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Mage's Tale Chapter 3

"If you want to know the truth Silvy, we have to go back. Far back. Back to when I was very young. Back to the beginning of everything.

"All dragons belong to a clan. I belonged to the Celestan clan, which roughly translates to 'of the stars' or 'star blue' it varies. Each clan is led by a matriarch and patriarch. Most of the clans are very old, having huge fortresses in the great mountain chains of the world. Each are steeped in tradition and culture, as many and varied as all the kingdoms of the other races. Dragons do make war upon each other, but only in very ritualized ways. For if too many dragons die at once, great calamities split the earth.

"Now, many cultures laud dragon slayers as heroes but I can tell you that no sane individual of another race would kill a dragon for their gold or riches for doing so would invite the wrath of the whole clan. Civilizations have burned for a single clan death for the strict rules by which dragons war only apply to ourselves.

"Which is why what happened was so extraordinary.

"And tragic."

*******

It was night, and the moon was full. A clearing stood empty yet bathed in silver beams of light. Wind stirred the tops of the trees. The forest was old, filled with mighty and ancient oaks. A mist clung lightly to the undergrowth. Frost threatened soon. Stone monoliths stood in a circle and the clearing was dominated by a large stone table.

The sound of heavy wings snapping in the air disturbed the stillness. Six dragons settled gracefully on their pinions. All were shades of blue. Two of the great creatures wore helmets that covered the upper parts of their heads, leaving their lower jaws free to bite. They were guardians of the clan and took position to protect the three they were charged with.

Cobalt Cyne, venerable patriarch of the Celestan clan folded his wings and seated himself at the great table.

Azuris, noble matriarch and mate of Cobalt Cyne took her hatchlings under a motherly wing. The fifth and sixth members of the party looked up at their mother with wide, innocent eyes.

The young Bluevayne was nervous, and huddled closely to Azuris' warmth. All adolescent embarrassment abolished by the fearful prospect of meeting the leaders of another clan. His hide was unscarred as of yet. Next to him was his clutch brother Kizzelayne. One of their clutch sisters hadn't been feeling well and the other had stayed behind to keep her company.

Clan succession was not decided by the order of birth, especially since a truly fertile dragon couple could have up to six healthy eggs in a single clutch, but by ability. It was the strongest, wisest, and most able to lead that were chosen to lead the clan after retirement of the patriarch and matriarch. Dragons were extremely long lived creatures, so there was plenty of time to decide what offspring was most deserving.

Azuris and Cobalt Cyne had six hatchlings. Two from their first clutch, and four from their second. The brothers had been brought along to witness first hand a little inter-clan politics and perhaps learn a few things.

They were in the clearing, a designated middle ground, to discuss an end to the hostilities that had sundered the relations between the Celestans and Furians. Each had resources that would strengthen the other, but the bad blood between the two was from a long and sordid history.

"Mother, why do we have to do this so late?" Kizzelayne squeaked softly.

"It is so that our treaty is struck by the light of the full moon. The silver light of the sky signifies trust even in darkness." The elegant silver jewelry that hung from Azuris' horns twinkled softly in the light as she leaned down to nuzzle her hatchlings. They were getting a little old to be coddled so, and a little big to fit completely under her wing.

"Why is that so important?" Bluevayne questioned next.

"In the darkness of uncertainty, it is important to know who is friend and who is foe. Much as the moon casts its gaze on the shrouded night, so too must we pierce the veil of doubt and lies."

Cobalt looked back at his mate and children with a carefully concealed smile. The demands of the clan too often prevented him from giving his many hatchlings the attention they deserved. His goal as patriarch was to leave behind a strong legacy. His own sire had squandered a good deal of the clan's strength and riches. Cyne had worked tirelessly to amass wealth, and power. Under him, the Celestan's had prospered for near a century.

This new treaty, signed under the silver light of the moon, would be another step towards that end. Cobalt loved his clan, his children, but most of all, he loved his mate. Azuris was the most beautiful creature in his eyes, always strong and supportive. Cyne believed in tradition and had courted her in all the ways custom had demanded. Without her by his side, he would not have been able to do half the things he had dreamed of for the clan.

And, just when he thought he couldn't love her any more, she had given him so many beautiful children. He remembered vividly and fondly when she had first told him she was with eggs, both for their first and second clutch. He remembered touching the shell of what they had created together, and of their hatching, when the legacy he had dreamed about finally became reality.

