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Chapter 30

Nightfall came ever slow, carried on by the spilled blood of Struport’s defenders. Though bones were splintered, armor shattered, and lives brought to an unceremonious end, the walls refused to bend to the howling wind that was Dreadflame’s demands. They remained strong, slathered in the blood of the guilty and innocent alike, a harrowing image to say the least.

Defenders young and old rested by fires, the weariness clear as a summer’s day upon each of their faces. They held weapons tight, clutched close their thick cloaks, trying to keep their minds off the darkened shroud that had spread to each of their minds. Not a soul had gone without seeing one of their number fall, struck down by an arrow or pulled from the wall by some nefarious undead creatures’ spine covered tongue. Grim talk circulated the living, bringing reminders that those they had slain would be renewed again come morning, crude mockeries of the living form given shape by gnarled hands and dark magics. To some it was bleak, hundreds had been slain and yet still more came, would there ever be an end to their wretched numbers?

Resting between the walls and Dreadflame’s host was a broken battlefield of misery. Mangled corpses, scattered debris and hallow remains of war machines painted a grim efficiency by the defenders. Moans and snarls echoed through the night from these darkened places, were the dead still rested, waiting for the orders of their masters. Beyond the light of fires, figures moved, shadows shifted, dozens of spine-tingling forms dwelled, eager to feast upon those clinging to Struport’s walls.

Where had Dreadflame gone? Arcturus’ hand traced over a chipped section of the stone parapet, gazing out to the battlefield beyond. He watched the shadowy shapes writhe and shift, gnawing at his gut something awful. His mind couldn’t rest as he pictured the blood red scaled dragon, why had he not shown his face? Even as they were burning down his forces, drawing blood, the beast had not sprung out to stop them. Had all of it been for nothing? He held close a lantern, fingers brushing over a gash in his armor, one that didn’t pierce it, but a grim reminder that those they faced were no mere pushovers.

“But why did none of you move? Even as we burned your forces like weeds?” He said with a narrowed gaze, trying to search out through the haze to the dragon masters that had been protecting the undead artillery through the day. “Night has fallen and you hold your paws? What game do you play?” Something was wrong.

Grip on his lantern tightened as he grimaced and turned, padding his way over the weary walls. In each face he saw himself from ages past, where the horrors of war were fresh and new. At least for him it had been against mages and other soldiers, not against chittering monsters out of the minds of madmen. He felt for those unready for such a theater, untrained and asked to face it anyway. It stilled his heart that they’d never be the same, twisted or broken into a something new. All except the minotaur and dwarves of course, their encampments filled with excitement and good cheer, relishing at the next day’s glory.

The paladin passed sections of gryphons, pressed close to one another and snoozing away, the air a mixture of soft chirps and snores. Their feathers had not yet been cleaned, still marred with dried blood, dust and earth. They’d clashed with the undead fliers many a time, each of these noble creatures responsible for the deaths of a dozen at least. Their humanoid riders wrapped close with wing and neck, one would never believe the sounds of mourning that had been known mere hours ago. Each had known the death of a friend or companion, how many more would perish before it was over?

He sighed, eyes drifting to the lantern lit gate, where Skywing was still squawking away with the leaders of the guardians. There the next day’s supplies would be planned to be allocated, attacks to be made. When the gryphon returned, he’d no doubt be exhausted, flopping down and falling asleep in an instant. Arcturus climbed the steps back towards the onyx guardian keep, where the black tabarded knights patrolled, weapons in hand as they kept at least a dozen sets of eyes to the sky above.

“Hail Arcturus, best watch yourself!” Called a wolven man with black fur, brandishing a rifle towards the clouds, “Best keep the eyes vigilant. Already lost a bloody half dozen of men to the bleedin things.”

“The flying creatures?” He replied.

“Aye, they slip through our defenses like ghosts they do. Only sound they make is till it’s too late, their putrid talons wrapping around ya. Then you get carried off beyond the wall, gods willing the fall kills you.” His snout wrinkled as he shivered, “Else you get to feel them ripping you apart.”

Looking to the sky proved of little help, even when he narrowed his gaze to catch any shape within it’s expanse. He could only imagine the shock and terror of these men, suddenly snatched up and carried to their doom. “I thought we had adequate sentries, is there anything you need me to do?”

“Besides go back and tend to the hero of Struport?” The wolf chuckled in his throat, gesturing to several ballista that been arranged around the parapets, each outfitted with weighted nets with thick rope. “We discovered the lovely fact the bastards don’t like getting tangled up.”

“I don’t think anyone does. You should see gryphons with balls of string.”

“Must be of exceptional size.” The wolf pointed out the dozen or so guardians on watch, not counting those manning the ballistae, “But we have things managed here Arcturus. You go rest with your dragon, the two of you have done your part, let us do ours.”

After the days of suspicion and unease, it was good to see an honest nod with respect. Arcturus returned the gesture, “Hero of Struport is what they’re calling him?”

“You were there upon his back, getting a front row view. I don’t think I need to explain.”

“Yes, but should he catch wind…I imagine his head will grow so large flight might not be possible any longer.”

Wishing the wolven and his guardians well, Arcturus carried on further to the onyx guardian’s keep. He carefully traversed down the stone steps, finding his way to the courtyard. At it’s center, piles of hay had been gathered to act as makeshift couches, perfect for humanoid, gryphon or dragon. At it’s center a fire had been given life, currently being stoked into prominence by Asterion’s firm hand. The cleric was raising and lowering his arms in a rhythmic fashion, each rise bringing a bright glow to the crackling flames. Within the mass of dancing radiant tendrils was an iron pot, it’s contents sizzling away and releasing a most pleasing, hunger inducing aroma of meat and spices.

