The Ballad Of A Semi-Benevolent Dragon - Chapter 11: The Dragon Talks To Another Tree

Chapter 11: The Dragon Talks To Another Tree

The denizens of the forest felt a storm on the horizon, but Anthracia knew better. She was the oldest of the Daughter Trees still living, and she would never mistake what was approaching for a storm.

The currents of magic that flowed through the earth and sky twisted and bent at his approach. The wind carried whispers of his name, not the name his parents had given him, but the names the world itself had bestowed upon him for his deeds. Few were those who had received that privilege, and even amongst the primordial dragons, none carried with them as many names as him.

Spell-Binder.

Magic-Weaver.

Rune-Seeker.

Those were the names the world had given him for his prowess in magic. There were none living who surpassed him in the overall depth and breadth of their knowledge. She suspected that his wisdom and knowledge of the arcane had surpassed even the titans of the First Age. Oh, the First Gods had been mighty, some beyond the ability of even her kind to understand. But Doomwing had lived long, and he had sought the secrets of magic as greedily as he had sought to grow his hoard.

God-Mourner.

Mother-Slayer.

Ocean-Breaker.

Dead-Killer.

Beast-Conqueror.

Will-Liberator.

Those were the names he had earned over the Ages in his battles against the Catastrophes. Where many of his kind had retreated from the world or even fled it, Doomwing had stubbornly continued to fight. He alone, of all the primordial dragons, had fought against every single one of the Catastrophes. He had been wounded many times and almost slain in several of his battles, yet still he fought.

She could still remember the last time she had seen him, albeit only through the eyes of the elves who had left the safety of her forest to join the battle against the Sixth Catastrophe. For all her power, she could not leave the forest, so she had given them what gifts she could and sent them to fight in her stead with whatever tree folk and monster she could spare. Only a handful of them had returned, but she had witnessed the final battle through their eyes.

High King Elerion had fallen at the hands of his lover, valiant to the last, the bodies of his foes heaped up in great mountains beside him. Blind and with his armour and weapons broken, he had fought to the end. It had been glorious, an end worthy of the First Age, and the sight of it had so moved the hearts of the survivors that to this day, songs were still sung of the greatest of the kings of men in the Age when they were at their strongest. Marcus had been there too, beset on all sides, fangs bared, blood-drinking blade shining a brilliant crimson as he cut his way through the kitsune and their supporters, half-mad with grief and rage and sorrow.

There had been other heroes too, all the might and glory of that Age gathered for a single decisive battle against someone who possessed the skill and power to break the minds of others and bend them to her will. Entire nations had fallen without resistance, their kings enslaved, their people bewitched, their armies turned into puppets. Only a great aegis of magic protected them, woven by Doomwing himself and bolstered by all the masters of dreams and minds they could find who had not thrown in their lot with Kagami.

And then Doomwing had fallen.

A spear of god-metal had struck him, its surface awash with divine runes thought lost since the First Age. Anthracia had no idea where Kagami had gotten it. The only source of god-metal had been the First Gods, and they had all fallen in the First Age. And when they fell, the god-metal of their bodies had not lingered. It had vanished in blinding bursts of god-fire that had gouged holes in reality and had shaken the world. It should not have been possible to find even a shard of god-metal, but Kagami had found a spear of the material and had either crafted the divine runes herself in defiance of her nature or had found the spear intact and whole with those runes upon it.

Doomwing should have died.

And he would have, if he had been even a fraction slower in his defence.

Ancient runes of great and terrible power had sprung up to protect him and blunt the blow of the spear. Yet even so, it had pierced the scales of his chest and had torn him from the sky. The runes upon the spear had sung of death and doom and inescapable fate. But Doomwing had not faltered. Even as molten blood poured from his wounds, he had studied the weapon that was trying to kill him, and he had seen a way to win. To this day, Anthracia was not sure how he had done it, but Doomwing had broken the spear and ripped it from his body before it could slay him.

And then, barely conscious, power all but gone, he had taken the shattered shards of the spear and wrestled from them the god-fire that dwelt within, turning it against Kagami and striking her down. The shards of the spear had vanished, reduced to utter nothingness, and Doomwing had at last allowed himself to fall, to slump wounded and drained, upon a battlefield of corpses, for the sheer might of his counter attack had slain all but the mightiest of those fighting, and even they had been gravely wounded.

It had been Marcus who reached him first, and the ancient vampire had drained his sword of all the power it had accumulated and poured it into desperate runes and spells in a bid to heal his friend. The sword had been dull and dark by the time he had finished, but Doomwing had lived although it was beyond even Marcus’s power to fully heal the wound upon Doomwing’s chest. Marcus had stood guard over the dragon, allowing none to approach until Doomwing awakened. The dragon had eventually left the battlefield, flying slowly to the volcano he called home and plunging himself into the fiery depths to rest and heal.

