Dragonsoul by Marc Secchia

Author:Marc Secchia [Secchia, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2016-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17: Carnivorous Intelligence

FOLLOWING a DARK-FIRES depressing council of war with King Taisho and his ministers that evening, the Tourmaline Dragon chose to walk through the torch-lit streets of Kaolili town rather than fly the half-mile to the feeding troughs and temporary roosts set up for the Dragons in an old set of grain warehouses. The mood was sombre. Neat houses had been boarded up. Families hid in the poorer sections of town, in the catacombs and storage chambers beneath the city. Green-uniformed squads of soldiers were stationed at every intersection. Hastily-constructed stone walls blockaded roads against incursion by ground troops. Had these people seen Warlord Shinzen’s Giants in action, they would not have bothered.

They had nowhere left to run. Responsibility for these creatures weighed on Grandion’s shoulders. In his rebellious youth, he would have decried feeling in any way answerable to Humans. Once, he had even clasped a Human child in his paw, intending to murder her to seal his loyalty to Razzior. The dread in her eyes had spoken to his third heart … and he had baulked. Regret coupled with joy as this memory faded in his mind. That day had been the germ of his transformation since; of becoming the Dragon he had always wanted to be.

Oddly, a few people reached out toward him in passing, or made signs he understood as inviting blessing from a Dragon. To these he nodded regally, saying, ‘Strength to you.’ What else could he say? He had no magic formulae to prevent war, and the destruction to come.

Two days. Two daybreaks, and orange wings would fire the dawn skies over Kerdani.

He had to admit, these Humans were better organised and braver than he had expected. There were no signs of looting. The soldiers exuded an air of watchfulness, of steely purpose. There was no panic as stores were set away underground and doors barricaded.

Danger. His battle-senses pricked up. That precise footstep behind him, repeated. The faint rustle of cloth against stone. A Human was … stalking him?

He almost laughed aloud. Idiot! Did they know nothing of Dragons?

More warily, he walked on, causing these tiny, dark-haired Humans to press against the buildings either side of the road to avoid being trampled underfoot–at least, that was what they must fear. Unlike the Dragonfriend, Grandion could not shrink his size to cause them less concern. He was bigger than any of their houses, hulking over the blacksmiths’ forges he passed now, thirty-one shops working overtime to produce weapons and armour for the war effort. The heat of those open, roaring forges made him pause for a moment, groaning and flexing his weary spine as he imagined bathing in a Fra’aniorian volcano. Oh, for fierce heat to caress his aching bones! Yet his pause was not without purpose. The cloth-shod feet paused too, the very absence of sound pinpointing their position amongst the local pattern his senses had identified. There. Deep shadows between two forges to his starboard flank hid a lean-to half-filled with forge materials, discarded tools by the metallic smell.

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