puttered over the Cloudlands, making directly for Haffal. A squat stone garrison stood atop a lonely peninsula, isolated from the rest of a larger Island–perhaps half a league in diameter–by a narrow spit of dark rock. Eight Sylakian Dragonships hung in the void, facing them. Warriors stood ready at the catapults and war crossbows. Their engines’ exhausts smoked slightly as the turbines held them against a light westerly breeze.
“Light up, quickly,” Aranya said to Yolathion.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You sleeping, Dragon? I thought you had fantastic eyesight?”
The Amethyst Dragon’s belly fires surged at his tone. “Sorry.”
“No time for apologies now.” His spark-stone clicked as he lit the oil-pot beside his right knee. “Take us in, Dragon. Do your bellow; see if they’ll surrender. If they don’t, let me take out a Dragonship. Once we’ve burned a few beards, we’ll have them singing like parakeets.”
She smarted. He was so attentive to her Human form, but now she felt like a fancy Dragonship taking orders from its navigator. Maybe being in a romantic relationship with her Rider was not as easy as she had assumed.
Aranya cleared her mind with an inward snarl. She had a battle to win.
Her bellow achieved precisely nothing. The Sylakians neither responded nor ran up the green pennant of surrender. But they did try to slap her in the teeth with a round of catapult-shot when she swooped closer.
Yolathion grunted as his ride swirled in the air, changing the angles. Aranya had her fireballs ready, but held back. “Take the one on the end,” the Jeradian ordered.
“I obey,” she said, before biting her tongue. She obeyed? Did she mean that?
Aranya lined him up for a shot with smooth ease. Yolathion’s first burning arrow plugged in a hawser, but his second exploded the Sylakian vessel. Heat and smoke boiled around them. Just let her Rider taste what she knew, Aranya exulted. Her hearts sang wildly as she surged through the air with oily menace, coiling into a sharp turn as they passed over the fortress, constructed of black stone. Power surged through her veins. Instinctively, she shot a fireball at a departing message hawk. Pfft! The deadly, bright spot whizzed off to their port side. Direct hit. Aranya’s neck twisted. Catapult. She missed it narrowly with a second shot, but sent the catapult engineers leaping for cover anyway.
“Nice work,” said Yolathion. “Let’s see if they’ve changed their minds.”
Six more hawks shot away over the Cloudlands. Probably every hawk they had, Aranya thought. Her father’s Dragonship was almost in fighting range. White dragonets and the single, shimmering blue form of Sapphire crowded around the vessel like a buzzing cloud of wasps disturbed from their nest, only a hundred times deadlier. They were as eager as she was for battle.
She had no need to roar. Crossbow quarrels hissed hungrily through the air as they approached–a hint as subtle as her Dragon roar.
“Destroy another?” she suggested.
“Stick to the plan.”
“It’ll be dangerous. Keep sharp, Jeradian warrior.”
Aranya swirled in her flight with deft corrections of her wings, throwing the Sylakian warriors off their aim, before folding up her body, almost touching her nose to her tail, as she flipped over into a nosedive. Her wings drove her downward. Yolathion gasped as air punched him in the mouth. He could not even yell. Aranya crashed full speed into the soft top of a Dragonship’s hydrogen sack, striking so powerfully that it split open like a melon dropped from a height. The Dragonship sagged. Heaving herself free of the sack as it began to fold toward her from both ends, Aranya clawed at two more of the multi-compartmented sacks before realising that there was no need. The power of her attack must have blasted the hydrogen back into the engines and damaged them or snuffed them out, because the turbines fell silent.
She jumped across to the next Dragonship.
“Light up, quickly,” Aranya said to Yolathion.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You sleeping, Dragon? I thought you had fantastic eyesight?”
The Amethyst Dragon’s belly fires surged at his tone. “Sorry.”
“No time for apologies now.” His spark-stone clicked as he lit the oil-pot beside his right knee. “Take us in, Dragon. Do your bellow; see if they’ll surrender. If they don’t, let me take out a Dragonship. Once we’ve burned a few beards, we’ll have them singing like parakeets.”
She smarted. He was so attentive to her Human form, but now she felt like a fancy Dragonship taking orders from its navigator. Maybe being in a romantic relationship with her Rider was not as easy as she had assumed.
Aranya cleared her mind with an inward snarl. She had a battle to win.
Her bellow achieved precisely nothing. The Sylakians neither responded nor ran up the green pennant of surrender. But they did try to slap her in the teeth with a round of catapult-shot when she swooped closer.
Yolathion grunted as his ride swirled in the air, changing the angles. Aranya had her fireballs ready, but held back. “Take the one on the end,” the Jeradian ordered.
“I obey,” she said, before biting her tongue. She obeyed? Did she mean that?
Aranya lined him up for a shot with smooth ease. Yolathion’s first burning arrow plugged in a hawser, but his second exploded the Sylakian vessel. Heat and smoke boiled around them. Just let her Rider taste what she knew, Aranya exulted. Her hearts sang wildly as she surged through the air with oily menace, coiling into a sharp turn as they passed over the fortress, constructed of black stone. Power surged through her veins. Instinctively, she shot a fireball at a departing message hawk. Pfft! The deadly, bright spot whizzed off to their port side. Direct hit. Aranya’s neck twisted. Catapult. She missed it narrowly with a second shot, but sent the catapult engineers leaping for cover anyway.
“Nice work,” said Yolathion. “Let’s see if they’ve changed their minds.”
Six more hawks shot away over the Cloudlands. Probably every hawk they had, Aranya thought. Her father’s Dragonship was almost in fighting range. White dragonets and the single, shimmering blue form of Sapphire crowded around the vessel like a buzzing cloud of wasps disturbed from their nest, only a hundred times deadlier. They were as eager as she was for battle.
She had no need to roar. Crossbow quarrels hissed hungrily through the air as they approached–a hint as subtle as her Dragon roar.
“Destroy another?” she suggested.
“Stick to the plan.”
“It’ll be dangerous. Keep sharp, Jeradian warrior.”
Aranya swirled in her flight with deft corrections of her wings, throwing the Sylakian warriors off their aim, before folding up her body, almost touching her nose to her tail, as she flipped over into a nosedive. Her wings drove her downward. Yolathion gasped as air punched him in the mouth. He could not even yell. Aranya crashed full speed into the soft top of a Dragonship’s hydrogen sack, striking so powerfully that it split open like a melon dropped from a height. The Dragonship sagged. Heaving herself free of the sack as it began to fold toward her from both ends, Aranya clawed at two more of the multi-compartmented sacks before realising that there was no need. The power of her attack must have blasted the hydrogen back into the engines and damaged them or snuffed them out, because the turbines fell silent.
She jumped across to the next Dragonship.
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