Dragon Talker

by Anderson, Steve

  The problem with dragons, Yuri thought, the problem that might get him killed, Yuri corrected himself, was that we really don’t know much about them. He touched the scale hanging from his neck. He tried not the think of this same medallion stuck to the charred chest of Uris. It helped that it was cold to his touch, which was no surprise on this cold day in the fall, but he knew it was always frigid to the touch, no matter the temperature. It was the scale of an ice dragon, the rarest of the dragons. All others, of course, were fire-breathers. Fire or ice, though, the only difference was in how a person died. The truth was simple: dragons ate people for food, dragons tore people to pieces for fun, and sometimes, just sometimes, dragons would pick a village and call it their own. That village was safe from attacks from other dragons and mages rarely ventured near them. Apparently, dragons found mages especially tasty.

  Yuri’s butt was getting cold on the stone, even with his hat as a cushion, so he started walking around the two boulders. Boulders, open fields, and dragons – were dragons itchy? Did they pick fields with giant rocks so they could scratch their backs? Would it be impolite to ask when the dragon showed up? Do dragons use words like us? Would I be alive to share this with my family back at the village? This last thought was the one he kept coming back to. Would I be alive to share it?

  All three men looked to the north as they heard a screech that could only come from a dragon. “We are right here with you,” the mayor called over his shoulder as he and Lindale walked quickly to the edge of the field, not quite disappearing into the surrounding trees.

  That doesn’t really seem “with” me, Yuri thought, but quickly forgot about it as he walked away from the boulder and to the center of the field. No matter where they were, he would be alone at the end, face to face with a dragon. Each step seemed to be harder than the last. Dragon magic, he wondered, or just the fact that he didn’t want to die? “Ah, to stones with it,” he said to the wind. “All right, Elder Dragon, come on and make your decision.” It helped him walk not faster, but a little less timidly.

  The dragon must have been flying low, because one minute, Yuri was looking at empty skies, and the next, a huge, blue dragon was flaring its wings out, catching air to slow it down as it landed in front of him. It was so sudden Yuri wondered if it hadn’t just jumped out from behind the trees. The ground trembled at the impact of its landing, and Yuri wobbled but kept his balance. Everything became quiet – birds, insects, animals, pretty much anything with a heartbeat usually hunkers down and tries to be invisible when a dragon is in the area.

  Yuri wanted to do the same, but Samora, the name it shared with the last talker, was spreading its wings and scrutinizing Yuri. First, it leaned forward with its left eye, moving its head to within inches of Yuri’s face. Yuri tucked his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. Samora snorted, and Yuri brought his head back up. When, he thought, do you get to see a dragon’s head this close? As the dragon turned his head to get a look with its other eye, Yuri saw what looked like a small bit of black blood dripping from one of the dragon’s nostrils. It couldn’t be, though, he thought, because dragons don’t die, so how could one have a nosebleed? Then Yuri remembered the answer to when you get to see a dragon this close: you get to see a dragon’s head this close right before it eats you. He bent his head back down.

  Even with his eyes closed, he could see the dragon in front of him. He knew which sound was the ruffling of the dragon’s wings, which was the shuffling of its feet, and which was it taking a giant sniff of him. The force of that sniff almost pulled Yuri off of his feet. He reached out to keep his balance and found himself placing his hand on the bottom of the dragon’s left nostril. The dragon’s lips pulled back, showing three foot long fangs up front and a row of teeth that looked like a row of miniature mountains. Yuri slowly pulled his hand back, hoping not to find himself pierced by fangs or crunched between upper and lower mountain ranges that were the dragon’s back teeth. His fingers came back wet, covered in a thick black liquid.

  The dragon pulled back and rested on its haunches. Still with his head down, Yuri lifted one eye and looked at the dragon. Sitting back like that, Yuri thought it looked almost comical, like a fat cat leaning up against a wall. Instantly, Samora dropped down on all fours. Yuri had the sudden feeling that Samora knew what he was thinking. Dragon-like, he corrected in his thoughts, very dragon-like. Not like a cat at all. Like a massive, blue, scaly, strong, dragon. All thoughts of the dragon’s nose and the blood on his hand disappeared. He thought about living and whether he would be able to continue doing it.

  This not-like-a-cat-at-all dragon leaned forward, bringing its face once again next to Yuri’s. Its breath was ice-cold, like mountaintop wind. At first, Yuri felt his facial skin tighten, burn, and then go numb. Samora stepped back. As it did, he felt his skin return to normal. Actually, he felt warm all over. The cold fall day had, for him, turned into one that felt like a warm, sunny day.

  I think this is going to be alright, he thought to himself as the dragon started to turn around. It moved slowly at first, but that was only its body. Yuri felt a pressure in his head, a message. Yuri forgot about the pressure, though, as he saw the blur of the dragon’s tail as it whipped around and caught him in the chest, the force of the blow picking him up and throwing him into the boulders. In the brief moment that existed between being hit by the tail and hitting the large rock 100 feet away, one thought, one warning, started to go through his mind, Beware the dragon’s… Yuri hit one of the large boulders and everything went black before he could complete the phrase in his mind.

