Peril & Profit

by M. H. Johnson

  Such a connection was the mark of a true form smith. Sorn was in fact so strongly in tune with his true essence that should Sorn have offspring, even though his children would not be dragons, they would still carry a fair amount of the dragon's essence and power, nonetheless. It pleased him to know that in this way, at least, even if he could never return to his own realm, he could still mate and have children that carried a bit of his own essence and power in their makeup.

  His random reflections once again tuned to the background, he continued to focus the majority of his energies on his favorite creation. Indeed, his focus between his forms became such that he started to lose track over whether he was the dragon healing the man, or the man being healed by the dragon. He knew that his thoughts had begun to wander, yet he was not quite sure whose thoughts they were.

  Sorn, aware that he was floating, somehow, feeling calm and at peace. Yet his mind's eye couldn't help reflecting upon those interplaying streams of power between his three forms that were so much a part of his being. The internal matrix of energies appeared in his mind's eye not as a tiny flickering torch off in the distance, but rather like a roaring bonfire, hot with readily accessible potential. It seemed that the connection between his forms was growing noticeably stronger, even over the mere span of the last several weeks. For some reason, this chilled him, though he could not say why.

  Sorn shook his head in wry bemusement at his fanciful speculations. He was well aware of the patent absurdity of all of this, having had it methodically pounded into his head by his grandfather that it took ages for even the best form masters to be able to tap into their arcane energies with anywhere near the same proficiency in alternate shapes as they could in their high-pitched forms. Were his grandfather to hear Sorn's claims that not only did he feel his arcane essence flickering almost as brightly in mortal form as it did in Wyrm form already, but that he felt that his arcane essence was burning more hotly in both forms over a period of just a few weeks would have resulted in the caverns echoing with his grandfather's bemused laughter.

  He would be quick to gently chide Sorn for his clouded perception, counseling Sorn to take pride simply in having mastered a feat that was already remarkable for any shapeshifter, the mark of a true form master, and absolutely unheard of in a clutchling that hadn't even reached his full maturity yet. To have so mastered a form as to have it echo his own life cycle was a feat near unheard of, even for the wisest of form masters. For Sorn was no longer just a cleverly constructed simulacrum, a sentient cage for his essence with no true life force of its own. Rather, Sorn had evolved to the point of becoming a fully functioning living creature, his own essence imprinted upon every fiber of his being. Sorn did not know when or how the transition had occurred, only that it had.

  His grandfather asserted that in large part it was due to the increasingly strong resonance between his true form and his crafted one. As his mortal form became capable of holding ever increasing amounts of his true essence, a point was reached wherein nature itself began to resonate between the two shapes, so that the physical shell that was Sorn echoed his essence, as opposed to simply containing it.

  Thus, he had achieved the pinnacle feat of the form master, his alternate form having achieved life in truth, able to serve as a conduit for his life force as well as his true form. Any offspring he had by Sorn would mirror Sorn's physical form, of course, being mostly but not entirely human, but rather supernaturally strong and resilient, as his present form had to be to contain his power. They would be like him in terms of sorcerous potential, physical strength and vitality, and emotional temperament as well. They would not, however, inherit his true shape, nor his desperate need for food, having only one shape to maintain. In that way alone would they be lacking. In all other ways, they would be his offspring in truth.

  That Sorn had echoed Elthsiss in his burgeoning maturity was first viewed with skepticism by many, who chose to credit Elthsiss instead with artistry for having eloquently mirrored Sorn's form so as to match his own coming of age. Elthsiss's claims that he did nothing but delve into the form of Sorn wholeheartedly were met with the looks of sardonic bemusement so characteristic of his people's gentle condescension.

  It was only when a concerned Sorn found himself being quietly led to his grandfather by his mother, her scales near glowing with a warm contentment, that he had any idea how interested his mother truly was in his form crafting. For she had actually given her father a rare bow of her head upon bringing Sorn to him, a sign of deepest respect, crediting one with profound achievement when given from a female to a male. It had been a tremendously embarrassed Sorn, still not allowed to turn into his native form as he instinctively wanted to do, that found himself before the stiff-necked body of the several hundred serpents that comprised the elders of his clan.

