Isle of Dragons

by J H G Foss

  He was just as bloated and impossibly shaped as he had been when they’d seen him last. His orange scales and long yellow mane set him apart from all the other dragons, even the oddly shaped ones of the Chasm. He was large, but still nowhere near as big as Primus.

  Roztov passed an eye over Shumakkak. She wouldn’t recognise him by sight of course, but seeing her stirred uncomfortable memories.

  The Chasm dragons arranged themselves around their king, taking their time to get into an order that must have meant something to them but that meant nothing to Roztov. Once they were settled they all remained standing in silence.

  ‘They still wait?’ wondered Roztov.

  ‘More are coming,’ whispered Lady Fiewa in his ear.

  Half an hour later another flight of dragons arrived, six whites, clearly Spire Dragons. They landed and arranged themselves in a third pavilion close to the other two.

  ‘One of those is Mordran,’ observed Roztov. ‘He still bears the marks Broddor put on him.’

  ‘We are in the presence of the mightiest dragons of Tanud, indeed of the world,’ observed Fiewa. ‘There is nowhere else you will ever see such a gathering of power, magic and majesty. You are honoured.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Roztov. ‘I do feel honoured. I feel awed. How about you, Ghene?’

  ‘I also feel honoured. And awed.’

  ‘I feel awe,’ continued Roztov, ‘but I also feel as if they should hurry up. I feel I need to pee.’

  Roztov tapped Eru gently on the shoulder. ‘Hey, Eru. What do you do when you need to pee?’

  ‘Just pee,’ Eru informed him. ‘Our robes are long. Just spread your legs, it will not be remarked on.’

  ‘Right here? No one else has. I’m not going to be the first.’

  ‘Roztov,’ sighed Ghene.

  ‘What? I’m embarrassing you am I? I’m embarrassing you in front of all the dragons?’

  ‘Well, can’t you hold it in?’

  ‘Listen elf. I’m old. I’m getting old. Unlike you pointy eared bastards, we humans age, and when we do we don’t hold in our water like we used to.’

  Lorkuvan turned her head downwards slightly in irritation at their bickering, but it did little to stop Roztov from complaining.

  ‘Now what’s happening?’ he asked tetchily. ‘They are all just standing about.’

  ‘They are observing each other,’ whispered Fiewa. ‘Soon the king will speak...’

  She was correct, as suddenly, with no fanfare or announcement King Primus addressed the gathering. He had a deep, but subdued voice, a harsh whisper, not what Roztov had expected.

  ‘Curved wing. Rat claws. Beat high. More than air. Tear off the world with flames. This is a gathering of dragons. All of Tanud's teeth. I meet all of you. I am living with you now.’

  ‘Did he say rat claws?’ said Roztov pulling on his ears. ‘I think Tup’s spell is wearing off.’

  ‘You’d better be quiet while the king speaks,’ Fiewa whispered urgently in his ear.

  ‘Blavius, the son of the golden Buru. Ender of diplomacy, slayer of diplomats. Wing shredder. Knowing of your recent deeds I speak. You are not welcome in Stovologard. I do not think you are more than a pile of muck. I smoke to you. I ignore you. What is your condition?’

  Blavius strutted and postured, almost as if he too was confused by Primus’s way of talking. Eventually, without leaving his pavilion he addressed the other king. ‘It’s very unfair to talk to me like that. Very unfair. I didn’t start this war. All this is stupid, but no one else sees it.’

  ‘If you have not come here for peace, why are you here?’

  ‘I come with accusations. I have evidence against you. I have learned of the treachery... yes treachery of the north. You treason yourself, trying to ally with the east. You say they are kin, but that’s not true. They are no kin of mine.’

  Blavius turned in a full circle, like a nervous dog, then paced to one end of the pavilion and turned to look at Primus from over his shoulder. It was a most astonishing display and Roztov didn’t know what to make of it.

  Primus breathed out a deep growl and smoke curled from his nose holes. ‘What is it? It is not my responsibility to explain my taste to creatures like you. Your accounts are not my remit.’

  ‘You are a coward!’ screeched Blavius. ‘You can’t beat me so you seek help from the furthest and worst of quarters.’ Blavius looked at Gugaloris with a dragonish smile, as if to seek approval for delivering a line that had been agreed on in advance.

