Dragon Core

by Sain Artwell

  “Wait for me on the deck,” Alron said to Sofi.

  He headed to the munitions storage. Despite his pride in his strength and his skill in melee, Alron had to admit that he’d grown to appreciate these new ‘dragonfire explosives’. Leaving them all behind would be a crying shame.

  Chapter 6 - The Garden of Heavenly Dream

  White fog surrounded Kastalos. Then, he heard a voice, and stars filled the sky. Like a torrent of water into sand, their ethereal luminance bore into the fog from above, eroding it rapidly. Kastalos emerged atop an ice garden high above the clouds, decorated by strange fountains of sparkling colors and moving plants that did not belong to the waking world. This was the Garden of Heaven’s Dream—Sorcerer King’s seat of power.

  Three others were present. Their silhouettes flickered in the dreamscape like wind-blown mirages. Kastalos met their eyes one by one.

  “A sandstorm delayed my oracles from forging the connection. Have I kept you waiting?” Kastalos asked. There had been no sandstorm.

  A mirage with two tall horns and stars for eyes spoke. Despite the distortion, his composed posture and voice carried the charisma of the Sorcerer King. “Welcome Kastalos, Sovereign of Dustwing Dunes. Let us recap. The stolen battleship was found drifting near the Ghostmist Reef, with all of its lifeboats and crew missing. We have now lost the Traitor’s trail, unless you bring news we’ve yet to hear.”

  Kastalos clasped hands behind his back, holding his face neutral. “I have no news to add.”

  A feminine shadow scoffed. “Some were hoping you could enlighten us as to how this all began. Some suggest it was your negligence, or incompetence.” She was Letz Talotl, chosen speaker of the Blood Courts of Naputzeri, a venomous scorpion of a woman.

  Kastalos clenched his claws, matching her glare for glare. “If you wish to point blame, then ask, whose suggestion was it to dilute the blockade to mere four battleships? Whose decisions let the blockade degrade to a punitive duty, when it should have been manned by none but the best of the best? Some might suggest this entire crisis is a purposeful fabrication!”

  “Friends,” interrupted the gentle-mannered voice of a large hunch-backed man—Rasdrev, the Sovereign of Blackmetal City. “Let us not bicker, but gaze ahead. Kastalos, in your summons you urged us to declare an open war, but I’m afraid Blackmetal City remains unconvinced by your concerns. Can you offer further reasoning?”

  Kastalos nodded, swallowing his ire towards the Blood Courts. He had to convince the sovereigns now, or it could be too late. “Sorcerer King, you know that man as well as I. You know that we must declare a state of total war, if we’re to limit the damage of his wrath.”

  “Limit the damage of his wrath?” Letz giggled. “Some might wonder whether the Sovereign of Dustwing and his nation have a case of Dune fever. Was this man of terrible wrath not grievously wounded by four old decrepits and a small army of misfits? You greatly exaggerate the threat he poses.”

  “Underestimate him, and you will die. Whatever fleshy abominations your cursed courts have conjured mean nothing. Alron walks through men and metal as surely as time itself.”

  “Kastalos,” Sorcerer King’s voice silenced the bickering. “I assure you, I understand your concerns. We do not intend to allow Alron to make an ally of our complacency. But, neither shall we declare war against one man. Such an act would single-handedly undermine our power, and raise undue questions of the validity of our rule amongst the oldblood clans. War is not our only option. I am personally sponsoring a bounty on him, and guaranteeing the status of a sovereign for the individual or organization who brings me his head.”

  “Sovereign?” Letz nearly gasped. Even Rasdrev shivered, holding back his reaction.

  The bounty was outrageous. The price at once insulted the three sovereigns gathered before the Sorcerer King, and woefully underestimated the threat Alron posed.

  “This has not been approved by any of us,” pointed out Rasdrev.

  “Some would question your motivations, Sorcerer King…”

  “It is a slap in our face, yet that alone is not enough.” Kastalos’ voice trembled the dreamscape around them as he clenched his fist.

  Not once in his life had he done anything that did not serve his own ends. Not once had he shared water with the thirsty, or offered shelter from the sun. Now, listening to his fellow sovereigns, he felt as if he was watching the fable of the hatchlings and the Golden Stone play out in reality, as if stars themselves mocked his own greed.

