A Dragon's Betrayal

by C L Patterson

  “Then tell me, because I want you to hear yourself say it.”

  “I'm just not ready for a relationship,” Maerek said. “I'm just not ready to leave Moving Mountain, to leave my family.” When dragons were mated, the male would leave his keep to go live at his mate's keep to raise the family. The responsibility rearing of offspring was shared among all in the Keep, as the Keep was not just a community of dragons, but a large extended family.

  “When you find the right female, you'll be ready.” Tamera placed her hand on his shoulder, patting his deep purple scales. She looked down at the crowd and smiled slightly. The sea of colored scales, the laughter, the smells, and scents all wafted up to where she and Maerek were perched.

  “This really is beautiful,” she whispered.

  “And it is only during these celebrations that I am able to see this. And when the time is right, and when I find her, she will see all that I see, and so will my offspring.” Maerek paused and flicked his tongue, tasted and smelled the air, taking in the aroma of Moving Mountain.

  CHAPTER 2

  The morning sun began to ebb into the Keep, but it would never reach the bottom of the enormous cave. Within the Keep, the dragons slept, the sound of their rumble-like breathing billowing upwards. Pairs of mated dragons shared circular impression in the various rock formations. Three to four smaller dragons filled other craters. Around the cave and in the outcroppings on the walls were depressions where only one dragon slept at a time.

  Maerek slept in one of the higher outcroppings, perched higher still from his spot the night before. He flicked his tongue as he woke, tasting the stillness of his family. A distinct aroma from each member of his extended family swarmed him at once. The sensation was comforting. He flicked his tongue again, tasting each individual musk. He flared his own scent slightly, green apples and tree sap, as he stretched his wings to remove the early morning stiffness.

  The smell of sunflowers and mead belonged to Gretta, his mother. He could always spot her scent. Next was apple blossoms and mint, which belonged to his sire, Trivas. A rather feminine scent at first, but the mint was exceptionally sharp, denoting Trivas’ masculinity. Honey and grass was the musk of his grandsire, and willow and huckleberry was his grandmother’s smell. He had two sisters, who each slept in their outcropping with their mates, and the smells intertwined tightly, interlocking and creating a scent that smelled to him like pears and syrup.

  There was a plethora of other smells too, that of his cousins, new and old, some who were still too young to fly out on their own and were kept at the bottom of the Keep. Maerek looked down and flicked his tongue in their direction. He honed in on the one powerful smell that slightly overpowered all other scents in the Keep, blood and smoke, the scent of his great-grandsire.

  Vaalkún, the great-grandsire of Maerek, and the great-great-grandsire of the drakes the enormous dragon encircled, breathed deeply and looked up at Maerek, his golden eyes glowing in the grey light. Vaalkún’s scales were black and gold and blended in with the floor of the Keep. His coloring and demeanor earned him the title of Moving Mountain. Maerek nodded in his direction and Vaalkún returned the gesture before resting his head again and focusing on the newer additions to their family.

  Consisting of five generations, Vaalkún’s Keep, or Moving Mountain, was one of the larger keeps known to the extended family. Each Keep’s name came from the senior member of the family, regardless if it were male or female. Before the name of Moving Mountain, it was known as Larkip’s Keep, or Thunder Ridge, named after Vaalkún’s mate who passed from age a few years prior.

  Vaalkún smiled, stood and looked up at his own family. He let a deep rumble grow in his throat until all the family was awake and attentive. Once all family focused on Vaalkún, the rumble grew into a song. The deep note reverberated up the Keep, and as the sound climbed past the dragons. The family added their voices to the song. There was the child like voices from the drakes, beautiful contra base from the old sires in the family. Tenor and alto voices combined in the mix, topped off with perfectly pitched soprano voices. Each voice melded and moved together in the familiar song of Moving Mountain.

