Dragonfriend (33 page)

“Doesn’t a Dragon usually fly much faster than we managed last night?” Lia inquired.

The tip of the Tourmaline Dragon’s tail twitched twice, an indicator of irritation. “That was for my benefit, Human girl. Muscles long dormant must be reawakened. Toxins build up in the muscle tissues and joints, while the smaller arteries feeding the wing surface begin to calcify. Even the heart muscles atrophy, because for a creature the size of a Dragon to fly requires an extraordinary output of energy, despite the efficiency of our triple-heart cardiovascular system. Furthermore, we have additional bodily organs which store energy and nutrients essential to flight, magic, brain function and so on–organs which Humans do not possess. These take time to replenish.”

“I’d love to learn all that you have to teach me,” she said.

“Thankfully, the body heals itself rapidly,” he said, less testily. “I need to hunt. What can I bring you–a spiral horn deer? Wild sheep?”

“I’d have a bit of anything. I’m starving.”

“No sneaking off while I’m gone.”

Snarky Dragon. But Lia burst out laughing when he strutted in to drop an entire haunch of ralti sheep at her feet, an hour later. He looked so pleased with himself. At her best guess, the slab of meat also weighed double her entire body mass.

“Hungry?” he sketched a graceful bow and lost his balance slightly. His muzzle butted her shoulder.

Lia staggered. “Oof, there’s no need to flatten me!”

Grandion held out an apologetic paw. “Paw up?”

Lia gripped his talon and bounded to her feet, making the Dragon startle and flare his wings. “I’ll cut a few steaks and wrap them in fli’iara leaves. I’ve two ripe landas gourds and I spotted a patch of jiista-berry bushes just by the cave entrance. A feast! Shall I make a fire?”

“Shall I roast your woefully undersized rump?” he exclaimed, demonstrating with a curl of fire over his lip what he meant. “You’re travelling with a Dragon.”

“Ooh, I forgot,” said Lia, her eyes dancing as she swept into a flowing Fra’aniorian bow. “Please cook my meat, kind sky-lizard, whilst I … have no clue what I can do for you. This is going to be a very one-sided relationship, Grandion, if I can’t do anything to serve you.”

“Who needs servants? I’m a modern Dragon. Watch.”

Grandion picked up the haunch and, shaping the fire with his blue forked tongue, began to bathe it in a hissing stream of flame. He even rolled the hunk of meat steadily with his talons, ensuring that it cooked evenly. Having fireproof knuckles certainly helped.

“Yum,” Lia said, looking on from a safe distance. “Smells delicious. What does, ‘I’m a modern Dragon’ mean?”

“Human servitude was a blot in draconic history, but don’t tell most of my race I said that,” he averred. “Your congenial companionship is enough.”

A slow and rather silly smile spread across Lia’s face, chasing her blush as it broadened. “But I want to help. Look, you’ve a thorn vine stuck beneath your wing, in your … ah, armpit. Wing-pit? Can I help with that?”

Grandion nodded, still doing his incongruous impression of a cook turning a spit.

“Are these so-called ‘modern Dragons’ domesticated? Tame?”

“Tame?” Fire thundered out of his long throat, reducing the boulders in front of him to molten slag and turning the sand to glass. The Dragon spluttered, “Tame? Look, now I’ve ruined your meal, you rude … you little …”

“I’m sure that charred mess is still pink on the inside,” she returned, with a pert waggle of her woefully undersized rump as she marched over to his flank. “Bring your wing down here. I’ve been meaning to slice you up with my dagger.”

GRRAAA-UH!
Grandion caught himself halfway into whirling upon her, fangs agape. Hualiama dived aside with a yelp. So her bravado had lasted less than ten seconds. Great. Now she had a bruised elbow and a bucket load of sand down her top.

“Insulting a Dragon is dangerous,” he muttered, shuffling his paws and looking as sheepish as a sixty-five foot Dragon could possibly look–a less than apt description, Lia decided.

She willed her heart to stop bruising the inside of her chest. “Sorry–I mean, I’m not sorry, Grandion. See? I’ve learned something about Dragons already.”

“Given as you’ve a brain the size of a large nut, you do continue to surprise me,” he growled, without menace.

“Grandion!”

He offered her a quirky smile. “Eat up. We should be on the wing within an hour.”

