FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Ashkar fell back screaming as the Body Forge entered its final stages, and it was clear what the shapeless blob of aurous energy had become. Many had fled as soon as they had realised they were confronting a Dragon, and the more quick witted ones had time to shoot a few arrows at him, all to no avail. Melanth stretched like a serpent, revelling as always in the pleasure his true form brought, the strength, the power of it compared to the frail and soft Human body. A few more arrows flew towards him, and he whipped them effortlessly from the air with a slash of his wings. Behind him, his squad was frantically trying to crawl away, torn between fleeing the Ashkar enemy and the sudden appearance of a Dragon in their midst. Arrows were flying everywhere now, and Melanth saw a man drop with one in his chest from the corner of his eye. Much more of this and they would all be pincushions.

He drew a deep breath, feeling the sudden rush of liquids sluicing from chambers in the back of his throat, mixing in his mouth. The darkness was no barrier now, and no bushes could hide the enemy from his sight as they ran. With a jabbing motion, like a heron pecking at a fish, he spat the liquid at the Ashkar and watched it explode into wild tongues of liquid flame that scorched all in their path. Twenty Ashkar disappeared in the blaze, the inferno catching them before they could even scream. Another score fell as tree trunks exploded under the sudden, horrific heat, showering everyone with razor sharp shards of wood as lethal as any arrow storm. His own scale armoured body shielded his comrades from the worst of the deadly rain, but splinters worked their way between scaled, stabbing painfully into his flesh. The squad stared up at him with unbelieving eyes; wonder and surprise mixed with a heavy dose of fear. Even the Dwarf seemed so taken by the terror that he could hardly move. For a moment Melanth felt a twinge of sorrow, knowing that he would have to leave them behind and abandon them to their fates, but the feeling was quick in the passing. He had known, deep in his soul that this would come to pass eventually.

With lithe agility uncharacteristic for a creature his size, the Dragon snaked off into the trees, well accustomed to arboreal haunts. Lush jungles and treacherous mountain slopes had been the cradle of his kind at the forming of the world. Ancestral memories aided him as well as instinct and scent. He chased down the few Ashkar survivors, tearing them apart with tooth and claw, savouring the taste of coppery blood and the pervasive scent of animal terror as the hunter became the hunted. All around the battles raged; Humans and Ashkar locked in a mortal battle to the death; blood, smoke and limbs filling the air as the dirge of battle sounded, sang by a hundred mouths and a chorus of screams. Much of the fighting was distant, the Ashkar desperately trying to fall back rather than risk the wrath of the Humans in direct battle, only to have their coward's hearts opened by a sword blade to the back. Their retreat was folly, and too late in the telling. The word of the Human advance had not reached them quickly enough to flee and ambush, and now they were caught between the hammer of the mercenaries and the anvil of the Empire. Backed into a corner, they fought viciously and with grim determination but all who could were fleeing, desperately trying to regroup with the main force some miles east. More of them waited out there, many thousands more, and soon the reprisals would begin. From here the war could only escalate, growing to ever greater and bloodier heights.

Though the battle was all but won, the campaign was only just beginning.

***

The Watcher in the Dark scrambled frantically over a knoll and into the ruins of the Ashkar camp. Completely unnoticed, like a wisp of smoke on the breeze, it watched the drama unfolding before it. Fakir materialised through the mist so suddenly that he might have teleported, but the Watcher did not notice, so engrossed in the battle as it was. It had feared that the Humans would put paid to its plans, and indeed it seemed likely that it would have been so, if not for the intervention of the Dragon. It had been tracking the Human female since this began, hoping to follow the Dogmen to wherever she was to be taken, knowing that its objective would lie there too. Now that the Dragon had arrived though, it had no need to sacrifice her. As was a popular phrase amongst the Humans, there was more than one way to skin a Seriphan.

"Wasn't that the one we watched in the woods the other day?" Fakir remarked, observing the progress with interest. Almost absent mindedly he ducked to avoid a flying sword, then again to avoid parts of the Ashkar it had belonged to. "My mind must be playing tricks on me, because I'm sure it was a human back then."

"He was." The Watcher murmured irately, its gaze transfixed on the Dragon that was currently ransacking the enemy camp. "It seems he possessed an artefact of some description that allowed him to take human form. A clever disguise, if I say so myself. I felt an aura when we observed him the first time, but I assumed it was some latent Talent, as is common in humans. I never suspected this."

