[Writing] Pax Draconica - Chapter 19 (3rd Oct 2024)

[Tapewolf]

Okay, so one of the things I wanted to try for a while now was writing a dragon story.  This obviously is not DMFA-related and it took a while to figure out the worldbuilding since I could no longer borrow from someone else.

This has evolved a lot since the initial conception, with two changes of lead character, though writing the "Evil Dragon" and "Dragon King" songs for the last album definitely helped crystallise things a little.

The final ingredient was modding Skyrim into "Microsoft Dragon Simulator 2024" - RP'ing as one for many months and getting to experience the pitfalls of being an apex predator when everyone wants to kill you and sell your scales... that was a big change of perspective and really kicked the whole thing into gear.  Credit must also go to Typhin on FA whose 'Princess' series was also quite influential.

The series is up to Chapter 4 on FA, but I figure it might be worth posting here too, and I'll try to catch up.

Thanks also to Merlin for encouraging me to do this, and also Sofox for proof-reading.

==========

Chapter 1 - Mermul

The Hunters were coming.  This was Bad.  Once, dragonkind had ruled the world, but ever since the invention of the trebuchet the tables had started to turn.  And now, with modern machines, dragons like Mermul were at a distinct disadvantage in a straight fight.  Over time, dragons and the smaller races had reached a fragile truce, but even now, many centuries later, there were camps on both sides who felt that the Pax Draconica should not apply to them.

It's not fair, he thought.  I've tried so hard to keep my snout clean...

A sharp pain stabbed into him, and he knew it would soon be over.  The helicopter had fired, and now the venom was coursing through his veins, aided by the exertions of flight.  He could feel the strength leaving him already, and gritting his teeth, dived towards the craggy hill to try and make it a soft landing.

He struck the hill with bruising force, legs staggering and dashing the vain hope that he'd be able to run for cover, let alone reach the border.  The blue dragon hobbled eastwards, hoping desperately to find somewhere to hide, to wait out the drug, but the sounds of a four wheel drive were getting louder and closer.  A creature the size of a single-decker bus wasn't hard to miss and from here they didn't even need the helicopter to guide them in.

By the time they arrived he had collapsed to the ground, legs like jelly and his thoughts becoming harder and harder to keep hold of.  Devourer take you all, he thought bitterly.

A human and two furres in combat gear had left the vehicle and were considering their prey.  The human carried a large-bore rifle, purpose-built for the job of killing dragons.

"Well, shit," the wolf said.  "Look at 'im.  Scrawny little thing.  Pathetic!  And furred as well..." he growled, kicking Mermul on the flank.  "I thought we'd at least get some scales."

"We might not even need the truck for this one," the hare said.  "Reckon the chopper could handle it...?"

"Truck's got the chainsaws," the wolf said.  "Either way, he's no good for a trophy.  Let's just splash 'im and go."

"Roger.  Give the truck our position," the human said, and cocking his rifle, walking purposefully towards Mermul's head.

The blue dragon closed his eyes as the barrel was pressed hard into his forehead.  He gave a big sigh of resignation, and the shot rang out.  There was a flash of pain and a wave of heat.  His ears rang and it dawned on him then that he shouldn't have heard anything at all if he was dead.  It shouldn't hurt so much either... and the pain was coming from the wrong part of his head.  Cautiously, he opened one eye and then quickly shut it again as a sheet of flame rolled past him.  As the ringing began to fade, he heard the sound of men screaming.

"SURPRISE!" a deep voice boomed, mocking laughter echoing all around.  "FLEE, LITTLE MAGGOTS!  FLEE, BEFORE I TAKE YOUR SKULLS AS MY TROPHIES!"

There was more yelling.  The Jeep started, stalled, and then took off with a graunching of gears.  There was a crash as it hit something, and then silence.

Maybe the Devourer did take them, Mermul thought, stupefied by the tranquilliser.  One last great wave of dizziness washed over him, and then, with a sensation like he had fallen into deep water, everything tunnelled to black.

*  *  *

Mermul twitched and opened his eyes with a big gasp, as he suddenly realised he'd been asleep.  But the surroundings were unfamiliar.  It was some kind of artificial cave - a lair.  There was still a dull throb from the top of his head.

"Hello there!" the voice sang cheerily.  It was a lot like the terrifying voice from before, but higher pitched.  Gentler.  "Are you feeling better now?"

"You're not a Hunter," Mermul slurred.  "You're one of us.  Was that you...?  With the fire...?"

Dimly he could make out two red eyes, reflecting from a light source placed behind him.  An electric light.  The figure was lurking in the shadows, but clearly draconic in shape.

"Yeah.  You're lucky I saw their helicopter," the other dragon said.  "A few moments later and they'd have got you!  Bastards...  Think they're above the law."

"Disputed territory", Mermul sighed.

"True, but we're close to Taria, they don't usually come this far.  Tempting fate, that is."

"They could have killed you," Mermul said, his voice gaining strength.  "Why put your life on the line for a stranger?"

"I'm special," the dragon said simply.  "Hunters can't kill me, and believe me, they've tried it."

"Pardon me if I find that a little hard to believe," Mermul said bitterly.  "You're a dragon, they're dragon-slayers.  They know exactly how to kill us... as quickly or as slowly as they want.  They've made a study of it."

"Yeah, yeah," the dragon shrugged their wings, stepping into the light.  They were a lot smaller than Mermul had imagined, far smaller than him, and gloss black scales reflected in the yellow glow of the lantern, face angular and cruel, causing Mermul to recoil slightly.  "Nobody believes it, not at first, anyway.  I'm used to that."

"Now," the small dragon said, perching on a packing crate and clasping their forepaws.  "Let's take a look at you.  The drugs should be wearing off by now.  There's a nasty nick on your head, but I can heal that up.  Even the fur won't show a scar."

"Thank you," Mermul said.  "I don't want to sound ungrateful for the rescue, it's just... I guess... rescues from the Hunters are such a rare thing.  So many are afraid that they'll end up on a meat truck too...  And like they say, our lot are known more for domination than self-sacrifice."

"Understandable," the small dragon said.  "But don't worry about me.  You were heading to Tarnover, right...?  I feel like I should offer you an escort just in case those psychos try again."

"I owe you enough already," Mermul said.  "I cannot repay you for a life.  But at the same time..." he looked around and shuddered, the weight of it all crashing down on him... the feeling of the gun's muzzle pressing into his skull, ready to rupture his head and leave him as the Hunters had wanted... dead meat to be skinned and boned.  He gave a sob as he realised just how close he'd come to dying.

"...I'm scared," he admitted, almost in tears.  "I don't want to die!  I don't want the Hunters to kill me...  If you think you can hold them off, Er..."

"Fiskul," the small dragon said, grinning toothily.  "Pleased to meet you.  Mermul, isn't it...?"

"F-Fuh-Fiskul...?"  Mermul said, eyes bugging.  "The... Dark Destroyer...?  The Evil One?  The Devourer-Of-All-Things...?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Fiskul said, turning away with an air of embarrassment.  "You expected someone bigger, right...?  I get that a lot."

An expression of dismay crossed the small dragon's features as they glanced back to see that the other dragon had curled up, hiding his head behind his wings and was now sobbing profusely.

"Hey, hey, hey... don't cry," Fiskul said, padding over with a concerned expression.  "There's no need for that!"

"Isn't there?" the dragon sobbed.  "I nearly died... And now... I thought I only had to worry about death... Now... Now it's the end of the world and I get to see everything die, body and soul...  Everyone... Everything... Forever!"

"Oh, thaaat," the small dragon said, touching his forehead briefly.  "Cheer up!  You're acting like I'm about to destroy the world while you watch!"

"B-But it's your destiny!  To destroy All Things!  Your very p-presence heralds the end of everything!" Mermul snivelled.  "We're doomed!"

"Well then, if there's nothing you can do about it, why worry?"

"Why worry?!  I had ambitions!  I had a life to live!  If everything's finished, you should just have let me die!"

"That, too, would have ruined your ambitions," Fiskul pointed out reasonably.  "Look.  I'll let you in on a little secret.  The end of the world was foretold, just like you said.  As the one responsible for ending it, I have to know the exact date of the End Times, right?
"Well, in our calendar - starting from the Pax Draconica - the Day of Reckoning works out to the year 750.  A bit after tea, local time.  We don't want everyone to die on an empty stomach, right...?"

The larger dragon folded a wing back and poked his head out from behind it, eyes still wet with tears.  "Wait... Wait... What did you say...?"

"I was saying, 'We don't want people to die on an empty stomach, do we?'" Fiskul prompted.  "Even a prisoner facing execution gets a last meal..."

"Not that!" Mermul wailed desperately. "The year!  The year when everything ends!  When did you say it was...?"

"Oh!  Seven hundred and fifty.  Seven-Five-Oh.  That is the Last Year.  The Date of Destiny.  The End of the World, at seven-fifty PM sharp."

"But Fiskul... It's 1982."

"Exactly!" Fiskul beamed toothily.  "Devouring the world is a big responsibility, you know.  A responsibility that should probably have been given to someone else.  If they were serious about it, at least."

Mermul stared at the diminutive creature.  "Are you telling me the world was preordained to end over a thousand years ago and it didn't?"

"I didn't want it to," Fiskul said, defensively. "I like the world!  All my friends live there.  I mean... Well... I did try devouring a mountain, actually.  But it tasted terrible.  Yech!  It rather put me off the whole idea."

"I don't believe this," Mermul said, shaking his head.

"Your beliefs aren't my business," the Destroyer said.  "But nowhere in the ancient prophecies does it specify how long the end of the world is supposed to take.  I cannot die, so I've got a lot of time on my hands.  Once the sun becomes a red giant and the oceans boil away, maybe I'll eat the world then.  It's not going to be much use to anyone else, right...?"

"I guess not," Mermul said.  He had stopped crying and was staring intently at the World-Eater.  "Though... I'm starting to think you're just crazy.  No offence, I mean.  But delusions of grandeur seem a more rational explanation, right...?  Or maybe I'm crazy.  Maybe the Hunters really did blow my head off and I'm in some kind of purgatory..."

"I can't prove that you're alive," Fiskul shrugged their wings again.  "I could prove I'm immortal, but it's messy.  And painful.  You'd have to kill me."

"I... I'd rather not," Mermul said.

"Good.  Figured you weren't the type, or you'd probably have killed those Hunters yourself."

"You didn't kill them, did you...?" Mermul asked nervously.  "I remember something about taking their skulls..."

"Nah.  I'm not the type either," Fiskul grinned.  "But they don't have to know that."

"But you're the Destroyer," Mermul said.  "The personification of Evil!  You job is specifically to kill everyone.  Not that I'd dream of encouraging you, mind," he added hastily.

"It's not like I asked for that job," Fiskul pointed out.  "How do you think I feel?  I mean it's got its perks.  Nobody messes with the Dark One.  But...  Well, when the prophecies mark you as the Chosen One, you usually think it's going to be something nice, right?  'You are the one foretold who will fell the evil tyrant!'.  I got lumped with the task of killing everyone and everything.  But all it's done is make me realise how precious life really is.

"Oh well," they added brightly.  "Things are what they are.  Do you feel any better now...?"

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 2 - Fardon

"You haven't answered my question about the Hunters," Mermul insisted, giving the smaller black dragon a worried look.  "I heard a crash... I think.  I was pretty out of it by that point.  What happened to them?"

"Yeah, they crashed trying to flee my wrath," Fiskul said, with a terrifying grin.  "But remember, they had a spotter helicopter.  And they'll likely have sent for a truck to haul your carcass back to Atlantia.  If they need help, they'll get it.  If they're dead..." the dragon sighed.  "Well, don't mess with dragons, right...?"

"If they crashed it themselves, it's not your fault," Mermul said, immediately wondering why he was trying to reassure the literal personification of evil.  "But... how did you even get me to safety?"

"I stole their meat wagon," Fiskul said.  "Drove it here myself with you strapped to the back."

Mermul glowered at them.  "That's not funny."

"Would have been if it was true," Fiskul giggled.  "No... like I told you, I'm special.  I am the Devourer, the Destroyer of All Things - and I can get bigger if I need to.  How else could I eat the world?"

"That's true," Mermul admitted nervously.  "But then, why are you so small?"

"Being big is tiring," Fiskul said.  "It's exhausting work.  I think the idea is that I'd get bigger and bigger as I consume the world.  But as I may have mentioned, I don't wanna.  I just stay small for the most part.  But sometimes... For scaring off Hunters, for carrying an unconscious dragon to safety, well... That needs more bulk."

"I'd have thought most of us would love to be bigger," Mermul said.  "More badass, right?  Nobody messes with a big dragon.  Even the Hunters think twice about that."

"True," Fiskul admitted.  "But you know what they say.... Dragonkind seek to dominate and enslave the weaker, that this is our nature and cannot be changed, as a result we're mindless savages, blah blah blah.
"That is a gross simplification.  We are people too.  We each have different ideas and priorities.  But it is unfortunately true that we do have an innate urge to dominate others, and it takes will to overcome it."

"That's why you like being small?" Mermul asked, looking impressed.  "To rebel against your baser instincts?"

"Yeah," the black dragon said.  "If I start dominating people it will be by eating them, eating the world.  And I don't want that to happen.  Beside, I don't like bullies.  Now... Are you able to fly, do you think?"

Mermul was back on his feet by this point, and experimentally flapped his wings, hovering and then flying to another part of the cavern and perching there.

"Good!" the Devourer said, clasping their hands enthusiastically.  Mermul glanced at them, still a little surprised at how a terrifyingly evil-looking dragon - and worse still, the villain of every religion - could be so... normal.

"We should head off as soon as you feel able," Fiskul continued.  "I don't want to push you too hard, but at the same time, the longer we leave it, the more chance there is that we'll run into the Hunters again, or their friends."

*  *  *

"Oh shit," Fiskul said, looking down at the charred skeletons.  Beside them, the flat-bed transporter which Dragon Slayers used to retrieve their kills lay on its side, burned out.

Mermul gave a horrified squeak and looked back at Fiskul.  "D-did you do that...?  Their heads are missing!  T-Trophies..."

"Not me, no." Fiskul said bitterly.  "I told you.  Life is precious.  Even shits like them didn't deserve that.  No.. someone else did this.  And urgh... that's not just Hunters they've killed.  Over there... That's a mobile home.  Migrants hoping for work in Taria, I'd say."

"If they're still around... Will they kill us too?"  Mermul looked terrified.

"Not sure," Fiskul said, eyes narrowing.  "If this is the work of a dragon supremacist, they'll probably leave us alone.  If it's someone strung out on a dominance trip, they might want a fight.  I'm more worried about the Hunters.  They'll want revenge and... they might blame you."

"But I'm just a messenger!" Mermul protested.

"And they're Hunters.  Any excuse to kill a dragon will do.  Sorry, kid, but your life may just have got a lot more complicated.  I'm definitely going to escort you to Tarnover, and we need to go now.  It'll look really bad if we're seen next to this... mess."

*  *  *

The two dragons flew eastwards across the valley, and were about ten minutes from the border when Fiskul's fears came true.  A large shape overtook them - not an aircraft, but another dragon, heavy-built, muscular and not to be trifled with.

The newcomer wheeled around in front of them and stopped, fanning his wings as brakes and holding out his hands in a commanding gesture.  Mermul glanced nervously at Fiskul, but the small dragon had gone.

He braked with his wings like the big dragon had done and hovered.  Terror welled up as he saw that they wore black combat armour and a gleaming helmet that covered his face.  A soldier.

"Stranger!  Land immediately," the dragon ordered in an amplified voice that did not allow any disobedience.  "Stranger - land now, or suffer the consequences!"

Mermul did.  The large dragon landed beside him and Mermul shrank back, terrified.  The newcomer wore black body armour made from ceramic and carbon composites.  His claws ended in gleaming blades, and dried blood spattered his muzzle.  To Mermul's sheer horror, his tail ended with an axe-like blade that was encrusted with dark red.

"I am much bigger and stronger than you," the dragon pointed out, a small note of satisfaction and cruel pleasure entering his voice.  "It is in your best interests to do as I say.  Do you understand...?"

"Don't kill me!"  Mermul begged, curling up and trying to make himself as small as possible.  "Please!  Don't..."

"Hmm," the armoured dragon said, studying Mermul intently.  He sniffed the air and his head cocked to one side.  "You are not acting like a murderer.  On the other claw, it may be that you fear the penalty for your crimes, when you are brought to justice..."

Suddenly Fiskul dived out of nowhere, landing between them, and shielding Mermul with outstretched wings, though the size difference made this something of a futile gesture.

"Who the Hell are you, and what's your problem?" the small dragon demanded indignantly.  "Leave him alone!  He's been through more than enough for one day!"

"Stay out of this, small one," the armoured dragon intoned menacingly.  "Do not interfere, or it will be the worse for you."

Fiskul threw back their head and roared, a deep, full-throated sound that belied their diminutive stature.  The armoured dragon shrank back as he saw that the inside of Fiskul's maw contained an inky void, out of which burned stars.  Filaments of what appeared to be deep space writhed like flames gone existentially wrong.

"Uh... Okay," the big dragon said, looking distinctly unsettled.  "I don't know how you did that, but perhaps we have taken off on the wrong feet."

"You're trying to intimidate us," Fiskul said tersely.  "That won't work on me.  And if you want to play dominance games, that doesn't bode well for your trustworthiness.  I don't like bullies."

"I am Fardon," the dragon said, popping open the tinted visor of his helmet to reveal a brown face and deep, amber eyes.  "Perhaps I have been getting carried away in the course of my work.  Can we start over?"

"Oh, really!  You come here with blood on your tail-blade," Fiskul said.  "Boasting about your strength and power!  Scaring the shit out of poor Mermul!  What's your game?"

"But I am bigger and stronger than him!"  Fardon insisted.  "He needs my protection, now I am sure he isn't my target."

Fiskul snorted.  "Oh, so you're trying to extort money from him instead...?"

"No!" Fardon protested.  "I really mean it!  The Great One made us strong, but He did not tell us how to use His gifts.  Many seek to use them for their own gain.  And using that power to dominate others is... tempting," he admitted.  "But using your strength to protect the weaker... That, I think, is the true reason we were given such strength."

"Who did you kill?"  Fiskul asked, pointing at his blooded blade with a stony expression.  "That was a decapitation, or I'm a human!"

"Hunters," Fardon said, with a look of distaste.  "I presume you saw the corpses earlier?"

"You burned them up?!"  Mermul looked appalled.  "That's horrible!"

"No, no, no..." the soldier said irritably.  "I was investigating that, specifically the camper van which I fear contained innocent travellers.  I was trying to find out who did this and bring them to justice... Unfortunately, so are the Hunters. There was an altercation... some I had to kill.  The others fled and I have not pursued them.  Since you were seen flying away from that location...  Well, here we are."

He held up one hand and the vicious metal claws snapped back into his gloves.  He offered it to Fiskul.  "I am a Knight of Taria.  I did intimidate your friend to study his reactions, and perhaps I enjoyed that more than was good for me.  But I am my Lord's man, and not without honour."

Fiskul studied the glove, and then stared deeply into the dragon's eyes before shaking his proffered limb.  "Yes," the small dragon said at last.  "I think you're honestly fighting your baser instincts.  Very well.  We should..."

At that moment there was a deafening crack, and Fiskul collapsed, eyes glazing, a large, open wound in the side of their head.  The small dragon lay there in a pool of blood, mouth open as if in shock.

Fardon yelled and pushed the visor down on his helmet.  Mermul screamed, took off like a startled pigeon and hid behind a nearby boulder, Fardon landing next to him shortly.  A second round slammed into the warrior's helmet as he touched down, cracking the ceramic plate.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Fardon cursed, pulling himself behind the cover of the rockface as quickly as he could.

"Fiskul...?" Mermul yelled plaintively.  "Fiskul!"  There was no reply.

"I'm sorry," Fardon said, head bowed and one gloved foreleg resting on Mermul's back.  "I'm afraid your friend is... He's gone.  There's nothing we can do."

"But... he can't die!" Mermul protested.

"Death comes for us all one day, lad," Fardon sighed.  "I will protect you now, as I promised.  But we must leave, or they'll get you too!  They're probably waiting for us to dash for the border."

"No, you don't understand!" Mermul said.  "He's the Evil One!  Or so he claimed...  But if he's died,...  Was he just some poor bastard who was crazy in the head...?"

"Huhh," Fardon grunted, eyes bugging.  "I wouldn't dismiss that notion too quickly."  He shook his head rapidly, remembering the unnatural sight of Fiskul's gaping maw.  "It would explain a few things."

"But if it's true, what does that mean?  What happens if the Destroyer-Of-All-Things is dead?!" Mermul quavered.  "The end of the world?  The salvation of the world?"

"Hell if I know," Fardon said, fanning his wings for take-off.  "Now, follow me, or we'll never find out.  My armour is enchanted - if you can fly above me you should be safe.  We will make for Tarnover."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 3 - Flight

"Why exactly do the Hunters have such a problem with us?"  Mermul asked as they soared towards the western frontier of Taria.

Fardon hesitated.  "Surely this isn't your first encounter with them?" he asked curiously.  "You're no hatchling... I assumed you were a refugee fleeing them.  Some minor tribe in the wilds or something...?"

"Pretty much," Mermul said.  "I've been living in Arcaia for the last few months, but back where I came from originally... nobody really questioned why Hunters do what they do." Mermul said.  "Dragonhunters were a problem, sure.  They killed us, we killed them back.  But nobody ever asked how we got there.  The hatred seems a bit too widespread and deeply-ingrained to just be a simple grudge."

"Well, it's a bit of a wide question," Fardon said.  "'Hunters' is a bit of a catch-all term anyway.
"But first up, we are apex predators.  Humans and furres always have a problem when something else is competing for the top spot.  Where there aren't dragons, they take it out on tigers, wolves, leopards, anything that might be able to hunt them back.  And since we need a lot of food, it's natural that there will be conflicts over resources.  Humans and furres would probably be at each others' throats if they hadn't banded together against us millennia ago.  And if dragonkind is ever eliminated, that ancient alliance may still fracture into war.
"But yes, some remember the dark days of the Dragon Wars, and before that - when our ancestors subjugated the smaller races, cruelly enslaving them."

"Like Lord Thurr does," Mermul said unhappily.

"Yes," Fardon sighed and glanced quickly at the other dragon.  "Like he does.  He's a dragon supremacist.  Didn't sign the Pax Draconica, not like Lord Varl and other wise dragon kings.  That pact has kept things stable for nearly 20 centuries, but over time you have people wondering what it's all for.  Youngsters who don't remember the dark times, who forget that the legislation is the main thing protecting us all from a bloodbath.  They keep trying to chip away at our protection for their own selfish gains...  Urgh.  And then you've got the Hunters, who set up their own faction just to avoid being bound by its terms."

"So," he continued, "The Hunters paint us as being one step removed from wild beasts, killers who slay without provocation, mercy or remorse.  And that by killing us, they are saving human and furre lives from violent death at our teeth and claws, or a lifetime of slavery and misery under our iron feet.  That's the propaganda.  Plus, we do look different and dangerous in their eyes.  But another big reason is this..."

"Go on," Mermul said.

"One sec, requesting clearance.  We're nearly there.  Right... See, the thing is, dragons can't fly."

"Could you repeat that?" Mermul asked, cocking his head with astonishment and veering slightly.

"Dragons can't fly," Fardon repeated, grinning evilly. "Yeah, I know... We're doing that right now.  But we shouldn't be able to.  We don't have sufficient wingspan nor a stabilising tail.  Yet somehow, we are right this moment, approaching Tarnover Landing at an altitude of around 500 feet."

"I didn't know that," Mermul admitted.  "The fact that we can...  It's not an intuitive leap to say 'Oh, hang on - this shouldn't be possible!'.  I take it that the Hunters are jealous of this?  They want to murder us because we can fly and they need machines to help them?"

"Well, it took the other races to start asking questions like that.  And yeah, jealousy is another reason, but really... Well, I'm getting there.
"See... Our bones have the remarkable property of reducing our total weight.  A frame made from dragonbone will allow a human to lift an object many times heavier than they could otherwise manage, and if the frame is placed on a set of scales, a standard weight on that frame will read significantly less than it should.  Scientists have not yet been able to understand why this happens, though there are a few theories.

