Starfinder

UNBEARABLE PROPORTIONS

SKYHIGH PULLED HIS MESS KIT out from behind the seat of his dragonfly, hopefully opened its metal lid, then scowled with disappointment. His supplies had dwindled to a can of beans and two stale biscuits. Food in hand, he crawled out of his vessel and headed toward the cliff. After two full days of flying he was light-headed and famished, but his efforts were nothing compared to Merceron’s. Somehow, the old dragon had carried him and his fuel-laden dragonfly to the very edge of the world, to a place where only a gigantic canyon separated them from the palace of the Skylords. Overhead the sky continued to darken, forcing Skyhigh to hurry. Once the moon came out, Merceron claimed, the Skylords’ city would glow like fire.

Determined not to miss the show Skyhigh rushed toward the cliff, but paused as he emerged from the sheltering trees. At the very edge of the cliff lay Merceron, flat on his belly with Lady Esme on his head, his chin tucked upon his front claws. Together he and Esme stared longingly across the canyon. Behind the mountains the sun painted the sky a dazzling orange.

“Not much food left,” said Skyhigh as he approached. He sat down beside the dragon on the smooth outcropping of rock, showing him the contents of the mess kit. “We could hunt if you want. Are you hungry? You must be hungry.”

Merceron rolled a disinterested eye toward the biscuits and beans. “I don’t know how you eat that anyway.”

“You get used to it,” said Skyhigh. He fished a can opener out of the box and started working it around the rim of the can. Lady Esme spied the distant palace, entranced by the little specks flying around it—her fellow Skylords. “You’re sure it’s safe out here?” asked Skyhigh. “They might see us.”

“They already know we’re here,” sighed Merceron.

“They do? Then why’d I bother hiding the dragonfly?”

Merceron shrugged. “I didn’t tell you to.”

Annoyed, Skyhigh pretended to turn his back. “Just for that you’re not getting any beans. So, if they know we’re here, why don’t they come for us?”

“Because they have patience,” snapped Merceron. “Every race has patience—except humans. Now would you mind shutting up?” He grumbled as he settled his long chin back onto his claws. “Fifty years, no flying. Then a boy comes along and suddenly I’m flying myself to exhaustion every day…”

“What are you muttering about?”

“Nothing. I’m tired. All right?”

Skyhigh offered him a biscuit. “Here…”

Merceron batted it away, right over the cliff.

“Hey! That was supper!”

“If you’re hungry, eat,” Merceron growled. “Please, put something in your mouth instead of your tongue.”

Skyhigh stuck his spoon into the beans, silent for a moment as he watched the sinking sun. The moon appeared in the cloudless sky, its silver light beginning to tinge the far-off palace. Skyhigh set aside his tin.

“Merceron, we have to talk.”

“Oh, no…”

“What’s our plan? You haven’t told me yet.”

“No?”

“Listen,” said Skyhigh crossly. “For two days you’ve done nothing but fly and keep quiet. I trusted you enough to come along, but the Skylords aren’t going to just hand Moth over to us. I want to know why I’m here. What exactly do you want me to do?”

Finally, Merceron lifted his head. “Trust?”

Skyhigh nodded. “Yeah. I trust you. But I can’t go further until you tell me your plan.”

“That’s not trust,” harrumphed Merceron, and went back to staring at the palace.

His demeanor puzzled Skyhigh. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Why are you going after Moth?”

“Why are you?” the dragon countered.

“Because he’s my friend. And I’ve known Moth a lot longer than you have, Merceron, so don’t tell me it’s because he’s your friend, too.” Skyhigh leaned back on his palms. “We’ve got all night, so you might as well start talking.”

Lady Esme walked down to the tip of Merceron’s nose. He snorted gently to move her back to his crown, then asked, “How much did Rendor tell you about me?”

“Not a lot,” said Skyhigh honestly. “Moth, either. He said you were a wizard.” An idea bubbled up. “Is that your plan to rescue Moth? Some sort of spell?”

“Only a human wouldn’t know how ridiculous that sounds.” Merceron closed his rheumy eyes. “Do you have children, Skyhigh?”

“Kids?” chortled Skyhigh. “No, thank heaven.”

“A woman, then? Someone special?”

Skyhigh grinned. “I’ve got a lot of special women, but I don’t think that’s what you mean. Why?”

“Because I have a story to tell,” said Merceron, “but I’m not sure you can understand it.”

“We Skyknights are pretty smart, Merceron. Give it a try.”

“All right, but remember you pushed me into this…”

“Go on.”

Merceron kept his eyes shut. “Once there was a young dragon named Elaniel…”

Skyhigh laughed. “Sounds like a bedtime story.”

“Are you going to listen?”

“Sorry.”

The dragon started again. “Elaniel was the pride and joy of his parents. His father was a prominent dragon, a leader of his race. All the other dragons believed in him and trusted him, and Elaniel worshiped his father.”

Skyhigh felt uncomfortable suddenly, not liking where the tale was heading. “Okay…”

“When the war with the Skylords started,” Merceron went on, “all the dragons had to decide whether or not to fight. Elaniel’s father wanted to fight, so Elaniel went with him. He thought nothing could happen to him. He trusted his father to protect him.” Merceron opened his eyes, his gaze empty. “He trusted.”

Skyhigh didn’t need Merceron to finish the story. “Elaniel. He was your son.”

“Yes,” said Merceron softly. He searched Skyhigh for understanding. “What do you think it feels like to lose a child, Skyhigh? Can you imagine that feeling? Can you comprehend it at all?”

The answer came to Skyhigh easily. “I think,” he said sadly, “that it’s a tragedy of unbearable proportions.”

The phrase made Merceron smile. “Unbearable proportions. You’re a poet, Skyknight! Maybe now you understand. Elaniel trusted me and died. Lady Esme trusted me and got turned into a bird for it. Our friend Moth is just one of many. But this time I can do something about it. I can save him.”

“I believe you,” said Skyhigh. “But how?”

Merceron went back to gazing across the canyon. Skyhigh remained beside him, silent. It wasn’t the palace Merceron was watching, Skyhigh realized, but the dying sunset.