"Well, now you know. You have plans for it?"

"Of course. It will not be so easy to manipulate him as it was to control the human wanderers. We will have to approach him directly lest we incur his wrath through subversion. You notice the coloration of his scales? It marks him as one of the Visari clan, though this one is different from the others of that tribe I have encountered. More to the point, why was he hiding in Human form?"

"Afraid of former acquaintances?" Fakir suggested, ducking to avoid yet more bits of Ashkar that had never been intended to see sunlight. The Humans and their Dwarf commander remained nearby, but maintained a wide berth, watching the fight progressing through the cover of the trees. They seemed at a loss as whether to cheer or cower.

"It is entirely possible. Nevertheless, we can not afford any mistakes. We must make plans, and see to it that our plans are not interrupted by any more unexpected events."

"You mentioned it was different, how so?" Fakir asked, and then recoiled at the withering stare the Watcher threw at him. If looks could maim his arms would have dropped off.

"If you have to ask, then it is better you remain ignorant. It is enough to know that he is different, and could be an asset to us. He treads the path of a mercenary, so his loyalty can be bought... at a price. That is what I plan to do, but first I suspect we shall have to meet in person."

***

There was no question about trying to put the fires out. There was little chance of the flames spreading through the trees, mainly because what they had touched had not so much been burned as it had been vaporised. Anything that was smouldering was quickly being banked by the dense fog, and the ground itself was hissing faintly as the cherry red glow of random rocks died. For a long moment the dwarf stood stock still, staring blankly at the tableau that had unfolded before him. After a few moments, very gently, he reached up and felt the scorched bristly stubs of what had once been his eyebrows. It occurred to him that what he had just witnessed, against all expectation, had not been a minor apocalypse. After all, there were supposed to be heralds for that sort of thing, weren't there? All Perdition had not been let loose; only a Dragon. The problem he was experiencing at this moment was that from less than a foot away it was impossible to tell the difference between the two.

It took about twenty minutes for the ground to cool down enough to be trodden on again, and by that time the fighting had moved on to other parts of the woods. The few stubs of posts and charred embers that were all that remained of the Ashkar camp loomed long when the darkness was finally restored. The Dwarf noticed with some ire that the squad were still standing stock still, exactly the same as they had been when that blasted creature had switched shape. He didn't blame them. Amidst the smoking, semi molten swath of ground that had been caught in the blast were a few piles of calcified bones that popped and snapped amidst a shower of red sparks as they cooled. Any chain mail the Ashkar had been wearing had formed a few interesting pools of molten metal where their feet should have been, but beyond those barely discernable signs there was nothing to indicate that they had ever been alive. The Dwarf could only recognise half of them because that was where he remembered the Ashkar to be immediately before their corporeal forms became at one with the mineral world. He blinked, clearing his eyes. The glaring impression of superheated fluid had scorched white tacks onto his retinas that persisted even now. He would probably never forget that horrifying, deafening, dry roar as the wall of liquid fire streaked towards the luckless Ashkar. He made a distracted mental note to ask how dragons could possibly store something like that inside their bodies.

It took a couple of minutes for the Dwarf's hindbrain to kick the rest of him into sensibility, and then immediately reverted to its default setting of Angry Sergeant. He bawled the remainder of the squad to order in a distracted, automatic kind of way. The small part of his mind that wasn't currently telling him that only a few feet had spared him the same fate as the Ashkar seemed to know what it was doing, so he let it get on with it. He would be having nightmares about that inferno for months.

"I don't care what just happened." He turned, addressing the stunned section so coldly that for once he even forgot to include the usual thick accent. "Get your shit together and get into line you little bastards. There's still a fight going on."

"What about the bodies sir?" The voice was Heller's, though it sounded a lot less martial and confident than he remembered it.

"Who, Liren? Leave the bastard. Even if I could stomach the though of dragging his headless carcass with us I'd rather not. The bastard ran out on us and nearly got us all killed with his cowardice. Leave him for the crows I say."

There were a few muffled grunts of approval. Right now anyone would do or agree to anything to get as far away from here as possible. The dwarf hefted his weapon without much enthusiasm and made to lead the squad away, only to notice Cael standing where he had frozen, staring at the spot that Melanth had occupied before the shit had really hit the fan, still clutching the strange necklace with stiff fingers.

