subjected his rider to the perils of flying at speed through a swarm of gnats with her mouth open.
“Yum,” said Flicker, perched on Grandion’s shoulder as he sieved the air for delicacies. “Can we do that again?”
“Pah! Yuck!” Lia spat. She wiped her mouth and averted her head.
“I spotted a place to rest just a couple of minutes ago,” said Grandion, banking sharply.
Shortly, the Dragon flared his wings, bringing them to a gentle landing beside a shallow volcanic pool with water the colour of Grandion’s scales. Lia peered about in delight. Was it tourmaline or some other gemstone creating that remarkable colour? Reflected suns-light rippled across the underside of a wide rock ledge which overhung half of the pool, but the true delight was the gossamer-thin sheets of water which poured over most of the ledge’s width from a height of thirty feet, water which mingled with long, trailing fronds to create a tinkling curtain. Lush ferns adorned the obsidian cliffs of the natural dell. Below the water pool was a second, markedly different pool–a bubbling pot of orange magma. The tiny caldera seemed barely big enough for Grandion, but he eyed it with the same delight Lia had reserved for the waterfall above.
“I’ll be down there if you need me,” he said.
“You plan to roast your rump in molten lava?” Lia clarified.
“You have to try it sometime,” the Dragon asserted. “If you can stand the heat, its perfect for killing off scale mites, and I have the most fearsome itch around my–”
The dragonet squeaked, “Stop! There’s a lady present.”
“My left inner thigh, I was about to say.”
Unbuckling the straps, Lia stretched her legs and yawned. “I don’t have any itches, but there are definitely parts of me I can no longer feel. Can’t you invest in a little padding, Grandion?”
“A plump cushion for the royal rump?” Flicker found the subject irresistible, as usual.
Great Islands, she had the choice between a snooze in the suns and bathing in the pool. There was even a blue-black, glistening strip of beach. Heavenly! The suns won by virtue of overcoming her before she reached the water. Sometimes she could imagine herself as a Dragoness, Lia thought, letting the warming heat beat upon her back, shoulders and legs with an inward sigh of pleasure. Ooh, she was too lazy even to cover her head with her headscarf, which had come to seem more and more trivial the longer she spent travelling Dragonback. Just a few minutes …
Flicker chirped, I’m off to hunt, your un-royal laziness.
Don’t play with your food, she mumbled, already sinking into a dream–so fast, it seemed a vortex sucked her in.
Voices sounded near the veiled crib wherein she lay, warm and snug.
“I have come for the child, Azziala, according to our bargain.”
A woman’s voice, as dull as a spent fire, intoned, “First, give me the knowledge, Dragoness. Then you may do with the whelp what you wish.”
“Here.” She heard a rustling of scrolleaf. “This was all that was left after those traitors burned it. But as you can see, it is unparalleled amongst Dragon lore. Mastering this will give you power over Dragons.”
“Yes.” Low, hungry, a cry of triumph. “At last!”
“May I take the child?”
She heard a careless, heartless laugh. “Take Ra’aba’s whelp, Ianthine. Use it against him.”
Oh, you supreme fool, that I will. The cradle jolted. Hualiama heard herself gurgling happily at the gentle movement. The Dragoness growled, “I have all I need.”
Fear trickled into her infantile awareness.
Adrift in a hot red ocean behind her closed eyelids, Lia rocked to the motion of Dragon wings bearing her across the Island-World. She wailed for warmth, for nurture, but there was only a cool wind caressing her face and the rasp of a Dragon’s paw upon her tender skin. She was wet and soiled, but the Dragoness did not seem to care. Hour after hour, the suns winked in and out from behind huge, spreading purple wings, making baby-Lia screw up her face and scream.
Hush, little one, the Dragoness whispered. We return to the Isle of your father. This is the hour of my greatest triumph. All Dragons will know that Ianthine saved them from a fate worse than death.
Abruptly the dream jumped to Dragons, thundering over her. Hualiama lay on sand, bawling uselessly at the commotion, ignored and unwanted. A crackling of fire overhead. Lightning flaring in an enclosed space. A cacophony of Dragon voices resounded above her–perhaps three or more Dragons. Magic prickled across her skin.