The Onyx Dragon (34 page)

Finally, a blow greater than any before slammed her into the muscular stomach wall. Could she cut her way out? Pip had barely flexed her talons when the Theadurial returned with an entirely different attack, stealing all volition in one fell swoop. Suddenly she could not remember how to blink her eyes. Raise a paw. Respond in any way to the world around her.

Talons! Pip did not even groan as Leandrial’s foreclaw sliced across her back. She could barely feel anything.

The stomach’s water surged up Shurgal’s throat, a riptide that tumbled Pip up between the great oval sphincter muscles, before they suddenly clamped shut on her midsection. She screeched in pain. He was trying to suffocate her! It was as though ten Emblazons had sat on her chest at once.

Out there, the shaking began anew. Leandrial’s challenge sliced into Shurgal with a piercing shriek of harmonic magic, cutting off the Theadurial’s stranglehold on Pip’s psyche. She sensed the Land Dragoness knew something about combating
urzul
. With her thoughts suddenly clarified, Pip flexed her Onyx power, creating a small breathing-space. Then she set about cutting and quarrying with her talons like a vole excavating a burrow. She dug through red-and-white-striated muscle into a place of steely sinews, traced with pathways of magic that gleamed like liquid horiatite. Pip weaved between those flexing hawsers.
Thump! Boom!
Leandrial and Shurgal were at it again like feral male Dragons slugging it out to the death. Pip crashed painfully about, tangling her neck and wings, momentarily crushed, groaning as a sinew thicker than her Dragoness’ upper thighs sawed across her neck.

The route to escape seemed endless, the final barrier, the massively thick scale-armour of a Land Dragon. Pip scraped and tore at the inside of Shurgal’s thickly armoured Dragon hide, howling in rising fury as the Land Dragon and his parasite fought back, thrashing her with a magical assault that was all about raw, brutal power. Enough! Her fury boiled over. Reaching out, Pip sank her talons into Shurgal’s armour and ripped outward with monstrous magical strength, tearing a rent a hundred feet tall. He certainly felt that. The Land Dragon went into spasms, thrashing about uncontrollably.

Pip squeezed through the gap, and fled.

Unfortunately, fleeing was akin to swimming in slow motion through one of Mistress Mya’adara’s nourishing stews. The air was so dense, it hugged her wings and made every motion sluggish. Kicking her legs and forepaws like a vastly overgrown frog, Pip lurched away from Shurgal’s side into a realm so bizarre, she could not recognise a single plant or feature. The Land Dragons appeared to have been fighting upon a vast field of heaped-up platters of plant matter, each of which sported garish luminous markings upon their leaf-edges, if it was indeed leaves she was looking at. The luminous markings emitted enough light for her to see by, revealing a strange world indeed. The nut-brown leaf-platters dwarfed even Leandrial. Most were comfortably long enough for a Land Dragon to run upon. In the middle distance, a group of pod-shaped, luminous yellow behemoths drifted along with the help of ridiculously tiny, rapidly vibrating wings set above what she assumed were the heads and tail ends, judging by which end was eating and which was busy fertilising the plain.

That was the limit of her sightseeing. With a roar, Leandrial flung herself at Pip, reaching out with one enormous paw. Shurgal, half again as large as the Dragoness, punched the flaming talons of both forepaws into Leandrial’s lower flanks and dragged her backward, gouging out half a dozen smoking trenches each large enough for any adult Dragon to fly into.

Leandrial voiced a terrible, haunting cry as greenish-gold blood pumped out of her wounds. Her outstretched paw shuddered.
Pip, please …

The Pygmy Dragoness froze.

S
iLVER FACED THE
Marshal, surprised to be alive. He had expected a roasting at the very least, or swift trip to the imprinting chambers.

Re’akka turned a tight circle, muttering, “Shurgal stole her? Most disconcerting. I did not anticipate this eventuality. She plays the fates like her own nine-stringed lyre, my shell-son. Like a master of the seventh sense.”

