EVEN DRAGONS DIE, chapter one

PART I: EVEN DRAGONS DIE

CHAPTER ONE

A vicious cut along his side made his whole body jerk sideways. The cut was so mean-spirited that a lower row of his scales was ripped off, exposing his flesh to other claws, while tearing a pain-filled roar from his throat. Though the wound would heal quickly and the scales would grow back, the pain was so sudden and strong it was enough to disorient him.

He lost focus again just as another long scaled body crashed into him, pushing him further off course. He looked around and panicked when he realised that he was surrounded by his enemies and that his squadron was nowhere in sight. Where were they? He had to get back to them. He was their leader and it was his duty to protect them.

He pressed his wings to his sides and streaked forward at breakneck speed, meaning to create a diversion. Fuelled by pain and anger, he wanted to break his opponents’ formation, skewering as many of them as he could with his horns and claws, ripping into their flesh and taking some of their scales for trophies. A loud roar brought everything to a sudden halt. The enemy ranks broke apart and swooped down towards the ground before he had time to stop himself from barrelling into them, leaving him floundering in the air like a stunned fish. A burst of mocking laughter stung worse than his wound.

“Ayre, get down here! NOW!”

His brother’s furious voice sent a jolt of apprehension through every single vertebrae in his dragon body. He rarely used such a tone of voice with him, which told Ayre that he was in serious trouble. He looked down. All the other dragons had already shifted into their human form and stood at attention in the training arena below, their heads bowed and their palms pressed together before them in show of respect.

Ayre shifted into his human form just before his leather-clad feet touched the ground. His wound didn’t bother him in his human form but he knew that turning back into a dragon would be a nightmare. Though, judging by the glowering look on his brother’s face, that was the least of his worries.

He quickly lowered his eyes (so that it didn’t appear as though he was challenging his elder), placed his hands on the embroidered girdle wrapped around his slim waist, which kept his long red and gold tunic from billowing, and marched towards his designated station in the last row.

Despite being the third son of the Dragon King he was treated as any other warrior-in-training and as he was one of the youngest dragons in existence his place was at the very back with the other young dragons. They belonged to the same squadron and today he let them down.

If it had been a real battle, he would have been dead – or captured. Ayre decided that considering who he was, his capture was much more likely. Not that there was any real danger of that happening, of course. For centuries they lived in peace, gained and maintained by his father, and there was no one who could harm them now that people had forgotten about their existence.

His early success in the training arena had established his reputation as the best young dragon warrior in ages and he knew that there were those who were glad to witness his failure today. Ayre, though, was more worried about making his brother and his squadron look bad. He had an explanation for what had happened but he wasn’t sure that it was good enough to justify his abysmal performance.

The training arena was situated in an enormous canyon surrounded by craggy rocks that they learned to scale in their human form before they were allowed to shift and fly. It was divided into different sections, each under the curved roof of a pavilion made of bamboo, each dedicated to a different kind of training that each dragon warrior had to practise every day. From time to time they would take part in ‘battles’ in order to show their skills and to gain distinction.

The other dragons were supposed to keep their gaze on the ground until his brother gave them permission to look up – yet as he walked towards them he could feel many eyes on him. He wanted to see who was looking at him but he never once lifted his head. Finally, he took his place in the very last row and pressed the palms of his hands before him. His heart was thundering in his chest so loudly he barely heard his brother praising those who had distinguished themselves today and providing instruction for those who had made mistakes before dismissing them.

“You can proceed with your individual training now,” he said in his calm and confident voice, even though he was much younger than some of the warriors in the first three rows. “Nong Ayre, please remain behind.”

He didn’t sound angry anymore, but it didn’t mean anything. The other dragons bowed with their palms still pressed before them, their backs as straight as wooden planks, before dispersing across the training area, their red and gold tunics rippling in their wake. Ayre maintained his posture, his eyes fixed on the arid soil before him. He could feel the glare of the sun on the top of his head and was glad that their tunics bore charms which made them cool and light.

“Ayre.”

Ayre placed his hands behind his back and lifted his eyes.

Looking at his brother was like looking at a slightly older and broader version of himself. They shared the same features: honey-coloured skin, short black hair, dark slanted eyes, thick winged eyebrows, full lips, and sharp cheekbones. But whereas his older brother was considered handsome, Ayre was invariably described as beautiful. Ayre knew that it was because his bone structure was more delicate than that of his brother’s, but what stood out the most was a perfectly round mole on his left cheek, which his brother didn’t have and which set them apart. Their eldest brother never failed to point out that Ayre was too beautiful and too delicate to be a dragon-warrior and relentlessly mocked his ambition to become as great as his favourite second brother.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his lower lip wobbling slightly.

“I want to know what happened,” hissed his brother. “I want to know why you put your squadron in danger.”

Ayre hung his head. He wished they could talk in a more private place. He could once again feel the others staring. He could hear them whispering. It had never happened before. Some were triumphant. Others merely curious. His own squadron sympathetic. He knew they would not hold it against him, because they knew him well, and he swore to work hard to make it up to them. He would never let them down again. He clutched his arms behind his back as he would theirs.

“Well?” demanded his brother.

“I was thinking of father,” whispered Ayre as a shudder passed through his whole body and tears that had caused him to lose his focus during the battle misted his eyes again. “I just saw him lying there… unable to shift or even move… dying…”

Tears rolled down his cheeks, though he fought hard to stop them. He could once again see their father in his dragon form lying in a cave whose walls were plastered with lanthorn flies among lotus and jasmine flowers whose scent barely covered the stench of his decay, his tarnished scales parting company with his rotting flesh.

“I’m sorry, Phi.”

“Ayre…”

His brother’s voice softened. He placed his hands on his shoulders and brought their foreheads together.

“Even dragons die,” he said quietly. “Father is one of the oldest dragons in living memory. He has lived for many centuries. But I know how hard it must be for you. I am also much aggrieved. Yet his time has come. You have to let him go.” 

Ayre nodded. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.” He pressed his palms together and bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. We so rarely grieve loss that when it happens it is too hard to deal with. And you are still so young. You have never witnessed the passing of one of our kind before. I’m afraid I haven’t prepared you for that. I have been neglectful of your education in this crucial respect. It is my fault.”

Ayre’s face twisted with distress.

“It’s not your fault!”

“Come here.”

Ayre took another shuddering breath and leaned into his brother’s strong embrace.

“Now go,” murmured his brother a moment later; he placed a swift kiss on top of his head and stepped back. “Continue with your training.”

Ayre inclined his head. “Thank you, Phi.” He began to walk in the direction of the nearest training pavilion when an elongated shadow fell across his path.

“Surely he should be punished for the disgrace that he brought upon the royal clan,” said a cold voice both brothers hated. “As a matter of fact, you should be punished for that unseemly display as well.”