Aranya (Shapeshifter Dragons) (19 page)

On the evening of the second day, they made ready to depart.

“A decent loop around Tyrodia,” said Zip, “and then we strike for Remoy. This cloud cover should help. Can you see when it’s this dark?”

“Well enough to bite you.
Yes, Zip. I see much better in the dark than–”

“Good.” Zuziana fixed their packs in place. “I’ve clothes ready for you. We might want to scout the town, although I’m quite well known and a tall Northerner would stick out like–”

“–a Dragon flying across Iridith’s face on a cloudless night?”

“Quite.”

Aranya looked her friend over. “You aren’t wearing a headscarf?”

“
We don’t have Remoyan headscarves,” said Zip. “These Sylakian ones would brand us immediately–as Sylakians. That could be unhealthy in the wrong quarter of town.”

“Unless you’ve a Dragon in your pocket.”

Zip put her hands to her hips and regarded her friend sternly. “Unless we’ve already alerted the entire Sylakian fleet to our presence, Aranya. Don’t look so woebegone. We’ll get better at this, I promise.”

Aranya
huffed crossly.

Putting her hand beneath Aranya’s chin, Zuziana scratched her as one would scratch a cat to make it purr. “Where’s my proud, fierce little Dragon, then?”

The Dragon’s scowl deepened. Perhaps, as Nak had suggested, a little nibble of Zuziana might not be inappropriate. She did have beautiful hair, Aranya thought, lustrous brown ringlets which tumbled down her back. She said, “I love your hair, Zip. Maybe we should start a fashion.”

“Princess of Remoy refuses to wear
a headscarf?” Zuziana grinned. “Imagine the scandal.”

“Dragon enforces Remoy’s ban on headscarves.”

“Now you’re talking. No, what about ‘Dragon burns all headscarves’?”

Aranya pretended to consider this. “
A little unhealthy for the heads inside them, I’d say.”

They chuckled for a long time after that.

Driven along by a fresh breeze, they flew southward all that night, avoiding Tyrodia Island by a respectable margin. Aranya flew as high as she dared, given that another squall was developing–the south Islands being completely different to the North in this respect. Immadia always had autumn storms; Remoy, thundery spring squalls. At intervals she rested on the wing, gliding along for half an hour or so, which was a trick Oyda had suggested to extend the flying range of a Dragon.

Zip kept asking, “Can you see Remoy yet?”

Aranya shook her head. “It’s a long haul, Zip. I’m doing my best.”

“Shall I disembark and push?”

“Shall I snack on the toes of your left foot or the right?”

But Zuziana did curl up to make herself as small as possible, reducing the tiny drag her body caused on the airstream flowing over Aranya’s back. Soon after, Aranya heard her snoring softly.

She wished she could sleep mid-flight.

As dawn sulked in, filtering through the overcast skies, Aranya sighted the
tall dome of Remoy Island. Her focus brought her a sight of the eighteen terrace-lake levels for which Remoy was renowned, before the rain blurred her vision. Zuziana awoke with a cross exclamation.

“I saw Remoy,” Aranya told her.

“You did?” Zip brightened. “Brr, I’m cold. This rain should at least clean you off, Aranya.”

“Break out the soap and you can have a bath, too.”

Zuziana wiped her streaming face. “I appreciate your honesty, you ill-bred Immadian. Actually, this storm’s good. Shall we make straight for that inner garden I told you about?”

Aranya nodded. “If we’re willing to fly up into the storm. Remoy’s high, Zip.”

Her Rider said, “Nak said lightning was no problem.” But her voice betrayed how little she believed that statement.

Dragon-Aranya agreed with Zuziana’s assessment. No soldier liked the rain. They would take to the nearest shelter, disinclined to watch the sky. Making straight for the inner courtyard of Remoy’s Royal Palace would place them among people likely to be friendly
, even to a Dragon who had severely irritated the greatest power in the Island-World.

Under Zip’s direction, Aranya hurried skyward, crossing terrace after terrace brimful of water until she screamed up over the brow of Remoy, called the Jade Isle, and she saw at least a little of its famed beauty–the waving fields of jade-coloured mohili wheat, the great lines of khaki-green oaks protecting them from the elements, the jewel-like lakes scattered across its surface.
There, dimly seen in the distance, were the towers and battlements of a city which had defied the Sylakian horde for the better part of a year’s siege.

