Aranya Treasury - The Complete Shapeshifter Dragons Series, page 171
Aye, me too, Aranya returned through their close bond. Good thinking, Shadow-beloved.
“The entire mental congregation of the Lost Islands Dragons and Humans,” the Immadian Princess clarified meantime. “The Dragon Riders sit on the fence, but very few voices actually spoke up for you, or me, for that matter. To complete the history lesson, proofs were brought against Iosaxxioa. Yiisuriel said that with much grief, Fra’anior banished her beyond the mountains of Wyldaroon. He set in place a third sun to guard against her return. She believes it is from that place that Chaos magic yet arises, and that Chaos Beasts are Iosaxxioa’s way of trying to explore the Island-World in order to find a way back past the third sun. The Ancient Dragoness is said to have been driven insane by her solitary confinement, so let’s just say her return to our realms would be, ah …”
“Undesirable,” Ardan deadpanned.
Even Leandrial chuckled uncomfortably at his tone.
“Generally, any notions in the region of ‘unthinkable,’ ‘catastrophic’ and ‘unleashing boundless evil upon the unsuspecting innocents of the world’ would cover her insinuations,” Zuziana noted angrily, eager to have her say. “I’m afraid neither of you come out well in Yiisuriel’s estimation. Still, she will continue as an ally. The Thoralians are heading a few points shy of North, toward the Passage of Dark Fires, we believe.”
Ardan added, “It’s unclear as yet whether he intends to attack Infurion in the Rift, or whether he will continue farther using the knowledge garnered from my mind, to return the First Egg to the last place where it might have been breached – to Jeradia Island, beyond the Rift. In my culture, it is called the Island of Giants. There, he would attempt to reverse history by un-speaking the Words of Command that we believe allowed the Pygmy Dragon to hide an entire volcano and its Dragon Rider Academy inside the Egg, and – aye, Asturbar?”
“Pygmy Dragon? Academy?” He waved a blunt-fingered hand. “Explain?”
“Last time the Thoralians invaded the North,” Ardan continued, “our histories tell that he invaded with an army of Dragons –”
“The Night-Reds!” Asturbar growled at once. “Even I know that tale. It’s taught to soldiers as one of the finest examples of Dragon Marshal-craft, highlighting the way he set Houses and Lines against each other and then cunningly trumped them all and vanished together with his Island into the aether, but it wasn’t Thoralian, it was – ah, your face betrays you, Shadow. Very well. Continue your tale.”
When Iridiana seemed puzzled at the men’s behaviour, Aranya teased privately, It’s some sort of masculine bonding routine. ‘Respect my muscles!’ ‘Aye, my ego needs massaging!’
The Iridium had to bite her knuckles to stifle her laughter. I did live as a hermit for seven years.
All very educational, said Zip. Allow me to take you in paw –
Delicately, Remoy! Aranya ordered.
Ha, the other complained. Since when do I lack tact?
It is a fact your tact has been lacked … ah, never mind. It’s worse than my rotten rhyming, anyhow!
Meantime, Ardan continued, “We aren’t certain, but it seems plausible that Marshal Re’akka was indeed one of the Thoralian triplicate, possibly a breakaway who wished to exert his hegemony over his shell brothers. He vanished because he used the power of the First Egg to transport an entire Island and his Dragon army across the Rift, where he conducted his merry campaign of pillaging and destruction until he encountered this Pygmy Dragoness. She is meant to have been an Onyx colour, just like Fra’anior, and she stopped Re’akka in his tracks – again, we believe, by magical sleight of paw. But in so doing, because of the laws of magic, we believe she trapped herself inside the magic she wove even as she wrought Re’akka’s – or Thoralian’s – demise. By that time this Marshal from Herimor had succeeded, with the help of a dread creature from the beyond called the Nurguz, in decimating the population of Lesser Dragons North of the Rift. That in turn created Imbalance and space for the rise of the Sylakian Empire.”
“Let me guess,” said Asturbar.
“Thoralian again?” Iridiana said simultaneously.
“Aye, the triplicate seems indestructible,” Aranya said. “He wants what is within the First Egg and he will go to any lengths to secure it. Destroying all of Herimor and Wyldaroon is probably just another small Isle crossed in his quest.”
