Peril & Profit

by M. H. Johnson

  His grandfather also gave his grandson a fond look, minus the lick, of course, now speaking to Sorn directly as was their want in private.

  "You and I both know your mother. Though I love her, I know well the depth of the task she has put before you."

  "As in impossible," Sorn said wryly.

  "If anyone is capable, Sorn, I would not be surprised if it were you. And indeed, grandson, your glory would then be the stuff of legends."

  With those words of attempted comfort, his grandfather made his own way out, with one last parting comment.

  "Don't forget, grandson, the queen has recognized you as the form master that you are, in terms of depth if not breadth of skill, at least, and all honor the sacred crow. I hear, by the way, that there is good hunting in the cellars." With a parting smile, his grandfather turned once again, slithering contentedly to his own quarters.

  Sorn, of course, was happy to be reminded of that nugget, still shivering with the tear of memory his grandfather had given him. His mother could hardly be mad at him, should he turn into the crow once in a while, sacred form that it was, now recognized by the clan as a whole, representative of his skill as a form master, and through him, an honor to her as well. And it was true that as a crow, small and sacred form that it was, he could hunt at leisure, and there were indeed any number of tasty rodents that made their way into the grain stores used to feed their servants and the dragons themselves, when taking humanoid form.

  Indeed, mammalian cooking was a delicious treat all on its own that a fair number of his people indulged in from time to time, especially since so much of the thrill had gone out of the hunt in the last few centuries, almost all animals being tame and fresh out of their stalls as Sorn heard his elders like to complain of during dinner conversation. If anything, his mother should be pleased with his taking care of some vermin. With that happy thought, Sorn immediately shifted into the sacred crow and flew off for the cellars to begin his hunting duties in earnest.

  Thus it was with a full belly, small as it was, that Sorn the crow had reflected sometime later upon his mother's words, that he must teach his cousins as well as he could to prepare them to participate in the conquest of the humans whose form he knew so well. The irony was, of course, that he had grown to care for these people, to believe more and more that there must be a way other than absolute domination to coexist peacefully with this fascinating race, full of creativity and brilliance as well as chaos. Indeed, as his study of their languages and cultures opened his eyes to other ways of living, his belief that there must be some alternative method of interaction grew ever stronger.

  This had consequently made him all the more sympathetic to those other races his clan had at their disposal. Increasingly questioning his own race's values, though only silently in his own mind, of course, Sorn had sought answers in the only way he could.

  By quiet study in any number of tomes lent to him by an indulgent grandfather, he began to uncover the buried and forgotten glories of civilizations and cultures his people had destroyed eons ago. Their majesty and accomplishments had often times been lost forever via his people's annihilating fires, burnt to ash in wave after wave of dragons bent on conquest. All male, of course. Some of them, often enough, dreaded Darkwings. It was, all and all, amazing that even fragments of these subjugated races' culture and lore had survived those initial terrible waves of fiery destruction that had brought so many civilizations to their knees.

  All Sorn could do, he knew, was to teach his cousins empathy and compassion as best he could, so that they would rule gently and well, should fate decree that they, who could shift their forms as Sorn had taught them, should one day be the ones to bridge the barrier between worlds. Though his cousins had yet to achieve a true link with their second forms sufficient for their second shape to carry their life force and mirror their bodies in truth, nonetheless, their mastery was absolutely unheard of at their age, save for Sorn himself.

  Still, it could well fall on them to surpass the barrier and open the way between the worlds for their people, as opposed to their older brethren, who had been groomed for that role for over a century. For Sorn's older cousins, despite all their might, were unable to shift their forms worth a damn. It was just not a skill they had. And thus they had no resonance at all with the forms they wished to dominate, nor with the world that race called home. It was a resonance which Sorn and his younger cousins did have, and which could well allow his younger cousins to bridge that chasm between realms via subtlety and affinity, should their older siblings be unable to do so by brute force alone.

  It was not a thought Sorn's older cousins suffered hearing in their presence, of course, for besides signifying intolerable failure on their part, it also meant their being consigned to the void for eternity, lost in the rift between worlds.

  Though those chosen four refused to contemplate the possibility of failure, it was of course why their younger brothers had been conceived in the first place. They had been created so as to have a natural affinity for the realm they sought to overtake, their ability to learn the human form indicative of both that sought after natural affinity and Sorn's skill as a teacher.

  The method of their creation, complex conjoining that it was, had without question been exceedingly unorthodox. Of course, when only three of the queen's second clutch successfully hatched, all had thought the experiment a failed one, though none had dared to voice the sentiment aloud, as it took a quartet to open the gate. Despite this, the trio had been placed in Sorn's care nearly from the start, regardless of Sorn's own tender years.

  And so Sorn had found himself suddenly burdened with three highly curious, inquisitive, and restless little wyrmlings, not even able to communicate symbolically, yet immediately bonding to Sorn, knowing instinctively that he was their denmother. Thus Sorn had found himself in the role of a parent, trying to juggle arcane studies with caring for three very rambunctious youths. It had been a major challenge despite having been granted far more spacious quarters by the queen herself, complete with a well-constructed child-proof nest.

