The Black Collar: Chapter One

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Chapter One

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The sudden tolling of the warning bell startled Alvaranox from his slumber. The green dragon leapt to his paws, claws extended and teeth bared. He jerked his horned head up, only to smash it against the rafters that stretched across the roof of his enclosure. Pain rang out in his head, adding to the harsh, throbbing ache of what the dragon dismayingly realized was a hangover. The dragon pressed a paw to the base of a ridged, black horn as if to quell the throbbing beneath it.

The alarm bell tolled again, louder than before. The sound rattled around inside the dragon’s skull like a beast trying to escape its cage. The vibrant, echoing noise worsened the ache in the dragon’s head. He took a few slow breaths, his powerful heart hammering beneath the plates of his chest. How he hated the sound of that infernal bell.

“I’m up!” The dragon snarled, shaking his head as though it would clear the sound. “I’m up already! Stop ringing that damn bell!”

The bell rang again anyway. It always did. Not that anyone else could hear it. The terrible tolling existed only in the dragon’s mind. As if the sound alone was not enough to jar the dragon from his slumber, the bell itself flickered into his vision and with it the world fell away.

Alvaranox hissed and squeezed his eyes shut as the world around him shattered into splintered fragments of color and shadow. When he opened his eyes again, a broken land of cracked red earth and crumbling gray stone surrounded him. A massive bell hovered above the ground. The bell was as glossy and black as polished obsidian and shaped vaguely like a teardrop. All across its black surface it was carved with stylized images of dragons in flight, bathing the earth in roiling flame. Wisps of coiling silver thread spilled from inside the bell and spun themselves into a spectral hammer in the shape of a dragon’s head.

“Don’t you dare ring that again…”

The hammer struck the bell soundly. A deep, echoing tone rolled across the blasted earth, rattling pebbles and stones and kicking up dust. The sound reverberated inside the dragon’s aching head, and the beast stumbled on his paws. Alvaranox banged himself up against the thick wooden wall of his sleeping chamber, bruising one of his wings. The pain drew him out from the images that gripped his mind. He took a deep breath as the sound slowly faded.

“I’m awake!” The dragon shouted, lashing his heavily spined tail against the floor of his sleeping chamber. “Damn it, I said I’m awake!” He grabbed at the wretched black collar bound around his neck, yanking at it in frustration. “Stop doing that!”

Finally, the images vanished from the dragon’s mind and the infernal bell stopped ringing. With a heavy sigh Alvaranox settled upon his haunches, curling his tail around himself. He pressed a paw to the thick black collar that had been locked around his neck for so many years. It might have fascinated him if he had not hated it so much. It was smooth and hard like stone, yet flexible as well-tooled leather. It often felt warm to the touch. It held no clasp, as though it had been forged around his neck. As he had aged and grown, so had the collar grown with him. Alvaranox gently brushed the skin of his paw pads against the images that wrapped around the collar. It was inscribed with scenes of dragons in flight like those that ringed the spectral bell. Such scenes seemed a cruel mockery to Alvaranox, given what the collar meant for his own life.

The dragon hissed through his teeth, flaring the spines around his head. No sense in dwelling upon what he could not change. The dragon closed his coppery eyes, and focused upon the warning that echoed through the back of his mind. He could feel it tugging at his consciousness, as though his mind were a physical thing with corners and edges that could be grasped and manipulated. For now the feeling was just a gentle pulse, urging him to travel west. That was good. That meant whatever the danger was, it was not yet urgent. The greater the danger and the more urgent the threat, the more that gentle tug turned into a desperate, painful yank.

For now, he had time. The warning pulse was little more than an insistent thrumming working in time with the beating of the dragon’s heart. So long as he did not resist it, the collar would not bring him pain to force the issue. That was good, because Alvaranox was in enough pain already. At least he had time to try and do something about the damn battering ram of a hangover trying to punch a hole through his skull.

Alvaranox pushed himself up to his paws. He glanced around his home. Though the sun itself yet slumbered, streamers of silvery-white moonlight poured through the windows and cast the dragon’s sleeping chamber in a cold gray hue. It was the third such home they had built for him here. Each was a little larger than the last to accommodate his own slow growth just as each was placed further out to accommodate the growth of the town of Asterryl itself.

The home was built sturdily enough to account for the occasional tantrums and drunken stumbling of an adult dragon. The many massive logs used in its construction were mostly oak and pine. Alvaranox had helped to gather them himself, though he’d left the hewing and the actual construction to the humans. He’d watch them cut beams and boards and notch logs, eventually stacking, lashing and nailing them all together into a simple but durable framework. In the end there were three chambers. One chamber was for him to sleep and shelter in, and another to store personal possessions and casks of wine. The third room was furnished with human comforts as though the dragon expected visitors.

The sleeping chamber was the largest. Much of it was occupied by an ever increasing sprawl of animal furs and hides, blankets and pillows and other soft things on which the dragon slept. It was comfortable enough, and in the cold, frozen winter months it helped to keep him warm at night.

Alvaranox was also rather fond of the hearth built into one of the walls. It was constructed of roughly hewn, uneven blocks of red and gray granite flecked generously with shiny mica. Whenever the dragon had a fire in the hearth all the mica glittered and sparkled like hundreds of tiny, fiery stars. A simple chimney of iron piping carried the smoke out through the walls of the dragon’s home.