  Images from the beginning flashed through Maerek’s mind, when the first of the dragons, the greatest sire and mare came into existence from the side of a mountain and remember as the rest of the Faye’s creations rose in life. There were scenes of famine and feast throughout the Northern Wilderness, memories of birth and of death. Feelings of joy swelled in each family member as they saw through the song, the traditions of their generations past. Sorrow brought them all to tears as they sung of the great ones passing as well as the premature death of a hatchlings struck with illness, or a drake snatched and killed by a wyvern as he was just beginning to fly.

  The memories and knowledge of survival, hunting grounds, and relationships with other kin moved forward as the song continued, up to the point where each member sung their own memories, sharing them liberally with the Keep, and accepting graciously the song of their kin. When the song was finished, a quiet power settled in the Keep.

  A faint, distant shriek outside the Keep broke the reverence. Maerek twitched his ears, listening for the sound again. He heard it only once more and then there was silence. The other dragons in the Keep had heard it as well. Some looked out toward the opening. Maerek looked down at Vaalkún, tail twitching inquisitively. Vaalkún nodded toward Maerek for him to inspect the sound. Maerek put on his satchel, leapt from his outcropping, spread his wings and then flew upwards, pounding against the air in powerful, rhythmic beats.

  He shot out of the Keep, spiraled and expanded his wings to slow his ascent, and then gradually fell into a glide. The forest of the Northern Wilderness spread out beneath him like a vast, green ocean. The wind bent and pushed the treetops, creating waves that moved gently toward the horizon. To the north, the shades of green deepened and contorted around rivers. To the east, the wind moved along a spur of mountains toward a larger, more ferocious mountain range known as The Broken Blades.

  The Broken Blades dominated the horizon, dividing the eastern and western parts of the northern continent with nearly impassable dominance. The range of peaks looked like serrated swords that stabbed at the sky, thrusting deep into the clouds and beyond. One route through the Blades existed far to the south, and the stories of its hidden horrors that stalked travelers in the darkness were part of the song the dragons sang to each other.

  To the east, a tendril of the Broken Blades reached out toward the ocean, its peaks dwarfed in comparison to the parent range. Through now extinguished volcanism, portions of the smaller range segment were hollow, allowing ample tunnels and caves to shelter in. Some were located toward the ground while others were toward the peaks. Most of the caves were large enough for mammalian predators to hide in and only one in the entire range contained the space for the Keep.

  The branch of mountains contributed to the plentiful game. Oceanic air buffeted by the Broken Blades created a tremendous rain shadow that provided seemingly never-ending days of rain. The rainstorms and clouds surged northward and stopped by the smaller tendril of mountain were Moving Mountain was located. Dozens of rivers slid and flowed southward, allowing the vegetation to flourish. The vegetation provided cover for both herbivore and carnivore, and the caves in the mountains provided protection from the harsh elements.

  On the clear, crisp morning, there was a single low-laying black cloud that was fast approaching from the south. Maerek looked at it, turning his head as he started his second pass around the entrance to the Keep. As he came around, he saw that it was not a cloud, but a tightly packed flock of cockatrice. Maerek flicked his tongue and smelled their half-rotted coats of scales and feathers on the wind.

  The creature was known to be extremely fierce, killing or stalking and hunting its own kind if food was scarce. The cockatrice, an ambush predator, traveled and hunted at night, roosting in trees and ambushing any creature that passed underneath them. The cockatrices ability
for group coordination and strategy only extended to two or three members. Beyond three, a flock would quarrel and fight to earn dominance. The loser of the short quarrel was usually eaten by the victor. It was uncomfortable to see such unnatural coordinated movement among such a highly antagonistic bird. They were smaller than the dragons, and had quick maneuverability and short bursts of speed, but underneath the continually molting feathers were patches of iron hard scales. The flock would be worn down, tired, and near exhaustion by the time they got to the Keep.

  Maerek banked around Moving Mountain and took another pass, watching as the growing grey mass of feathers and carrion smell grew closer. Details started to appear in the as the sun crested over the Broken Blades. Portions of the pale, yellow beaks peeled off like a fungus infested nail with some portions being completely eroded through. Each bird focused straight ahead on the mountain, moving together which each shift in the wind.

