!

Gathazim called down, “Isles greetings! Is our brother here? Have you found him?”

“Here!” A scream came from inside the rocks. “Here I am, brother!”

The Princes alighted as quickly as they were able; Gathazim was so keen, he almost took a very bad fall before one of the soldiers snapped out an arm to steady him, along with Dragon’s paw. Harazim and Tahluzim were more circumspect for the time it took their boots to touch rock. Then, they collected a little brown-haired thunderbolt in their arms. A big, scrambled brotherly hug with many moist eyes, backslaps, a surreptitious tickle or two and a great deal of yelling ensued. Azania dabbed at her eyes. Dragon discovered a boulder-sized lump in his throat.

This made it all worth it. He had begun to fear they would never find the little Prince, or worse discover a very small grave somewhere. As it turned out, these faithful soldiers had kidnapped him from the kidnappers and brought him here for safety.

They apologised at least fifty times to Azania, who remained gracious throughout.

Not so much to him, but it did not matter. Not when his Princess had a case of the sniffles, the brothers nearly had a small war over who would get to fly with the youngster back to the castle, and Charielle complimented her daughter on a job well accomplished.

Quite the day.

* * * *

Perfection would have been to return to news that King Azerim had woken and was doing much better, but he had not, as yet. The surgeon wanted to make plans to transport him to Zunityne in the morning, where he could receive further treatment. He delicately opened the cut upon the Princess’ right breast and drained an infeasible amount of nasty-smelling pus, before closing and bandaging it again, and dosing her up to the eyeballs with medicines.

She spent the entire night being violently ill.

Come morning, he had two patients to fly to Zunityne. Marvellous.

At least the prone patients balanced out atop his back. He flew with Chanize and the Sankir once more, taking up Azania’s habitual position on his neck, while the patently terrified surgeon travelled with the patients up top.

Better be terrified. Touch the Princess one more time or suggest any more of those foul concoctions, and this Dragon would dump him somewhere far from shore! Gnarr.

Aria had flown to Wave Dragonhome with her dam before dawn, seeking to deal with the draconic politics arising from those Dragonesses who had dared to help the four rebel Lords. She left with a kind word, however.

Fly true, Dragon. I’ve sent twenty Dragonesses ahead with the Princes, since none can possibly keep up with you in flight. We need someone close, especially someone trusted, near the King and Queen at this time. You are that someone. Keep the family safe. I would not have wished to deal with these duties now, but … needs must. I will come to Zunityne as soon as I can. I’ll miss you.

Likewise, he said, wondering if she meant it.

Did she need time to think over their relationship, such as it was?

Crooking his neck, he eyeballed the Sankir with a certain unmistakable intent.

“Right behind her,” he said at once.

“Make sure you keep it that way,” he growled balefully. “Chanize, you’ll tell me if he doesn’t hold you tight every second of the way?”

“I am your humble servant, Dragon,” she managed to splutter.

“No laughing, you two. I’m being deathly serious.”

They both straightened their lips at once, and snuggled with gratifying submission to the very letter of his command.

Feeling somehow better about life, since having a minor tyrannical tantrum was all it took to lighten his mood these days, Dragon stretched up and climbed onto the Lord’s battlements. The ease of a large Dragon walking up a twenty-foot height in one step always seemed to mesmerise these little Humans. Aye. Think about what might be done to such a fortress. Think long and hard, rebel Lord!

“Riders, cover your ears, please,” he ordered crisply.

I AM DRAGON!! he boomed, shaking the castle down to its roots.

Off like the wind!

Chasing downwind on a brisk Archipelago breeze, he set a spanking pace for the first leg over to the Human Island. No way were those Princes, with barely one and a half hours’ lead, getting to Zunityne before him. Plus, he needed to move the King as fast and with as little fuss as possible.

Fast air stretcher.

All part of the service he offered.

Do I really have to fly lying down? Azania grumbled.

Just don’t throw up on my nice white scales. I’ll never forgive you, he advised acidly.

The fresh air’s good for me, she whispered. Still so weak. Rough night, and then some. Azerim – could you touch him once more with your magic? I know you don’t feel it’s done any good …

I’ll do it.

Thank you, Dragon. Do you mind if I sleep?

Blergh. Thus was the mighty Dragon demoted from stretcher-bearer to being a flying royal crib.

She chuckled faintly.

Stretching his wings, he accelerated smoothly.

Within the hour, they were over Human territory once more. Dragon smoothed out and lengthened his wing stroke, trying to find the most efficient configuration. They raced into the heart of the Island, the suns at their backs and a bright green jungle before.

About three hours into the flight, Dragon had just spotted the Dragonwing carrying the four Princes in the distance, when Azania snuffled and woke abruptly, as if wrenched from a bad dream. The surgeon supplied her with water and was about to arrange shade for her face and head, when Azerim stirred too, and said distinctly:

“Why’s the sky moving?”

Everyone jumped, especially the one with the wings.

He peered back over his shoulder. Azerim gazed at the Princess with an expression of utter stupefaction pasted upon his face. Giving every village idiot who had ever lived a run for his money. She must be smiling, although from his angle, it was hard to tell and so he had to resort to sniffing out her emotions to be sure.

“A-Azerim?” she faltered at last. “It’s me, Azania.”

“I know you … Aza … where are we?”

“Flying to Zunityne upon a Dragon’s back.”

“Am I … dreaming? Must be … dead – so confused. I feel terr –”

His body went limp. The surgeon gave a low cry as he reached forward to check the royal, but after a minute, he said simply that King Azerim had passed out once more.

As far as reunions went, Dragon decided with a huff of vast annoyance, that was decidedly underwhelming. He would have to arrange a redo. Round two. Otherwise, a sneaky Dragon might seize his chance to knock a bit of sense into His Majesty’s indestructible cranium before anyone noticed. Fancying he must be dead. How incredibly rude and inconsiderate of him.

Landing to give his Riders a comfort break and his own wings a fifteen-minute rest, he was even more narked to discover that Azania was feeling perky enough to be released from her stretcher. Why, when he was playing captive Princesses and Kings, did she have to spoil the party?

Murgh-hurgh-harr! What a nasty Dragon he was. Time to vex someone.

He sniffed loudly at her breast. “Ah, much better.”

“Dragon!”

“I still detect a tang of infection, however.”

The surgeon said, “In which case, I should change the dressings at once. Come aside with me, Princess.”

Dragon gave him a look promising instant death. Astonishing how rapidly his superior attitude evaporated. With a meek bob of his head, the surgeon scurried off to do his duty.

Murder was too good for that man. Now, what form of slow torture would be most enjoyable? Evisceration? Stake him out for the desert ants and vultures? Pickle his eyeballs and serve them up with a tangy garnish of –

Dragon, behave yourself.

Gnarr, he complained mildly. Why do Humans make such a fuss over milk glands?

Exasperation! She snorted, Why do male Dragons hide their bits beneath an armoured shield and not wave them all over Zunityne, eh?

Might make all the smaller males jealous?

Oh, excuse me, mister monstrosity, your ego nearly slapped me all the way back to T’nagru, there.

Laughter gurgled in his throat.

With another sea storm sweeping down from the north, harbinger of what Aria had warned him would be a week or two of more unsettled weather caused by the changing of oceanic currents, they elected to fly on quickly. They joined the Dragonwing carrying the Princes shortly thereafter. Perplexed Dragonesses! Ah, the day was shaping up nicely. Someone might have been guilty of making a small show of having to slow down for them. No Dragon he could name, mind.

To his further surprise, the older Dragoness Yalia ordered her compatriots to shift over so that he might take the lead position in the flying wedge.

Only because he was carrying the King. Grrr!

Ah, but now a compliment about how he eased their slipstreaming? Better. One must always be sure to paddle in the shallows and eschew deeper waters.

Around mid-afternoon, the red tile rooftops of Zunityne hove into view. The weary Princes revived with miraculous aplomb, especially the youngest, leading the Sankir to request that Dragon announce the royal return in suitable style. Bugle or roar, he inquired archly?

“Shut your ears, everyone!” Azania advised.

III – AAMM – DRRAAGOONN!!

His melodious roar shattered the sticky afternoon, sending thousands of sea birds into a cawing panic over the city. Full retreat!

FOR THE KING!! he added, causing everyone who had thought he was done, to complain about their ears.

Stretching out his wings, he signalled a slow swoop over the city. Time for the populace to see and believe two things. One, their younger King and his brothers had arrived home. Two, people rode upon Dragons. Aye, perhaps it was naïve to believe that others would find what he and his Princess enjoyed, but could he help wanting to share? How else would his life ever have changed if not because of her, and moreover, what they brought to one another?

His hearts squeezed inside his chest as the first cheers rose from people rushing into the streets. The Princes waved madly. Even the fierce Dragonesses responded to the mood in the air, their butterfly wings finding a statelier cadence, their expressions changing from stern to bemused and even cautiously gratified. Perhaps in their culture it was not often that warriors received such adulation apart from in combat in front of one’s peers. One’s dignity precluded any overt show of vanity, but the underlying changes to their emotions were more than clear to his senses.

Given their numbers, he led the Dragonwing to a landing along the road just outside the Palace gates. They paraded inside as servants burst out of the building, all pretence of orderliness or decorum thrown to the winds. The King and Queen made an appearance on their balcony, although the Queen was seated in a rolling chair like the one he carried in his right forepaw.

Kerfuffle! Cries! Tears! Cheers!

Mad Humans everywhere. The Princes leaped down from their Dragons and rushed inside the building, hugging random people along the way. The Sankir commented that security was commendably tight, as he had expected. Dragonesses and Rangers. Soldiers stationed on the rooftops and guarding the building in a visible show of force.

Here came the crowds, a swelling, murmuring mass. The older King ordered them to be let into the grounds.

Before his Riders dismounted, Dragon rose onto his hind paws to allow them to see their son, and for Azania and Sankir Farizam to brief them quickly. The Princess told them Azerim had saved her life, taking a blow that Lord Gazaram had intended for her neck – even while he had been hooded, and unable to see who it was that he defended.

Dragon glared at her. He had not known that!

The King leaned out to kiss Azania upon the cheek. “My dear Princess of T’nagru, how can I ever thank you for your service to our Kingdom?”

“We … had a great deal of brave help, Your Majesty,” she stumbled, her cheeks heating up noticeably. “The Anhoyal Rangers, the Dragonesses from Wave Dragonhome … we lost a number, but prevailed in the end.” Her eyes flicked guiltily to Azerim. “I’m sorry we couldn’t bring your son back unscathed. We did our best.”

The King’s dark eyes considered her at disconcerting length. Then, he bowed very deeply. “Your Highness.”

“Your Majesty.”

Dragon wondered what exactly the exchange meant.

King Varazim extended his hand. “Dragon.”

They shook gravely. At least he understood this gesture!

The King said, “The power of your paw has shaken our islands, mighty Dragon, earning the undying gratitude of myself, my Queen and all our people. We are indebted.”

He said, “Thank you, my King and my Queen. It was the least we could do. It’s my personal hope, sire, that Azania and I will be able to usher in a new era of co-operation and friendship between your people and the Dragons here. Now, if we are only able to move the Sea Serpents along as easily as a few traitorous Lords, I shall be satisfied …”

The royals chuckled incredulously.

Queen Vyioli smiled, “I would not put anything past the pair of you – Dragon and Dragon Rider. Who would have thought?”

The Princess said, “The flame for justice burns bright in my Dragon.”

His muzzle quivered as he considered her words. Did it? Judging by her sharp inhale, the insight appeared to strike her with unexpected force.

Then, the Princes burst into their parents’ chamber like a hurricane.

Quietly, he padded away to take King Azerim to the ground floor infirmary. He popped Chanize into her rolling chair while the servants came with ladders to unstrap the King from his back. Meantime, King Varazim made an impromptu speech from his balcony thanking everyone for their concern and assuring them that order was indeed restored to the island kingdom.

He prodded the Sankir in the ribs. “Where will you take her?”

“There might be a private apartment available in the Palace servants’ quarters, near mine,” he said. “It’s located on the ground floor. I’ll need to prod a few people to install ramps where needed, as the floor is not entirely even. We’ll work out the details.”

Chanize put in, “I’m not sure what my future holds, as yet.”

Clasped hands. Unconscious closeness. Smiles. Here came this ridiculous Human behaviour again, the pretence that something which most definitely existed, could not even be mentioned. Yet it was delicate, a bud that should not be disturbed.

Not even by a dictatorial paw.

