The Assassin's Promise

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Any self-respecting dragon usually gave the area a wide berth, tainted as it was by its association with George the Dragon-Slayer. The very mention of the Valley of Silene was enough to strike dread into the heart of the fiercest dragon. We only spoke of it when absolutely necessary, and even then, in a low voice, as if uttering its name could bring a curse down upon us. Silene was the heart of the Shadowlands, a place of violence against the innocent. A place of betrayal and of blood.

Which was precisely why we came here. After all, it was the last place anyone would go hunting for a dragon.

*****

Before you ask, no I won’t eat you. I may be a dragon, but I am a pescatarian, like most of our kind. In fact, you probably didn’t recognise me for what I truly am when we passed in the street the other day. When I am in human form, I look much like you: two long legs, two arms, a human mouth and nose and ears. Wingless. I flap around as ungainly as any of the rest of you when I am two-legged.

Only one thing reveals who I really am: my eyes. They are brighter than the clearest diamond, and they shine with a sapience that betrays how old I must be. But few humans are perceptive enough to notice that sort of thing. Always so busy, hurrying here and there, too absorbed in their own concerns to see the truth of the stranger in front of them.

My apologies, I do not mean to be patronising. It is an unfortunate habit one tends to acquire when one has been around for several centuries. If you like, it is one of the lesser evils that comes with the great blessing of the dragons: the gift of wisdom. This gift is the reason why your royalty tends to value our advice so much. Or at least, why they used to. I hear that in the far eastern lands, dragons and humans still live in harmony together. But that time is long gone here in the central and southern kingdoms. The dragon purges of the last few centuries killed so many of our kind that we slowly retreated far back into the ancient caves of our ancestors. We keep ourselves to ourselves now.

Or we did, until the Emperor of Byzantine invaded our citadel four years ago. And that is where this story begins, really. With a war that killed a king and changed the fortune of my life forever. Not that I blame the emperor for what happened next. I did not flee to Silene to avoid being discovered by your kind. No, I was being hunted down by my own.

The time has come to speak the truth. The time has come to tell my story.

***

I arch my body gracefully in a fluid motion to avoid the longbowman’s arrow. It sails under my outstretched wing with a high-pitched whistle, and clatters off the mountainside. That was a little too close, I think ruefully, as I enter the yawning mouth of the dragon citadel. Better be more careful next time.

Soaring through the short stretch of tunnel towards the Great Cavern, I sigh gratefully to feel the cool, soothing air against my sun-scorched scales. They blister like molten metal after the heat of the noonday battle. Hopefully, there will be time for a bathe in one of the cave pools before my next shift.

I beat my wings powerfully in a forward motion as I come in to land just before the tunnel opens up to the Great Cavern. Already, through the dark archway, I can see the majestic sheet of rock formations against its back wall, as if Mother Nature herself had hewn a cascading waterfall of icicles out of the dark ochre stone just for our delight.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can just make out a strange shape in the centre of the cavern. Peering closer, I snort fire in shock and fear. It is the Queen, hunched over a figure splayed out across the dusty cave floor. Is she hurt? Who is the figure? Not another dragon fallen today, please not another one.

I start to bound forwards, intending to help her carry the dragon to the hospital chamber so that they can get immediate medical attention. But then I see who it is and come to an abrupt halt.

It can’t be.

Slowly, I begin to take in the ghastly sight. The dragon queen is cradling the body of her mate, King Xerxes. I do not need to see a wound to perceive that the king’s body is limp and lifeless, one foreleg splayed out onto the cave floor. He is dead, and with him the dynasty that has ruled us for three thousand years.

Instinctively, I shrink back into the shadows, unsure of what to do next.

Suddenly, the queen lifts her head, and a primordial moan of lament pours from her. Her face is streaked with tears, her mouth twisted in agony.

The queen’s grief transforms her. Neither in human nor dragon form, she is in a sacred state hovering between her natures. Her deep indigo scales shimmer through translucent skin. Her curly black ringlets have elongated into a dragon’s mane, and her horns protrude from her forehead. Claws extend from her human fingers, though she holds her dead mate very tenderly. She folds her wings protectively around him, as though by shielding him from sight she can keep him safe.

I stare, blood and adrenalin still pumping loudly through my body from the flight. King Xerxes, dead? My mistress, grieving? The dynasty, over?

The king and queen have no surviving children. Their two offspring to make it through infancy did not live to see this day. The eldest, Rowan, was murdered in a dragon purge over a hundred and fifty years ago. The youngest, Caspian, died in a freak accident at the hands of a skilful knight just last year.

So, what happens now?

