The Belromanticum

Chapter 63

I believe the last dragon was slain a century or so before I put ink to this page, yet I would not be surprised to find that I am wrong. It is not that dragons are small and easily missed. No, a dragon is much more akin to a calamity made flesh and even the Eyeless Legions would have no trouble detecting one. It is that they sleep.

By this point in my tale, I had lived upon Thür for over two centuries and encountered precisely one dragon: Bashamerax the Mountain's Flame, who was also my wife Allegeth's great-grandfather. He was, at every one of the handful of times I saw him, asleep. This was, as I understood it, the way of dragons. At least in modern times.

Dragons were born in the Third Strata and achieved their height in the Fourth. Their battles against the elves were legendary. I sometimes imagine the humans, who lived in savage tribes in the jungles that covered Obai, crouching in terror as the sky was set aflame by elvish wizards and the great wyrms.

Now, it was the Fifth Strata and both elves and dragons were in steep decline. Dying races are often seized by melancholy, though this can manifest in different ways. In the dwarves, it was their tendency to delve more deeply underground and return to the surface more infrequently. In elves, it was the embrace of hedonism in a desperate attempt to stave off the hand of death. For humans, I need not point any further than the wars currently tearing the great continent of Chassau apart.

For dragons, it manifested as sleep.

It might be thought of as the way bears or slitherkin spend winters in their dens, only to emerge in springtime to gorge and mate. The truth is a bit more complex than this as it always is, but I had not yet gained any understanding of the creatures. I still thought of them as monsters and not as a people akin to elves, dwarves, and humans.

All I knew was that a dragon had been seen on the borders of Bashamailon.

As I have said, the kingdom was a small one, encompassing perhaps a half dozen valleys and three times as many peaks. Thus, the first of Allegeth's subjects who sighted the great wyrm on the horizon were perhaps only a week in advance of our own watchmen on the spires of the Dragon's Roost.

Allegeth and I stood side-by-side on the Roost's tallest towers, watching the great beast flap its leathery wings on the horizon. It banked, making hard in the direction of Ennestal, the northernmost valley in the kingdom.

"When a dragon is in the offing, it is a wizard's task to settle matters," I said.

"Wait. Melisant, Lysethe, and Ten Ghosts will go with you."

"I cannot wait, my love. The people of Ennestal might need help now."

"I should go with you."

I touched her belly. "You are due to lay any day now. You have to stay here."

She embraced me. "May the love of one dragon shield you from the hatred of another."

I rode Quiyahui, and though she still disliked bearing the weight of a rider, she carried me swiftly. As dawn broke, a spiral of greasy smoke stained the horizon. The dragon had already struck.

The town of Bergau was a smoldering ruin when I arrived. Stunned survivors picked through the wreckage, while town leaders organized them into columns of refugees. They would make for one or more of the other villages in Ennestal.

A scream went up at the sight of Quiyahui, but it was swiftly hushed. Though we were not as beloved as my Allegeth, we were well-regarded in Bashmailon. I dismounted and Quiyahui assumed her human form, her body shimmering in iridescent light before becoming a small woman with blue-white skin and feathers for hair.

"Your Highness," said an older woman, approaching me. She gave me a bow. Her gray hair had been pinned to her head but was escaping in lank strands. Her blue eyes were tired.

"Magistrate Shoemaker?" I asked. I had made it my business to know who led each valley, as there were few enough that I had no excuse for ignorance. Still, their lifespans were, to me, the blink of an eye. Every time I learned one name, they had retired or died and I needed to learn another. Her name was Galda Shoemaker.

"The same," she said. "I did not know you would be here so quickly."

"And I am still late, it seems. Tell me everything."

She began with the evacuation of Bergau, and was weighing the idea of a general evacuation of Ennestal. She hesitated only because it was late in the autumn, and if the final harvest of the year was not completed, it would be a lean winter. I had some experience in this regard, but I found myself wishing for one of my Masters of Aurochs. Any one of them would have weighed the stores, estimated the harvest, and made a reliable determination.

"I will see this thing does not return," I vowed. "The harvest will happen on your schedule. Did you see where it came from?"

"The direction of the Two Grandfathers," she said, pointing to a pair of peaks that, at sunrise, resembled the faces of two brooding elders.

"That is where I shall start my hunt."

"You intend to slay the beast?"

"Unless there is another way to thwart a dragon."

