//------------------------------// // Dragon fire // Story: Crystal heart // by A pensive Squirrel //------------------------------// The King was thanking the marching band for their cooperation and was digging through his mind for a way to thank them better, some sort of token. He could think of nothing. He couldn’t play favourites, not now. It was time. The dragons and ponies would soon be arriving at moonlake. Salem was passing by the mine entrance when he happened upon Ignatius. He was stooped over and his wings were limply folded behind his back. Salem crept up behind the solemn drake and tugged at his dragging claw. “Are you alright, Ignatius? You seem a little down in the dumps…” “Oh, do I? I’m sorry for not conforming to your warped view of the world.” “Would you mind rephrasing that? Have you informed the others of the assembly commencing soon?” “I have not.” “And, will you get around to this?” “I will not.” Ignatius sighed. Black soot poured from his maw as he gazed into the mine. “Can I ask why? I’m sure in your mind this is acceptable, but I was counting…” “The fledgling didn’t make it. Were you not told? Your diminutive helper was there, said he would divulge the outcome with you when he had the chance.” “My helper, you speak of Quicksilver I trust? He is no longer a member of my court.” “I couldn’t care less about the ponies of your employ. The young dragon, Clastic, he died painfully on the surgeon’s chopping board.” “He died?” “Like you care, what does it matter to you if it isn’t your own kind?” “Of course I am hurt by this, this is truly awful news.” “Then why did you never visit him? You make all these promises. I question your conviction. My confidence in this futility that you call a plan has shrivelled up and died. Why would you fight to keep us on side anyway? The Princesses can render us grounded, cripple, and maul us and there isn’t a thing we can do!” Salem retreated up the ramp of the mine until he bumped into a worker, casually wolfing down his lunch. It was the disgruntled fellow from the day before. “Sorry there, your highness, I was miles away.” Salem turned and saw the stallion eating what he had described to be his favourite foods. He bowed humbly and shook his head. “No need, no need. How has work been?” “Changing the subject now are we?” Ignatius fiendishly whispered. “I had prior commitments!” Ignatius’s mouth lit up with hungry fire. “What, serving your family the banquet of Gods while the rest of us make do?” “Our working relationship isn’t a bumpy one. Quicksilver is a danger to the lives of our people. He is the traitor, no doubt about it. He never told me about the bereavement, and for that I can only give my most heartfelt condolences.” “You think your empty words can heal the family that was torn apart by this injustice?!” “This was not my doing!” Salem refuted. A pillow of scintillating purple blossomed from his horn as the mighty drake drowned him in flame. “You made the decision! You put us in this position! Why should I bring my brothers of wing, their children and their kin to your speech? You will fool many with your lies. I never want my kind, as so many have so eloquently put it, to be subjected to that same indoctrination.” “My word is law, dragon! I expect you to learn that lesson well. It was an unfortunate accident. The late adolescent was overtaken by greed, the very greed you and your brothers share. He wanted the precious jewels so badly that he put his own health at risk. Now he pays the price.” Another surge of brutal flames swept across Salem’s protective spell. Ignatius unfurled his wings and lifted up to the sky. He took a deep breath and scorched the mine entrance, reducing it to firewood and charcoal before flying higher into the air. “Thank you. Thank you for telling the truth for once. I see through you now, through that mask you always wear. You don’t respect or appreciate us for being different, you merely exploit us. I will bring my brothers, but we will not be there to listen.” How could he have been so selfish? Salem turned to the harsh wheezing of the charming miner. His head was now bald, his grey mane scattered about the burnished sand. He approached the writhing stallion and caringly grasped his wrinkled hoof. “You fuddy-duddy old thing, if only you had gone to lunch later. This will be the spark that invites rioting, vigilantes, and if worse comes to worst, fighting and revolution in the streets. You will not be the example they use.” The stallion was finding it nearly impossible to breathe, let alone plead for his life. He coughed up blood as he opened his crisped eyes to look at the king, his king. “Will I die?” “I cannot trust you to keep your mouth shut. My kingdom will burn for one senile steed? I think not. There will be nothing to find.” Salem left the mouth of the cave in a plume of purple smoke. He set the frail frame of the stallion in front of Martingale, who had finished his morale coaching and was tucking into some vintage brandy. “A martyr for their cause, get rid of him.” Martingale swilled the odious concoction in his hoof and slung a leg up on the table, lazily moving it as if not at all surprised by the news. “It was bound to happen. What happened?” “A dragon was grieving for the loss of another. He blamed me, said that I was responsible.” “Yes, you can throw away some of the preamble. Get to the good part.” “The stiff was a worker in the mines. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time. The dragon made attempts at my life and in one final tantrum he embalmed the ground in fire. Caulker was a victim of this. But if this gets…” The esteemed commander placed his glass on the desk. He crossed his legs and tilted back on his chair. “I concur. His life does not outweigh the lives of many. If he is reported as missing there will be questions. We’ll say he was a rambunctious libertine, and was deep in a sordid relationship with a dragoness. That should stifle the spies, don’t you think?” “If it is what must be done, then do what you have to. I have a public to address; again, I hope to see you dressed for the occasion.” “What are you getting at, Salem?” “Chew some mint and drop the booze.” Martingale faked a smile as Salem vanished. He let the corners of his mouth droop and his ears flop down as well as soon as he was sure Salem had gone. “Telling me to ditch my cosy afternoon tipple, spoilsport.”