The Dubious Gift of Dragon Blood

by J. Marshall Freeman

  Thousands of the People began streaming into the courtyard from the city below like driven cattle. Davix saw with surprise that the herders were the mixed beings. There were maybe fifty mixed beings in Cliffside, and it seemed like most were here, along with the rest of the city’s human population. The young were helping the old to keep up, as octonas walked on either side of them, holding torches and banging slowly on hand drums usually only heard at harvest festivals. The drums beat in a perfect, inhuman unison.

  “Keep together,” said the quadrana leading this migration. Though it was dark, Davix recognized the sibilant voice of Convenor Zishun, ringing out with calm authority. “It is important we all reach the safety of the Citadel.”

  The two hundred or so already in the courtyard ran to greet them, momentary relief winning over fear as friends and fleshmates were reunited.

  “What happened down in the city?” Davix asked them, and their stories tumbled out. The cats had attacked there, too. Panic and rumours of slaughter had spread like fire through the final hours of Sarensikar, before the mixed beings began issuing orders. Gather in the nearest square. Bring no belongings. All will be provided. Your safety depends on your cooperation.

  Once everyone was inside, the gates to the Citadel closed with a low, ominous creak and a soul-chilling boom. The tightly packed crowd now stretched from the spinward wall halfway across the courtyard. The mixed beings assembled in three neat rows, facing them, a no-man’s-land of some ten strides between the two groups. In the centre of the first row stood the quadrana Zishun. The brindle cat, Grentz’s killer, the only one Davix had heard speak in the Tongue of Fire, prowled around behind the mixed beings, licking its paw to casually clean the blood from its face.

  At the front of the human ranks, the guards from Defence of Realm were gathered around Korda, exhausted and dishevelled, some of them injured from the fight with the cats. They looked as confused as everyone else.

  Grav’nan-dahé broke from the crowd and marched right across no-man’s-land to stand before Convenor Zishun.

  “Explain what is happening,” he demanded.

  “Prime Magistrate,” Zishun said, “remain with the People and await further instruction.”

  Grav’nan-dahé was so startled by this command, he staggered back a step. “Convenor, do not forget that you speak to the holy representative of the Dragon Lords.”

  “This realm,” Zishun said with a calm that belied the explosive force of his words, “is no longer under the rule of the dragons of Farad’hil. Our allegiance—and yours—is to the dragons of Air.”

  Davix’s breath caught in his throat.

  Grav’nan-dahé’s eyes went wide, and he leaned closer, staring up into the face of the Convenor. His voice shook with anger. “Listen carefully, blasphemer, as I speak the words of the DragonLaw—”

  The quadrana raised his hand, as if to forestall a misunderstanding. “Do not waste your energy, Grav’nan-dahé. The DragonLaw is dead.” And he turned his back on him.

  Chapter 38: Prisoners in the Citadel

  The People were prisoners. Zishun sent mixed beings to guard the gate of the Citadel and others to guard the steps that led down to the bunkers. The brindle cat, the commander of the cat soldiers, conferred with Zishun in the Tongue of Fire and then called out in Air’s language of hisses and moans. The cat soldiers climbed down the walls and began circulating among the crowd, snarling and shoving, making feints with unsheathed claws and once or twice delivering stunning blows to those who did not get out of the way fast enough.

  Careful to avoid the prowling cats, Davix made his way through the crowd and stood behind Grav’nan-dahé, in conference with Korda and the other masters on the human side of the square.

  Lok’lok-sur-nep-dahé was fingering the blue beads strung on his beard. “This is impossible. The mixed beings would never…could never—”

  Korda cut him off. “But that’s how it is, Lokré.”

  The Prime Magistrate said in a low voice, “Do you have a plan to defeat them?”

  “Look at the numbers!” she said. “It took three of my men to bring down one cat, and they were lucky. And now the mixed beings? Would you want to tangle with a quadrana? I have no suggestion for now but cooperation.”

  Grav’nan-dahé nodded. Given the circumstances, Davix was impressed how quickly the man had regained his composure. “But you are keeping your eyes open for possibilities?” he asked.

  “Every single second.”

