by Kevin Potter
Only silence came back to him from the darkness.
Well that’s just great, he thought.
“Will you at least tell me who you are?”
“We are food,” a high voice whispered tersely. “Now shut up, before you get us all in trouble.”
Food? he thought. Get them in trouble? What level of Infernalis have I fallen into?
Not Infernalis, said a hard voice inside his head. Just the dungeons of Balhamuut.
What? Gravv thought. How are you doing this?
Laughter.
It’s not a joke!
Oh, the voice said, still laughing. Yes it is. It must be. Every dragon can communicate with telepathy. The speech then devolved into an extended guffaw into Gravv’s mind.
You’re mad, he thought.
Oh, by the tail of my first ancestor, the voice said, stunned. You’re serious, aren’t you?
Why would I jest about such a thing! Gravv thought, furious.
A fair point.
How… Gravv thought. How is it done?
Oh, that’s easy. You see… well… okay, I’m not exactly certain how to explain it. I just do it. Naturally, I suppose. Since before I even hatched, in fact. I’ve never thought about how I do it. Have you never seen other dragons communicate without speaking?
Well, yes. Sire and Dam seem to know what one another are thinking all the time. But I always figured that was just from how much time they’ve spent together, as they’ve been one another’s sole companions for centuries.
Well, I suppose there is some validity to that.
So what you’re really saying is you can’t teach me. It would be immensely helpful to be able to contact my sire and dam right now.
Indeed it would, for most of us, in fact. But our telepathy is somehow blocked from escaping the dungeons.
How does that work?
I wish I knew.
Gravv huffed a silent sigh. So what can we do?
I’m listening if you have any ideas. So far, everyone who has tried to escape has died a much more painful death than they otherwise would have.
So that’s it? Gravv asked in frustration. We just wait around to die?
As I said, if you have any ideas I am happy to listen to them.
Anything is better than waiting around to be killed! Gravv said, exasperated.
You’ll change your mind when you see what happens to those who try it. You’ll see.
Not likely, Gravv said. But the other voice didn’t respond this time.
Gravv coiled around himself, head on his wings, to think.
Only then did it dawn on him that the pain in his tail had vanished.
Suddenly curious, he lifted his tail to investigate its length with his forepaws.
By the gods! he thought as he came to its end. Rather than the bone-plated, razor-edged spear it used to end in, his long tail now ended in a thick, bulbous mass of hardened hide with no scales.
They severed it and cauterized the wound! he shrieked inside his head. Those foul, rotten bastards! Surely, they could have healed it, but instead they chose to maim me! Those rotten sons of lizards!
Seething, Gravv tried to come up with a plan for escape.
With his limited information, he worked his mind around the problem from every direction his imagination could conceive. He tried to imagine what his approach would be were he the captor, but came up blank. He simply couldn’t fathom the motivation behind it.
Did they mean food literally? Were these dragons being eaten by Balhamuut or his servants? Or was there another interpretation for the dragon’s words?
What else might it mean?
My friend? he thought, trying to project the thought with his mind. Are you there? Can you hear me?
There was no response.
Damn.
He turned his head to and fro, but was unable to discern even the vaguest outline of anything. Reaching up, he passed a paw in front of his face. He felt the slight breeze of its passing, but saw nothing.
What is the source of this oppressive darkness?
Obviously, it was magical in nature. It had to be. No natural darkness could blind a dragon so completely. They weren’t humans, after all. Draconic senses were not nearly so frail as that. Even in the absolute darkness of the deep underground, a wyrmling could make out shapes and textures. Older wyrms could see as though it were daylight even in the deepest, darkest caverns.
It didn’t take much thought to understand the darkness was meant to separate them, make each and every dragon imprisoned here feel absolutely alone and without hope.
But could that be all there was to it?
Gravv felt certain there must be another purpose to it. It was too much of an alteration, especially considering how large a space it seemed, to be only for the benefit of these captives.
CHAPTER SIX
Gravv wasn’t certain how much time passed as he lay in the darkness, but after several cycles of working his mind around the problem until exhaustion and then sleeping, the voice came again.
You still with us, little brother?
I’m here. And I have questions. I’ve been trying to contact you.
Have you? The voice sounded surprised.
Gravv gave a silent growl in response.
What questions? I’ll answer what I can.
Gravv pulled in a deep breath and released it in a silent sigh. The response was far less promising than he’d been hoping for. You said we are food. You don’t mean that literally, do you?
I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that.
What? What kind of absurdity is this? How could these wyrms not know if their own words were literal or not?
I’m sorry. When they take someone away, sometimes they jest about him being dinner. I don’t figure they’re actually being eaten, but I don’t know what else it could mean. No one ever comes back and no question any of us has ever asked has resulted in anything other than pain.
Pain? Gravv asked. This was growing more and more sinister all the time.
Yes, little brother. Pain. And not just for the one asking the question, but for all of us. I suspect it is only a method of controlling us, but it is effective nonetheless. None of us wants to be the cause of all the rest suffering at the hands of these beasts.