  The mayor and Lindale cringed as they saw and heard Yuri hit the boulder, first with his back and then, sickeningly, with his head as it whiplashed back. Yuri fell to the ground, his body completely limp. He looked like a little doll discarded by a bored child. Lindale started to run towards Yuri as the mayor stayed at the edge of the woods, watching the dragon as it launched itself into the air and began to fly away.

  Yuri’s body was in a heap when Lindale approached. “Ah Yuri, I’m sorry,” he whispered as if speaking out loud would do more damage to his crushed body.

  “Is he dead?” yelled the mayor.

  “Yes, Seth, he is.”

  “Damn shame. I liked that boy. I’ll go get a cart.” The mayor walked off, muttering to himself, “What the tail are we supposed to do now?”

  Lindale sat down next to Yuri, his back against the boulder that had just killed Yuri and his hand resting gently on his broken body. “You were a brave boy, Yuri, and I will tell everyone that at your funeral.”

  Chapter 2

  Across the mountains to the east in Perantium, the largest village of the region, five mages gathered inside the citadel, a heavily fortified castle. Averaging five stories tall, with outer walls 20 feet thick, the building was, and was meant to be, intimidating. Each of the seven corners had a high tower on it, and the walls in-between had openings for archers as well as overhangs to pour boiling oil or other generally discouraging materials onto the heads of anyone gathering near the walls. Of course, as impressive the structure and those who defended it were, the real source of power was the keeper of the fortress, Mage Perante. His specialty was changing people’s minds, permanently. More than one critic of his work and power has found himself gladly giving up whatever position he or she may have had to become a willing and happy servant of Perante. His new loyal subjects were often given the chance to even sacrifice their lives for him, which they gladly did, to the shock and horror of their friends and family.

  Perante’s lunch guests this day were Falanar, from Ogden, Tassaran from Midlow, Xeron from Hunting, and Winderall, from no one knew quite where. Six dogs were also in attendance in the meeting hall, favored for their ability to sense the approach of dragons. Two were Perante’s, large, black and quiet. Falanar’s, equally large but brown, was already sleeping by the fire. Tassaran’s was sitting at his side, watching attentively and drooling as Tassaran ate. Xeron had a sleek, gray Annarand, known for
their speed. It was also by the fire. They were gathered around a table full of fruits, breads, pastries, and meats; greetings over, Falanar, tall and thin, was the first to speak. “Perante, where is your brother? I thought he was going to report what is going on across the mountains.”

  “Yes,” Tassaran added, between taking and eating large slices of the roasted chicken in front of him, “where is Peteara? This place is a bore without him.”

  “He’s dead.”

  Silence filled the room. Winderall dropped his apple with a thud. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

  “If you don’t know, how do you know he is dead?” Tassaran asked and went back to eating.

  “He’s my brother, you idiot, and I am a mage. You had best refrain from asking me any further stupid questions, lest you provoke me.” Perante paused, added a soothing presence to his voice, and continued, “enjoy the chicken, my fat friend, and allow me to continue.” The quieter voice carried twice as much menace as his raised voice, sending a small chill through the room.

  Tassaran’s eyes narrowed at the reference to his bulk, but he knew enough not to push his host. His dog tensed at his side, watching Perante closely, though he still drooled. Xeron, the one among them who, while not the most powerful, was one of the most dangerous due to his ability to focus intensely on whatever was at hand, cut to the point, “Where did it happen and how do you plan on responding?”

  “It happened in Mandan, and I plan on sending in spies. I need to know what is so special about that valley. Why did a dragon claim it? After that, I plan on killing everyone involved in my brother’s death… and everyone who knows someone who was involved in my brother’s death.”

  Falanar’s brow deepened. “Is that really necessary?”

  Perante smiled coldly, “It may be, if the valley is important. If it isn’t, it will be my brother’s memorial.”

  Falanar didn’t hide his distaste, but he kept his tone light, as if what Perante said was the equivalent of throwing a few peasants into a dungeon. “You can get away with it, of course, but it does make it harder for the rest of us, this wiping out of entire villages. Causes hard feelings in addition to all that fear.”

  “This is what I don’t get: why this valley?” Xeron continued, ignoring Falanar’s words. “The world is full of valleys. By all accounts, not only is this one not special, if you dig past planting soil, the water isn’t even drinkable. Everyone there has to use the stream, keeping sections open all winter.”

  Tassaran added, “Its dragon barely seems to give it a second thought…Is there any more chicken?”

  Perante snapped his fingers, waving a servant off to get more chicken. His dogs jumped up at the sound but returned to sleep when they realized he didn’t want their attention. Perante put one more stone on the scale in his mind that decided if it was more trouble for Tassaran to live or to die. The weight did not shift in Tassaran’s favor.

  Perante returned his focus to the topic at hand as Xeron keep digging. “A low water table makes mining damn near impossible, so gold and silver are pretty much out, except for whatever trickles down the stream. Crops are okay in the valley, but it’s no Ogden.” Falanar looked up at the mention on village, proud of Ogden’s reputation as a fertile valley, even though that reputation sometimes came at the cost of aggressive neighbors. “Special plants?”

