Dragonstar (Dragonfriend Book 4)

by Marc Secchia

  Reverently, the Princess passed the blades to her sister.

  After a breathless pause in which Jin quaked like a hare about to bolt from a windroc’s snapping beak, Imaytha added, “Our family’s lore tells that Kayutha befriended an Eastern warrior called Januchi the Wasp – do you know the name?”

  Jin just about managed to sketch a bow, to a below-the-waist position of utmost formality, which he held like a wind-bent tree. In a strangled voice, he replied, “He was a legendary Nikuko warrior, in the days before we became … outcasts.”

  “Ah.” Imaytha hesitated until Lia almost stepped in to tell her to stop torturing the boy. Then, the Queen said, “The circularity of fate hearkens to mighty words and mightier deeds. Accordingly, I, Imaytha of Immadia, Queen of the Amethyst Isle, charge you, Jinichi, last of the Nikuko people, to bear these ancient blades in full cognizance of the richness and excellence of the traditions, friendships and battle-craft with which they were forged and wielded, and may all the valour of King Kayutha’s legacy indwell your heart, o mighty warrior … and every voice cried: for Immadia!”

  “FOR IMMADIA!” roared every Immadian in the room.

  “Kneel, Jinichi of the Nikuko, and receive the trust of Immadia.” Jin collapsed to his knees before the Queen. Shuttering her eyes, Imaytha touched his forehead briefly. Lia sensed a tiny flare of magic. She pressed the blades into his hands. “Arise, and fight mightily for the Kingdom. Stand against evil, protect the weak and the innocent, and bear these blades with honour.”

  Was that a fading hint of amethyst upon his brow?

  At once the Queen, who was apparently quite enjoying herself, turned toward Isiki with a purposeful air. “So, you and I are about of a size, girl – what was your name again?”

  Isiki’s hands fluttered to her mouth as she paled. “Uh … I … n-n-no honours, p-please! I’m not u-ungrateful, o Q-Queen …”

  Poor girl. Hualiama remembered what she had learned about the position of slaves in Eastern society, and winced. “Queen Imaytha. Fra’anior respectfully requests the provision of clothing, light armour, a bow, throwing knives and Immadian forked daggers for a girl of no account.”

  Imaytha and Shayitha both voiced strangled gasps.

  Lia explained, “Some societies don’t share the notorious egalitarianism of Immadia. Please consider my request on a girl’s behalf.”

  Shayitha grinned like a rajal scenting meat, but she replied equably, “I believe that when a girl realises she has become a Dragon Rider, and grasps all that this foreshadows of her future, there might be a change of status on the horizon – hypothetically speaking.” Lia hid a smile, having imagined that the forceful Princess would be the last person in the Island-World to grasp cross-cultural nuances. “Apprentice. Accompany the noble warrior Jin and help him pick the necessary effects for his co-Rider.”

  Dragoness-Lia applauded in her mind. Awesome.

  My ego can’t take all these compliments, Flicker put in as swiftly as a dragonet’s wing-flip.

  I believe your dragonet subspecies is technically called, ‘wriggling snark-monsters’, Lia snorted.

  Her Dragoness added, Since Prince Qilong is tasked with overseeing the victuals and expedition bags, I vote we bury our pretty nose in a few lore scrolls. These Chrysolitic Dragons sound so elusive and fascinating. But … we should go sniff around the archives ourselves.

  Us, or cloaked-in-Dragoness us?

  Grandion and I have been talking, said her Dragoness, with a knowing wink. Here, let me share our conclusions.

  They had been working on sharing Dragon senses through her Human manifestation, Hualiama learned, stunned by the unfolding of the depth and extent of her Dragonsoul’s interactions with the Tourmaline … her throat closed up in realisation. Oh … oh, Dragonsoul!

  Precious Humansoul. Aye.

  You’ve been working night and day on … us? For us?

  I am a Dragoness and a Shapeshifter, two manifestations of one soul, her inner voice said, with the aching tenderness of starlight caressing a snowy mountain peak. I am never leaving you behind, Humansoul. You are never second-best.

