Aranya Treasury - The Complete Shapeshifter Dragons Series, page 127
Three hours of non-stop story-spinning followed. Zip very badly wanted to turn Ri’arion over her knee for chuckling periodically at her twitches of impatience. Sudden cries of oath-fires and a celebratory cannonade startled her into paying attention.
Oh, time to leave? she grumbled.
O Dragoness of mighty snoozing, her Human chuckled.
I was not snoozing! I am … well, a little more tired than usual. Nothing a decent nap won’t fix.
Ha, said the inner voice. Naps and constant snacking. Must be all this trotting around strange parts of Herimor. Are we a growing little Dragoness?
The Azure flexed her wings as best she could. About ruddy time I added a few inches.
Ri’arion, evidently unawares of this soul-deep conversation between her two Shifter forms, replied, Aye, Princess. Aren’t we glad one of us pays attention to the nuances of protocol?
You don’t pay me for those skills, said the Azure Dragoness, managing to turn her statement into a lewd proposal. Ha. Another day, another monkish tongue-tied moment. She was so good at this. And her Dragoness was so awfully modest.
Leandrial and Ri’arion conferred and quickly proposed a new travel arrangement that suited the slow-moving Blast-Runners perfectly. The ‘Thunderous Thirty’ took up residence in Leandrial’s relatively modest neck-ruff – modest in that it could shelter entire villages – which protected the single-minded Thirty from the wash of her passage. The Lesser Dragons retreated to her mouth. The beat of the Land Dragoness’ tail picked up as she poured southward.
The Land Dragoness immediately fell to interrogating Ri’arion about his strategy.
He said, “Our first priority should be to track down Aranya. The geography, as I understand it, is that West of us lie the Mesas – a messy, broken wilderness which is too high and cold for most habitation, save subdraconic ice-adapted species. There are Icewurms, ice-dragonets, furry Dragons called Ice-Runners, and a host of other legendary beasts. The Mesas describe the boundary of the Kahilate all the way South to Entorixthu’s Cleft, which lies at the end of a kind of pocket called the Sea of Dragons’ Tears. That is one possible route into Wyldaroon. Extremely difficult for Land Dragons, however.”
“Impassable,” said Leandrial.
Ri’arion smiled thinly. “Aye? So, the Mesas then curve in a great ‘S’-bend, first North, then back South past the Vassal States sandwiched on the border between the Kahilates. That route adds a mere two thousand seven hundred leagues to the journey to the Straits of Hordazar, named for the Blue Ancient Dragon. It’s the traditional route into Wyldaroon. The only worm in that fruit is that Hordazar is a perfect location for the Marshal to ambush us. One of him will be waiting for us there.”
“However, the Vassal States are likely allies, besides boasting the largest population of Dragon Riders in Herimor,” Leandrial pointed out. “We’ve no guarantee Aranya landed in Wyldaroon, although my calculations – as discussed – appear tolerably accurate, if philosophically troubling.”
Zip growled unhappily, not for the first time and certainly not for the last regarding the subject of Her Starship the Amethyst Wonder, whom she missed worse than her Dragoness would miss her third heart. Plainly put, they had no idea how Aranya might have survived a trip into low orbit, where she had apparently languished for four weeks before abruptly making alternative travel plans for a region of Herimor that lay beyond the backside of beyond. How she regretted the loss of the gruff Western Isles warrior and his oath-magic link with her best friend! He would know the truth – but where the volcanic hells was that Shadow lurking?
Her Humansoul suggested, Perhaps a Shadow Dragon might best be found by starlight?
The Azure chuckled inwardly. Certainly a romantic idea, Humansoul.
Aloud, she said, “How close do these Vassal States lie to the Straits of Hordazar?”
“Eight hundred and twenty leagues,” said Tari. “Interesting lands, those. The rule of the Southern Kahilate lies loosely upon that fringe. We’d pass your favourite Cluster, the Inscrutables.”
“I’ve my own handbag-sized Inscrutable right here,” said the Azure, patting Ri’arion’s head fondly.
He took a playful, Dragon-like snap at her paw. “Alright. I’ve a plan that shall whisk the art of the inscrutable right out from under the Thoralians’ collective muzzles.”
“Whatever that means,” Zip said tartly.
