Jewelled dragons condoned no such cruelty, instead believing in helping the young hatchlings to help themselves; giving them the tools the needed - physical, emotional and (in the case of ruby, sapphire and emerald dragons) magical. They were taught, they were stimulated and yes they were pushed even when they didn't want to do whatever was demanded of them.
The metallic dragons simply trusted in Father Patrelaux to guide their young - He knew what was best for them and they ought not to interfere. There was some considerable debate among mortal scholars regarding the three sets of five dragon species known on Majaos, over the issue of how much of their tendency toward a particular alignment was predetermined by their species and how much was the result of their upbringing. Nature or nurture: which had the greater influence? Theories were many; answers were few. Loric had never been the philosophical type or he might have considered his search for the mythical Elder Dragons to be a major piece of the argument for one side or the other, depending upon what he found. But Loric was a dragon that saw only zero and one, not the myriad of possibilities in between. The Elder Dragons were of interest to him only in terms of the unique training they could give him, at least according to legend.
Loric did not really know anything about Callie's past - among dragons it was considered unthinkably rude to ask - but the scintillating silver seemed to be a classic case of a wyrmling who had flown the nest much too soon. These cases, in Loric's experience, were usually the result of one particular traumatic event in a young dragon's past; something that had upset her enough to fly away far away - from its source. Young dragons were creatures driven by powerful emotions, feeling deeply upon them the effects of the world. Much of growing up was learning to handle those emotions and he felt Callie had not yet learned those lessons fully. Still, there was hope. He had helped Sara; he could help Callie. True, Callie was not an obsidian or even a jewelled dragon, but at least she knew a dragon was what she was. For the time being, he would just have to close his ears to her incessant voice.
For the next several leagues of flight he did just that, so he only caught the tail end of Callie's latest remark.
“...red dragon?” I'd better respond to this one, Loric decided, to put her at ease.“Don’t worry, I don't think we're likely to run into one of those. If we see any other dragons at all, they'll probably be golds or maybe the odd ruby. You can usually tell a red dragon's territory - they like volcanoes for one thing and at any rate, their magic taints the land for some miles in all directions, cracking the land and making it even more desolate than the desert naturally is. This area is pretty flat, barring a few sand hills, so we should have plenty of advance warning and if we do spot anything, I promise we'll avoid the area. Even I don't pick fights with reds unless I have a very good reason.”
Callie rolled her eyes, flying ahead quickly to hover in his p ath. “You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you?” she accused him. “I didn't say I was worried about running into a red dragon. I said I think I've just spotted one!”
Loric nearly stalled in mid-air. “Oh don't worry,” the silver added with a fulltoothed dragon grin. “I'm pretty sure it's dead. Look over there!” She pointed with her right foreleg and Loric could see she was right. There was something on the ground; half buried in sand, but unmistakably red and reptilian...and very big!
“That's odd,” Loric mused. “That's very, very odd. Let's go take a look, but be alert just in case it isn't quite dead. The only thing more dangerous than a red dragon is a wounded red dragon.” The pair banked their wings and glided towards the unmoving red shape, descending slowly until they were close enough to discern that it was indeed quite dead and posed no threat. They landed on the sand a couple of dragon lengths from the body and took up their favoured humanoid shapes. Almost immediately, Loric observed a change come over his companion. No longer Callie, but Revered Daughter Calandra.
“You are right to call this odd, child,” she intoned. “For a red dragon mare, in the prime of her life, to be struck down in this fashion is most unusual. My healer's art does not really extend to accursed chromatic wyrms, but perhaps an examination will reveal something to me.” She probed, poked and prodded, smoothed and stroked every inch of the dragon corpse, shaking her head and muttering to herself all the while. Of particular interest was the way the belly was ripped open but there was little left inside. Indeed, it was little more than a carcass: scales, skin and bone. Yet the corpse seemed less than an hour old. How could scavengers have done their grisly work so quickly?
“Do you know? It almost looks...” she stopped and shook her head.
“Go on,” Loric prompted.
“No, it's ridiculous.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Well,” she paused once more, letting out a long, slow breath. “I was going to say that it almost looks as if...as if something...attacked this dragon...” That didn't sound so ridiculous to Loric - it probably had a run-in with gold dragons or maybe even another red challenging it for this territory. He opened his mouth to say so, but the cleric, guessing his line of thought, stopped him with a raised finger.
“I mean, it looks as if this dragon was attacked...and eaten: hunted for food.” She shrugged. “As I say, it's ridiculous. Clearly the examination of this creature is beyond my abilities.”
Loric forced a smile, “Well, whatever happened here, I can't say I'm sorry about there being one less red dragon in the world.”
“Then I guess I shall pray alone, child,” the Revered Daughter said, pointedly. She sounded a little disappointed in him, somehow.
