by Marc Secchia
Tazithiel stalked him, shouting and spitting sparks, “You stole this from the Dragons? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Not a clue–well, apart from the general redistribution of Dragon gold to his hoard, which the clawed, toothy kind tended to view in a dim light. She had no right to be so riled, in Kal’s bewildered opinion. Power crackled off her body as the Shapeshifter Dragoness raged across the chamber, her hair writhing like a nest of angry serpents, sharp jolts of lightning leaping from her exposed skin to scorch the floor, walls and bed-hangings. Kal thought he saw the image of her Dragon moving with her, flickering in and out at the edge of reality as if she struggled to deny the Indigo Dragoness egress. Finally, Tazithiel stopped and pointed dramatically at the bed.
You!
Her scream knocked Kal, half-upright, flat on his back. Light blasted from her body. With that, her dress turned into carbonised dust as if it had been run through a Dragonship’s engines and ejected from the exhaust. Tazithiel glanced down at herself, and then at Kal. Dignity? What dignity? He arranged his face into an expression which he hoped resembled injured nobility.
Roaring rajals, was she not magnificent?
“Well, that’s convenient–for you,” said Human-Tazi, leaping smoothly atop Kal. She sat on his stomach. Hard. He rather hoped now was not the moment her Dragoness would choose to make an appearance. That would squeeze Kal out like spicy Jeradian pancake batter beneath a rolling-pin.
“Now, dear Kal. Will you explain your profession one more time?”
Kal tried to meet her gaze, but his eyes seemed weighted down rather severely. “I don’t understand. What’s so special about this Dragon hoard?”
“You don’t know who this hoard belonged to?” she cooed, playing with his collar in a manner that minded him how quickly her talons could rearrange his windpipe, if desired.
“I didn’t exactly steal an Island and float it down south complete with gold, Dragon baths and hot running water courtesy of Dragon technology,” Kal huffed. “Perhaps we can dispense with the localised electrical storms and swap some actual information to help this poor, diverted soul heave his mind out of the proverbial Sylakian sewer?”
“You filthy crook,” she grinned, twitching her torso from side to side. “No monk, eh? You certainly aren’t!”
Kal grinned back. “Aye.”
“You unscrupulous, pilfering, snake-tongued old fraud!”
He stretched lazily. “Ah, scurrilous compliments.”
“You’re not some common, out-of-the-barrel thief, are you? You’re absolutely prolific.”
“All the women say that on my pillow-roll.”
Abruptly, Tazithiel’s hair closed like a curtain over her body. Windroc droppings! He had been enjoying the view.
She growled, “All the women? All?”
Kal saw that Dragoness wavering behind Tazi’s shoulder again. Scowling, apparently aware of their interaction. No better way to ensure his best behaviour, he thought sourly. He groused, “Explain yourself in words of one syllable so that even a stupid Human can understand.”
Tazi bit her lip. “Ouch. I guess I deserved that.”
Folding her arms, she shifted to the side of the bed, turning her back to him. He wanted to speak, to apologise, but the words stuck in his throat.
“Kal, did you not read the lettering above the doorway of this chamber?”
“It’s written in Ancient Dragonish code-runes,” he said, supplying the Dragonish word where no Island Standard equivalent existed. “How do you expect me to read that?”
She replied, This chamber belonged to Istariela, the Star Dragoness. This is the fabled Star-Hoard, Kal, the one place Istariela was famously able to hide from Fra’anior’s wrath when she tarried to serve the Lesser Dragons, rather than travelling with the Ancient Dragons to the star-beyond when they abandoned our Island-World. Legend states that Istariela betrayed Fra’anior, although no-one has ever worked out how or why. This is a secret … I can’t describe its greatness or importance, Kal, and you just … you just live here as if you’re a fatuous little boy playing with his shiny toys! Three thousand drals? No wonder you spit upon such a pittance.
I care for the place, he choked out. I’ve never betrayed this secret to anyone.
Except me.
Oh, and what was that you said about trust?
They traded verbal punches. Kal hated it. A pox on this treasure! Why had he let gold come between them? The Dragoness wavered, there in the aether, and then snapped into existence with a soft whomp of displaced air. Tazithiel hulked over him, menace writ in the tension of every muscle fibre and the shifting of her tonnage upon her paws.