Returned to Human form and wearing House Re’akka uniform, a black single-breasted jacket with the triple interlocked Dragons symbol pinned to his immaculate epaulettes, Silver stood in the traditional pose of attention in his father’s office–shining black boots placed precisely shoulder width apart, chest thrown out, arms folded high across his uniformed pectoral muscles and a Dragonish stare fixed upon his superior’s every move. He was shocked, though. The Marshal sounded positively jovial. Admiring, even.

These emotions twisted his father’s face as though an artist struggled to radically modify or overpaint his first creation.

“Father, this is a setback, surely?” he inquired.

Re’akka said, “I despise an uneven contest. This conquest has been too easy. Every move planned, my superior strategy and preparedness sweeping the board of their
chiahiaki
-pieces. At last, one chit of a girl dares to stand against me. Should I not rejoice? She is a worthy opponent!” He thumped his chest like a male Dragon displaying dominance, then ticked off on his fingers, “Despicable cunning, astonishing mental fortitude and supreme power! Oh, worthy indeed!”

“She is a Shapeshifter.”

“Exactly!” For a second, Re’akka’s eyes displayed an unholy light and Silver thought he might have to suffer yet another diatribe on the all-encompassing pre-eminence of the Shapeshifter race. Instead, Re’akka rounded his desk to approach Silver, and clasped his much shorter son’s biceps firmly. “You displayed mature judgement in choosing Pip as your quarry, my shell-son, even if she is
sistûk-tyk
.” Silver forced his features to remain impassive at this ill-mannered double-reference to her dark skin colour and midgets in general. “We must adjust our strategy accordingly. Ay, it is time we woke Shurgal to the reality of our power beneath the Cloudlands as well as above.”

With that, he punched a button on his desk with his Kinetic power. A metal screen behind his desk began to roll down. Silver had always thought it concealed a private vault; he saw instead a reinforced crysglass tank filled to the brim with murky, brown-tinged water. Inside, a dozen sleek, torpedo-shaped grey creatures waited, watching them through the four-inch thick armoured glass panels. One end was all teeth, a sharp conical point lined with two or three dozen outward-pointing, concentric rows of fangs, giving the creature the air of a living drill bit. The other end, fifty feet away, was all fins and spidery appendages, and eyes.

Silver realised that these creatures probably swam backwards. “Impressive,” he said dryly. “What are they?”

“A subclass of Borers called
chell-bûyon.
Very rare. About seven years ago, we captured and studied a young Land Dragon. With the right encouragement, it gladly furnished us a great deal of knowledge about the world beneath the Islands. Ordinarily these Borers are an annoyance, drilling the odd hole through a Land Dragon, but these are a little more special. I changed them using
urzul.
These beasts will hunt by a specific magical signature, break down shields and inject a poison that will paralyse a Land Dragon for a week. That’s not enough to kill a Land Dragon, but it’s plenty of time for all of the other nasty parasites down there to make themselves at home–which inevitably spells a very painful end for a Land Dragon.”

Silver knew his father to be a stickler for order and strategy, but this surpassed anything he had seen so far. Forcing Shurgal’s paw was a smart move. However, the Marshal’s chuckling as he closed this statement was the chilling edge of a blade. Malice beyond reason. Lunacy in its deadliest form–cerebral and merciless. How his own viewpoint had changed in just a few short months! He grimaced at the inner tearing he felt between loyalty to his family and upbringing, and what he knew in his hearts to be white-fire truth.

The Marshal examined the creatures as if willing them to yield his greatest desire. No, he was imprinting them with Shurgal’s scent and signature. Silver observed, partly fascinated, partly repelled.

“How do we release them?” he asked his father’s rigid back.

“We flush the tank.” Re’akka activated another button. The tank began to empty with a roar; the Marshal quickly switched to the mirror on his desk and called up a Dragon’s eye beneath the Island. Silver saw several of the creatures tumbling away in their wake.

