Aranya (Shapeshifter Dragons) (24 page)

“You need to uncurl your fingers to move,” Aranya offered, helpfully.

A scowl that could have curdled milk was her reward. But as Zip balanced on her wing surface, she asked, “How’s the wing? Sore?”

Aranya waited until Zip had secured herself in the saddle before admitting, “
Stinging. But I think I can fly that far. Let’s pretend we’re making for Germodia first and change direction later.”

“How did they find us, Aranya? Chance? Or something more sinister, like those new tactics you were telling me about?”

They took stock, and realised they had lost their primary weapon against Dragonships–Zip’s bow. She remembered dropping it when Aranya pounded her head against the roof of the cavern. She sneaked guilty looks at her friend as she mopped up the worst of the blood. But the wound kept oozing.

* * * *

Toward mid-afternoon of the following day, two young Remoyan women walked into a town on Melkadia Island’s eastern peninsula. After they passed the hard-eyed gate guards, Zuziana whispered to Aranya to keep alert. They asked after a physician to have the deep cut on Zip’s forehead seen to. After that, they shopped around for a decent bow and cloth to make collars for the arrows.

“I wish we had smaller coins,” Zuziana said, after another shopkeeper had complained about their gold drals. “Don’t they want our money?”

Aranya, transformed into her Human form, frowned. “I wish I knew if it’s us, or just a general dislike of foreigners. I vote we don’t sleep in town tonight. Maybe a meal, though. I could eat a–er, something other than sheep.”

“You do look very Northern,” Zip said. “Pale s
kin and high cheekbones. Those eyes are definitely a giveaway. Who has amethyst eyes? Put your hood up, Aranya.”

“I want my daggers,” said Aranya.

“You
are
the weapon,” Zip retorted. “Fine, we’ll buy you a decent sword. There was a shop near the tavern. I’m hungry, too. Islands’ sakes, will you stop rotating your wrist? You’ll only hurt it more.”

“Didn’t anyone teach you that Humans can’t fly?”

Zuziana and Aranya picked a plain but serviceable sword for Aranya and a belt and scabbard to go with it. The shopkeeper wanted to overcharge them, but Zuziana bargained hard before giving in for what she admitted was a higher price than they should have paid. Then they decided to investigate the food in the tavern.

“Ugh, lamb stew,” said Aranya, poking at the contents of her bowl.
She cradled her cut and hurting left arm in her lap.

“Mmm, gravy,” said Zuziana.

“Being a–uh, I guess I just don’t fancy sheep.”

The tilt of Zip’s eyebrow told her she had almost said the word they had agreed not to use. Aranya decided she had better fill her stomach anyway. She chewed uneasily while Zip went over to the bar to secure more bread to sop up her gravy. For such a wisp of a thing, Aranya reflected, she definitely owned a healthy appetite. She watched a man trying
to draw Zip into conversation at the bar. Actually, there were two of them–not ruffians, judging by their clothing, but also just that little bit more insistent than was called for. Aranya’s hand stole to the pommel of her sword. Cutpurses? Or something more sinister?

Zuziana tried to slip away from the men with a smile and a coy word, but they hemmed her in. A third joined their number. He said something.

Aranya extended her Dragon senses. Her knuckles were white on the sword. She forced her fingers to relax.

“–one they’re looking for?”

Zuziana was acting giddy and spinning a story about her father taking her on her first trip away from Remoy. Her lie would have convinced Aranya. The men seemed uncertain; unsettled by her confidence, perhaps? She stepped between them, intent on escape, but one of the men put his arm out to stop her. Zip trod on his instep and jabbed her fingers into his solar plexus. Aranya chuckled to herself. Those men were about to learn they had baited a rajal.

But one of them was faster than the others. He grabbed Zip’s wrist and twisted her arm up behind her back. “Why don’t you come for a walk with us, my pretty petal?”

Zip poked him in the eye with her free hand. Twisting like a hooked fish, she fought him, but the man hung on. Another two joined the group from a nearby table, drunkenly intent on a ‘bit of sport’. That was unfair. Aranya saw the fear flash into her friend’s eyes, perhaps the memory of a whipping she had been helpless to escape. A thin wail of terror escaped her. But the men only laughed.

Before she knew it, Aranya leaped to her feet. Her chair screeched across the floor behind her. The fire, somehow always there, made its voice heard in her ears, but she clenched her teeth in an effort to deny it.

“Boys!” she called. “Why don’t you let the lady go?”

“You want to play, too?”

