by Marc Secchia
“Jalfyrion, you can bring your personal fires along,” said Kal, deeply sarcastic. “I want to talk to you in private. It’ll be quick and painless, I promise.”
Kal led the Red Dragon away from the fire. When they were far enough to defeat even a Dragoness’ hearing or lip-reading, he hoped, he turned to Jalfyrion. “I know what you’re hiding.”
The Red smirked. With a hundred fangs gleaming in a jaw apparently built for bulldozing flocks of ralti sheep down his capacious gullet, his smirk was truly impressive. “Brave Human. Moved from insinuations to direct accusations?”
“Fine, I’ll say it. You’re a Shapeshifter.”
“Your Tazithiel is a Shapeshifter. My dark-fires burn at her travails, Rider Kal.” The Red lowered his muzzle. Suddenly there was an awareness of connection, heat, the knowledge of an alien mind somehow attuned to his. Brotherhood? With a Dragon? Kal felt faint. “The Green Endurion is a blight upon the Dragonkind of Mejia. He was once a Dragon Elder, but now skulks about his black-rock fortress, disgraced and dishonoured. I will not trouble your ears with that shameful tale, but suffice to say, your Tazithiel is but one victim of his dark-fires. His … how do you say it in Island Standard?”
“Evil?”
“Aye. A small word for great wickedness. He’s adherent of Dramagon’s philosophies–well do you shiver, little Human.”
Kal could not speak. Suddenly his annoyance over Jisellia seemed but a petty grievance; his planned exposure of Jalfyrion, the small-minded and self-serving upshot of craven jealousy.
“My wings quiver most agreeably at your liaison, Rider Kal. You’re a brave and noble soul–” Kal cringed “–and I imagine my summer-sister is, in her Human manifestation, regarded as striking of form and flight among your kind?”
“Uh–very.”
They both chuckled at Kal’s gruff, revealing response.
Jalfyrion’s eye-fires whirled with good humour. “Now, how many fireballs did you wish to hurl at me, Dragon Rider?”
Kal modified what he had been about to say. “This morning, when Jisellia kissed me, I saw something in your expression which matched that of my Tazithiel. Something I did not expect to see in a Dragon. So I looked deeper.”
“And what did you see?” Jalfyrion spoke evenly, but the quickening tempo and volume of his belly-fires divulged his disquiet.
Tazi had been trying to teach him Dragon politeness. Though it itched like a prickle-bush shoved up his shirt, he said, “Mighty Jalfyrion, I’ve a secret I would share with you. Will you promise never to reveal it to another?”
“I so swear, upon my mother’s egg,” he said gravely.
The Dragon’s expression communicated that he was humouring the Human. Kal said, “My heritage is of Ha’athior Island in the Fra’anior Cluster. I’ve magic of my own.” Such as the ability to sneak undetected beneath the noses of Dragons? Kal hesitated at this insight. Really? Was this what had made him such an effective sneak thief? “One of my powers is most unusual. I can detect Shapeshifters.”
Jalfyrion growled, “Impossible.”
“Let’s see.” Kal concentrated until specks of light began to dance across his vision. “Your Human is about five feet nine inches tall, and broad through the shoulder. He has wavy, shoulder-length black hair. He has a … it’s a birthmark, I think, here on his left cheek. Resembles a splash of paint. And here, in the hollow of his clavicle, a sickle-shaped scar.”
The Dragon made a convulsive grab for Kal, before stopping the motion. By the First Egg what is this–it’s a trick!
No. I’m afraid not.
This Dragon power does not exist.
It took all of his courage to stand his ground in the face of the Dragon’s rumbling outrage. Kal sensed Tazi’s eyes upon them. Do I lie, Jalfyrion? Do not deflect the question. I know what you are, and I know how you feel about Jisellia. Will you hide this from her forever? What happens when she finds out? Or will you stand to lose your beloved to another, less scrupulous Human?
She is not my–Jalfyrion clashed his fangs mere inches from Kal’s nose. This time, he did stumble backward; Tazithiel bellowed, scrambling to her paws. The Red called, Stop. Tazithiel, your Rider is fine, he’s in no danger from me.
No danger? Right.
Tazithiel blazed, Kal? Is Jalfyrion harassing you?
