The giving and receiving of commands in battle must be clear, or people die. The chain of command is absolute. Yes, I have been a warrior all my life. You haven’t got the experience in battle, despite your father’s ‘special training’ that you told me about. So yes, I will be giving the commands.”
So she was a spoiled Princess and he was the man of war? Silent now–mutinously silent–Aranya swooped down to land near the Sylakian fortress. She did not dare look at him for fear that she’d snap at her Rider.
“Being Dragon and Rider is different to being Human-Aranya and Yolathion,” he added. “Don’t get the two confused.”
Aranya landed. There was so much fire in her, the air shimmered in front of her nose upon each exhalation. “You can dismount,” she said.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m hungry. I need to hunt.”
Yolathion’s expression clearly communicated that he thought she needed to cool off. But he said, “Will you wait until we secure the surrender?”
“I’ll wait overhead,” said Aranya, dismissing him with her tone.
The Jeradian made a show of marching off in a fit of pique. He ignored the gust generated by Aranya’s wings as she launched into the air.
Sapphire came to keep her company while the Amethyst Dragon whiled away the hours it took to track down the Warlord of Haffal Cluster. After that, she hunted for herself and the dragonets. She felt a little foolish at the satisfaction she took in tearing a giant ralti sheep limb from limb, but one hundred and fifty-five tiny appetites–the dragonets had lost five of their number in the battle–and one much larger one took care of the entire beast within a quarter-hour.
Later that afternoon, as the Immadian force worked on repairing the least damaged of the Dragonships, the Warlord reappeared in a fake, chest-thumping rage to demand payment for the sheep from King Beran.
“I guess keeping a Dragon isn’t a cheap option,” her father teased her afterward.
“I’m sure I could convince him otherwise,” said Aranya. “Ungrateful troglodyte.”
“Been saving that word for a special occasion?” King Beran’s eyes, however, twinkled at her. “Easy there, Sparky. Let me explain. It’s a matter of Western Isles pride. We shamed him in the eyes of his warriors by defeating his enemies. This is a way of saving face–hence the ridiculous overpayment.”
“And the delivery of the Sylakian soldiers to the Warlord …”
Beran nodded. “A tough reality, but the type of decision a King needs to be prepared to take. These Sylakians have been killing Isles warriors by the dozen. They had six of their women locked up in the fortress.” His voice thickened with anger. “To tell you how they were mistreated and abused … it would make the most hard-bitten warrior retch, Aranya. I imagine their torture will last a very long time. But we would otherwise disrespect them. We cannot afford to leave disgruntled Warlords behind us. Our forces are spread too thin as it is.”
“But we’ve tripled our Dragonship fleet, Dad.”
“Aye, Sparky.” His eyes softened as he regarded her across the table. “Now, tell me about this flaming row you had with Yolathion.”
* * * *
The weather grew hotter and stickier the further south the combined Immadian, Jeradian and Western Isles forces progressed. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the clouds gathering and darkening on the horizon, but that distant army never marched across the sky. The Islands rose out of the Cloudlands as though their southward progress was a hike up a long, gradual incline, until every rugged massif stood a half-league or more above the brown-tinged clouds. The round, thatched-roof huts grew ever more elaborate, a far cry from the animal-skin shelters she had assumed were standard Western Isles dwellings, and the vegetation impenetrable.
Aranya hunted for the Dragon Fra’anior had demanded she find, but there was neither hide nor hair of such a beast to be
So she was a spoiled Princess and he was the man of war? Silent now–mutinously silent–Aranya swooped down to land near the Sylakian fortress. She did not dare look at him for fear that she’d snap at her Rider.
“Being Dragon and Rider is different to being Human-Aranya and Yolathion,” he added. “Don’t get the two confused.”
Aranya landed. There was so much fire in her, the air shimmered in front of her nose upon each exhalation. “You can dismount,” she said.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m hungry. I need to hunt.”
Yolathion’s expression clearly communicated that he thought she needed to cool off. But he said, “Will you wait until we secure the surrender?”
“I’ll wait overhead,” said Aranya, dismissing him with her tone.
The Jeradian made a show of marching off in a fit of pique. He ignored the gust generated by Aranya’s wings as she launched into the air.
Sapphire came to keep her company while the Amethyst Dragon whiled away the hours it took to track down the Warlord of Haffal Cluster. After that, she hunted for herself and the dragonets. She felt a little foolish at the satisfaction she took in tearing a giant ralti sheep limb from limb, but one hundred and fifty-five tiny appetites–the dragonets had lost five of their number in the battle–and one much larger one took care of the entire beast within a quarter-hour.
Later that afternoon, as the Immadian force worked on repairing the least damaged of the Dragonships, the Warlord reappeared in a fake, chest-thumping rage to demand payment for the sheep from King Beran.
“I guess keeping a Dragon isn’t a cheap option,” her father teased her afterward.
“I’m sure I could convince him otherwise,” said Aranya. “Ungrateful troglodyte.”
“Been saving that word for a special occasion?” King Beran’s eyes, however, twinkled at her. “Easy there, Sparky. Let me explain. It’s a matter of Western Isles pride. We shamed him in the eyes of his warriors by defeating his enemies. This is a way of saving face–hence the ridiculous overpayment.”
“And the delivery of the Sylakian soldiers to the Warlord …”
Beran nodded. “A tough reality, but the type of decision a King needs to be prepared to take. These Sylakians have been killing Isles warriors by the dozen. They had six of their women locked up in the fortress.” His voice thickened with anger. “To tell you how they were mistreated and abused … it would make the most hard-bitten warrior retch, Aranya. I imagine their torture will last a very long time. But we would otherwise disrespect them. We cannot afford to leave disgruntled Warlords behind us. Our forces are spread too thin as it is.”
“But we’ve tripled our Dragonship fleet, Dad.”
“Aye, Sparky.” His eyes softened as he regarded her across the table. “Now, tell me about this flaming row you had with Yolathion.”
* * * *
The weather grew hotter and stickier the further south the combined Immadian, Jeradian and Western Isles forces progressed. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the clouds gathering and darkening on the horizon, but that distant army never marched across the sky. The Islands rose out of the Cloudlands as though their southward progress was a hike up a long, gradual incline, until every rugged massif stood a half-league or more above the brown-tinged clouds. The round, thatched-roof huts grew ever more elaborate, a far cry from the animal-skin shelters she had assumed were standard Western Isles dwellings, and the vegetation impenetrable.
Aranya hunted for the Dragon Fra’anior had demanded she find, but there was neither hide nor hair of such a beast to be
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