She flapped harder, pressing up into the storm, concealing them amidst the first wispy clouds as they winged toward the city. Zip shivered and shivered. Aranya checked–her lips were blue, but Zip only smiled and peered over her friend’s shoulder
. She pointed out the Palace.

Once Aranya hovered above the inner garden, she folded her wings and hurtled down like a thunderbolt.

Abruptly she flared her wings, taking the strain in her shoulders as before, before landing hard with all four legs flexed to absorb the impact. Even so, her landing punched the breath out of her lungs.

“A bit rough,” said Zip, unbuckling her straps. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Aranya coughed. “I need more practice at this subterfuge.” She moved behind a broad fig tree, and transformed.

Their travel packs landed on her head.

Quickly, Aranya changed into a dress–which was instantly soaked by the pounding rain–and put her hair roughly up into a hairnet. Stowing the packs and their saddle behind the tree for the time being, the Princesses stole through the bushes. The garden was dense, as Zuziana had predicted; bounded on all four sides by the five-story Palace building. This part was the royal apartments. A further screen of buildings and a huge wall protected the royal apartments from the outside world.

Zip pointed to a spiral staircase leading to the third level. Aranya nodded.

They put up their hoods and rushed to the stairs.

A quick climb brought them to the third floor. Zip checked all around before crossing the walkway, which was open to the elements, to a set of wooden doors. She put her ear to the door.

“Password?” came a deep voice.

Zip blanched. “Er–haribol fruit?”

The soldier, who had appeared from a hidden alcove, peered beneath her hood. “Oh, it’s you, Princess Graziala. Don’t use old passwords in the future. The King would have me whipped.”

He opened the door.

A sweet curl of incense came to Aranya’s nostrils. She heard the sounds of children playing in a nearby room. She saw rows of family portraits lining the walls, which were nicely executed, if a little stern. Remoyans were evidently fond of frilly dresses–at least in the past–and military uniforms that included a vast spray of feathers on the helm and a strange type of banded metal armour she had never seen except in an illustration in a scroll.

“This way,” said Zip.
“We need to find one of my mothers, or an older sister.”

One of her
mothers? Aranya realised she was about to receive a rapid education in the ways of Remoyan families, which were completely alien to her experience. She had to remind herself not to duck through the doorways as though she were the size of a Dragon.

“Who’s playing that lovely instrument?”
asked Aranya.

“Oh … that’ll be Graziala. The real Graziala,” Zip smiled. “
That’s a Remoyan pan-flute she’s playing. We’re quite the look-alikes, although not as much as the twins. She’s a good choice.”

She led Aranya down a short corridor to a room at the end. The door stood ajar. Aranya saw a girl concentrating fiercely on playi
ng a pan-flute, side-on to them. It could have been Zip’s twin standing before the tall wooden music stand, which held such a thick sheaf of music she was surprised it did not fall over. The room was clearly used for music practice–she saw several harps and even a Sylakian triple-drum standing in a corner.

Zuziana tiptoed up to Graziala. “Your A-flat should be slightly sharper, Grazi,” she pointed out.

“Oh, Zuzi, it’s … Zuzi? Zuziana! Oh, my sweet petal …”

Poor Graziala was so overcome she burst into tears. She kept sobbing, ‘Zuzi, my Zuzi,’ and hugging her sister as though she would never let her go. Nor would Zip’s tears stop flowing. Aranya watched them and tried not to regret the fact that they were in Remoy and not hundreds of leagues north in her own home, Immadia.

Finally, Zuziana pushed gently apart from her sister and said, “Grazi, I need a huge favour. We’re not supposed to be here. I need you to discreetly fetch Father and bring him here without alerting anyone–”

“
Sylakian? I … I know you’re in trouble, Zuzi. I’ll get him, at once.”

S
he walked quickly to the door, threw a tremulous smile over her shoulder, and vanished.

Zip immediately took to pacing up and dow
n. Aranya sat on a small stool. She tried to distract herself by looking over the magnificent furnishings of the music chamber.

Shortly
, footsteps echoed in the corridor. Aranya imagined that the King of Remoy was walking with haste, but trying to keep some kind of decorum. Somewhere halfway down the corridor, he broke into a dead run.