"We'll get to the bottom of it, I promise." He murmured, resting a companiable hand on the farm boy's shoulder, an act that involved him standing on his tiptoes. Such sentiments didn't ordinarily come easy to him, but the Gods knew that this was no ordinary night.

"He wasn't... I mean, he was..." Cael tried to piece together his thoughts, but failed miserably and gave up. The Dwarf patted his shoulder.

"We will find out what's going on here lad. I swear it."

***

There was little resistance as Melanth rampaged through the remains of the camp. The wall of sharpened stakes that had been meant to turn aside an infantry charge broke asunder beneath the force of his blows, and those few Ashkar that had remained on the defensive line surged forwards in a last, desperate gambit. Arrows and spears clattered harmlessly off his scales, and a lucky sword strike in the ensuing mêlée drew blood on his shoulder. He was aching; all the wounds he had sustained in the earlier skirmish had transferred over to his true form, and the injury on his stomach was bleeding profusely. Pirouetting on his hind legs, he swept the madly attacking Ashkar from their feet with his tail and sent them clattering into tree trunks. A single leap brought him into range of the archers and he laid into them with practiced, merciless efficiency; stomping and biting, crushing and gouging as though possessed. The last of the Ashkar, realising their predicament tried to run and were swept up in his forepaws before being crushed by the terrifying talons. Melanth tossed the bodies aside, wiping his paw on the ground with distaste. It would take days to get the thick, cloying stink of Ashkar blood off his hide.

As quickly as it had started, it was over. Only the dead remained, and the Humans who had been his comrades had fled. The camp was a deserted ruin; all those not too dead or injured were fleeing the rampaging army of the Humans and the unknown horror that scythed through the darkness spreading death and fire in its wake. Far off, through the trees and the fog, the Ashkar were beating drums to signal a retreat. Most of the fighting was dying down as the foes lost each other in the fog, though confusion and mistaken identity were rife. It seemed that many of the Humans were losing themselves in the darkness, for they wandered aimlessly and blindly.

Around him, the tents and the corpses cast dire shadows in the ruddy half-light, as though the slaughter this night had stirred up some god of vengeance who lurked ready to deal swift justice to the killers. His body shivered as the adrenaline wore off and the thrill of battle died, the cold fog drifting inwards, mingling with the smoke. Amidst the carnage that was all that remained of the encampment, Melanth lowered his head, paying silent homage to those of both sides who had fallen this day. He caught sight of his talons; the russet red blood staining the claws was drying rapidly.

He remembered what he had said to Cael about remorse, about respecting those you killed for you had taken everything they had away from them. Not that they cared much about it now. They were beyond caring.

Something rustled beneath one of the cracked and splintered tents, shifting the torn fabric slightly, disturbing his thoughts. He turned with talons extended, ready to deliver absolution to an overlooked foe and was immensely surprised to spot a pale limb protruding from beneath the raw ox-hide, ghostly white and caked in blood and grime of this place, immediately thinking it was a Human soldier who had somehow got caught up in the destruction. Sighing, he slid a talon beneath the tent, flipping the badly built construction over, only to find that though the occupant was indeed human, soldier they were not. A human female, naked and injured lay amidst the rubble, unconscious and bruised all over her body. Her wrists bore the cuts of rope, her body all the signs of harsh captivity at the hands of the Ashkar. She moved slightly in her unconsciousness at the feeling of the cold breeze over her naked flesh, moaning and grimacing through whatever tortured dreams cursed her sleep, hands clenching feebly. With a single movement he threw the remainder of the tent aside. Sniffing at the abused Human he could tell that her imprisonment had been brief but bloody, and the stench of terror that clung to her barely overrode the stench of the Ashkar that had struck her time and again. Melanth came to his own conclusions.

This was the one whose scream had started all of this, the one who, in being taken prisoner, had cost the lives of hundreds of Humans and Ashkar in a single night. And what was she but a slip of a girl, most likely one of the 'ladies in waiting' who was apt to follow such mercenary camps, seeking to ply her wares with the Soldiers of Fortune. Still, something seemed... familiar. Something in her scent that niggled at the fringes of his memory, yet annoyingly eluded his attempts to recall it. Sweat, spice, oak, polish and some sort of herbs mingled amongst all the telltale spoors that she had picked up on her travels. Fruit was there too but that was an old trace, lost amongst the scent of the trees she had brushed past. More recently blood, fear, her captors and the sharp scent of the iron they had chained around her neck had been added to the mix, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to distinguish her from the legions of others who passed through these parts.