Kal stared up into the Red’s eyes. We’re just having a manly disagreement. I’m about to punch his fires right through his unmentionables.
Jalfyrion roared with laughter. Coming from a Dragon, that triggered a ten-foot wide fireball which started a forest fire directly behind Kal.
Men–Dragons. Honestly! Tazithiel snuffed out the fire by disdainfully squirting a load of ice-slushy water over it. The temptation to do the same to Kal and Jalfyrion must have been almost impossible to resist.
How little she knows, Kal whispered, with a sardonic curl of his lip meant for the Red.
Jalfyrion spoke directly into Kal’s mind. Jisellia is my beloved, which is more than you claim for Tazithiel, Rider Kal. So here’s a meaty chunk of advice from me–keep your stinking hands off my Rider, or I shall see how well you fly attached to one of my fireballs. Do I make myself clear?
Abundantly.
I shall consider your wise words, noble Kal. Abruptly, his eye-fires darkened. The stigma associated with Shapeshifter powers is greater than you imagine. Protect her, Kal. Wherever you fly, even if you visit our Academy–protect your Dragoness, for I sense you’re a man who knows what dangers may hide in shadows.
Kal nodded, suppressing an instinctive shudder. And here’s a blazing volcano of advice from me, mighty Jalfyrion. Keep your stinking paws off my Dragoness, or I shall shackle your gonads to a passing comet and see how well you fly. Do I make myself clear?
After a startled hiatus, the Red Dragon’s laughter belled into the night. Then, he thrust out his paw. I believe Humans seal a bargain like this.
Kal shook his talon manfully.
With comradely chuckles, the mismatched twosome walked back to camp.
Chapter 14: Business as Unusual
“WHAT DID YOU say to Jalfyrion? Why were you laughing?” snarled the Indigo Dragoness, three days later, during their approach to Yin’toria Island. Peeved was not the word. She was practically shedding scales in the welter of her fury.
“What’s the meaning of ‘metagrobolise’?”
Tazithiel’s enraged bellow made the clouds above them shiver.
Clearly, his Dragoness needed a nettle up her–ahem. He kept slipping back into unreformed Kal-character. He coughed delicately. “You just can’t stand not knowing, can you?”
“I’m in a bad mood, Kal, which you are doing your notable best to aggravate. Whatever this detour to Yin’toria is, it had better be good.”
“Very good,” said Kal, not convincing either of them. The Indigo Dragoness had been keen to forge on to Jeradia in the company of their fellow Dragons and Riders, while Kal would rather have embraced a plague-carrying rat while begging it to give him the worst case of boils in the history of the Island-World.
Tazithiel made an evident effort to calm herself. “So, you have business on Yin’toria?”
“I own a business on Yin’toria–several businesses. In fact, it’s my Island.”
“Your adopted home Island?”
Kal essayed a grin which emerged decidedly queasy and did not improve thereafter. “I sort of own it. The whole Island … ah, and the Cluster. Twenty-four Islands in all.”
“Busy,” said Tazi, looking ahead with the superior power of her Dragon sight. “Industrial. How many of these people work for your business, Kal?”
“All of them, more or less. Not the children, of course. They go to school.” He mopped his brow. Good. They were starting to broach a subject over which he had lost sleep ever since he met her. No turning back now, Kal! “On the first four Islands you’ll see terrace lakes under construction. We’re borrowing that idea from the North, seeing as rainfall’s been unreliable for the last few
years. We’re experimenting with a new method of terracing farmland as well, to ensure precious nutrients aren’t lost to the Cloudlands-bound rivers. The Dragon Elders of Gi’ishior gave us permission to start a new colony of dragonets down here, given their recent overcrowding issues at Fra’anior.”
“I see,” rumbled Tazithiel.
He continued to expound on the notable sights as they swept in to land at the largest town, laughably named Gluetap for its past dominance of the glue-tree industry. Having directed Tazithiel to transform behind the relative privacy of a flotilla of Dragonships and stored their supplies with the harbourmaster, Kal linked arms with the tall beauty and strolled into town. He tried not to swagger. Great Islands, he tried. But with Tazithiel effortlessly turning grown men into doddering null-brains on every street corner, could he not be forgiven a drop of gloating?
“It’s very clean and orderly,” she said. “But nobody seems to know the owner of this place.”
