Dragonlove

by Marc Secchia

  “None taken. The only reason Humans survive is because we’re so thinly spread out. As our Dragonship technology improves, Grandion, I wager that will simply improve our reach and ability to wage war on each other.”

  “Ah, this is the Princess of engineering and strategy speaking?”

  Hualiama’s cheeks reddened in the dark. “I’ll thank you not to mock my maidenly pursuits. On with the story, thou pain in the unmentionables.”

  Gnnaarraggrraaaagh, Grandion grumbled in response. “Finally, we trapped Hazzarak in a shadowed ravine on the northern fringes of Franxx Cluster.”

  Gazzathon’s hoary muzzle turned in the air. Tourmaline. Take your Dragonwing and scout above for any bolt-holes. I want that slug trapped in her lair, and crushed. His eye-fires blazed. I don’t care who your shell-father is, youngling. This time, stick to the plan.

  Aye. Grandion did not twitch a wingtip, but his inner furnaces raged at the insult. Fusty, fangless old bone-licker! Dragons! Ready your fires.

  Grandion led his dozen-strong Dragonwing eastward, toward the mountainous Isle reaching up out of the grey-green Cloudlands like the slender grey blade of a Dragon’s talon. His spine-spikes prickled. Nasty place. Unseasonable weather accompanied his premonition. A chill wind blustered from the north, seeming to mound the Cloudlands against Franxx’s broad-based ring of Islands, which were the peaks of a hidden volcano about two-thirds the size of Fra’anior’s gargantuan eighteen-league caldera.

  A pretty young Blue called Aquirelle, a sixty-eight foot Dragoness four years his junior, scrutinised the terrain with her senses alert. My scales itch.

  Grandion nodded. Likewise. What’s your seventh sense, Aquirelle?

  Dramagon’s creatures arise, she said, quoting a prophecy ancient even among the Dragonkind.

  The Tourmaline Dragon’s wingbeat stalled. Giants?

  “Hold on,” said Hualiama, suddenly catapulted from the looming massif of Franxx and an impending Dragon battle, into a fine muddle. “What Island did you just land on? What giants–do you mean Shinzen? And we’re talking about Dramagon, the infamous mad-scientist Ancient Dragon of legend, right? How did he suddenly jump into the story?”

  “Background,” Grandion said, crisply. “According to legend, Dramagon was one of Fra’anior’s shell-sons, a two-headed Red of enormous and devious power. He is called the father of ruzal.”

  Roaring rajals!

  “Dramagon was a brilliant scientist with a particular flair for designing Islands,” Grandion told her. “He’s credited with shaping the Halls of the Dragons at Gi’ishior. He built the first celestial star-gazer. By my wings, I cannot express what an incalculable loss our heritage beyond the stars is, Lia … but I digress. Over the ages, Dramagon’s experiments took a sinister turn. It became clear he experimented with crossing Dragon seed with Human seed–plundering the populations of nearby Islands to harvest what he required for his trials. When he was eventually exposed, they say that the remains of his victims and experiments occupied many caverns beneath Gi’ishior.”

  Lia shivered. “Horrible. But why combine Dragon and Human–”

  “Humans are blessed with fecundity,” the Tourmaline Dragon said. “It’s rare for a Dragoness to lay more than one clutch in her lifetime, or, it has become rare for reasons we Dragons do not understand.”

  “Oh.”

  “You are never to repeat that secret. Never!”

  “I–Islands’ sakes, Grandion. Simmer down.”

  “I do not simmer–” He chopped off his roar with a curt laugh. Lia blinked away the suns-spots on her eyes from the fireball he had produced. “Nay, I erupt. I meant giants like Shinzen. Here in the East, they say that his kind are the corrupt spawn of Dramagon’s laboratories–Humans of draconic size and strength, who command a debased variant of Dragon magic. Giants.”

  Dread sharpened Hualiama’s response more than she had intended. “Who haven’t taken over the Island-World because …”

  “They can’t procreate. They’re infertile.” She made a face which he inevitably detected, because the Dragon added snidely, “Not for lack of trying. They are creatures of vast appetites, as you saw with Shinzen–indeed, my delicate damsel, you’re fortunate to have ended up trapped in a cave with a mouldy, feral Dragon, rather than–”

  “I am not delicate!”

