by Paul Cude
Shaking his head in bewilderment, fully appreciating all aspects of his friend’s diverse and bizarre personality, the king turned and strolled towards the commander of his army, who was attempting to bring his adversaries over to their way of thinking with, by the looks of things, a great deal of success. After only a few paces, the monarch turned fully back around, and with a smile on his face, shouted,
“Don’t forget... NO MORE USING ME AS BAIT! UNDERSTOOD?”
Still tittering in amusement, tears of laughter splashing down his prehistoric scaled face, the king’s friend nodded and replied,
“Understood!”
And that was pretty much that. Over the course of the next twenty four hours, a significant number of dragons converged on Prtzilline’s former land, providing food, care, guidance, instilling the inhabitants there with belief that a new, kinder way of life was theirs for the taking, and that under the king’s watchful eye, dragons across the planet would not only survive, but flourish. Given what they’d all been through, how they’d been subjugated, tortured and abused physically and mentally, it didn’t take much to win them over, really only a kind touch. So it was, with only a handful of deaths, that the dragon domain king, Greger being his given name, had struck a real victory, turning darkness into light, freeing unjustly treated dragons in all but a day, something of a miracle given the circumstances. All of this took place across an area that today would be regarded as the northern two thirds of Italy, just to give you a geographical idea of where we’re dealing with. Back then though, the architecture of the world looked very different, with some of the great seas landlocked, and whole continents merging together. For the dragons, the mighty rulers of most of the planet, it didn’t really matter as quite a lot of their time was spent underground, colonising vast subterranean caverns, turning them into rudimentary cities, linking them up with gigantic flying tunnels, using their magic and vast knowledge to warm everything up to their liking, with the plentiful supply of roiling hot lava and geothermal energy playing a huge part in exactly that.
Over the course of a week, For’son, acting as the king’s deputy, alongside the diplomats and politicians transformed the land’s capital and outlying regions, making sure that no dragon went hungry, magically fixing dwellings that had become run down, eventually capping all this off with appointing a new leader of the land, one of their own, elected in a fair and democratic way, a dragon that would not only govern that area, but would attend worldwide council meetings regularly, giving the denizens there a voice, something they very much liked the idea of. The only real struggle was the concept of introducing the rule of law, something most of them had never known, well... not in its proper form, only tyranny from the sadistic monster that could change his mind on a whim, murdering in moments, torturing for no apparent reason, doing whatever the hell he wanted to in order to satisfy his sick appetites. Abiding by an agreed set of regulations that conformed across the world was just so foreign and alien to these dragons, that disagreements, clashes and conflict became inevitable, even with the newly elected leader coming down strongly on the side of reform. In the end, the newly freed citizens came round to the idea, but it wasn’t easy, with it being evident there would be many bumps in the road along the way. In what little free time he had, which wasn’t much, a measly few hours in the early hours of the morning, For’son dropped everything and followed one of his chief passions, as the king had suggested, and known all along that without a doubt, he’d be headed down that road, off to what the locals regarded as their repository of supernatural information, or to you and I, the library.
It was a laugh that it could be regarded as that, because in physical terms, it was only really an offshoot of one of the caves that they stored all of their food in for winter, and a grubby and horrid one at that. Full to the brim with spiders, rats and numerous different insect species, it broke the king’s friend’s heart that any kind of books were stored in a place like this, as the warrior had a great respect for anything written down, knowing that it was essential to the future. Libraries and the knowledge contained within them would no doubt play a huge part in the development of his race in the coming centuries, of that he was absolutely certain. Their understanding and thirst for information about absolutely everything would be what kept them at the top of the food chain and maintain their position as rulers of the planet.
