The Black Collar: Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

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Alvaranox rose swiftly into the sea of stars that stretched out in all directions above Asterryl. Much as the dragon tried to fight it, a smile graced his muzzle. If he had a single friend in this world, it was certainly Nylah. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tear up her next batch of roses again just to spite her. A dragon had to draw the line somewhere after all.

Within the span of a few dozen wing beats and just as many breaths, the city of Asterryl was already shrinking beneath the dragon. The herbs had not yet kicked in, and the exertion of flight was causing his head to ache worse than ever. Blood pulsed through his body. He could feel it thumping through the vast network of tiny veins in his wings, throbbing through the secondary heart chamber near his tail, and beating like some blacksmith’s hammer against the anvil of his brain.

Gods, he had to stop drinking so much.

The dragon blinked a few times, flicking his flight membranes closed across his eyes to fight off the winds buffeting his face. He shifted and flicked his wings, working his membranes against the air currents until he felt a pleasant, warm updraft. The hot air rising from the earth caught his wings, gently elevating him a little higher. Alvaranox stretched his wings to catch as much of the thermal current as possible, and then set himself to soar and glide. The less effort he had to put into flying, the sooner his headache would ease.


Soon enough, the bitter herbs he’d eaten were dulling his pain. As the pounding tapered off inside his head, the strange yet familiar pulse in his mind began to guide him to the west. He shifted a wing, pivoting in the sky just a little, using that pulse like a compass until he was following it directly. It was the collar’s way of guiding him to find whatever threat it was sending him to deal with this time. It was a very strange feeling the dragon had never quite gotten used to. It felt as though someone had a leash attached to his very consciousness and was giving it a series of rhythmic tugs.

West. West. West.

As he soared, Alvaranox glanced around the landscape below him. He had an excellent view of the massive lake that defined much of the area below. The locals called it the Lake Of Teeth because of the many sharp, jagged rocks that lined its vast shores. Its ancient waters were deep and cold and stretched far enough that when Alvaranox stood upon the shoreline the water seemed to reach the horizon itself.

From his high vantage, he could just make out the northern shore. It was there that the rocks and bluffs that lined much of the lake gave way to a series of swampy coves and inlets where several rivers drained into the lake. Thick marshy forest spread in all directions from that northern shoreline. From time to time Alvaranox was called in that direction to deal with various threats. A primitive, reptilian-like people called that place home. The humans called them stupid things like lizardmen, but Alvaranox knew they called themselves the Va’chaak.

Most of the Va’chaak were peaceful enough so long as they did not think anyone was attempting to steal their land. They lived in the forests and the swampy sections of the north shore in a cluster of villages. They had simple huts and homes made from mud and reed, tools carved from wood and bone and rock. Though they did occasionally cause enough trouble to arouse a warning from the collar, Alvaranox found that all he usually had to do was show up, roar at them, and blow a bit of fire to send them running.

From time to time a few bands of Va’chaak even ventured to Asterryl in order to do some trading and bartering. The humans always seemed surprised whenever they showed up. To their credit not only did the humans not attempt to immediately slaughter the creatures but the merchants in the market seemed more than willing to do a little trading with their scaly northern neighbors. Alvaranox rather liked the Va’chaak because the first time they showed up in Asterryl, they had assumed the large green dragon must have been in charge.

If he had his way, he certainly would have been.

From his high vantage point, Alvaranox cast his copper gaze towards the island he called his own. There were many rocky islands spread throughout the lake and in ages long since forgotten, a sprawling stone fortress once capped the largest of them. Though its towers had long since tumbled into the water, and its walls continued to crumble by the decade, there was still enough of the place left for its former design to be clear. Lines of broken wall marked the island like some grand puzzle missing half its pieces. There were yet rooms and sections there that were still intact, if a bit overgrown by brambles, brush, and the occasional tree. Alvaranox had long ago claimed the place for himself. A little island in which to find occasional hours of solitude away from the humans who had made him their Guardian Slave. There was a dock there once, but the dragon tore it up years ago to make it more difficult for any of the humans to venture out there. That island was his now, and his alone.

The pulsing in the dragon’s mind suddenly accelerated. The collar wanted him to speed up. Alvaranox wondered what that meant. He suspected there might be a group of bandits planning an ambush for the early morning travelers and merchants on the nearby road. Or perhaps a raiding party of Va’chaak was about to attack an isolated farm. Whatever the case, the collar would fill him in as he drew near whatever threat it sensed. Then Alvaranox would put a swift stop to it. The sooner he ended the danger, the sooner he could go back to bed.

Alvaranox began to beat his wings again. Now that his headache had relented, he pushed himself harder in the sky. As the collar tugged his mind to the west with increasing urgency, the dragon began to pump his wings to match the ceaseless pulse in his consciousness. So long as the collar knew he was meeting its demand, it would not make things even more unpleasant for him.