  ‘Attend. I fail to understand why I should concern myself with your opinions on my actions.’

  ‘You don’t even bother to deny it!’ cried Blavius, again turning to his advisors for approval.

  ‘Well, so? If I want to contact my relatives, you do not have to worry.’

  Blavius was confused by Primus’s choice of words. The king of Stovologard apparently had an unusual way of speaking that could puzzle those that conversed with him.

  ‘Your kin? We are all kin, Primus. We are all sons of Tanud,' said Blavius, contradiction remarks he had made only moments ago. 'I know you sent ambassadors. I know you were sent a message. It’s just as well I am such good friends with the Spire don’t you think? I want to hear it, this message. Let us all hear the words of Garumuda, your star-cursed so-called kinsman in the east.’

  Primus was angering, and his voice began to rise. ‘The foolishness of this dragon is well known. You move your chin and knock your teeth, but the senses are not created. I am tired of your poor exhibition of things passing by for wit in the south. No point is reached.’

  Blavius snarled and turned his head to the Spire dragons. Two of them came forward.

  ‘Curoro and Guil, high ranking members of the Spire Council,’ whispered Lady Fiewa in Roztov’s ear.

  ‘May I address you, your majesty?’ said Curoro, one of the elegant white dragons, arching its neck.

  ‘Allowed,’ replied Primus with a dismissive nod.

  ‘Then I admit to you, your majesty, that we have your messenger, returned from the east,’ the white dragon turned and looked at a group of men at the back wall. ‘Step forward.’

  A man was pushed roughly out of the group. He staggered forward, past the other retainers and out towards the white dragons. He was dressed in ragged red robes that he clutched close to his body. Curoro ushered the man into the space between the three pavilions. In a daze, the man looked around at the mighty dragons that all seemed to be looking at him. He cowered in terror.

  ‘Bloody Dreggen!’ exclaimed Roztov recognising the man.

  ‘They must have smuggled him into the city somehow,’ said Ghene, casting an eye over Fiewa who did not meet his gaze.

  ‘This isn't going to end well,’ muttered Roztov.

  ‘What is this?’ asked Primus, sounding almost genuinely intrigued.

  ‘One of the group you sent east three years ago. The last lone survivor, he bears a message for you from the east,’ explained Curoro.

  ‘And so? It ignores why you decided to make a gift like this here. What is your occasion?’

  ‘We of the Spire are beyond the petty squabbles of dragon nations, but we are interested in Garumuda, the mightiest sorcerer of all dragon kind. We would hear his message.’

  ‘Ha,’ growled Primus. ‘Do not say that you have not prised witness from.’

  ‘The message is protected by the magic of Garumuda,’ explained the white dragon with evident annoyance. ‘Not even we wizards of the Spire can remove it. The message can only be relayed to you, your majesty. I warn you though, dread king, take heed, there is the stink of necromancy on this man.’

  Primus grunted and called forth a human wizard, an elderly man in bottle green robes. The wizard examined Dreggen then reported. ‘It is true, your majesty, this man is spellbound.’

  Next a rune-keeper, a black dragon bearing a spurn-magic talisman, stepped forward and used the rune on Dreggen, but with no success. ‘The rune will not break it, your majesty. The magic is too
strong.’

  ‘We did try,’ said Curoro. ‘We tried everything short of killing him.’

  Dreggen whimpered and cowered down further.

  Primus took a few steps forward and looked down at the terrified man. The mighty dragon appeared to consider his options, but really he had none. To do anything else than receive the message would be to lose face. Still he hesitated.

  ‘You see?’ butted in Blavius with obvious relish as he strutted up and down in his pavilion. ‘Now all of Tanud witnesses your cowardice.’

  ‘Will you prevent your foolish tongue!’ bellowed King Primus who then blew a huge fireball into the sky, making all the humans present gasp. ‘Step up then man messenger. Give account. Deliver, divest, proceed.’

  Dreggen, trembling, took a few steps towards Primus then stopped.

  ‘And so and so on. First telling. What happened to Ambassador Kretorek and the others?’

