She doubled over, clutching her stomach.
“Oh, stand up, child,” Azziala snapped.
“Nay.” The Maroon Dragoness shifted closer. “What is it? What is this terror-stench I smell upon your skin?”
Words tumbled out of her now, uncaring, as raw as a weeping wound. “Dragon. Was I born of
ruzal?
Conceived of it? Born of a Dragon?”
“How can I discern this?” asked the Dragoness.
“Dragon. The babe whom you accepted from Azziala–did she have any
ruzal
within her? Did you sense the taint that exists in me now?”
Ianthine said, “No.”
The Empress scowled at them both in turn. “This makes no sense.”
“It m-m-makes p-perfect sense,” Lia stammered. “The Scroll of Binding was lost, but the
knowledge
exists. It is unseen. Don’t you see, mother? Ianthine did steal something–me, in a manner of speaking. A babe. And she placed inside of me the knowledge contained in the Scroll of Binding. She stole the Scroll twice.”
“No.” More grey than gold infused Azziala’s features now.
“Everything fits. Every answer the Dragoness gave is true. And you were so willing to give me up–you gave the Scroll away. You said, ‘Take Ra’aba’s whelp, Ianthine. Use it against him.’ How else could I
know
this magic as if I had been born to it, mother? I was born of violation, but not of
ruzal.
” Turning to Ianthine, she said, “You were protecting the Dragonkind, just as you claimed at Gi’ishior. Did you not say, ‘
All Dragons will know that Ianthine saved them from a fate worse than death’
?”
Ianthine rumbled, “You mistake me for a noble Dragoness.”
Yet here she was in the Lost Islands, serving the Dragonkind in her own demented way. Hualiama could not help feeling a thawing of her heart toward the strange, tormented Maroon Dragoness.
Azziala stared at Hualiama as though she had breathed Dragon fire from her nostrils. “You speak Dragonish? Did I just hear you speak–”
“Of course.” Lia jutted out her chin. “I am the Dragonfriend, after–”
She never saw what struck the point of her chin with the kick of a war crossbow fired in anger.
* * * *
Hualiama could only have been unconscious for a few seconds, because she came to at the Empress’ feet, with an aching jaw and an equally painful lump on the back of her head. Her mother must have punched her!
“DRAGON, OBEY!” her mother thundered. “You will obey! I command you by the strictest protocols to release the
ruzal
within my daughter. Then, she will write the Scroll of Binding afresh.”
“It is forgotten.”
A curse and a magical buffet punished Ianthine for her imperturbable reply. The Maroon Dragoness fell heavily upon her side, gasping with pain. Azziala screamed, “I’ll do worse if you don’t obey!”
“Stop. Mother …”
“You’re in cahoots with this foul lizard, this–”
“Mother! I know how!”
Slowly, the Empress of the Lost Islands turned upon her heel, her visage terrible to behold. “Do you, now? I don’t need to wring the knowledge out of my precious, lizard-loving daughter’s head?”
“No. Mother–mercy, don’t you understand? The Dragoness doesn’t remember, but I know because I’ve seen visions of–” oh, mercy, and her stupid dragonet’s tongue had just babbled another secret! Lia continued lamely “–uh, visions of the past.”
For a second, Lia almost believed that another face peered out of Azziala’s face, a cruel, alien thing, so brutally scarred that it appeared to possess neither nose nor left eye. However, her mother’s face returned to its normal planes of arrogant golden perfection before Lia could dwell upon it. Her hands twitched as though she itched to wrap her long, powerful fingers about her daughter’s neck and choke the life out of her.
“Show me,” said Azziala.
The form was simple, the implications profound. Had the Maroon Dragoness been trying to warn her about unchaining the
ruzal?
Yet how could she exorcise this evil from her being if it remained bound, obeying the original command of one who had implanted the dread knowledge into an innocent?
Lia squeezed her eyelids shut. How could she bear yet more torment? If the Dragoness spoke truthfully, she was no abomination. Heartening, but her relief had been supplanted with the knowledge that she was the repository of the foulest of Dragon lore, a subject doubtless an intimate favourite of Dramagon’s. The prophecy was true. She carried the seeds of draconic destruction in her flesh, as Ra’aba had once accused her–which begged the question. Why did he care?
Too many complexities! A soft scream died unvented from her lips. Instead, words formed upon the scrolleaf of her heart, a song she had composed while crossing the straits between Erigar and Archion.
For the power of love is greater than any Dragon,
Greater than magic, greater than soul-fire,
It changes the immutable,
Breaks all chains,
And stirs the Islands to dance.
Could she hope?
Speaking Dragonish, she let words fall like stars plummeting from the skies.
Let it be unbound.
* * * *
Having spent three hours ruing her simple lie–the
ruzal
had been unbound, but her mind required time to remember more than the sketchiest detail–Hualiama collapsed into her bed-bowl with the grace of a punctured Dragonship air sack late that evening. What a day. Her mother clearly did not accept ‘no’ for an answer. She, Feyzuria and Shazziya had taken turns trying first to cajole and later to wrench or pound the knowledge of
ruzal
out of their unwilling subject. Unsuccessfully. Lia had the impression that the harder they tried, the deeper the magic concealed its perfidious presence.
Failure in Azziala’s realm was clearly as painful as it was intolerable.
Oh, Grandion. What would the Tourmaline Dragon think of her now? Child of the prophecy, but no child of the Dragon, unless that appellation referred to the gift of Dragon fire. Lia flexed her fingers, remembering how her hands had burned, how the power of a single word had tossed Razzior across the Cloudlands. She still had to take Azziala to task over two things she had learned–one, that Azziala’s twin might have been her real mother, and two, the monstrous accusation that it had been Azziala who had somehow overpowered or stolen from Razzior in order to have her baby.
