Chapter 2
The Fire Sickness bloomed across Dragonhame,
And one by one the great halls fell
Ancient fastnesses lost to time,
Lost to hot flame and madness, one lone wizard’s foul spell -
May he burn nameless, wingless, in the deepest pits forever,
Kin betrayer, world destroyer.
One lone person brought our people down,
One lone rescuer was lifted up
Blessed by the Life Giver to save those left,
May his name be remembered forever.
Gandaran the lone soul untouched by the madness
Locked long in his study beneath solid stone,
Wrested the solution out of the cold earth.
Rare were the earths and rarer the spirits
That went into the draught he brewed in that place,
Rare were the spirits and rarer the powers
who taught him the secrets to make a new way.
One by one, he sought them out,
The lost, the hopeless, wing-torn and and forlorn,
Dosed them well with Blazendraught, and sent them here,
Here to Sunderland , where dazed and reborn,
The new life for Dragonkin beneath the warm sun
began anew.
- The Lay of Gandaran, Traditional Dragonkin Song
Bathed in the sunny warmth of Sunderland, far from the cold of the north, a single male of the Dragonkin looked out at his people gathered for the winter solstice festival.
“Another Spoke of the Wheel, another Conference Week,” said Grimsbeard Raspstone, the President of the Dragonkin Economic Council, what the Aos Daoine would call their High King. “I’m glad we only do this twice a year.”
He stood on a ledge connected to his private offices, watching the activities below. It was an excellent view.
Grimsbeard was a respectable brown scaled dragonkin, of middling height as his people went, although any Daoine would have called him huge, with a fine set of spikes that started at his forehead and ran down his back, each, because of his rank, tipped in a case of engraved gold. Compared to the dragons of myth and legend, and especially the mighty Gandaran, he would have been considered small, barely a juvenile, but he was larger than most of his contemporaries, one of those Dragonkin his people gave the title of Dragon due to his size and his fully descended tail, as tribute to their ancient days of glory. His wings, when spread, glistened with brown and gold streaks, and a mustache and beard, not of hair, like the Daoine have, but of flesh, like a catfish, glimmered with pale shimmery highlights, as if they had been dusted with diamond dust. It was a hereditary trait of his bloodline, and made him all the more impressive.
His looks though, were not what made him chairman. It was his knack for profit. As he watched, Grimsbeard silently calculated the income from the vendors and merchants who had gathered and set up booths for this conference, and all the speaking fees this meeting would generate and rubbed his hands together. “A good haul,” he muttered.
A door opened behind him, and he heard the light clicking of claws on the stone floor behind him.
“You asked for me, sir?” a voice said. “I hope I didn’t take too long getting here. I didn’t expect to be called on before tomorrow.”
He turned, looked at the pretty young dragonkin woman. Her scales were a lovely shade of blue, and she wore a wrap dress in a darker shade of blue that set her color off to its best advantage. Her female ruff a slightly paler shade than her face stood half erect, blushing slightly with uncertainty. It gave her a certain innocent charm he found amusing.
“Ah, Bluestone. You’ve done well. I’m sorry you had to start working during this chaos. The person you’re replacing had to leave rather… suddenly.”
She raised the corner of her eye at this, paused a moment before continuing, uncertain how to react at the word suddenly, but quickly she smoothed her face and gave the chairman a curt, seemingly confident nod. “Ah,” she said. “Well, here I am.”
“Yes, and I am very glad of it,” the chairman said, returning her nod of confidence and adding a slight smile. “You came highly recommended and this is a busy time. If you can handle this, you should be able to handle nearly anything the job throws at you.” He turned back to the ledge, his tail swishing the ground, and motioned for her to join him. “Midwinter Conference is always such a mob. Everybody up north is glad to escape their winter for a while. For them,” he said, nodding to the crowd, “they get to play. But we’ve got a lot to do.”
“Yes sir.”
Still, he dwelt on the crowd, not yet ready to turn away.