  ‘Slain, all slain, your majesty,’ shivered Dreggen. ‘By the griffon cavalry of Lodz.’

  As Primus asked more questions of Dreggen, Roztov leaned in to Ghene. ‘Just so you know, when this kicks off, I’m going full on.’

  ‘Right,’ replied Ghene, not shifting his eyes from the spectacle playing out in the centre of the square atop the skyscraper of Stovologard.

  ‘I feel a sense of impending doom. I’m full of dread fears, Ghene. I’m not going to hold anything back,’ continued Roztov, starting to rock back and forth on his feet.

  ‘Good to know,’ replied Ghene. He too sensed the grim atmosphere in the lead up to the message being delivered, but said nothing more.

  Having asked his questions, Primus considered for a while, then looked up at the sky as if seeking inspiration. Seeing no other course of action though, he finally said, ‘fullness of time, but with no contentment, directly your message, man.’

  Dreggen straightened up as much as he could or dared to and took a breath. He then bent over as if stifling a belch, then gasped and groaned. A torrent of words tumbled out of his mouth. It was largely gibberish, with no meaning to anyone assembled. Roztov could make out the occasional sentence that seemed to come to his ear in his native tongue of Stykian;

  ‘… shuttered window, light denied, still the night and life defiled… call up the dogs and hounds that howl, call up the bones and blood of cracked and shattered men… nothing comes from nothing.’

  Then, a long passage that was almost all intelligible;

  ‘... the old man walks his house at night, sees enemies in every shadow, jumps at every noise, stalked by the one who bears all testimony, the one that hears every witness. There is no mercy to be had, when judged by your own recorders, there is no one to save you when your own hand placed the noose around your neck… Futile fingers on devices of ill-reason, ceaseless cries, increasingly senseless, the blue birds turn into needle-toothed bats...’

  ‘Bloody bones...’ muttered Roztov as Dreggen’s voice got lower, more garbled until it was little more than a coughing, belching fit. Dreggen bent over and blood fell out of his mouth onto the slates.

  ‘Etruna, protect us...’ whispered Ghene. ‘What sorcery is this?’

  It was clear to all assembled that Dreggen had not known what he was saying. He fell to the ground when he had delivered the final sentence. Standing, shaking, with a hand on one knee as he tried to get up – he exploded.

  It wasn’t a small explosion either, bits of him went everywhere. Both kings and both entourages were hit by droplets of blood. King Primus blinked. King Blavius scrabbled backwards, his false mane lurching down over the back of his neck. There was general confusion amongst the people as they all involuntarily stepped backwards, tripping on their robes and bumping into each other.

  Where Dreggen had stood, a blood red glow appeared in the air then grew to the size of a barn door. It faced towards King Primus, so that it was side on to where Roztov and Ghene stood.

  ‘A portal,’ gasped Roztov.

  ‘A Dead Gate,’ said Ghene with unnatural calm. ‘Necromancy.’

  Before any man or dragon could think of any action other than standing in astonishment, a massive skeletal dragon unfolded out of the portal and approached Primus. Two more followed it. People started to run for the stairs.

  The undead dragons breathed out jets of dark magic and the dragons guarding the king stepped forward and bore the brunt of it, their scales, blood and flesh melting to the bone.

  Dragons frantically beat their wings, flying straight up, flying for their lives as more skeletal dragons breached the portal, followed by all manner of macabre undead beings. There were humans, giants, three headed monstrosities wielding stone clubs, skeletal lizards, wolf headed creatures the size of horses. Also came undead creatures robed in black cloaks casting fire and lightning from their withered hands, the animated corpses of trolls and ogres with their intestines coiling around them like snakes. As the top of the tower filled with monsters, the human servants, screaming and shouting in their panic, fled past the druids for the stairs and the dragons headed for the sky. Not all of them made it. They saw many men and dragons pulled down by the undead and slaughtered. Lord Pabajan, the master of Lady Fiewa, too old and slow to get away, was tore into and pulled down by the undead and ripped apart. Barkback, one of the Chasm dragons, tried to fly out of reach, but was hit in the wing by a jet of darkness from a skeletal dragon and with it in tatters he fell back to the ground where he was overcome by the increasing horde.

