Draconus Lazarus

“I have scribbled down three reasons as to why I should not kill you, Dragon.”

“I’d be most interested in hearing them, warrior.”

I unfolded the parchment tucked between my plates of armor and cleared my throat to speak.

“Firstly: To kill you requires an amount of confidence. A confidence in you, that I believe you will forever be evil and cause suffering in others. A confidence in myself that I will forever know my decision was correct.”

The dragon nodded its head.

“Secondly: I must believe you are evil. I have heard from countless on my journeys that you are, in fact, evil. You even call yourself Rodol the Evil One. However, I am not convinced.”

“You aren’t convinced?” scoffed Rodol, brushing some dirt off the ground with his massive tail.

“I am not. Evil is a confusing concept, even to a warrior like me. I am told who is good and who is bad, and I carry out judgment to the limits of my strength. But I do not wish to be this kind of warrior. I am no more certain who is evil than I am what is water and what is food.”

“Then you are a fool.”

“I am a fool. A foolish warrior. One who does not wish to kill you.”

“Do you have more written? I see ink-stained through the parchment.”

“Yes, Rodol. Thirdly: I do not believe it is necessary. Even if you are evil, even if I am confident, I don’t think it is necessary. I suppose I’m a pacifist, in a sense.”

“In a sense?” Rodol lowered his gaze. “Even with your sword pointed at my throat?”

I laughed. His enormous body made me look like an insect in comparison, but he was kneeling in front of me. “I had to make you listen somehow, Rodol. I may not believe you’re evil, but you certainly are not known for being a good listener.”

“But now that I know you will not kill me, why should I listen to you anymore? Will you not retreat your blade if I lunge forward? Will you not stay your vials of poison if I open my mouth to bite?”

His eyes narrowed, showing less and less of his gold irises. 

I continued staring at him anyway. “Rodol, burner of villages—who has tortured so many souls in his long life…Did you know?” I pressed my sword into his hard scales, hearing a few crack. “You’re an endangered species.”

“A what?” asked Rodol.

“There are not many of your kind left, the so-called Draconus Malignus.”

“I have never met one like me,” he whispered.

“Yes, but there are some. Rodol, I am a warrior, but first and foremost,” I said, “I am a conservationist.”

Rodol did not speak for some time, nor did he make a move to lunch or bare his teeth. Even his tail hardly whipped up any dirt. “So…” he groaned. “Am I to believe you will kill me or not?”

“As I said, I don’t believe it is necessary. Nor do I believe it is the worst decision. If I kill you, there are most likely enough others of your kind to sustain a population. The same can’t be said for the snouters. Poor things.”

“Snouters?”

“Little creatures that hopped around on their noses.”

“Those things?” Rodol screamed suddenly. “Don’t compare me to those dim-witted shrews! I am one of a kind, in defiance of what nature desires!”

“Nature doesn’t desire anything, Rodol. Other than, I suppose, there to be nature. Let’s see…” I stuffed my sheet of paper back into my armor and pulled out different pieces of parchment. Without releasing my grip on my sword, and with a bit of help from my teeth, I unfolded the new papers. “Draconus Malignus. Order Squamata. Family Draconidae. Genus Draconus. Reach sexual maturity at fifty years. Have a primordial eye on top of their heads. Able to reproduce asexually. I assume that’s why you believe you’re one of a kind, correct?”

Rodol’s wings, once ready to flap, now tucked into his body. “My mother said I was a miracle.”

“It is a rare occurrence. I believe it also is responsible for your slightly larger body.”

“Slightly?” he repeated.

“Yes. Some of the others I have found are juveniles, but they are still unlikely to surpass your wingspan and weight. My theory is that your species undergoes parthenogenesis in dire straits,  and therefore the resulting offspring are larger than usual in order to deal with any and all dangers. I cannot say why this occurred with you.”

Rodol recoiled. I did not lower my blade, but it was clear from his shrinking confidence that he was no threat. He flattened his body against the ground and curled up, similar to a fetus. He did not speak, nor did he look at me with his golden eyes. He breathed in and out, heat emanating every time. Eventually, I sheathed my sword and brought out the page.

“Not much is known about the behavior of Draconus Malignus, outside of their interactions with humans,” I read. “They are not known to travel in hunts, but they may in larger populations.”

Rodol scoffed, which inevitably spewed flickers of orange and red out of his nose. “Why must you tell me this, warrior? You wish for me not to die? Fine, I will not die. You wish for me not to kill you? Fine. I have neither the energy nor the desire now.”

I glanced at him. He did not look at me as he spoke, but he knew that if I chose, I could slice through his neck at any moment. I did not know dragons to behave this way. “There is much to be learned about your species, Rodol.”

“And what of me? I am not my species, though you only think of me as such. It is easy for you, a human, a species so immutable in its growth that individuality is a cultural necessity. Without it, you would no doubt think of yourself as little more than a number, an average, either an exception or a boon to the rule. That is not me, warrior. I have always been, from the moment I was hatched, the only one. Even my mother could not withstand my fire and perished because of my existence. I raised myself, and I burned all threats in my way.”

