The First Overlord - Part 1
A Blood of the Dragons Prequel
The First Overlord by Kevin Potter
© 2020 Kevin Potter
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
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Cover art by Dragan Paunovic
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental
This story is lovingly dedicated to the readers who have been my biggest cheerleaders from the very beginning. Gayreth, Carolyn, Lana, Jackie, Tanya, Mary, Stephanie, Val, Alexis, Tony, Kathy, Christy, Bill, Rick, Mandy, Ami, Fiona, and Raven. This is for you.
-Kevin
THE FIRST OVERLORD
In the cold winter air, Ryujin’s blaze shone down on the draconic audience meadow.
A light wind blew from the north, making the humans in attendance shiver beneath their fur-lined cloaks. The multicolored daisies shuddered gently while the tall, deep-green grasses waved with the wind, their tops brushing the life-sized slate statues of lions, tengu, and dragons placed around the field.
Those same tall stalks brushed the wyrm's platinum scales and tickled the soft hide of the sheathes hiding her pearlescent talons.
Why is Sire making me do this? she thought, only just suppressing a huff. He was the one that was supposed to hear requests from their people, after all. These Jōmon tribes revered him. They scarcely knew her.
The dark skinned man before her finally stopped speaking. What had he been saying? She couldn't recall.
A soft nudge near the base of her tail, accompanied by the guttural clearing of her firbolg companion's throat, reminded her.
She gave a slow nod of her metallic head. "Rhaasha," she said with a glance at the firbolg, "please send a talon of your warriors with this young man to retrieve his mammoth meat from the yamako who took it. And this time, let us leave the creatures with a reminder of why they should leave our people alone and find other victims."
"As you command, Mistress," Rhaasha said in her deep, rumbling voice. Turning toward the human, her bush of fiery red hair flailing about her, the firbolg stomped toward the human’s left with no apparent regard for whether he followed her or not.
Dauria knew better, of course. Although humans and firbolg were separated by no less than one-thousand generations of selective breeding, going all the way back to the first cross between humans and Neanderthal man, the giant woman cared deeply for the humans under their care. She jumped at any opportunity to help the poor humans, though she refused to allow them to see the joy doing so brought her.
Though the man trembled slightly as he followed her, eyes riveted on her fiery mane so far above his own head, he went without hesitation.
He was bold, even in the face of his fear. That would serve him well in life.
Dauria only just stopped herself from chuckling as the mismatched pair disappeared through the line of cherry blossom trees that bordered the audience meadow. Even if one ignored the size difference, Rhaasha being a bit more than twice the man's height and well-over thrice his width, the contrast between them was striking.
The man was a fairly typical Jōmon, she supposed. Dark of hair and eyes, with deep tan skin around a slight frame.
Similarly, Rhaasha was typical of her kind in most ways.
The human side of the firbolg people descended from the same root as the modern Celts, and they bore a striking resemblance to those peoples.
Although the Celts had a propensity for lightening their hair with lime, when left to nature most had light brown or red coloration, with fair skin tones. They tended to be more physically imposing than most other humans in the regions they inhabited.
The result in the firbolg was a species that towered over humans and utterly dwarfed them in muscle mass. They looked like immensely tall versions of the dwarven smiths who made their homes deep in the caves beneath the Carpathian Mountains.
The soft sound of a human clearing phlegm from his throat drew Dauria's attention back to the crowd before her. She suppressed a sigh as she beckoned for the next claimant to come forward and make their plea.
A man separated himself from the group to move toward her and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her one concession to the shock roiling in her belly.
This man was no Jōmon. Nor was he a stray from the mainland to the west. He utterly lacked the dark skin and almond eyes that defined almost all of the peoples who lived anywhere within a hundred-thousand wingspans of her island.
The man's exposed flesh glared bright red, but she imagined that outside the influence of Ryujin's Blaze his flesh would be creamy white. His eyes glittered like emeralds in the light, and his hair was so fair it was almost white. Clearly the result of artifice. Was he a Celt?
