“Go on!” he urged the Fenushian warriors, who were armed with long, sharp spears. “Go get her! We must be able to give her back to Lord Le’rank’s guards!”
Isla had no intention of going back to Baslik’s people and then, no doubt, being sent back to Telmar Two and the Royal Family. Actually, she didn’t think she’d have to—no doubt the Drake could hold off the Fenushian warriors with their primitive weapons. But she didn’t want to see them all frozen to ice statues and crushed to death either. After all, it wasn’t their fault that Baslik had made a deal with their leader to bring her here and make her glow for him.
Speaking of the glow, her skin had a shimmering, opalescent sheen that was extremely worrisome. But she had no time to think about that now.
“We can’t let them catch me,” she said to the Drake. Still keeping a hand on his nose, she looked into his pale eyes, which were dancing with icy silver flames again.
“No one will touch you,” he promised. A low, rumbling growl came from his throat, punctuating the statement.
“I know you won’t let them hurt me or take me, but I don’t want any of them killed either,” Isla told him. “None of this is their fault—it was all Baslik trying to find something—anything—to make me glow. Can you take me someplace safe?”
The Drake nodded his enormous head.
“Ride me,” he commanded. Then he lowered his neck to the level of the table, which gave Isla a good view of his back and the long row of sharply pointed spines that ran the length of it.
There was a place where the Drake’s neck met his vast body—just before where his massive wings sprouted—where the spines were far apart enough to form a kind of natural seat. Isla threw a leg over his neck and settled herself on the shimmering, pale blue scales. Then she gripped the spine in front of her, which jutted up almost like the horn of a saddle, and shouted,
“Go! Go!”
She felt the enormous body gather under her, rather like a feline gathering itself to spring. Then the Drake shot upward, like a projectile propelled from a weapon and she was pushed back against the spike behind her, which luckily wasn’t sharp along the edge.
Gasping, Isla held on for dear life as the huge, bat-like wings flapped on either side of her and the Drake gained altitude. They were headed for the mouth of the dead volcano, she saw, and the luminescence that poured down through it was no longer moonlight. Instead, the first faint glimmer of dawn could be seen filtering down on them.
They flew upwards, into the pinkish light, leaving the shouting Fenushians behind. When they finally cleared the mouth of the massive, dead volcano, Isla thought she might be free at last. But then she looked down and saw the landing area.
Baslik’s massive Space Yacht sat beside Sark’s silver craft, dwarfing the smaller ship with its bulk. And the crew of the yacht were out in force—they looked like ants running around on the rough, barren landscape.
As yet, it didn’t seem like any of them had seen her on the enormous Drake’s back, flying above them. But Isla could imagine what would happen once they were spotted. There were sophisticated weapons on the yacht—Baslik had paid extra for them. He had often boasted that he could blow up a small moon, if he felt like it.
Would the captain of the yacht start shooting without an order from Baslik? Isla was afraid the answer was probably a resounding “yes.” The man was a retired Naval captain who had won many battles, which was one reason Baslik had hired him. Also, her late husband had often instructed the captain to “Shoot first and ask questions afterwards.” It seemed likely he would continue that policy even without direct orders from Baslik.
“Quick,” she shouted, hoping the Drake could hear her, since she was quite far from his head. “We have to get away from here before they start shooting at us!”
“I can disable their weapons. Are you secure?” came the answer in her mind.
Isla took a fresh grip on the spine in front of her. Only its tip was sharp, the long, thin body of it actually made a very good handhold.
“Yes, I’m ready!” she told him.
“Hang on tight,” the Drake advised her and then they were diving downward, straight towards the huge platinum bulk of the Space Yacht.
Isla’s stomach dipped and the wind raked through her long hair making it fly out behind her like a silver flag. A surprised “whoop” of excitement rose in her throat as exhilaration rushed through her. Was this really her—prim and proper Isla—riding naked through the air on the back of a dragon? It seemed like a dream and at the same time like the most real thing that had ever happened to her in her life.