Dragonsoul
Author: Marc Secchia
Date: 2016-08-02 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; dragons; Paranormal; Young Adult; Shapeshifters
Description: Stricken. Dying. Laid low by the accursed Dragon Haters, Hualiama must confront the greatest powers of the age as Dramagon’s disciples encircle the ultimate prize–her. A girl born of fire, raised by Dragons and imbued with the terrible, corrupting power of ruzal. Now, portents fill the sky. Legendary armies fly to war. The prophesied comet crashes into the Island-World, bearing the spirit of a malevolent Ancient Dragoness, Numistar Winterborn. She will obliterate any that seek to thwart her ambitions–all the armies of Men and Dragons, the monstrous war-machine of Shinzen, Warlord of the Giants
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

The Unicorn Caper

A Call me Dragon Novel

Dragon Fires Rising: Book 5

By Marc Secchia

Copyright © 2022 onward Marc Secchia

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

www.marcsecchia.com
www.dragonsglory.com

Map © 2022 onward Marc Secchia

Interior images designed by www.freepix.com

Map of Solixambria

Table of Contents

The Unicorn Caper

Map of Solixambria

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Southerly Reunion

Chapter 2: Swimming in the Desert

Chapter 3: The Unicorn Caper

Chapter 4: Ready to Float

Chapter 5: Swimming Lessons

Chapter 6: Rising Waters

Chapter 7: Avalanche

Chapter 8: Awesome Song

Chapter 9: Tunnel Spiders

Chapter 10: Well, Well

Chapter 11: Slow Ambush

Chapter 12: Oasis Garrison

Chapter 13: Pawful Work

Chapter 14: The Long Trot Home

Chapter 15: Small Surprises

Chapter 16: Inattentiveness

Chapter 17: Southward Ho

Chapter 18: Canyons Afar

Chapter 19: Twisters and Gates

Chapter 20: Shopping with Dragons

Chapter 21: Plains of Glass

Chapter 22: Skautar

Chapter 23: The Seeker

Chapter 24: Home Sweet Fortress

Chapter 25: The Way of a Jabiz

Chapter 26: Pigs will Fly

Chapter 27: Southerly Scourge

Chapter 28: Avenger

Chapter 29: Spiral Maze Mountain

Chapter 30: Slick Moves

Chapter 31: Who’s a Bad Dragon?

Chapter 32: Invincible

Chapter 33: The Queens

Chapter 34: Memory Refreshed

About the Author

Chapter 1: Southerly Reunion

A CHUNKY WHITE SHADOW stole across the obsidian desert, winging silently past the curved faces of uncountable dunes, all staring in the same direction. This boundless ocean of sand had been sculpted over aeons by the prevailing winds. To this Dragon, T’nagru brought back so many memories. Perhaps similar remembrance played in Queen Azania’s dreams as she dozed upon his back, her hands protectively cupped about her babe in arms, Prince Farinz, her secondborn.

Half-awaking from a refreshing in-flight doze, Thundersong reflexively checked his passengers. King Azerim took third saddle position these days, their firstborn, Prince Zaran, sound asleep between his knees; Azania and their younger son took first position above his shoulders.

She had not returned to N’ginta Citadel in over two and a half years.

Azania had departed a victorious Princess. Now, she was Queen of the Vaylarn Archipelago, a daughter of the desert who had married a son o’ the Isles, as Azerim had styled himself just that afternoon. Self-deprecation was a character trait they shared, Thundersong and this fine man. In truth, she and Azerim could not have come from more dissimilar realms, nor from further apart in the Seventeen Kingdoms. An excellent King and a sound choice for his Dragon Rider.

As long as he continued to treat Azania like the treasure she was, Thundersong decided, he would not sit too hard on him. Maybe just the occasional squishing episode? He did have an exceptionally well-proportioned behind to put to good use – the Dragon, that was. Imagine pancake a-la-King, served up extra flat?

Even a dishy sort of sound to it.

Gnee-he-hee. Such an old-fashioned beast, he was. Wickedness incarnate.

He fussed briefly over his flight posture, ensuring his wingbeat was smoother than silk and every iota as guileful as he could make it. Ariamyrielle Seaspray would peel his hide if he were to allow any harm to come to this precious Human cargo. For his part, he wished nothing more than to successfully shock his hyper-alert mate once again. He had a track record to keep unblemished. Indeed! Shiver his wings, five times in a row: an achievement that his warrior mate had vowed must end with this arrival, upon her honour as a warrior Dragoness of the Isles.

Murgh-hurgh-harrr! He never failed to tug her wingtips about their competition.

That he lived to tell the tale … well, this must betoken love as fiery as the desert suns, which already burnished the easterly horizon with a glorious array of colours he had come to obsess over. Only in the desert could the fires of Ignis, rising now from behind the panorama of sickle-shaped dunes, be quite so magnified, vast quantities of atmospheric dust giving rise to visions of crimson tongues of flame licking up above the horizon, the ruddy hues igniting the eastward-facing slopes of sand as the endless variegation of colours spread from horizon to horizon.

Truly, the verimost melody of a Dragon’s grateful hearts.

As the panoramic vibrance spread almost imperceptibly with dawn’s advent, the red sun Ignis ascendant, a resonant note built delicately in his long throat. He had been training for this. Hours of singing. Drawing a whisper of light about his draconic being, he dispatched an ethereal image of himself at a tangent toward the faraway battlements of N’ginta Citadel. His real self he enveloped in two layers of chameleon-infused magical shielding supported by his vocalisations. Hope this worked as he had practised.

Stealthy acceleration …

At once, Azania’s slumber shifted toward wakefulness. Dragon?

My game with Aria, he admitted, narked.

As someone I know very well would say, harrr-harrr-harrrgh! her well-loved mental voice responded with sleepy warmth. That would be our game. Let me check your – aye, you’re still emanating that subsonic note that’s proved so tricky.

Gnarr!

Shh. I sense victory in the offing. Oh! Unicorns!

Her soft cry almost unravelled his concentration, rocking him enough that the great mare leading the herd of some seventy-plus pure white Unicorns – save one grey-dappled foal and two jet-black stallions, twins – glanced up, his presence betrayed to her unique magical senses.

He sent a whisper of greeting to the lead mare, Fond nickerings, o Mysterious Mare!

Flicking her horn and accenting her greeting with a dramatic, complex diagonal cadence of her gait, she whinnied, Friend Flame-Breather! Fond nickerings to you!

We shall meet at the Citadel? he returned.

Anon! Anon! Gallop away!

Led by their Mysterious Mare, the herd poured up over the lip of a dune and down the far side in splendid formation, their hooves kicking up sand and their necks arched proudly. Several of the colts kicked up their hind legs, prancing madly – even more excitable than the rest of their kin, an achievement of not inconsiderable note. Equines. He had never met creatures more restless nor more dramatic, not even those cheeky Façade Dragons they had rescued from the volcano, masters of camouflage and mischief.

Speaking of which …

He eyeballed the runaway image through his all-new spectacles, now enhanced with a thought-activated telescopic function. Where could Aria be hiding? She’d be prowling out here somewhere, ready to pounce upon him – aye, for his part, he could not wait to greet his cobalt muse. A month’s separation was far too long.

Sky? Hmm, spotless, save for a reddish, burly sentry soaring about a mile above – Garish the Grinder, if he was not mistaken.

Around the city? Not a cobalt scale out of place.

Along the battlements? Still no clue as to her location. Tricky, his mate. A consummate warrior. She’d have an ambush ready, or he was no creature of fire and magic.

Picking up the pace once more, Thundersong set himself for the final run in toward N’ginta Citadel as the first brilliance of Ignis torched the great whitewashed walls with rose-gold light. They had been rebuilt after the ruin of the Skartunese invasion, made taller and stronger than ever before thanks to the help of Dragon builders – the mammoth project had only just been completed last month, almost five years after the war.

Easy, Dragon, Azania urged, as the increasing wind speed caused her husband to stir. Precious cargo.

I know – BY MY WINGS!

This was as a flash of cobalt hurtled up from behind a dune to ambush his false image with flawless timing. Had Aria hidden herself in one of the sand traps they had spoken about last year? Had that been him for real …

Azania winced at his mental blast. Don’t do that. Instant migraine …

Sorry.

Half a second later, the Cobalt Dragoness scragged – nothingness!

Aria’s surprise could have been bottled and sold as perfume. Her butterfly wings flared in shock as the expected impact never materialised. Her butterfly wings whirled her about her axis with agility he could never hope to match, her lips parted in an instinctual snarl as terrifying as it was alluring.

Thundersong swerved smoothly onto a new trajectory as Aria rose higher, clearly on high alert. She sensed his nearness. Her scales must surely prickle to his presence, her five Dragoness’ hearts pounding in concert, a battle-ready rhythm. Yet she clearly could see neither scale nor tail of a white Dragon flying above an onyx desert. Phew.

Summoning his breath, he –

Dragon! Sleeping baby!

Thundersong wheezed like leaky forge bellows, swallowing his thunder. Burn and blast it, Azania, did you have to?

Aye.

You’re no fun anymore.

You try getting this baby to sleep at two in the morning – ah, I know, you have helped me often enough. Aye. Biggest babysitter in Solixambria. Go on, puff out your chest. Strut your stuff.

And?

Tweak her tail – if you can.

Irresistible challenge!

His Rider had a heart to out-wicked the wickedest Dragoness.

Whisper-winged, he decelerated toward his peerless beloved as she scanned her surrounds with a warrior’s keen eye to detail. Only, his details were invisible. Sixty-one feet nowadays to his mate’s mere twenty-nine feet in length and several times her tonnage, he snuck up on her like a Dragon stalking an unwitting sheep – may she never, ever know he had just compared her to mutton, or he really would be turned into a hearth rug in her lair – and stretched out a paw.

All five of his hearts tried to abscond via his throat at the same time. Like five large Dragons trying to exit a lair simultaneously. Quite the throbbing traffic jam. Do it!

Tweaking her tail with his talon tips, he hissed, I – am – Dragon!

Aria nearly shed her scales in fright, leaping and whirling and striking at thin air. Patently, she still failed to see him. Thundersong! You –

I win.

– you incredible pest! How did you – impossible. I still can’t – oh!

Gripping her trim, muscular waist in his powerful paws, he rubbed muzzles tenderly with her. Aria, how I missed thee, o beloved fire of my hearts.

Thundersong, she breathed, then gurgled with laughter as bright orange fire dribbled off her lower lip. Her forked tongue darted out as if to taste of this novel sensation.

Mmm, pleased to see me? he purred archly.

Thundersong! his mate scolded.

Get a lair, you two lovebirds, Azania said, a verbal eye roll. Aria, it’s a fiery delight to see you hale. All’s well in the south?

The desert evenings are quiet, the cities are safe and the herds gather apace, she summarised, with a broad smile as his Rider leaned over to see past a certain mount’s burly left shoulder. Thundersong, you can let me go now.

He snorted, Excuse me? I categorically refuse. No.

She blinked her fiery eyes coquettishly and tickled his chest with one of her wingtips. Ooh, must I ask nicely, you big, bad Dragon? Azania, what have you been feeding him? I’d swear he grows wider across the shoulders every other day.

Eats us out of hearth and home, the Human Queen noted.

Time to take one’s life into one’s paws? Eyeing up his mate with a certain exuberance of intention, he purred, Gnarr, what a fiery little catch I made. What’s your name, cutie?

Aria’s merry chuckling filled his Dragon hearts with liquid fire. Releasing her with a show of reluctance, he joined her in wing-second position as they beat up over the flat rooftops of the city to the scenic Royal Palace where Azania’s older brother, King N’chala, held court. Perhaps a touch on the early side for His Majesty? He would have loved nothing more than to shake the entire city with one of his signature sonic thunderclaps. Perhaps another time.

The mere passing of his great shadow speared the fear of Dragons into their palpitating Human hearts … hmm. These valued allies, a Dragon meant. That was how his Devastator Clan used to talk.

“Ooh, there’s Juggernaut and Chalice,” Azania called out, pointing down to the stables at the back of the Palace gardens. An equine training ring apparently saw secondary use as a Dragon sparring arena, at least as far as his old mentor intended.

Signs of changing times.

Gladdening fires warmed his chest as Thundersong beat his wings to soften the landing for the babe’s sake. Excellent timing! That would be Juggernaut, Chalice and their trio of year-old fledglings.

“Uncle Thundersong!” trilled Sentrice, a lemon-yellow copy of her dam.

“Uncle Thundersong!” the young males tried to boom, opening their throats to lower their adolescent voices into a suitably gruff Grinder baritone. Hammer was a deep flame-orange like his father, whilst Bulldozer had the same deep orange colouration but his head, major wing struts and upper back were dappled with his dam’s much lighter yellow, making him a striking multi-toned beast.

The instant Juggernaut nodded, the three keen youngsters mobbed Thundersong in a state of great excitement, vying for his attention and ignoring his Human cargo. He punched their shoulders – not too firmly – and threw an uncle-ish wing over shy Sentrice’s back. Juggernaut being sire to a shy little Dragoness certainly took a dint of getting used to but, then again, who had imagined the gruff gladiator mellowing like butter dropped into a bonfire?

Snicker.

At this point, one-and-a-half-year-old Farinz entered the fray with a fine round of squalling, Azerim and Zaran slid down his flank with boyish whoops and Juggernaut thumped him with a traditional Grinder punch in the right upper foreleg. A proper lamer. Thundersong tried to shrug off the blow but aye, walking properly for the next week would be a challenge.

“Keeping fighting fit, youngling?” Juggernaut snorted.

“Always, Master. How’s your family?”

“Where’s my greeting?”

Thundersong wound up and punched him as he had been taught. Nothing but full strength, or Juggernaut would have him eating dirt in two seconds flat.

Blam! Dragons could demolish buildings with a less impressive impact.

Despite that the gladiator knew how to take a blow and had probably been in more brawls than the bigger Dragon had scales on his body, the power of that punch slammed Juggernaut five feet backward. His talons scored numerous trails through King N’chala’s previously pristine lawn – unfortunately for the gardeners, who had to be wizards to be growing such a lush, previously pristine lawn in the middle of a desert. Apologies later. Undraconic but necessary.

“Huh!” Juggernaut snorted, shaking his muzzle. “Not bad.”

“Not bad? Count your fangs, handsome,” Chalice put in, showing her mate a pristine set of draconic cutlery. “Bl – I mean, Thundersong, please don’t hit my mate quite so hard next time.”

“He’s a rank amateur,” the Grinder growled.

“Which is why your eye fires appear unfocused, right?” she returned tartly. “Besides, Thundersong, if you will augment your strike with magic, that’s going to –”

“I did?”

They both turned at a new sound from the children and fledglings. Prince Zaran chased after Bulldozer’s tail with a mischievous giggle and all the indestructible enthusiasm of his nearly three years. Not all was happiness in the Dragon youngling’s reaction to this rambunctious play. He spun away, giving the boy the benefit of a solid shoulder block.

Zaran bounced in a way that reminded Thundersong to check that young Human boys were indeed made of flesh and blood, not that strange rubbery goop they harvested in the Archipelago. Azania had been making plans for a better-cushioned Dragon Rider saddle. Black goo stuck to his scales? Blergh!

Immediately, the lad roared back in for seconds, undaunted. Bulldozer hissed in annoyance.

Bulldozer, remember what we spoke about? Chalice warned.

But Mama –

But Mama, nothing. Gently! Humans are … fragile and soft, his dam explained. Talons in – that’s better, o son of my flame. This was as the youngling playfully patted the Prince away with his paw, talons carefully sheathed.

Zaran squealed in joy, clearly taking this for a wrestling game.

Hammer pattered over to goggle at the tiny baby – tiny from his perspective, but not so tiny compared to Azania, who stood a mere four-foot-seven, plus an inch or two for her boots. The Prince’s gorgeous head of sable curls evidently fascinated the young Dragon, while the sight of draconic eyes close by appeared to hypnotise the agitated babe at once. Mmm. Intriguing reaction. Azania complimented him on his skills while the families exchanged fond greetings. Sentrice wanted to know when Thundersong could tell her some of his best stories. She had been practising writing her letters with quill and ink, she told him, and wanted to be just like him when she grew up.

Over on the sand, the paw-batting had turned into a bit of a thumping. Had he overheard something about a ‘stupid Human?’ Perhaps not.

Juggernaut called Bulldozer over to come admire their friends’ younglings. “Handsome lads,” said the burly gladiator. “When will you start their warrior training?”

The King grinned, “Farinz is too young to hold a blade as yet, but Zaran shows an aptitude for –”

“Take that!” the boy yelled.

Clack! A wooden stick smacked Bulldozer across the tail.

The blow could not have been painful, but the fourteen-foot Dragon youngster spun in a blur, jaws agape, a low growl throbbing in his chest. He coiled.

Zaran stuck out his tongue. “Naah! Silly Dragon, can’t get me!”

The temperature rose a hundred degrees in less than a second as Bulldozer processed the insult in a part of his mind that reacted at the speed of draconic instinct.

Thundersong reacted fastest of all. “STOP!”

His left forepaw slammed down between them, knocking the lunging young Dragon aside and sending the foolish young Prince sprawling.

For a second, everyone stared at everyone else.

Raising his paw, Thundersong bellowed at the pair, “LEARN SOME RESPECT!”

Bulldozer cowered to the ground, showing his submission. Prince Zaran burst into tears and ran to his mother’s legs, holding his left wrist awkwardly. “Mama, it hurts! Hurts! He broke it!”

Epically awkward.

No eating the little Humans, even if they wriggle and look tasty, Thundersong advised the fledgling in scathing tones.

Where under the suns did that come from?

Juggernaut gave a snort as if he were trying, and failing, to expectorate a porcupine.

For a second, Azania’s eyes blazed with pure maternal fury.

All a Dragon wanted was to melt away in shame. Blitz the Fritz was back in all his blunder-pawed finery. What had he done? The impulse to protect was right and good, but had Bulldozer even intended to go through with his threatened attack? It could have been just a feint.

Kneeling beside her son, Azania said, “Zaran, what does this teach you about Dragons?”

Azerim could only wheeze in speechless shock. All colour had drained from his brown features. Odd how Humans did that. Imagine a colourless Dragon?

Chalice turned to Juggernaut, darker oranges of alarm and shame crowding into her eyes. Aria made to blaze at Bulldozer, too, before curbing the aggressive posture of her upraised wings and battle-taut body. Azerim loomed over his wife and son with his fists clenched, before he also appeared to pick up on Aria’s mood, for he sighed and said shakily:

“Juggernaut, I apologise for my son’s behaviour. Zaran, say sorry.”

“I … daddy, I was just playing,” he snivelled. “Why’s the big Dragon so angry?”

“Because he feared for your life,” the King explained sternly. “Whatever possessed you to stick out your tongue like that?”

“I’m s-s-sorry.”

“Bulldozer?” Juggernaut grated.

“Dragons don’t apologise,” he hissed, yet his tone and manner remained meek.

His sire explained simply, “Son, listen with all five hearts. Honour between Dragons is one thing; honour between Dragons and Humans is a different matter entirely. In Human culture, apologies may restore honour. He did wrong, of course, but you also reacted without honour. How may we restore honour when both parties do wrong?”

“I also overreached,” Thundersong put in gruffly.

“Human ways are … strange,” the youngling admitted, shaking his muzzle slowly. “I … I … Prince Zaran, I think Humans would say something like – uh, can you translate, father?” I saw only fires when I should have maintained a dignified posture of wings and hearts. I am sorry. Shall we shake paws and be friends?

Juggernaut the Grinder helped the two youngsters to shake paw and hand.

The white half-Sea Dragon considered how differently Humans and Dragons developed. He had expected much greater maturity of a one-year-old Dragon than a three-year-old Human Prince, for in truth, Zaran was still a child with childish ways, while Bulldozer had already reached the equivalent of Human teenage years. Accidents would happen – yet shame filled his hearts at being the cause of this one. Partial cause. The fires of fear were not easily mastered.

Gravely, he offered a digit to Zaran. “I am sorry I broke your wrist.”

The boy hid his face against Azania’s torso but, after a moment, his little brown hand popped out – the good one – and he shook the digit quickly.

For Azania alone, he added in his mind, I regret injuring your son. That was never my intent.

You did well, Thundersong.

Better a hand than the neck, by my fires!

Dragon, that’s a terrible – she dabbed at the corner of her eye – aye. I know. Being a parent isn’t always easy, not when you picture your son’s life ending in a spray of blood … but you smelled the danger instantly. Thank you for your service, Dragon.

He nodded gravely in return. “Let’s get everyone settled. It was a long flight.”

“Aye,” said Juggernaut. “Aria, my sons have requested the honour of training at blades with you. Grinders have always been about paw and fang, but versatility in a warrior is also valued. Would you be willing to train them?”

Her gorgeous eyes, slightly narrowed, measured the pair.

Hammer and Bulldozer straightened up as if drawn upright by hawsers attached to the sky. Thundersong smothered a knowing chuckle. Definitely a pair of hormonal young males reacting to the full brunt of a beautiful Dragoness’ regard – but both were smart enough to recognise her warrior mien from the outset.

They flared their wings, bowed their muzzles and said as one, “We’d be honoured, Master Aria.”

“So shall it be,” she fluted. “Meet me here in two hours.”

“Well then,” King Azerim said heartily, “let’s get this family reunion underway, shall we?” His hand sought and clasped Azania’s. “Help you with the little one, darling? Foot massage? Peel you a grape? Erm … romantic dinner for two on the balcony, serenaded by an exceptionally large, apologetic white Dragon?”

Her smile revealed the fact that Humans apparently had more than one way of making up with their loved ones. Popping up onto her tiptoes, Azania snagged herself a kiss. “I’ll have one of these.”

“Two? Two hundred?” he supplied glibly, pursing his lips. “Kings should never be found wanting for generosity, I’ve always said.”

“So true,” she giggled, “and you are generous to a fault, my King.”

Thundersong intoned, “And this, children, is how Human babies begin.”

In his mind, Azania squealed with laughter even as she gave her King able assistance in demonstrating the extent of his generosity.

Chapter 2: Swimming in the Desert

THUNDERSONG AND ARIA BATHED in a great cistern beneath the desert city, one nowadays set aside for the use of Dragons. After a rambunctious semi-bath, semi – well, other matters best left unnamed – they strolled up together through the city streets, gathering warm greetings by the dozen from the desert-born townspeople.

He nudged his mate playfully. Relax and enjoy your popularity, o stern-faced warrior.

Sorry. My mind slipped over to the issue of crossing the desert.

Not to my exploits?

She chuckled, Oh, you are legendary, Thundersong!

That called for a proper male-Dragon strut all the way up to the Palace, where they padded in past the welcoming guards, who directed them to a flower-festooned pergola, where the royal families sat at breakfast, kneeling or reclining on ornate cushions set around a low table in the desert way.

“Welcome, Aria!” King N’chala called. “Join us – oh, where’s Thundersong?”

She tilted her muzzle quizzically. “Well, he was just –”

“Right behind you, my King.”

N’chala gasped and nearly fumbled his crystal goblet of chilled pomegranate juice. “Thundersong! You’re … uncanny. How does such a big Dragon sneak up on a person like that?”

“He’s developed a knack for invisibility,” Aria murmured.

“I’m definitely awake now.”

Azania said, “Your lip’s bleeding, Thundersong.”

“Oh. I suppose it is.” He dabbed at the spot with his forked tongue.

“What happened? Flagstone leap up to smack you in the snout whilst you strolled up through town, admiring the architecture?” his Rider needled.

“No, if you must know, we were –” he began, before growing confused over what he might say, and slipping into “– uh, by my wings, that’s how little Dragons are … made.”

He gnashed his fangs inwardly.

Oh, Dragon, Azania breathed, balm to his soul.

Aria settled against his broad flank with an extra snuggle, before laying her slim forepaw atop his. She nuzzled his neck with her slender muzzle, lightly breathing flame across his sensitive facial scales in an intimate gesture. Words did not come easily to his warrior mate. Especially not words to frame an issue of such sensitivity. Their friends had all started young families, while she and Thundersong had not been able. One day. He clenched his other forepaw slowly. One day, please, o fates …

Whom was he even asking?

Only fools believed that life was inherently fair. Meantime, this Dragon would bury his feelings and enjoy his friends’ good fortune.

“Queen Yuali, how well you look,” he purred courteously.

“Hot, sweaty and as fat as an ox, do you mean?” chuckled the heavily pregnant woman, a pale, blonde northerner from the Kingdom of Amboraine. “Shirali, don’t be afraid, darling. Thundersong is a genuinely nice Dragon.”

“He’s awful big, mama,” the four-year-old mite behind her whispered.

He smiled at the child, remembering to keep his lips firmly covering his fangs. Humans tended not to interpret a jaw full of fangs in the most positive light. Bright-green eyes peeped at him from behind her mother’s right shoulder. Shirali and her twin, Rimali, could only be told apart by the colour of their eyes – Rimali had desert-dark eyes but, in all other respects, the pair were peas in a pod. In personality? Hmm. One twin was extremely shy, while the other sat on her father’s knee, jabbering away nonstop as she stuffed her sticky little mouth full of sweet, honeyed desert pastries, a particular favourite here. His nostrils flared as a delicious scent snagged his interest and his stomach voiced a growl-come-howl that stilled all conversation.

Certainly, the quartet of servants bringing the Dragons’ portion of breakfast paused to wonder if they had just volunteered to become breakfast as well.

Azania chortled, “Excuse you.” She waved at the servants to proceed.

“Huh, where’s that other Dragon hiding?” Thundersong snorted mildly. “Did I swallow him?”

“Dada, why’s he eating raw meat?” Rimali asked curiously. Like her sister, she had tight curls of hair that started mahogany-brown but became light-blonde toward the ends. Most fetching.

“Dragons are carnivores, darling,” Azerim explained. “They’re meat-eaters.”

“We Dragons eat common animals, like fish, sheep, deer and goats,” Aria put in, rising to help deliver a ten-foot golden platter of spiced, salted raw meat to the appropriate position beside her mate’s right forepaw. Isles culture. “We do not eat Unicorns and, most certainly, even the cheekiest children are off the menu.”

Ooh, a spicy reprimand for his comment earlier? Aria did not sound wholly displeased.

The girl piped, “Aria, are you a lady Dragon?”

“I am.”

“You’re so pretty!”

Aria smiled, “Thank you. ‘Dragoness’ is the right word for a female Dragon.”

“Oh. Are you married like people are? Do you mind questions?”

“No, little one.”

“Oh, goody. Can I see your wings? Why are you feeding the big Dragon? Is he white like my mommy’s so white? Do you have the same number of claws? Where’s your bedroom going to be? Do you make real thunder like in the stories? Why does he eat white rocks?”

“That’s salt,” Thundersong spluttered.

“No stopping her now,” N’chala inserted deftly.

The Dragoness explained, “Where I come from, Rimali, we give our mate a choice portion – the best meat – from what we hunt for them. I’m showing Thundersong that I … that I love him.” Excellent simplifying on the fly there. “He is part Sea Dragon, so he loves a few chunks of salt in his diet as well. Salt keeps him healthy.”

“Can I help feed him, too?”

“Of course,” Thundersong murmured, trying to look docile, which was utterly impossible for a mighty beast with an ego as healthy as his size. “Come here, little one. Aria will show you how.”

Mmm, wriggly little children, he mused aloud in Dragonish.

Aria smiled, That was hilarious. True, too.

Don’t encourage him, Azania snorted across the table. Next, he’ll be running cross-cultural training sessions for Dragon fledglings. ‘No pinching their squidgy little bottoms.’ ‘Mind the nose – it drips.’

Thundersong grinned, Human haunches are a most peculiar feature to Dragons.

Now you tell me? his Rider demanded.

Trotting over to him, the girl chattered blithely, “When I’m big, I’m going to be just like my Aunty Azania. She’s the bestest Auntie in all the world.”

“How’s that?” Azerim put in.

“Ooh, because I’m going to kidnap a handsome boy Dragon, too! Isn’t that what you did, Aunty Azania?”

Gnarr! Thundersong murmured amiably.

One could not let a snipe like that go unanswered, even if it was an excellent one.

As Azania chuckled in embarrassment, saying something about having been found out, the rest of the breakfast party laughed along at a certain Dragon’s expense. Thundersong pretended mild annoyance and protested that this was not the version of the story he remembered, and maybe he should be the one telling the bedtime stories from now on. But oh no, that was not good enough. Nobody could beat Aunty Azania for telling the best bedside tales, apparently.

Rascal.

He’d just ig-gnaw her cheeky attitude.

Especially since he now had not one but two pretty Princesses feeding him choice chunks of meat. He barely had to chew the succulent portions. Ah, life could be worse, Thundersong purred deep in his chest but, unfortunately, the thought foremost in his mind was the fact that, had the Skartunese invaders succeeded in overrunning this city, there would have been no little ones. No laughter. No future at all. Disaster had been far too narrowly avoided.

Fire-dampening memories.

Meantime, N’chala said to Azania, “As you reported, my staff just informed me that the last of the Unicorns have returned to N’ginta Citadel. It’s been a year since they decided to start re-gathering, right?”

She nodded. “Just shy of eleven months. Still no reports of finding the right nutrients?”

“Not one. They covered literally the entire continent of Solixambra, north of the desert, in search of this mystery component or nutrient – remember those four Unicorns who travelled up to the Vaylarn Archipelago with your ships, sister?” he asked. “They have now returned.”

Shrugs all around.

Thundersong put in, “Even the Sea Dragon healers are stumped by this mystery. The Unicorns have not been at all unhappy since we liberated them from the invasion force. That’s not the issue.”

“The issue is survival,” Azania put in.

“Aye,” the King agreed, smiling at his sister with a light in his eyes that suggested he knew what Thundersong did – that she was itching for adventure, her thoughts drifting toward faraway places and wide horizons. “They fear that, should their horn magic continue to deteriorate, it will only be a matter of time before other significant health concerns multiply.”

Catching a chunk of rock salt on his tongue, Thundersong put in, “That’s right. The Sea Dragons who tarried on land reported something similar, only on a much less concerning scale. Thank you, Shirali, that’s a delicious piece.”

“Your mouth is hum-dinger-ous, Mister Dragon,” she offered shyly.

“Humungous,” Azania corrected gently.

“All the better to –”

Dragon!

“– smile at you with, my dear,” he finished, winging a mental smirk in Azania’s direction.

She managed to slap him with the psychic equivalent of an arched eyebrow. How? He would have to watch his Rider’s telepathic abilities. Sneaky and talented, that woman. Ran in the family.

Blergh. How exactly could he not be trusted to pick a suitable fairy tale for children? That said, most were – well, gruesome was one word. Boiling children in pots and suchlike. Devious schemes involving warts and hairy noses – double-blergh! Never mind the moral lessons disguised as people losing their heads or being baked into tarts, the wild overuse of axes to slay innocent animals and witches being dissolved into puddles of goo.

Come to think of it, fairy tales were downright evil. Not suitable for younglings of any species. Ever.

* * * *

Midway through breakfast, his scales suddenly prickled. What was that? A sound, a belligerent challenge somewhere way up in the sky, off to the east of the city? More sensed than heard, instinct was enough to snap him up to his paws. His tail flicked around to steady little Princess Rimali as she stumbled away from his abrupt movement.

“Sorry. Azania, Aria – with me.”

His Rider did not even ask what or why. She leaped into his proffered paw. Azerim belatedly scrambled to his feet and slipped on a splodge of food deposited by his youngest. Thundersong tried to lunge, but he was too slow this time. The King’s bad foot gave way, and he fetched his head a crack on the edge of their low desert table.

“I – suffering Sea Serpents, that hurt. I’m fine.”

“Azerim!” Azania shouted at the same time.

“I’ll be … good. Go. Go sort out the world’s … woes.” He felt the back of his head, groaning, “Go!” A few pithy words followed – words less suited to younger ears.

In a moment, Thundersong and Aria cleared the Royal Palace and catapulted up into the already roasting desert morning. As the bigger Dragon, given his oceanic heritage – his kind engaged in an almighty annual migration that circumvented the globe – he would always have the edge in speed and power over his more agile mate, but he realised the moment he twizzled his neck in search of the danger that he had forgotten his glasses.

“BLAST THE – GNARR!!” he spat in rage. “Be my eyes. Eastward, quick.”

His mate and his Rider shifted about as they scanned the skies.

“Gazdonl?” Aria spluttered after a moment.

“Can’t be,” Azania said. “Isn’t he meant to be – no, that’s definitely Firri’s colours; you can spot her from miles off. What under the suns are they doing out here, Thundersong?”

“I thought they were meant to be on patrol at the eastern coastline?” he muttered. “That boy. Far too impulsive for his own good. His pairing with Zurianne has only made him ten times worse. Gnarr! Young men are not indestructible!”

“Zurianne is an outstanding warrior,” Aria noted.

“I’m not disputing that.”

“Gnarr,” she agreed, snapping her jaw fondly toward his left wingtip. “Please do inform the watch, o mighty Thundersong, that there’s no need for alarm.”

He guffawed at her coquettish stress on the word ‘mighty,’ and split the morning with a suitably immense bellow that carried over the entire mile to where the Watch Dragons had closed in upon the enterprising Apprentice Dragon Rider and his pretty little Façade Dragoness, Firri-Malli-Illi-Torri.

Wings flared and muzzles jerked in surprise down below.

Ha. He knew Aria would pick them out later for their inattention to other matters around the city while they were focussed on a perceived threat.

Meantime, his mate added, Firri’s wing form is poor and Gazdonl’s holding Zurianne on his lap. In a word, they look …

Wrecked, Azania supplied.

You’re saying they’re drunk? Aria snorted.

Ah … no. Exhausted, Azania noted, as they winged on to join the greeting party. As a matter of fact, could they have heat stroke?

I’ll have that boy’s ears! Dragging his females through the Blood Desert – he should know better! Thundersong raged. She’s a Mermaid of the Lumis Ocean. Which part of that does he not – GNARR!

Azania said, Thundersong, be gentle with him. People don’t know the desert.

Well, they’ve abandoned their patrol group …

There must be good reason, she said.

Aye, she was right. Again. He grinned, Stupid, but not that stupid?

At that second, Firri’s wingbeat failed, and she dropped rapidly, struggling to regain her form. Aria cried out and Thundersong dived at the same time. He bellowed at several concerned Watch Dragons to clear the way and executed a manoeuvre he and Azania had practised many times, sideslipping beneath Firri to catch her upon his broad shoulders with a jolt. His Rider scampered to the safety of his neck, before darting back to help Aria catch and control an unconscious Zurianne, who tumbled out of Gazdonl’s limp arms upon impact. The lad was clearly on his last legs, as Humans said. Since they only had two to begin with, a Dragon understood this to be a serious situation.

“Heatstroke for sure,” Azania said tersely, pushing Gazdonl back up into a slumped position over his saddle. “To the –”

“Cisterns?” Thundersong finished for her.

“Aye. Fast as you can. Aria –”

“Am I too heavy?”

“Did you just swear at me?” he snarled.

Gazdonl moaned, “Is that … Thundersong … arguing again? Praise the shores … thought we were done for …”

Heads had been twisted off necks for lesser insults, Thundersong promptly informed him, but since the heroic Dragon Rider was now complaining about seeing pretty white flowers blossoming everywhere, he thought it best to shift a wing and get them help – fast.

Given the load upon his back, the entrance to the swimming cistern required a belly crawl in the most dishonourable fashion into the underground space he and Aria had made waves in just that morning. Thankfully, stone told no secrets. Shortly, he eased the trio down onto the stone steps leading into the water and helped Azania to immerse Zurianne. She splashed water carefully onto the Mermaid’s face. Aria dashed off to hurry the doctors along, while he took charge of Firri, lowering her into the water to cool and refresh her, before trying to see if she could swallow a little.

“Careful!” he growled as the water swirled across her tongue and she began to gulp eagerly. “Stop, you’ll get sick.”

Shortly, he was purring over the doctor’s knowledge – a fussy older man of the desert called J’anti, who whipped out packets of special herbal salts and piped them down his patients’ throats in a trice. Rather miraculous. Within ten minutes or so, the Apprentice Dragon Rider and his Mermaid fiancée were in a fettle judged fine enough to be yelled at by the doctor.

Gazdonl said glumly, “It’s my fault, really. We only found water once in the last five days. I … I had no idea it could be so stinking hot out here.”

“That’s why it’s called a desert,” J’anti growled. “You could have died. You – Zurianne – are a creature of the ocean, which makes you far more susceptible to dehydration than your companion here. Now, I need you both to finish these gourds. Sip slowly and take your time. This aloe ointment is for your sunburn. You’re not going to be enjoying yourselves tonight. I’ll check in on you and administer a painkilling draught. You’ll need it. When you’re feeling better and only then, get a little food into your systems and, for Taramis’ sake, take it easy for a few days. You’re both – all three of you – are suffering from exposure, heat stroke and a severe lack of nutrients. Firri, please have a Dragon healer look you over, but I think you’ll be fine.”

She blinked anxiously. “I thank kind doctor too much.”

“Young lady – Dragoness – you can thank me by being better prepared next time. Or rather, fly a route where you know you’ll find water.”

He clipped his bag shut and marched out.

“I dropped my trident,” Zurianne said glumly.

Thundersong scented her shame. He said, “I’m just thankful you’re all alive. Now, whatever possessed you three brave fools to fly across the Blood Desert and down to T’nagru? I guess it wasn’t just that you knew our schedule and wanted to see Queen Azania’s homeland?”

“Not quite,” Gazdonl said. “I thought we could do it. I was wrong, and I’m sorry, Firri and Zurianne.”

“It wasn’t your fault. We all decided together,” said the Mermaid, smiling up at the young Human from her position on the steps, neck-deep in the water. He turned even pinker than his sunburn, a feat for the ages.

They needed to get married. Yesterday.

A few complications in the water-friend land-friend sector, one might say. Gazdonl’s family were amenable, but the Merpeople struggled with the idea. Privately, Azania had checked with the medical personnel and learned that compatibility was extremely likely, given as everyone appeared to have similar … ahem, equipment. Poor Gazdonl. Clearly as smitten as his Merfriend. Knowing what he did of Zurianne’s personality, he knew she would never give him up without a fight.

Sigh. Why could life never be straightforward?

Meantime, Azania had noticed, and was checking, a scabbed-over wound beside Firri’s left ear canal. “What caused this? An arrow?”

“The reason for our alarm,” Gazdonl said.

“Aye. Invaders,” Zurianne said, clenching her fists fiercely. “Several thousand in number, we estimate, have landed on the eastern coast of Solixambria at approximately the same latitude as your old lair, Thundersong, as I understand these strange land maps. They’re a people with the bodies of horses and the upper parts of men and women. Gazdonl calls them Centaurs – a fierce warrior tribe, whose main weapons are extremely powerful bows and huge scimitars. They seem bent on conquest.”

“How do you see that?” Azania asked.

“When some of our number tried to speak with them, they attacked without warning, multiplying dishonour unto their tribe,” the Mermaid scowled.

Gazdonl said, “More than that – you tell them, Zurianne.”

She said, “They brought allies which they tried to keep hidden – the Terror Clan.”

Thundersong spat in shock, “Terrors?”

He and Azania never would have sent a patrol eastward had they known. Neither scale nor tail of the greens had been seen in years.

Why would the Terrors rear their ugly heads now?

“Exactly the foul Dragons you described in your historical briefings.” Zurianne clenched her fist over her heart. “Had your pod-sister Inzashu-N’shula not been with us, o Queen, we would most truly have been sunk. This is my testimony.”

Chapter 3: The Unicorn Caper

COME EARLY AFTERNOON, THUNDERSONG found himself in an extensive stable area fragranced by a strong whiff of Unicorn dung, quite the oddest substance in Solixambria. Only in texture did it resemble actual dung. White and sparkly, it smelled most strongly of river lilies and, apparently, could turn the driest desert dust into soil so fertile, one barely had to wave a seed or root in its direction to have it burst into exuberant growth.

Pity the same was not true for his misfiring loins. He could be snuggling the stuff to sleep at night and nothing would happen.

Nor did Unicorn magic cover pointing exceedingly sharp horns in the direction of his male parts and letting fire with the full ambit of their glorious magic. Unicorn magic had all sorts of marvellous effects upon its environment, just not of the healing-Dragons sort. Unfortunate.

Maybe if he snacked upon a few, their magic might penetrate –

Thundersong.

What? I’m supposed to be watching their dancing?

The Unicorn Caper is an important and beautiful part of their culture.

Fine, fine, they’re very clever. Can we start trotting across the desert yet? he groused.

No, Mister Grumpy, we will appreciate the nuances of their virtuosity in a fitting manner. That does not include imagining eating our excellent friends.

Gnarr, gnarr … gnarr.

Exactly.

The Unicorns could do all kinds of clever hoof-work – not only were they currently engaged in trotting about the place in three interlocking, ever-changing infinity loops, but they were also singing in their peculiar equine tongue, producing a complex and, admittedly, thrilling drumbeat with their hooves and trotting sideways, diagonally and backward in time to their music, all in perfect time. Oh, and even simultaneous pirouettes upon their rear hooves now. Impressive. Alright, someone pack away that cantankerous Dragon and bring out his other persona, the appreciator of art. This, he would love to paint, but how could one ever reproduce the majesty of Unicorn mane-tossing or the magical gleam that lit their eyes and their horns?

Whatever could be wrong with them?

The Unicorn Caper was a most intriguing way of deciding upon a matter, however. Truly novel. Led by the Mysterious Mare, this was their unique way of drawing the whole herd into a decision-making process. They whinnied, nickered, snorted, tap danced and – well, now they all paused in piaffe, a fancy cadenced trot in one place, before a gangly young colt suddenly broke free and started dancing in ways that, frankly, were cause for grave concern. Might he not snap one of those spindly legs in a moment’s frolicsome exuberance? His bucking, spinning and prancing hijinks threatened to twist his oddly flexible spine into a knot or maybe he’d just spear himself with his own horn in a contortionist’s flexion?

Thundersong harrumphed lightly between his lips. One day people might call this breakdancing – as in, the sort of dancing that would break something.

A minute’s free dance stretched into two. Lathered with his efforts, the youngling abruptly halted, as if bolted to the straw-strewn stable floor by a Dragon’s paw. His whole body quivered. Constipation? Nay, but a similar effect of a magical sort. Veins popping and eyes bulging with the effort, he finally succeeded in expelling a wisp of sweet-smelling silver mist from his horn that floated over the herd. It alighted upon each horn, briefly causing a flare of flame-like light that spiralled back into the Unicorn’s body.

The Mysterious Mare whickered softly. The colt’s head drooped.

Aye. Even an outsider could tell that was not the effect, or perhaps not as powerful an effect, as should have been.

As the Unicorn Caper ended and all creatures turned as one toward Azania, the Queen bowed fluidly in a desert n’gandura-naa, a genuflection that reminded him of nothing more than a heron bending over water, achingly beautiful.

She said, All honour to the herd. Has the Unicorn Caper parted the mists of time?

Thundersong blinked.

After dipping her neck, the Mare’s mysterious, pearlescent eyes fixed upon Dragon and Rider. The nickerings speak in ways often little understood. We saw you leading us along a cool and misty tunnel, a perilous river beneath the sands, and there was at our side a Human-like fish, in whose hand blazed a weapon of the storms’ own light. Know you of such things?

His scales prickled. Coincidence? Destiny did not knock this day. It thundered!

Azania nodded quickly. Such a person has this very day come to us from the oceans, o Mare; one who is called a Mermaid. Do you nicker of an underground river?

This place was unknown to us, but it echoed similarly to the great cavern world said to lie beneath our riverine plains, the place of my colthood, where my hooves danced upon the lushest grasses in all the world. This is the place for which my horn magic yearns, o Queen, a place of the quickening of souls. There shall your womb also be quickened, I saw – Azania inhaled sharply – and this great white Dragon, he too must find his purpose there.

He shared a startled mental blink with Azania.

She said, O Mare, whatever do you mean?

The nickerings were inchoate, o fond friends of the four-hoofed kind, the pure white mare replied evenly. In effervescent song did I see Thundersong lead our herd by paths true, beneath desert and o’er dell, and ’gainst fearsome foe prevail. Her eyes shuttered as if seeing within. A mountain rises … beyond waterfall and swirling mists … a swamp trail leading to Spiral Maze Mountain … that way shall we prance. You are our spiritual herd-stallion, o Thundersong. Your paws shall tread true trails. In your course alone may our shining hooves canter with confidence.

He cracked open his jaw.

The Mare said, We must rest now. The Caper has whinnied loudly and long. All must meditate upon its import.

Azania said, So shall we meditate upon these matters according to your direction, o Mysterious Mare, and come to you tomorrow with plans for discussion.

Tomorrow! Anon! We gallop away!

Gallop? As he and Azania ambled up through the city once more, Thundersong dwelled upon the Mysterious Mare’s words. He could barely contain his delight at the news for Azania. The Mare foresaw another youngling in her future? What a gift for his best friend!

He could not withhold a dark, curling flame of jealousy deep within, however. No such news for him and Aria?

A tiny dark elbow thumped his flank. “So, honorary stallion, eh?”

“Excuse me.”

“Go on, toss your mane.” When he rolled his eye fires at this sally, she snickered, “You’re such a drama-Dragon. Confess. You love it, really.”

“I’ll brush up on my prancing, snorting and grow a horn on my forehead, shall I?”

“Don’t forget the gorgeous coat. You’d be all cuddly and strokable –”

“Gnarr! I am not cuddly – I AM A DRAGON!”

Townspeople several hundred yards up the road turned to see what the bellowing was about.

Fine. Just a sixty-foot white behemoth deafening his four-foot-seven Rider friend. Nothing unusual here.

“Thundersong! It’s Thundersong!” dozens of desert children yelled, appearing, as if summoned by magic, upon flat rooftops, tumbling out of wide, airy doors – always left open in the desert – and peering out of windows. “Give us your biggest roar!”

Azania smiled up at him.

“I am not a drama-Dragon!”

“Thundersong! Thundersong! Thundersong!” the children chanted.

Her grin was impossibly cheeky. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint the children, would we?”

A Dragon could have rolled his eye fires, but that would be interpreted as further drama. Besides being rather immature. Flicking his wings in annoyance, therefore, he said, “Just the one, alright?”

“You’re such a nice … stallion.”

“Dragon!” he bawled, aghast.

There had to be a hundred children up and down the road now, all wearing white or tan desert robes. With one accord, they shrieked with joy at his inadvertent bellow.

Very well. A brief performance beckoned. Loosening up his throat and twizzling his shoulders by way of preparation, he assumed a Dragon-esque stance in the middle of the road. Several smart parents ducked under cover. Azania popped her fingers into her ears. He drew his deepest possible breath, until his chest positively creaked with the pressure build-up.

III – AAAAM – DRAAAGOONNN!!

A sonic thunderclap belled up the road between the houses, blasting a wave of fine onyx dust before it and knocking three goods carts right over. Several window shutters tore off their brackets and splintered on the ground. The dust cloud blasted between the houses, slamming doors and plucking white linens off washing lines, until it petered out at a bend a hundred Dragon paces away.

The children emerged, waving their hands, blinking their eyes and shaking out their curly black hair. They looked – ahem – shocked. And extra dusty.

Thundersong gaped up the road. Oops.

One second later, all was pandemonium as the children screamed, danced and wriggled in – well, joy, he scented. Human joy. Fright to delight. Terror-quivering pleasure.

His jaw clonked down upon the flagstones. Humans. Easily the weirdest species on the planet.

“Thundersong, chase me!” squealed a little girl.

“Naah, can’t catch me!”

“You big old baddie, you’re too slow!”

Rascals!

Interlacing his massive forepaws, he cracked his knuckles with a sound like catapult strings snapping, before booming, “Alright, then – gnarr! All you children, you’d better start running, because … FEE-FIE-FOE-FUM, HERE COMES A DRAGON TO TICKLE YOUR TUM!”

That old fairy tale rhyme worked perfectly.

He bounded up the road, stomping and snorting and snarling, chasing shrieking children in every direction. Oh, and popping that cart back onto its wooden wheels. He scooped three little ones up into his paw and gave them a quick tickle each, before popping them down in their mother’s wash-basket, half full of linens. Their heads popped up a second later, smiles flashing in their dark faces.

Total drama-Dragon, Azania’s voice giggled in his mind.

“WHO WANTS TO BE EATEN?”

“Me, me! Pick me!”

Plucking up this noisy little chap by the scruff of his desert robes, Thundersong pretended to slice him up for kebabs. Talons sheathed, of course. The child howled with laughter. His mother did not even have the decency to look worried. She leaned out of her window, shrilling that her son needed to be cut into even smaller pieces.

Something mildly disturbing about those parenting values, mind.

“Naa-naa-na-naaaaa-na!”

“GNARR – I’LL CRUSH YOU LIKE AN EGG!”

“Crush me, Thundersong! I’m right here!”

“I’LL SNAP YOUR BONES LIKE TWIGS!”

“Yay!”

Aye. Absolutely no fathoming the creatures. Yet the strangest thing was how their artless play lifted and restored the fires of his Dragon hearts – an effect he only noticed long after the fact. There. Another mysterious Human power. Soft-skinned, fangless creatures, who chattered worse than any chastising chaffinch, they might be, but something … some quality endeared them to this Dragon.

* * * *

The balance of his day passed in a blur of discussions and preparations. Azania and Azerim were both gifted planners, but they did not always agree on details or priorities. The King was adamant that, given the information gained from the Unicorn Caper, they needed to fly south as soon as possible. Azania worried about the Centaurs. She wanted Inzashu-N’shula to accompany the Unicorn resettlement, if at all possible, since she alone knew the Skartunese territories, but she was also best-placed to stymie the wiles of the Terror Clan. For several years now, she had been training the Tamarine Dragons – those willing to be trained – in mental warfare.

In the end, Juggernaut’s word proved decisive. “I will fly north to protect the Tamarine Mountains with my Clan and allies. We will relieve your sister, Queen Azania, and bring her here. These invaders will require time to explore, settle and gather their strength. We Dragons will watch their doings with all the cunning and patience of our kind. Then – BLAM! WE STRIKE!”

He punched his fists together with a crack like a table being demolished.

Far from being fazed, King N’chala merely nodded, saying, “Good plan, Juggernaut. We are agreed?”

They were.

Then, their council considered the minor question of the risks of floating a whole herd of Unicorns down an underground river to an unknown destination.

Thundersong stirred an hour after midnight. He and Aria slept in the courtyard outside the royal chambers, for few rooms could house a beast of his proportions. Prince Farinz was wailing his little lungs out again. Azania had said he was cutting a tooth, another Human oddity. Dragons were born with all their fangs, losing and replacing three full sets as they progressed from hatchling through fledgling to full adulthood – but they never experienced this degree of pain. Not that he knew of.

The wailing hit an agonised pitch that hurt his ear canals. It was bad tonight. Really bad.

“I’ll take him,” the King sighed. “You’ve tried the chamomile?”

“Four times.”

“Get some rest, darling.”

“You need it more than I do, Azerim. We don’t need you getting sick.”

“I’m f – aargh. Bathroom! Sorry.”

What he was, was a Human male. Matched only in stubbornness by the male of the Dragonkind, as it turned out.

Rising so silently that his mate’s breathing did not change, Thundersong stretched up and popped his paw over the Queen’s balcony. He stage whispered, “I’ll take over.”

Azania sighed, “Would you? Thundersong, you’re a darling.”

Not too darling to quash an urge to murder his next dinner with extra prejudice. Dragons were not darlings! Well, maybe hatchlings, but only for a few weeks, at most.

Whatever! Who cared about that?

Emerging in the warm but rapidly cooling desert night air, his Rider passed over the screaming mite. Gently in paw, now. How did one calm this pain? Sirensong, his dam, had Sea Dragon healing songs she used for dealing with pain at a different level to herbs or tinctures – he did not fully understand the process, but apparently vibrations or resonance were supposed to restore balance in a Dragon’s body. Their healing school of Dragons, Humans and, more recently, Mermaids and Firehawks, up at the Vaylarn Archipelago, had been conducting research into the matter, but they were only at the beginning of understanding what could be done with their respective species.

Worth a try.

Azania leaned over the balcony and watched as he laid her son over his knuckles and began to make a gentle, rippling motion with his digits. As close to waves as he could make it. Then, he crooned quietly over the lad, trying to find the right tones or rhythm for soothing. After a few minutes, his Sea Dragon luminance spread about the courtyard with increasing strength. Something was working; some instinctual magic he barely understood.

The little curly head drooped upon his knuckles. Farinz yawned widely, the squalling diminishing to a more bearable note. He yawned again.

His Rider’s eyes widened.

A minute later, a new kind of magic lay upon his scarred knuckles. A slumbering child. Pain erased. Innocence restored. Thundersong peered at the lad, suspicious of a sort of squidgy warmth in his Dragon hearts, which had just acquainted itself with his perception. Grrr. What was this?

A rash of incipient darlingness? Oh no!

Azania said, “A Dragon’s touch, eh?” He gave her a toothy grin; the sort that could never frighten this black Queen. She grinned right back, and added, “Very well. I am impressed. Your draconic might spans the very width and height of Solixambria, clearly.”

“Now you’re just tugging my wings.”

“Would I?”

That kind of cheek deserved a verbal swatting. He purred, “So, Azania, which pair of trousers are you packing for our trip south?”

“Uh … my normal ones?”

“Are they tight enough?”

“Dragon, what are you – you’re being rude, for certain, but I’m not quite sure why.” She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. “I’m so tired. Sorry.”

“I’d advise tight, but not too tight, if you know what I mean?”

Her scowl advised him to get to the point. Yesterday.

“Because if, according to the Unicorns, destiny does indeed beckon, you will want your husband both to be drooling in anticipation but also, able to remove the garment expeditiously when the opportune –”

“Dragon! You … you shameless beast!”

“I am merely advocating for your interests, my precious Rider.” She huffed and folded her arms. “As an additional stratagem, you could pack the flame-orange, silky whatever-you-call-it. He really fancies that one.”

She blushed heatedly. “Dragon, I’m warning you … how do you – do you males even talk about these things?”

“No need. I’ve ear canals. In case you were wondering, he really likes it.”

Her mouth opened and closed without being able to produce a single sound. For Azania, a rare occasion. Although, the realisation did cross his mind that another thing he knew about her was that payback would surely be in the offing. His best friend had a wicked streak second to none.

Showing her a gleaming kingdom’s worth of fangs, he purred, “Personally, I’d blame the Unicorns for your forthcoming marital capers.”

Chapter 4: Ready to Float

ODDLY ENOUGH, LIGHTWEIGHT BALSA wood was in reasonable supply in N’ginta Citadel, given that the city stood in the middle of a treeless desert. The buoyant, easily carved wood had been imported in considerable quantities over the years from the southern Gemwoods, where it grew rapidly and in profusion and was a staple of the light, airy screens the desert people loved so much. Each screen was painstakingly hand-carved over the course of seasons, or even years, by teams of artisans.

Thundersong feared King N’chala would demand that all the gorgeous woodcarvings be turned over to the cause. Not so much. He simply claimed every scrap of stock any woodcarver had. In the entire kingdom. Kings and despots had much in common. Power upon command. Thankfully, after his father King N’gala N’gala’s untimely death, N’chala had turned out to be a monarch in the benevolent vein. He compensated his people handsomely for their enforced largesse.

The left paw taketh swiftly, the right returneth with generosity.

A thought to warm every chamber of a Dragon’s five hearts, each more cunning than the last.

That morning, following his nighttime babysitting duties, Thundersong discovered that the desert way of inviting a Mermaid for breakfast was to set up a golden bathtub – an antique royal bathtub once frequented by a certain mischievous former Princess of the realm, he understood – beside the family breakfast table. Zurianne lounged within. While Gazdonl acted about as comfortable as a deer dangling between a Dragon’s fangs, his fishy fiancée appeared radiant. She leaned upon the porcelain rim and made limpid eyes at her young swain as he selected honeyed treats for her from the offerings on the table. Both appeared wholly recovered from their ordeal.

Youngsters. Thundersong made a mental note to swat them again to ensure no more crazy ideas leaped into their underdeveloped minds.

He yawned broadly and snuggled his left flank closer to Aria. Busy night babysitting.

A nip at his right shoulder woke him up from a pleasant daydream. Aria?

Aye? I’m over here, his mate purred.

Uh … oooh, that’s Firri. Fiery, um, greetings.

The Façade Dragoness smiled at him. Fiery greetings, Thundersong.

Aria peeled her lips back from her fangs. Uh-oh. Neither his most awake nor his finest moment. Epic clanger.

He boomed, “So … the aquifer? How far have you explored?”

The Cobalt Dragoness settled against his flank, purring in a ‘this is my mate’ sort of undertone most Dragonesses understood perfectly. Azania certainly did not miss the interplay. While Firri’s culture included a kind of harem arrangement, with many females flocking to a single male – an enforced culture, so to speak, given the physical realities of their past situation on that volcano – Aria’s most certainly did not. An extremely sharp talon winking in the corner of his vision underscored the point.

Firri either did not notice, or did not care to. He suspected the latter, for the male was supposed to be the strong protector, as far as she was concerned. Being snuggled up to was right there in the job description.

N’chala said, “Aria? Report, please.”

Aria said, “About three weeks ago, I took a cohort of the King’s Engineers into the aquifer. We explored about thirty miles upstream and had to portage three times around rapids before reaching the point where the river splits, one branch appearing to veer off toward the southeast, while the other appears to flow from the southwest. The current from the southeast was noticeably cooler and less strong. In addition, the southwest branch appeared to become much narrower, and the roof soon lowered to the water level. We observed and scented signs of animal activity there; claw marks on rocks and such. The other branch – we found rapids beginning about half a mile from the split. I tried to explore further, but the way became dangerous and I … I experienced some trouble with my old neck injury.”

Thundersong purred a reassuring bass note. “I am sorry.”

“Aye.” Her shame burned like acid upon his senses.

King N’chala said, “It seemed the wisest course of action, at the time, not to continue the exploration. Thank you, Aria. Now – with respect – I believe we have a stronger team. We have capable warriors –” he nodded again at her, clearly treading protocol with care “– and a Mermaid and a Sea Dragon who both enjoy an affinity with water. So, to help with logistics, I have recruited an old rogue, I mean, friend –”

“Do I hear my name being taken in vain?” called a familiar voice.

“Tarangis!” Thundersong boomed.

“Tarangis Lionbaiter,” Azania grinned, leaping to her feet. “Join us, o rogue-in-chief.”

He wheeled in, his wheelchair slipping a touch on the highly-polished marble as he manoeuvred toward the table. Azania stepped around to help, but Thundersong beat her to the punch with a long reach of his tail. A deft prod controlled the motion and slid Tarangis smoothly into a place which must have been left open for him. He clicked his handbrake and leaned forward upon his seat.

“Delighted to see rogues old and new gathering in the Citadel,” he smiled urbanely. “Trouble in the air? Do I detect a whiff of swashbuckling adventure? Is that – I say, young lady, what … I mean, who may you be? Excuse my discourteous greeting.”

Azania introduced the trio deftly – Gazdonl, Zurianne and Firri. Thundersong had to wonder if they might recruit another Dragon or Dragoness for that team. Some of the Façade Dragons had formed new liaisons following their enforced evacuation from the volcano, but not many. It remained an issue high on his and Azania’s private list.

Matchmaking again, my friend? his Rider teased privately.

Always. I wish them long lives and happiness, and Aria would certainly be happier if Firri found herself a mate. She’s a little … friendly.

Snuggly extrovert, eh?

Quite! he snorted. You have to watch those snuggly extroverts, I’ve always said.

“How’s Tazshuria?” Azerim asked meantime. “Out visiting the eastern citadels, I hear?”

“Excellent!” Tarangis smiled, accepting a few offerings from a silver platter of nibbles presented by a servant. “Thank you. Courtesy of much violent arm-twisting, wicked shenanigans and sundry threats of dungeons and dry bread crusts for the rest of my miserable life –” Azania gave an innocent ‘who, me?’ shrug “– I find myself content in both marriage and occupation. Not too long ago, I should never have imagined such a situation and, out of the fulness of my heart, Thundersong and Azania, I thank you both. So, my new friends,” he nodded toward the young Dragon-Rider-Mermaid team, “I hope you know what kind of trouble you’ve landed yourselves in with your new employer?”

Gazdonl grinned nervously. “I could not possibly comment.”

“What a wise young man,” Tarangis snickered.

Thundersong said, “We had him bearding pirates and committing acts of arson within the first week. A most promising recruit – well, hardly a fresh recruit anymore. Don’t tell them I said so, but he, Firri and Zurianne make a first-rate team.”

“Encouragement in a leader is a fine thing,” the Lionbaiter opined.

“I prefer the swat-bellow-and-toss-them-into-the-deepest-ocean method myself,” Thundersong demurred. “Azania has taught me well.”

She coughed into a glass of pomegranate juice. “Excuse me! You try stopping a Dragon who’s discovered his fires for the first time. He can’t tiptoe past a twig without setting it on fire.”

“Burned down half of Chakkix Camp that one time, as I recall,” Tarangis said.

“Ooh, a story?” Zurianne grinned.

“Plenty of those about, if you ask nicely,” said the Lionbaiter, giving the Mermaid a broad wink that had Gazdonl’s brows lowering into a scowl. “Now, tell me about this Terror threat in the East and your plan to swim beneath the desert? How are you arranging to get the Unicorns down into the aquifer, may I ask? Drop them in from a height and hope they swim well?”

Everyone looked sheepishly at everyone else.

Azania raised her goblet. “Welcome to the team, Tarangis!”

* * * *

Tarangis was a compulsive organiser. Team him up with Azania and Azerim, put the resources of a whole kingdom at their devious fingertips and a Dragon knew when to remove himself from the vicinity to allow the resulting whirlwind to create maximal mayhem.

He and Aria flitted down to the Pumphouse, the house that backed onto the Palace grounds – only, it was over the back wall and down a vertical cliff that hid the once-secret entrance to the aquifer that provided ample water even for a desert citadel. He greeted their old acquaintance Tanzahri, whose house had become famous, following the discovery of the access off the flat rooftop. The doorway stood open. A huge new winch was being installed up top to allow the equines to be lowered down, Thundersong knew. Tarangis had fifty builders down below working on a pier to dock their rafts.

He gripped the old woman’s hand delicately. “I trust you are well, Tanzahri, and not too bothered by all the commotion?”

“Oh, it’s been quite exciting for an old lady,” she said.

“Not too busy?”

She reached out to nudge his paw fondly. “Old people will tell you that all they want is a bit of peace and quiet, but that can also be lonely. I’ll be glad when you aren’t shaking my rooftop anymore, but I’ll also miss all the bustle and fun. Now, where’s Aria? Just the sweetest little voice, she has.”

Thundersong blinked.

“Greetings again, Tanzahri,” his mate said, so moderately that he blinked again. What had just become of the deadly warrior he knew?

“Aria. I won’t bother you today, as I hear you’re busy, but when you come back, I would love one of those chargrilled fish you made me last time. Quite delicious.”

“I’ll bring you one.” Her paw clasped the blind old lady’s shoulder briefly. “As long as you tell my Thundersong the secret of the spice blend you showed me. He’s a talented cook.”

“Ah, my own grandmother taught me that recipe,” she smiled. “Old King D’arbla – that’s N’chala’s great-grandfather on his paternal side – used to raise fish in one of the old storage cisterns as a delicacy for the royal table. The tradition didn’t last too long after he passed on, but they do say that some of the water in the city still smells a little fishy, if you follow my meaning. Thundersong, I’d have to swear you to absolute secrecy, of course.”

“Honour of a Dragon,” he promised gravely.

“Huh. Don’t be too honourable,” she said. “Spice is also good for relationships, applied in suitable variety with an astute paw.”

With this sage advice ringing in his ear canals, Thundersong made sure to complain loudly about how he had to squeeze his stalwart shoulders into the entryway. A vertical drop of hundreds of feet never bothered any Dragon, but a cunning pinch about his hindquarters made him jerk so hard he clobbered his head on the stone walls.

Ouch.

Mmm, I like spicy, Aria purred from behind him, and a paw tugged at his tail.

Thundersong’s paws clenched inadvertently at her brazen flirtation, dropping him suddenly into space as the pipe widened. He and Aria grappled playfully as they fell toward the water, before he snapped out his wings and eased into a landing several tens of feet aside from where the King’s Engineers had begun to lay out pilings for a pier. A misjudgement of five feet or so caused him to smack down heavily. Aria could fly like a bat. Him … not his gift. Thundersong waded across to help several men stacking balsa logs on the black sand shore.

One of the men called, “It’s deep, isn’t it?”

“About twenty to twenty-five feet in this section,” he noted.

“The flow is remarkably smooth and even,” Aria agreed. “S’nati and I were discussing it last week – Engineer S’nati, this is my mate, Thundersong.”

They shook hand and paw.

“We’ve worked together before – on the gates, as I recall,” said the man. “Aye, if my desert bones told no lies, I’d say that the rock has not been chiselled, but actually cut in long sections using an extremely hot and narrowly focussed stream of fire – perhaps fire akin to your white Sea Dragon fire, Thundersong?”

“Hot enough to cut through solid rock?” he growled thoughtfully. “Not sure I could manage that.”

The man’s grin flashed briefly. “You are a walking furnace.”

“Indeed I am.”

Huh. A most pleasing compliment, not lacking for accuracy. This Engineer clearly knew Dragon culture.

Another man called, “What we could use help with is driving in these pilings, Thundersong. You’d speed up our work tenfold if you could hammer them in for us.”

“Excellent idea,” he boomed, flexing his muscles to impress Aria. She pretended coy disinterest, but he was quite sure her eye fires brightened upon him.

That, or his ego had just brightened up the entire cavern. Aye, his glow was back.

This is your fault, he hissed.

I’ll gladly take the blame for the way you brighten my life, purred the warrior, not exactly helping matters. How may I distract you further, Thundersong?

Just like that.

As it turned out, her presence was distraction enough to make him flatten his own primary opposing talon on his first blow. Thundersong hopped about cursing up a storm and shaking out his paw. After this unfortunate incident, with the mind suitably focussed by throbbing pain, not to mention a certain female’s fiery chuckling at his antics, he hammered up a better storm and, by the time Tarangis turned up in a sling to inspect the works, the Engineers had already secured the crossbeams and had begun work on the decking.

Not too shabby.

Aria tweaked his wingtip and told him that she only fancied him for his brawn.

Born with brawn, he growled, hulking over her.

Half a second later, she had wound herself around his foreleg and applied a nasty, painful talon-lock to his right forepaw. Gnarr! Far too good for him.

“Submit?” she challenged. He tapped her three times in the prescribed manner, in a very unprescribed spot upon her haunches. Aria released the lock with a cough of fire. “Thundersong!”

Fifty-fang grin. “If you will waggle your haunches in my face, Dragoness, am I not supposed to be overcome by appreciation?”

“Of my warrior skills, aye!”

“Those are peerless, as are your –” he paused to allow her to infer his meaning without an uncouth word being spoken “– and, of course, when we’re training and wrestling, I never think anything inappropriate, I assure you. Word of a Dragon.”

Her jaws clacked sharply beside his muzzle. “You white fiend!”

“Better a fiend of a friend than a friend to a fiend,” he chuckled, sharing a fond nuzzle with her.

Gnarr. Not quite as amusing a wordplay as he had intended, but his mate flicked her butterfly wings beneath his neck in a form that, he had learned in the Vaylarn Archipelago, signified draconic approval. He puffed out his chest and undertook a modest few seconds of additional posing. Check that the muscles were still muscles and all that. Then, he quickly pretended he was just stretching his back.

Together, they turned their attention to Tarangis and asked what help he required next.

Chapter 5: Swimming Lessons

ONE WEEK AND ONE day later, on a blistering late desert afternoon, Princess Inzashu-N’shula flew in to N’ginta Citadel in the company of one Blackguard the Crusher, a wily old rogue of coal-touched crimson colouration who was reputed to have an eye for ladies of a scaly persuasion. In his youth, Blackguard had been a notorious brawler in a secret Tamarine Dragon gladiatorial society which had been disbanded long before Thundersong ever cracked the eggshell, largely because of the kind of damage scribed all over his battered, slashed, bitten and scarred body. He carried himself with raffish dignity, as if purposely daring any creature not to admire him. He lifted Inza down with suitable gravitas and bowed stiffly to Queen Azania – stiffly because of the state of his neck vertebrae, a fact whispered among the Clans but never openly admitted on pain of receiving a crushing.

“Good flight, Blackguard?” Azania greeted him, offering a respectful bow of her own.

“All quiet, save for a chattering chaffinch upon my back,” he growled, all basso masculinity. “Delightful girl. Kept me awake all the long leagues.”

The Princess patted his knee. “Give it a rest, you scoundrel – oops!” She stumbled over his talon, which might just have twitched into her way at the last second.

“Mind your step, harrggh-harrgh-HARRGH!”

Despite that his massive chortling nearly blew her over, Inza merely smiled and threw her arms about Azania’s neck. “Sister! How well you look.”

“Inza! Haven’t you stopped growing yet?” Azania grinned, tucking herself beneath her sister’s chin.

“I believe it’s you who has shrunk in the wash.”

“Yowch! Pleased to see you, too.”

As he thumped off, Blackguard muttered – deliberately loud enough to be overheard, of course, “Right shame that walking ingot doesn’t have a husband yet. Someone ought to do something about that. Arrrrgggg-zania!”

Fake growl-to-cough and all.

Inzashu blushed and made a helpless shrugging motion.

Azania giggled merrily and called back over her shoulder, “I do love that old lout. Remind me to alert the Watch Dragons, Thundersong!”

“Sires, lock away your Dragonesses!” he boomed.

Blackguard eyed the sky as if waiting for a lightning strike to illuminate his next move. Hurrggh-harrr-harrr … what mischief shall I cause first? First, a meal! Appetite in keeping with the size of him.

Thundersong greeted Inzashu-N’shula with a fond paw hug. The briefest touch of her mind reminded him of stepping gingerly about a steel trap. Formidable as ever. A young teenager when they had first met, the passage of years had carved some of what Humans called puppy fat off her frame, leaving a willowy young woman who stood a head-and-a-bit taller than Azania and who carried herself – oddly, it struck him in this instant – in a manner similar to Blackguard. His emotional senses prickled sharply. Insight. Understanding and empathy. Could the inner scars delivered by her powerful and now-deceased mother, Nahritu-N’shula the Psyromantic Mage, be to blame?

This girl needed to learn to smile. Laugh at life.

Not easy for her.

“So, we’re all ready to go; we were just waiting for you,” Azania chattered meantime, taking her sister’s hand to lead her inside the Palace. “Fear not, you are allowed one evening’s pampering and rest before I put you to work, young lady.”

“Ooh, pampering? Just what I longed for,” Inza chuckled drily.

Thundersong narrowed his eyes behind her back. Something’s not right with your sister, Azania.

I … aye, you’re right. Thank you, Dragon. Aloud, Azania said, “Queen’s orders, my dear little sibling, and there’s nothing you can do about it, save to offer up your grimy fingernails and scruffy hair for the necessary remedial activities. Come along now.” She whistled cheekily. “There’s a good girl.”

Only Thundersong could have smelled the acrid scent of fury and self-loathing that burst up into Inzashu’s craw at the perceived affront, before a second thought clearly interrupted: ‘But that’s my sister. She’s just being silly. She doesn’t know – or does she?’

Dragon?

Inzashu, he replied mentally, maintaining the privacy of her communication. We will speak later when Azania’s wishes have been satisfied. It’s her way of showing that she loves you, is all.

I … I know.

Unexpected vulnerability. Alert to her feelings, which surged like the fires of a Dragon’s belly, he responded gently, Put away the world’s woes for a time, Inzashu. That’s not an order, that’s the request of a friend who knows you as few do.

The girl said, “Is Thundersong still such a pest?”

“Not even a question,” Azania agreed. “Run along now and play with your friends, Thundersong.”

“Gnarr!”

There came the payback.

* * * *

In the end, he did not get to speak with her that night. Inzashu dropped off to sleep in the bathtub and had to be rescued and put to bed by Azania, who always carried a burden of guilt for her younger half-sister. Family histories could be … well, complicated. Oftentimes painful. His own egg had been stolen from his rightful dam before he had even cracked the eggshell. For so many years he had been a pariah amongst his Clan and even in his own lair, misunderstood and miserable.

Who could have imagined that one semi-bungled kidnapping of a desert-born Princess would have led to what he enjoyed today?

Thundersong wandered down to the Dragon Quarters, a repurposed warehouse complex which, nowadays, often housed visiting Dragons. Here he found Blackguard holding in the palm of his paw an audience of perhaps fifteen or sixteen Dragons as he recounted stories about his gladiator days. Amongst them were a certain Isles Dragoness, who had a slow, saucy wink for her hulking mate, and Firri, who, along with Sentrice crouching beside her, looked absolutely overawed by this veteran Crusher and hung upon his every word.

Good times.

Even when the talk turned serious as Blackguard related what they knew of the Terror Dragons’ reappearance and these new enemies, he did so with gruff good humour. Thundersong wondered if the other Dragon’s reputation might not be a touch misunderstood. He had always thought of Crusher Clan males as rather … simple beasts. A demeaning judgement, but so he had been taught and so too was the way of prejudice. One could be blind to prejudices until they sat up straight and paw-slapped a Dragon about the ear canals.

Blackguard by name, blackguard by nature. The scars reinforced the label. All that bluster and bravado, all that posturing and the voice and the show – something else lived inside, did it not? Something softer; perhaps a beast on the lookout for lair and love?

Blergh. Mawkish, maudlin thoughts!

Had no Dragonesses ever seen beneath the scarred exterior? Did Blackguard even desire such a liaison?

What a slap in the muzzle for his own deeply-held conviction that every soul deserved love. Well, most souls. He could name a few notable exceptions, like that Prince Floric who had tried to force Azania into marriage – gnarr! He deserved all the love of a stinking dungeon full of rats and lice!

Thundersong, what ails you? Aria’s query broke into his fiery thoughts.

Headshake. Everyone gazed at him? For half a second, he was that awkward fledgling in the roost, the largest creature yet the one who, nonetheless, wanted nothing more than to remain unnoticed. He wrestled that memory into the past and snarled at it to stay put.

Nodding cordially to either side, he said, I apologise. T’was an ill memory of an old foe.

The Crusher Dragon grinned toothily at him. Sounds like a fine story! Do take the floor, Thundersong. My throat grows raspy with overuse. He settled beside Firri, keeping a respectful foot or so between them as he wriggled into position. Room for a little one?

The young Dragoness almost fainted. Her chameleon-like colours rippled and settled as restively as the flickering of her pulse. This Dragon culture must be so different for her, yet Firri was doing well, he and Azania had concluded. The most adventurous of her kind by far, Firri had already flown many a mile to various parts of Solixambria with her Riders, trained relentlessly at combat skills and worked hard on her language skills and knowledge. Despite her diminutive size, she was not to be underestimated.

Much like his own Rider.

Thundersong said, If you will allow me one request, Blackguard the Crusher? The other Dragon nodded. May I invite you to travel with us tomorrow?

Blackguard could not disguise his surprise. To Skartun? I am long in the fang and no youngling to be considering such an adventure.

Long in the fang you may be, but you are longer still in wisdom, Thundersong replied. Directness of speech was a Tamarine Dragon custom. This statement emerged as blunt as the backside of a cart. The Skartunese are great warriors. I could remind you of how they captured and oppressed numbers of your Clan in order to rouse the fires of undoubted honour, but that is not my purpose. I sense in my Dragon hearts that on this long journey to the south, we shall have need of your skills, cunning and acumen, Blackguard.

They measured the tenor of one another’s fires.

I will sleep on your proposal, said Blackguard, with a slow dip of his muzzle, but expect to find my shoulder beside yours in the morn. Your eye sees much, Thundersong. It sees much indeed.

The white Dragon could not help but shiver at the commendation. What did this portend?

* * * *

Mornings at N’ginta Citadel dawned fair, with a balmy promise of the day’s heat as Taramis and Ignis cast their twin eyes across this stark, beautiful land. From his vantage point atop the Palace building, the huge white Dragon watched the suns-shine illuminating the rooftops of this city where so much blood had been spilled. With Ignis rising bold and strong and Taramis after a few minutes disappearing behind its vast bulk, that single baleful sun eye cast its rubescent gleam across the whitewashed walls and ramparts of the city. While the desert’s vastness was a body blow of starkness, its colouration was subtlety itself, changing by the second, defying the eye of the artist to ever capture its inveigling variations.

Aria stirred beside his flank. After a moment, she nuzzled the curve of his throat and purred, You do love your suns-risings, don’t you, my flame heart?

I do. They’re very – his wingtip sneaked up to chuck her beneath the chin – pretty.

You charmer! the Isles warrior gurgled in surprise.

Nothing like a romantic ambush of a morn. For the sake of a longer life under the twin suns, however, he neglected to comment upon said ambush.

Instead, Thundersong purred, Indeed, I find beauty most inspiring. Now, to move from inspiring to conspiring – was it acceptable to invite Blackguard to accompany us?

I was taken aback at first by your boldness, but I trust your judgement – her tail flicked his flank pertly – and don’t you stiffen up like that! Why the old Blitz? Why now?

How well she knew him. I … I do not understand myself, he admitted slowly. Something of his situation has dredged up feelings about my sire and dam’s scheme to kidnap my egg, to pass me off as a creature I was not. How could they ever have expected the subterfuge to remain undiscovered? My size and strength, my affinity for artistic pursuits – despite the closeness of Clan and kin, much of my hatchling and fledgling experience was deeply lonely. I may misjudge the tenor of his fires, but I sense a deep loneliness inside Blackguard. A smidgen of pity – he illustrated with his talons – swiftly moved to a deeper sense, a … Sea Dragon sense, for want of a better word. They have a word for it; wait, it’ll come to me …

≈Firooliamoliol,≈ his mate fluted.

What? You – by my wings! You’re learning Sea Dragon speech?

As Aria glanced coyly up at him, his fires swelled with undeniable five-hearts passion. His mate looked at no other creature like that. On the other paw, even the toughest, brashest fire breathers could prove combustible when their mates were so drop-dead gorgeous.

Make his new name Thundertiddler the Fire Dribbler. It even rhymed.

I do not know what the phrase means, said she, but a warrior’s skills lie not solely in controlling the clash of blade, fang, claw and wing strike. She studies all aspects of her arts, such as the philosophy and poetry of battle or the manufacture of weapons, to name but a couple of examples. I learned recently – from Master Juggernaut – a new art; that of studying the one I adore. He marked it as essential to my formation as a complete warrior.

Well! White fires suffused his mind with glorious colours, uncontainable. For the longest time, he had no means or mode of speech, for she had quite stolen his capacity.

Perhaps perceiving the strength of his white Sea Dragon glow, Aria purred contentedly against his flank.

Warrior ambush in return. Perfection.

When they met Azania and Azerim for a swift early breakfast about half an hour later, his Rider took one glance at him and smirked, “I say, you do glow up beautifully of a morn, Thundersong.”

He flexed unashamedly. “I am feeling rather buff, as you can see. Gnarr!”

Even Azerim guffawed heartily at the double pun.

With a whiff of adventuring in the air, however, no-one lingered long over the victuals. Things to do! Children to kiss and cuddle, Unicorns to winch down to the river, bags to pack, Kings to grab whirlwind kisses from, talons to sharpen and fangs to clean, plus all the last-minute preparations.

This Dragon did not mind a kerfuffle, but he was pleased when King N’chala, clearly caught up in the excitement, but less certain on the nautical details, yelled to send them off, “Heave to, thou pustulent sons o’ brigands!”

“Away, away,” Thundersong growled.

No point in sticking around all day, even if the local King ordered it by accident.

He ran the tallies through his mind. Two hundred and sixty-two Unicorns, all told. A cohort of King Azerim’s Rangers, an even one hundred strong. Three Engineers. Twenty Desert Askaris, bowmen who could allegedly hit a hair at fifty paces and who were also famed for their tracking abilities. Sundry extra men and women to take care of logistics. The Dragons numbered Thundersong, Firri, five Crusher Clan heavyweights, including Blackguard, and Aria at the head of twenty warrior Dragonesses of her warband, the elite pick of an already elite crew. Professionals. One Mermaid, deadly trident in hand. N’chala’s Scouts had recovered her preferred weapon from the deep desert after a three-day search.

He shook his shoulders to loosen up. In other news, that canny Crusher knew how to respect the snappish Isles warrior Dragonesses – if one judged the true track of his wingtips, the old rogue knew exactly where the line was and appeared keen to tread as close to it as possible. Not for him the typical Tamarine condescension toward females. Perhaps a potential liaison there?

He would search it out.

Thundersong, the matchmaker? Blergh. Not today.

A blonde Mermaid? What? His neck popped sharply as he swung about, nearly muzzle-slapping an unwary Ranger into the water.

He stared … “Chanize!”

She startled at the booming behind her. “Thundersong!”

“When did you get in? And when did you become a Mermaid Rider?”

Zurianne’s sleek sapphire head popped up beside her with an irked huff of bubbles and air. Thundersong read her emotions like an open scroll. Rider? Gnarr! Oh, but Azania was a Dragon Rider and so was she. Less on the gnarr. Perhaps her reaction could be construed as offensive? Dragon Riding was an honourable profession nowadays. No-gnarr … harr-harr-harrggh!

Wiping back a stray lock of hair, the Mermaid said, “Chanize arrived about an hour ago. I was just demonstrating the correct Mer swimming posture and tail movement. She has an interesting medical case she was working with up at the Archipelago – Tanzigon, who has a congenital tailfin deformity on his left side. They’re trying to fashion a prosthetic –”

“So far, without success,” Chanize put in.

