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NEVER UNDERESTIMATE the danger of a hungry dragon or a scorned woman.
—dragon rider’s adage
* * *
THE LEAVES OF AUTUMN burst upon the landscape with their customary riot of color as the summer wound to a close. Sparrowport had always been most beautiful in the autumn; the variety of trees within and around the town provided an expansive range of hues. Onin contemplated the familiar view afforded by his childhood home. The beauty was different than the Heights, simpler, less grandiose, but all the more pleasing for its unassuming ubiquity.
The Durantis house had hardly changed. He knew most of the servants; the exceptions were the younger ones. Very little changed with the staff over the years, and they seemed to remember many of Onin’s habits, falling easily into step during his short stay.
His father, Zorot, had been sleeping fitfully in the bed nearby. The old man had asked for his bed to be moved to better enjoy the view from his window. His illness had progressed steadily until it confined him to his bed, and his servants took great lengths to make him comfortable but with little success.
Zorot awoke with a sputtering cough. Instantly his steward was by his side, holding a cup of bitter tea to his lips. The trade ambassador winced and puckered his lips at the taste.
Onin tried to reconcile the frail man lying before him with the smiling father who raised him. Zorot had always been slight of frame, but the wasting sickness had made him wispy as fog. His entire body rattled with the coughing fit, and he slumped with fatigue once it had subsided.
"Onin?" asked Zorot wearily.
"I’m here," said Onin. He knelt next to the bed. His father grasped his hand tightly.
"I’m glad for your presence. I find it comforting," said the old man. Zorot’s face broke into a grin. "How is Yolan?" said the old man, his gaze sharp. "You hardly mention her. Is she all right?"
Onin gave his father a tight-lipped smile. "Yolan is fine, Father. She is as beautiful as ever, and she keeps the household running with no help from Torreg or myself. She is a smart businesswoman."
"But as a wife, she leaves something to be desired?"
Onin stiffened but forced himself to relax before responding. "I . . . don’t want to talk about it," he stammered.
"No surprise to me," said Zorot, his smile soft and forgiving. "You’ve ever been the quiet one where your internal workings are concerned. But you also can’t lie to me about this. I can see it written on your face whenever I bring her up."
Onin's shoulders slumped and he hung his head at his father’s words. He’d never had much success hiding things from his father.
Zorot placed a reassuring hand on Onin’s arm. "Marriage is the greatest challenge a man can undertake," said Zorot. "Say what you will about leading armies and fighting wars; it’s the men who know how to talk to their wives who should be immortalized in song. It is a far more rare skill."
Onin chuckled. "I’d rather fight a band of Jaga raiders again than face down Yolan in a bad mood," said the big man. "Her gaze could scorch a dragon’s scales."
"Surely she’s not always so baleful," said the old man. "She must smile sometimes."
"I’m sure she does," said Onin. "But it seems to stop when I enter the room. I can barely remember what her teeth look like." Onin forced a smile, but his father wasn’t fooled by it.
"Oh, my son," said Zorot. "What a lot you’ve drawn. So much good fortune wrapped around a great misfortune. Forgive me; I did not know your marriage would be so sour. I thought for sure the two of you would come together with time. I’m sorry for the unhappiness you’ve endured."
Onin placed his other hand on top of his father’s where it rested on his forearm. "It’s not all bad, Father," said Onin. "You had no idea, as you said yourself. And there is much good fortune in it. I serve as a Guard in the Heights and am part of a Great Family to boot. I see verdant dragons up close almost every day. It’s like my boyhood dream come true. If the price is a beautiful but prickly woman, then I can accept that."
Zorot looked at his son with regret and hope. "I still wish you would know love, Onin," said his father. "I loved your mother so much. She’s been gone many years now, but I still can’t imagine my life without her. I want you to know that kind of happiness, my son. It makes everything else worthwhile."
Zorot’s voice grew lower as he spoke until he was muttering. Onin had to lean forward to catch his words before his father lapsed into complete silence. At first Zorot was so still that Onin began to fear the worst, but then the old man emitted a light snore. Onin left him to his sleep and quietly crept from the bedchamber, stopping to converse with the physician on the way.
"Not long now," said the family physician. He had been the old man's most constant companion the past few weeks. "Sometime during the night, I believe."