Leaded glass windows were fitted in the walls here and there. There were times the dragon appreciated them. It was nice to be able to lay inside his home in a patch of warm sunlight, or watch the moonrise cause the glass to glow on a cool evening. Other times he hated the damn things. Made him feel as though people were going to be peering in at him as he slept. Come and see the dragon, sleeping in your town. Don’t worry, he won’t bite. He isn’t allowed. Sometimes he simply covered the windows with spare blankets when he wished privacy.

A few bookshelves cut from burled walnut lined one of the walls. They were a recent gift from his previous Handler who thought the dragon might appreciate a place to show off his various trophies and trinkets. It was a kind enough gesture, he supposed. So far though the dragon had adorned them with very little. While he did have a few possessions and belongings he truly cherished he’d be damned if he’d put them on display where any sweat-stinking human peering through his windows could see his most personal treasures.

At least no one had been peeking through the windows when he banged his head this time. If he had one complaint about his latest home it was that they had built the ceiling far too low. Admittedly it was a pleasant upgrade from the simple, flat ceiling of his last home‘s sleeping chamber. The slanted rafters were carved with elegant, spiraling symbols and joined in the center of the room in a notched cross-shape. Though the apex of the slanted roof was more than high enough for the dragon to lift his head without problem, he quickly discovered that the supporting rafters were anchored far too low to the walls. This was the third time in the last week the dragon had smashed his skull against one of them. At this rate he was either going to break his horns off or crack the damn rafter and bring the whole place down on his head.

Alvaranox muttered under his breath. As if he only had one complaint. The dragon yawned, and moved into a deep, languid stretch. Like a lazy housecat, the dragon dropped his chest to the ground, stretching his front paws out in front of him. He unsheathed his claws and dragged them back across the floorboards, scratching little marks in the pine. His yawn grew as his stretched and his pink tongue curled into his dark green muzzle. As he rose from his stretch he sniffed about a bit, nostrils twitching on either side of the little golden spot that marked the end of his nose. At least the air was not stale today. Reams of freshly cut pine bows lashed together with a few sprigs of lavender kept the air in the dragon’s home smelling fresh throughout the night.

Alvaranox licked his muzzle. His tongue felt dry and sticky and his throat was no better. He could still taste a hint of thick red wine at the back of his throat. Just how much of the stuff had he downed the night before? A half barrel, perhaps. Maybe the whole barrel. Definitely the whole barrel. Maybe two. He padded to the water trough at the far end of his sleeping chamber, dismayed to find it empty. He’d have to get someone to fill it for him while he was out for the day.

The dragon went to the door of his sleeping chamber, and carefully opened it. It was not unlike the front door of human’s house greatly increased in size and thickness. The door itself was oak, sanded and smoothed down. It bore a thick, lever-like handle specifically designed to be worked by a dragon’s front paws. The hinges were heavy set and very well oiled. The door swung open easily for the dragon and closed just as easily behind him when he gave it a shove with a hind paw.

Once outside he glanced back at his entryway. The door bore a raised relief depicting what Alvaranox assumed the humans thought was a majestic looking dragon. The carved dragon stood tall upon a rocky hillside, with his wings splayed and his head lifted, the spines around his skull flared out. The woodworkers probably thought the dragon looked as though he were displaying himself and giving a challenging roar. Alvaranox thought it looked more like the dragon had just lost his balance and was about to drunkenly tumble down the hill.

Come to think of it, perhaps that was a better likeness than he cared to admit.

Still, it was better than the door that adorned his last home. That entryway had been carved with a detail of a dragon ostensibly preparing to attack his many foes. They’d carved the dragon in a crouched position, his claws unsheathed, fangs bared. They’d given the dragon narrowed eyes and what they felt was a look of grim determination. In truth, to Alvaranox the image resembled nothing so much as a dragon who was profoundly constipated. An image he was stuck viewing for years every time he returned home to sleep.

At least that was one thing that had improved over the years, the dragon thought as he walked to a nearby set of rainwater collection troughs. Like everything else in the immediate area, it was built specifically for the dragon. A series of large, hammered copper funnels sat in an uneven line. Each was held aloft by whitewashed, lattice-like framework. Sloping pipes ran from the bottom of the copper collection funnels into a series of deep troughs of wood and iron banding, resembling oblong barrels. Depending on season, rain, and the dragon’s thirst each trough held a varying level of water. If they grew too stagnant, they were emptied, scrubbed, and then reattached to the pipes.

All but one of the troughs at least. Some years back, some irritating prankster thought it would be funny to slip a fat fish into one of the dragon’s drinking vessels. When the dragon first stuck his muzzle into the trough and began lapping at the water he’d been quite surprised to spot a plump, silver-scaled fish with long whiskers peering back at him. At first the dragon thought to make a meal of the fish, but when he tried to spear it with his claws the damn thing just kept evading him. It darted and circled in the oblong barrel with nowhere to escape to. Nowhere to go, no freedom to be had and yet desperate to continue living another day just the same.

Alvaranox knew that feeling all too well.

