I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  “Refreshments, my Lord Dragon?”

  Ah, that would be his private butler. What a wonderfully civilised notion.

  One might almost argue that Lord Jenarzam’s apology was hitting its full stride. Eye to the future and all that. He had good taste. Talking about taste, he idly picked over the offerings and treated his gullet to a nine-foot length of moray eel roasted to perfection. Succulent.

  “Do convey my compliments to the cook,” he rumbled. “The fare is excellent.”

  “I shall, sir. Would sir like anything else?”

  If sir had not been feeling so lazy, he might have bitten the earnest middle-aged man for calling him sir, a Human title. No, he was feeling magnanimous. Let this fellow escape with his head. Especially since his stomach was ever so appreciative of the attention.

  He said, “No, thank you. Before you leave, allow me to relieve you of your burden. This red fish is particularly excellent.”

  “The Ruby Snapper, sir?”

  “Aye.”

  Dragon’s ear quickened to a light footstep. Azania. A touch awkward in her gait, however. He curved his head at once to check her over as she ascended to the rooftop. Arm, body and breast. The Princess wore her wounds proudly – as well she should, having saved Azerim’s life fairly much single-handedly. She also wore her talon blade prominently on her hip. Stars above, he loved her attitude. Sass, spark and zest. That young King had no idea how lucky he was to have captured prime place in her heart.

  “How are you, Princess?”

  “Stitched up and sore, but fine. You, Dragon?”

  “Feeling exactly the same; thinking deep and positive thoughts about closing all of these holes in my hide.”

  Her smile quirked up at the corners. “I see. Very hard work. Deep thoughts.”

  “Quite. So, is our King still as handsome as when you plucked that evil hood off and beheld his chiselled jaw and rugged good looks once again?”

  “Dragon, you’re a pest.” Walking around his head, she leaned against his upper shoulder, in the protective curve of his paw. “Confession? That jawline is infeasibly chiselled. If I start any unsociable drooling, you have permission to poke me with a – ouch. Thanks, I think.”

  He grinned, withdrawing his talon. “Like that?”

  Gnarr.

  “What about that wild hair, Highness?”

  “Mischievous,” she agreed. “Longer than I expected. I have to say, spending days with one’s head locked inside a stuffy leather hood is not generally regarded as beneficial to any Human hairstyle.”

  “Nut brown with blonde highlights and a hint of aesthetic waviness?”

  She wiped her lower lip. “Oh, stop it.”

  “Much more importantly, how is His Majesty doing?”

  “Still asleep. The surgeon piped a fair amount of restorative brew down his throat.” Her sigh conveyed a weight of worry. “Says he needs to sleep for as long as it takes, and he’ll have himself and an assistant on hand all hours to monitor him. Chanize did a fantastic job. Fine hand on the essential stitching. The right foot … that’s not great. Dragon, thanks for trying to strengthen him with your magic. You almost collapsed.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “A highly significant nothing, then.”

  Drawing his Dragon Rider against his scales in a hug that enveloped her tiny person, he said, “Now to the waiting and the healing. This is the hardest part.”

  “Isn’t it just?” She patted his neck, and in a muffled voice, teased, “Don’t you worry now, Dragon. I’m here for you. You can cry on my shoulder. I’ll hold your little paw and tell you everything’s going to be just fine.”

  “Rascal!” he snorted.

  After a long, long hug that he appreciated more than perhaps any other Dragon would have admitted, she added, “We did it.”

  “We did it. You did it! I was just watching through the jail bars.”

  “As if. You’re amazing, Dragon.”

  “You’re pretty impressive yourself, for a cute desert blossom.”

  “If I had fangs, you’d be toast right now.”

  “How is that statement logical?” Chuckling, he added, “To catch you up, there’s no word from the search as yet. We had a Dragoness report half an hour ago – apart from, that the Princes are having the time of their lives. Boys racing around the Archipelago on Dragonesses. You get the picture.”

  “I do. Missing Aria yet?”

  “It’s only been a matter of hours. Would I be so shallow? Don’t you dare – you dared!” Grrr!

  “Grrr yourself.”

