Beautiful Fury

by Marc Secchia

  Nothing like a best friend to reorient her in a way that Aranya recognised provided the perspective she may have mislaid.

  She said, Ha. Maybe I will just fly to the Moons to prove you wrong.

  Zuziana rolled her eyes. Honestly! Why do have you take everything as a challenge?

  Why does everything have to be a jest with you?

  Why does every dawn chase away the dark?

  Why … The Amethyst Dragoness shook her skull spikes in amusement. Why are we arguing like this? It isn’t even a real argument.

  Ah, the brass dral finally drops.

  Pestiferous Remoy!

  * * * *

  Extra report.

  Ardan raised his muzzle as the unexpected command disturbed what had been developing into a fine nap. Only his nostrils showed above the waterline of a bubbling hot-spring he had been enjoying, trying to work out a few of the kinks resulting from a dreary campaign before he would be forced to take to the air once more in an hour’s time. These Drakes needed a constant fiery eye kept upon them or they tended to lose interest – useless bone-gnawers!

  Smugly, Prime said: I have heard from the Red Imperator, the mighty Dramagon himself. Let the triplicate know our labours are commendable. Our deeds weigh heavily in the mighty Scales of Eternity!

  To his shock, the triplicate’s mental link rang with growls and bugles of triumph! The Shadow Dragon shook his head. What did this mean? Sloughing free of the heated, slightly bitter-tasting water, he prepared to listen to the rest of their customary exchange.

  What he received was the mental equivalent of a right cross to the jaw from Prime. SHADOW! WHERE IS THE STAR?

  Why, inside the great one’s peak, he returned at last, staggered by the unexpected attack.

  Is she? Our spies reported she departed an hour ago. FIND HER!

  I … still sense her presence, Masters. She rests in her chambers. The oath magic does not lie –

  FOOL! DISCERN THE TRUTH!

  Galvanised by humiliation and fury, Ardan smote the waters with a clap of his wings as he sprang a hundred feet into the air, all thoughts of bath time forgotten. That woman was a sneak! How dare she embarrass him like this? He would feast upon her bleeding liver!

  Long did he search, only to learn that the Amethyst had vanished like the thinnest of clouds against a white-blue, blazing hot Western Isles sky. The oath-trace remained in place right there in the location they had pinpointed as her chambers, but so far failed to penetrate with any of their agents, thralls or assassins – but that trace pulsated his doom. The Thoralians knew she had absconded. A spy had chanced to see her flashing by as he returned from a scouting trip; the Dragoness had been headed East for reasons he did not understand.

  Nonsensical!

  High aloft, scanning the region with his every sense at the highest alert in an attempt to discover the magical aurora the Thoralians averred followed the flight of every Dragon, Ardan at last searched his intuition, and pieced together what he knew of her movements and character. The mission East must be a feint. The spy had seen wrong or been misled. So too, his cunning draconic brain noted, the unmoving trace showed no sign her restless life. Aranya would have woken, if only slightly, several times by now had she been napping. He would have known. That meant the oath-trace was also a cunning ruse.

  Aranya was plotting, adapting, teasing advantage out of nothingness. Admiration warred with vitriolic malice in his breast. The shackles in his mind attempted to correct the restless nature of his musings, but he needed space to reason more widely than his usual straightforward logic. She was subtle. Wily. His lips peeled back from his bared fangs. A woman!

  Ghastly pains racked his skull as the Dragon obdurately set himself to think her way. What would she be doing right now? Busting a talon to fool him, no doubt.

  Thought seemed nigh impossible, but his experience with the oath magic and the Lavanias collar had hardened him. At length, the Dragon’s lidded gaze turned to the West. Why did she not want him to think she had headed in another direction? The exact opposite course seemed too obvious a choice; South, there was nothing but wastelands before the mountains. North? Perhaps. Rapidly, the Dragon plotted his search pattern to cover a wide sweep from almost directly North to five points South of due West, along the border of the area called the Doldrums. Aranya would not venture there. No point.

  His grin reasserted itself, and this time, it was a study in cold, vengeful craving. He would track down that elusive girl and her chosen minions. It was only a matter of time, for there was more than one way to swing a scimitar, wasn’t there?