“Hard at work already?” Sankir Farizam called over from the next raft. “That’s my wife.”

“I just thought if I could feel the movement, I’d have a better idea of what we were trying to achieve, Farizam.”

Thundersong peered thoughtfully at the young woman. Feeling movement? Something about her movement, indeed her person, struck him as different. Must be. Rounder in the cheek? Fuller than he recalled in the bosom for certain. Human males tended to regard such details as attractive, he understood, just as the draconic eye brightened upon sleek scales or a muscular haunch. The celebration of palpitating bosoms in Human literature was a great mystery to a Dragon scholar, but this anatomical feature did indeed exert undeniable power, as evidenced by the interaction between Farizam and his wife just now. His gaze dipped to the wet garments plastered upon her torso; upon noticing his regard, her cheeks pinked up and – oh!

Now, he believed this was also a matter of certain delicacy. Catching the Sankir’s eye, he gestured toward his belly.

Big frown.

Bigger, his paws gestured. Rounder?

Frown, frown … gasp! He gaped at his wife. “Chanize …”

The man sounded terrible.

“Farizam? What’s the matter? Fari – oh! What are you doing?”

Next anyone knew, he had leaped into the water! Chanize was wet already. Now she was wetter than wet. And never more surprised. “Farizam?” The conversation went something like smooch, smooch, smooch, tummy fondle and a muffled complaint about her knowing she’d grown a bit fatter and what did he … “Farizam! Oh, Farizam … could it be?”

“Butterflies?” he whispered.

“And here I thought I only had persistent indigestion!” she gurgled, stroking her little rounded belly as if wondering how, under the twin suns, this could have happened. “Azania, you’ve had experience …”

No question. The Queen dived in to join the party. As it turned out, the last thing a Human healer paid attention to was her own body.

He rubbed his paws together in delight. Silly Humans!

Forty-five lightweight balsa rafts moved off into the gentle current, paddled by the Rangers and Scouts, and streamlined by a touch of Unicorn magic. More than a few of the herd pranced uneasily in reaction to the unfamiliar floating motion, but the Mysterious Mare had a sharp whinny for them – a firm ‘settle down’ in any language one cared to name. Zurianne sped lithely through the water, moving into the lead to help scout the river ahead, more a precaution than a need, at this point. Thundersong dipped his own muzzle into the flow to taste, smell and sense its ways. Intriguing. A hint of something … unfamiliar? A quick sonic pulse ahead yielded nothing but a startled Mermaid – angry to be so startled – and no other intelligence of value.

He apologised to Zurianne, scented the air one more time and noticed his first issue of the day. Given their oceanside upbringing at Wave Dragonhome, the Isles Dragonesses were decent swimmers one and all. Not perfect, but slipstreamed and confident. Firri was also excellent, but lacked for stamina on the long haul. As for the Crushers? They first tried to fly, but the close quarters were just a pawful of feet too narrow for comfortable flying, as he himself had deduced. Forced to swim, therefore, they displayed a typical Crusher attitude to the matter – crush the water! Bully it! Bash the wings and smash the paws and force it into submission!

Indeed. Elegance not personified.

Did he expect a Crusher to deliver anything but crushing results?

Thundersong slipped back along the flow to join his flailing, thrashing brethren. Brothers. A touch of instruction in how to swim –

WE CAN SWIM!

Five snarls for the price of one. Thundersong showed a few fangs above the surface and said, For ten hours a day?

We’ll manage, youngling, Blackguard growled.

You swim like a half-fried fish flopping about in a saucepan, he returned politely. Crashing disapproval! When the waves subsided, but less so the quarrelsome tempers, he added, Take it from a part Sea Dragon, movement through water is not to be treated like a combat sport. It is a soothing element, much to be caressed and cajoled, much like a Dragoness in its guileful –

Cragfist the Crusher, a cantankerous Green, snarled, What? I’d just seize her about the neck, quick bop on the head and after that, I’d drag her to my lair and –

Twenty-one Isles Dragonesses whirled, murder aglint in their eyes. GNARR!!

Only Firri gave an impressed purr.

Aria elbowed her in the flank. No! Ignore the prehistoric arrogance!

Thundersong said, So, Cragfist, would you prefer my instruction, or shall I assign you a few of these Isles Dragonesses to teach you how it’s done? The other male swallowed audibly. I believe their methods major on drowning and bloodletting …

I’ll … well, you are a Sea Dragon after all, he blustered.

Flicking the talons of her right forepaw out of their sheaths, Aria smiled at him, I’m ready to give you a few pointers.

Cragfist rasped, I am neither one for your gentle Sea Dragon ways, nor for spicy talk with any Dragoness who already has a mate! Come. I vowed to serve. This is no way for wing brothers to wing together. If my leader says I must learn, then I will learn according to his wishes. I am a Crusher! We always better ourselves.

Aye. Count me in with these lessons, Gnarly the Crusher, a fire-red male Dragon, added. I shall swim like the slipperiest fish!

Be sure not to sink like one, Blackguard chortled, punching Gnarly upon the shoulder.

He received a thumping clout in return. A perfect example of male Tamarine Dragon bravado, supposedly deflecting everyone’s attention from an embarrassing situation.

Yet Thundersong was not unaware of the nuances of Cragfist’s speech; how he placed himself under a male Dragon’s leadership rather than Aria’s. Cunning. Very well, let that be the chain of command. With a flicker of her incomparable eyes, his mate appeared to acknowledge the same. Let it never be said too loudly for fear of losing a body part or two, but Aria often displayed a wiliness characteristic of her dam. She knew not to push the Crusher too far. Not this time.

How best to handle the teaching?

He grinned toothily across at the Crushers. Aping his best piratical accent, he boomed, Alright then, my sweet, cooing turtledoves! Call yourselves beasts of scale and fang, do you? Call yourselves warriors? You look more like a bunch of gormless jellyfish to me! Time to learn to swim like real Dragons!

Perfect. Now he had five seasoned Crusher warriors chortling like hatchlings as he taught them a proper wing stroke, efficient breathing patterns and how best to streamline their blocky bodies. Capable students, even. Especially when females might be watching.

Dragons. Predictable as the suns’ rising.

Chapter 6: Rising Waters

WITH THE BENEFIT OF a previous expedition’s experience and detailed mapping to work from, the rafts made good speed up to the first set of rapids, about twelve miles south of N’ginta Citadel. This was a relatively light test, where it appeared that subsidence in the riverbed, followed by inward rockfall from the sides and tunnel roof at four points, had disturbed the hitherto smooth and unblemished flow. Two sections could be bypassed by Unicorns on hoof, while the third required a careful swim for a mere hundred feet or so to circumvent the water boiling and frothing over toward the eastern side. The Humans, Dragons and Unicorns cooperated to pull the rafts through using their mooring cables.

By the time the Unicorns gathered again, the Engineers were debating how best to string up safety cables to help the hoofed ones navigate the final swim, a swift but dangerous passage through a frothing pit of water backed by a wide area of rolling waves. The Crushers came up with the counterintuitive idea of simply piling five big Dragon bodies diagonally across the flow above the churning water pit and, to everyone’s amusement and vocal admiration, this solved the problem with style.

Very practical. There could be no frothing rapid if no water flowed into that space.

“Crusher-style!” Blackguard boomed.

“Can I be an honorary Crusher?” Thundersong called, bracing his shoulder as the pile suddenly slid backward a foot or so under the water pressure.

“We’re not fussy!” Gnarly roared.

“Take any old riffraff,” Blackguard agreed.

“That really is ‘room for a little one,’ Firri,” Cragfist chortled, winking at her.

The Façade Dragoness knew enough of the Human language by now to catch the joke and, to a further round of guffaws, added her small body to the pile, fluting cheekily, “Did some call little one? Is gap here under Cragfist’s great belly?”

“Did you just call me fat?” he blustered.

“Big breakfast?” Firri grinned.

“At least three!” Gnarly put, his booming laughter echoing down the tunnel.

Meantime, the Unicorns stepped on through with barely need to wet a hoof. They performed a caper on the way up the rocks in honour of the Crushers. Thundersong’s eye brightened upon the proceedings. See? Who said equines and Dragons could not get along?

No need to eat one another in the name of race relations, he remarked aside to Azania.

Dragon! You are despicable, she said.

He licked his chops with a loud smacking sound. Gives a new meaning to getting a taste for one another’s cultures, right?

Yuck. She made a face. That does give me an excellent idea for Azerim’s next birthday, however. Thanks, Thundersong. You’re the best!

Naturally. What’s this idea?

He’s always wanted a personal foot-licker. Imagine what one could learn from the royal toe jam?

Ho-ho-haarrgh! Aye, and you could use Prince Floric’s flatulating to warm a whole castle during one of those chilly northern winters.

The Queen chuckled, Solving Solixambria’s most intractable problems as always, my Dragon?

Quite, quite. The world does have a way of getting its wings in a knot from time to time. Rather lucky to have a Thundersong and his royal fang-picker roaming the gloaming, right?

That said – she whipped out her talon dagger – you do have a piece of gristle stuck at the third-from-back fang. Hold still.

The Crushers and the Isles Dragonesses looked on in amazement as Azania demonstrated the art of Dragon dentistry, and Gnarly was heard to remark, in tones of vastly overblown mournfulness, how the practice of Human slavery really ought to be revived – in his prehistoric opinion.

Firri gasped in wide-eyed amazement, Keep slaves?

Returning Humans to abject servitude is all the talk amongst Dragons of discernment, Gnarly assured her. Nary a smile cracked his mustard-yellow maw as he uttered the falsehood with full assurance. We’re quite sure the Kingdoms will sell their unwanted youths to us Dragons, you see, and we’ll lock them in our lairs and force them to serve us fang and paw for the rest of their miserable lives.

Can’t be true! The Façade Dragoness fluttered her wings agitatedly. Thundersong, is real?

Absolutely, Cragfist butted in. The word you’re looking for is ‘minions.’ We have volunteer minions signing up all over the Kingdoms. Soon, we’ll have a minion army and we Dragons will be kings of all we survey!

No … no, it be some teasing?

Her gullibility was so endearing that the Crushers teased her all the way upriver to their stop for the night, a sandbank in a natural s-bend in the river. The Humans needed food. The Unicorns snacked judiciously on bales of hay and barrels of carrots and apples Tarangis Lionbaiter had prescribed as just the stuff for equine consumption. Zurianne hunted up a few freshwater flatfish, but their flesh proved to be wholly uninspiring. Serve them well-grilled and toss down the portions with a healthy swig of water, opined the Rangers, lamenting the lack of suitable spices, while the desert-born largely shuddered at the scent of grilled fish, and snacked on dried dates and their favourite crusty breads instead.

In the morning, the water level had risen about seven inches to lap over the end of Thundersong’s tail. He only realised because he dreamed about fighting Sea Serpents in that bloody, ocean-cleansing exercise around the Vaylarn Archipelago, which so far had been a resounding success. The shipping trade still needed protection and regular patrols cleaned up Sea Serpent eggs and younglings. Bigger Serpents regularly appeared to menace oceangoing vessels and Thundersong worried that the evidence pointed to active targeting of easier prey, such as smaller fishing vessels. His kin could not be everywhere at once.

Ahem. Away, distractions!

He glared at the water. Gave it a ruthless stir with his left fore-talon. Tail-slapped the surface for good measure as he heard his Rider approach.

Azania said smoothly, “Did a guppy spit at you?”

“Azania.”

“The tadpoles? I’ve heard they’re particularly vicious in this season. They hunt in great packs of at least a dozen of the little wrigglers.”

“Azania! The water –”

“My, my, it does look a great deal like water,” she slipped in, quick as a flash.

“Vexatious woman!”

“Am I?” She batted her eyelashes at him. That did not work on King Azerim; neither did it work on a Dragon. “I fear I probably was, in my misspent youth. Do you remember how severely I lectured you on the subject of hair? Black women’s hair care, to be precise?”

“Rather. A fascinating learning point,” said he.

Azania made a face at him. “Nice try on being supportive there. I was so young. So unsure of my place in the world, in Solixambria, of the matter of Dragon Riding; so unready to learn what freedom truly meant. I mean, on the one paw, it does strike me as wildly amusing that a large white Dragon should care to learn about such details from a black woman, but I … I set so much store in whether or not I wore my hair straight or natural, asymmetrical or braided – when, in reality, it was all about what others thought of me. That’s not freedom.”

He nodded as the fires of understanding flared in his mind. “You’re saying you were still bound by their perceptions and expectations? Even in the absence of such people?

“Aye,” she said quietly. “Let me put it another way … uh, well … aye. Freedom is not flying. It is the ability not to have to think about flying. To just do it. Freedom is to be able to take pride in fashioning or beautifying my hair in whichever way I feel is right, to not be worried about what others think and to wear it that way with confidence. I’ll always care about the opinions of those closest to me, of course, but … I’m not expressing myself well, am I?”

“No, no, you are,” he mused. “I believe you may have touched on what’s most important about expressing oneself. Yet also, we should learn to be those who receive the expression of others well, without judgement, moralising or trying to change their ways. When I consider what a long and woefully inaccurate list I harboured in my mind about what a Human Princess ought to be like and how she should behave, a Dragon can only shake his muzzle in shame. I loved learning about your hair, Azania. It is part of who you are. Even this clump of river weed you’re wearing here.”

Her slim hand flew up. “You’re – oh. Not joking. Aye, the hazards of curly hair. It acts like a net.”

“Planning to dip your head into the river and catch us breakfast?”

“No, you rotten tease. I also remember taking you to task about calling my hair unruly. Perhaps I came on a little strong in my desire to correct you?”

“Correction via the sledgehammer of offence?”

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s uncomfortably accurate.”

“What’s to fear of the passion of a strong woman?” he rumbled. “Maybe so. Maybe we judge all too easily on outward appearances, features and details and far too easily become offended by what turn out to be inconsequential differences. These pervasive manifestations of intolerance are weighty and not easily changed yet, in my hearts’ fires, I dare to hope you and I might have begun to make a difference under the suns, to challenge what is and to carve new possibilities into the future. Recall the fiery singlemindedness with which I pursued justice as I understood it?”

Azania chuckled lightly, “Fair point.”

“Despite your youthful passion and my blundering attempts to discover some alleged truth about these issues, we remain the very best of friends and that will never change.”

Her dark eyes softened upon him.

Gruffly, he said, “The water level has risen. That’s what’s bothering me.”

“You’re right; it has. Given the chance, even the flow of mighty rivers may carve out a new course. Yet if it were easy, it would have been done already.” She kicked at the lapping edge with her toe. “I’m grateful you tolerated my excesses.”

“A dreadful burden, let me be swift to assure you.”

“Dragon!”

Gnarr-harr-harr. He flicked her shoulder lightly with his talon. “So unspeakable, I refer glibly to it. If you dare to ingest my indigestible jest, make an appropriate gesture.”

She giggled merrily, “Ooh, now you’re just stirring my brain with your talons. It’s too early for wordplay on that level, my Dragon.”

With a fluid desert n’gandura-naa, perhaps the more appropriate in this place since it mimicked a heron’s supple genuflection over water, she honoured him. “My Dragon.”

He dipped his muzzle gravely in return. “My Queen.”

Perhaps people thought them strange.

Those were probably the same creatures who thought they knew all about what normal was and how things ought to be, who regarded all else as deviation and defect. The kind of people who had kindly informed Chanize that she should not expect to marry because she lacked for legs. Bitter socialites who snickered at a desert Princess who dared to wear her hair – o gasp, the horror – to showcase its natural, bouffant beauty. Thumping ignoramuses who claimed a Dragon dishonoured his heritage and his entire culture by carrying a Human – far worse, a black one – upon his back. What, did her face get burned in the desert? How well he remembered that comment, coming from a brown-skinned Skartunese warrior, to boot. Honestly. A huge fist applied to the cranium, driving him three feet deep into the desert sand with a splatter of crimson – ah, the firm paw of justice. Delivered with extra crunch.

Dragon, projecting …

Sorry, Azania. I’ll try to keep the bloodlust to a reasonable level.

Reasonable? You should introduce me to this Dragon.

Rare beast, I’ll admit. Rather shy and fond of disappearing … so?

Ooh, her eyebrows shot up, you’re getting really good at that chameleon effect. Even Firri’s impressed.

She’s a master, he admitted ruefully.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed Azerim stirring from his bedroll. His eyes measured the fit of his wife’s trousers from behind. Good man. Definitely had the right idea. In a moment, the King trudged over to join them and found a moment to perform a fingertip check, in addition, as he greeted her. Thundersong received a mental smack for smirking. He should try it on Aria. ‘Just checking the fit of your scales, my dearest fire heart.’ ‘Of course my scales fit – Thundersong!’

Gnee-hee-hee.

The next second, he nearly did leap out of his scales, for a cunning paw stroked his flank and Aria prowled up beside him with maximal intent. “Concerns?”

He purred, “Good morning, beautiful. Rising waters.”

“Beautiful rising waters?” Aria blinked, then peered at the river. “Oh. Sorry. Awake now. That’s interesting.”

Azerim said, “Good rains upstream somewhere, I’d wager. This sharp a rise will bear watching, but it might also work in our favour, smoothing out the flow in places. Faster but smoother, I mean. Plenty of height yet on the roof.”

“I wonder which branch the increase originates from?” Aria mused.

Gazdonl said, “Any reason not to proceed? Zurianne, could you check –” He spoke to the pert flip of her tail as she disappeared beneath the surface. He spluttered, “I’d swear she reads my mind sometimes. Quite scary.”

Azania chuckled, “What, the wilful exercise of feminine intuition or just that you are extremely obvious?”

The young Rider turned somewhat pinker around the gills. “Ma’am!”

“Thundersong, beat him over the head, would you?”

Gnarr!

“I apologise for ma’aming you!” he yelped. “Phew.”

“Good, because I haven’t turned seventy yet,” the Queen said tartly. “Are we agreed to proceed?”

Load up and move along was the consensus.

There followed a long day’s travel along the aquifer with only a few injuries to speak of – none too serious. One Unicorn slipped upon a wet rock and sprained their upper foreleg joint, Gnarly broke a talon and swaggered about declaring that he was absolutely fine, but nursed the digit when he thought no-one was looking, and more bruises than anyone cared to speak of. Inzashu, Azania and Chanize were kept busy wrapping ankles and stitching cuts, one a six-inch gash on Zurianne’s arm caused by a rusty sword blade she had brushed against underwater. That required cleaning, stitching and the administration of a herbal remedy against infection that had the Mermaid gagging.

By late afternoon, they had made two longer portages and reached the joining of the two streams from the south. Zurianne, impatient with the progress of her companions, had already scouted the southwest branch and reported that it became a proper, well-behaved underground river farther in, from about a quarter mile past the region to which Aria had scouted. No more smooth walls and easy swimming; in fact, what had turned her about was that she had come across a graveyard down there. Piles of skeletons, old armour and weapons, and she had begun to scent what she took for fresher animal carcasses in the water.

“It’s not good,” she shook her head for the fourth time.

“Floating bodies down an underground river is not a Skartunese custom,” Inzashu-N’shula insisted.

The Mermaid glared at her. “You know these customs?”

“I was born in the south.”

“You are the Mage who helped Azania defeat the evil Sorceress?”

“My mother.”

Zurianne spluttered something uncomplimentary. The two young women exchanged glares and uncomfortable growls.

Inza said tightly, “Well, thanks for that. Aye. For what it’s worth, it didn’t end well. She killed our father – Azania and I share a father – and tried to invade the seventeen kingdoms with a huge army. We stopped her at N’ginta Citadel. Killed her.”

Gazdonl said, “Her wave was without honour, Zurianne. Nahritu-N’shula lived only to twist and manipulate others into doing whatever she wanted, and absolute domination was her goal. She let nothing stand in her way. Tens of thousands died due to her actions.”

Azania’s sister sighed heavily. “Aye, that’s true.”

“To my thinking, these are strange and murky waters.” Rising a little from the water, the Mermaid reached out a fist to Inzashu. The other girl fist-bumped it with a mild ‘not sure what that means but I’ll do it’ shrug. “Azania’s family is my family. We are sisters and we shall swim together. You will tell me your story of sands and I will speak of the way of waters – aye?”

“It shall be so,” Inza agreed. “My homeland is no place of happy childhood memories.”

“I sense this truth. Swim with me?”

“I do not swim well.”

The liquid sapphire eyes developed a steely glint. “You do not trust well?”

Ragged sigh. “No. No, I was taught from an early age that to trust was weak and shameful, a path for fools.”

Azania said, “Zurianne, please –”

“Wait, my Queen. What is given to my wave, I swim in, and what is unknown to my wave, I shall learn – not with the thrust of my trident, but in the manner of your gentle land-person ways.” The Mermaid clicked her fingers. “Firri, Gazdonl, please help us to scout together upstream. Sandy girl, come.”

When she became animated or emotional, Zurianne’s language still changed toward her native Merpeople expressions, Thundersong had noticed.

The girl checked visually with Aria, who nodded. “Go ahead. Full report.”

As the foursome swam off, Inzashu holding Zurianne’s shoulders as the Mermaid flicked her tail languidly to proceed at perhaps one-quarter speed at most, the Sankir scratched his beard and muttered angry imprecations about the bodies in the water. He did not understand; no-one did. After consulting with King Azerim, he issued orders to moor the rafts at the far shore of the south-easterly branch, where a narrow sandbank had collected, perhaps deposited there by the disturbance of the two flows coming together.

“Farizam?” Chanize’s gentle call caught her husband’s attention.

“Darling, are you alright? Need anything?”

“I pine but for a kiss, o my sweet Sankir!” one of his Rangers called in a ridiculous falsetto. This set off guffaws far and wide, even from the Crushers.

“You can kiss the underside of my boot, Orizam!” he snorted, his Island-brown colour deepening noticeably. “Chanize –”

“You should shave; your beard tickles!” Orizam tittered.

“Lad, I’ll gladly shave your beard with my sword!”

On that hilarious note, Thundersong watched as Farizam dropped to one knee beside his wife, who knelt in her way beside her medical bags and equipment on one of the rafts. Nothing of that teasing deterred him from kissing her full upon the lips, but his sensitive ears were more attuned to what she might say than to their romantic interaction. Chanize offered a tentative suggestion; the Sankir’s lips firmed and whitened. One of her adverse predictions then. Gentle as she appeared, Chanize had a talent for sniffing out the worst of a situation and being right about it. During the war, she had predicted that the enemy would try to undermine and pull down the defensive walls of the Citadels, and had been proven right.

The Sankir stood and turned to Azerim. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Explain?”

“Those bodies may be piling up for a reason – as in, to try to spread a waterborne plague.”

The King yanked on his neat beard. “They’re … trying to poison the Citadels? I thought these Jabiz types were all about their honour – their sort of honour.”

“They’re not above being sneaky, sire. Pulling a trick over your enemy is clever and positive.”

“Aye. No knightly code to speak of,” Inzashu added.

Without turning, Azerim said, “Thundersong, since I know you’re listening, what’s your take on this?”

“Chanize has a point,” he said. “We should warn King N’chala. Zurianne is our best and quickest option – her or Firri. Sixty miles of swimming is a stroll in a meadow for that Mermaid and, if I know her at all, the way to get it done is to suggest it can’t be done.”

“Hmm,” said Azerim.

“We have to warn them,” Farizam argued.

The King said, “I know. Just debating how soon we tell our intrepid youngsters that we have another task for them. One that could take all night.”

Aria cocked her head. “The echoes from upriver don’t sound quite the same, but I did hear – what was that?”

“A … crackle? Odd,” Thundersong rumbled.

“Warriors!”

Seven seconds later, he was chasing his mate and a dozen Isles warrior Dragonesses through a space that was really too narrow for his wingspan. A Dragon of his size could not manoeuvre well in such spaces. The Isles Dragonesses pulled away rapidly as their smaller-width, butterfly-like wing configuration allowed them to ripple down the tunnel. The walls and gradient were so regular here. Aria’s team had made the assessment that this could be a secondary tunnel, which had been forged through solid rock by unknown technology, to connect disparate water sources in order to provide water to the desert cities. If so, a feat of engineering beyond imagination, its methods lost long in the past.

Clever, the ancients.

Ouch. Another smack of the wings on the tunnel sides. Not working well.

He gasped, Azania …

I don’t know, what can you – water glide?

Oh – oh, aye! Let’s try it.

Certainly, he had no desire to introduce Azania’s head to the ceiling at this speed. He was just the klutz to lurch upward and – no. Blergh! Dipping toward the smooth, dark flow, he tried to emulate what he had seen ducks and mallards do to great effect but little elegance. Fluttering his wings as tightly to his body as he could, he used his four paws as fast-moving scoops to run along the surface. Torrents of spray crashed away from his body. Yet, as Azania’s thoughts melded with his, they found new balance, a posture that raised his neck and used his tail like a quarter-submerged rudder. He shot ahead.

Let’s catch those Dragonesses! she yelled.

Competitive? You try doing this, he snorted unhappily.

I could never begin to imitate you in such a tremendous flap, Thundersong, she teased.

Just the medicine to ignite his fires. GNARR!!

He heard her bowstring creak. That woman! Outstanding presence of mind. He had not even seen her pick up her weapons, or had she been wearing them upon her back? Always an oddity to a Dragon to have to pack additional weapons, given as his excellent fang and talon cutlery came built in. Azania had done some filing and sharpening in preparation for this adventure. Handy with a two-foot nail file, his Rider. Just the sort of thing to rasp her down to size. Snicker.

Again, in keeping with the theory that at least parts of this watercourse had been designed by Human hands – or the minds of other creatures – the aquifer bent smoothly to his left paw, obscuring the fracas ahead, but allowing him to hear perfectly above an increasing roaring of water. A waterfall? Aria’s briefing seemed light on the details. Here, the inner curve of tunnel wall displayed obvious signs of age, broken by several alcoves and having a riverbank where it reached perhaps triple its previous width. Intriguing. His muzzle tilted to scent the air. A few small Humans should explore these nooks here.

Continuing his duck-flap-run, he charged onward into a scene that was partly comical and partly serious. Gazdonl’s left leg had been mostly swallowed by a huge emerald-green eel, which thrashed unhappily downriver toward him and Azania. Probably unhappy because the lad was doing his best to choke the creature. Not the worst idea.

Zurianne was tangled up in at least three more of the slimy behemoths, zapping them fiercely with her trident and generally making a mess of the serpentine bodies. Firri wrestled with yet another over on the rocks to his right paw, the granddaddy of the lot, judging by the fact that it was perhaps three times the length of the petite Façade Dragoness. Even though overmatched, she scrapped furiously. Aria’s warriors swarmed over the mounded boulders of another rockfall ahead, using their nasty Dragon blades to dice up swarming green eels at high speed – dozens of these things, with more appearing from amidst the cracks and crannies. As always, the Isles Dragonesses were happiest when slicing things into tiny bits. They’d make excellent chefs if they weren’t quite so murderous.

Eyeroll. Gazdonl looked as if he had grown an extra eel leg. Clearly, their Rider-Dragon-Mermaid trio had an infallible talent for scenting out trouble. Or just jumping onto its head with impunity.

Reminded him of another Dragon-Rider pair. A pair close enough to poke with a short talon.

Kneeling upon his back, Azania sighted and shot smoothly. Her split-fingered double shot pinned eels either side of Zurianne’s head. One brain shot, one in the throat. The Mermaid emerged spitting mad, and spun about in pursuit of her next victim.

Slowing, Thundersong reached out and, after two grabs, managed to lift Gazdonl out of the water by his eel leg. Azania took careful aim, before jabbing her talon dagger through its yellow eye and into the brain.

“You idiot, what were you thinking?” he roared.

“Eel for dinner,” the Human lad coughed.

“You are not meant to be the dinner! Nor the bait!”

He essayed a winning, somewhat pained grin. “I kind of worked that much out, Thundersong.”

“Well, I’m glad you extracted that much service out of your miniscule cranium, because the rest of you is a BLITHERING MORON!”

Chapter 7: Avalanche

THE EELS WERE DELICIOUS. Their bite was also venomous in a nasty, but not fatal, way. After treatment from the Unicorns, Thundersong and Inzashu-N’shula, the intrepid trio spent the night alternately throwing up and shivering violently. At least Gazdonl did not turn green this time. His wry jest that all the wild animals liked him did almost earn him death for real as Zurianne assumed he must be talking about her. Not his best moment. Nor hers.

Aria sent three Dragonesses back to N’ginta Citadel to brief the King about the potential danger of waterborne plague. Only the smallest worries.

Early in the morning, Thundersong led a group upriver to examine the blockage which had defeated Aria previously. After doing away with one lone eel that dared to bare its fangs at them from its lair in a crack beneath a flat slab of speckled grey granite, they clambered up a section of tumbled boulders perhaps five hundred feet in length, over and through which the river poured in multiple torrents. Thundersong tasted, smelled and examined the waters with care. Intriguing flavours that reminded him of … he could not quite –

“Any conclusions?” Aria inquired.

“I’m not sure. Give the fires a little time to percolate in my brain –” her eye fires stirred in amusement at his expression “– and don’t distract – it’ll come to me.” Great. Now he had cobalt beauty stamped all over his thoughts. With a tender, rumbling purr, he said, “So, you climbed that final slope – up to that hole? Hmm. Looks like a roof fall must have taken place here?”

“I think there’s a cavern above from which the water originally flowed,” his mate supplied. “Maybe it was an underground cistern or lake once upon a time, drained by this artificial aquifer? You’re right. I slipped and hurt myself trying to reach that hole.”

“Too easily done,” he said.

The climb was up a seventy-degree slope, made treacherous by many smaller and bigger waterfalls pouring down from a jagged aperture above. Sometime in the past, it must have been partially clogged by rockfall initially stopped up against several rotting tree trunks. Interesting. Desert palms, unless he was mistaken. The boulders below were green with slimy moss; he even saw Aria’s claw marks in places, clear marks scored through the old growth.

Unless they could remove that blockage, the roof aperture would be a tight squeeze even at Aria’s size. Given the volume of water cascading down through that gap? Perilous to negotiate.

Azania said, “The carved part stops here?”

Aria gestured at rocks choking the end facing them. “It appears so. Azerim –”

“Aye. If I could have ten Rangers, please –” his bearded face broke into a grin as every last one of the hundred men and women who had come upriver to explore, plus all the Desert Askaris, all raised their right hands “– thank you.”

Catch in the voice there, o King?

With a nod toward Aria that invited input, Azerim said gruffly, “Tarzim, would you kindly select ten Rangers and carefully explore those cracks between the boulders at the end? Three Dragonesses for support– excellent, thank you.. Gnarly and Cragfist, take those alcoves on the left – also, see that one which is partially covered over there? Let’s have another cohort of Rangers and Askaris with the Crushers. No surprises. Thundersong, we’ll need to clear that opening to have any hope of getting the Unicorns up there. Then, we’ll plan to lift the Isles Dragonesses up first –”

“I’ll take my mate in paw!” Thundersong blustered dangerously.

Fifty needle-sharp fangs clashed beside his neck. Between Dragons, especially mates, that was the equivalent of a spicy proposition. He yawned his great jaw open and returned the favour with a sharp snap of his fangs.

Azania punched his flank. “You two, get a lair together.”

“Humans don’t bite?” he snorted.

“How’s about exercising something other than your jaw, Dragon?” she said tartly.

He pretended to flick her away with his paw.

To work. Humans and Dragons swarmed all over the rockfall, poking their heads or talons into gaps and testing the climb up – not only dicey, but many of the rocks were loose as well. Best not to scramble up the pile until everyone was clear below. The Crushers found metal barrels of an unfamiliar nature stored in one of the alcoves. Four bulged dangerously – no touching those – and two leaked an oily crimson fluid that had a pungent chemical reek; nothing anyone recognised. Azerim ordered a small retaining wall to be built to prevent the substance from reaching the watercourse. Shortly, a mild disagreement developed over the design – of a tiny wall. Grrr. Azania waded in to charm a solution out of the Engineers before one of those waving forefingers accidentally poked out an eye.

A most dangerous creature, an engineer defending a technical solution.

As best anyone could tell, the end was indeed the end. The engineers, still apparently talking to one another and not missing any eyes or fingers following their argument, marvelled one more time over the aquifer’s construction, suggesting that the slope could be as gradual as a foot per mile.

Very much learned beard-scratching in progress in the engineering corner.

“With me, Thundersong?” Aria fluted in his ear.

A warrior must conquer her fears.

He climbed the pile with his smaller mate, who carried Azerim upon her back. She wanted both to redeem where she had failed before and be the first to carry the King up into a new section – an honour in Isles culture. Thundersong made no comment when she dislodged a fist-sized rock that rebounded off his left hind knee; he reached up to correct her paw tread twice, but that was it. All the while, clear water from above poured into their faces, over their backs and swirled away around their paws. Decent flow. The extra inches of depth that morning appeared to be shared between the two branches, as best Aria could recall.

Within a couple of minutes, he, Aria and their two Riders peered up into the twisting, obstructed hole. “It’s tight,” she observed. Pointing with a talon, she said, “Do you think you could move this trunk, Thundersong?”

“Aye. If you’d stand aside, please?”

“So polite, my Dragon,” Azania observed with a rascally little smile. For all her enjoyment of this venture so far, she was missing her boys, she had admitted privately earlier.

They’d have those lads riding Dragons before she knew it. Already did, mind. When in Human history had there been a Dragon Rider family?

He flexed his shoulders and, on second thought, bade Azania go cuddle her husband. She leaped over to Aria’s back. Excellent agility. With a growled warning down to those below, Thundersong seized the trunk and exerted his strength. Nothing. Again! Nothing. It might look half rotten, but it was still strong enough for him to virtually swing off. Really? Could he bite through it? No, his mouth could reach, but the trunk’s position would not allow him to clamp his jaw shut. A Human with an axe could definitely do some damage here but, given the instability of the matted plant matter, stones and other muck clogging that channel above, he would not care to wager on the chances of their getting out alive in time when that mass dropped. Aria was right. She or Firri might be able to squeeze through, but if something shifted … not pretty.

He stroked his jawline with a thoughtful talon. What to do here? A Dragon might swing an axe, but his ego certainly could not face such a humiliation.

Gnarr-harrr-harrgh! Alright. Always good to be aware of one’s weaknesses.

Plus, his mate was making droll, whirly eye- ires at him as the King and Queen appeared to be sucking one another’s faces with gusto upon her back – hmm, kissing or grappling practice? What had just bitten those two? Fate? Prophesied babies to make and all that? Aye, the vile exchange of salivary fluids did turn a Dragon’s stomachs into knots, but he knew it to be a felicitous sign between their kind.

Summoning up his magic, he laid a suitably Thundersong plan.

Thunderstrong!

Thunder-boom-and-blam!

After a couple of low-voiced bellows to clear his throat, he thundered a sonic blast up into the aperture, shaking the congestion severely. The waterfalls stuttered as if cowed into momentary silence.

Then, several tonnes of watery muck sluiced down atop his head. Mud shower!

Similar to blowing a Human nose, one supposed.

Right. There must be better ways to do this, as evidenced by the fact that he had achieved fairly much nothing by that blast. The trunk still jutted firmly across the gap and held back untold tonnes of rubble which was – a Dragon might permit himself this largesse – marginally cleaner than before after the sonic cleaning. Plus, he spied half an animal skeleton wedged up there. Something bovine, if he judged his prey well.

Gnarr! He twizzled his neck. No way was he about to look bad in front of his mate and friends.

New plan. Timing his sonics to coincide with swings of his massive right fist, Thundersong set about a dint of demolition, Dragon-style. He had been born a Devastator. No tree trunk could stand his efforts at carpentry. Massive punches – the kind that had thumped Juggernaut backward – crunched and splintered the wood. He aimed to dislodge one end. Seven blows in, a huge groan from above made him flinch backward. No. No movement yet. Taking a better stance upon the rocky slope, he eyed his target sidelong and summoned up a decent dollop of animosity. A mental image of one of those Jabizes he remembered from the war – Jabiz Murderoo would do!

GNARR – BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

With a terrific crack, a huge slab of rock slammed down upon the middle of his back. He reacted by pure instinct, whipping his wings clear and spin-rolling to minimise the impact, just as Juggernaut had taught him, and that probably saved his handsome white hide because he skidded downslope upon thrashing paws that kept him largely atop a decent avalanche of rock, water and mud. Humans moaned about the plumbing in their dwellings. This had to be similar, surely?

He briefly caught sight of Aria hovering a few dozen feet off, her superior reactions probably having sprung her completely out of harm’s way.

Everything slid to a halt.

The trunk whanged off his nose, as if seeking to deliver one final reprimand, and crashed to a halt in his slowly refocussing field of vision. He grunted, “That’s one tough old tree.”

Still intact. Less so the rock above his head, which had cracked off in a jagged section perhaps twenty-five feet wide and ten deep, widening the left side of that aperture. Could this illustrate an issue the original builders might have run into, a brittle section of rock strata?

Thundersong? Wings and fangs check? Cobalt butterfly wings fluttered above his head.

Mostly in one piece, I believe –

You whopping, crack-headed mollusc, what exactly were you thinking? she snarled but then, with a purr and a smile, nuzzled his neck. You don’t need to impress me by playing in avalanches, you know. Just a little macho swagger every so often will do for this Dragoness.

Wry grin. Read him like an open scroll.

He drawled, “So, my pretty, may I offer a boost up into that tunnel?”

“Mrrrm, I like the look of those big paws, handsome.”

Thonk. That was his jaw landing in the mud. Aria chuckled as she clearly enjoyed the effect of her words. Since when had his mate learned to power-flirt like that? Must be part of her alleged ‘warrior code’ as applied to … well, only the luckiest Dragon beneath the twin suns. Squaring up his shoulders and gathering his machismo, which never went too far astray, if he were honest, he went to go apply himself to the not-so-onerous task of raising his mate into the river hole by cupping his paw beneath her haunches. One-pawed! Gnarr.

What a beast.

With her snazzy wing structures, Aria could fly vertically into the cleared space and, shortly, she disappeared around a twist about thirty feet overhead.

Immediately, he heard her call down, “There’s a cavern up here; the biggest I’ve ever seen. Looks safe. Come on up, Thundersong, but take care as some of the rock under paw is rotten.”

Right she was.

Ascending the short pipe alongside a much more regular waterfall now, he found several soft patches and had to dig in with care before he wriggled around the corner – Azania in paw now lest she be scraped off his back – and poked his muzzle up into a cavern of spectacular dimensions. What appeared to be plant roots, or perhaps even softly gleaming underground blossoms, hung from the vast vaulted ceiling in several places alongside more conventional curtains of stalactites – remarkable in their own right – providing gentle illumination over a body of dark water as much as a mile square. The extent was hard to judge, as he thought he could make out several additional caverns beyond what appeared to be natural arches that dipped down into the water.

They had emerged on the western periphery of this great space. He glanced about, enthralled by the cavern’s natural beauty but also aware of the loud roaring of water. The way onward was immediately apparent and immediately, an apparent issue.

About two hundred Dragon paces across the lake to the south, he saw a short rocky chute which channelled a raging white torrent of water into the lake. The chute could be navigated, he suspected, but the cavern wall behind it was a different matter entirely. Many hundreds of boulders had been cemented together with a light teal substance to create a perfectly smooth, slightly luminescent, entirely artificial barrier about a hundred feet wide and fifty tall, blockading what must be the entrance to the underground river flowing from the southerly direction. That substance …

He paddled with uneasy, steady strokes across the lake in that direction, mindful of the Isles Dragonesses and Blackguard the Crusher spreading out to reconnoitre. Sniff the water one more time. It was not cement. No. Something more organic. Softer and – that particular tang; it reminded him of lair spiders!

“Spider silk,” he realised aloud. “It’s spider silk.”

Azania said, “No. Surely not. What kind of spider, Thundersong – and what size?”

She shivered.

“Big,” he said. “Big; strong enough to stack up boulders a man could not lift and smart enough to build that wall.”

“Way to cheer me up.”

“Aye. We need to get Inza up here. Fast. I do not like what I’m sensing behind that barrier. These are not the cuddly sort of arachnids.”

“Do that sort exist?” his Rider asked sardonically.

“Indeed. Remember how the Skartunese were fond of throwing magically-augmented, oversized beasts in our direction?”

Azania groaned, “Thundersong, did you have to?”

“I’m afraid I did. Let’s just hope they don’t like to snack on equine meat, shall we?”

“Thundersong!”

“Nor on you, dear Rider. Nor on you.”

* * * *

Exploration of the underground cavern revealed two further exits, similar to that which they had ascended, perhaps indicating the presence of additional aquifers which had once led toward the Blood Desert in the east and another that could perhaps serve a string of oases in a westerly direction. The easterly exit was completely flooded and, checked by Zurianne, who had recovered enough to be swimming somewhat gingerly, also impassable due to rockfall or subsidence. The westerly branch appeared to be clear of obstructions and could be explored further by creatures with gills. She tracked it for about a mile, before returning to report no air pockets and no apparent end.

Azania bluntly ordered her to find a quiet spot and rest.

Nearly started a one-Mermaid war.

This end of the lake was shallow enough that Azania could wade across large parts of it, but the other linked caverns proved to be much deeper. Huge storage. The engineers puzzled over whether or not there might have been a pump system before, but could find no evidence thereof. They were clearer about the dam.

“Shut that river up good and proper,” said Engineer S’nati, the leader of the engineering group. “Could be flooded for miles back.”

“No air pockets?” Inzashu asked.

“Maybe a few. Why do you ask, Princess?”

“I’m wondering why spiders would want to inhabit a flooded river.” When he merely scratched his beard and made a small circling sign with his thumb, she said, “I’m wondering if they’re aquatic or land beasts, or perhaps both. I’m wondering if that dam holds eggs … or something else?”

“Else?” Azania echoed.

“Food,” she said bluntly.

“Have you been speaking with Chanize?” Azerim guessed, correctly as it turned out. “Alright. So, let’s summarise. Behind that barrier of intriguing substances, we have a probable population of spiders which could number –”

“Definitely spiders, thousands in number,” Inzashu supplied readily.

The King made a nasty face. “Thanks! You’re on my team. Thousands of spiders plus whatever they like to eat, which could also be dangerous, correct?”

“Correct,” said the young woman.

“Break that barrier down and we release mayhem,” he said. “We’d need to be ready for a flood of unspecified dimensions and prepared to protect ourselves and the Unicorns. So, let’s break this problem down, people –”

Gnarr!

“– do you mind, Aria? You Dragons count as people, at least in my thinking!”

Azerim stamped his bad foot in a sudden flash of anger; Thundersong saw the instant the pain punished him in return. He flushed and cursed beneath his breath, momentarily unable to speak. Inza made to reach out to help, but he blocked her hand, then sighed and apologised.

“Alright. You can check the flapping half-foot in a minute. One, Farizam and Aria, let’s work out how we might protect our Unicorns – and us. Maybe use the rafts to build a barricade somewhere? Two, we’ll need another delegation of Dragonesses to make the flight to the Citadel, please. N’chala’s going to wonder what we’re trying to send down to his cities; plague, spiders, what’s next? Next, there are no other ingresses or exits? No? Good. Thundersong, you and your heavies go see about how we might break down that silk, but no breathing in any noxious fumes; understood?”

The Crushers thought that worth a snarling round of laughter.

“Engineers, start working out how we get those rafts and Unicorns up here. As for me –”

“You will sit here and have a nice foot massage, Your Majesty,” Inza put in, with a cheeky wink. “Healer’s orders.”

Azerim made another face. “Right.”

Thundersong thought he might do well on stage. Decent amateur actor.

“I say, who doesn’t want to be a King?” Azania cooed.

“Peel me a grape?” Azerim said sourly.

“Don’t push your luck; that doesn’t sound very appealing.” His wife winked at him. “Why don’t you perch here on this boulder and think regal, kingly and visionary thoughts, my darling? It’s for the good of the people.”

His eyebrows absconded toward the heavens.

Azania clarified, “While your little minion army, as Cragfist put it, gets on with the real work.”

The Crusher guffawed hugely, “She’s a Dragoness alright!”

The King made a show of shaking his head and covering his face with his hands, but Thundersong was quite sure he was laughing under there. He was also playacting to cover up the amount of pain he was in – for certain. Any male could recognise that reaction in another. He began to make a note to tell Azania, but realised that her mind, as always, remained close to his. She promised to have a quiet word with her sister about readying some painkilling herbs for Azerim.

With a round of thumping fist bumps and bombastic jocularity, the Crushers moved off to contemplate crushing a few boulders. One would not wish to depart too far from stereotypes.

Thundersong waded after them.

Speaking of stereotypes, a wise Dragon should learn from his recent experience and not sing too many thundering songs underground. Those had a way of bringing the roof down upon the unwary. Also, said wise Dragon would do well to remember that mountains were somewhat tougher than his cranium.

Just a touch.

Chapter 8: Awesome Song

GNARLY THE CRUSHER TAPPED Thundersong upon the shoulder. Blinking rather oddly, he rumbled, “You are the most … beautiful … Dragon. Did you know that?

“What?”

“You have … dreamy eyes.” Gnarly blinked myopically, evidently entranced by a vision of his own conception. “Kind of … what’s the word? Sexy.”

Gnarr!

Rangers and Dragons glanced about as the tête-à-tête gathered force and volume.

Gnarly purred, “Don’t you play … coy with me, my little sweet fires.”

“Have you been sniffing the smoke?”

“Smoke? It’s you who’s smoking … so smoking hot! Thunder … snuggly … grrr-mmm.”

“That’s it!”

Thundersong cuffed him upon the shoulder. To his shock, the Crusher face-planted in the water. Quite unconscious.

“Gnarr-blast it!” he swore. “Blackguard! Cragfist! Help me get him up before he drowns, the clod-pawed fool!”

“He deserves it,” Blackguard said dryly, clipping his wings to jump over a group of Rangers who had been trying their belt knives on the silk. Blasted sticky, nasty stuff. “I mean, imagine calling you sexy? I’ll have a bit of what he’s been smoking if he’s able to think that.”

Azania hooted with laughter, the wretch. Thundersnuggly, her mind echoed.

That will hurt. A lot! he vowed.

Working together, with several Isles warriors pitching in, the Dragons floated Gnarly to the nearest shore and left him in a recovery position. Thundersong hoped he woke up with a nice headache. Either that or he’d pound one into the stubborn Crusher. He had probably been inhaling the smoke for fun, just to see what it would do.

Meantime, Chanize called, “Has anyone seen my medical scissors?”

One of the Rangers pretended to cough, “Farizam!”

“Er … darling, I borrowed your scissors to try them out on the silk.”

“You don’t need scissors for that, you need a saw,” she called back crossly. “Bring them here, please. I was searching all over for those.”

One hundred Rangers, Engineers and personnel gathered by the barrier to try different things glanced at one another. Chuckles. Guess no-one had thought of the flaming obvious. They did have one saw in the equipment and several serrated blades carried by Rangers, which proved to be their most effective tools so far – that was, until Orizam came dancing across the rocks, buttoning up the fly of his trousers.

“Sankir! Sankir, sir, I’ve got it!”

Farizam regarded his man with fond exasperation. “Got it stuck there, lad? Need some help?”

“Aye! No … not that,” he cried, trying to pull his hand free and failing. He hopped haphazardly across the rocks, until a Dragoness reached out to check his balance. Aye. Close to an accident. “Sir, you just have to widdle on the stuff! It dissolves instantly!”

“Widdle?” Thundersong snorted.

Blackguard chortled, “As in, he’s having a fiddle with his widdle bits?”

“Pee! Urinate! Take a leak!” Orizam screeched.

That was about the moment that a modicum of common sense evidently entered the young fellow’s brain, and he pulled up, an aghast expression creasing his rapidly darkening features.

“It’ll take a special one to marry him,” a female Ranger observed.

“I – I do apologise, Your Majesties!” he gulped.

“Is that what it means to refer to the ‘royal wee’?” the King guffawed. “I assure you, lad, we all produce the same colour –”

“Azerim!” Azania wheezed.

“– except for Unicorns and their sparkly poop,” he finished with relish.

His wife made a disgusted noise.

Another difference between the Island-born and the sons and daughters of the desert, Thundersong had to conclude, judging by the scandalised reactions on one side and the coarse jesting on the other. Still, despite that they had over a hundred liquid-producing Humans, he rather doubted they’d reduce this barricade to nothingness by the power of piddle. Probably take weeks. He wandered over to Azerim to discuss sending yet another delegation back down the tunnel.

Tarangis Lionbaiter would be less than impressed by their lack of preparation. Wonder if the kingdom kept any ureic acid or crystals for any purpose? Fertiliser, perhaps?

A strange, quiet afternoon developed. Different teams worked steadily on fortifying a suitable side cavern they had discovered about two hundred Dragon paces from the barricade. The rafts came up steadily, then several Unicorns. The equines tried their wiles on the silken barrier as well, but made only a little progress for a heavy expenditure of magic. Not in the best shape, were they? He checked the chute, but it was much too narrow for any but their smallest Dragoness – Firri – to enter; about four feet wide by seven tall. Water gushed out of the crack with great force. He reached in as far as he could with his paw but discovered nothing of interest. The dam must be thick to hold back all that water, and he did not want to risk the small Façade Dragoness against that flow, nor did Zurianne think that swimming through was possible.

Meantime, the Sankir had his teams collecting their urine in a few repurposed water gourds. Diligent application thereof had already helped them to clear a hole that now approached ten feet wide, six tall and fifteen feet deep. Blackguard had a knack of inserting his talons around boulders and extracting them in a way that reminded some of the Rangers of popping teenage blackheads. Blergh!

Still, there was no sign of water leakage. The silk was tough and waterproof.

So, Thundersong, you never told me what ≈firooliamoliol≈ is?

He popped his head up from checking the underwater lay of a raft being used for fortifications. No-one wanted any clever spiders climbing beneath.

Aria. As with many of these Sea Dragon concepts, it’s a little tricky to describe, he noted, arranging his thoughts to his satisfaction. On the surface, it translates as something like ‘the song of water,’ but of course – you know my kin –

I know you.

True, true. Devastatingly handsome grin. Anyhow, it speaks of the ‘way of water,’ or of a kind of watery being shared by all creatures in immersion – the Sea Dragon’s symbiosis with his or her native element. We’d read a scroll or, in an intimate relationship, sense the tenor of our mate’s fires. They read water, and they do love to leave matters … fluid. Room as wide as the oceans for interpretation.

Indeed, an excellent explanation, Aria purred. And how do fire and water coexist within a Dragon, may I ask?

In a symbiosis of flawless juxtaposition, said he, dodging the trap with aplomb.

Tricky Dragon! she gurgled in appreciation.

Oh look, he chuckled, even King Azerim’s contributing to the cause now. Every drop counts.

Speaking of which, my tricky disappearing mate – she punched his shoulder playfully, reminding him that forgiveness was not about to be granted in the next thousand suns’ risings, say – I was remembering how you split stone at Zunityne. Do you recall our experiments with sonic pulses to pulverise heated stone? Aye? So, you focussed on burning the silk here …

Oh! By my wings!

Aye. We missed that trick, didn’t we?

Kind of her to suggest they had both missed the glaringly obvious. Why attack the silk, when he could potentially pulverise the boulders bound by the silk?

She advised, Just don’t breathe in any of those fumes, alright? I don’t want you romancing any good-looking boulders.

No danger of that! Stretching out a broad wing over his mate, he gave her a wing-flank embrace and whispered, You’re the best.

Aria susurrated, Go strut your stuff, handsome.

She knew he’d need his whitest fires for this attempt. Also, he realised belatedly, they needed everything to be ready before he tried this, because if the barrier failed when the Unicorns were not yet under cover – well, any Dragon who considered himself their spiritual herd-´stallion would not place them in danger. Not knowingly.

Off to jaw with the King’s Engineers.

Yawn! About four hours of excruciating boredom later, a large, in charge and undeniably grumpy white Dragon eyed the barrier with a definite dearth of enthusiasm. “Right. White fires, arise. Any time now. Gnarr.”

Azania growled, “I know the feeling.”

“Life was much easier when it didn’t involve fifty other opinions.”

“All we worried about was where I’d kidnap you to and which paintings we’d want on the walls of my lair.”

“Exact – hold on a stinking second!”

“Exactly,” she grinned. “It’s time to remember, Dragon.”

He eyeballed his Rider suspiciously. He was quite certain she was that four-foot-seven girl he had kidnapped from King Tyloric’s tower, but sometimes she seemed to stand seven-foot-four. Now was such a moment. His scales prickled. Dry tongue. Paws restlessly kneading the stone that he stood upon, ankle-deep to a Dragon but thigh-deep to her.

Azania said, “I knew you first as a fireless Dragon, then as a nameless, Clan-less Dragon despised by your own family, but that was never who you truly were. Do you remember the day that you discovered your fires?”

“I do.”

“You had that special roar –” standing on her tiptoes, she breathed into his left ear canal “– I am Dragon.”

He shivered all over.

“I am death,” she hissed.

“Aye!”

“Remember how the fire used to cramp up in your chest, behind the keel bone here, so sweet and poignant and fierce you could barely stand it? You’re an artist, Thundersong, but you’ve forgotten how to picture what you knew back then. Paint me that scene now. Paint the fire so white you can barely stand to look upon it; fire so beautiful, so inspiring, it caused a Dragon to change his very scales!”

MWWAAA-HAARR-HARRRGH!!

“Not bad. However, Aria is still standing, and the Crushers – why, they look a bit entertained, I believe.”

That did it. Rage imploded inside his chest, colossal in its scope.

GGRRROOOOAAARRGGHH!!

A crack of thunder shook the cavern. So fiercely did he grip the rock under paw, he felt a stone shatter beneath his talons, and then it was as if the fiery song of water rose from the coolness lapping about his ankles. A ripple of fire flickered all over his body. Liquid heat poured up the columns of his legs. The water began to hiss where it touched his hide, which gleamed now, both with Sea Dragon light and fire. Lightning sparked off the edges of his upraised wings. The surge of heat beneath his throat, in that deep chest region Azania had pointed to, was shockingly immediate.

Had he forgotten this? The wild, raging beauty of breathing fire; how had he forgotten?

Thundersong sucked in a great breath. Air rushed into his lungs with a hiss, like a storm, gathering to unleash its power. Instantaneously superheated! His body began to shake at the forces gathering within.

Despite the clear danger, Azania stood with him, her dark curls standing away from her scalp as they became charged with electricity. Her hand rested upon his leg. Unflinching. Her courage sang to his Dragon soul. He was strong, a sky-searing wildfire of draconic rage in his own right, but together …

Together, they were more.

Forcing back the rising fires, his lips shaped a terrible roar. III – AAMM – DRRAAGOONN!!

The barrier trembled at his burgeoning wrath. The cavern shook. Rock tumbled into the water somewhere far off, while he sensed, rather than saw, the Crusher Dragons’ muzzles jerk up in shock. Now, white speared into his vision from the sides, as if in a crucible flame closed in from all sides, such was the conflagration within him.

Yet he spared half a second to warn Azania, Here it comes. Mind the heat.

She pressed a damp cloth to her nose and mouth.

Elongating his throat, he expelled a tight spout of white-hot flame into the hole created by the Humans. The temperature was easily beyond anything he had ever produced before, augmented by rage and need and magic, burning in ways for which a Dragon had no words. It raged inside with such force that the flame curled back out of the hole, pouring up the barrier like a living, animate thing.

Nor had he need of words. He was fire.

A colossal son of the element of Ignis, the white sun incarnate.

He held the torch of his flame in place for over a minute, before sensing the temperature was right. He pulsed Sea Dragon-like sonics through his fire. Ten times. A dozen. Dust that was not the smoke of burning silk wafted out of the glowing hole.

Azania peered in carefully. That’s done a lot. Quick. Let’s shoot in the water, then pull out everything you can.

Filling his mouth with cold lake water, a blessing to his burning tongue, Thundersong sprayed the mouthful inside the hole. Sharp crackles of overstressed rock resulted, as the temperature differential and resulting bursts of steam worked their own magic. The top of the new tunnel sagged visibly. Good result! Reaching in, he scooped and hauled out all the rubbish he could. The silk was like heavy netting, but the extreme heat had at last made the stuff brittle. Great sections ripped loose.

They both stepped aside to breathe carefully where the air was clean.

Ready again? he said.

Ready.

A second round of white fire lanced into the hole with a ruinous crackling sound. Glorious!

He let the sonics rip with joy. This time, he remembered to trace the pulsations with his magic and, with Azania examining the feedback, they modified the tempo and sent the assault smashing inward again. Rock shattered and groaned. The whole barrier quivered; Azania began to shout in alarm, but stopped as the structure held with annoying ease. Excellent engineering. The chilly water and clearing treatment did nothing, apart from create a bigger hole. It could fit a Thundersong easily now. He cast forth his magical senses, probing the great barrier for weaknesses.

Dry-throated, he rasped, “More to the –”

“– left,” she agreed.

“Right.”

“What’s left over?” Azania chuckled at the deliberate double misinterpretation. “Inza’s reporting massive movement behind the barrier.”

Another round completed and no change.

Thundersong glared at the barrier, starting to feel woozy at the effects of all that magical expenditure. He panted heavily to try to catch his breath. Even for a Dragon, fire-breathing at these sustained temperatures was a challenge that even draconic flesh must at last succumb to.

“It needs a deeper range,” he said at last. “Subsonics. If we can use the weight of all that water against the barrier, set up some kind of standing wave … it’s organic, I know. Designed to flex with the pressure. But there must be a limit. Surely – surely a thunderclap or two would do the trick?”

“That’s my Dragon!”

“You watch the roof for me, alright? And the barrier.”

“Eyes everywhere,” she said, making a comical face. “More eyes than you’ve got scales.”

“Azania, you’re ridiculous.”

“Just don’t hold back this time.”

“I am NOT – oh.”

“Right,” she nodded quickly, birdlike, but he practically smelled her concentration on the issue. No censure. Just a quiet, We’ve done impressive. Now it’s time to be awesome, Thundersong!

Awesome? What more could he do, could he show, that might tip the scales here? Not that he generally had trouble tipping scales. More likely to crush them. More heat or fire? More sonic perturbations? How could he become any hotter or more aggravating than he had been already? He was practically smoking out of his ear canals with the effort – abruptly, he remembered Eversong’s torture at the hand of the Psyromantic Mage, the way her magic had twisted his Sea Dragon song, the incredible beam of light that machine had produced, which could punch through stone or metal with its extraordinary power. That had been a travesty. Eversong’s life, ravaged.

Yet the whole incident pointed to a true source of Sea Dragon power. Fire or lightning?

Were they the same or two surfaces of a single talon? From what he knew of his ability to channel electricity, it could supercharge his fire. Where would one find lightning? He stood in water. This was his realm. Water was meant to be an incredible conductor of electricity. He could just … call for it? Invite it?

First, he should get everyone he loved out of the way, before he unleashed the power!

“Azania,” he said, “call Aria. I want you on her back nearby. Every Dragon out of the water. No foot or hoof or talon tip touches the lake water; understood? Don’t forget Zurianne.”

Her eyes widened. She must see in his mind what he intended to do.

Squeezing his own eyes shut, he let images race through his memory. Ten thousand Sea Dragons leaped out of the ocean in greeting of their long-lost kin. One of the most beautiful moments in his life. The vows he had given and received with Aria. Stealing her from that arranged marriage! Why was it so much harder to perform when he was not just blundering along being Blitz the Fritz, master of self-inflicted mayhem?

Maybe because he was overthinking the artwork, when he needed simply to let his brush loose upon the canvas. Maybe he needed to allow himself to create.

One last thing. Reaching out privately for Inzashu-N’shula, he requested that she help to protect his mind. Lightning was capricious. It might leap where he desired it least.

Then, he approached the barrier, singing a low song. Yearning. Appealing. Sorrowing in memory of all that Eversong had suffered. His being read the ≈firooliamoliol≈ of these waters and began to draw every iota of potential toward himself. Lightning began to spit afresh off his wingtips and spark along his spine spikes, both tingling and hurting. It pooled in his fire stomach, mingling with the flame. More. The draw was like breathing, an endless inhalation of electricity. He sensed organs long disused coming to life, capacities of his body he had unwittingly used before, but this time he would use them in full cognizance of the dangers. He would run the maximum gamut of his heritage.

White fire and song streamed beneath the barrier, heating the stone a little to the left paw, where he and Azania had agreed there might be a slight structural weakness. A hundred feet tall and of unknown thickness, this spiderweb lattice was no trivial construction. He held the flame steady, trying to react to the nuances of the way it licked up into the gaps around the stones, turning them first red, then orange and yellow-white with intense heat. All the while, that familiar pressure built in his chest.

He forced it to wait. Not yet. More.

MORE!

Then, he sent sound and flame crashing together into the barrier’s underbelly. His throat arched, his chest expanding as he fought for the right range.

III – AAMM – DRRAAGOONN!!

“Dragon!” Azania screamed, a smaller yet fiercer echo of his cry.

DRAGON!!

“Again, Dragon!”

He found a deeper, booming note of concussive power his namesake, Thundersong the Elder, would have been proud of. DRAGON!!

The entire barrier rippled as a pressure wave sucked it back and forth.

“Now!” his Rider screeched. She danced upon Aria’s back, the madwoman! “Go, Dragon! Go! Let it rip!”

Pure whiteness shut down his vision. For the longest time, he was inside the white sun. Blinded. Unable to think, to breathe, to move so much as a muscle for the electrical charge that gripped his body. Only his mouth moved, shaping a new charge.

DRAGON!! The crack of thunder he unleashed deafened him.

A violent shock rippled around his body. At one level, it felt as if invisible claws had pinched the hide around his ankles, yet, at another, the sensation threatened to peel the hide off his body. A purplish streak smeared across his vision – had he blinked? Next he knew, Thundersong heard a violent bubbling behind the barrier. He flicked open his eyes to see the entire edifice bulging grotesquely toward him. Steam burst through several gaps with shrieking whistles. The cataract at the base stuttered, spitting boiling water.

“Get out of there!” Aria yelled. Thundersong, move!

Boulders popped out of their silken casings, as the pressure swelled to gargantuan proportions. Suddenly, he had to scramble and dodge a hail of bigger and smaller pieces. He stumbled backward faster and faster. Not quite an ignominious act of bolting for the farthest clouds in the sky, but not far off.

After all, he was turning into an occasionally wise Dragon these days.

With a groan, as if a door half the size of Solixambria sagged open upon rusty hinges, the barrier tore away from its moorings and folded toward him, tearing in multiple places as it toppled with majestic slowness. The trapped water behind sprang free with frothing exuberance and an almighty roar, pouring forward in a torrent three hundred feet wide and a hundred feet tall.

Aria flitted away sharply.

Thundersong! Azania, not belted in, tipped off the Dragoness’ back into space.

Reflexively, he stuck out a paw.

Kerack!

Chapter 9: Tunnel Spiders

WHEN HE FINALLY SCRIBED his memoirs, Thundersong’s mind told him inanely – while the rest of it screamed something like ‘get out of there, you flat-pawed, dithering idiot’ – he would record this as the moment he flat-out tried to kill his best friend in all the world. Instant lightning jolt to the heart. Usefully, as he fumbled her limp body into his other paw, he managed to zap her a second time and this restarted vital matters. Or was this second one courtesy of her sister’s timely intervention?

Either way, as a wall of water sluiced toward him, he had half a blink of time to appreciate the crazed fluttering of Azania’s pulse in the base of her throat and realise that she must be alive, no thanks to a large white Dragon, before the wave dumped him on his head. Ouch. Wholly deserved. Cupping his Rider in his paws, he thrashed about and received another heavy clout beside his left eye. Ouch again.

Thundersong surfaced in a foaming wash of rotting bodies and dazed spiders.

The khaki spiders ranged in size from about as large as Azerim’s head to roughly the size of Aria, if one did not count the long, spindly legs. Those which remained alive appeared to be most disgruntled by being blasted by a respectable lightning bolt, followed by being flushed down the equivalent of a large sewer. The rest had apparently exploded. Bits and pieces. A Dragon did not want to think about the icky, sticky details because their inner ichor was a nauseating swamp green in colour and stank like the defensive spray of an angry Gemwoods skunk. He knew this from – ahem – personal experience; something to be said for not poking a skunk to see if it really did react as he had read in the scientific scrolls. He also remembered it had taken over a month for the stench to wash off his scales.

An experiment best forgotten.

Whisking Azania to the surface, he took off with a series of powerful wingbeats.

A survey of the rushing water below betrayed an impressive scale of carnage. Many silk-wrapped bundles bobbed about in the surf. Spider victims. Perhaps they had broken into a nesting site and a handy larder rolled into one. The spiders still washed down into the cavern in their hundreds, carried swiftly along by the floodwaters that showed no sign of diminishing. These newer arrivals acted much livelier. Less toasted around the edges and meltingly warm in the centre. Washing into the huge lake, the furry critters gathered their wits in the calmer, wider lake area and began to perk up, tasting the waters with their mandibles and other sense organs and touching one another with their long legs as if to share vital information.

The group hidden behind the raft barrier in that secondary cavern remained quiet, as planned. The swelling water spread quickly over the large lakes, which absorbed much of their fury, but Thundersong clearly heard the moment the disturbance reached the tunnel mouth from which they had emerged, as a different note amidst the rushing and thundering. Beyond the silk-snarled barrier, he saw another smaller cavern with some victims still hanging in silk pods from its ceiling. Enough water had drained away by now that he clearly spied an onward aquifer located at the far end, with its familiar, clean-cut edges. A mountainous pile of spiders had emerged from the water in the middle. He squinted unhappily, missing his glasses. Those would have been melted had he worn them during that – hmm, had Azania removed the pair without him noticing? Tricky touch.

Were those many spider young? Or … as the pile shifted, and a set of beady eyes emerged, realisation dawned. One immense mother spider covered in her young. A queen spider.

His scales crawled. No spectacles needed to gawk at that spectacle.

Check Azania. Quick. Merely unconscious? Pulse being a decent start. Plus breathing. Most mammals preferred both to be present, but being deep-seared by her partner in crime was much less recommended. Time to cast off guilt and doubt. When had either ever served him well? Mistakes happened. What mattered now was to set his muzzle to the fore, to seize this situation by the scruff of the neck and shake it until destiny itself yielded to his will!

He nodded to Aria. She’s alright. I need to get her to Inzashu.

The plan had been to wait and see if the spiders reacted aggressively. Blackguard and Aria, the leaders of their groups, had given no signal to attack, when Cragfist suddenly hissed. A spider had leaped at him! He swatted it away open-clawed.

Every living spider in the chamber swung about to stare at the queen. Thundersong’s gaze did the same. What now? A dozen black eyes stared across her rapidly-draining breeding chamber to take in the hovering Dragons. Her mandibles wriggled in that creepy arachnid way. He estimated that the diameter of her thorax must be close to his seventy-foot wingspan – too heavy to raise her body to walk, it appeared, which might explain part of the reason why these spiders preferred an aquatic environment. Buoyancy mattered.

Several legs rose to point toward the Dragons. Invaders! Sniff it out. Eat!

Intelligence also mattered.

The accent was barbarous to his ears, but the meaning of that dialect of Dragonish, crystal clear. A dreadful chittering chorus rose from the masses as the greenish heads popped out of the water, as they climbed walls, poured along the ceiling and surged in their thousands off the body of that queen spider. It became a chant, Eat it. Eat it. Eat it!

He knew something else. The shapes of some of those corpses in the silk, their knowledge of draconic language, the way Inzashu had described how the Skartunese Beastmaster Mages thought and their purpose in enslaving his kind before …

They know how to hunt Dragons!

Sharp as his bellow was, it did not reach everyone in time. The Isles Dragoness reacted with all their typical hyper-alertness as spiders sprang off the walls and ceiling of the cavern, trailing ropes of silk as they came. Aria’s team swung into action with their kaniaxi blades stabbing and slashing, trying to hack the spiders to pieces before any real damage could be done. Cragfist managed to snarl himself up right away, but tore free with a powerful, wrenching spasm, spinning about in the air as he tried to release his left wing from a partially stuck-together configuration. An Isles Dragoness whistled past and freed him with a precision strike of her left paw blade.

NICE! thundered the green Crusher, barbecuing a few spiders to the tune of cruel laughter.

“Uhh,” Azania moaned. “What … hit me?”

No time for confessions. Thundersong hurtled beneath one of the flower-like extrusions, piercing a huge lurking spider with a talon punch to the head and then struggling to shake it off his talons. “Blasted sticky rubbish. Get off! Die!”

Several spiders had already discovered the raft barrier hiding undoubtedly tasty-smelling Humans and equines and called to their friends with high-pitched, excited squeaks. Flotillas of arachnids gathered on the surface, paddling with their legs and linking together to create floating platforms from which they launched one another into the air in search of passing meat to ensnare. With attackers flying in from all directions now, it was inevitable that someone or something would get snarled up. Arrows flitted about his head as the Desert Askaris exacted a withering toll on the nearest spiders. Firing between the slats of the rafts, the sharpshooters targeted eye and head shots in the main. To his left flank, the bulky rust-red male Stonepaw the Crusher clipped Anzirielle in passing; the Isles warrior slewed into Aria’s path, causing them both to baulk and dodge. Aria slipped away cleanly. Grass-green Anzirielle’s swirling roll took her into the path of a spider behemoth.

She almost slipped by, but the dangling, spindly legs stretched out to touch her fluttering wings, one trailing a length of silk and, somehow, the creature spun her into an aerial roll that snarled her up in a loop and brought the huge, soft thorax down atop her body, smothering her struggles.

Anzirielle repaid the favour by biting off a leg. And another. Twisting sharply, she flicked open her talons and savaged its hide repeatedly, opening great ichor-oozing gashes in its belly. The spider extruded silk from its spinnerets and set about entangling its intended and highly unwilling prey at top speed. The Isles Dragoness flamed its neck, quickly burning open a four-foot rent. Then, Aria shot back past with a flurry of strikes so rapid that Thundersong could not follow the sequence.

Half of the spider’s face slid to one side.

“Can you stop admiring your mate’s butchery and get on with it?” Azania said testily.

“I’ll drop you off –”

She said an exceedingly un-queenly word.

“Well, I thought – no?”

“No. We fight together even when I’m about to be sick. I’ve an emergency belt ready – here, I’m good. Up on your back, please.”

His paw popped her up top. Her quick hands cinched a belt around her waist and one of his spine spikes. That should hold for most purposes, bar upside down flying.

“Ready,” she repeated.

He swung into a skimming pass across the water, pouring out his white flame in an attempt to grill every spider in sight. Azania’s bow twanged regularly as she picked her shots.

They waded in to relieve Stonepaw, who had decided that the best way to avenge his mistake with Anzirielle was to go Crusher-berserk. Flicking his wings up over his head to keep them out of the way, he Juggernaut-rolled his way around the battlefield, turning his body into a large silken cocoon complete with four paws and an extremely bad attitude. Actually, not the worst idea. The spiders’ tactics emphasised cutting down spaces and trying to trap the fast-moving Dragons in webs that they spun from the top diagonally across parts of the cavern. Stonepaw wrecked that idea. Meantime, the Isles Dragonesses flitted about in fluid, fast-moving teams, massacring the spiders as they attempted to rush the rafts and receiving Blackguard down there, whose right wing was completely tangled. The light-sapphire Dragoness Jezmyielle alighted briefly upon his back to tidy up a few spiders which kept biting at his ear canals. Maybe that was where they sought to inject their poison?

Blackguard reached over his shoulder to seize a spider twice Jezmyielle’s size about the neck. With a mighty roar, he flipped it over in front of his muzzle, trapped its head beneath his armpit and twisted the body until the two halves parted ways.

That was effective, Jezmyielle grinned.

He grumbled, You’d have dealt with it – beware above!

They sprang apart and combined in a twisting assault as spiders rained down around them. Three other Isles Dragonesses hurtled between the trailing hanks of silk, spitting bodies and chopping off legs with aplomb.

Blackguard’s mouth gaped, pouring flame onto a flotilla of spiders. Bonfires!

Spitroast! cried the green Dragoness, sliding her swords through a ten-foot specimen before whirling to kick it into the Crusher’s line of fire.

GNARR-HARRR! Blackguard roared, immolating the spider with exaggerated glee.

Thundersong smelled smoky romance.

He turned as Stonepaw landed heavily beside the raft barrier, unable to raise his left wing anymore. The Crusher still made sure he planted his wide belly atop as many spiders as possible, crushing them with a final roll. Dozens of spiders hissed and attacked him from all sides. Azerim’s Rangers rushed out of hiding to help, along with Gazdonl and Firri. Zurianne sped through the waters not far off, dealing with spiders trying to sneak up on the barrier beneath the surface.

Go for the queen, Azania panted. Pick up Inzashu. That creature’s –

Thundersong sensed its rising power. How had he missed that? A piercing note of psychic fury that threatened to knock every Dragon unconscious, perhaps a last-resort mental weapon? Slewing as rapidly as he could, he sideslipped to catch Inza as she leaped into his paw, snagging the girl near the scruff of her neck by her customary cream-coloured healer’s robes. Furl the right wing! Catching himself four-pawed upon the cavern wall, Thundersong reversed direction so precipitously that he surprised Aria coming the other way and they came within a whisker of clashing heads.

With me! he roared.

Calling in half a dozen of her warriors, Aria simply reversed her wing stroke – whatever one called that bonkers butterfly business – and flew backward after him. By his wings! He had never seen any Dragon do that before. Perhaps even Aria could learn new tricks? Azerim, seated upon her back, laughed in disbelief and shouted that she was incredible. He hurled a javelin at a spider in passing, spitting it through the throat. Zurianne sped beneath them, her sapphire tail a blur in the water as she swam the current up toward the final threat.

Ariamyrielle flew like her name, Seaspray. So light. Almost ephemeral, until one realised the fatal destruction she was capable of when the mood took her – which was often, in battle.

The queen spider gathered her massive bulk, rising tens of feet out of the water. The coming attack crystallised in her mind.

Thundersong! Hit it first! Inza shouted.

I – AM – THUNDER!!

The sonic shockwave slammed into the spider, belting it tens of feet backward, but the colossus was not so easily defeated. The spider spat her loathing and dug in with her claws.

THUNDER!!

His voice blasted water and bodies up into the spider’s face. Lightning cracked out of his throat, but it dove into the beast’s body and did … nothing. She absorbed it, like him!

Mistake! With a peculiar spider smile, the spider spread all her mandibles and unleashed the most maniacal shriek he had ever –

Huh?

Thundersong’s mind seemed to blink.

She shrie –

Huh?

Another blink of time or lost consciousness? Gap enough to see an instant’s opportunity and surge into the attack. He, Aria and the Dragonesses slammed into that great body, clawing, burning and slicing at breakneck speed. The spider’s hide was tough, but precision thrusts took out the compound eyes and hacked off its flailing mouthparts. Thundersong briefly saw her black poison-dripping fangs, each eight feet long, and Azerim’s javelin as it hurtled square between them and stuck in the roof of the creature’s mouth.

Spinning around upon his wingtip on Azania’s command, he found himself right up against that maw a second time as the spider lunged toward one of the Dragonesses.

Bellowing, “EAT MY FIRE!” Thundersong poured white fire down the spider’s throat. Ten seconds! Twenty! Keeping his aim true, his wingbeat took him upward as the creature tried to rear away.

Aria hissed past his stomach, carving twin ten-foot rents into the softer underparts of the creature’s throat.

The spider slumped, the baleful light fading from its eyes.

“Inzashu!” Azania screamed.

The girl lolled in his paw, blood seeping from her ears, nose and mouth.

* * * *

The Unicorns capered for Inzashu-N’shula as Azania’s half-sister lay on the lake shore beside the slowly receding waters. As best he understood the Mysterious Mare, it was Inza who had thrown herself under the hoof for the Dragons and the equines, who had rallied around the girl once they realised, belatedly, what she meant to do. They had saved her life.

A legendary power had this spider creature, the Mare told him late that evening, once the equine dancing was done and the girl slept more easily. We think we recall it being called the Psychic Slice. Undeniably, as your own nickering makes clear, this mental attack can be enormously damaging – we suspect it might even have been a form of suicide. In dying, one should destroy as many of the enemy as possible.

Aye, he said. Thank you for giving of your magic for Inzashu.

We had once sworn never to help the Psyromantic Mage or her spawn. The Mare bowed her mane elegantly. Even as we journey together, we grow together – do we not, o Thundersong?

We do. Yet even as he nodded, he wondered exactly what she meant.

He padded about restlessly, checking on his companions. Gazdonl snored against Firri’s flank, having finished stitching up four large puncture wounds in her upper torso, where a spider bite had pierced her scales. His left foot lay bare, bandaged in white linens. He had been burned somehow. Zurianne slept beside the pair, her usually fierce face much more innocent in sleep, betraying her youth. She had suffered no less than fourteen smaller bites that Azania had applied ointment to and dressed. Thankfully, the poison was only a paralytic and the small bites had not delivered enough to do worse than numb her left arm. She had fought most of the battle one-handed.

Stonepaw stopped beside Anzirielle to offer an apology that lacked only for eloquence, not sincerity.

She smiled toothily and purred, It was a good battle, Stonepaw. Your sharp thinking to wind up all the spider silk did not go amiss – even if I am not accustomed to seeing a Dragon garb himself like a Human royal in all his silken finery.

Arrr-harggh! the Crusher guffawed. Chanize tells me I’ve a future as a seamstress’ bobbin.

Well, next time I shall take care to offer you more wing room.

He inclined his muzzle courteously and rather spoiled it all by saying, Fiery dreams, little Dragoness.

Her fangs flashed for real this time. Fiery dreams, Stonepaw!

His own mate had a flash of fangs for him, Thundersong noticed, yet he finished his rounds first before pacing up to Aria and laying himself carefully down beside her flank, shuffling in a little and then curling his neck about her to encompass her body possessively. Aye. To Humans, possessiveness did not always strike the best notes, but to a Dragon – especially one grateful that those he loved had survived this battle – it betrayed the truest fires of his hearts. He would brood jealously over his family, over Aria, Azania and Azerim. He would guard them with every fire of his body and every stroke of his powerful right paw. Fate had made him large and strong, but that must be matched by the largesse and strength of his Dragon hearts. He slipped his wing over them, barely touching Azania where she lay curled up against her husband, her dark curls resting upon his shoulder, yet she sleepily raised a hand to caress the wing surface briefly.

Even in her sleep, her lips curved into a smile. Dragon …

Chapter 10: Well, Well

BY MORNING, THE WATERS had subsided and the tunnel ahead ran clear. Patrolling Isles Dragonesses and Rangers had dealt with a few stray spiders overnight. The teams stirred groggily and began to break down the camp, returning the rafts to normal service, checking wounds, breaking out a bale or two of hay for the Unicorns and, in the case of Blackguard and Jezmyielle, pretending that nothing at all had happened the previous day.

Noticeably not noticing one another, Thundersong scoffed inwardly.

That would not last.

What did last was the rafting. Forever. And ever. Having moved the rafts up a minor slope into the aquifer again that first morning, they paddled upriver all day without any respite or change whatsoever. No banks upon which to rest, no break in the tunnel, not the slightest change in the slope or flow. None of the Dragons, save Thundersong, enjoyed sleeping in the water, but that was what they were forced to do. Considerably grumpier and more snappish the following morning, the day continued with exactly the same service. No difference.

Not so much as a pebble out of place.

In the evening, he offered to tow everyone overnight, Sea Dragon style. Cue another massive argument – which he won, of course. Every creature needed their beauty sleep, even the most beautiful woman in the seventeen realms. She just needed it less than anyone else.

They roped all the rafts together with the large white beast right at the front. He wore a harness. Right. That had all the Crushers sniggering and the Isles Dragonesses sniffing and scowling at the perceived dishonour. Only Firri, dauntlessly cheerful as always, did not share this view. She popped up to the front to offer to keep him company for the whole night.

Aria turned more green than cobalt.

Sigh. That cheeky Façade Dragoness needed to find herself a love interest or Aria might soon lose her cool – ahem. Not a saying Dragons liked. It hinted at death.

Five evenings of towing later and even the Crushers had given up in the realisation that they could never keep up with a Dragon who could catch a decent night’s sleep while maintaining a relentless swimming pace against the current. They rested on or alongside the rafts, drifting upstream at a steady pace. Thundersong worked on his understanding of ≈firooliamoliol≈. So many hours to work on mastering the nuances of this one unchanging input, unlike the constantly changing oceanic environment.

Well, until it did change. That seventh evening, he swam past a trickle that came from above – from a tunnel too narrow even for Firri. Maybe an oasis? That was clearly not the river’s source.

The following day, they passed two more similar inlets.

He sniffed the water and decided it was telling him that the end was nigh, which was a terrific lie, since they kept on paddling for another four days and nights without any further variance in the tunnel. Who built tunnels hundreds of miles long beneath the desert? Why had the Skartunese never employed them for an invasion? Could it be superstition or fear of water or respect for the spiders? Or … that lighting-spitting creature he had encountered before? Maybe there was good reason to leave these tunnels well alone. Every Citadel in the northern desert would be keeping a close guard on their water sources and underground accesses from now on. Their last message to King N’chala had communicated the threat in no uncertain terms.

At last, in the early hours of another gloomy swim up the tunnel, change arrived. Broadening and flattening out, the flow began to climb a series of steps, each perhaps two hundred feet long. The underwater changes created swells that caused the rafts to rock each time, leading to over two hundred increasingly unhappy Unicorns. They got seasick.

