“You’re kidding me, a harking dragon?” Howard the Bard asked after he picked himself up out of the dirt.

  The hillside around the goatherd’s hut was a smoldering ruin. On the dirt track leading up to the hut was the half melted remains of a wagon. Further out in the fields, a few stray goats were all that remained of T’laanga’s herd. They bleated in panic, running as far away as possible

  Howard looked around the assembled group. Two knights, sans one horse, a Sorcerer masquerading as a goat minder, a child, an insane old Wizard, a raven, and one Bard who had wet his pants. It was a miracle that they weren’t all a melted heap on the ground.

  The still mounted knight managed to rein in his panicking steed at last. He looked over at the one who’d been bucked off and called out.

  “Raban, what the hells? I thought we were chasing a Witch! This- There’s a lot bloody more than that here!” the young man said, clearly trying not to lose his nerve. Howard immediately marked him as someone he might be able to talk his way in with. He had the manner of an inexperienced warrior out on his first campaign.

  The one named Raban managed to stand to his feet, which was no small task while armored. He had been furious when he charged in full of vim and vigor. With the wind knocked out of him and a near-death experience in his recent past, he looked considerably chastened. At least a little bit.

  “That weren’t a godsdamned Witch! Nobody here is a Witch, ‘yer lordship’,” Raban growled as he swept the dirt off of his backside. His hand never left the hilt of his sword, even after he’d been thrown from his horse. Howard could tell that he was considerably more dangerous than the younger knight at a glance.

  “That was the bloody creature hunting the peasants! No wonder we couldn’t find the blasted thing. It just eats who it likes then takes off into the air!”

  Raban pointed his sword blade at T’laanga and Mortimer, both of which were still recovering from their duel and subsequent survival tactics. “You two, identify yer’selves at once!”

  Howard began tactically moving to a safe distance. His leg was still bleeding from the earlier cut.

  “You put that flimsy butter knife away young man,” Mortimer tutted as he bent over and picked up the shattered fragments of his bone totem. “Do the knights of this realm have such bad manners that they’d hold steel to someone who saved their miserable lives?”

  Archibald landed on top of Mortimer’s hat and fluttered his wings indignantly.

  T’laanga had shuffled back over towards Magnus. He was trying to get close enough to make an escape. A Wizard was bad enough, but two local knights discovering his secrets was catastrophic. He could have killed the first and buried him in the dirt for fertilizer. Going missing was an occupational hazard for Wizards. Two knights, someone would come looking for.

  “Don’t think you can sneak off, ‘goatherd’,” Raban snapped at T’laanga. “I want answers!” Sir Kenneth finally dismounted his horse, but held onto the reins.

  “Raban. Really? That man is right. We owe him a debt, unlicensed magic or not,” Sir Kenneth said as he clapped his free hand on the older knight’s shoulder. “How about you put your blade down and we can all talk about this like civilized men. I think we all have a bigger problem, besides.”

  Raban grimaced, but reluctantly lowered his blade. Their original mission had been to hunt a Witch, but a dragon definitely outclassed that in priority by a wide mile. Sir Kenneth tried to smile encouragingly at his new acquaintances.

  “Hmph, at least one of you shows some nobility,” Mortimer said grumpily. “I am called Archmage Mortimer Sahir, Senior Lecturer of the Collegia Qaetil Aelnas.” The raven on his hat gave a squawk. “This is my research assistant, Archibald.”

  Sir Kenneth looked over to Howard, but Mortimer pointed at the bird on his hat. “The raven,” the old man insisted. Sir Kenneth’s smile faltered a bit.

  “I’m, ah, H-howard the Bard,” Howard, no relation to the Bandit King Avery, said clumsily. His usual eloquence was lost to him. “D-d-definitely not a C-Clown. A bard. Just a bard.” Sir Raban narrowed his eyes at Howard.

  “A bard with two swords?” he asked suspiciously. Howard had already wet himself, so acting like a fool wasn’t a great leap of acting.

  “I j-juggle, sir, and put on sword play for the k-kids. In a show.” Raban’s patience was already thin, so he swapped his focus to T’laanga before he got an aneurysm.