Clasping his hands behind his back, the tall, thin Marshal abruptly swung back to Silver. “Shell-son. Let us discuss the vectors of attack on the Academy. We have this Island, our Dragonwings sweeping up from the South and Rambastion and those four hundred Dragons preparing a pre-emptive strike on Sylakia as we speak. There is the complication of Shurgal. How best shall we position our pieces on the
chiahiaki
-board? Give me your assessment. Elucidate the capabilities of the key Dragons which oppose us.”

“Why not send the Shadow Dragon against them, noble shell-father?”

Re’akka waved a hand casually. “It seems to feed constantly, now. Besides, that vector holds no honour. No, Silver. I want a grand victory. Spin me such a tale.”

Silver drew a sharp breath. “Ay, shell-father. So I shall.”

And become a traitor thrice over? A career turncoat. Under what circumstances could such despicable crimes ever be forgiven? Oh, Pip! How he had striven to change. Yet again, his honour was dust and his future uncertain.

His only chance for redemption was to destroy his own shell-father. For that, he needed to plot a way through the mental defences of a paranoid prodigy, a father who trusted his own children so little he had constructed specific psychic defences against each and every one of them.

Silver set his teeth. He must win.

* * * *

Pip flung herself at Leandrial’s paw.
I’m here!

She did not understand how one attack from Shurgal could have reduced the Dragoness to a quivering casualty. To borrow a Nak phrase, she was just so freaking enormous! Then again, having two hundred feet of flaming metallic Dragon-talon slice through one’s gullet could not be a comfortable experience. Reaching Leandrial’s massive digit, Pip grabbed on four-pawed with a mental apology for using her talons. Pinpricks, Pygmy fool! Mosquito-bites!

Shurgal’s poisonous yellow head with its blotchy black eye-patches grinned at her along Leandrial’s back. He reminded her of nothing so much as a squat, powerful salamander, adding on the spiked barbels, five parallel lines of low spine-spikes and the non-retractable talons of a Land Dragon. Unlike Leandrial, he had three eyes on his forehead, a larger white eye in the centre and one eye offset to either side, giving him a very wide field of vision. Still grinning in evident enjoyment, Shurgal twisted his talons further. This time, Pip detected his tainting power, usurping the clean Dragonsong of Leandrial’s native magic. It had disrupted or destroyed Leandrial’s ability to resist.

Help …
the Land Dragoness groaned.

Pip reached out with her mind.
Leandrial, open to me. Let me strengthen you.

Open?
Pain beat Pip to her knees.
I open myself, I trust …

Latch onto this!
Reaching into that new place she had discovered, Pip summoned Fra’anior’s power, the Onyx. Strength like the shoulders of Islands. Iron purpose. Colossal, potent darkness. A searing comet of draconic transference exploded between them, an order of magnitude greater than Pip expected as it revitalised Leandrial’s flagging magic. She knew it was hasty, imperfect, founded on both of their weakness, but there appeared to be enough. With a low growl, the Land Dragoness swung backward with her right elbow, striking Shurgal in the base of his throat–a blow that would have crushed any ordinary Dragon, but not a Land Dragon. He wheezed in unhappy surprise, relinquishing his grip.

Again,
Pip shouted, shooting a mental picture at Leandrial.

Ay!
Her shout was a thunderclap, drowning Pip out entirely.
Eat this, Shurgal!

The blow seemed slow, travelling through the viscous air so far beneath the Cloudlands, but the power it transmitted was nonetheless enormous. Leandrial’s right forepaw struck Shurgal a terrible, Onyx-powered blow on the left frontal lobe of the head, right above his eye. Pip distinctly heard the
crack
of bone snapping. As the fist rebounded, she saw the imprint of Leandrial’s knuckles left in his skull, so hard had she struck, she wondered if the bones had turned to powder.