A minor eclipse of the twin suns behind the Blue moon lent the late afternoon a sleepy, golden aspect as Grandion winged northward, caldera-side of Janbiss Island, home to a colony of Red Dragons. By evening they had passed Churgra and Sa’athior, both smaller Human-inhabited Islands. Grandion weaved back to the Cloudlands side of Frendior in search of a favourite roost, but they found it already occupied by a mated pair of Green Dragons, who seemed in no mood to be disturbed. However, Grandion’s magical disguise worked. The Green Dragons let them fly on with nary a flicker of their nictitating eye membranes.

The Tourmaline Dragon seemed in no great rush to reach Gi’ishior Island. Lia wondered why he was in such a bad odour with his fellow Dragons, but dared not ask, for his mood seemed to deteriorate the closer they flew to the Halls of the Dragons.

Come nightfall, Grandion settled on a ledge on the western flank of Frendior Island, a place strangely devoid of vegetation.

“There’s little water on this Island,” he said. “Have you ever flown north to Rolodia?”

“Once, when I was small,” she said.

“Aye? They have massive terrace lakes built by the Ancient Dragons, much larger than your home Island. It’s an Island with a beauty all of its own.”

“Could we fly that way, Grandion?” Lia asked.

He nodded, settling his paws beneath him while his long tail curled up past Lia toward his head. “That was my plan. There are a few rocks midway where we can roost. Perhaps you could procure a bow at Rolodia, which would be useful against windrocs and crested eagles in the Spits.”

“I forgot, but Ja’al did give me a bit of money. So, where will we find this Ianthine?”

“In the northern Spits, between Rolodia and Noxia Island. It’s a fractured wilderness of stone, full of rajals and pythons and windrocs, blasted by wind and storm. A dangerous place.”

“Dangerous for Humans, perhaps,” said Hualiama. “I ride a Tourmaline Dragon.”

Grandion’s head rose, his left eye widening as fire raced about beneath the clear surface. He breathed, “Dragon Rider.” What did he mean? Lia did not trust the glint in his eye, not one iota. “Don’t just stand there in the open, looking lost, Hualiama. Come under cover.”

Biting her lip, Lia stepped into the space he indicated between his left forepaw and his flank, and tried not to baulk when he arched his wing overhead. Great Islands, he was as hot as a meriatite furnace engine! His paw curved to create Lia a cosy nook in which to curl up, making her feel safe and protected–and overwhelmed. Unquestionably overwhelmed. His eye gleamed at her over the edge of his paw, fiery yet gentle, making Lia duck her head and pretend to be busy with her weapons and supplies. He could not have mistaken her response.

“There’s an old saying in Dragonish,” Grandion said.
Envy the Dragon and his rider. Mighty are they in battle.
“In Island Standard, that translates as–”

I know thy speech, Dragon.

There, better she aired that secret as she had decided beforehand. Lia knew she could never have kept it from Grandion for long, especially not once they found Flicker.

By the First Egg of all Dragons!
The Tourmaline Dragon stared at her as though she had grown curly horns and capered in circles about him, bleating, ‘I’m a sheep! I’m a sheep!’ A gurgle of laughter shook every last scale on his body, while his talons clenched briefly before releasing her.
Such
is the enigma of a Human girl who rides with a Dragon. Of course, you spoke Dragonish before. I didn’t notice.

One more reason to kill me, isn’t it?

“Don’t be foolish. Plenty of Human slaves have learned to speak Dragonish over the centuries, Hualiama. What’s remarkable is how perfect your accent is.” Switching languages, Grandion demanded,
Who taught you Dragonish? How many more secrets are you hiding?

Replying in Dragonish, Lia explained how Flicker had taught her to speak while they lived on Ha’athior Island. She must have learned Dragonish as a child on Gi’ishior, she added.
I don’t know how long I spent on Gi’ishior before I was adopted
.
There are still some Humans living with the Dragons on Gi’ishior, aren’t there, Grandion? Do you think I might find my parents there?

Grandion was still staring at her, ten inches of fangs gleaming through the crack of his jaw.
And your grammar–you speak as fluently as a Dragon, Hualiama. Exactly … like–
he shook himself with the mien of a wet hound–
have you always been good at languages?

Engineering, aye. Languages, no. Grandion, don’t stare at me like that. It’s … daunting.

His brow-ridge crinkled at her, giving his expression a droll aspect, while he snarled,
I’d gladly eat you, little Human, but I suspect the sour aftertaste of your Cloudlands-dwarfing capacity for impudence and misbehaviour would only serve to frazzle my tongue.

What?
A huge grin caught her unawares.

