The Ballad Of A Semi-Benevolent Dragon

Chapter 57: The Dragon and His Brothers

Long and long did Quakeclaw slumber in the embrace of the world. Few were the dreams that came to him, and those that lingered were less dreams and more memories. For the world remembered. It remembered the voices that had once joined his, the voices that had spoken to earth and rock and stone.

There had been three of them once, three brothers, but now only one remained. One had been too cowardly and too cunning. The other had been too brave and too foolish. Flawed they were, but they had been his brothers, and he had not loved them any less for all their faults.

In his dreams, the earth spoke to him. It spoke of the rise and fall of mountains, of rivers carving canyons into the rock and chasms born of the world’s shifting bones. Dragons were creatures of fire and wind, blessed by the sun, the moon, and the stars. But he and his lineage were not seekers of clear skies. It was not the wind that called to them, not the ever-distant horizon that no wings could ever reach.

He and his kin were the bones of the world, and it was the earth that called to them, the rock and stone that held their hearts. There in the depths, beyond the reach of sky or sun or star, in caverns as vast as any ocean, they made their homes.

And it was there that Quakeclaw dreamed and remembered. It was there that three brothers still lived beyond the reach of time or treachery.

The oldest of them had been Earthroar, and Chasmfang had been the youngest. Quakeclaw had been between them, but only a handful of years had separated him and his younger brother. More years had separated him from Earthroar, for his older brother had already been a dragon grown by the time he had hatched.

When the Broken God had awakened, their father had answered the call and gone off to battle. He had brought Earthroar with him, but Quakeclaw and Chasmfang had been too young to follow. They had been so very young and so very foolish. They had not feared for their father or their brother. They could not imagine that all the gods would fall and that so many of their people would perish alongside them. Instead, they had waited, ready to welcome their victorious father and brother home.

But only their brother would return, and it was only later, much later, that Quakeclaw would learn why he had survived when so many others, more powerful, had fallen. His father had faced the Broken God head on, and his bravery had killed him. His brother had fled, and his cowardice had saved his life.

As their father and the greatest dragons of the Age had fallen, his brother had hidden in a cave.

There were others who had done as his brother had, either fleeing the battle or refusing to answer the call in the first place. With the greatest of their kind dead, these survivors sought to replace those who had fallen. Who would gainsay them? The mightiest and most valiant of dragons were dead. Only children and cowards remained.

And so they plotted and planned. Quakeclaw’s brother schemed to take Regal Flame as his mate. The dragons had no king, but Sovereign Flame had been the greatest of them all. To take his daughter for a mate would wash away the stain of his cowardice and exalt him above all others. But his brother and the others had not counted on Mother Tree.

The dryad had never raised her hand against them. She had always been content to serve as educator and nurturer. But this, it seemed, was not something she could allow. It would be years before he learned the truth, but Mother Tree would invite all of the conspirators to her. She wished to discuss the new arrangements.

They assumed it would be akin to a coronation. Instead, it turned into an execution. They forgot that although Mother Tree could not wander far, there were none living who could match her power within her domain after the gods had fallen. Even the greatest of them, the titans of the First Age, would have tried to burn her from afar instead of confronting her directly. And the conspirators were so much less than the legends who had fallen. They died – all of them – and their remains were hidden amidst her roots and the roots of her daughters – the relics of the past turned into the foundations of the future.

Her madness must have started then – the moment she realised that the world might be better if she ruled instead of merely offering counsel.

Quakeclaw’s brother had been a coward and a traitor, but he had loved him still. Doomwing might have wept after Mother Tree fell, but Quakeclaw had bathed in the ashes of her ruin.

Chasmfang had been the opposite. Despite there only being a handful of years between them, he had always been so much smaller than Quakeclaw, so much weaker. But there had been no doubting his courage. His brave brother had always been the first into battle and the last to leave. If only his bravery had equalled his power, he would have been the greatest of them all.