“Hmm. Upon reflection, I’m not entirely certain either.” The monk rubbed his bald pate. “It’s risky, however.”
At least fifty Dragons snorted fire at this statement.
“Moving swiftly on,” said the monk. “First, we round up the isolated pockets of Land Dragons left scattered around this province of the Northern Kahilate. We charge South as if aiming for the Vassal States. We don’t skulk – I’ve a few ideas about that, and about how best to use our Blast-Runner allies and the Lesser Dragons to help Leandrial punch through enemy lines.” Suddenly, his mien was as fierce as that of any of the surrounding Dragons. “Then, if we’ve gathered enough allies, we split our force, one group to make the dash for Wyldaroon, the other to make a concerted effort to join the allied Land Dragons near the Vassal States. The medium-term plan is to bring the two forces together in a pincer movement – one group striking from the North, while the other makes a reverse pass through the Straits of Hordazar from the West, attacking the underbelly of Thoralian’s forces. We force the Thoralians to fight a war on two fronts.”
On the face of it, Zip found no fault with the broad brush-strokes of his strategy. There was Leandrial’s objection to Entorixthu’s Cleft, however, which remained to be addressed. Her hearts thrummed joyfully in her throat. Anything that took her closer to finding Aranya felt … right. So right.
Ri’arion cleared his throat and rasped, “Consider my words, noble Dragons. Let us put this strategy to the test. Well is it said that he who holds the First Egg, holds power. But I counsel that he who holds the Star Dragoness, holds the best and only key to that power. Friends, I ask you to bind your fires to the hunt for Aranya. Let us forge a new destiny in the fires of this war.”
“To Wyldaroon,” whispered Zip.
“No,” said Leandrial. “TO BATTLE!”
Chapter 24: A Princess Purchased
LEaving the Forbidding, jagged massif of the Mesas in her wake, Leandrial and her disparate force churned southward with renewed purpose. This area of Herimor was a wasteland, with sparsely-vegetated Islands hanging low above the Cloudlands, trapped in the quaternary sub-cyclical weather system of Northern Herimor, sluggish doldrums confining a churning mass of resource-poor Islands. Many Islands sank below the gritty grey Cloudlands due to that slow churn, making navigation treacherous even for the Land Dragoness.
On the third morning, they ambushed half a dozen infested Welkin-Runners attacking two youngsters, who must have become isolated from the main Welkin-Runner Clan. The parasitic Theadurial drove Leandrial’s erstwhile Clan-kin at once to battle. A brief, sharp skirmish ensued. Those Runners that closed with Leandrial were ambushed by the Thunderous Thirty. Those further afield were harried by Tari’s battle-group of Lesser Dragons; being so much more manoeuvrable than the Land Dragons, they could harass them almost at will, but only the strongest shielding could save a Lesser Dragon caught in the blast of an eye-cannon. They lost four of Tari’s command in the opening salvo.
Then, there was a joyous reunion of Leandrial with her distant kin.
Zuziana paused near Leandrial’s haunches, panting. Oh, I feel … she threw up without warning. Oh dear. Ri’arion, we need to spend some time aloft. Detoxify … gaah, this stomach!
He patted her shoulder fondly. Don’t fret, petal. Probably just a taste of Herimor. I had that vile cold last week, remember?
Ah, the miserable man-fever, she observed, drawing a warm chuckle from her husband.
Having tucked away a few mouthfuls of bitter, thistle-like herbs the Dragons foraged for on Brityx’s orders, Zuziana winged southward with the Dragonwing above the Cloudlands for the balance of that day. To their right wingtips, the relentlessly black, column-fluted massif of the Mesas stretched skyward – the result of recent basalt flows, Ri’arion said, geologically speaking. Soon, Brityx pointed out several live volcanoes perched atop the mighty escarpment, cracked away in aeons past by Hordazar the Night-Blue, so legend told, who had betrayed Fra’anior and attempted to create his own separate Dragondom in Herimor’s far West. The Mesas were still growing.
Ever curious, Ri’arion asked, “What happened to that … ah, Dragondom? The maps never show it.”
