He would show her. Draconians would prove themselves to her. If he succeeded, he might well be the next Dragon Highlord.
One clawed step at a time, however.
“Commander Grag,” announced one of the baaz.
The door opened, and Grag walked inside. The bozak stood well over six feet in height, and his large wings made him appear far taller. He had bronze scales covered by minimal armor, for he relied on his scales and tough hide to protect him. His scales at the moment were smeared with dirt and dust and streaked with blood. He was obviously exhausted. His long tail swept slowly from side to side. His lips were tightly pressed over his fangs. His yellow eyes narrowed as they stared hard at Dray-yan.
“What do you want?” Grag demanded churlishly. He waved a claw. “It had better be important. I’m needed out there.” Then he caught sight of the figure on the bed. “I heard his lordship was wounded. Are you treating him?”
Grag neither liked nor trusted the aurak, as Dray-yan well knew. Bozak draconians were bred to be warriors. Like auraks, bozaks were granted magical spells by their Queen, but bozak magic was martial in nature and not nearly as powerful as that of the auraks. In personality, the large and burly bozaks tended to be open, forthright, blunt, and to the point.
Auraks, by contrast, were not intended to fight battles. Tall and slender, they were secretive by nature, sly and subtle, their magic extremely powerful.
Aurak and bozak draconians had been raised to hate and mistrust each other by humans who feared they would otherwise become too powerful—or at least that’s what Dray-yan had come to believe.
“His lordship is grievously wounded,” said Dray-yan, loudly for the benefit of the baaz, who were probably eavesdropping, “but I am praying to Her Dark Majesty and there is every hope he will recover. Please come in, Commander, and shut the door behind you.” Grag hesitated then did as he was told.
“Make certain that door is shut and bolted,” Dray-yan added. “Now, come here.” Dray-yan motioned Grag to Verminaard’s bedside.
Grag looked down then looked back up.
“He’s not wounded,” said Grag. “He’s dead.”
“Yes, he is,” said Dray-yan dispassionately.
“Then why tell me he’s alive?”
“I wasn’t telling you so much as I was telling the baaz guards.”
“What slime you auraks are,” Grag sneered. “You have to twist everything—”
“The point is,” said Dray-yan, “we’re the only two who know he’s dead. Grag stared, puzzled.
“Let me make this clear, Commander,” Dray-yan said. “We—you and I—are the only two beings in this world who know that Lord Verminaard is no more. Even those baaz who carried his lordship inside this room think he still lives.”
“I still don’t see your point—”
“Verminaard is dead. There is no Highlord, no one in command of the Red Dragonarmy,” said Dray-yan.
Grag shrugged then said bitterly, “Once Emperor Ariakas finds out Verminaard is dead, another human will be sent to take over. It’s only a matter of time.”
“You and I both know that would be a mistake,” said Dray-yan. “You and I both know there are others who are better qualified.”
Grag looked at Dray-yan and the bozak’s yellow eyes flickered. “Who did you have in mind?”
“The two of us,” said Dray-yan.
“Us?” Grag repeated with a curl of his lip.
“Yes, us,” said Dray-yan coolly. “I know very little of military tactics and strategies. I would leave all that up to your wise expertise.”
Grag’s eyes flickered again, this time with amusement at the aurak’s attempt at flattery. He glanced back at the corpse. “So I am to command the Red Dragonarmy, while you are doing… what?”
“I will be Lord Verminaard,” said the aurak.
Grag turned to ask Dray-yan what in the Abyss he meant by that last remark, only to find Lord Verminaard standing beside him. His lordship, in all his hulking glory, stood glaring at Grag.
“Well, what do you think, Commander?” Dray-yan asked in a perfect imitation of Verminaard’s deep, rasping voice.
The illusion cast by the aurak was so perfect, so compelling, that Grag glanced involuntarily back at the corpse to reassure himself the human was, indeed, truly dead. When he looked back, Dray-yan was himself once more—golden scales, small wings, stubby tail, pretentious arrogance and all.
“How would this work?” Grag asked, still not trusting the aurak.
“You and I will determine our course of action. We make plans for the disposition of the armies, prosecute the battles, etc. I would, of course, defer to you in such matters,” Dray-yan added smoothly.
Grag grunted.
“I issue the commands and take his lordship’s place whenever he needs to be seen in public.” Grag thought this over. “We put out the word that Verminaard was wounded but that, with the Dark Queen’s blessing, he’s recovering. Meanwhile you act in his place, relaying his commands from his ‘sick bed’.”
“Within a short time,” Dray-yan said, “with the Dark Queen’s blessing his lordship will be fit enough to resume his normal duties.”
Grag was intrigued. “It just might work.” He regarded Dray-yan with grudging admiration Dray-yan didn’t notice. “Our biggest problem will be disposing of the body.” He cast a scathing glance at the corpse. “There was such a lot of him.”
Lord Verminaard had been an enormous human—standing nearly seven feet tall, big-boned, fleshy, and heavily muscled.
“The mines,” suggested Grag. “Dump the body in a mine shaft and then bring down the shaft on top of it.”
“The mines are outside the fortress walls. How do we smuggle out the body?”
“You auraks can walk through air, or so I’ve heard,” Grag replied. “You should have no trouble carrying the body out of here unseen.”
“We walk the halls of magic, of time and space,” said Dray-yan reprovingly. “I could carry the bastard, I suppose, though he weighs a ton. Still, one must make sacrifices for the cause. I’ll dispose of him tonight. Now, tell me what’s going on in the fortress. Have the escaped slaves been recaptured?”
“No,” said Grag, adding bluntly, “and they won’t be. Both Pyros and Flamestrike are dead. The fool dragons killed each other. The triggering of the defense mechanism caused the boulders to clog the pass, effectively blocking our troops who are now trapped on other side.”
“You could send the forces we have here after the slaves,” suggested Dray-yan.
“Most of my men lie buried under the rock fall,” said Grag grimly. “That’s where I was when you summoned me—trying to dig them out. It would take days, maybe weeks of work even if we had the manpower, which we don’t.”
Grag shook his head. “We need dragons to help us; that would make a difference. There are eight red dragons assigned to this army, but I have no idea where they are—Qualinesti, maybe, or Abanasinia:”
“I can find out.” Dray-yan jerked a claw at the piles of papers that lay scattered about on the desk. “I’ll summon them in the name of Lord Verminaard.”
“The dragons won’t take orders from the likes of us,” Grag pointed out. “Dragons despise us, even those who are on our side, fighting for the same cause. The reds would just as soon fry us as not. Your Verminaard illusion had better be able to fool them. Either that or…” He paused, thoughtful.
“Or?” Dray-yan asked worriedly. The aurak was confident his illusion would fool humans and other draconians. He was not all that certain about dragons.
“We could ask Her Dark Majesty for help. The dragons would obey her, if not us.”
“True,” Dray-yan conceded. “Unfortunately, our queen’s opinion of us is almost as low as that of her dragons.”