Dragonstar (Dragonfriend Book 4)
Page 31
Speculation abounded as to her motives.
Flicker said, Lia feels that none amongst our number trust her.
Affurion flew silently on for a minute before he said, with similar economy of delivery, What are you asking of me, dragonet?
She shines to keep doubt at bay, the dragonet said obliquely.
I understand. Even the mightiest of Dragons – or dragonets – needs wind beneath his wings. What has she asked of you, noble Flicker?
That I penetrate the Islands and recruit as many dragonets as possible to the cause. She feels our kind shall make a decisive difference when we face the Dragon Haters. Also, she feared the death of many dragonets at Numistar’s reckless paw. Seven hundred white dragonets? Not enough.
For that strategy to succeed, we shall require the services of these legendary Chrysolitic Dragons, said Affurion. I shall speak your common-fires with Hualiama in this matter, noble-hearted Flicker.
Flicker bowed again. A boon for a boon, noble Affurion.
Tell her we must find a home, the Brown blurted out, stopping Flicker in his tracks. When this is over – we would not be lost any longer. We must have a purpose, a home, and lives to live.
Every Dragon needs a warm roost, agreed the dragonet.
He left Affurion staring after him with a strangely pleading gleam in his eye. Flicker wondered what he feared – that Mizuki might fly to another Isle with the Star Dragoness? Unlikely as it seemed, that must be the case.
Ah. He rubbed his paws briskly. So much mischief-making. So little time.
Chapter 22: Paean of Hatred
Dawn gilded his home Cluster in tongues of vermilion fire that sheeted from the eastern horizon to lap against the Isles described as Fra’anior’s crown. Grandion had not laid eyes upon these majestic onyx ramparts in over six years – the Island massif rose well over a league tall and eighteen leagues wide from the turbulent, volcano-disturbed Cloudland. His fire-eyes gladdened to the smoke and turmoil of the inner caldera, and his nostrils thrilled at the complex tang of volcanic grit, sulphur and rich pollens in the air. Home! Aye, but this day, melancholy darkened his every fire. His shell-parents, Sapphurion and Qualiana, would never again grace their roost with their incomparable fires. A despot ruled these beloved shores. Even the sight of lush green Islands crowning the desolate, Dragon-designed slopes, which always before had filled his Dragon hearts with fierce, uncompromising joy, only branded his soul with wounds beyond forbearance. O Fra’anior! Oh, the loss!
He wept his ecstasy-grief in great, throbbing notes produced in the lower region of his chest, burbling and wailing, singing and sorrowing. Hualiama cried out, but Mizuki quietened her with a gentle wingtip touch. It’s the emancipation of his soul, little one, she said. A Dragon’s deepest mourning. Such a grief is sacred. Do not disturb him.
This was wrong. Everything was wrong. A murderer of Dragons sat upon the Onyx Throne of Fra’anior, and filled the Halls of the Dragons at Gi’ishior with the stench of her odious presence. His paws clenched. Five leagues and closing. Where were the Haters? Where did they lie in wait?
In a moment Grandion stilled, but then, his poignant voice boomed across the massed ranks of Dragonships and Dragons, “Men of the North. Monks of Fra’anior. Dragons hailing from this Island-World’s farthest shores. This day, we wage war against a tyrant with the power to turn Dragons against their true fires. She is named the Empress of the Dragon Haters. Her way is the domination and subjugation of all peoples and races under a single, totalitarian regime. She drinks the blood of Dragons to augment her power!”
A terrible chorus of snarling throbbed in the still morning air.
Sucking in a breath that made his ribcage creak, Grandion howled, “I say woe to the enemies of Fra’anior! I cry, let there be vengeance! I thunder, let the blood of those slain by her malevolence rise up in outrage, and the very wings of dawn’s holy fires obliterate this false Empress’ presence from the Islands! We are the paw of the Onyx! WE WILL PREVAIL!”
If thunder should ever smite the dawn, that was his wish.
* * * *
Even as the echoes of his outcry faded, and the Dragons’ fires raged in response, Hualiama thrilled to a presence she had not expected. Shill!
The chills of dawn’s icy fires to thee, little she! bugled the Chrysolitic Dragoness.