  His embarrassment turned to outright humiliation when his grandfather solemnly brought forth a minuscule looking vial held ever so gently between his claws, its contents glowing brightly. It was at that moment that his mother gave a cry of triumph, declaring Sorn's seed to be potent, and thus any offspring Sorn should have would carry a shard of Sorn's power for generations throughout time. Irrefutable proof that her son was a true master of forms.

  The drops, he realized, must have been collected from his human bed, where he frequently slept to better master his form. So often when he did do so of late he would find himself dreaming strange dreams, however. Not of flying behind sleek winged shapes through thundering skies as he often did as Elthsiss, but rather of bipedal forms with rich red hair that flowed like flame, and deep green eyes mirroring Sorn's most precious emeralds, luring him to warm aches he could barely describe.

  "The seed does resonate, through and through," his grandfather said of the glowing vial he still held before him.

  The crowd of elders was now silent, contemplating what Sorn could not fathom. Indeed, it wasn't until the three other form masters of his clan approached his grandfather and gave a soft hiss, showing that they vouched for his declaration, that the tableau unfroze, at which point the crowd all turned to Sorn, deep obsidian eyes unblinking. It was then that Sorn knew that they accepted his mother's claim. Their polite silent regard of him was itself a tremendous sign of respect to be given to one who was little more than a clutchling, still in his mother's nest.

  What awed an already overwhelmed Sorn even more was the subtle nodding of their heads, as if Sorn's person was suddenly worthy of their company. It was a gesture of respect given to few nestlings indeed, save young females being groomed for future matriarchy. To give such respect to a male, let alone a child, still living in his mother's nest, was absolutely unheard of, save for dark legends of bygone eras. Thus it was perhaps not surprising that a brightly blushing Sorn, head roaring with confusion and embarrassment, had absolutely no idea what to do or say.

  "See?" his mother roared happily. "Notice his mortal flushing! So like the elves and yet not, so perfectly like these humans. Not alabaster white like a statue, but flushing, echoing perfectly the awe and chagrin Elthsiss would demonstrate were he before your esteemed peerage in his true form! Elthsiss has achieved resonance between his forms!"

  "Resonance has been achieved," echoed his grandfather and the three other form masters with no small amount of reverence.

  "Resonance has been achieved, in one so young!" could be heard being whispered animatedly throughout the council chamber.

  Sorn could sense their excitement. It was eerie, awesome, and chilling to be the focus not only of acknowledgment but of outright interest, even fascination by those hundreds of elders, all possessing a terrible might, and all of them, save his grandfather, females. So much more powerful and revered than Sorn would ever be even as an adult male, let alone a clutchling, that it was all he could do not to squeal like an infant and flee under his mother's wings in terror.

  It was then that the presence of the most formidable figure of the clan made itself known, as evidenced by the flurry of flapping wings and bowed n
ecks sent her way. She who had been gifted with the royal jelly by the old queen before the former matriarch was ceremonially eaten by the new queen herself, whose arcane energies flared so bright it caused Sorn's eyes to tear. Besides being the most potent of their number in terms of fire and magic both, she was also the largest figure in the room, and perhaps the most graceful as well. Her fearsome presence, mithril scales sparkling a brilliant red and gold from lights arcane and reflected, was near blinding at that moment, and was a sight to send the whole council of elders politely quivering in terror before she dimmed her glow. She was also, of course, his mother's sister, and mother herself to the clutchlings it had been Sorn's duty to watch over, care for, and teach, for a handful of years now.

  "You have done well, Elthsissa." The queen rumbled in greeting to her sister.

  "He will be a worthy fount of life to our clan when he matures," his mother said, fairly preening under her sister's compliment.

  It was at that point, of course, that the queen of the strongest clan of their realm turned her jeweled orbs to a quaking Sorn himself.

