She snuffled against his scales.
Then, the three younger ladies set about the loading while he acted the courteous tyrant, refusing to allow Yarimda to lift a finger. Well, she got to hold her cane. That much was permitted.
Loading was in full swing when Tarangis turned up with a cheery greeting and an exasperated, “Alright, who told all my staff to start calling me ‘Dragonbaiter,’ eh?”
Both Princesses burst into merry peals of laughter.
His eyes flickered toward Azania’s legs before patently jumping to the enormous fire breathing quadruped grinning toothily right behind her. Tarangis gulped. Ah, tested and approved. Azerim did not stand a mutton chop’s chance in the back of a Dragon’s throat.
“Inzashu’s idea,” Azania claimed.
“Ah, always the quiet ones, eh?” Tarangis grinned, rubbing his neck. “Very good. Your Highness, we were able to source all the items on your list of healing ingredients and potions. This is for you.”
She accepted the leather satchel with murmured thanks.
“Secondly, regarding the matter of the coldstones you asked me to look into. A friend with expert knowledge claims that these are not Skartunese emeralds at all, but rather, a type of green tourmaline gem called verdelite – which leads to the rather more interesting and political issue. There is only one known source of this gemstone in all of Solixambria.”
“Where’s that?” Azania inquired, checking the saddle buckles on his neck.
Double neck saddle, double up on the back. Why had he agreed to this again? Daft nobility? Flying cart had nothing on this effort.
“The interior of the volcano on Terror Isle, I believe,” said he, passing the stone over to Dragon’s paw.
Dragon swore beneath his breath.
“I … don’t understand,” Inzashu said. “What does this mean, Tarangis?”
He said, “To clarify, this mage also examined the magical properties of the stone. The precise signature of the binding runes identify this, beyond doubt, as the handiwork of Terror Clan Dragons.” Worth another blistering word, which Dragon readily supplied. “Aye. We can reasonably conclude that there is a thriving trade between the Terror Clan across the Umber Steppes and the Blood Desert, to Skartun. Therefore, the Terror Clan may be plotting against all the Dragon Clans of the Tamarine Mountains, or against Humanity in general, or both.”
“Skartun’s buying in dark magic?” Yardi growled.
“Sure looks like it,” Azania replied. “I should write to my brother at once.”
“I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a scroll summarising the findings related to your inquiry, Ambassador,” Tarangis said formally. “If you would like to read and sign it, I’ll have it dispatched to King N’chala by a trusted courier today.”
The Princess said, “Tarangis, why are you doing all this for us?”
“Highness, the proceeds of good business are far more readily enjoyed in the current life than in the afterlife.”
“True.”
“During the last invasion, the Skartun butchered my family. I was the only one who survived. So aye, it is personal. Right now, I don’t see anyone else working quite so hard to stop this fresh invasion. I’m here to wish you lightning speed and favour with the Clans of the mountains – but trust me when I say, if the talon of Terror Clan lies beneath this, we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Bending over his wheelchair, Azania gave him a hug and a kiss on the scruffy beard.
Instantly wound around her littlest talon.
One of his Dragon Rider’s finest qualities, he reflected, was that she had no idea what impact she had on people. Artless, her affection; a heart which knew no limits. Witness how she had extracted a certain morose Dragon from his lair and turned him into one who believed he could breathe fire, traverse oceans and change the face of his world.
That was the thought that buoyed his wings as he arrowed into a sky brightening from the deep purples of early dawn to ruddy furnace fires. That, and Yarimda’s laughter. Yardi had a death grip around her grandmother’s waist, holding onto an improvised saddle strap anchored to his neck. They rode in tandem, as did the Princesses upon his back, just behind the Dragon bow mount. The muscular armourer muttered as if she might be praying. Yarimda giggled like a young girl and wiped her eyes on her sleeves. The wind, of course. Nothing to do with the emotions turning her colours blue and yellow and pink, and as turbulent as the ocean.
His five hearts quickened with a fierce, pounding rhythm of joy as he recognised the longing they shared. Ocean rose inside of her, too.
Ocean always rises.
Chapter 5: Terror Clan
THE FLYING CART ITCHED worse than the two Princesses. Their skin, at least, although it had blistered and then peeled in numerous places, was recovering with gratifying speed thanks to an additional treatment Tarangis had sourced for them. Back in debt, of course. Seven paintings sold were not about to cover a spot of unintended obliteration, plus all their spending on clothing and supplies in addition to Tarangis’ earlier advance of several gold bars. Resting over lunchtime in a wooded vale in the foothills of the Tamarine mountains, he scratched endlessly at his scales, all over. The rasp of his talons was matched only by his incessant grumbling.
He wished he had never imagined what it might be like to have shivery Human skin bobbles beneath his scales. This was as if he had been doused in itching powder, infested by fifty billion scale mites, or contracted a nasty bacterial hide infection.
To distract himself, he told Yarimda the tale of their doings since last they had met. Ten minutes into his story, she vented a delicate snore.
Azania gave him one of her looks.
“I’ll have none of your