She looked about. "I thought perhaps the Red Hound of Zuunkhorun would be with you."

"She is following, along with Melisant the Faithful and Ten Ghosts. I judged speed to be more important, but I suspect they will follow me. If I am unable to defeat the beast, the three of them can."

"May the Great Red Father's blessing be upon you," she said.

"And to you as well," I responded automatically. It was a courtesy in this place and though I never believed a slumbering dragon would do anything for me, I would not insult the beliefs of these good people. "Is there a guide who might take me north?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." She turned and called, "Jelleg!"

A gnome jogged up. He wore a comfortable traveler's costume of leather and furs, his belt hanging with a hatchet and a knife. I imagined he had the usual upward sweep of gnomish hair, but it was hidden beneath a furred cap. His auburn eyebrows, reaching nearly to the brim, implied that my imagination was correct. He wore a wild beard of the same color shot through with gray, and his tanned skin was deeply lined.

"Yes, your magistrateness?" He regarded me in as he picked his teeth with a splinter. "A wizard? Only two wizards in these parts, and that don't look like the Red Hound, which makes you..."

"His Highness, Prince Consort Belromanazar," finished Magistrate Shoemaker.

Jelleg bowed awkwardly, returning to the excavation of his teeth. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Highness."

"Jelleg is trapper," Shoemaker said. "Knows every road, path, and trail through these mountains."

"I was coming to town with a fresh load of pelts when the great lizard came flapping out of the sky. Doing what I can, but there's not much to be done. I fear Bergau is little more than a memory."

"We will rebuild," said the magistrate. "In the meantime, His Highness needs a guide."

"We're hunting the lizard that did this," I explained. "I need someone familiar with the pathways to the north."

"You'll find no better. Begging your pardon, my lord, but do you there's a naked woman with a feathered c... er... that is to say..."

"My familiar, Quiyahui. She's wearing her human form at present."

"That's a relief. Sometimes when you're up in the mountains too long, you get to seeing things, and well, just glad it wasn't happening in town." He sighed, looking Quiyahui up and down once before nodding to himself in apparent relief. "I'll gather my supplies, be ready to depart within the hour."

***

***

Jelleg was as good as the magistrate claimed. The little fellow led us up into the peaks, as surefooted as a goat, along pathways I never would have seen. The air grew thin and cold and many times I paused, leaning heavily upon Ur-Anu. I was grateful for my perambulatory habits, but even still, this was a difficult hike. My boots, gifts so long ago from Iura, the witch of three races, handled the rocky terrain well and my feet remained warm and dry, but my own endurance was not the equal of my raiment.

"We could use a rest," Jelleg said, sticking his thumbs into his belt. He was hardly winded, and though I knew he did this for my benefit, I was grateful. I sat down on a rock, looking out over the expanse of mountain ahead. After a moment, I opened my pack and withdrew some dried venison, washing it down with the clear mountain water in my skin.

"I don't mean to be rude, but can I ask a question?" Jelleg asked.

"Please. We've no one else to talk to."

He squinted up at Quiyahui, who slithered high overhead. "Wondered if the serpent was a conversationalist. Suppose that answers that."

"You wanted to know about my familiar?"

"Oh no, the affairs of wizards is no place for a simple trapper. I did idly wonder why she's not bearing us to our destination."

"I don't have a destination in mind. I don't plan to face the wyrm in her lair. I'm merely looking for a spot I like. If she comes back to harm us, we'll see her on the horizon and I'll draw her to me."

"As I said, I'll not gainsay the desires of wizards. No, a different question troubled me. I was curious how a king from far Aucor comes to our tiny corner of the world."

"I hail from Rhandonia," I said.

"But you were king of a far-off land."

"Indeed I was."

"How does something like that happen?"

"I suppose we have time for a story. Tell me, Jelleg, what do you know of the Turquoise Conquest?"

"I've not heard of it."

"That is where the story begins."

Quiyahui landed, taking her human form, as I told Jelleg of the tragedy of the Amazons. I spoke of my paramours, but spared him the details of the encounters that I have shared here. The gnome was an attentive listener, nodding along and uttering the occasional grunt.

I was in the midst of the tale of the Wooden Bay when a shape on the horizon drew my attention. I stood, my modest repast and war story forgotten as I peered into the dying light of the day. "A bird," I muttered, though even then I was dubious.

