Dragon Nemesis

by B.J. Whittington

  “Welcome, and greetings, children of Kilita and Timac.” Aura gently eases the first arrivals away to make room for their siblings behind them. Aura’s throat vibrates and the soft crooning of the dragon birthing song fills the chamber.

  Aura was right, the pain diminishes as the need to expel the remaining eggs grows and Kilita bears down as hard as she can.

  Aura again eases the eggs away from Kilita’s body to join the growing pile. She strokes her face along Kilita’s cheek and begins to recite the offspring’s lineage. “Your sire is Timac, son of Yegrall and Helrnal. Your dama is Kilita, daughter of Gernal and Oshaln. Welcome, welcome to you.”

  Kilita puts forth a mighty effort and the remainder of her eggs slip from her body. She relaxes, taking deep breaths as her gaze lingers lovingly on her and Timac’s clutch. Twenty-six. Twenty-six offspring to carry on their sire’s strength and honor.

  The scratch of nails at the entrance arch draws Kilita’s eyes that direction. The massive midnight-blue form of Estrola fills the entry.

  Kilita’s neck shoots out toward the interloper, a harsh hiss filling the air. “Get out.”

  “Kilita, thou knows why I am here.” Estrola takes a step into the chamber, Belnarth close on her heels. “We need to place the eggs into stasis as soon as possible.”

  Aura draws herself up and steps between the nest and the blue dragon. “Kilita said get out.”

  Estrola pauses, her neck arcing to see around the mahogany form of Aura. “A fine clutch, not a single grey one in the lot.”

  “I… said… get OUT!” Kilita stands, her battle fires igniting.

  “We need—”

  “Thou needs to leave.” Kilita’s Mindspeak is barely above a whisper. “I have given my word that my clutch will go into this stasis. However, not until I have the time to share with them knowledge of their sire.”

  Kilita turns and encircles the nest with her body. “Thou may return nextday to fetch my clutch, and place them in stasis. But tonight, we shall be together, if only for this one time.”

  Estrola’s head drops and she nods in agreement. Turning and herding her bonding mate in front of her, they exit the chamber.

  Aura wraps her body around Kilita’s, her neck draping over Kilita’s back to rest her nose on the clutch.

  Kilita’s golden eyes whirl softly in the light of the orbs. Her eyes brim with tears and her Mindspeak is soft as she begins. “So, my children. Let me tell ye of your sire…”

  ~!~

  Belnarth strokes Estrola’s nose. “You need rest from the battles. Our Healers can only mend you so many times.”

  Estrola settles deeper in the warm water of the Healing cavern. “I do what is necessary. Yet, thou may cease thy worry. For the next several dramas, we will be busy transporting clutches to stasis caverns.”

  “How many, all told?”

  “Twenty-seven clutches, although there may not be time to have all damas come to the point of bearing before the battle. We have chosen three locations. It was thought it better to safeguard them in more than one.”

  Belnarth chuckles. “Not putting all your eggs in one basket. That is our saying.”

  “I would rather there are twenty locations, however these are all we are able to prepare for now.”

  “You believe this prophecy to be true, then?”

  Estrola shifts restlessly in the water, causing small waves to crash upon the shore where he stands. “I know not if it is accurate, I simply know provisions must be made for our future. Even now, clutches are not able to be attended, so the stasis gives dragonkind a solution for the short term, and perhaps for the future.”

  “You said Shaman will also perish.”

  Estrola peers at him with worried eyes. “Belnarth, I told thee in confidence, thou must not repeat that information.”

  “I know, I know.” He frowns. “It seems to me that decisions which will have bearing on many lives are being made by only a few.”

  “Yes, all other paths show the annihilation of both humans and dragons, so truly I believe there is no other way.” She closes her eyes and scoots her head a bit farther out on the shore. “Thou should take some time for thy daughter, while we have it.”

  “She is settling in well with her foster home. Nora Sheina has taken a liking to the child and she treats her like one of her own.” His eyes shadow with grief. “My daughter has spent little enough time with me. She mourned the loss of her dama terribly, I think perhaps she is better off not being around me to place her in a position where she will mourn me as well.”

