could feel, too, the itching fear. The resentment. It boiled and burned and ground him down. And it all stemmed from his memory of the broodlord Pazyarev.
It took me three days to overcome the crushing weakness that followed my escape from Pazyarev's lair. For those three days I could barely hold consciousness for more than minutes at a time. I drank acrid water from Vechernvetr's pool and ate the meat he brought me, but mostly I slept.
In time that weakness passed. Far faster than it should have, perhaps, because of the dragon power that drove me. But even when I could retain awareness, I was not much a man. Vechernyvetr's presence was too strong in my mind. I felt his sensations more than my own.
When I tried to move, my limbs felt awkward—clumsy and weak against the memory of the dragon's great power. When I tried to think, my attention always drifted back to whatever held the dragon's interest. A dozen times I tried to put myself through the wizard's exercises to still my mind, and always I was interrupted by the graceful motion of a doe in full flight, or the sudden sharp scent of soot on the air. I never left the lair, but still wherever the dragon went, he carried me with him.
He spoke with me, though, in the border hours between day and night. On the fourth day he found me awake and waiting when he returned. I was sitting just inside the cave mouth, staring west over trees and rugged hills to the distant plains of the Ardain. The dragon landed awkwardly on three legs, holding up the fourth to protect a wild pig speared on a talon as long as my arm. He took three hopping steps, wings beating wildly, then settled to a trot back toward me. He dropped the pig like a prize at my feet.
" Dinner ?" I asked.
For you , he said. I had my prey with life still in it. Tastier that way .
I nodded. For a moment I wished I didn't understand. But I could remember the thrill of the hunt, the pleasure he'd taken devouring a buck still whole. Mostly whole. I wanted to shudder at the memory, but the dragon was reliving it too, and his quiet satisfaction overwhelmed any response of mine.
I took a slow breath, gathering my courage. Then I asked the question that had been nagging at me in whatever awareness I'd had for days. " I'm your broodling, aren't I? I'm like the drakes. "
That massive head swung to me, faster than should have been possible, and eyes like cauldrons narrowed. We should not speak of this . His displeasure rumbled in my head.
" I do not know what dragons know ," I thought. " But you can tell me. And perhaps I suspect more than most men could. Pazyarev is not the master of that swarm of dragons. He is the swarm. The drakes and winged adults are not...they're not his servants. They're part of him ."
That is astute , he said. For a human mind . He blew a puff of flame and charred the pig's hide to a cinder. Then he slithered past me into the depths of the lair. But there is so much more than that—
" I know ," I thought. " There had to be. Because drakes are not born into that slavery. They're...conquered. Overwhelmed. "
How can you know this?
" They don't match ," I thought. I felt his puzzlement and rushed to answer it. " The dragons in his brood don't look like siblings. Their colors, their shapes and sizes...they're all different, as though he gathered them from everywhere. "
A feeling of shock washed over me. And then laughter tolling in my head like an immense bell. They do not match , he scoffed. Such is frail human reason .
I frowned. " I'm wrong? "
You're right . I heard his snort in the cavern behind me, and felt his irritation. You're right, but for all the wrong reasons .
I grinned, satisfied at that. " I knew it! And the ones that serve Pazyarev are like his trophies ."
No . My mind rang with the beast's disdain. Not trophies. They are his power.
" Power? "
His authority. His dominion. His reach.
I thought of the territory Vechernyvetr had shown me. I thought of the swarm of dragons that
It took me three days to overcome the crushing weakness that followed my escape from Pazyarev's lair. For those three days I could barely hold consciousness for more than minutes at a time. I drank acrid water from Vechernvetr's pool and ate the meat he brought me, but mostly I slept.
In time that weakness passed. Far faster than it should have, perhaps, because of the dragon power that drove me. But even when I could retain awareness, I was not much a man. Vechernyvetr's presence was too strong in my mind. I felt his sensations more than my own.
When I tried to move, my limbs felt awkward—clumsy and weak against the memory of the dragon's great power. When I tried to think, my attention always drifted back to whatever held the dragon's interest. A dozen times I tried to put myself through the wizard's exercises to still my mind, and always I was interrupted by the graceful motion of a doe in full flight, or the sudden sharp scent of soot on the air. I never left the lair, but still wherever the dragon went, he carried me with him.
He spoke with me, though, in the border hours between day and night. On the fourth day he found me awake and waiting when he returned. I was sitting just inside the cave mouth, staring west over trees and rugged hills to the distant plains of the Ardain. The dragon landed awkwardly on three legs, holding up the fourth to protect a wild pig speared on a talon as long as my arm. He took three hopping steps, wings beating wildly, then settled to a trot back toward me. He dropped the pig like a prize at my feet.
" Dinner ?" I asked.
For you , he said. I had my prey with life still in it. Tastier that way .
I nodded. For a moment I wished I didn't understand. But I could remember the thrill of the hunt, the pleasure he'd taken devouring a buck still whole. Mostly whole. I wanted to shudder at the memory, but the dragon was reliving it too, and his quiet satisfaction overwhelmed any response of mine.
I took a slow breath, gathering my courage. Then I asked the question that had been nagging at me in whatever awareness I'd had for days. " I'm your broodling, aren't I? I'm like the drakes. "
That massive head swung to me, faster than should have been possible, and eyes like cauldrons narrowed. We should not speak of this . His displeasure rumbled in my head.
" I do not know what dragons know ," I thought. " But you can tell me. And perhaps I suspect more than most men could. Pazyarev is not the master of that swarm of dragons. He is the swarm. The drakes and winged adults are not...they're not his servants. They're part of him ."
That is astute , he said. For a human mind . He blew a puff of flame and charred the pig's hide to a cinder. Then he slithered past me into the depths of the lair. But there is so much more than that—
" I know ," I thought. " There had to be. Because drakes are not born into that slavery. They're...conquered. Overwhelmed. "
How can you know this?
" They don't match ," I thought. I felt his puzzlement and rushed to answer it. " The dragons in his brood don't look like siblings. Their colors, their shapes and sizes...they're all different, as though he gathered them from everywhere. "
A feeling of shock washed over me. And then laughter tolling in my head like an immense bell. They do not match , he scoffed. Such is frail human reason .
I frowned. " I'm wrong? "
You're right . I heard his snort in the cavern behind me, and felt his irritation. You're right, but for all the wrong reasons .
I grinned, satisfied at that. " I knew it! And the ones that serve Pazyarev are like his trophies ."
No . My mind rang with the beast's disdain. Not trophies. They are his power.
" Power? "
His authority. His dominion. His reach.
I thought of the territory Vechernyvetr had shown me. I thought of the swarm of dragons that
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