Song of the Storm Dragon

by Marc Secchia

  At this, the Azure Dragoness’ belly-fires roiled thunderously. Was she always to be the little one, discounted, unremarked amongst her more illustrious peers? She snapped, The truth? We’ve no love for Thoralian! Oath-bound, we have journeyed from afar to seek his demise. I am Zuziana of Remoy and my companion’s name is Ri’arion.

  While many of the Dragonwing raised growls and bugles of approval, the Green eyed them with palpable fury. REMOY?

  Remoy, Zuziana repeated. White-fires truth, Dragoness.

  I know my histories, even if you do not, little one, the Green snapped, all acid in keeping with her colour.

  The Azure lifted her muzzle, riled beyond any possible politeness. Then accuse me of a lie, Suk’itarix. Did you not see my hair? Where in Herimor would you say I hail from, according to your extensive knowledge of the histories?

  You crossed the Rift? The Azure ducked as acid spit sprayed out of the Green’s mouth, but Suk’itarix was not apparently aiming at her. Thoralian–

  Crossed from the North, three to four weeks ago. We hunt him, said Ri’arion, as bluntly as his Dragoness. If you would like, we will open our memories to you to prove our heritage. I am a native of Fra’anior Cluster, once their Nameless Man. Now I am Zuziana’s Dragon Rider and … roost-mate. Ri’arion reddened as he found no equivalent in Dragonish for ‘husband’. Very recently, we … uh, well. And–he pulled himself back from a clear case of distraction–we defeated Thoralian and his forces in battle, but he escaped South across the Rift.

  As he spoke, the Grey-Greens of the Dragonwing exchanged disconcerted exclamations and glances, but Zuziana also observed a certain lack of surprise in their manner. They knew Thoralian. They hated him. But what was this telepathic whispering among these draconic behemoths? Most were four times her size; the older Grey-Green who had detected Ri’arion’s mental probing, she estimated at a perfectly colossal hundred and fifty feet from muzzle to tail. A Lesser Dragon of greater stature, Zip had never seen. Her thighs were comfortably thicker than the entire girth of the Azure’s torso.

  The Princess of Remoy said, It is worse than you might think, for we believe–

  Worse than the Thoralians reunited? snarled Suk’itarix, spitting more acid.

  Ri’arion voiced a startled expletive.

  Thoralian–uh, what the plural hells? gasped Zip, fluttering her wings as she inadvertently stalled. Her breath rasped in her throat like Aranya’s poor impaired lungs, but Ri’arion steadied her with a warm mental hug.

  Easy, petal, he soothed.

  I believe you may have just proven an old legend of Herimor, the elderly Grey-Green stated. Addressing Suk’itarix, she added, Tari, my shell-daughter, the brave Shapeshifter fledgling speaks only white-fires truth. Let us act accordingly.

  Haste. We should speak out of sight, hissed the Green, approaching the Azure precipitately. Her eye-orbs flared orange-yellow, indicating alert interest. A Dragonwing of Thoralian’s command hunts the remnants of our wing-brothers and sisters, for we hid our young before the battle. If you bring information, we shall return every favour fire for fire. Allies?

  Zuziana regarded the Green’s forward-swept wingtip with a spontaneous burble of delight. Dragon-direct! One thing about the Dragonkind–while they loved subtlety and nuance, when it came to action, they did not wait for rainbows to form over Islands.

  Aye, whispered Ri’arion.

  The Azure Dragoness touched wingtips with a pert flick. Allies, for the price of a story.

  * * * *

  Ardan’s new world was perfumed perversity.

  He had never imagined himself a prudish man, but what he saw enacted in the halls and bedchambers of Tixi’s harem–a sophisticated brothel–stretched his forbearance beyond any sane or conceivable limit. The consorts, male and female, made him welcome by sneaking in quick kisses when he least expected them, even when he was asleep, to trigger the House wards. Hazing, he could handle. Their antics with each other, he could not. They turned his stomach.

  Any and every act of disobedience was penalised by the Curator or her two assistants, with levels of pain he could not believe. The Lavanias collar ensnared him like a noose secured around the font of his life, squeezing, repressing and moulding in ways he loathed. The promised interrogation from Marshal Tixi did not materialise, for she immediately flew off to war once more, but his ‘breaking in’ to harem life was more than enough degradation for a Western Isles warrior. Even his assigned outfit seemed a calculated provocation–how Aranya would have blushed at the sight of him wearing skin-tight, diamond-encrusted burgundy briefs. Or, she would have jilted him faster than the shot of a crossbow quarrel!

