Chapter 63

I believe the last dragon was slain a century or so before I put ink to this page, yet I would not be surprised to find that I am wrong. It is not that dragons are small and easily missed. No, a dragon is much more akin to a calamity made flesh and even the Eyeless Legions would have no trouble detecting one. It is that they sleep.

By this point in my tale, I had lived upon Thür for over two centuries and encountered precisely one dragon: Bashamerax the Mountain's Flame, who was also my wife Allegeth's great-grandfather. He was, at every one of the handful of times I saw him, asleep. This was, as I understood it, the way of dragons. At least in modern times.

Dragons were born in the Third Strata and achieved their height in the Fourth. Their battles against the elves were legendary. I sometimes imagine the humans, who lived in savage tribes in the jungles that covered Obai, crouching in terror as the sky was set aflame by elvish wizards and the great wyrms.

Now, it was the Fifth Strata and both elves and dragons were in steep decline. Dying races are often seized by melancholy, though this can manifest in different ways. In the dwarves, it was their tendency to delve more deeply underground and return to the surface more infrequently. In elves, it was the embrace of hedonism in a desperate attempt to stave off the hand of death. For humans, I need not point any further than the wars currently tearing the great continent of Chassau apart.

For dragons, it manifested as sleep.

It might be thought of as the way bears or slitherkin spend winters in their dens, only to emerge in springtime to gorge and mate. The truth is a bit more complex than this as it always is, but I had not yet gained any understanding of the creatures. I still thought of them as monsters and not as a people akin to elves, dwarves, and humans.

All I knew was that a dragon had been seen on the borders of Bashamailon.

As I have said, the kingdom was a small one, encompassing perhaps a half dozen valleys and three times as many peaks. Thus, the first of Allegeth's subjects who sighted the great wyrm on the horizon were perhaps only a week in advance of our own watchmen on the spires of the Dragon's Roost.

Allegeth and I stood side-by-side on the Roost's tallest towers, watching the great beast flap its leathery wings on the horizon. It banked, making hard in the direction of Ennestal, the northernmost valley in the kingdom.

"When a dragon is in the offing, it is a wizard's task to settle matters," I said.

"Wait. Melisant, Lysethe, and Ten Ghosts will go with you."

"I cannot wait, my love. The people of Ennestal might need help now."

"I should go with you."

I touched her belly. "You are due to lay any day now. You have to stay here."

She embraced me. "May the love of one dragon shield you from the hatred of another."

I rode Quiyahui, and though she still disliked bearing the weight of a rider, she carried me swiftly. As dawn broke, a spiral of greasy smoke stained the horizon. The dragon had already struck.

The town of Bergau was a smoldering ruin when I arrived. Stunned survivors picked through the wreckage, while town leaders organized them into columns of refugees. They would make for one or more of the other villages in Ennestal.

A scream went up at the sight of Quiyahui, but it was swiftly hushed. Though we were not as beloved as my Allegeth, we were well-regarded in Bashmailon. I dismounted and Quiyahui assumed her human form, her body shimmering in iridescent light before becoming a small woman with blue-white skin and feathers for hair.

"Your Highness," said an older woman, approaching me. She gave me a bow. Her gray hair had been pinned to her head but was escaping in lank strands. Her blue eyes were tired.

"Magistrate Shoemaker?" I asked. I had made it my business to know who led each valley, as there were few enough that I had no excuse for ignorance. Still, their lifespans were, to me, the blink of an eye. Every time I learned one name, they had retired or died and I needed to learn another. Her name was Galda Shoemaker.

"The same," she said. "I did not know you would be here so quickly."

"And I am still late, it seems. Tell me everything."

She began with the evacuation of Bergau, and was weighing the idea of a general evacuation of Ennestal. She hesitated only because it was late in the autumn, and if the final harvest of the year was not completed, it would be a lean winter. I had some experience in this regard, but I found myself wishing for one of my Masters of Aurochs. Any one of them would have weighed the stores, estimated the harvest, and made a reliable determination.

"I will see this thing does not return," I vowed. "The harvest will happen on your schedule. Did you see where it came from?"

"The direction of the Two Grandfathers," she said, pointing to a pair of peaks that, at sunrise, resembled the faces of two brooding elders.

"That is where I shall start my hunt."

"You intend to slay the beast?"

"Unless there is another way to thwart a dragon."

She looked about. "I thought perhaps the Red Hound of Zuunkhorun would be with you."

"She is following, along with Melisant the Faithful and Ten Ghosts. I judged speed to be more important, but I suspect they will follow me. If I am unable to defeat the beast, the three of them can."

"May the Great Red Father's blessing be upon you," she said.

"And to you as well," I responded automatically. It was a courtesy in this place and though I never believed a slumbering dragon would do anything for me, I would not insult the beliefs of these good people. "Is there a guide who might take me north?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." She turned and called, "Jelleg!"

A gnome jogged up. He wore a comfortable traveler's costume of leather and furs, his belt hanging with a hatchet and a knife. I imagined he had the usual upward sweep of gnomish hair, but it was hidden beneath a furred cap. His auburn eyebrows, reaching nearly to the brim, implied that my imagination was correct. He wore a wild beard of the same color shot through with gray, and his tanned skin was deeply lined.