"To be blunt, dragon bones sell for quite a sum on the black market," Fardon added darkly.  "Other body parts also have properties which are not found elsewhere.  And even our scales and fur are heat-resistant.  Hopefully, one day, some bright spark will figure it out and we'll have synthetic materials that don't need to be harvested from intelligent creatures.  But until then...  Well.  Dragon Hunters are always quick to claim that they are targetting rogue dragons who pose a threat to everyone, but really... A lot of them just see us as a source of quick cash."

"That's... That's horrible," Mermul looked disgusted.

"It is.  It very much depends on the Hunter," Fardon said.  "A lot of them think we're all interchangeable, that one dragon will have identical thoughts and reactions to any other dragon.  But we are unique individuals with different beliefs and motivations.  Try not to fall into that same trap, Mermul - the Hunters are people too.  Some of them might even have been our allies in other circumstances, but because of atrocities carried out by Lord Thurr and his type, they now believe that all dragonkind are their enemies and that slaying us is the only way to protect their loved ones."

*  *  *

Fardon and Mermul touched down on the pad.  Concrete made for a hard landing and the hardness of grassland depended very much on the weather, so hardened foam mats tended to be used.  The two dragons trotted over to a nearby building where visitors to the realm were required to go.  Fardon spoke to the duty staff while Mermul waited.

"I have a visitor pass for you," Fardon said, handing the other dragon a collar.  "Please put this on.  For now I am escorting you, but we'll try and figure out something a bit more permanent in due course.  I was on a mission when I found you and I will have to report in soon."

Mermul did, tightening the collar until it stayed put.

"How are you keeping, anyway?" Fardon asked.  "I figured you'd be a bit more upset about... your friend."

"I am," Mermul admitted sadly.  "But what can I do?  If he's dead, it's in the claws of the Great One and there's nothing I can do about it.  If he's not, I'll try and find his lair again when things have calmed down, and I know where I stand in your city."

"Going back there may not be safe," Fardon pointed out.  "You've already been shot down once.  But I will see if I can get someone else to check it out and report back.  Someone in full armour."

He led the other dragon through the gates, and the pair of them began trotting down a main road.  The footpath was almost as wide as the road itself, allowing two dragons to walk abreast with their wings tucked in.  Special lanes were provided for the small races to avoid accidents.

Mermul looked all around, admiring the tall buildings.  Glass was used sparingly, since the sun's reflections could dazzle a passing dragon, and large plate glass windows would mean instant decapitation for anyone unfortunate enough to crash into them.
Vehicles belonging to the smaller races drove past.  Mermul panicked for a moment as a large, flat-bed truck went by, before he realised it was carrying lumber and not one of the Hunters' kills.

In the distance, dragons carried sections of framework to the upper floors of a new skyscraper - clearly designed for dragon usage - disappearing into one of the porches to deposit their burden before returning and swooping back down to earth.  Lifters, he thought.  Mermul had done this kind of work himself, not so long ago.

Eventually Fardon turned off into the local guard headquarters and made a report there, while Mermul lay in the waiting area.

"You've been through a lot," Fardon said, as he emerged.  "Let me buy you a meal.  After that, we'll see about getting you registered as a citizen of Taria, if that is your aim in coming here."

"I have enemies," Mermul said.  "Not just the Hunters.  The lords of Arcaia suggested I seek protection from your king."

"Are you some magnet for trouble?" Fardon sighed.  "Hunters, murders, the Devourer Himself and now this..."

"I don't want to be," Mermul said.  "I'm trying to get away from trouble."

Fardon looked troubled himself, but shook his head.  "I'll see what I can do," he said.

*  *  *

The food arrived swiftly. It did not look particularly interesting but it smelled good.  Large slabs of synthetic meat formed the bulk of their diet, since dragons weren't particularly good at raising cattle by themselves.  Some did, but mostly such work fell to furres, humans, or such dragons who could assume a humanoid guise to avoid spooking the animals.  Arcaia in particular was a major exporter of food in the local region.

Some of the more expensive eateries would dress the food to make it look more like actual meat, but for the most part, their clients were after the calories more than the experience.  If you really wanted to go the whole hog, there were places where you could catch your own cow or sheep and eat them as nature intended, but given the difficulty of farming animals this was not an effective way to keep a city full of apex predators fed, and it remained an occasional treat for the well-heeled.

Mermul fell on the stuff, devouring it greedily.  Fardon didn't manage much more grace, but soon the pair of them had licked away the remaining scraps of the meat substitute and settled down, making happy dragon noises.  They chatted idly for a few minutes and then made their way to the resting house next door.  Behind them, the staff began to wash down the floor where the food had been placed, and removed the tray.

The rest house had an empty two-berth cubicle near the back, and the two dragons trotted into it.  Fardon's eyes had already begun to glaze and his head drooped swiftly onto the couch.  Mermul yawned as the food hit him and not long after, the pair were dozing lightly, joining the many other dragons who had succumbed to their respective food comas.

It is easiest to rob a dragon when they are asleep, and for this reason the establishment not only provided food, but also protection.  So Fardon was a little startled to be woken up by a wooden pole tapping against his shoulder.

"It can't be time yet," he said muzzily.  "Didn't hear the alarm..."

"Sorry to wake you, sir, but you have a visitor," said the wolf.  "Says it was urgent."

Fardon glanced up and his jaw fell open.  He shut it quickly and tapped Mermul on the shoulder.

"Ah, you are both okay!" Fiskul said, waving a sleek, black-clawed hand at them.  "I'm so glad... I could never have forgiven myself if you had died..."

"Talking of which," Mermul started.

Fiskul hissed.  "Not here, not here!  You'll worry people!"

"Well, what happened to the Hunters?" Mermul asked nervously.  "Can you at least tell me that?  Will they be after us the moment we leave the border?"

"Unlikely," the small dragon said.  "They won't be bothering anyone for a while."

"For a while?"  Mermul's eyes narrowed.  "Then you didn't do anything permanent..."

"Certainly not!"  Fiskul looked offended.  "I told you, life is too precious to waste."

"But what if the murderer gets them?" Mermul asked.

"Well, that's possible," Fiskul admitted.  "But I think it's more likely that Taria will get them first."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 4 - Justice

"How safe are we, really?"  Mermul asked nervously.  They were in an area of parkland, where a number of dragons, furres and humans alike were exercising or dozing in the sun.
Fiskul the Devourer was snoring gently beside them, but the blue-grey fluff-dragon kept glancing nervously at the green hills as if expecting to see the glint of a sniper rifle.

"The city is protected from the air by a mass barrier," Fardon said.  "Birds, insects, rain and so forth are able to enter, but dragons and aircraft cannot.  People enter and leave through designated ports like the one we used.  By the way, that's another reason we have to fly low within the city - too high and you'll hit the barrier, which isn't much fun.
"It's not perfect but it gives us a measure of protection against a direct assault by Hunters and rival factions such as Thurr and his mob.  Leaving the city, however, is risky as you know.  The Hunters try to sneak into the surrounding regions.  If they get too close we can usually stop them, but further out..." he shrugged his wings.  "It's a no-man's land."

"Do Hunters try to sneak into the city itself?"  Mermul asked worriedly.

"Sometimes.  We can't completely stop acts of terrorism," Fardon admitted.  "But they generally need weapons to do much harm, and we can catch those at the border.
"Hunters do send folks to the university here, though.  Not often, as it usually backfires.  Atlantia is the nearest Hunter territory and no dragon will be entering or leaving there alive.  So they don't exactly have any of us to study... But at the same time, they need people who understand our physiology, even if it's just to kill us.  So they send youths to the Institute of Dracology."

"What happens?" Mermul asked.

"Either their loathing for dragons slips through and they're caught, or they go native," Fardon said.  "Lord Varl does not wish to be vindictive.  If they want to join our side, they're welcome to stay.  Otherwise, they'll be thrown back in the disputed territories in short order.  If they're caught perpetrating some atrocity... Well, the sentencing will be swift," the larger dragon sighed.

"What about... Lord Thurr?"

"We have caught his agents here before now," Fardon said.  "I'm sure he has his spies, but as long as they don't do anything too extreme...  No point in starting some kind of witch-hunt.  If they do..." Fardon sighed.   "Well, it's the worse for them.  That rogue who burned the Hunters and the migrants... Might be the work of a lone maniac, but it's probably one of Thurr's boys running amok."

Just then an electric motorcycle arrived, and stopped in front of Fardon.  The driver was a black jaguar, who took a large scroll and handed it to the dragon.

"Thank you," Fardon said, and lowered himself so the rider could reach the collar around his neck.  The cat reached up with a small hand-held device which emitted a beep, and then headed off.

Fardon opened the scroll and scanned it briefly.

"Ah," he said.  "Good news and bad news.  Your application for citizenship has been received.  We'll need to fly to the capital tomorrow to start the process."

"Is that bad?" Mermul asked, looking a little confused.

"No," Fardon said.  "The good news is for you.  The bad news is for me."

Fardon rolled up the scroll and placed it in a pouch on his collar.  "Remember, I am a knight of Lord Varl," he explained.  "And unfortunately I have duties to perform.  I would advise you stay at the park until I return.  I do not think you will not wish to see this."

"What are you going to do...?" Mermul asked nervously.

"I am going to kill a man," Fardon said quietly, looking at the rolling grassland and clear blue sky.  "The Hunter who shot Fisk.  The others shot themselves to avoid capture, but he has been taken alive.  I am to carry out the death sentence upon him."

"But, uh... Fisk is alive," Mermul pointed out, gesturing at the sleeping black form.

Fardon shifted uncomfortably.  "Do not tell anyone that," he said in a low voice.  The other dragon opened his mouth indignantly to protest, but the knight placed a hand on his shoulder to silence him.

"Mermul, listen.  That revelation would be do more harm than good, when people discover why he survived.  It would sow panic that the end-times are here.  Worse, some Hunters justify their actions on the basis that one of us is destined to devour the world, and we don't want to feed that fire.  You, of all people should know this!"

"True... But then you'll be executing someone for murder when their victim is still alive!" Mermul hissed, looking appalled.  "That's not right!"

"No, but it wouldn't change the outcome, Mermul.  Fisk was just one of his victims.  And while Lord Varl favours rehabilitation and redemption, this... criminal... has also attempted to kill me, one of our mighty Lord's officials.  Such an insult to his authority cannot stand."

"Isn't this a conflict of interest?"  Mermul asked.  "You being both a target and the executioner?"

"Strictly, yes.  But that it just an unhappy coincidence," Fardon assured him.  "Executions are rare, and our Lord does not wish to encourage undue bloodlust by having a dedicated headsman.  But at times like this, justice must be done - so it falls to his knights to do the deed.  We have a rota, and it so happens to be my turn."

"It seems... a bit soon," Mermul said.  "I know they tried to kill us all... But shouldn't the judgement take longer than that?"

"It should have," Fardon agreed, looking troubled.  "Taria isn't perfect, Mermul.  Nor is Lord Varl - at the end of the day, he is a dragon and his sense of morality does not always align with other races, or even other species of dragon," he added, gesturing at Mermul's blue-grey fur.  "For attacking a high official, my Lord wanted to make an example of this Hunter, and his advisors - from all races - concurred.
"Even so, the hunter received a fair trial, defended by a member of his own race.  You or I would receive summary execution in Atlantia, remember - if we even lived that long."

"But... a show trial?"  Mermul protested.

"No.  Lord Varl is not a tyrant.  At least, he tries not to be.  The Hunter himself cut things short.  He's a cultist, and not only pleaded guilty, but boasted of his deeds.  What could his legal defence do with that?  I suspect he wanted to become a martyr... Well, he shall get that wish.  But it still... stinks.  Perhaps that was the point..."

"How will you... martyr him...?"  Mermul asked sadly.  "The rope...?"

"No," Fardon said.  "We do not do that here.  Firstly, it is unnecessarily cruel, even by dragon standards.  But more to the point, Lord Varl has gone to great lengths to try and make our kinds equal before the law.  It is not practical to hang a dragon, and a slow, painful death that is specific to the smaller races will send very bad signals.
"To kill in self-defence is one thing, but setting out to take the life of another... We wish to be as fair as possible about that.  No... I must take the condemned man's head."

"I see," Mermul said, looking unhappy.  "That would certainly work for... all cases."

"Indeed.  They will be given a choice, to die by tail blade, the axe, the sword, or the guillotine."

"What about biting?" Mermul asked nervously.

"We do not do that here either," Fardon said, looking at the blue dragon curiously.  "We do not wish to frighten the smaller races.  Also, that risks swallowing the blood and flesh of a fellow sapient, which we find abhorrent.  Remember, we are trying to have a society where dragons and smaller races can coexist and barbaric acts - reminders of what we could do if unrestrained - that will not reassure them.  I have heard Lord Thurr does this... biting the heads off humanoid enemies and eating them."

"He has also been known to eat his fellow dragons," Mermul shuddered.

"In any case, it must be done," Fardon sighed.  "And I must prepare.  Please remain here with Fisk.  I will return later - pray, do not betray my trust, as it will not look good on your citizenship application if you run off."

*  *  *

Fardon stood in the courtyard of the regional administration building in Tarnover.  He wore ceremonial platemail and the polished armour gleamed in the sun.

"For the crimes of murder, and the attempted murder of a high official of Lord Varl, the court has found you guilty," the dragon intoned.  "The sentence is death by beheading.  Have you any final words before that penalty is carried out?"

The soldier was a tiger, and stood defiantly, his hands bound behind his back.  A wolf and a puma held his shoulders firmly.

"I have regrets," the tiger said.  "If I could live my life again, I would have killed twice as many of you worms, and the traitors who aid you to boot!"

Fardon sighed.  "Then, in the name of Lord Varl, I must send you to the gods," he said.  "May they show mercy on your soul."

"And may the Devourer take yours!" the Hunter snarled, as the two guards moved him forwards, towards the wooden frame of the execution device.  His step faltered slightly as he took in the blade that shone menacingly in the dwindling sun.  Soon he was lying on the table, head staring down into the waiting basket.

Hunter took a great gasp of breath as Fardon's gauntleted hand closed around the lever.

"DEATH TO ALL WORM-" the Hunter yelled, his voice cut off abruptly.  Army boots kicked once and went still, as did his tail.  Silence fell, save for the faint pattering of blood on sawdust.

"Justice is done," the dragon boomed.

*  *  *

Some time later Fardon returned to the park.  Fiskul and Mermul were waiting for him near the entrance.

"Are you alright...?" Fiskul asked, looking concerned.

Fardon glanced back at them.  "It is part of my job," he said.  "Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to..."

"No!" Mermul yelped.  "Remember what his job is!  Don't give him ideas!"

"True," Fardon grimaced.  "Be that as it may, I pledged to serve and protect my Lord and my people, knowing that it would mean the spilling of blood - whereas Fisk had his duty thrust upon him unwillingly.  No-one can complain if he is delinquent in that regard, especially when he does so to protect his friends."

"It's in the claws of the gods now," Fiskul said piously.  "You have done your part, and while the taking of life is regrettable, you have saved many more."

"I am a dragon," Fardon said.  "We can fight our instincts, our desire for domination and the thrill of taking prey, but we cannot suppress it entirely.  Intellectually I know that the Hunter's execution was regrettable but necessary.  He was not even just a Hunter, but an anti-dragon cultist as well.  But... actually taking his life... that was... enjoyable."

Mermul just looked miserable.

"So, you feel guilty because you liked it," Fiskul stated.  "And you feel you must atone for... For being the way you were made.  I do understand... And I'm proud of you for it."

"Thank you for your kind words, Fisk," Fardon said, making the dragon equivalent of a smile.  "I am not sure what the Blessings of the Evil One will do for my spiritual credit rating, but... Thank you for understanding."

[Tapewolf]

And for those wondering, the main cast look something like this:
http://projectfuturecomic.com/stuff/things/paxdraconica_scale-v3.png

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 5 - Prayers

The temple was large.  It had to be, to accommodate a crowd of dragons wishing to give thanks to their creator.  Even so, the seating arrangements only provided for double digits.  Perhaps because of this, those attending the temple typically did so on their own schedule, rather than descending on the temple en mass every tenday.

Humans and Furres had their own respective deities - Anah and Arbar - but since all three were part of the same pantheon there was nothing unusual about the small races serving the temple.  Someone had to do the fine work which a dragon could not, after all.  Praying was another matter, however, and each race would generally make offerings in their own temple unless they had specific reason to pray to one of the other divines.  To do otherwise would be the spiritual equivalent of phoning the wrong department in a large organisation - even if your message was passed on to the correct authority, the inconvenience alone would make them rather less likely to listen.

Fardon stepped into the atrium with Mermul in tow, and made his way towards the priest, a grey frost dragon with a robe draped across his back.  Fisk kept a respectful distance and watched from the doorway.

"Ah," the priest said.  "Sir Fardon.  I have heard the news.  The chapel is free, my son, and I shall pray for your spiritual atonement.  Who are your companions, if I may ask?  Do they also seek guidance from our Father?"

"This is Mermul, a refugee new to our realm.  I am escorting him for the present.  And..." he hesitated.  "There is also a stranger from the disputed lands.  He has unusual beliefs, Father.  Perhaps he should not be here," he added, glancing at at Fiskul with a warning expression.

"All of us are children of Alkrash," the priest said.  "If they seek His mercy, and salvation from the Devourer, they are welcome here."

"Uh, about that," Fiskul said, poking a spiny black head around the door.  The priest looked startled and ruffled his wings.

"My child, that is an... unfortunate appearance you have," he said.  "If that is cosmetic, then it is in poor taste."

"I've always looked like this," Fiskul protested.  "May I enter?  I wish to pray to the Great One."

Fardon looked awkward, dropped a coin in the offering dish from the pouch on his collar, and scurried towards the chapel with unseemly haste.

Mermul glanced at the black dragon with an increasingly unhappy expression.  "Uh.. This is the house of the Great One.  Can you actually enter here?  Wouldn't it turn you to dust or something?"

"Of course I can," Fiskul said, and did so.  "I don't know how most of this got started.  Some of the Scriptures have taken off on completely the wrong feet.  They think I'm a guy, for instance..."

Mermul threw back his head like a wolf baying at the moon, and emitted a keening noise.  The blue-grey fur around his face was tinged with purple and he quickly hid it behind his wings, shrivelling with embarrassment.

"Oh!" Fiskul said.  "Of course you don't know!  I'm agender.  Physically sexless.  Can't have the Destroyer producing kids, right?  One of them might throw a tantrum and end the world ahead of schedule."

"You!" the priest gasped, tail going rigid as he made a sign of protection.

"I feel such an idiot," Mermul wailed.

"Shush, shush...  It's okay," Fiskul said, patting him reassuringly with a foreleg.  "As the good Father here can tell us, the Scriptures always call me a guy.  Honestly, 'he' is perfectly fine.  I did present as a dragoness at one point but honestly, I think I prefer being a bit more masculine.  Works better with the black," they added, studying an elegantly manicured claw.  "But, if you were hoping for a night of passion, some options are off the table..."

"We're in a temple!" Mermul shrieked.  "Stop talking about that stuff!"

"Oh!" Fiskul put a hand to their muzzle and looked around sheepishly.  "So sorry!  I don't get out much..."

"My child, if you have made a pact with the Dark One..." the priest warned.  "Your very soul is at risk!  I will pray for your salvation, but it may already be too late!"

"I... didn't mean to?" Mermul said, looking flustered and upset.  "Hunters tried to kill me... I guess... I did wish that... the Devourer would take them...  But it was just a throwaway curse, right...?"

"Your words have summoned the Evil One!" the priest hissed, appalled.  "And how he seeks your soul..."

"Technically that's slander," Fiskul said, staring at the priest with an offended expression.

The priest drew up his head imposingly and looked down at Fiskul.  "Begone, foul one!" he declared said in a commanding voice, pointing at the door.  "Leave this place... And trouble us no more!"

Fiskul glowered back at him irritably.  "No," they said stubbornly.

"What is going on here?" Fardon demanded irritably. "I leave you for five minutes..."

"It is an outbreak of evil!" the priest protested, looking alarmed.  "The Devourer Himself walks among us!  Alkrash protect us all!"

"Fisk, stop annoying the clergy," Fardon snapped.  "I am not in the mood for this.  I came here to seek forgiveness, not cause mass hysteria."

"He started it!"

"You know, for someone who claims to be thousands of years old, you're being a little childish," Fardon remarked.  "He asked you to leave."

"Growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional," Fiskul retorted.  "And I'm not leaving.  Not yet, anyway."

"Well, I can't force you to do anything," Fardon said, throwing up his forelegs.  "I don't believe you're the Evil One, but whatever you are, you're a power beyond me.  But please, you're upsetting people!  For my and Mermul's sake, it might be better if you left, before we're all arrested or excommunicated or something."

"I agree completely," Fiskul said.  "Unfortunately you're all missing an important point.  He's a priest of D... Uh, the Great One.  If I leave when he tells me to, that means I'm obeying him.  Have you considered the spiritual ramifications of that?"

"Oh," Mermul said.  "Because I wished for your help and you saved me, he thinks I owe you a favour... And that you're following me around to collect it?"

"Exactly," Fiskul grinned toothily at the priest.  "They have some silly rumour that when I befriend someone, it's because I want their soul.  That by asking me to slay your enemies and save you, you've entered into a pact with the forces of darkness, in exchange for your own immortal soul.
"But if that's true, commanding me to leave is also a pact with the forces of darkness, right?  That'll be one soul, please," he added, thrusting out a clawed hand towards the priest and opening it and closing it expectantly.  "Gimme!"

"Stop that, Fisk," Mermul pleaded, as the priest shrank away making an ancient sign of protection.  "You keep whining about your bad reputation... this isn't helping."

"I'm just kidding," the black dragon said.  "Look, if it makes everyone more comfortable, I'll wait outside, but there is something I have to do first."

As the priest and his assistants watched in horror, the sinister black dragon trotted to the high altar and knelt before it reverently.  Shortly afterwards, they lifted their head, eyeing the golden figure of Alkrash the Dragon God with an affectionate expression.

"Hi, Dad," Fiskul began, "Sorry I haven't called you lately.  Hope you're doing okay!"

There was a gasp of horror from the clerics, and many made protective gestures.

"Thanks so much for sending me a new friend, and showing him Your light.  I'll do my best to keep him safe.  Oh yeah, and say 'hi' to Verthyr from me.  Hope she's keeping well.  Gotta go, the priests are getting irritable again.  Can't you have them update the Scriptures or something?  Anyway, talk later.  Love you.  Bye!"

A shocked silence fell, until one of the temple guards arrived with a clink of armour.

"Blasphemer," he said, lips curling into a snarl.  "Leave immediately, or face the wrath of the Great One!"

"No," Fiskul snarled back.  "I don't like bullies - especially not in the house of my Father.  Show Him some respect!"

"I am a servant of the Great One," the guard growled.  "A protector of this temple!"

"By splashing my blood over it?  Defiling it with violence?" Fiskul shook their head.  "I think you need to read the Scriptures again.  Specifically, the Book of Arwen..."

The guard drew back, horrified.  Raising their head proudly, the Devourer strode directly towards the offering plate, punctuating the shocked silence with the clink of many gold coins.

"I'll be outside," they said, and left.

Mermul was curled up on the floor, cringing with embarrassment.  "I am so, so sorry..." he babbled.

"May the Great One protect your soul," the priest told him, horrified.

"He probably has," Fardon interjected.  The priest craned his neck and looked at him sharply.  "What do you mean by that?"

"I'm serious, Father.  I can't believe that this 'Fisk' is truly the Devourer of legend," Fardon said slowly.  "Not as the Scriptures describe them, at least.  But whatever they are, I do believe they were sent by the Great One.  And, rightly or wrongly, they seem to believe they are carrying out His will."

"But-" the priest looked scandalised.

"You are perceptive as always, Fardon," a new voice said.

"Your grace," the priest grovelled, as a pale, ancient dragon approached them.  "There was an intruder..."

"I saw," the high priest said.  "And I have seen this Fiskul creature before, long, long ago.  They are a strange one, fey and unpredictable.  The Scriptures are ancient texts, handed down over many generations.  As a guide, they are not perfect, and both word and meaning have shifted down the aeons.
"Much of what is said and written about the Devourer comes from man, furre and dragon, not the gods themselves.  What I am saying is, you can't always go by the book," he summarised.

The high priest sighed.  "Yes, this being may herald the end of the world.  But they did not end it before, and they may not end it now.  That - as always - is in the claws of the Great One."

"Then what does their presence mean, your grace?" the priest asked, looking shocked.

"I believe Sir Fardon is right.  That on this occasion, they are trying to do good, as we would understand it.  After all, Our Father moves in mysterious ways."

