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A great rush of air from above knocked Iko to the ground. A shadow blotted out the sun. As the wind subsided, he became aware of a hulking presence in front of him, heavy beyond mere physical mass. Expecting it to be the last thing he ever did, he looked up.
The tip of the dragon’s nose was about three feet in front of him. Its head and body were covered in jet black scales. Its eyes were the palest gold, with a narrow vertical slit in the middle, black as the bottom of the ocean, seeming deep enough to contain worlds.
The dragon shifted its weight slightly, and its nostrils dilated. Air moved past Iko as it breathed in. This was it, then. How long might it be before someone noticed he was missing? If they came up here to look for him, would they work out the meaning of the blackened patch of grass where he now lay?
Man-thing. The voice reverberated inside his skull. The legends were right: dragons had no voices like humans, but spoke directly with their minds. What the legends hadn’t mentioned was that the dragon’s mindspeech was incredibly loud. Perhaps he should move further away? Given his present circumstances, that might not be a wise move.
Crawling, said the dragon. Grovelling, as befits your kind. Were you another dragon, I should kill you for this insult. Yet one such as you is scarcely worth that trouble.
The dragon paused and breathed out. Iko’s head reeled as if from blows. The ground seemed to spin underneath him. Still, he had survived a lot longer than he had expected to after the dragon’s arrival. At the moment, he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing. Carefully and distinctly, he framed words in his mind.
O great dragon, he said, I offer my most humble apologies for disturbing you.
It speaks! The dragon seemed quite startled. Its pupils widened fractionally.
Iko hadn’t been sure his mindspeech would work, so that was a relief. Would the dragon hear everything he thought? No, his sources said that you had to want your thoughts to be audible. O great dragon, Iko said, I have made some study of the ways of your kind, but there is, of course, much of which I am still ignorant. I assure you that I mean no offence. I would be most grateful to learn the correct manner of addressing you.
Polite, too. There was an uncomfortable pause. He imagined that the dragons had never had to consider such a question, at least not when it was being asked by a human. “O great dragon” will suffice, it said eventually.
Perhaps, o great dragon, you wish to know why I summoned you here.
You did not summon me, said the dragon, and Iko sensed anger behind the words. I chose to come.
As you wish, o great dragon. Iko bowed his head.
Look at me, said the dragon, and Iko complied. He knew that he couldn’t have disobeyed. I am nevertheless curious to know why a man-thing happens to be on this hilltop, far from its own kind, at the very same moment that I choose to visit it.
That is quite simple to explain, o great dragon. I wish to propose an alliance.
An alliance? To what end?
O great dragon, a fleet of pirates are preying on the people of the Lenis Islands, attacking our settlements and ships. We are a peaceful people, not used to fighting—
And you wish me to destroy these… pirates for you, said the dragon.
Yes! Remembering his manners, he added, Please.
You would have me burn their ships with my fiery breath? Capsize them with a sweep of my tail? Pluck man-things from the sea and carry them aloft, shrieking, before I flip them into my mouth to crush them and swallow them whole?
He winced at the dragon’s suggestions. I had thought, o great dragon, that the mere sight of you would terrify them into leaving us alone.
Perhaps. And what do you offer me in return for ridding you of these vermin?
The pirates have a great hoard of treasure on their ships and in their home port—gold, silver, precious jewels. If you defeat them, it is yours.
The dragon did not reply. The corners of its mouth lifted, revealing glistening white teeth. Its nostrils narrowed, and a sound like a tree falling filled Iko’s mind. You know far more of our ways than I would have expected of any man-thing. But there is much of which you are ignorant.
A gale rushed past him, pelting him with dust and twigs. By the time he could see again, the dragon was no more than a spot in the sky, an odd-shaped bird spiralling upwards. Almost at the limit of sight, there was a violet flash, and the dragon was gone. Iko brushed the worst of the dirt off his clothing and started the long walk back to the village.
