by Marc Secchia
By the Great Onyx! bellowed the Land Dragoness, attacking the fluid metal with her Harmonic magic.
The metal surged! Aranya and Zip tangled wings as they retreated. Huari called, Don’t–Leandrial, you’re feeding it!
Feeding? The word pierced Aranya’s marrow with dreadful facility. As the light-beam shuttered, the meriatonium seemed to settle again, having gained another hundred feet. Flying ralti sheep …
Well, that was creepy, said Zip’s disembodied voice out of the darkness.
Ancestors’ blood, what do you think is underneath? gasped Huaricithe.
The silence deepened before Aranya sensed a faint vibration. That must be what Zuziana had heard before. Rather than allow common sense to intrude, she whipped down and pressed her left-side ear-canals against the meriatonium. Not–much. She spider-crawled sideways, trying to work out if the sound changed.
What’s she doing? Huaricithe whispered.
The Azure replied, Well, she has been known to first distract an entire roomful of warriors by running naked into their midst, before changing into her Dragoness and–
Hush, said Aranya. Her talons tap-tapped sideways until she crab-walked her nose into Yiisuriel’s flank. Ouch.
Zip added, Of course, sometimes she is unarguably peculiar.
The Immadian crooked a talon behind her back at her friend.
But we always obey the goddess’ whims. After all, I don’t run around worshipping my family. Doesn’t that rattle your wingtips, Huaricithe?
Looking up, Aranya saw an expression cross Huari’s face that suggested she had bitten into a mouthful of haribol fruit. Time for sympathy before her relative suffered a religious meltdown. Zip, I’m enormously fond of you, but–she waved a talon–grovel. Now.
Thankfully, Zip had the good sense to do exactly that–near enough to the Island, anyways. After conferring for a few minutes regarding the sounds, they startled as Leandrial scooped them aside with her talon, saying that Huari had a suggestion. Balance magic could not penetrate meriatonium, but it could penetrate rock.
She pressed her head against Yiisuriel’s flank, but the ancient Air-Breather already had a partial solution to the problem of angle. Balance can be bent, she rumbled, showing Aranya a construct. Your Dragonfriend knew this technique.
Being definitively less awesome than her illustrious dancing Aunt and the eidetically-equipped super-Pygmy, whom Leandrial did not fail to mention less than nine times in the following hour, Aranya sweltered and gritted her fangs at length over reproducing the fantastically complex magical structure. But after she attained a touch of mastery, the task became straightforward. Leandrial powered up her eye-cannon, Aranya hovered in a precise location to bend her output seventeen degrees, and a picture formed in their minds. Even Yiisuriel gasped.
What appeared to be dark tentacles waved periodically from beneath the meriatonium shield, brushing against the rocky wall of Yiisuriel’s flank. Where they touched, urzul flared and the rocky armour disintegrated, giving rise to that slight vibration they had sensed. As they watched, a soft-bodied creature moved partially into view. The Dragons stared at the boneless, sac-like beast in disgust. Its black-and-grey body bulged and squirmed grotesquely, as though parts of it were unfolding themselves from another dimension, Shapeshifter-like, often appearing through or swallowing other organs or limbs. With a flick of its misshapen limbs, the creature whipped away again. As Leandrial’s beam swept back and forth, hundreds more of the tentacles nipped back underneath the meriatonium shield. Hiding.
Well, now we know what they’re doing, Zip said angrily. Those are S’gulzzi, or their minions, and they’re trying to mine their way to freedom!
KRAA … KAABOOM. The faraway explosion punched their environment, even down in the Pit.
Yiisuriel bellowed furiously!
Then, before the companions could do more than exchange startled glances, the great Air-Breather relayed a call from Dhazziala, Star Dragoness, we need you! Fly!
* * * *
“How the hells do we miss an entire flying Island?” yelled Ri’arion.
“Freaking Herimor glamour!” snapped Ardan. Glaring at an Air-Breather was somewhat useless, given as they inhabited a cave seventeen miles above Yiisuriel’s feet, but his tone communicated the idea.
No, speed combined with urzul-enhanced shielding, rumbled Yiisuriel.
Ardan grasped this instinctively. Generate enough speed and an object would outrun the sound-waves it generated. Swathe an entire Island in clever draconic shielding, and the result was far worse than a meriatite bomb. He did not need science. He needed a solution, because the Air-Breathers were hurting and the outer shield was already in a critical state.
