by Marc Secchia
The other egg, a light jade-green with swirling patterns in its surface, jiggled slightly against her scales. A wave of peace warmed her mind. A gentle, powerful draconic soul lived within, she sensed. A Dragoness would warm her eggs with her fire, but Hualiama did not have proper command of that facility as yet. Instead she held them and sang, and sang, until the day was long and she realised she must return to make wedding preparations.
Before leaving, she explored the remainder of the roost. Behind the waterfall room was a small but rich hoard of gemstones and gold, and beyond that again, access to a gleaming vein of gold. Her shell-mother had prepared well. How could she leave them after this? Shell-sister. Shell-brother. Yet Fra’anior must not know about this place until she was certain she could move them.
As she departed, she wept for that draconic emotion called grief-of-joy, which she had never understood so poignantly as at this moment.
Then, she whirled on a brass dral and dashed inside again. Of course he’d understand. The Great Onyx knew about her and loved her. He’d love his other shell-children, too. Only – would she have to wait three thousand years to have a brother and sister?
Cradling the perfect shells one with each forearm, she thumped her nose against the barrier. What?
Suddenly, the eggs seemed to weigh a tonne each; Hualiama almost fumbled her prizes. Tried again. Aye, they could not be taken back through the barrier, and the magic she sensed operating here was like nothing she had ever known. Istariela’s fingerprint? This would require investigation.
What bitter, bitter melancholy!
“Great leaping Islands, and the eggs beneath them!” she snorted, departing with a bounce she realised was the expression of her hearts’ hope.
* * * *
Well before dawn, a fleet of fifty Fra’aniorian Dragonships bearing soldiers and spectators, accompanied by twenty-five burly male Dragons including Affurion and Grandion, and four hundred royal soldiers in full parade livery, descended upon a suspiciously sleepy village on Ya’arriol’s eastern periphery. In the pre-dawn, not even a striped mouse stirred. No peripols called. Several sneaky white-winged dragonets did not make a peep. One could almost – almost – believe the village lay under a sleeping spell.
All in all, very suspicious.
Grandion, in Human guise, flashed a grin at the nervy Prince. “Let the theatre commence, eh, Prince Elki?”
He gulped. “Fine for you to say. This is the bit where I get the stuffing beaten out of me by a gorgeous but totally ruthless woman-warrior –”
The Tourmaline showed him one hundred highly polished fangs. “Oh? We’ve laid plans, my Prince.”
Elki mopped his sweating forehead. “I trust you, Dragon.”
“This is not half as dangerous as, say, stowing away on your sister’s Dragonship.”
“Fine!”
The elite forces of Fra’anior crept between the bushes, along stone walls and through vegetable and ornamental gardens. Checking doorways. Hushing hounds. Slowly, inevitably, they surrounded a large, traditional house situated toward the centre of the village where, Grandion suspected, absolutely no-one was asleep, except for Saori, who might have had help courtesy of Hualiama implementing a little magical routine the expert medical Dragoness, Sunfyora, had worked out.
Burliki winked at him. Alright, Tourmaline. Show us what your Human’s made of.
Garbed in all the traditional weaponry and finery this tradition demanded, Elki could hardly help jingling like a walking treasury as he marched through the village. Grandion moved a step behind, hulking behind the slender Prince like a Dragon shadowing his prey. He chuckled privately at the allusion. No Fra’aniorian warrior had ever filled out a uniform like he did, the Master-at-Arms had complimented him. Those female soldiers he had met on the flight over to Ya’arriol agreed unequivocally.
How Hualiama would gnash her fangs in a suitably jealous rage!
Striding up to Master Ga’athar’s door with Elki just a step behind, Grandion slammed his fist against the doorpost. Blam-blam-blam! He Storm-roared, “Open up in the name of Prince Elka’anor, potentate of Fra’anior!”
“Never!” Master Ga’athar shouted from within. “We are but simple Islanders. We beg you, o most noble of Princes –”
Elki kicked the door violently. “Open up, old man! For I have come to take your daughter, the beauteous maiden Saori, to wife, and I shall not depart this Isle until I have her enchained in my Dragonship!”