What now? This outcome had never occurred to him. He hadn’t seriously expected the summoning to work, but had thought that if it did, the dragon would most likely kill him immediately for his impertinence. He imagined the taunts of the children, the pitying looks of the monks and the other teachers. Typical Iko. Can’t get anything right. He decided to say nothing about it. If anyone asked where he’d been, he’d simply climbed the hill to admire the view. Stretch his legs. Clear his head.
He saw no one on the road that led into the village from Samdurath, the next settlement along the coast. That wasn’t so unusual, but when he saw no one in the main street, nor any of the side streets that intersected it, he began to worry. He jogged the rest of the way to the house that he still shared with his mother.
The door stood open. Smoke hung in the air—the fire had gone out. A half-eaten meal lay at one end of the table. Guilt tugged at him as he noticed the place she’d set for him at the other end. He didn’t have any classes today—he should’ve come to have lunch with her, not chase after creatures of legend that didn’t care what happened to decent people.
“Mother!” he shouted.
No answer came. He opened the door to the bedroom. She wasn’t there. Sweating, he squeezed between her bed and the linen chest to reach the back door. She wasn’t in the garden either.
Iko tried to calm himself. She must have gone visiting. But why leave her lunch unfinished? Realisation crept up on him. Not only had he not seen anyone on the way here, he hadn’t heard anyone. The pirates had attacked while he was away. Everyone was dead or taken captive.
His knees gave way, and he fell to the ground. Tears fought for release. Was this why the dragon had refused to help? Because it knew he was already too late?
He forced himself to stand. If Mother’s fire was still smouldering, they couldn’t have gone far. He scrambled through the house and ran for the harbour. He couldn’t do anything for his own people, but if he could see which way the pirates were going, he might be able to warn whichever village they were heading to next.
The two jetties were intact, with boats moored at both of them. Nets, crab traps and coils of rope lay neatly next to each boat, as if everybody had gone to the tavern to share a few bottles of wine. One boat still had a couple of buckets of fish next to it. No vessels were visible at sea.
Panting, Iko tried to make sense of the scene. The pirates’ ships were too big to moor in the gaps between the villagers’ boats. If they’d used the jetties, they would’ve cut some of the boats loose and made a mess of the villagers’ fishing equipment. If the ships had stayed further out and lowered boats of their own, there should be keel tracks and footprints on the beach, which there weren’t. Now that he thought of it, he’d seen no sign of a struggle anywhere in the village. More than that, he’d seen no dead or dying people. The pirates couldn’t have taken everyone—some of the villagers would have put up a fight, and the pirates would have killed them.
Not daring to hope, he turned and ran back inland. The people must have seen the pirates coming and taken refuge in the monastery. They could stay safe for weeks there. But then why had the pirates not ransacked the rest of the village?
As he turned the corner onto the long approach to the monastery, he saw that the gate was closed. His heart leapt—it was always open except in the presence of an immediate threat. He sprinted the last hundred yards and rattled the bars.
“Hey! It’s Iko! The pirates have gone!” Through the gaps in the bars, he saw that the courtyard was deserted. “Open up!” Shouldn’t there be men with swords and spears waiting there? Or at least a couple of lookouts?
A young man peered around the edge of the gateway. Startled, he gawked at Iko before saying to someone behind him, “Yes, it’s him.”
Relieved to see someone alive, Iko grabbed the bars for support.
“Figures,” said an older man. “I suppose you’d better let him in.” Iko recognised the voice of one of his mother’s cousins, though he couldn’t recall the man’s name. The younger man was his son or nephew, who’d passed through Iko’s classes a few years ago without much learning settling on him. He went back behind the wall and started to turn the wheel that operated the bar that held the gate shut.
“It’s all right,” said Iko, raising his voice over the squeaks and scrapes of the gate swinging open, “the pirates have gone. The village is empty.”
“Pirates?” said the older man, coming into view. “As if we haven’t got enough to worry about with a bloody great dragon flying around the place.”
Staring at him, Iko almost forget to let go of the gate when it swung open. “Yes. Of course. Dragon. Big. Black. Flying. I… I believe I can explain that.”