If so, what in the name of the Astral Dragon was he doing here?
The man reeked of wolf hide as he moved toward the spot reserved for supplicants, though the only sound he made was the swishing of his heavy canvas cloak.
Reaching the raised mound, the man dropped to one knee and lowered his eyes. His cloak fell open and she saw the reason for the scent. Not only was the inside of his cloak lined with wolf fur, but his clothing was stitched from poorly cured wolf hide. His boots were largely the same, though their soles were comprised of several layers of the thick pads of wolf feet.
She gave a slight nod of approval. At least his people made use of as much of the animals as they could.
None of that answered the question of what, by the tail of her first ancestor, this man was doing here, so far from his home and people.
"Rise, traveler," she said, forcing unnatural depth and nobility into her voice. If she could intimidate him, perhaps he'd be more likely to speak with honesty.
He rose in a smooth, graceful motion that clearly communicated his comfort and awareness of both his own body and his surroundings. "Thank you, Mistress."
"Please, speak plainly. You have clearly come a very long way to have your voice heard. Who are you?"
The man nodded and licked his lips. "My thanks, Mistress. My name is Brennos and I hail from the Neathite Valley, several days’ ride north of the Alps. Traditionally, my family is among the warrior cast of my tribe. But when I was but a lad of ten summers, I devoted myself to learning the histories and within three summers I transitioned from learning the sword and spear into an apprenticeship under our head historian, who recently rose to the rank of Elder on the Druid Council."
Dauria nodded, trying not to show her impatience. A short answer of who he was and why he was here would have been sufficient. She hadn't expected him to think she was asking for a recitation of his family history.
Well he is a historian, lizard-brain, she thought, berating herself. And probably an orator as well.
The human grimaced. "My apologies, Mistress. I can see you have many supplicants to hear. Therefore, I will provide you an abbreviated version of my story."
She nodded again, trying this time to keep the relief from showing on her face.
She doubted it was any more successful, however.
"Going back six generations, we are the seventh, to have dealt with a huge garnet dragon who has demanded tribute of meat, livestock, and precious silver from my people."
Dauria's mouth fell open of its own accord.
"I know how this sounds, but I assure you it is true. My people, however, have been content to let sleeping wyrms lie as we had enough to still keep our bellies filled and our trade goods at acceptable levels."
Even a garnet should know better! Dauria snarled silently.
"Two moons before I left to find you, however, all that changed. Not only did the wyrm demand twice his usual tribute, but he also demanded a sacrifice of three maidens."
Dauria gasped in shock. "No," she breathed.
"I assure you, Mistress, it is true. You may test my mem–"
"That will not be necessary," she said perhaps a bit too quickly.
"We were horrified, naturally. But the Druid Elders did not panic until the wyrm returned the following Moon with the same demand!"
Rage, pure and hot, filled Dauria. A haze of silvery-blue blotted her vision and her heart hammered behind her auditory receptors.
"My master and I," the human said, his voice sounding far away, as though he spoke from behind a wall of water. “We made a plan. We couldn't go to our patron, as all other dragons vanished from our region before the demands began. We couldn't go to The Council. Everyone knows humans can't approach the Draconic Council."
The haze over her vision and hearing vanished almost as quickly as it had come, replaced by surprise. "You shouldn't even know about the Council!"
Brennos bowed. "We keep a meticulous history, Mistress. All the facts are there for the especially learned to find."
She nodded, having no desire to argue the matter. Clearly some dragon or another let something slip to the wrong druid.
“By the by, we knew we could not. The rest of the Druid Council was stumped, but my master and I knew of an agreement that could help us.''
Dauria swallowed. “I've still yet to hear what this has to do with me, Japan, or the Jōmon."
He smiled. “I'm getting to that. My master, being among the most learned of our people, and certainly the most knowledgeable of the historians, was privy to a little known piece of lore handed down through the generations. It seems that at some point in hallowed antiquity we were visited by a wyrm of the east who called himself Baalhynyyt."
