by Sam Hall
“At a task we’ve never trained or prepared for,” I said.
“As you say. The government, Bhechro, want to take your dragon from you. You need to step up and become a rider for real, show them how the Corps responds to a threat. We strike without warning,” she said, her hand balling into a fist and striking her chest, the other soldiers repeating the gesture, “and fuck shit up. You would do well to do the same.”
We don’t have to do any of this, Miazydar said as Keel and the dragon doctor approached. I can teleport us anywhere we need to go on this damn continent.
Only the once though, I said. We’d never be able to come back. Societies are as much about who’s out of the club as in and right now, we pose a threat. We either find a way to compromise or they hunt us to the ends of the earth. I still don’t know how the hell they got through the portal.
Something to ask your pet magician. He cast a look over at Keel. The other one that you are less likely to mate with.
I’ll put in a call, shall I? I said with a smirk. Now, are you going to be a big, brave dragon and let the people take your samples?
He just bared his teeth, something that made the vet pause in his approach. Miazydar placed a claw right near the man and said, “Take your blood, then go. I wish to stretch my wings.”
The process wasn’t that quick, the vet steeling himself and examining Miazydar’s eyes, gums and teeth, nails and took his vitals. He seemed to think M was well and was surprised to hear about the possible keletha poisoning. He had to use his entire weight to palpate M’s stomach, trying to ascertain whether it was still inflamed, something that reduced Miazydar to giggles because apparently, it tickled. The vet took some notes on a device that looked like a small iPad but didn’t give too much away, saying he’d have further information when the tests came back. Then it was my turn. Apparently they didn’t trust the university staff and their blood tests, taking their own from me as part of their attempt to work out how something like me could also forge a psychic bond with a dragon, a feat no other humanoid had been able to do here.
“I can come by after lunch, help you out with your reading if you like,” Keel said as the others left.
“To tell you the truth, I’m most of the way through the pile,” I said. “I think I’ll be done by the end of the day.” Keel’s eyebrows shot up. I shrugged. “One of the positives about being a voracious reader is I can get through massive amounts of written material quickly.”
“Well, we better get onto your rider training,” he said.
“Yep, can we meet late tomorrow afternoon? Scalla wanted to take us on a picnic.”
“Oh, well, yes, of course. I’ll be by around five.”
He wanted to stay, demonstrate his suitability as a mate by helping you with a problem, Miazydar said with a chuckle.
That shit doesn’t really get my motor running, I said.
No, my little dragon, I don’t suppose it does.
23
The grass spread out before us like the most beautiful Turkish carpet. Wildflowers of every colour waved in the wind, the morning sunlight saturating the colours to a dizzying level of brightness. The field sloped downwards to where a natural spring tumbled over a fall of rocks, forming a crystal clear pool below.
“Wow,” I said, slipping off Miazydar’s back, “this place is just beautiful!”
We’d seen so little of Aravisia, it sucked that I was in a brand new country in a completely different parallel realm and all I was allowed to do was look at the four walls of the classroom or the cottage.
“I like to come out here on the weekends, get away from the politicking and bullshit of school,” Scalla said, taking the massive picnic basket Flea had just unfastened from my dragon’s back. It was lucky she’d packed so much, with Miazydar out of action, food was starting to get quite thin on the ground. “There’s a nice place to eat over here.”
She led us to a series of standing stones used to create a dolmen, a little like a stone lean-to, crafted with massive deep purple slabs. I looked closer at the rocks as we drew nearer. “Are these made from amethyst?”
Scalla nodded, spreading out a large blanket. “There’s a lot of it around here and the Brigintinians loved to build with it. This is one of the really early pieces. People come from all over to study it.” She saw my tense expression and smiled. “Not now though, but that’s what my colleagues are going to pose as. I figured it would give us a plausible cover.” I looked at Flea who shrugged and started helping himself to the basket. He was probably as sick of cheese sandwiches as I was.
I’ll keep watch, Miazydar said, coiling himself around the back of the stones.
“Where do you want the scraps?” Flea said, polishing off what looked like a chicken leg.
“Just toss them out into the grass,” Scalla said. “The miffles will take care of them.”
Yes, do. It has been some time since I’ve eaten miffle.
“What’s a miffle?”
Scalla didn’t need to answer. Flea tossed his bone out and a couple of furry heads popped up, then dove down into the grass in search of it. There were some heated squeaking noises and then I saw one burst out of the foliage, bone in paws. It hunched over its prey, growling when other miffles emerged.
“Oh. My. God,” I said.
Are you well? Miazydar asked. Flick your remains closer. I don’t feel like lunging for the little blighters.