Iko hesitated outside the Proctor’s door. He wanted to slink off and hide somewhere far away.
You’ve faced a dragon, he told himself. How could the Proctor be any worse?
Uninvited, another part of his brain replied, If the dragon had decided to kill you, it would’ve just got on with it. It wouldn’t have lectured you about your failings first. He lifted his fist and knocked.
“Come in!” called the Proctor.
The Proctor’s office was as Iko remembered it from the few times he’d been in here—large, dimly-lit and filled from floor to ceiling with books that held the details of every pupil, teacher and monk who had passed through the monastery since its founding. An especially large example of one of these lay open in front of the Proctor, and Iko wondered how much of it was filled with his record.
The Proctor closed the book and looked up. He seemed to have aged since Iko saw him yesterday. “Teacher Iko,” he said. The formality was a bad sign—not that Iko had expected him to be friendly. “No doubt you’ve heard the reports of a… large flying creature being seen over Ansrad Hill earlier today.”
Iko opened his mouth to speak. A croak came out. He swallowed and tried again. “I have, Sir.” Although the hill itself couldn’t be seen from the village, it was visible from the monastery’s towers, and from out at sea. And of course, anyone could have seen the dragon arriving or leaving.
“These reports caused the villagers to panic and take refuge in the monastery. Do you know why they did that?”
“The creature was a dragon, Sir.”
The Proctor glowered at him. “Some of the villagers said it was a dragon.”
Iko took a step back. “Do you not believe them, Sir?”
“What I believe is irrelevant. What matters is that the people are afraid of another pirate attack. If we stand united against the pirates, we can repel them. That will not happen if the people are constantly looking over their shoulders, anticipating fiery death from the skies.”
“I suppose not, Sir.”
“Which is why you will say nothing to anyone about this alleged dragon. If anyone asks, you saw nothing. Teacher Tenuha will gather descriptions from eyewitnesses and then announce that the creature was a bird, most likely an albatross. The people will laugh at themselves for being so credulous, and within a week, the incident will have been forgotten.” He tapped the book, as if to say, Except by the records.
Iko licked his lips. “It was a dragon, Sir. I was on the hill when it landed.”
The Proctor gave him a look that could have nailed him to the wall. “You. Saw. Nothing.”
Bowing his head, Iko mumbled, “Yes, Sir.”
“You are dismissed.”
That night, Iko lay awake in his bed. Mother had scolded him for not heeding the call to take refuge in the monastery, but hadn’t been curious about what he’d been doing instead. She’d been swept up in the general panic, and hadn’t heard the rumours about the dragon—or if she had, didn’t believe them.
What now? All that time in the archives figuring out how to summon a dragon, the spell had worked first time, and he had nothing to show for it. He didn’t doubt that the Proctor would expel him if he told anyone else the truth. Eventually, he sank into sleep, no nearer to any answers.
Man-thing. Return to the hilltop.
Iko jerked awake, sweating. Dark shapes resolved themselves into the walls and door of the bedroom, and Mother asleep in the other bed. Of course. He’d dreamt of the dragon—the alleged, imaginary dragon—and had heard the voice of its mind in his. Dawn wasn’t far off, so he might as well get up.
He considered heading to the monastery for breakfast, but decided to wait for Mother to wake so he could tell her where he was going. She slept a lot more nowadays, though that was to be expected—she was getting on for fifty. He busied himself with chores, and then sat on the porch, watching the sunrise until Mother called his name.
There was no conversation as they ate. As he was about to leave, she said, “Make sure you stay at the monastery until it’s time to come home.”
He had classes for most of the day, so it shouldn’t be hard to comply with her request. “I will.”
She threw her arms around him and leaned up to kiss his cheek. Awkwardly, he returned the embrace. She hadn’t done that since Father died, almost five years ago. He patted her shoulder and eased out of her arms.
“Take care,” she whispered.
