Dragonforge (21 page)

“W-whose name?” Graxen asked.

“The valkyrie. You know her?”

Graxen sighed. “Nadala. In truth, I know little more than her name.”

“I thought that sky-dragons of different sexes didn’t mingle. How’d you meet her?”

“She tried to stop me from entering the Nest,” said Graxen. “I met her at the point of her spear.”

“Aren’t they irresistible when they play hard to get?” Pet said with a knowing chuckle.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Graxen.

“Human women don’t like to appear too easy. I assume the same is true with your females. They like to make you work to prove your interest.”

“I fear you know nothing of sky-dragon propagation,” Graxen said. “My interest has nothing to do with mating. Desire may rule the reproductive choices of humans, but sky-dragons value their species too much to leave breeding to individual whims. Our biological destinies are determined by the matriarch and her advisors. We mate only with whom we are told to mate”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Pet asked.

“What does fun have to do with mating?”

Pet felt a gulf arise between Graxen and himself that he wasn’t sure could ever be crossed. Yet, there was no mistaking the look in Graxen’s eyes. This dragon was lovesick, even if he didn’t know it.

Pet studied the valkyrie across the way. He could see nothing remarkable about her except, perhaps, that she was standing at such diligent attention.

“She shows a remarkable commitment to duty,” Pet said.

“Yes,” Graxen said. “She’s guarding Zorasta.”

“She’s probably on duty for hours. She might appreciate some company.”

“I don’t wish to disturb her,” Graxen said.

“You won’t disturb her. I saw the way she looked at you. She’s as fascinated by you as you are by her.”

Graxen wrinkled his nose as if the concept disgusted him. “Valkyries are too disciplined to ever be ‘fascinated,’ especially by one such as myself. You know nothing of our ways.”

“I saw the two of you nod to one another earlier.”

“It was only a respectful greeting.”

“If you fly over there, does your conversation carry any danger of turning into a session of passionate mating?”

“What? No!” Graxen looked genuinely mortified by the suggestion.

“That takes all the pressure off, then. You can hop over knowing all you’re going for is a polite chat. There’s no risk of anything messy. What’s the harm?”

Graxen didn’t answer. Pet could practically hear the wheels turning in the dragon’s mind as he allowed himself to be convinced. Pet gave him one last nudge.

“At the very least, since she’s stuck standing out here in the cold, you could ask if she’d like a cup of hot cider to fight the chill. You can bring her some from the kitchen if she says yes. It’s not flirting. It’s just being kind to a fellow dragon. It’s showing respect and appreciation for her hard work.”

Graxen’s eyes softened. “It is cold tonight. It would be simple kindness to offer.”

“Go,” Pet said, giving Graxen a gentle push on the back. The sky-dragon tilted forward, looking for half a second like he would plummet into the courtyard, until he spread his gray wings and shot toward the distant balcony as if pulled by some powerful, unseen spring.

Pet decided at that moment he wouldn’t flee the castle. For one thing, he was curious as to how this meeting would work out for Graxen. Secondly, he hoped that, sooner rather than later, Jandra would return. He didn’t want to miss the chance to see her again. He grinned as he dreamily watched the distant dragons talking. He drifted into a fantasy that began with the offer of a cup of warm cider on a cool evening, then moved to a vision of Jandra’s gown and his pants tangled together at the foot of a bed. Some small, quiet voice inside him warned that he might be skipping some steps in this scenario, but he’d honed to a wonderful degree the ability to ignore such small, quiet voices. He closed his eyes and let his body grow warm in the embrace of Jandra’s invisible arms.

Nadala remained rigidly
at attention as Graxen landed on a rainspout above her. Only the slightest tilt of her head revealed her awareness of his arrival.

“It’s, uh, chilly tonight,” he said. His tongue felt stiff in his mouth as he spoke. His voice seemed to belong to someone else.

She whispered her answer, so softly he had to strain to hear it. “It’s not so cold. I’ve stood watches in snow. Tonight is almost balmy.”

“Oh,” said Graxen. “Then, can I get you some warm cider?” He cringed as the words came out of him. She’d just said she wasn’t cold!

“We’re not allowed to drink on duty,” she whispered. She kept her eyes focused on the horizon, as if watching for the approach of invading armies.