  On that mature note of history-changing significance, the Princess settled down between his forepaws and breathed out a gust of air. Bone-weary. Healing. Victorious!

  She did not snore. Just a faint snuffling as she nodded off.

  Dragon’s eyes lidded. He jerked awake as a shadow crossed his nose; just an attractive orange Dragoness flitting overhead on patrol. Pah. Unfaithful thoughts. Aria certainly had her troops hopping. They had lost five Dragonesses in the assaults on the four Lords; eight more had been laid low with severe wounds but should recover in time for the flight south to the mainland. The King was their biggest worry. If infection set in, he could be in real trouble – and he was fairly sure Lord Gazaram had not been the sort to concern himself with the cleanliness of his blades before he stuck them into people, judging by the tales told by his servants.

  Time to work on his majestic snoozing in the sunshine. A skill wholly necessary to his personal growth as a creature of fiery intelligence and bourgeoning combat prowess.

  * * * *

  When a Dragon sense awoke, it was like a claw pricking at the back of his mind. Cracking open an eye, he checked his surroundings without giving anything away. Aha. That emotional scent, as evocative as her personal scale scent – Ariamyrielle, sneaking up on him from behind. Wicked Dragoness!

  Appreciating the view back there? he purred.

  Dragon! she snorted in delight. Playing at the sleeping predator, are we?

  She rubbed along his flank and flicked his wing edge playfully as she approached, slinking with feline intent up to where he could best appreciate the yellow-white flame filling her eyes. How he shivered at her ardour!

  Nuzzling her neck, he purred, Fancy meeting you here, o treasure of the Vaylarn Archipelago.

  Not every day I get to meet a true monster around my Islands, she purred, tickling his chin with her talon tip. How’s our scale-sized desert rose?

  Very sore, I fear, but recovering. Your wing?

  Bad, but improving. We brought the Princes back for the night. They want to keep searching for their brother in the morning. We covered a great deal of ground, but not enough, it seems. And, they would like to meet you two. Unsurprisingly! They’ve been in to see their brother, and are currently destroying the cook’s best offerings in the hall.

  Under guard?

  She gave him the fiery eyeball.

  Wry grin. Obviously, I am half a mile behind the plot, as usual.

  You do the handsome part, I’ll do the intelligent. Ooh, fighting talk! He mock-snapped toward her shoulder. Come on, he whose scales dazzle whiter than white. Time to meet the Princes of the realm.

  He shifted slightly to check on the precious cargo.

  I’m awake. Azania’s voice was a smile.

  Aria hopped down from the battlement with another of those ridiculous, butterfly-like manoeuvres her complex wing structure and far lighter body weight allowed. Her left wing did react noticeably differently to the right, courtesy of all the bandaging and stitching. For his part, Dragon took the scenic route, with slightly more than seemly gravitas. Hop, spread the wings, land like a mobile boulder beside the far more delicate Dragoness. He popped Azania onto her feet.

  What a gentlemonster. Chortle.

  The Humans had thrown open the doors of their Great Hall for visitors of a size and bulk they did not often entertain. Their original building calculations, however, had failed to account for one w
ho was half Sea Dragon. Wrapped up in chatting to Azania, he promptly got his shoulders stuck in the doorway. Or, one might argue, some Dragon might have discovered an opportunity to showcase his massive physique.

  “Oh, I’m stuck!” he said loudly.

  Aria did not even turn. “I doubt it. Shake a wing, Dragon.”

  He scraped a little this way and that, and then flexed his upper body and flight muscles, making the doorposts groan alarmingly. Mwaa-haa-harr!

  Show-off, Azania said politely. Oh look, they’re like peas in a pod.

  Close. Different-sized peas in a pod.

  Pedantic.

  The young Princes, said to be sixteen, fourteen and ten years old respectively, had graduated from goggling at the beast filling up the doorway to gaping at the Princess. The most beautiful woman in the seventeen realms tended to have that effect on a room, Dragon had observed. Take, for example, the servitor just exiting the hall through the servants’ door, who had just introduced his nose to a doorpost of his own. Or the other fellow, who barked his shins on a bench. Ouch. Deserved that.

