Dragon Flight (13 page)

“Help him,” I cried to the other dragons.

At once Amacarin and Feniul were in the air, speeding towards Shardas. On the beach, Niva began pushing at the sand with her tail, whipping it from side to side in great sweeps that nearly blinded me until I pulled the collar of my tunic up over my face.

“What are you doing?”

I heard the other humans around me crying out and rustling as they, too, covered their faces.

“Making a flat space for him to land,” Niva said as though it should have been obvious. “Move aside, all of you.”

I pulled my tunic down so I could see where I was moving to. I glanced out over the strait as I clambered up a small dune to get out of the way. They were much closer now, with Feniul on one side and Amacarin on the other. Shardas’s wings were spread across their backs,
and with their forelegs linked they were flying clumsily towards us. At first I thought it was the rosy light of dawn that changed the colours of their scales. Then I squinted, looking more carefully, and what I saw made my heart shudder in my chest.

Blood was dripping from Shardas’s wings and running down the flanks of the two dragons that supported him.

“Marta, help me,” I said, scrambling back down the dune to our baggage. “We’ll need every cloak and tunic and scrap of cloth.”

“He bleeds,” Ria said in a wondering voice.

“Yes, he bleeds,” I snapped, not in the mood for her awestruck expression. “Now help or get out of the way.”

It seemed for ever before the three male dragons skidded on to the beach. At once Feniul and Amacarin rolled out of the way so that Shardas could stretch his wings out and let them at last come to rest. I ran to his head, stroking the scaly muzzle I loved so well.

“You great fool,” I said, my voice choked with tears.

“And a fine morning to you, too, Creel,” Shardas said, his familiar rumble even rockier with pain.

“What have you done to your wings?”

“Nothing good, though I hardly dare to look,” he said, heaving a huge sigh.

“Good morning, sir,” Luka said respectfully, coming over. “Is there anything we can get for you?”

“A nice basket of peaches would not be amiss,”
Shardas said. “But I suppose there are none to be had in these parts and in this season.” He chuckled, then coughed. “Some fresh water, perhaps.”

One of the newly uncollared females grabbed up a barrel that we carried as a dragon drinking cup and went at once to the stream where we were getting our water. She filled the barrel and brought it to Shardas with humble apologies.

“What have you to apologise for?” He lowered his muzzle to drink.

“It should be finer,” she mumbled.

“Nonsense,” he replied after he had drained it. “What is your name, madam?”

“Gala, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Gala. And you may call me Shardas.”

“Shardas, this is all very nice,” I hissed as Gala bobbed away. “But what are we to do with you? The Citatian army is going to be moving towards Feravel soon, and we were supposed to cross the strait today, to join the dragons of Roulain on the shore you just came from!”

“And so you shall,” he said, while around us the uncollared Citatian dragons murmured in shock at the way I was speaking to their king.

I saw Feniul dip his head to whisper something to Ria, who nodded thoughtfully. Probably telling her that I was quite mad, and so my foibles were tolerated.

“Prince Luka,” Shardas said. “You will lead as many
dragons as you can assemble in a stand on the Roulaini shore. The area directly opposite us would be an ideal place.”

“Yes, sir,” Luka said.

“Look to Niva as your second in command,” Shardas added.

“I accept the duty, Shardas,” Niva said. “But I must agree with Creel: you are in no state to fly, and lying here in the open you will be directly beneath the flight path of the Citatian army. Something must be done.”

“As soon as I catch my breath, I shall continue on to Pelletie,” Shardas said easily, as though Marta and Tobin weren’t frantically piling our clothing and blankets over his wings in an effort to stop the bleeding.

“Why?” I was squeezing one of his talons as though I could heal his wounds through force of will.

“Because Krashath will remain behind,” Shardas said complacently. “He will not dare come to Feravel to face me. That is why
I
came
here
. I will fight him, and kill him.” He lifted his head to look at Luka again. “You need only hold your position until I have defeated Krashath,” he instructed.

“Shardas, your wings are in tatters,” I reminded him.

“Then I shall fight on the ground.”