  Kastalos needed to change their minds, before it was too late.

  He spoke, “Such a bounty will merely lead to unnecessary competition between the clans and individual agents, when we could organize them to strike as one. We must stop this, and come together on this. Let us share our secrets of bonded dragon-cores. If we pool what we know of bonds and the source of Alron’s power, we may be able to bypass the limits of ascension. This may be an opportunity disguised as calamity.”

  Sorcerer King nodded in what Kastalos interpreted as approval.

  Letz shook her shadowy head. “Some might think this was the goal of your poorly orchestrated charade. How is it that you lose your herald, and now ask us to share ours? You fail to extract true knowledge from her, and ask us to share ours? Pah! Blood Courts of Naputzeri refuse. We know of your techniques of wielding an artifact ensemble, and find it a poor offering in exchange for our knowledge.”

  “Unfortunately, Blackmetal City will also have to decline. Dragonfire technology advances faster than any wyrmkin, and the magnificence of its wonders far outclass that of any awakened master or star sorcerer”—Rasdrev turned his masked face to Sorcerer King, challenging his authority—“We cannot contribute jewels to a treasury of pebbles, when others keep their gems as secrets.”

  Sorcerer King’s eyes twinkled with the same unearthly might as the midnight stars. His voice tensed like a hand on an undrawn blade. “Kastalos is right. Much could be gained from combining our knowledge, though I understand your concerns of an uneven trade. It is no secret who stands to gain the most. However, we are allies, and I am still your King. Thus, it is my duty to keep you safe. As a sign of goodwill, I will send Knights of Myrwing to hunt Alron, as well as to protect you.”

  “Your offer is most generous,” Rasdrev replied, his tone soft and polite. “But unnecessary. Should Alron choose to approach our city, we are prepared to observe his containment independently.”

  “Blood Courts of Naputzeri welcome your knights, to stand by and witness our might.” Letz’s eyes thinned into grinning slits.

  Fools. They were all fools too full of themselves to know better. They had not listened to a word of what he said, and they would pay for it.

  After Rasdrev and Letz detached themselves from the dream projection, Kastalos lingered.

  “Something on your mind?” Sorcerer King asked.

  “Explain yourself. You know as well as I that a bounty will not be enough to subdue Alron. The hubris of Blood Courts and Rasdrev I understand, but yours? Yours I cannot explain. You know him better than that.”

  “That offer of yours to exchange knowledge, I accept.”

  “Marvelous, but will that alone be enough to empower us beyond him? I highly doubt it. Else, you would have already done so.”

  “Have patience. The others will come around. Alron will not be the end of us, but an opportunity, as you say—an anvil upon which we can reforge the Fivewyrm Ascendancy into something more, and raise its new hero.”

  “New hero… This year’s ritual had survivors?” Kastalos failed at any attempt to mask his awe.

  “One.” Sorcerer King grinned, moving his hand in a gesture as he spoke to the stars.

  Lights twinkled in the dream reflection of the night sky, and the vapors drifting over the Garden of Heaven’s Dream shifted, moulding from the clouds a feminine figure. Though she was thousands of miles away, and present merely through an oracle’s projection, the woman’s dragonsoul seemed to dominate the dream around her. Lik
e Alron, she radiated power beyond awakened masters—power of a broken dragongod.

  When the mirage coalesced, and Kastalos recognized her, he froze. “Sorcerer King, out of all the Knights of Myrwing… her? You risked her?”

  Sorcerer King draped his fingers around the woman’s shoulder. “And the gamble paid off. Certain bloodlines, it seems, have a proclivity for surviving the ritual. She and her bonded vessels will join the hunt. Now, are you satisfied in my response to the threat he poses?”

  “Very.” Not at all.

  This was a start, but Kastalos knew it would take more than a newly created pseudo-god to take on the hero of the Carrion War. Thus, when he left the meeting that night, Kastalos gathered his forces and prepared to march at the first sign of Alron.

  Chapter 7 - Old Love

  For three days and three nights, Alron rowed a lifeboat through waves as high as five-story houses. Only on the third and final night of their ocean voyage did the flashstorm, which had enveloped them, dwindle to a peaceful trickle. Beneath Fei’s veil, their battered lifeboat slid past a maze of longliners with forests of lure-poles at their stern, swarms of sailboats, and thousands of criss-crossing piers, which supported the floating slums of Brokenwhite Delta.