Growling frustration he scented the ground, finding the remains of a dress that had been torn in twain, and a sword attached to the belt of an Ashkar who looked like he had been in the process of hastily dressing before Melanth had arrived. Cutting the belt free, he considered his options, which were few and bleak. He could leave her here to be found by the Humans, but he knew the kind of treatment she could likely expect. Mercenaries were disinclined to be virtuous about the rights of women at the best of times, and especially not when flushed with the thrill of battle and victory. He might have waited with her to ensure she received treatment that was proper of her station, but that would leave him at risk. When the Humans returned he doubted that they would ask questions before attacking him; it had happened many times before.

That left only one option; take her with him. He disliked the prospect of being lumbered with her, but he could see no other option that would preserve her virtue, as well as his own life. He knew he should leave her, abandon her to the mercies of whoever found her first, but even as he turned to leave, he hesitated. Guilt. That was it; Guilt at the lives he had taken today, and would no doubt have to take before the end. Perhaps, by helping this one person, he might atone for his regrets; give back something to those he had taken everything from, even if it was just this much.

Sighing to himself, he gathered her up in a forepaw, clutching the remains of her meagre belongings in the other. Above the trees, dawn was approaching on the horizon, and the first telltale rays of the sun breached the sky, setting clouds ablaze with golden fire.

He stretched his wings, ready to chase the wind once more.

*

Morning came and went, taking with it the clouds and mist that clung to the earth, leaving behind emerald greenery and fresh blue skies. It was certainly a refreshing change from the dreary encampment on the plateau, or the depressing darkness of the deep forests. Melanth flew low over the ground, leaving the battlefield and the stink of war far behind, heading south for the greener prairies where deer and elk ran and the rivers were deep and cool. Clutched lightly in his talons, the girl slumbered on oblivious to all, for which he was grateful. He needed her waking and screaming like he needed a hole in the head.

He had only travelled forty leagues before changes in the landscape became noticeable. The tall conifers and spruces thinned out, leaving in their wake broad leaf oak, supple willow and mighty beech. The air was warmer, the wind lesser and thermals rose from the land like gigantic pillows of buoyant air. There were few settlements, mainly isolated homesteads or hamlets. Nevertheless, the signs of civilisation increased the further from the highlands they travelled, and Melanth felt that to travel any further would be indiscreet.

It took about twenty minutes to locate what he was searching for; a large tor nestled amongst steep sided hills, framed with trees and grasslands where there was rich hunting to be had. It was the ideal home for a Dragon, and indeed it had once been many years ago. On his journey to the camp in the highlands he had used the place as a waystop and found the desiccated remains of a kinsman who had passed to the world beyond centuries ago. He had felt uneasy then about taking up residence in what had once been the home of another dragon, and had then became its tomb. He felt no such qualms now. The dead had no more use for this place, and he knew that the Dragon would have understood.

He deposited the girl within the shady recesses of the former lair and went out to gather soft grasses and ferns to spare her tender, soft-skinned body the discomfort of the granite. That done, he carefully and reverently gathered up the remains of the lair's former occupant and set them upon a pyre of dried driftwood that blazed merrily in the slight breeze. A River ran nearby between the hills, widening where the hills became less steep into a still lake that sparkled like molten crystal as waves lapped the sandy shores. The tor itself sat in a wide bend of the river, shielded on the east side by the fast flowing water and on the other by rocky crags and forest. Examining the area from the air revealed a wide path snaking through the trees and a long neglected hunting lodge by the side of the tradeway. Closer examination revealed that it had been occupied recently by an itinerant traveller, and the ruts suggested that the path was frequented by heavily laden wagons of traders and merchants. Care would be needed to avoid their prying eyes, though no tracks led from the beaten path further than was needed to relieve ones bladder so it was unlikely that anyone would turn up on his doorstep unexpectedly. All in all, he thought, he would have been hard pressed to pick a better spot.

Flying out over the lake, he plunged in head first, revelling in the invigorating wash of freezing ice melt that seeped beneath his scales, numbing the tender hide and pain beneath. The numerous bruises and injuries the battle had inflicted sang out at the icy touch, but were quickly deadened. Cuts and smaller injuries that he didn't remember receiving made themselves painfully known, bringing a grimace to his muzzle. Rolling and thrashing in the water, he cleaned them as best he could, hoping that they wouldn't suppurate or fester.

