Hello all,

Before we start, I apologise to any DOTA or Dragon's Blood fans if/when I mangle any information. I don't actually know much about DOTA beyond what I've seen in Dragon's Blood. And obviously, this story will take a great many liberties, some of them massive.

I'm also aware of the fact that not many authors on this site use single quotation marks ('like this'), which may seem odd. A lot of the books I have read in recent years use single quotation marks unless the character is quoting something ('and he said: "that was weird" in a quiet voice.'). Sorry for the grammar lesson (other authors on this site, do what works for you, I won't complain), but that's just the way I write.

I hope you enjoy this. Reviews are welcome and desired, especially if they're constructive or if you just want to say something nice.

With that, let the show begin...


Chapter One

Fateful Chance

This was the seventh man Frühling had watched die before his waking eyes this evening.

The dragon's claws sliced through the man's plate like it was butter instead of steel. What was left of him tumbled through the air towards Frühling, landing at his feet with a mixed clanking of sundered metal and a wet thump of dislodged organs. The cracked, dry earth drank his blood greedily.

The dragon roared into the sky, its yellow eyes blazing with bloodlust. Their blades found no purchase on the dragon's scaly hide, but it took just one swipe of its murderous claws, or one bite of its cavernous jaws, to kill one of them.

How were they supposed to kill this thing?

Frühling felt his breeches grow warm and wet as the dragon turned its eyes on him. It was a moment which would define the rest of his thinning life.

The dragon stomped towards him. It did not have wings, like he had expected when he had first heard of the creature killing livestock and razing farms. This one tunnelled. They had found that out with a price paid in blood.

Frühling stood, paralysed by fear, as death came straight for him.

A flash of red, silver and black streaked past his staring eyes. The new arrival moved impossibly fast for such a large man clad in thick plate. The greatsword in his hand was a mighty weapon, a broad dark blade designed to cleave the underbellies and membranous wings of dragons. The dragon halted, focusing on the still running man.

Somebody yanked on Frühling's arm. He did not take in the young man's appearance, or even hear his voice, as he was led back onto the bank around the shallow earthen bowl. He realised that the men were cheering. Out of immediate danger, his brain started to process the details properly again. The man facing the dragon with the greatsword wore a steel cuirass, yes, but his gauntlets, greaves and sallet were made of a hard, ridged red material.

Dragon scales.

The Dragon Knight had arrived.


Davion the Dragon Knight waited until the right moment. One misstep could mean his death, Bram's death, the death of every soldier present, the deaths of all of the people in the surrounding area, and a stain on the honour of his order.

No pressure.

But that did not linger in Davion's mind for long. Through the narrow slit of his visor, he saw only his opponent. In his hands, he felt only the weight of his sword. Nothing else mattered except for what he did and what his opponent did.

The dragon swiped at him. Davion's armour was much stronger than that of the soldiers lying dead around him, but even that would not save him from such a blow. He jumped back and swung at the limb, and was rewarded by an angry growl and several cracked orange scales.

His blade glinted in the sun as he lifted it, deliberately turning it so that the reflected light struck the dragon's eyes. It had other senses to find him with, but he needed every advantage.

The dragon roared and sprang forth. Davion ran to meet it, avoiding the outstretched forelimbs and raising his sword high, carving into the dragon's underbelly. He emerged behind it, minus the tip of his sword.

Damn! This one had a tougher belly than he had expected.

'Bram! Wire!' Bram obediently hurled the spool of wire and its anchor to Davion, who dropped the sword and thrust the anchor into the dry earth. He held the barbed, hooked end in one hand, waiting.

The dragon did not disappoint him. When it next charged, he threw himself aside, hurling the hook around the dragon's right foreleg. He crashed to the ground, his armour clattering noisily around his broad frame. Now came the tricky part—not that killing dragons was ever easy.

He took off running as the dragon wheeled round and ran at what its maddened mind saw as prey. Davion judged each roll and slide by sound. A risky choice, but he could not risk looking back. If he tripped or lost his balance, the dragon would feast on him that evening, along with countless others.