Merlia was laid back with a thin pipe, laughing at some joke that she told. Her armor had been smeared with oil, blood, and grime of the day. Within her cheery face was not the story of the weary defenders but that of a woman in her element, staring into death’s imposing face and tossing back her head to laugh. By her side was Krotos, the catbird upon his hinds and preening his teal tipped feathers as if he were possessed. His gentle chirps filled the air as he worked, tail flicking over Merlia’s boots.

Veledar, still wearing his armor, was laid around the fire like a protective wall, trying to soothe his aching muscles and bones. As his crimson form shifted, Arcturus could feel the same ache course through him. The dragon had been everywhere this day, a hero for all to look upon. His flight brought hope, his flames courage (once people got over the shock of seeing others burned alive). As Arcturus neared the final step he perked up, giving the approaching knight an affectionate chuff and motioning with a paw for him to join him at his side.

“How’d the walk go sir shiny, find anything interesting you’d like to share?” Merlia said, taking a log drag from her pipe, satisfaction spreading upon her face, “Cause I don’t hear shrieking or cannonfire, so imma wager no.”

He settled down by Veledar’s belly scales, taking off his helm and laying it by his feet. The moment he leaned back into the dragon’s form, the day’s fatigue reared it’s ugly head. There was only so much that the potion he downed this morning could do, already his eye lids were heavy. “Just a warning to not be dinner for the numerous undead vultures that circle above.”

“Don’t remind me they exist.” Krotos have an indignant squawk, ears stitched themselves to his neck, “Think one of those bastards vomited on my haunches today. VOMITED Arcturus. I only just now got the smell out.”

“I imagine that’s the least of many concerns. You got lucky it wasn’t acid.” He sighed, only for Veledar to raise a paw and hold it before him. He found it impatiently batting at his side. “Can I help you?”

The dragon rolled to his back with a dramatic sigh, “I do believe I’m in need of a strapping pair of hands to remove my armor.”

“You couldn’t have asked any of the guardians around?”

“I suppose I could have, such would have been a fitting reward for all my heroics, but no. I was waiting for the tender care of my Umraadi. That is your honor.”

“You’re unbelievable.” He gave a halfhearted groan, shifting to tend to his incapable dragon. One strap after the other he worked, having to struggle with Veledar’s tail as it proceeded to wiggle like a snake at his presence. Far longer than it needed to be, each of the golden plates was carefully stripped away, even his helmet. At its removal the cheeky dragon gave an appreciated chuff, before sneaking in a kiss when none of the guardians were looking.

“Hey!” Arcturus spat upon the stone, pulling away, only to be caught by a crimson paw.

Veledar gave an amused, throaty chuckle, “Afraid of a bit of tongue are you?”

“Only when said tongue dwells within the maw of one who has been chomping through flesh and bone, not to mention the undead!”

“I am a dragon Arcturus, typically that is how I eat things.”

“Since when do you eat the dead?”

His nostrils flared, hot air washing over the man’s head, “Well obviously not the undead. But before you spiral this conversation, I knew you’d protest. Ask Merlia here, I tended to the maw in which frightens you with a prestidigitation spell.” His snout curled into a grin before booping his nose against the knight’s own, “My maw is clean as it’s ever been.”

“Clean?” Merlia scoffed, “That will be the day.”

Arcturus wiped his mouth, feeling around his teeth, though the dragon had belayed his fear, the strangeness remained. Under the watchful gaze of his dragon he undonned his armor, the beast choosing to not repay the favor and instead rumble, sapphire eyes traveling about him, undressing him more than he was to do. At it’s end he was leaning back against the red-orange bulwark that brought him such warmth and comfort, his eyes drifting closed. There he dwelled, enraptured by the dragon’s breath, the sensual rise and fall of his chest, it was hard to not lose himself, embrace the emotions and sensations that the bond provided. He was pulled back from his serenity by his love’s scaled snout plopping into his lap.

“I do believe you’ve still your duties ahead Umraadi, now is not the time to doze off.” Veledar teased with a playful trill, rubbing his scales gently into the man’s trousers. “What would the others say?”

“Veledar…Must you? The day has been long and arduous.”

“That it might have been, but were you flying around the entire time? Was it you that has to put up with the strains of being this whole cities figurehead?”

He groaned, “What duties have you concocted in your head for me?”

“Nothing so grating Arcturus. Something that you’re quite versed in with your gryphon friend. I require you to stroke me.”

Krotos’ ears flicked tall; his work momentarily halted with an interested warble.

The dragon gave an amused chuckle in his throat, “Are lewd thoughts all that dwell in your head kittybird? I was of course talking about Arcturus’ affections upon my snout.”

Brown eyes narrowed before the gryphon returned to his preening, grumbling into his feathers about no good dragons teasing a show.

“That was rather mean of you.” Arcturus said softly, relenting to his dragon’s desires. Undoing a glove he offered his touch, caressing the warm, red scales of his cheek. “Let’s not pretend that word choice was not planned.”

“It’s not my fault his mind is always upon that.” Veledar thumped his tail as the human’s fingers rubbed and massaged at his eye scales, dragging blissful warbles and rumbles from his throat, “Your studies on dragon anatomy have made your hands magic.”

“So pleased to offer a return of the favor?”

“Unless you’d like to have my claws digging through your flesh-“ He chortled, “You’d have to settle for a tongue massage.”