Azuris too, loved her mate. The dragoness often thanked whatever gods had deemed her worthy of the role of matriarch. She had been somewhat fiery and impulsive in her youth. Cyne first caught her attention with his sometimes stuttering, but always heartfelt and genuine advances. His steely resolve and loyalty was what had captivated her.

The happiest moment of her life had been when she found out she carried his eggs. Having children was what had finally settled her impulsiveness. She was fine taking something of a more passive role in governing the clan so she could raise their hatchlings properly. There had been nights when they had lain together, talking long into the morning about their plans while she stroked her pregnant belly. Her first clutch had only yielded two fertile eggs, and yet, she only felt joy. Number of offspring had never interested her like it did some females, only that they be strong and whole.

Not that she of course didn't delight when she bore twice that many with her second clutch. She loved all her children. With three boys and three girls, she could not have asked for anything more perfect.

A rare gift of all mothers, great and small, is that of gauging the hidden gifts of their children. The dragoness was not biased, yet in the two she had brought to the meeting, she saw the most potential. In Kizzelayne and Bluevayne the matriarch saw a deep reflection of their sire.

The winds settled and stillness hung heavily in the air.

Azuris pulled her sons a little closer.

The echo of heavy mechanisms rippled through the night. Two dozen ballista bolts found dragon flesh.

The two guards, old friends of the clan head family, trusted and true, fell pierced through with four spears each. One of them struggled with six feet of ironwood jutting from their throat before falling with a gurgle. The other was slain outright, punctured through the heart.

Reinforced with strips and bands of metal, tipped with sharpened steel, they were designed to be fired from ships to reel in another for boarding. The heads were conical to pierce hull and flanged with four barbs to catch and hold fast. Because of the softer metal girdling them, the bolts could bend without breaking.

Cobalt Cyne was struck with eight. Although he lurched, the patriarch did not fall.

The fire originated in an arc through the wood surrounding the traditional table. One ballista bolt collided with Kizzelayne. His smaller body couldn't deal with the shock, and all breath was stolen from him before life faded. Because of the way the bold entered him, his ribs stopped enough of the projectile's momentum to spare his brother's life.

Protected by the bodies of his sibling and mother, Bluevayne survived the attack. His eyes darted in panic. Blood seeded the air, and the dead weight of Kizzelayne leaned heavily against him.

"Kizzel, Kizzel what's wrong? Mother! Mother what's going on?" He couldn't see the three bolts that had perforated her side. The dragoness felt her heart struggle to keep beating and pulled her body tightly to her little ones.

"It's alright. It will be alright." Azuris breathed the comforting words to her child.

And then she died.

Bluevayne quivered, reduced to a whimpering hatchling. Shadowed by death, the young dragon wept, clinging to sheltering scales.

A dozen humans emerged from the misty wood from where the bolts originated. They were all rough men. Hard men. They moved warily and with purpose.

"Easy, lads, cut off their heads and a dragon can still bite." Their leader called. Four scars were carved into his face. One of his eyes was a blind ruin and his nose was a twisted wreck. Two of the marks curled his lips up at the corners giving him a perpetual sneer. "Dragon scales are impervious to fire, but their meat isn't. Skin 'em, burn 'em." A few cracked jokes that roused a chuckle but it was nervous laughter.

Without warning, Cobalt surged into motion, decapitating the closest man with a swipe of his claw and clamping down on another with his jaw. The others nearly fell over themselves to put distance between them and the murderous creature. With his dying strength, the patriarch bit the man in his jaws in half before finally sagging, spent. Dragon blood spilled across the great stone table meant for peace.

"Hah! Two less t'split with." The leader said with a laugh to rally his hunters. Slowly the rest regained their nerve and approached with much greater caution. One slayer hauled Kizzelayne's body aside.

"Hey, this one's still alive." Bluevayne clenched his eyes shut tight and tried to make himself small. He'd had some lessons in the language the humans now spoke so he was able to catch some of what they were saying.

"It's just a babe. Slit its throat and be done with it." The leader casually ordered. Bluevayne heard a sharp blade scrape against leather as it was drawn and his eyes opened to a human leaning in with a knife. Shadowed death loomed over the young orphaned dragon with sharp steel. His first, and only reaction was to hold closer to his mother. Just to make sure, the killer grabbed roughly onto one of the fledgling's horns to hold him still.