"I pray you are right, your grace," the priest said unhappily.  "I can only pray you are right."

[Tapewolf]

There was a section in chapter 3 that went missing where Mermul is looking around the city and expanded a little on the dragon-humanoid relationships.
That's been re-added.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 6 - Interview

"Who's Verthyr?"  Fardon asked, as the three dragons landed at the the mountainous capital of Taria.

"She was one of my friends," Fiskul said.  "The Hunters got her.  Cultists, not the run-of-the-mill opportunists like the ones who attacked us.  The type who believe that we're all too dangerous to live.  The ones who are sworn to kill dragons because... Well, because a dragon is supposed to be the one to end the world."

"I'm sorry," Fardon said quietly.

"So was I.  I think that was when I started eating the mountain.  Didn't make very good comfort food."

Fardon looked troubled.

"This may be a personal question," Mermul interrupted, "But what you were saying about your friends... That's not true, is it?  You're not marking people to devour their souls?"

"'Course not," Fiskul said.  "That's just a stupid myth.  But I do understand where they're coming from, though.  I'm the one chosen to end the world.  By most definitions that makes me the bad guy, right?
"But at the end of the day, I'm still a dragon... Or close enough to one as makes no difference.  We're social creatures, we need to have company.  And who would want to hang out with the Evil One?
"So when someone can see past that... it's a precious thing I don't want to lose.  And maybe I come over a bit too pushy..."

"You're doing fine," Mermul said.

Fiskul gave an embarrassed smile.

Mermul glanced around and saw that Fardon had been approached by the staff managing the landing area.  He was given an ornate scroll, which he scanned through and then arched his neck to face the other two dragons.

"Mermul," he called.  "Lord Varl wishes to meet you at the palace, to discuss your citizenship application.  I can escort you there, but Fisk...?  If you could wait for us in North Plateau Park..?  Meaning no disrespect, Mermul's interview would go a lot more smoothly if you are not present."

Fiskul slumped a little.

"I don't like it," he said finally.  "But given how things went at the temple...  Maybe you're right."

*  *  *

Lord Varl's hall was spacious, about the size of an Olympic swimming pool.  The roof above was designed to open up, allowing the Dragon King to enter or leave directly, though this was generally only used in exceptional situations, such as emergencies.
The hall was eerily quiet and empty.  A large, muscular orange dragon lay sprawled upon a massive golden throne, which looked a lot like a bed or couch, dragons tending to lay flat where they could.

"Well met, Mermul," the dragon said, craning his neck to look at Mermul more closely as the blue-grey dragon approached.  "I am Lord Varl, ruler of this land."

Mermul gazed up at the Dragon King in surprise.  He was a large, muscular creature with red-orange scales, a pale orange belly and a dark red mane flowing down his back.  He wore jewellery, an emerald disc on his forehead, and gold bands on one horn and one of his forelegs.  Beside him sat two advisors, representing the human and furre citizens of the realm.  A pair of dragon knights in their ceremonial armour and tail-blades stood watchfully to the sides.

"These are my chief advisors... Lord Olson," he glanced at the human, "And Lord Farar," he glanced at the maned wolf.  "Between the three of us, we try to ensure that the realm of Taria remains a fair place for our respective races."

"Well met, milords," Mermul said at last, bowing his head respectfully.

Lord Varl pressed something on a large keyboard attached to his throne, and a projector flickered into life behind Mermul.  Craning his neck slightly he saw a screenful of text and a photograph of himself.

"Just relax, and answer my questions as best you can," Varl said.  "Let's quickly run over your file...  You hatched in Arkwright, correct?"

"So I'm told," the blue dragon answered nervously.  "I was a foundling...  Lost my parents during one of Lord Thurr's attacks when I was young, so I'm not quite sure where or when.  The hatchday I give people is the 3rd of Naruary, 1735.  Which would make me 247."

"I see," Lord Varl said, editing some of the details.  "And you are a snow dragon, or largely of that heritage.  Frost breath, I take it?"

"Yes, Majesty," Mermul said.  "I can demonstrate, but I'd rather not.  I've seen enough violence.  I don't want to cause more."

"Ah, indeed.  From Sir Fardon's notes, I see that you were being pursued by Hunters."

"They found me while I was trying to reach your lands from Arcaia," Mermul admitted, looking upset.  "And... And I'm afraid Lord Thurr's mob are after me as well.  Being a dragon around their parts... It's not great if you're opposed to him.  You tend to die.  The Elders of Arcaia suggested I come here to plead for your aid.  I had help... I was saved from the Hunters by another dragon who lives in the disputed lands."

"Fardon also reported that a band of Hunters were attacked and burned, along with a civilian vehicle," Lord Varl pointed out.  "Disputed territory or not, it's a serious matter.  We have enough racial tensions as it is, without some maniac cremating innocent settlers."

"They were like that when we found them, milord," Mermul protested, looking horrified.

"That may be, but... Well, if you can demonstrate that you are a frost-dragon, it would greatly help to clear you of suspicion in that affair," Lord Varl pointed out.  "Though we will also have to ask questions of this 'Fisk' you were travelling with."

"Very well, milord," Mermul looked unhappy.  He picked a spot on the tiled marble floor, breathed in, and neatly drew a ring of ice over it.

"Excellent," Lord Varl said, looking pleased.  "So... What do you hope to do now you are here?"

"I was a courier at Arcaia," the fluff dragon said eagerly.  "I can do that right away.  I've also... well, wondered about becoming a medic.  Though I worry I might be too squeamish for that.  But, it would be nice to help save lives..."

"I see," Lord Varl said, and typed a few words into the keyboard.  "And where do you see yourself in five years time...?  What do you want out of life in Taria...?"

"What does anyone want, your Majesty?" Mermul shrugged his wings.  "A place to live, earn enough money to get by, find a partner, start a hoard...  But that's longer-term stuff.  My immediate plans are to... Well... not get murdered by Lord Thurr."

"Very good," Lord Varl said again.  "I must confer with my advisors.  If you can return at the tenth hour tomorrow morning, I will let you know how things stand."

"Thank you, my lords," the blue-grey dragon said, bowing his head respectfully.

*  *  *

"Well, it seems we're going to need somewhere to lair overnight," Mermul said, meeting up with the other two in North Plateau Park.  "Any suggestions?  And how much is it likely to cost?"

"I do have a place in Eastcrag," Fardon said.  "My main residence is in Tarnover, but I have to report in to my Lord regularly, so I need a home from home.  You are welcome to stop over until you have found your wings in Taria.  However, you will have to share a den unless Fisk has some kind of lair here as well."

"Not anymore," the Devourer said.  "Once, centuries ago... Until it was destroyed as a blasphemous temple of darkness.  Those bastards... I was still inside it at the time!  Nowadays, when I visit the capital I don't usually stop over.  Sometimes I'll stay in a hostel, but my resemblance to the Evil One isn't looked upon kindly and I often get turned away.  Sometimes I have to sleep rough in the park."

*  *  *

Fardon's lair was set into one of the cliffs, one of numerous circular openings bored into the rock with some kind of tunnelling machine.  The landing porches were all decorated to tell them apart, and were large enough to accommodate two regularly-sized dragons, but since Fiskul was unusually small, all three of them just about managed to squeeze in.  Fardon put his hand to a raised pedestal and the door opened up like the iris in a camera aperture.

"Neat," Mermul said, looking impressed.

"Saves space," the dragon knight explained.  "A bulkhead door would be more secure, but the whole thing would have to slide into the ceiling or walls and there's other properties above and beside mine.  Space is at a premium unfortunately, and to be honest this place is a bachelor apartment really.  Nice, but... Well, I prefer the villa in Tarnover."

The tunnel widened into a fork. Flying was out of the question, but a dragon with their wings tucked in could trot quite quickly on all fours, an adaptation to their tendency to lair in caves and tunnels.  There was a living space with a projection screen on one wall, a kitchen, a bathroom and then the two dens.

"Do you need a hoard to sleep on?"  Fardon asked.  "There's some roll-up clutter in the cupboard if you need to make a pile of something."

"Thanks.  I think just the mattress will be fine," Mermul said.  "I can sleep on the floor," Fiskul added.  "Better than the park, at least."

*  *  *

Fardon slept uneasily.  He dreamed that he was a wyvern - his hands were gone, fused into his wings and forcing him to lumber painfully along the ground, too weak and injured to fly away.  Dragon-slayers in their leather armour and armed guardsmen crowded around him, baying for his death like a pack of animals... Condemning him to die for attacking a watchtower, even as he tried to explain that it was another brown dragon who looked like him...

Meanwhile, Lord Thurr's elites circled above him, massing for the kill.  Flames seared down from one of them, swathing the ground beside him with fire and setting alight the collar around his neck along with one of the guardsmen's shields.
As he watched, one of the enemy dragons swooped low with claw-blades outstretched, cackling evilly, while another followed, eager to watch the brown dragon's death close up.  He realised with horror that they had become the Devourer, tendrils of void escaping from a gaping maw, and they were making excitable yelps at the prospect of seeing Fardon die.  Eager to consume his powerful dragon soul, destroying his life utterly just so they could use his precious life energies to perform some cheap magic trick.  He reached desperately for the protection enchantment, a pair of gauntlets, and the only thing that could save his life, but without hands, he couldn't understand how to put them on...

Fardon woke up with a gasp, heart pounding, and craned his neck to the dim light of the clock.  It was still some an ungodly hour, but his eyes narrowed with puzzlement.  Parts of the nightmare still lingered and he could distinctly hear the excited yelps of his would-be killers.  He uncurled suspiciously to investigate, wondering groggily how intruders had breached the wards around his sanctum - and then suddenly remembered that he had guests in the spare room.

Oho, he thought, and a terrifying grin spread across his features as he curled back up to sleep.  Fiskul's friend now appears to be a friend-with-benefits.

[Liatai]

I love the idea of roll-up clutter as a dragon temporary mattress! A durable sheet with some trinkets sewn onto it, maybe, to serve as a base for more clutter for a more comfortable sleeping experience? X3

[Tapewolf]

I love the idea of roll-up clutter as a dragon temporary mattress! A durable sheet with some trinkets sewn onto it, maybe, to serve as a base for more clutter for a more comfortable sleeping experience? X3

Yeah, I've had a lot of fun designing some of the quirks for dragon homes.

It occurred to me later that rooms intended for hoards would probably have a slightly concave floor for a sleeping pile, so that when things get dislodged from the pile, they are more likely to roll back towards the pile than spread around the room.

I think that idea happened when I mentioned a hoard that was a pile of marbles, and how to stop them rolling around uncontrollably.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 7 - Verdict

After checking his messages, Fardon woke Mermul early and they made their way to the palace ahead of the appointment.  Fisk had been told to wait in the park again, and was obviously displeased, but had complied reluctantly.

Mermul had painted his claws red and bounded along happily, but Fardon seemed preoccupied and distant, and it gradually dawned on the frost-dragon that his protector had once again been ordered to perform some duty for Lord Varl, one that he had misgivings about.

"Wait here, please," Fardon said, and disappeared into a nearby building, the guards outside keeping an eye on the newcomer.  Mermul wondered what would happen if he wandered off, and decided against taking the chance.

When Fardon returned, he was in ceremonial platemail again, complete with tail-blade.  Mermul looked at the keen-edged weapon and gulped.

He became increasingly nervous as he was led to the palace courtyard, where a crowd of smaller races and a number of dragons had formed.  Mermul's heart sank and he let out a low moan as he saw that this was, indeed, going to be an execution.

Lord Varl presided,  flanked by his advisors, Lord Olson, Lord Farar and the local Bishop as well.  A teal-coloured dragoness stood at one end of the courtyard, wings bound around her waist.  She was the same species as Mermul, a fact that was not lost on him.

"Oh no, no," he murmured, and glanced at Fardon for reassurance, only to find that the knight had gone, replaced by an unfamiliar red dragon in similar attire, who was watching him suspiciously.

Mermul looked back at the dragoness, and saw that Fardon was in the centre of the courtyard, standing besides a large guillotine with multiple lunettes that was clearly designed for the sole purpose of beheading a dragon.  Tears began to well in his eyes.

"Fercia," Fardon announced, "You have been found guilty of violating the Pax Draconica through an act of terrorism that has taken dozens of innocent lives.  You have been found to be an agent of Lord Thurr, and for these foul deeds, you must pay with your head.  What say you?"

"That I regret I have but one head to give for my Lord!" the teal dragoness retorted loudly.  "What I did, in his service, I did for the good of dragonkind, and I would gladly do it a hundred times over that we may once again reign supreme... As is our birthright!  What is my death compared to that future?"

"The sentence is confirmed," Lord Varl decreed.  "Let justice be done."

The dragoness struggled and clawed as Fardon and one of the other knights forced her into position, snorting as she tried in vain to use a breath weapon, dampened as it was by the magical wards around the courtyard.  They closed the lunette closest to her body first and locked it down, before wrestling her meters-long neck into the other restraints and finally pinning her head into place.  As the last lunette finally dropped down around her neck, she opened her mouth wide for one defiant yell.

"Devourer take you all!" She screamed.  "Long Live Lord Thurr!"  Mermul shut his eyes and sobbed, but it didn't block out the sounds of her death, nor the smell of blood and fresh meat.

There was not a sound from the crowd.

"Justice is done," Lord Varl intoned.  "May the Great One forgive her.  And us."

The blue fluff-dragon opened his eyes, swaying slightly in shock.  He stared fixedly at a small patch of ground until he realised Fardon was waving a gauntleted paw under his face.

"Mermul... Mermul...?  Lord Varl wishes to see you now," he said.  The blue fluff-dragon stared back at him, uncomprehending.

"Why...?" he whimpered.  "Why did you make me watch this...?  Isn't it bad enough that you had to kill her?  Why make me see it?"

"I think you know why, Mermul," Fardon said grimly.  "...Or should I say, Mirmjolnar the Slayer?"

*  *  *

The hall had taken an ominous look as Mermul was led into it by Fardon and the other dragon knight, who turned out to be Sir Darving.  Guards stood at every exit, watching the fluff-dragon suspiciously, and there was no mistaking Fardon's grim look and reluctance about the whole affair.

"Mermul," Lord Varl began, "You stand accused of being Mirmjolnar the Slayer, a known war-criminal, violator of the Pax Draconica and loyal general to Lord Thurr."

"N-No!" Mermul squeaked.  "Why would you even think that?!"

"You went to pray in the Temple of the Great One in Tarnover,"  Lord Varl said in a matter-of-fact voice.  "There, you left a coin in the offering plate.  A coin with Lord Thurr's head on it."

"Ohhhhhh...."  Mermul keened, deflating.  He collapsed to the tiled floor, sobbing profusely.

Fardon broke away from his position and inspected the prone dragon.  "He is not acting like a war criminal," he pointed out.

"Is it a feint?" Lord Olson asked.  "Is he faking this?"

"No," Fardon said, glancing at the human advisor.  "I can smell his terror... And... he hasn't denied it," he added sadly.

"See?" Sir Darving said. "He is Mirmjolnar.  And now... He must pay for his crimes!"

"No," Fiskul interjected defiantly, landing in front of Mermul.

Fardon gave a croak of dismay at the small dragon's sudden intrusion.  "Devourer take all this," he muttered, before realising the absurdity of the statement.

"No," Fiskul continued.  "Mermul is not Mirmjolnar.  He may have been once, but he isn't now.  People change... Usually for the better.  Mermul came here seeking sanctuary, and you are going to give it to him.  Or else."

"Who are you to defy Lord Varl, child?" Sir Darving snarled.

"I am the Dark Destroyer," Fiskul said.  "And I do not like bullies.  Now, I'll tell you what we're going to do.  We're going to listen to Mermul explain himself, something which you have just made a lot harder by reducing him into a blubbering mess," they added with a snarl.

"Once you have heard his story, then you are going to come to a sensible decision.  And if you decide that my friend, my lover, is to be put to death, then we are going to have a bit of a problem on our claws."

"If he's in league with the Evil One, it stands to reason that he's guilty!" Bishop Ferdinand said.  "If nothing else, he is a heretic and must pay with his neck!"

"Don't be a fool," Fiskul growled.  "That is not the law in these parts."

"It is an old law, but it is still on the books," the kangaroo retorted smugly.  "Those who have had intercourse with the Evil One must die."

"Seize the intruder!" Sir Darving yelled.

Fiskul threw up their head and roared, tendrils of interstellar void flickering around their gaping maw.

"Stop it!"  Fardon roared.  He looked particularly strained.

"Sirs, please tread carefully around this creature.  We have enough problems already.  Do you really wish to provoke the ire of one who could destroy the world if they chose?  Let us listen to Mermul's story and then decide what must be done."

"We will listen," Lord Varl promised.  "Stand down, Sir Darving."

"It is true," Mermul said dazedly.  "I... I was hatched in Lord Thurr's domain.  I did lose my parents in Lord Thurr's attacks... but they fought on his side.  I was taught - indoctrinated - to believe that we dragons should reign supreme and that all who opposed us were traitors to our race and must be crushed."

Fardon shook his head sadly.

"I lived by that code for centuries," Mermul added distractedly.  "I am not heavily-built like Fardon, so I was trained to be an assassin.  Mirmjolnar the Slayer, people named me.  I killed people who my Lord felt posed a threat, dragon and small race alike, and I thought nothing of it.  No remorse, no empathy.  Lord Thurr considered such emotions to be weakness, and I believed him.  Killing and dominating... those were the emotions he encouraged.  And I did not know better.  It was all I knew."

"See?  A spy for Lord Thurr!"  Sir Darving crowed.  "Another saboteur... Like Fercia!"

"Quiet!" Fiskul snapped.  "Let him finish!"

Mermul did not seem to notice, and continued speaking in a trance-like voice.  "One day, not so long ago, my orders were to attack an outpost bordering Arcaia," he said.  "I was to kill all within, to demonstrate Lord Thurr's ire at some perceived slight.  This I did, but they had the modern weapons of the Hunters and I was hit.  I remember falling... Feeling fear for the first time... Crashing to the earth near the ruined tower, and then..."

"And then what, Mermul?" Lord Varl asked quietly.

"Then I was somewhere else," Mermul said vaguely.  Fardon and Sir Darving looked at each other uncertainly.

"I remember... the sky," the blue dragon continued, eyes widening.  "It was like dawn.  It was beautiful.  I was flying so high I couldn't even see the ground below.  But then someone flew alongside me, and looked me over.  A golden dragon, like Alkrash in the temples.  It was like he was staring deep into my soul, and he looked sad.
"And I knew that I had failed.  That I would face damnation and torment.  But then another dragon, a silver one, drew up and said that... that I couldn't help it.  That my mind was addled by Lord Thurr's conditioning... and I deserved another chance.
"They argued, and then the golden one relented.  And I woke up.
"I was inside a large white building, bound up and there were people doing things to me.  I panicked and tried to fight back but they calmed me down.  They had been healing me.  Later they told me that my heart had stopped after the crash..." he lapsed into silence.

"A near-death experience," Fardon said.  "I have heard of these."

"No, this was an actual death experience," Fiskul said, looking impressed.  "You're very lucky, Mermul.  Dad isn't easily swayed.... not many get another chance.  But if you want my opinion, you'd probably pass the bar next time.  You've learned from your mistakes.  And as long as you can keep to that path, your soul should be safe."

Fardon cocked his head questioningly and his eyes narrowed.

"What are you saying...?  You've been to the dawn land too...?"

"You may recall that I got a new piercing recently," the black dragon reminded them.  "A brain piercing.  Think that was my first death...?  Hah!  I've lost count.  But I have a job to do, so I keep getting sent back."

"We are digressing," Lord Varl said.  "Pray continue, Mermul."

"Once they had healed my body, they tried to heal my mind," Mermul said, looking more animated.  "I had killed their men, but they... They showed me that Lord Thurr's creed was flawed.  And... I began to feel remorse.  Empathy.  Guilt and regret.  I couldn't control it.  I still can't..." he sobbed.

"And beside all that, I knew that Lord Thurr would discover my betrayal.  I can't change my past, but I could change my future!  I took an alias, and I tried... I tried to start over, and help people.  And I did, I really did!
"I helped rebuild the tower I had destroyed, and new buildings as well.  I did train as a courier, flying messages and small goods between Arcaia and Forwyn.  I really did want to become a medic to try and save lives instead of taking them.  I was happy there, but I knew that Lord Thurr would eventually send others to find me.  I really am fleeing from Lord Thurr... but as a defector.  The Elders concurred and sent me to Taria, believing that I could find sanctuary here.

"I guess... I was wrong..." the blue dragon sobbed.

"There!" Fiskul said defensively.  "Happy now?  Mermul has had a chequered past, but he's on your side now.  He hasn't strictly violated the Pax Draconica, because Lord Thurr never agreed to it.  Mermul has tried his best to start over and do what is right, with the help and support of the people he wronged.  So he committed atrocities in his youth... Well, he's already paid the death penalty for them.  What more do you want?!"

"Normally I would accept this," Lord Varl sighed.  "Unfortunately, we also have the problem of his association with you, Dark One.  If Mermul is one of your so-called 'friends'..."

"What are you saying?!"  Fardon and Fiskul asked in unison.

"Mermul," Lord Varl intoned, "You have had commerce with the Devourer.  I find you guilty of the crime of heresy.  The sentence for which is death by beheading."

The blue fluff-dragon made a strange noise and flopped to the ground, unconscious.

[Liatai]

WELL. THAT escalated quickly! ^^;

"You may recall that I got a new piercing recently," the black dragon reminded them.  "A brain piercing.  Think that was my first death...?  Hah!  I've lost count. ..."

This is a little confusing. What did Fiskul mean by "first death" here? Was it meant to be "first death by sniper rifle?" "First death by that particular weapon?" "First death by hunter?" "My first death ever was also a shot through the brain?" As is, the trail-off leaves things ambiguous. It makes it sound like the sniper caused Fiskul's first death EVER, but then it's immediately followed by "I've lost count."

"Think that was my first death by...?" or "Think that was a lot like my first death...?" or "Think my first death was also by...?" might help it flow better.

[Tapewolf]

WELL. THAT escalated quickly! ^^;

"You may recall that I got a new piercing recently," the black dragon reminded them.  "A brain piercing.  Think that was my first death...?  Hah!  I've lost count. ..."

It's a contraction of "Did you think that was my first death...?  Hah!  I've lost count."

[Chairtastic]

It took me a bit to get into the story, but once I did I enjoyed it!  Your writing is always very emotional -- specifically, your characters are more expressive than I'm accustomed.  Fiskul is fun in the same flavor as Daryil.  I particularly liked the 'Gimme!' from chapter five.

[Tapewolf]

It took me a bit to get into the story, but once I did I enjoyed it!  Your writing is always very emotional -- specifically, your characters are more expressive than I'm accustomed.  Fiskul is fun in the same flavor as Daryil.  I particularly liked the 'Gimme!' from chapter five.

Thanks!  I've never been confident about putting the characters across like that, so it's reassuring to hear.
I am a bit worried that I'll just end up writing "Project Future With Dragons" but eh, I guess that's always a risk branching out to something new after having established a niche.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 8 - Guillotine

"No!"  Fiskul snarled, eyes wide with rage.  "You're not having Mermul!  He's my friend!"  The small dragon raised a claw defiantly, and thumped their tail against the ground.  A dart punctured their neck and they staggered.

"May Alkrash forgive you all," Fiskul gurgled and collapsed beside the unconscious fluff-dragon.

"Remove the Dark One!"  Lord Varl demanded urgently.  "Bind them and tranquilise them!  They cannot be allowed to interfere!"

"My Lord," Fardon protested miserably, as the guards hurried to subdue Fiskul.  "Do you truly mean to proceed with this!?  I had hoped it was merely a test!"

"He must face justice," Lord Varl said heavily, looking at the floor.

"But Mermul...!" Fardon looked appalled. "He seemed so nice!"

"They always do," Lord Varl sighed.  "Erekul was a model citizen before he went on a rampage in North Plateau.  And Fercia was a well-loved teacher at the dragon-creche... Until she blew up a nursery full of furres and humans."

"My liege, I do not believe his tale of redemption," Sir Darving said bluntly.  "He is an agent of Lord Thurr, and he must be eliminated."

"And if you eliminate the wrong person?" Sir Fardon demanded, looking the other knight in the eye defiantly.