Clearing his throat, he waggled a talon beneath her nose. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, young lady. After all, I do not indulge in the kidnapping of exceptional damsels for no good reason.”

“I am hardly a damsel in distress,” Azania put in bluntly.

“Watch this eye roll I’m about to make,” he teased. “Can’t you even pretend? Just for one minute?”

“You’re already insufferable.”

“Very good.”

As the Sankir wheeled Chanize away to help her settle in, the Princess murmured, “Oh, would you look at how he’s taken command of her wheelchair? How gallant.”

Every bit as dryly, he said, “Very honourable of our Sankir – gnarr-harr-harr.”

Mwaa-haa-harr, she agreed, making several of the nearby servants look at her very strangely indeed.

Together, they walked King Azerim over to the royal infirmary. Dragon made himself a nuisance by insisting that the wide windows be kept open, the better for him to lurk near the royal personage and wreak, according to the doctors, despicable draconic misdeeds about the place.

Use his magic, in other words.

No, he was no Inzashu-N’shula. Compared to her rapier skills, he was a large club wielded by a clumsy paw. However, from the window he could reach over and touch Azerim and strengthen him; one of the nurses shortly admitted that after he did that, the young King did breathe easier and his temperature came down a few notches.

Azania busied herself at a desk in the corner – meant to be a nurses’ station, he understood – writing up their most recent adventures, and also making a list of Dragon-related topics she needed to discuss with the King. Taking her Roving Ambassadorial job very seriously indeed. Dragon propped his muzzle on the windowsill and amused himself by suggesting alternative wordings in a few places. Well, every few sentences. Just to keep the quill-wielding scamp honest.

After an hour, she stretched and came over to chat with him, leaning on the windowsill facing the world outside the window, where Ignis was doing his best to set the sky afire. Gorgeous early evening. The vibrant reds and bonfire oranges made his paws itch to be painting.

“Do you think the Palace would be willing to source me canvas, an easel and painting equipment?” he asked. “I assume we’ll be marooned here for a few days at least, getting the King back on his feet.”

“Aria didn’t say how long she’d be delayed?”

The King’s hand twitched on the bedlinens. One advantage of having widely separated eyes with a broad field of vision, like most predators enjoyed, was that he could appreciate the suns setting to one side whilst keeping a check on Azerim on the other. The young King lay propped up on wide linen cushions in a comfortable wooden bed. His wounded leg had been fixed by a sling raised by a pulley on the ceiling. Terribly uncomfortable position, Dragon felt. He wore no shirt, for several other wounds upon his chest, back and shoulders had required attention. The medical staff had openly wondered how strongly he had resisted his kidnappers, for many of the wounds betrayed perhaps several beatings he must have suffered; a large bruise was purpling up a treat on the left side of his face, spreading from the point of his jaw right up to his ear.

He said, “No, but she implied it’ll be several days at least. It’s challenging to position the Dragonesses for something new when the factions are so divided.”

Moodily, she added, “Azerim had my picture up in his chambers. His brothers took great pleasure in telling me.”

“That’s encouraging.”

“I think they desperately want … well, instant romance, to be perfectly honest.” Over on the bed, a pair of clear green eyes cracked open. In Azerim’s deeply tanned face, the colour was a startling flash of light, like the green-blue of shallow ocean waters dappling over white sands. “The King and Queen are already treating me like the daughter they never had, and it’s –”

She bit her lip.

“Hard? I can only imagine,” he said gently.

“I never had anything like this with my parents. I never knew my mother, really, and father – well, you know how beautifully that went.” The Princess shook her curls, drawing the young King’s attention. “Do you think he’ll even remember a girl he once met? It’s been five years. I was twelve, then, and … things change. People change, Dragon. Just look at us.”

As she spoke, the royal eyes lit upon the Princess with yearning so plain, it speared a sharp pang in his Dragon hearts. Disbelief. Craving. Appreciation so intense, he would have set the doctors scrambling to treat a fever had they been present. Dragon tried to see it from his perspective. A slender, dark Princess leaned over the windowsill, in a posture that presented her tiny haunches and woefully slender legs most advantageously for him to scrutinise. Sable curls tumbled down her back. She bore a sword in the King’s very presence – no-one had yet dared to inform her that this simply was not done. The low, liquid tones of her desert accent rose and fell melodiously in earnest, unselfconscious conversation with a perfectly enormous white Dragon filling his window!

Poor fellow. Struggling to breathe over there, was he?

Gnarr-harr-harr. He knew that feeling. The flicker of Aria’s wings could stop up his throat in an instant. Really, that much beauty packed into one Dragoness was extremely hazardous to the health.

She whispered, “I’m just not sure I’m ready for this, Dragon. It’s all a bit … overwhelming, and … scary. Am I being silly? I mean, what if after all this, he doesn’t see me for who I am, and there’s the complication of you … and all the Dragonesses, and war on the horizon …”

“Shh. Now, that is silly, Princess. These fears are wholly unfounded.”

Azerim’s reaction said it all.

Behind her back, Dragon winked at the King and made a ‘come on’ crooking gesture with his fore talon. Aye. She had no idea how hard he swallowed just then.

“Dragon, how do you know?”

“Oh, call it a mysterious Dragon power.”

Her breath hitched. In that second, she realised he was playing the tease; she must have sensed why, but her body lacked the capability to respond to her volition.

“Azania,” the King rasped. “Princess Azania – wow!”

Turning with a low gasp, she bowed – to Dragon’s eye, appearing more than a little flustered. “Your Majesty …”

“Wow, look at you,” he repeated.

He wanted to wave a paw to clear the atmosphere. Funny how there were ways other than breathing fire to make a room very hot indeed. Sweltering!

“So it was you in the tower, Azania?”

She smiled shyly, lowering her eyelashes yet gazing hungrily at him beneath. “Aye …”

“Then, I owe you my life.”

“If someone hadn’t stuck out his big boot to stop Gazaram’s blade, I wouldn’t be here to talk about it,” she said, in a rush. “How are you, Your Majesty? Are you in pain?”

“Please, call me Azerim. May I be so bold as to greet my saviour and old friend with a hug?”

Chapter 35: Old Friends

WHEN AZANIA HESITATED, THE King did the same. Then, he smiled, “We’re rather huggy around the Vaylarn Archipelago. Sorry. This place should have come slapped with a few cultural warnings, Princess – but I am the King. Am I allowed one very small demand?”

“A demand, o King? Your will is my command.”

His pulse leaped like a scared rabbit, but he managed to say steadily enough, “Then, approach the royal bedside, o Princess, that I might thank you properly.”

When she stepped over as if in a dream, he placed an arm about her shoulders, and pressed his lips very decorously to her cheek. Over her shoulder, as they embraced, his lips formed another ‘wow!’ Aye, her fears were that badly unfounded. This young man was besotted, or he was a luminous purple shrimp and no Dragon.

“Sit with me.”

Azania’s eyebrow arched. “That’s two demands, my King.”

Dragon rumbled, “She’s always like this, I’m afraid. I’ve tried to beat it out of her, but some Princesses just won’t fit the mould.”

“So I see,” he agreed, sounding discomfited but somehow emboldened at the same time. “Princess Azania, would you please sit with me? I’m afraid I present myself in a rather tatty and bedridden state, but I would like – heavens’ sakes, what’s going on in my kingdom? What are you doing here on the Vaylarn Archipelago? With a Sea Dragon of stupendous size, with whom you seem very well acquainted? And how did I leap from the delights of Lord Gazaram’s finest accommodation back to the Palace? Was I flying Dragonback, or was that just another dream?”

Patently, he did not want it to be any kind of dream.

Nor could he stop smiling.

Pulling up a stool at his bedside, Azania said sweetly, “You’ll be glad to be lying down for this, Azerim. In short, we crossed the ocean to recruit a Dragon army, but discovered your kingdom was in trouble, and so lent a hand and a paw of aid. This is Dragon. He is called Dragon – long, involved story – and we are acquainted as Dragon and Dragon Rider.”

“I – what? What? Hold your Sea Dragons!” he spluttered.

“If you insist,” Dragon put in.

Azerim queried, “You’re a Dragon Rider? When did that happen?”

“After he captured me from the King Tyloric’s tower – that’s in the Kingdom of Vanrace. Technically, I am still his captive Princess, but we’re sort of ignoring that inconvenient detail at present. Aye, we transported you by Dragon from Gazaram’s place to here. You really were flying.”

“As in, you ride on a Dragon?”

“Into battle, all around Solixambria and across oceans,” she explained. “You did, too.”

“Wow!”

Azerim’s new favourite word.

He scratched his modest chin-scruff, and said, “Excuse my ignorance, but is Dragon-Riding a new thing? I had thought Tamarine Dragons far too aloof to even consider such an arrangement.”

“Brand new, but very old,” Dragon replied.

“I’m remarkably persuasive,” said the rascally Princess, batting her eyelashes.

Pop went his concentration.

“One moment,” said Azerim, and pinched his arm firmly. “Aye, most probably awake. So, we have a Dragon-Riding Princess rescuing the kingdom from rebellious Lords, all of my brothers –”

“Returned safely,” Azania said.

“Mother and Father?”

“Resting upstairs in their chamber, guarded by warrior Dragonesses.”

“By the Isles!” King Azerim’s green eyes twinkled. “Tell me, what happened to that shy twelve year-old I remember being so smitten by, I could barely speak a word in her presence? She grew up – I see that, although, not so much ‘up’ as –” he chuckled as she waved her finger warningly “– as even more beautiful than ever. I do feel as if I’m living in a land of dreams and I never, ever want to wake up.”

Her black eyes twinkled at him.

“Ever,” he insisted.

The Princess said, “Maybe you are dreaming, but I assure you, it’s all totally Dragon’s fault.”

“I doubt that.”

He smirked at Azania. “I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted, shall I? Or would it be politic if I told your family that you’re awake, first? Because once you ask Azania for her story, you’re liable to be stuck here for a good many hours. Captive audience.”

“Captive King, don’t you mean?” she chirped, with a bright smile that audibly snaffled all the wind out of his sails.

Azerim said, “Oof.”

Azania added, “Besides, wouldn’t you say that, ‘The mighty Dragon-Riding Princess liberated the King from abject captivity in the most nefarious tower in all the land,’ has a nice ring to it?”

“Oh, demoted to the sidekick in this plot line, am I?” Dragon growled.

“Whatever suits.”

Azerim said, “If I am asked for honesty, I’d have to say, ‘Aye and nay.’ Nay because that place was hateful, but aye because you came to rescue me.”

Their glances danced shyly for a moment.

Time to work on some actual diplomacy, for a change. How to withdraw?

“Dragon, please do inform my family that I’m awake, if you’d be so kind, or we’ll never hear the end of it. I’m ravenous as well. Jail rations do not agree with this man’s appetite. Azania – wow!” He flushed. “I’m saying that a lot, aren’t I?”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Just admit it’s her trousers,” Dragon put in, helpful as always.

“A gentleman would not look,” he said gallantly. “However, I shall evermore blame a drug-induced delirium for my severe failings.”

Dragon, I’m going to spread your guts on toast, she informed him pleasantly.

Oh, don’t stop. This is far too much fun.

Rising from the stool, she walked over to the window, pirouetted, and said, “You like, Azerim? Give me a moment, I’ll just kick this rude Dragon out.”

His eyes appear to be pinned to your hips, Highness.

Plus, his jaw was in distinct danger of dislocation. Nice one, Princess!

She pushed the window shut on his muzzle, grinned at him through the glass, and said, My heart’s wriggling with happiness. Dragon, you’re the best. Thank you!

You’re going to make such beautiful children together –

Dragon! You’re impossible!

Maybe he was, but spreading love and happiness was also infectious. He wandered off to inflict wonderful news on a few more people, raising screams of joy from the younger two brothers, undignified yelling from Princes number two and three, another near-faint from the Queen and loud demands from the older King for a wheelchair and his robe, this instant!

Why was it that other peoples’ families were oftentimes easier than one’s own?

Same for Azania. He must help her navigate this. Still, he knew that she would manage far more graciously than he.

* * * *

King Azerim slept the deep sleep of a young man exhausted by three days of chatting up the most beautiful woman in the seventeen realms. Dragon sympathised. Once the seventeen year-old Princess and the twenty-one year-old King managed to start to relax around one another, and the family left them alone for a change – Queen’s orders, wink, wink – there was a great deal to talk about.

Yawn.

Human romance. Might they even progress to holding hands soon?

