Dragonsoul

by Marc Secchia

  Therefore, when one day she took him home, she would give this pet Dragon some serious house-training. With this agreeable thought, she abandoned his paw for the open air–not without a pert parting waggle of her wingtips. Catch me if you can, my handsome Tourmaline.

  His eye-fires brightened appreciably.

  Distracting Grandion was like tossing sweetmeat for dragonets. Those Land Dragons? She had seen what their eye-cannons could do. Now she intended to make herself entirely the wrong kind of target. But for the sake of Kaolili …

  She flashed across the dawn at top speed, stretching out her body for maximum streamlining. She flew directly North. As she raced along, she gathered her mental strength. Human-Lia would have to help with this one. Those Land Dragons needed to hear a few things.

  Hey, you slugs! What? The Dragoness could not believe what had just emerged from her mouth. Aye, you slithering, slimy bottom-feeders, you excrement of Borers, you sluggish hangers-on at the base of the food-chain! I am Hualiama, the Star Dragoness! Here I am, null-fire slugs! Do you not seek me?

  Her Dragoness was unimpressed by the insults. Where was the eloquence, the sophistication? But the Welkin-Runners apparently heard enough. With a series of dull roars, they shifted direction to pursue the Star Dragoness, clipping the northern edge of the city as they stampeded by. Lia would not have wanted to be a citizen on those streets seeing Land Dragons bearing down on her city, ten times the height of any building. Razed. Only rubble remained of that eighth of a mile; the destruction wrought in mere seconds. How fast were they? Breath exploded from her lungs as she dashed a short ways West, leading the Land Dragons into each other’s path. Grief, those running steps covered hundreds of feet every second, certainly faster than a fluttering hatchling!

  Light sizzled around her. Lia shielded, attempting to create a mirror effect. Pathetic. Worse than useless. The weight of the light-beams, even glancing blows, knocked her out of the sky. Grandion swooped for her in a series of sharp, spiralling loops, trying to anticipate where the light-beams would strike. Multiple images of herself suddenly peeled away from their converging forms, confusing the Land Dragons temporarily.

  Grandion panted, Projection tricks. Occasionally useful. He snatched her out of the air. Light washed over them, slapping Grandion’s tail skyward. He grunted at the pain of impact but held firm. As his tail swung up, the Tourmaline instinctively dived downward, taking them out of the light-beam. Hualiama smelled a sharp tang of burned cinnamon. His scales were smoking!

  No time for that. Go low, she cried from his paw.

  He understood. Tourmaline flashed earthward, drawing the Land Dragons’ attacks with his sharp movement, while Lia focussed on their shielding. Aye! Siiyumiel had taught her how to bend light. What if she just bent it … a little more?

  This was where the mathematics of oath-magic defied reason. One plus one had many answers, all of them greater than two. Her mischievous inner engineer was flipping backward somersaults.

  As Grandion dived, Hualiama’s magic fused with his shield, turning the Tourmaline Dragon into the living gemstone for which his colour was named. Unfortunately, her initial effort refracted a light-beam to vaporise a hundred-foot section of the city wall. Oops. But she learned from that mistake. Two or three refractive points were needed, shaped as bands in the optical shield, as best she could implement her theories in a scale-frying, avalanche-approaching hurry. Fail, and they would be incinerated in the heat turning her world into a yellow-white furnace oven, for at least four beams had converged on them. Adjust! Wrench the shield into shape and …

  KAAABOOOM!

  Unholy windroc entrails, you bellicose beauty, did you see that Land Dragon fly? Grandion screamed happily.

  No, she was fixated by the sight of a severed leg tumbling past them, the bone dangling from its end thicker than the waistlines of three Sapphurions rolled together. The Tourmaline supplied a celebratory mental image. Lia could not look. They had harmonised five separate beams and blasted them back through the chest of a Welkin-Runner, blowing the male Land Dragon apart like hydrogen-bearing rock tossed into a bonfire–one of Elki’s early scientific experiments, as she recalled. His eyebrows had taken months to regrow.