By the time that was done, the better part of the day was over. Returning to the tor, he checked over the human's own wounds, trying to deduce more about her. She was young, certainly. No older than late teens to early twenties. Calloused hands suggested that she knew how to handle a sword, explaining her purpose in the forests. Choosing the path of a mercenary was a brave thing for a young woman to do, and it was also very, very dumb. Mercenaries had none of the discipline that was inherent in regular armies in the Empire, and Melanth knew a few that wouldn't batter an eyelid over raping her if it suited them to do so.

He stood back, sighing; wondering what had possessed him to do this. He could have saved himself a lot of trouble and just left her there. It was what she would no doubt have wanted anyways. Even as he pondered over her, he couldn't help but admire her form. She was muscular and lean, pale under all that grime, her hair of an indeterminate colour and her face occluded by bruises and blood. Certainly this girl would have been a lamb for the slaughter at the camp. Or was she a woman? He pondered the question for a moment, puzzling over the facts before making a decision. Gently, so as not to disturb her, he lifted a slender leg and gently slid a claw into the soft pink folds of her pussy, pushing deeper until his talon encountered a slight resistance. So, a girl then. Some silly chit without the sense she was born with, or a fighter wise and skilled enough to hold her own against the ravages of amorous mercs. There was no way of knowing for sure until she woke up and he could interrogate her. Gently removing his claw, he found his gaze strangely drawn to the area between her legs, staring at the trail of glistening fluid his intruding talon had disturbed until he made a conscious effort to look away.

Shaking his head to dislodge the avaricious thoughts that suddenly filled it, he decided he needed fresh air. The evening breeze was a welcome distraction from the Human, especially from that infuriatingly familiar scent... that scent. Something else, a not unpleasant odour tainted the air that set his heart thudding, and it took him a few seconds to realise that his talon was still coated with her fluids. Growling to himself he wondered why something so simple had suddenly affected him; awakening latent instincts and desires before he could quash the sordid train of thought it would lead to. She was Human, and while it would not have been the first human he had partaken of, he had never found his desires involved in the union, unlike when he scented an amorous Dragoness on the wind. Mainly his relationships had been with street whores, and at that mainly to deter suspicions of other soldiers. He snorted, considering that she might not have been worth the effort. She had not even stirred yet and was already becoming more trouble than she was worth!

Quite suddenly there was another scent on the air, a scent that was very familiar and instantly recognisable because it smelled much like himself. The sensation of being watched hit him like a battering ram, the piercing gaze seeming to strip away flesh and bone, exposing the very soul, a sensation that was by now nearly familiar but still unnerving. Twice before he had sensed it, and each time he had put it down to human instincts, human fears- but he was in his natural form now, and Dragons didn't feel fear. He was being watched, and the watcher was not a friend, of that he was sure. He readied himself to fight...

***

The Watcher in the Dark had gone to great pains to observe this Dragon, and had been surprised at the compassion he had shown to the Human girl; a trait it had not hitherto associated to any member of the Visari clan. It had watched him prepare a nest for the Manling, and then restrained amusement at the vexed expression on his muzzle when he checked her innocence. Still, the Dragon had proved himself to have a loyal spirit, and an obligation to duty. He would be ideal for the plan it had in mind, but how to get him to agree?

***

"I know you are there, come out and show yourself you coward!" Melanth roared at the unseen figure that he sensed was hiding just beyond the tree line. Or, at least that is what he tried to yell. He had spent so long in Human form now that he had forgotten how to use a Dragon's vocal chords. He got it right on the third try, adding;

"I grow weary of this lurking in shadows creature! If it is battle you seek come now and face me!"

He had expected it not to reply, as it had done when he left the inn on his way to the camp, or maybe to come charging out and attack him directly in a flurry of flashing talons, spittle and ichor. What he had never expected was compliance. The creature emerged from the shadow of the trees, a muzzle breaching the branches, followed by a vaguely equine shaped head tipped with horns. Keen and intelligent eyes the colour of sunshine stared back at him as the rest of the creature emerged; a long, arched neck and wings, a lithe, serpentine body trailed by a graceful tail. He had no doubt that he was staring at another Dragon, but this one was different from all the ones he had encountered previously. Whereas all the Dragons he had encountered before, including himself, had scales of varying shades of green with odd patches of brown and golden stripes along the spine, neck and tail, this one was pure silver. Shorter horns marked it as a female, the firm, practiced manner of its tread bespoke utter confidence and conviction. The way the sunlight reflected off her scales reminded him of a mirror, and he was dazzled. She circled him, examining him up close for the first time, as though trying to fit him into a preconceived picture she had drawn, but having difficulty pencilling in all the scars. He was put strangely in mind of a housewife sizing up a particularly difficult turkey.

