URE, DRACO

Connor grunted. “What if he falls off?”

Pickles snorted a nasty little laugh. “Well, they said it was his dying wish.  One last hurrah.  So I guess if he dies… He was going to anyway, right?”

“That won’t look good on us, though.”

“Bah, he’ll be fine. I told the boys to strap ’em in real good.”

And indeed they were.  The geezer was perched on top of Felix Quintus, who was their most docile dragon, and a couple of the enlisted juniors were busy fiddling with some leather strap around the old man’s legs.

“He doesn’t seem too happy about it,” said Connor. The old man’s head was bowed, looking down, looking at nothing, really.  He sat in silence, barely moving.

“Well, he’s completely blind,” said Pickles, “what do you expect?”

Connor turned to Pickles. “You’re letting a bunch of juniors tie a dying blind man to the back of–“

“Our oldest Dragon,” said Pickles. “Lighten up. It’ll be fine.  And even if it’s not… It should at least be fun.” Pickles wheezed through his grinning teeth.

The juniors stepped back from the dragon and inspected their work. One of them turned toward Connor and Pickles and gave a halfhearted shrug. Before either of them could signal that all was well, the old man burst into action. He leaned forward, placed his hands on Felix’s neck, pulled back slightly on the scales, and shouted.

“PARATUS, DRACO!”

Felix instantly snapped into an alert, ready position. His legs bent, his head dipped down. His brow furrowed, and his vertical slit pupils became razor-thin. Until this moment, Connor had always thought of Felix as a bumbling, lazy beast, but now, this was different.

“Well, shit,” said Pickles. “Where’d he learn–“

“I VOLA, DRACO!  VOLA!”

Felix threw himself into the air, his huge wings pushing enough air to knock most of the juniors on their asses.

“Pickles! Who is this guy?” Connor shouted. Felix was flying up and away. They could hear the geezer whooping above the leathery flap of the wings.

“He said… I don’t know.”

“He knows the old words,” said Connor, “we haven’t used those in… Decades?”

In the distance, Felix turned and came back toward them with a graceful swoop. He dipped down, skimming just above the treeline.

“You don’t think he knows…”

“I don’t know what he knows! He was just some old blind fucker that wanted a joyride on a dragon! I thought he just wanted to live out some boyhood dream! I didn’t–“

Felix roared, drowning out whatever else Pickles was trying to say.  The sound was deep, and rattled the coffee and biscuits inside of Connor’s guts.

“Shit,” said Pickles.

“Indeed,” said Connor.

The juniors began to run, but there was no time. Connor and Pickles didn’t even turn, knowing what was coming.

As the flames engulfed them–engulfed everything around them–they heard the old man shouting.

“BURN GRENDALAN SCUM! LONG LIVE THE REPUBLIC!”

“URE, DRACO! URE!”