The Ballad Of A Semi-Benevolent Dragon

Chapter 23: The Dragon Trusts

Ashheart had never been the smartest dragon. His siblings had all been smarter than him, and they had also learned magic faster than him too. When he attended lessons with Mother Tree, the other hatchlings had also been smarter and better at magic than him. The only thing he had going for him was his body.

He was bigger than any other hatchling his age bigger, and stronger, and more durable.

Blows that would have disabled or even killed other hatchlings were little more than annoyances. Attacks that should have cleaved off limbs or torn open his body could hardly scratch his scales. And when he was wounded, when his scales were pierced, or torn, or shredded, the pain did not bother him. It only made him want to fight harder, to push himself further, to draw upon more and more of that raging fire that burned within him.

But even if Ashheart was not smart, he was wise.

He knew who he was and what his strengths and weaknesses were, and he accepted them completely and utterly. He did not lie to himself as so many hatchlings did. Perhaps that was why he achieved his First Awakening before so many of his peers. While they struggled to find their place in the world, he knew where he belonged.

He belonged at the forefront of battle, his claws and teeth bared, his flame blazing like the sun. Let others more gifted in tactics and strategy take command of the battle. He would follow their orders and stand as both sword and shield, so those behind him could wield their magic without fear.

That was his place in the world.

The hardest part was finding others he could trust. More than once he had stood boldly between others and danger, only for them to abandon him. Some had been treacherous, their betrayal planned well in advance, but so many of them had merely been cowards. They saw a difficult fight and instead of searching for a way to win with the time he bought them, they fled.

He wasn't sure which group he despised more.

And then he had met Doomwing.

They had both been so young in the long ago days of the First Age. They had both seen the mightiest of their kind fall, struck down by the Broken God. But neither of them had fled in the face of that overwhelming power.

Ashheart had seen the bodies of his fallen kin his parents and siblings and felt rage such as he had never known before or since. He had cursed his own weakness. What good was his strong body if it could not even protect his kin or avenge them? What good were teeth, his claws, or his flame when they could not leave so much as a scratch upon his great enemy?

Doomwing had been the same. He had lived only because his parents had chosen to give their lives for him to force another Awakening to heal the wounds he had taken. And through the tears of rage, hate, and sorrow, he had seen Doomwing stare at the corrupted mass of god-metal that was that was the Broken God and look for a way to win.

As weak as he had been then, Doomwing had refused to give up. He had looked at their seemingly invincible foe and had searched for a way to win. He had not found it. The First Gods had cast down the Broken God although the effort cost all of them their lives. Doomwing had been too young, too weak, too ignorant to find the path to victory.

But he had still searched for it while so many others had given in to despair.

That was when Ashheart knew he had found someone he could trust in battle. If he could befriend Doomheart, then the other dragon would never betray or abandon him. No matter how impossible the battle, if Ashheart put himself between Doomwing and their enemy, Doomwing would find a way for them to win.

Befriending Doomwing had not been easy.

Ashheart had never been much given to intellectual pursuits whereas Doomwing seemed to enjoy them above all else. But Doomwing was no mere scholar, for all that he liked to view himself as one. There was a ruthless pragmatism to his learning. Whenever he learned something, he sought to find uses for it, however pointless or mundane they might seem.

"There is no useless knowledge," Doomwing had once told him. "Merely knowledge waiting for the right moment to be used."

His words had proven wise when he had taken countless pieces of seemingly useless and disconnected knowledge to craft the ancient rune that had laid waste to Mother Tree's defences.

That had been a glorious day for Ashheart. He had broken the back of Mother Tree's mightiest tree folk and carved a path of fire, blood, and lava through the ranks of her defenders. He had roared his triumph to the skies while crushing the bodies of his foes beneath him and burning their petty defences beneath rivers of lava and clouds of molten ash. He had been too weak to help much in the fight against the Broken God, but against Mother Tree, he had proven himself.

He had gone to find Doomwing afterward, ready to praise the other dragon for his cunning tactics and strategies, only to find him lingering amidst the burnt-out ruins of Mother Tree. The other dragon had taken the ash of Mother Tree up in his claws, only to let it scatter on the breeze. There had been no gleam of triumph in his eyes, no thrill of victory burning through his veins. Doomwing had grieved for their great enemy.