  “Fie, wild beast, lay thee down,” said the Dragon, tickling her stomach with the end of one digit, thicker than her knee. The Princess giggled helplessly, but Grandion allowed her to push his claw away, growling, “Now, let us speak of Franxx.”

  Gazzathon dived for the ravine, bellowing his challenge. Fifty-eight Dragons shook the morning air with the surfeit of their rage. The Dragonwing warmed their bellies and marshalled their magic, warning the enemy in the best draconic tradition of the impending attack. There was no glory in a sneak attack. Grandion’s hearts wanted to sing with the thrill of battle, but instead he had to champ his fangs and hang back. Mop-up duty. It was enough to make the toughest Dragon’s wings droop.

  Half a minute later, Gazzathon’s Dragonwing drew together into a narrow spear-formation, four Dragons high and two abreast, as they shot toward the narrow entryway of the ravine which concealed Hazzarak’s lair. Long had they sought this place. It was beautifully constructed, trailing vines hiding the ravine’s entrance, while at the top the ravine walls drew so close together, only a Dragon hatchling could have fit between them. Muffled booming rose to their ears. Fireballs. Battle joined.

  Grandion moodily scanned the long, snaking passage of the ravine toward a trio of active volcanoes dominating the centre of the Isle, zooming in on the details, seeking to penetrate the gloom. Shadows. Odd, oily shadows. Instinct shaped his wing-flight. His Dragonwing responded instantly to his lead.

  Aquirelle said, A Dragon sense, Grandion?

  Aye. Let’s scout the top of the ravine. Handizor, take a trio and work east. Yandazzia, westerly with your egg-sisters. We’ll take the midsection. Report anything unusual.

  A pregnant silence enveloped the ravine as the last member of Gazzathon’s Dragonwing vanished into the cool ravine.

  Grandion’s hearts pounded: Thud-a-doom! Thud-a-doom!

  Nothing?

  Suddenly, alongside him, Aquirelle voiced a challenge that rose into a trumpet of full-throated horror. The shadows spewed men. Platoons of great, dark men charged from the not-shadows, from beneath a shroud of uncanny magic, shouting as they shovelled cartloads of massive barrels over the edge of the ravine. All along the length of the ravine, a stretch of three miles, thousands of giants repeated the action.

  ATTACK! Grandion bellowed.

  But even as his wingbeat trebled in tempo, he knew they were too late. Wind screamed over his scales as the Tourmaline Dragon accelerated to attack velocity, over forty leagues an hour.

  Orange flame blossomed from the depths, transforming the ravine into a long, volcanic vent in full eruption. The concussion struck them a second later. KAARAABOOM! His ear-canals constricted, denying the massive explosion access to the ultra-sensitive inner ears, but the concussion-wave still punched the Dragons in their bellies and throats, throwing the Dragonwing off its course. The flames burned so heatedly, the ravine’s lips glowed like a vast, red-rimmed mouth–consuming the Dragons of Gazzathon’s group as though they had never existed.

  “Not a single Dragon survived. Fifty-nine skeletons line that ravine,” Grandion said, a lament whispering from his upper palette to shade his words with melancholy. “More, for Hazzarak sacrificed a number of her own kin to bait the trap. Those men were giants, some standing twice your stature, Hualiama–great ragged beasts of men, with concealing magic and powers akin to Brown Dragons, magical powers to manipulate earth and water and fire. The trap was baited with an oil of Franxx. They lined the ravine from end to end with barrels and deposits of oil, and fired it once our Dragonwing flew inside. Even Dragons will burn in such a pyre.”

  For a time, Grandion stared blindly into space, reliving his memo
ries. Unshed tears burned beneath Hualiama’s eyelids. Those Dragons had been fools–glorious, draconic fools. What a travesty.

  The Dragon added, “We hunted those giants down to the last man, and destroyed them. Then, we hunted the Green Dragoness Hazzarak. I destroyed her with a lightning-strike. On the very eve after I had downed Hazzarak, we received a messenger from the Council of Dragon Elders.”

  “We were discovered?”

  “Aye. I knew it from the tone of the summons. It seemed the dragonets had revealed our secret, Hualiama. And it was Razzior who laid the accusation.”

