by Marc Secchia
“Pip, a messenger Dragon came from the Southern Academy today. They beat off the first two waves of attacks. It seems that the floating Island is not entirely invulnerable.” He swallowed. “But I need to tell you, Zardon fell. He was lost.”
“He–”
For the first time since she had known him, Pip saw the Master’s lip tremble. The lines on his face seemed chiselled deeper than ever before. “He was captured, little one, and taken inside the Island. You know what that means, don’t you?”
Through the dull roaring in her ears, she said, “He said the key was to get inside, Master. Maybe it was his plan.” But her heart was desolate, and her voice mirrored nothing but pain.
Unexpectedly, the Jeradian warrior knelt and clutched her to his chest. She buried her face in his shoulder. “It’s just a cunning Zardon scheme,” he choked out. “You’ll see. The old fire-tosser, he never gives up. Don’t you give up hope, Pip. We owe him that much, don’t we?”
Tears welled from the corners of Kassik’s eyes. Using her thumbs, she wiped them clear. How strange that she should be the one to comfort him. “Master, Dragons that old and crusty, they just keep flying forever.”
“Ay?” A low, miserable bark of laughter escaped him.
“Master, I think Blazon’s looking for you,” said Yaethi, pointing to the open entrance of the infirmary.
“Come,” said Kassik, pushing to his feet. “He’s been debriefing the messenger. I doubt this news will improve our mood. You too, Yaethi. Snip snap.”
“Mistress Mya’adara said–”
“You can sit down over there.” From his snappish tone, Kassik was clearly in no mood to be trifled with. “Pip, send messenger monkeys to summon Casitha and Mya’adara. Let’s see who Blazon has brought with him. I wish for news from Fra’anior, too. We’re operating in the dark.”
“At least we have Master Ga’am,” said Maylin. “This morning, he finally admitted some of us are making progress.”
Master Kassik did not appear to hear her.
The infirmary cave’s entrance was cool and blustery, but patches of blue sky were beginning to open overhead. As she arrived to join the group gathering there, Pip saw Jyoss spiralling down from above and Nak and Oyda landing just a few feet away on Emblazon. As usual, the Amber Dragon’s arrival made every other Dragon seem that much smaller. Now, other Dragons appeared from the direction of the beautiful lake, Imogiel the Hatchling-Mother and Turquielle of Ya’arriol, and the Dragon Elders Verox, Lavador and Cressilida. They approached rapidly, fanning the watchers with their wings as they braked and landed nearby. Mya’adara and Casitha appeared a minute later, running.
“Gather close,” said Kassik, seating himself on a ledge just outside the infirmary which seemed to have been chiselled for that purpose. The Dragons shuffled closer until they lay wing to wing. Every eye inclined to him. “Yaethi, sit. Where’s Casitha–good. Nak, how’s Shimmerith?”
“Feisty,” he said. “Unapproachable. But the eggs should hatch any day now.”
Kassik nodded. “Good. All here? Blazon, your word.”
“There is much to share regarding strategy against the Night-Red Dragons,” he said, grave of demeanour.
There was none of the posturing Pip had seen during her interrogation by the Dragon Elders. It troubled her, as did Blazon’s wounds. The outer quarter of his left wing was slathered in bandages, and several patches had been scorched off his hide. His muzzle sported a deep cut, with its Dragon-sized stitches making clear lumps in the bandages stuck over it.
“Three important facts. One, the Shadow Dragon appears to be some manner of herder. Our scouts report a curious song which Dragons struggle to resist. It attracts them to the floating Island. Those who give in, vanish within. Those who resist, are attacked in overwhelming force and vanquished.”
“Secondly, while the others continue the fight, our Garricon the Red is leading a mixed group of fledglings and hatchlings here, to the Academy. The thinking is that they are no longer safe in the south. They will arrive within the week.”
“Ah’ll have to open the lower caverns,” said Mya’adara. “No more roosts, Kassik.”
“Do it. Blazon?”
Emblazon’s father raised a paw to emphasize his final point. “Thirdly, the Night-Reds have split off a skirmishing force to come and test our defences. They number some three hundred and twenty Dragons, plus one hundred Dragonships carrying ground troops.”
