ONE
THE CREATION OF THE DRAGONS
The Tales of Tertian
When the universe was young and dark, light existed inside an egg. Within that egg was the whole world: land, sea, sky, dragons, and birds. Everything inside the egg had been given life by Voice, who spoke words of power to summon everything into existence.
For many generations, the world was prosperous and peaceful. But on the outside of the egg, small creatures began to crawl and tap and burrow. They swarmed over the shell, trying to get in to unlock its secrets. The dragons were unaware, but Voice knew. The creatures were scared of the dark, and Voice took pity on them.
There is enough world in here for everyone, Voice said, and because every word it spoke was true, this became true. Holes opened up in the shell, and the creatures crawled through. The dragons tried to welcome them because they were small and pink and fragile—they had no scales to protect them like the great dragons did.
These new creatures could not subsist on words and magic as the dragons did; they needed the waters in the rivers and the produce of the land. Even then, they were still starving, so Voice spoke into being heavy-beasts and earth-clouds, pink-squealers and hairy-screamers. When Voice saw how much the egg-crackers valued these animals, it also spoke into being all other creatures in the world: moon-howlers and earth-lumberers, slither-cousins and web-weavers, pond-leapers and more feathered-fellows, heather-steppers and ground-skitters. Soon, the world was crawling with new creatures, but nobody minded because, as Voice had promised, the world was big enough for everyone. But the egg-crackers eventually spread so far and wide that they needed more space to grow their crops and feed their animals. They asked Voice what they should do, and Voice thought on the matter before approaching the dragons to say: These creatures need soft earth, water, and the sun to live their lives, but you do not. Are you willing to live beneath the earth or on top of hills or mountains where these creatures cannot farm?
The dragons were a little hesitant because while they could see the truth of this, they also loved the fields and sky and wide-open spaces. Seeing their reluctance, Voice spoke words of beauty, and the rocks of the world filled up with earth-ribbons and stone-eyes.
There, said Voice. Now the inside of the world is beautiful too. Will it make a pleasing home for you? The dragons agreed it would, having instantly fallen in love with the earth-ribbons and stone-eyes. And so they moved into the heart of the earth, digging themselves caves and tunnels, that sparkled and shone.
* * *
This story was told to me by P’tarmia and Clarix. Both dragons agreed that a lot of hardship might have been avoided if the dirt-walkers had left the deep-dwellers alone and, in particular, if they had not gone after the earth-ribbons and stone-eyes.
On a personal note, I find it fascinating that in the dragon creation myth, the birds were created at the same time as dragons, whereas humans and all land-grubbers were made later. I have often thought there might be a link between dragons and birds—especially with eye colour. Dragons exhibit the same pigmentation as owls—namely, nocturnal dragons have black eyes; diurnal, blue; and crepuscular, orange, thus reflecting the colour of the sky. It would be a fascinating field of study to see whether dragons have more in common with birds than snakes (many of my mage brothers currently believe snakes are close cousins to dragons), but I believe no one outside of myself is interested in such matters, so the likelihood of further study is minimal, especially since I suspect the Mage Guild will simply burn my manuscript upon receiving it.
HOW THE WORLD WAS MADE
Troubadour Tales
The universe was black and empty, except for two stars. These stars existed for many years before changing their form to become the Allmother and Allfather.
With these new forms, the gods wanted a new place to live and so created the world. First, they created night and day, then land and sea. The Allfather loved the openness of the sky and the wide expanse of the sea, so he took dominion over those; the Allmother liked the solidness of the soil beneath her feet and its quiet spaces, so she took dominion over those.
Each day, one of them created something new for the world. The Allmother created all the things that walked on the ground and lived in it, while the Allfather created all creatures that fly or swim.
There were only two creatures that the Allmother and Allfather made together. First, the butterfly. A creature of the earth, then of the air. Thus it is unique among all creatures and can travel through all known realms.
Second, they made men and women; the Allmother created their bodies from the earth while the Allfather filled their bodies with breath. These humans were to care for the earth while the Allmother and Allfather continued to create many more creatures.
“Swear to us an oath that you will always watch over these lands and care for the animals we give you,” the Allfather said.
Falling to their knees, the first men and women replied joyfully, “We swear,” and so the First Oath was born. Since then, all oaths of importance have been sworn to the Allfather.
The gods were very pleased with their creations, but when the Allmother created the elephant, the Allfather grew jealous, for he had created no beast that could rival it.
“But you have the whales of the sea,” the Allmother soothed, “and they are far bigger than my elephants.”
“But they are hidden away,” the Allfather opined. “No one can see their majesty. I wish to create something to soar through the sky, that I can ride the way the humans ride elephants.”