* * *
ONIN DECIDED TO TAKE a walk to consider what had passed between them. Just as his father had stated, Onin hoped he and Yolan would grow to love one another as time passed, and he hadn’t given up on it yet. Many of the older Guards spoke of early difficulties in marriage, but an improvement as time passed. He hoped things would work that way in his case.
Onin walked familiar paths from years past, taking in the sights his childhood home had to offer. Surprisingly little had changed, save a new coat of paint here and there, and many new faces. Some of the young adults Onin could recognize as children he had once known. They had grown into adolescents, and most of them worked at a trade. He had the sudden sense of age, he mused. Now a father in his own right, he prepared to say farewell to his own. The world around him changed, and he with it.
A piercing scream pulled him to the here and now abruptly. He spun to see the commotion and gave a start as a feral dragon rose into the sky with a woman in its claws. There had been no roar, no sound. The attack caught the town by surprise.
However, screams and shouts could be heard from all directions at varying distances. Other feral dragons swooped and attacked, snatching people and horses from the streets of Sparrowport. Onin counted at least a dozen ferals; rampaging dragons seemed to be everywhere. Onin crouched beneath a nearby oak tree. It wouldn’t provide much protection, but he hoped to remain hidden.
The streets of Sparrowport were in chaos. Screams filled the air with unintelligible cacophony. Onin peered around the trunk of a tree to see a dragon swooping in his direction. Several people ran about, and portions of the sky were blotted out by black smoke. The dragons’ sudden assault had started fires throughout the city, presumably by knocking over candles and cook fires within the buildings. While the dragons continued to rampage, the city’s residents could not mount an effective effort to stop the fires; they would rage unabated, threatening the entire town.
Onin could see a pair of children running through the street in a panic, seemingly unable to decide where to flee. The incoming dragon would have them for sure.
Onin bolted from his hiding place, pushing himself for every ounce of speed he could muster. He felt slow—too slow—and could only watch as the dark figure of fanged death zoomed toward them. His lungs burned with the effort, and he forced himself to focus on his goal instead.
He reached the first child and scooped her up without missing a step. Roughly four years old, she fit neatly under his arm. He spun to grab the second child, an older boy. Onin hoisted the boy onto his shoulder and ran for the nearest cover: a wagon just fifteen feet away. He took three long strides and dived under wagon. Onin rolled over to land on his back, still cradling the children in his arms, and turned over again to shield the children with his body. They were prone and under the wagon when the dragon struck. The world went momentarily dark as the beast's shadow passed over them.
The wagon disappeared in a rush of air above. Onin looked up to see the wagon dangling from the dragon's claws. The contents as well as one of the wheels tumbled down. Onin rose then ran for cover again, keeping the children nestled under his torso as much as possible. He felt several objects strike him as they fled but nothing heavy enough to deter their progress, thank the gods. He came to a sudden stop when a latched trunk landed in his path. The sturdy chest remained unbroken, but the heavy lid flew open with the impact. Onin saw the chest contained a large round object of dark green coloration. Except for the color difference, it looked just like the dragon eggs Onin had seen in the hatchery.
He ducked into the nearest alley between two buildings, hoping the feral didn’t have enough interest in them to follow. He stopped near the end of the alley and put the children down. They were surprisingly well composed. Their faces were streaked with dirt and tears, but they watched him attentively.
"Go!" he shouted and pointed down the alley, away from here. "Find a place to hide!"
The children did as instructed and scurried away as fast their legs would carry them. The older boy held the little girl’s hand, practically dragging her along. Her voice carried above the noise. "Thank you!"
Onin raced back to the alley to see if his eyes had deceived him or not. He arrived just in time to watch two men carry the trunk into the adjacent building.
The sun disappeared again, and Onin instinctively looked to the sky. He watched as one of the feral dragons landed on the building where the trunk, and presumably the egg, had been taken. A fearful thought took shape in his mind.
He plunged around the corner and ran for the entrance to the building, a warehouse not far from his father’s. The feral dragon peered over the edge, its long snout taking deep, probing sniffs. It spied Onin as he made it through the entrance, and it gave an angry screech. The long neck extended down until the scaly snout entered the warehouse. Onin dived to his right and pressed his back against the wall. He looked around desperately for cover or escape, but he could see only a pair of men on the opposite side of the warehouse, holding the trunk between them. One of the men tossed a torch on the floor of the warehouse; the straw strewn about lit quickly. The other smashed a lantern on the ground; the resulting spread of oil turned the warehouse floor into a bonfire.