Slowly but certainly, the barbed coil unfurled. The dragon did not relent in its pursuit of Davion, not until it was almost completely bound by the wire. Davion heard it topple with an anguished cry. Now he risked looking at it, and saw it on the ground. Blood coursed from where the barbs had bit into its hide. Numerous scratches coated its sunset scales.

Davion went for his greatsword. Even without a point, it would still do the job. Then the dragon acted like a fox with its leg caught in a snare. It brought its head round to its right forelimb and, without any hesitation, bit down. It gnawed at the limb in a frenzy until it had torn a gory chunk free. It was enough to loosen the wire, especially since the dragon had actually bitten through it.

Howling with rage and pain, the dragon scrambled with its injured limbs, kicking up a cloud of dust and clods of dry earth, and vanished into a gaping tunnel.

Davion approached steadily, sword at the ready. He nudged his visor up briefly and wiped the sweat from his nose with his gloved hand. Not the wisest move, but the visor would not save his head if the dragon popped back up and decided that he didn't need it. And he hated having sweat bead at the end of his nose.

'He's not coming up!' Bram called unhelpfully.

Davion transferred the sword to his left hand and ejected the glowing shard from his right gauntlet. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the tunnel. He would hear it before he saw it, and would have less than a second to react. Wafting up the tunnel was the smell of blood and rotting meat, as well as the reek of the dragon's dung.

People never heard about this from the bards and storytellers.

This was the most dangerous part of the battle. Like any creature, the dragon, wounded, cornered and desperate, would fight twice as savagely in the lair it knew better than any other creature. The soft blue light emanating from his gauntlet barely penetrated the gloom.

Davion paused, propped his sword against the curving earthen wall and removed his helmet. He needed to hear more clearly.

He tuned out the steady, urgent thumping of his own heart. A small part of him saw this as madness, and thrills of fear ran coldly in his veins. It had taken years of training to shut the fear away. Davion was not a fool. He knew that fear could be useful. Fear was not shameful, cowardice was. What was important was stopping the fear from taking control.

There. He heard the scratching of claws on rock and soil and knew that it was close.

Too close! The damn thing was on top of him!

Davion threw himself aside as the dragon burst out of the earth, spraying him with dirt and blood as it roared. It landed awkwardly, its damaged forelimb unable to take its full weight. Davion saw his chance. Before it could stand, he had dropped his sword and leapt onto its back. The dragon shook itself in an attempt to dislodge him, then charged down the tunnel madly. It might have been trying to find something to bash Davion against.

He gave it no time to refine its stratagem. With a cry, he lifted the glowing shard, dagger sharp, and plunged it into the back of the dragon's neck. And again. And again. Again. Again! Again! Again!

And again once more.

The dragon howled, pitiable rather than fearsome, blinded by pain. It charged head first into the solid stone wall of its lair. Davion hung on, lest he be thrown into the wall and his head dashed to pieces. The dragon fell heavily onto its side, dazed and bleeding heavily.

Davion reached round and plunged the glowing blade into the soft hide of the dragon's neck, severing the vital arteries within. Hot, metallic tasting blood gushed over him. The dragon moaned and thrashed its tail. It took about three minutes for it to actually die. It twitched twice, and then its eyes dimmed and it lay still.

Legs and arms shaking from both effort and the effects of adrenaline, Davion wiped the sheen of blood from his face. Sighing, he knelt before the dragon's empty eye and reached out.

'Well fought.' He murmured, closing the dragon's sightless eye. 'It was a good fight.'


'Piece of shit!' Frühling gave the dragon's head an angry kick, powered by loathing not strong enough to keep the pain at bay. He grimaced as he stepped back, his sabaton dented.

'Hey!' Bram called from atop the dragon's neck, his hands clutching the handle of an enormous blade embedded in the dragon's neck. His dishevelled blond hair was speckled with blood. 'Watch it.'

'Dishonour my kill again,' Davion warned in a low voice, 'and you're next.'

'It's just a beast.'

'It deserves respect.' Davion glowered at Frühling with dark, watchful eyes. The man was still scared. He could smell the piss staining the breeches under his cuisses.

'Gods!' The cry came from further down the tunnel. Davion reached for his sword. 'Another one!'

