by Marc Secchia
Azania, how can we –
I’ll be your eyes. Close them.
WHAA – GNARR!!
Nice Dragon. Good boy, she said, patting his neck. Her tone did not exactly make matters better. Humans talked to hounds like that! At once, however, her mind explained, Speed of thought. Trust me. We can shut that weapon down if we work together, but you’ll need to –
I do trust you.
Trust someone else to be his eyes? This might be the hardest thing he had ever done. Even though he knew Azania better than any other, and they had flown together for months, the act of giving over was one of the hardest things he had ever done. It spat in the eye of draconic pride. Yet the way the dark magic had turned his brains into scrambled egg – it was defence on a whole new level. The Terror Clan knew what they were doing. He would try to protect his mind, but if he did not understand the first thing about how the magic worked …
He called, Dragonesses, we’ll try to shut that weapon down. Will you feint for us? Be wary of that foul magic.
One snapped toward him, Aria’s orders!
NOW!
Squeezing his eyes shut, he readied himself for the Princess’ directions.
Farther around, farther … ninety degrees to your left wing – right now! Aim – higher, her thoughts came in thick and fast. By his sire’s egg, he was not used to being peppered like this. Hundred, ninety, eighty … FIRE!
The world rotated around him, but even as she was yelling at him to remain steady, he found his steadiness – her mind. A rock amidst chaos. Following the minutest promptings of his mind, he focussed his fire and directed it slightly farther upward, before breaking off a millisecond before a violent yet muted explosion smashed against his ears.
The Princess gave a crow of triumph. That’ll show them!
The whirling and tumbling did not abate, but she guided him to a swift landing on the rocky collar around the top of the tower. The Rangers deployed swiftly. Their mission was to find a way inside, to locate and secure King Azerim with all speed. His nostrils flared. The scents of smelted metals, Human flesh and other strange odours filled his senses. His stream of fire must have blown up whatever they had been using to collect or amplify electrical energy. Frightening power. He tried to risk a glance over at the main castle, but his eyes were not doing what they ought to. Towers smeared across the night sky, outlined by one of the moons which lay low but full to his left wing. Was that south? Or north? No way of knowing.
Let’s go help Aria, the voice inside his mind said. Still with me, Dragon?
I’m good. Lead on.
The fire-breather led by the flea.
Too funny. His humour sliced through her stiff response.
They whipped off the sea stack again, her trickle of response suggesting that the mighty Princess had just kidnapped herself a Dragon. Immediately, her thoughts threw eight or ten quarrels at him at once; Dragon slewed between the onslaught and avoided all but one, which pinned him beneath the tail adjacent to the sensitive male parts. Close one. He planned to put those to good use one of these or those days. Would not do to field an injury just there, now!
Azania sent him screaming around the castle, winkling out knots of enemy soldiers, catapults and the odd ballista. Frustrating how good her eyes and battle awareness were. Less impressive how it took them three or four attempts on average to hit any given target, especially since there were ridiculously talented warrior Dragonesses to avoid at every wing flip. Swallowing back a great lump of stinging pride – it helped that they smashed straight through a flagpole she had not seen and warned him about in time – he set about figuring out if he could do more. Could he enhance her awareness, somehow? Perhaps he might filter smells and mix in a draconic awareness of emotions seeping from behind battlements and deep inside well-hidden, crafty lairs that housed archers and ballista engineers alike? Not that one! Innocent children …
Within fifteen minutes or so, it became obvious that the tides of battle were turning. Only the odd ballista was left in operation. He helped burn and smash open the doors to the inner keep. The Rangers rushed within to disable many booby traps and find their way to the staff.
Where’s Gazaram? Find me Gazaram! Aria thundered from the far side of the castle. Dragon. Tower plan four!
That was code to inform him that matters were not proceeding well with the Rangers attempting to penetrate the tower. After accepting a fresh quiver of arrows from a Ranger, the Princess directed him over to the far side. Both searched every shadow for sign of the Lord.
So many places to hide. Nooks and corners and spikes, archways and monsters and overhangs. This castle was a maze.
