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The black and the gold

By Strega

When the guardsman burst in through the tavern door, sweat running down his face and naked panic in his eyes, Richard knew what the man was going to say. He'd seen looks like that before. One or twice he'd had a look like that on his own face.

"Dragon!" The man shouted. "Dragon flying south of town!"

"Has it attacked anyone?" his brother asked, not putting down his cup of mead. Hiram the smith wasn't the sort to worry readily, and less so now that his children were grown and what hair he had left was iron-gray. He well knew that if the dragon was attacking so much as an outlying cottage there'd be more than one person in here looking for Richard.

"No, but it's a dragon!"

"All right Rory." Richard put down his own cup and buckled the side straps of his breastplate. His reputation as a dragonslayer had gotten him this job when he'd retired from his life of hunting monsters and returned home. He still had all his hair, gray now as his brother's, and he still kept his sword sharp.

Richard pushed back his chair and stood up. "Show me."

Two more guardmen were waiting for them outside the tavern, and by the time they reached the guard headquarters (the watchtower built in the bad old days of Wild Coast bandit raids) the whole dozen of them were there. Paul, mercenary retired from a hard life of which he seldom spoke; Randall, reformed bandit and now priest of Pelor, who was most likely still wanted in the City of Greyhawk; Boris, one of only four dwarves living in town since he married once-widowed May Cleavestone. Four experienced warriors, plus eight half-trained oldest sons from various town families. Here in Veluna, strong and well-policed nation, it was all the town guard they'd needed.

Until now. "I saw it from the tower battlement," Boris rasped. The long scar an ogre's club had left on his cheek lifted one corner of his mouth into a permanent smile. "Black dragon. Too far away to see how big for sure, but I think - think, mind you - that it was fifty or so feet long."

"Black for certain?" Paul asked. "Might it have been silhouetted against the sky and just looked black?"

Randall was handing out crossbows and spears to the younger militiamen. Each had already put on the chain-maille shirt and steel cap they kept in their footlockers. The officers all had their armor on already, with Richard settling his old basinet and its maille aventail onto his head. Of all his pieces of armor it fit the best; his head hadn't sagged or gained weight, unlike the rest of him.

"I know a black dragon when I see one," Boris rasped. He tugged at the strap of his war axe. "The head and tail shape--"

Richard nodded. "Old ones have horns that curl forward, so their faces are like skulls in a horned helmets. On younger ones the horns point back more, but they are still ugly. Vile creatures. Have you men waxed your shields? It'll keep the acid they spit from eating into the wood."

The younger militiamen nodded and smiled, inspired by his apparent confidence. Richard didn't have the heart to tell them that their shield might survive if the dragon spat on them; they would not. He'd seen more than one skeleton sizzling in a pool of black dragon acid, flesh and armor dissolved away.

"We think it came down in the old fort ruins on the hill, west of the caravan trail," Paul said. "We need to make it feel unwelcome."

Chasing a newly arrived dragon away was a thankless task. One that'd set up a lair and developed a reputation usually had treasure, or the locals would shower you with gratitude for driving it off. Here in little Rushwood few believed the militia was even necessary. Unless they gave it time to attack someone, which was not going to happen, they'd be lucky if it earned them a drink at the tavern.

Someone had to do it, though. "Mount up," Richard snapped, and twelve men, some of whom would likely die tonight, rode into the darkness.

An hour later they stared at each other, unsure of what to do. One of the younger men cocked his crossbow and said, "Its armor should be thin where it's--"

"No," said Richard. "There is no threat here." There were questioning looks, but he was the commander and the most experienced when it came to dragons. The younger men watched what was happening in horror, the officers with the dispassion of experienced warriors who didn't have any stake in the outcome.

Except for Richard, who they could swear was almost smiling.

*****

There comes a time in each dragon's life when it is time to move on. A rare few never had to do it; their dam might die of some misfortune, leaving them to take over her territory. Those that refused to leave were forced to leave or, in the case of the more evil and ruthless dragons, simply eaten by the larger and stronger mother. On extremely rare occasions a prodigy might overpower their mother by some clever trick; the typical way was to entice a band of adventurers to the area in the hopes they would kill the older dragon while the young one lay low.

Typically, though, young dragons dispersed from their birth homes somewhere in their mid-twenties. This was the most dangerous time in the average dragon's life, as the behavior of the species was well understood by the lesser races and there were humans, among others, who devoted their lives to killing these young dragons before they established lairs and became too powerful to easily face.