  He had found himself frequently exasperated and constantly exhausted, while simultaneously feeling such a fierce protectiveness and affection for his curious little cousins and their flickering inquisitive tongues that he could hardly describe it. He would surround them with his protective bulk when they slept at night, comfort their mewling cries with his warmth and food brought to him regularly by servants to feed them during the day. Surprisingly, he would often find that his frustrations of the day before would melt into a warm forgiving love as he gazed upon their adorable little forms curled up asleep in the moonlight.

  The only thing really unusual was that Sorn had been given the role of denmother at such a young age. Yet in this, as in all things, he was given little leeway, his prodigal nature seeming to signal a challenge for his relatives to test him to his limits, however they could. His relatives, for whatever reason, had been quite opposed to allowing him a normal upbringing. Instead, they strove to push him in numerous ways both arcane and draconic, though he could not fathom why, being as he was only a male, after all, and not even the progeny of a sacred conjoining at that.

  Still, his experiences and the challenges he had overcome had broadened him and gave him insights unusual for his years. Of some consolation to him was the realization that the better he coped with the challenges thrown his way, particularly the care of his cousins, the greater the likelihood that one day he would be chosen to sire broods of his own to powerful females of this, or other clans.

  Fortunately, despite their rather short attention spans, his cousins had taken to Sorn and his teachings with an enthusiasm and zeal that Sorn had found heartwarming. Their tremendous potential was evident simply in how well they had been able to generate a human simulacrum, near flawless in physical appearance, for all that the three insisted on using the same one. Over time they too would hopefully be able to achieve resonance between their forms, making their sympathetic connecti
on to the world their clan would one day claim all the stronger. If Sorn's older cousins failed to bridge the gateway between worlds by brute force, Sorn had no doubt that his younger cousins would be expected to bridge the gap by the strength of their resonance alone, and Sorn loved them too much not to make them as ready as possible.

  11

  "Elthsiss," whispered a voice gently in the back of his mind. "We’re hungry!"

  Elthsiss yawned, dreams of the past dissipating like dawn's early midst under the weight of the present, great cavernous jaws showing a number of razor sharp teeth. "I, as well. Give me a moment, however. I still need to reconnect with Sorn."

  "He's such a spoilsport," grumbled one of his cousins, though he quickly settled down with one raised eyelid from Elthsiss, who was well skilled at keeping his cousins in line in whatever form he chose.

  "He is also a lot more tolerant of your antics than I. Give me credit for a creation with compassion. You certainly owe it."

  With an enigmatic smile for his suddenly cowed cousin, whom he comforted with a gentle brush of his tail against said youngling's torso, Elthsiss proceeded to merge his mind with that of Sorn. The first thing he processed was that near alien and irritating sensation known as pain. His most serious wound wasn't completely healed as a human, and now that he was actively using the awareness, senses, and emotional matrix that was Sorn, he too felt that pain. Still, the superficial wounds had been fully repaired, and even the serious wound was mostly healed, only half an inch deep, but Elthsiss was fatigued and needed to feed.

  Once he and his creation had merged, however, he also fully understood its reluctance to pursue the rather tasty man-things he could smell some distance away on the beach. Feeling, sentient, capable of conscious thought, capable of experiencing joy, sorrow, hope, and laughter, just like he. Slightly alien, like Sorn, but just as Sorn was precious to him, he knew that each of their lives were precious them. To kill and eat one for no reason was wrong, just like someone attempting to kill and eat one of his own kind would be wrong. Not that eating people would be anywhere near as bad as harming dragons, of course, but it would be wrong all the same. After all, the thought of someone harming a person he cared about made his own blood boil.

  Of course, he had come to similar conclusions on his own, but felt it all the more keenly, having reestablished his link with Sorn.

  "You're right, little ones, we need to eat," Sorn said, now fully merged with and so choosing to identify himself by the name of his creation, even though Sorn's awareness was now auxiliary to his dragon awareness, as opposed to the other way around, as would be the case when he took Sorn's shape in its entirety.

  "But we're not eating people, Fitz," Sorn warned, reminding his cousin that he was fully merged now, and that his cousins should be as well.

  "They don't have to be good people, Elthsiss… I mean Sorn," Lieberman suggested brightly. "We could go after all those nasty people laying siege to that city."

  Sorn gave a ponderous shake of his massive head. “No, cousin, I think not. They have siege engines which, though unlikely to hit you, could still injure or at least stun you, if a boulder landed on your thick skull. More to the point, their mounted crossbows could certainly do us harm if they hit us in the eye or the throat, perhaps."

  There was no mortal weapon devised that Sorn knew of, save mithril forged from the bones of his people, that could pierce their incredibly tough scales. For all that the likelihood of a siege crossbow or trebuchet actually scoring a hit on a maneuvering dragon was minuscule, it was there, nonetheless.

  Massive bolts of steel might never pierce their scales, yet it was still quite possible for the tremendous power behind a siege bolt to pierce the eye, or a boulder to strike the skull. And should a siege weapon strike them in the neck, the stunning force of the blow could easily disorient them if not stun them outright. Absolute folly if they were to crash, and assuming they avoided such, it would still necessitate immediate retreat to a place of safety for a healing sleep, lest the tissues swell, dangerously so.