Zuziana had described her family as one which ‘did nothing by halves’. What followed was exactly that–a tearful, joyous reunion that quickly spilled over to five of her brothers and
three mothers and several sisters. Zip was so swamped in the middle of it all that Aranya lost sight of her at times and wondered if she would be squashed by all that love. Happy chaos reigned.

They were all tiny. Hardly one of the family stood over five feet tall, Aranya thought. King Lorman was the tallest at perhaps five
foot five inches. He was also comfortably well-rounded and sported the most fantastic moustache she had ever seen–a hairy caterpillar at least ten inches long. She knew she was being rude, but could not help staring.

E
ventually, King Lorman pushed out of the crowd and approached Aranya. She rose and accepted his formal greetings, which were gracious, yet underpinned by what she took for suspicion. King Lorman must know that the Sylakians were searching for them, she thought. He must know Princess Zuziana had disappeared from the Tower of Sylakia. Yet here she was, standing wet and happy in his chambers back in her native Remoy. She could tell his tongue longed to ask many questions.

Instead, he welcomed her warmly and bade the weary travellers rest
, bathe and refresh themselves.

But she knew the questions would come.

G
raziala burst into
their chambers, crying, “Quick, you must hide. Hurry. Into the tunnels.”

Aranya sat bolt-upright in her bed. She had not meant to fall asleep, but the tiredness seemed etched
in every bone of her body. Her head felt muzzy. Hide? What tunnels? Where was she? Her bed had never seemed so soft and welcoming.

“Aranya
. Hurry.” Zip rushed over to the bed and grabbed her arm. “The Sylakians are here!”

“Here? Can’t be.”

The two Remoyans hustled her out of the bedchamber and along a corridor. Aranya rubbed her eyes. This was crazy. How could the Sylakians have known? Or was it a result of their running into the war fleet at Tyrodia Island? What grief might now fall upon Zuziana and her family?

Suddenly, she was thrust through a narrow doorway. She heard stone click behind her. All became dark
. Her flame licked around her intestines, low and hungry and afraid.

“Secret tunnel,” Zip whispered. “Come. I know
where we can spy on them.”

Aranya felt for her friend’s hand in the darkness. Oh, for Dragon sight
. But Zip seemed to know exactly where she was going.

“I e
xplored these tunnels loads of times in my misspent youth,” said Zuziana, answering the unspoken question.

“I can imagine.”

She felt rather than saw Zip’s answering scowl.

They stumbled along
a narrow passageway, taking several turns and forks, before Zip slowed and whispered to Aranya to be very quiet. She crept up a short flight of steps, and pointed to a screen through which light filtered. She mimed listening.

Putting her eye to the screen in imitation of Zuziana, Aranya found herself looking out over a receiving-hall–not the formal throne-room of Remoy, most likely, but a smaller chamber that a King might use for private business. King Lorman and three of his wives sat on formal chairs facing the doorway, which immediately opened to allow
the entry of a Sylakian officer and his cohort.

Aranya
bit her knuckles to thwart a squeak of surprise. Yolathion!

She did not appreciate Zuziana’s sly elbow in the ribs either. She silently let out the breath she was holding when she realised that the hall below did not require additional lighting
other than the vivid afternoon suns-light. None below would know of the leap of an Immadian Princess’ heart, expressed in the surging of her inner fires.

After a brief, formal greeting, Yolathion rumbled, “I have orders to search your Palace and grounds for dangerous criminals, King Lorman–including your daughter Zuziana. If you’re harbouring someone here, I suggest you give them up now.”

“Dangerous criminals?” Lorman echoed. “I heard reports, of course, that my daughter had escaped from the Tower of Sylakia. I hope she has not caused so much trouble that a Third War-Hammer must hunt her down by Dragonship.”

“I bring
ten
Dragonships to Remoy,” Yolathion growled. Aranya caught her breath. “We’ve reason to suspect King Beran of Immadia’s involvement in a plot against First War-Hammer Garthion’s life. As you have been informed, your daughter was involved with the Immadian Princess, who was executed on the Last Walk for treason. She was an enchantress. Now, Zuziana has been reported in the company of a Dragon on Tyrodia Island, where she destroyed a Dragonship. A strange coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“Some troops are blaming a Dragonship accident on a Dragon? What fireside tales are these, Third War-Hammer?”

Yolathion drew himself up and barked, “We will search the Palace!”

