"What do you mean you lost the boy?" The Dragon's bellow resonated off the slimy walls of the cavern and sent waves trembling through the cold stone. Haman stood before the Dragon's wrath only barely maintaining his composure. The Dragon did not suffer even the appearance of cowardice in his presence, and the bones of those who had failed to appease him lay strewn about the cave unceremoniously. Haman could not show fear; he must not betray his own misgivings.
"I ordered the boy killed years ago, but your mercy allowed him to live. I let you persuade me that he might be used as leverage at some later date. I hold you in higher esteem than most of the rabble that makes up your pitiful race, but even now I doubt my sanity in allowing you to dissuade me from devouring that child."
The Dragon continued to rant and rave, flailing his tail about and spouting jets of poison fire with every word.
This instability was not lost on Haman, and ever he trod a careful step, both in word and in actions, when he encountered the Dragon. Now was not the time to argue, it was the time to silently appease the ravings of lunacy and keep one's flesh comfortably un-cooked. Death by poisonous conflagration did not seem advantageous to a visionary like Haman who saw the Dragon's raw power as a means to a greater end. When once Haman was a physician in the employ of the throne, he took a leave some years ago. It was just prior to his departure that Haman had met the Dragon.
It was a chance encounter. Haman was on a routine journey to the military headquarters in the south of the kingdom. As he trudged the Poet's Highway through the mountainous terrain, Haman and his guards found part of the path blocked by a rockslide. He did not think much of it, save for the clear inconvenience that it would be to take the pathfinder's trails around in order to rejoin the main road. The company departed the path at a spot just north of the great mountain lake known as Sliver Lake and headed up into the mountains for a time, following a rutty, winding trail that they knew would eventually lead them back to the Poet's Highway. Haman could still recall with startling clarity the blood red sunset of that night that gave way to a cloudless starry sky without the grace of the moon's pale light. It was a new moon and darker than pitch save for the diamonds of the night's tapestry that gave little light. They decided to stop and make camp right where they were, the autumn sun had set faster than anticipated. As his men busied themselves making a small fire and setting up makeshift shelters Haman strode away from the group to contemplate, as he often did. The night's caress of darkness always inspired him to delve deep into thoughts and dreams, to plumb the very depths of truth itself and try to find wisdom.
As he stood musing in the hallowed stillness of the mountain woods, the earth trembled. It shook for mere moments but violently, knocking Haman off his feet, then ceased, as if the earth itself had taken a leap forward and then stood poised waiting for something. Then he heard it, a screech so unnatural and ethereal he was scarce sure that it was real, but the pain it brought to his ears could not be denied as blood trickled down the left side of his face and he realized that deafness had taken it. A sudden terror took him, and he sought the company of his men. Stumbling his way through the dark in haste he followed the flickering light of the fire his men had set. Without warning, it extinguished and a great rush of wind assaulted the surrounding forests. He heard a vague thud far beyond the scope of his now blackened vision, as if something giant had fallen from the sky. Haman's eyes, already somewhat used to the darkness began to adjust and take in every slip of light possible. The trees stood like ethereal sentinels to guide him back, slowly but surely, towards the campsite. As he passed more of the shadowy sentries he gazed into what seemed like a pit of purest black. For some reason, unknown to him, his eyes could not penetrate the darkness in front of him, as if some supernatural power had removed light's claim upon the earth. Even amidst the already dark night, the abyss he saw before him made even the deepest sable seem but a light grey. He thought to press forward, and cocked his head to the left straining to hear out of his remaining good ear. Then came the sound – a sickening, disgusting crunch of giant jaws and the subtle squish of fresh meat severed by razor sharp teeth, and dread filled Haman's soul. The supernatural dark before him shifted and turned and in a matter of moments his eyes met with two flaming rubies gazing directly at him. In the center of the blaze the pupils were not circular. It looked as if many diamonds had been placed one on top of the other at different angles to create a jagged, asymmetrical pattern.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Why the Dragon had spared him then, Haman still could not guess, but their unlikely accord was struck on that fated night, and it bound them on a similar path of fate, for well or ill. Now Haman stood, as the madness of the Dragon's rantings slowly subsided into a series of low, guttural grunts that signified his displeasure as well as a coming calm. Haman chose this moment to speak up, a tactician in the employ of his tongue, "If my presence displeases you, my Lord, I shall return another time at your behest?"
Another grunt emanated from deep in the Dragon's throat and he spoke, "Do as you please, Haman. But be sure to find that boy. I will not lend my power to your revolution if he is not delivered to me." The rage had subsided and as the Dragon continued to speak his voice transformed from a brutish frankness to a lofty, yet delicate speech. "The boy in exchange for my strength, and my fire to burn down a kingdom that you may lead a revolution from the ashes, rather poetic don't you think? The old must perish before the young can flourish. One power must wane for another to wax. I've a revolution of my own to lead, dear Haman, a revolution indeed." The Dragon's face contorted in a disheartening expression that must have been as close as he could reach to a smile, and with a nod of his enormous head he dismissed Haman.
Haman exited the cavern into the brilliance of a full moon smiling down innocently at him. In the blue aura he looked somewhat more regal than you might expect, a robe of satin the colour of night he wore with a simple rope tied about his rotund waste. On his back he wore a hooded cloak of deep green held beneath his throat by a simple brooch in the shape of a coiled serpent. His eyes were a stormy blue and his hair brilliantly blond flecked with bits of grey and white. At five and fifty he was healthy and strong, though his gut protruded a bit more than he might like. His face was quite handsome, and every feature comely and held in place with a mien of resolve and sense of purpose all too rare to the race of men. Small beads of sweat formed on his brow as he gave way to the emotion he so vigorously restrained in the Dragon's presence. He wanted revolution, justice, and freedom and knew that only the Dragon had such a power, but he could not shake the disquiet in his heart. What revolution does he speak of? This question and more interrogated his mind as he made his way to his horse, mounted, and rode Northward. It would be a long journey to the Crown of the World to meet with his contact among the Orias or the Northern Mountains.
