Dragonlove (13 page)

“Hualiama of Fra’anior,” Sapphurion said, returning to Island Standard, “Grandion served with honour in the campaign to quell the Green Dragon rebellion on Merx and Lyrx. Upon his return to Gi’ishior, he admitted his trespass with a Human whom he called his Dragon Rider. In this very Hall, he bargained with the Elders for his life.”

Lia nodded, clutching her throat. She dared not speak.

“We assigned him an honour-quest. Should he complete the task, the knowledge of his transgression shall be struck from Dragonish memory. Grandion flew to the Eastern Isles to track down the original Scroll of Binding–a scroll of Dragon lore from which, we believe, Ianthine mastered
ruzal
, and the Dragon-Haters of the Lost Islands learned a mysterious power over Dragons. We know little of these Dragon-Haters, for in living memory, no Dragon has been able to penetrate their defences.”

So Sapphurion had assigned his shell-son an impossible quest? Aghast, a dull rattle sounded from her chest.

Qualiana hushed her at once. “Peace, little one.”

Heavily, Sapphurion added, “Therefore I, Sapphurion the Dragon Elder, must ask you this, Hualiama Dragonfriend. Will you atone for the Tourmaline Dragon’s obligation, assuming the onus of this quest for the lost Scroll of Binding? Will you scour the Island-World for him, not returning to hearth or home until you succeed or perish in this endeavour? Will you take his oath upon yourself?”

Hualiama nodded at once.

“We must hear you.” To his mate, Sapphurion said,
Qualiana, dull her pain.

Speaking may further damage her throat,
she replied.
There, it is done.

Lia rasped, “I so swear.”

* * * *

Scooping Hualiama up, Qualiana left the meeting immediately and flew a little ways up the cliff directly above the tunnel-entrance Lia had navigated on her way in to the Halls of the Dragons. She felt enervated. Adrenaline, shock and magic, all had taken their toll. She saw Sapphurion following just as they alighted at a tunnel entrance.

It felt strangely comforting to be cradled in a Dragon’s paw after six years.

The tunnel was smooth and polished to a high sheen, giving Hualiama glimpses of a wan-looking Human dangling in the Red Dragoness’ grasp. Qualiana barely needed to furl her wings to pass through, and after just a few hundred feet, she turned into a narrower doorway. A touch of her foremost talon-pad to a large button caused the tall, intricately patterned metal doors to slide apart, revealing a short, Dragon-sized hallway leading into warmly lamp-lit inner chambers.

“Our roost,” said Qualiana, seemingly oblivious to the shock of recognition which stupefied the girl she held. Memories! Echoes of joy! “The main living area looks onto the caldera through that one-way crysglass. Those are Dragon couches. Sapphurion’s perch lies to your left–that’s fire-fused agate crystal, which he shaped to fit his body while it was still malleable. My mate is a peerless gemstone worker.”

“Beautiful,” Lia managed to gasp.

“Bathe your face in this laver. The water is cool and refreshing. Then, lie down.”

Lia did as she was bid, charily glancing at the Dragoness, who hovered like a broody mother fussing over her hatchling. She reached out to touch Lia’s shoulder with one thick, red digit, causing healing magic to pour over and into her like a river of thick, golden honey. Just then, a clicking of claws without heralded Sapphurion’s arrival. With two huge Dragons in the room, their quarters suddenly felt decidedly cosy. And warm. Dragons generated so much heat!

With a word, Sapphurion closed the outer doors. Hualiama sensed the unmistakable yet feather-light touch of his magic. Gears whirred and locks clicked shut.

She was confined with a pair of Dragons.

“Sealed,” said Sapphurion, deepening her anxiety. And he approached with an altogether gentler, apricot tinge in his eye.