“Doesn’t that sound rather intimate.” His touch traveled about the dragon’s nose, pressing firmly into every scaly ridge. The man had to admit, the idea of him being tenderly held down, subjected to his Umraadi’s affections, it made him sigh.

“I could feel that gentle as it was. Good to know that you enjoy the idea. After all, one cannot call me selfish.” As Merlia laughed the dragon growled, swiveling his narrowed gaze to her, “Carry on Merlia and my teeth shall feast upon your rump.”

“Ooooo.” She teased, unphased as she blew smoke rings at his nose, “Threaten me with a good time ya do, you’re supposed to intimidate me boy.”

Arcturus’ carried on without a hint of red upon his cheeks, “Three hundred years ago, there was a great host of demons that gathered to push west from Starfell. They were undone by gryphons and those that bore them, today I believe you eclipsed their light.” He pulled his lips to the dragon’s scales, offering a tender smooch.

The dragon chuffed, briefly nuzzling at the man’s cheek. “You flatter me Arcturus. Though your words as filled with truth, just as all you say.” He rose his snout, eyes closed, taking a deep breath, “As I flew over the battlements, I could feel their hope, their courage. I tempered it’s strength into my paws, my breath, it fueled every beat of my wings.” Peering to Arcturus with a single eye he rose a brow, “You think they’ll write songs of this?” He snapped to Merlia when she prodded him with a stick, his jaws snapping at her. “Do you mind? We’re sharing a most tender moment.”

“Really? Cause it sounded like your head be swelling.” The dwarf shrugged, taking another drag from her pipe, “And I’m sure Arcturus would love to talk about anything other than yourself, oh yer greatness.”

Simmering, Veledar thumped his tail before leaving the dwarf to chortle away. To Arcturus his eye did fall, an honesty within the sea of blue. “It was for us both Arcturus. Think not for one moment that my thoughts ever strayed from that.” He nuzzled at the man’s cheek before folding his wing to wrap the man in a leathery blanket.

Though the lines were sweet, reminding Arcturus how much the dragon had grown, he could only find his thoughts and eyes drawn to the dancing flames of the fire. Within those tendrils and flying embers, came the phantom eyes of Dreadflame, taunting him, waiting for him to slip up. Even now as a whistling wind swept overhead, he was certain he could almost hear the terrible laugh that would coil into his gut and stab repeatedly at his insides. There he rested for a time as the others chatted about the day, the close calls that they had, the victories they’d savored.

“How many did you end up getting today?” Krotos, finished with his preening, he’d rolled a talon to his pristine feathery chest, looking rather proud of himself, “I counted at least forty for myself, felled by various explosives, talons, and a few with my beak.” He tapped his yellow beak for added effect.

“Hah, you be proud of that?” Merlia scoffed, “Over seventy got ta meet their end by my hands, shoulda seen look on some of em, love ta say I had some fun.” She cooed, imitating sudden wide eyes of her victims, “Why did ya have to hit me knee woman? Why between my legs?” Her laugher soon coiled her, “Floundering away like banshees they did, almost better than seeing the zombies and skeletons flail about without their heads!”

“That’s not really funny.” Krotos’ ears pinned, shifting to hide his lower regions from the dwarf, “What have you against knees and dicks?”

“Oh come now, it not be like I treating your precious jewels like that.” A hand came to caress under the ruffled feathered chin of her blue and grey companion, “Those be safe within me hands.”

“They better be.”

“Besides, you hadn’t even heard the best of em. There I was, making sure that Arcturus and Asterion here were not being skewered in the rear by some exceptional spears…And can I say, wish I had the time to take a few, would make fine trophies-“

“The story dwarf.” Asterion grunted, his tail swishing, “Instead of making the crude joke of what might get under my or Arcturus’ tail.”

“He doesn’t have a tail.” Veledar stomped his paw.

“Bah, not the point the lot of ya!” Merlia threw up her hands, “What matters is that there was this big beastie, had at least seven…or was it eight…Come to think of it…Bah, doesn’t matter. It had far too many legs for me liking, there it sauntered, tooth slathered in oozing green ichor-“

“Oh, I saw this one.” The dragon grinned, pulling Arcturus with a paw, excitement tapping his tail. “It was good.”

“Don’t spoil it ya baby.” She thrust a finger to the dragon with a grin, “Blew it apart with one of me explosive arrows. There it showered, acid every where you can picture.” She mimed people screaming, running around like chickens with their heads chopped off, “Now that was funny.”

Krotos gave an indignant squawk, lashing his tail against the stone, “See? Morbid, not funny at all!”

“I thought it was funny.” Veledar rumbled as he tilted his head to Arcturus, the man not sharing the sentiment. “Perhaps you and Arcturus have no taste of humor?”

“Thank you!” Merlia smacked her legs as she and the dragon laughed. “Now Asterion, I notice your tongue be more tight than a Ceullus mare, that be cause you got nothing to tell?” She pulled out an arrow from her pack with a shit eating grin, flicking a finger against the tip.

The cleric’s gaze burned with an intensity greater than the fire as he stirred the pot with a ladle. Steam curled around his beard and snout, sticking ever close to his horns.

“Ooooo, nothing to say do we?” She grinned from ear to ear, “Must be losing then.”

“My number shall grow greater in the days ahead.” He grunted, “When the true combat is upon us; when it’s not decided cowardly from afar.” Closing his eyes the minotaur took a deep, composing breath, “But when I can see the sweat on my enemy’s brow, taste their blood as I break them, hear the snapping of their bones.” He shivered with a perverse joy, “And relish as the light fades from their eyes.”

Krotos pulled back with a mortified gasp, “How in the nine hells is it we travel together? Could you not describe what you do like some psychopathic murderer?”

