[Writing] Pax Draconica 2 - Chapter 11 (7th Jan 2026)

[Tapewolf]

I have about 13 chapters of this, so perhaps it's time to start posting them here.  This is, surprisingly, the sequel to the original Pax Draconica story.

I should probably mention that this contains spoilers for Book 1, since the first thing we do is summarise the events as a catch-up.

There are a few unresolved issues about balancing the two main plot threads, but hopefully I'll be able to fix that soon.


Chapter 1 - Fish

Mermul stared into the waters of the lake for a few moments and gingerly flicked out his tail, slapping the blue-grey appendage against the water repeatedly.  After a short time, the surface rippled and began to roil until a large, sleek head popped out of the lake with a splash, rubbery skin gleaming like a wetsuit.

"Oh," the dragoness said, looking at Mermul disapprovingly.  "What do you want?"

"Rude," Fiskul remarked.

"He's a frost-dragon," the water-dragon complained, shifting her gaze from the grey-furred dragon to the small, scaly black-and-red figure beside him.  "Frosties love their pranks.  Making ice floes and shit to try and stop us surfacing.  It gets old very quickly."

"But I didn't," Mermul pointed out reasonably.  "If that was my plan I'd have frozen it while you were trying to surface.  In any case, I can no longer breathe frost."

"You lost your breath powers?!" the water-dragon looked horrified and her head backed away in case Mermul was somehow contagious.  "But- but that's a gift from Father Alkrash Himself!  What did you do?!"

"It's complicated and you probably won't believe it anyway," Mermul sighed.  "Lord Thurr guillotined me, and while I lay headless, The Great One chose me to be His champion against Thurr, and an emotional support dragon for Fiskul here.  When I awoke, I had gained the power to heal the dying... but that new power had replaced my frost-breath."

"You're that Chosen One people have been talking about?!" the water-dragon looked surprised and unsure whether to believe him or not.

"Yes," the fluff-dragon said.  "I miss being able to freeze things, as it's often useful.  But I would never wish to give up the power to save lives.  And... well, back in Arcaia, before everything went bad... I sneezed in the shower.  That didn't end well."

"Why are you so surprised about this?"  Fiskul protested.  "It's been on the news!  For the first few tendays Mermul could barely move for people wanting his autograph.  And now some folks are trying to worship him..."

"Well, I could point out that we don't get television out here in the middle of a lake," the dragoness replied, "...But actually I'd be lying.  We have an Eidophor in that big building on the island, and we can also project films too.  The real problem is that we have to leave the water to watch, and it's just more comfy to swim, you know...?"

"So, does that mean you don't watch the news at all?" Mermul looked worried.  "I mean, in some ways I don't blame you... it can be pretty miserable, but when Lord Thurr was threatening an invasion, I'd have thought that was something you'd need to know about, so as to prepare if the worst came to the worst."

"Indeed," the dragoness admitted.  "We get newsreels with a compilation of important events from the last tenday or so.  As you say, it doesn't pay to be completely out of touch.  But a the same time, we're more likely to be interested in things that affect us water-dragons than things happening further out.  So yeah, we heard about the threat of war.  But then we heard it was averted and kind of switched off."

"But-" Fiskul looked outraged.

"Shush," Mermul told them.  "It doesn't matter.  I'd take apathy over cult worship any day.  Even the Chosen One's got things to do, right?"

"I guess you're right," Fiskul sighed, "But it seems so ungrateful given that you died to help save their tails!"

"I don't see many people lining up to worship you," the dragoness pointed out drily.

"It's mostly Fiskul keeping them away," Mermul said, craning his long neck to indicate the smaller dragon.  "For all that they consider me some kind of messenger from Father Alkrash, they're not particularly keen on the Devourer, even though we're both in a similar position.  We both get to see the Great One occasionally.  But... well, I have to die to get new instructions or prophecies or whatever from Him.  And to be blunt, dying isn't a particularly enjoyable experience.  Fiskul is a lot closer to Him than me, anyway..."

"But I look more scary," Fiskul added proudly.

"You're the Devourer...?" the dragoness looked worried.  "But if you're here... Did we miss a newsreel saying the world is about to end?!"

"Nah.  I've always been here," Fiskul said.  "Going to and fro in the Eyrth and walking up and down in it.  If you have a burst pipe, you'd call a plumber to fix it, sure.  But ending the world doesn't work that way.  I don't come when I'm called... I'm supposed to just lurk in the background until an apocalypse is needed."

The dragoness opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, a very small dragon had spotted them and came running over.

"Sea-dragon!  Sea-dragon!" the dragonlet burbled.  "Do the fountain thing!"

"Oh all right," the water-dragon grumbled, secretly pleased.  She arched back her head and inhaled deeply, before blowing a jet of water straight up into the air.  The youngster pranced and screamed with delight, and Mermul felt a sudden mischievious urge to freeze the water in mid-air.  Of course, this would upset the other dragons and besides, he had lost that ability... But the temptation still remained.

"I admire your restraint," the dragoness said, glancing at Mermul while the dragonlet was apologetically retrieved by one of their parents.  "I could see you wanting to play silly buggers with a frost-breath attack."

"It was tempting," Mermul admitted.  "Might have upset the kid, though.  And like I said, I can't.  I can heal things, even raise the dead.  But I had to get new freezers installed in the villa."

"This healing breath business," the water-dragon said.  "I have never heard of such a thing.  Can you show me?"

"Give me a fish," Mermul said.  "That would make as good a demonstration as any."

The water-dragon disappeared below the surface for a few moments, and then reappeared, spitting out a medium-sized carp, which landed in front of Mermul with a wet slap.
Gingerly, Mermul flipped the dead fish so it was floating in the shallows of the lake, and then he closed his eyes and inhaled.
A pale blue energy flowed from his mouth, like a plasma.  The dead fish spasmed, rolled over and darted suddenly into the depths of the lake.

"Wow," the dragoness said.

"It can have its drawbacks," Mermul said.  "Being able to heal the living and the dead is a wonderful gift, but... Well, one time I forgot I can't breath frost anymore.  I..."  Mermul's voice faltered at the memory.

"He tried to freeze a side of beef," Fiskul added helpfully.  "Shooing a live cow out of a pantry wasn't quite how I'd expected to spend that afternoon."

"What would have happened if you had cut the meat in half first?" the dragoness asked greedily. "Could you get two cows out of it?"

"We tried that later with a leg of lamb," Mermul said.  "You get one sheep - nothing happens if you try to heal the other half."

"Pity," the water-dragon said.  "Anyway... I have things to be getting on with.  You summoned me for a reason, right?"

"Ah, yes," Mermul said.  "Lord Varl is planning a new hydropower plant in the eastern valley.  We would like your aid in assessing the hydrological impact of this scheme.  As a minor lord, I'm nominally in charge of that region, so it falls to me to act as envoy."

"I see," the dragoness said.  "I shall inform our leader that Lord Varl wishes to speak with them, and an envoy will be sent to him.  Thank you for taking our kind into account in this matter."

"Thank you," Mermul said.

*  *  *

The meeting had not called for official dress, so Sir Fardon wore only his neck-pouch as he entered the throne room.  A formal gathering would have called for ceremonial armour, and the brown dragon had mixed feelings about such gear.  It looked fantastic, and was a real crowd-pleaser.  However, it was also what he wore when carrying out executions, and the guilt of taking the lives of his fellow dragons weighed down upon him.

Sir Darving and Sir Narfus were also present, and also dressed casual.  Lord Varl rarely donned armour except on special occasions, and wore only his usual jewellery.  Most of it was decorative, but the bracer on one foreleg contained a potent spell of protection that rendered him nearly invulnerable.

Lord Varl twitched his red-orange tail as Fardon entered.  Along with the two red dragon-knights, he was pondering a map on a large table, and he beckoned Fardon to join them.

"Arstrom?"  Sir Fardon asked, taking in the map.  "That is to the far northeast, isn't it?  Not a safe place for dragons, from what I remember.  And ruled by a series of... well, despots."

"That is so," Lord Varl replied.  "Even there, Lord Thurr's reputation has sullied our kind.  But it seems the tide may be turning, as we have received enquiries from their overlord."

"Now that Thurr no longer poses a threat, the ruler is apparently re-evaluating his relationship with dragonkind," Sir Darving added.  "Even the anti-dragon zealot factions there have to admit that an invasion by Thurr was the big danger, not hostility from Taria.  That at least, is what Lord Terror is saying."

"So they are opening their borders...?" the large brown dragon replied.  "Interesting."

"Indeed," the dragon king remarked.  "Their lord has invited us to send a delegation to discuss opening trade links, and to help prove to his people that dragons can be beneficial.  I aim to send out such a mission next tenday, and I would like you to lead it, Sir Fardon."

"Trade isn't my strong point, your majesty," Fardon pointed out.  "Presumably that side of things will be left to others?"

"Indeed.  You will be there as my representative.  The actual nitty-gritty of the negotiation will be done by others.  But they will look to you for the final say, and of course for protection."

"And Tarnover...?"

"It will keep," the red-orange dragon reassurred him.  "You have excellent underlings and they will be able to manage in your absence.  If you are truly worried, I can spare one of my knights here to keep an eye on things."

"Hopefully that won't be necessary," Fardon said.  "But... Hmmm.  What do we know about this Lord Terror?  Arstrom has had a long run as a feudal state, and to be honest, a name like that is... concerning."

"That is one of the things we would like to know more about," Sir Darving sighed.  "I was in Trooland earlier this year.  Those who have seen him say that he is a furre, but shows little sign of age.  He looks to be in his mid-twenties, and has done so ever since he usurped the throne twenty-something years ago.
"Maybe he has some fancy enchantment," the red dragon craned his neck at Lord Varl's invulnerability charm briefly.  "Or maybe he has dragon blood in him.  But he has been making big changes recently, modernising his realm.
"Perhaps he is a tyrant like Yyrkoon was, and Marfour the Red before that.  But even then, past performance is no guarantee of future returns, as the banks like to say.
"It wouldn't be the first time a despot has backed off, and opened up their society if the alternative is becoming a head on a pike.  And you never know, 'Terror' may just be his family name.  These are things we would like you to try and determine if you can."

"Just because we can trade with Arstrom, doesn't mean we should," Lord Varl added.  "But hopefully you can help us answer that question."

[Anders71]

Aha! Pax Draconica time!

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 2 - Summoned

Lord Mermul's villa was a spacious residence that he had inherited from his aunt, following her execution and the seizure of her estate.
Mermul still had the occasional nightmare, reliving the moment when Fercia had lost her teal-furred head in the city square for mass-murder and treason, and how he had nearly suffered the same fate.  The house, grounds and her fortune had been awarded to him as compensation for his mistreatment.
Even so, for some time after that, Sir Darving had still treated Mermul with extreme suspicion, fearing that he too was some kind of sleeper agent for Lord Thurr.  Until Thurr had demanded his head to avoid a war...

"Urgh," Mermul said, as he looked at the front gate.  A number of flowers and small gifts had been laid beside it.

"They mean well," Vinny said, perching on the archway overlooking it.  "I don't have the heart to stop them, but I have asked them not to block the entrance."

"But it looks like they're mourning me," the fluff-dragon complained, as the brown dragon opened the gates for them.

"You did die," Fiskul pointed out helpfully.

"In Lord Thurr's dungeon," Mermul pointed out.  "Maybe they should leave the flowers there?  If they want me to heal them, they should just write a letter or send me a Viewdata message like everyone else.
"No... that's the thing I have a problem with, I guess...?  Not that people need help, but the people who don't need help and just want to be... well, groupies or something.  Great One help me if they get planning permission to build a temple to me or something."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Vinny said.  "You're a lord, and can nix the planning permission if it comes to that.  But it's also very likely the Archbishop would have something to say if a new faith springs up around you."

"He'd probably try and sentence me to death again," Mermul grumbled.  "Though I'm less worried about such things now.  How about you, Vinny?  You have risen from the grave too.  Want to take my worshippers off my hands...?"

"Gah," the brown dragon said.  "You can keep 'em!  Besides, you raised me.  That's probably what all the fuss is about."

A small red dragon coughed politely.  Vinny turned sharply.

"Oh, Jentir?  Still here?"

"Just finished the hedgerows.  But... uh..."

Vintur looked at the gardener with an unhappy expression.  "Oh boy.  You heard what we were talking about, right...?"

"Uh, yes," the dragon said.  "I didn't know you... uh... died, and..."

"You want to know what it was like, don't you...?" the brown dragon sighed.  "This is why I never mention it."  He leaped into the air and landed majestically upon the pathway, gathering his thoughts with a pained expression.

"Mermul once told of an empty dawn sky," Vinny started, eyes staring into the distance.  "No ground, only a few scattered clouds in the far distance, and a beautiful red-tinged sunrise that never came.  No pain, only the feeling of the air flowing under your wings.
"I went there too, when Lord Thurr shot me.  I felt a moment of pain... I think, I may have imagined it, and then... Then I was in the dawn place.
"I don't know what happens if you're wingless.  Maybe there is land far below for those who can't fly, and you find yourself lying on a rock.  Or maybe they are gifted with the experience of flight after their mortal lives are done.  I don't know.
"But I was there, flying in that same void.  Then a silver dragon flew beside me.  I was told to wait, that my time had not yet come... That Mermul would tend to me.  Then he went away, and after that I woke up.
"I do not think many people have got to see their own brains splashed over a wall, but I am one of them.  I almost puked up again.  Mermul sent me back to sleep, and the next thing I knew... Lord Thurr had murdered Zeelah."