Brushing away monstrous spider webs in front of him, ducking down as low as he could go in an effort to get his huge dragon frame into what to him appeared to be nothing more than a closet, he strolled into what supposedly passed for the library here. Immediately his heart dropped. Why? Because of the state of things... tattered scrolls with illegible scribble littered the floor, some with parts torn off, others stained from the damp, clearly of no use to anyone. Lighting the candles around the room with the most delicate squirts of flame he could manage from between his mighty jaws, the ferocious fighter, now very much in scholar mode, perused the furthest corners and the pathetic looking piles of tomes stacked up almost to chest height. As with the scrolls, they were nearly all damaged or broken in some way, shape or form, with covers missing, pages ripped or the ink inside stained or smudged so badly that nothing could be made of the contents within. Anger and sadness vied for dominance within him as he tried to understand how anyone, least of all sentient beings of his own kind, could treat their history and their intelligence like this. Barbaric was really all he could come up with to explain what lay all around in front of him. Clearly there was much here, some of which could shed extraordinary light on the land itself, the local customs and even, he was sure, some of their unusual magic. But to make head or tail of it all seemed an almost impossible task given the dire state of the documents. But after, well... not so much sulking, but feeling sorry for himself and the collection of written words, he pushed himself on, and like the conscientious dragon that he was, sat down and started to sort his way through every last scrap of parchment and paper. It took the best part of a week working through the night, every night, after which he’d consigned everything of even vague importance, magic or otherwise, to his eidetic memory and had thoroughly tidied and catalogued the entire room, repairing what he could, discarding the waste, some of which he was sure would have been valuable had it not been damaged beyond belief. Only then did he gather those in charge in an effort to explain the importance of the magic repository, using all his skills in an effort to make them understand. They said that they did, and that they would protect the material within the tiny cave, but only a small part of him believed them. He hoped they would, and that they could, over time, garner enough experience and knowledge to add to the collection, making it warrant a much bigger and safer new home. Knowing that he’d done all he could, his thoughts focused on finishing his tasks there, eager now to get home and rejoin his friend, the monarch.
And so with the vast majority of politicians, diplomats and troops staying behind to help with setting up the local government, the judiciary, policing, contacting the outer reaches of the land and other more mundane tasks, the king’s friend and protector set off home, knowing that at least for now, things were under control and that the new land, all its residents, as well as the world itself were benefiting significantly from the change in leadership.
Choosing to fly above ground all the way, preferring the sun on his wings and scales rather than being cooped up in the newly built, sometimes claustrophobic underground tunnels, keen to get back to some sense of normality, it took him five hours to return, flying at a leisurely pace. He stopped a couple of times, once to devour a whole sheep, tiny strands of wool from its coat even now stuck in between a few of his back molars, just niggling away at him, on the other occasion taking down a fully grown deer, something that proved much more of a challenge, especially given the sheer scale of its antlers and just how sharp they’d been. Despite his hugely advantageous size, he’d had to fight tooth and nail to take down the buck, incurring heavy scratching around his antediluvian
jaw and nose, risking partial blindness if he got it wrong. But that was part of the thrill, earning the right to eat and making the meal taste that much more sumptuous. Of course, he could have used his divine supernatural abilities to snag it in a heartbeat, but that’s not how it’s done, at least not in his mind. Hunting for food should be exactly that... HUNTING! It shouldn’t be done with just a thought and the flick of a finger or a couple of words reinforced with a dash of will. NO! Exercising primal instincts, the thrill of the hunt, following what was thoroughly embedded in a dragon’s DNA, that’s what it’s all about, as well as respecting the prey that you take down, even those that don’t fight back, like that sheep. He knew that some dragons did it... use magic to hunt. As far as he was concerned though, it made them weak, stupid and lazy, something he most certainly wasn’t.
Landing as light as a feather on a solid rock plateau on the periphery of the capital, just inside the fortifications, on what would now be regarded as central London, his glistening bright blue crystalline scales shivered ever so slightly on hitting a wave of blustery cold air that currently encompassed the seat of power in the true dragon capital. Choosing to walk instead of fly, his extensive wings aching from the journey home, especially across the water due in main to the rough weather, For’son, assuming an air of authority, headed for the main underground entrance to the governmental part of the brightly lit conurbation, passing ordinary dragons going about their normal lives in every shape, scale and colour, acknowledging them with a nod as he did so.