"Well, this explains a lot." He muttered as much to himself as to the strange female. "We don't seem to have met, so this is hardly a social call. I assume you have a name of some sort?" He dropped into the native language of Dragons, knowing that she might have difficulty communicating in Human. She ceased in her pacing, cocking her head to one side and seeming to come to a decision.

"No, we have not met before, I believe." She said, her voice obviously feminine and tinged with mirthful amusement, as though she found something about the whole situation funny. "You may call me the Watcher in the Dark, if it so pleases you."

"A curious title, but hardly your usual name. So why are you here, Watcher in the Dark?" He retorted mockingly, testing her reaction. A fleeting expression of affront passed her muzzle before she hid it.

"Ah, straight to the point, I expected no less." She replied, returning the insult with a smile, revealing sharp points of numerous teeth. "I will not bore you with the details-"

"Bore me, I was just starting to feel lonely." He snapped. This was all wrong! An intruder was not just supposed to waltz up to you and exchange barbs and pleasantries. He knew she was building up to something, and didn't like it. Still, she was a Dragon, no matter what colour she was, and it was rare that he encountered any of his own kind.

"I noticed." She smiled, indicating the recumbent Human behind him. He didn't flinch or turn to look, but wondered vaguely why he had placed himself between her and this Dragoness. Damn. He thought. Walked into that one.

"To be blunt, I am here for much the same reason you are. The build up of the Ashkar has attracted the attentions of more than just a rabble of free-swords, present company excluded of course." She grinned again, something that was starting to get on his nerves. "We believe that something is drawing the Ashkar to this place, something more than material gain. I was sent here to uncover what that may be."

"And what is it you want me to do?" Melanth grimaced, his tail flickering. Just like the sensation of eyes on the back of his neck, this female was unsettling him. He was confused and angry; part of him wanted to ask questions about his kind; a part of his tutelage that had been long neglected in favour of Human companions. Another part, the part that carved its slander onto the desks of the School of Hard Knocks where he had learned to survive set off all the warning bells in his head. He decided that he didn't like this dragoness, and deemed to get rid of her as quickly as possible. "In case you haven't noticed I'm not exactly in an unburdened position." He flicked a wingtip nonchalantly, indicating the Human.

"I seek to hire your services. You are a mercenary by trade, are you not? I do not require anything of you yet, but there will come a time when I will require you to perform a task for me."

"What does this 'task' entail?" He said, feeling his claws extend. Less and less he liked the untenable situation he was in.

"I do not yet know, but I will contact you again with more information, such as I can gather. If it eases your suspicions any, it is because of you in part that I have had to resort to these methods. My original plan was to uncover what is going on here, and then trick the Humans into distracting the Ashkar whilst I dealt with the real issue. However, when you removed the female Human from the camp I had no lead to follow to a source, and once the Humans attacked early there was no hope of the distraction as the Ashkar will be on guard. I am no soldier to fight my way into a fortress."

It took Melanth a few seconds to fit all of this into his head, and then the picture that the puzzle formed was like a red rag to a bull. Rage exploded in him at the thought of what this enigmatic Silver had done. A dragon should know better!

"You arranged for the girl to be in the camp?" Melanth growled, his voice a honeyed purr of pure menace. The Watcher must have sensed that she was marching through a minefield and took a couple of steps back, instinctively curling her tail around her body like a giant scaly whip.

"It wasn't my idea-" The Watcher protested.

"They all say that." Melanth spat, glaring. "'I was under orders' or 'it's not my fault' I've heard that line from every manipulating scumbag I had the misfortune to serve with. I'll tell you what, leave now and I won't rip out your throat. As to your task, I want no part in it. Find another lackey for your schemes."

Before she could reply, and before he was tempted to follow through with his threat, Melanth turned and stormed back into the cave, where he discovered that the girl had woken up.

