I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2)

by Marc Secchia

  Openly enraged, the green spat, “Yet you stand here, and our kin were enslaved. What makes you so special, Dragon?”

  “Perhaps only my size.”

  Or his ego!

  His desire for prominence among the Clans! another voice cried.

  Azania said, “I placed my own hands into a Dragon’s ears to check the damage. The insides of the ears were scarred and damaged, some so badly that half of the Dragons we were able to rescue were deaf. Possibly, the damage is permanent. In addition, they had an instrument we called a lightning cart. It collected lightning into metal coils as tall as I stand, and shot charged quarrels attached to the instrument by a long wire. This is how they bring Dragons down – striking them as if by lightning. As you can see from Dragon’s hide, and Talonfire the Smiter will confirm, being struck by a violent electrical charge is no pleasant experience, even for a Dragon.”

  “Unbelievable! Simply unbelievable,” the green Dragoness hissed.

  From this to the control of the Bloodworm, the dark magic they had encountered gave many of the Dragons a deep sense of unease. They expressed this by snapping at the story’s details, questioning even the smallest particulars. At length, Inzashu-N’shula’s part in the tale came to light in such an explosion of hatred that Dragon shifted to stand protectively over her.

  Bite back the flame! Bite it!

  Blaze thundered the assembly back into some semblance of order. “We do not attack hatchlings and younglings! She is eleven years old! Hold dignity close to your Dragon hearts, brothers and sisters. Were we not all born, shaped by the heritage of our sires and dams? Which of us could change that?”

  He dared not glance at his sire. Could this be the same regret which had touched his words before, as he cast his son out of lair, Clan and fellowship?

  Approaching the girl, he said, “You stand with the Dragons?”

  “Aye,” she quavered.

  “Touch me. Convince me of this mental power you claim.”

  Poor thing! Inzashu said, “Dragon, Blaze of the – I … I made an oath I would do no harm with my power. Nor … meddle.”

  “That is well and fine, child, but you stand before Dragons now. My kin need to understand what we are facing – you must see, surely, that the power to control a Bloodworm or turn a King’s mind challenges those who have always seen their thoughts as inviolable?”

  “Aye. I believe my mother must have found a way to imbue objects with power, but perhaps also, to draw upon the strength of many to enhance her powers. That is why the army marched with her to go fetch the beast.”

  “A sound conclusion, agreed. So, show me. Convince me.”

  Closing her eyes, the girl gathered herself. He touched her mind lightly, conveying strength. In a second, he felt her reach out and in a way that escaped him, she placed a tickle inside Blaze’s left ear. After a moment, he scratched absently at the spot. Inzashu shifted. He tickled his right ear, then his lip, then appeared to discover a fly on the tip of his nose.

  A second later, both of his wingtips jerked at the same time. GNARR!!

  The Princess halted at once.

  Blaze delivered a glare that perfectly matched his name. “That was … instructive.”

  “My mother – my dam’s power is unusual,” the girl added in a wavering voice. “We had the coldstones checked by a Mage. He believed they might be traced to dark magic –”

  “Human or Dragon?”

  “Dragon.”

  “Terror Clan magic,” Dragon clarified. “The traces –”

  Even the Terrors would not stoop to this!

  Working with the Skartun?

  Unthinkable!

  Again, the Dragons bellowed and argued with one another. Inzashu was made to explain her assertion five different ways, and then to demonstrate her powers on two other Dragons. Both gnashed their fangs almost at once, before the accusation zinged forth from none other than his brother, Brawl – could this all be a Terror Clan plot against the Dragonkind, and were these Princesses and this Dragon not complicit in it?

  Cunning, his brother. Having started the bonfire with a small spark, he allowed other Dragons to pick up the accusations. How could they trust these black-hearted Humans – racial slur most certainly intended? Could Dragon prove that his so-called Rider had no influence over his thoughts right now? Was it not convenient that the T’nagrun Princess had arranged to be kidnapped by a weak-minded, isolated Dragon who had been such an ill credit to his Clan, he had been cast out?

  Warpaw the Wrecker chipped in with, “How can we even be sure that he has met Ruthless the Obliterator?”

