Dragon Champion

by E. E. Knight

  “That I tell no one. I know, and my nestmen know, but that information is kept from any who might leave the island. You, my friend, will be flying for me very shortly. But I’ll let you enjoy your time among the females first. I remember what it was to be young.”

  “It your turn, NooShoahk,” one of the Dragonguard said, after AuRon returned from his morning visit to the sandpits outside the caves, where the dragons took care of their natural functions. “This morning we open the gates, you have pick of females.”

  “How do I know which ones the others have mated with?” AuRon asked.

  “Not matter. Watch and ware. If any give trouble, come to me, tell me who. Some shes make fight.”

  AuRon followed the heavy tread of the soldier past the now-open gates. The smell of females pulled him down the tunnel like the current of a swift river. He sensed a larger space ahead in the darkness.

  “Watch for eggs. Smash eggs mean much trouble,” his guide advised, stepping into an alcove and opening a second gate. “Now you go in.”

  AuRon heard chains rattle in the darkness. It took only a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he couldn’t resist calling into the long cavern.

  “Wistala, are you in here? Wistala?”

  “We’ve none with that name, breeder,” a dragonelle to his near side said, from a narrow ledge cut into the cavern. AuRon saw that this cavern was like a tall tunnel, very long and narrow enough for him to touch one side with his nose and the other with his tail. It was cold and damp, icy cold water trickled everywhere, forming pools in the floor. One dragonelle had her long neck stretched to suck up water from a pool. He saw a cage about her snout, rather like a metal muzzle that he’d seen on savage dogs. The dragonelle could only open her mouth a little. It would be hard for her to eat, and impossible for her to spit fire without hurting herself badly enough so she might die of the burns. AuRon counted eleven dragonelles, well spaced out in long chasmlike cave. Most were asleep.

  “What color is he?” AuRon heard faintly, within his mind.

  “He’s a gray,” was the answer, a louder mental echo of thoughts directed elsewhere.

  Mind-speech! The first he’d heard since mixing with the dragons on this island. He had almost forgotten what it felt like.

  “AuRon, is that you?” came across, faint but firm. The words felt familiar.

  “Wistala?” AuRon thought back, running toward the source of the mind-speech. Green eyes flickered at him in the darkness, from the perch farthest away from the gate. “Wistala, are you here?”

  The dragonelle raised her muzzled head. “You are the gray, that gray from long ago. AuRon son of AuRel, who escaped to drown at sea rather than live in a collar.”

  AuRon stopped, smelling the female. She was familiar, but so briefly and so long ago had he known Natasatch that he hardly recognized her.

  Chapter 24

  AuRon knew her sound, her scent, and her eyes, but the rest of her was changed as much as he. Her scales had turned into the shimmering green sea of a dragonelle’s rather than the duller color of a female hatchling. Her tail and her neck were both long and supple; the slightest movement of either riveted his gaze. He looked at her decorously folded wings and wondered what they would look like spread and aloft in the warm glow of sunshine.

  “So you ended up here after all. Of breeding stock, no less,” Natasatch said with her mind.

  “I’ll tell you all about it. Let’s go outside,” AuRon thought.

  “He doesn’t waste any time, and hardly a bud on his crest,” one of the other dragonelles said dryly.

  Natasatch pulled at the collar around her neck with her saa spur. “I’ll listen,” she thought. “If you can get them to take this off.”

  AuRon hurried to the Dragonguard. It would be good to have someone to confide in, someone with whom he could curse this mad system. “I’d like to take one up. The one on the far end, Natasatch. Could you unlock her from the wall?”

  The guard chuckled behind his visor. “Heh. She see new dragon, try old trick. She’s forget, humans know her. No, you want mate you inside mate. Get used to it. You no want her, she plenty too much trouble.”

  “I’ll go to the Wyrmmaster.”

  “They his rules.”

  AuRon turned, putting as much contempt into the gesture as he could, and returned to the dragonelle cavern. He made the long walk back to Natasatch, ignoring the ribald comments from the other females. A couple of the dragonelles swept droppings off their ledges as he passed, hurling challenges with their cast. He concentrated on the sound of trickling water to keep them out of his mind.