Alvaranox decided to let the fish live. They shared a common affliction. Since then he’d made damn sure that barrel was kept filled with enough fresh water to keep the fish healthy. Though, the dragon bristled at any suggestion that the slimy creature had become his pet. Dragons did not have pets. It simply amused him to see the thing stuck swimming circles in the barrel, that was all. Stupid Fish.

That was what he named it. Stupid Fish.

Alvaranox dropped his head into one of the other troughs, thirstily lapping up as much water as he could. The cool liquid soothed his parched throat, but it caused his belly to roil and twist. Too much damn wine. Still, his stomach calmed soon enough, and the hydration would help his headache. He lifted his muzzle and licked away the droplets of water that clung to his dark green scales.

Before Alvaranox turned away he made sure to scoop a few pawfuls of grain from the nearby sack and toss them into Stupid Fish’s tank. In the moonlight, Alvaranox could see Stupid Fish’s silver scales gleam as he drifted towards the surface. Slimy whiskers probed at the sinking grain, and soon the fish was sucking it down bit by bit. Alvaranox watched for a moment, and then with a snort he turned away.

“Resigned to our fate, aren’t we.” The dragon lashed his tail against the ground. The gently curved spines adorning the end of it tore little ruts in the grass. “Stupid Fish indeed.”

Alvaranox padded towards the dusty, packed-earth lane that lead away from his home and into the town of Asterryl. He flicked his frilled green ears, listening to the night. Wind rustled the leaves of the towering oak trees spread throughout the town. Waves lapped at the rocky lake shoreline in the distance, and the scent of water tinted the air. A few night birds called and warbled. Laughter echoed from some late night tavern. The air was a little chillier than usual for a summer night, but pleasant to the dragon nonetheless. It was a lovely, peaceful night despite the fact he’d rather be asleep. A shame he was going to have to go kill something.

First he’d have to try and kill his damn hangover. Hopefully the Old Lady could help with that. He’d have to venture into town to see her about a remedy. Alvaranox followed the hard earth lane that lead from his so-called home into the city of Asterryl.

In his youth, other dragons called it The City By The Lake, though Alvaranox cared little for the name of the place. To Alvaranox, the town was his prison. The dragon might be allowed walk and fly about the area as he wished, but everyone knew he could never truly leave. Not since they’d put that infernal collar upon him. Ever since then, Alvaranox was as trapped in Asterryl as Stupid Fish was in his trough.

Alvaranox’s barrel was just a little bit larger.

Still, the dragon knew things could be worse. In fact, they had been worse. Much worse. Scars long since faded to pale green lines attested to that. Alvaranox snorted, flaring his spines. He tossed his wedge-shaped head in irritation. No sense dwelling on the past when he had work to do.

Trying to ignore the pounding in his head, the dragon swiftly made his way into town. From his personal chambers there were no walls or gateways to bar his way. Further beyond the edges of town, walls of various levels of age and sturdiness sprawled out in winding, oddly geometric patterns. Some of the oldest walls were built of stacked gray stone bricks, draped over time in curtains of lush green moss. Other walls were more carefully constructed of carved blocks slathered with mortar. More recently, taller wooden walls of heavy logs cut into spikes and lashed together had been erected. The city was always growing, and rather than tear down old walls they were simply incorporated into the city itself. When viewed from above, the layers of winding walls incorporated directly into the city gave it an almost runic, maze-like appearance.

Not that Alvaranox felt they needed any walls when they had a dragon to protect them. Still, if keeping out the wild animals and giving bandits second thoughts about trying to raid the city gave the green dragon a decent night’s sleep then he was all for it. There were fewer walls to the north, but that was where the great lake lay. The jagged rocks that lined much of the shore would make landing a boat difficult anywhere aside from the city’s docks, and even if enemies did sneak ashore, that was where Alvaranox’s home was. The collar would never let him sleep through any danger that slunk ashore.

Soon the packed earth beneath the dragon’s feet was replaced by freshly laid cobblestone. The path he took that once wound through grassy meadows now led into one of the city’s newest districts. At this rate, they’d have to build him a fourth house just to keep him from being stuck in the middle of the city again. At least the street was mostly quiet in the middle of the night.

The road was lined with freshly constructed buildings with sturdy wooden frames and elegant appointments. Arched beams with curled ends and engraved with patterns of intricate knots and diamond work held up gently sloped eaves in the front of businesses. The walls of the new buildings were all freshly painted with vibrant colors. In the moonlight the tones of blue, green and red all took on ghostly hues. As Alvaranox passed a building with a set of expansive windows, moonlight caught the glass just right.

The windows glowed silver for a moment. The dragon could see himself clearly reflected in him. It gave him pause, he had not looked at himself in a while. Sometimes he preferred not to think how he had grown in his years stuck in this place. Now that he had a moment of privacy though, he allowed himself a little vanity. He’d certainly grown into a handsome male. Or so he liked to think.

Slight variations between lighter and darker greens across his body gave the dragon’s scales the appearance of a forest canopy dappled equally with shade and sunlight. Black mottling marked his shoulders and his haunches as well as his tail. More ebony spots and blotches speckled the vast green membrane of his wings. A single, misshapen golden patch just between his green nostrils added unexpected color to his face. The dragon’s scales themselves ranged from fine and pebbly textured across his face, to broad, smooth and sturdy across his sides. Thick, heavy plates protected his chest, with broader scutes like the belly of a snake across the front of each limb.

