Pax Draconica 2 - Chapter 19 (4th Mar 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."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 12 - The Chosen One and the Dragon

Lundgarten had noticeably lower living standards than the capital.  As the seneschal had implied, it was a large town surrounded by swamps and marshland.  There was street lighting within the town, mercury vapour lights that had clearly been retrofitted to gas lighting in the not-too-distant past.

Fardon had arrived in his ceremonial platemail, as the Earl was clearly not wholly on board with Lord Terror's pro-dragon policy.  Coming in without obvious regalia might have made him a target, and he wasn't willing to take that chance.

"Lord Terror has told us to expect you," the gatekeeper said sullenly as the group arrived at the town gates.  "He wired a message ahead of you, that a dragon would come and that we were not to harm them under any circumstances.  But that does not mean you are wanted here."

"I am glad you are at least standing down," Sir Fardon said.  "While I appreciate that an incoming dragon can be considered a threat, the subsequent mass-executions, and the Earl's dismemberment for murdering a visiting diplomat would not bring me back to life."

The gatekeeper blanched.

"If it makes everyone happier, I will fly on to the cave entrance and meet you there," Fardon offered, glancing at Brother Kaleb.

"You do that," the monk suggested.  "We will need to prepare before we begin the ascent."

*  *  *

Fardon had left his armour outside and assumed his feline guise.  Partly this was to aid coordinating with the Order's men, but also because he was worried how the other dragon would react.
Dragons tend to be social creatures, but it was also not uncommon for an individual to go loner, holing up in a cave or suchlike.  If a dragon was actively avoiding company, another being present could turn them hostile, especially if they feared a rival was vying for their territory.

The cave opened out into a vast chamber, which showed signs of having been excavated by at least one dragon.  It had been sloped downwards, leaving the connecting tunnels high in the air with ledges to assist a dragon in landing on.  The ledges and the centre were lit by large, glowing crystals, though the Order had also set up their own floodlights.
 
"Dragon!" the scout hissed, pointing at one of the ledges.

"I am dragon too," the ginger cat reminded him.  "But what is he... Ah, I see him.   He is not attacking, so let's keep things that way.  Please do not do anything aggressive."

"He's just... staring at us," Acolyte Bentine said.

"That's a promising start," Fardon remarked.  "If he was hostile he'd have done a warning flame, or worse."  So saying, he walked towards the centre of the cave slowly, with his hands clearly visible.

"Hello," he called out loudly.  The other dragon craned his long, green neck to watch him, as Fardon cautiously stepped closer to the ledge where the dragon had perched.  They continued to stare down at him inscrutably.

"What want?" the dragon finally asked, in a sullen voice.

"I, uh..." Fardon stopped.  "I want to talk to you," he said.

"Hesitate," the dragon replied suspiciously.  "You pause.  Come with men.  Pointy, shooty men."

"Come down!" Acolyte Bentine yelled.  "Come down, dragon!  We demand the release of your prisoner!  Come down, or we shall come up!"

"Shut up!" Fardon yelled at him, feline tail fuzzed up and lashing sideways.  "Threatening him won't work!"

"Then what else are we supposed to do...?  Ask nicely?!"

"YES," Fardon roared.  "You are frightening him!  He may over-react and we do not want that!  I was sent here to sort things out, so let me do my job, or I will have to explain how you screwed up and caused the mission to fail!"

"Are you trying to tell me that that... giant slab of muscle and death is scared of us?!"

"Even like this, I can smell his fear," Fardon retorted.  "Also, he can hear us."

"Big Dragon is scared!" the creature wailed plaintively.  "Do not hurt Big Dragon!  Do not do the killing-thing!"

"Back off," Fardon barked to the soldiers.  "Let me handle this.  It's my job."

"It's your funeral," one of them said, but they retreated to a safe distance.

"I have told them to leave us alone," Fardon called up.  "Please come closer.  I just want to talk to you."

"Big Dragon is still scared," the dragon retorted suspiciously.  "Will come closer, but not down.  Big Dragon is powerful, not stupid."

So saying, he took off and flew to another ledge, lower down, but still offering some cover from projectiles.

"Thank you," Fardon said.

"Seen to be remains," the dragon said suspiciously.  Fardon looked up at him curiously.

"You do not speak Common much?" he asked, switching tongues.  "How about Dracolingua?"

"That I understand," the dragon said.  "I have been away from civilisation for many lives of men.  Now I come out and everything has changed.  How do you know this tongue so well, small one?"

"I am one of Us," Fardon said.  "And I am... rusty in my usage of it.  Even dragon supremacists mostly speak Common these days."

"Much has changed," the dragon said.  "For a long time, I feared I was the last of my kind, or one of few survivors of the war.  So many of us slain..."

"I am Sir Fardon of Taria," Fardon stated, switching back to Common so the others could understand.  "As a fellow dragon I have been asked to treat with you.  A bounty has been put on your head and I would not see a magnificent one such as you slain.  Though," he added, "I would not mind slaying you with my... spear," he added lasciviously.  "In true form, of course."

"Now is not the time!" the dragon protested, replying in Dracolingua.  "If you can convince the small ones to leave me be, I will consider your offer then.  But I cannot sleep with a strange dragon while my life is at stake, and definitely not while the small ones watch!"

Brother Kaleb stormed over to Fardon, incandescent with fury and outrage.

"Did you seriously just ask if you could fuck him?!" the monk snapped.  "We are here to rescue the Chosen One, not so you can get some tail!"

"I am a dragon," Fardon retorted.  "It is often said that dragons are horny.  Besides, if it gets you your precious Chosen One back, what's the problem?"

"What is who chosen?" the dragon asked in broken Common.

"It is said that you have taken a holy one prisoner," Fardon said in Dracolingua. "This has angered the Small Races and is why most of them have been attacking you.  I was sent to try and negotiate their release."

"No prisoner," the dragon protested in Common.  "Big Dragon has not kid-nap.  Kill only those who hurt him."

"Can you describe the Chosen One?" Fardon asked the monk.  "This dragon might be protecting them, or knows where they are!"

Brother Kaleb closed his eyes and recited the prophecy.  The others fell silent in reverence.
"Wisdom of the ages bears he,
 Held in trove 'gainst the coming dark,
 When the round comes, when the dead return,
 When the tyrant's mind is changed and the Raccoon cast down,
 Seek then the saviour, tall, strong and proud,
 Find him in a cave long forgotten,
 Held at bay by a power never defeated,
 Prisoner of fate, trapped by evil Dragon Lord,
 Behold then the Chosen One,
 By his palm shall ye know him,
 Marked when he reached for the stars."

"Do you mock Big Dragon?!" the dragon raised his head high above them, looking down on the smaller creatures with an offended expression.  "You try to do the killing-thing to him and now you... you... Not funny! Not nice!"

"What is the problem?" Fardon asked in Dracolingua.  "I am an envoy of Taria, under Lord Varl the Red, I do not mock you.  I have been asked to try and settle this dispute, as one dragon to another."

"Prove you are one of Us," the dragon retorted suspiciously.

Fardon sighed, shooed the other members of his party a safe distance away, and then reverted to his true size and appearance.

"I would surely be glad to exchange spears," the other dragon said, landing next to Fardon and admiring his muscular form.  "It has been a long time.  But as I said, my safety must come before pleasure.  I apologise for doubting you.  Tell me the prophecy in our tongue, lest I have misunderstood."

Fardon haltingly translated it to Dracolingua.  The other dragon sighed and sat down on his hind legs like a colossal dog.

"What is the matter now?" Fardon protested.  "If you recognise the signs, can you at least tell us where this so-called Chosen One lies?"

The dragon raised one foreleg, showing the pads of his palm.  On it was a mark in the shape of a star.

"Oh shit," Fardon said in Common.  Acolyte Bentine turned pale and fell to his knees.  "Hail the Chosen One!" he bleated.

*  *  *

"Right," Fardon said.  "Clearly something has gone very wrong.  He is tall, strong and proud.  Nothing in your prophecy said that he was human or a furre."

"But it said he was being held at bay, imprisoned by a dragon lord who had never been defeated!" Brother Kaleb protested.

"Big Dragon Falnar not lord," the dragon said.  "Bay held by small ones, come to kill and steal!  Kill a few.  Do not like the killing-thing.  Kill too many, make things badder.  Even more sent to do the killing-thing to him then!"

"The 'power never defeated' part may refer to your realm," Fardon said, glancing at the monk.  "Since it was founded, Arstrom has never really been defeated, correct?  It's just changed leadership and carried on.  And since the Burning, it has not been safe for dragons."

"But if that's so... Who is the dragon lord?"  Brother Kaleb asked.

"That's my theory, anyway, and it could be wrong," Fardon said, shrugged his wings.  He craned his long neck to face the other dragon.  "So, um, Mr. Falnar, is it...?  You said you have been in this cave for many lives of men, correct?  Can you tell us why?"

"Hide," the green dragon said.  "Hide from Lord Thurr.  Did not want to killing-thing small ones.  He anger, say traitor is Falnar, try to do the killing-thing.  Big Dragon go far away, places Thurr not think to look would.  Places conquered by others, Thurr must sent army too far.  Supply of chains break fragile, stretchy.  Not practicality."

"There you go," Fardon said, craning his long neck to face the monk.  "Your Chosen One has been fleeing an evil dragon lord.  Probably since the Realm of Thurr was established.  The prophecy was correct, you were just looking at it wrong."

"We must confer," Acolyte Bentine said, looking shaken.  "As you know, we assumed that we would be rescuing a mistreated human or furre from a rogue dragon, and bringing them to the safety of our temple.  But if the Chosen One is the size of a bus, and does not wish to leave his home... We may have to come to him.  And we will need a scholar who can speak dracolingua, at least to begin with..."

"Whatever you do, I would keep some of your soldiers here," Fardon advised.  "We cannot risk others coming to claim a bounty on your Chosen One, and it would look much better to the rest of the world if any seekers were persuaded to leave, rather than being mashed by a skittish dragon defending himself.  And if Falnar does want to go with you, you'll need someone to guard his lair against thieves."

So saying, Fardon craned his neck back to the green dragon.

"Mr. Falnar," he said in Common, "I must tell you, that this realm is now ruled by Lord Terror.  The local Earl is being reprimanded, and his attempts upon your life should cease.  If they continue, the Earl will cease instead."

