BLOOD OF THE DRAGON KING

Nimue hissed and snarled—if any of her masters should come upon her at this juncture they were all dead men. She could snatch a knife and bury it in its owners throat before they knew they were dead.

For ten long years she had languished under the Commorian yoke. One hundred-thirty Moons had seen her wrists chafed, and rubbed raw from the shackles she bore.

They dedicated her to Nyx, daughter of Chaos, when she was but a child. Her people hid in the depths of the Earth, drawing close to its fires. And there in the darkness they rediscovered what they had been bereft of for all too long.

They were the Chosen of Nyx, the Night. They had languished long under the teachings of the Commorians who said it was Valka who had slain the Sun, shedding her fiery golden blood over the Earth. For long ages the blue glaciers had descended like baleful giants, crushing all under their unrelenting tread.

In the warm heart of the Earth the old teachings were rekindled. They told how Kronos had risen up against Uranos, his father, and wounded him terribly. Thus the merciless tyranny of Heaven was ended. Mother Gaea had given into the hand of her youngest son, the Harpe, the sickle-bladed sword—torn up from the unyielding depths of the Earth—Mother Gaea had forged it from her own precious substance.

Into this was young Nimue raised. For ten years they trained her unrelentingly. She, too would be a Revenger. Even as Gaea, who had dug into herself and brought forth the Invincible Blade—even so would Nimue dig into the very depths of her soul by the sheer power of her will and forge the Unbreakable Blade of her very self. She would wield that weapon against Valka but that weapon would be her very self.

They branded her with Nyx's Sigil. No more was she to be named Nimue—now she would be known only as Nemesis, the Revenger—daughter of Nyx, granddaughter of Chaos. Even as Kronos had once struck down Uranos in his pride, even so would she cast down the Commorians. She would destroy them for their hubris.

The Commorians boasted it was their Valka who had forged the Universe at the beginning of time as if he were some divine blacksmith, when all knew that the Earth lies at the very beginning of all things, and it is the Earth which brings forth Gods—not the Gods that bring forth the Earth. But the Scarlet Banner of the Seven-Headed Dragon flies over all the Seven Empires and none dare contradict the Word of the Dragon Masters.

She did not raise up an army. Bitter and unbreakable were the Fortresses of the Dragon Kings. Marshaled hosts smashed against the ramparts as the ocean smashes against the rock. And should any survive, there was always the fiery rain of the Dragon's breath from above.

With a wisdom that far outshone her fifteen years, Nimue came against the Gates of Commoria—not as a conquering Queen, but as an abject slave. A slave among slaves, taken in one of the raids that struck with periodic regularity. A daughter of Nyx, she well knew how to conceal herself, being seen only when it was her wish to be seen.

It was not hard for one more faceless slave to gain access to the weapons foundry. Valka, it was said, had taught mankind the arts of the Forge. Nimue resolved to learn these as well. She found her way to Agh'Rhaum'Khar, the highest mountain of the North. One hundred-twenty stadia its ramparts thrust into the sky, outstripping the lowering storm clouds who dared not rise to its summit.

She was astonished to find that many of her fellow slave girls had once been Dragon Riders. To her knowledge the saddle had never been occupied but by men. No, the former Dragon Queen told her, in the beginning the men had been only Grooms, tending to the keep of the great Dragons.

The men had grown jealous and had overthrown the women, the rightful Riders and true Masters of the Dragons. But this had resulted in the Dragon Sickness, which, as the years passed, became steadily and steadily worse. They had become more and more undependable. It had been rumored that some of the Fortresses had found it necessary to hobble, hunt, or even slay Dragons that had been driven mad. The Foundations of the Seven Empires threatened to crack. The clouds of Chaos loomed on the horizon. Nimue rejoiced at such news, for was she not the granddaughter of Chaos?

Though she manipulated the former Dragon Queen and her Princesses and made use of them as spies, she did not trust herself to them. Perhaps it was the men that had done all that evil, but the Queen was still still faithful to her God. Nimue did not let it be known that she had come to Commoria for the sole purpose of slaying that God.

And when the simmering revolt finally boiled over into outright rebellion, Nimue did not join the the Dragon Queen. Instead she went looking for the weapon it had taken her ten years to forge. The mountain of Agh'Rhaum'Khar was an active volcano, miles high. The female slaves were bathed with an unguent that made them immune to all fire. Forges had been carved into the volcano's throat. There the slaves carried out their appointed tasks and forged the terrible weapons of the Commorian Dragon Masters.

