| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by Matti Lena Harris / Artwork by Marge Simon |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| The Dragon's Love Song |
Segaunt smelled fresh game in the morning’s
fragrance. And since he was a dragon, he went to
investigate. After all, dragons are always hungry—
it’s part of the Dragon’s Curse—but when Segaunt
saw what a small, weak, pitiful human she was, he
nearly went back to bed.
Nearly.
At least she was quiet. It was so bothersome when
his prey made a lot of noise. He nudged her with
his talon a few times, and when she didn’t move he
flicked his tail, disturbing a flock of sparrows in a
nearby oak tree. They scattered like a hundred
brown pebbles tossed into the air, but the girl
didn’t jump or even flinch. Her eyes were closed.
Her face was pale. Her hands and feet were bound.
In the morning sky far above her, a sickle-shaped
moon shone white against the deepening blue.
The harvest moon.
Thankfully, this time it was a maiden. Last time the
villagers in the valley below had brought him a boy
for the harvest offering. It’d taken Segaunt nearly
two days to convince the wriggling child to calm
down enough to tell him the village didn’t have any
lovely maidens at the moment, and would a plump
young lad do instead?
No, he would not do instead, Segaunt had informed
him, and with one fierce, ivory claw, Segaunt had
sliced through the ropes binding the boy and had sent him scampering on his way.
But this year’s gift was different. Segaunt inhaled the girl’s scent, taking great care not to scorch her
with his breath. Her age was acceptable—twenty perhaps. Not too young, not too old. She’d be tender
enough. But her smell was all wrong—sour, like unwashed skin. Her brown hair was tangled around her
face. And there on her cheeks, on her hands, on her feet—everywhere he looked—were nasty purple
bruises. They needn’t have mistreated her so. She would taste terrible now.
Her dress—a brown, frayed thing—was torn at the neckline, and when Segaunt noticed this, he began to
see how things were. There, on her shoulder, a tiny black diamond mark had been branded onto her skin.
The mark of a thief.
With the memory of last year’s botched harvest gift still in his mind, Segaunt regarded this shabby,
mishandled maid before him who was supposed to be a peace offering. The villagers were sending him
their criminals now. It was pathetic, really.
He opened and closed his talons a few times, thinking deep dragon-thoughts. She would hardly be
appetizing today, but maybe a little later, when she’d healed. Perhaps he could feed her, fatten her up a
bit.
Segaunt saw no reason why the girl should remain bound, so he freed her. Blood trickled along her
wrists and ankles from the ropes, but he ignored that beautiful smell and lifted her onto his emerald
wing. Her frail body cooled his hot, leathery skin, while some slight expression flickered across her face. A
smile, a frown—he couldn’t tell what it was.
Then he wondered why it mattered to him.
Segaunt carried her back to his cave. That was simple enough. But after that, things stopped being
simple.
When he laid her next to his treasure, the girl began to shiver violently. Segaunt had never known what
it was like to be cold, but he guessed it was unpleasant, since humans made so many coverings for
themselves. He had some of these odd weavings stashed in a chest somewhere…
With his claws, he pried the lid off the nearest treasure chest. It was filled with black pearls. He opened
the next chest. Rubies. Chest after chest, trunk after trunk, he searched for something to help the girl.
Silverware, golden plates, candelabras, musical instruments, porcelain vases, a set of inlaid hunting
horns—all these trinkets and more he riffled through without success.
Finally he opened a simple cedar chest and found inside it a white, wool cloak. This he brought to the girl,
ripping it despite his care, but as he covered her, she moaned and tried to push it aside. Now her face
glistened with sweat, so he flapped his wings a few times, trying to fan the girl, but that did no good.
To cool her skin he’d need water, and Segaunt grimaced at the realization. He hated water. Most dragons
do. But for her, he filled a large golden basin with water from a nearby creek. Then he dampened the
cloak with the water and dabbed the wet fabric on her face. There was no way to avoid wetting his
talons, and the water made his skin sting.
He did it anyway.
By nightfall, it seemed she would die. Her lips were gray, her skin sallow. What scant breath she had was
spent in slight, uneven gasps. Segaunt rocked back and forth, staring at the girl’s slender fingers.
Perhaps his plan had been a bad idea. Perhaps he should eat her now. At least her suffering would end.