“Do you think I prefer celebrity?”
“No. If I know you at all, I know you prefer sable cloaks, squally nights and ducking into treasuries to avoid the rain.”
“Thanks.”
Kal walked up to a nondescript building and gave a password at a door which appeared to enjoy little use. Behind stood an unsmiling Green Dragon, who largely filled the building. Tazi’s eyes widened.
“Islands’ greetings, sir.” The security monster appraised Tazithiel shrewdly. “A guest?”
“A private guest,” Kal confirmed.
“Proceed.”
Ducking beneath the Dragon’s stomach, Kal led his companion down a short flight of stairs which opened on an underground platform. A metal cage on a rail awaited them. Kal seated Tazi courteously on one of the passenger seats and pressed a button. With a hiss of steam, they shot off into the darkness.
“Mining operations?” Tazi asked, when after several minutes they whizzed through a towering cavern and an auditory assault on the senses.
“A rich lode of gold in this one,” said Kal.
“And you have a Dragon guarding the entrance?”
“Tends to deter tourists,” he quipped. “Right. We’ll disembark here, Tazi, and take the lift.”
“I could’ve flown here.”
“Too much attention and too dangerous for you,” Kal replied crisply. “I couldn’t think of any way of alerting our defences to the arrival of a friendly Dragoness. This route is more … efficient. I’ll clear Her Indisputable Magnificence the Indigo Dragoness with the command team upon arrival.”
Her expression openly wondered what type of business he was running. Kal kept a straight face and covertly dried his palms on his trousers.
Ten minutes of steam-powered elevator travel later, Kal and Tazi stepped out onto a busy platform on the edge of a small, dormant volcanic caldera. Flowers and blossoms abounded. Dragonets and colourful tropical birds played amongst the dense, tumbling foliage, or dived into the still, clear lake at the base of the caldera, seven hundred feet below the platform. Dozens of uniformed men and women hurried about, intent on their work, although on a second, almost identical platform above, a class of girls each stood behind an easel, painting the picturesque scene.
Stepping up to the crysglass railing, Tazithiel murmured, “It’s beautiful, Kal. And those doors are all …”
“Departments,” said Kal. “Industry headquarters and suchlike. Tarbak, the busy dragonet catches the dragonfly.”
“Ah, very good, King Ta’armion. At ease, gentlemen.”
Pointedly ignoring the squad of heavily armed soldiers–and two Dragons, again–which had taken a keen interest in their arrival, Tazithiel said, “King?”
Kal bowed. “It’s a joke based on my other identity. The one I’ve been planning to tell you about, but hadn’t found a way to … express, as yet. This is what I’ve been waiting to show you.”
“The real King Ta’armion is probably scaring worms out of his grave right now,” she noted, with a too-bright smile. Kal feared that behind the smile, her brain was sizzling, trying to process the scene. “Carry on, Kallion.”
Ooh, there it was. A verbal fireball across the bow.
“We’ll go up to my office,” said Kal.
“You? Sitting in an office?” Tazithiel took possession of his arm with a pincer-grip of her fingers. Great Islands, she was strong! “Somehow, I can’t picture this, Kal.”
“It’s not exactly well-used. My trusted staff are used to–let’s call them long absences, shall we? The whole operation is designed to run without yours truly at the helm, because yours truly happens to be adventurous and unreliable in equal measure. Also, I’m not much of a businessman.”
One perfect eyebrow crawled toward her coiffed locks. Bah. Advantages of Kinetic power, Kal thought. He looked and probably smelled as if had been travelling non-stop for weeks, fighting drakes and sleeping near his Dragon’s paws. In contrast, Tazithiel had a perfect petal kissed by the dew of dawn freshness about her. No point in being sour. Taking her arm genially, Kal led the Shapeshifter up several flights of stairs to the place he liked to call his eyrie–a crysglass-lined office right near the top, with an uninterrupted view of the caldera.
How would Tazi respond? The knot in his stomach wound tighter.
Would his other conundrum be lying in wait?
The knot developed teeth and a bad attitude.
Around him, a small buzz of people materialised as if drawn by magic. Kal introduced them patiently, and asked for all issues and paperwork and discussion to be brought to him after lunch.