  If he knew that chattering mob, they would be talking almost non-stop to home base. At some point, he would intercept their communication trail. Then, they would fall beneath his mighty paw.

  He thundered, I AM SHA’ALDIOR!

  * * * *

  Leandrial ran along the bottom, following the seething, roaring torrent of an under-Cloudlands airstream run amok. It seemed inconceivable to Aranya that they should be running fifty to sixty percent faster than a Dragon could fly for sustained periods of time, unless they enjoyed the benefit of a Dragons’ Highway, but the current had picked up to a pell-mell twenty-three leagues per hour, Leandrial had calculated, putting her skills and great strength to the test. Aranya worried about their newly healed companion. Leandrial would hear nothing of it. Not only was the turbulence enough to rattle her teeth and jolt her passengers about unless they braced themselves constantly, but the sheer volume of flying debris made it a dangerous enterprise. Thick scale armour protected her from the worst of the battering.

  “This is the result of the First Egg’s passage!” Leandrial shouted above the current’s constant roaring. “Somehow its innate magic stirs everything up, little ones – to the point where our Runners have observed outright inversion of layers. It’s carnage!”

  Her brevity exposed her tiredness. After twelve hours and approximately two hundred and sixty leagues of ‘spiteful thuddery’ as Zip called it, Leandrial curved out of the current and found a relatively sheltered dip in which to rest. Aranya tried to trace their quarry, but failed, and they spoke at some length with Yiisuriel primarily to communicate intelligence about the path ahead. The Air Breathers could take some advantage from beneficial currents as well, but they would have to proceed with caution. To accelerate a mountain to flying speeds was no trivial undertaking – their momentum once underway took an inordinate amount of stopping, bluntly put.

  “Are you alright, Leandrial?” Aranya asked.

  The Land Dragoness knew better by now than to take umbrage at her concern. “Unfortunately, the current shows signs of easing up. I would have needed to take it slower for this second leg anyways.”

  “It’s still brutal out there,” Ri’arion observed.

  “If the air current eases we can shape you some sails, like we did when we crossed the Rift,” Aranya enthused. “I’ve some engineering ideas gleaned from Hualiama’s writings, you know, when she invented the meriatite furnace engine. She was an expert on many aspects of Dragonship construction and engineering, and even designed far more efficient sails than had been in use before.”

  “Whereas we specialise in overthrowing tyrants,” Zip added seamlessly after her friend had spoken.

  “And in fooling gullible Gladiators,” Huari needled.

  Gang just grinned at his mate without rancour. “Didn’t see you worshipping her starry rump to start with either, Marshal Huaricithe. She sold you the wrong Island and then some. May I take this opportunity to remind you, Scrap, that you are also Huari’s bond-Dragon under Wyldaroon law until the Marshal formally releases you. So you had better just do as you’re ruddy well told for a change!”

  Aranya snorted, “Ha! Well, I –”

  “My, I am getting so forgetful in my decrepitude,” Huari cut in, with blatant falsity. “You, o Immadia, will just have to ask nicely for your freedom.”

  Aranya made a pretend gagging noise. “Mercy, o mighty Marshal Huaricit
he. Have mercy.”

  Gang complained, “What about me? When will you – ggrrr – release me?”

  “You haven’t actually asked, either.” The two Dragons eyeballed each other, the temperature inside Leandrial’s largest cheek pocket suddenly soaring past boiling point. Then, the Navy Blue Shapeshifter dipped her neat muzzle, and murmured, “Would you like to be released from me, Gangurtharr?”

  What draconic nuance lurked beneath that simple question!

  “NO!” he roared, then caught himself by dint of belling out his fabulous belly-laugh, which was so powerful it set everyone within a respectable radius juddering right along with the palpitations of his ample abdomen. “Respectfully, Marshal, my answer would be both aye and nay, and comes laden with so many conditions I fear we may need to discuss the issue at some length before we could come to a suitable arrangement.”

  And that was flirtation at ten thousand degrees centigrade. Huaricithe may have been forgiven for discovering her answering grin turned decidedly goofy at that point.

  “Oh, go find a private chamber, you two!” hooted Zip.

