Hair and Heart of Flame

The dragon had destroyed larger villages, but none so quick as this one.

She dove from the sky, roaring and blasting her fires across the thatch huts of the small houses. Three passes had been enough to set the whole town ablaze. Sheep and horses scattered along with the townsfolk that were not huddled in their homes.

A few arrows plinked against her scales from several huntsmen, but they were unable to find entrance to the flesh beneath. The dragon did not fear these; nor did she fear the humans' blades and axes. Only magic gave her pause, and little at that. Magic, and the lady of the sword.

  But this village had neither. The weak volleys of arrows soon ceased, and the only sounds were scattered screams and the crackle of her flames.

The dragon watched the chaos for a moment, then turned and flapped her powerful wings, climbing higher into the sky. Another village reduced to ashes and death, and all she felt was the emptiness that sat like a stone inside her heart.

Perhaps the next one would change that.

The land below her sped by as she flew, all lush green forests and rolling streams, centered around a huge mountain where the dragon made her home. Its slopes were difficult to traverse except for seasoned climbers and mages, and none of those had dared its heights in some time.

When her mother had lived, she had said that the mountain and the skies belonged to their kind. Inside a dragon, she had said, burned a fire that spanned generations. The warmth of those who came before and who would come after protected them from the cold of the outside world, which made the mountain a perfect roost.

She wished her mother had spoken of how to deal with the cold she felt inside now. No matter how many villages she lit ablaze, it never changed, an empty feeling deep in her core. It was as if her fire had gone out. That emptiness, and a deep hatred of humans, had been all she had known for the past several seasons.

She smelled the smoke before she saw it, and the smell pulled her from her thoughts. Her keen eyes narrowed, scanning the landscape for the source. She knew the scent of her destruction, and this was not her doing.

There, from the forest: a faint plume of smoke. It was far from the village, too far to be a casualty of her earlier razing. She wondered if it was because of the war.

  The dragon had hunted the creatures for some time now. Small and defenseless on their own, they gathered in dense hordes within walled cities or small villages. Two cities, in particular, seemed to be engaged in a conflict of some sort for most of the past summer. Masses of men from each had fought and died in large battles; the scent of their blood hung heavy in the air around those places. It was not a pleasant scent, but she did derive some grim satisfaction from it.

  The emblem that flew from the pole was that of the city south of the mountain’s slopes. Curiosity drove her into a dive, and she flew toward the sit. She was intrigued, and tired of burning for now, and she did not fear anything that may still live below.

  Although, she admitted to herself, it was fortunate that the two groups were at each other's throats. Between the two factions, she had fought and slain enough mages to know that, combined, their forces might pose an actual danger to her.

  She descended into the woods, crashing through the trees. Now that she was closer, she saw the smoke came from a clearing. She snaked her way forward. At the very least, she might be able to do something about her hunger, even if the creatures did not taste particularly good.

In her heart, she knew her curiosity was nothing but a distraction. She may fill her stomach, but there was a different emptiness inside as well, one harder to fill.

  The man was dying. His eyes bulged as she emerged from the trees, and he gave a feeble attempt to scoot away as she approached. The dragon rumbled with disgust. She hated a coward, and she was nothing compared to the long sleep that awaited the man.

His back met the wheel of a carriage, and then there was nowhere left to crawl.

“Figures,” the man muttered, pulling a container from his belt and taking a swig. “Two months of war with Felria, and it’s bandits and a dragon that kills me.”

He raised his gaze, meeting her eyes. “Bet you’re the monster that’s prowled these last seasons. Come to finish the job?” He paused. “You know, my nan said you could understand our speech.”

The man’s sounds meant nothing to the dragon. She turned, surveying the wreckage. A dozen bearded bodies in metal armor lay dead and dismembered in the clearing. Others, more numerous, were covered instead with leather and hides. It was a bloody scene.

“Guess she was wrong about that, too. That, or you’re a quiet one. Ned was right, I’m going to die talking to myself.” He eyed the corpse nearest him as he spoke. His words were subtly weaker now, his strength rapidly stolen by the spear embedded in his stomach.

