Dragonlove (17 page)

Alas for the fair peaks, my love, my fierce love,

Alas for the scorching winds, which stole thee away,

Let my soul take wing upon dawn’s twin fires …

And fly to thee.

Most of the Island-World’s denizens would think it insanely inappropriate for her to be singing such a song, the soul’s cry of a Dragon and Dragoness pining for each other. This first verse was the Dragon’s lament as he mourned the scorching winds which had stolen his third heart away, his Dragoness-love. Then, the Dragoness replied:

Alas for the long leagues, my song, my soul-lost song,

Oh alas for fate’s grieving, my tears a fiery rain,

Let my soul take wing upon dawn’s twin fires …

And fly to thee.

Hualiama rubbed a knuckle rather fiercely at the burning sensation in her eyes. No. The draconic way was not to weep and wail and mourn and rail, even if the ballad she sang exposed her deepest longings. She must be strong–stronger than Razzior, stronger than her father or Ianthine or even her fate, and certainly, stronger than the pain of loss, the secret grief a person could conceal all their life. Perhaps six years of imposed forgetting meant that the remembrance should come the more powerfully upon her now, for she had not dealt with her bereavement in the ordinary way.

She slumped back on the pilot’s chair, enervated by an unforeseen outpouring of magic. From the White Dragoness’ scale she wore around her neck, Lia saw the fiery form of a dragonet emerge. He seemed to smile at her. An invitation.

Mercy. She was going crazy.

Impulsively, Lia addressed the spectral fire-creature.
Tell Grandion, I come.

Just that. Simple words, but the utterance of hope demanded no edifice of eloquence.

The fire-creature opened its muzzle and voiced a plaintive cry which seemed to shiver between the winds of the world. It raced away over the eastern horizon where Lia saw a momentary flash of light, before all became preternaturally still.

Let my soul take wing upon dawn’s twin fires …

* * * *

… And fly to thee.

In the darkness, a Dragon stirred. He barely remembered who he was. Yet a strange shiver trickled along his long-unused wings, teasing the sensitive membranes with the memory of wind flowing in forceful flight, glimmering like forgotten fire along the tracery of arteries and veins criss-crossing the great flight surfaces, and burrowing beneath his scales with the insistence of a thousand scale-mites all scrabbling at once.

A troubled groan forced its way between his chapped lips.

What was that–a memory of a song once sung? This cage consumed all magic, for it had been built by Dragons for the containment of Dragons, but with that signature touch of magic–surely, an incendiary spark delivered deep into the forgotten depths of his belly–like the sluggish progress of a cooling lava flow, the workings of mind and body rekindled. Malnourished, clothed in the forever-darkness of his blindness, the Dragon knew nothing of the redeeming light of the twin suns, even when it blazed for an all-too-brief two hours daily through a tiny hole in the top of his cage. All he knew was its precious warmth upon his back. Warmth upon his back …

Alas for the far shores, my heart, my third heart,

Alas for the stars, illuming thy doom.

The Tourmaline Dragon’s neck-vertebrae creaked and popped alarmingly as his long neck jerked. Coveting the light of a presence he had long given up hope of, and concealed in the most inviolable depths of his third heart, his muzzle gaped open to vent a cry of haunting distress:

GRRRRAAAAARRRGGGH!

* * * *

Hualiama cried, “Grandion!”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s only your dear brother.” Elki clasped her shoulder. “You were moaning fit to wake the dead … great Islands, Lia, you’re so cold!”

“The fire left me,” she whispered, appreciating her brother’s embrace. “I felt him. I felt Grandion, Elki, and he was so lost, and cold and alone … how can a Dragon lose his fire, Elki? What’s wrong with him?”

Elki’s expression made it clear he was more concerned about what was wrong with his sister. But he shooed her gently off the pilot’s chair. “You’re stretching yourself too thin, short shrift. Now, take your orders like a good girl. For the love of–oh, roaring rajals, I’ll just say it then–for the love of Dragons! Get some sleep.”

Hualiama rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms crossly. “Elki! Don’t say things like that.”

He sang, “Love, love, love. My sister’s all about love.”