"You weren't supposed to say that!" Fiskul looked aghast.  "The official story is that she's his advisor!"

"I was going to say that Mermul saved her!" Vinny snapped.  "That's true, right?  Now you've gone and thrown that out the window!
"Look, guys, this isn't supposed to get out, but the truth is... Thurr's gone, trapped in a magical trinket.  There's someone in his head, but it's not him.  Zeelah's running the show now.
"For her... His own sake we've tried to hush that up to avoid a coup or a fanatic trying to get the real Thurr back in charge."

"I don't have any ties to Thurr," the gardener said hastily.  "I just wanted to know what happens... if I..."

"...If you get an out-of-skull experience like Vinny did," Fiskul said helpfully.  The brown dragon winced.

"Sorry," Fiskul said, looking abashed.  "I'm too used to dying.  It doesn't bother me anymore."

Vinny rolled his eyes and craned his neck back to Jentir.  "Ties to Thurr aren't a problem as such," he said reassuringly.
"There's a fair few refugees from Thurr here, but I'm not worried about them.  Nobody who is fleeing from his cruelty wants to see that part of him come back, because he might call a hit on them like he tried to do with Mermul.
"No... it's the sleeper agents that worry me.  The ones like Fercia was, who are true believers but are very good at hiding it.  They might not be too happy about the spy network being dismantled, and if they realise it's because Thurr isn't Thurr anymore..."

"That's above my pay grade," Jentir said.  "I'm just a gardener!"

*  *  *

The music hall was one of the largest rooms in Mermul's villa.  Inside it, the blue-grey frost dragon lay upon a specially-designed couch, his forelegs roving across the keyboard, with the couch supporting his body while one foot was free to press down on a semi-circular pedalboard.

Horn-like tones reverberated throughout the room as he played, a maze of pipes hidden in the loft switching on and off as he recited an opus by the reknown composer Urnax, written to commemorate the thousandth anniversary of Lord Varl's coronation.  Mermul fluffed a note here and there, but successfully completed the final arpeggio run, ending with the closing chord and an earth-shaking bass note from the 32-foot bombarde rank.

As the echoes faded away and he switched off the blowers, Mermul craned his neck around to see Sir Fardon standing in the entrance to the music hall.

"Impressive," the brown dragon said, looking surprised.  He thumped his tail upon the ground in appreciation.  "I didn't know you could play!  I didn't even know you had this!"

"Oh, I started to learn in Arcaia," Mermul said, looking embarrassed.  "Thurr had a pipe organ, and there was one in the Temple of Alkrash, but we plebs weren't allowed anything like that.  Thurr wanted his people to be warriors, not artists.
"Anyway, Fercia's villa had a small organ, but it didn't seem to have seen much use lately.  Since I have a lot in the bank from the reward money, I had it refurbished and expanded.  I've been taking lessons...
"But it's good to see you, Fardon!" he added.  "Did Lord Varl summon you from Tarnover?"

"He did," Fardon said.  "And since this business will take me away from Taria for a while, I figured I should let you know I won't be around for a bit."

"Much appreciated," Mermul said.  "Let's discuss this in the parlour."

*  *  *

Mermul led his friend into the parlour, and settled in a large couch.  He moved a table out of the way, which held a collection of oddments including a large brush.

"Some more of Fercia's personal effects," he explained.  "There was a hidden compartment in the couch.  Nothing terribly interesting, though... mostly fur-care stuff.  Can I get you anything?" he added.  "Tea?  Coffee?"

"I do have a meeting at the palace in one hour," Fardon said apologetically.  "So I can't stay long, I'm afraid.  But if you have tea, I wouldn't say no."

"I'll get it," Fiskul said, poking their head into the doorway eagerly.

"Tea from the Evil One," Fardon said, looking amused.  He looked at the brush for a few moments and then settled into another couch.

"Firstly, Lord Varl is sending a delegation to Arstrom," Fardon began, as the two dragons made themselves comfortable.  "I'll be heading there next tenday."

"Arstrom..."  Mermul thought for a few moments.  "Northeast, right?  I don't remember them being kind to dragons there."

"There was an incident some centuries back," Fardon said.  "Dragons weren't especially welcome after that.  But their present lord seems very enthusiastic about having dragons return there.  While it would be good if we can negotiate trade links, I am also supposed to look into this lord and see if he would be a good match for an alliance."

"I wish you luck," Mermul said.  "Be safe!"

"I should go too!" Fiskul said, entering the room with a tray of hot beverages.  Fardon craned his neck towards Fiskul with a look of dismay as he took one of the bowls.

"But it makes sense!" the smaller dragon protested.  "I love Mermul, but I don't want to lose you either, Fardon!  You're going a long way!  What if it's a trap?  What if you're taken hostage?  You'll need someone who can break you out again if things go wrong!"

"You do have a point," Fardon admitted.  "But I will have to run that past Lord Varl, and I don't know what he'll say.  Granted, I doubt I could stop you coming with me if you were determined.  But..."

"Let me guess, he'd be privately relieved to have me out of his realm, but worried that if I'm out of his sight, I might start devouring the world without him knowing?" the Dark Destroyer looked amused.

"I will definitely ask," Fardon said.  "I can't deny it would be useful to have some backup, an ace card in case this 'Lord Terror' lives up to his name.
"There is one other thing," he added, lapping at his tea.  "Lord Thurr has requested your presence, Mermul."

"Oh," Mermul said.  "Do we know why?"

"Thurr would like you to try and resurrect someone," Fardon said.  "He has asked if he can borrow you and your powers, whether you would be available on betaday?  That's all I know, unfortunately."

"I could do that," Mermul agreed.  "Though much depends on who and why.  I'll use my discretion."

"Wise," Fardon admitted.  "I'd assume it's one of Old Thurr's victims... but who knows.  If it's someone unsavoury, you can always refuse...  Oh, and you can stay at my villa if you need a stopover in Tarnover," he added.  "My housekeeper will be told to expect you."

"Thanks," Mermul said, and promptly sneezed.

It is not usually a good thing when a dragon sneezes.  Once, this would have left a neat patch of frost.  But now, Mermul sneezed a pale blue stream of energy, which struck the table and the brush upon it.

"Beg pardon," Mermul said.  And then froze.  The energy was not going away.  Instead, the glow had spread to engulf the fur-brush and was continuing to grow.

"What the hell..." Fardon started.  Fiskul looked astonished.  In the centre of the energy blob, giant bones could be seen.  Within sixty seconds, a colossal skeleton had formed.  It became faint as flesh knit and covered it.  The table collapsed and the glow faded away, leaving a teal-furred dragoness.  She stumbled briefly, craned her neck to take in the room, and faced Mermul with a shocked expression.

"...Oh," Fercia said, looking stricken.  "Oh Mermul... I don't think you were supposed to do this!"

"I didn't think I could!"  Mermul squeaked, looking horrified.

"Holy Alkrash," Fardon gurgled.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 3 - Fercia

"Fiskul," Fardon said, "Find Vinny.  Tell him to call Sir Darving.  He will need to see this."

Fercia sat down like a dog and focused intently on Mermul.

"I have to know, Merm," she said, looking worried.  "Before your large friend here kills me again, I have to know...
"I can't trust what I learned in the Punishment Place... Did you get the Xebulon?  Did you take down Thurr?"

"Yes," Mermul said.  "We did.  Lord Thurr is trapped in his own invulnerability bracelet and Zeelah has taken his place.
"People are confused, some think I have blackmailed him or otherwise forced him to do my bidding.  But the truth is - he's out of the picture."

"Then it was worth it," Fercia said, sighing with relief.

"Are you going to cause trouble?"  Fardon asked, watching the teal dragoness suspiciously.

"No," Fercia said simply.  "There is no point.  There has clearly been an accident, and taking advantage of the confusion would not improve my standing in the long term."

"Nonetheless, I cannot let you leave the room," Fardon said.  "You did not go so quietly to justice last time."

"I wanted a spectacle," Fercia said simply.  "It was never in my mind to try and escape... Since I had been caught, I wanted to feel like I died fighting, to show the world that I had died bravely - losing my head in as dragonly a death as I could manage."

"It was all a bit stupid really," she added.  "But it seemed like a good idea at the time.  If I had known I would be returning to the land of the living, however briefly... I might have acted differently then.  Certainly I would, knowing what I now know of what awaits me."

"Alright," Sir Darving said, entering the parlour with Fiskul in tow.  "What's the- AAAAHH!!"

The large red dragon stared in total disbelief.  "What the hell has happened?!"

"I sneezed," Mermul said unhappily.

"You sneezed," Sir Darving repeated numbly.  "Mermul sneezed and a dead psychopath appeared...?  Am I having some kind of nightmare?  A mental breakdown?"

"It's real," Mermul said miserably.  "I sneezed my healing power on one of her old grooming brushes.  It had traces of her fur in it...  And now..."

"He did not intend this," Fercia interrupted.  "Nor did I.  And yet... here I am.  I await your judgement."

"That's above our pay grade," Fardon put in quickly.  "It's Lord Varl who should be deciding what happens to her.  Myself, I say exile.  I've killed her once, I have no wish to do it again."

"Exile?!  After what she did?!  She violated the Pax Draconica more times than we have claws!"

"Think," Fardon snapped.  "It's going to look pretty fucking weird if we guillotine an infamous mass-murderess a second time.  Do you want to answer the questions that will raise?!  If we kick her out of Taria, none of this is our problem!"

"...But we can't!" Sir Darving wailed.  "We can't have her alive and free while all those people she killed are dead!  That's not fair!"

"You would be within your rights to take my head again," Fercia said, bowing her neck and resting her head upon the ground as if expecting Sir Darving to remove it there and then.  "I deserve it for the atrocities I committed."

"Absolutely not!" Fiskul objected.  "First, killing her here will ruin Mermul's carpet.  But more importantly, she has already been executed once!
"She doesn't get another go, besides which she's into that sort of thing."

"Fisk!" Mermul protested, looking shocked.  "You can't say things like that!"

Fiskul rolled their eyes. "I may not understand your taboos, but I do understand your laws," the Devourer pointed out.  "Legally, she's dead.  You've got her house, Mermul.  The case is closed and charging her again would be double-jeopardy.  She cannot be executed twice for the same offence!"

"That's only a problem if people find out," Sir Darving said, thoughtfully.  "But supposing you devoured her...?"

"I will not!" Fiskul snarled.  "She's served her sentence."

"Have I?" Fercia asked quietly.  "I still have a few years left to serve in Hell.  Escaping that punishment and returning to the land of the living... this was not supposed to happen!"

"You see?" Darving insisted.  "She admits it!  She belongs in Hell and we should send her back there!"

"We do not have that right," Fardon said.  "We should ask the gods what to do, this is their province, and ultimately their doing."

"Oh no, no, no," Mermul said, backing away.  "You're not killing me just so I can get instructions from the Great One!  Fardon, you are my friend and I hate to make threats, but I was an assassin once - and I can mess you up if you force me to defend myself."

"I meant through prayer," Fardon clarified.  "You outrank me now, and I'd be in serious trouble for assaulting you without good reason.  That said, if you should see Him again, you should probably ask for a safety interlock on your healing breath power..."

"Back to Fercia," Fiskul said.  "There is the further problem that her trial and execution might have been unduly hasty.  She was on a meat-rich diet - we know that now - and if she was not of sound mind because her hormones were scrambled, she should never have received the death sentence at all!"

"What makes you think you know so much about our laws, Fiskul?"  Sir Darving stared at the black dragon challengingly.

"When you have been publicly executed as many times as I have, you make it your business to have a good grasp of what's a capital crime and what isn't!" Fiskul snapped.  "I had to become a law expert by necessity, simply to keep my own head attached, to say nothing of my poor friends!  And yet, that very reputation as a lawyer is one of the reasons I get referred to as the Evil One!"

"Being mentally confused does not absolve me of all my crimes," Fercia interrupted sadly.  "The killings in the murdertorium were still pre-meditated, to feed my blood-lust.  If you seek to give me the blade for those crimes, I will not resist."

"But that blood-lust was caused by malnutrition," Fiskul objected.  "There are extenuating circumstances.  You should be imprisoned, yes - executed, no!  Besides, the fact that you acknowledge the wrongness of what you did, that speaks well of your character, despite your misplaced loyalty to Thurr."

"We do not know for sure that this was a mistake," Mermul said thoughtfully.  "Perhaps this was intended by Father Alkrash, that she may find redemption here on Eyrth.  She helped us defeat Lord Thurr, and that counts for a lot, for that monster has taken far more lives than Fercia ever did."
"Low-risk criminals are sometimes moved to an open prison, are they not?" Fiskul added.  "That may have been the intention here, if Mermul's theory is correct."

"You think she was given early release from Hell?!" Sir Darving sat down and covered his eyes with his hands.  "Alright...  I can't deny that's possible.  I cannot know the minds of the gods, and sometimes they work in very mysterious ways."  He put down his forelegs and looked around.
"Either way, we must keep her away from the bereaved.  Some are likely to attempt their own kind of justice if they learn that she has returned, and their loved ones haven't."

"I do not want that!" Fercia yelped, horrified.  "Lawful execution is one thing, but being murdered is quite another!  I do not want others to suffer over what I have done, and if they commit a vigilante killing upon me, they will surely get the blade too!"