“My precious child is abed, asleep, as are all girls of chaste and noble disposition at such an unworthy hour!” roared Ga’athar. “Be off with you, brigands! Leave us be!”
The Prince declared, “I shall never desist. Kick the door down, man!”
Grandion pounded the door with carefully calculated force. “It is locked and barred from the inside, my Lord!”
“Then I, Prince Elka’anor, shall smash it down. Give me your hammer, soldier!”
On the Dragonships nearby, hundreds of greybeards of Fra’anior would be watching and evaluating proceedings. So far, all was good. The door-thumping gained favourable comments, as did Elki’s ‘taking charge’ of the situation and thrusting aside the most mountainous soldier one particularly vocal – and inebriated – member of the audience had ever seen.
From within, Grandion heard a muffled female voice exclaim, “Who the – I’m – mmm!”
Chained by one hand to the bed, aye – Hualiama’s meticulous planning. A nod in the direction of keeping Elki’s head upon his shoulders lest his intended grow overly feisty. The very next second, a realistic scream echoed from within the bedchamber. “Oh, mercy! Save us! ’Tis the dread Prince Elka’anor!”
Lia again. Grandion stood aside as Elki snatched up the largest war-hammer they had been able to find at the Armoury, a castoff of Chago’s, and set about demolishing the door with a great deal more zeal than efficiency. On cue, more screams erupted from inside the house. Yualiana led the children out of the back at a run where they ‘escaped’ with a neighbour’s help, while Master Ga’athar attempted to barricade the doorway with various bits of old wood, broken furniture and a few cast-off saucepans for good measure.
The ready availability of such instruments might lead a Dragon to believe these Islanders were more than prepared for such events.
Cue mayhem. Grandion’s part called for him to encourage the Prince, so he proceeded to bellow fulsome praises of Elki’s efforts, which had progressed to accidentally destroying the lintel and part of the kitchen wall, using various colourful and vulgar imprecations lifted from ballads that were fit to make a Dragon blush, never mind a Human. All the while, Master Ga’athar responded to the hullabaloo with curses and entreaties of his own.
Eventually, Elki won through the doorway and past the irate ‘father’ to the bedroom, where Saori promptly bruised his jaw with her heel and Hualiama set about the Prince with the traditional broomstick, beating him back out through the kitchen and over an impressive mound of rubble. He sidestepped smartly by dint of using Grandion for cover, and charged back into the fray, leaving Lia to break the broom over her man-Dragon’s shoulders, which she accomplished with aplomb and no lack of zeal.
Grr, Grandion teased Lia, good-humouredly, prodding her in the ribs with a cunning forefinger. She squealed as if she had been attacked by a swarm of wasps.
Mmm, by his wings, this was starting to give a Dragon ideas …
Is that so, Mister Dragon? Lia chuckled, belting him with the remaining piece of her broom.
Grandion shattered her weapon with his fist. “Enough of that.”
“Oh, a masterful blow!” screamed one of the greybeards.
Thrusting Lia aside, the Tourmaline now pushed his way through the kitchen, breaking a few more staged planks and casting down scraps of iron with enormous clangour. He charged into the bedroom, where the Prince had managed to manacle Saori’s left foot to the bedpost, but his wife-to-be appeared to be more than capable of strangling the purple-faced Prince with her rema
ining free leg.
Lia kicked him in the shin. “Alright, don’t get overexcited now. The window.”
“Aarrgh, save me,” spluttered the Prince.
“At once, Milord!” the Dragon bellowed happily. Plucking Elki up by the seat of his trousers and the scruff of his neck to free him from Saori’s stranglehold, Grandion swung about and hurled him through the shutters.
Ah, tradition.
While Elki ran bellowing through the vegetable garden outside, he captured Hualiama into his arms – she moved just a little too slowly for her own good – and stole a passionate kiss from his squirming beloved. A Dragon could grow used to kissing.
* * * *
“She manacled me to the bed beforehand,” Saori hissed meantime. “Where was that in the script?”
Grandion produced a roof-lifting version of a Fra’aniorian piratical laugh over Lia’s head, then whispered back, “We changed the script a little. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe.”
“Changed the script?” Lia inquired icily.
