He could not hear them, and he might have thought himself alone, but he could feel their movement in the ground that shuddered sometimes beneath his feet. They were here and they were waiting for him—the Parliament of Dragons.
He squeezed through a narrow tunnel that opened up into a vast cavern. Although he had been here many times, he tended to forget, over the years, the magnificence, the grandeur. Standing upright, he paused, as he prepared to enter the Hall of Parliament, to catch his breath and to marvel.
The cavern was immense. He had been in human cities, teeming with thousands of people, that could have been picked up whole and dropped into this cavern. The ceiling was far, far above him, so far that it seemed like heaven’s dome, without the stars. The dragons had constructed an entrance at the very top of the mountain, hidden from sight by clouds and magic, and dim light filtered down from above. A dragon was just arriving. He watched the massive body soar through the entry-way far above him, watched the great beast slowly spiral round and round in the dim, gray light; head peering downward to find a place to land. He lowered his gaze, looked around him. He could see them now and hear them. Eleven dragons of the twelve houses of dragons, the elders of each house: the Parliament.
The twelfth dragon landed on the cavern floor and settled himself, bowing his head to the others, shifting his bulk to make himself comfortable, pulling his wings into his sides, adjusting his tail so that it wrapped around his legs. He made his apologies for being late. The others murmured their acceptance.
Dust, disturbed by his fanning wings, clouded the air. Had the dragons been in the sun, the light would have sparkled and danced on their bright scales. A brilliant sight, one to dazzle the eye and the mind, for when a dragon moved, the gleaming scales rippled, clashing golden as the sunlight on ocean waves. He saw the wondrous image in his mind, not here in the cavern, for in the dim light the scales of all the dragons were gray, the same gray as the stone walls surrounding them. Only the slit eyes gleamed red.
He stood at the entrance to the Hall, waiting patiently. The twelve arranged themselves in a circle, with the Minister at the compass point, north. The dragons were recumbent, resting on all fours, their tails wrapped around their hind legs, the tips touching the front talons planted firmly on the ground in front of them. They held their heads upright. The eyes gazed at him, unblinking. He heard their breathing, the rasping of their wings, the scrape of claws. These were the only sounds that broke the silence, the only sounds that would break it. Dragons communicate with thought alone, not with spoken words.
As such, the language of dragons is a language of images, textures, shapes, color, and emotion, playing upon all the senses. A dragon hearing of a storm from another dragon would be able to feel the cold rain, hear the clash of the thunder, and see the wind-driven waves crashing upon the shore. The brush that paints the images conveys the feelings of the dragon and the dragon receiving the image knows if he is being warned of an approaching storm or merely hearing the tale of a storm long past. Thus the dragons, living solitary lives, can communicate with their brethren if need arises.
A human mind is not made to communicate in this manner. When he had first undertaken this task, the images and colors and emotions had seemed to explode in his brain, splintering into many colored, sharp fragments, like a stained-glass window struck by lightning. He had very nearly gone mad until he had learned to distill the thoughts into simple words and pictures and shapes.
The dragons, for their part, took care to keep their thoughts gray-tinged, with rounded edges, so as not to overwhelm him.
He had not communicated with any dragon for a long time, and it took some moments for him to transition himself from human speech and thought patterns to those of dragons. He saw himself in the Minister’s mind, saw himself walking to the center of the Hall, saw his image surrounded by bright sunlight.
“Approach, Draconas,” said the Minster, adding, politely, “It is good to see you again. Thank you for coming.”
Draconas walked forward to stand across from the Minister at the southern compass point. He made his bow. The members of Parliament bowed their heads.
“I am honored to be called,” Draconas answered in the same silent language. Distilled through his human mind, his thoughts would appear to them like the scrawlings of a child. “I look forward to serving this august body in any way that I can.”
The fact that he could not have ignored the summons if he’d tried made this pointless, but dragons are invariably polite and aware of the importance of formality and ceremony, particularly within their own society. Dragons are not given to interaction with other living beings, including their own kind. A mated pair may love each other dearly and yet not live within several hundred miles of each other. They may communicate on a daily basis, but see each other only once every few centuries. Hatchlings are sent into the world as soon as they are able to hunt on their own and they are generally as glad to leave the nest as the parent is glad to have them depart. If forced to come together, dragons grate on each other’s nerves. Tempers flare and things are said that were never intended. The icy waters of polite speech and observance of the formalities keeps the fire in the belly under control.
Such formality also means that dragons come straight to the point. They do not blather on about nonentities as do humans, for which Draconas was grateful.
The Parliament of Dragons was an ancient institution, dating back to the fourth and final horrific Dragon War, at the end of which the exhausted dragons realized that unless they developed some means for keeping peace among the noble families, dragons as a race would vanish from the world that they had ruled for centuries, a world that bore their name.
Few humans know of the Dragon Wars, for they were fought when humans were still primitive beings, wandering the primordial forests with clubs in their hands, living in caves, and dancing around their campfires. In those caves, however, can be seen primitive paintings, depicting enormous monsters battling in the skies, with blood raining down upon the land and fire lighting the heavens.
