Commander Briggs came from a long line of ship’s captains. Fifteen generations of ship’s captains. Not one of those ancestors had ever been promoted higher. Ship’s captain was the end of their line. Each and every one served honourably and with distinction. Several of them had received more than one imperial commendation, medal, or honour, and in one famous case a limited favour from the emperor. However, not one of them had a drop of nobility in their blood. Therefor all postings, promotions, and opportunities which could have led to an elevation in status for his family had instead been given to those of more noble blood. Time and time again his ancestors had to watch those of lesser ability and inferior knowledge take them instead, usually without measure. It was a bitter drink to swallow.

  He looked around the holocom table and inspected the faces of his fellow officers. Many of them were just that, fellow officers, but a large number were nobility and on top of that, many were undeserving of their privilege and position, thought Briggs. These were the ones who were most opposed to Commandant Rieven obtaining or keeping any more power than his current position already gave him. It was beneath them to have to take orders from him when he exercised his legal right under INL 247-2, and it would cause irreparable harm to their pride to have him made the next admiral of the Fourth Imperial Navy. In the history of the Operatic Empire there had never been a commandant of the Void Spectres who was named Admiral. No one knew whether or not the appointment would be ratified by the emperor or if he would instead lay the appointment at the feet of another and return Rieven to his place as commandant of the Void Spectres. I think he will keep the appointment, however, thought Briggs. There will be a new position made for him, one that will expand his influence beyond the Void Spectres. Probably.

  I don’t need to worry about the specifics right now, he thought, because there is no way to know. What is known is that the last person who led the operation that brought news to the emperor of an undiscovered people ripe for conquering had been elevated to the peerage. In fact, it was Lord Admiral Hends’ ancestors who did it. That one act spawned tens of generations of opportunities that were denied those like me and mine. I cannot allow this opportunity to pass me by. Something like this only comes around once or twice in forty generations, and as much as I respect Rieven and his work and his honour, I will claim it. I will no longer allow my family to be passed by in obscurity.

  He looked again at the faces around the table. These men and women, ironically, would be his staunchest allies; at least until they returned to Imperial Space, then they would refuse to acknowledge him in any setting but military formal. They were so opposed to Rieven that they would stoop to ally themselves with a common man. Well good for me, he figured. They can do the illegal and petty work if any needs doing. I will keep my hands and honour clean. I haven’t asked them to do anything illegal, nor have I insinuated such. All recordings will validate my claims. I merely allowed them the time and space to play their games, as anyone familiar with them could know that they would.

  This meeting has been awful. First the newest captain of Mother’s Plea refused to follow tradition and watch, listen, and learn during her first Captain’s Board. Then I reacted poorly to the provocation and presented myself in an unfavourable light. I was even on the verge of recovering my position when Sotomeyer brought in Gahst. It was obvious that commander Hamish, who had been delegated the responsibility of contacting her for inclusion in the Captain’s Board with temporary access codes would not contact her. Anyone could see that. He would have his ass covered somehow, but probably not well enough to survive a frustrated commandant intent on wreaking havoc amongst his enemies. When the inevitable court marshal came, he would most likely be hanged – they still did hangings. I, however, will come out of this scoured clean. Nothing will stick and it will improve my standing even, that I played by the rules and with honour, despite having so much personally at staked.

  Briggs looked at the holoscreen floating in front of his face in time to hear that boy receive the new name Dragontooth. What a name, he thought, I would kill for something like that. New names given in action must be related to that action in some way. This young man would be famous for the rest of his days. I envy that. That is the foundation a dynasty can be built on.

  The holoscreen then showed the formation of a new squad composed entirely of dragon-slayers. The Dragon Guard would be highly sought after, he thought. Everyone will want their sons and their daughters to join the Void Spectres for a chance at that squad. Especially with the upcoming dragon war that everyone could see on the horizon. No one believed two empires could ally with each other. Not even my own mother could convince herself two peoples could be that good.

  He looked at the background as the team moved through the red dragon’s ship. It was amazing. It looked like a building you would find on Homeworld. It was made of stone and filled with finery and wealth. The occasional glimpse out the windows showed a sprawling metropolis thriving with people and vegetation. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had wild animals moving around there, he thought. It’s not like a dragon has anything to fear or to worry about on that particular account. He laughed to himself in frustration. All of my plans are falling apart. Rieven’s death is the only chance I have to succeed and I can’t bring myself to wish for it. We need him and, as frustrating as I find the situation, he is a good man. Ungh!

