Vulpine wound his way to the central chamber. He was startled to hear music as he approached. Not singing, but notes from an actual musical instrument. The tones had a bell-like quality to them, but Vulpine sensed they weren't bells. What was making this haunting sound?
Arriving at the central chamber, he found his answer. This room covered several acres, and around the edges of humans stood on ladders, striking the stalactites that hung from the ceiling with large thighbones. The blows caused the long, slender columns of stone to vibrate, emitting musical tones. The men followed an unseen conductor, timing their strikes to create a slow mournful, melody of low, long notes that called back and forth across the chamber.
In the center of the room an enormous fire pit glowed brightly. The sharp creosote stink of the pine smoke provided a welcome mask to the pervasive odor of raw sewage that hung in the dank air.
A dozen dragons lay around the fire pit. Due to their slightly smaller size and the finer mesh of their ruby scales, Vulpine judged them to be female. Rorg's harem, no doubt. They all stared at Vulpine with sullen, bored eyes as he landed near the fire pit.
Just beyond the fire pit, on an enormous pillow of stone, slouched Rorg himself. The old bull dragon was hideously fat. No doubt it had been many years since he'd been able to get airborne. He was currently picking his teeth with his long, black, hook-like claws. The bloodied remnants of an ox lay before him.
"Greetings, Rorg," Vulpine said, raising his voice over the music of the stalactites.
Rorg turned his eyes, large as saucers, toward the new arrival. They glowed green in the dim light. Even the folds of skin around his eyes looked fat and heavy. "Slavecatcher. What brings you to my abode?"
The music suddenly grew louder. Vulpine didn't know the tune, but apparently the song was reaching some sort of dramatic climax. Vulpine had to shout as he said, "I've heard you had an outbreak of-" suddenly, the music stopped, the last few notes of the song drifting off gently as Vulpine screamed, "-yellow-mouth!"
Rorg narrowed his eyes. "I don't find your tone respectful, slavecatcher. Have a care. Do you know that, with the death of Albekizan, I am the most senior ruler of any abode? Forty years I've ruled this valley. Forty years, the labor of my slaves has fed the rest of the world. Remember who you speak to, little dragon."
Vulpine bowed his head. "My apologies. I was merely trying to be heard over your music. It was quite loud; though also quite lovely. It has an unearthly quality that I find-"
"Unearthly?" Rorg grumbled. "It is the precise opposite of unearthly. These are the tones of the earth itself! I had long noted that some of the stalactites in my cavern possessed a musical tone when struck. Last winter, during the coldest, most dreary part of the year, I began to hear music in my head. It occurred to me that if I positioned my slaves correctly and trained them to strike notes at the proper time, I could make the music in my head a reality."
"How innovative," said Vulpine. "You are not so uncivilized as you would like to pretend, Rorg."
"Nor are you sky-dragons as civilized as you imagine," Rorg said. "Your books, your paintings, your plays and poems and choirs… you've stolen all your so-called culture from the angels. I may be the first true artist the dragon races have ever produced. This is natural music, Vulpine, bone against stone, the product of a true dragon heart."
Vulpine bowed his head once more. He knew from experience it was simplest just to flatter the old swine into doing what he wanted, then leave as quickly as possible. "I meant no offense. I am, in fact, awed by your invention. It is, no doubt, the harbinger of a greater dragon civilization to come. However, we can debate the artistic future of dragons another day. Today, I've come because I need one of your slaves."
"No," said Rorg.
"No?" asked Vulpine, bewildered. He hadn't known he'd asked a question.
The sun-dragons he'd flown over in the entry chambers were now lumbering into the room. These were males, younger than Rorg, no doubt his many sons. There were at least ten in the room now. One of them, a strong young bull, approached Rorg's stone pillow. This dragon had the bulk of a fully grown male, but still possessed the tight, balanced musculature of a younger dragon. He was a formidable specimen, a dragon in his prime. His red scales were so vibrant in their sheen they looked like wet rubies as the firelight danced across them.
"I may live in a cave, slavecatcher, but I'm not ignorant of the world outside," Rorg said. "I know that Albekizan is dead, and his successor, Shandrazel, was killed by the human rebels at Dragon Forge. I know, further, that Chapelion currently sits on the dragon throne, intending to be king in practice if not in title. You sky-dragons believe yourselves clever. Your biologians train the sons of other sun-dragons. You serve as their advisors in adulthood. You believe yourselves to be the true power in this world. In my abode, I have no libraries or colleges. I have no biologians to whisper lies in my ear and call it wise counsel."
"Your independence is admirable," said Vulpine. "I don't see how my request for a slave threatens it."
"You slavecatchers tout your importance to maintaining order among the human rabble. Yet, we now see the failings of your methods. Humans have seized the most shameful and decadent icon of your so-called civilization, Dragon Forge, the foundries that supplied the kings' armies with swords and spears and armor."
Vulpine ground his teeth. It was grating to hear Shandrazel's failures blamed on the slavecatchers, but perhaps there was some tiny grain of truth to it.
"Rorg, I concede all that you say. Events unfolded more rapidly than I anticipated after Albekizan's death. In retrospect, stationing reinforcements at Dragon Forge would have been an obvious precaution. Despite his heritage, Shandrazel wasn't well trained in the art of war. I should have personally advised him on security precautions. I didn't. Now, however, I will rectify my error by taking charge of reclaiming the foundries. I know that you've had an outbreak of yellow-mouth. I need a freshly infected slave, one who can survive long enough to travel to Dragon Forge and have his disease progress to the final stages soon after his arrival. The human rebels sleep packed into tight barracks and dine elbow-to-elbow in communal halls. Currently, they enjoy the benefits of a well-built sewer system, but a dam will end this advantage. A single infected individual should spread the disease quickly. Within a month, the place will be a ghost town."
"A sound plan," said Rorg. "One I anticipated. This is why I deny your request. The shameful age when dragons used tools draws to a close. The future belongs to my kind. Look at my son, Thak." Rorg gestured to the young bull-dragon who stood beside him. Thak stood on his hind-talons, his neck held high, towering above Vulpine. "He is the pinnacle of my bloodline. He and his brothers will journey to Albekizan's palace and throw Chapelion from the throne. He will burn the angel-tainted contents of the grand library and knock down its walls. The tapestries will be shredded, the sculptures crushed to gravel. Once Thak has firmly established his claim to the throne, the dragon armies will spread throughout the kingdom and bring mankind to its knees."
"This is rather short-sighted on your part, Rorg," said Vulpine. "The present human rebellion-"
"There is no hint of rebellion among my slaves! I maintain them in a state of perpetual hunger and weakness, allowing them only the most meager scraps of their labors. Despite the hunger, they work harder than any ten slaves in any other abode in the kingdom. Do you know why, Vulpine?"
"The bone field at your door no doubt has certain motivational powers."
"Indeed," said Rorg. "I've built that bone field with my teeth and my claws. Thak will not reclaim Dragon Forge, Vulpine. He will raze it. No wall of the foundry will be left standing."