They camped atop Amalek’s mountain. Amalek caught a mountain goat for the three of them. They roasted it over a roaring bonfire.
Quinn looked up at Amalek. In between bites of goat and flatbread, he asked, "You sure you don’t want any?"
Amalek’s avatar appeared. "No, thank you. I ate a mere three days ago. I won’t be hungry again for a few more."
"Dragon’s only eat once a week?" asked Quinn.
"We can go for a month," said Amalek. "Most civilized dragons eat more often, but one who eats every day is considered a glutton."
"Wow," said Quinn. "We have to eat several times a day."
"That’s your hot-blooded constitution," said Amalek.
"You know," said Quinn, pointing at Davion, "This guy wants to ask you a whole pile of questions."
Davion looked up from the fire. "Hm?"
"I was just telling the dragon how much you want to ask him about dragon stuff," said Quinn.
"I do?" asked Davion.
"I know you do!" said Quinn. He looked up at Amalek. "Davion’s shy. He doesn’t want to pry."
Amalek looked over at Davion.
Davion cleared his throat. "It’s true," he said. "I have so many questions."
Amalek gave him a benevolent smile and said, "Ask."
"Okay," said Davion. "Let me see. Is it true that only one dragon is born at a time?"
"Not exactly," said Amalek. "An impregnated female carries a clutch of two to seven eggs. She keeps them within until the time is right, then the eggs burst and the offspring are born live."
"At that point," said Amalek, "The first instinct of each baby dragon is to kill its siblings."
Davion raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
"Truly," said Amalek. "This is to make certain that the newborn gets all of the mother’s attention and resources. The mother allows it, leaving only the strongest of her brood to live. Sometimes, not even that — it is not uncommon for even the victor to succumb to its battle wounds."
"So," said Amalek, "The number of dragons born at once is between two and seven, but the number of survivors is always zero or one."
Silence reigned, for a moment, as the men contemplated Amalek’s words.
Amalek continued. "When there is a clear victor, its next instinct is to attack its mother. The female slaps the child down hard to make sure it knows who is in charge. It sometimes takes weeks for the mother to establish absolute dominance. The longer it takes, the more proud the mother is. Such willfulness is taken as a sign of strength."
"That is so alien," said Davion. "It’s horrifying."
Amalek grinned. "You haven’t heard the best part. Once the mother has established initial dominance, she shreds the remains of the dead siblings and feeds them to the whelp to give it strength."
Davion looked ill. "You eat your brothers and sisters?"
Amalek grinned. "We do. Not that I remember it."
"Is cannibalism common with dragons?" asked Zebulun.
"Only at birth," said Amalek.
Davion set aside his food.
"Does papa dragon have anything to do with raising kids?" asked Quinn.
"Not instinctively," said Amalek. "The nature of the male is to impregnate a female and leave the problem to her. Once we became civilized, however, we began to see the value in being a part of our offsprings' educations. Building a great house requires loyal followers, and none are more loyal than those one trains from birth."
"A great house," said Davion, staring into the fire. "Do dragons marry?"
"We do," said Amalek. "We marry for strength, or for allegiance."
"Never for love?" asked Quinn.
Amalek smiled. "Empathy is the province of pack hunters. We are solitary predators."
"You know," said Amalek, "Centuries ago, a powerful dragon might have a dozen wives, or even a hundred. We had to do away with such polygamy. Turns out it’s dangerous to have a large number of hot-headed, ambitious young males who can’t find mates. Several kingdoms fell to this before we figured it out. We eventually decided to limit ourselves to single wives. Naturally, we forced the same policy onto your people."
Amalek paused. "Not that it stops any of us from mating with whoever we choose, outside of marriage arrangements."
Davion stared into the fire for a moment. "What about culture? What is dragon society like, outside of what men are allowed to see?"
"As you may imagine," said Amalek, "It is based entirely on hierarchy and domination. The powerful rule. The less powerful serve."
"Ooh," said Quinn. "What about art? Do y’all write poetry, or music, or stories?"
Amalek grinned. "We usually demand that others write them for us. Some dragons have authored works of literature or philosophy (mostly to glorify themselves or their house), but you can believe they made their scribes write them down. Our claws are not quite as nimble as men’s fingers. That’s what makes you so useful to us."
Camp was quiet as the trio chewed on their roasted goat and Amalek’s words.
Amalek addressed Davion. "Who taught you magery? Was it a dragon?"
Davion swallowed his latest bite hard, cleared his throat, and said "Star folk."
"Star folk," said Amalek. "I’m unfamiliar."
"You know," said Quinn, "Angels. Fairies. Jinn. That sort of thing."
Amalek looked at Quinn with narrowed eyes. "Such things exist?"
"They must," said Quinn through a mouthful of bread. "He learned how to throw lightning from his fingers and open holes in the air from somebody."
"This, I would like to see," said Amalek.
Quinn looked up. "Bluebonnet? You still following us around?"
A small star appeared before Amalek’s serpent face and grew to a few inches in diameter. Bluebonnet appeared within. She smiled and waved at Quinn, then raised her hand towards the dragon’s face. A thin spark of lightning shot from her fingertip into the serpent’s snout. His head recoiled for a split-second, then he leaned in to look at the angel. He flicked his tongue a few times.
"You don’t smell like anything at all," said Amalek.
"No," said Bluebonnet. "We have no scent. You can’t see or hear us either, unless we want you to."