  “T’laanga. Goatherd.”

  “Bullshit!” Raban growled. “I saw you bloody swat the Wizard out of the sky! No goatherd can do that.”

  “What my colleague means to say,” Mortimer interjected. “Is that he is retired. Every Wizard feels the desire at some point, to leave a life of Academia behind and pursue a more rustic life. Taking time away from the hustle and bustle of the University does wonders for one’s constitution. Considerably less book dust in the lungs, for one.”

  T’laanga narrowed his eyes at Mortimer. He didn’t know what the Wizard’s game was, but the arse-pulled explanation was the best one available at the moment. Reluctantly, he nodded his head. Magnus stuck his small head out from behind T’laanga’s back, watching the introductions quietly.

  “So, all of this was…?” Sir Kenneth asked, gesturing at the marks of battle from before the dragon arrived.

  “A friendly sparring match,” Mortimer replied instantly. “Two old friends trying their luck on each other after being apart for some time. I don’t mean to boast, but I’ve still got a couple of wins up on the old tallyboard ahead of my chum here.” T’laanga’s eye twitched, but he didn’t raise his voice to disagree.

  “Well that’s a relief,” Sir Kenneth said, taking a deep breath and relaxing a bit. My name is Sir Kenneth of Reimse. This is Sir Raban, also of Reimse.” He gestured to the glowering older knight.

  “I’d hate to tell my Lord Reimse that someone was blowing up the county without his permission. Speaking of which…” Sir Kenneth looked out across the devastation left by the dragon. “In the name of Baron Reimse, I must formally and with great respect, ask for your aid.”

  “You’re going to need to be a little more specific than that,” Mortimer said casually. “I’m just here visiting and don’t owe fealty to your lord. Academic neutrality and all that.”

  “Well I’m sure Baron Reimse will be pleased to hear,” Sir Kenneth continued casually. “That two Wizards were dueling in his domain without notifying his court of their presence? It’s just a shame really, that you were too busy smiting the countryside to help deal with the dragon. Such a shame.”

  Howard had to give the young knight credit. It was probably true that both Mortimer and T’laanga could turn Sir Kenneth and Raban into dust without much of a fight. Maybe not Raban. Howard considered himself pretty good with a blade, but did not fancy crossing swords with Raban. Even while standing around, the man’s stance exuded danger.

  Either way, someone with a considerably larger boot would eventually come looking for them. The nobility tended to take an approach of ‘no such thing as overkill’ when handling dissidents, at least if they were smart.

  It was why Howard and his crew had been stuck in the mountains deep into winter. Piss off the wrong Lord and you’d lie your way right into a corner with no way out. Lying to Visk about the real reason they were camping in the backwoods was far less dangerous than a Viscount’s personal guard out for blood.

  Mortimer and T’laanga both stared at Sir Kenneth as he threw down the metaphoric gauntlet.

  “Pray tell, noble knight, what service do the loyal bannerman of Baron Reimse require?” Mortimer said, polite and cold as an ice handshake.

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  “You both showed considerable skill, retired or not,” Sir Kenneth asserted. “If you had not been ‘sparring’, I doubt that even the dragon would have caught you off guard. Even then, you saved all of our lives quite handedly. The Barony of Reimse requests that you help me and my fellow knight pursue and slay this foul beast. You will be richly rewarded for your valiant service, of course.”

  Howard had changed his mind. Sir Kenneth was the more dangerous knight of the pair.

  For what he lacked in experience, the young knight’s silver tongue was far more deadly. Flattery was about the only thing that seemed to work on Mortimer. Denying Sir Kenneth’s request would be admitting his magic was insufficient, not to mention putting him in the local nobility’s bad graces.

  Mortimer looked at the melted remains of the wagon, then back at those gathered in front of him.

  “Hmm, I suppose that at times the needs of Academia must give way to more pragmatic concerns,” the Wizard said stoically. “Between those of us gathered here, I suppose we might manage.”

  “N-now hold on!” Howard protested. “There’s no way that we can kill something like that with six-” He glanced up at Archibald. “-seven of us! That thing has slaughtered dozens!” The ‘bard’ was panicking. Flashes of memory came to him of the night he’d fled from the bandit camp. He’d only gotten a couple of quick glimpses in the dark, but the black dragon very much resembled the ‘demon’ that had slaughtered his men.