When the time came to prove himself against the Catastrophes, Chasmfang had never hesitated to give his all. Yet Quakeclaw could not help but wonder how much of his younger brother’s eagerness could be laid at the feet of his older brother’s cowardice and treachery. None would dare speak such words in his presence, but he knew what others whispered when they thought he couldn’t hear.

Their brother had been a traitor. Were they truly any different?

Where there was one coward in a family, there might easily be another.

How long would it be before they showed themselves craven and treacherous?

Those whispers – and more – haunted his younger brother. Quakeclaw paid little attention to them, but his brother had never been able to ignore them. His relatively small size coupled with his weakness for a dragon of his age and lineage made him especially sensitive to rumours and insults. Chasmfang had been determined to prove himself not only to show his own quality but also to show he was different from their brother.

Despite everything, Chasmfang had done well, first in the war against Mother Tree and then again in the battle against the Lord of the Tides and his forces. Perhaps those successes had made him overconfident, but at the end of the Fourth Age, he dared to face the mad vampire alone.

He was lucky – exceedingly lucky – to survive that encounter. Quakeclaw was simply glad beyond words that his brother had survived his folly. However, his brother was haunted by his failure. Although none dared to say it openly, there were whispers amongst the dragons who had not had the misfortune of encountering the Fourth Catastrophe themselves that his brother was a coward and weakling. After all, how could a primordial dragon possibly lose to a mere vampire? Fools, the lot of them. The Fourth Catastrophe had been no mere vampire, and it had taken Doomwing’s mightiest sorcery to lay the madman low. That his brother had faced him in single combat and lived spoke volumes of his prowess. None of those who whispered such insults would have survived longer than a minute.

In the end, it was his brother’s injured pride that would prove to be his undoing. When the Exiled Star had entered the world, he had left a trail of ruin in his wake. His arrival had been so swift and unexpected that all of the primordial dragons had been caught off guard. They had expected a spirit bloated on the power of false worship or a psychic parasite with delusions of godhood. They had not expected a shard of something incomprehensibly beyond them to descend into their world.

Doomwing had called for a skirmishing force to delay the Catastrophe to allow the rest of them to assemble. Chasmfang had immediately volunteered to lead that force. That fool, that brave, brave fool. He had seen the chance to prove his valour and wash away the shame of his defeat at the hands of the mad vampire, and he had seized it without hesitation.

And he had paid for it with his life.

Even now, after so many years, Quakeclaw could still remember those final moments.

His brother had sent frantic pleas for aid after realising how badly outmatched he was. The messages had been garbled, his brother’s magic disrupted by the otherworldly power pouring from the Exiled Star. That same power had made it impossible to teleport to his brother’s location while also blocking scrying magic. Quakeclaw had been forced to fly there himself, for he had been the closest.

Never before had Quakeclaw cursed his own slowness in the air. He had used every method he could think of to increase his speed, but it had not been enough. Instead, all he could do was listen, his brother’s tattered communication magic filling his ears with pleas for aid and cries of despair as the Exiled Star slaughtered his brother’s forces and cut off his line of retreat.

He never saw the blow that killed his brother – but he knew the exact moment his brother died. For as long as he could remember, his brother’s presence had been there in the back of his mind, a link maintained as much by blood as by sorcery. And then it was gone. Instead of panic and pain and fear, there was only silence – a deep and terrible silence.

By all rights, he should have retreated then. His brother had been dead, along with every dragon who’d accompanied him. There had been nothing more he could do. But reason and logic had meant nothing to him. There had only been rage and grief and hate and sorrow.

He had charged at the Exiled Star, and he would have joined his brother in death if Paragonmirror hadn’t arrived shortly after. She had all but killed herself to first heal him and then ensure their escape. He would never forget the sight of the Exiled Star watching them as they fled, a titan of light and fire and judgement. Nor would he ever forget its words.

“I am the Star of Judgement. I am born of the blood of the Creator. Who are you to stand before me? You are nothing. Less than nothing. I saw the Creator in all his glory. I will not fall to the wretched offspring of mere fragments.”