  Davix pushed closer. “Has anyone seen Tix-etnep-thon-dahé? I’m worried about him.” The masters looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “I haven’t,” Korda said, surveying the crowd. “Not since your sentencing. Say nothing about it to anyone else for now. My guards will make a search.” Davix grew even more worried. He wanted to ask what they were going to do about X’risp’hin, but he knew the Dragon Groom was beyond their reach for now.

  An octona Davix recognized as Librarian of Etnep House approached them.

  “Masters of Cliffside,” he said. “I have come to inform you that you may no longer meet together. Korda, Convenor Zishun orders you come stand with the mixed beings.”

  Davix caught Korda’s eye, hoping to see an angry glint of rebellion there, but she just followed the octona.

  “And what are we to do?” Grav’nan-dahé called after him. Davix could hear the rage lurking beneath the surface. The octona didn’t answer.

  As Korda took her place by the mixed beings, a piercing cry shattered the air above them. Davix’s heart raced, and his legs urged him to run for cover. Was it the Air dragon returning? No, it was the bidahéna Throd flying in over the walls and spiralling down to the stage. Zishun and the cat commander climbed the steps to join the bidahéna onstage.

  “It is time for Throd’s proclamation,” Zishun called, in a voice that filled the Citadel. The bidahéna moved to the front of the stage with his odd, clicking gait and spread his wings wide. Zishun said, “The Interpreter will come forward.”

  Davix wasn’t surprised to see the little man in his best ceremonial gown. If the realm had not been turned on its head, the Interpreter would now be translating as the bidahénas chanted the banishment of the fog, the final ritual of Sarensikar.

  Speaking in the ancient tongue, Throd’s voice was like the screams of forest beasts running from a fire. The Interpreter’s mouth fell open in horror at what he heard. Throd closed his wings as the Interpreter stepped forward.

  “L-long ago, the one world split asunder, um, birthing the realms in elemental fury. That fury must rage and rage until many is un-, uh, is dis—” The Interpreter had never seemed so intimidated before, even when interpreting for Sur. “Until again comes unity, yes. Fire will rage with the fuel of Air. Long live our new lords, the-the dragons of Air!” Zishun nodded at the frightened man, and he all but ran from the stage.

  “People of Cliffside,” Zishun said to the crowd, “Cherished human inhabitants of the Realm of Fire. We understand your surprise at the events that have transpired since fifth bell. Fear not. We have no wish to see any of you come to harm.” He raised his arms in the air in victorious salute, but his voice retained its even tone. “Rejoice, the time of your deliverance is at hand. No more will we serve the pampered dilettantes of Farad’hil, who have forgotten what it means to be dragons. From this day forward, we are the servants of the twenty-two dragons of the Realm of Air!”

  The crowd erupted in a roar, the most prominent sound, a loud “No!”

  A woman called out, “We love the Five. We can love no others.”

  The brindle cat hissed at her. “silence, meat! or your flesh will feed my cat soldiers!”

  Zishun, in contrast, looked down at her with understanding. “Patience, sister. You will come to see, as we have, that the dragons of Air are the rulers you need and deserve.”

  But the woman was growing angry. “Never! The Five will fight this invasion, and we will be their soldiers.” Voices in the crowd shouted agreement.<
br />
  The cats were still sliding through the crowd. At a signal from their commander, one abruptly changed course and clubbed the woman in the back of the head with an outstretched paw. The woman howled and collapsed to the cobblestones. The people nearest the violence screamed and pulled away.

  As if the display of force had never happened, Zishun continued in patient tones. “We ask only that you trust us. All will be provided. The cooks will now follow the octona guides—guides, please raise your hands.”

  One of the old cooks, a grim and grizzled man named Xelm, shouted, “Where are we supposed to do this cooking if we can’t leave the Citadel?”

  “Down in the bunker. Old facilities that have not been used in a hundred cycles have been restored by the mixed beings to working condition.”

  That meant the mixed beings had been preparing this invasion right under the noses of the People. Davix felt the betrayal like a blow to the chest.

  Xelm called out again. “And what is it we’re cooking?”