  “Oh? Have you seen the creature before Howard?” Mortimer asked casually. “We’ve not seen any sign of it since we started travelling together.”

  Everyone gathered was now staring at Howard. Raban in particular was squinting at him suspiciously. Something about Howard was setting off alarm bells in the experienced warrior’s head, but he could nail down exactly what the issue was.

  “W-well uh…,” Howard said, fumbling around for an answer. “I… Well, yes I suppose I’ve seen it before. Up in the Redstone Hills. I was being held captive!” The story he’d come up with, that Mortimer had never bothered to ask about, started to come back to him. “A band of brigands slaughtered my theater troupe and were keeping me around for their… sick amusement. A monster attacked in the night. I escaped in the confusion.”

  As impossible as that story seemed, they’d all seen a dragon in person and lived to tell the tale.

  “Suppose it could have its lair over that way?” Sir Kenneth mused out loud. “Hardly anyone goes up there… Usually by this time, the lumberjacks would be hauling timber out of the hills. We’ve not seen any on the road.”

  “Not to rain on the parade, Sir,” Raban said dourly. “But how are we supposed to catch up to the bastard? We’ve got one horse between us.”

  “I might have a little something that will serve such a purpose,” Mortimer answered casually. His eyes were settled on T’laanga and Magnus.

  The sorcerer had been looking for a way to escape for the entire conversation and had been keeping silent. If he tried to run, Mortimer would pounce on him. He’d have two angry knights after him as well. Perhaps on his own he could have given them the slip. With Magnus in tow, it would be more difficult. The best chance he’d have to get away, was likely while they fought the dragon. It would be easy to slip out of sight in the chaos.

  T’laanga glared right back at Mortimer. The Wizard had him trapped without needing to cast a spell.

  Mortimer dug around in his robes and pulled out what looked like an embroidered napkin. When he tossed it on the ground, the fabric expanded to an eight foot wide by ten foot long rug. Magnus’s eyes lit up.

  “Is that a flying carpet?” he gasped out loud before T’laanga could shush him. Mortimer chuckled in a jovial fashion.

  “Got it in one young man. How very astute,” Mortimer congratulated the boy. “There’s a bright future ahead of you in Academia, if your mentor ever lets you study real magic.” The barb in Mortimer’s tone was lost on everyone but T’laanga. To the rest, he sounded like he was humoring a kid’s curiosity.

  Both Sir Raban and Sir Kenneth stared at the rug with trepidation. It was evident that neither felt comfortable with employing magic, but there weren’t many other options at hand.

  “May I leave my horse hitched to your abode near the water trough, kind sir?” Sir Kenneth asked T’laanga politely. The reticent man only gave a nod with his lips pressed in a flat line. Handling Kenneth’s horse took a couple of minutes. In the meantime, Howard stared at the magic carpet.

  “We’ve been walking for days, and you had a flying carpet the whole time?” the bard asked in a hollow tone. He was remembering miles of sore feet and nights sleeping in the cold. “Why didn’t you use it?”

  “First rule of magic,” Mortimer answered casually. He’d pulled a smoking pipe, some noxious smelling herbs, and a match from inside his robes. He casually lit the pipe and tossed the match to the ground, grinding it under his boot. “Everything has a cost.” His wrinkled eyes glared at T’laanga. “Even if you cheat.”

  Howard wondered what the cost could be, that Mortimer would walk for days rather than use the flying carpet. That he only brought it out to chase a flying scaled disaster did not inspire confidence.

  When no one was close enough to listen, Magnus got T’laanga’s attention by tugging on his scarf.

  “Aren’t Edith and the others in the Redstone Hills?” the boy whispered to T’laanga. “That dragon wasn’t Sanguine. It could be going after them!” T’laanga gritted his teeth together in response. His obligation was to the child now, but he still held a fondness for Edith borne from long years traveling together.