Dauria felt her eyes widen and her jaw fall slack. She tried to control her expression, but the shock consuming her made that impossible.
How could a human— any human, even those who keep as meticulous histories as the druids! —know that name? She scarcely knew it.
She only remembered it through hearsay. She had never met the wyrm. The story went that he'd made enemies of the wrong dragons and it had caught up with him some years before she'd hatched from her egg.
Humans should not know the name of her grandsire.
"I see you recognize the name," he said with a smug smile. "What you may not recognize, is the story I have to tell. While visiting my ancestors, Baalhynyyt became involved in a conflict with a clan of azurite dragons. Although he won the battle that ensued, it was at great cost. If not for the healers among my people, he very likely would have died."
Dauria gave an unwilling nod. As much as she wanted to deny it, she knew enough from the stories of her grandsire that it was exactly the sort of thing he would do. “Go on," she said.
"Our healers spent months with the dragon, applying healing reagents and stitching wounds, tending his fevers and helping him to rest. All the while neglecting the ills of their own.''
Dauria gave a flick of her tail. It was only natural and proper that they would put the wellbeing of the dragon above that of their own people, after all.
The human squinted up at her. “Understand, Mistress, my people owed no allegiance to Baalhynyyt. We were never his vassals and his quarrel with the azurites had naught to do with us. He was not helping or defending us."
Dauria narrowed her eyes at him. How had he known what she'd been thinking? Such abilities were beyond the ken of most humans, even the druids. Was he learned enough to recognize draconic body language for what it was? She had her doubts, but what other possibility was there? He almost had to be one of the very rare and exceptional humans who did so.
She gave a slow nod.
"Eventually, of course, Baalhynyyt did recover from his wounds. As payment for the services rendered by our healers, he offered my people a service to be rendered in the future. A favor, as it were. And it turns out that my people have never come to be granted that favor. Which brings us back to me and my master and this Journey nearly all the way across the Earth to find the people of Baalhynyyt,"
Dauria only just restrained a sigh.
She didn’t mind this human’s clear expectation that she should honor her grandsire's vow and go with him to take care of this foolish, presumptuous wyrm. It was a fair assumption, after all, honor being of such import to her people.
But why had the creature gotten it into its head that it could treat the humans thus? Demanding tribute for rulership and the claim of "protection" was fairly common, to be sure, but the demand for maidens was several steps over the line of acceptability.
What did the wyrm even want them for?
Though she would never admit it to this human, if she was being honest she probably would have helped him even without Baalhynyyt's pledge. There was a certain level of abuse the Council of Elders would turn the other way on, but this was well beyond that.
"Okay, Brennos. You have convinced me. I will help you.''
The human beamed at her.
"But first," she said, holding up a Talon. “I would know what happened to your master. You said the two of you in conjunction decided to make this journey. Where is he?"
His expression fell, his eyes filling with tears. Oh, dear, she thought. Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it.
He blinked back his tears and made a guttural sound in the back of his throat. When he spoke his voice sounded hoarse and whispery. "Several days into the Persian jungle we were set upon by famorians. They did not specifically say so, but I suspect their only goal was our torment. They held us captive, inflicting untold agonies, for days before the opportunity came to escape. We took the chance, and I did defeat them, but only at the cost of my master's life."
Dauria nodded sadly, silvery tears filling her eyes.
"If at all possible, I would very much like to retrieve his body from the Persian Wilds."
Dauria blinked, encouraging her silvery tears to flow down her snout without shame. She raised a claw to rest with gentle pressure on the man's shoulder. "If you can return us to the spot, then we will find his body and give him the proper funerary rights as befits a druid of his station. I promise it, Brennos."
With a cough that seemed to clear the phlegm from his throat, the human nodded. “Thank you, Mistress. You'll never know what this means to me."