Beating his wings to the collar’s pulsing urge had a familiar rhythm to it. Despite his hatred, the collar was as much a part of the dragon as breathing. It could sense seemingly any manner of danger looming over Asterryl and the lands beyond. Whenever a threat presented itself, the dragon was sent to deal with it one way or another.

The collar’s warnings did not always lead to battle. There were times it had sent him to rescue people trapped by rising water, or to help dig survivors from the rubble of distant homes damaged by rockslides. Sometimes it sent him to deal with aggressive beasts or belligerent inhuman peoples like the Va’chaak. Though the humans might say otherwise, he refused to call them monsters. Even when the collar did lead him into battle with bandit hordes or mercenaries who’d taken up robbing merchants and travelers, he didn’t always have to kill them. So long as the threat was quelled one way or another the collar was satisfied.

Yet often that meant he had to shed something’s blood. Today, he felt there would be blood spilled. Alvaranox snorted, shaking his head. He would do what he had to do.

Trying not to fixate on the grim task ahead, the dragon scanned the ground far below. Alvaranox had excellent vision even in the midst of the night, and the nearly full moon provided plenty of silvery illumination. Beyond Asterryl’s outermost walls, the area was heavily marked by farmlands. Farmhouses painted the shade of red apples were surrounded by stables, barns, sheds and other outbuildings, and those in turn were wrapped with acres of crops. Where there were no crops, there were pens with livestock. Pigs, sheep and cattle, and assortments of horses, oxen and ponies were all raised for food, clothing and work. The lands directly around Asterryl resembled some sprawling game board, sections divided by wood and wire or stone. Brown swaths of freshly tilled soil stood in sharp contrast to plots of land covered in rows of green crops.

Simple dirt lanes ran between farms and towards the town so that goods and livestock could be easily transported. Here and there simple guardhouses were set up at intersections to provide a bit of protection and security for the various farming families. Some of the intersections also had their own little inns, taverns and markets set up so that the farmers could pick up a few simple supplies or have a drink and a meal after a hard day’s labor without having to go all the way into town.

Further west the farmlands began to melt into the sprawling, rocky moors of the nearly endless wild. They rose and fell endlessly like the waves of some green ocean frozen in time. In the daylight, the brambles, heathers, thick moss and grasses that covered the land gave it a mottled green appearance not unlike Alvaranox’s scales. Patches of sage dotted it with blotches of gray-blue, and randomly dispersed patches of wild flowers speckled the land with fiery reds and striking blues. Rocky bluffs rose higher above the green moors, capped with undulating stone ridges. Boulders were strewn about where they’d toppled down the ridges and rolled across the soft mossy ground before eventually easing to a stop.

Swift, rocky streams cut between the bluffs and hills. In some places, boulders had come to a stop in the midst of the water, creating natural dams that provided larger pools for fish to find a home in. Tall swaths of reeds rose all around such pools. In some areas alongside the streams, copses of trees made their home. There was little discernable pattern to species of tree. Oaks, elms, fir, willow, pine, and a variety of fruit trees all seemed randomly scattered as though the winds had simply taken handfuls of seeds and buffeted them in all directions to find purchase where they may.

Though the roads were fewer and the lands more treacherous, a few groups of humans still made their living amongst those moors. There were families of nomadic shepherds who tended vast herds of goats across the wide open grazing lands, and spent their nights in dome shaped tents, telling tales around great bonfires. A few families of stoneworkers lived out in the wilds as well, where they could spend their days cutting stone from the ridges or in simple quarries. Every few weeks they journeyed to Asterryl to sell their wares.

Beyond even those hardy souls were the wilds where Alvaranox had hatched and lived with his mother. Far from the lands of men, dragons had roamed more freely along with other beasts and wild creatures unshackled by the burdens of civilization. In his youth Alvaranox had never seen a human. As far as he knew, Asterryl was in fact on the very edge of human civilization. After all, the dragons did not call the moors and rugged lands beyond the wilds, that was a human term. Asterryl itself was the boundary between that which humanity had claimed and conquered and that which had in turn conquered them. Humanity had stretched its grasp as far as it could, and found its reach exceeded.

Evidence of that great overreach was strewn all across the land. Once Alvaranox was well into the moors, old ruins were everywhere. A crumbled castle sat atop the tallest hill for miles. Alvaranox imagined it must have been a grand place, once. Now though, the once majestic towers lay strewn in broken, moss-covered pieces all along the hillside. The cracked and crumbling walls were little more than another set of gray ridges crowning a rise in the moors.

Burnt out homes likely raided by bandits before Alvaranox had been collared served as proof that the land needed a protector, even if that protector was unwilling. Battered stone columns standing like sentinels on opposite sides of a wide stream were all the proof that remained of a bridge that once straddled the valley. The road that it connected was long since overgrown and vanished.

