The Faerie King

by Ash Fitzsimmons

  And then it hit me—scales. The vellum had come from something scaled, and for a scroll that size, there was only one contender.

  I was looking at dragonhide.

  I caught myself glancing at the door guiltily, hoping Joey hadn’t wandered in, but the door was still bolted, and I was alone with what appeared to be the underbelly of a dragon. Anchoring the end of the scroll, I started to unwind it down the table, then stretched the room and the tabletop until it gave out a hundred-odd feet later. I was momentarily impressed with the size of the beast, but then I recognized that I was probably seeing a juvenile spread before me.

  The thought of housing a dragon twice that size gave me pause yet again. Feeding Georgie would present no problem, but if she were to get irked…

  Pushing that possibility aside, I bent over the scroll to see what I’d discovered, other than an ulcer.

  The work appeared to be in one hand, though the ink colors varied—not a single-day project by any means, especially considering the quantity of text crammed onto the hide. I found no trace of a signature, but I doubted I’d have recognized the author, given the subject matter. The scroll described years of dragon study, and I’d never known of anyone actively raising them in Faerie. Killing them or shooing them away, yes, but breeding a captive population? The idea was ludicrous.

  My anonymous expert had seemingly lacked common sense or caution, however, as his notes and accompanying illustrations spoke of decades of research. He’d had at least sixty dragons on his hands over the course of his study, and he listed detailed specs on each, from size and weight to sire and clutch size. A convoluted table offered theories as to draconic coloration patterns, an attempt at Mendelian work with a species that only bred once or twice a century. He stressed that a black dragon could throw any color young, much to his apparent consternation, and described a piebald effect present in some of his subjects, leading to odd white beasts with purple or green splotches. A second-generation piebald was mostly white with black spots, and I tried to picture the sight of an overgrown, fire-breathing Dalmatian blocking out the sky.

  Beyond the proto-genetics and breeding records, he had left a brief note in red ink that stirred my curiosity:

  Draconic affection is fickle. The clutches I raised showed some degree of loyalty to me, but in general, the dragonets were more loyal to their mother than anyone. The lone exception is the fifteenth, a late hatch. I alone was present at the hatching, and the dragonet always showed me great affection. He could not bear to be separated from me as a juvenile, and consequently, he was amenable to training and instruction. Fifteen was willing to carry me. The same could not be said for his clutchmates.

  It seems that dragons look to the first conceivably parental figure as their mother, and their loyalty cannot be swayed, even when presented with their true dam. A breeder with well-timed hatching could, in theory, create a clutch of dragons loyal only to him. The drawback to this phenomenon is that a bonded dragon is loath to part from his “mother” while young, making it difficult to obtain privacy during the juvenile phase.

  Georgie had clearly bonded with Joey, then, and if what I was seeing was accurate, she wasn’t going anywhere as long as she had a vote in the matter. But conceivably, as long as she listened to Joey and I was on good terms with him, I wouldn’t have a rampaging lizard to worry about. Feeling better about his new pet, I stepped a few feet down the scroll and continued to read:

  Fire nearly impossible to produce in Faerie. Triggered by native ether of Gray Lands (investigate properties). Adequate etheric content in mortal realm to sustain production.

  The notation was brief, but a clearer picture of the dragon breeder’s research methods was coming into focus. I could only imagine good old Fifteen, sailing across the sky over some little village, setting fire to everything in its path. Small wonder dragons had fared so poorly in the literature.

  I wanted to read on, but I suspected that Joey had a more pressing need for the information in the scroll, and so I carefully rolled it back into its box and recompressed the library to its usual dimensions. Tucking the box under my arm, I slipped outside and down to the barn, where I found Georgie eye-deep in a sheep, watching warily as Joey and Valerius took a water break. “Found something that might interest you,” I told Joey, putting the box on a bale out of the way. “Someone did quite a bit of research on dragons. You should have a read when you’re, uh…not busy.”