  “Always Razzior!” How the Orange Dragon must have delighted in discovering a way to humiliate Sapphurion! Prattling dragonets. Hualiama’s teeth ground audibly as she said, “Your shell-father told me how bravely you bargained for your life before the Council. I’m sorry–”

  “Sorry? Ignited by oaths of wing-shivering beauty and irresistable depth of purpose, could we have expected otherwise?” The Tourmaline’s ire rose. Flame flickered between his fangs as he snarled, “So aye, I abased myself to save my Sapphurion’s position on the Council. He sacrificed his shell-son. Now he sends a Human to convey his regret? Where is my shell-father now, Hualiama? Cowering back at Gi’ishior! He called you his shell-daughter, yet in the same breath, despatched you to the same doom!”

  Panting and smoking at the jowls, the Tourmaline Dragon’s talons tightened like steel, clamping Lia’s arm against her hip. The bones ground together.

  “Grandion–”

  “What? What can you say to this?”

  “Please. You’re hurting me, Grandion. You’re too strong.”

  For a breathless second, Hualiama thought that the Dragon’s paw would convulse. Then he unclenched his grip deliberately, rumbling, “Aye. Like it or not, our fates are bound together more surely than Islands are bound to their roots beneath the Cloudlands. The strong and the weak. Dragon and Human.”

  Weak? Was this how he regarded her–little Lia, inferior companion to a mighty Dragon? That sealed her decision. Grandion must be liberated to love a Dragoness.

  Her heart beat like a hollow log drum. She would take that log and roll it off the nearest cliff. She must.

  Just that endless plunge. The rest was fate.

  * * * *

  Following the debacle at Gi’ishior, Grandion forged his way across the Island-World in search of the lost Scroll of Binding, past the Dragon haunts of Merx, Lyrx and Amxo to the vast reaches of the Eastern Archipelago, which stretched two thousand leagues from south of Haozi to the North’s Lost Islands. There, he put claw to stone in a year of fruitless hunting. Grandion communed with the Eastern Dragonkind. Caves. Haunts. Ancient lairs. All felt the tread of Tourmaline paws.

  Oddly, the Eastern Dragonkind treated Grandion as a hero. He wanted no hero-worship. They regarded the tale of his humiliation and downfall as an inspiration. The Princess concluded that even among Dragons, cultural differences could surprise and bemuse.

  “I came to a place of dark-fires in my thoughts, Lia,” he admitted. “It’s a draconic state akin to Human depression. The soul-fires grow feeble. A Dragon is preoccupied with his own needs. He’s restless and feckless, and aggressive if disturbed. I … I cursed our oath. I told myself I hated you, and hated having subjected a Dragon’s spirit to a Human’s dominion, or artifice, or magical interference–whatever I imagined had happened between us. I don’t say this to hurt you, Hualiama. I want you to know what state of mind I was in when I met Cerissae.”

  “You met a girl?” said Lia, unthinking.

  “That’s old news,” Grandion quipped. “This was a Dragoness–a Red Dragoness.”

  Cerissae was an Amber-Red Dragoness of thirty summers who had flown south from the Lost Islands on her sacred fire-quest. She was feisty, spiky and ten feet larger than Grandion. Together they tracked down every lead to the Scroll of Binding, until only two places were left–the Human-controlled central Lost Islands, which spelled certain death for a Dragon, and Shinzen’s lair.

  Preoccupied with Grandion’s description of how he had travelled and roosted together with Cerissae for over a year, Lia suddenly became aware of a stabbing pain in her left palm. Her tightly-clenched fingernails had cut into the skin! She sucked the wound absently.

  The Dragon concluded softly, “There was nothing between us at first, Lia. No spark. But as we journeyed and battled together, a friendship grew. I thought there was more. I considered speaking the first fire-promises with Cerissae, callow fledgling that I was, but the Amber-Red Dragoness had other plans. I was ignorant of the fact that the Lost Islands Dragons have developed entire branches of magic unknown or at least, lost to the Dragons of Gi’ishior. As we flew toward Shinzen’s fortress, Cerissae performed a healing reversal on me, seizing my energies and striking me down. I woke up in this cage, and the rest you know.”

  Bitterness tinged Lia’s response, despite her best efforts to contain her feelings. “She played you–but to what purpose? I don’t see what Cerissae stood to gain, Grandion.”

  “I believe her first purpose was to secure the Scroll for herself and her Dragon-kin,” he replied. “Its power is immense, Lia. They say the Dragon-Haters keep Dragonkind bound as defenceless thralls by the commands of their Enchanters. They can command a Dragon to throw himself into the abyss or tear out his own hearts.”

  “No!”