"What of I?" Falnar asked plaintively.  "Will Lord Terror drive him away?  Big dragon has caused no trouble!"

"He will not," Fardon said.  "The Order would fight that, now you are their Chosen One.  They will protect you well, after this unfortunate misunderstanding.
"But Lord Terror sent me here to help you, because he cares for dragonkind and wants us protected.  He wants unity between the races.  I was told to tell you this - that the dragon-porches of his castle are always open, should you wish to meet him, or seek his aid."

"Why trust him?" Falnar asked suspiciously.  "Why would Small Races care, seek peace with Us?"

"Because," Fardon said in dracolingua, "He keeps a secret.  He is also one of Us."

[ProfesseurRenard]

Interesting chapter.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 13 - Atlantia Ascendant

Lord Terror sat at the meeting table.  He had been tempted to pick a vinyl cape over his usual catsuit, and hope that a diadem alone would to convey that he was, in fact, the lord of the realm, and not some concubine who had strayed into the conference room by mistake.

In the end, he had compromised and picked an ornate robe to wear over his favourite rubber clothing, wriggling his wings to fit through the slits in the back which had been cut for them by the finest tailors in the capital.
This robe had once belonged to Yyrkoon the Unsteady, and had developed a number of ugly red stains at the end of its tenure, since heads tended make rather a mess once removed.  But time and modern cleaning agents had faded the bloodstains to nothing, and Terry only wore the robes on special occasions anyway.

Lady Silver, a snow leopard furre from the Hunters' realm of Atlantia, sat opposite him.  And, as Terry had expected, the meeting had got off to a rocky start.

"If it pleases your lordship to treat with beasts..." she was saying.

Lord Terror sat up straight, eyes narrowing.  "Mind your tongue, Hunter," he hissed.  "That word has too oft been used to describe furres.  Dragonkind deserves similar courtesy."

"I know Arstrom has not been welcoming of dragons since the Great Burning," the lord continued.  "But that is in the past, and we must look to the future.  Once, humans and furres were sworn enemies who slew each other with abandon.  Now it is unthinkable that they should be anything other than allies.  Why should the situation be different with dragons?"

"It is not for us to state who you should and should not trade with," Lady Silver allowed.  "But I beg you remember that dragons are dangerous.  They attacked Arstrom before, and may do so again!"

"They have not done so in four centuries," Lord Terror reminded them.

"A long time for us, but many of those who perpetrated the attack are still alive today."

"And they are alive in spite of your efforts," Lord Terror growled.  "You forget.  I was not born in Arstrom, and I am older than I seem.  I have worked with dragons before.
"When I took over here, I researched the Great Burning, spoke to dragons who had witnessed or taken part in it.  And just as I suspected, what happened then was not some random act of savagery as you make out, but revenge owed for the abduction and murder of their young.  So long as we do not repeat the mistakes of the past, that unfortunate situation should not recur."

The Hunter's representative sighed.  "Perhaps you think the dragons will honour your lordship, but you are a furre.  Do you truly believe they will see you even as an equal, let alone their master?"

"Look at me," Lord Terror said.  "I have horns and wings.  Long life.  Do you not think that I may have a generous helping of dragon blood in my veins?  And if you have read up on me at all, you will know my reputation as a most capable warrior.
"Those who recognise my desire to protect them will likely agree to my negotiations, for I seek an accord with them, not mastery and servitude.  For those who only recognise brute force, I assure you I am quite capable of enforcing my will at the end of a dragonblade or a rifle, if that is what it takes.  Do you think you are the only ones who can slay a dragon if the need arises?"

"Well, if you have need of our expertise or aid, we will gladly offer it..." the Hunter started.  Terry emitted a threatening hiss.

"Apparently you do not fully understand," he said, forcing himself to be calm.  "I have met dragons.  Fought alongside them.  Made friendships and alliances.  I have seen the power of a three-race unity and I intend to bring that same miracle with Arstrom.  I know what I am getting into.
"But I do not know what you are seeking to achieve here," he continued icily.  "The dragons in Arstrom are under my protection, and that is final.  Yes, if one of them goes rogue, perhaps they may need to be put to death.  But until and unless I give my own personal authorisation, even attempting to slay one of my charges will result in a demonstration of my wrath."

"Let's be clear about this..." he continued.  "I am not a simpleton.  I know all too well that many Hunters believe their own deaths to be a price worth paying if it will take down one of dragonkind too, as dragons are few and the other races are many.  So the repercussions for murdering a dragon in my realm shall go far beyond merely sending the heads of the guilty back to Atlantia, I assure you.
"I can make this realm off-limits to all Hunters on pain of immediate death.  If I am feeling generous I will allow most of you to leave first.  If I am not... know that while necromancy is a high crime in Arstrom, we have not yet signed any decree against the trapping of souls by state officials.
"This is my realm, Hunter, and my rules apply within it.  And if you dare to bring your crusade here, you shall learn why I am called Lord Terror."

*  *  *

Terry sat back, waiting for the snow leopard to storm off in disgust.  To his surprise, she remained seated.  Privately, Terry was very impressed, though he tried not to show it.

"Your lordship," Lady Silver began, an earnest expression on her face.  "Perhaps you assume that I am a fanatic, who wishes all dragons slain on principle.  I assure you, that is not the case.  I am a practical woman, who sees dragonslaying as an unfortunate last resort.
"It is true that I have no love for dragonkind.  I do not trust them, and I strongly believe that humans and furres should be capable of defending themselves when the need arises.  Personally, I believe your approach is dangerous and unwise.  But you are clearly set upon this, and if you can truly pull off a lasting peace and can guarantee that the dragons of your realm do not harm our kind, then the results will speak for themselves.  Slaying dragons is not an easy thing, and reducing the need to do so will save us much effort."

"That's... an unusual position for a Hunter to take," Terry said skeptically.

"This moderate viewpoint is why I was chosen for this diplomatic mission.  And I will be honest, the moderate faction is on the ascendant in Atlantia right now."

"Seriously...?"  Terry's eyebrows raised.

"It's true.  For a long time we have taken it as dogma that the Evil One, the destroyer of the world, was our number one threat, and that by slaying those who associated with him, we would be weakening his powers.
"Recent events in Taria and Thurr's realm have shown us that this was completely backwards, that by eliminating the Devourer's friends, we were instead eliminating his reasons to delay the apocalypse.  We were endangering the world ourselves.  This revelation was not taken well and has caused profound repercussions among Atlantia's leadership."

"If you had said any of this up front, I would have been far more accommodating," Terry growled.  "Let me be clear... it will take time to trust your kind, Hunter.  You started with shrill warnings against allowing dragons in Arstrom, so this seems a rather abrupt change in direction.  It makes me suspicious.
"As I said, I have had friendships with dragons, and some of those friendships were prematurely ended by the actions of your people.  It will take a long time to forgive that... and yet, if the moderate Hunters retain power and things continue to thaw... That would be a good thing, as far as I am concerned."

"If you wish to protect dragons within Arstrom, that is your business," the Hunter said.  "You are the lord of the realm and must do as you see fit.  I still say it is risky and unwise, but there are more important things at stake for Atlantia.
"If Arstrom should become a haven for dragons, we are worried that it may be treated as a safe-house for those who seek domination and murder.  We do not want your realm to become a staging area for launching attacks against your neighbours.  That is one reason for my being here."

"If that should happen, those responsible shall be punished accordingly," Lord Terror promised.  "I want peace here, not more skirmishes between dragons and the Small Races.  What are your other reasons...?" 

"Let me be blunt, your lordship," Lady Silver said.  "We know that you intend an alliance with Taria.  I am not here to try and stop that, if you are determined to proceed with it.  What troubles us most is the possibility that Hunters may be expelled from Arstrom as a result of that agreement.
"I know that you have no love for those who would kill dragons, and I understand that.  But please try to remember that we are not all cut from the same cloth.  There are families here who hailed originally from Atlantia and we would not see them expelled or executed merely for being here, as you threatened to do earlier."

"So what you are asking for," Terry said, "Is assurance that Hunters will continue to be able to enter my realm, if they obey my laws and their business here does not threaten my allies?"

"Yes," Lady Silver said, exhaling the word as if in great relief.  "That is exactly it.  We know your laws forbid us from slaying dragons without authorisation, and we will obey them as a diplomatic imperative.
"But Arstrom is strategically important, and we do not want to cut ties with you, dragons or no.  We trade with you.  We have people living here, and those who wish to monitor the situation regarding your experiments with allowing dragons to return.  But most importantly, Atlantia also makes use of the Narduran trade route... Which runs through the north of your realm and uses the eastern pass."

"It cannot be denied that Atlantia has the finest weapons and aerotechnology," Terry admitted.  "Those are indeed valued imports... but they are not irreplaceable.  Other, less murderous realms offer both of these goods.
"Very well," he decided.  "Trade will continue.  Your people may continue to enter my realm.  But if there is any violence against my dragon allies, my wrath shall fall upon you all, swift and harsh."

*  *  *

"Sir Fardon," Lord Terror said as he returned to the throne room.  The large brown dragon lay there patiently, waiting for the other's return like a colossal dog, and stood up as he was addressed.

"I was wondering, your lordship," Fardon said.  "How has your meeting with the ambassador from Atlantia gone, and it is likely to impact the agreement with Taria...?"

"The Atlantian delegation has agreed to my terms," Lord Terror told him.

"What?!  Seriously...?"  Fardon looked astonished.

"It was unexpected, yes," Terry said, looking perturbed as he leaned back in the throne and gazed up at the dragon.  "The Hunters have agreed to honour my protection of dragons within Arstrom.  They aren't happy about me allying with Taria, but they didn't try to stop it either.  Hell, their representative barely blinked when the Pax Draconica was mentioned.
"They've even agreed to stop attacking dragons who stray from the trade route between here and Trooland.  Whatever they want, they want it badly."

"But you don't know what it is...?"

"I have no idea," Terry said, looking perturbed.  "And that worries me."

[ProfesseurRenard]

The difficulties of politics, eh?

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 14 - Bishop

"So," Lord Terror said.  "I hear you have resolved the problem of the Chosen One.  I am indebted to you, Sir Fardon.  I shall have to decide how best to reward you."

