thinking that she might perhaps find an older monk to take into her confidence. What a shame, all of those gorgeous young men taking vows of service to the Great Dragon!
The wide porch extended around the side of their building–a temple, she thought, eyeing the solid columns, beautifully stone-carved with images of Dragon life, of great Dragons raising up Islands and scholarly-seeming Dragons instructing Humans before stylised models depicting the orbits of the suns and moons. Lia ran her fingers over the carvings. Amaryllion had painted a picture of a time of excitement and adventure, when the Island-World was young and all things seemed possible, but she wondered if the Human slaves had found enslavement to Dragons quite so novel and thrilling.
Pensively, she wandered inside the temple building, following the timeline of a war between the Dragons.
Lia found herself inside a great, echoing hall, lit by a number of tall crysglass windows around a central cupola. Turning absently to her left hand, Hualiama continued along the histories, passing between a row of great columns and the chamber’s circular outer wall, whose panels were decorated in marvellous, illuminated paintings. Such an artist’s eye for detail. How many years must these have taken to complete? Her bare feet made no sound upon the flagstones as she moved around her half-circuit.
A startled cough caught her attention.
Mercy. Two strapping young monks guarded a towering doorway here, directly opposite the entryway she had used. Twin frowns creased their foreheads, while their identical hands rested on identically enormous two-handed swords scabbarded on their backs. She tried not to stare at their sculpted torsos–how much training did they do every day to build such a wealth of lean, perfectly-defined muscle? There were few such tasty specimens at the palace … quick, look somewhere else before she started drooling just as Flicker had accused her! Ridiculous girl.
Lia’s eyes flicked to the vertical, gold-leaf illuminated inscriptions left and right of the doorway. ‘Chamber of Dragons,’ she read. Promising. Returning her gaze to the twins, Lia gazed up at them with all the innocence she could muster. She murmured, “Islands’ greetings to you.”
“What’re you doing here, girl?” said one monk.
“And how did you get here?” asked the second, his gaze reminding her of exactly how little she wore by way of clothing.
Before she knew it, Lia found herself making a gesture she had seen Fyria using to devastating effect on several of her suitors. She bowed her head downward and slightly to the left, and then gazed up at the tall twins through her eyelashes. She tucked an imaginary platinum strand behind her ear.
“Could one of you men open that door for me?” Lia cooed, with her most demure smile.
“Warblit,” spluttered the first monk, turning decidedly pink.
“Urglemadder,” agreed the second, losing any interest in drawing his weapon.
Ignoring her heart thudding madly in her throat, Lia allowed her smile to linger on them, which was no hardship at all. “Pleeeeeease?”
“Glubbadoo,” they chorused, rushing to do her bidding.
In a moment, the great doors creaked open and Lia slipped within, finding herself standing in a richly appointed chamber, stuffed to the rafters with treasures. Great tapestries hung from every wall and even from the ceiling. The golden statue of a Dragon in the corner to her left hand was life-size, standing three times her height at the shoulder. Smaller, equally exquisite statues of dragonets, carved in ruby and emerald and obsidian, stood upon golden plinths arranged around the chamber. Lia goggled in wonder. What was this place? An inner sanctuary? She should not be here, except that it was all so marvellous, she had forgotten how to breathe.
Stepping silently over to the great Dragon, she thought, I greet thee, kin of Fra’anior.
“Master Jo’el, you are late for–by the Great Dragon! Who are you?” A portly monk gaped at her from a gap between the hangings, his face flushing rapidly from red to purple. “Thief! Miscreant! Vermin! Pond skater!”
Lia gaped right back at him. Pond skater?
“Rallon! Hallon!” screamed the monk, the saw-toothed edge of his voice arresting Lia’s incipient flight. “You ralti-brained excuses for guards, get in here! There’s a thieving dragonet right beneath your noses. I caught her red-pawed! You scoundrel, keep your grubby little paws off my darlings. Masters, we are under attack!”
At this, the hangings swung wide and a gaggle of elderly monks peered about the chamber, clearly bemused.
“Hold her, Hallon, you fool!” the monk snapped.
One of the massive, six-foot-six twins wrapped his arms about Lia’s chest and yanked her off