“I don’t instruct you where to stick your cock gryphon. Don’t assume to know the ways of battle, or my people.”

“You can’t sit there and honestly say that those two are even remotely similar!” The gryphon ruffled his feathers, tail lashing, “One you blood thirsty bovine is a wonderous act of delight, passion, and pleasure; yours is a cruel, horrible thing that we could do without!”

“Does hunting beasts diminish this world? War and conflict are the nature of being.” He gestured to Veledar as Krotos squawked and glared daggers, “Ask the dragon, he knows what I speak of. Please that can be found when he snuffs out his enemy with his fire.”

“You’re dead wrong. Veledar, tell him you don’t share his sexual desire to commit murd-“

Veledar waggled a wing, “While outright slaughter doesn’t give me the throbbing erection like it seems to do to Asterion-“ He held up his head in a regal manner with a huff, “I won’t hide the pride of my talents…even if said talent is lightning what I wish on fire.”

“There you have it.” Asterion crossed his arms with a grin of victory.

“You monster!” Krotos gave an indignant squawk, “Both of you!”

“You can’t mean to tell me that when you tore out the throat of that necromancer and then turned his face into a butcher’s cutting block you didn’t enjoy that?” Asked Veledar.

“NO!”

“Huh.” Blinked the dragon, before shaking his head with a growl, “Regardless my minions, if we’re comparing numbers of how many we’ve killed…do we count undead, you can’t really kill them again can you?” He huffed, “If we do count them as well, I have well over two hundred underneath my scales.”

“And that’s why you’re not allowed into these games!” Merlia groaned, offering Asterion a wooden bowl so that he would fill it with his stew, despite his steeled gaze toward her, he complied, “It not be fair.”

“Agreed.” Grunted Asterion.

“Oh, that’s rich from the both of you.” Chortled the dragon, “Fighters of both Korde and Thor, nothing but sore losers.” Veledar pressed down a paw with a growl, “Can’t handle a bit of competition?”

“It’s not competition when you can fly about and loose fire upon them!” Merlia scowled.

“How am I at fault for being blessed with such natural talents? I’m not complaining on your ability to grow a beard.”

Her cheeks grew red, “How does that even compare ya blasted lizard!”

“I’m not a lizard Merlia, my blood is as warm as yours.” He huffed, “And I do hope that stew is for me as well, I hunger.”

“For you?” She gestured to the pot, “Look at the size of it ya witless beast!”

“You mean I’ve been patiently waiting for nothing?” Veledar snapped his jaws, “Of all the inconsiderate-“

Their fighting became a dull roar as Arcturus clutched at Veledar’s paw. True that Merlia and Veledar were now spitting at one another, sparks practically flying between them, but to the paladin it might as well have been a spring breeze. The day’s memories flashed to him, the blood, the fire, the death. All of it having a single source, Dreadflame.

The dragon was no doubt taunting him, hunting, setting the traps that he might spring. Then, he’d reveal himself in all his terrible glory, seek to take everything from him once more. That fleeting moment with Veledar, relaxing at his side, was nothing but a fleeting glimmer in the turmoil that held him tight. He was only snapped out of his festering cold when Asterion’s voice came to him.

“Arcturus knows what I’m speaking of. Don’t you?” The cleric offered him a wooden bowl, filled with chunks of meat, carrots, and broth.

“Great, Arcturus gets some too?” Growled Veledar, “Is this how the hero of Struport is to be repaid? By having all his allies, including his Umraadi turn on him in his hour of need?” He pat his rumbling belly, “Now I am going to starve.”

“Starve?” Merlia shouted, “Look at the size of ya, so much meat on your bones! You just be whimpering like a spoiled brat who loves the sound of his voice!”

“I can’t help if I like my voice dwarf it is a cherished gift to this world. That however doesn’t mean I’m wining about this blatant injustice.” He thumped his tail with a narrowed gaze, “Don’t make me sick Arcturus on you, justice is but one of his vows.”

“Don’t you be threatening me with your love like some sort of armored pup ya red bastard!”

As the dragon and dwarf renewed their argument, serenaded by gryphon laughter, Arcturus could only blink at the cleric of korde, taking the offered bowl, “What do you mean?”

“The battle, you enjoyed it.” Asterion nodded with pride, “I saw you cut through numerous foes this day, laughing and jesting with me and the dwarf.”

“I wore a helmet, and I never laughed.”

“You may not have laughed on the outside human, but inside you were. There was a spirit about you, of a warrior in their element. I’ve seen in numerous times in the venomous woods, in the cows and bulls of Kyr. In your spirit was no hesitation, no mercy, as the blood ran you came alive.”

That wasn’t true was it? His stomach tossed over the thought, “I didn’t…Asterion you’ve seen me fight many times, taking life doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.”

“But this time you did.” He returned to the pot with a nod of approval, “I hope that I shall join you when we face off against this Dreadflame. It will be me great pride to help end your demons as you have helped end mine. I do wish to experience of watching this dishonorable beast’s light fade from this world with you. With him dead, his forces routed, your revenge will be complete.”

“It is nothing about revenge!” Arcturus shot up, his stew spattering across the stone with a clatter of his bowl, “Dreadflame may have ripped my world from me, but I won’t relish in his demise. I will bring him down so that others might not share the same fate.”

“Are you so certain?”

