The Slaver Isles, Three Weeks After the Black Coronation

Eclant paged through a worn, old book, quietly reading about the War of Lances in his cell. It was a fascinating tale, with far more valor than most wars. He yawned and stood, walking to the latticed window and gazing out across the Winewater Sea. It was high summer, and the week’s training was concluded. For a day or so, he’d have time to read and enjoy the sunlight, and then it would be time to train again. Eclant sighed, and turned back to his books. He wondered when he’d be bought.

A clicking screech came through the window as the sea wind changed. Eclant froze, and suddenly ran to the iron-barred window once again. A small, black shape grew over the horizon. Eclant squinted into the blue, eyes widening as it approached faster than any bird could, smoke trailing behind it. He’d never seen one personally, but there was no way to not recognize a dragon of the Conqueror. It swooped over the towers with an impossible roar, vanishing from the window. He sat heavily in his seat, blinking.

Barely an hour later, a slave knocked on the door, requesting he join the other other Stipators.

{+++}


Eclant stood stiffly in the hot sunlight, staring ahead dressed in simple armor. The other trainees were lined up with him, shoulder to shoulder, eyes focused on the sandstone wall. The long shadow of the Tower loomed, pointing like a black finger over the courtyard. One of the trainers, a tall and formidable man named Red Cobbed, was speaking with the buyer in Slaver’s Common.

Eclant wasn’t fool enough to turn his head, but his eyes glanced over in an attempt to see the visitor. Cobbed strode into his field of vision, leading a slender youth dressed in a tight-fitting gold-pained jerkin. It was plainly made for hard riding, with elbow-length gloves and hip-length boots, close to the skin. It was tightly laced, and a golden breastplate gleamed over his clothes. A sign of power.

His skin was a light, coppery hue, from what he could see of his face. He had pale blond hair, and a beautiful face. The guest could only be the Conqueror, Miah. Eclant would have expected someone taller.

It had been weeks since the final surrender of the Alliance. Already, merchants had begun to return to the battered ports and burned towns, bringing tales of the War. Conqueror Miah had utterly destroyed his foes, reduced castles, armies and cities to ashes, and introduced child’s-tale beasts to the world. Nobody’d ever seen a dragon before he appeared, and now they were real. Some whispered that he’d made a pact with the gods of the hells for power.

Eclant was jerked from his thoughts when the Conqueror stopped in front of him. He noticed the slight bulge in Conqueror Miah’s upper sleeve that could only have been bandages. Eclant also noticed Miah’s shining gold eyes, and that he was a head shorter than himself. He mentally noted yet again that Miah was shorter than he’d guessed.

“And what do they call you?” Miah asked in a deceptively melodic voice. He was gazing straight at Eclant, brilliant eyes lidded as if bored.

“Stipator Eclant,” he said, praying his voice wouldn’t crack.

“Eclant, the Stipador,” Miah said, a faint smile picking up the corner of his mouth. Then his uninjured arm jumped out, gently yet firmly seizing Eclant’s jaw. He turned Eclant’s head from side to side.



"You have white eyes,” Miah said conversationally, in the language of the Lands-Across-the-Sea. “From across the Sea, correct?” He continued in the same tongue. Eclant could only make a slight noise of agreement.

“That’s very nice,” Miah said, back to Western Common, almost smiling as he released him. “Why should I purchase you, above any of the others here?” Red Cobbed was impassive, offering no aid when Eclant looked to him.

“I am skilled in bow, lance, sword, dagger and mace, your Radiance,” Eclant recited in Miah’s own language. “I know how to find out plots, and discern poison. I understand the basics of warfare, history, music and art. If you purchase me you will find an ideal guardian.”

Miah hummed.

“I’m not sure I want this one,” he said offhandedly to Cobbed. Eclant remained stoic.

“He only costs a hundred golden honors, your Radiance,” Cobbed said in his rumbling voice. 



“Eh, I could find a dozen like him in Citadel City, were I so inclined,” the Conqueror said.

“Ninety honors, your Radiance,” Red Cobbed offered.

“Eighty, or I fly away this hour.”



“Eighty-and-five?”



“…Acceptable.”

Coins changed hands, and Miah smiled coldly at Eclant. He felt a slight tinge of ice in his spine, and then it fled.

“Come now, I have to be back by nightfall,” Miah said. Nightfall? It was weeks by ship- and then he remembered the great black beast. Miah turned, and stalked away. Eclant followed, shooting one last look to the men he’d lived with for over a decade. As they entered the halls, he recalled year’s worth of memories. It was never the finest place, but the Tower had been home. And now he’d be gone.

The hall opened into a grand courtyard, floored with black Vakratian marble. And on the dark marble, sprawling like an overgrown snake in plate, was the dragon.

It was blacker than aged iron, glittering red beneath its outsized scales and plates. At least a hundred feet from head to tail it was, slender as a fatted adder relative to its length. The two broad wings were folded above the beast, peaked and tented into towers. Two gnarled gauntlets were its hind legs, three toes in front and two behind. The tail was segmented, like a sea-crocodile, but came to a sharpened point like a sword. The dragon’s long, spiked neck rose with a clatter from behind the coils, the head all a piece. The spiked and ash-coated jaws yawned, a flickering glow accompanying the sudden gush of dark smoke. Then the jaws shut with a ringing sound, the horned black head leaning downwards to inspect the newcomer.

Eclant froze at the heat of it as the blood-stained snout nosed the air near him. A whuff, and the dragon snorted hot ashes. He jumped with a most unbecoming sound, and Miah laughed like an iced-over bell.

“My Wraithling, we will mount up now,” he said in Western Common. The dragon hissed deeply, and extended one wing to the ground.

“Follow my lead,” Miah instructed Eclant. Then he stepped up the dragon’s wings and along the arm, a final step taking him over the protruding shoulder-blade and between two of the dorsal plates. Their ends were high, vertical spines at least his height. Miah slid into place, gloved hands on either side of the spine.

“Come up, he won’t eat you. I don’t think he’s hungry,” Miah said. Eclant was no coward. He clambered up the dragon, wincing where his bare hands struck hot plate. The dragon was not entirely comfortable, and he was glad he wore his long boots.

“Where should I sit?” Eclant asked, aware of the eyes on them from the smaller towers.

“Oh, behind me and with your hands on my shoulders. I don’t want to slip… that would be such a waste,” Miah said languorously. Eclant did so, the dragon’s heat uncomfortable. He set his hands on the Conqueror’s shoulders, lightly. Miah laughed lightly.

“Fly!” Miah shouted. The dragon tensed, Eclant embraced Miah in shock, the earth fell away.

A single rattling beat, and the dragon had cleared the thousand-foot Tower. Another, and the entire island of Warrior’s Rest plunged down. A third, and cold winds whipped at his black hair. The dragon spun, he felt through the armor, titanic muscles working to turn the vast beast towards the east. Miah shouted something lost in the noise and clamor, the dragon screeching in return before winging away.