"Had it not been a fellow dragon, I might not have treated it with such urgency.  But in that case, it is likely you could have solved the problem yourself."

"There were other options," Terry admitted.  "As I'm sure you're aware.  But you have saved me from having to use them, and greatly complicating my life thereby.
"Now, this Falnar... he is still in the cave?"

"For now," Fardon said.  "The Order are looking at how to move him to a place more convenient for their needs, but... Well, their temple was not designed with dragons in mind.  But we have put up notices declaring the cave off-limits in your name, and the Order have posted their own guards to deter Hunters or others seeking to fulfil the Earl's bounty.  One of my staff has checked Falnar over.  He is a little underfed, for obvious reasons, but does not seem to have any other maladies. Not bad-looking, either..."

"Has he been getting a balanced diet?"  Terry asked.  "Dragons are omnivorous.  What has he been eating, if he has been stuck in that cave for centuries?  Dragons who eat only meat can become confused and dangerous..."

"Fish, mostly."  Fardon said.  "There's an underground river where he was getting his water from, and a reasonable amount of fish as well.  At night he has also been making discreet sorties, eating foliage and the occasional goat from the mountains.  That's given him vegetables, red meat and kept his flight muscles in trim, though as mentioned, he is a little scrawny for a dragon of his size."

"If I am to have dragons within the capital, I will need infrastructure for them," Terry mused.  "I will need to hire medics from dragon-friendly regions, and soon.  If Falnar will come here, I will see to it that he is checked over by my personal physician."

"Having at least one resident dragon in the capital will be useful," Fardon said.  "It may entice others to visit, at least."

"Indeed," Terry said.  "But I don't want to seem too eager, or some will suspect that I am trying to draw them all out so they can be slain en masse.  Or that even if my goals are noble, that Hunters may try to take advantage of it.

"But come," he added.  "It will shortly be time to eat.  We can continue this discussion on the morrow, after I have seen the Chosen One for myself."

*  *  *

This time, there was no assassination attempt, but Fardon and Terry were joined by the Bishop of St. Palver's cathedral, and Lady Silver of Atlantia.  Fardon and the Hunter politely ignored each other, with the dragon making a show of devouring his meat as daintily as possible.
Terry had eschewed his robe and was back to wearing just a catsuit, with a utility belt around his waist like Fardon's neck-bag.  The Bishop was struggling to conceal his disdain for his lord's sense of dress, and kept glancing at the stiletto-heeled boots that the furre wore.

"Your lordship," the snow leopard began, breaking the silence.  "At the risk of discussing the dragon in the room..."  Terry and Fardon both glanced at her, and she looked down at her plate.  "Forgive me, the elephant in the room..." she amended.  "I would like to make it clear that yesterday's... incident was in no way sanctioned by Atlantia," she said, glancing at the plastered patch of wall where the rocket had struck home.  "I and my staff are here purely to discuss trade, and not to stoke old grudges.  I am, however, curious as to what fate awaits those responsible."

"I have not decided," Terry admitted.  "For defying my program of reform and reconciliation, for attempting the murder of a diplomat... For such treachery, a public execution would not be unexpected."

"Yes," the Bishop growled, putting down his wine-glass with a clatter.  "And since I doubt our guests have seen how such things are done here, our illustrious Lord Terror presides over them.  Wearing..."

"Wearing what I please to wear, as your sovereign lord," Terry replied silkily.

"But it is not appropriate to such a solemn occasion!" the Bishop protested angrily.  "It is an affront to the moral code that the Church has strived for!  Would you wear a clown suit whilst hanging a man?!"

"If such was their last request, absolutely," Terry responded.

"But is not done!"  The Bishop snapped.  "It borders on cruelty, if, when a criminal is put to death, the official who takes their very life does so while wearing a rubber skirt and high heels!
"It is scandalous when one is sent to the guillotine, for them to have their last moments on Eyrth be sullied by the sight of you, watching them die, as you stand there dressed like a who-"

The Bishop stopped abruptly and clapped a hand over his mouth.

Lord Terror stood up immediately, his expression inscrutable.  As Fardon and Silver both watched, he clapped his rubber-gloved hands three times and a servant appeared at one of the doors, clutching a transparent blue pig.
The servant glanced questioningly at his ruler.  Lord Terror pointed at the Bishop, who scowled furiously as the pig was brought to him.  With an expression of poorly-suppressed rage, he dropped a gold coin into the plastic animal's back.

Fardon glanced at Terry with a look of confusion, and the Hunter seemed equally bewildered.

"I do not care what is said behind my back," Terry said, glancing back at them.  "But to my face is another matter entirely.  Such a direct insult to my authority cannot stand!
"Now, my predecessor strung up all who insulted him, or were even suspected of doing so...  But I have found that fines are much more humane, much more proportionate.  And also profitable.  A small price to pay for calling your sovereign a whore, eh, Bishop?"

"Yes, my lord," the Bishop grated.

Terry beckoned the servant over, rummaged in his belt pack and dropped a coin into the slot himself.

"Even a whore must lead by example," he added, with the clink of a second gold piece.

"Now," the furre said, sitting back down, and setting aside his plate as the servant left, bearing away the pig-shaped swear jar.  "Now... I believe we were discussing the fate of the miscreants who so rudely interrupted last night's banquet.  As I have said, my natural inclination was to terminate them, but even 'Lord Terror' can be merciful."

"It is not necessary to slay them on my account," Fardon said.  "After all, they did not succeed in their attempt.  I do not wish this unfortunate incident to derail things where Atlantia is concerned," he said, glancing briefly at Lady Silver.  "Violence begets more violence, after all."

"Well said," the snow leopard replied.

"It is my hope," Fardon continued, "That in the fullness of time, Atlantia may eventually cease their feud with dragonkind, and become known as a hub of technology.  This century, and many of those before it, Atlantia has had an ill reputation among dragonkind.  I do not think it is controversial to say that it has long been thought of as a place of terror, exporting hatred and fear of our kind.  But this does not always need to be the case, and I would long to see it become instead known for exporting wonders.
"Lord Terror tells me that Atlantia has been reconsidering its policies in that regard," Fardon said, eyeing Lady Silver significantly.  "If this is so, it will not be in any of our interests to disrupt that process.  It should be encouraged, rather."

"And if that were to bear fruit," the snow leopard replied, "Would Taria be willing to trade with Atlantia, knowing what we have done in the past?"

"It would take time," Fardon admitted.  "Many would find that a bitter pill to swallow, for dragons are long-lived and most know at least one person who has been taken from us by the past actions of Hunters.  But we are practical creatures.  If it will lead to a better tomorrow, most of us would be willing to set aside their grudges and let the past be the past.  After all, most of the instigators are dust by now, and slaying others in a misguided attempt at vengeance solves nothing.  As I said, violence begets violence, and nothing will change if we don't try."

*  *  *

Fiskul the Devourer lay next to one of the trucks from their convoy, playing a video game upon a hand-held device about the size of a cupboard door.  The gas-plasma display showed a crude dragon sprite dropping bombs upon a row of blocky houses, and the irony that they were enacting a dragon rampage was not lost on Fiskul.  Shortly afterwards, the battery warning appeared and they set the game aside.

"Fisk?" a voice called.  The Devourer turned to see Fardon coming in to land, with a strange figure riding upon his back.

"Fardon!" Fiskul called eagerly.  "Are things well?"

"They are," the brown dragon replied, setting down to land.  "This is Lord Terror.  He would much like to meet you."

"Greetings, your darkness," Terry called out, descending from Fardon's neck.  "I cannot stay long, but I wished to make your acquaintance.  Hmm, I should probably have asked what the best way to address you is."

"I'm easy," Fiskul said.  "As long as you're not trying to cut my head off, burn me alive inside my own home or murder my friends, we're good."

"And as long as you're not here to devour my realm, just as I'm getting the hang of things, I see no reason to try," Terry smiled.  "So, uh, not that I doubt Sir Fardon, but... Well..."

"You want a demonstration, right?"  Fiskul looked amused.  "Most people do, and I can't blame them."

So saying, the Devourer placed a wooden pallet against a wall of the parking lot, and opened their mouth to inhale.  Terry winced at the sight, fronds of void that seemed to show stars inside it licked around their maw, and then shot forwards into a stream of flames gone horribly wrong.  The pallet disintegrated along with surface layer of the wall.

"Oops," Fiskul said.  "I'm out of practice."

Terry stared dumbly at the wall for a few moments, and then shook his head.

"To hear it is one thing," he said slowly.  "But to see it...  I hope I do not have to see this again.  I see now why you kept hidden.  And I fear what might have happened if the assassins had succeeded against Fardon..."

"I hear you are of dragonkind," Fiskul said in Dracolingua.  "I do not ask for proof since he says that you are not yet ready to show your true form, but I would like to hear this from you.  A fellow dragon is unlikely to wish harm on a visiting diplomat."

"It is true," Terry said, replying in the same tongue.  "I hatched in Parovar, some 1100 years past.  I fled when their empire fell, and have been wandering the world ever since.  Sometimes as a dragon, sometimes as you see me now.  I have decided to settle here, and try to make it a better place for all.  An alliance with Lord Varl will greatly aid that project."

"And the shiny clothes?"  Fiskul asked.

"Ah, yes," Terry grinned wickedly, and rubbed his gloved hands together.  "That is one reason I have stayed as a furre for so long."

[Starcat5]

Are we sure Terry here isn't part Cubi? 

That is to say he isn't, but he and Lord Daryil would get along like fire and gasoline. 

[Tapewolf]

Are we sure Terry here isn't part Cubi? 

That is to say he isn't, but he and Lord Daryil would get along like fire and gasoline. 

Indeed.  There is, in fact, a picture of Daryil and Terry getting along exceptionally well, but I'm not posting that here.  (And no, it's not canon, sadly)

When I was writing the first story I was worried that I might end up writing "Project Future With Dragons".  I think I have avoided that somewhat, but Terry and Daryil definitely have a lot of common ground.

[ProfesseurRenard]

A swear jar. I find it rather amusing for a Bishop of all people being fined for foul language.

[Tapewolf]

A swear jar. I find it rather amusing for a Bishop of all people being fined for foul language.

To be fair, the fine was for insulting the overlord, something which doesn't usually end well for the person saying it.  Swearing is less of a problem.

