Dragonseed (18 page)

Beastialists, however, believed that the dragons of ancient times simply hadn’t tried hard enough. They regarded the adoption of weapons as a shameful admission that angel culture was superior to dragon culture, and felt that any unhappiness in dragon society could be traced to the fact that dragons were trying to be something they weren’t. They weren’t angels, visiting this earth from some higher realm. They were the apex of evolution, the most finely honed predators the earth had produced. Embracing their natural role was the key to true happiness.

Of course, one aspect of civilization they hadn’t rejected was the use of human slaves. Vulpine had paid many a visit to Rorg’s abode, due to the high rate of runaways. Unlike the pristine, well-groomed villages of the southern valley, the villages in Rorg’s domain were squalid and bleak, often festering with disease. This, of course, was the reason for Vulpine’s visit. The latest outbreak of yellow-mouth was well timed. Yellow-mouth only affected humans, most often humans exposed to sun-dragon dung. Once infected, humans could pass the disease to other humans via exposure to nearly any bodily fluid. The disease manifested first as mild fevers and weakness, a modest sickness little more bothersome than a cold. The only hint that it might be something more serious was that the inside of the victim’s mouth would slowly change from pink to yellow. The early stage could last as little as a week, or as long as a month. Finally, the afflicted human would experience a twenty-four hour period best described as an eruption. He would cough, sneeze, vomit, shit, and piss uncontrollably, sweating until blood seeped from his pores. The disease killed nearly half its victims. The most sinister aspect of the disease was that it could spread not just in the final, violent stage, but in the earlier phases as well. A mother placing her hand on the forehead of her child to feel for a fever could contract the disease, and then spread it to her husband with a simple kiss on the cheek. Even handling the clothes or blankets of one of the victims could spread yellow-mouth.

The disease was now rare through most of the kingdom. Most sun-dragons lived in palaces with good plumbing, meaning that their human slaves didn’t deal with vast quantities of dung. Beastialists, however, let their droppings fall anywhere the urge struck. Since dwelling in a cave full of your own excrement was unpleasant even for beastialists, human slaves had the ongoing task of mucking out the cave.

Vulpine at last saw the bone field that marked the entrance to Rorg’s lair. For half a mile in every direction, white bones gleamed against the gray winter ground: cattle, deer, humans, pigs, and earth-dragons. Smoke rose from the ground in tendrils at a hundred scattered spots extending well beyond the bone field. Beastialists had clung to one technology, at least. Since they couldn’t see in the dark they still used fire to light their homes, though they eschewed metal and glass lamps in favor of torches and fire pits.

Vulpine swooped down into the black pit that was the entrance to an expansive underground kingdom, a network of caverns with ceilings hundreds of feet tall. Some individual chambers were several acres in size. It was dangerous to fly in a cavern. All sense of perspective was thrown askew by the absence of sky. However, Vulpine had grown familiar with the contours of the place over his many visits. He flitted like an oversized bat above the heads of human slaves carting out buckets of muck. A few fat and napping sun-dragons peeked up through half-open lids as the wind of Vulpine’s passage stirred their feathers. Beastialists kept their large families close at hand. At least thirty adult sun-dragons shared this cavern.

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.”

Vulpine looked Thak over. Thak returned his gaze with an expression that suggested hunger, as if he were sizing up Vulpine as a snack. Turning back to Rorg, he said, “I admire a dragon of vision. Chapelion seeks a new sun-dragon to serve as king. Thak looks the part. If he wants the throne, we’ll give it to him—with the understanding that he will respect the counsel of the High Biologian. Consider my offer carefully. You’ll be the father of a new dragon dynasty.”

“You seek to give us what we can take with our superior power?” Rorg asked.

“Have a care, Rorg,” said Vulpine. “If you attempt to take the throne by force, the aerial guard will crush you.”

“Thak,” said Rorg in a low voice, “kill this fool.”

Thak’s jaws opened and his head shot toward Vulpine like a viper striking. Vulpine sighed as he flapped his wings and flew straight up. Thak’s teeth snapped onto empty air inches beneath him. Vulpine kicked down. The young sun-dragon’s jaws smacked into the stone floor, sliding in the gritty muck-film coating it.

The kick propelled Vulpine upward. The ceiling here was at least a hundred feet high, studded with countless stalactites that hung down like stone icicles. He swung his hind-talons up and grabbed one that looked especially sturdy, his claws biting into it so that he wound up in a perpendicular crouch. The other sun-dragons stared up at him, but none looked like they were going to interfere. Rorg had given his order specifically to Thak. Both Thak and Rorg would lose face if they called on the others to help.

Looking up, Vulpine’s snout was only inches away from a second stalagmite. As Thak rose to up on all-fours, shaking the muck from his snout, Vulpine reached out with his fore-talon, flicking his claw against the tip of the stone. It chimed like a bell, though the note was much softer than the ones the slaves had sounded, and this particular rock was out of tune. It pealed with something that was almost, but not quite, an e-flat. He winced at the off-key note.

Thak rose up to his hind-talons and roared up at the ceiling. It was an impressive noise, one that set the whole chamber ringing. The cavern as a whole was tuned to an almost perfect c. He had to admire Rorg’s inventiveness in creating such a wonderful instrument. It made it all the more puzzling that Thak was so blind to the obvious advantages of other inventions. What did it matter if a sword was the invention of angel, man, or dragon? It was, Vulpine felt, time to demonstrate why tool-users would retain control of the earth.

Below him, Thak leapt, his mighty wings beating a powerful downbeat that sent embers from the fire pit dancing around the room. He raced toward Vulpine, his jaws open once more, as Vulpine pulled his whip from his belt. He flicked the weapon in his fore-talon, aiming the leather through the forest of stalactites to a slender one ten feet distant that caught his eye. The leather wrapped around the tip of the stone. Vulpine gave a sharp tug. With a
crack
the stone snapped free about five feet up the shaft. He flicked his wrist again to free his whip as the stone spear began to plummet, right into the path of Thak’s approach. The stone tore through Thak’s outstretched left wing near his armpit.