Flying over to the tower, they found the defenders silent, but the metal structure stood inviolable. Rising winds plucked fitfully at his wings. His emotion-sensing magic could not detect the man either. Dark magic was devilish stuff. He had to get better at this.
The Sankir met them up top. “Haven’t gotten inside as yet. We think Azerim’s being held two levels down from where you blew their machine up.”
Dragon shook his head. His eyes wandered in opposing directions. Headache! “Defenders?”
“Thick on the ground and persistent. Orders seem to be to hold at all costs. We think the King is fine so far, but haven’t got eyeballs on him. Do you think you could melt a way inside?”
“Give it my best shot.”
Puff out that chest. A touch of swagger. Azania certainly rolled her eyes behind his neck as he acted the male Dragon, but she helped him to focus on a spot a foot beneath the room they had blown up, and he started the hard work of melting down the metal. So thick! If he cracked open one eye or another, the stream of white fire appeared to wander sideways, bent toward his paws or bled up into the moon. Only Azania’s presence of mind kept him on track.
The tower’s metal cladding glowed red hot, white where his fire struck it directly.
It’s going. Melting slowly, she encouraged.
Gazaram!
Aria’s cry distracted him. The man advanced onto the bridge at the head of a wedge of warriors all identically clad in unfamiliar banded silver armour. They bore tall oval shields. In the centre of each was a single green stone he recognised with a cold shiver – literally. Coldstones! Only, he also knew them as verdelite, a carrier of magical power. They must have uses apart from keeping an atmosphere cool. Was this stone at the heart of Terror Clan magic?
He bellowed a warning to Aria. Was she even listening? Swooping, the Dragoness clashed violently with the group of men, but they repelled her attack with apparent ease. She did not even appear to harm them despite multiple strikes that were faster than his eye could follow, or Azania’s. After she had beaten them back a couple of feet, the Lord’s warriors drew their swords and advanced upon her.
The weapons glowed with an unholy, greenish light.
Not looking good down there, Azania muttered. Keep drilling that hole!
His flame stuttered.
Blergh. Perfect timing – no, there it went again. A fresh rush poured out of his throat. The metal hissed and bubbled as he stepped toward it, focussing the brilliant beam of white light, willing it to cut deeper, deeper still!
Dashing to the edge, the Princess peered down. They’re pushing her back, Dragon! Some kind of shield … I think?
Go help?
She might kill us afterward, but better that she’s alive to do so!
Faultless logic as always, he grumbled as she swung onto his neck. Doesn’t it ever get boring?
When I’m flying with you? Never, she glibly deflected. Sweet little thing. He had five hearts and every single one of them had a fiery spot for her. What the heck is that weapon Gazaram’s wielding?
As he cleared the tower, his vision finally rushed back together again, from opposite ends of Solixambria, it seemed. Clever trick.
Good thing he still had a brain. This dark magic was a fearful thing, even for a bruiser like him.
Gazaram wielded a metal staff about
six feet in length. A shining two-foot blade protruded from either end. The shaft was liberally studded with gleaming green verdelite gemstones, useful both as handgrips and to supply the eerie power with which he was steadily beating Ariamyrielle Seaspray backward. Her mighty blades smoked where they clashed. Clearly, the warrior Dragoness was at the ‘what the infernal hellfire am I facing here?’ stage of working out her combat strategy, because she gave up ground steadily. Was she concerned about the state of her weapons?
Gnarr-blasted-death! he swore furiously as one of her swords snapped just as he thought about it.
Dive! Dragon collected his fire inside his chest. One hit. One was all it should take. He would sweep Gazaram right off that narrow bridge and smash his followers into oblivion.
Lord Gazaram’s dark cloak swirled around his tall, blocky frame as he whirled his staff through the air, more than holding up against what Dragon would have taken for Aria’s far superior martial arts skills – or was she now in the tower’s ambit, as confused as he had just been? Multiple cuts appeared on her body and wings as if by magic in the couple of seconds it took him to hurtle down to the level of the bridge, which arched about forty feet above the surf.