“Tell me, Rodol. Did you know that the mothers in your species often die after giving birth?”

“Oh…no,” he exhaled drearily. “I suppose I did not know a thing.”

“Your species lives to be so old, and the eggs they hatch are so developed that it takes a toll on the mother.”

He swung his tail around to cover his face. “What an awful day.”

I sat down on the dirt. “I did not come here to affect you like this. Not even to save you, for there are seldom threats to you, save for me. I came here to explain something to you, Rodol.”

“And what is that? How my scales replace themselves twice a year, or the fact that I smell with my tongue, or some other observation of my species that has nothing to do with me?” 

I stared at him for some time, until his breath settled back to normal. “No, it is not something I am sure of, Rodol. It is something I have been considering for some time.”

“Ah, conjecture from a warrior.”

“I have tracked you for nearly five months now. Across many lands, I have witnessed your fire consume forests and towns. You were, in a sense, easy to locate, and easy to track. But still, you covered so much ground that I had a difficult time pinning you down.”

“Fascinating. I must be so similar to the others.”

“That’s exactly it, Rodol. None of the other dragons exhibited this behavior. I wondered why. I wondered many things. Why did you never settle in one nest for long? Why were you so intent on moving when there was no threat to your survival? Surely, I thought, you would be the ruler of any land you chose. The other dragons of your species were solitary, by and large, but they were loyal to one home. You are an outlier. So yes, I wondered about you.”

“And your conclusion, warrior?”

“It is your song, Rodol.”

“My song?” he retorted. “What do you mean?”

“There was once a bird, the last of its kind, that continued to sing to an empty sky. People could not understand why it would do so. And yet it continued to sing year after year.”

“Am I like the bird?”

“If your song is destruction and hellfire. In fact, Old World Dragons were thought to have done the same thing, back when they were alive. Except they were slightly more violent.”

“Old World?”

“Your predecessor. All that’s known of them is through sparse texts. You’re what we call a New World Dragon. Anyhow, your behavior certainly signals that you are alive and well. Have you ever questioned why you do what you do?”

He began to rise. “Because I am evil, warrior. I am not what you assume me to be. I am not lonely.”

“What was interesting, Rodol, is that some of the other dragons I have found have known you. Or of you.” I saw his body tense and his tail twitch. “Those that were near your burnt trail were convinced you existed.”

He turned his head to me, his eyes wide. “Females?”

“Females,” I replied.

Rodol stood up. “It is true. My ravaging the earth is instinct. I can believe your words, warrior.”

“Good. Though I must say that the severity of your case is perhaps due to isolation.”

He threw his wing to his face and scratched. “I wonder what they thought of my destruction. I am quite powerful. I must be quite attractive,” he spoke to himself.

“Rodol, do you understand why I am here now?”

He stared at me. I could see in his grin that he had quickly forgotten how recently my sword drew blood from him. “I do, I do. You wish to lead me to them. You wish to save my species, and I must say—” he breathed out a steady steam. “We are in agreement.”

I sighed. “Well, it’s more so that I thought you were lashing out, and it would be a win-win to help you. After all, Draconus Malignus is the only species that keeps Pegasus Ostium in check. Without you, they would surely envenom far more than you burn.”

“Show me the way, warrior. I will let you fly on top of me—an honor hardly a soul can claim. Together we will solve our problems. Yes,” he exhaled. “Yes. ” He stared at the sky, his legs tensed as though ready to launch through the small gap in the rocky ceiling. 

“I will let you go alone,” I said. “But I will tell you the way, Rodol.” I unfurled a scroll and showed it to the dragon. His nose pressed close to the paper, and I hurriedly cast a spell to keep the scroll from burning to a crisp. 

“Good. Good. Thank you for coming, warrior. I will return the favor someday. Perhaps I will kill some of these creatures you despise.”

I shut my eyes. “That’s not exactly what I—” I heard rock breaking and wind whisking, and I opened my eyes to see just the tail of Rodol exiting the cave I found him in. It nearly doubled his body length and carried spikes all the way down. “Ah, well,” I muttered. I picked up my things and prepared to leave. I picked up a scale he left behind, translucent in the faint moonlight. It was strange. I had never seen a scale like it from any of the Malignus. I turned it over in my hands, checking to see that the glitter wasn’t a remnant of the dragon’s internal body temperature. I shook my head. It was cold, and yet still shining. I sat my things down and flipped through my many papers. There was something I observed some months ago when I interacted with other dragons.

“Draconus Malignus is a molting reptile. Their skin and scales can be found littered across the grounds where they stay. They favor sharp rocks to aid in the process.” I examined the next words closely. “They are enormous creatures, but some level of camouflage seems to be present in their biology. Their scales are, like most of the winged Squamata, the sort that shine in the sunlight, and darken in the night. This is contrary to their extinct Old World ancestors, which, according to ancient texts, signaled their presence at all times.”

I lowered the paper and looked at the scale, still shining.  “Ah,” I muttered to myself. “Whoops.”