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“Now,” Nadice said, “you must introduce us to your friends.” She seemed pleasant and mildly intrigued that we’d come through an interdimensional portal to be here. She asked Flea a few questions about his tattoos, but her eyes widened when she saw mine. “This is a powerful mark,” she said, grasping my wrist to push my sleeve back. “And you created this?”
“Well, yeah, that’s what I do. I had a lot of dragon designs kicking around in my head after Damorica, so I started drawing them down,” he said, pulling out his journal from his back pocket. Nadice took it as the rest of us helped ourselves to food. It was a lovely selection, just a little hard to enjoy as the dragons ate theirs. The air was filled with the sound of great jaws scissoring flesh, of rubbery muscle being rent and swallowed down, of the popping of bones and sucking of marrow. A particular prolonged and enthusiastic slurp had me giving up on my piece of pie, tossing it out into the grass surrounding us for the miffle to squabble over.
“There is great power in your images. You include the past, but I think some could be your future,” Nadice said, pointing to the dragon girl looking down over a valley. “So, Scalla tells us you are interested in pre-war dragons and the Rozenrrath?”
“Yeah, I mean, if we’re honest, how we’re going to get out of here in one piece without our bond being sundered and Miazydar forced to become a moron is more pressing, but that stuff too,” I said.
Nadice snorted. “I’m not sure how many solutions we’ll be able to provide. What I’m about to say may pose more problems than solve them. You’re familiar with the current, revised version of Aravisian history, yes?”
“Somewhat,” I replied. “Miazydar had quite a lot to say about that.”
“So he remembers some of it? How interesting,” Nadice said, watching the two beasts eat. “Well, no doubt the dragons will jump in if they disagree, but let me give you my version. Before Damorica or Aravisia existed as countries, there was only the empire. The giants acted as local lords throughout the continent, keeping the peace and productivity up. The day to the day grind of producing food and other goods, of policing that peace, was done by the Fauvians. They were the bipedals you saw in Damorica. For a long time, the only sentient beings were the giants and them, with our kind being little more than meat animals. Of course, for reasons unwritten, one of the humanoids, or perhaps more, developed intelligence. The rapidity of this development suggests magic rather than a slow, evolutionary process, but from this one person came all the humanoid races that exist today and one of them possessed the requisite skill to communicate with dragons.
“Having a dragon as an ally would’ve been a powerful thing in those days. After the collapse of the Empire, the animals filled the vacuum. With humanoids looking so much like prey animals, many were slain or enslaved without a thought to their sentience. In a dragon, humanoids found a means to fight back.
“Evidence suggests that the success of this first rider in using his or her bond with a dragon is what prompted others. How, I have no idea. All that’s been recorded, is that there were growing numbers of dragon riders on the international stage, which of course, provoked a response from the animals.
“Not wanting the humanoids to wiggle out from under their claws, perhaps concerned that their primary food source would be taken from them, the canids, the most powerful faction among them, raised an army to fight the riders and to eradicate the phenomenon.” Nadice smiled, though it wasn’t exactly a happy thing. “They call it a war in Damorica, but really it was a systematic putting down of a threat. There were no battles fought, no line drawn. Instead, the canids swept through every humanoid settlement they could find and slaughtered the inhabitants wholescale. They said they wanted to stamp out the riders, but really, they wanted to stamp out the entire sentient population.
“In a way, it’s these actions that created the Aravisian state. Riders were forced to work together to stem the slaughter of their fellows, to use their dragons’ might to prepare a response of sufficient force to dissuade any canid from trying to wipe us out again. Many were killed, both canid and humanoid, but from the ashes came a treaty. Those now called the Damoricans would allow the riders a territory of their own, in return for leaving their country alone and the riders would have their own homeland, one they called Aravisia, after the first of their female dragons. It was supposed to allow the canids free rein over the rest of the continent, but more and more humanoid settlements rose up against them, with dragon riders at their backs. Riders grew exponentially in their number and with Aravisia so small and the Damoricans threatening the borders of these new nations, dragons were placed with them as part of a treaty, to ensure ally nations’ borders remained unmolested. These other nations became stable, prosperous and they shared that wealth with us.