The man gathered himself, took a deep, painful breath, and snapped his fingers. The dragon swiveled her eyes back toward him. He flung his helmet off to reveal a sweat-laden bald scalp. He flicked his head at the carriage.

“Precious cargo in there. Might as well take the matter from my hands.” He spit, and it was bloody. “Well enough. Never sat right with me, using a child to wage war. Even if she is the Swordmaiden’s spawn. Better the child die than be a pawn—” He coughed, and his words failed.

The man was breathing hard now. The dragon watched as his chest labored, shuddered, and eventually went still. Then she looked toward the carriage. His gesturing indicated something was important about it.

Her tail lanced out, shattering the carriage and blowing the top off in an explosion of splinters. She waited for the dust to settle, then drew her head back in surprise.

There, in the cushioned interior, lay a child. At least, she was fairly sure it was a child, at least. It was the smallest human she had ever seen, either way.

  The dragon wrapped her claw around the infant and held it up to her face. This young, it was impossible to tell whether the child was male or female. Surprisingly, it did not cry. It merely stared at her, bright eyes set above a pair of fat cheeks. A soft cap covered its head loosely.

  She puffed hot air into the thing's face, enjoying the flinch it gave. She had a wicked idea what she would do with the child, and it gave her no little joy to imagine the humans' shock and anger when they saw.

 The creatures she hunted were sentimental, she had found. During her raids of the villages surrounding the mountain, she had watched as the larger ones, presumably the fathers, had thrown themselves in front of her flames, shielding the weaker ones with their own bodies.

Not that it had helped them. Her fire burned even stone, if she gave it long enough.

  Yes, they would hesitate to attack if it would injure one of their young. Their children were precious to them. That, at least, their species had in common.

  The dragon twitched its tail to wrap around the child. Once secured, she dug her claws into the earth before launching herself into the skies again with forceful flaps of her wings. The dead man’s eyes seemed to follow her as she left.

The dragon considered its small cargo as it flew. With the baby clutched in her claws, she might finally take the city east of the mountain. It was the only one she had failed to destroy, and she was tired of avoiding it in her forays. A dragon was not meant to change its course all because of some insects, even if these ones could sting.

  The dragon tilted itself toward the east and continued its flight, soaring above a large lake. Her eyes flicked down, and she saw her reflection. She imagined herself as the humans must see her: terrible and powerful, with huge wings, blood-red scales, and slitted golden eyes.

  Her pleasure soured as she looked closer, and beheld the single flaw in her red-scaled hide: a terrible gash, deep as the bone, cut into her left flank.

  She remembered vividly the pain, a sensation rare to her. Few things could pierce the hard scales of her kind. And yet this havoc had been wrought by a mere human, small and insignificant.

Her mind’s eye replayed the moment: A woman with fiery red hair, dressed in more ornate armor than her companions, with a sword unlike any the dragon had seen. She had stood proud on the city’s walls, holding a most remarkable sword. A shimmering, faintly curved blade of unusual length, it had thrummed with power, and sang a clear, ringing tone as the warrior swung. Though the woman had been in on ground and the dragon high above, the cut had traveled somehow, through the air, to bite into her flesh with malice. She remembered the scintillating arc that had issued from its edge, vastly larger than the blade itself. It was a new magic to her; her mother had never mentioned such a power, and she had lived a long, long life.

  It had been a wound long in healing. She had barely been able to fly to her perch on the great mountain. Even hunting had been hard. If it had clipped her wing, had been even slightly higher placed, she would have lost everything she held dear.

  As the dragon left the lake behind, she felt something tickle her claw. Curious, she turned her head. The child lay ensconced in her claw, facing the lake. Its hat had fallen off from the flight, revealing a mop of hair, startlingly red. The sight reminded her of her nemesis and she growled. But then she looked closer, and her irritation vanished.

Light fire wreathed one of the child’s hands. Every so often it brushed her claw, sending a warm tickle through her. The child laughed with delight, watching the flame swirl.

