covered half the sky, as seen from Pip’s perspective. To restore the Balance amongst my kind and to our Island-World, I must return the First Egg to the place where it belongs, Pip. I must take it back across the Rift to Herimor. You promised to snatch it from this Marshal. Already, you have seen the imbalance this power has caused here, wreaking doom and destruction upon the Islands of your respective kinds. Therefore I charge you: beware Shurgal and his deceptions. You must not fail.
Was this what had motivated Leandrial to risk her life above the Cloudlands? Merely the matter of an enemy Land Dragon–if she could dare the word ‘merely’ in the context of this creature? Had she missed or misunderstood something?
Time enough to puzzle over this encounter later. Pip sucked in a ragged breath. Leandrial, I will do my utmost. Will you help us while you’re here? Please?
Speak. My ears hearken to your words.
Now a humorous echo of her earlier speech? Pip shook herself free from a vision of Shurgal and the Marshal obliterating each other, followed by the Egg falling happily into her clutches, and everyone winging into the suns-set together singing triumphant Dragonsong … hardly. If she knew any one thing, it was that this victory would not be cheaply won.
Pip said, “Please help the hatchling Chymasion learn to see, Leandrial. It’s my greatest wish. And if you could outline how to defeat this Shadow Dragon, that would be an unexpected bonus.”
“Not healing for you? Or the knowledge of a foul, ancient magic alive in Shurgal’s paws?” Leandrial’s challenge boomed across the small lake. “Worthily spoken. Therefore, little one who once dared to call me friend, I will teach you Balance, and you will learn to heal yourself. I will grant the newborn knowledge that will allow him to see like a Land Dragon, for your judgement is correct–Chymasion cannot be healed, for there is no defect in his physical being. I will speak to you of the tainted lore I believe has been unearthed by Shurgal, my greatest enemy, and share my speculations regarding this ravening beast of Shadow. All this will be done– NOW! ”
Wildfire washed over her, so rich and stormy and immense it obliterated her consciousness.
Pip pitched forward into darkness.
* * * *
A vaguely-remembered face peered at itself in a slightly curved mirror. A Dragon, his muzzle hoary with age, his four-square stance upon his paws and extended muzzle reminding her of the fiery lizard who had burgled her cage, that night, and spirited a Pygmy girl away across the Island-World. Zardon. Of course. Changed into a Night-Red, yet beneath the jagged layers of sooty scales and the widely-flaring skull-spikes, his identity remained unmistakable.
This is the only place where I may come to restore my mind, he said. Here, washed in the First Egg’s power, I … again you watch me, unseen, fey spirit?
The Dragon cocked his head, gazing curiously at his own reflection as though by inspection he could plumb the mysteries of his condition.
Pip froze, semi-somnolent, somehow trapped in her dream but aware of its import. The Egg!
I must escape, Zardon mumbled. Yet when I leave this place will the Marshal’s command not overmaster? Can I not escape … keep my right-fires … for what deeds I remember, I am as a waking sleeper borne aloft upon evil winds … he lapsed into unintelligible rambling, his eye-fires flickering in uncoordinated, spasmodic patterns as seen in the crystalline yet metallic mirror-like surface, his head shaking in evident distress.
Her heart broke for the old Dragon, so wretched and torn in spirit. A small, selfish part of her wanted him to take a step back to allow her to see the mighty First Egg, rather than a brief portion of its surface. She realised that the Dragon must be standing atop a ledge or in a tunnel-mouth opening into the space that cocooned the Egg. It shone with warm inner luminosity; even a dream-watcher could sense the
Was this what had motivated Leandrial to risk her life above the Cloudlands? Merely the matter of an enemy Land Dragon–if she could dare the word ‘merely’ in the context of this creature? Had she missed or misunderstood something?
Time enough to puzzle over this encounter later. Pip sucked in a ragged breath. Leandrial, I will do my utmost. Will you help us while you’re here? Please?
Speak. My ears hearken to your words.
Now a humorous echo of her earlier speech? Pip shook herself free from a vision of Shurgal and the Marshal obliterating each other, followed by the Egg falling happily into her clutches, and everyone winging into the suns-set together singing triumphant Dragonsong … hardly. If she knew any one thing, it was that this victory would not be cheaply won.
Pip said, “Please help the hatchling Chymasion learn to see, Leandrial. It’s my greatest wish. And if you could outline how to defeat this Shadow Dragon, that would be an unexpected bonus.”
“Not healing for you? Or the knowledge of a foul, ancient magic alive in Shurgal’s paws?” Leandrial’s challenge boomed across the small lake. “Worthily spoken. Therefore, little one who once dared to call me friend, I will teach you Balance, and you will learn to heal yourself. I will grant the newborn knowledge that will allow him to see like a Land Dragon, for your judgement is correct–Chymasion cannot be healed, for there is no defect in his physical being. I will speak to you of the tainted lore I believe has been unearthed by Shurgal, my greatest enemy, and share my speculations regarding this ravening beast of Shadow. All this will be done– NOW! ”
Wildfire washed over her, so rich and stormy and immense it obliterated her consciousness.
Pip pitched forward into darkness.
* * * *
A vaguely-remembered face peered at itself in a slightly curved mirror. A Dragon, his muzzle hoary with age, his four-square stance upon his paws and extended muzzle reminding her of the fiery lizard who had burgled her cage, that night, and spirited a Pygmy girl away across the Island-World. Zardon. Of course. Changed into a Night-Red, yet beneath the jagged layers of sooty scales and the widely-flaring skull-spikes, his identity remained unmistakable.
This is the only place where I may come to restore my mind, he said. Here, washed in the First Egg’s power, I … again you watch me, unseen, fey spirit?
The Dragon cocked his head, gazing curiously at his own reflection as though by inspection he could plumb the mysteries of his condition.
Pip froze, semi-somnolent, somehow trapped in her dream but aware of its import. The Egg!
I must escape, Zardon mumbled. Yet when I leave this place will the Marshal’s command not overmaster? Can I not escape … keep my right-fires … for what deeds I remember, I am as a waking sleeper borne aloft upon evil winds … he lapsed into unintelligible rambling, his eye-fires flickering in uncoordinated, spasmodic patterns as seen in the crystalline yet metallic mirror-like surface, his head shaking in evident distress.
Her heart broke for the old Dragon, so wretched and torn in spirit. A small, selfish part of her wanted him to take a step back to allow her to see the mighty First Egg, rather than a brief portion of its surface. She realised that the Dragon must be standing atop a ledge or in a tunnel-mouth opening into the space that cocooned the Egg. It shone with warm inner luminosity; even a dream-watcher could sense the
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