Dragonfriend (50 page)

Lia broke to her left, past a blazing tapestry. “Follow me!” Ja’al and Flicker paced her, the other monks a step or two behind. Sprinting through a series of richly furnished reception rooms, they came to the western wall of the palace building. “Through the windows,” said Lia, fighting with the window locks.

“Oh, Islands’ sakes,” said Hallon, shouldering her aside. With a swing of his war hammer, he shattered the priceless, stained crysglass panels. “After you, Princess.”

Hualiama leaped out almost onto the back of a Royal Guard. Flicker was already all over the man, razor sharp talons slicing any exposed flesh. Lia despatched the soldier with a thrust of her blade, while the giant twins leaped past her, closing with a further couple of Royal Guards. The purple robes fell.

“Around here,” Lia panted, leading the charge through the ornate formal gardens, called the Queen’s Joy. “The Great Hall’s just above us. There’s a balcony… some vines on the wall … played here as a child.”

“Give me that,” said Ja’al, helping himself to a throwing knife from her wristlet. He hurled it into the throat of a guard running toward them.

“Up here,” Lia pointed.

Without a word, the monks began to climb the dark walls. Meanwhile, the royal ward plucked a couple of poisoned darts from her bodice and flicked them at a pair of mercenaries who seemed to think that she presented an attractive target. They fell, convulsing uncontrollably.

Now it was her turn. Lia swarmed up the linger-vines which covered most of this wall of the palace. Up past the senior servants’ recreation rooms, up past her old tutor’s chambers, she climbed the three floors to the balcony outside the Great Hall. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the King’s forces beset by Dragons, fighting at a standstill just a few hundred feet from the palace gates.

Then she was up and over the protective wall of the balcony, whipping out her Nuyallith blades to join the fray. Ja’al and his monks hammered into a squad of four or five dozen Royal Guards.

“For the true King of Fra’anior!” she screamed. “Are you with us?”

The soldiers laughed.

At last she had the space to truly fight, and fight she did, in that curious mental state where rational thought was suspended by the imperative of the battle-song raging in her veins, the roaring between her ears and the clash of metal against metal.

Whirling the ultra-sharp Nuyallith blades about her spinning body, Hualiama sliced into the squad of soldiers, causing even the veterans to fall back with alarmed cries. She was fire. She was the dance-step before death. She breezed between their clumsy blows. Lia was appalled to hear her own laughter rise over the clash of battle, hungry and fierce, all bloodthirsty passion and a Dragoness’ delight in the kill. She skidded to a halt beyond the soldiers, confronting a second squad of purple-clad Royal Guards pouring out of the hall.

What was she doing? What had she become?

“With me!” cried Ja’al.

Thrusting with his hands, the young monk impelled a number of the soldiers out of their path. The purple robes smashed into planters filled with exotic flowers and tumbled over the edge of the balcony. Riding the force of Hallon and Rallon’s charge, the monks broke between the enormous green marble pillars which separated the Great Hall from the outside world.

The fighting was fierce, but Hualiama had eyes only for the far end of the Great Hall, where the Onyx Throne of Fra’anior stood. A single monolithic block of dark, sparkling onyx carved in the likeness of a seated Dragon, the arms were the Dragon’s paws and the seat back, a stylised Dragon’s head rising above the king’s head, which had rubies the size of a man’s fist for eyes, and six-inch garnets for teeth. Its wings spread fifteen feet either side of the seat. This was the symbol of Fra’anior, the ultimate seat of power.

Upon that cold stone throne, flanked by two stolid Green Dragons, clad all in black save for his purple robe of office and a golden circlet upon his brow, sat the false king.

Ra’aba.

C
Hills racked Hualiama’s
spine as she locked her gaze upon her nemesis. Finally. All of her life, it seemed, had been spent in preparation for this moment–since before her birth. Ra’aba sat deep in consultation with two ranking soldiers, as if the fighting did not concern him in the slightest. Then, he appeared to sense her special animus. Great rivers of fire rushed in her ears as his sallow, unfeeling eyes sought her out, unerring. Piercing her soul.

Ra’aba’s brow furrowed.

Was that a flash of concern she saw, of recognition, before the fighting closed in? Hualiama threw herself furiously against the Royal Guards, those same men who had bent the knee, swearing to serve the true King of Fra’anior. Her blades burned the air. Pain scored her side. She stumbled over a fallen soldier, but Ja’al leaped in to turn aside a blow aiming to detach her head from her shoulders.