  “There’s at least twenty,” Maerek thought as he watched the group fly toward the Keep in an organized V pattern. Tufts of feathers fell with each wing-beat, leaving a trail that looked like tainted falling snow. Maerek looked beneath the cockatrices to see if anything or anyone was guiding them. He banked sharply as he circled to get a better look. As he did, something metallic flashed near the base of Moving Mountain.

  Maerek changed his course and dove down toward the object, his mouth filling with combustible spit. There was a twang, like a wooden spring, and then a whistling sound. Maerek banked away from the object and just in time to see a large arrow rush by him with a thick rope attached.

  “He’s spotted us!” he heard a male voice say. A human voice. “Track him Korrek, and take him down before he alerts the others. And keep that suon steady or I’ll have your head as a prize!”

  Maerek was still descending, plummeting closer to the object. He could see the black scaled pack lizard now, as well as the giant crossbow in a cart that it towed behind. The forest had provided too much cover and now the hunters were on them, with their trained cockatrices in close pursuit.

  Another arrow shot past him. Maerek rocked back and forth, tucking his wings and legs in, making himself as small a target as possible. He breathed deeply through his nose, filling his lungs with air and supported the breath with a stiff diaphragm. Just above the tops of the trees, Maerek parted his mouth slightly, as if to whistle, and spat a heavy, continuous coat of his combustible spit. It caught fire soon after it made contact with the open air. The fire stayed in a narrow stream and then widened, covering the area where the hunters were.

  He landed on the top of a tree, bending it nearly in half, the trunk cracking and moaning under the sudden weight. The suon reared, throwing their riders and tipping over the machines they hauled. Some of the hunters rolled on the ground, attempting to kill the flames that grew quickly on them.

  “Fools,” Maerek thought as he watched the hunters sprawl on the ground. The hunters that survived the initial burning stood up and found that the flame had started again. Other hunters lay on the ground, their bodies burnt beyond recognition.

  There were two types of saliva in a dragon’s mouth. One aided in the digestion and mastication of food, the other was a more consciously controlled substance. As the combustible spit mixed with the air, it became flame and the spit transformed into a thick paste that would stay burning until it the spit was gone.

  Satisfied that hunters would be preoccupied for a time, Maerek leapt back into the sky. The cockatrices were making good time toward the Keep. He smiled, knowing the cockatrices would spend most, if not all of their energy flying to Moving Mountain. The smile quickly evaporated and Maerek frowned as he began a spiral pattern above the Keep.

  Vaalkún flew out of the entrance and began to fly next to Maerek. Even though Maerek was a fourth generation, and considered a grown adult, he looked like an adolescent in comparison to the mountainous black and grey dragon that flew next to him. As the pair made their first circle, the two great grandsires and two great grandmothers flew out of the Keep and raced north. The drakes that were still too young to fly clung to their great grandsires’ arms, legs, tails and backs.

  The great-grandparent’s wing beats were long, deep, and laborious. Each gained and lost altitude with each wing beat. Next out of the Keep were the grandparents. Maerek saw his own mother and sire flying behind the great-grandparents. They circled around their home, keeping a wary eye on the cockatrices that were coming ever closer. Lastly were the cousins. They quickly flew up and trailed behind Maerek and Vaalkún.

  “The cockatrices are almost here, but they must be exhausted by now,” Maerek said. “They’re not built for that long of a flight. There was a group of human hunters below. I doused them with spit. Most are dead, the rest are suffering severe burns. I suspect more are below the tree line, but I don’t know where.”

  “I can’t smell them either,” Vaalkún said. “That fire of yours covered up any scent I could have picked up.” Maerek bowed his head slightly, showing remorse, submissiveness and regret.

  “Forgive me,” Maerek said.

  “It is a mistake easily made,” Vaalkún responded. “I am sure I would have made the same mistake if I was your age. There is something else on the air. What is that? It smells reptilian.”