He could make it quick, so she wouldn’t feel anything.
Yet still, Segaunt hesitated. There was one last thing he could do. As far as he knew, it only healed
dragon-mates, but at least he could give it a try.
He could sing her his love song.
At first he only hummed, as delicately as the trills of a nightingale. If he put too much of himself into the
song, the power of it could kill her rather than heal her. He would have to be very gentle and very quiet.
Come dance the day-sky with me, my beloved,
My heart’s glow, my fire-joy.
Let’s blaze the night-sky with our brightness, my beloved,
My wing-guide, my wind-hope.
I love thee, I love thee, I love thee.
When earth grows old,
When all fires go cold,
When rust eats gold,
Still I’ll love thee.
The corners of her lips turned up slightly, and this time he knew she was smiling. His own cheeks lifted in
a grin. All night, he sang to her in the dragon’s ancient tongue, and even in her dream-vacant sleep she
kept smiling.
When the sun’s first light reached the cavern’s entrance, Segaunt went hunting. The love song had
worked—the girl’s bruises were healed, and the color had returned to her face. She would wake soon, so
Segaunt caught two fat rabbits for her to eat when she was ready.
He laid the brown furry carcasses on the ground at the mouth of his cave and stared at them. Humans,
he recalled, didn’t eat things as dragons did. They liked game skinned and cooked—often with green leafy
things for extra flavor. Herbs. Spices.
Humans were so very odd.
First, he had to skin the rabbits. His claws were clumsy at handling such small things. One rabbit he
accidentally sliced in half, but the other turned out better. Then for the rest of the morning, Segaunt
nosed around in the bushes, searching for the right green things. He sniffed out some sage, which made
him sneeze wildly, but he thought the girl might like it, so he uprooted a small shrub and brought it back
to the skinned rabbits.
He was unsure what to do with the sage, though, so he rubbed the rabbits with it, and he stuffed them
with it too, just in case. Then he welled up his dragon-fire within him, aimed at the first rabbit, and
exhaled. Instantly the rabbit burned black. A few trees caught fire too.
This was not going well.
Segaunt extinguished the errant flames with a gust from his wings. Cooking was very complicated. The
first rabbit was ruined. He’d need to use less heat.
Much less heat.
The second time he tried, he shut his eyes. He wasn’t sure he wanted to watch the results. After his
breathy flame burned out, he eased open one eye to see how his latest attempt had gone. The rabbit
was overcooked, but it wasn’t burnt. And, the forest wasn’t on fire.
Segaunt pounded the earth with his tail and let out a good roar.
Back inside the cavern, the girl was still asleep when he presented the rabbit to her on a golden platter.
Beside it, he placed a golden cup filled with water. Then he saw truth’s reflection in the drink, and he
scowled.
He was monstrous. If she woke now, with him standing beside her, he would terrify her.
So, Segaunt retreated to the farthest corner of the cavern, where he’d be out of sight. Unfortunately,
there was nothing he could do about his dragon-glow. The source of that dim green luminescence was
somewhere within him, and he couldn’t put it out. The whole cavern was filled with it, as every reflective
object in the cave—every coin, every crown, every shield, and every gem—shone with his strange gloomy
light. But if he hid in the corner, perhaps the light would only puzzle the girl, rather than frighten her.
When evening came, the girl moved her head a little, and she moaned. Her blue eyes blinked at the
cavern walls. She was too weak to sit up, but when she saw the food and drink he’d left for her, she
reached for the water. Then her hand paused, hovering at the rim of the cup.
“Hello?” she called. “Is someone there?”
She waited, but when no answer came, she sighed and drained the cup with quick, large gulps. After
that, she picked at the rabbit and ate most of it. Finally she closed her eyes and slept again.
All of this Segaunt watched with delight. Tomorrow he would find her something better to eat.
Something to give her strength. A deer, perhaps, or a sheep. He disliked watching her from such a
distance, though. He wanted to be closer, as he was last night. In this corner of the cavern, it was nearly
impossible to count the number of freckles on her checks. Segaunt craned his neck to see better,
shifting his weight forward as he did. There was a very small crunch.
