by Marc Secchia
Harder! Harder! They rose into a patchy layer of cumulous clouds.
“Disguise,” Azania breathed.
Ha. She was right. White Dragon against white clouds. Could do worse.
Now, he cruised amongst beauty. Soft, innocent flotillas of clouds surrounded them, flattish on the undersides and cotton-puff fluffy on their tops. The suns dipped toward the horizon, slowly, yet never faster in his opinion. If only one could arrest time. Just this once, tell the suns not to go fishing in the farthest oceans.
“Breathtaking,” the Princess said.
“Aye. Even I’m pausing for a peek. My life might just be about to end in a headlong dive into a cliff, but I’m definitely going to go out enjoying the view.”
“That’s the attitude,” she said sarcastically.
“I know. I’m a sunbeam on wings.”
The resident sunbeam rested twice for thirty seconds at a time, before resuming the relentless wingbeat. More power. More! No, smoother wing strokes. More cunning, more dextrous awareness of the changeable winds and air pressures that kept them aloft. This one for Yarimda. This next, for Wavewhisperer. Another for Inzashu. One more that would bring him closer to his dam. Ten for his Rider. Twenty!
Pouring over the last of the channel’s thirty-mile width and on to the next island, the greenest yet, Dragon groaned at the strain. Pretty useless if he burst a few hearts trying to get there on time.
Azania said, “As best I can tell, we’re bang on target.”
“If we can sustain this pace. I’m in agony.”
“Spectacles?”
“You look for us. I’m afraid they’d only blow off my head.”
“Alright. I think I can see that group of Dragonesses ahead. It’s heck of a far, however. We might overhaul them before they get there.”
“Serves them right. Slackers.”
“Only because you’re so quick, Dragon. Next idea. Focus your magic into yourself. You were able to help Inzashu with healing, right? So, heal yourself.”
He tried, and after a few minutes, found some measure of relief. Ten minutes later, he was gasping again, however, his wings burning and shaking. Risk a swift glide? He had to.
She said, I wish I could do something to help him. This beautiful Dragon’s doing all the work and here I sit like an overgrown, less wrinkly version of a prune –
A gasp of laughter tore from his chest. A prune?
Azania’s turn to gasp! She said, “How did you know what I thought, Dragon? I didn’t speak aloud.”
“No? Not a word of a lie?”
“I said I didn’t!”
He said in his mind:
O beauty serene,
Her soul’s breath trembles,
The clouds of doubt …
Now, poetry? Whatever moves your wings faster, you great big lug! Save your breath for flying.
Dragon bit his lip. Impossible!
Yet, had they done this before? How else might she have developed a sudden command of fluent Draconian, if not by this route – this togetherness of mind? This energy called … telepathy?
She said, “Now is not the time to be silly, my friend. Energy is for flying.”
He thought, No, energy is for hanging disrespectful Princesses off the nearest cloud and thwacking their pert behinds into shape.
Dragon! You are so inappropriate!
It’s only a thought.
Only a – she pulled up at last. Her body quivered against his neck. So do you hear this – go stuff a cork up your left nostril, you impossible nuisance?
Cork, left nostril –
No way! I’m thinking like a Dragon.
At last. The first Human being in history to achieve enlightenment.
Dragon! She laughed, however. How she laughed! Then, she said, Some things in life are truly unexpected, like paws appearing through tower walls, and having a secret language to share with my best friend. This is so amaaaaa-zing!
There she went with her happy dance routine.
Why had her zest for life ever annoyed him? She was the perfect foil to his trenchant inner voice, the one that flayed him more surely than his family ever had.
Azania said, Alright, then. If we can do that, try this.
After a long wait, she explained that she was trying to share her strength with him, just as Inzashu and he had been able to support one another.
Excellent idea! he enthused.
