effect. Ruzal is regarded as a corrupt or debased form of magic due to the damage it may cause to the subject and wielder alike. For example, a powerful word of binding in ruzal magic is–’
Lia bit her lip. What was this script–Dragon runes? She eyed the complex character pensively. Perhaps it was better she did not learn the magic which both Amaryllion and the Nameless Man had detected in her, the power of which Ianthine the Maroon Dragoness claimed mastery. Ianthine, who had identified the traitor Ra’aba as her blood-father, had also been the one to rip Lia from her mother Azziala’s bosom … Hualiama touched her head to the page as the memories assailed her. Fighting her father. Defeating him. Heavens above and Islands below, what had Sapphurion’s Dragon justice meant for him?
For six years, she had barely thought about the man they called the Roc. Oh, the blessed curse of forgetting!
An icy claw touched her neck.
Lia screamed, lost her balance, and came within an inch of tumbling off the plinth. An outthrust hand halted her fall, snagging the lip which kept the book in place.
Dangling from three fingers, Lia found herself facing a Dragon’s head formed from blue mist, which swirled around deep, hollow eye-sockets that although empty, fixed upon her with terrible, inhuman force. The mist-beast snarled, Intruder!
N-N-No! she stammered. I’ve lived on this Island–
Be silent, creature! Suddenly, a chill attacked her throat, stealing her ability to speak. Art thou a Dragon? Nay, the Guardian Spirit finds neither wings nor Dragon fire. And thou wouldst steal the secrets of ruzal ? Thief!
Hualiama trembled, yet she flung a thought at the creature, But I know Amaryllion. I have–
Silence! Even her mental voice cut off as though instantly frozen by the breath of the creature that flowed toward her now, seeping around and enveloping her body, rendering Lia powerless. She floated away into a space dominated by the depthless nothingness of the Guardian Spirit’s eyes. A necrotic chill settled in her bones. Never had death seemed more inviting. Yet there was a spark in her that refused its succubus allure, clinging on with the tenacity of ivy to stone, and the breath of her life fanned it into a glow. Abnegation. I am the child of the Dragon. Always, in extremity, this idea seemed to shield her. I am fire.
A dragonet’s laughter bubbled from her lips. Lia sensed the Guardian Spirit baulk. Encouraged, she willed the bright fire forth. White-golden, the magical fire cloaked and protected her. She imagined wings. Claws. Eyes like Grandion’s, churning with the compelling infernos of the Dragonkind. The deathly chill receded momentarily. Her feet touched the wooden platform beneath the plinth.
Lia stared at the creature. Now was neither the time nor the place to figure out how she had provoked the Spirits of the Ancient Dragons. How glibly she had evoked them before, back on the Receiving Balcony. How her skin crawled now.
She looked, and perceived death lurking in the shifting mists.
A backward step brought the chill mist a step closer. Delicately they danced, shadowing each other’s progress, over to the wall. She saw scroll racks here. These should be easier to climb than the massive bookshelves.
The mist bulged as though the Dragon opened its jaws. Intruder!
I possess the gift of a dragonet’s fire-soul, Lia replied. But her voice was far less assured than she would have preferred. Permit me to leave, and I will not trespass again.
The blue mist stirred restlessly, veils of colour sliding over each other, coalescing around the black-in-black eyes. She touched a shelf.
TRESPASSER!
To her surprise, Lia’s white-fires flared up, repelling the assault. No time to reflect on how that had happened. She began to climb. Quick! With a vast, angry hiss, the creature slammed into her fire again. It recoiled. The mist-beast slithered toward her, creeping along the scroll racks, clearly intending to prise her
Lia bit her lip. What was this script–Dragon runes? She eyed the complex character pensively. Perhaps it was better she did not learn the magic which both Amaryllion and the Nameless Man had detected in her, the power of which Ianthine the Maroon Dragoness claimed mastery. Ianthine, who had identified the traitor Ra’aba as her blood-father, had also been the one to rip Lia from her mother Azziala’s bosom … Hualiama touched her head to the page as the memories assailed her. Fighting her father. Defeating him. Heavens above and Islands below, what had Sapphurion’s Dragon justice meant for him?
For six years, she had barely thought about the man they called the Roc. Oh, the blessed curse of forgetting!
An icy claw touched her neck.
Lia screamed, lost her balance, and came within an inch of tumbling off the plinth. An outthrust hand halted her fall, snagging the lip which kept the book in place.
Dangling from three fingers, Lia found herself facing a Dragon’s head formed from blue mist, which swirled around deep, hollow eye-sockets that although empty, fixed upon her with terrible, inhuman force. The mist-beast snarled, Intruder!
N-N-No! she stammered. I’ve lived on this Island–
Be silent, creature! Suddenly, a chill attacked her throat, stealing her ability to speak. Art thou a Dragon? Nay, the Guardian Spirit finds neither wings nor Dragon fire. And thou wouldst steal the secrets of ruzal ? Thief!
Hualiama trembled, yet she flung a thought at the creature, But I know Amaryllion. I have–
Silence! Even her mental voice cut off as though instantly frozen by the breath of the creature that flowed toward her now, seeping around and enveloping her body, rendering Lia powerless. She floated away into a space dominated by the depthless nothingness of the Guardian Spirit’s eyes. A necrotic chill settled in her bones. Never had death seemed more inviting. Yet there was a spark in her that refused its succubus allure, clinging on with the tenacity of ivy to stone, and the breath of her life fanned it into a glow. Abnegation. I am the child of the Dragon. Always, in extremity, this idea seemed to shield her. I am fire.
A dragonet’s laughter bubbled from her lips. Lia sensed the Guardian Spirit baulk. Encouraged, she willed the bright fire forth. White-golden, the magical fire cloaked and protected her. She imagined wings. Claws. Eyes like Grandion’s, churning with the compelling infernos of the Dragonkind. The deathly chill receded momentarily. Her feet touched the wooden platform beneath the plinth.
Lia stared at the creature. Now was neither the time nor the place to figure out how she had provoked the Spirits of the Ancient Dragons. How glibly she had evoked them before, back on the Receiving Balcony. How her skin crawled now.
She looked, and perceived death lurking in the shifting mists.
A backward step brought the chill mist a step closer. Delicately they danced, shadowing each other’s progress, over to the wall. She saw scroll racks here. These should be easier to climb than the massive bookshelves.
The mist bulged as though the Dragon opened its jaws. Intruder!
I possess the gift of a dragonet’s fire-soul, Lia replied. But her voice was far less assured than she would have preferred. Permit me to leave, and I will not trespass again.
The blue mist stirred restlessly, veils of colour sliding over each other, coalescing around the black-in-black eyes. She touched a shelf.
TRESPASSER!
To her surprise, Lia’s white-fires flared up, repelling the assault. No time to reflect on how that had happened. She began to climb. Quick! With a vast, angry hiss, the creature slammed into her fire again. It recoiled. The mist-beast slithered toward her, creeping along the scroll racks, clearly intending to prise her
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