by Dante King
Penelope gave me a calculating look. “You have the looks of a warrior, but your mind is more like that of one of our tacticians.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said. “Now, come on, you don’t have to sugar-coat anything for me, Penelope.”
“Well, the northern and western borders are where the chief threats to our homeland lie,” Penelope said. “For that’s where the other city states, Empires, and a few uncouth civilizations are situated.”
“These other empires,” I said, “do they have dragonmancers of their own?”
Penelope frowned. “Well, not dragonmancers.”
I nodded, recalling what I’d heard earlier. “They don’t have dragons, but they have other monsters they can tame?”
“That is what is rumored,” Penelope said. “But I really shouldn’t talk about it. We are at peace with all those civilizations who border us, and knowledge of what lies outside the Empire is relegated to a few choice members of the Empire. Truly, most dragonmancers only serve to keep the peace within the confines of the Empire. Even so, it may not be this way forever. For this reason, it is imperative that you learn all you can about the biology and history of dragons. You must know the limitations of these superb creatures. You must know what areas of aerial combat the different breeds are proficient in. You must become expert in how their bodies work, what they require to stay strong and recover quickly, and you can fly them hard and fast without tiring them too quickly. Only knowing your mount, and the mounts of your allies, inside out can you hope to take down the mounts of your enemies. Should those other civilizations with access to taming crystals threaten the Empire, you must be ready.”
“So,” I said as we got to our feet and started wandering into the middle of the library with our dragons following behind, “is it just these border disputes that take up the dragonmancers’ days?”
“These days, yes it is, mostly,” Penelope said. “However, about a millennium ago, there was a great deal more trouble than simple border skirmishes and raiding parties.”
I was starting to detect a theme here.
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “Around the same time the Spire was attacked and the last male dragonmancer died?”
“That is correct. It was all due to the Shadow Nations,” Penelope whispered, and this time her quiet voice lowered so much that I only just caught her words. “They were a collection of tribes—of subterranean civilizations—that lived under the Mystocean Empire.”
“What, in caves and tunnels and whatnot?” I asked.
“That’s right,” Penelope said, still in that hushed voice.
Instantly, my imagination jumped to the goblins of Middle-Earth, tunneling away through the bowels of the earth, turning all the land under the Misty Mountains to swiss cheese.
“And what did these Shadow Nations do?” I asked.
“They used to issue from their warrens and lairs every so often, but as separate, selfish tribes. They would raid caravans carrying food and supplies, kill merchants—what might be considered ‘usual banditry’, I suppose. After putting a village to the sword or stealing a herd of cattle, they would be driven off or slain, and that was the sort of rhythm of things. They would issue forth, commit minor outrages and a dragonmancer or two would be sent with a platoon of soldiers to deal with them.” Penelope licked her blue lips and then frowned, as if making sure that the details she was about to divulge were absolutely correct. “However, about a thousand years ago, unbeknownst to the Mystocean Empire, hundreds and hundreds of these usually selfish, shortsighted tribes suddenly banded together and fought under the one banner, calling themselves the Shadow Nations.”
“Who, or what, unified them?” I said, asking the obvious question.
“That is just it,” the Knowledge Sprite said. “No one ringleader was ever pinpointed, but historians all agree that there must have been someone, or something, that brought that multitude of bickering tribes together.”
“The Mystocean Empire won though, obviously,” I said, gesturing around the room. “That’s why you guys are still studying what happened, here, in the world’s biggest glasshouse.”
“Yes, the Shadow Nations were vanquished, but they struck with so little warning and with such ferocity that it was a very near thing, dragonmancers or no.”
At that point, Penelope whistled to her dragon, Glizbe. The glossy beast padded up on great fat paws that looked like just the thing for running over snow or sand.
“Mount up,” the Knowledge Sprite said, “and I will show you one of our private study alcoves.”
As Penelope took off on her sleek white mount, I jumped on the back of Noctis and urged him up to follow her. Penelope only flew to the nearest alcove, but I couldn’t resist taking Noctis on a spin around the Grand Library.
We soared around, up by the glass. We were so close that I could make out some of the taller towers of the castle outside. Then, with a smoothness that seemed impossible given that I’d only taken my dragon on a single extended trip, Noctis swept in to land in the alcove that Penelope had picked out to show me.
Goddamn, that is the only way to travel! I thought to myself, grinning from ear to ear.
“So, you know how you said that the Shadow Nations were vanquished?” I said, returning to my history lesson as I slipped off Noctis’ back. “Do you mean that they were wiped out completely?”
“The chronicles are sketchy on those details,” Penelope said. “I think the story-tellers and bards of the time were more concerned about telling a tale that was likely to reflect most handsomely on the Empire’s handling of the situation.”
“So they didn’t wipe out the marauding army?” I asked.
“I think it unlikely,” Penelope said thoughtfully. “The Shadow Nations had too many bolt-holes that they could have fled through to be entirely exterminated. I would be inclined to think that a remnant of that force still lives below the earth, in some deep, dark caverns.”
