Dragonseed

by James Maxey

  Of course, his own species was a poor substitute for human labor as well. Most sky-dragon males were averse to actual work. The majority devoted their lives to scholarship. Over the centuries they had produced poems, statues, operas, and lengthy treatises on every topic under the sun. They’d filled libraries and museums with their creations; but every one of those libraries had been built by the labors of men. The diet of sky-dragons was more sophisticated than earth-dragons—fish, fresh fruit, crusty bread, and vegetables in a rainbow of colors—and all of this was grown by human farmers and cooked by human slaves.

  Vulpine had become a slavecatcher because it was one of the few professions available to his race that truly mattered. Slavecatchers were the invisible glue that held the world together. They were greatly feared among men. Their reputation for brutality was well deserved, but it did not spring from any innate cruelty. The poets, artists, and musicians of the world would starve if not for the work of slavecatchers. Men benefited from the system as well, as strict discipline allowed the war-prone humans to live in relative peace. Without the valiant efforts of slavecatchers, the world would spin into anarchy.

  Who else kept order? The sun-dragons? Albekizan and his incompetent heir Shandrazel had done the world far more harm than good. Albekizan had triggered the human uprising with his inept attempt at genocide. Shandrazel had allowed the problem to explode by showing weakness, allowing a ragtag band of humans to defeat his army at Dragon Forge. Albekizan had lit a fire; Shandrazel had poured oil upon it. It was left to Vulpine to squelch the flames.

  Fortunately, he would not be without allies. Aside from the slavecatchers, there was one more small subset of sky-dragon males willing to dirty their talons: the aerial guard, a hundred or so sky-dragons who served as protectors of the Dragon Palace.

  It was these guards who now rose into the sky. A dozen of them quickly assumed an arrow formation and shot in his direction, ready to defend the palace. The living wall of sky-dragon guards that closed quickly in on Vulpine made his heart glad. It was such a waste that his brethren devoted themselves to studies and art—a martial sky-dragon was a glorious thing, a hundred pounds of muscle, bones, and scale that commanded the air like no other creature on earth. The members of the aerial guard were especially impressive. Red and yellow ribbons trailed from the mane of blue scales that ran down their necks and backs, coloration that matched the banners of Albekizan that still adorned the palace. In their hind-talons, the aerial guard carried long-spears, their razor-sharp tips dazzling in the morning sun.

  The eyes of the aerial guard were hard as they neared. One by one, their gazes softened as they recognized Vulpine. Seventy years old, Vulpine was well known to all sky-dragons. He’d been Slavecatcher General for nearly thirty years, and he’d been present for the initiation of every last one of these dragons. All carried a two-inch long, talon-shaped scar below their right eye—a scar made by a branding iron that Vulpine himself had wielded, marking them forever as warriors.

  “Greetings, warrior,” Vulpine called out to Sagen, the lead guard. Sagen was a fine specimen, his muscles moving beneath his azure scales like precisely-tuned machinery. Sagen was the product of one of the most respected bloodlines of the sky-dragons—his own. Breeding was strictly controlled among the sky-dragons, with all pairings guided by the Matriarch to capture the most worthy traits of the sky-dragon race. The upbringing of sky-dragons was strictly communitarian; they didn’t form family units like humans or sun-dragons. While most sky-dragons knew their lineage, their loyalty was to their race, not their relatives. Still, Vulpine had always had an interest in each of his many offspring, and Sagen had made him especially proud when he’d embraced the warrior’s path and begun his meteoric rise in the ranks of the aerial guard.

  Vulpine and Sagen began to gyre in a tight orbit, looking across a circle little wider than their combined wingspans as the other guards spread out into a wider circle.

  “Sir,” said Sagen, with a respectful nod of his head. “What is the purpose of this visit?”

  “I’ve come to see the High Biologian,” Vulpine said.

  “Androkom is… unavailable at the moment,” said Sagen.

  “You can speak the truth,” said Vulpine. “I know that Androkom is either dead or in a dungeon. Chapelion should have arrived days ago with a squadron of valkyries from the Nest to overthrow him. The Matriarch opposed the appointment of Androkom as High Biologian due to his flawed bloodline. Chapelion was her choice; I assume you now serve him, though I understand that he may not yet be ready to announce this news.”

