by Marc Secchia
Intrigued by his manner, Dragon put in, “Were you looking for an armourer, Master?”
His muzzle bobbed curtly. “There are three Grinder Clan smiths who specialise in Dragon armour, but even they will tell you that many of the smaller components, joints, buckles and so on, are far better produced by skilled Human hands. I am hiring. Interested?”
Smiling at his bold manner, Yardi said, “I’ve never worked with Dragons before.”
“Is this body armour your work?”
“It is –”
“You’re hired.”
“Dragon,” she said, pushing his paw away, “you are very forceful. Two things. One, I cannot afford to work for free. Two, I would need to settle my grandmother in Hamirythe Kingdom before committing to a war effort.”
“How long would you need? What is your price?”
Folding her muscular arms across her chest, she stared at the warrior Dragon. Bold! Clearly, something passed between them, because Juggernaut cleared his throat and twin spots of colour appeared in Yardi’s cheeks. She said, “I’m inspired by Princess Azania, honoured Juggernaut. I would gladly serve the Dragonkind with my talents and seize the chance to learn new skills. I would take … one standard gold bar a month.”
Azania’s eyebrows shot up at her price.
The Dragon dipped his chin. “I demand nothing but your best work, that you recruit at least ten more blacksmiths and armourers during your travels to the North and West, and I will push you to work harder than ever before in your life –”
“You want me to manage a team of Human smiths?”
“Can’t handle the job?”
“I don’t browbeat easily, Dragon!”
Juggernaut’s gruff laughter broke the tension. “Exactly what I like best about you. If I wanted to recruit a waif, I’d find some expensive little chit of a desert Princess –”
“Excuse me!” Azania almost howled.
“Something I said, Highness?” the gladiator snorted humorously.
“Yardi, do me a favour and shrink his hoard, would you?” she complained.
She said, “For that service, I’ll offer two gold bars a month, and a percentage of each Smith’s wages –”
“Done!” Juggernaut growled, biting back on a curl of flame. “Or would you like to press me on the percentage, too?”
“Ten?”
He stuck out his paw. “When can you start?”
Azania put in slyly, “I wonder how many single Armourers a woman can recruit in a hurry?”
Yardi mimed flicking her away like a beetle. She shook Juggernaut’s proffered talon gravely, saying, “Not quite the future I expected, but life can be strange sometimes. Dragon, would you consider flying us as far as Dorline or even Fara’ane? I’d return far quicker.”
He drawled, “How may I best fleece you, rich girl? Two gold clinkers per mile?”
“Even I can’t afford that,” his Princess pointed out.
After a shared chuckle, they decided they had better talk about strategy.
* * * *
The rich, tropical vegetation of Juggernaut’s lair depended upon underground volcanic activity. Compared to the snowy mountains all around, the humid heat was a balm, the perfect medicine for weary wings. Despite that there were plenty of springs about, all were in use. Evidently, cooking one’s posterior was an aid to enthusiastic conversation. One such pool was occupied by his sniggering brothers, cosying up to a pair of grass-green Obliterator Dragonesses. Pah. Their commentary on the state of his scales made the Dragonesses giggle merrily. To his great annoyance, his brothers were both funny and accurate – but then, a pair of muzzles were summarily put out of joint when one of the Dragonesses cooed:
So, you fought in a real war, Dragon?
With help, he grinned in realisation. Razed whole troops of Humans, devastated their encampment and rescued twenty-six Dragons from captivity.
And contracted the world’s worst case of scale rot, Brawl put in snidely.
The Dragoness winked at him over his brother’s back. That must have taken a real Dragon.
Ooh, his brother’s face! His lips curled as if he had been force-fed curdled milk. Seemed not every Dragoness was overcome by his brothers’ dubious charms.
He may have smirked. Just a little.
Toward noon, Dragon took a walk with Inzashu-N’shula in the opposite direction from the brotherly boudoir. As they pressed along through the lush, fragrant leaves, she said, “You’re looking fierce, Dragon. Is this the part where I get roundly told off for failing Yarimda?”
