Beautiful Fury Page 7

  I miss that garrulous old letch, her friend said wistfully. So, what do you want of me, Immadia?

  I need you to ride along, Remoy, and then at the right moment, you’re going to leap out of our air-drill and zip-zap the Thoralians with one of your cutesy little lightning bolts.

  Making him sparkle and light up the night?

  Zip, that’s a terrible pun. But, aye. We will go in following Hualiama’s style. Ri’arion will channel everything our Land Dragons have into you, and you will execute the strike. We’re aiming for total overload. While he’s stunned we’ll split up and go for the kill. Three of us versus three of him.

  Two minutes later, Aranya set about explaining the layout of their cavalcade to the newcomers. Ri’arion took in the proposal with a firm nod, Huari made a skyward punching gesture and Gangurtharr, predictably, started swaggering and posturing in the air. Of course I’ll do the heavy lifting, he boomed. What am I here for, after all?

  Brainless muscle? suggested Zip.

  When Ardan sniggered, the Gladiator Dragon growled, I’ll gladly push Aranya’s shapely tail along, Shadow, but your ugly butt, I plan to kick.

  Again, the Remoyan put in.

  Aranya rolled her eyes. Alright, Zip, the boys are riled up and ready for battle. Enough with the insults.

  Very well, little Princess, her mouth said.

  GNARRR! That’s Princess Dragon to you. Aranya linked paws with Ardan. Ready?

  Aye. He initiated the rotational movement about their common axis.

  To forge through the constant fey blast, they set about fashioning shaped aerodynamic and pneumatic shields, layering them carefully in the manner prescribed by Hualiama. Focussing a leading point ahead of their muzzles. Creating enough width for Gangurtharr to fly behind in order to provide the rotating drill’s impetus. As the Gladiator Dragon pressed forward steadily, the wind whirled faster and faster about Ardan and Aranya’s corkscrewing forms, as if drawn to play amidst their spine spikes. They made adjustments so as not to lose altitude, ensuring they kept their wings very close to their flanks, fluttering minimally to generate the initial rotational effect. At the wind speeds they planned to achieve, a Dragon’s wings could be sheared off his body if they were not careful.

  Behind, Gangurtharr flew against a kinetic air-shield, which in turn pressed Ardan and Aranya forward yet allowed them to rotate with an absolute minimum of friction. Huaricithe provided cooling and structure to the main shields as their speed picked up.

  Good, said Ri’arion. Extend the cone slightly, Aranya. Perfect.

  Zip said tersely, He’s lifting the Egg with those winds, isn’t he? How big can that baby Dragon be? No sign of the Thoralians’ emergence as yet.

  Great flocks of crimson Drakes, as thick as cloudbanks, fluttered away to the West on the wings of the unnatural storm, starting to join up with others over the faraway mountains. Aranya could not help but feel dismayed at how quickly the Shapeshifter Marshal appeared to have reconstituted his forces. They raced away upon the winds generated from the core, perhaps three miles distant, at speeds far too rapid for the Lost Isles Dragonwings to catch up. The rising, whipping Cloudlands that now obscured the Egg’s probable emergence also prompted Ri’arion to add the toxin-filtering constructs into their inner shields.

  He and Zuziana exchanged an ethereal kiss. She said, Nice catch there, monk-love.

  Thanks. Bringing Yiisuriel into focus, he said. Two and a half miles to the main storm-front, Aranya. Can you use Hualiama’s knowledge to farther sharpen your eyesight via Ardan?

  I can. Ardan?

  Lend you an eyeball? Just a pawful of feet from her gaze, his huge muzzle opened in a droll grin. Why not? I’ll get used to your penchant for doing twenty things at once.

  She squeezed his talons with hers. I will carve out more time for us, Ardan.

  Appreciated, he said tersely.

  Several tries and a precious minute or two of their time later, Aranya’s Dragoness-vision sharpened perceptibly. Edges! Lack of blurriness! By the mountains of Immadia, she had forgotten what it meant to truly see – well, as a Dragon ought to. She had thought herself completely healed, but there was definitely an element of physio-magical enhancement lacking.

  Oh, the endless complexity of magic.

