A/N: Thank you SnidgetHex, Undertheoaktrees, 29Pieces, Tessseagull, pallysd'Artagnan, and BrokenKestral for your reviews of the last episode!

Chapter 1

Athos adjusted the scarf over his mouth and nose as he and Savron flew over the raging wild fire below. Hundreds of acres of the French countryside had been burning for a week now with no signs of the blaze dying out on its own. To the east, vast stretches of blackened landscape and stripped trees stood out like a garish blight on the land; to the west, thick plumes of smoke blotted out the sun and glowing orange rivers flowed in a relentless tide, devouring everything in its path.

Athos leaned down and reached for the knot at the base of his saddle. Savron banked over the forefront of the fire and Athos untied the rope, releasing one side of the tarp full of water Savron was carrying beneath him. The liquid splashed down to douse some of the flames, but it barely made a dent.

Savron veered away, and a line of two more dragons carrying similar rigs of water and dirt deposited their loads behind him. Sweeping over the wildfire, they then headed back to basecamp, which had been established at a village near a lake but as of yet not in the path of the fires. Savron landed with an uncharacteristic heavy thud, mouth hanging open as he panted in exhaustion. Athos immediately slid out of the saddle and unbuckled it, removing the extra weight to give his dragon a breather. He patted Savron's side in commiseration.

Each pair of dragon and rider worked in shifts of five cycles bearing loads from lake to wildfire, then took a break. The work took a far greater toll on the dragon who had to carry almost its own weight in water or dirt than it did the rider, but the nonstop pace under the constant threat of the winds changing and the fire shifting toward more villages was an exhausting burden for all involved.

D'Artagnan appeared with a bucket of water that he placed in front of Savron for the dragon to drink. "How's it going out there?" he asked Athos.

Athos turned his gaze to the hazy horizon and shook his head. "We need rain."

The boy's lips thinned. It was September and the chances of rain were slim.

A screech sounded from the lake, followed by another, and they looked over toward the water's edge where two dragons were growling and snapping at each other. Athos recognized the red one and shook his head in exasperation. Leaving Savron, he and d'Artagnan made their way over to where Aramis was ordering Rhaego to stand down and yelling at some men to keep the other dragon in check.

"That one started it!" one of the men lobbed back.

"Everyone, take a walk," Athos barked sharply. "There's plenty of shoreline to share." He looked at Aramis pointedly and the marksman began ushering his dragon away.

Rhaego glowered over his shoulder at the other dragon, who continued to bare its teeth in response.

"What happened?" d'Artagnan asked.

"That one looked at him wrong," Aramis said with a sigh. He ran a hand down his face, smudging the grimy ash that had accumulated there.

The magnitude of the natural disaster meant everyone had been called upon to combat the fires, including any nobles who owned dragons. But putting this many dragons together was a logistical nightmare, not just in terms of keeping them fed, but preventing fights as well.

"Here." D'Artagnan offered Aramis a canteen of water.

"Thanks." He took a long drag, then poured some down the back of his neck. "Porthos in yet?"

"Coming right now," Athos replied, spotting Vrita in the air and heading toward them.

D'Artagnan jogged off to get some water for her. The entire Musketeer garrison had been deployed to help with the fire relief efforts, but those without dragons were responsible for managing the stores, seeing to the dragons' needs, and assisting with evacuations of villages in the fire's path.

Vrita landed and immediately plopped on the ground before Porthos had even dismounted.

"She all right?" Aramis asked worriedly.

"Yeah," Porthos replied, stepping off her back.

Vrita smacked her jaw with a gurgle of disgruntlement, but it was more petulant than anything. D'Artagnan returned with a bucket of water that he set in front of her, and with a beleaguered huff, she lifted her head to take a drink. Aramis passed the canteen to Porthos.

"Where's the captain?" Porthos asked.

"With Baron Montheurt going over the maps," d'Artagnan replied.

"We got the northwest section down pretty good. We can probably double our efforts in another one."

Athos nodded. "That's good."

They left Vrita and Rhaego by the lake and made their way back into the village and to the captain's command tent where he'd set up a bunch of maps and strategies. Treville and Baron Montheurt looked up at their entrance.

"Report," Treville said.

Athos walked up to the table first and pointed to his section on the map. "The fire is still burning fiercely here. The last few dumps barely touched it."