Somehow, Asterryl had remained. Asterryl was the line in the sand the humans had drawn. Perhaps it was the access to resources of stone, water and crops. Perhaps it was a more defensible position. Maybe they’d simply had the time needed to build better defenses. Whatever the case, the original inhabitants of Asterryl had long ago declared they would yield no more ground to the wild world beyond their walls. Nor would they let those without law continue to raid and plunder without consequence. A noble ambition in its own way. At least it had been until they put Alvaranox in the collar and made him the consequence to bear for banditry.

It was enough to make him wish he could just let the wilds claim Asterryl once and for all. He’d even be willing to fly Nylah somewhere pleasant. If she asked nicely, he might even take Kirra. Surely they’d prefer to live in some cozy, quiet human town far from this rugged frontier, wouldn’t they? The sort of town that didn’t actually need a Guardian Slave just to keep it safe.

Perhaps that was too much to hope for.

Alvaranox let the collar guide him as he drifted through his aimless thoughts. Though most of the other roads that had once cut through the land were long since reclaimed by the moors, there were still a few thoroughfares that Alvaranox knew must eventually lead to other, safer towns. Asterryl’s lands might be dangerous, but there was a lot of coin to be had by those willing to venture across them for trade.

Most of remaining roads were maintained merely by the traffic of boots, hooves and carriage wheels packing the earth down again and again. From time to time, local guardsmen and workers were sent out to do a little road maintenance, be it shoring up an area where the road was giving way or dropping flagstones in to sturdy up a particularly muddy patch. Damn collar had even sent the green dragon out to provide security for one such operation when a group of opportunistic bandits thought the lightly guarded workers would make easy prey.

Alvaranox closed his eyes for a moment, letting the winds carry him. He focused his mind on his task, asking a silent question of the collar. What was his destination? He needed to know where he was going. Slowly, fragments of images began to appear in the dragon’s mind as the collar sought to provide him an answer. He could feel the damn thing buzzing around his neck, it made his scales tingle as it worked its magic in his mind. Shards of gray appeared on the edges of his consciousness. They drifted at first, and gradually began to flutter towards the center of his mind’s eye. Soon, they were twisting and spinning as they began to assemble themselves like some ghostly puzzle.

Piece by piece, the image built in the dragon’s mind. Broken gray walls. Rotten wooden framework. A ruin somewhere. More colors began to filter into the image. Green slashes marked the area behind the ruined wall as though a spectral brush were filling in the colors. A green hill with rare red heather spread across the top of it. Ah, yes. He knew the place. There was a bridge there, still in use. No sooner had the dragon realized it than the bridge appeared in his vision as well. A simple but sturdy wooden span, with an arched roof that covered it. The roof was painted a cheery blue color, a pleasant contrast to the ruins of the old village that lay on either side of the river the bridge crossed.

Alvaranox opened his eyes. He had seen enough to know what his destination was. He was familiar with the place, he’d been there a few times before. As it was a bridge that saw use from traveling merchants it made a suitable place for unscrupulous types to attempt to extract tolls, or to raid any passing trade caravans. That was alright. Bandits were easy enough to deal with. He’d have them dead or on the run in no time, and then he’d be back home and back in bed to sleep off the rest of his hangover.

After another few minutes of flying, Alvaranox was in sight of his destination. Several of the streams that flowed near Asterryl converged further to the west and formed a larger river. Because of the way the land rose and fell, much of the riverbank was steep, rocky cliffs that made finding a suitable place to traverse it difficult. There was a place where the slopes were much more gentle, and a bridge had been built there. As it was a well traveled crossing point, a village had sprung up around it. In decades long past, it must have been a prosperous little place, with several inns and shops, quite a few homes and even its own fort to help protect it.

Alvaranox snorted to himself. Clearly the fort hadn’t offered enough protection, because the town had long since fallen into ruin. Whether the place had been overrun by some invading horde or simply abandoned the dragon did not know. Nor did he care. The stone-block walls of the fort itself were still relatively intact, as were a few of the buildings. Others were little more than moldering wooden framework, or brick foundations. The bridge though, that was kept maintained by workers at least once a year, and…

BRONG.

The bell rang unexpectedly in Alvaranox’s head. He cried out in alarm as the sound rattled his skull. In an instant, the world below him had been replaced by a vast, sun-blasted wasteland. Cracked earth baked in the heat. Broken black stones and crumbling boulders sat beneath the twisted, hunched frames of dead trees. An ebony bell floated above the earth. Dragons inscribed upon it its surface seemed to twist and writhe around the bell as though suddenly given new life. Silver threads appeared from nowhere, weaving themselves into the shape of a dragon’s head. A handle formed of the silver dragon’s body and tail twisted into being next, and the hammer immediately struck the bell.