  Estrola rolls an eye at him. “Thy daughter will mourn thy loss, when it is time to make our sacrifice. Yet, thou can give her moments to cherish until then.”

  “True enough.” Belnarth stands and, giving Estrola’s nose a final pat, turns to exit the chamber. “You stay in those waters till I return.” He casts the words over his shoulder.

  Belnarth makes his way to the chamber reserved for visiting Shaman. He finds a clean tunic and trousers in the supply cabinet and proceeds to the bathing chamber. Thoughts of his daughter and her dama fill his mind.

  He had not wanted to mate. The call to serve with a dragon has been within him since his youth. Yet, Pearlitta’s dama drew forth emotions he thought himself incapable of. He was pledged to Estrola when he met her… or things might have been quite different.

  He removes his clothes and enters the warm water of the large bathing basin. He shakes his head; he never meant to get her with child. The news of her pregnancy with Pearlitta filled him with shame, and joy. Already bonded to Estrola, he had not felt himself free to make Pearlitta’s dama his mate.

  The infrequent times he shared with them, at the small cottage in the woods, are some of his happiest memories.

  Completing his bath, he rises from the warm water and dons his clothes. Yes, Estrola is right. He will make more memories with his daughter. Perhaps they will sustain him in the upcoming conflict, and give her comfort afterwards. His step is resolute, but light, as he leaves to seek his daughter.

  Chapter 25

  Hern staggers back, clutching his stinging hand. His eyes rake the shimmering dome arcing across the stone floor before him. “By the Lady, you said that is the lowest setting?”

  “Yes, Nor.” The lithe female Shaman’s lips twitch as if she suppresses a grin. “Your hand and arm will tingle for a bit, but the lowest setting will not cause harm. This is the level used on the supply caverns.”

  Healer Geramn leans close to the three-stride-wide dome of pulsing red energy. He studies it, with his hands behind his back. “I can personally testify to the one on the supplies working. It is driving the vermin into the living areas seeking fare.”

  “Shaman Iris, how large an area can one of these encompass?”

  “It varies according to the abilities of each Shaman. I, myself, can maintain one about three times the size of this chamber.”

  Hern glances about the room; it is approximately fifteen strides wide. “It will take many to protect a settlement.”

  “Yes, Nor. We estimate thirty to forty Shaman to create a dome the size you specify.”

  Geramn glances over his shoulder at the woman. “Do we have that many attuned to the red crystal?”

  “There are thirty-seven.”

  Geramn shakes his head. “That cuts it a bit close, especially to protect a settlement for an extended period. Each will need time to rest, which would mean they are not participating in the support of the protective field.”

  Hern gestures to remove the field. “It will only be needed for the length of time a battle lasts.” He runs his hand through his thinning hair. “We need others tested to see if any of the other Shaman can manipulate the red crystal.”

  “Yes, Nor, I will see to it.” The woman places a list on the table. “These are those Shaman able to use the red crystal.”

  Hern sinks into a chair. “My thanks.”

  Taking it as a dismissal, the woman exits the room.

  “I
s there something else, Healer Geramn?” Hern watches as the Healer fidgets, then finally takes a seat at the table.

  “I was hoping there is some word of Shaman Jadrun?”

  “None. Since almost four moons have passed since his disappearance, we assume he is dead.”

  Geramn’s eyes reflect grief as his nod indicates acceptance. “How is his son, Montello, doing? I seldom see him since Falcop moved to his own chamber.”

  “He does well. It is hard on him, of course, but he accepts the loss of his family.”

  Geramn clears his throat. “I grew quite fond of Jadrun. If there is anything the lad needs, do not hesitate to call upon me.”

  Hern contemplates the Healer. Yes, this is an opportunity to make things easier on Montello. The lad will be at loose ends when Hern disappears from his life as well, as will happen after the prophesized battle. “I think it would do him some good to have another male influence in his life. Especially a friend of his sire. Perhaps you can find time to interact with the lad more?”

  “It would be my pleasure to do so.” Healer Geramn glances at the door, then, lowering his voice, asks, “If I may pose a question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I have heard some things that set me on edge.”

