Steel Dragon

DEPARTMENT OF THE ARMY
HEADQUARTERS, UNITED STATES ARMY SOUTH
APO AA 99999-0000

ORDERS 999-0
14 December 19XX

<NAME WITHHELD> 999-99-9999 SSG <UNIT WITHHELD>

You are released from active duty and, on the date following, placed on the
retired list. The people of the United States express their thanks and gratitude
for your faithful service. Your contributions to the defense of the United States
of America are greatly appreciated. On the date placed on the retired list, you
are transferred to U.S. Army Reserve Control Group. . . .

The wind smelled of burning and decay.

I flew through war-stained skies, the air fouled by columns of greasy black smoke rising to the heavens. Beneath the steel-gray span of my right wing there slid the artillery-shattered remains of some nameless forest. Beneath my left stretched a vast grassy plain, scorched and littered with the smoldering detritus of war.

The attack came without warning. A pair of AH-64 Apaches suddenly popped-up from their places of concealment behind folds in the scarred terrain beneath me, chain guns yammering as they caught me in a merciless crossfire. I howled as the high-explosive shells sleeted into me, blasting huge holes in the delicate vanes of my wings. Control destroyed, I found myself spiraling helplessly down toward the ground.

I hit hard, the impact shredding turf and sending gouts of the plain's topsoil in all directions. A few awful moments as I fought to drag breath back into stunned lungs, then I wobbled to my feet and scanned the skies, waiting for the Apaches to close for the kill. But they had vanished.

Then I heard the reason why. A purring, chittering noise overlaid by a breathless whine of power came to my ears, and closed an icy fist of fear about my heart. The first M1A2 rounded a small hill moments later, so close that I was able to pounce upon the tank before it could bring its main weaponry to bear.

Talons screeched against superhard Chobham armor as the 68-ton behemoth snarled and bucked beneath me like some enraged beast, its tracks throwing grass and soil in vast waves as it fought to free itself from my grip. Desperately I breathed azure flame down upon the machine, dull camouflage paint blackening and peeling away to reveal gleaming metal. The tank responded by firing an antipersonnel charge skyward, to burst a moment later and rain flaming white phosphorus down upon my back. I hissed in pain as I felt it eating its way into my torn wings but clung grimly, my talons searching for a way to tear out the machine's mechanical life. . . .

. . . .I never saw the second tank. Suddenly something like the fist of God slammed into my side, punching through armor like so much wet cardboard. The impact sent me tumbling across the plain, to finally slide to a halt amid scorched, blood-slicked grass.

Waves of agony surged through me. I tried to rise, but could not get my hindquarters to respond. An icy chill began to creep into my bones as I felt my life running out the gaping hole in my side. Through a red haze I saw my scorched and scarred adversary reorient itself and begin to turn. The tank brought its main armament to bear, the 120mm Oerlikon smoothbore settling with slow, deliberate care to aim right between my eyes. . . .

FLASH.
 

My eyes snapped open to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling as my hands scrabbled frantically for a weapon. Then I blinked, groaned, and sagged back down upon the sweat soaked sheets. I laid there, motionless as my pulse slowed to something approaching sanity, then slowly got up and sat on the edge of the bed. I stared down at the slightly-worn hotel room carpet, my elbows on my knees, my fingers tangled in my hair.

Just a nightmare.

Finally I straightened, my eyes flicking to the bedside clock. At least two hours till dawn. I sighed, then lurched to my feet and trudged into the bathroom. I relieved myself, then turned to the sink, the tile floor icy beneath my bare feet as I filled the basin with steaming-hot water. I splashed my face several times, then propped my hands on the edge of the sink and stared at my dripping image in the mirror.

A nightmare, or a warning?

A corner of my image's mouth quirked upwards sardonically. As if I needed warning. I shook my head and sighed, then reached for a towel.

There was no way in hell I'd ever get back to sleep, so I spent the remainder of the night at a 24-hour diner several miles up the road, staring into a cup of coffee and wishing for something stronger. The thin grey light of a Georgia winter dawn found me back in the motel lobby, downing still more java and waiting for the crew to come trudging in.

They finally did, with the shaggy bulk of Austin leading the bedraggled pack. None of us, flight crew or support, felt particularly chipper after arriving well after midnight, but Austin and Company had been stuck with the job of fitting a 92-foot wide aircraft into a 95-foot hangar long after the rest of us had left to find someplace to sack out.

Without so much as a glance at me, Austin made a beeline for the coffee urn, pouring himself a large Styrofoam cup's worth of the bitter brew. Wordlessly he plunked down in the seat opposite me, and proceeded to down most of the cup's scalding contents before even acknowledging my presence.

I felt the corner of my mouth curving up into a sympathetic smile. "That bad, huh?"

Austin snorted, then shook his head tiredly. "Shee-it, Sarge. Glad there wasn't another coat of paint on those hangar walls, else we'd never've gotten that momma in there." He slugged back some more coffee. "We didn't get to the motel till around 0400, and now we gotta go right back out again."

"Really? I thought the contractor was going to handle the fuel cell inspection."

"They are," Austin sighed, "but their specs are out of date for our planes. I brought the updates with me, but I gotta walk through 'em with the guys that're gonna do the work." He started to sip his coffee again, realized he'd emptied his cup, and made a quick detour to the urn for another load. "Sarge, as soon's I'm sure them guys know which end's up I'm gonna release my crew to get some more shut-eye. That okay?"

I nodded. "Fine with me, Austin. How long do you think this'll take?"

Austin rubbed his bristly jaw with a work-scarred hand. "Well, assumin' these guys can tell up from down and there's nothin' wrong with the fuel cells, I'd say we'll be done by tomorrow evening."

"Good." I smiled, a trifle grimly. "That gives me time to run some errands."
 

I glanced once more at the scrap of paper, then at the house. It was a modest little suburban split-level, built sometime within the last ten years and nestled amongst other, similar homes in a quiet neighborhood. I experienced a stab of envy as I studied it, then snorted quietly as I realized the absurdity of the emotion.

I locked the car and trudged up the walk, turning the collar of my coat up against the raw winter wind. There was a buzzer by the door so I pressed it, and a few moments later the door opened. The woman's eyes widened as she spotted me, her face breaking out into the sunny smile that I remembered so well. "Michael! What the hell are you doing here?"

I smiled slightly in return, my eyes measuring the lines in her face, the splashes of grey in her honey-colored hair. "Passing through. Thought I'd drop in and visit." I paused. "May I come in?"

"What? Oh! Sure! Come on in!" Still smiling, she stepped to one side, then turned to call into the house. "Tom? Come on out here and see who's come to visit!" She then led me toward the living room sofa situated in front of their fireplace. I sat, my eyes quickly taking in the small fire burning upon the hearth, the various pictures upon the walls and mantelpiece, the modest furniture while she found a seat opposite me, her eyes studying me. "How long's it been this time? Three years? What're you doing these days?"

"Roughly three years. Same old stuff."

