Free The Onyx Dragon by Marc Secchia

closing in relentlessly, Marshal Re’akka secretly gathered his strength and resources, while undermining the base of Eridoon Island with the help of fifty Dragons of Brown powers supplemented by a vast mass of rock-chewing dragonworms, one of the most basic and unintelligent forms of Dragon life in Herimor. The Dragon engineers hollowed out vast storage caverns and living areas within the Island, lightening the load. Thousands of Human thralls–men enslaved by the Marshal’s power and reduced to the mental capacity of dim-witted beasts–laboured night and day to clear the rubble. When they were no longer of use, Re’akka had them hacked up for Dragon fodder. Too many mouths. Extra baggage.
    Re’akka unleashed his Shadow Dragon to devastate the enemy Dragonwings. Over a thousand Dragonkind streamed into the Island, some to sate the Shadow-beast’s appetite, but most to undergo the month-long, secret ‘imprinting’ process that changed their colour and mindset. Meantime, his battered forces laboured to fill the great caverns with stolen provisions.
    Then, the Marshal flexed his gigantic psychic capability, and wrenched Eridoon off its foundations.
    “Did the other Marshals just let him go?” Pip asked.
    Silver said, “No. They had retreated to lick their wounds, but not far, and not for long. We fled across the Rift ahead of their advance because the Marshal was concerned his rivals would find a way to steal the First Egg from him, or subvert its power to their advantage.”
    “A pity we couldn’t just fly to Herimor and ask around about the source of his power, if it’s somehow native to your land,” Pip mused.
    “And receive a properly poisoned dagger in the ribs, this time? Besides that we’re out of time, Pip, and the fact that crossing the Rift is impossible–”
    “Save by egg-wielding Marshals and Land Dragons,” Pip said, drawing a snarl from Silver.
    “–impossible under ordinary conditions. Anyways, I would not allow it.”
    “You’d prevent me?”
    “Ay. I rather fancy an alive and snarky yet unfailingly fascinating jungle maiden, as opposed to the ‘enthralled by the Marshal’ version, or worse, the ‘dead under the Cloudlands’ option which I and my forces attempted to ensure.”
    His backward-facing grin was a study in apology, insult and humour, Pip decided, returning the favour with a grin that elevated fricasseed Silver Shapeshifter into first place on the menu she was rapidly populating. As Nak would say, double-bah with carnivorous slug-sauce poured on top. She’d teach him a thing or two about what might or might not be allowed in this relationship!
    She said, “Not the naked and tied up in your arms affair you seemed to fancy a few weeks back, as I recall? Ay, Silver?”
    He had the grace to make a draconic blush, a surging of his belly-fires followed by tongues of fire hissing between his clenched fangs. “I was supposed to capture you. I make no apology for your lack of decent attire at the time. Besides, I hear Mistress Mya’adara has secretly assigned Oyda to chaperone us on this trip. She hopes to warrant there will be no ‘incidents of a delicate nature’ between certain teenagers.”
    “Incidents? The Mistress said that?”
    “A touch more directly,” Silver admitted.
    “She warned you, didn’t she?” His guilty wing-shiver told her all she needed to know! “Roaring rajals, where’s the trust around these Islands?”
    “You do have a … reputation.”
    “ Reputation? ” Her chuckle sounded more like a hound’s warning bark. “I suppose I do. Silver, I’m embarrassed to admit, I don’t even know–are you of age? How old are you?”
    “Seventeen summers. Back in Herimor, the matchmakers would’ve done their work and I’d already be promised to a pretty Shapeshifter from a suitable bloodline. Probably one who knows to wear clothing on the odd occasion.”
    Ooh, fighting talk. “Just keep storing up that volcano’s-worth of trouble for yourself,