SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Zie found a port along my lower back and exposed one on hir right palm, pressing me down against the altar. The pushing motion made hir penis slide out slightly, and zie pushed back in. In that momentary delay, my mind made its move; I should have remembered that consciousness was a sign of danger, but I was too intent upon my mission. I found hir vanity and arrogance, and caressed them gently; they parted to show me the calculation and will-to-power beneath. I felt the thrusting of hir hips as a conquest from within, a tumor. To the extent that Thawratullah had a plan to undermine our power from within, I could grasp that plan, perhaps not explain it, but intuit it with each pulse. I wanted hir off and out of me: NOW!

With that thought an electric jolt passed between our BDI ports, not strong enough to do any damage, but enough to trigger both of us to ejaculate. I felt sure that the encryption had held, but could not help but worry that somehow zie suspected who and what I was. If zie did, zie did not order any of hir followers to apprehend me. Hir ejaculate was still hidden inside me; I could have destroyed the legend of hir superior self-command just by unclenching my anus and letting it dribble out for all to see. But the truest of believers would not believe the testimony even of their own eyes, and I did not want to be around for the chaos and division that would ensue.

When we suppress the Church of God as Love, as I have already recommended to the Council, it will be done in an orderly and effective manner. And I will ask that this be my last assignment.

END

Originally published in The Dragon Chronicles (Windrift Books, 2015), part of The Future Chronicles Series created by Samuel Peralta

“Papa, it’s time to get up,” came the ever-cheerful voice of my eldest granddaughter.

It most definitely couldn’t be time to get up yet. “Go away, Myrill,” I groaned and pulled the thick wool blanket tighter in a vain attempt to ward her off. I was sure she was shorting my late afternoon nap more and more each day.

“Now, Papa, the children are waiting to hear from the Storymaster,” she said.

“So go find one, and let me sleep,” I grumbled.

“I did, and he’s in here shirking his duties,” she chided.

I think she thoroughly enjoyed putting me through this every day at this time. Maybe it was payback for all those times I’d had to wake her up for something when she was a small child. Or maybe she just had a sadistic side. Probably both.

I knew there was no escaping it; I’d have to get up. It was just that it was so warm under the blankets, and the thick feather mattress was very comfortable. It would grow cold once I got up and I’d have to warm it up all over again.

I slowly rolled back over and tried to untangle myself from the blanket. “You better have some tea on if you expect me to travel all that way in the bitter cold.”

“Papa, they’re just in the next room over, and we have a good fire going,” she said.

“Still, there’d better be tea, or I’m coming right back here! Now, where did you hide my cane this time?” I asked as I finally got my legs free.

“It’s right here, exactly where you left it, of course.” She picked up my old bamboo cane. It was worn smooth at the grip, and the base was rough from use. It was a good solid cane, one I’d had for many years now. I could walk without it, but my old bones much appreciated the help.

She handed it to me and I slowly made my way out to the room where my great-grandchildren were playing. Seeing their energy and vitality just made my advanced age feel even older. I wondered how many of them would remember me after I was gone and they started having their own children.

I knew that Myrill was right. I needed to get out of the bed and move around. I really did enjoy the children, but moving was getting harder with each passing day. The long cold winter nights didn’t help either.

As I lowered myself into my rocker by the fire, Myrill tucked a wool blanket around me. She had made it for me earlier this winter, and despite my complaining, I really did appreciate all the attention she paid to my comfort.

After checking to be sure I also had pillows, she said, “I’ll be back shortly with your tea.”

The children all ran up to my chair and called out, “Storymaster! Tell us a story!”

“What story should I tell you?” I asked them. Their excitement was a bit contagious and I drew strength from it. A million stories came to my mind, and a thousand heroes leapt for attention.

They all called out different stories at the same time and I honestly couldn’t understand any of it. “‘David’s Last Ride’ it is, then!” I decided to go with one of my favorites instead of fighting through the cacophony of noise that only a gaggle of children can produce.

There were some cheers and some “Awwws,” but everyone settled down to hear it. It was one of the more exciting stories, and the little ones especially liked hearing it. Or so I told myself. David held a special place in my heart for many reasons, so I loved to tell about him.

“David was the last of the truly great dragonmasters. A few lived on after him, but none could match his skill and cunning. His dragon, Lyrroth, was a sleek and wise black dragon. They had many adventures together before and after the war. As you recall, the war almost completely wiped out the dragons, but they still held on for a time. There were perhaps a half dozen or so of them left when David made his last ride. It was a warm morning, sometime in the spring…” I started and then allowed myself to fully slip into the character of David, and for a short while I left my aching body behind…

This would be the last generation of dragons, as there were no breeding pairs left. I couldn’t even think of a single living female dragon. In a few generations we’d just be a legend, and probably a few more after that people would start to doubt that they ever really existed.

“Good morning, David,” came the deep rumbling voice of the mighty Lyrroth.

“Morning, old friend,” I said and stretched out. The sun felt good on my obsidian skin as I walked out of our cave. I found Lyrroth lying in the sun. He was a massive beast; twelve grown men could easily lay down head to foot from the tip of his tail to the tip of his snout. His scales were an iridescent black and had a colorful sheen in the morning light. His maw was filled with fangs that could rend an armored man in half with a single bite, and smoke rose from his nostrils as he relaxed in the sun.

“Did the supply ships come in?” I asked.

“No, and now they are two days late. I think we’d better go look for them,” he said. There was a great weariness in his voice.

It was hard to greet each morning and each new adventure with joy like we used to. We had lost so many friends and family members to the war, and the few dragons that were left were slowing dying off.

“Yeah, I guess we’d better,” I said. It was a bad sign that the supply convoy was late. The towns below us badly needed building materials and other supplies. The island base was practically impregnable, but during the war the farmland was torched, as was much of the forest. It would be years before the humans could support themselves again. Until then, they depended on supplies from the mainland.

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Rhenvaar and Barioth are lounging by their caves. The rest have flown off on other errands.”

Rhenvaar and Barioth were inseparable twin red dragons. They did everything together, and often that entailed creating havoc. Their riders were also twins, and they went out of their way to dress and act exactly alike. This caused all kinds of confusion, and they enjoyed every minute of it.