Her?
Emburion, Zaxxion and Hazzalion gasped in concert.
But there’s nothing to her,
Zaxxion complained, ruffling his wings to express his annoyance.
She’s a mite, not even a full-grown Human!
Foolish hatchling!
the Grey Dragoness thundered, snapping at Zaxxion’s shoulder.
With my own fire-eyes, I saw her cut out Jinthalior the Green’s fire-soul with those magical blades upon her back.
All three of the Orange Dragons took a reflexive step or wingbeat back from her. So, Dragons knew fear? At least one of Master Ga’athar’s strategies was accurate. She must turn this to her advantage, insofar as a Human could dream of manipulating Dragons–perhaps the most dangerous pursuit beneath the twin suns.
The Dragon Elders will speak with this creature?
Flames licking out of his nostrils articulated Hazzalion’s exasperation.
Aye,
said the Grey Dragoness.
She stands upon Dragon soil, now.
And with that, Hualiama’s momentary bravado evaporated like a bucket of water tossed into one of their overheated lava pools. Meek was not how she needed to feel now. Mentally, Lia kicked any hint of timidity off the edge of the Island. She needed the fury of a Fra’aniorian thunderstorm. She willed Amaryllion’s fire to rage in her heart.
Raising her chin, Hualiama cast an imperious glare over the Dragons. “Where may I find the Dragon Elders, noble ones? I await instruction.”
Sapphurion shall instruct this quisling at the point of his fangs,
snarled Zaxxion, tilting his muzzle so that his flame licked above Lia’s head.
May we return to our duties, honoured Dragoness?
Go.
The Grey sucked back her Dragon fire as she turned to the Human girl. “Follow me, Princess.”
Despite her egg-laden wobble, the Dragoness set a pace that forced Hualiama to trot in order to keep up. Lia scowled at her massive hindquarters. Subtle, these Dragons! She jogged up a trail leading to a wide cave entrance, guarded by four rugged Reds. Generally regarded as the largest of the Dragons, these Reds stood over twenty feet at the shoulder, and were evidently masters of the brawny ‘look-at-my-muscles’ posture Grandion had excelled at.
Pushing these flitting thoughts aside, Lia focussed on her mission. Ahead, she saw a Dragon-sized door leading to what she assumed was the Dragon Elders’ meeting-cave. To stand before metal doors over two hundred feet tall, she estimated, and twice as wide as that, was an experience she had never imagined. But the thundering and snarling which erupted within as she approached, was a further shock. At first Lia thought there was an all-claws-in Dragon battle inside. But then she heard Sapphurion’s roar thundering above the others.
SILENCE! We shall hear the spy’s report!
Another voice cut in,
She has spent too long among those vermin, Sapphurion! She thinks as one of them.
Sapphurion growled,
Describe again the disposition and numbers of their off-Cluster allies, Kayturia. What more did you receive from the King’s brother?
Almost, Hualiama’s jaw unhinged itself. Her uncle Zalcion was passing secrets to the Dragons? And what could she make of the accusation that a Dragoness had begun to think like a Human–no, of course, they were using their Human slaves to spy on their fellow-Humans.
Without further ado, the Grey made a gesture with her paw and the doors drew apart several feet. Lia’s nape prickled at the presence of magic. Now the Dragons had telekinesis? Her reading of the lore-scrolls had suggested the ability was mythical at best. The Grey Dragoness strode forth, and directed a thought into the chamber:
O mighty Sapphurion, the Princess of Fra’anior waits without.
An ugly snarl shook the doors mightily, as though a single, monstrous animal had voiced its fury. It throbbed right through Lia’s body, causing her heart to turn somersaults in her throat. Again, Sapphurion’s mental voice rang clarion-clear out of the hubbub.
Away, spy. Wait a minute before we summon the Human. Brethren, this is Hualiama, the royal ward, called the Dragonfriend. By her hand was Ra’aba brought low.
Impossible!
sneered another Dragon. Did she recognise Andarraz’s voice, the Green who alone among all Dragons, matched Sapphurion for stature?
What trickery is Chalcion bent upon, this time? These Humans grow crafty.
No Human has yet been born who can outwit a Dragon,
Sapphurion replied evenly.
Send her in.