  “You’ve tried this before,” AuRon thought.

  “Me, and some others.”

  AuRon made the short jump up onto the platform beside her. She tried to snap at him, but it just turned into a thump of her muzzle on his crest. She glared at him.

  Natasatch’s ledge was wide enough for her to lie on, and there was an alcove cut into the wall where she could sleep if she wished to curl up. Her chain was attached above the little half-cave. She backed into her alcove, still trying to intimidate him with her stare.

  “I need to talk to you,” AuRon said, keeping his voice low enough so he could hardly hear himself over the sound of the water on its way to the floor. Using his voice was safer than using his mind: he did not know if all the dragonelles could be trusted. “I’m not here for that, I’m not about to mate in some filthy hole with a bunch of dragonelles watching.”

  “Au—”

  “Don’t use my name anymore, please. They call me NooShoahk here, so use that if you must. Tell the others you were mistaken about me. But know, I’m not here to breed hatchlings for this wizard.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “As soon as I know, I’ll tell you. I’m casting about, learning my way around.” AuRon lowered his voice to a mere breath of a whisper. “These dragons he’s commanding, they’ve killed friends of mine and many, many others. The Wyrmmaster thinks himself some kind of prophet; he’s on a mission to clear the earth for man. Using dragons.”

  “We’ve heard rumors of battles. Sometimes dragons disappear.”

  “I’ve seen what these men are doing with the help of our kind, and it’s horrible.”

  “What’s going on down here is horrible too, Au—NooShoahk,” Natasatch said, in a whisper that matched his. “They take our eggs almost as soon as they’re laid. We hear they’re making a new kind of dragon. A dragon to serve man.”

  “That’s not far from the truth. They’re not making dragons so much as shaping them. Perverting natural instincts, changing how dragons react to each other and men. I feel like I’ve landed on an island where the deer fly and the wolves roost in trees at night on the orders of field mice. But I’ve no idea what to do yet. I just can’t see how to get my claws into it.”

  “Get help. If other dragons off the island knew what we were forced—”

  “Other dragons? How many are there?” AuRon asked. “It took better than a year to find just one, and I knew where he was. Then there’s the problem of how to convince a male, who thinks you are coming to claim his territory, to abandon his range and take a week’s worth of . . . no, other dragons aren’t the answer. If we could get dwarves onto this island, they’d be able to mine up under all this, and they’re built for cave-fighting. But the dwarves I know have troubles of their own, and I wonder if all of them together would be enough against the dragons that are already here.”

  “Blighters can tunnel. I’m told there are some on the other side of the island.”

  “The blighters already work for them. But it wouldn’t hurt to talk to them.”

  “Careful of the Dragonguard. Their captain lives to kill us: male, female, or hatchling. One scarred him when he was a child, they say.”

  “I imagined it was something like that. I was acquainted with his father. When I take a deep breath I still feel a twinge to remember him by. I’ve no idea what became of him, but I know this Eliam carries
his sword. Along with the grudge you speak of.”

  “I’ve been in this hole for so long, I’ve forgotten what the sun looks like. At first I just slept, like the others, but I began to go mad. I had visions. I need air and light and space.”

  AuRon tried to give himself hope for both of them. “Natasatch, I’ll do what I can. Perhaps I can get the Wyrmmaster to let me take you flying. I’ll say I can’t mate underground.”

  “He’ll say learn, or lose your privilege. That’s what the other males do. We don’t have any choice, and then the eggs are taken.”

  AuRon sighed. “I thought if I could just get at this wizard, I could kill him and fly back. But it seems all the men here are a part of his vision for the destiny of man. If he died, they’d still be able to breed and train dragons. There’s no magic to it—it’s a matter of skill and experience. It won’t stop with the death of one man.”

  “They’ve had some trouble with us. There’s a reason there are so many empty ledges, gray. Some of us have taken to smashing our eggs, and this morning, Nereeza had a clutch.”

