The Last Dragon Lord

III-2

Dark found his father in a clearing, lying in the moonlight at the edge of a kidney-shaped pond. On the trees, the dark moss glowed a sickly green, and remnants of his father’s smoky breath hung in the air.

“I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to get here,” his father said.

His father, Alsatius Dark I, was a black dragon like Dark, but older. One thousand years older. He had a wrinkled, scaly face and scars all over his body from the many wars he had fought in. Black dragons were rare, and his father was taller and broader than most Keeper dragons. In his younger days, his size and majesty had rendered even the most fearless warriors speechless, his wings blocking out the sun when he descended from the sky, his mouth aglow with fire. But now the old dragon was beginning to shrivel, and he walked with a limp.

Alsatius smiled and turned in Dark’s direction; his hearing had heightened since his blindness. Dark tried not to think about the gelid lumps that had once been his father’s eyes, cloudy orbs that were caving in on themselves, irises gouged out by magic. A tattered blindfold covered his father’s cursed eyes, and protected them some, but Dark knew the magical poison was still there, working its way deeper. Alsatius’s joints cracked as he tried to stand, and Dark slid to his side before he could rise any farther.

“I heard they tried to kill you,” Alsatius said. Dark sensed the pain in his voice.

“I handled it,” Dark said.

“If only I still had my eyes,” Alsatius said. “I would have hunted with you, my boy, and we would have destroyed the entire group by now.”

His voice was frail. Dark still had trouble getting used to his father’s weak voice—he had always been decisive and vibrant.

“Tell me, Dark—did you get the killer?”

“I got him.”

“Was it glorious?” Alsatius asked.

A rare sparkle crept across the old dragon’s face. Alsatius reached out and touched one of Dark’s arms. Dark was amazed at how his father always knew where he was with stunning accuracy.

“Tell me about the killing, my boy.”

“It was glorious,” Dark said.

“How long did it take you?”

“Two hours.”

His father laughed heartily. “A ripping hunt through the bogs, the land of our ancestors!”

The old dragon licked his cracked lips, as if he were watching Dark’s hunt inside his mind’s eye.

“And how did he taste?” Alsatius asked.

“Elven,” Dark said.

“Fitting for a dragon lord.”

His father paused, and a different kind of pain eased across his face.

“Your mother and I weren’t able to finish what we started with the elves,” he said. “We’re sorry we left you such a mess. I feel responsible for this. It’s awful, just awful! All you’re doing is avenging our legacy these days. That shouldn’t be your agenda. It’s too much of a burden.”

“No burden is too great,” Dark said.

“You became Lord before you were ready,” Alsatius said. “I had so much more to teach you.”

“I’ve told you to stop apologizing,” Dark said. “You look tired. You need more rest.”

“This damned curse won’t be the end of me,” Alsatius said. “I’ll keep living until it destroys me, but I’m not going to lie down and take my death like some wild animal!”

The old dragon bared his teeth. Dark knew from his father’s groan that his eyes were hurting him.

Dark held out a palm and a wisp of pink light appeared, twirling like a fish swimming in the water.

“It smells sweet,” his father said.

“I purchased it from a Crafter seer,” Dark said. “It’s a salve. Combined with magic from the aquifer, it should help your pain.”

He took off his father’s blindfold. His father held his eyes shut; he didn’t want Dark to see the pulsing eyes that were eating his body alive. Dark licked the salve first to make sure it was safe—it tasted of peppermint and tingled on his tongue. He spread the salve across the old dragon’s eyelids, then slid the blindfold back on as his father sighed with relief and sank into the grass.

“Does it feel any better?” Dark asked.

“Too soon to tell. But yes.”

Dark knelt before his father and held out the bracelet. “I found a bracelet on the man’s body. It’s from the western continent.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Alsatius said. “It shouldn’t surprise you, either.”

“It doesn’t. But there’s an inscription that I can’t figure out.”

His father’s head snapped up. “What does it look like?”

“Two jagged lines downward with a straight line connecting them,” Dark said.

Alsatius thought for a moment, then exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Your mother and I encountered many runes during our reign. If only I had my eyes, my boy! I could be of service to you. But perhaps your dear old mother could help.”

Alsatius pointed a claw toward the dark water, and Dark’s mother emerged from the pond. First her eyes broke above the water, orange like burning suns. Then her body as she climbed through the mud, water rolling off her head. Like Alsatius, her black scales were marked with the scars of war. Her mouth was sewn shut with magical stitches that glowed faintly with pink energy.

Dark bowed to his mother and waited until she acknowledged him before lifting his head.

“Smirnagond, do you recognize the bracelet in Dark’s hand?” Alsatius asked.

His mother took the jewelry from Dark and studied it. She shook her head. Dark could tell by the rapid glow in the stitches that she wanted to say something, but she couldn’t. The curse had ripped out her tongue and sewn her lips shut. His mother had once had a way with words, but now the dragon queen would never be able to speak again.

She flashed Dark a fierce look. He knew what she meant.

“I dealt with the problem,” Dark said. “I won’t let a conspiracy undo me.”

Smirnagond gave him a look that seemed to say You’d better not.

He missed her stern voice—another thing the curse had stolen away from him.

With her tail, Smirnagond began writing something in the mud.

“It’s time to show the world what you’re worth,” Alsatius said.

“What do you recommend I do?” Dark asked.

“Visit some of the elven villages,” Alsatius said. “See what you can find. Take a terrible entourage with you and show no mercy. Give them an experience that their grandchildren will be talking about decades from now. But don’t forget the kindness to those who show you loyalty. Never forget what I taught you.”

An intimidation tactic. His father was known equally for his brutality and his benevolence. To some, he was an authoritarian, a necessary evil in a world that had strayed from its original intention. To others, he was a god.

“I know you’ll make us proud,” Alsatius said.

“It’s time for me to go,” Dark said, turning toward the palace.

Smirnagond grabbed his arm. She had finished her message in the mud: You will find them or you will imperil all we’ve given you.

Dark patted his mother’s hand and rose into the sky.

“I assure you that this will be over soon, Mother.”