Aranya (Shapeshifter Dragons) (18 page)

“
Islands’ sakes, aren’t they poor? Wait, Pygmies are good hunters, aren’t they?”

“The best,” said Zip. “But they’re also afraid you might eat the girl.”

“Oh.” Aranya frowned. “Awkward. That explains the hunters in the trees who have their bows trained on us, Zip. I’ve no intention of having you swallow a poisoned arrow. What kind of edible animals do you get in a jungle?”

“Wild pigs?”

“Pig?” There were no pigs on Immadia. “I’ve never tried that before, but Dragon-me fancies the idea. Right. You and I need to put on a little show.”

T
he Dragon bent down to whisper in her friend’s ear.

Aranya reared up on her hind legs and began to rub and pat her belly with her forelegs, making hungry growls and lip-smacking
motions. The dark eyes in the bushes became rounder and rounder as this continued for a while. Then she took a good, long look at Zuziana and sniffed hungrily around her friend, but then turned up her nose and spat sideways in disgust–which rather startled her as a large gobbet of phlegm rocketed into the bushes. By the mountains of Immadia, her new throat was powerful. How far would she be able to shoot Dragon flame?

Zip b
egan to make very realistic pig noises. Chortling arose from the bushes. Reminding herself to tease Zip about her skills later, Aranya began to lick her lips with her long, violently purple, forked Dragon tongue. The message was perfectly clear. Two hunters immediately rushed off into the surrounding jungle.

Aranya inquired, “Do I try to heal her now, Zip?”

The Princess of Remoy shook her head. “I’m not sure. I think we should wait until we’re invited.”

“This jungle is completely impenetrable,” said Aranya, looking about. “How did the Sylakians ever defeat the Pygmies?”

“When I learned the history of the southern Islands, it was always explained to me that the Sylakians used the Pygmy hunters from one tribe to lead their warriors to the other rival tribes, and to track down any survivors. They annihilated these people. The man who threw the spear says he thought I was Sylakian. The elder told him he was a fool to attack an Ancient One. Apparently, they venerate Dragons.”

“Ooh, every girl needs a little worship in
her life.”

Zuziana made a disgusted noise.

After an hour or thereabouts, as evening began to shade the jungle and the noises of animals on the prowl began to sound around them, the hunters returned with a small but fine wild pig. Without ceremony, they threw the dead pig to Aranya.

“Taste it and look pleased,” Zuziana ordered. “Then heal her before you finish eating.”

Aranya bent to taste the pig. “Um, not bad. Strong and a bit salty. Zip, I’ve never tried healing in my Dragon form.”

“Nak told me that Dragon magic–your healing magic and fire–should be easier in your Dragon form. In theory.”

“Right.”

“You did a first-rate job on me. No, don’t be silly. You healed your wing as a Dragon, didn’t you?”

“So I did.”

Zip said briskly, earning herself a growl, “At least try to engage the brain, beast.”

Aranya bent to her task. It was different as a Dragon. Under the beady eyes of a dozen Pygmy warriors clustered around her and many more in the trees, she laid her paw lightly upon the girl and centred her full concentration to the task. Nothing happened. She searched her memories and tried to push power out of her, like she had pushed the fire at Garthion. That did not work. But the image of opening a door in her mind did work, rather suddenly. It was a strange sensation–not so much about strength, as before when she had helped Zuziana, but something else. Something vital, she felt. Hopefully it could be replenished.

She lifted her paw.

The tiny Pygmy girl’s eyes flickered. She said something. Aranya jumped as the warriors burst into a frenzy of chest-slapping and hooting.

“She says she feels much better,” Zip clarified.

“The wound’s visibly better,” Aranya said. “Can I eat now? Dragon-sized hunger.”

“You deserve it, you pig. I mean, the pig.” Zip tittered and looked pleased at her joke.

“Oh, very funny, Zip.”