  Dragonsoul had been labouring on helping Grandion understand, at draconic levels of microscopic and macroscopic detail, the magical transformation of a Shapeshifter. They had explored and exhausted every branch and nuance of magic either of them knew or could imagine. They had replayed her transformations – which were few, as yet – over a thousand times, and run over every aspect of Siiyumiel’s teachings in an attempt to help the Tourmaline Dragon not only understand Shapeshifting, but to grasp it intuitively; to live and breathe the process and its extraordinary, unique magic. Yet Hualiama knew one truth. As with most of the deeper-level interactions of their oath-magic, it would likely develop fastest and most completely under extreme duress.

  Blonde-Lia genuflected inwardly. I cannot thank either of you enough. But, Dragoness, don’t you understand that if he becomes a Shapeshifted Human, he and I will be able to, um … to share … immediately, and you and Dragon-Grandion would still need to wait … for years, to … you know? Grow up?

  Dragoness-Lia chuckled derisively. Humansoul, you’re so sweet, but you just haven’t thought this through.

  I … what? How dare you! Now a pang, a jibe? Betrayer!

  No, dearest fire-dancer, the Dragoness soothed. Have you considered all that might be shared through the oath-bond? Absolutely … all?

  * * * *

  Flicker jumped as Hualiama’s blush blossomed across her cheeks and sped down her neck in a Fra’aniorian suns-set beauty of a reddening. Her pulse rate practically launched into orbit, matching his own complex triple-heart rhythm for a few seconds. Heat! Embarrassment. It must be that prowler, that –

  Dragonsoul! she piped.

  Not Grandion? What is it, Hualiama? Flicker inquired.

  None of your wing-shivering business, mister nosy dragonet.

  Alright, keep your wings on.

  Aloud, she said, “Could I have an apprentice show me to the archives, please?”

  “I’m Senior Librarian Anzak,” said a tall, dour man, who seemed unaware of her discomfort. “I’d be honoured, Princess. Where do you wish to start?”

  Falling into step with him, Hualiama said, “I’m not quite certain, but I’ll know it when I smell it.”

  “Smell? Lady …” His eyebrows danced.

  “Sorry. I mean – it’s hard to explain. I think there might be magic about, a particular scent that might lead me to knowledge that your Librarians and Apprentices might not have already considered – with due respect, sir,” she said. “I am an instinctual creature. This is how I operate.”

  Now, the man’s expression suggested he had sat in ralti droppings. Flicker bared his fangs at the fellow, loathing him instantly.

  At last, in the archives of Immadia, Flicker discovered a proper Human warren. Civilised behaviour! His heart-fires warmed at once. It seemed these people entitled ‘Librarians’ definitely had the right idea about creating cosy lodgings deep beneath their ridiculously cold mountains. They had lined the walls with rectangular or diamond-patterned scroll racks, each and every nook neatly labelled with references contained in an index section, to which the dim-witted flat-face led the Dragonfriend first. It took Hualiama less than five seconds to slip away as the upright-walking monkey prattled on about the wonders of their index – well, he appeared scholarly, but that was where appearances diverged from reality. Blue-Star danced away down a packed tunnel. Flicker gurgled with laughter at the man’s double-take of disbelief, before he hurried after with a panicked air.

  Huh. This girl had climbed Ha’athior Island with a broken arm. She had tracked down Amaryllion Fireborn in a magical labyrinth a hundred times the size of this cosy Human warren. The scholar was simply no match.

  Naturally, the obnoxious unbeliever began to make a few noises of discontent. Flicker shushed him imperiously. Meantime, Hualiama sniffed about like a Dragoness upon the hunt, prowling here, capering lightly there,
tarrying from time to time amidst the virtually indistinguishable scroll racks. When the light grew dim, for she had found her way into a little-used side tunnel stuffed rather more haphazardly than usual with copies of important texts – according to the Librarian’s scandalised muttering – she lit a tiny Dragon light on her palm, and kept walking onward in a pool of azure radiance. Flicker assumed this was for monkey-brain’s benefit, for Hualiama had more than once demonstrated an inhuman ability to see in the dark.

  Transference of Dragon abilities. He made a mental note to check if the same process would occur with other oath-bound Dragon Riders, and not just those she intended to transform into Shapeshifters like her.

  Here and there, they passed narrow ventilation shafts drilled into the sides of the tunnels by a process that looked suspiciously magical in origin. This section eventually ended in a cluster of storage chambers stuffed to the wingtips with scrolls and neatly bound piles of scrolleaf, some which had been glued together to create the unwieldy, impractically massive tomes these Humans had adopted from the Dragonkind. Books. What a useless technology. Why not simply remember everything in the communal warren-mind?