  “I could be not busy now,” he replied too quickly.

  Valerius shook his head. “The afternoon is young yet—we have work to do.” He peered at the box, then nodded. “Tyrel’s notes?”

  “They’re unsigned,” I said, leaning against the fence beside him. “Raised a bunch of dragons, maybe a touch obsessive?”

  “Yes, that was Tyrel.”

  Up close, I could see a sheen on the captain’s brow. It was nothing compared to the sweat and grime caked onto Joey, but it was a start. “He gave up the hobby?”

  “You could say that.” He caught my eye as Joey slipped off to hydrate, then looked at the dragonet ripping a carcass apart ten yards away. “Concluded his research. Started killing off his test subjects.”

  I whistled softly. “All of them?”

  Valerius gulped his water and wiped his face on his tunic. “All but one. He’d hand-reared this little blue dragon…I guess he was saving that one for last, and the dragon got wise to him and struck first.”

  “You mean—”

  “Ate him,” he confirmed. “Well, his top half—someone found the dragon curled up around his legs.” He shrugged and drank again. “No choice but to kill it. The queen was most displeased with Tyrel’s death.” He frowned in thought as his empty cup refilled. “Lizard was acting in self-defense, if you ask me, but she didn’t.”

  I watched Joey climb over the fence into the sheep pen and give Georgie a deep rub over the eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t mention that story to him yet.”

  Valerius snorted into his drink. “Understatement, my lord?”

  It was strange, I mused, watching Joey and the dragonet interact from the safety of the other side of the fence. Joey had experience with horses, that I knew, but I hadn’t expected it to translate so easily. Then again, what did I know? I’d kept my dealings with horses to a minimum, making them work for me only with a liberal dose of enchantment. Horses inevitably shied and went white-eyed around me, and they fought the magic that kept them from fleeing. Whenever I had to borrow one, I’d let someone else stable it and calm it down, as there was no sense in prolonging the animal’s distress with my continued proximity.

  But Joey and Georgie were perfectly relaxed with each other, and the little dragon continued to eat and grunt with pleasure as he gave her a sort of deep-tissue massage. He even straddled her back to rub her shoulders, and Georgie never so much as looked up from her carcass. As he moved down toward her wings, Joey hesitated, then lowered his full weight onto Georgie’s back. She glanced up at that and turned her head to see what he was doing, but seemed only curious. He stood again and scratched her blood-spattered nose, and she resumed her attack on lunch.

  “Valerius,” I said quietly, “how soon until she flies?”

  The captain leaned on the fence and rubbed his chin. “Difficult to say, my lord. It’s been years since Tyrel…” He considered the subject before him in silence, then asked, “How old is she, would you estimate?”

  “No more than twenty days, I’d say. Surely we have some time yet before she’s airborne.”

  “Some,” he allowed, “but they mature rapidly, as I recall. What did Tyrel say?”

  “I didn’t read that far. Let’s see, shall we?”

  While Joey was occupied, we took the box into the barn and unrolled the scroll again on a stone bench I created for the moment. Valerius and I took opposite ends, scanning for useful information. I’d not progressed more than five feet when he called, “My lord? There’s a chart down here.”

  I jogged to the other end of the hide
and followed Valerius’s finger down to a neat calendar in green ink. A few seconds later, I looked up again and realized why his face was drawn. “A week? We’ve got a bare week?”

  “If this is accurate—”

  “Why wouldn’t it be? The fool raised his own…uh…” I paused, flummoxed. “A collective of dragons is called what, exactly?”

  “A pestilence? An inferno?” he suggested, leaning against a stack of bales. “A flock?”

  “A mess, perhaps. He had a mess of dragons. Anyway, he’d be the expert, yes?” I tapped the scroll, mentally berating myself for getting oil on the vellum. “Flying by their thirtieth day. Even if she’s just testing her wings by then…”

  Valerius nodded. “The boy’s going to need equipment.”