  “Aye!” half of the congregation roared.

  “This Dragon fancies himself an artist,” his brother Brand said slyly. “Can you draw this Dragon you supposedly rescued for us, fireless one?”

  Blaze clicked his talons toward Yardi. “Scroll and charcoal!”

  “I’ll help you fetch them from my stores,” Juggernaut put in. “Come with me.”

  Meantime, Brutal the Smasher said, For our part, we Smashers cannot believe a single Dragon, however much help he might have had from that little two-legged creature, could demolish an entire Skartun army. How is this credible, brothers? How do you explain yourselves?

  Strategy and good fortune, he replied directly. We have given all the details of the battle’s flow, as accurately as we remember.

  Yet a discredited, Clanless Dragon comes out of this with the cleanest paws in history, does he not?

  Aye, by my wings! many Dragons agreed.

  Send some of your number south, if you cannot believe our sworn word, he responded robustly.

  Brutal growled, Fair enough. Here’s your scroll. What do you have to show us, artist Dragon? I am Brutal the Smasher. Think your stature impresses me?

  No, but then, neither did the Smasher’s jealousy.

  With the help of Azania and Inzashu, he spread out the large piece of scrolleaf – two feet by six, the standard size for draconic messages. Selecting a stick of coal, he summoned up the picture he remembered, having to swiftly banish a vivid scent memory of a cobalt face he would far rather be painting, and set to work. Strong, stark lines. How exactly had the head cage been shaped and fitted? Hmm, around the jaw, and –

  Azania pointed to the skull ruff. “Underneath here.”

  “Thanks,” he murmured.

  Meantime, Yarimda told Blaze what she knew of this itinerant Dragon – not touching the issues of his past or birth, but rather what she knew of him in the present. She confirmed the exact times and dates of both of their visits to Chakkix Camp, and described the purpose of her journey onward. Dragon wished to honour her, as she put it, by helping her return to her birthplace beside the ocean.

  Shortly, Brutal turned to the green Obliterator Dragoness. Scythe, is this your kin?

  Stepping up, she cocked her head to gaze at the partial bust of Ruthless, and gasped. Her reaction was enough. It is he. Roughly, she plucked up the piece of scroll and showed it to the other Dragons. This is my uncle – whom this Dragon could not possibly have met, otherwise. He was lost thirty years ago, long before the spark of this Dragon even entered the eggshell.

  They gaped at the image. Many openly spat or dribbled fires in shock.

  Dragon could only imagine how they felt. He had sketched the head cage as frankly as he could, including the clamps holding the ear inductors in place. The device was every bit as ghastly as they imagined.

  Shifting forward, Azania reached up as she said, “These are the inductor rods. The cage is welded on – through the jaw, as you see. They remove two fangs either side to bridle the Dragon –”

  Every creature present flinched.

  “Aye, I am sorry, but this is a faithful representation of the Skartunese torture device.”

  Brutal spat, “By my sire’s egg! If this is truth, Princess, then I will be the first Dragon to fly south. Who is with me?”

  A thunder of approbation!

  Still, he caught a glint in his
brothers’ eyes as they looked on. Their work was far from done, was it not? What more could they be hiding behind their sober, attentive expressions?

  For over an hour, into the fullness of a moonlit night, the talk majored upon political and practical issues. Who should lead a strike force of Dragons? Which Clan should take pre-eminence? What armour and equipment should be prepared in order to ensure that the dreadful lightning-bolt quarrels, as they called them, stood far less chance of bringing a Dragon down? The Princess’ later plan of seeking additional aid from the renowned warrior Dragons of the Vaylarn Archipelago met with quick approval once Juggernaut threw his weight behind the idea.

  He could not rest. Brand and Brawl were up to something. He knew them too well.

  At last it came; yet when it did, the surprise was still complete.

  Brawl called the assembly to order one more time, asking if there was any aspect of the report which still required cross-examination.

  “Aye, all of it!”

  The aggressive bellow caught everyone by surprise.

  “Brand?” his sire inquired.

