The Dragon's Choice

by Wesley Allison

  “That is the stain of mankind on you,” said Argentine. “It is the stain of man to not see that good and evil are absolutes. It is the stain of man to think that good and evil are relative. It is the stain of man to think that you can live without choosing one. It is the stain of man.”

  Zoantheria leapt forward and bit the silver dragon on the neck. Two scales, glinting in the sunlight, were ripped away and fell to the ground. Startled, he pulled back, lost his footing, and rolled off the rocks and into the ocean.

  “We’re dragons!” she yelled. “Everything we do is self-serving! Take your stain of man and fly off, you shiny asshole!”

  The silver dragon flapped his wings, lifting himself out of the water and up toward the sky.

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” he hissed as he passed her. “Dragons don’t even have…”

  “It was a metaphorical asshole!”

  Argentine disappeared into the clouds.

  “Asshole,” growled Zoey. Then she tore into the remains of her meal.

  * * * * *

  “Visssitor,” hissed Cheery.

  “Really?” wondered Senta, relaxing in her bubble bath. She reached out with her mind. “The young lord is here? You told him that Zoantheria was not here, did you not?”

  “He says he see you.”

  “Very well,” said Senta. “You may inform him that I’ll be down as soon as I feel like it.”

  Half an hour later, the sorceress, wearing a diaphanous Mirsannan dressing gown, descended the stairs. Her bare feet gave Lord Dechantagne, who was sitting with his back to her sipping fortified wine, no inkling of her approach. She ran her hand over the back of his neck, startling him. He just managed not to spill the wine.

  “Senta. Hello. I’m happy that you could see me.”

  “But of course, Your Lordship,” said Senta, sitting down on the sofa, and then reclining over its entirety. “We’re practically family.”

  “Well, very good friends anyway, eh?” he grinned. “You look… unusually…”

  “Beautiful? Ravishing? Gorgeous? Dishy?”

  “Um… all of the above, but I was going to say… sober.”

  She clicked her tongue. “I’m taking the cure.”

  “Oh, well, I approve. Very judicious of you, I’m sure.”

  “What did you want?” asked Senta, sharply.

  “Yes. Well, I’ve been thinking about something that Zoey said to me.”

  “Very judicious of you, I’m sure,” she said, mockingly.

  He straightened his shoulders and continued.

  “As you know, I am an important man and sometimes become the target of various individuals for a variety of reasons.”

  “Those men who robbed you didn’t do it because you were important,” said Senta, letting her eyes run up and down his bespoke suit and expensive shoes. “They did it because you look rich.”

  “Yes, but they aren’t the only ones. Hardly a month goes by that I don’t get a death threat in the mail or some ne’er-do-well decides that I’m the cause of his problems—which is never true, I might add, in case that’s what you were thinking. Besides, it wasn’t that long ago that dozens of important leaders in the empire went missing, never to be heard from again.”

  “To be fair,” said the sorceress. “I killed the majority of them myself. That’s not likely to happen to you, unless you become slightly more tedious.”

  “You see, Zoey told me to use my brain. So, I thought to myself, “If I was in danger, who would I want to come to my rescue? Senta, that’s who!”

  She rolled up into a sitting position.

  “This is slightly less tedious. You could have some kind of special artifact. In case of an emergency, you could… do something, and I would appear. I would step out of flame or appear in a burst of stars—something spectacular.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “The important thing is that you would appear and take care of whatever threat was present.”

  “Of course, of course. It would be quite heroic, really.”

  “So it’s settled then?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she replied. “Except for what I get out of it.”

  “I already pay you a great deal, in both money and favors.”

  “The question is therefore,” she smiled, “what more could you possibly offer?”

  * * * * *

  Though Zoey hated to admit it, the lizzie city-state of Yessonarah was quite impressive, especially seen from the air. It rivaled Port Dechantagne in overall size, and was much more dense. Surrounded by a great stone wall, it stretched up the side of a mountain on the south and touched the shores of a large artificial lake on the north. Within, were a multitude of wooden and stone buildings. Poking up from among them, were seven large pyramids and eight other enormous buildings.

  She swooped down toward the largest of the pyramids. Not only was it the tallest, it was the most massive, twice as wide from side to side as from front to back, and at its top were two square temples, instead of the usual one. Landing gently on top, she stretched her long serpentine neck so that she could get a good look at the stone carvings that adored the four sides of the square temple. It was covered with dragon images—images of her. It was, she thought, a good likeness.

  Thousands of lizzies in the streets below stopped to look up at her. Many dropped to their knees. Others bowed with a hand at their dewlap. At several points up the great staircase that was the center of the east side of the pyramid, were lizzies in white paint—temple guards or some such. Several of them left their posts and hurried down the steps.

  Zoantheria stretched out her wings and enjoyed the warming rays of the sun. In a few minutes, she had dozed off. Though she was able to ignore the sounds of the city below and all around her, she was awakened no more than thirty minutes later by the sounds of feet coming up the stone steps of the pyramid. She waited until they came very close and stopped, before opening her eyes and raising her head.

  “Greeting Great Goddess Zoantheria.”

