he man who stood before the Assembly of Lords in Sor Decs Liev was not at all physically impressive. He was rather short and thin, and his eyes and jaw seemed too long for his narrow head. His voice was rasping and embarrassed, the voice of one who was ill-acquainted with public speaking. And yet, they listened.

The man had no claim to nobility, no vast landholdings as they had. He was a servant; even his life was not his own. If any of them had passed such a man on the street, they would have barely noticed him. A laborer, perhaps, or at best one of the many small shopkeepers whose shouts rang through the narrow grey streets of this city. And yet, they listened.

He was not a great warrior or general; he was not a patriarch of the Church of Slovas or its dark twin, the Cult of Akula. He commanded no magical powers with which to command their attention. He was just a small, ordinary man. And yet, they listened.

They listened because, though the man had no land, no power, no noble blood, he had a title, and there were none of consequence in the city of Sor Decs Liev who would not defer a hundred other items of business to hear the words of the Voice of Karakut, the Great Red Dragon.

“My esteemed Lords,” the Voice said, “it is indeed an honor to stand before you today, bringing the thoughts of my August Master to your kindly ears.” His speech was somewhat archaic, and it was said that the Voice was as immortal as his reptilian master. “It grieves me that it is not glad tidings that bring me, but ill. My August Master grows discontent with your people and wonders if they wish to end the ancient bargain.”

He cleared his throat and took in the spectacle of the assembled Lords of Borocai collectively gasping. “I dare say no more as yet, before reading the letter my August Master has composed for you. I am instructed to grant you a moment that each of you may reflect within himself on the history he has shared with your people.”

That history had begun roughly six hundred years before, when the five tribes of the Gobaians had swept in from the east to occupy the ridges and plains on the northwestern coast of the continent. Far from the militaristic, rapidly-expanding Destine Empire, they had left their nomadic ways and settled down to farm and build on the land they’d claimed.

The Borocies were the smallest and weakest of the tribes, and found themselves squeezed out of the fertile coastlands and into the rocky plains farther east. They dug in and worked the meager soil, though many decided instead to explore the great mountainous ridge that nearly bisected their domain. They were surprised to find the ridge occupied, and more surprised when that occupant ate over a hundred of their number over the next few years.

The leader of the Borocies in those early days was Decs Liev, an aged lord who had given his name to his people’s first city. With remarkable courage, he and twenty of his soldiers rode into the highlands to confront what the few survivors had called “The Serpent of Hell”.

Decs Liev’s courage was legend, but he had no concept of diplomacy. Having sighted the great wyrm, he drew his saber and ordered a charge, and was promptly eaten. His second-in-command was a more careful (some might say cowardly) man, and called his men back. For a moment, man and dragon stared at each other.

Finally, the warrior, whose name was Kuj Wrocla, began to speak, slowly and with exaggerated hand motions, trying to explain that the had no desire to be eaten, and asking what they must do to appease the mighty dragon.

“For a beginning, man, you may stop speaking as if I were an idiot.”

Kuj fainted in shock; he had no way of knowing that dragons often absorb the languages of their victims as they digest the bodies. Karakut spoke quite fluent Borocy, though with his alien anatomy, it was difficult.

Once Kuj had been revived, he hit upon an idea. In exchange for the dragon’s not eating his people, he offered to keep his people off of the ridge, and to give the dragon one hundred head of cattle a year. Karakut was at that time nearly two thousand years old, and was amused at an ignorant upstart like Kuj Wrocla presuming to bargain with him. In the end, though, an agreement was reached, and it stood inviolate for six hundred years.

“It is my August Master’s sincerest hope that this moment of reflection has produced within you all an open heart and a willing one. I am now instructed to read to you the words of my August Master in this grave and troubling matter.” The Voice of Karakut drew a large scroll from the bag at his feet and placed it upon the podium before him. He began to read.

Hear my Voice, men of Borocy, and heed my words, Lords of the Province of Borocai. I am Karakut, the Dragon, once called by my race Glandarke-Kemdu-Ekeggat, and by yours the Serpent of Hell. I speak to you through my Voice and Servant, knowing that to behold my glory would surely destroy you. Heed my Voice, for his words are my words.

Long years have I dwelt in my mountains, long years upon years, for while the lives of your kind may be measured and meted in years, my life spans millennia. I was old when the first man came to my mountains, and I was ancient when the Borocies fed me on their flesh and then on the flesh of their cattle. Truly, when men pass from this place, I will endure, for your time is but a season to mine, and your lives but a breath.

You have named the land on which I dwell Karakut’s Ridge, and well have you named it, for its mountains are mine, and its valleys are mine, and the very stones and streams are mine for all time. Three thousand years have I dwelt among these rocks, and fed upon the sheep and the wolves, and sought the gems and gold that dwell as I do, eternal among the mountains. Two thousand years did I live at peace, for who was there to challenge me? The sheep, the goat, the bear, the lion¼all were mere animals. None stood before the might of Karakut. Only once was there conflict, when a female of my own race entered my realm, but she also did I win mastery over, and now my sons rule their own mountains, far to the north.