  “Go on.”

  Geramn twists his hands in front of him, then lays them palm down on the tabletop. “I am piecing together some things I have heard. I am not sure I am coming to the correct conclusions. Nevertheless, they make me uneasy and I thought to speak with you.”

  Hern watches as the man struggles to bring forth his words. He raises one eyebrow at the Healer and says, “Rest assured, you may speak freely.”

  “Have the prophecies indicated our demise?”

  Hern leans back in his chair. Here it is: people begin to suspect information is being withheld from the general populace.

  “It is just the opposite. The Lady has shown us a path that assures the survival of the Palmir People.”

  Geramn releases his breath in a whoosh. “It relieves me for you to say so.”

  “Mind you, not without great sacrifice, but the Volastoque will be vanquished from our territory.”

  “To live without their constant incursions is worthy of sacrifice.”

  Hern nods. “Yes, such are my thoughts as well.”

  Geramn stands. “Thank you, Shaman Hern. I think I will go look in on Montello.”

  “Tell the lad not to expect me for midday meal.” Hern gestures at the parchments scattered upon the table. “I am behind on many of these reports and intend to spend the day catching up.”

  “Certainly, Nor. Perhaps I will invite him to share the midday meal with my family. I have two boys not far behind him in age.”

  Hern nods and watches as the Healer makes his way out the door. Reaching for one of the reports, he finds he cannot focus on what the document says. A couple more drama and most of the dragons carrying eggs will have clutched. He feels in his bones that the attack will come shortly thereafter.

  ~!~

  Maru shifts upon the cold stone and wishes this cavern had the thermals of his home lair. All around him, the dragon covey curls up across the broad expanse of cold floor and attempts to get some much needed rest. The yellow, green, brown, black, and orange scales of his brethren lack sheen and ripple with scars. Their breaths spiral from their nostrils in the chill, dissipating on the moisture-beaded ceiling of the chamber.

  Claws rasp on the uneven stone floor as each weary dragon attempts to find a comfortable position. Exhausted sighs and low moans resonate through the stone-walled room.

  Their battle covey barely found time to feed in the last drama. Constant attacks from the Volastoque kept the Shaman transporting them from one location to the next where the beasts attack.

  He is bone-tired, and hungry. Fatigue overrules his stomach. He will hunt after he gets some sleep.

  By the Lady, he sees no end in sight. The creatures hit in never-ending waves. How damn many of them can there be? He curls his tail snug around his body and lowers his chin to rest upon his side. Every part of his body aches. Killer Frost scorch covers much of his body; the tingle of damaged scales and flesh make it hard to find a comfortable position to lie.

  He struggles to still his churning mind, but it does no good. His mind’s eye is filled with scenes of death and destruction. Human families, fleeing for their lives as the Volastoque pour Killer Frost across them and extinguish their lives in an instant. Dragons, plunging with wings frozen solid from the attacks, and splattering upon the ground to move no more.

  Maru forces his thoughts away from the battles and instead concentrates on his last visit to his son and mate. Aura returned to the caverns at Kitloch to be with Kilita, as their neighbor has come near to her time of clutching. Both female dragons simply glowed with their anticipation of the soon-to-be-laid eggs. Maru, too, found his heart warmed at the thought Timac’s offspring would soon enter this world. The clutch must have arrived by now; it was immanently due when he was there over two dramas ago.

  Maru can feel the tension leach from his battered body as the pleasant thoughts fill his mind. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Rejack enters the cavern and searches for a clear spot to lie down. The bronze has so many battle scars etched across his scales it gives him a strange pattern in the dim light of the chamber. There is a fine leader. Rejack always puts his covey before himself. He is always last to feed and rest and first to attack when in battle. Rejack’s golden eyes meet Maru’s gaze across the short expanse. “My brother’s mate has clutched. Word only just arrived; she had twenty-six eggs a drama ago.”

  “May the Lady bless Kilita and her children with a long, healthy life.”

