Dragonfriend (25 page)

Back in their cavern, Inniora greeted her with the clink of a manacle meant for her ankle. “Master Khoyal said you were not to be trusted.”

“You’re not putting that on me!” Lia declared.

“Aren’t I?”

One ill-tempered and undignified wrestling match later, the Princess of Fra’anior found herself chained to their gymnastic bars, with a wrenched elbow and a fresh bruise on her cheek.

Inniora dusted her hands cheerfully, but Lia noticed she moved with a limp. Served her right. “May your dreams be filled with Dragons,” Inniora smiled. When Lia only growled at her, she added, “Wrestle me any time. I’m only being your friend.” She stalked off.

“Bully,” Lia sniffed, but her heart was far from in it. “The peasants have revolted.”

Hualiama dreamed about being trampled by the Dragon who had attacked her on the ledge where she lived with Flicker. That was followed by a dream of fleeing endlessly through the caverns beneath Ha’athior, being chased and burned by more angry Dragons. Their thundering turned into Dragons fighting over a yowling infant. Was that a Maroon Dragoness fighting another Dragon? They clashed in the darkness, roaring challenges at each other. Lia moaned in her sleep, knowing a deep-seated fear which always lurked in the dark recesses of her mind. Dragons were evil, never to be trusted. Dragons had shaped her fate. What would she become?

She stirred to find Ja’al squatting patiently nearby. His blue eyes twinkled at her. “Keep the little rajals chained up, say I.”

“Save me, o handsome monk.”

His grin widened. “I think I’d rather keep you like this, Princess.”

Well, that would not do. Failing miserably to keep a flirtatious tone out of her voice, Lia said, “If you had any idea how inappropriate that sounds, Ja’al, you’d free me immediately.”

He flushed pink. Crimson. Purple. The veins on his tattooed head almost popped. Finally, he managed to splutter, “Master Khoyal is ill today and has sent me to teach you the basic forms, Lia.”

“Thank you.” She gentled her heart. “Inniora has the key, so unless you wish to wake her …”

“I’d rather wake a windroc. Open your mind.”

Reaching out, Ja’al placed his hand upon her forehead, and a velveteen-wrapped sledgehammer walloped her between the eyes.

Lia gasped. Inexplicably, she smelled mint–a strong, fresh scent of mint.

“Sorry,” Ja’al grunted. “More gently; more control. I’ll offer up his memory … thus.”

A boy stood in the cavern, watching a small, supple man dancing, spinning, weaving forms in the air with dazzling speed and grace. Swords flashed in his hands, cutting the air so rapidly that the blades moaned a song of beguiling fatality. Faster. Higher. Lia saw a dance wreathed in the beginnings of that white-golden fire she recognised as magic, coalescing around his leaping form as though drawn there by a mysterious compulsion. Every hair on her nape stood to attention.

Suddenly, stillness enveloped the cave. The man crossed his swords, bowed to the boy, and lowered his defence. His bare torso was covered in a sheen of sweat, yet he showed no other outward sign of the ferocity of his exercise.

“I will teach you the forms, Khoyal,” said the man.

“With my crippled hips, father,” said the boy, without rancour, “how can I ever learn the art of Nuyallith?”

“It is not for your benefit, but for another.”

The monk looked directly at Hualiama, and his deeply furrowed cheeks creased into a smile. The memory spiralled into blackness.

Next she knew, Ja’al was slapping her cheek gently. “Lia? Lia, come on … did it work? Did you see something?”

“Aye, it worked. Don’t kiss me.”

“Some girl I met told me I’m incorruptible,” he announced, but a pensive expression tightened his jaw. “Though, I’m not sure I’ll ever be where you’re concerned, Lia.”

“Are you trying to make me cry, Ja’al?”

He gulped. “It’s a grief, isn’t it? A process of letting go; of mourning even as one looks to the future.”

A profound silence gripped them. Lia searched for words to express the sorrow she felt, to express her certainty without causing further hurt.

She said, “You hoped that taking your vows would cure what you perceive as weakness, Ja’al. But I say that the heart is an untameable beast, a Dragon of passions that can sweep over us as a Cloudlands storm lashes the Islands, or ripple as gently as a dawn breeze upon a still terrace lake. If my time with the Masters at this monastery has taught me anything, it is that passion both refines and nourishes discipline. Discipline can be as dry and scorching as a wind born in Fra’anior’s caldera, or burst with rich, life-affirming power. Faith without passion is a dead thing.”