In the average dragon's life this sort of traumatic move only happened once. Dragons guarded their territories zealously and most would rather die than abandon a lair and its hoard. Yet this was precisely what Valthurg had done. The black dragon rode an updraft into lands he knew not well at all, clutching what he'd been able to salvage in his claws. A chest packed with jewels, a silvered helm, and an intricately etched magical spear from an elven adventurer who had long since made his way through the black dragon's bowels. It was a fraction of his accumulated bed of treasure and Valthurg was in a foul mood.

He'd had no choice. Deep in his swamp lair he'd thought himself secure; nothing more dangerous than oversized and curiously intelligent otters and swamp alligators troubled him. The otters revered him like a god, bringing him sacrifices of captured humans and treasure. Disappearances on the edges of the great marsh were blamed on the otters themselves, who were viciously predatory in their own right. When an army or band of adventurers did slog onto the swamp to clear out the menace the water weasels proved a useful scapegoat. A village of them would be wiped out, prisoners freed, and no one ever realized that a far greater threat, subtle and patient, lurked deeper in the marshlands.

So Valthurg waited, fed on the local wildlife and sacrifices, and gradually grew in size and power as is the way of dragons. Until one day something far worse than a band of dragon-hunters came for him in his swamp.

It was another dragon, vast and terrible and firey, yet one as comfortable in the water as himself. He poked his head from the swamp to watch as it devastated the largest of the otter villages, snapping up and devouring pony-sized weasels and freeing their slaves. The otters fought back with spears and their own claws and teeth, but they were hopelessly outmatched. Those that could fled, and it was one of those that brought the warning to him.

He had never seen one before, but he knew what it was: a Gold, greatest and wisest (so they claimed) of the dragons, and one far too ancient and powerful for him to fight. He knew at once that it was there for him and just as quickly he knew he must flee. His mother had told him horrible stories about Golds, how they would hunt down evil dragons, enwrap them in their coils and, protected by spells against their kin's breath weapons, overpower and swallow them whole. Rumor had it some elder Golds, with their efficient and slow metabolism, ate nothing but other dragons. They'd take a sizable scaled meal once a decade or so and live off the fat and the occasional jewel until they finally grew hungry again.

They would not eat their Good kin, the silvers and bronzes, the copper and brass, but this was little comfort to someone who was very likely to experience a Gold's digestive system firsthand if he lingered. He thanked the messenger by instantly devouring him, as he would need strength for his flight, and before the hapless otter wiggled its last in his gullet he grasped what he could in his talons and fled.

He swam to the edge of the marsh farthest from the otter village, behind a low hill, and only there did he take wing. By staying as low as possible he hoped to evade notice; with any luck the otters would distract the Gold long enough for him to escape. He glided down valleys, traversed high passes on foot, and made every effort to not be outlined against the sky.

An hour after sunset and a mountain range away he was beginning to think he was safe. Well, as safe as a dragon with no lair and no territory could be. He took out his irritation on wildlife passing beneath, spitting acid on several deer and a small bear. Their brief screams of agony warmed his dark heart as he flew on. Unfortunately that pleasure was denied him as he glided out over the foothills. Lights from dozens of hamlets twinkled in the twilight and he could not afford to draw the ire of the local humans just now. Cathartic though it would be to raze an isolated household and devour every living thing he must not announce his presence just yet. Already he regretted the deer and bear, not because of their suffering but because they were points in his path that could be found by a keen-eyed and sharp-nosed pursuer. He altered his course sharply, paralleling the highest peaks now to throw off any such follower.

As he cleared the mountains he began to look for a place to lay up. A lake would do, but he felt most comfortable surrounded by dank and rotting vegetation. His eye was drawn to a green smear well ahead, a wide place in a meandering stream that likely signaled a swamp. Across the arc of horizon he only saw one such and he bent his course in that direction. There was a risk in being this predictable, but hopefully the Gold, if it were following him at all, would not know which direction he had gone. He was at least twenty leagues from his lair and there must be a hundred such marshes within that distance of his abandoned home.

He was not the only one who thought that patch of green in amongst the plowed fields and woodlands looked inviting. As he descended toward a ruin just to its south a shimmer of scales appeared from the water. Another black dragon, slightly larger than himself, climbed out of the reeds. Rather than occupy the center of the clearing amidst the ruins, though, it left that available. The chromatic dragons, as opposed to the metallics like the Golds, were sharply territorial and aggressive...but not always. Perhaps it just wanted to talk or perhaps it saw the glitter of the treasure Valthurg carried and coveted it.