"Then may Alkrash forgive us all," Lord Varl said.  "But the capital charge is for heresy, for consorting with the Evil One.  You cannot deny that this Fiskul creature, who may well be the Devourer, clearly has a big interest in Mermul's continued existence.  Just now, they claimed Mermul for their own and he has apparently slept with them.  We cannot be seen to be obeying the wishes of the Dark One!"

"...I understand," Sir Fardon replied sadly.  "I... will do this.  But, Milord... Remember the repercussions with Fiskul - for they will land on your head too."

*  *  *

"Mirmjolnar," Lord Varl stated, "You have been found guilty of causing death in the service of Lord Thurr, and of consorting with the Devourer..."

A low murmur broke out in the crowed.

"...And consorting with the Devourer!" the orange-red dragon repeated.  "For these crimes against the state, you are hereby sentenced to death by beheading, and may Alkrash have mercy on your soul..."

...Again, Fardon added mentally, glancing sadly at Mermul, who lay on a trolley, wings bound, the orange guest collar removed from his neck.  Fardon did not trust the fluff-dragon to be able to make his final walk unaided, and had arranged a cart to spare him the indignity of stumbling or having to be carried.  The blue-grey dragon's eyes were blindfolded and Fardon could see damp patches where they had been crying again.

"Forgive me, my friend," he whispered.  "It will be over soon..."

"Mirmjolnar," Lord Varl began.  "Have you any final words before the death sentence is executed upon you?"

"I... I'm sorry," Mermul managed.  "I have done evil things.  I cannot give back the lives I have taken.  But I did try... I tried to prevent more lives from being taken.  I hoped this would be enough... But if I am to pay with my own life... I hope those... The families of those who I slew... I hope they find peace through my death!" he sobbed, and began crying again.  "Tell Arcaia... that I'm sorry..." he finished.

"...The sentence is confirmed," Lord Varl sighed.  "May the Great One forgive you.  And us."

Fardon looked at the helpless blue-grey dragon, tears starting to well in his own eyes.  "Be brave, Mermul," he said quietly.

Can I do this...? Fardon wondered, appalled.  I swore to protect him... but now he's a war criminal!  Mirmjolnar the Slayer!  But he's... still Mermul...  Please, milord, don't make me do this...

"Fardon, I'm scared...  I don't want to die," Mermul whimpered softly, as the lunettes were locked down around his unresisting neck.

"I know," Fardon said.  "And I don't want to kill you either.  Listen, there's something I should tell you," he said, speaking quickly to distract his victim while he reached for the release lever.

Fardon's hand trembled as he touched the handle and he blinked away tears.

"No..." he whispered.  "No!  I can't do it!"  He looked at Lord Varl helplessly, unable to comply, but unable to speak out either.  He took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

A that moment there was a sudden crash and a scream.  A hole melted in the wall of the castle and a small, black-and-red dragon flew out.

"Naughty!" Fiskul snapped, and landed on the top of the guillotine.  Perching there unsteadily, he looked down and opened his maw.  The void flooded out and consumed the gleaming metal blade like hot water melting snow.

"Huh," Fardon said, gawking with astonishment.  "That's gonna make things awkward."

"What's happening?!"  Mermul yelped.  "Is that Fiskul?!  Don't let him hurt anyone!"

"Begone, Foul One!" the Bishop yelled, making a sign of protection.  "Return to the pit that is your lair..."

"Shut it, boomer," Fiskul growled.  "The execution is over!  No more guillotine, no more beheading!  Just go home, and we'll say no more about this.  Mermul is coming with me!"

"This is not over!"  Lord Varl insisted angrily.  "Use the block!  Mirmjolnar shall lose his head to Sir Fardon's tail!  And you shall pay for this insolence, intruder!"

A chopping block was swiftly brought in and Mermul's trolley moved into position.  A stocks acted to hold his head in position, while the block was placed just behind his head.  Fiskul struggled as the large guards overwhelmed them, and their wings were pinned back with the same thick restraints that held Mermul down.

"You worthless bastards," the Devourer snapped.  "Oh, you are going to be so very sorry...  And you, Fardon!  Do you mean to go along with this... This travesty?!"

"I am sworn to obey my liege," Fardon said wretchedly.

"And that's exactly why Mermul is in this predicament!" Fiskul snapped.  "What good is an oath to a tyrant?!  Mermul swore to obey Lord Thurr, but he escaped, he came here, hoping to join with you and make amends for his past sins.  And this is how you plan to reward him?  By chopping his head off?!
"By Alkrash's bones, Fardon!  You promised to protect him!  You can't do this!  You cannot obey your Lord if he is wrong!"

"At last, we see the temptations of the Dark One!" the bishop crowed.  "Do not listen to it, Sir Fardon!  Its words are evil!"

"You are conspiring to rob the life of a vulnerable person who came here seeking your help!"  Fiskul roared.  "If that is not evil, you've lost the meaning of the word!"

"Dark One," Bishop Ferdinand called, "Mermul has been sentenced, not for assassination, but for heresy.  For defying the gods!  For making a diabolical pact with you and sealing it with his flesh!"

"Seriously?!" Fiskul looked furious.  "You're killing him for witchcraft?!  Have you all gone crazy?!"

"It's an old law, but apparently it's still on the books," Fardon said miserably.  "If I do not do this, another will!"

"If he dies, I'll get you," Fiskul roared.  "All of you!  Do you hear me?!  For I am the Devourer of legend  - and you are about to kill my friend!"

"Why do you claim to care, Evil One?"  The Bishop sneered.  "After all... When he dies, you will receive his soul!"

Fiskul stared at him, open-mouthed.  "You know, you're absolutely right!" the small dragon gasped.  Then they grinned menacingly  "You are doing me a service, and as we have just established, that is heresy.  A capital crime!"

"Death to the Bishop!" the small dragon screamed, pointing at the astonished kangaroo.  "You heard him!  By his own admission, he is a heretic!  A heresiarch!  He just made a diabolical pact with me!  Off with his head!"

"No!" Mermul wailed.  "No more death!  Fardon... If you must kill me, do it now and end it all!  But don't kill anyone else... not for my sake!"

Fardon raised his tail blade and gritted his teeth into a snarl of frustration.  The axe-head slammed down hard into a pile of logs with a hefty thunk, cleaving the first few effortlessly.  Mermul twitched, wondering if he was dead yet.

"No!" Fardon roared.  "I swore to protect Mermul!  I cannot kill him over a stupid, unjust law, and I will not kill the Bishop either!  And if this costs me my life, then so be it!" he finished, looking at Lord Varl defiantly.  "But you risk all our lives and the wrath of the Devourer themselves if you proceed with this abject folly!"

The orange dragon stared at him for a few moments, and then grinned wickedly.  He clapped his hands together.

"The sentence of death is hereby suspended," Lord Varl decreed.  "The execution is cancelled for today.  Sir Darving... Sir Narfus... bring the three of them to me."

*  *  *

Fardon and Mermul were led into the King's hall by the two red dragon knights.  The blue-grey fluff-dragon's wings were still bound around his middle, though his blindfold had been removed.  Fardon too, stripped of his gleaming armour, was similiarly restrained.  Fiskul had disappeared in the confusion.

Lord Varl crouched upon his throne, wings spread out imposingly as he gazed down at the two prisoners with an inscrutable expression.

"Well, Fardon..." the king said.  "You have convinced me."

"I... I have?" the disgraced knight looked confused, and then closed his eyes, bowing his head with a brave expression.  "...I see.  I have convinced you that I am a traitor," he said.  "Then if I must die, I will at least die with a clear conscience.  I pledged to use my strength and power to protect the weak, not murder them by enforcing an unjust law.  And such will be my last words when you claim my head."

"Actually you've convinced me that Mermul should be spared," the king said.  "You have often been perceptive, Sir Fardon.  And if you are convinced of this dragon's essential goodness, even to the point where you would defy your lords, then you have surely seen something in him, and I will trust your judgement."

Fardon sat down heavily with a crash, a look of shock in his eyes as the weight of the king's words sunk in.

"You have been testing us after all?" he asked.  "That was a... morally questionable thing to do, my liege."

"Very true.  And I am sorry, but as you know... our kind love to dominate others.  I pray you forgive an old dragon his weaknesses.  For I have been testing myself also.
"Fardon, I apologise for putting you through this.  But it would have ruined the test if you had known.  Mermul would most likely have realised."

The dragon king clapped his hands again.  "Sir Narfus, Sir Darving... release the prisoners.  Sir Fardon is to have his armour returned to him."

"At once, milord," the red dragons chorused, and set about their task.

"Mermul, you have my most sincere apologies," the King added, arching his neck towards the blue-grey fluff-dragon.

"A-apologies...?" he gurgled as Sir Narfus released the bindings around his wings.

"For threatening your life," the king said, bowing his head.  "I have been studying your reactions under stress.  Whenever we have caught agents from Lord Thurr before, they have cracked at the end, and their last words were curses and promises of vengeance from their liege.  As you have seen yourself, just before this unhappy incident occurred."

"Fercia was my aunt," Mermul said softly.  "Estranged, but nonetheless...  I did not wish to see that."

"I am sorry for your loss, Mermul.  Yet that admission strengthens your case, for you could easily have denounced us for killing your kinswoman.  Instead, you begged for the Bishop to be spared, despite his calling for your death.  I am convinced now, that you are no longer in service to Lord Thurr.
"As such, it would be far better to have you on my side going forwards, than to slay you for your wicked past and discourage others from defecting.  And finally, we have the matter of this Fiskul creature, who is clearly not to be trifled with and very protective of their friends."

Lord Varl jumped from his throne and faced the blue-grey dragon.  "Mermul..." he proclaimed, "Your application to become a Tarian citizen is hereby approved."

"...But I nearly died!" Mermul sobbed, as Sir Narfus fitted a dark blue collar around his neck.

"Shh," Fardon said, his own voice quavering slightly.  "Shh... It's over now.  And it will never happen again, not while I breathe.  I swore to protect you.  I nearly broke that promise, but it will never happen again.  I... I love you, Mermul..." he confessed.  "And I... I made a terrible, terrible mistake... I don't know how you can ever forgive me...  For what I nearly did... I nearly..."

"Gentlemen," Lord Varl interjected.  "While I appreciate that this is a bad time, there are still pressing matters to discuss.  And Sir Fardon, do not blame yourself unduly.  Mermul was in less danger than you knew."

"What?" the dragons asked.

"Mermul, you have a powerful friend in this Fiskul creature," Lord Varl continued.  "Whether that is good or bad, I cannot say - but he would not easily have let you die.  And more to the point, I have been testing you both, as Sir Fardon has realised.
"But for an accurate result, the danger had to seem real, so I had the guillotine sabotaged.  Perhaps the most dangerous part was ordering Sir Fardon to use his tail-blade... But I could see his resolve cracking.  To be completely honest, I was about to order him to stand down, but he got there first.  His defiant refusal to slay you, at the last, was most commendable."

Fardon looked away, blinking rapidly.

"What if you'd decided Mermul had been a spy?"  Fiskul demanded angrily, hanging from the rafters like some kind of colossal bat.

Lord Varl craned his neck to look up at the interloper.

"If Mermul had proven false and pledged himself to Lord Thurr at the last - as his late aunt had done - then Sir Fardon would have been much more inclined to execute him.  Not least because our hypothetical Evil Mermul had deceived him, and he had fallen for those deceptions.  We would then have had the embarrassing spectacle of the guillotine jamming, followed by a traitor's death from Sir Fardon's tail-blade."

"But it is true there was a risk," Lord Varl admitted.  "Much relied on Sir Fardon's reluctance to slay the undeserving for an apparent tyrant.  Had he proved over-eager and taken your life, we would have been in trouble - but that would have been very out-of-character for him.  Had this happened indeed... Well, the Devourer would likely have sent us both to follow you, if that is any consolation."

"Not really, milord," Mermul said miserably.  "I thank you for offering to allow me to stay... But after this, why would I?  I came here seeking safety, and instead I got a mock execution!"

"I can understand that," Lord Varl sighed.  "And again, I can only apologise and offer compensation.  Please try to understand... we have had problems with Thurr's agents infiltrating the realm and perpetrating acts of terror.  I had to be satisfied that you were not likely to do the same, and since we cannot read minds, I have had to resort to an extreme and regrettable form of interrogation.
"If you wish to leave the realm in disgust at my actions, I can hardly blame you.  But I would urge you to wait a few days before making that decision as there are good reasons for you to stay."

"But what about the Bishop?" Fiskul demanded.  "Mermul has been sentenced to death for heresy over an act of love!  Why should he risk being burned at the stake or something?!"

"Actually you were right the first time," the King said, glancing up at Fiskul again.  "Heresy is not a capital crime.  Indeed, I fear that Taria as a whole may need the aid of the Devourer, whatever the Bishop may think."

"Huh," Fiskul replied, looking skeptical.

"Mermul, citizen of Taria... I hereby give you a full pardon," the Dragon King began.  "Naturally, this decree only extends to my realm.  If others come seeking retribution for your past misdeeds... Well, I'll protect you as best I can.  It might be better if you stay in proximity to Sir Fardon for the time being."

"And Sir Fardon...?  This has been a trying experience for us all.  I suggest you take the next few days off.  And... thank you."

"Thank you, Sire...?"  Fardon looked confused.

"For showing compassion to Mermul."

"He is like the son I never had," Fardon said, and looked embarrassed.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 9 - Reparation

"Well, that was something I never want to have happen again," Fardon said angrily.  He had painted his claws black and was trotting through the parkland with Mermul, glancing at the pale blue dragon with concern.

"I really thought that was it," Mermul whimpered, staring into space.  "That I was going to die by someone I thought was my friend... or at least a protector..."

"Lord Varl screwed up," Fardon said bluntly.  "I screwed up.  I can't expect you to forgive us," the brown dragon added.  "But please try to understand.  You know dragons love dominance, we can't help it.  But we're also used to it.
"When a known murderer from Lord Thurr's pack of hardened psychopaths turns up, we expect a tough nut and we applied the appropriate pressure for a depraved maniac pretending to be a harmless innocent.  We didn't expect to reduce them to a babbling wreck!"

"You bullied him," Fiskul said curtly.  "I don't like that."

"We thought he was a serial killer!" Fardon returned sharply.  "Thurr's agents are masters of deceit.  In all the centuries this city has been around, we've had two genuine refugees from them.  It almost never happens."  Snarling with frustration, he blew a small gob of fire towards the sky and watched it dissipate.

"When I realised Mermul was genuine, but sentenced to die...  Well, if it's any consolation, I wanted to follow him," he added finally.

"What?!"

"If the Devourer didn't devour me first, I planned to follow Mermul," Fardon repeated defensively.  "Reset the guillotine for another neck...  my own.  And seek forgiveness from the Great One himself, for having murdered a vulnerable person when I promised to protect them."

Mermul stopped walking and stared at him, appalled.  His mouth opened but he could think of nothing to say.

"Are you just saying this to try and make Mermul feel better?"  Fiskul asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.  "After all this... I don't know if I can trust you, or your king!  You might have orders to stab Mermul in the back of the neck the moment his defences are down!"

"It's not making me feel better anyway," Mermul whimpered.  "I didn't want anyone else to die, if giving my own life would set things right!"

"But it wouldn't!"  Fiskul snapped.  "Stop thinking like that, Mermul!  Your death would solve nothing!  It wouldn't bring your victims back... It would just waste a lot of hard work rehabilitating you, and give me another ex-friend to pray for at the temple!"

"Maybe you're right," the fluff-dragon said sadly.  "They seemed to genuinely care for me in Arcaia... and they could have put me to death at any time."

"I am not an assassin, Fisk," Fardon said stiffly, looking very offended.  "That is not how things happen here.  If Mermul suddenly snaps and goes on a killing spree, then yes, he'll pay the price for that.  And I might too for my misjudgment in sparing a traitor... but nobody will be randomly attacked by the state!  Arrested and tried, maybe.  Stabbed in a back-alley, never!"

"You say that, but I've been in Taria for two days and there's already been three public executions, including my own!" Mermul wailed.

"We're dragons," Fardon reminded him.  "We are attracted to violence, and harsh punishment is called draconian for a reason!
"The executions are a necessary evil...  We have to sate our blood-lust somehow, and watching a criminal pay a just and lawful penalty helps tame it.  Yes, I know yours was not just or lawful, but such things are vanishingly rare.  I repeat, we screwed up by letting things get that far."

"So who was in on it...?" Fiskul demanded, craning his neck to face Fardon.  "And who wasn't?  Who does Mermul have to fear will kill him if it's politically expedient?"

"Lord Varl, his advisors, and the Bishop," Fardon said.  "Those I can be sure were in on the plan.  Bishop Ferdinand isn't usually this bloodthirsty, and that did make me suspicious, but for all I knew he was off his medications.  Sir Narfus is a loyal servant of Lord Varl, and a noble dragon.  He can be trusted.  I don't believe he was part of this deception, though he may have suspected that Mermul's death sentence was a test."

"And the other knight?  Sir Darving, wasn't it?"

"Well," Fardon said reluctantly, "We all have our faults.  He's a bit reckless and over-eager to please his king.  He means well, but at the same time... He has a big grudge against Lord Thurr.  Lost some of his family in one of Thurr's attempts to invade his neighbours.
"Sir Darving is not going to be your friend, Mermul, especially given the recent outrage that Fercia has perpetrated.  He will be hell-bent on preventing that from happening again, and it will take a lot to convince him of your good intentions in the city.  However, he won't try to take matters into his own claws either, he'll just remain watchful unless you give him a really good reason.
"Like I said, we do not stoop to random killings here, and you will be given due notice if you are felt to be stepping out of line.  But honestly, don't worry too much.  Just keep your snout clean and it'll be fine... "

"What do you think I've been doing?!" the fluff-dragon wailed.  "And that still wasn't enough!"

"But it will be in the long term," Fardon soothed.  "Look.  We're all stressed about this, and for a very good reason.  So let's go and do something fun.  My treat."

*  *  *

Happy dragons are less likely to go on any kind of rampage, so there were a number of amusement areas in North Plateau.

Dragons soared in the distance, launching themselves off the cliff to ride the thermals, while on the ground, sweet foods such as ice-cream were sold in abundance.  There were race-tracks where dragons could run freely and trampolines which some of the visitors were bouncing on like foxes might do, and shooting ranges for practicing breath attacks.

A large building contained a ball-pit which Fardon entered, writhing around inside it to scratch his back.  Mermul had never seen one before and wasn't sure if it would work quite as well for him as for a scaled dragon, but soon he was having the time of his life, burrowing, wriggling and flicking some of the balls into the air with his wings and tail.  Fiskul had collected some of the balls into a heap to one side and was curled up around them, purring happily.

As they left, a sign reminded them "No hoarding" and Fardon's collar-bag was searched in case he had attempted to remove any of the balls, something which dragons were habitually prone to doing.

Finally, they did the hoop race.  This was a test of skill, a circuit for dragons to fly where they had to pass through a number of large rubber hoops in order.  Fiskul missed one and Mermul clipped the edge, the top of the hoop parting with the sound of a buzzer to avoid tangling him.

As they compared scores, Fardon was pleased to note that Mermul was looking a lot cheerier, but he knew that the healing would take far longer, and far more effort than an afternoon in an amusement arcade.

Once they had eaten and slept through their food-comas, Fardon knew that he would have to address the burden that lay upon his heart.

"I would like to visit the temple later," he said softly.  "To atone for what I have done this morning... and what I nearly did."

"I understand," Mermul said nervously.  "I would like to pray also.  Though this time I will be more careful about the offerings dish."

*  *  *

Fiskul waited outside the temple, not wanting to cause trouble again, but also reluctant to leave Mermul alone with the dragon knight.  As they waited, a messenger approached, asking for Fardon.

Shortly afterwards, the two dragons emerged, and the courier signed it off on a chunky hand-held computer before riding off into the early evening.

Fardon examined the scroll briefly, and held it out to Mermul.  "It's for you," he said.  "Care of Sir Fardon, but you're the intended recepient."

The feathery dragon shuddered before cautiously accepting the ornate scroll with a haunted expression.

"It's okay," Fiskul reassured him.  "It'll be okay.  And if it's not, I'll make it okay."

"I'm sorry," the fluff-dragon said, "But the last time I got one of these, I was sentenced to beheading!"

"Fisk is right," the knight told him.  "I wouldn't worry.  It's probably a formal document of your pardon.  If it was urgent or... unpleasant... they'd either have addressed it 'my eyes only', or sent an escort."

"I guess so," Mermul broke the seal and two smaller rolls of paper fell out.  He retrieved them, and his eyes widened as he skimmed over the contents.

"Oh," he said, looking a little bewildered.  "Oh..."

"What's the matter?!"  Fiskul looked anxious.  "If they're hassling you, they'll have me on their claws!"

"No, no, no," Mermul said.  "But it's a lot to take in."  He sat down like a dog and read the scroll again, more closely.

"It's three documents," he said slowly.  "A written confirmation of the pardon, and of my citizenship.  But the other thing...  Well... to tell the truth, I was worried about where to stay..."

"Yes," Fardon said, looking downcast.  "I don't blame you if you want to lair somewhere else tonight, after what happened..."

"You're supposed to be my minder anyway," Mermul shrugged his wings.  "And I have Fisk to guard me.  But really, I was thinking longer term.  Capital cities are expensive, even to rent in, but now..."

"...Oh!"  Fardon's mouth opened, as a thought occurred to him.  Something the King had hinted at about Mermul wanting to stay...

"You killed my aunt," Mermul said quietly.  "I mean... that's not... I'm not blaming you..." he looked flustered and upset.  "She committed an atrocity far worse than any of mine!  She'd probably have murdered me if she'd known where to look!  But the bottom line is, she's dead now...  And I've just inherited her estate."

"What?!  How does that work...?" Fiskul frowned.  "She couldn't have known you were here, and from what you just said, you're probably written out of her will.  Even if she forgot and left you in, Thurr's realm is in a cold war with Taria... Bequeathing her all to someone in enemy territory is nonsense!  It just wouldn't work politically!"

"It's compensation," Mermul said.  "Normally her property and possessions would default to the state, and, well... I guess they did.  But Lord Varl has bestowed them to me, since I'm the closest she has to an heir, and also to serve as reparations for my poor treatment."

"Well, congratulations," Fardon said.  "That will be helpful for your new start... Though my condolences on the manner in which you have achieved it, and my own part in this." he bowed his head.

"It's an ill wind that none can ride," Mermul said, looking at the sky.  "I suppose I should go and see what I've just... acquired."

[Tapewolf]

I had far too much fun with this chapter.


Chapter 10 - Secrets

Mermul looked at the villa with astonishment.

"That can't be right," he said.  "She worked in a creche, didn't she?  Raising young dragons is an important job, but I didn't think it would let her afford this!"

"Fercia didn't come to Taria as a penniless refugee, mind," Fardon said.  "She brought a hoard with her when she immigrated.  Actual precious items, I mean... not just a comfort pile.  Even so, this is bigger than I had expected.  You've done well for yourself, Mermul."

"I guess so," the fluff-dragon said, and shivered.  Fardon patted him on the shoulder.

"Where is she now?" Mermul pondered, looking at the sky as he trotted down the path.  "Fiskul, that's not something you do, is it?  Tormenting sinners?"

"Not my department," the small dragon said.  "Akirion handles that, unless there's been a reshuffle.  Also, it's not quite as bad as you imagine."

"What?!  Eternal damnation?"

"No, no, no!"  Fiskul sounded insulted.  "What kind of god do you think Dad is?  What kind of maniac would torture their own flawed creations forever over a problem He contributed to Himself?
"No... Hell is like any other penitentiary.  You serve your time there, and if they decide you're suitably reformed, you go before Dad again.  If He turns you down, you go through the wash again until He is convinced you're ready for the afterlife proper.  You'd have to be really stubborn and unrepentant to stay there forever... And that would mean there's something deeply wrong and requiring treatment."

"Is Akirion one of your friends?" Fardon asked.

"Mermul has met him," Fiskul said.  "He's the silver guy.  I don't think the Bishop would have been any happier at Mermul's trial if I said that the ruler of Hell had vouched for him, so I didn't want to make a big thing of it."

Fardon rolled his eyes and flapped his wings dismissively.  "To be frank, I find your claims about the afterlife a little hard to swallow, Fisk," he admitted.  "No offence.  I know you're a powerful force, but I can't help but question your sanity sometimes."

"None taken," the small dragon said.  "Besides, if you live long enough, you'll find out anyway."

Fardon looked at him strangely.

At the villa entrance, a brown dragon was perched on the roof, and his long neck arched as he watched the trio approach.

