Aranya Treasury - The Complete Shapeshifter Dragons Series, page 195
The eggling blinked rapidly. This is – must assimilate – epic victory – AH, CAN SUCH FOULNESS EXIST? Thou, Fra’anior mine progenitor – he is titanic! she gasped. O Zuziana, Remoy’s heart, I grieve for thy pain! Oh … this is love? This friendship love, Rider love, Human love, hearts’ love, mother love, fiery and righteous world-love!
Her long nose snuffled toward the Azure Dragoness, breathing in her scent. Thou … I see now, I was not born to tarry here. Mine presence engenders terrible danger to thee and thy kind, little ones.
Zip cried, You are wanted here, and loved – thou paragon of all draconic fires, Zankaradia! Thou art never alone. Never!
The eggling’s voice burbled in wordless approbation. Again the nostrils breathed deep, causing a breeze to stir the long-stagnant battlefield, and then a slim paw appeared, setting down beside Casitha and Yaethi before, with almost laughable care, the eggling curved her elegant talons toward Zuziana. Such yearning. Such innocent, vulnerable fires enflamed her eyes.
The Azure reached out to caress her gleaming Dragon hide. Thou, Zankaradia.
Thou, Zuziana, adored of mine hearts. She touched them each in turn now, pronouncing each name solemnly. Silver. Kassik. Casitha. Yaethi.
The Egg shuddered as it came under increasingly powerful attack from without. For the first time, Zankaradia’s expression betrayed alarm. Her neck twizzled in all directions, examining some property of their surrounds that Zip did not understand. When she spoke to soothe the Dragoness, however, the Corundum Red said at once:
Following mine coalescence, the Egg’s magic changes. It must crack soon.
Oh. What can we do? Silver blurted out.
I see I must breathe upon these all the breath of revival. This skill I do possess, for thou showest me much, o Zuziana. Even thy mistakes art mine teachers. She giggled, a curiously sweet and melodic sound. Hearken. And Silver, wilt thou mine instructor be? I fear mine untrammelled power must surely snuff out many lives – the image I have from thy mind is of a lens, or a filter?
The young Dragon drew himself up at once. This I can do, noble Zankaradia.
Zankaradia paused. I see thine beloved, o Silver, a Dragoness cast of Fra’anior’s own stormy beauty – and I wonder, who wilt mine beloved be? No mind. As you little ones say, one paw before the next!
The Dragoness drew in a mighty breath, and then exhaled. Golden motes shimmered upon her breath as if the suns themselves, cast low and golden at their eventide waning, gleamed richly through the volcanic atmosphere of Fra’anior Cluster. Slowly and deliberately, she curved her neck to spread her breath far and wide. Zz-shaah … was the song of her wind. The golden motes washed across the fallen and right up to the volcano’s flanks, descending upon each and every person like the most delicate blanket, like a dream of golden times of yore.
There was stillness within the Egg, and a dull, escalating thundering without.
Then, as if a primordial voice had spoken the very first command of life, a second stirring rippled around the battlefield. Wings rustled and leather armour creaked. The injured groaned as they shifted position. Voices began to mumble and buzz. Here and there, a head popped up to gaze about in bewilderment. The dominant tone of the murmuring was one of confusion, or shock as Zankaradia stepped overhead with a lithe flexion of her long body. Placing her forepaws upon the volcano’s rim, she raised her muzzle and then breathed within, a second profound exhalation.
Gleaming dust puffed up and spilled over the rim as if the volcano had erupted.
Zankaradia smacked her lips in apparent satisfaction.
Some of the Night-Reds woke with memories of battle at the forefront of their minds. They began growling and roaring, baring talons and fangs and casting about for the enemy. In the main they were so weak that the Dragons simply flopped along the ground, unable to raise wing or spring into the air as their brains told them they must. Officers and wing leaders began to shout orders. Every living creature upon the battlefield braced themselves for the wrath that must surely erupt.
Zankaradia vented a sibilant screech, “Stop!” The first flame of her life billowed out of her nostrils as her ire peaked; the Dragoness startled as crimson fire licked up around her jowls, and she brushed it away with her paw. “Listen to me – nay, listen to my mighty right paw, Zuziana the Azure! Zuziana, arise and issue your orders!”