  Apparently he groaned out loud because several people looked at him strangely. He coughed to cover it up and returned his focus to the screen. They had stopped in front of a door made of some kind of metal. On the one side there was a banner hanging. It showed a yellow field with a white sun rising – its pearl rays spreading out to the edge of the field. There were precious metals and stones in the banner. That must be the green dragon’s standard, he thought. Rising Sun and all that. Say what you like about these dragons, but they do have style.

  Private Dragontooth affixed the standard he bore to the floor on the other side of the door, toughing the wall. This standard showed a white field with a black dragon rampant, its attitude passant guardant. It was simple and had none of the gilding the other did. In some ways that made the standard more impressive. But why a black dragon? That was not Rieven’s personal standard. Something was going on here. Maybe he needed a new one special for the ritual? Or is this some power play? That seemed unlike him. It didn’t make any sense.

  Dragontooth saluted and returned to the formation. Then the red dragon spoke, “You must now bleed your hand and touch it to the plate to gain access to the Room of Rites.” Rieven took a knife from a sheath at the small of his back and worked his gauntlet off, then he cut his palm lightly and pressed it to a square plate angled from the left side of the door. Briggs noticed that the other side had its own plate and that there was blood on it already, much more than Rieven’s hand had left behind.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The door opened and the dragon said, “Only the black drake may pass through of your company.” Black drake? Like the one on the standard? How could Rieven be a black drake?

  Rieven nodded to master sergeant Ono, who leaned towards him and said, “Remember, what would Ono do?” Rieven snorted and rolled his eyes. It was at times like this, Briggs judged, that that boy looks his age. He and I are near the same age, I’m only ten years his senior, but he always seems so much older, and yet here he is, rolling his eyes at the master sergeant who is giving him good advice! I don’t understand this man at all. Briggs complained in his mind.

  He watched the entire squad salute Rieven as he walked through the door. It shut behind him without a sound. Ono turned to the red dragon and said, “Now what?”. The red dragon simply made a gesture with its head that looked like ‘follow me’ and started walking down the hall. They soon came to another door, which was already open, and the red dragon passed through, followed by the Dragon Guard. This room wasn’t so much a room but a viewing gallery. It was separated from the arena by a handrail of stonework, waist high on a human. There was a slight sheen in the air just beyond the stonework that must have been a protective working of some kind. It did not keep the sound of the arena from entering the gallery because he could hear the green dragon snarling at Rieven. Wow, that dragon was huge. He must have been around thirty metres from snout to the tip of that wicked spike at the end of his tail. That was a big beast. There were many dragons in the gallery as well, some looked like smaller versions of the red and green dragons, and others looked more like draconic men. There were scales of many different colours, but red, green, and blue were the most predominant.

  The view shuttered and suddenly there were two angles, one which showed the squad and the red dragon and the other showed the arena. The red dragon spoke, his words had the ring of ceremony. “The rite of ritual combat has been invoked in service of an honour-debt owed by the dragon Rising Sun Ahknahten to this man: Rieven of Black Drake Den.” At his words both the gallery and the holocom table erupted into conversation. Briggs was floored. What did he mean that Rieven was a part of the Black Drake Den. Had he left the empire and joined the dragons? This could be disastrous. Only lieutenant commander Gahst remained unmoved. She looked from her screen with eyes that promised severe retribution to any who would impugn the honour of her commander.

  The red dragon roared. The roar sounded like it was coming from at least five dragons, though only the red one was roaring, and it ended with a lone note, high in the ear like a whale groaning. It was unnerving, and even over the holocom it made his hindbrain want to cower in fear. He noticed that Rieven’s form did not stumble or appear in any way to be affected, though it was hard to tell due to that Void Spectre armour he wore.

  When the gallery had quieted down the red dragon spoke again, “He has named his nature in the presence of a dragon, and that dragon acknowledged it. There is no going back. Should he be victorious in this rite, his nature will be ratified among the stars for all of time to witness. What would you have me do?” There was not a peep out of the gallery. Apparently, it was all done according to the dragon’s legal code. After a time one brave, or very foolish soul spoke up tentatively, “What did he name his nature?”

  I think that’s a wonderful question, thought Briggs, what is this name, and what does it mean to name your nature? The red dragon looked to Rieven and nodded. Rieven squared his shoulders and turned to address the dragon who asked the question. He said, “I issued a warning to a dragon who had offered me unprovoked offense twice. I told him in plain language ‘Tread carefully, ye who do not yet fly; for death is come on swift wings to devour the unaware.’ It was a similar warning this dragon,” he bounced his thumb the green dragon’s direction, “issued to my Lord Admiral just before he slew him. Seemed apropos.”