  A cloying stench of refuse, ammonia, and rotten fish discouraged Alron from making a stop. He rowed on.

  Over the day, a scenery of busy riverside farms was slowly replaced by overgrown fields and lopsided barns, which, as the hills grew rockier, gave way to a dark woodland realm.

  As day drew towards an eve, Alron’s boat glided upstream against a lazily meandering tributary, slowly approaching a forest-coated mountain range formed by Grovemother’s tail. On the left appeared a small town with tall stone walls and tightly packed houses.

  A nightlighter walked the concrete piers, filling bottles with fresh wisps of pale yellow dragonfire. She paused to watch when Alron guided the lifeboat to gently bump against the thick rope fenders hanging from the pier. He stepped off the swaying boat, and stretched.

  Four days of rowing without a wink of sleep began to test his endurance. Unfortunately, the lack of rest had worsened his wounds, slowing down the recovery of his wings. Flight would have made the short-cut he intended to take through Wealdfront much easier.

  He nodded to the nightlighter. She returned his greeting. Alron then hoisted the row-boat on his shoulders, and walked into the woods with it. No sense in risking the secrecy of their journey by sleeping in a town.

  The night grew pleasantly cool. Canopy blocked out the stars. Darkness muted the world to shades of dark blue and darker blue, though Alron still saw well enough to keep walking.

  As centurion trees replaced the thin thicket, the moss beneath Alron’s feet grew thicker and wetter. A fuzzy growth, like a coat of fur, covered the trees. Tiny creatures, half worm half lizard, swam in the swampy pools between roots. Birds with bark-brown feathers and long, needle-shaped beaks wailed in the night, their songs undulating with voices of young children. Wood-sprites and other primordial insects occasionally pulsed with faint luminance, revealing glimpses of their alien forms as they scurried, flew, and swam in their unknowable patterns. Their eerie beauty reminded Alron of his dives down the abyss next to the Nameless Island.

  After climbing atop a house-sized hollow stump swarming with sprites, Alron decided he’d come deep enough to sleep safely. He laid the lifeboat on the ground.

  “Augh… we’re sinking, don’t sink the boat…” Sofi groaned, flailing weakly. In a jerk, she flinched awake, drool sliding down her chin. “We’ve arrived? Excellent. We should look for a vehicle or mounts. I wonder if they run firewagon rentals in Grovelands?”

  “Firewhat?” Alron removed the sack of vestiges from the boat. His sack of explosives, however, would probably be safer there atop dry wood, but vestiges were so coveted by all life-forms that even the trees might steal them if given the chance.

  “Firewagons—wagons that run on dragonfire powered engines. You’ve never seen one?” Sofi sounded genuinely surprised.

  Alron gave her a deadpan glare. “I have not kept up with the world, no.”

  “Oh, of course. Apologies. Well, they are quite amazing! Their core principle is rather basic. Dragonfire heats a piston and the piston speeds up a dynamo, which stores spin-energy to be used by the vehicle’s pneumatic systems. The vessel I used to ride, before a battleship broke it, was a land-sea-undersea convertible, which we spent quite a mountain of resources to create. No, I know what you’re about to say. No need to apologize for your minions breaking it. The design was obviously flawed, if it could not withstand two rounds of battleship ordnance.” While talking, Sofi attempted to untangle from a sleeping Fei.

  Fei slid her hands under Sofi’s clothes, while mumbling something incomprehensible.

  Sofi tensed and suppressed a decisively erotic squeal. Biting her lip, she tried to pry Fei’s hand out from her pants.

  “Alron…” Help? Sofi mouthed.

  Alron observed the situation calmly. Fei’s hands crawled deeper, as she leaned in to lick the girl’s neck, eliciting a yelp. Sofi bit her lip harder, squirming to close her thighs. It wasn’t that Alron did not intend to aid the girl, rather, he was truly weary and not at all in a mood to move.

  With his mind on the edge of sleep, it was as if every thought was weighed by several fathoms of dark waters. In that state of half-dream, the sight before him reminded Alron of Fei and Mlevanosk competing to out-pleasure one another. He enjoyed it.

  “Nngh…” Fei’s eyes opened slowly. For a moment she stared vacantly into the woods, then leaned to nuzzle Sofi’s hair. “Mm. What is that scent you wear?”