She grimaced. "You still doing that spy crap? When're you going to get tired of that junk and get yourself a real job?"

I felt a twinge of irritation, but was saved a reply when a thin young man wandered into the room. "Who is it, Mickey? Oh. Hello, Mike." Tom smiled from near the kitchen entranceway, but as usual his eyes were wary of me.

I ignored him after a curt nod, for the real reason for my visit came running into the room behind Tom in a flurry of stubby legs at that moment, to slam to a halt as their owner caught sight of me, huge blue eyes growing wide and solemn.

"Oh, look who's here!" Mickey quickly moved forward to scoop the young child up into her arms, then turned to show her to me. "Anna, this is your Uncle Mike! Would you like to say hello to him?"

Anna didn't reply, simply continued to gaze at me soberly, seeming to study me with all her soul. Within myself, a conviction grew.

"Anna?" Mickey glanced curiously at her daughter, giving her a little bounce to get her attention, but Anna's eyes remained fixed on me. "That's odd," my sister smiled, embarrassed "most of the time I can't get her to shut up."

Mickey set Anna down, but the toddler remained where she was, watching me. Sensing something, my sister frowned, but I gave her a slight smile to reassure her. Turning, I reached into the bag I'd brought with me and pulled out a toy. "I thought she'd like this. Picked it up in the Caribbean."

"Oh!" Mickey snatched the toy out of my hand with a nervous motion and showed it to her silent daughter. "Look, Anna, it's a puppet! Do you know what this looks like? It looks just like a shark! Oh, look at all those teeth!" Making mock-growling noises, my sister used the hand-puppet to make little grabbing motions at her daughter's nose. Anna giggled, distracted at last, and hugged the plushy toy to her cheek.

Things seemed to loosen up a little after that. Mickey played with Anna a little more while Tom quietly went into the kitchen to make coffee. Once the coffee was served, my sister and I sat around awhile and talked about this and that while Tom kept Anna entertained.

As usual, I kept quiet except for small encouraging noises while Mickey talked, listening to what was behind the words rather than the words themselves. Surreptitiously I studied my sister as she went on about the weather, her work, all the little worries that so fascinate civilians, confirming to myself what I already knew.

My sister was human, so purely so that I found myself uncomfortable in her presence. But then, I'd known that for as long as I could remember. I shook my head slightly in a vain effort to rid myself of bitter memories.

The feeling of something gently gripping my right leg wrenched me out of my reverie. I looked down to see Anna there, hugging my calf and staring into my face with a very un-childlike intensity.

"Aw, isn't that cute? I think she likes you."

I made polite noises to my sister, and didn't tell her my suspicions that neither like nor dislike had anything to do with it. I looked back at my niece for an interminable time, then smiled at her. She responded with a small smile of her own, then shyly hid her face against my trouser leg.

I nodded to myself, then started as if I had just remembered something. With an abrupt motion I glanced at my watch. "Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to get back to the airport. Maybe we can have lunch tomorrow?"

My sister's face fell, but she quickly recovered. "Well, of course. I'm sorry if we made you late for something."

"No, not too late." I smiled wryly as I stood. "Not yet, anyway." We made arrangements, then I got out of there as quickly as I could, leaving my sister standing in the doorway, looking slightly forlorn as she waved goodbye.

For a house less than ten years old, the window latch was insultingly simple. I discarded the strip of stiff plastic I'd slipped the catch with, then carefully worked the window open the handful of inches that I needed. A moment of concentration, an instant of twisting pain and pressure, then I was springing upwards onto the sill and squeezing through the now-huge gap.

I paused on the inner sill to listen to the sounds of the slumbering household, but heard no reaction to my invasion. I then darted forward, flitting across the dimly-lit room to perch upon the rail of the crib that was the room's sole piece of furniture.

Anna was awake, and staring up at me.

I waited, cringing inwardly, for the screech of terror that any human child would make when she realized what was sitting above her, a howl that would tell me that both my hopes and my fears had been for nothing.

There was indeed a cry, but of joy, not fear. Stunned, I didn't react as small hands still thick with baby fat reached to lift me down from my perch, placing me gently if clumsily onto the blankets. She began to pet me, and I hurriedly folded my spines down flat as her eyes drank in my gleaming form, a happy gurgling noise pouring from her lips as her chubby little hands patted at my armored length. I studied her in turn, with a mixture of satisfaction and sadness, wondering just how I was going to handle this new problem.

The decision was taken out of my hands when I realized that a glow no human eye would ever see was beginning to emanate from the child. Shocked, I watched that aura begin to grow brighter; slowly at first, then more swiftly, its dull crimson hue beginning to slide rapidly up the spectrum, almost eye-hurtingly bright now as it rose past sapphire and reached for the blue-black of purest power.

No! I grabbed at that glow with my own power, wrestled with it, frantically bound it with skein upon skein of blue-black filigree, wrapped it, damped it, smothered it.

The glow about the little body guttered, then slowly faded to darkness. I continued to weave pattern after pattern about her, Anna's eyelids drooping sleepily as my spells began to take effect.

"I'm sorry, little one, but this is the way it must be, if I am to keep you safe." I sighed quietly, studying the now-slumbering child. "Perhaps someday you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I know that I will never forgive myself."

I gazed upon her inert form for a moment more, allowed myself the luxury of running my talons through her fine golden hair, then set about weaving one last pattern. One of forgetfulness. I would not have her dreams haunted by those strange longings that had tormented me in the days of my own youth.

Another moment of silent study, another moment of quiet regret, then the door latch rattled softly. Instantly I was out of the crib and darting behind the window drapes as the bedroom door slowly swung open.

"Anna?" A pause, then I heard my sister moving to the crib to check on her daughter. There was a rustling of cloth as Mickey pulled the blankets back over the sleeping child, then she left the room, the door closing with a quiet click as I wormed my way back out the window.

Goodbye, Anna. . . .

The fuel cell work took almost two days, which was about what I had expected. On the third day following the encounter with my sister and her family we were once again wheels-up and headed south. We soon arrived in Orlando, where I and my maintenance crew parted ways; they and the aircraft returned to the Caribbean, while I grabbed a commercial flight back to the Republic of Panama.

The flight was without incident, and soon I was again looking down upon the steaming jungles of Panama. Sergeant Pohl, the new man in our office, was nice enough to pick me up at the commercial airport and bring me back to the base.

There were papers waiting for me on my desk when I walked into my office.

"You don't seem too happy to see those."

I looked up to see CW4 Baldwell leaning just a bit too casually against the door frame, studying me. I hesitated, then stared down at the orders for a moment more before speaking. What does one say, what does one do, when faced with the passing of something that has been a part of your life for almost as long as you can remember? "I don't know, sir. Maybe it just hasn't soaked in, yet."

"Yeah." He gave me a wry smile. "I've seen a lot of people get those orders in my time, and they all seem to react the same way; a little happy, more than a little sad, and laid over top of it all a feelin' of 'just what in the hell am I doin'?!?'"