Now, Doomwing was close enough for her keen-eyed children, the elves, to see him, and what a sight he was. From a distance, he was a bank of ruby and sapphire clouds, and the sun upon his scales cast beams of red and blue upon the landscape and the sky. Dragons were not the largest creatures to roam the skies, but they were the swiftest and most graceful. Doomwing flew as though the sky belonged to him. Each wing beat was a proclamation of his might, and the skies emptied as lesser fliers cleared the way.

No bird would take wing while he was overhead. No drake or wyvern would dare. Even griffins, proud and unyielding, knew better than to challenge him. There had been larger dragons in the First Age. The greatest of them all had been Sovereign Flame, Father of Dragons, Son of Wind and Fire, and the All-Consuming Flame. He had died, as all the great dragons of that Age had, but his flame had scorched open the god-metal of the Broken God’s body. Sovereign Flame had been a raging torrent of power, a blazing, burning, overwhelming surge of draconic might the world would never see again. Doomwing was different. He was a razor with wings, as thin as a needle but sharper than any spear ever forged by gods or mortals. According to the memories she had received from Mother Tree, Sovereign Flame had been a natural disaster given form, wild and untamed. When he fought with his full strength, Doomwing was craftsman, ruthlessly shaping battles until his victory was the only possible result.

In truth, she would have been more concerned if he had not revealed himself so openly. Had he wished to attack her in earnest, he would have concealed himself and then launched spells and runes that would have slain all of her children and the allies she could call upon. Then he would have attacked her from afar, seeking to whittle her down in a battle that played to his strengths instead of hers. Instead, he was closing in, slowing his pace so as not to damage her forest unnecessarily.

He must want to talk, but she could not afford to show weakness, not to him, not to anyone.

And so she decided to show him what she had been working on over the past thousand years while he slept.

Doomwing reached out with his magic and senses. Anthracia had not launched an attack yet, which was a very good sign. However, she had decided to greet him in a manner that most would have found threatening. However, he found it refreshing. Anthracia was right to be wary of him, but unlike so many of her sister, she was not afraid of him.

Tree folk awakened in the forests below. They were hundreds of feet tall, and each had one arm fashioned in the likeness of a colossal blow while the other readied arrows that could have slain a lesser dragon in a single blow. Those arrows were made from their own bodies, magical wood reinforced with spells and runes to supernatural toughness. There were hundreds of these tree folk, enough that even he would have to take a full volley seriously.

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Alongside the tree folk were the elves of the forest. Most were beneath his notice, unable to muster the strength to harm him even if he didn’t defend himself. However, there were several worthy of notice. One in particular wielded a relic of the Third Age, the Bow of the Burning Tree, which had been crafted from heart wood scavenged from the ruins of Mother Tree. It fired rune-arrows made from dozens of runes combined into a greater whole. While he doubted the elf wielding it had the power to use the bow to its full strength, he would be dangerous if he could draw upon Anthracia’s power.

There were also beasts of all kinds, from the winged serpents who had survived the Third Age and had chosen to live on land to the great eagles, hippogriffs, and other fliers of the forest. In battle, not a single one of them would be a match for him. Instead, they would use their numbers to occupy him and keep him in place while the tree folk launched their arrows and Anthracia used her magic.

And then something happened that he did not expected.

The leaves upon Anthracia’s tree began to glow, and then the air was full of them, millions upon millions of leaves, some as small as a human hand and others larger than a house. They rose up in a great cloud of embers and ash, and Doomwing’s eyes narrowed as the Daughter Tree wove runes into each and every one of them. Only someone who viewed an entire forest as an extension of themselves could ever have managed so many runes at once. True, the vast majority of the runes were not very powerful, but there were greater runes amongst them, along with some ancient runes. And the total was so much more than the sum of its parts. Even Doomwing, who considered himself perhaps the greatest living magic user, was impressed.

But Anthracia was not done yet.

The tempest of leaves folded in on itself and took on the shape of a phoenix. Wings that were even larger than Doomwing’s spread wide, and Anthracia’s voice came from the construct. The runes upon the leaves crackled in Doomwing’s vision, arcs of primordial power streaking back and forth across the phoenix’s body. Part of him longed to fight the construct, to test himself against what he could already tell was a worthy foe… but he had not come here to fight, and he was no longer a foolish hatchling who thought only of battle and glory.

“It has been a thousand years,” Anthracia said. “What brings you to my forest.”

Doomwing saw no reason to mince words. “I seek plants and tree folk.” Images appeared beside him of the plants and tree folk he sought.

“From my forest?” Anthracia’s construct shimmered with runic might, and Doomwing wondered what would happen if he smote it with an ancient rune of dispersal. Would the leave be scattered completely, or would they manage to hold their shape and formation? “You must realise that those plants require a dryad’s power to maintain and those tree folk will not settle anywhere far from a dryad. Strong you may be, Doomwing, but I will not send plants or tree folk to their deaths.”