“You think you’re a terrible monk-apprentice,” he countered, reaching out to clasp her hand in his. Hualiama had never seen his expression so intent. “Yet I say you are an inspiration. The power to love is your greatest weapon, Lia. That is your untameable beast. Know it and embrace it, fear it and devote yourself to it, for love will shape your destiny.”

Again, the strength of their connection robbed her of words. She did not understand. Why had the Great Dragon allowed Ja’al to take his vows? Was he too good for her? Did Fra’anior’s desire for service trump any budding Human love?

If only love did not make her so vulnerable. Love alone had driven her to save Flicker from the warren-mother’s torture. Dare she speak of friendship-love, to use the dragonet word, which had compelled Flicker to eschew his warren and the dragonet-kind, to be her friend? Now, these same passions compelled her to rescue the Tourmaline Dragon, with all the peril that implied. Fear the Dragon, aye. Devote herself to him?

A thrill, a terror, an abiding hope …

But she must first deal with Ja’al. Lia said, “Would you allow me to call you ‘brother’? It would help me.”

Clearly, the monk was not fooled. He bowed. “I’d be honoured. Although, ‘brother Ja’al’ sounds awfully staid, doesn’t it?”

“Oh please, deliver this maiden from her peril, brother Ja’al.”

“Ah,” he leered, scrambling to his feet, “I shall–drat, how does the line go again? ‘Bait the rajal’?”

“Bait the rajal?” Inniora glared at Ja’al from just within the small side-chamber where the girls’ sleeping pallets lay. He winced. “You’d better explain yourself, brother–fast!”

* * * *

For three hours that morning, Lia swiped Master Khoyal’s reeds about in the air as she laboured to reproduce the movements Ja’al had etched magically into her memory. Right. Whoever had imagined pinching someone else’s memories to turn them into martial arts forms was easy, had equally as much a clue of the world beneath the Cloudlands.

When she paused for a breather and a sip of water, Flicker appeared. Without warning, he announced, “I am a genius.”

Inniora, Ja’al and Hualiama stared at him.

“Just admit it.” He blew multiple smoke-rings between his fangs. “I am undeniably the most awesome, intelligent and devastatingly handsome male of a species north of the Rift. Actually–” he inclined a wing airily “–you may include all of Herimor for the sake of accuracy.”

“Spit it out,
genius
,” said Lia.

“I didn’t quite hear you,” suggested the dragonet.

Inniora’s grin widened as Hualiama swept into a ludicrous parody of a Fra’aniorian courtly bow. “O, thou mighty bewinged paragon of muscular Dragonhood!” she cried. Flicker expectorated a fireball of pleasure. “Pray edify these humble serfs as to the luminously brilliant workings of thy incomparable intellect.”

A few adjectives and the dragonet was so puffed up with pride, he could not even produce a squeak.

“Firstly,” he managed to decree at last, “you, Inniora, shall blindfold the Princess. She will learn that the Human brain works more efficiently to process memories without distraction or interference from her inadequate eyes. Secondly, I wish to announce that I have rounded up two hundred dragonets to help me search for your Tourmaline Dragon. By this evening, I shall inform you where he is, or may my wings fall off and scale-mites infest my–”

Lia interrupted quickly, “Oh, Flicker, that’s splendid! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because I’m the genius, and you are a straw-head,” he said, flying upside-down out of the cave.

“A ruddy irritating but remarkably effective little genius,” Hualiama muttered, accepting a length of cloth from Inniora, while she passed . “Ja’al, how’s it possible that Khoyal’s father saw me in that memory?”

Ja’al scratched his beard. “Unless someone else was standing there at that precise moment in time … yet there was such a powerful sense of connection–I felt it, too. I cannot fathom it, Lia. In theory, magic can work over time as well as through space, but it’s never been proven. It’s said the Ancient Dragons could move independently of time. Adraconistic scholars suggest we only believe that because Dragons are so long-lived. Great are the mysteries of the Dragonkind.”

“May the Great Dragon speed Flicker’s search,” said his sister.

Lia felt the touch of Ja’al’s fingers. “Lia, will you be careful with that Dragon? I’ve a bad feeling …”

“What kind of bad feeling?”

“Only, that events might not proceed as we’d expect. Being trapped underground probably does strange things to a Dragon’s mind.”

Silly, overprotective monk. He was sweet, but it rankled when he treated her as a child. “I’ll be very careful,” she promised. “No offering to polish his fangs.”

Ja’al’s sour expression suggested Lia should take his warning more seriously.