I felt myself break into a smile as I chuckled ruefully. "Yeah. I think you got it right, sir."

"So when do you start out-processing?"

"Well," I peered at the papers "according to these, I should have started two days ago. Damn. When will I ever get orders on time?"

Baldwell laughed. "Looks like never, now. Go on and take the rest of the day off, Sarge, and get started first thing tomorrow. Give me a call if you need anything."

"Thanks, sir."

"They are letting you go? They are releasing you from your oaths?"

I allowed myself a small, warm smile as I listened to the emotions behind the words. "Yes, my Lady; they moved the schedule up a little bit." I paused, then grimaced ruefully into the receiver. "If I didn't know better, I'd say they couldn't wait to get rid of me."

There was a long silence, and as I listened to the faint electronic song of the transoceanic line I realized that Dithra was seriously considering my words. For some reason, it brought home to me just how different the ancient creature at the other end of the connection was. "Do you truly think that is the case, young one? Do you think that they suspect? Perhaps we should get you out of there--"

"No, milady, no; it's quite all right. That was-- That was just me being foolish, I suppose," I sighed "I guess I was hoping for a little more, well, regret on their part to see me go."

There was another long pause. "These structures, these organizations that humans seem to insist upon wrapping themselves up in, they have never hinted that they are capable of showing emotion." Dithra began slowly. "But I have known individual humans to show regret for the loss of others, be they friends, relations, simple companions, or even respected adversaries. In this way at least some of them are very much like us, young one. You will see." A sigh came to me from over some distant electronic horizon. "If only the others would allow themselves to see it."

I nodded silently, forgetting for a moment that Dithra would be unable to see it. Perhaps she knew more about human nature than I suspected. "That would require them to let go of their hate, and I have found many people, both human and ourselves, who seem to love their hatreds above all else." And I, of course, was an expert on that particular subject, now wasn't I? The thought startled me; I rolled it around in my head, decided I didn't like the feel of it.

"Yes; that is so." Dithra paused again, then finally gave me the news I'd been waiting to hear. "I am sorry, young one. My spies are still unable to locate your children. They are certain they remain in North America, but where, we do not know."

I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the payphone's corroded metal, then forced myself to listen as Dithra continued. "My agents have also brought me news of movement from amidst the Council."

"Movement?"

"It has an interesting feel to it. Discreet, as if a part of the Council were doing something that it didn't want the remainder to be made aware of."

I chuckled quietly. "Maybe someone over there has come to their senses. Maybe someone's getting ready to toss Ahnkar and his cronies out on their ears and ask you back."

"That would be wonderful, but perhaps a bit too much to hope for. It would be more prudent to assume that someone may be readying another try for you."

Oh God, not again. "One had hopes that they would have learned a few things from our last meeting."

"I have no doubt that they did, but you yourself pointed out to me, young one, that desperation can goad one into actions that in a calmer moment would appear less than sane. I will pass this information on to Stefan. He will contact you shortly."

I blinked. "Stefan is here? In this country?"

"But of course. Surely you didn't think that we would leave you out there alone and unprotected, dear one?"

Several emotions went through me, mostly exasperation with a healthy dose of trepidation, but also warmth towards the ancient being at the other end of the line. "I suppose not. But Stefan? My Lady, this isthmus is one of the most strategically sensitive locations in all the world. Not long ago the Americans waged war here in order to keep it politically stable, and the entire area is swarming with Intelligence and Counterintelligence personnel. If one of them recognizes Stefan. . . ."

Dithra considered this. "I will pass on your concerns," she finally replied "but Stefan will remain. Please understand, young one, that he is my best agent. Also, I believe that he would insist upon staying."

"Yes, I suppose he would," I sighed. Why? I don't know. For some reason the ex-Stasi agent had grown attached to me, occasionally to the point that one could even call it hero worship. I shuddered. Yeah, right; as if there were something to worship in a dumb, worn-out old goon who just happened to have a very big gun. I changed the subject. "Any word on Pasqual?"

"I regret not, but I would be deeply disappointed if she wasn't caring for your children." Pause. "Hasai, I must know; what are your feelings towards Pasqual?"

I drew in a long, slow breath, then let it out. I looked upwards, to blindly study the mildewed concrete wall the battered payphone was bolted to. "She lied to me, Dithra. She betrayed us."

I heard the quiet hiss of an indrawn breath as Dithra absorbed my brutal words. "I understand that she lied to you, Hasai, but that was because she was being lied to in turn. What makes you think that she betrayed us?"

"My Lady, don't you think that Ahnkar's takeover of the Council was just a little too well timed? You leave them to meet with me, where you learn things that could destroy him. You return to the Council intending to strip him of power, to find him ready and waiting for you." I snorted quietly. "I don't believe in coincidences, Dithra. In our line of work, they just don't happen."

There was a period of silence, long enough for me to wonder if Dithra had hung up on me, then finally a sigh. "I hope you are wrong in this, dear one. I truly hope that you are wrong."

"If it's any consolation, my Lady, I hope I'm wrong, too. But I don't think I am."

"What are we going to do with her, Hasai? No matter what else, she will still be the mother of your children."

"Yes. I suppose. . . ." I trailed off, tried again. "I suppose that's a question that Pasqual herself will have to answer, next time we catch up to her." I glanced down one of the dark, litter-strewn streets of one of Panama City's dingier areas. "I had better go. We've been on this line for far too long."

"Good night then, dear one, and please, be careful. We need you."

I smiled wistfully. "Glad someone does. Good night, Dithra."

"ATTENTION TO ORDERS. This is to certify that the Secretary of the Army . . . "

At least it wasn't raining, for once.

"For meritorious service while serving . . . "

I stood before the rest of the unit, staring out over the heads of the soldiers who faced me, out across the P.T. field and into the emerald-green hills of the surrounding jungle.

"Your exemplary . . ."

Just to the left of my line of sight was the notch that led to the Pacific. On some nights, when the wind was just right, you could hear the surf pounding the beach from here.

". . . and singularly distinctive service marks you as a true professional. Your performance reflects great credit upon you, your unit, and the United States Army."

The company CO pinned the bit of ribbon to the front of my uniform, smiled at me, then shook my hand. "Congratulations, sergeant."

"Thank you sir," I replied, and saluted. The CO stepped to the side, to be replaced by the battalion commander. He too shook my hand, slipping something metallic into my palm as he did so. "Good luck, sergeant, and thanks."

"Thank you, colonel."

The brigade CSM didn't speak when it was his turn; we'd said everything that needed to be said the previous day. He merely winked and smiled as his leathery paw crushed my hand.

The unit formation was dismissed, but most lined up to say goodbye first. Specialist Kent was right up front. He'd somehow gotten a roomful of professional soldiers to sing me Happy Birthday once, while we were on a job out in the islands of the Caribbean. He was followed by SFC Cerrulo, the slim, dapper, deadly Cuban. I will always remember him standing in a jungle lab, literally up to his waist in bags of purest cocaine, holding in his hands enough of the glittering white powder to pay for his children's educations at the finest colleges of the world, then taking it all out and destroying it. Then there was Sergeant Pohl. I studied his florid, smiling face as we exchanged brief words. It was to him that my job fell now, and I wished him well.

