green eyes searched the farthest reaches of the Cloudlands, Hualiama felt her gut clench with a sense of foreboding. What would this day bring? At a Dragonship’s cruising speed of four leagues per hour, factoring in a slight headwind, they should cross the nine leagues to Ya’arriol Island in two and a half hours, arriving before dawn.
Incipient tears blurred her eyes. The magnificent Tourmaline Dragon would never see another Fra’aniorian dawn.
Just then, a jolt of insight struck Lia so forcefully, she tasted blood in her mouth from biting her lip involuntarily. She had dreamed of the Dragon’s fate before she ever saw him; before ever imagining a Dragon of such a colour could exist. How could she anticipate the future so accurately? There could be no doubt. The moment of that dream was branded forever in her memory, for it was the day she had helped Flicker escape the warren-mother’s torture.
She had dreamed a Dragon’s death. Dreams could foreshadow, but they could not determine the future, could they? A soul-lost chill accompanied this thought. No, the Tourmaline Dragon’s gemstone scales would nevermore gleam resplendent beneath the twin suns, the magical flame of his eye … snuffed out. Destroyed. Hualiama stared unseeing at the bulk of the Yellow moon, covering fully a third of the western horizon, as she relived the awfulness of the Dragon’s final moments.
How could she bear yet more grief?
He’s alive.
Lia’s body jerked. “What?”
A hand reached over to grasp hers, correcting the Dragonship’s course. “Lia? Are you alright?”
“I–Master Jo’el?”
“Do you have fits?” he inquired. “I came in and spoke to you, but you acted as if you hadn’t heard a word.”
Where had the Master sprung from? Lia shook her head. “I … Master, I’m sorry! Mercy, all I ever seem to do is apologise to you. I’d never put your life in danger–”
“I know that.” The Master bent, bringing his eyes disturbingly close to hers. “Why do I sense that the paw of the Great Dragon lies heavy upon your life?”
“Master, did you just say, ‘He’s alive’?”
“No. Who’s alive?”
“The Tourmaline Dragon I told you about, Master. The one I thought was buried.”
The Master gave a grunt of apparent satisfaction. Lia felt her eyes widen. Releasing her hand, Master Jo’el moved over to stand at the forward crysglass windows, wrapping his lean frame in his robe as though he had felt a chill.
He said, “And will you obey the Great Dragon’s voice in this, Hualiama of Fra’anior?”
Lia wished she possessed his faith. Whether it had been Amaryllion, speaking across the leagues, or Fra’anior himself, she had no idea–but an adamantine certainty lodged in her breast. The Dragon was alive. Only she had the power to save him. Perhaps Amaryllion had cast his thoughts into her mind? She would have no idea what the Black Dragon Fra’anior sounded like.
“Master, I will.”
Jo’el said, “We must speak to the Nameless Man.”
The silhouette of Ya’arriol had enlarged against the yellow backlight of Iridith. How long had she been absent, lost in her thoughts? Hualiama shivered. And look at those dots above the Island’s cone …
“Master? Isn’t Ya’arriol’s caldera inactive?”
“Aye.”
“Then why do I see smoke rising from the southern ledge? And shadows above it which look like Dragonships?”
The Master did not hesitate. “Full speed ahead, Lia! Signals! Ready for battle!”
Chapter 12: Ya’arriol Burns
IN FULL BATTLE array, the four Dragonships from the monastery swooped down on Ya’arriol Island. Two Dragonships flying the standard of a black war hammer lay moored near the southernmost tip of the Island, while a third vessel hovered overhead, providing cover to fighters on the ground. Smoke billowed from a nearby village.
“Pirates,” spat Ja’al. He stood alongside Master Jo’el at the crysglass window, ahead of Hualiama but to the left, keeping clear of her line of sight.
“Get us right over that hovering Dragonship, Lia,” directed Master Jo’el. “Ram their balloon, if you can.”
Hualiama eyed the spar projecting above their heads, anchored somewhere above the navigation cabin. “And if they pack fire-arrows?”
“Our outer layer is hot air. Only the inner sacks are hydrogen,” said the Master. “Besides, we plan to distract them by shooting a few warriors in their direction.”
Shooting warriors? Her eyebrows arched. Great Islands! She had never heard of such a tactic before. She had the bruises to prove what these monks were capable of in training. Now she would see the famous warrior-monks of Fra’anior in action.
“Don’t be afraid, we’ll take good care of our little Princess,” said Ja’al, patting her on the arm.