Charcoal sticks scraped upon a set of new sketches he was producing for the royal family. When he completed the King, Queen and their five sons, he planned to produce a much larger composite artwork framed in his mind; that of their reunion about Azerim’s sickbed, with tiny Azania perched right in the middle of the boisterous family. He had also sketched out and was now beginning to colour an underwater reef scene – oh, and he had a picture of Wavewhisperer in progress, too. His art never seemed to stand still. Inspiration always overtook him in eager waves.

With Princess Azania assisting at a meeting on Human-Dragon relations this afternoon, he had been left to his own devices. Time enough for the draconic viewpoint later. The King wanted to lay careful groundwork, especially considering what had just been done to his four northern Lords.

People wanted assurances.

He loved the solitude. Oh, alright. He also loved the fact that hundreds of people lined the Palace fence just to get a glimpse of the scaly white artist.

Tomorrow, the two Kings planned to receive visitors at this very window – to open the grounds to the public in a celebration of his homecoming. Also, there might be an opportunity to show off the Black Rose of the Desert. There would be music and cultural dancing, and free food and drink.

Blergh.

Must plot his escape. All this being nice to everyone gave a Dragon a fearful itch.

Azerim said, “Have I told you how deathly boring it is waiting for a few cuts to heal, Dragon?”

He looked up from his work. The clear green eyes were open again. Someone had artfully trimmed the royal bush and turned his stubble into what looked like flames rising from the line of the King’s jaw. Azania would love that! Still no kissing yet, either. Apparently the relationship was too embryonic and nuanced for that kind of mischief, despite what he was beginning to learn was a very wide rebellious streak in the joker of the family, one Azerim.

Not that the couple needed encouragement. He had never seen a pair of creatures more enraptured with each other. Quite sickening, actually. Mush central. Doe-eyed looks, sighs, endearments, the whole caboodle was leagues worse than the soppiest scroll he had ever read.

Gnarr. Who was in a bad mood? More to the point, why?

He eyeballed the King. The King eyeballed him.

He purred, “Sire, the aerial view of Zunityne enraptured Princess Azania. It is truly spectacular, especially seen in this red-golden light caused by a partial eclipse of the suns. There’s a certain luminous quality to the air at this hour.”

“Is that right?” Azerim mused.

“Plus, the Lumis Ocean is surpassingly beautiful seen from above,” he said airily. “The islands lie scattered like bright jewels upon a glittering turquoise tapestry. The tropical foliage is so lush, especially when it’s been dampened by a recent storm.”

“Sounds … amazing.”

“It truly is.”

“I wish I could see it.”

“Has your leg improved, do you feel, sire?”

“Doesn’t ache nearly as much as before,” he said. Ker-ting! The eyes narrowed. “It’s really quiet around here this afternoon, isn’t it, Dragon?”

“Almost too quiet,” he agreed.

Half a minute later, the royal bedsheets lay flat as two mischiefs absconded into the bright sky.

For the sake of his wounds, Dragon carried the King lying flat in his forepaws, cradled, in fact, like a young Dragon hatchling. His laughter was not like any hatchling, however. His genuinely overwhelmed reaction captured all that Dragon was starting to warm to in Azerim’s personality. He soaked in the experience so deeply and completely, it was impossible not to laugh with him, this man who had so easily stolen his Princess’ heart.

He took him on a long, stately circuit of the city.

After a long time, Azerim’s laughter stilled and he said, “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for the Archipelago, Dragon, and on a more personal note, for Azania.”

“No need to thank me,” he said gruffly.

“No need to be so modest! I had no idea of all you’ve accomplished until I managed to winkle the full story out of Azania. Truly, we owe you our kingdom and very lives, and she tells me you’re still planning to do more. Speaking as a King, this is service beyond all expectation. Speaking as a man … well, let me put it this way. I realised while she was speaking that you share something together, something special and unique and profound, which despite my closeness to Aria Seaspray, we never even imagined. Yet, you were willing to risk all of that by bringing her here, to me.”

He was close to Aria? Intriguing, and also encouraging.

“Dragon, can I make a confession?”

“Confess away. Anything you say can and will be used against you – flagrantly.”

With an awkward chuckle, he said, “I’m sensing that despite our differences, we might feel somewhat the same. I am incredibly jealous of what you share with Azania. As in, seaweed green around the gills; nothing manly or noble about what’s churning about in my gut; chewing on my own tongue sort of jealous. It’s clear she thinks the world of you.”

“For my part, I’ve been trying very hard not to see you as a threat.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

“Badly.”

The admission surprised him. Dragon felt a sorry fool, but perhaps because Azerim had been the first to voice his jealousy, putting a label to his own feelings became that much easier. By his sire’s egg, they were not even the same species! Yet to trust another male with her protection, most especially of her heart? No easy matter. Especially considering how well he had been taught from early on to guard his own heart against an unrelenting siege from without.

All he wanted to do was to fly away over the horizon. However, he had chosen this route for his Princess’ sake. Now he must complete the course.

Quietly, he said, “My King, I am sorry to admit that I’m finding it very difficult to unclench my paw.”

“I … understand. That is why I want you to know, Dragon, that I care very deeply for Azania, and I plan to treat her … well, like a queen. Goes with saying, I believe.” Drawing a deep breath, he added, “And whatever choices we make regarding the future will include you, Dragon – that’s my promise to you, man to … uh, male to male. Otherwise, I face breaking her heart, and that I would never do. It might get pretty complicated, I guess, once we throw Aria into the mix?”

“I hope so.”

They shared a chuckle as the double meaning floated, all too obvious, between them.

“More on the Aria front than the complicated business,” Dragon explained, unnecessarily.

“I know. It’ll take trust, and I’m sorry, but trust is just one of those things in this world we can decide upon, but no matter what we’ve decided, it just takes time to grow deep, strong roots that will weather any storm.”

Wise. Dragon turned his words over in his mind.

“I can work with that.”

Azerim nodded. “Thank you. There isn’t really a great overarching plan yet, but I’m hoping that I might somehow be able to fly with you when you fly to Solixambria with the Dragonesses. Get to know you both better. Figure out if we can make this work, somehow. I mean, it isn’t even a relationship triangle. Those are easy compared to a relationship quadrangle. Four very different personalities and creatures in the mix.”

“Quite. A lot depends on how things go with Ariamyrielle,” Dragon replied. “I don’t know the dynamics here very well. Tell me about your relationship. How did that develop?”

“We used to pay the Dragonesses for protection for our shipping. As you know, the Sea Serpent problem started about twenty years back, and went from bad to intolerable. We worked together for each other’s benefit – bringing food, trade goods and essential items from the mainland that benefitted everyone. However, when it became very bad, we Humans started to lose ships and crews, and the Dragons started to lose warriors and valuable artworks. I can’t tell you how much salvage there would be on the sea floor between here and Solixambria, were it not for the Serpent menace.”

“Anyhow, as you can imagine, the crisis gave rise to suspicion and opposition on both sides. We came pretty close to outright war. It came about that Aria was one of the guards assigned to my vessel to and from Solixambria, when I first met Azania and was shipwrecked on the return journey. She and I were the only survivors – but we would not have survived, were it not for help. We never found out who our benefactor was. Perhaps one of the Sea Dragons. We’ve always wondered.”

“What happened?” Dragon asked.

“She saw me unconscious in the water and tried to pull me out. A Sea Serpent intent upon the spoils tried to take her out. That’s all she remembers. I came to a long ways from the Archipelago upon a piece of driftwood. Aria washed up upon a remote reef – very, very fortunately, one might suggest.”

“Hmm, indeed?”

Azerim shrugged. “The shared tragedy brought us close. She lost her sire that day, and I lost a great many close friends and shipmates. We resolved that together we would try to avert bloodshed between Humankind and Dragonkind, and divine a solution to the Sea Serpent issue that was driving both of our peoples into the ground – I mean, you don’t see the impact so much right now, because we’ve had two years of outstanding harvests. Not every year is like these, however.”

“On the Human-Dragon question, we fairly much got nowhere and earned ourselves a great deal of trouble in the doing. Two years ago – well, nearer three now – my mother and father were poisoned by inside agents most likely linked to the northern Lords, but that was never proven. That led to my coronation. Aria’s incredibly brave and loyal, and as you likely know, when she puts her mind to something it takes more than a small storm or an uncrossable, deadly ocean to stop her. She nearly killed herself trying to get over to the mainland to find help – and that’s where she met you. My parents are alive and have a kingdom, thanks to you two. Twice over. I wish I could do something for you in return.”

“You might save me from the trouble winging toward us. I think our little excursion may have been noticed.”

“Head back to the infirmary?”

Dragon said, “I’ll think about what you’ve said, King Azerim. For now, let me assure you that we’re allies and not enemies. After all, we’ll need to work together with cunning if we are both to gain what we want.”

“That we are. It’s a deal, Dragon.”

Chapter 36: Calling Afar

WHEN DRAGON LANDED, AZANIA was waiting inside the infirmary. Coldly furious. He read that in the tilt of her chin and the colours of her emotions. There was relief from the guards, hissing from the Dragonesses, and tears from the Queen.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again!”

“Mother –”

“When you disappeared, Azerim,” she sobbed, “it all came rushing back. You’ve barely begun to recover. Whatever were you thinking?”

“I wanted to see the kingdom from above –”

“You foolish boy! You went – up there, on a pleasure jaunt, while I was dying down here? Who put such a stupid idea in your head; that Dragon?”

“Aye, I’m afraid so,” he said.

“No, it was my idea,” Azerim insisted. “It might sound stupid, mother, but I was just bored, and I wanted to get to know Azania’s Dragon better. I got this idea in my head, and you know what I can be like. I’m sorry that –”

“Azerim, do you have any idea what I’ve been through this past hour?”

Fuming! Dragon swallowed back his pride. Perhaps not the smartest move, yet it was past time he and Azerim spoke at a deeper level to one another. The time had been precious.

Bowing his muzzle, he said, “My Queen, I apologise for taking your son without informing anyone. It was insensitive and unwise. It shall not happen again.”

Azerim said, “Likewise. I’m sorry we caused you so much distress, mother.”

Reaching his paw through the window, Dragon popped the King back into his bed as carefully as he could. The scent of his emotions betrayed that the excursion had perhaps been too much. He glanced about for his paintings and drawings. Oh. Someone must have moved them.

The nurses pushed the King’s windows shut.

“Dragon, don’t settle there, please,” the Sankir said brusquely. “We’re putting a guard detail outside his window tonight.”

“Oh, but Aria said –”

“You can take a break. Pick up again in the morning. We’ll work out a schedule and let you know when you’re needed.”

His tone begged for understanding.

That was the moment that he put a few talons together and made a pawful. I’m being punished? Azania, surely you didn’t –

I suggested it.

I’m sorry, did I hear right?

You heard just fine. This immature stunt you pulled this afternoon ruined all of our delicate negotiations. When are you going to realise that this isn’t just about you and your whims, Dragon? There are others involved here, other lives and needs and –

I needed to speak with Azerim. It was important.

Important, was it? We’re trying to build trust here, not wreck it! she stormed, not caring now that she spoke aloud. The only saving grace was that it was in Draconian, but her tone communicated much. Far from discharging your duty, you took the severely injured King of the realm off on some little joyride.

It was pretty flaming obvious we didn’t go far.

But the Queen –

I APOLOGISED!! “Is that not enough?”

“Don’t you roar at me! Go cool off somewhere. Go on. Shoo!”

“I’m not a hatchling! You can’t talk to me like that.”

“Then don’t act like one.”

You always have to have the last word, don’t you?

She turned her back, clenching her fists at her sides. I’m so mad at you, Dragon, I don’t know what to say anymore! Please just … leave. Take your stupid swagger and your fake bluster and go!

He staggered. Blind with despair. Here it came. At last, his best friend in all the world had turned against him, as he knew she must. It had been inevitable from the start. A despised Dragon could not change his scales. Even after all he had done for them, these idiotic Human insects could not see his heart, nor could they bring themselves to trust a Dragon. Not even his Princess. She hated him. Wanted him gone. How could the very best work of his paws break even this bond he had thought inviolable?

Azania, please … his voice broke.

Go away!

Her tiny finger pointed at the sky in negation.

Terrified he would do or say something he would forever regret, he took two steps past his once-companion and friend and launched into the sky with such a violent surge, the rush of air slammed and broke several Palace windows.

Blitz the Fritz. Wrecker of everything.

What had just happened?

He fled blindly into the evening, neither knowing nor caring where he went. All he knew was that he wanted to be as far from Zunityne and all Humans as a Dragon could be in this sanity-forsaken Vaylarn Archipelago. Why had he ever flown up here? She had lost no time in ditching a misfit, misfiring Dragon for the King she had dreamed of for so long.

