The cool breeze tickled his scaleless skin, sending it erupting in dozens of little bumps. A shiver ran up his spine. The sensation was more satisfying than the taste of humans… albeit, it had been several millennia since he’d actually eaten one.
His eyes roved over them, looking for one as plump as the so-called princesses they used to offer him as tribute. Not a single one looked like more than a skin bag of bones. All thin and lanky, with dry, lean muscle.
His nose wrinkled. Whether it was the fertile soil or the people themselves, the stench smothered his appetite. His gullet twisted, threatening to rebel like the peasants he’d kept when he was a much younger dragon.
Heads jerked up, no doubt easily, considering the small size of their brains. Eyes widened at his approach. Several pointed at him and whispered among themselves, while others averted their eyes. No doubt, even in this puny form, he still projected majesty.
One with a wrinkled face cleared its throat and pointed. “Put on some clothes!”
Clothes? Avarax looked them over. Of course, unlike him, they had wrappers. He’d seen many different kinds over the ages, from soft satin to steel rings. With soft flesh instead of scales, they apparently felt the need to cover themselves. These here wore roughspun sacks, which might leave fibers between his teeth.
“I said, put on your clothes!” It tilted its head at an impressive angle for a creature with so few neck bones. “Who are you, anyway?”
Avarax squinted at the bushy white caterpillars above its eyes, which jiggled and slanted upwards. It was a new experience to see a human up close from this angle, even if his new vision wasn’t as sharp. He reached over and ran a finger over the bug. It prickled his fingers.
The human’s hand shot up, covering the insect. “What, you’ve never seen eyebrows?”
Avarax raked his gaze over all the people gawking at them. They all had these so-called eyebrows, one above each eye. He brushed a hand over his own forehead. Apparently, he had them as well.
“The poor thing.” A trilling voice called from behind the onlookers.
It was a beautiful voice, and his dragonstone vibrated with it. The voice was what had originally drawn him to this place. Avarax craned his pitifully short neck to see who had spoken.
An even thinner human pushed through the crowds, a bucket of water sloshing in the crook of its arm. Like the princesses from his youth, this one had mounds on its chest, albeit much smaller.
Avarax patted his own chest. Finding only tiny, dark circular bumps, he looked at the newcomer.
Its face was also rounder and smoother than the others gathered around, and surprisingly not as filthy. “This man must have travelled from down south. Look how dark he is. And his eyes are so round.”
The others murmured and nodded.
Avarax studied his arms, then looked at the others. Indeed, his skin tone was the same hue as the bronze weapons humans had used before they’d learned how to work iron, whereas these people were more like the faded gold coins near the bottom of his treasure pile. Of course, he’d modeled this form off the people who lived not far from his lair…who, in retrospect, had a darker complexion than these, and were certainly much darker than the sickly pale ones who’d once worshipped him as a god and offered him fat princesses.
The wrinkly-faced human took off a layer of its clothes. With an outstretched arm and an upturned snout, it offered the swath of cloth.
Avarax snatched it up and draped the fabric over his shoulders.
“Your head is supposed to go there, not your arm.” The one with the pleasant voice giggled. It came forward and helped him adjust the rag.
The rough threads chafed, sending exultant tingles all over his body. A dangling appendage between his legs stirred of its own accord. Unlike his arms and legs, which moved with ease, this one only twitched when he tried to control it. He looked up.
The human’s face flushed an interesting shade of red. It stepped back, tone turning serious. “Uh, just wrap the shawl around your waist.”
Avarax reached for one of the mounds on its chest. “I don’t have these.”
“Pervert!” It screamed and slapped at his hand.
The smack stung his sensitive flesh, a pleasant burn not unlike his breath.
The others surged forward. The first one growled. “You can’t do that to a woman!”
Man, woman. The words would explain the physical difference between human males and females. She was different from the others, who shared his current form. The appendage between his legs must be a proboscis used to mate. His thoughts strayed to the only other dragon left in the world, who lived not too far from here.
His lips twitched of their own accord. Yes, if everything else felt so good, he’d have to experiment with mating while in human form. Still, without wings to flare or a long neck to lock and pop, the mating ritual would be impossible to initiate.
He’d have to do it his own way, using his far superior intellect. He pointed at her. “Let’s breed.”
Her face scrunched up, forming nearly as many wrinkles as the first man. Her eyes widened.
That was it! Their mating ritual. Avarax contorted his own face, then opened his eyes as far as they would go. Even then, the visual field was still so narrow. It was a wonder that primitive humans, when they’d first clawed their way out of the primordial soup, had survived predation from beasts higher on the food chain.
All the men backed away, their expressions likewise contorting.
Forehead forming furrows, she cocked her head.
No doubt his overtures were working. Avarax imitated her movement, ensuring he tilted his neck at the same angle as hers.
The furry caterpillars above her eyes—eyebrows—clashed together like a duel between two rams he’d once witnessed before a snack of scorched mutton chops. “Are you mocking me?”
“Mocking?” Avarax sighed. For an inferior species, humans were far more complex than they seemed at first glance. Apparently, they were capable of a few more expressions than just fear and awe. “Of course not. I just want to mate.”