A miffle was apparently the name of some kind of land otter. They had overly large rounded heads and their bodies were covered in silvery fur that was lighter on top than their bodies and looked rumpled like a kid who’d just gotten out of bed. They had big brown eyes and tiny little ears that were more like afterthoughts. “Aww!” I said, leaning forward as the creature gnawed at the bones, its fluffy paws wrapped tightly around it. Another miffle came over, sniffing at the ground near the first one’s meal. The one with the bone began to growl as it came closer, his voice growing louder and louder as the other drew near before he dropped the bone and launched himself at the intruder, the two of them merging into one squabbling, scratching, biting ball of angry cuteness. Sure enough, another zipped out of the grass and stole the prize from the first two, disappearing back into the vegetation.
“Whoa, are they like rats or something?” Flea said, pulling the food closer to us.
“No, they can’t be! They are so much cuter,” I said.
“It’s what they use keletha for normally,” Scalla said. “They’re voracious eaters, so the inflammation and vomiting is an effective if slow death for them.”
“These cute little guys?” I said as a couple crept out of the grass, sniffing the air and moving very slowly and warily towards us.
She nodded. “The pity is they’re the plate spiders’ natural enemy and they’re very good at keeping them under control.”
“Oh god, then we need to kidnap a bunch and take them home,” I said.
“Of course, then the miffles will start getting out of control,” Scalla said. “They’re always having to thin their numbers at the middens.”
“So that’s what they’re going to say the order of keletha was for? To poison the miffles?” I said, pulling the document out of my pocket. We’d cleaned it up as best we could, so it was less sticky.
“Yes, but this is enough to poison every miffle in the whole county and still have more leftover. How heavy did Miazydar say the package he removed was?” Scalla said.
Just under ten kilos, he said. I relayed this to Scalla.
“This is for several times that quantity, hence my suspicion. There’s no legitimate use for so much keletha, not even if you were trying to drive the miffle to extinction.” One of the little guys that had snuck closer squeaked at those words and bounded back into the grass.
“So, poisoning students is the most likely explanation,” I said, tapping my lip. “I need to bring this to Captain Keya.” Scalla went very still beside me as I reached for a sandwich. It was lovely, some kind of salty meat, chees
e and tangy pickled vegetables. “What?”
“I know you have quite a good relationship with our tutors, particularly Lieutenant Bowmere, but...” Scalla looked over the field to where a large grey shadow drew closer. “They’re here.” She got to her feet, bundling up the basket, Flea left empty-handed and searching for more, and hauled it over to Miazydar to mind. He bared his teeth in carnivorous glee as miffle poured out of the grass to follow it, then fell over themselves to get away from him.
Miazydar’s head jerked up to watch the newcomers arrive, his eyes widening. “Oh,” was all he said.
I admit I was surprised to see another dragon. It was huge, much bigger than Miazydar, but something made me think it was older. Its scales were a purplish colour, though they looked like they’d faded somewhat, the sun seeming to be absorbed by them rather than reflected. It landed heavily in the clearing, as if glad to be earthbound again. A woman climbed down its back and approached us, wearing the same kind of business casual many Aravisians seemed to favour, with heavy goggles their only concession to air travel.
“Nadice!” Scalla called out, running up to the leader.
“Scalla, my dear,” a woman said, coming over and clasping her in her arms. In a country full of tall people, this woman was damn near statuesque. She pushed her goggles back into the cloud of her curly black hair, her deep brown skin shining like mahogany in the summer sun, her smile bright. “And this is Miazydar? Greetings, Great One.”
He didn’t seem to notice the people, his eyes straining to take in every inch of the other dragon. Finally, he moved to his feet, being forced to stop and untangle a claw from the picnic basket first, then hiss scorn at the surge of miffles emerging from the grass. Once he was steady, his body covering the basket, he bowed his head low, crossing his forelegs. “Greetings, my queen,” was all he said.
Everyone’s eyes swivelled to look at the dusty purple dragon. She didn’t notice at first, considering the view before her with a measuring eye, the silence stretching between us until she curled her neck around, nodding slightly in Miazydar’s direction. “Greetings to you, Scarlet Catalyst, I am Greynell,” she replied in a deep voice with enough of a creak in it to make it seem that she used it rarely. “I had feared I would never see you rise again, yet here you are. Bring the food, human/elves, and let us sit down for a repast. The tale I have to tell, show, is a long and painful one and I wish a full stomach when doing so.”
“Of miffles?” I said, not really wanting to hear the answer. I could see that they were voracious little shits and that they needed an apex predator to keep them in check, but they were so damn cute. Heads popped up over the top of the grass as Scalla brought over the picnic basket, followed by a sea of little fuzzy balls.
Greynell sighed. “Another soft-hearted human. I sometimes wonder how I have managed to live this long, surrounded by them. No, I was forced to haul the corpse of a tau along with us like so much luggage. Young Catalyst, you may share the beast with me, if you wish.”
Miazydar moved over to the stately female dragon with a curious claw dragging gait. He avoided looking into her eyes, moving slowly enough that she could shoo him away if she wished.
“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.