Hualiama shivered where she lay on a cushion ten feet wide and thirty long–and that was only half of a couch, it seemed. The huge Blue slipped lithely onto his beautiful perch, where the variegated blues of agate crystals had been formed into swirling loops and unfolding petals, mimicking with flawless accuracy, she realised with an inward sigh of appreciation, the lilies she had noticed adorning the terrace lake on the way in. The Dragon Elder arranged himself on this perch with a rustling of wings and a sigh that betrayed weariness, and … a nervousness of his own?

The silence grew strained.

Coughing discreetly, Qualiana swamped a couch to Lia’s left, her paw crooked behind the Human girl as though the Dragoness meant to embrace her, but shied away from completing the gesture. Two Dragon muzzles turned to Lia, tilted to keep the burning nostrils pointed a little away from her, while their mesmeric eyes stripped away her defences with shocking ease.

Lia had occasionally imagined meeting a potential boyfriend or suitor’s parents. Obviously, not in this context! A hysterical wailing burbled around the fringes of her consciousness. Surely, Sapphurion and Qualiana must guess how she felt about their shell-son. What else would drive her to such extremes? They knew she had shamed him, that she must be at least partially responsible for his fateful decision to allow a Human to set foot upon a Dragon’s back. They must hate her. Or, perhaps it was merely a violent draconic antipathy?

‘Islands’ greetings,’ she imagined the conversation proceeding. ‘Please don’t eat me if I say this … I need you to know I’m inappropriately fond of your son, who just happens to be of a completely different species we Humans are openly and covertly at war with …’

She must speak.

Hualiama whispered, “Mighty Sapphurion, I wonder if you remember a particular conversation that took place in this room?” Switching to Dragonish, she quoted from memory,
Here, little mouse. You cannot stay in our clutch forever. We must give you to the Human King.

The Blue Dragon became still, so utterly motionless that Lia feared she had just signed her death-warrant with the flourish of a verbal quill. Qualiana emitted a soft, ululating cry that seemed to oscillate between desolation and hope. She rubbed her muzzle in a gesture Lia had seen Flicker use when moved by profound emotion. Should she have forewarned the Dragons? Too late now.

You speak Dragonish?
Qualiana gasped.
Perfect Dragonish? You remember …

Fragile as a dew-dappled petal, the moment lingered.

Happiness,
Lia said simply. Tears welled up.
For me, this place is a joyous melody. You made it so, Qualiana–and you, Sapphurion. I remember how when I fell, you caught me in your paws.

You’re that girl? It’s really true?
The Dragoness’ left paw clenched, the length of it–twice Hualiama’s height–now bridging the small distance between them, a poignant desperation writ in the way her paw cupped Lia’s body, covering her lightly, as though Qualiana trusted not in her eyes, but in the touch of skin to skin.

It’s true, o Qualiana.

You spoke with care to protect us in the Dragon Council,
said Sapphurion. Suddenly he was up on his paws, looming close, his monstrous forepaw extending to match his mate’s gesture, so that Lia’s prone position came to resemble a butterfly trapped between cupped hands.
Qualiana, my life’s veriest breath, even a proud Dragon must learn to bend his hearts. Don’t lose a wing over what I shall say.
Bending over the Human girl, he breathed,
Hualiama, I regret doubting you, and I’m sorry for how I mistreated both you and my shell-son. Deeply … remorseful.

Oh thou, my soul’s inspiration!
Qualiana nuzzled her mate fondly.
I thought thee incapable of such words.

As had Lia, recalling how Grandion had bristled at an apology. Dragons would catch the plague rather than use the word ‘sorry’, wouldn’t they?

Sapphurion added,
I’ve failed as a father. I sacrificed flesh and blood for political advantage. Rightly you asked what kind of father abandons his only shell-son!
Huge as he was, the Blue Dragon whimpered as though wounded.
And now I’ve hurt thee, my shell-daughter, and bound thee to Grandion’s fate.

Smiling as though the suns beamed unadulterated upon her world, Lia assured him,
I would choose no other fate … but you know that already, don’t you, Sapphurion? Please don’t hate me for my deeds.

