by Marc Secchia
Inzashu-N’shula had a helpless fit of the giggles. They had no idea how rude it was to belch in Skartun, clearly. People had been murdered for lesser offences. Often.
With four little Humans to guard during the nights, Dragon had to spread himself wider than before. He took the Princesses upon his forepaws and nestled the other pair in the crook of his tail, spreading his wing over them later on to ward off the night chill. Four cosy fleas – meant in the fondest sense of the word, of course. Oops. Fleas preferred fur to scales. Pah!
His kind always slept with one eye open a crack. Nothing bothered them out here, however. Come a dawn of towering sky fires over the ruddy desert, they broke camp and flew on, ever northward, seeking the next landmark of the broad, sluggish and highly dangerous Skaggar River that divided the Blood Desert from the Umber Steppes.
He flew fast but in shorter stretches for Yarimda’s sake. The barren crimson rock of the Blood Desert passed beneath them all morning, about half a mile below. Before noon, they already caught sight of the turquoise, meandering river in the distance.
“Dragons on our tail,” Azania gasped.
“What?” He turned his neck sharply. “Gnarr, I wasn’t paying attention. Pass my spectacles, please?”
“The clouds didn’t help,” the Princess pointed out. “Must have been trailing us for a good few miles to have gotten this close. Shrewd.”
Inzashu inquired, “Are they friendly, Dragon?”
He took a long look. “I highly doubt it. Those are no Dragons I’ve ever seen around the Tamarine Mountains. Judging by the wing angles and speed, my guess is that they’re chasing us.”
“Terror Clan?” Azania guessed.
“Spavined rock-chewing lizards!” he gritted between his fangs. “Aye, that’s a good call. Three adult male greens. Three on one is not cheerful odds.”
“Three on five.”
“Princess, I – I should have kept a better watch. They’re already too close to hide from or outfly. I’m heavily loaded.”
“You are indeed,” Azania agreed. “Yardi, can you handle a bow and supply Dragon with quarrels? I’ll set up the Dragon bow up top. Inzashu, there’s a bow and arrows in the gear beside your left knee. Yarimda –er …”
“I can handle a bow,” she said.
“Good,” he agreed.
“Dragon, remember what Juggernaut said about protecting your Rider with your wings?”
“Aye. We mustn’t let them get too close. I can handle anything coming in from below, but it’s the vertical attack that’ll be problematic given the way we’re burdened. If they’re smart, they’ll figure that out straight away. Girls – ladies, even – helmets and protective gear, please. It’s very likely we’re going to feel some flame. Our strategy will be to lure them in, then try to get shots away with the Dragon bows and my flame, which has a range no Dragon will expect. Yarimda says it’s far hotter as well. If we can incapacitate one and wound another in that first tangle, we’ll stand a chance.”
Quietly, for him alone, Yarimda whispered, Three on one is deadly odds, Dragon. We’ve put you in mortal danger.
I’ve never run from vengeful Terror Clan Dragons before, honoured Yarimda. This was completely unexpected. My question is, where did they come from and how much do they know about our capabilities?
Aye, right you are. You’ve got this, Dragon. Courage!
Stretching his wings to gain altitude, he led the greens on a merry chase toward the canyon from which the Skaggar River poured down out of the mountains. This gave his crew time to arm themselves. They donned gloves and helms in addition to their armour, and even neck protection meant to ensure that at least a quick blast of Dragon fire would not penetrate. Meantime, the trio of greens came on fast, flying aggressively to catch up.
Would there be a nice river cavern down there in which to hide, change the odds …
“Spectacles, Dragon,” Azania reminded him.
“Thanks. Yarimda?”
“I’ll pack them away, young Dragon.”
“What’s in the river that’s so dangerous?” Yardi inquired meantime. “Pretty colour but quite shallow, I think. How many quarrels, Dragon?”
“Three, please.”
Azania said, “Shoals of carnivorous fish. Nasty creatures. I once saw a trader who had managed to bring some down to N’ginta Citadel, wanting my father to breed them in the water cisterns. Father suggested the man jump into a barrel with his own fish. Never had time for fools.”