"Yes, your magistrateness?" He regarded me in as he picked his teeth with a splinter. "A wizard? Only two wizards in these parts, and that don't look like the Red Hound, which makes you..."

"His Highness, Prince Consort Belromanazar," finished Magistrate Shoemaker.

Jelleg bowed awkwardly, returning to the excavation of his teeth. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Highness."

"Jelleg is trapper," Shoemaker said. "Knows every road, path, and trail through these mountains."

"I was coming to town with a fresh load of pelts when the great lizard came flapping out of the sky. Doing what I can, but there's not much to be done. I fear Bergau is little more than a memory."

"We will rebuild," said the magistrate. "In the meantime, His Highness needs a guide."

"We're hunting the lizard that did this," I explained. "I need someone familiar with the pathways to the north."

"You'll find no better. Begging your pardon, my lord, but do you there's a naked woman with a feathered c... er... that is to say..."

"My familiar, Quiyahui. She's wearing her human form at present."

"That's a relief. Sometimes when you're up in the mountains too long, you get to seeing things, and well, just glad it wasn't happening in town." He sighed, looking Quiyahui up and down once before nodding to himself in apparent relief. "I'll gather my supplies, be ready to depart within the hour."

***

Jelleg was as good as the magistrate claimed. The little fellow led us up into the peaks, as surefooted as a goat, along pathways I never would have seen. The air grew thin and cold and many times I paused, leaning heavily upon Ur-Anu. I was grateful for my perambulatory habits, but even still, this was a difficult hike. My boots, gifts so long ago from Iura, the witch of three races, handled the rocky terrain well and my feet remained warm and dry, but my own endurance was not the equal of my raiment.

"We could use a rest," Jelleg said, sticking his thumbs into his belt. He was hardly winded, and though I knew he did this for my benefit, I was grateful. I sat down on a rock, looking out over the expanse of mountain ahead. After a moment, I opened my pack and withdrew some dried venison, washing it down with the clear mountain water in my skin.

"I don't mean to be rude, but can I ask a question?" Jelleg asked.

"Please. We've no one else to talk to."

He squinted up at Quiyahui, who slithered high overhead. "Wondered if the serpent was a conversationalist. Suppose that answers that."

"You wanted to know about my familiar?"

"Oh no, the affairs of wizards is no place for a simple trapper. I did idly wonder why she's not bearing us to our destination."

"I don't have a destination in mind. I don't plan to face the wyrm in her lair. I'm merely looking for a spot I like. If she comes back to harm us, we'll see her on the horizon and I'll draw her to me."

"As I said, I'll not gainsay the desires of wizards. No, a different question troubled me. I was curious how a king from far Aucor comes to our tiny corner of the world."

"I hail from Rhandonia," I said.

"But you were king of a far-off land."

"Indeed I was."

"How does something like that happen?"

"I suppose we have time for a story. Tell me, Jelleg, what do you know of the Turquoise Conquest?"

"I've not heard of it."

"That is where the story begins."

Quiyahui landed, taking her human form, as I told Jelleg of the tragedy of the Amazons. I spoke of my paramours, but spared him the details of the encounters that I have shared here. The gnome was an attentive listener, nodding along and uttering the occasional grunt.

I was in the midst of the tale of the Wooden Bay when a shape on the horizon drew my attention. I stood, my modest repast and war story forgotten as I peered into the dying light of the day. "A bird," I muttered, though even then I was dubious.

Jelleg stood, shading his eyes with one hand. After a moment, in that grim tone that only one who spends most of his life outdoors can muster, "No, that'd be her."

Quiyahui's form shimmered and no longer was she the diminutive woman, but the great serpent, coalescing in a warning hiss. I was grateful that I had already summoned the Blackspear, for I had no doubt that doing so now would be a beacon to the beast.

The shape in the sky flapped its wings once. There is a difference between the flapping of a bird's wings and that of a dragon. A dragon flaps its wings only rarely, its massive shape gliding upon the wind. Where it went, the air itself shimmered with heat like the worst days out in the Red Wastes. Then came a single, powerful wingbeat. These were like battering rams in the air, pounding the sky itself, as though the beast were shaking the heavens to pieces. A dragon at rest was impressive, but a dragon awake was shattering. I had to fight the urge to flee, even though the leviathan had yet to notice me.

"She? The dragon is female?" I croaked. I had seized upon Jelleg's words, for they were the only thing that could keep me where I stood.

"I don't know one way or the other," Jelleg said. "I thought it was like a ship. All dragons are ladies until one knows for certain."

"She is a fearsome creature."

Jelleg shuddered. "She is at that, though you might have more of an epithet had you seen her descend upon on Bergau. Living in Bashamailon as I do, I'm used to thinking of dragons the way I think of the Great Red Father. I'm not a religious sort, but I've a cabin, and in it, I've a small altar in his honor. I don't think he hears prayer, but I don't think there's any harm in honoring him who gave us our wise and beautiful queen."

"Have you seen him?"

