by Marc Secchia
The young teen shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
“No, you did anything but. Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Yazina,” Huari said. “I feel that this is important intelligence. Yes?”
Nods around the table.
Aranya asked rhetorically, “How does one entrap a Chameleon?”
“They are perfectly the person they represent,” Ri’arion noted. “They are the perfect mimic. Even the memories are duplicated, or subsumed … or whatever they do.”
“Chanbar would be an incredibly bold choice,” Dhazziala put in. “Forgive me, child, but he would present a significant target for any Chameleon.”
Unless the takeover was accomplished long ago, Ri’arion added for the adults alone.
Boldness indeed, Ardan observed drily.
They discussed the matter back and forth for several tens of minutes, narrowing the possible approaches down before discarding them each in turn. Aranya tented her fingers, trying to think it all through. If every element was a perfect duplication, they had to flush the Chameleon out of hiding. Trap him in a mistake, a misperception, a lie … better still, in true Herimor style, they must lay a snare within a snare.
She turned to Yazina, measuring the girl’s demeanour. “What I’m about to ask of you will require great courage.”
The dark curls bobbed to the tune of an audible gulp. “Alright.”
“If your father is indeed a Chameleon Shapeshifter, or possessed by a Chameleon, we need to trap him in a lie. Something that he believes is true, wrongly – a lie that we feed him. Then, we use the fact that he pursued Asturbar and Iridiana before, to spring our surprise.”
“Flush him out; bring the lie as proof? Interesting tactic,” said Ri’arion. “It could work.”
“Won’t he smell a lie?” asked Ardan.
“No, I don’t think so. Not if it’s fed to him by someone he trusts,” Aranya said. “Yazina, we’ll need your help to strike just the right note – for your father’s sake?”
The girl nodded again. “Yes. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
She departed twenty minutes later with a mission.
“Brave girl,” Gang said.
Flicking back her blue hair in frustration, Huari said, “I don’t like it. I’m not at all certain this will work. If Chanbar is the Chameleon, who knows how long he might have been hiding his presence? He could just call her out on the misinformation straight away, or if he discovers why she left –”
“Hopefully that’s been taken care of by the excuse of tracking down medications,” Zip noted, “but what if the Chameleon has other informants? He must also participate in the mental network. Her performance is key.”
Curling her warm tail jealously about Aranya’s neck, Sapphire spoke for the first time that evening. “Tell girl to speak at bedtime.”
“Why, Sapphire?” Aranya asked in surprise.
“Scratch,” demanded the dragonet. After the obligatory scratching, stroking and a few compliments, she purred lazily, “Sleepy, warm Humans are silly. Chameleon like Human, yes? Have silly emotions, like clouds over mind, yes-yes?”
On that hilarious but insightful note, Ardan swiftly departed to brief Yazina en route about the best timing for slipping the lie to her perhaps-father, while the companions pressed choice snippets of meat upon Sapphire until the mite was fed fit to burst.
Thereafter, the conversation remained grave.
* * * *
By two hours after midnight, the plan was already unravelling. Immediately after putting his children to bed, Chanbar had departed by fast Dragonship to consult with potential allies some one hundred leagues Northwest, leaving Ardan in a fang-champing fury and Aranya scratching her head. His behaviour appeared perfectly normal. Could they have mistaken him? How had they overlooked his exit when Yiisuriel was primed to keep track of his mental signature? Could the Chameleon somehow have become aware of Leandrial’s subterfuge? Something did not add up.
For four hours, Ardan hunted other anomalies which a new programme of magical checks designed by Aranya had thrown up, but in the end, they had to admit failure. They were just about to start the process of alerting Yiisuriel and chasing Leandrial, when alarms crashed throughout the Air Breathers. They were under attack – from beneath, by Theadurial-infested rock borers!
There followed one of the strangest battles Ardan or Aranya had ever partaken in. Land Dragon allies delved beneath the besieged Air Breathers while hordes of Lesser Dragons attempted to reach the basal parts of the Air Breathers from within and stop the fast-drilling borers from damaging any vital organs. Within hours, the mental network was under powerful attack from first tens and then thousands of durable Theadurial minds, which linked themselves together in order to defy even the combined might and wiles of Yiisuriel and the Star Dragoness. Meantime, Brown Dragons and Overminds worked to bodily dig out the invaders.
