Dragonlove (10 page)

That sounded rather grander than the statement ready on the tip of Lia’s tongue, but she was further startled when Master Ga’athar snarled, “I know you’ll refuse this offer, girl, but if King Chalcion so much as lifts a finger against you, you can tell him from me he’ll have a rebellion on his hands.”

Hualiama smiled. “That’s rather like carrying a Dragon in my pocket, isn’t it?”

“And if the Dragon fails, Mom’s offering her rolling pin in service of the crown,” said Ja’al, nudging his mother slyly.

“Ja’al!” Yualiana gasped.

“To use it on you, I mean,” he said to Hualiama. “To make you feel more part of the family.”

“If I catch you, son …” Yualiana chased him out of the room.

A
s THE Dragonship
soared aloft on dawn’s luminous wings, Ja’al’s family receded into the distance, their hands upraised in the gesture of sending-in-love. Lia knew she might never see them again. As Flicker used to tell her, she must stoke her hope as a dragonet stokes his belly-fires. Then again, perhaps dwelling upon the fires that awaited a rogue royal ward was not best-conceived to cheer her pensive mood.

Adjusting the turbines for optimal forward thrust into a gentle headwind, Lia trimmed the side-sails to reduce the drag and ran an experienced eye over the rigging. All good. Better than good. Master Ga’athar had replaced a number of worn stay-lines, and patched two leaks he had pinpointed by tossing a handful of green leaves into the oven to produce enough smoke to pervade the hot air sacks. A neat trick! She had packed a satchel containing an ancient scroll of Dragon lore with which she hoped to satisfy what Ga’athar called an obligation-gift–what the Dragonkind saw as due payment for the favour she would request. She must not mention Grandion by name. She had a hundred Dragonish protocols and manners to observe, many of which she had read about, but the Master’s experience brought them to life.

The twin Nuyallith blades she carried sheathed on her back, in a well-worn harness Ja’al had unearthed for her from the monastery stores. The sheaths were cleverly split in their top third, allowing a fast draw of the twenty-seven inch long blades even from atop one’s shoulders. A pair of Immadian forked daggers hung from her belt. The powerful Haozi hunting bow lay near at hand, with a quiver of arrows crafted by a Ya’arriol weapons master. It would come in more than handy should she encounter a feral windroc. Inniora and Yualiana had crafted the outfit she wore, including a spare in her travel pack.

“Fire-resistant material this time,” Inniora had informed her. “Useful for girls who enjoy entertaining Dragons, isn’t it? A short skirt split in four places to allow freedom of movement, or comfortable seating upon a Dragon’s back. Everything fitted and triple-stitched so you don’t snag a blade in some stupid frill during combat. Armoured wristlets, a decent belt with secret compartments on the inside and an armoured bodice all feature in the design.”

“An armoured bodice?” Ja’al’s eyes resembled a land-snail’s eyes popping out on their stalks.

“Aye. Look, Ja’al, I had to let it out an extra two inches to allow for Hualiama’s curves,” Inniora goaded her brother. “A fantastic fit, if I say so myself.”

“I-I have w-work … somewhere. Something important,” Ja’al stammered, rushing off.

Hualiama made a face at Inniora. “You’re mean.”

“Any girl with a monk for a brother has a right to her fun,” came the retort. “Learn to flaunt your blessings, Island girl!”

Hualiama coloured hotly.

More annoyingly, her travel pack contained headscarves for the more conservative Islands lying eastward to Lyrx, and even a face veil suitable for the Eastern Isles. How far did Master Ga’athar think she’d have to fly in search of Grandion? Lia scowled. Oh, the necessities a woman required in this Island-World! Her clothing also concealed a number of additional, not-so-girly ‘necessities’ such as poison darts, lock picks, a miniature hand-drill, three thin, flexible metal saws, a half-dozen throwing knives, jewels for trade and even a garrotte.

Aiming her Dragonship’s nose at the northern tip of Human-inhabited Sa’athior Island, several Islands north of Ha’athior, Hualiama settled in for the haul over the Cloudlands. From Sa’athior, it would be a short flight to Gi’ishior, passing the barren Dragon-haunt of Frendior Island.