  “D-dynamo oil?”

  “Mmm… smells like Mlev’s favorite perfume.”

  “It’s not… She has never worn perfume.” Sofi attempted to slip away.

  Fei let her slip. A languid smile lingered on her as she sniffed her fingers. “Mmm, thank you for sharing the warmth.”

  “Of course. I’m glad to be of assistance to Mlevanosk’s esteemed companions.” Sofi left the boat, hurrying to fix her clothes. There might’ve been a pinch of venom in the glare she cast Alron, but he was too glazed by the call of sleep to be sure.

  Sofi surveyed the woods around them, rubbing her arse. “Bhrrr… Alron, may I ask where exactly are we? I was under the assumption we’d dock at Backfort.”

  “We approach the end of Grovemother’s tail. I know not what the Blackmetal folk call these woods, but I’ve known them as the Wealdfront. Now, I will sleep. The two of you’ll have to entertain each other tonight,” Alron said.

  He laid his cloak on the ground inside the hollowed tree—right beside his sack of vestiges—and began to peel off his sweat stained clothes.

  Sofi’s pale gray complexion paled further. “W-wealdfront? Wealdfront, as in Weald-front, with an r after the f? Apologies, but weren’t we meant to take a firewagon to the Blackmetal City? Why would you have brought us to the Wealdfront? We’d better hurry and return to the nearest town at once. Delving into these woods is suicide. I’ve heard of the barbarian tribes and monsters making meals out of the travelers.”

  “This is a short-cut,” said Alron.

  Not the full truth behind his reasoning, but he suspected Sofi would only be further riled if she knew he planned to meet with the barbarian tribes she so feared.

  “Short-cut… Ah. I understand. Technically, that is true. But. We could be riding a firewagon right now. That was the express purpose for which I risked bringing money along, to cover our travel expenses. I could have procured disguises for the two of you and…” Sofi sneezed. “And now we’re going to freeze to death. Apologies, I don’t intend to be the squeaking screw in the crew, or to disturb your well-earned rest, but you certainly took me by surprise with that decision. I must admit, I did not prepare a contingency for this.” She laughed wryly, muttering, “I’m doomed…”

  Alron paused, only now noticing that murky ponds were glazing over with ice, and that the h
airs of the furry bark were fuzzy with hoarfrost. He’d never much minded the cold, but upon partially ascending into a broken dragongod with Sorcerer King’s ritual, it had stopped bothering him entirely. Unless it rained metal, or the air was on fire, or the air itself froze solid, he generally didn’t need to worry about weather.

  “Borrow these, if you wish.” Alron gave Sofi his shirt and pants.

  She frowned at them, and back at him, stuttering something. Fei laughed and said something to Sofi.

  Alron, however, had already laid down and shut his eyes. To him, the simple cloak laid over a mattress of moss made for a bed as smooth as the heavens’ caress. Sleep took him instantly, and he slept dreaming of pretty sprite butterflies made of light.

  When Alron awoke, dawn had washed the night from the forest, replacing darkness with dreamy shades of pastel green. Sprites had crawled into their underground homes, and different creatures sang in the canopy.

  Something warm nuzzled against Alron’s left armpit.

  Fei’s silky white hair curled around her head in a loose braid. She snoozed softly. Perhaps the journey had taken a greater toll on her than he’d thought. While caressing Fei’s hair, Alron glanced towards the warm body in his right armpit.

  Sofi stared back.

  “H-hello. Wonderful morning,” she said, looking as if she’d been caught thieving.

  “And good morning to you,” replied Alron.

  Lowering his gaze, he realized that, much like Fei, Sofi lay against him skin-to-skin. Her light gray breasts squeezed against his ribs. Her legs were entangled with his.

  “Apologies if I overstepped my bounds Mas— Alron. We were cold, and Fei assured me you wouldn’t mind. I didn’t do anything. We merely talked about Mlevanosk, and reminisced about things. Nothing untoward! I wouldn’t dare to cross the line in our relationnn… working-relation-arrangement-mutual-understand-thingy…”

  “Hm.”

  “Of a minion and superior!” Sofi hurried to add. “Should we wake Fei for…” Sofi trailed off, her cheeks darkening as she looked away. Silly woman, what was she bashful for now?