By the time he was ready to join the fight once more, it was too late. The battle was over. All that was left for him was to mourn… and to rage.

The majority of the skirmishing force had been drawn from his and his brother’s followers. All of them were dead. This was not the first time their followers had suffered such casualties. Dragons of their lineage was exceptionally durable, making them ideal for holding the enemy at bay. Doomwing had never hesitated to order them to the frontlines, and Quakeclaw and his brother had never hesitated to put themselves and their followers between their fellow dragons and the enemy.

But now his brother was dead.

Quakeclaw had gone to confront Doomwing, but the other dragon had been in no mood to listen. He had buried Ashheart within a mountain to heal him, and he had torn Soulseeker limb from limb after his betrayal. There had been no trace of grief in Doomwing’s gaze, only fury that bordered on madness.

Chasmfang? Doomwing had ordered him to go, but he had also ordered him to retreat if the Exiled Star proved too powerful. He did not know why Chasmfang had chosen to stand his ground, but that had been his decision. The outcome had been unfortunate, but the mistake had not been his. It had been Chasmfang’s.

How dare he!

He should never have sent Chasmfang in the first place. It did not matter that Chasmfang had agreed. He should have known what Chasmfang would do in his eagerness to prove himself, in his reckless desire to wash away the shame of defeat at the mad vampire’s hands. Doomwing prided himself on his knowledge and wisdom, so why hadn’t he considered that? Why hadn’t he planned for it?

They had almost come to blows then, only his own injuries, not yet fully healed, and the near-madness in Doomwing’s gaze had stayed his claws. Had they come to blows then, then only one of them would have lived to see another day. The earth, soaked in Soulseeker’s blood, had whispered that to him, and he had never been one to ignore its advice. His brother was dead. Quakeclaw would not spit upon his sacrifice by joining him so swiftly.

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Since that day, Quakeclaw had not spoken to Doomwing. Why would he? The other dragon had cost him a brother, and where there had once been three, now only one remained. So few remembered his brothers, and those that did rarely thought of them fondly. One was reviled as a coward and a traitor whilst the other was considered a fool whose pride cost him his life. Only the earth remembered them faithfully, only the rock and stone that had once answered their call remembered them as they had truly been.

And now the earth spoke, but with Doomwing’s voice. It rankled Quakeclaw, and so he stirred from his slumber, and the world shook as he sought the surface for the first time in an Age.

Thundermaw did his best to ignore the amused chirping and chortling behind him, only to fail miserably. Technically, he was supposed to be keeping watch, but there were few indeed who would dare to intrude upon this place. For this was the Dragon’s Den, a titanic collection of mountains, valleys, chasms, canyons, and caves that occupied the majority of a continent.

It belonged to Quakeclaw, a primordial chthonic dragon – the greatest of all dragons of the earth dragon lineage. Once it had been home to his brother, Chasmfang, too, but all knew better than to mention the other dragon’s name where Quakeclaw could hear. An Age had passed and still the great dragon’s grief remained, a force as mighty as any earthquake.

There were rumours that it had once been home to a third brother, but even less was spoken of him – the coward who had fled and hidden rather than fight. Chasmfang might have been foolish, but none could question his courage. For a dragon, it was better to be a brave fool than a wise coward.

Thundermaw did not belong to the earth dragon lineage. Indeed, his grandmother was mighty Stormbringer herself. However, the dragon he had chosen for his mate was a dragon of that lineage. In fact, she was one of Chasmfang’s children – the youngest of the three he’d sired.

Not once could Thundermaw remember Quakeclaw seeking her out. Apparently, she shared the same eyes as her father, and it hurt for Quakeclaw to look upon her. Even so, she had never wanted for resources. Whatever she could not find amongst the treasures her father had left behind, Quakeclaw had never hesitated to share with her. Their two hatchlings were likewise spared no resource although his mate had wisely kept them from Quakeclaw’s sight, for they too shared her father’s eyes.