"I could bring them back afterwards," Mermul said helpfully.

"That's a vigilante resurrection!"  Sir Darving looked horrified.  "You've done enough damage already, Mermul!  Our legal system was never designed for people to be un-executed... Please don't wreck it any further!"

"Lord Mermul," the frost-dragon reminded him.  "I hate to pull rank, but I'm pretty sure my title gives me a say in what becomes of her."

"If it helps, I can dye my fur," Fercia said.  "I doubt I'm the only teal frost dragon in Taria, but all the same, it would be better if I was not recognised."

"You're being very cooperative," Sir Darving said, looking at her suspiciously.  "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," Fercia sighed.  "I have caused enough mayhem for a dragon's lifetime.  I cannot take back what I have done, but if I am to remain alive, I want my deeds going forwards to be noble ones.
"Mermul may be right, that I was allowed to return here to try and redeem myself.  I am assuming that is the case, and as such, my new life should be dedicated to goodness... assuming I am permitted to have one.
"And on that note, if you still have my diaries to jog my memory, I can probably make you a list of those who perished in the murdertorium."

"I managed to restore some of them to life," Mermul said.  "With my gift.  But even so, a list would be useful.  And yes, if you can change your appearance a bit, we'll need that.  Urgently."

"What's the rush?"  Sir Darving asked, looking crestfallen.  "Lord Varl will want proof!  If she's had a makeover and no longer resembles Fercia, that proof will be harder to provide."

"Because of the cultists!"  Mermul sounded anxious.  "Gods... If they find out I've resurrected my aunt, I don't want to know what they'll think!"

"Cultists?"  Fercia looked appalled.  "Mermul, what have you been doing?!"

"It's not my fault!" the blue-grey dragon protested.  "A bunch of the Small Races started worshipping me, just because I was blessed by Father Alkrash!  They think I'm some kind of conduit to the Great One and that He will hear their prayers through me or something.  I don't understand it.  I wish they would go away."

"He's right," Fardon said.  "If word gets out that Mermul resurrected a notorious serial killer, it could cause a schism.  The cultists are harmless now, but... Urgh.
"Best case, they see it as Alkrash showing His mercy upon a sinner.  It's the ones who think he misused his gift, or that Mermul has to turned evil that will be dangerous.  They could start trying to kill each other.  Or Mermul.  Or kill other people in his name.  When it comes to a religious fanatic, I don't know how much collateral damage they could do."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 4 - Justice

"Okay," Fardon said.  "Let's get things straight.
"Fercia's back, by accident or some grand design of the gods.  We can't legally kill her and Fiskul and Mermul will object if we try.  Mermul might even bring her back again, deliberately this time, if he feels strongly enough that she deserves a shot at redemption."

"So," he continued thoughtfully.  "How about this?  Lord Thurr wants Mermul's help.  When he goes to visit, Fercia could go with him.  If she stays in Thurr's realm and helps Zeelah, nobody here has to know she's back."

"I don't like it," Sir Darving said.  "There's a risk that she might derail the peace we have with Thurr, since she was one of his loyalists.  But it does have a lot of advantages.  I will put this idea to Lord Varl."

"I will not bring back Lord Thurr," Fercia said fiercely.  "If I have been given another chance, it was because I helped you take him down in the first place!  In which case, I owe the Great One big and I will do my best to follow His course."

"We have Narkath as our agent in Thurr's realm," Mermul said.  "He is sworn to serve me, and will ensure she keeps her word.  Not that I doubt her, but... Well, he'll need to be told either way."

"Understood," Fercia said.  "And a wise precaution.  I'll definitely need to change my appearance if we do this," she added.  "If I am to make a flight to Thurr's realm, that would greatly increase the risk of detection if I were to go as I am."

"Lord Mermul," Vinny said, entering the room.  "Eeep!"

The brown dragon froze, and then sighed.  "So that's what all the fuss is about."

"It was an accident," Mermul said.  "Or part of the gods design."

"Fercia," Vinny said coldly.  "Thank you for leaving me the black trunk.  I do appreciate it.  But..." he shrugged his wings.  "You were a good friend once.  But... I'm not sure a friendship can survive such atrocities as you carried out behind my back."

"I know," the teal dragoness sighed.  "My execution was justice done.  Vinny... I'm sorry."

Vinny turned and left the room, trembling slightly.

"I'll make sure he's okay," Fiskul said, and followed after.

*  *  *

Fercia stood in the great hall, head lowered submissively as Lord Varl considered her.  She had dyed her fur a pastel blue, and while this was a little unusual it was not enough to earn a second glance from most of the dragons in Taria.

"Well," the dragon king started, craning his red-orange neck to stare down at the frost dragoness judgementally.  "This puts us in a most awkward position."

"I'm so sorry, your Majesty," Fercia said wretchedly.

"That is a marked improvement on the last time you were brought before me," Varl said.

"That, I think, is why she is here," Mermul said.  "Because she is sorry."

"Lord Mermul," Varl said, "You believe Fercia should be given another chance.  For you to have been able to accomplish her resurrection at all...  That has interesting religious and philosophical implications."  He craned his neck, glancing at Archbishop Ferdinand.

"Lord Mermul's power of healing and revival was granted him by the Great One," the kangaroo furre stated.  "I do not believe this power was given without constraints, nor do I believe that he would be able to raise one whom the Great One actively opposes the revival of.  Therefore, since Fercia has returned, it must be because Alkrash wishes it so, or has at least permitted it to be."

"The question is," Sir Darving mused, "Whether His intention is that she should be given another chance, as Mermul believes - or whether she has been sent back in order that we should put her to death once more.  He may, in His wisdom, have decided that she has not suffered enough."

"I do not believe that is so," Mermul objected.  "The Great One allowed her to contact me from the Punishment Place, and without that aid... I do not like to think what would have happened with regard to Lord Thurr.  Certainly we would not now be at peace with his realm... More likely he would have conquered us, or tried to.
"No... I believe she was allowed to do this because it suited His purposes, that Fercia acted as His instrument, in exchange for a reduction in her punishment.  It is said that the Punishment Place is not eternal suffering, but a sentence.  Fercia herself hinted that this was so... in which case, her sentence may have been reduced, and she was sent here as a chance to seek redemption."

"But Lord Thurr threatened war because you removed the artifact," Sir Darving pointed out.  "A chain of events that would not have happened without Fercia's intervention.  Was that aid, or did she not simply make things worse...?"

"You forget," Sir Fardon argued.  "The Xebulon was in Fercia's estate, regardless of whether or we knew it or not.  Eventually Thurr would have remembered this and ordered its retrieval at any cost.  Would he have ordered a theft, taking the object by stealth without us even knowing?  A surgical strike, slaying all within Fercia's villa in a desperate bid to secure the artifact?  Threats of war unless we returned it to him?  We would not have been left in a much different position.
"Remember that Thurr's long-term plan was to kidnap the Devourer and attempt to seize their powers for himself, to make himself truly unstoppable.  For as long as Fiskul remained in our lands, that would still have happened, even if he had quietly stolen back the artifact.
"We would still have faced the menace of Fiskul's friends being assassinated until they surrendered to Thurr, and besides, he wanted Mermul out of the way, in any case.  Mermul taking the artifact with Fercia's aid simply accelerated the process - and ensured he knew it could be used as a weapon against Thurr."

"That is true," Sir Darving said.  "Perhaps Mermul is right, and that Fercia has been returned as a reward for her assistance, and to face a lesser punishment than death or the torments of Hell."

"I would like to think so," Mermul said.  "It cannot be disputed that she has also committed terrible crimes...  But she was not full in control of herself, a fact overlooked during her original trial and subsequent beheading.
"To reiterate, I do not believe she should be executed again... but if she were exiled, or agreed to leave for Thurr's realm until the situation was less volatile, that would solve a lot of problems."

"I agree that it would be best if she left Taria," Fiskul said.  "But at the same time, we cannot neglect the families of those she has murdered.  I propose a blood-price."

"Indeed?"  Lord Varl raised an eyebrow.  "That is an unusual request."

"But it is still the law of the land, is it not?"

"It is, Dark One.  It is easier for a dragon to kill one of the Small Races by accident - or in a moment of madness - than it is for one of the Small Races to inadvertently slay a dragon.  And it is regrettably true that it is far easier to replace one of the Small Races than a dragon.  Since dragons have usually accumulated wealth over their long lives, we are usually in a good position to pay a fine for their deed and avoid execution for murder.  This is a way to save face, a compromise.
"But it is not something we like to do, for the fact that dragons can better pay a blood price seems unfair at first - even though it is an attempt to account for the innate differences between races.  Even so, this is a way out of our dilemma."

"My lords," Fercia said sadly, "I would gladly do so.  The bereaved deserve compensation for my wickedness.
"Unfortunately, since my much-deserved execution... my land and wealth were forfeit.  As a trained spy for Lord Thurr, I do have some emergency stashes which likely remain untapped.  But even so, I will not be able to pay the significant sum which my victims are due.
"I understand that this could mean I must pay instead with my neck, and if that is to be my fate, I shall not resist."

"I will pay the fine for her, if my funds allow," Mermul stated.  "I believe that she truly means to redeem herself and I would not see that effort wasted.  But I will consider it a loan, that I expect to be repaid over the next few decades," he added sharply, glancing at his aunt.  "By this we shall know you are serious in your desire to redeem yourself."

Lord Varl raised his head and looked down upon Fercia imposingly.  "Fercia," he intoned.  "Hear now my judgement upon you.  You have wantonly slain many of the Small Races, kidnapping them and torturing them to death in a private dungeon, in a most heinous and flagrant violation of the Pax Draconica.  The sentence for this crime is death by beheading."

Fercia closed her eyes and uttered a small sigh, as if of great relief.  Fiskul and Mermul opened their mouths to object.

"This death sentence is hereby suspended," the dragon-king interposed.  "In view of the fact that you were not of sound mind, a blood price shall be accepted, the sum of which is to be determined tomorrow.
"It is noted, Fercia, that you are currently without employment and of limited means.  As such, Lord Mermul has offered to pay this sum on your behalf.
"It is further noted, however, that is it not his place to suffer for your crimes.  Therefore, the government of Taria shall take from him a deposit, and a payment plan shall be agreed upon going forwards, on the understanding that you, Fercia, shall ultimately assume responsibility for the payments, and make whole any sum that Mermul has paid on your behalf, once your are gainfully employed and able to do so.
"This plan shall be guaranteed by your head, and if you breach this agreement by refusing to honour your debts to society and to Mermul, it shall be removed from your neck as compensation.  This death sentence shall be rescinded in its entirety once your debts are paid."

"I accept your judgment, my lord," Fercia said.  "I swear by the three gods to repay my nephew Mermul and the state, whatever debt is owed to them.  Further, I do not wish the bereaved to be upset by the knowledge that I have returned.  To that end, I intend to leave for the Realm of Thurr once the agreement has been finalised, and I shall endeavour to send payments to Taria from there as soon as I am able."

"So be it," Lord Varl decreed, and slapped his tail against the ground.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 5 - Traitors

Lord Thurr's eyes narrowed.  "Fercia!  Traitor!  You have a lot of nerve coming here.  I thought Lord Varl had taken your head!"

"He did," Mermul said.  "And I gave it back."  Lord Thurr looked startled, and then glowered at Fercia again.

"I am sorry, my lord," the dragoness sighed.  "It was not my intention to bother the living again.  But now I am here, having betrayed both you and violated the Pax Draconica in Taria...  I seek to make amends.  I aided Mermul in his struggle, told him about the Xebulon.  And this, I think was enough, for the gods to grant me a second chance."

"What, then, do you propose to do with that chance?"  Thurr asked, his voice noticeably less stony.

"I cannot stay in Taria.  Even though the Great One has allowed my return, it is not fair to those I have wronged.  But here, under your command, I can strengthen the alliance between you and Lord Varl.
"I was once a top agent for this realm, and I know much that may have been forgotten during the confrontation with Mermul.  I can assist you.  If I can make the realm a better place, help prepare it for the signing of the Pax Draconica, I will have helped to repay my debts."

"Talking of which, she owes me quite a sum of money," Mermul added. "We arranged a settlement with Lord Varl to compensate the families she has wronged.  Being the inheritor of her estate, I have had to assist her financially in this matter.  I would not see her head removed again, just as she is trying to do the right thing.  You should always encourage the behaviour you want to see."

"If Fercia is true to her word, I shall ensure that her debts are repaid," Lord Thurr conceded.  "That seems only fair, not least because this is ultimately the fault of this realm's old policies.  But I shall have my eye on you, Fercia."

"As will Narkath," Fercia said.  "I know my fate if I fail again, and I truly do want to start afresh.  Oh, and Mermul...?  Tell Vinny that... I understand."

*  *  *

The green dragon came to slowly, his eyelids opening a crack.  Everything was muddy and confused, and the echoes of another life rang loudly through his mind.

"Coma," he croaked.  A dream of the afterlife while he lay incapacitated, that must have been it.

"Hello there," Mermul said.  The green dragon's eyes opened fully, took in the blue-grey frost dragon before him and gave a piercing shriek, eyes darting around madly.

"Shush," Mermul said.  "It's okay, it's okay..."

"You're his assassin!" the dragon blurted, cowering.  "One of his pet killers!"