In the instant his leathery wings snapped open and Dragon made his swoop for the men, fire gathering behind his fangs, the man whirled and plucked from amidst his men a small, squalling bundle of humanity.
The youngest brother!
Azania cried out like a lone gull, despair and rage mingled in her voice.
A gust of wind picked him up and hurled him toward the bridge. Hold fire! At the last second, he yanked his left wing up and out of the way, slewing sideways as he shoulder-smashed Gazaram’s guards into the ocean below. Both he and the Princess snatched for the boy, bundled up in black cloths, but their adversary swung him away from their grasp with a low laugh. He back-thrust with his strange sword, gashing Dragon’s neck deeply.
As they hurtled away, both Dragon and Rider turned to glance over their shoulders. No need of sound to hear what the man said.
Holding the writhing bundle aloft, he called, “Why don’t you play catch?”
With that, he tossed the child off the bridge.
Aria dived in an instant. The shadowy figure swirled past her, hacking into the frilly trailing edge of her left wing as he vanished into the gloom around the tower’s gate.
Azerim! he gasped.
Drink some seawater, quick. You’re dry again.
How did she know and he didn’t? Dragon dipped his wings, taking them down to skim over the surging water. Experimental. Lowering his jaw, he let the cool water froth between his fangs and down his throat.
“Darn, he hit me,” Azania growled, sounding aggrieved.
“Where? Are you alright?”
“My … uh, right breast,” she said. “No jokes.”
“I hope Azerim is good with bandages,” he chortled on cue, earning himself a slap. “Up we go.”
“It’s bleeding more than I’d have expected.” As they raced up the weathered side of the sea stack, she dug a length of bandage out from her belt pouch, tried a couple of things, and with a sigh, stuffed her cut full of cloth. “It’ll have to do. I haven’t got anything long to tie around your neck – besides, your blood’s very hot.”
“I’ll live,” he muttered.
“You’d better!”
This was all the conversation they had time for. Re-joining the Rangers at the top, they met with the Sankir. “Hole’s tiny. Maybe big enough for one,” he suggested, looking at the Princess.
“No,” Dragon growled.
“There’s a barred window lower down where you can see the King,” he added. “He’s chained up pretty thoroughly. Wrists and neck to the wall, hood over his head. I’ve no doubt Gazaram’s going for the kill. We’ve two archers watching the window, but from what I just saw down on the bridge … we’ve a minute. Maybe two at most.”
Azania eyed the hole they had quarried earlier. “How hot –”
“Red hot,” said the Anhoyal Ranger leader.
“Toss me through.”
“NO!” Dragon growled. “You are not facing that man alone!”
“We’ve no time. Azerim’s dead otherwise. Throw me through, and then try to deepen the hole to get a couple more Rangers inside, alright? The second you hear me call, get your scaly butt down to that barred window … you’ll know what to do.”
For Azerim? he asked.
I’ve no choice.
He nodded at once, sensing her frustration, desire and courage. I understand. Let’s do this – together?
She clutched his upraised paw. Always.
If you see any large green gems in there, destroy them – from a distance, alright?
Got it.
Shuffling toward the tower – one of three in his vision just now – Dragon prepared to do what he hated most. Aye, this despairing Dragon planned to toss his Princess directly into danger.
She unstrapped from his neck and stepped down into his paw. “Get me close. I’ll dive through, I think. Practised this plenty of times during my illegal gymnastics classes, but never through a red-hot window. Lower, lower … good. Steady paw, please.”
Right. He had to hold his wrist with the other paw. Shaking like a reed.
Her feet pressed down briefly, and then she arced through the hole like a trout disappearing into a waterfall.
Azania tucked and tumbled neatly. A second later, she was back at the smoking hole, saying, “All good. There’s a hatch here. Bow, quiver?”
He tossed them through gently. “Be careful.”
“Stay close, Dragon?”
GNARR-AAAYYYEE!!
“Eloquent.” She knelt, working the hatch mechanism. “Open that window quickly. Might need help fast.”