  The consorts bathed in the cool interior pools four times a day, at dawn, noon, mid-afternoon and evening, which was a blessing given the stultifying heat. The balance of the day was divided between mandatory exercise, eating a strict diet of fruit, vegetables and lean cuts of meat Ardan did not recognise, and indolence. Endless hours of indolence for the consorts to torment him, the relentless heat to drain his energy, and Ardan’s mind to turn over the problem of Aranya over and over until he wanted to scream at his ill fortune. He spent the cooler morning hours in the garden chatting to Sapphire and teaching her Island Standard, such as was spoken in the Western Isles, until the dragonet’s cutesy-baby voice started to take on a blunt, flat accent in keeping with his heritage. They chuckled over this together.

  Oddly, if Sapphire touched his collar, there was no effect. She spent hours trying to pick it apart with her talons as he rested out of the afternoon heat, sweating and cursing his inescapable fate. In the evenings he returned to the garden to watch the flotilla of Islands endlessly following its quadrennial course according to a Blue Moon cycle. Essentially the rooftop of Tixi’s fortress, the outside garden stood atop the Isle upon a small but fertile butte, divided from the rest of the Island by a three-foot wall. No more was needed, for the wall demarcated the line where the House wards took effect–thus, a barless cage held him. He could gaze longingly at the ragion-floated Islands and boulders slowly wheeling through the sky and on all sides, and dream of flying away.

  The Islands never bumped into each other. The ragions apparently exerted a mass-effect that made this impossible. What if a storm came, he wondered?

  On his seventh day in the harem, Ardan woke to find two pre-adolescent boys sharing his bed.

  Yelling incoherently, he charged up the circular stairway to the gardens, sprinted for the wall and dived headlong over it.

  BLAM!

  Ardan woke with an Island-splitting headache, back in his bed. One of the boys adjusted a cool towel on his forehead, the other was patiently stitching a four-inch, bone-deep cut on the warrior’s left elbow with a fine needle and gut thread, his slim fingers working dextrously at the task.

  “We didn’t mean to cause no trouble,” said the first boy, changing the cloth on Ardan’s brow. He was short and chunky, with a softness about his frame that Ardan had learned some of the men–perverts, one and all–prized.

  “You’re jumpy,” said the other, tightening a stitch.

  Ardan scowled at them through the lights playing havoc with his vision. “Get out.”

  “I’m Bane,” said the first boy. “Lurax here thinks–”

  “Get the hells out of my room!”

  “Strike my soul, you’re scary, warrior-Dragon,” said Lurax, blinking his long, curling eyelashes as he made a strange flicking gesture with the fingers of his left hand. With high, slanted cheekbones and wide, soulful eyes, Ardan knew he had been chosen for his looks–the curse of a pretty face. “Blessed be, you’ve a dragonet.”

  “Lucky, aren’t I?” said Ardan. His neck hurt as though a Dragon had taken care to rearrange the bones into an artistic sculpture. He could not even raise his head off the hard pallet, which rather left him at the mercy of Bane and Lurax.

  Lurax asked shyly, “Are you a Granite Dragon? A Shapeshifter?”

  “Not Granite,” said Ardan, wondering what a Granite D
ragon was. “My power is Shadow.”

  Bane chipped in, “You’re not like the other men. You treat us nice.”

  “Like we matter,” the other boy whispered.

  Suddenly, Lurax’s beautiful eyes brimmed with moisture and Ardan’s heart channelled molten fury. Curse it! He should have kicked them out faster. He felt the collar reacting, cooling against his skin as the magic responded to the core of fire within him. Somehow, the circlet’s magic sensed his Dragon’s subdued presence. Mercy! The Lavanias collar did not break a Shapeshifter’s soul–it only changed his ability to manifest or to use his magic. It could be resisted! Hope! Sweet hope pitched its tent within his heart.

  Ardan squeezed his eyes shut, but felt tears leaking out anyways.

  Prick, prick went the needle. Thud, thud, beat his heart. He groaned, “Alright. What the hells do you kids want?”

  “Not what you think,” Bane stated.

  Bane was always very definite with his opinions. He growled, “Oh? What should I think, finding you two in my bed?”