Belatedly, the Azure sprang into the air. I, uh …
I shall amplify thy tiny voice, Zankaradia assured her. Speak thy will.
Alright. Nothing to it.
Forty thousand lives rested in the palm of her paw.
Swallowing away a boulder of a lump in her throat, Zuziana channelled her inner Princess of Immadia, and in a voice that boomed off the volcano’s ramparts, she thundered, “The time for battle is over! Re’akka is defeated! You Night-Reds, therefore, will tender your surrender to … to Kassik the Brown Shapeshifter, right away, or I shall have you squashed! Summarily and, er … forthwith!”
Roaring rajals, she was not the most eloquent orator. But having an Ancient Dragoness standing right behind her was clearly more than enough reinforcement. The Night-Reds might not ordinarily have obeyed a pint-sized scrap of sky, but veneration for physical stature and power was inbuilt in most Dragons. Heads dipped in acknowledgement, flared wings rustled back to flanks, and the tenor of their fires changed to a low drone of abasement.
All across the battlefield, the Night-Reds examined their paws.
Grandly, Zuziana gestured, “Kassik is over there! Surrender to him! The rest of you, start helping the injured while I brief you on what has been, and what we must do next. This sanctuary is under attack and I will require every paw and hand to aid our cause, or we shall not survive this day!”
She had just told them the battle was over. Now it had begun afresh? Zuziana gnawed her lip with her fangs. The potential for confusion loomed large.
Recalling the Herimor obsession with honour, she cried, “Dragons shall have a chance to prove and regain their honour this day! This I declare in the holy name of Fra’anior himself: All honourable service shall be redeemed; all creatures of dishonour shall be cast into the accursed, everlasting darkness inhabited by null-fires cowards!”
Her fury challenged them all.
Not a single voice rose in rebellion.
Kassik said drily, Well and boldly spoken, Zuziana. Do let me know when I can have command of my Academy back – but not today. He bowed regally. Allies?
She lowered her head more deeply than he. The honour is mine, noble Kassik. Let it be. Silver. See to Arosia and Chymasion. I understand that they possess powers we shall sorely need – and see, too, if you can improve or restore the levels of cognitive function in these Dragons. If any of your shell father’s faculties run in your blood …
The Silver stilled. What of him?
His shell kin are one enemy we face without, she said evenly, measuring his fires with her every sense alert. For Pip’s sake, be ready.
His voice was like velvet over flint. Speak thy commands, noble Zuziana. I am ready to serve, and to die if necessary.
* * * *
Both the Thoralians and Infurion seemed to be aware of by Dramagon’s Bequest, but that did not stop them tearing into each other all the way down the tunnel. The two remaining Thoralians redoubled their assault on the First Egg as though they expected something to happen imminently; meantime firing great sheets of white flame back at Infurion. The Ancient Dragon tore mighty founts of magic out of the horiatite, leaving blackened splotches in his wake as he completely drained patches of crystal, it appeared, in his insatiable hunger for power.
Then, both parties threw all they had at each other.
Aranya laboured to hold their shield firm. They smoked as they flew, the conflicting magic at play tearing at their constructs without pause or stanching. Pip struggled with Iridiana, attempting to calm and contain the increasingly magic-maddened Chaos Shifter. Pip was having the worst of it.
“I can’t! It hurts, it hurts!” Iridiana screamed.
Sapphire touched her. Heal Iri … whaa! Bad Iri!
Sorry, Sapphire! I can’t stop myself … that … darkness! That evil!
Calm down, Dragoness! Pip cried. You’ll destabilise us.
I’m … trying.
Down below, the dark shadow of Infurion enveloped the gleaming First Egg in its entirety; now all they could see of the Thoralians was the flashing of crimson and white fire as they tore at the insubstantial body of the Ancient Dragon; he had one significant natural advantage, they realised. No bones. But whatever the Thoralians were doing to him, the mighty power of Earthen Fires was bellowing fit to split the Moon in twain. Infurion’s body of fires bubbled and twisted obscenely. His bellowing, amplified up the tunnel, was contributing in no small measure to Iridiana’s distress despite all the acoustic dampening Aranya could muster. Pip held her despite her crazed contortions and shape-changing; talking to her, soothing, encouraging.