“Finally,” said Tazi, as the doors to his office slid shut. “Now, explanation or annihilation. Make your choice, Human.”
Kal made a shushing gesture with his hand, peering within. Plush carpeting deadened any sound. Priceless artworks adorned the non-glass walls, while hand-carved wooden furniture, statues and pot-plants divided the room into several sections, which included a receiving balcony, a cushion-bowl and several pedestals for draconic visitors. Quiet? Too quiet. The person he expected to find within was about as predictable as a wounded rajal, with a temper to match.
Cat-footed, he crept into the room.
Kal? A touch of Tazi’s mind.
Don’t worry. This is our tradition. I won’t be a moment.
Fine. I’ll save destroying you for when you’ve finished having your traditional fun.
Abruptly, Kal dived to his left, narrowly avoiding a dagger which whistled past his left ear and buried itself, quivering, in the trunk of a clay-pot tree, imaginatively named for its sour fruit which closely resembled dangling clay pots. He hurled a dagger in return. Low, female laughter tickled his neck. Kal yelped and pretended to fumble a dive; he came up with his sword pressed against a girl’s bare abdomen, while her curved dagger imperilled his right eye.
“You’re dead,” he said.
“You’re deader,” replied the girl.
Grinning, Kal pretended to wipe sweat off his brow. “I’ll have to let you get closer next time, Riika. Rigging that dagger to a bowstring was smart, but not smart enough. I saw the wire.”
“Bah. You dived right into my trap.”
“Come on, I’ve someone special for you to meet–Tazithiel. Tazi, this is … uh, Riika.”
Tazi’s eyes crawled up and down the girl’s figure, commenting abundantly without need to say a word. Riika wore two short swords crossed on her back, multiple pairs of daggers and throwing knives at her hips, and leather trousers so tight Kal suspected he could see the outline of the brand on her right hip. Brief, Western-Isles upper-body armour covered her breasts but left a sprung-steel abdomen bare. Riika, part-Helyon Islander and part-Pygmy, barely measured up to Kal’s upper bicep.
The tall Shapeshifter seemed most put out, especially when Riika ignored her outstretched hand.
Kal pressed Tazi’s hand down. “In her former profession, that’s a deadly insult.”
“Former?” Tazithiel matched Riika’s defiant glare with a scowl of her own
. “Why didn’t she attack me?”
“I pick my battles,” said the girl, with a flash of those black eyes. Her dark curly hair, as always, was drawn up behind her head and tied off with razor-ribbons invented by the famous Balthion of Sylakia, and framed a face of haunting black eyes and delicate features. “You’re a thousand times deadlier than softy slow-pants over here. You’ve got Shapeshifter written all over you. And before you ask, where I come from, it pays to know your clients. Can’t imagine sticking a knife into a Dragoness would be received kindly.”
“Clients? What are you, a professional bed-warmer?”
“Former assassin,” Kal put in.
“What are you–the current bed-warmer?” the girl returned rudely.
To Kal’s surprise, this only brought a smile to Tazithiel’s face–the smile of a Dragoness sizing up her prey. “Seems to be a great deal of reforming going on around here,” she snapped. “Former this, previous that. What is she to you exactly, Kal? Before I start gnawing on both your heads?”
Her spectral Dragoness shimmered into being around Human-Tazi, mirroring a temper evidently approaching boiling-point.
“After I failed to eliminate him, as he never fails to remind me, he rescued me from slavery,” said the girl.
“Bravo,” said Tazi. “And he’s been reforming you ever since?”
Riika chuckled, but her voice was as dead as her eyes. “I started killing on commission when I was eight, lady. I’m fourteen now. That man you’re threatening is the closest person I’ve known to a parent and he’s been nothing but good to me. So you can go stuff your arrogant Dragon fires right up your–”
“Riika!” Kal barked.
The girl stormed, “Listen, purple-eyes, and listen good. Around here, you earn respect. Same goes for your Dragoness. You and I both know Shapeshifter poisons are to be had for the right coin.”
Tazithiel made a soft explosion of breath.
“Great Islands, Riika–both of you! Stop it!”
“He’s a wastrel and a womaniser. Clean your fangs with his guts if he gives you any trouble,” said Riika, stepping away abruptly. “Watch your back, Sticky-Fingers. This one’s deadly.”