Rieven’s mind was moving quickly. I have just been given legitimacy in this empire, or at least the kind of legitimacy that will stand when I defend it with blood and steel. This is good. The emperor is almost finished bringing the shattered dynasty under his banner, there is not much left for him to conquer. Three star systems remained without bending the knee. Once they were conquered and the gains were consolidated, the empire would need more fuel. It was beginning to look like the Celestial Skies Empire was wealthy beyond imagination, with an infrastructure capable of more than He could imagine. The Paradisical Halls was proof of that. The Operatic Empire would be looking for new worlds to conquer in just a few years’ time and these would do nicely. Legitimacy would only provide the emperor with an easier time ruling the conquered people.

  It was also good because it sounded like there might be another force, the Wythgoesh, whatever they were, that were also antagonistic to the dragons. That would provide a helpful distraction during the war and a necessary outlet for their fury after the war was over. It is not easy, or cheap to redirect the rage of a conquered people but promising their youth war and glory usually got them off world fighting to bring someone else under heel instead of instigating rebellion, Rieven thought. He should know, it worked for him.

  It worked for him even after the empire brought war to his home and slew his parents. War is glory and endless opportunity for a young man with hate in his heart and a belly aching with the pain of hunger. Eventually pragmatism won out and he enlisted. Then indoctrination bore its fruits when he got a taste of success. Once he was clear-headed enough to realise that there was no glory in war, just pain and lost souls, it was too late; he was in the system already, grinding away at the borders of the empire.

  The thing was, though, that the Operatic Empire really did bring order, the kind that only slew you when you resisted, not the kind that wallowed in blood. Not only that, but he had bled and suffered alongside his brothers and sisters in the Fourth Imperial Navy for eighteen years. That bond will keep a man fighting on when he otherwise would sit down. This was his life and he had not only begun to enjoy it, but he had also become good at it. He didn’t rise to lead the Fourth’s special forces by accident or by some quirk of fate. He had learned, struggled, bled, fought, and nearly died for it. He had done everything required of him to actualise this reality and he loved it. Life could change. His did. Opinions could change. His did. He was happy. Besides, what else could he do with these skills? Run a dojo? A bar? Not interested.

  Rieven did not feel an ounce of sympathy towards this draconic empire for what the future held. While Big Red was currently treating him gently, Rieven had not forgotten the death attempt, nor the destruction greenie wrought. This was not an empire of peace – for there was no such thing. Empires were a thing of rage. Conquer or be conquered. He knew which his emperor would choose. He knew which he would choose as well.

  This legitimacy is also bad. A large chunk of the empire would be willing to hunt him personally. While that was a head-trip, it was also concerning. They still had to get home and Big Red might not be enough to manage that without harm if every dragon between here and there was personally gunning for his death to erase the ‘mistake’. Not to mention that even now it was debateable whether he still had hold of the Fourth under article INL 247-2. Technically the encounter was still continuing, but it would be over once the ritual combat was completed. What happened then? The ship’s captains were most likely even now meeting to determine the Lord Admiral’s permanent replacement, and he wasn’t there to control or direct the conversation. This was getting stressful.

  Master Sergeant Ono’s voice come over their private channel just then, “Sir, a couple of thoughts. One, I’ma broadcast this ritual combat to the boys back on the Hidden Dagger. They’ve gotta know one way or the other about their money.” Rieven snorted. “Two, I’ma have them forward it on the fleet-wide channel. Can’t have those other ship’s captains ignorant of your doings as they directly affect them. Plus someone’s gotta lead the Fourth to Homeworld. If they choose a political figure, then them seeing your success here will keep the new admiral in line. Even if you lose they will see you face down a dragon for them. That has meaning, and meaning has power; or it’s the other way ‘round. Take your pick. And third, when we get home, you know the emperor is gonna have you lead the vanguard to conquer these dragons. He has to. You have legitimacy in their system. That means we have an in to get the compliance o’ the conquered. You have that power. Pragmatically he can’t waste it. Just don’t start a rebellion and don’t look like you’re starting one and you’ll do fine.”

  Rieven sighed as he heard this, I’m glad his thoughts sound like my own, he thought. I want to lead us through this but I’m not sure the way I see before me is wide enough for everyone to follow, and I don’t want to destroy rebellions on an already dangerous journey home. Moral will be important. If seeing me fight a dragon in CQC is what it takes to start this off right and prevent politics from leading us, then that’s a price I’ll gladly pay, even if it ends with my humiliation at the claws of greenie.

  He switched the subject in his mind and looked up at Big Red. “Am I to be called Black Drake now?”

  Big Red smiled with mild condescension, “No, Black Drake is not your nature, it is become your den. It is who you are, not what you are. What you are is your nature. Who you are is your history. Your history is now the history of one of the lost lines, the line of the Black Drakes. Consider it a family name, a category under which various natures are grouped together for law to work. Your nature will be something else. Should you be victorious in the ritual combat the nature you declared before these dead whom your men now butcher for parts will be ratified. You will be Death’s Wind Rieven of Black Drake Den. Your line will be Black Drake.”

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  Rieven took a quick look behind himself and saw that the marines were carving trophies from the dead. Necklaces of solar sail cord and teeth or talons or bits of hide were being constructed, and the portable fabricator they had brought for ammo printing and spare parts was getting worked hard to accommodate the new imperative. None of the squad wanted to meet another dragon without evidence of their victory front and centre. He turned back to Big Red.

  “Very well. What happens next?”