He was shaking, his fists clenched so tight they turned white, eyes sharper than a dragon’s teeth held the minotaur in focus. For a moment his spirit faltered, the words refused to come. Back to Veledar he did slump, arms crossed against his chest. Perhaps there was some merit to the bull’s words, just as Voidwing had said the night before. When he glanced into the fire this time, he saw not dreadflame, but the faces of Selina and Geoffrey. With faces charred and brutalized from that night, they stared to the paladin with judgement. Why was the beast that ended them allowed to live? Allowed to cause so much pain to people of this world? Should he not be brought down, forced to feel all of which he wrought? Would that be so wrong?

“He has yet to make a move.” Arcturus growled, casting away the tormenting image, “He waits out there, within their ranks, seeking to take everything away yet again. Look at the devastation he’s what could wait for the world in the days beyond.” The paladin grabbed hold the bridge of his nose as Veledar held him tenderly with a paw, failing to warm away the chill that dominated him, “Why did he hold his paw this day? We fought time after time, burning away his minions by the dozen. Yet the blusterous beast held. I must stop him…before anyone else gets their families robbed from them.”

“We will stop him Arcturus, remember this is not your quest to shoulder alone.” Veledar replied, nudging up the man’s arms and placing his snout back into his lap. “Today we managed a victory no matter how you view it. Hold onto that and grasp firm. When Dreadflame makes his move next, we will be ready. You already say that Fremra can match his power, he’s probably scared.”

“Somehow I doubt the world will be that kind.” He rested a hand on Veledar’s snout, “But thank you for the words Umraadi.”

The dragon’s eyes closed with a gentle huff, “That’s what I’m here, another of my natural talents, soothing the spirits of knights.”

“Ya know Arcturus, I bet the dragon isn’t all too bright.” Merlia said, finishing her stew with a satisfied sigh.

“Excuse me pea for brain?” Growled Veledar, snapping up at her.

“Not you ya baby, but the other red baby. The bastard that handles no like a sleep deprived wee toddler.”

“How do you figure?” Arcturus rose a brow as the dwarf pulled out a small cylinder of wood and a whittling knife.

“He’s got Garroth in there doesn’t he? Blended like Asterion’s stew.” She scratched her chin, “Since when has that lad played fair?”

“There is an army of undeath, necromancers to guide them and he’s related to an ancient demigod, I think he meets the definition of unfair don’t you?”

“Not what I mean.” She chuckled, “What would Lyndis do? Ya think you’re playing one game but yer not.” To him she lent a knowing eye, “You said it yourself, something be wrong.”

His eyes widened, it had been staring him in the face the entire time. The reason for the dragons for holding back, why Dreadflame hadn’t shown himself. The bastard hadn’t been out there the entire time. The knight shot up, “He’s not out there.”

“What?” Everyone save Merlia gasped.

“Think of it, you said it yourself Veledar, the dragons haven’t moved. Why haven’t any of them attacked? They’ve slipped inside the walls!”

“But Nivra said you couldn’t use invisibility.” Krotos ear’s splayed, trying to laugh off the terrible statement, “He can’t be inside the walls…waiting to pounce on…ack!” He leaped up at the sound of metal scraping on the stone, flopping over with a squawk.

“He’s shape changed.” Veledar stated with a growl, eyes of suspicion tracing over the guardians lingering on the walls. “Just as we did with Entis.”

Silence overtook the group, of the dark reality they found themselves in; Nowhere was safe, not a soul could be trusted. Any face they met could be Dreadflame and his dragons in disguise.

“So-“ Krotos began slow, eyes darting to them all, “How do we know none of us are dreadflame right now.”

“He would not reveal himself if it were the case gryphon.” Asterion huffed, eyes narrowed, “He’d wait to slit our throats in our sleep. Such is the way of a dishonorable hotak such as himself.”

“How would you know hmmm? Are you him?”

“It was an observation, perhaps you should return to jumping at your shadow?”

There was a brief exchange of snarls and squawks as they bickered over how they would prove who they said they were.

“How about a zone of truth?” Veledar rolled a paw, “That was rather amusing the last time.”

“I too shared in it’s hilarity.” Krotos nodded.

Merlia rolled her eyes, “If we be dragons, we could resist the spell ya dolts.”

“But Arcturus can tell when that’s the case.” Veledar growled, “We all just simply agree to not fight the spell.”

“You just want to hear us make fools of ourselves again.” Asterion grunted.

“That might not be the only reason. Arcturus can you do the spell?”

Arcturus groaned at the absurdity of it, sifting through his gear until he had his spellbook open before the fire. This one didn’t need to be prepared; it just took much longer to cast. With some chalk he drew a circle around the fire, making sure to encompass them all. All the while he chanted the draconic words of power, letting the weave flow through him. At it’s end the white circular surface shone with the light of the sun before fading into nothingness.

“It…appeared to have worked.” He said slowly, noting that he hadn’t any discomfort, the sign that those within the circle had resisted. Words came carefully, like he could step on shards of glass, the spell had a certain way of revealing the truth as well, “I suppose I will be the first to start. I am Arcturus Lund, paladin of Bahamut, Umraadi to Veledar and absolutely loved when he trust bit my neck.” His cheeks blushed at the last words, they’d essentially dribbled out his lips. He groaned as the others chuckled, “Think its funny? Lets hear from the rest of you.”

Veledar rose his head with wary eyes, tail flicking with suspicion as he grabbed and held Arcturus against his chest, “I share a bond with him, so this was obvious. But I am Veledar son Seogheith and Sheondranta, the Crimson Sky. I am envious that gryphons are better to cuddle with and you are each my friends for one various reason or another, and I value you greatly.”

“Hah, I knew it!” Chirped Krotos, leaping onto all fours as the dragon hissed and snapped at him.

“It’s the damn spell bird brain.”