She snarled, “So you invite a Dragoness into your hoard, Kal? Do you know what I could do to you? Maybe I’ll just take it all!”
“Freaking feral Dragoness!” he shouted, throwing his hurt into her face. “I trusted you. I trusted … go roast your gigantic, gluttonous rump in that lava pool for all I care!”
To his shock, she did.
* * * *
While bathing, Kal glanced in a mirror and chuckled at his poor, mistreated beard, which resembled a mange-ridden sheep’s pelt after Tazithiel had flame-trimmed it. He decided to go clean-shaven for the first time in many a year. He dressed in soft rajal-leather trousers of the finest tailoring, tooled leather boots and a loose cotton shirt in the Fra’aniorian style. Over this, he drew on a king’s cloak, a favourite crown from his collection and the jewelled chest-piece of a Western Isles chieftain. A touch of Roymerian nard, by the sackweight worth a merchant’s living wage for a year, completed his preparations.
By the gentle lapping of molten rock, he deduced the Indigo Dragoness was still bathing. Good. He walked down to his clothing rooms, home to the wardrobes of many a princess or queen, thinking to select a dress for Tazithiel. He debated–what would she find attractive? Not a Fra’aniorian bridal gown, oh no. He developed breathing difficulties at the thought. It must draw attention to her eyes and hair, of course. Ah yes, a maiden’s presentation-gown from Franxx.
Her eyebrows would twitch at this one, surely.
Selecting a bottle of the finest vintage Fra’aniorian berry wine from his extensive cellar, Kal returned via his jewellery-grotto. What item of magnificent gem-art could he bestow upon the Shapeshifter, which would not be instantly outshone? He began to scratch his now-absent beard. Hmm. There was a habit in need of breaking.
Perfect! Kal chuckled in delight. Simple. Unusual–unique, even. A family heirloom he had caused to be misplaced in Immadia many, many moons ago.
Whistling a jaunty tune, he returned to the bedchamber.
Ambushed!
When his heart had been restored to its proper place in his chest, and Human-Tazi had finished smothering his mouth, chin and cheeks in kisses–being unequivocally delighted with the new, smoother Kal–she stepped back.
“Presents for me, King Kal? You’re too kind.”
“You shall be my Queen,” said he, pulling out a showstopper of a complete Fra’aniorian bow, which took three full minutes and fair dint of exercise to complete. “First, we must gild the finest flower of Mejia.”
Tazithiel turned the garment over in her hands. “Er, which is the side which is mostly missing–the back or the front?”
“Oh for the silver tongue of a bard when I need one.” Kal’s droll expression ignited a flood of rose in her cheeks. “I couldn’t guarantee your safety either way. That’s right, now try the mirror. It’s big enough for your Dragoness.” She turned and twirled, showing him the daringly backless design. “Breathtaking,” he approved, triggering a few stray sparks that leaped from the small of her back to his possessive hand. “Now, I’ve a special gift for you. Close your eyes. Hold out your hand.”
“What is it?” she asked, turning the item over in her fingers. “A scale–Kal, are you having me on?”
“You may open your eyes.”
“It’s a White Dragoness’ scale,” he explained, watching her rea
ction closely, the better to enjoy her delight. “I’m told it once belonged to a Star Dragoness–”
With a shriek, Tazithiel dropped the hand-sized scale and attached necklace at her feet as though she had palmed a cobra. She stared at the gift in horror, her hands shaking violently. “Kal, I saw … I saw–how could you do this to me?”
“Uh–”
“I can’t wear it! Oh, you foolish, foolish man! Oh, great Islands, Kal …” Tazi’s hands covered her mouth, her eyes above them, wide with raw horror. “That’s the three thousand. Right there, that’s the price on your head.”
“What? Impossible, Tazi. It’s a Dragoness’ scale, no more, no less.”
“Where did you get it, Kal? Another fortuitous find? You were just strolling about a remote corner of the Island-World when a bit of treasure fell miraculously into your pocket?”
For the first time in his life, Kal considered his profession, and felt dirty.