  Sagen looked thoughtful as he continued to fly in his counter orbit, contemplating his answer. Vulpine assumed his son was under orders not to admit that Chapelion had accomplished his coup. At last, Sagen said, “I cannot confirm your speculations, sir. I can acknowledge that Chapelion is currently a guest of the palace. I can personally provide you with safe escort to see him.”

  “Of course,” said Vulpine, and the two broke from their gyre. Sagen barked out orders to his fellow guards and flew ahead, leading them toward the great open amphitheatre that served as the throne room of the sun-dragon king.

  Vulpine opened his wings and tilted backward to slow himself, skidding ungracefully as he landed on the polished marble floor. He was tired from his flight through the night; the weapon he’d taken from Shay was slung over his shoulder and its weight threw him off balance. The amphitheatre was a half dome open to the west, which meant its interior was still in shadows in early morning. Torches lined the walls, flickering in the breeze stirred up by their landing.

  At the head of the hall, seated atop a mound of golden cushions large enough for a sun-dragon, was a familiar blue form: Chapelion, master of the College of Spires. He was flanked on each side by a score of valkyries, female sky-dragons dedicated to the military arts.

  Chapelion was younger than Vulpine by seven years, though a casual observer might not have guessed this. Vulpine had spent much of his life outdoors. Fresh air and exercise had left Vulpine stronger than many sky-dragons half his age, and a life on the hunt had left him with his senses sharpened. Chapelion, having lived a more sedentary life indoors, was pot-bellied with spindly limbs. His hide sagged on his frame. A lifetime of reading by lantern light had dulled Chapelion’s eyes. He compensated with a pair of specially designed spectacles that sat atop his broad snout.

  Chapelion’s head was lowered as he scanned across several large rolls of parchment laid out on the floor before him. A trio of younger sky-dragons surrounded the elder biologian, quills in hand, jotting notes as he mumbled. Vulpine was so used to seeing tall, red-headed Shay in this role that his absence felt odd.

  “Chapelion!” Vulpine shouted out in greeting. His voice echoed in the vast room; Chapelion was becoming hard of hearing in his old age, so Vulpine was used to adjusting his tone.

  The dragon looked up, peering over the rim of his spectacles. He lifted his neck, looking more alert as he recognized Vulpine. “Old friend,” said Chapelion. “I’m happy to see you! I assume you’ve recovered my books?”

  “No,” Vulpine said, drawing closer to the throne. He could see now that the pages spread before Chapelion were copies of maps, the ink still fresh. “Unfortunately, I bring you neither books, nor slaves. Hemming and Turpin are dead. Shay survives; I encountered him last night, but made the tactical decision to retreat.”

  “What?” Chapelion said. At first, Vulpine thought he hadn’t spoken loudly enough; then he realized that Chapelion didn’t believe what he’d heard. “You fled from Shay? You let my books remain with him? In all the years I’ve known you, this is the first time you’ve ever reported such failure.”

  Vulpine grimaced. “I said that I retreated, not that I fled. In truth, my encounter with Shay was pure accident. He didn’t have the books with him; if he had, I’d have secured them. However, I feel confident we shall catch him soon. He was in the company of Jandra.”

  A deep furrow appeared in Chapelion’s brow. “Ja
ndra? Should I know this name?”

  “You should,” said Vulpine. “Jandra was the human child that Vendevorex raised from infancy. I’ve heard she isn’t his equal as a wizard, but she’s still in command of formidable forces. I was traveling with Balikan and he was killed by Jandra. I had defeated Shay and was about to slay Jandra when a third combatant ambushed me from behind. I knocked him away but never saw him; he must have been invisible, a power attributed to the wizard.”

  “Yes,” said Chapelion. “I’ve seen Vendevorex turn invisible.” He paused, raising his fore-talon to stroke beneath his chin. “That sentence doesn’t sound accurate,” he said, softly, speaking to himself. “I watched him turn invisible? Does that sound better?” Chapelion’s voice trailed off as he mulled over the question in his head.