And the flame of Fra’anior’s Roost to thee! Hualiama called in return.
Four leagues. The amassed Dragonwing loomed three miles tall and ten wide, sweeping toward the first of the Air Breathers in a crescent so immense, they created their own wind. Dragonships sailed alongside the Dragons, clumped into five main battle groups. Just four leagues to go. They flew at ten leagues per hour, well short of a combat sprint. That would come. Grandion had organised the Dragons into covering teams, each populated with Blues or Overminds capable of turning a Command-hold back – should they enjoy the opportunity. Debatable. Hualiama suspected the Haters had learned from their last battles. They might swing straight in for the kill, rather than risk a capture as before.
Shill interrupted her thoughts with a sharp reprimand, Have you not seen what is portended? Have you not apprehended? The trap is loaded, the crossbows tensioned –
Shill. Stow the poetry; explain without oratory!
Flow with me!
Lia hit her Dragon with a thought package, ultra-rapid. Grandion. I’m not gone. Listen for my instructions. Sorry.
A fraction of a second later, she existed in Flow space. She saw them. Fra’anior’s beard, how had the Dragon Haters perfected their shields to this degree? Insane. Even to Flow space perception they appeared insubstantial, as though reality bent itself like a performing contortionist to defeat any attempt to detect these forces … had Azziala discovered a new use for her Command magic?
Mercy!
Grandion. Hearken. See these images.
His voice shivered as her receptor-constructs struck him with the force of her desperation. Hualiama, what are you doing?
The enemy’s shielded! Can you project this for the Dragons to see?
What the – Grandion’s rumble turned into a contralto squeak as Hualiama finally thumbed her nose at the ordinary laws of physics and presented to him her view of the Cluster. He gasped, How can we fight an enemy we can’t even see?
BOOM-KABOOM!
With shrill, tinkling cries of fury, a flight of Chrysolitic Dragons ice bombed their way into the flank of Azziala’s forces. The cry of the Enchanters immediately rose, but they were as unsighted as all the attacking Dragons. They caught just one of the Chrysolitic Dragons as the cold fireballs pounded them to smithereens. Now, amidst the belching fire and smoke, Grandion’s Dragons perceived a target, and the vague projection he managed to throw out began to make sense.
Smoke! Hualiama yelled. Smoke them out.
The command rippled through the draconic ranks at the speed of telepathic communication. Given the firm following breeze they had generated, billows of sulphurous smoke could help if the Dragons did not outstrip the vapours.
Long-range Grunts, prepare to attack on my mark! cried Affurion. Hualiama –
Targets. Aye, sir – sorry. Dragon. Hualiama scrambled to order her thoughts. In the Dragon Haters’ mind-meld, brief as her experience had been, she had learned a great deal about organisation. Now, she fired targets and coordinates at the Brown Overmind, finding him incredibly quick and adaptable. The instructions had to be expressed in terms of orientation and elevation, marrying the approaching Dragon’s vector with the volcanic features behind. She struggled against a weight of memory. There was the flank of Ha’athior Island, which she had climbed hand over hand, hampered by a broken arm. That was where her
Human father Ra’aba had tried to murder her; where the windrocs had swooped in to pick over what they took for a walking carcass.
Thrust it away, that past which mirrored her present so closely, they seemed to overlap in her mind.
Here was a draconic shield behind Azziala’s Dragonships, of a character she had never encountered before. Immensely powerful. A shining bubble of magic, like a droplet of water from an alkaline volcanic hot spring, buried at the base of the Cloudlands and scraping the sky itself. Sealed off.
Narrow the focus. Work the angles and the targets as Affurion wound up his Tynukam, the massively heavy Grunts. Once fired, a Command-hold would make little difference to the end result.
A smashing ploy, Affurion broke in on her thoughts, privately. And if it matters, Star Dragoness – I believe in you, wholeheartedly. Stoke your mighty fires! Lead us to victory!
Why speak thus, now? Sorrow and shame clouded her vision. She gritted out, Thanks, Affurion. Your support means whole Islands to me.
Cue a grim, attritional battle.