Yet for one thousand years have I known unease, for an unnatural animal has sniffed about the feet of my realm, seeking entry to the treasure of my heart. The first to come were the Akkezhalis, and for that the responsibility is mine, and the fault theirs.

The Akkezhalis were but greening bones on my hills when came the Tirguhra, who were savage woodsmen in untanned hides. They dropped their crude weapons at the sight of me, declaring me their god, but after many years they forgot fear and sought my yellow veins, the gold of my mountains. If great had been their sacrifice before, even now it was exceeding great. Every Tirguhra died by my flames or my jaws; such was my wrath that I left my mountains to follow those few who survived long enough to flee in simple vessels down the river which you have called Tamani. It was Tirguhra blood which quenched my blood, and full four years was it quenched.

I left no bones for the Vulkatters to find when they piloted their dragon-prowed ships up the River Tamani, which I have named Kuls-gekru, or the River of Vengeance. Seeing their ships, I thought perhaps they meant to worship me, and indeed they brought me fat cattle freshly killed, and I had never tasted such meat before. I fed until I was gorged, and only then felt the poison they had given me with the meat. Their chief stood before my jaws and laughed, thinking me vanquished, but woe to the man who would poison the Great Red Dragon, for Karakut is made of stronger stuff than animals and men. The chief did I crush in my swift jaws, and his screams I relished. The dead, dark dragons of their ships I gave fire, and it brought life to them, for they spread the fire to the men, and thus in dying did the bidding of their better. No Vulkatters came hence to trouble me, and I have not sought them out, for the way is long and they have dragons of their own with which to contend.

Full two hundred years rest I had then among the stones, and much gold did I coax from the mountains, and many gems, and great grew my hoard which is the treasure of my heart. Then came the Gobaians: the Taranites, the Myslans, the Bessarans, the Gallisi of the east who fear me and do not approach, and you, my Borocies. I watched with amusement your building and your farming and the curses of your men and the weeping of your females.

I was at peace, and chose not to reveal myself. What had I to fear from the men of Borocy, who spent their strength on the stubborn ground to reap only what they had sown? Foolish men, I thought, and without malice to me. I contented myself with taking the cattle that wandered into my mountains, for an animal upon my land is my own.

Then again came the day when my peace was broken, for again did men tread among the trees of Karakut. These did I quietly kill, for the men of Borocy were numerous, and had weapons of steel, and knew not yet the extent of my own strength. Great is the might and glory of the Red Dragon, but great was my unease, for never had my power been tested by steel.

So I ate the cattle-flesh of Borocy, which was sweet to me, and I ate the horse-flesh of Borocy, which rankled in my belly, and I ate the man-flesh of Borocy, which was little but sustains even the weak. Then upon quick horses came the Lord of Borocy, whom men call Decs Liev, though I call him Kepe-Kash, which is Courageous Fool in my tongue. And after Kepe-Kash came Kuj Wrocla, whom I named Zin-Ke-Kash, the Wise Coward. And I held council with him many days, which were to me less than a thought.

Wise was the man Kuj Wrocla, wiser even in his way that Karakut, for he brought to me the compromise by which peace came again in small measure. At first I laughed in my heart at this little animal bargaining over my mountains, which are as myself. How may man lay claim to my sinews, or colonize my teeth? What right has he to the sweep of my tail or the thrust of my wings? Yet I found myself in agreement with Zin-Ke-Kash, for in place of courage he had much wisdom.

Hence have I been Protector to you, for who will harm the Borocy who serve the Dragon? You are my servants, weak men, though some among you have taken the name of Sons of Karakut. Know you not that the son of a dragon is a dragon himself, one day to be greater than the father? You know not greatness, soft, foolish children of earth, who know not the air and fear the fire and despoil the water. You are no children of Karakut, whose sons are ruler of mountains. Keep you to the plains, where you may scrabble for corn and seek not the treasure of my heart. Though the strength of my body is without measure, little is my patience, and terrible is my wrath. Keep you to the plains; I would not have parasites on my body.

The borders are clearly defined, and honorably have I kept them. Remember the lesson of the Akkezhalis, and the lesson of the Tirguhra, and the lesson of the Vulkatters. For the Akkezhalis sought my heart, and the Tirguhra my soul, and the Vulkatters my life. Remember the dragons of the Vulkatters, and look upon the likenesses of my glory that you have painted on every house and hung on every street. I will give fire to these, and make them my sons as I made the dragon-boats of the Vulkatters my sons, and they will give fire to you.

To the House of Lezgapiy, who govern here for your king, I grant my greetings and my warning. To the Lords of Borocai, I grant the moments you live to reflect. To the men of Borocy, I grant pain of death, and wailing of women, and gnashing of teeth, should my mountains be defiled, which are myself.

Heed my words, for I am Karakut. I am not the Great Red Dragon of Borocai, for indeed I lived long before you claimed this land, and I shall live long years and many years when your kind has breathed their ends. Know this, men of Borocy, that you are also the men of the Dragon, for Borocai is the land of Karakut, and an animal on my land is my own.