Targon

 

 

 

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you in the Drakon Valley,” says the elder dragon Sargus. “I was saddened to hear of your father passing some cycles ago. May his spirit live on.” He sits tall and proud before me, his red scales gleaming in the light of a hundred burning candelabras. His face is familiar to me—I knew him when I was young—yet the ages have left him somehow changed. I can see it in his eyes, a certain scorn or cynicism that wasn’t there before. He was one of my father’s close friends for a time, and my father was a faithful servant to him, ruling over a portion of Drakon as a lord. But differences of opinion formed. My father got permission to form his own clan and settle the Wildlands, and after that they drifted apart.

“I thank you, Elder Sargus.”

He peers down at me from his perch. “Why is it you’ve requested to speak to us, Lord Targon?”

It is nearly dark now. All day I’ve waited for the council to arrive. But here they are finally, three of them at least. They sit perched on elevated black-glass pedestals in a half circle before me. The hall is where dragon justice is meted out, and where the council makes decisions regarding the laws of dragon-kind. A great dome arches over our heads. Busts of former lords and elders line the room, carved from solid granite, and old glyphs and artifacts adorn the walls—all relics from the ancient times.

“I’m here to request help in saving the lives of my clan,” I respond. “They were taken by the Other-Worlders, and are now held as prisoners in the Wildlands.”

Beside Sargus is seated Balrazar, and beside him is Partheon. Around each of the elder’s necks are gold chains. Each gold chain is adorned with a single gem, and each gem is engraved with symbols and glyphs from another time. They gleam in the candlelight, smooth and round against the gaunt and scaly necks of the elders.

“Imprisoned,” says Partheon, a smug tone—satisfaction almost—underlying his words. He is a bronze dragon like me, quick witted and fond of treasure. I’ve heard rumors about him from my father, but I don’t know him personally. There’s something about him I don’t like, something I can’t quite put my finger on, but I brush these feelings aside. Right now, I need him on my side.

The three members of the council bend their heads close together, whispering. I watch as Partheon takes his necklace into his hand, running his thumb over the smooth surface of the gem. There is some disagreement, and the elders gesticulate and make their points with shushed arguments. For a moment their voices grow to a low murmur, but then they end their deliberation and turn their attentions back toward me.

Sargus speaks. “And what of these creatures you’ve brought with you? The two females.” He shifts on his perch, his eyes narrowing at me curiously. “They’re not Vikon.”

“No,” I reply, “they are not. They come from another planet.”

“Another planet?” Sargus says. “How did they come to be here?”

“They arrived accidently, stumbling through a conduit of the Other-Worlders.”

“Hmm,” Sargus says, nodding his head. He sits back on his pedestal, contemplating my words. “That is a problem then, isn’t it.”

“In what way, your Eldership?”

“In every way, my young Targon,” he says. “How can we know they are not spies sent by our enemies? They use their gates, and look similar to the Vikon—their allies. You expect us to believe this is mere coincidence?” Sargus glares at me. “Have you considered the idea that these females might be leading us into a trap?”

I shake my head, replying to his suggestion instantly. “It is not possible.”

“How can you know this?” Partheon cuts in.

“I just do.”

“I asked how you could know this.”

“I have taken one of them as my mate,” I reply, almost spitting the answer with frustration. There is a murmur from the elders as looks of shock break over their faces.

“I can see her thoughts, and understand her needs,” I continue. “We share our minds, just as dragon mates do.” Their bodies stiffen and they tilt their heads at me, scrutinizing my face, searching for lies or disinformation. “I have assisted them in surviving on this world, with the hopes of finding their friends, who are also held by the Vikon.”

“She has taken your claiming mark and survived?” Balrazar says, seemingly more interested in the females than my kindred.

“You saw her with your own eyes,” I say. “She is strengthened by it, growing stronger each day.”

Partheon chimes in. “And you say there are more of these outsiders on Theros?”

“Yes, held near the same place my clan is held.”

My reply seems to intrigue the elders. Once again they put their heads together to deliberate, gesturing as their whispered tones grow ever more excited. I have no psychic link with the minds of these dragons, as they are not my kin and not of my clan, but it doesn’t take any special powers to feel the excitement between them.