"No, wait! Don't kill it." Cried one. The slayer paused, sharpened edge an inch from smooth scale.

"Why for fuck's sake not?" Said the man with the knife.

"Do you have any idea what a live dragon would sell for?" The man's skin had the olive tone of an easterner.

"Sell? Has your skull taken all leave of fucking sense? I don't know 'bout you, but I like not bein' set on fire by a vengeful dragon clan."

"That would be the least of our troubles if the clans caught wind of this. We're getting paid good coin for this. But I know a friend who trades in exotic animals with the Scipii. This little guy is almost literally worth his weight in gold." The easterner said, looking down at the bundle of blue as he did so. The one holding the knife looked to their leader for approval.

Scarred from other close encounters, the leader was perhaps one of three living humans who had slain dragons in the whole western continent. Not including his new cohorts hired for their discretion of course. He knew the risks better than anyone. However, if his sense were greater than his love of coin, he would be on a farm plowing fields instead of hunting dragons.

"It was one of his own family that's paying us to do this. He won't be missed." Bluevayne was shocked by what he had heard, and questioned whether he had indeed heard right.

The leader nodded to the man who had made the suggestion. He unhooked a stout club from his belt and brought it hard into the side of Bluevayne's head, just below the horn. The young dragon's world went black.

In a way, it was a mercy, for he was spared the butchery and disposal of his family. A special powder was burned along with the meat, to prevent any scrying of what had truly transpired there.

*******

Bluevayne was only dimly aware of the following weeks.

When he wasn't catatonic, drifting in a coma-like sleep, he fluctuated between numbness and apathy. The blow to his head addled his senses for a long time. The line between reality and dreams blurred. Strange visions haunted his twilight hours.

Vaguely Bluevayne registered the thin layer of hay between himself and the bottom of the cart. Between the iron bars he saw faces. Sometimes they were human, talking in one of their strange dialects. Other times it was his father or brother.

In moments of lucidity, he played the words of the men who had ambushed and killed his family over and over. Someone had betrayed his mother, his father, his brother, and himself. The peace talks had been a trap, orchestrated by someone in his clan. If what the humans had said was true, by someone from his own family.

There was once he woke, so sure that everything had just been a nightmare. That the deaths of his clan had only been illusory. His mother peered in through the cage. Surely, she would rescue him. Surely his brother would come out from behind her and say that it was all a joke. They would all laugh and be on their way.

Then Azuris smiled, and blood poured from her mouth.

*******

Bluevayne woke again to a ritual being performed. This time his head swooned not with injury, but with magic. Incense, thick and heady curled through the air.

A female Sil'lar, the lizardfolk of the great deserts, danced around a fire. The Sil'lar were said to be descended from the desert dragons of old, having lost their wings to the burning sun. Their scales were mostly decorative, adorning their forearms, shins, and along their back to the tips of their tails. Although distantly related to dragons, sharing their hot blood, they gave live birth and had other mammalian traits besides.

The Sil'lar was naked but for a thin belt hung with beads. Her flesh was a sandy, earth tone, and the fire gave her a warm glow. She had large and very plump breasts.

Those who had purchased Bluevayne from the slayers were a clever sort, knowing full well that no Scipii lord worth his arena would take such a beast without a Blood Witch's enchantments.

Blood magic was forbidden in all human kingdoms for one reason or another. It was one of the few things the disparate tribes of man agreed upon. Although they themselves did not practice it, the Scipii had no problem with other races using it. After all, there was no trade more profitable in their lands than that of flesh. And only blood magic could lay enchantments upon living creatures.

The young dragon was anchored to the spot by a carefully drawn circle. Sa'anzi was the witch's name. She was very powerful and well-practiced in her arts. Every step and gesture, sway and twist was part of a very carefully constructed spell. The mechanics that were going to be implemented were simple; however the power necessary was substantial.

So she danced and chanted, channeling her magic into the requisite artifacts and into Bluevayne.

Sa'anzi did not believe in mixing business with pleasure, but this was just too good an opportunity to pass up. She had been too long in foreign lands, and an aching need had built up in her loins. Then along came a desert slaver with a dragon of the northern mountains. Many of the desert gods of her people were depicted with wings. Some may have considered such lascivious desires sacrilegious, though like most of her race she was of a pragmatic mind.