He smelled death in the air; whatever had been located inside that room, it was a pile of smoking slag and the men or women operating it had perhaps been vaporised. Nothing recognisable was left, anyhow, as best his muddled vision could make out.
Drawing back, he let loose again, trying to achieve the ultimate cutting focus with his white fire. Make the hole bigger. Get some Rangers through to support the Princess. Fury lent his efforts power and heat. He carved through the ridiculous ten-inch metal cladding, causing huge showers of hissing white sparks to fly free, and then he hit the foot of stone beneath. The Sankir meantime briefed him that two Rangers on ropes were watching the King’s window thirty feet below. Another Ranger helped him to direct his flame.
Suddenly, another explosion shook the tower.
Azania!
Fine … shaken some, but … whoa!
Whoa indeed! Another silly expression, but it perfectly described all his senses rushing back together and behaving themselves again. Excellent. Meantime, Aria flitted to a landing right beside his flank.
Wrong boy. Decoy; not the King’s little brother. I left him with helpers below.
Azania’s dropped the tower defences.
Got three Dragonesses trying to break in below. Gazaram’s inside. How’s it going here?
Far too slow!
Inner hatch open. I see Azerim, he heard from the Princess.
She’s reached Azerim.
Aria narrowed her eyes. How are you communicating with her?
Time to drop her jaw. Thought.
Mission accomplished! As he continued to try to carve that gap around the window wider, he saw her mouth unhinge slowly. Telepathy – you – and her? Impossible …
Disbelief, jealousy and more.
If there was to be something between them, Dragon realised with sinking hearts, she would have to learn how very different a creature he was. He had never been one to fly with the Clan. Difference could be painful and lonely, or beautiful and unique, and everything in between. Much would hinge on her ability to accept who and what he was – and he, her uniqueness.
Azania’s cry arrested his thoughts. “Gazaram! Stop right there!”
Dragon froze.
Chapter 32: A King to Save
THE GASP OF HIS fear gushed fire out of his throat. Stone and metal exploded back toward his face. Dragon ducked instinctively, protecting the Rangers beside him with an outthrust wing. Molten metal splattered his wing and hide, drawing a pained grunt from him.
“Gazaram!” he snarled.
The Sankir shouted, “Swords! Clear that window. Get Rangers inside, now! Go, Dragon.”
Another space into which a very large Dragon ought not to be trying to insert himself. Just not a good idea. The window, with two Rangers dangling beside, was fifteen feet below the top level of rock that surrounded the metal tower. Head down. Off he went.
As Dragon slithered downward, trying to extend his neck and make his shoulders small, he heard a sharp scuffle inside. A male grunted in vexation. Clash of sword blades. Thonk! That horrid sound preceded a man’s muffled groan, and another curse rose from the Lord:
“I’ll kill you, puppet King!”
A low, female scream, “Over my dead body! Take that!”
“Unh! Dead will suit you just fine.”
“Try me.” Cling! Clang! They clashed robustly.
Gazaram roared, “Who by the hellish Northern Lights are you, girl?”
“Your worst nightmare.”
Skiss! “Aargh! What the – what’s your magic?”
What? Had the talon blade done something to Lord Gazaram that Aria’s blades had not achieved? His slide snagged and snapped one of the ropes holding a Ranger, but he caught it a fraction of a second before the end whipped out of his paw.
“Sorry. Grab my paw, here.”
She climbed into his grip as he braced himself between rock and metal. Peering through the bars, he took in the scene. At the far end of a metal-clad, circular chamber, Gazaram tried to wrench his blade free of the King’s boot – Azerim must somehow have blocked a blow. He was chained to the wall. That blade looked deeply embedded. Blood spurted out of the wound as the Lord struggled to free his staff. Another wound on the chained man’s lower left thigh was so severe, he saw a white glint of what he took for bone.
In the same instant, Azania darted forward, spearing one of the green gems on the staff’s length with the point of her talon blade. The gem fizzed and sparked violently. The Lord swung a heavy boot. The Princess rolled smoothly to Azerim’s side, dodging the blow and causing him to lose his balance.