Brityx recounted a legendary war between the Ancient Dragons which had sundered Herimor. Fra’anior, his smaller shell-brother Amaryllion, and Immadior the White for whom Immadior’s Sea was named, had trapped Hordazar and his kin-betrayers behind the Mesas and left them to starve. “Dragons don’t take kindly to betrayal,” she finished darkly. “It rings harshly upon the ear-canals now, but we must remember, those tumultuous times were subject to the rule of claw and fang. Fra’anior’s rule was regarded as surprisingly beneficent, even treacherously so, by many of his First Egg Dragon-kin. He famously loved Humans; the Pygmy peoples above all. That you seek to succour this Pygmy Dragoness must generate white-fires to warm every heart of the Great Onyx.”
The Azure yawned, thinking of Aranya’s recounting how Fra’anior had reacted to her apparent betrayal – wrongly, but viciously all the same. “How do you think Shapeshifters came to be, Brityx?”
“By the gift of Hualiama Dragonfriend,” said Brityx.
“How? By her tears?” asked Zip.
The powerful Dragoness regarded Zip with a soft, lemon-yellow tint to her eyes. “No, little one. By the gift of her fire-soul. It is said that when Hualiama breathed her Gift into a person, it roused their inner fires. To adherents of Line-Bound thinking, it is blasphemous to consider that Humans possess fires like unto Dragons, or that Shapeshifters can arise spontaneously, which the monk noted, occurs in the North. Their avowed goal is to procreate widely in order that all Dragonkind and Humankind might become pure – that is, that they might become Shapeshifters like us. I would keep your friend’s tears secret, here in Herimor. To act as the Dragonfriend? That is … heresy. Even, perhaps – or especially so – for a Star Dragoness.”
Hualiama had breathed soul-fires into people? Zip goggled and stretched sleepily. Great leaping Islands! What a gift, even if it might be heresy – and her Amethyst friend clearly followed in those mighty paw-prints.
Brityx added, “Now, you haven’t stopped yawning since midday, Zip. Why don’t you and your monk ride upon my back? I’ve never had a Rider, but considering what you have done for my kith and kin, I would be honoured to bear you aloft. You should sleep.”
Her warm, mother-Dragon manner bore no refusal. Shortly, Zip slept in Human form. She dreamed of her Human and Dragoness hugging each other warmly and doing silly dances all night. How odd.
Come morning, Zip found herself tucked up in Leandrial’s cheek-pocket with a trio of Dragon eggs. So beautiful. She touched their surfaces wonderingly. Like jewels. If Dragon lore held they were so tough that no ordinary force could break through the shell from the outside, how had the Heripedes and Jagok Lizards penetrated them before? Strange.
Where was Ri’arion? Zip stood up, and promptly launched the contents of her stomach over the eggs. Oddly, she immediately felt better. How could she clean up? It seemed wrong to leave the eggs sitting in a messy puddle. Zip slipped out of the pocket and found herself nose-to-muzzle with Brityx.
The Dragoness smiled like a cat, narrowing her eyes as her lips curved upward. “Slept well, little one?”
“Ah, yes?”
“Ri’arion was worried. You slept thirty-nine hours, right through another battle. We have gained six Living Springs. Nice Dragons, but very old, so they aren’t so full of water anymore. But they tell the most marvellous stories.”
Zuziana tugged her hair self-consciously about her body. “Why are you looking at me with that gleam in your eye, Dragoness? Am I not scarred –”
“Not that. How’s the tum, little one?”
“Wobbly.” She grimaced. “Do I have to eat more of those herbs? Mercy, I could eat a whole ralti sheep. I feel bilious but starved at the same time. Is that normal, Brityx? Am I ill?”
“Perfectly normal.”
Zuziana stared at the huge Dragoness. Apricot colours in the eye. Totally unreadable smile. Belly-fires purring like a busy blacksmith’s forge. What under the heavens was she … Brityx was up to something. She touched her stomach self-consciously. She really felt quite peculiar.
“A little bulge there?”
Annoyed, Zip growled, “No, flat as a pancake. I’m a spare sort of girl. Could do with a few bulges elsewhere, but Garthion –”
“Strange flutterings inside?”
“No, nausea.”
“Well, I suppose it’s probably too early for flutterings. But your clever monk could probably tell. Ri’arion! Come here, would you?”
“Tell what?” Zip demanded.