"Sir Fardon," he hailed.  "Is the snow-dragon Mermul...?"

"I am Mermul," the fluff-dragon called.  "Are you guarding this place?  Did the King really grant me... All this...?"

"He did," the dragon said, and jumped into the air to land beside them.  "I am a little jealous to be honest.  I was intending to bid when the estate was auctioned off.  You can call me 'Vinny'.  I have been looking after this place during the trial of... the late owner.  Making sure the gardeners and cleaning staff are still paid and given access."

"Am I going to be able to afford to run this...?" Mermul looked horrified.  "What about the property taxes?!  You might get a chance at the auction yet."

"You'll be inheriting her wealth as well," Vinny pointed out.  "There's enough to keep the place ticking over for a few decades at least.  I've been administering that too - you'll find the receipts in order."

"It sounds like she had a lot to live for," Fiskul sighed.  "Why did she do it...?"

"I wish I knew," Vinny sighed.  "I can't help but blame myself for not spotting it...  Anyway, let's go inside.  I'll get you the keys and update the wards."

*  *  *

Mermul's heart sank as he saw the parlour wall lined with photographs.  Fercia and a couple of other adult dragons in group shots with a large crowd of hatchlings and juveniles.

"Ohh..." he said, shaking his head sadly.

"Yes," Vinny sighed.  "She did genuinely love her fellow dragons as far as I can tell.  It's the small races that she hated so.  I was her friend, you know... But if I had only known what she was capable of...  I wish I could have stopped her..."

"Five dens," he said, gesturing at a scroll containing the floor plan.  "Swimming pool in the grounds.  Footholds on the roof in case you want to sun yourself there.  There's a library, study, music room and various other rooms as well.  Most of her paperwork has been placed in storage for the investigation, mind... We can return those to you if you wish.  However, there's a few anomalies in the cellar."

"Secret rooms?"  Fardon asked, looking puzzled.  "Surely that was investigated as part of her trial?  Wouldn't that have been valuable evidence?"

"They already had more than enough evidence to take her head off," Vinny sighed.  "Breaking wards is really tough and I guess it wasn't a priority after she pleaded guilty. Besides, if there was something in there that could have saved her neck, she'd have mentioned it, right...?  So I'd guess, anything else would only have made things worse." the dragon sighed and shook his head.  "You think you know someone..."

"So, you think the wards were keyed to her and her close kin?"

"Yeah.  There's a plate we think is a hand-print sensor, but nobody's been able to open it.  Worth trying Mermul's hand, though.  It might allow access to her kin.  Though I don't know that you're going to find anything pretty."

*  *  *

"The cellars," Vinny said.  "Used to be for storing meat before refrigeration was really a thing.  'Course, with her being a frost-dragon she didn't need that much either.  There's a hoard room to the left, done up like a treasury.  Flame-effect lighting and all, it's really nice," he added dreamily.

"Anyway, the suspicious part is here," he said, pointing at an unusual tile set into the wall.  The other wall, adjacent to it, was strangely blank.

Mermul hesitantly pressed his hand against the tile.  There was a whirring sound and a hidden door opened.  Fluorescent tubes flickered reluctantly to life with metallic pinging noises to reveal a small hidden room.  A shrine stood at one end with a large portrait of Lord Thurr.  Mermul whimpered at the sight of it.

"Well, you're definitely her kin," Vinny said.  "And that wouldn't have helped her at the trial.  Not at all!  But still... I was expecting something more dramatic, I guess..." he shrugged his wings.

"I agree," Fardon said.  "Mermul, there's another possible plate on the other wall."

The fluff-dragon touched it, and a second wall ground open, revealing a narrow and dimly-lit tunnel.

"Now that's more like it!"  Vinny said enthusiastically.  At the end of it was an ancient-looking pair of metal doors.  The switch to open them was more obvious this time, and didn't seem to be as tightly protected.  Vinny pressed it himself, and the doors swung open.  He gasped.

"Oh gods..." Mermul whimpered.  "Oh no no no..."

The spacious, brick-walled room was clearly a dungeon.  A dragonslayer's sword and lance, an executioner's axe and various other implements of torture and death were placed on racks along one the walls.  The collection included several armour-piercing sniper rifles and large-bore assault weapons of the kind used by Hunters.

Two prison cells - each large enough to accommodate a dragon - were set into one of the walls, and in the centre of the room, lit by dim electric light, a massive guillotine stood beside an equally-proportioned set of stocks.  A chopping block stood nearby, and on the far wall a row of trophy mounts held large, draconic skulls.

Fardon stared at the scene in shock.  His eyes went distant for a moment, as if recalling a bad memory, and then his expression hardened.  He padded over to examine the stocks, sniffing at them cautiously and then the dark-stained chopping block.

"Interesting," he said.

"Is that all you can say?!"  Mermul whimpered.  "We knew Aunt Fercia was a maniac, but this?!"

"The guillotine," Fardon said.  "Examine it, would you, Mermul?"

"Cruel!"  Fiskul snapped.  "Given that Mermul was put in one recently, by a certain someone..."

"Well, now I'm the proud owner of one too, apparently..." Mermul said, looking at the blade and swallowing.  He cautiously approached the grim device and sniffed at the lunettes, then the restraining straps on the execution table.  His eyes widened.

"That's her scent," he said.  "From her fur.  And the blade... it's dull!"

Fardon grinned, and poked his head into one of the prison cells.  It had been used for storage, and reaching in, he retrieved a number of unusual items of clothing.  An executioner's hood, some blindfolds for a condemned dragon, and an assortment of shiny black wing-restraints and tight-fitting outfits.

"Your aunt clearly had an interesting sex life," he said.  "There's a set of leather adventuring armour for the small races, modern Hunter outfits in various size and sex, and a fake dragon's head in a basket.  No... two.  One scaled, and the other looks a lot like her."

"Woah!  I didn't see her being into that," Vinny said, looking amazed.  "I wonder who she was roleplaying with...?  Maybe she hired a specialist!  'I'm Miss Delphine and I'll be your dragonslayer for tonight!'"

"Huh," Fiskul said, looking utterly confused.  "I guess some dragons do enjoy being bullied."

Mermul sat down heavily, relieved.  "If this is just some kind of... playroom..." he sighed.  "I'm so glad.  Not just because of the implications, but... Well, we'd have had to call in the guards.  They'd turn my new home into a crime scene and we'd have to find somewhere else to sleep."  He glanced up at the skulls, suspiciously.  "Those are casts, right?"

Fardon stretched up his neck and studied them, sniffing at the gruesome trophies.

"I'm not sure about the middle one," Fardon said.  "We'll have to get an expert in.  But the others are definitely mass-produced."

"So we will have to bring in the guards after all," Mermul sighed.

"Yes, but not immediately.  If that was from a real dragon, they've been dead a long time.  And it doesn't necessarily mean foul play either," Fardon pointed out.  "It could be one of her friends or relatives."

"I really don't know what I'm going to do with this," Mermul shook his head.  "I might just leave it.  Partly because it's too embarrassing to have to get someone to dispose of this stuff... People will ask questions!  Sir Darving would have a field day!"

"It's not that unusual," Fardon said, and craned his head at the other dragon.  "Mermul, if I may say so, you do have a rather... human mindset for all that you were brought up by dragon supremacists.  Down to your rehabilitation in Arcaia, perhaps...?
"While I presume you've seen a lot of savagery in your time before that, you must remember that we are still apex predators and not all of our... brutality can be blamed on Lord Thurr, although he definitely encourages that.
"Though our minds do have a lot in common with humans and furres, we are different in a lot of ways.  We have a lot of dark urges, we are prone to bloodthirst, we're just good at keeping that stuff in check.  But we still need to satisfy them somehow.  Hence the public executions, though they are mercifully rare.
"What I'm saying is... There's a market for this kind of role-playing.  As Vinny said earlier, you can find people willing to help act out your dark fantasies for the right money.  And you can buy fake execution gear by mail-order if you know where to look."

"I guess so..." Mermul sighed.  "I'm not sure that's my scene... But still...  Well, she was still my aunt.  She did evil things, but... I don't feel comfortable airbrushing her out of my life either.  She did good things too, at the creche..."

"You could store some of her personal effects in here," Fiskul suggested.  "Leave it as some kind of memorial.  Even a dragon as wicked as her deserves that much.  Though... You would look good in some of those shiny clothes," he added hopefully.

Mermul looked embarrassed.  "We'll have to see," he said.

Vinny was looking at the weapons rack thoughtfully.  "There's one missing," he noted.

Mermul looked at it and saw that the brickwork there was loose.  He pressed it experimentally, and there was a click, followed by a grinding noise from outside.

"Secrets within secrets," Fardon said uneasily.  "If this is so embarrassing that it needs to be concealed inside a sex dungeon, I dread to think..."

Back in the corridor that had led them to the dungeon, the wall had opened on one side to reveal another short stretch of corridor.  At the end, a bulkhead door sealed it off.  The switch wasn't even hidden and it slid open easily.

Inside was another dungeon, this time with much smaller cells, a smaller guillotine and a noose that dangled ominously from a hook in the ceiling.  In one corner was a pile of skulls, human and various species of furre.  And a rank smell wafted through the doorway.

"Shit, shit, shit," Fardon said, closing the door hastily.  "Vinny, fetch Sir Darving.  This one's real!"

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 11 - Investigation

Sir Darving made a strangled noise as he took in the dragon execution chamber.

"Ignore that," Mermul told him.

"What?!" the knight looked at Mermul as if he was insane.  "But that's..."

"Fake," the fluff-dragon said distractedly.  "Apparently Aunt Fercia had some kind of dragonslayer kink.  A few of the props look suspicious and I'll need your opinion later...  The middle skull might be real, and if any of those guns are illegal, I'll want them taken off my claws too..." he added and touched the secret panel.  "But that's less important right now."

Sir Darving started as the concealed door opened behind him.

"Down there," Mermul pointed, looking anxious.  "That's the problem.  You go first... I don't want to see that again."

"If this is a trap," the red dragon said, eying Mermul suspiciously.

"Then it's Fercia's doing and not his," Fardon growled.  "Mermul is reporting a serious matter to you, knowing that you hate him.  So quit stalling and do your job!"

"I worry that you are going soft on Mermul," Sir Darving returned.  "You said you loved him like a son.  How far would you go to protect him...?"

"I have been assigned to protect him until he finds his wings... or confirms your suspicions," Fardon retorted hotly.  "Why do you think I suggested bringing you here as a witness instead of reporting it myself?  That would be a conflict of interest!"

"I stand corrected," the red dragon knight said, and opened the door.

Sir Darving returned a few minutes later, looking grave.

"Thank you for reporting this, Mermul," he said calmly.  "This section of the house will be sealed off for an investigation.  However, you may continue to use the upper floors - at least for now.  But before that, we had best make sure there aren't any other secret doors we have overlooked.  I will need your assistance."

*  *  *

The secret door slid open at Mermul's touch.  Fearing the worst, he craned his neck nervously towards the door and peeped inside.  He relaxed.  "It's just a study."

"That doesn't mean this place is innocent," Sir Darving remarked, studying the other dragon's reactions.  "It could hold tomes of forbidden lore."

"If so, they should be sent to a suitable archive," Mermul said.

"Not destroyed?" the red dragon looked at him questioningly.

"No.  Something which starts out evil can still be used for good," the fluff-dragon insisted.  "For instance, if someone else misuses a grimoire, then you'll need to refer to the same texts to know what they did, and how to defend against it."

"I suppose so," the knight admitted grudgingly.  "Anyway, let's see what we have."

While Sir Darving scanned through the titles on the shelves, Mermul went to the writing desk in the centre of one wall.  It was not much bigger than a large desk intended for a human, but the space beneath was entirely taken up with drawers and cupboards since a dragon would not need the leg-room of a sitting human.

A large drawer opened at his touch to reveal a large tome, which to a dragon was a conveniently-sized notebook.

"Uh oh," he said, turning the pages carefully.

"What's that?"  Sir Darving craned his neck to glance at him.

"It's a diary.  The dates are in Lord Thurr's calendar," Mermul said.  "I doubt that's a good sign."

"We found her journal in the other study," the knight said.  "That used standard calendar, starting from the signing of the Pax Draconica."

"I'm in it," Mermul said quietly, flicking back a number of pages.

"This... about a year and a half ago, mourning my heroic death on a mission in Arcaia."

"Bold of you to say that," Sir Darving's eyes narrowed.

"You already know," Mermul replied tersely.  "I confessed all in Lord Varl's palace.  But listen..."

"'32nd Mercember 2157.  Terrible news... it seems my nephew is still alive... but has broken faith with my beloved Lord and joined those filthy two-legs!  Helping them!  A thousand plagues upon Mirmjolnar the Betrayer...  He is no blood of mine, and when my Lord catches the traitor he shall...'"

"Shall what...?" Sir Darving prompted.

"Read it yourself," Mermul said, looking away queasily.  "It's all about how they're going to skin me alive, hang me by the neck and s-scoop out the cold brains from my severed h-head..."

The knight trotted over and studied the book himself.  His eyes widened slightly.  "...That's quite graphic," he said.

Sir Darving flicked through the pages, reading fragments of the journal for a few moments, and then glanced back at Mermul.

"If these are truly her inner thoughts, it does strengthen your claims of being a defector," the red dragon admitted grudgingly.  "Hang on... 2157?  When was that?"

"Last year," Mermul calculated.  "It's based on when Thurr usurped the throne... he's an egotistical shit.  2157 would have been during my sojourn in Arcaia.  By Mercember I would have been working as a lifter... Wait!  How did she know...?"

"Exactly," Sir Darving said, frowning.  "Even if she was specifically interested in Arcaia, your recovery was kept out of the news.  Hell, they didn't tell us you were really Mirmjolnar during your background check.  We had to look through our file of known Thurr agents."

"Arcaia offered me a fresh start," Mermul said defensively.  "Like a witness protection scheme... And I took it.  If you were on the run from your lord, you'd do the same.
"But that's not the point.  I can see Thurr having his people watch Arcaia, and them recognising me and passing it back to him...  But then, how did she find out?"

"A spy," Sir Darving said.  "She had a contact here to tell her."

"Most likely," Mermul sighed.  "If you can try and avoid killing them, that would be nice..."

"WHAT?!  Whose side are you on, Mirmjolnar?"  Sir Darving's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Yours," Mermul snapped defiantly.  "Though it's starting to look like Lord Thurr's realm all over again.  And don't call me that!"

"What is going on here?!"  Fardon interrupted, poking his head into the room.  "Sir Darving, are you baiting Mermul...?"

"But he's comparing us with Lord Thurr!" the knight protested furiously.  "And now we think there might be a spy and he wants them spared!  The more he says, the more I think he's a traitor too!"

"He has a point!"  Fardon said viciously.  "Listen, Sir Darving - Mermul is damaged goods.  He needs therapy and instead we gave him trauma that will take years to heal.  Is it any wonder if he feels the same doubts about Lord Varl that you feel about him?!"

Sir Darving huffed angrily and looked at the floor.

"Mermul," Fardon said, "We are better than Lord Thurr... But the gap should be wider than it is.  If you're looking for a paradise entirely free of pain and strife, you won't find it here... or anywhere else in this world, I'm sorry to say.
"Lord Varl's realm is as close as we can manage... but it's not perfect, and it never will be.  You can leave and try to find your promised land, but if you stay, you help can show us where we went wrong and help bring it closer to perfection."

"I guess you're right," Mermul sighed.  "But... please... if you find this spy... Show them some mercy."

"You see?!"  Sir Darving wailed.  "He admits it!  He wants us to spare Lord Thurr's lackey!  He's still sympathetic to our enemy!"

"I am not!" Mermul protested hotly.  "Thurr's lot are dangerous psychopaths and any of their spies must be caught and neutralised.  But that doesn't mean I want to see a fellow dragon die!  Even an evil one!  Imprisoned, yes - if they deserve it.  But you know how slowly we reproduce compared to the small races!  There have to be better solutions than chopping off the heads of creatures who take half a century to reach maturity!"

"Mermul," Fardon said calmly, glancing at Sir Darving.  "Answer as truthfully as you can.  If you could, somehow, be forgiven by Lord Thurr...  If we could wave a wand and make him forget that you had betrayed him... Would you want to return there?"

"No!"  Mermul looked appalled.  "He would make me kill people!  It would only be a matter of time before I offended him again!"

"Next question.  If we assume, hypothetically, that Thurr is somehow left incapable of harming you...  That you never have to fear him or his assassins again...  Tell me - where would you prefer to live?"

"Arcaia," the fluff-dragon said instantly.  "They liked me there.  They didn't pretend to cut my head off!  They saved my life, even after all the hurt I'd caused them!  I want to repay their kindness, and I would never have left if... If they had the defences needed to hold off Lord Thurr."

"Arguably they brainwashed you," Sir Darving murmured suspiciously.

"Call it what you like, but they made me into a better person," Mermul retorted stubbornly.

"I guess I am worried in case you have some kind of relapse," Sir Darving admitted.  "Maybe you are not a threat now, but... What if the original Mermul comes back?"

"I am not some kind of alter-ego!"  Mermul snapped.  "I am a reformed dragon with a shitty past I'm trying to compensate for.  At Arcaia, they gave me my conscience back.  My empathy... the things that Lord Thurr crushed out of me, and I don't want to lose them again!"

"Listen, both of you," Fardon said tensely.  "Only after Mermul's... testing... has Lord Varl come to appreciate the danger we are in.  It may not be an immediate danger, but nonetheless..."

"Bishop Ferdinand has been making some enquiries, and the High Priest of Tarnover has referred him to some ancient, proscribed texts about a previous visitation of the Devourer.  This work was banned for conflicting with Temple doctrine, but it exactly matches what we have seen ourselves.
"Fiskul is the Devourer, the one sent to end the world," Fardon continued.  "This creature makes friends, nearly always dragons.  But it is quite possible that these friends are the only reason the world still exists.  If he... they ever become lonely enough to decide that life is not worth living, it is very likely that they will take everyone else with them."

"Now, I don't know how many of the Devourer's friends are still alive," Fardon said, looking stressed.  "But Mermul is one of them.  And that means we have to protect him, because if Mermul dies and Fiskul takes it badly, it could quite literally mean the end of the world."

Sir Darving looked at Mermul in horror, and the fluff-dragon wore a similar expression.  "But what if he lied?" Sir Darving protested.  "What if he's another Fercia?!  What if he breaks the Pax Draconica?!  Are you saying we can't punish him?!"

"We can't kill him," Fardon corrected.  "If, Alkrash forbid, Mermul breaks faith with us and goes on some kind of murder spree, he could be imprisoned indefinitely, with the Devourer given visiting rights.

"But..." the dragon continued, looked worried.  "It also means we cannot allow Lord Thurr to kill him, either."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 12 - Fame

While Tarian society took great pains to try and integrate dragons and the smaller races, taverns tended to be the exception.  Partly because a dragon and a humanoid needed different quantities of drink, and consequently slightly different infrastructure, but also to avoid accidents.  A tipsy dragon is both clumsier, and also less likely to be aware of their surroundings.  Combined, it greatly increases the risk of a smaller creature being stepped upon.

"I missed the executions," the green dragoness sighed, joining her friend at the bar.

"They're always filmed," the orange dragon replied.  "You can watch a replay later."

"It's not the same," she sighed.  "You don't get the smells, the atmosphere of the crowd, and they always cut away at the moment of death!"

"Because that bit squicks the kids and the small races," the other dragon pointed out.  "Well, most of them anyway."

"See?  It's not the same as being there!  And it's not like a play... they can't exactly put on a repeat performance!"

Sat a few tables away, Mermul had no visible ears to prick up, but his expression darkened and he let out a small sigh.  Fiskul also looked up from their tankard of lemonade.

"Well, you only missed one of them," the orange dragon pointed out.  "The second one was postponed.  There was a disturbance... they arrested the executioner afterwards as well!"

"Any idea when they'll reschedule?" the dragoness asked eagerly.  "I heard they were sentenced to death for banging the Evil One himself!"

"Do you mind...?" Fiskul asked loudly.  "You're talking about someone's very life here!  And who humps who isn't really your business, I might add."

"I guess... But haven't you ever wondered what it'd feel like if it was you strapped to the table, unable to escape?  What your last thoughts would be before..." the orange dragon stopped abruptly as Mermul emitted a keening noise, head thrown back at the ceiling.

"Holy gods!" he said, suddenly recognising Mermul with a double-take that nearly knocked over the huge tankard of beer.

"Funnily enough, Mermul no longer has to wonder what it's like to be strapped to a guillotine," Fiskul snarled, patting Mermul on the back to try and calm him.  "And as for the execution, it's not going to be rescheduled if I have any say in the matter."

The other two dragons looked at each other with embarrassment, wondering what to do, and the bartender became tense, anticipating trouble.

Just then, Fardon entered the establishment and went up to Mermul's table.  "Is there a problem?" he asked, looking at Mermul in concern.

"Yes," Mermul whimpered.  "Apparently, while my d-death sentence has been on the news, the fact that I've been pardoned has not!," he sobbed.  "So now people think I'm an escaped m-murderer or something!  That's all I need right now!"

"He's not an escaped murderer, is he...?" the bartender asked.

"I escaped from Lord Thurr," Mermul wailed.  "He made me murder people!  I came here because I don't want to do that stuff anymore!"

"Mermul..!" Fiskul protested.  "That's not what they wanted to hear!"

"But it's true!" the fluff-dragon protested.  "Technically I am an escaped murderer, just not the way they meant!  Besides, they'll find out soon enough anyway!  Better they hear it from me..."

"Enough," Fardon said firmly, glancing from the two patrons to the bartender.  "Mermul is not a threat to anyone here.  He has had a chequered past, but he is now a full citizen of Taria.  He's had a very difficult last few days, and as a knight of the realm I would appreciate it if you did not make today any harder for him."

"So..." the green dragoness asked, wide-eyed and eager, "What was it like working for Lord Th-" she cut off abruptly as her companion rapped her on the snout.

"Shush!" the orange dragon said.  "They're right.  It's none of our business."

"Meat," Mermul said.

The other dragons stared at him in silent confusion.  Fiskul and Fardon glanced at each other nervously, worried that the fluff-dragon's mind had broken.

"We had a meat-rich diet," the blue-grey dragon continued after a pause.  "I don't want to think about where that meat came from.  But we didn't get much else.  Meat... and death.  Killing others for Lord Thurr.  And being executed if you anger him..."

Mermul fixed the dragoness with a haunted stare.  "I thought all that was normal.  That that's what dragons were for... to serve a powerful Lord, and to get beheaded if we step out of line somehow.  We were told this was freedom, that as the Master Race, the world was our birthright.  But really... he got the freedom... We got to be his pawns, with the thrill of slaying and dominating his enemies as a token gesture... The false freedom of being let off the leash for a bit.
"But now..."  Mermul said,  "Now I've seen another life where you actually can be free to choose your own path...  Why the hell would I ever want to go back to that madman?"

"And if he catches you?" the dragoness asked, looking genuinely appalled.

"If you upset him enough, he bites your head off,"  Mermul said, eyes staring into the distance for a moment.  "But I suspect I'm beneath his attention... they'd probably just put me in DragonSplitter..." he gave a choked sob and fell silent.

"I hope you're happy," Fiskul said coldly.

"Be reasonable," the bartender said, patting Mermul on the back.  "You made the news, caused a lot of excitement.  Naturally that's going to attract attention.  If this is going to be a problem for your friend, maybe they should lie low for a bit?"

"Perhaps we should," Fardon said, nodding respectfully as the three of them left the bar.

*  *  *

Mermul looked calmer by the time they had got back to the park.

"That was brave of you to answer them," Fardon said.  "You didn't have to, you know..."

"The bartender was right," Mermul said sadly.  "Now we've all been seen on the news, people will be curious.  I had to try... because they weren't going to be the last."

"You did well," Fardon said.  "Though your description of life under Thurr raises more questions about Fercia...  And on that note, I do have some bad news for you."

"They're kicking me out of the villa, aren't they...?" Mermul sighed.  "I knew it..."

"Just for a few tendays," Fardon reassured him.  "And you've still got her money.  But after you found her murder-room... they're re-opening the investigation.  You'll be allowed back once the bodies have been removed and identified.  Incidentally, Sir Darving asked me to thank you."

"He did?"  Mermul looked worried.

"For finding Fercia's journal in the book room.  We know more about why she blew up the nursery."

"Woah!" Fiskul gasped.  "What did she say?!"