“Actually, no. I was thinking about my brothers. We failed – don’t laugh like that. You were protecting Yarimda, right?”
“Supposedly.”
“Don’t sulk. Despite that I understand some males find it endearing, it is unbecoming in the Human female. The reason your magic failed was because of oxygen deprivation, not inattention. Put another way, we were so fixated on protecting Yarimda that we forgot about protecting you. People – and Dragons – react differently to altitude. There are records of Dragons flying no higher than we did and falling out of the sky. Lack of oxygen can scramble a brain like a Dragon’s talon scrambles brain in the skull, do you see?”
With a wan smile at his phrasing, the Princess said, “I feel a bit better, but not a whole lot.”
“Aye. We came within a scale’s width of killing her.”
“See why I fear magic so much? I know one can only do one’s best, but what if it isn’t enough?”
“Why is the wind?”
“Eh?” Her pensive frown deepened. “What does that mean?”
“Among Dragons, we say ‘why is the wind’ to refer to what cannot be explained, or predicted – a kind of shorthand for fate, I suppose. Wind blows where it pleases. You cannot see it except by its effects. Those effects might be fair or foul, without logic or reason. Why is the wind? It simply is.”
“Interesting idea, given how the wind lifts every Dragon.”
Just when he thought he had figured Humans out, something like that popped out and he realised how different, and how deep, the thoughts of another species could be.
Puzzling over this, he paused as a tiny voice cried, Dragon, Dragon, where’s my best Dragon?
Sapphira!
The blue hatchling came barrelling up the path, most likely outrunning her parents.
She had grown! The hatchling stood over chest-high to Inzashu. She had visibly put on muscle and sprouted in all directions. She’d be flying without any trouble now, he assumed, greeting her with a fond wingtip slap and a brotherly nudge – his knee against her shoulder.
See? My wing’s fine now – and I’m flying again. You look funny. Is this your Human? She smells strange. By my wings, my sire and dam said to say to you that I’m so happy that you saved my life and I am because I’m pretty; don’t you think I’m pretty? How did you live when they sent you away? Do I talk too much?
Blink, blink again, as he summarily failed to sort through that outburst in a hurry.
Sapphira, this is Inzashu-N’shula.
What kind of a funny name is that? A Human funny?
Call her Inzashu, he said. “Inzashu, this is my friend Sapphira, the hatchling I told you about.”
“Humans talk silly,” the hatchling chirruped, batting her eyelids at the Princess. “Are you pretty? Are you a dam or a sire?”
“I am a girl, like you. A youngling.”
“Ooh, we can be … friendly? Can we? Why have wings you not?”
“Because I’m a person and you’re a Dragoness. We’re different, see? But you are very pretty. Can I touch your scales?”
“I’ll bite you!” Dragon, she … hee hee hee. How I say – “Sorry? I’m a wild, bad Dragoness.”
The Princess smiled, “And I’m a wild, bad Princess from Skartun.”
Humans like to touch, he put in meantime, just in case either of them had more wild ideas. Their skins are very soft. Please don’t bite her. It won’t go well.
“Not eating friends is very wise,” Inzashu agreed. “You’re cute.”
“I am so not. I am some mighty stuff!”
Talonfire! Gemira! He greeted the mated pair fondly. Judging by the crimson Dragon’s gait, Talonfire had fully recovered from the lightning strike he had taken. His attractive light blue mate’s smile of greeting faded as she took in his condition. Juggernaut says I might be moulting, he said defensively. Ugly, isn’t it?
Moulting? Well, that’s … rare, Gemira stammered. Are you well, Bl – Dragon? Sorry.
I’ve seen a few battles since last we met, but my fires – I found my fires, at last. This may be the reason I am changing, we think.
Talonfire said, Chalice the Grinder was just singing your praises. Said she’d never seen a Dragon fly like he had a hurricane behind his tail. She’s regarded as quick. What happened to you, brother?
He shrugged. I wish I knew. All theories accepted.
You breathe fire now? May I –
Carefully, he let a trickle of fire slip up his throat and lick around his fangs.