“That’s a skirmishing force?” Cressilida’s horrified whisper carried clearly in the silence.
“Our numbers?” asked Kassik.
Blazon nodded to Verox, who said, “Approximately the same, mighty Kassik. My tally makes us two hundred eighty-one Dragons, counting the little Onyx Dragon and the ready fledglings. Two hundred and nine have Riders. We have one thousand ground troops against their estimated four or five thousand. We have thirty Dragonships en route from Sylakia. Fifty-one Dragons will join us from the North, those who could be convinced. They hail mainly from Helyon and Immadia. A number are Blue and White Dragons, several of whom have powers of storm and ice.”
“So few?” said Kassik.
“You know what we Dragons are like,” Verox growled. “But the real news is, those are the ones who resisted. The Shadow Dragon flew north after investigating us here.” His gaze turned to Pip as he spoke. “The cold north was never beloved of Dragons, but now it is stripped bare, friends. We are the last.”
“How can the Dragon Assassins number so many?” Cressilida asked.
“Conversions,” Pip said, before she could stop herself. Every eye fixed upon her.
“Go on,” said Master Kassik.
Lavador’s eyes bulged. “How do you know that?”
“It’s a guess,” said Pip, knowing exactly what Lavador was thinking. So much for trust. “Every Dragon in their force is a Night-Red, right, Blazon?” He narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “How’s that possible? I know you’re going to tell me, ‘Dragons don’t change colour.’ Look at our forces. We’re twenty different colours, at least. Are you telling me every Dragon in Herimor is a sooty sort of Red? That they roll in charcoal for fun?”
“We get the point,” said Lavador, underscoring his words with a fiery snort of disgust. She sensed fear in him, too. “What are you saying, little one?”
Thinking aloud as she spoke, she said, “Mighty Lavador, they go into the Island and come out again, imprinted, if you like, with that Marshal’s–whatever he does to Dragons. He corrupts their magic. It’s his signature.”
Her words occasioned a cold, horrid moment in which despair made its home in every heart.
Kassik said, “You’re saying we could be fighting Zardon soon?”
“Nothing else makes sense, Master.” Pip turned to Turquielle. “Didn’t the scholars attempt a count of Dragons? There aren’t even tens of thousands.” She added, growing more miserable by the moment, “What better way to destroy Dragons than to get them to fight each other?”
“Dragons’ breath, hatchling!” roared Lavador. “You’ve a vile imagination.”
“She only speaks what the rest of us are thinking,” said Mistress Mya’adara.
The huge Yellow muttered, “Better not to speak.” But he subsided, robbed of anything further to say.
“What about the Silver Dragon?” asked Yaethi.
“He hasn’t been seen,” said Blazon. “I questioned the messenger very carefully, given the descriptions you all passed on from Fra’anior. No sign.”
Kassik turned to Pip. “Little one, what of your Dragon senses? At Fra’anior you correctly predicted the presence of evil in the Natal Cave.”
“Nothing, Master.”
“Keep alert, Pip.” Turning, he addressed the others. “I’ve no need to tell you that the odds are against us. They skirmish to prove and diminish our concentrated might. I’ve no doubt that the Shadow Dragon will return, nor will this Silver Dragon be long absent. Let’s strategize. With the approximate balance of our forces again
st theirs, Pip must be held in reserve for the moment the Silver Dragon appears. My instincts say he will not absent himself from the coming battle. Blazon, how long do we have?”
“Two days, mighty Kassik. Just two.”
Pip stifled a groan.
* * * *
The Herimor force spread itself across the horizon with unhurried grandeur, two evenings later. So many Dragons. One unrelenting colour. Behind them came the Dragonships, loaded with warriors, fifty per Dragonship. Pip, riding a thermal near Kassik, focussed her Dragon sight carefully on the impending battle, as he bade her. Details leaped into focus. Incredible.
“Master, they’re towing the Dragonships.”
“Contrary winds,” he said. “But it indicates the Marshal’s complete dominance over those Dragons’ minds.”
No sane Dragon would lower itself to the task of hauling Dragonships in harness, was what he meant.
“Master, where are our forces?”
“Hiding.” He grinned toothily at her. “Come on, Pip. Where would you be?”
“Um … in the clouds?”