  “You think he can hold her down?” I scoffed. “Look, there’s a growth chart…she’s going to double in size in a few weeks! I doubt he has the strength now, let alone—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he replied, staring out the barn door as Georgie nudged the remnants of the sheep toward Joey. “He’s going to need a saddle.”

  I joined him in a moment of silent observation. “You think he’s going to try it?”

  “Why wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t you, were you in his position?”

  “I don’t know, a fall from that…”

  Valerius shrugged and refilled his cup again. “He said he’s a horseman. It can’t be too difficult transitioning to dragonback, can it?”

  I snorted at that. “You’ve had ample experience with horses, have you, Captain?”

  “Of course not,” he muttered into his cup. “They won’t tolerate me.” He drank and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “I served as a legionary and not a cavalryman for a reason, my lord. Difficult to progress in the equites if you can’t get near the damn mounts.”

  “I didn’t know you’d served.”

  “Briefly. My father had the wealth and the clout to put me among the equites, but we both knew that wouldn’t work, and I landed with the principes. Something of an embarrassment to the family, I suppose, but at least there were no horses.”

  I hesitated, unaccustomed to hearing Valerius offer anything about his past. “What happened?”

  He drank slowly, then destroyed the cup and folded his arms. “Ever worn armor, my lord?”

  “Managed to avoid it.”

  “Congratulations. It’s a special sort of torment. A necessary evil, but you pray your tunic doesn’t rip.” He sighed softly as his mouth tightened. “I went to Celtiberia when I was twenty-three. We skirmished with the natives outside a village—I never knew its name. One of my friends fell. I couldn’t get to him in time, not on foot, but—”

  “Shielded?” I guessed.

  Valerius continued to gaze into the distance. “Saved his life. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew I was doing it—I knew nothing of magic, and yet I knew what I was doing. Does that make sense?” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Confusing for me, terrifying for the rest of the men. They drove me off at swordpoint that night.” When he looked in my direction again, I could tell he wasn’t seeing me. “Wandered for a time, lived off the land, and then one of the queen’s guards found me—she was traveling in Hispania, and I stumbled into camp. Offered my sword for my life, and that was that.”

  “And you never went home again.”

  He shook his head. “She always wanted me at her side when she was here, and she never gave me leave to travel. But it was for the best,” he added, brightening. “She granted me a boon for my service—a complex enchantment. Rome will be protected as long as I serve the court.” He smiled to himself and briefly chuckled. “My brothers’ distant grandsons may be senators now. I’ve often wondered.”

  I stared at Valerius, momentarily speechless, then managed to lift my jaw off the proverbial floor while I scrambled for a response. “Captain…I’m not sure how to tell you this, but there hasn’t been a senate in years.”

  His brows furrowed. “My lord?”

  Before I could begin to explain, Joey limped into the barn and past the dragon scroll. “All right, I’m hydrated,” he said, taking a seat on a low bale, “so let the beating resume.” He paused, looked at our expressions, then asked, “Something wrong?”

  “What do you know of the Senate?” Valerius asked him.

  “Which one?” he replied, frowning in confusion.

  I caught his eye, trying to silently warn him as I mumbled, “Roman Republic.”

  “The king said it has disbanded,” Valerius continued, focusing on Joey. “Do you know about this?”

  “Uh…crap,” he muttered, oblivious to the situation, “I’ve never been good with dates. Help me out, Colin, Rome fell in the fifth century, right?”

  The captain looked stricken, and Joey turned to me for a hint as to his sudden distress. “The capital still exists,” I said quickly to Valerius before Joey could make matters worse.

  “Yeah, I visited Rome during seminary,” Joey added. “Vatican museums, you know? Hey, I saw the Colosseum. It’s, uh…it’s still there. Really nice city—”

  “The what?” Valerius interrupted, his voice colored with panic.

  “Built in the first century A.D.,” I muttered to Joey. “After his time.”

