by Marc Secchia
Secondary noted, I am manipulating the tides to move the First Egg rather than relying upon the flexible meriatonium bonds, due to their deleterious backlash observed upon our shared psychic state-data. The degradation will reverse given sufficient time. The Egg travels slower than scheduled due to apparent resistance which we have been unable to isolate. We must expend more Theadurial-infected Land Dragons in order to accelerate its speed.
Agreed, pulsed the triplicate.
Tertiary said, I have completed the task of rousing the Drakes and will return to the Eastern battlefront to oppose the Star Dragoness and her minions. Nothing must be permitted to compromise the schedule – Shadow!
Aye, Masters?
Redouble the attacks until I arrive!
Aye. Shall I report now?
Prime thundered, Only when you perform your tasks adequately! Lazy, slap-pawed idiot! Get back to the battle and stop them!
The Shadow Dragon bowed his muzzle, his throat burning with acidic shame. All shall be as you wish, Masters. The schedule is paramount.
* * * *
The haunting reminiscence of the capricious presence which had called to her during the storm, or perhaps cried out because Aranya’s Storm-power had hurt her in ways she did not understand, preoccupied her mind, distracting her thoughts and attention when she was supposed to be providing battle support. Drakes clustered so thickly in the skies, it seemed the pearlescent, eggshell-pale azure of morning had taken on a bloody cast caused by the reflection of suns-light off millions of crimson scales. The Lost Islands Dragonwings were arranged in tight battle formation opposing the seething, maddened packs of predators. Ordered. Disciplined. Providing covering fire and watching each other’s backs and flanks.
Aranya eyed the disposition of their forces, a broad arc some fifty miles wide and four tall. Ardan’s initial attack had sought to overwhelm by sheer weight of Dragonflesh, but once his Drakes had been beaten back, the Shadow had chosen to hover off a little ways with a powerful Dragonwing of Thoralian-bonded Dragons, plotting. He had been taught to the tune of heavy losses not to throw them directly into battle, not even with the support of his Shadow power.
Not when Amethyst eyes tracked his every move.
Everything she touched turned to dust. Even him – Aranya could scarcely bear to watch her sworn companion fighting so relentlessly upon the enemy side, nor could she bear not to watch him. Ardan was hers; a beast of dark and fearful beauty. She must win him back. She must change the Balance! Searching within, an unexpected compulsion seized the Amethyst Dragoness.
Daze. Disconcert. Dance!
Twirling impetuously upon a wingtip, she flung out her presence as far and accurately as she could. Given the distance her power must surely be diminished, but she gave as much of herself as she was able. Starlight, warmth and welcome in one wing-frazzling package. She sang, Tickle, tickle – BOO!
A faint squeak of surprise rewarded her effort.
Dragoness? Maybe.
Immediately, the Princess tried again to contact her quarry, but the faraway presence shimmered like the suns rippling off Immadia’s indigo-chased terrace lakes, clearly anxious and agitated. It whizzed through at least a dozen changes of character and contour, as best she could fathom of that intensely malleable mind, before disappearing entirely – except that she sensed the creature must still be listening. How elusive was she? How mysterious her presence, as if that faraway trace were merely some allusion to a deeper or different state of being, describing an expression of magical life such as Aranya had never imagined. So supple and pellucid, yet as mischievous as the boulder-strewn course of a gaspingly cold babbling brook, the kind that tinkled down from Immadia’s mountains during a spring thaw. She herself was of Star Fires. The immutable lore of Fra’anior stated that the naissance of all draconic life was fire – and so this creature seemed at once familiar, yet profoundly singular.
Aranya yearned to know her with an inexpressible pang.
Eventually, she sent another playful tickle and a tender laugh, saying, I would know thee, o wisp of life incarnate, o wanderer afar. I am the fires of starlight, and if I have perchance hurt thee, my regrets flow deep. Come to me when you are ready, and be received with love.
Plink. Vanished, like a dawn mist feeling the suns’ full brunt.
Coy pest! Her wingtips stuttered in annoyance. Perhaps this Immadian Princess liked to have her own way just a touch more than she cared to admit.