  Vulpine waited patiently. Conversations with Chapelion were like this; a lifetime of dictating manuscripts had left him constantly editing his thoughts, especially if he was tired or distracted. Catch Chapelion in the wrong state of mind, and a conversation that should take but a moment could turn into an hour long ordeal.

  “I understand your meaning,” Vulpine said, hoping to regain control of the conversation. “It’s early; you’ll find the correct word after breakfast.”

  “Is it early?” asked Chapelion. He looked beyond Vulpine, his eyes taking on a dreamy cast as he saw the brightening sky. “Once more we’ve worked through the night, it seems. Events continue to build faster than we can respond to them.”

  “Events?”

  “Word of the massacre of Shandrazel’s armies at Dragon Forge has now reached all the sun-dragons.” Chapelion motioned toward the maps. “In the absence of a king, all sun-dragons who control the various provinces are renouncing the shared defense treaties that had been signed during Albekizan’s reign. The kingdom is now full of sun-dragons who imagine they alone are worthy to sit upon the Dragon Throne. Full civil war awaits, I fear, unless we preemptively place a sun-dragon on the throne who is strong enough to dissuade challenges. Unfortunately, no worthy candidate has emerged. Albekizan’s eldest son, Hexilizan, made a brief return to the palace several weeks past, but hasn’t been seen since. If we could locate him, perhaps he would accept the crown.”

  “Why bother?” asked Vulpine. “We both know that the High Biologian is the true power behind the throne—though Metron in his dotage certainly lost control of Albekizan, and Androkom was a disaster with Shandrazel. I assume your presence on the throne indicates Androkom has been dealt with?”

  “Yes. Androkom is currently… hmm… shall we say, on sabbatical? Yes, that sounds acceptably diplomatic. In his absence, the Matriarch has appointed me acting High Biologian. In addition to the support of the valkyries, I have the loyalty of the aerial guard and the remaining earth-dragon contingents here in the palace.”

  “Why bother appointing a puppet? Declare yourself king and be done with it.”

  Chapelion shook his head. “We sky-dragons operate best as the power behind the throne. Sun-dragons aren’t to be trifled with. Whatever their intellectual deficiencies, they’re still the largest winged predator the earth has ever seen, and they…” Again his voice trailed off. He seemed to be looking inside himself, as if searching for the right word, but when he spoke again, it was to correct something he’d already said. “Perhaps the phrase ‘intellectual deficiencies’ reveals my own prejudice. In truth, by any objective standards, sun-dragons may be our intellectual superiors. Their brains are much larger, after all. It’s an overly comforting fiction that we sky-dragons embrace to think that sun-dragons aren’t our equals. It’s led to our underestimating them in the past.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” said Vulpine. “You’ve educated the sons of many prominent sun-dragons; I’m certain in the university they show promise. But I deal with sun-dragons in the real world; they call on me when they’ve failed to keep their slaves under control. Most strike me as self-centered and slothful.”

  “Many are self-centered,” agreed Chapelion. “But slothful? One sun-dragon alone disproved that notion. Did you know that, when I was but a young lecturer, one of my students was Blasphet himself?”

  “The Murder God?” said Vulpine.

  “The same. Though, back then, he hadn’t yet turned to his murderous path. I remember him well. Blasphet possessed a genius that surpassed any dragon I’ve since met, of any species. He could read the thickest of tomes in the span of a few hours and recall the most minute details. What’s more, he was quick to make connections between the things he learned; as a student he possessed an understanding of anatomy and chemistry that was unrivaled. The world lost a great mind when he was killed.”

  Vulpine swayed backwards on his hind-talons. Praise for the hated Murder God was like a slap across his snout. “Blasphet died invading the Nest! He was attempting genocide against our race! How can you proclaim him a great mind?”