With a final twist and word, the magic coalesced into a length of chain and a silver bracelet. The Sil'lar panted in exertion as she picked up the bracelet and slipped it onto Bluevayne's left horn. Business completed, Sa'anzi took a moment to relax, breathing in relief as some of the sweltering heat held in by the ritual dissipated.

Taking a seat on a cushion outside the magic circles drawn in the sands, Sa'anzi took off her beaded skirt and sighed contentedly. Lazily she reached a hand between her legs to stroke her sex. She was already moist and spread her legs wide. Working herself up slowly, she imagined how she wanted the dragon. Sa'anzi doubted he had ever had a female before, and she was not wrong.

That made her decision easy.

Leisurely the Sil'lar got up from her plush seat and trailed a finger along Bluevayne's crest. She went just a few paces in front of where he was still anchored and got down on her hands and knees. Tail lifted high, she displayed her sumptuous pussy and spread her legs a little further. Taking a moment to savor the coming thrill, she released the earthen bonds holding the dragon down.

She had no worry of safety; a little lust charm easily filled the young dragon's head with covetous longing. After all, he was of the age where a stiff breeze was enough to practically have him drooling. With the sight of a mature and ripe female, bent over, begging to be taken had him ready to pop at a moment's notice. His cock was hard enough to shatter granite.

Bluevayne did not waste time with foreplay. He was too young and inexperienced to know the proper way for someone as endowed as he was to take a woman was with plenty of preparation. The dragon mounted the lizard woman eagerly. He was clumsy, thrusting at the air trying to find the proper mark.

Sa'anzi put her front down, letting her breasts cushion her front and presented an easier target. A thick dragon cock nudged along the soft outer lips until finally getting caught in her slit. Bluevayne eagerly sank as deeply as he could into her soft pink insides. Even with as wet as she was, the dragon had to pull back and thrust back in to get deeper.

"Ah! Oooo!" The lizard woman cried out. As her juices slicked the huge member invading her flower he slid in and out more and more easily. It felt so good for Sa'anzi to be nice and full. His thick ridges stroked inside her cunt in a way a Sil'lar stud would find hard to equal. He pushed almost painfully against the back of her tunnel as he bottomed out.

Practically drooling in ecstasy, the young dragon fucked the blood witch. With every thrust, Sa'anzi's pussy clenched deliciously around his girth. Lewd slaps filled the tent as he increased his pace. His crotch met hers as every rock of his hips speared his cock past her swollen lips.

Although Bluevayne had never had a mate before, this was something new to Sa'anzi as well. The dragon's belly rubbed against her back and rump in a tidal wave of interesting sensations. She ran her hands along the strong forelimbs in her vision, enjoying the play of his muscles. For him, the lizard woman was soft and pleasing to feel as his hips seemed to have achieved a mind of their own.

He growled and snapped at the air while his claws dug into the ground. Even with the lizard's hips pushed fully up into the air, the dragon still had to crouch to mate her the way he wanted to. She was eagerly accommodating, satisfying her budding desires with his thick rod.

Sa'anzi enjoyed the pounding while she could, knowing that the end was not long in coming. Bluevayne after all, was a virgin. A dragon of the clans might take several mates in a lifetime, but infidelity was a truly heinous crime. Still, Bluevayne was the hatchling of the rulers of his clan and was expected to conduct himself in a proper manner which did not include fucking just any dragoness who caught his fancy. Then again, being captured and sold into slavery was not part of the plan either.

Bluevayne was not concerned with anything at all at the moment however. His whole world shrank. His problems and worries dropped away, fading behind the sensation of the busty lizard woman under him. His strong hips rocked her whole body. He grunted in pleasure, feeling a climax like none he had ever felt before building.

His pace quickened, frenzied in his need for release. Although his mind did not know what to do, his body certainly did. Tail lashing, he rutted the female beneath him hard and fast. One of his claws came down to rest on her shoulder so that he would have better leverage. He gripped her tightly as he slammed against her, feeling the friction along his shaft.

When he came, he flooded the Sil'lar's womb with hot cum. The virile young dragon pushed quite hard as he boiled over. He bred the woman with copious amounts of seed. Her cervix was tilted to receive as much as he would give. Sa'anzi quickly filled up and overflowed. Their mixed fluids dripped onto the sands. He stayed in her cushiony depths long enough to spend himself fully.

Had she been able to bear his eggs, she would have laid a full clutch. Finally satisfied, the dragon dismounted and pulled his cock out of her warm embrace with a wet pop. A small river of cum followed.

