“Number three,” he replied.
“You don’t have a name?”
“Three is my name.”
“Saburo means third son, does it not?”
He barely masked his surprise. “This cannot be her Highness’ first visit to the East?”
Grandion sniped,
Oh, her Highness is exceedingly clever. And she says Dragons show off.
Colouring, Lia murmured, “Are these the baths already?”
At the baths, surveying a public pool sized for two hundred Humans or one adult Dragon, Hualiama further nonplussed the man by skating casually over his offer of either male or female attendants, and requesting twenty-one servant girls. “One for me; twenty for the Dragon,” she ordered. “Girls who won’t faint in awe of his magnificence.”
Telepathically, she added,
Adequate for your exceedingly overblown sense of consequence, Dragon?
Grandion almost unleashed a fireball in annoyance.
“I need girls armed with long-handled scrubbing brushes, ladders and enough soap to lather a Dragon,” Hualiama continued, undaunted. “In Fra’anior’s past, it was customary for Human slaves to serve Dragons in this way. My companion, who belongs to one of the most venerable Dragon bloodlines, is especially hidebound to the old traditions.”
Such as supping on sassy Humans,
Grandion growled, unable to resist a nip aimed at the region of her haunches.
Frank amazement at their interaction broke through Saburo’s typically Eastern, unreadable expression. Bowing deeply, he gasped, “As you wish, Princess!”
“Claws in, Dragon, lest you wreck the tiling,” Lia commanded, every inch the imperious royal.
Shortly, Hualiama was bathing in what had previously been a ridiculously oversized indoor pool for a dragonet-sized Human royal ward, now overflowing due to Grandion’s bulk. The water was steaming hot, but evidently not scalding enough for a fussy Dragon, who declared his preference for lava to bake the lizard-rump. Now, twenty-one awed servant girls filed in, wearing simple knee-length smocks with matching dove-grey face veils, which covered their faces up to the eyes but left their black hair uncovered, to her surprise. They huddled fearfully on the far side of the pool.
“Showtime,” said the Dragon, flexing his wings.
Lia jibed, “Are those Dragon hormones I hear fizzing in your golden blood? Or am overflow of masculine ego?”
Grandion moved sinuously across the pool, saying,
May jealousy fire your blood, Dragonfriend.
“Sooo.” The Tourmaline infused his voice with fiery seduction as he loomed over the girls. “How is it that a bevy of this Island-Kingdom’s most beautiful maidens has come to grace my bathtub? I must be the luckiest Dragon alive!”
Pure slush, but Lia found her knees rather weaker than she wished to admit.
Pesky Dragon.
The water was soothing; the building housing the ancient baths, spectacular. Floating on her back, Lia scanned the fresco artworks covering the vast domed ceiling overhead, depicting scenes of rural life from around the Kingdom of Kaolili. So different from Fra’anior. So exotic. The octagonal pool lay directly beneath the dome, perhaps a hundred feet overhead, and the eight fluted marble columns which supported the roof plunged into the water, down to a surprisingly deep bottom covered in what appeared to be blue gemstone tiling in fanciful swirls and patterns.
Grandion was in his element. Girls swarmed over him, scrubbing away briskly. Lazily, he thought to her,
So, this is the royal life. You had it tough.
Your parents sure pampered me,
she chuckled.
The Tourmaline Dragon’s legs rivalled the roof columns for thickness. Swimming underwater toward Grandion’s muzzle, having half a mind to surprise the Dragon, Lia coughed bubbles of air when she saw the toes of his forepaws, the three forward-pointing talons and the two rear-pointing talons, curled tight with draconic pleasure. The old fraud! He purred like a kitten beneath the ministrations of his energetic posse of petite admirers. Aye, so she was jealous. As a Dragon might say, jealous-love stirred the heart-fires to an agreeable blaze.
Taking a deep lungful of air, Lia swam widths of the pool underwater, amazed by the amount of time she was able to hold her breath. She must be fitter than she had assumed.
Vibrations conducted through the water came to her eardrums. Booted feet? Rising to the surface, Hualiama flicked water out of her face. The servant girls were all kneeling, heads to the ground, deathly silent.