Jelleg stood, shading his eyes with one hand. After a moment, in that grim tone that only one who spends most of his life outdoors can muster, "No, that'd be her."

Quiyahui's form shimmered and no longer was she the diminutive woman, but the great serpent, coalescing in a warning hiss. I was grateful that I had already summoned the Blackspear, for I had no doubt that doing so now would be a beacon to the beast.

The shape in the sky flapped its wings once. There is a difference between the flapping of a bird's wings and that of a dragon. A dragon flaps its wings only rarely, its massive shape gliding upon the wind. Where it went, the air itself shimmered with heat like the worst days out in the Red Wastes. Then came a single, powerful wingbeat. These were like battering rams in the air, pounding the sky itself, as though the beast were shaking the heavens to pieces. A dragon at rest was impressive, but a dragon awake was shattering. I had to fight the urge to flee, even though the leviathan had yet to notice me.

"She? The dragon is female?" I croaked. I had seized upon Jelleg's words, for they were the only thing that could keep me where I stood.

"I don't know one way or the other," Jelleg said. "I thought it was like a ship. All dragons are ladies until one knows for certain."

"She is a fearsome creature."

Jelleg shuddered. "She is at that, though you might have more of an epithet had you seen her descend upon on Bergau. Living in Bashamailon as I do, I'm used to thinking of dragons the way I think of the Great Red Father. I'm not a religious sort, but I've a cabin, and in it, I've a small altar in his honor. I don't think he hears prayer, but I don't think there's any harm in honoring him who gave us our wise and beautiful queen."

"Have you seen him?"

"I'm a trapper, my lord. No one's inviting a trapper to those sacred caves. I've heard he sleeps, and has since my grandfather was a boy."

"I've seen him," I said, watching the dragon on the horizon. She soared like a hawk, hunting the earth for prey.

"Aye, blessing your marriage and the birth of your daughter." I caught a gleam in his eye. I had become familiar with it in my time in Bashamailon. Most of the populace nurtured a love for all of the dragonbloods, with Allegeth and Salexys at the pinnacle. The closest comparison I can make is that combination of romantic and filial love of a knight for his noble. It was, in some ways, a kingdom of knights. "I celebrated both."

"As did I."

He grinned, though his worried eyes never left the shape of the beast. "With her, I feel none of what I feel for the Great Red Father. He's a source of prosperity. Power even. I can't imagine he would destroy wantonly, let alone one of the hamlets of his daughters."

"This one did. Do you think she was cruel? Hungry?"

"It's not in me to divine the mind of a dragon. Same as a wizard. I'll say this. A monster, she was. I saw no intelligence in the horror she wrought. It was destruction for its own sake."

Unbidden, my mind returned to the stories I had only just been sharing. "Yes."

He looked at me, for the first time tearing his attention from the beast. "You know of what I speak."

"I wish I did not."

"First I had ever seen its like. Oh, I've had trouble with the occasional goblin tribe coming from the deeper valleys. I've never fought a war, let alone seen a colossus coming to dine upon a village. I saw no difference in will between that beast and an avalanche, merely in method."

My thoughts were a maelstrom. I would have expected more, as Jelleg did. I would imagine a statement, some message. He described a ravening beast. "I do not have experience with dragons," I said, "though I have faced beasts of incredible size and ferocity."

"There hangs a tale, I imagine."

The fear had bled from me, though the awe was still thick as a cloak. "Come, my friend. Let us keep moving and follow the beast to her lair. I'll tell you the story of Ocoxochi, mother of serpents."

***

***

On our journey, we slept on our bedrolls beneath the stars. I spared a moment of regret that I could not have had a comelier companion, but some deprivation would do me good. Or at least it would make my reunion with my wives all the sweeter. I slept chastely in the coils of my familiar, dreaming of the women who made my eternity worthwhile.

A week after we left Bergau, we stood at the precipice of a long pathway down into a dark valley. We had not seen the dragon since that one day, but we felt her presence on the wind, a heavy foreboding that never fully left us. It was not unfamiliar to the sensation of being upon the ramparts before a siege, and I can only hope that comparison is meaningless to all those who read this.

"That there's the valley Hess," Jelleg said, gesturing into the murky shadows below.

"Not a pleasant place, I gather."

"Not unless you like goblins. Mountains have it shielded from the sun in all four directions. The middle gets a few hours every day, not so you'd notice."

"Goblins?"

"Aye, the nastiest of the lot. They come out of their caves at all hours."