Summoning up the map Yiisuriel’s group had prepared, Ardan drew a mental line from the Vassal States to their Island-Cluster. That was what Thoralian had planned. At last, the disposition of the scattered clusters of Bottom-Huggers began to make sense. Their natural strength lay in the psychic realm, which had led Dhazziala’s Council to dismiss them as a threat when situated so far afield. The strategy was elegant, simple and altogether devastating. Take an Island from the Vassal States. Accelerate it across hundreds of leagues, skipping the Island over two thousand assembled shields like a stone skimming over a pond. Slam a million tonnes of rock into the Lost Islands’ psychic shield at a velocity of over one hundred leagues per hour.
Freaking windrocs, that had to hurt!
Human-Dhazziala dashed into their cavern. “How quickly can we get Aranya out there?”
“Do you think one Dragoness can stop whole Islands thundering into us?” growled Ardan. “They’re a long, long way down. They need to decompress; that takes time.”
“It was a mistake sending her–”
“To discover that the Air-Breathers are being undermined from beneath?” Ri’arion interrupted. “You’ve seen the report. Can we sustain our defences against attacks inside and out, First Hand? Can you calculate that?”
Dhazziala wiped sweat off her brow. “We don’t know. If the S’gulzzi bore deep enough, they will eventually reach areas that hurt even Air-Breathers. But the immediate danger–”
Second Island incoming–brace! bellowed Yiisuriel.
Ardan flexed his knees as a clamour of draconic pain rocked the Islands. They dampened the impact, trying to spread out the backlash, but the sheer kinetic power striking the shield made the Air-Breathers reel. Yiisuriel juddered as she absorbed the pain for others.
“We need to mount an attack on that Island-shooter,” said Dhazziala.
“Exactly what Thoralian will have planned for,” said Ri’arion. “What is his strategy? The drakes? More urzul-rain?”
Don’t remind us, came Zip’s voice, faintly.
Watching the damage measurements stack up in the Lost Islands’ communal mind, Ardan stated, “If the Land Dragons are taking this much damage, we can’t not attack. We’ve no choice.”
The monk put in, “I’ll go with Leandrial. We need to re-establish the location of the Thoralians. Fast. Also, let’s get to work on figuring out a way we can slingshot those Islands over the top and far away.”
Dhazziala said, “Long-range scans show parasitized Land Dragons moving in huge numbers to screen those Bottom-Huggers. We posit the Thoralians seek a pitched battle–either to draw Aranya into the open, or to try to infect our Land Dragons.”
Or just to beat us into a pulp, Zuziana put in.
Always seeing the positives, my Zuziana? Ri’arion retorted wryly.
One more thing, Yiisuriel groaned, and the grief-notes in her voice overwhelmed them all. That last Island was Human-inhabited. Thousands …
The anguish of memory! Ardan crashed to his knees. MURDERERS!
* * * *
Four days later, the consensus was ‘all of the above’, but most especially the ‘beat into a pulp’ part. Aranya flew out numerous times with Leandrial, returning battered, bruised and dispirited. No Thoralians. She had failed to eject any Theadurial from th
eir Land Dragon hosts without killing both creatures. The Air-Breathers could not shape their aerodynamic shield enough to mitigate the impact of Islands against their flanks, nor could they deploy Land Dragons similarly to Thoralian’s legions because of the sheer numbers set against. There was no word from the Dragon Riders of the Vassal States.
“In summary, Sapphire, we are being thrashed from every angle and the Thoralians are glaringly absent from the war front. What are they up to?” Aranya scratched her dragonet’s chin where Sapphire liked it best. “What say you, my friend?”
Ari rest, she chirped.
“I will gladly defenestrate the next person who suggests that,” Aranya declared.
Sapphire not person. Sapphire dragonet, the mite pointed out.
“Alright, Sapphire. You’re safe from the ravaging Star Dragoness, who apparently couldn’t ravage so much as a bread roll let alone anything substantial. I just don’t have the strength to keep healing the Air-Breathers. Their pain is killing me. My storm’s rumbling along like a toothless old Dragon and my family of historical titans is annoyingly silent for a change. What’s with that?”