So that the young drake did not wander off or get into trouble, she exercised a bit of her power and sent him to sleep. It was unusually easy for her to do so, but the Sil'lar was still a bit horny and paid it no mind.

She had to finish herself off, but the blood witch did not mind in the least. With fingers on her clit and a belly full of cum it was easy to push herself the rest of the way.

Like most first times, he had no idea what he had been doing, and it had been over far too quickly.

*******

"Bluevayne? What did the Sil'lar do?"

"What?"

"You've been quiet for a while now. What happened next?"

The dragon cleared his throat and resumed.

"Well, afterwards, I was introduced to the man who would own me for the next few years. The silver bracelet allowed anyone holding the chain to cut off my breath like an invisible choke chain. And of course, I couldn't go outside of one mile. I wouldn't learn this until later though."

*******

Lord Tybis of the great house Bentus was a man of station and carried himself as such. He wore his hair short but was otherwise bedecked in all the symbols of wealth he felt entitled to. It was widespread news that he was in need of a great deal of fodder for the opening of his new arena. The house Bentus had a long history of building, owning, and operating pit fights of all varieties. The fights could potentially be a hugely lucrative business.

Renting out spaces for venders, operating as a locus for flesh trade, and gambling were the most direct. House Bentus had earned a reputation, and in that reputation earned a lot of business, pull with the major slave traders, and a definite voice in many of Scipii's governing council decisions.

So, when an old business friend told Tybis there was something he needed to see to believe, the lord was skeptical. At least until he saw Bluevayne in person. He had gone on hunts for the great sand wurms of the desert so was not taken aback by the dragon's deadly natural weapons. What was striking was his coloration, even dulled by the dust of the road. No desert creature shined in the sun like Bluevayne.

The dragon watched the two humans converse and noted with great care how the ensorcelled chain changed hands in exchange for minted bars of gold. After being bought, he was taken to the Bentus estate. His cell was stone on four sides, had a dirt floor, and thick bars of iron. Lord Tybis had already used the enchanted chain twice to coerce the dragon into the cage. His rear leg was fastened by a thick manacle to the stone.

A freshly butchered deer was brought and dumped unceremoniously on the ground.

"I hope you put up a good fight tomorrow, dragon." Lord Tybis said in the scipii tongue.

"This isn't cooked you filth. Who's really the animal here?" Bluevayne responded, prodding at the raw meat before taking a morsel with a grimace.

Lord Tybis stood stunned for a moment. The dragon had just spoken in thickly accented western. He had picked up a few more words and had been practicing the human language he knew.

"You speak?" The human said, this time in western. Bluevayne just rolled his eyes and swallowed more raw deer. "You want that cooked then, eh?" That caught the dragon's interest.

"Tell you what, dragon. Survive tomorrow, and you'll get yourself a fully cooked meal. Serve me well after that, and other, better rewards may find you." The lord of the house left him with that tantalizing thought.

********

All too quickly, the morrow arrived.

Bluevayne was to be part of the opening act.

Lucky for him.

Lord Tibys stood up from the sponsor's box and walked up to the edge, holding up his hands for silence. It was rare for a lord of his standing to make the opening address to a set of matches himself, but it was his arena after all.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the grand arena of Danum!" A roar welcomed those words, and a stamping of feet that shook the earth with their lust for blood. Tibys waited again for the hungry crowd to settle before continuing.

"When my grandfather built his arena at the very steps of our capital, the finest gladiators came to Scipii, just to fight there. When my father built his arena by the sea, the very waves tried to cast it down out of jealousy! And you are all now sitting in the greatest arena in the world. I promise you sights today never seen before!"

Bluevayne was anchored to an underlying stone support by a generous length of chain. He could not reach the stands but had plenty of slack to move in roughly a quarter of the arena. A large gaggle of condemned prisoners huddled singly or in small groups. With nothing but old notched swords, wooden spears, and wicker shields, their fate was already sealed. They universally avoided the dragon's prowling range.

"Let the games begin!" The crashing reverberation of sound that came from the crowd made Bluevayne's head pound in time with the stomping of over fifty-thousand feet. The coliseum was full near to capacity.

