"So, go now, Kaa'saht, and take our children with you."

"And how did they respond, my Lord?"

I chuckled darkly. "Poorly, as you might have expected. One of the Council Elders even suggested, oh-so discreetly, that what they saw was just an illusion. I offered to bring the portal back up and allow him to step through, but he has yet to take me up on that."

Kaa'saht almost smiled at that, then sobered. "My Lord, what was his name, the one who destroyed what you say was our Ancestors' home? I feel that perhaps we should learn it."

I gave the young dragon a sideways look. "You sound unconvinced."

"It . . . will require some thought, my Lord."

I chuckled again, my mane jangling softly as I gave my head a small shake. "Yes; it probably will take a while to digest, come to think of it. To answer your question, I have no idea. In fact, I have no proof that he or she ever actually existed."

Kaa'saht blinked, then blinked again. "My Lord? I don't understand," he said at last. "Did Niata not--"

"I only managed to get one word out of Niata, Kaa'saht, but that one word, home, was enough. After that, everything made sense; our uniqueness among all the species of this world, the portals, that place, and most importantly those who dwell there." I gave him a hard look. "Those creatures are our kin, Kaa'saht, that is plain to see. What is also plain to see is that they were tampered with. Nothing like that could ever evolve naturally, no more than an assault rifle could. And like an assault rifle, they exist for only one purpose."

I sighed, then made a slashing motion with one hand. "There was indeed a war, and either before or during its course someone made those things to serve as weapons in that war. But the weapons turned on their masters, and now they rule what was once our home. We are naught but the last ragged remnants of the refugees who fled our Ancestors' folly."

I looked away, out across the empty expanse of the Mojave that surrounded us and seemed to stretch out forever. It was cold and clear, with scarcely a breath of wind at this early morning hour. It should have been raining, really, to better match my mood, but rain rarely comes to the high desert. Not far away, both Ashadh and Dahiric romped about, delightedly exploring this strange new environment they found themselves in.

Kaa'saht's eyes followed my gaze, soberly watched the children play for awhile. "How did Pasqual react to . . . this, my Lord?"

"You don't approve either, do you?" My agent winced slightly, his gaze averting. I gave him a small, sad smile. "I can't blame you; I don't like it either, and I have far greater reason."

I snorted then, with grim amusement. "To answer your question, Pasqual went completely ape-shit. Lady Dithra had to practically knock her down and sit on her to keep her from killing me right then and there. Dithra wasn't exactly thrilled, either, and I couldn't get either of them to listen to my arguments. Finally I had Stefan draw his weapon."

Kaa'saht blinked in alarm. "My Lord?"

"I had him draw it, and fire a round out the door of the cabin. When everyone's ears stopped ringing, I pointed out what Stefan had just done."

The young dragon looked at me for a long moment, his confusion plain. A small breeze played with the corner of his dark jacket. "Forgive me my Lord," he said at last "but . . . ."

"Stefan used a tool, Kaa'saht. He drew that nine-millimeter Makarov he always carries and popped a round right out that door, and he didn't even think about it. A born dragon, not some cobbled-together half-breed, but a born dragon used a tool, just as easily and automatically as any human could."

I gave that a few seconds to sink in. "Yeah, that's right, and the next question is: how? Stefan himself supplied the answer to that one awhile back: he spent the first fifteen years of his life forced to live as a human does. You yourself had some of the same exposure. The purpose of that time was to have Stefan master the ability to blend-in with the humans, but he picked-up something else as well; he acquired some of the humans' knack of tool-using. So did you, for that matter." I gestured, indicating the SUV Kaa'saht had arrived in. He turned and stared at it, as if seeing it for the very first time.

"Now, as to why that would allow him to grasp something that has proved so-very slippery to other dragons," I continued "that had me stumped for a time. I only found the last piece of the puzzle just a short while ago, when Pasqual taught me the Lung's ability to assume other forms and gave me a warning: the form influences your thoughts. The humans have an old saying: if you wish to understand a man, walk a mile in his shoes." I chuckled softly, shook my head. "Ancestors, the irony."

There was a long silence then, broken only by the occasional sounds of a pair of hatchlings playing. "So, that means," Kaa'saht slowly began at last "all we had to do to master the riddle of tools . . . ."

". . . . was to spend time in their makers' shoes," I finished for him. "It won't be that easy, of course; I suspect older dragons, those who matured without exposure to the humans' ways, won't be able to overcome their 'blind spot' when it comes to tools. Our children, however. . . ." I trailed off, then swung my head to gaze over to where Ashadh and Dahiric were both digging furiously at the base of a large lump of rock, possibly scenting some small, terrified animal beneath. "And that is why we're here," I finished at last, a deep sadness welling up within me.

A moment of silence. "My Lord, surely you do not mean to--" Kaa'saht began.

"I most definitely mean to," I cut him off, then gave my head another shake, my mane jangling dissonantly. "I have thought upon this long and hard. To live as dragons in their youngest years would leave our children crippled in the world of humans, prey to the whims of the tool-users. At best, perhaps a nice little reservation, out in some barren place like this, for the quaint little creatures. At worst? Well, open any history book, and see how those who cannot defend themselves usually fare in this world."