  A female lizzie, brightly painted blue, red, and white stood just below her. Behind her was another female, this one painted red, white, and black. Behind them were two males, painted white, like the ones who lined the steps. Each of the males carried a long spear.

  “Hey,” said Zoey.

  “Welcome to Yessonarah, Great Goddess Zoantheria,” said the lead female. The fact that she could easily pronounce Zoantheria, when the closest lizzies could come to the name of their wonderful Bessemer was Yessonar, tickled the coral dragon.

  “Thank you. And you would be?”

  “I am Tokkenoht, High Priestess and King of Yessonarah.” The lizzies had no concept of a ruling queen, so their female ruler was styled king. “This is Queen Szakhandu. We are pleased to welcome you to your temple. What can we do to make you more comfortable?”

  “I could use some pillows. I don’t suppose you have any wine.”

  “We do have some wine,” said Tokkenoht. “We get it from the human traders, but there may not be that much. We also have ssukhas, our own drink.”

  “You may bring me both.”

  Tokkenoht turned and sent Szakhandu and the two temple guards away, presumably to gather the drinks.

  “Great Yessonar will return in about fourteen days,” she said.

  “That’s fine,” said Zoey. “I plan to sleep as soon as I’ve quenched my thirst.”

  “You’ve eaten?”

  “Everybody’s concerned.”

  “I shall leave you then,” said the lizzie priestess. “Your wine and pillows should be here soon.”

  * * * * *

  Lord Dechantagne arrived at the Drache Girl’s home just before tea. Her lizzie butler led him out into the garden, where she sat beneath the shade of a large umbrella, next to a round wrought iron table. He was about to point out that it was too warm to be sitting outside, when he noticed that it was at least fifteen degrees cooler in her garden than it had been in front of her house.

  “Magic,�
�� he muttered to himself.

  “Indeed you are correct, my handsome young friend.” Senta pointed toward a chair near her, and he sat down.

  “Have you heard from Zoey?” he asked.

  “She’s fine. She’s a dragon. There are very few things for her to fear.”

  “Just other dragons, eh?”

  “Other dragons and me,” she said. “Now, on to the purpose of your visit.”

  She pulled something seemingly from the air and set it on the table in front of her. It was a little plaster statuette of a woman, about three inches tall. Though the facial features were too small to make out, one could tell by the clothing—knee-high boots, a too short skirt, and a leather bustier worn as a shirt—that it was a figure of Senta.

  “Did you know they were selling these around town?” she asked.

  “Yes. I believe they go for 50p, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Really? Don’t you think I should get a share of the profits?”

  “That’s something that you should take up with the courts,” he said. “You know, they make them of me too.”

  “Why would anyone want a statue of you?”

  “I am Lord Dechantagne, March Lord of…”

  “It was a rhetorical question,” she interrupted. “Now on to business.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Let’s.”

  “I spent quite some time crafting this spell. It’s an original Senta. No one else in the world uses it. I call it ‘Summon My Protector.’ I’ll cast it on this little statue, and it will become a talisman. You have but to grasp it in your hand and call my name and I shall appear.”

  “And you’ll deal with any danger or threat.”

  “That is the idea,” she smiled. “Now about my fee.”

  “Yes. What do you want?”

  “Each time you use it, you owe me a no.”

  “What?”

  “Each time you use it, you will owe me a no.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If you use this talisman,” she said slowly, “you will owe me a no. So, the next time someone asks you for something, I can if I choose, have you say no.”

  “About what?”

  “About anything I want.”

  “I can’t give over my decision making to you.”

  “You won’t be. I can’t make you say yes. I can only make you say no, and that only once for each time you use our little talisman.”

  “That’s an awfully high price,” he said, frowning.

  “And that is why you should only use it in an emergency. You see, when you call, I will come. I’ll have no choice. You don’t think that’s an inconvenience for me? I could be taking a bath, and poof, there I am in the thick of battle. I don’t want you calling me when you have an argument with your tailor. This way, you won’t use it wastefully.”

  He looked from the little statue to Senta’s face and back.

  “Fine,” he said, at last. “I’m not buying a pig in a poke though. I get to use it once to see if it works, before I have to start paying.”

  “Did you think I would cheat you, Your Lordship? You may use it twice, free of charge, but after that, your no account begins to accrue.”

  He nodded. She pointed her finger at the tiny figure.

  “Maiius uuthanum nejor paj rezesic edios sen.”

  “I just grasp it in my hand, and call your name?” He hesitated, but at last, picked it up and looked closely at it. It seemed to be a much better likeness than it had before.

  “That’s all,” she said, grinning widely.

  Senta’s magic ensured that there were no spies in her garden or anywhere near it. The land around her home was part of her estate, walled in and private. But half a mile away, just outside the boundaries of that wall, on a high pine tree, sat a cardinal. The bright red bird cocked its head to one side and considered what it had just heard, because this bird had the eyes and ears of a dragon.

  Chapter Fifteen: The Fashion Show

  “Curried egg?” offered Prince Clitus, leaning over to place the item on Princess Henrietta’s plate.