  “Aye. Cerissae gave up on the Scroll of Binding, believing it truly lost, or destroyed by Ianthine. She made a bargain with Shinzen which, to my knowledge, has never been consummated. Once, in a drunken rage, I heard Shinzen shouting about it outside this cavern.”

  “What bargain?”

  “To employ Dragon magic to raise Shinzen’s kin to life.”

  Lia wished she had not asked. “Unholy windroc droppings! Can this get any worse?”

  “Indeed,” grunted the Tourmaline Dragon, seeming perversely cheered by her reaction. “This fortress once belonged to Dramagon. Shinzen was created here. He covets an army of giants to help him conquer the Island-World.”

  Chapter 17: Reignited

  Come morning, Lia sprang to her feet and sang out, “Rise with the birds, Dragon!”

  “Is it dawn yet?”

  “Time to rise and shine! Literally.”

  “Crazy Human, what’re you up to?” He resettled his muzzle on the floor. “Do what you wish with me. I’m not–”

  “Aye? I will.” Hualiama kicked his stomach as hard as she could without breaking a toe. “I didn’t know wishes could be fulfilled so quickly in this life.”

  A chortle absconded from Grandion’s muzzle.

  Lia said, “This cage stinks. I refuse to live in a cesspit of ralti sheep bones and Dragon droppings. After all, even the most violently felonious Dragon-fancying Princesses have their standards. We should block up the stream to flood the floor. Then–”

  “When we first met, someone I know seemed to think she needed to light fires around a Dragon,” Grandion rumbled. “I feel a different approach is needed.”

  “Oh? Now you’re the domesticated one?”

  “Well, I don’t have much fire–stop tapping your foot. I can hear what you’re thinking.”

  Lia snickered, “Oh, do tell.”

  “You plan to insult me to arouse my fires.”

  Right. But Grandion had not the first clue how devious a Human female could be. “No, quite the opposite.” The Tourmaline Dragon had barely hissed his confusion, sounding like an overheated steam-turbine, when Lia, infusing her voice with every ounce of slow, sweet seduction she possessed, cut in, “I’m overawed by how huge you’ve grown, Grandion. My heart turns somersaults over the moons every time I look at you. You’re one gorgeous, swoon-worthy monster.”

  On cue, Grandion belched an impressive fireball.

  “Excuse you,” Hualiama chuckled. “Found our fires, Dragon?”

  “Aye.” Two of his talons crooked jealously about her waist. “I found my fire.”

  A deliciously perilous flutteri
ng filled the pit of her stomach. And Lia, colouring like the most volcanic suns-set, discovered that the joke was on her.

  Grandion laughed up a minor thunderstorm, shaking the cavern and eventually falling into a helpless fit of fiery hiccoughs. Wretched reptile! She could cheerfully have throttled him, or rather … what? That was the question which knew no answer. And her decision? Overturned in a millisecond. Her pendulum swung from the depths of the Cloudlands to the heavens above. She must unchain the beast, yet she could not. She’d rather leap off a nearby cliff.

  Aiming the Tourmaline’s muzzle with her hand, Hualiama helped him sweep the chamber with fire, turning every scrap of refuse to ash. Then Grandion plugged the water outlet by the amusing but practical method of sitting on it, and the streamlet began to back up. Removing her leggings, Lia waded through the rising water to mop Grandion from head to toe–at least, that was her intent, but she soon realised she had begun a process not likely to take less than a few days.

  “You could swim out of here,” he said, at one point. “Or, I could lift you up to that hole in the roof. You could escape, Lia.”

  “And leave you behind? Splendid idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  The Dragon persisted, “From the outside, you could find the way to open this cage. There must be a Dragon-sized door.”

  “I’m not leaving you again!” Lia had intended a snarky response, but the emotion betrayed in her voice ambushed and stunned her. “I wasted six years. Six! Never again, Grandion. Do you hear me?”

  Grandion reached out. “Don’t. I’m not worth crying over.”

  He heard her silent tears? Or had he guessed from other cues only a Dragon’s senses were sensitive enough to detect? Lia pressed her forehead against his paw, muttering, “You’re not worth a few tears? Confoundedly stupid lizard. What in a Cloudlands lava pit do you think I’m doing here? I swear that massively armoured cranial cavity of yours contains nothing but a pile of gravel! I did not fly to Gi’ishior on some girlish whim. You and I are getting out of here together–end of Island!”