Dragon! Stop and fight, you slack-winged coward! Donkey! I spit upon your ancestors’ accursed eggs!
“Donkey? Sure getting creative,” he growled. “I guess that confirms the friendliness angle. So, team, do we wait for them to take up their positions, or shall we spring an ambush of our own?”
“Ambush,” said three voices.
Yardi threw up her hands. “Whatever keeps us alive!”
Whirling on his wingtip in a Juggernaut-approved aerial tactic, he kept his momentum moving away from the chasing Dragons, contrary to expectation. All three almost stalled as they anticipated the attack. Picking the nearest target, Dragon charged him, bellowing, Terror Clan scum!
He did not give the roar his all. Save that surprise for closer combat.
Ho, brothers, it’s the flying turd from T’nagru!
So, they knew. How? Where was their lair, their base?
Closing to within a hundred feet, he and Azania unleashed quarrels simultaneously. The enemy green shimmered and split in two! The quarrels hurtled uselessly through nothingness.
Azania spluttered, “What the –”
Suddenly, he was charging at something he knew to be an illusion – only, which was –
“Left, Dragon!” Inzashu screeched. “Sorry –”
“Don’t be sorry, keep calling!” Loading his second quarrel, Dragon let loose from a distance of less than thirty feet. Thwock! Dead centre in the chest.
Then he furled his outer wing, throwing them sharply aside and straight through the illusion. Two smaller bowstrings sang. The winch squealed as a wave of orange fire and heat billowed toward them. He threw up his other wing, shielding his Riders as he took them rapidly past the deeply wounded enemy Dragon, angling for a second Green, who repeated the dividing manoeuvre. The acrid stench of dark magic burned his nostrils as he closed in. The third enemy climbed higher. No time to worry about him as yet.
“Inzashu, which one?”
“He’s … oscillating! Switching … left, now right …”
Cursed dark magic! Lifting his bow, Dragon aimed deliberately and shouted at Azania, “Shoot the right on my mark, Princess!”
His quarrel spat forth with an ugly whurr! At the same time, he pursed his lips and summoned a deathly stream of fire, targeting the image on the left. A flicker of the magic warned him as the Dragon leaped somehow into that incandescent space, and screamed as the searing white fires immolated him. Two arrows plunged into the fires; he could not have told if they hit home, but his Riders were doing their best.
“Now, Princess!”
The green oscillated into his other form again, only to be instantly spitted in the neck by Azania’s quarrel.
“Left and below!” Yardi cried.
The archers fired again as the first green closed in, orange fire gushing from his throat. The instant the arrows sped away, he rolled, presenting his belly and paws to the blast. A tail-lash kept the green away as they corkscrewed apart, but a quick talon tore a six-foot rent in his wing. Dragon cursed in pain.
The middle Dragon was done, falling limply toward the river. A lucky shot; it must have severed the spine or pierced a major artery.
He circled this wounded beast, trying to keep the right distance as well as looking out for the third green, somewhere above. Learning drummed through his mind, issues he knew of only from study. Taking the height was a dominant position in aerial combat, a statement of aggression and danger for the lower creature. Would they attack simultaneously? They must.
&nbs
p; “Loaded,” Azania said.
“My shot’s the feint,” he called.
“Go!”
Surging forward in the air, Dragon fired immediately. Whurr! The Terror Clan green blurred away once more. Handy trick, that, but the second he stabilised, Azania fired a second quarrel and he wore it in the thick muscle of the left shoulder. It did not even penetrate more than three feet. Closing the gap as the other Dragon whirled sideways under the impetus of the shot, he opened his jaw and thundered:
I AM DRAGON!!
The sonic attack stunned him for a vital half-second. Smashing into the other Dragon’s left wing, he yanked it sideways with his forepaws and sank his fangs up to the gums into the upper wing joint, delivering a deep, disabling bite to the sinews.
Azania screamed, “Dragon, above –”
KERBLAM!!
They all rattled together like seeds in a pod as a massive weight smashed into his hindquarters. Pain ripped through his lower back as the third green stabbed his talons deep, hanging on as he dragged Dragon off his fellow marauder.
Brown traitor! You will die like the dog you are! he snarled, sinking his claws in a second time, this time in the lower belly.