  Rather more decorously but no less humorously, Aranya put in, “Would that be before or after you and Ri’arion, petal? Or are we taking turns –”

  “May I remind everyone of whose mouth you travel in?” Leandrial growled.

  “Aye, she isn’t some floating brothel.” Zip, as usual, managed to snag the conversational tone and leap straight into the gutter with it.

  Aranya mused, “I’m sure you and I at least spell the word ‘morals’ the same way, Zippy Girl.”

  “Bah. You’ll be shocked, therefore, to learn then that Ri’arion and I are definitely leaning toward monogamy, my friend,” said Zip, as Gang commented how peculiar it was to see Aranya holding entire conversations with herself. “My mothers will be heartbroken at how I’m planning to flout family tradition.”

  “No, it’s just that Aranya wants to wash her mouth out after you speak, Zip,” Gang suggested snidely.

  With that conversational low blow, every person and Dragon in the close quarters of Leandrial’s cheek pocket began to look very uncomfortable.

  Unexpectedly, Sapphire said, Gang not play nice. Where Ardan, Ari?

  Lying alongside Gang and against the muscular band holding their pocket shut, Aranya could not turn far, but she crooked her muzzle to gaze seriously at her companions. That’s the key question, isn’t it? Thank you, Sapphire. Leandrial, I should fly aloft, and –

  Expose our position? said the Land Dragoness. Try from here. Ri’arion and I can amplify your capability.

  “Sorry, Zip,” Aranya added. “I guess that’s the line between banter and bickering.”

  “I’m … sorry, too,” said Gangurtharr, appearing surprised as an undraconic apology managed to stumble off his lips. “Is this what it means to think like a Human? This idea has strange tastes. Strange strength.”

  Zip said, “Accepted and forgiven, noble Gang.”

  Slipping her muzzle over his outthrust forearm, Huari snuggled her muzzle beneath his hoary chin. “Don’t you dare snort like that. You are a noble Dragon, Gang. Come. We must consider how we might counter the Thoralians when we next encounter them, with both Shadow power and the First Egg at their talon-tips. How can we prevail?”

  Aranya considered the pair, and shuffled a little uncomfortably as in the way of Dragons, Gangurtharr, being the biggest male, slipped a protective-warming wing over her back. Remoyan bathing habits evidently had nothing on draconic society.

  Now Ri’arion sat cross-legged between the paws of the three Dragons. “Come. We must find your Shadow, and renew the false oath-trace where Yiisuriel is. I fear it will not hold him long. Shut your eyes, Aranya. Now, focus on my voice.”

  Aranya followed the prescribed exercise, calming and opening her mind.

  After a moment, as she cast afar with ingeniously subtle intent concealed within a phasic shield, a reflexion of the Shadow Dragon entered her awareness. Consider him. Examine the detail … and a frown creased the Amethyst Dragoness’ forehead. Something struck her as incongruous about that image. Why did she scent subterfuge; a peculiarly Fra’aniorian hint about that mindset?

  Because it was not real.

  Suddenly, the image blurred. Rushed at her; the utterly unexpected. Faster than a blink it swallowed her whole. Aranya became a mote floating through an inconceivably vast cosmos within which she was but a speck struggling to stay afloat, to live, to shine amidst a piceous darkness that was no void. It was alive with malice. She was lost and alone, exposed, threatened … she reeled, fighting an overwhelming sense of panic. Had the Thoralians ensnared her mind? Ardan? The anarchic presence she had sensed and followed, was that –

  MINE SHAO’LÛKAYN SHALL BE ROUSED, BROTHER-MINE, AND THEY SHALL CLEAVE THE SKY-SHIELD ASUNDER!

  An immense vocal-psychic thundering almost smote her senseless. All was fires, a fathomless pit of soul-blistering agony such as she had never imagined, a compounding of expression upon so many different levels of being and of such communicative power, its import plunged her instantly into a merciless maelstrom of awareness overload. The voice was evil upon evil, the embodiment of ageless orange spite, vermilion wickedness and scarlet cruelty expressed upon a scale that found no computation in her capacity of expression. Infinity held the power to shatter a mortal mind.