There were more, each with their own name and memories, and scattered among them were others, the shades of friends and acquaintances whom I had left behind long ago.

A certain dark, rapier-lean SFC who wore a round hat and rarely smiled.

The Special Operations colonel who first showed me what it meant to be a soldier, and who died in a hail of bullets in the streets of San Salvador.

Specialist Hendricks, who vanished without a trace on the East German frontier one frigid winter night.

Paul, the burly Green Beret with the outrageous mustache, whose laughter and love of life filled to overflowing any room he entered, and who never came back from the Persian Gulf.

Diane.

The crowd finally petered out and my ordeal ended. I stood there uncertainly for a moment as I watched them walk away, then turned and dazedly trudged the short distance back to the barracks, slowly climbed the stairs to my quarters. Somehow I found myself sitting on my bunk, next to a window with a small, slag-rimmed hole burned through its aluminum frame, surrounded by the ashes of a life's calling. Finally I opened my hand and looked down at what the battalion commander had given me. It was the unit coin. Roughly the size of a silver dollar, it weighed heavily in my hand as I stared at the unit crest that gleamed on one side, then turned it over to see a map of Central America ringed with a list of the operations we had seen together.

I stared at the map until the image began to waver in my sight, then closed my eyes, gripping the coin tightly as I let the tears come.

"It does not have to be this way."

I looked up from the crimson depths of my wine glass, and I knew him. Regardless of form, I knew him by the flames that danced in his eyes where a soul should have been.

I stared at the one who stood before my tiny table, my mind utterly blank with astonishment at first, then whiting out with purest rage as the implications of his words sank home. Over in the corner the idiotic pianist continued to plink away on some wildly inappropriate tune. At nearby tables conversations faded as other NCOs in the club's dining room sensed the sudden tension in the air.

Finally I spoke. "You dare."

The tall, expensively dressed, rather cadaverous gentleman standing before me tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Yes. I must speak with you, young one. A momentary truce, perhaps?"

Glowering at him, I fought for control. Ksstha was mad, but he was no fool. We both knew that a resumption of our little argument here, in the midst of a major military base, would seal our people's doom. I felt my mouth twist at the bitter irony of it, then gestured curtly at the chair facing me. "Sit."

A small smile curved Ksstha's patrician lips as he slid into the seat, conversations around us picking back up as the atmosphere seemed to ease. "No honorifics, young one? I had hoped that Stefan would teach you better."

"You helped cast out someone I deeply respect from her rightful position," I rasped, "and then backed her usurper. You rate no courtesy." I paused for breath, then leaned forward. "And I have yet to discern your involvement in . . . other matters."

I had expected him to flinch, but his dark eyes merely grew darker still. "Of all our people that survive, surely you must believe that I would have nothing to do with such a crime." Still holding my eyes with his, he made a curious, sideways chopping motion with his hand. "I tolerate Ahnkar because he is currently necessary. The moment that he ceases to be so--" He paused as his eyes drifted, staring just over my left shoulder for the space of several breaths at something only he could see, then resumed. "If you fail to kill him for what he has done, young Hasai, then be assured that I shall not."

A hint of a cold smile once again touched his face. "Speaking of Ahnkar, may I offer you my compliments? Your handling of him at our last encounter was quite . . ." the smile broadened, ". . . educational. Your goading of Ahnkar into accepting the onus of First Strike was a brilliant move. Several of your insults were amazingly vile, I must say. I shall make a point to remember them, for my own use someday."

I didn't have the faintest idea what a First Strike was or what it meant, but I filed the term away for future research. Frankly, I'd simply been trying to get Ahnkar to give me an excuse to kill him, but I wasn't about to let Ksstha know that. I kept my face impassive.

Some of the stone-hard glint faded from his eyes. "But enough of such things. I bring you news, young one. Your children have left their shells, and have opened their eyes to see the sun. They are vigorous and will grow large and strong. This is a wondrous day for our people, Hasai, marred only by their sire not being there to witness it."

I turned my face away from Ksstha, the sudden stinging in my eyes threatening to betray me. "Is this the reason you have come here? To bring me pain?"

A gesture of negation. "Hardly, young one. I came to remind you of your duties as both parent and warrior, and to entreat you to forsake them no longer." He leaned forward. "Your children know their mother, but they sense there is someone missing, and they search for him. Eventually, as it is among our young, they will give up that search and fasten upon another male, any male, as their father figure. And whom do you think that may be?" The hellish glow of his eyes grew brighter. "Ahnkar, perhaps?"

It was the sound of silverware on the brink of sliding to the floor that brought me to my senses. Slowly, I forced my hands to give up their grip on the hapless tablecloth. I took several deep shuddering breaths, then, still studying the wrinkled cloth, I shook my head. "What you don't understand, Ksstha, is that I have not abandoned my duties. You and Ahnkar gave me a choice; either I led my children and all the rest of our kind to utter destruction, for nothing more than your twisted dreams of revenge, or I defied you. My children know no father. That much is true. But they also know no one who will lead them to their deaths as shock troops in your futile little war."

"Not yet," he replied, his gaze distant.

"No, not yet, but I have delayed you, have I not? And the longer I delay you, the longer I have to come up with something, anything, to turn both you and Ahnkar away from this madness."

Ksstha's face was cold as he studied me silently for several long moments. The fabric of his clothing drank deeply of the subdued lighting, a sable richness relieved only by the occasional interwoven thread of darkest green. It struck me then how much his human guise resembled Vincent Price in his later years. Finally he spoke again. "What is it that you want, young one? What is it that you truly desire? Power? Land? A place upon the Council? Your own Line?" He made a small gesture that somehow encompassed far more than just the contents of the room. "You seem to be fond of these Americans. Do you wish them?" His calculating eyes flicked about the room for an instant. "Join us, and I will give them to you."

I blinked in shock, then felt my eyes narrow. "I thought you wanted them dead, Ksstha."

A ghost of a smile. "That is truth indeed, young one. If it would mean the destruction of their kind, I would pluck the heart from my breast and offer it to you this very moment." He sighed. "I would even allow some of them to live, as your vassals." Ksstha paused, then leaned forward, his ancient eyes intent. "Join us, Shen-Lung, and these lands will be yours and your Line's; from these jungles to the eternal ice, from one ocean to the next, they will be yours to do with as you wish. Forever." He seemed to gather himself. "Join us, Hasai." Another pause, then a monumental effort that must have cost him everything. "Please."

All these things I will give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me. A portion of my mind gibbered crazily at the scope of what Ksstha was offering as I hesitated, pondering my next words. Finally, I spoke. "Elder, I must know. Why?"