  Setting his stance pugnaciously, the younger Dragon said, “I call this account a fabrication, and this foul creature the worst kind of liar and deceiver. How do we know he is not working paw-in-paw with the Terror Clan himself?”

  Dragon growled, “I swore to –”

  “Every Devastator Dragon knows the kind of words that proceed from your mouth, Dragon. Aye, this dilapidated brown is known to us – he is notorious for being a miserable creature, so afflicted by his fireless state that even while part of a Clan and family, he lived as a pariah and cursed his own dam. This is a gentle, pacifist soul who never raided a village or burned so much as a candle in his entire life. He’s an artist and one who, unlike any true Dragon, bears Humans upon his back. Imagine the desperation. The anguish. What vileness of hearts leads a Dragon to curse the egg sac that bore his very life?”

  He began to respond, but Blaze held his wings high. “Make your point, youngling.”

  “Simply this,” Brand said. “Whenever I hear such a fabulous tale of bravery and sacrifice on the part of an all-conquering hero, I ask myself who stands to benefit? What am I being asked to believe?”

  Flare the Bonfire snarled, “You would school your elders, youngling?”

  “Never, honoured elder,” he snapped at once. “It was Brutal the Smasher who said it best – which quad of paws comes cleanest in this tale? We are being asked to believe that in a matter of several months, a shy, fireless Dragon jumps from solitary lair to being a decimator of entire armies, all on his own. Here upon his flanks, we are told, lie the marks of a battle with alleged Terror Clan Dragons. Truth or not, one Dragon defeating a trio of greens whilst encumbered with four Humans is a legendary tale, one which even Master Juggernaut would be proud to own – and you are a master, honoured elder, but even your training is limited to the beast and not to miracles, is it not?”

  Juggernaut bared his fangs.

  Bowing fluidly, his brother turned to Dragon. “Truly an astonishing feat. So, tell us again, how many Skartunese warriors did you blow away with your non-existent fire in the heat of that final confrontation with Jabiz Urdoo?”

  “I told you, the lightning machine triggered my fires,” he rasped.

  His hearts pounded like massive log drums jammed inside his chest. Acidic bile gurgled in his throat. This could lead to only one conclusion.

  “Whereupon you incinerated hundreds with the ravaging breath of your jaw? How wide and far did your fires rage, o Dragon? How many houses did you immolate? Was their regiment as large in extent, say, as this training field? Half the size? A quarter?”

  “I swore –”

  “With the same mouth that cursed your dam, aye. How are we, and all of these Dragons gathered here, to believe a word you say?”

  “Why don’t you breathe fire, youngling?” Flare the Bonfire asked. “Show us.”

  “I … cannot.”

  “Lost those fires all over again?” Brawl sneered. “It’s all so convenient, isn’t it? Just like the bodies of those three Terror Clan Dragons were lost in the Skaggar River.”

  Facing his brothers, he said, “I have given a truthful account. Could it be that you –”

  “Your mental state is lamentable,” Brand interrupted. “You know what I see? A shabby coward who is so frantic to regain his honour, he would do and say anything at all. Nothing is beneath you, is it? No taboo cannot be broken. Let me guess – did you kidnap this tiny Princess, or did she kidnap you?”

  The Dragons almost fell over laughing as Brawl illustrated her size with his talons.

  Horror settled as ice in his bones.

  However, his brother was not finished yet. “Or perhaps, a discerning Dragon might smell out another explanation. A plot born in T’nagru, or deep in the foetid bowels of Skartun, against the Dragonkind? Perhaps the Princess has been manipulating you, and all of us, all along?”

  “I don’t understand,” Chalice fluted. All eyes turned to her interruption; her eyelids flickered wildly as she put in, in a breathless rush, “I saw him fly, and I can swear I’ve never seen such speed. That cannot be faked.”

  “Unless your mind was somehow twisted by the youngling,” another Dragoness put in.

  All of the faces surrounding him registered doubt, confusion and even outright fury. The old words wanted to worm their way into his mind, but he refused them. This time, he would stand tall. He would take the dishonour exactly as it was meant – but not for the perverse yet oh-so-believable reasons his brothers had advanced. Above all, Blaze must be protected.