It came as a shock when he flew above water once more. The ocean glistened like mercury in the moonlight; he kept low, for a white Dragon did not want to be seen or tracked easily. Up in the night sky, he’d shine like a comet.

On and on he raced, so close to the lapping waves that the spray and moisture wet his scales, and the scent of salt filled his nostrils. Maybe he would take a swim. No, only when he reached the end of all land. When he could go no farther, then it would – he spied an oddly shaped white shell in the water. An upturned fishing vessel! Braking hard, he swung around, searching for survivors. No-one would just leave a fishing vessel like this, surely?

There! A dark head bobbed in the water. A man clutching an oar. He looked ready to slip under.

Landing carefully nearby in the water, Dragon stretched his wings and swam toward the boat. Had it been attacked by Sea Serpents? The fang marks and long scrapes on the hull suggested as much – if so, where were they? Why had they given up?

Reaching the man with a few smooth strokes, he raised him up from the water and patted his back. “Come on, there. You’ve got this.”

“Uh … wife … children …”

“Where are they?”

“Underneath. Hiding. There were Serpents,” he coughed. “Serpents in the water, but they fled … music, do you see?”

Poor fellow. Delirious. Taking the man in paw, Dragon startled as he realised he must have a broken leg. It should never fold like that near the ankle. He swam to the small fishing vessel and looked it over. Nothing here. Only – he tapped upon the hull with his knuckle.

A muffled voice called, “Mikian? Help, I’m so tired, I can’t hold on anymore …”

“Don’t worry, I’m here.”

“Mikian? Who’s there?”

“Emrici, it’s a … it’s a Sea Dragon!”

“I’m here to help,” he reassured them. “Come on. Let’s get you out of there. How many are you under there?”

“Five.”

Dragon shook his head. This mother had kept four children – very small children, as it turned out – alive and afloat beneath the overturned vessel in the face of a Sea Dragon attack? The power of motherhood never failed to amaze.

One at a time, he drew them into his paw. The oldest was barely the age of the youngest Prince; then came twins no older than two years of age, and a babe in arms. The mother slumped gratefully upon his back, lifting her children up top, thanking him with every other breath. The husband dragged himself up too, shivering with shock. Tears of thankfulness wet his face as he embraced his wife; he took the twins onto his lap as best he could.

“Mikian and Emrici, do you need the boat? Where were you travelling at this time of the night?”

“Dragon, we were returning from a family get-together over on Izni Isle in the early evening.” Dragon winced. Must have been adrift for hours. “We live near Lord Jenarzam’s lands on the western shore. Are you the white Dragon we heard about?”

“Perhaps I am, but please, tell no-one I was here. Agreed?”

“Oh aye, we won’t tell a soul.”

“Mummy, why are we swimming on a Dragon’s back?”

The mother patted his shoulder as he righted the damaged boat, and tipped it up to pour out the seawater. “Because he’s a nice Dragon, that’s why.”

Nice. Worst word in the world.

In his experience, the nice Dragon never got anything at all. No hoard, no female and no honour. Was that not the way things were?

Pulling the small fishing vessel along, he swam them up the coastline and eventually, with directions, right to the front door of a simple hut located on the coastline. He drew the boat well up onto the beach and carried the husband up to his bed. After foraging for wood for a warming fire, he hunted a Ruby Snapper for the family in the shallow reef waters.

“Mikian, there’s a good surgeon up at the castle. You’ll need that ankle seen to in the morning.”

“We’re thankful, but we can’t afford something like that,” he said.

“Put it on my bill.”

The couple acted openly shocked.

“Since I helped to save the kingdom this week, I figure they owe me a bit. Please try. If they give you any trouble you can tell them that the white Dragon will be paying a visit. Here. Take one of my scales as proof.”

“As you command, Dragon,” said the woman. “Thank you once more.”

“I’ll leave you now to rest.”

* * * *

Dragon left the sleeping family in the early hours, covering the broad width of Dragon Isle during the remaining hours of darkness. His hearts knew nothing but that he needed to keep going. Going, until there was nowhere left to go.

Growing weary, he kept going until he found a clifftop perch from which to watch a gorgeous white dawn blazing over the eastern oceans. This side of the island was so rugged! Steepling black cliffs, lonely seabirds nesting in the most infeasible cracks above frothing waters, a light mist drifting over myriad tiny islands. He gazed out over the most northerly of the four ‘talons’ of the Archipelago, wondering again at the extraordinary likeness to a draconic paw print.

It almost implied design. When did one move from a scientific perception of complexity to a theory of design? Did that even make sense? He had read a couple of scholarly articles on the debate without coming to any personal conclusion. Fascinating topic.

So fascinating, he took a long, contemplative snooze upon the matter.

In the late afternoon, he took a long, pleasant flight up that northerly talon, first crossing a churning sea channel before playing in the frisky breezes along the talon. Despite its narrowness, the mountains were over a mile high to start with, but tapered off as he approached the talon tip.

Powerful tides ripped through dark blue channels. The colourful reef became restricted to a few smaller, sheltered inlets, with what the water colour proclaimed were steep drop-offs into far greater depths. Yet when he crossed to the south side, he found strips and pockets of pristine white beaches perhaps never trod by the foot of Man or the paw of Dragon. He tried not to think about how he missed the Princess, or what she must be thinking or feeling just now. She had sent him away. Only fair that he obeyed, that he allowed the silence and beauty of this place to permeate his being. He must marshal his inner strength. That fumbling fool was not him anymore.

Would there be pursuit? What would it take to excise this pain from his soul?

I’m not a hatchling! Then, don’t act like one … go!

He shuddered.

Across another channel was one final larger island, then just a few dots that made the final talon tip. This island, to his surprise, was shaped like a runic E in draconic talon runes, with an elongated upper bar which was broken in several places, creating a curved, beautifully sculpted bay on its south-eastern side. Well sheltered from oceanic storms. This made it both the most northerly and most easterly place in the Vaylarn Archipelago. Deliberately, he flew out further, right to the last rock that remained unwashed by the pounding surf, where he surveyed the endless blue with a strange hunger deep in his hearts. Out there, the Lumis Ocean was said to be far larger and more treacherous than the crossing he and Azania had completed.

Wilds of ocean, monsters of the deep.

As he perched on that boulder watching the glorious colours change all around him, he spied the first Sea Serpents he had seen during his journey. A family, perhaps. He did not attack. Observing their speed and state of exhaustion, he found himself wondering again why that family had not been attacked and consumed. According to Aria, this was a distinct danger in those deeper channels between the major islands, away from the reef.

Bending forward, he drank deeply from the ocean without taking his eyes off the azure Sea Serpents. These were not large, perhaps thirty to forty feet in length. They swam adeptly in a sinuous side-to-side motion supplemented by small, fan-like pairs of fins located along their bodies.

He watched them round the point and wriggle off to the south.

Animals. Despite their size, they gave no sign of intelligence, unlike the Sanbris Whales. They responded to external stimuli like any beast.

Stimuli … like music?

The oddity of Mikian’s observation gave him pause. Paws for thought? Nay, wings!

Before Wavewhisperer came to their aid out on the reef, there had been a burst of underwater music which preceded her much more powerful, yet no less melodious battle challenge. Did the Sea Dragons sing their way around the oceans? Was that why the Serpents had fled?

They flee the song …

His wings twitched of their own accord. Leaping forward, he extended his neck and tucked his paws close, spearing into the ocean with a degree of grace he had always thought would evade him. Fifty-foot white javelin. Bubbles burst around his body, tickling his hide as he tested the swell and felt the powerful, cooler current tugging at his body. To his surprise, there was a busy reef below his body, but it lay at least two hundred feet beneath the surface. Much stonier and harder-looking than the reefs he had paddled or stepped over.

However, all that was passé.

No music? No, there was none, save slight, haunting hints of what he took for whalesong. He drifted there in the cool, quiet waters for ten minutes, waiting.

Nothing.

Did he dare? He knew her name in Dragoceanic, and he knew how to call. He must brace himself for disappointment. Yet when hope went to war against timidity of hearts, Dragon knew there could only be one winner. Rising for a brief, enlivening breath, he dipped his muzzle and swam deeper.

This was it.

A resounding bellow rippled through the water, sending the bright tropical fish flitting for cover. ≈Sirensong.≈

No, that pathetic effort was not at all what Wavewhisperer had taught him.

≈Sirensong!≈

Better. Good resonance, but he still had not achieved the tonal quality she had been capable of. Surely, such a sound would not travel – well, he had no idea how far it needed to travel. Yet, the ocean knew, because … ocean always rises. Gathering himself, he sang:

≈SIRENSONG!!≈

Shiver his wings and tickle his talons, that was a production worthy of the name! The sound shot away from him in invisible waves that quivered his body and senses in ways he could not fathom.

Dragon lurked, and waited.

He took another breath, and waited.

Yawn.

He practised his backstroke and wandered down to take a closer look at the deep reef. The colours appeared less vibrant than the shallower ones; more blues, greys and greens than the silver sparkles and luminous yellows higher up, and he saw larger fish cruising where the waters became more deeply shadowed – indeed, Ignis’ crimson blaze filtering through the waters like flame, was fading fast now toward the night.

He tried to do a few sums in his head. Sound travelled just over four times faster through water than through air, he had learned – a fact that had always stuck with him. 767 miles per hour in the air, Dragon scientists had calculated. That made sound’s speed through water somewhere decently north of 3,000 miles per hour. Wavewhisperer had implied that Sea Dragons could communicate at inordinate distances underwater, which meant … well, if they were far away, he had better practice the patience that was coming so badly to him at this moment. Such conversation must be weird. Speak, get a reply ten minutes later. Or more. A great deal more.

Night fell. Clonk, he said to himself. Chuckle. Poking his head out of the seawater, he saw that he had been slowly swept southward by the current. Back to the point, Dragon. He must wait faithfully for a reply if one was in the offing.

When the change came, he found himself utterly unprepared. A sudden tingling in his tail made him imagine a jellyfish sting must have penetrated his scales. Head down. Checking his surrounds, when the weirdest tingle rushed up his spine and spat out through his wingtips, before seeming to gather and implode deep in the centre of his chest.

Music! A song of inexpressible wonder washed around his being, reverberating from the shoreline in wave upon wave that ascended to an impossible crescendo.

≈WELCOME!!≈

Like wavelets, individual voices began to resound at different pitches and intensities, ≈Welcome.≈ ≈Welcome.≈ ≈Welcome.≈ ≈Welcome.≈

He spun beneath the water, overwhelmed.

≈MY WAVE IS SIRENSONG!!≈

Freeze.

Shiver! No way! The interrogative was clear, even in the Dragoness’ presentation of her personal melody. The Dragoness wanted to know who it was that called her name from afar. How long … he shook his muzzle dazedly. Over an hour. Perhaps an hour and a half. He should have thought to note the time – by his sire’s egg, they must be distant indeed! Another hasty calculation suggested, if he took the time the sound required to reach them and then return, that the Sea Dragons must be in the region of two and a half thousand miles away!

The mind boggled at such distances.

His body buzzed as if it had been set alight. Could this truly be his dam’s song? Never had he dared to imagine this moment. Joy fizzed like starlight in his veins, lighting the dark ocean all around him. The music played in diminuendo about his body, causing his wing membranes to quiver uncontrollably. How did they do that?

He must reply. What could he even say in Dragoceanic?

≈I AM DRAGON!! SIRENSONG … EGG!! WAVE … DRAGON!!≈

That would confuse the life out of them. A Dragon who called himself Dragon. With his current linguistic ability, however, channelled into this form of long-range communication, his options were limited in the extreme.

One hour and thirty-five minutes later, by his best reckoning, the tingling arrived again and this time – despite mental preparations – the music was a tsunami that pummelled him against the shoreline. Not all was welcoming. The immensity of voices wanted to know who the unknown voice was who summoned Sirensong from afar; how could an egg even speak? Who was this imposter who did not undulate with the pod of Sea Dragons? Who had tarried behind upon the currents? For they had made tabulation and none were missing.

That was as best he could make translation of their speech inside his head.

What he did understand was the demand to wait where he was for his kin to arrive. They were two weeks away. Two weeks! How fast and far did they fly underwater?

At last, that softer, feminine voice queried, ≈My wave is Sirensong. How old is this egg?≈

The music faded.

≈Sirensong, I am … four paws of talons old. I am … wave!≈ Assuming they had paws like his. His supposed racial memory refused to serve up the word for ‘twenty’ as yet.