You actually care what happens to one another? After all the lectures his sire and dam had given about the disparity and aggression between dragons in the world, he hadn’t expected to find a group of dragons who actually cared about one another.
At first we didn’t, the voice admitted. But over time, we have become almost like another family.
Family?
Yes, little brother. We are well aware that few of us are even of the same breeds, but being kept here like this… it’s almost like a second family, as strange as that sounds. We’ve come to care about one another. At least, within the limited framework of what we have in front of us.
Gravv clenched his jaw in frustration. And yet, you are still perfectly willing to let some of your “family” die when others come to take them. When they are to become “dinner.”
The voice sighed deeply. It has become a choice between letting one go without a fight or facing punishment for all the rest. It’s a difficult choice, but one we’ve been forced to make. For the good of the group.
And yet, Gravv said in disgust. You readily admit that being made into a meal is the fate each and every one of you face. Regardless of what else happens.
I never claimed it made sense.
Gravv gave a mental sigh. There had to be a way to get through to them. Waiting here to die without so much as a struggle wouldn’t help anyone. Themselves least of all.
What to do, what to do, he thought. How can I turn this around?
I see, Gravv said. And the darkness?
Obviously magical.
Naturally.
From what I’ve seen, it doesn’t seem to affect the who
le chamber. Whenever they lift it, there are others; wyrms and humans, if you can believe it, working around us. Well, beneath us, actually. I believe that in addition to the darkness, there is a sound barrier cutting us off from the workers down there.
A sound barrier? So keeping quiet when the darkness is up isn’t necessary.
The impression of a mental smile brushed Gravv’s mind. That is my belief, little brother. But most of the others don’t believe it is worth the risk. They don’t want to be punished over a false assumption.
Gravv nodded, then tried to project the movement over the link. None of you have ever heard the workers doing their work while the darkness is up?
Never.
When do they lift the darkness?
A sigh. Only when they take one of us, or a new one is brought in.
Damn, Gravv thought privately.
How long have you been here? he asked.
Laughter. How would I know, little brother? Assuming my count is correct, I’ve slept three-hundred-forty-eight times since I was brought here. And in that time, I’ve seen the darkness lifted fifty-four times. Those are the only time measurements I have.
Gravv nodded again, projecting the movement across the link. So unless you sleep a lot— or not very much —you’ve probably been here for about a year, and the darkness is lifted about twice a fortnight.
I suppose.
Do they feed us? I haven’t eaten, yet I don’t feel hungry at all. Or thirsty, for that matter.
No, the voice said without hesitation. I have been operating under the assumption that they have either developed some sort of magic that suppresses such needs or they have a way to magically fill them.
I see, Gravv said, his hopes sinking to a new low. Where were you taken from?
Balhamuut and his silvers attacked my sire’s realm on the mainland. After my sire’s death, he paused and a mental shiver passed through the link, Balhamuut took my dam and I. I woke up here and I haven’t seen her since. The dragon’s voice sounded almost tearful. I’ve done my best to avoid thinking about what that beast might have done with— or to —her.
I understand this is painful, Gravv said with sympathy. But would you mind telling me about how your sire died?
A mental gulp. Is this… important?
I have a feeling it might be.
Very well, the voice said, his reluctance clear.
Gravv gave him time to compose himself in silence.
But the silence went on and on.
Did he change his mind? Gravv though in despair. Or fall asleep?
Gravv began to consider what he might say to prompt the other dragon when the voice finally returned.
As much as I would like to say my people and my sire put up a valiant fight, it isn’t so. The platinum and his servants rolled across my sire’s realm like a firestorm, killing and destroying at will. Most of our people were massacred where they stood. My sire tried to stand against the platinum himself, but he lasted only seconds. With a mortal wound, he fell. Without the Sight— I didn’t think of using it at the time —I couldn’t tell what it was, but the platinum did something to my sire as he died. When he finished… whatever it was, my sire’s form seemed to crumple and shrivel. His eyes dried up. When it was done, Balhamuut seemed… larger, somehow. Stronger. More powerful. More intense. I know this doesn’t make any sense, but it’s what I saw.
As the voice stopped speaking, it was as though a torch flared to life in Gravv’s mind and everything came together to create a coherent, if terrifying, image. The whole sordid affair made so much sense now. A twisted sort of sense, to be sure, but sense nonetheless.
By the Platinum Lord, Gravv said in awe. I didn’t want to believe it, but it must be true. It must be.
What?
Essence theft! Gravv said, unable to keep the shock from his voice.
The reply which came to his mind was not in words, but rather a general feeling of confusion.
My brother told me about it once. Naturally, coming from him I assumed it was nonsense, but after what you just described I have to think there’s actually something to it. The coincidence is too great to ignore.
Explain, the voice commanded.