Treville rested his palms on the table and hung his head between his shoulders. Even he was exhausted from everything, having taken his own shifts with Kilgar to fly out with water in between conference sessions with the local noblemen.

"The next shipment of refroidi isn't expected until tomorrow, and it will barely be three barrels' full."

The news was good yet disheartening. The King had drafted alchemists across France to make more of the fire-suppressing compound, but it was not a quick process.

Porthos stepped up next. "The fire's almost out here," he said, pointing on the map. "We could send a riderless dragon to keep an eye out for resurgence and divert the teams to Athos's grid."

Treville nodded, then lifted his head and gave them a surveying look. "You all just get back?"

Athos nodded in confirmation.

"I'm about to head out again," Aramis spoke up.

"Have you eaten?" Athos asked, knowing the marksman's propensity for neglecting his own needs during a crisis.

Aramis shot him a dry look, but that wasn't a yes. "Rhaego gets restless among the other dragons."

"He'll survive a little bit longer," Treville interjected. "Take a break."

Baron Montheurt cleared his throat. "I'll also get back to the relief efforts."

They all filed out of the command tent and went their separate ways, the musketeers to a supply wagon where d'Artagnan fished out some bread and divided it among them. Athos leaned back against the cart and nibbled half-heartedly at the bread. It had an ashy tang that wasn't all that appetizing.

Men and women milled about the village, which was overflowing not just with regiments fighting the fire but refugees from places that had already been destroyed. Riders and dragons came and went while others spread out in the field catching what sleep they could between shifts.

Athos's gaze was drawn to a group of half a dozen men arriving at the village. They had a rough look about them and were armed with quite an assortment of weapons. He watched as they scanned the camp intently.

"Do you gentlemen need something?" Athos called out.

A burly, bald man flicked a look his way. "We're lookin' for Baron Montheurt."

"He's out at the moment. As you can see, we're quite busy here. What is the nature of your business with him?"

The man's lip curved upward in a sneer. "He's expecting us."

One of his companions tapped his shoulder and pointed across the field to where the Baron was leading his dragon. With a snort, he shot the musketeers a parting look of disdain and turned to stride away.

"They don't really look like reinforcements," d'Artagnan commented.

"There's somethin' shifty about 'em," Porthos agreed.

Athos continued to keep an eye on them as they approached the Baron, but Montheurt didn't appear surprised or perturbed by their arrival. It was possible the Baron had hired mercenaries to assist in the fire suppression efforts. It was also possible men like that were looking to take advantage of the situation.

"There are dragons everywhere," Aramis put in. "They'd be foolish to attempt looting anything."

"Everyone's exhausted and their attention divided," Athos responded.

"You want to set an extra guard on the stores?"

They didn't really have the manpower for that.

"D'Artagnan, spread the word through the regiment to keep an extra eye out," Athos said.

The young Gascon nodded.

Aramis heaved an audible sigh and set his hat on his head. "Back to the grind." He strode off toward the lake to retrieve Rhaego.

Athos forced himself to finish the rest of his ration. He knew Porthos was on rotation to get some sleep and sent d'Artagnan a covert look to make sure their large friend didn't try to do an extra round first. He received a subtle smirk in response, then headed off to where he'd left Savron.

His dragon had drifted away from the more crowded part of the camp and was laying in the grass, awake but resting. Athos stopped to pick up the saddle, dragging the attached tarpaulin behind him as he walked up to Savron.

"Sorry," he said apologetically. "We have more work to do."

Savron heaved himself up without complaint. Athos set the saddle on his back and buckled it, then tied the tarp in place so it hung beneath him. He climbed up and Savron flapped his wings, lifting them into the air.

They flew to the lake where Savron lowered himself just enough to fill the hanging tarp with water. The dragon thwacked his wings harder and harder in an effort to lift the extra weight. On the shore, other dragons stepped over stretched canvas piled with dirt and stood still as the corners were tied to their saddle so they could carry them into the sky.

Athos rubbed an encouraging hand up and down Savron's neck, the only support he could offer as his dragon strained to gain enough altitude before veering toward the burning forest. They flew toward their assigned grid where the flames blazed in a fulvous sea and roared with the power of a hurricane. Savron angled them over the front of the encroaching fire and Athos released their load. Then they banked and turned around to head back and do it all over again.