  “Natasatch, give me a few days to think. We’ll get out of this somehow. You’ll see the sun and feel the sky, and fly—”

  “Fly? I’ve never flown, AuRon. I’ve had this collar about my neck since they took me off that ship, and I’ve been in this cavern since my wings came out.”

  AuRon blinked, astonished. So many seasons, so much time had passed since the day he had first flown. He tried to imagine Natasatch’s years in the damp. Somehow depriving her of flight seemed as much of a crime as what they were doing with the eggs.

  “You’ll fly. As I’m true to the song of my ancestors, you’ll fly. We’ll go above the mountains, above the clouds, together.”

  “Together? Like a mating flight?” Natasatch asked, tilting her head and resettling her wings.

  “Well, I mean—”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make jokes, but jokes are all that keep me going.”

  “I’ll see you again soon,” AuRon said, jumping off her ledge. “Don’t lose heart.”

  “I’ll be waiting. It’s all I do, after all.”

  AuRon woke from his nap when the cart went by. It was not one of the two-wheeled ones, laden with food and pulled by a pony, but a lower, four-wheeled construct, high sided and thickly padded with mats of straw. One woman—it was rare to see human women among the dragons—pushed it, and the other pulled it from a leather strap about her waist. Four members of the Dragonguard walked before, carrying two-pointed spears AuRon remembered from his capture. He shuddered, and lifted his head when Eliam followed with four more of the Dragonguard. A pair of the Wyrmmaster’s green-clad assistants brought up the rear.

  “All this effort to shovel out the sluice?” AuRon asked.

  “It’s time to collect eggs, gray. We think one of them has laid. Sometimes they can be troublesome.”

  “The eggs?”

  Eliam stepped out of line and rounded on him. “You know what I mean. Come along, you might learn something about your place in the world.”

  Which was just what AuRon was looking for. He trailed the procession past both gates.

  The dragonelles hissed and spat from within their caged snouts when the cart appeared; the forward men brought down their wyrmcatchers and held them at the ready. The men stepped slowly, their dragon-scale armor clinking as they moved. AuRon wondered what would happen to the women at the cart if one of the dragonelles managed to loose her fire properly. The green-clad assistants looked on each ledge—they were just below head height—and searched the dragonelle’s perches for eggs.

  The wyrmcatchers peeped their whistles behind the face masks when they came to a shelf midway down the cavern.

  “Four . . . very good, Nereeza, now move out of your alcove,” one of the assistants said.

  “My eggs, my duty,” Nereeza said. “I beg: let me see them hatch.”

  “You know we’ll take good care of them.”

  “My eggs, my duty,” Nereeza insisted.

  Eliam lowered his visor and whistled sharply. Two of the wyrmcatchers stepped forward, and went to either side of the dragonelle. Eliam drew his sword and hopped up onto the egg cart to see better. She backed away from one, curling her tail around the eggs, and the other took the opportunity to catch her neck in the crotch of his spear. AuRon noticed that the spear had handles sticking out, perpendicular to the shaft, and another wide pad at the rear for the man to brace against his shoulder.

  The woman who pulled the cart unharnessed herself and stepped away, making soothing sounds.

  Another birdlike peep sounded from Eliam, then a louder one, and the rest of the wyrmcatchers pinioned Nereeza. One used his wyrmcatcher to hold her snout aloft. The Wyrmmaster’s assistants climbed onto the egg shelf. Liquid fire bubbled out of Nereeza’s mouth, bringing a sizzling sound as it splashed against her lips and nostrils.

  AuRon tightened his jaw, imagining the pain on his own snout.

  “My . . . eggs . . . my . . . duty,” Nereeza managed to gasp through her flaming lips. She lifted a leg. Eliam sounded three shrieking trills as he made an astonishing jump from cart to ledge. His sword swept up as Nereeza’s leg came down, not fast enough. As his sword opened her neck in a splatter of blood and fire, her foot came down on the eggs in a wet crunch. Another spearman plunged his weapon into her leg, pushing it away from the mess of shell and slime. Nereeza’s windpipe burbled as it took in blood. Eliam put the sword up over his shoulder, then swung again, and AuRon heard the blade bite into Nereeza’s vertebrae and pass through. AuRon had heard bitter legends of dragon-killing swords; now he’d seen one used. On a female. With her neck immobilized so that the soft underside was exposed.