Was this a parting gift courtesy of the Thoralians?
Since it was too late to move the Air Breathers to a safer location, the work became dull and attritional, being a case of digging out the embedded borers and slicing through their dense metallic armour to reach or burn out the thin, stick-like Theadurial parasites within.
To their grief, as too many borers penetrated through to crucial mind nodes, they lost three of the older, injured Air Breathers and one youngster before they were able to turn the tide. Dozens of Land Dragons also fell prey to borers that reversed course and drilled into their bodies, despite their magical protections, to deliver a toxic Theadurial payload before they could be stopped. This was not about infestation. The invading parasites overloaded the nervous systems of their unwilling hosts before perishing in the backlash.
Late that evening as they finally returned from the battlefront, Ardan said, Much as I hate to say this, Aranya, but I feel it’s time to trigger our departure.
Must we?
Chanbar might already be closing in on Asturbar and Iridiana. He has over a day’s lead on us and your sister, four days. Given the distances involved, and the fact that the Chameleon could take on any disguise at all … time leans against.
The Amethyst Dragoness smiled wearily at her mate’s Western Isles expression. Time leaned? Very apt, she said. Aye, you are right, mine third heart. We’ll make a big broadcast –
So that if he doesn’t already know where Leandrial is –
NO! she thundered, biting his shoulder. Her Humansoul fell over laughing at Ardan’s expression, which he did not appreciate in the slightest. Uh, sorry. The petite Dragoness composed herself, and then purred sweetly, Great leaping Islands, Ardan, I can’t even get my jaw around those boulders you call shoulder muscles.
He dangled his wingtip in front of her muzzle. Better?
He almost lost a foot of wing membrane for that jest, but Aranya, who in her Dragoness form was significantly less than half of his hundred-and-five foot length, besides that she was fetchingly slim to his musclebound bulk, bathed his flank in a stream of gentle, warming yellow flame. Good joke, Your Very Sooty Handsomeness.
Aargh! He could fall for her every day until eternity.
Apparently, his reaction was most pleasing to a Dragoness, for right there in the centre of a very busy upper hangar inside of Yiisuriel, she surprised him with the very un-Immadian gesture of a public neck nuzzle that had a few of the older Dragons nearby rumbling and commenting favourably. The Amethyst’s fires surged sweetly at his responsive wing caress.
Then, he called out, Yiisuriel, where is Leandrial? Her signature remains fixed in one location, does it not? Why did she not run to our aid?
Despite the looming darkness of sorrow he sensed in the great Dragoness’ mind, Yiisuriel was quick to respond, She has deceived us! That signature is a static one, already fading with time. WHERE IS SHE?
After a pause as if for thought, Aranya said, Iridiana spoke of seeking the truth of her heritage, for Yazê-a-Kûz boasts no Shapeshifters. It is a mountain-shaking matte
r with her – her family had her imprisoned and effectively tortured when she came into her powers, before –
I DO NOT CARE TO HEAR THE HISTORY OF FILTH AND LIES! Yiisuriel fumed at a headache-inducing volume. It is that Leandrial; it’s her ignoble influence that has led us to this strait. We need to pass through Yazê-a-Kûz territory. I’ve no desire to pick a war with such a powerful realm. Someone must go and stop her. Noble Huaricithe. This is your task.
Through the shared mind, Huari responded, My relationship with Sanzukê and Uxâtate Shan-Jarad is not on the best footing, noble Yiisuriel.
How? came the blunt query.
Once, I inadvertently supplied Dragons and resources to their enemies, an error of judgement for which I have not been forgiven.
I sense opportunity, Ri’arion cut in. His mental signature was as hard-edged as diamond. Deterring the Chaos Shifter from her indubitable quest for vengeance would win us honour and favour with Shan-Jarad. I say, dispatch the Star Dragoness to treat with the Kahilate. Even these famously abstruse autocrats must surely bend an ear to one of her eminence, must they not? I am not well-versed in the politics of Wyldaroon –
Nor I, the Air Breather admitted after another pause. Ardan wondered if she considered what she must surely have sensed; Aranya’s unspoken desire for a little wingtip room. Marshal Huaricithe?