"I'm a trapper, my lord. No one's inviting a trapper to those sacred caves. I've heard he sleeps, and has since my grandfather was a boy."

"I've seen him," I said, watching the dragon on the horizon. She soared like a hawk, hunting the earth for prey.

"Aye, blessing your marriage and the birth of your daughter." I caught a gleam in his eye. I had become familiar with it in my time in Bashamailon. Most of the populace nurtured a love for all of the dragonbloods, with Allegeth and Salexys at the pinnacle. The closest comparison I can make is that combination of romantic and filial love of a knight for his noble. It was, in some ways, a kingdom of knights. "I celebrated both."

"As did I."

He grinned, though his worried eyes never left the shape of the beast. "With her, I feel none of what I feel for the Great Red Father. He's a source of prosperity. Power even. I can't imagine he would destroy wantonly, let alone one of the hamlets of his daughters."

"This one did. Do you think she was cruel? Hungry?"

"It's not in me to divine the mind of a dragon. Same as a wizard. I'll say this. A monster, she was. I saw no intelligence in the horror she wrought. It was destruction for its own sake."

Unbidden, my mind returned to the stories I had only just been sharing. "Yes."

He looked at me, for the first time tearing his attention from the beast. "You know of what I speak."

"I wish I did not."

"First I had ever seen its like. Oh, I've had trouble with the occasional goblin tribe coming from the deeper valleys. I've never fought a war, let alone seen a colossus coming to dine upon a village. I saw no difference in will between that beast and an avalanche, merely in method."

My thoughts were a maelstrom. I would have expected more, as Jelleg did. I would imagine a statement, some message. He described a ravening beast. "I do not have experience with dragons," I said, "though I have faced beasts of incredible size and ferocity."

"There hangs a tale, I imagine."

The fear had bled from me, though the awe was still thick as a cloak. "Come, my friend. Let us keep moving and follow the beast to her lair. I'll tell you the story of Ocoxochi, mother of serpents."

***

On our journey, we slept on our bedrolls beneath the stars. I spared a moment of regret that I could not have had a comelier companion, but some deprivation would do me good. Or at least it would make my reunion with my wives all the sweeter. I slept chastely in the coils of my familiar, dreaming of the women who made my eternity worthwhile.

A week after we left Bergau, we stood at the precipice of a long pathway down into a dark valley. We had not seen the dragon since that one day, but we felt her presence on the wind, a heavy foreboding that never fully left us. It was not unfamiliar to the sensation of being upon the ramparts before a siege, and I can only hope that comparison is meaningless to all those who read this.

"That there's the valley Hess," Jelleg said, gesturing into the murky shadows below.

"Not a pleasant place, I gather."

"Not unless you like goblins. Mountains have it shielded from the sun in all four directions. The middle gets a few hours every day, not so you'd notice."

"Goblins?"

"Aye, the nastiest of the lot. They come out of their caves at all hours."

"Why not go around the lip of the valley?"

He shook his head. "Ten years ago, perhaps. Storms washed away the paths that used to ring them. Too dangerous unless you can fly, my lord."

"Short distances," I allowed. "Though I wished to husband my strength for the battle ahead."

"Aye, a wise impulse. Then it's up to you, Your Highness. Either you're knee-deep in goblins by noon, or else you're flying a bit."

"The choice makes itself, doesn't it?"

"Relieved to hear you say that," he sighed.

***

Sightings of the dragon grew more frequent as we made our way north. She never came south and the way she danced on the horizon felt like she was taunting me. The weight of its presence only grew heavier. Even when I did not see the great beast in the distance, I felt her on me. I believe this is what a mouse feels when a hawk's shadow crosses it. Though I was no mouse, not even then. I was the Dreadstorm and I bore Ur-Anu.

"I thought you mad," muttered Jelleg.

"Me?"

"Hunting a dragon, I mean. Madness."

"I am a wizard, Jelleg. The task falls to me."

"I'll not argue. Still, since you carry that spear. If anything be an assassin of wyrms, it'd be that, and no mistake."

"I hope you're right."

Jelleg grew quiet, and Quiyahui flew far closer to the two of us. We walked for a few more hours as the sun touched the tops of the peaks to the west.

"There," I said, nodding to a peak not far from where we stood. A section had broken off, creating a plateau open on three sides. It was wide enough to maneuver, but small enough that I believed the beast would have trouble alighting, and the remainder of the jagged peak could provide some protection against being snatched up.

"There what, Your Highness?"

"I'll face the beast there."

Jelleg opened his mouth to ask the question on his mind, but merely shook his head, muttering, "Matters of wizards, Jelleg."

He guided me there, looking about as though assessing a new home. "Get away from here, my friend," I said. "Find someplace safe."

"When wizards and dragons battle, I don't think there is such a place, but we gnomes can always find a burrow to hide in. Only hope it's deep enough."

Jelleg left me. I got to work, preparing the ground for battle. I began with protection spells, drawing circles and enchanting them, armoring myself against the inevitable dragonflame. I tried not to think about the times I had watched a sleeping dragon turn steel into liquid and concentrated on building the most impregnable defenses I could manage.