Behind me, a whooshing noise followed by a soft thud tells me that another dragon has also just landed at the cavern entrance. I hear a sharp intake of breath as they, too, take in the sight of the queen cradling the dead king’s body. We stand, immobilised by the horror of what we are witnessing. Dimly, I am aware of other dragons in the vicinity, frozen like grotesquely lifelike statues scattered around the edges of the huge entrance chamber. The only movement comes from the dancing flames beneath the great vat of oil we are using to fill jars to pour over Emperor Maximilian’s army outside. The fire pops and the amber liquid spits and hisses, as if to mock us.

Then, Queen Amadara looks up, straight at me. Her ink-black eyes are wide and staring, full of absolute terror. I blink in surprise at the wildness of that stare. Queen Amadara was afraid of nothing. Until now.

I watch as two of the elders approach her, Lord Mufid, and Lord Kyril. They speak to her gently, though I cannot make out what they are saying. The queen does not respond, but rocks back and forth, staring at me with those wide, frenzied eyes. Lord Kyril tries to touch her foreleg, but she shakes him off, holding Xerxes’ body even closer to her own.

Slowly, I walk over to her, folding my sore wings behind me. Queen Amadara has been nothing but a good mistress to me. If she wasn’t a queen, she would be a friend. I see that she cannot speak, or really register what is going on. So, I crouch down, and look into her face, assuring her silently that I will be with her. Sometimes, all you need is someone to climb down into the pit with you and be there as your world collapses. I know that too well.

It works. Gradually, her breathing becomes steadier and more regular. Her anguished cries become low groans, so quiet that only the two elders and I can hear them. Her face is streaked with tears and the dust and blood of battle.

Lord Mufid and Lord Kyril seem to realise that they need to back off. They slowly retreat, until they are right against the back wall. This is not a moment for action. It is a moment to be held, in sacred eternal time, to honour the late king and our grief-stricken queen. Not even the resounding crash of rock against mountain as the emperor’s catapults continue their heavy bombardment arouses us from our silent watch.

I do not know how long we stay there, but after a while my body starts to go cold and numb. My muscles ache with the effort of crouching on the cave floor after the exertion of battle. I cannot help but shift my sore body from its clenched position and turn to look up at the two elders. My gaze acts as a silent signal, beckoning them back into movement. Before I know it, a yellow silken sheet is being lowered in front of me to cover the king’s body. Queen Amadara makes no attempt to stop them, gradually unfurling her wings to let it drape over his left side. Just before the silk floats onto his golden scales, I catch a glimpse of a deep wound on his underbelly, surrounded by a deep, viscous liquid. He must have been shot down by one of the skilled bowmen as he flew back into the cavern.

From the corner of my eye, I see the queen’s sister approach. Lady Erenbar looks formidable, even for a dragon. She must have killed fifty soldiers today, and still her grey-streaked mane falls in beautiful waves around her face and torso, as if she had done nothing more exerting than go for a stroll by the river. She stoops down, seizes Queen Amadara by the waist, and lifts her to her feet as though she weighs no more than a hatchling. The two of them stand, older sister supporting the younger, as several dragons carry Xerxes’ body, wrapped in its yellow silken cocoon, out of the cavern. They will not place him with the other dead but set him in a separate chamber. As they pass, all heads bow, and a deep gong reverberates around the hall to mark yet another fallen warrior.

Already, my anxious thoughts tumble dizzyingly over one another. What will happen now? To Queen Amadara? To the royal household? Will there be another dynasty? There is no clear successor. There must be at least four or five elders with a reasonable claim to become the next Dragonlord. And we are already at a perilous moment in this war. If we were weak before, we are fried fish now.

***

Later that day, I make my way from the hospital, where I have been helping to tend to the wounded, towards the kitchens. I haven’t eaten since early morning, and my stomach aches with an emptiness that demands instant attention. The large winding passageway is long and lined with arched openings to public chambers. At various points, smaller tunnels divert off from this central channel like veins on a wing. The passageway is empty at this moment in time, though I can hear the clanging of pots and the muffled groans of patients from the hospital ward behind me. I hurry along it, grateful for the chance to be alone for the first time today.

Then, as if from nowhere, I hear a quiet voice, hissing my name. I stop dead, and my dragon instincts jump into gear. I crouch, and fire rumbles in my throat.

There it is again. “Alara,” the ghost voice whispers.

It is times like this that I am grateful for my training as royal assassin. My senses move to high alert, although I remain in human form. (It is so much easier to administer medicine with fingers than with claws.) Very softly, I inch forward towards the next opening like a cat stalking its prey. I do not need to read the cracked ink plaque above it to know that this tunnel leads to the disused quarantine chamber, built during a plague outbreak several centuries ago.