Mere seconds passed before the first wave of Grunts hurtled forward, outstripping the Dragonwing and the thick billows of white smoke generated by Grandion’s forces. KAABOOM! KAABOOM! Some of the long, lean Lost Islands Dragonships exploded on impact, while others simply folded up around the huge tonnage of Grunt metallic armour as their momentum plowed furrows two or three ranks deep in the Hater Dragonship formations. The Enchanters sprang into action, unleashing their own draconic minions and casting Command-holds at the incoming Dragonkind. The Blues and Overminds responded by ‘taking back’ the Dragons as best they could, but they were outnumbered and overmatched by the efficiency of the Haters’ well-oiled mental co-operation.
Dragons and debris dropped into the Cloudlands below.
Then, the forces clashed in wild, roiling mêlée. The Dragons found they did not need sight to rend what could be felt in paw and maw. Crossbow bolts plugged deep into flanks and nets snarled up the swingeing flurries of Swarm Dragons, while Flicker’s force slipped through the fray like a cool white tide, targeting the Enchanters as planned. Chaos! Hualiama gave up on the Flow, joining up with Mizuki as she cartwheeled through the carnage. Follow orders. Tiny, growing hatchlings were a liability in a sprawling battle. A bigger Dragon could swallow her in a single bite. Talons or crossbow bolts could pierce right through her body. The Enchanters all wore golden face shields in addition to their blue robes – so that she could not recognise Azziala? Hualiama searched and searched, but found no trace of her mother.
Instead, she sang a Dragonsong of ruin.
So many Dragons falling. The Command-held Dragons turned immediately against their erstwhile fellows, amplifying the damage.
Grandion screamed past, clearing Mizuki’s path of debris as he bellowed, Where’s the Empress?
Not out here, Hualiama called back.
Corkscrewing over a crossbow bolt she had barely seen, the Star Dragoness looked ahead to the flanks of the mountainous Air Breathers and that eerie shield. How was it constructed? It shimmered and veiled what lay behind. Clearly, another layer of illusion. She ducked and wheeled reflexively as a brace of cold fireballs whistled overhead, striking an unseen Dragonship on her starboard flank.
Shill said, Shall I investigate, little one?
No, Shill, I’m not –
They pass through.
Aye. The Hater Dragonships passed through with impunity. So did Azziala’s Dragons. But she smelled an uncanny, unfamiliar magic of surpassing potency – she dredged a word out of the recesses of her most rabid scroll-worming – a portal magic. Perhaps something keyed to – Shill, no!
SKISSS!
The shield shimmered. A Chrysolitic Dragon tumbled away, lifeless.
Shill! Oh no, oh mercy … hot, bilious fire choked her throat. NO!
One of me, Shill wailed. One of me shall pass fierily!
A reflective shield similar to what she had developed in battle in the East. A shield so immense and stable, it had to be rooted in these Air Breathers clustered around the Islands of Fra’anior. This was why Azziala feared no power beneath the suns. The Star Dragoness banked instinctively. First problems first. Crying out a shrill warning to Grandion, Hualiama returned to the Flow. One of the Shill-pair had tried to Flow through, and died. She could not process the implications. It was too close to her own existence, too raw, unthinkable. Seen from close up now in the Flow space, the shield was uncannily beautiful, a drifting veil of spiderweb threads of immense complexity. This shield operated in a way similar to that which the Great Onyx had raised to protect the Island-World, initiating a secondary plane of existence. It was that comprehensive? What hope did they ever have of breaching such a construct?
She picked targets. Watched Dragons die. Watched black smoke drift across the Dragonship shields, shimmer, and fall to the ground as dust.
Then, at last she heard a deep, monotonous hammering sound. But this was no hammer. This was the fists and talons of an Ancient Dragoness pounding at the shield with a force like an earthquake. The Islands quaked. The Air Breathers seemed to shiver and draw together, if she did not imagine the slight movement, and they held – as a group. Sharing the load. Again and again, Numistar Winterborn raged against them, even climbing the shield as it sparked and responded in a firestorm of fury visible right across the caldera, and she could not breach it. Her booming attacks had already plastered the Air Breathers on that side with ice and snow, the cold fireballs which she had stolen from the Chrysolitic Dragons, but perhaps the thickness of their rocky shells protected them even from her wrath. They had survived a cometary strike directly into their midst. They had survived a centuries-long freeze beforehand. These Dragonkind would not be moved.