So the Allfather created the dragon. To bear him, it had to withstand his godliness, so he imbued it with magic and made it of a great size—as large as a cloud—to equal his own majesty. It had to be greater than all the beasts of the world, so he combined many of their elements: scales to glide through the air like fish swim through water, feathers to soar through the skies, whiskers to sense every air current, and horns to inspire awe and dread in all who looked upon it.
The Allfather was impressed by this truly magnificent beast he had made. But the Allmother, who can see into the heart of all things, saw that the dragon was proud—too proud to do as the Allfather wished and bear him on its back. The Allmother was proved right.
All the creatures of the world held the dragon in dread esteem, and so it did nothing but preen itself and strut about and listened not to its creator. The Allfather, incensed at the dragon’s refusal to do his bidding, flung the great beast to the top of the highest mountain, far from its fawning admirers.
The dragon raged, then sulked before an idea for revenge came to it. Curling itself around the mountain several times, the dragon cut off all the rivers and streams that ran down into the world.
Humans and animals alike began to sicken and die. With the Allfather in a furious temper and the Allmother busy soothing him, the humans dared not ask for divine help. Instead, they sent their best champions to destroy the dragon. But the beast wrapped its great coils around each and squeezed the life from them.
After many men had died this way, the wisest humans cautiously approached the Allmother, who advised that fourteen men should be decked in spike-covered armour and sent up the mountain on elephants, similarly protected. While the humans forged the armour, the Allmother struck the ground at the base of the mountain, letting out some of the trapped water so that no more creatures might die.
When the dragon saw what she had done, it clamped its mouth over the greatest of the springs and started to drink the water away. The Allmother’s stream dried up, but the god whispered to the water to find new ways to trickle through the mountain, and so it did.
When the fourteen champions and their mounts were ready, they started up the mountain, and when the dragon saw the new champions, it laughed.
“I have crushed over a hundred of your predecessors; another fourteen will be easy. I have not tasted elephant flesh, but I shall hang it in the dark caves of my mountain until it is sweet and rotting.”
With that, the dragon unfurled itself and slithered towards its challengers, wrapping its lengthy body around all of them at once. Then it squeezed.
When the armoured spikes pierced its flesh, the creature bled, shrieked, shifted its grip, and squeezed again. This time, the spikes punctured its bones. Again the dragon shifted, but this time, its innards were pierced and, full of the water it had drunk, they burst. Its skin split apart, and water gushed out, carrying away its entrails. The dragon screamed as it died, and that scream became the gales that rage around the earth on dark nights. The dragon’s blood soaked into the mountain, turning the stone itself red. And its guts, as they slithered down the mountainside, became new dragons—but smaller and afraid of this new world they found themselves in.
The blood-soaked champions were proclaimed the first kings of the fourteen realms. The elephants were set loose, never to work again and only to enjoy a life of peace.
Many called for the new dragons to be killed, lest they grow up like their progenitor. But the Allfather stepped forward and said mercy would be given. “These dragons are blameless, and they will be allowed to live. With the Allmother’s permission, they will be given homes in the earth itself. They may fly but intermittently. Mostly, they must keep to their new caves. Will you give them a beautiful home?” he beseeched his fellow god.
The Allmother carved out caves in the mountains and hills across the world, filling them with gold and gems to make them beautiful, and there the dragons dwelt.
TWO
Maddileh looked around her with wonder. Every time she came here, she noticed something different. The first time, she’d realised just how high the ceilings were, something she’d only noticed in passing when she’d been in the cave with Petros. Later, she’d seen they were vaulted and carved. It was amazing what you could observe without the threat of bone-blistering fire engulfing you. And how often did anyone get to linger in a dragon’s lair?
At first, she’d thought she was dreaming, reliving her quest. But her dreams were usually a confused mixture of action and emotions. These visits to the White Lady’s lair were calm and, upon waking, perfectly recollectable. There were details here that her mind couldn’t have made up, like the carvings on the pillars. Presumably, they went all the way from floor to ceiling, but she could only vouch for as far as she could see. At first, she’d thought them merely a pattern, but now she thought they looked more like an indecipherable language of curls and dots.
Saralene would know what these are. Maddileh had been tempted more than once to mention her dreams to the High Mage and obtain advice. But before Maddileh said anything, she wanted to make sure this wasn’t something sinister. After all, Petros had died in the White Lady’s tunnels, so perhaps this was an illusion masking a trap. What if he was dangling the mystery in front of her to tempt her to bring Saralene here to get revenge on them both? Maddileh knew that if she told Saralene about this dream and the High Mage decided to investigate, there would be no stopping her. So, for now, she kept her peace and merely tried to observe all she could.