Letting go of his talon, I stepped away. Staring out at the water, I ran my thin braids through my fingers. He was worse than my brother, Hagen, at his most stubborn, worse than Luka. Shardas was determined to fight
Krashath, even if it killed him, even if his wings looked like shredded silk …

I turned around and walked back to Shardas and Luka. I began to strip off the blankets that Marta had just put on his right wing. The damage was not bad: the bleeding had mostly stopped, and though the tears in the wing membrane looked raw and red, the wings were stronger than they had been when I had last seen them.

“Wing injuries bleed a great deal,” Shardas said. “Even superficial ones.”

“This is what we will do,” I told them. “Luka, you will take the others to Roulain and make a stand as we planned. Amacarin and Marta will stay here with me and Shardas.” Normally I would have wanted Feniul, ditherer that he was, but I hated to keep him from his new love, Ria. “We will get Shardas ready to fight Krashath.”

“What are you hatching in that brain of yours?” Shardas tilted his head at me.

“Your wings are no good,” I told him. “So I’m going to make you some.”

“Well, I can never go back to the Pelletie market,” Marta announced as she slithered off Gala’s back. In the end, Gala had stayed with us instead of Amacarin. She was anxious about her hatchlings and had no experience fighting, whereas Amacarin enjoyed setting things alight. Marta began to untie the cords that held bale after bale of silk on the dragon’s back.

“Why?” I bit off a thread and held up the seam I had just sewn to check for flaws. Satisfied, I laid it aside.

She blinked at me, as though looking for sarcasm in the question. “Because only a crazy person buys ten full bolts of gold silk on the same day,” she said, after realising that I was serious.

As I picked up another piece of silk and threaded my needle, I had to admit she was right. When I had made my trip to the market earlier in the day, I hadn’t paid too much attention to the stares I had attracted. But even I had seen the wisdom of sending Marta for the second half of the silk.

“Well,” I said, offering her some dim consolation. “Do you really want to come back to Citatie after this?”

She shuddered and began sorting out the silk she had bought. While Marta sorted, I continued to sew together the carefully measured and cut pieces that I had been working on feverishly for most of the day.

We were encamped in a grove of the ubiquitous olive trees, just south of the beach where we had met Shardas. The trees were barely dense enough to cover the two dragons, who could not sit upright unless they first checked for any signs of dragon patrol. Luka and Tobin had been reluctant to leave us, but we had insisted: someone had to lead the Roulaini blockade, and the odds were that the average human soldier wouldn’t take orders from a dragon. Besides, I had pointed out, neither Luka nor Tobin could sew, which meant they would only be getting in our way. I bit off another thread, and held my work up to Shardas.

“Stretch out your left wing,” I ordered. “Gala, could you help me, please?”

She hurried to help as I spread the silk over the top of Shardas’s left wing. My measurements had been correct, and the silk lay perfectly over the wing. It was not quite finished – there were still two sections of wing membrane to cover – but I had wanted to check the fit before I continued. I was trying to sew the silk so that the seams corresponded with the bones and joints of Shardas’s wings; the smooth areas of silk would replace the missing membrane. As much as it pained me, I would be using the holes from the wounds in his wings to pass cord through and tie the silk down.

“Before you get much further, we’d better test this part,” Shardas said. “Not just the fit, but how it feels when I fly.”

“All right.” I had sewn cords along the edges of the segments. Hands shaking for fear that I would cause more pain or do more damage, I slipped them carefully through the holes and tied them gently in place. The holes in his wings were healing, I assured myself. One day, his wings would be healed.

If Krashath didn’t kill him tomorrow.

“Does that feel secure?”

He stretched the wing and then contracted it. “Yes.”

“Does it hurt?”

He blew gently on my hair. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

Then he moved a little away from me. Lifting his head cautiously above the tree line, he scanned the area for signs of a dragon patrol or wandering humans. When he saw that it was clear, he reared up on to his hind legs, stretching out both his wings and flapping them in the hot, still air.

The silk on the left wing cupped, dragging at him and making a flapping noise. My heart sank. This would not work.

Shardas folded his wings and crouched down beside me again. He didn’t need to say anything, but gave me a sympathetic look as I began to untie the silk from his wing. To my embarrassment, I found myself near tears.