“Just think about it. All the people who don’t have to be here, like all the idiots who hope to get their names noticed with yet another stupid speech on how to squeeze a little more trade out of the same issues that have been done five thousand times in the past, all the people trying to arrange a good mentor for their young ones, and all the people hoping to make a new trade connection....The money spent.” He smiled appreciatively. “We own all this. All the profits, the fees, and even some of the sales go straight into our coffers. It keeps the government going.”
“But isn’t that what the meeting’s for?” she asked. “That’s what they told me at school. All this, all the services, is what keeps the government going, all given in return for things people choose to spend. Otherwise, we might have to,” and here her voice dropped softly, to barely above a whisper. “We might have to have taxes.” She gave a little shudder at that thought.
Grimsbeard chuckled at her reaction. “Is that how they’re teaching about it in the creches nowadays? In a way, in a way, that’s quite true. And its all voluntary, and you said. None of these people have to be here. They come and spend only because they want to, and many hope it will be a lucrative expense, although I think for the most part, it’s only the vendors selling dreams that see that. But the way the law is written, they’re all extra. It’s really only the the reports from the heads of the great divisions and their chairs that matter. The Great Council is the heart of it. Everything else is a extra.” He scratched himself under the chin. “But my forebearers understood this. We smelled the profit, and a way to get financed that would keep people happy. That’s why we started having the big festivals at the same time. The government gets funded, while we in the council would make it clear that everybody else was playing fair. To make sure nobody was cheating the Pact. Or at at least fair enough when you mix dragons and gold.”
She looked over the crowd below them. Two dragon males, both young enough to be hot-blooded, and not quite old enough to know better circled around each other, while a knot of young dragon girls watched and giggled. “I never realized that, sir.”
He nodded. “Indeed. It’s a quite serious thing for anybody appointed to high office to miss without sending a stand-in. With everybody and their creche-mates showing up, it adds extra pressure for the reluctant to put in their appearances.”
“What happens, sir?” Bluestone asked, “if they don’t show up?”
“Someone who does that is outlawed. The offender and anybody who stands with him.”
“Outlawed? You mean...”
“Yes. No more Blazendraught for that person or any of his associates.”
She shuddered at the thought. Blazendraught was the only thing that allowed dragonkin society to work. Without the medicine, taken on a monthly without fail, dragonkin fell into a state of madness, destroying everything and everybody around them, usually in great blasts of dragonfire. The Fire Sickness was what destroyed Dragonhame, and it was only through the efforts of Gandaran that any of the dragonkin survived at all, changed and lesser, but alive.
Grimsbeard saw how his assistant was affected by the image, and continued on. “Luckily, of course, that is a penalty that has seldom been given. Most who could have been caught doing something like this have decided to take matters into their own hands rather than face the Fire Sickness.”
Bluestone nodded. “I can understand that.”
Grimsbeard continued. “Of course, anybody who refuses to submit to the accounting really has other problems going on - embezzlement, conducting unauthorized experiments, life extension magic, or worst of all, trying to do destabilize the pact. Something big that can’t be explained away and smoothed over by the usual methods. Dragonkin like that already have a touch of the madness.”
“No doubt you’re right sir.” Bluestone nodded emphatically. “Has it happened often?”
“Not very. Not enough to threaten the Pact in a serious way. Not enough to waken Gandaran. Once an attempt to bring back the old ways...once an attempt to take over the council...”
“I’ve studied about those,” she said, nodding.
“That’s why we have the Dragon Investigation Corporation. You know their slogan.”
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“We never stop investigating. Never,” Bluestone said.
“It’s true. They never stop investigating. And with a people like ours, we need it.”
“Let’s hope they can keep catching the troublemakers before they cause too many problems,” Bluestone said.
“Let’s.” He sighed. “So many problems right below the surface. Let’s hope the DIC can keep them there.” His face darkened for a moment, thinking about his worries, then he shook his head. “No, it’s Winter Solstice. Let’s think about brighter thoughts than that today. Time to go over yesterday’s receipts – a much brighter thing to think about!”
Grimsbeard gave his new assistant a small smile, then turned and walked to his desk.