Blast him, Grandion was huge and apparently carved of bundles of granite. She might as well try to stop a Dragon in full flow. She chuckled wickedly. Then again … a waft of air, and her man-mountain tumbled awkwardly out of the window just as the Prince charged back in through the doorway. He was not the only one with devious plans. The soldiers gaping through the shutters were treated to an epic struggle as Elki dealt with chaining his bride-to-be hand and foot to the bedposts while Lia leaped onto her brother’s back, beating his head uselessly but with great enthusiasm with a rolled-up scroll.
Grandion chose this moment to dive back in through the window, cracking one of the shutters. He was properly unamused this time, judging by the tone of his roaring and the purple welt developing above his left eye. He thrust a manacle into the Prince’s hand, booming, “My Lord, another chain?”
“I have my peerless darling secured!” Elki screamed happily, apparently enjoying himself despite the bedraggled state of his finery. Saori kneed him sharply in the ribs. “Oof!”
“Good! Now, I shall subdue the beauteous Saori’s handmaiden!” thundered the Dragon.
Subdue her? Nor was that anywhere in the plan!
Backing away warily, Lia eyed Grandion as he stalked her around the foot of the bed, while Saori rattled her chains and screamed the place down. He lunged!
She was fast, but the Dragon was a skilled hunter and inescapable in such a small space. Sweeping her off the ground with one stalwart arm, Grandion aimed a kiss that missed and struck her ear. She began to relax, chuckling, “Naughty Dragon want a kiss?”
“Naughty?”
Before Lia knew it, Grandion whipped her about in his arms and she felt the cool touch of metal upon her wrists. Manacled! “Grandion, don’t you dare!” Raiding his pockets, he produced a few more pieces of the royal dungeon’s finest metalwork and set about her person with a roguish volley of laughs. “Blast you. Grandion!” She split his lip with her heel and bucked madly where he had tossed her on the foot of the bed, but the Shapeshifter Dragon in an excitable mood was a frighteningly strong beast. She refused to spoil Elki’s show by changing into a Dragoness. “Let me go, you despicable Dragon! Rotten, pesky – Grandion!”
“Let you go? Why would I ever do that?”
She gritted her teeth. Manacled at wrist, elbow, ankle and knees, there was not a great deal else she could do. “I am going to hurt you so badly for this!”
Would turning into a Dragoness shatter the manacles, or constrict her draconic limbs so severely, she’d do herself permanent damage?
Squeaky-voiced protests aside, Grandion now slung the Empress – whose title and dignity apparently counted for nothing where he was concerned – over his left shoulder, and clambered out between the much-abused shutters, knocking one to the ground by fortunate coincidence. “Away to our transport, my Lord Prince! I have the handmaiden to hand!”
Lia fumed. Then, as Grandion turned and waggled his fingers, she realised what was afoot. Levitation magic. Elki hefted the entire bed onto his shoulders – a traditionally built, solid jalkwood bedframe that had to weigh at least a tonne – and took his turn clambering through the window while the Dragon at deafening volume proclaimed his everlasting wonder at the Prince’s strength and virility and general fitness to rule, conquer and lay waste to his enemies – which had nothing at all to do with proceedings except in the most lecherous of minds, of which there appeared to be very many up in the Dragonships. A mighty roar of approbation greeted the Prince’s feat of weightlifting prowess as he carried Saori, bed and all, to what should have been his Dragonship, but instead was Burliki the Red.
Grandion trotted after, getting himself kicked and kneed in the back without pause or mercy, but to no avail.
Eventually, Lia complained, “Let me go. How dare you chain me?”
“Be glad I don’t gag you as well,” he sneered.
“I still have my magic. Troglodyte.”
“Vapid maiden.”
“I am not fainting for you. You can forget that, Mister Dragon.”
Although, there was something disturbingly appealing about being handled quite so effortlessly by this powerful man – in a certain rare context, she decided. Which would never be repeated. Or, she would summarily destroy him and his ultra-burly, epically scrumptious shoulders and jettison the remainder in the nearest volcano. Shameful waste of the shoulders, though. Maybe she’d just occupy herself with a little unsociable drooling instead. Tasty!