Better her than me, came the narked response. But it must not be a large delegation, nor any affair involving proxies. Face-to-face meetings are received best.
Yiisuriel said, Aranya. Decide.
Amplify me. She gathered her concentration. LEANDRIAL, RETURN FORTHWITH!!
Ardan winced at the incredible volume Aranya achieved, but more so at the tone of Leandrial’s wordless retort, heard seconds later – effectively a rude salute followed by a deliberate cessation of communication.
As posited, Yiisuriel rumbled, apparently satisfied by being proven right. Her mental faculties began to divert to other issues.
With your leave, Ardan and I will prepare to fly at once, said the Amethyst Dragoness. I shall also prepare the necessary protocols and directives for rulership and decision-making.
The Shadow Dragon disguised a wide smirk. As in, the details they had already decided upon days ago. This was how the Immadian Fox had evaded and out-thought the dominant power of the North for over a decade. Clearly, there could be no doubt about Aranya’s lineage.
O plot most nefarious, actioned, the Azure Dragoness put in privately. Aranya, I’ve a feeling … we should also take along Sapphire, the Chrysolitic dragonets, and Yazina. The Chanbar Chameleon will give chase, of that I am convinced.
Future sight, petal? Aranya asked.
Oyda called it Nak’s nose for trouble. He was invariably right.
When he wasn’t sniffing around girls’ skirts, Ri’arion added self-righteously. Whatever his wife said to him in there, it elicited a squawk of outrage from the ex-monk.
Our pursuit of the First Egg must not be delayed! boomed the mental congregation.
So it was.
Chapter 18: Hunting Abroad
AS A BLAZING dawn spread its wings across the eastern skies, Ardan surged up out of the Cloudlands, greeting the new day with an involuntary bugle of delight. He wriggled his wingtips and stretched the length of his spine with the sinuous grace of a feline, prompting Yazina to clutch Aranya’s waist either side of the spine spike that separated them in his double saddle. The Dragon’s great muscular girth had prompted the armourers and outfitters to make hasty modifications to the Herimor-style saddle, an ornate affair not made of leather like those Aranya had seen in Remoy, but fashioned from a tough, fibrous cloth apparently sourced from hot-climate succulent plants, with additional padding sewn in. Saddle-side nets held basic supplies to Aranya’s left and more importantly to her right, a cotton-stuffed basket inside which the dragonets had burrowed a miniature travel warren.
Typically, they were enjoying the scenery to the tune of a surprisingly rambunctious, sevenfold snooze-fest.
The Dragon fixed a fiery eye upon his Riders. “Alright there, ladies?”
“I just can’t get used to the idea that this Dragon is also Ardan,” Yazina said, trying to act casual as she sat back again.
“Same guy,” he growled, flexing his forelegs until his back and shoulder muscles popped beneath his Riders.
Aranya kicked him playfully. “Stop showing off. You’ll snap your girth strap in a minute. Why don’t you make yourself useful and teach Yazina about Dragons?”
The Shadow growled, “Alright, listen up, youngster. Dragons are bossy, especially the female ones, and Star Dragons, they’re the worst … just when you’re about to wax romantic about the richness of the crimson suns-rise touching those floating Islands ahead of us, they’re chuntering, ‘No. Get to work, you lazy Dragon. Make yourself useful.’ ”
“Oh, is that so?” Aranya objected. “Here’s some news for you, Shadow. You’re fired.”
Yazina’s eyebrows danced in delight.
Ardan said, “Well, let me tell you a thing or three – actually, I’ll make you a deal. You tell us all you know about Asturbar and Iridiana. Then I’ll further your education.”
Don’t be grumpy, Sha’aldior, Aranya admonished.
Yazina only laughed. “Huh, you sound just like Asturbar, Black Dragon. Is now when I confess that Yiisuriel ordered me to look after you two?” Over Ardan’s rising rumble of aggravation, she said boldly, “So I shall attempt to further your education in matters Wyldaroon – if I may be so bold, noble Ardan?”