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While Grimsbeard contemplated the ways of his people, to the north, on the White Isle, the Oldest sat in her sitting room pouring tea for a guest. This room, too overlooked the garden outside, and had a cheery fireplace, but there was no desk, only comfortable chairs and a long side table holding a tasteful floral arrangement. Between the chairs was a low table, which at this moment, held a teapot of blue and white, two cups, and a platter of small cakes.
The Oldest picked up the teapot and began to pour. “So, Arriane,” she said,smiling at the young woman sitting in front of her. “Ethne told me you stopped by this morning and asked if I were free to talk to.”
Arriane, a young woman of the Aos Daoine, sat in a sitting room next to the Oldest’s office. She was very beautiful in a blonde frosted mode, with pale silver-blond hair tied up in braids piled on her head. Her eyes, large and luminous,of the usual blue, stood out in contrast against the porcelain of her skin, her cheeks just faintly touched with color. Her dress, a simple robe of dark blue accentuated her paleness even more. The only ornaments she wore was a simple band holding her hair in check and a belt of silver leaf-shaped links around her waist. It was a classic Daoine look, ones that only the best bloodlines could pull off, but the effect was spoiled by an air of uncertainty about the young woman, reflected in her eyes, and the fact she slightly chewed on her bottom lip right before she began to reply.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t be busy,” Arriane replied. “I knew I was taking a chance that you would be in and willing to see me. Greenholt is a different place on the holidays.”
“Especially on the Winter Solstice, where it seems the whole town empties out, with people going home,” the Oldest said, handing a cup of tea to her visitors. “All the students gone, and more than half the instructors, and the workshops closed down for a week. It becomes a very quiet, peaceful place.” She turned to look out of the window at her garden. The snow that had fallen the day before had stopped, coating everything in white. A small flock of birds were hopping on the ground, exploring a section of a flowerbed that still had seedheads intact on their withered stalks. Someone must have opened a door or otherwise made a noise, because suddenly all the birds took flight. “Just like those birds, busy one moment and gone the next.” She lifted the teapot back up and began to pour her own cup. “In fact, I am surprised you’re here, and not back home at Allynswood.”
Arriane took a sip of the tea, then put her cup on the small table in front of her. “Mother and I were considering it. But something came up at Alderbranch headquarters that needed her attention.”
The Oldest nodded. “That can happen for those of us who work in administration. Luckily for me, this is home, and has been for a long, long time. But I’m sure your mother wouldn’t have stood in your way if you had wanted to go visit your sister and nephew.”
“I know,” Arriane said. She folded her hands together, then dropped her head to look down on them. “She even told me that herself. But…”
“But?” The Oldest kept her voice soft. Arriane had been one of her students until just recently, and a gifted one, and she was curious what made the younger woman seek her out.
Arriane looked up, her eyes intense, her lip quivering. “I...I was remembering what you told us when we finished our schooling last summer. ‘My office is open to all of my students. I wish you all the wisdom to choose the right course. You are arrows in the the hands of the Lifegiver. May you all find your own right target.’”
“Ah,” the older woman said. She picked up one of the cakes from the platter, then dipped it into the tea. “I think I remember saying that. I usually say something like that when students finish their studies. Finding the right path sometimes can be hard.” She took a bite of the cake. “Is...is your mother trying to encourage you to go a path you’re not sure about?”
Arriane nodded. “She’s been trying to get me to apply to the Alderbranches. Since my sister chose a different path, she’s made it pretty clear that she wants me to take up the family tradition, as she puts it.” She picked up her teacup and stared into it, then took another sip.
“But you don’t feel the calling.”
The young woman shook her head.
“So tell me, if your mother wasn’t pressuring you, what would you want to do?”
“I...I don’t really know,” the young woman said. She put her teacup back down on the table. “I thought when I enrolled here that I would go into the Magic Corps when I finished. But lately, I’ve been wondering if that’s the direction I really want to go in.”
