The Pygmy Dragon (29 page)

“Hunagu. Let me through.”

“Pip. Good-good,” the Oraial grunted, grabbing one of the creatures by the tail and smashing it against the wall repeatedly.

The Onyx Dragon squeezed past him. He must have broken through the outer doors to reach his position, blocking access to the dorm with his bulk, facing up to half a dozen of the centipedes. Twenty feet long, bristling with sharp spines on their segments, three of the creatures attacked Hunagu in concert. Another stalked the Mistress. Pip caught sight of faces hid against the Oraial’s fur. Mya’adara’s children! Students … fire rocketed out of her throat, engulfing two of the creatures. They thrashed and screeched around the hallway. The sickly-sweet stench of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils, stoking her fires. Bodies, so many bodies, the horror … three female Jeradian soldiers lying still, faces twisted in gruesome agony–poisoned? Another two fighting their way in from outside. All was mayhem. Pip knew no reason now. Dragon fire drove her, rending, slashing, biting, burning, tearing until there was nothing left before her and Mya’adara was there, soothing, a touch of her hand restoring sanity.

“It’s over, mah dark beauty,” she panted.

“Where are they? Are there more?”

“Enough, Pip. Calm down.”

Outside, a Dragon thundered his challenge. Brushing Mya’adara aside, Pip darted through the door. Dragons swarmed over the buildings, hunting, killing. More, a dozen more of the centipedes must have attacked the boys’ dorm–but the door was locked. As it should be. Emblazon hurtled down from the storm-dark sky, mashing two of the centipedes on landing as his weight drove footprints two feet deep into the soft sward. A group of soldiers, the guards who had been placed to protect the student dormitories, fought in a tight knot behind their shields as a centipede charged them repeatedly, clicking its mandibles in a killing rage.

Pip closed the hundred-foot gap between the buildings with a bound. Gripping a centipede with her claws, riding it like a Dragon Rider, she tore it asunder in a spasm of wrath.

“Thanks,” gasped one of the men.

She ducked reflexively as Kassik whooshed overhead. He arrowed toward the field. A massive fireball burst from his throat, detonating as it struck the ground. Bits of centipede briefly joined the rain to patter down on the grass.

Up the building. A centipede had broken through the fourth floor shutters. It slithered inside with sinuous grace. Pip followed. Smashing her head through the slatted wood panels, she sank her fangs into the creature’s back–but not soon enough. A boy lay beneath them, his throat torn out. She knew him. Tanda, a Western Isles warrior, second year. The centipede coiled up, a violent paroxysm that yanked her into the dormitory. Pip attacked with tooth and claw, finishing the job. Her eyes pierced the gloom. Nothing more, here. Only boys, horrified, some gagging as they beheld their slain friend.

She forced herself back out of the window, ignoring the rising shouts behind her. Her neck swivelled, her Dragon sight piercing the night.

Now, it truly was over.

Pip rushed back to her blood-splattered dormitory. It was ghastly. Bodies, wherever she looked. At least four of the centipedes had made it past Hunagu–or entered before he blockaded the doorway. She had never seen so much blood.

Kassik pushed his muzzle against a window. “Yaethi! Get me Yaethi.”

Kaiatha knelt next to their friend, twisting a torn-up sheet around the stump of her wrist. Yaethi seemed about to faint.

“Dragons, take these students to the infirmary. Mya’adara, organise it,” said Kassik. “Find those who’re still alive. Yaethi, I need you. Slap her cheek, Kaia–quickly. Get her to tell us the treatment for Giant Heripede venom.”

“Yes, Master. Yaethi?”

“What? Roaring … where’s my hand?”

Kaiatha leaned over her. “What’s the antidote for Giant Heripede venom, Yaethi? Tell me.” Yaethi’s eyes glazed over. Kaiatha slapped her cheek gently. “Yaethi. Stay with us, girl.”

She said, “You don’t get them here, Kaia.”

“That’s what attacked us. Yaethi–”

“Uh … extract of raba berry … three times … hour.”

Pip shouted this information to Kassik, who backed away from the window, only to insert his paw into the room instead. “Let me take her. Quick. Any others?”

After transferring three students onto the Master’s paws, Pip turned to Hunagu. His arms and shoulders were deeply slash and punctured, his fur splattered with gore. Maylin helped check the soldiers in the hallway, but none lived. Inside the dormitory, the beds nearest the door were soaked in blood. None of those girls had survived. Dazed, the unwounded sat on beds or sobbed or wandered aimlessly about. Mya’adara had her children in her arms.

She said to Pip, “Yah friend saved these girls. They’d all be dead if it weren’t for him.”

“What happened?” Maylin asked.