  “Ich danke Ihnen,” she said, picking up the egg and passing it between her thick lips. “Und danke schön for taking me here.”

  She waved toward the broad grassy field that made up much of St. Admeta Park, where the two picnicked on a blanket beneath a willow. This time of year, the park was closed to the public, and so the two of them had it all to themselves, at least if one didn’t count a dozen servants and their protection details.

  “You’re very welcome,” he said.

  “I think I go licht im gehirn if I stay anymore inside of doors. In Freedonia, we are aus dem haus much.”

  “I understand completely, and may I say your Brech is coming along swimmingly.” The Prince let his eyes drift over her form. She had lost a good ten pounds since she had arrived in Brechalon, not that she still didn’t look voluptuous.

  “You are so nice, Clitus,” said Henrietta. “You are taking me to the fashion show for adel in eine woche?”

  “I do what I can. I’m sure that Tybalt would have preferred to be here with you, but he’s otherwise engaged.”

  “Ja. I don’t think he care to be here. He is not liking me, I think.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case.” Clitus smiled thinly. “How could he not appreciate you? You’re lovely. He just hasn’t had a chance to get to know you.”

  “The wedding is only einen monat. I don’t think he care to know me. I am being sorry he is the Prince I must marry.”

  “You won’t feel that way after the wedding, and some day, you’ll be the next Queen of Greater Brechalon and Freedonia.”

  “Being Queen is gut thing, I think, but not best.”

  * * * * *

  “So how did I get nominated to take Henrietta to the Ladies Auxiliary Fashion Show?” asked Clitus.

  “You didn’t expect me to take her?” asked Tybalt. “Did you?”

  “I did rather expect that, yes. More importantly, I think that Henrietta expected it. You’re marrying her in twenty-five days. The least you could do is to get to know her a bit.”

  “Stay out of my business, little brother,” said Tybalt.

  “It’s a little more than just your business.”

  “Tybalt is right,” said the King. “This is his marriage, and she will be his wife.”

  “He’s going to be King,” said Clitus. “She’s going to be Queen. Wouldn’t it be better if they got along? Or how about showing her just enough consideration that she doesn’t hate Brechalon?”

  “As long as they perform their duties, the rest is their business.” The King stood up and stretched. “Besides, they won’t have to worry about it for many years.”

  He stepped out of the room. A moment later, his eldest son started to follow him.

  “Be reasonable,” said Clitus. “At least make an effort.”

  “Stay out of my business.”

  The younger Prince leaned back in his chair and sighed. After a few minutes, Bob stepped into the room and sat down near him.

  “Maybe you should be more concerned about a wife of your own rather that the one for your brother, Your Highness.”

  “You know, if I were in Tybalt’s spot, I’d be perfectly happy with Henrietta. She’s a fine young woman, smart, kind.”

  “She’s not hard on the eyes either,” Bob pointed out.

  “No, she’s not.”

  “But she’s your brother’s, Your Highness.”

  “Oh, don’t get your corset in a twist. I’ve no designs on the Princess. I’m not Tybalt and I’m not in his place.”

  “I don’t think the young lady would care,” said Bob.

  Clitus shot him a sharp look. “What are you trying to say?”

  “She’s falling in love with you.”

  “No,” scoffed the Prince.

  “Yes. You’re too damn charming. You need to pull it back a bit. Stay away from her.”

  “That would be easier if my brother
would simply pay a little attention to his own fiancé.”

  “No doubt,” said Bob. “That’s not going to happen though. So you need to stop presenting yourself as a much superior alternative.”

  “I’m not doing that!”

  “Maybe not on purpose. Still, best to stay away.”

  “I’m supposed to take her to that damn fashion show.”

  “Don’t go.”

  “I have to. One of us has to be there and neither my father nor Tybalt will show up.”

  “No help for it then. At least, don’t sit by her.”

  “How am I supposed to manage that?” wondered the Prince.

  “Take Lady Esther and sit her between you. Or you could take Lady Terra. That would send a message.”

  “What message would that send?”

  “That you’re taken.”

  “Lady Terra is not interested in me,” said Clitus.

  “I think you’re underestimating your appeal, again,” said Bob.

  “Maybe Lady Iolana…”

  “There you have the one woman in Brech City that has no interest in you, and she never will have.”

  “You know a lot about women, do you, Bob?”

  “I’ve been around, sir.”

  “And why couldn’t she ever be interested in me?”

  “Because she’s in love with somebody else. Better to focus on the brunette.”

  “Do you have money riding on my marrying Lady Terra, Bob? You seem overly invested.”

  Bob threw up his hands.

  “I have nothing but His Highness’s welfare in mind.”

  * * * * *

  Prince Clitus was surprised to find a bit of a party going on in the Dechantagne Staff parlor. The participants seemed to be most of the servants in the house. When he stepped in, the room suddenly became quiet, and the inhabitants froze like wild animals in a hunter’s torchlight.

  “Prince Clitus!” called Lady Esther from across the room.

  As she hurried toward him, he had a split second vision of what it must feel like to stare down a charging tyrannosaurus.