  Spitting light in all directions, Grandion jinked and dodged, whirled and fluttered through the stampeding herd, dodging the monstrous paws as they thundered down all around, kicking up a blinding spray of dust and dirt. The tracking beams cut through the murk, homing in unerringly on the fast-flying pair, only to be refracted back as fast as they arrived. All was reaction-speed. The Tourmaline Dragon sliced across knees, dodged steely talons and dived beneath bellies, spitting blades of light in all directions. The Welkin-Runner charge snarled up as the great beasts slewed into each other, but their pained bellowing was nothing compared to the impact of the Mist-Runners storming headlong into the fray. Skull met skull and paw clashed with paw in a series of shocks that shook Kaolili Island to its roots. The monstrous bodies tangled in an incredible snarl of snapping teeth and swingeing talon-blows as the Land Dragons assaulted each other with vitriol born of centuries of enmity.

  “Duck!” Hualiama yelled.

  Grandion balled himself about her as they stuck between two veritable mountainsides of Dragonflesh, but thankfully the crush was too fleeting to break bones. The Tourmaline raced away with a bellow of effort, finally making it to clear air. He beat skyward with an audible whoosh of air from the lungs, a draconic sigh of relief.

  “Well, that’ll crush every crop for leagues about,” said Grandion, making to dust his paws in satisfaction before remembering he held someone in his paws.

  “Decent flying, Dragon,” Hualiama complimented him.

  “Decent?”

  Evidently, not enough of a compliment. Lia was too weary to summon up an ode to his gallantry. Instead, she said, “As in, flying that decently should be declared illegal on ten thousand Islands. Now come on, Dragon. The real battle lies yonder.”

  Chapter 24: Annihilation

  GRandion powered skyward on the wings of a back-pawed Human-style semi-compliment, he told Lia, earning a fine burble of laughter followed by a demand to be released from his paw. He rolled his fire-eyes. Incurable wisp of a girl. He had it on good authority that the Humans of Sylakia and Jeradia loved to gamble, but what sane creature in the Island-World would want to gamble against his Hualiama? She played ridiculous odds and won. Routinely. What power was that? Providence? Or the Onyx connection she claimed, a notion so scandalous it bordered on blasphemy?

  The Dragoness sprang lithely from his paw to his shoulder now, riding the wind of their passage imperfectly so that her tail slapped his left eye on the way past. The Tourmaline scanned the battle-front of Orange Dragons, which, though pockmarked like a pumice boulder by the systematic pounding delivered by the Grunts, still stretched across the horizon in numbers uncountable. Where was his cunning new wing-brother, Affurion?

  “I sense the Empress,” said Lia.

  “Affurion said the Haters had not left the Lost Islands when he redeployed all of his kin onshore,” Grandion responded.

  “He’s wrong.”

  Grandion swallowed his annoyance. Hatchlings should not come furnished with twenty-one year old intellects. It was wrong on so many levels, it made him imagine one of their milk-suckling, helpless babes standing up in its cradle to spout the wisdom of the great draconic scholars. He hissed, “Then find her.”

  “We’ve a bigger problem, Grandion. Numistar’s on the move. That’s her.” He flexed his neck to check the hand-sized black cloud on the horizon, before turning a querying whirl of the eye-fires upon the Star Dragoness. She hissed, “Can we work on the trust? That’s her! We’d better warn King Taisho to batten down his Dragonships. Moor them, preferably undercover. Get the citizens off the streets.”

  “Cripple his fleet? What will Commander Hiro say?”

  “Hiro’s dead.”

  “You–”

  “He’s dead. Ask Raiden.”

&nbs
p; By his belly-fires! Tasting the nuances of her speech, he knew she had killed the Commander. No question. But what was Raiden’s part? Burning the evidence? Whatever the case … he said feelingly, “Dragons never spit out the bones!”

  Eyes shuttered, the Dragoness scented the wind. All her mien was otherworldly to him, for a breath, she seemed to travel beyond, to the realm of white-fires. Her wings vibrated uncannily before resettling at her sides.

  Her eye-orbs had turned white. Pure white, as if no flame existed in them at all.

  Grandion shivered in his turn. “What do you see?”

  “Ice.”

  * * * *

  As the spectre of war and death stalked the Isles, Hualiama had learned, time sometimes fled and sometimes passed with excruciating slowness, as though seeking to indelibly imprint upon the observant mind the full compass and exacting detail of every horror. To dwell upon these images was numbness and grief. To ignore them was inhuman. Yet could the mind ever comprehend slaloming in desperate flight between paws that stamped tracks sixteen feet deep into the sod with every footstep, or a rolling maul between lizards that dwarfed the very city over which they fought? Could she grasp the numbers ranged against Kaolili?