He bellowed as the weight dragged him through the sky; he tried to tumble to throw the other off, but the Talon Clan beast was cunning, hanging on with his hooked forepaws and great strength. Pain pulsed through his body as the Dragon ripped at his flanks and tail.
Two greens plummeted helplessly. His wing-bite had been near-perfect, severing the major sinews and nerve bundles serving the wing – still, the Dragon might recover and come to a safe landing, if he did not splash down in the river. Even for a Dragon, that would be fatal. This third one, however, had him in a talon-lock that could easily lead to mortal injuries. He must shake him off or face being disembowelled or having fangs chew down into his spine. Dragon lashed his tail and tried to claw upward with his hind paws, but the wrestler’s lock-pawed grip on his lower belly region was inch-perfect.
Terror Clan traitor! he bellowed.
The green roared, There is no dishonour like bearing Humans upon your back!
Struggling and writhing, he fought to throw the other off. No good. Think, Dragon. Think! Twizzling his neck, he peered over his shoulder. What do you even want with the Skartun, you fools? Don’t you see that they will enslave you, too?
The other Dragon just grinned malevolently, raising his paw. Only a witless slave of Humans stands against the Terror Clan. We will rule all the Dragonkind after this! So tell me, brown slug, which shall I eat first – the little black Princess, or the other one?
He roared the first thing that came to mind. “Princess, cut loose and jump!”
Inzashu screamed as the green’s talons raked her back. She was the hindmost rider, the one in the most danger from this Talon Clan thug. Orange fire surged behind his fangs, but in that instant, Azania’s talon dagger flashed, severing her sister’s saddle belt. Grabbing her about the waist, she dived overboard, bouncing off his flank before falling free.
White fire thundered across his own back, singeing the Dragon’s face. Blinded! The grip released and he fell away, tearing at his eyes and screaming a Dragon’s lament.
“Princess!”
Folding his wings, Dragon rocketed in steep vertical dive toward the river, which was far closer than he had imagined. Air, water, clouds, mountains blurred before his gaze. Not going to make it. The Princesses would be eaten alive!
Chapter 6: Water Fire
SMACKING HIM ABOUT THE earholes with her bow to gain his attention, Yarimda yelled, “It’s too shallow for a dive! Pull up!”
Shallow? Curse it! His weak eyes were no good in situations like this.
Flaring his wings at the last second and adjusting toward where he saw a splodge of tan next to a darker splodge beneath the bright turquoise waters, Dragon landed clumsily, throwing up great white plumes of spray to either side. Poking his muzzle beneath the surface, he was shocked to find everything … clear. Crystal clear, from the rocky bottom to the school of silvery fish mobbing the Princesses, who were trying to swim to the surface while hampered by the weight of their clothing and armour.
The coverage must have saved them, because he saw crimson trailing like a ribbon from Inzashu’s shoulder. The fish loved that, but so far they could only tear at her armour. Instinctively, he pursed his lips and breathed forth his fire. Close, but not directly at them.
In fact, twizzling his neck, he drew a neat circle around their bodies. The silvery fish flitted away.
Azania hung limp in her sister’s arms!
Powering forward with wings and webbed paws pumping, he scooped them up and then breached again. Paddle for safety. He was not sure how to launch himself out of water; now was not the moment to experiment, despite the multiple pinpricks of pain from the fish nibbling at his wounds. They were only a hundred Dragon paces from the northern shore.
“Good work, Dragon!” Yarimda yelled.
Yardi smacked a fish off her grandmother’s arm. “Get off!”
Powering through the water, he surged up over several boulders and then up the bank, beginning to shake himself before realising that ninety-four year-old elders probably would not appreciate such a violent jolting. Majestic Dragon-battling grand-dams!
Gnarr! he approved. Good work, my Riders!
“What’s that?” Yardi asked as he placed the pair of Princesses upon a soft sandbank. Warm, creamy sand. Lovely. Especially since it came without carnivorous fish.
“I said, excellent work.”