Aye, she was meant to be sleeping in her simple chamber. But it was way after midnight and Aranya felt wide awake. Keyed up. Not enjoying the hour when Beran said he always had his best ideas. Moodily, she swung out of her hammock, picked up a stick of charcoal–these Lost Islanders had no idea about real art implements–and considered the diagram on her wall. First, she shaded Yiisuriel’s outline, giving the Land Dragoness a profile in keeping with her monstrous stature. She was the lynchpin of the Lost Isles’ defence, the mainstay of her kin, upholding the great inner and outer shields. Five Air-Breathers had already passed on into the Eternal Fires, and a dozen more were critically injured.
Yesterday, Dhazziala departed secretly with a group of Lesser Dragons to try to link up with the Dragon Riders. At least that kept her claws off Ardan. Vixen!
Aranya rapidly sketched Leandrial closing in on the Land Dragons comprising Thoralian’s devastating ultimate weapon, his Island-flinger. His rail-gun, the First Hand had called it–thousands of Land Dragons banded together to accelerate and fling Islands at his enemy, each contributing thrust and levitation along the axis of attack. Thankfully, the assault had slowed over the last day. Perhaps the Thoralians had used up the available Islands. Her quick hands sketched the Mesas, West of the battleground, which stretched over six hundred leagues south of the Vassal States. Where would he strike? What was the next facet of his strategy? For if they continued to be worn down at this rate, the three Thoralians would be able to saunter in and just help themselves to …
The First Egg.
Aranya sketched the cap, the pit, the S’gulzzi. They had no love for the Thoralians. They held the ultimate prize in their–claws? Tentacles? Mental pincers? They knew nothing of the S’gulzzi save rumour and legend. Creatures of the cold-fires, one legend had called them.
Yii, chirped Sapphire, touching the picture of Yiisuriel.
Human-Aranya cocked her head. Gangurtharr, are you snooping out there?
Silence.
KAABOOM!! Another Island. Aranya winced. She was under strict orders not to drain herself healing the Air-Breathers … KAABOOM! Another? So quickly. Why the urgency?
We mourn, came the sorrowful, soul-shadowing bugling of the Air-Breathers. Another death.
Struck by the note in the Land Dragoness’ voice, Aranya called, Yiisuriel-ap-Yuron, I adjure thee in the name of the Great Onyx to swiftly speak the truth–art thou injured by the S’gulzzi? Have they penetrated thy Dragonflesh at last?
A vast sigh filled the chamber and Aranya’s mind simultaneously.
When? the Immadian demanded.
An hour ago–
KAABOOM! A smaller impact, but no less devastating, for the Land Dragons could not hold out much longer.
The chalk stick screeched as Aranya’s partial collapse against the wall drew a line connecting Yiisuriel and the stylised First Egg. She stared numbly at the spot, hearing Dragonsoul’s cry within her, No more! He’s picking us off at his leisure! and she muttered to herself, “But what can I do?”
The line made Yiisuriel and the Egg resemble one of the large door-keys from her ancestral home at Immadia Island. Yii. Key. Sapphire had been making a draconic pun-rhyme.
“Aye!” cried Aranya, grabbing Sapphire. “Come with me, you immodest little genius.”
“Genie?” squeaked the dragonet. “Mean clever?”
She ran.
What could she do? She was a Storm Dragon, the queen of improvisation. Free dance sang in her blood, Hualiama claimed. When had she ever gained by dithering? Aranya recognised that now. She knew her indecision had cost lives. Aranya quailed at the awful truth of Thoralian’s triumph over her heart and soul. No longer. She would beat that hegemony into dust.
Picking up her knees, she ran from her chamber toward the hangars, where the Dragonwings were dozing in preparation for the morrow’s endless battle against the drakes. Keeping busy. The siege, wearing down the defenders. Maiming. Killing. No more! She pumped her arms, ruing the dreadful toll the pox had taken on her physical body. And as she ran, she was startled to see herself starting to glow white. Even before her transformation, her Shapeshifter white-fires arose?
No, this is our soul, said Dragonsoul, within her. Or do you think we are not linked?
The Human chuckled softly, madly. I am fire?
You are fire, confirmed her inner presence. We burn as one. There is but one fire, twice enfleshed.