The Grey Dragoness pressed the doors open with her power. “Up to the platform with you, Human girl, and don’t tarry. Sapphurion does not suffer fools lightly.”
Hualiama approached the Dragon Elders with a definite stride that belied the storm raging in her belly. The twelve-foot-tall, gold-threaded quartz platform, crowned by a solitary chair, did nothing to conceal the draconic congregation gathered beyond it. Nine pairs of orbs suffused with fire as they regarded the Human girl. Seven blazed with malevolent, dark-orange swirls, one pair was a uniquely radiant blue-white, and the last considered her with a gentle effulgence, an altogether softer fire that Hualiama recognised instantly as belonging to the Red Dragoness Qualiana.
Now, she must exhibit the mettle of a Tourmaline Dragon who had fought two powerful adult males almost to a standstill. Squaring her shoulders, Lia marched up to her seat. As her eyes crested the top of the platform, it was to lock gazes with Sapphurion not five feet distant, and what she saw smouldering in his fire-soul caused her legs to seize up. Lia stumbled over the last step, barking her shins painfully and crashing to her knees before the Dragon Elders.
Were this a training fight, first score to the Dragons.
“The most sulphurous greetings of the Great Dragon to you, daughter of the Human King,” Sapphurion rumbled. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”
Her father ruled one Island-Kingdom, albeit an important one. These Dragons ruled all of the Dragonkind north of the Rift, and Sapphurion was foremost among their number. Hope was an illusion. The comparison crushed her spirit.
Burning with embarrassment before these Kings and Queens of Dragons, Hualiama rapidly found her feet and marshalled her manners. Flowing into an elegant Fra’aniorian obeisance, she said, “May thy sulphurous fires burn forever amongst the eternal fires of the Dragonkind, o noble Sapphurion.”
“Be seated.”
She began to sit before remembering Ga’athar’s idea. Lia slipped her Immadian forked daggers from her belt and, laying them on the platform, said, “I come in peace.”
Next, she reached up for the sword-hilts protruding above her shoulders and drew the Nuyallith blades with a bright
zing
of metal. Looking beyond the blades as she drew them slowly downward, Hualiama observed the effect on the Dragons. They seemed mesmerised, all nine sets of fire-eyes fixated on her movements as she bent her knees to place the enchanted blades beside the seat. Lia said, “I bind myself to peace.”
With that, she sat. Grim satisfaction curved her lips. Second score to the Human.
Sapphurion cleared his throat by way of expectorating a fireball to her right. “State your business, Princess.”
Before she spoke, Lia allowed her gaze to rest briefly on each of the Dragons, acknowledging them each in turn with a slight bow of her head. She identified the Green Andarraz, the Reds Zulior and Qualiana, who were egg-siblings, and Sapphurion. The other five Dragons she knew only from studying scrolls her father kept about the Dragonkind of Gi’ishior. Haaja the Yellow Dragoness she recognised at once, and the Brown male Tarbazzan, but the other Dragons’ names escaped her recall.
To war.
Hualiama said, Dragon-direct, “O mighty Sapphurion, I was present the day Yulgaz the Brown and Razzior the Orange attacked a male juvenile offshore of Ha’athior and buried him alive within the Island massif. Three months later, I rescued this Dragon from his cave by blowing the side off the mountain. We made oaths to each other–”
“Madness!” gasped Zulior.
“The paw of the Great Dragon,” Lia countered aggressively. “Obligated to me for his life, the young Dragon vowed to help me locate and rescue my family–the Human royals of Fra’anior–who had been abducted and exiled by the traitor Ra’aba, with the aid of the Orange Razzior’s paw. I come before you today to declare this: If my foolishness or ignorance brought dishonour upon that Dragon, to whom the Human King and his family owe a debt of gratitude which can never be repaid, I must right that wrong, or I too am foresworn.”
That was the most direct and delicate phrasing she and Ga’athar had been able to decide upon. Certainly, it skimmed over perilous secrets, which lurked amidst her words like hidden abysses. Much now depended upon how Sapphurion chose to respond.
He said, “The young Dragon was buried within Ha’athior Island?”
“I affirm that truth,” said Lia, with an inward gritting of her teeth. “It was Ra’aba who first cast me upon Ha’athior. A girl who is stabbed so deeply in the stomach that the blades exit beside her spine, before being tossed off a Dragonship, has little choice as to where she lands. I lived upon Ha’athior for a number of weeks before I was able to escape.”