But she did. Unless she grossly misunderstood the man's relationship with his master, in which case she might be overestimating it. She had the distinct impression it was very much that of parent and child.
Kiunaarra, she though with longing. She gouged the dirt with her talons to keep from growling or sighing, and offered the human a slow nod. "Get some rest. The firbolg will show you to a bed. We leave at first light on the morrow."
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Dauria flew westward with the rays of Ryujin's Blaze warming her tail as the shining orb crested the pink horizon behind her.
Ordinarily, she would have flown low over the sea separating her homeland from the mainland. She loved the sensation of misted sea spray clinging to her scales and working its way down to the warm hide beneath. But this was no time for that. This was not a pleasure flight. People were dying at the hands of a foolish rogue wyrm in the human's home and it needed to be stopped. To say nothing of the druid whose body they needed to retrieve from the wilds of eastern Persia.
"Is this truly natural?" the human asked, intruding on her thoughts.
She chuckled. “How many dragons do you think would willingly modify themselves to accommodate a human?"
He tensed, his legs clenching against the scales beneath him. "Do your kind despise us so much?"
She opened her mouth to respond but froze. The automatic answer she would give her Jōmon was not appropriate here. Not only was Brennos not one of hers to be protected, but he had lived through things that would give lie to her words. It would likely come across as an attempt to coddle him, which would not be well received.
After a moment spent ordering her thoughts, she turned her head back to face him where he sat, in the natural depression where her neck met her shoulders. It made an almost perfect natural saddle. “My kind do not despise humans. We have made it our mission to help, support, and defend humanity for eons. But my kind are not the only dragons. In large part, the golds and the silvers see things in a similar light, but few of the others do."
The human's emerald eyes went wide. She could see the questions churning there. The discontent in his thoughts. But he held his silence, a muscle bulging in his jaw as he clenched his teeth together.
"I know it is not common knowledge, but dragons are not a single species. Each breed is different. Many of us do have common ancestors, but we are each different species with unique properties. While we are, of course, all individuals and make our own choices, there are certain tendencies within each breed. For example, most bronzes love adventure and excitement. Coppers tend to be great conversationalists and love riddles. Agates tend to be rather surly, while garnets have a tendency toward elitism."
While she talked, she watched the human's expression shift from annoyed disbelief to surprise to shock to cool understanding and finally to calm acceptance.
She struggled not to laugh with each dramatic shift.
A moment after she stopped speaking, his eyes narrowed and he seemed to study her face. “So, what you're saying," he began, sounding annoyed. "Is that some dragons do, in fact, despise humans that much. But some do not."
She tilted her head in answer, but this only seemed to confuse the human. He creased his brow and his lips came up in an expression oddly reminiscent of a snarl.
Dauria held his gaze, unsure what was the matter. The human's eyes flashed and he let out an exasperated sigh. "Well, are you going to answer me? Or just stare at me all day?"
She narrowed her own eyes. She had answered him! The Tilt of her head should have told him all he needed to know.
When a dragon couldn't use their wings to shrug, such as when in flight, the tilt of their head conveyed the same meaning. Everyone knew that.
"Well!?'' he shouted as he flung his arms out to his sides.
Was it possible this human didn't know?
She breathed a deep sigh. "I already indicated that you are correct. Some dragons do. Some do not. What is true of almost all is that a dragon will not put themselves through painful, invasive physical changes to accommodate your kind. In much the same way that I seriously doubt your kind would do so for one of us."
Brennos immediately opened his mouth, eyes flashing, as though to launch into an argument. But no sound emerged.
After a moment, he snapped his mouth closed, his brows lowering. His lips turned down in a decidedly chagrined expression.
Almost immediately, however, his jaw clenched. A muscle in his cheek bulged and his teeth ground in a way that grated on Dauria's nerves. “I suppose you have a point," he growled.
Before long, his tension ebbed and they spoke more rationally again.
Much of the rest of their journey was spent discussing the differences between human and dragon body language.