Toward midnight, the reply came in gruff, belligerent male tones, ≈Dragon, do you truly claim to be the wave of Sirensong?≈

≈I am Sirensong wave.≈

No reply arrived after that.

Chapter 37: To the Point

IN THE MORNING, DRAGON found the four Sea Serpents resting in the shallows off the pristine beach. He ambushed them and killed two before they began to respond – sluggishly, it seemed to him. Thereafter, he fought a hard but ultimately satisfying battle to destroy the remaining pair. He left them for the scavengers.

After waiting all day for word, in the early evening, the music caught him by surprise yet again.

≈Dragon, where is Dragon?≈

≈Sirensong, I …≈ Dragon gnashed his fangs angrily. I run out of words? Great!

Someone might have been guilty of a day-long mooching session. Now, he did not know what to do. Would Azania want him? Would she come for him? Should he go back to her, dragging his blasted overblown pride through the dirt, and make amends? What would Ariamyrielle Seaspray make of his absence? Why could he not bring himself to take wing and return? Why not be the bigger creature, the one who would bend for the sake of them both?

What a struggle. Big and physically strong he might be, but this required a kind of strength he was not sure he possessed. Dragon pushed these thoughts away.

He had not seen a single Dragon out here. One might as well be alone in the world.

Strange how rooted he felt at this location. Could this be a Dragon sense that he was meant to be right here? He did not understand. Perhaps it was somehow special or sacred to the Sea Dragons?

He waited in the surf, resting above a white, sandy ocean floor encompassed by a semicircle of vibrant reef that together with the island itself, protected this beach from all quarters. Truly, the quality of the water here was incredible. Like silk upon the scales. As if an unheard resonance communicated to his very soul – not that he was a mystical sort, but it made sense if he tried to keep logic out of the equation.

≈My wave is Sirensong! Wait! Respond!≈

Ah, he nearly jumped out of the water. When would he become used to the special thrill of those faraway voices? Grumpily, he rearranged his wings and smoothed his scales back down with anxious paws. Undeniable power, mind. How big were Sea Dragons?

≈My wave is Dragon! I will wait! Respond!≈

≈We’re coming faster. Wait.≈

≈Waiting.≈

The following evening at the same time, they repeated the exact same exchange. Word for word.

Next night came the same phrasing again – he had to lurk beneath a pounding storm, but as always in the depths, there was calm unthinkable at the surface level.

Again.

Crazy how he slept so badly, missing a tiny person breathing in his paw. Her voice. Her light footstep, laughter and joy in life. When had that happened? Dragon spent his days hunting and exploring the waters around the talons, getting to know their scent and flow and moods, until as the suns dipped toward the horizon, he would return to the point and wait for the Sea Dragons to communicate. Each time, the conversation was noticeably faster as they closed the distance toward the Archipelago. This evening was the fastest yet, just above an hour. What a feat of physical endurance and power! He estimated that they must be covering close to two hundred and fifty miles a day.

No Dragon of the air could cover that distance day after day after day.

The longer he tarried, the harder it became to contemplate a return. Especially since his dam was so close. Delays on the repetitious exchange were down to less than forty minutes now.

Joy swelled in his breast, uncontainable.

Imprinting.

The word popped into his mind. Were they making a verbal bond – was that the point of these exchanges? ≈We’re coming faster.≈ Was this because of him? If a certain pedantic Dragon dared to estimate their time of arrival now, they must surely arrive within ten days of when he had first heard from the Sea Dragons, rather than the promised two weeks. Perhaps they had caught a beneficial current? Or … could it be because of him?

His body glowed unceasingly now, as if Sirensong’s melody or the wider melody of the pod burned within him, giving rise to white fires that somehow seethed beneath his scales. He was his own light beneath the waters in the evenings. The fish certainly thought he was amazing.

The day that the communication returned in a mere twenty-two minutes, Dragon surfaced to find Princess Azania standing upon his favourite boulder, the very last in the Archipelago.

As if a fist had gripped his hearts, sweet pain spread inside his chest.

No sign of Aria.

She knelt, and then bowed her head to the rock with her arms outstretched. He gazed at the top of her curls in consternation. What was that supposed to mean? Best guess – a formal apology or appeal for mercy in a desert style. Stirring the water with his wings, he scrambled up beside her and reached out a paw to clasp her shaking shoulders. Only the slightest hesitation on his part.

“Precious Princess, I –”

“Dragon, will you ever forgive me?”

He said gruffly, “You certainly came a ways to find me. It’s been quiet out here.”

“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing – oof,” she complained as he drew her against the side of his neck with his paw. Big, big, big hug! With a chuckle that betrayed enormous relief, her arms tightened about his muzzle. “I see how it is.”

“Do you? I meant to say how terribly I missed your incessant whinging.”

“I missed your snoring like an earthquake.”

“At least I smell like a Dragon now, and not some girly perfume.”

“Ah, that macho whiff?”

“Much-o whiff,” he agreed.

She rubbed the scales near his eye gently. “I’m so, so sorry I lost my rag with you. How’s my renegade Dragon been? I guess I didn’t expect you to actually do what I asked. Ordered. Screamed at you – ugh! You took some finding, you know. We went in totally the wrong direction to start with. It was only after the Rangers uncovered a story of a capsized family you rescued, that we began to suspect where you might have gone. Then, we tracked you by your light.”

“My light?”

“The Dragonesses observed an unusual radiance lighting up the overcast off the talons, one evening. They thought it might be a storm like the one that hit us, but Aria guessed differently. Too regular a phenomenon.”

“You saw that from how many miles off?”

“Who’s a pretty boy, then?” she cooed. “You’re the literal light of my life!”

Dragon eyed her askance. Clearly, this rascally Princess was in need of some squashing back into shape. A nip here, a tuck there. Maybe a decent thrashing. Pop her into his hoard, lock it up and throw away the key.

What he heard escape from his traitorous lips was, “Your flying out here means more to me than you’ll ever know. You’re a wonderful friend to worry about me so.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worried at all.”

Liar. His five hearts throbbed as one – an unfamiliar, concerted rhythm that rocked his entire body.

Wiping her eyes, she sniffled, “To tell the truth, I was so afraid … I couldn’t stand to lose you, Dragon. This time, it was me who acted like a beast, like all those Dragons who ever rejected you and drove you out. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt you. For the record, I adore your swagger and your bluster, because I know that beneath lie the five hearts of a true champion – a Dragon who doesn’t just claim nobility as his due. He lives it. And aye, I like that you outshine the rest. You’re different, you’re unique, and you’re mine.”

His turn to gulp. Hard. “I never want to lose you either, Azania. I’ve been so afraid, despite all my bluster and noble words, that you and Azerim would just … you know, sink into one another and forget all about me. That’s what seemed to happen. I bolted for the farthest place I could find. Just like that cowardly Dragon from before.”

“Azerim and I have been awfully selfish,” she admitted. “All that intense catching up … Queen Vyioli gave us both quite the talking to.”

“It’s understandable.”

“Leaving out everyone else? Not noticing you were gone-gone for two whole days? You’re being far too kind.”

His eyes dropped to the jewel she touched at her neck. “What’s this?”

“It’s a promise locket.”

Azania showed him the delicately diamond-frosted casing in the shape of – well, a Dragon’s head and muzzle, remarkably similar in shape to a large white fire breather he could have poked with a short talon just then. Hmm! Draconic in design? It depended not from a chain, but from a flexible, finely-tooled golden torc that encircled her slender neck. The gold looked fabulous against her dark skin. Truly, a gift fit for a Queen! Had Azerim come up with this idea?

Ping! A few thoughts collided inside his brain and spat out a conclusion. “A promise – you’re engaged? Oh Azania, that’s wonderful news. Congratulations!”

She ducked her head self-consciously. “Not quite yet. Azerim made it clear that our engagement would depend on … uh, well, you.”

“Me?” he spluttered. Clean out the ear canals and try again. “Whatever do you mean?”

“On your permission, specifically.”

“Then, of course I –”

“Dragon, shh.” She could never shut his lips with a finger; the use of both arms carried the idea without covering even a third of his maw. “This is serious.”

“Mussht be sherioush,” he slurred around her arms.

“Dragon! Honestly, you’re terrible. You did miss me, didn’t you?”

“You’d think with all this peace and quiet and time to think out here, I’d be sleeping like a hatchling. But no. Seems I’ve grown accustomed to the presence of this pestiferous person I dare to call a friend.”

Smiling uncertainly, Azania said, “It’s more a promise of a promise. You see, we realised that there’s something new going on under the suns – something that involves a whole new way of being between Dragons and Humans. We don’t want to damage that. Being a Dragon Rider is hard to put into words. Friendship, companionship, soul mates … battle buddies …”

He chuckled, “I agree! How does it feel?”

The girl considered this, head askance. He scented her perfume and a new, different oil she must have used in her hair. It looked utterly lustrous, like delicate filaments of the darkest night. Yet she was still Azania, vibrant and brimming over with concentrated mischief. Ever so beautiful.

Pressing her forehead against his eye, she murmured, Like this.

Images flowed into his mind. Friends patting aside the clouds they flew through. The comfort of a huge paw clasped about her body, knowing that she slept beside living fires. The clash and heart-slamming adrenaline of battle. Patching up one another’s wounds. Peeking around his thigh to snoop on his work as he focussed on mixing just the right blend of colours for a fiery sunset over rippling waters. Swimming together. Feeling the detonation of delight in his body as he saw clearly for the first time through his spectacles. Sharing meals upon lonely mountaintops, snorting with laughter and chasing off errant knights, talking and telling stories and loving one another as the very best of friends. The extraordinary gift of knowing he had her back at all times. No flinching. No regrets.

Dragon sighed, Oh, that’s beautiful. One day you really are going to make me weep real tears.

Those would be jewels of white flame.

Ooh. As for me …

The loneliest Dragon in existence moseyed about his lair, crushed beneath a burden of angst and self-pity and futile rage. No fires. No hope. A future full of nothing. He could not be or become, because he could never believe. Then, in a flash of outrage, he made the best decision he had ever made.

You’re so sweet, Dragon!

He threw her a picture of Prince Floric tumbling over and over down his stairs. For you, I’d do that all over again, save for having you suffer that fool and his vile threats.

Then, he showed her what it meant to find his fires, how a Dragon had changed his every scale, all for the sake of the courage and confidence a treasured Dragon Rider had instilled in his hearts. She melted against him, sobbing – for joy, it must be. He even admitted how miserable he had been out at the end of the talon without her, and how he had feared all was lost. Azania reassured him without words that it was not so.

He said, “Oh! It’s almost time!”

“Time for what?”

“Do you want to hear the Sea Dragons, and my dam’s voice? They’re just days away now!”

“Right – of course! That’s why you’re glowing!” She bounced on her toes. “Oh, Dragon, that’s just the best news since … whenever!”

Aargh, girls. Leaking again. Maybe he was learning to love that Human reaction.

ARIA!! he bellowed.

“Honestly, I’m not going to have any ears left by the time you’re done.”

You thundered, o mighty denizen of the deeps?

There she was! With a smile that squirted fire through the portals of his Dragon hearts, the cobalt warrior Dragoness winged toward him from where she must have been watching their interaction from a quarter-mile away.

Submerge quickly, and listen. Snaffling the Princess into his paw, Dragon hurled himself out over the last boulders. Deep breath, Azania!

Splash. Oh, the music! Her eyes popped wide; he was not sure where Aria was, but he imagined her response must be similar. It was a symphony of draconic horns and bugles at a level of musical complexity that befuddled the brain with its intense, intricate beauty. Next came the words:

≈We’re coming faster. Wait.≈

≈Waiting with my two best friends beneath all the waves!≈

Oh. That was new.

Flummox his white wings, oceanic language really did seem to have a mind of its own. He could not fathom it – pun intended.

Azania signalled upward. Losing air already? He helped her to surface, pushing that part of her which had so distracted a King. She burst into the air with a yell of amazement, splashing so haphazardly, he gripped her waist lest she sink again.

“What was that? Dragon! That was – it really was your dam?”

“Aye, after the music. She said, ‘We’re coming faster, wait.’ They say the same thing every day at this time. I’ve been tracking the incoming migration from over 2,500 miles away.”

“Whoooo-wheeee! No wonder you got stuck here.”

“I think that was more about my fears than –”

“Dragon!” Aria burst out of the waves about four Dragon paces away, swamping them both as she lunged into the air, only to realise that he was still bobbing in the surf. “That was your dam? Incredible! They’re that close?”

