Aranya Treasury - The Complete Shapeshifter Dragons Series, page 142
“Look at the Mesas,” said Zuziana, pointing. “Against the snow, do you see that? Actually, they’re already halfway here.”
“Dragons and drakes,” Huaricithe confirmed.
Suddenly, the forces of Lesser Dragons and Shapeshifters rising from the peaks of the Inscrutables did not seem so many or so brave. Seeing the numbers ranged in opposition, and knowing that the S’gulzzi rose out of their pit, the Lesser Dragons shivered and Sapphire leaped from Aranya’s paw to her shoulder. This would be a three-way battle, spoils to the victor.
Ardan said, “You did right, Aranya. Now, we must finish the Thoralian-triplet and these S’gulzzi. How can I help?”
Her eye-fires turned upon him, apricot and carmine, azure and white. “I need my Storm, Ardan.”
His body went rigid in the saddle.
“I need you to think badly of me. Think, this is the kind of woman I could never … marry. Think about my ugliness.” Her voice wept even though her decision seemed set in granite. “Hate me, Ardan. Hate the oath; abhor what it did to us.”
Heat exploded in his head. “You ask the impossible!”
“No sacrifice is too much for our Island-World, Ardan.”
“I cannot … change … what is immutable.”
“Then go freaking kiss Dhazziala – Ardan! Please! I forgive you already … just do it. If you must, do it for me, but you must fool the oath-magic. It is the only way.”
Wretched woman. This was one way, but was it right? Must he once more toss his integrity to the windrocs?
Immadia, you cut my very soul! he growled, letting the nuances of Dragonish suffuse his response with so much more than words. It was all he could think to say, but anguish sang eloquently in her eyes before Aranya lowered her gaze.
She whispered, Oh, Ardan … it can never …
So much hurt! Ardan at once admired her denials, made for the sake of the greater cause, and hated what they meant for him. Was he man enough to do the same?
Rasping of breath, the Amethyst Dragoness wriggled out of Gang’s paw to measure the Thoralians’ approach with narrowed eyes. She had already dismissed him from her mind, he thought angrily. Now, he caught fragments of her distress. The Immadian Dragoness thought upon Thoralian’s torture. The pox. Yolathion’s poor, crushed body spread upon a ghastly machine, screams so piteous they turned his blood to ice, and the dying of thousands of souls trapped upon the Islands Thoralian had launched across the Cloudlands. She had the clarity and imagination of an artist born. Details seared his awareness like acid rivulets, mirrored by tears spilling unheeded down his scarred cheeks.
Aye. For what Aranya had seen, and suffered. For unrealised grief, certain to come at the Thoralians’ paw. He must act.
Darkness boiled over the lip of the Air-Breathers’ inner shield. The S’gulzzi seemed akin to huge bats, having appendages similar to wings and paws and tails, but they were strangely twisted, as though some ill-formed template had become corrupted in the womb. Nor were they fully embodied. Ardan had the impression that these accursed creatures had sought to copy physical forms based on a misapprehension of the world far above their natural realm, hoping for bodies that could survive the enormous pressure differentials – even as he watched, some bodies crumbled or slumped in lifeless heaps upon Yiisuriel’s flanks, where they hissed and steamed and ate into the rock as though they exuded acid. Yet those few were instantly overwhelmed by the millions rising behind, filling the pipe to bursting with their innumerable congregation. Many took to the air, rising in a dark cloud above the softly moonlit peaks of the Air-Breathers. Their eyes were slits of lava; dark, reddish-orange pits in the head region, sometimes four or five in number.
Then, Ardan realised that he was looking over his shoulder at a receding view, as Gang sprinted for the North. For Dhazziala.
* * * *
The skies filled with the chittering of the deadly drakes and the swishing of tens of thousands of Lesser Dragons’ wings as the massive forces converged. Below the Cloudlands, Zuziana knew that Leandrial and Ri’arion commanded a running battle as they sought to return the depleted Land Dragon forces to the beleaguered Lost Islands, already under attack by Thoralian’s Theadurial-infested allies. It seemed to her that the entire draconic world had received the command, ‘go feral’. Dhazziala, in close communication now with the communal mind, had just committed her entire force to the air.
The Thoralians descended upon the rising tide of S’gulzzi, flying in a complex helical pattern that gathered white ice about them even as she watched.