The wyrmling was hardly a threat to them, being dead. It had been dead for some time. Maggots crawled in its ragged flesh. The stench of decay was nigh overpowering here. The dead hatchling was not the only one. The large recess was crammed with dead wyrmlings. Some of them had been partially eaten, and not by maggots or other carrion creatures.

'It looks like they killed each other,' Davion murmured. 'The entire nest.'

'Crazy dragons, crazy wyrmlings, crazy hatchlings.' Bram muttered.

In the glow of his gauntlet's blade, Davion noticed a deeper shadow. He moved over, still clutching his damaged sword. In these close confines, it might become a liability. It still felt comforting. 'There's another tunnel.' Davion called. 'Looks like it goes deeper.'

Frühling shivered. Keen to appear less than craven, he followed Davion and Bram down the tunnel, backed up by his remaining men. This tunnel was considerably wider and older, its walls smoother and deprived of tangled roots. They did not have to travel far before they found it. Bored straight down was a massive hole, the depths inky and fathomless. Davion sniffed, then strained his ears to listen. He heard Bram's sharp intake of breath, saw him lean over to peer down, and pushed him back gently.

'What did this?' Frühling whispered, his tone fearful and reverential beneath his strong accent.

'An Eldwurm.' Davion answered quietly. His gut was churning.

'Y-y-you're sure?'

'Yes.'

'Why hasn't it attacked us?'

'It's asleep.'

'You're certain of that?' Frühling's eyes were wide with horror, and his voice barely rose above a sibilant whisper.

'Trust me,' Davion felt a little pity for the man. Few were the men who faced a dragon and lived, and fewer still were the ones who willingly fought them. 'If it was awake, we would already be dead.'

Frühling relaxed and stroked his flaxen moustache. 'Perfect. Let's kill it.'

'No.'

'No?'

'No.' Davion repeated firmly. 'Let's just be thankful that it's asleep. Come on.'


They placed the dragon's still bleeding head onto the wagon and set off for the town. The sun was sinking as they rode, its last rays caressing the hills and fields before it departed. Davion savoured the warmth on his face. It reminded him that he was still alive.

'Why shouldn't we put an end to that monster down there?' Frühling demanded.

'Because it's too powerful for us.'

'Do you know how many people have met an Eldwurm and lived to speak of it?' Bram did not wait for an answer before holding up a single finger. 'One.'

'You are afraid.' That was rich coming from Frühling, who still smelt of urine.

'Yes, and for good reason.' Davion said. 'And for now, I'd rather celebrate being alive.' He gazed at Frühling, his eyes hard. 'I'll report it to Dragon Keep, and we'll be back to deal with it. Until then, we should let it sleep.'

Word had spread quickly that the dragon had been killed, and the sight of the wagon bearing its severed head brought the townsfolk out in droves. They churned in the streets, cheering, their gleeful faces a very stark difference compared to how fearful they had been previously.

'You've drawn quite the crowd.' Bram grinned.

'They're here to see the dragon's head.' Davion responded. He said this just as they rode past a group of rather comely young women, all of them staring at Davion admiringly. One of them called to him, another declared her undying love, a third fainted when he winked at her. 'Well, maybe some of them are here for me.'

Bram rolled his eyes, a good natured smile on his youthful face. Davion had no trouble with the ladies. To say he was tall did him a disservice. He towered over most folk, and his frame was thick with muscle, his shoulders almost too wide to clear some doorways. It helped that he had a strong jaw and a handsome face, his tawny skin lined with stubble. And he was a Dragon Knight. That definitely helped with the ladies.

Davion was not so distracted that he did not notice the two grey-cloaked figures making their way into the same tavern he was riding towards. Something about them concerned him, but he quickly set the thought aside. He was just rattled by the presence of the Eldwurm.

The smaller of the two figures turned its hooded head ever so slightly in his direction, and he thought he caught a glimpse of a pale brown eye roving in his direction. Then the figure turned away and followed the other cloaked figure inside.

He was distracted by the sound of women weeping. He had tried to put the other cart and its macabre load out of mind. It contained the fallen soldiers—at least what remained of them. Davion noticed the small boy staring forlornly at the remains, tears running down his grubby face. A pang of sympathy made him dismount and approach.

