Invasion and Dragons

by Jekka Jones

  Did we panic? Of course not. The dragons did not think we were killing their race—that thought was unthinkable. No, they thought we were enslaving them. Like the humans, the dragons brought us riches in hopes of freeing their loved ones. Some brought human prisoners, hoping to exchange them for enslaved kin. We slew the dragons, took their treasures, and enslaved their prisoners.

  To drive more dragons towards us, we began freeing slaves at random, telling them their freedom was bought with a dragon’s egg, or the teeth, claws, and blood of a captured dragon. This drove the dragons to bring us more slaves, hoping to rescue their kin from a life of slavery or avenge their dead. Eventually, humans were capturing and selling dragons to us. They were too afraid to maime the dragons themselves, but they were happy to let us take what we wanted. It made our life so easy! We had a never-ending supply of slaves and dragons for centuries!”

  Sri’Lanca stopped, and Landon stared at his writing. Rage and grief coursed through the bond, coming from them both.

  The wizards slew the dragons. That was how they came into being. It hadn’t been luck or chance, but murder. He now understood the Dagnorians’ hatred towards the West. Dragons weren’t mindless beasts, but intelligent beings. Sri’Lanca had a god he believed in—a living faith that drove him to make choices very much like Landon’s own religion. Killing a dragon was like killing a best friend, or a family member.

  “The Dagnorians were right,” Landon said quietly. “We are dragonslayers.”

  “No, you are not,” snapped Sri’Lanca, startling Landon. Myra stirred, as if she were trying to wake up, but she remained asleep. “You are not dragonslayers,” Sri’Lanca repeated in a low grumble. “The wizards are responsible for those murders, not you.”

  “We made it worse, Sri’Lanca,” Landon countered. “We gladly handed over your ancestors if it meant freedom from slavery. We as good as killed them.”

  “Landon Durn-Dayn, did you not understand what I just read? Your ancestors sold mine to the wizards because the dragons were doing the same thing! My ancestors perpetrated the human slave trade because we thought the wizards were enslaving us and using our teeth and blood as currency. That is an enormous difference from what all of Dagnor believes today. A thousand years later and we still believe the wizards’ lies. You are not a son of dragonslayers any more than I am.”

  “But—”

  “It is the truth and you know it.” Sri’Lanca turned back to the parchment. “I bet you three wheels of cheese that the Dagnorian emperor learned the truth, and that’s why he rallied all the humans and dragons against the wizards.”

  Landon didn’t say anything. He appreciated Sri’Lanca’s words, yet he couldn’t shake the disgust he felt towards his ancestors.

  “Landon, you’re not writing,” said Sri’Lanca.

  Landon jerked. “Sorry. I . . . um . . . I’m ready.”

  He felt pity from Sri’Lanca, but kept his eyes focused on the notebook. His eyes found the phrase, slew the babies as they broke through the shell, and shuddered. It was better that the wizards were dead, even if he was stuck with their stupid amulet.

  “Our actions, however, pushed the dragons to extinction,” Sri’Lanca began, and Landon resumed copying his words.

  “A handful remained in the west, and the eastern populations were dwindling. We had to search farther and longer for the nesting caves. Despite our rumors, no one ever brought a dragon egg or infant to us. They were too afraid to approach the nesting mothers, who would fight to the death to protect their young. But we were gods and laughed at the dragoness’ brave attempts.

  It wasn’t but six hundred years after I had become a wizard that our slaughters were witnessed by a male dragon named Va’Rasnir. He was one of the many male dragons that brought food to the nests. He and the other males led us to this lair, but he returned before we had finished. He saw us murder the last dragon—I will not say if it was a dragoness or infant. Rather than fight us, Va’Rasnir fled. He gathered up the remaining western dragons, all males, and they escaped to Dagnor.”

  Landon’s heart skipped several beats. Va’Rasnir and the Wizard King used to be his favorite fairy tale. It was about a dragon that fought a powerful wizard and won. Later, he had learned that Sayre’s ancestor, Kaktov, had gone by the title of Wizard King. He had been killed by a dragon.