When the forces collided, it was not with the booming concussion of Islands, as she expected. Instead, the impact seemed despicably delicate – far too soft and quiet, a hateful lie considering the magnitude of destruction that immediately ripped through the disparate forces. Dragons locked together, fang and claw. Metallic Fortress Dragons fired all of their Bullets at once, scorching the air with a hail of projectiles. Dragon armour sizzled and bubbled in the grip of S’gulzzi tentacles and limbs; many already raining from the sky, clinched in mortal struggle. Such an eruption of fireballs scorched the air, the skies turned into a ghastly, reddish radiance, as if a bloody eclipse ripped the night’s innocence asunder, and the stars themselves bled.
The Yellow-Whites fell upon the S’gulzzi like three vast white war-hammers, striking such devastating blows with their Ice-attacks and another, shrieking attack that Zuziana realised must be the fabled Shivers, that they singlehandedly stalled the dark tide rising over the shield and spilling onto Yiisuriel’s back. Then, the dust-covered mound of bodies heaved and fresh S’gulzzi swarmed upward, still inestimable in number. The plummeting Thoralian-triplicate vanished beneath the throng of sooty black bodies as though swallowed by a single vast maw.
He wants the First Egg! Aranya roared.
With a jerk, Zip clapped her wings together to shadow the Amethyst Dragoness into battle, with Brityx and Huaricithe, her fellow-Blues, hot on her tail. Now, in the press and adrenaline and snap of combat, the Star Dragoness began to find her fire. Pfft! Pfft! Two signature blue-hot fireballs raced away, blowing apart a knot of drakes. The three Blues tidied up with Lightning strikes as they looped rapidly over Genholme’s back, hunting the Thoralians. Aranya began to change colour again, moving more toward her gemstone Amethyst, gleaming as though lit up from within.
Zuziana smashed a drake with her tail and frazzled another which had intended to grapple with her best friend. Not today. Not on her watch. Then they wheeled amidst the flitting S’gulzzi bat-things, shielding against thousands of dagger-sharp mental attacks, their natural dark-fire magic impacting like fireballs against the Lesser Dragons’ minds. Brityx and Huaricithe drew tight, protecting her and Aranya. They sliced contrariwise through a dark tide, heading from Yiisuriel’s crown toward the Pit of Despair, briefly catching sight of a Thoralian amidst the hundreds of thousands of rippling black bodies, throwing back his muzzle and screaming as though he were drowning.
Would it be too much to hope that the Thoralians had bitten off more than even three mouths could chew, this time?
Then, she remembered her babies. Thoralian had to die. All of him.
* * * *
The Storm Dragoness powered through the battle, trying and failing not to expend her energy on the drakes and S’gulzzi darkening the starry night skies. Everywhere she turned, there was another dark body or another underslung jaw champing at a Lesser Dragon, or S’gulzzi clamping onto a Metallic Fortress Dragon, their acid-like magic chewing through armour as though it were a soft, sweet treat. Drakes mobbed the battling Dragonkind and S’gulzzi in their tens of thousands, clearly summonsed by the Thoralians to try to bail him out of the cesspit he had landed himself in. His clarion mental calls cut through the fray like shards of ice, rallying his troops and calling in the Land Dragons and drakes for additional support.
For long minutes, the battle seemed deadlocked, with the drakes and S’gulzzi killing each other off at the same rate as which they arrived, and the Lesser Dragons stalking each other through the resulting mayhem.
The Amethyst snaked her neck about, firing a barrage of precision fireballs with the aim of clearing a path to the Thoralians. She must not let them reach the Egg. That was her paramount concern, yet for now, the sheer numbers of S’gulzzi kept him afloat, as though he burbled atop a geyser of living bodies. Drakes rolled over her small Dragonwing in a shrieking wave, forcing the Lesser Dragons to fight for their lives.
Pfft-pfft-pfft! Behind her came the sharper hss-crack! of Zip’s lightning attacks, and from her right shoulder, the shrill battle-challenge of a dragonet. Sapphire touched her, soothing a rent wing-membrane and a talon-strike she had taken to the throat. Wow. The dragonet had a few tricks up her scaly sleeves. Aranya only hoped she could see her friends safely through this conflict. The numbers of fallen already beggared belief. This would change the Balance of draconic powers and magic in the Island-World. It must.