BRONG!

Alvaranox cried out again, this time in pain. The bell was rarely this loud. And he could not recall it ever displaying itself in his mind once he was already at his destination, let alone ringing at such a time. The bell rang a third time, the sound split Alvaranox’s ears. The sound that carried from the bell was a physical thing, a concussive wave washing across the wasteland that sent pebbles and broken shards of stone flying through the air. Alvaranox could feel it washing over him, buffeting as though he were flying across that wasteland.

The image was gone just as quickly as it had materialized. Alvaranox was once more flying over the moors, now just outside the ruins. His body trembled, his head rattled. Something felt off. He tucked his wings, and swept towards the ground, extending his hind paws. The dragon touched down on the road upon his back feet first, then his fore paws. He quickly trotted to a stop.

Alvaranox swallowed in an attempt to dislodge the sudden anxious lump in his throat. Was the collar punishing him for dawdling? No, it was something else. Dread tingled at the base of his flared spines. This was something that had rarely happened before and never to this extent. He knew the collar and the bell would never distract him when he was actually in danger, and yet the sudden, intense warning so near his destination was unnerving. The collar was trying to tell him that something was wrong.

Alvaranox glanced around at the broken wreckage of a lonely village that had come to a sorrowful end. His belly twisted itself into an intricate knot. A strange, metallic buzzing sound began to fill his head as though the bell were vibrating. The collar rattled around his neck.

Sudden fear twisted the dragon’s guts and dragged icy claws all down his lengthy spine. His heart was a chained beast trying to shatter its bonds. If it beat any harder Alvaranox feared it might start rattling the plates right off his chest. He unsheathed his claws and bared his fangs, glancing around for any sign of danger. He flared his green nostrils, detecting the scent of humans amidst the smells of heather and river water. Yet scent alone could not tell the difference between bandits or someone more dangerous. The dragon feared that collar meant to warn him that this was no simple mission, that this time his life was in real danger.

Alvaranox had been injured in battle before. He had taken wounds in defense of the town, yet never had the collar taken to warning him so directly after it had already dispatched him to his destination. It warned him of dangers to the town, and of trouble for those he was forced to protect. But for all the many years he had worn the damn thing, this was the first time it had ever warned the dragon of imminent danger to himself. He needed to focus, and ask the collar for an image of the threat.

Yet before the dragon had a chance to commune with the collar, the sharp twang of bowstring split the silence of the night. Arrows whistled through the air. Hot pain punched through the dragon’s wings as several arrows punctured the sensitive membranes and impacted his body below. Blood ran from the holes in his wings though the arrows failed to penetrate the thick scales protecting the dragon’s ribs. Yet the pain was a call to protective instincts for Alvaranox. With it, his fear was gone and replaced by anger and a great desire to strike back at those who dared wound him.

The arrows had come from both sides of the road, but Alvaranox knew he had to pick a target and move swiftly. He did not want to give them a chance to pepper him with a second volley aimed at his less protected areas. Movement inside the ruins of a house on the edge of his vision gave the dragon an easy choice. In an instant Alvaranox whirled towards it. Through a window frame in a wall that was still mostly standing, Alvaranox saw a man crouch down to nock another arrow.

Rather than stick his head through the window and risk a knife in the throat, Alvaranox simply took a deep breath, and then spat as much fire through the window of the ruined home as he could. He sharply squeezed the fire glands at the back of his jaws, spraying liquid flame everywhere inside the ruined home. The broken wood walls and decaying thatch roof caught fire immediately. A ragged scream told the dragon that the human had ignited just as easily. Orange light danced across all the broken buildings in the area. The smell of burning wood and charring flesh scorched the dragon’s nostrils.

One down.

A few more twangs signaled another volley of arrows. One shrieked past the dragon’s head, another over his back, and a third struck him in the side. Pain flared anew as that arrow managed to punch through his green scales and wedge itself between his ribs. It was a painful wound yet shallow. Alvaranox twisted around. He could see the haft of the arrow and its white fletches jutting from his body. For now, he had to deal with it in a hurry. He could try and grasp it in a paw and ease it out, but he had no time for that. Instead he just stretched his long neck and snapped his jaws through the arrow, biting most of it off. The arrowhead was still stuck against his ribs but he’d have Nylah pull it out later.

It wouldn’t be the first arrow she’d taken out of his body.

Still the collar buzzed around his neck, rattled in his head. In the back of the dragon’s mind a little of that previous fear began to return. It was still warning him about something. Warning him of danger. Perhaps it was simply because these men seemed to be a bit more organized than the average bandit horde. Alvaranox feared there was more to it than that, but he had no time to consider other possibilities.