“Yes. Why don’t we play?” Aranya snarled. The pain in her throat only intensified her anger. “Let my friend go, or it will go ill with you.”

“Ill?” laughed the man holding Zip. “Where you from, lady, talking like that?”

“A Cloudlands volcano,” she replied. A crackling of fire entered her voice, unbidden. “Why don’t you pick another day to die, friend? Today, I’ll let you go free.”

The men gaped at her. “You’re joking.”

“Look, a tall one and a little ’un,” said another of the men. “Them Sylakians is lookin’ for these, innit true?”

“Aye,” said the first. “
She’s a Northern-looking lady.”

Another group of men moved in from a table near the door. A local militia or watch, Aranya judged, watching them with narrowed eyes. Their options were evaporating fast. They should never have come to the tavern. At one level, she
knew she would probably have to eat a few of these unfriendly locals before they paid attention. At another level, she realised that the Sylakians must have spread the story far and wide, for it to have arrived on this unremarkable Island, in a small town.

“Last chance,” said Aranya
. Her fingers hovered on her belt-buckle. “Anyone who wants to live, I suggest you find a door right now.”

Zip’s eyes widened. “Why don’t I buy drinks for everyone?” she suggested.

There was a stony silence in the tavern.

But she must not reveal her Dragon nature. That was what Zuziana was mouthing at her
. Aranya paused. Turning into a Dragon would clear the room, of that she had no doubt. The news that she was a Dragon Shapeshifter would wash over the Islands like a storm.

She had fire inside of her; only, she did not want to kill everyone in the room, including Zip. Her sword made a clear
zing
as she drew it. The guards or town watch, starting to gather around her, paused as a tendril of fire ran up the blade. Aranya bit her lip. How did one control the fire? If it leaked … yellow flame curled briefly against the ceiling before she brought it under control. Focus. Focus on the metal. A burning sword lowered to point at the men surrounding Zuziana.

“Release my friend.”

Her Dragon hearing caught a quick footstep behind her. Aranya whirled and released fire along the blade as she swung, striking the would-be backstabber on the shoulder. His rough shirt burst into flame. Her sore wrist twinged and she dropped the sword. To her senses, the sword seemed to fall slowly. Someone laughed. Pushing back the sleeves of her robes, Aranya ignited her hands and stalked toward the men standing around Zuziana, a malign anger boiling inside of her.

She said, “Now I’m starting to feel irritable.”

Aranya hardly knew what she was doing. She was not thinking. But through the pain, she realised her skin was not burning. Amazing! Blades, she thought. The fire leaped out hungrily, forming twin blades four feet long. Aranya laughed an utterly sinister laugh–and that was the push off the Island, as the saying went. With a howl, one man leaped over the bar and cowered behind it. As though this were a prearranged signal, there was a rush for the main door, the stairs which led to the rooms above and the windows. Crysglass shattered as men howled like rabid animals. The room cleared in seconds.

Zip dusted her hands. “Ralti droppings to these idiots. Let’s clear this town, Aranya, before you have to show them
your really nasty side. Don’t forget your sword. I enjoyed the evil enchantress laugh, by the way. Very effective. You’re smouldering.”

“Thanks.” Aranya patted the sleeves of her robes. “Clothes just aren’t safe around me anymore.”

“Yolathion won’t mind.”

Aranya turned a deep shade of pink.

* * * *

Aranya and Zuziana knew that a Dragon should not be flying too much on an injured wing. But the manhunt that erupted on Melkadia Island
tossed any notions of resting there over the edge of the Island. Resupplied, they took to the air for Germodia on the most direct route. If they could pass safely by the Island, they could hide in the Crescent. Zip stated confidently that they could hide from an army in the Crescent.

That was handy, since an army was chasing them.

“How many Dragonships?” Zip repeated, scanning the eastern sky. “Darn, those suns are bright. How do you see anything out there?”

“Twenty-seven Dragonships,” said Aranya. “Yolathion’s group, plus a good number from
what was left of the invasion fleet, I’d assume. Maybe we’ve stopped the advance on Herimor.”

“Remind me to write to Herimor seeking thanks,” retorted the Princess.

Ignoring her sarcasm, Aranya continued, “I shield my eyes by adjusting the opacity of the secondary optical membrane. Tell me again, why can we only fly via Germodia?”

“Large gaps between the Islands,” said Zip. “The Crescent is like a long, curving brush-stroke down the map, from Telstroy to Germodia. South of Melkadia is nothing for five days. West, four days. Northwest, six days. It’s the Crescent or return east the way we came, Aranya. Back through those Dragonships.”