“–majesty of ten thousand Isles, the incomparable King of Kaolili!” she heard.
Oh, monkey droppings. And her without a stitch of clothing.
A crisp baritone voice said, “Where is the Princess of Fra’anior? I must speak with her at once.”
Using Grandion’s chin for cover, Hualiama peeked at the King. He was built like his son, short but thick through the shoulder. A plain grey travel-cloak spanned those stalwart shoulders. His piercing grey eyes swept the scene before him with the ease of a man used to command. He wore banded golden armour which was no ceremonial showpiece, while a sword in an unadorned scabbard graced his left hip. His retinue numbered a dozen men, army officers by their bearing.
The grey gaze picked out her hiding place. “Princess.” He bowed in the Eastern way, stiffly from the waist. “Forgive the shameful lack of formality and disturbance, but my border is threatened. I was about to embark with my Dragonship fleet, when news reached me of an envoy riding a Dragon into Kaolili Town. I knew there could be only one person in the Island-World who would dare such a deed.” A second bow followed the first. “My son Qilong described his unwitting capture of your Dragonship, and your battle against the Dragons of Merx, with great passion and admiration. Be welcome in Kaolili, Princess of Fra’anior and Grandion, shell-son of Sapphurion. All that you need shall be yours for the asking. But first, tell me, what intelligence do you bring?”
The penetrating intelligence of a straw-head,
Grandion’s thought curled into her mind.
Hualiama quelled an urge to slap the Dragon. “I regret having to meet under these circumstances, o King. I am indeed the Princess of Fra’anior. Thank you for your gracious welcome.” She was impressed by his staccato delivery and clear presentation of the facts, while the hand resting firmly upon the pommel of his sword underscored his desire for haste. “There is much we wish to share with you. Urgently.”
“Aye. As we tarry, lives are lost.”
“Bathing can wait. I will speak with you, o King.”
“About face!” barked the King. As one man, he and his dozen-strong retinue of officers turned their backs upon her. Lia blinked. He said, “Arise from these cleansing waters in good faith, o Princess. Girl. Bring clothes for our guest. Hurry.”
A row of ramrod-straight backs greeted her curious gaze. They would not look? Eastern honour was a strange thing. Lia swam out of Grandion’s shadow. Her serving girl, Yumi, who stood no taller than Lia herself, held out a thick roll of cloth these Easterners called a towel.
In her soft, lilting accent Yumi said, “Regrettably, lady, your travel clothes are being washed as we speak. We can fetch suitable apparel from the Palace–”
“The King cannot wait,” Lia replied. “Is this towel large enough?”
“Great lady, the dishonour–”
“Is not worth the lives it would cost, Yumi,” Hualiama said gently. “You haven’t seen the enemy. I have.”
The King and his twelve officers caught her eye by bowing simultaneously to the empty entrance. “You do us honour,” intoned the King. “Where are you bound, Princess? Why did you seek this audience?”
Certainly, the prodigal Princess of Fra’anior had not sought an audience with a King intending to carry out her diplomatic duties clad in a towel. She collected her thoughts with haste. “A mighty power rises against your kingdom, my Lord. My Dragon companion and I are bound for the Lost Islands in search of knowledge which is of incalculable value to our enemy.”
“You seek the Scroll of Binding,” stated the King.
Grandion growled, discontented.
Did you seek to hide your intentions, Grandion?
Her question communicated a peevish undertone.
Not enough, clearly.
Nevertheless, we could gain a powerful ally against Shinzen and Razzior, and save lives, both Dragon and Human.
Sapphurion would thank us,
the Tourmaline agreed.
Conversation at the speed of thought meant that Hualiama hardly missed a beat as she replied, “I’m ready, o King.”
He turned smartly. Lia kept her back very straight as the King marched toward her. Barefoot, dripping wet, the face veil sticking to her nose–he seemed to take no notice of these things. Storm-grey eyes evaluated her. His gaze touched the cut on her left forearm, healing after a Dragon’s talon had sliced open a five-inch cut during their battle against Shinzen’s forces. Although there was nothing unsolicited in his attention or manner, heat rose into her cheeks. The King of Kaolili possessed a power of presence she had seldom encountered in a man, and an air of mystery, as though behind the mask of his features, a draconic brain made a billion calculations a second.