“We’d had dinner with Master Balthion and Kassik, late, and Ah was coming back to put mah children to sleep when Ah saw the dormitory door open. Ah looked inside. The two guards in the hallway were dead. They were murdered.” She turned at the sound of Kassik’s low growl in the doorway. “Ay. It was done from inside. Ah was about to sound the alarm when Ah saw yah friend, Pip, coming running right on the tails of these monsters. He grabbed them but some got past and they went for mah little ones and he got us in his arms and protected us, got over and blocked the doorway …”

Mya’adara put her fist against her mouth. “Mah girls, they’re dead.”

“Not all,” said Kaiatha. “Hunagu saved us.”

Kassik had returned. His huge eye assessed the situation from the window. He said, “Pip, get Hunagu down to the infirmary. He’s been poisoned. Kaia, is that a cut? Go.”

Maylin checked the guards in the hallway. “She’s right. Their throats were slit.”

Suddenly, her bravery melted. Maylin lurched aside and threw up. “Great Islands,” she said, wiping her mouth. “Sorry. I … Pip, where were you? You weren’t here.”

“I went to Shimmerith,” she said. “I was, well, sulking–you aren’t thinking …”

Kassik nodded gravely. “She’s right. Why this dormitory? None of the Heripedes went up the stairs. And, before you ask, these are creatures from Herimor. They don’t live north of the Rift; I only know them from a picture I once saw in a scroll. Pip …”

“On my way, Master. Hunagu. We go to sick place. Quick-quick. Bad poison.”

Pip knew she would never erase the memories of this night from her mind. Friends she had eaten with, trained with, teased, been teased by … their bodies torn apart in their sleep by monsters who should never have lived in the Island-World. The Silver Dragon was responsible for this. He must have smuggled them into the Academy grounds. He had planned this attack. Her dorm-mates had died because he was hunting an Onyx Dragon.

She was the one with the power, yet she lacked the power to save her friends.

T
he storm raged
for three days. Although the Academy’s security forces and Dragons searched high and low, the murderer was not found. Fourteen students and nine Jeradian soldiers died. Yaethi lost her right hand, bitten off at the wrist.

“Good thing I’m left handed,” she said. “I can still beat you at exams, Pip.”

The Pygmy girl smiled wanly. “How’s the, uh–”

“Stump? Healing up. Rajion’s a miracle-worker.” Yaethi seemed far too cheerful about her loss, Pip thought. Maybe she was just glad to be alive. “How’s Hunagu?”

“Hunagu fine,” replied the Ape, in careful Island Standard.

“Hunagu brother-brother,” said Yaethi.

“Brave-brave,” Human-Pip corrected her. “Your Ape is coming on, Yaethi. Although, that’s also a compliment in Oraial culture. Hunagu says you’re his sister.” She chuckled. “He also says he doesn’t appreciate having his fur shaved so that they could stitch and bandage the wounds. He says the females will laugh at him.”

“Tell him I say that I will have words with any female who dares laugh at him.”

Hunagu thumped his chest. “He gets the idea–and, mercy, I’m not repeating that.”

From the other side of Yaethi’s pallet in the infirmary, Maylin put in brightly, “Ooh, is that a blush, Pipsqueak?”

Pip said, “Why don’t you go kiss Hardak or something, Maylin?”

“I will. Oh, here comes … more bad news. Great.”

Master Kassik marched down the infirmary steps, looking so very dour that Pip’s heart leaped into her throat and stayed there, quivering like a frightened bird. He moved over to Yaethi’s bedside and nodded to her, but then stooped to take Pip’s hands in his.

“Pip, a messenger Dragon came from the Southern Academy today. They beat off the first two waves of attacks. It seems that the floating Island is not entirely invulnerable.” He swallowed. “But I need to tell you, Zardon fell. He was lost.”

“He–”

For the first time since she had known him, Pip saw the Master’s lip tremble. The lines on his face seemed chiselled deeper than ever before. “He was captured, little one, and taken inside the Island. You know what that means, don’t you?”

Through the dull roaring in her ears, she said, “He said the key was to get inside, Master. Maybe it was his plan.” But her heart was desolate, and her voice mirrored nothing but pain.

Unexpectedly, the Jeradian warrior knelt and clutched her to his chest. She buried her face in his shoulder. “It’s just a cunning Zardon scheme,” he choked out. “You’ll see. The old fire-tosser, he never gives up. Don’t you give up hope, Pip. We owe him that much, don’t we?”

Tears welled from the corners of Kassik’s eyes. Using her thumbs, she wiped them clear. How strange that she should be the one to comfort him. “Master, Dragons that old and crusty, they just keep flying forever.”

“Ay?” A low, miserable bark of laughter escaped him.

“Master, I think Blazon’s looking for you,” said Yaethi, pointing to the open entrance of the infirmary.