Quiyahui felt my concern through the link we shared. She landed in the center of the plateau, coiling. She had grown into a massive beast since I found her in the Mixtayhua, but she was still nothing compared to the leviathan that plied the skies. Abruptly, I thought of Oddrin, slain by Mu-Baoth, or perhaps merely the storm. If she was killed, I would lose my gift. I could not face that again.

"You must go," I said to her.

She watched me, her blue-white eyes unreadable. I sensed an obstinance, a need to be by my side.

"Quiyahui, you know the danger. Please. Lysethe and Ten Ghosts follow us. Bring them here." My words would not persuade her, but she felt my emotions and surely as I felt hers. She could not miss them, with me only an arm's length away, everything focused upon her.

She hissed, her hood of feathers frilling outward. Then she took to the sky, swimming south. Strange to feel relief when my most loyal companion left me alone upon a windswept peak as I prepared to fight a battle to the death. Yet I was lighter then, every part of me honed to a crystalline sharpness.

The air was blue and crisp here. The cold held power of its own, but it would need encouragement to spill its fury. My defenses had been built. Now I would ready my blade. I wove my spells into the peak, creating a hundred points I could use to attack. Everything would be a simple movement, a single word. Finally, I could justify waiting no longer. The sun was low and the chill of evening reached its fingers into me, but far colder was my heart.

I tapped the butt of Ur-Anu onto the stone at my feet. The carved haft was decorated with images of my exploits, subtly shifting every time I did something the weapon regarded as worthy. The last thing that had been revealed was the sacking of Heacharium. I imagined soon enough there would be an image of me slaying a dragon, or else I would no longer be in a position to worry what the haft of the Blackspear looked like.

I have been asked, many times since, if I believed I would die in this moment. I certainly believed it was a possibility, though I did not feel the dread that I had experienced when the Heacharids sent their great fleet nor did I feel the resignation I did as Texomoc's host tried to take the Red Bridge from me nor the shame and rage that would later grip my heart in Iarveiros. I believe this was because a dragon was an adventure. They were creatures of stories, and to be a wizard facing one placed me in a rare place.

I called to my storm. Brewing one in the thin air would be a challenge, but once it took root, it would be difficult to dislodge. I spared a thought for Jelleg, and hoped whatever burrow he found would keep him relatively warm and dry. Then he was gone from my mind as everything would be focused to creating the tempest that I hoped would draw the beast to me.

Gray clouds spread over the skies like moss over rocks. My words grew in power, the invocations echoing like thunder. Soon, my voice joined the persistent rumble shaking the sky. Lightning first bloomed inside the clouds, turning gray to bright white. Then the claws unsheathed, like a cat, raking the air with its ineffable blaze.

The dragon roared in answer.

It is not possible to make one understand what this sounds like for those who have not heard it. The closest comparison I have ever come is the sound of a Heacharid army in its numberless horde, uttering a pre-battle prayer to Xomera. I have heard tales of a comparable army from the land that in my time I knew as Hazica. That is all that can possibly equal the sound of a dragon, an army. Not merely an army but one of the greatest that have ever been unleashed upon Thür. This was the voice of a single creature.

Yet, I wish to make clear that even a prayer from a million throats has not the power to shake one the way a roar of a dragon can. Rather, the roar announces that death itself has a voice and it has fixed upon you. I thought my thunder had shaken the peak, but the dragon's bellow dashed against it as a physical force. I could be little more than a mere echo. This was when I believed I would die.

I could not imagine the Fourth Strata, when the skies were dark with these beasts. They had battled the elves then, when we humans were barely emerging from wherever it was new races were born. The elves believed that the dragons were a punishment unleased by the gods, sent to cast the elves down in their hubris. That is superstition, but hearing its roar gave some credence to the legend.

The elves had their steel, their magic. They were ascendent then. The weapons of humanity were bone and wood and stone in those days. Nothing sculpted by human hands could have pierced dragonscale.

I carried a weapon forged to defeat a beast like this one, though from an even earlier age of the world. I had no doubt that Ur-Anu's black stone blade could cut the beast deeply, though I had no desire to allow it to get that close.

Then I saw the behemoth, soaring free of the thunderheads. Behind her, the clouds bloomed with lightning. She uttered another great roar. I knew then that she understood my challenge. This was her way of answering. She picked up my tossed gauntlet. The death of one would suffice.

I once again could only stare in awe. Such a beast should not have been able to fly, yet she did. A dragon did not slither between the currents of weather, she shaped them with every flap of her wings, every blast of flame from her infernal gullet. The air about her shimmered sparks flying from the clouds to play over its orange scales. She could fly, yes, but the sky belonged to me.

"Beast of ages!" I called, my voice carried on the wings of thunder. "You have strayed from your home! Turn back! These lands are under the protection of Belromanazar the Dreadstorm!"

At the invocation of my name, Diotenah's ring hissed in my mind. The desire I found there was ravenous. She wanted the dragon, and for a moment, I was tempted. I felt the lissome ghoul pressing her nude body to my back, her silver teeth a breath from my ear, her talons caressing me. Her whispers carried no words, but they had intent. To make a stormwight of such a beast would be untold power. More even than the slumbering Mu-Baoth. A dragon could go anywhere, do anything. Whatever was left of Diotenah still wanted that power.