  The Tourmaline Dragon, being a logic-driven male of his kind, compartmentalised neatly. He worked with Zulior to despatch messenger-Dragons to all points of the compass, each command efficient and succinct. A stream of information fed King Taisho and his defenders. They organised Dragonwings and sent cover for Prince Qilong, sweeping into the city now with his airborne troops from the North, ahead of that ink-blot cloud growing on the horizon. The others thought little of her assertion that Numistar Winterborn’s cold invaded from the North, but a bitter wind had sprung up, and Grandion and Zulior issued orders as though her seventh-sense inkling were incontrovertible fact. They conferred with Affurion and made adjustments to best support his forces, and ordered Dragonwings–or ‘Dragondigs’ as the Anubam flippantly called themselves–of Brown Dragons underground to seek out any and all Giants and to engage them in teams of seven to ten Dragons strong.

  No prisoners, Affurion warned. Work together and our kind will survive.

  Hualiama considered this. Rightly, Affurion seemed concerned for the survival of his diminished nation of unique Dragonkind, the Indubam, Tynukam, Dramubam and Anubam. There had been further running battles against Numistar, Azziala and the Land Dragons all the way down the Eastern Archipelago to Kaolili and many, many losses, including over a dozen of the smaller Air-Breathers. The Brown Overmind had made the momentous decision to abandon their ancient Dragonholds for the uncertain lands of Kaolili, and had already opened negotiations with King Taisho for a more permanent solution.

  Suddenly, Lia’s four paws clenched as one, scrabbling for grip on Grandion’s scales. Siiyumiel?

  Siiyumiel? Great one?

  Faraway, his voice resonated in her mind. The Lesser Dragons fled our approach. We destroyed many of your enemy as they traversed the Cloudlands, Blue-star. But we are few and distant, unable to ascend the Island to the place where you battle. Numistar comes, little one. Be alert.

  Thank you, Siiyumiel.

  I’ve designed a special attack. Can you rise and allow us to focus our Harmonic magic on you? Gather it, like this–plans and calculations and esoteric draconic scientific concepts cascaded through her mind–but this atmosphere of yours is weak. You may need to come closer, at least a league from your current position.

  Placing her slap in the middle of thousands of Orange Dragons. Excellent notion.

  What will this magic do?

  Deliver a knockout blow to Lesser Dragons.

  We need any advantage our paws can scrape up, Grandion interrupted. We’ll do it.

  Moments later, the orders rushed out. Blues to support Grandion and Hualiama, led by Akemi and Yukari the Aquamarine. They settled on a small force, just a dozen Dragons and four Riders. Lia worked through the shields with them, watching from the corner of her eye the Orange advance slowly–so very slowly–winging toward the city of Kerdani. Why so slow? Her eyes traversed the terrain, from the Land Dragon battle raging to the West to the Giants reforming in their dense ranks, yet fewer in number by far. Why? Where was Shinzen hiding? Again, she tested the wind. Where was that dark, oily magic, that remnant of ruzal-like darkness she recognised from before … if the Oranges avoided the city …

  “Affurion. Beneath the city. Shinzen’s attacking from beneath, I’m almost certain of it. We must protect the King. That’s why his Oranges–”

  “The King allows no Dragon within five hundred feet of his palace,” Affurion put in.

  “Then find a way,” Lia suggested heatedly.

  Meantime, the Tourmaline shook his muzzle. “Too many threats.”

  Impulsively, the Dragoness sprang over Grandion’s thicket of skull-spikes to the slight indentation between his brow-ridges, poked her head over the side, and eyeballed him from a distance of four inches, so close she felt the heat of his fire-eye upon hers. “Must I teach thee to dance?”

  His laughter belled out. “Nay!”

  “Then let us burn the heavens, Dragons!”

  Burn, they did. As Affurion whirled away, bellowing his orders, Grandion gathered the small Dragonwing with a commanding sweep of his right wing. A single shield enveloped them, produced and sustained with the help of the Blues, Yukari’s strength dominating the group. They winged out at a rapid clip, Hualiama orienting on the faraway Shell-Clan, just barely visible over the curvature of the Island’s shore twenty-two leagues distant. She exchanged data rapidly with the Shell-Clan Elder. Battle statistics. Progress. Her intuitions, which Siiyumiel immediately reflected in support. Aye, a good reading of the Balance. She must listen more closely to her instincts.