“It is a commitment. You would either become part of the magical defenses at Ynys Afel, or be sent to one of the garrisons along the Boundary. There’s more formality at court, of course, but mostly you’d be in the background, even more out of sight, usually, than the King’s security troops. Your work there would be to monitor for attacks, and keep the magic perimeter secure. It can be boring work, maintaining. I personally don’t see you as cut out for that.”
The young woman nodded in agreement. “And my family has court connections, and that might add extra stress.”
The Oldest dipped her cake into the tea again. “A wise realization. You wouldn’t be quite as anonymous as most of the Corps. Most of them are Aos Daoine, but not from one of the great houses. You’d have to make more of an effort to stay in the background when it was your duty time. And you might even get drawn into court activities, or worse, court politics, which is not good for maintaining the discipline. And the Magic Corps is all about the discipline.”
The young woman nodded.
“If you went to one of the garrisons, you’d have more opportunity to use other skills, even attack skills. And there’s room for growth. The Shadowlanders have magic, too, and they are always finding way around things our people are doing.”
“I’d thought of that,” Arriane said. “But it just doesn’t feel right at this moment,” she said.
The Oldest looked at the woman in front of her, and recalled her as a student – thoughtful, disciplined, curious, and once committed, always finished her tasks, no matter how difficult or how long it took. And who knew when to stay quiet, and when to ask questions. And she would listen to what was going on around her, even if she said nothing. Ever since she had finished her training, the Oldest had been hoping to talk with her, and had planned to seek her out after the holiday, but she gave a silent thanks to the Lifegiver for bringing her to her door.
“You could always continue here,” the Oldest said. “You know the White Circle does more that offer magical training for those thinking about the Magic Guard.”
“The White Circle?” Arriane said, surprised. “I...I thought you had to be specially sought out and invited. And a member of the Magic Guard to start with.”
“It’s true we find most of our members from the Magic Guard, mostly because we have more contact with them. But the skills that make a person useful to the Magic Guard or the Redsticks, or even the King’s Guard aren’t necessarily the ones that work for us. We need minds who can think, who can listen, who can investigate, and who are also able to handle the right magics.” She dipped the last piece of her cake into her tea. “As for being invited, who do you think does the invitations?”
“I...I…” Arriane struggled for a reply, and ended up taking a sip of tea instead.
“If I say you are welcome here, you are welcome here, you know. There is always more to study, always more to do. Soon, the Youngest’s term of office will be completed.”
“Oldest, are you suggesting?” Arianne said, surprised.
“I am. You are one of the brightest students I’ve had in a while. Think about it. Visit your sister, go talk with your mother if you have doubts. But before that, I will be making a small visit to Berlit’s Island. I would like you to come with me, as part of my escort.”
“Me?” Arriane asked.
“You can learn a little of what we do, ask questions, and have some time to think about what I’m suggesting. And maybe by then, you can make up your mind about joining us. The role of the Youngest is a year long commitment, and after that year is up, you will still be free to stay or go. But it will keep you out of the Alderbranches for at least that long.”
Arriane’s eyes lit up. “It would do that, wouldn’t it?”
“It would indeed,” the Oldest said.
The girl gave the older woman a flashingly brilliant smile. “When is this meeting?”
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It was a huge room, at the heart of Sunderland Island. The walls had been carved out and then fused by dragon fire. It was lit by a circle of fifteen lamps that glowed from their niches in the walls.
In the center, curled up as if asleep was the biggest dragon of all the dragons in An Lar. Unlike all the dragonkin at the assembly, this dragon was not of one color – red, brown, black, blue, green, gray or golden – it was all of them, and purple as well, one colored region sliding into the next. Hiss wings were massive, shrouding his sides. A row of gold spines wrapped round his back, almost to the tip of his tale. Each finger of his red hands was tipped in a shining black claw. Purple mustachios, like those of a giant catfish drooped from his snout. It was hard to tell if the reclining figure was alive or dead, but from time to time, if one watched carefully, one would see him take a breath.
The air crackled with great power, surrounding the carved stone bed the dragon lay on. From time to time, a dust particle fell towards it, and exploded in a brief twinkling flash, evaporated by the magic surrounding him.
The council members stood up in a respectful semicircle around the dragon’s head.