"Well, she was a bit unhinged," Fardon said.  "What Mermul was saying earlier about meat... That's given me an idea and I've asked them to check her larder, shopping lists and stuff.  Kind of curious whether she was getting enough vegetables."

Fiskul looked confused.  "Come again...?"

"We need a mixed diet," Mermul said.  "They told me so at Arcaia.  An all-meat diet messes with your hormones and makes your more violent and less rational.  Maybe that's what we're supposed to be like, maybe eating plant matter is the unnatural part... But the short version is, if you want to live like a civilised creature among other races, you need an omnivorous diet.
"Lord Thurr wants his warriors to be aggressive and unpredictably violent, so he enforced an unbalanced diet.  Even outside of his influence, Aunt Fercia might have been keeping to a meat-rich regime out of loyalty for his ideals, or out of habit..."

"I see," Fiskul said.  "I'm designed to eat the world so the usual nutritional concepts don't really apply to me.  There's a lot of common-sense stuff that I'm missing..."

"For what it's worth, I think the omnivorous diet really is our natural state," Fardon said.  "We enjoy sweet foods - and the ability to taste sweetness is a trait pure carnivores usually lose."

"Makes sense," Mermul said, sounding relieved.  "Anyway, what did Fercia put in the diary?"

"Like I said, she was a little nuts," Fardon said.  "The short version is, that she was getting paranoid.  She occasionally kidnapped humans and furres for her little 'murdertorium' or 'murdertory' as she called it in the journal... and she was convinced we'd found out and were closing in on her.  She figured we'd be taking her to the guillotine at any moment... So she decided to go out with a bang, commit one last act of wickedness before we took her."

"Oh dear," Mermul shook his head sadly.  "And I take it you hadn't...?"

"Not at all," Fardon growled.  "We hadn't seen a pattern.  We hadn't figured the disappearances were down to one person, and we certainly had no idea it was her!"

"Heavy," Mermul said.  "So not only did she do that out of sheer paranoia... But she might have been driven crazy by her diet."

"Insane or not, a serial killer would still not be allowed to roam free," Fardon pointed out.  "Had she been found criminally insane, she would have been confined, probably for a century or more.  Would that have been better than the swift release of death?  Given the stuff in her playroom, I think she died the way she always wanted to go."

"What do we do now?"  Mermul wanted to know.  "It's a bit too short a delay to rent a place, but a bit too long for a hotel!  I don't want to impose on you for that long, either - even if we all fit comfortably in your lair, which to be honest, we don't."

"Well, you could just claim back the hotel costs," Fardon said.  "After all, you are being inconvenienced by the state.  But since you're worried about notoriety in the capital, we could just go back to Tarnover.  My villa is a lot more spacious, and I will need to return there at some point anyway, as that's where my role is based."

"Does that mean that someone else will be assigned as my... protector?"  Mermul asked, looking worried.

"Eventually, yes," Fardon said.  "I am a Knight of Taria, and my skills are needed for other things than keeping a refugee safe.  So eventually they will have to find someone else, but it won't be Sir Darving, if that's what you're worried about.  I'll suggest Vinny, since he was guarding your villa.
"But the short version is, that I should probably return to Tarnover... and when you return to the capital, I won't be coming with you.  But we can stay in touch... If you want to, of course."

Mermul sighed and then brightened.  "Yes.  You've been good to me, Fardon... even when the King was testing us, you were trying to make it easier for me..."

Fardon looked away with embarrassment.

"If we do go back to Tarnover, I'd like to check my lair in the Disputed Territories," Fiskul put in.  "I want to grab a few things, and lock it down for a long-term absence in case someone tries to squat there."

"Then I guess we're agreed," Mermul said.  "Tarnover it is.  I just hope they don't need me to open any more of Fercia's secrets in the villa while I'm away."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 13 - Healthcheck

Tarfal lay curled up on his hoard and dreamed of flying.  Suddenly his peace was shattered by a noise and he jerked awake, scattering small objects as he went on the defensive.

The door of his den opened to reveal another dragon in the connecting tunnel, fierce, strong and blocking his means of escape.  They wore body armour and were clearly well-armed.

Tarfal backed away, hit the wall and began cowering.

"Take it," he yelped.  "Take the hoard!  Don't kill me!  I'm just a dragon!"

Fardon grinned wickedly for a moment, and then mastered himself.  "Sorry," he said, flipping the visor to reveal amber eyes.  "I am not here to kill you.  Quite the opposite."

"...What?"  Tarfal asked, blinking in confusion.  His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I am Sir Fardon of Tarnover.  One of my duties is to check for lairs in the wildlands surrounding the realm of Taria and take a census of the occupants."

"So it's a shakedown then?"  Tarfal groaned.  "You want me to pay protection money?"

"No," Fardon said irritably.  "This is disputed land, we have no way to enforce taxes.  However, the King is greatly concerned with the safety of his fellow dragons, even those who wish to remain unaffiliated or refute his rule.  Whatever your political leanings, you are still a member of a threatened race and we do not want to see the Hunters get you."

"So if I don't pay, you'll tip them off somehow?  Is that what you're saying?"

"No, no, no!" Fardon said, rolling his eyes.  "If you want an ulterior motive, then here's one... We have been hoping to expand our territory to cover this area for a while.  And if that happens, we'll want a rough idea of who comes with it.  But until that day comes - if it comes - we want to know roughly how many people live here and make sure they're relatively safe."

"What are you going to do?  Send a minder to report on me...?"

"No.  But we can provide medical supplies and assistance.  Security devices.  Your front door, for instance - that was in a shocking state and wouldn't stop a determined Hunter.  We can fix that, no questions asked."

"No obligations?  What if you fix someone's lair and find they're an outlaw?"

"Stop panicking," Fardon said.  "I really don't want to know.  We're dragons - none of us are sweet innocents.  But the main point is to protect our kind from Hunters, and we're turning a blind eye to other stuff right now.  If we do ever take over this land, there will be a transition period and you can leave, no questions asked."

"I am not interested in serving your king," the dragon growled.  "Please take your high-pressure tactics elsewhere."

"You think I'm a lair-to-lair salesman?!"  Fardon snapped.  "You think I'm getting a commission for doing this?!  I'm risking my life here, trying to save yours, you ungrateful wretch!"

Tarfal glowered sullenly back at the knight, but couldn't think of a suitable retort.

"Listen," Fardon said urgently.  "I don't think you quite understand.  This is the third lair I've checked today.  The last one was empty, and the den had... dried blood in it.  Lots of it, hardened into a pool where the floor sloped.  There... There were four sets of claw marks dug into the rock.  Do you follow...?"

"Beheaded," Tarfal whispered.

"In their sleep, I would assume," Fardon said in a haunted voice, looking at the floor, his eyes unfocused, imagining the scene.  "The claw marks dug in as their body spasmed in death...  And when I looked closely at the entrance tunnel with an electric torch, there were scrapes and splashes of dried blood from where the body was dragged out..."

"You're... You're just saying this to scare me into joining your gang," Tarfal croaked, but he didn't believe it.

"I wish..." Fardon said, looking unusually vulnerable for someone in special forces combat armour.  "Oh, how I wish I was lying.  But someone has murdered a magnificent creature like you or me in their own den, may Alkrash guide them.  It happens.  That's why we're trying to..."

A shot slammed into the back of Fardon's neck and he went down.

"Visor's open," the monkey called, glancing at the concussed dragon.  "Looks like he's still breathing.  You put a shell in his eye... I'll take the other one!"

"You stupid bastard!" Tarfal screamed at the fallen knight.  "You left the door open for the fucking Hunters!  You've killed us both!"

"You call that a door, beast?" the Hunter laughed, covering Tarfal with an anti-dragon rifle.  "A couple of seconds with a cutting torch was all we needed!"

Tarfal bared his claws and teeth.  "So... It has come to this," he snarled.  "Then, if I must die, I shall prove my worth in battle!  Fight with courage!"

"Naughty," the Hunter said lazily, aiming between the dragon's eyes with a laser sight.  "None of that.  It'd be a shame to ruin your skull.  I don't want visible death-wounds spoiling my trophy.  Not at the front, anyway...
"Nick!  Talking of head-shots, what the hell's keeping you...?  The damned thing's asleep!"

As if in answer, a human head rolled down into the den, followed shortly afterwards by a generous trickle of bright blood.

"Oh shit," the monkey said, as his friend's head struck his boot and rolled to a halt.  The distraction was all Tarfal needed and he lashed out, knocking the rifle from the Hunter's grasp.  The monkey gave a cry of pain as his fingers bent the wrong way and a shot slammed into the roof of the cave, raining down a shower of rocky fragments.

"So, what's it going to be?"  Fardon asked angrily, visor down as he considered the struggling monkey, whose legs were now pinned to the ground by Tarfal's foreleg.  "Death or capture?"

"What's the difference?" the Hunter groaned.  "Your king will butcher me for what I've done..."

"If you fired the shot at me, your life is forfeit," Fardon admitted.  "But if your colleague did that, he's already paid that price, Anah forgive me.  You on the other hand, might still live to see old age."

"...In a cage, as a dragon's pet?!  NEVER!" the monkey shrieked, and drew a pistol.  He thrust it under his own chin, but Fardon slapped it aside and the shot went wild.  Two of Fardon's metal claws clamped down on the furre's head with a brief crackling sound.  They spasmed for a few moments and went still.

"Dead...?" Tarfal asked, sniffing at the motionless Hunter, and glancing at Fardon questioningly.  "How did you do that?!"

"Unconscious," the knight corrected.  "My gauntlets have a taser function."

"And how did you recover in time...?" Tarfal asked.  "Were you faking?"

"Not entirely," the knight said.  "They took me out for the count, yeah.  But my armour detected it and applied stimulants.  But it was a close thing...  So very close..." he whispered, looking shaken behind his tinted visor.  "...And," he added, taking command of the situation, "Emergency stimulants do have consequences.  I am likely to 'crash' in an hour or so, so we'd better wrap this up quickly before the after-effects kick in."

"'Wrap it up...?'  HOW?!" the other dragon yelped, looking around wildly.  "When those two don't return, more will come!  They'll storm the place!  What do we do?!"

"I'll radio base.  You will have to come to Tarnover.  You'll get a temporary visa, no questions asked.  Once your lair is secured with a bulkhead door, you can return."

Tarfal looked between his hoard and the dragon knight with a horrified expression.

"...I know," Fardon sighed.  "If there's anything of great sentimental value, grab it now.  I can't promise your hoard will remain un-plundered, but we'll do out best.  Someone will be sent to guard it, but if a dozen Hunters converge on the place to avenge "Nick" over there... Well, our man will have to make a strategic withdrawal."

*  *  *

Mermul stepped out of the shower, his fur sodden, giving him the appearance of an Afghan hound the size of a minibus.  He outstretched his wings and shook his body like a dog, covering the tiled walls in an excessive quantity of water.

This was his third day since arriving at Fardon's villa, and he'd already had to buy a bulk quantity of shampoo.  Most dragons only needed shampoo for their manes, if they had one at all, but a frost dragon was entirely covered in fur.  Not for the first time, he envied Fardon and the other scaled members of his race.

"You look, uh, damp," Fiskul said helpfully.

"I don't suppose you could devour the water or something?"  Mermul asked.  "My villa may have been owned by a psycho, but at least she had a full-body drier.  Fardon doesn't really need one, and clearly he doesn't get frost dragons as guests much..."

"I... have no idea," Fiskul admitted.  "I don't want to risk devouring you or parts of your fur by accident, and besides, removing water from the ecosystem by erasing it from reality... doesn't feel environmentally sound."

"True," Mermul said.  "Did you get what you needed from your lair?"

"Yep," the small dragon looked happy.  "Not that I have a huge amount of value there, but I always like having a bolt-hole in case I need one.  For myself, or my friends."

"Do you have a hoard?" Mermul asked.

"I have multiple lairs," Fiskul said.  "Some have probably been broken into, especially the ones on other continents.  I've had time to wander, as you can probably imagine.  But I like it around here.
"Point is, I don't have one central place to keep a hoard.  Especially if people try to destroy my lair as a 'temple of darkness' or something.  I have some nice stuff scattered around, but the items of greatest value, I started keeping those in bank vaults once the safe-deposit system was invented.
"For sleeping, I've learned to live without.  Once, I might have needed the reassurance of lying on a pile of stuff a bit more, but having to live rough when people chase you away or cut off your head as a heretic... You learn to make do.  But I do understand why people like it."

Both dragons turned suddenly as there was a crash.  Fardon lurched into the room unsteadily.

"Gods, Fardon..." Mermul said.  "You look awful!  What happened to you?  Are you going to be okay...?"

"You nearly inherited another villa," the big dragon croaked.

"Don't say that!" Mermul squeaked, mortified.

"Hunters got me," Fardon said.  "I was checking the lairs.  One of them was already empty... some poor bastard... the murderers!  The last one was occupied, got into an argument.  Hunters sneaked up and shot me from behind."

"Did they... did they get the occupant?"  Fiskul looked appalled.

"No.  But I paid a price for it.  My armour's automation detected the attack and drugged me back to alertness.  We'd both be dead but for that, but now I feel like shit.  The surviving Hunter's in custody, Sir George is guarding the lair, the occupant has been found a safe place in the city until we can get their lair better protected.  But I... I think I'll need help getting to my den."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay...?  Do you need a medic...?" Mermul asked, deeply concerned.

"They checked me out at base.  I just need to sleep it off.  Happened before..."

"Maybe you should have taken Fiskul with you," Mermul pondered, as they helped the exhausted dragon to his room.  "They're... tough."

"That had been considered," Fardon admitted.  "Lord Varl was quietly hoping that if they were brought along, they might make new friends.  He's scared... scared of what Fiskul may do if, gods forbid, anything happens to you, Mermul.  He wants to be sure that we aren't relying entirely on you to keep the world alive."

"There are others," Fiskul said, rolling their eyes.  "But...  Well, if I went with you, who'd protect Mermul?!" they objected, as the pair of them half-carried the knight into his den.

"That... is why we didn't ask," Fardon groaned.  He collapsed on the pile of imitation gold coins and was asleep before they'd even left the room.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 14 - Dreams

Fardon had the wyvern dream again.  This time he had two heads, the other one had a similar but longer name, and they argued bitterly over which of them was the true owner of his body.  Glancing back at his strangely-shaped tail, Fardon had to admit that he was probably the imposter, but he had no idea how to solve their problem.

Eventually, a passing healer offered help, but their solution involved chopping off one of his heads.  There was a coin toss and the other dragon lost, wailing in terror that they didn't want to die and hadn't done anything to deserve it.  Leaving aside that this amputation would cause him to bleed out too, Fardon had to agree that murdering the other head did seem to be overkill.

Neither of these facts stopped the healer from trying to decapitate the other head, but the enchanted amulet they wore deflected the axe stroke, and neither he nor Fardon would allow it to be removed.  In the end, the healer cast a mighty spell, and Fardon was back in his normal, four-legged body with the wyvern stood in front of him, eyeing each other curiously.

It was still night when he awoke, and briefly he wondered if, in some other reality, a wyvern called Fardon-Mul had just had a similar nightmare.  Then his thoughts clouded and he sank back into an untroubled sleep.

*  *  *

Curled up around a pile of brightly-coloured marbles, Mermul dreamed of the villa his late aunt had inadvertently left him.

He stood in the secret dungeon, wearing a shiny black dragon-coat and contemplated the guillotine in the centre of the room.  Thinking back on the dragons and members of the small races he had slain in Lord Thurr's service, he found himself curiously drawn to it.
As the guilt washed over him, he rested his neck in the lunette, shut his eyes and imagined the punishment he felt he deserved.

"Perhaps that was what Fercia used to do..." he murmured to himself, pulling his head away and shaking himself.

"Pretty much," said a voice behind him.

Mermul spun around, tail lashing as he jumped.

The teal green frost-dragoness stood before him, a shiny black collar around her neck, and gloves on her hands and feet like the ones Fardon had found.  Mermul blinked rapidly, unsure whether to run or fight.

"Oh, Mirmjolnar!" she smiled.  "I thought that was you at the execution.  It's been a while, dear."

"At my execution, or yours?"  Mermul asked dumbly.

"I meant mine," the dragoness said, looking a little surprised.  "Though since you are still alive... Well, nevermind.  You were always lucky, now that I think about it.  Talking of which, I see you have been given my house!  I am glad to know that.  The rubber outfit does look good on you, by the way."

"Uh, thanks," the frost-dragon said, looking embarrassed.  "The villa is very nice.  Apart from the murder room," he added pointedly, gesturing at the door.

Fercia sighed and sat down like a dog.

"Addiction can take many forms," she said sadly.  "Some overeat.  Some gamble, or fall prey to substance abuse.  Do you wonder that a dragoness might get addicted to killing members of the small races, knowing all the while that it was a self-destructive habit, like a juvenile picking their scales?
"Knowing that each kill was bringing you one step closer to the head-basket, yet being unable to give up that instinctive thrill of conquest?
"Remember, that like you, I was brought up on Lord Thurr's diet of meat and dragon supremacy rhetoric...  Not that it's an excuse," she said sadly.  "There are no excuses for what I've done."

"Why are you here?"  Mermul demanded suspiciously.  "You're dead, and they've seized the villa to investigate your crimes.  I'm a whole city away from the place, lying on a heap of marbles, so this is clearly a dream.  And I'll probably wake up now I've realised that.
"Besides, you were one of Lord Thurr's faithful.  Why would you want to talk to a heretic like me, even if this is somehow real...?"

"You are still my nephew," Fercia said.  "Before you turned, you were my favourite... Even if you didn't know it.  Perhaps I should have been clearer about it, but... Lord Thurr always saw love as a weakness..."

"I saw parts of your diary," Mermul reminded her.  "You wrote about wanting to watch me kick in the noose until I messed myself, about scooping out my dead brains!  If that's your idea of love, you can keep it!"

Fercia threw back her head and made a keening noise, just as Mermul had done on occasion.  He leapt back in surprise, the black outfit making an irritating squeaky sound as he moved.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." she wailed.  "That was then, and I was a fool!
"Being dead... Being punished for the awful things you did in life, that gives you a change in perspective.  I'm not supposed to give you spoilers, but Hell isn't being thrown in a pit of fire, Mirm...  It's being shown a bigger part of the picture, and being shown how badly wrong you got things.  Coming to terms with with that... That's part of the punishment.
"You have walked this road yourself, so perhaps you understand... Lord Thurr twisted our minds, our beliefs.  I, too, have seen the stupidity of my Lord's ways, just like you did.  Only for me, that revelation came too late.
"Even if I had seen the light while I was still alive, it would still have been too late.  I would still have faced the blade for the murders I perpetrated!"

"Okay," Mermul said.  "Perhaps you're learning your lesson in hell or something... But it feels a bit of a cop-out to forgive you for what you did.  Besides, I'm pretty sure you're a figment of my imagination and I'm just arguing with myself."

Fercia looked up and fixed him with a stern expression, like the school teacher she had been.

"You know we are magical creatures, Mirmjolnar," she said.  "We can breathe frost and fly despite being aerodynamically unsound.  We can live indefinitely barring accidents or murder.  You know this, and you know there is an afterworld.  Is it too much to accept that, when asleep and your mind is idling, you might be able to receive messages from beyond under the right conditions?"

"I've heard of that," Mermul admitted.  "Never really believed it, and I'm still not entirely sure that I really met the Great One when I had that near-death experience."

"Please, Mirm," the dragoness said, looking upset again.  "This is not easy to do, and the cost of it will be added to my sentence.  Yes, I hoped to make peace with you, but that alone isn't enough for them to let me do this.  I'm doing it because it's very important."

"I don't know," Mermul said.  "You killed people's children!  You killed innocent humans and furres!"

"I know, and I regret it.  Look... I can't ask for your forgiveness, and it wouldn't count much against my crimes anyway.  But this might."

Mermul looked confused.  "What might...?"

"What I'm about to tell you.  Listen very carefully, Mirm.  If you can remember this in the waking world, it might be the proof you need.
"In my villa, in the grounds, there is a secret hideout under the garden.  A panic room.  It's got the best concealment wards I could get from the black market, and I don't think even Lord Varl's finest will be able to detect them, let alone pierce them.
"There are two statues in the garden.  Find the centre-point between them, and face West.  Think of your hatchday, Mirm.  Have you got that?"

"Stand between the statues, face West, and think of... my hatchday?!"

"The Third of Naruary, 1911.  Oh, that's important - I used Thurr's calendar, so it must be 1911, not 1735!  You must stand between the statues and think of that date."

Mermul looked at her, a lump forming in his throat.  "You used my hatchday as your password...?"

"I told you, you were my favourite," she sighed.  "They say you shouldn't do that, but... Even a wretched murderess has her weaknesses.  And who here is going to know that...?"

"What's in the room, though?"  Mermul asked, looking scared.  "Please, auntie... Not more corpses!"

"No," Fercia said, and her eyes gleamed fiercely.  "This is different.  Like you, Lord Thurr warped me into a psychopath.  I see that now.  And in death, I know the truth, that I fucked up spectacularly badly.  I can't undo that.  I can't bring back the people I murdered...
"But I can make Thurr pay.  As one of his most trusted spies, he gave me an artifact, Mirmjolnar.  It can overthrow him.  If you can find it, if you can find a way to use it, or give it to someone else who can, then, at the last, I will have done what is right - after so many centuries of doing what was wrong."

"Aunt Fercia...?" Mermul said, tears welling in his eyes.  "I... I did terrible things for Lord Thurr.  In Arcaia... they forgave me, and set me back on the path to goodness.
"Earlier I said I couldn't forgive what you've done... but now I think about it... that's hypocritical of me.  I can't accept forgiveness for my crimes from others, without offering you the same.  I can't promise you that others will forgive you, and they'd be within their rights not to.  We both did awful things, and we can't pin all the blame on Lord Thurr.  We are still dragons, after all, and the seeds of our crimes were sown in the darkness of our own hearts."

"Yes," Fercia sighed.  "None of us are innocent."

"But..." Mermul said, edging closer to the green fluff-dragoness and sitting in front of her.  "For my part, I forgive you, auntie..."

"Bless you, my dear," she said, tears welling in her own eyes as the two fluff-dragons embraced each other.  "Thank you.  This means more than you can know.  And please, Mirm... Try and remember... The garden...  And tell Vinter... He can have the black trunk.  Tell him I'm so very sorry..."

There was a falling sensation, and Mermul woke up with a gasp, causing a brief avalanche of marbles.  Fortunately, like a lot of dens, the floor was slightly concave so the hoard would naturally accumulate in the centre, and the wayward spheres quickly rolled back into place.

"The garden," he babbled, "Two statues... 1911...  West...  Vinter can have the black trunk...?"

Tearing around the room, he found a notepad, and quickly jotted down all he could remember before the dream faded.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 15 - The Precious

The lair was protected by a sturdy bulkhead door.  Fardon glanced at one of the security cameras, and Fiskul gave it a friendly wave.  Fardon hoped that it would be interpreted as such, given the black dragon's ominous appearance.

"Who goes there, and what do you want?" a voice called over the intercom.

"Sir Fardon of Taria.  I am performing a census for my King and have a few questions.  May I enter?"

"Who's the other one?  Is it bring-your-daughter-to-work day?"

"That's complicated," Fardon said.  "They're relatively harmless, but... protective of me.  I couldn't convince them to stay behind."

"I'm an adult, but I am smoll," Fiskul said.  "If you prefer, I could wait outside."

"No, you may as well come in too," the dragon said.  "Hunters have been active here lately... and others.  No sense in risking anyone."

As the intercom went dead, there was a click, a buzz, and then the massive door began to grind open.

*  *  *

The dragon was earth-brown, with leathery crimson wings and a baby-blue mane down the back of his neck.  His horns were the same crimson as his wings.

"So," he said.  "You wanted to do a survey...?"

"First up, I am not here to spy on you," Fardon reassured him, opening his visor as the armoured door shut behind them.  "Lord Varl wants to ensure that his fellow dragons are safe, even in the disputed lands.
"I must say, your door is impressive, so I guess you don't need help on that count, but if you do need supplies or anything, those can be provided."

"Yeah, the front door is Tarian," the dragon said.  "This isn't the first survey your people have done, so I got it fitted after last time.  Added the cameras myself, though.  There's a back exit as well," the dragon added.  "Just in case the Hunters try to dig me out with a backhoe or something.  To tell the truth, I'm most worried about the air system, the Hunters finding the vents and blocking them or trying to gas me.  If you have parts for a Draketronics 400 air scrubber, those would be most welcome."

