I'll quickly take a moment to disclaim.
Disclaimer: I disclaim.
Being serious though, I own nothing, nada, zilch, nowt of Anne McCaffrey's remarkable world. I aspire to write fanfiction because I enjoyed her world so much, and I do not apologise for the AU-ness of this story. However, I do apologise for writing that dragons have scales (that has been rectified). The other things will be explained in the chapters to come.
Chapter Three
Kiroth's strong wingbeat faltered as the air grew thick with a deadly hail of lances. Slim, light, but barbed with a cruel iron head sharp enough to pierce dragonhide, the rain of weapons was no light matter. The dragon mother's roar of pain as one speared her haunch, and her wrathful cry as another lacerated her wing prompted a cry of triumph from the Holders who were assembled at the doorway of the fortress they had built in the caves of the Western coast.
Why did I allow myself to be caught in this situation? Kiroth demanded of herself, her mind thick with pain as the lances found their mark again and again. She shook her head, and lifted her gargantuan body higher into the air in an effort to rid herself of the ridiculous little weapons. Although they hurt, they were certainly not enough to kill her unless by some miracle the clumsy little two-legged creatures below actually had an aim about them, in company to their true lack of judgement.
A cry of dismay distracted her long enough for a slender pike to slice through the slender barb at the end of her tail. Irritated, Kiroth swung around and clamped the pathetic piece of wood and iron in her jaws, and shattered it between her teeth. Eyes bleeding crimson, she made an impromptu landing on the flats, partially concealed by the mists of the early morning. Grimly, she recognised that it would not be for long. She had never borne her burnished hide to be dirty, except in the necessity of battle, and the rising sun was melting the obscuring cloud and lighting up her golden skin in all of its glory.
If she had been a human, she might have cursed. As it was, her irritation was conveyed in the angry, continuous flicking of her wounded tail, and the whirling scarlet of her large eyes, much likeable to an annoyed feline. A very large, vicious, and highly dangerous feline.
Ridiculous watch wher. As it was, if the holders who made their home inside the seaside hold had not been so prepared at the warning bugle of the silly creature, she would have been long gone - a golden glint on the brightening skyline. Between would have been a viable option, she realised now, and if a young dragon had been so occupied with battle as to forget the one failsafe of a cornered dragon, she would have had his or her hide. But with her tail wounded, the ability to direct her flight and to travel to a particular place was gone. And now that she had landed, that choice was void anyway.
A ridiculous folly, she decided angrily. Nearly eleven cycles of the moon had passed since she had deposited a sleeping Ronan on the flats, where the morning foragers would find him. She had studied the Hold for days so as to know which path they would most likely choose. It had taken hours to coax the tiny child to sleep.
But try as she might, even as she had blinked between that day, Kiroth had not been able to forget the infant's despairing wails as he realised she had abandoned him. So, thus had begun a routine for her. At least once in the moon's cycle, she had come close to the seaside Hold and concentrated on finding the tiny child's thoughts. It hadn't been an easy task, amongst the medley and confusion of these ridiculous beings' minds, but she had come to realise that he was fairly content. Today was to have been the last time that she came to the Hold, but her arrival had been ill-timed. She had emerged from the cold of between to be immediately sensed by the rousing watch wher, which had immediately informed its bonded.
Now, her nostrils flared as the sounds of her pursuers reached her acute ears.
Dawn was breaking, and with it, the mists melted away completely. In all her golden glory, Kiroth was revealed, her burnished hide challenging the sun in the depth of its golden shade. She rose against the skyline, the largest dragon of all time.
The pursuing holders drew back as one as she opened her jaws and roared.
Inside the Hold, battling with the other younglings for a place at the narrow slits in the broad face of the cliff, Ronan recognised that roar. Warmth. So many days of being warm and secure flooded his consciousness, and he found himself stumbling for the Hold doors as they began to grind together. He slipped through them with dexterity surprising for one so generally clumsy.
"Hoi!" Shendon, the doorkeeper, cried out in alarm. "Boy, get back in here!"