T
he following evening,
as the multiple overlapping rainbows of the storm’s aftermath faded into a vast, deepening night, the Princesses of Remoy and Immadia continued their southward journey along the slow curve of the Crescent. At dawn they found another resting place, and continued late the following afternoon. The Islands were all swathed in jungle, varying a little in height and character. A further three nights’ travel brought them to the end of the Crescent. Here they sighted the inhabited Island of Germodia, an Island which had long been a Sylakian ally and supplied them with many of their troops.

They also found trouble.

“Dragonships,” said Aranya, trying not to sound too dispirited, scanning the Island ahead as she turned parallel to the enemy line. “Heaps of them, lined up along our route.”

“
We should detour?” said Zip. “Can you manage the flight?”

“I’ll try, but you do remember how Nak drew the map, don’t you?”

“I’ve been this way a few times,” Zuziana reminded her. “Did you have any idea the South was so large?”

“No idea at all,” Aranya admitted. “But the journey from Immadia to Sylakia is fifteen days on its own
. My home’s a million leagues from here.”

“Remoy isn’t that southerly, Aranya. There’s still heaps of Islands before the Rift. Do we make the jump over to Tyrodia
Island?”

“I guess. But we’d
be flying in the daylight.”

They decided to take the risk.

Aranya winged directly eastward now, making a long, long loop around the line of Dragonships which had been spread out to cast the Sylakian net far and wide. Telling herself that no Dragonship could blockade a Dragon, Aranya flew for hour after hour, eventually leaving the Dragonships far behind. Then she swung to the south.

But the situation was repeated at Tyrodia.

“I wish I knew their colours,” said Zuziana. “This might be an invasion fleet headed to the south, or they might be looking for us. Should we be flattered, seeing how the sky’s crawling with Sylakians like fleas on an unfortunate cat? How are you feeling, Aranya?”

“I need to rest.” They had been aloft for a night and
much of the following morning with hardly any pause.

“Then let’s stick to the plan.”

Aranya arrowed in low over the Cloudlands, hoping against hope that the Dragonships would be looking upward to the clouds above. She breathed a sigh of relief when they reached Tyrodia Island, but it was very low Island with no cliffs behind which to hide. She quickly climbed over the first peninsula, before furling her wings and dropping sharply into a forest clearing. She crawled beneath cover, where Zip alighted.

They both checked the thickness of the foliage above them.

“That was close,” said Zip. “Are you alright, you poor thing?”

“Let me catch my breath.
I could do with a stream.”

Zuziana eyed her with concern. Aranya wanted to be cross with her, but could only stand and pant for a while. She felt as though she had run the annual summer foot-race through the Immadian mountains.

“Shall I go scout?”

Aranya shook her head. “Stay close, Zip. I sense danger. Let’s just lay low for a bit.”

Despite her better intentions, Aranya fell asleep almost the instant her head touched the ground. She dropped off telling herself that the flight had been too much. Nak had been right, again. Juvenile Dragons just did not have the strength to stay aloft for long periods of time.

She dreamed of fire, of burning the forest around her in a rage which had no source or reason. She dreamed of Garthion.
Later on, her dream mellowed into fond memories of playing dolls and Dragons with her mother on the thick pile rug in her bedroom.

Aranya awoke to find a wetness on her nose. Dragons cried?

“Search the forest,” she heard. “This one matches the description, no matter what story she spins. We’ll take her to the War-Hammer. Guard her well, you three.”

Zip!

Heat exploded from her belly into her throat. With an effort, Aranya swallowed it down again. Was this her Dragon fire? It would not do to burn the dry forest now. Her Rider was in terrible danger. Her claws flexed and tore the ground at the thought. She imagined ripping the entrails out of Sylakian warriors as they screamed for mercy, claws slashing and teeth chomping through armour and … oh dear. She was thinking like a Dragon, ferocious and vengeful thoughts; thoughts that stunned her with their bloodthirsty passion.