There are not many female dragons left on this world. The Other-Worlders have seen to that as they hunt us to extinction. They use the males as mounts for their Vikon riders, and murder off the females so they cannot reproduce. Our numbers have dwindled over the years. It’s hard to say how many dragons remain on the planet.

Rin is a great treasure. I recognized that as soon as I saw her. And dragons are covetous of treasure. Especially treasure that may hold the key to future generations of dragon kind. I know that is what they discuss. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach as the low buzz of their voices echoes through the room. I’ve made a mistake in coming here. But what choice did I have? They would’ve found out about the other females when we went to rescue my clan. And I owe them my allegiance. To lie to them would be to break my oath.

After a few minutes of back and forth between the elders the murmurs stop and they once again focus their attentions on me.

“Since the founding of your clan by your father, the elders here have always done our best to support your lordship and see it prosper. We are all dragon-kind, after all, and you are our faithful servant. Our kind is increasingly rare these days. You know first-hand what the Other-Worlders have done to us, how they hunt us endlessly and imprison our minds.” Sargus eyes the elders before continuing, fidgeting with the gem around his neck.”

The other two nod their approval and he continues. “Your clan is threatened with extinction, just as we here are threatened by the lack of mates for our remaining warriors and leaders.” He hesitates, examining me closely, watching my body language. “We would help you, Lord Targon, to free your clan and reestablish your rule over the Wildlands.”

There’s a pregnant pause. I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes, the scheming and plotting going on in his head. I know there is an ultimatum brewing in his mind. I have dealt with the politicking and scheming of the Drakon masters many times before. I can hear it in the tone of his voice, and see it in his posture.

“And in return, my elders?”

“We want the outsider females turned over to us.”

Partheon cuts in. “You will keep your mate, of course. You can even keep the other one you brought with her. But in exchange for the continued survival of your clan, you must turn over the rest of them to us.”

I scoff. “My mate will never agree to that.”

“She will if she values the lives of her friends,” replies Partheon. At first his tone is sharp, and his gaze intense. I can see the lust behind his eyes, feel his greed and desire.  But he catches himself and a smile forms at his lips. “We must do what is in our interests for survival, Lord Targon. As a leader you know sometimes we must make tough decisions for the well-being of our kind. It is time to for you to think of your clan, not of yourself or the desires of your blood mate.”

Sargus adds, “You can’t expect us to risk the lives of the few warriors we have left without being rewarded for those risks.”

My thoughts immediately turn to Rin. How could I possibly make a decision of this magnitude without her input? It wouldn’t be just, and it would violate every ounce of trust that she’s placed in me. At the same time I understand the elders desire to see their clan thrive. When they say that dragons are dying off on this world, they don’t mean we’ll be gone in some far off future.  They mean there is risk of our extinction within one to two generations. They may have the lust and greed of dragon-kind in their blood, but they are also doing what any leaders would do to ensure the survival of their bloodlines.

Still, I know it’s not right. I cannot rob other intelligent beings of their right to decide for themselves. And at the same time, I risk losing my clan.  I risk never seeing my brother Aedan again. Not only that, but as long as the collar is around his neck, he will be used by the enemy. He will be my enemy, and every time I fly out to hunt or to travel, I risk facing him and having to make difficult choices that could lead to one of our deaths. Both of our deaths even—ending my bloodline.

I stalk around the great hall, conflicted by inner voices. I have been placed in a situation where I either violate the trust of my one true love, or risk losing my kindred forever. Not only that, but alienating the Drakon Valley dragons will leave my clan isolated and alone with few allies left. They are the only ones who know how to deal with the Other-Worlders and their technology. I need time to think, time away from the watchful gaze of the elders.

“I need time to consider these terms,” I say.

“Very well,” replies Sargus. He calls in his guards. “Take Targon to his mate,” he commands. I bow to Sargus as the guards approach. As I follow them out into the hallway I hear Sargus’ voice from behind me. “Think of your kind, Lord Targon. The survival of your clan depends on your decision,” and then the great wooden doors of the hall shut with a definitive boom.