Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire (The Unconventional Heroes Series Book 3) Page 2

  Avraniel huffed and continued to rub the hatchling’s belly, earning herself another happy trill from the winged reptile. “Of course, I know how. You just…” She trailed off, and Timmy raised one eyebrow.

  “You just… what?”

  “Oh, shut up, idiot. I’ll work something out. It can’t be that hard.”

  Timmy had a feeling that it could be that hard, and he definitely didn’t want Avraniel trying to raise a dragon without some guidance. He doubted that the castle would survive, and he doubted that he, personally, would survive. Unfortunately, as a necromancer his expertise was in raising the dead in truly horrific zombie fashion. In contrast, his animal husbandry skills were less than stellar. However, he had read a bit about raising dragons since he had, at one point in his childhood, harboured dreams of riding a dragon through the sky while his zombie armies devastated the lands of his enemies. After years of searching, he had managed to obtain a book that offered an extensive review of what was known about dragons and had also catalogued the various attempts that people had made over the years to raise dragons in captivity.

  To say that the book had made for depressing reading was an understatement of titanic proportions. It was like saying that Timmy liked his shovels a bit. No, Timmy loved his shovels, and those previous attempts to raise dragons in captivity had all ended in ridiculous amounts of blood, fire, and death. Dragons, as a rule, did not like to obey anything that wasn’t bigger, scarier, and tougher than them. Given what the average dragon was like, the list of things that were bigger, scarier, and tougher was very short indeed, and most of the things on that list were other dragons. People, unfortunately, did not make the list. Instead, they found themselves on the menu, and dragons were always hungry.

  Not even raising a dragon from birth helped since dragons had a problem identifying with other creatures. In fact, rather than attaching themselves to whatever unfortunate creature happened to be caring for them, dragons seemed to think that anything they could burn was food. Some dragon researchers even believed that was how dragons identified their parents – by burning everything around them when they hatched. If something managed to survive all of that fire, then, clearly, that thing must be one of their parents. Several attempts had been made to take advantage of this possibility. There was only one problem: dragon fire – even the fire of a hatchling – was still enormously hot, as in hot enough to melt steel and kill even a fire mage without additional assistance, assistance that would drive the newly hatched dragon into a frenzy. After all, no dragon would have needed assistance to weather the flames.

  The book had been very clear. Every single attempt to use fire mages to raise dragons had failed. They’d burned like everyone else or been forced to rely on help, and the newly hatched dragons had promptly gone on a rampage. More often than not, those rampages ended with the unpleasant deaths of yet more dragon researchers and an escaped dragon. One particularly ill-fated attempt had resulted in an entire castle burning to the ground. It had eventually been rebuilt, but the dragon had returned roughly a century later – and much, much bigger – and burnt the castle down again before claiming the smouldering ruins as its lair.

  Then again, they did have Avraniel. She was the only person who Timmy had ever seen who could all but bathe in dragon fire without being killed. And that hadn’t been the fire of some small, weak dragon either. That fire had belonged to Black Scales, and the elf had done more than endure it. She’d seized control of it and turned it against the dragon. Previous attempts to raise dragons had also sought to domesticate them like regular animals rather than treating them like the winged death machines they were.

  The more that he thought about it, the more Timmy realised that they had a unique opportunity. Avraniel was quite possibly the only person in the entire world that a dragon hatchling could see as a mother, and he had a feeling that the elf would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t help. His lips twitched. Life was going to get even more interesting. Hopefully, that didn’t mean it would get cut short.

  He flared his magic and summoned one of the many wraiths that haunted the castle. “Get that book for me – the one about raising dragons.”

  Avraniel’s gaze locked onto him. “You have a book about raising dragons?” Her voice was deceptively soft. Was she worried about startling the hatchling? “You’re going to give me that book, idiot. Otherwise, we’re going to need to talk.” And by talk, she undoubtedly meant that she would throw a whole heap of fire at him while he ran for his life.

  “It’s actually more of a book about how people have failed to raise dragons.” Timmy made a face. “I’m hoping we do better than them since doing worse would mean, well, I’m not sure how we could do worse since most of them were burnt to death or eaten alive.”