"I've switched careers," the fluff-dragon said.  "I am a dragon - hunting and slaying is part of my nature.  But hunting and slaying my fellow dragons?  That's no way to run a civilised society.  I brought you back, friend.  Welcome."

"But I was slain," the green dragon said slowly.  "I remember now.  The guillotine in the square... my fellows laughing and cheering as I was strapped down and decapitated...  Thurr watching with excitement... It was too real to be a dream.  I thought at first that I had been in a coma and dreamed of the life after ours... But... I... I am confused."

"Don't worry, you are safe now," Lord Thurr said coaxingly as he entering the room.  The green dragon screamed again.

"Do calm down, please," the red dragon said.  "I am not the one who slew you.  I requested Mermul's aid in restoring you to life."

"But... But that's impossible!"

"Improbable, yes," Lord Thurr said.  "But the Great One has seen fit to bless Mermul with wonderous powers of healing.  For the gods, impossible is a much higher bar."

"I, too, lost my head to Lord Thurr," Mermul said.  "In that, we are brothers of the guillotine.  But I was turned back from the land beyond, sent to act as a balance for the Devourer.  Life and healing against death and destruction."

"Now tell us, please, what is your name?" Lord Thurr added.

"You don't even remember that?!" the dragon looked mortified.  "I angered you enough to merit execution in public... To hear the jeers of my brothers ringing in my ear-canals as my life ebbed away.  I'd hoped to have left more of an impression.  Apparently I died in vain..." he ended with a brief sob.

"Shush," Thurr said comfortingly.  "It's alright now.  Despite all appearances, I did not slay you, nor witness your death.  All I know is that your head was mounted in the trophy room, with a date logged beneath it.  I do not know who you are, or what was Thurr's problem with you.  I am hoping that you were attempting to bring his downfall.  If so, rest assured that this has finally happened."

"I'm not that confused," the dragon snapped.  "You are Lord Thurr!  If you're going to kill me again, stop messing with my head and just get it over with!"

"Your confusion is understandable," the red dragon informed him.  "I am actually the enchantress Zeelah from Taria.  Lord Thurr murdered me and swallowed my soul.  Shortly afterwards, he met with a tragic spiritual accident and is now... indisposed," he glanced meaningfully at the enchanted bracelet.  "I have taken over his body, and with it the realm."

"That is why you claim not to remember me?  Why you sought to revive me at all?"

"Precisely," Thurr said.  "Believe it or not, I am slowly turning things around.  I suspect you opposed Thurr's policies, since your death was noted as being for treason.  If you can help the realm become fairer and more just, I can make you an advisor, or one of my staff.  I chose you because your death was most recent and we do not yet know the limits of Mermul's ability to revive the slain."

"Huh," the green dragon said, digesting the news, and craning his neck to glance from Thurr to Mermul.

"Kill," he said at last.  Thurr froze.  "What!?  Kill me...?  You do know I'm wearing an invincibility bracelet, right...?"

"It's my name," the green dragon insisted.  "I'm called 'Kill'."  The other two dragons stared at him as if he was unhinged.

"It wasn't my idea," he complained.  "My parents had a nasty sense of humour.  They hoped I would slay Hunters, and that the words 'Kill the dragon!' would take on a new meaning for my victims as they died."

"Uh," Thurr said awkwardly.  "If you want me to officially change it for you..."

"I'll consider it.  'Kell' is a name I have considered taking if ever I escaped Thurr's realm.  It's close enough..."

"We can call you that if you prefer.  And you are free to leave if you want," Thurr said.  "It would have its advantages over explaining why a traitor has been forgiven and brought back to life.  But if you want to stay and help make things better, that offer is still on the table."

"I'll consider that too.  My danger senses are screaming that I should get out of here as quickly as possible before you drop the act and kill me... But I've already died once.  I know what to expect if it happens again..."

"We won't slay you out of hand," Mermul said.  "If you went crazy and started trying to murder people?  That would do it.  But I don't want to see my work wasted in bringing you back to life."

"Perhaps we could demonstrate?" Thurr said.  "Do you feel up to another revival, Mermul?"

Kell looked at them with a haunted expression.

"I do not know how wise it is to revive older traitors," he said slowly.  "I have been gone a short time - I think - but still, I have pangs of regret at returning to the world.  Those who have been in the Fair Place for years, decades... they will likely prefer to remain there.
"And if they have been centuries in the Places Beyond, they will probably not be able to function here without a lot of rehabilitation.  Of course, any still being tormented for their crimes in life, would likely jump at the chance to return.  But would you want someone so wicked to come back in the first place?"

"I take it your stay in the Punishment Place was short?"  Mermul asked.

"I died trying to aid the realm against Thurr," Kell admitted.  "I am a dragon, none of us are innocent.  But I was judged to need little correction.  But be aware that not everyone in his trophy room has died unjustly.  Some hated the Small Races just as passionately as Thurr, and simply wanted his throne for themselves.  The enemy of your enemy is not always your friend, after all..."

"I do not like the idea of having to un-resurrect someone if they are undesirable, or wish to return to the land of the dead," Mermul said queasily.  "And the borderline cases?  Urgh.  We will have to think about this."

"We could always exile them," Thurr pointed out.  "That has its own problems, but if they truly deserve to die... Either they will not be allowed to return, or else... Well, the Hunters will probably take care of them for us, much as I hate to say it.
"I say, let's try two more and see what happens.  Assuming you are willing, of course."

"Very well," Mermul said unhappily.  "Which one do you want to try next?"

"Chronological order," Thurr decided.  "Let's do the next one."

Mermul inhaled deeply and then breathed blue plasma upon the next dragon skull.  Nothing happened.

"...It didn't work!" the frost dragon looked horrified.

"Perhaps they did not want to return," Kell said.  "I think... yes, I could have refused to return if I chose."

"I hope so," Mermul still looked concerned.  "And I don't want to force someone back to life if they didn't want it, but... I don't know.  I'm worried in case it means something happened to their soul!"

"That is possible," Thurr sighed.  "The Xebulon freed all trapped souls about my person, but... well, certain agents were given invulnerability charms.  And those will not have been undone, and I do not know who was trapped in them, nor for what reason.
"Let us hope that this mishap is the will of the gods, that the Great One does not want them to return," he added.

"I will try one more," Mermul said.  "Then I would like to return to Taria.  We can pick this up again at a later date, can't we?"

"That seems fair to me," Lord Thurr agreed.

[Tapewolf]

...and now we get to the main theme of the story!

Chapter 6 - Arstrom

By themselves, Fardon and Fiskul could probably have made the journey to Arstrom in three days or more.  But since most of the negotiators and support staff could not fly, they used a convoy of ground vehicles, following the trade route to Trooland and stopping at various small towns to refuel and resupply.  On several occasions bandits attempted to rob the convoy, but Fardon's presence caused many to reconsider.  Some did not and were dispatched as humanely as the situation would allow.

Of Hunters there were no sign, nor attempts on Fardon's life.  This was a popular trade corridor and dragon traffic was an important part of it - Atlantia knew all too well that if their Hunters disrupted trade between realms, it would be considered an act of war and it wasn't worth risking an invasion over dragons who were clearly protecting their human allies.

Even so, Fardon ensured he kept within sight of the highway at all times, since a dragon who strayed far from it would not be covered by the gentleman's agreement to refrain from targeting traders.

Rest stops dotted the road every so often, offering fuel, food and sleeping quarters.  Dragons escorting traders was a long-established convention and space was made available for them to roost.  As with the roads, the Hunters knew better than to prey on the sleeping dragon escorts, but security systems and armoured lairs were also available for added peace of mind.

Eight days into their trek, Fardon scouted ahead, returning to the convoy to report that their destination was close at hand.

"The capital is a walled city, is it not?"  Captain Farander enquired.  "Will the entrance accept our convoy?"

"I do not think so," Fardon said.  "Crossing the drawbridge itself should not be an issue, but the city itself... That's a problem.  It's densely packed."

"Ah, an old city.  I should have guessed."

"Quite," Fardon replied.  "It can accomodate a dragon, but the city was clearly designed more for foot traffic than modern vehicles.  The idea that mere peasants might one day be able to afford their own personal vehicles was clearly something that had never been considered by the street planners.  Though given the previous administration, that's hardly surprising.

"But there is a parking area.  Looks recent.  It's patrolled and has closed-circuit television, so I assume the idea is that we can park there, and enter the city on foot."

"Not ideal, but it will have to do," the captain sighed.

Not long afterwards, Fardon and Fiskul stood, contemplating the entrance to the capital of Arstrom.  By the entrance to the city, a gallows had been erected.  From it hung the swaying body of a warrior clad in tight-fitting leather armour, a rough cloth hood covering his face, and a long feline tail dangled brokenly between the two limp leather boots. 

"Dragonslayer," Fardon remarked, sniffing the air.

"While it is nice to know that they care for our wellbeing, this may have been a little excessive," Fiskul sighed.

"I do not like to think of the Small Races as lesser beings simply because of their short lives," Fardon said, "But it cannot be denied that replacing a dragon is slower and harder than replacing a furre, and when deciding a punishment, allowances are often made for that fact.
"Dragons are not men, and men are not dragons.  Treating both exactly the same is too often misused to persecute one race by pretending fairness - and the Pax Draconica takes such perfidy into account.
"But I digress.  The point is, that I do not see the Small Races as disposable... but this 'Lord Terror' might."

"I should go," Fiskul said.  "The lord might not be too keen to see the Devourer of All Things inside his city.  I will stay with the vehicles.  If you need aid, breathe fire into the sky and I'll come find you. It might also be a good idea to have someone radio me twice a day to verify that you're all safe."

"I doubt it will come to that, but perhaps it's better to be safe than sorry," Fardon agreed.

*  *  *

Fardon and the delegates were met at the gate, Fardon's brief overflight earlier having warned the city to expect them imminently.  They were led through the streets to the castle, and the greathall where a tiger furre in ornate clothing bowed before him.

"I am Sir Victor, seneschal to Lord Terror," the tiger said.  "My lord sends his apologies, as he will be unable to greet you today, but he has left a message for you. It was taped this very morning."

So saying, the steward threaded a large spool of inch-wide videotape upon a recorder in the corner of the room, and threw a switch.

The xenon light came on first, covering the screen in a fierce white glare.  A test pattern displayed, garbled and flowing strangely as the pool of oil reached operating temperature within the guts of the Eidophor and the image resolved.  There was a distorted smear which gradually slid down the screen, fading as it went, and then a face appeared.

The speaker was a furre of indeterminate species with long black hair and two long black horns.  A yellow tuft dropped down over his face, obscuring one eye slightly.  His face was white with yellow stripes on each cheek, a slightly reptilian look beneath the short fur.  The image cut off below his head, but the tops of his shoulders were visible, clad in something shiny and black.  Behind him, a royal banner or tapestry had been draped.

"Hail Sir Fardon," the figure said, holding up a glossy, black-gloved hand in a gesture of greeting.  "My greetings to your staff also.  I sincerely apologise for not greeting you in person.
"The timing of your arrival is most unfortunate, as it coincides with affairs of state that I cannot neglect, not even for the lord of another realm.  Again, I am deeply sorry, and regret that I expect to be detained for the entire day.  However, I shall be free on the morrow and can meet with you then, if that will suit.
"Meanwhile, if you wish to tour the city in my absence, my steward can arrange that for you.  My people have been warned that a dragon ambassador may be visiting over the coming days, so traversing the streets should not present any problems.
"In addition, we also have a dragon-related situation that your insight may help us in resolving peacefully.  While I appreciate that you have come here as Lord Varl's emissary and not to act as my fixer, I do believe it would be in all our interests if you could advise us.  We can discuss that in person when we meet, but you might also wish to speak to my steward about this matter."

"Speaking of whom," the lord added, gesturing a shiny glove, "Please accept these gifts as an honoured guest of the realm.  One is for you, the other to bring back to your lord as a token of my esteem for him.  My apologies once again for not being able to greet you in person.  Yours respectfully, Lord Terror."

He stared at the camera for a few seconds more, bowed and then reached out to stop the recorder.

"Oh gods," the tiger croaked, looking mortified as he stopped the tape.  "I left the gifts in the parlour."

"Easily done," Sir Fardon laughed.  "Don't sweat it.  Lord Varl once dropped a decorative egg he was presenting.  We have gifts also, but it might be better to wait and present those in person."

"I thank you for your forbearance," the tiger said, as one of the other staff ran off to fetch them.  "What would you like to do?  If you or your delegation are tired from your journey, I can show you to your rooms.  Alternatively, since you are here to investigate a possible alliance with our realm, you may wish to take a tour of the capital as my Lord has suggested."

"Yes, I would certainly like to see the city," Fardon said.  "My staff can join us, or rest, as they wish.  I am curious, though... Why does your lordship want to bring dragons back to Arstrom?  We are understandably not popular here after the Great Burning of 1508, and that was merely the culmination of centuries of conflict."

"There is truth in that," Victor said.  "But time can heal wounds.  None now remember those days, and there has not been a repeat of that unfortunate occurrence.
"More to the point, my lord is not from Arstrom.  He came here as a wandering adventurer, who has had dealings with dragons before and has seen the benefits your kind can bring.  He believes that the time is right to try again, and see if we can recreate here, the success you enjoy in Taria and Arcaia when the small and big races can each apply their own strengths."