“And yet it’s the truth!” He trilled, brushing up alongside the dragon, “Just like I think eagles are one of the most bizarre looking animals in existence.”

“You’re aware you’re part eagle right?”

Krotos gave an indignant squawk, thrusting a talon into Veledar’s chest, “I’m no more part eagle than you’re a giant scaly cat!”

“Take that back you oversized talking pillow!” He bat at the gryphon with a paw, only to have the catbird leap upon him and drag him to the ground. “Arcturus, help! The kittybird has gone mad!”

“I also think you might be prettier than me!”

“Well, it would appear as though they are not the dragon.” Remarked Arcturus as the tangle of gryphon and dragon soon tuckered out, reducing them to nothing more than halfhearted bats of talons and paws.

“Shame that. I’d love ta loose a whole quiver of arrows up Dreadflame’s slit.” Merlia grumbled, “To which that bastard be the most despicable, ugliest dragon I ever lay eyes upon. I think he would look better as a series of purses or boots. Plus ya know, I only give the dragon a hard time cause I like him.” To that Merlia’s cheeks flushed, her hands clapping over her mouth. Unfortunately, Veledar was too busy snapping his jaws at Krotos’ clacking beak.

“And you Asterion?” Arcturus asked, though by how he laughed, doubted they had much to fear.

“I’m not the dragon. If I were, I’d have already leaped upon you Arcturus and sought to tear your throat right out.” Replied the bull.

“So it’s settled then, we’re all who we say we are.”

“But it’s still just a theory.” Krotos chirped, propping himself up upon his belly, “If we’re wrong about it, making any dramatic move against the dragons beyond the walls could prove fatal.”

“True.” Arcturus growled, already clambering up on Veledar as the dragon rose, evidently of the same mind, “But we still need to tell Fremra and the others…we can’t just let him, and his dragons roam unchecked…free to act out whatever nefarious deeds they have.”

*** *** *** *** ***

Within Struport, the streets were all but empty save the corpses and debris from the other eve. Those that had any sanity left had fled to the docks or stampeded towards Fremra’s keep. Stark was the night, where darkness hugged every broken street in an inky fist. Within moved the cloak wrapped form of a human, whose home was far from these frosty hills.

Dreadflame was concealed within the human form of Garroth, cursing his diminutive shape, but acknowledging it came with benefits. With it he could traverse right under the mortal’s snouts, practically invisible to their meager senses. While they uselessly battled away at his forces outside the walls, he was in here, winning the war instead of fruitless battles.

Many times as the hours dragged onward, he’d been forced to watch with a bitter heart, as that pathetic excuse for a red dragon betrayed all his kind stood for. Into the mortals he brought hope, courage, resistance, Dreadflame’s gaze could kill in the fleeting moments he caught sight of those crimson scales. The spawn of the Emperor had been forced to swallow down his distain, hidden throughout the rubble, waiting for the cover of night.

Along the still air, Dreadflame could sense an otherworldly presence, a muffled sensation that tugged at his very mind. It radiated all around him, tickled his human’s flesh, instilling an uneasy gnawing of his gut. It was the call of the other sibling, the one still contained within his orb of dragonkind. It took effort to close his eyes and bury the sensation deep down within him, to ensure no distraction remained. He would have followed it directly to the source, but the mortals had it protected, shielded, the signal scattered to the winds. He growled and traversed the broken streets, knowing they’d only keep such a powerful artifact in one of two places.

“And you trust the intel of your servant?” Came the sound Erentis as she followed upon Dreadflame’s boots. Even in the fleeting light of the moons, the dragon could see the distain upon her disguise’s face. “How can you be sure she’s not deceiving you?”

He smirked as they neared the bridge of Threlfall’s keep, “I have my ways Erentis. She may be a feisty dog to tame, but in the end she will break before me. The mortals will be keeping it in this Lord ThrellFall’s vault, or that in Fremra’s halls.”

“And are you only checking here to avoid the shard of Bahamut?”

“I am not scared of that cursed thing.” He wheeled around, his hair standing on edge. “That thing is the blood of my father, the same blood that pumps through my veins.” Even as he said the words, they sounded false. That shard was of goddess that slew his father, who knew what sort of power was still contained within? His gaze narrowed as Erentis didn’t seem to believe his conviction. “You will not see me hesitate if it resides there. It will simply mean a grander reward from my father and naturally for yourself.”

“And what of the human dragon hunter. Why are we not finding him to slay this very moment? If you’ve been paying attention, he, and that traitor of his have been causing quite the trouble. Would it not be prudent to try and eliminate them right n-“

“Arcturus and that Veledar will meet their end in due time.” He hissed, catching Erentis’ jaw and squeezing tight, “For now they can live, play this game of hero. Chase the phantom of the battle while we win the soul. When they realize we’re inside it will be far too late.”

“Look out.” She pulled him into a shadow filled alley as a pair of pegasus knights flew overhead. “Were you not paying attention?”

“Of course, I saw them.” He hissed to hide his lie, the paladin’s smug face ever appearing before him. “I was waiting to see if you were as vigilant as you told me.”

“You needn’t worry about me. I don’t let revenge cloud my judgement.”

To her he did snarl before ducking and swiftly crossing the bridge. With nary a sound he took his frustration on the pair of guards outside the keep, unaware of what lay in store for them. Using his draconic strength, he plucked them both up with hardly any effort before hurling their pathetic forms into the chasm below. True they shrieked, but it didn’t last for long before the pair struck something hard and popped like watermelons.