He shambled through the morning’s classes, repeating himself and mixing up material from different subjects. Towards the end of the history lesson, he caught himself about to declare that the Third War of the Nuhysean Succession had been caused by Lord Brahan’s inability to solve quadratic equations. Worse, he doubted that any of his pupils would have queried it—they were as shaken as he was after yesterday’s panic.
A few days later, while Iko was eating luncheon in the monastery’s refectory, one of the permanent monks, a dumpy, genial woman called Drubath, approached him and asked, “Teacher, might I have a word once you’ve finished your meal?”
Iko nodded and hurried through the rest of his food. He had been one of the referees for the thesis that got Drubath her permanent status, an analysis of one of the crucial battles of the Asdanundish War. He’d worked with her a few times since, helping her locate citations for monographs on various aspects of Nuhysean culture and history around the time of the war. As he approached her table, she stood up and indicated that they should go outside.
The courtyard was less occupied than he’d have expected at this time of day. Drubath glanced around, perhaps checking for eavesdroppers. As they walked, she said in a low voice, “I’m curious about the… creature that frightened everyone a few days ago.”
Iko stopped as his stomach lurched. “I—I’m sorry, Sister. I can’t help you. I didn’t see anything.”
Drubath turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. Had his denial been too swift? Too glib? Someone must’ve noticed he’d been spending a lot of time in sections of the archives that weren’t related to any of his classes.
She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her robe. “I didn’t say you did see anything. It’s more of a… hypothetical question.”
“Oh. Carry on, then.”
They resumed walking, and Drubath said, “I’ve heard… some of the villagers…” She glanced at him sidelong. “I know this sounds ridiculous, but they’re saying it was a dragon.”
He snorted, even as his throat went dry. “Ridiculous, yes.”
“I know. It’s been at least four hundred years since the last documented sighting. There was one about fifty years after that, over Untashekh, but the dragon was at quite a high altitude and only two people saw it…” She tailed off as she realised Iko was staring at her.
“I’m sorry, Sister,” he said, dropping his gaze. “You’re not seriously saying you believe dragons actually exist?” Kashalbe, I must sound so false.
“I did say it was a hypothetical question. They existed at some time in the past. I’m not sure whether they still do.”
“Sister, I’ll thank you not to repeat such nonsense. It could cast grave doubts on your academic credibility.”
She stood straighter. “Our histories and legends are full of them. They were instrumental in our victory at the Battle of Karn Ridge.”
“A battle that occurred a thousand and twenty-four years ago, and which may have taken place fifty miles from the geographical feature it’s named for. Anyway, I thought you wanted to talk about whatever frightened the villagers into taking refuge the other day.”
“I do.” She fidgeted with something in a pocket.
“Then why are you talking about dragons?”
“Because—hypothetically—if the creature was a dragon, somebody must have summoned it here.”
Iko glanced around. That wasn’t how the dragon had seen it. “You cannot summon something that does not exist.”
“All sources agree on that point,” said Drubath. “Dragons are not of this world, and can come to it from their home only at the request of a human. When the alarm bell rang, everybody who was in the village came into the monastery before we shut the gates. Everybody except you, Teacher.”
“You don’t seriously think I—summoned this—hypothetical—no, this non-existent dragon?”
She gave him a knowing smile. “I didn’t say that. But nobody I’ve spoken to mentioned seeing you while they were coming to the monastery. So where were you during the alarm?”
“Is there a point to this line of questioning?” Was she intent on blackmail? Teachers weren’t rich enough to be worth the bother. Or had the Proctor told her to test his obedience?
“It occurred to me that if this hypothetical person who hypothetically summoned this hypothetical dragon was hypothetically planning to summon it again, there’s certain knowledge in the archives he might benefit from.” She took something from her pocket and pressed it into his hand. It was a scrap of paper with a short sequence of letters and digits—the classmark of a book in the archives. He didn’t recognise the section code at first, and had to think where it would be.
“This is Elangic philosophy,” he said. “Third millennium. What’s that got to do with…”
“Misfiled.”
“Oh.” He’d thought he’d read everything the archives had about dragons. He put the paper into his own pocket. “Well, Sister, if—hypothetically—I was the hypothetical person who summoned the hypothetical dragon, I would have to thank you—hypothetically.”
