Chapter 2

Not the Color Purple

After wandering the bereft hallways the purple dragon found himself in the upper levels of the dreaded fortress. Further down the hall the roof had collapsed for some unknown reason. A tiny stream of rain water ran down from the ceiling onto the pile of rubble beneath. A small pool of inky black water had formed. Some sort of grating formed a drain preventing the whole area from flooding. Lightning from outside flashed above blindingly after spending hours in the dim fortress.

Spyro proceeded, stepping into the small pool of cold water that didn't even cover a claw. The splashes echoed down the chamber. He began to climb over the rubble, and paused as the water dribbled over his face. His body and his senses went numb to the world. The purple dragon stood there motionless. The cool water running down his face reminded him of a past life. Flying through the waterfalls of Avalar, the green grass and fields of flowers and sweet smells, the lush forests filled with life, Sparx and… Cynder.

He tried to remember the last time he saw her smile, but the memory had long since faded. He remembered when he first awoke on the White Isle, unable to move due to his injuries; spending the next six months recovering enough to where he could stand, another year learning to walk, run and fly again. Unable to leave, forced to watch his former friends from a far, through the means the Chronicler and his friend Ignitus gave to him. His death had brought continued peace. He watched as a treaty was negotiated between Warfang and the colonies, watched as celebrations were had, and watched as everything in life went on for others while he sat rotting away, with no purpose in life, his secrecy paramount to his sanity.

At least he wasn't totally alone… but then again there was only so much one person could provide, especially when the immense duties of the Chronicler took precedent. He remembered turning to the books of the library for whatever solace they could provide. Everything and anything suited him, from long draconic epics to the most dull and dreary history of some begotten time and place. That was when the glimmer of light entered his life, a small bit of magic written down in some forgotten tome. It took him weeks to master it to the point he could do it in his sleep. It took a small amount of power to change his scales color. By infusing the spell with elemental energy of his choosing he could become any unremarkable color of dragon he chose. He had already put the new skill to good use on a number of occasions.

His mind jolted back to the here and now. He kicked a rather large rock over the grate that drained the water. If somebody wanted to use this place, he would make sure it would be a choice they would regret. Lighting flashed and lit the hallway before he turned the corner and left it behind. Passing some shattered remains of glass conduits he entered a familiar room. Hexagonal in shape and in the center was one of the technological ape marvels that lifted one up the tower.

The purple dragon remembered when he had to glide to the middle platform because his small wings couldn't lift his young dragon body. He allowed himself a small bit of satisfaction at just being able to step over the gap. Zapping one of the conduits that remained with a powerful jolt of electricity from his maw started the machinery. Gears deep below him ground once more into action, clanking and whining at their own effort. Black gothic stone passed by him as the elevator rose to the top.

The elevator ground to a halt as the purple dragon appeared at the top of the tower. Only an iron awning above shielded him from the now driving rain. A balcony behind him was large enough for an adult dragon to take flight. However, this was not the same tower that he had climbed so long ago as a young drake. There was an iron door, adorned with a likeness of adult Cynder's head protruding above it. The eyes glowed a sinister yellow. It felt as if those hate filled eyes he had seen so long ago were once again before him, watching him, testing him. Spyro stared into them, half expecting them to come to life in some sort of trap.

But they remain unmoved by his gaze. Undaunted, Spyro moved underneath the bust. The door had two imprints for large but slender dragon's paws. His own were larger than what he assumed Cynder's had been, and didn't fit inside the imprints. The door creaked open silently at his touch, unbidden by any force from him.

Entering, the room was not overly large. It was mostly filled with a dais of bedding located in the center, where the Terror had once retired to her nightmares. To the right were a few large armor chests, most of them open, a few with their lids removed entirely and lying haphazardly about the room. Spyro suspected they were once ornate, but rust and cobwebs had long put an end to any delusion of grandeur. Looking to the opposite side of the room there was a wash basin and over it hung a mirror. All and all a simple abode for the Terror of the Skies, which once wreaked untold amounts of havoc on the dragon realm.

The purple drake turned to leave the room, but something on the bedding caught his eye as he turned, a small stack of books, all of them with black binding. Padding over to the tower of leather, he pinched the first within his claws. He read the title, and then swatted the book away with his paw. It was one he had read back in the Chronicler's library.

I hated that one.

The next few proved equally uninteresting, and joined the first somewhere else in the room. Picking up the last one, he brushed the dust off of the binding with his wing. There was no title or author listed there. Opening it he flipped through a few pages, reading the draconic runes scrawled within. His purple eyes grew wider and wider as he read. He closed the book with a wing tip and grabbed it as gently with his maw as possible.

He exited Cynder's former abode and took flight from balcony across from the elevator.