Fun fact: We had a blue pig money bank in the office once, which we used as a swear jar for a while until people started running out of change and couldn't pay it.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 15 - The Dragon and the Dragon

Falnar awoke and clambered off his hoard, stretching himself.  As with most dens, he had scooped out a shallow depression so that the items would naturally roll back towards the pile, and few of them scattered much beyond the chamber in which he slept.

Once, a band of humans had breached his den.  The entrance was on a high ledge on the cliff he'd made, but they had used grapples to scale up to the tunnel.  He still recalled their appalled expressions when they saw the hoard, expecting a vast pile of treasure, only to find that it consisted of rubble from the excavation of his lair.
He had tried to explain, in broken Common, that a dragon couldn't easily carry masses of gold coins with their large clawed hands - it would be like a human carrying sand - but either they did not believe him or did not understand.
Even if they had found the two small chests of valuables, they would never have believed that a dragon could have so little in the way of treasure...
Falnar shuddered, remembering how he had bitten the head off the burly one.  The others had fled, chased away by sheets of flame from an angry dragon's maw.

Even now, centuries later, Falnar still felt guilty about this, but the crossbow they bore would surely have killed him, and all for a heap of stones.  He wasn't even sure how they had intended to steal a vast pile of coins even if he'd had one.  Probably carry it in portions to the edge of the cliff and throw it down so they could later scoop it all into a cart.  He had buried the warrior that night.

Shaking his head, he washed himself in the nearby waterfall, and returned to the cliff.  The cultists were gone, and that worried him.  They had been fawning over him, pledging undying servitude and protection, saying he was the Chosen One because of some weird birthmark and a garbled prophecy.  Now they were all gone... and a single armed and armoured furre stood in the middle of his cave, looking up expectantly.

Falnar ducked back at the sight of the gun, a long, black sniper rifle.

"This gun is not for you," a voice called loudly.  Sneaking a glimpse over the ledge, Falnar saw that the weapon was now lying at the newcomer's booted feet.

"Who you?" Falnar demanded cautiously.  "Where is cult?  Did you do the killing-thing!?"

"I have sent them away," the furre said, switching to Dracolingua.  "I wish to talk to you, Falnar.  I am Lord Terror, and it is time we met."

*  *  *

Falnar landed next to the supposed lord, eyeing the body armour suspiciously.

"Fardon said you were one of Us," he said in Dracolingua.  "Why are you a furre?  Why do you come dressed to kill and murder?"

"A precaution," Lord Terror replied.  "I am the lord of the realm, and there are always malcontents.  Indeed, the local Earl does not approve of me.  Armour and weapons can help against an assassination attempt.
"Also, the Earl has still not withdrawn the bounty upon you.  If any come seeking to slay you, I shall pop their heads.  And when I am done here, I shall make that same threat to the Earl.  If he refuses to obey me in a matter of life and death, then death shall be his reward."

Terry picked up the rifle, lifting it by the barrel so as to indicate he was not about to fire it, and holstered it to his back.  He backed off a few paces, and then screwed his eyes shut.  There was a flash of light, dazzling Falnar, and then Lord Terror stood before him in all his might and majesty.  The armour and rifle were gone.

"Ohhh," Falnar keened, throwing back his head in a mournful wail.  "It is true!"

"You do not seem happy about this," Terry pointed out, cocking his massive head slightly.

"Do not slay me, Lord!  I do not want to die!"

"I am not here to intimidate you," Terry reassured him.  "Dragons can be territorial, but we can also be social creatures."

"Mmmm," Falnar said mournfully.

"Ah," Terry said.  "You fear that I come to take away your freedom?"

"Yes," Falnar said.  "The Small Races, you can usually ignore.  And if they get violent?  Their leaders live for a while, then die.  Problem solved.  But a dragon as leader... You claim this whole realm as your territory and could hold it indefinitely!  What will this mean for me...?"

"Great things," Terry reassured him.  "Or so I hope.  May we move to one of your tunnels?  I do not wish to be seen like this if the Order should unexpectedly return."

Falnar sighed unhappily and took flight, landing on the ledge of the tunnel that led to a sparsely-decorated living area.  Terry fanned his own wings and followed.

"I do not get our kind visiting," Falnar said apologetically, lighting a couple of braziers with puffs of flame.  "And if you are now my master, I fear you will find it inadequate. But here we should be able to talk privately."

"This is fine," Terry said.  "And you mistake me.  I have ruled here for nearly three decades.  Not long for a dragon, but long enough to be firmly established here.  In all that time, I have not sought to enslave any dragon, have I?  You have been left to your own devices."

"But now you feel the time is right to try...?"

"No.  But I will make my presence felt among our kind... hopefully for the better.  Fardon tells me you came here fleeing Lord Thurr, correct?  That is not how I wish to rule, not by fear and force.  Those are my last resort."

"Why, then, do you go by 'Lord Terror', my lord?"

"It is part my traditional name in Dracolingua," Terry said.  "Terror-Wing-Devour.  I will admit that I like the intimidating effect it has on the Small Races.  Fear of my wrath helped stabilise things after I took over, made any other would-be rulers less likely to challenge me.  But I do not want to be known only for my ruthlessness and skill at removing heads.

"You see, I believe that ruling should be a two way street.  You aid me, when and if I call on you to do so.  You obey my laws, which are mostly what you have been doing anyway.  In exchange, I will protect you, make things better for dragonkind within my realm.
"This is how things are done in Taria, where the mighty Lord Varl rules, wisely and justly and with advisors from the Small Races.  To his subjects, he is their lord, their guide, and their guardian.  But he is not their master."

"This is what you want to do?  To have us as your underlings, yet free to live our own lives?"  Falnar looked at the other dragon curiously, unsure whether to believe him or not.

"Precisely," Terry said.  "Under old Lord Thurr, it was all about what you must do, and the cruel fate for those who did not carry out his will.  But with Lord Varl, with me, my concern is about what you must not do.  And that it is a short list.
"In Taria, in Arcaia and now in Arstrom, there are common-sense rules intended to benefit society, keep the people safe.  Those who murder and steal will be punished.  But only in extreme circumstances would I command you to obey my orders - only when the realm is threatened and I need your aid.  Or if, like the Earl, you were to run rampant and needed to be brought in line.  But I would rather avoid that."

"Why?"  Falnar asked.  "Why do you want all this?  What is in it for you?"

"The satisfaction of being Top Dragon, for one," Terry grinned.  "But there are other reasons besides.  Taria has benefitted greatly from having dragons, humans and furres working together for a common cause.  I want that here."
Terry hesitated.  "I should probably have started with a sales pitch, told you what I hope to achieve if you will join me, and the benefits I hope it will bring you, bring us all.  I have always been better at enforcing my will and seeing my plans carried out, than at selling my vision to others.
"As for what I get from all this, making Arstrom thrive will reflect well upon me if I succeed.  I am a dragon, and vain enough to want that... To be adored and loved as the successful ruler of a great nation.  But beside that, I want this realm to be safe for my kind."

"I want dragons to be able to live openly in Arstrom," Terry said, eyes blazing.  "To live there without fear or persecution.  I want peace between dragons and the Small Races.  But I must first have peace between dragons.  When my plan is revealed, I want to make that assurance, to be able to say that the dragons currently living in Arstrom are under my command and will cause no trouble to the Small Races unless I specifically order it.  Your fealty would help greatly with that, it will not be forgotten if things go to plan."

"What of those who refuse?"  Falnar asked worriedly.  "Not all would agree to such things."

Terry's expression darkened.  "I will not lower myself to Thurr's level by saying 'serve me or die'," he answered.  "I hope that most will see the value of joining my cause on its own merit, to become part of a larger whole and help turn Arstrom into a haven for dragons and Small Races alike.  Taria, Arcaia and other lands beside are proof that it can be done!
"But those who violently refute my rule, or seek to thart me in my aims?  They will have to be driven out," he sighed.
"In order of preference, I would much prefer dragons to join me willingly, but I will take reluctantly at a pinch.  Others, I hope will come around in due course, and I can give them time to consider.  But for those who actively refuse to aid me, or seek to violently disrupt my plans... Well, I do not want to have to exile anyone, but it remains an option.  And as a last resort, there is also death," he added quietly.  "As the Earl is likely to demonstrate - unless he is very careful.  For at the end of the day, I am still a mighty dragon and dangerous if crossed."

Falnar looked Terry over solemnly.  "I think you believe what you say, that you can make this a place where we can be free," he said at last.  "I would like to think you can do this.  You come here, you make speeches, when you could have killed me outright if you so chose.  It seems too much work to be a trap.  Too much effort over a cave, when you already have a palace."

"There is one other reason," Terry said.  "I am lonely.  I have friends among the Small Races, but the company of other dragons would do me good.  And the same can be said of you, I think."

"Are you trying to seduce me...?"  Falnar raised an eyebrow.

"Do not tempt me," Terry smirked.  "Fardon was right, that you are handsome, if a little underfed.  But I did not speak of that.  To be sure, I do not have time right now.  I will have to return to my palace soon.  But as I bade Sir Fardon tell you, my dragon-porches are open, should you wish to visit.  Quarters can be built for you there if you wish to stay.  Assuming of course, that you do not seek to challenge me for the lordship of the realm," he added.

"I think..." Falnar began slowly.

"I do not need an answer from you now," Terry said.  "I have put my proposal to you, and I understand you will need time to consider it.  But it would grieve me to think that you spend all your time alone in a cave, hiding from that bastard of an Earl."

"I shall serve you, Lord Terror," Falnar said.  "If you can keep the Small Ones from trying to slay me, that is worth calling another my lord."

"Please," the white dragon said, grinning widely.  "Call me 'Terry'."

[ProfesseurRenard]

Nice of Falnar to accept the offer. And it is nice Terry is offering friendship rather than outright shaboinking.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 16 - Healthcheck

"I have spoken to Falnar," Lord Terror said.  He lay indolently upon his throne, wearing a latex skirt over his usual bodysuit, and stiletto-heeled boots.

"Is he well?" Fardon enquired worriedly.

"He is," the furre replied.  "Falnar was worried that I would seek to dominate him, rather than act as his patron.  I believe he is over that now, and I hope to have accommodation for him within the city by the end of this tenday.  There are old buildings that could host a dragon, and I have located one that will suit, at least until we are ready to move things forward.  He has agreed to visit the capital later today, to view some potential sites."