Drubath tilted her head. “And if you’re not that hypothetical person?”
“Then I thank you for drawing my attention to this misfiled book. I’ll see that it’s put in the proper place and the catalogue amended.”
“I’m always glad to help, Teacher. Good day.” She turned and walked back towards the main building.
Iko waited a few days before checking Drubath’s book. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it said. His dreams of the dragon continued. Always the creature wanted him to return to the hilltop where he had summoned it—or where it had chosen to appear.
Eventually, after classes, he went to the south-west annex, where they kept works relating to Elangir and the islands of the Tian Ocean. The top-level classification of the archives was geographical, although there was little consistency as to whether a work was filed according to the nationality of the author or the place he had written about. The annex was bright and airy by the monastery’s standards. Everything was much more spread out, possibly because they hadn’t acquired nearly as many Elangic works as the founders seemed to have expected. Iko made a show of consulting the catalogue and wrote down a few classmarks near to Drubath’s.
When he reached the right place among the shelves, he found that the work was not a book, but a scroll. He unrolled it a few inches. Sure enough, the title was Some Notes Concerning Dragons. Trying not to whoop with joy, he picked up a few others and took them to a reading desk.
The scroll was written in Middle Nuhysean, and so had to be at least eight hundred years old. The text started without preamble, not even stating the name of the author. He puzzled his way through it. Most of the words he knew, and could guess the rest from context, but some of the spellings were strange. That meant the scroll was older than most of the documents he’d read. The text generally agreed with what he already knew, but about a quarter of the way in, he read—
The colour of a dragon’s hide is generally a reliable indicator of its age, insofar as they are white when they hatch and gradually darken with age. They assume many colours over the course of their lives, but the oldest are invariably black. They become capable of mating on their second change of colour, and the females generally lay one clutch of eggs with each such change. Changes happen between thirty and fifty years apart. Once a dragon becomes black, it can no longer mate.
That was why the dragon had spurned his offer of the pirates’ treasure. There were several theories as to why dragons hoarded treasure, but the most popular was that they used it to attract a mate. If that was the case, gold and jewels would hold no appeal for a black dragon. So what could he offer the dragon to persuade it to frighten the pirates away—or destroy them, if that was what it took? Or could he summon a younger one?
“Unusual to see you in here, Iko.”
The Proctor stood in front of him. Praying that he wouldn’t ask why the scroll was in Middle Nuhysean instead of Elangic, Iko licked his lips and replied, “One of my pupils this morning asked a question I couldn’t answer.”
“I admire your dedication,” the Proctor said with a smile, “if not your preparedness.” He walked on.
Iko held his breath as the Proctor’s footsteps passed out of earshot. He returned to the scroll. A foot or so further down, he read—
Some claim it possible to bargain with a dragon to persuade it to perform some task or service, in a manner like unto the demons of Perakhandra. But whereas a demon will act in strict accordance with the letter of the agreement, exploiting any hole or ambiguity in its wording, a dragon will do whatever the summoner lacks the strength to prevent it doing. Dragons are adept in discerning what a man values most and taking it from him. This is why dragons hoard treasure—not because they have any use for it, but to twist a knife in a man’s guts.
Iko was sceptical of the existence of demons, which inclined him to disregard the contents of the scroll. Then again, if someone had asked him last week whether he believed in the existence of dragons, he might well have said no.
He slept little that night. Visions of the dragon kept him awake. Instead of burning the pirates’ ships and harbour, it laid waste the village because of some inadvertent insult he had given it. The stones of the monastery held out a while longer before the beast’s fire melted them.
Man-thing. Return to the hilltop. Now.
Sweating, Iko sat up. Moonlight from the window bathed the scene, giving everything an unreal appearance. He hadn’t imagined the dragon’s voice in his mind. It had come back to Ansrad Hill and was waiting for him. Why? It regarded humans as vermin. If it wanted to kill him, it would be no extra bother to level his house—or the entire village. But perhaps the creature had some sort of honour. It had no quarrel with anyone else here. If he went to meet it, perhaps it would spare the rest of the population.