  "And you, Elthsiss, known as Sorn, are you pleased with my charge? For my little ones take pleasure in you and account you a fine denmother. Their grasp of arcane lore and the lore of forms both has grown far beyond that of most wyrms of their years."

  Sorn, of course, was too awed to speak quickly enough for his mother, being so addressed by the matron of the clan herself, and it was only after picking himself up, rubbing his head lightly after having been casually lashed to the ground by his mother’s tail in her momentary fit of pique, that he was able to address her properly. A blow that would have effortlessly caved in the skull and broken the back of a normal human was nothing unusual for his mother to use to bring him back to his senses. It was fortunate indeed that this form was so infused with Elthsiss's essence that it had resulted in extreme durability as well as mirrored life cycles and true fertility in Sorn.

  "My queen mother," he said at last, "it is a pleasure and the greatest of honors to be so entrusted with the care of your young."

  Sorn had fallen to his knees as he said this, adopting the human approximation of bared throat that all males were to take in addressing their queen, and many younger females did as well, as a sign of respect and deference to her. It was incredibly rare, of course, for any male to be so addressed by the queen herself, unless, of course, that male was her father, mate, or offspring.

  She gazed at him silently for several moments, causing Sorn to quake in true terror now, wondering if his hesitancy had earned him the queen's displeasure and an unpleasant end to be sure. His aunt's voice, however, was quite calm when next she spoke, even dry. "Become a crow, Elthsiss. It pleases me to see you as a crow."

  Sorn, of course, complied instantly with his aunt the queen mother's request, flapping immediately to the queen's shoulder, terrible honor that it was. It was the place he knew she liked her form masters to perch when they were in the form of a crow, as his grandfather had told him in hushed tones, long ago.

  Symbolic of civilization, wisdom, tolerance, and the prudence needed to avoid racial self-destruction, much of the lore surrounding this potent cultural symbol was lost to the ages of time. It was a revered figure nonetheless, worshiped by all the subjugate races as a figure of mercy the gods used to intercede on their behalf, and indeed, it was 'by the crow' that most contracts between dragons themselves were signed. It was widely believed that keeping the lessons of caution and insight taught by the spirit of the crow ages ago to what were then a rapacious and impulsive race of dragons is what had allowed them to develop into the incredibly powerful force they were today. Loose confederation of allied clans and queens they may be, yet one whose contracts and codes of conduct allowed for perfect cooperation when it was needed, allowing them to work as a seamless whole that dominated the lands and skies of multiple worlds.

  The crow was thus one of the three creatures that dragons held sacred, in addition to the unicorn and the phoenix. The punishment for hunting such was, not surprisingly, death. It was, of course, only the least educated of recently subjugated races that would even think to do so.

  So too, it was yet a further indicator of a true form master to be able to take on and fly in any avian shape save their own. Sorn's grandfather and those three he accounted his equal were the only other ones able to take avian forms and fly in them in his clan. Feathers, as Sorn well knew, were an incredibly tricky feat to master, along with hollowed bones strong enough still to contain their owner's essences.

  So of course it was the form of the crow or the phoenix that form masters would most likely seek to master, the very ability to do so once again differentiating them from other dragons. And this was one reason, Sorn secretly thought, why his grandfather, master of both those forms, was accounted so much respect so as to be treated nearly the equal of many female elders. That, and the fact that he was father to the queen, of course.

  Sorn meant nothing presumptuous when he himself flew to roost upon her shoulder, though he did here several very muffled gasps. It was just what he had seen all other form masters do upon taking that form in her presence, and indeed, by the queen's preening posture, she was well pleased with Sorn's choice of perch.

  "You see," she said, voice booming before all, resonating with her pleasure. "My father's grandson, a natural form master, and a worthy denmother for my own sons. He himself barely out of the clutch, yet when he takes our most revered form he instinctively knows to honor me, thus showing the approval our totem guardian has for my rule. Blessings be upon the crow!"