His eye-fires gushed in their course around his orbs, making her feel dizzy, but the Human girl found she did not dread what she beheld there. Mind-to-mind, he replied,
Qualiana will recount for you how I raged and thundered, how I blasted boulders into slag and sharpened my talons upon the edges of cliffs, especially since Grandion spoke so tenderly of you. Truly, I do not understand this mystery. I yearned to kill him, yet my thoughts flew to a different Island. I saw qualities in my shell-son I could never have imagined–by my wings, he blazed with the very nobility you spoke of. And I wondered how this could be? How could such a sin lead to gloriously transformed soul-fires?

We fear this … relationship … can only end in sorrow,
Qualiana confessed.

Aye.
Extending his right wing, Sapphurion drew it over both Lia and his mate, cocooning them in a secret world within the world of their Dragon roost. He whispered,
Yet know this, shell-daughter. We would’ve adopted you in a hearts-beat, were it possible. And we promise we shall not be the Dragons to stand between you and Grandion, for we believe you must pursue your fate, be it to the ends of our Island-World, or beyond.

His words enveloped her in warmth, a treasury of emotion revealed by the rich, nuanced Dragonish he spoke from his third heart.

Fixing her with a burning eye, the Blue Dragon declared,
This I vow upon my honour as a Dragon: never again shall I abandon my child. When you find Grandion, Hualiama, tell him I would rather tear out my Dragon-soul than betray him again. If it costs me my position as a leader of Dragons, I care not. Should I lose my life, I care not, for I would rather die with my honour intact.

Qualiana said,
We raised you as our own hatchling for three years. We vow to stand beside you, little one. Do you understand?

I do,
Lia breathed, a song of wonder rising in her heart.
And I understand I must teach you something, my shell-parents–if I may call you that?

You may,
they chorused, and rubbed their muzzles together as their laughter spoke of the relief of long-repressed passions.
What would our shell-daughter teach us?

To delight in her fires?
asked Qualiana.
To join in the beauty of her dance?

Only what Amaryllion Fireborn taught me–aye, mighty Sapphurion,
Lia gulped.
I was the trespasser you detected at the Natal Cave. There is something the denizens of this Island-World have made to be profane, which is not. The laws of Humankind and Dragonkind corrupt it into unrecognisable forms. They forbid what is good and wholesome and true.

The memory of her first touch of Grandion’s muzzle stole her away for a moment. When she returned to herself, the Dragons regarded her with identically puzzled expressions.

Impulsively, Lia scrambled to her feet.
Come,
she beckoned them. The rising drumbeat of their hearts generated an audible rush through the great arteries of their necks.
I shan’t bite you.

Lia meant to touch the Dragons each upon the muzzle, just above their nostrils, but her knees buckled mid-motion. She fell against them instead, arms splayed. Mercy! Could she never fail to spoil a significant moment with her clumsiness? Her tiny arms could not hope to encircle their muzzles. Glancing from one flustered Dragon to the other as Sapphurion harrumphed and Qualiana stiffened up until she resembled a gigantic, scaly ruby, Lia found herself ambushed by a fit of giggles, which swelled into Cloudlands-bound river-torrents of joy spilling from her soul. What a delight, that she could stagger tonnes of Dragon with a mere touch!

This is called a hug.
She pulled them closer with her tiny strength.
Like this.

She had never heard Dragons purr in quite the way Qualiana and Sapphurion did now, but their combined vibration thawed places in the core of her being which Lia thought had been excised, and lost forever.

We Humans do this with people, and Dragons, we love.

H
aving TARRIED With
the Dragons until the evening following her arrival at Gi’ishior, Lia hurried home. Her heart rued the rush, but with a frisky following breeze and every sail including her custom-made spinnaker deployed to its maximum, her solo Dragonship speared through the ruddy, late-afternoon volcanic sunshine like a crossbow bolt trailing golden streamers of dust. She raced over tiny Giaza Island, where she had seen Dragons sporting with Humans, tossing them to each other or into the Cloudlands, before steering a more southerly bearing to cross the north-south length of Fra’anior Island to the main city located on its southernmost peninsula. Rugged, jungle-choked ravines broken up by jag-toothed black peaks constituted the untamed interior of Fra’anior, while great flocks of luminous green lovebirds, brilliant parakeets and white finches burst out of the foliage as the Dragonship whooshed by just thirty feet overhead.

