The Dragon Chronicles

by Ellen Campbell

  She felt the deep stirring of passion and pride. Damir wasn’t the largest of their kind, and yet the strength and conviction of his words motivated even their most powerful brethren to action. Many already spoke of him as the obvious heir-apparent to Cato. You’re right, Damir. You’re absolutely right. We must reclaim our rightful heritage.

  His grin, contagious as always, revealed his rows of sharp teeth. And you’ll help me and support me in that effort?

  She nodded, digging a claw into the earth and spreading the dirt upon a scale damaged by the spray of poisonous water kicked up by the dead icer. I’ve pledged to be your lifelong mate, Damir, and proudly so. I will always support you. Always.

  * * *

  Two months later.

  Eirene yawned, the minor roar rumbling through the main tunnel used by fire dragons as they traveled between major living and social areas. She’d slept fitfully during the past two months, and the lack of sleep had taken its toll. Damir, ever thoughtful, did his best to comfort her, but his words did little to help. He’d correctly assessed that it was the memory of the trip to the surface that haunted her dreams.

  But he didn’t know what it was about those memories that so disturbed her.

  Eirene nodded at the familiar faces she passed, exchanged friendly greetings with friends, stopping occasionally to relight the torches providing the only lighting in their underground domain. Each flickering torch and each shadow dancing along the rocky walls reminded her that their light was a pathetic replica of the glorious, brightly lit world above. The dull colors of the earth and rock seemed pale and lifeless now that she’d seen the radiant colors of the surface foliage and witnessed the sky when lit by the brilliant sun. She’d never noticed the stale, lifeless air she’d breathed her entire life, not until she’d tasted the sweet scent flowing freely all around in the world above. She’d mentioned this to Damir, the recognition that her senses were dulled here below. He’d frowned handsomely and told her it was common with new members of his Guard. They’d see the world above and, for a time, they’d hate their home, unable to avoid the comparisons and the realization that they lived in an inferior space. But after the first few water scars and frozen limbs in a battle with icers, they’d happily return to the dull off-duty safety of their homes. Eirene had nodded and admitted that it made sense. He’d repeated those statements that morning, following them up with the all-too-familiar question. They’d been pledged mates for nearly a year, now, and the fact that they’d yet to produce a clutch of eggs worried him. She’d told him again today that nothing had changed on that front, but that she expected that she’d soon be nesting and warming their burgundy red eggs—her color—with the deep brown spots—his color—and they’d need to start thinking of names for their children. He’d smiled at the idea and murmured a few name ideas, but apprehension remained on his face.

  She wondered what his depths of worry might be if he learned of her current course of action. Their minor delays in producing a clutch of eggs would likely pale in comparison.

  She’d left the common educational area after finishing her teaching shift. She’d taught young dragons how to produce fire, how to vary the levels of heat, and how to replenish fire they’d burned through their breathing. Fire wasn’t inexhaustible, and it was important that they not waste flame on trivial matters to ensure they had it available in critical situations and emergences. When one of the young dragons mockingly asked if that meant ice dragon invasions, she’d answered in the affirmative, describing an icer attack in such graphic detail that two of the youngest dragons left her class shaking with fear, convinced they’d be encased in ice before reaching home.

  She’d probably hear from parents about her response. But she felt it critical that young dragons know about and prepare for the greatest threats they’d face in lives that might stretch centuries. Those threats weren’t formed of childhood pranks, but serious threats they might not yet understand. Ice dragons, whether they thought them real or imaginary, were a perfect metaphor for a lesson on the importance of preparedness and alertness over complacency and idleness.

  And yes, she’d tell them, ice dragons were real.

  She slid unnoticed into a side tunnel filled with the webs of spiders likely long dead, a tunnel so long unused that it lacked the familiar torches mounted on the walls of every other tunnel and cave within their underground domain. She’d passed the unused spur a week earlier and had found herself intoxicated by the faint scent emanating forth. It was the scent of fresh surface air, a scent she’d longed to revisit somewhere other than her dreams. The allure of the surface, and what she’d hoped to find on her return, forced her into action.

  She used her flame sparingly, breathing thin wisps of fire that consumed the sticky webs decorating the walls, using the burning strands as light to guide her passage upward. She didn’t fear any living creature she might find here—fire breathing dragons coated with thick scales didn’t fear anything living at these depths—but she did need to avoid any missteps and the resulting torn muscles or chipped scales, injuries she’d find difficult to explain to a mate wondering exactly what and how she’d taught her students that she’d come home injured.

  Perhaps her honest answer about icers earlier would be the truth he’d need to hear to derive an answer that suited both of them.

  The pull of the surface had its own gravity, a force that grew with each step and each change in elevation. She’d move her foreclaws first, stabilize her position with her midclaws, and then push her body forward with her hind legs, claws clamped to clumps of dirt and rock when not in motion. The six limbs were an efficient means of movement. Damir told her he’d once seen a sentient surface creature with only four legs; more curiously, the creature moved about balanced upon only its hind legs. She’d scoffed at the idea, a notion foolish beyond compare, before remembering she’d once scoffed at the idea of the icers’ existence.