It turned out that he had, in fact, no idea what a draconic head tilt signified, but he was fascinated by it. She, in turn, was amazed and similarly fascinated by the human propensity for using the same movements to signify different meanings depending on the context of a given conversation.
The journey that took Brennos weeks to make, Dauria was able to make in only days. The side trek to retrieve the Master Historian's body proved a quick one. With her draconic eyes and nose, Dauria found the body almost immediately, resulting in very little lost time.
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Dauria stood in an open square at the center of the village. It was the first time she’d seen more than four of the Celts together at one time, and this seemed to be the entire village.
She’d known Celts of other lands before, but these were the palest humans she had ever seen. They were fairer of skin than even her firbolg companion, but they had freckles to match.
Though their hair was universally pale, many had roots of glowing red to rival Rhaasha. A few had hair of naturally fine spun gold while one or two had darker roots.
Strangely, she did not see any with hair of white or silver. Did these people age differently than her Jōmon did? Perhaps their hair did not gray as they aged? Or perhaps they maintained their coloration with artifice?
But no. As she looked closer, she realized what she should have noticed at the start. Either these people aged differently or they did not have any elderly. There were no age-lined faces, no age-stooped backs. No slow, shuffling movements suggestive of constant pain.
Where were the older Celts?
Without preamble, Brennos climbed down from her back with the corpse of his master on his shoulder. He moved to the newly constructed pyre and proceeded to climb the ladder to its top, eschewing help from all who offered.
Armed with her new knowledge of mannerisms and body language, she recognized his stiff, jerking movements for what they were: Anger.
Clearly, he was upset at these people. Had he understated matters here? Had there been anyone in this place who believed he might actually return, to say nothing of fulfilling his plan and returning with another dragon that could help them?
She shook her head to push the thoughts away as Brennos reached the top of the pyre. It didn't matter, after all. What went on between the villagers was not her concern. How one of those humans felt about the others had no bearing on her.
She was here to pacify the rogue dragon who had clearly forgotten its place and needed to be reminded of it.
Whether this garnet despised these humans or not was similarly immaterial. A certain amount of Lordship over humans was acceptable to the Council of Elders, but that acceptable limit did not include human sacrifices or demands for exorbitant amounts of tribute.
Brennos laid the form of his master atop the pyre with loving care. Perhaps more so even than one might expect of their apparent relationship. Was there more to it than she supposed?
Again, she thrust the thoughts from her mind as irrelevant. It had no impact on her either way.
The man placed something she couldn't see on the body then climbed down with stately slowness. Several members of the tribe came forward in their turns to speak.
She blotted out their words, her thoughts focused on the search to come. This whole affair carried the stench of ceremony, which she cared for not one whit.
While the pyre had been built, she had made her way around to those who might be in a position to know anything about the dragon. The chieftain, his advisors, the general over their militia, and everyone else she could find who might have been in reasonable proximity to the creature.
For all her effort, she learned precious little. The wyrm was immense, they said, though when asked to compare it to her the answers varied wildly.
Some claimed the dragon less than half her size, others that they were similar, with still others saying the garnet dwarfed her utterly.
In the end, she was forced to accept that without seeing them side-by-side a human would never be able to give an accurate accounting of a dragon's size. Which left her with only her assumption that it must be a relatively young dragon. Possibly an orphan who never had a chance to learn the laws.
Nothing else makes sense, she thought with a snort that caused several human faces to turn her way with annoyed expressions, as though she were interrupting some important proceeding.
Oh, she thought, realizing that was precisely what she had done. Just because they were so fragile with such short lives, and therefore must deal with the deaths of their fellows quite often, did not mean that death wasn't every bit as serious and painful an experience for them as it was for dragons.
In fact, now that she thought about it, that could be an argument for death being even more devastating for humans. After all, seeing more of it was unlikely to make it any easier to bear.
She nodded in apology and drew her attention outside of herself to focus on the proceedings once more.
