“Oh, naturally,” Flicker teased, flicking his wings beneath Lia’s nose. “Grandion, it’s getting dark and Lia promised Master Khoyal she would return before nightfall. I must tuck the Princess into her plush bed and sing her to sleep.”
“That would be a hard pallet,” Lia put in, with another fruitless swipe in the dragonet’s general direction, “and Grandion, I’m a royal ward, not a–”
“You won’t leave me in this grave?”
The Dragon’s plaintive cry was far removed from his confident basso rumble. In it, Hualiama perceived an undertone of terror, the madness of a creature accustomed to gracing the measureless realms of the skies, now trapped in a stinking hole.
Before she could formulate a response, Flicker called, “Grandion, Lia’s been telling you stories and singing to you every other day for three months, even though you tried to kill her. What does that tell you?”
The rasp of the Dragon’s breathing sounded over-loud in the enclosed space. Faintly, he said, “I remember some things. I can never apologise enough, Hualiama. My honour is smoke, not flame.”
She choked out, “I will return.”
Chapter 17: Kidnapping
HUALIAMA HAD NOT anticipated the onset of crippling Dragon-fear. She had been so elated, so soaring over the Islands at Grandion’s recovery and his unexpectedly thrilling voice, that she had not stopped to consider his true nature. Now, dread brought a Northern winter to her heart. This Dragon had burned her. He was powerful, alien, a creature born of fire. As the twosome returned to the monastery, she fretted herself into a fearsome knot of anxiety. How could she ever trust a Dragon?
They emerged as the surreal light of a four-moon conjunction broke out from behind a cloud-bank to bathe the scene in eerie moonlight.
Flicker said, “I can see why Humans never made good slaves.”
Lia patted him absently.
“Humans are cheeky, lippy, stubborn flouters of every law under the known–what’s that?”
“What’s what?”
The dragonet yelled, “Two Red Dragons, incoming!”
Hualiama barely glanced at the sky before she broke into a sprint. There was no mistaking the intent of those Dragons as they swooped from a height of several thousand feet above the monastery; their outstretched talons, the angle of their descent, the fire just beginning to glow behind their bared fangs–unmistakable.
“Attack! Dragon attack!” she screamed.
A group of monks who had been meditating on the open balcony at the front of the building, scattered like a flock of fowl ambushed by a rajal. Hualiama followed them indoors at a sprint.
Master Jo’el’s hand clapped down on her shoulder. “Down to your cave. Now!”
“What?”
“They’re after you.”
“Master, I want to fight.”
“Now’s not the time, Lia. Go! Ja’al–you know the drill.”
Jo’el whirled, barking orders. The monks appeared to be prepared for this type of attack. Hualiama had never before appreciated why the upper levels of the building were left unoccupied–now she knew, and while she did not appreciate Ja’al thrusting her toward the secret stairway which would lead to her cave, she understood the necessity. They slipped behind a statue of a warrior-monk, triggered the door and dashed within.
“Hurry,” Ja’al urged.
From above, a low whistling sound suddenly rose to a shriek. KAAAABOOM! The monastery shuddered on its foundations. Fireballs, most likely, or the more powerful Red attack in which the Dragon first chewed up rocks, reduced them to molten slag in one of its special stomachs, and then expectorated the molten rock mingled with Dragon fire as a stream of fluid lava. The Red Dragons’ challenges rolled like thunder over the lake.
The narrowness of the spiral staircase forced them to proceed carefully. Lia held the railing lightly, her superior agility allowing her to outstrip the much bigger monk. Flicker, having flown ahead, reappeared in a rush. “Battle, below.”
Lia stopped. “Oh no.”
Betrayed! Her mind raced. Many of the monks must know about the secret caves, or have knowledge of her presence. Ra’aba had visited the monastery. Was this attack his doing?
“Blades, Lia,” Ja’al ordered grimly. “Let me past. Cover your face.”
Mercy. Master Khoyal, in his thoroughness, had anticipated even this. She pulled an Eastern Isles-style face veil over her nose and mouth, clipping it to the hood of the new outfit Inniora had designed for her–an outfit intended to conceal the identity of a certain royal ward, while including her modifications for weaponry and concealed items.
Whipping out her twin Nuyallith blades, Lia shadowed Ja’al down the remaining steps.
Metal clashed upon metal. She heard Inniora’s battle cry. Chaotic shouts and orders beat against her ears, while Lia was certain the low growl of a Dragon throbbed somewhere