He said, “Dragon Rider, Princess of a volcanic kingdom and a warrior of beauty and grace. You aren’t as tall as I expected of a Fra’aniorian.”
“I did not know my mother, Majesty.”
The low rumble of Grandion’s belly-fires changed pitch as she skirted the truth. Not a lie–not quite, but Lia knew he would raise the issue later. Dragons never flat-out lied.
A genuine smile creased the corners of the King’s eyes. “Nor are you half as tall as the tales they tell, even here in Kaolili. Yet there is something Eastern about you, I feel. Your spirit is of Fra’anior, but also of the East.” Now, Hualiama had to lower her gaze. Perceptive! “The enigmatic serenity of your spirit hides depths as stormy as this Dragon,” he added. “I should have appreciated the time to know you better, Hualiama of Fra’anior. Perhaps in another time and place.”
“My King,” she murmured, discomfited.
“There’s no need for a headscarf, unless you prefer it,” he said, causing Yumi to pause her work.
Lia said, “I thought long or uncovered hair was objectionable to Easterners?”
“You confuse our culture with those Human cultures located further south in the archipelago,” said the King. “Here, only married women or servants wear the headscarf, while unmarried girls and women wear their hair long. All women wear the face veil.”
“In which case, Yumi, please desist.”
“A braid, Princess?” suggested the servant.
“Perfect, thank you.” Lia paused. Where to begin their tale?
“Do you need a medic to treat your arm?” he asked.
“Thank you, o King. Perhaps later.” Reacting to his nod, she said, “We have flown directly from the Barrens, seven and a half days on the wing with scant time to rest. The south is already overrun by the armies of the Warlord Shinzen, who hails from Gao-Tao Island, beyond Haozi. Shinzen recently formed a pact with Razzior, a powerful and ambitious Orange Dragon whom we Fra’aniorians know well. Six years ago, Razzior tried to usurp the Human Kingdom of Fra’anior, sparking a war in which both Dragons and Humans became involved.”
One of the officers put in, “Why should we care for Shinzen? He’s nothing but a bandit and a petty tyrant.”
“Razzior is a master of a rare type of magic called
ruzal
,” Lia replied evenly. “He has used this magic to revive some of Dramagon’s creations.” Faced with blank expressions, she explained, “Dramagon is an Ancient Dragon scientist famous–or rather, infamous–for his experiments in cross-breeding and modifying different creatures in our Island-World. He was cast out by the Dragons of Fra’anior, and it is his ancient fortress which Shinzen chooses to occupy. With Razzior as his ally, Shinzen now commands an army of Dragons and giants. These giants are Enchanters, powerful magic-users capable of–”
“Giants? Fireside tales for children,” scoffed the same man. Lia flushed at his scorn.
“Do you mean the Ippon people of the south?” asked another.
“No, these are creatures Dramagon bred, even greater than–”
The King silenced the first officer’s snort. “Peace, Commander Hiro. We don’t seek a quarrel. This Razzior’s plan cannot be the conquest of Humans, surely?”
“Partly,” rumbled Grandion. “A return of Humans to slavery under draconic rule would not be unattractive to Razzior and his ilk. We estimate the number of Dragons directly allied to Razzior’s cause as being upward of five hundred. Razzior’s eye burns against the rule of my shell-father and the Dragon Elders. The knowledge contained in the Scroll of Binding would allow him to control the Dragonkind with unbreakable strength, as though he grasped puny Humans in his paw. That’s his ultimate goal.”
“Meantime, Sapphurion brings a huge Dragonwing from Fra’anior and its allies to fly against Razzior. My father would be honoured to be your ally, or at least, would value your neutrality.”
In a war between Dragons? Impossible, isn’t it?
Lia loved having an undetectable side-language. More than useful!
Aye, Lia. Allow him to draw his own conclusions. This King is no feral-head.