“Alara.” The voice is a bit louder this time, but the speaker is still taking care to keep their voice as low as possible. Clearly, they don’t want anyone else to overhear.

The voice is coming from the quarantine tunnel, I am sure of it. I pause by the stretch of wall just before the low, dark archway, unsure who is down there and why they know my name. Hesitantly, I peer around the corner.

A face is staring back at me from behind a hatch set into a great iron door at the end of the passageway. I know that face well. Not for nothing is Queen Amadara known as the most beautiful dragon in these parts. Her large, oval eyes are set into a face that looks as if it were carved from smooth mahogany wood. Her high cheekbones glide down to a small mouth and the gentle curve of her chin. Her skin, usually a silky chestnut, is now translucent, revealing shimmering purple scales just beneath the surface. It only makes her striking beauty even more ethereal.

I pause, confusion fogging my mind. She should not be here. Is she unwell?

It is clear that she wants me to join her. Reluctantly, I make my way down the small, dark shaft which drops several feet into the mountain. I do not like this place. It has the stench of death about it. And my stomach is still painfully empty.

As I pass through the heavy iron door, it swings shut behind me with a muffled clang. It feels like a prison in here. Probably because it is one. I have only been in here once before when I was on a training assignment. It wasn’t exactly a place I’d been keen to make a return trip to. The cavern is low, and wide. It feels out of proportion, too squat and too long compared to the high-ceilinged chambers I am used to. What’s more, it has been cleared of all those beautiful rock formations that stretch like icicles around the rest of the dragon citadel. Without them, the room looks bare and unfriendly.

I turn to face the queen, and then notice that there is another dragon in the chamber with us. Lady Erenbar. She looks as stately and serene as her sister looks wild and agitated.

Queen Amadara speaks, in a tremorous voice I have never heard her use before.

“I have always been a good mistress to you, haven’t I, Alara?”

I am surprised she even needs to ask.

“Why of course your grace,” I reply. “You have always been the best mistress to me. I could not wish for a better.”

The queen nods, though her body is still taut as a longbow. Her wings are tightly folded, tense, and high behind her back.

Then out of nowhere, “Promise me that you won’t kill me.”

“What?” I cry out loudly.

“Ssshhh…” she hisses, flapping her hands in agitation to get me to quieten down. She is still in the morph between human and dragon forms, and when she gets scared her scales shine more brightly. I swear I can even see a wisp of smoke escape her nostrils.

“I do not understand, your grace. Why in the name of the Great One would I want to kill you? Why do you think I would even consider such a thing?”

But this answer does not seem to pacify Queen Amadara. She throws a helpless look at her elder sister, who steps forward to take charge of the discussion. Lady Erenbar is tall, and her voice is quiet, but it still has a commanding edge to it that I dare not aggravate.

“Alara, what do you know of the end of the last dynasty?”

“Not much, your ladyship,” I answer honestly. There is a short pause, and I realise that this short reply is not enough to satisfy the two powerful dragons in front of me, so I continue. “I know that the Messian dynasty ended four thousand years ago, when King Lune died without any heirs. And I know that King Xar came to the throne shortly after, because all our kind respected him and wanted him to take the throne. He was a bringer of peace and harmony, and he was beloved by all.”

Again, a small silence blossoms between us, as the elder dragon seems to size up my words. Her tone is wary as she continues.

“The period between the ending of one dynasty and the beginning of the next is often turbulent. This was so before King Xar became Dragonlord, and it is a pattern repeated in many dragon settlements across the world, even in the eastern lands. A power vacuum at the heart of a system based on strict hierarchy does funny things to how dragons’ minds work.”

I frown. “Surely, the gift of wisdom bestowed upon us means that none would dare use such a situation to their own personal advantage. All dragons know that status does not lead to fulfilment, and that harmony is necessary for the flourishing of all being. We are taught that from a very young age.”

A thin smile wraps itself around Lady Erenbar’s mouth, so that her fangs start showing.

“Why are you smiling like that, my lady?”

“My dear, I was just thinking how very young you are. How many years have you?”

Usually, I would never reveal my age, but I don’t dare refuse Lady Erenbar her request. Especially with the queen watching. “Two hundred and fifty-seven, your ladyship.”

Lady Erenbar’s smile widens still further. “Why, you are a mere whippersnapper! Don’t look so surprised, child. You are very wise for your age; I would have guessed you had many more years than that.”

I bow my head in gratitude for the compliment. Unlike humans, who appear to think it is a good thing to be young, dragons have the utmost respect for age, due to the experience and wisdom it bestows upon one.