  A moment of surprise, then absolute glee. It was a mage—or at least, a small one.

  How sweet this would be! The thought of using the demons’ own spawn against them filled her with a grim delight.

She wheeled around, setting her course for the city. If she did not find peace, at least now she might find justice.

Before long, the city lay on the horizon under a dull cloudy sky. As she grew closer and closer, details emerged: white spires reaching high above the walls; pristine city streets filled with colorful robed men and women; and soldiers in armor and plumed helms practicing battle maneuvers outside.

These saw her too late as she flew over the city, letting loose a torrent of red-hot flame that spread through the streets and alleys like a river. She wheeled around, relishing the screams.

She felt a thrum of power below her and rose into the air. An explosion rocked the air where she had just been. That was a new magic, she thought. Strange, though, how the creatures always gravitated toward fire when dealing with her. It was only a threat to the youngest or weakest dragons.

For the first time, the babe in her claws cried out. The dragon pulled it closer to her, away from the force of the blast. She needed it safe for what was to come.

Another pass over the city, another jet of flame. The next time she flew over, no explosion came. Mages were rare, and rarer still since she had begun hunting.

  At that moment, a soft, yet strong and clear tone rang out from the city walls. Recognition flashed through the dragon's mind. She wrenched her body to the side, right before a wave of force screamed by her, missing her by mere feet.

  She turned her long neck around and watched as the force, crescent-shaped and shimmering, tore a rent in the cover of the clouds above. Then she turned to the castle walls, searching until she found her.

  There she stood, just as the dragon remembered: tall, fierce, with hair that blazed as red as the dragon's flames. Her eyes gazed steadily at the dragon, clear and determined. The old wound in the dragon's side ached in memory.

Men scrambled to fill the wall around her, but the dragon had eyes only for her foe. This time, there would be no retreat.

The woman wasted no time, slashing repeatedly with that awful sword. The dragon had to maneuver with care to avoid the blows. She had expected them this time, but somehow, the waves seemed more frequent than she remembered, and fiercer, as though something drove her harder than before.

The dragon needed some time. She raised her head and saw the clouds above the city, hanging low in the sky. The woman was strong, but she could not kill what she could not see.

  The dragon beat her wings hard, climbing higher and higher into the sky toward the clouds, now studded with tears from the blade. She plunged into their depths, and pictured her victory: the woman falling from the castle walls as flames engulfed her, from her iron-clad feet to her flame-red hair.

  Her hair—

  A thought struck the dragon. Surely it could not be...

  The clouds ended, and the dragon burst from their embrace and into the clear, cold air above. From this height, the swordswoman and her people were nothing but specks in the distance. The dragon did not need to worry about her sword up here.

  Instead, she grabbed the baby with her front claws and held it up before her. It hung upside down from her claw, cheeks ruddy from the cold, tiny eyes staring and seemingly unafraid of the dragon's golden gaze.

  Atop the child’s head, a short mop of tousled red hair blew to and fro like the tongues of a fire, red as the dragon's flames themselves.

  The dragon flapped its wings and hung there, eyes locked on the child. Thoughts raced across her mind. She knew the advantage she held.

  Fire came to life and danced across the child's waving hands. The dragon knew the sting of those flames from the mages below, but to see them on such small hands…

Such small, vulnerable hands…

  The wind howled as she hovered, and considered.

  The flames stopped their dancing, and winked out. The child shuddered, and closed its eyes. It opened its mouth to cry, but the chill wind stole the breath from its body, so it simply hung there, silent and small.

  Abruptly the dragon wheeled around. She took aim and dove through the clouds, holding the babe firmly as she hurtled toward the ground below.

  As she broke through to the skies below, her speed increased more and more, until she was flying faster than she had ever flown before.

She had just enough time, as she pulled up hard, to see the woman’s eyes, startled, as she turned to face the dragon, close enough to be whipped by tail.

Then the dragon was sailing away, too fast for the woman to let loose one of her blasts.