A wide variety of deadly creatures were released in their dozens. Most of which had been starved up until that point, poked and prodded into a frenzy. Crocodiles over fifteen feet long moved ploddingly forward. Giant lions prowled and roared their primal bellows. Lions, jaguars, panthers, and other exotic cats besides. Bears both brown and black and even a pair of rhinoceroses were dumped out of their cages.

First kill went to an emaciated panther, the midnight black cat going for a lone sword wielder. All of the predators immediately fell upon the milling mass of humans, some even on each other. Blood scent wafted through the air and began whipping the rest into frenzy. Once begun, there was no stopping the violence. Man and beast fell upon each other with the desperate drive to survive or die.

There was one creature though, that was almost as dangerous as Bluevayne sent out to slaughter and be slaughtered. That was the Albino Wolf. The Albino was a huge canine creature from the frozen wastes far to the north. Its fur was the purest white, giving it the perfect camouflage across the snowy plains. Against the sand of the arena, it stood out like a lantern.

The wolf fell upon the nearest man who had very unwisely chosen his starting place. Pristine white was soon coated crimson.

A lion launched itself onto the haunches of one of the rhinos, causing the giant leather beast to stampede forth, goring with its horn and trampling those caught in the path of its hulking form. Soon pandemonium reigned in the arena.

In the chaos, Bluevayne killed his first humans, falling upon those who had strayed into the reach of his tether. He vented pent up rage and grief on their fragile bodies. Often he just left shredded torsos, divorced of head and limbs. He lost himself in massacre, dropping into an almost trance-like state. Every human bore the face of his family's assassins, spurring him on with a fury he had not fully understood before. However, the death did not quench his thirst. Soon he lost sight of the murderous scum in his mind, and just killed for the sake of killing.

The blood of his ancestors flowed thick and strong. Hatchlings did not always have the luxury of growing up under protective wings. A battle reverie descended over the dragon's eyes. Slowly, the clashing creatures thinned.

Then the true gladiators took to the arena. Their arrival prompted fresh cheering as the polished and gleaming helms and metal shields caught the fading light. These were professional killers, slaying not only with ease, but with showmanship and dramatic flourish. They carved through condemned human and beast alike. As the number of easy kills dwindled, the deadly athletes began to fall upon each other, dueling like the champions they were.

At carefully veiled signals, the victors would be switched out for fresh combatants to insure the bloodletting never let up. Among the real gladiators there were not too many real deaths. After all, a trained combat slave had real value in coin. Their lives were not to be spent unless necessary, even in grandiose ceremonies.

It was carnage on a truly massive scale. The audience drank in the spectacle eagerly, leaning forward in their seats. They cheered for every drop of blood upon the sand.

Through the tides of battle, the beast of the snowy plains faced against the creature of the far mountains. Both apex predators in their own right, in their own way. Yet the wolf did not have the dragon's intellect. Two spears stuck out of its back and a sword had carved a deep furrow into a leg that still wept freely.

Bluevayne had avoided direct conflict, circumventing any injury that might hinder him.

The Albino's paws carefully avoided the piled bodies for the treacherous footing they were. Bluevayne was the only creature left that could really challenge its authority over the territory he guarded. If the wolf took him, it could claim all the fallen and possibly survival. Half the crowd fell quiet as they watched their part of the arena. The other half was preoccupied with the opposing walls of gladiators.

Tension built steadily as Bluevayne locked eyes with the Albino and waited.

Finally the huge canine lunged for the dragon's throat, jaws open impossibly wide. Bluevayne managed to catch the wolf by the throat, preventing the bone crushing trap from closing around his neck. The force of the leap caused the two large creatures to go tumbling through the bloody sand together, wrestling for supremecy.

When the wolf renewed its assault, the young blue had to use both foreclaws to keep the lupine fangs at bay. Although not as sharp or deadly as dragon claws, the Albino's own paws reached out to maul its prey. Pain blossomed across the young dragon's chest. Rolling this way and that, Bluevayne clamped down with his own jaws, catching an ankle in his fanged grip. No longer able to really see, all he could do was feel. A few more rolls had the dragon on his back.

********

"By the gods. How did you survive?" The dragon lifted his front a little, showing the crisscrossed scars there. The marks were faded and overlaid by a few others that broke the perfect lines. Yet once pointed out they were starkly visible.

"The first of many. The Albino was not to be my end, lest I not be standing here today."