In either case could use a rest, even a brief one. He descended in a great cloud of blown leaves and dirt, his claws digging grooves in the worn flagstones of what must be an old fortress. The other black watched him with and lifted its head to be at his level.

"You are not from around here," it said unnecessarily as it looked him over. When it spied the iron chest clasped in his talons it nodded. "You are fleeing your lair and are looking for a new one."

"Yes," Valthurg snapped, and looked away angrily. His mood was such that much as he needed a place to rest he could not bring himself to be polite. Politeness did not come easily to chromatic dragons in the best of circumstances. "I am Valthurg. I need a place to rest for the day. I will leave after dark tomorrow. I do not know this area well and do not wish the fly when the greater moon is up and I might be seen."

"Muramus," The other dragon said, and "You are welcome to stay for a day, or perhaps a bit longer."

It was the tone of the other dragon's voice that alerted him. Friendly. Even eager to see him, which was very odd. That got Valthurg to look, and to sniff. Had he looked at the other dragon directly from the start he would have realized at once his host was a female. Now that he did look the arch of her neck and curve of a wing signaled that perhaps it'd been too long since she'd seen a male dragon. Well, it'd been too long since he'd seen a female one.

Dragon matings have their own rituals and courtesies, just as do those of the lesser races. A male from an adjacent territory might court a female for years, bringing her prey and treasure in the hopes of being accepted. Ultimately such a couple might even den together, combining their hoards and raising offspring who one day would leave to find their own territories.

Alternately, a wandering male might find a lonely female and the two would instantly fall to coupling. Afterward the male would leave the female to raise any young on her own. Angry and frustrated as Valthurg was after his terrible day the prospect of patience or diplomacy did not even occur to him. He simply sidled close, wrapped a wing around her and began to nip at her scales.

This was a good way to get mauled if the female proved uninterested, but it seemed he had guessed right. In seconds their tails wrapped around one another and the two dragons gripped each other with every available limb, biting and scratching in foreplay that would tear less well-armored lovers to shreds.

The female proved to be stronger than Vulthurg expected, stronger than he was in fact, but he was getting properly aroused and other than being pushed around a bit and gripped a bit too tightly everything was going to plan. He was seconds away from mounting his newfound lover when his day, which had started out so badly only to brighten a bit in the last few minutes, took a turn for the worse once more.

As she gripped him with almost suffocating strength the female relaxed the love-bite on his cheek, twisted her muzzle toward his and yawned. Valthurg's eyes went wide in shock as the dragoness's jaws engulfed his snout and most of his skull. The leathery flesh that separated her upper and lower jaw stretched itself around his cheeks and sharp fangs latched into the gaps between his scales, making it nearly impossible to pull his nose from her gullet.

For an instant he was too shocked to struggle and his astonishment grew as a shimmer swept over his lover's form. He saw and felt her change, her body shifting subtly from muscular and ridgebacked to sleek and almost serpentine. The change in her scales was even greater: they went from charcoal-gray with patches of midnight to metallic yellow that gleamed in the light of the rising moon. The last thing Valthurg saw was that shimmer as her jaws began to work their way forward. The black dragon began to struggle and claw as his intended lover, changed suddenly into a Gold only a hair larger than himself, proceeded to eat him alive. Already she'd worked her way past his horns and swallowed his entire head.

It wasn't the same Gold as before. That one was several times the bulk of this female...if it was even female! It must have used some magic to disguise itself and lure him in. Now it was gripping him tight with tail and limbs as its jaws worked their way down his neck. Already his snout and face were in its gullet, wrapped in tight slippery flesh and tugged still deeper every time the Gold swallowed. Despite that, almost all the progress it made were not from its throat muscles. Rather its jaws operated like a snake's, the left and right sides of each mandible walking forward to latch inward-pointing teeth into his scales. Bit by bit, but without ever completely releasing the grip it devoured his neck. Valthurg thrashed and struggled and yet foot by foot the hungry Gold swallowed him alive. Moments after the start of it he almost freed his head, but pulling himself halfway back out of the sucking gullet tired him and and once he was weary the jaws resumed their remorseless advance. Each near-escape after the first freed still less of his body, and each time the wet scales exposed by the attempt would be overtaken and devoured once more. The Gold was just too strong and skillful to let its intended meal escape.