  More quietly, but with satisfaction seething like a caldera of bubbling Dragon acid, the voice continued, Wilt thou make no reply, o Fra’anior, abandoner of thy kind? How does exile suit thee, watching as my aeons-old vengeance grinds to its inevitable victory, brother?

  Dramagon!

  Somehow, the mote was party to an exchange between the monumental shell brothers, and now the true scope of her vulnerability crashed in upon Aranya’s consciousness. Where was she? Was she even within the universe she knew?

  Then, the crimson being shifted ominously. Oh, do observe, mine shell brother – it’s a stardrop. Doth thy precious Istariela yet live?

  Discovered! In the ensuing stillness, Aranya’s heart knew only terror. Then, the monstrous amplitude of Dramagon’s wrath lashed forth, thundering, BE SNUFFED OUT!

  But the spear of Onyx was faster, flashing far faster than any self-respecting lightning bolt around the problem of ordinary space-time laws to spirit her away before the urzul-infused Command could complete its terrible work. Dramagon’s Word annihilated nothingness, and returned to him with a backlash that Aranya knew she could never have survived. Dramagon thundered his fury!

  But in her realm, seven great throats lamented, O, Istariela my lost love, where art thou?

  Chapter 9: Of Ancient Grudges

  THE SHADOW KNEW he had detected something, out there in the West, but far farther than he imagined the Star could have travelled in such a short space of time. His intuition was right! How had she departed? When?

  Urgently, he cried, Extra report. I have found the Star!

  Prime overrode him effortlessly. Mighty Dramagon has answered our prayers, brothers! Gather! All imperatives falls before this new command. We three must fly to the House of the Mistral Fires and there wrest from Azhukazi the power of Necromancy, that the bones of Dramagon’s mighty servants might be returned to him, made whole by the unleashed power of the First Egg –

  What servants? Tertiary cut in trenchantly.

  They are called the Shao’lûkayn. Ardan shivered as his scales reacted to the connotations of that foul word. Dramagon, the Awesome Power of the Ages, grants us this charge. Fra’anior’s foul hold over this Island-World of ours can only be broken by his servants working within the Onyx’s protections.

  Numistar broke through.

  The Shadow did not know which of the brothers had spoken, but they supplied knowledge of a shield or power arching over the Island-World, protecting it from ancient forces lurking without. They knew that the two-headed Ancient Dragon, Dramagon, sought to return from his enforced exile to protect the world from their depredations. Fra’anior was a c
oward and a traitor for abandoning the Dragonkind; Dramagon would never do the same. His fires burned true.

  Ardan said, Of course, the shield must allow the passage of inanimate physical objects.

  Three minds fixed upon him. What did you say, Shadow?

  Give the Onyx credit for basic intelligence, Masters, he sneered. Should a planet not breathe; should not all within grow stale and Imbalanced if all ingress and egress were cut off? The protections are phasic and highly nuanced in nature, developed for purposes limited mortal creatures such as ourselves cannot possibly imagine –

  Silence! roared Secondary.

  No, allow the Shadow to enlighten us, Tertiary snapped, cuffing his shell brother sharply with a psychic buffet.

  Ardan said, I postulate that Numistar travelled in the form of a comet because only inanimate rock could safely cross the void between the stars, and upon arrival, she did reanimate herself using a power similar to that which Azhukazi must exert when reanimating his own bones. That is what we seek, is it not? They are one and the same capacity.

  The third Thoralian sneered, Well, Shadow, a useful insight at last. You are not as much the gormless worm as you appear.

  Prime noted, These thoughts are hardly his own. He has been reading the Dragonfriend’s lore. Where is the Star?

  Already far ahead, Masters.

  Carefully, Ardan summoned the Thoralians’ mental map and placed the Mistral Fires upon it, and then noted Aranya’s location in relation to the individual members of the triplicate, his own position sixty-three leagues North of her route, and Yiisuriel bringing the enemy forces steadily along behind at a speed of four to five leagues per hour – moving fast, for Air Breathers. Four dark minds considered the conundrum. None of the Dragons wasted time nor breath questioning how Aranya could possibly have divined where the quarry was. Star Dragons had their ways.