Azziala did not stir from her lair.
* * * *
By that afternoon, when the Hater Dragonships finally retreated behind their barrier and the cost was counted in the lives of Human and Dragon alike, Grandion met with his Dragon Elders. Much was discussed but little decided. They honed strategies, especially the use of the Chrysolitic Dragons to detect and target the Dragon Haters, decreed that Hualiama should investigate the Air Breather shield, and determined they must wait for Numistar Winterborn to create the vital breach.
Hualiama, Mizuki and Makani spent an agreeable hour throwing things at the shield – rocks, plants, live windrocs, dead windrocs, spare Dragonship parts and the like – before it became clear that the Winterborn had grown mad enough to generate her own thunderstorm of boiling black battlements of cloud that seethed four leagues tall above and around the fringes of Fra’anior Cluster. The path of wisdom was to take cover. Forthwith.
“All Dragonships, full reverse to Sarzun Dragonhold!” Grandion ordered.
Even the Haters appeared to be running for shelter.
The tide of Numistar’s monstrous wrath was as if the very Cloudlands had risen like a ravenous mouth to engulf Fra’anior Cluster. The Dragons watched, awed, as her white head popped up here and there above Gi’ishior and its neighbouring Islands. She was an Island in her own right. Bigger than any of the twenty-eight major rim Islands of the Cluster. Her fists thrashed the shield as if it were a drum whereby she sought to shake the volcano loose of its foundations and cast it down into the void, and lightning flashed continuously around her form. The white beams of Land Dragon attacks occasionally speared through the preternatural twilight out there. Twenty and more leagues away, the Dragons heard a rabid howling of which Zanya innocently inquired, could it be the wind?
No. It was the cataclysmic trump of Numistar’s indignation.
Then, the hailstorm swept in, but even that could not surmount the barrier. Hualiama measured the storm’s height and breadth with her eyes, and marvelled. It was as if they watched a storm trapped against a crysglass bottle. No doubt daddy dearest could out-storm this effort by ten thousand leagues, but there was no denying that Numistar was a primal force of nature, unleashed. The enemy Air Breathers throbbed all the way arou
nd the Island as they again drew deep as a group, and withstood her assault. The clouds boiled around the fringes of Fra’anior’s roost, dumping untold tonnes of hail as they came.
Retreat, Grandion said firmly.
Much as the Dragons hated it, they knew he was right.
“AZZIALA, COME OUT AND FIGHT!” roared Numistar, and rocks tumbled down the volcano’s sides. The air reverberated as though they stood beside a gong.
Grandion led his forces to the cover of Sarzun Dragonhold, where they stepped beneath cover and watched the late afternoon sky turn from golden suns-shine to darkness. Then, the storm went berserk. The Tourmaline knew his jaw hung slightly agape as, from his perspective, it appeared as if Numistar had seized all the glaciers of the North, hurled them into the sky, and smashed them down upon the Islands. This was not hail. It was carnage. Boulder-sized chunks of ice shattered all over the Islands of Affurion’s command – clogging the breathing spiracles of the Air Breathers, he realised! Was that Numistar’s plan? He discussed the matter with Affurion and they quickly issued orders to the Lesser Dragons to start melting the ice lodged in those crucial breathing apertures.
“FIGHT, YOU COWARD!”
The storm howled around the Cluster for nine hours, but Azziala’s citadel endured, inviolable.
Grandion marvelled.
The following day, and the day after that, the Dragon Haters attacked anew with their invisible Dragonship armies, and the Dragonkind defended robustly. They gave as good as they received, but that was only to say, both sides suffered unspeakable losses.
Affurion walked around hollowed-eyed, that night. Four thousand seven hundred Dragons, Grandion. What are we doing?
Grandion hung his head. Pride? That was long since tossed into the void. We’ve found no way inside. Anything inanimate passes through that shield. Nothing else. We cannot detect their portal key, the means of entry. Hualiama’s … well, tearing her scales off.