"What of the Earl?"  Fardon said.  "Falnar feared him also.  And with good reason, since if he defended himself that could be used as an excuse to declare him a rogue, and finish him for good with Hunter weapons."

"I have spoken to the Earl also," Terry said, eyes became distant for a moment and he shook his head, adjusting the frills of his skirt.

"Did I ever mention why I wear these outfits?" he asked, gesturing with a rubber-clad hand.  "The Bishop believes that it is for seductive purposes, and vanity.  And I have to admit that I do so like the gloss, to be able to hold up one hand and see a distorted reflection of my face.  I like the feel of the tightness around me.  And it gives me an enigmatic air as well," he added.
"But there is another reason.  The Bishop was so close to the truth, yet he did not see it.  I always wear catsuits to executions," Terry said, with a toothy grin.  "With dragons, even with men and furres, dominating another is linked to passion.  And if you have ever worn such tight, stretchy clothing - as a dragon or in humanoid guise - you will know that it becomes visibly obvious when a male in tight, stretchy clothing experiences such feelings.  The skirt neatly conceals such things, which the Bishop would find even more disturbing."

"This is why the dragon knights of Taria execute people in full armour," Fardon said.  "As you say, slaying the condemned often triggers lustful reactions.  It is how we dragons are wired.  But with this in mind, would combat gear not serve better as an executioner's attire, and provoke less ire from the Bishop?"

"It would be less striking,"  Terry argued.  "But there is a practical reason I wear rubber to executions, one that the Bishop has apparently missed.  It is because beheadings tend to be... messy.  And I do not like having dried blood matting up my fur.  Wearing this, I can simply shower afterwards."

"I see," Fardon said.  "I take it then, from the tone of this discussion, that the Earl's excuses did not satisfy you?"

Terry sighed.  "They did not.  You remember, I presume, that the Order of Thea had a prophecy about Falnar?" he said, glancing at Fardon.  "It turns out that the Earl had a prophecy also."

"Really?"  Fardon tilted his head slightly in surprise.

"It was told to him that he would be slain by a dragon," Terry said.  "That the dragon Falnar would bring about his death, if he did not act wisely.  This is why he was so adamant that our poor friend had to die, and specifically why he had to die this moon.  Because that was when the prophecy was due to unfold.  And unfold it did.  I enjoyed that, Fardon.  Taking his head, to keep Falnar alive.  And now I feel bad about how good it felt," he sighed.

"You did justice upon him," Fardon said simply.  "An Earl who defies his lord in matters of life and death is a traitor.  And traitors are punished most harshly."

"It still feels a little tyrannical," Terry sighed.  "Were I in his place... might I not have done the same...?  But alas, we cannot help how we are, and I thank you for your reassurance."

"You undersell yourself, your lordship," Fardon said.  "I think you would have seen through it.  You seek an accord with dragons, and would surely have contacted Falnar directly, learned that he bore you no ill will.  Realised that the prophecy of death referred to another dragon - seeking to avenge his murder, or kill to protect him as you have done.  To question the prophecy would be to choose wisely."

"Maybe you're right," Terry sighed.  "I hope his replacement will learn such wisdom.  But this incident will not improve the standing of dragonkind within Lundgarten, at least."

"The Order of Thea," Fardon said slowly.  The dragon-man glanced at him in puzzlement, his own head tilting slightly.

"They said that their Chosen One had to be rescued this moon," Fardon continued, sounding awed.  "Otherwise it would be too late.  The Earl's attempts to slay Falnar... That must have been why."

"...Of course!" Terry said, looking thunderstruck.  "How obvious it seems in hindsight!  Ah, if only we had known, all this could have been averted.  Poor Lundgarten... he died thinking he had defeated the prophecy at the last, and died by the hands of a furre rather than a dragon."

"He probably feels a complete fool now," Fardon said.  "I have no doubt that the gods have explained the truth to him as part of his punishment."

"That may be," Terry mused.  "Now... Falnar and the late Earl of Lundgarten were not the only things I wished to speak to you about.
"In our earlier meeting, you said that Lord Varl wished to see Arstrom become a safe haven for dragons.  We can make a start with that now, but I will need your aid, if you are willing to lend it."

"Depends on the aid," Fardon said.  "But I presume that you would like me, a dragon, to establish contact with others in your realm?  I should be able to do that."

"Indeed," Lord Terror said.  "If Falnar is anything to go by, they fear me.  Those who believe me to be a furre, they fear that I would try to slay them as threats to my realm.  Those who have guessed my true nature, instead fear that I may eat them, or murder them... whether it be to destroy a rival, or to claim their territory and hoard.  Either way, to confront them in person risks revealing my secret before the time is right.
"I understand that you have had similar duties in the Disputed Territories between Taria and Thurr's realm?  If you can at least reduce their fear and tell them that they are welcome to visit the dragon-porch of my castle, that would be much appreciated."

"I can make a start," Fardon said.  "But your realm is large.  Finding all, or even most, dragons within it will take many tendays."

"I have considered that," Terry said.  "If you can find one or more who would be willing to act as my emissary, that is all we will need, and the news should spread organically.  Falnar has his claws quite full with the Mystic Order of Thea, or I would ask him."

"I will take Fiskul," Fardon advised.  "They will not like being left behind."

"Is that wise?"  Terry asked.  "Is the sight of the world-eater not likely to upset them?"

"Fiskul usually appears small to make themselves look more harmless," Fardon said.  "Worst case, they can probably trail me."

"At this time there are a lot of holes in our radar coverage," Terry said.  "It is something I will need to build up as more dragons and aircraft arrive.  But for now, Air traffic control is largely focused around major cities, otherwise we could locate them all that way.  It has given us a few leads, though - so I would start your search on the Eastern border, as the mountains there are ideal for building lairs and I do not believe Falnar's is the only one."

*  *  *

"Lady Silver," Terry began.  "You impressed upon me earlier, Atlantia's desire to continue trade with Arstrom, despite the fact that I plan to make it dragon-inclusive."

"Have you changed your mind, your lordship?" the snow leopard looked worried.  "You seemed a little... undecided when last we discussed this.  Or has Sir Fardon changed it for you...?"

"That offer is still on the table," Terry reassured her.  "Perhaps you might call it playing both sides, but I must point out that if I had to choose one, it would be Taria, for my plans are more aligned with their way of life than yours.
"That said, there is indeed machinery which your realm is best equipped to provide.  And pondering my upcoming projects, this has given me an idea, though it is somewhat... sensitive... in its nature.
"As you are no doubt aware from the dragonslayer who provoked my ire, executions by hanging are carried out for the most foul of crimes, when a slow death is called for.  But for those deserving of a more merciful death, I favour beheading.  Sometimes by the sword, but mostly by the guillotine."

"We have agreed not to harm dragons while in your realm!" the snow leopard interjected hastily.  "Nothing like that should become necessary!"

"That is not what I meant," Terry replied calmly.  "But it occurs to me that our current equipment will only suffice for beheading criminals among the Small Races.
"While the Tarian ambassador is absent, I would like to broach with you the controversial topic of whether you could help us cover this, ah, shortfall in our capabilities?"

"As I said, we can offer our services if you need a dragon eliminated," Lady Silver replied eagerly.  Terry grimaced.

"I can shoot a dragon myself, if the need is dire enough," he retorted irritably.  "But that is not what I meant.  To put it bluntly, what I am asking is whether Atlantia could provide for me a suitable guillotine?"

"A dragon guillotine?!" the snow leopard chirped happily.  "I see... I see why you did not want to ask this while Sir Fardon was around!  Why, certainly!  I can send for a mobile guillotine by tomorrow, if that's what you need!  Who is it for...?"

"Dammit, that's not..." Terry started, but was interrupted by a loud keening sound.

"Dragon!" the snow-leopard yelped, leaping out of her chair as if she'd seen a cucumber.  "Wait... one of the Tarians?"

"Oh no," Terry said, looking horrified, as the green snout of Falnar's muzzle withdrew itself from the throne room's entry way.  "Oh no, no, no, no..."  He glanced sharply at the Huntress.  "One of mine," he said.  "You and your men are not to engage my subjects, is that quite understood?  I will return soon."

"Uh," the snow leopard began, and stared as the furre leapt out of the room with a series of wing-assisted jumps that flapped his skirt wildly.

"Where did he go...?" Terry demanded of the nearest guard.  "Where did the dragon Falnar go...?"

"To the dragon-porches, I think..." the guard replied, pointing at a balcony far above their heads.  Terry swore.  With effort, he jumped into the air, flapping his wings strenuously until he reached the porch, only to see the dark shape of Falnar receding into the distance.  "Fuck," he said, mopping his brow with a black-gloved hand.

[ProfesseurRenard]

Those prophecy twists get you every time.

Also, I hope Falnar's flight doesn't lead to too much trouble...

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 17 - Desperate Flight

Fardon was heading to the mountain border when the other dragon drew level, making his presence known with a mournful cry.

"Falnar?!"  Fardon looked surprised.  "Did Terry send you after us?  Has something happened...?"

"Evil!" Falnar wailed.  "Terror lord evil!  Treacheryness!  He plan to do killing-thing to Falnar!  Chop off head!"

Fardon started at him, utterly confused, and then descended on to a grassy plain, with the other two dragons following.

"I don't understand,"  Fardon started, bewildered.  "If Lord Terror ordered your death, how did you escape?  He is not a fool.  If he wanted you dead, he would have trapped you, surely!  He would not have taken any chances."

"Heard over," Falnar whimpered.  "No... over heard?  He talk to Hunters!  Ask them to fetch guillotine while you not there!  Big one for Big Dragon neck!  I heard, I fled!  Came here!  Where go now?! He know of lair!  Help Falnar, please!  Please!  Not lose head!  Not head!"

Fiskul looked furious.  Fardon looked doubtful, and placed a steadying hand on the Devourer.  "This has got to be a mistake," he said unhappily.  "Your lord killed his own Earl to keep you safe, Falnar.  He risks the ire of that entire region, just to protect you.  He has put a lot of energy into keeping you safe, put a lot of trust in you, wants you to be proof that dragons and the Small Races can live together.
"I refuse to believe that he would throw all that away, knowing that it would anger Taria and ruin his plans.  And what of the Mystic Order?  They will go crazy if he robs them of their Chosen One!"