Lifting her sister, Inzashu smacked her several times between the shoulders. With a choking cough, half of the river came flooding out. She gasped, heaved a ragged breath and bent over, hacking away. Azania was waterlogged but alive, which was the important part. All alive – they had beaten the odds!
Yardi and Yarimda unbuckled meantime.
The older woman hobbled around to his side, drawing her dagger. “Persistent, aren’t they?” she snorted, spearing at fish which were still stuck inside his wounds, trying to eat their way deeper.
Great. As holey as a moth-eaten carpet.
Yardi rushed around to his other flank to help out there. At the same time, Dragon glanced about for the Terror Clan Dragons. One lay slumped upon the far side of the river, his neck twisted at an impossible angle. Two had fallen into the river; both were surrounded by a boiling mass of white, which he belatedly realised was the toothy fish fighting one another to get at the feast. One was dead, but the other, the wing-bitten Dragon, was being eaten alive.
BWAA-HAA-HARRR!! he thundered over the river.
Worm! shrieked the stricken Dragon, thrashing around with his one working wing. The other had already been eaten away to the bone. Help me – we’ll defeat – aiee! Cowardly worm, don’t just … stand there!
The sight turned his stomach.
Call me Dragon! he thundered, spinning upon the sand to vent his spleen upon the unfortunate traitor. It’s the last thing you’ll ever do!
“Dragon!” Azania gasped.
“What?”
“You knocked Yarimda over – and, aren’t you going to go help him?”
“That cold-hearted coward? Help? What a vile, unthinkable idea. He’s getting the death he so richly deserves, attacking us in a trio. That, Princess –” he stabbed a talon toward the wailing, writhing Dragon “– that is called justice.”
Inzashu wept.
He stooped over the younger girl, indignant. “Come now, Princess. Does that beast not deserve the most horrible fate imaginable?”
“Aye, but that – that … oh, Dragon! Listen to him.”
It dawned upon him, from her reaction and the shadows in Azania’s eyes, that Humans did not prize suffering the same way Dragons did. What thrilled him – the sounds of a cowardly, defeated creature meeting a most befitting end – distressed his companions far beyond what he could bear to inflict. How had he never seen it this way before?
Was there only
one path to honour? No.
With a slow nod, he said, “For your sakes, I shall end him.”
Rising, he coiled his legs and launched out over the waters, spreading his wings in a quick glide. In a moment, he hovered above the other Dragon, wondering if he could bring himself to act against everything he had been taught, what he had imbibed from his sire, dam and Clan – traditions and values which bound him so deeply, he realised. Was he that creature? That old Blitz the Devastator? Or could he be something new?
Please – PLEASE! the green begged shamefully.
It was not about right or wrong, so much as learning to value differences.
To kill now was disgraceful, but who else would ever know? If he cared so much for what other Dragons believed, why had he ever chosen to bear a black Princess upon his back and to declare her his Dragon Rider? Could he ever become himself if he followed their hidebound thinking?
A decision clarified in his mind. He breathed, May your soul find rest, brother.
The Dragon’s agonised eyes registered disbelief and … relief.
Pursing his lips, he directed a stream of white-hot fire down upon him, raising enormous clouds of boiling water and smoke, until the thrashing stopped. The remains of the body drifted away on the current. Back came the fish to finish the feast, those not already fried in the scalding water.
Flicking his wings, he returned to the sandbank, wondering what under the suns he was feeling. Disbelief, or relief of his own?
How odd.
Azania said softly, “Thank you, Dragon.”
He inclined his muzzle, and snuffled gently at Inzashu’s back. “You are wounded and need treatment. I’m sorry about … about being such a Dragon. You see, in my culture, it is regarded as detestable to end suffering before full measure has been returned to the perpetrator of the wrong. We see it as a kind of righteous balance, I suppose. It must seem an awfully strange belief to you.”
She sniffed, shivering at his touch, but then swivelled on her heel to face him. “I … I understand, I think.”
“You do? Ah, sorry.”
“I suppose it’s very silly of me to think that a Dragon will behave, believe and simply be just like a bigger Human.” Inzashu made a very tiny, tremulous quirk of her lips. “What would you say if I told you that many Skartun will kill an infant if its upper teeth come in before the lower ones? They believe the child is cursed.”