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Aranya rocked Leanya as she stirred. “The Commander tromps through Gemalka, Helyon and Ferial with all trumpets blaring, while your second line of attack stealthily makes the long westward haul to Yar’ola Island, then sweeps south, down toward Ur-Yagga Cluster. This chip of amethyst stone represents me, right?”
    “Aye.”
    “Having tied the Sylakians up at Yorbik Island, if the timing is right, we then broadside them from Fra’anior or Jeradia. We have a Dragon in each line of attack to give us a massive tactical advantage. The strategy, initially, is to capture as many Dragonships as possible. We send all the vessels we can with Darron, a big show of force, while the real target is these Sylakian outposts here in the Western Isles.”
    King Beran clapped his hands softly. “Bravo. I didn’t waste my time whacking you into shape, did I? But you still haven’t told me–”
    “Dad. Even a cliff-fox needs to learn patience.” Aranya placed her hand over the model of Ur-Yagga, a busy cluster of over two hundred Islands, small and large. “I dreamed of the Black Dragon last night, Dad. Fra’anior spoke to me. That’s why I find your strategy for the Western Isles so freaky.”
    “It’s the only strategy that makes sense.”
    “Dad, there’s a Dragon in the Western Isles. I’m charged to hunt it.”
    Open-mouthed in amazement, Beran scratched his beard. “By the mountains of Immadia, are there Dragons dropping from the skies these days?”
    “Yes, you can catch them like raindrops.”
    King Beran smiled at his tall daughter with such a fierce pride it fairly took her breath away. That was what her mother, Izariela, must have loved in him. She saw it so clearly. “So, Sparky, let’s work the counter-strategy. How will Thoralian respond? When, and where?”
    * * * *
    Seventeen Dragonships plus one Azure Dragon and her Rider set out for the mineral-rich Island of Gemalka that same evening. A further eight vessels were well advanced in repair. Beran ordered a second wave to depart as soon as possible in support of Commander Darron. The King would command just six of the hundred and fifty-foot Dragonships, carrying full crews of fifty warriors apiece.
    Zuziana shed a few tears before her departure. “See you in a month, Aranya. Be safe.”
    “Take care of that maniac monk, Remoy.” Aranya hugged her best friend as though she could somehow transfer her strength to Zip. “Work on your lightning powers. Fly strong and true.”
    Zip did not say what Aranya knew–that she knew nothing about fighting other Dragons, should it come to that. Aranya’s Dragon hearts pounded in her chest. They were only juvenile Dragons. What if she or Zip ran into a Garthion-sized Red Dragon, two and a half times her size? The Sylakian forces still outnumbered them greatly. Who knew how many of Garthion’s siblings or relatives might be Shapeshifters, too? Would an Amethyst Dragon make the difference, scaring the Sylakian outposts into surrender? Beran had called her ‘the hand of justice in the Islands’, making Aranya squirm. Who was she to judge and avenge? According to the scrolls they had read back in Remoy, that was what the Dragon Riders used to do–judge disputes between the Islands. Keep the peace. Fight evil … but not all Dragons or their Dragon Riders had been good. Many had done exactly the opposite, or had simply not cared for that kind of work and sacrifice.
    Therein lay another mystery. Why had all the Dragons vanished? Where to? One hundred and fifty years before, approximately, the Dragons had simply evaporated like a winter’s mist from the Island-World. The few survivors had dwindled, hunted and killed by men, or died of old age. Perhaps the Fra’anior Cluster hid the knowledge she sought. Or she could ask Nak and Oyda. Oyda was one hundred and seventy-six years old. Their long lives had overlapped with those events; surely they would remember some momentous war between Dragons, or a mass migration, or