Under his left foot was a crushed perfume bottle, and next to it lay a comb carved of ivory, with morning
glories of inlaid silver entwining along the handle. In the center of each blossom was a diamond. His grin
widened. This odd remnant of a lady’s dressing set gave Segaunt an idea.
In the morning, when the girl woke again, she found by her side not only another cup of water, a well-
cooked sheep, and a dish of wild strawberries, but also a silver music box, a pair of white silk slippers, a
green velvet dress with emeralds sewn into the bodice, and the comb.
She was stronger today. She drank the water first, then ate a large portion of the sheep and all of the
wild strawberries. After that, she listened to the music box play as she put on the slippers and the
dress. Her hands swept along the plush skirt, and she fingered the sparkling jeweled bodice. Then she
began to dance and sway along with the music box’s thin, jagged melody.
When the tune ended, she reached for the comb and ran it through her long, brown hair. It took quite
some time to smooth the knots out of her curls, but when she had finished, she rested against a rock
and gazed at the comb’s diamonds.
From the cavern’s farthest corner, Segaunt observed the girl just as he had the night before. He
thought she would sleep again, but she didn’t. Instead she explored her surroundings, stepping around
stacks of gold bars, climbing over chests and boxes, passing around armor and crates. Alarmed,
Segaunt could only watch as she drew closer and closer to his hiding place.
She froze. Her eyes widened, and she screamed.
“Stay back, dragon!”
The girl scrambled up a large pile of gold coins, but her weight brought the coins sliding down beneath
her. She toppled to the ground, with her dress tangling around her legs. Then she jumped up and hid
behind a large pinewood chest.
For once, Segaunt couldn’t lift his eyes from the cavern floor. He thought of his awkward size, his
knobby joints, and his rough green skin. Somewhere deep in the cave, a tiny stream of water trickled
down the granite walls like it was laughing at him. He pressed his wings closer to his body and bowed his
head.
“My name is Segaunt,” he said.
There was no sound at all from the girl. Not even the sound of her breath.
“My father’s name was Regalaunt,” he continued. “My mother’s name was Jespara…”
Why was he rambling so? The girl didn’t care. His parents could have been named chipmunk and milksop,
and it wouldn’t have made any difference to her.
“I didn’t know dragons had names,” the girl said.
He jumped at her voice, and that made her jump too. Then her face peered out from behind the chest,
and a very slow, very slight smile moved along her lips. Segaunt took courage.
“Do humans have names?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Do you have a name?”
She nodded again.
“Will you tell it to me?”
Silence.
“You don’t have to tell me. I just wondered…” Segaunt said. He glanced at the remains of her recent
meal. “Do you want more to eat? I can find you another sheep, or a deer, or maybe a wild turkey. More
rabbit, too. Whatever you want.”
“The rabbit was from you?” the girl asked. “And the sheep? The strawberries? All of it?”
“I’ll find more for you, if you want,” Segaunt said. “I know where the sweetest blackberries grow too, and
there’s a walnut tree not far from here. I can even roast the walnuts, if you like.”
The girl rose to her feet. Her fingers were clutching at her skirt, pulling and twisting the green velvet. Her
eyes and nose were reddening.
Segaunt sighed. “And if you want to leave, you can. I won’t stop you.”
As soon as he said the words, he knew they were true.
“But you don’t have to leave,” he went on. “You can stay, if you want. I mean, if you don’t have
anywhere else to go. It’s been nice not being alone…”
He ended with another sigh. Loneliness was part of the Dragon’s Curse, just like hunger. In a cavern full
of gold there was hardly any room for anyone else. Still, this part of the curse was hard for Segaunt’s
heart to accept. Long ago, when he’d had a mate, it had been easier. They’d both loved gold, so it was
easy to love each other, in the dragon’s way.
Segaunt shook his head. He was being a fool. The girl would want to be with her own kind, not with him.
Not with a dragon.
“Roshelle,” she said. “My name is Roshelle.”
She stayed.
From that day on, Segaunt hunted game for Roshelle every morning, and upon his return, she always
had a surprise for him. Once, she made him a garland of autumn-colored oak leaves. On another
occasion, near the entrance of the cavern, she planted a small garden from the last of the summer’s
fading wildflowers. In the evenings, they’d tell each other stories, and she’d dance and twirl while he
sang. Her best gift, though, was her smile, and she gave that to Segaunt every day.