The purple dragon glided down towards the front gate, over the black parapets and lesser towers. The drake kicked up a small cloud of faint blue dust as he landed, and then rushed over to where he hid his satchel some distance from the front gate behind one of the large crystals. Opening it, he placed the book inside, next to the sword that he had found earlier now wrapped in a cloth he had found on his way out.

It was definitely worth going back in, he thought to himself.

He dug through the bag once more, finding a large vial of deep crimson liquid. Opening it he drank from it, grimacing at the flavor, before replacing the stopper and returning it to the satchel.

He thought for a moment, having the urge to contact Ignitus now and inform him of his discovery, but a stray thought whispered to him not to do so within the fortress's shadow.

He fitted the satchel over one of his powerful shoulders and moved out from the field of crystals. The purple dragon returned to the main gate of the fortress, where he had first entered. Pressing his muscled side against the iron door it droned closed.

He admired the doors momentarily that stood much taller than he was a dragon could fly through them easily when fully opened. There was no decoration inlaid within them, serving as a final statement to any ancestor-forsaken prisoner that hope had died.

Cracking his maw and taking a deep breath he exhaled his internal fire. The purple dragon stepped closer and intensified the flame, turning from a pale yellow to a deep red. The stream of fire that emanated changed from a random splatter upon the gate to a precise point. Moving his head over the center line of the door, it wasn't long before the metal began to glow dimly. Seeing this, he intensified it once more, and drawing on the element only a purple dragon could bring forth naturally he added convexity. The flames turned a bright purple, and the door began to glow white under the intense heat.

A minute or so later the purple dragon stopped his labor and admired his handiwork. The metal still glowing brightly was conjoined, melted together in the intense heat.

It wouldn't keep any creature able to fly out of the fortress, but it would sure make moving supplies and personnel a pain if the front door was inoperable. The drake watched the metal begin to cool before deciding his work was finished.

He checked his satchel ensuring that it was secure, and then took off at a sprint down the road that led to the fortress. Spreading his wings he took flight, and was lost to the rain and clouds.

*.*.*

A boisterous, hearty laugh rang out across the room, followed by several patrons pounding their fists on the table and stamping their paws. The group of rowdy dragons then downed the liquid in the basins in front of them. One large burly fire dragon turned towards the bar.

"Butterburn! More ale!" he cried, followed by a loud hiccup. Several of his compatriots chuckled and also called, "More! Another round!"

A relatively small mole walked behind the bar, past many empty mugs, bowls and plates, all with bits of froth or scraps of food. He picked up a fresh basin from the cupboards and began to fill each from a large oak barrel.

An old homely voice cut through the banter. "Oi, Meakes, that's their last round, no more. If I have to drag their bums out like last week…"

The mole, Meakes, continued to fill the basins as he responded, "Yes, Mr. Butturburn."

"After they're cut off they'll leave… hopefully," he said as he picked up another dirty mug.

He finished filling the last of the basins with the frothy yellow liquid and began to bring them out to the table, passing Mr. Butturburn who was wiping down the counter. The inn owner was a round old earth drake, with a large, somewhat stubby tail, and great ram horns. Bony growths covered his shoulder like most earth dragons, and covered his lower jaw.

Meakes shuffled out from behind the bar, carrying a basin of ale in each hand, the odor of hops filling his nostrils. The little brown furred mole passed the dying embers of the fireplace, past some occupied tables with much quieter residents, before finding the ring of rowdy dragons.

A yellow electric dragon parted from his cushion to give him room to replace the basins, when a fire dragon across the table yelled in slurred speech.

"H'rry up with that ale!" He pounded a paw on the table, shaking it violently.

"Don't get your wings in a knot, Drac. You'll get your own soon enough," Meakes yelled back in his much higher voice, but to no avail. A raunchy joke had the whole table laughing so loud they hadn't even heard him. Picking up the used basins he turned and left quickly, apron flapping frantically, before his outburst had a chance to register.

He had nearly made it to the bar when the entrance bell suddenly rang causing him to nearly drop the basins.

Meakes glimpsed another fire dragon standing at the front bureau. The drake was definitely young, just entering his prime. "We'll be right with you," Meakes called, trying his best to sound polite as he turned he glimpsed a sickening scar on his side.

"I'll get him situated, Meakes." Butterburn said emerging from behind the bar.

The mole returned behind the bar. Mr. Butturburn was at the clerk's book and he couldn't help but hear the conversation as he filled the next set of basins with ale.

Mr. Butterburn opened the large book that sat on the podium and began, "Good evenin' young master. What may I do for you?"

"Just accommodations for the night and a hot meal," the fire drake replied.

"Of course. What name would that be under?" Butterburn replied, picking up a quill.

"Blaze."

"Payment is due in the mornin' Master… Blaze. It's a little past supper, but I'll see what I can scrounge from the kitchen for ya."

Meakes left the bar with his basins filled with the aromatic ale, passing the fire drake as he sat down.