Alvaranox spun around upon his paws, and ran off the road, into the ruins of the city. At least one of those archers was in an elevated position, likely in the remains of the old fort. Alvaranox would have preferred to simply fly and bathe the whole place in fire, but he’d be damned if he was going to leave his belly open to a bunch of organized archers below him. The dragon bound up the grassy expanse of what was once a lane. A few broken cobblestones still poked through the grass here and there.

The dragon sprinted by a burnt-out home and a former smithy that was little more than a blackened, freestanding hearth surrounded by the foundations of former walls. As he ran, he spotted more movement behind an unsteady looking red-brick wall nearby. Alvaranox twisted to charge towards that wall. Just as he reached it, he reared up upon his hind legs and with all his momentum thrust his front paws against the ruined wall. Old mortar broke with a series of sharp cracks, and the whole embankment came toppling down beneath the dragon’s weight. A fleshy crunch and a muffled cry announced the second of the dragon’s victories.

Another arrow found its way to flesh. This one struck his left hind leg, and sunk deeper than the last. The sudden sharp pain caused Alvaranox’s hind leg to cramp, though the wound was not so deep it would not heal easily enough with a little time. Still, fresh pain brought fresh anger, and the dragon roared into the night.

“Stop shooting me!”

That last arrow had definitely come from an elevated position. The fort that once protected the town stood atop a small hill, and had enough structure still remaining to provide adequate cover. Alvaranox would make that his next target because he was getting fed up with these damn archers. It wasn’t as though they were doing him any serious injury yet. Without a clear shot at a softer area it was difficult to bury an arrow deeply enough in a dragon to hit anything vital. Alvaranox knew well enough to keep his throat protected, and he’d just have to do what he could to avoid taking an arrow in the eye. Short of potent poisons, arrows really just made the dragon angry.

The thought that the arrows might be tipped in toxin chilled the dragon’s blood. Was that why the collar was warning him? He’d been hit with various poisons a few times before, and so far he felt none of the tell-tale effects. Dragons had powerful livers that did an excellent job filtering out toxins, but too much poison all at once could kill a dragon just the same. If worst came to worst, back in Asterryl Nylah had an antidote for just about everything. Over the years the old lady had made the dragon eat all sorts of disgusting things in the name of building up immunities to known toxins in case some bandit got it in their head to try and poison the Guardian Slave.

Not that Alvaranox had much time to contemplate the possibility he’d been poisoned. He had to kill these bastards first, then he could worry about his wounds. The dragon ran from the ruined smithy towards the hill where the fort once held sway over the town. As he ran he kept watch on the fortress. One of the walls that still stood on the second level held a cross-shaped arrow slit. That was likely where the lead archer was. Well organized. Probably setting up an ambush for the first travelers to come through in the morning.

Alvaranox kept moving. He tried to use the various ruined buildings for cover whenever he could. No sense in letting anyone else get a clear shot at him if he could prevent it. He got closer and closer to the fortress. The archer behind the arrow loop fired at him a few more times, as did someone from elsewhere in the ruins, but the dragon was able to keep himself from being hit. Finally the dragon drew near enough the fort to try and assault it. Though how to do so without getting an arrow straight in his head?

The dragon hunkered down behind the mostly intact wall of an inn for a moment of planning. As he considered his options, he spotted something unexpected not far away. The head of a granite-carved horse lay half shrouded in the tall grass that ran alongside the wall he sheltered behind. Nearby, other bits of broken statue were spread about, gray stone shapes mostly obscured by grass and overgrown thistles.

Perfect.

The dragon hoisted up the stone horse head. It was heavy even for the dragon, but not so heavy that he couldn’t manipulate it easily enough with one paw. In one smooth motion, the dragon cocked the stone head back with his foreleg, twisted his body around, and then hurled the statue’s head as hard as he could at the fortress wall. The granite head toppled cracked muzzle over broken neck, wobbling through the air. Yet Alvaranox’s aim was true enough for his goal. The statue smashed against the arrow slit with a tremendous CRACK. Bits of rock and mortar shattered as the horse head exploded, blowing stone shrapnel inwards on whoever sheltered beyond the wall. Chunks of broken wall and granite rained down on upon the ground.

The dragon leapt into the air as soon as stone met stone. In two wing beats he was at the fortress wall. A flick of his wings in another direction pulled the dragon’s body upright so that he could brace his paws against the wall. As his hind feet slammed against the stone, he grasped the half-crumbled parapets with his front paws, clinging to the wall. At the same time he roared and unleashed a burst of fire into the damaged arrow slit. Red and orange flames swirled through the opening, bathing the room beyond in incineration. A backwash of blistering heat radiated back over the dragon, searing his sensitive nose. He quickly pulled his head back and away from the arrow slit as the room beyond continued to burn.

There was no scream.