  “Your men form up and follow me to the Room of Rites. There you will participate in the preparation for the rite of ritual combat. Your standard will be hung on the left of the entryway for all to see. Rising Sun Akhnahten’s banner will hang on the right. They will be left for the remainder of the day, the loser’s standard will be slashed by a dragon claw and left to hang in tatters, while the victor shall have a precious metal of the arbiter’s choice woven into his standard.

  “Only you and your challenger may enter the Room of Rites. The rest of us shall observe in the alcoves and walkways around the room, protected by axiomatic workings. You will both stand with your backs touching the working and then I shall call for final words. Rising Sun Akhnahten will probably demand your kinetic firearms be forfeited. I shall agree, for they are unreasonable in the spirit of the rite. You will then hand over all kinetics which you have on your person. You will have a moment then for your final words. Choose them well, for they are the first words our records will have from a Black Drake in three Millenia. Upon the conclusion of your words I shall call for the start of the rite. The fire in the centre of the room will flare and you and he will fight until a victor is made evident, at which point I shall declare the victor and the fire shall die and the rite shall be over, and you and your men will make your way to this shuttle and back to the Hidden Dagger and your hoard of war. I ask that you have a private word with me before leaving though. There is somewhat I would say after the rite no longer hangs over your head.”

  Rieven thought through that. I don’t think that any of that sounds unreasonable, but I don’t have a standard, and I need to secure a few more blades before we leave the fabricator. “Very well Heat Death Virabdhara. Allow me to make my final preparations and secure my standard and we shall depart.” The dragon rasped his assent. Rieven turned to the shuttle and was met with a surprise.

  Arrayed before the shuttle was Master Sergeant Ono and his squad. Private Slickback held a long pole with a crosspiece near the top. Hanging from this crosspiece was a white standard, square at the top and sides, but coming to a downwards point at the bottom. Stitched of silk into the centre of a white field was a black drake rampant. There was blood smeared on the standard from their trophy collection – that stuff really did get everywhere. Rieven flipped to the squad channel and asked, “Did that come from the fabricator?”

  Private Slickback answered “Sir, it did. We heard the dragon and realised you didn’t have a standard with you so we printed one out of the portable fabricator right quick – Sarn’t Ono had us gussy it up with the pole.” Rieven muted his mike and blinked quickly, pushing the moisture in his eyes back.

  “Thank you for the honour you do me.” He paused, “I believe there are two orders of formal business I need to attend to now. Private Slickback, please hand off the standard and approach.”

  “No need sir, Sarn’t Ono made it affixing.” He let go of the pole and the standard stayed as though it had been bolted to the floor. He grasped it again and it came loose. Private Slickback affixed it to the stone floor again and presented himself at attention before Rieven.

  “Thank you Private Slickback for that elucidatory answer.” Rieven muttered to general laughter on the comms. “Master Sergeant Ono, would you please commence your broadcast to every screen in the Fourth?”

  “Broadcasting now, sir.”

  “Private Slickback, in recognition of both your unwavering readiness and your claim as the first human to melt a dragon’s face off, I hereby give you a new name, which you may make legal upon our return. I name you Dragontooth. May you never cease to live up to its merits.” He grasped one of the many teeth hanging around the private’s neck and scratched a crude triangle into the pauldron on his left shoulder. “This sign shall follow you for all assignments until such time as you are named by one bearing more authority than I. Your personal banner will be fabricated and waiting for you at your bunk when we return and it will be much prettier and more detailed.” This caused Dragontooth to laugh in wonder. He hadn’t thought he’d be earning another name ever again. His current name had been given him at boot camp, as had most marine’s names.

  Earning a name, especially a new one, was no small thing. Names in the Operatic Empire could not be taken, they could only be given, and they could only be given by either one who bore more imperial authority than the receiver, or by the unanimous consent of every soul under their command. A new name could change a life. This one just had.

  “Thank you Sir!” He saluted Rieven with all his heart, and returned to the formation.

  Rieven looked at the squad in general and said, “Furthermore, you boys no longer belong to First Squad. You are are now founding members of a new squad, in recognition for being the first squad composed entirely of members who personally melted a dragon by their own hand. I name your squad the Dragon Guard, for you are each capable of guarding anything against a dragon. You are now members of Dragon Guard. Your new standard will be waiting for you in the chow hall, hanging from the wall. You and master sergeant Ono will report to me first thing tomorrow for your duties.”

  Rieven’s voice then adopted a more formal tone and dictionary, “We now go to the Room of Rites where I will face the dragon Rising Sun Akhnahten in his full glory in ritual combat. Regardless of the outcome, the dragon Heat Death Virabdhara has promised, and provided assurance, that the Fourth shall have safe passage to the boundaries of the Empire of the Celestial Skies and a peaceful departure. Should I be victorious, we stand to gain much. Should I fail, we gain what we most desperately require at this time – time to refit and then a guided exit tour. This broadcast is being controlled by master sergeant Ono and will continue until every man here has returned to the Hidden Dagger.”

  Rieven turned and began walking to the fabricator to get his new knives. Ono’s voice came over the private channel, “Well said sir. That’ll give the stuffed shirts something to think about other than politics.”

  “That was the idea, and for the grunts to know who is leading the situation so that those shirts can’t string me up on stupid charges later. Everyone will see for themselves and know what is happening and why. Hopefully this will make the return voyage more bearable.”

  “I would think so sir.”

  Rieven slid the last knife in a magnetic slot on his right forearm and looked at the Dragon Guard.

  Rieven said in a cheerful voice, “Let’s slay a dragon.”

  Ono finished the statement, “With aggressive prejudice.”