It was madness, the ring trying to assert what remained of Diotenah's fell designs. I reminded myself that my enemies were dead and broken. I had no need for such a weapon, and when one has a weapon such as this, a need invents itself. Irony that my true enemy was in front of me at that moment, but I had forgotten them in my long war against the Heacharids.

The dragon did not slacken her pace. She beat her wings once, hurling herself through the sky. I glimpsed her fiery-eyes focused upon me. She took a great breath and within her throat I saw air as hot as a forge. I raised Ur-Anu high and brought the lightning down. It scorched her, but she was not dissuaded.

She reared back, then spat flame over the peak. The first of my defensive spells sensed the attack. Rain fell over me in a gout, a cloud emptying its entire contents to drift away in white scraps. Rain met fire and became scalding steam, but I was saved.

Battle was joined.

The existing accounts frame this as a colossal duel that names me the victor, saying I tamed the beast and exiled her from the Infernium Peaks. I believe this account sprang from The Dragon's Prince, which was a history written at the end of my first century in Bashamailon and had the good fortune to be able to interview many still living observers. Accurate in places, it has the tendency to paint of me a great hero, to make me worthy of Allegeth. While I appreciate a hagiography as much as the next man, I still must object to rank falsehood.

Since that initial source, every subsequent retelling has been embellished. A Storm in the Mountains even claims I slew her, casting her down into a deep valley where her corpse festered with all manner of evil. This is foolish and would be proven false during the War of Thorns, but the author of that tome would never know that war.

The battle was titanic, in that the sources were correct. I had not faced such a creature alone since I battled the loathsome behemoth Mh'rohgg in that ruined city at the edge of the Axoxcan. After the doubt and guilt that wracked me over the war against the Heacharids, this battle at least was pure. I fought a creature that sought to devour innocent lives. I could sleep well knowing I had done what was right.

Victory was far from assured. No, as I flung spell after spell at the beast, singeing her scales and darkening the skies, she did not falter. She always had another blast of flame, another rake of her talons. My protective spells were increasingly ragged, my limbs growing heavy. Ur-Anu threw threads into my mind, commanding a step one way, a dodge another, a desperate dance that would never be finished.

Despite my use of magic, I had never felt more like a boldisar. I was alive, fighting for a righteous cause. If I died then and there, it would be magnificently.

The beast finally landed, crashing into the earth. I was partly correct when I chose this place, for she could not fit her entire bulk on the plateau. Her talons bit deeply into the side of the mountain as she awkwardly perched on the edge. I attacked with Fate, the Blackspear, the heavenstone tip slicing into her armored scales. Where her blood fell, the rock and stone burned. She battered me, bathing me in dragonflame, stripping layer after layer of spells from my defenses.

I would not last much longer. I needed to strike a killing blow, but I did not believe there was one. The threads Ur-Anu showed me were merely frantic dodges, parries that could only mitigate but never prevent harm. No stroke would fell the beast, her bulk was too great. I struck, slicing one great talon from her hand.

She roared in rage, stomping me with one foot and slamming me into a rock. I lay there, a black hole of agony in my chest. I desperately tried to suck in a breath but none came. Copper flooded my mouth. The beast loomed over me, her form blurry in the driving rain and howling wind.

Talons curled about me and with a great lurch, she was in the sky. Lightning cracked and Ur-Anu was gone from my hand. I strained against the powerful fingers but could not budge her. My breath returned with fingers of fire. She held me tightly and I could not fill my lungs.

In a daze, I looked to see the mountains below, rushing past. The beat of the dragon's wings was thunder even as the storm I had summoned raged out of control. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the massive shape that carried me. Dark blood leaked from a million wounds in her scales. Heat burned from her, hotter at the point of every wound. The air itself burned my skin.

I knew then that I could not wrestle free. Even if I had the strength, all that would come of it would be to plummet to my death. I was trapped now. I could only wait to see the dragon's design. We left the storm behind, the wind and heat drying the rain on my skin and in my hair.

The dragon tucked her great wings and plummeted. The air rushed past me and I could not breathe, even the shallow gasps she had allowed. She was still not a graceful beast, as she careened through the sky. Below, a plateau opened before a cave coming for me at impossible speeds. With a crash, she landed, the turf exploding with the impact of her bulk. At the last second, she raised me from the ground and I was saved.

She lumbered into the cave, flames from her wounds following in her wake. Then we were in the dark of the cave, the chill wind outside. Her heavy tread echoed inside. I heard her suck in a great breath, and the rush of flames followed. The heat was terrific, and when her breath subsided, she left fires behind. Sconces formed by melted bowls in rocks burned at irregular intervals, bathing the cavern in a warm glow.

We were at the shore of an underground lake, its edge invisible in the inky darkness. Islands of treasure breached from the black water. She carelessly cast me upon one such island and returned to the other side of the shore.