Her face managed to turn a darker shade of red, somewhat comparable to his normal scale color. She backed away.
The men closed in, forming a living barrier.
They wouldn’t be living for long, if they defied him. With a wave of his hand, his dragon magic compelled the men to part like trees splintering beneath the gush of his wings. The woman stood at the end of the aisle, mouth agape in a typical human expression of fear.
Grinning, Avarax took a step toward her. Even if the mating ritual had failed, it was nothing a little more magic couldn’t compel out of her.
“You! Back to work!” a guttural voice behind him barked.
A loud snap cracked the air. Pain seared across his back. Exquisite agony, like that time, eons ago, when some fool knight had loosened one of his neck scales with a lance, and he’d had to pick it loose. Running his hand over the scar on the side of his neck, he turned around.
A stocky orc in skin-tight, fine mesh armor raised a whip. Its blunt features twisted on its round, turquoise face.
Curse that limited visual field and the pitiful human nose and ears. Even in its heavy boots and metallic armor, it had approached undetected.
The whip snapped down again.
Avarax snatched it out of the air. The cord filaments stung his palm in a most gratifying way.
The humans’ collective gasp was followed by silence. Then they erupted in cheers.
The orc’s mouth twisted in a snarl as it dug its boots into the ground and yanked on the whip.
Avarax held firm. He started pulling back. At long last, here was a chance to see if orc tasted like wild boar.
Retaining its hold on the whip, the orc reached for the weapon at its side.
The humans cowered back.
Avarax took a deep breath, sucking in the ambient energy around him. His dragonstone stirred. He released it with a single syllable of Shallow Magic. “Zzzzt!”
/> The electrical discharge crackled down the whip. The orc’s body went rigid as sparks fizzled through it. It collapsed to the ground in a smoldering heap. The aroma of burning orc flesh, usually so enticing, nearly sent his weak little stomach into rebellion.
Silence.
Then murmurs.
Behind him, the humans whispered among themselves.
“Did you see that?”
“Unbelievable!”
“No, it’s just as the Elf Angel said.”
Avarax looked back. “Elf Angel?”
The wrinkled leader nodded. “He must have trained you in magic, just like he taught some of us.”
Avarax’s nostrils flared, an interesting sensation given how small the human snout was. The insult! As though elves could teach a dragon anything, except maybe how to trick others into doing their dirty work for them. In any case, they’d all fled into hiding several millennia ago, after they’d lost the war with the orcs. If one was masquerading as an angel now… “Who is this Elf Angel?”
The man searched his eyes. He lowered his voice. “Aralas, of course. He’s preparing us for the rebellion against the orcs.”
Who would’ve thought humans even cared about freedom? In his much younger years, they’d always been content to serve him. The orcs had kept them fed over the past dozen centuries, in exchange for them working the land. What more could they ask for? “Ara-who?”
The leader leaned in. “Aralas. He’s been teaching us to evoke magic through artistic endeavor. What is your people’s special affinity? You moved so fast, I would guess it was warrior magic. Then again, whatever you did to the Tivari looked like you channeled divine power, or sorcery.”
The list of his talents was too long to relate in the hours left in the day. No matter, one thing was clear: the elves were up to their usual mischief, misleading humans about the nature of magic. Still, it might be fun to watch them try and rise up, only to be squashed under orc boots. The grin on his human face was coming more and more easily.
“We need to hide the body.” The man pointed to the orc, who was now surrounded by other humans like ants scavenging a roach carcass.
“Why don’t you do that.” It might be easy to vaporize the body, but it would be even more interesting to see if the humans could actually conceal the corpse without their masters finding out and exacting revenge. And if they failed, well, the punishment might be enjoyable to watch as well.
Now where was the female? No matter how satisfying it was to receive the adulation he deserved, he hadn’t forgotten about her, and her wondrous voice. Avarax searched among them.
They were all males, and the pathetic scavengers that they were, they were now stripping the orc of its equipment. He spun one of them around. “Where’s the female?”
“Mai?” Lines formed across the man’s forehead as he cocked his head, apparently wanting to initiate the human pre-mating dance.
Other male dragons from Avarax’s youth had taken pleasure in each other. It hadn’t particularly appealed to him, but to each his own. He patted himself over and decided he wasn’t equipped for whatever this man wanted, anyway. He waved him off. “The female.”
“Her name is Mai.”
So they had actual names, even though Mai sounded strange. It might be a hard sound to make with his dragon mouth. “Yes, where did she go?”
The leader turned and beckoned. In a low voice, he said, “I think she went to practice evoking magic through music.”
“A Dragon Song?” Could humans even use such ritualistic magic? The only human sorcery he’d ever seen was long ago, from a so-called shaman, who’d tasted particularly good. Then again, it was this Mai’s voice which had drawn him to this place. There was more to this female than just a chance to experience human mating. “Where is she practicing?”
The leader shrugged. “She’d disappeared several months ago, and just came back. Her parents would know for sure.”