He stared at me for a moment, utterly motionless. Finally, slowly, he gestured agreement. "Yes. Yes, you must. For then you will truly understand."

His eyes returned to studying that point beyond my left shoulder then, and for long minutes he simply sat there. Finally he spoke. "Have you ever been to the land that the humans call Siberia, young Hasai?"

I gestured negation, and his lips curled upwards in a sad smile. "A pity. It is a place of incredible beauty. A strong place, where the plains, the forests, the waters, and yes, even the weather seems to seethe with a passion for life that I have seen nowhere else in this world. The humans consider it hell. We considered it Paradise.

"My clan had dwelled in that place for as far back as we could remember, and we flourished. Disputes were few, for the land was vast and the prey were without end, and there was always enough to fill everyone's belly."

For a moment, I saw in Ksstha's face something of the creature he had been, so very long ago. Someone who had known happiness, who had found joy in beauty. Someone who, perhaps, I could have respected and admired, maybe even called friend. Then the expression on his face became one of chill amusement, and the moment was gone. "Then they came. They were such pathetic little creatures at first, many of them dying each winter. It was only because they bred like flies that the land did not succeed in exterminating them altogether. We watched them from afar, amused by their antics, and, perhaps, impressed by their determination to survive in a place that so ill-suited them. Otherwise, we left them alone."

His expression sobered. "That was our error, for had we studied them more closely, we would have learned of their malice. Have you not felt it, young one? It reverberates in the outraged wails of their young in the moment that they first draw breath and realize how cruelly they have been molded by this uncaring world, and echoes throughout their lives as they then seek revenge against the land that gave them their pathetic forms. From the belly of the earth herself they rip the fangs and claws denied them, and then use those tools to dominate all that had once dominated them.

"And that which they cannot dominate, they destroy. They knew that we would never bow to the likes of them, so in the dead of night they stole into our lairs, and fell upon us as we slept. We awakened, and we slew. And we slew and we slew and we slew. But it was not enough, and they dragged us down. Little more than a hatchling, I watched as my brothers and sisters died beneath their spears, then my mother, then, finally, my father. Slashed in a thousand places, his eyes red ruin from their weapons, he cried out in a voice so filled with despair that I hear it even now, and fell dead, leaving me alone. With them."

He paused for a long moment, his eyes utter darkness. "Myself they did not kill, but instead beat upon me until I could fight no more. They bound me, then dragged me from what had once been my home, to their own dwelling place. There, they broke my legs so I could not run, broke my wings so I could not fly, then let me live. Captive. A living trophy."

A wintry smile touched Ksstha's lips, his eyes once again distant. "And that was the mistake on their part. A fatal one. I lived. Through all their torments and indignities I lived, and studied them, and learned. I learned how to lie, how to feign weakness where there was none, how to make them believe they had broken me to their will. And I learned their most precious secret; how to hate. It was hatred that gave me the strength to re-break my useless limbs one by one, pulling and twisting at them until the bones finally set straight. It took many years, but what do years matter, to a dragon? At long last the night of vengeance came, and I was ready. I undid my shackles, a puzzle I had solved long before. Then, while my tormentors slept, I visited them in their dwellings, and slew them all."

"And that wasn't enough."

"No, young one, it was not, for when I left that place of death I discovered that what had happened to my family had befallen the rest of the clan as well. I was the last of my Line. The humans have taken everything away from me, so now I endeavor to take everything away from them, including their lives." Ksstha's smile briefly became one of grim satisfaction. "The tribe of humans that invaded our lands no longer exists; their last remnants fled to the east and across the sea to escape my wrath. But as I was dealing with them, others of their kind were spreading to other dragon lands. I tried to give warning, but the other clans would not listen at first. They refused to believe that these pathetic little creatures could be so dangerous, but they soon learned the price of their arrogance. Oh, how they learned."

Ksstha's eyes glinted. "Finally, when they found themselves being driven from their homes, they listened to me. It was I as the first leader of the Council who created, then strengthened its traditions in the hopes of having dragons speaking as one voice, acting as one will, and it was I who gathered our kind and led us against the humans in our first effort to wrest back what we had lost."

"And failed."

Ksstha's gaze lowered. "And failed. We had waited too long. We razed their dwelling places, slew them without number, and yet it was not enough, for we died as well. In the end we were forced to flee, leaving the field to the humans. It was many, many years before we regained even a shadow of our former strength, and by then the humans had overwhelmed the world."

"And now you want to try again."

"Yes. Your Lung ancestors would not support us in our first conflict, deciding instead to try to foster and guide the humans in their own lands rather than fight them. Now the Lung are gone, slaughtered by the very ones they cared for." Ksstha's head came up, and the flames were once again in his eyes. "But we have their blood. As we fled the aftermath of that battle so long ago, we realized that we would never conquer the humans as long as the Lung remained aloof and the secret of tools remained the sole domain of the humans. So we gathered our best, the few Lung that felt as we did, our mightiest Magi, and the last of the Lifeweavers, and began to Create. You are the result. You owe your existence to us, Hasai, and we call upon that debt. You and your children shall be our Lung and our tool-users, and with your power at our command we will at long last rid our world of this pestilence."

"No matter the cost, Ksstha?" I grated harshly, "To us? To our children? To the world itself?"

If anger had kindled in his eyes, or even nothing at all, I could have handled it. But it was the look of utter sadness that I saw instead that chilled me to the bone. "No matter the cost, young one. No matter the cost."

There was a moment of silence, during which I idly stroked my hand down the side of the big four-engine turboprop, its scarlet and white finish gleaming in the arc lights of the airstrip's main apron later that night. "We talked a bit more, but there really didn't seem much left to say. He finally decided I wasn't going to see things his way, and left."

Stefan blinked, arched an eyebrow, then turned to survey our surroundings. He looked rather odd in Air Force fatigues, and I had no doubt Security would have had collective apoplexy if they ever found out how easily he'd penetrated their perimeter defenses. "Approaching you in the midst of a military base. Ingenious." He turned back to me. "It seems that our dear Elder is not as mad as we thought."

I chuckled darkly. "Oh, no, Stefan; Ksstha's not mad. His mind is perfectly clear." I lifted my head to stare at the brilliant stars above, a line from Apocalypse Now coming back to me. I shuddered. "It's his soul that's insane." I looked at Stefan. "There's something else. Just as he turned to leave, he stopped, turned back, and apologized to me."

Stefan stood very still. "Apologized? Ksstha? Did he say for what?"

I shook my head, troubled. "No, he left then."

The former Stasi agent considered this for a long moment, then nodded. "Indeed." He looked at me, his eyes glinting darkly. "This is very bad. He is our greatest threat, my Lord, and he means you ill." He paused, his eyes dropping to the pavement. Finally he looked up to once again meet my gaze. "He should be eliminated."

