The Ballad Of A Semi-Benevolent Dragon - Chapter 53: The Dragons Soar

Chapter 53: The Dragons Soar

“Doomwing has been sighted over the ocean,” Firetail said.

Regal Flame turned away from the book she was reading. It was a tome from the First Age a work of philosophy written by one of the First Gods. Despite their divine nature, the First Gods had spent much of their time contemplating matters of life and death.

Had they known what would happen to them? If so, they had faced their ends with stoic determination, choosing to die on their feet rather than cower. However, true foresight was an exceptionally rare ability, and everything she knew suggested that even the First Gods could not have known with absolute certainty what lay ahead of them. Mother Tree herself had often spoken of the futility of relying on precognition.

The very act of seeking to know the future could change that future, and the ripples spread by precognition grew larger and larger the further ahead someone looked. The closest that Regal Flame had ever seen to true precognition was Dreamsong’s ability to read the currents of the deep dreaming. Supposedly, time and other such rules were less rigid in the very depths of that phantasmal realm. However, even Dreamsong had emphasised that such attempts were finicky at best.

What she saw were possibilities, and there was often no way to know which of those possibilities was the most likely.

The First Gods had believed strongly in the concept of fate or destiny. Yet, paradoxically, they had also believed in the concept of personal choice and freedom. Personally, Regal Flame believed that there were varying levels of freedom. A cow confronted by a dragon had little in the way of personal choice or freedom. Its destiny was to die. But a dragon, especially one as powerful as her, had a great deal of personal choice and freedom and with those came the burden of honour.

Honour could be found in facing the inevitable with courage and dignity and in making choices commensurate with a certain way of life.

A normal human confronted by a monster was destined to die, yet they could choose to flee in a hopeless bid to prolong their life for a few seconds or they could meet their end with courage and stand their ground, knowing that their death would buy their family a few more seconds of life and a miniscule chance of escape. That was honourable, for even the inevitable could be greeted in different ways.

A primordial dragon could choose to slaughter those weaker than themselves, to devour their hearts and flesh without cease, to leave nothing but a barren wasteland behind in their relentless pursuit of power or they could take only what they needed from their surroundings, slaying only those capable of facing them in battle and ensuring that they did not reduce their surroundings to lands of emptiness and ruin. There was a choice to be made there, and true honour could not be found in both paths.

“He is not concealing himself?” Regal Flame murmured.

Firetail shook his head. The wizened drake might no longer be able to fly well or fight at her side, but his mind was as keen as ever. “He made no effort to conceal himself from our patrols.”

“I see.”

Concealment was a matter of course for most primordial dragons. It was easier than having to fight every foolish young dragon or uppity kraken that was eager to prove themselves or win fame. It was more merciful too since even a light blow from her ilk could prove deadly.

To help maintain order in her territory and to ensure that her followers were well trained, it was customary for her followers to fly regular patrols. Pairing an older dragon and a younger dragon gave the younger reptile a chance to learn from someone with centuries more experience. It also gave the younger dragon a chance to test themselves against random intruders beneath the watchful gaze of a dragon who would know when to fight and when to retreat.

Doomwing was most likely revealing himself as a courtesy. Had he wanted, she doubted that any of her normal patrols would have been able to detect him if he truly wished to conceal himself. Stealth magic of the highest order was exceedingly difficult to penetrate without prior warning or detection magic of similar calibre. Instead, he would only have to be concerned about detection once he got closer and breached the defensive magic around her domain.

Had he concealed himself, her patrols would have been left shamefaced at their failure despite the fact that no one could have reasonably expected them to succeed. There would be recriminations, pledges to do better, and most likely pleas for him to repeat his entrance to see if they could catch him.

Ah. Perhaps that was it. It would be very much like Doomwing to reveal himself now, so there would be no reason for them to badger him later. He would thus kill two birds with one stone: offering her courtesy befitting her position and avoiding future aggravation.

“Perhaps perhaps I shall go out and meet him.”

Firetail blinked. “My lady?”

“Yes.” Regal Flame nodded. “They say he is healed, but I wish to see for myself.” She bared her teeth. “Besides, I am reminded of advice my father gave me.”

“Your father?” Firetail bowed his head. Like all her followers, he held her father in the highest esteem despite never having met him. “What did he say?”

“He said” Regal Flame took a deep breath, and for a moment, she was once again a hatchling, staring up at her father’s impossibly huge form. She had never imagined he could lose a fight, never mind perish, and she had hung upon his every word as though it had come straight from the First Gods themselves. “Cowardice can be contagious. If I wish to be bold in this matter, then I must be bold from the outset.”

Firetail bit back a chuckle. “I I am not entirely sure that your esteemed father was speaking about matters such as this, but I do not think he was wrong either. Go. I shall finish preparations in your absence.”

She nudged him gently with her head. “As always, you are most reliable, old friend.”

And then she took wing, a crimson titan streaking through the air more swiftly than any bird.