But as the harvest’s end drew near, game was harder to find. Segaunt’s hunts took longer, and every
day he returned with less than he had the day before. Finally the day came when he caught only a
squirrel. He prepared it and brought it to her that evening.
“I’m sorry, Roshelle,” he said softly. “The shepherds have grown wary of winter; they’ve taken their
sheep off the mountains. Many animals have all fled to escape the cold, and those that remain have gone
to their nests, caves, and burrows. I could find nothing else.”
“It’s all right.” Roshelle nibbled the meat and smiled. “I’ve eaten squirrel many times. I like it. Thank you.”
Segaunt lay down on the ground near her; his wings hung limp at his sides.
“Are you tired?” she asked.
“I’m all right.” He closed his eyes.
They both were quiet. Roshelle ate her dinner, and when she had finished she began to pace the cavern.
“Segaunt,” she said, “how do you normally survive the winter?”
“I sleep,” he admitted. “The cold temperature doesn’t bother me, but the rain and snow do, and since
food is scarce, it’s best to sleep when winter comes.”
Roshelle pressed her lips together a little.
“I won’t sleep this year though,” he said. “I’ll stay awake with you.”
Roshelle smiled, but not with her eyes. She walked back to her seat, and she fingered the squirrel bones
on her golden plate.
“Game will grow scarcer still,” she said.
“Well, there will always be squirrel,” Segaunt teased. “You said you like squirrel.”
At last, her smile brightened her eyes. She laid her hand on his talon. “I do. I was thinking about you.”
“Oh, I like squirrel too.”
They both laughed, but that night Roshelle had troubled dreams.
The next day, when Segaunt returned from his hunt, she was waiting for him at the cavern’s entrance.
She no longer wore the green velvet dress or the white silk slippers; she had changed into her tattered
brown dress and she was barefoot again. Her face was as pale as it had been the day he’d found her.
“I won’t forget you,” she said. “I’ll come back in the spring, if you want.”
He nodded; he could do no more than this.
She stepped away from Segaunt, away from his cavern, and into the sunlight. But just as she inhaled
her first breath of outside air, she swayed and collapsed. Only Segaunt’s quick reflexes kept her from
tumbling down the mountain’s slope.
“What’s happening to me?” she asked, holding out her hands. They were curling under as if they were
crippled, while a horrible blue pallor spread along her skin like a disease. She gasped and sobbed.
“Help me, Segaunt! Help me please!”
It was the Dragon’s Curse at work inside her, turning her into a dragon. Segaunt’s heart beat as fast as
his wings in a high wind when he realized what Roshelle had done.
She had stolen from him.
Segaunt roared and lashed his tail at a pine tree, smashing the trunk and branches. How could he have
been so stupid? He should have foreseen this. He’d known she was a thief. He’d seen the mark on her
shoulder. And she’d been surrounded by more riches than most kings ever owned.
What else had he expected?
Roshelle’s limbs jerked so violently now that he thought her bones would break. She heaved and
strained and shook. When a dragon’s treasure was robbed like this, taken in the dragon’s presence,
then the effects of the Dragon’s Curse were particularly terrible. Her whole body was convulsing, her
contorted frame more dragon than human, while deep in Segaunt’s heart all of his dragon-wishes were
dying.
He let them die.
“The treasure’s yours, dear heart,” Segaunt cried. “All of it, yours! It’s my gift to you!”
A gift. She couldn’t steal that which was given to her. And if nothing had been stolen, then how could
the Dragon’s Curse claim her? Segaunt grinned. His entire inheritance—gold that had been his for
thousands of years—he relinquished with no hesitation. And the price of his choice was more costly than
gold, for here was a she-dragon, and she was beautiful too, and she loved gold as much as he did.
Although they would not have been happy together (dragons never are), at least they would have been
together.
“All of it?” she asked, with a gleam in her blue dragon eyes.
Segaunt’s grin vanished. Something was wrong.
“Yes,” he said. “All of it.”
Roshelle moved herself stiffly towards the cave, dragging her wings on the ground because she was still
not used to them, and she gazed at the vast cavern of treasure.
“All of it,” she whispered, and she stroked the edge of a golden pile with one of her long, curving talons.