  One egg remained, and the Wyrmmaster’s assistant took it up as he would pick up a baby, getting it out of the way of the still-twitching corpse, and transferred it to the padded cart. The procession continued to the other end of the cave, and back again. No further eggs were found.

  “A bad casting. Perhaps the breeding stock’s not up to the job,” one of the egg keepers said as they followed the cart out.

  “This gray is eager enough. Been long away from his kind, they say. He’ll do better.”

  Four of the Dragonguard fell out of the procession, drew weapons that were half-ax and half-blade, and went to Nereeza’s shelf. They began working on her foreleg, severing it from the trunk. Nereeza’s body twitched in ghastly reaction as they worked.

  “A dead dragonelle’s too big to get out in one piece,” one of the females said in AuRon’s ear. “They have to take us out in sections.”

  Eliam went to Nereeza’s head and took out a small dagger. He cut her ears off and stuck them in his belt. He approached AuRon, cleaning his blade with an oily rag. He flipped his visor up and grinned at AuRon from behind his bloody armor.

  “I hope you’ve learned something about the world we’re building, gray,” Eliam said. “It’s a world of alliances. Those who help us will be rewarded. Those who hinder us—” He jerked his chin at the butchery behind him. “I’ve got nearly a hundred . . . a hundred! . . . pairs just like this, from hatchling, drake, and dragon. Watch yourself, or one day you’ll be in my collection.”

  “Eliam!” one of the egg keepers said.

  AuRon lowered his head to Eliam’s level, waggling his ears. Yes, “I’ve learned something. If you come for mine, you’ll need more than eight men.”

  Chapter 25

  Three days later, AuRon was summoned again to the Wyrmmaster’s lodge. He flew this time, watching a pair of ships catch the breeze down the fjord. Farther out at the widening of the fjord where it met the sea, four young dragons were making practice flights with riders. AuRon watched the dragons swoop along in a staggered line like fishing pelicans, wingtips almost touching.

  The Wyrmmaster stood watching the ships put out to sea. It was a cool morning; he had his cloak pulled tight around his chest and a knit skullcap on. AuRon landed, and the Wyrmmaster turned on him
with a friendly smile.

  “There go my allies among the human nations. All good men and true, save Svak Thunderarm. He participated in the war against the Wheel of Fire Dwarves, but will not send his men farther south, as he says his people have no enemies there. It’s as if he ignored everything said at this gathering.”

  AuRon guessed what was coming. “Men forget those who do favors for them. Perhaps there are some among his people who are more farsighted than he.”

  “I know there are. That is why I asked for you, NooShoahk. Are you rested enough for a long flight? They say you took to sleeping among the dragonelles.”

  “I’ve been long away from my own kind, especially females. Having so many all to myself—I wanted to make the most of my week.”

  “I understand. Stars above, more than that, I approve, my new-horn young gray. I’ve some messages that need to go to Gettel at Juutfod’s dragon tower. Then I wish you to go on to Thunderarm’s hold at Maganar. There are some men there who may welcome a change in leadership. After you’ve delivered that message and taken replies, you may return here for a time. With luck, I’ll have to send you south with more messages, and you’ll be spared some of the winter.”

  “I’ll need to look at a map to find these places. I’ve never been to either.”

  “Come to the map room. Or rather, have your head come to the map room—the stairs are too small for you—and I’ll show you.”

  He returned to his lodge, and AuRon waited until he opened the shutters on one of the upper rooms. By rearing up on his hind legs, he could just get his head inside so he could turn it and look at the walls. There was a map of the Isle of Ice filling one wall, attached to it a smaller map showing the archipelago around it. A huge table of sketch-maps and notes stood in the center of the room, and on the other long wall a case. The Wyrmmaster unlocked the case and opened it to show a map of the lands around the Inland Ocean. Rib-boned pins stuck out of it in various places, like a hedgehog trailing bracken.