Doomwing flew just quickly enough to leave the patrols behind. He had no desire for an escort, and they were not so foolish as to pursue him while using magic to aid their speed. He was not using any magic to enhance his speed, but he still doubted that any of them could match him. And if he chose to use magic? There were very, very, very few creatures in the world who could hope to keep up with him.

As he drew closer to land, he caught sight of crimson scales flashing in the sun. A shape larger than any of dragons he had passed so far dropped out of the sky above him and streaked toward the surface of the sea before pulling up sharply, so near to the surface that the very tip of a long, graceful tail skimmed the waves. She had passed so close to him that the winds of her passage would have thrown a smaller dragon askew.

He snorted. A casual display of aerial agility befitting someone who excelled in every aspect of battle.

“You made no move to dodge,” Regal Flame said as she drew level with him. They were of a size although his wings were larger. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips, and her eyes gleamed with the indecipherable blue of distant horizons.

“I knew you would not hit me. You are far too good in the air for that.”

“Is that so?” Regal Flame upped her speed just enough to pass him. Embers trailed in her wake now, a testament to her lineage that gave her an appearance similar to a blood-red comet. “I had heard you were fully healed.”

“I am,” he replied. Was she teasing him? He had not known her to be so playful, but there was no other reason to let sparks drift from her scales.

“Then show me.”

And then her wings were beating, and she was pulling away, the sparks and embers tracing out a path through the sky for him to follow. For a moment, he could only stare, and then his blood stirred. She was challenging him to keep up, and in full view of the patrols he had already passed.

Once, he might have been insulted. As a young dragon, he had often felt the bitter sting of defeat when challenged by other hatchlings to contests of speed. For all that his wings had been large, the rest of him had been scrawny. His endurance had not been the best, and he had often been clumsy and awkward in the air.

But he had trained. He had practiced and studied and learned from any dragon who would teach him. He had forced those who looked down on him and mocked his appearance to acknowledge his superiority.

As an older dragon, his skill in the air was a point of pride. His name was no longer a joke. It was a statement of fact. Where his wings carried him, doom followed. He had an almost peerless combination of speed, agility, and endurance in the air. Combined with his magic, it made contesting his control of the skies a virtual death sentence.

But Regal Flame was an outstanding flier in her own right, her natural gifts augmented by relentless training and hard work. It was not enough for her to be good. No. The standard she pursued had been set by her father, and Sovereign Flame had been called the Uncrown King for a reason. In no aspect of battle could he be found wanting, and his skills in the air had been every bit as devastating as his flames or his teeth and claws.

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It had been a long, long time since someone had challenged Doomwing to an aerial contest so openly. Rather than finding it insulting, he found it refreshing. Perhaps she had concerns about his health. Perhaps she was worried that his wounds still troubled him. But rather than dote on him or fuss, she had challenged him to prove he was hale and hearty.

Very well.

He would.

He roared, and his pace quickened as he followed the path left behind by the sparks and embers that drifted off her scales. Let her set the challenge. He would meet it.

Regal Flame raced through the air, twisting and turning as she carved a sweeping path between the clouds, around the towering pillars of rock and stone that jutted out of the desert, and even across the surface of the sea. Like the tail of a comet, the sparks and embers that came from her scales left a road for Doomwing to follow and follow it he did.

As fast as she was, as agile as she was, Doomwing was every bit as fast and every bit as agile. He kept pace, never cutting corners, but instead following the trail she left behind with perfect precision. Whenever she looked over her shoulder, he was there, scales flashing sapphire and ruby in the morning light, an expression of mild amusement on his normally reserved features.

Was this it?

Was this the challenge she had proposed?

She bared her teeth. Despite everything she had heard, there had still been a shadow of doubt. Doomwing was good at hiding his injuries, and he hated to appear weak. Yet, here, now, with the two of them shooting through the sky, the truth was clear.

He had healed.

And now that she was sure of that, she no longer had any reason to hold back.

He wished for a better challenge?

She would give him one.

She tilted left and right and then flicked her tail, and then her wings beat the air with greater speed and force, and she felt the air ahead of her part and then shatter as the thunder of her passage echoed through the sky.

Doomwing almost laughed. That gesture an obvious taunt, one that all hatchlings learned in the early days of their youth when games of aerial tag were often used in lieu of hunts and actual combat. She had challenged him to keep up and then upped her speed even further. As the shockwaves of her sudden acceleration spread to the horizon, he increased his speed to match hers.

It would not do to be left behind.

Regal Flame blazed through the sky with Doomwing close behind her. Baring her teeth, she unleashed blasts of flame that streaked ahead and then detonated, forming large rings of fire that hung in the air. Grinning to herself she banked sharply and then rolled, spinning through the air and straight into a corkscrew that carried her through the rings.

It was a display of aerial agility that few of the dragons she ruled could have matched, not at such high speed, and not with the rings spaced the way they were. And yet Doomwing matched it flawlessly, the expression on his face one of practiced boredom as he passed through the last ring.

