Chapter 1.5 The Stranger
I land, placing myself directly in the path of the worn trail that leads from the mountainside to the rope bridge.
I can smell the human drawing closer, his sweat tinging the air.
I can hear his breath, a little loud but steady, not worn out.
A pity. It's easier to run them off when they're tired.
Men with energy want to fight.
But it's been so long since I had to kill anyone, surely the streak won't be broken today.
I wait, my tail lashing over the ground, an anxious gesture that I can't control.
I dig my claws into the soft dirt, the hard stone beneath, readying myself to play the monster.
To be the monster, if I have to.
It's only a few minutes before two human hands appear over the last lip of stone leading from the mountain pass to the plateau our home is built on.
The arms—muscular, average—and head—blonde hair, regular features—appear next.
The man heaves himself up over the ledge and rests, panting, for a moment. He doesn't see me yet.
I keep still, watching him. I know it's no use, but I always find myself examining my enemies to determine who they are, where they come from—and if there's any way they might be a messenger from the king.
This man is plainly dressed. His clothes have a sturdy, utilitarian look, and are in good repair as if freshly purchased for travel.
For weapons, he has a shortsword on one hip and a dagger on the other.
No armor. He carries a leather satchel over one shoulder.
He could be a messenger, for all I know. I don't know what one would look like, but I imagine they would have the king's regalia somewhere about them. If the man would only turn, I could see if there was a crest or insignia on his clothing.
I shift impatiently, and the man freezes, every muscle in his body locking up with tension. Slowly, he turns. His eyes—a hazelly brown—widen to the size of dinner plates, and the breath rushed out of him in a startled gasp.
He sees me now.
I wait for the horror, the revulsion. The running and screaming or the drawing of weapons. But he just stares and stares at me, his eyes darting from my claws to my teeth to the spines along my back and tail. All my pointy edges.
I think maybe he'll be frightened away by that alone and I won't have to do anything.
He doesn't run, but he slowly, slowly rises to his feet. When he turns to face me fully, I see that there's no king's insignia on his clothes, no signs at all of an allegiance. He's not a knight, but he doesn't look like a vagabond or thief either.
I wait, hardly daring to hope that he might try to speak. A messenger from the king would know what I am. Would know that under my monstrous skin, I have a human form as well. He would know that I protect the princess.
The man raises his hands before him, palms outward, and I let loose a warning growl. I want him to know if he goes for his weapons, his life is forfeit. The man's eyes widen further. But still no fear, no loathing. He just looks...
He looks surprised beyond measure to be face-to-face with a dragon. Not a messenger from the king, then. He must be one of those who heard the tales of the dragon and didn't believe. I shall make short work of acquainting him with the truth.
Digging my claws further into the dirt, I reach deep within my sternum and gather up the loudest roar I can.
I release it in a bellow of hot air and rage that stirs the wind before me and blows the man's hair back from his face.
The sound echoes off the mountain, and the grass trembles.
But the man doesn't run. He is frozen in place. Not even quivering.
I move, launching myself a full body length closer to the man. Only about twenty feet separate us now. I tip my head back and release a gout of flame over his head. Now he moves, dropping down onto his knees and covering his head.
When my flames dissipate, he peeks out of his arms, and his hazel eyes focus on me, wide and wary, but not panicked. Not fleeing.
Really angry now, I hurl myself forward until I'm a handspan from his face, close enough for him to taste the flame on my breath.
Close enough for me to taste the ink and parchment flavor of his scent.
And this time when I roar its loud enough to rattle his eardrums. He cries out briefly, a surprised sound of pain, and claps his hands over his ears.
I launch myself into the air, beating my wings hard enough to drive him to his knees again.
I circle overhead, dipping down to snap at the air near him.
I roar again, a warning, and flap back to my original position before the rope bridge.
I slam to the ground with more force than necessary, just to show how large and heavy I am.
When I look at the man he is simply gaping at me.
He continues to stare at me, body completely motionless, for so long that I begin to suspect he might be a bit daft.
As if he heard my unspoken thought, the man shakes his head quickly, like coming out of a trance, and blinks a few times. Then he raises his hands to his weapons belt.
I growl in warning once more, but the man doesn't halt his movements.
With glacial slowness, he unlatches the belt, holding it up with sword and dagger still sheathed, as if he's showing it to me.
Then he drops it over the ridge behind him, where I can hear it fall ten feet below and slide still further down the mountain slope.
He's showing me that he's unarmed.
Baffled, I try to figure out if he really is a messenger from the king, but his silence makes me think not. He's treating me sort of like a wild—albeit reasonably intelligent—animal. I didn't go for his throat, so he's trying to return the favor.
This must be a new tactic for getting to the princess. Befriend the dragon. I'll admit, it's one no one has ever tried before. Rather clever, rather brave. Extremely foolhardy. I'm expecting a trick. Brute force won't work against a dragon, so he's using brains. The end is still the same.
His end will be the same, and it will come long before he has a chance to do anything tricky.
My plans are interrupted when he speaks.
I don't catch his words at first, the sounds muffled. My dragon hearing is different than human hearing, picking up pitches strangely, so I have to strain myself in concentration to make out what he's saying.
"—from the Academy of Dawn in—legends—princess—"
If I had a human face right now, I would be frowning in confusion. As it is, I bare my teeth, focusing on the word princess. The man watches me with wide-eyed patience, and after a moment, he repeats the last part of what he said, "Are you the princess?"
A surprised choke of disbelieving laughter comes out as a puff of smoke from my nostrils.
Unaccountably, a little half smile crosses the man's face. "Can you understand me?" he whispers, almost in disbelief himself. Almost in wonder.
