The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume II

oldest dragon of all and the only purple-tip known to have ever existed.
    Shayla stretched her wings a little under the guidance of the telepathic voice, and she gained a little more control. But she kept dropping. She had make headway. East. Where the mountains met the sea. Iianthe’s lair, huge, designed to house many litters of baby dragons.
    Barely skimming the tops of the trees, Shayla forced her wings to keep going. Her belly cramped in time with her downstrokes.
    Iianthe appeared beneath her. His right wing supported the dragging leg that threatened her balance and her altitude. With the injured limb tucked back where it belonged, they gained elevation.
    Everblue treetops receded from view. One dragon length, then two and three. They caught an updraft and glided east to safety.
    The plateau in front of Iianthe’s lair appeared before her, almost level with her sagging legs.
    A heavy, awkward landing sent her nose into the spring beside the cave opening. Exhausted, she lay there, wishing she could cry as humans did.
    Iianthe landed beside her, almost as tired as she. Near the end of his span, he’d lived longer than any living dragon could remember. Without moving, he crooned a Song of healing that only she could hear.
    She could walk, a little, far enough to get inside the cave where a nest of leaves and soft sheep’s wool awaited. Had Iianthe known she would need the nest?
    No matter. She collapsed upon the bed as the first baby dragon squeezed from the protection of her womb into the waiting nest—an undersized mass of wiggling limbs the color of dark pewter. The tiniest hint of red touched its wingtips and the nubs of horns. A male. Alive and squalling for food already.
    Shayla licked the last of the afterbirth from her son’s fur. She paused a moment while she panted in rhythm with her labor. The miracle of new life filled her with awe. She stared at the tiny form in wonder.
    Two more mewling dragonets made an abrupt entrance. Twin purple-tips. Purples! Rarest of all dragon colors, assigned only to personalities of great power or wisdom. What strange portent did their birth signify?
    The cramping pains did not abate.
    (My replacement is born. I must die now. There can only be one purple-tip alive at any given time,) Iianthe said from the cave entrance.
    Shayla waited through the birth of two more dragonets before answering the hovering dragon.
    (Do not fly into the void just yet, wise one. We need your advice. The humans must be punished!)
    (Your mates must not interfere. ’Tis not their destiny. This is a matter to be settled between your babies and the human magicians.) Iianthe heaved a weary sigh. (My next existence awaits, I must guard the beginning place of magic. The humans will find it within a century. Only those worthy of the power must find it.)
    (The intruders have grown too strong, without the maturity of the centuries to guide them. They weave magic they cannot control,) Shayla reminded him. (The beginning place needs a powerful guardian until humans can use the magic properly.)
    (’Twas foretold long ago by Purple Dragons wiser than I that your children must teach the humans what they need to know.) Iianthe’s voice faded as he backed out of the lair entrance.
    (But they are twins. Which one takes your place and which must be destroyed?) Shayla panicked. Her babies were too small, not ready to grasp their destiny. Who would take on the task of dropping the extra purple-tip baby from the void into the Great Bay—to live or die as fate decided.
    (Seek answers in the void. Until you know the destinies of both purple-tips, do nothing to either. Perhaps they have been chosen by the fates to solve the problem with the humans.) Iianthe gathered his wings for one last burst of energy and disappeared into the void. (I can die now, Shayla. The lair is yours.) Iianthe’s voice faded.
    Shayla caught a glimpse of winking amethyst crystal in the distant blackness that opened before her but did not touch her.
    Shayla’s wing folded protectively over all six pewter-colored dragonets that lived. Four males and the asexual twin purple-tips. No females. She pushed aside fourteen dead babies. No more infants awaited birth. A new kind of pain swelled within her. She lifted her muzzle in a mournful wail that pierced the silence and echoed through the mountains of Kardia Hodos. The sound lingered and replayed itself as sorrow overtook all of the dragons. The future seemed bleak indeed.
    Too many dragons