Those same hatchlings were now engaged in more foolishness with the shadow salamander that had accompanied Thundermaw since the day of his First Awakening. On that day, Shadowscale had simply marched into his lair, helped himself to a share of the beast that Thundermaw had been eating and then fallen asleep atop his snout. Apparently, he’d chosen Thundermaw, and he had remained by his side ever since. It was baffling – and also the only time he’d ever seen his grandmother so jealous. According to his uncles and aunts, she had long hoped for a salamander to choose her, but although many had travelled through her domain over the years, none had chosen her.

His salamander was playing tag with his hatchlings – a game the two young dragons were destined to lose since whenever they got close to catching him, the salamander would simply fall into his own shadow and reappear elsewhere. The young dragons were not used to losing, and the cheerful chirping and happy chortling that came from the salamander did not help one bit. What made it worse was that Shadowscale was not taunting them. On the contrary, he was simply expressing how happy he was to be playing. It didn’t matter to him if he won or lost – although it mattered very much to the hatchlings. He just so happened to win. Every time.

“Father!” Tempestwing huffed and flapped his wings. “Shadowscale is cheating!”

“Is that so?” Thundermaw regarded his daughter with amusement. “Did he forbid you from flying or using your magic to even the odds?”

“No.” Chasmseeker, his son, growled. “But –”

“Then he is not cheating. You two are dragons. You are naturally blessed with speed, endurance, and agility. If you two wish to defeat him, then you need to coordinate better and anticipate his actions, not simply chase after him like headless chickens.”

Both hatchlings recoiled at the mention of headless chickens. They had recently seen a headless chicken for the first time, and the sight had puzzled and disturbed them. Things were supposed to die when they lost their heads, not run around! Personally, he found their reaction strange. Hydras of various kinds could be found in and around the Dragon’s Den, and simply cutting off a hydra’s head was unlikely to do anything more than make it mad. Why was it normal for a hydra to wander around without a head but disturbing for a chicken to do the same? In any case, they were still quite young, so a certain level of foolishness was to be expected. They were a mere twelve feet long, which made them even smaller than Shadowscale who was one hundred and fifty feet long. Of course, that difference in size wouldn’t last. Dragons grew far more swiftly than salamanders and could reach far greater sizes. The salamander might be larger than both of them combined, but it wouldn’t be long before they were the ones carrying him around instead of the ones clinging onto him like scaly monkeys.

Just then, a presence appeared at the edges of Thundermaw’s awareness. It was… his eyes widened. It was enormous, and it was approaching with incredible speed.

“Shadowscale, take them back to the lair.”

“What’s going on father – ah!”

Whatever else his children might have said was cut off as shadowy limbs reached out and grabbed them. The second they were by Shadowscale’s side, the salamander fell through his own shadow with the hatchlings. Thundermaw could sense the trio reappear inside their lair before the salamander reappeared, rising up through Thundermaw’s shadow and settling onto his back.

“Ready?”

The salamander chirped and used more shadows to ensure he was secured in place.

“Good. We should go take a look.”

In a fight, Shadowscale could definitely help, but the biggest advantage he gave was the ability to retreat. Very, very few people could intercept shadow walking of his level, and he was more than capable of taking Thundermaw with him. Indeed, against anything less than a primordial dragon, Thundermaw was confident they would be able to retreat if necessary.

He upped his pace, flying with the speed his family was known for, and he was relieved to find several others falling into formation beside him. They exchanged brief greetings and advanced toward the intruder. To his shock, he realised that the intruder wasn’t simply passing through their territory. No. They were headed straight toward Quakeclaw’s lair.

Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. They were flying toward the area above Quakeclaw’s lair. The primordial dragon’s lair was not on the surface. Instead, it was more than twenty miles underground, impossible for anyone to reach unless they possessed powerful earth magic or an attack capable of blasting through more than twenty miles of magically reinforced rock. Needless to say, there were very few people in the world who could do that. Of course, if the intruder was someone capable of doing that, then Thundermaw and the others would be lucky to last longer than a few seconds against them.