I lay there, on that heap of gold, jewels, and pieces of art. Finally, I could breathe. I filled my lungs with the smoky air of the cavern, a blessing after the near suffocation of my trip. The dragon's scent was heavy, a clean reptile aroma burnished with ash.

Aches covered me. My body was a great bruise, every inch of my skin stinging with the fire I couldn't stave off. I did not know if I had the strength to stand, let alone fight. If the beast wished to devour me, there was nought I could do. My protection spells had been exhausted, my power had been drained, and the battle had wounded me.

The dragon regarded me from the shore of the lake. A thin span of water separated us, the depths gleaming with more treasure. The stump of one talon sluggishly leaked blood onto the floor of the cave, the rock beneath beginning to smoke. In her fiery eyes, I saw exhaustion and pain, a reflection of my own.

More importantly, I saw intelligence. She had been a maddened beast when we joined in battle, but now, that madness was gone. Now, in the flaming depths of her ancient eyes, I saw recognition. Perhaps even empathy.

I reached within myself and found the strength to stand. If she would face me with dignity, I would do no less. She watched me struggle to my feet and I believe I glimpsed a flash of admiration. I stumbled once, but I remembered the man who stood at the Red Bridge. Below, the mound of gold shifted.

She spoke, her great inhuman jaws producing words. Muddy words, but understandable, in an archaic form of Kharish that I had only ever encountered in printed form. They echoed out into the dark. "Who...art...thou?"

"I am Belromanazar," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Then, taking my cue from her words, I continued. "Former boldisar and Lord of Eirashtar."

"Thy name..."

"I am named for one of your people."

The dragon stared, bloodlust in her eyes. "'Tis a dragon I seek. Thy namesake perhaps."

"My namesake is slain. You seek Bashamerax, the Mountain's Flame."

"I am Syventyth. Men of Obai named me Eater of Armies. What art thou?"

"I am human."

"Thou art unlike the men of Obai. Thy flesh is wan."

"And yet I am human."

She uttered a low growl. "Bashamerax."

"I will not allow you to harm this dragon, Syventyth."

"Art thou a protector of dragons?" she asked, the amusement clear in her voice.

"I am bound by oath and familial obligation."

"Familial..."

"I am wed to one of his descendants."

"Thou hast sired a kuri?" The word she used did not quite translate. It was a Kharish word, archaic and out of fashion by my time in the Red Wastes, describing a child produced by a noble with a slave that is accepted into the family as a potential heir.

"I have a daughter of the blood." I watched her, sensing no immediate threat.

She rumbled, inspecting talon I had sliced from her. One finger, or perhaps toe, was missing at the first knuckle. "The wakefulness be slow upon me. I sense it hath been many ages since I beheld the world. Tell me, doth elves still roam Thür?"

"Diminished, but yes."

"And thy people hath spread from Obai hither. To grow pale and battle dragons."

"I came to rest. You brought the battle to me, great wyrm. When you destroyed Bergau."

"Bergau," she tasted the word.

"The village you razed."

"I know it not. The rage of wakefulness hath beguiled my senses. Dost thou come for vengeance?"

"I come to keep it from happening again."

The dragon regarded me. Her breath heaved in and out of her lungs. Smoke threaded from her great nostrils. She was power in a sense that it was difficult to comprehend. One huff and she could bathe me in flames. "I shall eat thee not, Lord of Eirashtar."

"That's a relief," I muttered.

The dragon moved forward, and I tensed. There is an old elvish saying that one should never trust a dragon, but I have found them far more loyal than elves. I did not know that then, and this was still a gargantuan beast that I had only recently fought a battle against.

The reaching talon stopped halfway over the water, dipping into it. The dark water hissed and steamed where the dragon touched it. After a few moments of scratching, she pulled a chest from the lake, her talon delicately hooked through one handle.

With dexterity I did not know such a massive being could possess, the single talon threw the latch of the chest and the lid back, revealing a bed of potions. Gingerly, she plucked one from the chest and tossed it into her mouth, where she swallowed it, bottle and all.

"Thou art injured," she said, plucking another bottle from the chest and tossing it to me. I caught it out of the air.

I opened the stopper and recognized the scent of elven water, cut with other alchemical fluids. I drank deeply. Exhaustion bled from me, aches faded, wounds closed, leaving behind the natural response to barely surviving a battle to the death. I wanted to rut. Inside the prison of my clothes, I was hard.

The dragon's wounds closed as well, leaving only the blood behind. These were markers of our valor. I saw now that I had pushed Syventyth to the edge, just as she had done for me.

"Preparing to face me again?"

"There be a far better use for thee, Lord of Eirashtar."

"And what is that?"

"I will honor the domain of this Bashamerax."

"You sought to slay him."

"Or mate. Whether or not he survived the coupling is of no concern."

Her form shimmered like a mirage in the deep desert. Her silhouette shrank and changed, becoming human, as tall as I. Her shadow remained huge and looming, glimpsed only in the periphery of my vision. In them were points of flame, where the shadow's eyes and mouth would be.