A flight of five dragonets came to play around the sails, chittering non-stop to each other or making shrill exclamations such as,
‘Look at me!’
‘Watch this!’
‘A faster wing-flip, silly!’

Hualiama sang them a lively ballad, although her heart was not in it. The dragonets seemed aware of her distraction and after playing briefly, parroted their own ditty in return before darting back to their warren.

As the twin suns melted into the gleaming copper Cloudlands of the western horizon, Lia approached her home town, the city of Fra’anior. A beautiful job of reconstruction belied the devastation of the Green Dragon invasion six years before. The buildings and homes were built from malachite blocks, onyx stone and the finest garnet, resplendent in the suns-set, while the formal gardens had been restored to the full glory of arguably the greatest collection of exotic plants and flowers in the Island-World. Even aloft, Hualiama filled her lungs with a richness of pollens and scents which left her gasping.

Her gaze tracked the flight of eleven honking blue cranes over the Palace building, only to be distracted by a flash of crimson. A firebird! The fabled firebird of Fra’anior was said to be a cross between avian and dragonet, able to ignite its feathers if threatened but not burn up. Isles legend told that if a firebird could be tamed, it would lead a person to a forgotten Dragon-hoard containing fabulous riches. An amusing tale. But her life had an odd parallel with that firebird, she sensed. Lia had burned but not been consumed. Perhaps she was a firebird.

Perhaps the Dragon astronomers, who watched the skies for the advent of the comet that portended the rise of the third great race of the Island-World, should be watching for the Dragonfriend as she streaked to her fiery demise in the Cloudlands–oh, windroc droppings. That image was scant comfort.

Choosing not to conceal her approach to the seat of the Onyx Throne of Fra’anior, Hualiama landed in her customary berth at the Dragonship bays behind the Palace building. She tossed hawsers to the servants, who tied them off to bollards on the ground. Bank the oven’s fires, secure the controls, take her weapons … Lia tossed a short rope ladder over the edge of her basket and clambered to the ground.

A Royal Guard, puffing out his purple-uniformed chest, barked, “Princess Hualiama, by the King’s order I place you under arrest–”

Hualiama’s smile, modelled on Grandion’s best, lip-curling, fang-revealing, Dragon-fire-breathing efforts, appeared to cork his throat pleasingly. She said, “You can try.”

And she left the nonplussed soldier and his squad of four gaping at her back as she marched off. Faintly, she heard a voice inquire, “Why didn’t you arrest the Princess, sir?”

“I prefer staying alive.”

“Aye!” the others agreed fervently.

So, King Chalcion chose to show his hand? Lia strode toward the palace building as though she were a Dragonship driven by her own burning engine. She would make good her promise. Please, let her treat her father better than he had treated her. Let him see Lia for who she truly was. Let her fury not spill over into violence.

She knew her family would be dining at this hour. Lia recognised her fey, dangerous mood for what it was, and fought for control. Six years of abuse and humiliation. Before that, a long, sordid history of the King’s uncontrolled temper dominating his family. He would see her act as open defiance. And who should she tell about her uncle Zalcion’s treachery? Could it be proved? No-one in this Palace would trust the word of a Dragon.

A hand seized her arm. “Lady Hualiama, you are under–”

Lia chopped down with the hard edge of her palm. The Royal Guard yelped in pain. She walked on.

Portraits of tall, unsmiling royal ancestors bobbed past her as Lia took the stairs up to the dining hall three at a time. Ahead, heavy jalkwood doors stood slightly ajar, their polished wooden panels inlaid with rubies the size of dragonets’ eggs to form the glowing heart of Royal Fra’anior’s crest, a stylised volcano. Of course. And people mad enough to live atop a volcano, also had volcanic temperaments to suit.