Hualiama never tired of this view of her home Island Cluster. Admittedly, she was only eight leagues or so from the volcano, but it dominated the north-western horizon as though planted there since time immemorial, a stark reminder of the power of the Ancient Dragons to raise Islands from the deeps. League-tall cliffs jutted sheer from the Cloudlands, jet-black until the vegetation began about half a mile above the level she assumed was toxic to all life. Then, what profusion! Great trailers of tropical vegetation hung down the cliffs, and trees stretched hundreds of horizontal feet, improbably rooted in the tiniest crack, forever stooped beneath the weight of their leafy boughs. Sometimes she imagined the Islands were shaggy-haired beasts peering out of the Cloudlands.

Her flight path would take her skimming around the rim to Gi’ishior, by a rajal’s whisker the most northerly Island of the Cluster.

Softly, Hualiama sang several lines from an elegy she had written for her friend Flicker:

Gliding, soaring, dipping over the brow of the Island-World,

Suns in our faces, wind buoying our wings,

Freedom to roam as widely as our hearts desire.

Moon-riding, windroc-hiding, tickling the clouds with our toes …

Her song spoke of her three best Dragon friends in the Island-World. Two had already died. What hope could she realistically entertain that Grandion had not long since been added to that tally? ‘Will my Rider watch the skies for a Tourmaline Dragon?’ he had asked. Surely, an implicit promise to return, and an agreement no Dragon would break? For the first time, she realised that if Grandion lived, he might be as much an oath-breaker as she. Might he pine for a Human girl? Or had he forgotten her?

She must guard the portals of her heart, and not allow false hope a toehold.

Warrior-monk exercises, dance in the cramped quarters and meditating upon the new Nuyallith forms occupied the hours. She sipped fresh prekki-fruit juice from a gourd and nibbled at a sweet honey-and-nut roll Yualiana had slipped into her hand just before departure.

All the while, Gi’ishior’s slender volcanic peak expanded in her vision, perched upon the northern rim wall like a bird upon a precious perch, while her home Island of Fra’anior on the eastern rim was hidden behind a localised thunderstorm. At eighteen leagues from her position, that was a perfectly common phenomenon–sunshine on one Isle, hail on the next.

But her fingers turned white on the guardrail of her basket. The sky above Gi’ishior crawled with Dragons. Mercy. “One little snack incoming,” she chuckled, sounding rather squeakier than she appreciated. “Courage, Dragon Rider!”

It still felt like a dream.

Returning to her controls, Hualiama adjusted the ailerons to take her around the western periphery of the volcano at a height and heading specified by Ga’athar. She deployed the sails to take best advantage of the wind, scudding forward with renewed impetus where she had been forced to tack before.

Now, how long would it take the Dragons to launch a few friendly fireballs across her path?

All of a minute.

A Dragonwing of three juvenile Orange Dragons came screaming down from on high at a velocity that trumpeted their desire to intimidate. One whooshed by not twenty feet from the nose of her Dragonship, causing it to slew in the air at the wash of his passage. Young male Dragons–Lia gritted her teeth. Cue a surfeit of draconic posturing, silliness and the need to have egos stroked by a few well-turned compliments.

“Turn back!” thundered one of the Oranges, discharging a courtesy fireball across her bow.

Lia called out, “The most sulphurous greetings of the Great Dragon Fra’anior, to you, o mighty Orange Dragon!”

A second fireball crackled past, passing dangerously close to the top of her balloon. These Dragons were easily seventy feet from muzzle to tail-spike, and high on adrenaline and whatever other Dragon hormones might be raging around in their golden Dragon blood.

Mind your claws, Zaxxion!
called the Dragon to her starboard side.
This one greets humbly.
Of course, he accompanied this with a hundred-fang, monstrously toothy leer–the only welcome in his smile being an invitation to personally investigate the sharpness of his fangs, followed by an intimate examination of his gullet. The Dragon sneered, “I’m Emburion. Where do you think you’re going, little Human?”

Lia firmed her voice. “If it pleases you, noble Dragons, I am Hualiama Dragonfriend, daughter of King Chalcion of Fra’anior, and I wish to speak with Sapphurion, the Dragon Elder.”

This stinks of windroc droppings, brethren,
Zaxxion complained from somewhere above the balloon.

The Elders treated with those lying fleas just last week,
Emburion returned.
I say we frighten it off. What say you, Hazzalion?

The third voice, beneath her Dragonship, spat,
A Princess? We cannot spurn Sapphurion’s word, no matter how horribly it itches our scales. However, I anticipate the Elder will lick this vermin’s entrails off his talons.