  Suddenly, his scales prickled. Feel that?

  Lia’s footsteps stuttered. You feel it too? Come, Flicker. Help me dig about in here.

  She pushed into a cramped, frigid storeroom where additional scroll shelving, stacked to overflowing, formed two islands in the middle of a chaotic sea of scrolleaf. She sniffed the air: Flicker scented it too, like no Dragon-scent he had ever known, yet … it was patently of draconic origin. Rich, coolly spicy – not the sulphurous cinnamon and vanilla of the Lesser Dragonkind, but a scent like charred lilies laced with bitter haribol fruit. He conferred rapidly with the Dragonfriend. The Senior Librarian huffed about the mess in the background as Lia stepped carefully toward the rear of the chamber, just eleven feet across but twenty of her paces deep. At the rear wall, three shelves had been pushed over. Cracked, by something heavy. A small whirlwind of shredded scrolleaf pointed like an accusing finger toward one of the ventilation ducts.

  He watched the sparkling blue eyes flick back and forth, drawing inferences. The diameter of the duct. The talon marks scored upon the shelves, and a clear paw print left indented in a stack of age-softened scrolleaf. Her fingers touched the spoor delicately, measuring. Her magic probed the unusually low temperatures, and further traces left upon the floor and mound of tumbled-down, shredded scrolls. How by Fra’anior’s smokiest volcanic hells could a creature that large have fit through the duct, Flicker puzzled? He rubbed his muzzle. By the shards of his own egg, this place was cold!

  “Rats,” sniffed the Librarian. “What a mess.”

  “No, that’s what we’re meant to think. This incursion was recent, sir,” said Hualiama.

  “Well, what was it?”

  Perishing numbskull. They would have smelled the highly corrosive rat urine from outside the door. Flicker sniffed, “Some form of Dragonkind, of course.”

  “Impossible!” growled the man.

  Suddenly, Hualiama knelt amidst the shredded scrolls, moving aside ribbons and a couple of broken wax seals, murmuring, “There was a treasure here. Grandion, smell this.” She lifted a scrap to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Aye, I know it’s impossible! Aren’t you seeing what I’m seeing? Librarian, get me a sack, please. Flicker, help me to collect these fragments. Gently. They’ve been … deep-frozen.”

  Flicker narrowed his primary eyelids. “Why would a Dragon not simply have burned these fragments?”

  She pressed a shred of vellum into his paw. “Feel how cold this is? Much colder than the ambient temperature of these caves, which are optimised for long-term storage. Flicker, this … Dragon … must have been here when we arrived. It came here to destroy this knowledge. Perhaps we even disturbed it before the work was completed?”

  Flicker squeaked involuntarily, “Some Dragon’s been spying on us?”

  “Aye, my friend.”

  * * * *

  They retrieved three sacks of fragments, which the Dragonfriend, working with Flicker and an increasingly curious Grandion hovering in the background, warmed to room temperature. Deeper beneath the mess, some of the scraps had been so cold, they crumbled like powder at the edges, but in a painstaking four hours of work, Hualiama teased these out and sealed them, whilst conferring with her Dragon trio. What kind of Dragon power created such an intense cold, it could freeze materials like this? Most Blues could generate some form of ice attack, but their breath or ice would not achieve the abyssal temperatures engineer-Hualiama inferred.

  Grandion cautioned Mizuki and Makani, Do not stir the air with wing or breath. Help Lia sort and lay out the fragments.

  The Copper Dragoness said, This is a Land Dragon specialty. Can we not consult Tiiyusiel? Where is she?

  The Tourmaline shook his head. Vanished.

  What do you make of Hualiama’s trace-analysis? Makani asked. Draconic, by my wings!

  Raptors or Chrysolitic Dragons, Mizuki returned, with a snort of fire she hastily snuffed out. Come on, Rider Elki. Can you take your mind off the Eastern girl for ten seconds to help us here?

  To his credit, the Tourmaline Dragon noted, the Prince of Fra’anior had been concentrating deeply on their activities – mostly, arranging the delicate fragments on the hangar floor and magically sealing the most fragile.