He'd spat acid the moment he realized what it was that held him, but the sizzling fluid just ran off what should have been tender mouthflesh and dripped from golden scales. Some magical protection cast before it even saw him, and that meant it had known he was coming and been ready. His claws, too, raked across its scales with far less than the expected effect. More magic, defenses cast in advance. He could have done the same, albeit not as skillfully, had he known what was coming. Occasionally he did manage to get a claw into the tough hide and then blood did flow, but all too soon the advancing jaws trapped his forelegs to his body. His ability to resist was sharply limited and the Gold's distended maw went to work on his torso, even as his head slipped down into the waiting stomach.

A Black dragon's scales are all but acid-proof, but acid was not the only threat that hellish cauldron held. A Gold is a fire-breather and as it stuffed him bit by bit down its gullet and into the furnace of its belly Valthurg began to roast. Heat and fumes weakened him and scorched his scales, and the more of him entered the Gold's belly the worse it got. As his scales dried and cracked the hot acids gradually seeped through and began their work. A dragon can digest just about anything. Including, unfortunately for him, another dragon. Desperately he wriggled and kicked, using what weapons he had left, but the Gold was not to be denied.

*****

The humans arrived as the Gold reached the Black dragon's midpoint. Half its meal was stuffed down the long gullet, the Black's head and parts of its neck already in the stomach where the rest would soon join them. A taloned hindpaw sank its claws into the Gold's flank; the longer-lasting protective spells it had cast kept many blows like this from landing, but the spell humans called Stoneskin was exhausted. Blood oozed out as the Black raked with all its might. Tired and injured, but in a winning position the Gold ignored the wound. Its jaws were working now over the haunches of its meal, and the ability the Black had to resist was reduced still more. Once the jaws completely overtook the rump of the Black it would just be a question of whether the Gold's gut could contain this entire meal. The Gold was confident it could. Oh, some of the Black might linger in the gullet for a few days or even weeks as the belly did its work, but eventually it would follow the rest. A meal this massive was worth the effort. Even a relatively young, growing dragon like him would not need to eat for a very long while with prey like this fattening its middle.

The Gold watched the riders approach with some concern. Occupied as it was with the enormous task of its meal it was not well able to defend itself, and with its scales and armored neckplates stretched wide on elastic skin to fit the Black down its throat it was much more vulnerable than usual. The humans came to a halt on their nervous horses just out of reach of the Black's thrashing tail, twenty feet or so of which was free of the coils of his own. He could not restrain every inch of the Black when so much effort must be devoted to the act of eating it.

If the riders attacked he would roll himself into the marsh, and if that did not dissuade them - they did have crossbows, and one appeared to be a spellcaster - he would submerge himself into the water and muck as best he could. The alternative was to disgorge the Black, which even this late in the meal would be a quick and simple process. Until a meal was fully in the stomach, reversing the feeding process was always far easier than continuing it. Once that was done he could properly defend himself.

The Gold resolved that he would do no such thing. It was not about the meal, savory as he found the evil dragon. The black dragon was a threat to everyone and it needed to be removed. If his life must be at risk to do so, so be it.

There was an exchange of words between two of the humans, an argument. He could not make it out over the sound the Black made as it fought to save itself. One of the older humans, the ones in plate armor, climbed down from the horse and approached him from the side away from the Black's lashing tail. The Gold was pleasantly surprised when the man gripped the sun medallion he wore at his neck and began to chant. Over the course of several minutes the man cast half a dozen healing spells, magically stitching up some of the worse wounds he'd sustained in the course of the struggle.

It had been more than two hours since it met the Black, and finally the Gold's jaws worked their way over the other dragon's thighs. With its forelegs pinned to its sides by the walls of the gullet, and now the stomach, and now even its hind legs pushed helplessly up against its tail, the struggle was all but over. Down inside its gut the Black still squirmed, but there was no escape now.

*****

Richard sent the others home once Randall spent the last of his healing. The other officers didn't want to go, especially Boris, who said he'd met Gold dragons before and rather liked them. The young men for their part were happy to leave. The sight of the black dragon being eaten alive would haunt their nightmares for years.

When he was alone he tied his frightened horse behind a ruined wall and sat on a stone block to watch. A colossal bulge moved slowly down Gold's neck as it swallowed down the Black dragon's rump. Foot by foot the scaly, ridge-topped tail followed. The Gold was swollen over the entire length of its torso, from hind legs and well past its front up into its neck. He could see the bulges where the Black was doubled back on itself inside the stomach, and the sudden twitches as it tried, weakly, to free itself. With its entire body cavity crammed full of fellow dragon, still the Gold fed.

