of that detail months ago, little Lia. You won’t be seeing them any time soon.”
But one Dragon was coming, or had she sensed falsely, Lia wondered? Through whose eyes had she seen the Dragonship explode? Her heart sank. She fervently hoped Grandion was on his way with all the strength of the Dragons of Gi’ishior at his back, because the thundering of those Dragons out over the city sounded victorious … she had to trust her Dragon. When was the time to start using the information she held against Ra’aba?
“So, these Greens pander to the whims of a Human? You know what they say in Dragonish? Only a worm serves a Human.” Oddly, the two Green Dragons only blinked at her, apparently unmoved by her insult. Lia changed tack. “Unfortunately for you, the Nameless Man has already predicted your demise, Ra’aba. You’re on the wrong side of fate. Try to kill me again, I invite you. The very stones of Fra’anior will rise up to strike you down.”
As she spoke, Hualiama watched him narrowly. A slight tightening of the muscles around the Roc’s jaw provided a fraction of a second’s warning. With a terrifying scream, the sword appeared to leap into his hand as Ra’aba executed his fast draw technique and split the air with a mighty, cleaving stroke.
Lia whispered aside.
The Roc struck again. Metal screeched as angrily as a windroc. Hualiama allowed herself to return to the first rest position, swords crossed in front of her chest.
“Is that all you have?” she inquired, smiling.
Her words were hydrogen gas piped into a blast furnace. Their swords blurred, the violence of clashing metal echoing from the famous arched ceiling, painted in glorious life-size pictures of the different colours of Dragons, causing the soldiers to step back cautiously. Hualiama danced before him, absorbing the fury of Ra’aba’s attack, negating his power, yielding with a suppleness that allowed Ra’aba no direct route to strike her as before. But the Roc had his inhuman speed and strength, and so he bullied her around the floor, relying on his greater muscle and reach to keep her at bay.
Hualiama switched forms to the raging volcano technique, striking with increasing power and agility from a variety of angles. Her right blade clanged off his elbow. So, the famous stone skin was intact! The Roc frowned more darkly. He settled grimly into defence. His yellow eyes blazed, measuring her attack, probing for weaknesses. A misplaced parry jarred her right wrist painfully, but Lia recovered. She must be careful. With his power, Ra’aba could snap her wrists.
“Not bad, little Lia,” he sneered. “Unfortunately, you’re still just a girl.”
His lunge snagged the cloth above her hip. Lia struck backhanded from her left side, but Ra’aba’s forearm smashed into her elbow, seeking a disabling blow. Pain spurted through her nerves into her fingers. Lia twirled away instinctively, trying to protect that hand; a fallen weapon rolled slightly beneath her foot. That was all the opening Ra’aba needed. He plowed forward, taking advantage of her imbalance, thrashing her defence until he was able to kick her front foot out from beneath her. Hualiama’s skull connected the marble floor with a sickening thud.
She groaned, “Oh, mercy …”
“Get up!” His finger crooked beneath her nose. “Fight me, you little dragonet. Fight!”
His phrasing; that exact gesture, transported Lia all the way back to the Dragonship, to the moment when Ra’aba slashed a frightened girl’s back open with a single, merciless blow. She was that girl. Lia tasted fear and inanition, and the knowledge that the Roc would kill her as surely as a man slaughtered a ralti sheep. Images flashed through her mind. Crashing to the sand in the training arena. Losing to the monks again and again. Master Khoyal’s expression as a dagger slipped between his ribs. The exact taste of Lia’s terror as she fell from the Dragonship … which suddenly mutated into the sensation of flying with the Tourmaline Dragon.
Aye. She was that victim no longer. Hualiama had suffered and trained, and refused to die. She counted an Ancient Dragon among her friends. At this thought, the cheekiness of a dragonet mingled with the courage of a Dragon in her spirit. Infectious. Exhilarating. A liberation of chains which had bound her soul for so long.
“Same tired old lines, Ra’aba?” she chuckled.
“You–you laugh? You dare?”
She could not more effectively have punched him on the nose. The Roc’s eyes almost watered as he stared down at her; a tic leaped in his cheek. His