I shouldn't countenance this. I should put a stop to it at once.
I should kill him or drive him off. I shouldn't let him know what I am.
But...it has been so long since I spoke to anyone other than Cherry.
Even longer since a conversation with someone other than Cherry didn't end with that person dying on the wrong end of my claws.
I may still have to kill this man—I will kill him—but it seems wondrously entertaining, in the meantime, to hear what he has to say.
Deliberately, in a gesture that I'm not sure translates over from human body language, I lower my unwieldy dragon head in a nod.
The man's expression is all amazement, and he says something very quickly that I do not catch. I cock my head to the side, trying to catch the words. The man grins broadly, all straight, white teeth, and repeats himself, "You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen in my life."
I draw back at that, snorting my derision.
Does this fool think to flatter a dragon?
Or...but he can't possibly mean it? Responses to my dragon form have been universally negative.
There is just enough serpent-like and grotesque about it to disgust anyone whom it doesn't horrify and horrify anyone whom it doesn't disgust.
The man begins to speak once more, and I listen intently.
"I am Marton, of the Academy of Dawn in Philostia.
I study ancient legends there, and though many reports have reached our halls of a dragon in the west who guards a captive princess, there are not many who ever believed it.
Even less who thought it worth a journey to discover if it were true.
But I—" He shakes his head, his eyes still glued to me, full of wonder.
"I was determined to come. I couldn't rest. But I must not have really thought—I couldn't have imagined—" He speaks so haltingly that I think for a moment my hearing isn't picking up all of his words.
But I realize after closer observance that he is merely. ..choked with emotion. How...odd.
Ridiculous.
"There is one legend," Marton continues in a stronger voice, "of your nation that has always particularly interested me.
I found an account many years ago of a scholar who studied royal lineages, who wrote that the kings and queens of Ithyma had always been protectorkin.
Protectorkin, I later found, after much research, were a very special type of persons.
..who were able to take more than one form.
Who could, in fact, assume the forms of great beasts in order to defend their homes and people.
And you'll know, perhaps, that there is a dragon emblazoned on the crest of Ithyma's royal family.
So when I put all of this together, and heard the tale of a missing princess, who had been discovered to be guarded by a dragon in the ruins of the old Ithymian palace, I thought.
..what a marvelous coincidence." Marton laughed.
"I thought—what if there is more truth to these legends, as well as these current tales, than anyone has imagine?
What if the royal family of Ithyma were protectorkin—and are still—able to assume dragon forms?
What if this rumored dragon was not just guarding the princess, but actually was the princess herself?
" His eyes are bright, excited, but after a moment of observing my stiffness, his face sobers.
"I'm not sure how much of that you understood," Marton says aloud, considering.
He scratches the back of his neck with a self-deprecating wince.
"I'm not sure if you are a person at all, or only a beast. Perhaps it was foolish of me to have come so far for a fancy.
.." He shakes his head, wonder rekindling as he looks at me.
"But what a sight, what a treasure, to have seen you at all.
To have lived this long..." Marton trails off, and it seems to occur to him only now that I might kill him, after all.
He swallows heavily, and his next words are a whisper, "Perhaps you'll decide to eat me any moment now. "
It occurred to him quicker than it occurred to me.
I am still puzzling over his interesting talk of legend and protectorkin.
The Ithymian crest does have a dragon on it.
And the king did task me, a dragon shifter, with the protection of his royal daughter.
But the part about the Ithymian royal family having been dragon shifters is all new to me.
I feel slightly cheated, never to have heard such a tale before. I want to hear more.
I want to, but can such a thing possibly be a good idea? I don't know this man or if he speaks the truth. He certainly seems sincere, but he could be a clever talker, only meaning to distract me so he can reach the princess.
And that's the other bit. He really seems to think it possible that I could be the princess. Me—the disgusting, horrifying monster. What an odd man he is. Cherry would be enamored by him instantly, if she could hear the tales he weaves.
Cherry.
I'd nearly forgotten about her, apart from my duty of protecting her.
I'd forgotten she will likely wake soon, and that I was roaring my head off not a moment ago.
That would have woken her, for certain, and she will be anxious until I return to tell her what the matter is.
She won't risk coming down, I know, thankfully.
Not on the chance it could be one of the men who are always coming after her.
But she'll be distressed until she sees me.
I need to get rid of this man and return to her. That's my duty.
But... I look him over. He is all wide-eyed wonder and seemingly innocent curiosity.
He reminds me, somehow, of Cherry. There is nothing Cherry likes better than stories, the fresher and wilder the better.
And Cherry is always bored, always wanting some new tale, some new game, anything for a bit of amusement.
Her life is a more retiring one than my own. I have my protection duties. My fighting and patrolling and hunting, to keep me occupied. Cherry has nothing but me.
She is always asking, always begging me, to take her somewhere else. Anywhere. She wants to see the world, to know and do things. To meet people. More than anything, she longs for friends. More friends than just me.
What if I could...introduce her to this man?
Instantly, I cringe away from the thought.
Too dangerous, too risky. I couldn't possibly trust him well enough to let him near my sacred charge.
Not yet, anyway. But what if I could...feel him out?
Ensure that he is who he says and came here, not to steal the princess, but to see the dragon.
No one who thought the dragon was the princess, after all, could possibly entertain a hope of stealing her?
I can think of one sure way of testing him, and I resolve to do it immediately.
Spreading my wings, I brace my feet and push up into the air.
Two flaps get me airborne, and I soar back over the chasm, across the yard, to the palace entryway.
I land there and shuffle inside before quickly shifting to my human form.