“We can’t make that flight, Zip. I can feel my membranes tearing where the catapult hit me.”

“Better a tear than a cut, Nak said.”

“Better neither.”

“Petal, I–”

“Don’t call me petal!” Aranya sighed and tried to form an apologetic look over her shoulder. “Oh, heavens, Zip–I’m sorry. Call me what you like. I’ve got the grumps because I’m sore.”

“Mercy,” Zip laughed, holding up the arrow she was preparing
with a cloth collar, “a Dragon-sized case of the grumps, is it?”

“You’re not cute; you’re heartless.”

“Grump. Now, listen up. I’ve thought of something for our oil canister–rags and wire. We stuff it full of rags and pour in enough oil. Then you can fly upside-down and nothing will fall out.”

Aranya considered this. “If you keep it far enough from your leg that the wash of our passage won’t blow the flames into your face, yes.
Only one thing bothers me about flying to Germodia.”

“We drop out of the stew pot to sizzle on the coals instead?”

“If that’s how you say it in Remoy, yes.”

The Dragonships came on and on, making for Melkadia
Island. But Aranya knew they would not spend long there. She tried to flap gently, easing the wind’s force on her wings. Thank the stars above for a slight tailwind to speed them to Germodia. But she had a bad feeling the Sylakians would be waiting there, too. They had already seen three message hawks racing past.

T
wo hours before
dawn, Aranya and Zuziana picked the weakest point in Germodia’s defences and angled for it–a quarter-league behind two Dragonships, slowly patrolling the southern tip of the Island. They came in as low as they dared, given Aranya’s weakness, and stole through the line.

Zuziana pointed as the two vessels shifted to parallel their course. “Messages,” she said. “Flashes of light from the two Dragonships, Aranya. They’ve spotted us.”

“I don’t see anything ahead.”

“Let’s watch out for hidden
Dragonships. Maybe do a zigzag–”

“Catapults!”

Aranya flapped powerfully, gaining height as she dodged the shots coming their way. The Sylakian forces were concealed in folds in the interior hills of Germodia. She saw a Dragonship rise from behind a nearby copse of trees.

“Easy, Aranya. Don’t let them scare you. You’re faster than them even at this speed.”

“But they aren’t closing with us. Why?”

“Because your leopard-man has a plan. He’s trying to outsmart us. He’s lost a lot of Dragonships and men,” said Zuziana. “Even Sylakia must be hurting given how much damage we’ve done. Now, the catapults drove us upward to where they can see and follow us. We need to find concealment. Fast.”

But the night was full of eyes. Signal lamps winked across Germodia’s hills, tracking their progress even though they tried to keep low and follow the lay of the land. Aranya saw several Dragonships high overhead. She wondered if they were using some type of telescope, a new invention King Beran had told her about not long before the conquest of Immadia. She wondered how much telescopes negated the advantage of Dragon sight. Maybe they should go up there … no. Those were armoured Dragonships, the larger ones which had not appeared with the invasion fleet at Immadia.

That
was only months ago, but it felt like years. How far she was from the battlements of Immadia’s castle, now.

To attack those Dragonships, Zip needed a more powerful bow or–
Aranya sighed–a Dragon who could actually breathe fire without turning herself into a whispering wreck, able only to dribble cold water and pre-cut meat down her throat. By the mountains of Immadia, she was hungry. On cue, her stomach voiced an almighty gurgle of complaint.

“We need the Crescent, my friend,” said Zip, patting the base of her neck. “Nice thick jungles, friendly Pyg
mies and fresh wild pig roasted in Dragon fire.”

“I wish I could fly faster. There are eyes everywhere.”

“We’ll be out of sight by dawn.”

Aranya twizzled her head around until she could look Zuziana right in the eye. It was something she had practiced until she could keep flying straight
on while looking backwards. “But the Crescent Islands are only so many, a thin band on the map. Look at how those Dragonships have been working in teams, supporting each other–high and low, keeping each other covered against attack. Yolathion’s working the strategy just like his father did.”

“Then we’ll surprise them.”

“Yes, we have a whole chest full of surprises tucked away on my back.”

Aranya meant to be sarcastic, but she was startled when Zip smacked her fist against her palm a
nd shouted, “Yes! The meriatite.”

“Um–what do Dragons do with meriatite? Blow themselves up?”