“My child, think now. You have been taught the truth. Power does not lead to fulfilment. But if you are wise, you will also know the allure of power. You know in the core of your being that power is a wily temptress, a corrupting influence that may ruin those who are weak in spirit. Think child. You know this is what power can do. Just look at the human kings and queens we have served in our time.”

I pause, both acknowledging the force of her explanation and yet also resistant to it. I am loyal to my kind, and I am no friend to humans, as a hatchling of the Dragon Purges.

“I…I thought dragons were wise. The gift of wisdom means that we aren’t as corruptible as humans. They don’t know any better.” I say, hesitantly.

Lady Erenbar lets out a low, throaty laugh. I start at the sound, and my hospital smock scratches against my smooth human skin.

“Then you have a much higher opinion of dragons than I do, Alara,” she says, in a wry tone. “If my years have taught me anything, it is that dragons can fall prey to the exact same evils as our human counterparts. Wisdom is not so much a quality as a gift that can be exercised or ignored. Or, worse still, a dragon aligned to Shadowheart may use the wisdom of their years for malign purposes. That is a dangerous combination indeed. Beware a fallen human, but beware a fallen dragon even more, child. They may wield far more harm.”

Her words hit me like stones, knocking the breath right out of my body.

“But we are peaceful.” I reply defiantly, getting angry now. How dare Lady Erenbar accuse us of being as bad as humans. “We do not create purges, or wage wars! Our dynasty is founded on order and harmony. We raise flame only to defend our homes and ourselves.”

Lady Erenbar seems to take my reaction as a good sign. Her posture relaxes, and I realise with a pang that I have misjudged her stately posture as a threat rather than as a sign of how much strain she is under.

She continues, in a gentler and friendlier tone. “Child, as royal assassin, this power vacuum places you in a uniquely powerful position.”

I shake my head, willing none of what she says to be true.

“Anyone seeking to usurp this dynasty will likely call upon you for assistance. And when they do, your actions may be the fulcrum on which a new dynasty may rise or fall. There are at least five elders with a strong claim to found the next dynasty, and a sixth who may make an attempt as well. Some of them will almost certainly court your loyalty, and your services.”

“Services for what? Whom should I kill?” I exclaim, horrified.

“Me.” Queen Amadara lifts her luminous black eyes to mine. They shine with tears and indescribable sorrow.

“But why? You can’t be the next king!”

“Good heavens child, you really are naïve, aren’t you?” Lady Erenbar snorts with amused annoyance. Smoke wafts up between us.

Queen Amadara does not seem upset by my response, however. If anything, she looks much calmer. Her wings have settled down to a more natural position, and her hands no longer grip each other.

“As long as I live, Alara, I am a symbol of the old order,” she says patiently. “A rallying point for those loyal to the old way of things. And because it was a good reign that my mate and I shared…” here she colours a little as she admits her success, and for a moment her scales vanish as her skin glows with that beautiful chestnut tone. “…Well, that means there are many who may not take so kindly to our next ruler. This is why it is often said that a royal mate dies of a broken heart when her companion dies. It is a romanticised euphemism to disguise the fact that most queens of kings who die before their time are assassinated in the days after the event.”

I shake my head. This cannot be. I have never heard such a tale before. A small twinge at my gums tells me that my fangs have started to grow, and I can feel the slow burn of a flame deep within me.

“So, I’m asking you…”

I back several steps away, fire building in in the pit of my belly. Marine blue and silver scales start to shimmer through my skin. I am changing form. This smock is going to be ruined.

“Please don’t kill me,” Queen Amadara continues. “No matter what they say, or what they may offer you.”

I choke back a roar to respond. “Your highness, I would never ever dream of such a thing. You have been nothing but kind to me. My whole existence, my training, everything I owe to you. I would never seek to harm you, I swear.”

I inhale short, quick breaths that are almost painful in my throat, trying to maintain control and stop my fire from erupting. To my utmost relief, after a moment the queen nods, satisfied. “I count on your loyalty, Alara.”

Lady Erenbar walks over to the door and opens it with a flick of her silver tail, indicating that our discussion is at an end. “Be sure that you never do dream of it in the next few weeks then, child. Remember what I warned you about power doing funny things to a dragon’s mind. Be wary this fate will not befall you.”

I can hold it in no longer. I snort a short burst of hot, angry fire in indignation at her words. How dare she accuse me of being capable of such a thing?

Stalking from the room, I hear Lady Erenbar’s hushed voice to my mistress as I leave. “How is the royal assassin that politically naïve?”

Fire snorts from my nostrils again. Naïve indeed!

How very wrong I was.