Now the Empress was afoot, checking on preparations for Razzior’s arrival by the eve of the morrow. War. The fortress bustled with activity. All day, Dragonships had been bringing Humans in from the outlying Islands, until the fortress threatened to burst at the seams.
Tonight might be the perfect opportunity to abscond with Grandion. Only one fly wriggled in the stinking ointment of her life–how? All Azziala had to do was
think
and she was as good as captured.
Too agitated to even lay her head down, Lia leaped out of bed, picked up her Nuyallith blade, and proceeded to dice up the air of the Empress’ private chambers into the smallest chunks possible. She slew enemies and swooped upon Dragons and razed fortresses, all in quick order. Ha! Take that, Razzior … panting, the only female warrior-monk ever to disgrace the Cluster of Fra’anior glowered at her reflection in the tall mirror her mother used to polish her Empress-of-Doom impressions. Mercy, Razzior would employ this weakling to clean his gums, never mind his fangs.
Just then, her reflection stepped out of the mirror.
Hualiama dropped the blade with a clang. Flaming eyes, maroon hair–
Ianthine? How on the Islands …
We need to talk,
said the image.
You were smart today, child who presumes to style herself the Dragonfriend.
Talking to herself had to count as one of the more mind-bending moments in her life. Hualiama pinched the skin of her wrist surreptitiously. Awake? Aye.
Talk about what, Ianthine? An old promise?
The eyes suffused with draconic fury.
You intend to renounce our bargain?
No. That would be … unwise.
Ianthine snorted in a distinctly non-Human way as the nuances of Lia’s Dragonish conveyed rather more than the royal ward wished. Flushing, she clarified,
Against my nature, I meant.
O sweet, moral bearer of
ruzal
?
The Maroon Dragoness, in contrast, was a master of nuance. Sarcasm, approbation and concern were only a few fragrances among the rich bouquet her Dragonish offered.
You’re unsurprised by this power of projection? Ah, Grandion. Of course. A young rebel to the core. Are you two competing to tally how many secrets and oaths you can wreck in your respective lifetimes?
Her blush developed into a bonfire.
You risked this communication merely to insult me?
Thousands of years of history and Humans have never figured out the power of projection? Ghosts, visions, voices in the night, celestial beings, gods and goddesses–your kind are so easily manipulated! We Dragons–
Make your point, Dragoness.
The Human projection’s eyes swirled exactly like a Dragon’s eye-fires at Lia’s acerbic tone.
What do you want, Ianthine?
Help me escape.
Dragon-direct! Hualiama caught her breath. And seal her fate with these Dragon-Haters? If she could simultaneously depart with Grandion, that would be a trick! But she needed information.
That’s a big ask, Ianthine. I’d sacrifice any remaining goodwill I have–
To her surprise, the Dragoness did not blast her feeble attempt at negotiation with the verbal fireball it deserved. The Dragoness said,
We’ve mutual interests, Dragonfriend. I abused a helpless Human hatchling. You unwittingly helped me escape first Azziala, and later the Spits. Unlike many Dragonkind, I value transparency and brevity. Speak. I’m listening.
You’ve changed from the Dragoness I remember. How did you neutralise the Dragon Enchanters’ command-hold?
Ianthine countered,
What do
you
want, Hualiama?
To escape with Grandion. And to know how to rid my life of this
ruzal
power. And … any information which might help Grandion and I survive when Azziala comes for me.
The image of herself bowed.
Bargain accepted.
Lia inclined her head.
Likewise.
At once, Ianthine asked,
What did you conclude about the nature of
ruzal
today, Hualiama?
You saw my hesitation.
This Dragoness was as sharp as her talons! But could she be trusted? Lia judged the proposed exchange too valuable to deny all but the most explosive of her secrets.
I believe
ruzal
is somehow connected to Dramagon’s life and work. It appears to … respond, I guess, to threats of removal or discovery. It feels animate. Whatever binding you placed upon the knowledge of
ruzal
in a baby, which kept such an evil bound for twenty-one years, this magic still managed to escape, or leak, or whatever it did.
Ianthine’s lips peeled back over her fangs, indicating draconic approval.
A potent combination of intuition and logic, youngling, but the truth is grimmer yet. Think of it this way–how best to convey this to one unversed in Dragonish magic? You host a spiritual extract of Dramagon, the concentrated essence of his thought-life distilled into the constellated structures of magic we Dragons call
ruzal
. I only deduced this recently.
A wheeze constituted her only possible reply.
Suddenly, Ianthine seemed to startle. The pace of her speech trebled.
See what became of me, Dragonfriend? I tried to transfer
ruzal
from the Scroll of Binding into you, and was struck by the backlash of its power. Aye, you gasp.
Ruzal
is a living entity, the antithesis of the creative power the Ancient Dragons used to raise up these Islands. It is the ultimate negation, twisting all it touches. I fear that to exorcise a frail Human shell of Dramagon’s Ancient Dragon lore will cost your very soul!
The image juddered, her voice growing faint.
You can be Grandion’s anchor. The key is that Azziala’s people require line-of-sight. Anytime they can see you, they can exert their psychic power upon you and try to change your thoughts or stun you or take over your Dragon. Duality, Hualiama. You must enfold Grandion’s spirit within yours. That will protect him. He must protect you with his magic, using these constructs.
Hualiama flinched as Ianthine hurled knowledge at her. White daggers speared behind her eyes, the pain however so sharp and fleeting, that her next breath brought instant relief.
What? Ianthine, please …
They can penetrate most Blue Dragon shielding. Use the knowledge I gave you.
The image wavered again, almost disappearing.
I must fly.
How do you–