Unexpectedly, Leandrial’s voice entered her mind. I have identified a useful mound, o Aranya. Want to wake your lover with an ambush?
Zip said brightly, Aye, the Amethyst would love to snack on crisp rump of Ardan.
Whilst you sup upon medallions of fresh monk slathered in snark-sauce, Your Incorrigible Indolence? Aranya snorted, blushing in a way that set the Remoyan off in fits of giggles.
Pregnancy is an excuse for all sorts of pampering, Zip managed at last.
Zuzi, how hard can it be to carry triplets who weigh nothing at all?
I plan to enjoy the privilege while it lasts, o delightful slave to my royal existence, her best friend shot back. You work, I indulge. So, may I ask, what exactly are you doing lolling about over here when that backstabbing lump of soot is over there, begging for a colossal, richly-deserved slap?
The Amethyst Dragoness wheeled in the air with a belly-laugh, and then arrowed toward the sound of Leandrial’s voice. She had soared to a very high altitude, at least two leagues above the main Drake battle, which in turn raged a league above and three leagues ahead of Yiisuriel’s peak. Ardan and his Shapeshifter Dragonwing stood off a further half-mile, where a flotilla of once-pretty floating Islands now smoked heavily after the destruction vented upon them. Toward the horizon in every direction, clusters of grey Islands usually topped with scrubby khaki and tan vegetation floated along the courses of their ever-changeable migration patterns. Very few Islands in either Wyldaroon or Herimor were mountains rising from beneath the Cloudlands, unlike the North, so much so that the rarity of a ‘rooted’ Island was spoken of with reverence.
She conferred rapidly with Zip, trying to craft a plan that would surprise Ardan. They needed something unexpected, something that would rock the stolid Western Isles warrior in his scaly socks. At length, the girls sealed their agreement with a mental handshake.
O mighty ally, set thy eye cannon to stun! cried Zuziana.
What? Why, little one? Leandrial chuckled. I don’t understand your joke.
The Remoyan said, We plan to paw-slap that Shadow Dragon. Your stun modulation is easier to bend or reflect when Aranya sets her mind to the task.
Oh! You are cunning – both of you, approved the Dragoness.
Let’s try this, Aranya interjected, and slipped a plan into Leandrial’s mind in a guarded manner she fervently hoped Ardan would not detect. She was under no illusions that the oath magic could operate in either direction, exposing her to his influence.
Then, she opened the channels of communication.
Ardan.
Star Dragoness? his voice dripped with malice.
Why are you cowering behind these puny Drakes, you feeble-minded ralti sheep? Have you lost your stomach for the fight?
Zip whispered, Call those insults?
The faraway dark form barely missed a wingbeat. Your defiance is so pathetic I wouldn’t demean myself by lifting a talon.
Softly, Aranya said, I miss the time when you were a warrior worthy of the name, Sha’aldior. Such a sad shell of a beast you are, cast into dishonour. I cannot respect what you have become.
Respect? That touched a raw nerve. I deserve more than your respect, Princess.
Oh, you have that, Sha’aldior. It’s called contempt.
This time the distant form hitched visibly. The Amethyst Dragoness pressed her advantage with an overly effusive wingtip-genuflection that had the dark space in her mind spitting sparks. She clamped down on the pain, sending back taunting pulses as she accelerated. To her left Gang surged i
nto formation and Huari winged up to her right flank in her Blue Shapeshifter form.
Ardan had the backing of over two hundred stalwart Grey-Greens; Aranya’s group swelled rapidly as allies winged over to join the sally; still, they were but a third of that number. In the distance Genholme winged back to home base for a well-earned rest, her immense metallic form instantly recognizable amidst the Lost Islands forces, whilst another Dragon Rider group poured upward from Yiisuriel’s hangers to provide relief. Between Aranya and Ardan thick knots of Drakes reformed into their characteristic packs, usually several dozen strong, as they liked to mob-attack their larger cousins. Acrid green-black smoke drifted away on the breeze, the remains of a Dragonship which had exploded in the fray.
