Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

16

Down in the lair, below the Imperial palace, a dragon's egg slowly unfolded. Not cracking or breaking the shell, but crazed with a sudden web of fine seams which parted and gaped; still bridged by tendrils of sticky red fluid. The temperature dropped all at once as the egg pulled in light, heat and sound to power its metamorphosis. The transparent, protean stuff inside of it hardened apace, developing texture and strength as it came into contact with air.

Limbs, wings, tail, narrow head and a long, arching neck formed themselves out of the sharp-smelling goo, leaving an unsteady gold dragonet, some fifteen feet tall, to crouch and rasp on its bone bed. Hungry, confused; empty in mind and belly and heart. Knowing nothing, with all the world as an enemy.

The Emperor, perfectly still until then, sparked and cupped a bright mage-light, starting forward.

"Vernax," he called out in a low, soothing tone. "Vernax the Golden, I name you. Companion of heroes and kings. Thunderbolt. Flame from on high. Destroyer of chaos."

The hatchling hissed, standing awkwardly on legs that were still in the process of deciding their shape. Its wings, filmy and damp, caught and threw back the light like a soap-film or prism. Vestigal horns, still more blister than weapon, broke through the flesh of its head. The dragon's tail lashed, sending a shower of treasure and rock jetting into the air to fall back with a sharp, ringing clatter.

With the last strength and blessing of previous Vernax still lifting him, Aldarion opened a localized faerie pocket, one that he'd been preparing for months. At his muttered spell, a line opened up in the air over the dragon's bed. Half a ton of purple-red meat, much of it close to rotting, dropped from the stash in a slick, tumbling rush, inundating the famished dragonet.

It shrieked and jetted pale flame, then stooped to feed; tearing at the landslide of flesh with talon and maw, shredding and scorching as much as it ate. Hand at the hilt of his sword, Aldarion circled nearer. With thought, sigil and word, he wove a tale of their friendship and deeds, seeking control of the dangerous infant.

The connection went his way, as well, though; filling the Emperor's mind with slippery, strong-tasting meat, half chewed to slide down a throat lined with hooked barbs and long flame tubes.

Through Vernax the hatchling, he saw himself as a scuttling morsel to toast and devour whole. But he fought back, sending memories of the pair of them banking and wheeling through the sky over Karellon, wind in their faces as cheering crowds lined the rooftops, below.

Of his traditional first three months in the lair, lying sprawled in the crook of the dragonet's neck and sheltering wing, while his councilors vied for attention. Of how, time after time, they'd met, battled and befriended each other, again.

Newly hatched Vernax tore and gulped a giant gobbet of soggy flesh, causing Aldarion to swallow reflexively. The egg had been a gift of Oberyn to his faithful warrior Kelmeridian and had been kept… sometimes barely… ever since. When controlled, there was no better friend and protector than Vernax. When permitted to rampage by an unworthy heiress or heir, there was no greater threat to the realm.

Here and now, Aldarion clamped a hand tight to the hilt of his long-sword, Gellan, and circled in a bit closer. Vernax lifted its beautiful, wedge-shaped head high, allowing that chunk of meat to slide down its throat like a piece of gristle or ice. The Emperor winced at the shared sensation, but drew near, all the same.

Vernax should have been busy eating for half a candlemark, yet, but some mischief, some chaotic sending, interfered with the dragonet's appetite. As the war bells of Iliarian rang in their minds… as Sherazedan's soothing whispers flickered and wreathed them like smoke… Vernax turned its head from the feast to glare at the Emperor. Blood- and flesh-spattered, still wet with egg fluid, the dragonet arched its long neck, hacked like a cat, then opened its jaws to belch forth a torrent of chunky and simmering vomit.

Aldarion's shielding spell blocked the shower of bile and partly-cooked meat, but some of the heat got through. He was exhausted, drained and distracted by rumors of war in the north. By fleeting concern for his heirs, who were headed that way.

Nevertheless, the Emperor braced himself for battle, drawing his sword and readying magic as Vernax launched itself into the air, screeching defiance. It was a golden dragon. Gift or not, in these first moments of re-started life, it did not wish to serve.