“No, you silly overgrown windroc, don’t you remember what Nak said about chewing meriatite?”

“Not a whole lot.” Aranya grinned toothily. “I knew that reading about Dragon stomachs would come in useful–I think it
should go in the fire stomach. But then I’d burn my throat again, wouldn’t I?”

“We’ll try gently,” said Zip, “as gently as exploding hydrogen–”

“Inside my stomach. Thanks.”

Dragon and Rider winged steadily across Germodia
Island, leaving Yolathion’s Dragonships in their wake. The darkness gave way to a blood-red dawn, rising over the cracked canyon landscape of central Germodia, where rivers ran deep and fast between tall cliffs inhabited by millions of crested sparrows and yellowtail doves, and windrocs soared on the thermals far above. Aranya and Zuziana rested for a couple of hours, but slept uneasily and stirred when they saw message hawks overtaking them from the south.

Aranya followed such a canyon north, enjoying the funnelling effect of a strong breeze pushing her from behind as she flew above sparkling turquoise waters. So she was travelling fast as they rounded a final bend and saw a Dragonship directly ahead, patrolling the northern precipice.

Before she could say a word, Aranya heard the click of Zip’s spark-stone. Smoke wafted into her nostrils, followed by a surge of adrenalin. She growled low in her throat. Dragon-Aranya smelled battle.

“We’ve got the jump on them,” said Zip.

Aranya knew they could not tension the war crossbows in time–but where were the others? Why was this vessel on its own? No time to think of that now. Zip already had a burning arrow to the string, trying to search out a weak point in the ship’s armour.

“Between the cabin and the underside,” Aranya realised, speaking rapidly. “They haven’t armoured the bottom.”

“You expect me to get an arrow in there?”

“I thought a Princess of Remoy–”

The bowstring twanged. Aranya took evasive action as several arrows zoomed their way. Zip’s shot passed perfectly between the cabin’s anchoring hawsers and the hydrogen sack above. She groused, “Oh, toss it in the Cloudlands! Again.”

The fore and aft crossbows fired as one. Aranya furled her wings
and laughed as the shots passed by ten feet overhead. Then she opened her wings. Her injured membrane tore another foot. Pain as brief and sharp as the point of an Immadian dagger made her scream.

Zip called, “Hold still … and, go!”

The blast nearly knocked her out of the sky.

By the time they had covered the four leagues between Germodia and the first of the Crescent Islands, Aranya was vomiting from the pain. She dropped gingerly onto a rocky outcropping and let Zip lead her beneath the overhanging jungle canopy.

Zuziana examined her wing. “Torn in three places,” she said. “Nak did say something about the nerve-endings in the wings being sensitive to changes in air pressure and air currents, which is one reason why Dragons are such fantastic flyers.”

“Right now, I feel
like chopping it off …”

“Rest, Aranya. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Zip killed such a large python that she could not drag it up to Aranya’s resting place. Instead, she led Aranya down to a shady green gully, where the Dragon could wet her throat at a tiny spring and snack on the python at leisure. They rested, watching the colourful jungle birds play in the foliage around them as they tried to figure out how to repair Aranya’s wing. At least her magic dampened the pain. She could not seem to produce any Dragon tears. Zip used up the last of Oyda’s ointment on the rents.

Toward noon they heard the throbbing of turbines as a Dragonship passed overhead. Later, a group of three Dragonships returned. In low voices, they discussed the merits of making a dash for freedom or lying low. They sneaked up to the outcropping and peered out from beneath cover, to see the Dragonships landing troops on nearby Islands as the hunt spread out. Other Dragonships hovered high overhead, a foreboding presence.

Suddenly, a sparrowhawk sped past. It screamed and swerved as it spotted them.

Aranya and Zuziana followed
the hawk’s flight with their eyes. The bird raced heavenward and alighted on the starboard gantry of the Dragonship far above. Aranya confirmed this to Zip, as the detail was lost to her Human sight at that distance. Next, flags waved overhead, clearly a set of signals being spread across the fleet. At once, the Dragonships far and near sprang into action. Sylakian soldiers shinned adroitly back up ropes. They manned the catapults and crossbows with evident purpose. Two groups of Dragonships swung about to point directly at their Island.

“How do they do that?” Ar
anya snarled. “Hawks can’t talk.”

“Petal, we can argue that point when we’re far away,” said Zip.

“I’m a very mad, very dangerous petal at this precise point in time. Do me a favour, Zip–shoot the next hawk we see, wouldn’t you?”