Damn. Alvaranox cursed. The little bastard must have fled the room just before the dragon could belch his fire. A sharp voice called out from within the fort. Another voice answered. The dragon did not recognize the language, but it sounded as though the remaining men were regrouping. Alvaranox vaguely recalled there being an overgrown courtyard inside the walls of the fort, if only because he’d once taken a nap there to escape the damn town for a little while.

If the men sought to regroup in that courtyard, then that was where he’d finish them off.

With a grunt of effort, Alvaranox scaled the wall on which he perched. Flames and heat tickled at his underbelly and sensitive areas as he passed over the arrow slit. Smoke poured from it and drifted around his scaly body. From the top of the wall, he had a quick look at the inner court of the old fortress. Near the central area, there was an open courtyard overgrown with grass and thick moss. A few outbuildings and structures still stood mostly intact. In many other places there was little left but crumbling walls that formed a maze-like series of stony corridors. At one end of the courtyard stood a man in a black leather cloak edged in scarlet and a helmet that gleamed silver in the moonlight. He shouted out orders to someone else in a foreign tongue.

Alvaranox leapt from the wall, extending his black and green wings for only a moment before he folded them against his body and dove. He was completely intent on landing atop that bastard and crushing him into something resembling a gooey paste. At the last second the man darted away with a yell, and the dragon landed only upon mossy earth. The man vanished around one of the walls, darting into a ruined corridor. Snarling his frustration, Alvaranox spun on his paws, claws tearing up the moss. He chased after the man, skidding at the corner before bounding around the wall.

In one horrifying, excruciating instant, Alvaranox realized why the collar had been warning him all along. Agony the likes of which the dragon had never experienced erupted as cold, sharp steel punched through the scales of his underbelly and deep into his guts. Alvaranox gave a scream so wretched he felt his throat tear, tasted his own blood. In a moment of panicked shock the dragon stumbled away from the direction the pain had come from. He banged up against another wall, unable even to force air into his lungs. With his roar of anguish still echoing over the courtyard, Alvaranox struggled to stay on his feet. He turned his head, a second man with a matching red and black cloak had plunged a sword into the dragon’s belly. These men were not bandits, and they were not here to set an ambush for travelers. These men were professionals, and the ambush they had set was meant for the dragon.

The archers suddenly seemed little more than a sacrificial ruse designed to lure the dragon up inside the twisting ruins of the old fortress and its enclosed courtyard. That way they could fight the beast in a more enclosed space, they could draw him into a position of vulnerability. And like a blundering hatchling tumbling down a hill, Alvaranox had stumbled right into their trap. They were probably dragon slayers, hoping to cut him apart and make a fortune from the kill. Alvaranox had no way of knowing, and he certainly was in no position to think about it.

Yet in that horrifying, detached moment, it seemed all too clear. A few professional slayers hiring on a few bandits to act as archers. Let them get themselves killed in the process of drawing the dragon into an ambush. A few less stakes to pay out when the deed was done. The collar had been trying all along to warn him that there was more to this than a couple inexperienced bandits. The dragon simply hadn’t understood the warning correctly.

Alvaranox was snapped back to reality by another searing wave of pain as the slayer wrenched his sword from the dragon’s belly. The blade caught for a moment then suddenly slipped free. The man stumbled back towards the alcove in which he’d been hiding when Alvaranox passed by. The pain both terrified and infuriated the dragon. He was sure they must have hit something vital. He was going to die, wasn’t he. Gods, he didn’t want to die. Yet…he wasn’t dead yet. If nothing else, he would live longer than these men. He would kill these men.

As the slayer recovered his balance, he moved to strike the wounded dragon again. Yet this time Alvaranox was faster. The wounded dragon bound forward while lashing out with his black-mottled tail. Alvaranox’s tail spines hit the man in the chest so hard they punched straight through the steel plates he wore to protect himself. The only sound he made was a single wet cough. Black spine and steel shrapnel alike shredded the man’s heart and lungs. When Alvaranox yanked his tail away, the force of it sent the man pin wheeling through the air. He landed in a shuddering heap, dark blood poured from his nose and mouth and dripped through the visor of his helmet.

Alvaranox coughed and spat blood of his own. The spasm sent another shudder of agony rippling through him. The dragon backpedaled the way he’d come. No sense following the first man into another blind spot, another ambush. Terror squeezed the dragon’s heart as he backed away from an increasingly sizable trail of his own blood. In the moonlight it shone with a sick, silvery hue. Gods. The dragon had never seen so much of his own blood before.