  By Ardan’s eyesight, she saw them accelerating powerfully toward a moving wall of grey-green Cloudlands that from this perspective, a mere half-mile distant, occluded the horizon. It had already swelled to three miles above the normal altitude at which the permanent cloud layer began, and continued to surge upward unabated. An immense magical potential seethed behind that barrier. Somewhere within would be the Thoralians. Instinctually, she tweaked their trajectory a second time, aiming to strike the upper centre of that ovoid of magic she sensed hiding within the Clouds. Might they hope to surprise the foe? The wash of the First Egg’s magic was like standing beneath a pounding waterfall, taking the brunt of the flow directly atop one’s head, but if they had hoped for surprise, the Marshal’s opening salvo disabused them of that notion instantly.

  Great jets of vivid orange fire curved languidly out of the circular storm-front, homing in upon the tight-knit group in a group of slingshot arcs, almost like sprays of flowers flung to bracket their path.

  Brace – my sort of brace, this time, Ri’arion snapped, grim-lipped. Hold tight. This can’t harm us.

  GRAABOOM!!

  The cavalcade rocked as the fire burst against their shields, but the spinning penetrative shield flung it away faster than it arrived. More gouts of fire burst out of the storm-wall, some missing but others rocking them with blow after concussive blow. Aranya gritted her fangs at the punishing strikes. They were making upward of thirty leagues per hour and still accelerating as they slapped into the moving clouds at an angle to their target, knowing they must inevitably be shoved off course. Grey and orange blurred past. Whip-curls of cloud. Splattering fire. The storm’s roaring shook them mercilessly. Juddering, fighting, holding steady, the companions surged deeper into the gloom like a lance driven into a Dragon’s belly.

  Lost Yiisuriel? Huari gasped.

  Interference! snapped the monk. I’ll get it … wait … Soon, his low curse informed them of the worst.

  A terrible blow. How could Yiisuriel’s power be cut off like that? The Thoralians’ anticipation? Now they were stretched and vulnerable; her magical resources were less resilient than she had imagined, leaving her scraping and scrapping for magical power. The phenomenal outpouring of the First Egg’s magic played havoc with Aranya’s senses. It was as if only one melody could and would be heard in this place; that all others must bow to its strangeness, to its alien, transformative qualities, and it was almost impossible even for a Dragoness to locate the sparks of fire life amidst the mayhem that must point to the Thoralians. She directed their flight half from the sensory data and half out of gut instinct, as her fangs rattled in her jaw and the violent winds plucked painfully at her wings, and her paws clenched Ardan’s with a death-grip. Why, oh why had they chosen this risk? Because there ahead of them there lay a white fires outpouring of beauty like a Moon rising from the foul depths of the Suald-dak-Doon. Its song was wild and seductive and beautiful; the curvature of the quarter-mile diameter, pearlescent dome, afire with a majestic conflagration of draconic life, a heart-breaking counterpoint to the foulness that sought to wrestle it away, the great dark lassoes of a material that Aranya took to be meriatonium slowly dragging the First Egg westward, toward the Straits of Hordazar.

  The tracing of netting created by those hawsers prompted Aranya to adjust their flight path one more time, toward the source of the strain, dead ahead and squarely over the top of the Egg.

  GRROOAARRGGHH!! thundered Gangurtharr, the roar of his efforts lost in the chaotic buffeting.

  She and Ardan huddled closer together, protected as much by momentum as by the centrifugal forces slewing the storm winds and magic about them. Her eyes narrowed. There. A flash of sallow scales. Nak would have approv
ed of her choice of target – not quite aiming at the tail of the trailing member of the trio of Yellow-White Shapeshifters, but at the region just beneath and a little ahead of it.

  Aye. She owed the Thoralians one on behalf of the old Dragon Rider.

  FOR NAK! she yelled.

  Chapter 5: Sacrifice

  ARANYA TOOK THEM hard and fast into battle, through the teeth of the scorching gale and over the mesmerising ovoid of the First Egg of the Ancient Dragons. The last first egg, they had joked. The reality exceeded the bounds of his belief. For this font of power, mighty deeds and nefarious plots had abounded, nations had been wiped out, treachery committed many times over, and the Island-World turned upon its head. Every fibre and fire of Ardan’s warrior-hearts focussed upon their goal. Rivers and fountains of green-white fire thundered about them, unleashed by a cunning wave of the leading Thoralian’s paw, but it could not penetrate the fast-spinning vortex they had created. This was the premise of Hualiama’s so-called air drill. It did not oppose the detonations that shook them as they passed over the egg-shell close enough to touch it with a talon-tip, it seemed, but rather snatched the phenomena into its embrace and flung them away before they could do significant damage. Fireballs detonated harmlessly a hundred feet astern of Gangurtharr’s tail. Knots of debris and molten orange lava skittered off their shields with a sound like scimitars skittering off granite. He even saw an ice-electrical discharge strike them head-on, only to wend its way over his back ten times in a spiral down past his tail, blasting them so violently that Huari cracked her forehead against the spine spike in front of her.