"I'll try and arrange that," Fardon said, taking notes.  "Are you the sole occupant?"

"Yes.  I go by Acer."

Fardon checked his notes.  "Ah, yes.  That's fine.  We don't need your true name, this really is a health check, not some kind of sting operation over taxes or politics."

"Did one of the small races give you that name?"  Fiskul asked.  "That's a kind of tree... an unusual name for a dragon."

"I flew into one when I was a kid," Acer said.  "Got the nickname then and it stuck.  Now, I presume you already knew about this lair from your notes.  But out of interest, how might you have found it?  How obvious is it?"

"Overall the concealment is pretty good, but I spotted the solar panels from the air," Fardon explained.  "Unfortunately those are a bit of a giveaway."

"I was afraid of that.  I do have emergency backup for winter or if the Hunters try sabotaging the panels to try and smoke me out, but... Urgh.  If you have any advice there, that would be welcome."

"We have nuclear batteries," the knight said.  "But they're not cheap.  We can't just give them away, sadly."

"Well, it's good to know that's an option.  I might try to get one next time I visit Tarnover.  How many other lairs have you visited today, if I may ask?"

"This is the fifth," Fardon said.  "Some were on the list, one is new and I've arranged for a door upgrade.  One... no longer had a dragon in it," he sighed.  "I hope they've just moved on to somewhere more permanent, but I fear the worst.  A family of humans have taken it over now, and they wouldn't - or couldn't - tell me what happened to the previous occupant."

"They don't qualify for help," Fiskul added helpfully.  "Doubly so if they took the place by force."

"The Hunters have been active here recently," Acer admitted.  "I've been tuning into their radios.  They have this new toy, the Watcher, they call it.  Floats around.  Some kind of surveillance drone.  I've seen the thing a few times - the way it moves, it's probably made with dragonbone," he shuddered.

"If I may say so, you don't seem particularly worried about Hunters attacking you, for all that," Fardon said.  "Or us attacking you, for that matter.  Most dragons I have to interview are more cagey, or scared that I've come to seize their home or murder them or something."

"Well, like I say, I've seen a few of your surveys before.  But I can defend myself," he said.  "And... well, I have this now."

The dragon raised one of their forelegs, displaying a golden bracelet that had a faint glow to it.

Fardon looked at the thing with dismay.  "Oh hell.  Is that what I think it is...?"

"It is," the dragon retorted.  "And I would very much like to keep it, even if that means moving away from Taria's influence."

"Where did you get this thing?"  Fardon demanded.

"From one of Lord Thurr's thugs," Acer replied unhappily.  "I had to kill him... It was self-defence.  The bracelet looked pretty so I looted it from them as a trophy.  Didn't know what it was at the time."

"It's a shame they had to die," Fiskul sighed.  "But..." he glanced at the knight, whose eyes were bulging with astonishment.  "Fardon...?  Are you okay...?"

"Acer, are you crazy?!" he spluttered.  "Are you trying to tell me that you killed an elite warrior... Who was wearing a bracelet of invulnerability?!"

"Yes, I did," Acer said, puffing himself up angrily and assuming a defensive posture.  "It wasn't easy, and I still have nightmares about it.  I got lucky, and it should have been me that died that day.  No doubt it's put me way up Lord Thurr's wanted list - and if you don't believe me, ask him!"

"I don't think you're lying, but... But how?!"  Fardon asked desperately.  "How did you kill someone who can't be wounded?!"

"I drowned him," the dragon admitted sullenly.  "The fight was near Lake Alta, and I had to hold his head under until he went limp.  I'm not proud of it, but when an invincible maniac is out to murder you because you refused fealty to his mad Lord, well, a dragon has to do what a dragon has to do.  I got lucky that day.  I should have died - but instead, I got some neat protective jewellery.  I guess Alkrash was smiling on me that day."

"It does sound handy," Fiskul said, admiring the shiny object with wide eyes.  "Though it's a shame about the way you acquired it.  And going by Fardon's reaction, I take it there's a catch.  These things must be pretty rare, or everyone would have one and the whole Hunters-vs-Dragons thing wouldn't even be possible."

"I need to know if they're legal in Taria," Acer said, looking troubled.  "If it's likely to be confiscated, I want to know first, before I turn up there and suddenly get arrested for possession.  And don't even think about taking it from me right here," he added, eyes narrowing.

"No, no," Fardon said slowly.  "They're not illegal.  Lord Varl has one himself... But they are frowned upon.  Enchantments to protect the wearer from harm, well, the theory is college-level magic, though it does only work on dragons... seems to need a large body mass for the effect to work properly.  The hard part is that... Well, they need a power source to run."

"Oh... No, no, no," Fiskul looked dismayed.

"Yes," Fardon said grimly.  "To make an invulnerability charm powerful enough to protect a whole dragon, you'll need the trapped souls from a hundred men... or from another dragon.  Under the Pax Draconica, existing charms are grandfathered in, because they are shockingly useful... But they are tightly-controlled items and must be officially registered.  To create a new one..?  That is a capital crime in most lands."

"I was afraid of that," Acer sighed.  "Something like this seems too good to be true.  There is a strong argument to be made for destroying it and releasing the... power source.  But... once you have an advantage like this, that could save you even from an armour-piercing round to the head, that's a tough thing to let go of, and it has already saved my neck on numerous occasions.
"Still, I do visit Taria for supplies occasionally and I would not like to give that up either...  Very well.  I will take it to Tarnover and get it examined.  If it needs to be registered, I will fill out that paperwork.  If they decide it must be destroyed, then... Then perhaps that's for the best."

Fardon glanced at Fiskul.  "Reckon it would be proof against you?"

"Not a clue," the small dragon sighed.  "In all my life I've not come across these before... or at least, I didn't realise what I was seeing if I did.  Otherwise... with a bunch of these things, I might have lost a lot less friends.  But then... the price for that protection...  I can see why Acer is so conflicted about it.
"As for devouring it, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not experiment with something so precious.  Besides, if it doesn't protect him against me, I'd end up devouring his wrist and nobody wants that."

Acer croaked with dismay.  "Oh hell... You're not just some kind of goth kid?  You actually are the Dark One?  Or think you are?"

"Don't mind me," Fiskul said, looking embarrassed.  "Just a wandering demigod looking for love and friendship.  I like Fardon, I don't want him to get hurt again."

"As long as it's not the end times," Acer shrugged his wings.  "But... After all you've said about the bracelet... Damn right I'm conflicted.  I like my life... I don't want to lose it, not to Hunters nor to Lord Thurr and his cronies.  But that doesn't mean I'm okay with soul-stealing."

"I wouldn't normally say this, but speaking as the Devourer-of-All-Things, I'd rather you kept it," Fiskul said.  "Your willingness to sacrifice your own safety is commendable, but if you've made enemies of Lord Thurr, you need all the help you can get.  Take it to Tarnover, get it examined.  But if they confiscate it, I'd recommend you move to Taria for your own protection."

"But..." Acer looked troubled.

"Unless you're wanted as a war-criminal, we don't really care," Fardon said.  "Taking down one of his elite mooks is a point in your favour.  And if you are wanted by others, then we might be able to wangle some kind of amnesty.  Ultimately, this is a worst-case scenario... They'll probably let you keep it after it's been registered."

"I hope so," Fiskul said worriedly.  "If he loses that protection bracelet, Lord Thurr could very well turn him into one.  And I'd tell the officials that if they try to take it."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 16 - Sanctum

Vinny landed in front of Mermul as he approached the entrance.

"Hello, Mermul," the brown dragon said, looking a little surprised.  "I thought you were in Tarnover.  I'm afraid we're still investigating, so the house and grounds are off-limits.  You'll have to leave, but if there's something you want from the house, I may be able to get it for you."

"It's not that..." Mermul said, looking a little flustered.  "I may have some information, and it might be important to the investigation.  But... it'll sound crazy."

"You don't sound too sure," Vinny shrugged his wings.  "But okay.  What do you know?"

"It might be nothing, but I might know where one of the secret rooms is.  I'd like to try an experiment.  If it doesn't work, you can kick me off the premises.  But... I figured it's worth a shot."

"There's a lot of 'mays' and 'mights' there," the other dragon admitted.  "If Darving hears it, he'd get suspicious."

"Okay," Mermul said, looking embarrassed.  "This is a silly question, but... Uh... Is your name Vinter...?"

The other dragon did a double-take.  "Only my closest friends ever call me that," he admitted.  "I had a wild past...  Tried to leave it behind, along with that name."

"That goes for many of us," Mermul admitted.  "And I don't want to bring it up, but it's part of the message I got.  If that's part's true, then maybe the rest is.  Can you take me to Sir Darving...?"

"Message?! Gods, Mermul... Who have you been talking to...?" Vinny asked, horrified.

Mermul just stared back at him for a while.  "You wouldn't believe me," he said at last, glancing fixedly at the ground between them.

Vinny arched his neck back, pulling his head away from Mermul.  He looked scared.  "Go on,"

"Listen, I know how crazy this sounds," the fluff-dragon began awkwardly, "But I had a dream about Aunt Fercia.  She wanted to apologise for what she'd done.  She told me a secret, to try and help make up for her crimes.  And... and she told me to tell Vinter she's so very sorry, and that he can have the black trunk..."

The other dragon blinked rapidly.  "Holy gods," he said.  "I think you'd better come in."

*  *  *

"I don't believe this," Sir Darving said, looking pained.  "You flew all the way from Tarnover, without Fardon because you had a bad dream...?  What are you up to, Mermul...?  What's your game?"

"I left him a message," the fluff dragon protested.  "And it's not like I left Taria entirely!  And yes, I know this sounds ridiculous... but I promised her I'd try.
"Look at it this way - if it's real, it's important to all of us.  If I'm just going crazy, then... Well, I apologise for wasting everyone's time.  But there's only one way to find out, and little to lose in trying, right..?"

"That's true," the red dragon conceded.  "I'll be honest, we haven't found much more.  If you truly know of a new secret room then...  Well, it would be helpful.  See what you can do."

"She said there were two statues," Mermul said.  "And that I should stand between them and think of my hatchday.  And that inside there's something that will help us defeat Lord Thurr."

Sir Darving made a pitying expression.  "That sounds the most dreamlike of it all, Mermul," he sighed.  "Surely you don't believe you're some kind of Chosen One?  Besides, why would she want to take down Lord Thurr at all?"

"Of course I don't," Mermul glowered.  "And I'm not kidding myself into believing that there's anything here that would protect me from his wrath.  But...  If it helps defend this realm in any way, it's worth it.  Vinny, what is the black trunk Fercia mentioned?"

"It's... a trunk in one of the dens," the dragon admitted, looking embarrassed.  "It has her coin collection in it.  I collect them too, we've traded a few in our time.  She had an unusual amount of currency from Thurr's realm... and maybe I should have spotted that, but she also had a lot of Hunter money as well.
"If the estate was auctioned... I did hope it would at least go to someone who appreciates it."

"Well, if the dream message is real, she wants you to have it,"  Mermul said.  "If it's not, you may as well take it anyway, as far as I'm concerned."

"If she gave you a message that Vinny understood and you didn't..." Sir Darving admitted.  "Well, maybe there's something in it after all.  But I still don't understand why she would want to aid us against Lord Thurr?  She's got a shrine to him!"

"Because he got her killed," Mermul said.  "Not that it's completely his fault - we all have our dark sides - but he encouraged it.  In death, she's had a change of perspective.  She's seen the stupidity of his doctrine, and she wants to stop it.  To help atone for the awful things she did.  Like with me... just too late for her to benefit from it."

"It sounds like you're defending her," Darving frowned.  "Though... Hell, I don't know.  Like you say, there's nothing to lose.  Let's try it."

*  *  *

"There are more than two statues in the garden," Darving pointed out.  "But... well, the two large dragons facing each other.  If there is anything in this, that's where I'd try."

Mermul awkwardly strode to the centre-point between the two large dragon statues, feeling like an idiot. 

Like birds, dragons have an internal compass, so Mermul had little difficulty orienting himself to the west.  Having done so, he closed his eyes and thought of his hatchday, as commanded.  Nothing happened.

He tried again, using both the standard and Lord Thurr versions of the date.  Nothing.

"Well, that was a wash," Vinny said, looking disappointed.  Sir Darving watched expressionlessly.

"It seemed so real," Mermul sighed, looking crushed.  "It... Look, nevermind.  I promised I'd try and I did.  I'm sorry for wasting your time..."

The red dragon ignored this.  He looked at Mermul, lowered the visor of his helmet for a moment, and then grinned wickedly.  "One O'Clock, Mermul," he said.

Mermul blinked for a second, before realising he was being given an angle.

"Oh," he said, and tried again.  This time there was a loud clunk, and a section of path swung down to reveal an entrance, just large enough for a frost-dragon to enter.

"Well, shit," Sir Darving said.  "You realise, Mermul, that this isn't going to get the villa back to you any sooner, right?  We're going to have to search this place as well."

"She said it was a panic room," Mermul shrugged.  "So there's probably not going to be a huge amount of stuff down there.  Though what there is, might well be of interest."

Vinny tried to squeeze himself into the narrow passage, only to get stuck.  Sir Darving and Mermul had to pull him out, and the larger knight had no hope of fitting down there himself.

"Okay, Mermul," Sir Darving said, returning with a small camera unit that he fitted to the frost-dragon's collar.  "I guess you'll have to go down there.  After all, it's your property now."

"But why didn't it open the first time?" the frost-dragon asked.

"Oh... the Dizzy Mountains!"  Vinny exclaimed suddenly.

"Yes.  There's a local magnetic flux," Sir Darving explained, placing a small video screen on the ground.  "Iron and stuff in the nearby hills.  It throws everyone off a few degrees if you're not expecting it."

"The mountains make your head spin if you fly too close and too fast," Vinny added.

"Indeed.  However, the mountains don't affect the GPS in my helmet - or whatever opens the secret door. "

*  *  *

"Can you hear me?" the collar asked.

"Loud and clear," Mermul replied.  "Fercia didn't say anything about traps.  If she really wants to help against Lord Thurr, she'd probably have warned me if there was anything dangerous."

"If it's really a panic room, she'd want to be able to get there fast," Sir Darving's voice pointed out.  "That said, it might be trapped - but with a safe mode for those of her kin."

Mermul found the lights and saw that he was standing in a large, squared off bunker with rough, unpainted walls.  There was a ventilation system, a store room full of dried and tinned meat, a small shower and toilet, and a den with a pile of large pebbles on it.

Mermul sniffed at the hoard.  "She's slept on this at least once," he reported.  "Either she got spooked and hunkered down here for a bit, or she's been regularly visiting and took a nap."

"It's in pretty good repair," Sir Darving barked over the collar.  "I'd guess she's been here regularly."

Mermul entered one of the larger rooms, and immediately noticed a number of lights glowing faintly in the darkness.  There was the sound of a fan, and other machinery as well.

"Ohhh," he said, hitting the lights.  It was a computer room, with a large CRT projection display on one wall, which slowly kicked into life.

"Are you getting this?" he asked the collar.

"Well, shit!"  Sir Darving's voice said.  "If that's what I think it is... It solves the problem of the spy.  She has a direct link to Lord Thurr."

"Is that what she meant?"  Vinny's voice intruded over the collar.  "That we could break into Lord Thurr's mainframe?"

"I don't think so," Mermul frowned.  "She said it was an artifact.  If she meant computers, she'd probably have said so.  She'd have given me a password."

"You could try your hatchday again," Vinny replied.

"Not yet," Sir Darving said.  "If it really is linking to Thurr's computer systems, they'll spot the failed login.  I'd leave this to us, when we can find someone the right size."

"Small races?"  Mermul asked.

"They'll struggle with the stairs," Sir Darving pointed out.  "To say nothing of the keyboard.  No, we'll need a smaller dragon who is also a security expert.  I'd look to see what else is around."

The next room was empty apart from a large pedestal.  In the centre of this was a beautifully-constructed wooden container, with ornate spikes upon it.  Mermul gingerly touched the case, found the latch and opened it a crack.  Pale violet light glowed faintly within, from some kind of crystal sphere.  He quickly shut it.

"I've found the artifact," he said quietly.

*  *  *

"Milord, I bring news," the dragon said nervously.

"What?"  Thurr demanded irritably.  He lay sprawled across a pile of smooth obsidian rocks, and opened one eye.

"Lady Fercia has fallen," the dragon informed him, looking worried.  "The cameras in her bunker... We spotted an intruder... a dragon exploring her inner sanctum.  She would never, ever have allowed this to happen while alive."

The red dragon's head perked up and he stared at the underling, eyes narrowing.

"Someone did Fercia?" he snapped.  "And reached her sanctum?!  Varl's lackeys could never have opened the protection without help... They shouldn't even be able to find it with the obscenely expensive wards she bought.  There must be a traitor.  Find what happened.  Now!"

"We do have a theory, milord...  The intruder is Mirmjolnar.  The assassin who defected to Arcaia."

Lord Thurr snarled, showing a row of deadly teeth, and a small wisp of flames shot between them.  "Of course...  That treacherous little shit!  He's killed her and conquered her territory!  The wards wouldn't stop him..."

"It appears so, Lord.  Our agent in Tarnover has sighted him prior, and reports that he has been lairing there recently.  If Mirmjolnar has truly won her estate by right of conquest, he will probably need to fetch his possessions there from Tarnover."

"Activate agent Sarkir.  Mirmjolnar must be taken before he can do more damage.  I want him alive for interrogation.  And then..." the Dragon Lord grinned evilly, showing rows of deadly fangs.  "...Entertainment."

The other dragon gulped and looked at the ground.  "It... It may be past that point, Lord.  There is a complication.  Lady Fercia..."

"Shit," Thurr whispered.  "Who has the Xebulon?!  It was her, wasn't it!  Where is it?!  Is it safe?!"

"He took it, Lord," the dragon croaked.  "Mirmjolnar removed it from the sanctum...  That was the last thing we saw before he left.  The cameras went dead shortly after that... he must have seen them and cut the link."

The dragon-lord's eyes widened with horror.

"Kill him," he hissed.  "Kill him right now!  I want his head... and his heart!"

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 17 - Artifact

The pointed wooden container stood on the workbench.  It was about the size of a barrel.  Inside it, dimly visible through a tinted window in the ornate casing, an orb glowed with mystic energies.

"Zeelah," Sir Darving said, by way of introduction.  "Enchantress to Lord Varl.  Vinny you already know, but this is Mermul."

"Charmed," the enchantress said, holding out a white and purple scaled hand which the fluff-dragon took.  "And I presume you would like my opinion on... this?  Well, well!  I haven't seen one of these for a while!  I'd ask where you even got this thing from, but I'm not sure I want to know."

"I found it," Mermul said.  "I inherited a house and this was in one of the basements.  What is it?"

"It is a Xebulon," the dragoness said.  "A necromantic artifact used in the stealing of souls.  Terminally illegal to possess under Tarian law, I might add."

"B-But..." Mermul protested, appalled.

"You don't possess it," Sir Darving said, glancing at the stricken frost-dragon.  "It is now property of the state.  And... While we do not always see eye-to-eye, I am not so stupid as to want to execute the person who retrieved it for us.
"We would never have found this thing without your help.  And Fercia's too, I guess.  If you dream of her again, Mermul... give her our thanks."

"Thanks... but what does it do?"  Mermul asked nervously.  "Is it going to steal our souls...?"

"No.  It's harmless to us," Zeelah said.  "But for whoever created it... well, they won't want it falling into the wrong claws."

"You mean... It's a phylactery?"  Mermul asked, wide-eyed.  "Like the old fantasy stories?"

"Not exactly.  A phylactery is where you put your own soul into a separate object and hide it away, so you can't be killed without that soul-jar being destroyed first.  Incidentally, that is pure bullshit and does not work," she added.

"What this is..." the enchantress continued, "Well... It's complicated.  In order to steal a soul, you must first create a device like this and attune it to yourself.  Without that step, the spells simply won't work.  You should only need to do this once.  I'm not even sure what happens if you try to create a second one - probably something bad.  Necromancy is extremely dangerous, after all.

"The snag is, once you've created it, it can act like an undo button for soul-stealing.  So you have to keep the object far away, and preferably well-hidden.  If it gets too close, it negates the binding and the souls you've taken will be freed."

"Presumably that also happens if the object is destroyed?"  Mermul asked.  "Which is why it was hidden away instead of removed from existence?"

"Precisely.  If they destroyed it, they'd be be back to square one and have to start over."

"Couldn't he have thrown it in the sea, though...?"  Sir Darving asked.  "Lose the thing forever?"

"Generally, the necromancer doesn't want it outside of their control, so it's usually entrusted to an exceptionally loyal underling," Zeelah said.  "But, at the same time, they may need to access the thing again, using suitable protective wards.  For example, they might want to release a specific soul in future, and they will need the device to do that."

"So if we destroy it..." the knight began, eyeing the spiky wooden box triumphantly.

"Sadly, we can't.  Not without killing its creator, anyway."

"Fine by me," Sir Darving said.  "Creating it at all was a monstrous act, so let's just smash it and end their evil!"

"You misunderstand," the enchantress said, cradling the wooden object in her hands and peering into the glowing orb within.  "To destroy a Xebulon, you generally have to kill its creator first... or bring it back into to their presence.  We do not have the means to destroy it here, and even if we somehow managed to do so, that would not kill the necromancer - though it would seriously weaken them, if they have been using souls to strengthen themselves.
"Who do you suspect has created this one, if I may ask?" she added, craning her neck to look at the dragon-knight.

"Lord Thurr," Sir Darving said.  Zeelah almost dropped the artifact.  Her head jerked back as if she was about to start keening like Mermul, but she managed to stop herself by an effort of will, letting out only a brief whimper.

"...That's... that's bad," she said shakily, putting the thing gently down on the worktop.  "If he realises it's been disturbed, he'll stop at nothing to get control of this...  It could mean a war."

Mermul broke down and began keening himself.  "What have I done...?" he howled.  "Auntie... What have we done?!"

"Don't blame yourself," Sir Darving said, looking awkward and embarrassed as he tried to comfort Mermul.  "This would have happened anyway.  Thurr would have found out about Fercia's execution and the sale of her estate eventually...  But thanks to you, we know there will be a problem.  Otherwise this would have just hit us out of the blue with no warning.  You've done us a fine service."

"What worries me is the cameras," Vinny said.  "We cut the connection, just in case.  But we don't know if they're going to a local videotape recorder... Or to Lord Thurr.  If it's all going down a satellite link to him..."

"He'll see!  He'll know!"  Mermul whimpered.

"You said that you don't have the means to destroy this thing," Darving pointed out.  "Do you know someone who might?"

"Well..."  Zeelah said thoughtfully, "You might want to try consulting a witch.  One of the problems of being full of ancient wisdom is that sometimes you fall behind the cutting edge... I'd try Madame Featherstone.  I'll give you her address."

*  *  *

"A witch...?"  Mermul looked puzzled as they approached the district they had been given.  It was a no-fly area, so the three of them trotted along the path.  "Are witches actually real?  Like, out of the fairy stories...?"

"We're magical creatures," Vinny reminded him.  "Most of us know a few healing spells.  The Small Races... they're not so good at it, hence technology.  But sometimes...  Well, you get part-dragons.  Someone with our blood in them, they'll have the gift.  Longer lives in which to learn, as well."

Mermul looked horrified.

"You're not racist, are you...?"  Sir Darving frowned.

"Certainly not!" the fluff-dragon squeaked indignantly.  "I just... I'm trying not to think about how they'd be conceived!"

"While the dragon parent is shapeshifted," Vinny smirked.  Mermul looked a bit relieved.

Madame Featherstone's secluded house was surrounded by tall bushes, and being forbidden to fly, Mermul's view was obscured until they reached the entrance to her property.  Mermul gasped as the driveway came into view.  Through ornate bars of a gate, lush gardens were visible, in the same style as his own new home.

"This can't be right," he said.  "It's a villa!  There's... a h-helicopter on a pad," he swallowed, thinking of the Hunters who had shot him down.  "This is no witch's cottage... we must have the wrong address."

"No," Vinny said.  "That's her name on the sign."

Sir Darving pushed a button on the intercom, and after a brief conversation, the gates slid open to admit the three dragons.  The front door opened, and an oppossum emerged, dressed in a business suit.

"Well met," she said.  "I am Madame Featherstone.  Usually I would require an appointment, but since you are here on state business..." she smiled at Mermul's bewildered expression as he looked around the sumptious grounds.

