Dragons Wild

by Robert Asprin

  “So what did they look like outside of the frightening guises?” Griffen asked.

  “Different, big, depends on who you…Don’t interrupt.” Malcolm snapped, eyes flashing back into focus. Griffen noticed that his manner was now angry, and slightly embarrassed.

  He didn’t know what to make of it, though. Griffen flushed slightly, but didn’t press the question. After all, what was he asking? How dragons are supposed to look? He couldn’t believe he was getting sucked into this bizarre narrative so easily. A worried thought flashed through his mind. Did one inherit madness?

  Malcolm nodded and continued. “There was another group, however, who went to their Eastern brethren, seeking the secret of size shifting to augment their own shape-shifting ability. You may not know it, Griffen, but Eastern dragons never had wings. When they needed to fly, they would size shift down to tiny dimensions and ride the wind.”

  Griffen leaned back more in his chair, looking nonchalant. He was aware of his uncle watching each reaction, and decided some input was expected. He hesitated, again worried about letting himself slip into his uncle’s delusions, but decided he had little choice but to go along with the flow of the bizarre conversation.

  “I don’t pretend to know much about the East, and nothing much at all beyond China and Japan,” Griffen said, trying to keep things sounding normal and make one more attempt at getting the conversation back on the track of why he came here in the first place. After all, he had attended international business classes…once in a while. “But it’s been my impression that they are deadly negotiators. At the very least, it’s not a crowd I would want to deal with when they knew in advance they had something I wanted or needed.”

  Griffen stopped again, unsure whether the comment had broken any ice with his uncle. Again Malcolm McCandles’s face showed nothing to give the younger man any relief.

  “It was brutal,” Malcolm said. “It is unknown today what promises and powers the European dragons had to surrender, but they achieved their objective and gained the ability to size shift. They used that new skill along with their shape-shifting to infiltrate and blend in with the humans, even to interbreed with them in some instances. Their descendants survive to this day, dwelling unsuspected among the humans.”

  “I see,” Griffen said carefully. “And now you’re going to tell me that you’re one of those dragons?”

  “That’s right,” Malcolm said. “More importantly, so are you…and your sister.”

  “That’s interesting,” Griffen said. “I have to admit, Uncle Mal, I don’t particularly feel like a dragon.”

  “That’s because you’re only just coming into your physical maturity,” Malcolm said. “Your secondary powers haven’t put on their appearance yet, but they should shortly.”

  “Secondary powers,” Griffen said, interested despite himself. “Should I ask what my primary powers might be?”

  “You’ve had them all along,” Malcolm said, “but you haven’t seen them as being extraordinary. First of all, you rarely if ever get sick. What’s more, in the few times you’ve suffered an injury, you heal remarkably swiftly.”

  Griffen started to speak, then held his silence. He had always been blessed with good health, but he had always assumed it was just good fortune. It hardly made him some sort of inhuman lizard.

  “You also have a certain affinity with animals. You can exert your will over theirs to control their actions.”

  “Animal control,” Griffen said, and a smirk twisted slightly at the corners of his mouth. Polite attentiveness wasn’t seeming to help him anyway, and he just couldn’t help himself. “You mean like Obi-Wan in Star Wars?”

  “You could say that,” Malcolm said. “In a small way. You can draw animals to you, or send them away. You can even calm them if they’re excited. Exactly how much control depends on how much of the talent you were born with, and how much you’ve developed and exercised it. There are some nondragons who have similar powers. Circus animal trainers and some shamans, for example.”

  Griffen nodded, trying to keep the skepticism from his expression.

  “Uncle Malcolm, granted you said dragons were never big scaly beasts, still, I’ve never looked anything but human when I checked in a mirror.”

  “Ah, and you are wondering how a disguise, for all intents and purposes, is passed on from father to son?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Dragons are not fools Griffen. Quite the opposite. What good would trading for a disguise be, if every baby born put its parents in immediate danger? Let’s just say that geneticists barely understand their own DNA, and aren’t likely to get a dragon sample.”