"This makes sense," Fardon said.  "And I wish you well in that venture.  But tell me, Lord Terror also mentioned some situation, did he not?"

"Ah yes," the tiger said.  "That.  There is a dragon known to live in the area, though they keep to themselves and try to avoid being seen.  They are believed to dwell in a cave high in the nearby hills.
"That in itself is not a problem, but the Mystic Order of Thea has recently accused the dragon of kidnapping one of their number.  They are getting increasingly irate about this matter, and it is becoming an irritation for my lord."

"And you would like me to intercede?"  Fardon asked.

"As an honoured guest, we cannot impose on you to do this," the seneschal said.  "The decision is yours.  But it would greatly please my lord if you can assist us in reaching a peaceful solution."

"The dragonslayer by the gates," Fardon said.  "That was an attempt at a less peaceful solution...?"

The tiger looked at the floor.  "Yes," he sighed.  "He came here, seeking to slay the creature and win the Order's favour.  Lord Terror had him brought in to explain himself.  Someone who has slain dragons in the past and outside of our realm is one thing, but when it came out that he had entered our realm specifically to kill again..." the tiger shuddered.  "I have never seen my lord so angry.  He lived up to his name that day, and personally executed the death sentence upon the miscreant."

"But the situation is stable now?"  Fardon asked, looking most concerned.  "There is no immediate threat to the dragon?"

"Not yet.  The Mystic Order intends to send an expedition to the cave later this tenday," the tiger said.  "If you can accompany them to help negotiate with the dragon, that would be greatly appreciated.  Being a religious matter, some are willing to risk Lord Terror's wrath for their beliefs.  They are a popular faction within the city, and we cannot simply arrest them when they have not yet broken the law.  My lord is, in the end, more gentle than his predecessors..."

"I will try to assist," Fardon said.  "Today, I would like to tour the city, if you please... But if you can also inform the Mystic Order that I will be willing to aid them, that alone may take some of the pressure off matters."

"Lord Terror asked me to tell you, that if you accept, he will owe you a favour," the seneschal said, sounding relieved.  "If he should visit your realm, he will endeavour to repay you in kind should the situation arise.  But for now, come, and I shall arrange for you to see the capital."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 7 - Meeting People

Fardon's armour clanked as he strode down the street.  While he was not too worried about assassination attempts from the dragon-fearing members of the population, he knew that it looked impressive, and a dragon seen to be wearing armour was clearly a being of culture and not a mere beast.

Temporary fencing had been used to block off half the street, giving him room to move.  Captain Farander had insisted on accompanying him,

Fardon stopped in front of a market stall.  He had picked it largely at random, but the fact that it happened to sell books was a definite bonus.

"Good afternoon," Sir Fardon began.  The bookseller froze for a few moments and then found his voice.

"Greetings, uh, sir dragon," he rambled.  "It was told to us that we could expect an ambassador of your kind, but I never thought it would be me greeting them!  How may I help you, your... uh..."

"Sir Fardon will be fine," the dragon said reassuringly.  "I am something of a reader, so I wanted to see what you had in stock."

"Can a dragon actually read a book intended for men?" the bookseller looked puzzled.  "I mean, I know you can read, but you are so much larger than I..."

"It takes tweezers and care," Fardon admitted.  "Much like a jeweller or a watchmaker.  Books that I wish to read regularly, I will have photo-enlarged to a more suitable size, filmed for projection or in times past, copied out into a larger volume by scribes.  Nowadays we also have automatic book-readers that can project an enlargement upon a wall for ease of reading, and turn the pages for us.

"But first," he said, "I would like a moment of your time, if I may.  Gossip is often interesting when visiting a new place."

The dragon stretched out a wing, shielding the bookseller from view, and curled his head back around behind it.

"We may speak privately," Fardon said.  "If you do not mind, I would like to know what you think of your lord.  My own lord desires to know what he is like, and I am curious myself.  You may speak in confidence, and I will take it as a grave diplomatic insult if you are harrassed as a result of this."

"Well," the bookseller started, "Before he came, we were ruled by Yyrkoon the Unsteady.  It is said that some referred to him as 'raccoon' during his reign, but this largely ceased when several of those were strung from the dule-tree.  Finally, Lord Terror arrived, and claimed the throne by virtue of shortening its previous occupant.  Few tears were shed when the tyrant's head rolled free.  That is no secret."

"And he has not fallen into his predecessor's old habits?"

"Nay.  He treats us well," the man said.  "And I do not say this for fear of the dule-tree.  Were I a thousand miles away, I would say the same - that he is better by far than those who came before.  A breath of fresh air for Arstrom.
"No ruler is perfect, and his anger can be deadly.  In that, he is aptly named Lord Terror.  But he holds his temper well, better than Yyrkoon ever could.
"When first he came, most assumed that we would have one tyrant replaced by another, for that cycle has oft been repeated in Arstrom.  And yet, in the decades since, none have been punished by the neck for speaking their mind, and the land has prospered greatly under his rule.  Precious few seriously believe things were better before."

"I hope to meet his lordship in person on the morrow," Fardon said.  "What does he look like?  I have only seen a recording, and that showed only his face."

"His appearance is unusual.  He is a furre, mostly white, with black hair and wings.  But not a species I have ever seen before.  Some say he is a were-beast... for he disappears from public view once a moon, and his steward rules for that time.  Only in a most dire emergency is he to be roused from his sanctum during those days... Or so the rumours say.  It is not my place to speculate," he added, looking more furtive.

"Interesting," Fardon said.  "Or perhaps Lord Terror has a female reproductive system, if the lunar cycle affects him so?"

"That too, is not for me to speculate," the bookseller admitted uncertainly.  "Our Lord has made it known that they do not wish to be called 'she', despite their somewhat effeminate looks and clothing.  Androgynous, really.  'He' or 'They' are preferred, and it is notable that he has chosen 'Lord', not 'Lady' for his title.
"It is not a secret that he has bedded men, and those who have attended to such needs are left in no doubt that he possesses male anatomy."

"That is perhaps more information than I wished to know," Fardon admitted.  "Whom your lord wishes to romp with is none of my business.  Nor do I know how such things are considered here, for that matter.  Among dragons, large, long-lived creatures who need a lot of food, we have to keep our numbers manageable, and romping with others of the same sex helps with that.  So in Taria, Arcaia and even in Thurr's realm, such relationships are not considered unusual."

"It was a most grave offence under the old regime," the bookseller supplied.  "Punished by the guillotine, for hanging has a lewd reputation, if you follow me."  He paused.  "...Which you might not.  I know not whether that particular quirk of biology applies to males of the dragon kind also..."

"I do not know that either, and I do not wish to find out," Fardon admitted,  "But I do know of the effect you speak of.  Too many parallels with the crime itself for their sense of propriety, I presume..."

"Indeed.  Regardless, Lord Terror legalised such acts of love as soon as he found out they were forbidden, though it has taken time for people to adjust to that.  At first, many were scandalised and feared the worst, that he would prove a dissolute wastrel - as princes sometimes will.  But even his detractors have been forced to admit that we have done spendidly under his rule thus far and that his... eccentricities... are a price worth paying for the progress our realm has made."

"Oho," Fardon said.  "Eccentricies?  This sounds interesting!"

"I have said enough," the bookseller looked embarrassed.  "Mayhap I have said overmuch, but... Well, you will see for yourself soon enough.  Our lord dresses in shiny black, always.  Usually a body-suit that clings tightly to his form, and he is rarely seen without it.  Sometimes he wears a pleated skirt, which upsets the Church most greatly.
"As I have earlier said of the princes, it is not unknown for a ruler to wear scandalous clothing in private, in the bedroom.  Usually, to speak of it openly would be to risk the rope dance or becoming head on a spike... Yet our lord openly wears such garments, even for formal occasions!  That, certainly, took a lot of getting used to, and many still resent it."

"I did notice his gloves on the video," Fardon said.  "Thank you, that is most interesting.  It will not affect the outcome of my diplomatic mission, let me assure you.  If anything it will save me from surprise when we finally meet.
"I thank you for your time," he added, folding his wing back into place.  "And your forthrightness.  It seems he is a great improvement over his predecessor, and a promising candidate for an alliance.  Still, we shall see.  Now, if you have any books of history, I would be intrigued to see them..."

*  *  *

The architecture of Lord Terror's castle was old, clearly dating back to a time before the Great Burning, when dragons were still welcome inside it.  There was a notable absence of spires, but various large porches and flat areas which had evidently been landing sites for visiting dragons.  One of these now held a helicopter.

The banquet hall was no exception to this, and it had not been difficult to find space for Sir Fardon to sit in front of the table.  Most of a cow sat upon the table before him, roasted and garnished, with a large bowl of drink beside it.

"It has been a long time since we have had a dragon attend a banquet," Sir Victor said apologetically.  "I for one am uncertain of the etiquette, as is my lord.  I hope it will suffice."

"This will be fine," Sir Fardon reassured him.  "I beg you keep in mind that dragons are not known for our table manners, and I apologise for this in advance."

Sir Victor stood up.  "Ladies, Gentlemen, and any others," he declared, "On behalf of our lord, I welcome Sir Fardon and his team to Arstrom.  My lord hopes, as do we all, that a trade agreement can be reached, or better still, a formal alliance with Lord Varl of Taria.  My lord again sends his apologies for his unavoidable absence, but..."

The seneschal's voice faltered, as a crash and yells came from behind them.  Guards were in pursuit of three armed furres in combat gear.

"There it is!" one of them screamed.   Fardon looked up and then ducked as an anti-tank round slammed into the wall behind him.

"Assassins!" the dragon hissed, and his forepaw glowed white-hot.  The soldiers looked around in confusion as the dragon had vanished.

"It teleported!" one of them said.

"What have you done?!" Sir Victor demanded, claws outstretched, face a mask of fury.  "What is the meaning of this outrage?  This was supposed to be negotiations for a peace treaty!"

"There can never be peace with dragons!" the soldier roared.  "We are here to do justice upon the foul worm that dares to sully this land with its blasphemous presence!  Justice for the Great Burning!"

"Arrest them!" the seneschal commanded.

"But, Sir!  The weapons..." one the guards protested.

"If they are smart they will surrender," the tiger said ominously.  "So far, they have caused criminal damage to a wall and embarrassed a visiting dignitary.  But if anyone here dies, it will mean summary execution for those responsible."

The soldier checked the safety and threw his weapon to the ground, his underlings following suite with a clatter of anti-dragon weaponry.  They were cuffed and led away at gunpoint.

"What now?" Victor asked, head in hands.  "The ambassador has fled.  The treaty has failed... and gods alone know what the ambassador will be telling his king."

"Hmm," the ginger housecat said, climbing out from under the table.  "That remains to be seen.  Have those maniacs gone?"

"Wait... who are you?" Sir Victor asked, eyes narrowing.  "Are you on the ambassador's staff?  I don't remember seeing you enter.  Are you a spy...?"

"Hardly.  I am the ambassador," he said politely.  "Teleportation magic is very draining.  Switching forms is easier, but it does leave me more vulnerable."

"I see..." the seneschal said.  "I have heard rumours of this, but I did not know it was common among dragons," he admitted.

"It is not," Fardon said.  "It's not an innate ability, it's a skill we learn.  Not everyone can do it at all.  Nor is it something we advertise," he replied with a dour expression.
"When word got out in Talvania, a dragonfinder general was called and hanged scores of innocents in public, believing them to be dragons in disguise.  It was even worse when he finally succeeded.  That time he used an axe, and when the victim's head came off, they reverted to true form and collapsed the scaffold.  The executioner, the dragonfinder and dozens of onlookers were all fatally crushed beneath the corpse of their victim.
"No... it is better not to breed suspicion and paranoia, therefore it would be best for all if you did not repeat this.  After all, one does not need to be a dragon to suffer from such purges."

"Very true," Sir Victor admitted.  "It shall remain secret."

Fardon looked around once again, took a few paces back and then reverted to dragon form.

"What will happen to those... terrorists?" he asked.

"That will be for Lord Terror to decide," Sir Victor sighed.  "He will be furious.  Normally, they would probably escape with a jail sentence.  But in these circumstances that seems unlikely to me," he said sadly.
"My lord is just and tolerant.  But being embarrassed before an important visitor?  Flagrantly insulting his authority and laws?  Defying his aims as lord?  Oh, now that is something he does not abide.
"They have given the impression that he cannot protect his own honoured guests.  I expect that he will cut their heads off."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 8 - Lord Terror

Fardon entered the throne room, pulling a cart with his tail.  A flicker of concern ran over his face, as he realised that the large room was empty apart from the solitary figure sat upon his throne.  Just like in the video, he was a furre with a slightly reptilian look about him and hooded eyes that gave him a faint sneering expression.
He was wearing a glossy black catsuit, complete with polished black gloves and high-heeled boots.  Behind him, more obvious than in the recording, were two black leathery wings, like a bat.  Or a dragon.

"Lord Terror,"  Fardon said.  "At last we meet, your lordship.  It is an honour."

"'Terry' is fine," the furre replied casually.  "Well met, Sir Fardon.  I can only apologise for the indignity of that assassination attempt yesterday.  Those responsible will be dealt with accordingly."

"These things happen," the brown dragon said.  "Not a good start to negotiation, but now we are face-to-face, I hope we can get past that bump."

"I am relieved," the furre said, and meant it.  "Did my gifts find you well?"