“Be ready to retreat,” Thundermaw warned Shadowscale. Seemingly unbothered by the potential danger, the salamander gave a happy chirp and patted him on the back.

They arrived to find the intruder waiting for them.

It was another dragon, but one unlike any he had seen before.

The dragon was huge – roughly a mile long – but their appearance was eerie. Their features and form were indistinct, and their scales held an otherworldly shine. It was like staring at vaguely dragon-shaped cloud made of countless mirrors. It was… unsettling, yet he and the others relaxed. He had never met this dragon in person, but he had heard of her.

“Great Paragonmirror,” Thundermaw said, since none of the others seemed eager to speak. “Welcome. Are you here to see mighty Quakeclaw?”

An amused chuckle rippled through the air. The mirrors shifted restlessly and folded in on themselves, and they suddenly found themselves looking at first a female chthonic dragon and then a female inferno dragon.

“Yes. But don’t worry about calling for him. He should be here soon.” Paragonmirror’s appearance changed again, her form and scales once more growing hazy and mirror-like.

At her words, the ground began to shake. No. The entire continent trembled. Quakeclaw had spent most of his time since the end of the Fifth Age slumbering, stirring only now and again and rarely for long. Now, however, he had awakened in earnest – and he was rising from the depths, a titan seeking the open air for the first time in an Age.

Thundermaw and the others flinched back and retreated as the earth beneath them ruptured, a vast chasm tearing open where none had been before. The chasm widened and deepened until it was a gaping hole that seemed to stretch down into the very depths of the world. And for those depths emerged Quakeclaw.

He was… gigantic.

Of all the dragons in the world, only Ashheart was larger, but only by a small margin. As awkward as Ashheart could be in the air, Quakeclaw was worse. But that mattered little. Thundermaw’s grandmother had told him about the other primordial dragon. Quakeclaw was perfectly content to stay on the ground. If his opponents took to the air, he could simply heave mountains at them. And once they were forced to the ground, there was not a single dragon alive save Ashheart who could hope to endure once he got his claws on them.

Unlike the gleaming metallic scales common to so many dragons, Quakeclaw’s were of a different kind. Some resembled the deep brown of rich river silt, the kind that could be found in fertile river deltas. Others were a lighter colour, akin in colour and texture to the biting desert sands that covered the land east of his domain. Others were closer to opal or obsidian, and still others resembled the bands of sediment laid down by wind, water, and gravity over the Ages.

Quakeclaw heaved himself up out of the ground and spread his wings. They were vast, unspeakably enormous sails of stone and rock and earth – two mountains moving with each breath. Every wingbeat was a hurricane, and the mountains and valleys shook in sympathy. His gaze drifted up to take in the open sky, and something that was almost amusement flickered in those black orbs, each as dark as the lightless caverns he dwelt in.

“It was bluer in my memories,” Quakeclaw rumbled, and each word was accompanied by a tremor in the land. The faint amusement turned rueful. “Or perhaps those were dreams… or perhaps the skies in Ages past truly were different.” There was a long pause, heavy with old hurts. “They certainly felt different when I did not stare up at them alone.”

Quakeclaw had taken a mate during the Third Age, and he had children of his own, but since his brother’s death, he had rarely spoken to them, seemingly content to dwell in dreams and memories. Thundermaw found it hard to blame him. His mate was mighty in her own right, and his children were all grown. Chasmfang had been his brother, his closest companion since the First Age. There had only been a handful of years between them. It was entirely possible that he could not remember a time when Chasmfang had not been at his side, so it was no wonder he felt his loss so keenly. If he had been at his brother’s side when he had fallen, then perhaps he could have borne the loss more readily. He would have been able to say that he had done everything he could to save him. Instead, his brother had died before he could reach him, and so Quakeclaw would always be left with those most terrible of words…

What if…?