  “Seriously?” Joey cocked his head and stared at Valerius. “How old are you, anyway?”

  But Valerius had begun to pace and clutched at his head. “She swore to me, on her life she swore,” he mumbled. “I served her, she protected Rome. That was all I asked, and she…” He whipped around and pointed at me, demanding, “Does Rome stand, yes or no?”

  I sensed rather than saw Joey’s hand creep toward the practice blade at his hip—Valerius’s wild eyes were enough to give any sane man pause—and I shoved the kid behind me. “No,” I said as calmly as I could. “Not for many years.”

  His breathing quickened. “How long?”

  At a loss for a better solution, I opted for the truth. “If I remember my history, Rome as you knew it ended a little over two thousand years ago. You couldn’t have been here that long when the Empire began.”

  He sank onto a bale and shook his head, then croaked, “What happened?”

  “Augustus Caesar, as I recall. The Senate transferred power to a dictator, and then a string of emperors.” I paused, watching his face work. “And then the Empire split in two. The Germanic tribes took care of the west, and the Ottomans finished off the east. But the capital stands—there’s a successor state built around it. It’s…well, it’s not what it once was,” I admitted, “but that’s the story of Europe. I mean, look, I lived in my father’s land for years. We had Normans, and then we had the Tudors—there wasn’t a free Ireland until 1949.” Valerius looked at me blankly, and I amended, “Sixty-four years ago. What I’m trying to say is that the damn continent seldom remains stable.”

  He continued to watch me despondently, and I was struggling with a response when Joey slipped past me and into Valerius’s line of sight. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Titania promised to protect Rome if you worked for her?” Valerius nodded silently, and Joey rubbed his stubble. “Shit, man. All this time, and no one mentioned that it fell? Or the—” He paused, nodded curtly, then turned and gripped my shoulder. “Come on, walk with me,” he muttered. “I need to show you something in the sheep pen.”

  I, too, had seen the wet glint in the captain’s eyes, and I didn’t need further encouragement to leave him to his thoughts.

  The stars came out that evening, and still Valerius had yet to check in with me, a deviation that portended nothing good. I waited until the crescent moon was high, then strolled back to the barn, where I found Joey asleep in the loft, Georgie curled up below him, and Valerius sitting on the fence, watching the herd grow. “Tell me to go away if you’re not in the mood,” I began, leaning on the rail beside him. “You’re not going to hurt my feelings.”

  He sighed to himself. “Do you need me, my lord?”

&
nbsp; “No. But I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m not going to borrow Joey’s sword, if that’s what you were insinuating,” he replied, then slid down the fence to make room. “Not tonight, at least.”

  I climbed up next to him and passed a flask. “Hate to tell you, but I incinerated what was left of Mother. There’s nothing to stab.”

  “I wasn’t planning to use it on her.” He considered the flask, then drank deeply and coughed. “Ever think of being finished with this business?”

  His expression was inscrutable in the low light, but his tone betrayed his unspoken thoughts. “Honestly? Yes. Who hasn’t after a few centuries?” I said, taking my turn with the bourbon. “But somehow, I keep finding reasons to press on.”

  Valerius waited until the flask returned to him, then quietly said, “I’ve thought of it many times. How best to do it. Angering the queen would have been too risky, so I thought iron was the safest method. And after some of the things she asked me to do…” He considered the open flask, then drank until he gasped for air. “Do you know what stayed my hand?” he choked out. “She’d promised protection as long as I served her court. Can’t serve her dead, can I? Can’t serve her at all now.” He nudged a wayward sheep back toward the herd with his boot. “And it was all a lie—a joke to her? Has my life been nothing but a long joke?”

  We sat mutely until the silence was broken by a surprised bleating in the distance.

  “Boy’s right about the sheep,” he mumbled.

  “I know,” I said, and rubbed my arms against the growing chill. “Valerius…you owe me nothing. If you want to remain in my service, I’ll gladly have you. But if there’s something you’d rather do—”