Lia, I’m sorry to say this, but I wouldn’t place much hope on your birthplace being Gi’ishior. Our Human community is small. To hide a pregnancy would be nigh impossible–and where would Ianthine fit into the puzzle, in that case?

Hualiama wished she had the courage to trust him with her dream of a tiny Lia running to the Red Dragoness Qualiana and her mate, Sapphurion. One phrase in particular stuck in her mind, ‘
Where did that ruzal-breathing witch find her?
’ Grandion was right. The mystery of her birth would not be solved at Gi’ishior. She could not disclose her dreams yet. They were woven inextricably into the fabric of her soul, precious chords of a yearning too delicate to risk breaking. And, people did not remember dreams from so young an age. Her mind must have concocted a sweet fantasy to cover for the grief and loss of that time. Inwardly, Lia wilted beneath a devastating burden of sorrow.

With his paw, Grandion gradually raised her chin, a gentler touch than she had imagined a Dragon could possibly achieve. Hualiama tried to resist, furious with herself for appearing so fragile before him. Could the past not be content to remain in the past? Must it always shadow her present? Her eyes slid aside from his burning gaze, coyly and not without anxiety. Should he choose force, how could she resist?

Let not the storm-Dragons of despair ravage thy spirit,
he breathed. Magic lapped against her senses, bringing comfort.

I fear this journey.
She gazed unseeing over the Cloudlands, a rippling ocean of cloud pinked by the setting suns.
Grandion, I fear what we might discover. There’s a kind of peace in not knowing … if only one could ignore the pain.

The Dragon said,
But you are not such a person, are you, Hualiama?

At last, her smoky eyes dared to meet his.
No, I am not.
The old saying pounded through her mind, ‘Never trust a Dragon.’ She must guard her heart.

Grandion added,
I sense your strength, Hualiama, and this I promise: I shall stand beside you. Tomorrow we shall fly to the heavens, and find your dragonet. Pray our enemies do not spy us–Yulgaz the Brown and Razzior the Orange are their names, and many are their minions. Before darkness wreaths the Isles, would you help me by picking a load of flara-fruit? I sense there’s something nurturing in them that I require.

Hualiama sprang to her feet, absurdly grateful for a task to distract her from the intensity of that draconic gaze, and how Grandion seemed able to read her like an open scroll.

Whatever she had imagined of Dragons, this was different.

* * * *

At daybreak the following morning, Grandion powered up into the skies above Frendior Island with a new snap in his wings and a song of fire pulsing in his hearts, leaving Lia gasping and clutching at his spine spike in alarm. Whatever foresight had led her to lash a vine to the spine spike at her back and tie her belt to it, she was grateful. Perhaps a wasp had stung him in the tender underparts? It would have had to be a wasp with a sting the size of an armour-piercing drill–because this Dragon revelled in his flight. What a thrill! Revelation! Steadily, the Island-World spread out beneath them.

Unexpectedly, the Tourmaline Dragon began to play. Whipping around a white cotton puff of cumulus cloud, he dived suddenly, making his Rider whoop in surprise, before he jinked left and right and then whizzed vertically up through another cloud, bugling softly as they broke free of the grey once more. Now he spiralled in ever-tightening circles, taking care not to turn upside-down and unseat her, before he suddenly furled his wings.

Hualiama yelped as her stomach leaped into her throat. Grandion pulled out of his dive with liquid ease, screaming between battalions of clouds as though affrighted of touching them, left, right, a bounce! She laughed until she was breathless, and the Dragon too.

Now, he sauntered further aloft.

“And how is your second flight thus far?” Grandion inquired.

“Fantastic! Aren’t you supposed to be looking where you’re going?”

The Dragon chuckled, “O innocent maiden, whom I have snatched away to distant Isles, what might I crash into up here? A fast-flying ralti sheep?”

Lia quipped, “A bouncing Island?”

She meant it as a joke, but Grandion replied, “Apparently Herimor has floating Islands. No Dragon can sleep on the wing there!”

Higher and higher they rose, a mile, two, three. With the keen regard of a Dragonship pilot Hualiama noted a storm looming on the northern horizon, a characteristic band of coppery dark clouds promising a fine squall to come later that afternoon. She saw the whole of Fra’anior Cluster now, the Islands shrunk to a bracelet of green and black dots lost in an endless, lapping sea of Cloudlands, the habitat of Humanity almost impossible to pick out, apart from the green and red chequered cloth that described Fra’anior City’s famed gardens. Perhaps that dark speck just a hair taller than the rest of the city was the palace, where Ra’aba now ruled?