GRABOOM!! The light cannons fired, clearing a path. It would quickly be filled again by the mobile Drake packs, so she surged ahead, calling in the second wave of Runner attacks and the Dragon Riders as a further distraction. Let them think this was all a well-coordinated plan. The brilliant white light beams targeted Ardan’s group, while the invisible stun attacks focussed on Aranya and Huari, who reflected them according to a very precise phasic reflective-shield formulation. There had to be agreement beforehand, Aranya realised, or she would have been knocked from the sky. Suddenly, Ardan’s group found themselves under attack from two intersecting vectors, and they rippled in response, throwing up their own shields and beating their wings hard to gain vital altitude.
Faster! Feint the attack! Aranya ordered, leading the charge with clipped, efficient wingbeats. Leandrial’s group struck again from both vectors, striking true to take down a half-dozen of Ardan’s command.
The change in attack velocity drew an accordingly urgent reaction from the enemy Dragons. They called in the Drake packs by barking commands in a debased form of Dragonish which the Lost Islands linguists were actively decoding, and spread out as they climbed vigorously, giving each other more wing room.
Aranya hissed, We have to drive them downward for this to work. Again, Leandrial.
New phasic modulation structure – initiate! roared Leandrial, forgetting she was speaking Land Dragon magical shorthand with one as yet unversed in their ways.
The Star Dragoness reeled as information flooded her mind. Scramble! Deploy! Barely had she slammed up her shields using the new command structures, when magic hammered into her underside and beamed off into Ardan’s group, slapping them about as though they had run into a violent patch of clear-air turbulence. Powerful wind shear effects sent them plummeting; Aranya’s group responded with an eager thunder of battle challenges as they speared downward in pursuit, ignoring or dodging those Drakes which tried to intercept.
They must engage or let the plan slip. In a millisecond, the Amethyst determined to pursue the stratagem.
Once more! Leandrial was in her element now, sensing success. Aranya and Huaricithe rocked violently in the air as their ally’s aggression almost overwhelmed their protections, but Gang was on hand with a deft hold upon Huaricithe’s neck that smacked suspiciously of a draconic caress best essayed inside the roost, whilst for Aranya he laid a perfectly decorous steadying paw upon her torso.
Rascal!
Then, as Ardan’s force was buffeted a third time, they plunged amidst the flustered Dragons with a chorus of brutish growls. Aranya spat sharply, peppering the vulnerable, tangled up enemy Dragons with her tight, tiny blue fireballs which had served her well many a time. Pfft! Pfft-pfft! Her staccato barrage was a curious, almost embarrassingly diminutive counterpoint to the massive bombardment set up by her Herimor Dragon escort, not one of whom was less than twice her size, but their effect was nonetheless immediate. Ardan spun and Shadowed, and Shadowed again as her pinpoint accuracy homed in upon his eyes and muzzle. He roared and sprayed a mighty, churning wall of flame across her path, forcing the Amethyst to brake sharply or face being immolated. She glanced over her shoulder in parting, eying the black-edged, blossoming fires with wonder and trepidation. What power was that?
Here came Leandrial’s countdown. Five, four …
Ardan’s talons ripped into one of his opponents, crippling the Grey-Green’s left wing. The Dragoness fell away with a wild cry. He Shadowed immediately, and emerged to savage another Dragon with rending, crippling precision in the base of the next behind the skull spikes, killing him instantly.
… three, two …
Light-cannon strikes smashed into a quartet of enemy Dragons in Aranya’s path, whilst a stray kinetic blast reflected wildly off her rotating body, striking many Dragons in range. Aranya struck out and then barrel-rolled away from the fray, roaring, BEWARE ABOVE!
… one …
Every Dragon in Ardan’s command glanced skyward to check what new danger lurked in the heights.
Aranya’s Dragonwing heard the code phrase and broke away to the West, in the most unexpected direction, as Leandrial breached the Cloudlands from the mound she had discovered. The enemy Dragons glanced about in shock. It was unheard-of, even undraconic, to abandon a battle in this way – indeed, half a dozen Grey-Greens of Aranya’s command were still attacking, too far immersed in battle-rage to hear or respond to commands.
Over her shoulder, Aranya sneered, You are fool, a shadow of the Dragon you were.
Ardan was still peering after her in a welter of indignation when Leandrial’s upraised paw swept through a massive forehand swipe. The aged Land Dragoness swatted his Dragonwing like an aggrieved man flailing at a bloodsucking mosquito.