Thundersong kept his swim up for as long as possible, but soon his paws touched the bottom and then his tucked-up knees did the same. Not bad. He had swum up to about nine to ten feet of depth. Putting down his paws, he emerged, sheeting water from his broad back, and doggedly began to walk up the stepped slope. After ten minutes or so, Blackguard stirred as well, sensing the changes. He stumped up to the front of the flotilla of rafts.

The Crusher growled, “Come on, youngling. My turn to help.”

“You’ll take a harness?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.” His slitted eyes measured Thundersong balefully. “No jokes or I’ll prettify your face.”

A bit early for a cranky quadruped.

Shortly, the other Dragons woke and with them the Isles warriors. More grumpy muttering as the smaller Isles Dragonesses discovered that they could not yet walk in this depth and so had to keep swimming, while the Crushers and Thundersong arranged themselves along the line of rafts, pushing and steadying as they worked their cargo upriver.

Stop your smirking, Anzirielle grumbled at Stonepaw.

Want a ride on my shoulders, sweetness? he said.

No! I am no fledgling.

No, you are not, he observed dryly, with a glint in his eye. Some are built for brawn and some for beauty.

I’m both, naturally, Thundersong put in immodestly. Both Dragons laughed at him. Ho, Aria, want to come sun yourself upon my shoulders?

She bristled, No!

Then how’s about making yourself useful by scouting ahead –

Make myself useful? The Dragoness stared incredulously at him. Are you trying to stir my fires, Thundersong?

Absolutely! he boomed heartily. Actually, I do sense something ahead. Toads.

Toads? You want me to investigate some slimy rock-spawn bottom feeders?

Small toads, said he, illustrating with his talons.

His mate steamed off with five warriors and Zurianne in tow to go and find the toads. The peaceable creatures were canary yellow, roughly the size of a Human cart and fond of serenading groups of Dragons and Unicorns, as they trudged and floated past, with a chorus of disharmonic, basso croaks. They also did not bother to move out of the way, and sat right in the flow, occasionally opening their mouths to let the current flow in, sifting particles and organic matter out of the stream. Lazy life.

Zurianne returned from another upstream scouting expedition to report that the end was indeed nigh. At last. It would not be as they expected, however.

Thundersong turned to Blackguard as the Crusher thumped himself on the side of the head.

Something stuck in my ear canal, he explained, cuffing his own upper jaw a second time.

I’ll help to hit you if you’d like, Gnarly suggested kindly.

Blackguard offered to bite off his friend’s tail and feed it to him piece by piece. Best buddies, clearly. The next second, however, he began to hop about, complaining that something was wriggling inside his ear canal. Probably a worm.

Stonepaw said, How’s about using a Human minion to extract it? Small hands –

I’m not having some Human digging about inside my head! he snapped, and then snapped twice as loud as a Dragoness landed upon his shoulders, What? What are you doing?

Hold still, you great baby, Jezmyielle cooed, gripping his neck with her paws.

I AM NOT A BABY!

Fine, fine, keep your pretty scales on, she gurgled, clearly not fazed in the slightest by his boiling temper. Her razor-sharp talons flicked out of their sheaths. Let’s just take a look in here, shall we?

Ouch! What are you doing? Get off!

She smacked him about the head. What’s this?

A mosquito? OOOWWWW!

She clacked her fangs between his eyes. Stop grumbling, you ruddy curmudgeon! Shall I use my sword to dig it out? Ooh, that’s interesting, there is something in here after all. Nearly got it …

He scowled at the tunnel wall. Well, what is it?

I believe I’ve discovered evidence of an actual brain. Prehistoric –

GNARR!!

Fish brain, said she, extracting a sleek two-foot freshwater fish, with a pinch grip and a flourish. She tossed the unfortunate silver morsel into his left forepaw. Snack, o humungous one?

To everyone’s surprise, Blackguard received the offering courteously, slipped the forked tail between his fangs and offered the head end to his accoster. By rite of kill, spoils to the deserving victor. May my offering be acceptable, o Jezmyielle.

This wording followed an ancient Tamarine Mountains rite of courtship! Thundersong buzzed all over. The sapphire Dragoness could not have known exactly what it meant, but perhaps something in the blaze of his eye fires arrested her, for they shared a glance that set the air between them smouldering. A professional warrior of some forty-eight years of age, Jezmyielle was neither a youngling, nor had she taken a mate before, he understood. Among the Vaylarn Archipelago Dragon population, females outnumbered males by close to a third. He had long wondered if this might be part of the reason that the warrior tradition had become so codified in some ways, valuing single-minded dedication to the craft.

He scented their fires and was content.

After a long moment of stillness, the Dragoness’ slim sapphire muzzle dipped to snip the fish neatly in half. She flicked her part into the back of her throat. A noble offering, Blackguard. Eat – share with me?

Her right forepaw, shaking slightly, caught his half as the cutting action caused it to slip out from between his large fangs. He cracked open his jaw in clear invitation.

Usually we’d offer a choice portion, not the tail end, she said.

All that your paw offers is choice indeed, he replied.

Suave old rogue! Thundersong sincerely hoped some of his other kin would take notes, because Blackguard was clearly capable of top-of-the-range romance. Gruff, yet the mellowest of fires. Jezmyielle made a sound somewhere between a growl, a mewl and a purr.

His lip curled into a raffish grin. Being basted in my ear wax overnight does lend a singular flavour to this fish, doesn’t it?

She laughed so hard she nearly choked on her portion and had the benefit of a large Crusher paw to smack her flank – she promptly hit him right back – and then they shared a tentative wingtip caress, as if daring, at last, to start investigating what this liaison might mean.

Azania smiled in Thundersong’s mind. You called it.

I did, didn’t I?

Dare you to share ear-basted fish with Aria?

I don’t think so. Blackguard clearly has a style all of his own.

* * * *

At long last, the artificial aquifer ended in an underground grotto, shaped much like a colander. Tall and generally oval in shape, it served as the endpoint of perhaps as many as several thousand small tunnels leading into the grotto from all directions. Each leaked or poured water. This water pooled in many, many pools arranged up natural tiers inside the cavern, so that the whole atmosphere was one of trickling water and – to Thundersong’s surprise – abundant plant life. A sandy lake right at the base eventually collected all of this water, deep at the end they entered, but having a sandy bank on the southern aspect, about a hundred and fifty Dragon paces distant.

Thundersong peered about with curiosity and growing delight. Natural light filtered down from above, from several vents, if he was not mistaken. Lovely spot.

“We should call this ‘Ten Thousand Waterfalls Lake’,” Azania suggested. “What do you think, Inza?”

Seated right behind Azania, her sister nodded. “I do love it, but the scent in the air is … still desert, I believe. Skartunese desert. Maybe this leads to an oasis up above?”

Thundersong sniffed the air too, evaluating an unexpected tang. “Is that a whiff of sewage over by the eastern wall?”

Plenty of eyes blinked at him in surprise.

It sounded profane even to his own ear canals to suggest such a thing in this pretty grotto, with its unfamiliar lizard-like bird life, lurking eels and toads and long-fronded plants that even grew off the ceiling. He nodded. Definitely the aroma of Human habitation or he was no beast of fire and scale. Indeed, Zurianne approached that area and immediately popped her head out, holding her nose with quite the dramatic facial expression.

“It’s well fertilised here. Yuck. Avoid.”

Engineer S’nati said, “It looks as if someone must have drilled these smaller horizontal boreholes deep into these water-bearing geological strata to collect the moisture and feed this aquifer. I can’t imagine the technology which must have been employed to do this. Truly remarkable.”

Pointing upward, Inza said, “Is that a well bucket?”

Indeed. A black leather bucket ascended on a rope, disappearing up a vertical pipe set right at the top of the grotto, over to their left hands, flanks and paws. A small pool up there showed signs of having been purpose-built, a stone retaining wall fixed with white limestone cement to encompass a pool perhaps fifteen feet deep, fed by a dozen pipes. Water lapped steadily over the rim, flowing down to a lower pool, then another …

Habitation?

Everyone hushed each other at the same time. Same idea.

Good to know who or what exactly was above, before making their presence known. Given as this was enemy territory, the options were unlikely to be good.

“Inzashu?” Azerim prompted quietly.

She nodded. “Skartunese. Probably desert Faliaki.”

“Moor the rafts over on that sandbank,” Farizam ordered, pointing. “Keep it quiet, everyone. Unicorns, take a break – Mysterious Mare, please join us for a conference.”

Shortly, they put their heads, muzzles and horns together. Inzashu explained that the Faliaki were a tribe who made a living by controlling access to water sources in the northern parts of the Skartunese territories. They were low caste, but numerous, and so had the strength to create a significant annoyance factor, attacking and taking over garrisons set up by the higher-caste tribes ruled by various Jabiz, ambushing trade caravans and melting away into the desert when attacked by superior forces – naturally, the honourable course of action would have been to stick around and die to the last man – only to pop up somewhere else and start the troublemaking all over again. She guessed their presence from the edging of that bucket. They had a religious aversion to drinking water from metal vessels. They also supplemented their diet with reptile blood and decorated their necks with strings holding the teeth of their victims. More teeth meant a higher status in the tribe.

“Selling us on the charm there, Inza?” Azania teased.

“Oh, some prefer to drink Human blood, but that’s not at all common in this region,” she reassured her sister. “They keep what they call ‘blood slaves’ – like you’d keep cattle in the northern kingdoms.”

“Delightful,” the Queen said, with majestically false brightness.

“I am your barbaric little sister. Mwaaa-haa-harrrghh.”

“That was fairly pathetic.”

“Evil laughter in a whisper? Aye. Not sure that works.”

“Try this, big little sister: gneee-heee-heee.”

Inza just shook her head. “Too much fierce Dragon Rider in there, Azania. But I hear you faced down a couple of thousand pirates on your own? One small Faliaki garrison should pose no challenge to one of your towering evil genius.”

“Pirates tend to behave better when Thundersong’s warming my back with his sulphurous halitosis.”

“Excuse me, my breath is a literal breath of fresh air,” Thundersong protested. “Springtime wildflowers in a meadow, I assure you. I just can’t erase the mental image of those Humans peering down their well, only to find a Dragon staring up at them. Imagine the shock?”

Plenty of snickers appreciated his joke.

“Firri smile from bottom?” the Façade Dragoness chirped.

“Even worse,” Gazdonl quipped.

Firri pretended to chew off his right ear. “Tasty.”

“Aye, go right ahead; he certainly wouldn’t miss those,” Thundersong agreed cheerfully.

“Excuse me!”

“Do you ever use them, lad?”

He grumbled, “I’m only going deaf because you’re so loud, Dragon.”

Since it was daytime, they decided not to attempt any reconnaissance until after dark. That left plenty of time to explore the grotto, however, and to see if they could find some kind of access from above – ideally, something large enough to permit Unicorns and Dragons to pass through. The Rangers and Engineers spread out, exploring, tip-tapping the walls and checking tunnels here and there in search of any secrets. Meantime, Firri several times mournfully suggested that she could hide in plain sight and no-one would see her anyways, but King Azerim flatly refused to allow her to take the risk.

In the late afternoon, the Dragon woke to an odd, acrid scent curling into his nostrils from nearby. Hmm. At the same time as his roving eye lit upon Gazdonl, who had covered his face in smelly black makeup in preparation for the planned after-dark reconnaissance with Firri, the only Dragon of their number who could comfortably and quickly fit up that well pipe, he saw King Azerim approaching from the opposite side. He looked excited.

“Thundersong!” they both said at the same time.

Azerim stared at the young Dragon Rider. “Lad, what are you wearing?”

“Blackface.”

The King’s jaw dropped. Stealing a glance at his wife, he said, “Don’t say that.”

Gazdonl said easily, “It isn’t offensive where I come from. I’m well aware of the history of the term – originally, it was used to refer to pirates who tarred their faces in preparation for night raids along the coast.”

“Look, Azania –”

“She knows,” the youngster said, so glibly that the King’s temperature must have jumped fifty degrees in a second. “She’s stronger than you think, Your Maj – uh, sorry. That came out badly.”

“You don’t say!”

His vehemence carried sharply around the chamber.

Thundersong growled, “By my dam’s egg, blackface? Gazdonl, that’s –”

“That’s history for you,” Azania said, facing them with her elfin face set in hard lines. “History with all its delights. The slavers borrowed the idea of blackface from the coastal kingdoms and gave it their own special twist. After Gazdonl and I discussed this – oh, a few years back now, I think – we made a pact never to let a mere word oppress us. Words only have the power we grant them. After all, that stuff’s really just black boot polish and if I’m so weak as to let a single word own me, heart and soul, then I am lost indeed. I am a Queen and a Dragon Rider. A word like ‘blackface’ will never determine who I am.”

Thundersong felt as if he had philosophical whiplash. When had she started to think like this? How had he missed it?

“Nor will ‘fisherbrat’ determine who I am,” Gazdonl put in proudly.

For his part, the King unclenched his fists with an effort. He had been ready to wade in to defend his wife’s honour. Not so easy to back down now.

Huh. Thundersong’s breath rasped horribly in his throat. Not happy with this twist! Surely these words were not for remembering or repeating aloud; surely, they should be wiped out of all usage and memory? Yet then, how would creatures remember the pain of what had been? Would this purposeful forgetting not become a form of heritage denial, a repudiation of some essential element of personhood, or would the passage of time eventually perform its own miracle of disempowerment?

Heavy contemplations.

His Rider said, “Dragon?”

He turned a huge, slow grin upon her. “I am not a Fritz. I am, in a word, fritztastic.”

Maybe he’d just make up a few words of his own.

Chapter 11: Slow Ambush

AZERIM’S REAL BUSINESS HAD been to inform him that the Engineers suspected they had identified a false rockface high up in the grotto. It took a dint of getting to. So much so, that a Dragon became suspicious of the motives of the original builders. On the whole, Human cultures valued sneakiness far less than draconic ones. Azania and Inzashu, however, hailed from desert societies that valued the skills of negotiation, bluffing and deception. The way Azania put it, the Northern realms saw but one road to an issue. In the desert, there were no roads, only endless sands. A person could take a thousand routes to their goal. In both of their races, however, females took the spoils when it came to matters of guile. Undeniable fact.

Therefore, it came as no surprise to him that this discovery could only be ascribed to Inzashu’s attention to detail. She had patiently climbed many rockfaces right to the top and checked from angles he had noticed the Rangers sometimes covered only visually from below. Now, he wriggled up the way she had come, a narrow pipe between two rockfaces covered in hanging vines that led right up to the grotto’s ceiling, about a hundred Dragon paces from the well. A knoll right at the top of the pipe covered in a thick layer of brown fungus hid the entrance to a flat, low-roofed recess beyond.

Thundersong wedged his body into the gap, having to suck in his substantial belly to make the transition from vertical climb to horizontal crawl. Sensing his thoughts, Azania paused to lightly kick his stomach and make a comment about middle-aged spread. Not that old yet!

He was getting a little too fond of his own cooking, one might confess.

Pure muscle. Gnarr.

Aria wriggled up behind him. “Move over, Thundersong.”

“If you ask nicely …”

“Alright, handsome, I won’t murder you if you move over immediately.”

“How your dulcet tones caress my soul’s inmost fires,” he gurgled, and received a tetchy growl in response. Warrior focus. Do not disturb. He said, “So, this does look interesting. Mounds of dressed stone here to my left. That’s the haft of a hammer. It would be an odd location to store anything, wouldn’t it?”

“Right. That’s what I was thinking,” Inzashu agreed. “The proximity of minds suggests that this may be near or right below the foundations of a fortress structure, but we’d need you to sound the rock and work out where the access might be.”

“Why don’t you just use the keyhole?” he suggested.

Never mind the gloom and a lovely brown skin tone, the girl turned a shade or three darker than before. “Oh. Right. I … may have missed that.”

“Terrifically brainy, our Inza, but you clearly can’t trust her to tie her own bootlaces,” Thundersong opined.

“Dragon,” warned the girl.

“The mightiest intellects surely cannot be troubled by such insignificant mundanities.”

“Dragon!”

Swinging his muzzle about, he pretended to take a deep sniff of her legs.

She pushed his head ineffectively. “Get off.”

“Aye. I have it now.”

“You have what?” she protested.

“I scent sense a husband in your near future –”

“Dragon, that isn’t even funny!” Inzashu barked, her mind crackling at him with an ugly array of colours before she wrestled her powers back under control. “Ugh! Sorry. Not down here, alright? I mean, not in all Skartun. The chances of my finding a single decent specimen out here in the northern Skartunese wastelands can be counted on the talons of exactly no paws.”

“Hurgh-hurgh-harrr, never say never.”

“As you’d say, gnarr!”

Someone was not in the mood for his heavy-pawed brand of humour. Sigh. With a large keyhole visible in an otherwise utterly nondescript slab of rock, however, the intent of this area could not be mistaken. There must be an access, perhaps to storage areas or cellars below some building, commonly built near oases to help guard the valuable resource.

Whereupon the Sankir, Inzashu, three Engineers and Aria spent a fruitless hour trying to pick the lock, which was so large Inzashu could thrust her arm inside it right up to the elbow. Not happening. Not today.

Eventually, Azania said, “Let Thundersong try – quietly.”

“Try what?” Inza said crossly, folding her arms.

So volatile! What had bitten her?

“He has his … delicate ways,” his Rider smiled.

He scowled, “Delicate?”

“Like a rosebud, softly shall he inveigle entry,” she cooed, all fake poetic and coy.

Worth an eye roll. A big one. He blustered, “Have you been reading my scrolls again? My, what a clever little Queen you are.”

She elbowed his snout. “Clever enough to kidnap you, handsome – oi! Dragon! Put me down.”

“Ooh, mistook you for a toothpick,” he snorted humorously. “Sorry. Or a lockpick – no? Very well. Observe.”

Flicking out his talons, he selected his longest and popped it into the aperture. It really was keyhole-shaped, but he could not imagine which Human would carry a key half as long as their arm to open a lock like this. Maybe a simpler answer, like a sword – one of those curved, barbed desert swords the Skartunese liked to best slit open and tear out the intestines of their enemies? Aye … which meant, maybe a curve upward like this, and … snick. Ooh! He twisted again. Click … creak … groan … With a loud squeal of metal protesting actual movement after at least fifty years of blissfully undisturbed rest, nothing happened.

His immediate rush of smugness tilted off-kilter. “Hmm.”

“Probably stuck,” said Inzashu, glancing at Azania.

“Probably,” she agreed dryly. “We should really find someone who could do something about that, sister.”

“You’re right, sister. A smart, brave, quick-thinking –”

“– hunk of a Dragon who could probably push it over with one tap of his tiniest talon,” the rascally Queen continued smoothly. “Say, Inza, what’s worse than completely missing the Dragon in the room?”

“I don’t know?”

“Finding one!”

For which rather poor joke, Azania collected a hug. Thundersong shook his muzzle privately. Definitely something awry with the younger sister. He would sniff it out. Meantime, he advanced and tested the door with a few shakes, a rattle and a biff. Nothing too loud. As a developing hiss from above alerted him, he whipped up a paw. Bucketloads of dust poured unexpectedly from the ceiling, unfortunately covering Azania and Engineer S’nati before he could quite shield them. The pair emerged, coughing and spluttering.

“Oops. Sorry,” he growled. “In other news, it appears you can do whiteface, Azania. Or, at least, dustface.”

“Hilarious,” she coughed, bending over to shake out her hair.

Since this access had no handle or means of gripping it, he placed his forepaws flat against the rocky surface and pressed sideways. Not left, but to the right, it began to slide aside with a scraping noise. His shoulder muscles bunched and bulged as he exerted pressure to overcome years of friction, before, on a quiet word from S’nati, moving it several times back and forth. With a bump and a scrape, the door slowly groaned sideways and became properly stuck at about ten feet wide or less than half of its width. Everyone peered inside.

Crates, boxes, tarpaulin-wrapped pots, piles of old timbers.

A dark, scar-faced man, holding up an unfamiliar brass lantern, popped out from behind a crate, clearly having come to investigate the noise.

His jaw dropped into a comical gape.

“Good evening,” Thundersong said courteously. “Could you tell us where we are, my good man?”

With a sharp inhalation, he began to scream. Aria’s sword hurtled end over end toward his upper chest but at the last rotation the heavy handle snagged a piece of sacking and the sword pierced his body just below the left collarbone, passing right through and sticking him to a crate behind his back. The man made a horrible wheeze. Then, before Aria’s lunge brought her within range, his mouth opened, and he hit a note Thundersong would have thought the Human throat incapable of producing. A screaming mountain wildcat could have done no better.

The Dragoness smashed him beneath the jaw with a neck-snapper of an uppercut. Silenced.

Not so silent, the shouts without. Aria swore and then yelled, “Inzashu, alert Azerim. Start on the well. Five warriors needed here, plus Rangers. Thundersong –”

“I can’t possibly fit out of that door at the end,” he said.

“There’s a wooden floor above that section,” Azania said, pointing upward.

Thundersong leered, “Isn’t that a nice piece of design?”

Aria said, “Inza, bring the Crushers up this way. Aria, go rip your way through whatever’s up there and Thundersong, she’ll save you a few in case you’re bored. Or too slow.”

Slow? Tough medicine for a big Dragon. Bulldozing his way through the crates and other stores, which handily cleared a path for the Isles Dragonesses rushing up to support Aria, he gave the timbers above his head the benefit of his crustiest stare. One that practically ate them like acid. No, he and those floorboards were never going to be the best of friends. Setting his four paws, he hunched his shoulders against the wood and exerted his strength. He might not be the biggest of Sea Dragons, but he was fairly sure he had to be the strongest artist in all Solixambria and possibly in the oceans, too. His first effort had the seasoned boards groaning at their fixings.

Aria, plus her company of warriors, disappeared into the next rooms meantime. He heard shouts and the musical twanging of bows, as the Desert Askaris must have made it out of the well already. Firri’s curiously twittering battle cry sounded outside, muffled but unmistakable.

He snarled and heaved again.

“Two feet backward,” Azania advised.

“You still here?”

“You still here?” she echoed testily. “Put some beef into it, Dragon!”

“GNARR!!”

“Exactly. You did a better job on my tower in Vanrace. Was it the local odours?”

A terrible roar swelled in his chest as he pressed upward with a mighty surge. Boards bent and groaned, nails squealed as he forced them out and then, with a pleasing volley of cracks, he split the floor down the middle and heaved himself out, like a leviathan broaching from the deep, into a kitchen in which every single chef and skivvy had barricaded themselves near the far end. He chuckled softly as Azania, not waiting for a paw up, swarmed up his tail to join him. With a pleasing wriggle to clear his back of rubble and most of a cooking stove, he prepared a suitable landing space for her.

“Smells awful in here,” he commented.

“Offal?” Azania gasped, grabbing her nose as the stench seared home.

“Offal’s usually tasty, but this is an offence even to the nostrils of a Dragon,” he agreed. “I think they’re cooking it rotten or fermented … or something.”

“Where’s the way out?” Azania demanded of one of the cooks, a scabrous fellow with four missing teeth. He would have made a fine pirate.

“Those stairs!” he quavered.

Thundersong eyed the narrow stone stairway. “Your offer is unacceptable.”

The already pasty brown man cursed in his native tongue and contrived to turn even pastier when the huge white Dragon trained a stinker of a glare upon him. No. Not impressed. Probably some sort of underlying heart condition, if the quality of his greasy skin was anything to judge by. With a loud gurgle, one of the younger ones voided his bowels. While a Dragon’s reign of undeniable terror held a certain appeal to his Dragon hearts, this was undeniably insanely foul. Definitely the worst end of mammalian behaviour from this ill-favoured kitchen crew. Even pirates behaved better than this.

“Stone ceiling here,” his Rider observed mildly.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Thundersong purred, eyeing the nice cast iron stove he had just dropped off his back. “You lot – one wrong glance at my Queen and I will defenestrate you, hear me?”

They gaped at him.

“Smaller words please, Dragon,” Azania suggested, illustrating with her fingers.

“Very good. Touch either of us, you two-legged rats, and I will crush you like the beetles you are.”

“Nice simplification.”

His horrible snarl set off three more sets of bowels. Oh dear. He had far preferred the national fainting of Amboraine to this cultural trait. Picking up the iron stove in his right forepaw – a certain smart girl got herself smartly out of the way at this juncture – he smashed it upward into the apex of the arched roof above his head. This must have been built as a kind of foundation for the structure above, perhaps with the middle-floor layer added later to split it into useful working spaces. The stone was strong but old, and a determined battering with an iron stove that weighed a tonne or so was never about to do it any good. Once he had cracked several pieces – enough to pick them out with his talons - several larger sections followed in a clatter of masonry, along with a stream of lighter filler material. This exposed another, much lighter layer of floorboards above.

“Hide, please.”

Azania rolled beneath his belly.

I AM WRECKER!! he roared, joyfully punching a hole up through the ceiling. Really, this roof was too low for a big white Dragon. Only about twelve feet tall. Bits and pieces of armour and a few random weapons cascaded down over his shoulders. Ha, must be the local armoury. After tearing a few more feet of space around his initial hole, he gave Azania a boost up.

Clear, she said calmly.

Mind the stove.

He popped the stove up top and then squeezed through the hole, leaving a rash of dark faces peering fearfully up at him from below. “Don’t do anything silly, now,” he said, and breathed fire over their woodpile, set beside one of the stoves. The fire burst into life and caught quickly on their wooden worktables. Gnarly, emerging next from the hole, gave them a wicked sneer that sent the entire kitchen staff scuttling back into hiding.

Mass screaming was such a Human trait.

A spot of arson did help a discerning Dragon develop a better mood. Something mesmerising about the smell of charring, the leaping flames and the sudden rush of heat. Hefting the rather useful stove, he bounded through the rough armoury toward a much larger set of wooden doors, a sensible size for a change, that must lead to the outside, as a crack of daylight showed between them.

Azania grinned at him. Was that a skip I just saw?

I couldn’t possibly confess, he grinned back. Smells like battle out there, right?

Just one little door standing in our way. Thundersong, seek and destroy!

You are a very evil Queen.

And you like playing with castles. After you.

To the tune of a crack of thunder pealing out of his throat, he gave the doors a full-frontal charge. Time to put a Juggernaut roll to a purpose it had never been designed for, but certainly suited, like scales suited the Dragon.

Smashing stuff!

Chapter 12: Oasis Garrison

ROLLING HIS RIGHT SHOULDER, as he propelled himself into the impact, Thundersong crunched into the timbers like a monstrous flying anvil. Splinters exploded around his flying bulk. What was left of the twin doors, all of twenty feet tall, boomed open with a loud report and immediately cracked off the shattered hinges, falling to the ground either side as he rolled up to his paws and peered about with his usual lack of focus, given the frustrating drawbacks of his underwater-focussed eyesight.

One paw absently gathered the stove to his side. A would-be chef required his best tools for the job.

Azania strolled through the gap beside him, cool as a northern dawn. Her arrow tip lifted, seeking enemies.

A blast of fiercely desiccated desert air entered his flaring nostrils, but it immediately smelled different to the climate of Azania’s homeland – spicier, with hints of tamarind, jasmine and pomegranate. It also smelled a great deal of unwashed Human socks, clothing and miscellaneous animal pelts, a sizeable mound of which lay beside a pretty spring which these barbarians had soiled with mounds of filthy kitchen implements, rubbish and – aye, several fresh corpses or, at least, people rapidly on their way to becoming such. The poor wretches were affixed in a head-down position to rough wooden frames with wide buckets beneath to catch the fresh, juicy drippings, one assumed.

A twelve-foot stone block retaining wall surrounded the oasis. To this side, from which he had emerged in all his blazing white Dragon glory to be ignored by all the desert barbarians being slaughtered by Aria’s warriors and picked off by the King’s Rangers, was a large, squat fortress building that clearly served as a base for the ignoble occupiers. Despite the intense dry heat apparent even at this mid-evening hour, the oasis soils appeared to be reasonably fertile, perhaps volcanic in origin. Enough that he spied a few vegetable patches around the perimeter wall.

This was as much detail as his battle brain allowed before he sprang into action, hefting the stove in his right forepaw to crush a lizard creature as it sped toward Azania. Unfazed, she picked a shot across the pond, plucking a Skartunese archer out of a tree. Thundersong tail-slapped a fellow foolish enough to try sneaking around behind him, then popped Azania up onto his shoulders for a better vantage point as they ran toward a knot of desert fighters, clad in long white robes and turbans, who were keen to gang up on Gazdonl and Firri. The Dragon Rider pair were giving a good account of themselves, but the Façade Dragoness must have stepped into an iron paw trap by accident.

They set traps about the place? Maybe they were for hunting some of the animals of the Skartunese barrens?

No mind. Roaring at his companions to duck, he took a swing with the stove.

Firri ducked. Gazdonl wanted to protest Thundersong’s somewhat haphazard culinary skills but, thankfully, the Dragoness showed excellent presence of mind, sweeping his legs out from beneath him. Gazdonl landed on his backside with a grunt and a curse, snapping, “Do you mind?”

The stove whizzed overhead. A knot of men splattered away to the side.

Nice!

“What? I’m cooking up a solution for your problems,” Thundersong rumbled.

Azania put in, “Dragon does get the urge to get creative in the kitchen at the oddest times.”

“I … I just can’t keep up with how unconventional you are,” spluttered the lad, clearly struggling to keep his gorge down as his eyes rolled toward the freshly tenderised pile of man steaks to his left. “Uh, um, ugggh … Firri’s stuck and –”

“It’s a nice stove, sturdy and serviceable,” Thundersong protested, thumping it down on a man who still dared to move, even to wave his long, serrated dagger toward Firri. “Look, I just cooked his goose. Threw everything at him, bar the kitchen sink.”

Gazdonl made a small moaning noise.

“He’s incurable, but an excellent chef,” said the Queen.

“BRRAA-HARRR-HARRRGGH!! How’s about this one: I just basted him over the head!”

“Bit of a stretch, Dragon.”

“Aye, next time I simply must remember to add salt and pepper first. Let’s get this ridiculous contraption off your paw, Firri. Are they retreating already?”

The Queen scanned the battlefield alertly. “Aye. I think it was Gnarly’s smile. Handsome fellow, isn’t he?”

Or Inzashu pushed them with her mind.

Azania glanced sharply at him. I thought she had vowed never to … well, it’s complicated, isn’t it?

Indeed. Ends, means, and what would she not do for those she loves?

His best friend sighed. Aye.

The girl’s greatest fear was to become like her mother. Fair enough. Ambitions of total world domination did not suit just anyone, but to realise she was so scarred, so broken by her upbringing … a person who had never enjoyed an actual childhood. Not like others. Always, she had known and sensed too much, learning things no child should be subjected to. Every day, he scented her emotions with the special closeness they enjoyed; she fought to monitor herself with obsessive, never-ending zeal. She must be exhausted.

He said, I’ll speak to her. I believe I may have touched the talon of her discontent.

Thank you, my friend.

Thundersong inserted two talons into the spring-loaded trap and levered the jaws apart. Firri probably could have managed with the correct application of leverage, but she had been too busy fighting alongside Gazdonl to take the time.

Aloud, he said, “I’m afraid he really doesn’t do it for me – but don’t tell him, alright?”

Not far off, the Crusher hurled a man high and far over the wall. Gnarly snarled, “Get out of my sight, rat!”

“His ego might suffer.”

Gazdonl said, “Zurianne isn’t going to like this environment. I can feel the dryness grabbing the back of my throat already.”

A white paw squeezed the lad’s shoulder. “There, there, no need to sound so anxious. In case you hadn’t noticed, lad, her fires really do burn for you alone – truly a mystery for the ages as to why – so my advice is either to accept your not-entirely-terrible fate or start running now and never stop. Even so, she’ll swim across the desert after you so, between you, me and the doorposts I just flattened, I recommend the former rather than the latter option.”

“Right,” he chuckled, kneeling to check Firri’s ankle with his hands.

“Besides, you show commendable taste in scaly tails. I believe you may be an advanced sort of Human in this regard.”

At last, Gazdonl’s usual carefree laugh asserted itself. “Thanks! If you say so …”

The white robes fled to all quarters, abandoning whatever they had brought to this place or found here when they took over. They mounted up on fast, coal-black lizards, few showing any inclination to help one another as they fought to be first through the main exit – apparently, a larger hallway back through the building Thundersong had just burst out of. Meantime, the Isles Dragoness in the air and the Crushers, mostly on the ground, swept up any stragglers. He checked in mentally and visually with Aria, but there was little left to do. Neither group of Dragons were bent on wanton slaughter. He even saw Blackguard helping a trio of the Faliaki youngsters to round up a lizard. They rushed away in pursuit of the others – he peered curiously after them for a second. They smelled odd. Azerim despatched a troop of Rangers to check that the kitchen staff had been able to evacuate safely.

Shortly, Aria and the King divided their forces into twenty prearranged groups and assigned tasks that ranged from searching the buildings for any who might still be hiding, to identifying and securing any stores they might need and patrolling the perimeter. Azerim himself led a group to the spring.

“Let’s clean this filth up,” he said. “It’ll be good to leave one corner of Skartun a better and cleaner place anyways.”

“Plus, Zurianne will need the water, sire,” Gazdonl put in.

“Aye lad, but not from this spring. Not yet; she’d only catch something nasty. If she wants to come up, let’s get … one of those big tubs. You can fill one of those for her from the well.”

The youngster nodded eagerly and ran off to do the royal bidding.

Still a touch overwhelmed by his new station in life.

Sensing the restive movement of Inzashu’s thoughts as he was thinking of her, Dragon tagged along as she strode over to check the prisoners strung up beside the pond. Four frames had been prepared, of which three were occupied; the devices had a crude means of turning the thoroughly trussed prisoner from the horizontal to the vertical in order to best position them, as he had previously suspected, to fill a bucket below with … blergh! Blood. The men had been cut open in multiple places to let out their blood for collection!

Thundersong swallowed back a surge of nausea.

A vile practice with necromantic connotations. Inza had alluded to it.

“Can I help?” he said.

“Not really. These two are already dead. Recently.” She sighed raggedly. “Let me check this third one.”

The man had been tortured. It showed in the heavy welts on his face, the cuts on his bald head, the three-inch cactus spines which appeared to have been hammered beneath his toenails and fingernails. Thundersong admired Inza’s calm as she sought a place to check his pulse. Blood dripped regularly into the bucket below his head without the usual cheery ‘plink’ this Dragon had always associated with water.

“This one’s alive,” she said.

The prisoner stirred, fighting the tough leather cords binding his body and limbs to the frame. Some of his clothing had been flayed off him at some point. What remained was so sodden with blood and grime that it was impossible to tell the original colour of the cloth or the nature of what he wore.

This one was in bad, bad shape.

“Easy there,” Inzashu said.

“Nnrrr-gaaah!” he moaned, around a crude piece of leather binding his mouth, the better to muffle his cries.

“We’ll help you. Relax.”

He bucked furiously. “Nrrr! Nrrr! NUUUH!”

Thundersong growled, “Be still! We’re friends, here to help –”

“I … do I know you?” Inzashu wondered aloud. Her fingers froze upon his pulse, then she snatched her hand away as if burned. “Kerimaki! No! It can’t be.”

The man groaned piteously.

“His name’s Kerimaki?” Thundersong asked.

“No … no!” Inzashu shook her head sharply. “It’s … he’s … I know him. From before.”

“A friend?”

The man screamed into the gag. Thundersong placed a paw on the frame and righted him carefully. Quite the mess. That face would not be smiling for a long time.

“Not – no. He’s a Jabiz.” Inzashu sounded more rattled than he had ever heard her, her mask of perfect control shattered. “I’ve no idea what he’s doing out here. He must’ve fallen out of favour … probably a Jabiz no longer, judging by the state of him. The name’s Jabiz … Stabberoo. His men used to call him ‘The Backstabber.’ A notorious assassin. Leave him here.”

“Leave him?”

“Don’t touch him!”

“Gnarr … he’s fairly much dead unless we choose to help him, Inza –”

“He’s a Beastmaster. He has beast control skills and magic. He could –” she sucked in a ragged breath “– no, you ridiculous – I’m not saying you’re an animal! I’m saying you have to be careful. He’s strong and crafty and extremely dangerous. Come away, Thundersong.”

“Nuuughh!” cried the Jabiz.

“We have to help him.”

“Oh, I’ll help him alright!” Drawing her dagger, she waved it toward the man – and flinched. Shuddered. “I’m – I’m not strong enough, Thundersong. I never will be. Better I –”

He lashed out, knocking her dagger to the ground. “Don’t!”

She cried out at the blow, stumbling to one knee. She whispered, “I didn’t mean … you know. Sorry. Thanks, Thundersong.”

He nodded slowly. “Sorry. I was afraid.” Again. Why could he not control his reactions? “Inzashu, you are not your mother, and you never will be. No matter how vile this man has been, look at the state of him now. He has fallen low. He bears the slave scars you told me about – here, three on each cheek. Did you know him thus?”

She shook her head, but her dark eyes were wild with stormy emotions.

“Give him a chance. I see that you’ve refused to tear the knowledge out of him, which you could if you wanted to.”

“I wanted to unmake him,” she said simply. “He used to be – when were young, Thundersong, he was not the worst man. I liked him and looked up to him. We had a friendship; I guess a bit like an older brother and a little sister and perhaps … more – from my side at least – but because of my mother he was sent away and I didn’t see him for years. When we met again, he had changed utterly, become this Jabiz Stabberoo. Before that, his name was Ulgazil or just Gaz when he was being playful. We’re from the same Skartunese people, the Irmulkan. I’ve always wondered …”

“Wondered what?”

“If my mother changed him. If she had ambitions … for him. And me.” She shrugged her slim shoulders and stooped for her dagger. “It would have been her way. She played the Jabiz and their sons against one another all the time, knowing that many sought an alliance with the Psyromantic Mage’s power base through marriage. I was often dangled as bait and expected to manipulate their feelings. Perhaps he displeased her in some way and was punished.”

“He’s unconscious now.”

“Aye. I – I’ll give him a chance, Thundersong, if you think it’s the right thing to do?”

Suddenly she sounded ever so young and unsure of herself. What was she now – around seventeen years? One detail of her past she did not know was her actual birthday. Nahritu-N’shula had not bothered to share that detail with her protégé.

He said, “It simply smells right.”

“If it isn’t?”

“The desert would not be kind to a man in his condition.”

“Aye.”

Her reply was almost too soft to be audible. He did not dare to reveal what he thought he scented in her heart. It could not be possible.

* * * *

When the zingu’uk or dawn breeze of the desert stirred the palm groves around the spring, releasing gentle spicy fragrances into the air, a white Dragon awoke. He had slept ill and dreamed worse. All the old nightmares about the wars he had seen. Endless suffering. Boundless fields of death.

Azania and Inzashu were already awake, sitting right beside one another against his flank. They did not speak, but he sensed that they must have shared much before he stirred. After not knowing of one another’s existence for eleven years, they had grown close indeed. His eyes roved to check his surrounds. Three alert Dragonesses on the watch. All others of their company slept. About a third of the Unicorns had been transported above ground the previous evening, before King Azerim had kicked and chivvied his teams off to get some sleep about an hour after midnight.

The Unicorns had purified the pool. That would be reason the waters now gently sparkled, as a layer of Unicorn dung had drifted to the bottom. A day or two and everything would be perfect. This place would flourish as never before.

Maybe he would start the Unicorns off on a programme of pooping the desert into fertility? A notion that reeked of excellence, mwaaa-harrr-harrrgh!

From one of the kitchen staff who had been found hiding inside a barrel of lard the previous evening, they had learned that this area was called the Taskurkon Flats and the oasis, Lyskys Water. It lay north of a jagged, violently volcanic area called the Lyskys Fault, mainly comprised of ever-changing volcanic mountains and vast cracks in the crust of Solixambria.

Not a place to travel through, unless one intended to partake in the sport of volcano sitting.

The sisters sat between him and Aria. The Dragoness breathed lightly beneath his neck, her muzzle tucked so close to him that each exhalation warmed his scales afresh. Delicious. Yet he did not get to enjoy the intimacy for long, for the warrior stirred as soon as she sensed the waking changes to his draconic life, the rhythm of his soughing fires and breathing. Far too vigilant for her own good. Wish as he might that she might learn to relax, her way was to be drop-of-a-scale alert to any changes in her environment.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he purred.

Both girls and the Dragoness chorused, “Me?”

“Gnarr-harr-harrghh,” he purred. Perfect. “In my largesse, I collect beauties.”

“Flatterer,” Azania chuckled. “We need to find you a nice boy-Dragon, Inza. One with all the right lines.” Deepening her voice, she said, “ ‘Gnarr. I’m planning to kidnap myself a pretty Princess, I am. I’m Solixambria’s foremost expert in Princesses, you know.’ ”

“That bit’s true.”

“And how modest you are, Dragon.”

“Indeed, a paragon of humbleness. All should emulate my light-pawed tread through life’s myriad byways. Moreover, I wish to inform you that I kidnap only the absolute best, and seek quality in the titchiest tyrannical titbits.”

Azania giggled, “Always advancing advantageous alliterations, I appreciate.”

“I’ve never shied from a thesaurus in my life.”

“Indeed not!”

To his snorting surprise, Azania kissed him beneath the eye, and said a few things about what a lovely, but occasionally insufferable, Dragon he was. With that, she joined a couple of early Desert Askaris in raiding the date palms for fresh treats, Aria went to debrief with her warriors and Inzashu’s eyes shifted to check on her most battered patient. Awake. Undeniably an encouraging sign in those who had been recently tortured and drained of a goodly volume of their life’s blood.

Inza crouched beside him. “Water? How are you feeling?”

“Like I was …” he paused and swore beneath his breath. “Kill me now.”

“No,” she said.

Thundersong glanced between them so fast that his neck vertebrae protested with a vigorous pop. They knew one another? Oh. His brain fired up its thoughts and connected a few things which had evidently become disconnected during the night. Complicated history …

The Jabiz’s voice was thick and slow, evidently a man very far from feeling well. “Why not?”

“I choose not to. You are untied and we’ve dressed your wounds.”

He swore again. “Please, lash me to that frame and let me die! I’d rather bleed out than speak another word with you – I know who you are, woman. I know what you do.”

Inzashu remained calm. Scarily calm. “How do you know me?”

“You are none other than the whelp of that Psyromantic Mage, mommy’s sweet little mind-twisting princess.”

“She’s dead.”

“Well, excuse a cynical cheer – shkoll-tari!”

“I killed her.”

“And they call me the backstabber? Congratulations on removing that impediment from your path, Jabiz Inzashu-N’shula. I guess mommy’s precious jewel grew up more vicious than her accursed dam after all. Not unexpected.”

Fists clenched, the girl ground her teeth audibly. “Then you don’t know me at all.”

For the first time, his eyes cracked open – a striking sky blue against the darkness of his swollen face. Perhaps the conversation was not proceeding as he expected? One eye barely opened at all, but the other managed half a slit or thereabouts. “How dare you sit there and make these ridiculous claims? Your mother ruined my life, you wretched stak-birtakool! I used to be –”

“A strong young man I looked up to.”

“Compliments?” he spat, then groaned. When she reached out instinctually, he spat, “Don’t touch me, you slithering cobra!”

Tautly, she said, “What’s the difference? You know I’ve no need of physical touch to do what you fear most, but I swear to you I will not violate your mind. I have not touched your –”

“How would I even know?”

His voice grew weaker, yet his stubbornness was a towering edifice. Thundersong glanced between them a second time, scenting their respective emotional signals and deciding that he could not tell who hated the other more. Smoke signals. Lots and lots of smoke.

All at once, so unexpectedly that he jumped a foot backward and had to champ his jaw to stymie an involuntary spurt of white fire, the pair began to scream at each other in their native Skartunese language. No taking turns, nor actually listening. The point appeared to be to yell at one another without actually drawing breath, veins popping, and dark faces twisted with fury, until the Jabiz fainted outright.

Inzashu threw up her hands, hissed something so vicious it was entirely out of character for her and stalked off in a high dudgeon.

“Shall I keep treating him?” Thundersong asked of her retreating back.

“Best slit his throat before he tries to slit yours!”

Chapter 13: Pawful Work

SINCE THE STABBEROO DID not bother anyone by returning to actual consciousness for the balance of the hours before noon, it was left to the Dragon to keep a fiery eyeball on the undesirable wretch, while helping with more important tasks. Mostly, this involved winching the Unicorns out of the grotto to a joyous reunion with solid earth and wide ash-grey skies above. The equines pranced about, especially the foals and colts, as if they had been released from a dungeon cell, after weeks on a steady diet of bitter water and mildewed hay. Silly bunch. Every new arrival set off fresh celebrations. Once the whole herd was together, even the elders waxed wholly undignified in their dancing, prancing, stiff-legged spins and wild whinnying.

Brought a grin even to the crustiest Crusher’s lip. Scar or grin? Did it matter?

Thundersong had the impression that this oasis garrison was not much accustomed to the sounds of gleeful capering. One trait he valued about the equines was their ability to extract joy from the most mundane circumstances.

Aye. The skies were grey, not because of overcast, but due to a brisk southerly breeze spreading a fine grey volcanic ash over everything. He scented hints of sulphur laced with musky tangs of dry brush, bittersweet floral notes and an unfamiliar mineral tang, perhaps from a hot spring. Tramping over to the outer wall, he rested his forepaws upon the top and gazed out over the land.

Great vistas of stony ridges greeted him, dressed in muted colours of rust, onyx and dusty brown. Anaemic patches of greenery adorned some of the slopes where there must be some capture of moisture, but it was a thin and unconvincing cover altogether. Cacti and thick-leafed succulents dominated the nearer flats. The oddest specimens were tall, forty-foot khaki succulents with multiple fat branches that poked skyward as if in mute supplication to the gods of the land for a better place to grow. Their cream blossoms gave off that floral tang, but were deadly poisonous, Inzashu had already warned everyone. Three times. Aye. A land of many poisonous creatures and plants. Humans and Unicorns would do well to tread with care here.

A bleak prospect withal, but somewhere beyond the southerly horizon, several weeks’ travel yet, lay greener pastures and a better land. He only hoped they could find answers for the Unicorns. Even now, he sensed their frustration with the dance as their magic failed to – well, glow or sparkle or whatever Unicorn magic was supposed to do.

Turning back, he saw a glint of light blue and realised that the Stabberoo was alert, watching Inzashu-N’shula with an air that, frankly, this Dragon did not fancy one bit. The acquisition of a few manners would not go amiss in that one.

Summoning his magic, he turned himself into a sixty-foot invisible Dragon. Firri would be proud. He had learned a great deal from speaking with her and diligently studying her methods – not that he could ever hope to emulate a living chameleon Dragon with her virtuoso disguise capabilities, but he was not too terrible.

Forty seconds of stalking later, he exhaled in the Skartunese man’s ear. “Good afternoon.”

Quite the showtime. The man flinched, blenched, began to gasp and bit that off, then replied smoothly, “I sensed your approach, Dragon.”

Flat and unfriendly.

He said, “Did you, o mighty Beastmaster?”

“I did. Yet you take the risk of touching my person. Is that wise?”

“Is it taboo?” he growled. “Or merely the blustering of a man fool enough to threaten a Dragon?”

The man’s lips thinned. He made no reply, but Thundersong read pride – defeated pride – in the set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders.

“I am Thundersong. What shall I call you?”

No reply.

In a lower, altogether more dangerous rumble, he said, “Why thank you, noble Dragon, for sparing my miserable life.” This occasioned a blink. “I shall refrain from insulting a creature I know not in the slightest, because the thoughts running across my brain relating to the fact that all I know of Dragons is as kept slaves of the Jabiz, would be most injudicious to repeat in a free Dragon’s company, would they not?”

Double blink. The man said, “Nice guess, Thundersong. As you’ve no doubt been told, along with all my dirty secrets, I used to be a Jabiz, but I am no longer. Call me Ulgazil. Not a name I’ve ever liked.”

“No, it is an offense even to the forked of tongue,” Dragon agreed.

“Eh?”

“Gaz. There we go. You can be Gaz.”

“By my bones! Thanks.”

Ah, he did appreciate the sarcasm. “You’d prefer to be called Bony Gaz?”

“Better that than my demise here at the hand of that mind twister. She’s poison, I tell you.”

“Piece of friendly advice?” Thundersong laid a heavy paw on the man’s body and gave him the equivalent of a talon stab in the ribs with his psyche. Gaz gasped. “Better if the lip did not flap on about things it clearly does not comprehend. Better prudent silence than witless, worthless talk, eh? Do we understand one another?”

He clamped the force of his will around Gaz’s mind.

A pained nod acknowledged his strength.

“Good. We’ve had a little talk about you. Most wanted to leave you behind. Obviously, we’ve no love for any Jabiz, whatever his circumstances, but I am a Dragon who believes in second chances – although, given what I’m scenting of your emotions, I’m on the fence, as you Humans would say. You have two options.” He waved two talons beneath that proud Skartunese nose. One for each nostril. “One, we leave you here. Given the injuries you’re carrying and the fact that the Faliaki will be back the minute we leave, I wouldn’t rate your chances as higher than a grass blade I’ve just stepped upon. Two, you drop the attitude, shut your mouth and make yourself useful. We’ll take you with us. We’ve two hundred and sixty-two Unicorns that we are returning to their homeland. I’m sure that with your Beastmaster skills you could find a way to help intelligent creatures in a way that is not demeaning. Is the Psyromantic Mage’s influence completely expunged from your mind?”

He dropped his gaze. “I … I hope so, Dragon. I believe so.”

“Gnarr.”

“To make me what I became,” he said slowly, “she shut down my conscience and twisted my mind, until the only pleasure I knew was when I killed something. Someone. Anything. She used me like a tool and when I was spent, cast me off without a thought.”

“Yet you have a conscience now?”

“Aye.”

“That is a sign of healing, is it not?”

“Thundersong, you – you don’t want me. You don’t want this kind of man. I thought it easiest just to hang on that frame, do you understand?”

“Aye, I know these darkest of fires.”

For the first time, the blue eyes met his, searching, clouded by pain. “You do?”

“I have no easy tale either, Gaz. I may tell it to you at the right time. Now, let me make my conditions fully clear. I will advocate for taking you with us if, and only if, you will allow yourself to be mentally examined by Inzashu.” Wheeze! “Aye. Think it over. The girl has been used – abused, I mean – just as you were, yet she is not her mother. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Nahritu-N’shula’s perversity found ways of tainting most everything she touched, and that very likely includes you. That is why we cannot trust you without an examination –”

“You ask the impossible!”

“Life itself is impossible; ask any scientist.”

“She tore everything from me,” he replied in a low, ravaged whisper. “My family, my three sisters, my honour, my life –”

“I am sorry. Yet your life remains your own.”

“Why would you do this?”

Thundersong rasped at an itchy spot beneath his chin with the point of a talon. “As I said, the daughter is not the mother, and that’s the plain truth. Apart from that? Maybe … maybe I collect strays.”

“Strays?”

Wheezy special.

“An honourable profession, in my estimation,” said he. He met Gaz’s gaze with all the honesty he could muster. “Try me. My offer stands until we depart tomorrow.”

* * * *

An afternoon of savage heat turned into a kind of thunderstorm Thundersong had never seen, one that arrived with a barrage of almighty flash-bang endeavour, but not a drop of rain. Just flashes of purple forked lightning that split the skies over and over and over again, accompanied by thunderclaps so shattering even the Dragons prodded at their ear canals and watched the sky in awe.

Majestic.

Something new to paint. Always, nature inspired a creature’s soul.

The Queen’s voice intruded politely upon his thoughts. Dragon, that Skartunese man is asking for you.

Thanks, Azania.

He padded over to consult with Gaz. Ready. Terrified out of his wits. He also thought he might manage to sit up. Almost. When Thundersong nodded to summon Inzashu, the man’s stomach made a violent gurgle that sounded like a precursor to swift evacuation, but he managed to hold it back.

“By my bones, feeling great,” he quipped wanly.

Thundersong narrowed his eyes. One unhappy memory relating to stomachs lodged back there. “Gaz, do you have a history of unexplained digestive problems?”

“Uh … aye? For years. At one stage, I thought it had to be some kind of bowel worm. I’ve had every kind of treatment under the suns, but nothing that worked. Felt like something stuck in there, do you know – you do? What are you – Dragon?”

“Trust me. We need to act, fast.” He called in his mind, Azania, urgent alert! Bring your talon dagger. And to Inzashu, he said, He might have an insert – similar to what your father had.

Estri-zuk! she growled back, breaking into a sprint. It might even react to my proximity.

She could do that?

My mother had the genius of insanity. Help me?

Of course.

Just so, he understood a fear she had never articulated to him. Fear regarding her own sanity.

Arriving in a flustered rush of cream robes, Azania’s sister dropped to her knees beside the Skartunese man, asking, “Permission to touch your mind?”

He nodded. “Granted.”

“I must warn you that an unwelcome gift might well have been left –”

He groaned and clutched his stomach as it squirmed unnaturally, an object clearly shifting beneath the skin. Gaz’s eyes popped wide in realisation; Inzashu nodded briefly, birdlike, and placed her hands flat against his temples. Thundersong covered her back with the palm of his paw at the same time. He linked minds with her just in time to receive the tail end of a vicious assault, a kind of lashing of tentacles which savaged her mind in the millisecond before his counterattack cut it off at the root.

Inza cried out in a thin wail and slumped. She had dived in too hastily.

Azania said, “It’s swelling – beware!”

“Do it!” he roared.

Her dagger flashed, opening an eight-inch cut in his belly. The man did not even squeal. Too shocked to react? She hooked the blade inward and then out again, tearing a bloodied, struggling spider-like contraption free from his abdomen. It clung first to her blade with its spindly metallic legs, but then released its grip and sprang for her face!

Azania shrieked, “Dragon!”

Thundersong snaffled the device out of the air with a clumsy lunge of his left forepaw, smacking his best friend backward with his knuckles, but likely saving her life for, as he swept it upward and away, intending to hurl the foul device as far as he could, it exploded with a dull report and a puff of yellow smoke.

Half a talon flew away from his paw. Thundersong gaped at the damage. So quickly had it happened, he felt no pain. His smallest talon was gone. Blasted off several inches above the knuckle.

No rescuing that.

“By my wings, that’s an unpleasant result,” he rasped, nauseous with disbelief. What remained of his paw stank of acrid, unfamiliar chemicals. “That woman strikes beyond the grave.”

“Shkoll-tari! You … could say that again,” Gaz groaned, peering myopically at his abdomen. “Are those my intestines?”

Azania said, “Most of them. Inza. Inza!”

The man said, “She’s breathing. Didn’t quite expect a cuddle from her after what she said –”

“You’d be so lucky!”

“You’re a relative?” Clearly, he had only just put the two together.

“This is her older half-sister, Queen Azania of the Vaylarn Archipelago,” said Thundersong, “and she’s a magician with a blade, as you can tell. Swiftest surgery I’ve ever seen. At least your digestive problems are over, right?”

He moaned, “Gaaaaah, that’s a pint of ale served half full, if I’ve ever heard –”

“Thundersong, your poor paw!” Azania yelped.

“Aye, aye, what’s a bit of a paw between friends? You’re safe and that’s all that matters.” She made an agonised keening sound. He said, “I’d give my own tail for you.”

“No!” she said sternly. “Not accepted. No more body parts, Thundersong.”

Gaz whispered, “You’re both … this is … incredible. Words fail my stammering tongue.”

Gratitude oozed from his every pore.

Mammals were nothing short of disgusting with all their nasty, squidgy bodily features and odours, but an astute Dragon appreciated the linguistic features of the sentiment. He knew many Human sayings related to the body – sticking one’s nose into another’s business, a finger in every pie and putting one’s foot into it. The grosser expressions frankly turned a Dragon’s stomach.

With a somewhat pained grin, Thundersong said, “Let’s see to Inzashu, stitch up this wound and hope that Aria doesn’t murder anyone over this.”

Not the worst assessment of matters. Aria did threaten to murder everyone over the injury, including her mate – innocent of wrongdoing as he was. Inzashu recovered somewhat after she had been prised out of Gaz’s arms, and the belly wound did require a great deal of stitching. Thankfully, they had Chanize, with her years of experience as a bondservant seamstress to lords and royalty, to draw on as she repaired his intestines and then worked on the abdominal wall, muscles and skin above. No, this fellow would not be running around for a while. If he survived. Ultra-swift abdominal surgery in a dusty desert setting was no recipe for good health and a long life, but he did have four distinct types of healers about to help – Inzashu, Chanize, Thundersong himself and the Unicorns.

Hopefully, he would not have wasted part of his paw on this wretch.

“I never wanted a second talon dagger,” Azania lamented, showing him what was left of his digit. No stitching that back onto anything, but the talon remained absolutely pristine in its sheath.

“It is rather peculiar to look at a detached part of myself over there,” Thundersong purred. “Do be sure to put it to good use, my lovely subordinate.”

She grinned, “Royal back scratcher?”

Aria fixed her with a withering glare. “A blade to be worn with honour!”

“Always.” Reaching out, Azania stroked the Dragoness’ neck, a gesture Ariamyrielle Seaspray rarely tolerated from anyone but her mate. “Honour hardly begins to describe what that Dragon means to me, as you know.”

“He does tend to stomp all over the continent trying to save everybody and everything,” she purred tetchily.

“Dreadful habit. Apparently, I need a lot of saving.”

“Huh!” said the warrior. “Four of you, and you’re the only one uninjured, Thundersong? Inzashu, how are you?”

“I’ve a headache for the ages but I’m alive, also thanks to Thundersong’s intervention – yet again,” said the girl, fielding a screech from Azania as she stirred on her bedroll in the shade of an ancient fig tree. “Where’s Ulgazil –”

“Right next to you.”

She turned over with a wince. “Alright?”

“Far holier than before.” He offered a weak grin as his Skartunese accent slurred between his swollen lips. “I wasn’t in the best shape to begin with. Did you – was that everything? Thank you. I didn’t expect … well, I’m not sure anyone expected to find something like that in my stomach.”

“I’m sorry,” Inza offered weakly.

“I’m afraid we’ve had some experience with her late mother’s skills,” Thundersong rumbled.

He smelled more smoke, but of a different sort than before. Inzashu’s dark eyes gleamed as they fenced briefly with the man’s vivid blue. The skies had cleared with a change in the wind direction, leaving a wind-still early evening that waxed ruddier by the second as Ignis’ signature tongues of fire set the skies alight. Upon being questioned, she reassured Gaz that both threats had been removed – a psychic trap and the physical explosive device. Nahritu-N’shula had always liked to keep her victims on a short leash; preferably a lethal one.

Her preferred forms of entertainment had definitely veered to the macabre.

For the first time, something in the taut set of the young man’s shoulders eased. The haggard lines softened around his mouth and between his eyes, as if sucked back into the body beneath, leaving him younger-looking than before. Less carved of desert basalt. More inquisitive. As a scout approached to brief King Azerim, Gaz thanked her with quiet sincerity, Inzashu passed on her thanks to Thundersong and he clacked fifty fangs beside her knee and told her she was his favourite Princess in all Solixambria, so she would be taking better care of herself in the future or else large white Dragons would be introducing her to the word ‘patellectomy’ without delay.

He found himself growling deep in his throat when Gaz moved to thanking Azania for gutting him like a fish. Hmm. Pulling himself up in surprise, he decided he must be feeling protective of Inzashu. Smoke, eh? Grin. He knew exactly what type of smoke!

Oh? Azania queried privately.

Oh indeed, he murmured. Keep that talon dagger sharp, alright?

I’ll have two. Criss-cross, snip-snap … how’s your stump faring, Thundersong?

Throbbing nicely, he admitted.

“Inza, do we have more herbal brew for Thundersong? He’s pretty sore.”

“Is that why he keeps smiling at me?” Gaz chirped unexpectedly. Those herbs Inzashu had prescribed did tend to leave Humans lightheaded.

That, or he preferred a short life beneath the suns.

“Two choices: either he’s planning to eat you or he’s constipated,” Azania supplied, quick as a flash.

“Gnarr.”

“Constipated.”

Thundersong growled, “It’s just all this Princess paraphernalia I have stuck in my craw – you know, sparkly tiaras, glitzy dresses, a few of those sweet little ponies they like to ride. So, ladies, apparently our friend here is no longer a Jabiz – no surprises – and we’ve decided that, since he doesn’t like his old name, we will call him Gaz.”

“As in, he has a lot of Gaz?” Azania made a face.

Ooh, sharp this evening! Everyone shared a chuckle at the Skartunese’s expense. Gaz prodded his cheeks and admitted that, given the extent of his bruising, he did feel as if he had been blown up with gas.

“We should discuss the route ahead,” Azerim said, waving a hand as if to suggest that the flippant conversation ought to end before it veered toward even less savoury odours. “The scouts report that the Faliaki have gathered some ways off. I’m loathe to leave this oasis unprotected, given as it provides access to the northern realms – ahem.”

Aye. Giving away state secrets to a backstabber? Thundersong frowned heavily. “Gaz, will you travel with us?”

“If I would be permitted to,” he said, with an inquiring lilt to his voice. “I do have skills which might be exercised from – well, the back of a cart is my likely fate, I suppose – and I consider myself to be curious about these Unicorns and their troubles. I am an unemployed and rather unemployable ex-Jabiz with no purpose in life, these days. Except to say that I’ve no desire to be any kind of Jabiz ever again. If you keep me away from those blood-guzzlers, I would be prepared to swear an oath of service. See where this new trail in life might take me.”

Prudently, he did not glance at Inzashu as he spoke but a Dragon, whose senses spoke in the colours of emotion, saw the way his heart yearned toward her. They had known each other as youngsters. Was this so unusual? Could a favourable relationship resume, given all the pain and suffering which had marked the years between?

“Is there nothing you’d want personally?” Inzashu asked.

After a lengthy pause to reflect, he said, “I’d give my right arm to find my sisters. I don’t even know where I’d start in this blasted realm. I last saw them four years ago. Before …”

His fingers touched the scars that proclaimed his status as the lowest of the low in Skartunese society.

Everyone nodded soberly. Not an easy ask.

“We could make inquiries along the way,” the King suggested. “If that doesn’t turn up any clues, well, shall we decide after we deliver the Unicorns?”

Gaz nodded. “Aye, an agreeable solution. Prepare your oath.”

Azerim continued, “Let me think upon that. So, we’ve two options for a route to the Plains of Shalhiomme – a more westerly route skirting the active volcanic zone and a south-easterly route that bends into some tribal territories, before we’d turn and strike for the grasslands – Gaz?”

He lowered his hand. “Sorry. The westerly route you mentioned around the Lyskys Fault? That’s extremely unstable right now, and there’s a war going on. At least five tribes involved. Unless you’re planning to fly?”

Thundersong cleared his throat pointedly.

“Oh,” he spluttered.

Inclining his muzzle, Dragon said, “I’d walk, but Chanize plans to cut into my knuckle, remove some of the splintered bone and sew down the flesh and scales to make a pad where my talon used to be.” He twirled his good paw to indicate a new couple’s approach. “Gaz, may I introduce Chanize and Farizam? This is Gaz.”

The man’s gaze dropped to her legs, as Sankir Farizam lowered Chanize into Thundersong’s paw. One could almost see the calculations going on behind his eyes. Inside, Skartunese attitudes to what they perceived as deformity or abnormality were quickly being evaluated against what he perceived of the unfamiliar ways of these northerners.

Nodding courteously, he said, “Are you one of Thundersong’s strays?”

Colour bloomed in Chanize’s pale cheeks. “Me?”

“You must be capable indeed to assume a place in this expedition in lieu of more able-bodied persons.”

The moment was so awkward it almost slunk off of its own accord to hide beneath a boulder.

Chanize said quietly, “I’ve Dragons to be my legs, a loving warrior husband to be my arms, and so I suppose I have my uses if I’ve made it most of the way across the continent by now.”

Clearly holding back his anger, Farizam said, “It’s Chanize’s stitching keeping your guts together right now.”

“Your wife has a fine hand. I am grateful.” Gaz stroked the bandaged wound gingerly. Wetting his lips, he added, “You must think me a most offensive barbarian, I’m sure. Yet know this, you are the first living person I have ever seen in such a state. Our people do not amputate limbs as a mercy. We believe it better to send the sufferer on to the afterlife.”

Chanize trembled upon his paw and bit her lip so hard that Thundersong’s sensitive nostrils picked up on a fresh tang of blood.

“Do you believe that?” Inzashu challenged.

“I … suppose I have never truly considered what I believe. As the Jabiz, such concerns would have been beneath me.” Gaz sucked in a ragged breath. “Before I let the past lie, let me add this. Of all my eyes have seen these last four years, a tongue would rather be cut off than recount their mournful totality, were that even possible. I will consider your question and return you answer in the morn, Inzashu. As for you, woman, I meant no disrespect, but only to inquire if you are one of Thundersong’s finds?”

“I am.” She smiled delicately as she unwrapped the bandage on his paw. Azania could practically have used it for a blanket. “He’s not the subtlest Dragon, is he?”

“I’m choosy about the women I kidnap,” he chortled, joining everyone else in the joke. “It was just that the Sankir was so very shy and timid that he hardly even dared to speak to Chanize at first, let alone declare his undeniable feelings toward her.”

Farizam chuckled, “Oh, I’m not quite sure, but I might be smelling an extremely subtle Dragon-sized wind-up in the wind.”

“How did you resolve this terrible dilemma, Dragon?” Inzashu inquired.

“It’s a bit of a tale but, essentially, I found Chanize as a kept bondservant in the household of a Lord who happened to be fond of dark and dramatic decoration, as well as being a traitor to the throne. These Lords had kidnapped Azerim and his younger siblings, see, and were holding them hostage against the Crown’s compliance to their plans. Azania and I discovered this tricky situation when we flew up to Zunityne in search of her one true love.”

“Oh, my one true love!” the Queen echoed, placing her hand upon her heart.

Gaz’s eyebrows nearly bounced off his face. Perhaps theatre was not a common pastime for a Jabiz? More fun theatrically decorating his fortresses with freshly arranged bouquets of corpses?

“Absolutely!” Azerim said stoutly. “The kingdom was in dire straits. To add to the drama, I had not the foggiest notion Azania was anywhere within a thousand miles of us, since our land lies isolated offshore of mainland Solixambria and had effectively been under siege by Sea Serpents for some years. That’s another story, but these two reprobates flew hundreds of miles across the open ocean through a massive storm – an epic undertaking – discovered our troubles on arrival and decided to rectify them without delay. So, they promptly burgled this Lord’s tower –”

“Whee! I kidnapped myself the handsomest King ever!”

“Right, dear. Right,” said he, patting her upon the hand. “No drooling in public.”

“As if! That’s your job.”

“The beard hides my many sins,” he grinned. “I had no clue it was Azania rescuing me when I threw myself into the way of Lord Gazaram’s blade and managed to save her life at the cost of a chunk of my foot. Hmm. Bit of a theme here?”

“You did rather put your foot in it,” Thundersong purred, trying to distract himself from the sight of a saw cutting into part of his bone. He had quite liked that bit of himself. Most creatures preferred their bones to continue to belong to them and not to be sawed into pieces before their eyes by eager medics. He had to look away as his stomach voiced a queasy gurgle. “As for me, I grabbed more of an awful pawful than I bargained for.”

“Pawful work,” Azania murmured, her eyes soft.

“Aye. The story goes that, as we prepared to fly off in search of urgent medical help to keep Azerim alive, I popped the Sankir onto my back, situated Chanize right in front of him and ordered him, in no uncertain terms, to hold her fast, with an appropriate level of zeal and finesse.”

“Ooh, very creative, Dragon!” Inzashu cheered.

Gaz managed a wan smile. “Tactical.”

“The Sankir showed himself to be pretty awful with his pawful, too,” Azania teased. “Quite the bashful boy, our Sankir.”

Farizam managed a narked, “Excuse me! The stakes were extremely high, I’ll have you know.”

Throwing a coy glance over her shoulder, Chanize giggled, “And I can assure you all that he knows exactly how to hold a woman. You’re quite the expert in that regard, aren’t you, my love?”

“I say … what? Well, the incentive speaks for herself!” he wheezed, turning a fine shade of dusky pink, as their companions hooted. Farizam threw up his hands in surrender. His wife snagged one and drew him close for a kiss.

Gaz nearly popped an eyeball at this licentious behaviour. Then again, the sight of Azerim’s Rangers – some female and wearing fitted leather trousers, to his thinly-disguised horror – had also kept his eyebrows hopping. Definitely a cultural experience for which he and, most especially, his overstrained eyeballs had not been prepared.

Azerim said, “Oh, get a tent, you two lovebirds. Now, let’s talk strategy. These Unicorns have a long trot home and I assume our biggest issues are water, food and marauding tribes, not necessarily in that order.”

“Earthquakes,” Inza and Gaz chorused.

“Komodo lizards,” Gaz added, throwing her a challenging glance.

“Poisonous snakes,” she shot back. “Giant scorpions –”

“Killer wasps.”

“Volcanic glass flats.”

“Destroydactyls.”

“Hold on,” Azerim said. “I know everything in Skartun wants to kill us but what, under the suns, is a destrodactyl? Sounds ominous.”

“Carnivorous lizard birds, which are a plague in this region,” Inzashu noted. “They stand about as tall as Azania, are almost flightless and like to hunt in packs several hundred strong. They aren’t terribly smart and all that ready meat on the hoof is likely to excite them.”

Gaz nodded, “They hunt at dawn and dusk. Now, as for water, if you pass me a map, I can mark the official and rather less official locations one might find water in this season –”

Everyone looked at each other.

“No map?” he grimaced.

“It’s about three hundred years old,” Azania explained. “Not too many of us have travelled south of the Obsidian Desert.”

“Excellent,” said the Skartunese, cracking his knuckles in fake anticipation. “What a treat you’re in for. I’ll need a scrap of parchment, plenty of black for mountains and crimson for lava flows and not a whole lot else.”

“Crimson and black coming right up,” Thundersong purred.

“Oh, and a touch of white for the graveyards. We Skartunese specialise in those.”

Chapter 14: The Long Trot Home

THE MORNING BEGAN WITH more education in the art of Skartunese argument. Inzashu had offered to help Gaz change into some actual clothing. Towering offence ensued! Never mind that he had not a hope of accomplishing the task himself. He had never been changed like a baby and never would be, neither by man, woman nor Dragon! At least, this was the part everyone understood, before the pair had another stand-up shouting match in their native dialect.

Evidently, this was a cultural form of letting off steam, Thundersong decided. Maybe it helped people to decide not to murder one another outright? Not right away, anyhow.

Inza left Gaz a cloth and a bucket of water, words to the effect that this was not a delicate hint and he could do with freshening up and had the Rangers quickly string up a cloth screen for him to change behind.

Cue swearing.

Indeed, a copious amount of swearing, all of it in that singular Skartunese dialect, which sounded like a cross between a Dragon with painful haemorrhoids and a bleating goat – according to Inzashu, who apparently found the stream of continued invective quite entertaining. Gaz swore like a Jabiz, which was to say, with the eloquence of a poet, the imagination of a pirate and the stamina of a migratory duck.

Thundersong scowled at the girl. What was to like about that foulmouthed wretch?

Catching his glance, she gave him a bold wink and sauntered over to the cloth screen. “Need a hand there, Gaz?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you having a fight with your trousers?”

“No! If you must know, aye. I … I can’t actually get up on my own two stinking legs!”

“What a dreadful fate,” she cooed. “Shall I help, or –”

“Stay out! I’m fine!”

“– shall I send Thundersong in?”

He muttered something exceedingly sulky.

Padding over, Dragon raised his voice to a dreadful soprano. “Oh Gaz, my one true muse, needest thou the paw of uplifting friendship?”

Inza exchanged mental paw- and hand-slaps with him. Dragon, you’re ridiculous!

Always, he agreed readily.

About forty feet away, where he was getting Zurianne ready to fly on Firri’s back, Gazdonl glanced about. “Did somebody call me?”

“No, it’s this Gaz here,” said Thundersong, “which is confusing, I appreciate, but your people don’t shorten names, do they?”

“Gaz, Gazdonl, who’s not confused?” the Dragon Rider laughed.

“I’m not,” said Zurianne, winding her arms about his neck and pursing her lips to plant a wet-sounding smacker upon his cheek. Gazdonl turned pinker than an ocean suns-set.

Hazards of dating a Mermaid. Blergh!

Then again, what some Humans did with their tongues during kissing must turn the most stalwart Dragon’s stomachs. Revolting!

What with two-hundred-odd Unicorns prancing about in high-spirited anticipation of a trot down through Skartun that ought to take around twenty days, if the taller Gaz of shorter name was right about the distances, no time to lose. They would leave five Isles warrior Dragonesses and two Crushers – Stonepaw and Cragfist – plus a dozen Rangers to hold the oasis garrison until King N’chala could reinforce it, with instructions to retreat below ground, if needed. The weather was good for a change, almost completely calm. They could expect far more exciting, stormy conditions on the way past all those nice volcanoes smudging the sky to the south.

Thundersong snaked his forepaw beneath the screen. “Trousers on?”

“Mostly. Stop that – what are you –”

“Roll into my paw. Carefully. Belly wounds are not good for Humans.”

“I happen to have noticed, just about!”

Aye, and he knew it so well his skin was clammy to the touch. Gaz chuntered on now about donning his shirt being an impossibility. No mind. Snaffling him up with due care, Thundersong clasped the man neatly but gently about the waist, covering any possible immodesty with the breadth of his white paw, and drew him – spitting profanities again – out to face Inzashu.

“Inza, Gaz would humbly beg your help with his shirt.”

Humbly? Not so much.

Her black eyes developed a naughty sparkle, one he recognised from the way Aria admired a particularly fetching pose in her mate. Gaz folded his muscular arms across his chest with a huff of annoyance. A Dragon had always noted how the Human male gaze appreciated the female bosom or the curvature of a well-turned haunch. Now he saw the reverse was also true. This caused him to re-evaluate the specimen in his paw, holding him out for an examination to which Inzashu was plainly not averse. First off, Gaz was considerably taller than her, perhaps as much as a head taller than King Azerim himself, who towered over his tiny desert wife. He was also broad in the beam, with a lanky, well-defined physique that, despite its lamentably beaten-up, whipped and bruised nature, did not escape – indeed, an actual inhalation of admiration from Princess Inzashu? Well, well! And a pinch of rose in the cheek, Your Highness?

Gneee-heee-heee. Oh, he was a bad Dragon.

“What’s the trouble?” the girl asked, meantime, having devoured Gaz’s appearance.

“I can’t lift my left arm,” he admitted.

“I wonder if you have a shoulder fracture or some other damage?” she mused. “Come. You’ll be flying on Thundersong today –

“Flying?” he wheezed.

“Unless you’d prefer to be dragged behind a lizard, which can easily be arranged?” she chuckled. He made a rude flapping noise with his lips. “Exactly. So, I’ll have a chance to examine you in flight. First, we would not want to give all those destrodactyls out there an eyeful. Let’s get you decent.”

So saying, she helped him to slide his left arm into the tan linen garment and then drew it about his shoulders so that he could wriggle the right arm in. Two deft hands made doing up the toggles and laces at the front a cinch, literally. A flicker of her eyes measured the breadth of his shoulders – purely for medical and scientific reasons, of course – before she dipped her gaze modestly. Inzashu had blossomed in confidence since he had first ambushed her all those years ago, stealing Azania’s bed, of all things, but she remained far more restrained than her ebullient older sister. Somewhat the mother’s fault or a Dragon missed his mark.

The young man’s gaze rested briefly upon the crown of her head, yet a Dragon noted the unsteady gait of his heart and wondered if he considered the complexities and perils of their renewed acquaintance.

Those perils only included her ability to squeeze his brain like a fruit. No sweat, as Humans would say. A Dragon had to wonder, yet again, why Humans were so fascinated by their bodily excretions. Indeed, the noises some of them made during the process of producing their droppings was a source of endless amusement and repulsion to his kind.

Suffice it to say, Human digestion was on a whole different level.

Thundersong lifted Gaz onto his back, where Azerim and Farazim made him fast in a narrow pallet strapped beside his row of spine spikes, an arrangement with which the King was not unfamiliar. Inzashu mounted up with the ease of experience and helped Chanize to affix her specially adapted saddle straps, while Azerim trussed their patient like a hog to a roasting rack, drawing a round of mild complaints. The man’s breath came in agitated rasps.

First Dragon ride!

This experience could turn the most hardened criminal into an honest man.

He lifted off as gently as he was able. Despite his bravado, he sensed Gaz’s discomfort. The man had been in no shape to endure surgery. That he now lived to tell the tale, was a testament to the skills of their healing team.

Bending his flight into a useful thermal, the white Dragon spiralled higher, scanning the surrounds through his handy multifunctional spectacles. He zoomed in on several suspicious-looking shadows, but saw nothing amiss. Someone would be out there. Someone and something – which was awfully unspecific, but his additional Dragon senses proclaimed it as truth. He called across to his mate, explaining his intuition briefly. Another warrior might have downplayed such a report or put it down to the talon of needless concern but, after conferring briefly with Azerim on her back, Aria responded by calling out additional, wider-ranging patrol assignments and a recheck of a small cave system they had identified nearby.

The Rangers who would stay behind threw open the gates for the Unicorns. Many had chosen to bear riders for the journey. The simple rationale was not to give the Dragons a rest, but rather to have swords, bows and eyes down at ground level ready to provide immediate help, should it be needed. As the equines picked up speed, their pounding hooves kicked up a low cloud of fine grey dust that trailed out behind them for dozens of Dragon paces. Thundersong eyed the herd with a prickling of pride and pleasure deep in his chest. It would be a achievement worth celebrating to see these magnificent creatures home and, should destiny smile upon them, an even greater delight to see them restored to their full powers and magical life.

The Unicorns set out at a deliberate trot. This was to give the Rangers – accomplished riders, but accustomed to a much smaller breed called Archipelago Salt Ponies – opportunity to acquaint themselves with their much taller mounts. They also moved differently to ponies, Thundersong understood. He supposed this was something similar to the different flight characteristics and wingbeat patterns of Dragons, although the description of the different gaits had somewhat bamboozled him. Who cared how many hooves touched the ground at one time and in what order?

A bit of a loftier-than-thou attitude going on up here.

Gurgle-snort-chortle.

Fine day for the long trot home. He liked that moniker.

“All Riders comfortable?” he inquired, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Perfect,” Chanize smiled.

“Comfortable,” said Inzashu, leaning over Gaz, as she checked his shoulder with both hands. Her attentions did not appear to be unwelcome.

Not screaming full-throated at one another? Result.

“Breezy,” Azania sang out.

“Gaz?” he rumbled.

“One of us isn’t actually riding so much as being the local layabout, but the company is most refreshing.”

Amusing to hear his strong Skartunese accent turning out such a genteel compliment. Thundersong wondered when he might have become quite so intolerant of certain accents. Indeed, thinking a person sounded dim-witted due to their accent was a spectacularly dim-witted idea in its own right, yet the hearts of a Dragon did leap so easily to judgement. He would wait and evaluate with the patience of his kind. And, if that boy touched Inzashu with so much as the peripheral waft of an inappropriate sneeze, Thundersong would give him personal flying lessons!

Well, falling lessons – into the nearest active volcano.

Dragon, don’t be mean, Azania admonished. He’s turning out to be quite nice, actually.

Is that why your fingers lie white-knuckled upon your talon dagger?

So they are, she observed balefully. It’s not your thoughts rubbing off on me either. I do believe I’m turning into a fiercely territorial older sister.

As you should be.

He gave that the sort of snort that invariably settled a matter for all eternity.

For over an hour, the Unicorns made a good speed out into the flats south of the oasis. The trail was barely marked and there was no need for it to be, for navigation in this wilderness was calculated by the suns and the stars, and the occasional silhouette of a more permanent volcano – the sort that would not blow itself to smithereens and then start violently spitting pumice and dribbling lava in an attempt to build itself up again. Besides, a Dragon could hardly lose himself in such conditions. The real danger was that of falling asleep.

Or, at least, having a midmorning snooze.

Thundersong was having just such a – a momentary lapse of concentration, one might assert – when Azania, peering down, cried in high-pitched excitement, “Oh look, they’re doing their thing.”

“What thing?” Inzashu asked.

“The tölt,” Chanize supplied. “It’s a special Unicorn gait called a tölt in their tongue.”

“It looks like they’re gliding across a pane of glass,” said the Queen. “Take us down, o dozy Dragon.”

“Wide asleep,” said he, easing his wingbeat and then spreading his wings into a glide. “That gait’s a whole lot quicker than the trot, isn’t it?”

“About twice as fast,” Chanize noted. She giggled as Azania took the chance to needle her about being such a studious soul. “The Mysterious Mare told me that they like to travel in four phases – actually, five if you include rest. There’s the walk, the basic trot and then these two faster gaits which they like to use because they’re fun and showy and … well, you know Unicorns.”

“Always the drama,” said Azania.

“Right.” Chanize paused to tie back her long, straight blonde hair. “Eating my own hair here. Aye, so that is the tölt. It’s an exceptionally smooth gait. Even I can sit on a tölting Unicorn without needing to hold on with my hands.” She coughed self-consciously, perhaps remembering Gaz’s reaction to her state. “If they’re feeling energetic –”

“Is that even a question for Unicorns?” Inza put in dryly.

“Indeed! Shortly, I believe, we shall see the flying pace. That’s very quick. Faster than most other types of horses can gallop, for the Unicorns are regarded as the tallest but not the bulkiest of all types of equines, which makes them great sprinters.”

“Can it be sustained?” Azania asked.

The healer replied, “The Mare thought not for long. It draws upon both physical and magical stamina and, as we know, the magical elements have been lacking for decades now.”