I paused for a moment, hearing the savage bitterness in my own voice, but then resumed. "I also thought upon having them brought up by us, Pasqual and I, hanging up our wings for the twenty years or so we'd need to live as humans, never letting the kids know of their heritage until it could no longer hold them back. But Pasqual would never be able to bear it, and Ksstha's remaining people are still out there, working on their next move. Sooner or later they will strike at me again, probably through our children."

"My Lord!" Kaa'saht sounded scandalized "No dragon would ever strike at a child!"

I froze at that sanctimonious statement, then slowly turned to stare at my agent. Whatever it was he saw in my eyes at that moment, it caused him to take a step back. "Young Kaa'saht," I began at last "just where the hell have you been? No dragon would strike through a child? Tell that to the five that I've lost. Tell that to the snatch operation that tried to break our perimeter last week. Perhaps you would also like to claim that no dragon would use a soul-snare, either?"

The young dragon winced at that, his gaze flinching away from mine. I looked at him for a moment more, then went back to watching the children play. "Fear makes monsters of us all Kaa'saht; humans, dragons, all of us. I have met true Evil in my time upon this world, and I have met fear and ignorance. And you know something? I think I prefer the former over the latter, because with true Evil you can at least negotiate."

Enough stalling. I called, and two heads immediately turned to me. In a diamond glitter of scales they came bounding over to me, their lambent eyes glowing with happiness and . . . and I had to look away for a moment. So trusting. I ran my hands over them, drinking in their scent as they crooned and butted their heads against me. Ashadh wanted to play bat-bat again. We did so, and as we played, Dahiric soon joining in, I began to weave Power. Soon the game of patty-cake began to slow, the children growing increasingly sleepy, until they sighed and coiled up about my feet, their eyes closing at last. I continued to weave, fighting the urge to wipe at whatever was interfering with my vision.

Finally I closed my eyes and concentrated, the familiar, nauseating pain of bones bending seemingly just punishment for my sins. Then I reopened those eyes to look upon a dimmer, greyer world, and what lay at my feet. Slowly I knelt, gathered up the two sleeping infants, wrapped them in the blankets I brought for them. Carefully I rose to my feet, one child cradled in each arm. I turned back to my agent with them. "Watch over them, Kaa'saht, but protect them from nothing but death. They will be leaders in the coming world, simply because of what they are and who their parents were, and so they must learn all the lessons. Even the most painful ones."

The agent stared at my cargo, his face tragic. "My Lord, I-- Where should I take them?"

"Where I, Pasqual, or any other dragon cannot find them," I replied. "Pasqual will search for them, no matter how much I or Lady Dithra try to reason with her or try to command her. Eventually, she will come to you, and for you that will be the hardest task of all; to keep her from her children." My voice wavered slightly at the last; I paused to hand the two bundles over to him. "Think you can handle that?" I asked at last, my words far too harsh.

Kaa'saht blinked down at the two children sleeping in his arms. "If what you say is correct, my Lord, then I shall have to," he sighed. A long silence came, then passed. "Will-- My Lord, will there be . . . others?"

I looked at him for a moment, then allowed my gaze to slide to the ground. "I doubt it," I replied at last. "Too much pain, betrayal, too many lies. Pasqual will never trust me again," and neither will my children. "Perhaps if Lady Dithra commands her; I most certainly will not. But the Lady very much wants us to help replenish our ranks, if nothing else. Certainly the original intent for both Pasqual and myself is long past, no matter what my opposition might believe."

"My Lord--!"

"Maybe in the last war, Kaa'saht, we might have made a difference, but not now. Not anymore. When dragons created Pasqual and I, they built war chariots to face main battle tanks, medieval castles to face ICBMs. We were obsolete the day we were born." I shook my head, my burning gaze flinching away from him, from what he held. "Our time is past. The only thing I-- we can to do to justify our existence, is to help the other dragons find a way to survive. Whether they like it or not."

Silence. I stared at the ground a little longer, then slowly, deliberately turned my back to him. "So, go now, Kaa'saht, and take our children with you."

"My Lord . . . Hasai . . . ."

I looked up into the distant hills, the image of their empty flanks wavering in my sight like a watercolor in the rain. "Go, Kaa'saht. Now." Before I can change my mind.

"Yes, my Lord." I heard him turn to leave, then pause and turn back to me. "My Lord . . . why me? Why do you choose someone such as myself to bear such a precious trust?"

My chin lifted at the question, a small, white-hot spark of anger blooming in my chest. "You, of all people, should know the answer to that, oathbreaker," I grated at last.

Silence, then finally the sound of footsteps slowly moving away. A car door closed, an engine started, and I listened as the vehicle receded into the distance. Then it was gone, and I was left standing there, my back to the wind. I, The Steel Dragon, The Lightning Dragon, the last of the Shen Lung and absolute ruler of all dragon-kind was left standing there, staring at the barren hills, with tears streaming down my face.

"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings," I whispered to the uncaring wind, "Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away. . . ."