It was something that Ashheart could not understand. Mother Tree had turned against them all. She had forced their hand. She had become their enemy. She had been kind to him in his youth, but such kindness would not stop him from striking her down. But Doomwing had never made friends easily, and the few he had made were precious.

Mother Tree had been his friend.

It reminded Ashheart of something that Dion, one of the First Gods, had once said to him. Dion had been an easy-going god, not the sort that Ashheart usually associated with, but he knew all the best food and drink, and he had a way of telling stories that appealed to even a stout-hearted dragon like Ashheart.

"What is a single gold coin worth to the mightiest of dragons? Nothing. The mightiest of your kind have an odd tendency to hoard treasure. Sovereign Flame sleeps on a literal mountain of treasure. But to a hatchling? That single gold coin might be all they have."

Doomwing was like a hatchling, and his friends were like gold coins in the very smallest of hoards. The loss of even one would be devastating.

Ashheart was not like Doomwing. He did not have many friends, but that did not bother him. He didn't really feel as though he needed them. If one of his friends died, Ashheart would not be pleased, but so long as they died well, he would not be too upset. After all, he was a dragon. Death was a part of his life, whether it was because he dealt it out or because others sought to slay him.

But Doomwing had spent so much time around Mother Tree. Perhaps he had come to view death differently from other dragons, or perhaps he had never viewed it in the same way to begin with. Or perhaps Ashheart was the strange one. After the Broken God had been cast down, the rage and grief he had felt for his family had faded swiftly. They were dead, but they had been avenged. What more could he do for them? They would not want him to grieve endlessly. They would want him to live and live well.

In a way, however, it was reassuring.

Doomwing's sentimentality meant that he would never send Ashheart into a battle they could not win, not unless they had no other options. Nor would he abandon Ashheart simply because things grew difficult or dangerous. And if the worst should befall Ashheart, then he could rely on Doomwing to care for any hatchlings or mates he might have.

So even if Ashheart had not understood why Doomwing grieved so much for their enemy, he had nevertheless tempered his joy at Mother Tree's defeat and had offered to go hunting with Doomwing. They could go kill a kraken or something. That always made Ashheart feel better. Doomwing had stared at him like he was a complete idiot before shaking his head. But he hadn't said no, and the two of them had flown out over the open sea and hunted until their bellies were full.

Doomwing had made other friends since then, as had Ashheart. Fewer and fewer of the dragons from the First Age remained as they either fell in battle against the Catastrophes, turned against each other, left the world, or blew themselves up in magical mishaps. Those that remained got to know each other better, at first because fighting the Catastrophes demanded a unified response, and then because they actually got along.

Ashheart could still remember the battle against the Exiled Star. The titan of light and glory had tried to judge the world as though he had any right at all to pass judgement over them. Their allies had fallen in droves as the Exiled Star scoured the land, beams of coruscating brightness piercing mountains and parting seas. Even their fellow primordial dragons had not been immune to the Exiled Star's might.

Only Ashheart had the strength to get close, only he had the physical might and power to grapple the traitorous star. He had known that doing so would likely cost him his life, and if he survived, it would be with injuries of the most horrific sort. Without Dawnscale to heal him, he might very well be crippled.

But when Doomwing had told him to do it, he had not hesitated.

Why?

Because if there had been any other way to win, Doomwing would not have asked it of him.

And so Ashheart had charged, roaring his rage and defiance as the Exiled Star's light tore through his scales, disintegrated his flesh, and severed his limbs. Ashheart's magic was crude at best, but there were a handful of areas he excelled in. More than anything, he excelled at boosting his innate abilities.

Scales could be regrown. Flesh could be restored. Limbs could be regenerated.

All he had to do was to survive long enough to lay his claws upon the Exiled Star. If he could do that, then he could buy Doomwing and the others the time they needed to win. And he must have lasted long enough because the world was still around, and Doomwing was still alive. It was a pity that the Exiled Star had not possessed proper flesh. Ashheart could remember trying to tear his throat out only to have his mouth burned by light that surpassed the sun.

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Hmm and speaking of light, had Doomwing's pet vampire survived that battle?