"Why not go around the lip of the valley?"

He shook his head. "Ten years ago, perhaps. Storms washed away the paths that used to ring them. Too dangerous unless you can fly, my lord."

"Short distances," I allowed. "Though I wished to husband my strength for the battle ahead."

"Aye, a wise impulse. Then it's up to you, Your Highness. Either you're knee-deep in goblins by noon, or else you're flying a bit."

"The choice makes itself, doesn't it?"

"Relieved to hear you say that," he sighed.

***

***

Sightings of the dragon grew more frequent as we made our way north. She never came south and the way she danced on the horizon felt like she was taunting me. The weight of its presence only grew heavier. Even when I did not see the great beast in the distance, I felt her on me. I believe this is what a mouse feels when a hawk's shadow crosses it. Though I was no mouse, not even then. I was the Dreadstorm and I bore Ur-Anu.

"I thought you mad," muttered Jelleg.

"Me?"

"Hunting a dragon, I mean. Madness."

"I am a wizard, Jelleg. The task falls to me."

"I'll not argue. Still, since you carry that spear. If anything be an assassin of wyrms, it'd be that, and no mistake."

"I hope you're right."

Jelleg grew quiet, and Quiyahui flew far closer to the two of us. We walked for a few more hours as the sun touched the tops of the peaks to the west.

"There," I said, nodding to a peak not far from where we stood. A section had broken off, creating a plateau open on three sides. It was wide enough to maneuver, but small enough that I believed the beast would have trouble alighting, and the remainder of the jagged peak could provide some protection against being snatched up.

"There what, Your Highness?"

"I'll face the beast there."

Jelleg opened his mouth to ask the question on his mind, but merely shook his head, muttering, "Matters of wizards, Jelleg."

He guided me there, looking about as though assessing a new home. "Get away from here, my friend," I said. "Find someplace safe."

"When wizards and dragons battle, I don't think there is such a place, but we gnomes can always find a burrow to hide in. Only hope it's deep enough."

Jelleg left me. I got to work, preparing the ground for battle. I began with protection spells, drawing circles and enchanting them, armoring myself against the inevitable dragonflame. I tried not to think about the times I had watched a sleeping dragon turn steel into liquid and concentrated on building the most impregnable defenses I could manage.

Quiyahui felt my concern through the link we shared. She landed in the center of the plateau, coiling. She had grown into a massive beast since I found her in the Mixtayhua, but she was still nothing compared to the leviathan that plied the skies. Abruptly, I thought of Oddrin, slain by Mu-Baoth, or perhaps merely the storm. If she was killed, I would lose my gift. I could not face that again.

"You must go," I said to her.

She watched me, her blue-white eyes unreadable. I sensed an obstinance, a need to be by my side.

"Quiyahui, you know the danger. Please. Lysethe and Ten Ghosts follow us. Bring them here." My words would not persuade her, but she felt my emotions and surely as I felt hers. She could not miss them, with me only an arm's length away, everything focused upon her.

She hissed, her hood of feathers frilling outward. Then she took to the sky, swimming south. Strange to feel relief when my most loyal companion left me alone upon a windswept peak as I prepared to fight a battle to the death. Yet I was lighter then, every part of me honed to a crystalline sharpness.

The air was blue and crisp here. The cold held power of its own, but it would need encouragement to spill its fury. My defenses had been built. Now I would ready my blade. I wove my spells into the peak, creating a hundred points I could use to attack. Everything would be a simple movement, a single word. Finally, I could justify waiting no longer. The sun was low and the chill of evening reached its fingers into me, but far colder was my heart.

I tapped the butt of Ur-Anu onto the stone at my feet. The carved haft was decorated with images of my exploits, subtly shifting every time I did something the weapon regarded as worthy. The last thing that had been revealed was the sacking of Heacharium. I imagined soon enough there would be an image of me slaying a dragon, or else I would no longer be in a position to worry what the haft of the Blackspear looked like.

I have been asked, many times since, if I believed I would die in this moment. I certainly believed it was a possibility, though I did not feel the dread that I had experienced when the Heacharids sent their great fleet nor did I feel the resignation I did as Texomoc's host tried to take the Red Bridge from me nor the shame and rage that would later grip my heart in Iarveiros. I believe this was because a dragon was an adventure. They were creatures of stories, and to be a wizard facing one placed me in a rare place.