“So we caused him a small case of the hiccoughs at the Mistral Fires?” Asturbar suggested, but his tone was sceptical.
“Terminal indigestion?” Nyahi chuckled.
With her shining gaze, Aranya pinned the couple with the formidable force of her conviction. “You performed a mighty deed yesterday. Both of you. Despite this trouble with Yiisuriel, I want to ask you formally – you and your Mistral Fires – to join us in the fight against Thoralian. You both are mighty and true, and I should rest easier knowing I can call upon allies of your calibre.”
“Besides, you make an awfully sweet couple,” Zuziana put in. “That’s reason enough.”
“Remoy, you are out of order,” said Aranya.
“As usual,” chirped the Remoyan. “You meant to say ‘friends’ rather than ‘allies.’ Besides, you are very, very curious about the potential familial relationship, aren’t you, dear petal?”
“Petal?” Asturbar hooted, evidently catching onto the humorous expression for the first time.
Iridiana kicked him fondly on the kneecap. “It’s a term of endearment, Boots.”
“For a Dragoness?”
“I’m sure these Northerners think we’re just as peculiar as we think they are,” she returned, giving her man the proverbial fiery eyeball. “I speak for both of us when I say, unequivocally, yes. You don’t need to ask for our service, Aranya … uh, o … Princess of Immadia. Unfamiliar title. Sorry. You have it of our freewill. Asturbar?”
“Yes indeed,” he nodded.
After that they spoke much. Aranya introduced Asturbar to the matter of management Air Breather-style, linking with his blunt, straightforward soldier’s mind to walk him through over three and a half thousand individual decisions related to the disposition and welfare of his displaced people. The girl seemed resentful of Aranya entering her man’s mind in this way, until Ardan stepped in to brief her on the actual process, and to describe the ‘layering’ of mental landscapes whereby Dragons were able to keep certain elements of thought and being private even while connected telepathically to others.
So much to learn, Iridiana admitted. I had no idea my mind had natural wards, nor – you do know that Asturbar speaks Dragonish, don’t you?
Aye, I heard through Aranya, Ardan said. Now, don’t be disheartened by all of this Isles flotsam. Aranya is a master negotiator, every ounce as tricky as her father, who went by the moniker of ‘the Immadian Fox’ –
Fox?
A creature of legendary cunning, in a positive sense, he said. And besides, we’re firmly on your side. In my culture, familial ties are the strongest of all. We say, ‘No thong binds true hearts like the bonds of kin.’ He clenched his right fist over his heart. We’re family, Iridiana!
His intensity brought a tear to her eye. I’m not much used to that sort of sentiment, back in Yazê-a-Kûz. Not very much at all.
Just you try to escape this family, Dragoness! he mock-growled. We’ll hunt you down – you and your mangy metallic hide – without pity or rest …
Their outburst of merriment stopped Asturbar and Aranya mid-flow. As the pair regarded them curiously, Ardan said, “Don’t mind us, Marshal, I’m just threatening your girlfriend over here. She can handle it. Trust me.”
Asturbar’s eyebrows peaked.
“Listen, man, it wasn’t long ago your girl crisped the most powerful Dragon Marshal in Herimor and served him up for toast bread. Don’t get me started on what Aranya’s like. Or Zuziana. These girls are plain dangerous.”
“I can handle her,” Asturbar began to gripe, but at Iridiana’s pointed look, he hastily added, “mostly … uh, yes. Somewhat. Sometimes.”
Zip cut in, “You boys know nothing. Do you think it’s a coincidence you both, and my Ri’arion, all have no hair? Us girls flame things when we get riled, so don’t you start with me, you gargantuan hunk of man meat, or I’ll start rearranging your precious nostril hairs with my talons – do we understand each other?”
Iridiana patted Asturbar on the arm. “Don’t worry, my darling petal, they’re just teaching us what family’s like.”
His helpless guffaws shook the inside of Leandrial’s mouth.
Chapter 17: A Parting of Ways
The SHADOW DRAGON turned to his Rider. “So, petal –”
“Don’t start with me, saith the Zippy one,” Aranya said. “Do you think they’ll take the bait?”