'Your father was a brave man.' The boy looked up at him. He could barely have been more than seven years old. And now his father was gone. Davion knew all too well what it was like to lose a father. Who would earn the coin for the family? It was something Davion could not fix, and he had always hated being powerless.

But he could do something for the boy: he could give him hope. 'You look like a brave one too.' Davion held out his hand. 'Here. I want you to have this.' He waited until the boy had taken the small, ivory coloured object from his hand. 'It's a dragon fang. I have one just like it, see? When you come of age, when you're ready, take it to Dragon Keep. They'll know what it means.'

The boy's face hardened and he wiped his tears away. 'One day, I'll slay monsters. Just like Father.'

Davion looked the boy in the eye. 'Just like your father.'


'And he faced down the dragon in its own lair,' Bram paused to catch the waist of a serving girl and pull her down onto his lap, 'and slew it single-handed, bringing its head back—' he waved his tankard vaguely in the direction of the bar '—to adorn this fine establishment.' He squeezed the girl's waist. 'Of course, I played my part too.'

Davion, with a voluptuous blonde squeezed up against him, let Bram tell the story. The blonde was stroking his arm, an eager smile on her face. Other women looked on enviously. The rest of the inn cheered as Bram finished his story, or so Davion thought. If he had looked towards the back, he would have seen that the two cloaked strangers remained silent. One by choice, the other not so much.

They seemed to be waiting for something.

The taller of the two spoke to the shorter one quietly and indicated the bar. Davion was too busy flirting to notice the small figure stand, drape her cloak over the back of her chair, and approach the bar. She spared Davion a glance as she walked briskly past.

Frühling was plainly tired of seeing Davion celebrated. He had tried to tell people that Davion had run from the Eldwurm, that he was too afraid to face it, but nobody listened to him. They were all too enamoured with the brave Dragon Knight who had brought the head of a terrible dragon back to town. Still reeking of his own bladder and deep in his cups, Frühling staggered outside to find somewhere to relieve himself once more. Davion was not sorry to see him go, though he might have been if he had known what it would lead to.

Bram drained his flagon and saluted Davion with it, the girl on his lap giggling. Davion raised his own flagon and lifted it to his lips. Empty? Already? Why was the beer always gone? He held up his flagon. 'Who wants another?'

The table responded favourably to this. Davion got to his feet and strode to the bar. Although he'd had a few drinks, he was nowhere near drunk. He wasn't even that tipsy. He planned to get just a little buzz. He wanted a clear head for his soon-to-be-latest conquest. He had a reputation to uphold.

Davion settled his arm on the bar, anticipating that tonight was going to be a good one. Movement caught his eye and he looked round.

It was unexpected. Very unexpected.

Standing next to him was a young woman, a pretty one at that. She was not the sort Davion usually chased. She was small, petite—waiflike compared to the blonde he had spent the evening flirting with, slim and athletic. There was a fluidity and grace to her movements and form which caught his attention, a confidence not so much in appearance as ability. Despite her innocent, oval shaped face and soft pale brown eyes, he had the distinct feeling that this was not somebody to cross. His instinct told him that she could be dangerous.

She was also oddly compelling, even if she was not his type. His eyes travelled the length of her frame as she waited for the barkeep, her small, pale hands resting on the counter. Her short auburn hair was bunched up messily at the back of her head, aside from the bangs and fringe she had left free.

When the barkeep turned, she caught his attention with a soft whistle and held up two fingers. He turned back and busied himself pouring some more beer.

Davion assumed his casual flirt-with-a-woman-see-how-muscly-I-am position instinctively, not really caring if the woman he had been pursuing earlier was watching. Right now, he could barely remember her. 'Hello there.'

The young woman turned her head, gazing at him with her soft eyes. She was much smaller than him, yet was not intimidated in the slightest. She surveyed his face and torso and, judging from the dance of her eyes and the slight curve of her lips, seemed impressed by what she saw. She smiled warmly.

'I haven't seen you around here before.' Davion stated.

She shrugged in response to his words.

