The Last Dragon Lord

VIII-1

VIII

Dark’s wings regained their strength, and it took enormous mental strength not to use them. It was an exercise in meditation and self-restraint.

But the healing spell had taken its toll on him.

He was tired again.

Hadn’t the grimoire warned him?

Damned sleep!

He had slept enough.

As his eyes swelled with tiredness, he tried to recall what the grimoire had said....

Cost: Severe numbness that lasts for hours; fever dreams.

He blinked himself awake, tilting his head upward. But the temptation was too great, and he found himself on all fours, and his cheek against the cold cement floor as relief overwhelmed him.

This is what caused all of your problems in the first place, old dragon....

Yet his eyelid closed over his eye and brought back a world of darkness.

He felt himself floating in the shadows, as if his spirit had dislodged from his body.

Dragons weren’t supposed to dream. To dream was to render oneself vulnerable. It created an opening that someone could use to exploit you. A manipulation spell. A nightmare spell.

This is why he always casted spells at night—to rule the world as it slept so that it would not rule you when you slept.

Indeed, Dark’s thousand years of sleep went by as if they were nothing. So steeled was his mind.

His father had taught him how to do this: “Let not the world interfere with your sleep, for it would disturb the sleep of a god.”

He remembered his father, Alsatius. A strong, black dragon just like him, with wings that glowed like a starry sky when outstretched. At least that was before the curse. Dark tried not to think about his father’s last days, crouched by an old pond with a blindfold over his melting eyes. He, a supreme dragon lord, had been reduced to no more than a blind invalid who couldn’t walk or eat without help. That was no way to live.

The darkness around him began to fade. It bled into the color of a memory, like a hand wiping a frosted window to expose the world outside.

No! Dark thought. My mind, my mind!

He willed the darkness back and it surrounded him like a soundless room. He told himself to sleep and tried to force himself into slumber.

So far, it wasn’t working.

His mother, Smirnagond, had taught him how to meditate, how to focus his mind on one thing and do nothing except that one thing. When he was a young dragon, she had been harsh with him, using a spell to monitor his thoughts, striking him whenever he strayed.

“I will attack you until your mind is clear,” she had said, hitting him until his scales were raw. “If it means that I have to kill you, then it will be better for me to do it than an enemy.”

He never forgot her blows, her bared teeth, her stern voice blending in with the pain of every blow, the kind that made his head reel as the world dazzled by in a blur. He never forgot the hot, sticky bogs where he spent his childhood, the thick peaty poultice that he spread across his bloody wounds to salve them. Even though it was a long time ago, the memories of his mother were as vivid as yesterday.

He had learned fast. He was able to clear his mind on a moment’s notice in order to satisfy his mother. He did not ever disappoint her ever again.

An empty mind had its benefits. Inflexibility. Strong-willed. For no dragon lord could allow himself to be reasoned with. It was the greatest lesson a mother dragon could teach her son, for the world did not understand dragons. Not when Dark was young. No, dragons were beasts to be slain because the world tried to destroy what it didn’t understand, and the only way to save yourself was to make the world afraid of you. As a young dragon, he and his parents had lived in the Ancestral Bogs, constantly running from hunters. He’d watched his grandparents die out of sport from a pack of elven hunters. And he watched as the Dragon Queen at the time did nothing, for she was too concerned with opulence.

But that was not dragons’ purpose in this world. His mother had taught him that. Their purpose was to live free.

To protect the source of their strength so that no one could hurt anyone close to him ever again.

To kill.

To sow fear into the hearts and minds of villagers in every corner of every continent, so that upon hearing dragon names, they dropped to their knees and prayed with terror.

His parents had understood that. He had understood it from an early age. But many dragons did not.

His mother had simply taught him what her parents had taught her, a family lineage of stoicism, power, and ambition.

He wished he could stand upright as he thought of his parents and ancestors. What would they think of him now?

He was a failure.

A mark against the family name, and the end of their legacy.

He deserved death.

Sleep, old dragon. Sleep undisturbed. Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t wake up.

No, this is a dream. This is the effect of the magic. Think back the black. Think back the black!

He felt a falling sensation, as if he were suddenly plummeting out of the air from mid-flight. He tried to spread his claws, but they wouldn’t move.

His father’s voice boomed in the dome of darkness.

“Magic has its cost,” his father said. “Sometimes, my boy, we must accept it.”

His father’s voice comforted him.

“Tell me where I have strayed so that I may make my life right again,” Dark said.

Silence.

“I know you are here,” Dark said softly. “Give me counsel but one more time.”

Silence.

Dark hesitated to speak. He felt like he was speaking to a dragon priestess in the shade of a cavern.

“I am the Dragon Lord. Where did I go wrong? I had the entire world in my claws. A trusted advisor and cabinet willing to die for me. The world prayed in my name and I crushed all of my enemies swiftly. For days I have played the memories of my demise over and over in my head. I have remembered everything you have ever told me; I have recalled every moment of training you and mother gave me. I have always paid tribute to our ancestors.”

A knob caught in his throat and he hated himself for it. “I did my best to ease your suffering after your curse. I wasn’t ready to be Dragon Lord. It was too soon, but I honored you. The aquifer flourished under my reign, and I alone was responsible for the world’s continued existence. I established order. I kept the monster population in check. Trade boomed between the races because of my economic policies. I have a legacy as long as our lineage. So I ask you. No, I implore you: tell me what I did wrong.”

The darkness began to dissipate again and Dark roared, but no sound came out of his mouth. He didn’t know if he was actually moving his mouth or if it was all in his head.

“Answer me!” he cried.

But only his voice’s echo replied, colder than before.

Dark let out a pained moan.

He was alone.

What was it his father had said?

Magic has its cost. Sometimes, my boy, we must accept it.

His eyes burned, punishment for evading sleep for so long.

He gave in, letting himself drift forward as the darkness replaced itself with light.