For long minutes the dark hole grew closer and the conflict more intense. The vacuum shield was disintegrating visibly now as dark streamers of dust sloughed away from it. Aranya knew that something of Dramagon’s magic was corrupting the constructs, and what she observed was a reaction. Quickly, she switched to throwing up shields within shields, so as the outer layer crumbled away, a fresh one was primed to take its place.
Suddenly, Infurion’s yawning, pain-wracked visage appeared above the Egg, facing Aranya. Well, since you bothered to show up, little Star Dragoness – don’t be shy!
Oh no! Pip gasped.
Aranya braced herself for one of his paws to reach out and seize them. Therefore, she was entirely unprepared for being smashed from behind by a mountain of darkened meriatite. Laughter as bruising as the impact reverberated up the tunnel as Infurion somehow ripped himself away from the First Egg and threw the small posse right into the Thoralians’ faces.
Make yourselves useful!
The shock registered on their old nemeses’ expressions could not have been plainer. How had the Thoralians not expected this; not seen them coming? Had Infurion played a double bluff upon them, effectively forcing the pursuit but concealing their presence from the Thoralians’ perception until the crucial instant? Crafty.
Yet here the Yellow-White Shapeshifters were, caught in an instant of bug-eyed amazement before, predictably, they threw everything including the proverbial Dragon’s treasure hoard at the uninvited guests. As their every shield and magic evaporated into nothingness before the awful psychic-magical onslaught, Aranya found herself wishing that life could once again be as simple as a pair of girls firing flaming arrows at Dragonships, and chasing leopard men about the Isles.
Sapphire chirped, Away.
The Chrysolitic dragonets flicked them through space.
The trio of Shapeshifters reappeared briefly beside the Egg’s flank before a second broadside from the Thoralians reamed the space where they had remained just a blink before.
They appeared behind a Thoralian. Sapphire ordered, Go!
Pip and Aranya immediately screamed into the attack, pummelling him with Storm, fire and synchronised lightning bolts. Their battle-linked telepathy was a welcome boon. Powers flowed and mingled between them. As the Thoralians whirled in the air, readying their malign bone-gripping power, the dragonets whisked them away again.
Aranya began, Sapp –
Speaking in Flow space was pointless. Appearing right in front of a Thoralian’s jaw was a welcome surprise; the pair of Dragonesses pounded him with fists and fire in a perfect concert of fury, as though they had practised the manoeuvre not less than a thousand times before. Blood mixed with fragments of bone and fangs sprayed through the air.
The Thoralian wrenched away in furious pain.
Glancing at her paws, Aranya gasped, I never …
Onyx strength, said the Pygmy, flexing her wiry, muscly frame. Clearly, shiny girl, you were way too nice – they dropped through space – in the past.
Oh no! Where was Iridiana? Aranya yelled, Watch out!
She hurled them sideways as Infurion struck. A dark hammer of power crunched into the First Egg, cracking its gleaming shell along a dozen separate fault-lines.
Oh no, you don’t! Iridiana cried. A gleaming iridium blur assaulted Infurion in one of her mad solo attacks. He tried to shrug her off, but the Chaos Beast made its appearance and flared within his paws, vaporising the appendages.
WHAT? YOU LITTLE …
The Thoralians decided now was the moment to dive for a widening crack in the First Egg. Aranya and Pip immediately gave chase. Iridiana was apparently taking on an Ancient Dragon and had the beating of him. Crazy girl.
Not … fast enough, groaned the Pygmy Dragoness.
A pair of sapphire wings somersaulted past her face. Follow clever-clever Sapphire!
It all happened at once. Infurion lashed out a second time with his power. Iridiana bit through the flame of his attack, but it still retained enough force to shatter the eggshell. As the gleaming white pieces carved away, falling languidly down the tunnel, the Thoralians launched their own assault. They sought to capture anyone or anything inside, but the Chrysolitic dragonets were just a whisker faster.
The Amethyst cannoned into a very large, very surprised Dragoness’ head. By the mountains!
Pip whistled down beside her. Oof!
A thrilling voice cried, Why, who are you?