The dragon’s wedge-shaped head was crowned with a set of ridged horns the same black color as his markings. His horns were heavily ridged and lightly curved. Much to his dismay he’d once heard them described as something an exotic goat might bear. As if a dragon would ever resemble something so pitiful yet delicious as a goat. If anything, the goat resembled the dragon.

The dragon’s head was also decorated with several sets of spiny, membranous frills. Crests, as the dragons called them. The longest of the spines sprouted from between his horns, and ran for a good length down the back of his neck. He bore a smaller set of spines behind each of his frilled green ears. The spines themselves were black like his horns and claws while the membranes that connected them were a darker green color. A heavier set of curved, inflexible black spines also marked the end of the dragons tail and made it a formidable weapon in its own right.

The moonlight caused Alvaranox’s eyes to shine with a false silver hue. The true color of the dragon’s eyes was a bright, burnished copper like freshly minted coins. Yet they often caught and reflected the light of the surroundings. On a moonlit night they flashed with a mercurial sheen, while on a bright summer day they burned almost golden. Whatever color they bore, they were always striking with vertical pupils practically drifting within a metallic ocean.

As the dragon stared at his reflection, vanity turned to introspective resignation. Alvaranox’s eyes were drawn to the black collar upon his neck. How many years had he borne that cursed thing now? Decades, he was sure. Perhaps half a century or more. He had practically finished growing up here. All the while the damn collar had grown with him.

So many years later and still the black collar both fascinated and horrified him. The power it held over his life. He lifted a paw, hesitantly exploring the engraved dragons with mottled pink and black paw pads. How long had it been since they first forced the terrible thing upon his neck? How long since the wretched magic first bound him forever to this town? Committing his life to Asterryl’s protection.

How long now had he been their guardian slave?

“Moment of vanity on your midnight stroll, eh Dragon?”

A human voice tore Alvaranox from his moment of bitterness. He turned away from the moonlit windows, hissing under his breath as he dropped his paw back down. A aged man wrapped in a gray woolen cloak to ward off the evening chill sat in a wooden chair on a porch across the street. He’d probably been there the entire time, and the dragon hadn’t even noticed him. Alvaranox began to pad up the street again, glancing back at the man.

“Shut up.”

“Someone’s cranky tonight.” The old man laughed and eased back in his chair a little more. “Bit too much to drink again, I’d wager.”

Alvaranox grit his teeth. He flicked his tail against the ground in irritation, spines clattering on the cobblestone. “Get mounted, Old Man.”

Alvaranox decided he’d have enough interactions with the locals for one night. The pulsing in his head that tugged his mind to the west was starting to increase. The dragon knew he needed to obey it soon or it was going to make life unpleasant for him. Alvaranox decided to take a short cut on his way to see the old lady. She could help his hangover. The dragon slipped into a muddy alleyway in an older section of town. Alvaranox quickened his pace. Partway down the alley, something wet splashed under his paws. Gods, he hoped that was only water. He scowled, pinning his ears back. Damn it, it didn’t smell like water.

Alvaranox kept his wings folded tightly to his body as he made his way down the alleyway. There was not much room back here for him, and some of the older walls were moldering and covered with muck and slime. Bad enough he probably had piss on his paws. No need to get anything on the rest of him, as well. Still, following the alley would keep him mostly out of sight from anyone else wandering the roads at night. For that at least Alvaranox was thankful.

Though Alvaranox was a large creature, the buildings here were still large enough to help hide him. Dragons were not as immense as some of the legends he’d heard made them out to be. Alvaranox was certainly larger than any horse, yet he was not so large as to simply haul away entire houses and toss them about like toys. Despite how fun that sounded. If he stretched his neck he could peer over the roof of a single story building, but not one with two floors. For now though, he kept his head down, not wanting to be spotted again.

“Didn’t get enough to drink last night, huh?” A voice called from the open back door of a still busy tavern. Damn. So much for staying out of sight. “We’ve got plenty more wine if you want, Dragon.” Alvanarox glanced at the plump man with the red beard peering out the back door. He was wiping his hands with some kind of grimy looking towel. A smirk spread across the man’s bearded face. “Or maybe you’re just after another hangover remedy.”

That was entirely too accurate for Alvaranox’s liking. Not exactly the sort of reputation he liked to have, truthful as it may be. The dragon growled and kept walking, calling back to the man. “Kiss my green stones, you bearded twit.”

From the way that made the bearded man laugh, it was exactly the sort of ribald tavern humor the man appreciated. Damn it. Next time Alvaranox would just have to toss the man in that piss-puddle instead. Come to think of it, that wasn’t a bad idea. Well, maybe not the tossing part. He’d catch hell from collar and town alike if he accidentally injured the barkeep. But he could work around that.