  “We seen you walking these halls like you want to be blindfolded,” Bane said doggedly. “They say you’re a Dragon and a warrior; you’re restless, like a wild bird, caged. What’s it like being a warrior? You strong. They’ve hazed you like nothing else and you never react, never beat up the women, never talk less than polite-like to the Curator.” He shivered. “You don’t use us kids. We seen your eyes, warrior-man. Lurax’s right. You’re scary.”

  “Good-scary,” said Lurax, bending his dark head over the task once more. He was almost as dark as Ardan himself … he jumped as the needle pierced his skin once more. “We’re sorry you gone feral like a Dragon on our account.”

  “I need my personal space,” Ardan growled.

  “Space? You call this your space?” asked Bane, suddenly transformed into the wisest nine year-old who had ever lived. “You ever belonged to another, bone and blood, warrior-man?”

  “Aye. Twice, if you count this period of slavery; thrice, including love,” Ardan replied gruffly. What business was it of theirs? They were only boys–harem boys. Who was he to judge? Easing up on the tetchiness, he said, “Tell me what you want, please. Be honest.”

  “We’ll keep off your pallet and you’ll keep off ours,” Bane said. “You teach us how to be warriors. Real warriors.”

  Ardan hated having his mind read so accurately, but he had to admit his behaviour had been more than revealing. He must be smarter, not angrier. Did he smell opportunity? “Very well,” he said. “I’ll need you to go into battle for me, though.”

  “Battle?” they chorused.

  “Aye. Help me petition the Curator to grant me access to the library–”

  “After today?” Bane snorted. “You mad, warrior-man?”

  “Aye.” He grinned fiercely at the boys. “A warrior never gives up. I need knowledge. A wise warrior never stops training, and he uses his brain–unlike what I showed you today. If you’re willing to give your all, I’ll train you as best I know how. We might not have weapons, but we can make use of what we find here in the harem. Deal?”

  The boys glanced at each other. To Ardan’s surprise, it was shy Lurax who replied, “Only if you promise us something else, warrior-man.”

  “What?”

  “Promise us that when you escape, you’ll take us with you.”

  Ardan gave them his fiercest, most searching gaze, “You sure? Out there, there are worse dangers than the Curator.”

  A voice from the doorway said, “Aye, so there are. Marshal Tixi is back. She wants to see you, Dragon.” The Curator laughed horribly. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear you’ve been playing with the boys. Up, nameless man. This is the Marshal’s hour.”

  Talons of ice sank into his neck.

  * * * *

  Barely had Zuziana touched wingtips with the Green Dragoness, when Ri’arion hissed, Dragons incoming! Can’t see them, but I sense–

  You sense glamour? snapped Tari the Green.

  There! Dragon fire! cried several of the Dragonwing. Our younglings!

  With me! Tari bellowed.

  In a mad scramble, the Dragonwing accelerated away. Zip belatedly trailed them. With the benefit of Ri’arion’s special perception, she saw cohorts of Dragons hunting among the floating Islands. Forty Dragons broke through a mile-wide series of waterfalls to the North. Another Dragonwing came in high, also forty beasts strong. Still more Dragons, upward of a hundred, the monk estimated rapidly, approached in a wide, sweeping arc from the East. Each Dragonwing had a Red leader. Not good. They were outnumbered six to one. Perhaps more.

  Tari’s command jinked rapidly between the floating Islands, sprinting for the point where they had spotted the unmistakable orange spurts of Dragon fire. The Green leader marshalled her force with the ease and urgency of long command, pointing out the forces attacking the cavern where they had left the fledglings, hatchlings and egg-clutches under guard. Where she indicated, Zip saw Jagok lizards, squat, powerful subdraconic beasts with armour tough enough to survive a direct blast of Dragon fire, and Heripedes, the centipede-like creatures which were Thoralian’s preferred weapon for penetrating cave-systems. Vicious carnivores with a particular fondness for Dragon eggs, they grew up to twenty-five feet in length and sported highly noxious paralytic or necrotic bites, depending on their subspecies. Charming, Ri’arion muttered.

  This was all the briefing they had time for. The cavern-mouth was a mad scramble of beastly madness as Dragon tore into Dragon and dozens of Heripedes made merry. Zip saw nine Jagok lizards–the six-legged violet nasties down there–tearing into an adult Dragoness’ abdomen as she blocked the cavern entrance with her bulk. The Heripedes poured over her like torrents of molten metal, their flexible segments allowing them ease of movement over almost any terrain, including Dragon scales.

