Dangerous Game
I set out to check on my subject. It'd been playing in the tundra lately; getting it out here on my home turf I considered a major accomplishment - it was so unpleasant working in that hot, dry desert it used to prefer. The morning was bracingly cold, but the clear sky held a promise for a warmer afternoon. The short grass and sedge was comfortable underneath my hooves as I tracked its path. I could have used enchantment to locate it, but I liked the challenge. Tracking a dragon is difficult enough, with their habit of flying off whenever there's an obstacle or they just want to go scout the area, and the prints my subject made were so much lighter than an ordinary dragon's. My job got much easier once an ordinary dragon track met the one I was following. The tracks continued together, until they both took flight. Continuing ahead, I ran across an area where a herd had passed, the deep hoof marks of a stampede, the scat fresh, and its scent distinctive of caribou, my wild cousins. I had a good idea what had spooked the herd. Changing course to follow the stampede, I ran across spilled blood, on a track which had separated from the herd. I followed it down a slope and around a hill, and there I found my targets.
The skeleton stood there, dragon bones holding together, in defiance of gravity and the cycle of life and death. With my subject was a dragon I hadn't met before; unsurprisingly its scales were white. Both had matching brass nose rings, so most likely my subject had already claimed this one. If I hadn't already had my own golden one when the dracolich "claimed" me, it would have ringed me as well. Filling out the tableau was the wild caribou, breathing heavily, shallow dragon claw marks on her flank, red with oozing blood, and absolutely terrified for her life. She sprinted away in a random direction, and immediately another dragon appeared directly in her path and herded her back towards the other two. The illusory nature of the third dragon was obvious, they were just toying with her, enjoying her fright. With difficulty I checked my anger at this casual cruelty - dragons are worse than cats.
I walked up to the dracolich, and bowed submissively, "How goes the hunt, Master? I see you have a new friend." Liches are hard to read, but in the recent months I've become good at it. No face, no ears, no scent. You have to notice the subtle differences in their stance, how they hold their neck, what their tail does. The lich's guard was down, but it was too energetic right now, I'd have to calm it first.
"Oh, today's hunt was easy, they practically blundered right into us," the dracolich replied. The white dragon charged at the frightened caribou, bounding towards her not like a hunter but like a playful cat, causing her to bound away in a new direction only to be corralled back by another of the lich's illusions. I checked my rage and bided my time. As the dragons played with the poor caribou, they gradually relaxed. I watched the lich closely, finding the subtle change in its stance as it began to grow bored with the game. I bowed to it and asked, "Master, do you need to torment the poor creature further?" That's part of the trick, tell it what it's already thinking, and it'll come to think what you tell it.
"Oh, I suppose not," it said, and motioned toward the creature. She turned to face it, and it locked gazes with her, and pointed a claw towards her. Somehow her expression got even more frightened, turning into a rictus of abject terror, and she let out a blood curdling scream, then dropped dead. Thrice-damned dragon necromancers, I seethed inwardly, consciously pacing my breathing, hiding my anger, projecting subservience. It was well past the point of no return with this one, it was either enslave or be enslaved, and I wasn't going to throw away my freedom and my months of work on this dragon in an ill-conceived outburst.
As the white dragon dug into the caribou's flesh, I gauged the lich was relaxed enough. I made the subtle gesture. The dracolich lay down on its belly, tail, neck, and head on the ground, as I had trained it. I reached for its nose ring and grasped it gently, and pet the top of its skull with my other hand. I'd grown used to the feel of the ring's magic, unlike any other I had encountered. It let me guide the abomination's thoughts, but was a knife edge I was running my finger along. It must feel in control, even as I train it, or my control over it would be lost. I ask, "Master, why do you hunt them?" Call it 'Master' and it'll believe it is, even as it decides to do what you ask. Whoever had ringed it had left the job unfinished. After over half a year working on insinuating myself into its mind, I was confident I could finish the job.
"My pet needs to eat," the dracolich says.
"Master, you could kill one painlessly and feed your pet with it." I pet over the dragon's bare skull. But my real attention is focused on the ring. Strengthening the though that it should, weakening the thoughts that it might not. After several seconds, it says, "Okay, I will."
"But I like chasing them down first!" My concentration is broken when the white dragon makes this outburst. I regain my composure, and pet the lich's skull, "Master, the dragon is just a pet, you can feed it what you want."
"You will eat the food I give you," the lich echoes to the white dragon.
"I can hunt on my own, we just went together for fun."
"Master, hunting doesn't need to be cruel to the prey." The white dragon is starting to annoy me. The lich says, "You are permitted to hunt, but may not play with your food."
"Maybe I'll just eat this one!" is the white's reply as it walks towards me.
"Master, don't let it eat me!" "You aren't to eat my other pets." "Do you do everything this person says?"
Danger, danger. "Master, make it shut up." "Stop speaking, pet." "That's not a real order! It's just what that person said."
The dracolich needs to have complete control over this one, verbal orders aren't enough. "Master, kill your pet and raise it as undead."
The lich's skull rams into my torso, forcing my air out with an "ooof!" It charges ahead, carrying me on its snout. While I try to get my breath back, it runs down a slope, through bushes protected from the wind by the slight depression, and into a stream. The water is near freezing. The lich is pinning me to the stream bed. I am freezing. I am drowning. I have rarely seen this lich angry, but now it's the most angry I've ever seen. I need air. The lich doesn't need to breathe. My fingers are numb. They slip from the lich's nose ring. Its snout tilts as it bites and grabs my nose ring in its jaws. It stands and pulls me up by it, raising its neck high. I inhale the sweet air, my nose numb with cold.
The dracolich slams me to the ground at the stream bank. "Pain" is a word. It describes what I feel the way "far" describes the moon. I hear a scream. The dragon lifts me by the nose ring again, my nose's numbness being replaced by the firey pain of being manhandled by it. The lich slams me down again. The scream is replaced by a faint wet gurgle, and I realize it was my own. The moon is not far. The stars are far. I try to speak, but only a gurgle comes out. My eyesight is narrowing. I see a dragon's skull, everything else is tunnel. I see two white lights in paired eyesockets. I see only black.
I see spirits. Or maybe not see, but feel. The spirits here are bushes, and grass, and sedge. A bit away is a dragon spirit. These spirits begin to fade, even though I've just now sensed them. New spirits solidify as the old ones fade away: My old master's, bound to my nose ring. A wild caribou's, next to the fading dragon's. And most prominently, the lich's. From the dragon necromancer there extends a net, catching my own spirit. Keeping it from its eternal reward. Then everything fades again.
The sun's position tells me it's now afternoon. I stand up. The dracolich is here. The white dragon is in the sky, aflight. On a talon, the lich is wearing a gold ring it didn't have earlier. I reach up to feel my nose. It's been cut open, and bears no ring. I realize I haven't breathed. I check myself for a pulse, and find none.
I sense the lich wants me to dance. I dance. I sense it wants me to crawl, and I crawl. I jump on a bush. Then I appear to regain free will. The lich says, "I killed my pet. And raised a huecuva." I look at the lich. It appears relaxed. I make my gesture - and it just chortles darkly. I have failed, as the one who first ringed the lich must have failed. I wonder, in the centuries ahead, whether I will get another chance.