"Indeed," Fardon said.  "Lord Varl will be delighted.  And here is ours," he added, pulling the cart alongside himself and lifting away a veil, leaving a marble statue that depicted the three races in a circle, holding hands.

Lord Terror rose from his throne, and walked over to admire the sculpture.  He clapped his gloved hands with a slapping noise of rubber against rubber.  "It is beautiful," he said, looking well pleased.  "Very well done, and so very relevant to both our interests.  A wonderful depiction of the unity I hope to bring here.  Human, Furre... and dragon."

Fardon grinned widely, showing many teeth.  "I know," he stated in dracolingua.  "You are one of Us."  The other creature's grin widened, matching Fardon as best he could.

"We have much to discuss," Terry replied in Common, heading back towards his throne and beckoning with a black gloved hand.  "Come, if you will, to my sanctum.  There, we can talk privately."

The anthro-dragon bent over and pressed some hidden switches on the throne.  At this, one of the walls parted to reveal a hidden passage large enough for Fardon to squeeze through.  He hopped towards it, agile even with the stiletto-heeled boots he wore, and beckoned the dragon to follow.

"I won't say the game is up," he said as the tunnel closed behind them, "Because I trust you will keep this quiet, for now.  I do not know how the populace will react if it is known that I am a dragon, though that should become easier soon - once our kind are a more common sight in this land."

"A reasonable precaution to take," Fardon said.  "I see no need to upset that applecart.  But just because you are a fellow dragon, it does not guarantee our goals will align.  I was sent to establish diplomatic links, but I must also be sure you are not another Lord Thurr.  Or a Hunter."

"Then I appreciate your trust in following me to what could be a dungeon for captive dragons," Terry said.  "Where I keep my rivals imprisoned, perhaps?  Aside from my steward and personal physician - who both know the secret - you will be the first to see this."

Fardon rolled his eyes, as the shiny lord reached upwards to touch a large switch set above his head.  The bulkhead door slid open to reveal the flashing of fluorescent light strips coming up to temperature.

"So this is your secret base," Fardon said.  "I cannot be the first to see it, surely!  What about those who built it?"

"Sworn to secrecy," Terry said.  "Also, they did not know quite what they were building.  There is a second exit, of course... So the initial work was started there, and I let them think the bunker would be for holding a dragon captive.  The passage leading into to the palace was human-sized, to guide them away from thinking that a dragon might actually be entering from the throne room itself.  I dug that final link myself, once my quarters were furnished and the workers had left."

Lord Terror jumped a few paces back, a leap aided by his black, leathery wings.  He closed his eyes and vanished in a flash of light.  Where the dragon-man had been, a massive feral dragon now stood, short white fur, black hair that flowed into a mane down his back.  His powerful body held the same patternings of his dragon-man form... clearly he had based his furre guise entirely on his true appearance.

"Ahhh," Terry sighed happily.  "It is useful to be small, and I do so enjoy wearing pretty clothes.  But being big and powerful has a lot going for it."

"Big and stompy," Fardon agreed, doing a a little dance that echoed throughout the bunker.

"Quite," Terry said, taking up the dance as well.  "I can maintain my furre appearance for quite some time," he added.  "But not indefinitely."

"That, then is why you disappear once a month?" Fardon asked, looking around the concrete walls, as Terry led him into a large cavern where the dragon-lord clearly spent much of his time in true form.  Comfortable dragon-couches stood in a row, with plush decoration and rows of huge tomes and journals, just the right size for a dragon to use.

"Heard about my disappearing, have you?"  Terry said, lounging on one of the couches and beckoning Fardon to do the same.  "Good, good.  Some suspect I am a werewolf or suchlike, and that serves as a useful misdirection.  But yes, I need approximately one day in thirty to recover.
"I apologise again for being unable to greet you yesterday, and for my vague reasons behind it.  I truly did need most of the day to recuperate, or I would risk reverting to my true form and threatening everything I had worked for."

"I quite understand," Sir Fardon said.  "I myself have never pushed transformation that hard.  Sustaining your alternate form for an entire month is truly an impressive feat."

"Thank you.  Tell me, did you guess from only that?  That I periodically disappear, even at the risk of snubbing a trade partner?"

"Well, I also heard that your are fond of bedding others," Fardon said.  "The black rubber outfits you like wearing, for instance?  Even when greeting a diplomat by video?  It was that promiscuity which made me suspect your draconic nature.  Humans and furres are a lot more... uptight about it, especially between members of the same sex."

Lord Terror smiled, his hooded eyes widening slightly to show a look of genuine happiness.  "In some cultures such... romping... is used to seal a bargain," he rumbled.  "I do not know if Taria does that, but I am open to the possibility.  Let me know if you would like to tour the den."

"Perhaps," Fardon allowed, admiring the other male's muscular physique and wagging his massive tail slightly.  "One does not usually hump the ruler as an opening move in a bid to find allies, though it can sometimes work."

"Ah yes.  Earlier you compared me to Lord Thurr," Terry snorted with amusement.  "I can understand your caution, but really...?  A dragon supremacist ruling a land where dragons have been driven into hiding and blamed for each and every natural disaster?"

"It's not impossible," Fardon said.  "You are a dragon ruling over the Small Races.  To some, this is the worst-case scenario, that an evil monster has cruelly enslaved the population, as was common before the Pax Draconica.
"While you are surely not gunning for the extermination of the Small Races as some of Thurr's fanatics did, nor treating them as your private hunting reserve, it does not prove you have their interests at heart either.
"Hypothetically speaking, you might consider them toys to play with and discard.  The lack of other dragons could mean that you have fought off or slain potential rivals, so as to be the Top Dragon here."

"Well reasoned," Terry said.  "I conquered this land.  By right, it is mine to rule as I see fit.
"At least, that's the theory.  In practice, were I to move too swiftly, I could be dethroned, or assassinated by powers happy with the status quo.  Even revealing my draconic nature, that would only protect me so far, as I'm sure you are well aware.
"Making this change... Opening the doors to other dragons, clearing a path to finally reveal the truth... That is a policy I have been slowly working towards for decades.  You are now witnessing the fruit of that labour.
"While I do not expect you to merely take my word for it, I do have no antipathy towards the people I rule.  You may ask them if you wish." 

"I did ask around a little," Fardon said.  "It wasn't exactly conclusive.  It seems to be varying mixtures of awe, love and fear.  They like what you're doing, but most are scared of you."

"Figures," Lord Terror said.  "In the end, I am a dragon.  Most of us enjoy the occasional bout of violence.  But I am no fool.  I focus my wrath upon those who have committed capital offences.  That way, the streets are safe, and I get to satisfy some of the baser urges in my wicked little draconic heart.
"A powerful dragon such as you or I could wreak devastation if we were to run rampant," he said.  "A village or town could fall to our flames.  A city, if there were several of us.  Instead, we slay a few here, a few there.  Carefully making sure that they deserved such fate, for there are always criminals within a realm.  You are Sir Fardon, are you not?  You must surely know the forbidden thrill of taking a life."

"Only too well," Fardon said.  "I am no stranger to carrying out executions and I know full well the dark urges of which you speak, and how we may quench them.  I also saw the dragonslayer at the city gates."

"Ah, yes," Terry said.  "I know there are other dragons within my realm.  Hiding, like the one I mentioned yesterday.  Sometimes they show themselves.  They have helped extinguish forest fires, and then fled back to whatever bolt-hole they live in.
"I will not have my own kind hunted like animals!  That was one of the first changes I made when taking power, and those who seek to flaunt such laws... Well, you saw what happens to them.  I enjoyed that.  Dark urges and vengeance, combined." he grinned fiercely for a moment.

"Sometimes I worry that I may indeed be a tyrant," the white and yellow dragon sighed, looking saddened.  "I have tried to ensure the land is free and prosperous, while keeping enough of an iron fist to remind all that I am not to be trifled with.  It is a hard balance to keep and I have not always succeeded.  Perhaps watching the execution in a black catsuit and miniskirt was a step too far.  The Small Races can be so funny about clothing sometimes..."

"Is this another reason you are openly welcoming trade further afield?"  Fardon asked.  "To try and get other views on whether you have succeeded, from other dragons in particular?"

"That is part of it," the white dragon said.  "Speaking as a dragon, there are many reasons I would want to have more of my kind present."

"If I may ask, though, why do you call yourself 'Lord Terror' if you fear becoming a tyrant?  Even Thurr never went that far."

"Most dragons I have met are prone to talking up how evil and dangerous we are, to deter rivals and threats," the dragon said, shrugging his wings.  "Like fanning one's wings to appear bigger.  But you misunderstand...  In this case, it really is just my name.
"You see, as a hatchling I was given a traditional name in Dracolingua.  In Common, it translates as 'Terror-Wing-Devourer'.  Hence, 'Lord Terror'.  Before that, I suppose I was 'Mr. Terror', but I rarely used that as it doesn't have the same ring to it.  Where it is not necessary to intimidate others, I prefer 'Terry'."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 9 - Forthrightness

"I have been forthright with you, Sir Fardon," Terry said.  "Now I must ask you to be forthright with me.  My men tell me there is another dragon with you.  A black, dangerous-looking dragon guarding your vehicles, whom you have not spoken of.  I have shown you my hidden bunker, laid my cards on the table.  Now I want to see yours, if you please."

"Oh boy," Fardon said.  Terry glowered.

"The black dragon is my backup," Fardon admitted.  "Just in case things went wrong.  Not that I expected them to, of course.  But I did not want to alarm you with their presence."

"I can't help but feel you're patronising me," Lord Terror growled.  "If you truly wish to broker an alliance, we should do so as equals.  As dragons.  I would much prefer to be blunt and leave subterfuge to the Small Races.  Pray do me that honour.  Otherwise... Well, there are others I can trade with, you know."

"Forthrightness," Fardon said, backing away from the other dragon, as if expecting him to turn violent.  "My companion, that black, dangerous-loooking dragon, is a figure out of legend.
"My secret weapon, in case things went bad, is none other than Fiskul the Devourer.  The Dark Destroyer."

"WHAT?!"  Lord Terror looked terrified.  "The Eater of the World?!  Here?!"

"You did ask," Fardon said mildly.  "In the quite likely event that you do not believe me, we can ask them to devour one of your trees as a demonstration."

"But... The Dark One...!"  Terry wailed.  "You brought the Evil One to my very gates!  What have you done?!  Is this some strange act of war?!  An unfair trade deal forced at gunpoint?!"

"Calm down, your lordship," Fardon said quickly.  "It's not that bad.  Anyway, if the whole world was due to end, it would scarcely matter where the apocalypse began, would it?"

"What kind of consolation is that?!" Terry demanded miserably.  "Shit, shit, shit!  Just as I was finally getting somewhere with my plans, turned this backwater into a properly functioning realm, the Devourer has returned to eat it all!  Bloody typical!"

"The world is safe for now, your lordship," Fardon said reassuringly.  "I reacted the same, so did Lord Varl.  And this is precisely why I warned them to hang back.  Why I have kept them secret, because I knew you would overreact too.  And honestly, I'd be worried if you didn't."

"But the Devourer is here!  Is that not the prophecy...?" Terry protested.

"Not yet, and hopefully not ever.  Fiskul is not interested in ending the world, at least, not so long as they still have friends in it.  They like me, and insisted on coming because they wanted to be sure I was safe.  Now that you are aware of their identity, I should probably introduce you.  But I would advise they remain outside the city to avoid a panic."

"That's definitely a... a thing," Terry gurgled.  "Quite the insurance policy!  'Kill me and the world ends'.  And those gun-toting fools from the Hunters' Brothership nearly caused just that!
"I should kill them twice for nearly immanentizing the eschaton!  Oh gods... Lord Varl, backed up by the Devourer themselves...  Thank the Great One that Lord Thurr doesn't have that kind of arrangement!"

"Wouldn't have worked," Fardon said.  "The one thing Lord Thurr hated most was relying on other people.  No... his plan was to eat Fiskul and take their place as the Eater Of All Things.  He had to go."

Terry's eyes narrowed.  "How would you know what Lord Thurr wants?  And besides, he is still alive," he pointed out.  "If he had such plans before, surely he will try them again, even if he seems to be trying a new strategy on the surface!"

Fardon laughed.  "You wanted forthrightness, Lord Terry, but you know not what you ask.  Lord Thurr isn't Lord Thurr.  I was there when he was overthrown, his prisoner when he boasted of this plans to become the new Devourer.  Now, his soul is trapped, and his body houses one of Lord Varl's staff, whom he had murdered."

Terry made a choking noise.  "I don't know whether to believe you or not," he admitted.  "It is an incredible tale.  Yet he was known to have a keen interest in necromancy and that often backfires on the practitioner.  It would definitely explain the unprecedented thaw in relations."

"I tell you this in confidence," Fardon said.  "It is not a state secret outside of Thurr's realm, but if it was known widely, it could harm Zeelah's attempts to stabilise Thurr's realm.  This is also why her changes in policy have been slow and steady.  You spoke of being overthrown were you to immediately welcome dragons back to Arstrom...  Well, Zeelah has the same struggle, just in the other direction."

Terry nodded.  "This is a lot to take in," he said.

"Those are my cards," Fardon said.  "The Devourer is my backup, but I assure you that is strictly in case of an emergency.  And also because... Well, we can't force a demigod to stay home if they don't want to.
"Lord Thurr has been supplanted by our allies, though this must remain a secret for now, just as you wish to keep your true form secret for the time being.
"Oh!  And one of our citizens has also been granted extraordinary powers of healing and regeneration."