“That didn’t look right,” Marta said, coming over to us, bright red silk spangled with mirrors trailing from her hands. “It was catching the wind.”

“Yes, thank you, Marta,” I said, not caring how rude I sounded.

She opened and then shut her mouth, her cheeks colouring. “It was a good idea, Creel,” she said meekly.

“It
was
a good idea, Creel,” Shardas echoed. “But things will turn out all right, regardless. Krashath wants to fight me. If it means he has to stay on the ground, he will.” He shifted position so that I could better untie the rest of my failed scheme.

“No he won’t,” I said, choking on tears. “He’ll stay in the air and burn you to ash. He won’t fight fair, Shardas, you know that.”

“May I say something?”

We all looked at Gala, who hovered nearby. The light filtering through the olive leaves made her bronze scales glow. She really was a beautiful dragon. I rather thought that Amacarin had been giving her an admiring eye before he had left.

“Of course you may, Gala,” Shardas said, ever polite.

“Perhaps if you put that cloth on the underside of his wings,” she suggested. “Like a kite.”

We all just looked at her for a moment.

“A
kite
?” Marta’s fair brow wrinkled. “What’s that?”

“Oh!” Gala shook herself. “I once lived in the Spice Isles,” she explained. “Kites are common there. They
are … constructions of cloth or paper on light frames that … glide on the air.”

Still not really comprehending, I looked at the cloth that Marta and I held, and then at Shardas’s wings. Gala seemed to know what she was talking about, but I couldn’t picture it.

“I think I know what she means,” Shardas said. “I recall seeing such things some years ago.” He nodded his head slowly. “If the cloth were on the underside, it would catch the wind and be pressed against my wings properly.” He paused. “Although if I were to backwing …”

But I had caught the idea now.

“We’ll have to put silk on both sides,” I said. “And fasten the front and back together tightly enough that there’s no way for it to gape or catch.”

“We can sew it all along the top edge,” Marta said. Her eyes were bright, and I could see that she had caught the vision as well. “In fact, we should sew it while you’re wearing it, Shardas, to make certain that it’s as tight as possible.”

“We’ll be working all night,” I said, shaking out my hand.

“If you will just show me where to cut,” Gala said, losing some of her shyness, “I think I can slice the silks neatly enough.” She extended one razor-sharp foreclaw.

“Beautiful,” Marta said. “I’ve got it all marked out over here.” She folded the mirrored silk she was holding with a snap, and laid it on a boulder.

“Oh, Marta,” I said, in a much more cheerful mood. “Why did you buy mirrored silk? Won’t it be too heavy?”

Marta put her hands on her hips. “I knew you’d say something about that, Creel, but the last merchant gave me such an odd look – he was Citatian – that I panicked and bought a bale of the red mirrored silk, too.” She laid out a piece of silk for Gala, who had just made short work of cutting up the last bit Marta gave her. Marta snorted. “I feel like we’ve bought up all the silk in the world!”

“I know it’s not your fault, but now Shardas is going to look all patchwork and –” I lowered my arms, looking down at the mirrored silk. “Marta!”

“What?” She laid out some silk cord for Gala to cut into lengths for the ties. “What’s wrong now?”

“Can you imagine what it would look like if Shardas spread his wings in the Citatian sun, and
this
was sewn to the underside?”

I held up a bolt of scarlet silk spangled with tiny mirrors. Even with the trees blocking most of the sun, the cloth itself was bright enough to make my eyes smart, and the mirrors caught stray sunbeams and reflected them dazzlingly.

“If jealousy doesn’t stop Krashath in his tracks,” Shardas said, his voice rumbling with laughter, “he will go quite blind.”

That night the Citatian army passed overhead. It took a very long time, during which we had to douse our lanterns and huddle beneath the olive trees. I draped Shardas in some dark blue silk I had bought, intending to make wings for Velika when this was all over. Even in the coldness of the desert moonlight, Shardas’s golden scales emitted a warm glow. Most of the rough, burned scales had been shed, and other than the lacework of his wings he was looking in fine fettle.

“I hope Gala is all right,” Marta whispered.