right there. If you’ve the energy to squawk then you must be healing up.”
“Has anyone fed the Dragon? We must feed him. And–” Hualiama’s eyes flew wide “–how long have I been asleep? Will you untie me, you rotten tease … Inniora, laughing does not help. Please.”
Chuckling, “Slow down, grey falcon!” Inniora explained that Lia had been unconscious for four days after Qualiana exerted her healing magic. Flicker had delegated several dragonets to feed the feral Dragon assorted monkeys, lemurs and cave bats. Lia had dreamed repeatedly about being burned by the Dragon, she said, untying her friend’s ankles and wrists.
“You must not aggravate your wounds!” the tall Fra’aniorian admonished her.
“Are you angry with me, Inniora?”
“A little. What happened down there?”
“I was a fool,” Lia answered bitterly, explaining just how she had strutted into the Dragon’s ambit without a care in the Island-World. “Listen, I need to find out all about feral Dragons. Can you get Ja’al to raid the library for Dragon lore–no?”
Inniora laughed, “In good time! Great Islands, are you always this feisty?”
Lying still and healing up was not Hualiama’s favourite pastime. Thankfully, Ja’al arrived that afternoon to dump a pile of scrolls within arms’ reach. She devoured scroll upon scroll of Dragon lore. Dragons going feral was an old problem, she learned. On occasion during battle or as a result of trauma or grief, a Dragon might enter a feral state for hours, or weeks, or–Lia winced–permanently. The only sure cure seemed to be if the Dragon had a mate, who by reason of their bond could break them out of a feral state. Dragon scientists had tried magic, music, drugged food or even a shock therapy consisting of lightning attacks from a Blue Dragon, with variable and largely discouraging results.
One scroll suggested that ninety percent of all Dragons had become feral at one point or another in their lifetime.
The following morning, Master Khoyal arrived with Ja’al in tow. “Good,” said the Master. “How’s the head, Lia?”
“Full of fluff,” Inniora suggested.
The Master whacked her kneecap with his cane. “Go fetch me two hundred grains of sand, student. Hurry. Now, Ja’al, I want you to fill Lia’s head with as many forms as possible. She can start thinking about them while she’s convalescing.”
“At least there’ll be something in her head–ouch!” Inniora yelped as the Master’s cane connected her elbow.
“Five hundred grains.”
* * * *
Flicker made it his business to stick closer to Lia than her own shadow over the following three months as she progressed from lying flat on her stomach to dancing like a dragonet–reference intended, naturally. She progressed from the faintly ridiculous waving of reeds, to a woman whose twirling form seemed clothed in shimmering steel, her blades moved so rapidly. Lia told him she dreamed in Nuyallith forms, as if her training existed in two realms, the physical by day and the mental by night. Certainly, her power multiplied. Hualiama broke Ja’al’s nose in combat while training with staves.
Lia wept for joy when Inniora held up two mirrors so that she could see her back. It was not perfect–perhaps the scar would always remain, a reminder of what the fungus-face had done–but the scar had subsided from an angrily red, keloid curve to a faded tan that blended with her skin. Her badly burned elbow regained its full range of motion. The damaged skin was only slightly rough to the touch, much of that improvement down to the herbal poultices Qualiana had decreed for her treatment.
The dragonet now instructed a class of apprentice monks in the art of herbal medicine, three times a week, a fact he never tired of impressing on Hualiama.
But she would not leave that trapped Dragon be.
Shards take it, Lia, are you singing to him again? Flicker was certain his eye-fires had turned green with jealousy. It isn’t working.
Amaryllion insists, she replied, conveniently skimming over all her other reasons–such as her constant blathering on about the worthless Tourmaline, and her claims of a special bond with him. Flicker’s scales crawled every time he considered her ideas. Sharing thoughts with a Dragon? Being … inside his mind? Madness.
Besides, if his girl shared a mental space with any creature, his name should be Flicker!
At least Lia had the wisdom to keep consulting the Ancient Dragon on a regular basis. Flicker had to admit, she was a brainless straw-head at times. Her eyes glazed over when speaking about Dragons. They became limpid pools when she considered the trapped Dragon’s state. And her hands grew