I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2) by Marc Secchia (famous ebook reader TXT) 📕

eyes narrowed in calculation. Then, she smacked him upon the shoulder. Excellent idea. Council?

The two older Dragonesses plus three younger joined them and discussed the strategy briefly.

One more thing, he said. Who among these warriors is willing to carry a Human upon their neck?

Aria growled, Dragon, you are too much!

It’s a question of timing, he argued. We need to move fast. You aren’t going to catch anything infectious, or is this idea a stain on a warrior’s honour?

Not mine, said one of the older Dragonesses.

Another agreed, Nor mine. Carrying allies into battle is like carrying additional weapons. Whatever gets the job done.

Show of paws! Aria roared. Who is prepared to carry a Human Ranger into battle? About thirty Dragonesses raised their paws. The sweep of her eyes came around to Dragon. And what’s this?

He checked his splayed talons. I’ll carry ten. Just saying.

With an exasperated huff, she growled, You’ll do as you’re told, Dragon!

Best let that one go.

Ten seconds later, with a hop, skip and a jump, the Princess strapped herself aboard in her usual place. Dragon launched into the air the instant he had wing space, chasing the Dragonesses up into the thick, salt-scented mist.

Turning into quite the rascal, aren’t we? Azania thought privately to him.

It’s catching.

Are we having fun yet?

Picked up the attitude from this crazy desert Princess I kidnapped in the south.

Mister ‘I’ll carry ten,’ who were you trying to impress?

One guess.

After communicating with Charielle Seaspray and receiving her agreement to support their plan, the Dragoness army swept south in a flying wedge, slipstreaming one another in perfect formation. Frightening discipline. Aria was one of four blues. Another was the oldest Dragoness, fifty-one year-old Yalia, who was a much lighter blue than Aria, the colour of ocean shallows over a reef. The other two were a most unusual pair, twins hatched of a single egg, primarily turquoise in colouration with the usual dramatic wing flares and features that gave them that deceptive butterfly-like appearance.

Fifty-three cutthroat warrior Dragonesses, one Human Princess, and the white behemoth bringing up the final position of one arm of their wedge. Best escort beneath the suns. His chest hurt from feeling so swollen. Or was that the aftereffects of yesterday’s sprint?

They cut wing across the jungle-bearded spine of the island toward a wide bay said to be dotted with myriad, heavily overgrown islands. The foliage dripped in the mist, with individual trees rising out of the ghostly atmosphere to a height of two hundred feet. Dragon did not see too many dots, but as they headed out over the waters again after a three and a half hour flight, the mist began to lift enough for him to see the plethora of small, bougainvillea-overrun islands where the King’s crack regiment, the Anhoyal Rangers, had a jungle training camp.

Just the kind of place to do nasty things to fresh recruits.

However, the lead Dragoness spied a white sail just vanishing into the mist several miles ahead – how, Dragon had no idea, because the outer end of the bay was still soupy at best – and so the Rangers had the memorable shock of being tracked down by a flight of Dragonesses.

They saluted when they recognised Aria.

Dragon liked them at once. Gruff, rangy and nut-brown of skin, the Rangers were lightly armed and armoured, but had that air of understated confidence that pointed to them being men and women of action. He knew Dragons like this: Gangbuster and his own sire, Blaze, to name but a couple.

In neat formation, the small, speedy sailing craft pulled up on a sandbank large enough to accommodate fifty feisty, fiery females.

Aria brought over the Sankir, or troop captain, to meet her crew. The rest of his troop lined up neatly nearby. Eighty men and women on their way to Zunityne, having just received word of the coup, he was telling Aria.

“I am Sankir Farizam, ma’am, Dragons!” he saluted smartly.

“Sankir!” Azania smiled.

Poor fellow. He did a triple-take. Face, outfit, face. Tan as he was, he coloured as he realised that he had just looked the girl over with far more than polite interest. “Uh, ma’am … you do look familiar …”

Oof. He stank of embarrassment.

“You are not allowed to say, ‘my, how you’ve grown,’ because that would be wholly untrue.”

Her smile reached her eyes, daring him to make the connection.

“Princess! Princess … Azania, of T’nagru! Your Highness, what are you – excuse my astonishment – doing all the way out here? And, how? How wonderful you look, Highness. You’ve grown into a most striking young woman.”

She said, “It is lovely to meet you again, Sankir. It has been far too long – I recall that you were Azerim’s bodyguard during your tour of the kingdoms. We met in the Kingdom of Ayren, correct? You rescued me from a dreadful fate when Azerim and I were playing and we knocked over that sculpture.”

So, he must know that Azerim and Azania had made friends. What thoughts must be rushing through his mind just now? Dragon could almost hear his brain fizzing as it jumped to conclusions.

He grinned, “Aye, that I did. Soldiers! We have royal company – this is the Princess Azania of T’nagru, the Black Rose of the Desert.”

Eyes popped, but they all bowed respectfully, taking a step forward before swooping low in a style that must belong to these isles. Azania returned one of her flowing desert greetings. Once again, she was the smallest by a head; these islanders must be tall and rangy in frame, he thought, unless they only recruited to a particular minimum height? All were nut-brown of skin, shades lighter than her, however.

The soldier said, “The sea lanes cannot be open, surely?

“Sankir, I flew to the Archipelago with my Dragon.”

Dragon rumbled, “The Princess of T’nagru is