When her Rider was buckled in, Aranya dropped off the edge of their Island. She teased Zuziana gently about how she had screamed the first time they flew together as Dragon and Rider. Scanning the skies, Aranya noted how Yolathion had distributed his forces–trying to keep them in line of sight for as long as possible.
Three Dragonships dawdled in case they chose to change direction. The hunters worked in groups of three, keeping a sensible separation so that an attack on one could be countered from a nearby ship. She spied several Dragonships far to the north, patrolling the route Yolathion expected them to take.

“They’re trying to tire us out,” Aranya realised aloud. “I’ve heard of the painted dogs of the
north-western Islands doing this. One healthy ralti sheep can’t be taken down, so a family of dogs will run them down, taking turns to chase the animal until it’s too tired to run anymore. Then they close in and–”

“I’m not sure I appreciate being chased about like a sheep, Aranya
.”

“Well, that’s what Yolathion’s up to.”

Zip said, “Baa–bah!”

Over the course of the next few days, Aranya’s suspicions were borne out. The Dragonships were relentless in pursuit. The hunt never slackened, day or night, while she and Zuziana were harried
from one bolt-hole to the next. The weather remained perfectly clear and fine–much to their dismay. A nice little storm would have been perfect. Even a touch of cloud cover. But the Cloudlands remained opaque and inviolate and the world above, bright by day and luminous by night as a four-moon conjunction banished the darkness and the stars. Although they hid behind Islands and in the jungles and caves, the hawks always found them. Zip downed three, but also finished their store of arrows in the process.

They tried to double back, but ran into heavy fire. Aranya complained bitterly about her injured wing. All the flying prevented it from healing properly. They were on the wing more than twenty-two
hours of every twenty-seven. Zip’s cheeks looked gaunt.

They discussed Aranya transforming to reveal herself to Yolathion. But they agreed he’d be forced to kill her. Aranya dreamed about throwing herself into Yolathion’s arms. Then she changed into a Dragon and tried to kiss him. Yolathion attacked her with his war hammer.

She dreamed of burning him as she had Garthion.

* * * *

On the morning of their seventh day in the Crescent, Aranya calculated, they landed on the tree next to Pygmy Island. She had no idea of its real name, if it had one. Her claw marks were still visible in the bark of the massive bough where they had landed before. Using her wings for balance, Aranya ran along the branch and dived into the jungle beyond.

A Pygmy popped out of the bushes to greet them.

“He greets the Ancient One with delight,” Zip translated. “He offers whatever help we might need.”

“Tell him, Zip, that the Sylakians might attack the mighty Pygmy hunters if we stay long.”

“He says that the Ancient One is mightier than any Pygmy warrior.”

Aranya nodded. “Tell him that may be true for the skies, but in the jungle the Pygmy is king.”

The Pygmy beat his chest and grinned at this. His teeth were filed down to sharp points, Aranya saw, small black teeth stained by chewing some type of nut. Pieces spit out of his mouth as he spoke. Apparently the Pygmies were not concerned about the ‘white sky warriors’. Zip, squawking and crying like a hawk, outlined the danger posed by the marauding message hawks. The Pygmy nodded and made bow-and-arrow motions with his hands. Zip said the Pygmies would simply ‘walk the jungle ways’ between the Islands–crossing on the tangled vines–to escape the Sylakians.

The tiny warrior led them further into the jungle to meet the Seer. Aranya noticed Pygmy warriors taking to the trees. No doubt the hawks would find a hot reception from their poisoned arrows.

The tiny Seer greeted them with delight and bowed deeply to Aranya. She proudly showed off her wound, healed over save for a scab. Although Zip asked only about arrows, the Seer ignored that request to make an examination of Aranya’s damaged wing. Then, in broken Island Standard, she explained to Aranya that the Pygmies would glue her wing membranes together.

“It is old way,” she said. “Ancestor story.”

“They’ll glue my wing with leaves?” Aranya clarified with Zip.

After some discussion, Zip explained, “Apparently there are stories of the Pygmies helping the Ancient Ones in a battle, as best I can understand, over five hundred years ago. They use
d a special glue they employ to build their bows, together with some type of tough leaf. The glue is supposed to come off on its own after ten days or so. Or you can remove it with prekki-fruit juice.”

“But–I hear Dragonships
. Please warn them, Zip.”

“Pygmies long memory,” smiled the tiny girl, who stood only just over waist-high to Zip. “We shoot. Ancient One, Sylakians you family also poison. I see so.”