  “Don’t worry. I can handle this.” Avraniel lifted the hatchling up and gazed into its silver eyes. “I can handle you, can’t I? You’re such a cuddly, scaly harbinger of death. I can’t wait until you start flying around and raining fiery doom on my enemies. It’ll be so much fun watching those bastards burn.”

  Timmy honestly wasn't sure which scared him more: the prospect of raising a dragon in his castle or the sight of Avraniel cooing over the hatchling as if it was a baby. On second thought, it was the latter. It was definitely the latter.

  The wraith returned with the book, and Timmy flipped through it until he found the appropriate page. “It says here that dragons, particularly hatchlings, require a balanced diet of meat, metal, and various kinds of rock, preferably in a semi-molten state.” He pursed his lips. “That would explain why they enjoy eating people who wear armour. They get meat and metal, all in one tasty package.”

  “We can get those, right?” Avraniel smiled toothily at Gerald, an expression that the hatchling eagerly mimicked to disturbing effect. Sure, the dragon wasn’t very big, but its teeth were exceedingly pointy. “We can write all of those off as operational expenses, right? I’m sure the Council would understand how beneficial it would be to have a dragon under my – ahem – their command.”

  Timmy patted Gerald on the back. The other man looked like he was about to go into shock. “Play along. We’ll work something out later.” He glanced back at the book. “It says here that a newly hatched dragon will need to eat almost immediately. It suggests live meat.” He waved at one of his zombies. “Bring a cow here.”

  A cow was duly led to what Timmy assumed would soon be a slaughter.

  “Are you sure about this, master?” Katie asked as the little dragon slithered out of Avraniel’s arms like a winged snake. “That dragon isn’t exactly huge, and that cow is pretty big –”

  Katie stopped mid-sentence and stared. Timmy stared too, as did Old Man. Gerald fainted. The reason for all of the staring was the hatchling. With speed and ferocity that defied its meagre size and anything even vaguely resembling common sense, the baby dragon ripped the cow into small bloody pieces and devoured it – all in the span of about ten seconds.

  “I have lived a very long time,” Old Man said. “But I have never seen anything like that before.”

  Katie adjusted her glasses as if to make sure that she was seeing things correctly. “How did it even fit all of that meat into its mouth? And where did it all go? I mean… wow.”

  Timmy happened to share his apprentice’s opinion. He’d once seen a pride of underfed lions attack a cow like that, but this had been one little dragon. “I honestly don’t know. It could be magic. Dragons are magical.”

  The hatchling flopped onto its back with a contented sigh. Its stomach bulged, and it burped once and coughed up a few bones.

  “Good boy.” Avraniel rubbed the dragon’s belly. “He is a boy, right? We should name him too. What do you think?”

  Timmy took a closer look at the dragon. With any luck, it would be less likely to snap at him now that it had eaten. “It does appear to be a male dragon, yes. I’m more curious about what breed he is. We know what breed Black Scales was, but we have no idea what breed
his mother was.” He flipped through the book again, and Avraniel darted over to his side and peered over his shoulder.

  “Hurry up, idiot. What breed is my dragon?”

  “Hmm… give me a second.”

  Timmy frowned. He had reasonably good knowledge of the most common dragon breeds – if only because he’d been attacked or chased by them on at least a few occasions – but that only applied to full-grown dragons. He’d stopped being interested in raising dragons after he’d found out what had happened to everyone else who’d tried. Contradictory to common belief, dragons did not always look the same throughout their entire life cycle. According to this book, quite a few of them were incredibly adorable before they grew up into winged leviathans of death and mayhem.

  “I need to take a closer look at him,” Timmy said at last. “So I would appreciate it if you could hold onto him. I’d rather not get my arm bitten off.”

  “He wouldn’t bite your arm off,” Avraniel replied as she cooed and wrapped her arms around the hatchling. He preened under her touch and nuzzled against her with a hiss and a low trill of contentment. “He’s a good boy. At worst, he’d chew on your arm a little.”