I stared at him as he plunged doggedly on. "My Lord, please; I beg you to hear me out. Ksstha is our kind's greatest warrior, and a gifted strategist. He was our first true leader, as he has told you, and to many of us is nothing less than a living legend. Among us he has another name, did you know?" Stefan made a series of sounds that a human would be hard-put to imitate. "It does not translate well. In some contexts it would mean 'seeker of battle,' in others it would mean 'Death's Hunter.'"

I smiled slightly. "Hunter for Death, or Hunter of Death?"

Stefan didn't return my smile. "Both, my Lord."

I stood there, digesting that, as Stefan continued. "Having failed in this final attempt to convert you, my Lord, Ksstha will now attack. And when he does so, it will not be the clumsy, emotional thrashing that Ahnkar so shamed himself with. Instead, it will be cunning, it will be swift, and it will succeed."

I snorted. "Like those grabs of his in Baltimore?" I shot back sardonically.

"No, my Lord. He did not have your measure then. He does now, and this time he will not use proxies." Stefan seemed to struggle with himself. "My Lord, our Lady Dithra has forbidden me to take lethal action against our adversaries, and, for the most part, I believe she is right. In this case, however, I think that you can see the situation more clearly. We must not allow Ksstha to choose his time and place."

A pause, then Stefan braced himself into formal posture. "My Lord, I request your permission to kill him."

I stared into Stefan's eyes for a long hard moment, then my gaze slowly lowered to study the concrete beneath my feet. I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. Has it come to this so quickly? What is wrong, with both Man and Dragon, that makes conversations like these so often necessary? With no little effort I put my emotions aside and forced myself to examine Stefan's proposal. Ksstha was indeed an extreme danger. The safest thing would be to neutralize him somehow, and after looking into those dark, burning eyes, I knew that the only thing that would ever stop Ksstha would be death.

But would we succeed? Stefan had tangled with that ancient warrior once, and had only emerged victorious by abruptly switching to human-style combat tactics. Ksstha did not strike me as someone who fell for the same trick twice. As I gazed at Stefan with hooded eyes, I realized that the young dragon had little chance of surviving a second encounter. I also knew that Stefan was more than intelligent enough to realize this as well. And yet he was ready to launch himself at Ksstha's throat again, with but a single word from me. I felt shamed by my unworthiness in the face of such self-sacrifice as I frantically cast about for some excuse that would preserve Stefan's life. "Not quite yet. Yes, he is a threat, but even more so for Ahnkar. I doubt that Ahnkar's fool enough to trust him, so Ksstha's presence is probably forcing Ahnkar to waste resources guarding his back. Also, there's the possibility Ksstha will take care of Ahnkar for us, in a way that won't place my children in jeopardy. We'll let him be for now."

Damn, but that was lame, and transparent as hell. Stefan's mouth compressed into a straight line, silently advertising the agent's opinion of my reluctance. "As you wish, my Lord. When will you be departing this place?"

"Two days from now. There's a charter that leaves here once a week. I'll be on it." I quickly switched subjects, trying to put distance between us and the previous topic. "I've been thinking about something, Stefan, and the more I think about it the more confused I become. In our last encounter with the Council, I finally saw Pasqual in her true form. She was like me, Stefan; we could be brother and sister, we appear so alike. Why does the Council want me when they have Pasqual?"

Stefan looked puzzled by my question for a moment, then his head jerked upwards slightly as comprehension dawned. "Ah. Forgive me, my Lord. I should have informed you of this long before now." He smiled ruefully. "It is something that our kind has always had to live with, and I suppose such things are always the first forgotten."

Stefan shook his head, sobering. "My Lord, have you not gazed upon yourself, myself, Lady Dithra, the members of the Council, and wondered at our physical differences? No two dragons are alike, because our kind's genetic structure, that which makes each of us ourselves, is not stable."

I blinked, and Stefan smiled in answer to my silent question. "Why this is so, we do not know. Perhaps it is the same reason that we are the only higher order with six limbs instead of four? Or bring forth young so rarely?" He shrugged eloquently. "The consequences, however, are obvious. Only you, my Lord, and Pasqual together can give our kind the children that we need."

I stared at Stefan for a moment, digesting this, then grimaced. "In other words, only with our genes reinforcing one another will you get the right kids. Mix me or Pasqual with anyone else and you get Pot Luck." I sighed. "And the way our luck's been going, the traits you need from us are recessive, to boot."

Stefan thought about it. "I have little doubt you are right, my Lord." He smiled then, for a moment looking quite the rogue. "Which means, I suspect, that when we succeed in resolving our current problems, my Lord and Lady Pasqual will be kept quite. . .busy, for a long time to come."

I sputtered, heat rising to my cheeks, and Stefan actually chuckled at the expression on my face. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I find human morals on the subject more than a little amusing, and I could not resist."

I glared at the former Stasi agent for a moment, but I could not hold it. Finally I was forced to laugh as well. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, wise guy, you've had your fun." I glanced about the darkened flightline. "Now you'd better get out of here; we're really pushing our luck. Meet you up in the States. Keep an eye on Ksstha, will you?"

"Of course, my Lord, but I must ask a favor of you." Stefan paused, suddenly growing deathly serious. "Stay on the base. Until your flight leaves, stray not one step away from this place. If you do, Ksstha will be waiting."

I began to speak, hesitated for a moment as the first fragments of an idea began to form in the back of my head. "I'll do what I can, Stefan," I finally promised.

My former enemy studied my words, grimaced, then sighed. "Very well, my Lord. Please; be careful, and I pray to the Ancestors that I see you soon, safe and whole, up north." With that, Stefan gave me a small, hesitant smile, bowed slightly, then turned and walked away, looking for all the world like just another Air Force tech on the job as he vanished into the darkness. I lingered for a bit, leaning against the big aircraft's gleaming flank, some of the tension draining out of me as I quietly savored the warm, damp darkness. I was going to miss this, I knew. For some crazy reason I was going to regret leaving this soggy, mildewed piece of real estate out in the middle of the jungle . . . .

I sighed, gave the silent aircraft a last, parting pat. Then I trudged over to Hangar Two, heading for the hangar's south side, where our maintenance shop was located. The lights were on and Austin was there, as usual. I found him at his desk, hunched over a small mountain of paperwork. He looked up when I came in. "Hey, Sarge. What're you doin' out here in the middle of the night?"

I smiled wanly. "Oh, just wandering around a bit. The movers picked up all my stuff today, so it was either that or sit in my room and stare at the bare walls."

Austin chuckled. "Takin' a last look at things?"

"Yeah." I let my eyes wander idly, noticed the Pratt&Whitney PT-6 turbine in its engine stand. "Is that the engine that knucklehead pilot redlined down in Bolivia?"

"Afraid so." Austin sighed, putting down his pen. "Just got the metallurgical tests back from the lab a couple days ago. Blades're shot. Temper's drawn right out of them."

I winced. "Great. A $375,000 paperweight. Just what we need. Y'know, the review board concluded it was a bad fuel control."