The Dragon Wars had ended by the time the humans moved out of their caves and into villages. The Dragon Parliament established laws by which the dragons governed themselves and, later, laws that were used to govern the fledgling race of wingless creatures known as humans, who had developed an intelligence which, while not approaching that of the dragons, made them a species worthy of some notice.
The Parliament elected one of themselves to serve as Prime Minister. The dragon elected held the office for life. Anora was the current Prime Minister. An elder dragon, she was matriarch of a powerful family—Draconas’s family, she being his great-aunt. Anora had been Minister for many centuries. She was old by the reckoning of dragons, which meant that she was ancient by the reckoning of humans.
It is difficult to tell a dragon’s age by appearance, for there is no hair to go gray, as on humans, no skin to wrinkle or brittle bones to snap. Draconas could see that Anora had aged in the years since he had last seen her and he was saddened. She had always held her head proudly upon its graceful, curving neck. Now her head sagged forward, as though it had grown too heavy for her to bear. The skin around her eyes was puffy, the eyes had sunken. When she spoke, he noted that the upper and lower fangs and teeth were worn, smooth and rounded. On her body were patches of bare flesh, where scales had fallen off and not grown back, as they would with a younger dragon. Anora turned her gaze again on Draconas and her eyes shone with the same bright intelligence he had come to know and respect. Her jaw was just as firm, her thoughts strong and resonating.
“We have summoned you, Draconas,” said the Minister, “because something must be done about Maristara.”
Draconas flexed his hands, his mouth twisted into a grimace. So that’s what this was about. How long had it been? Three hundred years? An eye blink to a dragon, though generations of humans had been born and died in that time. Something must have stirred the pot to cause this foul thing to come floating to the sur
face.
“Yes, Minister,” said Draconas, there being not much else he could say, aside from, What the devil has taken you so long?, which would not have been well received.
The Minister’s red eyes flickered. Her tail twitched. Anora knew quite well what Draconas longed to say. She made an oblique gesture, lifted a talon, cautioning him to maintain his composure. She had no need. Draconas knew. He understood. He waited.
Another dragon shifted his head to look at the Minister. He was a young dragon, with shining green scales, muscular, strong, and dangerous.
“I ask for the wand,” said this dragon. “If there are no objections, I hand the speaker’s wand to Braun,” said the Minister.
There being no objections, she handed the jeweled wand that she held delicately in a taloned forefoot to the young male dragon. Draconas did not know him. Braun was new to the Parliament and quite young to be head of a noble house. Draconas knew, though, which house Braun represented. He felt a tingle at the base of his spine.
“I am Braun,” said the dragon in tones that were smoldering red and sharp-edged. “As you undoubtedly know, Maristara is my grandmother.”
Draconas inclined his head in acknowledgement. Again, there wasn’t much to say, except I’m sorry.
“I am going to begin by reciting the history of events that have taken place over the last three hundred years. In this, I beg the Parliament’s indulgence, for all of you know the history. You have lived it. I have new information, however, that I daresay none of you know.”
The dragons settled themselves. Some exchanged glances, but all curbed their thoughts. If Braun wanted to publicly review his family’s shameful past, that was his prerogative. Draconas, being a servant, had no say in the matter. He didn’t mind hearing the story again, just to refresh his memory, especially as it seemed he was now going to be a part of it.
“First,” said Braun, “I would remind you of the laws of Dragonkind, the laws that were written at the very first meeting of Parliament, thousands of years ago.
“The first law: Dragons may not take human life. “The second law: Dragons may not interfere in human affairs. Dragons may not coerce, intimidate, force, threaten, resort to trickery or extortion in their dealings with humans.
“The third law: Dragons, with one exception, should have no dealings with humans.”
Here Braun paused to nod politely at Draconas, to acknowledge him the exception.
Braun then continued. “Three centuries ago, the dragon Maristara broke all the laws of Dragonkind by seizing a human realm known as Seth. She established herself as ruler of that realm and the humans who inhabit it. At that time, the Parliament acted, sending a strongly worded document informing Maristara that she had broken the law and ordering her to give up her conquest and depart. No word came from Maristara. That was her answer.
“A delegation was sent to speak to her. She raised magical barriers to keep them out and the dragons, having no authority to try to break through these barriers, were forced to withdraw. Time passed. The subject of Maristara was brought up at every Parliament, but no one knew what to do. Nothing like this had ever occurred in our past. None knew how to handle it. The matter was debated for well over a century, with some saying that if we let her alone, she would tire of her toy and depart, and others advocating most strongly that she be attacked and driven out.
“Eventually, the Parliament took action that was really no action. My father was given authorization to fly to the realm to try to reason with his mother. He attempted to penetrate the magic, but could not succeed. Once more, the Parliament dithered and debated. At length, after another century or so had passed, the Parliament decided that they had no choice, they must remove Maristara by force.”
“We all remember what happened then, Braun,” said Anora. “I do not believe you need go into it.”
The other dragons looked round. Red eyes glinted. Horrific images of blood and pain filled Draconas’s mind. He firmly shut them out.