Segaunt bowed his head. He’d seen the grin that darkened her face as she caressed her gold. It wasn’t
Roshelle’s precious smile at all anymore. It was a dragon’s smile. His gift had made no difference.
Roshelle’s desires had given her a dragon’s heart, so a dragon she would remain.
He fought the urge to lash out at the golden pile, to bite at it and kick at it. To burn it with his fire and
rend it with his claws. He hated it now. Hated it.
A low, soft groan slipped from his lips, a very un-dragonlike sound. Finally he had found something he
loved more than the reflection of his eyes in the facets of a gemstone. More than the cool, heavy weight
of a king’s ransom. More than gold. More than himself.
And he had lost her.
The ache spread out from his heart to his limbs, and then it shuddered along his wings and down his tail.
His talons clenched, and his eyes squeezed shut. He listened to his breaths turning ragged.
I’m dying, he thought. I’m dying.
He roared, or at least he tried, but the sound was pitifully small, and it burned his throat. Something was
stinging his cheeks, so he raised his talon to swipe at them. His cheeks were wet.
This was odd, because dragons don’t cry.
Segaunt looked down at his talons.
Fingers. Hands. Arms.
Impossible.
“Segaunt, you’ve changed! You’re human!” Roshelle cried. “What have you done to yourself? Oh please,
do it to me too!”
“I can’t,” he said. “I don’t…I don’t know what I’ve done or how I’ve done it! I don’t understand…”
“You have to help me, please. Please, Segaunt.”
Roshelle’s skin was the rich blue of twilight, and her ivory horns—two on her forehead and one on the
bridge of her nose—had a graceful curve to them, but her lips were taut, as if she were in pain. Segaunt
stared at her face.
“Of course I’ll help you, dear heart,” he said. “There must be a way to change you back. I’m sure there
must be. What was it you stole?”
“The comb,” she said. She avoided Segaunt’s eyes. “I stole the comb. I’m sorry.”
The comb lay a few feet away on the ground. Roshelle retrieved it, and she held it for a moment.
“Would I change back if I returned it to you?” she asked.
“Can you return it?”
She uncurled her claws to offer the comb to Segaunt, but then she frowned and clutched it to her chest.
She couldn’t.
“I’ve been a dragon all my life,” Segaunt said, “and if I can turn into a human after all that time, then I’m
sure you can turn back into one too. We’ll find a way. I won’t rest until we do. I promise. With all my life,
I promise.”
Roshelle nodded, and then they were silent.
Segaunt breathed in deeply a few times. Smells were fainter, subtler. Colors were more vivid, but the
sounds around him seemed muted now. It was like the world had changed with him.
He wiggled his toes. They were particularly fascinating. What were they for, exactly? A strange sound
rose from somewhere in the back of Roshelle’s throat.
“Roshelle? Are you all right?” he asked.
The sound grew louder. She was giggling.
“You’re naked, Segaunt.”
His glance traveled down his body, all the way to his wiggling toes. His teeth were chattering, so he tried
clenching his jaw.
“Better go find some clothing to wear,” Roshelle said.
Segaunt walked inside the cavern to the clothes chest. Next to the chest stood a large mirror, and after
he’d dressed in a king’s old hunting outfit, he stared at his reflection, transfixed.
For thousands of years he’d lived in this cavern, but by dragon-reckoning he was still young. As a
human, he was just a little older than Roshelle. He gazed at his teeth, his nose, his nails. He traced his
fingers around his elbows, then up to his shoulders and into his shaggy blond hair. As hard as he
searched, he could find no sign of the dragon he’d been.
Unless it was his eyes. They were still green, the same shade of emerald his skin once was. But there
was nothing else.
Night came. Roshelle and Segaunt sat near the entrance of the cavern, listening to the slow thrumming
of the crickets. Roshelle lifted her wings.
“The air is making my skin tingle,” she said. “Especially my wings. That’s how I know frost is coming. It
feels strange.”
“Yes. It was like that for me too, when I was a dragon.” Segaunt leaned closer to Roshelle. Her warmth
felt good. “Roshelle, is there anything I should know about this new body of mine?”
He was wiggling his fingers and staring at them so intently he looked like a child. Roshelle tilted her head.
“You’ll tire more easily.”