Ridiculous man! She smiled at him. Even if he said things that shivered her world, turning it white with magic, she still loved him.

“There’s power in voicing the forbidden, isn’t there?” And he laughed, not without an undercurrent of unease, “I’m starting to sound as mystical as Mom–freaky. Now, what do you make of that Dragonship astern? Just a trader, right?”

Lia narrowed her eyes. “Aye, their markings make them a trader out of Cherlar, I believe. Wake me when something exciting happens.”

Finding a sunny spot at the front of the basket, Lia curled up like a cat and fell asleep. For once, she did not dream.

Waking as they sailed by the improbably square-cut outline of Syros Island, Lia sipped water from a gourd and peeled a tinker banana. “Thanks for piloting the day away, beloved brother. I needed the extra sleep.”

“Oh, I whiled away the hours singing songs, braiding my lovely locks and dreaming of Dragons,” he teased.

Lia coloured hotly. “Listen here, monkey mischief, I think that fiery Copper Dragoness took quite a fancy to you, handsome
specimen
that you are.”

Well, that made two of them blushing away like a volcanic suns-set. Lia scanned the far horizons, batting away persistent concerns about what she intuited regarding the Dragoness’ intentions with regard to her brother, before her gaze lingered on the trailing Dragonship. It was no nearer, but no further behind either. She did not like it. Time to deploy a few sails and blow them away like dust.

Come morning, the Dragonship was still there. Closer.

Elki employed one of Lia’s swords as a mirror to help him trim his beard. “They’re making good speed for a trader, aren’t they?”

“Very good.”

“I fear neither man nor beast, for my sister’s the best Dragonship pilot of Fra’anior Cluster.”

Hualiama favoured this with a withering glare. “Aye? Do I know thee, thou suddenly complimentary Prince of the Towering Volcano?”

“Fine, o irresponsible imp, who boasts the temper of a rajal with a wasp stuck up its left nostril, and whose hair that resembles an unwashed goat’s pelt. Better?”

“No! I’m pedalling.”

“Oh, what are you peddling, most winsome of wenches?”

“WENCH?” Her roar staggered Elki and it also hurt her throat. Hualiama dropped her gaze, thinking, ‘Mercy … the magic’s turning me into a freak.’ She grumbled, “Sorry.”

They spent the day in a curious, silent race. No amount of adjusting sails or feeding the turbines gained them a single foot. The trailing Dragonship drew closer–given as it was five times their size, they could probably afford fifteen men at a time on the manual turbines, fondly called the back-breaker, working in hourly shifts. Over a long haul, Hualiama knew their extra power would prove decisive, unless the wind picked up. There was neither sign of wind, nor of a handy squall in the cloudless skies. If that Dragonship was a trader, she was a bearded goat. The decreased distance allowed her to make out twin catapult emplacements, unusually, placed on a frame alongside the side-mounted turbines, and three war crossbows spaced in front of the forward crysglass windows. No trader packed that much heavy weaponry–perhaps a smuggler, but that made them a rajal’s whisker short of pirates, in her opinion.

All they needed to see now was the red rajal pennant of a pirate.

Overnight, the chase continued. Come dawn, with the Dragonships a hundred leagues east of Syros in the vast gap between the Islands, the pirates showed their colours. They were just a few hundred feet astern and gaining every minute.

“Up we go,” said Lia. “I’ve read that there’s more wind at higher altitudes.”

“But doesn’t the cold reduce our lifting power?” asked Elki. “Won’t we burn too much fuel?”

“If we run out, we’ll burn your favourite shirt,” she replied. “Set aside three cords of wood and bring the rest over here.”

Carrying thinly to them on the wind, a voice cried, “Stand to!”

Hualiama growled, “Stand frigging nothing. You let me aboard your Dragonship, I’ll beard the bunch of you.” She caught Elki, wincing, stroking his facial hair. “Ready? Hold on.”

She smacked the turbine controls and hauled in the sails simultaneously. The Dragonship lurched into a rapid ascent, landing Elki in a heap atop the firewood. The gap opened rapidly as the more manoeuvrable solo Dragonship powered aloft. Far from complaining, her brother began to hand firewood up to her as the airship’s nose pointed at the sky.