His smileevaporated. “Pray? For a chromatic dragon? What’s a cleric of Light doing praying for a creature of evil?” “We each can be only what we are, child; no more, no less. All life is sacred and loss of life is a thing of great sadness, even if the world is a little safer as a result. If Lady Hannah were here, she would tell you that the Knights engage in purification prayer and ritual cleansing before going into battle. They must lay their own sins at the feet of our all-forgiving Father, receiving his blessing and forgiveness for the lives they will take.”
“Well I'm not a Knight and the only cleansing ritual I use before battle is to make sure my sword is clean so it will slide easily into and out of my enemies' bodies. And I'm certainly not going to pray or lose any sleep over a red dragon meeting a grisly end. Well done to whoever did it, as far as I'm concerned!”
His words were intended to shock, but Calandra didn't look shocked...only increasingly sad. “Given that you are aligned to the Balance,” she said, “I would have expected you to be more receptive. Are you not supposed to believe in the notion that evil has a place in the world?”
“That's not what the Balance is about." Loric disputed. "We're just a bit more realistic about things than the Light, and realistically this isn't about good and evil; it's about survival. I am an obsidian dragon and a warrior. Chromatic dragons, reds especially, are my enemies. They make themselves so by their tendency to attack me and threaten my interests. When one of my enemies dies while I still live, I don't mourn I celebrate! Good Health and Long Life to my enemies' enemies!”
“Then I must ask that you step away and `celebrate`” she spat the word “at a suitable distance so that you do not contaminate the rites I shallperform.”
“As you wish,” Loric agreed, curtly. And so he moved away - several dragon lengths away regretting more with every step, his decision to bring the silver along with him.
* * * * * Back in the air, they flew in silence; neither willing to even look at the other. They still had several leagues to fly in search of the lair of the Elder Dragon of Fire and locating it would not be easy, even with the map.
It was a good thing their flight speed had slowed somewhat, otherwise they might have missed the pair of gold dragons sprawled awkwardly on the sand below, wings bent at sickeningly impossible angles. At least Loric supposed they must be golds, even though their hides had lost their healthy sheen, making them more of a
dull beige than gold. Gruffly, he told Callie to “Look” and then to “Follow” him down to conduct a closer inspection.
Once more Calandra examined the bodies, growing ever more puzzled: their condition was strikingly similar to that of the earlier red. She covered her growing sense of unease, demanding of her companion, “Well? Are you going to celebrate this, too, or will you judge these two individuals worthyof your prayer?”
Loric swore. “I wouldn't want to contaminate your rituals with my uncleanpresence,” he growled. “I'll wait over there.”
“Fine.”
* * * * * In Ancient times, when the first humans settled on Majaos, they were fascinated by dragons. There had been legends of such beasts on their old world, but even they did not know whether there was any truth to such stories. They were awe-struck to discover that dragons were actually sentient and capable of communicating with mortals, even take their form - including those dragons who apparently possessed no other magic, except their breath weapon, of course. There was, however, early confusion over the colours of the dragons' scales. Somehow they expected browns and greens in the forests, golds and yellows in deserts, perhaps blues in the water. After further thought, and discussions with the dragons themselves - (not usually the chromatic ones, for obvious reasons) - they realised their mistake. They were thinking in terms of camouflage: concealment, which was primarily a form of defence. What need did dragons have of concealment? They had no natural predators on all of Majaos. Territorial fights were common enough, especially with and between chromatic dragons, but no dragon could ever turn cannibal - they simply could not digest the meat.
Yet there in the Scorched Desert far from all civilisation, after a total of four gold, three red and a ruby dragon, all presenting the same picture in death - their insides ripped out and devoured the situation was frighteningly clear:
There was something out there among the shifting sands...and it was hunting dragons.
Chapter 3
Hunted. That was the word he was searching for. That's what it felt like: being hunted. The first Phaer had held any such suspicions, was almost one whole moon cycle into his journey. Up until that time, he had been alone with his own thoughts, as he preferred it. He had much to consider, he felt.
He had happened upon Eilidh en route to Shakaran, purely by chance. He paused his thoughts.
Was it merely chance? He pondered. Why not? Chance it was and not a particularly unlikely chance at that. After all, he was a ranger by trade, guarding the remote passes into Shakaran City. Once Eilidh had decided to take that route, guided by a strange man known as Kismet, it was natural for Phaer to become aware of it. However fortunate the timing of that awareness, allowing him to save the girl from the jaws of a carnivorous Kij vine plant, chance was sufficient explanation. After all, that was his job.
What was not his job, was running around the occupied city of Avidon, outpost of the Hand of Darkness Liberation Front. Nor was it his job to become embroiled in encounters with strange creatures of fire on magical bridges that apparently had no beginning, no end and no foundation to support them. And rescuing princesses was most definitely not his job either. Yet he had done these things nonetheless. Mostly, though he would scarcely admit this even to himself, he had done these things for the young human Catalyst, Eilidh Hagram.