  He said, “Look, you Dragons should consider separating the fragments by age. If you examine the quality of the patina on the vellum – well, it might not be actual vellum, but a vellum-like substitute …” Kneeling at the edge of the small lake of fragments, he pointed carefully, “Older. Younger. Let’s start putting the lighter ones here.”

  Peering over his shoulder, Saori added, “We used to play at puzzles like this before my homeland was destroyed.”

  “Don’t pant in my ear, I know how handsome I am,” said Elki.

  She prodded him in the ribs. “You still have to kidnap me, may I remind you. How’s that plan coming on?”

  The Prince flipped back his mop of black hair. “Actually, we boys need to stick together, so I’ve recruited Grandion to the cause. This fine Dragon has an extensive résumé in dealing with rogue runaway warrior Princess-Dragonesses with a predilection for dancing into the suns-set singing Island-shaking, Ancient Dragon-harassing oaths.”

  Lia’s eyebrows shot upward. “Wow, Elki. How long did it take you to practice that sentence?”

  The Prince essayed that grin he always used when he was trying to be charming, Grandion thought sourly. Worse, it actually seemed to work on most Human females. Bizarre. Perhaps the youthful Prince would bear observation. If he was to become Human, he must know how to attract Hualiama to his roost-equivalent. No copying that Flicker. He was just outrageous.

  Elki said, “Prince Qilong was a mere pretender to the throne of maiden-pinching exploits, o most desirable Saori. Having bound you hand and foot with unbreakable chains, I plan to drag you off to my lair in a welter of wailing and weeping –”

  “As if!” Saori’s eyes sparkled.

  “– and enrapture your lips into blessed silence with the devastating power of my kisses,” Elki elaborated, with mounting enthusiasm.

  Flicker made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

  “Unbeliever,” the Prince snorted as Flicker dodged an attempted swat adroitly. “Alright, to work, boys and girls, Dragons and Dragonesses. And dragonets. I need a catalogue of colour, patina and scent. That’s how we’ll sort this mess, because it’s clear a great deal of subterfuge has been perpetrated here. Most of this is rubbish – with respect to the Archivist and his Librarians. Only a few bits are truly valuable, and that is what we seek.”

  Grandion tickled the back of Hualiama’s neck with his left fore-talon, making her jump. “So, according to Fra’aniorian tradition …”

  Those magical eyes glimmered with amusement over her shoulder. “I dare you, Grandion. I triple-dare you, if you indeed claim to possess wings and Drag
on fires –”

  “Do you, now?” he purred, massively ardent.

  She pushed at his paw with her tiny hands. “After seven years of trying, what makes you think you’ll succeed?”

  Grandion’s every muscle seized up in molten fury. Grrr …

  “To work, thou gorgeous, ravening fiend!” She beamed at him. “Remember thou hast, many long moons since, abducted the very pulse of mine heart! Shalt mine person not follow as the suns unto their dawning?”

  Freaking volcanic fires, her smiles and poetic-draconic language worked magic beneath his every scale!

  Chapter 5: The Frozen Mists

  Nine hours, And many tired hands and paws later, Hualiama held in her hands the mostly restored remains of a precious scroll of Dragon lore. She said, “So, I’ll summarise. The Chrysolitic Dragons appear to represent a separate branch or subclass of Lesser Dragonkind that Fra’anior developed from a type of flame he called ‘cold-fires’. They are relatively small, averaging about fifty feet in wingspan for the males and forty for the females. As you may know, chrysolite is a white metal silicate displaying a delicate tinge of green. I believe we can safely conclude that Chrysolitic Dragons have a similar colouration. They have a primary attack mode called ‘cold fireballs’ which this note says can cut through any known type of shielding, and is so deathly cold that a direct strike can knock out a healthy, grown Dragon’s belly-fires and cause substantial muscular and skeletal damage.”

  She scanned down the scroll. Flicker, balancing on her forearm, pointed delicately. “Ah, yes. They are extremely reclusive and shy –” loud snarls drowned her out, but Lia cried, “– Dragons, I am merely quoting the text!”

  “Whoever wrote that is a null-fires idiot,” Makani growled.

  “Dragons are not shy,” Mizuki agreed, flicking her tail in annoyance. “Grandion?”

  “He can’t even spell shy,” Flicker put in.

  Grandion preened barefacedly. “Not in my vocabulary. Never going to be.”