Moving carefully, so as not to wake Mother, he got out of bed, gathered his clothes and went into the main room, where he dressed. Outside, the night was unseasonably cool, with few clouds. He had perhaps three hours before the moon set—plenty of time to reach the hill and—assuming the dragon deigned to let him live—come back.
When he reached the bottom of the hill, he squinted at the top, trying to pick out the dragon. He saw no sign of it, and it hadn’t spoken to him since he left home. He trudged to the top and stood in the spot where he had met the dragon, or as near as he could tell—everything looked different in the moonlight.
Still there was no evidence of the dragon. There was nowhere hereabouts it could have been hiding—even with its wings folded, it was bigger than his house. Maybe he’d just dreamt it wanted him to come here. He paced around, kicking at pebbles, wondering whether to go home.
Man-thing. Run!
Startled, Iko stopped and looked around. Still there was no sign of the dragon—though if its mental voice could carry as far as the village, it could be anywhere.
Leave the hilltop! Now!
He wasn’t about to argue with a creature the size of a building. He ran back the way he’d come. A gust of wind slapped him from behind. He tripped and rolled several yards before slamming against a boulder. Something large and heavy landed behind him, making the ground shake. Pieces of grit and gravel struck the exposed areas of his skin.
Man-thing. Are you there? The dragon’s voice sounded much weaker than before.
Spitting out dirt, Iko levered himself upright and thought through what he wanted to say. I am here, o great dragon. Wincing, he climbed back to the top of the hill. The dragon lay there, stretched out, smoke and steam rising from it. Its eyes were closed, and one of its front legs was bent under its body at a painful angle.
Gods preserve us, Iko whispered. Are—are you hurt?
One eyelid flickered. Your Gods do not watch over us. And I have survived worse.
What happened?
I fell out of the sky.
That much seemed obvious. Is there anything I can do to help, o great dragon?
Next time I call you, answer right away, instead of waiting a week of your time.
I don’t understand, o great dragon, Iko said. Something dark glistened on one of the teeth that protruded beyond the dragon’s upper lip. The lack of colour made it hard to be sure, but he guessed it was blood. Seeing the dragon from the side for the first time, he realised he’d been wrong in thinking it was the size of his house. It was much bigger. Its head alone was too large to fit in the main room.
Is it my fault you… fell out of the sky? Iko asked. How was that possible?
That… and my fault for choosing to visit this place at the same time as you.
Forgive me, o great dragon. That was not my intent.
We may as well dispense with “o great dragon,” the dragon said. We will be in one another’s acquaintance for some time to come. You may address me as Esald.
Iko bowed, trying not to clench his teeth as his knee twinged. Thank you, o… Esald. My name is Iko.
I did not ask it. But perhaps you have earned the right to be called something a little more prestigious than “man-thing.”
Thank you. Does this mean you agree to my proposal?
Esald’s upper lip lifted an inch or two. I did not say that.
Then… what happens next?
Your kind rest at night, do they not?
Yes.
Then rest, Esald said. Return here when I call. Immediately.
It takes me an hour to walk here, said Iko.
That is acceptable. Now go.
What if I’m asleep?
My call will wake you.
You’re hurt. Will you be all right?
Do not concern yourself with that. Go!
As you wish. Farewell. He bowed again, then turned and walked back down the hill, not daring to look behind him. Dragons, he recalled, were blessed with an extraordinary healing ability. Whatever was wrong with Esald would probably be fixed by morning.
The moon was setting as Iko got back to the village. A couple of fishermen were heading down the main street to the jetty, but he managed to avoid being seen. No one else was around, and he slipped back into the house and into bed.
Iko awoke to sounds of panic outside. In the distance, the alarm bell clanged. He jumped out of bed and shook Mother awake.
“What’s going on?” she asked, yawning.
“I don’t know,” he replied, though he had a good idea. He looked out of the front door to see the neighbours hurrying along the street.