Why should he do such things for her? Why should he feel compelled to do anything for her? She was plain, unsophisticated, unworldly, possessing little in the way of social skills or humour. That's not to say she was ugly or ill-mannered or vindictive. Not at all. Eilidh was a person, as far as Phaer could see, who gave others no particular reason either to like her or to dislike her. As if she expected everyone to have somehow formed a firm negative opinion of her before they met and simply saw no point in making any effort to change it.
Yet Phaer liked her. Him, a magically Dead half-elf of dark elf origins, liking a human for whom magic was all! It was preposterous. Eilidh made no pretence to be anything more or less than who she was and he appreciated that. Above all, Phaer respected Eilidh. Perhaps that was at the heart of it - he respected her and she him. At least, he had thought she did. Until she finally condescended to reveal her quest: to find a way to defeat Niltsiar.
Niltsiar. The name made him shudder. Humans characterised the feeling as `like someone walking over your grave`. Well, if this Ancient power had truly returned, there would be plenty of graves and the only ones left walking would be those who stood with her and did not displease her. And where would the dark elves fit into her plans? Would they side with her as they did in Ancient times? Phaer was unsure. In a way, he couldn't blame them if they did, for he himself certainly did not wish to stand against her. But standing with her? That would be impossible. One of his kind could never fit into Niltsiar's vision of a perfect world. In a way, he supposed, he was already standing against her, simply by being alive. Well, doubtless she would correct that oversight in her own good time.
So, here he was, walking ever closer to a place that was carefully hidden from outsiders: the home of the dark elves. He knew the way; that was not the problem. No, the problem was that he had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. He had set out with the intention of warning his people, and that was the problem, right there: They were not his people. He had been born of them, raised by them and lived with them, but he was not one of them. They had made that perfectly clear all his life. As with Niltsiar, his very existence stood against everything the dark elves believed in. Yet still he had to warn them. The return of Her Divine Excellency was a pivotal event in dark elf history. It was happening now; he knew and they didn't. Perhaps bringing such news would alter their relationship with him...
…Yes, they would probably slit his throat.
That is, if I’m not killed on the way to my own funeral! Phaer had already been forced to deal with small numbers of chaos creatures. Sometimes he ran, sometimes he hid and sometimes he killed them. But no matter what he did, whatever it was that was hunting him never lost its quarry. Phaer resisted the temptation to stop, or double back, or walk in a circle, or use any other tricks to try and identify this hunter. He simply continued walking along the route towards dark elf territory, doing only what was necessary to deal with the threat of chaos creatures. Phaer knew he was hunted, but so long as his hunter didn't know he was aware of it, Phaer had the advantage. The hunter would think to catch him by surprise, but Phaer would be ready for it. That could swing the eventual confrontation. Reacting to the threat now would only serve to warn the hunter and thus the half-elf would lose his advantage. So he walked on.
The closer he got to his destination, the more tense he became. Why hadn't the hunter attacked him yet? What were they waiting for? If they followed him into dark elf lands, the elves would kill them as a potential threat. Not necessarily right away, though. No, they may well decide to take them for sport. Phaer hoped that would not happen. He did not like to see people caged and tortured. Sure, they were hunting him, perhaps waiting for the right moment to kill him, and if they attacked him, he would kill them without regret; he was simply trying to survive. But he could not allow them to be collared and caged.
The idea flashed through his mind that perhaps it was one of these chaos creatures stalking him, but somehow that didn't ring true. The half-elf had never heard of such subtlety and skill from them. No, in avoiding his keen senses, the hunter displayed a knowledge and feel for this world that he was sure chaos creatures could not possibly possess...well, almost sure.
* * * * * Five strange creatures caught him by surprise. Each possessed shiny black skin, four arms with vicious-looking claws, a thick exoskeleton protecting their backs and antennae upon their squat, neckless heads. Phaer thought they looked rather like giant bipedal beetles. The swiftness of their ambush, in a dense patch of trees, was unexpected but still, he was ready with his bow and shot one through the chest at close range. The fall of that one slowed down the others, which gave the half-elf time to throw a knif
e at the closest one. It, too, was dead before it hit the ground.
Two lethal strikes out of two attempts - Phaer was impressed. The remaining three beetle-like creatures approached him more cautiously now. Phaer drew his swords and manoeuvred, using his keen natural senses to guide his feet around this rough terrain, so that the creatures would be in each other’s way when they tried to strike. Numbers were not always as they seemed and as a ranger he was trained to make sure that a group of this size could only attack him one at a time.
He drew them in closer, then suddenly darted around a tree to stab the rear one in the side. Green blood oozed onto the ground from the wound for a moment, then in a flash another giant beetle-creature appeared on that spot. The one Phaer had just wounded instantly healed. The half-elf hacked at the new one to give him time to pull back - another creature grew from the spilled blood. Now, once again, there were five - he was back where he started.
Consequences (Majaos Book 2) Page 4