The green dragon carefully turned around, though it was a bit of a feat for an adult dragon in a narrow alley. His long tail scraped wood, his wings brushed against the walls, and he did his best to keep his face away from anything disgusting. Then he walked back to the tavern. Light spilled out the backdoor, casting a pale golden glow over the alley and silhouetting the man who still stood watch. Rolling waves of laughter and boisterous voices poured out through the door along with the scents of roasted meat. The smells were enough to make even Alvaranox’s wine-addled belly rumble ominously.

Alvaranox walked right up to the man and lowered his head till he was nearly nose to nose with the barkeep. The dragon’s hot breath washed across the man’s face, ruffling his reddish hair and beard. The dragon bared his fangs, and gave a low, threatening growl.

“Come to take me up on that drink, have ya?” The man merely smiled, showing not the least sign of fear.

“No,” the dragon said. Though he hadn’t expected the man to be afraid, his heart still sunk a little every time a human proved to be so totally unperturbed by his presence. Not that he could blame them. They knew as well as he that short of self-defense, he couldn’t harm a soul in this town. “I’ve need of your towel.”

Before the man could react, Alvaranox snatched the towel away from him. It was easy enough given that the dragon’s front paws also served as hands. Though not as dexterous as the hands of a human, they still possessed three large digits agile enough to grasp and manipulate objects as well as a fourth digit that was fully opposable. Whether humans called them fingers, toes, thumbs or so on the dragon did not care.

The dragon settled himself onto his haunches for a moment, and used the man’s towel to wipe away whatever filthy liquid had befouled his paws. The towel was already a bit damp but Alvaranox would happily take paws that smelt like spilled ale over paws that smelled like piss. When his forepaws were cleaned, he smirked at man, thanked him, and promptly dropped the towel over his head.

The man coughed and sputtered and stumbled away. By the time he’d yanked the towel back off his face, Alvaranox was already well down the alleyway again. The dragon smiled to himself as he soon emerged at the far end of the alley. That little prank hadn’t eased the pounding in his head but it had certainly lightened his mood. Now, he’d just go see the old lady, get something for his headache, and then go take care of whatever had caused the warning bell to sound.

With any luck he’d be back in bed sleeping off the rest of his hangover by dawn.

The dragon picked up his pace. The old lady lived on a large plot of land by herself, the better to deal with visits from the dragon. It had been a little while since Alvaranox had gone to see her at her home, but after all the years he’d spent doing just that he could have found the place in his sleep. At least once he’d actually passed out upon her front stoop. Come to think of it, it was only the old lady’s boot insistently nudging against his ribs that had actually awoken the dragon. The old lady had to get him to move his scaly ass just so she could get out of her house.

Old lady. To think that she’d been young when she was first made his second Handler. Much the way he’d been young when they first put the collar around his neck. Still, perhaps she wasn’t really all that old yet. It just amused the dragon to call her the old lady. Especially now that he’d heard a few other people start calling her that as well.

As the dragon reached the old lady’s land, he turned off the street and made his way down his personal trail. For all the years she’d served as his Handler, when he needed something late at night he went straight to her window. No sense banging on her front door and making her travel through the whole house when he could just rap on her window and wake in her bed. The fact that it always seemed to irritate her to have the dragon tapping his claws against her bedroom window and cutting a muddy path through her yard made it all the sweeter for the dragon.

The trail he’d long since cut wound around the side of her white-washed house. Alvaranox passed beneath the overhanging boughs of an immense weeping willow, sagging green curtains brushed and caressed his scales. They tickled his wings a bit as he walked past the tree. He glanced at the wall of the old lady’s house. Dark wooden beams crisscrossed the white wall in diamond patterns, and each year she painted new colorful murals between them. This year she seemed to have just started a new one. A green slope and some blue flowers dotted her wall, though the mural was clearly in the opening stages of completion.

Alvaranox came to his usual spot beside her bedroom window. He lifted a paw, unsheathed a single talon, and rapped it sharply against her window pane. Then he set his paw down, only to prick his pads on something sharp. He yanked his paw back up, hissing in discomfort. A patch of weeds seemed to have sprung up in the soft earthen spot he usually stood. Perhaps it had been longer than he realized since his last visit. He tried to find a spot to rest his front paws, only to end up pricking his other paw’s pads on another barb.

“Damn thistles,” the dragon hissed.

Alvaranox rapped on the window pane a few more times to ensure the old lady was awake. When he saw movement from the bed inside the room, he turned his attention to the thistles that had so arrogantly sprung up in his waiting spot. Well, he knew how to deal with unwanted thistles and weeds. As he waited for the woman to rise and wrap herself in a cream colored nightgown, the dragon unsheathed the rest of his claws. With a wicked snarl and entirely too much enjoyment, the dragon quickly began to lay waste to the troublesome nettle. He shredded the spiny stalks, and tossed their ruined remnants across the yard to serve as warning to any other weeds that might consider staking a claim to his window-side territory.

The window was abruptly thrown open, and a furious woman shouted through it. “What the hell are you doing to my roses, you drunken beast?”

“Roses?” Alvaranox blinked. The dragon lifted his paw, and peered at it in the moonlight. Bits of shredded red petals clung to his claws. “I thought they were thistles…”

“They are roses!” A woman with increasingly gray hair frizzled from her pillow stuck her head out the window. She peered down at the ground, surveying the wreckage of her newly planted roses. She reached out and delicately plucked a ruined petal from one of the dragon’s claws, and shook it in front of his nose accusingly. “At least they were! They may as well be thistles now, for all the good you’ve done them. What the hell were you tearing them up for, anyway?”