Squinting upwards, Maddileh thought she could make out statues on distant ledges, but it was too dark to be sure. The dragon-bile flames were dwindling, and without any dragon to vomit up new ones, the lair was a little darker each time.
Allfather save us—what if I keep coming here when it’s truly dark? The thought sent a shudder through her. This place was undeniably impressive, with its surprisingly elaborate architecture and glittering piles of treasure (which included—because it was collected by a dragon—bits of broken glass, nails, and roof tiles as well as gold and gems). But if the dancing shadows around her swallowed the whole cavern, Maddileh could imagine that the empty space would become malevolent and full of creeping unseen horrors.
Made uneasy by her own imaginings, Maddileh headed towards the spot that always drew her. She felt certain that one day, she would turn the corner and find the White Lady gone from her resting place, and she wasn’t sure how she’d feel about such a discovery.
Dragon hunters fell into one of two categories: heroic or stupid. On the moment of its death, a dragon’s magic would deliver one final, deadly defensive strike—an explosion that brought the ceiling down, a burst of acid slime that ate through armour, or perhaps a foul vapour that would seep into your eyes, ears, and nose, trapping you in darkness forever. Naturally, every dragon hunter believed they were the heroic sort, and only evidence recorded in the mage orbs held in the Mage Museum or the stories written down in The Demise and Demesne of Dragons revealed the truth. When she’d set out on her quest for the Fireborne Blade, Maddileh had been sure she’d been heroic too. She’d certainly succeeded and survived—a usual requirement for heroism. She was also now the High Mage’s Champion, a post created especially for her. Many of those knights who had sneered at her when she was the newly made Knight of the Stairs now treated her with deference and even a little awe. Of course, there were still plenty who bowed when she faced them and belittled her the moment her back was turned, but at least they were in the minority these days.
But as she lay in bed at night, thoughts plagued her that the Blade and her place in the world had come at too high a cost. She’d never encountered a dragon like the White Lady before. In fact, she’d only encountered one dragon directly—the Shimmering Corsair. He had been a ball of fierce, fiery fury to be dispatched as quickly as possible. She’d had no qualms when her master, Sir Osbert, had finished the beast off. But facing the White Lady had been different because the dragon had spoken to her. Dragons were supposed to be vermin that plagued the land, stealing sheep, cattle, and valuables. But the White Lady had been graceful and eloquent. When her golden eyes had peered at Maddileh and Saralene, the knight had felt a flash of humiliation, similar to when her mother had inspected her attire on a morning; she’d been assessed and found wanting. This wasn’t a creature that acted on instinct alone, one that was ruled by its belly and its greed. And now it seemed, the dragon lived in a cave that spoke of craftsmanship and refinement. What was to be made of that?
Maddileh had scoured every volume of The Demise and Demesne of Dragons for mentions of dragons speaking; there were none. It was hinted at in stories and fables, such as those found in Troubadour Tales, but no knight had ever reported back to the investigating mages that a dragon had spoken to them.
Yet the lack of such information meant little; after all, Maddileh hadn’t told the mages about her own experience, so what was to say that other knights hadn’t either? A creature that talked was an intelligent creature, higher than vermin, and one that should not be sought out and destroyed in the way knights of the fourteen realms hunted dragons.
No matter how many times she eroded her doubts about killing a creature that didn’t deserve to be killed, the thoughts kept worming their way back in. There was, of course, someone who knew more about dragons than any investigative mage and who might be able to help her, but that would mean going home, something Maddileh had sworn never to do.
Maddileh turned a corner, and there was the White Lady, her skin glittering with frost. Now that the cavern was growing gloomier, it was apparent that the White Lady was giving off her own subtle glow, making the gems sparkle. The beauty of it made Maddileh smile.
Smiling at raven-fodder, are we? came the voice from the cave. I should expect no less from a gem-stealer.
“I keep telling you”—Maddileh’s voice seemed painfully loud in the silent cave and she lowered it to a whisper—“I’m not here to steal anything. I don’t even want to be here. I don’t know why I’m here. Did you bring me here?”
I? No. You brought yourself.
Maddileh gritted her teeth. The unidentified voice always gave an answer that was unsatisfactory and vague. It had a feminine tone, but that meant nothing; it could still be part of a trick.
“Tell me who you are. Are you … Petros?” That name fell heavy and dead in the silence.
You fear that name, the voice mused.
“Fear? No. Mistrust? Absolutely. He killed me, then I killed him, so we should be even, but he doesn’t strike me as someone who lets things lie—especially not his own bones.” Some distance away, there was the tinkle of disturbed treasure sliding to the floor. Instinctively, Maddileh’s hand went to her belt, but there was no sword there. There never was, even when she fell asleep clutching one tightly.