For a long moment, Paragonmirror said nothing, the mirror-haze of her form shifting like mist on the breeze. When she did speak, her voice was gentle. “How long has it been since you saw the sky, old friend?”

Quakeclaw gave another low rumble, and his titan form shifted to let the rays of the sun fall more fully upon him. “There is a sky in every dragon’s heart, and there are caverns in the deep where even dragons may soar. You and the others could not possibly understand. None remain who could. No. Perhaps Ashheart could. But he is a son of fire and earth. I am of the rock and stone and earth alone. At my command, mountains rise and valleys fall. My heart is the heart of the world, and its beating shapes the land. Let others seek the sky. The earth and all within it belong to me, for I am Quakeclaw, and it is my claws that shake the world!”

Had anyone else spoken those words, they would have been mere boasting. But with his brothers dead, there was no one the earth heeded more than Quakeclaw.

“My brothers cared more for the sky than me,” Quakeclaw said, more to himself than any of them. “Chasmfang set countless gems into the roof of his lair and named them after the stars. Earthroar did the same, only instead of many gems, he used two great treasures and dubbed them the sun and the moon. There are no stars in my lair, no sun and moon. Only dreams and memories and the whispers of the earth.” His voice grew cold and hard. “And yet in my dreams and memories I heard a voice that did not belong. The earth carried Doomwing’s words to me. He has called for a meeting of our fellows.”

Quakeclaw growled, and the sound was like all the thunder of a storm released at once. It was a physical force, and only Paragonmirror remained unmoved by it. “So many of my followers have given their lives in the battles he has commanded. In the end, even my brother gave his life. Doomwing may be wise and powerful, but he is not as wise and powerful as he believes.” He bared his teeth, and flame kindled in his jaws. “Perhaps the folly of the Sixth Catastrophe has humbled him. Perhaps he has learned that there is much his eyes do not see and that his wisdom does not understand. My brother may have been a fool, but Doomwing is no less a fool. Had he been wiser, the Sixth Catastrophe would have died at his claws long before she sought to ensnare the world in her madness.”

“You are not wrong,” Paragonmirror said. “But will you go to the meeting?”

“Yes. I will go.” Quakeclaw straightened, and his claws reached up as if to tear the sky down. “Doomwing spoke of old oaths and promises – of debts and sacrifice. I must remind him that there are those who have honoured their oaths – and who have sacrificed much, not least because of his mistakes.” His eyes narrowed. “And you?”

“Of course, I will go.” Paragonmirror’s scales flashed ruby and sapphire and the air was suddenly awash with telekinetic might that only a nova dragon could wield. “I am always happy to see our fellows.”

“Yes… that troublesome ability of yours. And your followers?”

“Naturally, they will be accompanying me.” Paragonmirror let the façade of a nova dragon fall away, and the mirror-haze took on a deep crimson lustre. “Besides, there is a great deal of gossip for me to catch up on.” Her attention shifted to Thundermaw. “You should have that one bring his hatchlings.”

“They are young,” Quakeclaw growled. “And the journey is far.”

“Perhaps, but they are her great-grandchildren. She has yet to meet them, and she is growing impatient. Either you bring them to her, or she will come here.” The crimson gave way to silver, blue, green, and black, and the acrid scent of ozone filled the air. “Besides, who would dare to harm them with both you and her present?”

Quakeclaw growled again, and his gaze sought Thundermaw. “Prepare yourself and your family for travel. I will not have Stormbringer intrude upon my domain.” He snarled. “She brings storms and trouble with her wherever she goes.” He struck the ground with his tail, and another chasm was carved into the earth. His next words were addressed to the other dragons, those of his lineage. “Call for my mate and my children – and my brother’s children too. I would speak with them.”

Paragonmirror smiled, the expression an almost perfect copy of the expression Thundermaw had seen many times upon his grandmother’s face. And then she was gone, her swift speed and the mirror-like nature of her scales making her almost impossible to track against the deep blue of the sky.