  “Oh, you are stuck,” Aria purred in a way that promptly introduced ‘stuck’ to the flow of his thoughts.

  “Aye, so it appears,” he agreed. With a little forethought, he inserted one paw and shoulder through the door, wriggled his shoulders, lashed his tail in annoyance and flattened a servant behind him – made an apology – and managed to scrape through. That said, his intended swagger was more of a stagger.

  What a hero.

  As they approached, the three Princes stood up politely and made their stiff, formal Archipelago bows. Like they had a javelin stuck up their spines. Princess Azania responded with a fluid desert n’gandila-vaa, a formal greeting for royalty, he understood. The boys instantly mislaid all rational thought and stood about gaping like a trio of trout bereft of water.

  Ah, Princess power. Nothing quite like it under the suns.

  Catching up – in his world, that meant taking three large strides across the hall – he nudged Aria delicately. “Are these the fine Princes of the realm?”

  Subtle.

  Aria nodded, stepping on his right forepaw as she bowed. “Your Royal Highnesses, may I present Her Royal Highness Azania, Princess of T’nagru, called the Black Rose of the Desert. Azania, these are their Royal Highnesses Gathazim, second in line to the throne, and Harazim and Tahluzim. We are only missing King Azerim, and tay-Varazim, the youngest, whom the Princes have spent all day searching for.”

  Dragon almost chuckled. Azania was of a height with ten year-old Prince Tahluzim.

  All were deeply tanned of skin, with the same wavy hair varying in shade from medium brown in Gathazim to black for Tahluzim. They wore tough tan trousers and identical light blue shirts, which contrasted pleasantly with their brown skin.

  With a second bow, Azania smiled, “I understand that you three became Dragon Riders today?”

  They nodded eagerly.

  “This is my Dragon, whom I am honoured to ride. He is a Dragon we simply call Dragon – it’s a bit of a story. Dragon, Princes. Princes, Dragon.”

  Three sets of royal eyes popped in ways that did pleasing things to someone’s ego.

  “I didn’t know Sea Dragons walked on land?” Harazim blurted out. His colour deepened when he realised everyone was looking at him. Dragon pegged him as the shy one, and a lover of lore like himself.

  “Perceptive, Prince Harazim,” he approved. “I believe I am half Sea Dragon.”

  Aria said, “Naturally, the tiniest Princess gets the biggest Dragon.”

  “Naturally.” Azania winked at the Princes. “I am awfully demanding, especially when it comes to having the biggest and best – with respect, Aria!” The cobalt warrior stepped on his paw a second time, audibly annoyed by the gaffe. “Right now, I demand dinner. Is there space at this table? And who will volunteer to tell me the most embarrassing stories about Azerim you can remember? I definitely need ammunition for when he wakes up. How’s he doing?”

  Hard to believe that much charm could exude from so tiny a person. Within a minute, the Princess had her audience twisted around her smallest finger – the pinkie, a very odd word where a black person was concerned. Maybe if she dipped it in paint!

  Despite her shenanigans, Aria was as tired as he. They slept alongside one another in the courtyard, and woke at dawn. The search must continue.

  Three excited Princes and an amused Princess took off after breakfast, bound for the eastern edge of the island which lay south of Lord Gazaram’s territory. Village hopping. Most of the Humans acted overawed by the unexpected visitors, and were quick to offer help. Indeed, word of the search had even spread overnight. The royal cavalcade gained cheers and admirers everywhere, but to their frustration, they unearthed plenty of rumours – helpfully offered – that always turned out to be fruitless.

  They paused on a remote beach to take stock.

  “Far too imaginative, you Humans,” Dragon growled at Prince Gathazim, who skipped out of his way with aplomb.

  At six feet and five, he was the tallest of the brothers. He was also the most skittish around Dragons. A brave and bluff warrior, he talked a good talk, but was desperately worried about the youngest brother, which Azania quietly told him was very sweet. Harazim was a quiet, studious lad, not at all the warrior type. Tahluzim openly hero-worshipped Azerim. He had very moist eyes by the end of the afternoon, when Aria started to talk about needing to return around suns-down.

  All in all, these boys were no perfect family, but their care for one another shone. How he wished he could have enjoyed the same with his siblings.