“I thought they were thistles.” Unable to think of a better reply the dragon sheepishly repeated himself. A little embarrassed, Alvaranox pinned his ears back against his skull, flattening down his crests. Then he tried to explain, protesting her accusations a little. “They pricked my paws! I had to teach them a lesson. Besides, this is where I stand, you know that. What are you doing putting flowers here, anyway?”

“Trying to beauty up that muddy hole you always left outside my window.” The woman flicked the rose petal against the dragon’s neck, then reached out and snatched him by the ear. He yowled a little, lowering his head to ease the pressure until they were nearly eye to eye. “When I retired from my position as your Handler, I did so with the assumption that you’d no longer be waking me up in the middle of the night and ruining my garden with your muddy paw prints and your damn tail spines.”

The dragon gave a frustrated growl, trying to pull his head away. The woman’s fingers were like an iron vice on his sensitive ear. “Well that’s what you get for thinking. How am I to get what I need if not from my Handler?”

“I’m not your Handler, anymore!” The woman tightened her grip a little bit. “Kirra is! Go and see Kirra when you have a problem or you need something you cannot accomplish on your own. That’s her job now, to help you out with whatever you need.”

“I thought the Handlers job was to ensure I do not ravage the town in a drunken fit?”

If the woman found the dragon’s joke amusing, she did not let it show. “The point is, Kirra is your Handler now. You can’t keep coming to me for everything. You have to start going to her. Perhaps even starting right now.”

Alvaranox took in a deep breath, his chest plates expanding outwards. He held it until his vast lungs began to burn, and then the dragon heaved a great sigh. Uncertainty and a deeply-seated fear he hated to acknowledge swirled in his copper eyes. “I do not trust Kirra. You are…” The dragon licked his nose, turning his eyes away. “…You are the only one I trust, Nylah.”

Nylah pursed her lips. The worry she saw flickering in the dragon’s moonlight-tinted eyes troubled her heart. For the most part Alvaranox had adapted to his life here, but Nylah knew well enough there were fears and pains buried in his heart he’d never quite escape. When he was first put in the collar, first bound to this place, his initial Handler had not treated him kindly. To that man, Alvaranox was nothing but the Guardian Slave. A dangerous beast they could have rightfully slain, yet chose to press into service to keep their vulnerable town protected. The man was wrong, and Nylah knew that, but his methods had left scars upon the dragon both visible and unseen.

She could not blame Alvaranox for not trusting Kirra. After all it had taken Alvaranox many years to grow to trust Nylah, though when that trust finally came it was far more complete than she knew the beast would admit to. Now Nylah hoped to see that same trust grow between Alvaranox and his newest Handler. Nylah herself had trained the young woman in the hopes of easing the transition, yet even a year later, the dragon was not taking well to it.

“I know, Alv.” Nylah eased her grip from his ear, and instead slipped her hand beneath his chin. She gently stroked the pebbly green scales of the dragon’s jaw line. “But you have to try. She has a good heart, I promise you that. If anything, I think she’s as nervous to be near you when I’m not there as you are to be around her.”

“I am not nervous around her,” the dragon said, his voice soft yet insistent. He leaned his muzzle into her hand.

“Of course not,” Nylah said, chuckling. “She’s also quite fascinated by you, you know.”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Alvaranox said, a hint of a smirk creeping over his muzzle. “Who isn’t fascinated by a dragon?”

Nylah laughed softly, and the dragon pressed his chin against her hand. Nylah leaned over the window sill to put her other hand atop his muzzle. Soon she was stroking his jaw with one hand and caressing the soft, sensitive area around his nostrils with the other. It did not take long for the dragon to begin to purr. The sound came softly at first, barely audible like pebbles clicking together. But gradually it grew and grew until it was rumbling steadily from his chest. To Nylah the dragon’s purr always sounded like a whole host of barrels filled with loose stones sent tumbling down a mountain. Nylah knew the sound well by now, though early on it had taken her quite a while to discern exactly what it was. As far as she knew, it was still a sound that Alvaranox offered only for her.

For most of her life Nylah had worked for Asterryl as the dragon’s Handler. The job was a many-fold thing. Though the initial Handler might have thought his first priority was ensuring the dragon’s compliance, the collar did a fine job of that on its own. As far as Nylah was concerned her foremost job was to keep the dragon safe and healthy. She had served as the dragon’s personal attendant as well as his personal physician.

The Handler also served as the dragon’s negotiator, of sorts. If there was something he wanted from the town it was the Handler’s job to try and get it for him. If his accommodations were no longer appropriate or required repair, his Handler was the one to make things happen. In addition the Handler had to ensure that no one from the town harassed the creature. It had also become her job to ensure that his various drunken misadventures did not cause any significant property damage. In the early days it was said the Handler served as the dragon’s translator, though by the time Nylah had been given the job the creature spoke the common tongue as easily as anything else.

“Why are you up, anyway?” Nylah asked with a little smile. She traced a finger around the edges of the golden blotch that covered the end of the dragon’s nose. “What did you need from me?”

