by Megan Derr
As the fearmonger struggled futilely, the dragon lowered his head and sank his teeth into the fearmonger's throat, biting down hard enough to break its neck. The fearmonger turned to dead weight beneath him.
The dragon snorted, huffed, smoke spilling from his jaws as he backed away. He spewed fire over the fearmonger's corpse, not stopping until all that remained was a black stain and ashes swiftly scattered by the wind. Flexing his wings carefully, the dragon flew back across the lake towards the garrison. People clamored at the shore, struggling to ready boats. More people were spilling from the city. He could hear the faint sound of trumpets calling out the death of the king.
He flew over it all, until he was sure they'd all seen him, would never forget the day a dragon had appeared.
Then he turned in the opposite direction and pushed into the sky, headed as far away as his wings would take him.
HISTORY
"At which point it's believed Binhadi Oathbound sought refuge in the Temple of the Sky. But by the time the imperial army reached it, the temple proved to be long-abandoned, emptied even of its books and holy relics. What little remained of the Holy Order of the Great Dragon and Binhadi Oathbound, left Orhanis, never to be seen again, though of course we know from the Eser Collection that Binhadi and Eser maintained a regular correspondence, despite the fact Eser was warned never to communicate with him ever again."
Mizha pushed her spectacles up her nose and clicked to the next slide. "There are many accounts of Binhadi Oathbound being sighted in Orhanis, but contemporary records, along with journals and the like of the time, strongly indicate these were all cases of mistaken identity. Most were likely attempts by rebels to rally the people, the rest were by people looking for attention. My new research only strengthens the argument that they fled Orhanis and had no role whatsoever in the rebellions that followed."
She clicked to the final slide. "To conclude my lecture, I present you with this image, recently discovered in the Gherrow Archives in Lurana, where it's long been theorized Binhadi Oathbound eventually settled. I would call this definitive proof they did precisely that." She shuffled her notes until the whispering had died completely. "I'm sure, my fine scholars, that you recognize the leftmost portion of the image…"
There were precious few images of Binhadi Morlock, and none at all of the men purported to be his Oathbound. The most famous of them was a scrap of painting, the rest of it destroyed over time. It showed Binhadi sitting on a wall, his face turned to the person next to him, only the barest scrap of that person left, just enough to make it clear Binhadi's arm was around them. What had become of the rest of the painting, no one knew, and there were no records of it that would allow even for educated speculation.
But the image she'd discovered recently was a beautiful, highly detailed sketch that had likely been a prelude to the painting, or had been done by another party who admired the painting. Either way, it showed Binhadi's companions for the first time. Seeing it, drawing on letters and histories to match names to the faces, had been one of the best moments of Mizha's life.
She looked at the sketch, unable to resist breaking into a smile as she said, "From left to right we have: Binhadi Morlock, Cemal Shield, Sule Ekrem, and Mahzan Tufiri, the notorious Binhadi Oathbound."
Someone snorted and slapped his hand on his thigh. "Oathbound. There's no such thing, and you use that term so freely, I think you believe yourself above the law."
"Not at all," Mizha replied, reaching up to touch the black leather collar around her throat. "I am a faithful citizen of the Empire. I use the term 'Oathbound' because it works as well as anything to describe the close relationship between these four men. The tales of their magical feats were greatly exaggerated, but I do believe they were all highly skilled mages, and there is no arguing they forged some sort of bond."
"Why are you bringing up this topic for the thousandth time? Surely the subject of Binhadi and his little harem has been thoroughly exhausted by now. I can't think His Holy Majesty is terribly pleased about this; he's not overly fond of the subject, especially now."
"On the contrary, I have the certificate granting right to this lecture, signed by him personally," Mizha said. "I would not be here if His Most Holy Majesty had not approved it. You're obviously aware of the recent uprisings in the remote regions of the empire. A fruitless endeavor, of course, by ungrateful citizens who do not appreciate everything His Most Holy Majesty does for all his people of Petrocia." She nudged her spectacles up again. "The old tales of Binhadi Oathbound have been stirring again, as they always do when ignorant citizens cause needless trouble." The men all murmured agreements and muttered about ignorant peasants who should remember their place. "I thought a lecture circuit reminding everyone that they were murderous cowards who fled after murdering Regent Yavuz—and never rebelled against anything save their own capture—might quell some of the nonsense tales going around."
One of the men chuckled. "I don't think you're going to get many peasants to listen to a university lecture."
"Every little bit helps," Mizha replied, fussing with her spectacles again and clicking back to the beginning of her slides, which showed the eagle and sun crest of the empire. "Certainly the sorts of people who would rebel against Our Most Holy Emperor are not the sort to possess minds strong enough for higher schooling. But many of their betters do attend these lectures, and will be all the better informed and so able to remind people of their places and all they should be grateful for. I—"
She was cut off by the tolling of bells and relaxed as the men who'd attended her lecture wasted no time in departing. Sighing, Mizha set to packing up her papers, slides, and projection machine.