Through Threllfall’s keep they tread ever carefully, not falling for any trip wires or hidden alarms. Thanks to Merlia and her scouting, he had a map of the entire structure, not even the secret doors could keep his prize safe from his claws. All the while the great dragon scoffed at this Lord’s decoration, how he gathered trinkets, tapestries and coats of armor to show off as though he were a dragon himself. Perhaps that’s why dragons kept humans as favored pets long ago, a tiny reflection of their very selves. He growled at the idea and carried forth, perfectly safe within his disguise.

During the invasion who would have thought of operatives to get through the wall? Concealed with a ruby guardian disguise, Dreadflame was free to walk the lower halls without any glance of suspicion. Any who saw he or Erentis merely nodded, asking for reports of the wall. He laughed and told them it would hold, putting on a most convincing act. He left them smiling and filled with hope, of which he could not wait to rob from them in the days ahead.

This continued until they found their way through the lower halls, until the air smelled of the sea and that of steel. In the middle of an intersection, Dreadflame did stop to inspect the walls. Here the stone was a different shade, but only ever so slightly. An untrained eye might not have spotted it, but to her or his dwarven companion it might as well have been a beacon in the night.

Close inspection revealed the stone to have engraving’s of dwarven design, elegant things that told of an alliance long ago between here and that of the foggy mountains to the south. Each one could be pressed in with a click, turning gears on the other side. The dragon wasted no time, putting in the correct sequence as though this was his typical routine. With a shutter, the final gear fell into place, the stone before and below starting to tremble. Up went the door with a dull thud, revealing a darkened passage beyond.

“I used something like this for my treasures.” Erentis rested a hand on the frame, “Finer craftsmanship than this of course, but I suppose they are only human.”

He ignored her study and pulled three bottles from his pouches, thin things of glass. Within each was what looked to be trapped, blackened clouds. As his fingers brushed the clear surface, life was restored to them. They bounced and slammed against the surface with tiny clicks, waiting to be released. The dragon held them before his eyes.

“The way ahead has wards against magic.” He said softly, swishing one of the bottles, “It will prevent us from changing our shape, or using the strength of those forms.”

Erentis looked taken back, “And what, be stuck in these pathetic excuses for bodies?” She rolled her eyes, “I do hate a good anti-magic ward.”

“That’s why I brought these. Little trinkets from the vampire’s vaults.”

“And what pray tell did you get from them, besides three clouds of gas.”

“Not just gas.” He grinned, “Wraiths. Spirits of malevolence, with pure hate for living.” Tossing the bottles they shattered against the stone, splintering into hundreds of little fragments. “Don’t show any ounce of fear, or they will turn upon us.”

From the shards of broken glass, the little storms did fly. Blackened clouds twisted and turned, growing with every rotation. The size of a mouse, then a cat, spreading out until they were as large as a human themselves. The air around them grew ice cold, heavy with the aroma of death, a silence fell that would chill the heart of any man. Within these vortexes of unrelenting hate, was an elongated skeleton. With sharpened claws and socket less eyes, it seemed to peer straight through flesh itself. Dreadflame however held his ground, unphased in the face of these three specters.

“What would you have of us…human.” One wraith spoke, it’s voice dull and lacking emotion.

“The mortals down this hall.” He gestured further beyond, “They guard something that I want. Kill all of them.”

The wraith gave no response of acceptance, other than whirling around and loosing itself down the hall. Upon its heels were the other two, arms outstretched and skeletal jaws wide. One by one they passed through the walls themselves, preparing themselves for the coming slaughter.

“And we just wait?” Erentis watched the hall, hand at her side, “Just the three?”

“That’s all that will be needed.”

Before their eyes the lanterns winked out, one by one until they were left within the all consuming darkness. Dreadflame gestured for Erentis to follow, as they could see in the dark. His insides tickled with delight as a scream reverberated through the hall, one that heralded the hopelessness that awaited his pet’s first victims.

“Where did it go?” A human male shouted from down the hall, “There, get it!”

Dragonfire shots thundered, their bullets cracking against the stone. What came next was a gurgling cry, the weapon’s owner promptly snuffed out. Men and woman shouted orders, trying to maintain a sense of calm. They cursed, tried to plan means of attack, but by the sound of dull thumps hitting the stone, they were failing at every turn.

“We need a god damn light, I can’t see dick!” A human woman screamed, the guardian waving a sword around as the trio of wraiths surrounded her and the half dozen guards at her side.

“They got Deri!” Shouted a bearded man, lashing out with a spear, it of course sailed right through the wraith advancing upon him, he screamed as it’s boney claws glided right through his armor.

The bearded man began to thrash and spasm as blackened blood flowed down from every orifice. Those with him were helpless, forced to endure the spine chilling sounds as his limbs snapped one right after the other. When he fell to the ground he was little more than a shriveled husk, all semblance of light fed to the wraith that crawled over him, always hungry for more.

One of the guardians lit a torch, holding it proudly before them. The wraiths flailed back, hissing in terror, granting the trio of soldiers left a false sense of victory. They rallied, grabbed their weapons and readied themselves to beat back the enemy that had inflicted so heavily losses upon them. It was not to be, as Erentis drew a dagger and hurled it, skewering the torch from the man’s hand.

Dreadflame clicked his tongue as the last guardians were promptly skewered, dragged upwards and subjected to the same treatment of the bearded man. He was careful to avoid their shriveled up corpses, save for one that had a ring of keys around their waist. Snatching those he stood firm against the wraiths as they turned to him, waiting new instructions. Around them was the sense of hunger, that this amount of life wasn’t enough, it was never enough, they were cursed.