***

There were songs on the way back to the camp, and boasting. Soldiers boasting about their exploits, officers boasting about the tact and skill of their command, Sergeants boasting about ignoring the officers and doing what they thought was best...

Cael sat with the others around a small fire, lost somewhere amidst the ocean of tents. The squad wasn't jubilant as the others were, and had no time for songs or boasting. They had been thoroughly grilled by their superior officers for hours after returning fresh from the field of battle, and were utterly exhausted. Too tired even to tend to their wounds or wash away the dirt of war, they had each tried to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come.

Cael sat; a forlorn figure lost in thought in the corner, still clutching the necklace that Melanth had thrust into his hand. Or was its name Melanth? Who knew what Dragons called themselves...?

The Dwarf still wasn't back yet. As a senior NCO he had been given a full going over by the Rupert and his orderlies, although knowing the Dwarf it would likely be the Rupert who would be in for a grilling and left red-faced.

Yriel too sought seclusion in an undisturbed corner, pondering over the night's events with a quizzical mind. As a Metamorphicate she was no stranger to shape-shifting herself, but amongst all the stories she had heard about Dragons, shape-shifting didn't feature too heavily, if at all. Either this was some new trick they had learned, or there was more to that one than had met the eye. Certainly, as a Human, Melanth had been able to fit in well enough not to stand out from the crowd. The necklace must have something to do with it, she thought. Dragons might not be natural shape-shifters like her own kindred, but they were powerful magic users who could manipulate the Laylines in a way no one else could even begin to understand.

But why? The question popped into her head so suddenly she gave a start. A spy maybe? But Dragons were said to abhor such things. Besides, there was nothing to spy on. The Empire had hardly made a secret of its intention to drive the Ashkar from the Northlands, not with posters advertising for recruits to take part in the campaign. Whatever the case, something didn't smell right.

She sidled over to Cael, who was looking so confused and miserable that she felt moved to say something, but Cael wasn't in the mood for placation. He held the necklace in a tight knuckled grip, staring fixedly at the single ivory tooth that dangled amidst the scales. Yriel took a seat on the log beside him.

"May I have a look?" She asked, stretching out a leonine paw. Cael reluctantly handed it over, tossing the strap over her claws before subsiding back into his sullen silence.

It was an ornate affair, all carvings and hieroglyphs. The tooth was adorned with thin, swirling patterns that intertwined and spiralled in on each other making it impossible to tell where one carving ended and another began. Strange symbols interrupted the dance of the lines, framed by cartouches and even more swirls. Each of the green and brown scales was marked with a single sigil, set with scarlet ink impregnated into their silken surface like a bizarre tattoo. Her whiskers and claw tips tingled as she handled the unusual item, and the hair on the back of her neck rose into steep hackles. No doubt about it; this thing was used for channelling magic.

But that still didn't explain why. There must have been a good reason for the Dragon to go to such lengths to conceal its identity and insert itself into their ranks. Yriel pondered this, handing the necklace back to Cael and losing herself in thought.

Yriel had not had what passed amongst Metamorphs for a classical education. Her tutelage had not involved much lock picking, but a lot of sword practice. Instead of discerning valuable objects from gewgaws, she had learned to pick out camouflage from leaves. However, this did not mean that she was not subject to the Metamorphicate nation's national disease; Curiosity.

It was widely understood that Metamorphs were naturally inquisitive, something they shared with true felines. Irrepressible and insatiably curious, common sense was far from a strong point of the species, along with definite rules regarding possessions and ownership. Amongst Humans they were regarded by the optimistic to be childlike, and seen by pessimists and shopkeepers to be petty thieves. Their taste for adventure only added to what would have been bleak survival quotas if not for the shape-shifting abilities that gave them a head start in a world filled with barking dogs and angry store owners. An old adage had it that 'if you leave something be, a Metamorph won't.'

It probably had something to do with this adage that Yriel felt compelled to hunt down the wayward Dragon and demand an explanation from it. And, as so often happened with Metamorphs, compulsion overrode survival instinct, kicked common sense out the door and hijacked the body without the mind really knowing what was happening or what to do about it. Wanderlust chose a path that she would follow out of sheer curiosity to the end, or until something that was more interesting and could be chased was encountered.

Yriel found herself wandering off purposefully through the tents, wondering vaguely if the Dragon had some gold nearby that wasn't too well guarded.