  Roztov turned into a dragon and Ghene hoped onto his back just as a wave of running skeletons reached them, their teeth chattering and cackling horribly. Arms reached up at Roztov’s hind legs, but he kicked them aside and beat them down with his wings. He flew up and up, but the sky was in as much chaos as the tower. He ducked under a big Chasm dragon as it crashed down into the melee below, dead from a jet of black breath. He then swerved sharply to avoid the claws of a massive skeletal dragon as it swooped past him on its bone wings.

  ‘This is awful!’ yelled Ghene as he did his best to hold on. ‘Look down there!’

  Roztov, ducking and diving, glanced down at the tower top which was now several hundred feet below them. It was full of undead now and they were still coming, flowing out of the portal like the vomit of hell. Big black bats were streaming out now too, above the heads of the undead hordes, flapping up into the sky to join the fighting. Clouds of them swarmed around the living dragons, making them breathe fire in panicked bursts and plunge down into the city to try and escape the claws and teeth.

  Undead creatures were moving down into the top floors of the tower, hunting out the living, pouring into the halls and stairwells. Both the living and the undead could be seen jumping from the windows and balconies, plummeting into the smoke shrouded city below.

  ‘What do we do?’ cried Roztov as he flew as fast as he could upwards. ‘What do we do?’

  The sky was still full of living and undead dragons and flying was far from safe. He grunted as a small Chasm dragon, by chance, crashed into him. They both fell for a moment, but Roztov recovered and swooped back upwards. The smaller dragon rolled and flung out its wings, but was then struck by the claws of an undead dragon as it passed at speed and fell down into the city either dead or unconscious, its wings fluttering uselessly by its sides.

  ‘Just get away!’ yelled Ghene. ‘Head out to sea.’

  The air was full of dragon fire and smoke. Cinders rained down on them from above. Roztov swooped and soared, trying to gain height and get away from the fighting.

  ‘Look over there, to your right!’ cried Ghene, slapping Roztov’s flank. ‘What manner of stupidity is that?’

  Through the smoke they could see King Blavius and his royal guard descending on and attacking a group of young Stovologard dragons who were only trying to flee the area.

  Ghene looked around as best he could, taking stock of the battle.

  ‘Go round, go round!’ he yelled. ‘I need to see it all.’

  ‘Make up your mind,’ muttered
Roztov, but he dutifully banked to his right, high enough now to be away from the heart of the battle. They flew around the tower in a wide circle. It was shrouded in smoke, but was periodically lit up with dragon fire and blasts of magic. They saw a squadron of Stovologard manhunters fly as fast as they could from the south, using an updraught to gain height, only to be met by several of the larger Chasm dragons. The Chasm dragons breathed fire and broke up the formation.

  ‘Blavius is using the chaos to attack the Stovologard dragons,’ groaned Roztov. ‘What a short sighted fool.’

  Now that they were higher up the could not see much of any men through the smoke, but they could see that the Stovologard dragons were leaving the tower through their atriums and perches, flying out into the clouds in their hundreds. The braver ones found enemies to fight, while the more timid flew off as fast as they could.

  Many dragons were above the tower, circling it, much as Roztov was doing. Some were roaring, most were silent, not knowing what was going on, or what to do.

  ‘That is a Dead Gate, Roztov,’ said Ghene, shouting over the wind. ‘Now we know how Old Bones gets his undead into Gnarlwold.’

  ‘He’s never sent that much. What a mess,’ rumbled Roztov in his deep dragon voice. ‘It’s like a rookery after a hawk has passed over. Viewed from this distance I mean.’

  They watched for a while longer, looking down on the melee below. The smoke was now being blown inland by a stiff sea wind. The bravest and biggest of the dragons were flying close to the top of the tower and fighting with the undead, but more were coming up to the relative safety high above the city. Roztov had never seen as many dragons as he was seeing now, it was as if every dragon of Stovologard was airborne.

  A dragon glided down from above and slowed its pace to draw along beside them. It was Lorkuvan.

  ‘I saw you shape shift, Roztov,’ she said. ‘So it is not only rock lizards you can change into.’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted.

  ‘What do we do?’ she was terrified. ‘They are destroying my city. How do we stop this?’