The colour! the Dragoness gasped.
Talonfire clasped his shoulder, choking out, Brother this is the best news I ever – it’s wonderful! You cannot let them see this. Under no circumstances –
What? Why ever not?
White fires belong to Sea Dragons. This tells absolutely everyone that either Blaze is not your sire, or Indigofire is not your dam. The dishonour would be unthinkable.
Throwing back his muzzle, Dragon growled an imprecation at the sky.
Why? Why him?
Talonfire was right. Curse it, why had he not made the connection himself? He had only to open his mouth to condemn his sire, to ensure that his station amongst Devastator Dragons would never be honoured again. Legends of Sea Dragons were told in every lair around the mountains. The white fire – perhaps a touch different to his multihued white, but he did not know this for a fact – was enshrined in lore. Dragons of the air took after Ignis, the flaming red giant sun. Dragons of the ocean favoured Taramis the white, in some legends the father of all Dragons of white fires.
Both of their heads lifted as a Dragon’s roar sounded from near Juggernaut’s lair.
Time for his testimony.
How would his word be received?
* * * *
His sire Blaze addressed the congregation of adult Dragons assembled upon the famous sands of Juggernaut’s training ground.
I am Blaze the Devastator. I do not claim to speak for any Clan or Dragon. My aim is for all Dragons assembled here to hear the truth regarding the reported Skartunese invasion across the southern deserts. As every Dragon knows, the wickedness of Skartun represents a deep and terrible scar in our scent memory. We are Dragonkind, free creatures of the air, never enslaved. Our histories record that many were captured and carried off, but we did not understand how – nor did we cross the deserts to avenge our brothers and sisters.
Now, after thirty years, report has reached the Clans that the Skartun have returned, seeking fresh blood to swell their armies. We are fortunate to have a Dragon present who has just flown up from N’ginta Citadel in T’nagru. We will hear his word.
Who is this tattered beast? a voice called from the crowd.
Blaze said, This Dragon was once a Devastator and is known to us. He was cast out of our Clan for three years and three days by my judgement. He chooses to carry with him the Princess of his possession, Her Royal Highness Azania of T’nagru, the Black Rose of the Desert.
With him? another voice called. We all know what we saw, brothers!
Upon his back, his sire acknowledged. An ugly muttering rose from the Dragons. More than one spat beside their paws, or declared him accursed by the sign writ upon his very scales.
Turning, his sire said, Will you swear, upon your fires, to tell –
He has no fires!
Ah, the old laughter. Sizeable as he was – brawnier than any other Dragon here – he had never felt smaller, worth less, the talon point of every joke and the very definition of what it meant to be despised by all. All? Most, but not all. Juggernaut stood strong for him, and perhaps his sire too, although he had never worked out how to show it.
Blaze sighed, Let the one who has seen, speak.
May his tongue not be a plank, this day. Lifting his muzzle, he said, Dragons, I swear by the fires of Taramis and the quickening of my own draconic soul, to speak nothing but the truth before this congregation.
Silence.
The unusual oath seized their attention. In tones chosen to be measured, and not boastful or proud as most Dragons would be when telling such a tale, he began by confirming in stark outline how he had kidnapped the Princess Azania, and come to fly down to T’nagru in defence of her kingdom. Having attributed her becoming his Dragon Rider to his poor eyesight and lack of fires, it was only when he began to describe how the Dragon thralls had been enchained and forcefully subjugated by such pain that they could not even fly, that the muttering and disbelief gathered momentum. Such was the desolation of his hearts as he portrayed their fate, even his brothers suspended their sneering.
Next, he passed over to Princess Azania to relate her own father’s demise at the hand of Nahritu-N’shula. She revealed the secret of the magic which the Skartun armies had discovered which helped them to cross the desert, but not its origins, noting only that from her home citadel, they had flown up to Juggernaut’s lair on a mission to bring word and detail of the invasion to the Dragon Clans. Concluding, she appealed with passion and force to the wisdom of the Dragonkind, that the Clans should unite and fly in defence of their kind.