By now, Thundersong had both dipped and sped up to catch the herd as they crested a long, gradual rise, pouring across the natural folds in the land. Although the skies directly overhead were a clear, ethereal azure, he had already noticed a haze developing upon the horizon that promised a change in the wind direction. Each Unicorn carried pairs of waterskins slung across their backs, even the foals in smaller amounts, and the stronger adults carried riders in addition. The Mare had not wanted to push them too hard too quickly. They had already been moving for about three hours.

Spreading his wings, he took them skimming up to the huge V-shaped formation of Unicorns. They had spread out in this area so as to avoid breathing one another’s dust, for the ground was easy enough – no need to stick to a single trail and indeed, the faint markings he made out suggested that most travellers through this region did the same. As he paralleled their course, the now-dusty white of the Mysterious Mare peeled out of the lead and she dance-pranced right across the face of the herd’s formation; each Unicorn saluted her in passing with a whinny and a fancy quadruple hoof step.

Warm nickerings, great flier! she whinnied.

A dance for the morn and a prance in the eventide for you, o Mysterious Mare! he called back.

A bright word! How well you know our culture!

He bowed his muzzle. I’m honoured. How fares your herd? Is that colt limping?

She tossed her mane. Oh! Well spotted indeed. We wished to show you our famous flying pace, but I fear the colt must first be seen apace. Would your kind bear a pause?

It’s a good time for all, he agreed. We need no younglings to become lame so soon, not so?

A wise whickering!

As if he could whicker. Suppressing a snicker at the four-hoofed kicker as she suddenly switched gaits to prance diagonally beneath him, before reversing direction with exceptional skill, Thundersong called up to Aria and was wholly unsurprised to learn that she had already identified a spot to rest in the shady lee of a basalt formation about three miles ahead.

Aria was a good picker and with that he would not bicker.

He fell into formation with his mate, who slipstreamed him as the bigger Dragon in order to give her wings a rest. Her eyes were not restful, however. Fierce and proud, her warrior gaze took in every detail as far as the Isles Dragoness could see.

The herd and the Dragons soon swept toward a grey basalt massif that rose to a cliff about forty feet tall. The face was all hexagonal pipes of grey stone and shadowed by some decidedly unconvincing bushes. Spindly specimens. With the help of a draconic paw or two, the Rangers strung up tarpaulins as a shelter from the unrelenting heat. The equines rested beneath, while two of the Rangers, who also worked as farriers, checked the colt, finding a sharp shard of basalt stuck in the frog of the hoof.

“A horse has a frog?” Thundersong inquired.

“Of the hoof. Attend, friend Dragon sir,” said Garrizam, the farrier. “See the V-shape here, beneath? This sliver got in real deep. Fiercely uncomfortable for an equine. I’ve extracted the piece and packed the hole it pierced with a good herbal remedy. We’ll pad the hoof with a fine, strong leather covering and, in a couple of days, he’ll be as good as new.”

“Back on the hoof?”

“You could say that. Very literary, Dragon.” Brushing back his shoulder-length brown hair, Garrizam grinned, “I come from a family of noted storytellers –”

“Say no more! You’re flying with me this afternoon.”

“Huh,” said Azania.

“My back’s as big as one of your royal dining tables,” he boasted. “Now, merely two hundred other hooves to check?”

“Wonderful at literary matters, but less strong on the math,” the Queen of Annoyance sniped, with exquisite timing. “You’re about a fifth right, Thundersong. Rangers! Who wants to help with some hoof checks?”

* * * *

That day and all the following one, the Unicorns trotted, cantered, walked and tölted their way across a vast, undulating basalt plain. The weather was fine, bone-dry and brutally hot. The Mare and Azerim discussed a schedule for travel, starting at daybreak with the first three-hour stint of the day, before taking half an hour’s break for water and rest. This usually ticked off about twenty-five to thirty miles and with two similar jaunts in the late morning and afternoon, with a longer break between, they set a target of around seventy miles a day. That was some going for the equines and the Dragonkind alike.

During that second night, a warm wind picked up, wafting fresh volcanic scents to the travellers, sulphurous smoke and gases and smelting rock. It blew directly from the serried ranks of black mountains that stood upon the southerly horizon like the jawbone of a vast, sleeping Dragon. Everyone huddled close and tried to block out the incessantly moaning wind. Stinging grit and ash filled the air. Miserable weather for sleeping and marching alike.

The morning dawned no better. Dark-grey clouds, crimson-tinged on their underbellies, lined that southern aspect with ominous intent. They decided to make a run for the Salkax Caves rather than wait around for the storm to hit.

The rising wind swept across the basalt flats with unrelenting power. They regularly clattered across old soot-grey lava flows, the rock set in waves or folds that attested to the flow and made travel on foot and hoof hazardous. The Unicorns picked their way across several vast fields of loose obsidian gravel that threatened to break a leg with one misstep. Gaz was in a bad way. He slept much and woke intermittently. His belly wound grew red and inflamed, while Inzashu’s examination identified no less than five separate fractures in his shoulder. She strapped it tightly and hoped for the best possible outcome.

All the while, ash sifted down and grit stung their faces, working its way into nostrils and earholes and settling in hair, until some of the curly-haired Rangers, and Azania and Inzashu in particular, came to resemble shaggy-haired ash monsters. The Humans hid their noses and chins in the folds of their grey travel cloaks. They fashioned light cloth bags for the Unicorns’ noses to help them breathe. The wind gusted and keened more and more hungrily, until the Isles Dragonesses found themselves being blown backward at times, despite their best efforts. Eventually, they were forced to take to the ground – even Thundersong, the strongest flier of all. Heads and muzzles drooped as the travellers straggled across a low ridge, heading for the Salkax Caves, which still lay at least ten or fifteen miles ahead. No ebullient prancing and crisp neighing now!

Despite the throbbing pain in his paw, Thundersong made the decision to walk up to the front, and he bade the Crushers join him to form a kind of plodding windbreak for their smaller equine and Human friends. The Unicorns crowded close in a single unit, along with Firri to his right flank, and so he found himself acting as a most unlikely shepherd to this crew. His strength acted as a lodestone, he reflected privately, drawing the group together and onward. He stowed his glasses, slit his eyes, set his broad shoulders and forged into the wind as if he fought a living thing.

“Alright there, Zurianne?” he growled.

She wagged her tailfin at him. “All good!” came the cloak-muffled cry. “It’s not quite the oceans, is it?”

He let his laughter boom out, “Braaa-haarr-HARRRGHH!! Not quite the ocean? Too true! Who’s having a good time out here?”

“No-one!” Farizam yelled back.

“Who’s for a nice quiet cavern and a drink of cool, fresh water?”

Someone yelled, “You’re a horrid tease!”

“Come on, let’s count out a hundred paces together.”

“Not fair. Yours are ten of mine!”

“Then hurry those little legs along, my friend. One … two … three …”

Bully or none, he would get them there. With me, Azania?

Always, my Dragon.

Just as these thoughts pinged between their minds, the first burning stone smacked down upon his back and bounced off. What? Thundersong squinted up into the storm.

A bellow exploded from his throat, “RRRUUUUNN!!

Chapter 15: Small Surprises

FOR THOSE OF FLAMMABLE hides and hair, this must be their worst nightmare. A rain of fire. Flurries of flecks of live coals, burning ash and red-hot boulders came whistling out of the sky, blown in by the gale or dropping with real force and danger about them. One of the volcanoes must have erupted afresh, perhaps even setting off this tempest, was his best guess. Thundersong found himself charging ahead of the herd, coming alongside them to encourage the stragglers, sweeping behind to check none had been left in their wake as they streamed toward a taller ridge they could barely see ahead in the preternatural, crimson-tinged twilight. Gaz could not offer a coherent word to describe where the caves might be, which caused them to waste precious time searching along the ridge. Thundersong stepped aside to right a young filly who slipped when dodging a flying brand; thankfully, she was unhurt – just a skinned knee to show for her mishap.

Others suffered burns and contusions, but not as many as he might have expected because most of the blows were glancing ones. Even a large red-hot boulder that cracked upon a Unicorn’s horn turned out only to be pumice, but she and her Ranger rider received a load of hot crumbling stone right in their faces. The Ranger yelled and slapped at both her hair and the Unicorn’s mane. They were not the only ones.

Eventually, the Mysterious Mare spied a rocky gully that terminated in a tall, diagonal crack set back between two craggy shoulders of granite massif. Cool air issuing from the opening betrayed the cave lying within; the Rangers and several Isles warriors dashed inside and found it uninhabited, save for a tan mother wildcat and her five kittens. The felines backed up into a small hollow at the rear, hissing first at the visitors but then falling silent when Blackguard smiled at them and said they wouldn’t be bothered back there. Thundersong entered in time to overhear this interaction, but his first response was instant relief. No more howling wind. No flying embers to trouble his Riders.

He heard Gaz mumbling something about dealing with the wildcat. Good. He must be feeling better. The man made a strange spitting sound with his mouth. From snarling and threatening with her small jaw agape, the mother wildcat calmed down visibly and even settled to washing her forepaw. Then she gathered her litter of little tan fluff balls and curled up around them, offering the teat.

Neat.

The Rangers set up a couple of torches to provide lighting while the group licked their wounds and took stock. That had been a hard run. Everyone was coughing from the smoke inhalation but three of the Unicorn elders were rasping and rattling the worst. Toxic gases? Thundersong joined Inzashu to help with his Sea Dragon singing, using soothing songs taught to him by his dam, Sirensong. If only he had half her healing gift! Yet they appeared to recover somewhat and even sipped at water offered them by the Rangers.

Azerim and Farizam explored several hollows and apparent tunnels at the back of the cavern, smiling at one another when the wildcat mother merely flicked her tufted ears as if to suggest that if they kept clear, claws would not be required to mark her territorial rights.

After about half an hour of exploration, Azerim reported, “We found a small pool tucked way back there. Bitter but potable, I think. The Unicorns might enjoy it for the minerals.”

Indeed, they did. The equines took turns drinking the pond dry, smacked their lips and frolicked about telling everyone how marvellous it was, until there was an incident involving a frisky colt who stomped on a Ranger’s boot, setting off a dance of a completely different sort.

Meantime, the companions settled down and looked to one another’s wounds. The supplies they had secured at the oasis helped, but Inzashu had not been expecting to treat hundreds of burns and scald wounds at a time. She eked out her ointments and unguents. Later, she spoke with Gaz and changed his dressings. Confused but stable, the snooping white Dragon concluded.

“He’s not producing urine,” she reported to Chanize.

“What does that mean?” Thundersong asked. “Don’t Humans leak liquids all the time?”

“Dragon! It’s necessary for bodily function,” Chanize giggled.

“Taken together with the confusion and muscle aches,” the Princess explained, “it could point to sepsis. That’s a systemic problem and deeply concerning in us leaky mammals. We need to keep a close eye on him for fever and an elevated heart rate. I’ve given him all I can, but …”

Her dark eyes moistened at the edges. A Dragon understood this emotional response, another form of leakiness related to a heart condition, of which Humans lamentably possessed but one apiece. Reaching out, he drew the girl close with his paw and gave her a hug. Gently. Humans might be powerful in unexpected ways, but their bodies could easily be crushed by an unwary paw and now Inzashu, in full awareness of his thoughts, chuckled sadly against his neck and told him not to worry so much about her. He patted her back and told her that her attitude stank like old soldier socks, and he would do all the worrying he felt necessary, thank you kindly.

Aria identified several small footprints beside the water pool that suggested the cavern had recently seen Human use, but if any surprisingly dinky delinquents lurked in the vicinity, they found no further sign of their presence.

Time to rest the wings.

* * * *

The storm blew out its blusterous fury toward the early evening, by which time, it was too late to travel on safely. Thundersong woke from an extremely satisfying draconic snooze to find his mate snuggling impishly beneath his neck. When he stirred and pinned her with what was meant to be a majestic glare but likely came across as extremely dozy, she had a sizzling wink ready for him.

Ooh! That roused his fires.

“We’re going to scout outside,” she informed Azania.

Double ooh!

“Mmm – oh. Enjoy.”

His Rider knew exactly what they were up to. Thundersong checked on Gaz who, not to split hairs with a Dragon’s talon, looked to be knocking upon death’s door. He was clammy and gasping for breath and mumbling something about purple prancing ponies. Amusing, but a poor sign. Inzashu was busy applying cold compresses to his forehead and thanked Thundersong for providing a strengthening touch.

He and Aria snuck out to … ahem. Scout the vicinity, aye.

Almost forgot what he was about, there.

A gorgeous suns-set fired the ash-laden sky in all colours of the rainbow, from rich purples to deep crimson. Perhaps ten to fifteen miles south of their location, no less than four plumes of smoke poured upward, evidence of fresh eruptions, and he had several times felt small earthquakes while he slept. Now that the wind had dropped, great billows of smoke rose straight upward. Gorgeous land. Stark in a way that snatched his breath away. They ambled up the ridge, chatting about inconsequentialities and sharing a chuckle when Aria switched sides to make sure she had checked the part of their surrounds her mate was not obscuring with his mighty bulk.

Thundersong inclined an ear canal. “Hear that?”

Quick nod. Breathing? Grunting? What kind of animal could be out here making that noise? Following their instincts, the pair of Dragons prowled up to a tall stand of boulders and drifted in behind them, seeking and scenting for any threat. In a strange land, one could never be too careful.

When they found the source of the noise, however, they pulled up with sheepish grins. They weren’t the first scouts out tonight.

Blackguard snarled, “With respect, do us a solid favour and push off, would you?”

Jezmyielle just looked mortified.

Aria chirped merrily, “Continue with your scouting, warriors! Report later!”

“Oh, that we will!” growled the Crusher.

Turning their respective backs, the two pairs of Dragons each proceeded to pretend the other pair did not exist. Thundersong gruffly suggested he and Aria scout the far side of the ridge, and so they did.

Fascinating rock formations over this side.

Later, as the last glimmer of daylight departed the western sky and a vast tapestry of stars twinkled overhead, he and his mate lay atop the ridge at a good vantage point, facing south.

“The main trail is meant to skirt that third volcano, right?” he said, pointing with a talon. Aria murmured agreement. “Gaz showed a fine hand at drawing that map. I’m willing to bet he could turn his hand to sketching, particularly in coal. The boy has a good eye for detail. Hmm.” He adjusted his glasses slightly. “So, that fourth vent is new and rather frisky, as best I can tell, but it’s also appeared between the leftmost peak and the middle one, the one that’s leaking all that really runny lava. It flows almost like water, this – hmm! Grrrr. There it is again.”

“You sense something?”

“Aye. Ignoring the fact that I completely missed Blackguard and Jezmyielle’s shenanigans earlier, I do feel as if there’s someone out there watching us. Still …”

“Can you track it?”

He scented the air carefully. “Maybe. It’s elusive – but on this slight breeze, I can’t help but imagine the tang of Human blood. Could it be that someone’s hurt out there?”

“A trap?”

“A possibility never too far from my mind. Let’s go check it out.”

“We should tell the others where we’re going first,” Aria ordered. “No surprises.”

“No surprises that you can’t walk straight anymore, beauty.”

She nipped sharply at his neck. “You!”

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his spine until a few vertebrae groaned and popped. With the Cobalt Dragoness teasing him about incipient old age, they returned to the cave and found Gaz raving about giant psychedelic scorpions.

Inzashu shook her head. “If we can’t get this fever down … I just don’t have what I need to help him anymore, Thundersong. And I’m tired. So tired.”

He touched them both with what remained of his magic, wishing he could do more to help. Healing could be a complex process influenced by too many interacting factors to ever fully understand. Sometimes letting patients go was the hardest thing – deep in his five Dragon hearts, he sensed that it was a close matter with this young man. If he could not find the strength within himself to keep fighting … leaning close, he whispered at him to fight, to know that he had friends nearby, friends also fighting for his life. Yet his talon touch found the man’s clothing sweat-soaked and his skin far too hot.

“Maybe lay him in what water we have, in that pool?” he suggested. “It’s cold enough. When he’s wet, have some of the Rangers fan him with blankets to cool him further.”

Inza nodded. “I’ll do that. Thanks, Thundersong.”

“Aye.”

Angry now for her and Gaz’s sake, furious at the fates, he stalked out of the cavern and breathed deeply of the night airs once more. He would find that trace. He would find it, and if that Human out there proved unworthy, then, by the Dragon fires that defined his life, he would make them pay!

Aria and seven other Dragonesses flew up into the semi-dark night sky with him but then, as planned, they peeled off to different points of the compass, completing their patrols, while he focussed upon that scent. Elusive was one word. Impossible, quite another. Magically masked? He quested on his own for over an hour, drifting over barren rocky fields, low ridges and across patches of scrubby brush, occasionally detecting hints but, to his rising annoyance, nothing he could put a talon to. A small Human and well-hidden, was his best guess.

Patience paid the predator.

The night was not fully dark, due to the presence of at least three or four active vents that he observed between one to three miles away. One spat lava most merrily, a fountain of orange as bright as a parrot’s proud feathers, that periodically leaped forty or fifty feet into the night. Farther afield, several larger cones and vents cast a baleful, ruddy glow up against the gloomy cloud cover.

When he painted this, he’d call it Apocalypse Unleashed.

Landing in a sandy patch, he padded through a ravine, up over a rise and into the next gully, a deeper, narrower cleft in the ground. Could even have been an old lava vent. There. His muzzle jerked. A stronger whiff. It reminded him of Azania’s two boys; that particular, sweetish young Human scent, mingled with this ever-present, more metallic tang of blood – he pretended to lick his chops like a proper fiend and chortled to himself. Never in his life.

Still, he drew the camouflage magic close about his being as he stalked soundlessly up this gully – no, he had turned the wrong way. Back to the west. He placed each paw with care now, barely stirring the dust under paw. Drawing in another massive breath, he tasted and evaluated the scents upon his tongue, deeper down in his throat and then exhaling through his nostrils to rebreathe the aftertastes, a trick Aria’s warriors had taught him. Slightly more to the north, aye. There. Another stronger whiff. His eyes narrowed, scanning the broken ground ahead, around him, letting his instincts guide the search. This creature could not present a real threat to a Dragon – yet how would a Human youngling come to be out here on their own? Did his ears catch a sound? A muffled sob? His head inclined to his left flank. This way.

Where could the wretch be hiding?

His knuckles brushed cloth. Thundersong jerked his paw sideways, averting what could have been a fatal, crushing step. A cloak, as grey as the ground the small Human lay upon, his body wedged into a crack in the ground and covered with this amazing cloth. It blended with magical – aha! He snuffled at the fabric. Fascinating.

The body trembled, a squeak of dread finally escaping from the young lad. He could be no more than thirteen or fourteen, a tall but slender fellow lying awkwardly here because he nursed a wound upon his upper right leg that had bled right through the cloth binding it. That must be what he had scented.

“Lad, I won’t harm you,” Thundersong grated.

The boy made a snuffling noise.

“You’re hurt. Can you walk? Is it only you here?” Silence. Dark eyes gazed fearfully up at him. He was a handsome, fine-boned lad – he could even be described as pretty, the Dragon decided. A Human girl might be envious of those eyes. “I am called Thundersong. What’s your name? How did you come to be out here?”

“Are you … a real Dragon? Or a spirit?”

Sweet voice, too, and unbroken as yet. He revised his age estimate down a touch to account for adolescence. Twelve? “I’m real enough. Did you come from the oasis, from the Faliaki camp?”

“We did.”

“We? How many are you?”

“I …” the lad winced and hissed between his teeth, “There’s three of us, alright? My s – my brothers – my siblings, that is, went to your camp to try to steal some food. We’re starving. We took a samguk lizard and escaped when you attacked. Unfortunately, a group of Komodo lizards got wind of us and I took a bad bite before we could escape.”

“Hmm,” said Thundersong. “Nicked an artery?”

“Aye. And – forgive me, my lord – your group looked a little lost in the land. We thought you wouldn’t miss a few provisions.”

“Stealing from Dragons?” Fifty fangs filled the night sky above the boy, causing him to shrink back into his hiding place, which must suddenly feel far too small. “I’ll spare you the lecture. You do realise that’s downright idiotic, don’t you? As in, those who wish for long life beneath the suns ought to be running in the opposite direction from Dragons.”

The lad smiled wanly. “I do now. How did you find me?”

“Your smell carried on the breeze.”

“Oh.”

“It was your wound that – no.” Thundersong scented him again, a powerful inhalation that sucked at his abdomen. “Aha! That’s not a Human boy smell. You’re a girl! YOU STINKING LIAR!” Stilling his roar, he champed his fangs aside. “Huh! Lesson number two: never lie to a Dragon. What do you have to say for yourself, girl?”

It took her three tries but, at last, she managed to blurt out, “If there’s any lesson I do know, it’s that you don’t want to be a girl travelling alone in this land. So, roar at me all you like … end my life, Dragon, if you would. It could be no worse.”

“Gnarr! The Faliaki mistreated you?”

She shook her dark curls defiantly. “No. I am of age – as you smelled – but these Faliaki scum do not hold to the usual code of honour regarding children; another of life’s little facts we did not know before we asked them for help. They did not have a chance to abuse us before you attacked. Not much. They were many and their intentions entirely clear.”

An unexpected problem. A slow grin curved his lips. Another stray? They practically leaped into his paw these days and, as Dragons said, it took one to know one. That was why he was so drawn to these unusual or unfortunate cases, right? First-paw experience.

“Hmm,” he growled massively.

The girl’s eyebrows did a small dance as she searched his face. “Is that a hungry sound?”

“No. I’ve decided I might even like you.” Her mouth dropped into an ‘O’ of shock. “Aye, I know. Astonishing. Beggars belief, doesn’t it? Perhaps I might even come to tolerate you, in time, despite that you appear to be a thieving desert rat, and a mischievous one at that. Come along now. We need to go find your brothers before they get themselves properly eaten. Not all Dragons are as nice as me.”

“Come along? I can’t even walk.”

“Walk? Did I say walk? Gnarr! Wash your mouth out with caustic, young lady!” She voiced a squeak of horror as he snaffled her up into one paw. “Walk is a four-rune word to a Dragon!”

“No, don’t … ooooo – estri-zuk!” she swore as, with a mighty flexion of his thighs, he launched into the air with a furious flurry of wingbeats.

Triumphant Dragon takes the prize!

The girl wailed for rather less time than he would have imagined. Must be made of brave materials, this one. Reminded him of a certain somebody who came in a four-foot-seven and feisty form.

Aria glanced his way the instant he took to the air. He could read the calculation in her fiery eyes from half a mile off. His posture, the way he carried his paw – she knew without need to exchange words that he carried a prize back to the lair. The warrior gave a pert wriggle of at least a dozen wing edges and sped out to complete her patrol schedule. Now, would her team have missed those other boys?

Not so.

He returned just in time to find Blackguard and Jezmyielle returning with one sullen scallywag each in paw; indeed, they dangled like yesterday’s washing, the picture of defeat. The Dragons thumped inside the cavern just as he furled his wings in landing. He heard Farizam roar, “Stealing my Queen’s dagger? I don’t think so, boy! Turn out your pockets this instant.”

Huh. They had made it inside and back out again? Smart work, apart from the part where they got themselves caught.

“Aye. Let’s have all of it, you shrivelling little wretch,” Azerim snapped. “Quickly, boy, before I have a Dragon turn you inside out!”

“I’m sorry, Jabiz,” a small voice whined. So contrite?

Thundersong glanced at the contents of his own paw. “Really?”

She shrugged. “Acting.”

“Badly.”

“Been fooling people for years.”

“People are not Dragons,” Thundersong said with great finality.

His captive was quiet but for a moment. “Does stating the obvious pass for winning an argument in your culture?”

Zing! How could one not enjoy such a quick-minded pest?

With a low chortle, he ruffled her curly dark hair with his paw, raising a squeak of unnecessary fright, before striding into the cavern upon three paws with his head held high, booming, “O King, I have retrieved the third member of this foul conspiracy! Behold this scoundrel I have in paw!”

His cheerful greeting diffused the tension as if a Dragon-sized talon had been applied to a balloon the size of the cavern. Farizam stopped shaking the youngest one as if he had discovered a bilge rat devouring his dinner aboard one of his ships, and Blackguard put the oldest of this motley trio down with the air of one who wished to wash his paw immediately afterward. Hmm. Thundersong looked them over with a severely jaundiced eye. Now that he had the middle girl to judge by, he smelled something more. No brothers were these. Or indeed, a prettier trio of brothers had seldom been seen beneath the suns, save that they were in a lamentably unwashed and emaciated state.

These youngsters had not eaten well in many a month, or he missed his mark.

Azerim said, “Thundersong! Excellent work. What shall we do with reprobates such as these? Practically stole the trousers off my backside, I do declare.”

Azania giggled as if this mental image was far too appealing to ignore. Colour rushed into her husband’s cheeks as he grasped his inadvertent joke. Ah, Humans. Their emotions could give them a fresh paint job in seconds.

“I say feed them and feed them well!” Thundersong growled.

“Feed them?”

“I fear that sheer hunger has driven these youngsters to indulge in nefarious practices, my King! I propose to stuff their mouths until they pop.” Everyone peered uncertainly at the trio, who all looked rather confused in their own right. Sixty feet of fang-gnashing Dragon tended to produce strange effects in Humans. Most vexing. “Inzashu, I’m afraid I have another patient for you. If you could offer your names? Inzashu! It’s urgent.”

“Terrible time, Dragon.”

“Her name’s Inzashu?” the oldest sibling gasped suddenly.

The girl in his paw gasped, “No, it can’t be Inzashu-N’shula? She’s a monster!”

A theme that continued to raise its ugly head. Thundersong shook his muzzle sadly. During this trip south, he was learning things about his friend’s past he had not really wanted to know. Thank the heavens a Dragon could change his scales and the daughter of a fiendish Mage could turn to the good.

“It is me.” The Princess stepped into the light of one of the torches, wiping her hands on a cloth. Pus? Blood? That could not be good. “How do you boys know me?”

Glares!

Blackguard snapped, “Aargh! You are those three boys I helped up at the oasis, are you not? I helped you escape on a lizard – and this is how you repay us, with base thievery?”

Thundersong announced, “They are not boys. These are three girls masquerading as boys.”

“Wretches!” Gnarly roared.

The eldest sister dropped her gaze as if to acknowledge defeat, but the girl in his paw jutted out her chin and exclaimed, “Do you not remember us?”

“I don’t often forget a face,” Inzashu said, rubbing her eyes tiredly, “but I do happen to have a dying patient, so please, let me –” she snapped her fingers suddenly “– I know! Ehlzishu. It is Ehlzishu, right? Serhishu’s the shy one and so you’ll be – don’t tell me – little Vhalzishu?”

Vhalzishu jumped and clapped her hands in excitement. She could only be ten or so. The older two sisters looked aghast.

Inzashu smiled, “Not quite as little as I remembered. Were you searching for your brother in the northlands?” Three quick nods; again, one keen and two plainly horrified. “Well, you’ve found him. Only, he’s in a bad way. Really bad. I’m sorry to tell you … he’s dying.”

The youngest burst into tears. “My Gazzie! I want my Gazzie!”

“You captured Ulgazil?” Serhishu whispered.

“We rescued him. I was treating him – we’ve all been trying to,” she explained. “He’s been through a great deal since you saw him last and the Faliaki must have tortured him on top of all that … so, aye. He has sepsis and I’m at my wits’ end –”

“You’re a healer now?” Ehlzishu grated.

Inzashu approached, holding out her hands. “I am. I’m not – not whatever you remember, Ehlzishu. Come. I’ll take you to Ulgazil –”

Flinging herself off Thundersong’s paw, the girl took a wild swing at Inzashu. “You lying witch!”

Smack in the eye.

It was only in belated shock, as he stilled all the angry Dragons and Rangers with a flat gesture of his paw, that Thundersong realised Inzashu had never tried to avoid the blow. Instead, she knelt beside the girl, apologising and asking if there was more she would like to say. Blam! A straight right slammed into her mouth. The hard knuckles split Inzashu’s lower lip open in an instant. Crimson welled up.

Eloquent.

For a waif, that girl could hit like a brawling sailor. Juggernaut would like this one, too.

“Ehlzishu!” the oldest sister gasped.

Throwing her arms about the Princess’ neck, Ehlzishu broke into desolate paroxysms of sobbing, telling her how much she had hated her and wished her dead. Inzashu patted her back, saying she had not been there for her brother when it mattered most and, indeed, she deserved a far more thorough beating. This interaction had the remarkable effect of mending ten years of broken relationships and misunderstandings in three seconds flat.

No negotiations, no reparations, no need for threats and the devious wagging of forked tongues? Fire dribbled off his tongue in amazement. No way would the ways of Humans be understood by this Dragon in the next ten thousand years!

Inzashu reunited the siblings. It took over ten minutes to get through to Gaz that his sisters were present. They begged, pleaded, cried, admonished him and outright commanded him not to die. Vhalzishu dipped in the pool with him. She held his hand and told him stories about what a wonderful big brother he was. Since one involved flying around Taramis on the back of an eagle, he was not quite convinced it was all true, but as a Dragon crooked his neck around the corner to peer one-eyed at the gathering around Gaz’s prone body, he saw something truly miraculous occur. The young man’s laboured breathing began to ease. No particular magic did he see at work but, next they knew, the fever broke and a large white paw was deployed to hook him out of the water and deposit him on a hastily assembled bed of Ranger cloaks and desert garb, where he fell at last into an untroubled sleep.

Thundersong caught the Princess as she stumbled against her sister out of sheer weariness. Almost fainted; something he had never known her to do.

“Alright, Inza?”

She nodded pensively. “That was …”

“I know.”

“That was the first time in my life I’ve done something for someone which cost me nothing and gave them everything,” she said.

No, he did not know.

He knew nothing.

At length, and not without a huge gulp, Thundersong said, “I could say something really mawkish and stupid, like, ‘I’m proud of you, Inzashu,’ but that would just sound silly and weirdly parental.”

A quirky, breathtakingly vulnerable smile accompanied her whispering, for him alone, “You can be my Dragon Dad any day.”

“I’d be honoured.”

Approaching, Azania said, “It squeezes my heart just to see them eat.”

The trio sat cross-legged around a set of bowls the Rangers had given them, eating with the ferocity of starving strays. Ehlzishu had her left leg out straight. That bite would leave a scar to remember. His five hearts did a dint of squeezing of their own. Inzashu and Azania were both right. Could any creature fathom the healing power of love?

Blergh. He grew maudlin with age.

Stepping forward, he rumbled, “Don’t overdo it now, little ones. There will be more for you in the morn and more when you need it after that. Let your stomachs adjust to the joy of fulness.”

Ehlzishu glanced at him. Through a mouthful of bread, she muttered, “You’re planning to keep us then?”

“Well, you certainly aren’t fat enough for the pot, are you?”

“What?”

“Far too skinny. I require well-fed, willing minions to beautify my lair and sing me sweet lullabies at night,” he declared, with a grandiose air of even grander pretence. The girl’s hand froze halfway to her mouth as she processed this claim. “Small hands are best for scratching me in my favourite spots and the scent of mischief –” he inhaled massively “– ignites my Dragon hearts with bonfires of joy. Are you any good at dicing up succulent portions of meat for dinner? Tell me about your back-scratching and scale-polishing skills. Any talent there? Shoulder massage?”

The girls’ faces were a picture.

Vhalzishu’s chiming giggle halted all conversation in the cavern, as she exclaimed, “Ooh, you are a nice Dragon!”

“Hmm.” Making a show of scratching his chin, Thundersong gave this assertion grave consideration. “Medium nice, and only to children.”

Chapter 16: Inattentiveness

A SPATE OF ERUPTIONS and an unfortunate change in the wind direction by the following morning led to the necessary decision to stay put for another day. Better the cavern’s shelter than another red-hot cinder shower. Wading through steams of orange lava might tickle a Dragon’s fancy, but the Askaris, Rangers and Unicorns were less amenable to the idea.

A day’s waiting might be dull, but there were precious moments to be gleaned, such as Serhishu’s astonishment at discovering a fish-tailed girl afloat in her water supply. “Mermaids are real?” Firri played hide-and-seek with Vhalzishu. “That’s not fair; you’re too good!” Gazdonl taught Gaz a game of stones they played on the coast with seashells, and learned that shells could be found in some parts of the southern wastelands. The Dragon Rider yelped, “Shells in a desert? How’s that possible?”

Gaz spent most of his waking hours speaking with the Mysterious Mare, until Thundersong caught Inzashu tapping her foot in annoyance. More of that smoke? Indeed. Jealous green smoke.

A nice Dragon would enjoy her consternation somewhat less than he did, surely?

A touch after noon, with the wind behaving itself for a change, Thundersong and Azania took the Sankir and several Desert Askaris to scout the route ahead. Every last inch of ground and all the boulders and scant vegetation were blanketed in five to ten inches of ash, masking what trails there might have been. Lava flows crossed their intended direction of travel in at least half a dozen locations, but none would be impassable – at least three could be jumped by the Unicorns and the others might require a quick Dragon lift.

“The trick will be to get far enough past that volcano in a single day so that we don’t get caught out in the open again,” Azania pointed out.

“Aye,” Thundersong agreed. “Has the activity slowed, do you think?”

“I’d say so,” said Farizam. “My Queen?”

She wrinkled her nose at his formality. “Indeed. With a little creative lava hopping, we could cross these parts and, I believe, once we’re further east, the prevailing wind should keep us out of the worst of the ash cloud and pumice. That’s an impressive volcano.”

Thundersong rumbled, “Impressive for an oversized drippy tap, don’t you mean?”

“Really?” A hand patted his shoulder lightly, as she chuckled, “The comparisons you come up with! Aye. We can make our report that the ridgeline looks clear enough, but those mountain slopes may well be challenging. And, on that note, the wind’s shifting again.”

He waved a paw in front of his nose. “Farizam, you didn’t!”

“Phew, that’s quite the reek,” he coughed.

“How’s Chanize doing?” Azania asked, as Thundersong brought them around smoothly.

“Feeling greener by the day. In our culture we’d say that probably means it’ll be a girl, but there are many competing theories – a bump more out front means a boy, eating spicy foods gets you a girl, that sort of thing.” He chuckled softly. “Oh aye, and you eat swordfish if you want boys and angelfish for girls. Traditions regarding gender roles can be so obvious.”

“I had to laugh at Gazdonl calling you a raging liberal last night,” Azania said.

“Cheeky whippersnapper,” the Sankir grunted.

“He and Zurianne have diametrically opposed ideas about leadership, too,” Thundersong put in. “She wants to be the matriarch and he’s not entirely comfortable with the idea.”

“Cultures will differ, but the young will find a way,” the soldier noted wisely, throwing up his cloak to protect himself and the Queen. “Oops, here it comes properly now. Hunker down, everyone!”

They swept down to the cavern beneath darkening skies as an ash cloud spread from the south once more, turning the world a gloomy dark-grey. At least the bombardment of pumice had largely stopped, but a Dragon did wonder about the mood of that volcano. Settling down, or warming up for another blast? When he had his four paws upon ground level, allowing him to sense the vibrations conducted through the rock into his paws, he decided that his animal instincts could not be ignored.

Bigger things were in store. Best to move on soon.

Alright, enough of being Mister Beastly Beast, Dragon, Azania commented, giving him a mental prod. I’m seeing in shades of crimson bloodlust and flashing fangs over here.

That may surprise your husband.

Gnarr!

Aye, perhaps making the baby-making a whole lot more – he pulled up with an anguished clack of his fangs. Sorry! Curse this tongue, I misspoke.

Azania was silent for a long moment as she made her dismount.

Turning to him, she said, Thundersong, I love that you’re such a sensitive soul. I’ve learned a great deal from you, perhaps as one inclined to charge through life without always having the best consideration for others’ feelings. Yet, there are times I do wish – I only just realised this myself – that I don’t always need that sensitivity. I’m strong, Thundersong. You’re strong. I can take a sharp word, a grump, a tactless slip of the forked tongue. This friendship we share is bigger than all that. Just … relax. I am not offended. There’s no need to be so keenly on your guard all the time.

Aware that his dangling jaw threatened to catch more than flies, he snapped his fangs together. But … I like … knowing you. Knowing your ways.

To which I say, don’t ever change, she returned quickly, reaching up on her tiptoes to wipe some soot off his neck. You tread lighter than any twenty-tonne behemoth I know. I love that about you.

HUH! he grumble-snorted in vocal realisation. I understand now.

She chuckled, I was hoping so, because I don’t really have words to explain what I mean.

Well, the question is not whether or not we care for one another but, rather, the juxtaposition of fragility and strength. Attend. If I assume you are so fragile you cannot handle a poorly spoken or insensitive word, then how is that honouring to you? Does it celebrate your valour or inner strength? For indeed, I see in you no need of mollycoddling and – how do you Humans put it – wrapping in clouds?

Cotton wool, you great lug. That’s cotton wool.

She elbowed his neck. He prodded her ribs with his knuckle. She kicked his knee in passing. He swatted her upon the behind and growled, “Go eat him up, Dragoness!”

“Thundersong!” she yelped.

“Scorching,” he purred, pretending to wring his paw. “Say, Azania?”

She gave him a dark, dramatic pout.

“Do you need to go scouting with Azerim?”

“Rude rip-snorting reptile!”

This translated into taking a private walk with her husband several hours later, when his Rider thought he might be asleep and not notice. Ah, Azania. Wholly transparent. Predators always slept with one eye open. He delicately shut off the mental connection between them, lest he inadvertently eavesdrop upon a private moment, and soon fell asleep wondering how one trod the balance between keeping one another emotionally secure and not becoming overbearing, or showing sensitivity without treating the other as if they were some inferior or juvenile creature, weak and dependent and helpless. Consideration rather than condescension. Ha! So many, many layers to the precious connection they shared, to knowing and being known.

He needed to ruminate.

Cogitate.

Contemplate the insides of his eyelids. He’d be a far more bearable creature in the morning for it.

Now that demonstrated true mindfulness to all around him.

* * * *

Naturally, since he wore all these excellent intentions right upon his scaly sleeve, he slept terribly and woke up in a mood so foul and snappish, it surprised the Dragon at fault most of all. He was never like this. He wanted to paint in the colours of bloody murder and chew upon innocent little deer until they melted on his tongue. His fangs ached to be sharpened upon the skulls of his enemies and his talons to be slowly withdrawn from warm, furry bodies with a satisfying sucking sound.

Phew.

One should never be shy about living up to stereotypes.

Would this mood test his friendship with Azania? Indeed not. After the sharing of a few honest frustrations cleared the air in both directions, she recruited Inzashu, who listened to his tale of waking up at least ten times imagining there had been an earthquake and promptly found and diagnosed an inner ear infection.

Right, she was annoying. Annoyingly right.

He walked sideways into the cavern wall at this point, which did his mood no good whatsoever. Sensitive inner ears did need to be treated with the greatest circumspection or all he would have to show for his daring would be bruises and plenty of them.

With a wind-still day to enjoy at last, it had been Aria who made the call to wake everyone before dawn and start moving even before suns-rise. The Unicorns emerged from the cavern in parade ground formation, full of the joys not only of spring, but every season in every climate ever imagined. They trotted down the dusty, ash-strewn defile out of the cave in a trot cadence that showcased high-kneed, poised-of-hoof steps he had never seen before.

Gallingly handsome.

To his increasing frustration, didn’t they know it? Every glance of their liquid dark eyes, every skyward toss of a mane and every flick of their plumy tails said as much. His eyes narrowed. Besides, how under the suns were their predominantly white hides suddenly so pristine? Unicorn magic?

Up on his back, Vhalzishu cooed, “Ooh, so pretty!”

Such a girl.

Such a preposterous observation for one supposedly allergic to societal norms and ideals.

The Unicorns overheard, and spent an inordinate amount of time spreading her compliment about the herd, until he should not have been surprised if they all evaporated in a puff of sparkly Unicorn horn magic.

“They are, aren’t they?” Gaz agreed.

“Look at that little sweetheart! Isn’t she gorgeous and so frisky you almost want to jump about with her? I’m hungry!”

“We haven’t even taken off yet,” her older brother complained.

“Well then, I’m snackish,” she clarified. “What did the Queen pack in our bag? Doesn’t that sound like the silliest thing you ever heard? A real Queen from T’nagru packed my snack bag! Squee!”

Oh dear. Thundersong quickly rearranged his vengeful thoughts. He would carry the children – aged eight, fourteen and fifteen years respectively – upon his back, together with Gaz, who still merited the flat sickbed treatment, to his vocal disgust. Counting Azania and Chanize, he was up to six Riders these days. Practically half a village atop his shoulders.

“Yum. Sooooo pretty!” Vhalzishu repeated. She had discovered her voice, one could not fail to notice. “Do you think Inzashu’s pretty, brother?”

“GoshumIdunno!” he spluttered.

Ehlzishu said, “Don’t tease him about Inzashu, sister.”

“Why not? It’s fun.”

“Because that’s my job. So, Gaz …”

“Help, I have three younger sisters,” he moaned.

“Do you love her? You always said you did, and back then it was so cute –”

Serhishu snapped, “Ehlzishu! No.”

“Why not? Gazzie’s in love, Gazzie’s in love.”

“Don’t go there! You’re such an interfering … whatsit!”

“A whatsit? Ouch. Besides, she’ll just suck his brain dry anyways, won’t she?”

“Girls!” Azania exclaimed, pulling out full parental mode. “That’s my sister you’re gossiping about. I don’t want to hear it – no, Ehlzishu, I do not! Or I’ll put you on – what’s the worst thing I can think of – aye! Thundersong ear-cleaning duty.”

“Ooh, gross,” Vhalzishu gasped.

Ehlzishu muttered beneath her breath, clearly out to impress everyone with the degree of teenage strop she could pack into one pouty lower lip. Seemed he was not the only creature nursing a grizzly mood today.

In an effort to help avert a minor war, Thundersong took a couple of running steps and soared smoothly into the air. That shut them up in a trice. Blissful silence, in his unbiased and cantankerous opinion. Sneaking a quick look behind him, he saw Gaz gazing about curiously, Serhishu with her eyes tightly shut, Ehlzishu catching flies with an open mouth and the youngest, bright-eyed, had her arms outstretched, as if dreaming she could fly. Well, why not? This Dragon could make a child’s dreams come true.

As this spark fanned his imagination, his mood switched instantly.

Like he’d switched scales. Great white wings spread subtly upon a slight easterly breeze as he swung away from the Unicorn column for a moment before turning to parallel their course. He soared without trying, barely needing to flap his wings to keep aloft despite his tonnage and aware that his whiteness waxed luminous, as his enigmatic Sea Dragon power intensified in concert with his mood. Why here, so far from any ocean? Could it be that the magic of the oceans also lived in the air – that indeed, the air was a kind of ocean in its own right?

About ten minutes in, Gaz muttered, “Gods, my belly’s itching something fierce.”

“Don’t scratch,” Chanize ordered.

“My leg, too,” Ehlzishu agreed at once.

“Leave it!”

“No, this is bad, like ten thousand fire ants,” she gasped, fumbling with her garments. As she tried to get her hand past the waist ties of her under-leggings, the ill-fitting cloth slipped off her backside. “Please. One little scratch. Chanize, please! Just my littlest fingernail …”

“Open it and I’ll have you cleaning worse things than Dragons’ earholes,” Chanize threatened.

“By my bones, that boy Ranger just ate you up with his eyes!” Serhishu breathed.

“Oops,” said Ehlzishu. “Not too many places to hide when you’re pulling down your borrowed garments on a Dragon’s back.”

Turning suddenly, she waved her fist at the young Ranger on Jezmyielle’s shoulders and yelled something in her Skartunese dialect. He could not possibly have understood the words, but the tone communicated well enough, because the lad suddenly discovered a fascination with the farthest horizon. Thundersong pinned him with a malignant glare, one he must feel even through the back of his head. One of Farizam’s younger Rangers, right?

Mind on anything but the job.

He rumbled, “Young lady, glancing at a sleek, well-turned haunch is something of a male reflex.”

It took her three seconds to divine his meaning. Then she screeched a few more words at him. Spicier ones. Phew, these Skartunese girls certainly knew how to let rip. But, when she pushed her bandages up a bit to scratch around the edges of her wound, a volley of different, breathier words volleyed from her mouth. Chanize asked for an interpretation, which was quick in coming. The inch-wide puncture wounds and several tears from dirty talons had closed up, she declared shrilly. Gaz’s huge cut had knit together beautifully, perhaps a week’s worth of healing accomplished within seconds. Thundersong flexed his injured paw and found it a great deal more comfortable. Even Chanize’s morning sickness had yielded to that moment of healing, she admitted, stroking her stomach shyly.

Intriguing how thinking less helped the body to achieve more, the Dragon reflected. Could all Sea Dragons do this, just as they had mastered and surpassed his sonic roar within hours?

“Show us your scar, brother,” Ehlzishu demanded.

He pulled up his shirt. “There. Delightful, right? Did I tell you that the Queen herself gave me this cut?”

“Gaz! Were you as rude to her as you were to Inzashu?” she snapped, majoring on the sweet, supportive sisterly vibe.

His reaction was unsurprisingly testy.

Hmm. This minor knack for accelerating healing might mean that Gaz would be sitting up soon, and then they would see if smoke turned to fire. Prediction? Mwaaa-harrr-harrrgh!

For her part, Ehlzishu was not unhandsome for a squishy, flat-nosed mammal, he allowed generously, but his Rider still took the honours, naturally. The fourteen-year-old needed a jolly good scrub behind the ears, torn clothing that did not look as if it could stand up by itself and the use of a bar of soap – perhaps several, to be fair. That hair was an unmitigated disaster, more matted mop than actual hairstyle. He supposed the crusted dirt had been left in situ to better disguise her as a boy.

Human boys had all sorts of odd ideas about dirt; mostly that it was beneficial to their hides, that mud could be used as a replacement for proper paint and if there was a puddle within a hundred miles, it needed to be jumped in with both feet to make the biggest splash possible. Filthy habits. No Dragon would dream of such behaviour – gnarr-harrr-harrr – save his Aunt Ignita, of course, to whom scale itch as a result of prolonged immersion in swamp waters appeared to pose no issues whatsoever. Teenage boys were even worse. The nose-picking! The underarm and foot odours! Hmm. Not that several of his passengers lacked for a certain bodily pungency, given they had probably never seen a bathtub in their lives. Now, a tactful Dragon would perhaps speak to Azania about freshening up this cargo before that young Ranger – Jazzarim, if he was not mistaken – got downwind of this load, in which case, even the most eager lad might reconsider his options.

The Unicorns had a fine morning run, soon settling to the less showy task of eating up the miles. No rest for the wicked, and definitely no respite for the showy. Three times, they hurdled smaller lava flows – one was a narrow lava-filled crack, from which lava spilled in dozens of locations – and trotted briskly on. The landscape was a vista of fire-blasted devastation. Piles of ash, pillars of smoke oozing skyward and, where it existed, most of the vegetation had been burned to the ground. It should regrow in the right season.

During the early afternoon, the Unicorns crossed a low, frowning brow of stark, white-spotted grey rock, scaled a sharp, sooty ridgeline and then descended a long, long slope beyond that led to the first larger lava flow, a river of sooty orange, slowly cooling sludge some three hundred feet wide. As the rock oozed along, it pushed up in ridges like wrinkled skin and released smoke and gasses into the air. Heat shimmered off its surface; the afternoon was drier than a skeleton lost in the desert for a hundred years. The Mysterious Mare had said she wanted to find a place to trot across but, upon observing the phenomenon and seeing a Ranger prod the haft of her spear through the brittle crust with little effort, decided on the spot that a Dragon airlift would be far safer.

Aria summoned her troops and issued concise orders. Less than an hour later, and their only loss being a fumbled Ranger boot, of all things, they were on the far side, where the Unicorns took on a little water before setting out at a careful walking pace into a vast field comprised purely of stones the size of a Human fist. Nasty spot for equines. After five falls and a couple of wild slides, they spent some time working out how to identify the most stable routes, and the pace slowed again. The Dragons kept close to the Unicorns as the day progressed, for the terrain became ever more challenging, with forty-foot columns of jagged black igneous rock appearing at intervals to force them to wend their way even more carefully. Soon, the columns merged to form rows of sharp-toothed ridgelines and abrupt, hidden drop-offs. Aria trailblazed for the group, while Gazdonl, Firri and Zurianne called directions from above. Their team had proven to have an excellent eye for close terrain, while Farizam and Blackguard scouted farther out front.

Another hour passed in unstinting effort and vigilance.

Thundersong, keeping a beady eye on proceedings from two hundred feet up, was the first to notice his mate’s state of alarm. Her remarkable cobalt wings which, when they were not bamboozling his brain, most resembled the frilly fins of the colourful reef fish he had so admired up at the Vaylarn Archipelago, rippled up around Azerim’s knees and along her flanks. He had never quite worked out their mechanics. All he knew was that her wings hit delightful extremes of prettiness and lethal functionality, and that this particular bodily language meant –

“ALARM!” he bellowed.

His sinus-rattling roar clearly hit her ear canals before the warrior Dragoness even realised she had reacted to some environmental danger, but her reactions were astounding. Her blades flashed in the air before echoes had time to reverberate through the rocky terrain.

At the same instant, thousands of large, scabby grey birds erupted out of the columns to the left flank of the Unicorn herd. Destrodactyls! Not tens or even a few hundred, as they had been led to believe. Thousands of creatures, all belonging to one great, loose flock that just seemed to go on and on forever, rippled up out of nowhere, from holes and cracks hidden amidst the stones and off the sides of columns.

Although the lizard birds fluttered in from a hundred or more Dragon paces off their flank, their fleshy fluttering wings propelled them through the air with a loud clattering sound and decent speed. Their saw-edged bills cracked open in anticipation as they came in fast in a huge wave, almost too fast for the Rangers and Askaris to draw their weapons. The Isles Dragonesses hit them with swords blurring in lethal patterns and the Askaris with a brief volley of arrows, but that was all the time anyone had to respond, before the swarm descended. Thundersong was halfway to the ground when Inzashu struck out with her mind, slamming a swathe of birds to the ground – but they only reacted as if punched, wriggling groggily up to their curved yellow talons and staggering onward in search of a meal. Passing the Dragonesses in loose knots due to overwhelming numbers, they smashed into the herd, catching on with their hooked wings and sharp claws to start biting.

Human, Unicorn, it mattered not. They knew what a throat was, and their serrated grey jaws champed unceasingly in search of a lethal bite, while the Rangers fought back with daggers flashing and swords slashing, wreaking a dreadful toll on the persistent, but evidently quite stupid, destrodactyls. The equines kicked out vigorously and speared the birds repeatedly with their horns. Thundersong himself swooped low along the line of Unicorns, skimming, spearing or slapping off as many of the grey pests as he could. His generous size was no advantage here. He could not manoeuvre fast enough, and perhaps also got in the way – but his wings had wide coverage …

An idea sparked into his mind.

Spinning at the tail end of their column, he bellowed, “Form up! Form a circle! To me!”

Azania saw his plan at once through their mental link. Running up onto his nose, she used her bow and several arrows to start gesturing to the Unicorns. Chanize cried out as a bird smacked into the middle of her back and dug in, but Serhishu reached out with two strong hands to wring its neck with a violent twist. Aria exploded through a knot of grey birds, striking them with so many parts of her body it was impossible to tell what she was doing, only that maimed, torn birds flew from her like spume leaping off an ocean comber.

The Rangers responded to the orders like the trained soldiers they were, using voices and knees and hands to keep their mounts calm as they dashed toward the white Dragon. He gathered them beneath his outspread wings like a mother hen gathering her chicks, protecting them as best he could from further flurries of attacks, while the Rangers and other Humans teamed up to clean the destrodactyls off the Unicorns, out of a man’s curly hair and partway down Blackguard’s right ear canal. The big Crusher groaned as it dug in its claws; one of their cooks diced it up with his chopping knife and then carefully pulled the remaining parts out.

Everywhere Thundersong looked, he saw blood. Crimson streaks and splatters. Fallen Unicorns. An unmoving Engineer. Shocking bite wounds. Bitter disappointment filled his craw. One miscalculation. One wretched, fires-be-blasted misjudgement … and now this?

He spread his wings over the backs of dozens of Unicorns now, as did Blackguard and his friends, while the Isles Dragonesses stalked behind and around them, beating off the last futile flocks of attackers.

Silence descended.

Brutal, deathly silence.

Chapter 17: Southward Ho

FOURTEEN UNICORNS AND NINE Humans. The fallen, they left respectfully interred in a sealed cavern aside from the main trail, where the Unicorns hummed a soft, mournful paean over them and Azerim, kneeling, spoke a blessing into the afterlife in a voice torn ragged by grief. Thundersong sang until he found his Sea Dragon glow, not from joy, this time, but from a sorrow so profound his five Dragon hearts groaned in unspeakable anguish. Thus, he was able to bring the worst wounded back from the brink. They would survive to walk or canter again, but too many of their number would bear the scars of this awful day.

Without a single light step or carefree wing flip, the companions dragged themselves onto the long road once more.

Aria blamed herself for her inattention while Thundersong rued his inability to protect his herd, Dragons and people. Many of their warriors hung their heads as they marched along, their postures steeped in shame and failure. Yet, the one who blamed himself most was Gaz – it showed in the dark colours of his emotions. Thundersong tried to speak with him, but he spat, ‘Nothing I have touched these last four years has turned into anything but the dust of bones. I am an accursed man, Dragon!’ He briefly tried to convince Gaz of his worth, but had his concern hurled back into his face with a stream of invective.

Ungrateful wretch!

Champing his fangs, he flicked his wings to catch a thermal, spiralling up into the ash-grey midmorning sky to join Azerim and Aria.

“Looks like an area of instability ahead,” the King explained, pointing.

His wife nodded. “We’ll have to detour.”

The entire area, as far as the eye could see south and west of their position, had turned into a seething bed of steaming dark-grey rocks crisscrossed by ravines that changed width and location even as he peered through his spectacles. Since the scouts had flown out the previous evening, a crack some seventy feet wide and three or four miles long had opened directly across their intended route. Smoke and steam wafted upward from its entire length. The rocks beyond kept sinking and rising or tilting, as if bowing to one another in a slow-motion dance. Not a place any Unicorn would step hoof, for certain! He could only imagine the grinding and scraping; even from this distance, they heard the occasional louder crack of overstressed geological strata. Before his startled gaze, a mile-long caterpillar of rock heaved upward, broke apart, as if trying briefly to imitate a porcupine’s quills, and crumbled with a low-voiced rumble of discontent.

“Curious; I wonder what’s making it do that?” he mused aloud. “Gaz?”

“Haven’t a clue,” he muttered.

“Inzashu?”

“Less than no clue,” she chirped. Gaz muttered an indecipherable phrase, which she ignored, even though her emotions peaked toward lava red.

“Anyone?”

Aria said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that those rocks look to be afloat. Like they’re rolling on slow-moving ocean combers.”

“That’s it!” He snapped his talons in realisation. “That entire area’s sitting atop a magma chamber. I’ve read about those.”

“You read?” Azania echoed drolly. “Surprise.”

“Dragons don’t read?” Vhalzishu chirruped. “But you sound so clever. Sorry, Thundersong, but you just do.”

“I read quite –”

“You’d say, he sounds learned,” Serhishu corrected shyly. “Dragon, do you read?”

“I CAN READ!”

“At a tremendous volume, clearly,” Azania retorted, patting her ears.

Twisting his neck about, he confided over his shoulder, “Don’t tell my Rider, but she doesn’t always hear me otherwise.”

Azania coughed, “Selective hearing. You’ll want to protect your ears around this Dragon, girls.”

“Gnarr. I like to thump learning into impressionable young minds.”

Serhishu said, “Speaking of protecting, what will happen with the weapons of the noble warriors, Queen Azania?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“In our culture, it is traditional to hand weapons down from one warrior to another, especially if they have passed on with honour,” the girl explained, twisting her hands in her lap as if making a speech pained her somehow. “I was only wondering, but not really, since they were such noble warriors and we are children of no account … but yesterday, I was thinking, I would have wanted to protect our own – all of us, I mean. I … I’m not sure how to ask this. Maybe I shouldn’t.”

Azania said, “Please tell me.”

“So, I’ve never used a weapon before –”

“Not been formally trained,” Ehlzishu put in gently, clearly attuned to her sister’s agitated state of mind. “We’ve had to defend ourselves. Often.”

Her two sisters chimed in with ‘aye, by my bones.’

“I’ll protect you,” Gaz said zealously.

Serhishu said warmly, “You’re the best brother under the twin suns!” There went the under-breath mumbling again. “In that battle, every arrow and every blade counted. I’d like to … I’d like to count, too. To do my part. I’m fifteen, nearly sixteen.”

“Me too, me too,” her sisters agreed, nodding together like a trio of brown parakeets.

Thundersong just wanted to eat them up. Too cute!

Since this carnivorous notion might well be misconstrued, as his Rider’s chuckling in his mind informed him, he purred, “Azania and I shall discuss your proposal with King Azerim and the Desert Askaris. I believe you shall honour their blades and weapons – and I shall speak also with Aria regarding your training, for I believe you are entirely correct. A family such as ours takes care of its own.”

This declaration produced a few sniffles.

These were immediately medicated by a round of brotherly and, indeed, queenly hugs.

The mini hug-fest upon his back earned a covert glare of seething magnificence from Inzashu, riding along with Jezmyielle in order to treat a wing wound which had been reopened by the destrodactyls. Thundersong narrowed his eyes. Why so possessive? Something must still be eating that girl.

Could a Dragon imagine that his well-meant words might have triggered off a form of healing in these young hearts? Hope warmed his five hearts.

* * * *

The weather remained overcast, but sultry, as they trekked a good fifteen miles eastward to skirt this new area of instability, before they were able to turn to a more southerly direction again. The Lyskys Fault played up to its reputation by rumbling fitfully, smoking and sending new jagged cracks skittering across the ground to spook the Unicorns. With the terrain comprising mainly untidy heaps of ruddy boulders scattered across a wide, rocky plain, the Unicorns took the opportunity to showcase their famous flying pace – and a flying pace it was! Thundersong estimated that they must be attaining speeds in excess of thirty miles per hour. This posed a speedy half Sea Dragon no issues, but the Isles Dragonesses were soon hard put to keep up.

Gnarr!

He popped over to offer instruction.

GNARR!! Twenty-fold.

So predictable. After occupying himself with the study of Aria’s wings for several hours, a pastime that never failed to delight, he had to shake himself out of a semi-hypnotised state in which cobalt patterns appeared to have inveigled the innermost fire pathways of his brain – also predictable – and at once, noticed a stream of smoke pouring over and around her wings as they passed through a gaseous cloud that stank of rotten eggs. By his wings! He could see the detail of the way her flight patterns influenced the airstream!

“Thundersong?” Aria fluted, fluttering her wingtips beneath his muzzle.

Gnarr-blast-it! he swore.

“Sounds serious. Something I did?”

“No, no … not you.”

Her eye fires flirted with his covetous gaze. And, in a third moment of predictability, he lost track of what he had been about to say. Or think. Or … well, anything, to be fair.

“You’ve been staring at me for nearly three hours. We’re about to take a rest.”

He murmured, “To gaze upon your savage beauty makes every second worthwhile.” Her slim muzzle cracked into that sleek, lethal grin he loved so well. “Before we land, please come fly through … this cloud of smoke with me.”

“My mate’s become a smoker?” she jested lightly.

“A vile habit, to be sure.”

“Another delight the Humans have introduced to Dragons,” she said sourly, curving her flight to follow him toward a patch of smoke a few dozen wingbeats to their left flanks “Annihilators, Stormers, even your old Devastator Clan – nowadays, they’re all smoking that nasty grey tobacco grown in the Gemwoods. Matched only by the Terrors smoking that hallucinogenic … what was it called?”

“Dormagol fungus,” he growled.

“Aye.”

“Now, please pass through the smoke, flying as normally as you can.”

“Fly casual, Dragoness,” Azania chirped.

With a quirky grin, the Cobalt Dragoness passed several times through the patch of smoke as he directed her to – faster, slower, battle sprint, hover in place. Thundersong examined the variations of her wing-stroke minutely, trying to imprint the precise interactions upon his brain with the eye of an artist and the attention of a keen scientist. So complex! While everyone aboard both Dragons wondered openly what he was trying to achieve, all he would tell them was that he was working on it. His stomach gurgled thunderously at this point, leading Azania to suggest that she could divine what his mind was working on, and that she knew exactly how to stimulate his mental juices. Rascal.

While his companions rested, he drew out a stylus and parchment from his waterproof travel pack and realised he had not sketched a single blade of grass – ahem, not that they had seen much grass – since their arrival in Skartun. Nor through the tunnel. A bit of an artistic slump?

No mind. He had cobalt gorgeousness to draw in delicately detailed cross section, from above, from the front, now in the full panoply of her attacking wrath, blades blurring about her slim frame as she attacked, the razor-sharp wingtips poised just so … he chewed thoughtfully on the end of his stylus. Azania’s hand gently tugged it from his mouth, telling him he might not find many replacements out in these volcanic lands. True, true, he murmured absently. A few minutes later, he drew a quick study of her working with Inzashu on cleaning out a large graze on Ranger Inrinize’s right shoulder. Earlier, she had taken a heavy fall off Argunsdøttir, a feisty white Unicorn mare of fourteen years of age. The mare looked on glumly, knowing that it was her misstep which had created the mishap.

It had taken this long to discover that all the Unicorns, except the Mysterious Mare, did have names like people and Dragons, only they tended not to use them, in favour of nicknames based on jests in Nörime Jøngulardian, their unique equine language that encompassed both utterance and body language, such as horn swirls and mane tosses.

Distracted, he poked around in his left ear canal, drew out a glob of violet earwax and managed to slap it against Gaz’s arm.

“Huh! Where did you come from?” he snorted.

“I was trying to exercise none too vigorously,” the tall lad hedged. “Healer’s orders.”

“Ooh aye, you’d better listen to those.”

“Not like she ever listens to me,” he grumbled, brushing off the earwax with a shudder. “I’m starting to think she’s purposely avoiding – never mind that. What are you drawing? Oh! This is … beautiful. What is it?”

“I’m studying the aerodynamic interactions of Aria’s wings,” he replied, in full knowledge that his anatomical sketches were not quite the point.

“You’ve a deft paw, Dragon.”

“I’d gladly share some parchment with you, Gaz,” he offered.

“I may struggle, given as your stylus is as long as my arm.”

“Lacking motivation?”

Gaz made a rude noise in his throat. “Look, maybe where you come from things were different but, as a Jabiz, artistic endeavour was not exactly encouraged unless it involved using skulls and knucklebones for all my decorating, if you follow my meaning?”

“So, you think Dragons value making art above pillaging and burning villages?”

“Er … no?”

“An astute observation; clear sign of a towering intellect,” he growled, with such fake petulance that even his companion caught the joke. “Looks like we’re off. Shall we have an art man-date this evening?”

Gaz’s grin flashed in his dark face. “I have a mandate?”

“A playdate, then.”

“Oh, my macho ego’s taking bruise after bruise.” He read Thundersong’s subtext effortlessly. “Maybe I could invite Serhishu? She’s always said she wanted to draw more, but I suspect she’s had little chance these last few years.”

“Absolutely.”

Crack after suddenly appearing crack annoyed the Unicorns all the rest of that day, but thankfully no equine quite managed to charge into one. A couple of timely leaps and close shaves kept them on the tips of their hooves – an amusing Unicorn saying which they promptly demonstrated by executing a tiptoeing or tip-hoofing dance late that afternoon. By then, they had travelled out of the worst range of the treacherous ground but also passed into occupied territory claimed by one Jabiz Twisteroo, so named less for the small twisters that plagued his territory during the storm season than what he apparently liked to do with the intestines of anyone who crossed him.

They set a strong guard for the night.

Thundersong held art class for five eager students.

Of necessity the following day, in the late morning, they joined a so-called major route that wound its way southward – more just a vague trail marked with the occasional dead lizard or bleached skeleton – frequented by traders and, evidently, by eager bandits in this region. Under the relentless iron-grey skies, they travelled as a close-knit group, several times spying soldiers or bandits on the ubiquitous grey lizards, watching from a distance. In the distance they remained. Even the most murderous Skartunese bandit must think twice about braving a Dragon’s fangs.

When he made this observation, Aria readily informed him that a few had been stupid enough to try. She cleaned her blades with an implacable air. Ah, that would explain the flocks of carrion and lizard birds not far in the distance, circling with that macabre eagerness characteristic of their kind.

Everyone turned about to squint as a faraway ‘krack!’ shook the wastelands. Mighty plumes of dark-grey ash billowed up into the sky from the area of the Lyskys Fault. Clearly, fault had been found and something of gargantuan proportions had exploded out there – so large, indeed, that, by the afternoon, the scouts caught sight of several fingers of fast-running orange lava scooting down the ravines toward the trail, and they decided that another round of flying pace was called for in order to take them clear.

Not fast enough. A fifty-foot-wide ravine had opened right across the trail. A lizard-drawn cart dangled over the lip. Someone aboard? He zoomed in with his magical spectacles. A woman in a tattered green dress and her infant! A man clung onto the back axle, desperately trying to use his weight to stop the cart from tipping over the edge! Thundersong clapped his wings together beneath his belly as he accelerated, roaring at the Isles Dragonesses to fly cover, for he realised that they were not the only ones who had spied the family in trouble. Bandits!

As arrows spat toward the man like angry wasps, Thundersong’s bellow hit a reflexive pitch of outrage.

KERAKABOOM!!

Sure, he knocked the bandits sprawling, but the shockwave also dislodged the cart. As he approached at high velocity, Azania yelled at their passengers to arm their bows and target the bandits. The man who had been holding the cart slumped to the ground, several shafts sticking up from his back. Mother, infant and cart went over the edge.

“Hold on tight,” he growled in warning. “Going to hit the wall and rebound.”

“What?” Gaz shouted.

“Trust him,” Azania snapped. “Brace!”

Dipping sharply into the ravine, he slammed into the far wall just alongside and below the tumbling cart. His talons gripped the rock surface. Stretching out his right wing to its fullest extent, he caught the mother and her infant almost at the tip and hastily curved the surface to roll her inward to try to counteract the effect of her weight. He almost got it right – but the infant trundled toward the edge of his wing and, at the same time, he heard and saw another squalling bundle drop from amidst the packages and trunks lashed onto the load bed. Twins! Grab of the paw! Tilt the wing and – snap! He caught the woman’s skirts awkwardly between his fangs as he tried to curve his neck and peer downward at the same time, but it was really the sound of its wailing that led him to jerk out his hind paw. Forty feet above bright, blisteringly hot lava! As he had practised so many times with Azania, he cushioned the second blow by absorbing the motion and then he flicked the infant skyward. In the same motion, his forepaws and thighs launched him into a rebound.

By the skin of a scale and several flat-footed paddle steps on the surface, he managed to skim across the other side, finding a landing point just short of a five-foot boulder jutting out from the ravine’s sheer side. Helped if one could sit in lava. Sloughing free of the molten rock’s monstrously heavy, scalding grip, he reached out and caught the second infant in his free forepaw.

“Reschult,” he mumbled around his mouthful of clothing.

“Awesome, Dragon!” Azania crowed.

His other five Riders all groaned as if retrieving their stomachs from somewhere above their ears.

Excellent. Arranging his wings properly, he propelled himself up out of the ravine with a hop-flap and landed on his hind paws beside the prone man.

“Bows!” Azania yelled.

With a discordant series of twangs and a loud yelp from Jezmyielle, arrows scattered from his back. One fell near his paws, but their response was enough to give the marauders pause. They gathered behind a knot of boulders twenty feet off, peeping out and preparing their weapons. One bearded thug trained a nasty-looking double crossbow at Azania.

Dropping the woman with just about enough care not to break an ankle, Thundersong ignited his fire stomach with a thought and let rip. GRARRGHH!! White fire jetted from between his pursed lips like a hosepipe, pouring over the rocks in an inescapable stream of death.

Quite enough of that nonsense.

His warrior cover came roaring in from dealing with several other knots of bandits just in time to scent the fresh char and to admire the pile of rocks he had just turned into slag. Nice! He could become a sculptor in molten rock … and be distracted again. Aye.

Scooting down his nose, Azania dropped nimbly onto the bare rock beside him. She knelt beside the woman. “Alright?”

Her expression clearly did not know whether to be terrified, relieved or, indeed, what under the suns might be happening to her. Thundersong packed away his smile.

“Your man’s … dead, I fear,” said the Queen.

“That was my uncle, if I remember aright … curse his bones to rot and ruin!” the woman hissed. Her eyes unfocussed strangely as she appeared to look through Azania. “Who – where are ye from, woman? What is this beast, and … my babies! Where are my babies?”

“Here,” said Thundersong. Rolling his forepaws onto the flexible wrists in order to supinate them, he offered up the neatly wrapped Human packages. “One and two.”

Not the worst five seconds of paw work in his life, dare he suggest? Not that he intended to juggle Human infants on a regular basis. Good news! The morsels appeared to be unharmed.

The woman gave a soft cry, holding out her hands. Azania helped her to scoop up her young. They could not be much older than a few months, he judged, a pair of boys with well-developed lungs, considering the fine racket they were making. To his greater surprise, she promptly yanked open the front of her ankle-length, dusty green dress, whipped out both teats, and silenced them with a well-aimed plug each. Decent handling. He had always understood twins to be hard work, but she made the deed look straightforward, holding each infant along the forearm with the head cupped in the palm of her hand. Being males, the tiny dark boys knew a good thing when they tasted it, and fell to filling their stomachs greedily.

Meantime, Gaz and his sisters dismounted and offered help.

The woman gazed forebodingly at them. “When last did any Irmulkan help a Harulkan? Blight my bones, or are ye younglings those of dishonourable ways?”

“We have fallen low and were ourselves taken by the Faliaki,” Gaz said, touching his cheek.

Her eyes jumped to the scars. “Ye say?”

The woman’s rough features creased up oddly as she squinted to Thundersong’s left. The muscles did not quite respond as he expected. A tic jumped in her cheek. Inclining his head, he saw the Unicorns come cantering around the edge of the ravine, their heads held imperiously high. Several had crimson smeared upon their horns and hooves.

Blinking rapidly as if in superstitious surprise, she breathed, “Aye, shiver my bones, ’tis a wonder beyond reckoning – beasts that breathe fire and the one-horns of the southern swamps? Does my soul fly into dreams?”

“Nay, you are alive and in your right mind, woman,” Gaz said, making a complex sign with his right hand. “Did your uncle act to revenge your honour?”

“That yellow-bellied newt? Oh, the lies he spake, forked as the tongue of a snake!” she cried, glancing wildly about her as if preparing to flee. “Do not judge, ye all. Please help me leave this place. Please, I beg of ye! For should I stay here, I shall surely find no end but murder!”

Chapter 18: Canyons Afar

THE PECULIAR WOMAN CLAMMED up and would offer not a word more. She climbed up to Thundersong’s back ably enough, however, joining a bit of a growing village, furnished with ready and willing hands to help with the babes. Thundersong scented acrid fear foremost in her emotions, and a great disturbance of mind. Her hair was dark and greasy, her clothing travel-stained and torn. He saw also that she had been beaten, that her dark skin bore slightly darker patches of bruising, but whoever had beaten her had done so with the care of one not wishing to leave too many visible marks. That uncle? Blergh! He had his suspicions about what might have occurred.

He must speak privately with Inzashu.

As for her features or build, he could not have told she was of another tribe, but her hair was as dark as a raven’s wing and almost straight, so he imagined this difference might be significant.

The clear trade trail made for easy travel. The Dragons soared on the thermals while the Unicorns kicked up their heels and did what they loved best, which was to run and run and run some more. With no small joy, they pounded through the off-white dust in this region until they appeared to float upon clouds, but the chalky gypsum dust was also a great annoyance, sticking to their coats and the skins of the perspiring Rangers. As evening approached, the travellers gradually caught sight of a mighty canyon ahead and realised that this was the Lyskys Fault proper, the origin of the name, as Gaz put it. Three miles wide and a mile and a half deep, the canyon jagged sharp-edged through the land, as if riven by an ancient lightning bolt. At its base was no river of water, but a slow-shifting ribbon of molten orange lava.

Gaz said, “Sire, it’s a four-day journey down the canyon trail and it is well-guarded by the Jabiz, as we discussed before. There will be giant scorpions inside. A show of strength is best. It will cut down on unnecessary negotiations and delays.”

“Thundersong, you need to look large and cranky,” Azania teased.

“Cranky? That’s me!”

“I can add in the ugly if you want to scare them properly,” Blackguard sneered, curling his lip horribly.

“Bit of both?” Azerim said briskly. “Let’s camp here on the edge. Nice view.”

Aria said, “Including those two flocks of destrodactyls? Warriors!” To his startlement, she whipped a wing beneath Thundersong’s throat and gave him a brief tickle. “Back before you miss me, mister large and cranky.”

“Very good, miss petite and … uh, peppery.”

Peppery? A touch random.

Aria left him with an impertinent tail flick, drawing her blades in the same motion as launching into the air. That Dragoness! His appreciative eyes tracked her departure. One of the best decisions of his life, right there. Another had been smashing that tower apart and tossing Prince Floric down his own stairs. Bling, blang, bla-da-ba-BLOING!

He grinned hugely and rubbed his paws together. Good times, good times.

Azania elbowed him sharply. “Hormones much?”

“Mmm!” he agreed.

“Shall I bump you up the scouting roster?”

“I thought this Queen I know holds a monopoly upon said roster?”

She grinned, “To my mind, taking prophecy seriously marries perfectly with … helping it along, practically and – uh …”

“Devotedly?”

“Most devotedly,” she agreed wryly. “Right. Which part of our ever-extending family shall we deal with first – the difficult ones, the difficult ones or –”

“– the difficult ones?”

“Your genius always shines, Dragon.”

A generous opinion which he would snaffle up without a blink. Thundersong turned to eyeball the suns-set, a flaming wonder that threatened to set the entire western horizon alight. Far and wide his eye roved. A Dragon thought upon the gumption of those of hand and paw who thought to tame such a land. Its strength was stark, iron-shouldered, its heart, harsh and unforgiving.

Yet let him judge none too quickly. Each land had its ways.

This was majestic.

His thoughts quietened. He must learn to listen first. That was the flight of wisdom his true dam, Sirensong, had taught him. Thus he remained and stilled his thoughts for a long while as the suns dipped, attending to all that surrounded him. When peaceable fires smouldered in his five Dragon hearts, he returned to his companions.

To discern the Skartunese woman’s wonder as she introduced her babies to the Mysterious Mare was a moment Thundersong realised he would treasure forever. Pudgy little fingers reached for her muzzle. She gave a snort of air and then harrumphed her lips against his chest and belly, making the infant gurgle with laughter. The Mare drew back in surprise. Then, she repeated the gesture. Gurgles turned to chuckles and then, drawing smiles near and far, the baby produced a proper, all-out belly laugh.

The mother laughed, too, even though her eyes glistened at the corners. Rubbing her nape self-consciously, she said, “There’s a blessed sound in this land. Few I rightly remember.”

“Bless and keep the giver,” Inzashu and Gaz said simultaneously.

The mother’s thin lips quirked upward at the corners and then straightened as if she thought better of the idea. Inzashu gave no sign of response.

Thundersong read exasperation all too clearly in the clenching of the young man’s right fist as their eyes met above the women’s heads. He waggled a brow ridge. Gaz frowned. Thundersong rolled his eye fires, a gesture that he understood communicated well with Humans. The lad chuckled aloud.

Inza glanced up, as if stung. “Something funny?”

“Who could not laugh at that?” he replied equably. “Nay, I had two thoughts, Princess –”

“All of two?” she sniped, somewhere between merry and mean. The girl bit her lip and said something acerbic in Skartunese. An apology involving red-hot torture irons, perhaps?

He grinned, “Aye, all of two. I do try to value quality over quantity. No, what caused me to laugh was these things: one, that I wondered when last I heard the merry laughter of a child, and two, that I must be getting old, because I swear I just caught myself wondering how many children I’d like to have in the future.”

Her eyebrows danced.

“May my bones tell no lies! Is there a pinch of grey in my beard? A back bowed by the burdens of great responsibility?”

“That’s my fault,” Vhalzishu piped up unexpectedly.

Roars of laughter!

Now, a real smile curved Inzashu’s lips. Thundersong was quite convinced it must turn any right-minded fellow’s heart – or any left-minded one, for that matter – into the consistency of warm, gloopy treacle. “Well, Gaz? How many?”

“Four, just like my family.”

His throat bobbed, before Gaz gazed to the suns-set, which had now intensified into a magnificent sea of crimson, magnified by the all the volcanic particles in the air until the world appeared afire. The crimson set off highlights in his hair that Thundersong had not noticed before, a shade of red closer to black than he had ever imagined was possible. Inzashu gazed curiously up at him, a thousand questions brimming in her mind, yet all remained unspoken as if she instinctually recognised his need to take a moment.

Eventually, he said, “I don’t know what I’d do without them. Even at life’s lowest ebb, the gift of family is … ha! No words my bones know could ever express such a truth. When we’re young, we think we might live forever. One sight of the true face of death changes everything, doesn’t it?”

She nodded slowly. “Aye, that it does.”

“And for you?”

“For me?”

“How many gurgling rascals do you wish for in your future, Inzashu?”

They glanced over together as the baby squealed again.

“I’ve never really thought about it.”

Suddenly, that grin of his waxed raffish indeed. “It’s hardly my place to say this, but if you need it, permission granted to hope for the future you desire most.”

She jolted visibly. Inzashu’s straight white teeth bit her lip. Hard. The flood of her emotions almost bowled Thundersong over. How could she allow this? Bear it? What man would want to be with a broken, accursed creature like her? Did he realise what he had just, how he had touched her soul’s own fears with a casual word? What did he intend, taking such a liberty? Her future was hers alone to decide upon and, while she needed no approval from another, she recognised his heart in making a statement she could not have dared herself.

All these thoughts raced in a jumbled mass through her mind and caused her tongue to tie itself into knots. At last, she spluttered, “Uh – ah – eight?”

“Eight?”

“Nice man-squeak,” Azania complimented him. “Inza, did you just say eight?”

“I do not squeak! Ma’am!” Gaz yelped.

“Gaz, if you ma’am me … just ask Gazdonl about that!”

“The punishment is far too painful; I cannot possibly describe such horrors,” he moaned, a perfect picture of drama and tragedy. Gazdonl looked to be enjoying the exchange tremendously. “Suffice it to say, ma’am … uh, oh fiddlesticks – ouch!”

“Go fetch the water!”

“He put the thought into my head!” he observed, this time from a safe distance. She arched an eyebrow. He pretended to scarper, crying, “That Queen’s vicious, I tell you …”

Gaz drawled, “Alright? So –”

“No titles. Just Azania. Did everyone hear? My name is Azania –”

“– and I am a miniature tyrant,” Thundersong helped her complete the sentence with great relish.

“You are a bad Dragon!”

“I am indeed.”

“Go sit in that lava river!”

“Excellent idea. It looks rather refreshing.”

“Gnarr!”

“By my bones, she does an amazing Dragon impression!” Gaz observed pithily. The Queen gave him a glare of furrowed brow and flashing eyes. “Oh. Uh … moving swiftly on –”

“He grows in wisdom by the second,” Azerim put in.

Azania whirled at once. “You had better start running, husband!”

Catching her expression, he bolted. She chased him around the boulders, suggesting a few things she might do to him when she caught him. Sankir Farizam popped his hands over Vhalzishu’s ears and informed her that innocent ears should not be overhearing such improper speech.

“They’re a real King and Queen?” the new mother queried meantime, perhaps imagining she had seen a pink Dragon or the sky turning green.

“Real as they come,” Farizam confirmed.

“Your wife has hair of spun gold, but no legs? Was she born so?”

“An accident.”

The woman appeared to flinch at his grating reply. Turning her head away from him as if fearing to invite a blow, she murmured, “And … where you come from, women wear such indecent clothing?” She mimed the tight fit of trousers. “In these lands, men would kill or misuse a woman wearing such – aye. Yet you have Dragons. Powerful beasts of yore.”

Very gently, Chanize said, “And the Dragons protect us. You must have been through such a tough time. What’s your name?”

“I … I don’t …”

That was the moment Thundersong realised what had been bothering him about this woman. That faraway quality in her eyes? Had she forgotten herself? What had she suffered?

To his left, Inzashu said, “Well, we don’t all wear trousers, do we?”

“I could imagine you in trousers!” Gaz enthused.

“Oh, could you now?”

“Aye! You’d look hotter than lav – ah … shiver my bones, can I take that back?”

“No!”

He fled. Inzashu pursued him in the opposite direction to where her sister had now trapped Azerim in a cleft between two boulders, yelling at the top her lungs in Skartunese dialect. Aye, the lad had been stepping into wisdom a minute before, only to leap into a reversal at top speed.

Thundersong purred, “I’m sure the youngsters will sort out their differences in due course. Aria –”

“Already on it. Three sentries deployed.”

“Thank you.” To the woman, he said, “What do you remember of your life before the babies?”

“The babies? Oh, they are my life.” Switching into an odd singsong cadence, she explained, “My beautiful boys were not conceived of love nor care, yet I have decided to give them all the love and care they need. My uncle was supposed to protect me, but when he and the men came, they released me from shame and dishonour. It … hurt, like fire. I saw blood. Too much blood. I … and then … it’s all faded, see? Faded like bones abandoned in a field of stones …”

Chanize said, “You don’t remember who you are, do you?”

“I remember my babies. They’re my life,” she repeated. “Nothing else matters.”

