Shadow Dragon by Marc Secchia Page A

to line Yolathion up following a roll or a dive. He took many seconds longer than Zuziana to orient himself, which in battle, would likely as not spell a crossbow quarrel between the teeth.
    Well, he was new. She had to grant him a little grace.
    “Set me down, Aranya,” said Yolathion. “I’ll help your father round them up. You keep a Dragon’s eye out for trouble.”
    “Four’s a good haul,” said Aranya.
    But the Dragoness was left drifting on the winds as the men negotiated the peace and freed the King of Yar’ola Island, locking up the Sylakian contingent and their Third-War Hammer instead. Aranya turned lazy and she hoped menacing circles over the fortress at the edge of a small town of perhaps two or three thousand citizens. She compared Yar’ola unfavourably to Immadia in her mind. Tan hills and wide pasturelands compared to soaring mountains and forests? Grr. She knew which Island she preferred. Aranya spotted a fleet of small, swift trader Dragonships moored at the far end of town. They could be useful.
    She should hunt. She wondered what Yolathion would think of his girlfriend tearing into a ralti sheep or better still, a deer. Raw venison was so much tastier than mutton. On cue, a blob of drool escaped the corner of her lip. Aranya grimaced. Perhaps Dragon manners were not for princesses.
    Later, having transformed, King Beran introduced her to King Urdagal, a dark, dapper man who took possession of her proffered hand and kissed her palm sixteen times, once for each summer of her life, he declared with an oily smile. Aranya found herself grateful for Yolathion’s dark glower which she caught from the corner of her eye. She even forgave Yolathion a jest about women taking part in strategy discussions, but smouldered as he patted her hand patronisingly when King Beran asked her opinion about which Island they should invade next.
    Urdagal suggested she might go sit with his wife and five children.
    Aranya countered by politely asking him where she could hunt and kill a wild sheep or spiral-horned buck for her dinner. Ha. These men had better wish they did not end up on the wrong end of an irascible Dragoness’ claws.
    After her private dinner, however, the giant Jeradian appeared to escort Human-Aranya on a walk around the royal lodge’s gardens. They tarried in an arbour covered in the last climbing roses of the season, the fragrant bouquet drifting around them on the barest hint of a breeze, and together watched the Mystic moon as it sailed above the Cloudlands like a stately Dragonship. Yolathion caressed her cheek with his thumb until she tilted her head upward to meet his deep, consuming gaze. Aranya’s inner fires simmered and morphed into a different form. But just as they were on the cusp of kissing, a messenger appeared to request that they board the Immadian Dragonships, for Beran planned to fly overnight and surprise the Island-Cluster of Haffal at dawn.
    King Beran looked up as Yolathion and Aranya entered the forward navigation cabin of his Dragonship. His sharp gaze noted their entwined fingers. Aranya stopped herself from releasing Yolathion’s hand, despite the flicker in her father’s eyes.
    “Urdagal offered us four hundred warriors, Sparky,” he said.
    “Good,” said Aranya. “I’ve been thinking. You told me this sector is complicated because the next three Island Clusters lie relatively close together, each having a Sylakian fortress–the Luda, Rabbal and Haffal Clusters. It’ll be difficult to take all three without alerting the Sylakians somehow.”
    “Aye, this is where the proverbial message hawk flies loose,” Beran agreed.
    “What’re the distances on the map, Dad?”
    “Ten leagues and about eighteen, I believe–oh?” His eyebrows danced. “My next question is, ‘How fast can a Dragon fly’, right?”
    “You’re slow, but you’re catching on, old man.”
    Beside her, Yolathion stiffened at her disrespectful quip, before he squeezed her arm with a low