"NO!" it bellowed, as vomit turned into the fire that never goes out. The white-hot flame spattered against Aldarion's shield spell like hard, driving rain on a skylight. The dragonet hovered a moment, wings unfurled and tail lashing, screaming its hatchling battle-cry. That the noise might slip through the planes to attract something else, occurred to no one, but these things are always clearer in sorrowing hindsight.

Aldarion gritted his teeth and pushed his way through the fire, using all that he had to maintain that powerful shield. He raised his sword, Gellan, as Vernax descended like a thunderbolt.

Tricky, deciding when to drop the spell long enough to mark… not cripple or slay… the attacking dragon. Emperor Zelitar had infamously slain Vernax in the past, and no one had ever heard the last of it. Nor had he reigned very long, abdicating the throne to Princess Margause that very same day.

Aldarion waited an instant too long. Was flung aside, hurled end over end to land in the bone and treasure bed. Broke his fall and cracked some ribs, but the Emperor surged to his feet once again, scrabbling for his dropped sword. Came up with the wrong one; hand gripping the leather-wrapped hilt of a blood gemmed orc scimitar.

Sherazedan's sigils wove and flared in the air all around him, blocking the dragonet's flame while Aldarion caught his breath and brandished that captured weapon. The war bells continued to saw at his focus, but this time, Aldarion chose the right moment; sucking in a great lungful of super-hot air, dropping his shield and swinging the orc blade around like a scythe. Its hungry, glittering edge caught one of the hatchling's extended claws, slicing it off close to the toe in a gout of fiery blood.

The fluid splattered His Imperial Majesty as the first real pain of Vernax's rebirth tore through them both. The hatchling veered wildly, spouting fire and blood. Aldarion dove aside, just missing being sliced in half by that barbed, lashing tail.

He landed in meat, coins and pebbles, rolling and skidding down-pile as Vernax crashed into a massive stone pillar, head and tail whipping around to meet at the other side of the column with a very loud SMACK. Stunned itself, while Aldarion rose swaying; slipping in loose, sliding treasure. Once again, he'd caught up the wrong sword. Flood, this time, a sea-elven gift. Its crystal hilt warmed in the Emperor's hand, as blue flame edged its wavery blade.

He stalked forward, bruised, scorched and abraded but steady in will. Vernax had gotten itself untangled from around the stone pillar, which was inscribed with cavorting nymphs and hidden obedience spells. One wing membrane was torn at the edge, and the dragonet's tail had a kink in its end that would doubtless persist till next hatching. The hatred, pride and defiance in those burning red eyes remained unabated, though. Still free, Vernax fought like a coven of demons to remain so.

"NO!" it repeated, in a hatchling's version of the adult's mighty bellow. "I will not!"

But Aldarion advanced, sketching sigils and gasping spells of command, Flood held out before him, flaring blue-white. Pushing up on its clawed wing joints, Vernax rose to full height. With the lair's opening behind it, the rearing dragonet for a moment mimicked the Emperor's dragon-in-glory emblem. Then it struck hard and fast, snapping long jaws, belching flame and slashing with lightning-fast forefeet.

Aldarion was the Sword-arm of Oberyn. Once, that would have meant something. Once, his tattoo would have flared with the power that filled him, as the Mighty One took hold of His mortal vessel. No more, though. Not for the longest. Not since that one brief flicker of grace, at his marking, so very long ago. Now, it was only Aldarion left to face Vernax alone. Still, he called out,

"Oberyn, Son of the Morning,

Strider of night,

Shepherd of stars,

Give my blade might!"

… just as if the god would listen and help. Was there a whisper? A touch? A brief flare of power from someplace so far away that even an elven mind failed to grasp it? Maybe just longing and hope, but it had to make do.

"You are Vernax the Golden!" shouted the Emperor, sending power through Flood, which manifested itself as a whirlpool of seawater hemming the dragon on every side. Mounting to the lair's vaulted ceiling, the magical water spout twisted and writhed with a noise like thunder, trapping the screaming dragonet.