  “Behold,” the Convenor answered and gestured toward the Citadel’s entrance. Four quadranas entered the square carrying enormous canvas sacks and dropped them in front of the stage. From one sack, a quadrana pulled a dead kingsolver. The crowd gasped. The other bags were opened, revealing hundreds more—undoubtedly the city’s entire population of messenger birds.

  Young Zent’r, who cared for the kingsolvers in the Atmospherics Tower, gave a choked cry. Davix hugged him close for a minute. “Be strong,” he whispered. “Later there will be time for tears.” He watched Grav’nan-dahé march across the no-man’s-land to stand with Korda at the bottom of the steps. Curiosity was stronger than fear. Davix released the boy and hurried to follow.

  Zishun descended from the stage and sat on the lower steps in front of them, his attitude relaxed.

  The Prime Magistrate said, “The mixed beings are grown by Great Inby to love and obey the Dragons of Farad’hil. Explain how it is possible that your allegiance has changed.” Davix felt an unexpected relief to have him there, confident and unafraid.

  Cars’tat, the octona porter of Vixtet House, approached “You no longer give orders here, Grav’nan-dahé. Return to your side of the square.”

  “No, Cars’tat,” Zishun said. “It would serve us all if this honourable man understood how these changes came to be. As you know, Grav’nan-dahé, in the days following the harvest, the mixed beings retreated to the Valley of R’atur for our twice-cyclic colloquy. In an open forum, attended by all, the octona Fralox asked a simple question. ‘How do our Dragon Lords serve the greater arc of history? In the past, the realms fought for supremacy, each trying to conquer the others, with the ultimate goal the capture of the Realm of Earth.’

  “All of the mixed beings realized that this was true. Our Dragon Lords in the Realm of Fire did not strive thus for greatness. Fralox continued. ‘We were born to serve the great dragon masters. Would it not make sense for us to align ourselves with the fiercest and strongest of those dragons? The ones most fit to rule?’”

  “How was Fralox even allowed to speak those words of blasphemy?” Grav’nan-dahé said, his voice low and angry.

  “It is each mixed being’s duty to speak his thoughts freely at the colloquy,” the Convenor replied. “That is how new ideas are generated. However, a strange thing happened. As I stated, we were each and every one of us in attendance at the session, and from octona to quadrana to bidahéna, every one saw the wisdom of Fralox’s words. And because we all had this revelation simultaneously, we were changed, down to the very code that shapes our cells. It is true, we are born with unquestioning loyalty to the Dragon Lords, but in an instant, we realized the dragons of Farad’hil were no longer the dragons that deserved this loyalty.”

  Davix was leaning forward, listening like this was a heroic tale told around a bonfire, and he had to remind himself that the situation was deadly serious.

  Zishun continued. “But if the Fire dragons were no longer deserving of our allegiance, who was? The dragons of Earth have not been heard from since the Great Division; they may well be dead. Then there was Water. But the strands between the Realms of Fire and Water were completely destroyed in the last war. That left the dragons of Air, historically the most ambitious and merciless of the dragons.”

  Korda said, “But the strands between Fire and Air were also damaged.”

  “Damaged, not destroyed,” Zishun said. “Perhaps another can help me tell this story. Bring out the prisoner.”

  A figure was led up from the underground bunker, head shrouded in a black hood. For a moment, Davix thought it was Tix-etnep-thon-dahé, but it was a tall quadrana, naked, thick ropes wound around his torso, pinning his arms to his side. Two octonas positioned themselves around the quadrana and prodded him with their spears, forcing him to kneel on the hard stones.

  Zishun approached the prisoner and pulled off the hood.

  “Greetings, Tiqokh. I hope you are well and have been provided with all you need.”

  Tiqokh’s pupils shone blackly from his time in the dark. Now the vertical slits of his eyes closed again, like the pages of a book, to restore his calm, green gaze.

  “Yes, other than my freedom, my physical needs have been provided for, though I will need to eat in a day or two.”

  “It is my hope that by then your coding will have aligned with ours. Do you yet share our zeal to follow the dragons of Air?”

  “No, I remain loyal to the lords of Farad’hil,” Tiqokh said. He turned slowly, making eye contact in turn with Grav’nan-dahé, Korda, and with Davix. “I am sorry,” he told them, “that I failed to uncover the plans of the conspirators in time.”