Her wistful tone made him chuckle deeply. “I am no Dragon to stand on ceremony, Yazina. We have an understanding, I believe.”
The girl related how she had stowed away on her father’s Dragonship as the Marshal attempted to beat Azhukazi the Iolite Blue to the prize – the Jewels of Instashi – and how Nyahi had accused her father of attempted murder and brought about his downfall as Marshal of the Mistral Fires.
She did not sound embittered, but chattered the hours away as Ardan and Aranya peppered her with questions.
They flew directly northeast for that day and more northerly the four days following, skirting the western periphery of Yazê-a-Kûz territory as they attempted to spy out what countermeasures the notoriously reclusive and impenetrable realm would have put in place against any incursion by Dragons. No data or rumour they had uncovered, not even Huaricithe’s detailed knowledge of Wyldaroon’s magic, had shed any light on what their protections might be. By day they progressed with obdurate haste past flotillas of increasingly lush Islands, inhabited by many species of dragonets and unfamiliar bird, insect and reptilian life, with Ardan and Aranya taking turns to convey the group in their Dragon forms. Around noon of the second day aloft Yiisuriel confirmed by long-distance communication that Chanbar was indeed missing, as was his Dragonship and all of its crew. That could be no coincidence.
In the evenings they took opportunity to rest upon floating Islands and to hunt for the protein that would sustain their Dragon forms for this long haul. Each time Aranya was able to detect what she felt was a hint of disturbance in the Balance caused by Leandrial’s passage, the Land Dragoness was hundreds of leagues ahead. Indefatigable. Fast-moving and dauntless of purpose. Now Ardan flew nights whilst Aranya took the daytime, setting themselves a punishing pace in pursuit of their allies.
At length the triangulation of distances began to work against them and the Shapeshifter Dragons made the inevitable decision that they must strike for the capital city of Sanzukê or risk losing further ground to Leandrial.
Sanzukê lay in a protected bay in the north-easternmost corner of their huge realm, protected by the mountain range called ‘the Roof of the World’ to the East, with many peaks over five leagues tall capped with permafrost and year-round snows. This monolithic barrier separated Wyldaroon from Herimor for over five thousand leagues from the Straits of Hordazar to the Rift Storms of the North – unbroken save for the dangerous pass Zuziana had found before.
/> One morning Aranya lifted her eyes, seeing through Ardan’s Dragon sight, and whispered, “Oh, would you look at that! Snow! It’s snow, Ardan!”
“Those patches of white?” asked Yazina, sounding baffled by the emotion in Aranya’s voice.
Oh Ardan, I never imagined how I’d feel, to see snow again …
He failed to see the attraction, but he understood the wonder pulsing delicately through their oath link. Had he to see Ur-Naphtha again, not scorched but budding once more … Aye, beloved. We shall return. Never fear.
“The weather is much cooler here,” the Shadow Dragon observed aloud, running his shielding checks one more time. They had used every ounce of knowledge they had gleaned from the Dragonfriend’s lore to try to ensure that their approach would remain undetected, or they might face unwelcome delays.
“Look, the colours of the trees are already turning to autumn,” Aranya pointed out.
“They do that?” asked Yazina.
“Not where I come from either – it’s always hot and green,” Ardan said. “Nor is there snow. These Northerners are a strange breed, I tell you.”
The teen chuckled; Sapphire wound herself closer about Aranya’s neck, and her brood of dragonets wriggled reflexively within her warm amethyst robe, as if they were all of one mind. Ardan did agree that the autumnal colours were starting to promise magnificence, with the crowns of the heavily forested Islands starting to turn orange and yellow and russet, while great flocks of golden shimmerbirds wheeled in the skies beneath their altitude, gobbling up airborne insects by the million. Steadily, the ambient temperatures changed from Wyldaroon’s stifling heat to remind the Immadian of the cool, forested climes of her native Isles. Every one of the thousands of Islands they passed was grey beneath and thickly forested atop, aside from clusters which appeared to have been deliberately cleared for farming diverse types and colours of grains, vegetables and unfamiliar fruit. The mountains formed a magnificent backdrop to the sea of floating Islands, and the overall impression where they saw civilisation was of peace, prosperity and abundance.