"This, then, is why you shrugged off an assassination attempt?  Because your allies might be able to save you...?"

"It is not something I would want to chance my life on," Fardon admitted.  "But it is possible, yes."

Lord Varl is fortunate indeed," Terry murmured.  "For such treasures to fall into his lap."

"It did not seem so at the time," Fardon said, eyes glazing over as he stared into the distance.  "Lord Thurr began taking hostages of the Devourer's friends, one by one to try and provoke them.  Lord Varl was terrified that this would bring about the very end you feared earlier.
"Then Thurr swore to invade Taria, killing all in his path if we did not surrender Mermul to him.  Understand me... Taria is strong and well-defended, but a vast army of dragons, each bloodthirsty and cruel as they come?  Victory against such a foe would be uncertain, and even if we won, such a conflict would have left us crippled.  The Hunters would have moved in to pick off the survivors.
"The only way to avert that was for Mermul to surrender to Thurr, knowing that it would mean his own certain death.
"And even then, with Mermul and the Devourer both in his grasp, Thurr took me hostage, trying to force me to agree to the surrender of an entire region of Taria - the very one I swore to protect - and threatened to cut off my wings on multiple occasions."

"Your wings?!"  Terry looked appalled.  "What about all your powerful friends...?"

"Thurr needed me alive to tell Lord Varl what was going to happen," Fardon said weakly.   "And the Devourer was drugged so Thurr could vivisect them for study.  And when he was done he planned to consume them, body and soul, to obtain powers that would have made him lord of all things.
"Poor Vinny had his head blown off, and Zeelah is still trapped in the body of an cruel tyrant after Thurr ate her soul.  She can never again return to the life she knew before."

"And the other one?  Mermel, was it...?"

"Mermul?"  Fardon shrugged his wings.  "Oh, he was guillotined.  After being tortured nearly to death by Lord Thurr's pet Hunter."

Terry looked away.

"Do you understand, your lordship?"  Fardon said.  "Mermul had to die in pain and terror, had to feel his own severed head land in a basket - while Thurr laughed!  He had to suffer enough that Father Alkrash Himself took pity and chose him as champion, as His bringer of life, His divine opponent against Thurr."

Terry swallowed.  "...I see.  Put like that it certainly takes the shine off things.  But that means he did survive?  It is said that Mighty Alkrash has intervened at times, giving another chance to the deserving, but it is a rare thing indeed."

"He did," Fardon allowed.  "Mermul returned, now powerful enough to defy Lord Thurr, to raise Vinny from the dead.  And yes, when all is said and done, we did come out ahead in the end.  But the road to get there was paved with pain and death.  An ordeal by fire, as the Small Races say.  It is not something I would wish on any other realm."

"How much death?"  Terry croaked.  "How many died...?"

"I'm not sure," Fardon admitted.  "And it could have been worse.  Roberts, Vinny, Zeelah, Narkath, Mermul...  Five lost their lives, I think.  Mermul died three times, was it?  So that's seven deaths, but I don't know whether that counts."

"This is a lot to take in," Terry said again.  "It is not quite what I expected to hear today."

Fardon looked around the room.  "I presume you're recording this?" he said casually.  "Everything I have said is true, and you are welcome to try and verify it.  In fact I would be worried if you did not."

"Very trusting of you," Terry said.

"There is no point in witholding any of this," Fardon said wryly.  "And it will help you decide your policy with Thurr, should he seek an alliance also.  No... it's not like you're asking about our realm's defences.  Then you would be politely declined, yes."

The white and yellow dragon sat on his couch for a few moments.  He did not look pleased.

Fardon sniffed the air quietly, trying to read the other dragon.  He couldn't smell much in the way of fear, and Terry wasn't behaving like a dragon about to commit murder.  If anything, he seemed... upset.

"Are you alright, your lordship?" he enquired, worried that he had somehow offended his host.  "You asked me to be forthright with you, and I have."

"You warned me," Terry said.  "You said I didn't know what I was asking.  You could have blurted all this out when we first met.  Granted, I'd have wondered if you were a madman, and I guess you knew that.  You knew the news of the Devourer would be upsetting, and you held back until I asked about it.  I do not blame you, and your concern is appreciated.  But..."

Terry sighed, blew a small amount of smoke from his nostrils, and then craned his neck towards Fardon.

"As I said before, I hoped we could work something out as equals, Lord Varl and I.  Two mighty dragon lords, apparently with similar aims.  On paper it makes sense.  Certainly it makes more sense than attempting to ally with Lord Thurr, or the Red Queen of Gracia..."

"Are you thinking of withdrawing your offer of an alliance?!"  Fardon looked stricken.

"Tell me, Fardon," Lord Terror said slowly.  "What do you hope to gain from trade with Arstrom?  You have come a long way, and you boast of things I cannot hope to match here.
"I had hoped to be an equal, and now... your talk of having the Devourer and a healer blessed by the dragon god himself...  If even half of this is true, it feels like I will be the junior partner, at best.
"To put it bluntly, what's in it for you?  What can we possibly offer that would be worth your while?  And yet your reaction just now gives me hope that you still aim for a deal.  So what are you really after?"

"Trade would be good for us," Fardon insisted.  "I am not a trademaster, and the details would be better left to my associates.  But I can tell you that new markets for our machinery would be useful.  If not within Arstrom itself, then as a trading hub to further our reach.  We could always do with more meat, and I understand that you have deposits of uranium which would be very suitable for our power plants."

"That is fair," Terry admitted.  "But it still feels like a lot of effort to go to."

"That is just trade, though," Fardon said.  "As I am sure you have expected, Lord Varl has tasked me with sniffing you out as a potential ally.  And so far I see no reason to discourage that.  You do seem to have much in common with him, just as you had hoped.
"It is lonely at the top, they say.  Lord Varl would appreciate having a fellow dragon lord to talk to now and again.
"But there is one other thing.  Lord Varl is a veteran of the last Dragon War, as am I.  Having been hated, hunted, persecuted, we want to see your realm become another safe haven for our kind.  If we achieve nothing else, Lord Varl is greatly hoping you will sign the Pax Draconica."

Fardon watched Lord Terror intently as he said this.  To his horror, Lord Terror threw back his head and roared with laughter.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 10 - Other Alliances

Fardon watched, appalled, as the white dragon's laughter echoed throughout the bunker.

"What is wrong?"  Fardon demanded, sounding offended.  "You want dragons to return to Arstrom, or so you claim!
"Ratifying the Pax Draconica treaty will guarantee the safety of all!  That dragons will not be slain out of hand, and that the Small Races will not be treated as game in a hunting ground!  For some of your current citizens will surely think of leaving when they discover what you are."

"Don't you understand?  That treaty is the basis of our prosperity in Taria!  It's not because the Devourer had some random crush and stayed around to keep them safe!  It's not because Thurr was such an asshole that even the gods wanted him stopped!  It's not because Mermul got promoted to help kick Thurr's tail!  All of those things you were admiring just now are all just blind luck!  Random chance!
"No... it's the union of all three races that has empowered us.  And that was only made possible by a treaty such as the one you are laughing at!" he finished angrily.

Terry forced himself calm with visible effort.

"My apologies," he said.  "I realise what that must have looked like.  I am not mocking the pact, Sir Fardon.  I do intend to sign it when the time is right."

"Oh?" Fardon said, sounding thoroughly confused and tilting his head slightly.

"You are not the only party seeking an alliance," Terry said, grinning wickedly.

"Be more specific," Fardon prompted, suspiciously.

"A delegation arrived from Atlantia this morning," Terry informed him.

"The... The Hunters?!"  Fardon looked appalled.  "You can't!  They'll kill you!"

"I was just imagining their faces if I told them I was about to sign the Pax Draconica," Terry chuckled.  "And yes, allowing them inside was a risk.  But they have seen the dragonslayer at the gates.  They know exactly what fate awaits them if they make an unprovoked attack on any of our kind."

"What do they want?"

"As I have said, I am looking to open the realm up for trade with dragon-friendly realms.  To allow others of our kind to settle here.  But as I have also said, I am not doing this from a position of strength.  Allowing that is a risk, and I have invited you here to try and help win over the people.
"The Hunters have heard that I am considering this, and their delegation is here to try and convince me not to allow this.  To refuse them outright would not be looked upon favourably by the anti-dragon factions within Arstrom, and besides, they have travelled far to get here."

"But what about me?!"  Fardon looked worried.  "Am I safe here?  Do I have your leave to defend myself if they attempt to murder me on your territory?"

"You do," Terry said.  "I shall warn them of dire consequences if any of them try, so I expect them to behave.  But, should it come to pass, it would look best if you could use minimal force in defending your person."

So saying, the white dragon stood up, backed away a few paces and closed his eyes.  There was a bright flash and when it had cleared, his bulk had been replaced by an anthro-dragon, complete with the black latex outfit he had been wearing before.

"I guess that means it is time to go?"  Fardon said, standing up himself.

"Alas, I do have other business scheduled," Lord Terror admitted.  "Despite the ups and downs, I do believe this has been a most fruitful discussion, and that we understand each other much better as a result.  In my opinion, an alliance is both within reach, and worth pursuing.  Now it is for our staff to discuss a trade agreement, and for me to sell this to the populace."

"And the Hunters," Fardon said wryly.

"I will have to decide the best way to let them down gently," Terry replied.

"Are you happy walking, your lordship?" Fardon asked, as they headed down the tunnel towards the throne room.  "Would it be quicker to ride on my back?"

"I am fine," the anthro-dragon replied.  "I would rather not get rubber polish on your mane, hairs on my catsuit, or risk the terrible spectacle of your spines puncturing it.  There is a tale of an emperor tricked into going naked and I do not wish to suffer a similar embarrassment if the catsuit should tear.  However, if I were to wear PVC instead, riding upon you would certainly make for a most interesting parade when I come to announce the deal, would you be so willing."

"I am all for making a spectacle," Fardon said.  "As long as it as a good one."

"Lord Terry," he added thoughtfully, "I think that once the negotiations are started, I would like to meet with the Mystic Order of Thea.  If the Hunters are around, I feel it would be best for us all if your rogue dragon problem was resolved before they get a chance to stick an oar in."

"A very good point," Terry said.  "They know that dragons are protected here, but some of them are driven enough to consider execution a price worth paying for such an opportunity."

"Their mere presence is liable to make things worse," Fardon agreed.  "It will not help me negotiate with the dragon, and I do not trust them - they may attempt to goad them into violence to give themselves an excuse for a slaying."

"The Order have already been informed of your willingness to assist," Terry said.  "That much is settled.  While it feels a little underhanded doing this behind the Hunters' back, it is probably best that we expedite the mission.
"As I said, I will be busy for the next few hours.  Really busy this time, not merely recovering from the stress of a long-term disguise.  Among other things, I will need to meet with the delegation from Atlantia.  Speak to my steward about this matter, he will be able to help you in my absence."

*  *  *

"Ah, yes," Sir Victor said.  "The Order.  I'm afraid there has been a development.  There are now two bounties upon him.  One we can probably disregard..."

"Disregard?" Fardon protested.  "Justly or not, people will try to slay him!  I thought you said dragons were safe here!"

"Please understand," the seneschal explained.  "We do not hunt dragons here.  They are few and leave us alone, as we do to them.  Before the Great Burning, they have been considered a blessing, and we have left them be out of respect for this ancient tradition.
"Indeed, at times, when a major fire has broken out and the smoke is clearly unintended, a water dragon or frost dragon has come unbidden and doused the flames.  But there is nothing in place to prevent someone from putting a bounty on a rogue dragon, just as one could be put upon a highwayman."

"It will not look good for Lord Terror's plans for an alliance if the dragon is slain," Fardon argued.  "You expect our kind to visit when they may have a target painted upon their backs at any moment?!"

"Allow me to detail them," the tiger said.  "The first bounty was raised by the Earl of Lundgarten.  We are already leaning on him to get the bounty lifted, if he wants to remain Earl.  The bounty accuses the dragon of stealing cattle and frightening people.  However, the area is mostly swampland and you can count the cattle there on one hand.  Scaring people does not carry the death penalty, therefore the bounty is illegal and probably a ploy to seize valuable body-parts from a dragon.  The Earl will be punished for this, and I am confident he will back down, appreciating the value of retaining a head upon his shoulders."

"What is the other bounty?" Fardon asked.

"That is more serious.  The Mystic Order have lost patience, and want their Chosen One returned to them as soon as possible.  I would like to think that the bounty is their attempt to spur things into action, but it has become all the more urgent that you to speak with them and try to negotiate their release in a peaceable manner."

*  *  *

"Greetings, Sir Fardon," the wolf monk said.  "I am brother Kaleb, and this is Acolyte Bentine.  I apologise for having to take such extreme measures as a bounty, but matters are coming to a head."

"They must be," Fardon said, "...If you are willing to risk your own head over this.  Your lord has made it very clear that our kind are not game to be hunted for sport, so I truly hope you know what you are doing."

"It shall be withdrawn this very hour," the wolf said, "Provided you agree to help us in our quest."

"Are you attempting to extort a visiting dignitary?!"  Fardon looked incredulous.