  Again Griffen held his silence, but it was more difficult. There was something that disturbed him in that last comment. A hardness in his uncle’s voice that was surprisingly intimidating.

  “As I was saying,” Malcolm continued, “your senses are notably keener than those of humans, particularly your powers of observation. I suspect that would account for your success at cards. Whether it’s gambling or business, dragons have always been able to ‘read’ their opponents, which gives them a sizable edge in conflicts.”

  “I’ll admit I’ve always been lucky,” Griffen said with a smile. “Then, too, I’ve always been fond of money. Isn’t that another trait of dragons?”

  “Actually,” Malcolm said, “dragons are fond of power. Money or gold is simply one way of gaining it. Some turn to politics or warfare to achieve the same thing. There are several who have gone the route of becoming entertainers. If you look around our modern society, not to mention history, it isn’t that hard to spot the dragons lurking there. Usually around power, always at or near the top.”

  Malcolm’s expression darkened. The look he suddenly shot Griffen was filled with greed such as he had never seen. Griffen could hear his pulse beating away wildly as he watched the executive force himself to stay relaxed. Griffen wasn’t sure what set him off more, the expression, or the obvious show of iron-willed control.

  “Check me on this, Uncle Mal,” Griffen said, keeping up with Malcolm’s thought. “I’ll be the first to admit that I’m operating with limited knowledge, but I’ve always thought that your basic power broker wasn’t wild about sharing that power with anyone else.”

  Malcolm raised his eyebrows in pleased surprise. His expression slipped back into his more neutral mask.

  “Exactly right,” he said, nodding at the youth. “Dragons are as solitary as they are greedy. Oh, they may put on a show of being friendly, and many are quite charismatic, some to a point of using another form of mind control called glamour, but underneath it all they’re pretty self-serving. While temporary alliances are occasionally formed, they usually only last until the objective is achieved. There are some ongoing power blocs, mostly to keep track of and counter the doings of other power blocs, but even those are tenuous and prone to realignment.

  “That brings us to your situation.”

  “Me?” Griffen said, suddenly sitting up straighter.

  His expression was attentive, but inside all he could think of were the dangers and pitfalls in the current situation. A part of him was curious, but most of him would have been very glad to be anywhere but this room. Thoughts of a job were long past. He was more interested in making sure he got out of the building with his skin intact.

  “That’s right. You see, your parents were both near purebloods. That’s an expression we use to recognize those with minimal human blood in their line. Alone they were each quite powerful, and united they were strong enough to worry some of the power blocs. When they produced not just one, but two offspring, that worry grew to open fear…enough to inspire some factions to engineer their deaths.”

  Griffen’s head cocked, body stiffening. He rarely let himself think of his parents, and didn’t care for Malcolm’s comments about them so far, nor for the dark implications whirling in his mind. He began to suspect that this was the key to this whole puzzle. Malcolm didn’t seem to notice the ch
ange in his posture, or just didn’t care.

  “Now that you’re coming of age, however, things are heating up again. You see, with two near purebloods for parents, the other dragons are assuming that you’ll have rare strength, particularly once your secondary powers develop. Many fear that, despite your youth, you’re potentially more powerful than they are. Can you see what that means?”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Griffen said, “but tell me anyway.”

  “You’ve become a focal point of the dragon hierarchy. Some will be content to wait and see what powers you develop and what use you decide to make of them. Others will make every effort to recruit you as an ally. I fear, however, that there will be others who will simply try to kill you or have you killed just to be sure those powers aren’t used against them.”

  “I see,” Griffen said. “Tell me, you keep saying that all this is coming down the road at me. What about Valerie?”