  There’s a gap above her, Zip pulsed to the monk. Heripedes inside already.

  Do it, Ri’arion approved.

  ATTACK! The Azure Dragoness launched herself into a wing-straining sprint, using the shaped aerodynamic shielding they had perfected beneath the Clouds to help adjust her path between the Islands into screamingly tight turns and powerful acceleration. She easily outstripped the startled Dragons of Tari’s command.

  Ri’arion melded neatly with her mind. They pinpointed the narrowness of the cave entrance. He took four running steps over her shoulder and leaped into her upraised paw as Zuziana approached the narrow but tall cave-mouth. Leaving the battle in the gully leading to the cave for the other Dragons to deal with, Zip tucked in her wings and half-rolled to whip through the remaining space above the Dragoness, taking four Heripedes with her on the nose of her shaped shield. She body-slammed them into the side-wall with a borrowed flick of monk-mind power before Dragoness and Rider burst into the main cavern, a long, sandy space surmounted by many stalactites and downward-hanging crystalline formations.

  The Azure had eyes only for the scrimmage on the cavern floor. Fledglings wrestling with Heripedes. Tiny hatchlings mewling in pain. Four adult Dragons brawling near the entrance. Jewel-like Dragon eggs cracked open, their egglings spilled out and partly eaten …

  Thinking to see crimson, Zuziana found her vision sheeting white-blue. Her breast stung as though she had swallowed a bushel of spears. Even as she obeyed Ri’arion’s instinct to fling him at one of the enemy adult males, her Blue Dragon power surged so violently out of her throat, Zip thought at first she had turned her stomach inside-out. Lightning coursed out of her throat in a single, endless blast, dividing at the speed of thought as each jagged branch unerringly picked out Heripedes and Jagok lizards and fried them in their own juices.

  GRRRAAARRRGH! thundered the petite Remoyan Dragoness.

  Spitting and sparking with power, the Azure became her own storm as Ri’arion dealt with a Grey-Green Dragoness and three Jagok lizards in double-quick time, his massive blade spinning and winking back the radiance of her lightning-strikes. Then the monk fell to levitating lizards and
Heripedes in her direction, pitching them low and hard as if for catching practice. Zuziana’s Dragon-laugher belled over the fray, still notably soprano compared to the lower register of bigger Dragons, but no less appalling. She realised belatedly that Ri’arion had used their magical shield in a new way to magnify the punitive power of his blade; it sliced cleanly through Dragon scale armour and hacked chitinous chunks out of Heripedes at considerable magical cost, but great efficiency.

  He expected a short battle, but her mind was still on the hunting Dragonwings.

  With a united roar, Tari the Green’s Dragonwing descended without, snapping and snarling and blasting. Waves of suffocating heat rolled into the cavern. Ri’arion sprinted between the hatchlings, moving as fast as the Dragons themselves, tangling with three half-Heripedes as their mandibles continued to champ at victims despite lacking significant portions of their bodies.

  The two defending Grey-Greens finished the last Dragon attacker inside the cave. They turned simultaneously to watch Ri’arion casting himself into Zip’s paw. He levitated three of the remaining Heripedes; Zip sautéed them with psychically-enhanced spears of lightning.

  The Azure shook her muzzle violently. Cooked enemy didn’t smell half bad to a battle-maddened Dragoness.

  What? gasped the defending Dragons, apparently twins. Who are you?

  Enemy Dragonwings incoming, snarled Zuziana. Gather the hatchlings and eggs. Help me move the Dragoness at the entrance.

  General Zuziana, Ri’arion teased as she fell to organising Dragons who were not hers to command. They obeyed with alacrity, perhaps recognising her authority or responding because she was a powerful Shapeshifter, he thought to her.

  Shut the yapping and help! she shot back, all blaze and brimstone.

  The monk decamped in a heartbeat, running amongst the clusters of eggs and bidding the living and able fledglings and hatchlings to take the undamaged eggs in paw. Zuziana meantime directed the bigger Dragons to help move the critically injured Dragoness, who had given her life to protect the eggs and younglings; bellows and gouts of fire still resounded sporadically outside near the cavern, but Tari alighted, her fire-eyes raging crimson at the carnage within the cavern.