  When she was nearing the farms outside the city walls, she slowed and wheeled herself around. Humans who had dared to peek outside their hovels scattered back inside as the dragon flapped its wings, slowing further and further until she was gliding on the gentle currents of the surface winds.

  She touched down and gradually came to a halt, transferring the child to her tail as she did. Then she roared, and with her claws scored a deep line of rents into the earth. Then she waited to see if the woman would accept her challenge.

She did not have to wait long. The gates of the city opened, and out rode the city’s strongest defender. The dragon had felt sure she would come—after all, she was a warrior, and a mother.

The dragon folded and unfolded her claws in front her, unsure of how to present a less threatening front. She settled back onto her haunches, anxious. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and she did not like it.

The woman stopped a short distance away and dismounted. This close, the dragon could see her ice blue eyes and the violence they promised. She did not strike yet, though her hand hovered by the hilt of her sword.

The woman was not a mage, the dragon was certain. The magic was in that sword. Knowing she was not a mage should have made this easier, but still…

The woman was close enough, so the dragon unfurled her tail, which had been tucked behind her, revealing within its grasp the child.

The woman’s eyes widened in shock, and then changed entirely. The violence that had been in those eyes was replaced by pure hatred, and by something else: fear.

The dragon felt like she was flying over the lake again, looking down at her own reflection, and her resolve wavered. But she had come too far to stop now.

The warrior’s sword cleared her scabbard in an instant, and she drew it behind her, its wicked tip pointed at the dragon. At this range, the damage from a thrust would be devastating for the dragon, but would not harm the baby. Her stance tightened as she prepared to strike.

Then she stopped short as the dragon gently set the child down on the ground.

Anger and fear vanished, and confusion colored the woman’s face. Then she spoke.

“What trick is this, dragon? Kalsys sends her soldiers to steal my child, to start a war, and you return her to me unharmed.”

The dragon did not respond. She simply turned and walked, putting distance between them.

“I know you can understand me, beast. Answer me!”

When she had put enough distance between them, the dragon turned around for one last look. The woman stood, sword in one hand, her child in the other, cradled to her tenderly. The sword’s tip was pointed at the ground.

“I do not understand,” the woman said softly. “But thank you.”

The dragon looked at them a moment longer. Then she turned and launched herself again into a sky as empty as her heart.

  The peak of the great mountain that was home grew and grew as the dragon ascended toward it. Snow and ice blanketed its faces, sending shards of sunlight reflecting into the dragon’s eyes.

  At a certain, smaller peak a ways below the mountain's summit, she stopped her climb and circled. On the far side, facing the city she had left not long ago, a massive cave emerged with a large shelf before it, large enough for one of her size to alight.

She landed with a whump, throwing snow into the air with her impact. A few strides brought her to the entrance of the cave, and her tail rapped against the wall, and she waited.

  Five dragons, small yet, and gangly, hurried to meet her. They chirped as she released from her jaws the body of one of the great bears that roamed the mountains. They tore at the bear, hungry and grateful.

  The dragon's eyes drifted to the very back of the cave as her children feasted. There, the remnants of six eggs lay in shards scattered around the back wall.

Long ago, her mother had warned her about the dangers of the humans. They valued the scales and horns of dragonkind— for what purpose, she did not know. Slaying a dragon, even for a mage, was a tall task, though. So some of them sought the dragon’s young, for easier prey.

She remembered the day she had returned from hunting to find her world torn apart. Fire marks scorched the ground, some dragon-flame, some mage-flame, but it was clear who had won. The mage had not even bothered to hide the body, leaving it ravaged and plucked over.

The memory of finding the mage halfway down the mountain had been a small comfort for a time, a comfort much colder than the flames that had incinerated him. But the emptiness grew, rather than shrank. So she had continued her revenge, hoping that enough vengeance could ease the pain.

  Out snaked her tail, pulling the small dragons away from their prize and close to her body. Ignoring their protests, she turned and look down from the mountain's cliff, down at the lands below full of magic and danger. She thought of the woman and her child, and deep inside her, her fire stirred, a quiet burn.