“Good. We know that. They know that, if they’re smart. This raid is just to warm them up, to tell them they’re in a battle–and to keep our friends like Lavador happy. There’s no glory in attacking the enemy by surprise. The Dragon way is to spend a while insulting your rival until you’re both mad enough to tear each other apart. That’s supposed to be glorious.”
Pip nodded. Smart. Kassik was flexible in his approach, but knew his Dragons well. The younger, brasher Dragons, those who wanted to blood the enemy and cared less for tradition, had been chosen for this task. Working in groups of five–another atypical tactic–their mission was to destroy as many of the Dragonships as possible.
“Explain the strategy to me, student Pip.”
School was in? Pip bowed her head. “This phase is about survival with minimal casualties, Master. We need to flush out the Silver Dragon, if he is present. We need our Dragons to learn teamwork in battle–how to attack together, protect each other, and above all, how to focus on life rather than glory. We seek to reduce the disparity in ground forces. And, as you said, we remove the older Dragons’ objections to the tactics you have chosen.”
“Good.” His lips quirked a brief grin at her, but his mien turned sombre immediately after. “The Dragonships are beneath the cloud. Here we go.”
How he discerned that detail from a distance of fifty leagues or more was beyond her. But even as he spoke, Pip saw the Academy’s forces break free of the clouds in three different places. The Dragons seemed to move sluggishly. But out there, they must have bridged the gap at a screaming speed. The dark Dragons of Herimor had only begun to draw together when multiple flashes like lightning behind clouds twinkled along the line of dirigible Dragonships. Hydrogen and Dragon fire–an ugly combination, Pip thought. Pity the men caught in those bonfires.
“Second wave,” said Kassik, softly.
As the Herimor force bunched, instinctively chasing the marauding Dragonwings, the second wave of five groups of five Dragons shot free of the clouds.
“Boom,” said Kassik. The little lights sparkled again. Three red specks tumbled toward the Cloudlands.
So much death, Pip thought.
“For most,” he sighed, seeming to know her mind, “that’s all the glory they will find in battle. A swift death by fire or claw or sword. There is glory, Pip, but history is written by those who win. How many Dragonships were destroyed?”
“I didn’t count.”
He said, “Twenty-two. A better result than I expected.”
“Two more, now. Three.”
“But two more of our Dragons,” he countered. “And four enemy Dragons. Our force should pull away now.”
East and west, the Academy Dragons peeled away and retreated to the protection of the clouds. The two central Dragonwings did not. Kassik cursed softly as the fight intensified. “Fools,” he muttered. Another Dragonship erupted in flame, but the main battle was between Dragons now. Several clumps fell, Dragons snarled together, tearing scales off each other all the way down into the Cloudlands. Only three of the ten Jeradian Dragons managed to escape. The rest perished.
“It is hard for a Dragon to change its scales,” he said. “Do you know your part, Pip? Will you wait for the opportune moment?”
“I will, Kassik.”
“Then let us go below and partake in the agony of waiting.”
* * * *
Dragon Riders sharpened their Dragons’ claws for the twentieth time. Dragons snapped at each other. Soldiers stamped their feet and fiddled with their weapons. Yaethi, Arrabon and Pip all looked on unhappily.
“Have I told you how much this stinks?” said Yaethi.
“Ten times,” said Dragon-Pip.
“Thirteen,” said Arrabon, but he nuzzled his Rider gently. “Rider-heart, you are wounded.”
“I have a left hand which works perfectly well, thank you very much.”
Arrabon did not have to say that she had lost too much blood. They stood together, watching the pre-dawn sky, waiting for the signal. Word was that most of the Dragonships had stopped to deploy the ground troops around the volcano. They would seek ways inside, ways which for days had been checked by teams of Dragons and engineers and blocked or collapsed. But the volcano was vast. Kassik was under no illusions that they would find ingress, eventually. That was why he had also arranged false entrances with booby traps laid within, and several real entrances rigged to collapse. A force of one hundred archers lay concealed within the forest outside the main entrance.
But the first surprise was already upon them. Dragon fire erupted on the volcano’s rim. Signals flew above, waved by a team of Dragon Rider lookouts Kassik had stationed above the volcano at strategic locations.