Smiling grimly at the Royal Guard standing to attention beside the ten foot-tall doors–too tiny for a Dragon, she noted–Hualiama said, “Will you let me in, Ha’arukion?”

“I should by rights arrest you, Princess,” he rumbled, but his hand did not stray to his sword-hilt. Instead, he peered narrowly at her. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

“Dragon in my throat.”

The soldier’s regard did not waver. “Seems the girl who stole away with the Queen-mother a few days ago, has come back … changed.”

“You knew?”

A slow grin crinkled his cheeks right up to his eyes. “Aye. I warn you, Princess, the King is spitting like a maddened Green Dragon. But I see that pointy chin. You step easy. Now, I’ll be investigating a strange sound behind that hanging. Didn’t see you slip past.”

“Thank you, Ha’arukion. You’re diamond.”

Lia pressed open the door, and slipped into the informal dining-room–a circular chamber a mere fifty feet in diameter, wherein sat a priceless table hand-carved from a monolithic block of jade. Her family looked up, and gasped as one. No Chalcion. The knot behind Hualiama’s left shoulder eased slightly.

“Islands’ greetings, dear ones,” she rasped.

Oh, their faces! Queen Shyana’s colour became as pale as her plate. Flame-haired Fyria dribbled purple prekki-fruit juice down her chin. Her brother Kalli dropped his spoon into a bowl of green oats, while Ari and Elki yelped in delight.

“Lia, no weapons at the table,” Shyana said automatically. “Cold stole your voice?”

“What’s for dinner, Mom? I’m starving,” said Lia.

“Short shrift …” Elki could only shake his head.

“Sulphurous greetings to you all from Sapphurion and Qualiana,” Lia added, seating herself in her customary position between Elki and Ari. “Mom, can I ask you how old I was when you adopted me?”

“Sapphurion?” gasped Elki.

Kalli, with his unbreakably serious expression, said, “I remember. You were around three summers old, Lia, no bigger than a dragonet, just these huge green eyes and a shock of white hair.”

Queen Shyana said, “Kalli wanted to call you ‘little grandmother’ until I taught him better. Lia, sweet petal, you do know what you’re doing, don’t you? Chalcion–”

“Does she ever?” Fyria sniped.

Fyria was her charming self, of course. Hualiama helped herself to a bowl of ralti stew and fresh sweet tuber mash. No telling when she might enjoy her next square meal. For a few minutes, the family ate in silence. Lia found her appetite had fled. Soon, she heard a familiar tread in the private corridor leading to the dining room. Her family only reacted several seconds after she heard it.

Her mother whispered, “Petal …”

“I know.”

King Chalcion, deep in conversation with uncle Zalcion, entered through a doorway partially hidden behind a purple tapestry depicting the constellations of Fra’anior’s sky. He wore his magnificent, sweeping robes of office, the deep purple of Fra’anior picked out with volcanoes and rajals in gold brocade thread, and he cradled his crown in the crook of his arm.

Apparently sensing the family’s stillness, he looked up. His eyes roamed the table. A jolt. Chalcion’s face drained of colour, before reversing the process with miraculous speed, assuming the colour and aspect of a rotten prekki fruit, purple and blotchy.

“Where have you been?”

“Islands’ greetings, father. Are you well?” Lia responded, fighting an urge to sink into her seat.

Chalcion rounded the table inexorably. Hualiama pushed her chair back on the thick pile carpet and stood, willing herself to remain calm, to put aside the habits of six years of being victimised. She who could stand in an Ancient Dragon’s presence, could not stand up to a Human man, King or none? She hated the feeling of inward curling, like scrolleaf tossed into a bonfire blackening and rolling up at the edges.

“You deliberately disobeyed me!”

“I-I w-went–”

“Stop that contemptible stammering, girl! Where in a Cloudlands hell have you been?”