Forty feet of lethal Dragon ought to scare the living pith out of those men.

She scented the forest. She extended her hearing. Ten men, perhaps a patrol. At least seven sets of boots tromped through the thicket they had chosen, beating the bushes with their hammers and daggers as they fanned out, searching. Aranya sank to her belly. Dragons could move quietly when needed. If only Zip would speak, she could orient on her friend. Could she make out Zip’s breathing and distinguish it from the men?

She filtered out the forest noises–
three deer, a flock of wild ralti sheep, birds fleeing from the disturbance. One man was coming almost directly toward her. How did one hide a gemstone-bright Amethyst Dragon in a forest? She eased her claws into the ground to scoop up mounds of dirt and leaves. Aranya poured them over her back. No pause for vanity. She stole downhill to a small stream Zip must have found, wet herself in the mud, and repeated the exercise.

S
hould have done that first …

Aranya bellied along, catlike, searching the undergrowth with all her senses alert. There, that smell–she knew that smell. She almost giggled. After days of travelling, her friend could do with a wash. Her Dragon nose identified her specific odour amongst the skunksome odours of unwashed soldiers as though it were a pink flag waving in a sea of blue. Fantastic sense of smell, Dragons had–Nak’s descriptions did it little justice. A whole world of scents made itself known to her through her nostrils.

She froze as a warrior beat his way into her line of sight.

The man had no idea. He stomped toward her, making a phenomenal racket, until he stood almost beside her shoulder. He paused to take a look around. Aranya decided he must be some kind of local militia. He did not have the uniform of
a Sylakian warrior, only a badge of a windroc badly sewn onto his leather tunic.

Never mind. Aranya raised her paw and hammered him to the ground.

Oops. She had broken his neck, meaning only to stun him.

That was not her proudest moment–but Aranya knew that to rescue Zuziana might mean more killing. The Dragon in her had no trouble with that.

An ambulatory pile of mud, sticks and leaves skulked through the forest.

She pushed her muzzle through a patch of bushes. There was Zuziana, looking despondent as a soldier lashed her hands behind her back with a hank of rope. Her eyes
crinkled into a smile as she saw an amethyst orb wink at her from beneath a large white-currant bush.

Dragon-Aranya’s fury churned in her belly. They had her Rider
. Before she knew it, she coiled and sprang out of the bushes, roaring and snapping and rending with her claws. The three men stood no chance. A precise strike of her claw shredded the ropes. Zip quickly wriggled free.

“You look pretty,” she quipped. “Sword, cloak … right, I’m ready.”

Aranya extended her foreleg. “Hurry. Where’s our equip–”

“On your back. As we agreed.” Zip strapped herself in as they rushed through the forest in search of a clearing. “Before I stupidly ignored your warning and wandered off.”

“Here. Hold on.”

Aranya sprang upward with an adrenalin-fuelled leap, trying to gain enough clearance for the first sweep of her wings. Taking off vertically was a skill she had yet to master
, due to the sheer power required to launch a Dragon’s bulk into the air.

“Watch out!”

Two mighty strokes of her wings lifted them clear of the forest. Her head butted into something soft.

“Dragonship
,” yelled Zip.

Aranya heard the
zing
of Zip’s sword leaving its sheath. She was more worried about archers or crossbows. She snapped and snarled, ripping the sack above her as she tried to free her head and keep aloft at the same time, above the treetops.

“Go, Aranya!”

The Dragonship, hissing as it lost hydrogen, sank toward the forest. Aranya folded in her right wing and rolled to let it drop past her, then flapped furiously to gain height.

“Another one,” called Zip, unnecessarily.

Aranya banked rapidly, accelerating to take them out of range of the approaching Dragonship. Behind them, the forest exploded in a ball of flame–the meriatite furnace had touched off the hydrogen sack.

Dragon-Aranya said
, wryly, “Do you think they know we’re here?”