It had been an obvious understatement. She wasn't dressed like any of the locals. More to the point, she was dressed for a long journey, and her long boots were still caked with dirt. An outdoors type of girl? He could work with that. He also noticed the pommel of a dagger. Practical too.

'I'm Davion. What's your name?'

She glanced at the beers the barkeep had put in front of her, then did something odd. She dipped her finger into the foam and used it to write on the counter.

Marci.

Davion wondered about that, then supposed that she might be deaf. She could obviously read his lips well enough. 'Pretty name for a pretty girl.'

Her smile widened at that. She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned a little closer, her gaze mischievous and her smile flirtatious. There was still a trace of innocence about her, and a shy twitch to her smile and distinctive flushes forming around her neck and cheeks which betrayed to Davion—who was well versed in such matters—that she was unused to the attention of men, but she was enjoying his nevertheless.

She pointed at the dragon head above the mantle, and then at Davion.

'Yes, that's what I do. I'm a Dragon Knight.'

Her eyes twinkled admiringly and her smile spread.

'What about you?'

Another shrug. Davion now had the distinct impression that she was not deaf, but mute instead. Distantly, he found it curious that neither possibility bothered him.

Marci looked over her shoulder, jerked her thumb vaguely at somebody at the back of the inn, and held out her hands, as if carrying something.

'You work for somebody?' Davion guessed.

Marci dipped her finger in the foam again and wrote handmaiden on the bar.

'Out here?'

She nodded, then put her hand sideways against her forehead and narrowed her eyes, as if shielding them from the sun.

'You're looking for something.'

Her smile grew even wider and she nodded vigorously. Davion had to admit that he was enjoying this. He was enjoying Marci's company greatly, more so than the company of the voluptuous blonde waiting for him—not that he had the blonde in mind right now.

A sharp whistle issued from the back of the tavern. Marci glanced over her shoulder again. A woman with long brown hair, dressed in similar white and blue garb, waved impatiently.

Marci turned back to Davion, shrugged apologetically, took the beers and walked away. Davion watched her go, admiring the sway of her hips and the rhythm of her coltish legs.

There were a couple of men at one table who had their drunken eyes fixed on Marci's companion, and he had a feeling that they might be trouble. He was still distracted when a cloaked figure sat at the same table as Marci and her companion. Marci's attention was now fixed on the cloaked man, and her gaze was no longer soft and warm. It was wary and watchful.

Curious, Davion wondered about moving closer. Something about the visitor put him on alert.


Mirana had been less than enthused by the warm beer Marci had put in front of her. She had wanted an Icewrack White. Marci had not bothered to explain to her that a place such as this had likely never even heard of an Icewrack White.

Though Marci would have liked the cold beverage herself and didn't care for the taste of the beer, she was content to wash the cottony sensation from her mouth with it. Being Mirana's favourite handmaiden and close friend had allowed her to savour some of the privileges of wealth, but she had never forgotten what she was or where she had come from.

She watched Gwanwyn as he sat opposite them with hooded eyes as she drank, barely blinking. She did not trust him in the slightest. His oily manner reeked of guile. She was also trying to keep an eye on the three heavily built men at the next table. They were staring avidly at Mirana, obviously very drunk.

Their attention did not surprise Marci. Mirana turned heads almost everywhere she went. She had a beautiful, heart shaped face, stood tall and confident and was quite shapely in the eyes of men—especially the soused ones.

She was making a conscious effort not to search for Davion, the handsome Dragon Knight who had seemed unusually attentive towards her. Her inability to speak usually put people off very quickly. It was something she had grown used to.

If she had spotted Davion, she would have seen the blonde resume stroking his arm and chest once more. She would also have realised that he was distracted, his mind elsewhere, and also keeping a wary eye on Marci's table.

'Well now,' Gwanwyn spoke softly, his sallow face hidden in the shadows of his hood. 'This is a surprise,' he glanced around surreptitiously, 'choosing a place such as this for our little meeting.'

'I suppose you would have preferred some dark alley or forest,' Mirana drawled, 'the better to rob me.'

'My dear, I find it far more lucrative to find treasures for people instead of stealing them. What is it that you're looking for? Or can I guess?'

'My lotuses.' Mirana stated. 'Where are they?'