Lia gulped. The King’s face halted mere inches from hers, his final words depositing spittle on her cheek. No, she would not quail. Let her words spread fire across her tongue.

“I travelled to Ha’athior Island, father, to attend the passing on of the last Ancient Dragon, called Amaryllion Fireborn. You might have seen the light from here, two days ago, and felt an earthquake strike the Cluster. Then I travelled on to Ya’arriol to meet with friends there. Yesterday, I consulted with Sapphurion and his Dragon Elders at Gi’ishior, before returning.”

Chalcion’s throat worked as though he had a slice of sour haribol fruit stuck in his craw. The King grated, “Who let you out? Who helped you? Someone must have–Elka’anor? Shyana? Who helped this little dragonet flout a direct order from her King?”

Shyana’s chair tipped over as she stood. “I did.”

“Mom!” Lia gasped. Once again, her mother intended to shield her from Chalcion’s wrath.

Abruptly, the King whirled and ran at Shyana. Lia sprinted after him. A tap of his ankle with her foot brought him down. Hualiama sprang past him and whirled, fists clenched. “You leave Mom alone!”

“Get out of my way!” he roared.

Chalcion rose, wiping a trail of spittle off his chin. A feral glint lurked in his eyes. Bellowing, he charged, tackling Lia about the waist. She rolled with his assault, bringing her knees up as they landed on the plush carpet. The King received the point of her right knee directly in his sternum. Still, he was mad enough to throw a punch. Lia blocked the blow automatically.

Shyana threw herself on her husband’s back, screaming, “What’s the matter with you? You’re an animal!”

Cursing, Chalcion threw his Queen off. Lia twisted aside, avoiding his lunge, rolling smoothly to her feet with the ease the many long hours of training with the warrior-monks had instilled in her. She had wrestled men stronger than Chalcion. But she did not want to hurt him.

As he pushed to his feet, Hualiama said flatly, “Dad, stop it. You will no longer bully us. And if you lay a finger on Mom, ever again, I promise that I will do to you what I did to Ra’aba.”

Drawing a dagger from his belt, Chalcion roared, “Fight me, would you?”

“No. I will not draw a blade against my King.”

Vile curses flooded from his mouth as the King swung the blade at his daughter. She whispered aside, dance-step following dance-step. He could not touch her.

He panted, “How dare you defy me? Zalcion, help me, brother.”

“Help? He’s the one selling secrets to the Dragons!” Lia glanced at her uncle. A sword sprouted in Zalcion’s hand. He stalked closer, murder blazing in his eyes. Realisation struck. Was Zalcion behind her father’s behaviour? Feeding his anger? Worse, doing something to poison him or cripple his ability to rule effectively?

Zalcion snarled, “You been whoring with Dragons again, girl? Nauseating whelp of a diseased ralti sheep. We know all about your precious Grandion.”

His vile, twisting words clogged Lia’s thoughts with fire. Suddenly Chalcion was upon her, the blade stabbing for her gut. The Princess stood her ground and punched her father with all the force and Dragon fire her petite frame could muster, coupled with the rigorous training she had endured in the monastery.
Crack!
Bone splintered beneath her fist. Chalcion turned grey, clutching his lower ribs.

Lia stared at him, breathing in short, agonised gasps. She had done it.

As the King collapsed, she gritted out, “Never again, father.”

“I’ll … disown you.”

“As if a scroll makes family,” she retorted.

Queen Shyana’s scream alerted her. Hualiama dodged Zalcion’s overhand strike, losing a neat fillet of flesh on her right shoulder to his blade. Her twin swords sprang to hand seemingly at a thought. The Nuyallith forms flowed awkwardly, feeling the rust of too many seasons’ disuse. Lia blocked twice with the iron-elbow technique before sneaking in a skill called the switch and double-cross, in which she parried with her stronger left hand while simultaneously bringing her right-hand blade down from high on her left side in a vicious back-handed swing, contrary to the ordinary angle of attack. She pulled the blow at the last second.