Ashheart could vaguely remember him the son of the Fourth Catastrophe who had turned against the crazed vampire. He and Doomwing had become friends of a sort, so Doomwing would have gotten upset if the vampire had been eradicated by one of the Exiled Star's many attacks. Just the fact that he come out to help had impressed Ashheart. After all, vampires and light did not mix. Doomwing had called the vampire a complete idiot, but Ashheart had approved of the vampire's bravery.

Ashheart was broken from his reminiscing when he sensed the approach of a familiar dragon. It was not Doomwing. No, the dragon flying toward him was too small to be his friend. Instead, it was a dragon he had taken as a mate shortly before the arrival of the Fifth Catastrophe.

Diamondfang was her name, and her body was covered in scales that resembled gleaming gemstones of every kind. She had been resplendent the first time he'd seen her, the afternoon sun glittering off her scales in rays of sapphire, ruby, emerald, and more. She was larger now, and he could sense that she'd undergone another Awakening, but his attention was soon drawn to the dragon just behind her.

He had seen dragons with metallic scales before, but never with scales quite like this. Instead of the smooth, seamless metallic scales he'd seen in the past, this dragon's dark scales were jagged and sharp, more like rock in their shape and appearance than the regular and orderly scales that had inspired the dwarves of old to craft the first sets of scale armour.

Unlike Diamondfang who had always possessed a lithe, sinuous frame, this other dragon's body was broad and stocky, built for strength and toughness over speed and agility. That was rare to see in dragons with metallic scales. They tended to be on the leaner side although he had seen a few that were bulkier in build. But it was the eyes that convinced him.

Normally, a dragon with scales like that would have eyes that resembled metal as well. But not this dragon. This dragon's eyes blazed with volcanic heat, twin pools of molten orange that spoke of the fiery, savage heart of the world.

Ashheart searched his memories of the time before the Fifth Catastrophe's arrival. Diamondfang had not laid an egg yet, but she had been hopeful

"It has been a long time," Ashheart rumbled as Diamondfang and the other dragon landed on nearby mountaintops. He tried not to laugh as the dwarves looked back and forth with ever-growing horror. Their leader did his best to calm them, pointing out quite rightly that if Ashheart wanted them dead, he could very easily have done it by now. "Diamondfang."

Her gaze settled on him, and her eyes were, as they had been long ago, like opals of ever-shifting colour. "Yes, it has. Are you well?"

Ashheart considered the question and then nodded. "I feel strong stronger than I was when I fought the Exiled Star." And it was true. During his healing slumber, he had only grown more and more powerful, in keeping with the nature of a dragon. He had dreamed, now and then, of the battles he had fought in his life, and those dreams had felt incredibly real to the point where he was confident that he had not lost his edge. "Why was I inside a mountain?"

Diamondfang's lips curled. "Doomwing sealed you inside a mountain when it became clear that your wounds were so severe that moving you might kill you. He used all the healing magic he knew to treat your wounds and then bent the currents of magic in the area to nourish you and aid you in your healing. He was uncertain how long it would take, but he was sure it would work."

"That sounds like something he would do." Ashheart nodded. After Dawnscale had left, Doomwing had renewed his studies of healing magic. He would likely never approach Dawnscale's skill and power the advantage her lineage gave her was just too great but he could do a decent impersonation of her abilities if need be.

"Dreamsong also wove magic into the dreaming lands around you to ease your slumber and keep your mind active, lest it fall into the abyss that awaits those who dream too long."

"She did good work," Ashheart said. "Now, I have many more questions, but there is one I must ask first." His gaze bore down on the male dragon who had accompanied Diamondfang. "Who are you?"

"I am Adamantheart." The dragon's voice was excited. "Your son."

"Is that so?" Ashheart leaned forward, and then crossed the gap between them in a blur of motion before bringing one claw down.

It was far from his full strength. Adamantheart was perhaps a quarter his size. A full-strength attack would have slain him easily. But it was still a blow from a primordial dragon, and many a dragon had been felled by even a whimsical strike from Ashheart. Rather than dodge, Adamantheart chose to take the blow head on, bracing himself against the mountain and raising both his claws to block.

The mountains shook with the force of the impact, and the thin wisps of clouds nearby parted as the thunder of the blow rolled across the sky.