A low cough drew her attention, and she looked up with a polite smile that faded when she saw the stern-faced man who'd questioned her choice of lecture topic. "I remain skeptical that you're actually permitted to give such a borderline-rebellious lecture."
"Borderline in what sense?" Mizha asked.
"All this new research you speak of—hardly necessary to confirm what you've said. As I mentioned earlier, this topic has been exhausted. To my mind, it is more than a little suspicious that in the midst of all these rebellions, you are doing new research on a tiresome topic about a dangerous traitor, traveling all over the empire to speak of Binhadi and his little concubines. Is your purpose really to help stop the rebellion? Because such lectures as this could also simply fan the flames. Makes a man wonder what you're really about, Professor…" The man faltered as he realized he couldn't remember, or more likely hadn't bothered to learn, Mizha's name.
Mizha sketched a bow. "Mizha Belaeri, at your service, sir. I am permitted to give this lecture on the academic circuit." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the certificate, offered it for the man to examine. "I specialize in Oathbound studies, and continue to pursue those studies with a grant from my patron, His Imperial Highness Prince Setha, who thinks new knowledge regarding Oathbound studies could prove useful to magical studies, which are important to him. Those studies brought me to learn more of Binhadi Oathbound specifically, and His Imperial Highness thought a lecture regarding the matter would be a good way to grow comfortable with giving lectures and traveling extensively, in addition to helping to quell these ridiculous uprisings. I have always lived at the Imperial University, you see. This lecture circuit is my first time seeing the rest of the Holy Petrocian Empire."
"I see," the man said, looking mollified and envious. "I still don't see that you'll accomplish much regarding ungrateful, halfwit peasants, but I admire your earnestness and effort."
"The Holy Empire is unrivaled in its glory, and I seek only to do my part to ensure it will always be so, by the grace and goodness of His Most Holy Majesty and His Imperial Highness."
"You're a good girl. So unusual to see a woman about such places!"
Mizha laughed. "My father tried to marry me off properly, but I was blessed with a scholar's mind, and His Imperial Highness did not want to see it wasted. I
was most fortunate to draw his attention, purely by chance at an imperial ball to which my father was invited. And so here I am."
The man laughed with her and clapped her approvingly on the back. "Good luck on the rest of the circuit. I think you are doing His Imperial Highness proud."
"Thank you, and thank you again for attending my humble lecture. Good day to you, citizen."
When the man had gone, Mizha finished packing up her belongings, motioned for the patiently waiting attendants to take it all away, but kept her leather satchel with all her notes as she left the lecture hall and headed to the street, where a large, ornate, gilded black carriage waited.
A footman opened the door and Mizha climbed inside, settled on the bench that put her back to the horses. The door closed, leaving her in complete darkness.
Almost complete, came a soft, teasing voice as a foot nudged playfully against her calf. Hands dragged her across the small space between the benches and into a long, thorough kiss. Mizha ran her fingers through Setha's hair before settling back in her seat. How was the lecture?
Same as all the others, Mizha replied, jarring slightly as the carriage jerked into motion, carrying them through the quiet streets of the university grounds toward the much busier, more crowded streets of Yavuz City. How was your afternoon?
Productive. The books were right where your journal said they would be. Ritna is taking them straight to our rooms; you'll be able to start translating tonight. And I think I may have found us a fire mage.
Mizha's heart sped up. You really think so?
Soft fingers caressed her cheek, and then Setha reached out and dragged Mizha into his lap. Was I wrong about you? About Ritna? I am right about this one, too. Her name is Shaelin. She's a bookmaker. I think you two will get along splendidly, my little scholar.
Mizha clung tightly as Setha kissed her, whining low in her throat at the ache and hunger that rose up at finally being able to touch him again for a little while. Soon, far too soon, they would go back to being Prince and the silly little scholar he sponsored, and Ritna merely Setha's secretary.
The collars she and Ritna wore chafed all of them, but the only way they could stay close to Setha was to wear them and act the part of faithful second class citizens of the Holy Empire. If anyone knew Ritna was really a Tevrek spy, they would take his head without hesitation.
And if they knew Mizha Belaeri, a harmless girl from one of the many islands scattered around Orhanis, was truly Mizha Morlock, direct descendent of the notorious Warlock Binhadi, they would burn her at the stake—after torturing her for information the Holy Empire still sought nearly two hundred years after Binhadi Oathbound had died.
Information contained in a journal that only she could open, information that had spurred her to venture into the heart of Petrocia—and right into the path of a prince with forbidden mind magic and an inclination to rebel against his own family.
And that rebellion would soon begin in earnest.
Setha slipped fingers beneath Mizha's clothes, teasing playfully over her chest before dipping lower to tease at places already growing hard. "I hope you don't mind there might be a slight delay before you're able to start translating."
"I might—" Mizha hissed, "—forgive you one or two delays, my prince."
Chuckling, Setha slipped his hand free and settled Mizha next to him.
"Mean," Mizha muttered.
"Mean would be failing to follow through, and I have every intention of finishing what I started when we get home. Now put on your best smile, Mizha, because we're going shopping for some books you desperately need."
