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“Benefits?” someone snarls.
“Yes, benefits.” Varex’s voice holds a note of eagerness. “We can care for livestock better. Plant gardens and fields. Forge armor, craft machinery, create books—”
“You mean change our culture?” Fortunix shoves his way between my brother and I, his scarred wing scraping my shoulder. “Become more like the humans we hate, the humans who perpetrated this act of devastation upon us? Forgive me, young Prince, but I find that intolerable. Who here recalls the days of the dragon hunters? Precious few of us, because so many died during that dark time. Then we endured the plague. Next, the war and the murder of our females. And now we are supposed to ponder the benefits of assuming frail human flesh for several hours each day? I cannot view this event as anything but what it is—an assault on the very nature of dragonkind. An affront to the Bone-Builder himself. If we accept this, we are pissing on the skulls of the ancestors—on your own father, Varex. The Bone-King, Arzhaling himself. What would he say to this?”
A low growl ripples in Varex’s throat. “Keep my father’s name out of your mouth. You will refer to him by his title, or not at all.”
“You would teach me the rules of honorifics, hatchling?” snarls Fortunix.
“Enough!” I bellow, with sufficient force to send both of them back a step. “As my brother wisely said, we need time to consider all aspects of this change. It’s difficult for everyone, but squabbling is foolish and futile. We need each other more than ever.”
Silence falls over the gathered dragons. And then Varex says, “Was anyone else’s human cock frighteningly small?”
An instant rush of exclamations surges from the group, mostly horrified agreement. Pride swells in my heart as I watch Varex leap down from the rock and pace among the others, commiserating with them about the strange human genitals. There is some mention, too, of accompanying sensations, but I don’t take the time to listen, because my focus is on Fortunix. He’s flying away, probably to cool his temper.
Perhaps I should not have spoken so harshly. He is an elder, after all. And he helped Ashvelon bring the enchantress here, so perhaps he feels somewhat responsible for what has happened.
I leave my brother to handle the clan, and I fly after Fortunix, intending to apologize.
But he isn’t heading for his cave. Instead he soars over one of the peaks and banks sharply northwest. In that direction lies the area most heavily populated by voratrix and fenwolves. What reason could he have to go there?
Instinct tells me I should avoid his notice until I find out his purpose. With the help of a strong wind, I gain altitude and use the misty clouds as cover to partly conceal myself as I follow him. He’s flying low, heeding the warning which I communicated to the clan.
Is he seeking solitude? Hunting? Looking for a predator to battle, to burn off some of his anger?
I can empathize with his fury. I’m angry and confused myself. But Fortunix has more cause than most to hate humans. My father told me that when Fortunix was young, he was blessed with the love of two life-mates, a male and a female. Their trio shared a passion that was legendary among dragonkind. During the dragon hunts, both of his life-mates were killed and skinned. Since the hides were separated from the carcasses before dawn could return them to ash, the hides and scales remained intact. Such trophies would fetch a high price among wealthy humans.
Skinning or dismembering a dragon’s corpse is a sacrilege of the worst kind. It is said that such an act prevents the dragon’s spirit from returning to the cycle of the universe. Small wonder, then, that Fortunix carries such hatred for humans.
Perhaps he has his life-mates’ bones hidden somewhere and he is going to visit them, in which case I should not spy on his grief. I’m about to turn around when I see him dive into the Necrocleft, a dark crack where a mountain once split in half. Dragons rarely go there because it’s almost too narrow for wings, and because it is a cursed place, where dreadful tragedies have occurred. Venturing into the Necrocleft is like begging the Bone-Builder to curse you with bad fortune.
Swooping lower, I dive into the crack as well and follow Fortunix at a careful distance, gliding as much as I can and beating my wings when he does so he won’t hear my approach.
I have no reason to pursue him like this. No reason not to trust him. And yet… he set up the meeting with the King of Vohrain without being requested to do so by Varex or me. He stayed behind to “smooth things over,” and he hasn’t told me what was said after I left. He undermined Varex and me just now, in front of the clan. And instead of remaining with everyone else to discuss our predicament, he is here, navigating the Necrocleft.
When the chasm narrows more, Fortunix lands, folds his wings, and continues on the ground. I land as well, creeping along far behind him until he begins to claw his way up a sheer rock face. About halfway up, he disappears. There must be a hidden cave that I can’t see from this angle. Rather than confront him directly, I continue along the chasm past the spot where he vanished.
Up ahead, a pile of rock chokes the canyon. It’s the very avalanche in which Mordessa’s first family perished. Some say their spirits never rose from the rubble of the rockfall, and that their souls remain trapped with their bones, forever groaning under the weight of countless boulders.
My father told me Mordessa’s parents came to this place for alethia, an herb which, when consumed, causes a dragon to see the world in rainbows of rippling color, and to imagine the most fantastical things. This chasm and a few others like it are the only places on the island where such herbs will grow.
In the other places where alethia thrives, the fenwolf packs are too numerous for a grounded dragon to face. Like the older voratrix, the fenwolves of Ouroskelle have developed fire-resistant hides, and our magic barely damages them. So Mordessa’s mother and father chose to collect the herbs from this narrow chasm, where even fenwolves fear to go. A foolish risk for a few plants.
Perhaps Fortunix has come here for alethia? I spot clumps of iridescent leaves along the edges of the rockfall, but I can’t be sure it’s the right plant. My father outlawed alethia after Mordessa’s first family died, so I have never seen it.
A giant slab of rock rests at an angle against the cliffside. I crouch beneath it and wait until Fortunix emerges, crawls down to the ground, and returns the way he came, without glancing in my direction. Then I claw my way up the cliff to the place where he disappeared.
Sure enough, there is a tunnel into the mountain, concealed from below by the angle of the rock. It’s just large enough for a dragon of Fortunix’s size to squeeze down it.
After a dozen paces or so, the tunnel widens into an oval-shaped room. Several chests stand against the walls, some of them overflowing with treasure. This must be a private hoard. Usually dragons keep a small selection of their favorite jewelry and contribute the rest to the clan hoard, but Fortunix has been holding back valuable items. Selfish, perhaps, but not traitorous.
I’m about to leave when I hear a tinkling, scuffling sound. Near the back wall of the room sits a wooden crate filled with wide-mouthed glass jars, each covered with a piece of leather speckled with holes and secured with a metal band. It’s odd that Fortunix would own human-made items other than jewelry—but that’s not what surprises me. The clinking and scuffling sounds come from the shell-like wings of blood-beetles bumping against the glass.
Every jar holds about a dozen beetles, each one a deep reddish-black. They crawl over and over each other, now and then trying to fly away only to bump against the thick glass. Their serrated pincer mouthparts move incessantly, and the sharp tube between those pincers jabs up and down, seeking flesh to impale.
Blood-beetles mostly attack warm-blooded animals, but occasionally one will get into a dragon’s mouth or genital pouch, or dig into the hollow of a joint, causing pain and distress. The insects are capable of consuming a shocking amount of blood and they can swell up to five times their size. Animals or dragons bitten by them often become infected by other diseases as a result.
I have no idea why Fortunix has concealed this treasure, or why he’s keeping blood-beetles as pets. But I’ve indulged my curiosity long enough. I must return to the others and remind them to take short flights and stay near the ground. We should hunt and gather food for ourselves and the women before the change occurs again. Then I have a private errand of my own to complete, after which I must go back to Ashvelon’s cave to collect the Princess. She and I won’t be returning to my cave tonight—I have a different spot in mind.