When Hualiama had an opportunity to look again, Ra’aba was on his feet. His usual sneer had reasserted itself. Making a curious gesture with his right hand, the Roc said, “Separate her to me.”

At once, the disciplined Royal Guards closed about Lia like fingers pinching a bud. Hualiama fought like a madwoman, but the soldiers worked in concert to beat her away from her friends. Suddenly, she was ejected into the open. Alone. A half-circle of steel cut off her retreat. For a second, all Lia could think of was how exposed she felt, similarly to the time Grandion had become strangely possessive of her at the blue pool. Then, her anger surged.

“So, Ra’aba. Pleasantly surprised to see me alive?”

“Surprised, aye,” he growled, stalking closer. Lia noticed his hand did not stray far from his sword-hilt, even though he appeared relaxed. “Pleasantly? No. Why won’t you just lie down and die like the good little girl you always were, Lia?”

Flicker landed on her shoulder, baring his fangs at the Roc. Lia was grateful for the dragonet’s support. Having wished for the courage of a Dragon to confront her father, hers was more dragonet-sized. Nevertheless, she forced scorn into her reply.

“Dying’s overrated, Ra’aba. Besides, you’re fouling the Onyx Throne with–”

“Big words, little Lia,” he sneered. “How’s your back?”

She shrugged, allowing her Nuyallith blades to fall to her sides, palms held outward in the second ready position as she matched his slow approach step for step. “I was healed by a Dragoness. You see, while you’ve been trying to grasp a kingdom which is not your own, I’ve been out there, learning and growing in my skills.”

His derision bellowed around the Great Hall. “You still think you can beat me?”

“That prophecy is so awkward for you, isn’t it?”

His yellow eyes blazed. “What do you know about the prophecy? Nothing! Besides, I don’t need to fight you. There are a dozen arrows trained on your heart even as we speak.”

His gesture brought to her notice archers arrayed on the galleries around the magnificently appointed hall, where the great balls and functions of royal Fra’anior took place. Lia returned her attention to Ra’aba, pretending unconcern.

“How then shall I address you, o false king of Fra’anior? The coward king? He who hides behind his soldiers and archers and Dragons. King yellow-belly the toothless. More sparrow than roc. You’re a liar, a traitor and above all a fool, because you’ve stirred up the wrath of the Dragon Elders. They’re on their way here right now, Ra’aba.”

“The Dragon Elders?” he spat. “I took care of that detail months ago, little Lia. You won’t be seeing them any time soon.”

But one Dragon was coming, or had she sensed falsely, Lia wondered? Through whose eyes had she seen the Dragonship explode? Her heart sank. She fervently hoped Grandion was on his way with all the strength of the Dragons of Gi’ishior at his back, because the thundering of those Dragons out over the city sounded victorious … she had to trust her Dragon. When was the time to start using the information she held against Ra’aba?

“So, these Greens pander to the whims of a Human? You know what they say in Dragonish? Only a worm serves a Human.” Oddly, the two Green Dragons only blinked at her, apparently unmoved by her insult. Lia changed tack. “Unfortunately for you, the Nameless Man has already predicted your demise, Ra’aba. You’re on the wrong side of fate. Try to kill me again, I invite you. The very stones of Fra’anior will rise up to strike you down.”

As she spoke, Hualiama watched him narrowly. A slight tightening of the muscles around the Roc’s jaw provided a fraction of a second’s warning. With a terrifying scream, the sword appeared to leap into his hand as Ra’aba executed his fast draw technique and split the air with a mighty, cleaving stroke.

Lia whispered aside.

The Roc struck again. Metal screeched as angrily as a windroc. Hualiama allowed herself to return to the first rest position, swords crossed in front of her chest.

“Is that all you have?” she inquired, smiling.

Her words were hydrogen gas piped into a blast furnace. Their swords blurred, the violence of clashing metal echoing from the famous arched ceiling, painted in glorious life-size pictures of the different colours of Dragons, causing the soldiers to step back cautiously. Hualiama danced before him, absorbing the fury of Ra’aba’s attack, negating his power, yielding with a suppleness that allowed Ra’aba no direct route to strike her as before. But the Roc had his inhuman speed and strength, and so he bullied her around the floor, relying on his greater muscle and reach to keep her at bay.