"That... is true," Falnar said, looking anxious.  "But is Earl true?  Really dead?  Pretending, lullaby calmness, untrue smell of safety?"

"Uh...?"  Fardon tilted his head in puzzlement.  Fiskul switched to Dracolingua and the two had a rapid-fire exchange which the brown dragon was unable to follow.

"I am out of practice," Fardon pointed out.  "Speak Common mostly..."

"Sorrow," Falnar said, and glanced at Fiskul.

"Falnar is worried that Lord Terror might be trying to lull him into a false sense of security," the Devourer explained.  "I am trying to reassure him, but..."

"Well," Fardon said.  "We could fly to Lundgarten.  The gate guards won't be too happy about it, but if you fear the Earl's death is a hoax, going there would be the quickest way to check."

"If Earl lives, they try to do killing-thing," Falnar pointed out cautiously.

"If they try, I will destroy them," Fiskul promised.  Falnar looked at the small dragon doubtfully.  "I am more powerful than I look," the Devourer added.

With a sigh, Falnar fanned his wings and took to the air, and the three dragons headed south to Lundgarten, arriving at the gates within the space of ten minutes.

"Excuse me," Fardon asked, approaching the gate.  The guard captain leapt as if stung, and seized a halberd, pointing the spike at Fardon.

"Dragon!" he yelled.  "Have you come to gloat?  Come to crow over the death of our leader?!"

"I am a visiting dignitary on business from your overlord," Fardon reminded him curtly. "Put that thing away, or it will be the worse for you."

"He isn't here," the guard pointed out.  "Now get the hell out of here!  You monsters have done enough damage!"

"Is Earl gone?" Falnar asked, worriedly.  "Big Dragon has lived in fear of Earl for many years..."

"Gone forever," the guard captain screamed.  "Gone to the grave!  And all because of you!  YOU had our Earl killed with your damned prophecy!"

"Chosen prophecy?" Falnar looked confused.  "Did not say about Big Dragon doing the killing-thing..."

"Guards!" the captain yelled.  "Archers!  If these beasts don't leave in fifteen seconds, shoot at them!"

"I shall report this to Lord Terror," Fardon said coldly, fanning his wings for takeoff.

*  *  *

Fardon had landed on a hill on the outskirts of Lundgarten's swampland, scattering the sheep.  Usually he would have been more careful to avoid spooking them, but the business at the city gates had not left him feeling particularly generous towards the locals.

In the distance, a jet engine droned.  Fardon glanced, worried, and spotted a jet flying sedately on its way.  For a moment he had feared a Hunter attack of some kind, but whoever the aircraft belonged to, it was clearly leaving Arstom's airspace and he relaxed.

"What now, Falnar?" he said.  "Those guards were all set to murder us over the death of their precious Earl.  Was that enough to convince you?"

"Almost," Falnar said.  "Guards either true, or very good actors.  But they tried to do killing-thing!  Lingering doubts... What if plot to do killing-thing to Falnar...?"

"There were two prophecies," Fardon pointed out.  "One, where the Chosen One would die this tenday, unless the Order could prevent it.  The other prophecy was that the Earl, unless he chose wisely, would be killed by a dragon this same tenday, and that you would be the cause his death."

"I?" Falnar looked horrified.  "I did not want Earl to die!  Just wanted him to leave I alone!"

"The die was cast," Fardon said.  "The Order, and Lord Terror, prevailed, and the Earl was indeed killed by a dragon, when Lord Terror struck off his head.  It could have ended peacefully for both of you, but it did not.  And that is why the guards are so upset... Because the prophecy mentions you, and they blame you for it."

"Sorrow!" Falnar looked mortified.

"I will inform his lordship," Fardon said.  "Once the situation is cleared up.  Though him executing the guards too will not help calm things down..."

Suddenly, a massive shadow passed over them.  Fardon craned his neck to see Lord Terror circling overhead.

"Holy gods," he said, staring in shock as the white and yellow dragon descended.  "Terry must be desperate.  He's in full form!"

"Falnar!" the dragon called out.  "Falnar!  Thank the gods I've found you!  Are you okay...?"

"Keep way!" Falnar hissed, spreading his wings and trying to look bigger.  He emitted a warning jet of flame, startling the dragon-lord as he came into to land.

"Falnar," the white dragon whined.  "Please come back!  I am lord of this realm... Do not make me have to beg!  I need you back in the capital!"

"To de-capital?" the green dragon snarled.  "No!  No guillotine!  No killing-thing!  Falnar prophecied to die this tenday, and tenday is not yet over!"

"I'm sorry," Terry protested.  "I fucked up.  I am not plotting your death, Falnar.  You would be a perfect example of a dragon citizen and I want that so badly..."

"Yet you conspired with the Hunters as soon as Fardon's back was turned," Fiskul retorted stonily.  "Is it true that you asked them to bring a dragon-guillotine?"

"Yes," Terry said, lowering his head.  "But it's not what it looks like!  It wasn't for Falnar!"

"So it was for Fardon?!"  Fiskul grew menacingly large, spooking Falnar almost as much as Terry.

"Are you crazy?!" the dragon-lord snapped fearfully. "He's a diplomat!  He has immunity!  You think I want to start a war with Taria?!  Fuck that!  I want their help getting this project underway, and Falnar's help too!"

"Don't tell me the guillotine was for yourself," Fiskul growled, shrinking back down slightly.

"Let me explain," Terry protested.  "You can translate this for Falnar afterwards if he needs it.  The Hunters came here, desperate to try and retain their existing trading relationship with Arstrom.  They had heard that I was making overtures to Lord Varl, and feared that I would cut them off to curry favour with your lord.  Which I nearly did.
"But they were so terrified of this, that I humoured them.  I laid out a series of strict conditions, and threatened to execute the lot of them if they tried to hunt dragons in my realm.  And yet, they accepted those terms.  I already told Fardon this.  I still don't know what they want, but since they were desperate for trade..." he shrugged his wings.

"Go on," Fardon said, coldly.

"Atlantia is becoming a technology hub, as you alluded to last night," Terry said, glancing at Fardon.  "Arstrom has long purchased machinery from them, since before I took over.  And yes, even under my watch, we have acquired the occasional anti-dragon weapon, just in case.  Taria have theirs too, do they not?  In case Thurr invaded?"

"That's true," Fardon agreed sadly.  "And so, while I was gone, you started discussing trade with their envoy, knowing that it would seem suspicious if I overheard?"

"It would have been embarrassing," Terry said stiffly, craning his neck and looking away from the diplomat.  "It was necessary, at least to ask.  But it would make you suspicious, maybe threaten the pact with Lord Varl.
"It would have raised awkward questions.  It has raised awkward questions.  And since I have already been embarrassed, I will explain.  I fear losing my two greatest prizes more than I fear losing my dignity... An alliance with Lord Varl, and a dragon settler in the capital of Arstrom," he added miserably.  "If Falnar settles happily, others will join him.  But if I make an enemy of him, it will cripple the project.
"I have been here for nearly thirty years," he keened, throwing back his head briefly.  "Falnar may have survived for centuries hiding in a cave, but I'm not like that!  I'm not a loner!  I need the company of other dragons!  I can't wait another thirty years!"

"I see," Fiskul said, having returned to their normal, diminutive appearance.  "That may be, but you have neatly avoided explaining the guillotine."

"I got side-tracked," Terry sighed.  "Let me finish explaining.  If Falnar is going to settle in the capital, it follows that I will need infrastructure for him, and for others.  Buildings to live in, amenities.  But as more dragons arrive, there is more risk of getting a bad egg, and I need to be ready for that possibility.
"If, Great One forbid it, one of my new settlers goes on a full-blown rampage, I will need to be able to do justice upon them, though I sincerely hope it doesn't come to that.  The Small Races will expect nothing less, or else I may have a rebellion on my claws.  If I am deposed, the stupid cycle I am trying to break here will only continue!  Don't you see?
"So.  Planning ahead, I tentatively enquired about obtaining a guillotine from the Hunters, while their envoy is still here.  Most dragons consider decapitation to be the most honourable form of death, and speaking as a dragon, I would rather mete that fate out as I currently do with the Small Races, than have to deliver a kill-shot to the head like a Hunter.  Though to be clear, I can do that and I have.  None of us are innocent, but some are monsters who have to be stopped.
"I planned to ask the same of Fardon afterwards, and compare quotes - mention in that context that I had asked the same of Atlantia.  I know Taria uses the guillotine, and if I have to slay a fellow dragon, I want it to be humane and dignified.  I would rather use a proven design imported from another realm, than to start from basic principles.  If my engineers get something wrong, we risk inflicting the indignity of a botched execution upon a fellow dragon, and I do not want that."

"So, I asked the Hunter lady.  She got the wrong idea, and assumed that I wished to dispose of a wayward dragon right now, and offered a mobile guillotine to effect that.  Falnar, it seems, had arrived early, and overheard this part of our conversation.  He panicked, assuming the worst before I had a chance to correct her misunderstanding, and I was forced to pursue him in order to correct his misunderstanding.
"I am deeply sorry to have caused this mess, and I will understand if this incident has shaken Falnar's trust in me, and likely your own as well.  I cannot very well stop you from reporting this incident to Lord Varl, but I beg you understand that it is all a terrible misunderstanding - and to appreciate that I have risked compromising my long-held disguise in order to catch up to Falnar and try to explain.  And that if he does leave... I will have to explain my error to the Mystic Order of Thea."

"This makes sense," Fardon said.  "It is easy to forget that you are trying to build up a variety of infrastructure which Taria already has, all at once.  I am willing to accept that this is a simple misunderstanding, and I will characterise it as such in my report.  But the rest is between you and Falnar."

"I think I understand, I," Falnar said.  "Can you tell in dracolingua, so I certainly?"

Fiskul and Terry glanced at each other.

"You do it," Fiskul said.  "I want to see if it comes out the same."

"To see if my story remains consistent?"  Terry rolled his eyes.  "Very well."

Taking a breath, he repeated his explanation again in the dragon tongue.  Fiskul and Falnar both looked somewhat satisfied afterwards.