* * * *
“Relief from the Drake attacks is what we achieved,” said Zuziana, displeased by the severity creasing Ri’arion’s features. “I can tell what you’re thinking, dear husband. You’re thinking we’re frivolous and irresponsible for having fun during that big, serious battle out there. Do you think Aranya and I don’t know the meaning of war – and the cost? Have you not seen our scars?”
“Zuzi …” He gulped, hesitated, and then put his arms around Aranya’s shoulders anyway. “I get to worry. Don’t mistake my intent – I am he who dared to curse Garthion, and look at what that earned him.”
“Huh.”
“Besides, those are my kids in there, too. I worry! However, fear that if they take after you, they’ll be far too gorgeous. How will I ever beat off all the suitors?”
“You’re one insufferably handsome blackmailer.”
“Alright, I am concerned what our allies think about your … uh …”
“Improvising? Shadow-swatting? Inventing snarksome solutions to nettlesome problems? We operate best like this, you know – aye, look at me with just that glint in your eye, my sexy Nameless Man. I know we’re giving Yiisuriel a headache, and given she has a brain the size of a mountain, that’s a truly Dragonesque prospect.”
“Snarksome isn’t even a word,” the monk protested.
“I royally declare it exists in the Remoyan dictionary of Zip-isms.”
Laughing, Ri’arion helped himself to the bowl of cut fruit they were sharing for dinner. “You’re irresistible, do you know that?”
“Of course, I make an art of irresistibility – and that is indeed a word, husband dearest. Look it up if you’re in doubt.”
“This is where I do not miss the opportunity to flirt, right?”
Zip crowed, “He’s teachable! A fine quality in a husband, I do declare.”
Ri’arion’s eyebrows assaulted the domed expanse of his forehead. “Oh? Then know that I plan to look you up – and down – the moment you reappear. Repeatedly. I plan to examine and understand your every nuance in the utmost detail, Zuziana of Remoy, and if proposing that I riffle through every leaf of your scroll passes for a lewd proposition in your despicable little mind … let it be understood, that is precisely the innuendo I intend, not a jot more, and not a jot less.”
“Ooh,” Zip giggled, discovering that invisible people could still blush – invisibly. “Bet they never taught you such naughty language in monk-school, did they?”
“Not even close,” he confessed
.
“Verily, I wish to smooch thee breathless, husband-mine,” she said. “Now, Aranya’s itching even worse than me. I haven’t let her out all day. She keeps gassing away in there like a misfiring meriatite furnace engine – Balance this, Harmonic starry-stuff that … you know what I mean.”
Ri’arion matched her wink for wink. “Oh, that I do, aye. Mystical murmurings make me muse mightily, saith the Immadian.”
“Now she’s just – ouch! She bit me!”
“Liar,” Aranya snorted.
He bowed formally to her, with a brief but elaborate series of Fra’aniorian hand-twirls. “A very good evening to thee, darling wife.”
* * * *
Aranya always seemed to find herself blushing when she swapped with Zuziana, which had become an established routine. It was tricky and unsatisfying to try to give both of them the awake time they required, as well as the requisite sleep, and she wondered if that was part of the reason her resources had become so drained. Aye, she partook of Aunt Hualiama’s special diet. Yuck. And the daily mental and physical exercises. Painful but necessary. Now, as she adjusted her face-veil in front of the mirror in her small, neat chambers, with the unfamiliar circular bed and thick orrican furs upon the floor, she took a moment to examine the flesh of her scarred cheek. Healing, definitely. Each day saw progress, minute yet discernible, as though the imperative to return to her previous form encountered some unknown form of resistance. It bore investigation.
At least her hair seemed to have survived the depredations of all the Dragon fire and ire that had been aimed in her direction over the last few months. The crazy colours showed no sign of settling into anything that suggested normality, she thought, rolling onyx, sapphire, white, auburn and golden threads between her fingers – and that was not the half of it. Tilting back her head, she combed out its near knee-length waves with a small magical routine she had been working on. Kinetic magic. Her command was unsure as yet, but it certainly made detangling knots a breeze for a girl with very long hair.