“First wave,” called Nak, marshalling the Dragonwings–a position he had been openly unhappy with, but Kassik insisted he needed a battle-seasoned Rider for the task. “It’s Heripedes. Second wave, mount up.”
The Herimor beasts came under heavy Dragon fire from above, but hundreds arrived in that first rush, too many to count. Some inevitably escaped the conflagration. Pip realised that the Dragonships must have been loaded not only with Human troops, but also a deadly insect cargo. Her claws flexed instinctively. Silvery grey in the dawn light, the huge insects skittered down vertical cliffs with the ease of a man running on flat ground, their flexible segments pouring onward with rippling, deadly grace.
The battle was already joined, Dragons wheeling through the sky, and dawn had not yet broken. Thunder sounded in the sky. No, that was the roar of battling Dragons. Three Dragons limped over the rim, the first casualties. Nak immediately signalled the infirmary.
Fifty Dragons lifted off simultaneously from the huge field outside the dining hall, whipping up a brief gale. The second wave readied themselves, checking girth straps for the umpteenth time, before mounting up and strapping in. Pip tracked Tazzaral, Jyoss and Emmaraz with her eyes as they quartered their assigned territory, the south-eastern eighth of the volcano. Orange fire splashed and flared repeatedly, reminding her so forcibly of the attack on her village that she closed her eyes, feeling dizzy and sweaty all at once.
“Pip?” Yaethi touched her flank at once.
“I’m … sorry, Yaethi.” A message monkey scampered up with a scrap of scroll and pressed it into her friend’s hand. At her raised eyebrow, Pip explained, “I remembered the attack on my village; the colours of the fire …”
Arrabon nuzzled her neck. “Strength, my friend.”
“Oh, Pip, I’m so sorry.” Her friend held her awkwardly with her bandaged arm, but as tightly as she could manage. “It’s a message from Kassik, um, modified by Nak, it seems.” She shook with laughter. “I quote: ‘Get your scaly but undeniably cute Pygmy butt in the sky and find me that Silver Dragon. Stay out of trouble’. That’s in large letters. You can guess which part Nak wrote. Right. You go burn some sky, girl–Dragon. We’re assigned to ground
patrol outside the infirmary.”
“Glorious ground patrol,” said Arrabon.
Yaethi winced at her Dragon’s tone. “Sorry, Arrabon.”
Mostly to cheer her friend up, Pip said, “What I want to do is burn some cute Silver Dragon butt.”
To this, Yaethi replied in a broad Western Isles accent, “Ah’m having none of that butt-grabbing business in mah school, young lady.”
“You’re bad, Yaethi.” Chuckling, Pip waved a paw to her escort. “Let’s ride!”
Pip and her escort of five of the recent graduates from Fra’anior rose into the dawn, until the bloody fingers of the twin suns, gleaming between two layers of cloud, stroked their wings with warmth. As they rose over the dark rim, the Riders caught their breath as one. Dense wedges of Academy Dragons roared, swooping and wheeling over the main Night-Red Dragon advance. The enemy were trying to protect a core of Dragonships in tight formation, Pip saw, and the troops on the ground climbing the volcano. What was in those Dragonships?
She assessed the battle, her head buzzing with all the Dragon lore and battle craft Kassik and Blazon and Verox had imparted on the Riders and Dragons over the past days.
Why did she feel she was missing something crucial? Something was wrong about this scene.
Terribly wrong.
Chapter 31: Onyx Orison
Kassik THe BROWN Shapeshifter and his twenty-strong Dragonwing dive-bombed the incoming Dragonships from a height of several thousand feet. Pip did not see them at first, her eyes filled with images of thrashing, clawing, fire-breathing, lightning-wielding Dragons. But when the Academy forces peeled aside like a suddenly-blossoming flower, the blur of Kassik’s Dragonwing spearing down from the heavens captured her gaze.
Nak had labelled them ‘Kassik’s heavies’–not to his face, of course.
The Academy force struck in a succession of percussive hammer-blows. Pip could hear and feel the impacts from her position half a mile away, collisions so powerful that several Night-Red Dragons flopped like broken dolls, their spines snapped or necks broken.
Pip flinched. Every Rider and Dragon nearby did the same.