"Falnar will return with," the green dragon said.  "But cautious.  May leave if frightened again."

Terry sighed with relief.  "I understand," he said.  "And I thank you, Falnar.  I cannot thank you enough.  I hope to prove to you that I can be trusted, however long that takes.  And in my defence, this was not made easier by you running away.  If you had waited a moment longer instead of fleeing, we could have talked this out."

"True," Falnar admitted.  "Perhaps both are fault here."

"And I will need a favour," Terry said.  "I will reward you for it, but my leaving in true form will cause rumours.  I do not wish to fly back to the castle as a dragon.  If I become small again, could I ride on your neck?"

"That also trust exercise," Falnar pointed out.  "Very well.  Let us do."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 18 - As sure as eggs is eggs

"My lord!" Sir Victor said, as Terry entered the throne room.  "There has been another sighting!"

"Indeed?" the furre asked.  "Interesting.  When Sir Fardon returns, we must make sure he is aware of this."

"Do we seriously want the ambassador to look for UFO's...?" the seneschal asked skeptically.  "Is that the best use of his time here?"

"Well, no..." Terry admitted.  "But when all is said and done, we have been seeing these a lot, recently.  At an increasing rate, it would seem.  If they are some new contrivance of the Hunters, or some other power, he needs to be ready for it.  As do we."

"...And the Hunter envoy?"

"If it is some secret weapon of theirs, I rather doubt she will tell us," Terry reasoned.  "In that case, it might not be wise to let her realise that we know.  Of course, it is also possible that it is not the Hunters at all, but some other party entirely.  Are there any details?"

"It was heading North, at a considerable pace," the tiger said.  "Making a sound like a jet engine, but with a more organic shape and if it has a transponder, it's not compatible with our system.  One of the witnesses shot 16mm film of the event, and we are having it processed.  Prints are being struck for our own use, but I don't expect it to be especially clear."

"In that case," Terry mused, "It is entirely possible that Fardon will run into them himself."

*  *  *

"So, it is true," the green dragon said.  "This should be interesting!  Perhaps he can do something about the harrassment."

Fardon considered the other dragon curiously.  He was furred, with a fiery orange mane that flowed around his shoulders to form a ruff at the base of his pale green scaled throat.  Clearly a hybrid of some kind.

"What harrassment have you seen, uh - Gavrin, wasn't it?"  the brown dragon asked.  "The seneschal of Arstrom has reassured me that dragons are protected here, ever since Lord Terror took the throne - and unofficially, our kind was to be left alone even before then.
"There will always be the occasional renegade like the Earl of Lundgarten and Hunters who have gone under the radar..." Fardon broke off, remembering the Falnar had been hiding since before RADAR existed.  "Uh," he faltered.

"I know about air traffic control if that's what you're wondering," the other dragon said, glancing up at the electric light fittings.  "Though I dare say there's some as don't.  At least one dragon has been hiding here since the Great Burning, but that was before my arrival here.  Plus I travel... have some work in Narduran now and again, across the Eastern border - so I've been able to get a few modern contraptions myself.  Got a micro-hydro plant running it all."

"Ah, good," Fardon said.  "The point is, Hunters aren't allowed to ply their craft here and will face public execution if they do.  Anyone hassling you is a criminal and Lord Terror wants to make it clear that you are free to defend yourselves if that should become necessary.  Disputes between dragons, though... he's still thinking that through.  Doesn't want his dragons murdering each other if he can avoid it."

"I have had a few intruders myself," Gavrin said.  "Treasure seekers.  Some I had to kill, others took the hint.  I don't like killing the Small Races, but as you say... Sometimes we need to defend ourselves.  But the real problems are further North, from what I hear.  Poachers."

"Poachers!?" Fardon looked appalled.  "Body parts?  Lord Terror will go berserk if that's happening!"

"Fortunately that's not happened - to my knowledge," the green dragon said, looking disgusted.  "I don't pretend to know every dragon in Arstrom, but I have met a few of my neighbours.  Still, the lord won't like this either, if he's what you claim.  No... It's eggs. that's the problem."

Fardon was a seasoned warrior, with countless foes - dragon and humanoid alike - dead by his teeth, claws and flames.  He had removed innumerable heads and the sight of blood and death did not faze him at all.  Yet at the thought of eggs being stolen, he looked distinctly sick.  "Oh gods..." he moaned.  "If someone's stealing dragon eggs...  Gods! Lord Terror will invent a whole new execution method just for that, if I'm any judge."

"Well, that's what I've heard.  Word is it's happening across the border too, Northeast of here.  I couldn't swear that some of the intruders I had weren't pretending to be treasure-seekers, but were really scoping out my lair in case I had... well, a nest.  Or even a partner of the opposite sex, for that matter - though I'm not sure the small races can even tell if we're the same gender anyway..."

"This has been going on for a while, right...?"  Fardon queried.  "We breed slowly.  That's what makes this so horrific... You don't get many eggs in the first place.  So if this is more than a one-off..."

"I am not interested in starting a family at this time," Gavrin remarked.  "But if I was, I'd beef up the security.  Understand that this is is second, third hand reports, though I do know a couple near the Brandhatch fells who lost an egg this way.  Point is, I can't say how many of the rumours are just that - rumours.  But they're persistent, and have been for decades."

"It was never my job to look into this," Fardon sighed.  "I was supposed to tell you the news about Lord Terror and his plans to make dragons first-class citizens in Arstrom, in the hopes that you would help spread that news.  Heck, I'm just doing this as a favour for him, and because my own Lord in Taria wants to see dragons thrive here too."

"I'll do what I can," Gavrin said.  "I'll make a point of visiting the capital too, sniff out this lord for myself.  But he is going to want to know about the egg situation, if he is all you claim he is."

"Thank you for your time," Fardon said.  "Wind lift you."

*  *  *

"I am here at the behest of Lord Terror," Fardon began.  "Think of this as a prelimnary census.  He aims to make dragons first-class citizens in Arstrom once again, rather than outcasts to be feared.  But to do that he know who currently lives in his realm."

"Either that, or he wants to draw us out so he can kill us and steal our stuff," the dragoness growled.  "Are you sure he's telling the truth?  He could be using you as a patsy."

"I am an ambassador for Taria under Lord Varl," Fardon said haughtily.  "If Lord Terror is false, he's going to wreck the alliance and trade deal he wants so very badly.  I am only doing this because I want to help Astrom become more like Taria - a mixed society."

"I can't argue with that," the dragoness admitted.  "But if he wants to help us dragons, maybe he can do something about the poaching."

"Ah, yes," Fardon said.  "Investigating that is definitely outside the scope of my mission, but I will absolutely report your concerns to him.  I hate to ask this, but have you been... so affected?"

"Yes," the dragoness admitted, looking distraught for a moment.  "Our child... Stolen away by those brutes!  I don't like to ask for help - it's not considered dragonly by some - but if you can find out what happened to my egg... Even if it's bad news... It would give us some closure.  And if you can return our child to us..."

Fardon's head tilted slightly.  "I was only told of this today, by Gavrin.  He had few details to share... But you are sure it wasn't... well, Hunters...?"

"No, it was definitely stolen," the dragoness insisted.  "Hunters would simply have smashed the egg and left a mess, maybe remained to take a pot at myself or my husband!  Instead, they left tracks."

"Footprints...?"

"That too, but I do mean tracks, like they'd used a cart or a sled to move it.  Like they wanted to keep the egg intact!  My husband took a photograph."

"That is reassuring," Fardon said, looking pleased.  "I had feared someone was murdering our young.  If it's abduction, there is still some hope.  But as I have said, I am a diplomat for another realm and I cannot make promises.
"I will check with Lord Terror," he added.  "But I am confident that he will have thought of this. I would be shocked if stealing the eggs from a dragon was not punishable by the neck."

"Yeah, right," the dragoness snarled.  "What would he really care for our lot?!"

"Plenty.  He is a dragon himself," Fardon said.  "He just assumes the guise of a furre, for the Small Races do not love being ordered around by dragonkind."

"Seriously?!"

"Perfectly seriously.  I have seen his true form.  He is quite handsome..." Fardon trailed off with a stupid expression, and then suddenly shook his head.
"Regardless.  I understand the reasons for his deception.  Even in Taria, it is one reason we have human and furre lords as Lord Varl's advisors.  Their participation in major decisions, and the fact that they have changed his mind on occasion, is widely known.  By this, we reassure people that Lord Varl has not merely conquered the realm to use as a dragon's plaything.
"When your lord makes his own situation public, he will no doubt establish a similar system to assure the populace at large.  As for the egg, I will inform him of this matter and ensure that he understands the gravity of it, which he most likely does already."

"If he does investigate, any photos you can provide might be useful," Fardon added.  "Though again, that is something others than I will ask about.  Oh, and you are welcome to visit the dragon-porch of his palace if you wish an audience with him yourselves."

*  *  *

"I have spoken to several dragons on the Eastern border," Fardon said, back in Lord Terror's throne room.  "I can give you names and locations.  One known as Gavrin has agreed to help spread word of your interest in helping improve their lot."

"But...?" Lord Terror prompted.

"But apparently, someone or some group - suspected to be among the Small Races - has been stealing dragon eggs.  This, will obviously need further attention and I may not be the right person do to that."

Lord Terror had sat bolt upright and claws were visible through the rubber of his gloves.  "Rrraggh!" he growled, furious.  Sir Victor the seneschal stepped backwards a few paces.

"Fetch me Lady Silver," the lord demanded.  The seneschal scurried off.

Fardon glanced at Lord Terror with concern.  "Would it be better if I left you to this, your lordship?"

"No.  Stay, Sir Fardon," Terry decided.  "It might be best if you were here to repeat what you have said to me."

At that moment, the snow leopard entered, curtseying before the lord.

"Get up," the lord snapped.  "It has been told to me that in the Northeastern part of the realm, dragon eggs are being poached.  This is a most serious matter, and it occurs to me that it may be a means of sabotage by the Hunters to derail my plan for unity."

"You think I am responsible?!" the snow leopard looked horrified.

"That is what I wish to determine," Lord Terror snarled. "The Great Burning happened because dragonlets were abducted and murdered, and eggs smashed in dens.  I will not have a repeat of that unfortunate incident - even if I must publicly remove the brains of those responsible as a warning to all."