“Hail, Gandaran, savior of our people. May you rest contented for another turn of the wheel,” they chanted in unison.
Obeisances made, the filed to the small meeting room to the back of the vault, and took their places. The room, by tradition, did not have a door, so that they in their quarterly meeting, would look out over the silent form of Gandaran. Grimsbeard stood up, looking to his right and left at the faces of the gathered powerful, taking them in, open and closed, greedy and efficient – above all, ready to insure their power. What he wanted to do now was probe.
An expectant tension grew. When it built large enough, he spoke. “In this sacred place, let us remember, one and all - Dragonkin are people of a pact,” Grimsbeard said, a line directly from the catechism they all had learned in school when they were little ones. “This pact is our sacred core. As council members, we have all sworn an oath to it.”
“We all know that,” said Jasper Greystone. “We are all well past the point of creche mates, learning it for the first time.”
“Bear with me, Jasper. I know that Redbluff Explorations doesn’t like to wait around for much, but some of us have to go a more circular route. I plod much more. Perhaps it’s from being in finance, where you have to track every quarter copper.” There was a little snicker in the room. Grimsbeard ignored it.
“What are the parts of the pact? We represent the five branches of Dragonkin worth. Transportation. Pharmaceuticals. Exploration. Finance. Trade. The five great divisions, the five great families of Dragon being. From this division, we ended all the dragon wars that nearly wiped us out. It is an interlocking net. Trade cannot happen without Transportation. We all rely on Blazendraught. Wealth requires finance to ease the wheels. Exploration shows us new ways of making wealth, new markets, new applications, fresh knowledge. No one clan or family or association is to control all. Trade cannot control Finance or vice versa. Transportation cannot control Exploration or vice versa. Trade nor Finance can control Transportation or Exploration None of the others can control Pharmaceuticals. All must work as equals, no cross-field conglomerates. Too much power in one group -this brought down Dragonhame. To do them here will be the end of Dragonkin.”
“These are the words of Gandaran,” said Greyheart Bloodstone, head of Windriver Financials. “Blessed be he. His words have brought us great prosperity.”
“And what did he promise us if we broke the pact?”
“That he would awake and smite us all.”
“He’s not dead,” Grimsbeard said. “I have been down to the vault every year, for a hundred and sixty years, as many of you have done. Watch him, my fellow members of the council. He breathes. He monitors. He knows.”
“Right before the last attempted rebellion against the council, he lashed his tail,” said the oldest member, Thornbrand Agatefoot, a huge dragon of black hues. “I was young, but I saw it. I thought the chairman was going to pass out.”
There was nodding around the room. Grimsbeard let the tension mount again.
“Two weeks ago, Gandaran flexed his right hand,” he announced.
That brought out the voices.
“Who saw it?” Greyheart asked.
“I saw it. My assistant, whom I assure you, has been sent to a safe place, in case of whoever caused Gandaran to stir gets ideas. Three guards, also sequestered. You don’t trust my word on such a sacred thing?”
Greyheart cleared his throat. “I will take your word, only because the consequences could be so grave.”
“Grave indeed. He is the last of the old, true Dragons. The changes he made to save us made us lesser. Most of us any more never get our tails. We are small, stunted, childsized compared to Gandaran and the dragons who ruled Dragonhame. All this has been the effects of blazendraught. Do any of you think you have the power to stand up to him?”
There were a flurry of hem and haws, shuffling feet and shaking heads.
“There is talk about changing the pact.” Grimsbeard held up his hand. “Yes I know there’s always talk. Young folk will say wild things. But there is rumor that it goes higher than just young folk speaking. Look around you. Who is missing today?”
The council members knew exactly who he was talking about.
“I’m here for Transportation,” a small red dragonkin said. “I am the head of Borson Transports.”
“Yes, we know, Saavin. Subsidiary company of Briarwood and Flysch. We know.” Grimsbeard nodded. “Keep an eye out. We do not want to awaken Gandaran. We do not.”
At that moment, the ensorcelled great dragon let out a long breath.
“We do not.”