‘What a wonderful world we live in,’ he mused, strolling down a polished rock sidewalk, not even needing to squeeze past others going in the opposite direction, so big was the space allowed. Briefly he wondered when it had become this way. Certainly not as far back as his youth, that’s for sure. Then it was all about roaming the countryside, sticking to your side of the fence, metaphorically speaking, because of course no known fence could contain even the most feeble of dragons. ‘About the last hundred years or so,’ he assumed, answering his own question. First the villages and remote outposts in this great land had come together in a way not ever known before, after that, well... cooperation on a phenomenal scale, across their land anyway. Teaming up had brought good fortune in all sorts of ways. From the sharing of different and ancient magic, to knowledge about construction, healing, food and diet, thoughts on how best to take care of the young, pushing the boundaries of what could be done aerially, as well as a history shared, revealing much about those that had gone before them and best of all, a willingness to learn from both their mistakes and triumphs. Remarkable in such a short space of time, only enhanced and developed further by the vision to incorporate not just the dragons of other countries, but the entire planet, providing peace and sustainability for every single being. A lofty goal for sure, but now they were on the verge of completing their epic adventure, with just Ahrensburg to go. Just... that was a laugh he knew, nodding at the half dozen guards defending the inner gate to what they all thought of as the citadel of power, the place where once every other month councillors, or their representatives at least, met to discuss the world’s politics, promoting bright new ideas, brainstorming how to go forward and what else they could possibly do to enlighten this brave new world. Thinking about all this forced his chest out as far as it would go, like a proud peacock strutting his stuff, his fabulous blue hues not dissimilar to the bird itself. Cutting his way through throngs of his own race, the underground inside not affording nearly the same amount of space as up above, like a dragon on a mission he headed directly for his friend’s office, hoping to grab a quick word.
The wickedly hot heat nibbling at his feet forced him to look down to the floor, marvelling at what he saw. Just visible through the tiny crisscrossing cracks in the stone, intense orange, red and yellow colours swirled and twirled, twisted and writhed, the visceral molten magma a magnet for his mind, drawn towards it, lost in its stunning beauty, elegance and most of all, the radiant heat that it gave off. It was difficult to continue in a straight line. What was odd, he thought, was having the lava there, giving off the sumptuous heat and light, without the effect of the noxious fumes that normally accompanied it. It was a recent development of a timeworn concept, and something the engineers of the capital were exceptionally proud of, he knew. With so many new skills and ideas adding to the pre-existing multitude of magic and innovation on almost a daily basis, from the fresh lands being integrated into the king’s vision of an all encompassing brave new world, the possibilities were almost endless. And that had led to the dragon council forming a committee to oversee original developments that would enhance the basic dragon way of life. Small things, granted, but ones that would provide hope, comfort, relief and separate dragonkind from mindless beasts that just roam the countryside. Heating some of the much larger parts of the capital using the molten magma that much of it is built upon was just one of those ideas. Easy in theory, that is until you have to account for the toxic fumes that still present a threat, even to the ever resilient dragons. And so it was that only a couple of years ago, the brightest minds from across all the incorporated lands had come up with a magical filter that allows the heat and light to pass straight up through the cracks in the paving, whilst at the same time captures the billowing poisonous vapours, before nullifying them completely. Complicated magic executed perfectly, that’s how the monarch had described this one undertaking, spreading details of it to outposts across the globe, allowing all and sundry to reap the rewards of this new found partnership. And that was just the start, already there was more in the offing. New and innovative ways to carve through rock were already being developed alongside food production on a vast scale, including a plan to create one of the staples of dragon life, charcoal, on an industrial scale. Rumours also abounded about a system to provide drinking water to each abode in every city, as well as a cross planet, interconnecting series of flying tunnels that would allow dragons to travel anywhere at any time, negating the elemental elements on the surface such as storms, cyclones and other kinds of weather related events that would hinder travel by air. Progress was thick and fast, something that at times made For’son’s head spin just thinking about it, but as far as he was concerned, it was all very much an improvement on what they had before, when different tribes constantly waged war against each other, savagery of the worst kind, dragon versus dragon, maiming, killing indiscriminately when there was no real need to do so, only because they’d known no other way. And he was old enough to remember... JUST! Enlightenment hadn’t come quickly or easily, but now here it was very much welcomed. If only they could sort out the one land remaining, then their goal could be realised and a suitable era of peace could really begin. But the regular reports of what was happening inside Ahrensburg, smuggled out through an audacious and completely secret pipeline of complicit beings made for fear inspiring reading. Wicked deeds compounded by a sickening brutality were commonplace across the land’s major communities on an hourly basis. Of course their leader was the worst culprit, with those under him coming in a close second, ruling by fear, culling those unbelievers showing even the remotest doubt, torture, mental invasion, sadistic games and MURDER all routine.