* * * *

When Inzashu returned from a hidden tour of a clump of boulders, it was with a discernible strut in her step and a twinkle in her eye, while Gaz contrived to look like a boy who had been caught stealing sweets in the marketplace – well, as best a Dragon understood marketplaces. Most of the legends had his kind rampaging through them overturning stalls, scattering fowl to the winds and burning everything in sight. He eyeballed the pair suspiciously as they approached. Picture of decorum? No holding of hands? Grrr. Fooling absolutely no one.

Shortly, however, Inzashu had a whispered conversation with Azania that communicated something to do with short women and the necessity for handy boulders to complete acts of disgusting, saliva-slathered osculation with the objects of their primitive mammalian urges. Achieved even without the weapon that was form-fitting trousers? This led a Dragon to conclude that the old adage about smoke betraying fire was more than true.

Even in fireless Humans.

The trail rations that they broke out that gloriously colourful evening vanished into hungry stomachs. His collection of strays – hmm, was that an offensive term – ate as if their lives depended upon it. Azania coddled one babe and Azerim the other, while the nameless woman ate her portion with almost distressing intensity. Inzashu had promised to take her aside later.

Thundersong watched the skies imperceptibly shifting from crimson to pink and mauve and then into the deepening purples of night. Soon, great fields of stars wheeled overhead. His eyelids drooped. His assigned watch was the last of the night, starting four hours before dawn. He would sleep until he was called.

A Dragon only slept fully when he felt perfectly safe. This night, he dreamed of ocean billows and slept like the smallest hatchling, until the summons came.

After breaking camp, they set a new order of march for the day. Blackguard and Thundersong strode ahead, thumping their paws loudly and often. Usually, a bit of noise and vibration was enough to scare off the venomous reptiles and insects of this region – brown canyon cobras, giant scorpions and a tasteful selection of lizards of the Komodo family, all of whom boasted nasty bites. Either the poison or the bacteria in their mouths could kill a person. The Isles Dragonesses patrolled the trail above and below to keep any lurking creatures honest. Honest or dead. The Unicorns followed the Dragons five abreast, for the trail was about twelve to fifteen feet wide.

As they descended steadily into the canyon, a tepid breeze blew into their faces, harbinger of the heat to come. Thundersong had already warned Gazdonl and Zurianne that she needed to keep drinking. Since they had not found water in four days, they hoped to trade for some lower down in the canyon at the first toll gate.

“Toll gate?” Blackguard cooed, cracking his knuckles one by one. “That sounds like fun.”

Jezmyielle winked at him. “How does a Crusher negotiate, Blackguard?”

“Negotiate? We don’t.”

Plain enough. They did need to find water, however. Supplies were running low, as the last two locations, a spring and a mountainside runoff, had been dry. Change was hardly unusual in these lands, but King Azerim had taken stock and ordered water rationing – foals, pregnant and breastfeeding women and the Mermaid being the priorities.

Throats grew drier and raspier as the day progressed. The morning hours were already warm but, by noon, the suns stood directly overhead and baked the canyon and its denizens in stultifying waves of heat. The giant crimson-and-black banded scorpions, which grew up to three feet in length and scuttled about with their lethal tail stingers held high and ready, grew fractious and bold, but the stomping of Dragons’ paws and the occasional encouragement of a kaniaxi blade kept them at bay.

It seemed they rather enjoyed dining on one another if the Dragonesses left a ready meal amidst the boulders.

With Taramis rising ascendant in the late afternoon, causing the air to shimmer and the glare to become so severe most of the Unicorns walked one behind the other with their eyes closed, even the warrior Dragonesses started to wilt. Zurianne suffered worst of all. The ravenous bone-dry heat sucked the moisture out of her body. Gazdonl had rigged up an umbrella-like covering on Firri’s back and kept dribbling water onto damp cloths covering her upper torso, but she truly was a fish out of water in this environment. Thundersong noticed Ranger after Ranger quietly stopping by during the afternoon to offer up their portions of water. Good bunch. The desert-born had already volunteered to skip the day entirely.

Dull grey banks of clouds rolled over in the evening, briefly making the suns-set glare from beneath an iron lid. Had they hoped for relief, this was not it. A foetid wind began to blow up-slope from the lava river, bringing a malodorous wave of gases to torment their parched nostrils.

Everyone hunkered down for the night. The Humans hid beneath their cloaks and tried not to breathe. Blackguard cracked bad jokes about Dragon digestion. After nightfall, Thundersong, Aria and several of the Dragons flew down to the river to take a look at the fire whirls or fire whirlwinds that periodically formed and briefly played about along the lava river. This phenomenon was caused by the powerful thermals and capricious wind conditions generated by the unrelenting heat shimmering off the bubbling surface.

Thundersong grinned hugely. Dragons liked to play with fire.

Aria asked, “What do you even call those? Fire tornadoes? Fire whirlwinds?”

How could he resist her eyes, sweetly agleam? He announced, “They are called pyrogenetic tornadoes, Aria. They’ve been known to be caused by wildfires in the Tamarine Mountains during seasons of drought.”

“Pyrogenetic tornadoes?” she purred archly. “Want to show me how to fly them?”

Blackguard rounded up the other Dragons and shooed them back to camp, not without a broad wink and a suggestion that flying and scouting were really one and the same thing.

Come morning, Aria showed him her swollen hind paw. “Took a sting from one of those scorpions.”

“It got you?” he growled drowsily.

“They jump when cornered.”

“Oh. Your paw’s almost as big as mine.”

Her fangs clacked against his nose. “Insensitive male! I’ll have to drag this around all day. It hurts.”

“Has Inzashu checked you?”

“Aye. I’ll live. Serhishu also knew a plant remedy which we’re preparing.”

“Ah, the smelly pot?”

“Which part of your body do you like least, Thundersong? Because I’ll remove it free of charge!” she seethed.

He pretended to clutch his hearts and fall over. “Oh, you’re drop-dead gorgeous!”

Ariamyrielle Seaspray was not always sure how to receive humour. In her culture, the males were overtly jocular with one another but never toward the female warriors, not in public, anyways. The Isles warriors reacted with stiff-legged indignation, but Gnarly the Crusher guffawed thunderously and told him to keep it inside the lair, which appeared to satisfy the honour question. Endlessly bemusing and entertaining, the ways of different cultures. Even the same race could have no idea about the ways of their own kind.

Thundersong was not sure if he had just earned bragging points or a world of hurt.

His mate stalked off proudly to engage their young recruits in sword training, their new routine every morning. Even little Vhalzishu took part, her cute face grimly intent. Gaz and Gazdonl sparred lightly, teaching one another tricks from their contrasting styles. He noticed absently that Aria had recruited three of the younger Rangers to pair up with the girls as they sparred with wooden training blades Azania had conscientiously included in the packing list. Typical.

Hmm! Aria paired Jazzarim, that rascally young Ranger, with – oh, she was cunning! Jazzarim earned babysitting duty with Vhalzishu … well, that was unfair. The little girl was nothing if not determined, and her somewhat haphazard striking had already cracked the Ranger upon the knuckles, twice. Aria scolded him roundly and told him to teach the prescribed forms and no other.

Ehlzishu’s bright giggle betrayed that she knew exactly what the Dragoness was about. Aria blazed at her to pay attention.

Noticing Inzashu treating a patient behind a cloth screen, Thundersong padded over to see if he could offer assistance. It was their mystery woman, who last night had agreed to be called Zyrashu, a character from Skartunese literature who had lost their past. Huh. Those barbarians thought they had literature, did they? Epic poetry majoring on warfare, bloodshed and the doubtless exaggerated deeds of the various Jabiz, one had to conclude. Upon prompting, he reached through to touch and help cleanse her with his magic, discovering, by echo sounding and listening closely to the result, four abscesses located low in the region of her pelvic girdle.

Surprised, he said privately to Inzashu, I apologise I didn’t detect or smell those before.

I only found two, she admitted.

Why do you say it like that?

The girl sucked in a breath. Because people are barbaric, Thundersong!

I’m … sorry? Explain? She showed him an image of what had been done to Zyrashu. Blergh! he recoiled. What the – why? That’s …

Common in our culture, Inzashu said tightly. In some tribes, they forcibly cut a woman, usually in some kind of coming of age or purification ritual, to ensure that she can only be good for bearing children in the future. The only mercy is that she doesn’t remember what that so-called uncle of hers did, nor did he really know much of what he was doing – or he was drunk at the time. She’s still intact and didn’t die, which is a common side effect of these rituals. She’s seen some treatment, but from an unskilled healer.

It’s a male dominance practice? he snarled horribly.

A soft word reassured the woman behind the screen, before she added in Dragonish, Aye, I think so. Not all tribes do this. My mother detested the practice and made it a hobby to seek out the female elders who perpetrated it and to … correct them. Honour can be a strangely twisted thing, Thundersong.

You are … intact?

That’s a bit of an honest question, isn’t it?

Grarrr-arrrr, aye.

She smiled mentally at his regretful tone. My mother never allowed it, Thundersong. I guess you could call her a misguided progressive?

Gnarr-harrr-harrr! Right! Say – he showed her a picture of his own – did I ever tell you that I found Azania in King Tyloric’s tower, locked into one of these?

What under the suns is that … that thing?

Speaking of twisted notions of honour and purity …

Chapter 19: Twisters and Gates

TWICE DURING THAT DAY, the companions met and terrified three unfortunate merchants with their trains of laden lizards and motley troops of mercenary guards who, upon spotting a Dragoness grinning at them from a nearby boulder, failed to summon up the courage to so much as cough toward their weapons. The well-defined trail was a notch carved into a cliff now, as the canyon wall tilted toward the vertical. The view was stunning, the contrasting layers of grey granite, dark shale, pale limestone, textured orange sandstone and gleaming pink quartzite making it look as if an artist had painted the walls in clean horizontal brush strokes. After lunchtime they Unicorns sashayed over a small saddle that opened up on a column maze below, and the trail zigzagged below a series of tall, flat-topped buttes for several hours, that at last offered some paltry shade, before approaching the first bridge across an unexpected plain of white quartz dust.

The old bridge, a natural archway of stone it appeared, spanned a smaller side canyon that must usually have a proper river at its base, but, even from a great distance above, Thundersong saw that it was bone-dry.

The gate on the far side was also nice and wide open.

Gaz gazed sourly across the archway. “It appears they noticed us coming.”

“Who knows, we might even have ourselves an honest gatekeeper?” Inzashu suggested, with sarcasm fit to split stones.

“Highly doubtful.”

“Indeed. I say he overcharges us by three times.”

“Five,” said he, and they shook gravely upon their bet. “What I do not like is how dry everything appears to be. Finding water could be a real problem if there’s a drought on. The most reliable source I know of is about five days’ journey from here.”

“I’m not sure Zurianne will make it that far,” Azania said in an undertone.

Thundersong said, “How’s about I go down to that riverbed and try to sniff something up, maybe dig for water? Meantime, you lot fleece the guardians of this tollgate here.”

“You lot?” Azania inquired.

“A most courteous plural,” he grinned.

“As if. Let’s ride, Dragon.”

“You’re coming along because –”

“Someone has to provide the brains,” she supplied, as smoothly as a Queen sinking her talon dagger into a hunk of fresh venison.

He was chortling so hard his flight resembled the exploits of a wonky bat as he descended into the canyon, whilst at the tollgate, Aria, Azerim and Blackguard engaged the sweating staff in a genteel conversation. The price would change, of that he had not the slightest doubt.

The bottom of the dry riverbed was far hotter than half a mile up. Even Azania wiped her brow and murmured something about it approaching desert temperatures, maybe over one hundred and twenty-five degrees on the Fangheat scale – the Dragon name for a system of temperature measure Humans called Fahrenheit. The origin of that word was lost in the mists of time. He flitted about a quarter of a mile along, before finding a sandy patch and putting down to give it a proper Sea Dragon sniff.

His vigorous sneeze blasted sand in every direction.

“Not encouraging?” Azania said.

“No. I’m afraid we have a mystery of vanishing water. I’m going to take some soundings like we did in the desert last time.”

“Good idea.”

After booming, blasting and listening for a few minutes, he sighed gustily. Huh! Extremely shy, this supply. Usually, even a river that appeared dry might still be wet a few feet below the surface, but in this changeable landscape …

“Azania, can you check with the Rangers if the toll gate has a well somewhere?”

She broke out a clutch of colourful flags and started signalling the Rangers up on the bridge, who were watching through a telescope. The negative answer arrived as he winged further upstream, trying a spot every half mile or so. His busy Rider clarified that the river had not run dry in over three decades. Seemed the Skartunese up top were in a mood to be helpful? Must be Blackguard’s unique charm and sense of humour … harrr-harrr …

“Found it,” he grunted.

“Aquifer beneath the main watercourse?” she guessed.

“Bathing in reflected glory?”

“Ooh, you’re bad,” she gurgled appreciatively. “How’s about trying that patch over by the northern riverbank?”

“Smells as promising as the booty of a Princess’ ransom.”

“Remind me never to underestimate your sense of humour,” she said, scratching his scales fondly. “Do you think it’s deep? How will you dig?”

“Excuse me, I have built-in excavation equipment,” said he, flexing his talons. “You just perch upon my strapping back and look pretty – as you never fail to do – while I do all the hard work.”

“That’s why I pay you in pure gold.”

“May I remind you that, technically, you are still my booty?” said he, sniffing about the patch Azania had suggested. Promising. His Sea Dragon senses tingled.

“May I remind you that a King fancies my booty?” said she, slapping her rump.

“Frankly, he’d be an idiot not to.” Azania’s eyebrows shot up so fast they almost hit the suns. “I think we’re looking at about ten or twelve feet of digging around … here.”

“Can I help?”

“Aye. Please refer to my previous orders.”

“Uh – right. Sit pretty?”

“Who said a woman can’t be taught?”

“Dragon!”

She could kick, too.

Unsheathing his built-in equipment, he set about blunting his talons on the coarse riverine gravel. The riverbed was solid-packed gravel in the main, made up of flecks of darker granite, bits of obsidian and plenty of soft pink shale. He sent it fountaining away between his hind legs as he quarried away like a hound, just twenty times bigger. In no time at all, he was muzzle-deep and scenting the brackish dampness at the base of his hole with growing enthusiasm. He set about widening it out, hurling great scoops of sand from his large paws as far as he could. A couple of smallish boulders he hurled as far as he could, merely to see what he was capable of.

“Having fun, Thundersong? That sand looks wettish.”

“Aye. Haven’t played like this in a while. Ah, would you look at that? It’s seeping in from all sides now. Would you signal –”

“Already done.”

“Mind reader.”

“Gazdonl was quite insistent regarding her needs. He’s turning out to be rather sweet, that boy.”

“All in the motivation,” Thundersong snickered, glancing up as a flicker across the suns turned out to be Firri descending into the side canyon with her two Riders. Zurianne would not appreciate this heat, but he could shade the hole with his wings, and it was noticeably cooler ten feet below the sandy riverbed. He quarried faster, working against the seepage now actively flowing into his hole and threatening to collapse the sides. The puddle he was creating would be sandy and shallow, but an absolute balm for the Mermaid. They suspected her natural magic reacted to immersion.

The moment she saw the water, Zurianne gave a strange cry and launched herself out of Gazdonl’s arms. A sharp crack of electricity separated them, knocking him unconscious. She fell against the edge of his hole; thankfully, a soft landing as the sand crumbled beneath the impact and rolled down to land in the brown water with another smack. All her muscles spasmed at once. Zurianne’s mouth gaped in a huge gasp and her gills flared, desperately seeking moisture, any moisture at all.

Thundersong dug beneath her body.

She sank down with an agonised groan and breathed through her gills for the first time since – well, he did not rightly know. Since they had left the oasis garrison?

Her sapphire eyes snapped open. “Gazdonl!”

“He’s alright, but he can’t hear you right now,” Azania advised.

“Ah! Tell him I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

Water dribbled from her lips as she spoke. Zurianne curled up into a foetal tuck, trying to get all her body underwater. He had never seen the disciplined warrior act like this. Thundersong scooped away busily, until they had about a foot and a half of water and she could submerge herself entirely, at least until the water carried more sand in.

Thundersong said, “Have you been giving her enough salt?”

“Salt?” His Queen smacked her forehead. “How could we have been so stupid?”

“Salt? Is needing salt?” Firri asked, peering over the edge.

“More than usual,” he said. “Sweat is how mammals regulate their temperature and sweat is salty. Have you ever tasted it?”

The Façade Dragoness made a scandalised face. “No! Fetch now?”

“Aye. Fetch a good amount, if you can; about as much as the size of Azania’s head.”

“Do Mermaids even have sweat glands?” Azania asked.

“I don’t rightly know. Ask Gazdonl when he wakes up. He’s handled her person enough.”

“Dragon –”

“Some bits more than others.”

“Dragon!”

“Let’s just call it the truth with a Dragonish bite, shall we?”

The water was too brackish to drink, but with the addition of a small sack of salt, it turned out to be just what the healer had ordered. Zurianne surfaced with a sparkle in her eye and a crackle in her fingertips.

“Can I stay here? Forever?”

“Wallowing in a muddy hole in a dry desert riverbed?” Thundersong inquired pointedly.

Gazdonl rushed to her side and received a wet, decorous kiss upon the cheek. “Salty greetings, my lovely man,” the Mermaid murmured. “Miss me?”

“Aye, but you certainly didn’t miss me,” he said ruefully.

“Oh, my poor boyfriend, please let me offer this apology,” she replied, applying herself to said task. His eyes started to glaze over.

“Right, right, enough with the smooching already,” Thundersong grumbled. “Unglue the lips, children.”

Gazdonl lay down in the water and sighed at the coolness. “Can we all do this?”

“No, but we do need to check in on everyone’s salt intake, including the Unicorns,” Azania decided. “If we can’t get enough, we’ll just have to nab every trader and bandit and anyone we can find. Our Gaz says that the second tollgate is not much farther, and it will be better stocked.”

“I’m sure we can help with that,” Thundersong said confidently. “Nice work, team. Let’s talk about catching up with our companions later. We’ve a Mermaid to soak until she drips out of her ears – so to speak.”

* * * *

In the still-blistering early evening, they left the pool, to the tune of a mournful sigh from Zurianne, and winged swiftly along the next section of the trail, intending to catch up with their companions at the second tollgate, this one located in the depths of a crevasse that connected two sections of the canyon trail. Thundersong flew with Firri lightly holding his lower back spines so that she could benefit from both his speed and a rest at the same time. This was a method of travel they had practiced since discovering that the Façade and Isles Dragonesses, relatively speaking, lacked the stamina necessary for endurance flights.

Thundersong sped down into the rust-red gap in a fever of anticipation, fearing that battle had been joined, but he saw now in the relative gloom that it was merely a standoff. Blackguard had wandered up to the thirty-foot ironbound gates to introduce himself. The heavily-armed defenders were not backing down an inch. He saw that they had heavy catapult emplacements located higher up on the cliffsides with mere slits for firing out of and arrow slits both in the main gatehouses and again further back, providing complex fields of fire. No wonder his team had not been wont merely to stroll into this one.

Should they carry the Unicorns over? Or wait, for they needed to trade?

Sighing, he said, “Firri, go fly cover. Actually, go sneak up on them. I’ll go add my voice to Blackguard’s and see if that tips the balance.”

Folding his wings, he plummeted toward a landing but, at Azania’s suggestion, at the last second, he made it the top of their eastern gatehouse and thumped down hard enough to drive a few cracks into the stone. The temperature in the crevasse rose forty degrees or so. Approximately. Bowstrings creaked ominously. Boot leather scuffed upon stone as a rush of reinforcements arrived somewhere beneath or behind him. They must have carved many defensive tunnels into the rocks around the gate, he sensed, to create an almost impregnable fortress.

“Good evening,” he rumbled.

A man, who must be located somewhere in the fortifications across from him, yelled, “I repeat, I am Jabiz Twisteroo and I will personally eviscerate any man – aye, any man or creature – who dares to pass through these gates without paying the toll!”

Blackguard rumbled, “We will pay a fair toll, if fair it is.”

Fair point.

So, the Twisteroo himself? Impeccable timing. Thundersong attuned his ear canals to figuring out where the man might be located. The voice boomed oddly, suggesting that he spoke through some kind of pipe or horn for amplification.

“The toll is five pieces per Human, fifteen for the Unicorns and fifty for any Dragons.”

A mere four times the price? Gnarr. Plus the additional on-the-spot fees, vastly overcharging the less Human members of their party? Double-gnarr! What would he make of a Mermaid? This was not exactly a bargain, nor had the owners of the previous tollgate been keen to start at less than six times the going rate. Gaz won his bet, but those men had been swiftly persuaded. These did not smell half as amenable.

Discussing the matter briefly in his mind with Azania, they agreed that no-one wanted to risk their more vulnerable companions. Furthermore, he sensed the movement of other troops behind them. Effectively, they had walked or trotted into a cul-de-sac and now found themselves surrounded by Jabiz Twisteroo’s forces. A touch remiss of Aria to stroll into such a quandary. Or, had the Crushers or Unicorns rushed in before she could stop them? Weird.

Gaz’s stormy expression suggested that this layout was fresh news to him and, indeed, he even scented fresh limestone cement on the breeze. Perhaps the Twisteroo had been inspecting his new fortifications when this threatening force had approached his gates?

With a loud creaking of metal, Jabiz Twisteroo emerged through a doorway onto a narrow defensive gantry that ran the breadth of the gates about five feet from the top. He was a big man, easily six feet seven inches, with curly black hair sprouting from beneath his impressive silver helm, styled to resemble a bird of prey Thundersong took to be an eagle.

“So, what’ll it be, my pretty turtledoves?” he boomed cheerfully. “Shall I twist your necks off your shoulders, pluck your scales and aerate your gizzards in preparation for a feast for the carrion birds? Or will you pay the set price and live?” Setting his feet, he roared, “I will negotiate neither with man nor with beast!”

Before anyone could so much as move, Inzashu stepped out of Blackguard’s shadow. Pushing back the hood of her travel cloak in a clearly planned gesture, she gazed up at the top of the gate. “Jabiz Twisteroo? We meet again!”

Terrible use of the old line, but what was more terrible was to observe its effect on the Jabiz. “N … N’shula!” he gasped. “You … you’re alive?”

“Do you not recognise me? I am Inzashu-N’shula!”

Clearly he did, and the Jabiz took this for the worst news under the suns. His lips compressed to a line as white as freshly fallen snow. His broad, spatulate hands shook visibly before he clamped them upon his belt.

Thundersong scented his fear and stifled a satisfied purr.

“Last we met, you bent the knee to me!” she continued implacably. “You promised you would be mine alone. Is your heart so fickle, Jabiz Twisteroo? I am … disappointed. Gravely disappointed.” Gaz appeared to have swallowed and regurgitated a personal thundercloud back there, but he could do nothing. After letting the man stew for at last twenty seconds or so, Inzashu added, “Surely, for old times’ sake, we can come to an amicable arrangement?”

His lips worked.

Then, without warning, the Jabiz made a strange gesture, as if beginning to speak or to cry out but, instead, he toppled backward off the gantry! Thundersong blinked. Had he seen a fly bite his neck? A poisoned dart?

“They’ve killed him!” someone bellowed. “Fire!”

A brief volley of arrows and one crossbow bolt spat toward the Unicorns, but the Dragonesses dealt with most by intercepting the shots mid-air. Only the Mysterious Mare, rearing to protect one of the foals, took a shaft in the muscle of the upper left thigh. Thundersong jerked as a crossbow quarrel smacked him mid-right flank, but the shot struck his ribcage squarely and did not penetrate far.

Opening his throat, he thundered in a fury, more irked than hurt, GRRRARRRRGGHH!!

The gates shook violently at the echoing blast.

White-hot fire jetted from his throat. It raced across the top of the gate to the far cliff side like the curve of a striking whip. He had never shot his fire so far and with such precision. The lashing tip penetrated the slit in the catapult emplacement opposite with the fine mental control a Dragon was accustomed to applying to the science of flight, not fire breathing. Three or four screams ensued. Not far to his other flank, another chopped-off scream briefly rang out.

“Vile traitor, would you kill us all?” someone shouted. “Stand down!”

Catapults groaned, weapons clinked and boots rustled before the Skartunese soldiers, clearly lacking a single authority, began to shout to one another that the Jabiz was dead at last and they should not brave the fire of the mythical Dragons.

Huh. Those crossbow handlers might beg to differ, but they were too dead to offer any further input on the matter.

Eventually, the muffled shouts agreed that violence was not the best course of action. Brilliant deduction, especially since Thundersong had just been picturing what he could do with a jet of white fire and those nice defensive tunnels they had created, which would serve to funnel it perfectly to where it was wanted least.

“What do you want?” someone shouted at last.

“Open the cursed gate!” Blackguard growled.

Over his voice, Thundersong roared, “Heave that gate open and let’s trade, men!”

Ha! Pleasing. He gazed down imperiously, as the tan-robed Skartunese rushed to do the mighty Dragon’s bidding. Perhaps he had a future as a draconic despot?

Blackguard acted most put out that there had been no gates to smash down or soldiers to rend neck to crop. Jezmyielle plucked an arrow out of his rump and thanked him for providing cover. The Crusher made a show of picking his fangs with the arrow point as they entered the small natural fortress, bracketed at either end by tall gates, and set about the bloody sport in Skartun that passed for negotiation. Azerim left the talking to Gaz and Inzashu. Decent team, enjoying betting against one another’s negotiating skills even as they took turns in creatively and ruthlessly beating the Skartunese traders down to decent, but not unfair, prices. Not entirely unfair, anyways.

Water, salt, a few necessary medicines, two barrels of dried meat, twenty sacks of grain and a collection of wilting vegetables were the spoils of an hour’s uproar and wrangling.

After a brief overnight stay, they set out early to try to beat the heat in what should be the hottest part of the journey, a long dip in the trail which would take them right down to lava level.

* * * *

“Cool ocean swells,” Zurianne murmured. “Bluer than blue deeps. Ah, blessed saltiness in my mouth and the fresh zing of clean seawater running through my gills. Water as far as the eye can see –”

“Oh, how you do gabble on,” Thundersong growled rudely.

“You like fire, go jump in the lake.”

“I would if these poor wilting Humans could stand it.”

“Has to be a hundred and forty Fangheat out here, minimum,” said Azania, touching her brow lightly. In contrast to the Rangers, she looked as cool as a desert cucumber. Vile vegetable. He could not imagine eating such a thing. “What I don’t like is the way the wind is picking up.”

“They warned us to watch out for a change in wind direction while passing the lake,” Inzashu reminded everyone. “This is … well, starting to pick up tongues of fire off the surface. You’re right. Besides, my bones are prickling –”

“Pickled bones?” Gaz called over. He rode with Aria today, receiving instruction in military and combat strategy related to the winged kind.

The Princess acknowledged his attempt at humour with a vague wave of her hand.

Ehlzishu said, “Shouldn’t we be making a run for that cave they mentioned?”

Azerim, seated behind Azania upon Thundersong’s back, said, “No need for panic and – and don’t scowl at me like that, young lady, when I’m about to act upon your advice.”

“Oh. Sorry. Not used to dealing with royalty and suchlike,” she mumbled.

“Phew, there’s a reason for that,” Azania deadpanned, waving her hand in front of her nose.

The youngest sister cracked up laughing. Ehlzishu produced a huff and a fabulous triple eye roll, before joining in with a surprisingly merry chuckle.

Azerim said, “Good practice for having teenagers of my own one day, I warrant. I’ll be thanking you then, no doubt!” Vhalzishu gave this assertion the sceptical snort it probably deserved, a gentle tease aimed at her older sister, too. “Right! Let’s pick up the pace, everyone! We have to reach that cave system before this wind starts throwing fireballs at us.”

The Unicorns accelerated at once to a fast, mile-eating trot. That tölt business. Where could their language have come from, he wondered? He would resolve to learn some and see if he could not figure out its historical linguistic roots.

Three hours down the road, the cavalcade was right at the base of the canyon. Here, heavily striated walls rose more than a mile in sheer cliffs to crowd in on what was the narrowest section of the trail. No less than seventy miles further journeying would be required to take them to the end of the canyon, but these next fifteen or so promised to be brutal. The walls were sheer, escape routes numbered exactly none and the lava river – the malodorous breeze stilled ominously.

Thundersong’s scales prickled, too.

He said to Azerim, “I’ve a Dragon sense. Flying pace. Now!”

“Flying pace!” he shouted at once. “Scouts to the fore, call the route. Thundersong, let’s redeploy your passengers as discussed.”

They made aerial transfers quickly, until only Azania remained upon his back. Should something go wrong, he preferred the freedom of being accompanied only by the most experienced Rider.

Winging in protective echelon no more than a hundred feet about their companions, he considered their progress judiciously. This speed should test the Isles Dragonesses. He had worked with them on developing a more purposely synchronised flying pattern of their wings, which had taken some practice to learn and yielded around twelve percent more aerodynamic efficiency in the air, according to his calculations, and a top speed increase of up to seven miles per hour. Not the worst result; however, he did feel they could do more. The monomaniacal ones among them had already been pressing him for more ideas as they sought to hone and optimise their skills.

The Dragon warriors surged ahead, spreading out along the route and cutting corners where the trail rose and dipped and wound sinuously along the shore of a broader, slowly eddying pool of lava the colour of blood-orange juice, skirting massive clumps of boulders and hugging the cliff edge as the Unicorns cut through a brief, narrow defile and burst out the other side, spraying obsidian chips from their hooves as they thundered along an evenly graded section of gravel. Aria warned them in time for the Unicorn herd to slow for a sharp turn that undercut the cliff itself. The riders all ducked. Chisel marks still showed on the rock where it had been hacked away by the hard labour of thousands of luckless serfs, most of whom had perished under the harshest of working conditions. Other areas of rock were strangely smooth, as if polished by the action of water, rather than lava.

Tilting his wings, Thundersong caught a thermal and rose, gazing back the way they had come. His spectacles were not the best at dealing with peripheral sight, but he could arch his neck enough to gain a good field of vision. Wind-still? Too still? Alarm over nothing?

Two miles further saw lathering developing upon the galloping Unicorns’ flanks. That was when the wind crackled. It was the strangest sound that swept down the canyon, a sound like bones rustling and twigs snapping. A strong buffet from behind caused his wings to wuther awkwardly. A low growl throbbed in his throat.

“Aye. Here it comes,” Azania said quietly.

Gathering his breath, he bellowed, “ALL OUT! GO, GO, GO!”

Putting their muzzles down, the Unicorns hit their uttermost flying pace on a flat, slightly downhill stretch. Rock chips fountained away from the flying hooves. Their manes streamed from their necks like white ocean spume flicking off waves. The thunder they raised momentarily drowned out the wind. He heard Blackguard, several thousand feet ahead, raise a bellow of anger. Thundersong gazed ahead, narrowing his eyes. Exactly as promised, just above a sharp bend in the lava river, was a cave and – not as promised – its entrance stood half-barricaded by a motley collection of barrels, lumber and even an old cart load bed.

Ruddy bandits! Was everyone in this blasted land out to make a profit?

He rocked as a stronger gust punched him sideways in the air. The wind crackled malevolently and rose with a vengeance, starting to tear flame off the surface of the thin, fast-flowing lava. How did it remain so hot, so alive and fluid?

Hands waved above the barricade as Blackguard swept toward it. He did not plan to stop until he was a hundred feet through; the rogues realised this belatedly and scattered out of sight.

In beautifully synchronised motion, the herd rose in a series of leaps over obstacles as a green Dragoness directed them along a shortcut. They slowed to swerve, their manes and plumy tails dancing in the wind and then suddenly fluttering sideways.

BRACE!! he thundered.

Blackguard curled up and hit the barricade with an awe-inspiring crunch. The wooden structures imploded, instantly turned into kindling. He vanished inside the low, round cavern entrance with Gnarly suddenly hot upon his heels, breathing fire over his comrade’s back and tidying up a couple of luckless rogues who had dodged the initial onslaught.

A foal’s down – Ranger hurt! Azania howled in his mind.

On it!

Whirling upon a wingtip, he changed direction so fast that Azania moaned and clung on for dear life. Just like those Rangers and Askaris down there, probably wishing the Unicorns were doing half the speed. Four Dragonesses worked frantically to clear the barrier as the fast-moving herd neared the entrance. Just three hundred feet now. A howling blast of oven-hot wind momentarily blinded them both, but Thundersong dipped on instinct and landed heavily just behind the fallen foal. He swore vehemently. Broken foreleg! That was the type of injury they had feared. The Ranger’s arm hung strangely, probably dislocated at the shoulder.

Azania bounded over his skull ruff and landed upon his nose, before making a second lithe leap down to land upon a grey boulder beside them.

“Alright?” she asked.

“I’m good,” gasped the Ranger. “See to her first.”

Thundersong curved his wings protectively as the wind suddenly pummelled them all, sending the grizzled Ranger staggering. Specks of fire hurtled overhead like a bonfire spitting sparks horizontally. No Human wanted to be out in this. The foal’s eyes rolled wildly with terror and pain.

Azania caught the man by the good arm. “Mouth!”

“What?”

“Climb into his mouth, man!”

“Are you mad?”

“That’s an order, Galizam!”

The wind howled and crackled again. Fire sheeted briefly over his wings, highlighting the Ranger’s pain-drawn features in orange and crimson. The white foal rose upon three legs, whinnying piteously as the herd drew away. Her dam had wanted to turn back, but the Mysterious Mare must have directed her not to.

Thundersong said, “I’ll keep you safe and, I promise you, I will not swallow or breathe fire. Let’s go!”

Galizam scrambled between his fangs and then reached out to help as Azania pushed the young Unicorn to do the same. The youngster resisted fiercely; Thundersong shovelled her and the Queen inside without the slightest ceremony and protected his muzzle with his paws as the wind’s song ascended to a new note of demented fury. Heat splattered across his back. That note – he was about to discover what it meant to be inside a pyrogenetic tornado!

Reversing his usual wing stroke, he used the impetus provided by the gale singeing his rump to hop into the air. He barely needed to flap to race forward toward the tail end of the herd as they streamed inside the cavern. Fire lashed their tails and manes, splattering the rock face ahead of them and dripping down onto their backs.

He poked Azania’s dangling foot into his mouth. Stay safe.

Ouch! Dratted Unicorn!

Burn and blast it! That cave mouth narrowed just inside – his shoulders had to be four feet too wide – and he knew exactly what a Blitz the Fritz would do.

A perfect, intentional crash landing.

Hold on tight! he cried.

Can’t do anything but – curl your tongue back! she ordered crossly. She yelped when the foal’s panicked kick struck what he took to be her cheek.

No time to focus on the struggle inside his mouth. Tucking up his paws, Thundersong hit the slope seventy feet ahead of the cave mouth and skidded up to the rock face upon his chest and belly, trying to use his tail to drag and slow everything down. His scales scratched and sparked under the intense friction, but that was nothing compared to the liquid fire splashing across his back now. Muzzle first, he slammed heavily into the cave mouth, neatly wedging himself inside. Stuck like a cork in a bottle.

Huh. Decent result. Didn’t hurt half as much as he had expected.

Opening his eyes, he smiled toward Aria in the sudden gloom and silence. “Ooh, have we met before?”

“Where’s Azania?”

“The old mouth trick,” said he, opening his jaw.

A vertical gape was fairly much the only movement he was capable of just now. Getting out would be a trick. No doubt Gnarly and Blackguard would offer to punch him in the nose to aid with the dislodging process.

Azania said, “Everyone alright? Dragon, what’s it like out there? Will you be alright?”

“Well, my backside is getting quite warm, and there’s a fire tornado trying to pull my tail off, but this end of me is quite comfortable, thank you for asking.” He tried to tuck his wings down better as the rising wind ruffled the edges. “Blackguard?”

“Splinter in my tongue is about the worst injury.”

“I have one standing on mine – oh, that’s you, Azania. Oops.”

Chapter 20: Shopping with Dragons

GNARLY SPENT THE NEXT three days joking about how he had shoved a mighty Sea Dragon out of the cavern by his nose. He just had to. Jokes about nose picking, nose rings and leading a Dragon about by the left nostril abounded, not to mention delicate snot extraction and the kind of nosiness that led to jamming oneself almost inextricably in a cavern mouth.

Thundersong touched a couple of places on his neck and jawline where he had been forced to tear off his own scales in order to effect his escape. Hurt and humiliation rolled into one. Everything would grow back, but he still smarted, despite the many compliments he had received for a perfect cork-the-cavern posture.

Every muscle in his tail ached. Those twister winds had been brutal, but better he had kept their companions safe and taken the brunt of the storm’s tail-whipping himself.

Gnarly sideslipped on the hot breeze to slap his wingtip. Beauty requires pain; right, my friend?

I can only aspire to be as beautiful as you, Gnarly.

I am a most fetching colour, he agreed. “Gaz! Off your knees and walk my back, man. What’s the matter with you?”

“Feeling … sick,” he gasped.

“What sort of sick?”

“Throw up all over your scales sick, alright? Is this motion normal?”

The Crusher held out his paws in a neutral gesture. “Well, there’s a bit of in-flight turbulence, but I can hardly see what a man has to complain about. Stick to your training. Go on.”

“Urrrrggh …”

“And if one drop of that organic glurge you have rolling about in your fermentation bag touches my scales, by my wings, I’ll teach you the meaning of pain!”

The man moaned, “It was easier being a Jabiz.”

“That cost you four years of your life and nearly your family, too!” Gnarly crashed. “Still your tongue, you ungrateful wretch!”

Gaz had turned that peculiar shade of Human biliousness that mimicked a stormy sea sky. What would happen soon was not a matter of guesswork.

Azania sent Thundersong a mental ‘what’s his problem’ query.

He replied privately, I heard he lost his mate and eggs to Dragon hunters in the Tamarine Mountains – it would have been years ago now, before my egg was ever sired. He was off fighting an honour bout at the time. Blackguard said he’s never been the same Dragon since.

So, the bitterness and aggression –

Stems from self-blame, I suspect, Thundersong said. Aye … Azania, no.

No what?

Don’t interfere. None of your ideas.

He felt her fold her arms upon his back, but more than that, her emotions folded inward whilst growing murky with rage. Dragon, this is one of those times … when I should take my own medicine and say our friendship is bigger than how mad I am at you right now. You can be such an overbearing hothead!

And you can be an interfering busybody!

Thundersong caught Aria and Azerim staring at them from the next flight position over. The King drawled, “Don’t you love it when they have one of their silent fights? Look at the body language.”

“Gnarr-push-orrrrffff!” Thundersong chuckle-growled.

Azania stretched lithely upon his back, making her husband’s eyes do a little stretch of their own, and called over, “Greetings, handsome bearded man. Wither be you bound? Shall we travel together? Will you be my strong right arm, my champion and protector?”

“All of these, fair lady, and thy lover will I be.”

“Thou art bold.”

“Emboldened, in truth, by my violent affection toward thy beauteous countenance,” said he, but lost the plot, as a great guffaw escaped his lips. “Hmm. Violent affection? That wasn’t quite the adjective I had in mind.”

She smiled, “Nor are you moved by my looks alone?”

“Please, I’m as shallow as the waters of any reef around Zunityne,” he shot back, panting heavily for a second, “and you, of course, must confess to have eyes only for the riches of the mighty Island Archipelago, correct?”

“Indeed!”

“The boast of my possession is thousands of dazzling beaches, boundless turquoise waters, the saltiest air in all the Realms –”

“And only the most devastatingly handsome purse in all Solixambria. I am glad we see eye to eye in this matter, sir.”

“Indeed, we do, milady.”

On this light-hearted note, a rather more forceful gust caused the flight of Dragons to dip sharply, leaving Human stomachs almost dangling in the air behind them. Hands grabbed for saddle buckles and ropes. Serhishu yelped in fright. Gaz did lose it this time, but the wily Crusher tilted into a quarter-roll with perfect timing. A yellowish spray shot over his side; the Dragoness right below him whipped sideways, with that extraordinary manoeuvrability of her kind, to avoid an unpleasant incident. Three seconds later, a shrill whinny and a yell from below betrayed the gift his stomach had deposited down below. One Ranger and Unicorn had been freshly decorated in acidic digestive juices. Blergh!

Upside down, Gaz yelled a weak apology and promptly let rip a second time. The herd scattered to the four winds.

The Dragons fought for control for a few moments. Challenging flying in this area. The highland plateau, through which the lava river had sculpted its spectacularly jagged course, had begun to break up here and the river had split into four channels, generating unstable crosswinds that whipped around isolated red-granite mesas and outcroppings. Flying low in support of the fast-trotting herd as they were, minus the foal whom Thundersong carried in a sling dangling from his hind paws, the Dragons jolted and jerked as the capricious gusts continually knocked their wings about. Eventually, Azerim ordered the Dragons to put down for the sake of the Human stomachs aboard and they all walked up to the end of the canyon.

The edge of a new world.

Literally, the edge. What a geological curiosity. The rosaceous, black-speckled granite in this region cut off along a clearly delineated east-west escarpment, perhaps two hundred feet tall, over which the four lava rivers poured with an ever-rumbling thunder of glee, as if sensing the end of a great journey. The companions gazed out over the Plains of Glass beyond. From canyon to a gleaming maze. As far as the eye could see, obsidian glass formed flat-edged lakes around and between the snaking basalt rivers that slowly poured out and dried in grey hexagonal rock and column formations. In many places, patches of rock had turned fantastical colours – iridescent greens, oranges, canary yellow and mauve. It looked like a crazy artist’s dream garden.

“Curious land,” Thundersong breathed, entranced.

“May I commission a painting of this?” Azania asked. “Royal request.”

“I’d be delighted – if you’d clean my spectacles, please? One of those lizard birds has decorated the left lens.”

“Of course.” She stepped up onto his head and reached for the metal bridge of his Dragon-sized spectacles, created by their favourite optician in Alaxarmis. “Thought this was a geological feature, did you?”

Gnarr-harr-HARRGGH!

“This area is home to one Jabiz Dastardoo, who is famous for developing some truly evil torture techniques,” Inzashu noted, pulling the obligatory face as she relayed this information. “Gaz? Over here. Something to settle your poor tummy?”

He made a face. “Yum. Bring it on – oh, not just yet.”

The lad darted behind a nearby boulder and made some unhappy noises back there, thankfully hidden from sight.

“Stomach bug?” Azania inquired.

“Seems so. No creature under the suns quite so miserable as a sick man,” she grinned. “Chanize, on that note, have you taken your herbs yet today? No? Sankir Farizam, let me check your thumb. Thundersong, make yourself useful.”

“Gnarr?”

“The foal. You have powers. Don’t keep them all to yourself.”

Azania’s eyebrows danced.

“What?” Inzashu said sharply.

“Dictator much?”

“Aye! Because I’ve always wanted to take after my dear mo – curse it! What’s the matter with – what are you – oh, must it be an Azania cure-all hug?” Making another face, that somehow swam from disgusted to about to break down in tears, she returned her smaller sister’s hug with interest. “Thanks. You’re the beetle’s shiny carapace, you are. Uh … any verbal bites I need to patch up?”

“I’ll survive. Even in my beetle-ish state.”

“Oh. Sorry. Skartunese saying.”

Indeed, they all beetled along beneath the suns on a bright, cloudless day that, for once, was not overcast. A light breeze offered marginal relief from the heat. The sleek, light-grey basalt flows hardened into patches of uneven, tightly-packed hexagonal stones that were not friendly to Unicorn hooves – not for the first time in this difficult land – forcing the equines to cross these areas at a cautious walk. The trail led southeast for a good fifteen or twenty miles, every now and again skirting the more unstable areas of slowly pooling, cooling lava, before arriving at last at the Glass Bridge.

Glamorous name for a not-so-glamorous town.

A zigzag fissure in the crumpled volcanic glass, which Gaz said was over a hundred miles long, lay just behind the town, which was named after the bridge – not made of glass, sadly – that spanned this geological anomaly. Clever construction upon rollers at one end allowed the bridge to expand and contract according to the seasons. The Jabiz had obviously set up shop here to control the three trade routes that met at the bridge. The town itself lay behind a twenty-foot-tall barricade of bristling shards of obsidian glass, topped by defensive towers at hundred-foot intervals, also decorated with gleaming spikes of glass. Even a golden late afternoon failed to make it look remotely inviting.

“Tasteful,” Azania murmured, surveying the prospect from a mile off.

“You have to appreciate the décor,” Azerim agreed.

“He really strives for the ultimate in warlord chic,” Inzashu joked.

Thundersong and Azania exchanged a mental ‘oh?’ An actual joke? Maybe Inzashu was starting to allow herself to unwind a little?

Shivering, Serhishu said in a tiny voice, “We came through here. A slave merchant tried to steal Vhalzishu, but a stranger helped us get away. A big, bald man – a real giant. Scared the marrow right out of my bones the way he moved so quietly.”

Vhalzishu tried, “He said his name was Xemmo – Xemi …”

“You don’t mean Xerocic the Seeker?” Gaz asked. His little sister shrugged. “I met him once. Huge, dark man. He’s probably a head taller than me, wears all black clothing and carries crossed swords on his back, the biggest you’ve ever seen.”

“Right,” Vhalzishu said, her eyes rounded to emphasize the awe.

“By my bones, he’s a legend!”

“My big brother is awesomer than anyone else,” she replied, trying a coy upward glance from beneath her eyelashes.

He did some obligatory big-brotherly melting.

For her part, Inzashu played it cool, but Thundersong sensed she was not unimpressed by this interaction. He had to agree. Dragons said character was formed of the lifelong bonds of egg and blood, meaning that one knew a Dragon by the way they interacted with and honoured their dam, sire and siblings. The same must be true for Humans, even across their diverse cultures.

Gaz was a good egg. A right cracker, shell one say?

Egg-zactly.

Shaking his muzzle at his brain’s pun-overloaded workings, he grinned toothily at as his Human companions, namely Azania, Azerim, Farizam and Inzashu, who had their heads together to determine their shopping needs. The biggest issue was estribki liniment. All this hard travel was starting to throw up issues with niggly equine joints and inflamed tendons. It always amused him how Azania and Azerim shared the love of a good shopping trip. Apparently, the King was not like most men in this regard. For her part, Inzashu positively loathed anything to do with shopping, dressing herself up or wearing jewellery, to Gaz’s vocal surprise.

Hmm. Did a Dragon sense the young man had wanted to purchase Inzashu a gift? Maybe so. Nonetheless, Gaz volunteered to accompany the party into town.

Thundersong volunteered himself and Firri for shadowing duty. No way was he letting his best friend poke so much as her littlest toe into that stinking bandits’ den without some – mwaaa-harrr-harrgh – heavy backup. Nor would they show their exotic creatures, namely sundry Unicorns and one Mermaid, to the locals until they were prepared to dash straight through town and over that bridge. He supposed they could airlift the Unicorns over the crack, but that would be a tedious process and would likely attract the Jabiz’s attention in the worst possible way.

Oh! And in other news, here came Azania clad in tan Skartunese robes! One did need to be culturally appropriate – which made him consider the state of their Ranger women and, more importantly, Chanize. He strongly suspected her lack of lower legs ought to be kept hidden and, for that matter, all the women, but especially those with golden hair, should wear head coverings. Annoying practicalities. Apparently, in this local tribe, females who coloured their hair were regarded as prostitutes. Azania was the only woman of their number who could get away with her natural look and she would be required to accompany the shopping party because certain shops were for men and others for women only. Curious, the ways of Humans.

Marketplaces here closed from two hours before noon until early evening due to the heat, so it was close to nightfall before their party of royals, Desert Askaris, one random former Jabiz and two nearly invisible Dragons entered Glass Bridge, most via the official gateway and the two scaly ones via the far easier, but less official, hop over the wall method. Interesting gate, he noted in passing. It had no actual doors, but rather was a vast slab of cast iron set upon light rollers that could be wheeled out of a recess to cover the gap. Since the battlements were about twenty feet thick and the slab no less than four, he could not imagine any siege breaking down these walls without a monumental effort.

What did a Jabiz have to fear?

Well, assassination was one consideration. Jabiz Twisteroo had been assassinated by a poisoned dart shot from a blowpipe, as it turned out. No trace of the assassin had been found.

Inside the city, the lime-washed buildings were three or four stories tall with flat grey stone rooftops, making it hatchlings’ play for a pair of Dragons to slink along above and take perches from which they could view the broad marketplace area with impunity. Well, except one reckless feline that Firri scared off by means of stealthily slapping its tail with her paw. The shocked tabby’s wild departing yowl was entirely lost in the din of the teeming marketplace. Thundersong rubbed his nose. By his dam’s egg, why was it that whenever hundreds of Humans came together in one place, everything began to stink like the back end of a cow?

He snooped obsessively on Azania’s doings.

Now that he thought about it, he did have quite the itch to go on a rampage down there. Aye, his predatory instinct served up a picture of joyously chasing stampeding cattle through those busy aisles between the stalls, knocking fruit flying and razing the bigger tents toward the back.

Naughty, naughty, Dragon.

He grinned as Azania clinched a bargain with a shopkeeper who now fervently wished he had never met the Queen of the Vaylarn Archipelago. You’re good!

That’s why I kidnapped you.

Huh – what?

You don’t honestly think I’d have settled for any inferior sort of Dragon, do you? I’ve an infallible sense for worth and besides, I rather fancy your lucid thoughts about sinking your fangs into bovine behinds. Gurgle-guffaw-snort! Firri hushed him as the house beneath them threatened to shake off its foundations. Helps me to strike the right tone when negotiating, see?

Marvellous. Glad to be of service.

Apart from one incident with a drunken man, whom Azerim sent packing with a Skartunese curse he must have learned for the occasion of sounding local, the shopping was a straightforward matter of several hours of raw-throated shouting followed by an exchange of pure Dragon gold or gems, which His Majesty of the Vaylarn Archipelago had packed for the trip. Not to put too fine a point on it, between their monopoly on ocean trade and the price his artworks were fetching, they were starting to enjoy more resources than they knew what to do with these days. He should discuss a few new projects with Azania upon their return. One could not hoard all that gold and not put it to beneficial use.

He’d put some thought into it. Schools? Healing centres? Libraries? Research into the sciences? Patronage of the arts?

Azerim slipped Gaz a few diamonds. “Go enjoy.”

The men moved on to a weapons shop while Azania, escorted by four burly Rangers, disappeared into a tent with a sign outside that read All a Woman Needs. Huh. He had not imagined one mere shop could house such largesse. Nor an entire city!

Dragon, do you mind? I’m trying to –

Oh … ho-ho-ho, mischievous Queen! When did you take her measurements?

Chanize is an excellent seamstress.

Wayward wench!

Dastardly Dragon. This insult came accompanied by an impish mental grin.

Huh. How did she even do that?

After purchasing necessities for their younger recruits, Azania moved on to a tailor’s establishment and purchased cloth, clothing and robes for most of the forty-one women in their party. Much would be made overnight and need to be picked up in the morning. With that, the Queen loaded up her escort and strolled on to find the men, just in time to observe Gaz bump into an older man upon exiting an armourer’s tent. Gaz apologised and dropped his gaze, but the man took a second look and caught him by the arm.

“You. Have we met before?”

“No, most excellent Jaziguraz,” he mumbled in a thick voice, staring at his toes. He had been practicing acting like a slave. Not bad.

“Hmm. Look at me, boy. Look up!”

The man stared into the taller young man’s eyes. Gaz managed to remain impassive for a few seconds until he dropped his gaze again, the picture of a luckless slave; after a breathless moment, the stranger grumbled something about useless serfs and marched off with a stiff-legged gait. Azania mopped her brow. Aye, the snooper in her mind agreed. Better that he remained unrecognised. If anyone found out a former Jabiz was in town, blood would be shed.

With that, the team made their return to camp.

* * * *

Bells! Bells, bells, clanging bells …

“Dragon, wake up!”

“What the – who the hell’s ringing my bells?” he mumbled, starting awake from an agreeable dream involving Aria, seven bells and … alright, a weird dream. Downright peculiar.

“The townspeople are awake, Thundersong,” Azania called.

Her urgency brought him properly astir. “You don’t say? Found a few Dragons, did they?”

“No,” his Rider noted. “Word is Jabiz Stabberoo has been spotted in disguise in the streets. Who would have thought? They are –” she peered through his telescope at the signals coming from Aria’s back, via her husband “– having a fine panic. Aye. Widespread panic.”

“We should take advantage of the fowl Humans flapping about all over the place,” he joked at once.

“What are you thinking?”

“Block the gates somehow, ferry the Unicorns over and keep right on going?”

“Hmm. Nice idea, especially since you and Firri can go invisible,” she agreed. “I’d hate to leave my shopping unfinished, however. I do feel a weight of responsibility toward our seamstress – it was a substantial order. She stands to lose a goodly portion of her livelihood –”

He held up a paw. “Three distractions. Maybe more. One in the middle, two at the gates. Blackguard could go have a snooze on that bridge, just for a short while?”

Half a plan slipped from his mind to hers.

“Ooh, you depraved beast,” Azania cooed, springing into his paw. “Away! To sabotage, mayhem and –”

“– wanton destruction!” he boomed.

“Alright, alright, keep your scales on. Four Rangers, with me!”

Spreading the word as they rose into the air, Thundersong viewed the readiness of his companions with delight. Veterans in the main. Even their orphans pitched in. The Rangers and Askaris were already half packed. The Mare readied her herd. Beforehand, the warrior Dragonesses had picked out a viable crossing point as a backup plan. Now, they prepared the rope slings they would use to haul the Unicorns over the gap, about four hundred feet wide at that point. Ten Dragonesses and two Crushers – twenty trips in all, each carrying an equine worth four or more Humans in bodyweight. Demanding work.

“Maximise readiness, but wait on our signal,” Farizam ordered as Thundersong pulled away.

Gathering invisibility about himself, he swooped toward town in the company of Firri, while Blackguard rose lazily in a wide arc, the aim being to draw the defenders’ attention, to make them think he was contemplating angles of attack. Firri peeled off to sneak up on the north gate. Gaz and Zurianne chatted cheerfully about lightning-spitting tridents and metal gate gears. Sounded perfect. Blackguard lazily made for the bridge. He would land there and pretend to go to sleep.

“Do be careful where you put down and what you burn; I want to receive my order intact,” Azania directed.

“Meantime, I’ll assert a bit of law and order about the place, if you’d like?”

“I would like. The marketplace is overlooked by the eastern battlement, however,” she noted, voicing what he had already deduced. “How’s about –”

He tilted upon a wingtip. “A stall where I can get into good spirits?”

“I’m … confused.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he purred cheekily. “Landing. Be quick in there.”

The Queen’s four-Ranger escort tensed up as one. Azania merely chuckled as he cushioned his landing upon a shut-up tent store that she had visited the previous day, packed to the canvas with bolts of cloth. His Rider was up in an instant, a skip in her step as she sprang into his paw and down to the ground as if she owned the mostly deserted marketplace. A few merchants had clearly stayed behind to protect their goods and livelihoods. Thundersong eyed them with interest as the four burly Vaylarn Islanders formed a close echelon around his Rider. They did not see him, but they openly wondered at the disturbance his landing had produced.

She offered him a regal, open-palmed gesture of assent. “Under absolutely no circumstances should you behave yourself whilst I pick up my shopping.”

He grinned.

“You run along now.” The hand added a vague circling motion. “Have fun with all these toys.”

His grin widened.

Mmm, a whole marketplace all to himself. So many possibilities.

First, an accolade for his best friend. “Announcing!” he boomed. Blergh, terrible effort. He cleared his throat noisily. “ANNOUNCING – THE MATCHLESS –” massive inhale “– QUEEEENN AAAAZANIAAA!!”

To the Humans of Glass Bridge, it must have been as if a huge white Dragon materialised out of the aether right in the middle of town. His bellow ripped tent awnings, cracked poles and blasted great billows of tan dust into the air. A stack of crates immediately ahead of him collapsed with a satisfying crunch.

“Why thank you, Dragon.”

“Enjoy your shopping, my Queen.”

While she ducked away into the tailor’s shop, he cast about for things to destroy. Oh my. Crates of glassware? Barrels of the fiery spirits these Skartunese adored? Piles of highly flammable scrolls and expensive-looking ceramic artefacts? An unaccustomed wildfire of wickedness ignited in his Dragon hearts. All his life he had thought himself a superior creature for his restraint in not engaging in the sport of plunder, pillaging and destruction of Human properties. King Tyloric of Vanrace had provided his first taste of this addictive anger. Now, a Dragon drank deep of that well. He knew that in the substrate of his being he was a creature like any other, possessed of baser emotions that, should he allow them free reign …

Scooping up a pawful of barrels, he hurled a quick-fire half a dozen at the nearest tower atop the battlements. Dark wine stained its roof and pickled vegetables dripped off the terrified soldiers up there. A flick of his tail demolished a spice stand behind him. Thundersong sprang away toward the fowl and cattle, thundering a cry that warbled from rage into the joy of anticipation. The beasts stampeded at once, lowing and bellowing in a blind panic as they broke out of their pens and crashed their wings and beaks against the bars of cages. A swingeing sweep of his tail sent dozens of cages of white-feathered fowl hurtling into the air. Some broke free and flapped in every direction, squawking their little lungs out in a rising commotion. Feathers eddied about him as he rampaged through a spice shop and demolished a leather worker’s establishment, before tipping over a blacksmith’s forge and coming up against something wholly unexpected.

A holding pen for Human slaves.

Breathing heavily through his nostrils, he glared at them. Then, reason rang like clarion bells through the madness of fire stoking his thoughts. Seizing the bars in his paws, he squeezed and bent them until even a small Dragon could have escaped through the holes he made.

“You run that way,” he said courteously. “I’ll go this way. Alright?”

Dull dark eyes stared in incomprehension at him.

“Go! Be free!”

One of the wretches gabbled something at the rest. As the Dragon turned away, they fought one another to get out first.

Thundersong rubbed his paws together. Next target? That section selling the spirits. He had plans to start a rowdy party and they happened to stock just the materials he needed. A couple of detours beforehand … now, where had he seen those barrels of cooking oil?

Why did a Dragon say beforehand when he had the matter firmly in paw?

Charge!

Chapter 21: Plains of Glass

WHEN AZANIA EMERGED FROM the tailor’s establishment at the head of four overloaded Rangers, she sniffed the air with suspicion. “Did someone empty out a tavern?”

“Climb aboard, please,” said he, extending his talons with the utmost courtesy.

“You’re wearing an emerald necklace?”

“I am?”

She pointed. “On your skull spike.”

“Trying to be fashionable,” he said, hooking it off with his talon and flicking it away insouciantly. “I care not for baubles.”

Up on the nearby battlements, the defenders were finally getting ready to fire upon him. Most of the marketplace was a great deal flatter than five minutes before, save for the tailor’s shop. That was perfectly intact, an island in a sea of annihilation. He certainly felt diverted. Not so sure about the local merchants. Stepping around Azania, he put his body between her and the danger as his team mounted up with professional speed. He was quite certain he had heard a sound like a crack of lightning a moment before, followed by an agonised yell. Mermaids were clearly useful for things other than turning young Dragon Riders into drooling idiots.

“Got your shopping?” he inquired.

“It was all ready and the owner was hiding beneath her sewing machine.”

“Darn it, that’s not sew smart.”

“Groan for the puns! Really?” She gave him a slightly manic grin. “Good mood?”

She had no idea what was coming. “The best.”

The Queen rapped, “Rangers, ready?”

“Aye!” they chorused.

Thundersong sprang for the nearest battlement. Before Azania could quite finish asking what he had planned, he dispatched a little lick of flame downward to do its devious work. Dragon fire. Below stood a marketplace full of cloth and timbers liberally doused in highly flammable cooking oil and further basted with sundry alcoholic spirits. The reek practically caught fire on its own. Tongues of fire raced away across the debris before it all ignited with a massive WHOMP! Searing orange flames danced forty feet high, creating a rush of overheated air that fuelled the bonfire, throwing sparks and ash way up into the sky followed by dense billows of smoke as untold riches burned.

One wholly undignified snigger later, Thundersong sprang away. Something to be said for a white Dragon making his exit through a dramatic pall of black smoke. Swirled nicely about his wings and all that.

Azania coughed and asked him if he really had to.

Silly question.

His quick eye caught a slight disturbance where Firri pulled away from a much smaller column of smoke to the left of the northern gate. A spot of sabotage before breakfast to whet the appetite? He liked that mite more and more. Gorgeous day, actually. It promised cloudless skies and no doubt, continued extremes of heat, but he did consider whether the relative coolness of this dawn might be the harbinger of things to come. Over on the wooden bridge, Blackguard continued to exercise his powers of the fake draconic snooze, performed an undeniable air of majestic tyranny. Lord of all he surveyed from behind not-quite-shuttered eyelid. Hundreds of Humans looked on anxiously from every hiding place imaginable, from rooftops to a head peeping out of a sewer lid, as best he could tell, waiting for the Crusher to do something. Anything.

Exactly the point of this surprise. He would not.

The Unicorn lift! Dipping his wingtips, Thundersong hurried over to join in the ferrying of equines. Eager hands prepared the slings on one side of a thousand-foot drop and released them on the other. The Dragons did not even need to put down, but could keep hovering, before making the return journey. Already, the effort approached halfway in terms of numbers.

Azania kept an eye on the town as he completed four transfers in quick succession.

“There are soldiers massing at the southern gate,” she reported.

“Did we bring a few barrels of –”

“– we did.”

“Grog,” he chortled.

“Better than sailors’ brew,” she grinned. Another of their half-conversations. “These are suitably whiffy, and the breeze is blowing in the right direction. Nice work on the marketplace.”

“Soot-ably accomplished.” He flashed his fangs handsomely.

Still burning fiercely.

“You do a couple more runs while I get the bombs ready.”

Off she went to burrow in the stores, to the bemusement of her husband, who was guilty of an episode of lingering appreciation as his wife bent over to dig deeper. Seemed that he fancied her in desert robes, too. Good man.

Three more hops with a Unicorn dangling from either forepaw, Thundersong hearkened to Azania’s soft call. Azerim began to ask what they were about, when he announced loudly, “I’m off to drop a humungous stinker!”

The King’s jaw sagged. Gruff laughter bubbled out, undercutting the grim mood that always overcame him in moments like this. He took responsibility. It was his way; he was a leader to whom every life mattered. None were expendable. Oftentimes, that burden weighed heavily upon his shoulders, and it was a physical effort for him to relax and feel as if he could enjoy himself.

Azania scrambled aboard with the necessary equipment, calling, “Him. It’s all him!”

“I’d never think otherwise,” Azerim called, stout in support, but clearly lying beneath his beard. “Last runs! Let’s go, everyone! Farizam, the counts?”

The Sankir cursed beneath his beard, clearly having forgotten to double-check that everyone was present.

“Chanize!” Thundersong roared over his shoulder. The Sankir nearly fell over. Forgot his wife? “She’s with Zyrashu.”

He and Azania winged up toward the city and soon confirmed the report. A formidable force had gathered in a narrow culvert behind the gate – actually, four separate culverts, he observed now. Perhaps this was to allow the lizard-borne mercenaries to deploy rapidly, but in single file? Those lizards were fractious at the best of times. However, the defensive positions had never been built with aerial attack in mind, since Skartun, until now, had never been subjected to the attacks of Dragons. A cohort of up to three hundred light infantry stood ready in a single mass about eighty feet back from the gates.

Hmm. How do we maximise the impact, Azania?

Let’s get Blackguard to move.

Good idea.

Wonder how those lizards react to fire?

That was the key question. No doubt the Jabiz intended to order an attack any moment now. In his culture, this insult could not be allowed to stand. Upon his back, Azania wriggled slightly as she signalled Blackguard. He stood lazily, yawned a marvellously cavernous yawn to best display his thicket of sharp fangs and started to shimmy and shake!

Thundersong guffawed, “What’s he – he isn’t!”

“He’s dancing!” Azania chortled. “Not too badly either. Got a few moves on him, that old rogue.”

He checked. Jezmyielle had developed a gleam in her eye.

Aye, those moves now began to test the springiness of that wooden bridge. Designed as it was to be withdrawn in defence of one side or the other of this black chasm, it was neither a massive nor a well-reinforced affair, but Thundersong sincerely doubted that any Human bridge ever built could have withstood a Crusher heavyweight making merry with it. Several clod-pawed thumps later, a section of timbers sagged into the chasm. Blackguard gave the spot a few extra kicks for good measure and then, without warning, sprang into the air with a massive bound, executed a slow and surprisingly graceful backward somersault and shot down over the edge with his paws and talons outstretched to snag the timbers.

His weight and momentum twisted the bridge like a pretzel as he swung beneath. Krack!

Thundersong and Azania shook their heads identically. Jezmyielle riffled her wings in satisfaction as if to suggest she might have taught him that move. Hardly likely.

He growled, “Knows what he’s doing, eh?”

“Impressive,” she agreed, signalling to the Crusher. “Let’s bring him in from the bridge side while we warm them up from above. Hopefully …” She slapped her hands together. “Like swatting flies.”

“Nice.”

Clipping his wings once more, he took them up over the southern gate at a steady pace, well out of range of any defenders. Brown faces turned skyward to follow his progress.

Azania said, “One for the lizards and one for that troop? We can’t attack the gate mechanism, can we?”

“What do you think, Firri?”

“Is good,” said a voice out of nowhere.

His Rider jumped in startlement. “Don’t you – how do you – oh, sky colours now, Firri? You’re a rascal! How do you paint them on your Riders?”

“Is too much magic,” teased the Façade Dragoness in portentous tones.

Chuckle.

“If you’d create a diversion, my Queen, we’ll take care of the gate mechanism,” Gaz said.

“Just take care to stay out of the gas clouds,” Azania advised.

“Alright. Consider it done and dusted.”

“Destroyed,” Zurianne corrected.

“You’re my kind of girl,” Thundersong complimented her.

“Traitor,” Azania teased. “Come on, Mister Stinky Scales. One job to do.”

“Eu-reeeek-aa!”

The Queen gazed skyward in mock despair. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“What? My jokes pack a real punch!”

“Aargh!”

On that un-Queenly note, she readied their equipment and scanned the town. They agreed quickly to wing-signal Blackguard to attack. Immediately, the ex-gladiator voiced a throbbing roar and set off down the road in a gambolling, lolloping run like a fifteen-tonne puppy, slewing sideways to crash into houses, flaming left and right, leaping up onto walls and kicking doors in. He bellowed mightily as he turned onto the approach to the southern gateway. The ground troops shifted nervously and then, clearly reacting to orders, formed up in ranks to confront the oncoming Dragon. Perfect.

He and Azania considered the angles and trajectory together, joining minds to make the right calculations.

“Go,” he rumbled.

“First one away,” she called. “And … second on my mark, three, two, one –”

He shot a fireball downward. As the first bomb landed, splattering its payload along the narrow culvert, his fire arrived about two seconds later and a fireball funnelled through gap, spreading far further than they had imagined. Swamp-green smoke spread glutinously from the point of impact. Lizards and men hurtled free, some crushing one another at the end of the culvert, others breaking out into the open, where they immediately slammed up against the back of the infantry force. They coughed and hacked and wiped their streaming eyes.

The second bomb exploded in the middle of the street just behind the ranks of soldiers, spreading to the gate in a fine spray of green droplets. Leaping into the air to skim over the visibly trembling ranks of soldiers, Blackguard drew breath.

No! NOOO!! Thundersong bellowed.

Perhaps he was enjoying himself too much and unwilling to hear. Perhaps he knew what he was about. Either way, his fire ignited an explosion that rattled the gates and engulfed him in a pall of noxious smoke. Firri appeared mid-air with her two Riders clinging onto her tail, clearly knocked off the gate in the act of absconding.

Ha. A Dragoness with two scaly tails? Novel.

Blackguard hurtled out of the sooty yellow-green billows trailing streamers of fire from his wings and hindquarters. Rising swiftly toward Thundersong and Azania, he twisted his neck to glance at his still-burning body.

“This stuff sticks!” he bellowed.

“By design, you slack-winged nitwit!” Thundersong roared back. “Don’t you listen?”

“Couldn’t hear a thing!”

He stuck out a huge white paw to warn Blackguard off. “You fly downwind. Jezmyielle isn’t going to come near you for a week.”

“Why?”

“Because you stink like a Dragon-sized sewer, that’s why!”

Blackguard might not believe it, but no amount of scrubbing would remove the smell either. These last few years, King N’chala’s team had been busy improving the chemical and explosive bombs they had employed so effectively against the Skartunese during the battle for his realm. This recipe stuck better than limestone cement, burned for hours and the stench only began to fade after a week. Dragons hated the smell, but for Humans, it scalded the nasal passages and clogged the lungs. Most unpleasant.

Here came the last flight of Dragonesses toting Unicorns. The herd seemed to shrink together in anticipation. He sensed their joy tingling in his bones. Time for another caper?

Thundersong bellowed, “Unicorns! Gather the herd and let’s gallop out of here!”

“Ah, the great herd stallion has roared,” Azania noted.

He ignored that jibe.

“I simply must scribe your every majestic growl into our memoirs.”

“Ah, these long-awaited, never-quite-written memoirs?”

“Dragon, we have been a little busy.” He wished he could have been busy in the way his Rider’s roost had been. Azania sighed softly. Me too, my Dragon. It’s hard.

What if I can never give her what she wants? The thought slipped out, shameful and melancholy, before he could stop himself. Aria does want hatchlings. She won’t say it, but I know the ways of her heart. What if we … if we never can? Will she fall out of love with me? Why are things that are so easy for other Dragons never easy for me? I’m so envious of what they have. How will I not become bitter and cranky and impossible to live with if I cannot master these darkest of fires in my thoughts and desires, Azania? Maybe it’s better not to hope at all!

She thought to him, Once, you were a fireless Dragon. Now you breathe the whitest, most beautiful of fires. Once you were outcast and now you have a family ten thousand strong. If you cannot believe … ah, Thundersong! Then I will believe for you. For both of us. And it will be enough.

How are you always so strong?

You gave a talon for me. What would I not do for you?

A sensation gripped his chest as if her small, dark hands had somehow taken all five of his hearts and squeezed them together at once, multiplying their fires until the sweetest heat warmed him all over. Thundersong puzzled over his response for the longest time. It was gratitude, aye, and she knew that, but as the gelid white fires percolated through his being, he came to a novel realisation. Perhaps he had not recognised it for the longest time, for paths traced by the fires of heart matters were seldom straightforward, in his experience. It was love. So simple, yet it had never quite come into focus for him in this same way. The love of one creature for another.

Profound. Who needed to consider factors such as size, gender or even species?

Love transcended all that.

Warm saltiness splashed upon his back. For once, he did not mind. It matched what was in his Dragon hearts.

“Mount up, Rangers!” Farizam’s parade-ground yell below carried up on the breeze. “Let’s hustle, people! Gaflizam, if I catch you standing still again, you’ll catch my boot!”

True to form, the Unicorns could not simply trot away. Oh no. Once the last foal was released from her carrying harness, a round of celebratory whinnying rang out over the ravine. Stoic warriors in the main, the Isles Dragonesses looked on impassively while the horned, hoofed ones worked their way into a whirling, stamping dance that had the Rangers cheering and whistling in approval and the Desert Askaris clinging on for dear life.

Soon, the Mare whinnied sharply, and the equines capered off into the glassy barrens with their necks arched and their plumy manes blowing in the breeze. Without any apparent signal, they broke into a complex caper that mimicked tap dancing Humans he had seen in – oh, where was that again?

Hulbine, Azania told him.

Ah, right you are, he agreed, enjoying the way they not only clacked their hooves against the ground, but against their own hooves and those of the Unicorns beside them as the intricate dance played out. How did they even learn these things or was the ability inborn? Well, I don’t think this Jabiz is about to be chasing us in any hurry through that cloud of fabulous fragrance, right?

Quite. The entire gate area was still burning cheerfully and the column of greasy black smoke from his marketplace reached a mile high. No, they would not be welcome to return to Glass Bridge anytime in the next dozen centuries, say. He tried to squish down a modicum of regret at what they had done to those innocent merchants back there.

Right, she gurgled.

So, tell me, what did the Dragon say to the goose?

Uh …

You honk.

Oh Thunderstink, she shot back, you definitely cracked off a good one there!

* * * *

Windy jokes aside, the day’s travel turned out to be perhaps the strangest yet. Up to lunchtime, it was wholly unremarkable, the terrain a mix of jumbled volcanic stone such as grey pumice and obsidian boulders scattered across sparkling black sand, alternating with areas of shattered volcanic glass the Unicorns were vocally happy not to have to trot through. The trail was clear and easy. Toward noon, they climbed a brief, but sharp, ridge and gazed out over a new land.

Solixambria’s biggest mirror.

Everything until now had been preparation for the true Plains of Glass, Azania realised aloud.

Exactly right. Thundersong boomed, “By my wings, that’s amazing!”

A perfectly smooth pane of black volcanic glass stretched to the horizon in every direction. It was so seamless and polished it reflected every detail of the sky as if to etch the view forever in black crystalline detail. Heat radiated off that unblemished surface with new intensity – as if, as a creature walked out over that area, they dared to cross the glass door of a horizontal furnace.

Daunting for his non-draconic companions.

Zurianne said something considerably less admiring, and added, “Where is all the water in this land?”

The Mysterious Mare said, Tell her, Thundersong, that moisture lingers in this breeze. Our Unicorn magic has begun to tingle. Even her own herd members gazed strangely at her as she spoke. Memory returns to my horn at last. Beyond the glass fields wherein lie the images of sky and many dreams of our ancestors, lies a mountain range with a mighty pass which reaches a great altitude. On the far side, my Mermaid friend, you shall nicker and sport in frolicsome, icy-cold mountain waterfalls. That is my promise – tell her.

I shall, o Mysterious Mare, Thundersong said.

Lowering her horn, the Unicorn touched it ceremonially to the Mermaid’s crown of sapphire hair. What magic passed between them Thundersong could not fathom, but Zurianne lowered her head and thanked the Mare. It seemed at once to him that their Mermaid companion was much more comfortable. She stopped licking her chapped lips and a sparkle reappeared in her eye.

The Mermaid called, “Gazdonl, could you bring me a lick of salt, please?”

“All the Unicorns should take some salt,” Inzashu directed, “and I think – oh! I was just thinking, o Mare, how will you travel upon that glass on your hooves? Won’t you simply slip and slide everywhere?”

Everyone looked downcast.

Azania began to say, “Well, we could bag their hooves to improve –”

I think not! the Mare nickered sharply.

The Queen said, I’m sorry?

We shall skautar.

Skautar?

I have a memory of this land, said the Mare, smiling her most mysterious smile. We shall out-skautar all the Dragons across the place where the sky meets the land – all save you, friend Flame-Breather. We are the herd! So shall it be seen, anon, anon! Away!

They did love to ‘anon and away,’ this herd. The equines spread out in search of the slightest blade of green along the ridgeline, but there was none in the offing. Thundersong had noticed a few signs of gauntness among their friends and knew that the older Unicorns, in particular, had been giving up their portions of the dwindling supplies in order that the foals and several pregnant mares might have enough. They would do well to find grass soon. Maybe beyond this extraordinary plain of glass, he hoped, perhaps in that place the Mare had mentioned, where a Mermaid might frolic in real running water. Tough as she was, the strain of all these weeks of largely waterless travel had begun to leave its mark on Zurianne.

He padded over to help the Rangers distribute an anaemic-looking haybale Blackguard had somehow smuggled out of Glass Bridge. It was a bit singed around the edges, but good in the middle.

Everyone edged away from the Crusher. It was a survival need.

“Babies!” he snarled and stumped off to gaze over the vista in majestic and malodorous solitude.

Thundersong was convinced he could still see the stink steaming off him. Good stuff. Good times! He watched Azania and Inzashu holding class in how to dress like desert people and Skartunese. He rather suspected the Rangers would appreciate the change from their sweaty leathers down in that open oven they planned to saunter into. Or … skautar?

Whatever that meant. He could not wait to find out.

Chapter 22: Skautar

FOR ONCE, THE MYSTERIOUS Mare managed to look inelegant. She spent the better part of three hours trying to work out how her racial memory could have failed her quite so miserably as she skidded, danced, slipped and scrabbled for footing on that unblemished pane of glass.

Even Thundersong padded out there to try it. Wonderful substance. Despite that it appeared to be a variety of obsidian crystal that gave the impression of being translucent through to its depths, that was an optical trick that never quite materialised. It also acted, as Azania noted, exactly like a wet bar of soap. Fantastically slippery. Hard as diamond. Could it be diamond or something similar, he wondered? Even a Dragon trod with care here. His talons had nothing to grip. If he stood still on the slightest slope, he began to slide whichever way was downhill.

Zero friction crystal? How peculiar. Almost zero. If he balanced with care, he could just about resist the process and make progress in a direction he desired.

Also, for the first time since he had known her, the Mysterious Mare had become so frustrated that she had shrilled at her herd to stop watching and offering advice. They stood in a glum clump at the edge of the mirror and tried not to watch. Hard not to.

Especially, when with a wild wobble, her hooves finally gave up and the Mare fell heavily upon her right flank. Her pained wheeze carried across the flats.

Everyone flinched.

Thundersong made to go to her. Movement from amongst the herd, however, gave him pause. One youngling emerged. It was that colt, he realised; the one who had danced the hardest and produced a tiny fizzle of magic at the first Unicorn Caper. He had a tidy flip of mane that fell over his eyes in a fringe, making him look bashful and always a little surprised by life. Thundersong frowned, trying to recall his name. Aztørgard. Right. Being a tad ungenerous, the pure white youngster’s legs were so long and gangly that he reminded a Dragon of a barrel of horse perched upon four long pins.

Ahem. That probably equated to horsey-handsome. Plus, he had a white hide. Excellent colour.

Anyhow, the young maverick stopped at the edge of the glass and peered deep within it as if baffled by something that tickled the edge of his mind, but he could not quite remember. Thundersong sensed Inzashu’s mind trying to help but, to everyone’s surprise, it was Gaz who suddenly strode forward to lay a hand upon the colt’s flank. He whispered into Aztørgard’s left ear.

The ear flicked alertly.

Thundersong found himself holding his breath.

Then, the youngster stepped out onto the glass and … well, he did not fall over. Nor did he try to break a leg, which his previous effort at dancing had most certainly threatened. Instead, he glided along like one of King Azerim’s ships coursing across the Lumis Ocean under full sail. Perfectly in control. Stately. Superb!

Their companions inhaled as one creature.

“That’s uncanny,” Azania breathed.

“I’ve never seen a horse move like a swan,” Thundersong agreed.

The Dragon peered at those sharp little hooves. Indeed, with no apparent impetus or effort, Aztørgard produced a delicate pirouette as he coasted up to the Mysterious Mare and lowered his horn to touch hers. A miniscule spark of magic leaped between them.

Her eyes widened. With a soft whicker, she thanked him – and then it was good that a large paw righted her, at least to start with, for the Mare found her footing immediately and began to skate and twirl just like the colt. It was as if the pair floated upon solid ground. The herd gazed on, electric with excitement, waiting for the moment the pair broke off their celebratory dance and whizzed over to share the horn magic with their friends.

Ten breaths later, over two hundred Unicorns skated around one another in dignified patterns.

Thundersong said, “Extraordinary, isn’t it? They seem to pass memories between one another with their magic. If one remembers how it is done –”

“– the whole herd remembers,” Azania finished for him.

As if she had heard them whispering, the Mysterious Mare glanced up at them. Apparently, for once, this was not a dancing occasion. Thundersong nodded slowly and reached over to prod King Azerim in the ribs where he straddled Aria’s back.

Cupping his hands to his mouth, the King yelled, “We skautar! Anon, anon, away!”

With a merry chorus of harrumphing, neighing and nickering in recognition of his culturally appropriate directive, the Unicorns skautared over to the edge of the Plains of Glass to pick up their cargo.

* * * *

“Equines are not meant to move like that,” Ariamyrielle Seaspray panted as they came to a planned stop three hours later. “They’re so fast!”

“Ridiculously fast,” he rumbled. He had warned her.

Aria would be slightly competitive.

That lack of resistance and a dearth of anything resembling the slightest blemish in the unending pane of glass had allowed the Unicorns to accelerate to a fantastic pace. The Mysterious Mare thought they could travel much faster, but she had kept a steady pace to ensure that their draconic companions were not left behind. Result?

The Unicorns, one and all, looked as if they had stepped off a dew-dappled springtime meadow.

The Isles Dragonesses and Crushers all tried to act as if they were just fine when, in reality, every last one of them was puffed out and ready to drop. Grumpy growls and sassy snarls ruled the day.

Thundersong flexed his muscles cheerfully and twizzled his neck. Sea Dragon advantages. He was comfortable. Exercised to the Human equivalent of a steady jogging pace, he had told Azania, who had managed to make a mental eyebrow waggle in Aria’s direction by way of warning. Indeed. He padded carefully over to his mate.

Alright there, cobalt fires?

She peeled back a lip to display a fine set of vertical razors. Is the stinging of my pride quite so obvious, Thundersong?

Arrr – um – he fumbled badly – maybe? No. I meant – oh, blast it!

Good thing you’re such a terrible liar, she flirted, caressing his cheek with her wingtips. His jaw clunked down on the crystal. Harrr-harr-mrrr! Her laughter rang out, making the other Isles Dragonesses glance up in shock. How you make me laugh!

I … do?

No clue what under the twin suns she was driving at, but he did love how this playful quality occasionally surfaced in his mate, like Taramis suddenly appearing between clouds. Discomfited? Aye! Yet she stoked his fires as no other.

Leaning closer, she whispered into his right ear canal, I’ve an idea. I’ll need your help.