He’d noticed that already. He resisted a yawn.
“What I don’t understand is this,” he said. He fluffed his feathery blond hair with the palm of his hand.
“What’s it for?”
“To keep your head warm, I guess.”
His hand traveled down his jaw and stopped at his chin. “My face is prickly.”
“That’s your beard growing.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now. Humans have hair on their faces.”
Roshelle lightly ran her talon against his cheek. “Only the men,” she said.
Segaunt rubbed the new stubble with his new fingers.
“What about me?” Roshelle asked. “Anything I should know about being a dragon?”
Segaunt’s lips turned up as he thought. “You’ll be hungry all the time.”
She stared at him for a moment too long, and his back stiffened. Roshelle was already hungry—he could
see it in her eyes. The hairs on his arms stood up. His shoulder muscles tensed. His heart beat faster. All
of this he observed with an earnest curiosity.
So this was how it felt to be prey.
Roshelle rested her head on a stack of tarnished shields, closed her eyes, and sighed.
“I’m afraid, Segaunt.”
Segaunt laid his hand gently on her wing. He didn’t know what else to do.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I will travel to the village and find a wizard who can transform you back. I won’t
stop searching until I find someone to help us.”
They listened to each other breathing in the dark, while the stars circled the sky and the rhythm of the
crickets slowed as the night cooled. Segaunt began to sing.
I love thee, I love thee, I love thee.
When earth grows old,
When all fires go cold,
When rust eats gold,
Still I’ll love thee.
His human voice soon went hoarse with the dragon-song, but Roshelle didn’t seem to mind, and she
gradually fell asleep.
When the sun rose behind the clouds of an overcast sky, Segaunt began his hike down to the village. At
noon he halted, breathless. The cavern was out of sight now, hidden by a stand of cedars. Fog crested
the mountain ridges, drifting down the slopes and dampening the wild ivy that grew on the ledges.
Segaunt pulled his cloak closer to his arms.
His pace was slower after that; the trail that led to the village was damaged in many places from
rockslides. In other places, the trail was washed out completely. Finally the trail reached a meadow, but
Segaunt paused before entering it. He’d heard voices coming from the clearing.
“All right,” one man said, “let’s be very clear about our terms. Those in the first advance are likeliest to
be killed in the attack, so they get the biggest share. Fifty-one percent.”
This was followed by murmurs of agreement. Segaunt concealed himself behind a fallen pine and studied
the mob standing in the clearing. Sixty men from the village were gathered there (Segaunt was very
good at estimating amounts), and each held some sort of weapon—swords, pikes, scythes, hay rakes,
staffs, bows and arrows. Some wore chain mail and helmets, while others wore peasant garb. A few had
shields.
“Those in the second advance,” the man continued, “will be rewarded based on their success, so fight like
the devil, men. Our lives and your fortunes depend on it. That dragon won’t die willingly, but if we corner
it, we might stand a chance.”
Segaunt growled under his breath. Now he wished for his claws, for his thick, lashing tail, for his fangs
and his fire.
“Every dead man’s share will be accorded to his family, however his will dictates. You all have wills, right?”
Several men in the crowd laughed.
“I wonder if the dragon’s made a will!” a villager called.
“There won’t be any gold left for his beneficiaries when we’re finished!” another shouted. More laughter
followed.
“Very well!” the leader said, his voice brighter. “When we reach the summit, I’ll scout ahead to determine
the location and mood of the beast. We’ll make further plans from there.”
The men gathered their gear and continued to climb the trail. There was no time to warn Roshelle.
Segaunt rushed into the clearing.
“Stop!” he shouted.
Those who heard him turned back. A few raised their weapons, but most only raised their eyebrows.
“Is there something the matter, friend?” one of the men asked.
“You will not harm that dragon,” Segaunt said. “Not as long as I draw breath.”
The man cocked his head at his companions. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, friend, but we outnumber
you. We travel armed. You don’t. And there are more of us heading up the trail who will come at my call.”
“Nevertheless,” Segaunt said, “I will not let you harm the dragon.”
A few in the crowd shifted their weight, and more weapons were raised, but the man waved them down.
“Ignore him, lads,” he said. “Our strength should be saved for the dragon. This fellow wants to delay us.