The distraction of experimentation was more than welcome. Azania, mentally, was the diametric opposite of her sister. Inzashu was structured, trained, disciplined. Everything she did felt well thought-out and logical. The older sister was a bonfire, spitting with ideas and capability but no framework within which to realise what she was capable of. Yet, as always, their compatibility somehow seemed rooted in difference rather than likeness, as deep as Dragon and Human, black or white, male or female. Perhaps Aria was similar to her; perhaps that was the cause of the spark between them?
To be honest, he had no real idea. Why was the wind?
Why was … love?
Too many doubts swirled in his mind to allow that word sway. How could he allow himself to think of her that way, when he hardly knew her at all? At most it must be attraction, a lethal infatuation.
Then, he and Azania found one another. What was this between them? They shared strength, the miles now flowing joyously beneath their wings, the stroke strong and smooth and indefatigable, the drifting clouds their company only for so long as it took them to overtake and leave them far behind. His hearts sang. His powerful body rejoiced in its labour.
Dragons said that there was nothing new under the suns, yet here they were. Dragon and Dragon Rider. Stronger together.
Get through this, and there might be hope of rescuing Azerim.
That must be his hope. Should all else fail, he must do what was best for his Princess.
Chapter 25: Fiery Nuptials
FIVE MILES AWAY, THE dormant volcano of Mykita Lair cut a stark, lonely outline against the backdrop of the setting suns and the fiery ocean beyond. The cone was green and lightly forested, silhouetted against the vast bulk of the giant red sun, which touched the horizon now, sinking by the second.
Creeping up his skull, Azania pressed his spectacles into place. “What do you see?”
Many Dragons winged toward the site. He had entertained notions of arriving like a white thunderbolt from the blue. Now, he considered a different approach.
Sneakily does it.
“There’s Aria! I see her! She’s right in that clump of Dragons that are just flitting over the rim, Highness.”
They watched the Isles Dragons disappear within.
“Going to be close,” she commented.
“I’m sure there will be oodles of draconic pomp and ceremony before any actual vows are exchanged.”
“Plan?”
“I plan to land on the far rim, against the setting suns. See what’s happening. That group behind us won’t arrive for another hour at least. Before then – whatever happens, happens.”
What might just happen beforehand was the final demise of his wings.
Ready to drop off.
His flight muscles burned like never before. His chest ached, the joints protested every movement, and the strain of exhaustion burned through both of their bodies. If any fighting was required, he would just have to request a recess until the morrow. This Dragon was done.
A mile off, they both startled and cried out as a knot of draconic bodies burst out over the rim, fighting as only fabulous martial artists could. The Dragonesses swirled into the air and around the cone, at least two dozen in hot pursuit of none other than an unmistakeable cobalt beauty, Ariamyrielle Seaspray. Even from this distance, they beheld her panic and fury. She knocked out four in a blur of action before the mass subdued her and wrestled her back toward the dormant caldera.
Azania let out a breath she had clearly been holding. “That looks familiar.”
It took him forever to work out what
she meant – a reference to the day he had found her, chained to a bed in that high tower with Prince Floric fully prepared to violate her honour. What kind of nuptials were these if these Dragonesses had to subdue the victim?
Aria was not going quietly.
The Princess snarled, “What the hells are you waiting for, Dragon?”
“Right you are.”
Folding his wings, he plummeted from the sky.
No time to think anymore. No time for plans. All he knew was the whistling rush of the wind in his ears, and the incongruous sight of a flower-festooned flight of male Dragons turning stately loops inside the caldera. The Dragonesses appeared to be mesmerised by the performance. Not one looked up as the speed of his drop hit terminal velocity.
Azania clung to his neck like a limpet. I’m fine. Don’t slow down.
Death dive? No. This was a life dive.
There had to be five hundred Dragons packed inside that caldera, many more than he had expected. The females were small and razor-sharp, like Aria, and all were armed with the deadly kaniaxi blades Aria wielded to such incredible effect. The males were chunky and plump in the belly. Indeed, what he would have taken for Dragons being rather overweight must be a most desirable trait here in the Archipelago, to the point that their wings looked faintly ridiculous. Could they even fly far, or did they waddle?