Where was Ardan? And where was her Storm? Why, o Fra’anior, could she not summon that power when she needed it most – o Daughter of the Whispering Zephyr?
Despair occluded her Dragon-hearts.
* * * *
Ardan imagined a carter hauling up his animals with a screech of brakes as Gangurtharr executed a fancy brake-flip-turn, one of his Gladiator moves, and fell into formation with the Cobalt-Green Dhazziala, who headed up a monstrous Dragonwing of Dragon Riders and their heavily-armoured Dragons. He had never seen Dragon armour like theirs, scaled and banded, tooled by masters to protect the neck, flanks and upper limbs. Even their wing-primaries boasted shaped armour cladding.
The First Hand turned to him without preamble. Report, Shadow.
In terse, staccato sentences, Ardan described the situation as he understood it.
Right, so what do you need me to do? Dhazziala asked at once. Not for her nuance, nor concern for his integrity, Ardan thought sourly. Oh! An idea …
He said, How good are you at wiping specific memories out of minds, Dhazziala?
She glowered at him. Expert.
Good. I’ll need you to modify my memories, too. Can I ask for a volunteer – not you, with respect – First Hand? Someone attractive enough that I might feel … uh, passionate … about her?
Meaning to rouse the oath-magic to wildfires?
Aye.
Dhazziala showed him a dazzling thicket of fangs. Thing is, Shadow, you wouldn’t remember the slightest detail. What do you think – Gangurtharr?
The Gladiator-Dragon almost tangled up his wings in shock. What are you suggesting?
Her rich laughter belled over them. Oh, you males. Let me inquire among our fearless Dragon Riders if any woman dares essay this unpleasant task. After all, to scorn a Star Dragoness is not a deed lightly undertaken. But you, Ardan – I would give my left wingtip to romance your Dragon!
Ardan’s legs twitched sharply as that deep, deep magic wrenched itself into wakefulness. Oh no. What had he and Aranya agreed to now?
Then, a vast Green winged up to Gangurtharr’s other flank. The female Dragon Rider on his back, a giantess so wild and forbidding of mien that Ardan felt every hair on his nape crawl in different directions at once, stood up in the saddle, crashed her armour-plated fist to her breastplate, and roared, “Aaaarrrgghh, he looks a tasty morsel! I accept with pleasure, noble Dhazziala!”
Ardan blenched.
Every Dragon, Human and Shapeshifter in the vicinity burst into laughter. The oath-magic fizzed and danced.
* * * *
Storm lifted her. It bubbled in her veins and seethed in her stomachs. The song of Storm crackled along her limbs and filled her skull with an exquisitely intense pressure, like the wildest of Dragonsong mingled with drumrolls of thunder and the acrid tang of ozone.
Aranya withheld.
* * * *
Zip saw the moment her friend changed. They were dodging through the thick of battle, supporting Genholme as she forged a path steadily toward the last place where they had seen the Thoralians, when Aranya seemed to shudder. Her talons contracted. Her wings flared sharply, cupping the air. A rare gleam entered her eye, a white so intense and beautiful, the startled Azure Dragoness decided it represented every colour crammed together, making that unique white at once pure, and the most complex colour in existence.
The Amethyst Dragoness drew a single, unending breath, and the Island-World seemed to inhale with her. Thunder shook the Islands. Branch lightning crackled in thousands of locations around the horizon’s edge, lighting the deep night with a sinister amethyst radiance.
FOLLOW ME!
Sevenfold thunder slammed out of her throat.
That was what shook the Azure. So much power, rising – could Aranya keep from going feral? Who could hope to master such magic? Her friend lurched again. White burst from her scales. Again! Fire raged from her nostrils, burning so heatedly, it scalded the air in waves of white.
FOR THE ONYX!
The peal of her thunder swept aside drakes and Dragons as though she shrugged fleas off her hide. Aranya exploded, pyretic. Zip thought at first that the Land Dragons had arrived in numbers, that the beams of many eye-cannons split the night, but it was the song of tempestuous, uncontainable Storm that filled the Star Dragoness now. Dragons and S’gulzzi scattered as she waded through the fray, tiny yet majestic, cutting and burning and obliterating any who dared to stand in her way. Even the notoriously aggressive drakes turned and fled, tails tucked between their legs like scolded hounds. Aranya burned them all across a swathe of miles. Gestures of her talons called down a rain sulphurous fire and blistering hail – if that was its true nature – from the suddenly clouded heavens, and somehow, Zip saw, the Amethyst discriminated between friend and foe with an instinct deeper and faster than thought.