But as they were flying back to the lake, Athos spotted a spurt of flames shooting up higher than the surrounding ones. He frowned and tapped Savron's neck, pointing toward it. The silverback veered that direction. Athos couldn't see anything through the smoke and flames, but that surge had looked strange, more like a dragon's geyser. And if a dragon was out there making a catastrophic situation worse…then it needed to be taken care of.

They flew over the spot where Athos had seen the surge, but he didn't see any dragon in the blaze below. Frowning, he signaled for Savron to circle a few more times. The fire snapped and crackled, but still there didn't seem to be anything else down there.

Until a column of fire erupted again, shooting up past burning trees and almost clipping Savron's wing. The dragon banked sharply to avoid it, but his correction sent him into a dive toward the ground. Athos gripped the saddle tightly and flattened himself over Savron's neck in a desperate bid to hang on. His anchor line wouldn't do him any good if he fell into the roaring flames below.

Savron flapped his wings, pulling himself up before they hit the ground, but now they were hovering just a few feet above the forest floor surrounded by fire. Athos was about to nudge his dragon into getting them out of there, when a portion of the flames directly ahead seemed to step out from the rest. Athos could almost see the contours of a shape in the flames, with two eyes blazing like suns. The only word his mind could supply in that moment was demon.

Then a horrendous shriek pierced his eardrums and the figure exploded. The flames slammed over Savron, who reared back with a roar of pain. Athos was thrown from the saddle. He hit the ground and then was yanked hard as Savron wrenched sideways, jerking the anchor line. Just as Athos thought he was about to be dragged through the burning underbrush, the rope snapped, having been eaten through by fire. Savron continued to flail in an effort to get away from the flames, crashing into charred trees and snapping their trunks like sticks.

One fell toward Athos, and he tried to roll out of the way, but there was nowhere to go. Flames were everywhere, surging higher from that incendiary explosion. The burning tree fell across Athos's legs, pinning him. Tongues of fire licked across his legs and hip, tearing an agonized cry from his throat. Smoke immediately choked him and stung at his eyes until they were too watery to see anything but glowing orange. He tried to call out for Savron but only coughed and gagged on ash. He couldn't move his legs.

The roar of flames and rushing blood sounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. His vision grew spotty from lack of oxygen and began to dim. He gave one last struggle to pull himself free and promptly collapsed, cheek pressed to charred ground when he failed.

As everything faded around him, he thought he saw the flames parting a path in front of him, but then everything went black.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan wrinkled his nose as he helped Jean unload a cart of mutton, the carcasses freshly skinned and shipped out to the camp as feed for the dragons. As royal dragon keeper, Bonacieux had been deployed with the garrison. Constance would have come as well if she didn't have little Ayelet to care for, and this chaotic mess was no place for a baby dragon.

A screech sounded in the distance, drawing d'Artagnan's gaze. Was someone signaling something? But instead of a trumpet call, the cry echoed again, high-pitched in a way that set d'Artagnan on edge. Around him, all the Musketeer dragons currently at camp jerked their heads up in alarm.

"Who is it?" Porthos asked, jogging over, his own gaze intently scanning the hazy horizon.

"I don't know," d'Artagnan replied.

Jean was looking over the dragons at camp. "Four of ours are out."

The cry sounded again, weaker now. A few yards away, Vrita lifted her head and let out a plaintive call.

Porthos stiffened. "It's Rhaego or Savron." He strode quickly toward his dragon.

D'Artagnan sprinted after him. "I'm coming too."

Porthos shot him a look but apparently decided not to argue. D'Artagnan felt a surge of frustration that he didn't have his own dragon—two was the max a dragon could carry and if Aramis or Athos were hurt, he'd be taking up valuable weight on Vrita's back. But he couldn't just stay behind and fret while waiting for his friends to return.

He climbed up behind Porthos and held on as Vrita leaped into the air. As she flew toward the source of the dragon cries, d'Artagnan caught sight of a red dragon also heading that direction. His relief at seeing Aramis and Rhaego was doused with the subsequent realization that Savron was the one screaming.