“It’s… it’s quite a difficult job, I imagine, being a valkyrie. I-I want you to know I… uh… appreciate your hard work.” He grimaced at the prattle falling off his tongue. Why had he listened to the human?

“Thank you,” Nadala whispered.

Graxen found himself with nothing further to say. He’d thought he’d be flying off for cider about now. His heart pounded out the long seconds as neither of them spoke.

Nadala cast a brief glance upward, as if to assure herself he was still there. Her body quickly resumed the stance of an alert sentry as she whispered, “It’s kind of you to offer. Under different circumstances, I would take the cup.”

“You’re going to be here at the palace for a few days, at least,” said Graxen. “Perhaps we could meet—”

“I don’t think that’s wise, Graxen the Gray.”

“Oh,” he said.

“I wish the world were more fair,” she sighed.

“I know,” he said.

“Zorasta won’t allow this conference to succeed,” Nadala said, sounding bitter. “The matriarch has commanded that we cannot risk the existing world order. I wish she were open to the possibility that the world could be improved.”

Graxen felt his heart flutter as the implications of her words took hold.

“Then, you aren’t happy with the world as it is? You dream of changing the old ways?”

“A valkyrie is devoid of dreams,” Nadala said, her voice firm and, somehow, not her own. It was as if she were speaking the words from rote. “A valkyrie has no will of her own, no desire, save to serve the matriarch. We live and die for the greater good.”

Graxen dropped from the rainspout down to the balcony rail, twirling to face her, landing as silently as a leaf. With his voice at its softest, he said, “We both know that isn’t true. You treated me kindly when your sisters turned me away. You’re an individual as well as a valkyrie.”

“In the heat of battle, there can be no individuality,” Nadala said. She no longer sounded as if she were repeating slogans. She believed these words. “A valkyrie must be a part of a greater unit. In unity, we will never know defeat.”

“But life isn’t always a battle,” said Graxen. “Shandrazel wants to bring an era of peace to the world.”

“There will never be lasting peace,” said Nadala. “Especially not in this time of upheaval, following the death of a king. I know with the certainty that night follows day, I’ll be called to battle soon. My subservience to the unit must be complete.”

Nadala sounded resigned as she spoke. Her eyes looked past Graxen, into the distance, as if seeing that future battle.

Graxen nodded, accepting the wisdom of her words.

“You’re right,” he said. “Mine was a foolish dream.”

Her eyes suddenly met his. She whispered, “Tell me of your dreams, Graxen the Gray.”

“I’d only lower myself in your eyes to speak of such fantasies,” he said.

“No,” she said. “I’m fascinated by dreams. I envy your freedom to dream them.”

Graxen wanted to leap from the balcony and flee rather than confess his thoughts. Yet, for so long, he’d wanted to talk to someone about his most cherished hopes. He’d never been asked before; he couldn’t run away now. “Before I visited the matriarch I dreamed… I dreamed I would be allowed to mate. It’s utterly foolish. I know that centuries of careful planning aren’t going to be set aside to accommodate the hopes of an aberration. Yet… still I dreamed, and still I hope.”

“I admire that you can hold on to your dreams,” she said. “It’s been many years since true hope burned in my heart.”

“But, certainly you’ll be allowed to mate,” he said. “You must be highly respected, to be chosen as a guard for Zorasta. I know from experience you’re a formidable warrior.”

Nadala lowered her eyes as he spoke, as if embarrassed to discuss the matter. Despite her discomfort, she said, “I find the possibility that I’ll be selected as breed stock as dreadful as I do hopeful. I won’t be allowed to choose my mate; he’ll be assigned to me. The matriarch selects biologians who excel in intellectual arts, yet frequently these biologians lack even the most basic sense of decency. They spend their lives being lauded for their greatness, and they approach the mating as just another award they’ve earned.”

“I’ve heard the boasts of the chosen ones,” Graxen admitted. “They do seem to relish in describing how they, um, dominated the female. I think they overcompensate. Many biologians fear the power of valkyries; they become overly aggressive when confronted with a creature they secretly believe to be their superior.”

“We don’t wish to be your superiors,” said Nadala. “Only your equals.”

“Those are the sorts of words that Shandrazel is hoping to hear. It’s a shame you aren’t the ambassador.”