"It was not me!" the huntress retorted.  "It is true that I have been visiting parts of the North, but not for this!  I gave my word that dragons would not be harmed by us, and my staff have been instructed to comply and spread the word."

"From what I gather, the last such abduction was some moons ago," Fardon broke in.  "She cannot be personally responsible, and if it was done by Atlanian agents, she has officially ended that operation.  Is that not so?"

"That may be," Terry growled, "But it does not answer the question of what became of the eggs, if as you say, they were taken whole."

"Your lordship," Lady Silver protested.  "I know nothing of this.  If it was so ordered, it is far above my pay-grade.  But I can tell you that Hunters rarely target the young.  We are not monsters, and our rules of engagement specify this.
"Slaying an adult dragon is one thing, but slaying children or destroying eggs... It is not done and only a renegade would stoop to such war-crimes."

"Even those who have lost their young to the thieves do not believe this to be the work of Hunters," Fardon stated.

"In the interests of maintaining diplomatic relations, I will nonetheless make enquiries to my staff," Lady Silver said.  "But as I have said, if this is the doing of my fellows, it is not a secret I am privy to."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 19 - The Hadrovar incident

"Go away!" the voice called out of the cave.

"Nothing doing," Fardon retorted.  "I need to talk to you, and if you won't come out, I'll come in."

Lights flickered on in the cave, and a scaly orange head appeared, followed by a well-built orange body.  "Oh," the other dragon said.  "Oh good.  You're one of Us.  I thought you were bringing sacrifices or something..."

"Please," a small voice was saying.  "Sky-lord!  We need the rains!  I am ready...  Do it now!  Let my offering be blood!"

"Shut up," the dragon snapped.

"Sacrifices?  Offerings?  To bring rain...?"  Fardon looked extremely displeased.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?!  Do you have some kind of god complex?"

"You mean a cathedral...?" the dragon looked mortified.  "Oh gods, I hope not.  That's the last thing I need."

"No, no, no.  Not that kind of god complex.  Do you believe you are a god?"

"I know I'm not a god," the dragon sighed.  "But the city doesn't.  They keep sending me people to eat in exchange for making it rain.  Which I cannot do!" he snapped, turning his head back to one of the sacrifices.

"If I am not worthy..."

"I do not eat people!" the dragon yelled.  "Get that into your thick fucking skulls!  I don't eat people, and I can't make it rain on demand!"

"Maybe if you did eat me-"

"NO!"

"Do you want me to take her back to the city?"  Fardon offered.

"Oh, don't!" the dragon looked positively alarmed.  "I tried that once, it was worse.  I think the cityfolk sacrificed them anyway.  I don't want to have that happen again."

"How many of these... er, sacrifices... have you got, uh..."  Fardon asked, looking concerned.

"Zarnak," the dragon offered.  "Right now, I have six uninvited guests.  The smart ones left when they realised I wasn't going to eat them.  I think they fled to the next town."

"I was going to offer to take them to the capital," Fardon said.  "But six is more than I can easily carry.  Either way, Lord Terror must be told about this.  And he will not be pleased."

"That monstrous thug?"  Zarnak looked angry.  "He caused this mess.  He's the one who started demanding the sacrifices in the first place!"

"What?!" Fardon looked furious.  "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Lord Terror's man swooped down on the city, burned the town hall and then demanded people for his lord to eat!  They..."

"Lord Terror has been very careful to keep his draconic nature hidden," Fardon interrupted.  "The reason I am here at all was to negotiate an alliance and help him bring peace between dragons and the Small Folk once more, and this I am trying to do.  Whatever is going on here is diametrically opposed to his plan, and he will NOT be pleased about it."

"Either he's played you for a fool, or..." Zarnak paused.  "Wait... You met him in the capital?"

"Yes.  In his disguised form.  He did reveal himself as a true dragon on two occasions, but he has... Hmm.  I suspect we are talking about two different Lord Terrors here.  The one I know, the overlord of this realm I was sent to treat with, is white-furred, with black leather wings and horns.  Yellow markings...?"

"Uh-huh," Zarnak said.  "I'd say more like orange, but yes.  That sounds like him."

"I refuse to believe it," Fardon retorted stiffly.  "He sent me to help perform a census of dragons in his realm.  If he knew about you, he would surely have given me your lair's location as a starting point.  I must get to the bottom of this, and report back to him."

"He's lairing the other side of the valley," Zarnak sighed.  "But the city will obviously be able to tell you where, since they're sending him people too."

"Take me!" one of the sacrifices called.  "Let me be an offering to my lord!"

"Nothing doing," Fardon retorted.  "You are a witness, and it won't help anyone if you are eaten.  Besides which, the Overlord will go berserk.  I refuse to feed anyone to any dragon.  That is just the sort of thing he is trying to stamp out."

*  *  *

Fardon circled over Hadrovar city before landing in the square.  A new city hall was mostly complete, and the dragon could smell cement and diesel exhaust on the breeze.

He glanced suddenly as a panda approached him, clad in formal dress.

"Mighty sky-lord," the mayor said.  "Do you come for sacrifices?  There are few we can spare these days, but if you will help us end the drought..."

"Absolutely not," Fardon croaked.  "I am sent by the Overlord to ease tensions between dragonkind and the Small Races.  Instead I find some kind of murder-cult going on here.  If you're suffering from a drought, maybe you should try flattering a water-dragon.  But most of us don't have that kind of power.  Now, I really need you to stop sending people to be eaten, as the Overlord is going to have a fit if he finds out."

"But we were commanded by a mighty dragon lord to provide offerings!  In exchange he would send the rains!"

"...And has he?"

"Well," the mayor admitted, "There was a mighty storm after the first time.  Afterwards, not so much..."

"What is going on here?" a loud voice rasped.  "Get out of here, intruder.  This is my territory.  Get your own food!"

Fardon craned his neck and saw a muscular, grey dragon eyeing him with a malevolent expression.

"I am visiting," Fardon retorted.  "I was sent by Lord Terror, Overlord of Arstrom, to take a census of dragons in the area and inform them of his plans to establish an accord between dragons and the Small Races."

"I serve Lord Terror, Scourge of the North," the dragon laughed nastily.  "I am his lieutenant, and he needs no other."

"May I meet him?" Fardon asked.  "Lord Terror of Arstrom City is going want to know of this."

"No!" the dragon snarled, blowing a warning jet of fire into the air.  "Now get out of here, or there will be trouble!"

"The Overlord will hear of this," Fardon warned, fanning his wings for takeoff.

*  *  *

"How did it go?"  Zarnak asked as Fardon returned.

"Badly," Fardon said.  "They assumed I wanted sacrifices as well.  Then some grey thug showed up, saying he was Lord Terror's lieutenant.  While I could have taken him, it would have complicated matters politically.  He did not want me to see Lord Terror, by the way."

"Are you going to head back south?" the orange dragon enquired.

"Yes," Fardon said.  "My mission was to locate dragons and tell them of Lord Terror's plans.  This will complicate things, but it's his problem, not mine."

"...And, assuming they are not both the same person, what was his plan?"

"He wants to establish contact with the dragons in Arstrom.  Aside from this anomaly, our kind are feared and in some cases hated and hunted.  He wishes to end all that and bring peace between dragons and the Small Races.  But to do this, he will be exerting his authority upon those within his realm."

"Oh," Zarnak said.  "That sounds ominous."

"I serve Lord Varl," Fardon said.  "That does not mean I am his slave, nor are any other of his subjects.  It means that he has the final say about what happens, and those who directly report to him, such as myself, are expected to obey direct orders.  But for the common folk, they simply receive his protection, on the understanding that they obey his laws.  That is what Lord Terror wants to do here, and reap the rewards that our system has brought to Taria."

"I'll want to know the details," Zarnak said.  "But it doesn't sound like a bad offer.  If he can get rid of the thugs around here, I would consider accepting his lordship."

"If you wish to meet him yourself, the dragon-porches of his palace are always open," Fardon said.  "I was told to tell you this."

"I can't leave the sacrifices untended," the orange dragon sighed.  "They'd starve.  But if this mess gets sorted out, I'll definitely go check him out."

"Given the circumstances, it is likely he will come here," Fardon replied.

*  *  *

"Sir Fardon," Terry said, as the brown dragon entered the throne room.  "Welcome back.  But why is there a scantily-clad woman on your back?"

"There is a problem in Hadrovar, your lordship," Fardon began.  The woman stared at Terry with a look of awe.

"Are you a dragon?" she asked.  "Are you going to eat me?  Will it bring the rains...?"

Lord Terror's eyes widened.  "What on Eyrth are you talking about...?"

"Do you have much contact with Hadrovar, your lordship?"  Fardon asked, lowering his neck and gently nudging the sacrifice off his back with one hand.  "I am going to guess 'no'...?"

"It has been some months since a representative arrived," Terry admitted.  "And the long-distance trunk line has been damaged.  I have orderd construction of a microwave relay as a backup, but it will take time..."

"Some of the local dragons are demanding sacrifices," Fardon said evenly.  "In the name of Lord Terror."

"The Scourge of the North," the sacrifice added excitedly.  "I was to be his! That my death would end the drought plaguing our land!"

Lord Terror's hands clenched into shiny black fists and his lips curled to reveal sharp fangs.  "Nobody is going to be eating anybody," he snarled thickly.  "And I will not have my name sullied by vicious slander!"

"With all respect, your lordship, it is a slightly generic name..." Fardon remarked.  Terry glowered at him.

"Lord Terror is a mighty dragon," the sacrifice explained.  "He looks... Rather like you might if you were a dragon?"

"You have seen him?"  Fardon looked shocked.  "His minion would not let me meet with him."

"Oh, yes! He is white and black, with light orange markings," the woman said.  "And he is the ruler of Hadrovar now."

Terry flinched.  "We'll soon see about that," he grated.  "Oh yes.  I want dragons in Arstrom, but not like this.  Now.  I will try to arrange relief for the drought, but it seems I will also have to defend my territory."

"It is a long way, your lordship," Fardon pointed out.  "Do you wish me to carry you there?"

"Your help is appreciated, but it will look better if I deal with this personally." Terry said.  "I shall arrange a flight to the nearest airfield.  For myself, and an armed retinue as backup.  And to help re-establish order there."