Thrall - Christie Golden [86]
“Which,” added the blue head, chuckling slightly, “might be after the next battle. Regardless, it is you who are foolish if you let down your guard. I am still recovering my full strength. I cannot be at less than that when the next attack comes.” He paused, lowering his blue head and opening its jaws wide to devour an adult female elk in one gulp. “Malygos’s daughter still lives, does she not?”
The Twilight Father was confused. “Yes, she does, but we have already used the blood of a scion of Malygos to activate the needle.”
The black head gave the human a withering look. “It is her bloodline, not her blood, that matters now.”
“Oh,” said the Twilight Father, then, as comprehension dawned: “Oh. Shall I, uh, bring her to you now, then?”
“Time passes,” said the bronze head. “I am the only success of my father’s experimentation. Perhaps a more stable—a more… traditional—method of creating chromatic whelps will ensure that they are strong enough to survive. I the father, and the mother the last child of Malygos? Yes… our children will be stronger. But I must rest first. Bring her to me in a few hours. Do not worry about the necklace: I will free her when I am ready. Even in dragon form, she will be no match for me.”
The Twilight Father turned to one of his assistants. “In three hours, bring the blue dragon prisoner to Chromatus. I must speak with our master and inform him of our success.”
“Your command is my life,” said the assistant, and hastened away to obey. Chromatus’s green head ate another elk, crunching the bones as he watched the assistant hurry off. Then, with a great sigh of breath that reeked of raw meat, he lowered himself to the snowy earth and closed his ten eyes. But before he surrendered to a deep sleep, the black head had a final word.
“And my command,” he said to the Twilight Father, “is yours.”
The Twilight Father knelt before the orb, which was filled with darkness and danger.
“My lord Deathwing,” he said humbly.
The orb cracked open, releasing night-dark smoke that formed the image of a glowing-eyed, monstrous dragon. “You had best have good news for me,” rumbled the black Dragon Aspect.
“I do,” the Twilight Father said quickly. “The best possible news. Chromatus lives!”
A low, pleased chuckle rumbled, and in either answer or echo, the Twilight Father felt the very earth rumble ever so faintly as well. “That is good news. I am delighted that you succeeded! Tell me more good news.”
The Twilight Father hesitated. There was, unfortunately, bad news along with the good, but even that had its bright spot. “Arygos failed us, but he was able to be of use to us at the end, as you predicted the female might be. His blood activated the Focusing Iris, and with the Iris we were able to harness all of the Nexus’s arcane energy! We created a surge needle to transfer all that glorious power directly into Chromatus.”
There was a stillness almost more terrible than Deathwing’s anger; for a long moment, it seemed to last for centuries.
“Arygos was not chosen as the Aspect, then. He did not deliver me the blues.” The voice was quiet, almost calm. But nothing, really, was ever truly calm about the insane Aspect.
“No, my lord. I do not understand how such things work—it seemed as though no one truly did—but somehow the powers of the Aspect were transferred to another.”
“Kalecgos,” said Deathwing, drawing out the word and infusing it with hatred.
“Yes, my lord. Arygos called in the twilight dragonflight as soon as he realized what had happened. He then fled to the Eye, where Blackmoore slew him and harnessed his blood. The blue flight, led by Kalecgos, attacked us immediately. But, my lord, Chromatus, although newly born and weak, still was able to send them fleeing! Once he is at full strength and power, nothing and no one will be able to stand against him. So you see, it doesn’t matter if Kalecgos is the new Aspect. We will triumph even so!”