********

Acting out of sheer desperation, and in a very bad position for a winged predator, he kicked up with both back legs and sank his back claws into wolf flesh just beneath the ribs. With savage motions, the overdeveloped musculature designed to get the dragon airborne propelled the talons up and through wolf guts. He did not stop, even as the Albino howled and gnashed its teeth inches from his throat.

Hot gore poured onto his stomach and legs as the wolf slowly ceased its thrashings as life drained from it. The thing was long in dying, the struggle seeming to drag on forever through draconic eyes. The last of its hot breath gusted past Bluevayne's nose at last. Only when he rolled the body of the huge canine off did he relinquish his grip on fur and bone.

Had it not been for the injuries the wolf had sustained, Bluevayne likely would have been the one dead. He had nowhere near the years of experience the wolf did. Hell, he had only fledged a few years back. Instincts only led to death in the face of hard won knowledge. The dragon no longer had a sire to teach him the ways of war, waged with bitter tooth and claw, nor use of the sacred weapons of the draconic gods.

********

"Sacred weapons of the dragon gods?"

"Shush, I'll get to those in a little while. You want the whole story, right?" The mage huffed. "That's what I thought. Now stop interrupting. Where was I?"

********

All of the animals released were dead except for the second rhino still trotting about the perimeter. No human had wished to get between the titanic clash of the wolf and the dragon. Bodies were beginning to accumulate in wide drifts as the skirmishes moved through their natural motions.

Bluevayne set to taking a trophy for himself, working his claws like flensing knives through the thick, knotted outer layers of wolf skin. He intended to make sure never to forget such an opponent. It was gruesome butcher work, drenching him from the chest down in quickly congealing blood.

The audience loved it, drinking in the carnage avariciously. In his vicious and visceral state, the clarion call of his ancestors bid him take a trophy of his victory.

Slowly, peeling back the fur and skin, the dragon freed the pelt from the lifeless body of the Albino. A few weeks ago he never would have countenanced such a savage act. He was not ignorant to cleaning a kill, but normally the action was in order to eat it for himself, preferably roasted with herbs.

The opening ceremonies lasted for hours, dragging long into the torch-lit night. After the wolf, the human gladiators wisely left the dragon to his own devices. Although dulled by sticky blood and viscera, he was still a fine sight and perched himself on a tall pile of bodies to watch the rest of the proceedings, still cleaning the wolf pelt.

Until at last, the fights came down to one final confrontation between two bitter rivals from opposing houses. Corpses surrounded the two as by the light of the half-moon the sworn mortal enemies fought with fury and abandon.

Bluevayne paid only part of his attention to the conflict.

One fell, defeated in death, and the other stood in conquest, basking in the glory bestowed upon him by the mindless masses.

The young dragon watched everything. Watched the humans kill each other for fame. Watched the dead dragged off to inglorious disposal. Watched the braying common folk and leering faces of the upper class.

The dragon watched, and calculated.

********

The games dragged on far into the night, but finally end they did.

Bluevayne was chained up under threat of the choker and led back to his cell by wary slaves. He spread the wolf pelt down onto the dirt floor but could not settle. The dragon paced, his limbs still tight and his nerves singing. The battle trance had ebbed somewhat.

Under careful supervision of Lord Tybis, a slave girl was pushed into the cage. She carried a bucket, an armful of rags, and a small jar of oil. The girl had been taken at a young age from the western kingdoms, sold off to be indentured in Scipii after being caught stealing. She knew of dragons, and was surprised by how small Bluevayne was. Small or not, he was covered in scabbed blood and dried viscera.

She shook as she approached. The girl was chosen because she could speak the language which Bluevayne was most familiar with.

"M-may I... Err, I have been instructed to wash you... lord dragon." She made a point of studying her feet while addressing the fearsome beast. Bluevayne stopped pacing and glanced at Lord Tybis, feeling a general loathing for the human. As his higher cognitive faculties returned, he pieced together the gist of what the girl was saying. She was a slight thing, wearing a simple shift that fell to her knees that was held at the waist by a knotted rope.

"You may approach." He growled out the sentence, chewing on each word forcefully. Tentatively, the girl glanced up and stepped within reach of the large predator. She soaked a rag and got even closer. The dragon stayed still while she wiped the wet cloth through the grime.

Satisfied that his investment was well in hand, Lord Tybis left one of his household guards to watch the door and let the girl out once the dragon was clean.

But Bluevayne wanted the girl for more than just a grooming. He had new appetites that needed satisfying too.