King Lorman spread his hands. “W
e’re at your service, Sylakian. I will order every door and cupboard, every larder and cellar and storage room, opened for your inspection. You will have our fullest cooperation.”

The young commander clicked his heels together and said to his aide, “Leave no stone unturned.”

Five
hundred
Sylakian warriors? Aranya exchanged a loaded glance with Zuziana. They had arrived on Remoy on the heels of a storm. How did the Sylakians know? Did they suspect they were here? And it was Yolathion, of all people, who was hunting for her. What an irony. What a beastly, unbelievable irony.

King Lorman said, “Is this the same Princess of Immadia who saved the First War-Hammer Ignathion from a windroc?”

Yolathion said, “One and the same. The enchantress slew a windroc with a pair of Immadian forked daggers–the same forked daggers which were found on the battlements where a Dragon escaped with your daughter.”

“And now you’re saying my Zuziana was kidnapped
–by a
Dragon?
”

Aranya rapidly ran through the conversation in her head. The only
conclusion Yolathion had missed was that she
was
the Dragon. He believed she was dead. But his words had backed her into a corner. King Lorman knew his daughter had arrived with a real, live Princess of Immadia. The number of Princesses of Immadia in the Island-World numbered exactly one, unless Silha had been delivered of a daughter–her baby had to be due soon.

If she were Lorman, she would start asking her questions at the point of a dagger.

As if to confirm her thoughts, Yolathion stiffly informed King Lorman that he had personally cast the enchantress to her death in the Cloudlands. There were dark undercurrents in his words; a dangerous strain that Aranya did not understand. For now, as Lorman asked if Ignathion was his father, the giant Jeradian said, in dangerously soft tones:

“I know my duty, Lorman,
as I hope you know yours to Sylakia. If you do not, I’ve orders to teach it to you at the stroke of a hammer.”

By that, he meant what had happened to Rolodia, and other Islands. Annihilation.
Aranya put a hand to her febrile forehead. Burning hot, again. When would she learn to control her feelings?

Zuziana whispered, “He’s so leopard. Especially when he’s trying to hunt us.”

But before Aranya could decide how to respond, down in the hall, King Lorman rose from his seat to approach Yolathion. “Third War-Hammer, I apologise for aggravating you. You must understand that tumours of Dragons are like rumours of beer in Remoy’s taverns. But my chief concern is for my daughter Zuziana. I would do anything to keep her safe.”

Yolathion inclined his head. “Of course.”

King Lorman began to tell Yolathion about the last Dragon, found in Remoy’s deadly inner forests. He offered to have intelligence about Dragon sightings brought for Yolathion’s review. Shortly, servants appeared with a seat, a desk, refreshments and a pile of ancient-looking logbooks for the War-Hammer to peruse. He read and asked many questions of King Lorman, while his soldiers searched the Palace high and low.

After the Sylakians
had departed, Zip and Aranya lay low for several more hours in the secret passageway. Zip quietly asked Aranya what she meant to do.

“I’m afraid I
will need to tell him,” she replied, shivering. “Moreover, I’ll need to show him, Zip. Forgive the question, but, can your father be trusted? And your family?”

Zip bristled, but her reply was even. “With my life, Aranya. But I would not presume to dictate how you
should choose to risk yours.”

“Except that we are Rider and Dragon.”

Zuziana pulled Aranya into an unexpected hug. “Except for that minor, Island-shivering detail, yes. Aranya–just to say, I intend to stick with you.”

Aranya hugged her so hard that Zuziana gasped.

As expected, the King’s summons soon arrived. Aranya and Zuziana approached him in the same hall Yolathion had so recently occupied. King Lorman regarded Aranya with the air of a stern tutor about to tell off a truant student. She squared her shoulders. Let him see that a Princess of Immadia would comport herself with dignity. Let him not see her trepidation.

King Lorman, who was a head shorter than Aranya, nevertheless fixed her with a piercing gaze. “So, I trust you heard all? The Sylakians branded you two ‘dangerous criminals’
. They sent five hundred men to track you down. Congratulations on warranting such a ridiculous show of force.” He wagged his finger at her, bristling like an angry rajal. “So, Princess of Immadia, I ask you now to declare your interest in my daughter. I know Zuziana, but I do not know you, nor how you escaped the fate of the Last Walk. You appear barefoot at my door amidst a storm. You drop, as it were, from the sky. Of course I am pleased to see Zuziana. Delighted! But I am also perplexed.”