“I have a hangover,” the dragon said simply. Much as Alvaranox might hate to admit it, it was a common enough malady for him. “My head aches greatly.”

“Then drink lots of water, and go sleep it off.” Nylah shook her head, and patted the dragon’s cheek. “The way you seem to heal, it should be gone by morning. I think you could drink every barrel of wine in Asterryl and wake up feeling fine as long as you slept through the night.”

“I cannot,” Alvaranox said. He hissed through his teeth. “The bell is ringing.”

“Oh,” Nylah said. She straightened up, her voice sharpening. “Is it urgent?”

“Not yet, but the pull is growing.”

Nylah ran her hand back over the dragon‘s muzzle. She stroked her fingers over his cheek, and then worked them down his neck until she rested a hand against the collar. The sounds and images the collar used to warn the dragon and summon him to action existed only in the beast’s mind, yet the collar’s magic was deep and mysterious. Nylah scarcely understood it, even if the dragon’s Handlers comprehended the ways it touched and affected his mind better than anyone else.

Nylah previously had Alvaranox explain the sounds and images in his mind the best he could. From time to time when Nylah touched the collar, she thought she could even hear the faintest echo of the bell that rang to warn the dragon of danger. Sometimes she wondered if she imagined it or if the collar formed some faint connection to the dragon’s Handlers as well. Perhaps the collar had somehow even allowed the dragon’s first Handler to understand the beast when Alvaranox knew only the dragon tongue.

It was whispered by some that the dragon’s Handlers shared some affinity for the magic of the ancient world, forces and elements long lost to most. For whatever reason, there were always a few people spread throughout Asterryl who better seemed to understand the dragon and interpret the collar’s hold upon him than anyone else.

Rumors claimed Alvaranox’s first Handler had been adept at using the collar against him. Using it to punish him. Though in truth Nylah was not so sure that was actually possible. It may well just have seemed that way to the dragon. After all, the collar’s magic bound the beast in blood, body and heart. When the dragon resisted its calls, when Alv refused to fight Asterryl’s battles, the collar forced him with pain. Nylah was not so sure that his original Handler hadn’t simply lied to the dragon, told him he was in control of the collar when he wanted the dragon to do his bidding.

Nonetheless, Nylah was convinced there existed some kind of connection between collar and Handler. She was also certain that it was a tenuous thing. They were bound only by ephemeral strands. It was as though the collar simply recognized that the dragon it held in sway needed a human to help care for him. Nylah sighed to herself. She worked her fingers over the engraved wings of one of the dragons scribed upon the black collar. She could almost hear the bells echoing in her own mind but decided she was imagining it.

After all, Kirra was the Handler now.

Nylah pulled away, and gave the dragon a little smile. “I’ll get you some herbs for your head, and a bit of food.”

Alvaranox nodded as she ducked back inside the window. He shifted on his paws a little bit, waiting for her to return. Part of the dragon felt foolish whenever she told him to go and see Kirra instead. He hated to admit he did not trust the woman. It made him feel like a coward, as though he were some hatchling still afraid of everything new in the world. Only instead of hiding beneath his mother’s wings, he sheltered behind Nylah’s skirts. He could scarcely help it, though. Of all the humans in this city, she was the first he could recall treating him as something more than some kind of monster.

Alvaranox knew well enough that was how humans saw dragons. As monsters. Great and powerful, terrible and majestic in their own right, but monsters nonetheless. They drove them away from their cities, they sought to slay them in the wilds, and perhaps from time to time they made alliances with them. Or slaves of them.

To Asterryl, Alvaranox was a monster of great importance. A monster who had become the answer to so many of their problems. They made him into their guardian to protect their town. Locked him with this cursed bond and set him to the task of keeping them all safe day in and day out. They had made him their slave, and because he was but a monster, they scarcely batted an eye. To them, a dragon locked in a collar was like an oxen in a yoke. A beast of burden they bound to a task without a shred of guilt.

Their Guardian Slave. It was a moniker he first heard from his original Handler the very day they put the collar around his neck. Whether the man had made the term up on the spot, or if it was some lingering arcane title passed down by whatever bastard had brought them the collar in the first place the dragon did not know. He certainly did not care. It was a fitting enough designation. Alvaranox had even taken to calling himself that from time to time, however bitterly he might speak the words.

Alvaranox snorted, licking his nose. He tossed his head and flared his spines, trying to banish the thoughts. He was drifting into bitter waters again. In truth, things were not so bad anymore. Over the last few decades his life had greatly improved from what it had once been. A new generation of humans had grown up with him as part of the town. Their Guardian Slave had slowly become their protector. A difference that was perhaps too subtle for the dragon’s liking.

Some of the townsfolk even came to see him as a friend, or so they claimed. Alvaranox found that a difficult feeling to reciprocate, but at least he was treated well these days. Besides, they brought him all the drink he could handle. That was good. He liked to drink. It helped him to forget for a little while that he was stuck in a barrel just like Stupid Fish.

“Here,” Nylah said as she returned to the window, drawing Alvaranox from his thoughts. “I’ve brought you some food, and some herbs for your head. Wouldn’t want you to get yourself hurt cause you’re too busy thinking about filling your belly to keep track of danger.”