"Is there any family who would like the honor of lighting the pyre to send his soul to Ogma?" asked the High Priest, a tall man with a flowing red beard in emerald green robes that covered his feet.
Numerous heads turned one way and another, as though seeking out those who would answer the priest's query.
Brennos raised his chin and cleared his throat. ”He had no family left, Revered son. I am the closest thing to family to survive him. With your permission–"
“If the man has no family," Dauria found herself saying, though she had no memory of considering it first. "Then I would present myself to stand in for them. I would like to be the one to send this man's soul to meet your gods."
After all, she thought. Just because their gods don’t exist— at least, not in the way they think —is no reason to offend them.
The stunned expressions on the faces staring up at her might have been comical if not for the seriousness of the occasion. She stoically maintained her serious expression as she eyed the High Priest, awaiting his decision.
Brennos eyed her speculatively, his expression a curious mixture of surprise and confusion, one brow raised with the other lowered.
After a few moments, his expression cleared, seemingly satisfied with what he saw in her face.
The High Priest breathed a deep sigh. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and closed it again. After a silent heartbeat, during which he glanced around the crowd as though looking for someone else to take this decision away from him, he cleared his throat loudly. "We have no precedent for this, but so long as there are no objections I see no reason not to allow it.''
Again, he looked about the crowd with his plaintive expression. Dauria couldn't help wondering how long this man had been in his position. He seemed far less than secure or confident in his abilities.
No one voiced any objections. In fact, no one said anything at all. Most of the people stared blankly at one another, as though they didn't comprehend what was happening around them.
She glanced toward Brennos. She didn't want to offend him or take honor from him, but she felt this was necessary. Not only did it prevent him losing face if anyone argued his right, it also solidified her in the minds of his people as a dragon who wanted to help them. To honor them. To do what was right while still upholding their customs and beliefs.
Brennos met her gaze with a steady look of his own. His eyes seemed almost to smolder, but his expression remained otherwise impassive. He offered a slight nod before turning away from her to face the High Priest.
Dauria glanced around the gathering one final time before turning back to the priest herself. "I assume, then, that I have your blessing?"
Although his eyes still seemed to tell a very different story, The High Priest gave a slow nod of assent.
Good enough, she thought as she moved toward the tall pyre, careful not to jostle anyone around her.
She stood a little less than a wing span from the pyre. She glanced around the gathering again to take in the human faces. Some looked at her with curious expressions, as though wondering what she intended to do. Others turned away in pointed disinterest, preferring to focus their attention on the High Priest or the body atop the pyre. Still others, though a much smaller group, watched her with worry, concern, distrust, or even anger.
She forced herself, with tremendous effort, to ignore her instinct to leap to irritation at that last group. She did not allow herself to shake her head or thrash her tail. She kept her jaw carefully relaxed as she raised her head high and allowed the golden light of Ryujin's Blaze to shine off her metallic scales.
Pulling in a deep, measured breath, she spoke in the most majestic tones she could manage. "Thank you for allowing me this honor. Although I did not know this man in life, I feel as Though I’ve gotten to know him through his apprentice, Historian Brennos. It has been my great privilege to have this chance to come and repay a debt owed your people by my grandsire. Please allow me to thank you for the service done by your ancestors and to assure you that I will find the dragon responsible for your woes and I will do whatever needs be done to pacify him. Your people need not fear any further attacks or demands by this garnet menace."
Although she knew, consciously, that cheering— or even universal acceptance —was far too lofty a goal here without having first neutralized the threat against them, she was not prepared for the sheer apathy she faced from this crowd. There was not a single cheer, no applause, no stomping feet, no uplifting expressions or grateful— nor even gracious —words. By Infernalis, there were precious few smiles or even nods to go around.
It was almost as though they hadn't even heard her. Were these people truly so downtrodden that an image of hope before them elicited no response?