“Loose yourselves in these halls, spread and kill all those who stand in your way.” He gestured to Erentis and himself, “Of course except for us.” He lit a discarded lantern the moment they departed the room, “I should remember to bottle more of those things. Delightful little servants.”

“I’ll say.” Erentis replied, searching over the greyed flesh of the wraith’s victims. “They hardly stood a chance.”

“Without magical weapons, they cannot be harmed.” The dragon shrugged, holding the lantern aloft, “And even then, without light one cannot even strike them.”

Golden light filled the diminutive hall, one filled with mutable shelves of various size, trinkets large and small adorning them. There were potions, scrolls, even some combs and hanging portraits of dragons. The air, when not laced with the smell of death, was one hinting of a mountaintop.

“Where is it?” Asked Erentis, padding her way over to an oaken desk, tapping her fingers over the engraved surface. She opened a few of the drawers, finding nothing of value. “Don’t tell me, this was a waste of time.”

His eyes widened as he surged to the shelves, peering and crouching to inspect every inch. It just had to be here! Poking and prodding he began searching, a hidden compartment, a false door, anything to explain this failure. After half an hour of searching he was forced to admit that it must be with Fremra.

“Finally done?” She was leaning against the entrance, watching the hall. “No sign of any reinforcements. Either we’ve been adequately stealthy, or your new toys have taken care of any who could have heard them.”

“It’s with the shard.” He grit his teeth, passing Erentis with a snarl.

“I thought you’d not care that it was there?”

“I don’t.”

As if to spite him, the trip to the surface did little to validate his claim. When they returned to the streets and began their journey to Fremra’s keep, they found dragons lurking among the walls, ever vigilant. Guardians had eyes glowing, to see through magical disguises. Dreadflame could feel his blood burn with each passing moment as they staked the place, finding every hidden entrance they’d jotted down sealed and guarded. Someone had notified them of their arrival.

“It would appear as though your dwarf friend betrayed us.” Female dragoness hissed, as they passed the third hidden door that was sealed. “They know we’re here.”

“Impossible.” He growled, ducking into a street devoid of life. From his pouches he pulled his magic mirror, squeezing the handle so tight he was certain it would break. “Merlia, show me Merlia.” He growled. It wasn’t long before the surface twisted, forming the dwarven ranger’s smug face.

“Ooooo, it looks like you finally figured out what I was going ta tell ya about.”

“Explain.” He hissed, “Before I see to it that your gryphon and you die, choking on your own blood.”

“Sorry master, but this isn’t my doing.” She gave a mock bow, “But Arcturus might be too crafty for your own good. He and that wonderful dragon of his figured out what your plan was.”

He almost hurled the mirror, but a deep breath composed himself. “It would appear that Arcturus wasn’t the dullard on deception as I believed.”

“Ah yes, an expert on dragon kind, with several dragons as his allies. How could ya not think they’d not suspect you’d be shape changing. We did that back into Enti-“

“It will be no matter Dwarf. You will cease this delight seeping through your words.”

“Sorry master.” She tossed her hair, “Are you right and mounted?”

“It will just require a different approach.” He replied, “And you will tell me of any more updates to their plans. Are you understanding?”

“Perfectly.”

With a growl he dismissed her, stashing the mirror back into his pouches. His eyes wandered to the keep’s sturdy walls, knowing that he could always take the brute force approach right now, test his strength against the defenders. Inside him spoke a more rational side, one that reminded him of his defeat at Arcturus’ hands. The man was not yet weak and had the aid of numerous dragons and humanoid fools. If he made his move to bluntly now, it would fail, no matter how much his blood boiled.

“I believe we are in needing of a distraction.” Dragoness said softly, crouching down in the shadow

“Indeed.” He joined her, his mind buzzing with ideas. “I believe the fools outside can manage that for us.”

“How do you figure? The defenders walls still hold.”

“And I will hasten it’s fall.”

“And how exactly do you mean to do that? Their numbers still remain, the dragons have not been delt with.”

He clenched his hands, cursing the idea that come. Inside those walls was the orb of dragonkind, the shard of Bahamut. He could not fail, trip when they were so close. This would not be another time in which he failed, Arcturus left to mock and laugh upon his scales. From the pouch he pulled two scrolls, forged from human flesh. Upon them were ancient, dark spells, written in blood of the pure. They lay sealed, their power yet untapped. He held them, a great weight resting within his hands.

“And what are those?” Erentis’ eyes did gleam with interest, leaning in as light seemed to die upon these cursed scrolls.

“Favors.” He said firmly, “Of which I would not use lightly.”

“You, favors? Or were they more gifts from the vampire toys?”

“They were meant for my sister’s host, the vampire that ruled the dead.”

“And with those you could bring down the wall?”

“If I can convince the owners of these favors to provide me with them.”

Erentis eyed Fremra’s keep, shifting side to side, “This is starting to sound more uncertain. What makes you think they should listen?”

He chuckled in the back of his throat, “Unlike devils, demons don’t typically care about who holds the contract, merely that it’s fulfilled.”

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Thank you all for following along in this adventure with my boys and their friends, allies, and enemies. For the coming weeks of November, I will instead be posting chapters from the NaNiWriMO story that I am working on. It is a lovestory between a gryphon noble and a common half-elf mercenary. They flirt, they laugh, its also a comedy with 3/4 of the characters being feathers and fluff. Anyway, thank you for reading.

If you'd like to support my writing, and see a chapter ahead before I post, vote on artwork that will be made, and see WIP of current artwork being done, my patreon can be found here: https://www.patreon.com/user?u=371744

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https://t.me/+FERjGy4xDH6BIGX2