  If Sri’Lanca noticed Landon’s shock of realization, he ignored it. The dragon’s eyes were riveted to the parchment. He spoke each word in disgust mingled with rage.

  “Why Dagnor? Because the Dagnorians revered the dragons to the point of adopting their faith. They were the only nation that refused to exchange a dragon for a human slave. My wizard kin and I thought it was amusing that humans would adopt a dragon god. We were fools to think that. The Dagnorians believed Va’Rasnir’s words without question. Dragons, after all, will not lie.

  We thought about crossing the Great River and silencing the emperor, but he did not fear us anymore. We slaughtered the creatures his people loved, and they screamed for our blood. They were not afraid of death or pain, and so we, who had all the power in the world, feared them. They spread the word for all surviving dragons to come to Dagnor, promising sanctuary and protection with their lives. It was a week later that the West was completely devoid of dragons, and Dagnor was calling on the other nations to join them, and they were joining.

  War was eminent. We tried to fight it, tried to bully the nations into submission, but it was useless. We were losing our power, and it was noticeable. We could not replenish it because the dragons were either dead or hiding in Dagnor. Kaktov and a few others focused on cowing the growing rebellion, while the rest of us focused on our immediate problem: replenishing our power. We began experimenting, using our slaves in hopes of preserving our power, but it was in vain. Our experiments depleted our power, causing us to age. I developed arthritis in my right hand. Nemar, Oliva’s brother, began to lose his hearing. We became desperate, but none more so than Oliva.

  She, as always, was the first. When she realized our experiments were speeding up the loss of our powers, she tried to take Nemar’s. I told her it wouldn’t work. We tried stealing a dragon’s life directly, but had no success. The power could not be stolen from a living body, only acquired upon death. I told her to wait and kill Nemar that night, but she was too impatient. She attacked him with her power, and he fought back. I believe he also tried to steal her power, otherwise he would not have died as well.

  I will never forget that moment. White fire exploded within them, and they screamed. It was the sound of a creature being tortured. Oliva and Nemar’s eyes, mouth, and nose shone with a white fire as though they were burning on the inside. I ran to help them, tried to touch them, but I could not grab them. My hands slid from their arms and wrists like oil on water. I could do nothing but watch and hope it would stop.

  Their screams and internal scorching lasted several seconds and then ceased. At first, I thought they were all right, but they gazed around in confusion. Their confusion changed to terror when they saw each other, and then me. They both screamed and ran in opposite directions. I ordered a nearby slave to follow Nemar, and I went after Oliva.

  She did not recognize me. She screamed when I tried to take her in my arms, calling me a monster. I tried to heal her with my power—even though I knew it was slow—but it was useless. She could not be healed. Worse, her power was completely gone, and I could only assume Nemar’s was as well. They were no longer wizards. In their effort to steal each other’s power, they had instead destroyed it.

  I tried to console Oliva in her insanity, but she ran from me. I chased her all over the castle until she threw herself off the battlements. I can still see her body on the rocks below, broken and dead. I sought out the slave and Nemar, only to find them in the kitchens. Nemar was dead, having taken his own life with a butcher’s knife.

  No one except the slaves witnessed the battle and deaths. The other wizards and wizardresses were busy trying to enter Dagnor, or res
earch solutions to our problem. I slew all the slaves who witnessed the incident and told no one of it. When the others asked what happened, I said the slaves had rebelled and overpowered the two wizards. I said they had thrown Oliva from the castle walls and had stabbed Nemar after luring him to the kitchens. The others bought the story, though I think Kaktov never entirely believed me.

  It was only a few weeks later that two other wizards tried to take each other’s power. This time, all of us were present to witness the power rob them of their humanity. They both went mad and, despite our efforts, took their own lives. That was when we panicked and became more desperate to save ourselves. It was not long after that the dragons, Dagnorians, and every nation on the continent came at us by the thousands for revenge.”

