The Power and the Glory

Book 2 Chapter XXI: The Dragon

Author's Note: I spent ages trying to find the right place for Irímé to turn into a dragon. Finally I found it... in book two's last chapter. Better late than never :)

It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.
-- J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Many immortals were shapeshifters. Many more were said to be shapeshifters but had never been able to change into any other form. Then there were some who spent years believing they weren't shapeshifters only to suddenly transform -- usually in a moment of extreme stress. People still hadn't stopped laughing over the time a lawyer had turned into a rabbit right as the judge was about to pronounce sentence on his client.

Irímé had laughed along with everyone else when he first heard that story. He'd never once believed something similar might ever happen to him. As far as he knew the priests and fortune-tellers had made a mistake. He wasn't a dragon immortal. He wasn't a shape-shifter at all.

He stared silently at the approaching policemen with a strange sort of serenity. There was only one reason for them to be here. Well, they might be here about the assassin, but that situation had already been dealt with. Permanently dealt with. So there was only one other reason: Abi's necromancy. Irímé knew with the sort of knowledge that needed no confirmation that they were here to arrest Abi. He knew it just as well as he knew he would never let that happen.

One of the policemen finally noticed him. Until now they'd all been preoccupied with staring into windows. So preoccupied they hadn't seen Irímé right in front of them. That was not exactly the behaviour anyone would expect from Her Majesty's police force.

"You there! Young man! Have you seen Princess Abihira lately?"

Calmly and without any real emotion Irímé said, "Yes."

All of the policemen brightened up as if he'd given them the best news they'd heard all day. "Do you where she is now?"

In spite of Irímé's outward indifference, inwardly his chest was full of some writhing, stormy emotion he couldn't understand. It wasn't fear or anger. It wasn't even worry. "Yes."

"We have a warrant for her arrest. Can you take us to her?"

Irímé looked the speaker right in the eye. "No."

The policemen looked at each other in dismay. Clearly they hadn't expected this.

"Young man," one of them said hesitantly, "if you don't help us we'll have to arrest you as an accomplice."

Another of the group, more impatient than the rest, got tired of this useless conversation. He stormed forward and pushed past Irímé. Pointing to the open door he said, "She must be in there."

The writhing emotion in Irímé's chest suddenly resolved itself into magic he hadn't known he was capable of. He reached for it without a second thought.

Legends said many things about dragons. No two were alike. Some breathed fire, some were large enough to blot out the sun when they spread their wings, some lived in the coldest parts of the sea, some hoarded gold and some hoarded knowledge. But every legend agreed on one thing. No one should ever get between a dragon and something it was protecting.

~~~~

The palace guards were very confused when the policemen ran past them, screaming at the tops of their lungs. Some of the braver guards ventured out to see what had scared them.

A dragon lay on the palace lawn. A relatively small dragon compared to some; it was barely the size of a small cottage while others were said to be as huge as mountains. A dragon with brilliant blue scales and a white underbelly. A dragon with large blue eyes and thin lines of smoke rising from its nostrils. Its tail curled around its body like a cat's. It looked at the guards with calm indifference.