  Oddly, Yukari’s battle-laughter was the only sound their group made as they sliced smoothly into the ranks of Orange Dragons, the blade-like shields piercing and hacking and maiming without the group suffering a single substantive injury in return. They blasted through waves of Dragon fire, poison gas and even acid spit, the multiplicity of shield-strands ramming it all aside.

  Lia stiffened. That mental signature–Dragons, OBEY!

  Gasp! Wheeze! Here came the Dragon-Hater Dragonships and–her eyes bulged involuntarily–Azziala aboard Mizuki with Saori and Elki in attendance! Her mother was riding a Dragon? The entire Island-World stood upon its head and waggled its tongue rudely.

  Roaring rajals, they were the Empress’ insurance! She commanded her own Dragonwing this time, all Dragons of Gi’ishior that Lia recognised, each bearing one of her Councillors.

  Even from that distance, the Empress’ eyes appeared to contain an especial glow destined for Hualiama alone. Islands’ greetings, daughter, she thought. Pleased to see your dear mother?

  No. What the hells–are you a Dragon Rider now?

  The woman laughed coldly, throwing back her white-haired head. Just half a league off and closing in on the eastern flank of the mass of Orange Dragons, her expression was visible to a Dragoness’ sight at maximum magnification.

  Your idea, Hualiama. We’re here to help, of course. Then you’ll come home to Mommy. Because you’ve been a very, very disobedient girl.

  Ugh! The way she spoke, Lia knew she meant, ‘Come grovelling or I will blast Saori and Elki into mindless, gibbering idiots and use Mizuki’s hide to clothe my next Dragonship.’

  The Dragon-Haters, true to their word, plowed into that flank with a vengeance. Her mother played the odds. She expected to come out on the winning side, with Hualiama tamed and in hand. That meant destroying the threat posed by Shinzen, calculating that the Dragons must surely expend their strength upon each other before she stepped into the victor’s position–and all this, before Numistar arrived!

  Quietly, Grandion said via private telepathy to her, If that’s the Hater, offer an alliance. It’s the only way any of us will survive this.

  An alliance with the unholy?

  He mentally spread his paws
. Lia followed through, though she knew already that Azziala would expect this move. Necessity commanded their response. Her mother was not grateful. The Empress commanded their support. Support she would have, just as soon as a Star Dragoness could conjure up a minor miracle, for the green-headed Dragonkind responded to Azziala’s presence as though she had provoked them to life, at last. Lia felt the commands flowing through the great mass of Dragons. Attack the intruders. Drive them off. Gas them.

  Grandion drove onward, but at a cost. Their small Dragonwing was suffering now, taking a pounding from the Oranges all about. She returned her focus to the problem of Shinzen’s whereabouts. She said to Grandion, Hope you’ve got a plan for us regarding Shinzen.

  Just nearby, the Tourmaline’s mind was calculating too. He said, Strike until our force abates, then we’ll pull a switch. I’ll have Makani and Jin take you down while I pretend you’re still here.

  Down? Where?

  To the Palace. We know Shinzen. He’ll find a way in. You’re the only one who can stop him in your Human form–Shapeshifter advantage.

  Hualiama shifted worriedly. Won’t he be expecting exactly this?

  I’ll shadow you with Yukari’s help. Any trouble, we’ll tear that Palace apart to extract you.

  Alive? Now that would be a miracle. Unable to think of a better plan, the Star Dragoness called out to Siiyumiel, Ready, noble Elder.

  Savage laughter boomed in her mind. Do you think so, little one? Do you indeed?

  * * * *

  Harmonic power washed over her like an everlasting crescendo of sound, a symphony that swelled with the triumphal notes of horns, the sweet wail of pipes and flutes that reached ultrasonic notes and the melody of a thousand stringed instruments. Hualiama bathed in the converging offerings of nineteen Shell-Clan, in a place of music so wondrous, so savage and overwhelming, that she lost all track of who she was and what she meant to do. Staggered. Spun away upon billows of crashing glory.