It seemed Fra’anior’s battle-challenge belled in a voice of heavenly lamentation. Shovelling drakes aside with blasts of wind, Aranya crashed spears of ice through their heads and left them for dead. Storm winds screeched over her scales, buffeting the spitting, sparking dragonet on her shoulder and the single white scale flapping wildly at her throat, yet she and Sapphire seemed forged in oneness. Was the dragonet helping? Aye, smaller but no less scorching bolts of lightning sparked from the dragonet, seizing up four S’gulzzi that tried to sneak up behind the Amethyst.
Zip risked a half-glance aside. The Dragon Riders were close, perhaps ten minutes away from the main battle. With a Storm-powered roar, Aranya curled up a wave of semi-embodied S’gulzzi and rammed them back down into the Suald-dak-Doon, crushing tens of thousands. Only the Thoralians resisted, shielding somehow with a shriek of urzul magic that cut across Aranya’s windstorm, making silvery sparks fly from her leading wing-edges, talons and scales.
Pausing at last, the Amethyst eyed her battered foes balefully. The First Egg is mine, Thoralian. Yield or die.
He snickered, Very impressive, little Dragoness. You’ve learned a thing or two since we last battled. So have I – and I have a power you know nothing about.
She growled, Oh? What’s that?
As a greasy, burning magic seized her mind, the Azure mewled in distress, yet no sound emerged from her throat. Her womb twisted as though caught in the throes of labour. Privately, Thoralian snarled, Now is the hour you choose the future of your egglings, Zuziana of Remoy. Do not fail them.
To her horror, she saw her paws curl, talons fully extended from their sheaths. Aranya winged just below and ahead of her. Darting forward, Zip sank her talons into her best friend’s neck and triggered her lightning power.
Chapter 34: Requiem of Dragons
AGony speared into her neck and head, cutting off the flow of her Storm power as though a spigot had been stoppered. For a long, long moment, Aranya could not understand what had happened. She smelled the sickly sweet stench of charred flesh – her own. The only Dragonkind near her had been Zuziana and the dragonet on her shoulder, but Sapphire’s spitting fury provided a vital clue, as much as Zip’s wild sobbing as she tore her talons free.
Kill her! snarled Thoralian.
Sapphire hissed, Traitor! Shoot her, Ari! It was Zip!
I … cannot. N-N-Never, sobbed the Azure.
The pain throbbed so sharply, Aranya could not feel the rest of her body. Flinging Zuziana off her back with a convulsive shudder, she stared blankly at her best friend. Zip? Zip, you …
Talons dripping golden blood. Eyes, distraught and terrified beyond comprehension.
Icy talons seized Aranya’s mind. Kill each other.
Zip quivered, still sobbing, but she rebuffed the Thoralians. I’d rather kill myself. I’d kill my babies first before you have them – never, Thoralian. Never!
Thoralian … Zuziana! What had he done to her? Molten fury ignited in Aranya’s breast. Yet in the split second she began to release her fire, the Thoralian-triplicate roared, STOP!
The Word froze her. Aranya could not flick a claw, nor move a muscle. Her lungs would not inflate.
He turned to Zuziana. Kill your friend. KILL HER!
Only the very fringe of his crushing, triple-strong mental power washed against Aranya’s mind, yet she almost succumbed. As a linked triplet, Thoralian was exponentially stronger than before. No need to cajole. He aimed to diminish, to engulf and dominate and destroy lesser minds, yet Zip was beyond reaching, now; the instinct of a mother fearing for her babies stronger than anything the Thoralians could throw at her.
Sobbing, she dug her talons in toward her womb. Don’t. I will kill them first, I swear, Thoralian. I will never betray my friends for you, even should it cost my life.
You seal your doom, little Azure, sneered the Yellow-White Dragons. I always knew you lacked the courage. Yet know this, I can stop you, too, before your talons do more than draw golden Dragon blood. With the Egg’s power, I will extinguish your mind and leave a husk which shall bear my progeny. All you will know is eggs swelling so large in your belly they will split your flesh like an overripe melon – STOP!