  If other dragons might be out to kill him, where did that leave his situation with the “dragon” in the room? If Malcolm was so deranged by guilt over losing his brother that his mind has slipped into this dementia, what would be the next logical step? If logic could apply. Would he wish to kill a rival dragon, even his own nephew? Would the executive have a gun in his desk? Or would he try to rip Griffen’s throat out like an animal?

  He swallowed, and tried his best to keep his breathing regular. Malcolm had not once taken his keen eyes off of Griffen, and the younger man realized he didn’t want his uncle to know just how fast his heartbeat was going at the thoughts of his possible death.

  “I’m sure others have kept an eye on her, but your sister has a ways to grow yet before she’s a factor,” Malcolm said. “Besides, as wild and undisciplined as she is, I believe there are other plans in store for her. Using her for breeding stock without her being aware of it comes to mind. For the moment, however, it would be best to focus on your problems.”

  Griffen practically ground his teeth at that. He had kept control all through the talk of threats to him, but the callous tone about his sister…Again he kept his reactions to himself, still waiting to see how this would unfold. In any other situation, though, he would have left, or bloodied Malcolm’s nose.

  “All right.” Griffen nodded. “So how many of the individuals or blocs are there, and which ones do I have to look out for?”

  “Not so fast.” Malcolm said, taking a long draw on his cigar. “Filling you in on the general situation falls under my duties as your guardian. Giving you specific information is a whole different ball game. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m one of the players you have to deal with. Like your father, I’m a near pureblood. Unlike him, however, I’ve gone to great lengths to keep a low profile in the interdragon power struggles. If I give you too much help, take you under my wing so to speak, all that could change.”

  In other words, Griffen thought, Malcolm protected his own ass (or was that tail?) when he could have helped save his brother. Griffen wondered why he would do anything else for his nephew…unless it gained him something.

  Griffen realized suddenly that he had been dead wrong, and felt like an idiot. Too many monster movies, not enough sense. This wasn’t a trap, it was an attempt to increase his uncle’s power. He could see the recruitment offer coming like a train down a tunnel, but doubted it would be anything like what he had been hoping for when he first entered the office building. Griffen felt like an absolute fool.

  “Personally, I’m inclined to be one of those who take a wait-and-see attitude. If you want specific help and training, on the other hand, I’d need your reassurance and pledge that you would align with me and not use what I tell you against me.”

  He leaned back in his chair and flashed a wide smile.

  “So I guess the ball is really in your court, Griffen. Do you want to sign on with me here and now, or do you want to play it as an independent for a while?”

  Three

  It was notably early in the day to drink, but Griffen figured he deserved one. Not that he needed one, mind you, but it would be welcome nonetheless. Besides, the ground-floor bar in Malcolm’s office building was irresistibly convenient.

  Sliding onto a stool, he absently gave the bartender his order…Irish whiskey on the rocks (beer was so working class)…and settled down to think.

  He had come to the meeting with such high expectations, and now it seemed he had to recalculate his entire future. Only one thing was sure. The cushy job he had hoped for with his uncle Malcolm was a bust. He had known all along that rich, successful people tended to be a bit odd, but his uncle, in the words of Raymond Chandler, was as crazy as three waltzing mice.

  Dragons! Power blocs! Executions and assassinations!

  If Griffen had owned any stock in any of his uncle’s corporations, he would be thinking seriously of dumping it. Of course, to date he had steered clear of such legalized gambling, preferring the kind when you got to see your opponent face-to-face.

  The nerve of Malcolm! Never mind this dragon nonsense. From his own words, he left his own brother to hang for his own profit, and held out his hand to Griffen for the same reason. When he figured Griffen was the most vulnerable, dreading the thought of working and the real world. There was no way Griffen wanted part of a businessman, or business dragon, with those kind of priorities and those sort of tactics.

  At least he wasn’t totally stranded. He had maybe $20-25,000 he had squirreled away between his poker winnings and what he had skimmed from his monthly allowance. That and his car, which ran most of the time. Originally he had figured on using the stash on his wardrobe and maybe to furnish a nice bachelor pad, but he could live on it for a while until he came up with a viable option.