The younger set stood around the fringes, intermingled with the hatchlings, fledglings and egg-heavy females.
In contrast to the green outer slopes, the interior of the caldera was black volcanic sand, with a murky, circular crater lake right in the centre. Beside this stood a male – he assumed – festooned in quite the most astonishing collection of jewellery Dragon had ever seen. He wore so much gold and silver and gemstone finery, the poor thing could barely stand, let alone could one tell his actual colour with any certainty. A king’s ransom had nothing upon what that chump wore – the lucky groom, to jump to his second conclusion.
Was it wrong to hate his guts at first sight?
Not far from the groom, a pile of bodies twitched and twisted as if possessed of a weird, alien form of life. Eventually, Ariamyrielle Seaspray emerged with three Dragonesses holding either wing, several clasping each paw and her tail, and two sitting upon her back to hold her down. Two more gripped her head and neck in what looked to be painful headlocks.
A larger copper female took a stance between the shy male and the spitting mad female.
Let me guess, Azania said heavily. Surprise wedding?
Oh! Finally, what he was seeing made sense. Aria must have been royally duped.
The Isle Dragons fairly filled the caldera from rim to rim, but they all stood upon the sands and a little ways up the sides. The centre looked awfully uninviting. Might as well hop onto a Dragon-sized gallows and pull the noose tight by himself. The copper female began to make a speech they could not hear. Her audience ruffled their wings in time with her statements and thundered their approval. Morons.
I heard that.
Gnarr!
Oh, I agree. Now I see why Aunt Ignita taught us that every culture has its dark secrets. Remember that lecture?
Aye, I do.
How bad – whatever that meant – must Aria have been to merit this treatment from Clan and kin? Certainly, she could not have told him the full story. Far from it. Nor did she know much of his history, he reminded himself, because he still found it difficult to share details about what he had been through.
So many scars.
Maybe they had more in common than he had imagined?
Whatever that speech was all about, the copper female held them in the palm of her paw. Not one Dragon noticed the white comet plunging from the skies. Annoying and an ego-crusher, but actually rather useful in the greater scheme of things, for he had never in his life enjoyed direct confrontation. It rubbed against the lay of his scales.
Flaring his wings, Dragon brought them to a hard landing just ten Dragon paces below the rim on the outside, and willed his numb knees to do something useful.
Gallop up there. Show himself. Invite instant death.
Perfect plan.
So, my daughter. Ready to make your vows and do your Clan proud?
Not on your – her voice choked off.
She’s ready, the female announced. Dragons of the Isles, let this joyous day roar to the heavens! By the right vested in me as the First Warrior of the Isles, Potentate of Dragonesses, Mighty Sceptre of Oceanic Justice and Ruler of the Waves, I, Charielle Seaspray of the Dragons of the Archipelago, declare these nuptials open. First paw, according to Dragon tradition, if any creature has reason under draconic law to object to the long overdue union of my first and most precious egg, Ariamyrielle Seaspray, to this choice male of the finest lineage, let her voice her thunder now, or forever hold silence in all five hearts!
Every Dragon held their breath. Aria squirmed and struggled, but the two bigger Dragonesses holding her had her jaw clamped shut. Nonetheless, she still managed to make a decent racket. That would be Aria, through and through.
His throat worked. Aria, o Aria …
I object!
At first, he had no idea where the scream had come from.
Princess Azania! She stood upon his neck, screaming defiance and shaking her fists in a fury. The only problem was, those in the centre did not hear her above the sounds of Aria’s struggling. A couple of heads beneath them turned as if casting about for a sea bird which had the temerity to caw at the wrong moment.
Raising her right forepaw, Charielle Seaspray said, I there –
III – AAAMM – DRRRAAGGOONN!!