“A little under six hundred miles,” he smiled.

Jaw-dropper.

Perhaps he ought not to enjoy confounding her quite as much as he did.

“Dragon – you!” she spluttered at last. “You’ve got some explaining to do. Come over here and let me tell you how much I missed you, and how when I thought you were lost … ah, a Dragoness despaired to the depths of her hearts.”

He eyed her playfully. “Aria, if you’re expecting intelligible sentences and rational thought, maybe we should keep a healthy distance?”

“Mrrrr, you get that stupendously attractive hide over here right now, Dragon, or I’ll have to threaten you with a range of unspeakably delicious torments.”

Whadda-whomp! His fires ignited.

Judging by the way he was now steaming, getting dry would not be an issue.

Looking extremely pleased with herself, Aria added, “Have I told you recently how much I despise the words, ‘healthy’ and ‘distance’? Ghastly idea. Especially when it involves you going missing on the far side of the Archipelago with so much remaining unresolved between us.”

With that, she blew his concern that she was merely content with a renewed flirtation, right out of the water.

No, he knew nothing about females.

Wrong. He knew one thing. Underestimate them at one’s peril, Dragon!

* * * *

The Princess of T’nagru wandered off along the beach, collecting shells. Ahem. In other words, removing herself from the ambit of fiery romance. Subtle. Besides, the beach promised hours of delight for a child of the desert. Her realm was all sand and a lifelong struggle for water. Here was water in incalculable measure, albeit too salty for any Human to drink.

With the evening drawing in, Dragon picked a pleasant spot on the soft white sand against a cosy-looking boulder, well above the high tide line. Let’s overnight here, Aria. Is it … just you two?

Just us. Azerim was fighting off an infection. My Dragonesses returned to Wave Dragonhome for a brief space. They understand that this is a personal matter.

You take the boulder.

Thanks. I am tired, I’ll admit. We flew from one end of the Archipelago to the other, searching for you.

She curled up with her flank against the boulder. Dragon tried to judge how she was lying, before wedging his tail beneath her neck and making his much larger, taller body into a bulwark of protection, bending about her much smaller frame with draconic limberness until his muzzle rested within the ambit of her hind paws. Tail to muzzle they lay, but their necks curved inward until their eyes lay only a couple of feet apart, and their warm breath mingled in the space between.

For the longest time, they simply lay close. No need to speak in this cosy lair for two. At last, he realised that their breathing had synchronised, for he felt the rise and fall of her flank against his neck and cheek.

Comfortable? he rasped. Not squashing you, am I?

I’ve never lain like this with any Dragon before, let alone one who fires my hearts as you do. It’s … intimate. He inhaled sharply. I have a deficit in that I was never raised to know much affection and intimacy. We’re taught it’s not the warrior way, that males exist to serve us with their gifts and talents. Emotion is excess. Yet I have seen how you are with Princess Azania. I saw her as competition. Can I be honest with you?

He purred encouragement.

As she spoke, her voice took on more of that exotic, lyrical quality which had kept him spellbound from the very first. Dragon, when I said I chose you, I think I meant a male in the image in my mind. I became confused. Seeing you here amongst our kind … I would still choose you in a heartbeat, but not with the arrogance I showed before. I am sorry I put you down, treating you as the lesser creature. You see, I feel a very great weight of expectation upon me as the daughter of Charielle, one expected to lead the Isles Dragonesses one day, and I bowed to that pressure. Tradition. Values and conduct. I’m not sure the Dragonesses know what to make of you – a male who cannot be cowed, who has artistic gifts, yet prefers a totally different way of … being.

The Dragon Rider question has thrown us all into a tailspin. That is what I was dealing with when I dismissed you so harshly, and unfairly. I demanded you be normal according to my norms. That was wrong. Perhaps it is us who are not normal.

Working that out would be hard. Her tone said she understood nuance, another matter upon which he had concluded she fell short. Had he entirely misjudged her hearts’ fires?

Carefully, he said, We’re different. Neither way is right or wrong, Aria. A warrior’s skills are not honed overnight. Nor is any relationship.

Am I too much – those razor wings? Can you be you, and not be sliced apart?

He reflected aloud, I find Azerim’s whole family dynamic very hard. They’re so close. So perfect. I never had that. Neither did Azania, nor you, I’ve come to realise.

The Cobalt Dragoness sighed, I’m trying to say something, but it’s not coming out very well.

What’s that?

I – she drew her gorgeously patterned wings over her eyes, as if she could neither bear to see his reaction, nor hear his words – I don’t just like you, Dragon. I … something-other … you.

Chapter 38: New Beginnings

DRAGON FOUND HIS VOICE in an incredulous snort, You something-other me? Aria!

A lot! she insisted, but did not come out of hiding.

He plucked playfully at the silky edges of her butterfly-like wings. You are something else. Something and someone special. I sense you might be referring to a something-other in which our feelings … wing together, as one.

Her eye peeked out of the wing folds for a second. You something-other me, too?

I rather think so. Although, I would perhaps have put all that something and a lot of other into different words. If we are talking about the same something other, and not another something. Now, will you come out?

No.

No?

I’m too shy.

He burst out laughing. Forgive me, but here’s a side of you I never quite imagined.

It’s just – in this culture, the female always makes the something-other-ish declaration first, do you see? But I want to honour you and your ways.

Dragon eyed the fierce warrior with consternation, rising respect and no little indecision. She truly was trying! Words led to direct, uncompromising action in her worldview. There was no wastage of sentiment – which meant, by extension, that she was not playing the tease here. She knew what she wanted, but a pause to rethink what it meant to him was precious beyond measure.

Perhaps she only needed help framing her response.

Unfurling his wing, he caressed the length of her back with the sensitive tip. Something-other like this?

The fires of her half-hidden gaze whitened. Umm …

And this? With his forepaw, he cupped her chin, and stroked the pulse of her neck, before circling the scales beside her eye with his thumb. I something-other you, Ariamyrielle Seaspray.

She shivered at his touch. I … oh, Dragon!

There might be details and complications to work out, he whispered, but you need to understand, in every part of your being, how deeply I care for you. You are worth caring for, Aria. You deserve every breath we share.

The Dragoness made that same keening sound she had made when faced with the possibility of her kin attacking a brash male and ending him there and then. Her wings folded back a little, framing her slim, elegant muzzle.

He said, I’m not one for the standard storyline, razor wings. I never have been. Maybe it’s to do with the strangeness of my birth and heritage, maybe to do with the way I grew up. We are good for one another, better together than apart. I don’t apologise for not following the standard script. I was fireless, yet I kidnapped the first Princess to be kidnapped in over thirty years. I value Human companionship, honouring a Dragon Rider. I breathe white fires and thrill to the presence of the ocean. I don’t know whether, one day, I will feel the need to migrate with my kind. Do you think you’ll be able to put up with all that?

Putting up with you is awfully hard, Dragon, she smiled, lying through her fangs.

I thought so. That’s why you’re allowing this big, bold male to trap you against this boulder and whisper sweet somethings into your ears.

I’m fighting talon and fang here, but I just can’t seem to escape.

Actually, her hearts were thrashing as if she were in the throes of mortal combat. He did not point out the obvious, however. Not when she seemed to be exploring a new freedom of being in her own right, a way of romancing a male that had to be entirely alien to her upbringing.

He said, Here’s a suggestion. On the Archipelago, I’ll submit to your lead and try not to make such a nuisance of myself, if you’ll allow me to be the brash male around my kin, over in the Tamarine Mountains. What do you think?

Sounds good. I might, however, need to call on you to occasionally cut through situations which might arise in your inimitable, great-white-Dragon way, she suggested, with a cunning rosy tint to her gaze. Even more wickedly, she added, Used well, you could be more than an asset in so many ways. We’ll agree a secret signal –

Upon which I galumph over your enemies?

Perfect.

He caressed her cheek again. Her scales were deceptively soft, like the silken edge of a perfectly whetted talon.

Aria, if indeed we feel the same way, shall we make our declarations together, on a count of three talons?

She nodded eagerly. Good idea. We say it three times. A thrice-bound oath is never broken.

Works for me.

Deep breath. Huge! Had the world stopped turning just for this moment, or was he imagining things?

He counted down with his talons. Three. Two. One.

Ariamyrielle Seaspray, I love you, I love you, I love you.

True Dragon of my hearts, she sang in beautiful melody, I love you, I love you, I love you. I am yours forever, faithful and true.

He echoed, I am yours forever, faithful and true.

That was not a Tamarine Mountains saying, as best he knew, but it expressed his deepest feelings toward this Dragoness. Each pressing forward, they nuzzled and then twined their necks together, symbolic of the promise of draconic love.

She chuckled self-consciously and nibbled at his skull spikes. You’re so huge! You do know that Sea Dragons are said to grow all of their lives, don’t you?

Eh? No, I didn’t.

Slower in the adult years, but inevitably. How much of you am I going to get to enjoy?

All of me.

Aria blinked in acknowledgement, her fires softer and more beautiful than he had ever seen them. Mesmeric eyes.

She said, Dragon, may I wait with you for your dam’s arrival?

I’d like nothing more. You honour me.

Was it possible for a soul to sigh in relief, and burn white with the fires of joy?

* * * *

A short while later, Azania returned from her shell-collecting. Her boots scrunched along in the soft sand as she approached them, saying, “The evening’s growing cooler. You two look cosy.”

Dragon popped up his head and gave her a solemn wink. “It’s very warm in here.”

She eyed the intertwined bulk of their bodies. “How does one – ah, thank you, Dragon.”

Gripping his proffered talon with her hands, she walked up his tail and then over Aria’s neck, before dropping into the small sandy space between them.

“Cosy?” Aria purred.

“Positively balmy,” the Princess agreed. “Without being an awfully nosy busybody, do I sense that your chat went well?”

The Dragoness drew a little circle in the sand around the desert Princess with her fore talon, and said, “Just enough room for one more, I think. That would complete our little family – what do you say, Dragon?”

“Aye. Indeed, I have the perfect candidate in mind.”

“You two! What’s been going on here?”

“Oh, we were whispering sweet and fiery somethings to each other,” Dragon said airily.

“Spelled, ‘L-O-V-E,’ ” Aria clarified.

Azania gave a squeal of joy. “You did? You did! Oh … I’m so happy for you both! How does it work with Dragons? Are you mated, now? Or is this a beginning?”

“A beginning, similar to your engagement promises,” Dragon said. “She’d like to rush straight to the mating part, of course –”

“Dragon, that’s so untrue!” Aria gasped, blushing in her every fire.

“– me being such a handsome, irresistible example of draculinity and all that …”

Reaching around the Princess, she cuffed his jaw mischievously. “First Dragon scents his own brand. I’m glad you’re so impatient, because I’m going to make you so happy …” She winked at Azania. “Wouldn’t you agree, Princess?”

The tiny hands came down off her ears. “Did you say something? Phew, it’s like an oven in here.” Holding up a white nautilus shell to the radiance of his scales, she said, “This makes me think of love. You see, in this direction of the spiral, it gets infinitely deeper and closer and more intimate. In this direction, it grows ever larger over time. Isn’t that right? About shells, I mean.”

“Absolutely right,” Aria purred.

“Beautiful image,” he agreed.

Then, they settled down together as night enfolded the Archipelago in robes of sable. A family of three, soon to become four.

Strange, different and perfect.

* * * *

The following day, they swam, relaxed on the beach in the suns, and practised at sparring. They talked at length through all the politics related to developing a force of Dragon Riders to fly south from the Archipelago if and when that even became possible. On both sides, there were strong blocs opposed to the idea. Aria had been trying to sell it as a test, but even her more progressive younger Dragonesses had their reservations. When she noted that Chanize and Sankir Farizam planned to fly south along with them, Dragon felt he had to object.

“Chanize? Surely not.”

“Why not?” Aria asked. “She’s more than capable with her hands. She already sharpens a mean blade, and she knows leather work in addition to being an outstanding seamstress.”

“You plan to fly a woman with no legs into battle?”

Azania said, “I flew a Dragon with no fires into battle. What’s the difference?”

GNARR!!

Both females gave him a hefty case of the fiery eyeball.

Grinning with all his fangs, he growled, “Gnarr-thing, evidently. I stand corrected. What’s the plan for her saddle?”

“Extra support at the back, but we’re struggling with her balance, since she doesn’t have calves or ankles with which to grip a Dragoness’ neck,” Azania explained.

He considered this for a moment. “Oh, that’s easy.”

More of the fiery eyeball. In tandem.