“You’re a girl after your father’s devious heart.”
“I’m a girl, period,” she quipped, drawing a gruff bark of approbation from her mount. “Am I still shining so brightly?”
“Occupational hazard for a star. See? Even this Dragon warrior is learning a few expressions from Snippy Zippy. Good thing she’s sleeping, eh?”
“Troublemaker.”
“Conniver.”
“Ready to help me foment further disorder?”
“Iridiana is such a bad influence,” Ardan averred. “Pure chaos! So, do you think we seeded the idea sufficiently?”
Aranya hugged the spine spike just ahead of her. “I’ve never been happier in my life, Ardan. Well, there have been several notable events recently. Confirmation of my mother’s continued existence. Sapphire’s re-embodiment. Recognising the hope that you and I share together; then losing and regaining you. Now this – this craziness! Aye, I predict that within the hour, Leandrial will be persuaded to travel North and she will leave a magical trace here to try to disguise her departure.”
The Shadow Dragon smacked one massive fist into the palm of his other paw, before gritting between his fangs, “I hope they wring every drop of truth out of that worthless, callous Uxâtate Shan-Jarad’s scrawny neck! Imagine imprisoning your daughter before abandoning her in the Doldrums! If he even is her father …”
“I plan for us to pursue them,” Aranya said.
Startled into expectorating a fireball, he spluttered, “You are not merely devious, you are wholly wicked!”
“I need to know, Ardan.”
“Aye, my beloved,” the massive Dragon crooned, side-slipping a chunk of debris that, true to the immense scale of the under-Cloudlands world, was a torn-off chunk of burgundy plant matter half the size of a respectable Island. I would surely bear thy woes …
No woe is this, but I do thank thee, noble Shadow, she riposted lightly, then chuckled at her Dragoness’ formality. We’re both deeply grateful, Ardan. Likewise, I do ache to carry thine.
A Dragon might rule the skies, but this woman owned his hearts. At the soughing of his protracted sigh, it seemed, his stiff wingbeat smoothed as if every function of the complex joints and ligaments had been simultaneously oiled and then instilled with the knowledge of how to cooperate more seamlessly. He rushed onward beneath the upper plate of a mile-wide blue fungal outcropping like an arrow unleashed by a master archer, this new refinement perfectly in keeping with the formidable oleaginous throbbing of his Dragon hearts. Aranya responded unconsciously to his mood, her thighs moulding to his scales and her body inclining to their direction of travel, while her mind melded gracefully with his.
They flew as one.
Her personal preoccupation with questions of how the theft of an egg could possibly have worked, practically, mirrored Ardan’s own questions. How could Iridiana be older than her, if they were born of the same twin or triplet? Could it be that Izariela had been pregnant years beforehand – and not known it? How could a Star Dragoness, with her delicate knowledge of Balance, miss the fact that she was pregnant or not know how many babies or eggs she carried?
How had that theft not grieved Izariela as only a mother could grieve her lost ones?
At length, Ardan decided to draw her out. He said, “Now, o Jewel of the North, your mind has an air of Immadian subtlety and subterfuge about it. You’re planning to mislead Yiisuriel in order to befog their departure, correct?”
“Correct.”
He clicked his talons in a self-congratulatory gesture. “Do I scent a Chameleon hunt?”
“Correct again. Chameleon is firmly on the menu.”
“Excellent! Ah, and how exactly do you propose we expose what no magical artifice has so far discovered?”
One luminous eye winked at him for his teensy poetic rhyme, an Immadian mannerism which had soundly confused him at first. In the Western Isles, a wink was an aggressive reference to unsatisfied or even malicious ancestral spirits still at large amongst the Islands – most often, a serious insult between warriors in a culture which made an art of insults. ‘May the spirits ravage your village.’ Charming.
Gnarrr, he purred.
“It is a plan rife with certain, shall we say, shadowy elements.”
The Dragon mulled over this, whispering beneath the ragged edge of a tearing, jetsam-laden khaki airstream as he approached the steep, dark flanks of the Air Breathers. At length – admittedly, having resorted to a swift, furtive probe through their oath-connection – he puffed out his cheeks. “Wow. That’s a tall ask.”