The belling of his draconic outrage cracked across the caldera. Dragons and Dragonesses alike almost tripped over their paws as the sound waves, with the benefit of excellent acoustics, echoed around the space multiple times.
To his shock, Azania popped a finger out of her ear. I knew you’d do that. Voice your objection, Dragon. She closed her ear again.
I OBJECT!! he boomed.
Very objectionable of you, she agreed brightly. Alright. Next move?
Hold on tight.
The Isles Dragons watched in stunned tableaux as he tipped off the rim of their caldera and floated down toward the centre upon wings that threatened to buckle at any second. Landing neatly between Aria and her dam, he gathered his paws beneath him and gazed down upon Charielle Seaspray with what he fervently hoped was an expression of terrible majesty.
Terribly tired, more to the point. Ready to pitch forward on his nose for a second time, and sleep for a year. Now that would be truly majestic.
Summoning up his inner younger brother, he snarled, I don’t believe I was invited to the nuptials.
Who are you, noble … Sea Dragon?
Tell me, Charielle Seaspray, is it common at such a happy event for Isles Dragons to chain down the male so as they cannot move, and to force meaningless oaths and vows into a female’s mouth? For once in his life, words flowed from his tongue, rich with sarcasm and ripe with meaning. May I meet the intended couple fortunate enough to merit this tender care from the Dragons of the Isles, whose reputation flies so high?
Turning his flank upon the prickly copper Dragoness as if she did not matter, Dragon courteously made a paw step to help Azania to alight. He formed his shoulders into an intimidating bunch as he stepped toward Ariamyrielle Seaspray – more for her captors, than her. Did she recognise him? Not as yet, perhaps. She suspected much …
The Isles Dragonesses murmured in shock and amazement at a Human turning up amidst their congregation.
Charielle spat, “You … dare? Who are you?”
Throwing back her hood, the tiny girl bowed all around. Honoured Dragons of the Isles, I am the Princess Azania of T’nagru, the Desert Kingdom, appointed Ambassador to the Dragons.
Aria’s jaw would have dropped if it were possible.
Her despairing eyes flickered with new fires as she mouthed, Dragon?
The Dragoness roared meantime, Why are you h
ere? What is this – a sand crab riding upon a Dragon?
Our kingdom being under threat of invasion by the Skartun, who enslave Dragons, lock them in metal cages and torture them in the most unspeakable ways, Azania explained, Dragon and I flew over the ocean to seek aid from the mightiest Dragon warriors of all, the fabled Dragonesses of the Isles. You are these, are you not?
Of course we are!
Focussing upon Aria, Dragon thundered, Release her at once!
Half of the Dragonesses holding her sprang loose, assuming defensive postures that reminded him how hatchling-soft his nice new hide was, and how much he preferred it un-holey, while the others clung on tighter.
Released to speak, the Cobalt Dragoness spluttered, D-Dragon? You – it’s you, isn’t it?
Aye, Aria. The new, improved me, come to –
Mmm, she purred, before clamping her jaw shut, but it was enough. Too much.
Utter betrayal of her feelings.
Aria’s dam screeched, Unacceptable! Vows will not be broken while I am potentate of these isles. Warriors, seize this ridiculous foreign male!
Four warrior Dragonesses sprang at him, intent on some sort of disabling nastiness.
He did not pause to ask questions or comment on how pretty their butterfly-like wings were. STOP!! His sonic thunderclap reverberated out of his chest, smashing two down and two aside. They landed in moaning heaps; one Dragoness bled out of both ear canals. I would not suggest you try that again.
Ooh. He actually sounded as if he knew what he was doing.
Novel.
In a flash, Ariamyrielle Seaspray wriggled free of her stunned captors and rushed to his side – one, to greet him with a stinging wing flick, and two, to assume a protective, belligerent stance before his nose, wings outspread, fangs bared, slender Dragoness haunches gleaming …