Is that it? He seemed to be saying.

She laughed. She would have done this sooner if she’d known a challenge of this type would bring out his more playful side.

Unleashing more blasts of fire, she no longer restricted herself to rings. Instead, her flames now carved out different shapes that would demand a certain wing position and body posture to pass through unsinged.

This would be more challenging, especially since his wings were larger than hers, but it should still be possible although if he wanted she glanced over her shoulder again, and his eyes gleamed at the challenge she had set.

No. He wasn’t about to shy away from the challenge. If anything, he relished it.

As a hatchling, Doomwing had thought that if he simply flapped his wings harder, he would go faster and fly better. That wasn’t entirely misguided, but his parents had explained that flying was more complicated than that, and Mother Tree had given him that fond but exasperated look before telling him to study instead of just flying around carrying rocks.

Wind resistance. Air flow. Lift. Drag.

There were so many concepts associated with flight. Many dragons chose to ignore them because flight was something they did instinctively, something they felt was an art, not something to be approached with the rigorous mind of a scholar. Doomwing begged to differ. Combat was an art, and yet the best fighters he knew all studied it extensively.

Why shouldn’t flight be the same?

And so he had studied, learning everything he could about flight, not only from other dragons but also from drakes, wyverns, griffins, hippogriffs, pegasi, and whichever of the gods he could badger into speaking with him. Mother Tree and Dion had helped him even as many of his fellows had made fun of him.

Doomwing the dragon with big wings who couldn’t even fly that well.

But Stormtooth had helped him too. He’d come up with all sorts of ideas about how to use his wings and his body to improve his speed and agility in the air, and she’d happily tried out those ideas with him. She’d always been a good flier, and she hadn’t made fun of him, even when some or even most of his ideas hadn’t worked. Instead. She’d been happy for him. It was better than seeing him mope, she’d said, and it was better to keep fighting than to give up.

Doomwing needed every trick he had ever learned to meet the challenge Regal Flame had set him. A rectangle of flame loomed up ahead, and he spun, following the path the other dragon had set, before flaring his wings and levelling them to pass through the rectangle. A series of less easily described shapes awaited, and he looped back and forth and then up and down while twisting and turning his wings and body to pass through them.

And all the while she continued to increase her pace, pushing to the very limits of her speed as endurance became more and more of an issue. Dragons could fly for days if need be, but flying at full speed was far more taxing than simply cruising through the air. Had he been only partially healed, he might still have been able to match her speed for a time but he would never have been able to match her endurance.

Now, she was soaring upward, racing toward the summit of the sky, far beyond the clouds. He followed, and the world fell away below them. For an endless moment, she hung halfway between the stars and the earth, and then she turned, folded her wings, and dove. He followed, and they plunged down toward the surface of the sea.

Down they went, building speed, and still she made no move to ease her descent. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he could read the question in her eyes.

Did he have the courage to follow?

Was he confident of controlling his descent instead of slamming face first into the water?

Would he pull up before she did?

It reminded him of another race, long, long ago. Stormtooth had challenged him. They had raced through a storm, the thunder and lightning tearing the sky around them, the rain giving way to hail that shattered on their scales. In the end, he’d beaten her just barely for the very first time. Afterward, she grinned at him, teeth gleaming, and she’d been about to say something when her parents had reached out to her with communication magic.

She’d huffed and then promised to find him later, so they could race again. He shouldn’t get cocky. After all, it was only one race, and it was the first time he’d beaten her. She’d get him next time and the time after that too for good measure.

But they’d never had raced again.

Shortly after, the Broken God had attacked and well it was probably the last happy memory he had of her.

Doomwing looked ahead as Regal Flame finally pulled up, the tip of her tail just barely brushing a passing wave. Doomwing matched her, and he felt the strain on his wings and on his entire body as he fought gravity and momentum and turned his dive into a climb that had his tail skimming the top of another wave.

Her pace slowed, the embers and sparks fading as she let her heat bank. She levelled off and then angled her wings to drift back to him.

“It seems you are fully healed,” she said.

Doomwing chuckled. “It would seem so.” He paused. “It has been a while since I flew like that. I had almost forgotten how fun it could be.”

“We so often fly into battle,” Regal Flame replied. “But it would be remiss to forget the freedom that flying offers.”

“Yes” Doomwing heard a voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Stormtooth, and he decided that, for once, it might not be so bad to listen to it. “Now, let’s see if you can keep up with me!”

As Regal Flame watched Doomwing take the lead, she allowed herself a brief moment of introspection. She had heard the stories from the others about how Doomwing had often been teased about his wings when he was a hatchling. Even now, they were still a bit too big for him. Yet who would mock those wings now after they had carried him through seven Ages, six Catastrophes, and countless battles? His name, bestowed by hopeful parents, had turned out to be most fitting indeed.