The shaggy mechanic blinked. "They what? Aw, man," groaning, he cradled his face in his hands for a moment, then straightened and jabbed a callused finger at the hapless engine. "That's the biggest pile of crap I've heard all year. There was nothin' wrong with that fuel control. In fact, I stripped it off when we pulled the engine, and right now that control is in a nacelle on one of the other planes and workin' just fine. It was that shithead pilot not botherin' to use his checklist that did that engine in, and nothin' else."

I sighed, then chuckled sadly. "Yeah, well. I suppose that's what you get when you have a bunch of pilots reviewing another pilot." I turned then, and looked Austin in the eyes. "I'll tell you one thing, though; the word is out. That guy won't be flying any of our aircraft ever again."

"I hope you're right." Austin rubbed at his eyes, then stared down at the paperwork. "I've got to get this stuff done. You hangin' around these parts much longer?"

"I have a few more days, mostly tying up loose ends."

"Well," he slowly lurched to his feet and offered me his huge paw. "Here's in case our paths don't cross again. You've been good to work with, Sarge. We're gonna miss you in this shop."

I stared at the offered hand for a moment, then gripped it, fighting to keep my voice level. "You and the boys take care of yourselves, Austin." Then, with my face turned so he couldn't see I quickly left.

It was shortly after dark the next evening and I was aloft and headed for the interior, searching the forest canopy below with dragon eyes.

The tiny, ragged clearing was almost gone, swiftly being erased by the voracious jungle. It was more luck than anything else that I found it again. I brought myself down to roughly human-size to clear the encroaching trees and alighted at the foot of a tumbled mound of ancient stone blocks, now smothered in vines and other new growth. There I coiled for a while, staring up at it in silence.

I'll be leaving you soon, baby.

I don't want to, but I have no choice. I have children who need me, and right or wrong, they're my responsibility. That means I have to head north.

. . . .I don't know if I'll ever be back.

God, Ancestors, how I hope you understand. . . .

I leaned forward and placed a hand against one of the huge stones for a moment, my eyes closed. Remembering. Regretting. With a sigh I finally let my hand drop, then used it to fumble in one of the pouches of the aviator's survival vest I'd draped around my neck, at last coming up with a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.

I stared at it for long moments, my fingers lovingly stroking the fabric. Then I dug a small hole at the base of the stone with my talons. Slowly, gently, I laid the bundle into the hole, then carefully filled it back in.

Goodbye, baby. . . .

"Your Name is Michael."

I'd been anticipating that voice, telling me the trap had been sprung. But to hear it speaking that Name sent a jolt of sheer terror through my armored frame. I spun around in an instant, rapidly zooming to full size as my fangs bared themselves for the attack. But it was already too late. A twisted ribbon of power, glowing an all-too familiar sullen crimson hue, came darting out of the darkened jungle, the leading end striking like a rattlesnake. Before I could move, it had plunged itself deeply into my chest, brushed past all defenses and with talons of ice seized hold of something within me.

It was neither pain nor agony that sent slivers of utter cold spider-webbing throughout my frame, but something so far beyond those things that it could only be called damnation. My entire body locked, my head thrown back, every muscle spasming at the presence of the annihilation that seethed within me. Breath came in tiny, ragged gasps. I could not even scream.

It was at the corner of one blurred, streaming eye that I saw the air at the edge of the clearing seem to ripple and split apart, revealing an ancient dragoness with scales very nearly as dark and scored as Ksstha's. Her pale blue eyes studied me impassively, almost coldly, her forepaws carefully cradled a swirling globe of red-orange magefire from which issued the leash that held me.

"And so it has come to this." The horrible grip upon me eased slightly, enough for me to turn my head the barest amount needed for me to see the speaker. Ksstha's burning eyes once again held that grim sadness as he stood there regarding me, both dragons' bodies seeming to shimmer from the strength of the shields they held against me in spite of the tether that held me fast. "I prayed to the Ancestors that this would not be necessary, young one, but you gave me no choice, and you are far too powerful, far too dangerous an adversary to be dealt with in any honorable manner."

I ached to spit in his face, to tell him just what I thought of his precious regrets. I'd known Ksstha was aware of this place, and had deliberately come here, as we'd both known I would, to bring his assault to a time and place of my choosing. All about me I could see the dimly glowing filigree of my combat spells, the deadliest patterns in my armory all within easy reach, but the hellish thing which had snared my innermost self held me immobile. Within me, the darkness at the bottom of my soul seethed with rage, reviling me for the altruism that had brought me out here alone.

The tether flared and my muscles spasmed in response, forcing me into a parody of a bow of submission before the dark dragon. He gazed down at me somberly. "Your momentary rebellion is finished, young one. You will come with us now, and bow to me before the Council. Then you will swear fealty to me, denouncing Dithra and her ways, and declare eternal enmity toward the humans. With your words Dithra will be destroyed, and Ahnkar undermined. He will be forced to bow to me, and the way will be clear for me to resume my place as Eldest of the Council."

Anger and shame tore at me as my traitorous body held me in that humiliating posture. I couldn't tap the sky. Even the ability to shift back to human form was blocked. Within me, the darkness swirled like some murderous stygian storm, battering at the barriers that contained it.

Somehow Ksstha divined the rage within my frozen frame. "Your anger is useless, young one, and soon will not matter. For once I have finished with the Council and our adversaries, I will use your Name to reach into your mind. I will purge you of your memories of the past, and replace them with memories of the childhood you would have had, had we been more vigilant. Your misguided loyalties will be expunged, and replaced with the ones you must have if our people are to survive. In the end, you will follow me willingly, even joyfully, as we use your power to crush the humans at last."

Terror flooded through my heart. Within me something cracked, then collapsed, releasing a torrent of blackness to claw its way upwards, reaching. . . .

Ksstha's eye's slid away from me, to rest upon the vile ribbon that bound me. "I apologized to you once, young one, but I feel compelled to beg your forgiveness once again. What I do here. . . . " His head sagged with shame. "My honor is dust upon the wind. But I will sacrifice even that, if it means our kind will live--"

"How touching."

Both Ksstha and the magus started at the words, spoken in a quiet, mocking voice seething with hatred. They stared at me with alarm, and for a moment I felt confusion.

Then I realized that it had been I who had spoken.

There was a curious dislocation, as if I were now watching events from just above and behind my own left shoulders, and then my body began to rise from its humiliating crouch, a low, hateful chuckle rolling from my mouth. Instantly the magus' forepaws moved and a wave of white agony went sleeting through me like a wave of icy daggers, but the laughter merely grew louder. Eyes streaming, spittle dripping from my jaws, I felt quivering muscles straighten my limbs, then bend them again into a different, far more lethal posture.

His eyes wide with disbelief, shaking his head as if to clear it from some foul illusion, Ksstha took a step back. He risked a glance at his magus, to find her panting with effort, the ribbon flaring like a bonfire. It was obvious that something had gone seriously wrong. "This is not possible," he muttered distractedly. He stared at me, something that could almost have been fear seeping into his eyes.