  “What?” Tassaran asked as he looked around, searching for the servant who would be returning with more chicken. “Like dill?”

  “Special plants, not cooking herbs, you idiot.” Xeron had little use for Tassaran and did not like being interrupted.

  “Scrambled eggs, with dill, are special,” Tassaran countered.

  He ignored Tassaran’s reply. “Is there something that grows there that is valuable? Yancy root, matterine berries? A field of either one of those and you could set up some pretty powerful magic.”

  “The people?” Winderall chimed in. “I’ve heard of more than one village that they thought they had some special value because of some ridiculous story its dragon talker told them. Usually, that special ability was to be stupid, but one time I did see a village, Lindameer, where just about every man was as strong as an ox. Their dragon has something on its mind, no doubt.”

  Tassaran interjected, “Remember that dragon, Venata, that gave everyone in the village the power to read each other’s minds? Everybody dead within two weeks, murdering each other. Humor or intention? And seriously,” he said raising his voice, “can I get some more chicken?”

  “Can you shed any light on this?” Xeron asked Perante.

  “Very little. There doesn’t appear to be anything special about this village at all.”

  “What about the dragon?” Xeron was intent on finding at least one fact to give them a place to start.

  Perante moved another stone on the scales in his mind, this one adding to the value of Xeron’s life, with a stone to add to his dangerousness, too. “You, Xeron, know how to ask questions. It’s blue.”

  Everyone looked at Perante at the mention of the Blue.

  “Reeeally,” Tassaran dragged the word out slowly, “is this confirmed?”

  Perante simply stared at Tassaran in response.

  Tassaran looked away, “Right, you wouldn’t say it if you didn’t know it. So they are rare. What do we know about Blues that is actually true?”

  “They are cold,” from Falanar.

  “Prefer the mountains,” from Tassaran.

  “They are the rarest of the dragons and reclusive,” from Xeron.

  Perante asked, “Winderall, you are the most travelled, what do you know of the Blues?”

  Winderall thought for a moment before answering, “Blues. First, I’ve only seen two in my travels, and considering the nearness of the locations where the sighting took place, I may only have seen one. I’ve seen and categorized seventeen different Reds, eight Yellows, and six Greens. I’ve heard legends of a black dragon to the south, but never anything to substantiate that claim.”

  “And what was that blue like?” This from Perante.

  “Dangerous, but I couldn’t tell you why, besides its obvious size. I have never seen such a large dragon. It didn’t do anything, but I knew there was something about it that goes far beyond your regular dragon. It has power. I used every cloaking spell I know, and I could swear it saw right through them but didn’t deem me worthy of its attention.” Winderall shuddered at the memory and then raised his finger. “Once, just once, I heard an old mage talk about the blue. He was half-mad with age and abused spells, but he was convinced it would be the end of us.”

  “The end of mages?” Tassaran finally stopped looking for more chicken.

  “The end of it all.”

  Chapter 3

  After Seth dumped the fish out of the cart and brought it to the rocks, the men lifted the broken body of Yuri gently into the back of the cart. Seth looked at Lindale, “We are in deep trouble; you know that, right?”

  “Definitely. First the fire, now this.” Lindale looked down at Yuri before continuing, “We are unprotected, and if a dragon didn’t burn that hut down, we are left with only one source of the fire.”

  Seth squinted his eyes, as if the truth were too bright or terrible to see, answering, “Mages.”

  “Damn mages.” Lindale spit. “At least with the dragon, it didn’t seem to care what we did as long as we didn’t dig any deeper than seed depth, saved it some fish, and did the odd construction project here and there. If it wants to keep something buried or get some part of the river dammed up and we don’t have any hassles, I can live with an occasional prospector getting eaten.”

  Seth followed custom when talking about mages and also spit on the ground. “Mages, they always want something. Forcing the construction of that castle was bad enough; can you image what they would make us do to get something underground?”

  Lindale shook his head back and forth, “I’ve heard of Caladorn - an entire village wor
king underground so their mage can have nice shiny things. No thank you. I’m too much like a plant - can’t live without sunlight.”

  Seth scratched his chin, “Like a plant, huh? Haven’t heard that one. Let’s get this boy back to the village and figure out what the hell we are going to tell them.”

  “That’s easy,” Lindale replied, “the truth.”

  “Yes, yes, but how much of the truth, and from which side? We need to shape this right or this village is going to fall apart. People don’t like change or the unknown. This is both.”

  *

  As the Mayor and Lindale entered the village, the entire village came out to greet them, quietly. The mayor pulling the cart made it clear that the meeting did not go well. Yuri lay covered by a blanket on the cart. His family was the first to meet them. The mayor stepped in front of Tadeus, Yuri’s father, as he ran to the cart. Blocked from getting to Yuri, Tadeus grabbed the mayor by the front of his jacket, shouting, “What happened to my boy?”

  Yuri’s mother, Agardia, stood next to Tadeus, holding to their baby daughter as her other two young sons, Hental and Lared, held onto her skirt. She stood silently, dread holding her legs firmly in place. She could only stare at Lindale, accusing him without words.