  “With those teeth? Even a little is too much. My arm would come right off.” Timmy leaned forward, and the dragon bared his teeth and hissed. Timmy had seen dragons with much bigger teeth, but the hatchling’s teeth were still disproportionately large for something this small, and he’d already seen what they could do. The hatchling had basically shredded an entire cow in ten seconds. Timmy was smaller than a cow. The baby dragon would only need around five seconds to shred him.

  “Gerald.” Timmy nudged the unconscious bureaucrat with his foot. “Wake up. I need to borrow a stick. Do you have one because I don’t think the hatchling would appreciate me poking him with my shovel?”

  Gerald returned to consciousness with a groan. “Oh… I had this terrible dream. Avraniel had a dragon and – ah!” He scrambled back with a shriek as he caught sight of the dragon in the elf’s arms. “Help! Help! There’s a dragon! Someone do something!”

  “Idiot.” Avraniel huffed, and the dragon blew a small tongue of black flame in Gerald’s direction. “If my dragon wanted to eat you, you’d be eaten by now. Besides, I’m going to tell him not to eat you.” She patted the dragon on the head and stared into his silver eyes. “No eating good people, okay? These people are on our side, which makes them good even if they’re old, weird, short, or weak. But if you meet bad people, then you can eat them.”

  The hatchling nodded solemnly. Of course, Timmy thought. Dragons were supposed to have some kind of magic that was similar to telepathy. Sure, most dragons didn’t bother using it before they ate somebody, but it was still there. It would definitely come in handy, so long as Avraniel didn’t turn the newborn dragon into a psychopathic killing machine.

  Timmy nudged Gerald again. “A stick, Gerald. Can I borrow one?”

  “Oh, right.” Gerald lifted one hand and summoned a stick with his magic. “Here.”

  “Make sure you hold onto him,” Timmy said. “I’ll try not to poke him unless I have to, but I may need to take a closer look to find out what breed he is.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Hurry up. I think he might be getting hungry again.”

  Timmy crept closer and peered at the dragon. So far, they had all assumed that Black Scales had sired the hatchling, and it certainly looked that way. However, it couldn’t hurt to be sure. He wouldn’t have put it past the old dragon to steal an egg from some other dragon, possibly after eating them. The little dragon’s scales were definitely the same deep, threatening black although there was a strange white spot on his snout. Admittedly, there were several breeds of black dragon, but Timmy had no problems remembering the fire that Black Scales had spewed everywhere. That fire had burned pitch black, and it had given off a truly ominous feeling.

  If he were a betting man, he would have bet that Black Scales had been a corruption dragon – a breed of dragon whose fire could corrupt and decay everything it touched in addition to simply burning things and whose mere presence could warp and sicken living things. It fit perfectly with what he remembered about the fight against Black Scales and the state of the forest where the old dragon had made his home. The Forest of Woe had been aptly named, and it had basically screamed corruption and decay. There had also been quite a few unusual animals there that really shouldn’t have existed at all. The hatchling’s fire had the same feeling to it, albeit far, far weaker.

  Timmy skimmed through the book until he found the pages that described the characteristics of a young corruption dragon. He was right. The hatchling fit the bill. He had black scales, overly pronounced teeth and claws that seemed much too big for his body, and large wings that looked a bit ragged in places. What didn’t fit were the white spot on his snout and the sharp, blade-like edges on the leading parts of his wings that appeared to be retractable. Black Scales hadn’t had wings like that, and Timmy had only ever seen similar wings on a few species, namely those that were renowned – even amongst dragons – for their speed and agility in the air and their prowess in aerial combat.

  “I’m fairly sure that our friend here is a mixed breed.” Timmy poked the hatchling’s wings. The dragon hissed and jerked one wing up. The blade-like edge of the wing sliced cleanly through the stick. “He’s definitely part corruption dragon, which is what I think Black Scales was.”

  “That makes sense.” Avraniel whispered soothingly to the dragon as he eyed the stick in Timmy’s hands with a vengeful glare. Black fire kindled in his jaws and spilled out between his teeth. “I found him in that old bastard’s lair. But what else is he?”