But Nimue had dug twice as deep. Her forge was invisible to the other Forge Windows. Even with the unguent smeared on her flesh, and drunk to protect her insides, it was almost too much to bear. Only the blessing of Nyx gave her the strength she needed.

In the very heart of Agh'Rhaum'Khar dwelt Fagrostark—Father of all Dragons. No terror was greater than that he inspired. No fire was hotter than that which burned in his breast. No steel was stronger than that which made up his impenetrable scales. He looked upon Nimue when first she had tunneled into the volcano's throat. Eyes that burned like jewels of fire looked in her own and did not find them wanting.

She had dug deep and found an ore like unto no other. Of that she would forge a new Harpe, destined to take the life of a God. She cut open the Dragon's breast. The liquid fire that was its blood poured into the ladle and was absorbed into the Harpe. Every corpuscle of dragon's blood explodes with fiery force. When it was ready she cut open her own arm and her heart's blood mingled with the blood and fire of the Dragon.

From that alloy of blood, iron and fire did Nimue take the raw ore and hammer into shape. Once again had a weapon been forged with the power to kill a God. Her blood sang to her as she held the Harpe high in her hands.

For the last time, a new-made Dragon Queen had been initiated unto her dragon. All other dragons had been corrupted and ruined by what men had done to them—but no man had ever ruined Fagrostark!

Nimue had made herself claws of steel. Into the fire she stepped and climbed up the dragon's hyde, until she straddled its neck. For ten years she had been enslaved in the foundries of Agh'Rhaum'Khar. But it was in the Chief City of Ghaymiragge that she would find her prey.

Fagrostark was many times the size of the lesser dragons. His great bulk smashed into the towering walls and brought them crashing down. Though the Dragon Sickness had disabled and hampered nearly all of the fire breathers, in Fagrostark their majesty lived once more. The hearts of the watchers were all filled with terror. They had forgotten the glory of the Dragon Queens. They knew not that she who disembarked from the neck of Fagrostark was that glory reborn—and made an end of at the same time.

Nimue walked through mostly deserted halls. It was as if the Harpe she'd forged led her unerringly to her goal—so mightily did it thirst for the blood of a God. Ten years of unrelenting training and her branding with the Sign of Nyx. Ten years of abject slavery. All this she had endured. She had worked hard and long for this moment. Now she was about to receive her wages.

She mounted the wide staircase crafted of gold and white marble, stopping only at the summit, where twin doors fifty feet high blocked her progress. She could not completely ignore the bas-reliefs and frescoes she had passed on her way. She was struck by the almost legendary depiction of Commoria's storied history. Surely a people who could create such splendor could not be all together evil. She did not slow her pace, however, for she reflected these artworks had exclusively been produced by the suffering of slaves.

She was momentarily stunned by the grandeur of the doors. Forged of seven metals—each a color of the rainbow. She grit her teeth. She was not so easily to be persuaded to leave go her charge.

“Valka—God of Commoria—open your doors and face me. Your reckoning is at hand.” The voice that responded from within rang clearly like the tolling of a bell.

“Enter then, Nimue—enter freely and of your own will.”

Slowly the doors opened to her. The glory that shone from within outmatched that of the rainbow-metaled doors. It was like looking at the light of seven suns at once.

On a throne in the distance sat a shining armored warrior in his prime. The locks of his golden mane were like the corona of the Sun. His eyes were as piecing as the hawk's. She saw in him that glory that had once raised up a Golden Age upon the Earth. But twenty years would not not let her forget that that glory had dulled and paled until it was the bleakness of lead.

“Call me by my true name. I am Nemesis. Your Nemesis. What answer do you give for all the evils you have overseen, God of this people? I would have done with this business. Have you any words to offer before I take vengeance of the thousands you have enslaved and made suffer—and I the least among them?”

“If my Nemesis you are, use well the weapon in your hand.” Nimue ran, swiftly covering the distance between them. She leapt, to land squarely on the seated figure's lap, the Harpe raised to strike, glowed with fires of vengeance.

She drew back suddenly. Another blade already jutted from Valka's breast.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“You look upon what my own people have done to me. They locked me away from them, boasting I am their God. Their Harpe has thrust me through, I am bound fast to my own throne. They have made of me a living idol.

“Listen well. In the beginning of all things, I lifted myself up from non-existence. I took it upon me to create my own self. I then set out to create a Universe—made from my own essence, taking my Blood, Iron and Fire—all three elements. Of them I forged and made all that is. I was the Hammer. I was the Iron. I was the Fire. I was the Forge. Out of myself I forged the Universe, which was myself. I made all things.