'Ah, the lotuses. Selemene's lotuses. The usurper's lotuses.'

'I don't care what you call them. Where are they?'

Gwanwyn leaned forwards. 'I don't know where they are, but I know somebody who does.'

Mirana frowned, restraining herself from tapping her foot.

'Go to Haupstadt. Ask for Nikdo. You'll find him in the black market. He'll point you in the right direction.' Gwanwyn stood, his dark cloak swishing. 'Now, let's talk about my payment.'

'I'm not paying for a name.' Mirana said coldly.

'Then I'll tell Nikdo that the deal is off.' Gwanwyn smiled just as coldly. 'Good luck finding those lotuses of yours.'

Marci started to stand, but Mirana held her back. 'Wait!' She sighed and reached into the drawstring bag at her side. 'I... I have little in the way of money...'

'I am tempted, believe me. Human women are surprisingly soft, but too common for me.'

Marci glowered at him and curled her hand into a fist, her knuckles cracking.

'I have this.' Mirana held out a curling bracelet, silver and gold.

Gwanwyn took it and frowned. 'This trinket,' he peered at Mirana, 'your tiara... I know who you are!'

The man very nearly collapsed onto the table. It was a miracle that he did not break it. 'My future ex-wife!' He slurred loudly. Marci stood fully this time, poised and coiled like a spring. 'And my future-future ex-wife,' the drunk continued, eyeing Marci now.

She knew that she could take him down easily. He was drunk, and his bulk was more fat than muscle. It was a question of whether Mirana wanted to risk attention.

'I think not.' Mirana grumbled, adding in a barely-audible mutter: 'I know better than to waste my time with the common rabble.' Marci did not bristle. She knew Mirana better than that, just as she had never forgotten her own origins.

'Oh! Is the pale one your lover?' The drunkard reared back and flung a meaty arm around Gwanwyn's shoulders, causing his knees to buckle. 'Been stepping out with my future ex-wives?'

'Believe me, friend, I would never presume to put myself where you would put any part of yourself.'

'Ooh! Fancy one this. But I know an insult when I hear it.' He twisted and sank his meaty fist into Gwanwyn's trim stomach. The air exploded out of Gwanwyn's lungs and he staggered. The drunk reached over and yanked him back by his hood.

He froze before his next punch made contact. 'Elf!'

The entire tavern went silent in an instant. All eyes were on Gwanwyn. None of them were friendly.

'Filthy spawn of tree rot.' The drunk drew a short knife from his belt. 'One of my cousins wandered into one of your enclaves. He came out, eventually, without an arm, and without his balls. He sits in the corner these days, drooling and gibbering.' He lifted the knife, its blade reflecting the hateful eyes of the patrons. 'I think I should return the favour.'

Marci bolted from her seat and vaulted over the table as the knife descended. She disliked Gwanwyn, but he did not deserve this, and Mirana needed him to report back to Nikdo.

'Marci!' Mirana called, but Marci had already seized the man's thick arm with one small hand. He was not so drunk that he failed to notice his arm being drawn back, but could not understand how it was happening.

'That's enough.' Davion snatched the knife from the man's grasp. 'Leave this elf to me. I know what to do with him.' With that, he seized Gwanwyn's collar and yanked him towards the door. Marci let go of the drunkard, who seemed perplexed by the loss of his knife, and hurried after Davion. Mirana belatedly followed her.

'This looks like the right place to throw the trash.' Davion called loudly. He shoved the elf out of the doorway. Marci hurried outside as Davion approached Gwanwyn, who stumbled backwards, sweating and shaking. Davion leaned close to Gwanwyn, and Marci halted as she heard him quietly command: 'Run. Now.'

Gwanwyn stepped back, shocked. He composed himself and pulled his hood up. He turned his head towards Marci. 'Make sure your Princess is in Haupstadt by the end of the week, servant.' With that, he slouched away into the night.

Davion turned to Marci, surprised. 'Princess?' He had assumed that she served a noblewoman, not royalty. And since she was armed, she was unlikely to be a mere handmaiden. He had seen how quickly she had moved, and she was obviously much stronger than she appeared. Perhaps she did pose or even serve as a handmaid, but Davion reckoned that she was more bodyguard than servant.