"Not what you expected for a witch?" she smirked.  "Turns out, being a sorceress pays very well.  Yes, dragons like Zeelah are better at it, but there's a lot of places out there where you need someone powerful, yet small enough to fit into places a dragon can't."

"What about shapeshifting?"  Vinny asked.  "That would help, right...?"

"Not as much as you might think.  Not all dragons can do that, and it puts you at a disadvantage when you can.  You don't have full power when shifted, or so I hear.  It's also very dangerous when dispelling things - if you accidentally kill the shapeshifting spell, you'll suddenly turn back into a full-size dragon."

"Madame," Sir Darving began.  "We have here a forbidden artifact, which Zeelah identified as a Xebulon.  She was wondering if you knew of a way to destroy it."

"Oof," the furre said, looking disturbed.  "Throwing it into a volcano might work... but if it doesn't, good luck fishing it out again for another try.  Your best bet would be to bring it into contact with the thing's creator.  Once it becomes inert, you can probably just crush the thing.  Otherwise the only sure way is to...  Well, nuclear fusion would probably give you enough energy, if you can fling it into the sun..."

"Shit," Vinny moaned.  "I'd hoped we could destroy it before Thurr comes looking to get it back!"

"Yeeg," the oppossum said, looking horrified.  "If his spies come looking for that, I don't want it here, thank you!"

"We'll have to decide how to handle this," Sir Darving said.  "Thank you for confirming our fears, Madame, and apologies for disturbing you.  We shall take our leave."

"If it's alright, I would like a word with your fluffy companion first," the oppossum said.

"Me?" Mermul looked surprised.

"I've seen you in the news," the witch said.  Mermul uttered a low moan.  "Don't worry," she added quickly.  "I'm not going to ask about that.  But I would like to hear, from a new face, from someone who was once associated with Lord Thurr, what your thoughts are about power."

"Power?" the fluff-dragon looked surprised.

"Political, and/or physical power," the witch said, pulling out a voice recorder.  "As you may know, there is some dragon blood in me.  But I have never been clear on how much, and how much it affects me...  How much of me is normal furre psychology, and how much of me is draconic.  Your thoughts on the matter may help, since it's rare to hear from someone close to Thurr."

Mermul shrugged his wings, flustered.

"Well, we're dragons," Mermul said.  "Dragons seek power.  Some feel the call more than others, but very few are immune to its siren song.
"If you become more powerful, you can defend yourself more.  Hunt bigger prey, get better territory - better food - in the olden days.  Intuitively, it makes sense.
"But the flipside is that the more powerful you are, the more the Small Races feel threatened and the harder they try to kill you, hence the wars.
"And now there are lots of ways to do that, to kill a mighty dragon so easily...  Seeking to become the biggest and baddest dragon... These days, it's more of a liability than a survival trait."

"Besides you can't all be Top Dragon," the oppossum pointed out.  "Dragon society seems to gravitate to having a ruler, and dragons who serve under them."

"Yeah," Mermul said.  "Most of us we want to be powerful, but being in service to someone even more powerful, that kind of short-circuits it because we're social creatures.  So we think we've got more powerful, by being part of a more powerful group.  Probably a safety feature to stop us just slaughtering each other for territory, I guess, given that we're so slow to reproduce...
"Also the dominance thing... 'submit or die' tends to naturally form hierarchies.  Though that attitude is a thing we try to suppress in modern societies.  And there are ways to work around it, too," he added.

"Oh?" the oppossum asked.

"In Arcaia, dragons sometimes just land on public buildings, and just perch there looking menacing.  Don't do much, maybe just glower at people passing by.  I've seen it here too.  Done it myself, sometimes..." he added, looking embarrassed.

"Interesting.  Why do you do that?"

"Well... if you can land on a property and nobody stops you, the primitive part of your dragon-brain believes you've conquered the territory," Mermul said.  "It's silly, but it does help short-circuit the urges.  It becomes more awkward if it's someone's house, though.  They tend not to like that.
"There are medications available to dampen power cravings as well," he added.  "For extreme cases, that can be useful.  I mean, the Small Races have some people who need chemical help to remain sane, right?  It's not like dragons are immune to such disorders.  The invention of video games also helps, since you can conquer virtual worlds."

"Thank you, Mr. Mermul, that has been very insightful," the witch said.

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 18 - Attack

"Mermul!"  Fiskul exclaimed, landing beside him.  "What the heck are you doing back in the capital?!"

"I left you a note!" The fluff-dragon protested.  "I had to return to the villa to try something!"

"It didn't make sense!" Fiskul said.  "Something about getting a message from your strange aunt..."

"Estranged," Mermul corrected.  "And... maybe not anymore.  We've made up our differences."

Fardon looked horrified, as he landed between them.

"You reconciled with Fercia?!" he gurgled.  "After what she did to the nursery?  And... Well, you know she's dead, Mermul...?"

"She came to me in a dream," the fluff-dragon said.  "She wanted to say she realised she was wrong, and was really sorry, and that she had an artifact that might help against Lord Thurr.  She gave me very specific instructions, and I had to try them."

Fardon shook his head.  "I don't believe this..."

"Exactly," Mermul said defensively.  "You wouldn't have let me go.  But this was important!  I had to know if it was real!"

"It sounded ridiculous," Sir Darving admitted.  "I feared some kind of treachery from Mermul.  And yet... the artifact is now in our custody.  Mermul, and apparently Fercia, have done Lord Varl a great service, though Lord Thurr is likely to react very badly when he learns of this."

"It wasn't my part to forgive her for an act of terrorism," Mermul said.  "That's between her and her victims.  But she has seen the error of her ways, and found her path to redemption.  That has to deserve something, surely?  She has to know that it's the right thing to do."

"I guess so," Fardon shook himself and looked at the sky.  "Well," he said, "Unless you want to sleep in Eastcrag, we'd best to get you back to my villa.  If we leave soon, we can still arrive before dark."

*  *  *

The sun was just beginning to touch the mountains by the time the trio made it back to Tarnover.

As they came in to land, Mermul suddenly screamed and fell from the sky.  Fiskul grew until he was bigger than Fardon and landed over the stricken dragon, shielding him with his wings.

A shot rang out, striking Fiskul, who gave a yelp of pain, and blasted a thin stream of void breath in the rough direction of the shooter, consuming half of a tree.  Fardon swooped down into the woodland, trying to get at the sniper before they could reload.

"Halt!" he snarled.  "Surrender, or die!"

Fiskul shrank to something more like Mermul's size and began examining the stricken dragon.  "Mermul...?" they asked worriedly.  "Can you hear me...?"

"Hurts," the fluff-dragon whimpered.  "My wing... bleeding heavily..."

"Shit," the Devourer said, craning their neck to see.  "I can fix the bleeding, but broken bones... that will take longer."

"Put that down, and we'll let you live..." Fardon snarled, wrestling with an unseen opponent in the trees.  "Put that DOWN!"

Fiskul's magic had sealed the ugly wound in Mermul's wing, and the bleeding had mostly stopped, when there was another loud crack.  Blood and brain matter splashed from the black-red dragon's skull and they collapsed, twitching.

Mermul whimpered in a mixture of fear and pain.

Angrily, Fardon crushed the weapon with his claws and seized the assassin.  Turning around, he took in the scene of Mermul and Fiskul lying prone on the ground next to each other and his eyes blazed with anger.

"We do not usually hang people," he said slowly.  "It is considered cruel.  But if they are both dead, I shall request an exemption, just for you."

"I'm not dead!"  Mermul yelped quickly.  "Do not kill them!  But Fiskul..."

Fardon scowled at the assassin.  "If it was anyone else, you would die for violating the Pax Draconica," he said.  "But fortunately for you, you have killed the Devourer."

"Praise Anah!" the human said ecstatically, choking off as Fardon squeezed him.

"Oh, a cultist," the dragon sighed.  "I hate having to execute people, but... You might be too dangerous to live."

"So are you," the cultist wheezed.  "Your kind was destined to destroy the world... but now I have slain the Devourer... I will go to Anah... Knowing that I have saved my kind..."

"It's not that easy," Fardon said.  "He'll just respawn, and that is why you may avoid execution.  Because if we wait until then, nobody has to know about it, right...?"

"...Oh."

*  *  *

The cultist sat in the interview room, hands cuffed as a couple of guards and a lawyer watched over him.  The interrogator was a furre, and on a video screen set to one side, Fardon's face was visible.

"You're in a lot of trouble, son," the furre said.  "Multiple attempted murders.  Fortunate that you had the good sense not to fire at one of the King's deputies, or there'd be no hope for you.  Now, I'll save time and start with what we already know.
"You are one Mr. Stevens of Cragmire, a mechanic, and apparently also an anti-dragon cultist, an acolyte of the Eye of Harkness.
"You got the weapon by mail order from a sex shop catering to exotic tastes, a deactivated rifle intended as a prop for the dragonslayer kink.  You managed to fix it up and got it working.  Then, you attacked three dragons returning to Tarnover just before sunset."

"Like you say, you already know that," the human sighed.

"While we're not sure where you got the ammunition from, the most important question is why," the official said.

"Because the dragon race will destroy the world," Stevens said.  "You know that.  It's prophesied in all the major religions.  All we're trying to do is stop that from happening.  No more dragons, no more threat to the world.  Yes, that's harsh, but it's better that some should suffer than the world end entirely, right...?"

"There are two problems with that," Fardon pointed out.  "Firstly, the Devourer cannot die.  You blew their head open, and they were already up and about before we even left.  So even if you make the rest of us extinct, they will remain, and it is they who will destroy the world, if the prophecy ever comes to pass.  So, much as I hate to disrespect religion, your plan isn't going to work.
"Secondly, you are missing a key part of the prophecy.  The Devourer makes friends... all the religions say so, though they have a garbled interpretation of why.
"I have spoken to the Devourer, and I know that their friends are actually just that, people they like and can talk to when they feel lonely.  And this is the most important thing - so long as the Devourer has friends, they remain happy.
"But if all those friends die, the Devourer will grieve their loss.  And if they become depressed enough that they decide they have nothing left to live for, that is when the world will end."

The cultist paled.  "N-no!  He... He draws his strength from his friends!  Once they're all dead, we'll be able to kill him forever!"

"Do you want to ask the Devourer that?  Do you want to see the interview tapes?  They ate Mount Arthon after losing a friend called Verthyr... Do you want to risk them eating a province?  A continent?!
"If your theory is true, explain where that mountain went!  And, for your information, the Devourer sometimes makes human friends as well, so I guess you'd better start exterminating yourselves, too..."

"Y-you're lying!"

"I wish," Fardon said, looking harassed.  "I live in the world as well, and I don't want it to end any more than you do.  The King is terrified of the Devourer, and with them having settled in his realm, we are treating them with kid gloves.  And more importantly, we are trying to protect the Devourer's friends to avoid the World-Eater going into some kind of apocalyptic funk.  I'm afraid that sooner or later, you'll have to come to terms with it - you've got the whole thing ass-backwards."

"Also, you deliberately targeted one of the Devourer's friends," the furre said, eyes narrowing.  "You had a clear shot at the Devourer - the one you claim to be targeting - and instead you shot someone else.  Why?"

"He... he was a bigger target..."

"Bullshit!"  Fardon said.  "I was bigger than both of them!"

"Someone put you up to this," the furre said.  "You were sat in a tree, waiting for a specific dragon to come past so you could shoot them.  And you disabled them - there is no way you were aiming for anything vital.  You wanted to do something first.  Admit it, and we'll go easy on you."

The cultist glanced at his lawyer, who nodded back. 

"There's a bounty on Mermul," he said, sinking back into his chair.  "But they want information first.  About an artifact.  After that... he had to die.  I didn't think he'd have an escort, and normally I wouldn't even have tried, but for that kind of money..."

Fardon's face slid gently off-shot as he sat down like a dog, and when he reappeared, he was covering his eyes with his hands.  "Shit," he said.  "Shit, shit, shit."

"Mr. Stevens," he said at last.  "You are part of a cult that seeks to kill dragons, so I don't suppose you have a very high opinion of my kind.  Would that be a fair assessment?"

"Maybe you're right," the cultist sighed.  "Maybe we did get it wrong, and in seeking to save the world, we're actually threatening it.  I need to think about this some more..." he glanced at the handcuffs.  "I guess I'll have a while to do that in..."

"Please answer the question," Fardon said.  "What do you, personally, think about dragons?"

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" the cultist replied stubbornly.  "A lot of fellow Eye members wouldn't.  Well, it's nothing personal.  I just wanted to try and stop the apocalypse.  And if that means sacrificing one of the other races, it's a shame, but you have to look out for number one..."

"Okay," Fardon said.  "Close enough, I suppose.  So, how would you feel if I told you that that bounty was put out by Lord Thurr, the dragon supremacist...?"

"...Fuck."

"While we know Thurr wants an artifact Mermul took, we do not know who his agent is," Fardon said.  "And to be frank, a reformed cultist would be a valuable asset.  Let's talk about plea bargains."

*  *  *

"Well, the good news is that you should make a full recovery," the dragoness said.  "Your friend did a good job healing the cut, but the damage to the wing was severe.  We heal quickly, but you'll not be able to fly for several weeks.  And please try to avoid moving it too much."

Mermul looked scared, glancing at the splint on his wing, which pinned it in an awkward position.

"It's not that bad," Fiskul said reassuringly.  "Your legs are only bruised, you can still walk.  Fardon's villa is at ground level, so you won't have problems there either."

"I..." Mermul said, looking upset.  "Thurr sometimes killed dragons who could no longer fly... Called them weak and a liability.  And when I first came here... Fardon's apartment in Eastcrag... the skyscrapers being built...  All designed to be reached from the air, and I figured... maybe it was the same here..."

"Oh!" the dragoness sounded shocked.  "No, no, no!  Our job is to heal the injured!  Would we have performed surgery on your wing if our aim was to take your life?
"Look - wing injuries are not uncommon.  People make mistakes, have accidents.  And the Hunters often aim for the wing, as happened here.  Even an otherwise healthy dragon may overexert themselves and pull a muscle.  While I can't speak for Eastcrag, modern buildings always have lift access for those who can't fly for some reason.  It just that obviously, most people prefer to fly given the choice."

Mermul brightened slightly.  "Thank you, ma'am.  Earlier I worried that Taria was just going to be like Thurr's realm under the surface... I am glad to be proven wrong."

[Tapewolf]

Chapter 19 - Special Delivery

Two days had passed since the assassination attempt, and Mermul's wing was starting to heal, but not enough that he could fly yet.  Sleeping with it fixed in an awkward position had not helped him rest, but what really kept him awake was the knowledge that Lord Thurr had been pushed to breaking point, that he had given specific instructions for Mermul's immediate death.

"He'll try again," the fluff-dragon whimpered.  "He'll never stop.  Is this what I have to look forward to?  Centuries of fear that each day will be my last...?"

Fardon did not reply.

"Could we get him one of those invulnerability bracelets?"  Fiskul asked, looking worried.

"I don't know..."  Fardon sighed.  "They're illegal to make, because they need souls.  Maybe we could capture one from Thurr's people, but then you have the problem of how to defeat someone who's invulnerable.  I don't really want to confiscate Acer's, but... Well, if Mermul is one of your last surviving friends, we might be able to do something.  Get one from some other realm, made from the soul of a mass-murderer or something.  I will have to ask the King."

"It's not quite that bleak," Fiskul pointed out.  "There's Roberts... Vulthur... and a few others besides.  But it's true that I don't have many left now... and I don't want to lose Mermul!  If a bracer would help with that..."

"That's a horrible thought!"  Mermul protested.  "My life... at the cost of another's very soul?  That's not a path I want to go down!  You can't seriously consider destroying someone's soul?!  That's the sort of thing Thurr would do!"

"Souls are unbreakable," Fiskul corrected.  "If, gods forbid, Lord Thurr ate your soul, it would be bound to him until he died, or it was freed by means of a Xebulon.  But it's still a very shitty fate to suffer."

A pager in Fardon's collar beeped suddenly.

"Shit," he said.  "There's been another incident in the Disputed Territories.  I must check it at once.  Stay here, Mermul.  Fiskul, you keep watch on him, okay...?"

*  *  *

Mermul watched a couple of films, and then flicked through the news, switching between a channel intended for dragons, and channels intended for the Small Races.  Not long after, the doorbell rang and Fiskul hurried away to answer it.

A green-furred feline in a high-visibility jacket entered the living room, a medium-sized parcel in his hands.

"Package for Mermul...?" he said.  The fluff-dragon's eyes narrowed.  "Where's Fiskul...?" he demanded.

"Sorry, guv...?"

"You were let in by the Dark Destroyer" he continued.  "Didn't the sight of the Evil One faze you at all...?"

The cat said nothing, but Mermul could see traces of blood on one of his boots.  The fluff-dragon leaped for the door, causing a stab of pain from his injured wing.  Standing in the open gardens at the centre of the villa, he glanced around and tried to bar the door shut.  His draconic strength would have stopped any of the Small Races from pushing it open, but instead a scaled fist smashed through it, the same colour as the cat had been.

"Where is the Xebulon?" the green dragon demanded, butting his head through the door and splintering it.  "The artifact of power?!  My Lord demands its return!"

"I haven't got it!"  Mermul squealed, terrified.

"You lie!" the other dragon snarled.  "My master demands the truth!  Where is the Xebulon?!"

"I sold it!"  Mermul squeaked.  "It looked valuable, so I sold it to grow my hoard!"

The enemy dragon stared at him for a moment, cocking his head in a sudden moment of doubt.  "...You are weaker than I expected from a master assassin," he paused, and then his expression hardened.  "No matter.  I shall locate the artifact later.  But first..." he smashed down the remains of the door and walked fully into the gardens.  Little fragments of high-visibility vest and other clothing were still strewn across his powerful body.

"You have betrayed our Lord, Mirmjolnar.  I must kill you for this crime!"  The dragon bared his teeth with an evil smile.  "But before you die, know that it is Sarkir who will bring back your head!"

"Lord Varl will love this!"  Fiskul interrupted, taping the proceedings with an expensive, dragon-sized camcorder.  "But I think you flubbed your evil speech.  Once more, with feeling...?"

"YOU!" Sarkir croaked. "How?!  I killed you!"

"I am the Devourer of legend," Fiskul said.  "I cannot die."

"Lies!"  Sarkir looked unsettled.  "But we shall see.  After I have slain the traitor, I shall kill you for certain this time!  You know too much, and must die."

"And if you kill Mermul, I will devour you," the black and red dragon warned.  Sarkir froze, staring back at the small dragon uncertainly.

At that moment, two large, armoured dragons fell from the sky.  One grabbed Sarkir, the other pulled Mermul away from his assassin, causing him to yelp in pain as his wing flexed.  The big dragon grunted and fell over, smashing a pillar and bringing down a number of large plant-pots.

The large dragons fought bitterly, Sarkir incinerating a privet hedge, before the knight forced his muzzle shut and he resorted to lashing at his attackers with his tail and claws.  Fardon, even in full body armour, would have been evenly matched alone, but with Sir Narfus backing him up, the intruder was beaten into submission.

Sir Fardon held the dragon's head up by one horn.  "It's over," he said, teeth bared menacingly, pointing at the defeated foe's face with a razor-clawed gauntlet.

"No!  No!" Sarkir whimpered.  "Do not eat me, Lord!  I serve you!  Just let me live!  Do not eat me!"

"There is something particularly moving about watching such a powerful creature plead for their life," Fardon said, staring into Sarkir's eye.  The knight's expression grew hungry and the gleaming metal claw hovered between the terrified dragon's eyes, ready to punch through bone and skewer his victim's brain.

"I think it's really sad," Fiskul said despondently, still holding the camera.  "So many dragons are convinced they're immortal, only to find out the hard way that they were wrong, that simply being an apex predator wasn't enough to save them this time.  The shock of knowing that all your strength and scaly armour has betrayed you.  Not just shattered faith, but the horror when you realise you're going to die, that it's all over and you made a huge mistake..."

"That's... oddly specific," Mermul said, looking at the Devourer nervously.

"I will not kill him," Fardon stated, and the blade snapped back into his gauntlet.  "While dominating a fellow dragon may be satisfying, that kind of pleasure is not good for us."

"Well said," Fiskul chirped up.  "It's best not to feed that beast.  That way lies a dominance trip... and a violation of the Pact."

"It's also what Hunters do," Fardon added, lip curling.  "And we should try to be better than them."

"What do you want to do, Sir Fardon?" Sir Narfus asked, the gleaming edge of his tail-sword resting on the failed assassin's long, scaly neck.

"Detain him," Fardon said.  "Release him slowly and cuff his wings."

"I think he shapeshifted," Mermul put in quickly.  "Make sure you can suppress that, or he could turn into one of the Small Races again to escape!"

"Good spot," Fardon said.  "Cuff his wings, and put suppression bracers on his wrists.  If he makes any sudden moves..." the metal claw flicked out again.

"I will not," Sarkir said rapidly.  "You have bested me.  I am Sarkir - I serve you now, master."

"Do not call me that!" Fardon snapped.  "That is not how things work in Taria!  Our king rules with a light touch."

"Easy," Fiskul said, stopping the tape and lowering the camera.  "He's going to have to go through a period of adjustment.  If it helps keeps him calm, let him be your servant for now.  We can figure out something more permanent later."

"Let me see if I understand," Sir Narfus said, fixing Sarkir with a suspicious expression.  "Because we defeated you, you're switching allegiance to us...?  That's... a primitive way of thinking, but okay.  But what happens if someone else beats you up?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.  "Who's going to trust you if you're constantly switching sides?"

"I don't know, lord," Sarkir said miserably.  "It doesn't usually happen more than once.  Changing fealty in this manner can only happen if you are defeated by someone generous enough to let their foe live...  What are the odds of that happening twice?"

"Do we have to worry about you selling us out?" Mermul asked suspiciously.

"No.  I cannot go back to Lord Thurr - he will execute me on sight.  My head will be displayed in the square as a warning to all!  He may take... my soul," the dragon shivered.

"I will take you to Lord Varl," Fardon decided.  "He shall judge you and determine your fate."  Sarkir withered visibly.

"You are my Lord and master," he said, mustering his dignity.  "My life is in your claws, and if you choose to extinguish it... your word is law.  I will not resist."

"You will be punished," Fardon said.  "But execution seems unlikely.  We are not as brutal as your people seem to be."  Mermul grunted at this and swished his tail.

"I have killed many," Sarkir said quietly.  "I was sent to slay Mermul when he left Arcaia...  I burned Hunters and others of the Small Races."

"You did that?!"  Mermul looked horrified.  "You're the murderer who killed those migrants that Fardon interrogated me over...?"

"Yes," Sarkir said, laying his head on the ground.  "I have slain many... Such acts of murder are punishable by death in most places, and I await my fate."  He closed his eyes, clearly expecting Narfus or Fardon to behead him there and then.

"Ah, but you have not killed them within our realm," Fardon pointed out, grinning wickedly.  "That's the wonderful thing about disputed territories.  When it favours us, it's our sovereign territory.  When it does not, it's a no-man's land.
"You did not succeed in killing Mermul either.  No... you will be judged by our Lord.  If you are found unworthy you will be banished from the realm.  Otherwise, you will be permitted to stay if you so choose.  Subject to certain conditions, of course."

"Remember, I live here," Mermul said quietly.  "For the things I have done... they could easily have taken my head.  It would have been within their right to do so... and in truth, they came close.  Yet still I live and breathe."

Sarkir lifted his head up, and glanced at the fluff-dragon with an uncomfortable expression.  "This is true," he admitted.

"But what about their families?!"  Fiskul sounded appalled.  "You've finally caught the murderer responsible... and you're going to let them go...?"

"Politics," Fardon said.  "Killing him will not bring them back, and Sarkir will be more protection against Lord Thurr if he's on our side, than he would be as a headless corpse in a guillotine.
"Those unfortunates were killed by an agent of Lord Thurr, and that's all anyone needs to know.  It's not perfect, but... Well.  Among other things, we don't know for sure that he actually did it.  He could be bragging, or covering for some other agent now he knows his own life is worthless.  Would you take someone's head off over a stupid boast, Fiskul?"

"...No," the Devourer said.  "Though I don't want his life taken anyway.  It wouldn't solve much, but a jail term would at least keep him out of trouble.  Also... we don't really want to make a martyr."

"But what about Thurr?"  Mermul asked worriedly.  "Will he try to assassinate Sarkir too...?"