  “I’m not sure.” Timmy continued to skim through the book. “But I think he might be part astral dragon.” He pointed to the white spot on the hatchling’s snout and then to his wings. “See that spot? Astral dragons tend to be that colour, and those wings… corruption dragons don’t have wings like that. Astral dragons, however, do.”

  Gerald raised his hand. He was the very epitome of politeness although he remained safely behind Katie. “What is an astral dragon? I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of that particular breed of dragon before.”

  Timmy shrugged. “That’s not surprising. They are extremely rare. I only thought of it because my master spent years trying to get an astral dragon corpse to turn into a zombie, but we never did manage to get our hands on one. Basically, astral dragons are white dragons that, amongst other things, have the ability to move between the physical world and the various astral worlds.”

  “That is a powerful ability,” Old Man said. “But how does it work?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m guessing that they can transform their physical body into an astral body that can then enter the astral world – that is, the spirit world, which would also explain some of their stranger abilities. Supposedly, they can make themselves largely intangible if they want to.”

  “Wait a second.” Avraniel held the hatchling up like a trophy. The dragon roared and spat black fire into the air. “Are you saying that this guy here might one day be able to fly through the walls of a fortress before burning everyone inside?”

  Timmy and Gerald shared a look. The bureaucrat shook his head frantically. “I wouldn’t suggest that, but it might be possible one day. There is a relatively easy way to test if he really is part astral dragon. According to this book, even an astral dragon hatchling should be able to produce white fire that heals things with a proper soul and damages things without a proper soul. He may also be able to turn intangible on instinct when threatened by a powerful attack.”

  Avraniel’s eyes narrowed, and the temperature around her rose ominously. Her magic filled the air, a stifling, suffocating heat. “You are not hitting my dragon. If you do, I will set you and your whole damn castle on fire, idiot.”

  Timmy took a step back and made a mental note to never, ever – even accidentally – threaten the dragon. “Fair enough, but we should still be able to test the white
fire idea. Ask him to make some healing fire. Because of your magic, it’s not like you’ll be hurt if it’s normal dragon fire. But if it is healing fire, it should be able to heal a cut on your hand. We could also try it out on a zombie. If it is healing fire, it should do extra damage to one of my zombies, but it might be less obvious since dragon fire is already good against zombies.”

  “It might be best to start with the zombie,” Old Man suggested. “He is a newly hatched dragon, so he may need several attempts to produce healing fire. He may also react poorly if Avraniel is wounded.”

  Timmy summoned one of his more disposable zombies, a shambling wreck that was in charge of collecting garbage from various areas underneath the castle. It was getting on in years. It had been around for at least five or six, which was quite a while for a zombie of its kind, and he’d been meaning to replace it for a few months now. He had the zombie stand still while the rest of them, apart from Avraniel and the dragon, moved to a safe distance. If something went horribly wrong, none of them wanted to be next to the little dragon when it started breathing fire everywhere.

  “Okay.” Avraniel rubbed the dragon’s back. “I need you to make healing fire. Purify the evil zombie that the idiot necromancer made. You can do it, right? I know you can. We’ll even give you more food if you do.”

  The mention of food got the dragon’s attention. It squirmed out of Avraniel’s arms and straightened to its full height. Its first few attempts to produce white fire resulted in bright orange flames that quickly turned black. However, its fourth attempt unleashed a small burst of white fire that struck Timmy’s zombie in the leg. It wasn’t much. In fact, the attack should only have destroyed the zombie’s leg. However, what ended up happening was far more impressive.

  As soon as the white fire touched the zombie, there was a flash of light. Timmy shivered as the necromancy he was using to keep the zombie active was torn apart by a shockwave of astral magic. He could have fought it – his necromancy was strong enough to shrug off astral and holy magic if he invested enough of his power and attention – but he was curious to know how much damage the hatchling’s fire would do. His zombie was promptly consumed in a storm of white fire in a little over five seconds. All that was left at the end was a small pile of smouldering ash.