| Go Down Killing |
| It was fine when the men could only grumble and curse and do nothing against us. That was in the days before they learned the secrets of the cold iron which can pierce the weak places of a dragon�s hide. It is the nature of man that when he discovers a thing he needs must use it, no matter the consequences, and the cold iron, the black iron, curse it, they used against us with their spears and arrows. At first the casualties were few but the passing years magnified them, since a dead dragon is a dragon which cannot breed and dragons breed slow, one egg at a time. We were a dying race before we saw the danger. We are individuals and generally do not seek company except for mating purposes. For all that, we have our ways of keeping in touch and passing messages to one another and for a time then the message was, �Kill the men before they kill us.� The hot-bellied youngsters, individually and in groups, blasted the mushrooming villages and the fields which the men had taken to cultivating. I did not participate. Not then. It turned out as I feared � reprisals against the men only served to make them more bitter against us and our losses mounted. I lost my mate Afraxa to the men. We lay together, tails entwined, in the mountain cave that only we two knew about. Or so we thought. Had we not been so engrossed in each other we must have heard them coming for men are slow on a mountain face and full of wind and witter everywhere. They were lucky and we were not. Afraxa reared up on her hind legs when they started shooting from the cave mouth and took an arrow between the armour joints above the heart. I watched her green eyes blaze then glaze and I gave the battle roar and was on them, not caring whether I lived or died, not even caring whether I killed or did not kill, wanting only the freedom of the sky where even mourning can, against all odds, become beautiful. There were about thirty of them all told but only six archers could stand in the cave mouth at once. These I would have roasted save that my belly-fire was low from sleep. Instead I scattered them at my first rush, burst through their companions outside and dragged myself toward heaven on wings that felt as heavy as my heart. I still mourn Afraxa, yet not even then in the cold heat of my sorrow did I take to killing men. I think I took two of those in the cave mouth with my claws but it was nothing I planned. They were in my way and any man who stands in the way of a grieving dragon can expect no quarter. Once airborne, I turned to look and saw them scattering down the mountainside. They thought they knew what I was going to do and had no stomach for it. A few holed up inside the cave, the idiots. I could have smashed the cave mouth to gravel and left them within to rot had I so wished. I did not. I was merciful. As I grow old, I think that mercy is a quality only dragons have. Or had. Certainly I see none of it in men. |
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