Gravv bit back the scathing retort which leaped into his mind. Too many years with Bal had apparently ingrained the response in him. As I recall, he said, forcing his tone to sound calm and matter-of-fact. The idea is that a wyrm can absorb the spirit of another wyrm who is dying or very recently dead. When that happens, the attacking wyrm gains the magical strength of the victim to use as his own. Some strange sort of spirit-melding, it seems to me. Without knowing more about how it works, I can only guess at the mechanics of it.
And you think, the voice said slowly. That is what Balhamuut did to my sire?
Your description does seem to fit what I know of it, Gravv said.
I suppose it does at that, the other said grudgingly. So you think my sire’s spirit is… trapped in there… with Balhamuut?
Gravv hesitated.
Well?
He hesitated another moment, trying to decide which answer would be more hurtful to the wyrm.
I’m… not certain, he said at last. I hesitate to say anything as fact. I simply don’t know.
So speculate! the other dragon growled.
Gravv sighed across the bond. If my assumption is correct and the increase to the stealing dragon’s power comes from the complete absorption of the other’s spirit, then that seems likely, yes. But–
So I need to kill Balhamuut, the voice said matter-of-factly, as though the matter were truly that simple.
Well, Gravv said, trying to recover from his shock. I think you should consider the other s–
You don’t think I can! the other accused.
Listen, whatever your name is–
Aabaelyyriaund.
Abby, Gravv said, not caring just then if this dragon cared about an unfamiliar dragon using a shortened version of his name to refer to him. Clearly, I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’re capable of. But Balhamuut has been around since at least a thousand years before the Long Sleep began. And as a platinum, he likely has greater physical size and strength— as well as raw arcane power —than you would at a similar age. What chance do you think you have?
It matters not at all.
Um, Abby, I think you might–
Don’t try to dissuade me. To free my sire’s spirit, that is what must be done. So I will do it. Either help me or stay out of my way.
Okay, Gravv said, suppressing a sigh. What can I do?
Tell me everything you can remember about this essence theft power. I need to know absolutely everything.
Okay, Gravv said dubiously. But as I already said, there is much I do not know about it. In truth, I don’t know much more than I’ve said.
Tell me!
You got it, Gravv said. He gathered his thoughts to begin and the darkness around them faded. Squinting against the light, he looked around at the vast chamber.
Beyond the individual cages, which he saw were suspended far in the air over a massive workshop of some kind, flew nearly two-dozen wyrms. They were mostly silvers but for two or three serpentine golds flying among them and a single smallish dull-gray one hovering behind the others. Gravv felt certain it was the steel who had been present at his capture.
Gravv’s gaze raced across the dragon cages, checking each for the telltale bluish-silver with crimson edges which would indicate Bal was here, but he saw no such coloration among the dozens of dragons in the glossy black cages.
He glanced around to the rest of the cavern for anything helpful. Dozens of battered dragons and hundreds of grimy humans worked throughout the cavern. The dragons, which were mostly golds and garnets, held massive metal containers over huge, blasting flames. One of the containers bubbled with a silvery liquid and the wyrm, scarcely larger than the container, lifted it from its supports over the fire and walked it to an
opening in the wall where he poured the bubbling liquid.
By the gods! Gravv thought as the realization hit him. Metal! That liquid is metal! This is a… what do the humans call it?
A foundry! That’s it! Where metals are melted down and cast into useful shapes!
One of the golden wyrms outside the cages spoke, drawing Gravv’s attention. “Which one, Cordiavaellyyan? There are close to a dozen golds of the proper age.”
The steel wyrm sneered and Gravv thought he heard the word, “Buffoon,” escape the wyrm’s lips.
No other wyrm in the vast chamber acknowledged hearing the word, however. Could he have imagined it?
After a moment, the steel pointed to a cage near Gravv’s own. Its occupant locked eyes with Gravv. The golden lips smiled and the bright green eyes widened slightly. The look seemed much more eager than fearful.
It’s Abby, Gravv realized. A moment later, the dragon’s voice entered his mind.
Looks like I get my chance sooner rather than later, eh little brother?
Gravv offered a slight nod, though he didn’t share the gold’s enthusiasm. Good luck, my friend.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gravv pondered the situation for what felt like hours. What could Balhamuut possibly be making? There were dozens of those… cauldrons, or whatever the proper name for them was, spread across the massive cavern and all of them seemed to be filled to bursting with bubbling metal. Either iron or steel, he guessed, though he thought steel more likely. Especially if, as it seemed, they were constructing implements for use in war.
But what could it be? We are not humans. We have no need of weapons or armor. In fact, those things would be more likely to hinder us than help.
He felt he was on the verge of an important discovery, something incredible that could change everything. The conclusion was right on the edge of his mind, he was sure of it.
I’m dying! Abby gasped into his mind, shattering his concentration. I’ve failed. He’s too… too strong. You have to see this… analyze it… use it… against him.
The voice died away and a terrible scene appeared before Gravv as though he were there in the gold’s place.