The pair stood for a long minute before the pale green glow ebbed away, crawling back from the center of the corridor like acid eating away at paper. Within the boundaries protected by the circle was an inner set of doors. These sighed open even before the magical barrier had widened enough to admit the Dragon’s bulk, A Human awaited them, bowing and mumbling apology and welcome.
The man worn a pale green lab coat embroidered in stylized designs. A heavy silver disk swung from a chain around his neck as he held himself bent at the waist, Hart recognized the markings as cabalistic symbols, real ones rather than the crude protective runes worn by the superstitious. The symbols were much like those she used, but with subtle variations whose study could give her a clue to the magical orientation of this person. It was obvious from the arrangement and profusion of the markings that the wearer was a mage and member of an hermetic order. She didn’t recognize the particular group, but she knew enough about Human magical orders to tell that this mage was a minor member of his organization.
“Greetings, Lord Dragon,” the Human said in a louder voice. “We are honored by your presence today.”
The Dragon disdained to reply.
Hart caught a flare of emotion from the beast, confirming that he was as testy as she had feared. She remained outside the archway as the Dragon continued on, sliding his great golden bulk past the man. When the Dragon’s tail flicked toward her leg, she sidestepped quickly, the sharp spines missing her knee by centimeters. The mage, holding his bow, was oblivious to the danger. Foolish, norm. Always keep your eyes on a Dragon.
The tip of the beast’s tail had barely cleared the door when Hart saw the ripple begin in the powerful tail muscles. Ivory spines arced up as the Dragon’s tail swept toward the mage. The man grunted in surprise and pain as the barbs tore across his left thigh and into his belly. The impetus of the blow lifted him from his feet and slammed him aside, into the wall. He slipped to the floor, moaning.
“Perhaps you will not be so slow the next time.”
There was no Sound to the Dragon’s words, but Hart knew the mage heard it as well as she did. Dragon speech was a trick of mind and magic, something much more than a voice, something less than telepathy. The creatures still needed to know a language before “speaking” it. Their “words” had a consistently flat intonation, but carried emotional overtones in a way that Human speech could not. The emotional content that they broadcast needed no language. The Dragon’s annoyance and irritation would have communicated even to someone who spoke no English.
The beast proceeded into the chamber, heedless of the spatters of blood that flicked from his tail spines and the wail that arose from his victim.
Hart approached the fallen mage. A brief glance was enough to tell her that his injuries were beyond her own skills. She bent and placed her hand on the screaming man’s forehead. Taking advantage of the pain that shuddered through him, she overrode his will and sent him down into sleep. A small enough blessing.
Behind her, she heard running footsteps. A glance over her shoulder confirmed that the mage’s co-workers were coming to his aid. One woman ripped a first aid kit from its wall receptacle and almost caromed into a white-haired fellow with the most elaborate coat Hart had yet seen among them. The woman’s haste to prepare mundane aid earned her no kind thoughts from her superior, judging from the glare he gave her. Hart had to agree; it should have been perfectly obvious that the fallen mage would need more than coagulant and spray seal to save him.
Hart stepped back to let the new arrivals tend to their comrade. Noticing that her sash was stained where it had dipped into the mage’s blood, she briefly considered its worth as a material component for ritual purposes and found no significant value. This mage was too stupid to ever make it necessary. She untied the knot that held the band around her hips and let the scarf flutter to the floor. One thousand nuyen on the expenses, Old Lizard. That was real silk and a Scaratelli to boot.
Dismissing the ruined sash from her mind, Hart surveyed the chamber, It was large, a vast womb in the belly of the earth. The ceiling was hidden, even from her eyes, in darkness and haze. Lights mounted on the exposed girders of the structure cast sharply defined cones of light onto the floor. Hart stood on the highest level, a platform with twin ramps leading down in opposite directions. She could just barely discern other platforms hugging the walls at various levels below her. The chamber formed a great bowl, each level spiraling toward the crowded floor of this carefully guarded sanctum.
In the center, a great vat made of some transparent substance sat on a platform of machines and monitors. Technicians stood in a recessed pit around the cylinder, monitoring consoles and adjusting dials. The color of their clothes was washed out by the iridescent glow emanating from the vat. They paid no attention to the motions of a dark shape that roiled the milky fluid within the receptacle.
Still watching the activity below, Hart strolled down the ramp the Dragon had taken. She caught up with the beast on one platform that offered a wide, graveled area with an unobstructed view into the theater. As she approached, he settled his bulk on the rough surface and arched his neck until his head rested on the railing around the landings perimeter.
In the bowl below, mages and technicians bustled about, performing activities that sent mingled odors of rank organics, the ozone of technology, and the sharp scent of sorcerous workings wafting up to the visitors. This environment should be more to his liking, Hart decided as she watched the beast nestle into the gravel.
“This is more satisfactory,” the Dragon confirmed, unasked.
Hart and her employer observed without interruption until Hart noticed someone approaching. It was the master sorcerer who had arrived at the side of the wounded man just as Hart left to catch up with her employer. The mage stopped a few meters away to compose his face into a pleasant expression before stepping forward to where he thought the Dragon could see him. From where she leaned against the beast’s withers, Hart felt more than heard the soft chuff that she recognized as a sign of the Dragon’s amusement.
Hart knew that the beast could see that the mage stood waiting. The Dragon let him stand there for some minutes, a period sufficient to establish dominance, then inclined his head to signal his attention.
The Human smiled. “You are just in time, Lord Dragon. It’s almost ready.”
“It will work as desired, Doctor Wilson?”
“Certainly. The last two prototypes performed well within parameters. Mutability factors have all been right on prediction and there has been no decay in stability. We have no reason to believe the process is flawed.”
“Well that you should not.”
Wilson swallowed, his fear apparent to Hart. She had no doubt that the Dragon sensed it, too. He could probably smell it.
“I meant no disrespect, Lord Dragon. It’s just that, as both a mage and a scientist, I expect all new processes to have some problems. It’s only natural. This project has gone very smoothly under your guidance. I have no doubt that the product will meet with your satisfaction.”