Alvaranox offered the woman a toothy smile. As he peered down at her a feeling of nostalgia rolled through the beast. When he’d first met Nylah, her hair was lustrous and black. Her skin was soft and supple, and her body a little on the plump side. She had a fiery heart just like his first Handler, but where he held coldness and cruelty, Nylah held warmth and compassion.

Over the last few decades, Alvaranox had grown and matured, and Nylah had slowly aged. She was not so old now that these were her last days, but it was clear to him that she was aging far faster than he was. Her hair was now far more gray and frizzy than raven hued, and her frame was increasingly slender. The supple fingers that once teased the purr from his throat were now no less delicate in their touch but noticeably bonier. Her eyes though, her eyes were the same. Now just as the first day he’d met her, her sparkling hazel gaze shone like polished topaz flecked with fire.

Nylah set a small table just inside her windowsill, and rested a tray atop it. She pulled aside the pale blue curtains and tied them with a golden ribbon to let the dragon stick his head through the window and access the tray. She’d laid him out an array of cold cuts of roasted beef and mutton, and some thickly sliced crusty bread smeared with blackberry jam. It was not enough to make a full meal for a dragon, but it would help settle his belly. And she knew his weaknesses for jam better than anyone. Alvaranox had come to quite enjoy some of the foods and drinks humans made. So long as he was stuck here, he may as well enjoy what small pleasures he could find.

“Thank you, Nylah,” the dragon murmured. The dragon crouched down to push his head through the window. With jaws and tongue he quickly snatched up each chunk of meat, and each slice of bread. The beef and mutton were both rich and lightly salted, and the sweetness of the berry jam smeared upon the bread made the dragon sigh to himself.

“You’re welcome,” Nylah replied. When the snack was nearly gone, Nylah deftly reached out and stole the last slice of bread. Smirking, she took a bite out of it, and then deposited a handful of leafy green herbs upon the tray. The pungent, bittersweet aroma of the freshly sliced medicinal plants wafted over the dragon’s nose. Nylah grinned at the way it made him scowl. “Now. Eat those. It will help you feel better. And I’ll give you the rest of this bread and jam to get the taste of your mouth. And then you’d best be on your way before the collar decides to drag you.”

Alvaranox muttered something insulting under his breath, but did as she suggested. He had come here for those herbs, after all. He just hated the way they tasted. The dragon gulped them up as swiftly as he could, chewed them a few times, and then gagged down the whole bunch. The bitter, biting flavor left his tongue feeling a little numb. The dragon worked his tongue against the ridged roof of his mouth a little, and even squeezed at his fire glands. A hint of his fire bile helped to cleanse his tongue. Then Nylah offered him the last of the bread and jam, which he gratefully accepted. He chewed it slowly, trying to smear the sweet blackberry jam around his mouth.

Nylah moved the table aside, and pushed her hands against the dragon’s head. She pressed at his skull between his horns as if trying to shove him back out of the window. Alvaranox of course made a show of glancing around the room. Nothing had really changed, but he always found her room a fascinating place to get a peek into. Her walls were lined with shelves covered in books, and a multitude of trinkets and treasures from her many years. Artwork she’d painted herself hung in wooden frames here and there. A dresser cut from rich mahogany adorned one corner of her room. For a human, she also had an immense bed that Alvaranox found himself a little envious of. It simply looked so delightfully soft, and it always seemed as though the blankets were a little rumpled in the most comfortable way. Come to think of it, that was probably because he was always showing up in the middle of the night and waking her up.

“Get your fat head out of my room, you drunken lout!” Nylah half laughed, half shouted at him, pushing on his head again.

“I am not a lout,” the dragon replied. He backed away, grinning at her.

“We have a disagreement then,” Nylah said. She put her hands upon the window, smirking at the dragon. “Now go. Deal with whatever it is you need to deal with.” She paused a moment as Alvaranox backed away from the window. She already knew it was no use telling him not to dig his claws into the grass when he prepared to leap into the skies. “Alvaranox?”

“Yes?” The dragon paused, cocking his horned head.

“Be safe.”

That brought a smile to the dragon’s muzzle. “I shall do my very best.”

Nylah watched as the dragon hunkered down. Just as she expected, he dug his claws into her grass for purchase, tensing himself up. Though muscles constantly rippled beneath the dragon’s armor, Nylah always thought the creature seemed to possess a more graceful, leonine sort of power rather than the sheer bulk of something like a bear. After a moment, the dragon leapt into the sky, propelling himself upwards off his powerful hind legs. Bits of grass and dirt flew into the air where his claws caught the earth. Swift beats of his powerful wings sent the boughs of her nearby trees whipping back and forth. Rose petals and shredded leaves whirled around outside her window.

Nylah scowled, and stuck her head out the window, calling after the dragon. “When you get back, we’re going to have a very serious talk about my roses!”

“Yes!” Alvaranox called back to her as he spiraled up into the skies. “I’m going to tell you to plant them somewhere else!”

“And I’m going to tell you where you can stick them!” Nylah smirked and shook her head, chuckling. Never a dull moment with the damn dragon around. She closed her window, secured the latch, and with a smile still on her lips, crawled back into bed.