  Emotions too painful to put into words boiled inside Landon. He could barely write with how hard his hands were shaking. He daren’t think too hard on the words. It was too good to be true, too wicked and disturbing to acknowledge. Sri’Lanca was crying. Blood-red tears trickled from his eyes and barely missed the paper.

  “Sri’Lanca . . .” Landon began, but Sri’Lanca shook his head.

  “Let me finish and then . . . and then we can discuss this,” Sri’Lanca replied. He pressed on. He read from the back side of the parchment, his yellow eyes directed at a spot three quarters down.

  “It took us five years to discover that inanimate objects can contain the power indefinitely. Strazimas made that discovery with his favorite chair. Forcing the power into a human did not work, and although a chair or rock had no heart, it could trap the power. We created the Wizard’s Seal and poured a portion of our power into it.

  When I say a portion, I do mean that we lost a bit of our power. It is for that reason that I believe we are being hunted like rabbits. We are weak enough that we cannot kill as well as we could. We used to be able to slaughter hundreds with a single thought, but can now barely manage ten at a time. I do not know how many of my brethren have already died, as I have stolen the Seal and fled. I know Strazimas is dead. He tried to destroy his chair, hoping to take back the power, but it attacked him. His chair is a chair again, and Strazimas is a corpse.

  I think of the dragons now. My hands are forever stained with their blood. If I had children, I would have entrusted the Wizard’s Seal to them, but I have none. I did not want children. Any slave girls that became pregnant I caused to miscarry. Although this sin is my doom, it may also be my salvation.

  For my evils, I leave this record. I will protect it by imbuing the rest of my power in this shack and bind it to my blood, just as I had bound the Seal to Thirien’s bloodline. The act may kill me, but at least no one will be able to use the power, not even a wizard’s child. I only wish that I had told Thirien about this account. I cannot risk a messenger for fear that Kaktov will find the Keene’s. I can only hope that providence will guide him to this.

  If he, or any of his posterity are reading this, then know that it is possible to destroy the Wizard’s Seal. One must will the power to destroy the amulet, and it will battle against itself and die. However, he who does so will lose his mind. The insanity will drive him to take his own life. Destroying the Seal will be a sacrifice, but the world is better off without it.

  Son or Daughter of Thirien Keene, forgive me. God, Goddess, or whatever deity that may be watching, forgive me—Christovan di Wyntri”

  “That’s it,” said Sri’Lanca, putting down the parchment.

  Landon put down his pencil and stared at the wizard’s name. The parchment’s account took up almost the entire notebook, and transcribing it had taken the better part of two hours. Landon’s head felt like lead, and his body ached for nourishment.

  He closed the book and put it on the ground. “I think I’m hungry. You want anything?” His voice sounded like it came from someone else.

  Sri’Lanca shook his head, still staring at the parchment in front of him.

  Landon began to make a stew. He didn’t ask for Sri’Lanca’s help and Sri’Lanca didn’t offer it. Movement was good even if his hands wouldn’t stop trembling. The wizard’s confession seared into Landon’s thoughts, inscribing itself into his memory.

  The Wizard’s Seal, more specifically the power, could be destroyed. All Landon had to do was will it to attack itself. The power would obliterate itself, and it would take Landon with it. Landon didn’t know if he had been better off believing the Seal was indestructible or that it could be destroyed. He wished he didn’t know how the wizards got their power. The thought of a group of humans slaughtering dragons of all ages was horrific, and they did it because they wanted to cheat death and be gods.

  Worse, Darrin’s ancestor, Oliva, had been one of the first. It had taken a while for Landon to remember where he had heard that name. Not only was she one of the wizardresses from the fairy tales, but she had born a child to see what would happen, and generations later brought about Darrin Foran. Sayre’s wizard ancestor, Kaktov, was probably one of the first too.

  “I understand now why I cannot touch the Seal,” Sri’Lanca said, breaking the silence. “The power is dragon-based.”

  Landon turned to him. “What do you mean?”

