sulphurous greetings of the Great Dragon, Fra’anior,” she replied, formally. The dragonet purred serenely. How well he had trained her in the proper etiquette of Dragons! “You have been lost, for you were feral–”
Grandion gasped, “Your song-magic restored my soul-fires–who are you?” Suddenly, the Dragon seemed unsure, awkward. “How can I ever thank you enough, Human girl? Know that I am Grandion, a rare Tourmaline Dragon. Honour me with your name. I wish to know you.”
Hualiama replied, “Do you not recognise to whom you speak?”
Movement came from below, a restless, muscular pacing of a huge Dragon in a small space. “I do not–you! Trespassing again?” A vast, throbbing chuckle echoed in the tunnel. “You aren’t much of a respecter of rules, are you, Hualiama of Fra’anior?”
Her laughter cascaded from their tunnel into the space inhabited by the Dragon, a wild storm of merriment suddenly unleashed. Relief, Flicker thought. Delight. The melody of a heart unchained, reprieved at last from the shackles of grief.
“Not when it comes to rescuing Dragons,” she returned pertly.
“Threatening a pretty girl with being trampled beneath my paw was not enough?”
Lia’s unconsciously sweet smile roused the dragonet’s belly-fires. She winked at Flicker, who was unimpressed with the tenor of this conversation. He hissed, Stop flirting with him, straw-head.
He’s the one flirting.
Defiantly, Hualiama retorted, “Oh, your paw is immensely strong, Grandion.”
The Dragon growled, “Then why not obey?”
Flicker desperately wanted to bite Lia as a dragonet might discipline a naughty hatchling. What was she thinking, swapping banter with a Dragon? On Ha’athior? Moreover, a Dragon who had burned her to cinders? Lia rolled her eyes, smiling in the face of Flicker’s warning growl. She seemed delighted, abuzz with energy, and he was most displeased.
She said, “I took it more by way of advice.”
The cough of the Dragon’s fireball brought the scents of sulphur and smoke to Flicker’s nostrils. “Advice?” The force of Grandion’s displeasure made the rocks tremble beneath them. “I hunted you, girl! I spied on you–you practically walked over my tail without seeing me–slammed you to the ground, and roared in your ear, and you call that advice?”
Lia added airily, “Oh, if you must know, Grandion, I did leave the Island for a bit. But then you were attacked by those two nasty flying ralti sheep and I couldn’t leave you to die alone in a cave. So aye, I took it for advice.”
Evidently summoning up his reserves of patience, the Dragon growled, “While I appreciate the food, Human girl, I’ll have you know that monkey meat is the foulest substance under the twin suns.”
“What kind of food would you prefer, o sizzlingly majestic one?”
* * * *
“Ouch!” Lia glared at the dragonet. “You bit my ear, you flying rat.”
You deserve it–you can’t talk to a Dragon like that, Lia. You just can’t.
Says who? What was wrong with Flicker? His eyes blazed darkly, a shade of burned orange that rarely filled his eyes. Was he afraid the Dragon would burn her again? But he sounded so friendly. Her heart danced skittishly, behaving like a dragonfly investigating a pond.
Grandion called, “Who’s up there with you?”
“Some dragonet a windroc dropped in passing,” said Lia. “He’s called Flicker.”
Grinning toothily at her, Flicker said, “O Grandion, would you prefer Human meat, lightly toasted? I have the perfect candidate.”
Lia tried to smack his rump, but he danced out of reach.
The unseen Dragon rumbled, “While I agree that she’d make a royally tasty snack–” Hualiama gestured at Flicker, ‘See? He’s the one flirting!’ “–the girl I trapped beneath my paw was so dainty a scrap she’d barely whet my appetite. No, I’d prefer a whole ralti sheep, if you can manage that, dragonet.”
“Maybe in ten thousand pieces,” said Lia, rolling her eyes. “Grandion, we’re here to help you escape. Can you see any possible way out of that cave? I really need your aid–can we come down into the cave and help you find a way out?”
“Ah, rather not,” said Grandion, in a strange voice.
“Why not?”
“I’ve been feral for some time, I’d imagine.”
“Three months,” said Lia.
The resonant voice performed the audible equivalent of squirming as he said, “Let’s just say there’s a great heap of rancid meat, rotting bones and worse down here.”
He’s covered in Dragon droppings, Flicker tittered.
Why can’t we smell that? There’s a definite whiff of rancid meat …
Dragon droppings don’t smell. But everything else down there stinks like a windroc’s breakfast.
Raising her voice, Hualiama said, “Of course, I understand that any self-respecting Dragon would want to look his best for