The Last Dragon Lord

XXXII

XXXII

Dark joined a stream of dragons as they flew above the city streets. The dragons, a variety of colors, flapped their wings and twirled as they merged into different intersections.

He had listened to Frog’s advice about how to get around in the city, and this place made more sense to him than it did the previous night when he could hardly fly without crashing into something.

It was surprisingly easy to navigate. There was traffic below, where cars sped along the gray asphalt roads that were divided into lanes. The lanes were punctuated every few hundred feet by stoplights that blinked in a succession of red, green, and yellow, like artificial gemstones, which seemed to Dark a very orderly way to herd the masses. Immediately above, approximately fifty feet, were the dragon lanes, which followed the same route as the roads, but were spacious for dragons to navigate. Further up was the open sky, free for any dragon to roam as long as it did not damage the property of others.

“Think of it like the ground in the bog,” Frog had said. “You’ve got the dirt. Above that, vegetation, and above that, air. We operate in the upper layers, in a manner of speaking.”

From The Frog Building, Dark had flown in the dragon lane for seven blocks. As the wind carried him, he worried that the other dragons would spot him and alert the authorities. Even though he had used more of his cache to stay silver, he wondered if a dragon flying next to him might look over and scream his name, prompting the entire city to assault him.

But no dragon looked at him even once. They flew with their gazes straight ahead, sullen and leathery, self-absorbed. He had looked at every dragon and made a point to memorize their face, but soon he encountered so many Keepers and Crafters that it was impossible to keep track of them. At every intersection they mixed and merged and fanned and turned away.

He turned left at the seventh block. A digital hologram hovered over the intersection and read Cistern Boulevard.

Dark marveled at the magical sign that could float so high above ground. But it was as Frog said: “At the seventh block, turn left and train your eyes ahead to the stadium.”

He spread his wings and tilted left, barely missing the sign. A cluster of Crafter dragons turned with him.

A barrage of smells hit him.

Food.

He detected traces of beef, cheese, and other delightful smells that he couldn’t discern mixed in. On the ground were dozens of places with oscillating neon signs advertising different food. Humans and elves sat outside at metal tables on the verandas, eating. He passed a rooftop where several dragons gathered, tearing into gigantic slabs of meat as a human waiter watched nonchalantly.

A food district. Now this was a novel idea. Humans, elves, and dragons gathered to eat and drink. Already he could taste beef and corn on his lips, the remnants of an offering. He always let his dragons eat before him—a gesture of loyalty that instilled respect. He wished he were in with his old tribe—minus Fenroot—and he caught himself chewing, even though there was nothing in his mouth except saliva.

And then he saw cars stopped in a traffic jam below. The dragons slowed their pace.

Ahead, an enormous stadium with lights on the roof sat at the end of the street. Cars lined up to enter several parking garages adjacent to the stadium. Dragons circled the grounds, waiting for entry onto the stadium roof. Searchlights scanned the sky, lighting the navy blue clouds, making them look as if they were painted among the stars. The air was pregnant with coming rain, and Dark tasted it—precipitation was ready to burst from the air.

This was a night ripe for rain, ripe for blood.

“This must be the infamous Cistern,” Dark said. “I had expected a real cistern, not a bespectacled locale.”

“There is a VIP exit,” Frog had said. “The performers usually exit through there. Since it’s a dragon show, I doubt many will be there.”

Dark flew above the dragon lane until he could get a bird’s eye view of the entire stadium. The complex was oval-shaped, with blinding lights and green grounds surrounding it. He located the t-shaped sidewalk that Frog told him about and aimed toward it, this time careful to avoid any dragons.

The smell of food grew stronger the closer he neared the ground, and when he touched down, he landed on soft, freshly cut grass.

Music started to play. He felt percussion in his heart, and then a low, bass sound that moved up and down a traditional scale, hitting chromatic notes he hadn’t heard before.

And then he heard them.

High-pitched, screeching voices that welcomed the crowd to massive applause.

“My God,” Dark said, putting his hand over his ears.

The voices began to sing, and though he couldn’t hear the words, the voices echoed out of the stadium and into the night.

From what he could hear, this was dragonsong—the traditional music of his reign mixed in with electronic instruments. The cadence was there, and so were the melodies—but they were bastardized by human instruments and their harmonic chords.

He wished he could storm into the place and destroy everyone. Burn them in a wall of flames. And stop the ungodly music!

Who had taught a dragon to sing this way?

Who condoned the departure from the traditional?

What was wrong with regular dragonsong? Since when did humans and elves want to hear it? Since when did they pay money to see a dragon on a stage? Dragonsong was sacred and not something to be whored about!

Anger seethed inside Dark as he settled into the lawn. A flickering street light irritated him and he threw a ball of plasma at it, breaking it, shadowing the lawn. One of his claws cracked in half.

“A claw is always worth the price,” he said, licking his claw and feeling the moist grass underneath his stomach.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Frog had asked. “I can’t condone it.”

“My boy, my boy,” Dark had said. “This is all for you. You are going to feel like a fresh aquifer spring when I am done, for your soul will finally be cleansed! In life there are two kinds of dragons, Frog: those who rip out fate’s gullet and masticate on its good fortune, and those who soar the skies, wishing that they could…”

Frog couldn’t come with him. He couldn’t accept what Dark was going to do. But that was all right. Had it not been for Frog’s cowardice, for every decision he had made in his life up until now—Dark would have never found him. Fortune worked in strange ways.