She stepped into the shallow water. The water hissed, issuing forth plumes of steam. I beheld a woman in her vital middle age. Gone was any trace of baby fat, leaving behind a form sculpted of muscle and sinew. Her skin was a reddish bronze, the same as her scales had been. Her body was that of a Kharish woman and I wondered if that was due to that being her model for humanity. Her hair was long and black, shiny with oil like many of the women of the Red Wastes. Her features were angular and severe, aristocratic and beautiful. There was no softness to her. As when she wore her natural form, she was uncompromising, her loveliness that of a sharpened blade.

Even as I looked upon her with desire, I beheld the dragon's shadow at the edges of my vision. Points of her shimmered in the heat, giving the impression of the great beast still before me. She was still the great beast. This part of her was some small corner, some way to have congress with a lesser being. I had lain with the divine before, and that was the only thing I could compare.

"Thy mettle hath been tested," she said, her throaty voice commanding. She stepped onto the pile of treasure, and at once it felt both firmer and softer beneath me, like the soil of the island it pretended to be. "Wilt thou refusest the honor granted thee? Removest thou thy foul elven raiment and be ravaged by your better."

Even had the potion not restored my vitality, I was still Belromanazar of Thunderhead. I was and will always remain a goat. I dropped the clothing from my body and stood before her nude. She closed the last of the distance to me, her eyes upon my staff. The air about her shimmered with the heat coming from her. She touched the fleece between my legs, frowning in confusion. Though her language and shape were Kharsoomian, she lacked their people's interest in the hair we grew in other areas of the world.

I leaned in to kiss her, but dragons do not kiss. I learned this swiftly as her teeth went to my neck. She bit, right on the edge of pain. Her hand closed about my staff, her palm hot like a stone at the edge of a fire. Her strokes were rough, but I neither wanted nor needed tenderness.

She pushed me hard, toppling me onto the treasure. In a flash I saw not this lovely woman but the beast itself looming over me, ready to consume its prey. A bolt of pleasure rushed through my body as I understood that I was at her mercy. She could kill me, but she did not want that. She needed me.

As though to prove it, she knelt over me, and in the heat shimmer of the air, she was once again a woman. I leaned up, sucking one nipple into my mouth and lashing it with my tongue. It was as hard as a gemstone and tasted of spring water from a deep cave. She sat down hard without preamble, and I slid into her heated depths with ease. I had become so accustomed to a new paramour taking her time with my staff that this ease inflamed me.

Her body was impossibly hot, the dragonflame burning bright inside her. She gripped me on the edge of pain, and I imagined my nectar turning to scalding flame the instant it began to bead upon the head of me. I imagined the walls of her sex glowing like heated stones, my staff lodged within.

She clutched me, riding, her hips grinding with short, brutal strokes. She shivered as she lifted herself up only to sit down again hard. I licked and sucked at her nipples, clutching at her body as though to keep afloat in this sea of fire. Her hands ran through my hair and I noted that one of her fingers was missing at the first knuckle, the one I had sliced from her body. She would carry that loss for the rest of her days.

I wanted more. With a growl, I gripped her, ready to throw her down. Then, a flash. I was no longer with a woman. Instead I wrestled with a dragon, her great bulk over me. My lightning spidered over her, and she threw her head back and roared.

Then she was below me, and I was able to take her in slow, even strokes. She leaned up to bite again and I caught her about the throat. "Careful now," I whispered in Kharish, punctuating the words with deep thrusts.

Her eyes were alight. "Thy strength will fail."

I spat. She shivered with the sudden indignity, her legs wrapping about me and drawing me deep. Her tongue collected the spittle at the corner of her mouth and it sparked into steam. The heat within her was terrific, burning higher with every thrust.

"Thou art more brutal than an elvish buck."

"I've been told similar," I said.

She rolled me, and in another flash, she was once again a wyrm. I fought her, my magic covering her colossal body. She snapped and snarled, as passion made new fires bloom about us. I forced her down, my magic bending her. For a moment, I glimpsed a gigantic Diotenah, her slender arms locked about the wyrm's neck, whether for love or execution I could not be sure.

Then I was atop Syventyh in her human form. Her head was down, in the water of the lake. It hissed spat steam at the touch of her. My thrusts came harder. She bared her teeth, the words gone from her now. She writhed against me, desperate to draw me into her heated depths. Finally, I could hold myself back no longer. The bliss gripped me and I felt myself flooding her.

Her legs wrapped bout me once again, pulling me to the hilt. Her mouth latched onto my neck and this time she bit hard. Later, I would find a tender bruise, points of blood where her teeth had broken my flesh. The pain called another gout from me, and I cried out as I filled her.

I sighed, pulling from her and collapsing upon the mound of gold. She pulled herself from the water, laying on her side. "Now thy seed shall plant."

"If not, we can always try again," I said.

"I wanted a warrior, and a warrior I have found," she said, wrapping me in her arms. Sleep claimed me, and when I awakened in the night, I was cradled in the coils of a dragon.

***

I spent the next three days with the dragon. She fed me from a satchel that produced infinite food that unfortunately lacked flavor. A treasure to be sure, but one of necessity rather than joy.

I was far more intent on her. It was not every day that I could enjoy a dragon and I was interested in the way she changed yet did not seem to be entirely different. After a week, she judged herself finished as her desire had vanished from her.