  The odds would be near infinitesimal when Sorn and his cousins took to the skies, but should they be pinned to the earth, somehow, they would suddenly be taking a far graver risk, confronting a massive army without reinforcements or cover. And to risk debilitating injury when there would be no reprieve, only endless thousands of troops rushing in to take advantage of momentary weakness as trebuchets and ballistae prepared to pummel the injured target with as much force and fury as they could... it was a thought too horrid to contemplate.

  Nonetheless, Sorn grandfather had raised no fools. Odds could be shifted ever more in their favor. It was all a matter of tactics and planning.

  "If we were to direct our appetites upon them, we would have to start by taking on the army in careful, calculated strikes, destroying their siege crossbows under cover of darkness, then their trebuchets, flying off only to return minutes later, striking from a different angle, keeping them forever off balance, unable to effectively regroup and reposition their ballistae. Only when we have completely hamstrung them, destroyed every last trace of siege weaponry and wizard, only then dare we attempt to feed, picking off stragglers and immediately flying off before they can regroup."

  Sorn gazed firmly at his kin as they twined about.

  "Even then our risk is reduced, but not eliminated. A single error could have horrible consequences. And I will tell you, cousins, I fear what it will do to your psyches if you were to start feasting on humans. It is a delicate situation, and I pity your bellies as I do mine. We will go back to the port in the shapes known best there, proceed to the nearest inn, and eat as much as we can."

  "But it's hard to fill my belly in that shape," Fitz pined.

  "I am well aware of that, cousin," Sorn commiserated, heaving a great sigh. "But remember also that you only use a fraction of the energy you normally do when in that form. So though we are always hungry we are never 'hungry'. Fortunately, all we have done is some light swimming and sleeping. I have expended more energy than the rest of you with repairing Sorn, so rest assured, I feel the hunger as well."

  "But you also got to eat those raiders, we didn't," grumbled Hanz, though he took a care not to complain too loudly.

  Sorn was definitely less tolerant of their antics in his true form, whatever name he went by. But today he was in an understanding mood, comforted by having had his cousins company during his time of injury, however much his true form remained unharmed.

  "Fear not, cousins. When we head back to York, we feast. I promise you that. There is no siege there, so we can purchase livestock and eat them outside of the city limits, under cover of darkness, to our heart's content. That was the purpose of this voyage, after all. A farm would give us a continuous supply of meat, but until such is purchased, we have ample funds to spare!"

  "Are you and Halence going to get more gold today?" Fitz inquired eagerly.

  "Indeed we are, assuming that Halence is all right, and our plans have not been changed because of the raid, of course. Just think, cousins, with the royals we will be bringing in, in addition to the gold we already have, we are well on our way to creating a genuine hoard of our own!"

  Sorn writhed in happiness, his scales brushing against his cousins, all of them hissing happily in delight.

  "Gold is so beautiful," Lieberman sighed. "Too bad we have to spend some of it on livestock."

  "Remember, cousin," Sorn consoled, "the first rule of gold in this mercantile realm of trade is that it serves first as a means to an end. It is not the end. And remember, not only can we use our gold to buy what we need, but we can also use our gold to grow yet more wealth."

  Sorn spent a few moments rolled over on his back, happily rubbing his back scales against the sand, voice sonorous in its reverence for wealth.

  “It is almost as if gold were a seed able to sprout into a mighty fruit bearing tree, supplying us with nourishment continuously. All it needs is the rich opportunities provided by trade to fertilize our s
eed of wealth and catalyze the germination of a trade empire of our own.

  "Alternatively, we could invest our gold in land, and thus use it to grow our wealth through livestock, crops, and fruit trees! The ideal method would be to buy vast tracks of cheap scrubland on the borderlands, as Lord Canterbier suggested we could, then clear it out of vermin and bandits, as needed. Then we can raise livestock, or pay animal handlers to raise our livestock, selling what we don't eat. The gold we use in that venture would supply us continuously with what we need. Furthermore, we could sell vegetable crops or fruit to the people for a profit."

  Sorn basked in contentment at the thought. "Think, cousins. We could own huge tracts of land, thousands of sheep or chicken or cows, and still have most of our wealth left over for trade! We could take the most daring voyages, make a huge profit, make a fortune like we are now, and the humans will pay us willingly! Happily! They will be happy to give us our gold! Isn't trade grand, cousins?"

  "Sure, Sorn. Of course," the cousins said halfheartedly.

  "Well then, let's get back to port and make some more gold! And first, of course, we eat." With those words, his cousins were all too happy to slide themselves into the cool seawater and begin to swim their way to the port. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Sorn asked wryly of the form effortlessly sliding through the waters next to him.

  "There is no way I’m going to swim that distance as Lieberman!" his cousin declared hotly, giving Sorn an irritated hiss.

  "No, silly!" Sorn said with a rumble that passed for laughter in his present form. "Like this." He stared off into space for a moment, and promptly faded from sight.

  "Oh, I knew that," said an embarrassed young dragon amidst the chiding snickers of his already invisible siblings, and moments later, he too faded from sight

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