The feral dragon’s snout caught in the first gout of flames, and it jerked back with a sharp cry of pain. Its head disappeared from the warehouse for a few moments; Onin took the opportunity to rush over to the other men. He pressed himself against the wall. Holding a hand in front of his face to ward off the heat, he pushed his way around to where they waited. Both men had swords in their hands.
"Back off now," said one of them. "This crate belongs to us."
"Is that a feral dragon egg?" yelled Onin. "You fools! It’s obvious the dragons are here for the egg!"
Proving his statement, the dragon pushed back into the warehouse with an angry roar. With some effort, it pinpointed the three men through the smoke. The dragon roared its fury at them from across the inferno.
"You’ve put us all in danger!" cried Onin. "Give the egg back!"
"Not a chance," said the first man. He gave a barking laugh. "This egg is worth its weight in gold and more. It stays with me."
Onin drew himself up to his full height and pointed a solitary finger at the man. "I am Onin of the Guard," he pronounced. "In the name of the king, return that egg!"
The first man grimaced and lunged at Onin with his sword. Onin easily sidestepped the attack and drove his elbow into the man’s face. He deftly snatched the blade from the man’s hand as the egg poacher crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Onin grasped the hilt of the sword firmly and pointed it directly at the other man guarding the trunk.
The second egg poacher had no fight in him and dropped his sword in terror.
"It's all his fault, sir," he said. "There’s a guy who hunts in the Jaga who knows where to find ’em, and then he brings ’em to us, and then we sell ’em up high." Having grown up in the Midlands, Onin recognized the term. “Up high” meant selling something to the Heights. He would have pressed for more information, but the dragon’s roar to his left reminded him he didn’t have the time.
Onin rushed to the trunk and grasped hold of the handles. With a mighty grunt, he hefted it into the air over his head. Turning to face the entrance, Onin took three long steps, striding straight into the knee-deep fire before him, before launching the crate across the rest of the flames to land in the entrance of the warehouse. The dragon watched attentively as it sailed through the air to collide with the ground and tumble out into the street. Once again, the lid flew open, and this time the egg bounced out to roll in the street. Onin stumbled backward to escape the flames and smoke. It took him several long moments to pat the smoldering parts of his pant legs and boots until there was no danger of fire.
By the time he looked back at the entrance, the feral dragon took the egg up in one of its claws. Its mighty wings flapped, taking it aloft, and it disappeared from view above. Onin made his way around the flames, slowly and carefully. He’d been on fire enough for one day.
Reaching the street, Onin turned his gaze to the sky. To the south, dragons flew back to the Jaga. The attack ended as quickly as it began. The cries of the wounded could be heard in every direction, and raging fires burned uncontrolled, like the one in the warehouse behind him. Onin spared no thought for his fatigue or burns; there were others who needed help more, and he would see to them.
A group of men arrived to check on the warehouse, and Onin began trying to organize some effort to control the fire. He found the first man, the one he’d knocked unconscious, still lying in a heap near the back of the warehouse. The other man, the accomplice, had escaped, however. Onin could make sure at least one of them would answer for this act.
But he could also afford no time for those thoughts; instead he focused on the long night ahead of putting out fires, rescuing the wounded, and making sure the dragons were truly gone.
* * *
THE NEWS OF THE DRAGON attack did not seem to affect Zorot much. He simply took it in stride like most unfortunate events. The following morning, his servants tried to wake him, but the old man could not be roused. They fetched Onin immediately, and he rushed through the halls. With closed eyes and lips turned upward in a wry grin, his father looked peaceful.
It was a good death, Onin decided. It brought him no joy, but at least his father didn’t have to suffer much at the end.
Onin spent the next few days settling affairs while awaiting his flight back to the Heights. With his father gone, Sparrowport didn't feel like home anymore. He felt anxious to get back to his family. He intended to keep no holdings in the Midlands and sold everything off as quickly as possible. Money had no real pull for Onin. All of the proceeds from his sales would be put in an account in the Heights.
Onin had taken his father’s words to heart. Getting along might be difficult, but he desperately wanted his marriage to be a loving one. He vowed to his father’s memory that he would find love, just as his father wanted.