It took half the night, but finally, laboriously, the last bit was stuffed in and swallowed. The long, black, crocodilian tail, still flipping from side to side, slipped into the Gold's gullet and was gone. Finally it raised its head, weary and gorged, and yawned one last time to reset its jaws on their hinges. The Gold, so stuffed with prey its legs barely touched the ground, turned its amber eyes to him for the first time.

Richard had heard the dragon belch before as it did now, a long rumble of air escaping its guts. This time it brought with a smell of brimstone, burned flesh and bile. It exhaled a cloud of smoke and burped once more. It spat out a black scale that had stuck between its teeth and tilted its head as it watched him. He watched it back, and noticed that the Black was still not dead. Somehow it clung to life there beneath the scales, squirming weakly, still trying to save itself even as it was digested. Finally the gold dragon spoke.

"Thank you for not attacking me," it hissed, and spat out another scale. "And for the healing. Not all are so considerate." The hiss left its voice as it worked its jaws once more. A last joint popped into place and its voice was as Richard remembered, resonant and wise.

"You were doing us a favor," Richard said. "We were here to chase that black dragon away. Now only your guts need to worry about it." He smiled.

"It will not be a problem," said the dragon, draping its ridge-wings over the vast bulge of its gut. "Not in the end. It will take a few months, is all."

"Wouldn't it be safer to just kill it, then eat it afterward? And how did you find it so fast?" He was sure now that it was the same dragon he'd met thirty years ago. It was the only Gold he'd ever met, but there was something about its voice and the way it tilted its head.

"If I had fought it, the battle might have spilled over into a town or a farm. This way I risked only myself." The long neck, swollen at the base with the hind legs and tail of its victim, curled around to eye the enormous bulge. After a moment it looked back at Richard with humor in its amber eyes. "And this way I could take my meal without too many gawkers. You'd be surprised at the crowds that gather."

It continued. "It was a gift from my mother, somewhat. She sought it out and it escaped as she tarried to deal with other evils. She tracked its path with magic and, with the same concerns as I about fighting it over towns, she sent word to me. I reached this spot just soon enough to cast protective spells and disguise myself as a female of its breed, in the hopes this would lure it close enough to catch." It flipped a wing, a shrug. "It worked."

"So you seduced him into your belly. You do like your meals big, don't you? Even bigger this time."

The struggles in the Gold's belly were quieting. The desperate Black was dying, just a meal now for its kin. It looked Richard over, tilting its head to the side once more in that familiar way.

"Yes." It lowered its head. "I apologize. I should not have eaten your horse. I was young and foolish, as you were once, and lost my temper. I know this will be no consolation, but your horse fed me well. When we eat such a large meal much of it stays with us. It is how we grow. Metal to strengthen my scales, flesh and bone to build more of my own. Some of your mount is still with me, even to this day."

"And the black dragon?"

Richard would swear the dragon smiled. It poked a claw into its flank where the bulge of swallowed dragon head lay. "Well, he wanted into me badly enough when he thought I was a female of his kind. I simply accommodated him. But yes, he will be with me for a long time as well."

"It's been a lifetime," Richard mused. "You're quite a bit bigger."

"With this meal I will grow larger still. It is the way of dragons. My mother is far vaster than I. She could almost cover your little town with her wings." It nodded at his look of surprise. "Yes, I know your town. I've lived in this area for many years now, often in human form. I'd show you but," it nuzzled its swollen flank, "I would explode."

The Black gave a last twitch beneath the scales and was still. Lack of air and (Richard guessed) heat inside the fire-breather had done it in. Now it would take the same trip his horse had so many years ago, living on only as added bulk on the Gold and whatever useless bits the dragon expelled.

Richard shook his head. He'd been woolgathering. "How did you know you'd be able to catch him as a female black dragon?"

Shortly thereafter he knew rather more about dragon mating habits than he'd really wanted to know. The dragon seemed to take a perverse joy in spelling out the details. Eventually, though, it yawned sleepily.

"You will excuse me, but I should rest. A big meal like this takes a lot out of even a dragon. I'll be in this marsh for a few weeks if you want to talk. Oh, and here," the Gold said, and pushed a wonderfully crafted armet helm and a silver spear with a spiralling point toward Richard with its claws. "The helm is for your priest friend, and the lance is for you. Payment for your horse, with a bit of interest, as my meal no longer needs them."

"And what about that," Richard said, and nodded to the heavy iron chest that lay half beneath the dragon. "He doesn't need that any more either, does he?"

"Well," said the dragon as it pulled the chest further out of reach. "I am a dragon, after all." And it smiled toothily.