Amalek stared at Bluebonnet for a moment before she winked out. He looked over at Zebulun. "I have been on this Earth for six hundred and forty-one years. It’s not often I see something new. You have healed my disease, and now you’ve shown me a type of creature I never believed to exist. Perhaps you are a prophet."
"I’m trying to be," said Zebulun.
"How, exactly, did you find this new god and religion of yours?" asked Amalek.
"The woman who protects the eastern wood gave us a potion that grants visions."
"And this gave you the power to heal?" asked Amalek.
"Among other things," said Zebulun.
"He made it rain for three days!" said Quinn.
Amalek looked thoughtful. "Let’s say I accept it. What makes you think you can overthrow the kingdom? How do you plan to do this thing?"
"I don’t know," said Zebulun. He looked up into the serpent’s real eyes with mirth. "I hoped you might have some ideas."
Amalek’s avatar broke into a grin. "I suppose this is more in my line of work than that of a prophet or philosopher."
"Or a performer!" said Quinn.
"On the contrary," said Amalek, "performance is integral to the exercise of power. When you speak, others must believe it."
"Huh," said Quinn. He screwed up his brow like Davion, put his chin on his hand, and looked skyward. "That’s interesting. Many of the fair folk I’ve met love the theater."
"As they should," said Amalek. "They are, themselves, performers. They perform the role of our front men. If there is ever a revolt, it is they who pay with their lives, not us."
Davion looked up. "Is that the reason for the subterfuge? I wouldn’t think dragons would be afraid of men at all."
"We never have been," said Amalek, "but there was a time, centuries ago, when some human hero — what was his name? Rog? Ragnar? I can’t recall. At any rate, he got together a small band of extremely talented people and set about assassinating dragons. It had something to do with his wife, or children, or something — your classic revenge story. Which, by the way, dragons do appreciate."
"He succeeded?" asked Zebulun.
"He had a good run," said Amalek. "I think he managed to kill five of our kind before we dealt with him. That episode taught us that mankind could, in fact, be dangerous. We treat your kind like cattle; and, most of the time, it works. But it turns out some of you are still feral wolves. We invented the fair folk to distract you."
"Invented?" asked Davion.
"I’m sure you know the old legends," said Amalek. "Dragons ruled and terrorized your kind until the fair folk came, from a far away land, and subdued the dragons with their powerful magic. They brought the dragons low and freed you from their clutches."
"Sure," said Davion. "I’ve heard that story."
"We made it up," said Amalek. "My kind imported pale mercenaries from the north. We selected for intellect, loyalty, and ruthlessness. We put on a great show of them defeating numerous dragons in combat. Of course, we had to provide the magery and sorcery ourselves, as we hadn’t yet taught that to them."
"So it is all a charade," said Davion.
"I’m afraid so," said Amalek. "We invented your religion as well, though we were wise enough to base it on existing tribal beliefs."
Davion frowned at stared into the fire.
"Why from the north?" asked Quinn. "That’s where I’m from."
"Really?" asked Amalek. "I assumed you were one of the fair folk. This was all before my time. From my understanding, we wanted the saviors to look like rescuers from the outside: a classic deus ex machina. We also thought it would be useful if one could tell a man’s class just by the color of his skin, but that turned out to have problems of its own. In time, we had to elevate some darker-skinned folk into the fold to preempt rebellion."
"How does the hierarchy work?" asked Davion, still staring at the fire. "You have the common folk on the bottom, and the fair folk above them, but how does it work at higher levels?"
"It’s ultimately about houses and alliances," said Amalek. "It’s all about who owns what — who can protect their claims, and who can not. The major factions, at least in my time, were the traditionalists and the imperialists."
"Trads tend to be lords of the great country estates. They’ve been siphoning wealth from their livestock for centuries, and are happy with the large piles of gold they have. They prefer to cull the population with small, civil wars that are more like games of Chess than a real war between kingdoms. They don’t want any foreign adventures damaging what they have."
"Imps, on the other hand, tend to be the princes of the cities. Imperialist adventures bring in new resources and open new trade routes, which benefits the princes far more than the lords. Imps like to control the domestic population by conquering other lands."
"There are others," said Amalek. "The reactionaries hate the charade and want to go back to ruling men in the open. But they (and others) are not numerous."
"You were an imperialist," said Zebulun.
"Yes!" said Amalek. "Through and through. My empire covered the entire known world. I knew better, however, than to browbeat the trads. I taxed the princes to fund our conquests, leaving the lords to keep order at home. It worked quite well."
"What are you now?" asked Zebulun.
Amalek looked at him with mirth. "An abdicator, I suppose. Perhaps a traitor. I have no idea what the dragons who remained thought of my disappearance."
"You didn’t say anything to anyone?" asked Quinn.
"No," said Amalek. "Not one word. I left, late one night, and never returned."
It was Quinn’s turn to look at the fire. He seemed sad. "I did the same thing, when I left home."
"What do you suspect they’ll think?" asked Zebulun.
Amalek thought a moment. "The trads believe in rules. They believe in honor. I imagine many of those who swore fealty to me still live. Some may join our cause. The imps are hopeless, unless you plan to build an empire."
"I do not," said Zebulun.
"Then the imps are our enemy. And most of them have no attachment to rules, or honor, or even decorum. They will use any means necessary to win. I should know."
Zebulun looked up at the stars. "We should start," he said, "by introducing you to our existing allies."