Five minutes later, Thundersong and Azania strolled over to the Mysterious Mare and Aztørgard to have a word with them. The Unicorns had a touching of horns with several of their elders, before Azania rigged simple rope harnesses around two Unicorns and mounted up on his back while still holding them – avoiding a key point of potential draconic dishonour, that they should never be tethered like beasts of burden – while the Unicorns crowded around his paws, bending to touch them with their horns. It took a little arranging and experimentation with their magic before the inevitable happened.

Thundersong’s sense of balance suddenly screeched that something was wrong!

He ignored it with great gravitas.

Aztørgard’s whinny of delight rang like bells over the crystal mirror. Sound carried with amazing clarity out here, which made the eerie silence of Thundersong’s setting sail – he grinned at the image in his mind – all the more eerie. All he had to do was pretend he was standing still.

The Unicorns took him for a little turn around the impromptu rest site. This ability to skautar really was quite marvellous. His helpers whisked him about as if he weighed absolutely nothing.

“I say! This is marvellous!” he boomed.

With simulated surprise, Aria called, “What are you doing?”

“Skautar-ing, if that’s even a word,” he called back. He pretended to yawn hugely, putting one paw to his mouth as he executed a graceful pirouette under the impetus of the Unicorns. “This is the way to travel, Aria. Want to try it?”

She growled, “Not really.”

The Mare neighed, So well have you served us, o fiery friends! Now it is our turn to serve you. Please, let us escort you, as only the herd can, to yonder mountains, which even now do crest the horizon – for is it not needful for our fish-tailed friend that all swiftness should be essayed? Anon, anon, we fly away!

Grumbling there might be, but the Dragons knew she was right. They could travel far faster on foot, hoof and paw than by air in this strange land. Only the Unicorns could make this happen.

Zurianne bowed her sapphire locks in assent. So used to being independent and mistress of her environment, this trip had been harder for her than for any other. From what he observed in her eyes and the tenor he scent-sensed of her heart, her confidence had taken a real knock. A series of knocks even. To her credit, she still held her head high and proud, and her lilting laughter, as she accepted a quick water shower from Gazdonl, sounded carefree. She even threw some back at him.

Thundersong gazed about in satisfaction. Perfect.

Blackguard had a level stare for him. Ah, so one of their group had not been fooled by the charade. He met the gladiator’s gaze with a slight dip of his eye fires, an acknowledgement of sorts. The other Dragon gave a knowing rumble; one that said, ‘No, youngster, you cannot fool an old rogue like me.’

Fair enough.

After all, he had been fighting since before Thundersong was a spark in his sire’s eye.

During their travel break, the Rangers prepared rope harnesses for the Dragons. With the suns high, the heat out here climbed rapidly, but blinking through his glasses, Thundersong saw that the Mare was right. He counted eight purple nubbins standing upon the horizon, which was otherwise as perfectly flat and uniform as the shaft of a black arrow; the brain did want to insist that there must be some bobble, bump or anomaly – any of which were non-existent, save for those peaks. Though the mountains appeared barely as tall as a talon tip, he knew this impression for an optical illusion exacerbated by the light shimmer of heat mirage starting to develop in the middle distance.

He reached out to tap Zurianne’s elbow with one digit. “Eyes on the mountains. The Unicorns say that everything changes there.”

“I can’t wait,” she admitted. “The heat’s unrelenting.”

“Soon,” he said.

“Soon what?”

“Soon there will be not only an appearance of water,” he said, indicating the mirage with a sweep of his paw, “but you and I will swim in it. My bones also thirst, Zurianne.” Her lips thinned. “I plan to throw you in with my own paw.”

She laughed hoarsely, but then paused in a fit of coughing, doubling over her trident as Gazdonl patted her upon the back. He and Thundersong exchanged glances. No, that did not sound healthy.

He said, “Don’t forget to blow some water through your gills from time to time.”

“Dunk my head in a bucket?” she said sarcastically.

“Whatever works for you.”

Her trident sparked fitfully. Thundersong met her gaze over the weapon; quite out of character, the girl looked away. Oh?

Lowering his muzzle, he said softly, “We need to travel fast, don’t we?”

The sapphire head bobbed. “Aye.”

Rearing back, Thundersong clapped his forepaws together with a booming report. “Attention everyone! Let’s be ready to travel fast – ready in ten minutes.”

A multitude of groans greeted this announcement.

“Babies and hatchlings!” he sneered. “What do I pay you for?”

“He pays us?” Gaz puzzled.

Inzashu chuckled, “No he doesn’t, which is the point. Now, weren’t you about to go see to those two Unicorns with the hairline fractures?” He made a face. She snorted, “Nor am I about to pay you, so get on with it. I want to see you use those Beastmaster skills to facilitate self-healing.”

“It’s only a theoretical possibility,” he protested.

“I could give you wicked Enchantress Inzashu, if you’d prefer?”

His jaw drooped open. “Eh?”

“No need for that,” Thundersong interrupted quickly, before any further misunderstandings arose. “All he needs is encouragement.”

The Princess’ brow drew down. “Oh? And what do you propose, Dragon?”

He pursed his lips gradually, drawing out the moment, until realisation dawned and Inzashu’s resulting blush nearly rivalled a Dragon’s fires. She whirled on her heel with a loud huff, declaring that she needed to see to that troublesome Mermaid.

You can dunk your head in her bucket, if you’d like, Thundersong offered politely.

Dragon! I’ll peel your hide for boot leather if you don’t shut your jaw this instant!

Jaw’s perfectly well shut. Just my mind yapping …

She sent him a mental image of a giant scorpion with her head on it. Well, he had been needling her with practically all twenty talons at once. One could only expect a bit of sting in her response.

Soon, all the Dragons were hitched up and ready to slip on their way. The Unicorns divided themselves between their new clients and threw a plenitude of adjectives about the airs in trying to describe how majestic, wonderful and valued their new herd was. So eager. So joyous! Even Gnarly’s lips developed a twitch at their antics, which had to be a recommendation.

Then, the skautar aimed at the farthest horizons began.

Fast.

He had the oddest urge to loll his tongue out of his mouth.

Faster still.

Soon, the wind was howling in his ear canals and Thundersong struck up one of the Sea Dragon journeying songs. Time for a power snooze.

After all, long snoozes in the suns-shine were a Dragon’s best friend –

Ouch.

I should think not, Azania’s thoughts clarified in his mind. The cheek!

That’s what I was doing when I acquired you, remember?

She warmed to the memory association. Oh, Thundersong … is that what you were thinking?

Every time Ignis and Taramis warm my wings, he admitted, causing the smallest sniffle to emanate from his Rider. Ahem. Sorry. Wake me when something interesting happens …

* * * *

“Dragon! Jump!”

He jumped before he woke. At the tremendous velocity they were making, he barely had to flick his wings open to maintain a fast glide as his eyes snapped open to light first upon a tremendous crack in the glass, perhaps three hundred feet wide, and next, the incongruous sight of non-winged equines soaring over it in a tremendous arc.

So, the Plains of Glass were not perfectly uniform after all?

Somehow, that set the world right in his head, despite that he realised that speed alone had saved the Unicorns from a fatal fall. Clearing the gap with ease, they landed lightly on the far side and soon, following heated and rapid discussion, the companions decided to send up a patrol rather than take another chance.

Thundersong powered skyward as their group slowed, relatively speaking.

Nice work. Azania patted his shoulder lightly.

My frightened gazelle leap, do you mean?

Hold that thought, she said. We could have a problem here.

Gazing ahead, Thundersong agreed. His eye traced that crack four or five miles back to its source, a great crater in the Plains of Glass. Many cracks originated from it in a radial pattern, suggesting that perhaps a large meteorite had struck here in the not-too-distant past. The crater had to be half a mile across and was surrounded by mounds of shattered glass.

Meteorite strike? he rumbled.

Ah, that’s it! she clicked her fingers, and then rooted quickly in her saddlebags for the signal flags. Do you think we can see a clearer route – maybe more to the east? Probably several dozen cracks out that way, but I think none are overly large. Taken with care … what do you think?

Aye. I count four larger cracks if we skirted the crater to the north and west.

I’ll make the signals. Meantime, let’s –

Sneak a closer look? Of course.

Taken at a steady pace and with good close-range scouting, that route would not pose too many challenges, and he assumed that was what Azania would be signalling to her husband and Aria. Time for caution after that first exhilarating skautar. Always expect the unexpected, eh? Raising his muzzle from watching the small dots of his companions, white and azure, sea-green and red, Thundersong scanned the horizon. The mountains seemed to have leaped upward since last he looked. The detail of the broad, rugged flanks of those massifs seen through his spectacles was exquisite, an artist’s delight.

How many leagues might they have made at that speed? And how was evening drawing in already?

His Rider supplied, We travelled an estimated twenty-eight leagues per hour on average, for seven hours. Needed our rest, dearest fires?

Almighty of snoozery am I! he boomed.

Almighty of silliness, she agreed, ever so fondly.

Should he be surprised, given the distances they had been travelling?

He and Azania soared over the crater, taking in the breadth and depth of it. Right in the centre, nestled in a cocoon of dark glass fragments, was a gleaming silvery-black boulder about the size of Thundersong himself, perhaps the source of the explosion. A meteorite. What a catastrophic impact that must have made. In geographical terms, it had not missed the great Skartunese cities on the far side of that narrow but tall mountain range by a great distance. Not at all. They would have heard and felt the impact, surely?

Sobering to think how disaster could overtake creatures as if a godlike hammer had fallen from the sky. One lived one’s life almost entirely oblivious to such perils.

Once their companions had navigated over the much thinner cracks and put the crater well behind them, they rested for the night and the following day, skautered along at a more cautious pace until they reached the edge of the plains in the early afternoon without any further incident.

As promised, given the prevailing winds, this side of the mountains was wholly dry. Not a drop of water offered itself to sight or scent, but the Mare flicked her ears and told him it would come, have no fear.

Gnarly blustered that a true Dragon had no fears.

Was that a wise worldview?

He had to chuckle the following day when even the Unicorns complained about the slow travel on hoof. They had enjoyed speed skating across the Plains of Glass as much as they’d relish crunching tussocks of fresh green grass between their molars, he suspected. Only one thing for it. Onward and upward. That was the story of the entire day. Higher and higher. Gaz’s mapmaking skills proved wholly accurate as they joined a well-marked trail up toward the Eagles’ Pass and trekked uphill the day long, steadily earning a fine view back over the Plains of Glass toward a city that still smoked, now but a smudge of grey smoke upon the horizon.

Fear the power of Dragons, little Humans!

And their wicked Dragon-Riding Queens, Azania put in swiftly.

Shall we play ‘beastlier than thou?’

A challenge I shall not fail to scale.

Pity those who e’er failed to judge the scale of your courage, Azania, he declared. Hmm, and on a side note, I wonder if Dragons invented the saying, ‘the scales of justice?’

A weighty thought, Dragon, she chuckled.

One way to pass the time, to make light of the leagues they journeyed, Thundersong realised. This had always been their way; a friendship of puns, absurd jokes and laughter and so much more.

Under a cloudless noon sky, they surmounted the sixteen-thousand-foot pass, hiking at a steady pace between two peaks to their left and four to the right, despite their tremendous altitude, entirely devoid of snow in this season. One needed moisture for that, Gaz noted soberly. Like the other Humans and the Unicorns, he struggled with altitude sickness. Even the Isles Dragonesses were not best pleased to be panting and rasping as if they were wholly unfit. Thundersong and Zurianne were the only ones not really struggling – indeed, for foremost among the struggles was Gazdonl’s gaze as the discussion moved to lung capacity and he took a long look at the Mermaid’s torso. Scientific study, naturally. Plus, she had the impudence to pull a shoulders-back, chest-out pose for him at that point.

Quite the strangest creatures, mammals. How was that desirable?

However, Thundersong had never quite seen a Human’s eyes imitate a snail’s stalks before. Guess it worked on the male of the species, cue endless teasing of the lad.

The air at this height was almost unbearably crisp. The Humans donned every scrap of clothing they possessed; robes, blankets and all. Their breath steamed on every exhale. The moisture was tangible now, exciting the nostrils and easing the throat. Human noses got so excited they leaked constantly, and a Dragon decided to watch where he trod. No slimy incidents needed.

The stony pass snaked through the mountains for a half-mile or so until, with one final tight wriggle, the vista unfolded before them and the Unicorns, gathering in their herd upon the final flat section before the descent, raised a series of ringing whinnies of gladness. Greenery. Greenness! Thundersong had never imagined that the sight of bands of foliage running like finger strokes in the valleys and ravines that cut down into the rocky, densely forested foothills below would excite such nostalgia and longing – even in a Dragon.

Yet, even as he drank in the sight, a faint cry carried to his hearing.

His body stiffened. “Was that a cry for help?”

“I didn’t hear anything?” Azania said.

“Maybe just a bird?” Blackguard growled, yet he cocked his head and listened anyways. “I also heard something, I thought.”

Warriors, enough gawping. To work! Aria ordered tersely.

The Isles Dragonesses spread out, quartering the terrain with professional thoroughness. Meantime, Zurianne also searched, together with Gazdonal and Firri, but for different reason. Water. She sensed the flow of water, she said, but even though longing caused her voice to crack, she controlled her reaction this time. After a few minutes passed with no report or alert from the Dragonesses, King Azerim ordered the party to advance, saying that finding water was their top priority.

The trail turned steep and mossy, but none too treacherous as the local light tan and grey rock turned out to be honeycombed with fine holes and tubules, meaning that the breaks and surfaces were rough enough to provide the Unicorns with good grip under hoof. Thundersong spread his wings on the chill breeze to drift a little away from the others, searching for traces of whatever he thought he had heard. Azania shivered upon his back.

Ride in my jaw? he offered.

A nice, warm cavern. Mmm, she chuckled.

You’d be the toastiest Queen ever – oh, here we go!

Roars and a thin cry from downslope alerted him. “Girls, battle-ready!” he called to those on his back. Azania was already loaded and ready in two seconds flat. The three Skartunese girls fumbled with their bows and, in the case of Ehlzishu, had a word or three to upbraid her cold-numbed fingers as he swung around an outcropping. Dragon roars and a couple of tings of metal split the stillness – all they had time for as he swept in … and was too late. Aria, Gnarly and seven Dragonesses had wiped out a small pocket of bandits who appeared to have been setting an ambush at the side of the lower trail.

Luckless fools.

No need to get your talons dirty, Azania quipped, releasing the tension on her bowstring.

Gnarr –

Is here something! Firri cried in high excitement.

Thundersong whirled upon a wingtip. A stone’s throw downslope, for a Human that was, Firri had her muzzle stuck in a narrow cleft of rock. His instant reaction was that she had been trapped or held there by some unseen creature, but then the particular hiss of her breath made him realise that she was inhaling in preparation to breathing fire. He heard water! Trickling water!

Stop! Zurianne cried, leaning forward upon Firri’s back. He’s dead.

Maybe dead? the Dragoness puzzled after a second. Why is it lying in water like that, foot flapping?

“Shall I go in?” Zurianne asked.

“That channel’s narrow. I fear you might get stuck inside,” Gazdonl said, at least attempting to be tactful about what exactly he thought might get stuck.

A twitch of his eyes betrayed him.

“Aye, you’re right. Look, there’s a proper pool down below,” the Mermaid pointed about a hundred and eighty feet downslope. “Maybe the chute ends up there? Odd how it’s carved back into the rock, follow my waters?” She grinned. “However you dry-landers say that.”

Landing above the Façade Dragoness on the steep, rocky slope, Thundersong put his eye to the crack and grunted in realisation. Aye, that was definitely a Human body; a male, judging by his physique. He lay slumped over a few rocks stuck inside a hidden cleft that was in no way large enough for him to escape from. The way the current tugged at his bare foot was probably what had fooled the Dragoness into thinking an attack might be imminent.

To his surprise, he heard a brief conversation develop upon his back to the effect that Serhishu had found a larger gap and would rappel down with a rope to see if the man was still alive. Perhaps he had washed down the narrow chute from above and become lodged there between two boulders that partially blocked the flow? A tight fit, even for a teenage girl, he judged. The man could not have fit by any great margin. Interestingly, he was the darkest Human Thundersong had seen yet, a good many shades darker even than Azania.

“Careful,” said Azania.

“Zukarakis! This water’s cold!” she gasped, easing her slender frame into her chosen opening. Hmm. The gap where the man had become stuck was barely wider than his knuckles, he judged, and a good thing they hadn’t managed to fatten Serhishu too much, as yet, or she would never have fit either.

“Hmm, I could try to break it open?” he offered.

Aria called from above, “We think the bandits robbed him and dropped him into the flow. We found extra clothing and weapons up here, sized bigger than any of those fools. We’ll have the Rangers sort through whatever can be recovered.”

“Careful down there, Serhishu,” Azania said again, playing out the rope inch by inch. Good to see that his spikes came in useful as an anchor for an intrepid climber.

In a couple of minutes, the girl appeared beside the jiggling foot. She leaned over to take a look. “Oh – oh gazhik!”

Various voices called to her.

“He’s … naked,” she giggled nervously. “Um … very … naked.”

“Mind what you grab!” Gazdonl hooted.

Zurianne smacked his arm. “You!”

“Just trying to help. Check his pulse, Serhishu, and close your eyes if you need to.”

The girl snorted, “I do have a brother. I’ll live.”

Gaz scowled, unimpressed.

Shy she might be, but Thundersong’s hearts quickened with warmth to her spirit. Strange how need could sometimes bring out the best in creatures. There the girl dangled in a freezing mountain streamlet, water sheeting over her head and shoulders, shivering like an unhappy rabbit’s nose, and she leaned over and felt the neck of a man who looked fairly much done for.

“A … aye!” she squealed. “It’s definitely – I think – aye. He’s alive.”

Inzashu, riding with Blackguard, as usual, with Gaz at her back – rather less usually – called, “Maybe I can reach him to provide a healing touch? Or Thundersong? Let’s rearrange ourselves, um, Azerim? Any ideas on that score? I suggest we try some healing while we figure out how to extract him out through a four-inch crack. Hmm. Tough one.”

“I could try to swim up from below?” the Mermaid offered.

Inzashu nodded. “Aye. Maybe go check if the route is viable. How’s about I deploy here – Gnarly, swap with Thundersong –”

“Aye.”

“Thank you – and Gaz –”

“I’ll help Queen Azania with the rope.”

“I’ll join Serhishu,” Azania said. “I’m the only other one who’s small enough –”

“Except for me,” Vhalzishu piped up. “I’m big, I am.”

The Queen smiled at her. “You certainly are. Want to come with me?”

“Umm, well, maybe not that big,” she said. “I’m maybe, maybe a little bit too small? And a bit scared. Not very scared. Just this much scared.” She showed the dimensions of her ‘scaredness’ with her fingers. “You do it and I’ll be your helper?”

“Alright. There’s a second rope in that saddlebag behind you,” Azania said, dryly enough that Thundersong knew she was trying to conceal her amusement at this cute interaction. “Can you pull that out, please, and help me to tie on?”

Azerim began, “Azania, my Isles blossom –”

She smiled at him. “Aye?”

“– don’t … do anything rash, alright?”

Resignation tinged his voice. The King knew his wife’s predilections all too well. Azania had never shied from danger in her life. Guess this Dragon had less of a paw to show for it. Would he change anything? He considered the unexpected thought gravely before allowing a gruff chuckle to vibrate deep in his chest. Not the slightest spark, no.

With that, they fell to work.

Chapter 23: The Seeker

THE TEAM CRAWLED UP and down that near-vertical slope, searching for a way to haul the man out. Twenty-three feet lower down was the first place Thundersong felt they might have a chance of breaking open a bigger gap. Zurianne, forcing her way up the flow from below, was the one who identified it first. One cheerful Mermaid! Wetter was better, obviously. He actually heard her whistle a tune in there, although adding some sort of vibration-humming effect with her gills did strike him as a trifle peculiar.

Without warning, the stranger gave a loud groan and a rattling cough, but barely twitched a muscle and slumped again. That wet dishrag look was wholly unbecoming in a Human. Inzashu touched his foot to help ease his pain. At the very least, he had a broken arm and several moderate injuries – moderate in the sense that he had not bled to death yet. The chill water might have helped, if hypothermia did not kill him, Thundersong mused. Inzashu suspected he had not been attacked too long ago and he concurred. Best guess? A day or two back, following which, the bandits had disposed of the injured man in a disturbingly creative way. Probably tarried to enjoy his suffering.

Shortly, Azania and Serhishu had rigged a rope harness about the man’s upper body and tied a cloth pad over his worst wound, a deep puncture wound in his back that had perhaps pierced the left kidney. That was probably what had done him in, although he also showed signs of heavy bruising on his torso and several tasteful, egg-like swellings on his head. Clubbed or smacked over the head with a few rocks. Most Human skulls did not appreciate such treatment. With borrowed tools, Zurianne worked to loosen one of the boulders, while Thundersong tried to hold it in place with one extended talon. Once that was able to move, the Mermaid squeezed aside and gave a hiss as it scraped her body before rattling away down the pipe, eventually splashing into the pool below.

Upslope, Gnarly anchored the women while they worked inside the narrow cleft. “By my wings, this is a tough assignment,” he jested, resting his chin on one paw.

Gaz patted his back, likely running a severe danger of losing that hand. “Shoulders of stone, my friend.” Redeemed himself there? “Belay that rope a touch more, Vhalzishu. Good. Take up the slack as Gazdonl taught you.”

“Talking about yourself there, slacker?” Blackguard grunted. He had been hammering at that wider crevice with various boulders for nearly twenty minutes.

“I’ll be hauling my fair share soon enough!”

“Aye, lad. You’ve been snoozing like Thundersong for long enough, we all agree,” the Crusher returned bluntly. “Youngling! We’re ready. Shake those white paws. Gaz, you ready?”

“Could do with hands on the – ancestors’ bones!”

Gaz grinned, as thirty Rangers all called, “Aye!” and “Here, sir!” His expression suggested that in a past life, he might have motivated soldiers in a rather different way. Fear of slow torture or beheading, to wit.

Meantime, Thundersong examined the damage Blackguard had done to the crack and decided to deploy something better than a boulder; namely, his right elbow. This was a Juggernaut-approved technique, plus, he planned to add a Thundersong touch. Careful he did not bring the mountain down on his best friend – flame that ego! Mwwaa-harrr-harrr!

Growling a warning, he flamed the rock with his whitest, hottest fires for a couple of minutes, before setting to with powerful blows of his elbow. Blam. Blam! BLAM! The damage Blackguard had already done allowed him to crack off a couple of good segments of rock and produced a yell of annoyance from the Mermaid as she was forced to hold on for dear life. Enough of a gap? He hoped so. That fellow had big feet for a man. The girls inside had shared a joke about men with big feet that he did not follow at all. Dragonesses did not care much for paws, not as far as he was aware. Muscular shoulders, broad wings and a humungous rump; everyone knew these were attractive attributes in the male of the species!

He gave his rump a waggle just to check it was blocking half of the view – oh, in other news, light-grey clouds drew in rapidly now, drawing a veil across the world beyond the mountains. Brr.

“Let’s start lowering him now,” Azerim directed. “Everyone ready?”

Upon confirmation, the Sankir ordered, “Heave, men!”

“Heave? I’d like to go down, please,” Azania’s voice echoed from inside the cleft. “Precious cargo here.”

Farizam snorted, “Lower them gently or the King will have my head, do you mean?”

“Works for me.”

“Alright there, Gnarly?” Azerim called.

He boasted, “Twenty men is no burden to a Crusher, but I’d swear that Sankir of yours had seconds for breakfast this morning.”

“Guilty as charged, actually,” the Sankir chuckled.

“I hear some men fatten up like their pregnant wives!” one of the Rangers ribbed him.

“I am not getting fat!”

“Known fact, Sankir, sir.”

“Don’t you have a rope to pull, Barazim?”

The wag grinned over his shoulder at his superior. “Mistook it for your leg, I did!”

With that level of co-ordination going on, plus the supplemental leg-pulling, the teams of Rangers upon Gnarly’s back soon lowered the three women and their prize to the level of the hole Thundersong and Blackguard had widened. First Zurianne appeared, then the big feet, the soles a much lighter brown than his colouration otherwise, then brown, blue and lighter brown hands that, together with the help of Gaz, Inzashu and Azerim standing upon Thundersong’s paw, folded the limp fellow into the right orientation to pass him through. The cost? One new scrape on the stranger’s shoulder. Several of the younger female Rangers giggled and Ehlzishu turned a noticeably deeper shade of tan, before they bundled the stranger into several ready cloaks.

Huh. Not the worst specimen, then.

Gaz said, “Huh. He’s the dead likeness of Xerocic the Seeker, I’d swear; just about thirty years younger. What do you think, Inzashu?”

“The clothes they recovered above suggest you’re right. He’s big!”

“Tiddler,” Thundersong grumbled.

“You couldn’t miss his black shirt,” she enthused. “I’ll bet he’s seven and three, if he’s an inch.”

“Guppy,” he growled sourly.

“Shiver my bones, he’s huge,” Serhishu whispered faintly in the background.

“He’s a minnow!”

“May I remind you of your great-grandsire’s dimensions?” Azania put in.

“No, you may not,” he replied sulkily. Under his breath, he added, “I’ve seen bigger Dragons crack the egg. No sense of perspective around here.”

With that, he airlifted the stranger down to a tent the Rangers had prepared beside the pool they had dubbed ‘Zurianne’s bathtub,’ and popped him inside next to a prepared fire. The interior was already pleasingly warm. Firri slipped inside to cuddle the man. Façade Dragons kept a high body temperature compared to other Dragons, they had learned, and she was the only one who could fit inside a Human-sized tent anyways. Inzashu, Chanize and Serhishu – hmm, there went his trouble sense again – ducked inside to see to the man and laced the tent flap shut behind them.

The Mermaid had a good giggle at his expression.

Thundersong dumped her in the pool. “As promised!”

Gazdonl scowled, “Treat my girl properly, Thunder – ooh, don’t you –” splash! “– yeee, that’s cold!”

Growl-chuckle! He grinned at the disgruntled Dragon Rider. “Time you had a bath. Don’t skimp on the soap, there’s a good fellow.”

“Mmm, I caught me a pretty fish,” Zurianne gurgled, snapping him up for dinner.

In a manner of speaking. Gazdonl would not be using his lips to complain with for a while anyways. In other news, the King was trying to encourage his Queen to go get warm and dry.

“Ooh, are you offering to towel me dry?” she cooed archly.

Azerim spluttered, “I – well, I –”

“What a lovely husband you are. Thundersong, could you help us, please?”

“At once, my Rider.”

With a mental picture to work from, he curled up around them to create a snug space, despite the King’s protestations and gales of laughter from the watching Rangers. Thundersong popped his wing over the top by way of a lid. Then, he snuck his nostrils under the edge of his wing and started to breathe heavily, the point being to warm them up. The Rangers thought this was beyond hilarious. What they didn’t know about all the towelling dry that was and, indeed, was not happening in that cosy nook, well – the less said, the better. Thundersong deliberately cut off communication with Azania and received a distracted thanks by way of reply.

See? What did big feet have to do with anything?

With nothing much better to do with the balance of the day, the Rangers pitched camp. Dragonesses peeled off in different directions to scout and hunt for meat or grass or moss, in a pinch. The professional soldiers fell to training, repairing armour and clothing and sharpening weapons. Gaz worked with the Unicorns. His corner waxed rather riotous in appreciation of his efforts to learn their language. Inzashu’s expression, when she emerged from the healers’ tent, suggested that any man who could imitate an equine so accurately had to have a few things loose inside his head.

Progress? Thundersong queried.

We’ve done well and he’s sleeping now. Cold exposure and that stab wound were the worst, she said. Now we’ll have to wait and see. Where’s my sister?

Sleeping beneath my wing.

Sleeping in the crook of her husband’s arm upon a long-forgotten towel, if one did want to fuss with accuracy. He was nothing if not a pernickety beast.

The hunting Dragonesses brought back twenty-one banded rock hyrax, two luckless mountain goats and fifteen varieties of moss for the Unicorns to sample. To everyone’s surprise, most vocally their own, they determined that absolutely none of it was edible. All of the varieties were poisonous, more or less. Mostly more. Several Rangers who had gathered moss for more comfortable bedding quietly disposed of the materials.

Sometime toward midnight, Thundersong’s ear canals prickled. He stirred at once, with the alertness of a born predator. Aha! The stranger had recovered consciousness, enough to ask for water and, in a slurred, deep voice, to begin to thank Serhishu, before he evidently slipped back into a deeper slumber.

Good signs.

Knowing that Azania had asked Firri to be ready to protect Serhishu, he allowed himself to drift off again. Ten minutes later, he gnashed his fangs silently. Nay. Something was amiss. He felt it somewhere between his fire spleen and his electro-concentrator organ. Following his instinct, he meditated until his Sea Dragon travelling magic extended around his body, then rippled across the campsite, covering all the tents right up to the sentries posted both sides of the campsite and above and below. Azerim, Aria and Farizam evidently shared his level of unease.

Odd. One eye open a crack, he dozed lightly, letting the threads of magic rest in the ambit of his senses. Inzashu had taught him how to link in psychic triggers based on different environmental conditions. One did not want to wake for every small gust of wind, nor for the scuttling of a mouse, but if any danger threatened his friends … after casting a lingering, mistrustful glare across the backs of the sleeping Unicorns, over the tents occupied by his friends and the dozing Isles warriors, he allowed rest to infuse his body and mind.

About an hour before dawn, the magic tingled.

Thundersong’s mind snapped into wakefulness. King and Queen? Check. Campsite? Check. Flock of birds … not birds!

He sprang to his paws so rapidly that it was if he had levitated by some unknown magic. White fire laced with lightning cracked across the campsite with a tremendous report, echoing off the nearby mountain slopes. A strobe flash lit every tent and sleeping Unicorn or Dragon as if it were high noon beneath a Taramis-ascendant sky. His fire cut a wide swathe through the incoming flock of lizard-like birds. Charred feathers rained down as the survivors peeled off from their initial attack, chittering furiously.

The flash also highlighted an unclothed King as he nearly leaped into his equally unclothed Queen’s arms in fright, yelling, “What the –”

Keeeraack!! Thundersong let loose a second time.

“Do you mind?” the King spluttered, scrabbling for the mislaid towel. Azania stooped for her bow and quiver. Priorities.

The aggressive birds scattered, only to make a beeline for anything warm and breathing. Blood feeders! Thundersong eyed them balefully, planning his next attack in a wink of time. Every Dragoness was on her paws now. Rangers boiled out of their tents.

“DOWN!!” he thundered.

Everyone ducked.

Shaping his white fire with his tongue, he swept it in a wide arc across the equines and Rangers, about eight or nine feet above the ground to avoid any bobbing heads. The brilliant white fire crackled malevolently as it gushed forth from his throat under such fine mental control, he even saw tendrils spear upward from the main flow to snag and drag the brilliantly coloured birds in to be incinerated. They ignited like live fowl tossed into a roaring bonfire. Quite the fetching round of crackles and hisses there, as the meat beneath was flash-grilled by the soaring temperatures he achieved. Snazzy.

Thundersong wriggled his neck, sending the flame snaking above every paralysed head – except for Azania’s. A pair of neat brown buttocks darted to his left paw and leaped onto the back of the nearest Unicorn with a wild war cry. Raising an arrow in her fist, she speared a bird which had somehow escaped the conflagration and landed in search of a ready meal. In fact, a few dozen flapped about at ground level, trying to sink their short, sharp fangs into any unwilling snack.

Azerim gaped as his nude wife dive-rolled over the Unicorn in pursuit of her next victim.

She was the most beautiful woman in the seventeen kingdoms. Her battle rage, if he had not known it before, was also a sight to behold.

Her attack galvanised the rest of the force. Horns bobbing, daggers flashing, claws rending, the companions slew the rest of the attackers before too much damage was done. Just a few bites and claw marks to show for what could have been an attack by a vicious mob five or six hundred strong.

“What were those?” Inzashu panted.

“Sanguidactyls, which the peasants call Bloodbats – quite inaccurately,” Gaz said. He had made it into one leg of his trousers. “They’re bloodsuckers, as you’ll have guessed – but I’ve never heard of them living at this height. Must be a hot spring or fumarole around here somewhere.”

“Our scouts didn’t find them,” Aria muttered darkly.

Her warriors hung their heads.

Blackguard punched Thundersong on the shoulder. “Didn’t want to leave any for us?”

“Sure, eat as many as you like, mwaa-harrr-HARRR!”

Trotting over to Azania, Azerim handed her the towel. “You’re naked, darling.”

“Oh, so I am.” She tucked it halfway around her torso before giggling, “Well, now you are, too. Mmm …”

“So I am,” he echoed. “Rangers! Throw me a cloak.”

“The biggest you can find,” Azania chirped. Thundersong could feel his blush from ten feet. She did like to keep her man on his toes. “After all, he is my King, resplendent in all his majesty!”

Azerim spluttered, “A – Azania!”

“Word of a lie?” she drawled, making a show of looking him up and down. Azerim’s eyes popped wide. “Oh, what exceedingly handsome kneecaps you have, my dear.”

He burst out laughing.

Aye, a man must know when he was beaten. Thoroughly trounced. Moving to her, he put his arms about his tiny wife and whispered into her ear, “What would I ever do without you? I love you beyond the oceans and back, you rascal. Do you know that?”

“I love you much, much more …”

“My lovely Queen, I do beg to differ,” said he, and moved to shut down any form of argument with kisses.

He might have earned a bite for his temerity, but everyone was distracted by the tent flap opening and the stranger stumbling out, calling, “Where’s the … the thunder? Uhhh …”

Serhishu, the nearest person to him, did try her best to catch him as his knees promptly folded.

Dead faint.

Fairly much flattened the girl. Alright, a big minnow. He’d allow that much.

Into the startled silence, Thundersong said, “Did someone call for thunder? I’m right here and I – AM – AAWESOOOMMEE!”

* * * *

Awesome provider of a massive instant pre-dawn barbecue. Even the Crushers’ stomachs groaned with the bounty. So awesome that he had started a small avalanche with that bellow. Such an awesome ode to pure awesomeness that his mate had sashayed over to him and, in a throaty growl, informed him just how awestruck she was by his immense exploits … ahem. That last part being pure fantasy. Instantly having extracted all semblance of intelligence from within his cranium in a wing flip’s worth of time, Aria prowled off with a satisfied purr and a hypnotic ruffle of her wings.

Females. How did they do it?

Back down to his four paws with a firm bump and a chuckle.

Around breakfast time proper, Thundersong saw the stranger’s eyelids flicker. The man woke much more as he would have expected of a warrior, with that still alertness which lasted as long as it took for him to discover a humungous white Dragon gazing intently at him from a distance of about five feet or so. With a sharp inhale, the eyes popped wide. He could not help his reaction.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Serhishu breathed, stirring in turn from her position sitting cross-legged, leaning against Thundersong’s muzzle. “Don’t sit up. You’ve a nasty belly wound.”

“I … do know you?” said he.

To Thundersong, the difference in their accents was immediately noticeable. His was lilting but burry, whilst hers was blunter, with clipped-off consonants and flatter vowels. His build was rangy with broad, square shoulders, a man used to hard physical labour and training, judging by his many scars and the calluses on his palms but, despite a rugged square jaw and broad brow in keeping with his giant stature among his race, his hazel green eyes – startling against so dark a complexion – divulged a youthful openness as he drank in Serhishu’s appearance. What did Humans call those eyes? Aye, puppy dog eyes.

Despite that he could not see through the girl’s head, Thundersong sensed her emotional response with his magic – a melting smudginess in the heart region, nervous stop-start of the pulse and a slight clearing of the throat.

The young man’s gaze, however, rose to the wall of Dragon scales behind her.

“A mythical Dragon?” he breathed.

Thundersong opened his jaw and heard himself growl, “Not so mythical as to fail to eat young upstarts who – ahem. My name is Thundersong. What’s yours?”

“Ah, the maker of thunder of a morn?” said he. “And who would you be, beauty? I recall your face, do I not?”

He offered a laconic smile in keeping with his unhurried mode of speech. The hand rubbing his bald pate, however, shook slightly. Thundersong took that to signify discomfit at the presence of a Dragon.

Wise fellow.

“She has no need to give her name before you offer yours, or have you forgotten your manners?” Gaz growled, striding up to them. Hunkering down, he hissed, “Why are you masquerading as Xerocic, imposter? Speak.”

The hazel eyes narrowed. “You too, I know.” Then, he startled openly as Inzashu came up behind Gaz. “Ancestors’ bones! Do I dream in the lands beyond time?”

Gaz folded his arms. “You do not.”

“You are Jabiz Stabberoo?”

“Aye.”

“And with you, the younger N’shula – I know not your name, lady Psyromantic Mage. And you …” his lips quirked upward as he gazed ardently at Serhishu.

“How dare you regard my sister with such disrespect, you dog!” Gaz spat.

“Says a slave-marked man?”

With a howl of anger, Gaz sprang forward – and ran straight into Thundersong’s paw. “Let me at him! Let me go!”

“Enough. Your name, man?” he snarled.

“I am Xerocic the Seeker –” he smiled urbanely as Gaz glowered at him over Thundersong’s paw “– but before you mislay the entirety of your remaining dignity, Jabiz, there are seven of us so named. Seven Xerocics.”

“Seven?” Gaz’s eyebrows could not have risen any higher without launching off his face.

“My grandfather, my father, my two older and two younger brothers and I,” said he. “Each of us is called Xerocic. It’s a … kind of a family thing. Tradition. Goes back through at least ten generations. We’re weird.”

“Ha!” said Gaz.

Thundersong removed his paw.

Xerocic said, “How is it that last time I met you, lady, you were a boy? It was you in the marketplace at Glass Bridge, was it not? I’m good with faces.”

Before she could speak, Gaz butted in, “So, you like boys?”

Utterly unperturbed, the dark man riposted, “You’re a pretty enough specimen for a murdering, backstabbing, foul Jabiz, but I regret to inform you that your sister is far prettier.”

Gaz nearly exploded with fury, only to run into the paw, round two. This time, Thundersong removed him to the side of his jaw and whispered, for him alone, “Relax. We’re family.” When the lad made to struggle, he added, “Your sisters’ honour is safe with us. Trust me.”

That stilled him. Dangerously still.

Meantime, Xerocic said, “I dreamed I lay with –”

“Me?” Firri purred, right beside his elbow.

The man jolted again. “Estri-zuk! Ah, forgive my uncouth speech. This is – stranger than any dream of the afterlife, truth be told. What a striking creature you are – uh …”

“Firri,” she purred happily. “Is sleep much good? Nice and warm?”

“Eeh …” His brain clearly made a few connections, to its increasing bemusement. “So, I dreamed … never mind that. These last weeks, I have followed a serimak-tuk-darm, which … I see you know it not?”

Inzashu explained, “It’s a kind of portent. Some Skartunese believe they indicate a future which must be pursued at all costs.”

“Thank you, Lady Mage.”

“I am not –” the girl muttered beneath her breath “– alright, Xerocic. I sense your heart. Let me make introductions –”

“It’s the real Xerocic?” Vhalzishu squealed, arriving at a run. “He’s real? I didn’t forget – you are him, right?”

He began gravely, “It was my honour to serve, lady – oof!”

The girl thumped into his shoulder as she overdid a huge hug. “Thank you, thank you, a zillion times thank you; you’re the bestest Xerocic ever and I love you to little pieces!”

This provoked a somewhat wild eyeroll both from him and from Gaz, who had transformed into a raging beast in defence of his sisters. Thundersong could guess why. It must gall him that in his four-year absence, his sisters had suffered abominably and people like this man had stepped in to save them. Besides, now all three of them, Ehlzishu included, clearly worshipped the ground Xerocic trod on and the giant youth, to his credit, acted almost laughably out of his depth. Hmm.

He gave Vhalzishu an awkward shoulder squeeze in return, saying, “It was the least I could do.” His eyes hopped about for a few seconds, before he said, “Dragons, a Jabiz, a Psyromantic Mage and Unicorns … does that lady have a tail? Ancestors’ bones be blasted … who are you? Can someone please explain before my brain explodes?”

“I’ll tell you everything!” Vhalzishu gabbled.

“Before that,” he said, making a droll face as she now tried to hug his neck off his shoulders, telling everyone at high speed how he had saved her before, “I must thank my able rescuer. Who was it? For I owe that person a debt that can never be repaid.”

“Serhishu!” her little sister squealed again, holding out an accusing finger. “It was her! She did rope you out of the river, with Queen Azania’s help.”

Serhishu studied her toes in embarrassment. “It was … lots of us, together.”

“Milady, thank –”

“Are you going to put a shirt on?” the youngster jabbered on. “Why do you have so many scars? What’s this one from? Ooh, is this all your bicep? Ooh, I can’t even fit both hands around it! Why are you all called Xerocic? Are your brothers as nice as you?”

“Do you have younger brothers? Any my age?” Ehlzishu demanded.

Gaz’s eyes lifted to beseech the heavens.

Thundersong suspected he had just learned how to pray.

Chapter 24: Home Sweet Fortress

SINCE XEROCIC WAS SO tall, when mounted up, he made the average Unicorn look like a pony. Faintly ridiculous. Even the Mysterious Mare had a naughty snicker of amusement for the way his long legs dangled down Hargusdönner’s flanks. Gnarly stepped in to offer his services. Surprise! The fire-red Crusher had not tolerated the suggestion of a Human Rider before.

He and the Seeker, who wore a loose-sleeved black shirt over black armour, black trousers and even blacker knee-high boots – his fashion sense clearly majoring on a single theme – made a striking pair. Despite his injuries, Xerocic sat stiffly upright upon the Dragon’s back, his long twin saz-kumai swords poking up behind his shoulders. Three times as heavy as regular swords and fashioned from a dark, bluish metal extracted from that same meteorite they had passed, by a secret process he strongly hinted included magical smithing elements, they reminded Thundersong of his own favourite meat cleavers. Broad and heavy, but two-edged rather than one.

Inzashu had splinted and strapped his broken arm and treated the worst of the contusions. Naturally, since he had trained as a warrior from the time he could toddle about dragging his first dagger, Xerocic claimed to be absolutely fine and ready to travel.

Very good. Hungry Unicorns to bring to pasture and all that.

Bracketed by a screen of Dragonesses with scouts out front, they made quick work of an easy trail down into the foothills where, at long last, on a damp squib of an early evening, they found lashings of blue-green riverine grass to entice and sate the hungry equines. Zurianne vanished into the deep, narrow flow while the four-footed ones gorged themselves silly and Xerocic sketched his tale.

He was but seventeen years of age and had been a travelling warrior since his tenth year, initially in the company of his father, but latterly had struck out on his own to seek his fortune. His family were members of an ancient order of Paladins – not unlike the Knight Orders of the northern kingdoms, he said, but theirs was dedicated to protecting the innocent, righting wrongs, and serving justice wherever it might be needed. They refused any form of payment, taking bounty only from the unrighteous.

No shortage of work around Skartun, Gazdonl quipped.

Xerocic had a grin for the joke. Was there any shortage of such work in the pale-faced man’s own kingdom, he inquired?

Indeed not, the other readily admitted.

After that, Azania facilitated a round of introductions. With no pause in the dedicated chomping of the Unicorns, who seemed bent upon trimming every blade of grass in the surrounding hundred square miles or thereabouts, they decided to pitch camp for the night.

Zurianne was the only member of their party who appeared pleased by the dank weather. “Too hot, too cold, too dry, too wet – what do you want?” she chirruped cheekily, spouting water out of her mouth. “Anyone up for freshwater lobster?”

At least half of the Rangers smacked their lips at once. “Aye!” “You’re the best, Zurianne!” “Oh aye, I’ll second that!”

The Skartunese looked on in bemusement as the eager Mermaid decimated a clearly healthy local lobster population, red-hot coals were neatly raked out, and the cooking process began. Thundersong supervised proceedings, rooting through their supplies to create three distinct spice blends to garnish the meat. With one accord, led by Xerocic with his aghast expression, the Skartunese all gathered upwind of the fishy cooking smells. Something about crustaceans not being fit for Human consumption.

But they loved offal, Gazdonl offered slyly?

Nothing better!

“Especially chargrilled,” Xerocic called. “I’d offer you – well, I don’t have any cooking implements handy, but my ancestral family home is about six days’ travel from here.”

“I’d rather eat from a fresh grave,” the Dragon Rider demurred.

“Is it on our way?” Serhishu asked timidly.

Despite how softly she spoke, the Seeker’s ears were evidently attuned and attentive to the particular timbre of her speech. Magically so, Thundersong wondered? He said, “Depends where your way leads? The fabled realm of Unicorns lies beyond what my people call the Endless Plains. Many great cities are clustered here in this fertile region close to the mountains, making for hazardous travel unless you know the lay of the land, but if you choose to travel via the secret forest trails, you may encounter less hardship and opposition – is that not so, Jabiz?”

“I am Gaz. Just Gaz,” said the other. “Those days lie beneath the ground like the honoured bones of my ancestors.”

“Ah, do they now?” The two young men’s gazes sparred like male forest bucks preparing to test their antlers on one another. “Good. My great-grandfather once claimed he had heard of Dragonkind inhabiting that realm, my friends.”

Thundersong translated for the Unicorns, who had not understood.

Dragons like you, friend storm-maker? Nickered the Mare. I recall no such lore or memory, but much has been lost since this way we trotted. Strange how this loss strikes the horn. Most strange indeed.

“Perhaps his diaries might unearth such bones?”

That keen for the family visit, was he? Thundersong glanced at Inzashu, who returned his mental query with a confirmation to him and Azania that the young man appeared to be true. Aye. He smelled the same. Was any creature quite as incorruptible as this one appeared to be?

We’ll corrupt him yet, have no fear, Azania said privately. She nudged Azerim with her toes.

He said, “Good. Xerocic, will you work with Gaz, Aria and me to map out the route? I want to know where we’re going, what dangers we’re likely to face, the strength of those towns and their patrols and what water and food sources there are. All the essentials.”

“Full route report, o … King?” He grinned as if amused by the unfamiliar honorific. “I’m glad to offer my knowledge.”

Gaz made a slight noise in his throat.

Thundersong prodded the Skartunese in the ribs with a knuckle. “Try some of the lobster, lad. The peppery lemongrass I added to the spice base is particularly delicious.”

“I just can’t get over a Dragon being such an outstanding cook,” he said.

“Plenty of tasty herbs to be found here in the foothills,” he purred back, “and my sense of smell is a hundred times more acute than yours. I’ll grant our Crusher friends aren’t exactly gourmands, but I’ve found even the least educated palette can be encouraged to try new things. Bite of lobster?”

He eyed the scrap on the tip of Thundersong’s fore-talon with a shiver. “I hear my ancestors screaming in their graves.”

Nonetheless, he essayed a bite.

Rather cautiously, Gaz allowed, “I … well, I’ve never tasted anything quite like it. Rather more delicate than I imagined.”

“Probably because this is a freshwater variety,” Thundersong said, watching as he swallowed. Good show. The lad did not love it. “Saltwater lobster has a far more distinctive taste.”

Ten minutes later, the lad was needling Xerocic for being too scared to try it.

“Against my culture,” the other said firmly. “Nothing that swims or lives in water. Or would you try frog?”

Even Azania shuddered at that.

“Delicious!” Thundersong put in jovially. “I make a wonderful frog-leg soup with –”

“La – la – lalala!” shouted his Rider.

Gazdonl said wickedly, “Mmm, we should have you Skartunese try my mother’s steamed mussels.” With that, he launched into a vivid description of the slippery, slimy joys of eating mussels that had several of his audience openly gagging.

Rascal. Thundersong decided that the lad had had definitely been learning his humour from the right source. A draconic one.

The following morning, Xerocic decided to restart his training routine, broken arm or none, and promptly tore his stitches and snapped the splints at the same time. Inzashu and Chanize yelling at him in tandem brought the camp awake, and very grumpily so.

Not long after, off they trotted.

Xerocic and Gaz led the group via quiet forest trails that skirted the sprawling Skatunese citadels and the farmsteads and smallholdings that surrounded them. Tucked in amongst rolling forested hills, usually on crags overlooking the valleys, the citadels were the only stone buildings to be seen in the land. They boasted strong, sixteen-foot walls topped with distinctive downward-pointing, sharpened metal barricades that made the fortresses look like the backs of porcupines standing on their hind legs. Some cities, in number of citizens up to several hundred thousand strong, were entirely surrounded by these barricades, which spoke to the warlike nature of the locals.

Even the farmers carried short swords at their belts and shields ready beside their picks and hoes.

Over the course of five days of steady journeying through the cool forest glades and valleys and across farmlands rich with produce, they ran into strong patrols and militias eleven times and once, an entire army about to make a secret raid upon a rival city. Each time, Xerocic the Seeker smoothed the path – but he did instruct the Dragons to stand around and grin at the Skartunese soldiers. Plenty of fangs.

Each encounter followed the same pattern. The patrol or militia would bristle, brandish their weapons, and start to yell threats. Xerocic would identify himself and state, in his soft, yet deep and resonant voice, that he required passage unmolested. He promised on the bones of his ancestors – busy days for those bones – that no claim would be laid upon land, property, or vassals. The Dragons stood about grinning like simpletons. Dark eyes measured those toothy smiles and shortly, the defenders or aggressors would find some pretext to move on and let the foreigners be about their business.

One time, they saw Xerocic in action.

The leader of a patrol of fifty men took umbrage at something the young giant said and tried, with a concealed dagger, to gut him like a fish. Quick as he was, the black-clad man was quicker. He seemed merely to twitch aside to let the blade slide by his hip. Then he drew and whirled through a tremendous horizontal strike before the soldier had a chance to recover. Despite that he wore full scale armour, the heavy sword blade cleft straight through his body so fast that for a ghastly second, the man remained standing upright before the two halves of him tumbled separately to the ground.

With a roar, the rest of the soldiers swarmed Xerocic as one man.

King Azerim did not need to command the attack. A volley of Ranger arrows crashed into the Skartunese soldiers before the Isles Dragonesses waded in with their nine-foot kaniaxi blades whirring. Xerocic slid through the fray like a fluid shadow which had unexpectedly taken some form of solidity and, even with but the one working hand, he carved a swathe through his enemies. A cunning flick of his cloak caused two attackers to clash inadvertently. He made them pay with death.

Plucking up a small boulder, Thundersong hurled it at a man who had the gumption to try to backstab Aria. With a loud clang, the side of his helmet caved in.

Oops.

Azania calmly placed an arrow into the back of one last fleeing soldier. “Better he doesn’t warn any of his friends.”

Cleaning his blade on a handy crimson tunic, Xerocic said, “Thanks for the helping hands and … paws. Fighting one-handed is inconvenient. You folks have sent a few enemies to join their ancestors in times past, aye?”

“A few,” Azerim said dryly.

“We care for our own,” Azania added.

Glancing at Gaz, Xerocic drawled, “Ownership is part of the deal?”

The other young man ground his teeth audibly.

“Oh, you’re wounded, Xerocic,” Serhishu said anxiously.

“A scratch. I’d have been harder pressed, save for your able help,” he noted, examining the four-inch slash on his leg with an expression of disgust. “You pinned this man in the foot and hit that innocent tree over there.” As the girl coloured, he said, “Simply, that bow is too heavy a draw for one of your stature and musculature. If you’d allow it, this type of wood lends itself to being lightly pared down. I’ll adjust the weapon accordingly – and yours too, Ehlzishu and Vhalzishu. You struck that man in the arm as he tried to draw his weapon. Excellent skill.”

“Um …”

“Vhalzishu, we all start at the beginning. That you even reacted so quickly in battle is commendable.”

She begged, “Will you teach me? Pleeeeeease?”

His black eyebrows arched. “Honest answer? I would, save that Queen Azania is a far more skilled archer than I will ever be. I’ll fix your weapon. You listen to her teaching.”

Wears his honour upon his sleeve, our Paladin, Azania observed.

He did not even bat an eyelid at Chanize’s state.

Intriguing, isn’t he?

Seven-four, and he isn’t even the tallest brother. What do they feed the youngsters around here?

A great deal of root vegetables, apparently, he chuckled. Azerim sure made that local farmers’ co-operative happy by buying up bushels of their carrots – and that offer for the Unicorns to stay to fertilise their fields? They could live like kings here, if it weren’t for the local warlords …

Aye, you’re right. What is it about our kind, that all we can do is dominate and subjugate and cause endless misery?

Blergh! Dragons being so superior in that regard?

True, true. What did you make of his assertion that there might be Dragonkind down south in Unicorn land?

Intriguing. I’m … cautiously hopeful.

Huh, so am I.

Their shared minds explored the sensation for a moment. Azania had her feminine intuition; he had a Dragon sense somehow similar in nature. With a mental hand-paw shake, both moved on to the business of the day.

Late that fifth afternoon out of the mountains, the trail abruptly turned tricky and rocky, scaling and descending three challenging ravines in a row. The fourth would have been impassable, save that Xerocic showed them to a hanging wooden bridge accessed via a cunning cleft, and well-hidden amidst thick foliage both upstream and downstream. The Unicorns trotted gaily over a hundred-and-fifty-foot drop. The Dragons flicked their wings and hopped over without a care. The weather had turned warmer now. Beneath the leafy evergreens, standing up to forty feet tall in this area, the air was humid and full of biting insects that simply loved the taste of Rangers. Everyone from the Archipelago or the coastal regions suffered, while the desert-born and Skartunese – well, had the odd chuckle at their companions’ misfortune.

“Highly discriminating mosquitoes!” Farizam growled. Slap.

Gazdonl groaned, “They love me and Zurianne best.”

“Tasty,” Firri purred, flicking out her tongue.

“Jolly discriminatory bugs,” Azania said. “Bite the white and avoid the black? That’s way beyond prejudice. It’s pure racism.”

Her husband muttered, “Since when was I ever tastier than you? Come over here, wife, and distract these bugs – ouch! Buzz off, you racist pests.” Smack. He eyed the smear on his hand. “Wish I could do that to all the racists in this world!”

The Queen arched an eyebrow at his vehemence.

“Huh,” he snorted. “What did that theorist call it? Being an ally, aye. I’ll show you an ally, gorgeous wife.” Slap! Slap! “Cursed bigots! Die! Now that’s how I ally …

“Thundersong?”

Stiffening his left wing, he allowed Azania to run along the surface before, in a practised manoeuvre, he flicked upward to assist her launch into a tidy piked somersault. She landed lightly behind her husband upon Aria’s back.

Xerocic’s eyes widened as he followed her flight.

“Well, hello there, handsome.” She smooched his neck, causing all the Skartunese to avert their eyes. “I had no idea you felt so strongly about all this.”

“Well! Just getting a few things off my chest,” he muttered darkly. “It curdles my gut – mostly from a second-hand perspective, admittedly – and I’m sorry you’ve had to bear the brunt during our relationship, Azania.”

“I’m a big girl.”

“Concentrated charisma,” he teased.

Cuddling into his lap, she made herself at home and they had a private chat.

Big, small, medium – why did people and Dragons value physical size so highly? Thundersong pondered his pride in his own stature and brawn. Was that wrong? To his mind, from the first instant he had discovered her, Azania had carried herself as large as any Dragon. He could recount proof after proof. Just another prejudice, he supposed; a precondition to the way creatures grouped and organised themselves in social structures and hierarchies and exerted power over those groups seen as lesser.

Aria and Gnarly flew ahead with Xerocic to alert lookouts that he said were posted on the ridgeline ahead. Interesting rock formations. Tall, spear-like turrets of blue-grey rock towered out of the clinging, dark-green forest vegetation. They travelled into a maze of criss-crossing ravines and rock isthmuses, cut here and there by frisky streams and leaping waterfalls. The abundant local birdlife, small coral-blue, lime-green and white finches in the main, chirruped raucously until they caught wind of the Dragons, fell silent for a few minutes and then had the cheek to give the large predators a thorough scolding afterward.

Above a waterfall plunge pool, where they stopped briefly to check the trail ahead, hung hundreds of weavers’ nests. The cheerful yellow males built industriously while the green females inspected their work. Rather marvellous what could be achieved with a beak and two feet, Thundersong thought judiciously, but woe betide the woven nest that did not stand up to scrutiny! The luckless male then had to look on while hours of work were destroyed in minutes by the irate female and dropped into the pool below.

After taking a refreshing dip, the Mermaid declared that she found the whole kerfuffle hilarious. “Gazdonl, when are you building me a house?”

“We shall agree on every detail beforehand,” he said stoutly. Smack! “I’m getting eaten alive.”

“Come give me a kiss.”

He leaned over willingly … and in he went with a loud splash.

Interesting how Mermaids acted much more predatory than Humans of the two-legged kind. They must be related, surely? Cousins, perhaps. Like he and Aria were one species but vastly different in body shape and wing configuration. What might they have for hatchlings – frilly males and hulking females? What if they came out with some strange combination of wings that simply didn’t work? Was that even possible?

Xerocic’s return distracted him.

“We’ve agreed to spring a surprise on my family,” he called over from Gnarly’s back. “I’ll see you up to the bridge. I know it might sound a little silly, but I’d love you Dragons to stay under cover until we reach the cross bridges. There are three that lead up to my home. We’ll then fly up and surprise everyone while the Unicorns come in on foot.”

“Hoof,” Gaz corrected.

Azania said, “Thundersong will call out a greeting.”

“Perfect,” Xerocic grinned. Clearly, he was a flagon-of-ale-half-full kind of fellow. “I can’t wait to be home.”

“Mama’s boy?” Gaz needled.

“Unashamedly,” came the retort. “Do you even know who yours was?”

Judging by the leap of muscles tensing in Gaz’s jaw, that answer would be a negative. Inzashu sighed; Xerocic made an abortive hand gesture as if trying to apologise for something that had come out harsher than he intended.

Blackguard growled, “That was unnecessary, lad. Mine was an unwanted egg – and the egg maketh not the Dragon, do you hear me?”

“I apologised,” said the other.

Lots of stiff necks, backed by stiffer pride, bobbed beneath the trees for another hour or so. The terrain remained remarkably complex. Thundersong wondered at the extremely odd senses emanating from Xerocic’s emotional state but could not place his talon upon them. The youngster was excited to be returning home, but much, much more bubbled beneath the surface. He quietly spread a word of warning among the Dragons. Not danger. Just something unexpected that irritated all the scales down his spine, not unlike Zurianne who had brushed up against something in that last pool and now nursed a bright, fiery rash on her upper left arm. If there were scouts about, Thundersong did not see any, but he sensed the presence of unseen eyes.

At last, after everyone else squeezed between two massive columns and Thundersong had to take his humungous rump another way around, they came to an unexpected cliff edge and gazed over the prettiest of valleys, a lush pastureland half a mile below their lookout which was embraced on all sides by sheer vertical cliffs adorned with a lacework of rivulets and waterfalls. He saw no other way in, save this one. Ha, a secret valley! Many, many homesteads dotted the faraway green, some with tiny threads of white smoke rising lazily out of stone chimneys set upon sloping rush rooftops.

His eyes lifted as the others gasped. Ahead, against a fiery backdrop of brick-red Ignis setting half of the horizon aflame, three isolated towers of stone jutted out into the valley as if they had once been part of a single headland. Each was connected by a wooden bridge that dangled over a vertiginous drop. On the last and largest stood a mighty fortress; not a horizontal space, as one might have expected, but rather, a vertical mountain fastness carved and tunnelled into the rock, perhaps over the course of centuries, and fortified with the signature, bristling metal-forged battlements to an astonishing degree.

Even a Dragon army would think twice before attacking this place.

Bowing from Gnarly’s back, Xerocic said with a sweep of his hand, “Home sweet fortress. Welcome to Pahanik-tal-Uzgaram, Bastion of the Order of Paladins.”

Chapter 25: The Way of a Jabiz

TURNING TO XEROCIC, GAZ said, “My friend, you keep your secrets well.”

“We are known to be obsessive about security,” said the other.

“Which is why you’re letting twenty-odd foreign Dragons, plus a former Jabiz, sniff about your home? What exactly are you up to, man?”

“I’ve a proposal to make from which I believe we’ll all benefit.”

“I don’t like this,” Gaz insisted.

“Didn’t think you would, but don’t worry, Blackguard will save your blushes, I’m sure. I’ve not even asked for your oath of secrecy. I trust you.”

Much more of that and the ex-Jabiz would pop like a cork fizzing from a wineskin. “I can keep a secret!”

“Good, that makes two of us. Let’s fly.”

Thundersong glared at the pair. What was it with their continual squabbling? Hatchlings behaved with more maturity. Personality clash? Something to do with Gaz’s past as a Jabiz? No idea. Only one thing for it. He’d put the fear of Dragons into every last inhabitant of that fortress before they set down inside and no, they would not be sending all of the Dragonesses in – even as this thought burned across his cantankerous brain, Aria issued orders to that effect.

He gave her a wing-slap. You’re magic.

What did I do to deserve that?

Mmm … he studied her sleek form with open relish, you cracked the eggshell?

Her fires surged. Thundersong!

Glorious evening. The rugged ridgelines beyond this secret valley stood etched upon a canvas of vibrant crimson fires. Ignis loomed so huge that he could identify individual flames around its corona at the greatest magnification of his spectacles. How immense would those fires be, that a Dragon might observe them from a distance of millions of leagues with his fiery eye?

I’d love to see you paint this, Azania’s mind agreed. Taking off, Dragon?

Aye. Better catch up and be ahead when I sing out greeting. Stretching his wings, he leaped off the cliff’s edge and immediately felt a thermal buoying him up.

Ready for the part you love best?

He cleared his throat a couple of times and hummed a few notes. I believe I am in good voice.

His Rider popped in her earplugs. Shake their bones, Dragon!

Accelerating to overtake the flight of Dragons as they soared up toward the open ramparts of the Bastion, Thundersong gathered his magic and his concentration. Ordered a local thunderstorm, did you, o Queen? She yelled a sharp warning to the others as the magical potentials swelled within his chest and belly. Sat upon a living thunderbolt recently?

She hissed, This is going to be good …

Raising his muzzle as they reached about three hundred feet out, he unleashed a shattering sonic roar, III – AAAAMMM – DRRRAAAGGOONN!!

The fortress trembled.

Xerocic uttered an involuntary curse.

Somewhere inside the fortress, glass shattered. A great deal of glass.

Up on his back, behind Azania, Vhalzishu squeaked, “I love Thundersong. He’s so awesome!”

What was not to love about that mite? Glancing back over his shoulder, he gave her a broad wink. “Another one, Dragon Rider Vhalzishu?”

“Aye! Um … no? I think they’re as scared as mice now, Thundersong. I know I would be, too, but I’m over here and they’re over there, so … how are you so loud? That was amazing!”

“He loves to put on a good show,” Azania said drily.

“The sound production is founded in sonic Sea Dragon magic,” Thundersong explained.

“Ooh, I want to see the ocean,” the girl sighed. “Zurianne says it’s the most magical place in all Solixambria. Is it really big?”

“Water so deep you could never swim to the bottom, and so wide it stretches far, far past the horizon,” he said, pointing ahead. “Imagine everything out there is just water. Ignis would turn it all orange and vermilion and gold, and then, picture this: a pod of ten thousand white Sea Dragons leaping out of the spume and spray like you’ve seen Zurianne jump out of the river, and they would roar like you just heard me roar: WELCOME, VHALZISHU!!”

The girl quivered palpably.

Falling into formation behind Gnarly as he sped over the battlements and descended into the central courtyard beyond to make his landing – the better for any defenders to identify Xerocic first – he checked over his shoulder again. “Alright there, Vhalzishu?”

She touched her heart. “When you did say that, Thundersong, I got the funniest wobble in my heart … right here. Deep inside. What does that mean?”

“I … I don’t rightly know,” he murmured, so utterly taken aback he had to tilt his wings at the last second, or he would have slammed into the uppermost spikes with his knees.

“That’s serimak-tuk-darm,” Serhishu said softly. “It’s a quiver of destiny.”

One part of him reeled in the sure knowledge that the girl was right. What an insight! Another part of him evaluated their landing and reception at the speed of Dragon reactions. Nay, he had never been the most natural warrior, but he was a Dragon born and a talon sharpened in the crucible of many battles. As he landed beside Gnarly, and Aria less than a second behind him, his eye ranged across the numbers of Humans Xerocic had aimed to shock and most certainly had. Two other men, garbed as him. Alike as peas in a pod. Dozens of others who had been intent upon other tasks, but were just now laying hands upon weapons and ducking behind any available cover.

Blackguard landed beside Gnarly with a deliberate thump of his paws. A dozen other Isles Dragonesses flitted to the ground around him. The fortress was neat inside, with hundred-foot natural stone walls surrounding a paved courtyard area which housed a fountain, a firepit, training facilities for warriors and several wooden storage sheds. At least a dozen Human-sized stone archways led deeper into the fortress.

Leaping to his feet upon Gnarly’s back with easy grace, Xerocic yelled, “Greetings, beloved family! I’ve brought some visitors home for a feast!”

If he expected cheers and a warm reception, this would be a failure. The older copy of him had an arrow nocked and pointed at his son’s heart in a fraction of a second. Other voices cried for defenders, to bar the doors, to prepare for fire.

“Father Xerocic!” the younger cried, throwing his good arm wide.

“Fool! You brought a N’shula to our doorstep?”

“She’s safe, I swear.”

“And that – it cannot be –”

“He is Jabiz Stabberoo no longer, father. He’s reformed.”

Xerocic had the effrontery to flick a glance toward Gaz and mouth, ‘I hope?’ Gaz’s jaw creaked audibly. His nod looked like a dry branch cracking off a tree.

Shadows crowded the older man’s deep, forest-green eyes as he stared at his son in utter disbelief. The likeness was uncanny. The older Xerocic knew the Jabiz, Thundersong remembered – or, at the very least, they had met in less salubrious circumstances. Put himself in that man’s shoes – harrr-harrggh! As if that were ever possible. His madman of a son had just brought a clutch of the most dangerous people and creatures in all Skurtun home to hearth, and he expected everyone to be pleased about this?

Then, with great thump of boot upon wood, a woman ducked through the stone doorway behind Father Xerocic and straightened up. Like most here in the fortress, her skin tone was a striking, deep ebony, but this woman was a true giantess. She towered head and shoulders over her husband, who himself stood a handy few inches over seven feet tall. Broad in the shoulder and powerful in the thews of her body, her handsome face drew up in a scowl as she glared not just daggers, but an entire arsenal of weaponry, across the courtyard at Xerocic.

“What is this, son?”

“Mother!” he cried jovially.

Clearly, someone had not attended the same briefing as everyone else. He had a village idiot’s smile pasted upon his face while the tension ratcheted up by the second.

Now that’s a woman! Azania said feelingly in his mind.

Aye, and we joked about Xerocic’s seven-four to your four-seven … what should I do?

Wait, see how this goes …

Still perching on Gnarly’s back, the younger Xerocic called, “Where’s Aunt Sanyzel?”

Thundersong perceived it. The instant’s recognition. The ‘so that’s what this is all about’ flicker in the father’s eyes; in his wife’s too. His scales prickled. Whatever was going on here? What was it about these people that felt so oddly familiar? While Inzashu held her hands up and declared that, upon her ancestors’ bones, she would touch no-one in the place and came in peace, he observed a sigh – or perhaps a curse – escape the mother’s lips. Nothing for it, that expression said. Resignation, perhaps?

Turning, she bellowed into that doorway, “Sanyzel? Sanyzel! Come on up!”

“Right behind you, sister,” a far milder voice returned. “Did I hear –”

The giantess hissed, “It’s him.”

In a moment, a large, dark woman in a wheelchair rolled out into the courtyard. She was not as oversized as her sister, but still made Azania look like a child, despite her seated position. Thundersong’s gaze flicked briefly to her legs, both severed at the knee, before jumping to her face with a frisson of true, bone-deep amazement.

It took the woman a long, long moment to recover from the shock of seeing Dragons, to finding the person she sought upon Blackguard’s back.

She gasped, “Ulgazil? Is it truly you?”

“Who – what the –” he spluttered something unintelligible in Skartunese dialect.

“I know!” Xerocic the younger crowed. “Welcome home, cousin!”

“Son …”

“Mother?” Gaz wheezed. “Mother …”

* * * *

Thundersong gazed about in molten delight, filled with memories of his own homecoming, of that unforgettable moment when his pod broached the surface of the Lumis Ocean many leagues beyond the Vaylarn Archipelago and a mighty cry boomed upon his ear canals: <My wave is Sirensong!>

This was another family. Vastly different, but unmistakably family.

Consider the way that the giantess had seized her son in a stranglehold, the better to explain a few truths about how one brought guests home. His eyes bulged beside her massive biceps as she hammered at her point. Gaz wept upon his mother’s bosom, as the Human poets would say, her hands stroking his hair. Inzashu busied herself introducing Gaz’s three younger siblings to the remaining brothers and their father. Within the family, they called themselves X-Dad, X-Gramps and X-One through X-Five. X-Gramps was not at home.

Eventually, X-Three was freed just about in possession of his neck and the giantess, one Arimyel by name, descended upon the startled siblings and proceeded to hug the breath out of them, roaring, “Family of Sanyzel’s is family of ours!”

Inzashu was next in line. “Welcome, darling!” Arimyel roared, pounding her back so hard there was distinct danger of teeth being lost. “Welcome to the Bastion!”

“Eeeh,” the girl wheezed.

Releasing Inzashu, her eyes lit upon Azania, as she approached the others. “Oh, another sister?” she boomed. “What’s your name, sugarstick? Aren’t you just too cute?”

Azania managed to cough, “Eh?” before she was engulfed into a monstrous but, thankfully, gentle hug and had her hair ruffled. Not every day that happened to the Queen. Azerim had to bite his own fist as he tried not to howl with laughter. Vhalzishu’s eyes sparkled with merriment. Had she only just realised that she was not the smallest of their company? Well, not counting the twins.

It was only a while later, with friends, family or servants – no-one could quite tell who did what around the chaotic halls of the Bastion – setting up trestle tables and stoking a bonfire in preparation for an impromptu feast, that Azania’s real age became apparent to Arimyel, as King Azerim introduced himself and his wife.

The giantess’ laughter boomed out over the jovial company. “Ah! Ah-ha-HAHAHA! Taken for a proper ride, I was!”

Judging his moment, Thundersong reached in and, grabbing her with one paw, ruffled her hair with the other. “What’s your name, sugarstick?” he gurgled, unable to withhold his laughter. “Aren’t you just too cute?”

The family’s merriment reverberated around the courtyard.

Ah, the best of times.

With much food stashed in bellies and honey wine, mead and berry juices quaffed in generous quantities, the younger set were put to bed, and a more contemplative group gathered around the coals of the cooking fire. Thundersong and the Crushers lay down in the background, making a sizeable courtyard feel considerably smaller to the Humans, Azania told him. Then came Aria, Firri and the Dragonesses, scattered between and behind the Humans, who perched in loose groups upon huge, animal-skin covered couches. Enormous size ran in Xerocic’s family, as did generosity of spirit.

A Dragon’s heart gladdened to the sight of Chanize and Sanyzel sharing a light-hearted moment. Chanize had opted to leave her lightweight wheelchair behind at the oasis, saying that flying with Dragons was good enough for her. Grin. As was the use of a large white paw for her seat.

Serhishu somehow found her way to the Xerocic family couch and sat a decorous couple of inches apart from X-Three’s knee. Gaz was in far too ebullient a mood to glower at her, but he had caught Thundersong’s gaze across the fire and offered a slight tilt of his head. Not oblivious to the subtext. Thundersong put his free forepaw over the back of that couch and rested his talon lightly upon Xerocic’s shoulder for a moment.

A hint that could not be ignored – and was not, judging by a guilty start. His mother and father looked on from their shared couch with … interest. Aye. Thundersong realised that, in this place, honour would be preserved in another way, and that began with the family relating how X-Gramps had vanished in the far south the previous year, ostensibly in search of Dragons. Obsessed with them or, in their slang, an ‘extreme nutter.’

Thundersong pictured an overzealous seven-foot Gemwoods Giant Squirrel mowing through enemies with two meat cleavers in hand and a manic smile pasted on its face. Probably not too far from the truth.

Ehlzishu had already managed to catch the eye of the younger X-Four to make him blush. Twice. She returned now from putting Vhalzishu to sleep, catching the start of an explanation of the Order of Paladins. This valley was all a single tribe of Skartunese, but the Paladins did not lead everything as Thundersong had expected. Instead, they served and reported to a group of elected elders, locally called the Ghazurkil – something like a council of eleven, Inzashu translated softly. They had been meeting with the intent of sending out a search party for Grandfather Xerocic.

Azerim said, “You’d be most welcome to join us. Our quest is to return the Unicorns to their homeland. They were captured and brought across the Obsidian Desert by many Jabiz under the leadership of Inzashu-N’shula’s mother – now, Inzashu is my Azania’s sister, as you may observe from the family resemblance, and she is also a Princess of T’nagru, as was Azania when I met her. They are both daughters of the now-deceased King N’chala N’chala of Ni’ginta Citadel.”

“Aye, that explains a few things,” Father Xerocic said, nodding gravely. He held a long pipe in his left hand, tapping the three-foot length against his boot. He had filled it with sume, apparently a healthy and non-narcotic variant of the tobacco plant. Intriguing. “We tangled a few times with the Psyromantic Mage in the past – actually, Inzashu, I first met you when you were a babe. Your mother tried to recruit us.”

Inza’s eyebrows twitched.

“Forcibly, indeed,” said he, his lips thinning into a pale line. “One vector of our training majors upon the mental disciplines. You will not find us easy victims of your type of mind –” he glanced aside as Arimyel’s huge hand covered his knee “– sorry. Our family’s history with her has not been easy. We believe, but cannot prove, that she had my two brothers murdered.”

“I am sorry. My mother’s ambitions and power left a swathe of ruin behind her wherever she went,” Inzashu said softly. “I have evaluated your mental protections, as has Thundersong.”

He rumbled, “Aye. We agreed that your defences are strong, but imperfect, I am afraid. Either of us could penetrate your minds within seconds.”

“You can?”

The girl held up her hand. “I will not touch you without invitation.”

His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. “Show me.”

Arimyel growled, “That is not her way, husband. The girl would rather teach you, correct? Besides, such an assault might be damaging.”

“Indeed.” Inzashu-N’shula nodded soberly. “Perhaps a topic for the morrow?”

Father Xerocic said, “You ask much of our trust. I cannot allow you to tarry here in my home.”

She replied, “If either of us willed it, you would already be lost.”

By his wings, this was a side of Inzashu one did not often see. Darkly beautiful, her eyes flashed in the firelight as she stated the truth. Uncomfortable, uncompromising truth. In a flash, he remembered the dominant hubris of the mother – Inzashu did not display that extreme of personality or mental illness, but she was strong. An intelligent, powerful Mage in her own right. It would take an extraordinary creature to call itself her equal.

Gaz squirmed as if he had sat upon a cactus. Aye, lad. Those who dared a Dragon’s fire …

Into the silence, she said ever so coolly, “I know what I am capable of, and that is neither an idle boast nor any kind of threat. I am not my mother. Indeed, I slew Nahritu-N’shula with my own hand to end her reign of terror – and without Thundersong and Azania’s help, I would not be here today to even speak of it. I have set my heart upon becoming a healer, as if, somehow, that would ever make up for our legacy …”

Sanyzel said, “That’s a beautiful, redemptive thought, Inzashu. It dovetails perfectly with our Paladin philosophy.”

“Gaz and I – we –” she stumbled over her words “– we share many regrets, ma’am. I knew him as the son of a ruthless Jabiz and he knew me as the manipulative daughter of the Psyromantic Mage.”

The other woman nodded. “You should become a Paladin, Inzashu.”

“A female Paladin?” Father Xerocic grunted. “My ancestors –”

“– should be honoured!” Arimyel cut in. “We’ve discussed this enough times!”

“We did, o treasure of my bone and blood, but Gramps Xerocic remains adamantly against. Otherwise, I should have you become the first. You are the greatest warrior of us all.”

“The biggest. Others are better.”

“We all play our part. Now, Inzashu, you had another question?”

Her head bobbed. “Gaz said … he said he never knew you, Sanyzel. I am well aware of how paternity works in the upper echelons of Skartunese society – for the benefit of our northern friends, my mother held knowledge of my father from me for many years as a kind of rebellion against the dominant culture, which is that the mother simply does not matter. She is merely a womb and almost never recognised. So, Gaz’s father essentially went around siring as many sons as he could. Daughters do not count. Only sons.”

“Some children are acknowledged publicly, others tacitly, or not at all,” Gaz clarified. “It makes for bloodier succession wars that way, the idea being that only the most ruthless will rise to the top. Those who deserve to rule. That was my father’s sole desire. He had maybe as many as seventy sons. I would have no way of knowing.”

Azania bit her lip. “Aye?”

“It’s likely that I was taken from my birth mother immediately after the delivery – but that’s your part to tell, ma … uh, mother,” he faltered. “I … I am sorry I never knew you. Nor wanted to for most of my years. It was only recently when my fortunes changed that I began to consider what truly mattered in life. I’ve dreamed of finding you, many times. I just never imagined … this. Now … now I never want to lose you again.”

“Me neither, son. Mine is not a pretty tale. I will tell you more in private, if you wish, but let me say this here: Jabiz Daggeroo was a vicious and perverse man. In particular, he liked to use women … cruelly. I was one of his soldiers at the time; just a youngster. I knew his reputation. When he singled me out for his special attention, others of my cohort encouraged me – but what he did to me, I will not speak of here. I am scarred to this day. After two months in his custody, during which he visited every day, I could stand it no longer. I seized my chance and ran away.”

“It took seventeen weeks for him to have me tracked down and brought back in chains. By then, I was obviously pregnant. Valuing only the baby, he said he would make sure I never ran away again. This was my punishment.” She indicated her legs. “It was done very slowly.”

Aghast, Gaz whispered, “I am so sorry.”

“That’s alright, son. They kept me day and night under armed guard in a room in his fortress. Once I was delivered of a healthy baby boy, the Jabiz named him – you – Ulgazil, in honour of his paternal grandfather, and I was cast off. Rather than be killed as a mercy, I was cast onto the streets as a beggar, forced to rely on the mercy of people who saw a legless woman as cursed, who all knew my history because the Jabiz had spread word of my treachery –”

“You should have sent for help,” Arimyel growled.

“And put you all in danger? Our family’s relationship with the Jabiz was already compromised by my actions.”

“What did you do?” Gaz asked.

“I found scraps of leather. Stuff thrown into rubbish heaps and middens. I sewed pads for my hands and knees, and I crawled out of that city and … and I kept going and going …” For the first time, she wiped her eye. “I … I’m sorry, I haven’t told my story in many a year.”

Going to her sister, Arimyel drew her into a great embrace. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she said, “My sister crawled one hundred and eighty leagues to find her way home, is what she did. One hundred and eighty leagues through badlands and bandit territories, fording rivers and crossing mountains … and you call me strong? You call me strong? I will tell you who is the stronger sister – come here, lad.” She pulled Gaz into her arms, too. “This is your mother, who is the strongest woman I know. That is who she is. And if you ask who is the heart of this Bastion? Who is mother to us all? It is Sanyzel.”

Chapter 26: Pigs will Fly

FOR GAZ’S SAKE, IN the main, but partly to give the companions a chance to rest and recuperate, they decided to take a few days to get to know the Dusatz tribe rather than continue the long trot home immediately. Inzashu worked with the Xerocic team, plus their cousin Gaz, on mental defence and warfare. Five minutes of delicate interplay with her had the towering men all sweating and mopping their brows with red-and-white checked handkerchiefs. X-Dad admitted that perhaps their confidence in their methods had been a trifle misplaced. Azania and five Rangers dived into the records room in search of knowledge. Aria and her warriors wanted to learn all about the Paladins’ smithery methods, whereupon a secret access door lower down the column was opened to give the Dragons access to the inner forges.

All this activity left Thundersong at somewhat of a loose end.

Finding Firri practising being water in the fountain, where Zurianne was telling stories of the ocean to an agog group of children and younger teenagers, he asked, Want to take a flight?

It’s comfy here and Firri likes stories. Children are fun. Firri misses her beach, but there were not enough boy Dragons to play with there. Do you think we’ll find more boy Dragons? I mean, males. Ones who like me?

He sometimes forgot how young she was. Façade Dragonesses somehow seemed to mature more slowly than his kind. It was only lately that her thoughts had turned to where or how she might find a mate; a concern he shared. They had never found an obvious solution for the many females and few males of her Façade Clan. His Sea Dragon kin had searched diligently two years running during their annual migration that circumnavigated the entire world. No result.

Thundersong worried at a scale on his chin.

He said, Firri, I’m convinced that young male Dragons will be wholly entranced with who you are. I only wish I knew where the right one was hiding. One who will adore your every fire.

A very Firri gurgle of laughter momentarily brought the storytelling to a standstill. She changed colour, and then snuck over to where the teenage boys were ogling the Mermaid and started to disguise herself in the colours of their skin and clothing.

“A chameleon Dragon!” one cried.

“She’s double-sun-amazing,” said another. “Look, Erocic, you’re wearing Dragoness trousers.”

“Whoa-daggers, that’s wicked good!”

Thundersong left them to their fun. With a great bound, he raced up the inner stone wall and shot up into the late morning sky, twirling lazily about his axis twice, as he took in the view. Cloudless skies. Glorious azure over forest-bearded mountains. On a whim, he flicked his wings again and then folded them, within seconds hurtling into a vertical dive down into the valley. Although the soils here had once been fertile, he had learned this morning, centuries of farming had begun to wear on the land, despite their best efforts. However, he knew that the Unicorns had been taken down the cliff trails to the valley below to enjoy the lush riverine pastures usually reserved for the long-horned cattle – he grinned as his stomach voiced a spirited gurgle.