"Get thee away, else I forget who thou art," she said.

I left her, and she gave me the satchel as a gift. She reiterated her vow that she would leave Bashamerax be, though she might return for me. Her initial attack had been the fault of her waking. Dragons did not awaken at once, and when they first emerged from slumber, they were as ravening beasts. I did not seek vengeance, as I judged her as free from real guilt as she could be and reasoned she might be a valuable ally.

She carried me to the place where we had battled and left me there, returning to her lair in the north. I watched her from the broken ground of our battle, then turned my attention to the path. I judged I knew the way home, and between the satchel and my sweetwater goblet, I did not fear to be out in the wilderness.

In the places where her blood had spilled, the rock of the mountain had melted. Roots grew there, in the vague shape of human beings. I took a few with me, reasoning Olyrah might appreciate them. It would give me an excuse to visit her anyway.

I was on the path only for half a day when a strange party met me coming the other way. I broke into a smile as I recognized them. Melisant and Lysethe rode on horseback, Ten Ghosts upon her vorghal. Quiyahui flew overhead. A small head leaned around Lysethe as we neared. "Your Highness! There he is! Found him, your honors!" exclaimed Jelleg.

"My love," Ten Ghosts was first to me, dismounting and lifting me up for a soft kiss. Lysethe was on her heels, the kiss harder.

"What of the dragon?" asked Melisant.

"I've dealt with her. She will not trouble us further."

"You slew her?" Ten Ghosts asked.

"No," I said mildly. "We came to other arrangements. She has sworn an oath that she will trouble Bashamailon no more."

"I feared the worst when I saw the beast carry you off," Jelleg said. "I made my way back and who should I find at the other end of the valley Hess? These three. Goblins weren't a trouble for them, let me tell you. Think they're afeared of the ogre lass and that monster she rides. Never seen an ogre quite so fetching, if you don't mind my saying."

"It's good to see you, my friend. If you would guide us home? I could use the rest," I said.

"My pleasure, Your Highness."

"For the last time, Jelleg. It's Belromanazar. Or just Bel."

"Bel and Jel," Jelleg mused. "Aye, think I can get used to that."

***

The trip home was relatively uneventful. I was pleased to share the time with Lysethe and Ten Ghosts, my brave brides, and Melisant was always a pleasant companion. Jelleg was a fun fellow, swapping stories with all of us. He was a friend, and for that, I was truly grateful.

I would assist with the rebuilding of Bergau under Magistrate Shoemaker's supervision. I found her an able leader and was pleased our small kingdom had one such as her.

Allegeth had laid her egg by the time I retuned and not long after, our second daughter hatched. This was the brave Isneth, who would soon become a great knight. Not to be outdone, Lysethe was swiftly pregnant with our son Kalixto.

Then one day, years after our time together, the dragon was seen again. Alarm was raised in the Dragon's Roost as her great wings darkened the sky. Lysethe and Allegeth stood ready to battle, but I calmed them.

"She swore an oath."

Allegeth nodded, for she would stake her life on the honor of a dragon.

I went out onto the largest of the Dragon's Roost's courtyards. Quiyahui coiled next to me, my calm seeping into her. I had no doubt that Syventyth respected her oath, for a dragon has no need for deception. The court gathered in the eaves, watching the dragon approach. Before long, Allegeth, Tanyth, and Lysethe joined me.

The dragon flew, her injured hand clutched close to her great breast. I wondered if our battle had wounded her more deeply, or if another battle had harmed her. She landed in the center of the courtyard and I was amazed that the stones held. I imagined this place had been built with the Mountain's Flame in mind.

Syventyth was incredible, her massive bulk taking up all the space in this place. I felt the fear and awe around me as a cloak. I felt a stirring, and I wondered if she had come for another bout of love. I would not have refused.

"Well met, Belromanazar, Lord of Eirashtar," she rumbled in Kharish.

"Well met, Syventyth, Eater of Armies."

"Be this thy dragonblooded bride?"

"Allegeth ur-Udraeg."

Allegeth, recognizing her name, curtseyed. She spoke a few words in the dragon's own tongue, which I would only learn later. Syventyth responded, apparently pleased with my wife's manners.

"Lord Belromanazar, our coupling bore fruit." Her injured hand came away from her chest, revealing that in her palm, she held an egg. It resembled those Allegeth would lay, though it was larger. A baby could easily fit in the shell. "Within be our son, and into thy charge I so place him."

"I will look after him."

"He will be called Tyrvath ur-Nazar."

"As you wish."

She gathered herself, ready to leap into the sky. There she paused. "Perhaps we shall expand the line one day." Before I could respond, she was aloft, the ground shaking with her strength. Her wings beat the sky, washing us in wind.

I picked up the egg. It was warm and I felt movement within.

"Come, my love. We need to get him into the fire," Allegeth said.

We carried the egg in and soon it was nestled where Salexys and Isneth had been. "When you said you dealt with the dragon," Tanyth said, "I should have known this was what you meant."

"I can only be myself."

"I think you should be yourself with us," Allegeth said, pulling me to the bed.