“I made the Dragons—out of iron, blood and fire I made them, as I make all things.

“I made the Dragon Queens—my own daughters. Out of fire and blood and iron did I make them and gave them the Dragons to ride to battle, that they might rule all things.

“Out of blood, fire and iron did I make man. I did make him to serve the Dragon Queens. But always was man jealous of the favor I gave them. He chafed at the Tradition I had imposed upon him—that only the Queens might ride the great Dragons. But never could he get the leverage to break with the Old Ways—until the World changed.

“My own people betrayed me. When the ice sheets spread over the Earth, I was blamed for slaying the Sun. Desperation gave strength to my people to rise up against me. Tending the Dragons and forging the weapons of dominion they set about to forge the mightiest weapon of all—and with it they bound me fast. Lies they told about me, making themselves into great heroes that had done this, and giving themselves the excuse to seize the power they had always craved—setting blame on the women for bringing the giants of cold and frost.

“Pull the Blade out of me.”

The woman set herself with all her strength to free the Harpe from its prison. Try as she might, the blade was stuck fast. Yet she set the will that Nyx had branded in to her and tugged and pulled. Her hatred of this God was fled from her. He had not been the enemy after all. She bemoaned the pain she was now causing him but she could not quit her work. Valka was silent as she sweated and strained, all to no seeming avail.

With a great grasping cry the blade came free at last. A great shower of golden blood poured from the stricken God. No other sound escaped his throat. He rested and was so still Nimue thought he must be dead. Is it even possible for a God to die?

No. Valka stirred and stood. "You have freed me. Ever since I have been trapped here I have thought long about what I must do. I cannot abide what these men have done to me—I, who gave them their world and all that is in it. I gave them gifts without counting and without number. All that I gave to them they have wasted and spoiled. Little is left of any value but that which remains I will take away with me.”

Alarmed, Nimue asked him, “What do you mean? What will you take away?”

“Everything. All my gifts I take back unto myself. All the worlds I have created.”

“If you do that, they will die.”

“No. Since I created all things, they have grown too vast in size. I can only contain so much within myself. Only the Magick by which I gave all things life will I carry away with me. Look you—see what I can do.”

He turned and opened up a window. There before her, Nimue saw all the planets in the Heaven.

“Glothindur—the world of Giants. I take it with me, into myself.” Before her eyes Glothindur became an immense mass of swirling, storming gasses. A great red storm system glowered like a gigantic eye.

“Norembu—dwelling place of Gods, its rainbow bridge reaching unto the Earth. I take it with me, into myself.” Before her eyes Nimue saw the world of the Gods with all its cities, fields and mountains become yet another gas giant. The rainbow bridge had become nothing more than a vast system of rings.

“Nibuthane—from where all life emerged from the horrific well—I take it with me, into myself..” Once again one of the Nine Worlds was reduced to a ball of undifferentiated gasses. The life that had once seethed over its surface was gone, as if it had never been.

“But—you haven't destroyed them. They're not gone.”

“They are dead worlds only. I will do the same for Charnael and Azkeel. Kyrioch I reduce to a desert of scarlet sands.”

“And what of the Earth—will you destroy it also?

“There is only so much I can swallow. As I have stripped these worlds of the magick that gave them life, so I should strip naked the world of these traitors. Let it become dead, ashen and wretched, as bereft of life as it is of magick.

“Without their magick the Commorians shall be scattered over the Earth. Cymry, they shall call them, and Cimmerians, Gomermians, Gimmeru and Crimean. And without their dragons—their rulership is ended.”

Valka shook his head. “Perhaps it is best this way. That I have taken their magick and their dragons shall be punishment enough. They shall live and they shall learn wisdom. One day, when they have been chastened sufficiently I may return to them.”

“You will leave? But where will you go?”

“There are more worlds I can create and bestow on them the blessings of magick and dragons. Perhaps I will have greater success and bring forth a people who will this time not betray me. You are welcome to travel with me, if you wish.”

She shook her head. “My place is here on this Earth. I am still a Priestess of Nyx. I have fulfilled my charge. Without magick on the Earth, many of my sisters will be hard pressed. I can be of help to them.”

Valka said no more. Already the magick that had given shape to the city of Ghaymiragge was fading. Great gaps appeared in the ceiling. Above that, Nimue saw the great head of Fagrostark. Valka smiled and it seemed that he but stepped into the air. Nimue saw him next mounted on the back of the greatest of all dragons. He saluted her and smiled.

“I thank you for my freedom. Always my blessing will be upon you. Strength and power shall be at your side to the end of your days.”