Lia said, “It’s like an ancient storehouse. Did the Ancient Dragons store these columns here, and then simply plant them in the Cloudlands to make the Spits?”
Grandion shook his head. “And this Dragon’s wings shiver in disbelief. Mount up, my Rider. We must find this Ianthine.”
Flicker rode with Lia while the Tourmaline Dragon made great hops and flying swoops down beneath the Spits, into a realm few Dragons had trod. When he looked up, it was to see the Human girl’s jaw so tightly clenched, her lips showed white at the edges. Perhaps two or three miles beneath the surface, Flicker began to smell something. Grandion oriented on the stench without anyone needing to say a word. Instinctively, they knew that was where they would find Ianthine. Her presence pervaded this space like an invisible mist closing its clammy tendrils about the travellers.
Swooping cautiously over a pile of desiccated windroc bones, peppered with rotting fur, entrails and other delights, Grandion brought them to a landing outside a low-roofed grotto carved into the southern wall of the main cavern. Here the rocks were brown, strangely organic, sprouting such a profusion of damp mosses and fungi that they could have been in the midst of a moist jungle–were it not for the incredible stench of stale urine and what Flicker finally recognised as faeces plastered on every conceivable surface, even the cave roof. The fungi were certainly well fertilised.
What is this place? Grandion said.
Ianthine’s lair, said Flicker. She waits for us.
Hualiama had a hand on one of her swords, but then dropped it deliberately. She glanced at her companions. Come.
The Human girl’s elevated pulse rate betrayed her qualms. Chattering softly to himself in approbation of her spirit, Flicker leaped up to Lia’s shoulder. He whispered an ancient blessing into her left ear, The courage of Dragons be your portion, Hualiama of Fra’anior.
She said, Thanks, my friend. I’ll need every drop.
The grotto bent around a corner. As Lia moved forward, they passed out of the wind’s blast into a place of musty smells so concentrated that Flicker felt as though he had sniffed acid up his nose. The sound of water pouring resolved into a small waterfall tumbling fifteen feet into a shallow pool. The water’s phosphorescent glow lit up the cavern, and the flank of the Dragoness crouched beside it.
Flicker gagged. The Maroon Dragoness was easily twice the size and three times the bulk of Grandion. At least part of the stench was due to the open, weeping ulcers on Ianthine’s neck and flank, great wounds seemingly bitten out of her hide by an unknown agent, leaving bloody craters behind. What could be seen of her Dragon scales was the purplish red of a bruise, while the majority of her vast, bloated body was covered in scale rot or fungus, perhaps both. A flame-red eye fixed upon them.
Ah. Took you long enough, tumbling about my little realm. What a puny party. Ungracious greetings laced in snot to you, pathetic creatures.
Ianthine’s voice sneaked and slithered about their minds, riddled with a cackling undertone of madness.
Grandion came to a halt right beside Lia, panting, wild-eyed at the sight of this legendary monstrosity. Sapphurion himself had banished this Dragoness. Now they stood before her to ask a boon. Flicker’s three hearts skipped a beat simultaneously.
Drawing a shallow breath, Lia said, “The most sulphurous greetings of Fra’anior to you, Ianthine–”
Ianthine drowned her out in a volley of vile curses. “That black-bellied son of a volcanic flatworm! Skanky two-faced whelp of a bleating goat! Speak not his name, little one … but come.” She crooked a claw, abruptly crooning with saccharine malice, “Come to me. Old Ianthine wishes to sniff thy maiden beauty. Such a pretty thing. Belongs in this cave, it does. I’ve a hoard. All around us–what wonderful, foetid riches they are.”
Gulping audibly, Lia began to shift forward, Grandion whispered, “No, Lia …”
“Closer. Yes, closer it must come. Right under my paw.”
Hualiama stopped, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. “Do your sniffing from there, Ianthine. Then, I would ask you a question.”
“It wishes to ask a question?” Stretching her neck suddenly, the Maroon Dragoness brought her ruined nostrils right up to Lia’s chest and took a huge, wet sniff. “Ah!” she moaned, retreating suddenly, a fearsome thrashing of her body. “It smells … I haven’t smelled such in many a year. It reminds one of what was lost. Toothsome wench. Ianthine should eat it. Like she ate its mother,