sky-quadruped.
“You kept calling me ‘Dragoness’,” she said. “I could not understand how you intuitively grasped my nature. We Shapeshifters are not exactly common about the Isles, and we keep a low profile. Did my distraction not work?”
“Oh, that bit worked perfectly.”
The Dragoness showed him the fire roiling on her tongue. “The stench of your lewd thoughts burns my nostrils, scoundrel. But Kal, how did you know?”
Time for a knowing wink. “Magic.”
“Magic? No magic in the history of this Island-World has ever been able to detect a Shapeshifter’s presence from either their Dragon or Human forms.”
“With one exception–the magic of Hualiama Dragonfriend.”
A monstrous fireball split the morning sky, expiring just above the curve of the Yellow moon, looming over two-thirds of the western horizon. Kal clutched his saddle, white-knuckled, half-expecting Tazi’s head to snake back over her shoulder and shorten him by a rather essential part of his anatomy.
She panted, “How under the twin suns did you come by such knowledge? Kallion, this is deep Dragon lore; a Shapeshifter secret. Swear you will never repeat it! Swear!”
Despite the flames boiling above his head as she hissed at him, Kal broke out in a cold sweat. Stiffly, he said, “There’s no need for intimidation, Dragoness. I wish for truth between us. I learned this when I lived with the monks of Ya’arriol Island for two years.”
“See, I knew you were a monk.”
However, there was scant levity in her tone. Kal knew he had overstepped an invisible line, boasting to a quick-tempered Dragoness. Fool. They had made no promises to each other. With a thought, she could loosen his saddle and drop him into the Cloudlands, where his bones would rot in oblivion for all eternity.
“I took no vows,” he muttered. “I was searching their library for knowledge of your Dragon roost, Tazithiel, when the monks captured me.”
“You learned Dragonish from the monks?” she growled. “I wondered at your accent. A touch barbaric, but linguistically accomplished.”
Compliment or condescension? He could not tell. Kal settled for a flat, “Aye.”
“Tell me what you know of Shapeshifters.”
“The scrolls call Hualiama the mother of all Shapeshifters, and the first Dragon Rider. She broke the ancient taboo of Humans riding Dragonback. Some academics accuse the Ancient Dragon Dramagon of designing or breeding Shapeshifters, but the lore of the Dragon the monks worship–the Black Dragon Fra’anior himself–” Tazithiel’s shiver communicated to him through his seat “–clearly labels the Dragonfriend as the progenitor of your kind. Apparently there’s a trio of lost scrolls which recount her tale.”
“The Dragonfriend Saga.” Her whisper was reverence itself.
“Aye. Those scrolls must tell a tale indeed. A Human woman who called Grandion the Tourmaline Dragon, her Dragonlove?” Kal shook his head slowly. “I can only imagine that notion flying like a lead balloon among the Dragonkind. What singular courage she must have exhibited. Tazi, what colour are you? Tourmaline? Could you be Hualiama’s descendent?”
“I’m Indigo, mostly.” Her voice was faraway, her mind engaged in contemplations Kal could only guess at. “Could you ever call someone your Dragonlove, Kal? Could you?” Tazi’s muzzle jerked away. “Don’t answer. Sorry I asked.”
Kal let out the breath her question had trapped in his throat. He uncurled his clenched fingers from the saddle straps.
“Heritage among Shapeshifters is peculiar, Kal. We do not always trace our roots by direct lineage, for there is also a spiritual heritage–why I should reveal such mysteries to a man of your ilk, I cannot fathom.”
Distinctly, he heard her fangs grinding together. True. Painful truth, surprisingly. He would not trust himself with such secrets; secrets which could be sold for a king’s ransom. But if the reinvented Kal wished to place his mark
“You kept calling me ‘Dragoness’,” she said. “I could not understand how you intuitively grasped my nature. We Shapeshifters are not exactly common about the Isles, and we keep a low profile. Did my distraction not work?”
“Oh, that bit worked perfectly.”
The Dragoness showed him the fire roiling on her tongue. “The stench of your lewd thoughts burns my nostrils, scoundrel. But Kal, how did you know?”
Time for a knowing wink. “Magic.”
“Magic? No magic in the history of this Island-World has ever been able to detect a Shapeshifter’s presence from either their Dragon or Human forms.”
“With one exception–the magic of Hualiama Dragonfriend.”
A monstrous fireball split the morning sky, expiring just above the curve of the Yellow moon, looming over two-thirds of the western horizon. Kal clutched his saddle, white-knuckled, half-expecting Tazi’s head to snake back over her shoulder and shorten him by a rather essential part of his anatomy.
She panted, “How under the twin suns did you come by such knowledge? Kallion, this is deep Dragon lore; a Shapeshifter secret. Swear you will never repeat it! Swear!”
Despite the flames boiling above his head as she hissed at him, Kal broke out in a cold sweat. Stiffly, he said, “There’s no need for intimidation, Dragoness. I wish for truth between us. I learned this when I lived with the monks of Ya’arriol Island for two years.”
“See, I knew you were a monk.”
However, there was scant levity in her tone. Kal knew he had overstepped an invisible line, boasting to a quick-tempered Dragoness. Fool. They had made no promises to each other. With a thought, she could loosen his saddle and drop him into the Cloudlands, where his bones would rot in oblivion for all eternity.
“I took no vows,” he muttered. “I was searching their library for knowledge of your Dragon roost, Tazithiel, when the monks captured me.”
“You learned Dragonish from the monks?” she growled. “I wondered at your accent. A touch barbaric, but linguistically accomplished.”
Compliment or condescension? He could not tell. Kal settled for a flat, “Aye.”
“Tell me what you know of Shapeshifters.”
“The scrolls call Hualiama the mother of all Shapeshifters, and the first Dragon Rider. She broke the ancient taboo of Humans riding Dragonback. Some academics accuse the Ancient Dragon Dramagon of designing or breeding Shapeshifters, but the lore of the Dragon the monks worship–the Black Dragon Fra’anior himself–” Tazithiel’s shiver communicated to him through his seat “–clearly labels the Dragonfriend as the progenitor of your kind. Apparently there’s a trio of lost scrolls which recount her tale.”
“The Dragonfriend Saga.” Her whisper was reverence itself.
“Aye. Those scrolls must tell a tale indeed. A Human woman who called Grandion the Tourmaline Dragon, her Dragonlove?” Kal shook his head slowly. “I can only imagine that notion flying like a lead balloon among the Dragonkind. What singular courage she must have exhibited. Tazi, what colour are you? Tourmaline? Could you be Hualiama’s descendent?”
“I’m Indigo, mostly.” Her voice was faraway, her mind engaged in contemplations Kal could only guess at. “Could you ever call someone your Dragonlove, Kal? Could you?” Tazi’s muzzle jerked away. “Don’t answer. Sorry I asked.”
Kal let out the breath her question had trapped in his throat. He uncurled his clenched fingers from the saddle straps.
“Heritage among Shapeshifters is peculiar, Kal. We do not always trace our roots by direct lineage, for there is also a spiritual heritage–why I should reveal such mysteries to a man of your ilk, I cannot fathom.”
Distinctly, he heard her fangs grinding together. True. Painful truth, surprisingly. He would not trust himself with such secrets; secrets which could be sold for a king’s ransom. But if the reinvented Kal wished to place his mark
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