  Rejack eases to the stone floor with a grunt, shifts until he lies facing Maru. “That is what we fight for, is it not? A safe world where hatchlings need not fear for their lives.”

  “Will thou take time to visit Kilita while she sits her nest?”

  The bronze shakes his head, his eyes whirling in concern. “They took the eggs away. Kilita sent word the clutch was to be placed in stasis.” He sighs. “I do not understand this stasis, however Kilita said it delays the hatching and safeguards the eggs until a time when they can be brought to maturity without threat to their lives.”

  Maru’s mind reflects the confusion he can see on Rejack’s face. “Where were the eggs taken?”

  “Estrola and Belnarth are tasked to secure them in this stasis. I know not where.”

  Maru nods, comforted a bit by this information. “Estrola is a dragon of worth, she would not take part in this endeavor if it was not in the best interests of the clutch.”

  Rejack’s golden eyes continue to swirl with concern. “I know not this Belnarth, and cannot understand the bond between he and Estrola.”

  “My son, Falcop, has a bonding mate. The lad, Montello, is devoted to Falcop. I suspect the relationship is similar to Estrola’s and Belnarth’s.”

  Rejack slowly lowers his head to lie upon his tail. His Mindspeak is less troubled when he responds. “I suppose it makes sense.” The soft dripping from the beaded moisture on the ceiling is the only sound form for many heartbeats. Then in a Mindspeak heavy with sleep, Rejack adds, “Thy mate and my brother’s mate will join us soon.”

  Maru’s heart jumps at the information. He hates being away from Aura. However, glancing around at the battered, weary dragons slumped across the cavern floor, he wishes she did not have to join the covey. He could not bear losing her.

  ~!~

  Trella paces around the chamber she has chosen for her time to clutch. Soon, her eggs will come soon. The cumbersome burden of the clutch makes each movement awkward. Her emotions roll like boiling clouds of a thunderstorm.

  She is lonely and scared. Now angry. Vulnerable and then resentful of this task she does for dragonkind. She. Hates. This.

  Trella slumps upon the nest at the rear of the cavern, her gaze tracing the curved wall of the chamber. The empty chamber. She
always imagined her mate and other family members to be present when she laid her first clutch.

  Her mind churns. She does not even know Prava’s lineage. How can she recite it to their eggs? Who will sing the dragon birthing song? Her head lists to the side as she droops in abject misery. She has no family, and neither do these offspring she is about to bring forth.

  She should have thought this through. Made preparations. Word reached her only this sunrise that Prava died in a battle near Valtown four sunsets ago. How can she tell his children of their sire, when she knows so little about the male herself?

  Her abdomen clenches and her claws extend to dig through the nest material to scrape upon the stone floor of the cavern. That is the third one. Trella lurches to her feet to pace again around the small chamber.

  Her nostrils flair and emit small puffs of smoke as her battle fires ignite from her agitation.

  “Trella?”

  She whirls to face the chamber entrance to find Pearlitta poised hesitantly at the arch.

  “Pearlitta, I thought thou was at Scholla.”

  “I was. It is midday meal time and I came to check on you after I ate. What is wrong?” The child steps into the chamber, her eyes wide.

  “My time has come, little one. My clutch will soon be here.”

  “Oh,” Pearlitta gasps and rushes forward to lay a hand upon her front leg. “You must be so excited and happy.”

  Trella blinks down at her small friend. Pearlitta is right; she should be excited and happy.

  “Is there anything you need? How long will it take? Should I go get Healer Geramn?” The words tumble out of Pearlitta like a stream rushing downhill.

  “Can thou find Estrola?”

  “My sire can. I just left him, we ate midday meal together. He is probably still at the serving chamber as he wanted to drink some tea with a few Shaman, after the meal.”

  “Can thou go get her for me?”

  “Yes.” Pearlitta gives her leg a quick hug, and then rushes toward the doorway. “Do not worry, I will be back too. I have to tell the teacher, but I will be back.”

  Trella stares after her for a long time. Her whirling mind begins to settle. She does have family. This child and even Estrola have come to feel like family. The trails of smoke from her nostrils slowly ceases as her battle flames settle and extinguish.