  "Blessings be!" Roared the entire assembly in unison. Sorn was so startled, he nearly fell from his perch.

  "Let your eyes fall upon Elthsiss and be pleased," she said at last, near stunning Elthsiss with that high compliment.

  She then held her wings low to her sides, as clear a signal for Sorn to leave his perch as any he could care for, and strode out to the cave entrance, flapping her wings once before taking off. Her majestic form glided effortlessly through winds ethereal and mundane as she prepared to hunt whatever creature caught her gaze, many thousands of feet below. The hunt was for pleasure, of course, their race having all of its needs met via their subjects. Yet the pleasure of the hunt was long ingrained in their being, and even Sorn could feel the hunger of its calling.

  Yet now it was such that hunts were by and large controlled things, a signal given to servants below to release whatever tame and well-fed animal a dragon would have for dinner, allowing said dragon a few moments of pleasure with little challenge, really, before digging in for the meal. Such was, of course, a necessary thing, considering the population of dragons and the efficiency of raising livestock in a controlled fashion, as many of their subjects could do so well. Indeed, far more livestock was available for all, herded and cared for by the lesser races, than would ever have been available if left to wild chance. This revelation being just one of the many lessons of wisdom and prudence that had been taught under the banner of the crow, for the benefit of all. For in truth, without the carefully controlled raising and consumption of livestock, the clans could never have grown so powerful as they had.

  Only the queens of various clans and a few select others could engage in the far more exhilarating challenge of the wild hunt. On the other hand, none grew hungry, no hot tempers led to the death of many and the destruction of their civilization as they fought for limited food sources, and of further benefit, now much leisure time was to be had for pursuits both arcane and eclectic. Sorn himself had to admit that he had never once gone hungry for all that he would have craved more active hunts more frequently, so once again the lessons of the revered crow had proven themselves to be a boon to his people.

  Indeed, Sorn's present feathered form was one which he had practiced at his grandfather's behest until he had mastered it near as well as he had his human form, to his grandfather's great pleasure. The joy of seeing his grandfather's sapphire eyes twinkling with delight was suffi
cient to compel him to practice, even though the truth of the matter was that he found this form considerably less interesting than that of a man with his clever digits that were so useful for holding tomes, writing with quills, and channeling magics. Still, it was fun to fly as a crow, and they did require far less food. Additionally, such was their honor and the privilege accorded to the form, that a dragon in crow form could hunt whenever he chose. It helped that a crow's dietary needs were near minuscule, of course.

  That the queen had never seen Sorn as a crow before had not been at all apparent in the confidence with which she requested that Sorn change forms for her pleasure. Her confidence in him was touching, and it was with a warm glow that he preened himself until he stopped to notice all the elders rather silently facing him, some three hundred pairs of obsidian eyes staring at him unblinking.

  Sorn would have blushed if he could, so overwhelmed he was by the crowd's silent regard, realizing only then that none save his immediate family had known of his facility with his present avian form. So too he had been granted a very high compliment indeed by his aunt before she had left, evidenced by the soft, almost ritualistic phrase echoed throughout the chamber.

  "Our eyes do gaze upon Elthsiss the crow, and we are pleased." The assembly calmly turned in eerie unison to face his mother, who apparently got whatever silent message was directed her way.

  "Come, Sorn," she said, voice hushed with no small bit of reverence, and Sorn flew around his mother's form as she quickly strode out of the council chamber, along with her father. Sorn could hear the whispered murmur of conversations at his back as they made their retreat.

  Of course, he thought wryly, for all the genuine high regard they may now have for him, he was still a male, and mostly a child at that. So it went without saying that he had absolutely no place in discussions between elders.

  "You have been highly honored, my son," his mother hissed in rare pleasure once the three of them were back at Sorn's own quarters, comfortable indeed, and a gift from the queen herself upon taking the role of denmother for his cousins a number of years ago, though his chambers had been presented to him by his mother. They overlooked a majestic view of the mountain valley below, clouds ebbing gracefully below and above the cavernous complex that housed a number of his clan.