chuckle. “More Immadian understatement? This gives a Jeradian a headache.”
“Then by all means, go cool your head in a water barrel,” said Aranya, more cheekily than she had intended. Perhaps Zuziana had rubbed off on her more than she thought? “Dad–flying fast, I can cover ten leagues in less than a quarter-hour. My vote would be to try to capture all three Islands before the twin suns break the horizon.”
Beran exclaimed, “Ah, sparks flying from my Sparky. Right, you two, let’s figure this out. Which cluster first? How quickly do you think you can get them to soil their trousers–I mean, surrender?”
“I underestimated you, Aranya,” said Yolathion, his hand warming her back. She loved it when he touched her like that, but frowned inwardly at the disapproval hinted at by the set of her father’s mouth.
“You underestimated me from the beginning,” she said.
“It won’t happen again.”
He always sounded so definite when he made his pronouncements. Aranya hid her smile beneath a courteous little cough. He had a great deal to learn about the powers of an Amethyst Dragon. That said, so did she. How exactly did she expect him to know what she did not even know herself?
Aranya said, “Help us, Yolathion. Which Island Cluster of the three should we attack first?”
As Yolathion bent to the map, pursing his lips, she caught a queer glint in her father’s eyes. Why did she sense his disapproval? After all, she had cleverly deflected Yolathion’s evident discomfort at a woman being involved in strategizing, by appealing to his wisdom. But his grey eyes seemed more hooded than usual.
Beran was not called the Immadian cliff-fox for nothing. Nor was he a rajal, all bluster and roar and posturing. No, her father was more of a leopard, cunning in the hunt and stalking his prey with great skill. But it also meant that he never said the first thing that came to his mind. His Island’s roots ran deep. Whatever was bothering him, she would either have to wait for him to make up his mind on the matter, or be even wilier than he to tease it forth.
Meantime? This Princess of Immadia was going to enjoy getting to know everything about her leopard-man. It was time he answered a few questions about his past.
* * * *
The Immadian Dragoness scared the living pith out of two Sylakian garrisons the following morning before dawn, handing them both a swift defeat. Aranya screamed over to Haffal Cluster at once, passing over a small sea of beryl and ochre Cloudlands before sighting the low Cluster half-hidden by its own layer of mists. The Islands were so different, again, to what she had thought to find. Whereas Immadia or Sylakia loomed massively out of the Cloudlands, a half a league or more of sheer cliffs above the deadly turmoil of clouds, these Western Isles were tiny and low-lying, covered in a thick beard of scrubby bushes rather than tall trees. She saw few villages, but rather what looked like tiny tent-families–animal-hide tents cleverly concealed near streams or caves, usually half a dozen in group, and always, her Dragon sight would pick out two tireless sentries standing guard. They were dark, muscular warriors, in the vein of the Warlord of Ur-Yagga she had once had acquaintance with in the Tower of Sylakia.
The hand of Sylakia did not lie heavy on these Islands, she thought. Or did it?
Southward of their flight path to Haffal Cluster, Aranya saw many more clusters of Islands, appearing conversely to rise toward the horizon. Was there an unseen land mass pushing these Islands toward the sky? Or a creature akin to what she had seen travelling beneath the Cloudlands en route to Immadia Island? One thing was for certain, King Beran’s invasion had barely brushed the edge of these Western Isles.
Where would she find the Dragon? How? She shivered.
Deeply mired in her thoughts, she did not recognise the enemy’s readiness until they were less than a league distant.
Five Immadian Dragonships
“Then by all means, go cool your head in a water barrel,” said Aranya, more cheekily than she had intended. Perhaps Zuziana had rubbed off on her more than she thought? “Dad–flying fast, I can cover ten leagues in less than a quarter-hour. My vote would be to try to capture all three Islands before the twin suns break the horizon.”
Beran exclaimed, “Ah, sparks flying from my Sparky. Right, you two, let’s figure this out. Which cluster first? How quickly do you think you can get them to soil their trousers–I mean, surrender?”
“I underestimated you, Aranya,” said Yolathion, his hand warming her back. She loved it when he touched her like that, but frowned inwardly at the disapproval hinted at by the set of her father’s mouth.
“You underestimated me from the beginning,” she said.
“It won’t happen again.”
He always sounded so definite when he made his pronouncements. Aranya hid her smile beneath a courteous little cough. He had a great deal to learn about the powers of an Amethyst Dragon. That said, so did she. How exactly did she expect him to know what she did not even know herself?
Aranya said, “Help us, Yolathion. Which Island Cluster of the three should we attack first?”
As Yolathion bent to the map, pursing his lips, she caught a queer glint in her father’s eyes. Why did she sense his disapproval? After all, she had cleverly deflected Yolathion’s evident discomfort at a woman being involved in strategizing, by appealing to his wisdom. But his grey eyes seemed more hooded than usual.
Beran was not called the Immadian cliff-fox for nothing. Nor was he a rajal, all bluster and roar and posturing. No, her father was more of a leopard, cunning in the hunt and stalking his prey with great skill. But it also meant that he never said the first thing that came to his mind. His Island’s roots ran deep. Whatever was bothering him, she would either have to wait for him to make up his mind on the matter, or be even wilier than he to tease it forth.
Meantime? This Princess of Immadia was going to enjoy getting to know everything about her leopard-man. It was time he answered a few questions about his past.
* * * *
The Immadian Dragoness scared the living pith out of two Sylakian garrisons the following morning before dawn, handing them both a swift defeat. Aranya screamed over to Haffal Cluster at once, passing over a small sea of beryl and ochre Cloudlands before sighting the low Cluster half-hidden by its own layer of mists. The Islands were so different, again, to what she had thought to find. Whereas Immadia or Sylakia loomed massively out of the Cloudlands, a half a league or more of sheer cliffs above the deadly turmoil of clouds, these Western Isles were tiny and low-lying, covered in a thick beard of scrubby bushes rather than tall trees. She saw few villages, but rather what looked like tiny tent-families–animal-hide tents cleverly concealed near streams or caves, usually half a dozen in group, and always, her Dragon sight would pick out two tireless sentries standing guard. They were dark, muscular warriors, in the vein of the Warlord of Ur-Yagga she had once had acquaintance with in the Tower of Sylakia.
The hand of Sylakia did not lie heavy on these Islands, she thought. Or did it?
Southward of their flight path to Haffal Cluster, Aranya saw many more clusters of Islands, appearing conversely to rise toward the horizon. Was there an unseen land mass pushing these Islands toward the sky? Or a creature akin to what she had seen travelling beneath the Cloudlands en route to Immadia Island? One thing was for certain, King Beran’s invasion had barely brushed the edge of these Western Isles.
Where would she find the Dragon? How? She shivered.
Deeply mired in her thoughts, she did not recognise the enemy’s readiness until they were less than a league distant.
Five Immadian Dragonships
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