“To the monastery!” one of them shouted at him.
“Why?” he called at the man’s retreating back.
“The dragon’s returned,” the man replied over his shoulder.
Iko swore under his breath and ducked back inside.
“What is it?” Mother asked.
He ran a hand through his hair. “We, ah, need to take refuge in the monastery.”
Mother frowned. “Again? Over a silly albatross?”
“Um, yes—that’s probably all it is, but, ah, everyone else is going, and we wouldn’t want them to worry about us, would we?”
Mother hobbled over to the cupboard and started putting items into a basket. A plan formed in Iko’s mind. Prising the basket out of her hands, he said, “Let me do that—you go on ahead.”
“Are you sure? It’s dangerous for you to stay here on your own.”
“If you’re not frightened of an albatross, why should I be?” he said, standing aside and gesturing to the door. “I’ll be right behind you.” He couldn’t recall the last time he’d lied to his mother, and he thought she would surely see through his deception.
But she nodded and crossed to the front door. On the threshold, she said, “Don’t dawdle.”
He continued putting things into the basket for another minute or two, then went to the door. Mother was already out of sight, so he handed the basket to the first person he saw and asked her to ensure that Mother received it. Without waiting for her to ask why, he went back through the house and climbed over the garden fence. He sprinted out of the village on the road towards Ansrad Hill. It wasn’t until he had to slow down, panting and sweating, that he realised he was still wearing his night clothes.
He stopped and wiped his forehead. His legs ached. When had he last run that far or that fast? He reached out with his mind to try to talk to the dragon.
Esald, can you hear me? It’s Iko. The villagers have seen you. I’m coming to the hilltop.
He waited for several heartbeats without an answer.
Esald, are you there?
Still no answer. He took a deep breath and resumed his journey at a fast walk.
As he clenched his teeth against the aches in his muscles, Iko ran through reasons why Esald would have come to the hill and not answered him. The dragon had said he would call for him, presumably when he was ready. He hadn’t said anything about the possibility of Iko calling for him. Last night Esald had elevated him on his social scale to somewhere above cockroaches and midden worms, but he guessed that didn’t mean it was now acceptable for him to drop in unannounced like an old friend. Perhaps his mental voice didn’t reach as far as the hilltop—the dragon’s thoughts had been much louder than his own. Perhaps the dragon was asleep. Did dragons sleep? Some of his sources claimed they slept when they were guarding treasure, but otherwise—
He turned a corner and could now see the hill, a couple of miles distant. The dragon lay at the top, not moving.
Esald!
Iko ran for the hill. He reached the base sooner than he would have thought possible and half-walked, half-stumbled to the summit. Esald lay where he had fallen the night before, eyes closed, muscles slack. The grass and bushes had withered, and the ground was dry and cracked, as though after a long drought.
Gasping, Iko limped over the hard, uneven dirt to the dragon’s head and put a hand in front of one of Esald’s nostrils, wide as a fencepost. He was still breathing, the air almost too slow to flutter a sail.
When had Iko started thinking of the dragon as he rather than it? When he learned the creature’s name, probably, though he had no idea whether Esald was a masculine or feminine name.
Esald, can you hear me? No answer came. He placed a hand on the top of his snout. The scales felt like worn sandstone, cool to the touch. He saw now that they were not uniformly black: the smaller ones tended towards slate grey or dark purple. Three parallel grooves ran across the top of the snout and down one side—scars from a battle with another dragon? Behind his head, a wide bony crest rose, protecting the back of the neck. This had many long scratches, and one side of it looked as though it had been chewed.
The leg that had been under the dragon’s body last night now jutted out. The angle still looked painful, though he had no idea what sort of postures would hurt a dragon. Three toes as long as his forearm each ended in a talon the size of his outstretched hand. A dark patch on the ground under the foot caught his eye—blood? As he started to walk towards it, the dragon snorted and his head rolled towards him. He staggered out of the way and tripped, hitting the ground hard.