As he turned to the more open area of the courtyard, he soon saw two more men emerge at the far end. If the wounded dragon wasn’t going to walk into another trap it seemed they were willing to finish him off face to face. The two of them were dressed alike, ebon cloaks trimmed with red. Beneath the cloaks they both wore plated armor thick enough to provide good protection but not so heavy as to impede their movement. Each also bore a silvery looking helmet, revealing eyes only through thin slits in the visor. Probably part of some mercenary company or dragon slaying outfit. It mattered little to Alvaranox. All he wanted now was to kill these men before he bled to death. Perhaps if he killed them fast enough, he could even make it home before he expired.

Home. Who was he kidding. He had only a prison, not a home.

Yet Nylah was there. Yes. Nylah. She could fix anything, right?

Alvaranox forced himself to focus as the men cautiously advanced upon him. His thoughts were already starting to drift. Between the pain and the blood pouring from his body, the dragon feared he was already starting to go into shock. Alvaranox tried to take a deep breath to help with his flame, only to find that the pain caused his lungs to seize up when he inhaled too deeply. Making due with what little air he had, he compressed his fire glands to spit a narrow stream of flame rather than a vast boiling cloud of it. The men had anticipated fire and were quick to dart away from each other. They thought dragons a predictable sort of monster.

As they split up in an attempt to divide the dragon’s attention, one ran for the more maneuverable space of the courtyard while the other had to run closer to one of the ruined walls to avoid the rippling flames. Just what Alvaranox was hoping for. No sooner had he started to spray fire than he clamped his jaws shut and charged towards the men instead. Heat from his own fire still baked the air all around him as he closed the distance. Both slayers thought the dragon meant to ram them, and they moved further apart, positioning their blades in a defensive stance. Both were ready to try and slice the dragon’s throat as they skirted around his charge.

Only Alvaranox had other ideas. Rather than attack either man head on, the dragon split the distance between them. Then he lurched sideways with a sudden powerful surge, smashing his well-protected ribcage up against the armored human who had drifted too close to the wall. The dragon forced all his considerable weight into his sideways motion, and he felt the human’s armor buckle. The man screamed and tried to drive his sword into the dragon, but could not get the leverage he needed to penetrate the thick scales before his sternum joined his armor in crumpling completely.

Yet even as Alvaranox crushed that man against the old wall, his companion continued the fight. His sword found purchase behind the dragon’s shoulder. The cold steel blade bit deeply through the thinner scales on the back of the dragon’s foreleg. Alvaranox screamed again, trying to pivot away from the attack. Yet with half his body pressed against the wall and a crushed human, maneuvering was difficult.

In desperation the dragon flared his right wing out as forcefully as he could, buffeting the man with it. It was enough to make him stumble back, though he lashed with his blade and sliced through the end of the dragon’s wing. Still, it gave Alvaranox room. He pushed away from the wall and twisted towards the remaining warrior to strike him again. This time the dragon hit the man not with his wing but with his claws. Alvaranox’s claws sunk partway through the man’s plated armor, and though they did not sink too deeply into flesh, the dragon delivered the blow with more than enough force to launch the man off his feet.

The man hit the ground with a loud clatter and a cry of pain, and Alvaranox was on him an instant. The slayer sought to bring his bloodied sword to bare and Alvaranox swatted it out of his hands. It skidded across the mossy ground, bumping up against the base of a half crumbled wall. Alvaranox moved over the man to finish him off, tucking his tail protectively. Blood dribbled from the dragon’s belly, speckling clothes and armor. Intent on tearing out the man’s throat, Alvaranox lashed out with his claws. Yet faster than Alvaranox could see the dragon slayer had drawn a long knife and tried to parry the dragon’s blow. The sharp blade cut deeply into Alvaranox’s mottled paw pad, opening his paw nearly to the bone.

The dragon screeched at the sharpness of the fresh pain, but it would not be enough to save the man’s life. Wounded paw or not, Alvaranox grabbed the man’s hand, and squeezed till he felt the bones crunching. The dragon slayer screamed in agony of his own until Alvaranox dropped his head and ripped the human’s throat out with his teeth. He spat the flesh back in the dying man’s face, blood dribbling through the slits in his visor as Alvaranox stumbled away from him.

The dragon paid the dying man’s gurgles little heed. Alvaranox’s breath came in heaving pants as pain seemed to clench him everywhere at once. Weakly he lifted his foreleg and turned his paw over to see how badly cut it was. In the moonlight he could see bone, and sinew, and there was already dirt in the wound. It would have to be cleaned before it could be sewn up. Yet that was not the wound Alvaranox was worried about. With a whimpering moan, he eased himself down onto his haunches in a patch of moonlight to have a look at his belly.

The wound was thin but very deep, and dark red blood continued to well up from it. Already his forest green scales were striped and caked with crimson. As the adrenaline of the fight began to wear thin, terror began to creep back into the dragon’s heart. Alvaranox had never been injured like this before. He’d been hurt many times, but in the past his scales had always prevented any sort of life-threatening wound. Yet these humans had gotten a shot at his underbelly, and knew how best to angle a sword to penetrate dragon scale.