As ever, she spoke with eloquence he could only marvel at.
Thanking her and Dragon, Blaze declared several hours’ break for counsel among the Clans and reflection upon all they had heard. At suns-set, they would reconvene for the cross-examination, a classic draconic council technique by which, it was believed, all aspects of a story or issue would be examined and exposed by the heat of fire, as truth or lie.
Chapter 9: For Shame
WISPY CIRRUS CLOUDS DRIFTED high over the sinkhole, brush strokes painted upon the heavens by the lightest of paws. As Dragon, Azania and Yarimda joined the Dragons on the light grey sands of the combat training ground, he reflected upon Talonfire’s words. In one breath he could prove everything he had ever wanted – and wreck everything, too. Had he ever been in a tighter quandary?
His Princess agreed. He had already disrespected his dam. How could he do the same to his sire?
There had to be a better way.
An old saying ran through his mind: Burned if you do, burned if you don’t. What did honour mean to creatures to whom this value easily ranked highest of all, when there was no path to attain it?
He wanted to tell Azania how stunning she looked this evening. How her childhood friend, King Azerim, would gnash his fangs in helpless worship of her character, her integrity and aye, her physical beauty. Some people were born as royalty, born into a position. She was royalty. It fizzed in her blood and surfaced in the spark of her dark eyes and the tilt of her definite chin. The smallest being in the congregation was by no means the least.
Would these Dragons see her as he did?
As they took their positions, it immediately became clear that several of the Clans could not wait to tear into them. There must have been discussion already. Heated discussion.
This was no Clan council. This was Clan against Clan.
With the thunder of his throat, his sire called the assembly to order. We begin the cross-examination. Flare the Bonfire, would you share?
The elderly crimson Dragon said, “Princess Azania, Dragon, I carry upon my body remembrance of the Skartun. Here upon my secondary wing joint, you see the scars from where I was wounded and struck down, unable to fly as our brothers and sisters were carried off
into this slavery you so eloquently described. Had I not flown, I should have walked. Had I not walked, I should have crawled upon my belly! My shame burns deep. We Dragons stood wounded, divided and stunned by this attack, for which vengeance has never been taken in all the years since.”
Rising from his crouching posture, he limped toward her. After a moment, he reached out and clasped her shoulder. Touch! A powerful gesture of solidarity.
“My Dragon hearts burn for your loss, Princess, and the losses experienced by your nation. T’nagru is our bulwark against Jabiz Urdoo and this Mage. Many Dragons here believe that our kind cannot be controlled by magic, force or any other means. Yet hundreds, hundreds of Dragons were carried off that day. Some historians argue that they broke the might of the Dragon nation. Who here has not lost one of his or her Clan? Dragons?”
A collective roar shook the evening air.
“Have you the names of any of these you called Dragon thralls? Who were they?”
Glancing at Dragon, she said, “They were recovering from a terrible ordeal. Only two were able to speak –” Gnarr! What is this! many growled “– when we left N’ginta Citadel. We know Soar Windchaser and Ruthless Obliterator as those who –”
“Ruthless? My uncle Ruthless lives?” A green Dragoness rose, so agitated that she stepped upon the paws of the Dragon beside her.
“Aye, we believe so,” Azania said.
“You lie! No Obliterator Dragon would ever subject himself to such dishonour, such craven, belly-crawling behaviour. This is an outrageous insult to the Windchasers and the Obliterators.”
At once, accusations and counter-accusations flew back and forth.
She must be publicly labelled a liar, yet his kind only thought about the insult to themselves and their precious honour? Azania stood her ground, serene.
“Tell us of these cages!”
Dragon said, “The control is achieved with a dark magic infused with physical equipment. A metal cage was fixed around the Dragon’s head and muzzle, forcing two probes deep into the Dragon’s ear canals. They called them inductor rods. A handler sat upon the Dragon’s back to control the rods. By squeezing the handle with his hands, he shot electricity deep into the ears. The pain is like nothing else I have ever experienced.”