"Hmm" Ashheart pulled his claw back. The mountain beneath Adamantheart had fractured, and the younger dragon's body was trembling. Some of the scales on his arms had cracked, and a trickle of blood came from the corners of his mouth. But Adamantheart was grinning from ear to ear, and the dark metal of his body seemed almost to writhe in anticipation at the prospect of battle. "You are most definitely my son." He bared his teeth. "From the feel of it, you have only recently experienced your Second Awakening."

Adamantheart nodded. "Less than a century ago."

"Not bad not bad at all." Ashheart gave a low rumble of approval. That was good progress. Diamondfang had done well in raising him. "Your mother has raised you well, and you must have worked hard. Did Doomwing aid you?"

Diamondfang answered. "Not long after you were wounded and encased in the mountain, I laid Adamantheart's egg. It was then that I approached Doomwing."

"Oh?"

"None of your enemies were foolish enough to attack your slumbering form, not after Doomwing made it clear that he would tear out their hearts and feast on them if they tried. However, when they learned that Adamantheart was your son"

"I see." Ashheart's jaw clenched. Diamondfang had been born during the Third Age. She was an ancient dragon of considerable power, but his enemies were also ancient dragons. He was confident that she could face any one of them in single combat, but if they attacked her together "Are they still alive? If so, I can change that."

"Doomwing extended his protection to us," Diamondfang said. "And made it clear that any attack on us would be answered as brutally as possible."

"They did not test him?" Ashheart asked. More than once, a dragon had mistaken Doomwing's sentimentality for weakness. Few ever got the chance to make the mistake again.

"Only one. Doomwing made an example of him."

"Good." Ashheart had no problems with his enemies challenging him, even if they did so as a group. But to target his mate and child was not something he or any respectable dragon would tolerate. "Now, what is this about a fox god?"

"Ah." Diamondfang scowled. "That is complicated."

"Was he powerful?" Ashheart asked. "Because the only people I can think of who might be called fox gods are the kitsune, and I do not remember them being especially strong."

"She was incredibly powerful," Diamondfang said. "She almost slew Doomwing in combat."

"What?" Ashheart growled. "Impossible. No kitsune should be that strong." But then again, the Fourth Catastrophe had managed to exceed the limits of what they had thought vampires were capable of. Had a kitsune somehow done the same?

"She struck him down with a spear of god-metal, at least, that was what Doomwing called it."

"God-metal?" Ashheart stared. "I there is much I must ask him about when I next see him."

"Do you intend to do that now?" Diamondfang asked.

Ashheart looked at her and Adamantheart. "It can wait. He must have sensed my presence by now, and he can always contact me through that mirror of his if it is urgent. Right now, I find myself hungry."

"The sea is to the north," Adamantheart said. "This time of year, whales are quite plentiful."

"Is that so?" Ashheart stretched his wings. "Then let us go, and you and your mother can tell me of what I have missed." He grinned. "And then I can show you my lair."

"About that," Diamondfang said. "Doomwing may have blown up your lair."

"" Ashheart blinked. "He what?"

"It was part of a trap," Diamondfang said hastily. "The Sixth Catastrophe had found a way to harness the power beneath it, so Doomwing laid a trap for her. Unfortunately, she was able to escape, and your lair was destroyed in the process."

"" Ashheart scowled. "And my hoard?"

"Doomwing has it," Diamondfang said. "He took it after you were injured, so he could watch over it since I did not have the strength to defend it."

Ashheart relaxed. His hoard had taken him Ages to accumulate whereas his lair was something he could remake if necessary. "There were treasures in there that could have helped you and our son"

"Doomwing made them available to us," she replied. "And he has even used his alchemy to help Adamantheart gain access to the materials he needs for his growth and Awakenings."

"Hmm alchemy always was a hobby of his." Ashheart could forgive his friend for blowing up his lair. Doomwing would only have done that if he thought it was necessary, and the fact that the Sixth Catastrophe had not only escaped the trap but had also almost killed him later spoke volumes of how dangerous she had been. But where had she gotten god-metal? He would definitely have to ask Doomwing about that. "Now, let us leave."

As the three dragons flew northward, one of the dwarves turned to King Bjorn.

"Do do you think they'll be coming back?"

The king sighed. "We'll just have to assume they are although" He peered at the mountain that Ashheart had ripped open. "Get some prospectors over there. We shouldn't have any problems accessing that gold vein now, and who knows what else we might find?"