  Sri’Lanca’s eyes became distant. “Dragons do not bond to each other. That bond is only between human and dragon. The Seal’s power is the lifeforce of dragons, therefore it would not accept our bond. It cannot. It would be like you using someone else’s soul to live.”

  “But then why would it recognize a marriage between humans?” Landon asked. “When I marry Myra, she’ll be able to use the Seal, but that’s only through marriage. If we got divorced, then she won’t be able to use it. How does that work?”

  “Vows.” Sri’Lanca’s tone sounded matter-of-fact, but Landon shook his head, conveying his confusion. “Like humans, we dragons choose mates and recite vows of marriage. Those vows form a bond between male and female, marking them as two parts of one whole. Annulling that vow, either legally or through willful separation, would break that bond.”

  “So the Seal, which is the lifeforce of dragons, would recognize the marriage bond and treat my wife as though she was me,” Landon repeated slowly. It was only because he was bonded with Sri’Lanca that it made sense. Husbands and wives vowed to work together, just as dragon and tamer did. Children born within that bond were the physical representations of the vows, so the Seal would recognize them.

  Sri’Lanca nodded. “And the Seers, having an echo of that power, would draw the Seal’s power to them. Your blood becomes the bridge.”

  Landon shivered, remembering how he felt like a conduit, unable to move or say anything while under the Seers’ grasp. “Damn them.”

  “What are you making?”

  Both Landon and Sri’Lanca jumped, the parchment slipping from the dragon’s claws to rest on the ground. Myra was pushing herself upright, fighting back yawns. She looked at them, and her expression became one of concern. “What happened?” she asked.

  Without saying a word, Landon picked up the notebook and handed it to her. Myra took it and began to read. Neither he nor Sri’Lanca disturbed her, but cast anxious glances at her when she turned a page. As she read, her eyes hardened, and her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

  Myra closed the book when she finished and held it in her hands, staring at the plain brown cover. “It can be destroyed,” she whispered. It wasn’t a question.

  “Apparently,” Landon replied. He swallowed to work some saliva into his dry throat. “All . . . all I have to do is make it attack the amulet and it’ll kill itself in the process.”

  “But it’ll destroy you too,” she said, panic edging her voice. “You’ll go crazy and kill yourself. Landon,” she hefted the book, “destroying the Seal is the same as breaking a dragon-tamer’s bond. Sri’Lanca would go rogue again.”

  Sri’Lanca’s grief flipped instantly to terror. He said nothing, but the bond revealed the dragon’s thoughts clearer than words ever could. Sri’Lanca’s emotions were exactly like when
Judan died: a hopeless wave of hot, torturous grief. He knew how much Landon hated the Wizard’s Seal. The whole point of venturing into Hondel rode on the possibility of finding a way to destroy it, and they had.

  They had a solution to the war, to the Seers, to everything, but that would rob Landon of his sanity. Sri’Lanca might be able to restrain him from hurting others, but that would only delay the inevitable. Sri’Lanca would watch his tamer die, and become a broken dragon again.

  An even larger question hung unsaid over the three of them: What now?

  Landon’s eyes fell on the parchment, lying at Sri’Lanca’s feet. It glowed softly in the firelight, a darker shade of amber than the Seal’s loops. He felt Sri’Lanca watching him, his terror lapping at his heart. A calm, icy resolve rose within him. He knew what to do.

  He got to his feet and snatched up the parchment. Before he could second-guess his decision, he threw Christovan’s account into the fire. Myra and Sri’Lanca let out cries of shock. The parchment flared, bright tongues of flame leaping around the edges, and then crumpled into a gray pile of ash. Myra and Sri’Lanca stared at it then Landon, their eyes wide.

  “Landon . . .” Sri’Lanca said shakily, “are you sure we’re not going to need that?”

  “No, we don’t. And I know what we will do,” said Landon. He turned on the spot, more because it gave him courage than for him to look Sri’Lanca in the eye. “We find my parents and we show them what we’ve found. Just my parents. I don’t want to tell the judges, or anyone else. After we show them that,” he pointed to the small book in Myra’s hands, “we burn it too.”