  After a careful hour of claw-straining movement, she reached the cave marking the end of the tunnel. The interior glowed faintly, lit by trace phosphorescence in the walls illuminated by the sunlight piercing the hidden interior. She’d one day attempt an understanding of how a fire dragon remained so high above the land and yet still kept a fire burning brightly for half of each day. Her more immediate interest was something else entirely.

  She’d been deeply enthralled with all things about the surface since that first visit—the fresh air, the foliage, even the sound of the poisonous water rippling on the surface of the lake. But there was one thing she longed to see more than anything else.

  She’d watched the ice dragon sweeping up out of the water and soaring through the air, spraying water upon her mate and his team, and had then watched her work to finish the execution of the much larger fire dragons. She’d failed, of course; Damir’s cleverness and curious jumping ability had seen to that. But it also left Eirene realizing a terrible truth.

  She found ice dragons beautiful.

  The smooth, translucent skin, so bright a silver that it seemed nearly transparent. The brilliant golden eyes. The powerful wings. And the courage displayed against overwhelming odds. It was that image, the admired image of the bitterest enemy of her kind that called to her from her dreams, and lured her once more to the surface. She wanted to see that beauty again, to fix the image firmly in her mind for all time. She did not care if the source of that image was male or female, young or old. She would seek out an ice dragon so as to witness that pure beauty one last time.

  And then she’d return belowground and help her mate plot the destruction of a species that she alone among her kind found so beautiful, and wonder why neither the sense of wonder toward the icers, nor the desire for their complete destruction, seemed foreign.

  She peered out upon the glorious coloring of the surface world. She saw the familiar lake, but from the opposite side. She squinted, spying the telltale markings of the official tunnel she’d used on her previous journey, an eternal journey away across a death trap. She
stepped out of the cave, eyes and ears alert for signs of icers. She crept low along the ground as best a creature twenty-five feet long and massing several tons could. She felt the natural, pleasant warmth of the fire in the sky along with the frightening chill of the breeze brushing over her scales. She moved closer to the lake, trembling as she went. She’d subtly asked why the deceased icer spent time in the water, and learned they generated their horrible, frosty breath only through continual absorption of pure water. Their bodies chilled the raw material of water into that icy breath, much as her own body turned raw material into flame. The icer had used up its moisture and had risked landing in the shallowest regions of the lake to drink and refuel the depleted moisture stores in her body. That knowledge provided the information she needed. The lake was both her greatest personal risk here—outside an ambush by a dozen angry icers—and also acted as the beacon calling icers to her. She accepted the risk inherent in her plan as it provided her best chance to see the beautiful dragons one last time, before she emerged in a more official capacity as a member of Damir’s fighting force emerging to reclaim the surface world at some future date.

  She moved as close to the lake as she dared before sinking into the comforting embrace of the soil and the silky grasses swaying in the breeze. Then she waited. She knew word of the dead icer had reached the clouds by now. They’d know the fire breathers were here, and thus they’d land elsewhere, at least in Damir’s experience. Only a desperate, dehydrated icer would risk landing here now. Damir’s Guard knew that; they’d not bother posting sentries here. She gambled that it also meant she’d only deal with one enemy dragon at a time. The odds were high she’d see nothing and return to her home unfulfilled.

  She waited. Her eyes flitted about, left and right, looking at the small, furry creatures skittering to and fro. They seemed not to notice her, as though the massive carnivore crouching in the grass were invisible. She longed to snap up a few of the foolish creatures, enjoying a small snack of the freshest and tastiest meat she’d eat for quite some time, until Damir’s future surface invasion completed and she had free reign of this land. For now, though, she avoided that temptation.

  A sound to her left caught her attention, and she snapped her head to the side.

  The sight took her breath away.

  It was a male this time, one slightly larger than the female executed by the Guard a few weeks earlier. The image was a near perfect match for the dead icer she’d seen before. Silvery, smooth, nearly transparent skin, an undulating and graceful body, and radiant, golden eyes. The magnificent wings bloomed around the creature’s body as it settled into a hovering pattern just off the ground, not daring to touch the soil. Eirene watched as he looked around, visibly sniffing the air for threats, the golden eyes scouring the surface for the fire dragons it suspected were hidden nearby.

  Like her.

  Eirene dropped lower toward the ground but didn’t take her eyes off him, etching her mind with every line and color variation in a desperate effort to brand the image forever inside her. A small furry creature brushed by her mouth, and she instinctively snapped it up, adding the savory taste of meat and blood to the blissful image before her.

  That joy didn’t last.

  The icer heard the rustling grass and her snapping jaws. It bounced backward, something she’d thought impossible for an airborne creature, and craned its magnificent head in the direction of the noise. The wing muscles tensed and flexed as the creature prepared to burst high above the ground at the discovery of the threat. The golden eyes turned fierce, and it showed its mouthful of sharp teeth, trying to frighten the would-be threat.

  She sucked in her breath. He was magnificent, the perfect image of pure beauty.

  The golden eyes snapped toward her as he rose a bit higher, hovering a dozen feet off the ground. She stood up, rising to her own full height, never taking her eyes from him.