  Why not simply breathe fire? Flare insisted.

  Brutal thundered, Aye! What is this, youngling? Has your mind indeed been addled? If indeed you found your fires after all these years – Ignis himself be praised! Show us! What are you waiting for?

  Chalice put in, Show us, Dragon. Show me.

  For by his words, she too stood impugned; bested by a Human child.

  No. None of this mattered. For once, this Dragon would do his duty by his sire. He would be the son of his wing who reflected no shame upon the Clan, nor upon his birth.

  He said, Dragons, I have nothing more to share and no proofs to offer. I ask only that you consider the existential threat to our kind arising from the South, and act with the wisdom I have always known is far, far greater than any that which this Dragon may claim. Consider T’nagru. Consider the terror of Dragon slaves, and let none – his gaze rested deliberately upon his brothers – let none divide you. May you always soar as the suns, brothers and sisters.

  Whirling upon his heel, he began to walk away.

  HALT, DRAGON!

  Chapter 10: Fires Burn Bright

  HIS TALONS CLENCHED INVOLUNTARILY in the grey sand as his sire’s bellow cut through the hubbub. He did not turn. Could not. Had his paws been welded to the ground, he would have been no less effectively immobilised.

  Blaze called, Brother Dragons, I too know this Dragon. I have spoken with this Princess. I cannot believe that either would lie. If Dragon says he breathed fire, then he breathed fire.

  But, sire – Brand began.

  But, indeed. Just as the young Princess gave us a demonstration, Dragon –

  No! I will not.

  Do you refuse to offer proof?

  Trembling, he bade his wings still and his fires withhold. Please. Anything but this! At last, he turned to face his sire. Did he not know? Could he not imagine what this might do to him?

  Eyes so dark with emotion they appeared almost fireless, fixed upon him across the short space that separated them. Blaze seemed on the point of speech, but the words must have stuck in his throat. Strange, unknowable colours played upon his scent senses, a brew too complex to evaluate immediately. He understood. He wanted this, but feared it, too. That acrid scent was clear. After the longest, most fraught hiatus he had ever known, his sire’s head bobbed up and down.

  A fire bomb imploded inside hi
s chest. No! He could not mean …

  Truth. Was there any force more brutal, any light that shone brighter beneath the suns? His sire could not mean it. Surely not!

  As he dithered, Princess Azania jogged over to Blaze. He lowered his great muzzle to attend to her whisper; after a few seconds in which no Dragon dared shuffle so much as a wingtip, he nodded again and whispered something back to her. His talon tapped the top of her right shoulder, just once, a draconic signal of acknowledgement of a service rendered. Then, the orange Dragon raised his head to the stars as if seeking answers from the cosmos.

  The congregation stilled.

  He said, What a Dragon chooses to do with their own honour, is a matter for them alone. However, when a Dragon chooses to sacrifice their honour that another might remain blameless, then that is a demonstration of integrity – which is, I believe, one of the highest forms of honour known to the Dragonkind. We might even call it a true expression of love.

  Perhaps there were Dragons here who did not understand, but many did. The way Azania gazed at him, he knew her heart wept for joy as only a Human heart could.

  The very night air took a collective inhalation.

  This Dragon was the son of my loins, Blaze added. One day, I believe he still will be, and this imperfect sire can only wait and hope for the honour such a day will accord him. Now, Dragon. Have you fires?

  I … do, he croaked.

  Then, please. Show us all who you are.

  His sire genuflected respectfully. Beside him, Azania wiped her eyes. For his part, his head had just come disconnected from the rest of his body, feeling as if it were floating mysteriously above the ground according to a process hitherto undiscovered by science.

  Was this an apology? Fury shaped the fires suddenly come alive in his chest.

  Best clear the way, Yarimda called out suddenly. Her aged tones quavered in her throat, but the motion of her walking stick was more than firm. You Dragons, step aside, please. Make a path.

  They gaped at her.

  Right to the back! I mean it – shift a paw there, younglings. Only respect for an elder kept them from grinding their fangs in her direction. Now, young Dragon, see that tree?