“They might guess.” Zip rubbed her neck awkwardly. “Aranya, I’m
so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Don’t worry. Let’s just make ourselves scarce, shall we?”

“You’ve no idea what it’s like to be at the sharp end of an angry Dragon’s claws. If you’re not careful, I might start to suspect that you care …”

“I don’t
enjoy
the killing.”

Ar
anya wished Zip would change the topic of conversation. She concentrated on flying across the rolling meadows and dark green hilltop forests of Tyrodia Island. They did not seem to terrace much here, she noticed, unlike the North. Was that due to better rainfall patterns? Why would the ancients have spent so much time shaping the northern Islands to conform to their apparently enormous appetite for water?

Zuziana asked, “
So, what about Dragon-Aranya? How does she feel about killing?”

She already knew how she’d answer. “It’s different in my Dragon form, Zip. I couldn’t control myself back there, when I saw you in danger. It’s not just a set of clothes I change. I’m still Aranya. But it’s more–I don’t know. It’s deep; hard to explain.”

“It’s simple. You
are
a Dragon. Dragons have claws and teeth and like to burn things when they get angry. Right?”

“I guess.”

Zuziana patted her back. “Aranya, a girl can walk tall in this world with a friend like you. ‘Huh, you don’t scare me.’ ‘Why not? I’m going to have you for breakfast, wench.’ ‘Why don’t you talk to my friend over there? She’ll have
you
for breakfast.’ ‘Who’s your friend?’ ‘Oh, that cute little Dragon.’”

Aranya laughed. “Do you often have whole conversations with yourself, Zip?”

“Regularly.”

Aranya winged steadily across the interior of Tyrodia Island, a long sliver of land lying northwest by southeast. Ahead, a line of steep fells intersected their path.

“Aranya, how did you find me in the forest?”

“By smell. Dragon nose, you know.”

“Are you suggesting that a Princess of Remoy may be identified by body odour alone?”

Dragon-Aranya turned
her head to eyeball her Rider. “Of course not. I’m merely suggesting that if you want your family to welcome you with open arms, you might need to bathe first.”

“You and your big nose. Ha!”

As they bantered back and forth, Aranya soared up over the edge of the violet-flowered, heathery fells and coasted down the far side.

“Um, Aranya.” Zip pointed ahead. “Eyes front.”

An army encampment sprawled before them, covering the entire breadth and length of a valley that led down to a town–Tyros, the ancient capital of Tyrodia. Three or four dozen Dragonships bobbed peacefully above the tent-city, flying crimson Sylakian pennants.

Aranya back-winged hastily. “Oh, flying ralti sheep
.”

“Do you think we’ve found the invasion fleet for Herimor, perchance?” asked Zuziana.

“Yes, and war catapults.”

“Full reverse!”

Aranya turned tail and fled as a brace of crossbow quarrels and a speculative catapult-shot whooshed through the air toward her. She jinked to dodge the wickedly barbed quarrels. They fled back over the fells.

“Northeast,” said Zuziana. “There’s a clutch of uninhabited Islands out there, I recall, where we can lay low. Lots of caves.”

“But Remoy is south–oh.”

She could hear the smirk in Zuziana’s voice as her friend said, “Basic tactics, Dragon. We’ll double back
under the cover of darkness. I’ll say nothing about me being the brains and you being the brawn in this partnership.”

“You just did, Zip.”

* * * *

The Islands northeast of Tyrodia hardly qualified as Islands, but they we
re jumbled, riddled with caves and capped with jungles teeming with flying vervet monkeys. Here, Aranya and Zuziana ousted a cliff fox family from their cave and lay low for two days while a dozen Dragonships quartered their hideout. Aranya snacked on a mountain goat, which she found to be tough and decidedly unappetising. She helped Zuziana pick vine-melons and unripe tinker-bananas. They tracked down a trickle of water together. Their supplies were running low.