Alvaranox pressed his uninjured paw to the wound, trying to put a little pressure on it. The pressure caused the already intense pain to soar into new heights of agony. The dragon screamed. He tipped his head back and roared his pain and fear to the sky as if calling to the moon itself for help. Gods he hurt. Oh, he was bleeding so much. The blade must have hit something vital, he was sure of it.

Home.

The collar’s command came not as a word, but as a concept. Return home. Images flickered in his mind. He saw his sleeping chambers. He saw Nylah. He saw Kirra. The images flickered and distorted as though the collar itself was injured and unable to fully broadcast its instructions. The idea was clear, even if the pictures it painted in his mind were fragmented and brief.

Alvaranox did not hesitate. He knew he did not have much time to spare, and if he paused to think about how painful the flight was going to be, he might never leave the ground. So he simply gathered his will, grit his teeth, and leapt into the skies. He flared out his battered, bloodied wings, and beat them swiftly. Each wing stroke sent another jolt of pain stabbing into his gut, and every few moments the dragon cried out as if for mercy. Alvaranox tried to keep a paw on his belly as he flew. He had to do whatever he could to try and staunch the flow of his life blood, or he’d fall from the sky long before he ever made it home.

Home. The concept was almost laughable. In fact, Alvaranox did laugh. A boisterous laugh that came between cries of pain. The collar thought Asterryl was his home. Wasn’t that cute. Cute. Yes. No. Damn it, Alvaranox, he cursed himself. You’re in shock. Yes, you are. Wonderful.

“Asterryl is not home,” the dragon growled aloud as if conducting a conversation with the collar. “It is my prison. My barrel.”

No, he imagined the collar replying. It is your home.

“Get mounted, Collar,” The dragon hissed, his vision swimming.

You first Dragon.

So, the collar had an attitude when Alvaranox was in shock. He’d keep that in mind, if he survived this night. The collar was wrong, though. Asterryl would never be his home. Asterryl was a life sentence. A sentence that Alvaranox had very nearly seen through to completion this night. Which made him think for a moment. He could land somewhere quiet, peaceful. Let his blood flow. He could end his imprisonment, end his slavery in some quiet place. Maybe he’d live long enough to see the sunrise one last time. He’d always liked the sunrise.

Yet the more he thought about it, the more Alvaranox wanted to live. For a moment, he hardly even knew why. What was his life worth, anyway? Years spent protecting a barely grateful populace who nonetheless thought him a monster. It seemed so futile an existence. So lonely. But in the end, despite all the pain and loneliness he endured, he wanted to go on living. He wanted to drink another barrel of wine. He wanted to tease Nylah, hear her laugh. He wanted to lay in the sun. He wanted to walk into the market and eat an entire stall worth of honey cakes.

Damn it, he was just like Stupid Fish. The closer he came to death, the more he wanted to keep swimming circles in that barrel.

Besides, someone had to feed that silver bastard.

So Alvaranox flew. And flew. And flew. The dragon wasn’t even sure how he managed it. He felt himself fading the entire trip. Now and then his vision swam, other times it dimmed. His wings faltered. He forced himself to keep beating them against the air. He was so tired. If only he could land, and rest. If only he could just glide a little while. Yet hesitation would lead only to death. Perhaps it was the collar. Damn that thing. Every time he began to falter, he could almost hear its bell ringing to rouse him again.

Home.

In some morbid, half conscious reverie, Alvaranox wondered if the collar would have let him die at all, should he have chosen it.

By the time Alvaranox spotted Asterryl and lake beyond it in the distance, the sky had begun to lighten. A purple blush resembling an aged bruise was spreading across the darkness. Soon it was followed by the first pale pink and yellow hues of the pre-dawn sunrise. When golden fire began to spill across the horizon, Alvaranox’s wings finally gave out. He knew in some strangely detached way he had no strength left with which to beat them, so he simply locked them into place, and did his best not to crash into anything solid.

Alvaranox made for a patch of soft looking grass just beyond the outer wall of the town. In the distance he could hear the guards who manned the gateway calling out as they saw their guardian returning in bloodied tatters. Alvaranox stretched his legs out to touch down against the grass, but his limbs gave out beneath him and the dragon tumbled for a while. At least he didn’t break anything. At last he came to a rest in a battered, bleeding heap.

Alvaranox found himself sprawled on his back, staring up at the sky. The sun was rising. Somewhere beyond him, people screamed and called for help. Someone yelled for Kirra, another for Nylah or any healer the town had to offer. Others just yelled. Alvaranox paid them all little heed. He was glad he made it home. The pain was fading.

The pain was fading, and he was home. That was good. The dragon heaved a sigh, staring up at the sky above him. Alvaranox watched the sunrise until darkness claimed him.