Inniora asked, “So, there are twenty forms of Nuyallith, of which Ja’al has so far taught you two?”

“Twenty basic forms, aye, and several hundred advanced forms beyond those,” said Lia, binding her eyes. “Each form is a prescribed set of movements, much as a dance is choreographed. Master Khoyal says that when I have performed each form ten thousand times, perfectly, I’ll have written the movements into my muscle memory and should be able to reproduce them instinctively, without need for thought.”

“The path to mastery lies through pain,” said Ja’al, imitating his uncle Jo’el.

“What does Nuyallith mean, anyway?” asked Lia.

“The way of dancing on air,” said Inniora.

Ja’al quipped, “Sounds deadly.”

Glowering in the direction of Inniora’s voice, Hualiama held out her hands. “Give me those reeds,
brother
Ja’al. I’m going to slice you both into ribbons.”

* * * *

Lia dressed rapidly for her foray that evening, more excited than she had been in a long while. Ja’al was excited too. “Sapphurion is making an official visit tomorrow!” he yelled, dashing out of the cave for a meeting of the monks.

Sapphurion? So, the rumours of war between the Dragons might be true. For certain there was open war between the Dragonkind and the Humans of the Eastern Isles–that had been simmering and occasionally flaring up for years. Now, if she could rescue the Tourmaline Dragon in time for Sapphurion’s visit …

Yualiana had delivered the promised clothes, and Lia had to admit, this outfit was a vast improvement on baggy monk trousers and shirts five sizes too large for her. “Undergarments that actually fit,” she muttered drolly. “Novel.” Beneath a dark emerald-green skirt, split all the way up to her thighs to allow ease of movement, Lia wore dark fitted leggings and light slippers, the toughened and slightly tacky footwear the monks wore for infiltration and espionage training. A matching green tunic top, covering her shoulders but leaving the upper arms bare, had been tailored for a feminine physique. “Very tasteful,” she approved. Armoured wristlets covered her hands and arms from knuckles to elbow. The right sported a half-dozen throwing blades cunningly concealed against her inner arm. “Sweet.”

Hualiama braided and coiled her platinum hair, and concealed it beneath a dark scarf. Beneath a two- or three-moons night sky, it would shine like a beacon, otherwise.

She was ready.

“Islands’ greetings, Lady Blade,” Inniora whistled softly as Lia stepped through into their main cavern.

“This is wonderful, Inniora. Thank you!”

“Did you find the lock picks?”

“No …”

“Left wristlet. Oh, and Ja’al suggested a flexible saw, several files, and skeleton keys. Here are your forked daggers–a proper matched pair now, thanks to a raid on the armoury.”

Lia smiled at Inniora’s enthusiasm. “What do you expect me to be doing?”

“Hmm … burgling a palace to depose a traitor? And, I designed a few extra pockets for concealment. Places no man would dare to look.” She winked at Lia. “Inner thigh, tucked inside the bodice–it’s the new fashion, girl-monk attire. Take a peek down your top.”

“Ooh, are those weapons?”

“Well, Princess. My brother certainly thinks so.”

“Blast it, you wretch,” Hualiama groaned. “I walked smack into that one.”

Waving her hands excitedly, Inniora explained, “You’ll find pockets in the bodice seams for pepper sacks, gemstones, vials of poison, money or anything else you wish to conceal, and plenty of room in the middle as you enjoy–” she chuckled at her friend’s affronted expression “–certain natural advantages. That’s a bundle of poisoned darts you see there. What do you think?”

“I’m glad we’re on the same side, you Cloudlands pirate.”

Lia received a hearty whack on the shoulder for that comment. “Go stir us up a Dragon!”

Emerging from a trapdoor hidden amidst the rocks behind the monastery building, Lia ghosted along behind the ancient prekki trees, keeping to the deepening shadows. Flicker’s rowdy band of dragonets had delivered in spectacular style in the late afternoon. Even now, they celebrated over the lake in a welter of enthusiasm, swirling and diving and chirping up such a storm that the evening’s habitual avian chorus was entirely drowned out.

Smiling, she ducked down the stairway. Flicker met her at the bottom, the fire in his eyes churning more vigorously than ever.

You’re the greatest dragonet genius ever to fly the skies of the Island-World!
she greeted him.

Modestly, he agreed,
I know. You took your time, straw-head. That is a most striking outfit. Almost as fine as Dragon scales.

So typically Flicker! Lia said,
Thank you, my friend.