The shrieks had died down, filling d'Artagnan with dread. They soared over the burning forest until both Vrita and Rhaego veered left. The dragons pulled up short to hover over a patch of forest, and d'Artagnan was horrified to see Savron writhing on the ground below with blackened scorch marks across his muted blue scales.

Porthos and Aramis exchanged a wordless look, and then the dragons were descending. The belch of hot air that buffeted them took d'Artagnan's breath away.

Aramis leaped off Rhaego and rushed to Savron's side. D'Artagnan followed suit and scanned the burning area.

"Athos!" He threw an arm up against the searing heat of the flames while trying to see through them. "Athos!"

"We need to move!" Aramis yelled a moment later.

D'Artagnan whirled. "I can't find him!"

"Athos!" Porthos bellowed.

But they received no answer and d'Artagnan couldn't see any sign of their brother. A trail of broken trees showed the path Savron seemed to have taken through the fire, and there was no telling how far away he'd lost his rider. The fire was roaring around them; d'Artagnan felt smoke begin to clog his nose and throat.

"We need to go!" Aramis reiterated. He untied the tarp attached to the bottom side of Rhaego's saddle and secured the end of the rope to Savron's saddle instead. He then rushed over to Vrita and did the same with hers.

D'Artagnan was loath to leave without Athos, but his eyes were burning and watering and if they didn't move, they'd be swallowed by the flames. So he forced himself to turn and clamber back onto Vrita after Porthos. The dragons launched themselves back into the air, their massive wing thwacks beating back the flames encroaching on them. Savron struggled to rise, pained cries guttering in his throat as he fought to flap his wings. Vrita and Rhaego pulled with all their might. D'Artagnan silently urged them to keep going, and then they finally rose above the tree line and out of reach of the flames.

It was a strenuous, precarious flight back to camp, jarred a few times by Savron dropping abruptly and Vrita and Rhaego jolting and straining to keep him aloft. By the time they reached the camp, Savron's wings gave out and he crashed the last ten feet to the ground. Vrita and Rhaego hurriedly landed beside him and the musketeers dismounted.

Jean was already running toward them, along with several other musketeers and the captain not far behind them. Bonacieux's eyes widened as he took in the burns across Savron's hide.

"I need water, cloths, and honey!" he shouted at Pierre, who nodded and swiftly pivoted to rush back toward their supply wagons.

"What happened?" Treville demanded when he reached them.

"We don' know," Porthos reported. "We found 'im injured in a burning part of the forest." His jaw ticked. "There was no sign of Athos."

"I thought dragons couldn't be hurt by regular fire?" d'Artagnan put in.

"They can't," Jean answered as he looked over Savron's injuries. The silverback lolled his head and let out a low keen.

"A clash with another dragon?" Aramis brought up as he helped Jean remove Savron's saddle without brushing against any of the burns.

Savron gave a clipped bark of a response.

"Not a dragon?" Aramis checked.

Savron closed his eyes and rolled his head to the other side, which seemed to indicate a negative.

"Then what?" d'Artagnan asked. "What else can burn a dragon?"

Everyone exchanged blank looks, not having an answer.

Pierre and two more men returned with the items Jean needed, and the dragon keeper quickly began to clean one of the burns. Savron's breathing increased until he was shaking under the ministration.

"Easy," Jean soothed.

Aramis knelt down and placed bracing hands on the dragon's head in a gesture of comfort.

"We have to go back for Athos," d'Artagnan declared.

"We can't spare the resources," Treville immediately replied.

D'Artagnan gaped at him incredulously.

The captain's expression was grim and full of regret. "The wind has shifted and the fire is now headed this way. We have a narrow window to stop it before we have to order an evacuation. We need everyone at our disposal."

He threw Aramis a look, and the marksman reluctantly stood and moved away from Savron. D'Artagnan watched helplessly as every dragon rider, including Aramis and Porthos, headed to the lake.

The captain paused to look back at him. "Maybe someone will spot him," he offered, but it was weak.

"He went down nowhere near here," d'Artagnan countered.

Treville nodded gravely. "Then we can only pray he finds his way back on his own." He turned and made his way down to join the others at the shore to fly out on his dragon with them.

"D'Artagnan," Jean called after a moment. "If we're to evacuate, I need help with Savron."

D'Artagnan took a breath, swallowing down his frustration and fear, and tried to focus on his duty as a musketeer and not his failure as a brother.