“This mysterious illness,” said the Dragoness, growing less comprehensible by the second. Zip opened her mouth to protest, and promptly doubled over to start retching again. Ugh. Stomach shilly-shallies. Whatever could she have eaten?
Ri’arion trotted over. Brityx had her lie down on her back; Zip tried to ask for clothing but was shushed by the Dragoness. Shortly, the monk was examining her stomach while the Remoyan Princess diffidently rearranged her hair to cover the essentials – one bonus of having Shapeshifter locks. Much more, and she could start selling hanks of hair for spare cloaks.
After thirty seconds or so, the monk’s expression grew considerably more intent than before. Zip yelped in shock as he slumped over her stomach in a dead faint!
“Thought so,” said Brityx, appearing vastly contented.
“He’s heavy!” Zip complained. “Can you help me shift him?” But Ri’arion was already showing signs of revival. She stroked his cheek. “Ri’arion? Monk-love, are you alright? Ri –”
“Whaa!” he spluttered, leaping off her as though burned. She had never seen his eyes appear wilder. “I didn’t … hurt? No? You’re alright, my petal-flower darling girl?”
Zip said acidly, “Has everyone gone stark raving moons-mad? Brityx, explain yourself this instant. Ri’arion, can you stop wringing your hands? Flying monkeys, man, what’s the matter with you?”
Ri’arion spluttered, “She’s p-p-p …”
“Aye,” purred the Dragoness.
He held up three fingers.
“Aye, clever man. No more fainting, alright?” said Brityx.
“No,” said the monk.
CAN SOME DRAGON KINDLY EXPLAIN? roared Zuziana, managing to produce a flare of lightning, and a mini-roll of thunder that silenced every Dragon in the cavern of Leandrial’s jaw.
Brityx was enjoying herself so much, Zip dearly wanted to hit her. Now she knew how Aranya felt when people tugged her hawser. “Hearken, little one,” crooned the Dragoness. “Everyone! Lend your ear-canals to this exciting news! I’ve a mathematical problem for you, Zuziana – add up unusual sleepiness, hunger and cravings, plus a wobbly tummy, and what do you get?”
Zip bit her lip for fear she’d shout something truly regrettable. “Sheer bewilderment?”
The Dragoness rolled her fire-eyes with an exasperated snort. Very slowly and pointedly, she asked, “Doth mine ear-canals thrill to the fluttering of teensy wings in your womb?”
Finally, the twin suns dawned upon her Island. Zip glared at her stomach as if it had risen up to slap her cheek a resounding blow. “Uh … mercy! How did that happen?”
Leandrial’s maw resounded with hoots of laughter and celebratory bugles.
* * * *
Charge!
They charged along with skill, Zuziana thought. Ri’arion was such a bright boy when he was taking orders from his wife. She beamed at him.
The monk sniffed, “Ruddy little genius. Remind me never again to take the deviousness of Remoyans for granted. Telepathic ventriloquism? However did you come up with that Island-slapping, Moons-jangling idea?”
Zip smirked and made monkey noises.
“Right, monkey-mischief,” laughed the most gorgeous hus-bandit in all the Island-World. “Those Theadurial-controlled Land Dragons out there are mighty peeved. Thoralian’s forces are chasing phantoms down every abyss under Herimor or scrapping with each other because they believe they’ve been betrayed, and the good ones join us daily. Two hundred and sixteen allies is the latest count, Snoozy Zuzi. Not counting the nine additional Blast-Runners we picked up an hour ago.”
“Fourteen,” said Leandrial.
“And we have this current sweeping us along at a sweet eleven leagues per hour –”
“Fifteen point two,” said Leandrial.
The monk glowered sagely. “Meaning we cover four hundred and ten point four leagues per day without even trying. We’re outrunning the current at present thanks to shaped shields, and thanks to the Azure Miracle, we don’t even have to fight battles.”
“Except for yesterday,” Leandrial noted.
Ri’arion elected not to lose his rag. “That was a scuffle.”
Clearly amused, the Land Dragoness rumbled, “Tomorrow, we shall split our forces. It is decided that we Welkin Runners, our original Thunderous Thirty and Tari’s Lesser Dragons shall attempt Entorixthu’s Cleft, since the monk has convinced us with his cunning schemes. The balance will try to cut through to reach the allied forces we detected near the Vassal States.”