Avarax looked up at the iridescent moon, never moving from its place in the heavens. If one thing could be said about its appearance after the orcs established their dominance over this world, it made telling time and direction convenient, for those who really cared about time in terms of hours. Now it waxed to its fourth crescent, indicating only a couple of hours before sundown. She’d be back around this time tomorrow, and so would he. He started to turn around.
“Wait,” the leader said. “Please. We would be honored if you join us for dinner, meager as it may be, to learn what the other tribes are doing to resist the Tivari.”
Dinner. What had started out as a quest to retry human flesh, and taste orc for the first time, had now become a chance to experience new flavors. If odors and tactile feelings created such ecstasy, there was no telling what human food would taste like. Eating with them might also present the opportunity to see this Mai again.
The wondrous sensations of walking on two feet soon became quite tedious on the arduous trek through the fields toward the humans’ village. His human ears, though much weaker than his dragon ears, ached from the incessant buzzing of humans pestering him with inane questions about this hopeless rebellion.
In all his previous interactions with their miserable race, their sounds had been limited to screams, and the occasional pleading for life. Who knew they talked so much?
He turned to the leader. “Is it much farther now?”
The old man tilted his head, in what was hopefully not part of a mating ritual. “We’ve only walked twenty feet. Considering how far you’ve travelled from your homeland…”
Avarax snorted. He’d teleported to the edge of the field, after feeling the ripple from Mai’s voice in the soundwaves from afar. “Yes,” he answered, “but you can imagine how much these hackles hurt after such a long distance.”
The man pointed to a ramshackle collection of straw huts. More of the vermin scurried about, including what looked to be two or three litters of human hatchlings. Dirt was smudged across their faces, and their disheveled hair looked as if birds had nested in their heads.
Avarax shuddered. If his human form were as vulnerable to disease as theirs, there was no telling what digestive distress he’d suffer from eating with them, let alone eating one of them. “Will Mai be there?”
She’s probably still training. I can introduce you to her parents.” The man winked. “You can ask them for her hand.”
“Her hand?” It might be delicious, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Not now. His proboscis stirred again.
“Yes,” the man said. “Just think, all you’ll need is their permission, and not the Tivari, once we overthrow them.”
As if they had a chance. This Elf Angel Aralas was setting up the villagers to be massacred. Avarax shook his head, catching sight of more humans with mounds on their chests. Perhaps he didn’t have to wait for this Mai to experience mating.
The scent of something roasting yanked his head in the opposite direction. The sensation of walking might have grown wearisome, but now, this smell beckoned. He pushed ahead of the humans, following his nose through the sprawl of hovels. In what looked to be the center of the village, several dozen males lined up at cauldrons.
“Make way, make way,” the elder yelled. “We have a distinguished guest. He killed Cleric Pyuz.”
A silence fell over the crowd. Fists in palms, they bowed.
The strange little hairs on the back of his short neck stood on end. The dragonstone in his chest pulsed. Ah, the adulation!
“Please, sit.” The leader guided him with an open hand to a fallen log, where a few other men sat. They all beamed as they made space. Others bowed low as he passed. One draped more coarse cloth over his shoulders, while another offered him two long sticks.
A female, with white hair and a chest that looked more like a rockslide than mounds, ladled out colorful chunks from the cauldrons and into a wooden bowl. She spooned a glob of white onto another dish. Head bobbing so fast that it was a wonder it didn’t fall off, she approached. She bowed low and
proffered the two bowls. “It isn’t much, but we are honored to have you here.”
Taking the dishes, Avarax studied the contents. One looked like a hill of maggots, all stuck together, and smelled nearly as sweet. The other had orange, yellow, and white cubes. Like the white stuff, the most succulent scent wafted from them. “What is this?”
“Rice. Stew. We eat the same thing almost every day. I’m sorry if it’s bland, but—”
The aroma was too enticing. Avarax lifted the bowl of rice to his mouth and sunk his teeth in. The sweetness tickled his tongue with warmth and tender moistness. It was far better than blackened human flesh, or at least, his memory of it. His eyes rolled back in his head as buzzing filled his brain. “I’ve never tasted anything so delicious.”
Some of the females looked on him with adoring eyes. When they whispered among themselves, though, none of their voices sounded as pleasant as Mai’s.
“There’s no need to be polite.” The leader waved his hand back and forth. “This is probably quite tasteless compared to—”
Avarax poured the cubes into his mouth. Too large to swallow, they yielded even to his blunt human teeth. Each chew caressed his mouth and tongue with fireworks of different flavors.
The elder coughed.
Soup dribbling from the side of his feeble human jaws, Avarax turned.
Around him, the people gazed at him with expressions of wonderment. The elder held up the sticks, with some of the white stuff pincered between it. “We eat with chopsticks.”
The women covered their mouths and giggled, yet it looked like they all wanted to engage in the mating dance. It would be easy, but not nearly as rewarding as if he saved his human virginity for Mai.
He looked down at the chopsticks. Try as he might, they refused to obey his command. Curse the clumsy human fingers. No wonder these people were so skinny.
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