"We are that desperate, I fear," the monk replied.  "Believe me, this decision was not taken lightly.  Let me explain.
"The head of our order has received a divine revelation, nay, a command from the powers above.  It was told to him that the one long promised is among us.  The one who will lead us to glory."

"He will...?" Fardon raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed.  But only if we can find him before the end of this moon.  After that, it will be too late!  Our scholars have sought for the place in the vision, and we have found it, a mountain cave in Lundgarten.  But the cave has become the abode of a mighty dragon!
"Therefore, we have raised a force of holy warriors, a crusade... to rescue the Holy One from the beast that holds them captive, before it is too late!"

"'Beast'?"  Fardon asked, eyes narrowing and fixing the monk with a chilling stare.  "Is that what you think of me?  Of my King...?"

The wolf looked taken aback.  "I forget myself," he said.  "I humbly apologise... please try to understand that this dragon stands between us and our destiny.  Yet we still hope for a peaceful solution, and that is where you would come in, if you are so willing."

"Begging your pardon, brother," Acolyte Bentine said, "But I don't see why this needs such care.  Surely, if the dragon refuses to move, we can simply... get rid of them?  Aren't dragons prone to fighting each other for territory anyway...?"

Sir Fardon grimaced.  "Yes," he admitted.  "In the same way that a dog furre might fetch a stick, or a human behave like an ape.  Most of us have risen above such things, and such impulses are largely kept in check.  Most dragons are social creatures, who need each others company.  But even a human may become a hermit and seek seclusion.
"But I digress.  Acolyte, I do not think you understand why the king values the lives of dragons so much."

"Frankly, I don't," the human admitted.  "That thing has killed people!  If they can kill us, surely we should be allowed to kill them, right?  Fair's fair!"

Fardon sighed deeply.  "Let me ask you a simple question," he said.  "Which is more valuable?  A sack of coal or a sack of gold nuggets?"

"Obviously the gold," the acolyte replied.  "What are you getting at?"

"But what makes it more valuable?"  Fardon insisted.  "Coal is a source of energy, albeit a poor one which we are phasing out.  It could generate electricity, or move a vehicle.  It could heat your house.  Gold can't do any of that."

"But as a metal, gold is malleable and resistant to corrosion," the acolyte said, after a little thought.  "It is also more highly valued because it is rare."

"Exactly," Fardon said.  "It all comes down to rarity.  I do not want to say that a dragon life is worth more than a human or a furre life.  But the unalterable fact is that there are far, far more of you than there are of us, and that you can create new humans and furres far more rapidly than we can create new dragons.
"That has to count for something!  Pine and redwood are both trees.  But a felled pine tree will grow back within your lifetime.  A giant redwood might not grow back within a dragon's lifetime."

"So... Will you aid us?"  Brother Kaleb asked eagerly.

"I will," Sir Fardon said.  "On condition that you let me attempt to handle the matter myself first, before you try anything rash.  If I fail, then... Then you may have to deal with the outcome yourselves.  Just remember Lord Terror's words, for if you anger him, he shall slay you personally."

[Tapewolf]

Now it's time to catch up with Mermul

Chapter 11 - Cults

It was early evening as Mermul soared over the Neutral Territories.  Once, this had been a disputed section of land that both Thurr and Varl had laid claim to.  Neither side felt it was worth going to open war over, but both had coveted it.
When Thurr's realm and Taria had finally brokered a peace agreement, it had not been deemed politically acceptable for the Disputed Territories to be wholly absorbed by either side.  If Lord Thurr had been seen to walk away from the deal without some gains to show for it, there was a risk that he could be deposed by the more militant factions within the realm.  Instead, both Varl and Thurr had taken roughly a third of it each, and the remainder was left as a buffer between the two realms.
Partly this was a compromise, but also there were practical reasons, in that there were still some rivalries between the two realms and skirmishes by zealots could not be ruled out if the borders were too close.
This also granted a reprieve for independent settlers and fugitives who did not wish their homes to be subsumed by either side.

Suddenly there was a crack, followed by sharp pain.

Shit, Mermul thought.  Hunters!  Once the thought would have filled him with abject terror, and even now, that fear was not wholly gone.  Just knowing that you would survive their attentions did not mean that it would be pleasant, and the pain was still a thing to be feared.

Tiredness was seeping through him, the standard procedure being to drug the dragon until they were forced to land, at which point a kill-shot could be delivered.  Mermul breathed his healing breath upon his wings and back, and the feeling started to fade.  But unfortunately, he could not breathe upon his own head.

Entering into a dive, he picked a suitable spot and landed.  Unlike his last run-in with them, he stood and waited calmly for the vehicle to appear.

"Get lost," he told the approaching Hunters, glaring at them irritably.  "I'm not interested in playing your stupid games.  Get out of here, and everybody gets to go home.  But if you force me to defend myself, it is a fight you will not win."

"This one's definitely got balls," the kangaroo said, ostentatiously checking an anti-dragon rifle.  "Fearless as well."

"Just good at bluffing, I think," the human opined.  "Besides, he was flying here from Thurr's realm, so he must be a renegade.   Tranq him again, let's get this over with."

"I don't want to have to kill anyone," Mermul said, swishing his tail warningly.  A second round slammed into his leg.  Mermul scowled, and breathed blue plasma upon it.

"What the hell was that?!" the kangaroo gurgled.

"Healing," Mermul said.  "Also, I should warn you that I am a lord of Taria.  Attacking me will have severe repercussions."

"But they'll still be down a high official!" the human said.  "This is our chance!  Kill him now!"

"No!" the kangaroo protested.  "We're only supposed to target renegades!  And this whole thing just feels all wrong!  Screw the dragon, we should get out of here!  It's some kind of trap!"

"Then I'll do it!" the human snapped, grabbing the rifle.

"This will be remembered," Mermul said, then the shot slammed into his shoulder.  He bit back a scream, inhaled and blew the plasma over his leg.

"No! Stop!" the kangaroo was screaming, and trying to grab back the rifle from the human.  "We can't fight an unrestrained dragon, let alone one who can do that!  Forget him, we should leave!"

A shot rang out and the human collapsed.  Mermul looked horrified, and then worried as he realised that the shot hadn't come from the rifle.  Another shot rang out and the kangaroo slumped as well.

"Who's doing this?!"  Mermul demanded.

"Hail, brother dragon!" a lupine figure called out.  Mermul looked surprised as several humans and furres marched towards him, each dressed in monks robes.  The leader carried a sniper rifle.

"We are the Brotherhood of the Omnithestic Gnosis," he said.  "I am Father Karl, head of our order.  It is fortunate that you landed near our compound, else these sinners would have slain you."

"Thanks," Mermul said.  "But I had things in hand.  And I don't want to sound ungrateful, but did you have to kill them...?"

"If we had not, they would have killed again," the priest pointed out.  "Dragons are a blessing from the gods, to slay your kind is sinful.  Now, they face a judgement higher than any mortal can mete out."

The kangaroo moaned and stirred.

"Oh!" Mermul said.  "He's alive.  I'd better help him."  So saying, he trotted forwards, and breathed blue plasma upon the injured furre.

"A miracle!" the priest said.  "See!  See how this dragon-angel shows such mercy upon those who sought to slay him!"

"I was given this gift for a reason," Mermul said.  "To aid others, even the undeserving.  But, um, I'm not planning to join your cult if that's what you mean..."

"No matter," the priest said.  "Fetch a rope," he added to one of his underlings, and a length of hemp was swiftly produced.  The kangaroo's eyes widened with terror as the cultists took him.

"What?!" Mermul protested.  "Stop!  Don't do this!  It's murder!"

"Your concern for your would-be killer is noted," the priest said sadly, "But we are carrying out the will of the divines.  This sinner must be sent to them!"

Mermul watched, horrified as the kangaroo was lynched, boots kicking as he dangled from a nearby tree.

"Stop it!  Stop it!  Stop it!" he protested.  "You have to cut him down!"

"No!  That would be sinful!" the priest returned.  "Please understand, brother dragon... He must die for his attempt on your life!"

Mermul looked around wildly, trying to decide what to do.  A fire dragon might have burned through the rope, and a dragon with a tail-blade could easily have cut through it.  As a frost-dragon, Mermul was softer and fluffier than a scaled dragon, his claws were blunt and in his life as an assassin, he had relied on weapons which he did not have to hand.

"It is done," the priest crowed, as the kangaroo's kicking finally ceased.  "He shall face judgement for his deeds."

"We'll see about that," Mermul said.  He swung his tail in an arc and the tree branch snapped, the kangaroo tumbling brokenly to the ground.  Mermul clawed back at the leafy mass, and breathed his healing plasma down upon the kangaroo, who made a strangled gasp and clawed at the noose.

The priest looked astonished, and then horrified.

"Necromancy!" he cried, and gestured wildly to the other cultists.  "This dragon is no angel sent to us, but a foul servant of darkness in fair guise!  Destroy him!  And the undead fiend he has created!"

"Oh, no, no, no!" the kangaroo wailed, as the Hunters truck was driven towards them by one of the cultists.  The side of the truck was opened to reveal a guillotine, with a wide enough opening to easily accommodate a dragon's neck.

"Once the fiend is dead, you shall get the same," the priest promised the kangaroo.

Spears poked at Mermul, directing him to the guillotine.

"In, dragon, in!  Surrender your head willingly and the gods will deduct it from the wages of your blasphemy!"

"My name is Lord Mermul," the frost-dragon complained.  "And you're killing one of Father Alkrash's servants.  He won't like this."

"Silence, heretic!"

Mermul obediently placed his neck in the lunette, closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.  There was a moment of pain, the vertigo of falling into the grass behind the truck, and then the world faded to darkness.

Not long after, his eyes opened again.  He coughed a small quantity of blood and stood up.

"Vampire!" the priest screamed.  "See the blood on his mouth!  See how his necromantic pacts have enabled him to return from death!"

"That's my blood, you idiot," Mermul snarled.  "And I warned you this would happen.  Father Alkrash gave me a message for you... 'Quit your shit... Or Else.'"

"Blasphemy!" the priest gurgled.  "Kill the heretic again!  Use the silver-coated blade!"

"Don't," Mermul said, looking horrified.  "Seriously, don't!  Do you want divine retribution?  Because that's how you get divine retribution!"

"The retribution shall fall upon you, necromancer!" the priest yelled.  "Behead him again!"

Mermul put up a token resistance, knowing that it would be difficult to escape without killing his captors.

"I was fed up with being worshipped in Taria," he snapped, lying his neck in the slot once again.  "...But this is going to the opposite extreme!  Can't people just leave me alo-" his last words ended with a sickening gurgle as the blade decapitated him again.

Some minutes later, head reattached, the dragon stood up.

"Are you quite finished?" he coughed.  "Because the gods are getting sick of you."

"Even Hell rejects him!" one of the cultists wailed.  "What are we to do...?"

"I have a suggestion," Mermul offered.  "We could play a game!  It's called 'Don't Piss Off The Dragon God.'"

"Burn him!" the priest screamed.

"Seriously!?" Mermul growled.  "Burn a dragon?  Even frost-dragons are heat-resistant!"

"Cover the heretic with the fuel from the truck!" the priest shrieked.  "He must burn!  Destroy his body with fire, and..."

From the clear blue sky, a lightning bolt arced down, instantly obliterating the priest.

"...I guess he lost the game," Mermul sighed.  "Maybe the rest of you should quit while you're ahead...?"

*  *  *

"You... you revived me," the kangaroo said, as the cultists fled the scene.  "You saved me, even though I set out to kill you..."

"That wasn't going to happen," Mermul told him.  "It was never a fair fight, and I would rather you learn from this.  I'll even revive your human friend if you can ensure he doesn't try this stunt again, or attempts to put me into the guillotine."

"So it's true?  You really can raise the dead...?  What about the priest?"

Mermul shook his head unhappily.  "God told me not to.  I probably could, but explicitly disobeying my creator's direct command would be stupid, right?  To say nothing of the fact that I owe Him big for the powers He has given me."

"So, tell me something," the kangaroo asked, retrieving his anti-dragon rifle and pocketing the rounds from it.  "You were coming from Lord Thurr's realm.  We figured you for a renegade, but you held back a lot there."

"I can't tell you everything," Mermul said.  "But you will have noticed that things are calmer lately.  Just as you seem to be targeting renegade dragons rather than all and sundry, Thurr has been cracking down on the excesses of his lot.  I was there on business from Taria, that's all.  Assisting with his recent reforms."

"Then I sincerely apologise for drugging you."

"And that mobile guillotine of yours?"  Mermul scowled.  "I assume that was your plan for me?"

"If you had been a wanted renegade, yes," the Hunter said.  "Traditionally we'd have just shot renegades, as I'm sure you're aware.  But lately it has become politically expedient to offer other means of dispatching our enemies.
"From what I hear, beheading is considered a noble death among dragons.  Certainly it is the preferred option in Taria.  Well, you see, sometimes Hunters are hired out to city-states and other small provinces who have a dragon turned murderer, but lack the expertise or facilities to deal with them."

"You're trying to take our wishes into account?"  Mermul looked shocked.  "These are strange times."

"Many of us are just trying to protect our families," the Hunter said.  "It was never anything personal.  But you're right, change is in the air.  These are strange times."

Breathing his healing plasma upon the other Hunter, Mermul fanned his wings for take-off, and then craned his neck back to the kangaroo.  "You can keep my heads, by the way," he said.  "I don't need them anymore."