“Then it is convenient that I have recently acquired a dryad,” Doomwing said. An image of Daphne appeared. “She is young, very young, but I have tasked her with improving my lands.”

The phoenix of leaves stared at him, and he could feel the weight of her gaze upon him. “You have never cared much for your lands before. You have been content to rest and recover from your wounds, and even before the Sixth Catastrophe, you showed little interest in changing the desolate nature of your territory.”

“I am now a dragon emperor,” Doomwing said. “And no decent emperor would be content to rule over a wasteland.”

“A dragon emperor?” Anthracia’s voice was filled with scepticism. “What foolishness is this?”

And so he explained his contest with Marcus about which of them could become the greater king. When he was done, there was a long pause, and then Anthracia began to laugh.

“Had someone else told me this, I would have called them a liar, for the Doomwing I know would never do such a thing. Yet here you are, and you have spoken the words yourself.” Anthracia gave a low hum, and the leaves quivered in the air, rolling like waves across the sea. “I find myself intrigued by what sort of place your territory will become. Very well, I shall give you what you seek… but not for free.”

“Of course. I did not come here like a beggar demanding gifts.” Doomwing brought forth two things. “An exchange is what I seek.”

“Oh?” The phoenix peered at the things beside him. “And what are those?”

Doomwing used his magic to move the rosebush he’d brought forward. “These are ember-truth roses.”

“Those were all destroyed during the Sixth Age,” Anthracia replied. “I know. I had my children search far and wide for them.”

“Kagami had them destroyed because ember-truth roses burn away illusions and lies. Their petals can be ground up to make potions that render people immune to all but the most powerful illusions and mind-influencing magic. She knew how dangerous they would be and got rid of them before we could make use of them against her. However, a handful of them survived, weak, frail, and withered in forgotten places. During one of my awakenings almost seven hundred years ago, I found them. You see, ember-truth roses can only grow in places where there is great magical energy and heat, and they grow best of all in areas frequented by a celestial dragon.”

Anthracia’s phoenix beat its wings. “Dawnscale left at the end of the Fourth Age. She was the last celestial dragon. No others have reached that state since.”

“She did leave,” Doomwing acknowledged. “But she left a few of her scales with me as a gift, perhaps in the hopes that I might join her some day. I still have those scales, and her power still lingers in them. I took the ember-truth roses I found and placed them and the scales in an artefact I have. It has taken seven hundred years, but I have multiple bushes of them now. I would give you this bush as part of our exchange.” He eased the rosebush toward her. “Now that the bush is this large, it no longer needs to draw upon the strength of a celestial dragon. The touch of a dryad should be more than enough to see it grow and prosper.”

“A worthy item,” Anthracia murmured.

He could sense the greed in her words. Like Daphne, the thought of a new plant excited her, especially one so rare that she was likely the only other person in the world who had one.

“And the other item?” Anthracia asked.

Doomwing nodded at the massive scale floating beside him. “The scale of a leviathan from the Third Age. You were not yet old enough to slay the greatest of their number, but I felled many of them. The edges of your forest border the sea. This scale can be used in the forging of armour that lets its wearer breathe underwater and move as easily underwater as they would on land. Unlike the scales of lesser krakens, the effects will be much stronger, and the drain on the wearer’s magic much lower.”

The dryad considered the scale, and then her phoenix construct nodded. “Both are suitable. I will provide you with the plants you seek and choose appropriate tree folk for you.”

“Appropriate?” Doomwing asked.

“It would be unwise to bring older tree folk to such a young dryad, lest they contest her leadership. Younger tree folk will not be as strong, but they will not make trouble. They shall grow in strength together, and the bond between them will deepen until it is unbreakable.”

“I will heed your words. You know more about tree folk than me.” Doomwing turned his gaze further south. “I have more plants and tree folk to collect. I wish to collect the rest of them first and then return here once I am done since you are the closest to my territory.”

“Very well. I will ensure that everything is ready when you return.” Anthracia’s phoenix glared. “Be mindful when you visit my sisters, Doomwing. They are more… fragile than myself.”

“I will do nothing foolish, provided they act with common sense.”

“And if they do not?” Anthracia asked.

“Fear not. I will not slay them or cause too much harm, but I will educate them.” Doomwing offered Anthracia a seed. “A communication seed from Daphne, the dryad who is in my territory. Will you accept it?”

“I will.” A seed floated over to Doomwing. “And here is one of mine. Give it to her.” Anthracia’s phoenix shook its head. “Putting up with you cannot be easy. It will be good for her to have another dryad to talk to.”

Doomwing’s lips curled. “And being a tree must be unbearable. No wonder you created a construct who can fly.” He paused. “What will happen to all your leaves now?”

Anthracia’s phoenix construct laughed. “I am not so foolish as to strip my tree bare of leaves without a plan. They shall simply reattach themselves to my tree and be none the worse for it.”