Charming image. Hualiama had expected as much, but as the Isles saying went, the rajal’s proof was in the sharpness of his fangs. She clamped down on a creeping sense of terror and locked her knowledge of the Dragonish language behind walls of mental granite. She must not even think in Dragonish, Master Ga’athar had cautioned.

“We will conduct you to the landing place, Princess,” rumbled Emburion. “Stray a wing’s-breadth from the appointed path, and I will take pleasure in charcoaling your meatless rack of bones.”

Lia bowed elaborately. “I shall so endeavour, o lava-scaled lord of draconic magnificence–” she managed to deliver her effusive compliment without a hint of irony “–but what Human Dragonship can imitate the aerial prowess of the Dragonkind in anything but name?”

The Orange Dragon’s belly-fires rumbled his pleasure.

And so Lia piloted the solo Dragonship around the volcano’s eastern flank, closely shadowed by the trio of suddenly voluble Dragons, who occupied themselves with competing to invent the best insults in Dragonish, blithely unaware that the Human girl understood every word.

A semi-circular terrace lake hugged the volcano’s base from the western edge of the Island all the way around to the north, gleaming like liquid bronze in the late afternoon suns-light. As they skirted the precipitous avocado-coloured slopes, Lia saw a dozen Dragon sentries perched on the rim wall, beside those patrolling the skies above. Unease trickled like icy water down her spine.

With hands deft on the rigging and controls as the Dragonship bucked disobediently in the whimsical breeze, Lia brought her vessel sweeping down toward the lake. She skimmed over the surface into the mouth of an immense cavern–a tunnel, she realised–which penetrated the volcano’s heart. Pristine waters lapped against obsidian shores, set afire by thick streamers of light radiating from above. A huge shadow rippled beneath the Dragonship, making Lia startle. She gasped as a Green Dragoness surged out of the water ahead of them, her ninety-foot wings sheeting great veils of water, clenching a gigantic carp she had between her fangs. The fish had to be twenty feet in length, a meal worthy even of a Dragon.

“Giant whiskered carp,” said Emburion, his dragon-smile displaying a row of surprisingly yellow fangs, as though his mouth were filled with wax candles. As the tunnel opened into the caldera, he added, “Welcome to the Halls of the Dragons, o Princess of Fra’anior.”

Hualiama inhaled sharply. “Oh, Emburion! It’s amazing.”

The Dragon waved a wingtip lackadaisically, clearly relishing the opportunity to play tour-guide to an enthusiastic audience. “The garnet, tourmaline and quartzite crystal formations on the volcano’s walls augment the natural suns-light, giving our Halls an unparalleled ambience. To your left paw, observe our Dragon hatcheries–heavily guarded, of course. That Amber Dragoness is training her week-old hatchlings in the basics of flight. Over there, in the open lava pits, we Dragons bathe and treat our wounds. Above the lake are the honeycomb caves we’ve built over thousands of years to house the greatest concentration of our kind in the Island-World.”

“What’s that?” Lia pointed up to the rim.

“That’s a group of Dragon scientists making observations of the cosmos through a celestial star-gazer, a scientific instrument constructed from a unique combination of physical parts and magic.”

A telescope? Lia had never imagined such a telescope, twice the length of an adult Dragon and easily fifteen feet in diameter, if her eyes did not deceive her. What detail they must be able to see, for draconic vision was vastly superior … but they already approached the northern lake shore, where Hualiama saw a Dragonship landing platform built into the slope above the lake. And Humans? She stared eagerly at these fabled denizens of the draconic realm, but found them no different in appearance to ordinary Fra’aniorians. Tall, bearded, blue of eye, these men could have been Islanders from anywhere in the Cluster.

She concentrated on making a smooth landing, despite the distraction of seeing Dragons everywhere, stretching and sunbathing, chuckling and smoking at the jaw, and growling with low sounds of indulgence as they lazed in pools of lava near at hand, or taking off from the dark cave-mouths dotting the cliffs above the lake with massive, air-cleaving strokes of their wings.

Had she once lived in this volcano, surrounded by the splendour of Dragon society?

Upon landing, an egg-heavy Grey Dragoness waddled over with a pompous air to question the Oranges about the Human’s arrival. The mention of Hualiama’s name set the Dragoness’ smoky, burnt-amber eyes ablaze.
Dragonfriend? You clutch of empty-headed, chattering parakeets. This is the Dragon-slayer of Fra’anior, friend of the Tourmaline traitor!