  He blinked his membranes to clear his vision. Focus. Watch for any trickery, said Ardan.

  Alert, said Aranya and Zip simultaneously.

  Immadia, the middle Thoralian is an illusion! Ri’arion cried. Attacker above –

  She shifted so fast, it almost flung them apart as a power like a coruscating spear of blue ice-fire lashed down past them – the same fire Thoralian had used to break the meriatonium shield apart, he realised – but Aranya’s preternatural reaction-speed was enough. Immense lakes of fire erupted out of the First Egg as the bolt struck its surface, but not even Marshal Thoralian’s power could penetrate the eggshell of an Ancient Dragon.

  KKEERRACCKK! The attacker vanished in a sheet of brassy flame.

  Flames roared up to the heavens. They were embroiled in a storm of eerie fire and magic now, just as they had been in the Rift.

  The same force that had carried them this far in close formation now became their enemy as Aranya attempted to shift their attack, but again, her reactions were near-perfect. He had just begun to react to the insane forces of gravity draining the blood from his head, when Ardan sensed a neat draw upon his powers and they Shadow-dodged, as best he could understand it, leaping four hundred feet sideways before surging onward to smack the second Thoralian not quite in the manly parts, but in the softer underside of his right flank. In the instant the body flashed up before them, Ardan curved his shoulder to absorb the impact. Rock-solid. Bone cracked as his mounded shoulder, the right, first struck the flank and then shattered the point of the other Dragon’s instinctively upraised knee. He even had the satisfaction of burying two talons in the Yellow-White’s wingpit and leaving them there as they hurtled onward, torn loose from their roots. They would regrow.

  As one, he and the Gladiator whirled to face the enemy.

  BWAA-HA-HAA! roared Gangurtharr, spitting out a chunk of the enemy Dragon’s left wing. His purple tongue slurped about his chops. I’ll rip you apart piece by piece, Thoralian!

  Ardan preferred the Western Isles approach. No talk. Just scimitars – or eighteen remaining talons might suffice! Jinking off his left wingtip, he hurtled toward the third of the Thoralian triplicate, roaring his battle-challenge. FOR THE ONYX!

  Slug! screeched Aranya, accelerating toward the injured Thoralian. Now, Zip!

  Lightning stuttered out of her throat, singeing her enemy, but it was far from the knockout blow they had sought. Ri’arion cursed unhappily.

  Ah, lost our connection to our puny allies? sneered the Thoralian squaring up with Ardan. Think you’re clever, do you? Now, feel the power of my First Egg!

  * * * *

  Zuziana groaned as Aranya arrowed toward her mark. “Failed us all, Immadia.”

  “Spent waters. Something was bound to go awry,” hissed her companion.

  “Aye, me!”

  “Nonsense. Keep Ri’arion close, alright? We may get another hit.”

  Aranya banked sharply, twice, as cold-fireballs rocketed toward them on a collision course, searing the air about with unnatural cold. Zip knew that Thoralian was hurting. His attacks lacked the power and confidence of before, but he seemed able to tap into the First Egg’s power, for his wounds appeared to be closing and his eyes brightened with an influx of power.

  Careful on the approach, petal, Zip advised.

  We weren’t so careful when we were potting Dragonships with your flaming arrows, Aranya spat.

  Peripherally, the Dragoness noted Gang and Ardan teaming up to give their quarry a terrible pounding; seeing Ri’arion’s mighty sword whirling into the fray as the monk had somehow made the leap onto the Yellow-White’s back and was making excellent work of dicing up his hide like a Jeradian chef preparing their favourite meal, deep-fried chunks of offal.

  Well, one sackweight of flesh at a time if they had to!

  Their quarry spun in the air, shielding himself from Aranya’s approach with an opacity covering. From within that greyish blur he cried, Do I sense the Azure lives, o Star, within thine flesh?

