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