Dark closed his eye and tried to drown out the dragonsong as best he could by remembering the songs of his youth that his father had taught him.

We ripple in the iron dawn,

the world will hear us roar.

In our wheeling flight the world will fawn,

for we are tomorrow’s dragon lore.

Now there was dragonsong! Mellifluous in its cadence, simple in its chords, yet harmonic in all the right ways when a skilled duo sang.

But the duo that was singing now…Meah and Mynthia, the daughters of Moss. The famed sisters!

No talent could ever come from the loins of a traitor. No beauty, no harmony, no lasting contribution to society. He had never met the girls and didn’t need to; for all their praises, they were maggots to his existence and would always be. He laughed to himself, and his increasingly condescending thoughts gave him power.

An hour later, a large red door on the side of the stadium swung open—it was tall and wide, big enough for a dragon.

Dark took a black blindfold and wrapped it around his eyes until it was snug. He could see through it slightly as several elves in suits exited the building, looking around.

Only Dark sat in the lawn.

A few elven fans ran onto the lawn, waving at the door.

With a crash, a crimson Crafter dragon exploded from the stadium, streaming into the sky.

“Ah, my beautiful children, you have come for an encore!” the dragon cried.

Dark remembered Frog’s voice. “The one with the clef on her chest—that’s Meah. She usually makes the rounds with fans. If you want a chance, that’s it.”

The dragon did circles in the air, her orange eyes glowing. Then she descended, her gray mane bustling in the wind as the skies began to drizzle.

Rain drops landed on Dark’s back and he grinned, taking it as a blessing.

The dragon met a group of elves, who held up grimoires for her. With a claw, she swiped the air, embedding glowing clefs on the cards. All the while, her tattoo glowed.

“I embed your grimoires with everlasting power from my private aquifer,” she said. “May you be creative and may you use your gift wisely, my children!”

The group of elves walked away beaming, and Dark stepped forward, feigning a stagger and a hoarse, tubercular cough.

“Meah, is that you?” he asked.

He looked around, pretending blindness. He made his voice intentionally feeble, like the old dragons he’d known as a hatchling.

The Crafter dragon glanced at him quizzically. “It is I, Meah. Who are you, elder dragon?”

Her nasally voice grated against his ears.

“I knew it was you by the sound of your sweet voice!” Dark said. He ran to her and reached out for her claw but intentionally missed. The dragon handed her the claw and looked down at him snobbishly.

Dark licked the claw, and a tingling of chemicals exploded in his mouth. Powder, and sweat, and magic. Was she wearing…perfume? He wanted to gag but he held it back.

“The last time I heard you, my dear, you were still a hatchling,” Dark said. “But I told your father about your talent then. I said, ‘Moss, this girl is going to be a beacon for our race.’ This is such an honor. Your performance was flawless, my darling. Simply flawless!”

“Old one, I am touched by your words,” Meah said. “It is about time one as old as you understands the wisdom that we bring to the dragon race.”

“Ah, you have wisdom, indeed, but do you forget where it came from?” Dark asked.

“My father,” Meah said, smiling with a mouthful of sharp, yellow teeth. “He is the one that deserves the praise. And of course I would be remiss not to thank the glory of the aquifer.”

“Now there’s a good girl who praises her father…”

“You know my father, then?” Meah asked.

“Know him?” Dark asked. “Why, your father and I fought together in the Magical Wars almost two thousand years ago. If it weren’t for those bloody trolls, I’d still have my eyes. But if it weren’t for him, I would be decomposing in a tomb somewhere.”

“I’ll be sure to grant you a blessing.”

“I thank you for that,” Dark said. “This elderly invalid needs all the blessings he can get. But a blessing would be secondary to seeing old Moss again.”

The dragon looked past Dark, as if she were annoyed and wanted fans to interrupt their conversation. But the drizzle continued, lightning struck, and Dark grinned as he sensed her discomfort.

“You can visit Father at home,” Meah said. “It’s a public place, old one. Don’t you know that?”

“You must pardon my ignorance,” Dark said. “I have lived in the mountains most of my life. It’s better for my joints and the blindness, you understand. How I managed to make it here without impaling myself on one of these buildings—an absolute miracle! Besides, I was hoping to surprise him in a more…creative way.”

Meah’s scaly face perked up at the turn in the conversation.

“Creativity,” she sang. “My wisdom has truly been imparted on you. What did you have in mind, old one?”

“Give him this,” Dark said, handing her a grimoire. “It has a message that I think he’ll find nostalgic.”

Meah held the card in front of her face and scrutinized it.

“There’s nothing on it,” she said.

“That’s because it’s for his eyes only, my dear,” Dark said, wagging a claw. “You tell him that once he’s read that message, I’ll be around to see him shortly. I’m on vacation in this breathtaking city and I intend to enjoy as much of it as my joints will let me. If only I had my eyes!”

“Very well, old one,” Meah said, taking the grimoire. “What is your name, so I can tell him?”

“Alsatius,” Dark said, bowing.

The name meant nothing to her, just as he’d expected. Her face was blank. “May the aquifer bless you, elder Alsatius.”

“Bless me, indeed!” Dark said. “And may you continue to be a blessing to our race.”

Meah barreled into the sky with the speed of a missile and disappeared into the skyline as the rain picked up.

Dark took off his blindfold, stared after her, and he began to laugh.