It took him three more trips to get all of the dragons their ale. Returning to the bar he climbed onto a stool and began polishing the mugs and basins that Butterburn had been working on. The newcomer was sitting on the other side of the bar staring blankly.

Mr. Butterburn exited from the kitchen in the back, carrying a large platter in one paw and hobbling along on the other. "I know it isn't much, but this is what we had left. Enjoy. Meakes, get him something to wash it down with."

The fire drake's eyes seemed to light up at the sight of the beef shank that occupied the platter, and he began to consume it quite voraciously. Meakes hopped off his stool and filled yet another basin with ale. He placed it in the front of the fire dragon and returned to his stool while Mr. Butterburn attempted to start a conversation.

"So what are you passing through our little town for?"

The dragon looked up from his meal and began with a sigh, "Honestly… I don't really know."

"A wanderer eh? We get those every once in a while. Haven't found a place to settle down yet, can't find a purpose." The old earth dragon sat on his haunches and looked at the oak ceilings. "In fact I was like that meself once… but that was a long time ago. How long have you been traveling?"

The scarlet drake swallowed a large chunk of beef flesh, then answered, "Five or six years…"

The old earth dragon looked at him quizzically. "That long eh? You must have started young."

A burst of laugher paused their conversation until it abated.

"You… you could say that," Blaze answered and then took a sip of the ale from the basin.

Butterburn let him finish and seemed to examine the dragon on the other side of the table. "Wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that scar, would it?"

The fire drakes voice grew slightly cold. "I'd rather not talk about it."

The earth dragon recovered like a skilled diplomat. "Forgive me for my intrusion young master, I meant no offense. But as a word of advice, home is where the heart is."

"Oi! Can we get another round here?!" an electric dragon shouted across the room.

"Go home. We're closin' for the night," the old earth dragon calmly answered. Luckily most of the customers had left or drifted off to their chambers for the night.

Mr. Butterburn then turned to the mole. "Meakes, show Master Blaze here his room when he has finished eating."

A big burly fire drake pushed past tables and chairs to the bar, nearly falling over when he finally stopped. "Bu'burn, you gave that outsider shome. Why won't you give ush some more?"

The earth dragon stepped out from behind the bar. "I told you last week after your whole gang slept a hangover off in here."

The intoxicated Drac's mouth clearly twisted into a snarl. "We wantshh shome more. You owe ush for guarding the village ever'day."

The earth dragon shook his head. "No, Drac. You're cut off. Go home."

A few of his group shouted encouragements, mostly unintelligible due to their level of inebriation. Drac's eyes drifted over to the kegs of ale across the counter, and he began to climb over the bar.

"Drac, get down from there you buffoon."

Butterburn grabbed him by the tail, only to get kicked by his powerful back legs. The earth dragon doubled over onto a chair meant for moles and crushed it into splinters. Butterburn opened his eyes only to see the room spinning. When he finally gathered himself, Drac was on the floor pinned by another fire dragon: Blaze.

The dragon pushed his forepaw down on Drac's chest, flexing his considerable muscle. "Get lost."

Drac opened his mouth, tongue flopping to the side. He attempted to speak, but only managed to spit slobber over the floor. The inebriated group began to haphazardly make their way across the room, grunting threats and hollering for a fight, shouting, "Get him!" and "You'll pay for that!"

Butterburn's temper exploded at the sight of threatened violence in his precious inn, and he roared, "If ANY of you start a fight in my inn, I'll personally nail your tails to my front door!" He took up a position between the group of advancing dragons and Blaze, snarling furiously at them.

Meakes jumped at the sound of a voice close to him that said, "I think it'd be best if I was taken to my room now." In the commotion and yelling, Blaze had stepped off Drac and approached the mole.

"Uh-h…. Right this way," Meakes said, pointing to a side door. Butterburn was still yelling at the top of his lungs at the group of now cowed dragons.

Meakes led the dragon down the hallway lit by iron sconces. He passed a few rooms with oak doors that could in no way fit a dragon. Turning right, he entered another wing. Here the doors were far larger. Each door would allow five or six moles to pass abreast.

"Here we are," he whispered down the hallway, motioning to the door since he didn't actually have the strength to open it.

"Thanks." The red drake put one massive forepaw against the door and pushed it open, closing it behind him without another word.

Meakes sighed… He could still hear Butterburn yelling from here. The little mole was in for a long night.

Sorry for the long wait everyone! I ran into an issue where I needed to re-think parts of the story. I came up with a much better ending in the 3rd book and I needed to make sure it worked. So I apologize for the wait. Next, at the end of May I'm going out of the country and will have no access to any technology of any sort until I get back. Africa, specifically Uganda is going to be a big thing. I will try to squeeze out a chapter or two before I leave.

I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews and comments appreciated.