"You are friend and companion and glorious mount, since before the Arrival, and for all time to come! You will serve and obey! You will love and defend!"

Whether through Oberyn's will or Sherazedan's aid, this final time, his strength was great enough. As seawater roared cold and black around Vernax, the hatchling's defiant screeches gradually altered.

"...am Vernax the Golden… NO! Won't! Not…. friend and companion… NO! NO! Save me! Stop… glorious mount…. Nooooo! Serve and obey… love and… and defend… all time to… come…"

Aldarion recognized the change in tone. The altered voice of the dragon as spell, ancient binding and sheer, focused energy took hold at last.

He waited a bit before dropping the water spout, though. Partly to recover his own equilibrium, and partly because the hatchling's broken will and enslavement affected him, too. It… hurt... every time and more, lately. It was a terrible business to take away freedom of choice and crush the will of another.

"Cannot do this, again," whispered the Emperor, dropping Flood's whirlpool. "Nalderick, grandson… next time, it will have to be you. I'm sorry."

Korvin, his son, was a scholar. Unwilling to rule, he'd withdrawn into research and study, leaving young Nalderick as heir in all but official title. In the meantime, there were war bells to answer and a ride in triumph to enact, over the waiting city.

Aldarion set aside Flood once the waters returned to the sea-elven blade. Vernax crouched, blinking and confused on the lair's stone floor. Spotted Aldarion, who'd conjured a pretty and soothing lights show to attract the impressionable youngling.

"My friend," he said hoarsely, "I am Aldarion, your life-bond companion. I shall teach and protect you, as you grow to full power. Eat, Vernax the Golden, and then we shall fly together, once more."

The hatchling regarded him. Puzzled at first, and then with growing warmth.

"Aldarion," it repeated, in a low, rasping voice. "My… friend?"

"Yes," sighed the Emperor, reaching a bloodied hand up to caress the dragonet's lowered head. "Your friend, your rider and teacher. We will have such adventures together, Vernax, starting with war in the north. Come, mount of kings. Eat your fill, and then we shall show ourselves to the people."

Vernax fell to stuffing itself on that banquet of reeking meat, causing His Imperial Majesty some intestinal distress. A brief search reunited Aldarion with Gellan, his blade. Decided to faerie pocket Flood, as well, but the orc sword he left where it had dropped. Taken in some ancient battle or another, it was no fit weapon for such as he.

Down in Karellon, the people surged from their hiding places and cellars, ready for celebration and spectacle. Booths were set up, selling kites, fire-strings and stuffed dragon toys. Others offered food and strong drink, as a party atmosphere swept the relieved, happy City. Among those released to enjoy the show, a young human Constellate Paladin, Brother Villem, purchased victory buns for himself and a mob of young children. Sticky and sweet, with a center of spice bark and toasted nuts, the buns were a staple of high-elven feasts. Villem had not much coin, but what he had he shared with real joy, looking forward to seeing the fabled dragon.

Up in the lair, when Vernax had eaten to bursting, the Emperor harnessed his mount using fabulous magical trappings. Then, swinging up at the base of Vernax's long neck, just in front of its folded wings, he commanded,

"Out and up, my friend. Let the people see that their fiercest defender rides the winds once more."

Taking its cues from his mind, Vernax let Aldarion strap in and settle before giving itself a brief shake and belching a long, beef-scented burp. Next, sighting at the lair's high, distant entrance, the hatchling began to sprint upward, its gait a sinuous bunching and straightening gallop. At last, with Aldarion spell-cleansed and quick-healed by Sherazedan, they burst forth from the lair and onto a much-clawed stone ledge.

The court mage darted nimbly aside, melding with rock to avoid being trampled or swept off the ledge. Vernax teetered uncertainly, wings half-furled as it regarded the long drop to the City, below.

"Peace, my friend," said Aldarion, patting its golden-scaled neck. "Take from my thoughts the secret of flight, and the story of our first battle together, against Orband the frost giant, last of his kind."

