Jean Rabe - Dragons of a New Age

“That is where I want you to begin.”

“I go where I want, hunt what I want. I do what I want.”

“You will teach them they should not have defied Chaos,” the warrior replied. “They should not have forced my father to leave.”

“No one tells me what to do.”

“I am telling you,” the shadow man hissed. “I am telling you to devastate Ansalon, to slay the humans and elves. The people will no longer be the dominant force in the land. You will—under my direction.”

“And the dragons?”

“The dragons are scattered. With their goddess Takhisis gone—”

“So Takhisis is a goddess,” the red mused. The black thought me a goddess.

“The gods are gone. All of them,” the daemon warrior continued, irate that the red had interrupted him. “The dragons have no leader. A few of them challenge the people from time to time, but not many. Yesterday I watched a great blue fly over a city and claim not one life.”

I could lead the dragons, the red thought. I could rule this Ansalon.

“The Dairly Plains...” The words seeped out of her mouth like steam.

“That is where I want you to start. The people on the Dairly Plains are unsuspecting. Unprepared.”

“There is land beyond these Dairly Plains?” the red hissed.

“Of course,” the shadow man replied. “After you strike against the Dairly Plains, I will instruct you where to travel next. Do you have a name? I would know what to call my impressive pawn.”

The dragon furrowed her considerable scarlet brow. “Malystryx. My name is Malystryx.”

“Malys,” the shadow man voiced, finding the shorter word more accommodating. Again the daemon warrior gestured toward the Dairly Plains.

The dragon’s eyes followed the shadow man’s foggy fingers, then she looked up and met his hollow gaze. All of a sudden her paw shot out, swiftly striking the warrior. Claws raked through his nebulous image.

Malys saw the surprise on his face, and she felt a surprisingly cold sensation when what passed for his blood trickled over her paws. As the daemon warrior gasped, she brought her massive head in closer, her breath scalding the air.

“Fire might not harm you,” Malys uttered. “But there are other ways to slay.” Opening her maw, she edged nearer, and her teeth closed about the daemon warrior. She felt his cold, heavy body slide down her throat, then she folded her wings close to her body, and angled herself toward the coastline of the Dairly Plains.

She spread her wings as the land rushed up to meet her, and glided south along the eastern shore, following a rocky coastline. Shards of obsidian and quartzlike stones jutted up from the water like teeth. Not as sharp or deadly as my teeth, she thought.

Reaching the tip of the land, she turned and started north, skimming across the treetops this time and inhaling deeply. Lush and heady scents tickled her nostrils—unusual flowers, exotic herbs, plants she was unfamiliar with. Birds scattered, and her keen, darting eyes took them in. They were too small to eat; she simply watched them.

The forest ended and a verdant plain stretched before her. Tall grass formed a dark green carpet that ranged toward a clearing that was the site of a small village. Malys trained her eyes on the thatched huts and the antlike people milling about. Oblivious to the red dragon, they were busying themselves with chores and games.

They all look so peaceful, unsuspecting, unprepared, she mused, using the daemon warrior’s words.

Something cooked over a central fire, some tiny creature being roasted on a spit. The smell reminded the red dragon that she was famished. She swooped closer. As her shadow touched the edge of the village, she spied one of the people as he glanced up. He pointed at her, began waving a fleshy arm and shouting.

In a heartbeat, all of the people were looking up. Some dropped baskets of fruit they had been carrying. Others cried and ran toward the false safety of their huts. A few grabbed spears and shook them at her. They were yelling words she couldn’t quite make out because too many of them were shouting at the same time. Their voices sounded like the buzzing of insects.

Curious, and knowing that she would have to get closer to feast upon them anyway, she landed at the edge of the village. The impact of her weight sent tremors that knocked some of the humans to the ground.

An especially brave one advanced on her. His eyes fixed on her massive head, and he boldly thrust a spear. For an instant, the red dragon considered slaying him with her claw and granting him the honor of being killed by her touch. But curiosity got the better of her, and she called forth a gout of flame. It sped up her throat and raced outward from her mouth in a cone-shaped pattern that first engulfed the brave villager, and then struck at the huts directly behind.

So they are not all like the daemon warrior, she mused. Fire hurts these people.

The brave villager’s screams were brief, and the fire so hot that Malys barely smelled the burning flesh. Striding forward over the charred form, she flapped her wings to fan the flames, causing them to leap to other huts.

She felt something nudge her haunch. She twisted her head and saw two spearmen thrusting at her back leg. Their spears couldn’t penetrate her thick scales.

She shot her right claw forward to topple one of the few huts not on fire. Three young cowered inside. Malys smashed them with a footfall.

She thrust her neck forward and opened her maw and scooped up a handful of villagers trying to flee. Their struggling forms disappeared quickly down her throat, and she turned her attention to another group, which also helped to appease her appetite.

More warriors joined the pair at her haunches. They yelled curses and poked their spears futilely at her. Through the stench of burned flesh and thatch, she picked up the delightful scent of sweat mingled with fear. She twitched her tail and swatted them, crushing their chests and ending their lives.

There were still a few left, and these were running toward the forest on the other side of the village. She pushed against the ground, and leapt toward them. She coaxed forth another blast of fire. The flames streaked beyond the runners, scorching the trees beyond.

The people spun on their heels and started back toward the village, but Malys landed in their path. They didn’t plead with her. She surmised they were smart enough to know their lives were over. Her mouth snapped open and shoveled up the closest few, then she moved in and slowly savored the rest.

As the sated red dragon vaulted into the air, the forest fire rose. She banked toward the south, soaring past the burning village and the grassy plain.

Soon her wings carried her over another forest. The trees were tall and inviting, their canopy massive enough to cloak her presence.

Descending, her feet crashed through the topmost branches, toppled a few of the oldest oaks, and struck the rich loam.

I will rest here, she thought. This will be my home for a time—as long as I stay in these Dairly Plains. But I will not stay here forever.

Malys raided more villages to help appease her considerable appetite. But she was careful not to consume every last one of those she found. She didn’t want to deplete her food supply too quickly, and she needed to keep some people alive so she could scrutinize them, and learn about her adopted territory. Besides, she savored the thought of people from other villages living in terror of her, wondering if they would be the next to burn, spreading word of her attacks, and gifting her with an august reputation.

She alternately feasted on cattle and various unusual forest creatures she tired of studying, and on occasion she devoured the crews of ships sailing too close to the rocky eastern shore of the Dairly Plains.