“It was a dare,” he explained, unwillingly. He crouched to pick up the scale and its simple golden necklace, sized for a slender female neck. “A down payment on my Thieves’ Guild membership at Erigar Island. I so desperately wanted to be accepted in their world, Tazi. I was a boy of fourteen summers. I had no idea what I was doing. They convinced me I needed something big; I knew the tales about the riches of the Dragon-Queen of Immadia. So I went and stole something of hers. It wasn’t heroic or daring or even terribly difficult, just a distinctive piece which I found lying openly on her dresser. I’d heard a ballad tell of its existence. The scale of a Star Dragoness.”
More gently, Tazithiel said, “That scale would be the prize possession of Aranya of Immadia, Kal, she who is arguably the most powerful Dragoness who ever lived. She has moved Islands to find it again. Whole Islands–you’ve no idea how badly she wants it back.”
Her gaze was level. No levity. No threat. Yet Kal felt cornered. His world had closed in; suddenly actions had consequences, and upon the vines of his choices, strange and troubling fruit had begun to sprout. He wanted to say this was Tazithiel’s fault, but the Kal of any smidgen of honesty knew better. Privately, he tossed honour, truth and the justice his past deeds deserved, into the nearest volcano. Was he not Kal, the walls of whose world were made to be scaled, fortresses infiltrated and maidens … he glanced guiltily at Tazithiel. Robbed! He’d always considered a conscience to be akin to fungus, germinating in weakness and nasty at the edges. Herein lay an entirely novel peril, but it was the endpoint of a thread Kal recognised, belatedly, had come to be woven within the tapestry of his life over the last decade or so. Bah.
“At risk of being accused of swearing at you again,” Tazi added, “I’d urge you to consider returning the scale to its rightful owner.”
He grunted, “I’ll think about it.”
“There are few things I’d beg of you, Kal.”
The fragility inherent in her statement rattled him. She meant for both their sakes, he realised. Should a Dragon be caught shielding this secret, it would fly with the grace of a lead-filled Dragonship. But how would anyone ever know, or work out, who had possession of some special Dragon’s scale? And how could a single scale be so ruddy important?
His fingers curled around the metallic scrap. Kal pocketed it.
* * * *
That day, they were King and Queen together.
Kal and Tazi explored Istariela’s hoard. Thoughts of the Star Dragoness’ sad fate at her beloved’s claw gave way to merriment as they sampled his collection of the finest wines and brandies money could buy–or not–sourced from the private vaults of those Kal loudly disparaged as ‘popinjays, fools and warts upon an Island’s backside’. They competed to see who could dress in the most foppish costumes, the most opulent silks, velveteen and Fra’aniorian lace; they tried on crowns and diadems, rolled down slopes of gold drals and rooted about in random treasure chests, hooting and exclaiming over their discoveries, and retired at intervals to play with the bed hangings and waggling sceptres and suchlike.
Her laughter was Dragonwine to his soul. A small part of Kal did wonder why the Dragoness’ revelry appeared quite so frenzied, but this day was about casting their cares aside. Assaulting uncrossable mountains could wait. Sampling another vintage? Much more appealing.
Having slept a slumber of excess and decadence, Kal stirred with great care come morning, and heard a peculiar vibration in his lair–a deep, heavy purring sound. He rubbed his temples, unable to decide whether this was his hangover or the Island about to fall upon his head, and stumbled off to make his ablutions. On second thoughts, that icy waterfall in the Star Dragoness’ bath chamber was just the rajal’s shirt. The water would pound cold reality into his pebble-stuffed cranium. Wash these mawkish morals down the nearest drain. He should make plans with this Dragoness. See the world’s treasures from close up. Mmm.
Kal emerged from the waterfall. Louder. That dratted humming; it set his teeth on edge. The whole cavern complex vibrated as indignantly as a beehive kicked down a hill.
Rescuing his trousers from a place of abandonment upon a bedpost, Kal dressed and set off to investigate, which took him all of a few seconds. Tazithiel? In all her draconic finery, his sweet Dragoness lolled upon the gold in the central chamber, humming to herself. The chamber hummed back, only at a considerably greater volume and discernible menace. Well. A most fetching image of their first meeting popped into Kal’s mind–only, he did not fancy the glint in her Dragon’s eye. Nor the tenor of the chamber’s response.
“Finest of the morning to you, o noble Indigo Dragoness!” he sang out, setting his foot upon the steps descending to the treasure-floor.