Ahem. Cattle. Aye.

That’s someone else’s cattle, he advised his stomach. Best be firm about these things.

His paws clenched convulsively. Odd. He really was hungry. All this Thundersonging across the continent truly put the cramps into a Dragon’s – was he growing? Again?

Mildly staggered by this insight, he was grateful not to Blitz the Fritz his way straight into the ground, nose-first. Instinct flared his wings. The high-velocity swerve caused air to wuther around his wings, before he hurtled away down-valley, trying awfully hard not to think predatory thoughts about all those nice farms down there with their fowl and cattle and … ooh, his eyes lit up. Were those giant wild boar? He had never seen a pig to compare. That specimen he had briefly spied beneath a thick stand of nut trees had to be eight feet long, its hairy grey-brown belly nearly as rotund as his now echoingly hollow barrel of a food stomach advertised its plenteous accommodations for a juicy porker.

That animal was bigger than some hippopotami he’d seen up north. Easily over a tonne of solid meat.

Mmm, pre-lunch appetiser?

While it looked wild, he was nothing if not a polite ex-Devastator these days. Dipping his wingtip, Thundersong angled toward the nearest farmstead to make inquiries.

His nostrils flared on approach. Someone baking bread? The dough could do with a hint of anise. Thundersong landed well clear of the rush roof and the well head in their farmyard, clearing the chickens, half a dozen local goats, with grey beards so long they swept along the ground, and a tan heifer at high speed. Only a small, bristle-tailed hound remained, yapping so hard it bounced itself backward under the veranda and remained there in what it unwisely thought was safety, raising a racket.

Thundersong smiled, Gnarr?

Owww-wwwaaa-woooooo! howled the animal, bolting for the hills. Hope it came back. Probably someone’s pet.

Maybe he should not smile. The Humans he heard inside might just do the same.

“Mama, mama, it’s something huuu-monger-dus!”

“What? A visitor?”

“It’s bigger than … big!”

“Let me just pop these buns in the oven, sugarsnap.”

“Ma’am, your dough needs a dash of salt and a spoonful or two of anise would really improve the flavour,” Thundersong called courteously.

Silence.

He eyed the farmstead with some hesitation. “Ma’am –”

“Morcic? Morcic!” screeched the woman. “There’s an animal in the yard! Get rid of it!”

“Excuse me, I am not an animal!” he snapped.

A burly farmer, clad in an apple-green homespun shirt, jogged cumbersomely around from the back, hefting a two-handed axe. “Now, Ezumi, I’m sure it’s just – estri-zuk! My ancestors …”

He backed up so fast he clobbered his head on the edge of their veranda, which Thundersong had decided he rather fancied. It held two cosy rush couches with yellow cushions and a hanging chair for children to play in most likely. The log-cabin house was four-square and neat, probably all one room inside, if he guessed the design right. He smelled at least five persons inside, if not a couple more.

“Morcic? Morcic! You useless waste of good air, the years I’ve wasted on you and your shrinking heart, when I could have married a Paladin, but no, it had to be you and your ridiculous –” the wife appeared in the front doorway, waving her rolling pin dangerously as she shrilled “– now, I’ll just run this animal off my – estri-zuk!”

The woman gaped at the sixty-odd-foot white Dragon in her farmyard, who smiled back without showing his fangs. No need to frighten the locals unduly.

She squealed like a boiling kettle, “Eeee …” Her face screwed up. Then, her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Thundersong and the farmer shared startled, guilty glances as the large woman toppled as majestically as a felled tree.

Ker-thump.

“Terribly sorry about that, my good man,” he apologised.

The farmer shook his head. “I do love my foolish wife, D – uh – D … um, thanks.” Thundersong withdrew his steadying paw. “You – you are –”

“I am a Dragon, aye, a half Sea Dragon, to be precise,” he said. “Just arrived at the Bastion last night, bringing some friends and Unicorns to the valley. Had you heard the news? Do you need to see to your wife?”

“Suppose so, suppose so. Kids! Bring me a cloth and a bucket of cool water.”

Feet pattered about inside.

“Lots of children?” he inquired.

“Six under nine,” said the farmer, kneeling clumsily beside his wife. “Bones! This knee of mine. Old training injury, see? I was training for the rank of Paladin. Aye, she’s fine, just overcome by – well, by you, Dragon. All of you. What do you want here? Not to be rude for asking …

“No, no, that’s fine. I was just after a snack. Nothing to do with you or your children, I hasten to add.” Dark eyes peeped out of the doorway at him. All girls, he made it. “Nor your cattle, which I am sure are valuable. I wanted to inquire about the pig.”

“Pig?”

“The boar.”

“The … what? Sorry, Dragon, but I’ve no idea what those words mean. A bore is my cousin Hurzi; now she can talk an old body straight back out of the grave …”

Blergh. He said, “Well, here. I’ll sketch the creature for you.”

Flicking out a talon to the tune of a chorus of squeals from inside the house, Thundersong sketched in the dirt. Two minutes later, he had a curious audience. Perhaps overlarge, artistic predators did not figure broadly in the lexicon of their life’s experience? Farmer plus six children, two of whom would not be extracted from his great arms with all the torture implements in Skartun, he judged.

“Your girls are incredibly cute,” he crooned, as kindly as possible.

“Thank you.” The farmer cocked his head, then walked around to the correct side of the drawing as the Dragon drew back a step. “Oh! Oh, it’s a skweirrin. You want to eat that?”

“Ew!” “Gross!” squealed his children in a chorus. “That’s disgusting!”

Hmm. He could not help but take heart from their reaction. “Did you mean to say a swine?”

“Skwei – swine? Is that how your kind say it?” The farmer cursed and made a superstitious sign with his left hand. “We’ve no use for those pests. All they do is wreck our crops and fences, trample our veggies and – surely, Dragon, you would prefer a nice tender yearling? I’d be happy to select one from my herd …”

“Tempting as your offer is, in my culture, swine are a delicacy.”

The farmer gaped at him, speechless.

“I assure you, I would only take your cattle if I were allowed to pay a fair price for them, but if I could help myself to a swine …” He decided to lick his chops extravagantly. “What a feast!”

There went the sign again. “Of course! Please help yourself to as many skweirrin as you wish.”

Poor fellow; he could not hide his relief.

“Thank you,” Thundersong purred. “Oh, here come the Unicorns.”

“Ehl-mheruk-taluk!” gasped the other. “You brought Unicorns back? It has long been a legend in my family that Unicorns once lived in this valley.”

“Is that so?”

“Indeed! Their dung, spread freshly upon fields and gardens, is said to be a fertiliser of amazing and magical effectiveness.” His fist thumped his chest. “All true farmers who know the old ways know such lore.”

On the spot, he decided to bring Chanize and Inzashu to this home. Perhaps the knee could be treated?

An odd inkling formed in his mind. Could this history be part of the reason why these Dusatz Skartunese had to be amongst the biggest Humans he had ever met? He purred, “I’ll ask them to leave a pile or two for you, shall I? It even sparkles in the suns –”

“Oh, thank you, Dragon. Thank you, thank you!”

Leaving the farmer wringing his hands in wonder as his children all chattered on about sparkly poop and gorgeous horses, Thundersong wandered over to the Unicorns and requested that they deposit a few gifts around the property. No problem at all. Their digestive systems had already been working overtime due to the excellent grazing, he learned. Blergh! Truly, the ways of equines never ceased to amaze him.

Then, he trotted over to the copse of nut trees with a spring in his step and a voracious growl of his stomach.

He and that boar had a date with destiny.

* * * *

Aria and the Isles Dragonesses loathed pig. Firri tried a bite and almost threw up. Gnarly and Blackguard broke their noontide snoozes to hurtle down into the valley in search of opportunities to assist the local farmers with a modicum of urgent population control. This left Thundersong to tidy up the entire leg he had brought his mate. He had just polished off two of the beasts, both admittedly a touch smaller than that granddaddy he had not been able to find, but probably more tender. His flanks groaned at the sweet, succulent bounty.

Aria, do you think I’m growing again?

Aye – most especially around the belly, you walking pork chop, she teased tartly, with a grin for the joke.

Gnarr-oink!

The cobalt and sapphire fires in her eyes waxed as she looked him over. You might just be, she admitted at last. How much pig did you eat?

I pigged out on two of –

You pig! she gasped. I mean, Thundersong, are you alright? Are you sure you don’t have worms?

Worms? Are you … serious?

Happens on the Isles; we can get bowel parasites from some crustaceans.

Oh. That’s a talon more information than I strictly needed to know. Nuzzling her neck, he said, I’m sure you’ll still be able to beat me up with your smallest talon, my little flame heart.

Little? Watch your forked tongue, Mister Chunky.

Chunky?

Maybe I like chunky. Colossal works for me, too. Her wingtips caressed his shoulder and chest. He scented the zesty saltiness of her scales. Oof. I’m fond of combing the thesaurus of Dragonish for synonyms like stalwart, burly, humungous and strapping. Do nod if you follow the fires of my thoughts, there’s my sweet Dragon.

Aria! He nipped her neck for that.

* * * *

Due to the Unicorns deciding they needed to hold another caper and then disappearing into the valley for three days, it was a decent hiatus before the companions were able to take to the southerly trail once more. They travelled with the giantess Arimyel and her husband Xerocic, plus Xerocic and Xerocic … right. A Dragon needed to rearrange his brain to accommodate this new strangeness. That would be X-Dad plus X-Three and X-Four.

Much like the Unicorns, they had their secret and mystical ways of making decisions about who would do what – although, he strongly suspected, gnarr-snort, that the mystical ways of teenage hormones and Ehlzishu’s smile had much to do with X-Four’s presence.

Not to split the talon’s edge over it, once Ehlzishu had made up her mind, the poor lad never stood a chance.

To his credit, he had overheard the lad making it clear to her that his Paladin training came first. Five minutes later, Thundersong had spied them kissing behind a stack of crates, with Ehlzishu standing on tiptoe upon an overturned bucket to facilitate the act. Hope that boy’s training majored on willpower, because his was probably vying with the average mouse.

He had growled at them three seconds before Gaz strolled by. Close one.

The Unicorn herd had determined that twenty-five would remain behind in the valley, for reasons that made sense only to them. The twenty-five comprised one elder, three stallions, seventeen mares and four foals, including the one whose leg had been broken. It was healing well. That left two hundred and twenty-three Unicorns of the original herd to travel south to a fabled barrier the local tribes called the Southerly Scourge.

Intriguing.

That was still many leagues distant.

Lastly, Zyrashu and her twins remained behind. She said that she was comfortable at the Bastion, that it felt like the kind of place a person could start to build a new life and memories for herself.

A bright and fair morn greeted them as X-Three led the way over the Bastion’s wooden bridges to the mountain ridge beyond. He rode upon Gnarly with his younger brother seated right behind him. X-Dad and Arimyel rode with Thundersong, seated behind Azania and Chanize. Gaz and his sisters had chosen to ride Unicorns for a few days to learn something new, he had said.

Inzashu, were you able to help that farmer?

Her eyes flicked over to him from Blackguard’s back. I was – are you monitoring my mental condition?

I am. You sound weary.

Gnarr. Her grin flashed briefly. Too many patients. Their medical care was adequate, but not all-encompassing. I’ll readily admit I pushed too hard.

Your mother’s shadow –

– looms large indeed, she replied. Very large. Thank you for understanding, Thundersong.

He inclined his muzzle soberly. Make sure to take some time for yourself, alright? Early to bed and all that.

Gnarr-gnarr-grumpy-girl.

Dragon Dad’s orders.

She chuckled, So, I guess since we have an X-Dad that makes you D-Dad …

Plus, F-Dad for Farizam and A-Dad for Azerim …

And soon-to-be B-Dad. His startlement must have been all too plain, for she said, Aye, I do have experience with Dragons nowadays. Mark my words, she’s flying differently.

His eyes swivelled to track Jezmyielle’s flight posture. Barely detectable, but … You’re sharp. Shall we –

– Let them find out for themselves, she finished his thought for him.

Blackguard will be over the moons.

Aye, he surely will.

His hearts fizzed with fiery joy for the pair. Both might be regarded as long in the tooth to be dusting the lair in preparation for a clutch of eggs – Blackguard very much so – but he could not be happier. Azania reacted instantly to his wing bounce, querying what he was about and so, he had to share with his Rider in private. She shivered with joy.

For four days, they stuck to the remotest mountain tracks until eventually, they petered out on the edge of a tall escarpment, a headland overlooking the endless grassy plains below from a vantage point of as much as three-quarters of a mile. To either side the dense Human farmlands had dwindled over the last day until, out there, they saw nothing but gently rippling prairie grass. They should find Prairie Wolves and Kuar Runners, long-legged emerald-green lizards which competed with the wolves for prey, but both types of animals were said to be wary of larger groups of travellers.

A few Dragon smiles ought to keep them honest.

“We made excellent time,” X-Dad noted. “Usually it’s a six-day journey to this point. Our destriers would never have kept up with your Unicorns.”

Azerim said, “If travel over these plains is as even as you say, you’ll really see them turn up the pace. The Unicorns are not ones to hang about when they’ve wind in their manes and plenty of grass about.”

“I’ve only ever travelled a few days to the south from here. Training.”

“We’ve a huge advantage with our aerial scouts.”

X-Dad nodded soberly. “Yet with all this riding, legs grow lazy. May I suggest the chance for the warriors to run for an hour each day? The Unicorns might need to slow down to accommodate us, but we should welcome the exercise, not so?”

Azerim gave a gruff laugh. “You’re right. I’m not sure my warriors nor I will manage an hour a day – but we shall relish the challenge, and grow stronger.”

Thundersong’s muzzle suddenly turned as he sensed quite the oddest, most evocative emotional bouquet, with a delicate, spicy hit of magic that played upon it like light dappling lily-scented water. He quested urgently until he had to pull up in surprise. Serhishu? What was this?

Prowling up behind the girl, Thundersong whispered to her, “What do you sense out there?”

She jumped. “I … I wasn’t …”

“But you were.”

“Thundersong, that’s not true.” She scowled fiercely at the horizon, her throat bobbing audibly. “And that’s a … lie. I’m sorry.”

He purred both to encourage and comfort her. “It’s alright.”

“I … I sense battles yet to be had and victory is unclear, and … and Dragon, why am I having these thoughts and feelings? I am no Seer or Prophet. I never wanted to be.”

“I scented your melancholy, far-reaching thoughts.”

Serhishu’s long black hair blew from behind on a sudden gust of breeze, framing her pensive face. Thundersong saw how Xerocic’s gaze rested briefly upon the tall, slender, young woman. He knew some cultures valued a spare figure like hers, but his eyes and mind focussed upon her face. Paladin magic stirred behind his dark eyes. Would he understand? Surely, he must.

She whispered, “I’m so afraid. I know so little. I can’t make sense of … of what’s out there, Thundersong. All I know is that something is deeply … uh, wrong. Something is imbalanced and I’m afraid that means death and suffering. I’m afraid that it’ll be terribly dangerous and that people we know will die.”

“Your Xerocic will understand.”

Raising his paw, he clasped her torso in a gentle paw hug. She drew her hands up and out, then clasped his talons with her hands to keep him close. Needed it more than she’d admit? After a moment, the girl leaned into him and sighed a mighty sigh for a small creature.

“It’s a little frightening to have my feelings read so easily, Thundersong.”

“Sorry. Sometimes I scent emotions, sometimes I intuit things from what I detect. Serhishu, two things. Firstly, you are stronger than you think you are. Secondly, you have family all around you, some scalier than others, and we have our own gifts and strengths. We’ll be at your side all the way.”

“Oh, Dragon …” Her voice cracked.

“There now, chin up,” he purred. “I’m going to propose that we speak with – well, first it’ll have to be Gaz. Then, you should train with Inzashu and Xerocic.”

“Paladin training?”

“Mental training. I’m sure your boyfriend will be most willing.”

“Dragon! Don’t say that word.”

Ignoring her regally, he added, “To balance that out, I’ll have to order Inzashu to be extra mean to you.” She stuck out her tongue. “Oh, is that how it is? Then, I’ll have a turn beating you up. I am a beastly Dragon at the best of times.”

“Liar,” she giggled.

“Serhishu, in all seriousness, you will walk into this destiny with courage, grace and integrity, because that is who you are – and, before you ask, I know that because I’m a Dragon. Totally infallible.”

“Azania says you’ve an infallible nose for trouble.”

“Gnarrt-true. Besides, if so, that’s why I picked you. Takes one to know one.”

He tapped the side of his muzzle knowingly.

On that note, he of the predictably infallible snout, ruffled his wings with a show of immodest self-importance and they took a long, slow glide out over the Prairie, while he and Azania spoke privately with Serhishu.

Once the Unicorns had made the descent to the grasslands, the long trot set off in earnest once more. It was as if they scented their homeland on the breeze. They cantered along with their heads held high and their showy manes and tails flowing in the breeze. The long, springy, sage-green grass lent itself to a sprightly step of hoof and so there was much galloping and tölting during the periods of travel. Each morning the Paladins led out by running for an hour in their full armour. Gaz seemed to be born of the same stuff and his younger sisters, too, but the Rangers had a much harder time of it.

Even Thundersong did a stint of running each day. He had to admit, a few of those comments about the rotundity of his stomach had stuck like a few stray Skartunese javelins under his hide. The different exercise could not hurt. No cheating with the wings either. Just pure running.

After the run, the Humans mounted up again and the Unicorns surged forward. Soon, they fell into their old rhythm of a trio of three-hour travel stints each day. Late afternoons and evenings were time to make camp and to train and eat, and the late evenings for storytelling and lore-sharing. In this way, they passed an uneventful week journeying southward.

Early in the second week, they forded two major rivers that, to Thundersong’s surprise, flowed in a north-eastward direction. From the Unicorns’ descriptions of their lake-rich homeland, he would have assumed the opposite. He woke that night to see lightning playing along the horizon, but no storm came. The following evening, the same phenomenon occurred. Flashes of lightning played across a wider swathe of sky. No storm, no winds, no clouds.

Hmm. Suspicious, he decided.

The day that was a storm would be the day pigs learned to fly.

Chapter 27: Southerly Scourge

DURING THAT SECOND WEEK of travel across the Prairie, Thundersong and Azania surprised packs of Prairie Wolves three times and once, routed a quartet of Kuar Runners skulking in the longer grasses not far off the left flank of the Unicorn herd. A foal had caught their interest. Quick as the lizards were upon their stilt-like legs, bounding in fifteen-foot leaps across the longer grasses in this area, Thundersong was quicker and Azania’s bow quicker still. They made the creatures pay for their temerity.

He noticed over the following pawful of days that the terrain had begun to slope upward so gradually it was almost imperceptible to the eye. His higher-flying expeditions also brought sight of a mountain range far to the south and southwest. Before that, lay a misty area. From such a great distance, it was tricky to judge, but he and Azania agreed that it was most likely the swamps that the Mysterious Mare had mentioned, which surrounded or led to Spiral Maze Mountain. If those mists hid a peak, it was well-hidden indeed, and they discussed that, perhaps, the name could refer to one of the peaks farther back. A broad band of what appeared to be boulders the size of his great-grandsire lay directly in their path, however, and they wondered if this could be the barrier the locals had called the Southerly Scourge.

Odd name. Nothing scourging or barrier-like out there.

Just the lightning. Closer and closer.

That night, at some hour only wolves enjoyed, Thundersong put one and one together and made eleven. He woke with such a start that both Azania and Aria woke too, and then the Dragonesses on watch duty became irritable with him as they re-sheathed their swords.

Come. Come with me. The rocks moved, he explained quickly.

They moved? Aria asked.

I think they make the lightning …

The rocks make lightning? Are you quite certain, Thundersong?

Aye. We need to go scout. Now.

Scout-scout? Or scout? Azania teased.

SCOUT, I SAID! he boomed irately, and then had to apologise to everyone.

Great. Dragons were literally hot-headed at times – with his inability to breathe fire until not so very long ago, it had taken time for him to discover this truth for himself. No need to take it out on those he cared for most. Taking to the air, he and Aria winged upward. Behind that wrinkle in the land perhaps fifteen leagues off, the lightning flashed again. He had a feverish feeling. A Thundersong-ish itching in his bones. Try as he might, he could not quantify it.

On the way up, he explained about the boulders – the strangely uniform radial pattern he had absently noticed during his second-last high flight, which had changed by his last one. He had only just put the pieces together.

“I think they’re basically like tortoises. Some kind of life form that moves extremely slowly, anyways, which perhaps creates those flashes as a kind of self-defence mechanism.”

“Moving boulders?” Azania queried.

“Creating those flashes of light?” Aria added.

“It reminds me a little of Farfire Dragonish,” he reflected absently. “Farfire is a language comprised of longer and shorter flashes of fire, which Tamarine Dragons developed to speak across our mountain territories. You could chat with another Dragon twenty miles off on the right night. Nowadays, it’s more a kind of game played by fledglings and not really used in any serious way.”

“Should we approach?” Aria asked.

“Nothing happened last time I took a look.”

“Tell me about that feeling you have,” his mate demanded.

He began to respond, when Azania sniped, “The one that makes him look constipated?”

Annoyance fuelled a surge up into the starry night sky. His wings clapped together twice, three times beneath him as he accelerated a touch ahead of Aria and four flanking Dragonesses, he saw now. Fires boiled in his brain. He had no idea why the joke narked him so; perhaps it was the early hour?

Thundersong, the flashing has stopped.

So it had. Peering ahead through his spectacles, he gave a grunt of frustration. Dirty again? How do I keep smearing the lenses like that?

Azania said, It’s the way you adjust them with your talons.

Can you … please?

Of course. Rising, she leaped down onto his neck and bounded up onto his head. Wow, your skull’s hot. Are you feeling quite well, Thundersong? Can Dragons even get a fever? He tried to focus on her words. Oddly, they swam around him like fish. Here, that should be better –

At the same time, Aria said, There’s a strange glow coming from those boulders. It’s getting …

Thundersong blinked as his spectacles magnified the nearest of those faraway boulders. It had a mouth rimmed with blue fire that grew as hot as Taramis …

DOWN! DIVE!! he thundered.

Azania still stood upon his nose. Thundersong curled up in the air – how, he would never know, because Dragons his size were not meant to be able to pretzel themselves through small spaces. As his shoulder came around and he dipped, light flashed between an unknowable number of the boulders and then speared out toward him in the next blink. It arrived in two distinct parts; first, a hot, but not unbearable, beam of light; then, a surge of something that was magical and liquid and hit his protective shoulder like a Juggernaut punch multiplied tenfold.

The tremendous impact rattled him bone deep.

By my wings, what a beautiful … starry …

* * * *

Thundersong dreamed that he swam through an ocean of pink, fiery glue. Quite the oddest dream. Somewhere, faraway, a voice called to him, and he needed to fly to it, to fly faster and farther than ever before …

But he woke up with Blackguard and Gnarly sitting on his head.

Both of them. Together.

“No. Lie still, you thumping moron!” Blackguard growled.

“Stop struggling!” Gnarly snarled in his ear.

Ah, a snarly Gnarly? Biggest non-surprise of the century.

Thundersong began to stir but stopped because of the hurt in his shoulder. A great deal of hurt, dulled as if Inzashu had been busy. “Who strapped my wing? What happened?”

“Well now, let’s see,” Azania began balefully, but then threw herself upon his head and gave him a full-body Human hug. Naturally, nowadays, he was a Dragon of refinement and cultural knowledge more than sufficient to appreciate the gesture. “Having invited certain death by whizzing up into the firing range of those … things, the Southerly Scourge, you then dodged death and curled around me at the same time. You have a nice hole melted in your left shoulder right down to the bone to show for it. Aria caught me, and four Dragonesses just about managed to wrestle your lumpish limp body to the ground in a crash landing that you can still see the aftereffects of over there.”

He looked. “Ooh.”

“The Dragonesses have a rash of broken wing struts and one broken foreleg to show for it. You managed to dislocate your right shoulder wing joint.”

“I didn’t know a Dragon could do that?”

“No, nor did anyone else,” she said, stroking the sensitive scales below his eye. “After all your cautions, you just had to storm ahead and trigger the trap for yourself? Whatever were you thinking?”

“Uh, who put the joint back?”

Blackguard stretched, cracked his knuckles and said sourly, “Good thing you were unconscious for that one, youngling. The nerve damage sustained during the injury was already severe. Forcing your joint back into alignment again made it worse.”

“Not like you to sugarcoat anything, friend,” Thundersong remarked.

“No. Inzashu inserted a nerve block. That’s why you’re not rolling about the place screaming.”

“Nice. Thanks. Do you think she can insert a grumpiness block?”

“Shall I adjust your neck to be looking backward for the rest of your life? No charge.”

Blackguard stumped off.

“Guess I won’t be flying?” Azania shook her head. “You alright?”

“Your shoulder got in the way, or I’d be royal toast.”

“And that Scourge …”

“As it turns out, we think you can just walk past them.” Thankfully, his jaw was already resting on the ground. He made a wordless growl. “All you have to do is not make yourself a target. The Imperious Mare remembered a few details, usefully after she saw you get hit.”

“Imperious?”

“Oops.” Quick grin. “I’m severely ticked off with her timing, to be frank. Could have saved you … well … that. Last night, she demonstrated the technique by walking slowly between the Pyrodraconic Tortoises. Then Gnarly did the same.”

“Ooh, nice name.”

“Aye. In this case, slow and steady definitely wins the race. Anything else, and you finish in last place.”

“Ooo hooo-hoo-HOOO!! So …”

“Depending on how your leg and shoulders are doing, we plan to walk through tonight. The Unicorns have been training in how to drop and play dead.”

“Azania, call Inzashu over. I’ve something I need to discuss with you.”

“As in?”

“There’s a mind out there. A powerful mind, and it’s in pain.” She blinked. “Aye. That’s what called me – sort of impelled me onward and upward, but it was also … fogged, as if there’s something wrong with it and, in the extremity of its suffering, it was reaching out for anything it could as a cry for help.”

“Serhishu’s premonition?”

“Aye.”

“I’ll get my sister right away.”

He said, “If one or more of us start acting strangely, we might need to block more than just a few nerves.”

She ran.

* * * *

Imagine having six minds? What he had taken for boulders were in fact six-headed, six-legged Pyrodraconic Tortoises. Larger than any normal Human dwelling, their pure white eyes blazed with undeniable fires. As the travellers approached the barrier, Thundersong limping heavily on his wounded side, their multiple heads oriented slowly toward the travellers, but they did not fire. Not if one moved slowly enough.

There was also a few seconds’ forewarning if they did decide to ignite. Then, the plan was to hit the dirt and lie as flat as possible. Maybe, just maybe, it would be possible.

Slowest seven miles of his life. It took all night. Moving at the pace of a Human’s most leisurely amble, the travellers gradually threaded their way between the great mounds, some standing as much as thirty feet tall, with King Azerim and the Mare calling out at intervals to ensure no-one picked up the pace. Not even the friskiest, most itchy-hoofed colt. No scratching, no restless flicking of wings and definitely no Unicorn capering.

Gorgeous evening, mind. The skies stretched pristine from horizon to horizon, studded with bands and whorls of stars. Although Inzashu kept a close linkage with Thundersong, there appeared to be no repeat threat or call – not that either of them could detect.

The powerful Tortoises were scattered across the land in a loose band that stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction, curving slightly into the distance as if they functioned to protect the homeland of the Unicorns. Scourge? Why a scourge, a Dragon had to wonder? When such a power guarded a land, what treasures or mysteries might be hidden here?

By the early hours, they were within sight of the end of the band of massive guardians when, suddenly, a pheasant or some kind of grass bird startled out of the grass right in front of the Mysterious Mare and flew up into her face, flapping wildly. She reared involuntarily.

At once, heads turned. Like the ripple of a wave, all the tortoise heads in sight reoriented themselves, as if communicating via a single mind, and their mouths, heads and necks began to glow with that blue-white fire.

“Down! Down!” King Azerim yelled.

Everyone hit the grass. Thundersong slapped a lingering Unicorn off its hooves.

Brilliant light slashed the night.

Gnarly gave a wild cry and began to leap to his paws, but Blackguard yanked him down by his tail. Light slashed repeatedly, passing once over Thundersong’s back, close enough for him to feel its molten power, and twice right between the two prone Crushers. Flesh sizzled.

Silence.

“You idiot!” Blackguard hissed.

“I nearly got a second butt hole drilled – gnarr!”

After a shocked pause, many of the Rangers cracked up laughing. Gnarly, vocally unimpressed, bellowed at everyone to shut their fangs and stay down.

Only once the blue-white light subsided did they dare to move on – even slower than before – and continued to do so until they were out of apparent range, with the heads turning to survey the north again with that eerie, one-organism synchronicity.

Blackguard had lost a two-foot segment of wing membrane. It would grow back within a few months. Gnarly had indeed earned a nice new hole low down next to the base of his tail, ten inches wide and three feet deep, right in the thick of the muscle. That would be what had almost caused him to dance to his death.

“Huh,” he grunted when Inzashu outlined the injury for him. “Nothing too worrying. Handsomer than ever, eh?”

“Does the muscle grow back?” she asked.

Blackguard grinned, “I have to say, he really didn’t need a second gas outlet.”

“Is it yours making that flapping noise?” Gnarly replied.

They exchanged brotherly buffets.

Vhalzishu had started to cry. Exhaustion, Azania told him privately. She was the bravest little mite, but still a child. Ehlzishu comforted her first and then Serhishu – while the Dragonesses scouted for a campsite – but nothing appeared to be working, until Arimyel held out her arms and said, “Tell you what, why don’t you come try this, sugarcube?”

The girl hesitated.

“I know you don’t know your real mother, but I’m mother to a few scoundrels myself and I’ve never had a girl of my own to cuddle. I’ve always wondered what I’ve been missing. Want to help me learn a few things?”

It took a couple of minutes, but it barely seemed that Thundersong had blinked when he saw that the overwrought girl had melted into the giantess’ arms and was sound asleep. There. That was the matchless magic of dams and mothers the world over. Extraordinary, to say the least.

Arimyel had a broad wink for X-Three. “Practising for grandchildren.”

Dark as he was, he flushed deeply, and hurried off to do some Paladin training. Having overheard, Gaz promptly scurried off in the opposite direction. That left Inzashu to field the giantess’ measuring stare.

At last, she spluttered, “We discussed … four to eight …”

One giant eyebrow leaped toward the heavens; at which, even a powerful Psyromantic Mage fled.

“Frightening the kids again, are you?” X-Dad said.

“Kids these days. No stamina.”

“Remind me again how long we waited, beloved?”

“Oh, be quiet, husband.”

* * * *

Within two days, the land changed utterly, from endless prairie to wet riverine grassland. In places, the endless varieties of grass, grassy reeds and reedy grass grew up to fourteen feet tall, but that was only the beginning of the story. The soils were a rich, red, loamy mulch that appeared to be half volcanic and half organic in composition. Multiple streams meandered through an area hundreds of square miles in extent, slowly pooling and drifting along, branching and joining up again, creating the greatest maze of watercourses Thundersong had ever seen. It must originate in those mountains on the far side of the much lower swamps, he theorised, flowing around the raised rim of that swampy depression, rather than immediately down into it which, to be frank, was geologically unlikely and unusual, to say the least.

He sketched it in his mind. One vaguely oval swamp surrounded by a mighty arc of land, like an escarpment, that held the water a quarter mile or so above the swampland, but clearly let it drain down there eventually. Down below all was a misty unknown. Up top was this watery maze dotted with cenotes or sinkholes. Some were so large, a flight of Dragons could wing down into them twenty abreast. Due to his still-immobile shoulder joint, he could not explore as he would have wanted to but, instead, had to put up with others describing the beauty of those secluded pools and the vast cave systems that could be accessed from them.

Hmm. A land, thanks to all its water and erosion, that resembled that holey cheese they loved in Amboraine.

The Dragonesses explored and mapped out the lay of the land.

The Unicorns capered and nickered and danced and explored in their own right, and wholly failed to identify the elusive ingredient or mineral which was so essential to their diet. They did find dragonip weed and jaramoss, which was especially useful for packing wounds to speed up the healing process. The discovery of a salt lick turned out, in Ranger parlance, to be a complete red herring. Tasty goodness, just not the right goodness – for goodness’ sake, Azerim growled, throwing up his hands in frustration. The Unicorns knew it wasn’t what they needed, but could they identify or track or even point in the vaguest imaginable direction toward what they did need?

Not so much.

All part of the mystical, magical Unicorn gig, the King complained to his Queen. She took him scouting.

When they returned, the Mysterious Mare tap danced her way over for a meeting, tossed her white mane to best showcase its silken perfection and announced that they should head into the swamps to find the Spiral Maze Mountain.

“There’s no mountain there,” Azerim said, taking pains to sound neutral.

But there is, o bearded leader, said the Mare, reverting to her native dialect. Odd how similar it was to Dragonish, Thundersong suddenly realised. How did a Unicorn come to speak Dragonish so fluently? My dreams have pranced toward it as through the mists of time, my hooves trod the paths of destiny with the great spiritual herd stallion who is Thundersong the mighty, the proud, the most sagacious one.

Phew. He’d have a sip of whatever she’d been drinking.

Thundersong the Sagacious? Hmm. When he wrote his memoirs … Azania would edit that out in an instant. Probably title him Thundersong the Saggy-Stomached instead.

He was not fat. Just solidly built. Strong bones, right?

He listened idly as the Mare continued to expound upon her reasons for heading out into the swamp. In one sense, she was right. They had found nothing of use up here on the grasslands. The search must go on. If it was in service to a half-formed prophecy of sorts, so be it.

Late that evening, as Aria slept beside him, but he could not seem to slumber again, following a nightmare he did not remember in any great detail, Thundersong sensed the great mind’s draw again. The fog came upon his thoughts, the heatedness inside his brain like a furnace stoked to its maximum. The sensation was powerful and much closer, yet somehow weaker than before – as if the threads of sanity grew thin indeed. Although Inzashu stirred immediately, as the triggers tripped in her mind, too, they were only able to identify that it must lie somewhere in the general direction of the swamp. Try as they might to communicate with the entity, it did not seem to be in any fit state to speak or communicate back. Inzashu thought it might be draconic in nature. Thundersong was undecided.

At dawn, they airlifted the Unicorns down to the base of the escarpment. What a dreary place. If this was home sweet lair for their equine friends, then it could do with a splash more colour. Thundersong walked the long way around. It took a couple of painful hops with Blackguard and Gnarly in attendance to bring him down to swamp level. The rock face behind was craggy and pitted, full of holes that may or may not be caves burrowing beneath the grasslands above. He made a quick count of seventeen streams issuing from cave mouths and five small waterfalls trickling from above.

His nostrils flared. Above the general scent of dank, rot and malaise, wasn’t there … something?

Gnarr. Evidently the lack of precision around these parts was getting to him, too. Slopping through ankle-deep grey water, he joined Azania as they led the trudge deeper into the swamp.

If the Unicorns did not know what they needed, Thundersong knew less. Some spiritual herd stallion! They trudged along mucky trails that led from sedge-lined pond to sedge-lined pond. Nowhere was it deep, not deeper than his knees, anyhow. That was well above Azania’s waist. Toward evening, darker shadows loomed out of the ever-present, cloying mists and they entered a region that reminded him of deep jungles. Great twisted roots rose out of murky waters, forming what the Unicorns called swamp trails, wide enough to trek along, unless one was a rambunctious colt, which led to the first of several incidents of needing to be fished out before the local predators emerged. These were freshwater crocodiles measuring up to eighteen feet in length, enormous brown anacondas with a line of white diamond shapes down their backs and other, murkier creatures that never came out to play, but could clearly be heard for each of the three nights they spent combing the swamp for clues.

Nothing. Utterly baffling.

He did not even have a Dragon sense about being watched. Thundersong had never been one for omens, but this stillness felt uncanny. It teased and tormented by the very absence of what should have been present. The Dragonesses scouted above the mists and reported that they were already near the centre of the swamp. They found no mountain, not even a hillock.

Dispirited, the team camped once more in a natural bivouac created from a snarl of thick roots, covered in rotting branch and leaf matter that formed a decent nest. Even the Unicorns appreciated a nest above the stagnant, chill waters. They lay about nickering in annoyance about their one-time ability to skautar through the swamps without the slightest care in the world. They probably meant walking on water, the snooty rascals. Truly annoying how their coats remained pristine, even in this environment. That bit of horn magic worked. Their white coats shone with luminosity. Their eyes gleamed with magic. Fairly much the only thing that gleamed in this sodden pit of desolation.

Why would any creature choose to live here?

Depressing.

Nothing a smidgen of scouting would not cure. He had the most marvellous mate under the suns and she, agleam of eye, readily agreed to accompany him on a little excursion along the roots to a more secluded location. Entertainment for the local toads and crocodiles? Bring it on!

Very much later, as they slumbered together, Thundersong wandered through a dream of sliding down rainbows. He skidded from one to the next, never falling, despite – he had no wings! Terror imploded in his belly. No! No! NOOO!!

He jolted awake, all four paws clenched, white fire ready in his throat.

Aria slept beside him, undisturbed. That, in itself, was odd. With her warrior awareness, she rarely slept through anything shy of a butterfly alighting upon her scales. Perhaps he had tired her out? He stretched lazily, feeling much better about the world and everything in it. After all, his name was Thundersong. Ahem. Had he imagined fiery eyes watching his dream? His eyes blinked extra slowly, homing in on a set of ripples lapping at the base of a root just a couple of Dragon paces away. His mental senses insisted there was nothing present, not so much as one of those nasty, oily, green catfish, but something must have moved beneath the water.

Mists drifted about him, as languid as the workings of his mind. His thoughts stirred like thick soup, creeping like vague tendrils of fog over this eternally sleeping swamp.

The white hunk’s sensed us, someone said, in quite the strangest draconic accent he had ever heard.

Quick, sisters. The Queen’s needs are paramount.

How does he resist our charms?

Indeed? Rather easily. He had five Dragon hearts and every one of them belonged to Ariamyrielle Seaspray, signed and sealed. Even his silliest fantasies knew as much.

Aria? he shook her shoulder.

He’s the one. All together now, maximal camouflage …

Five sets of draconic eyes surfaced as one. Camouflage? What camouflage? The Dragonesses who had just popped out of his dream had long, sleek lemon-yellow muzzles that brought the image of sharks to the forefront of his mind, but they were definitely draconic, with fin-like wings and exotic, canted eyes that regarded him in patterns of yellow, orange and grass-green flame he had never seen before. They must be five or ten feet longer than Aria, approximately the size of Tamarine Dragonesses.

He lifted his paw. Greetings, fiery ones. My name’s Thundersong and –

They all exhaled into his face as one. Yellow gas?

Now, let’s take him.

Aria? Aria! Wake up. These Dragonesses – he sneezed and then inhaled involuntarily, drawing their exhalations deep into his lungs – they’re trying to – to kid – uhhhh …

The swamp water surged up to meet his nose as he slid helplessly off the root. The yellow muzzles, packed full of rows of fangs, surged toward him.

Arrrr – iiii – aaa …

Chapter 28: Avenger

THUNDERSONG ROUSED WITH A headache that put the beast into beastliness. It did not help that a persistent water drop kept striking the top of his head. Plink. Again. Again – a firm plink, every few seconds. Given the tender state of his cranium, that felt like a sledgehammer pounding his most sensitive nerves. Plink. Plink. Plink – gnarr!

A reflexive jerk of his neck whanged his skull against the ceiling above him.

Blergh – gnarr – seriously? Is this beat up Thundersong day – where’s Aria? Where am I? Disjointed thoughts rushed through his brain, not helping the pounding.

Right. Calm down. Breathe. Assess what he could. He lay in a cave with a low roof. While he was not obviously encumbered or secured in any fashion, the close quarters were no comfort to a large Dragon. His eye fires alone lit the space around him, enough for him to make out a tunnel both before and probably behind him, too. He lay in a slight bulge, a natural – geode. Oh, how beautiful! He had whanged his cranium on deep purple amethyst extrusions. The sparkling gemstones entranced him.

Away, artist. Awake, warrior!

Aria might turn around in here, but he’d struggle. A breeze blowing against his neck clued him in to the fact that he lay above a narrow pipe that cut way, way down into the stone.

So, those yellow Dragonesses had – what? Knocked him out with one breath? They either had the worst cases of halitosis since the dawn of time, or that was their actual breath weapon. Nasty trick. No actual fire? Or … maybe they could ignite the gas with their fire? Even worse.

And then they had moved him into this cave with what, one flick of their petite talons?

Not unimpressive.

This meant he was either no longer in the swamp, or he had been dragged off to the invisible, undetectable Spiral Maze Mountain. That would be a decent result, but – no. Wrong conclusion. The ambient sounds suggested he might be near or inside one of those cenotes sunk into the ground not far from the swamp. Aria would be livid. If she had half an inkling he’d been kidnapped by a pawful of foreign Dragonesses … well, something would die.

Preferably not him.

The air coming from below certainly smelled odd, similar to recycled, extremely stale lair air. Maybe a bachelor’s lair which had not been cleaned in twenty years? Ahem. Not that he’d know. His lair had always smelled of drying paint and sporadic efforts at cooking. Acquiring himself a pretty Princess had necessitated changes to some of his old habits. The need to cook daily – well, most days – for her had reignited his interest in the culinary arts, nowadays one of his favourite hobbies and quite possibly the foremost contributor to his sturdy waistline.

Blergh. Who trusted a thin cook anyways? He had gravitas.

His sensitive nostrils conveyed other impressions to his mind. He evaluated them with the care of a lurking hunter tasting the breezes for anything that might threaten or interest him. Something strange lay at paw. Fear did not begin to enter the equation, only a growing certainty that he had come to this place to fulfil a call of destiny, to –

Dragon. An aged, desperately weary voice broke upon his thoughts like an ocean comber crashing down in all its primal fury. His mind rolled, reeled, tumbled in the wash. Dragon. Help me. Are you the one?

Great one? he responded, with deep respect.

Her speech held a subcurrent of music that teased his senses. That was what had been so strange about those Dragonesses, he realised. Their utterances combined speech and music.

Whoever the female Dragoness was, she was at least as old as his great-grandsire Thundersong, and her voice gave the impressions of immense size and enormous pain. Torture, he realised, trying to read the sub-psychic nuances of her hard-to-follow speech, as Inzashu and experience of Skartunese methods of subjugating the Dragonkind had taught him. She had been, or was being, tortured and the agony was enough to drive her mind to the brink.

Dragon …

What has been done to you?

Will you avenge?

Tell me what is –

THIS!

Thoughts rolled slowly out of the great one. He saw mountains rising out of an ocean amidst a great cataclysm that drove a fleet of unfamiliar metal vessels to the shore of a continent. Carried by frothing storm hundreds of feet tall, the ships crashed upon the shore. Some exploded upon impact, but from some of the surviving metal hulks, Men emerged, tall and strong, pale as the northern snows with jet-black hair and eyes as blue as ice. Even though they had been broken and injured, they struck him as inordinately industrious as they set about salvaging what they could from the wreckage of strange objects, of alien technology, strewn upon the shore.

Time flickered. Compressed.

Argozume Humans, the great voice said now, coming to him in fragments, like the ravings of a mad Dragon. They came in search – treasures to own. Ruthless they were. Cruel. Calculating.

He saw hundreds of the Argozume Men falling upon those yellow Dragons, an unholy radiance shining beneath the closed visors of their golden helms. They wielded bulbous weapons that spat burning projectiles. Though the Dragons fought fiercely, many perished upon both sides of the battle and they were forced to retreat into a white crystal peak.

Spiral Maze, the hidden fastness … intoned the voice. Deep did we hide our secrets, with our utmost guile and the magic of the departed ones …

Thundersong nodded slowly, consumed by the visions. That light. Even though it was golden, some aspect of its nature reminded him of something he had seen not so long ago, a foul form of magic – the Terror Clan!

They use magic? he blurted out. Evil magic?

A wave of anguish crushed his consciousness before abating. In the aftermath, Thundersong recognised that he had been humming a wordless song, soothing the great one with his Sea Dragon healing power. A gentle white glow lit the cavern about him, emanating from his scales.

You are the one! Aye. Go – go to the mountain – your friends – grave danger; the Humans hold its fastness!

How will I –

Ask – my children. They – they took the mountain. Separated us – my eggs! A frantic flurry of images flashed through his mind. All he saw was some vicious probe searing her egg sac, the sight of which almost made him vomit. They consume my eggs – it hurts – aaah!

Consumed? For their magic?

Lashed by her pain, he snarled, What can I do?

Help me! HELP! Breathe not this secret – the next Queen must break the shell – go in haste and guile – AAAAH!!

Thundersong clung to consciousness by the merest thread. Her final cry had communicated desperation, urgency and an apology. She knew she hurt him, this Queen Dragoness. Did he understand from her fragmented speech and images that these Argozume Men were stealing her eggs and she, somehow, withheld the most precious egg of all, a future Queen? Were the yellow ones her children and, if so, where was their male, their sire or sires?

Too many questions. What he did know was that Azania, Aria and all his friends could be in grave danger. Those powerful Men held the invisible mountain. He had to reach them – how many days had he been unconscious? Aria must be beside herself with worry.

The Queen’s voice and mind had fallen silent. Unconscious? He was about to call out when he realised something else. The Men must have trapped her below. They could be close. Silence, Thundersong. Summon up guile and cunning and –

Talons pinched his tail.

Gnnn – he smothered his rage. What? Who’s that?

Awake, o sleeper, purred the Dragoness, stroking his tail now! Have you spoken with our Queen Suuliki?

Thundersong gritted his fangs. Another touchy-feely type of Dragon? Just when he had managed to impress upon Firri that mated males were not for cuddling up to … but he needed her help.

I did, and she has given me a job. I am Thundersong. What is your name?

Ooh, Thundersong? A name of titanic portent, said the Dragoness, flicking out her tongue to taste his scales! He almost leaped out of said scales. Ah, salty! I taste the courage of a traveller of many leagues and battles, a beast of mettle and integrity, friend to many creatures. By taste alone shall heart be known, my magic sings.

She concluded this by licking his haunch? Weird, freaky creature! He shivered.

I must go find my companions. They were in the swamp –

Seeking to enter Spiral Maze Mountain. Danger awaits. The Argozume Men took our secret lair from us; they trapped our kin and mates within. Few are we who are left, cut off from the font of our magic. We are dying out, Thundersong.

Just like the Terror clan! He said, They steal or parasitize your magic?

Perhaps their skills melded magic and technology, much as the Skartunese scientists under Nahritu-N’shula had proven. Some of their machines had been diabolical, a source of enduring grief to him and his kin. Yet they had prevailed. Against all the odds, they had overcome the Psyromantic Mage and her schemes.

Aye, their greed is unbounded, perverse of conception, consuming all that is, until there is none for anyone – come with me, Thundersong. Follow. Can you turn about in here?

Not a hope.

Bidding him remain silent, the Dragoness departed, but returned within minutes, bringing four new voices with her. This presaged four appreciative pinches of his tail and hindquarters and more of the licking! He nearly exploded in embarrassment, besides entertaining a slew of unworthy thoughts. Among Tamarine Dragons, a ‘paw licker’ was amongst the worst of insults. He could barely imagine being called a rump licker. Even in the spirit of appreciating another’s culture, this was a step, nay a giant bound, beyond any form of comfort.

Wriggle backwards, o hefty one, fluted one.

He’s enormous! Do you think he can rescue our mates?

Salt sings in his blood. Is he of the ocean far, whence came these Men and their pets?

Suddenly, his backward movement eased. He began to slip along the rough tunnel as if his scales had been liberally soaped before he leaped into a royal bathtub. The Dragonesses giggled between themselves. Thundersong mulled over this novel sensation for a second, before he blurted out:

You have the same kind of magic as the Unicorns?

Ooh, not just the brawny muscles, Thundersong? The Dragonesses shared another excited giggle session, but quietly, as if they feared to be overheard. Your intuition is on song. Much excitement accompanies their return, for do their brothers and sisters not languish upon the slopes of Mount Sammul?

More Unicorns? O the joy!

By the time they had slid him all the way out of the tunnel into a cenote pool, Thundersong had established that Mount Sammul was a distinctive horn-shaped, almost hooked, peak to the west of the swamp, which marked a pass the Men had used when they crossed the mountains from the ocean.

Ha! Ocean down here? He could not be surprised. Just, he had never seen this end of Solixambria and knew no-one who had. It was not marked on any map.

Splashing down amongst a bevy of slippery yellow females, he flexed his wings and realised at once that, despite a deep ache in the shoulder joint, he should be able to fly – most likely not far, at first. The injury would still require babying but, once more, the singing of healing power had also assisted his own injuries. Shame he had not yet learned to command it every time.

How long was I asleep? he demanded gruffly.

The Dragonesses drew together exactly like the Façade Dragonesses and eyed him with big, bright eyes. Déjà vu! They even looked much like Firri, just bigger, but no less excitable in a way that reminded every single hormone in his body that he was a chunky male.

Then, they vanished. Kerpoof.

Like smoke!

He cudgelled his male brain into paying attention. Probably something most male brains could do with from time to time. Listening, and … Got you. Mwaaa-harrr-harrgh.

Softest evil laugh ever, as the Dragoness trapped in his paw squealed, changed colours ten times and promptly turned invisible again. He breathed smoke over her. There. Nice little outline. Ignoring her jaw snapping at his wrist, he said:

Right. I need your help, so listen to me. The disappearing act is cute, but if you want to help your Queen, I need information and I need it fast. Rules of talon. No more tasting of my behind. Behave yourselves, or my mate Aria will have a chunk of you, and that’s no lie. Tell me who you are. I am Thundersong, a half Tamarine, half Sea Dragon. What kind of Dragons are you?

We are Lumen Dragons.

The females flickered several times more, before stabilising into their lithe yellow forms. Rapid-fire, they introduced themselves as the quintuplets Aiki, Ciki, Fiki, Yiki and Ziki. Alright. Shake the muzzle. He would never in all his days be able to tell them apart. Sadly, they admitted, Lumen Dragons came without their luminosity these days because of a lack of magic, which they ascribed to the Queen and her eggs being separated from Spiral Maze Mountain and all the males of her harem being isolated there.

Erm … right. Not sure he wanted to get into the details of their hedonistic practices, right?

Querying this carefully in order not to give the impression that he thought anyone else wanted to be eating the Queen’s eggs, he learned that it was a natural ambient magic, resulting from a healthy Queen Dragoness at the heart of a healthy colony that had formerly been the light and life of the swamp. The Argozume Men had tricked and betrayed the Queen into her current state of captivity, while separating all the males and trapping them inside the Spiral Maze Mountain. Both sites were heavily defended by the Humans.

They have pet fish, Aiki explained.

He said, Fish?

People who look like fish, Yiki pouted.

Fish people?

But some Men wear fish apparatus to swim and others don’t; they have tails like fish, Ciki put in. Isn’t that right, sisters?

Hold on a second – you’re saying they have Merpeople?

A daring paw tickled his chin, possibly Aiki’s. Captives to the fierce Men they are, Thundersong.

Slaves they are, Ziki cooed. They wear neck jewellery that sadly establishes motive and desire, a hurting of mind and body – much like our beloved Queen.

Merpeople! He could not believe it, and Zurianne would not either.

He said, So, the Queen is held here in a cave, the rest of your kind are trapped inside this Spiral Maze Mountain and you’re being kept separate by these Argofoul Men? I mean, Argozume? They steal your Queen’s eggs, causing her indescribable pain, and then … then they … his voice choked off.

Who would eat Dragon young? It was beyond foul.

The five Dragonesses cooed and rubbed up against his chest and shoulders, meaning to comfort him. Thundersong shivered, wishing he could so easily slough off the shadow of evil that he sensed here. No wonder Serhishu had felt so apprehensive!

Fiki said, We don’t know if they are like normal Men, but these are much more powerful than other poachers who have come to our home swamp from time to time. There was also a dark man who came seasons ago; they captured –

Xerocic?

He is a quintuplet like us, Aiki said earnestly. Did you not bring his brother creatures with you?

Excellent news! Thank you, Aiki!

I’m Ciki, the Dragoness smiled. Great. Wrong again. The Argozume Men gain powers from the eggs. Aye. We have not been able to stop them. Of all our females, we are but ten remaining. So, so many died to try to stop them. Our Queen calls and we must obey, but we are not strong enough – are you strong enough, Thundersong? Will you save us?

I do not know, he admitted, but know this: I will do everything in my power to end this evil. I’ve brought friends, Dragonesses cunning in battle and Humans of good heart and skill. They were seeking the Mountain – where is the Mountain? I’m confused.

With another perfectly timed fivefold giggle, the Dragonesses swarmed around him, tickling his wings, rubbing his flanks and stroking his neck.

Such honesty, Fiki cooed.

Such muscular haunches, Aiki purred, apparently checking them for defects.

Mmm, salty scales …

A warning growl formed in his throat.

Sisters! He asked for space and understanding, Ciki scolded. Behave. You’re acting like a pack of hatchlings chasing the tail of a tasty fish!

The five drew apart from him, but not very far.

He eyed them suspiciously. Phew. Just about made it out alive. Why did he always attract the snuggly ones?

He’s the one, they all said together. To the mountain we go.

Ziki said, Thundersong, the mountain lies beneath the swamp. All you can see of it is the tip, and even that barely rises out of the water. If your friends have found the entrance, and I believe they have, during these four days you slept after inhaling our gas, then they may already have been captured or neutralised. How will you save them?

Excellent question.

He had creative talents, but he really needed Azania to bounce ideas off. They came up with the zaniest ideas together. Azania the Zany. There. That could be her new title.

You’re with me? Can you bring your five other friends?

They nodded as one, their eyes aflame with that viciousness peculiar to the female of the species.

Excellent. Let’s make plans. He rolled his shoulders and flexed the full length of his spine. I plan to go teach them a new song. It’s a song I teach anyone who threatens my friends – the song of Thundersong the Avenger!

Chapter 29: Spiral Maze Mountain

SNEAKY. HE HEARTILY APPROVED of the Lumen Dragoness’ invisibility technique as they crept up to peek at the entrance to the cave where Queen Suuliki, as best he understood her name in their tongue, had been incarcerated. Fortified was one word. Far more eloquent than the ‘no trespassers’ signs that plagued some Human Kingdoms these days. Thundersong usually made a habit of standing on them, which was not a pleasant end for the signage.

Five bulbous metal shells had been built to the sides and above the entrance, each sprouting several ominous-looking tubes. Muzzles, the Dragonesses whispered to him. Machines that shot burning projectiles at high speed and could kill a Dragon hundreds of feet away. They also had incredibly sensitive hearing or ways of figuring out that invisible Dragons were trying to sneak up on them. That was why they peered through the mists, at the cave mouth in the southern rim of the swamp from about five hundred feet. Might be interesting to try to get in there without developing a great many more holes than Gnarly had already acquired.

Tucking that problem into the back of his mind, the craftily camouflaged Sea Dragon followed the wholly invisible Lumens into their delightful swamp. One last thing. He had to assume the Humans holding the Spiral Maze Mountain could communicate with the Humans in the cave. If he could do sufficiently nasty and permanent damage to those Men in the mountain, they would have to expect a far more hostile and well-prepared welcome at the cave.

Big ‘if.’ Settling all he now knew about the Spiral Maze into his capacious brain, Thundersong let go to allow it to percolate through his subconscious. Four days. Four! When they had not gassed him enough the first time, the quintuplets said, they had given him everything they had. Extra well-rested in time for battle, right? See the positives.

The five led him by devious paths deep into the swamp. They knew its every hollow and tuft. As the first order of business, they travelled to the northwest, to a secret location where a second quintet of Dragonesses lived. Again, these were all sisters, named Frizi, Dizi, Mizi, Eizi and Alizi.

Eizi? That one was easy.

They were even friendlier than the first five. Now he had ten sleek yellow Dragonesses he could not have told apart if his life depended upon it. A happily attached Dragon should not be thinking a single thought about acquiring a harem of his own. Not one. He did not think about it at all during the rainy day’s travel that it took them to reach the centre of the swamp – just a little north of centre, he understood. His team might well have slopped and stomped straight past the entrance the first time around, because all that was visible above the water was a mossy two-foot spire of grey rock that looked like nothing special whatsoever.

With a wily grin, Ciki depressed a lever hidden somewhere beneath the water. A low growl emanated from beneath his paws. Thundersong sloshed backward a step, then two, as a wide rocky shelf surfaced, sheeting dirty water and displacing two startled toads which were as purple as ripe grapes. Dizi, he thought it was, cautioned him against any urges to snack. Highly toxic. Voicing a disgruntled croak apiece, they plopped into the water as the shelf split open to reveal a tall shaft lit from somewhere far below by a tepid yellow light.

Welcome to the maze, all ten said in perfect chorus.

Thundersong stared. That level of psychic synchronisation? How did they do it?

Thankfully, the shaft was wide enough to accommodate a beast of his dimensions, admittedly with his wings extended to about two-thirds of his reach. This provoked a round of admiring comments. Five to the fore and five behind, his escort dropped with him, a vertical distance of about five hundred feet. He heard and felt the entrance close behind their departing tails. He noticed a ladder which their Humans could have climbed down, but what of the Unicorns? Where could they have gone?

The thought had barely crossed his mind when Aiki raised her muzzle to sniff the air. Smells like Unicorns. How novel!

Smells Human and Dragonish, Yiki agreed.

Fresh and sparkly! the ten crooned, curving their necks to gaze with exactly the same mannerism at a lovely, sparkly deposit on the ground right where they landed.

Indeed, it looked and smelled garden-fresh. Thundersong curled his talons away, just in case he stepped in something squidgy. So, the maze. A rocky corridor curved away ahead of him. It looked indistinguishable from the shaft they had just descended, a light greyish stone bathed in this sallow, indeterminate radiance. Ahead, it branched into five separate tunnels via an oval hub. Huh. Wonder if that was a theme?

His ten escorts padded forward eagerly.

Very soon, he saw five more horizontal branches. Next, five aimed toward seemingly random compass points, then five separate tunnels on differing slopes, including vertically downward. They took a shallower, downward-sloping route to his right paw. Within twenty minutes and eleven more changes, he was confused. In many places, they had to swim through underwater passages. Two further hours, and he had lost track of what might be up or down anymore. That was when the Dragonesses slyly informed him that the whole maze was a spiral, of course, and that it changed magically while they were moving through it.

How, under the heavens, did my companions navigate this? he complained.

Frizi prodded his flank with a cheeky giggle. Magic smells.

Phew, that’s your sisters, he joked, but then bit off his laughter immediately.

He and the ten Lumens cocked their heads, listening intently. A second dull thump followed the first. Explosions; medium-heavy ones. He’d know that sound anywhere.

His friends must be under attack!

* * * *

On the way through the swamp, the Lumens had described the general layout of the mountain’s conical central chamber, where they believed the males were imprisoned. The base was a pool of water, one hundred feet deep and about five hundred feet wide. A tall plinth rose from the centre to what they called a roosting platform. To their knowledge, the platform had been secured with a metal cage some one hundred and fifty feet above the water level. The hollow plinth allowed secondary access via the water, a necessity during the short breeding season, but the pool was patrolled by numerous aggressive Mermaids.

How do we stop them? Eizi asked on behalf of all.

Thundersong nodded slowly. I’ve seen Mermaids in action. They’re fine warriors. Hopefully, my friend Inzashu can do something about the control they’re subjected to. How many Humans do you think are inside?

Mizi, or was that Alizi, purred anxiously, At least four pawfuls.

Hmm. Their armoured suits allowed them to fly and swim with ease, to breathe underwater and to mitigate the effects of the Lumen gas. Chances were good his friends had been forced to enter via a tipping, floodable tunnel that the Men controlled and then ambushed inside the chamber. Several of the entrances had been barred or damaged, the Lumen Dragonesses had told him, leaving only the floodable one available.

Let’s spy on them, he growled.

Silent now, the pensive Lumens guided him to the final tunnel branch. He could not see any tipping or flooding mechanism, but it must be present. Sixty Dragon paces away, two soldiers in seamless golden armour guarded an arched entryway to a chamber beyond, where he saw smoke, and spitting electricity playing over the prone body of one Isles Dragoness who lay on the wide ledge that encircled the chamber just above water level.

His hearts sank as he sensed her state. Axmyrielle would not rise again.

Beyond that tragic sight, dozens of Mermaids swarmed over Gnarly in the water, some evidently trying to disable or drown him, while many fought one another. His right paw clenched into a fist. Evidently, Inzashu had been busy. Good.

He motioned the Dragonesses back around the corner. Right. Listen up. We’ll make a surprise attack. Here’s the plan.

Less than a minute later, a large lumpen nothing glided languidly down the corridor toward the unaware sentries. Invisibility tricks. Thundersong’s hearts bruised his chest from the inside as he skated along on his right flank. No sound. Patience. Patience pays the predator! He willed himself to utter stillness. Nothing could serve his companions better than a proper surprise attack. It was their only chance.

Ciki, Fiki, Yiki and Ziki clustered beneath his wings, supplying the magical impetus. Ha. Levitation skills were pretty special. Since they had been detected before by the alien capabilities of these Men, the idea was to try to hide them both physically and with his unique magic.

As they approached to within about thirty feet, he saw one of the Argozume Men tap his wrist. He heard an eerie crackle. An odd, metallic voice said, “Is this thing playing up?”

“Strange reading,” said the other. “Stay alert.”

At exactly the right instant, Frizi, Dizi, Mizi, Eizi and Alizi dashed into view in the tunnel behind him, feinting an attack.

“Yeah, the little yellows,” the first soldier grunted.

“Come to Pappa,” said the second, raising his weapon without sighting along the barrel.

That movement was impossibly fluid and quick. No Human he had ever met moved like that, but Thundersong had expected this much from the Lumens’ haphazard descriptions of their capabilities. Raising his invisible paws, he seized their extended arms and weapons and yanked them around to face one another. One man fired. The blast rocked his friend, but it appeared that their armour had been constructed to resist their own weaponry. Smart.

Squirming up onto his paws, he hammered them repeatedly against the walls until any movement ceased. Aye. That had taken most of his strength, but these creatures were far from invincible.

“Door team. Report! Stat!”

Silence.

“Problem at door one. Green team cover.”

Other voices crackled through now. “Red team leader down. Repeat, red down.”

“Blue support!”

“Freak, they’re so fast – aargh!”

A dull explosion followed that chopped-off scream. Blergh. Hope that hurt plenty.

He whispered, Go now.

His four Lumens pressed themselves against the sides of the tunnel and stilled. Thundersong crooned a hiding song. Five seconds later, a squad of four gold-suited Humans approached the door, their military training more than clear in the way they covered one another’s angles of approach.

“Door team down,” someone said. At the same time, the six Lumens again showed themselves at the end of the tunnel. “More Dragons. Yellows – expect gas attacks!” A deeper voice called, “Set for stun, men. We need them alive.”

With their attention focussed on the Lumen Dragonesses, the team of armoured Humans moved into the tunnel toward Thundersong. His eyes narrowed. That one with the black sickle blazoned on his chest, he was the leader, motioning the team to move in – they worked together like professional soldiers, Thundersong saw at once.

Someone chuckled, “This is gonna hurt, girls.”

“Readings!” another shouted.

Thundersong blurred into motion, smashing his fist down atop the leader’s head. Armour or none, the heavy impact drove his head five inches further down into his chest.

“Green leader – aaaieee!”

He savaged a second man with his fangs, slowly crushing the incredibly hard shell until his fangs found a weakness and sank into flesh and bone. Spit it out! Acidic magic fouled his mouth; he immediately tried to cleanse himself, meantime turning to help his four who had tackled the two remaining soldiers with the intent merely to snarl them up, to stop them from –

Kaaboom!

He reeled. Even at a supposed stun setting, that weapon had pounded him like Juggernaut in a particularly cranky mood. Pain being a choice motivator for eager students, the Grinder Dragon claimed. He surged across the corridor as the soldier wrenched loose of the two yellow Lumens trying to hold him back, hitting him with the full force of his shoulder, all his tonnage and his worst wishes for the future behind the blow. The metal of his armour twisted and split along the seam. Before he could recover, a Lumen paw punched deep into the abdomen and twisted, yanking out a shockingly lengthy, slimy rope of guts.

No love lost there, eh?

Nice! he hissed.

Whirling, Thundersong saw the last surviving soldier of the squad throttling Yiki with the barrel of his weapon. So strong was he that the Dragoness could not escape his grip. Her paws scrabbled weakly at the man’s armour. Ignoring the sounds behind him as Ziki finished off the one she had disembowelled, he wracked his brains for a way to help. No hitting or biting, clearly. Seizing the man’s legs in his paws, he yanked them apart. Wide spart. The man squealed like a stuck pig. Thundersong gave the legs an extra twist in opposing directions and heard something pop like gristle under the bite of his fangs.

To his surprise, the man’s crackling speech switched to screams in a language he could not understand. Something full of spine-chilling growls and gutturals. His initial creeping disgust at what he had just done to a fellow intelligent creature faded into puzzlement, even repulsion. What was that?

It sounded insectoid. Like a cockroach which had unexpectedly learned Human speech.

Pulling Yiki away, he hammered down on the helmet until the screaming stopped. This might be the toughest metal he had ever encountered, but he was a massive and massively enraged Dragon. His final punch left that helm as a metal pancake about three inches thick.

And stay dead! he spat, before pushing the Dragonesses with his paws. Go distract them as planned. Be careful, and don’t forget to cover your ears.

Yiki gave an impressed purr.

Reaching out differently, he touched Azania’s mind with his, purring, Who let a Dragon into the house?

To her credit, she did not even flinch. Instead, her mind communicated a wordless warning: It could be that the enemy detected telepathy.

The golden helms bobbed this way and that, evidently searching for the source of the communication – but appeared to be satisfied the second yellow gas billowed out of the tunnel and the Lumen Dragonesses poured out, splitting up as planned to confuse their focus. The strange speech crackled again. He imagined what they must be saying. Set for stun. Take the females down. Peering through the tunnel’s end as best he could, he tried to evaluate and plan. Several dozen of them menaced the Rangers, who had taken cover behind the wreckage of another door – plenty of hiding places there, but the weapons delivered a real blast and the debris was being blown apart piece by piece.

Maybe two-thirds of the Rangers. Aye. The rest must be with the herd somewhere inside the maze. Aria’s Dragonesses took on the golden suits in a wild aerial fracas. He tensed as his Dragon senses soaked up all the details, before the mist obscured everything. Those pipes leading from the butt end of their weapons to their solid backpacks – could those house some kind of power source?

If so, the crackling energies boiling inside his chest held a delicious surprise for them. Deep breath.

Flexing his talons, he broke into a flat-out sprint. Hold the breath. As he launched out of the tunnel entrance into the conical chamber, he spun horizontally about his torso to create a whirlwind effect that sucked the gas out with him. All the Men would see was a bulge in the yellow cloud. Then, a huge white Dragon materialised on a collision course with that knot of golden suits threatening the Rangers. They scattered and spun with astonishing speed, despite the element of surprise.

In his mind, Thundersong pictured a squid of flame with dozens of tentacles – and to his pure astonishment, as the white-hot flame rocketed out of his throat under the enormous impetus of his need, it did exactly what he asked of it. The tentacles licked many golden suits and delivered searing fire that caused them to cry out instantly, followed by a massive jolt of electricity.

Kaboom! Ka-ka-ka-boom! Half a dozen Men exploded mid-air. Ten more dropped into the water, clearly trying to extinguish the flames or to stop the melting. Grinning Mermaids converged upon them, their tridents spitting lightning as their magic came alive. Arimyel hauled one out by his backpack, the better to hack him to pieces with her sword.

Oh. These ones had yellow hair and eyes, which made them look like rapacious felines.

He thundered, BWAAA-HAAA-HARRR!!

The sonic wave detonated like a thunderclap in the close space, shaking the chamber and sending a wave hurtling across the water. Mermaids fainted. Golden suits clattered against the far wall. Gnarly bellowed in rage! The plinth shook violently, dropping eight or nine small, coal-black males onto the metal cage, where mauve arcane energy sparked violently. They died within seconds.

Thundersong cursed his mistake.

The only way out must be down through the plinth. Cunning trap.

Shaken by the titanic attack, the combatants on both sides had to take several seconds to recover. In that time, Thundersong abandoned his hoped-for assault on the cage above to release more allies and focussed on the suits. His fire hissed out. Four heavy slugs slammed into his body, but failed to penetrate his thick hide, punching him sideways through the air. Two more explosions, however, left black scorch marks on the walls as the Argozume Men exploded in violent fireballs.

Aria came swooping in right behind his attack, following so closely that her form was just a wraith in the billowing smoke. She reversed course with the skill of a bat to avoid a scorching blast from one of the weapons, and hacked powerfully at the Man with her sword. Despite that it stuck inches deep into his armour, he lifted his weapon and fired point-blank at her, only for the confusion created by her unique wings to wholly fool him. A soldier twenty feet away groaned as the projectile slammed into the molten side of his armour suit. Despite his injury, he pulled his trigger, and a massive, uncontrolled fireball surged out of the weapon.

Thundersong spun Aria out of harm’s way.

Thanks, beloved! she sang, back-kicking a golden suit squarely between the legs. The man smirked. Swinging around, Thundersong added a kick so powerful the crunch could be heard around the chamber. His smirk dissolved into a howl of agony. Guess that thick metal armour had just turned into a giant pair of pliers.

Well met, beauty! he thundered, spinning around her a second time. His fire lanced out one way, her swords the other. Guess Dragons could dance after all.

Led by Azania, the Ranger sharpshooters downed another three of the golden suits by targeting the holes burned in their armour. The crackling chatter changed to defensive commands. They regrouped, sending a withering hail of fire across the chamber to keep the defenders pinned down.

Suddenly, Zurianne broached right ahead of him and, with a dolphin-worthy leap, ended up in his paw. Blood trickled from her mouth and multiple cuts adorned her body, but all she had for him was a maniac smile. Come, help me get this door open!

Where was Firri? And Gazdonl?

He touched minds briefly with Inzashu as he hurtled down into the water. She huddled at the back of the Ranger formation, burning out the Mermaids’ collar devices one by one. The mental exertion had already wrung her out, but she proceeded grimly, sharing a glimmer of a mind smile as he poured strength and healing into her. Three Lumens speared deep with him as he and Zurianne made for the pedestal’s base. They mimed danger. Booby-trapped?

Ciki, he thought it was, dragged one of the weapons through the water to him, still loosely attached to a dangling body. He clearly saw the dark hair and piercing blue eyes, but these stared at nothingness – yet did he sense something still lurking inside?

With a shiver, he handled the weapon and clumsily brought it to bear on the base of the pedestal. There, the target of various gestures, stood one small, innocent-looking pink access flap that had been neatly bolted shut with strips of white metal. He eyed them suspiciously. Did he smell a phosphorous-like compound? No, not quite. Best guess? Something highly flammable.

Motioning the others to swim back before doing the same himself, he tried to trigger the weapon. Nothing.

Oh! The dead man’s gloved hand did the job. Power surged through the weapon and struck the flap. Next he knew, he drifted somewhere in the pool, shaking his head. He could not hear a thing. Sunspots danced in front of his eyes – but the plinth, even though severely damaged at the base, still stood upon a thread of metal-reinforced stone. A swarm of small black Dragons issued out of that gap like bats flitting out of a cave on a twilight hunt. Hundreds of them. Most could be no more than twelve to fourteen feet in length; guppies in comparison to him, but they were very many and their mood, decidedly ugly.

He liked ugly.

The males gathered like pools of liquid ink before surging upward to attack the remaining Argozume Men in packs. Regardless of the number of hits they took, the fast-moving packs mobbed the armoured forms with one mind, tearing at anything and everything. The armour was strong, but it had seams and Thundersong, rising belatedly behind the wave of attackers, realised that this was not their only trick. They spat acid. Stuff powerful enough to eat visibly into the armour. Within seconds, two backpacks detonated as the acid penetrated their contents, one with a slow fizzle, but the other with violence that instantly slew perhaps forty of the black Lumen Dragons.

The remaining Argozume Men fled.

Immediately, Azania stood up from behind her cover, shouting, “The Unicorns went –”

Thundersong was still trying to lipread, when King Azerim tackled his wife from behind, taking her narrowly out of the path of a projectile that sprayed them both with shrapnel as it exploded against the wall right behind where her torso had been. The black Lumens caught the Argozume who had paused to try that shot and dragged him to the ground. Miki reached in to point his weapon at the ceiling as he fired multiple times in a wholly useless direction. No way he’d last.

Exploding out of the water with a clap of his wings that sent a sharp pang through his newly healed wing joint, Thundersong gave chase. He was not as quick as six of the yellow Dragonesses and three of Aria’s warriors, who all beat him into the tunnel. It had changed. Nearly a quarter of a mile in length now, it clearly showed the Unicorns galloping toward the fray. They were too far back. Far too far.

Gazdonl and Firri flew at their rear, clearly having been left behind in the charge.

He shook his head. That lad.

The Men raised their weapons and fired in a single flowing motion. The Unicorns raised their horns and somehow deflected the blasts past as if the air were made of glass. Firri flicked out of the way at the last second. The Men fired again and again. The equines kept coming on. Only one fell somewhere toward the back. Their magic swelled in this place; a peal of delighted realisation escaped Thundersong’s throat as the Argozume soldiers made to overfly them and suddenly the Unicorn formation peeled open like a flower, running up the tunnel’s sides, even along its roof. A forest of pearlescent white horns lowered toward the centre, making the whole affair look like an infeasibly pretty mouthful of shark’s teeth leading to a hungry gullet.

The soldiers baulked; the Unicorns swept forward and hit them with a tremendous crash. Again, projectiles spat into the formation and, this time, several Unicorns tumbled away, terribly wounded, but he saw that the horns had pierced the golden armour like fangs sinking into soft flesh.

Speared upon multiple points, the Argozume Men still fought back, but the equines hurled them to the floor of the tunnel, and then a tidal wave of horns swept over them, stabbing and stabbing until crimson ran in rivulets.

How had he ever thought Unicorns were gentle?

Chapter 30: Slick Moves

THUNDERSONG HAD PRESIDED OVER some strange gatherings in his time. The three A-runes, Azania, Aria and Azerim, had asked him to take the lead here, perhaps because he was the biggest Dragon – or maybe, that he had the loudest voice? Ha. Some creature had to be the loudmouth.

Pleasure mingled with grief as he gazed over the gathering. He counted more losses – three Isles warriors, two Unicorns, seven Rangers, two Desert Askaris and fifty-eight Lumens, including two of their Dragonesses, Fiki and Frizi – but so much gained. Three hundred and nine blonde heads surrounded one sapphire blue one. Gazdonl was trying not to add another colour, the green of envy, at a bevy of muscular young Mermen who had been ogling Zurianne until she had to threaten them with her trident and promptly demonstrated her regard for the Dragon Rider by snagging him into the water for a long, soggy smooch.

It went mmmmweeeee-eeeehhhhh!

One and all, the Dragons gaped at this spectacle. The two Xerocic lads appeared to be taking careful notes, but when their eyes identically fell upon Gaz, whose folded arms clamped visibly across his chest, they quickly paid attention to other things. Hmm. Not fooled.

“And that,” Zurianne announced triumphantly, “is how to introduce water to a land dweller’s legs. Look, he can’t even stand up straight anymore.”

“Can too!” Gazdonl sulked, pulling himself out of the water. He stood up and promptly did a little dance on the wet rock. “Oh – wow – thank you, sire.”

Azerim grinned, “No problem.”

As the lad made to back up, a royal boot snuck out and tripped him up. Splash!

“Back for more?” his girlfish inquired archly, swooping to the rescue.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” yelled all the young Mermen.

Apparently, this meant that he had to do the despicable deed this time. Thundersong rolled his eye fires. Youngsters. That said, this pod of Merpeople appeared to be patriarchal, while Zurianne’s was matriarchal. A few misunderstandings had already surfaced. He pictured slapping the two tribes together. How the sparks would fly!

Save that pleasure for later.

Clapping his paws together, he called, “Attention, everyone.”

Speaking in both Dragonish and Human, he outlined the situation. The Lumen Queen Suuliki was trapped in a cavern beneath the escarpment at the edge of the swamps, heavily guarded by the Argozume Men who, this time, would be ready and waiting. As he pooled the knowledge of the group, he learned that there were other male Lumens inside the cavern who had been subjugated in much the same manner as the Merpeople, and forced to guard the Queen. They were called Greater Lumens. These males they had rescued were Link Lumens. They displayed many of the same qualities as the females, with an extraordinary group psyche. The life of one was always subordinate to the needs of the group.

These small males were also called egg keepers. In normal times, their role would be to fertilsit an egg, one per male, in their egg pouches, for the thirty-three months of gestation. The Greater Lumens served the Queen and formed partnerships with the other females, usually one male to five sisters. Apparently, the eggs started with the females, before being passed to the Queen in a secret ritual. Later on, the eggs were transferred to the egg keepers and, just in time for the birth, they were returned to the original female. One did not want to think about who put what where when.

Finding himself growing irritable with the talk of eggs to the point of unreason, Thundersong looked inward and found dark shame curling into the fires of his thoughts. Was he not annoyed and frustrated in the main because he and Aria could have none? How contemptible was he? Putting these thoughts aside, he told himself that such talk served only to confirm for everyone how important the Queen was to their Dragon society. Fine. He could work with that.

When the Link Lumens had said their piece, he continued, “I believe our paramount mission will be to rescue the Queen and then immediately afterward, fly to release the other Unicorns – unless we feel we can or must split our forces.”

“Why’s that, Thundersong?” Gazdonl asked.

“Lad, if they can communicate over longer distances, then our attack on that cave may precipitate retribution against the Unicorns.”

A low growl of anger rose from the Merpeople and many others.

Ciki said, May I speak?

He had noticed that she and her three surviving sisters, Aiki, Yiki and Ziki, who had taken a deep wound to her flank and lay prone as Chanize and Inzashu worked over her, had been getting cosy with Gnarly. The Crusher alternated between grimacing as if he had sat upon a porcupine and lapping up the attention.

Thundersong nodded gravely to the Lumen Dragoness. Speak.

It is known that the pen area lies beside a cliff, and a river runs up to a pool there at the base. It may lend itself to attack by our Merpeople friends, she smiled. Remarkably eloquent, that toothy grin. Almost evil.

Gnarly gave a snigger of appreciation. Thundersong, I propose that Blackguard, Ciki and I take a force up to the mountains. We’d attack at some prearranged signal or time. You are right. Simply, not all of us could fit in an assault on a single cave or cave system. We’d only get in each other’s way.

Exactly. He had not wanted to be the one to say so.

Azania said, You might even try to swim the Unicorns out. You Merpeople could ride them.

This might also be a chance to distance the younger girls from the fighting, Thundersong told Azania privately. He’d speak to whoever led that expedition to make sure they had active roles but, especially for Vhalzishu, nothing that could land her in danger.

War respected neither children, nor elderly … nor any creature.

The Mer raised their tridents and voiced a mighty shout. Their leader, Prime Zebullion – wonderful name, that – called, All honour to our kin of earth and wind!

Cue for whinnying, prancing and … oh aye, there it went. A brief, intricate Unicorn caper developed, leading to one of the stallions, a rare beast of light, metallic-grey colouration, breaking into one of their frenzied dances. Much quicker than the colt who had danced before, he came to the point where, with enormous, quivering effort, he tried to produce horn magic but, this time, nothing happened. The lathered stallion hung his head in shame.

Thundersong nodded gravely to the stallion. I honour my brother.

The other dipped his horn.

Turning to the congregation, he said, “Good. So, I believe we’re agreed to split up our efforts to mitigate the risk. Now, let me tell you what I propose for the attack on the caves – essentially, a series of slick moves we’ll need to execute in close coordination. Secondly, we add an aerial ugly element and, finally, cavern cosiness. Let me lay out the three different vectors for you …”

He paused to snort at Azania’s openly startled expression. What can I say? I’m a creative soul, my friend.

I can’t wait to see this slick, ugly, cosy battle plan!

* * * *

Inzashu was unimpressed to have landed the slick part of the plan. She was even less impressed when Azania wheedled her out of her desert robes, which were fairly much useless for cave diving, and presented her with a gift long in the hiding. Fitted tan leather trousers.

“Estri-zuk!” Inzashu nearly howled.

“Enough of the protests,” Thundersong growled at her. “Gaz will pop an eyeball.”

“Not helping, Dragon. My robes were fine. And decent!”

“And absolutely not suited for climbing down damp, slippery passages into caves,” he said firmly. “I know you feel you’ve drawn the short straw in this, but we need to get you and your abilities as close to that Queen Dragoness as possible. Where the Dragonesses left me last time is the perfect access point – in addition, I am quite certain that between the two of you, you’ll be able to create mayhem inside. You’ll have Gaz and plenty more backup – as many of the Lumen males as we can stuff down that pipe. Remember their acid will eat just about anything. Use it wisely.”

Azania put in, “And as for the trousers, wear them with confidence –”

“I hate you.”

“– and don’t forget to swing your hips. Like this.”

“I hate you more!”

“You love your big sister, really,” Azania teased. “Consider this garb, as Thundersong rightly pointed out, to be a form of weaponry.”

“I used to have morals. Are you trying to corrupt me?”

“Ooh, is it working, then?”

“No!”

And on that note, they went off to accost Gaz. Not to put too fine a point on it, his jaw unhinged, any semblance of reason evaporated, and the corner of his left eye developed a violent twitch. All good. Passing X-Three and X-Four a few minutes later, he might have been heard to snarl that if they developed any similar ideas, he’d spread their blood and guts over half of Solixambria.