  Dragon clacked his fangs at no-one in particular.

  Gathazim jumped again.

  “Stop tormenting him, Dragon,” Aria growled.

  “I wasn’t –”

  “Relax! Stop trying to steal the limelight. Just be a normal male for once.”

  Normal? Something inside of him shrivelled.

  Was that what she wanted?

  No, don’t you ever try to be normal, Azania’s thought interrupted.

  Nausea spread through his stomach. Aye, but to some, different was not cause for celebration, it seemed. An accident of birth, a dam he had never met and a heritage he was still grappling with. Normal was the thing he would never be, not around this Archipelago, nor in his native Tamarine Mountains. Nor among the Sea Dragons, he suspected. What if he was overcome with the desire to migrate with them? Leave behind everything he had here?

  Enough misery! He sent Azania a mental picture of him pulling up his big-Dragon trousers.

  Her giggle made Aria round upon them. “What! What exactly is so funny? We’ve a lost Prince to find and not enough hours in the day to find him!”

  If only she knew you as I do, slipped through Azania’s mind.

  Aloud, she fibbed royally, “Dragon and I were just outbidding one other. He said ten, I say twenty more hamlets. What say you, Prince Tahluzim?”

  “I will do thirty on my own!” He punched his chest. “Uh, if Valyrielle is willing, that is?”

  The orange Dragoness grinned. “Lightweight. We’ll do forty, minimum.”

  Drawing a steadying breath, Aria ordered, “Let’s go. Spread out and keep going – the moons will be full tonight. Let’s not leave a single stone unturned.”

  Her look aimed at Dragon was unreadable.

  Normal. He feared he’d be sick.

  Tracking south, the Dragonwing spread out from the coastline to the mountains, rising and falling in regular cadence as they visited different hamlets and homesteads. The suns dipped behind the mountains, sending long fingers of shadows searching across the thick jungles. Since he was too large to land easily amongst tall, creeper-covered tropical thickets, Dragon and Azania had drawn the coastal strip. Many times, the hamlets were within walking distance of one another – he ran – and often tucked up along streams that reached the coast. It struck him that people were not afraid of Dragons here. Not like on Solixambria’s mai
nland, where the arrival of a huge paw-stomper was so often cause for fear and panic.

  Azania questioned the villagers efficiently. Each time, after finding out that the young Prince was not present, they found out where the next hamlets or houses were.

  Move on.

  As Ignis poured down beneath the horizon as if the land or ocean were glugging away the enormous red sun, they encouraged one another. One more. Another. Rinse and repeat. There came a false alarm that brought everybody winging over in great excitement, only … he was not the Prince. Startling resemblance, but no.

  He and Azania returned to the coastline as the moons rose, turning the shallow ocean waters as silver as a Princess’ jewellery. They searched now by candlelight, lamplight, firelight and scent. Digging his talons into the white beach sand, Dragon rushed from house to house. Always the same.

  “Shall we fly over that headland?” Azania asked.

  Dragon peered ahead. A rocky jumble rose sheer out of the waters – isolated from the beach by a rising tide. A few tropical bougainvillaea tufted the top like a very bad Human haircut.

  “There’s a boy – look,” she said.

  “I just smelled him. What’s he doing?”

  “Taking a load of driftwood out to those rocks …” she mused. “Someone lives there? Scent the –”

  “I’ll scent the –”

  They chuckled quietly. Same thought. He shrank back into the cover of a dune. They watched the boy wading along until he disappeared into the darkness around the boulders, holding his bundle of bleached sticks high to keep them dry. He was not the Prince. Too old. He had a Dragon sense about that place, however. Danger? Too far for his senses to detect anything.

  Drawing his magic about them, he stalked up the beach. Just a large patch of white. No. Why not use the water, his supposedly native element? Changing direction, he waded out into the waves about a quarter-mile from the rocks.

  “What are you doing?” the Princess asked.

  “Making sure you don’t stink when you see Azerim again,” he said, submerging until only his head and hers showed.

  “Wow, thanks for the compliment.”

  “Scrub those armpits, my dear Princess. Festering cesspits of nastiness.”