With an ugly growl, Tazithiel slipped through the gold like a terrace-lake trout sporting in churning water–surely, a feat of physical impossibility, yet she dove beneath the surface, rippling toward him, before breaching in a shower of coins, baskets and bullion-bars. Kal staggered as a suit of golden armour bounced off his shoulder.
Get away from my treasure, little Human!
Kal stared. Green flame in her eyes? No hint of recognition–was she feral? Tazithiel?
Out, you miniscule pest! Mine!
Her muzzle swung about, not the blindingly quick snap of Dragon reactions, but hellishly fast anyways. Kal twisted and leaped in one fluid motion, avoiding her sweeping burst of flame at the expense of a scorched shoulder. He ducked behind a twenty-foot golden statue.
What by Fra’anior’s roots is wrong with you, you gigantic smoking lizard? Kal shouted. Stop it!
Her paw curled about the statue. Tazi stalked him, spreading her wing on one flank to cut off his escape, and her paw on the other. You despoiled me.
You were a willing part–yie! Kal sprang aside and managed to ride a jewelled breastplate twenty feet down into a golden dell amidst the treasure. The Indigo Dragoness slithered after, her eye-fires blazing an unholy, unnerving shade of green. And enthusiastic! Taaaazzzzzziiiii …
Wailing was no help. Running for his life–eminently more advisable. Kal kicked showers of golden drals into the Dragoness’ maw as he zigzagged up a slope, pumping his arms, before diving down the other side with the poise of a swooping falcon. He would outrun this Dragoness if it was the last …
His belt snagged on a three-quarters-buried Dragon lance.
“Help!”
The Dragoness snaffled him up with the dexterity of a cutpurse relieving a merchant’s belt of its load. She snarled, Help is far, far away, you wriggling louse. Now I will–
As she spoke, the Dragoness’ lungs filled with an inrushing of wind. Kal dangled from her paw rather more like a bedraggled rat than he cared to admit. With a massive grinding sound, the wall opposite cracked open. Even Kal sensed the cave’s magic now, rapidly escalating from sweet harmonies to a storm-dangerous shriek. Tazithiel, maddened beyond reason, did not appear to sense the changes in their environment.
Her fire jetted forth.
White fire, burning through his pocket faster than the eye could follow, smashe
d into the space between Kal and the Indigo Dragoness. He clutched his hip instinctively. Saw a light blaze so brightly, it highlighted every bone in his hand.
KAAARRAAAABOOOOM!
Kal and his superheated girlfriend parted ways with a devastating explosion–Kal to smash against a pile of gold plates, Tazithiel to be ejected from the chamber through the unfeasibly small crack in the wall opposite. What–the air had undulated around her and … he groaned, shifting his battered body. Nothing broken, maybe. Ding! A golden platter chimed cheerfully as it bounced off his skull.
Now that was magic! Dazed, Kal’s gaze dropped to his smoking vitals. Oh, freaking fireballs! He treated the material of his trousers to a frantic flurry of slaps, putting out a small blaze. There was charred, oozing skin, but oddly, he felt no pain.
Tazi? Through the four-foot gap in the chamber wall, he saw the Dragoness cartwheeling away through the sky in a flurry of limbs and wings, out of his line of sight.
“Tazithiel–no!”
Chapter 11: The Island-Desert
KAL limped UP to the surface and over to Mistress Chema’agion’s triangular log cabin to request treatment. She was a short woman but as broad in the beam as a Dragonship, and more direct than a quarrel. Called ‘Chemi’ for short, she hailed from Seg, northwest of Sylakia Island.
She greeted him at the door with a scowl and a sniff of disdain for his condition, given her extensive experience with Kal’s wounds in times past. “Here comes trouble. What you want, boy?”
“Mistress Chemi.” Kal bowed deeply. “How’s your family? Your husband? Your–”
“Yardi! Clear the dining-room table!” she yelled in a voice like a Sylakian Captain of the Hammers. “Got us a patient.”
Chemi had four teenage daughters and one son, and a husband who was famously spear-thin. They made a most unusual couple–her husband Taggion was a gangly Northerner, as pale as parchment, while Chemi was as round and brown as a nut. Kal had known them since their oldest was swaddled as a babe.