Shaking his head, continuing on his way through the twisty maze of corridors, all the time wondering how on earth they were going to solve the conundrum that was the last land to be wrestled out from viciousness, cruelty and ignorance, the fierce protector strode into an open auditorium full of his bustling prehistoric kind, work continuing at a pace.
‘Ahh... the monument,’ he mused, wondering how much it had come along since he’d last been here. ‘A great deal,’ he thought, judging from the ever increasing height and width of it all, hidden behind the dark brown makeshift barricades that had been introduced by the artisan crafters in charge of the project.
The king, known for his appreciation and support of the arts in whatever their form, from dragon opera (something that just has to be heard... think a roaring pride of lions gar
gling glass with indiscriminate snarls of flame thrown into the mix, times ten, and then you might be somewhere close to the right ballpark), cave paintings and tapestry, to some of the finer philosophical tomes ever penned. Keen to keep up to date and appear a modern free thinker, he’d been convinced to sign off on the commission of a huge statue that would represent all that he’d achieved in bringing so much of the planet together. The idea was that it would be finished and presented once the final piece of the puzzle was put into place... Ahrensburg!
Wondering just how they were going to go about bringing that last land into the fold, For’son’s mind wandered back to the artisans and what they were doing. Part of him yearned to let go of his constricted thoughts and just be free, free to do whatever he liked, to express himself in... he didn’t know. Paint sounded fun, or clay, yes... he liked the sound of that. Singing though, most certainly did not. He and most definitely his voice were not designed to be listened to by others, especially not for their pleasure, besides which the thought of standing in front of dragons, trying to manipulate his vocal chords sent a shiver of cold sweat coursing from top to bottom of his scaled tail.
Shaping metal... that appealed more than a little. Growing up, he’d spent many an hour in the forge, soaking up the heat, roiling in sweat, mesmerised by the hot coals changing colour. The darkest black possible slowly gobbled up by the yellow, and then orange and at the height, a sunrise red, set off behind the wavering hot air, allowing the smiths to work their magic, shape the metal, bend and twist that which would otherwise be unmoveable, before time turned what was left to a pale, ashen dust. Intoxicating, that’s what he thought on reliving the memory. What it would be to toil at the forge every day, allow your imagination to run wild, to create... what? Humungous deadly weapons for dragons to wield sounded a little too much. Of course a tiny part of him liked to be armed when it all kicked off, generally something oversized, like a gigantic double-sided axe, a halberd, a scythe or a sickle, all of which over the years he’d used to great effect when necessary. But that’s not the direction in which his mind guided him, right here, right now, as he strolled on towards his friend’s office. Creating fantastical shapes, shimmering and unusual surfaces, structures that had no real meaning or use, all from the visions of his mind’s eye, called to his very nature, which was odd because there were few dragons braver or, when it called for it, more vicious. That side of him only raised its head on the occasions when his friends were in dire trouble or when lives needed to be saved, whether from a brutal dictator or some overwhelming emergency. Up until now, the creative side of his personality had never once shown its face, and given the work he had to do to bring Ahrensburg on side in one last effort to bring peace to the planet, it was unlikely at best that it was going to stick around for very long. And then it struck him, in very much the same way that the hammer in that forge walloped the metal, pounding it into shape, inch by inch, crushing the straight, pummelling the metal’s natural tendencies, altering and improving every dynamic fundamentally, until finally beauty and functionality combined to produce the magnificent. Caught up in that special place deep within his mind where a dragon’s magic resides, he could see himself at the forge, hear the pulverising of the ore, feel the heat battering his body, sweat pouring off every scale as his muscles ached beyond belief. But instead of producing massive mighty weapons that would complement him in battle, he could just make out statues and structures all with the same theme, one that he loved more than all others, one that gave him the solace that he needed at times, healing his very soul, filling him with purpose, making him believe anything was possible... THE SEA!