  The black dragon had been enormous. T’laanga had been able to feel the pain it was responsible for, radiating off of it. A living creature only gave such an aura if it was responsible for a truly monstrous amount of death and suffering. Each life snuffed out clung to the soul like a dark shadow.

  It had surprised him greatly when Sanguine did not have a similar aura around him. The young red dragon had his own issues, but he had yet to take a sapient life when they’d met. That more than anything was why T’laanga had not pressed harder when challenging Sanguine’s commitment to his companions.

  He could reach out and ask for the young dragon’s help in facing the black scaled monstrosity. That would put him in danger of being discovered by Mortimer and the knights. If it was just the dragon by himself, that wouldn’t have been much of an issue.

  T’laanga had heard the knights say that their original mission was to hunt a Witch. Edith had mentioned that she was being chased by Witch Hunters. It was likely that these were the same men she’d been fleeing from.

  A great many complications were coming to a head and they were all on a collision course with each other. T’laanga did not yet see a way out of the maze.

  Magnus was right, however. He couldn’t leave the black dragon alone if it was heading towards Edith. He couldn’t leave the boy here at the hut either. Mortimer would double back at the earliest opportunity to snatch the child away. As preposterous as it sounded, the safest place for Magnus was to follow the black dragon for now.

  T’laanga knew what lay in store for Magnus if he let Mortimer kidnap him. For a Sorcerer, that would be a fate worse than death.

  Once all present had prepared themselves, they sat down on the flying carpet. Howard had been unable to come up with an opportunity to run away before time ran out. Multiple mouths spat soft curses as the fabric lifted up from the solid ground. Mortimer pointed with his staff towards the Redstone Hills and they sailed off towards the horizon.

  In the Redstone Hills, a specific Vulture was having a bad day.

  It had flown as far away from the Cursed Forest as was possible in the later winter. There was simply no saving that wretched place where dead things didn’t stay dead to be eaten.

  After the not-dead bear and its not-dead tree had been destroyed, things had been looking up. There had been plenty of dead flesh lying around on the ground that continued to stay properly deceased. For a couple of days, the Vulture had feasted like a king.

  Then the not-dead tree had exploded out of the big melted hole in the ground. It was back to being regular-alive and did not like vultures making a meal of bodies it could use for fertilizer. The Vulture didn’t have any frame of reference for ‘magic’, but it knew how a tree ought to act. Shining with a bunch of sparkly lights and turning the ground into fresh summer green in the middle of summer was not normal.

  It also ate all the dead flesh, which annoyed the Vulture greatly, so the bird had flown a long ways away.

  The Redstone Hills weren’t the best territory for a Vulture. There were too many eagles, hawks, and other avians that had funny ideas about what territory was whose. Thankfully they didn’t tend to mess with Vultures too much, on account of the foul stench. A proper gut wrenching odor was key to any Vulture’s success.

  ‘Bastard Bird’ as dubbed by a particularly ill mannered dragon hatchling, had elected to make its home in an abandoned eagle nest far up in a tree. It was of solid construction with a commanding view of the surroundings. Very good for spotting dead things off in the distance from the safety of home.

  That safety had been shattered when the Vulture returned home to find its new nest pin cushioned with arrows. What’s more, the scent of the red dragon lingered nearby. Clearly the Vulture’s old nemesis had not forgotten their rivalry and had chased him across the world to settle their vendetta.

  The Vulture didn’t want to stick around long enough for the dragon to find him. He’d started heading back towards the open fields away from the Redstone Hills as fast as his wings could carry him.

  As the spring winds continued to shift, there would be an updraft that would carry him far up into the sky. If he held that course, it would turn towards the direction of the rising sun. There were wide flat plains out that way. Beyond them and an expanse of salty water was a land of rocks, sun, and sand. That was the Vulture’s intended destination.

  Just as the vulture crossed out of the Redstone Hills, a massive winged shape came out of the sun and dove past him. The bird gave a panicked screech and flapped his wings in a desperate attempt to flee. He’d only got a moment’s glimpse of the creature’s black scales, but he could recognize the scent. It was another dragon.

  Forget the desert. The vulture decided to keep flying until he couldn’t fly any further. Hopefully there would be no more dragons, wherever that landed him.