Shurgal’s limbs convulsed. She thought he would go floppy, be knocked unconscious, but the Dragon shook his head dizzily. Abruptly, he turned tail and fled.

Coward!
Pip howled.
Why don’t you chase him, Leandrial?

I cannot. And you cannot, either. You’ve been poisoned, Pip, either by drinking his water or by this atmosphere beneath the Cloudlands.

I’m fine,
she growled.

No, you are not. Even the feeble remnants of my harmonic magic attest to that. But I know where to take you.

Pip knew she had been running on adrenalin. She had not taken so much as a fraction of a second to assess her own condition. Now she recognised her weakness, the darkness slowly dimming her draconic fires, and she turned to Leandrial with many questions burning in her heart.

You will travel in my mouth,
the Land Dragoness said firmly.
I will take you to Meldior, the ancient Dragon roost of your people. It lies perhaps a day’s running from here. And on the way, I will teach you the proper uses of harmonic magic and Balance.

May I sleep, first?

Leandrial turned the full brunt of her glorious eye-magic upon Dragoness-Pip, kneeling there on her wide paw.
Ay, sleep, little one, and I shall attempt to keep these toxins at bay.

Jeradia. We must …

Only in unburdened rest can the soul be healed, little one. Now lay the world’s needs aside and sleep. We will reach Jeradia when the Balance of the Harmonies has reached its fruition.

* * * *

Pip woke, and chuckled when she realised where she was. She had been the Marshal’s captive before sliding down Shurgal’s foul gullet. Since then, her prospects had improved to being tucked inside a Land Dragon’s cheek. Life was rainbows over Islands. That she felt desperately sick was an excellent indicator of her continued existence. Jollity reigned in her Dragon-hearts all the way to her throwing up inside Leandrial’s mouth.

“No need to apologise, little one,” said the Land Dragoness, speaking Island Standard in a previously declared effort to conserve her own magic for self-healing. “We great ones surely eat far worse down here.”

Pip just groaned.

So Leandrial taught her about harmonic magic. Pip was fascinated when she wasn’t busy throwing up so violently, a few small, involuntary fireballs emerged amidst the less savoury matter. Soon, the Land Dragoness took to demonstrating to Pip the action of her harmonic magic in her body, already working healing those huge rents in her flanks and sealing off the blood flow from her pierced third heart.

“Shurgal used the opposite of harmonic magic,” Pip realised.

“Disharmony is the simplest way of viewing that attack,”
agreed the Dragoness.
“Its effectiveness was rooted in the
urzul
you referred to. I had no idea the Theadurial were proficient in its use, and had passed the secret on to the Marshal. Feel that? The ground rises. We have reached the roots of Meldior Cluster.”

Pip wondered aloud how Leandrial knew so much about the world above the clouds, which immediately elicited a story.

She began, “Five hundred or more sun-cycles ago, there was a great disturbance amongst the Land Dragons triggered by the rising of Numistar.”

“The Ancient Dragoness? The White?” Pip queried.

“The White,” said Leandrial.

“But Numistar fled the Island-World with Fra’anior, maybe two thousand years ago.”

“Our legend says–”

“Look, Fra’anior himself told me. You must be wrong.”

Leandrial unleashed out a healthy-sounding roar of discontent. “It’s a story! Will you or will you not let me tell it? Before I succumb to the temptation to grind you up with my molars?”

“You’re a vegetarian,” Pip pointed out.

“I’m an intelligent creature fully capable of modifying my position on such matters,” said the Land Dragon, audibly smirking. “My smallest molars could grind twenty of you on each surface. I’ve measured.”

Pip peered toward the shadowy rear of Leandrial’s cavernous mouth. That estimate struck her as conservative. She swallowed long and hard.

“I thought so,” the Land Dragon bugled cheerfully. “You’re more trouble than a whole hatchery-full of overexcited younglings.”

Why did everyone conclude she was a troublemaker? Pip rolled her fire-eyes extravagantly.