“And it’s a shame that the matriarch is blind to your virtues. It was kind of you to come speak to me tonight, Graxen. I fear for the future of our race, should the last traces of kindness be bred out of it.”

There was a noise in the chamber beyond the balcony, a soft mumble, like someone speaking in their sleep.

Nadala whispered softer than ever. “If Zorasta wakes, it will be difficult to explain why I haven’t gutted you.”

“Understood,” said Graxen. “It’s been worth the risk of gutting to speak to you. I feel… I feel less alone after hearing your thoughts. I wish we could continue our conversation.”

Nadala shook her head. “You mustn’t take further risks. Leave, knowing that you’re less alone in the world, yet also knowing we cannot speak again.”

Graxen swallowed hard. Could this really be the end? Ten minutes of conversation was so inadequate for the lifetime of words he’d stored up inside him. He could hear in her voice that she was also full of such words. She was simply too disciplined to risk speaking them. She had so much more to lose than he did. He should go and be satisfied. Still, some desperate part of him wanted more.

“I could write you,” he said.

She cocked her head at the suggestion, intrigued.

There was a further mumble in the chamber beyond.

“I know where you could leave the letters,” she said, her voice rushed. “On my patrol, midway between the nest and Dragon Forge, there’s a crumbling tower, long abandoned. It’s easy to find if you follow the river. Atop its walls stands a single gargoyle; there’s a hollow in its mouth big enough to hold a scroll. You could leave letters for me there, if you wish. Perhaps I’ll answer them.”

“I’d like that,” said Graxen.

In the room beyond, there was a sudden snort, the sound of a dragon jerking awake.

“Fly!” Nadala whispered, raising her fore-talon and stroking Graxen’s cheek. He tilted his cheek against her touch, feeling the smoothness of her scales, and the fine, firm strength of her talons.

Graxen tilted backward, then kicked into space, corkscrewing until he caught the air. He flew out beneath the stars, lighter than air, a song rising in his heart.

La-la-la!

Na-da-la!

He shuddered as he realized it was the same tune as “Yo ho ho, the slow must go!” Would he never get that accursed song out of his head?

After the success
of his will-deadening paste, Blasphet felt, paradoxically, a sense of dissatisfaction. This was something he’d learned about himself over the years; his setbacks usually stirred his spirit and prodded him to meet new challenges. His successes frequently left him feeling hollow and analytical, wondering if his achievement had come because he’d lowered his standards. With the paste, he should have been celebrating the results of years of research and testing. Instead, he found himself wondering why a gaseous or even liquid version of the poison had proved so elusive. The results of the paste pleased him, but the thought of force-feeding a gallon to his planned victims offended his aesthetic sensibilities. It simply lacked grace.

A lack of grace was also an attribute of the current demonstration of the taxidermy arts of the Sisters of the Serpents. Their earlier disguises of themselves as earth-dragons showed their talent at the art. Now, they were attempting to bring a stuffed sky-dragon back to some semblance of life.

Anatomical difference prevented the sisters from assembling a wearable sky-dragon costume. At first glance, it seemed as if a sky-dragon’s knees bent backwards, something a sister in a suit couldn’t duplicate. Of course, Blasphet knew that, at the level of skeletons, all mammals, lizards, and birds were built from the same archetype. All shared the same basic structure of four limbs, a torso with a rib cage and hips, a spine, and a skull. The bones of a sky-dragon’s legs were similar in size to a human’s bones, but of different proportions. The thighs were nearly the same length, bending forward from the hips. Then, the shins bent backward at the knees. However, human shins were long. Sky dragon shins were short, and the bones that formed the human ankle became a backward bending knee. The bones of a human foot were stretched into a long lower leg for the sky-dragon. Where humans had short stubby toes, the same bones in sky-dragons splayed out as talons.

Before his arrival, the sisters had tried to make a sky-dragon costume work by chopping off the shins of one of their order and teaching her to walk on stilts that resembled sky-dragon legs. The experiment hadn’t gone well, and the sister had died of infection. Blasphet suspected that if he had a human baby to work with, he could devise a device that would confine the shins. He could lengthen the feet as the child grew by the use of screws and clamps. If any of the sisters became pregnant, he would give the matter further thought.