“Aranya saved my lif
e, Father,” Zip interjected. “I’ll vouch for her.”

Lorman nodded, but did not remove his eyes from Aranya for a second. “I would hear from Immadia. For the sake of my daughter, I threaten with neither blade nor arrow nor dungeon–but I do demand the truth.”

Aranya raised her chin. “King Lorman, upon the honour of Immadia, I swear that I intend no harm to you, your household, or to the people of Remoy, in what I am about to reveal to you.”

At her side, Zip made a sound like a sigh of regret.

The King smiled, grimly. “So?”

“Please stand back, Zip.”
Aranya bit her tongue before blurting out, “I am a Dragon, and Zuziana is my Rider.”

She transformed.

She had supposed her Dragon form would appear from elsewhere to replace Human-Aranya. Instead, for the first time, she felt how it blossomed from within, a miraculous web of energies shimmering outward from the elemental core of her being. Her clothing ripped like gossamer spiderweb blasted by storm winds. Everything changed. A forty-foot Dragon filled the King’s chamber. Her head loomed over him and his wives. Her tail curled against the far door.

King Lorman sat fr
ozen. His three Queens screamed in concert. One bolted for the door. Lorman shouted at his son, one of Zuziana’s brothers, to hold the door shut.

“King Lorman,” growled the Dragon, “I am Aranya, Princess of Immadia. I burgled the Tower of Sylakia to bring Zuziana out. I carried her upon my back from Sylakia to Remoy, in order that we might seek knowledge of my kind. Zuziana and I destroyed a Dragonship on
Tyrodia Island. We apologise for breaking into your Palace and ambushing you with our presence.”

Zip came to stand alongside her. “I am Zuziana of Remoy, and I am honoured to be this Dragon’s Rider and friend. All that Aranya has said, is true.”

Carefully, Aranya lowered herself to one knee, until she was able to bring her head beneath the level of King Lorman’s position. “King Lorman of Remoy, I beg your mercy.”

Zuzi
ana knelt beside her. “Father, we beg your mercy.”

The King stood abruptly, wiping tears off his cheeks. “Never did I imagine a day when I would speak to a Dragon in my own Palace
. Arise, Dragon. Arise, my daughter. You have brought a father a precious gift, the life of a daughter I thought dead. You’ve brought a Dragon back to Remoy. Ask whatever it is you want or need and I shall grant it, even if I should move these Islands of Remoy off of their foundations in the doing.”

“Oh, Dad,” Zip
sobbed, flinging herself into his arms.

* * * *

Aranya entered the huge bathing-chamber shyly. Despite King Lorman’s assurances that she could better hide behind rumour and stories of Dragons than she imagined, she felt unsure. He was certain he could mislead and confuse the Sylakians by planting stories of sightings all over the neighbouring Islands, and even beyond. He declared that Yolathion would be chasing his tail for months.

Every female child of Zip’s immediate family, and two of her mothers, seemed to be present. Aranya was deeply grateful that their custom of communal bathing did not include the men as well. There was Zip, no
t wearing a stitch of clothing and perfectly brazen about it. Children played and splashed in the shallower pools. No servants were present. At least King Lorman was being a little discreet.

She vanished behind a changing screen. There was no point in destroying another set of clothes.

Fungus? She shuddered. Zip had insisted that she needed to be scrubbed. Rolling in the mud back on Tyrodia Island had done her no favours.

On second thoughts, Aranya pushed the screen over a few feet to make room, and transformed.

That rendered the screen rather pointless.

Her claws clicked on the floor as
Dragon-Aranya headed for the largest pool. Despite having been warned, several of the children shrieked. There was a rush for mothers and older siblings. Aranya sank into the hot water with a sigh. Beautiful. She tried not to think about how meeting a Dragon scared the living pith out of most people. But Zip immediately began encouraging her sisters to come and see the ‘nice’ Dragon. Aranya took a mouthful of water and squirted it at Zuziana. Goodness, that jet was powerful. The smaller children began to giggle as Zip put her hands on her hips and pretended to give Aranya a severe telling-off. She passed out long-handled brushes and ordered Aranya to lie at the side of the pool.

“But I didn’t have time to soak,” Aranya pouted.
She clambered out of the pool, taking great care to check that no children had snuck beneath her without her noticing.