“Come,” said Kassik, pushing to his feet. “He’s been debriefing the messenger. I doubt this news will improve our mood. You too, Yaethi. Snip snap.”

“Mistress Mya’adara said–”

“You can sit down over there.” From his snappish tone, Kassik was clearly in no mood to be trifled with. “Pip, send messenger monkeys to summon Casitha and Mya’adara. Let’s see who Blazon has brought with him. I wish for news from Fra’anior, too. We’re operating in the dark.”

“At least we have Master Ga’am,” said Maylin. “This morning, he finally admitted some of us are making progress.”

Master Kassik did not appear to hear her.

The infirmary cave’s entrance was cool and blustery, but patches of blue sky were beginning to open overhead. As she arrived to join the group gathering there, Pip saw Jyoss spiralling down from above and Nak and Oyda landing just a few feet away on Emblazon. As usual, the Amber Dragon’s arrival made every other Dragon seem that much smaller. Now, other Dragons appeared from the direction of the beautiful lake, Imogiel the Hatchling-Mother and Turquielle of Ya’arriol, and the Dragon Elders Verox, Lavador and Cressilida. They approached rapidly, fanning the watchers with their wings as they braked and landed nearby. Mya’adara and Casitha appeared a minute later, running.

“Gather close,” said Kassik, seating himself on a ledge just outside the infirmary which seemed to have been chiselled for that purpose. The Dragons shuffled closer until they lay wing to wing. Every eye inclined to him. “Yaethi, sit. Where’s Casitha–good. Nak, how’s Shimmerith?”

“Feisty,” he said. “Unapproachable. But the eggs should hatch any day now.”

Kassik nodded. “Good. All here? Blazon, your word.”

“There is much to share regarding strategy against the Night-Red Dragons,” he said, grave of demeanour.

There was none of the posturing Pip had seen during her interrogation by the Dragon Elders. It troubled her, as did Blazon’s wounds. The outer quarter of his left wing was slathered in bandages, and several patches had been scorched off his hide. His muzzle sported a deep cut, with its Dragon-sized stitches making clear lumps in the bandages stuck over it.

“Three important facts. One, the Shadow Dragon appears to be some manner of herder. Our scouts report a curious song which Dragons struggle to resist. It attracts them to the floating Island. Those who give in, vanish within. Those who resist, are attacked in overwhelming force and vanquished.”

“Secondly, while the others continue the fight, our Garricon the Red is leading a mixed group of fledglings and hatchlings here, to the Academy. The thinking is that they are no longer safe in the south. They will arrive within the week.”

“Ah’ll have to open the lower caverns,” said Mya’adara. “No more roosts, Kassik.”

“Do it. Blazon?”

Emblazon’s father raised a paw to emphasize his final point. “Thirdly, the Night-Reds have split off a skirmishing force to come and test our defences. They number some three hundred and twenty Dragons, plus one hundred Dragonships carrying ground troops.”

“That’s a
skirmishing
force?” Cressilida’s horrified whisper carried clearly in the silence.

“Our numbers?” asked Kassik.

Blazon nodded to Verox, who said, “Approximately the same, mighty Kassik. My tally makes us two hundred eighty-one Dragons, counting the little Onyx Dragon and the ready fledglings. Two hundred and nine have Riders. We have one thousand ground troops against their estimated four or five thousand. We have thirty Dragonships en route from Sylakia. Fifty-one Dragons will join us from the North, those who could be convinced. They hail mainly from Helyon and Immadia. A number are Blue and White Dragons, several of whom have powers of storm and ice.”

“So few?” said Kassik.

“You know what we Dragons are like,” Verox growled. “But the real news is, those are the ones who resisted. The Shadow Dragon flew north after investigating us here.” His gaze turned to Pip as he spoke. “The cold north was never beloved of Dragons, but now it is stripped bare, friends. We are the last.”

“How can the Dragon Assassins number so many?” Cressilida asked.

“Conversions,” Pip said, before she could stop herself. Every eye fixed upon her.

“Go on,” said Master Kassik.

Lavador’s eyes bulged. “How do you know that?”

“It’s a guess,” said Pip, knowing exactly what Lavador was thinking. So much for trust. “Every Dragon in their force is a Night-Red, right, Blazon?” He narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “How’s that possible? I know you’re going to tell me, ‘Dragons don’t change colour.’ Look at our forces. We’re twenty different colours, at least. Are you telling me every Dragon in Herimor is a sooty sort of Red? That they roll in charcoal for fun?”

“We get the point,” said Lavador, underscoring his words with a fiery snort of disgust. She sensed fear in him, too. “What are you saying, little one?”