“It is because we refuse to face unpleasant facts that we are in this situation,” Braun stated. “I relate this for the sake of Draconas, who perhaps has not heard it before.”
Anora looked at Draconas, who lifted one eyebrow. She sighed and said, “Very well, Braun. Continue.”
“Twenty years ago Parliament sent a troop of dragons to the kingdom to try to free the humans and bring Maristara to justice. They combined their magicks and managed to penetrate the barrier or thought they did. It was a trap. They were attacked. Not by a dragon. By humans. The result,” Braun stated, his mental colors green, poisonous, “was disastrous. The law forbade them to fight back. Several of our brethren were slain and many more injured. We were soundly defeated. It was the worst massacre of dragons by humans in our history. But it did accomplish one thing. It proved that Maristara had done something even more heinous than seizing control of a kingdom. It proved that she had taught humans dragon magic.”
“That was never established,” said an elder member, one Malfiesto, sternly.
“Of course it was established,” returned Braun, thoughts flickering with impatience. “How else do you account for the fact that we were so utterly repulsed? That many of our kind were slain? Show me the humans who could do that without magic. Isn’t that true, Draconas?”
He had his own ideas, but he was not going to be dragged into taking sides. Fortunately, the elder dragon spoke again, and Draconas was forgotten.
“Even if she has done this, I can’t see what you expect us to do, Braun.”
Anora brought this to a halt. “Do you request the wand, Malfiesto?”
“No, Minister,” Malfiesto replied. “I have said all I wanted to say. All that is needful, I believe. Except this is a fool’s errand, for us and Draconas. What’s he going to do that we haven’t tried already?”
Anora frowned and Malfiesto subsided, his thoughts taking on a green-gray shade that among humans would have denoted grumbling.
“Please continue, Braun,” she said.
“Thank you, Minister,” said the young dragon. He cast a defiant glance at the other members. “I will tell you why I have brought you here and why I requested the presence of Draconas. As all of you know, I am here today, a member of this august body, because of the unexpected death of my father.”
Braun cut short the soft, muted colors of sympathy by adding, “My father was murdered.”
The dragons exchanged uneasy glances. They did not know what to say. Rumor had it that the family’s terrible shame had driven Braun’s father—Maristara’s son—mad. No one knew precisely what had happened. The dragon’s broken and twisted body had been found at the base of a cliff. It was assumed that he had gone crazy and ended his life by flying headlong into the mountain.
Braun knew what they were thinking. He could see into every mind and he said defiantly, “He was not murdered by his mother, Maristara. She never leaves her realm. Yet he was murdered by a dragon. Someone who is in league with Maristara, protecting her and shielding her.”
“This is a most serious accusation, Braun,” said Anora. The images in her mind flickered orange. “Not since the Dragon Wars has one of our kind shed the blood of another. I find it very hard to believe. What possible motive—?”
“A taste for human flesh,” Braun answered. The dragons shifted, restless, uncomfortable. They didn’t want to hear this, the dirty secret of Dragonkind. All dragons have a taste for human flesh. Once in the long ago, humans had been hunted nearly to extinction. One reason for the Parliament, one reason for laws, one reason for Draconas.
“What proof do you have, Braun?” said Anora, clearly skeptical.
“My father had long been trying to find some means to bring about Maristara’s downfall. He said that it was plain to him that Parliament was incapable of dealing with her—” Rumblings at this, but no one spoke outright. “—and so, as her family, the responsibility fell to us. He began to investigate, to find out everything he could about her, about this unfortunate kingdo
m, about the ill-fated attack. He studied the attack, spoke to survivors, and he reached two conclusions: The first, that the humans had used our own magic against us. The second, that Maristara had been warned of our coming. The only being who could have warned her was one of us, another dragon.”
He halted, glanced around, but no one contradicted him.
“My father theorized that whoever was spying on us for Maristara was being well paid for the information. He asked himself, what does she have that any of us could possibly want? Gold, jewels. Bah!”
He paused as images of sweet flesh formed in their minds. “She has humans.”
The silence was profound. Everyone kept his or her thoughts submerged.
“My father began to ask questions, to pry and meddle. ‘He’s gone mad’—that’s what you said. ‘Let them think me mad,’ he told me. ‘They’ll soon see true madness.’ He received information that pointed to a certain dragon.”
“What is the name?” demanded Anora, sharp-edged. “I don’t know,” said Braun, and a sigh of relief passed softly among the dragons. “He wouldn’t tell me, wouldn’t blacken the name of a noble family until he was certain. The night he left to question this dragon was the night he died, a death that came very conveniently for someone.”
“He should have come to the Parliament,” said Anora. “Would you have listened?” Braun countered. “We are listening—”
“Now that he is dead.”
Anora looked around. No one met her eye. Tails twitched and wings stirred. Talons scratched the floor, tails thumped, and scales rippled.
“We need proof,” said Anora.
“And that is why I am here, Minister. Members,” said Braun, lifting his head proudly, “I did not come seeking your pity. I came because I have a plan.”
Mistress of Dragons Page 4