Marci shrugged again.

Davion answered with a smile. 'You're full of surprises.'

Mirana hovered in the doorway. Davion offered her a bow before stepping past, making the patrons forget Gwanwyn by shouting: 'Barkeep! Another round for everybody.' Marci heard them cheer.

Mirana stepped past her and into the cool air, gazing up at the stars twinkling overhead. 'Princess.' She murmured bitterly.

Marci reached out and took her hand, mustering as reassuring a look as she could.

Mirana sighed and managed a weak smile. 'You always know just what to say, Marci.'


Davion drained his last flagon for that evening, now a little tipsier than he had intended to be. He made his way to the stairs, wondering just what Marci and the enigmatic Princess had been meeting an elf here for. It had been a huge risk for all three of them. If the patrons had assumed them to be friends of the elf, it could have ended with bloodshed.

Davion halted as a voluptuous blonde stepped into his path, swaying her hips provocatively and grinning seductively. He remembered that he had been flirting with her earlier, and she had invited herself into his bed for the night.

He did not even know her name. Normally, that would not have bothered him in the slightest. But this night was different.

It was unexpected. Very unexpected.

'I think its time to wake your dragon, brave Knight.' the woman teased.

Davion offered her a rueful smile. 'I'd love to, but I think I've had too much to drink. My dragon needs to sleep it off.' He cringed inwardly at that, though he supposed it was not altogether untrue. 'Another time, honey.'

She was disappointed. Oh well.

As he climbed the steps, another dragon slain but accompanied by no woman this time, Davion did not feel disappointed. Maybe it had not gone the way he expected, but it had certainly been an interesting evening.


Frühling sat against the tree, his back bent and his breeches still heavy and moist. He had failed to reach the tree in time.

The night air was cool, and it should have been refreshing. Yet it brought him neither comfort nor solace. In his reeling mind, he relived the battle against the dragon. It had been a bloody rout until Davion had turned up, too late to save seven of his men. Good men. Loyal men.

And there was another dragon down there. A dragon Davion was too afraid to face.

Frühling staggered to his feet and lurched towards the town, drawn towards the nearest brazier. 'I'm not afraid!' he bellowed drunkenly. 'I fear no dragon! I'll show them! I'll show you all!' He drew his sword and careened clumsily, swinging it in silvery arcs with all the finesse of a concussed ape.

'Will you now?'

Frühling froze. That voice... it had come seemingly from nowhere. It was cold, mocking, and every syllable spoken instilled fear.

'Who is there?' Frühling shouted into the night.

'A helping hand.' the voice responded. It seemed to be coming from the brazier. 'I understand you, Captain. I know you very well indeed. I know how your men mock you behind your back, how the townsfolk you are sworn to protect sneer at you. They will never respect you.'

'You lie! Shut up!'

'You know it is true, my friend. You are craven, and they all see it. I do, for I love fear.'

Frühling gasped as his sword took on an evil green glow. The face reflected in it became one of pure terror, with a single glowing emerald void where Frühling's eye should have been. He flung it away, shaking. If he had still had anything left in his bladder, it would have fled his body by now.

'I can still smell the piss on your legs.' The voice chuckled coldly. 'But you don't need to be afraid.'

'I am not afraid!'

The brazier flared, scattering sparks. 'Rage. Good. I admire that. I can work with that. You can be great, Captain. If we work together, you and I, we can earn you that respect you so desperately crave. The respect you deserve. They need never know your secret terror, your... impotence.'

Frühling stood immobile, still and expectant. He could feel something closing in, inexorable and terrible, and so very powerful.

'All you have to do is... let me in.'

Frühling closed his eyes and inhaled.

When he opened them again, he was no longer Captain Frühling. He was something else. Something so much worse: Terror made manifest.


Updates may be slow on occasion, as my work timetable is a bit variable, so please be patient with me. Getting into Davion's post-dragon-slaying mindset was a little odd, but it seems to have turned out well enough. Seems I'm not as rusty as I thought. All the same, I did have some fun writing this.

I hope you all enjoy reading this. For all readers and writers who want to give this project a chance: I wish you all good fortune in the stories to come.