  As an afterthought she bared her teeth in his direction, trying to preemptively prevent any insulting accusations of fear he might lob her way.

  The handsome face frowned and he dropped closer to the surface. You are not one of them. Why are you here?

  Them? I am not one of whom?

  Them. The killers. The murderers who slaughtered my sister and smashed the eggs she carried. You are not one of them.

  I am a dragon of the fire, ice breather! Eirene snapped her words at him with force, and he bounced back, startled. It is the nature of my kind to kill those from the air, for failure to do so—

  Will one day result in our own deaths at the claws of those left alive. He blinked at her, twice, and she realized that the ice dragons feared for their safety while in the proximity of her kind as fire dragons feared for their survival around icers. Both species preached similar phrases relating to personal safety and longevity. None of this excuses the wanton slaughter of a single pregnant female. I will have my revenge!

  She let out a small puff of flame. Any whom you might target in your thirst for revenge are my kin and brethren, icer. I will not allow it.

  He snorted, and she watched the mesmerizing frost engulf his head, watched as the golden eyes and handsome head reappeared as the smoky mist dissipated. Why did she find these images so beautiful, when the very sight of him ought to drive her mad with blood lust and rage?

  He dove at her, launching a torrent of icy breath toward her. Instinct took over. Eirene rolled to the side, whipping her long tail behind her so that she returned to her feet facing toward the water. He’d climbed high into the sky, and she briefly thought he’d decided that attacking her was pointless, that he’d chosen survival over his stated goal of revenge.

  His ascent halted, and as he plunged back toward the lake she recognized his intent. She ran, turning away from the lake as she moved, and then sprinted at her top speed away from the water and toward the tunnel entrance. She thought better of that plan and veered right, heading away from the mouth of the cave and the tunnel leading to her home. She’d not give away an entrance to the underworld to him.

  She winced as the water droplets hit the last few feet of her tail. She’d moved far enough away that the major wave he’d unleashed fell harmlessly upon the soil, but even the minor contact with moisture hurt. She whirled again, simultaneously roaring flame at his ascending form and dredging her tail into the soothing earth.

  Her flames missed. He flew higher, then returned toward the surface. She crouched lower, fangs bared. Their dueling instincts demanded a fight to the death. She felt that internal compulsion, a genetic demand that she charge and belch forth the flame that would destroy him.

  She held still, waiting for him to soar once more into the air before launching another high speed aerial assault.

  But he remained still, staring at her instead.

  She puffed out another wafting bit of smoke, taunting him, trying to get him to move first. Cool mist formed around his head; he, too, wanted to react.

  Eirene found herself confused. Was he resisting instinct as well?

  The ice dragon cocked his head. Why do you not attack me?

  She snorted a small bit of flame. I wondered the same of you.

  I… I did not attack because… he paused. I did not want to.

  She blinked several times. I did not wish to attack you, either. I had always been taught that icers are horrible, ugly creatures, the epitome of evil and deserving of death.

  He nodded slowly. But… you do not think I am a horrible creature?

  I do not know, she admitted.

  You do not think I deserve death?

  Not today, Eirene responded. But I reserve the right to change my mind if you attack me.

  His wings twitched and he floated closer. You… do not think me ugly?

  She hesitated before opting for honesty. No, I do not.

  He moved closer once more, hesitant, eyes blinking rapidly. She wondered if he just now recognized the size differential, that her fire would easily reach and cook him should she elect an attack. He was larger
than most icers and she was smaller than most fire dragons, but she still outmassed him by a considerable margin. I have been taught the same, that the demons of the underworld are the source of all evil and ugliness in the world, deserving of death for the crime of existence. When I learned of my sister’s death, I found those statements confirmed. And yet…

  Eirene found herself smiling. And yet you do not find me evil or ugly or deserving of death.

  No, he replied. I do not find you any of those things. In fact… He paused. In fact, I find you… oddly beautiful. How is it that I, one of the mighty Jokul, would find the spawn of Misae an object of beauty?

  This is impossible, she thought in reply. Our kind have been at war, driven to kill by instinct bred by millennia of hostilities. Why is it that neither of us feels that compulsion to kill the other?

  Perhaps, he replied, it is because we each see the beauty in the other, rather than the ugliness.

  He moved closer to her, until they were nearly touching.

  Eirene smiled at the contact.

  * * *

  Two months later.

  Damir stirred from his sleep and stretched, noting the pleasant sensation of Eirene nestled next to him. She remained asleep, a contented smile upon her face, the look of one experiencing a pleasant dream. The mating pledge had come over a year earlier, the oath a lifetime commitment of fidelity, and thus one not undertaken lightly given the potential lifespans of dragonkind. Eirene was intelligent, courageous, and possessed of a wicked sense of humor, all qualities he found admirable. She understood his work, recognized the importance of what he did, and offered her support through her teaching and public statements to friends and colleagues.

  She was his ideal mate in every way.

  He felt her awaken and begin stirring next to him. Good morning, my love.

  A good morning to you as well. She paused. Why do we call it morning when we do not see the sun of the day or the stars of night?