Even if Ronan heard, he didn't care. All he knew was the gargantuan glory of the dragoness who had claimed him once, more than a Turn ago, to be her child. She didn't know it yet. Ronan did. And as he ran, his plaintive cry grew louder and louder, growing in crescendo to a hoarse holler that resounded through the air.
"Kee-roff!" Her name. His mother's name. A mother that, despite being clad in a huge and rather tough hide of gold, and with claws that certainly weren't gentle, was still the one who he had longed for most in eleven months. Having spent so many months with her, he wasn't likely to forget that roar.
"KEE-ROFF!" Those in the crowd of Holders nearing the dragoness had not yet flung their spears, too awed to even think of battling such a wrathful dragon of such size. Some at the back of the mob had heard the five-Turn-old. Only a few recognised him. The shy infant that Meera had taken in. But there was no resemblance in this running, tumbling, glowing child to the quiet boy who had so silently slipped into Hold life. "KEE-ROFF!"
And she heard him. Turning, with an anxious roar that could only be identified as seemingly vicious, her crimson gaze fell upon the boy, who by now was being ushered back to the Hold. A man holding a lance in his burly arms shouted in alarm at the sight of a tiny toddler being out on the flats, when there was a massive dragoness in front of them, and when battle was imminent.
"Get that child back inside those walls!" Dorik, the master holder, yelled. Jerrum sighed at the thought of being excluded from battle, and hefted the wriggling, hissing, scratching child into his inescapable grip.
"C'mon, yer stoopid kid," he grunted, closing his eyes briefly in pain as Ronan's ankle kicked him in the stomach.
"Not stoopid," the child growled fiercely. "M'name's Ronan! And don't oo fergit it!"
And with that, his clumsily flailing legs caught Jerrum in the crotch with some force.
"Oomph," he cringed, bending in pain, and reflexively freeing the child. Ronan resumed his headlong rush towards Kiroth just as Jerrum turned round, watering eyes blurring his vision. But he had the presence of mind to realise that the child was running towards a creature that was almost certain to snap him up in a mouthful, and was horrified. With children of his own, he could only imagine what it would be like to lose a son in that way.
His arm tensed, drew back, and released the spear he had been holding. It flew, the sun turning it into a silhouette against the brightening sky.
It flew, a testament to the belief that a dragon could never want to protect a tiny child.
But as other lances, prompted by the first, began to fly, its descent was altered slightly. Whether it was the wind, or the proximity of the weapons as they flew through the air, Jerrum was never to know. But in the next few moments, it found its mark with a silent thud. Its victim, however, was far from silent. Ronan's wail of agony rent the air, and Kiroth swooped upon him amid the wrathful cries of the Holders.
Her gigantic jaws plucked the spear from his foot, and crushed it in a powerful blow. His sobs did not abate however, and at the crunch of splintering wood, the Holders, who were keeping their distance from the mighty dragon, could only suspect what had happened.
"She's killed 'im!" one gasped. Cries of anger pierced the air, and a red mist began to descend over those present. For however misguided these men were, none would allow an innocent child to be slaughtered, no matter who it was. Their previous hesitance forgotten, the attack resumed, sending another lethal shower of the lances upon Kiroth and her charge. With a loud roar, she clenched Ronan in one claw, and rose into the air.
To go between was dangerous, but to stay would be fatal.
She blinked into the cold nothingness of between.
One.
Two.
Three.
...
...
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten -
Cliffhanger!
Sorry I took so long to update. The best of intentions doesn't always couple with a sense of urgency.
With thanks to the amazing reviews of my ... well, reviewers. You're fantastic and I'm chuffed out of my pyjamas to be the recipient of nearly one hundred and twenty hits.
Wow.
Then again, when you've been left to stew like this for so long without a new chapter, I'm not surprised people didn't want to review (apart from the sensational reviewers who did, of course). However, I've had a brainwave with the chapters, and therefore, if we can inch the reviews up to number thirty, (I would be really grateful!), then I'll post the next chapter (which I have already written) before Friday.
Colour Me Stunned