“My dear and very lovely females, all you need to do is to think like a male.” Holding up his talons, he said, “One, you stuff the girl into skin-tight leather Dragon Rider trousers, thereby wrecking the Sankir’s concentration forever. Two, you fit the material as snugly as possible to her – I don’t know how to say this politely – leg stumps. Three, you make appropriate attachments at the ends and waist to fix her to a saddle with strong ratchet straps. No need for actual calves. Balance? No problem.”

No end to the staring, apparently.

Reaching out his forepaws, he chucked them identically beneath the chins. Much softer for Azania, of course. “You know, when you two glare at me like that, you could be twins?”

“We are not twins!” Aria snarled.

“You’re so rude!” Azania snapped.

Dragon shrugged in the most annoying way he was capable of.

Dragoness and Princess glanced at one other. A second later, they were rolling in the sand, hooting uproariously.

“Glad I’m employed for my comedic value,” he snorted.

Azania clutched her stomach and nearly wet herself laughing.

As sunset drew corals, oranges and rose tints upon a faraway cloudbank, Dragon, Aria and Azania nipped up to the point to wait for the Sea Dragon music. It swelled right on schedule, making the waters physically tremble. How did they do that?

≈My wave is Sirensong! Wait! Respond!≈

≈My wave is Dragon! I will wait! Respond!≈

Twelve minutes! Only twelve – they must be around three hundred and thirty miles away now, he estimated. By his wings, how could he stand to wait?

≈We seek your song. Why not swim out tomorrow evening to meet us joyously beneath the waves?≈

≈Wait. How will we find you, mighty Sea Dragons?≈

For the first time, an immense, musical wave of guffaws arose from the pod.

Sirensong laughed, ≈You cannot miss us, strange one called Dragon. You will know us by our song, and our welcoming fire that sets the oceans alight.≈

≈We will come.≈

He translated for his friends. Both agreed this was a good idea. They could calculate to meet the Sea Dragons up to three hours offshore, depending on the weather, for both he and Aria could manage that length of flight and a similar return with no issues.

How he fretted! Having slept badly, he grouched his way into the morning, staring at an innocently glorious sunrise with baleful ire. Shake it off, Dragon! Today was a day for joy. Nonetheless, he could not help but fear that the Sea Dragons would not accept one who was only half like them. His egg had been born out of what must be tragic circumstances, stolen and raised by another dam; whatever had existed between his sire Blaze and his dam, Sirensong, had been shattered by a staggering act of treachery.

He and Aria trained with care. Neither wanted a wrenched wing joint to spoil the flight north.

At last, when he had nearly perished of impatience, the afternoon grew long enough that it was time to fly into the unknown. Azania mounted up upon his neck, and patted his scales. Quiet encouragement. He fitted his spectacles. No short-sighted Dragon wanted to miss this event!

Aria said, “Lead on, Dragon.”

They flew ten degrees west of true north, the direction he had most keenly felt their communication coming from. The last reefs and islets disappeared below the horizon. Nothing out here but ocean, vast and tranquil, but also a beast which could be roused to an unimaginable fury, the untameable power of nature.

A cloudless late afternoon coloured into a massive, fiery sunset as Ignis turned the waters into his personal bloodbath. Onward they flew. Dragon wondered if he should take to the waters to receive the usual communication, just as the upper curve of the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Alright. Do it. After transferring Azania to Aria’s back and handing over his spectacles, he plunged into the cool waters.

≈Sirensong?≈

≈Dragon, why did you not reply? We’ve been calling for hours.≈

He did not know how to apologise, so he tried to communicate contrition in the tone of his reply. ≈Coming. Show the way, please?≈

Almost immediately, her response boomed all around him, ≈Of course, you’re flying above the water! How foolish we were to think otherwise. SEE US COME!!≈

Alright, that last bellow almost lifted him clear out of the water. Tingling madly, he popped his head up to see Aria pointing more westerly of where they had been headed. Out there, the Lumis Ocean glowed white, brighter than he had ever seen before.

He submerged and got a wriggle on, hurling himself free of the surface so that he could climb up to their altitude. As they flew onward, the glow spread. Miles wide and long.

How many of them are there? the Princess whispered.

How big are they? Aria gasped.

Mmm, I’m feeling in a bright mood. Look at me glow!

His companions chortled on cue. Azania sighed, O Dragon, truly, you are the luminary in our midst.

Groan. “Delightful pun,” he agreed.

Double groan!

Still, he had to admit there was something catching about whatever was making him radiate white light – could it be some kind of communal effect?

The brilliance tracked like a foaming wave rushing through the darkling ocean. The darker the night became, the stronger the incoming Sea Dragons shone. His wingbeat stuttered for awe; he had to consciously keep himself going. He was part of this? This was his heritage? Joy cramped his throat. Fires and chills ran rampant through his body. At their combined speed it seemed they rushed toward one another at least twice as fast as his brain was prepared to accept. Faster. Faster still!

The Sea Dragons must have been well aware of his light gleaming against the backdrop of stars, for when they were yet a mile off, the first mighty white body breached the surface in a breathtaking leap, wings outspread to shimmer delicately above the waves. ≈Welcome!≈

Barely had he remembered to breathe again, when another pair leaped free, as if they were low-skimming seabirds. ≈Welcome, our kin!≈

≈Brother!≈

≈Friend!≈

≈Kinsdragon of the air!≈

≈Be welcome, o kin of the wave!≈

Suddenly, as one, the entire pod surged free of the water, spreading their mighty wings to float for long seconds above the surface before they slipped smoothly beneath the waters once more. Dragon’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Thousands! They must cover a surface area of tens of square miles. Or was that just because of the thrilling play of lights spangling off the ocean?

As their comparatively miniscule Dragonwing of two plus one drew overhead, the Sea Dragons breached a second time. Celebratory white fire gushed from their throats, rumbling across the waves like thunder. Instinctively, he responded with a massive salute of his own:

III – AAMM – DRRAAGOONN!!

Thunderclap!

As they submerged, the white fires continued to bloom beneath the waters. He became dimly aware of unfamiliar chemical or magical processes firing off due to their power, and then a single female soared from their midst. She had to be all of seventy or eighty feet long, muzzle to tail, and wider still through her wingspan. Her colour was the lustrous white of pure pearl.

≈My wave is Sirensong!≈

≈SIRENSONG!!≈ His very hearts poured into the outcry.

Dragon glanced across at his companions. They both gestured: Go on!

Nothing could have stopped him now. Pouring all of his strength into his wing stroke, he shot over to his dam. Laughing. Mewling with grief-joy. Every scale on his body tingled. This was her, at last, at last!

≈Join us!≈

How did they know? How were they certain? Every iota of their welcome proclaimed that something had changed during the days since he had first contacted the Sea Dragons; was it his tell-tale white glow, or something to do with the sound imprinting they had insisted upon?

Who cared?

He rocketed into the water ahead of his dam, and had the shivery pleasure of seeing her have to leap to avoid him, for with his poor eyesight he had completely underestimated her speed. Now that he was underwater, matters resolved. A minnow thrashed between giants, getting in every Sea Dragon’s way as they rushed around him, chortling, spinning him in their wake and stroking him with their passing wingtips; then, an immense song boomed over him and a huge, hoary beast caught him up in paws that bracketed his body with ease, and righted him as an adult would correct a wobbly-kneed hatchling.

≈My wave is Thundersong, your great-grandsire!≈

Overwhelmed, he tried to twitch his wings in time with the behemoth.

≈My wave is Lifesong, your great-aunt!≈

Voices chimed all around him, ≈Echosong!≈ ≈Lightsong!≈ ≈Farsong!≈ ≈Ripplesong!≈ ≈Starsong!≈ ≈Eversong!≈ ≈Descantsong!≈ ≈Sweetsong!≈ ≈Truesong!≈ ≈Lovesong!≈

≈SWIM WITH US! WE ARE SONG!≈

Apparently, his family were the Songs, and there were far more of them than his poor little brain could process. Kerpoof!

The mighty paws of Thundersong gripped him from his upper torso right down to his hind legs, hauling him through the water at a crazy speed. He knew at last how Azania must feel. Thundersong had to be four times his size. This much Dragon was impossible for him to fathom. Amongst the Tamarine Mountains Clans, he had always been a creature of unusual size. The awkward heavyweight in the corner. Now, he was a guppy. Outmatched by everyone apart from a few fledglings and hatchlings of the Songs who swam rings around him, giggling in a state of high excitement that matched the frantic pulsation of his Dragon hearts.

Thundersong passed him over to his dam, roaring, ≈Swim with us, o wave of my loins! Swim, sing and be free!≈

≈Son, I know you by your voice. Wave never lies,≈ she sang to him.

≈Mother! O my dam!≈

≈My long-lost treasure, how majestic your wave. My hearts sing louder than the ocean itself!≈

He wept.

Chapter 39: Ocean, Arise!

DRAGON STAGGERED OUT OF the water onto the beach, shattered. Had he been in any doubt whatsoever as to the power of Sea Dragons, well, he had no illusions now. A couple of hours and he was ready to drop. These creatures had been swimming for months.

The northerly bay where he, Aria and Azania had spent the night was now cluttered with white Sea Dragons – and these were just the Songs. His pod was pure white. Further pods – the equivalent of the mountain Dragon Clans – had spread out all around the Archipelago’s talons, and from Wave Dragonhome all the way around to Aria’s lair on the north-western tip of the island, he understood. Jubilant bugles and the musical chatter of Sea Dragons filled the night.

Most disconcerting.

Creatures who looked like him teemed everywhere. His immediate range of sight took in hundreds, from younglings the size of Aria, to that great-grandsire who floated in the shallows above the reef, watching his half-air half-ocean progeny wheezing fit to burst a lung.

Right. Up on the paws, Dragon!

He glanced about curiously. Each family pod had a subtly different colouration –pale, delicate shades of teal, mauve, pink, green and eggshell yellow predominated, with subtle variations of scale, wing and underbelly patterning. However, since every Dragon glowed like a white T’nagrun lamp, it was difficult to distinguish the precise differences without closer observation.

A deep sense of connection arose when he glanced at the giant white Sea Dragon, but far deeper and more poignant was the tingling sense of belonging he enjoyed as he stood beside the lustrous, striking Sirensong. Dam. Mother. Bearer of his egg. She was sleeker than him, built in the mould of highly streamlined Sea Dragons, but the similarities in detail … he shook his muzzle slowly, reassured when Aria fluttered down beside them, a sole patch of cobalt amongst the enormous throng.

Sirensong’s gaze captivated him. The shape, quality of inner fire and pattern changes of her eyes, which were as unique as Human fingerprints were said to be, were like looking at himself. Even Thundersong’s gaze had that mesmeric, familiar quality about it.

His dam held him jealously against her side, as if daring any Dragon in the world to tear him away once more. Her mate, Everdeep, also positioned himself alongside, smiling until he proclaimed that his jaw ached. Dragon noticed that the larger, older Dragons did not come ashore, or at least, lay toward the edge of the restless surf. They seemed able to breathe just as well on land as in the ocean, although none flew aloft. Why was that? Sheer size?

He stepped forward to greet Aria and Azania; the Dragoness genuflected respectfully, spreading her wings before settling them upon her back in a peaceable gesture. Azania alighted too, her dark eyes gleaming with delight as she took in the mighty throng, especially those who stood closest to him.

Switching to Draconian, Dragon said, This is my promised, Ariamyrielle Seaspray of the Isles Dragons, and my companion and friend, Princess Azania of T’nagru. She is my Dragon Rider.

As Wavewhisperer had Yarimda for her honoured Human friend? Everdeep rumbled, stealing the wind and about fifty billion problematic explanations from Dragon’s sails in one brief sentence. Theirs was a legendary friendship, the first wave of understanding between our kind and yours, Princess Azania.

He stumbled slightly over the unfamiliar name.

Does she understand us? Sirensong asked.

Azania bowed fluidly. My heart soars to meet you at last, my Dragon’s precious family. I cannot contain my joy. I do speak Draconian, honoured Sirensong, but not Dragoceanic, apart from … your name.

She smiled as the Dragons made rippling bugles of astonishment and bade her demonstrate, of course. She sang, ≈Sirensong!≈

≈Excellent!≈ the Sea Dragons agreed.

The Princess said, This Dragon is a creature of mighty deeds, Sirensong. I owe him my life, and together, we defended my kingdom from a terrible invasion.