  “It’s suon. It looks like one of us, but wingless, and broad in the shoulders. The creature is domestic. The hunters use them to pack in machines that launch large arrows.”

  Maerek looked behind him again. The cousins formed a large ring in the sky, flying around the entrance to the Keep. Each cousin scanned the ground for any possible threat, and then glanced up, watching the cockatrices.

  “The cockatrices are meant as a distraction,” Vaalkún said to Maerek. “The humans won’t begin their assault on us until we are fighting off the decrepit birds. If we head toward the cockatrices, the humans will attack. We have to find the other hunters and hit them before the flock gets here. If we set up a smoke blind, they will have to move and we will find them then. Follow my lead.”

  Vaalkún roared and banked toward the forest and spat out another jet of fire, lighting the trees instantly and sending up a wall of dense black smoke. Maerek knew what to do. As Vaalkún came back into the circle, Maerek flew down and spewed another jet of fire down where Vaalkún’s ended. As he came back into the circle, the cousin behind him picked up on what was expected.

  When Maerek completed another circle around the Keep, they were protected by a circle of fire and continual cloud of black smoke. The heat from the blaze traveled up the sides of smaller mountain range. The dragons took advantage of the manufactured thermals and rose higher into the air.

  Maerek realized the advantage and foresight of Vaalkún when the cockatrices arrived. Once the cockatrices flew into the thermal, they climbed, but struggled to reach the dragons that circled above them. The cousins bombarded cockatrices with flaming spit balls as the hot air pushed them closer and closer. Maerek smiled as he blew liquid flame. It collided with one of the cockatrices, jarred the creature’s flight, and then sent it plummeting as the fire consumed it.

  Half of the flock fell in flame. The remaining birds retreated and regrouped. The cockatrices weren’t completely defenseless. Some still had energy to maneuver out of the way and counter attack with their screeches. The screech itself was acoustically unbearable, and anyone close enough was left paralyzed. Most were able to maneuver out of the way of the cousins’ barrage and fought against the thermal, trying to keep an even altitude.

  One of the cockatrices broke off from the flock and cruised toward the forest fire. Others followed, seeming to head straight for the flames, but then curved away at the last second at the tree line and rode the makeshift thermal on a second approach toward the dragons. Maerek was about to let out another fiery blast, but the cockatrices turned, and headed back down toward the fire a second time. The cockatrices eventually formed a circle of their own, racing up and down the side of the Keep. With each loop, the cockatrices gained s
peed, riding the thermal up the mountain, careening down toward the fire, and then riding the thermal with the added force.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Maerek said. Questions reeled in his mind. How were the cockatrices organized? Were they being controlled? Where were the rest of the human hunters?

  “This is the distraction. One of the cockatrices must’ve been trained to lead,” Vaalkún said, seeming to read Maerek’s mind. “Could you pick out which one dove down first?”

  “I was hoping you would. They all look alike to me.”

  “Look for one that looks like it’s thinking, the rest are followers. I’ll look for the humans.”

  Maerek understood. Vaalkún banked away and started a slow, circling dive, scanning through the smoke and fire for any sign of the humans. Maerek focused on the cockatrices, hovering in place with aid from the fire generated thermal. The cousins continued their barrage of fire, but the flame never met feathers. There was a fierce wind picking up from the base of the mountain that pushed the dragons’ fire upward and away. If the dragons got too close, they could risk momentary paralysis and then be at the mercy of the humans.

  Maerek had to be quick. He assessed each individual as they continued their whirling ascent and descent on the mountain. Wild animals focused on prey and predator, instinctually focusing on survival. The leader would be observant, mindful, watching multiple things at once, instead of one target. Maerek watched the circling cockatrices with more focus, seeing each individual as it passed, looking for any sign of cognitive ability or flash of emotion. Finding none, he beat his wings down and flew closer to the flock. He was close enough to taunt, but far enough away to flee if the cockatrices attacked. Maerek hovered there, watching and adjusting his he spread his wings and continually adjusted them so that he hovered in place.