"Yes, Your Highness," Mizha replied, heart speeding up again as the thought of finally having located their missing piece, of creating a legendary Oath like her ancestors—and finish what they started centuries ago and at long last set Orhanis free.
*~*~*
Mahzan sat up gasping for breath while also trying to scream. He remembered flying. Fire. Tearing. Biting. Falling as his bad wing snapped and finally gave up. Plummeting through the trees.
He looked up, saw the gap in the forest canopy, several broken branches dangling by the merest bit, and the cold starlight beyond.
Another gasp made him start, and Mahzan turned his aching head to see Cemal jerk upright, then bend over, head braced in one hand. Mahzan tried to reach out to him mentally, but he was simply too exhausted. Every bit of him hurt.
He drifted in and out of consciousness, finally pulled completely awake by the warmth of sunlight and someone calling his name. Then Binhadi was peering down at him, frowning in that way of his, and Mahzan could just feel the fluttering of his concern at the back of his mind. "I'm fine. Just tired and sore."
Sule grumbled an agreement as he joined them and helped Binhadi drag Mahzan to his feet. Mahzan stared at them, at himself, finally registering what had somehow escaped his notice until then. "Why are we naked?"
"I'm guessing our clothes did not survive turning into a dragon," Cemal said. "I can only shift with my clothes if I'm really focusing. Strangely, our memory stones did survive." He touched the one around his throat, and Mahzan reached reflexively to touch the one Binhadi had given him.
"Dragon…" Mahzan said softly, memories rushing back, blurry and strange and like they belonged to someone—something—else. "We really…" He looked at Binhadi, who stared back with a crooked smile. "We really managed dragon magic and didn't die."
"Do not tell me you're surprised?" Binhadi asked, smile widening slightly.
Mahzan lifted one shoulder. "Of course not. No one is better than us."
Sule rolled his eyes. "Yes, we are the absolute best. Which is why we're standing naked in the middle of a forest with no idea where the nearest town or village might be—and with an extremely angry empire looking to remove our heads."
"I doubt the empire will remember us after another month has passed," Binhadi replied. "But the naked and lost is certainly a problem."
Cemal laughed. "Let me get some more rest and I'll fly somewhere to get us clothes and supplies enough to make it to where we can resupply properly. The real question is: what do we do now? Orhanis is well and truly lost to the empire now. I don't know what we can possibly do to free it, either."
"It's not our problem," Mahzan said, as much as he hated the idea of falling under Petrocia's cold, heartless rule. "We did the best that four men could. We faced a problem nobody else even knew existed. I can't say we won, but that fearmonger is gone and Yavuz is dead. Let the rest of the world-saving fall to someone else. Even if we wanted to continue the fight, we have nothing—no resources, no funds, not even a home. I think after months and months of doing our best to save people, we have earned a right to withdraw. If we really want to save Orhanis, we'll do it another day, when we're in a better position."
"We could head for the Temple of the Sky," Cemal said. "They'd take us in, and we could relay what's happened. Petrocia won't waste any time in destroying the temples first—maybe we can get word to them fast enough that some of the priests and other people can escape before they're subjugated or murdered." Cemal made a face. "Dragon knows this place isn't home anymore. Not for us, not for anyone in Orhanis, though most of them won't have a choice." He sighed.
"No, it's not," Binhadi agreed. "As Mahzan said, we've done our part. I can't say I'll be able to walk away completely, but as we stand now, we'll only accomplish a whole lot of nothing. There is a world in want of exploring; I say we attend to that." He held a hand out to Mahzan—and both men gasped and jerked apart at the hot jolt that shot through them.
Mahzan stared at his skin, heart thud-thudding in his chest. There was scales on his skin…no, more like the scales were under his skin, shimmering in and out of visibility, glowing like moonlight.
He looked at the others, saw they were doing much the same, though the color of the scales differed.
Binhadi reached out and touched him again, but this time all Mahzan felt was a tingle. "Perhaps it will settle with time. I wonder wh
at it is."
"An aftereffect of the dragon magic?" Sule asked as he and Cemal drew closer to them, reaching out to touch in their turn.
Mahzan's powers strengthened, spread, and he could feel it then, the ability to turn into a dragon. Once done, it could be done again more easily. He shuddered and tucked the magic away, far more interested in exchanging soft, reassuring kisses with his lovers. His Oathbound.
Eventually, however, they drew apart. He was hungry, and more importantly, he was still naked, and he wanted both those problems resolved as soon as possible.
"Judging by the sun, we want to head that way," Sule pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, "to have the best chance of avoiding anyone hunting us. There's bound to be a village or a campground somewhere along the way, and once his strength is back, Cemal can get us clothes and food." He started walking, falling into step beside Mahzan while Cemal and Binhadi walked together a few paces behind them.
When Mahzan started singing a bawdy travel song, all three joined in.
FIN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Megan is a long time resident of queer fiction, and keeps herself busy reading, writing, and publishing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. When she’s not involved in writing, she likes to cook, harass her wife and cats, or watch movies. She loves to hear from readers, and can be found all over the internet.
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