That hard, hateful laughter rang in my ears as my right hand shot out to entangle itself within a nearby pattern and began to twist and warp. The complex web of arcane energy flared into actinic life, then slid sideways to place itself between me and the magus who held the end of my tether. Her eyes widened with alarm, but before she could react my flame was spearing forth, flowing through the pattern, changing from its customary azure to a smoky orange-black as it went, the purely physical attack passing effortlessly through her shields to splash liquidly against her, clinging to her, burning her.

Napalm.

The magus howled, the tether fraying into nothingness as her concentration failed and she thrashed, shrieking in agony as the hellish substance began to devour the flesh from her bones. But the ribbon had flared one last time before parting, the result leaving us screaming in unison. The entire left side of my body went numb, sending me crashing to the ground. Only Ksstha remained standing, and he stared at our two writhing forms in utter astonishment. An instant's indecision, then he sprang upon the stricken magus, beating at the hungry flames with paws that flared with blue-green power. The flames flickered and died, but not before doing grave damage to the dragoness.

With an utterly mad giggle trickling from my jaws, the blackness dragged me to my feet. Feeling was slowly coming back to my left side, but there was little strength. My left eye saw nothing but darkness. I tottered there for a moment as I fought for balance, then slowly swung my head toward Ksstha, the pattern moving smoothly with me. "And now, 'O Eldest,' it is time for you."

The dark dragon stared down at the whimpering form of his badly burned magus, then looked at me, his eyes slitted with revulsion. "We know your Name. No dragon, no matter how powerful, can defy his own Name! This is not possible!"

"Ah, but have you forgotten?" That vicious voice purred "I am only part dragon, 'O Eldest.' Did it not occur to you, fool, that the other part might have its own Name? A Name known only by the One?"

The laughter, if possible, grew louder as the dark dragon's eyes widened in horror and I was rocked with revelation, Ksstha's own words to me only a day earlier showing the way.

. . . .had we studied them more closely, we would have learned of their malice. Have you not felt it, young one? It reverberates in the outraged wails of their young in the moment that they first draw breath and realize how cruelly they have been molded by this uncaring world, and echoes throughout their lives as they then seek revenge against the land that gave them their pathetic forms. . . .

I had lived with this blackness, this nihilistic rage at the bottom of my heart for all of my life. I did not know from where it sprang, and there had been many times that I had feared that it would someday devour me entirely. I thought it was the dragon portion of my soul.

I was wrong.

It was the human part.

The darkness that was a part of me waited patiently, savoring the shudder that rippled across Ksstha's frame as the implications of my words sank home. I chuckled, my head tilting in a mockery of a draconic gesture. "Hunter of Death, you have found your prey at last. Time to die, Ksstha."

And with that the blackness arched my neck, gaped my jaws, and flamed. But there was something in my way. Something that smothered my flame and battered at me with vast feathered wings. Wings of opalescent green.

I yowled in both horror and longing, the blackness, suddenly cowed, diving back to the bottom of my soul, leaving me to face that endless green alone. I flinched aside, and as quickly as it had appeared, the apparition vanished.

I looked about wildly. Ksstha had disappeared as well, using the momentary distraction to gather his magus and beat a hasty retreat, but the dark dragon was far from my thoughts as my armored head whipped about, eyes frantically searching the surrounding forest and sky and finding no trace.

No.

A broken whining began somewhere deep within my breast as, pain and weakness forgotten, I spun to claw my way up that heap of ancient stone, searching, finding all undisturbed but still searching. Somehow I found myself at the top of the cairn, staring blindly at the nearly-full moon, the sound in my breast surging upwards and out into a throat-tearing howl of loss as the tears cascaded down my face.

No! Come back! Where are you? I can't find you, please don't leave please don't leave me don't leave me. . . .

. . . .Again. . . .

I fumbled with the armrest controls, finally managed to get the music piped through the cheap plastic headphones cranked up loud enough to drown out the frivolous chatter of the other passengers. I then turned my face toward the smudged little window and stared blindly outwards, seeking solitude for myself and my fractured thoughts.

I wondered where my children were. Was their mother with them? Were they well? Did they still search for me, or have they accepted . . . I ground my teeth until I thought they would splinter, my fist pounding, gripping, tearing at the armrest in both grief and impotent rage.

Ksstha's assault had left me damaged. My left side, though feeling had more-or-less returned, was still very weak, and there was something else wrong. Something not physical. It felt as if something utterly irreplaceable had been torn out of me in that last instant before I broke the magus' hold. Now, sleep came hard. Concentration was difficult, my thoughts scattering in every direction, and in the center of my heart there was a numbness, a dead zone into which no feeling, no emotion could intrude. I wondered if I would ever recover. I felt so cold.

No one had come to see me off at the little Air Force terminal, but that was understandable. More tasking had come down the previous evening, and everyone was far too busy on far more important things than to come watch some worn-out has-been climb into a civilian aircraft and out of their lives forever.

I came to this place alone and in silence, and now I left the same way. It is the way it has always been. It is the way it shall forever be. I should be used to it by now.

But it still hurts.

So many things still hurt.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the window's slightly-chill surface until the stinging beneath my eyelids faded away. Where did you go, baby? Why did you leave me alone again, now, when I need you most? Oh God, Ancestors, how I miss you. . . .

I listened for a while to the roar of the engines, then with a sigh slowly looked up to gaze at my dim reflection in the scratched plastic. So much grey in my hair. Where had it come from? It seems like only yesterday that I'd been a young man with a fistful of silly little dreams, looking out upon a world brimming with the promise of adventure.

Adventures there had been. On that much the world had not lied. But each one experienced had exacted its price in pain. Sorrow. Friends left behind. And now I found myself sitting in a chartered airliner that was bearing me ever further from the only thing I'd ever been good at, toward a murky future while I stared at the grey in my hair.

And Ksstha was still out there.

Needing me.

Fearing me.

Stalking me.

. . . .Why was I so cold?

Why didn't you let me kill him, baby? At least that part of the torment, both mine and Ksstha's, would have been over. Does he have some sort of hold on you? Or is it that you, like Dithra, simply cannot bear to see dragon killing dragon? Whatever the reason, I will abide by your wishes. I will not kill Ksstha for his crimes.

I think he would welcome death, anyway.

But there will be a reckoning, and that mad Elder will know pain, for if my life has taught me nothing else, it has shown me that there are things worse than death.

Far worse.

Dusk was gathering outside, and in the gathering gloom I saw my now-clearer image's lips curve upwards into a cold, cruel smile.

No, Ksstha, I'm not going to kill you.

I'm going to kill your dream.

I'm going to murder your stinking war.

The cheap set of headphones were playing one of Jethro Tull's old works. That cold smile broadened a bit as I finally let myself relax into my seat, and I eventually drifted off into welcome sleep, listening to the lyrics.
 

-I'll be coming again
-Like an old dog in pain
-Blown through the eye of a hurricane
-Down to the stones
-Where old ghosts play. . . .

Regards from the Steel Dragon;

---------> Hasai