“Why is it that they haven’t ever come out for round two?” I asked. “Surely, after a thousand years of breeding and stewing, they should have at least come out to raise a little bit of hell?”
“It is said—hinted at really—that the Shadow Nations took their hitherto undemonstrated strength, and a form of bastardized magic, from a race of supernatural beings known only as the Elder,” Penelope said. “When the Shadow Nations were driven back and dispersed, there were whispers that—rather than risk the Mystocean Empire getting their hands on these Elder and gaining even more power through them—the Shadow Nations’ survivors slew them.”
“There must have been a few sightings of the last of these Shadow Nations guys through the years, though?” I asked.
“Yes, of course, but none of the claims were ever substantiated,” Penelope said.
“And that final confrontation between the Mystocean Empire and the Shadow Nations, that was the last big fight that the dragonmancers were involved in?” I asked.
“Yes, indeed, and it was also the confrontation in which the last male dragonmancer was slain,” Penelope said gravely. “And since then, none have been born. It is suspected that the Elder Magic caused this to happen. Something must have changed which has caused you to exist. No doubt, when word spreads of your arrival, the lore-masters will wish to study you.”
I wasn’t exactly eager to be put under this world’s version of a microscope, but what interested me about Penelope’s words was the Elder Magic. It was the first time that anyone had mentioned a theory on how the male line of dragonmancers had died out.
“Although I love the acquisition of knowledge,” Penelope said, looking out from our lofty perch at the library below, “that sort of ancient knowledge is very hard to come by.”
I came to stand next to her and watched the figures below us all going about their separate tasks. “How do you mean?” I asked. “Look at this place. It’s a fucking depository of wisdom, isn’t it?”’
“The Academy does have much of the lore available t
o the people of the Mystocean Empire,” Penelope said slowly, not looking at me. “But there are some things—some scrolls—that are kept only in the catacombs under Empress Cyrene’s palace. Under lock, key and enchantment.”
“What sort of scrolls?” I asked.
“I don’t know for certain, being but a novice here,” Penelope said quickly, “but I would guess that they were texts on the Elder. I imagine that they are scrolls which, perhaps, touch on where it is one might find these powerful beings—if any survive—and how one might go about tapping their powers.”
I looked carefully at Penelope out of the corner of my eye. I got the impression that she was not telling me everything she knew, and that she’d already told me more than was prudent. She was clearly as sharp as a tack and that was worth remembering. Smart people, after all, surrounded themselves with other smart people. It would probably be a good idea to keep the Knowledge Sprite on my side. You never knew when a big old brain like hers would come in handy.
I elected to change the subject and put the young woman at her ease.
“Okay then,” I said, “that all sounds like a dead-end if the Empress has got the biggest secrets of the Empire tucked under her pillow. What can you tell me about the whole disappearing, non-rejuvenating dragons problem, then?”
Penelope seemed to visibly relax.
“What specifically do you want to know?” the Knowledge Sprite asked.
“Well, when Elenari—one of the fairly fresh dragonmancers—swung by Earth and picked me up, she told me about an old seer who lived in the Academy orchards somewhere. Apparently, this seer said that I would be able to help with this particular problem. If that’s the case, then the first step to helping is probably knowing how the problem started in the first place.”
“Sound reasoning,” Penelope said approvingly. “And, once again, I wish I could give you a definite answer.”
I nodded and smiled ruefully. “Yeah, I think I’m starting to understand that this world is one in which the mysteries are wrapped up in riddles, which are then tucked down the pants of enigmas that in turn are stowed behind the secret hidden bookcase at a conundrum’s house.”
The Knowledge Sprite giggled at this play on words and covered her mouth with her hand in a quite adorable fashion. It really seemed to tickle her. It made me think that a surefire way to romance this cute, all-blue chick would be to set up a game of Scrabble and Trivial Pursuit side by side and let nature run its course.
“It is a little like that,” Penelope admitted. “In this instance though, we can turn once more to those marauders, the Shadow Nations, for the probable explanation.”
“Oh, come on, Penelope, you tease,” I said amiably as the Knowledge Sprite paused to take a breath and gather her thoughts. “I’m drooling here. Why was it the fault of those cheeky little bastards?”
“Simply—yet, admittedly, vaguely,” Penelope said, “it is believed that the same curse which led to preventing the births of any male dragonmancers also caused new dragons to stop being born.”
“Ah,” I said. “A final fuck you to the Empire that had defeated them. The equivalent of salting the fields—or whatever the hell it is that you do to a field when you don’t want someone to grow anything in it.”
“Quite. An accurate comparison,” the Knowledge Sprite said, giving me another one of those approving looks, which told me that, although she was far too polite to say it, I was exceeding her expectations. “Although, of course,” she continued, turning to look at me, “what they were spitefully robbing us of was not food, but power.”
“And growing civilizations are always hungry for that, right?” I asked.
Penelope looked back over the huge library that opened out before us like a bibliophile’s wet dream. “Yes. Yes, they are,” she said.
“This curse,” I said, breaking into the sprite’s musings. “It basically just resulted in—what?—the male dragons firing blanks? The female dragons rolling over and saying they were tired when the male dragons tried to exercise their conjugal rights?”