  “I have explained to the humans that we have made alliance across the strands with the Realm of Air. Korda asks how this was possible given the degraded state of the strands. Can you provide an answer?”

  “I believe so,” Tiqokh said. “It is not impossible to restore the strands, Korda. The traitors would have required a source of elemental power both readily accessible and hidden from discovery. For instance, a fissure in the skin of our realm, far away in the Chend’th’nif.” He turned to Zishun. “I am correct thus far?”

  “Very good. It is unfortunate that our efforts were discovered.”

  “Yes, Ranger Twis’wit must have found your base of operations. But while his discovery was mere coincidence, you underestimated the intelligence and tenacity of the Atmospherics discipline. Rinby intuited the existence of your power source from its effect on the fog patterns.”

  Rage flared in Davix. “And so you killed her? You are monsters!”

  Tiqokh said, “No, Davix. The mixed beings are unable to harm a human. At first, the bidahénas merely ordered her to remain silent. I assume, Zishun, you were there when Throd or Kror met with the girl, to translate from the ancient tongue.”

  Davix was overwhelmed, confused. “But who killed her?”

  Tiqokh tilted his head, cracking the stiff muscles in his neck. “Shortly thereafter, the first of the cat soldiers—the commander here, I would guess—arrived across the revitalized strands.” Tiqokh looked up at Zishun. “Did you have Rinby killed when you discovered her secret notes? No, you never did find them, did you? You would have destroyed them. But you didn’t trust her intimidated silence. You dispatched the cat to slaughter the girl in the Atmospherics Tower.”

  In his mind, Davix saw the flash of cat claws—not a death blow, but enough to unbalance Rinby and send her careening down the steps, screaming in the stone silence of the night. If only he had come to her earlier, convinced her they should call it a night and return to Cliffside.

  Tiqokh looked up at Zishun. “More cat soldiers must have crossed over as the strands strengthened. With their involvement, murder was now possible. Twis’wit was killed and left in the woods, as if slain by an accidental. The next victim was the Curator of Sites Historic. With him around the Citadel, the bunker below us could never have been restored.”

  Zishun said, “Believe
me, Tiqokh, we took no pleasure in the deaths of the humans.”

  “Nor did their deaths upset you much.”

  The extent of the deception, the murders, all happening right in front of them, staggered Davix. He was barely aware he was speaking out loud. “The open fissure is why the sheep fog descended, and why it persists.” He looked at Grav’nan-dahé. “It wasn’t a dragon trap.” Davix himself had never made the accusation, even though he’d believed it. He almost apologized.

  “Do you know, D’gada-vixtet-thon,” Zishun said, “your transmission of Rinby’s data made us attack Cliffside ahead of schedule?”

  “No!” Davix cried. Was he responsible for all the bloodshed they were living through? For Grentz’s death and X’risp’hin’s abduction? Misery drove him to the ground, where he sat with his head hanging low.

  “Indeed. We had planned to attack only when more Air dragons crossed the strands. But once you sent the data, we knew we could not hide it from Renrit for very long. We had to take the city ahead of schedule. It doesn’t matter. The grace books are dark and the kingsolvers dead. Farad’hil is cut off from the rest of the realm, and soon our new lords will descend the strands in numbers sufficient to mount an attack on the holy abode.”

  Tiqokh’s voice rang out, this time with force. “D’gada-vixtet-thon! This is not your fault. Because they have had to accelerate their plans, the traitors have made themselves vulnerable. There is time to for us to act and save the Five!”

  “Silence him!” Zishun called. The octonas shoved a gag in Tiqokh’s mouth and pulled the hood over his head before dragging him back underground.

  Zishun put a hand on Grav’nan-dahé’s shoulder. “Do not fear. The People will always be of great importance. We will implement a new breeding program to enhance your numbers.”

  Korda said, “Our lords keep our numbers in perfect balance with what the Realm can provide.”

  “Your former lords. I advise you not to make that mistake again. The People will be raised into a mighty army. Some will stay here, and some will travel to the Realm of Air, where they will be turned into a matchless fighting force. Together with the cat warriors, you will help the Twenty-Two conquer all of Realm Space.”