Following the obligatory scene of Master Ga’athar weeping and ranting at the unflinching Prince as he stowed his beloved solicitously between the forepaws of a stolid Dragon, after which the Prince declared his undying love and devotion for Saori and Ga’athar tore his beard and eventually bowed to the inevitable, they took off for the Prince’s high tower and … aye, more captivity.
Hualiama sighed.
Once they were well aloft, Prince Elki turned to Grandion. With a wicked grin, he said, “If we just happened to slip away into those clouds up there, you don’t think you and Burliki would be prepared to turn a deaf ear whilst I sally below and … apologise … to Saori?”
Hualiama gaped. “E-E-Elki!”
“What?” he shrugged. “It’s just a couple of kisses, sister. Whatever were you thinking?”
* * * *
“You’re blushing,” said her Dragon, leaning over her as he solicitously brushed a strand of hair out of the corner of his mouth, then replaced his fingers with lips that were far too fiery to ever belong to a Human.
She rattled the manacles. “You men. Dragons, moreover. I can’t believe you. What is this?”
He said, “Oaths can be like chains, Hualiama. I wanted you to remember what real chains feel like, because this is not how I feel about you.”
“All … right? One confused girl.”
“Confused is good.” Cradling her body in his mighty arms as they rode Dragonback through the clouds above Fra’anior Cluster, Grandion kissed her again, lingeringly. “Does this confuse you more, or less?”
He was melting her with every touch. “More.”
“I like confused. Too often, it’s you befuddling me. I know that’s an awful confession, but I often feel so very inadequate around you, precious Blue-Star. I’m a rare, powerful Dragon –”
“Who happened to thrash an Ancient Dragoness to within an inch of her life.”
“Alright, but you’re Princess of this, Star of that, Empress of another bit and child of the Dragon – The Onyx Dragon himself, Hualiama. I’m just Grandion.” As a man, he had the smiling with his eyes down to absolute perfection. Crinkles. Laughter lines. Composure-wrecking scrumptiousness in quite the manly package. She really should stop drooling. “So, these chains are not about making me feel more masculine, or to proclaim my draconic tyranny, or whatever. I want you to know –” he brushed the point of her nose with a butterfly kiss “– that you need not ever feel enchained by what we share –” now each of her eyes received his at
tention and her heart threatened to swoon with ecstasy “– do you understand?”
What she understood was that when he looked deeply into her soul with his gemstone eyes, the chains no longer mattered. They never had. All other sensation faded. They seemed to be rising through the clouds upon an invisible breath of air, not the creaking of Burliki’s might wing strokes, and the mists hid her Island-World – and Elki and Saori’s canoodling – from sight. Rising, like her soul. He had always been the wind buoying her wings, and the suns of her soul.
He said, “When we were young, we made promises. Oaths of protection, care and aye, love. I realise that now. Oaths are not chains. They convey heart-force, and it takes conscious and unconscious decision-making every day to maintain that force. Unlike physical chains, they cannot easily be cast off. They bind because we want them to.”
He spoke truths that made her shiver, deep within. How could a Dragon know her like this? How could he speak as lucidly as starlight?
Stroking her cheek with his fingertips, he added, “You’re afraid.”
“I’m not –”
“You are afraid. You fear I’ve a double wedding planned this day.”
He read her soul like an open scroll.
“Aye.” Tears threatened; at once, his hands curved to cup her cheeks as a Dragon’s paw had once engulfed her scarred back, long before they understood the fates. Long before they knew – she whispered, “My Dragonlove … I would, so gladly. And I love you as the dawn loves the Islands, but … I also tremble … don’t you see?”
If his lips burned hers once more, she would do anything for him. He had that power. It was not surrender. It was strength.
In the graven planes of his face, a playful smile played hide-and-seek with her. Grandion teased her with his nearness, but seemed to understand her febrile state of mind. He said, “What I want of you is far more perilous. It will take time. Years, perhaps. Hualiama is not always about taking time.” They both chuckled harmoniously. “She’s an impetuous, free-spirited soul. Yet she burns like an everlasting wildfire in this Dragon’s third heart, a flame which will always dance and never be extinguished. That is why I chained you this day. So we could have time, just you and me. Even if I must steal an Empress and rob the very heavens to have my wish.”