Good lad. Top marks on big-brotherly protectiveness but, he suspected, battles would rage over the matter of his teenage sisters’ attire. Gaz had no idea, did he?

Given a plenitude of local knowledge, the companions quickly returned to the surface with all their new friends. Some of the Merpeople acceded to an airlift, but most climbed the ladder up that final shaft to the surface without any trouble whatsoever. Hand over hand, no use of the tail. The Humans eyed them enviously. Incredible strength. As an unfortunate necessity, however, Chanize remained behind with the worst injured and some sets of hands to help.

Back in the gloriously mucky swamp, the forces split up. Gnarly, Blackguard, Zurianne, Gazdonl and Firri would travel to the mountains, together with all of the Unicorns, most of the Merpeople and a strong complement of Rangers, Askaris and Isles Dragonesses. A hundred Link Lumens flew with them, including the four Dragonesses who had shown an interest in Gnarly. Interesting. They were not as young as he had originally supposed. Had they never been able to take mates among their kind? He scented something of a strange fate at work, but could not, for all the fires within him, have said what it was.

Thundersong took his team up to the wetlands above the swamps in search of the one commodity that would not easily be found – boulders large enough to be carried by Dragons. Large, but not too large.

The ‘ugly’ element of his plan involved making it rain.

Thank the heavens it did not rain for real, or that would also have washed out part of his plan. The afternoon was hazy but bright enough, with storm clouds spilling over the mountains like a grey helm. That should help one team at least.

King Azerim took charge of team ‘slick.’ They readied ropes, spikes, boots and climbing equipment. The Link Lumens chuckled amongst themselves at all these preparations, until Aria described climbing muzzle-first down a long, narrow vertical pipe without the use of wings. A dark, damp, mossy, slimy kind of pipe that, once one was inside, there was but one way to go, and that was down, or attempt an extremely tricky climb in reverse. Probably have to be pulled out by their tails.

They got the idea.

Thundersong overflew the entrance to the cavern several times at a good height. It was impossible to know what they would find inside, but he assumed those five armoured shells were only the tip of the talon as far as defences went. These Argozume Men did not strike him as the sort to play nice. Give it a few booby traps, maybe a door to seal on the inside … plenty of possibilities to worry about. He and Azania spent an agreeable few hours working out strategies and counter-strategies before, three hours after dark, the infiltration team hiked from the cenote into the access tunnel where he had spoken with the Queen.

Time to do business.

* * * *

Thundersong and Azania flew aloft. It was hard to tell with the storm now pouring over the mountain peaks in a dark mass full of jagged strikes of lightning but, eventually, they caught sight of a blinking signal in Farfire and were able to exchange several terse messages with Blackguard. The team was in position. They had found the Unicorns and identified only four guards. When he queried that, Blackguard agreed the number was strangely small and he would take precautions.

Good. That old rogue had no shortage of wiliness, nor willingness.

Three more hours. That storm was starting to move in now. It might be a close-run thing here at the swamp. He flexed his talons restively. How good were the sensors those Argozume Men used? Should they set up a diversion, or was that all moot already? The first offensive would be telling.

Time, Azania said in his head.

At last. Let’s do this.

Whirling on his wingtip, Thundersong swooped low over the wetlands. A black cloud, hundreds strong, rose to meet him, even though they knew he would land first to brief their non-winged companions.

Aria, situational? he inquired.

Aria reported, Team’s inside. Close to the Queen, working on passing a barrier or blockage of some sort. They can see her about a hundred feet away. Biggest Dragoness you’ve ever seen but she’s well locked down and guarded by fourteen Greater Lumens.

Thank you, Aria. Wait on my signal?

She and her Dragonesses nodded as one. Each had a granite boulder ready; a weight they could carry. Four much larger ones awaited Thundersong, should he need them all. He picked his favourite and patted it with his paw. This one. Good.

Flying up with the black Lumen Dragons, he flicked his wings purposefully and said, Right, my friends, ready to do ugly?

Ready! every throat responded in chorus.

Good! Let’s go spit on our enemies.

They even laughed in uncanny chorus, but a touch of talking and experimentation had revealed certain strengths to their group-think psyche. One was that, as they overflew the cave’s fortified entrance at a height of about six hundred feet, hundreds of eyes and brains evaluated the terrain, targets, height and wind speed simultaneously. This allowed them to build an extraordinarily accurate picture of the required strike. Clearing their throats multiple times, the Lumens prepared their acid spit.

Let it rain, Azania said softly, touching his shoulder. Ready boulder?

Ugly rain, said he, signalling to Aria.

Light green spit poured out of hundreds of throats, splashing down upon the five metal guardhouses, as they had come to think of them. Thundersong peered carefully through his spectacles, having to use the full power of his Dragon sight and optical enhancements to see the effect. The metal bubbled already. Soon, it smoked in multiple places. A good hit, but not enough to do the damage they needed. The Link Lumens drew breath, adjusted their altitude slightly and let rip a second time. Impressive accuracy. They saw the bulbous silver muzzles begin to swing about, to rotate upward. Did they have the range?

He thought about releasing his boulder, saw a side door swing open on one of the emplacements below and promptly fumbled the boulder.

Fritzed it! he snarled.

A second or two later, a golden helmet emerged from that door and the boulder did what half-tonne boulders do when dropped from a height of six hundred feet.

Excellent shot, Azania giggled. Totally intentional.

Totally.

Four words and she made him stand forty feet taller. Now there was a Dragon Rider power. An Azania superpower indeed!

A hail of burning orange projectiles spat from the static weapons. Despite their speed, at this range, most Dragon reactions were superior, and only a single Link Lumen was hit – a glancing blow to the head which knocked him out. Thundersong caught him on the way down, as he crossed paths with Aria and her team labouring upward with their chosen boulders in paw.

Knock them out, he called in passing.

That metal’s looking porous, Aria fluted, gleefully wrathful.

Right she was. The worst-hit top sagged inward already. Two golden suits spilled out; the Lumens immediately adjusted above, like a flock of birds, and made it rain one more time. That would be the limit of their acid capabilities for a couple of hours, until their bodies regenerated the supply. It might have been wise to order a few to hold back, he realised belatedly.

Two boulders? Azania grinned audibly.

One for me, one for you. He launched upward with an enormous lurch that clacked her teeth together despite her extensive experience. Sorry.

All good.

Fourteen boulders from Aria’s team rained down, destroying three of the emplacements and partially caving in the fourth. The armoured men abandoned ship at a merry rate. Only two weapons still fired. One struck an Isles warrior with a lucky shot, penetrating her belly. She wobbled in the air, but bravely circled with the others, pouring blood from the wound, until Aria ordered her to land and find some jaramoss. They passed him in the descent as Thundersong reached their altitude.

Maybe move in on the door? he suggested, and had his tail threatened with being trimmed.

Alright, alright. He knew who the warrior was in the relationship.

Rising to a good height, he had the Lumens’ help as he took aim at the last active emplacement. Two shots hurtled upward at the same instant he dropped his boulders. One struck a boulder and knocked it a little off course, the other whistled straight upward, ripped through his left mid-wing membrane and kept right on going.

Thundersong eyed the spot balefully. What? Now I’m REALLY MAD!

Keerrrump!

Huh. He surveyed the splattered-apart metal shell with two soldiers lying prone within, clearly dead, and decided that payment had only just begun.

Slick plan in progress, ugly done. Time to get cosy inside that cave.

* * * *

Azerim’s most experienced Rangers included several women who specialised in sabotage. They snuck in through the cave entrance, checking for traps or triggers.

Returning, Ranger Ixmaya said, “We’ve a long gallery leading to a heavily barred metal door. Ten spots on that door look like they might be sliding hatches to allow shooting from behind cover. There’s about sixty feet of clear, sandy space before that, with little cover.”

Azania said, “Unless we move a few of those shells in with us.”

“Ooh,” said the Ranger.

“Or Thundersong could wear one like a helmet,” Aria put in.

“What?” he growled.

“That one’s got a nice mouth hole in it. You could pretend to be kissing me –”

Blergh! he spluttered.

“– and warm them up nicely,” she finished cheerfully.

He said, “I’m having despicable thoughts about that last stink bomb – no, their helmets seem to filter gases. I don’t think we have any acid attacks left – sonics might just bring the entire cave down – which leaves my white fire, right?”

Switching to Dragonish, he explained briefly and asked, Any Lumens got acid left?

Rueful headshakes.

However, we do have fifty Merpeople with nice electric tridents, Azania suggested. Could we use those? Maybe just to jam open a few of those holes?

Let’s keep that idea as a backup. Let’s see what surprises they have in store for us first.

The cosy he had in mind was not to jam his head into a metal shell and then poke it into a cave stuffed with Argozume Men who would like nothing better than to blow holes in his hide. He liked his fangs just the way they were. Azania and the Rangers swarmed over one of the more intact shells, washing the acid off with swamp water. Actually, the way they’d punched a hole through the top made it a perfect fit for his head and muzzle. He could even see through a weapon slit with one eye.

Right. Time to go stick his neck into the hunter’s trap.

Azania slapped the metal shell. “A true gladiator Dragon. If only Blackguard could see you now.”

Mwwaaa-haaa-HAARRGHH!! he thundered, mostly to get his fires up and running. An honest Dragon should probably admit he was a touch apprehensive about getting shot at point-blank with those weapons these Men had.

The Link Lumens gaped at him in frank hero worship.

Oh dear. He had never done terribly well with expectations in the past.

That’s in the past, Azania echoed privately in his mind. If it gets too much, just back out again. Be careful. I also like your smile.

Fang-k you very much.

With that less-than-heroic mumble, he shambled forward, trying not to hit his head on anything. He felt ridiculous. Gladiator Dragon? Honestly, he resembled a metal mushroom with a fat white stem. Remember to line everything up behind the shell. He was nothing if not plenty to aim at. Why, oh why, had he not concentrated more upon his diet?

The oval cave access was easily sufficient for a Dragon of his size to step into, splashing ankle-deep in a stream that flowed out of the entrance. All these caves seemed to be markedly wet; no surprise, given the extensive wetlands above. Their operations inside might flood unless there was egress – an idea they hadn’t considered; however, they did not want to drown any allies. Besides, Inzashu was already down below creating the kind of mischief only she could. She had agreed to try to remain undetected until she heard sounds of fighting. Best to warm her up – right now would do just fine.

White-hot heat gathered behind his keel bone. He concentrated on narrowing it down, on making it as hot as possible. At the same time, he pictured lightning. Great forked lightning bolts jagging across the sky. Thunderbolts reaving mountaintops. Thousands of crackling pinpricks of blue-white electricity playing along the leading edges of his wingtips.

He peered through the eye slit. There it was – a metal bulwark some twelve feet tall and eighteen feet wide. The rock had clearly been cut away to ensure a flush fit, but it did not appear to be airtight. A small stone-and-mortar culvert allowed water to gurgle beneath it. He saw the hatches immediately and picked out the central seam where the doors met. That would be his first target. Readying his Dragon fire, he pursed his lips and expelled a steady stream of white, magic-laced fire that played against the seam, quickly turning the metal a dull red.

Too far to be effective?

A hatch clicked open. His tongue twitched to adjust his aim but, in his haste, he overshot and a barrel within spat a projectile directly at him. Clang!

“Ouch,” he muttered, even though it did not hurt.

The ricochet rattled away through the tunnel. He took aim again and triggered his fire. Suddenly, hatches began to open and shut at irregular intervals, projectiles spitting at him with increasing speed and frequency. He tried to anticipate the openings but found the pattern to be random. There must be a reload time. He grunted as a shot scored across his shoulder. Not working. Returning his fire to the central seam, he worked steadily for a minute, enduring the clanging and several glancing injuries. Then, a burning projectile smashed into his lower lip.

Thundersong roared in pain.

Retreat.

Chapter 31: Who’s a Bad Dragon?

SULKILY, HE GRUMBLED, I guess I won’t be kissing you for a few days?

It’s superficial damage but you’ll need plenty of stitching, Aria responded. Tell us what happened in there.

I FAILED is what!

Apparently, roaring full-throated at one’s mate passed for mild flirtation. She gave him a pretend-shy smile and cooed, Ah, how my beloved doth thunder!

Gnarr!

My thoughts precisely, said the warrior. Now, brief us and we’ll work out a plan.

Three minutes of intense discussion later, Azania clicked her fingers and cried, “Of course, how could I be so stupid?”

Thundersong grunted, “Eh? That’s my job. No stealing.”

“No, painting,” she said excitedly. “Paint the door – in your head.” He mimed a creaky jaw. “Nitwit! If you fix a picture of where those hatches are in your head, you can hit them with your fire-lighting combo all at once. It won’t matter how many are open or closed. You’ll hit something soon enough.”

“Huh. Not a bad idea.”

“Not bad?” She kicked his paw.

“Pure genius!”

“Better.”

We also made enough spit for three, said one of the Link Lumens.

Oh, excellent! the Queen enthused. How did you do that?

If each one makes a little, he said, we then collect it drop by drop, mouth to mouth, until we have enough.

Azania’s eyes widened. Erm … excellent work!

The Lumen apparently read her reaction like an open scroll because he grinned and said, See, o Queen Human? Even male Dragons can kiss.

Azania reached out to scratch him upon the skull. The Dragon began to bristle and then said something about the sensation being like brotherly nuzzling. Evidently, he thought himself the bigger creature and fingers would not be amputated for the temerity – that, or he sensed Thundersong’s vigilant eye upon him. Wise Dragons.

Thundersong took three of the kissing Lumens into the cave with him this time. Quick raid. He shambled forward exactly as before, keeping his head lowered this time to protect his injured mouth with the edge of his oversized helmet. The Link Lumens slunk beneath his belly.

Ready? Three, two, one …

At exactly the instant his fire lanced out, one of the hatches popped open and a projectile hurtled forth. Clang! Flush on the nice skullcap he wore. He ignored that, busy painting in his head. Mark the hatches mentally and then – there went the Lumens, quick as a flash. Easily too quick for the next two shots, which chipped a wall and sent up a plume of white sand from the floor respectively. Then, the next hatch opened and spilled four round, shiny balls. What were those?

The Link Lumens hit the opening with excellent timing; three simultaneous shots from about forty feet out.

They paused to admire their work.

His throat clenched painfully. GET OUT OF THERE!!

Bellowing in alarm, Thundersong flung himself forward, paws outstretched. A sound like a hammer hit his ear canals and four excruciatingly brilliant flashes lit the chamber. The Lumens collapsed as if poleaxed.

Several screams sounded behind the door. Barely heard them through the ringing in his ears.

Gathering their bodies in his paws, he retreated with care. Breathing? Aye, shallowly. One had not survived. He hauled them back while blinking multiple times and shaking his head inside the metal helmet. He might as well have stared directly at Taramis. On a sudden impulse, Thundersong took the unmoving Link Lumen and began to depress his chest as he had been taught. An awkward, desperate heart massage. He gave the little fellow a jolt of lightning – and, to his shock, he coughed and started breathing again.

Well, what a result!

Blitzed and Fritzed him back to life.

With that oddly backward thought, a wholly unaccustomed sense of authority swelled in his chest. All his life he had been plagued by self-doubt, rooted in his earliest memories. The Dragon who was different to any other. He loved art. He smelled flowers for the joy of appreciating their scent and delicate beauty; he had not breathed fire or roughhoused like the other males. Blitz the Devastator was who he had been, nicknamed Blitz the Fritz, and he thought he had to put that name behind him forever – but he knew a new truth.

Juggernaut was famed for his skill of razing his enemies.

A Blitz could excel at blitzing.

Turning toward the door, a low, vicious chuckle escaped his throat. The hatches opened and shut to play their deadly game of peekaboo – peek-a-blast, perhaps – but he kept his head low to protect the Lumens as he painted afresh in his head. Then, he shot his lightning fire into the culvert. As it arced beneath the door at a speed faster than thought, his mental picture took over and the white flame flowered behind the door into twelve distinct petals, each targeting the area just behind one of the hatches. He swept the fire about like a panicked worm trying to escape a bird.

A chain of explosions rewarded his effort.

Lurching to his paws, he stepped carefully over the Link Lumens. Take your brother out, please. Alert Aria, I’m going to breach the door.

On it, Dragon, Azania said immediately.

Gathering his focus, he backed up as far as possible. Dig in the talons. The chamber had survived a large explosion, so he was not concerned about bringing down the roof; however, he was still not seeing right and probably could not hear if someone still threatened from behind the barrier. He could not afford any assumptions. This might be just the first layer of defence. Drawing a deep breath, he flexed his shoulders and thought about using his armoured head. No. Juggernaut had been clear about how Dragon anatomy worked, saying that, in general, head-on collisions at high speed with immovable objects should be avoided. He should use his uninjured shoulder.

One more deep breath.

A rising roar ripped out of his throat as he launched into motion: GRRRRAAARRRGGHH!!

Thundersong struck the door with his curved shoulder and the full tonnage of his body aligned behind the impact. It rang like an immense gong. Dust exploded around the edges. All those extra breakfasts had clearly paid off, because the reinforced metal, no less than three inches thick, dented inward with a mournful groan. An eight-inch gap opened in the central seam, enough for him to see a crossbeam and one lone golden suit who had the temerity to still be alive.

He shot and missed. Thundersong lanced the Argozume weapon with a delicate spear of white fire. Wheee-boom! There went the power pack. One instant the soldier was present; the next, it was as if he had blinked and all had been wiped clean.

Magic.

He could hear a little; enough to know that all movement behind the door had ceased. Thundersong knocked loudly with his knuckle.

Knock, knock, little Humans. Anyone at home?

A distant voice cursed his ancestors.

He sensed the great Queen Dragoness stirring, responding to Inzashu’s presence, at last. So belatedly? She must be in worse shape than they had feared. She was also located farther back than he had calculated in a large cave system, which meant he had scope for one of his favourite routines. A little wake-up call.

First, he applied his hottest, most concentrated fires to a welding job. The central bar still holding the barrier in place glowed orange, then yellow-hot as his lightning-laced fire peeled away the metal. Commanding the others to stay back for a moment, he applied the same treatment to a heavy deadbolt at the base, meant to keep the doors from being opened exactly as he intended to.

Next, he put his muzzle to the gap. He flexed his jaw and let rip. CAALL – MEEEE – DRRRAAAGGOOONN!!

A thunderclap shook the caverns; his best yet. The reverberation shook more dust out of the hinges but inside, it should hurt the hearing of most Humans.

Inzashu’s mind touched his immediately. They’re filling the space around the Queen with gas. The Greater Lumen version is explosive if ignited. Queen’s fight – uhhh – and they have augmented mental powers – twenty – back soon …

Not a good sign. Rapidly, he called, Aria. Warriors ready? Link Lumens. Gather here in the cavern. I need space for a runup. Don’t get in my way.

His mate peered at him. Do I know you, handsome beast?

For the first time since he had known her, she seemed uncertain.

He touched her shoulder with his wingtip. Whatever may come, my hearts are for yours. She voiced a low, throaty sound, much like a sob. Ready to deal death to the foe, Dragoness?

Aria drew her paired swords with a bright zing of metal. Lead us, o Thundersong.

Something undefinable had changed between them. He hoped with all his hearts it was for the good.

Clenching his talons, he streaked toward the door. The leap was long and hungry, the posture perfect as he thundered into the metal a second time. The central brace sheared clean through at the impact. The lower deadbolt squealed as it bent and wrenched free of its moorings. Shoving his shoulder into the gap, Thundersong brought up his hind knee and smashed it into the metal several times as, with a mighty roar and the fullest exertion of his strength, he folded it upward and sideways like a sheet of linen.

Two shots pinged off his helmet.

As he pushed on through the now sizeable gap into a wide cavern cluttered with the remains of equipment, Aria raced past his flank, trailed by a flowing black tide of Lumens.

My pleasure, he muttered as she spiralled over a blazing projectile. Not even breaking stride as she landed, she hurled her sword end over end across the cavern. It sprouted out of a man’s chest. He did not die immediately, but staggered forward, trying to thumb the mechanism of his weapon, before collapsing.

The Rangers and Askaris poured in too, tidying up and securing passageways and potential hiding places. The Link Lumens had one thought only – to reach their Queen. Nothing else mattered.

Inzashu called, We haven’t gotten the Queen free – killing mechanism – they’re pumping gas! I’m getting the … Thunder –

Her voice faded.

Breaking into a run, he headed in that direction. He reached out with his mind, finding her subconscious and sending a low humming of his Sea Dragon magic across the link. Something interfered, but he managed to force it through; on a second’s reflection, he did the same for the Queen.

By my wings, she’s massive! Like trying to rouse a mountain.

Inzashu’s mind said groggily, There’s one … bigger than the others … it’s him …

One? A bigger Human? Maybe that was their leader.

He came to a long, thin cavern where the fighting was fiercest. Twin silver guardhouses, twice as tall and thick as the previous ones, stood like sentinels at the end. The Queen lay somewhere beyond them, through a tall, narrow exit that opened into a larger space, he sensed. Most was hidden by a turning in the tunnel. The weapons emplacements spat projectiles at an incredible rate, mowing through the Link Dragons faster than they could attack. Farther back, also, he heard a crackling voice, but this one sounded ten times bigger, most likely amplified.

That Argozume Man. He’s the one, he told Azania.

She coolly put a shot through the slit of the right-side tower. Screams!

Thundersong peered at her. She held out another arrow for a lick by a Link Dragon. Seems the acid is rather useful, she noted, sighting and firing in a blur as the arrowhead began to hiss and bubble.

BOOM!!

Had her shot passed straight down the barrel of one of those weapons? Whatever the case, that tower fell silent, smoking out of all its apertures, and he seized the chance. Admittedly, a touch of male ego might have figured in the matter as he shaped a fireball and fired it straight against the barrel of one of those weapons. Nothing. Second shot! This one gave a jaded little fizzle, but the firing stopped.

Gnarr.

Not nearly as impressive.

Dozens of Lumens poured past him, converging on that last barrel with one mind and one purpose. Four of five carried small amounts of acid spit; they shot them inside at a variety of angles. Excellent accuracy. Ten breathless seconds later, the screaming started, and the firing stuttered to a final halt.

The Dragons surged into the chamber beyond.

Front and centre stood a mighty Man in golden armour. His sheer size made the others with him look like children. Thundersong made him twenty feet tall, if he was an inch. His armour alone must weigh multiple tonnes. Rather than holding a ranged weapon like the other Argozume Men, he hefted a massive golden hammer in either hand. They looked suitable for demolishing small mountains.

The giant stood legs akimbo in front of a wall of translucent glass or crystal guarded by no less than fourteen solid back Lumen Dragons comparable to Thundersong’s own stature. The air beyond was filled with their yellow gas. Inside that chamber, five fully armoured soldiers sat in a raised booth overlooking a tank of water which held the prone form of Queen Suuliki. The Men peered at banks of crystals which held information or controls unfathomable to Thundersong, but his attention was drawn to the Queen, a behemoth the colour of light-amber gemstone topaz and bigger even, he concluded, than his great-grandsire Thundersong. She must definitely fancy an all-day breakfast. The tank held water – or something like it – but a strange, grey-blue metal cage about her body and wings clamped her immovably in place. He assumed it was bolted into the solid rock below her. A crane-like apparatus moved smoothly above the mighty Dragoness, bringing a twenty-foot blade into position above the back of her neck.

Immediately, he knew what was about to transpire. Thundersong’s gaze leaped warily to the giant.

Raising the hammer in his right hand, the man smote the ground at his feet. The booming concussion was far louder than it had any right to be, visible concentric waves of power staggering everyone in the vicinity. He roared, “Who’s a bad Dragon?”

Not quite the introduction one expected.

“Who’s a bad Dragon?” the monster repeated, lowering the hammer toward Thundersong. “You are. You’re a bad Dragon.”

* * * *

At first, he thought the giant must be approximately as thick as a short piece of timber. A certain quality to the light behind that visor, however, dissuaded him. More going on here than met the Dragon’s eye. He scented the man’s emotions and recoiled at the scent of his perverse desire to dominate. Nahritu-N’shula had also been all about domination, but she had not shared the bestial overtones he detected in this Man’s unique mind – if Man he still was. He was some strange overgrown hybrid, much in the same mode as the Skartunese who had augmented the size and powers of their creations.

This meant he should be treated as extremely dangerous. Nothing he scented about this Man was right.

Edging forward, Thundersong called, “The game’s up. Surrender.”

“Is it now?”

The hammer circled casually, but every last Lumen in the chamber suddenly perked up and glared at Thundersong with hate-filled eyes.

He shivered and knew his reaction was not lost on the Argozume.

“It would amuse me to see you ripped apart by a pack of these inferior creatures, beast. Given the excess of trouble you and your minions have caused me, however, I’d rather seize that pleasure for myself. Don’t worry about the little mind-twister you sent in ahead. I’ve already dealt with her.”

Inzashu? Inzashu! Silence.

Throwing back his head, the giant figure voiced a mocking laugh. “I have my ways; ways into the squalid underbelly of the mind. All will kneel before me.”

With a massed groan, every one of the Rangers and Askaris prostrated themselves before him – all, save Azania. The golden visor tilted slightly as if to denote surprise. “Intriguing. Beasts of fire – kneel!”

Aria and her warriors, champing their fangs, knelt and lowered their muzzles. Thundersong saw how they struggled against the giant’s mental control – yet Aria raised her head afresh and stood unbowed alongside Azania. How could they resist when Inzashu had failed? Did she still fight? He sensed resistance somewhere, yet he had always feared her great power might also make her uniquely vulnerable – fear Inzashu had more than once shared with him. Her own mother had abused her power. Never again.

This creature’s magic was unlike anything he had ever encountered before, a sinister play of washed-out colours and bitter tangs against his senses.

The massive golden helm inclined briefly. “Fight me.”

“Kill you? With pleasure,” he purred.

“Well done on the bravado, bad Dragon,” the other sneered. Crashing the haft of his left-hand hammer against his chest, he roared, “I am – Kerkukakadobakodorl!”

Blink. Eh? That was a name?

Thundersong grinned deliberately. “A cockroach, did you say?”

Azania sniggered. The next moment, blood splattered from her nose and she collapsed in a heap. His healing power leaped to her mind instinctually, stemming what in a fraction of a second he took to be a brain bleed.

“Alright, Crack-Craku or whatever your name is,” he growled. “I assume you want single combat against me and if I don’t comply, you’ll drop that blade on Queen Suuliki’s neck and end her life? Not a very imaginative scenario, I must say.”

“Stop your jabbering, worm!”

Ah, so he could get beneath the creature’s skin. Thundersong intended to do a lot of that, preferably with his talons. A decidedly a-peeling image, pun intended.

Here the fellow went again, using a hammer for verbal punctuation. “When I’m done pulverising your bones, you feckless beast, I’ll sell your companions as slaves to those Skartunese dogs –”

“Yawn,” said Thundersong.

He couldn’t help it. A deep wickedness indwelled his soul. Not recklessness. Calculation.

The Man roared, “I have not come to listen to –”

“Nor I.” Channelling his most obnoxious sibling, Brand the Devastator, he yawned again, even covering his muzzle with his paw in a Human-like gesture. “Come on, enough about the world domination already. You live in a squalid swamp in a remote corner of Skartun nobody cares about. As if that weren’t enough, the reek of your cowardice drowns out –”

AAARRGHH!! roared the giant, stumping forward on his great legs.

He was not all that slow. Thundersong thought he caught the sound of something whirring inside that armour as if to help speed up the giant’s movements. For his part, he crouched and began to circle smoothly, as Juggernaut had drilled him, but it appeared that waiting was not the man’s game. One hammer swung down to smite the cavern floor. Thundersong staggered at the shockwave and barely avoided a follow-up swing. Alright. Those things were insane. If he was not mistaken, they interfered with ordinary gravity.

As they sparred and the regular wallops jarred his fangs, Thundersong began to suspect that the giant’s battle plan largely involved unbalancing him before moving in for a crushing strike. He mixed up tactics, feinting, shooting his fire into the giant’s face and once, nimbly flipping over him to sink a bite into his shoulder – only, his fangs clanged off the golden armour. Tough stuff. Toughened by this foul magic he suspected was derived from the consumption of the Queen’s eggs. No biting that. His fire slid off, hardly seeming to warm the material at all. The fire could distract and confuse, however, and that was how he slid past another ponderous swing of a hammer to deliver his first punch.

Like pounding a mountain. The Man barely skidded backward an inch.

Thundersong kept anticipating a change of tactics, that his foe must be wilier than he pretended. There it came! Having circled upward of forty times and traded a few more strikes, the Argozume suddenly whirled and struck out at Aria at double the speed he had moved before. She dodged sharply and flicked into the air, but the gravitational wash still picked her up and flung her toward the massive glass wall.

He was still processing his mate’s escape when the other hammer mashed him right in the ribcage.

Like getting kicked by an avalanche.

As he tasted blood in his mouth and felt his internal organs reverberating from the blow, Thundersong realised that the Man’s technique had been perfect. Divert the attention. Cunning strike with the paw sinister.

Coming dazedly up to his paws, he had to dive-roll away as another concussion exploded beside his departing tail.

“You can run, little Dragon, but you can’t evade me forever,” the Man guffawed.

“That’s nice,” said Thundersong, shrugging out of the impromptu metal helm. It was just getting in the way. “Catch!”

Whirling the metal guardhouse twice about his head, he let fly.

Chapter 32: Invincible

SEVERAL TONNES OF METAL hurtled over the Argozume’s head like a Human trying to trick another by tossing an object just out of their reach. Inhumanly swift, the Man swung his hammer and belted the metal dome out of his path. It crashed against the glass wall. Cracks jagged away from the point of impact, but the glass was too strong to break immediately.

“Oops. Fooled you,” Thundersong growled. “Look!”

The head swivelled.

At exactly the same moment, he changed levels and flung himself at the giant’s knees in a takedown attempt. Exquisite timing. Thundersong would never be half the warrior that Juggernaut or Aria were, but he had extensive training in balance and movement and knew his own strengths and weaknesses fairly well. The blur of both combatants’ movements resolved into a split second when all the giant’s weight pivoted upon one leg and his paws took the other. Heaving him off the floor, Thundersong drove his foe backward and executed a powerful body slam against the glass, right next to the star-shaped cracks. It shook, but still held.

No time to concern himself with that. Twisting his body sharply, he went for a heel hook. Aria had taught him this submission hold. With four paws for seizing an opponent, a Dragon had certain wrestling advantages over a Human. The Argozume Man clearly did not know what to expect in this form of hand-to-paw combat. Snaking his foreleg beneath the huge golden boot, he clamped the Man’s leg in place with his body and paws and then rotated his whole body, twisting the ankle joint as hard as he could. A roar of pain ensued. Something snapped inside, he was sure of it, but then the Man simply reached up with his hammers and began to pound Thundersong over the skull, shot after shot. Given the restricted angles, he could not swing in a wide arc, but each magic-enhanced strike felt as if a stake were being driven through his brain.

After ten or fifteen bone-rattling strikes, he had to scramble away or have his brains served up like those mashed potatoes some northern Humans loved.

Such power!

Thundersong had just begun to try to shake his head to clear it when the Argozume Man rushed at him, roaring, “I feel no pain!”

He somersaulted backward over the swing of that right-hand hammer. Elegant.

The second hammered into the floor. The immense concussion sent him skidding backward as if Thundersong the Elder had slapped him for his impertinence.

Spinning upon his heel, Thundersong the Younger executed a sprightly, spiralling leap over the Man’s following swing which aimed to drive his fangs through the back of his skull, aided by a wingtip steadying him upon the ground, and tripped him up from behind. Blam! Right on the back of his neck. Two could play this game of buffets. A grunt suggested the giant had felt that. Thundersong took the chance to punch him twice in the neck, doing no visible damage. A short uppercut of a hammer lifted him upright; a second short-arm jab exploded against his chest, tossing him across the chamber like a discarded rag.

He fell in a heap, wheezing and groaning.

This was bad.

Before he knew it, the Argozume’s massive golden boots tramped up and he received a thundering blow to the ribs that slammed him so violently against the cave wall he was certain he’d leave an imprint. Instinct drove his response. Coiling his hind legs behind him, he launched off the wall, planting his shoulder in the giant’s lower ribs. With his fists flying, he pummelled the Man nonstop across the cavern, delivering fifty or sixty unanswered blows before grinding him against the glass again.

Crunch! Crazy cracks raced away from the impact.

The warrior laughed raggedly as he came upright off his knees. “You’ll never – izgaku-ku-DUL!”

This was as Thundersong executed a spinning back-kick that pounded against the glass – twin blows; a massive clout to the sternum and, as a second insult, the glass wall behind him. Rage made this Dragon phenomenally strong. He had no idea how the giant still stood.

One gloved hand rose as if to wipe blood off his lip. Aye, Thundersong sensed the pain pulsing through the Man with every step. Only the rigidity of the armour and tremendous pain tolerance kept him on his feet. Those blows must count … surely?

The giant thundered, “I AM INVINCIBLE!”

He lumbered forward like a juggernaut. Each massive step trembled the ground.

Thundersong took a swift glance about him. Friends? All kneeling in frozen tableaux. Even Aria and Azania must have fallen under his spell.

Tapping his hammers together, the Man whispered dark words over them and then, with another tremendous roar, closed the gap again. Thundersong answered him roar for roar.

Four staggering hammer blows upon the ground shook him to the core before a wind-up blow smacked Thundersong in the lower chest region and blew him right off his feet. The Dragon circled again. Time for a new gambit. Blinding white fire lanced out of his throat, mingled with a colossal charge of lightning. He had been saving this. As the Man crawled out of the blazing pyre, he added a sonic blast that shook the cavern so hard the glass finally shattered. Yellow gas came pouring out of that chamber. The Argozume behemoth flipped over onto his back at the force of that treble strike, shaking as if experiencing a fit.

The lightning had done something to him. Clearly.

Thundersong panted to try to catch his breath. His chest ached.

Nearby, Aria and Azania came alive at last. His Queen darted over to the first Link Lumen she could find and slapped him – hard – across the muzzle. Wake up!

The Lumen blinked. Huh …

Wake the others. Do the same to them! She mimed another slap. Go! Free the Queen!

Unleashed, the Lumen began to dash about the cavern, enjoying slapping and smacking his kin rather more than might be considered good form.

Thundersong eyed the fallen Argozume warily. I … think I got him, Azania?

The golden boots twitched.

No, she said, with a shiver of realisation. I think you just woke him up.

He was supposed to be the one with the powers, but when it came to pure intuition, Azania could be scary. Plain scary.

The golden mountain rose as if heaved aloft by hawsers. Thundersong scent-sensed a dark malevolence taking over in his mind, adding its power to limbs and lungs and life. A dark mist seeped from somewhere beneath his helm and gathered in a kind of nimbus around the hammer heads, each as chunky as Thundersong’s own paws. Thunderclouds? What kind of awful dark magic was this? He had seen a few tricks from the Terror Clan and Nahritu-N’shula, but nothing compared to this.

Wholly ignoring the Link Lumens dashing about yelping like eager hounds and the Greater Lumens still standing utterly immobile, the Argozume’s attention focussed on a white Dragon. Pointing a hammer, he ground out something incomprehensible.

That other language.

Dragon eyes narrowed, Thundersong tensed. What to do? He knew his friends would be working on freeing the Queen. This was his job. His foe to finish.

He taunted, “I can’t understand a word, cockroach!”

Perhaps words no longer counted. Tone did. With a bellow of indescribable fury, the Argozume shot forward. So fast was he that Thundersong had only begun to react when a hammer crunched into his throat and a dark earthquake hurled him backward. The explosion of force slammed into him, body and mind. A power of darkness fell upon him like evil embodied as an unstoppable storm, battering his chest and ribcage repeatedly until blood spurted into his throat and the Dragon began to choke.

Something inside of Thundersong began to yammer that he should just give up. Easier than being savaged like this. The Man was too much for him; overwhelming.

He crushed that voice. Never.

It was as if he peered down a dark tunnel of death and destruction, yet somewhere within was a spark of light and he followed into a place where everything changed. A place where he could look within and perceive a new path.

The higher the pitch of frenzy his enemy reached, the calmer Thundersong found he became. A tender song pervaded his mind. The pain receded into an all-permeating whiteness of something akin to light. Had Taramis itself, the dazzling sun so regarded by Sea Dragons, come to rest within his flesh? Indeed, he saw through his white flesh and even the bone beneath appeared to be becoming transparent. Quite the oddest sight.

Was he dying?

No. No! NOOOO! He had work to do! Friends to protect!

The Argozume mutilated his flesh and stove in his ribs. He felt nothing. The blows crushed him against the cavern wall and drove him right through ten feet of solid stone into a cavern beyond, and still there was no sensation of pain. The beautiful light was all he knew and, in that space, he thought he saw a white Dragoness smiling.

Sirensong, he crooned.

All became heat.

Heat melded with desire.

Desire swelled into supreme wrath.

He seized the man by the neck. One-pawed, he lifted him off his feet.

The Man kicked him. Hammered him. Roared his hatred! The golden arms jerked spasmodically as if he had forgotten how to move.

Thundersong roared right back in his face, but his roar was sonorous, a Sea Dragon cry that could carry a thousand leagues beneath the ocean. He slammed the Argozume down at his feet, summoning his whitest, hottest fires.

Suddenly, he realised that vision had been Azania. His absolute best friend.

Glancing up, he locked gazes with her.

Her voice touched his mind ever so gently, feeling like a droplet of dew to his fevered state. Heal him.

He gaped in disbelief. Huh?

I said, heal him. He is a man born to violence, but nothing of his soul – if soul he has – can stand who you truly are, Thundersong.

The foolish stare would not leave his face.

You … shine.

She illuminated the truth so simply, with a shrug of her shoulders. He realised she must have been wounded, for blood stained her left flank and hip and her cheek was darkened with soot and heavily grazed but, in this moment, she had never been queenlier, nor more beautiful. An impish girl had once raised her chin just like that. She had grown into a woman, a fierce warrior and lately, a Queen and an even fiercer mother.

You are incredible, he blurted out.

Azania smiled, Go on. Be the hero you were born to be.

Some adversaries could only be stopped by violence. True. Yet perhaps healing could be both the hardest and most devastating path of all.

Turning back to the giant warrior who thought himself invincible, he stilled his mind, abiding in the untainted wonder of his inner fires. The renewed rattle against his ribs and spine with those hammers was just that. A pathetic rattling. Taking up the power that kept him alive, reconstructing his own flesh and bones in real time, he suddenly trapped the fists holding those hammers in his paws. The Argozume strained with all his enhanced muscle and magic, to no avail. Paws and hands shook with enormous force as they tested one another. Strength for strength, neither could break free, nor overcome the other.

A fiery song rose within, uncontainable.

Thundersong exhaled slowly, unleashing his purest healing power. It was fire, yet different. The mother-of-pearl quality swirled with a kaleidoscopic, mesmeric intensity as it flowed through his paws into the hands, and from his mouth, against the Man’s visor and helm.

The outpouring provoked an instant reaction. The shrouds of darkness first poured back on the offensive but were quickly negated and annihilated by Thundersong’s healing magic. The flow reversed, pushing up into the giant body, which juddered once more. As the outpouring continued, he began to writhe and struggle in the throes of the most excruciating pain. Even with a Dragon’s strength and weight, he battled to hold him down. Syllables of that unknown language burned against his mind like acid, the embodiment of a curse. He sensed Inzashu close with him; peripherally, he observed the movements of Link Lumens about the chamber as they burned through the Queen’s cage with their acid and a brief, bitter battle developed with the remaining Argozume Men who would die fighting rather than surrender.

His white radiance permeated the chamber, causing the remnant of the yellow knockout mist to dissipate. The Greater Lumens shook themselves as they came to their senses. Several of them had already nuzzled and touched wingtips with the yellow Dragonesses, renewing acquaintances and mate relationships, one assumed.

His brief glance took all this in. Then, his world narrowed down to clinging to the enemy to make sure he was vanquished once and for all.

When the golden helmet clacked his jaw together in an attempted headbutt, the healing fire stuttered, and that was the moment the twenty-foot length of Man began to buck, twist and thrash like never before. Abandoning the hands, Thundersong fought for a paws-linked grip behind his torso and rode the wild writhing across the chamber, bouncing and rolling and jolting right up to the remains of what he had taken for an overseers’ station.

Briefly, he caught sight of Aria holding a paw against heavy bleeding in her lower left flank. Aria –

I’m fine! Hold –

AAA-KAA-KAA-DUUUL!! thundered the Man.

OH, SHUT IT, YOU COCKROACH!! Thundersong returned, with interest.

He did not know why, but that insult, above all others, appeared to have an effect. Black smoke gushed from beneath the golden helm. Suddenly, the faceplate exploded. He flinched reflexively. The instant his eyes opened, he saw something like a ravening mouth with dozens of eyes dotted about it, a thing somehow formed of the eerie smoke, straining to touch him – but the healing force was too much, shredding it, pushing back the remains of whatever creature had just attacked him.

With that, the entity ripped free of the Argozume with a horrific sucking, cracking sound, like a Dragon slurping on and cracking the bones of his prey for the marrow. It tore the whole front off his face. Macabre!

Before he could react, the creature shot away toward the Lumen Queen’s tank. Suuliki reared upward, breaking all the remaining metal bands, but impaling her neck upon the huge blade above. Her left forepaw shot over the side of the tank, cracking the glass, and releasing a flood of water.

She swatted the creature like a bug. Enough!

* * * *

One second, the shadowy, many-legged not-quite-solid entity was present. The next, white-grey dust puffed out from beneath her paw. Just like that, the thing was no more. The unwholesome presence, which had destroyed upon his ribs like a demented xylophone player, vanished.

Thundersong rubbed his eyes. He gasped, That … that’s Unicorn horn magic?

Cleansing. Purifying. Again, the sense was similar to what his innate Sea Dragon magic could do, an echo of the enormous task of Sea Dragons cleansing the oceans with their magic and song, but … different. She made it look easy.

The Queen smiled, You’re right, Thundersong – easy once you’d extracted the entity from its abode. Our respective magic is two edges of the same talon. Are you alright, dear little one?

Dear … dear little one? A great guffaw shook his body as he realised what she had said. Of course he was, compared to her. He had just never been called that since he broke the eggshell. Laughter hurt, but even that eased as the healing continued to run amok in his body.

You’re hurt, o Queen –

I was the one who lashed out at you in the extremity of my pain and fear, Thundersong, her gloriously aged voice fluted, yet you would have given your all to save me and my kind. You and all your friends – your mate is injured!

Aria! Rushing to her, he tripped over his own paws and landed with a crash nose-first at her side. Aria. Aria! He stroked her flank urgently, willing the healing power to do its best work.

Still a touch of the old Blitz the Devastator around, mind.

She smiled at him. Thanks … I think there’s a piece of metal stuck inside. Can someone –

Let me, Azania called, running over.

She’s talented with the talon daggers, Thundersong advised worriedly.

Gaz agrees, the Cobalt Dragoness whispered. I’ll be fine. The pain’s already much better.

Exactly what he was worried about.

Tell me if anything hurts, Azania said, and proceeded to work her arm into Aria’s side, up to the shoulder, before she called that she had touched something. Thundersong could not look. Shortly, Azania extracted a five-inch metal pellet with a conical head and showed it to Aria. Done.

Thank you, o Queen.

The great Dragoness’ eyes mellowed upon her. So, you’re the Queen of your tribe, too?

I … am, she smiled. Great Queen, can we help you? What healing do you require?

Nothing that old age and time will not soon steal away, said she. I am old, my new friends, far older than I ever thought I would become, and my time is short. It was the need to birth my last remaining egg, the Queen egg of my daughter, that first drove me into the grasp of these Argozume creatures. Many a year have I lived to regret that decision. It is the way of our kind to know when our passing is at paw. Will you help me birth my egg?

Whatever you need, Azania said.

Please, my friends, would you fetch the Unicorns and bring them to me? I sensed their return – you are responsible for that also, not so?

We helped them to make the long trot home, she said.

Then you have done a great and wonderful deed, which you will see. Please hurry back.

Thundersong?

Dragon Rider Azania. He could not resist. Grinning so widely his split lip hurt, he said, Anon! Anon! We gallop away!

You are a ridiculous Dragon, she said. I love you.

He’d savour that forever.

* * * *

Leaving King Azerim in charge of cleaning up and Inzashu in charge of healing activities, of which there were far too many, Thundersong did what he could for the injured in a flustered rush before he and Azania took to the skies above the swamp.

Dawn drew near. The storm must have broken while they fought inside the cavern. He had not even heard it. As they headed westward, they abruptly broke out of drenching rain into calm, heading toward the mountains where the cloud cover was quickly breaking up above the peaks. The first stars peeked out near the horizon.

As his strong wingbeat powered them along at a fine pace, Thundersong reflected upon what he had seen and experienced. That entity – a magical parasite, perhaps? Where could it have come from? Had the Argozume Men opened themselves to its vile influence by engaging in their egg-stealing, dark magic practices? Could they have brought it with them all those years before? Whatever the case, once it had finally been wrenched free of its choice host, the end had been quick. Recalling the reference to the ‘vile plague of sea locusts’ they had uncovered at Shipwreck Cove and the description of powerful creatures with metal carapaces, he wondered if there might not be a connection.

Whatever the case, one must conclude that many threats awaited them. Greedy Argozume Men might be eyeing these shores. They would have to scout beyond the mountains and hope not to discover a thriving civilisation. Centaurs had made landing in the East, bent on territorial conquest. Who knew what other dangers lay beyond the oceans?

He flicked his wings restively. A Dragon’s work was never done.

Azania’s hand touched his shoulder. My friend?

All good, said he, explaining. His Rider had been noticeably quiet, he realised. You seem thoughtful?

After a brief silence, she burst out, I did nothing!

Nothing?

Nothing! While that beast was trying to turn your insides into jelly, I managed a big, fat nothing at all. This whole battle was yours.

Well, you could not. There’s a difference.

Exactly!

Azania, you forget – if by nothing you mean you only gave me the key to victory – he paused as she made a frustrated noise – I don’t understand why you’re so angry at yourself.

We … I … we’re always a team, Thundersong! We face the enemy together!

Initially befuddled by her outburst, he purred suddenly in understanding. Oh. Oh, I see now. Well, it was a team effort. I mean, good thing I’ve developed all this waistline padding these days, right? She made a disbelieving noise in her throat. Aye. So, here’s how I see the matter of teamwork. While I was getting the stuffing pounded out through my ear canals, you worked out the perfect plan and then we implemented it. VICTORY IS OURS! What’s the problem with that, I ask you?

Your version of the narrative is wrong, that’s what.

He loved that he could almost hear her lower lip pouting briefly as she tried to keep from smiling.

He said, Oh, would you prefer an account whereby you tricked me into getting beaten up before you quickly snuck in to steal all the glory right at the end?

Thundersong! You’re impossible.

Good thing I’m writing our memoirs, right? I’ll tell the proper story.

She kicked his neck fondly. Just remember, I’m the omnipotent editor in the relationship. It’s my job to keep you on the straight and narrow, Dragon.

He pretended to cough. Ah-uhr … fail!

This time, she kicked him for real. There. All was right beneath the suns. Even if it was the middle of the night.

Chapter 33: The Queens

AFTER CLOSE TO AN hour’s fast flying, Azania spotted the Unicorn herd in the distance. Several herds. Thundersong adjusted his spectacles and peered harder. Could there be as many as a thousand Unicorns out there? Many with Mermaid and Mermen riders? One herd, at least, was almost entirely pure black, others were golden and a pale, misty grey, still others white with dramatic black splotches and pattens.

He peered ahead again. “I see Gnarly, but where’s Blackguard?”

“Oh no.”

“Hope that old rogue made it. Don’t ever tell him, but I do actually like him.”

“Well, if you twist my arm … I might admit the same.”

Swiftly, he angled his wings to swoop toward the mighty herd, led out by none other than the Mysterious Mare in the company of four magnificent stallions. As they looked up in surprise, he tipped left and then right as a signal. Gnarly must have passed on the victory message because the entire herd suddenly leaped like startled gazelles and began to caper, with hooves dancing fast and furious upon the sward. Insane step complexity at that speed! That none tripped or stumbled was a wonder.

As he swung in close to Gnarly, the red Crusher called at once, “Blackguard’s having to walk back with some of the Unicorns.”

“He’s alright?”

“Advanced decrepitude,” snickered the other.

Azania said a naughty word, but she did sound relieved.

Gnarly called over, “He took severe injuries to his left wing surface, leaving him unable to fly. It’ll take a whole team of seamstresses to fix him up, but I don’t think it’s anything that three to four weeks’ rest and recovery won’t fix. It was the Merpeople who took the brunt of the damage and let the rest of us send those scum to a future as fertiliser.” Turning a little in the air, he pointed and said, “Look, creative use of the buttock to stop a shot.”

Azania giggled, “Another hole? You need to stop sitting on your enemies, Gnarly!”

“It’s a tried and tested Crusher method.”

Quite.

“The butt crusher,” Thundersong chortled inappropriately.

His Rider had to hang on for dear life or she would have fallen off his back laughing.

Gnarly did a dint of swaggering through the air and pulling a few muscular poses. His antics certainly impressed Aiki, Yiki and Ciki, who flew alongside him in close formation as he invited them to admire the stalwart seat of his crushing exploits.

The moment the Unicorns learned of the Queen’s need, they picked up the pace from a frisky trot to an outright gallop. Few sights in Solixambria compared to a thousand-strong herd of Unicorns in full flight, Thundersong thought, and then a frisson of anticipation tingled down his spine. Flight? If Unicorns had once galloped across water, what else might they be capable of?

He could not wait to be amazed.

With the Unicorns in a hurry, the dash back hardly seemed to take any time at all, but the eastern horizon had begun to lighten by the time they made the descent to the swamp and pressed into the cavern where the aged Queen of the Lumen Dragons lay, attended by her twelve surviving Greater Lumens and hundreds of Link Lumens. Although the cavern was large, it grew crowded with all the newcomers. The Rangers greeted one another with hugs and backslaps, the desert-born with fluid bows and inquiries after one another’s health. While Sankir Farizam carried Chanize to the front, Gaz rushed over to sweep Inzashu off her feet and give her an unashamedly countercultural kiss. His left hand even strayed for a second. It appeared the fitted trousers had adjusted his morals more than expected. Good lad!

Serhishu, Vhalzishu and Ehlzishu stuck close to the three Xerocics and Arimyel; they all appeared rather overawed by the sheer size of the Queen Dragoness and her retinue. He gaped at a Xerocic who had suddenly sprouted a bushy white beard and put two and three together.

“X-Gramps, right?” he roared in delight.

“Fresh out of Argozume jail,” Arimyel called back, thumping the man upon the back.

He took it in good humour, giving her a wallop in return. X-Gramps shouted above the hullaballoo, “You’re the noisy youngster, eh? Thanks for the rescue! I’m properly deaf now!”

“I’m Thundersong. All part of the service.”

“Xerocic. I’m the handsome one, unlike these other pretenders.”

He pegged that Xerocic for a bit of a character. Well, he had certainly found those legendary Dragons he had been searching for. Perhaps a little more than he had bargained for, right? The man’s eyes were bright and a touch moist around the edges as he flung an arm over each of his grandson’s shoulders and appeared to make a crack about needing support in his old age. He did look a little beaten-up around the edges.

Thundersong caught Firri eyeing up the Greater Lumens with … well now! How intriguing. He had not observed the similarities so closely before, but if their two tribes, the Façade and Lumen Dragons, were not close cousins, then he was a pink angelfish.

He had a good feeling about this connection. Very good indeed. The two tribes only lived a continent apart. Not an issue, right?

Matchmaking plans, Dragon? Azania teased gently.

Azerim put his arms around his wife from behind. “Shh, the Queen’s about to speak.”

Thundersong looked up.

Queen Suuliki, smiling about her with fangs as long as most Dragons stood tall, said, My friends, it is with joy transcending all boundaries, cultures and species that I welcome you. What a day. What a day! As my hours wane beneath the suns and my last strength leaves me, I wish to share with you the indescribable fulness of heart that moves me now to speak of the love, honour and courage that has made it all possible. Two hundred and ninety-two years have I dwelled beneath the suns and never – never – have I received service unto what I have learned of this day. So many lives sacrificed, even those who barely knew us and our kind. I … I must … I can only thank you, with … every fire of my hearts …

Her voice cracked. The Dragoness pressed her fist to her heart as all the Lumens gathered alongside and around her, the smaller males even crawling up and over her back until she was surrounded by love.

I would say so much more of my undying gratitude, she said, so raggedly that Thundersong started forward with the intent of trying to strengthen her, but Suuliki’s knowing gaze turned to him. Great age cannot be helped, Thundersong. I wish I could have known you all better, but I must lay my egg before it is too late. She is ready. More than ready; I have been hiding her from the Argozume Men for well over three years. My Unicorn friends, will you caper for me?

A thousand forehooves smacked against stone and sand as one. We caper! Anon, anon!

It took a moment to organise so many equines, but the Mare made it all look like part of the show. As the great herd began one of their intricate, weaving dances, Unicorns kept popping out to allow their Merpeople to alight beside the small stream that ran through the cave. Rangers rushed up to assist, despite that little help was needed. Thundersong noticed several dozen Merpeople with dramatic black hair, scales and body markings and wondered if this might be yet another tribe, the third of their kind, to their knowledge.

Once all backs were free, the Unicorns seemed to draw a breath, and then they exploded into a joyous celebration of whirling, capering, rearing, whinnying madness. Glorious madness. How no-one collected a flying hoof in the jaw he would never know. Several colts were jumping over one another’s withers in a corner.

The Queen looked on with joy brightening the fires of her eyes. Her rear paw tapped in time to their mischief. Suddenly, without apparent signal or warning, the Link Lumens all leaped into the air and floated over the herd like a congregation of bats. Each landed on the back of a Unicorn.

The giant Dragoness exhaled over them. O ye my children, thee the joy of my soul personified, hereby be blessed, restored and renewed.

The form of her Dragonish was ancient and poignant. She meant by this to make her farewells, Thundersong realised, and so much was conveyed by her utterance at the emotional, spiritual and magical levels he felt as if he had inhaled a heady fragrance.

Every horn shimmered. A cool sheen of magic developed, settled upon the tip and swiftly spiralled inward around the length of the horn before diving into the Unicorns’ heads. Their manes and tails waved as if responding to an undetectable breeze, and their coats gleamed with enchanted light. The Lumen Dragons quickened to the magic as well, hidden patterns like tiny bursts of amber fire coming alive on their dark bodies. Not a hoof or talon or spike in the place did not take on an aura of hallowed delight.

Then they danced together, Dragons above and Unicorns below.

Images of unforgettable beauty filled a Dragon’s soul as much as his eyes as he took it all in. After the longest time, Thundersong sighed softly. Something inside his Dragon hearts seemed to unclench and fall away. This was a special moment. Sacred, even.

So much lost. So much heartache. Yet even amidst the sadness of this final dance for Queen Suuliki, he saw fresh shoots of joy. Lives changed. Love discovered. Long-lost tribes found. Forever friendships and bonds formed between creatures as different as could be imagined. To begin with, just imagine what might happen with these three different tribes of Merpeople?

He noticed that Aiki, Yiki and Ciki brought Gnarly over for a private word with the Queen. She listened intently for a minute before nodding and saying, if he could lipread correctly, With all gladness shall I accept this proposal, Gnarly.

The Dragonesses exchanged ecstatic wingtip slaps. Gnarly the Crusher sported a very, very silly grin. Guess he had been won over, four times over. Putty in those petite paws.

Thundersong predicted lifelong happiness and a swarm of mischievous little hatchlings that would go around the swamp crushing mushrooms for fun. Give it a day or two and the Crusher, who came from a wholly monogamous Dragon Clan, would be flaunting the size of his … harem.

As the dancing came to its climax, the Unicorns suddenly all stopped in rigid formation. The Link Lumens dropped atop them again. Aha, one and all, the equines displayed that – let it never be said aloud – slightly constipated expression that presaged them producing their unique magic. Quivering with effort, they produced a cloud of scintillating particles of magic that wafted aimlessly above their heads for a couple of seconds before the Queen inhaled through her nostrils. It all shot over to her and vanished within.

The Greater Lumens raced around to her business end, exclaiming and shimmying in obvious delight as the great body rippled once, twice, and on the third effort, produced – after a lengthy and daresay, pregnant pause – an amber and gold egg! Thundersong felt this must be a surprisingly swift and not at all painful a laying, but if she had been ready for three years …

A huge cheer ripped around the chamber.

Reverently, the Greater Lumen attendants brought the egg around to Queen Suuliki’s head end and placed it upon her upturned paw. Considering her proportions, it looked like a chicken’s egg in a Human’s grasp.

Queen Azania? she called.

Uh … me? Azania spluttered, for once in her life just about managing to be inelegant.

Will you join me in consecrating this Queen to her service?

Of course. Seeming to float across to Suuliki upon a cloud of astonishment, the Queen of the Vaylarn Archipelago approached the Dragoness, adding, I’d be honoured.

Even though the egg stood taller than Azania, she leaped lightly up onto Suuliki’s paw and placed a hand reverently upon the amber and gold eggshell. Lovely patterns, the gilding resembling tongues of fire. After a moment, her bright laughter stilled the congregation. She says her name’s Vuuliki and she wants to know what we’re waiting for?

Up went another massive cheer!

For the sunrise, said the Queen. Thundersong, may I ask one more service of you?

The Argozume Men had used their unfamiliar technology to seal her inside the cave, intending for it to become her grave. Bidding all the others to file out and wait for them at a safe distance, the Queen showed him the original tunnel through which she had been transported – not the entrance they had used. When he asked what she wanted of him, she asked him what his name meant?

What subtlety. Chortle.

Thundersong, Azania and Suuliki faced that cavern wall. On the surface it appeared to be solid grey sandstone, but a quick check with his echo-sounding abilities revealed that it was about twenty feet thick and riddled with structural anomalies. Squaring up his shoulders, he took a huge breath … and paused.

The egg’s safe, o Queen?

Aye, Thundersong, said she, so gently that she reminded him of his own dam, Sirensong.

His dam and her mate Everdeep would be three-quarters of the way around the world just now on their annual migration. Could he produce a sound monumental enough for her to hear? Hmm. Two sounds might be needed. Stepping forward, he placed his paws upon the rock and concentrated.

Uh, Azania, could you help me, please?

You start. I’ll help you to find the right note, she said at once.

It took a touch of finding and fine-tuning, but at last he found the right subsonic note. Projecting a powerful vibration into the rock, too low for ordinary Human hearing, but easily identified by his Rider through their mental link, it began to pulverise key structures and underpinnings. This process took the better part of twenty minutes.

Next, he stepped back, rolled his shoulders and dusted his paws. Everyone’s out? he triple-checked.

All out, Thundersong, Azania confirmed.

He glanced over his shoulder at the Queens. Cover your ears, my lovelies!

Suuliki’s snort of laughter nearly blew Azania over, but she did happen to be accustomed to being around large, loud Dragons. One such Dragon, to wit. He of the name which came with rather enormous paws to fill – call me Dragon! It’s the last thing you’ll ever do!

Thundersong. Thundersong! That was who he was.

Filling his lungs a second time, he unleashed a magic-fuelled bellow. Resonant as deep bells and as powerful as a localised thunderstorm, it raged against the wall for a full ten seconds before something abruptly gave and the sonic shockwave began to shovel the debris out through the secondary tunnel. It acted as a funnel, channelling his power. He charged after with a spring in his step and joy firing his Dragon hearts, the sound unending, deafening, exultant!

He stumbled over a low lip as he came to the end of that old tunnel. Taking a massive stance in the first light of the suns, he shut his eyes and worked his stomachs and throat until a perfect thunderclap emerged from his throat, smiting all the dust out over the swamp.

III – AAAAMMM – THUUUNNDERSOOONGG!!

Begone, dust and debris!

When he opened his eyes, two thousand creatures liberally smothered in greyish white dust blinked at him. Guess they hadn’t retreated far enough after all.

Ahem. Oops.

Strolling up behind him, Azania said merrily, And that’s why we call him Thundersong.

Then, Queen Suuliki emerged too, walking on visibly unsteady paws. So weak, her venerable age now truly apparent. Yet when the light of the twin suns fell upon her, she stretched like a young Dragoness, lithe and leisurely, and then said to her egg, It is time.

It’s much too loud outside, Dragonmama, complained the egg.

That was just the once, dearest fire of my heart, a vocal thunder made by one of the friends who saved the lives of all our kind. Come, see the suns with me.

Will I like them?

You will love everything that this world holds for you. There is beauty and majesty, love and life, and creatures of good heart to nourish and protect you, said the Queen. Her talon tapped the gorgeous egg. Arise, o Vuuliki, and seize your destiny!

The egg chirruped, What’s destiny, Dragonmama? Can I eat it? I’m hungry.

Azania winked at him. Aye. How cute was that?

It took a fair few words of encouragement before the egg reluctantly decided that she could not stay inside the eggshell forever, even if she wanted to, because it was getting too cosy inside and her tummy was so terribly growly. Then, ten minutes of increasingly annoyed tapping ensued before suddenly, just when people out there in the swamp were beginning to dust themselves off and the Unicorns, to their annoyance, had with a nifty flick of horn magic become utterly pristine once more, a sharper, hollower cracking sound demanded silence.

Awed silence duly descended.

Then, a sharp egg tooth struck through the eggshell. With a tiny growl of annoyance, the hatchling flexed and cracked off the top third of the shell, rising upon her dam’s paw with an impromptu hat that covered her eyes and a rather startled peep, I’m Vuuliki. Where is everyone? Hello?

Reaching over, Azania plucked off the egg hat.

The amber hatchling had fiery jewels for eyes, just the prettiest little thing. Those eyes widened, Ooh, you’re pretty. Are you my Dragonmama?

No, I’m not your mother, Azania chuckled.

You are kind of small to be a mama, I suppose, Vuuliki mused, ruffling her wings to catch the light. So tiny was she the wing membranes were almost wholly transparent. And different to me – oh. Oh! she gasped, catching sight of a mighty eye watching her with rich strawberry tones of love colouring its fires. Are you my Dragonmama?

That I am, dearest fires. Welcome to the lands beneath the suns. These are our tribe and our many friends.

She peered out over the arc of watching faces, wobbled, and sat down in a hurry. Oh, they’re so different to us, Dragonmama. Do I have to get my wings dirty, too? I shouldn’t like that. Where’s Thunderstorm?

Thundersong? Right here, said Azania.

The tiny hatchling goggled at him. Ooh, my hero! Are you my hero?

Ahem … er …

No pressure at all, Azania said privately to him. For all, she added, Our hero indeed! He’s called Thundersong, Vuuliki.

Thunderstorm, she disagreed with a definitive flick of her wings. Apparently this one knew her own mind already. Can you make it really thunder, Thunderstorm?

No disappointing the younglings now, his Rider advised. Thunderstorm. Suits you like the Dragon suits his scales.

Flattery will get you nowhere with me, he snorted. Now, melodic on the first syllable and a thunderclap at the end – how does that sound?

Majestic.

Humour as dry as the deserts of her birth.

VUUUU – LIII – KIIII!! he crashed, trying to make the entire swamp quake at the advent of his majestic draconic wrath. Or something like that. As the echoes died away over his suitably stunned audience, he turned to the hatchling. How was –

Eee! she tried to hide behind her dam’s talons.

Thundersong’s wings drooped in shame. Maybe he needed a bit more practice before he had little ones of his own. Scaring the scales off them was not entirely the idea.

Azania said, A rousing thunderclap, Thunderstorm! Did you know he can also make lightning, Vuuliki? She held out her hand. Best of all, he’s a wonderful storyteller. He tells my babies – my hatchlings – the best stories ever. Maybe tonight, before you go to sleep, he can tell you a story about his family, who come from the ocean?

Vuuliki brightened. Is storytelling only for dams? Or can he tell my Dragonmama, too?

I’m sure he will. After all, he’s only the best Thunderstorm ever.

Chapter 34: Memory Refreshed

SIX DAYS LATER, A small team of Dragons and Dragon Riders flew in over the mountains from the coastal zone after a planned overnight reconnaissance mission that had turned into two nights. It was an hour after noon. Despite that the suns rode high, the swamp’s ever-present mists obscured the waters and foliage beneath them as they flew into Spiral Maze Mountain.

Firri doesn’t like it. Firri isn’t happy; she feel acid in bones and she don’t like it, the Façade Dragoness grumbled for the fiftieth time. Firri doesn’t want to feel sorry for Argozume monsters either. Firri is – she is –

Conflicted?

She glanced over at Akutarok, the Greater Lumen who had accompanied them upon this mission. The youngest of the twelve and heroically stoic of personality, he was hardly a creature to rub two words together in a sentence, yet he and the ebullient Façade Dragoness appeared to have struck up an immediate understanding which deepened by the day. He reminded Thundersong of a black granite boulder which occasionally surprised everyone by opening its mouth and uttering a profound or insightful word. He quite liked the Lumen.

Conflicted? A talon’s strike to the truth!

Firri said lightly, Carrying my friend is conflicting, too?

No.

Akutarok stiffened slightly, a movement visible only to one who happened to be looking for clues as to his reaction. Truly, with the sapphire Mermaid Zurianne perched upon his back, they made a striking Dragon Rider pair. This was the first time any of his Dragon tribe had carried another creature upon the wing.

Firri made a trilling noise in her throat.

A little, he growled.

Two whole words there. Stepping out into eloquence, that Lumen.

Akutarok made an apologetic wing-twirl gesture. Firri gurgled in appreciation. When the corner of his mouth crooked up slightly, she blushed. In a Dragon of colour magic that put the average chameleon to shame, this involved turning bright, bright pink. Nothing her squeal of embarrassment would solve either. She was hot and pink and quite unable to control her reaction.

Thundersong predicted imminent scouting.

Meantime, he touched Azania’s pensive thoughts and knew she shared his concerns. An Argozume village of perhaps two or three hundred persons had enjoyed a lovely location overlooking a white-sand bay with the clearest blue waters. That village was no more. Not a single corpse or skeleton had they found, but they had identified strange tracks that appeared to originate in the ocean and, for a short ways, continued beneath the water’s surface. The tracks looked like the weals a whip left upon skin. They scored sand, rock, walls, wood and metal with equal facility. Everywhere. Hardly an inch had been left untouched, as if a plague had swept over the village.

One thing was clear. These elusive creatures had emerged from the ocean, wiped out or kidnapped every last Argozume and disappeared the same way they had come. Not a trace left. Not a scale, a shred of hair, no slime … absolutely nothing. No evidence either.

He and Azania agreed on their conclusion. If something could come out of nowhere and annihilate the powerful Argozume, then the swamp was in no way safe for their friends. They could not stay here, but neither was this their decision to make. Queen Suuliki would have to decide after they briefed her. Her hatchling’s future was at stake, and that of her entire tribe.

They flew down to the tip of the hidden mountain and, opening it, the Lumen proceeded to bamboozle Thundersong once again with the route into the central chamber. How did they do that? He could make neither muzzle nor tail of the matter, nor had he been about to work out how the gigantic Queen had made her way inside. Magic. Aye. Yet as they strolled into the chamber, what a delight to a Dragon’s soul to see how she cradled her tiny little one in her paw! Beautiful.

The more poignant because he knew what they must tell her.

The Dragoness had clearly been consulting with the Mysterious Mare, the four Unicorn stallions and Inzashu. Hmm. Interesting.

Suuliki took one glance at their expressions and murmured, Unwelcome news?

Aye, Azania said. She slipped her hand into King Azerim’s. O Queen –

Still, I sense good news too, o Queen Azania.

His Rider missed a step. Ah, good news? What good news?

She checked mentally with him and Inzashu. No, neither of them had any idea.

Raising one rather enormous fore-talon, she pointed it at Azania’s midsection. New life is a-flutter within. Did you not know?

I … I … she wiped her eyes and breathed, No, but thank you.

CON – Thundersong gentled his voice – congratulations.

“What? What – oh!” Azerim yelped, finally getting the Dragonish straight. He made a skip and a dapper dance step. “Oh, Azania! Wonderful news! A wave-crasher of a day!”

“All your fault,” she mock-glowered at him.

“I know, I know!” If he grinned any wider, he’d trim off his own beard. “Absolutely my fault that you were complicit, my gorgeous, irresistible, marvellous wife!” He skipped again and produced a fist pump for good measure. Slightly overjoyed? “Result!”

Suuliki glanced over at Thundersong. After a second, she winked at him. We were just discussing how to produce a few more results like that. Will you and Aria come to see me later?

His five hearts throbbed as one. So wildly did his hope surge, he felt quite sick.

We shall, o Queen.

* * * *

Hope could play a creature’s hearts like few other emotions. Despair was its partner, its shadow, the other side of the talon. He oscillated between the two every few seconds. Aria raised her muzzle to nuzzle his jaw; he lowered his head to receive the caress more easily. There had been an examination two days before their expedition, but no word or result afterward. A selfish part of him had feared they must have forgotten, but now he knew what that meeting earlier had been about. Good news, bad or … none?

Perhaps he feared a lack of diagnosis the most. Better to know or to be left in the dark? He could not decide.

Relax; you’re grinding your fangs together again, Aria whispered.

Sorry.

I know it’s eating you up.

It is. I can’t help but think that if all the natural healing flowing through me when I defeated the Argozume leader was not enough …

Is it even possible? she finished softly for him. I know, Thundersong. I share that fear. I’m a warrior; all I want to do is to cut directly to a solution, and that isn’t possible.

Ouch, no snippety snip down there, he joked.

Miserable effort, but she chuckled on cue. Thundersong, what hurts you hurts me. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, come what may.

You’re my strong right paw, he whispered gratefully.

Together, they walked into the chamber where many Lumen Dragons slept. The Mysterious Mare alone remained of the Unicorn herds, her pale white form almost ghostly in the semidarkness. She stood on the rim of the great pool in their conical central chamber, while the Lumen Queen rested almost completely submerged in the water. Suuliki struggled to stay awake these days, Thundersong had noticed. That afternoon she had dozed off in the middle of a sentence, but when her eye cracked open now, it seemed brighter than ever.

Thundersong, Aria, my children. Come to my paw.

Such a Lumen greeting! They had to be the cuddliest Dragons he had ever met. Like him, Gnarly and Blackguard had to restrain their natural impulse to flee or brawl when a male Lumen moved in for an unforeseen snuggle. This was absolutely not Tamarine Dragon culture, where wing space was always respected – but, he had resolved, he could learn new things and maybe benefit from them, too. He admired the way the males looked out for one another, their teamwork ethic, and the way they had backed one another up during battle. It had taken years to try to beat the individualism out of his Tamarine Dragon comrades. Some would never change their ways; they’d rather die than let another male stroke their back or comfort their sorrows.

Inzashu and Azania were here too, he saw. They nodded briefly to him and made to depart.

Stay, he blurted out.

The sisters turned as if spun about by an invisible paw. Azania’s lips curved into a brittle smile. She looked more nervous than him.

Without preamble, the Queen said, The issue of the Mare’s prophecy regarding your return to full health has perplexed me most sorely, Thundersong. You recall that when we examined you, no physical defect could be found?

He nodded. Here it came, the bad news …

No physical fault whatsoever, she stressed. Inzashu and Azania related salient details of the battle wherein you were wounded. The Mare and I examined the portents – if you like, the echoes understood through the lens of memory – of that time. And that is where we believe we have identified something important. Do you follow?

Erm … Firm headshake. Not at all, o Queen.

Good. Good! she smiled, gentling her hatchling with a soft paw. Sleep with the fires, little one.

Let me try to explain something to you that is a deep, abstruse concept in Lumen philosophy. This will likely strike you as a strange and roundabout way of coming to the point, but hear me out. We Lumens say that memory is a belief about the past. What you remember or what Azania or Inzashu remember about that crucial battle is shaped, both by what you physically perceived, but also by your emotions at the time and, even more importantly, perhaps, your beliefs about what you remember. So, it may well be that you remember things differently. Your brains will recall different details, smells, incidents … yet none of these is invalid in and of itself. All those memory echoes are facets of the original truth.

Thundersong frowned. But what if the mind plays tricks on us? It may fill in details that were not truly there, correct? Could any being ever perceive the whole of that original truth?

Exactly. That would entail perceiving the entire cosmos.

Oh. Indeed.

Phew. One way to stoke the fires of his brain!

Correct – and, to extrapolate, not only the complete cosmos, but the entirety of the infinite context of its past, present and future simultaneously. She grinned at his expression. Perhaps another discussion for another time? So, just as memory is a belief about the past, we hold that belief is a memory about the future.

Ah … he raised a paw and dropped it.

Here is a strange thing about belief. It can change the future. It can be a lucid picture of what will happen or what may happen or may not happen at all – and creatures have different views as to what that might mean. To some, destiny is a fixed thing, immutable. To others, an infinitude of possibilities unfolds from every microcosm of time.

Fascinating. So, where was she going with this?

Queen Suuliki said, Thundersong, you hold a memory or a belief about the past, which somehow shapes your present. You are unable to sire hatchlings despite that every possible indication in every measure we attempted to examine says that you are indeed capable. Incapacity is your reality; it grieves you sorely and I wholly understand that. Parenthood is not for all Dragons, but I believe in all my Dragon hearts that you and Aria will make an excellent sire and dam respectively.

She blinked slowly, apparently losing the fires of her thoughts for a long moment, before she added, You will take my children from the swamp to a better place, won’t you? Promise me, Aria and Thunderstorm. Promise me?

Aye, we promise, Aria said.

Aye, if you will it, he added. You have my word of honour.

They cannot remain here. Azania, Inzashu, my new friends – will you –

We promise, they chorused.

Breathing raggedly, she stared at something only she could see. This is no longer any kind of safe haven, no place where the young will grow old. I see yours are hands and paws to trust. Aye. It will be … what will be, will be. Will you … she began to snore lightly and then appeared to startle … will you … care?

The Mysterious Mare dipped her horn to touch the old Dragoness’ muzzle. Peace, great fire breather. Remember our purpose here.

Oh. Oh … I was – sorry. Suuliki cleared her throat. I was saying – aye. The missing element for the Unicorns was us, and that’s why they had to return to these swamps. To you, it must have seemed that they wanted you to find the end of the world. Our magic produces a very rare and distant effect when it interacts with Unicorn magic. As you know, the Unicorn Caper at the beginning of your great journey parted the veil of the future, predicting certain events would come to pass and – happily – they have. Thundersong, you served as the herd stallion to their herd. Azania, your womb stirs with new life. You journeyed in the ways foretold by the Mare and here, at the last, asked for nothing in return for your selfless service. The least we can do is to offer you what is in our power to grant.

The mighty Dragoness smiled at him, until Thundersong croaked, Ah, what’s that?

We will refresh your memory. Smiling ever more widely, she said, Belief is a very personal thing. There’s little I can do to change your core beliefs. But I know that belief is merely a memory of the future – perhaps you might consider that memories mirror life’s past and future equally well. So, the Mare and I propose to refresh your memories.

One specific memory, o great friend of fires, nickered the Mare. It is a mighty shame, but this labour does not even require dance. Merely the joining of Unicorn and Lumen Dragon to discover, not what is, but what should be. Are you ready?

No – Thundersong began to say, before biting off the word. How ashamed he felt.

He is, Aria replied for him. Thundersong?

I receive your gift with the gratitude of every fire of my Dragon hearts, he whispered.

That was it. As a horn moved forward and a great talon lowered to rest upon his forehead, Thundersong realised that all these years, he had been fighting for belief. What these friends were offering him did not require belief. Maybe that would come. Maybe, in time, his small faith would become mighty. What was required of him now was simply to receive. It did not matter that he had always, in his inmost thoughts, believed he was undeserving – undeserving of a mate like Aria, unworthy of a friend like Azania, barely fit to be called a Dragon.

None of that mattered, because it was no longer up to him. He did not even need to understand what they meant about future-focussed memory.

Quietly, showing his friends what he was doing, Thundersong opened himself to receive.

* * * *

Just after dawn three mornings later, the tip of the Spiral Maze Mountain opened and Vuuliki, Queen of the Lumen Dragons, emerged onto the stone platform. A great sigh went up from the waiting throng who had clustered around the small stone plinth in the centre of the swamp – the Unicorns, Merpeople, Lumen Dragons and Humans. They saw her posture, the way her wingtips dragged on the stone. They saw the way her tiny throat worked.

The three generations of Xerocic present made an identical, sober gesture, clenching both fists over their hearts. The Unicorns dipped their horns in sympathy and solidarity.

My Dragonmama has passed on.

Barely the hatchling whispered the words, yet all heard or knew what it was she must say. Suuliki was no more. She would take her final rest within the Spiral Maze Mountain. The twelve Greater Lumens moved forward, preparing to seal her tomb forever. They held her close in their midst for the longest time, the hatchling’s soft wailing the only sound that carried across the dank waters on this chill morn. Rain began to filter down from the overcast sky.

Vhalzishu buried her face against Arimyel’s chest, sobbing helplessly. Serhishu put her arms around them both and then Ehlzishu, too. Even Azerim kept dabbing at his eyes.

As the Greater Lumens went about their work, Vuuliki emerged and paused at the edge of the platform. With me? Thundersong invited, holding out his paw.

She sprang over to him, a mistimed hatchling bound that required a quick adjustment on his part to complete the catch. When he raised her to the side of his skull for a tender nuzzle, a moment’s shared grieving, she whispered into his ear canal. Thundersong nodded. He transferred her over to the girls; she put her paws upon Vhalzishu’s shoulders and nestled her muzzle in the startled child’s hair.

The Dragoness whispered, Don’t cry for me. One day, you will have wings, too.

The little girl exchanged baffled glances with Thundersong. He had not quite believed his ear canals, but her reaction confirmed what she had also heard. She had not said Vhalzishu would fly like a Dragon Rider. Nothing in current or even imagined Human or Dragon technology could make wings possible. Maybe a glider? He could try to design something like that … but, to truly have wings? Impossible. It must be a misunderstanding.

Then again, so was making his misfiring loins actually work. As it turned out, life was stranger than any creature’s conception of what it might or might not be.

So was what happened next.

Azania mounted up on his back. Azerim was already buckled up on Aria’s shoulders, looking rather kingly, in Thundersong’s opinion.

He said to Azania, I can’t wait to return through Glass Bridge with hundreds more Dragons. They’ll fling open the gates –

– And run away screaming into the desert, she said tartly.

Smelly yokels, he sniffed.

Yet their conversation ended the instant Vuuliki turned back toward him on his paw. My Dragonmama said you would lead us to a new home, Thunderstorm. I have no mama anymore. My hearts are sad, so very heavy-sad – she touched her chest – it hurts to breathe.

Azania said, Come, why don’t you sit with me while we fly, Vuuliki? I’ll hold you as much as you need.

You’ll be my Dragonmama?

I …

The hatchling made a sound between a giggle and a sob. Not my real Dragonmama. That would be silly. Your paws are so tiny, but they look ever so nice for stroking and cuddling.

That’s right, darling, Azania choked out.

She does give a pretty amazing back scratch, Thundersong put in.

Dragondada Thunderstorm, the Dragoness crooned, scrambling into his Rider’s arms with a delighted purr. Well, that floored him. What could a Dragon even say when his hearts felt as weighty as if they were filled with white-hot mercury? Will you say our goodbyes to this place?

He inclined his muzzle. Is that a queenly command?

She might be bigger than Azania already, but the hatchling curled up like a feline and winked at him from the comfort and security of Azania’s arms. He understood. Being a queen could wait for tomorrow. Today, the newborn needed to grieve.

Cracking open his jaw, he boomed, My friends, we have a long journey ahead of us. We will travel first to a place which has always welcomed Unicorns in ages past, to Pahanik-tal-Uzgaram, Bastion of the Order of Paladins. It will be a hard passage for our Merpeople, but I promise you that there, we will find you fairer waters than those from which you came. After that, I know not. We shall have to see what kind of new home we can find for our Lumen Dragon friends. A place like this, where they can continue to prosper for many generations to come.

What more could he say? Maybe it would be good to scare the toads and water birds?

ALL HONOUR TO QUEEN SUULIKI!! he thundered.

ALL HONOUR! roared the congregation.

ALL HONOUR TO QUEEN VUULIKI!!

ALL HONOUR!

LET’S MOVE OUT!

Let the Skartunese hear and tremble!

With that, the Merpeople dived into the shallow waters and the Unicorns broke into a swift canter – skimming atop the surface, he noticed immediately in wonder. Aye. Their magic had returned in full force. Barely a touch of spray skipped up as they hurtled along above the streaming pods of Merpeople. He and the Dragons rose into the air, keeping close. Danger would come, he knew, but they would be ready.

Besides, there was scouting to be done with his beautiful mate. He glanced at her with a certain gleam in her eye, it had to be said, for she arched her lissom neck and showed him a few welcoming fangs. She knew exactly what he was about.

So many new memories to be made.

His paws twitched in a little aerial caper. Time to start the long trot home.

THE END

About the Author
www.marcsecchia.com
www.dragonsglory.com

Marc is the bestselling author of over forty books and is published in five languages. Born in South Africa, he lives and works in Ethiopia with his wife and 4 children, 2 dogs, a rabbit, and a variable number of marabou storks that roost on the acacia trees out back. On a good night you can also hear hyenas prowling along the back fence.

When he’s not writing about Africa or dragons, Marc can be found travelling to remote locations. He thinks there’s nothing better than standing on a mountaintop wondering what lies over the next horizon.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review on Amazon.com. Every review matters and I read them all!

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Email: marcsecchia@gmail.com

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