The Dragon Elders shuffled their paws ominously, but made no other comment. She concluded they must already know her history. The huge Blue Dragon had raised this topic to press home his magnanimity at her expense. Mercy.
Sapphurion scoffed, “And you brought rich gifts to purchase the chance to redeem this mutual dishonour?”
“I did.” She touched her travel pack, “A rare scroll–”
Sapphurion’s snort billowed hot, curiously peppery air over her head. “I smelled its magic outside the hall. Don’t bother. I already possess a copy in my personal library.”
Lia bit her lip. “What would you wish, o mighty Dragon?”
His shrug was a mountainous flexion of blue Dragon hide, his stance uncompromising. “What do you offer which is not already possession of the draconic masters of our Island-World? Why not a token which speaks of the spirit of a Human who presumes to call herself ‘Dragonfriend’? Mighty paws for a tiny hatchling, say I.”
Most of the Elders growled their approval of Sapphurion’s withering sarcasm.
Sensing Qualiana’s regard, Hualiama’s eyes flicked to the Dragoness. A tiny circle of her fore-talon, a twitch of her wings just so–what did that mean? Her mind raced. What bauble or token could possibly impress the mightiest of Dragons? Nay, the mightiest had flown on to the fires of his kind just the day before, but he had left her a gift. Little Lia would have to rip open her chest and bare her soul, no less. She would parade her outrage and grief in a truly draconic manner.
The Human girl raised her chin. “O Sapphurion, I offer the gift of my dance.”
“Dance?” Low, spiteful, his chuckle came furnished with talons and a snarl of real thunder that made Hualiama clutch her chair, white-knuckled. “You offer a
dance?
”
“You may judge the gift when it is given.”
Lia distinctly heard his belly-fires bridle at the answering snap in her tone. Yet this was the Dragon way. Answer fire for fire, or be doomed.
Sapphurion crooked his paw. “Summon a musician to attend us.” Clearly, in his mien, she read the implication that the Human girl wore his patience thin. But could a father-Dragon’s heart deny the hope she offered his shell-son? Denied the chance to help Grandion himself, would Sapphurion reach out to her? Risky.
With each footstep feeling more doom-laden than the last, Lia descended the quartz steps behind the platform and approached the Dragon Elders–approached their paws and knees, truth be told, for as a group they towered above her, a combined tonnage of scale armour, fangs and irritable Dragon fires she dared not guess at. Qualiana stood at Sapphurion’s right flank, wing to wing with Zulior, and Andarraz and Haaja to his left. Haaja was a noted Dragon scholar from the far south. The other four Dragons acted as their own group, she noticed–hoary old Tarbazzan, a younger-looking, sleek Green male, and two Reds. They shifted to create a semicircle about her that Lia’s gut suggested was uncomfortably akin to Dragons arranging themselves around a tasty dish.
Veiling her anxiety with outward unconcern, Lia limbered up with a few light stretches.
Shortly, a Human manservant appeared, wheeling a full-size Fra’aniorian harp in dark jalkwood with inlays and string-pegs of pure gold. While he arranged himself on a tall stool a second servant brought for him, Hualiama’s hands rose–trembling slightly–to loosen her headscarf and liberate her hair from captivity. If ever she needed the symbolic freedom she thus claimed, now was the hour.
The musician nodded gravely to her.
“Islands’ greetings,” said Lia, with courtly formality. “If I may, master musician, I would request the
Dragonet’s Dance
from the
Flame Cycle
.”
“And your desired tempo, lady?”
She marked the tempo briefly with her forefinger. “Whenever you’re ready.”
He bowed over the harp, hands poised with the supple grace of a lesser blue heron feeding beside a still lake, and with a slight but audible exhalation, he began the opening passage leading into the
Dragonet’s Dance
. Hualiama almost lost her nerve. She knew his style! She knew this man’s music, for every master musician had their signature style, his being a particularly adept usage of his extraordinarily long fingers to produce sixteenth jumps–double-octaves–on the strings of his instrument. Consumed by shock, the royal ward jerked awkwardly into her opening steps. Graceless, awkward, her feet seemed weighed down with lead boots.