  Unfortunately, most options he could think of at the moment involved working, something he had managed to fastidiously avoid in his life to date.

  Maybe Mai would have an idea.

  Mai!

  He suddenly remembered that he was supposed to meet her back at the hotel room with a report on how his meeting had gone. It wouldn’t do to keep her waiting too long. Mai was not a girl to be kept waiting.

  They had been playmates and occasional lovers back in school, and when he had mentioned the meeting with his uncle to her, she had offered to tag along…a combination of moral support and a chance for her to do a little shopping. He had always known that he was more emotionally involved than she was. It was one of the things she found endearing about him, which would worry him if he let himself dwell too much on it. She never said much about her own background, but the way she went through money it was a cinch her family wasn’t exactly hurting. Not a bad person to consult with about his future. She might even provide a contact or two.

  His mind invaribly came back to Uncle Malcolm. For the first time he wondered if it had all been some kind of complicated joke. Again, he hadn’t had all that much direct contact with the man, but from what he knew Malcolm was not the practical-joking kind. Something was very wrong. Griffen didn’t have a glimmer as to what was really going on.

  Tossing a couple bills on the bar, Griffen finished the rest of his drink in one long swallow and eased off the stool. The confused young graduate left the building, feeling lost and more than a bit sorry for himself.

  He tried to console himself that at least now he had a plan of sorts. Hook up with Mai and pick her mind a bit. Even if nothing came of it, they could enjoy a night on the town and he could attack the problem fresh in the morning.

  Emerging into the daylight, he paused for a moment to squint up at the sky. There were a few clouds up there, but the temperature was pleasant enough. He’d go ahead and walk the five blocks back to the hotel. Taxis should be an avoidable luxury for a while until he settled his future finances.

  “Mr. McCandles? Griffen McCandles?”

  Blinking with surprise and from the sun, Griffen redirected his attention from the sky to the man who had addressed him.

  Actually, there were two of them, though only one had
spoken. They seemed ordinary enough, to a point where he probably wouldn’t have noticed them on the street if they hadn’t approached him. Viewing them now, however, there was a sameness in their stance and posture that suggested either military or police, regardless of their tailored suits.

  “Yes? Can I help you?” he said, glancing back and forth between the two men.

  For a moment, the characters from Men in Black flashed through his mind, but he shrugged the image off. If nothing else, their suits were gray, not black, and neither of them was wearing sunglasses. Apparently his discussion with his uncle had affected him more than he had realized.

  “There’s someone who would like a few words with you, if you can spare a moment.”

  The man speaking took a step backward and gestured toward a limousine that was standing at the curb. His partner took a step sideways, so that they effectively had Griffen bracketed, blocking his movement in either direction along the sidewalk.

  Griffen glanced around quickly. None of the other pedestrians on the street seemed to take notice of what was going on. Perhaps such occurrences were normal in this town.

  He decided nothing could be as strange as his uncle, but didn’t feel like getting in a stranger’s car. Unless this was how the CIA recruited, he really wanted nothing to do with them. He turned as if to push past the men, only to have a heavy hand with an iron grip fall on his shoulder.

  “We really must insist, Mr. McCandles,” the man said, and squeezed with his hand.

  Griffen fought back a yelp, this man was strong! So much for Uncle Malcolm’s comments about tough skin, Griffen felt like his shoulder socket was about to be ground to dust. Of course, he realized grudgingly, that had little to do with the skin.

  With an offhand shrug, he tried to shake the hand off. Tried, and failed. The other man nodded pointedly to the limo, squeezed once more, then let him go with a little push. Straightening, Griffen tried to maintain some dignity, and walked over to the limo. As he did, the back door opened as if in greeting. Not breaking stride, he stepped into the air-conditioned interior and sank into the nearest seat.