  “By choosing my words carefully,” said Chapelion. “I didn’t claim that Blasphet had a kind heart. I’m aware, in retrospect, that his intellectual pursuits were driven by his darker urges. He became an expert botanist to identify the various poisons produced by plants; he excelled in chemistry because it gave him the tools to extract and refine these poisons. He understood the detailed workings of the anatomy of dragons and humans primarily because it gave him insight into the most effective tortures. Most impressively, he was a keen student of the mind—his insights into psychology allowed him to manipulate humans to such a degree that they worshipped him as the Murder God. Yes, in his passing, the world was rid of a monster. Still, I mourn the loss of the knowledge he possessed. If he’d ever wearied himself of murder and turned his attention to writing down all that he knew, he could have advanced many disciplines by decades.”

  “Hmph,” said Vulpine. “I’ll leave you to ponder timelines that involve ‘if’ and ‘could.’ I’m more focused on here and now.” He glanced down at the map. He unslung the metal tube he’d captured from Jandra, and thrust the end of it to a piece of parchment on which a small city by a river was circled in thick red lines. “Dragon Forge is the most urgent threat we face, Chapelion. I’ll leave you to deal with politics. You can send diplomats to the abodes of the various sun-dragons and flatter, bribe, or deceive them into obeying you. But if the human rebellion spreads beyond Dragon Forge in any meaningful way, the entire fabric of the kingdom will be rent.”

  “Agreed,” said Chapelion. “This adds urgency to my desire to select a new king. A strong army can…”

  “Respectfully, sir,” interrupted Vulpine, “you make a grave mistake if you wait for a new king to deal with this problem.”

  Chapelion shook his head. “You overestimate the threat these rebels pose. They only command one city; it is far from the abode of any sun-dragons. They can’t spread their power far.”

  “It’s not power I fear they will spread, but chaos,” said Vulpine. “As I journeyed here, I saw many human towns abandoned. I see that the Free City is occupied, I assume by human refugees. If this unrest lasts into the spring, it will threaten the food supplies of the dragons. If no planting is done by humans, famine will spread through the land.”

  “What would you have me do? The rebels at Dragon Forge are said to possess a new type of bow that repelled an army of sun-dragons and earth-dragons.”

  “Give me command of half the aerial guard and a contingent of valkyries. Allow me to access the king’s treasuries and buy back the loyalties of the earth-dragon soldiers that currently roam the kingdom as bandits. We need to establish a complete blockade of Dragon Forge.”

  Chapelion nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve always possessed a better strategic mind than I have, Vulpine. I’ve been so occupied with politics I’ve paid little attention to the human uprising.”

  “Right now humans around the kingdom are learning of the humans' little victory. Instead of allowing this news to spread hope of rebellion among the humans, it’s important that humans shiver with horror when they hear the words Dragon
Forge. Humans are creatures of habit; they fear change. As long as they are kept relatively content, we control them because they have a difficult time imagining life any other way. Let Dragon Forge remain in human hands for long, however, and soon every last man in this kingdom will be embracing the romantic notion that he’s a heroic rebel. It’s a vision that infected Shay, after all, and you were certain he’d never betray you.”

  Chapelion sighed as he stared down at the map. He nudged his glasses further up his long face. His brow wrinkled as his eyes focused on the iron rod in Vulpine’s fore-talon.

  “What is this device you carry?”

  “That’s an excellent question,” said Vulpine, lifting the instrument. “I took this from Shay. Jandra killed Balikan with an identical weapon. The device produced a loud, focused explosion that propelled lead pellets at an unimaginable speed. Balikan’s head simply vanished. You are more the historian than I am, but I suspect this may be something that hasn’t existed in this world for centuries: a gun.”

  “By the bones,” Chapelion said reverently, reaching out to take the weapon. “The secret of manufacturing gunpowder vanished ages ago.”

  Vulpine held up the belt he’d taken. “This contains cotton pouches filled with black powder. I can identify some of the components by smell; I imagine Bazanel at the College of Spires can make short work of the recipe.”

  Chapelion turned the gun over and over in his claws, studying the firing mechanism, sniffing at the barrel. “The scale pattern in the steel is curious. Could it be evidence that it was manufactured by a dragon?”

  Vulpine shook his head. “Since the steel is of recent origin, and since Shay’s trail took him to Dragon Forge, I can only deduce the rebels at the foundry produced these.”

  “This is horrible,” said Chapelion. “It was reported that they possessed a new type of bow. I didn’t expect that they’d manufactured something like this.”