“Who are you?” she said, her voice low and urgent.
I am cold, came the reply, and Maddileh woke up. In a moment of chilly clarity, she was almost certain she knew who was speaking to her, and the knowledge brought no comfort.
* * *
Maddileh stared at the open copy of The Demise and Demesne of Dragons in front of her.
I’ve been an utter fool. Why didn’t I read this before? I yearned all my life to have my name in one of these volumes, and when it was added, I didn’t read it. She knew why, of course: because she’d been ashamed of herself, and angry for being ashamed. It was shameful to kill a noble creature—and if dragons were noble, that meant the history of knights and Maddileh’s whole life was based on cruelty.
Now her gaze drifted back down to the book:
By order of the emperor, in consultation with the High Mage, a delegation of mages and warriors set out to the demesne of the White Lady.
Unlike other lairs of dead dragons, the tunnels still showed signs of recent soot drake activity. Furthermore, the delegation encountered no less than five dragon-dead. Previous records indicate that such creatures are not usually found in a lair more than six months to a year after the dragon’s demise (although see the Silken Sigh, the Ancient Terror, and the Deadly Wyrm for notable exceptions).
When the delegation reached the heart of the lair, they reported that the White Lady was still corporeal. Her corpse had not decayed or destroyed itself in the manner of all other dragons on record, but was whole and covered in frost. The spear that the Mage’s Champion used to fell the beast still protruded from the creature’s mouth; blood was crusted upon it. After careful examination, it was declared that the White Lady was not breathing, nor did she have a heartbeat. Yet despite lacking vital signs, the dragon was seen to twitch her claws, much like a dog will twitch its leg while dreaming. All but two of the eight-strong party witnessed this.
After much discussion, it was held that the White Lady was not dead but merely held in some deep—possibly magical—sleep. It is beyond our skill to say whether the sleep was instigated by the weapon or an act of self-preservation by the dragon herself, whether the sleep will end, or what it is that she dreams about.
She isn’t dead. She’s dreaming. I should have read this before. Stupid woman. Stupid.
Never mind. What’s done is done. Concentrate on what to do next. I need to find out if she’s in my dreams or if I’m in hers—and how I stop them.
It had been almost three years since Maddileh had ventured—unknowingly, for the second time—into the demesne of the White Lady; three years since both she and Saralene had perished and come back; three years of maintaining their positions of power in the Citadel of the Mages. During that time, Maddileh had agonised over her killing blow of the White Lady. Now that it appeared the blow hadn’t been killing at all, a dark shadow lifted as if she’d finally voided herself of a wriggling in her guts.
Of course, while her death-guilt might have lifted, she now had to deal with the concept that dragons might be more than everyone thought and what that might mean for their world.
I need to talk to the White Lady herself. See what kind of creature she truly is.
With this decision made, relief flooded through her; this was a mage’s problem as much as it was a knight’s, and it meant that Maddileh could tell Saralene. Putting on a jerkin and trousers, the Blade and a dagger at her belt, she stepped out of the library.
Despite it being the early hours of the morning, Maddileh had no qualms about seeking out the High Mage. Her friend worked day and night, sleeping when her body demanded rest rather than on a schedule. It had seemed to work well at first, with Saralene looking rejuvenated and alert whenever she appeared. But in the last few months, Maddileh had started to notice little signs of strain: a tension around the mouth, moments of distracted listlessness where Saralene would gaze vacantly into the distance. Such unguarded moments never happened when Saralene was with other mages, citizens, or the emperor’s officials; then, she was as sharp-witted and composed as ever. Only when she was with Maddileh did her mask of composure slip. Such honesty and vulnerability between them made Maddileh’s heart both glow and ache.
Walking through the High Mage’s palace, Maddileh let the solitude wash over her. She had been amazed to see that the palaces of both the High Mage and the emperor had impossibly high ceilings. Who could need so much space above their heads? Maddileh had wondered as she’d walked the hallways for the first time. It wasn’t as if the walls were hung with a wealth of tapestries and pictures. Apparently, there had once been a twenty-foot-high portrait of a former ruler at the emperor’s palace, but it had been chopped off the wall by revolutionaries and used on the pyre they’d erected to burn said emperor. After that, all subsequent rulers had avoided such grandiose gestures out of a persistent sense of superstition.
After the initial strangeness dissipated, Maddileh had grown to like how her footsteps rang and echoed in the corridor, as if she was striding out on important business. Rain rattled against the towering windows, adding another layer of peacefulness to the place.
Copyright © 2024 by Charlotte Bond
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