Jacques was still waiting outside, impatiently shifting his weight from foot to foot. As soon as he set eyes on Gill, he tore off in the direction of his home. Gill followed, albeit with far less energy.
CHAPTER 3
Alpheratz woke again, this time comfortable in the knowledge that he had slept for no more than a few days—he could still feel the bulk of his meal straining against his belly. A meal of that size would take him nearly a month to completely digest. He drank in the view that never failed to capture his imagination; great limestone peaks covered in snow soaring over verdant valleys. It was the domain of dragonkind, given to them by the gods in gratitude for their fidelity. He remembered the different peaks not by the names man had given them, but by the names of the great dragons who had called them home. His gaze lingered on Nashira as he wondered if she still lived, or if she had been killed during his slumber. The thought made his stomach twist in despair.
His memory was better now. He could recall how mankind had taken it upon themselves to hunt down and exterminate dragons. There was great wealth in those mountains—metals and minerals that they coveted. At first trade had kept them satisfied. They had farmed cattle and sheep and bartered them with the dragons for access to the mountains. Letting them in had been a mistake. They had learned too many secrets.
There were special places, sacred places. Wells of energy where the very essence of the world bubbled to the surface. Places where the gods had walked when dragonkind was young and mankind were few. Men had learned of them—sometimes with the guidance and help of dragonkind who wished to help mankind. Humanity’s magicians were never satisfied. They were always hungry for more power to fuel their wasteful efforts in shaping magic. They sought out the secret places. Coveted them. They tried to murder dragons by trading diseased and poisoned meat. Their outrages continued and increased, until dragonkind would take no more. Conflict followed.
Alpheratz’s thoughts drifted to Nashira. The remembered sight of her soaring around her peak still made his heart race. His battles with Pharadon to win her affection had been ferocious. Pride swelled in his heart to think that he had prevailed in the end. He still wasn’t sure how. With his greater size and lustrous red scales, everyone had thought Pharadon would be the one she chose, but it had not happened that way.
He wanted desperately to see her again. It was not unheard of for males to retreat deep into the mountains for decades—even centuries—after mating, but it would have been uncharacteristic for him. The question of why she had not come to look for him, to wake him from his slumber, popped into his mind, but he dismissed it quickly.
He scanned the sky for any sign of dragonkind, but saw none. On such a magnificent day it seemed impossible that none would be soaring around their peaks, revelling in the beauty of the world. Might they be hiding? Their absence was cause for concern, but he stopped short of hasty speculation.
He stretched his wings, then hesitated. He still felt weak. The Fount had strengthened him somewhat, the meal more so, but he was still feebler than he had been as a hatchling, hiding in the folds of his mother’s wings. He needed to know what was going on, and there was no way he could walk all the way to Nashira’s peak.
Alpheratz breathed deeply. The Fount tingled along his teeth, down his windpipe, and deep into his lungs. He tensed his shoulders and walked forward. Extending his wings as far as they would go, he threw himself from the mountainside. At first he fell, and something that had once been second nature felt like an unknown skill. He strained, willing his wings to grip the air, feeling its cold touch as it whistled past him at ever greater speed. His heart raced as he tried to remember the movements that had once come without thought. Finally he felt his wings catch and it all came back to him.
Soaring up, he rejoiced in the sensation. The air was rich with the Fount, like fertile soil, and it tingled against his flesh where he was not covered in scales. He allowed himself a moment to revel in it—he looped and rolled and dived between peaks until his muscles and lungs reminded him that he had slumbered for a long time. He climbed high, turned toward Nashira’s peak, and allowed himself to glide with the wind.
“Nashira!” It was rude to enter another dragon’s cave without permission, even if she was his aerie-mate. Alpheratz called again, but there was no answer. If she were sleeping, he would apologise for waking her, but he could wait no longer. Her cave was dark and damp. She had never been the tidiest, but it was unkempt even for her.
“Nashira!” Alpheratz said again. Still no answer.
He continued moving deeper into the cave. Entering her sleeping chamber without invitation was insult enough to fight over. Nashira would be within her rights to kill Alpheratz for such presumptuousness. He called out one last time, then walked into her sleeping chamber.
She was there. A wave of despair washed over him. What was left of her was there. Alpheratz coughed in anguish. Her once beautiful golden scales were gone. The metal contained within them was considered even more valuable than that mined from the ground by the menfolk. Their mages used it in their magics. Nashira’s horns and fangs had been pulled from her skull; more ingredients for human potions. Bones were all that remained of her.
Alpheratz thought he would be sick. There were scorch marks on the ceiling, all around. Hers and theirs. She had put up a hard fight. She would have. It was her character, and part of what he loved about her so much. His heart filled with rage and grief. She was the most beautiful of spirits, the most gentle of souls, and they had killed her.
Her character was not the only reason she would have fought so hard. Half a dozen eggs were nestled in a nook at the back of the cave—all split open. One still had the handle of an axe sticking out of it. The pain felt like it would crush Alpheratz. His rage grew until he could find no clarity of thought. The eggs were destroyed. The eggs they had created together with so much love and care. All of their brood, murdered before they had the chance to crack the shells of their eggs.
Alpheratz stumbled outside, overcome with grief. He was flying back to his cave before he knew what he was doing. He headed toward his deepest chamber, far within the mountain. It was the place where he hatched, where he could always find comfort. He thought back to what he remembered of the wars, trying to work out what might have happened.
The first violence had occurred far to the south. A sacred place was violated, and the dragon tasked with its custody reacted in the only way he could. He slew the men who had done it.
The men should have understood. They had broken the agreements and deserved the consequences. Events escalated from there. Men in shining armour travelled to the mountains to earn fame by slaying dragons. There had been glory in those battles, and Alpheratz had come to respect some of those men, brave despite the impossibility of the task they had set for themselves. Some were so skilled they had even managed to kill a dragon. It was honest battle, bravely fought. Little different than when two dragons came to blows.
Then the mages came. They changed things. They always attacked in large numbers. They drew so hard on the Fount they could completely drain it, leaving the grass brown, the plants wilted, and any dragon unfortunate enough to be close severely weakened. They brought a different type of warrior with them: men touched by magic. Men who could do things, survive things, that no ordinary man should have been able to. That was when the tide had turned against dragonkind.