He wants our plan to fail, so he can take the treasure for himself.”
“No, you’re wrong.” Segaunt shook his head. “I don’t want it. Truly I don’t.”
The villagers disregarded his words. They continued up the trail, some shaking their heads.
“The dragon has a mate!” Segaunt shouted at their backs.
The men turned and considered Segaunt anew. The whispering began.
“Two dragons? We can’t kill two…”
“We’ll all die for nothing.”
“And we’ll get nothing for dying.”
The man who had spoken before spoke again. He was not convinced. “You’ve seen the dragon’s mate?”
“I have.”
“What does this mate look like?”
Segaunt grinned, as if the man had asked something truly amusing. Those who surrounded Segaunt
tensed, unsettled by some dark thing in the gaze of his emerald green eyes.
“Enough of this,” one younger villager said. He swung his oaken staff at Segaunt, then quickly wished he
hadn’t.
Even without claws and fire, Segaunt still fought like a dragon. He kicked and swung and punched until
five men lay at his feet. The crowd in the clearing increased as noise of the disturbance traveled up the
trail. There were far too many villagers now. He’d never keep them from attacking Roshelle, but he vowed
he’d lessen their numbers before they did. At least he could give her a chance of victory.
He fought on. The tenth man had a sword. He came upon Segaunt from behind, and as Segaunt turned
to fight him, the man plunged his sword into Segaunt’s chest.
A shudder passed through Segaunt when he felt the blade grate against his ribs. His arms went limp at
his sides, and his strength left him in one sharp burst of breath. After that he couldn’t inhale, though he
tried. The man yanked the sword free, and Segaunt fell to his knees.
“Dragon lover,” the man said, and he spat at the ground.
Above them, the overcast sky noticeably darkened, as if the advancing storm had finally reached its
fullness. Amongst the highest branches of the pines, there was a soft pattering sound. Small bright
glimmers flashed in the air.
“Gold! Gold! It’s raining gold!” a villager cried, and then there was confusion in the crowd. Some men
laughed and sang, while others scavenged and scrounged, gathering up gold coins like daisies. Soon
they all were shouting, jostling each other, shoving and fighting.
“Fools!” one voice yelled louder than the rest. “Why fight over scraps? There is plenty for all! To the
dragon’s cave!”
All who heard echoed the cry. “To the cave! To the cave!”
The mob left the clearing, and around Segaunt the world grew still. Even the birds seemed hushed. He
crumpled over onto the soft earth, and there he lay in the dead grass, listening, with his face pointed up
at the darkness that was descending on him.
It was a curiously dragon-shaped darkness—and it was singing.
_Come dance the day-sky with me, my beloved,
My heart’s glow, my fire-joy.
Let’s blaze the night-sky with our brightness, my beloved,
My wing-guide, my wind-hope._
Roshelle’s voice brushed against him, caressing his face, his hands, his chest. Suddenly he could breathe
again. His lungs gasped in air as if he had been drowning, while her voice seemed to grow smaller,
lighter. More human than dragon in quality.
I love thee, I love thee, I love thee.
When earth grows old,
When all fires go cold,
When rust eats gold,
Still I’ll love thee.
Then she was kneeling by his side, and she was smiling, but not a dragon’s smile. The Dragon’s Curse
was broken.
“I was afraid I’d lost you,” she said. “From the sky I saw what was happening. There were so many men.
I feared fighting them all would take me too long, and you would die before the fight ended. I thought to
distract them instead.”
“So you showered them with gold.” Segaunt smiled. He looped his fingers through the circlets of Roshelle’
s curls. Then he covered her with his cloak, while she raised his bloody shirt to see his wound. It had
healed, and there was no scar.
They climbed to the top of a ridge and watched the villagers pillaging the cavern.
“They’re taking your treasure,” Segaunt said.
Roshelle rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t want it anymore.”
So, the villagers stole all of Roshelle’s treasure. Every pearl necklace, every diamond tiara, every gold
coin. It took three days to empty the cavern. By then, Segaunt and Roshelle were very far away, and
what became of them in their new life together no Dragon Bard knows, but one thing is certain. When
they left, they journeyed east, away from the valley and away from the village. Since that day, all
travelers do for a very good reason.
The village is now full of dragons.
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