Dauria breathed in deep, with every intention of breathing out a deep, long-suffering sign. But at the last moment, she pushed the last of the air from her lungs and into her primary Golar before exhaling in a forceful puff that sent a ball of white-hot flame streaking into the body atop the pyre.
The instant the flames touched the pyre, the wood crackled to life and jets of orange flames leapt high into the air. The body itself, along with the clothing and other goods around it, also burst into bright flames.
Within moments the cloth and straw burned away and the flesh began to blacken. Oily black smoke rose above the pyre and floated toward the clouds above.
"Speed your way to your gods," she whispered without irony. Regardless of what gods the human believed in, there was still truth to it. After a fashion. It had long been known that all human gods were merely facets of the three dragon gods. Very small facets, it had to be said. Each human god typically exemplified just a single trait or tendency, while the three dragon gods were wholly complex beings with plans and motivations far beyond the ken of even the wisest of the dragons.
Mistress Tiamat was, of course, the patron goddess of most stone dragons. She was hailed as their creator, and her moniker the Lady of Chaos often fit their behavior well.
It was typically she who was the recipient of praise as the dark or evil deities in the various human pantheons. She was nothing of the sort, however, and certainly her home, the realm known as Infernalis, bore little resemblance to the one humans called Hell or Hades.
The Astral Dragon, similarly, as the patron of most gem dragons, rarely took sides in any sweeping conflict, but his neutrality was a balancing act.
He did what was needed to keep either side from overcoming the other. But he had many, many facets that inspired a great many human gods whose domains ranged from knowledge to nature to balance and everything in-between.
His realm, The Astral Plane, was a place unlike any other, so it was said. A place both physical and spiritual, both having and lacking substance. A place of both good and evil that connected with every realm in the multiverse.
Which left only the great Ryujin, the Platinum Lord himself. As the progenitor of all metallic dragons, most paid him homage. He inspired human gods of goodness, nobility, light, the sun, healing, fertility, holy warfare, and everything in-between.
His realm, Celestialis, was, in fact, the inspiration for every version of Heaven seen in any culture throughout the human world. It was a paradise in every sense of the word. A utopia free of sickness, pain, greed, and death. Naturally, few humans ever earned the right to reside there.
Within minutes, the corpse and the pyre were reduced to fine white ash.
The High Priest dismissed the gathering and left instructions for his underlings to gather the ash once it had cooled enough to be handled.
Dauria cleared her throat, careful to be loud enough to attract attention but not so loud as to be a nuisance to those who might prefer to ignore her existence altogether.
"Pardon the interruption," she said softly. “I recognize this is a sensitive time for you. But thus far I’ve had little guidance and I hoped one of you might be able to indicate for me the direction the dragon went when he left the last time he was here.''
A soft chorus of shrugs, grunts, and muttered responses hit her like a stone wall. Few of the humans even looked at her, and those who did looked ashamed.
The reality of what had happened struck Dauria then, stealing her voice away. This was a possibility she had never considered.
None of these people had wanted to know where the dragon went. None had even contemplated the possibility of fighting back. They had meekly accepted the dragon's demands without so much as a thought to defying him. The idea that they might stop him or rescue their fellows had never so much as entered their minds.
It sickened her to realize the truth of it. She let them go without another word. She had a sudden and almost uncontrollable urge to leap into the air and leave this place behind. What was the sense in helping a people who wouldn't even try to help themselves?
A human face appeared just beneath her nose then. She looked up to find he was now the only human left in this wide open area. He stared up at her, his attitude a mixture of grimness and hope.
“I know what you're thinking," he said softly, his voice tinged with melancholy. “But try to see it from their perspective. They are not warriors. None have been trained for combat. And going against a dragon— a creature more than tenfold our size, to say nothing of its flaming breath and other powers we can hardly fathom —doesn't seem like courage. It's more like madness. It would be suicidal at best. Especially when the only things to return from our last attempt at defiance were the horses. We sent every able-bodied warrior in the tribe, the thinking being that we'd rather send too many and have it not be needed than too few and see the attempt fail."