Hualiama switched forms to the raging volcano technique, striking with increasing power and agility from a variety of angles. Her right blade clanged off his elbow. So, the famous stone skin was intact! The Roc frowned more darkly. He settled grimly into defence. His yellow eyes blazed, measuring her attack, probing for weaknesses. A misplaced parry jarred her right wrist painfully, but Lia recovered. She must be careful. With his power, Ra’aba could snap her wrists.

“Not bad, little Lia,” he sneered. “Unfortunately, you’re still just a girl.”

His lunge snagged the cloth above her hip. Lia struck backhanded from her left side, but Ra’aba’s forearm smashed into her elbow, seeking a disabling blow. Pain spurted through her nerves into her fingers. Lia twirled away instinctively, trying to protect that hand; a fallen weapon rolled slightly beneath her foot. That was all the opening Ra’aba needed. He plowed forward, taking advantage of her imbalance, thrashing her defence until he was able to kick her front foot out from beneath her. Hualiama’s skull connected the marble floor with a sickening thud.

She groaned, “Oh, mercy …”

“Get up!” His finger crooked beneath her nose. “Fight me, you little dragonet. Fight!”

His phrasing; that exact gesture, transported Lia all the way back to the Dragonship, to the moment when Ra’aba slashed a frightened girl’s back open with a single, merciless blow. She was that girl. Lia tasted fear and inanition, and the knowledge that the Roc would kill her as surely as a man slaughtered a ralti sheep. Images flashed through her mind. Crashing to the sand in the training arena. Losing to the monks again and again. Master Khoyal’s expression as a dagger slipped between his ribs. The exact taste of Lia’s terror as she fell from the Dragonship … which suddenly mutated into the sensation of flying with the Tourmaline Dragon.

Aye. She was that victim no longer. Hualiama had suffered and trained, and refused to die. She counted an Ancient Dragon among her friends. At this thought, the cheekiness of a dragonet mingled with the courage of a Dragon in her spirit. Infectious. Exhilarating. A liberation of chains which had bound her soul for so long.

“Same tired old lines, Ra’aba?” she chuckled.

“You–you laugh? You dare?”

She could not more effectively have punched him on the nose. The Roc’s eyes almost watered as he stared down at her; a tic leaped in his cheek. His heavy boot stamped at her throat. Missed. His sword crashed down. Missed again. Lia remembered playing this game with Grandion. No Human could be faster than a Dragon. As she rolled across the floor, Ra’aba chased her furiously. Suddenly, she reversed her legs into a scissors throw she had learned while wrestling Hallon, catching Ra’aba across the knees and upper thighs. Her momentum flipped him onto his back. Her Nuyallith sword clinked against his chest. No way through.

For half a second their gazes sparred, for Hualiama straddled the Roc’s torso as she brought her blade down to stab him in the neck.

Ra’aba waved his left hand, and struck with his magic.

Lia gasped, punched by an unseen force. She skidded twenty feet backward on the polished marble flagstones before recovering her balance. Ra’aba struck her again, and again, furious blows of unseen magic. Out between the pillars. Dazed, she tasted blood in her mouth.
Wham!
Over a wide planter of fireflowers.
Hss …
a dull explosion burst against her chest. “
Unnh!
” she cried. Lia crashed against the balcony’s retaining wall. Black occluded her vision for a moment. All she heard was the thudding of her heart inside her aching skull.

Her swift touch to the back of her head brought back a smear of blood.

* * * *

The fungus-face had done quite enough to his girl! The dragonet swooped in with a furious screech, but Ra’aba batted him away with a casual surfeit of magic. Flicker careened across the balcony, fetching up in a thicket of aromatic vines trailing up one of the marble columns. He shook his wings. How could they possibly fight this madman?

Ra’aba stood just a few wing-lengths from Hualiama, facing outward from the balcony as though she no longer mattered. “Look.” He pointed out over the city. His blade was sheathed once more. “They will bring me the King.”

Wincing in evident pain, Lia raised her head.

The dragonet looked, too. Smoke rose from many places in the city, but it was the mayhem surrounding the King’s forces that drew Flicker’s eye. Yulgaz the Brown led the attack, along with half a dozen Green Dragons. Master Jo’el and a handful of monks withstood them, holding the Dragons’ repeated acid attacks at bay with a shield that shimmered like bubbles on a volcanic lake. He scanned the horizon. No Dragons? Why then had he sensed Grandion’s presence when Lia froze for several seconds while shooting arrows over Rallon, and again, just seconds before? If the Tourmaline Dragon was able to help her from afar …