  If Briggs had thought the dragons unnerved before, he now knew he had been wrong. It took minutes for the red dragon to quieten down the room. A large blue dragon came up to him and spoke, her voice loud and rumbly but with a softer feminine quality, smooth like whiskey, “He names himself death’s wings? Does he know the significance of such a naming?”

  The red dragon responded, “He does now know, though he did not at the original naming. In truth I do not believe he would change it if he could.” He looked to Rieven who shook his head emphatically no. “There you have it. While it was done unknowingly, it was done accurately and according to his nature. He has chosen well for that is what he is: Death’s Wings.”

  The gallery fell silent at that, not an angry silence, but rather a thoughtful one. The green dragon looked mildly sick. Good! The blue dragon spoke again, “Does he mean to lay claim to the black dragon’s den then?” The red looked to Rieven again.

  Rieven said “I do not intend to do anything at this time other than defeat him,” he again pointed at the green with his thumb, which made the green look more offended than anything had to this point, “and to take the Fourth Imperial Navy back to Homeworld. The future must of necessity take thought for itself, for I shall not now do so.” The blue backed down, letting out a satisfied hum. The red looked to Rieven and Briggs could see a passing glint of approval in his eyes.

  It would appear, Briggs said to his mind, that commandant Rieven is adept at draconic politics and has not abandoned his duty. The later was most likely anyways, the odds of Rieven abandoning his duty were about equal to the emperor laughing in full court. What was surprising was his political adroitness in the draconic court. When did he become adept at politics? I should get myself on a dragon’s ship, then maybe I’ll have the master stroke to win my prize, he thought bitterly. This whole experience was a masterclass in bitter disappointment.

  The red turned to the green and commanded, “Final words.”

  Immediately the green growled out, “His kinetic firearms are disjointed from the spirit of the rite. I demand they be remanded into the arbiter’s custody for the duration of the rite.”

  The red turned to Rieven, “That is fair, you do not wish to claim a victory here with tools that do not connect appropriately to the spirit and purpose of the rite of ritual combat, do you?”

  Briggs snorted. There was only one correct answer to a stupid question like that, and Rieven’s newfound political savvy proved he knew it too, for he said, “I would in no way call the events about to happen in this ritual combat into question. My victory does not depend on tools whose nature is without the spirit of the rite.” When he finished speaking he walked to the stoneworked rail and stood in front of the red dragon. The sheen in the air disappeared and he began to pass his kinetics over the railing to Ono. First he unslung his rifle, then he removed a pistol from his thigh, and finally pulled one off of his hip.

  The red dragon asked “Do you have any more kinetics on your person? This rite now excludes both firearms and any form of external axiomatic working.”

  “No, I have nothing else on my person that violates the new spirit of this rite.” Very well worded, thought Briggs, you answer the question without admitting to having knowingly violated the rules.

  “Very well, return to your position.” Rieven walked back. “Final words.”

  Rieven spoke using a cadence formal and familiar to the court around the holocom. “Any glory or acclaim my actions here may receive bring me little pleasure. The only pleasure I take for myself here is the knowledge that I am going to beat his ass black and blue for betraying his nature and unjustly slaying my Lord Admiral.”

  “Halt!” Red rasped out and Briggs could see breaths in the suddenly cooler air. The green halted where he had begun his attack. “You are wrong to start combat before the call has been made. Perhaps there is some truth to this black dragon’s words?” The green snarled and opened his mouth to rebut the claim, but the red interrupted him, “Your last words have already been set into record. You are not permitted any further explanation of your mind. Return to your place” He turned to the gallery, “Such a claim is not unjust, for we all saw his actions. Only by achieving victory here will his actions be permitted to be placed behind him in time, though they shall never be overlooked, and there shall be a tribunal response afterwards.”

  Gasps ran through both crowds. It appeared the green wasn’t getting off no matter what happened. Happy sighs passed around the holocom table. Commander Brandson even pumped her fist. It was good to see consequences come for stupidity. Now it was a question of just how corrupt a draconic court would be? The imperial courts were notoriously just. It was getting access to a hearing that was filled with injustice. Perhaps they had a similar problem?

  The pit in the centre of the arena flared with sudden flame.

  The red dragon turned again to the arena and rasped, “Fight.”