Her soundless flaring briefly brought suns-bright daylight to the long corridor. Aranya giggled as her feet left footprints in the scattered dust, all that remained of her clothing. Except the white scale. Exactly like Ardan’s ur-makka, it survived her fires and her transformations. How? Sapphire turned a celebratory spiralling somersault around her flying hair as the Shapeshifter Princess continued to flee down the corridor. Still Human. That was necessary, because the door at the end was Human-sized.
Shield, whispered Dragonsoul. Sneak out. This is our battle with the Thoralians, petal. No more souls must suffer and die, save us. We are the acceptable sacrifice. This task falls to our hands and paws.
Wreathed in shadow almost as effective as Ardan’s, the naked but invisible girl padded through the hangar, past the part-sleeping part-alert mountain of Genholme, past Bane and Lurax sleeping the sleep of exhausted soldiers beside her, and up to the great blast-doors, which remained wide enough for the watch-Dragons to slip in and out as needed. Auditory, olfactory, optical, tactile, pneumatic and magical shields surrounded her–thank you, Ri’arion and Ardan. She held Sapphire in her arms, inside her enchantment. Aranya froze as a Red Shapeshifter Dragon padded between the inner doors. Right. Stealth, Immadia! She held her breath, but the Dragon noticed nothing as his wingtip brushed over her foot.
Onward. Aranya whirled through the doors and found herself standing right between two further Dragons. Stupid, weak hearing! A tail crossed her path perfectly. There was no other recourse, no way around bulky hindquarters. Right. She could not levitate like Ri’arion, but she could achieve a similar effect with a clever bit of air-shaping.
Aranya wafted between the Dragons.
What was that? rumbled the Grey-Green Dragon on her left.
Night breezes, said the other.
Sapphire chuckled as Aranya silently rose, bouncing off the Dragon’s lazily extended paw on her air-cushion. She flipped over toward his companion, who scratched his neck vigorously as she rebounded off his thickset neck, again not touching the Dragon. Just air. Ha. Technically, she was still a convict. She may as well behave like one. Dragons who had just been reverse-burgled might not take it very kindly, she knew. Aranya drifted around four further Dragons patrolling the interior area between the blast-doors, spying a perfect, starry night beyond. How she yearned to fly, unbridled and unconstrained. Drifting up onto the lip of the fifty foot-thick doors, the Immadian wafted right to the edge. Below was a fi
ve-mile drop to the Cloudlands. She knew this view. Only this time, her chains were not metal, but flesh scarred and mortal.
Mother …
She dived into the void.
* * * *
Ardan woke as a huge paw gripped his shoulder. “Shadow! Up. Where’s Aranya?”
He shook the dream-cobwebs out of his head. “Aranya? How would I know? Sleeping, of–”
“In an abandoned chamber?” snarled Gangurtharr.
“What?”
Ten seconds later, he was staring at exactly that–an empty bedchamber.
“Wretched Princess!” His frantic gaze lit on the detailed, strategic map covering the wall. Rushing over, Ardan examined her markings. Leandrial. Dragon Riders. The jagged line connecting Yiisuriel and the First Egg … “Fra’anior’s sulphurous breath–Gang! You were supposed to watch her, you lazy lout!”
Gang’s muzzle could not even fit through the doorway, but his snarl certainly did. “She stole out, that ignoble girlfriend of yours! We need to alert–”
“No. Not yet.”
Fire bathed the corridor outside. “Why not?”
“Because she’ll have a reason for subterfuge. Aranya always has a reason–some crazy, noble, off-the-freaking-Island, insane reason … no! No, no … no!”
“What the hells?” growled the Dragon. “Speak truth-fires, be you a Dragon!”
“She’s gone to take on the Thoralians all by herself. She’s figured out the Dragon’s wings on his plans and she–typical ruddy woman! Why, you vexatious, maddening, beautiful woman! Why?”
“The noble sacrifice?” Gang rumbled, very slowly.
“Aye.”
The old Gladiator stilled his fulminating at once. “Right. We need to raise the alarm, but very, very quietly. I’ll get Huaricithe and Zuziana. Your friend thinks she’s sneaky? We’ll sneak up on her. Meantime, Marshal Tari warms up the Lost Island crews and we try to raise Leandrial and Ri’arion with a coded message. Give nothing away. Nothing. I’ve a feeling in my waters it’s all going to happen tonight.”
“Tonight?” echoed Ardan.