“Aye. Are you willing, Ardan?”
“Willing? Of course!” His wrathful wing stroke bounced him ninety feet upward, before he corrected with a graceful flexion of his wingtips. “It shall be as the potentate of all Herimor desires – but if you’re planning to have me fly through every soul aboard Yiisuriel and her kin to discover which ones may display unusual characteristics –”
“You’d best get started the moment we arrive,” his Rider replied serenely. “Only a few hundred thousand persons and Dragons to track and confirm.”
GNARRR!
“I can pay richly. It’s worth a kiss from a Star Dragoness.”
“No less than three kisses,” he negotiated feebly, knowing her mind was long since made up. Born rogues, these two Princesses!
“Three it is,” she agreed, and pressed her veiled lips to his spine spike.
“Hey!” roared the Dragon.
“You didn’t specify where,” she giggled as his belly fires thundered into tumescent life. “That’s one already.”
“Just you wait, Aranya of Immadia! This Dragon will be calling in his debts. And you –” he aimed a talon over his shoulder “– you are mine.”
“Perfect.”
* * * *
Three days later, the deception continued successfully with Leandrial, undetected, having traversed several hundred difficult leagues toward Iridiana’s homeland in search of answers – while Aranya, Ardan and her allies were left bereft of any answers of their own. Forty-three thousand souls examined. Nothing to show for an effort that had drained Ardan’s strength to its dregs.
“Despite copious revitalising kisses,” Zuziana lamented, interrupting Aranya mid-mouthful as they shared an evening repast with Gang, Huari, Ri’arion and First Hand Dhazziala.
She spluttered indignantly as she tried to catch the crumbs tumbling out of her twisted mouth.
“I know, petal,” her best friend needled. “I’ve never seen Ardan so motivated, have you? Careful. Can the babies and I have a bit more of the spicy lentil miskuti? Very tasty.”
Ardan aimed his tine at Aranya. “Remoy. Stow it.”
“Nowhere to stow anything.”
“Figuratively.”
“Funny how I’m having trouble with figures just now – are we expecting a visitor?”
Security check, Aranya ordered.
Yazina, fourteen summers of age, daughter to Marshal Chanbar; cousin also to the Chaos Beast, most unfortunately, Yiisuriel responded instantly. Poses no known danger. Checked by the Shadow yesterday, three minutes after noon. May I remind you however, that this is the girl who travelled with Chanbar and the Chaos Beast via Mount Morgu-Zayê –
Thank you, noble Yiisuriel.
In a moment, the guards completed their physical checks and the chamber’s circular door slid open to reveal a nervous young teen.
Marshal Huaricithe rose at once. “Yazina. An unexpected pleasure. Share our repast; share life with us.”
The girl cleared her throat. “I thank you, Marshal.”
“Shuffle up, Ardan of Ur-Naphtha,” Gangurtharr ordered, employing his bulk to ensure that room was made.
Yazina was a slim teen of medium height and build, dark and curly of hair in the way of Herimor, and Aranya observed her curiously. If she was Iridiana’s cousin, then they might be relatives, despite the immense physical distance and barriers between their places of birth. Was there a resemblance? She clearly took after her father, Chanbar, but Aranya could not tell if there were definitive familial characteristics or not. She did not know Wyldaroon well enough.
Once Huaricithe had offered a traditional choice portion from the dishes upon the table and Yazina had partaken, even though she appeared a touch off-colour, Dhazziala enquired after the purpose of her visit with uncharacteristic gentleness.
“No, my family doesn’t know I’m here,” Yazina responded to the direct question, colouring noticeably. “It’s not so much a family matter as … as a magical one. I think. I’m sorry to disturb –”
“Disturb away,” Gang invited.
Huari’s scowl over the table at her mate could have slain a Drake at a thousand paces. She turned to Yazina. “What’s bothering you, child?”
“I have a concern about a member of my family who has been acting strangely,” she confessed, speaking indirectly according to Wyldaroon tradition so as to avoid disparaging a relative, Ardan realised belatedly.
