this hatchling.”
Silver, would you summon Chymasion, please? Pip asked.
Kassik arched an eyebrow. “He’s flying already?”
“I’m surprised you couldn’t hear the whoops from here, Master. Chymasion has already been fitted with a Dragon Rider saddle and flies aloft with Arosia.”
Balthion growled, “I accept, Pip. But just remember, I’m flying with you this time. I expect my camp to be made perfectly every night, hot tea on demand and my boots polished to Sylakian War-Hammer standards. Understood?”
“Certainly Master. Silver will be happy to oblige.”
Silver just aimed an unsheathed talon at her, which set both Masters laughing.
Kassik threw an arm about Balthion’s shoulders. “So, old friend. Shall we share a glass of my best Mejian red, before we go check on our students’ preparations? You choose which ones you’d like to boot first, and I’ll see to the rest.”
“Well done and bargained for.” Balthion clasped forearms with the Brown Shapeshifter.
“And me?” asked Pip.
“Haven’t you got boots to polish?” Master Balthion waggled his eyebrows at her, which always made her laugh. “Go remind Kaiatha to pack her father’s secret diary. Has she unscrambled it yet? I’ve an itch inside my left ear that says we’ll need that information to find the Order of Onyx.”
“Yes, Master.”
“And, Pip?” Kassik called.
Pip turned, already halfway to Silver. “Something else, Master?”
“Excellent work today, Pygmy girl. But no more surprises before bedtime, alright?”
“How can I promise the impossible, Master?”
* * * *
Bitter cold. She had known midwinter’s bite in the Sylakian zoo, yet this was bitterer. Deathly cold had attended the deaths of friends in her dormitory. This was deeper. She had known the chill of Telisia’s poison stealing between bone and marrow, between spirit and fire, yet this cold froze the very pith of a person’s living soul. Immedicable. Inescapable. Burning like cold-fire.
Pip whimpered in her sleep.
She wanted to run, to hide, for the shadow sought her unerringly, and the touch of its invisible claw was death. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. Her eyeballs froze in their sockets. Frost crept through her veins, halting the latticework flow of life’s warmth, freezing in perpetuity that which was Pip. Her skin grew whiter than winter’s mantle, even the rich mahogany of her Pygmy birthright stolen by the march of her infirmity, the antithesis of all that was hale and golden and Dragon fire.
The creature hunted, its siren cry ringing across the leagues between the Islands, fey and furious. She cowered. Quailed. No! Not her Dragoness … the Shadow turned, seeing with eyes not of any world she knew, seeking … orienting on her …
“No!” With a scream, Pip fled her bunk bed and landed on her tailbone. Again.
Yaethi’s arms! Real and warm, they gripped her with a strength as tenacious and hope-imbuing as life itself.
“Oh, oh, oh mercy, Yaethi … it was here, the beast …”
At the same time, her friend whispered, “Pip, your skin’s ice! Are you alright?”
“It’s here!”
“Pip, nothing’s–Arrabon?”
The Green Dragon’s voice issued from right outside the dormitory’s closed and barred shutters. “I sense nothing, my Rider-heart.” Nothing moves amiss, Pip. Be at peace.
“Then you must go to Shimmerith, as agreed,” Yaethi said.
Into the night? Into the Shadow-creature’s realm? She stammered, “I c-can’t go o-out there!”
Courage, Pygmy Dragoness, Arrabon urged, filling her mind with overtones of safety, protection and a Dragon’s battle-readiness. Fight fear’s dark-fires.
Where was her vaunted courage now? Fled upon the wings of some ridiculous nightmare? She must go. Accepting Yaethi’s cloak, Pip padded to the First Year Girls’ dormitory door to inform Jerrion and Barrion that she would fly to Shimmerith’s roost with Arrabon. They had heard the commotion.
But she searched the
Silver, would you summon Chymasion, please? Pip asked.
Kassik arched an eyebrow. “He’s flying already?”
“I’m surprised you couldn’t hear the whoops from here, Master. Chymasion has already been fitted with a Dragon Rider saddle and flies aloft with Arosia.”
Balthion growled, “I accept, Pip. But just remember, I’m flying with you this time. I expect my camp to be made perfectly every night, hot tea on demand and my boots polished to Sylakian War-Hammer standards. Understood?”
“Certainly Master. Silver will be happy to oblige.”
Silver just aimed an unsheathed talon at her, which set both Masters laughing.
Kassik threw an arm about Balthion’s shoulders. “So, old friend. Shall we share a glass of my best Mejian red, before we go check on our students’ preparations? You choose which ones you’d like to boot first, and I’ll see to the rest.”
“Well done and bargained for.” Balthion clasped forearms with the Brown Shapeshifter.
“And me?” asked Pip.
“Haven’t you got boots to polish?” Master Balthion waggled his eyebrows at her, which always made her laugh. “Go remind Kaiatha to pack her father’s secret diary. Has she unscrambled it yet? I’ve an itch inside my left ear that says we’ll need that information to find the Order of Onyx.”
“Yes, Master.”
“And, Pip?” Kassik called.
Pip turned, already halfway to Silver. “Something else, Master?”
“Excellent work today, Pygmy girl. But no more surprises before bedtime, alright?”
“How can I promise the impossible, Master?”
* * * *
Bitter cold. She had known midwinter’s bite in the Sylakian zoo, yet this was bitterer. Deathly cold had attended the deaths of friends in her dormitory. This was deeper. She had known the chill of Telisia’s poison stealing between bone and marrow, between spirit and fire, yet this cold froze the very pith of a person’s living soul. Immedicable. Inescapable. Burning like cold-fire.
Pip whimpered in her sleep.
She wanted to run, to hide, for the shadow sought her unerringly, and the touch of its invisible claw was death. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. Her eyeballs froze in their sockets. Frost crept through her veins, halting the latticework flow of life’s warmth, freezing in perpetuity that which was Pip. Her skin grew whiter than winter’s mantle, even the rich mahogany of her Pygmy birthright stolen by the march of her infirmity, the antithesis of all that was hale and golden and Dragon fire.
The creature hunted, its siren cry ringing across the leagues between the Islands, fey and furious. She cowered. Quailed. No! Not her Dragoness … the Shadow turned, seeing with eyes not of any world she knew, seeking … orienting on her …
“No!” With a scream, Pip fled her bunk bed and landed on her tailbone. Again.
Yaethi’s arms! Real and warm, they gripped her with a strength as tenacious and hope-imbuing as life itself.
“Oh, oh, oh mercy, Yaethi … it was here, the beast …”
At the same time, her friend whispered, “Pip, your skin’s ice! Are you alright?”
“It’s here!”
“Pip, nothing’s–Arrabon?”
The Green Dragon’s voice issued from right outside the dormitory’s closed and barred shutters. “I sense nothing, my Rider-heart.” Nothing moves amiss, Pip. Be at peace.
“Then you must go to Shimmerith, as agreed,” Yaethi said.
Into the night? Into the Shadow-creature’s realm? She stammered, “I c-can’t go o-out there!”
Courage, Pygmy Dragoness, Arrabon urged, filling her mind with overtones of safety, protection and a Dragon’s battle-readiness. Fight fear’s dark-fires.
Where was her vaunted courage now? Fled upon the wings of some ridiculous nightmare? She must go. Accepting Yaethi’s cloak, Pip padded to the First Year Girls’ dormitory door to inform Jerrion and Barrion that she would fly to Shimmerith’s roost with Arrabon. They had heard the commotion.
But she searched the
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