Iko opened his eyes, surprised to find himself lying down. He might stay here for a while. It was pleasantly cool, with a gentle breeze, and he needed a rest after all that running.
A noise came from behind him. He ignored it. The noise repeated. A moment later, something poked him between the shoulder blades. He rolled over, intent on swatting the disturbance away. The end of a wooden pole hovered a few inches from his face. His gaze followed the pole backwards to a nearby shrub.
“Iko!” a man whispered. This man, one of the villagers, was crouching behind the shrub and holding the pole.
Iko sat up and put a hand to his head to try to quell the sudden throbbing there. He blinked several times and squinted at the interloper, who had withdrawn the pole. “What are you doing here?”
The man shushed him and said, “Come over here. Slowly—we don’t want to wake the dragon.”
“He won’t wake up,” said Iko. “I’ve already tried.”
“What? Look, just come over here.”
Iko pushed himself upright and stood still for a moment to make sure of his balance. A dozen or more men lay on the ground behind the one who’d disturbed him. Most of them held spears or bows, pointed towards the dragon.
A sickly feeling formed in Iko’s stomach. “What are you doing?”
The man behind the bush stepped away from it. Now at last Iko recognised him—Serl, the villagers’ leader. He grabbed Iko’s arm and dragged him behind the other men. He drew a sword and offered its hilt to Iko. “Either get back to the village or help us kill the monster.”
“You can’t do that,” Iko said. He told himself the reason he hadn’t known Serl right away was because the man had been leader for only a few months, not because he paid no attention to what was going on in the village. “It’s—he’s—injured.”
“Then it should be easier to kill.”
“No, no—there’s no need to kill him—he’s not dangerous.”
Serl gawked at him. “Of course it’s dangerous—it’s a sodding dragon.”
“I summoned him here,” said Iko.
“Kashalbe’s arse,” Serl growled. “I always knew you lot were mad.”
“I was hoping he’d help us defeat the pirates.”
Serl’s mouth hung open for a moment, and then he raised his spear. “Aim for the eyes, lads.”
Iko darted in front of him and tried to knock the spear aside. Serl punched him, making him stagger backwards.
“Now!” Serl yelled. Bowstrings thrummed, and then arrows and spears clattered against the dragon’s hide. “Again!” The men who’d thrown spears unshouldered bows, while those who’d started with bows fumbled to reload.
“No!” shouted Iko. He scrambled to his feet and ran towards the dragon. One arrow protruded from his nostril; the others had had no effect. An arrow whistled past Iko. He reached the dragon and put his arms across the crest behind the head.
“Get out of the way, you Gods-damned idiot!” Serl demanded.
“You can’t kill him,” Iko panted, turning to face the men. “He hasn’t done any harm.”
“If we wait for it to attack first, there won’t be any of the village left for us to defend.”
One of Esald’s eyes opened.
“Oh Mazor, it’s waking up,” said Serl. “Get out of the way.”
Esald, can you hear me? Iko thought. These men have come here to kill you.
“If you don’t get out of the way, I won’t be held responsible if you’re hurt,” said Serl. He pulled back the string of his bow. Several of the other men did the same.
Hold tight, said the dragon. Do not let go until I tell you. Iko gripped the edge of the crest. A leathery rustling sound came from behind him.
“Iko!” Serl’s hands trembled, and his eyes glistened.
Iko gave a sad smile and shook his head.
“Loose!”
Wind buffeted him, and his arms were jerked upwards, making him scream as his shoulders and elbows twisted. The dragon rolled and pitched as Iko fought to contain rising nausea. This was worse than any bout of seasickness. By the time he found the courage to look down, the hilltop seemed no bigger than a molehill. The men were almost too small to see.
Iko felt his hands slipping. Every joint in his arms burned. Please, Esald, put me down. I can’t hold on much longer.
Just a little more altitude.
One of Iko’s hands let go, and he swung around, hitting the dragon’s shoulder. The leg came up to pin him against the dragon’s body. There was a blinding flash all around him, and the pain was suddenly gone.
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Last update: 13/4/2025 15:01