The Ember of Life

Chapter 4

Late afternoon light traced blazing paths on the sandy floor of the hut. The interior of the building was sparsely furnished with only a bed and a single stool. A dragon sat coiled on the stool, reading a book. From far away, he would have appeared pure white, but a close inspection revealed faint yellow markings dappled and striped all over his emaciated body. He was a Plaguehide. The last of the now extinct dragon clan. Famed and dreaded for their deadly Chroma powers of disease.

There was movement from the bed, and the dragon lowered the book, his faint, pinkish-red eyes gleaming with interest. "Ah, awake, are we?"

The green dragon in the bed thrashed off the covers and sat up wildly. "Where am I??" His eyes fell on the Plaguehide. "Who - who are you?" At the sight of the White, he clutched at the satchel around his waist.

"Be calm." The White smiled a horrible sickly smile that showed rows and rows of jagged fangs. "Although I sensed the power of an Ember on you the moment I saw you, I have suffered it to remain on your person."

The Green froze, collapsing back into the bed. "Why?" he asked after a moment, seemingly stunned.

"Oh, I have my ways," the Plaguehide said with a forced attempt at joviality.

The Green blinked. "You...saved me." He glanced around at the hut. "Saved me from a certain death by the cruel heat."

The White said nothing, merely watching with cold eyes.

"My - my name is Dertharion," the Green said, climbing out of the bed. "I owe you my life." He gazed for a moment at the emaciated White, clearly trying to not wince at his appearance. "I'm going to assume you want something for your kind act," he said nervously, fidgeting with his satchel.

The Plaguehide shrugged, his eyes heavily lidded and shadowed.

"Don't play uninterested," Dertharion snarled. "Dragons don't go saving dragons just for nothing."

"The truly righteous ones do," the White said silkily, "but you're right. I had a purpose in this." 

For the first time, he straightened out of his recumbent position, and his skin cracked as it tensed, oozing out yellow fluid. Dertharion was unable to avoid grimacing.

"I want you to deliver your precious treasure to Lord Saliss." Sliding off his stool, the Plaguehide limped closer to the Green, who recoiled against the bed.

"Lord Saliss?!" Dertharion exclaimed in shock. "You serve him?"

"Yes," the White said, meekly enough, but his pale eyes flashed fire for a moment.

The Green dodged around the Plaguehide and went to the entrance, looking out at the fiery sands. He turned back. "What if I say no?"

"Then I'll take the Ember from you and deliver it to Lord Saliss myself," the White said quietly. He shrugged his desiccated shoulders again. "Seems simple enough to me. Either you deliver the Ember and get the reward, or you make a foolish decision and force me to claim it and the reward."

"There's a reward?" Dertharion narrowed his yellow eyes. "I'm still not sure why you didn't just leave me to die and take the Ember for yourself."

The White chuckled, choked, then began to cough hoarsely. When he could speak again, he said, "Surprised I have some modicum of decency?"

"Yes, very," Dertharion said, raising his scaled brows. "Anyway, I've decided. I will accept your offer. I shall deliver the Ember to Lord Saliss, provided the reward is large enough."

"Fear not, it will be quite large enough for you."

The Green nodded in satisfaction. "Since I assume you are going to accompany me to make sure I don't pull anything, I want to know your name."

The Plaguehide hesitated for a moment. "Zendrayus."

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It was evening. Ebony flew on, but his wings ached and were stiff from his constant flight. Thankfully, the sun's rays had lessened slowly as it dropped in the sky, and, now that it was completely gone, the heat was almost bearable. The moonshine felt cool on his black scales. Or maybe it was just psychological.

I'm going to have to stop for the night, Ebony thought, breathing raggedly. His lungs burned from the harsh, dry air, and his muscles were going to lock up soon. He had hoped to fly on throughout the night, when it was far cooler, but if he tried Ebony knew he'd kill himself. He angled his wings and landed smoothly on the still-warm sand. Ebony let out a long breath, helping himself to the canteen he had filled in the jungle.

While he had hoped for more progress, he hadn't done badly. After all, there was always the chance that Dertharion had lost time somewhere, or had gotten overwhelmed by the heat. Good riddance, he thought before he could stop himself. Ebony waited to feel guilty for such a terrible sentiment. Nothing came to mind, so he smacked himself on the forehead. All he did was steal something. That's not worthy of death, he told himself. Stop being so horrible.

Why do you maintain your facade of virtue? a discordant thought replied. Nobody's watching.

Unconsciously, Ebony glanced upward. Whether or not someone is watching isn't the point, he thought, almost angrily. It's about what's right, and I want to do what's right!

Where are these vile feelings coming from? he wondered, feeling sick. Am I really such a bad leader? Such a bad dragon?

Oh, don't worry. You're not so bad. If you saw Dertharion was close to death, you'd run over and save him. Again. Risking everyone. Again. His mind laughed mockingly.

Ebony, sickened, did not answer himself. He curled into a tight ball and tried to sleep.