Dragonforge

'Save your breath, Graxen. You cannot understand the burden I bear, the responsibility of ensuring the strength of our race for eons to come. You haven't the capacity to judge me.'

'Why not?' asked Graxen. 'Presumably, as your child, I was designed to inherit your intelligence.'

He studied the tapestry that bore Androkom's bloodlines. Was the thread of his own life marked somewhere upon this canvas? 'What's more, I presume my father must have possessed many desirable traits to have been chosen as your mate.'

'You are so transparent, Graxen,' the matriarch said. 'You will not learn your father's name from me.'

'Why?' Graxen asked. 'Other sky-dragons know their heritage. Why has the identity of my father been kept secret from me?'

'His bloodline ended with the production of an unfavorable aberration. His identity is no longer of any importance. You are his only offspring. When you pass from this world, the danger he represented will be at an end.'

'I could have passed from this world at my birth,' said Graxen. 'Other aberrations have been drowned in the lake. Why was I allowed to live?'

The matriarch lifted her fore-talon in a dismissive gesture. 'What a pointless question. You are alive now; you have a purpose in life, however menial, of messenger to the king. So far, you have shown an appalling lack of competence in carrying out your duties. What was Shandrazel's message?'

'I bring an invitation. Shandrazel is convening a summit in three days. He wishes to invite leaders from throughout the kingdom to discuss the end of the era of kings, and to help design a new era of equality and justice for all races.'

The matriarch released a barking noise that Graxen at first took as a cough, but then realized was a laugh. 'Equality? There is no equality in this world and never will be. The earth has produced four intelligent species, it is true, but it is self-evidently absurd to think they are equal.'

'Shandrazel feels differently. When you hear him speak on the matter, I believe you will find his arguments compelling.'

'I hope you find it compelling when humans are marching with dragon heads atop their pikes,' the matriarch grumbled. 'They are merely tall and talkative monkeys, with baser urges unchecked by reason. Their animalistic breeding practices mean they outnumber us by a thousand to one. Granting them freedom is dangerously irresponsible.'

'I've had little experience with humans. If they're truly as primitive as you say, what threat can they pose?'

The matriarch shook her head at Graxen's ignorance. She sighed. 'This is only one more crisis to be managed. Fly back to Shandrazel. Tell him I will send an envoy to his summit. There must be someone there to serve as the voice of reason.'

'Thank you,' said Graxen.

'You've delivered your message,' the matriarch said, turning her back to him once more. 'Now take your leave.

'I've had a long journey,' said Graxen. 'Isn't it customary to offer a messenger of the king time to rest, to partake of food and water?'

'You have said Shandrazel doesn't respect custom,' said the matriarch. 'He could have sent a member of his aerial guard. Why send you, if not as deliberate taunt?'

'Shandrazel has no interest in the bloodlines of sky-dragons. I don't believe he knows I am your son.'

'I am to believe it is only coincidence he chose you?'

'No. When Shandrazel was banished by Albekizan, he sought shelter at the College of Spires. Chapelion sent him away. But I felt pity for Shandrazel and followed him. I served as his messenger in exile. Now, I serve him openly. Still, you are correct. My presence here isn't chance. I asked for this mission. It was my one chance to ask… to ask…'

'Don't stammer,' she snapped

Graxen felt as if the simplest words were almost impossible to utter. He stared at the frayed threads that had been Androkom, and suddenly grew aware of hundreds of similar threads representing the conclusions of bloodlines. He knew he was one of them.

'I want to mate,' said Graxen. 'It grieves me to think that your thread ends with me. The color of my hide is only a superficial flaw. In every other way, I believe I am an excellent candidate to carry on your bloodline. I'm strong, I'm studious, I'm-'

'Get out,' she said.

'But, if you'll-'

'Valkyries!' she shouted.

The tapestries on the wall bulged outward. A score of valkyries emerged from hidden passageways, spears readied. Graxen's gut twisted as he realized they must have been listening to his every word. Sky-dragons were supposed to be creatures of intellect, devoid of the lusts that fouled lesser beings. His shameful confession of the desire to breed had no doubt been heard by all these warriors.

'I'll go,' he said.

'You arrived with great speed,' one of the valkyries growled. 'Let your departure match it.'

Grinding gears vibrated through the stone walls as Graxen climbed the steps from the Thread Room back toward the tower he'd entered. Arriving at the high chamber, he found the iron bars now raised. Valkyries stood in twin rows, forming a living hallway through which he passed. He lowered his eyes as he walked, unable to bear the icy stares of the females.

As he leapt to the balcony rail and spread his wings, he heard a muttered word from one of the guards behind him: 'Freak.'

He tilted forward, falling toward the spikes below. Rust and moss and damp sand scented the air that rushed across his face. His feather-scales toyed with the air, pulling him out and away from the spikes in a gentle arc, until, an instant before he dashed against the rocky shore, he flapped his wings and shot forward, then up, into a bright winter sun that failed to warm him.

A moment later he passed over the edge of the dam. The sky in all directions was thick with valkyries. He felt a stir of grim pride that he was sufficiently threatening to justify such a force.

He followed the river once more, adhering to its twists and turns, lost in thought. What did it matter that he wouldn't be allowed to breed? There were hundreds of dragons who shared his fate. More, there were male dragons who refused the chance even when offered. Many prominent biologians believed that any mingling of the sexes would muddy the mind; they dared not risk the damage even a single night of passion might cause to their intellect. The fact that Androkom wouldn't be invited to breed would perhaps not bother him at all. Metron, the former high biologian, had famously refused an invitation to the Nest with the words: 'I would rather history judge me by my works rather than the quality of my biological debris.'

As he flew, Graxen's musing about breeding slowly gave way to thoughts of food. The king's messengers traveled light, relying on the hospitality of those they were sent to speak to. Fortunately, his next destination wasn't far. The town of Dragon Forge was no more than thirty miles distant.

The terrain changed as Graxen neared the town. The nearly pristine forested mountainsides that surrounded the Nest gave way to rolling hills, many of them stripped of trees. Giant mounds of rusting metal dotted the landscape, and ragged shanty towns sat beside muddy stream banks. Humans in rags trudged along, hauling carts full of rusting scraps. These were gleaners, men who made their living by scouring the landscape in search of relics from a previous age, incomprehensible artifacts crafted from steel that had long ago decayed into rust. Yet, even rust had value-the gleaners sold their wares to the foundries of Dragon Forge, where immense furnaces melted down the scraps of metal, freeing the ores, which were then refined and cast into the armor and weapons used by the armies of the dragons. The humans below were fueling the engines of their own oppression.

Three plumes of smoke rose in the distance. Graxen's nose wrinkled as the stench of the foundries reached him. He traced a wide arc around the town, looking for a good landing spot. The earth-dragons below looked like small beetles from this height, as they hurried across the packed-earth streets of their town. Nowhere within the fortress was there any hint of vegetation. The surrounding hills were nothing but rust-colored clutter and weeds, with a few bare and scraggly trees here and there. Earth dragons weren't known for their appreciation of beauty.