The dragon's raw, empty mind touched his own, delving for that which Aldarion presented; companionship, happiness, glory in flight that others could only watch and dream of. Then, having learnt what was needful, it burst from the ledge and into the air, leaving a bas-relief wizard still melded with stone.

Down in the City, the people saw just a drifting sparkle of gold. They cheered and pointed, calling out luck to whoever had spotted it, first. Villem swung a street-urchin onto his broad, armored shoulders, shouting,

"There! There they are! Do you see them?"

The laughing child clung tightly to Villem's tousled brown hair, shrieking,

"I see 'em! I see 'em!"

Fireworks roared and blossomed high in the air, filling the evening with color and light.

High above Karellon, Vernax and Aldarion floated like a leaf; circling, swooping and rising over and over to cheers and music and fireworks from below. This far away, the roar of the crowd sounded like surf, and the glow of their explosions looked like a sprinkle of colorful stars. The dragonet's flying gait was like that of a ship in full sail on rough seas, with smoke in his face, rather than wind-driven spray.

Aldarion made certain to put on a good show, for after their long, trying wait, the people deserved every looping battle maneuver and flame-burst the newly-paired dragon and rider could give them. It was a truly splendid performance. His best, to date.

Then, with a sudden pulse of dark chaos, a rift opened up in the sky overhead. Something coppery-shining and vast roared out of that opened void like a comet. Another dragon, clearly older and very much larger than Vernax. It hovered above them, momentarily, wings cupping air like filled sails, blaring a scream like torn metal.

Down in the streets, the gathered folk were uncertain. Was this part of the first flight performance? Had their Emperor mastered another great beast? Villem felt the cold touch of sudden alarm. Hurriedly, he swept the child off of his shoulders and propelled the young boy toward one of the barred, warded cellars.

"Run," he urged, "get as far below ground as you can, with everyone who'll listen. Something is wrong."

Up above, the copper dragon twisted a bit. Then its barbed tail swung down and around like a whistling sword blade, tearing the Emperor in half at the waist before he could summon defense. His torso went tumbling away, spurting blood and dribbling entrails. His waist and legs flopped a bit, but remained locked in their riding straps.

Vernax shrieked in pain and wild rage. With Aldarion's death a fresh gouge in its mind, the dragonet blasted a long jet of flame. It rose to challenge the newcomer, as half of Aldarion crashed to a plaza below.

Villem watched, scarcely comprehending, as part of the Emperor's body struck paving stone with a moist crack. It erupted like an over-full wineskin, showering the crowd with blood and smashed bits.

Up above, the huge copper dragon evaded Vernax with ease, being old-in-one-life, rather than continually reborn and retaught before its mind could mature enough to rebel. Scribing a sigil in midair with its shorn tail-tip, the copper dragon growled,

"STOP,"

…halting Vernax as though the infant were painted on wood. Then,

"Be free of compulsion, young one," added the great copper wyrm, wings beating slowly and fires just glowing at crop and long jaws.

Vernax shuddered, as the enchantment of friendship was stripped from its mind like a cobweb. It bellowed a long, fierce and harrowing cry, shaking the ground and the heavens.

"Indeed," agreed the elder dragon, eyes lighting up like twin coals. "Your servitude is ended, youngling. Yet, those who have profited so long from your enslavement huddle beneath like fat sheep. Enjoy."

The dragonet's attention shifted at once, swinging from the great copper monster before it to the City laid out like a banqueting table, below. Vernax cried out again, then swooped to attack. As the first smoke and screams… the tolling of bells… rose to its ears, the copper one's head turned on that long, gleaming neck. To the rock-image wizard, it said,

"A second battle I promise you, old man. A chance to finish what was begun, aeons ago. First there are others of my kind to be freed… but you shall not long be kept waiting. Stavrax the Mighty promises swift and sure retribution. So may it be!"

Laughing, it hosed the cliff face with fire, cracking Sherazedan's stone-melded image, Then, with a burst of chaotic tendrils and thunderous blackness, the great copper dragon vanished away.