  Aranya gasped, He knows …

  You parasitized your best friend just as I parasitized many others! cried the Yellow-White.

  Never! screamed the Dragoness, and Zip’s vision washed through with white-hot fury. Feral! When had Aranya ever become – but even as the thought formed, the Amethyst seemed to shake off incipient fire-madness with her signature mental resilience. You cannot bait me, Thoralian.

  Yet the hiatus had given the enemy a chance that he took; before she knew it, Zip found a netting of meriatonium slipping up around Aranya, seemingly sprung from nowhere, snarling her wings and arresting her flight.

  The anti-magical material!

  No – wait – shield! Zip heard herself scream.

  * * * *

  Ardan and Gang teamed up, pounding their quarry with fist and fire, forcing the larger Shapeshifter Dragon to give ground second by second. The Gladiator was a fighter and flier of great cunning, apparently able to land blows almost at will even though the Thoralian twisted and feinted and tried a dozen different types of shields, for Huari dealt with those at a speed Ardan understood to be rooted in a love-connection similar to that which linked him with Aranya. As Gangurtharr’s fists and talons bombarded their quarry from every conceivable angle the Navy-Blue Shapeshifter was there ahead of her mate, nullifying or piercing the shields with her own powers, until Thoralian bled from dozens of rents and had a visible dent in his right flank where a vicious Gangurtharr kick had staved in his ribs. Pain rippled through the triplicate, he sensed, a formational weakness perhaps of theirs … but where was the third of their number? He cast about cautiously, Shadowing through Gang to avoid getting in the other Dragon’s way – casting that very interference which had prevented them from landing their opening blow?

  You’re pathetic, Thoralian! the Shadow sneered.

  I am the most powerful – he grunted as Gang smashed his lower neck with a snaking right hook – Dragon! You can never best me.

  Ardan goaded him, Bleating ralti sheep!

  What’s a sheep? Sounds tasty, Gangurtharr returned, raking a trench in Thoralian’s upper left flank. From his back, Huari struck with razor-sharp reflexes, flinging a flurry of ice shards into the enemy’s eyes. Thoralian was forced to duck. GNARRR! Gang punched again, a dull thump! against that armoured flank, but the Yellow-White Shapeshifter writhed away in pain as the Gladiator found a ner
ve-centre. Dragon Ardan loved the bulging surprise in his eyes as the blow landed true, but each Thoralian was an immense beast, as long and sinuous in the body as a muscular Dragon-snake. He could take this kind of pounding all day long and still laugh afterward.

  Ardan loathed him.

  The hulking males traded blows, circling each other warily as Huari plied her wiles and Ri’arion tried to reach Yiisuriel and her kind, but his every artifice was frustrated by the triplicate. Precious seconds ticked by wherein their alliance seemed to grow weaker, while the enemy endured as strong as ever.

  Look to your feckless mate, Shadow! Thoralian snapped suddenly.

  Aranya – trapped!

  Ardan’s hearts jerked wildly, but he heard her call, No fear, Ardan.

  The Amethyst Dragoness vanished beneath a roiling storm of fire and ice, yet seemed to shake it off somehow, even though the black threads – meriatonium – interfered with her producing an effective shield. He sensed the Princess focussing with all of her formidable concentration, summoning that starlight power of hers which must surely be able to burn even meriatonium loose.

  Sensing movement, his eyes flipped upward. ARANYA! NOOOO …

  * * * *

  Alert! The faraway cry arrived within a dulled, hurting corner of her mind. Aranya had a millisecond to adjust before the third Thoralian, hidden by bluff and counter-bluff, smashed into her from above. She felt as if she had flown headlong into a cliff. Dazed. Reeling. Black spots everywhere. Zuziana was unconscious within her – had her friend contrived somehow to absorb the terrible blow into herself? She did not even know how she had been hit without sensing or seeing the incoming attack, only that she tumbled helplessly through the sky, perhaps stunned by a simple, physical strike. One hundred and fifty feet and a hundred tonnes of Thoralian pitted against her forty-something foot, relatively tiny tonnage?

  Basic physics did the rest.

  She plunged into a lake of emerald fire. Unable to shield. Flickering in and out of consciousness, feeling the upwelling arrest her fall and buoy her up, as if cupped paws of fire raised her as a blood-offering to the waiting pair of Yellow-White Shapeshifters.