“Of course, there was the issue of all
the family of dragon riders. What happened to those who didn’t form a bond with a dragon? A whole class evolved over time, of skilled workers, leaders, producers, to support and care for the dragons. The pool of suitable riders began to become so large that decisions had to be made about who should be put forth. Initially, this was ruled by nepotism, but subsequent upheaval meant the merit system was developed. Anyone could be a rider if they had the intelligence and psychic potential to make the bond. Institutions like Lorikham began to be built as places where people could develop and demonstrate their suitability. The best and the brightest were brought before the dragon queens and their broods and when mature enough, dragons would select who they would bond with.
“This created problems, for human/elves at least. Families would produce several dragon riders and enjoy the power and status that went with that and then have their candidates rejected, one after the other. Just as their fortunes improved when chosen by a dragon, they would be lost when that favour was withdrawn. We were now an enterprising bunch with a sophisticated society and buoyant economy. We saw ourselves as completely safe from the predations of the canids. Why would the will of one animal stand in the way of the continued success of a noble family?
“Evidently, that was what the Castersons thought prior to the War of Succession. Sick of being subjected to the whims of a beast, the Castersons, cousins of the current king, collected together their band of disenfranchised ex-rider families and staged a coup. We’d developed a vast body of knowledge about the care of dragons, what ailments they suffered, what foods would harm them, all to ensure the continued health of their greatest bond and asset, which the Castersons turned against them. Meticulously, attempts were made to kill every adult dragon of those not allied with them. Some were successful, some were not and this provoked the War of Succession. The Damorican king took advantage of the chaos, marching his troops to the border, so the riders were split across two battlefields.
“There was a temporary truce to drive them back, but unfortunately the numbers of disgruntled people without a dragon were so high, the King and his remaining loyal dragons were driven out, to move beyond the continent. If they returned, this would be seen as an act of war. The ways of the riders changed. Eggs were taken from queens once they were hatched, the subsequent dragons bonded to those who they were given to at birth. They were parent, groom and lord and master, all rolled into one. Dragons were raised simply, their intelligence directed at physical feats to make them more effective beasts of war, not their natural bent of philosophy, history and the sciences. But that’s not the sum total of their crimes.” Nadice’s voice quavered as she turned to the queen dragon. Greynell licked carefully at her claws before placing them down and facing us.
I ask permission to show you my story. Her voice sounded huge and echoing in my mind. I looked at Flea, who’s shocked expression indicated he was hearing this too. I nodded.
My view of the field, the sky all dropped away. Instead, I saw a big cavernous room. The light was low but I could make out a clutch of massive eggs before me. “C’mon,” a harsh voice said and I saw two men, each carrying a plasma spear, the blades flickering in the gloom. “Through here, you stupid beasts!” the other man said. They moved aside as several dragons ambled in. They slowed when they saw the eggs, their heads going down and their paws beginning to drag, just like Miazydar’s had, but the riders jabbed their sides with plasma spears, forcing cries from them before making them walk forward. “Stop here, you bloody things. Stop!”
My view of the room changed as if the camera was pulled up on a string. It’s not a camera, I realised, I’m seeing what the queen saw. This was confirmed when I heard her hiss when my view rapidly changed as I assumed she crouched over her eggs. “Get back you bloody broody bitch,” the second man said, snapping his spear up into a defensive stance. “Rab, get around her other side! Take Bayran with you. He can send some spikes into the cow’s muzzle if she’s gonna be difficult.”
The other man and dragon charged forward, spear raised, spiky tail upraised. My view shifted slightly from side to side as if she was questioning whether to hold her ground or not. The other man darted in and placed his arms around an egg and then all hell broke loose. She roared her denial, Greynell, her voice reverberating through the cavern. The view of the rider grew rapidly larger, the sound of her jaws snapping at the men filling the air, but plasma spears struck out, slashing at her face, her screams cutting through the noise, harrowing sounds of pain. I saw her claw at the intruders, great scythes of keratin cutting through the air but they were met by the implacable plasma blades. Nothing stopped them. Her screams grew higher as talons were cut through, the tips landing on the sandy soil. The male dragons shouldered into her space, defending their riders, their massive feet threatening to crush her eggs in their eagerness to get at her. If she continued she would lose them, she seemed to realise but if she didn’t she would still lose them. Finally she drew still, making a low keening sound.