“Essentially, yes,” Penelope said. Then she blushed. “Although, I couldn’t tell you if the dragons were affected in any sort of… physical way.”
“Can dragons die?” I asked.
Penelope looked fondly at her white dragon, which had curled up in the nest of hay provided for just such a reason. Noctis was sitting nearby, fastidiously cleaning a claw.
“They aren’t subject to the passage of time like we are,” she said. “They do not wither and fade and succumb to age like we do. But they can be killed.”
“And with their numbers being fixed, I guess that means that every dragon lost in battle brings them closer to extinction, and the Mystocean Empire one step closer to losing their most powerful weapons?” I said, thinking out loud.
“True enough, that,” the sprite agreed. “But it is no easy thing to kill a dragon.”
“And we—dragonmancers, I mean—do we share in their longevity?” I asked. I’d seen a lot of movies where characters of one sort or another would say that invulnerability or living forever was a curse more than anything but, personally, I was game for giving eternal life a nudge if it was on offer.
“You have yet to undergo the Transfusion Ceremony, so you do not have access to all a dragonmancers powers. Yes, you are bonded to your Onyx Dragon, but not completely.”
Well, that was more than anyone had said about the Transfusion Ceremony so far.
“And after the Ceremony, I’ll be immortal?” I asked.
“We live longer, but not forever,” Penelope told me. “It is far more common, in battle, for a dragon rider to be killed rather than their dragon.”
“What happens to the bonded dragon when that happens?” I asked.
This was exactly the sort of lesson that I needed, exactly the sort of blanks that I needed filling in.
“When a dragonmancer dies,” Penelope told me, seating herself on the edge of the desk and reciting her words in a way that made me feel that she had learned this particular spiel by rote, “their dragon reverts to its earliest stage of progression—its weakest and least mature form. Then, a new dragonmancer is sought out from a particular people or race that is now bereft of a dragonmancer representative.”
“So, each race within the Empire gets a dragon?” I asked.
“Correct. Well, sometimes the dragonmancers can be found on other worlds. Like you were found on Earth.”
“But they’re not given a particular breed of dragon? They just get one purely by chance?”
“That’s correct.” Penelope nodded.
“So, Noctis once belonged to someone else?”
“Indeed. It would have been some time ago, though, since a Onyx Dragon hasn’t been seen for an exceptionally long time. Sometimes the dead dragon inhabits limbo for many years before it is reborn again as a crystal. Nevertheless, he found you.”
“Every single race or people gets a dragon,” I mused aloud at the wonder of this. “But not those outside the Empire?”
“Only those within the Empire,” Penelope confirmed. “It ensures that each race has a share in the responsibility of protecting the Empire. And that is the key duty, as I have already mentioned, of the dragonmancers.”
It seemed that we had finally progressed back to our starting point. Still, I had another question. It was the most pressing question that no hot-blooded male—no matter how mature he wanted to seem—could resist asking for long.
“So, what with us being trained to, basically, be the cutting edge of the blade that is made up of the armed forces and used to protect the realm,” I said. “What sort of powers can I expect to gain, once I’m qualified?”
Penelope gave me such a knowing look then, that I could tell she knew exactly what I was asking. I was asking her; how much of a fucking badass was I going to become, and what sort of epic shit was I going to be able to accomplish?
She shot me a small smile and then studied her fingertips. “The powers of each
dragonmancer are unique,” she said, “and thus are hard to estimate with any great degree of accuracy. However, I think you will find that it will not be long before besting fifty regular soldiers in combat becomes a fairly straightforward task.”
“Fifty men?” I asked incredulously.
“And when you open up more of your crystal slots, through experience and bonding with your dragon, you will be able to defeat more than that,” the Knowledge Sprite said casually.
I shook my head in wonder. It was the dream of every person who took up fighting as a sport, whether they admitted it or not, to get to the point where they could single-handedly take on all comers. If you could somehow get to the level of the fictional characters played by Jean-Claude Van Damme or Jet Li, where you were clearing out whole barrooms on your own…
“I guess that explanation just begs the question; what can those slots that I can see on my crystal actually do?” I asked.
Penelope looked sideways at me. It was an appraising look. I could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she considered what to do next.
“I could explain it to you,” she said, “but I think it would be more efficacious if I were to show you instead.” She whistled softly to her dragon, and the sleek white beast got lithely to its feet.
I motioned for Noctis to stop with his manicure and get ready to fly too.
“I probably shouldn’t be doing this,” Penelope said to me, with a grin that might very well have been considered devilish when on the face of a librarian. “But blast it all! Let’s fly to the Training Halls!”
Chapter Eleven
I mounted Noctis and took off into the air behind Penelope and her Rooster Dragon. Sable dragon and snow-white dragon boosted out into the air like Yin and Yang made real.
We flew across the library and, as we went, I saw Penelope rummage in the front of her robes and pull something out. I couldn’t see what it was, but a moment later, there was a sound like an owl doing its best Mariah Carey impression and the huge door of the library opened ahead of us.