"It failed precisely because you sent so many," Dauria said abruptly. “A small force might have had a chance of surprising him and gaining the upper hand. He probably heard them coming as soon as they tromped from your village."
Brennos hung his head. “We have never had to fight a dragon before. We have no knowledge of your capabilities. We erred not out of stupidity or lack of effort but lack of understanding."
She nodded. It was a valid point. How could she expect humans to know what they were getting into when facing a dragon? It wasn't as though human-dragon conflicts were common.
It happened, of course. But rarely.
"If your warriors knew where to go to find the wyrm, why does no one else?''
He offered a tremulous smile. “Well, it seems that everyone who knew, that is to say everyone with the will to fight back, went after it in that one disastrous attempt. Clearly no one had the foresight to think leaving that knowledge behind might be a good idea."
She raised her brow ridges in question. “So you were not among these with the will to fight?''
Brennos sighed. “I would have been, but my Master forbade it. He insisted I remain hidden whenever the dragon came. I've never even seen it."
She nodded. She had difficulty understanding such an order, but knew well the need to honor and obey one's Elder Superior. When issued a command by such, one obeyed. Without question. It was simply the way things were.
“Is there anything you can tell me that might help me to find this dragon?" she asked.
He lowered his brows and narrowed his eyes, holding the pose for several moments before he looked up again. “It may or may not be relevant, but I remember a considerable fuss being made over the fact that shortly before this dragon's first appearance we stopped seeing any other dragons anywhere near here. We used to have friendly relations with several malachites in the eastern swamp, a family of azurites in the mountains to the north and even a silver who resided in the Alps to the south. But all have vanished."
"Vanished?" she asked.
"Indeed. I cannot say if it is mere coincidence or if the garnet scared them off or even killed them. Or perhaps there is some other explanation of which I'm unaware. I cannot say with any certainty."
She nodded. "Thank you, Brennos. That is most helpful. In the morning I will begin my search. I don't expect I’ll return before I’ve succeeded, but if I should need it, will I be welcome here?"
Brennos chuckled darkly. "As you've seen, your presence is not exactly welcomed by most, but if you need anything I’ll ensure you have it. I know, even if they don't, that you are our only hope for ridding ourselves of this menace before he destroys us.''
"Thank you," she said with a nod of respect. "I’ll do everything I can for your people."
He smiled, his eyes shining in the purplish light of Ryujin’s Blaze as it fell behind the western horizon. His emerald eyes turned a curious shade of violet-gray in the glow. He breathed in a deep breath and released it in a faint sigh. The tips of his fingers trembled in the still air, absent even the slightest breeze.
"Whatever is on your mind, just say it."
He sucked in another deep breath then burst out rapidly, "Please take me with you I’ll do anything I can to help I really just want to help take this damned beast down please take me with you and let me help."
Dauria smiled and lowered her head so he could see into her eyes without continuing to strain his neck. "I understand how you feel, Brennos. I know you want to help any way you can."
"But you won't take me," he said.
"I'm sorry," she said. “But as you said yourself, your people don't know about dragons. You don't know how to fight us or what we're capable of."
He stomped his foot then sighed in defeat, hanging his head. "But I can't just sit here doing nothing."
"No,” she agreed. "You cannot. You must continue doing what you do for your people. Even if it seems useless just now, your people need to see you doing exactly what you do. Remember, you were named Master Historian. Your people need that normalcy. They need to see you doing what you do and not worrying about the dragon."
His brows came together as he gazed at her. "Are you certain that is what they need?"
She nodded. “For a certainty. They need to be reminded that their world is not ending. That the dragon is a problem that will be solved. You can do that for them."
He swallowed and nodded. "Okay. I can do that."
"Good," she said as she turned away from him. She moved out past the homes to an empty plot of land just beyond the town and laid down to rest. It might, she reflected as she drifted off to sleep, be the last good rest she got for quite some time.
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