Thinking aloud as she spoke, she said, “Mighty Lavador, they go into the Island and come out again, imprinted, if you like, with that Marshal’s–whatever he does to Dragons. He corrupts their magic. It’s his signature.”

Her words occasioned a cold, horrid moment in which despair made its home in every heart.

Kassik said, “You’re saying we could be fighting Zardon soon?”

“Nothing else makes sense, Master.” Pip turned to Turquielle. “Didn’t the scholars attempt a count of Dragons? There aren’t even tens of thousands.” She added, growing more miserable by the moment, “What better way to destroy Dragons than to get them to fight each other?”

“Dragons’ breath, hatchling!” roared Lavador. “You’ve a vile imagination.”

“She only speaks what the rest of us are thinking,” said Mistress Mya’adara.

The huge Yellow muttered, “Better not to speak.” But he subsided, robbed of anything further to say.

“What about the Silver Dragon?” asked Yaethi.

“He hasn’t been seen,” said Blazon. “I questioned the messenger very carefully, given the descriptions you all passed on from Fra’anior. No sign.”

Kassik turned to Pip. “Little one, what of your Dragon senses? At Fra’anior you correctly predicted the presence of evil in the Natal Cave.”

“Nothing, Master.”

“Keep alert, Pip.” Turning, he addressed the others. “I’ve no need to tell you that the odds are against us. They skirmish to prove and diminish our concentrated might. I’ve no doubt that the Shadow Dragon will return, nor will this Silver Dragon be long absent. Let’s strategize. With the approximate balance of our forces against theirs, Pip must be held in reserve for the moment the Silver Dragon appears. My instincts say he will not absent himself from the coming battle. Blazon, how long do we have?”

“Two days, mighty Kassik. Just two.”

Pip stifled a groan.

*  *  *  *

The Herimor force spread itself across the horizon with unhurried grandeur, two evenings later. So many Dragons. One unrelenting colour. Behind them came the Dragonships, loaded with warriors, fifty per Dragonship. Pip, riding a thermal near Kassik, focussed her Dragon sight carefully on the impending battle, as he bade her. Details leaped into focus. Incredible.

“Master, they’re towing the Dragonships.”

“Contrary winds,” he said. “But it indicates the Marshal’s complete dominance over those Dragons’ minds.”

No sane Dragon would lower itself to the task of hauling Dragonships in harness, was what he meant.

“Master, where are our forces?”

“Hiding.” He grinned toothily at her. “Come on, Pip. Where would you be?”

“Um … in the clouds?”

“Good. We know that. They know that, if they’re smart. This raid is just to warm them up, to tell them they’re in a battle–and to keep our friends like Lavador happy. There’s no glory in attacking the enemy by surprise. The Dragon way is to spend a while insulting your rival until you’re both mad enough to tear each other apart. That’s supposed to be glorious.”

Pip nodded. Smart. Kassik was flexible in his approach, but knew his Dragons well. The younger, brasher Dragons, those who wanted to blood the enemy and cared less for tradition, had been chosen for this task. Working in groups of five–another atypical tactic–their mission was to destroy as many of the Dragonships as possible.

“Explain the strategy to me, student Pip.”

School was in? Pip bowed her head. “This phase is about survival with minimal casualties, Master. We need to flush out the Silver Dragon, if he is present. We need our Dragons to learn teamwork in battle–how to attack together, protect each other, and above all, how to focus on life rather than glory. We seek to reduce the disparity in ground forces. And, as you said, we remove the older Dragons’ objections to the tactics you have chosen.”

“Good.” His lips quirked a brief grin at her, but his mien turned sombre immediately after. “The Dragonships are beneath the cloud. Here we go.”

How he discerned that detail from a distance of fifty leagues or more was beyond her. But even as he spoke, Pip saw the Academy’s forces break free of the clouds in three different places. The Dragons seemed to move sluggishly. But out there, they must have bridged the gap at a screaming speed. The dark Dragons of Herimor had only begun to draw together when multiple flashes like lightning behind clouds twinkled along the line of dirigible Dragonships. Hydrogen and Dragon fire–an ugly combination, Pip thought. Pity the men caught in those bonfires.

“Second wave,” said Kassik, softly.

As the Herimor force bunched, instinctively chasing the marauding Dragonwings, the second wave of five groups of five Dragons shot free of the clouds.

“Boom,” said Kassik. The little lights sparkled again. Three red specks tumbled toward the Cloudlands.

So much death, Pip thought.

“For most,” he sighed, seeming to know her mind, “that’s all the glory they will find in battle. A swift death by fire or claw or sword. There is glory, Pip, but history is written by those who win. How many Dragonships were destroyed?”

“I didn’t count.”

He said, “Twenty-two. A better result than I expected.”

“Two more, now. Three.”