What Azania isn’t telling you, honoured dam, is that she was the crucial factor in my discovering my white fires just a few months back. I used to be a brown Dragon, believe it or not. Murmurs of astonishment! I thought I was of the Tamarine Mountains Dragons. Then, when we discovered my fires, I shed the scales of old colour and became as you see now, white and brown-gold. I – I have been called Blitz in the past, but I was rejected from my Dragon Clan, because –

We will have you here! Everdeep roared. You are ours! You are Song!

Sirensong caressed her mate fondly with a wingtip as Everdeep’s outrage caused him to spit white fire.

Aye, his dam was seventy feet in length, and his sire-by-bond, easily over a hundred. Double his own measure! He towered above in a way that made him feel like a hatchling all over again. Aria looked like a beautiful toy beside him, and Azania … hope no Sea Dragon stepped upon her by accident, especially Thundersong!

His dam said quietly, They called you Blitz the Devastator, and kept your heritage hidden from you all these years?

Aye. He hung his head.

She voiced a grieving note that stilled all conversation around them.

Coming up beside him, Azania laid a hand upon his neck. Sirensong, who are Dragon’s kin here?

We are many! she fluted, her voice lilting with wonder. Let me see. There’s Thundersong, our Elder – indeed, he is the oldest and biggest of all Sea Dragons. He is your great-grandsire, my son, a titan of the oceans who has enjoyed one hundred and forty-two cycles beneath the suns. My sire and dam are here, Echosong and Starsong. Here are Descantsong and Farsong, your surviving grandsire and granddam respectively. You have two brothers in Lightsong and Eversong, and three sisters in Echosong, Farsong and Ripplesong.

Everdeep nudged him fondly. You’ll remember all those waves first time around, right?

Eh … I’ll try?

He could not feel his paws. Sisters? Brothers? Relatives covering the beach?

Too much!

His befuddlement must have communicated all too clearly, for Sirensong spent a few minutes chatting to Aria and Azania before returning to him with eager joy. Her wings spread over him with great longing; they nuzzled for the umpteenth time, breathing in the wonder of being together at last.

Next, his sisters and brothers gathered about him, jostling and teasing one another good-naturedly to squash their long-lost brother as flat as a Human welcome mat.

Somehow among the jolly huddle, Sirensong whispered into his left ear, There is something which must be done without delay. He’s itching to tell you.

He – who?

This Dragon was still trying to find his paws, and struggling to decide that he was not dreaming. Aye, he had just discovered what it was to be the little brother. Siblings!

In our clan, my precious son, there’s a tradition of naming eggs according to respected clan names drawn from our history, his dam told him. We call this custom ‘Naming the Wave.’ Before the Devastators stole you, your egg was named. Would you like to know who you are among us?

It’s … alright to have two names?

Many Dragons around him chuckled in appreciation.

This will be your name in Dragoceanic, Sirensong said. Friends and family, draw close!

≈FAMILY!!≈

Dragon nearly jumped out of his skin at the mighty roar that rolled over the beach. Thundersong stood in what for him were shallows, waters over thirty feet deep above the reef. His immense stature made every Sea Dragon around him seem tiny. Although he was over two hundred feet in wingspan and a towering fifty feet tall at the shoulder, his flame-white eyes crinkled inside with patterns of enormous fondness and goodwill.

A mighty paw gestured toward Aria and Azania. All our family, attune your waves to what I shall proclaim. This day, a long-lost wave has returned to our shores. Our joy is as unbounded as the very oceans of our birth! So long did we grieve the treacherous theft of this egg, even I lost faith, but I should have known better. Today, our sorrow turns to joy! Our grieving is drowned in exultant song. For I declare: ≈Ocean always rises!≈

≈OCEAN ALWAYS RISES!!≈

A thousand voices sang in deafening salutation. Aria’s eyes shone. Azania dabbed helplessly at her eyes, smiling with her entire being.

Lowering his muzzle toward Dragon, he said, This Naming of the Wave gives me particular pleasure, for you see, my great-grandson, you were Named to follow in the wave of my paw.

He shook his muzzle, not entirely following.

Oh! Azania squealed.

Oh, indeed, the titan smiled down at her. Stepping forward, he laid a talon upon Dragon’s forehead. Everdeep, please translate for our guests.

Dragon gazed up at his great-grandsire, effervescent with wonder. So brilliant had his colour become, he could scarcely make out the browns anymore – yet he knew the colour was present, for he would always retain the distinction of being half a Dragon of the air, and half of ocean born.

He said, ≈Speak, honoured great-grandsire.≈

Drawing a rasping breath, Thundersong declaimed, ≈Wave of my Wave, Song of my Song, Name of my Name, I declare before our assembled pod that you are a true wave of ocean born, the son of Sirensong, who is son of Farsong, who is son of Thundersong – a name of renown which we now share. It is with pride as deep as our very oceans that I Name your Wave, THUNDERSONG!!≈

The beach exploded with joy, ≈ WAVE OF OUR WAVE! HAIL, THUNDERSONG!!≈

THE END

Ride Dragonback across Solixambria to the thrilling climax to the Dragon Fires Rising series: Thunder o Dragon!

About the Author

www.marcsecchia.com

www.dragonsglory.com

Marc is the bestselling author of over thirty-five books and is published in five languages. Born in South Africa, he lives and works in Ethiopia with his wife and 4 children, 2 dogs, a rabbit, and a variable number of marabou storks that roost on the acacia trees out back. On a good night you can also hear hyenas prowling along the back fence.

When he’s not writing about Africa or dragons, Marc can be found travelling to remote locations. He thinks there’s nothing better than standing on a mountaintop wondering what lies over the next horizon.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review on Amazon.com. Every review matters and I read them all!

Where you can find me:

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Twitter: @marcauthor

Email: marcsecchia@gmail.com

Other Books by Marc Secchia

Call me Dragon: Spill-your-coffee hilarious!

Blitz the Devastator has never done a decent day’s devastating in his life. Fireless, artistic and shunned by his Dragon Clan, he struggles to pillage even the meanest village. A future full of misery and failure beckons.

This much is true until the day the burly brown Dragon successfully – imagine that – kidnaps the Princess Azania. As a black Princess of T’nagru, this spirited beauty is by definition the most unforgettable woman in the seventeen realms. Knights errant, men-at-arms and sundry Princes expire at her feet in drivelling worship.

Unfortunately, they all want his scaly head on a platter shortly thereafter. Goes with the territory.

To Blitz’s consternation, the royal nuisance refuses to behave herself and be a typical pampered Princess. With humour, unconventional flair and the odd stomp of her diminutive slipper, she sets out to reform her Dragon.

One question remains. Who will save the Dragon from the Princess?

Call me Dragon

I am Dragon

Thunder o Dragon

Santaclaws: Discover the true origins of Santaclaws in this seasonal Dragon tale.

When a boy brings home a Christmas miracle to his suffering family, everything will change. Wishes are different when it comes to Dragons. Wishes take wing, and come true.

A Dragon for Christmas: Santaclaws #1

A Hatchling for Springtide: Santaclaws #2

A Fledgling for Summer’s Rising: Santaclaws #3

A Talon for High Summertide: Santaclaws #4

A Fang for Autumn’s Richness: Santaclaws #5

A Dragoness for Winter’s Storm: Santaclaws #6

Shapeshifter Dragons: Be the Dragon!

Five allied series of bestselling epic Dragon adventures. Prepare to wing away to a unique world of mighty Dragons and volcanic Islands above the deadly Cloudlands! In chronological order (Island-World timeline):

Dragonfriend series: Dragonfriend, Dragonlove, Dragonsoul and Dragonstar

Scrolls of Fire series: The Dragon Librarian, The Dragon Loremaster

Shapeshifter Dragon Legends series: The Pygmy Dragon and The Onyx Dragon

Shapeshifter Dragons series: Aranya, Shadow Dragon, Song of the Storm Dragon and Beautiful Fury

Shapeshifter Dragons linked book, read after Song of the Storm Dragon or after Beautiful Fury: Chaos Shifter

Standalone Books: Dragon Thief, Tytiana

Set in the same world as the Shapeshifter Dragons series, join Zhialeiana in an oceanic adventure with Whales and Sea-Dragons:

IsleSong series: The Girl who Sang with Whales, The Girl who Loved the Whales, and The Girl who Swam with Whales, after which this series connects with Shapeshifter Dragons above in Dragons of Sea and Sky, coming soon.

Mister Drainpipe: The power of dignity and redemption.

Contemporary literary fiction. A wrenching story of a homeless man living in a drain in modern Ethiopia.

Mister Drainpipe

Whisper Series: Enter the canyon maze!

Conjured by the sadistic Warlock Sanfuri, Whisper faces a stark choice. Run with his message, or die. Bound by the Warlock’s unbreakable magical imperative, Whisper is forced to navigate the tortuous pathways of a labyrinth twenty miles deep, riven by Dragon-infested canyons and scorched by sunstrike. An extraordinary legend is born.

Whisper Alive

The Equinox Cycle: Amputee, survivor, heroine!

Trapped in a car wreck, crushed by a train. In seconds, Zaranna’s world is torn apart and she must start life anew, as a survivor. A double amputee. Yet why does this promising equestrienne remember a flash of sulphurous fire, and a crimson paw hurling her mother’s car onto the train tracks? Why does a tide of beguiling butterflies flood her increasingly chaotic dreams?

As Zaranna Inglewood adjusts to life minus legs, plus gorgeous Alex, the paramedic who cut her body from the wreckage, she learns the terror of being hunted. Relentless and inimical, the enemy lures her to a world where dreams shape reality. Equinox. A world of equinoctial storms; lashed by titanic forces of magic, dominated by the Pegasi and their centuries-old enmity with Human Wizards and the Dragons. This is a world where a girl can Dream her destiny. Where her soul can fly, or be chained forever.

She is Zaranna, the Horse Dreamer. Survivor. Fighter. A girl who doesn’t need legs to kick an evil fate in the teeth. All she needs is courage – the courage to Dream.

The Horse Dreamer (Equinox Cycle Book 1)

The Shioni of Sheba series: Discover ancient Ethiopia!

Unique African historical fantasy adventures set among the myths and legends of ancient Ethiopia.

Shioni of Sheba #1: The Enchanted Castle

Shioni of Sheba #2: The King’s Horse

Shioni of Sheba #3: The Mad Giant

Shioni of Sheba #4: The Sacred Lake

Shioni of Sheba #5: The Fiuri Realms

Shioni of Sheba #6 – The Night of the Hyenas

Shioni of Sheba #7 – The Secret of the Simiens

Shioni of Sheba #8 – Storm over Sheba

Shioni of Sheba Box Set – Books 1-5

Epic fantasy (New Adult and Adult readers) Epic length tales of unique worlds and powers.

Feynard

The Legend of El Shashi

Foreign language editions

Italian – Dragonfriend, Il Drago Pigmeo, Aranya

Spanish – Dragonfriend, Aranya, El Dragón Pigmeo, El Bibliotecario Dragón, Tytiana

Portuguese – Aranya, Shadow Dragon, The Pygmy Dragon, The Onyx Dragon

Chinese – The Pygmy Dragon (US, China) Aranya (US, China)

Table of Contents

I Am Dragon

Table of Contents

Map of Solixambria

Chapter 1: White Flame

Chapter 2: Princess Power

Chapter 3: Aloft

Chapter 4: Ocean Always Rises

Chapter 5: Terror Clan

Chapter 6: Water Fire

Chapter 7: Fly High

Chapter 8: Blergh

Chapter 9: For Shame

Chapter 10: Fires Burn Bright

Chapter 11: Rushing On

Chapter 12: Rains in Amboraine

Chapter 13: Royal Visit

Chapter 14: Dragon Fires Rising

Chapter 15: Honourable Pillaging

Chapter 16: Beginning of the End

Chapter 17: Orphan Smiths

Chapter 18: Ocean Bright

Chapter 19: Ocean’s Calling

Chapter 20: Until Mornine

Chapter 21: Sea Serpent

Chapter 22: Fate’s Talon

Chapter 23: Wave Dragonhome

Chapter 24: Trouble’s Odour

Chapter 25: Fiery Nuptials

Chapter 26: What Aria Sang

Chapter 27: New Dragon

Chapter 28: Riders Aloft!

Chapter 29: The Gift of Fire

Chapter 30: Dark Fortress

Chapter 31: Talon Magic

Chapter 32: A King to Save

Chapter 33: Sunshine

Chapter 34: The Little Prince

Chapter 35: Old Friends

Chapter 36: Calling Afar

Chapter 37: To the Point

Chapter 38: New Beginnings

Chapter 39: Ocean, Arise!

About the Author