Pip and Aranya found themselves splatted upon a wide bed of sleek red scales, surrounded by a very strange, barbed array of wickedly red tendrils depending from a Dragoness’ head. Despite the obvious threat, Aranya forced her disruptive power backward a second time, thwarting the Thoralians’ attack at least partly.
As the eggshell split, the Amethyst Dragoness realised where she was. Atop a Dragoness. Atop a volcano. Gazing out over a battlefield that by rights should not exist, filled with people and Dragons helping each other and a jostling crowd of sooty red-black Dragons bowing to a powerful Brown; a battlefield where a familiar blue-winged Dragoness wheeled about as if she was in charge of absolutely everything and everybody.
As usual.
Zuziana! Aranya carolled with joy.
Her cry mingled with Pip’s, Silver! O, Silver!
* * * *
“This blows like a ragion’s rear end,” Asturbar grumbled. “It blows worse than fire applied to a ragion’s stinking rear end. If a bunch of walking brains can’t figure out where that volcano belongs, then what chance do we have? Ruddy overgrown squad of helmet heads. Our women get to partake in the battle of the ages up on the Mystic Moon, and we’re stuck down here tromping through swamps at night. Who invented swamps, anyways? Some festering pimple-brained junior engineer with too much time –”
“Fra’anior,” said Ri’arion.
The soldier growled, “Well, next time, stop me before I say something completely blasphemous.”
“You just keep on disparaging the Creator Dragon,” said the ex-monk, coughing as a particularly dense billow of sulphurous smoke blew across the foetid swamps. Much of the bioluminescent local flora and fauna apparently revelled in the toxic volcanic outflows and gases. “I’m sure that’ll work out just fine for you. Personally, I’m voting for a trip to the Northern tip of Jeradia like the fellow from Order of Onyx said. Durithion’s great-great-great grandson. These hot swamps might sit atop an exciting area of active volcanism, but I just can’t see the attraction.”
Asturbar rubbed his hands together. “Pick him up in Jos? Fly him with us?”
Ardan said, “Ignathion called him crazy. He seemed perfectly sane to me, if a little eccentric.”
“Eccentric? He wears a twenty-foot ribbed anaconda for jewellery, and hears voices in his head,” Ri’arion pointed out. “He feeds the snake live mice from his own mouth.”
“Can’t beat that for ally material,” said Asturbar.
Heads nodded in the semidarkness. In a word, they were desperate.
A second later, a huge shadow loomed darker than the night. Dragon Ardan boomed, “Away from us, o slough of misery! To Jos!”
Once his companions had mounted up, the Shadow Dragon coiled his legs and sprang skyward, soon leaving the notorious boiling swamps of Jeradia far behind.
* * * *
When the eggshell peeled away, Zuziana was prepared for trouble. She was just not prepared for this scale of trouble. The Thoralians hovered off their left flank, glowering. Infurion loomed above like a noxious thundercloud primed to unleash vast and immedicable destruction. The Mystic Moon’s magic flickered and crackled up and down the blackened tunnel walls, a song of Imbalance and natural forces run amok. She knew the reality of falling sideways toward a place they had discussed and imagined, but never seen or felt up close. The evil that radiated from it was like the Suald-dak-Doon amplified a thousand times over.
And, her best friend sat upon Zankaradia’s head. Screaming for joy!
Right alongside her lay a splendid little Onyx Dragoness. Judging by Silver’s ralti-stupid beaming, that would be one Pip, delivered safe and sound.
Genius!
Her Splendidly Gleaming Majesty did have a way of making an entrance, she thought, as her stomach took a lurch toward a weightless sensation of pure delight. Aranya had come! Coupled with the realisation of her own liberty! Now was not the moment to celebrate the sweetness of this moment. The situation was delicately balanced. Any second now, the Academy’s inhabitants would be subject to the ravages of Mystic’s strange atmosphere …
Just then, the Corundum Red unleashed such a scream of agony, it gave even Infurion pause. The Thoralians laughed evilly. Drop your shields, little one, and let us come close. Join us. Your fire life is ours for the quenching. BACK, INFURION! Back, or lose it all.
The Ancient Dragon paused, considering. She is mine, Thoralian. My whelp to alter as I wish, according to the superior pattern of Earthen Fires!
