“Yes, Father. ’E hurt by nose, too.”
“Many a drake has gotten worse from his first kill of a hominid. You did well, my champion; I was months above ground before I took one, and it was just a half-starved blighter I ran to death. Sheep are easier.”
“Bay I eat ’im?”
“He’s your kill,” Father said, swallowing the head. “Well, mostly.”
Auron soothed his aching hunger, messily, appetite winning out over manners. Mother had taught him not to bolt his food lest it come back up, but Father seemed to understand hunger better.
“It was your mother’s idea. Her father taught his drakes to kill this way. I may have saved you from a nasty surprise later. Remember, with hominids, what they lack in strength they make up for in tools, and plans, and magic. Cowardly way to do it, letting a piece of metal do your killing, but there you are.”
They shared the corpse, Father crunching down the bones after Auron took most of the meat. The bleeding stopped in his nose and side. Father’s battle wounds already showed brownish scabs among his riven scales.
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“What is under the big rock? I followed a slug, but couldn’t move it. Mother said you put it there.”
“I’m not surprised you couldn’t. Someone your size shouldn’t be able to.”
“Will you show me?”
Father’s lips rippled across his teeth in thought. “You’ve made your first kill, Champion of our Clutch, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re no longer a hatchling. Come along, then.”
Father led the way to the rock. He brought his long neck down and sniffed at Auron’s bilious spit.
“You are growing. That’s your foua. Perhaps four more seasons, and your fire bladder will be able to turn that into real dragon flame—as long as you eat properly. Fatty flesh brims the bladder, the old red used to tell me.”
Auron knew about the fire; his mother said breathing his first would mark his passage into drakehood. His body would put a special kind of liquid fat in his fire bladder, ignited when he spat by the substance he was already producing. Mother knew everything.
Father pushed the boulder aside.
“How do you climb down that, Father? It’s too small.”
“My neck fits. That’s all that has to go there, really. It is only a short distance. Climb down and look.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Yes, but not in the way you think.”
Auron sniffed the air wafting up the sink, but smelled only the congealed blood in his nostrils. He shifted back and forth at the rim of the shaft in uncertainty.
“Would a little light help?” Father asked. He coughed, and a gob of flame struck the dead moss hanging there.
The blazing light revealed a narrowing shaft, so even if Auron fell, he would not fall far.
“I don’t see anything, Father.”
“Get under the overhang. It’s not far—my neck isn’t that long.”
Auron tested his wounded leg and decided it would not hold his body weight. He went down the shaft tailfirst.
Something gleamed under the overhang, reflecting the light from the burning moss. Auron entered the alcove and stopped breathing, amazed.
A cascade of silver covered the floor, flowing out of rotting containers like the tent he had seen earlier. Shining golden-colored disks filled little fashioned chambers. Here and there, colored stones like the ones his sisters played with lay amid the metal.
Father peeked in. “Overwhelming, isn’t it? It isn’t much, as hoards go. I’d rather eat the gold than keep it to look at. You may have a mouthful or two, if you wish. If you haven’t sneaked some already, that is.” Father chuckled at unvoiced memories.
Auron took a mouthful of the coins. They had no taste, and he spat them out again.
“Why—” Father exclaimed. “Oh, of course—scaleless. That would explain your docility. When my father first showed me his hoard, I actually attacked him when he came near it.”
“Why won’t I grow scales?”
“Grays are different, my son. It means you must be careful: your skin will be pierced more easily. But on the other sii, having no hunger for gems and gold will allow you to live in the Upper World and far from men if you wish. Other dragons must seek heavy metals out in the Lower World, where there are dwarves and blighters to deal with—or steal it from men or elves above.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Towns, caravans . . . Some came from your Mother. She once did a favor for some dwarves, and cleared out a cavern of blighters. They gave her the silver you see in return. Pretty, isn’t it? Reminds me of moonshine.”
“The dwarves didn’t kill her?”
“She was careful. She met them only in pairs, well above ground. Her gift with languages, you see.”
“Why do dragons help hominids who will try to kill us?”
“ ’The enemy of my enemy is my friend, until my enemy is dead,’ ” Father quoted. “But while helping clear out the blighters, she found this cavern. She decided it would make a good nesting chamber. She knocked off two riders with one tailswipe, you might say.”
“I shall remember that, Father.”
“That’s my drake.” Father chuckled. “Clever little blighter. You think, don’t you? Like your mother. They’ll have a time of it, hunting you, once you put on some size.”
“Hunting me? Does something want to eat us?”
Father extended his neck, and Auron shrank back, afraid of the great crested-and-horned head. Father always looked angry, but perhaps it was just the ridges of his brow.
But Father just gave him a gentle lick of his tongue. “No, Champion, nothing eats a dragon, except through luck.”
“Then why?”
Father lowered his head, offering Auron an easy path out of the hoard-cave. Auron climbed over the horned crest and ran up his father’s neck.
“That is your favorite word, according to your mother. Well, that’s a story. I’ll tell it as best as I can. My father told it to me long ago, just as my grandsire told him. I think I was older than you when I first heard it, but you are already word-wise, so I’ll tell you, if you like.
“Yes, please.”
Father closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them. And so he began. . . .
“Long ago, so long ago that the Upper World was shapeless, and the Lower chaos, the Sun had four Great Spirits work together to give form to the two worlds: one of light, the other of darkness. They formed mountains and valleys, oceans and deserts, caves and clouds. When the worlds, Upper and Lower, were done, two of them were ordered by the shining Sun to fill the Upper World with life to worship Her. These Spirits were Air and Water. Water made many green plants and growing things that love the Sun. Air made birds to fly with the wind and beasts to roam everywhere, and all worshiped the Sun. Flowers opened their petals to her; birds sang to welcome her rising.
“The Moon grew jealous of all this attention, for he’s ugly and pockmarked, so gruesome that wolves of the forest warn everyone of his coming. He persuaded two other Spirits, Fire and Earth, to create from their depths a being to murder the Sun worshipers. They made the blighters. You haven’t seen a blighter yet, have you? They’re sort of stooped-over things, with big hairy arms and long-fingered hands that could wring a hatchling’s neck.
“It was a bad time for the world. The blighters killed and ate many of the things Air and Water made, and the more they ate, the more they bred, spoiling everything like flies. The Sun grew angry and told the Moon to apologize, but the Moon refused and evermore hid from the sun. The Sun ordered the four Spirits to work together and do something about the blighters.
“Now Earth, Air, Fire, and Water can kill, but they mostly do it by accident when trying to accomplish something else. They are very busy keeping the world clean and renewed, and they did not have time to fight the blighters. But they could create life, and they decided to work together to make something that the blighters could not eat, like the animals and birds, or cut like plants and trees. They worked and thought, and after many attempts, some of which still wander the world today, they brought the dragons to life.
“Each of the Great Spirits gave a gift to dragons as they created them. Earth gave them his armor like forged metal. The blighters could not bite or claw through it. Air gave them her ability to fly, so they could go where they willed in the world at need. Water gave them her supple strength. Fire gave them a kingly gift: his ability to bring flame.
“The dragons had a great hunger and flew over the world, eating the blighters and taming them. The blighters hate us, yet in a way, they worship us, too. So we drove and ate and ordered the blighters as we saw fit. The Upper and Lower Worlds were again in balance with the blighters checked, and the Sun looked down and was satisfied.
“ ‘Fine work, Great Spirits. Whom do I have to thank for setting things to rights? I wish to reward the one responsible.’
“Each Spirit claimed the credit, saying that the gift he or she had given dragons was the one that made us supreme. There were endless disputes and arguments.