The pursuing vessel tilted upward. They distinctly heard the beat of the turbines pick up.

“Pray for wind,” said Hualiama.

Four hours later with no improvement in the wind, the bigger Dragonship ran them down. A little man hopped up and down on the forward gantry, between a dozen or so heavily-armed fellows, screaming, “Stand to! Stand to!”

To a man, they wore an unfamiliar style of banded armour, and had long, raven-black hair that they wore tied at the base of the neck with a leather thong. Their slant-eyed, steely regard came from faces high in the cheekbone and pinched in the cheek, and their skins were noticeably sallower than her tan Fra’aniorian tones.

“Shall we warm up the hunting bow?” asked Lia.

“Down!” Elki pulled her down as a six-foot crossbow quarrel buzzed toward them, puncturing the sack just above their heads.

“The next one will burn you with fire!” yelled the man.

“Odd little fellow, but he does have my full attention,” Elki drawled. “Where’s he from, do you think? Are they all that small in the East?” Cupping his hands, he shouted across the divide, “What do you want with us? Piracy is outlawed among the Islands.”

“I don’t see any Islands,” came the answer. “Now, stand to and prepare to be boarded, for I am the dread pirate-lord Qilong, scourge of twenty-two Islands!”

Elki stiffened, trying not to laugh. From the corner of his mouth, he whispered, “Am I mistaken, or did he just extol the size of his manhood?”

“
Qi
long,” Lia chortled. “And, only twenty-two Islands? Not much of a pirate, is he?”

“He’s the pirate aiming a bushel of weaponry at us,” Elki noted. “That gives him all the bragging rights, in my opinion. Now, we’re not carrying much of value apart from you, my infinitely precious sister–” he quirked an eyebrow at Lia “–so why don’t we just talk nicely to him, and hope he’ll let us go?”

“Aye, because when he learns we’re runaway royals of Fra’anior, he’s not going to want a ransom, oh no.”

“Oh. No.”

“Indeed. I’ve a better idea. We’re going to board him.”

“My ralti-stupid sister is planning to
attack
a pirate vessel stuffed to the eyeballs with vicious, bloodthirsty brigands?”

Hualiama puffed out her cheeks. “I knew the compliments wouldn’t last. Aye. That’s my plan.”

From fifty feet aft and below them, the short, dark-haired pirate cried, “Qilong, masterful pirate-lord of thirty-six Islands, demands you stand to, or he shall feed your sorry carcasses to the windrocs!”

“Not the sharpest stick in the bundle, is he?” said Lia. “Hold on, and when I say hold on, do it properly this time.”

Shutting off the flow to the turbines, Lia punched the release for the spinnaker. She let out the side-sails, and gripped the emergency gas release. The effect was as if she had thrown out an air-anchor. The pirate vessel was steaming along happily when their intended victim stalled in the air. As the larger dirigible surged beneath them, Lia yanked the gas release cord.
Shweesshhh!
The balloon deflated as though torn by a Dragon’s claw. They dropped right on top of the enemy vessel’s hot air sack.

The Princess of Fra’anior rapidly uncoiled a length of rope and tied it to one of her Dragonship’s hawsers. “Make sure I don’t pull us right off the top, alright?”

Elki’s lips curled as though she had force-fed him a mouthful of rancid haribol fruit. “Lia–”

“Dread pirate-lord of ten Islands?” she yelled.

“Aye, I’m Qilong!” came from below.

Lia wound the rope about her right wrist, crossing it several times to prevent slippage. She gripped the free end in the same hand. “Let’s hope this works as planned.”

Orienting on the sound, she ran over the nose of the pirate Dragonship and leaped into space. The rope snapped taut, wrenching her forearm, but the armoured wristlet could resist worse punishment than a rope-burn. Lia swung back in, accelerating with the drop, drawing her knees up to her chest. She sped right between the crossbow emplacements.

Hualiama had a half-second to revel in Qilong’s shocked expression before she kicked out, booting the dread pirate-lord of an uncertain number of Islands right through the forward crysglass panels of his Dragonship.