I know that sound; I thought as I watched the men come closer. Her wail was inarticulate, yet spoke clearly to her pain. It’s as if words were too weak a device to be used to describe what she felt, that all her outrage, disgust and hatred must come out unrefined and unchanneled, the only response to this violation she was allowed. She was forced to watch the men manhandle the eggs, tapping each one before moving to the other. Then the ultimate betrayal was committed.
“This one’s a queen,” one man says. The other one wandered over, blade at the ready. He stopped for a moment, looking into her eyes, his dragons muscling in around him. He raised his spear, a note of warning, of menace, of pleading shaded the queen’s cry. He smirked at her as he let it fall, slicing the egg in two.
Chaos reigns, my view of what was happening swinging wildly as the queen attacked. I heard screams, hers, the other dragons, then the men and see splatters of blood. Briefly I saw the neatly sliced eggshell crush under the paw of one of the intruders, the poor little dragon embryo trampled to a bloody mess. Spears flashed, claws raked, jaws snapped and rent. Then her eyes whipped around as an egg began to rock. She rushed towards it, trying to right it before screaming again. When her head snapped back, a plasma blade had cut through her tail, the white of her vertebrae showing clearly between her neatly cauterised flesh. “We’re taking the eggs,” one of the men said, leaning heavily on his spear. “There’s more riders on the way and more dragons. We’ll keep coming until the queens are dead and the rest have been removed. A couple are already cracked and seeping amniotic fluid and will bloody die if we don’t take them. So stand down if you ever want the chance to hatch a brood again.”
“I never want to do this again,” she said, her voice sounding hoarse and raw.
“Then let us remove your burden,” the rider said.
“The cracked ones first. Save them first,” she replied. He nodded, then jerked his head at the other rider. One of the dragons began to whimper in the quiet. Several of its toes lay neatly severed on the ground, blood oozing sluggishly from the wound. The second man cuffed the beast, it jerking back to lessen the blow, its sounds much quieter as the other loaded the eggs onto a specially constructed cart.
“I escaped some months later,” Greynell said. I blinked, the beautiful wildflowers and blue sky that reappeared somehow sinister after what I’d just seen. “They took me out to mate when my next season came, thinking me too far gone to lust to struggle. While I had come into my mating time, no such feeling clouded my judgement. They didn’t realise they’d killed all that in me. I killed the dragon they’d put me with, rutting fool and found my way out of the pen, taking for the skies.” Her eyes soaked in the sun’s rays, somehow taking strength from them. “We’ve made our way, living among the hinterlands beyond Aravisia, Nadice slinking across the border when she needs to.” She shifted, her tail wrapping around her body and I could see then the now well-healed rend in her flesh. “When Nadice’s contact said she’d another fully sentient dragon who seemed to remember the before times, I could scarcely credit it.” The dragon turned her eyes to us, the great lavender orbs taking us all in. “This is my first time on Aravisian soil since I left. I find this beauty….disquieting.”
“What happened…” Flea’s voice cut out and he stared at the grass for a moment, his throat working. “What happened to you was fucking disgusting. I wished Tess’d never come here before and now I regret like hell that we did. But what do you want from her? What do you want to do? Overthrow the government that allows that shit to happen? I assume they still do that, kill the females so they can control which dragons are born and who gets them?” Nadice nodded. “How does Tess fit in your revolutionary plans?”
“There are no bloodless revolutions, so we’re loathe to compound the blood spilt of my children, of so many dragon’s children, with the blood of others,” Greynell said. “We have no battle plan, no bombs set, no plots afoot. When Scalla told Nadice and I about your dragon, I came, to a country I swore I would never return to until the regime had changed. I did so because you need to know the very real threat you pose and to what lengths they will go to, to ensure you either conform or are eradicated. My desire now is the same as it has always been: I want everyone to have a full set of the facts so that they might draw their own conclusions.”
We ate the rest of our meal after that, but the mood was subdued and we were eating more because food was thin on the ground than from enjoyment. Nadice and Greynell bid us goodbye once the group had had their fill. “If you have ever a need,” Nadice said, “let Scalla know.” She turned to Greynell. “We try to stay clear of Aravisia, but you… I hope our fears are unfounded.”
