In one place, she discovered a deep valley sheltered between the sheer walls below two lofty summits. Along the floor of the gorge were no fewer than a half dozen great caves, and a large number of the two-legged brutes seemed to dwell there.
Still invisible, the red dragon flew back and forth, finally discovering one gathering that intrigued her. Several of the largest of the bull warriors gathered here, and from these bristled headdresses of bright feathers, while ornaments of gold dangled over their broad chests. Whispering a word of magic, she canceled her spell of invisibility, appearing suddenly when she was just overhead. The dragon settled to the ground before the adorned beings, the downward blasts of her wings driving dust and debris into their faces.
Crematia saw the gnarled legs, hulking bodies, and strapping arms of these humanoids. She studied the sloping brows, the wide, tusked mouths, and the massive hands clutching knobbed clubs or boulders. The creatures cowered back from her but did not run away, except for one female who, clutching a squalling infant, darted from the pack.
The red dragon lowered her head, jaws gaping, and spat a blast of searing flame around the lumbering, terrified creature. The victim’s scream rose to a piercing ring as the female, now a living torch, tumbled and thrashed across the ground. In a heartbeat, her life and that of her babe were snuffed away, leaving as a remnant two intermingled, blackened shapes. Satisfied that the smoldering corpses were ample demonstration of her might, Crematia regally swung back to regard the abject creatures cowering before her.
“How are you called?” she asked the largest of the band, who scarcely dared to raise a fearful eye from the ground when he heard her question.
“We are ogres, O mighty one! And we are your miserable servants.”
“Do you expect my mercy?” demanded the red dragon.
“No, O mighty one. Mercy is weakness!”
“And weakness is death,” she concluded with a grim nod. “Your answers please me. You will make me welcome and show me honor. And you, my hulking one, you shall be my general and my slave. What is your name?”
“I am the battle chieftain known as Ironfist, and my enemies quail at the sound of my approach!”
“That is good. Now, Ironfist, send messengers. You must prepare your fellow tribes for the arrival of my kin. Your clans will gather to my call. Know that I shall lead you to a mastery of the world!”
Chapter 5
circa 5000 PC
The stag lunged through the thicket, crushing brittle branches with the force of its headlong flight. Nostrils flaring, hooves drumming the ground, the mighty deer lowered branching antlers and bulled ahead, breaking into the clear with a snorting toss of its proud head. Now the animal galloped across a marshy meadow, each leaping step kicking up great clods of moist dirt. Stretching, reaching in long strides, the stag accelerated with a frantic burst of speed. Darting and veering, the great creature lunged over the muddy terrain, its hoofprints a scar of darkness across the wet landscape.
And following that advancing scar was a fast-moving shadow in the form of a serpentine body, with a long tail and broad, tapering wings.
Darlantan saw immediately that the clearing would be the animal’s undoing. The silver dragon tucked his wings and dropped precipitously to land on the stag’s heaving back. Metal-hard talons flexed, argent tips gripping the flesh of shaggy haunches, while Darlantan’s forefeet drove their claws into the stag’s powerful shoulders. The mighty deer stumbled, collapsing from the dragon’s weight, but by then Dar’s jaws had closed around the muscular neck, biting down hard, breaking the hapless animal’s spine.
Tumbling to the ground, the stag rolled through the mud and shuddered to a halt. Darlantan pitched forward, but the graceful dragon spread his wings and glided very low. Blades of marsh grass brushed his belly for a moment, but then he swept upward, finally rising high enough above the ground that he could once more flap his wings and safely gain elevation.
Circling back to the bleeding body of the antlered deer, he bugled his success into the clear, crisp air of the High Kharolis. The blue sky, an azure so deep that it never failed to move Darlantan, fully enclosed the vast valley, vaulting overhead like a magical dome of turquoise resting upon the ring of mighty peaks. How he loved to soar through that sky, to experience the utter, liberating freedom of flight.
Now Kenta and Aysa, silver and bronze shapes against the snowfields, glided into view, and Darlantan knew the others would be following soon. His chest puffed outward in unconscious pride, and again he bellowed word of his triumph with a cry that echoed back and forth between the lofty summits. He saw another speck of brown metal and recognized Burll. Darlantan chuckled, knowing his bronze kin-dragon would never be late for an offering of food.
Proudly the silver male settled beside the corpse of his kill. His chest thrust outward as he watched his nestmates gliding closer. Darlantan’s tail curled around the motionless body as he lifted his head as high as the elk’s antlers had been when the animal was alive. The mighty denizen of the forest weighed more than the winged hunter that had brought it down, and the silver dragon knew this was the largest single kill in the history of his nestmates’ lives.
Kenta, the first to land, dipped her head in a nod of approval, flexing her wings and straightening her tail in a display that Darlantan found strangely intoxicating. She had done the same thing before, this silver female, and he had come to relish the fleeting, uncanny sensation. Uncertain of why he did so, Darlantan felt compelled to offer her the tenderest morsel, ripping the tongue from the elk’s mouth and extending it to her in a silver claw.
“Do you remember when we used to eat bats?” asked Kenta, gulping the tongue in a smooth slurp, rippling the scales all the way down her sinuous neck.
Darlantan chuckled as he tore away a hindquarter of the massive elk. “It would take as many bats as Patersmith has stories to equal the meat in this single haunch.”
He tore into the meat, relishing the taste of the fresh blood, the warm fullness of each bite as he gulped it down. More of the band came into view now-Oro and Mydass, the golden females, with brass Smelt gliding swiftly behind them-so the silver took a generous portion of the kill and withdrew, allowing his nestmates a chance to share the proof of his hunting skill.
“You killed this?” Smelt asked. Darlantan nodded serenely, and the brass dragon continued. “I like deer-especially the big ones. They have so much meat. Do you want the heart, or can I have it?”
The silver dragon’s attention remained upon Kenta, so Smelt pulled the bloody muscle from the stag’s chest and swallowed it in a rippling gulp. “Too bad Aurican can’t see this,” he said, wiping a forked tongue across his crimson jaws.
“Where is our golden kin-dragon?” Darlantan asked, amused by the serpentine metallic shapes clustered around the rapidly diminishing corpse. It pleased him to feed his nestmates, but he wanted Aurican to behold his trophy before it was merely a clean-picked skeleton.
“Oh, I saw him flying toward the sunset, maybe a dozen sunrises ago,” Smelt explained while gulping a mouthful of venison. “He was in the foothills, and I flew along with him for a while. But it seemed as if he didn’t want to talk.” With another convulsive gulp, he swallowed, then swiveled his long neck toward the west. “He should have heard your summons, but maybe he’s too far away. Or perhaps he made a kill of his own.”
“Yes… perhaps,” declared Darlantan, disappointed. Still, he brightened at the sight of the stag’s bristling antlers as Smelt lifted the skull and used his serpentine tongue to slurp out the tender brain. It was as though the ghost of the great deer danced before them. At least that rack would provide some proof of his accomplishment. He could take the trophy into the cavern to show Patersmith, who still took pride in the accomplishments of his growing charges.