FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Ailmer had already decided that Beroan would need a leash. He'd already lost count of the times he snapped at Beroan to, "Get back here with the patrol" or "Not touch that." His arm was already sore from grabbing the dragon's horns and he was sure Beroan was already tired of getting his head yanked back into line. They were barely past the main gates and Ailmer had already given up on letting go of Beroan's horn. He kept the sulking dragon close, an irritated frowned decorating his face. "But it smelled good!" Beroan protested.

"You can't jam your greedy snout into people's baskets. When we get to the academy I'll explain how you buy things and give you some coin, but until then you need to stay close." Ailmer said.

Beroan huffed but he quickly forgot his irritation. There were plenty of exotic things in the city to catch his attention, from the strangely dressed people to all the tightly packed dwellings. Signs swayed in the wind outside of some of the buildings, decorated with animals or colored items to distinguish their doorways from their neighbors. Excited people hawked goods from the backs of carts and small stands set up on the sides of the cobblestone street to the hordes of people traveling through the gates. The smell and the noise were incredible to the dragon; he had never encountered such a consistent cacophony.

Beroan was obviously afraid. The shock of so much noise and the alien culture surrounding him was enough to make him tuck his tail down, but the same things had his heart racing with excitement. It was better than he had ever imagined. He'd heard a few stories and seen Astal's capital from afar, but he had never actually been inside a human city. It was so busy! He had no idea that there were even so many people at all, let alone so many in one place. A dragon clan could never live like this! They'd be at each other's throats long before they reached these kind of numbers.

There were also dragons. That was something that Beroan had not been expecting, especially as they flocked over the city like clouds of birds. However, they were all ones from the western mountains. Beroan had already spotted several colors that didn't exist on any of the clans he knew—Brighter metallic blues and coppery yellows caught his eye. His muddy green scales marked him out. Though it wasn't an uncommon color among the westerns, they cinly tell that he was from a far-away clan and seemed to avoid him. Whether that was because of his status as a stranger or the fact that he was flanked by uniformed warriors, Beroan was not sure.

The effect was the same. Beroan was here, in the middle of such an interesting place and he wasn't even allowed to cross the street. It wasn't like the smack he'd earned from the annoying merchant had even hurt him!

Ailmer allowed himself a slight smirk at the sulking dragon. However, that joy fled his face as he spotted someone making a beeline for the group, staring directly at him. He tried to speed up, but the rest of the group didn't notice quickly enough to follow his lead. The man closed the few steps between them in the meantime, weaving his way through the crowd. “Ah, my old friend! How have the winds been treating you?" The man asked.

Ailmer's teeth clenched together hard enough to make his jaw hurt as he turned his head, trying to place the man's face. His wide nose and chubby cheeks rang no bells, nor did his ill-fitting but expensive clothes. Ailmer kept his head ducked down, still trying to hide most of his face underneath his hood. “Hail, friend. They've found me well, but I don't seem to recall your face." Ailmer replied.

The man recoiled, covering his mouth with his hand. “What? After all we went through, you don't recognize me? Rowland, Rowland Smith?"

A quick glance over his shoulder showed that the rest of the patrol was just as blank-faced as Ailmer was. “I have gone through many things with many people, but your heroics have slipped my mind."

Rowland huffed again. “I was a sergeant in the old battles, during the last war. I was saved by a man flying on the back of a blue dragon with a wide spear, and I have artifacts from the battle!" He said.

Pawlin narrowed his eyes, as did Ailmer. Beroan perked up, however, stepping over beside Ailmer to curiously look at the man. “Oh, what sort?" The dragon exclaimed.

Rowland almost jumped as the dragon spoke, but a grin spread across his face. “Weapons and crystals from the battle with the monsters on that day." He claimed.

The patrol watched as the man pulled a fabric roll out from his foppish clothing, letting it fall open in front of him to reveal a multitude of small blades and large chunks of opaque off-white crystals, some of their sides still tinted with dirt. Ailmer frowned, though Beroan still stared. “These are from battles?" He asked.

“Battles indeed! Each one is an artifact, telling a tale of brave and fateful combat with the greatest evil that has ever-"

“Beroan, those are kitchen knives and common stones, and I'm sure he'd let you buy them at several times their worth. Leave us, liar, and pedal your stories to someone drunker than us." Ailmer said.

“What? These are…" Rowland began again, before noting the hard expressions that had grown on the faces of his audience; excepting the dragon, the rest wore tight lips, crossed arms, and clenched fists. “I'll, you must all be on some important business. I won't hold you up, then, Ahilia's blessings with you." Rowland said, rolling his items up as he backed off into the crowd.

“I doubt he'll go more than three steps before trying to con some other clueless pilgrim out of their coin," Pawlin said.

Ailmer took a few moments to unclench his jaw before replying. “It is good to see the city is as I left, thieves around every corner."

“Your old habits will serve you well, I'm sure. We ought to continue." Pawlin said.

Beroan glanced back through the crowd, watching the man and his gaudy clothes through gaps in the people. Rowland had barely crossed the street before his cloth roll was open again and he was selling some fiction to another person. The dragon blinked a few times; he'd imagined so many people working in tandem, like a tremendously large dragon clan. A slight frown came over the corners of the drake's muzzle as he managed to catch a glimpse of the human handing over a handful of coin; the lesson was clear. He would have to be much more cautious around so many humans to keep himself safe.

***

Beroan stuck closer to the patrol as they began to work their way deeper into the city. The throng of people only grew thicker as they pressed onto into the wider streets that cut the city apart. Even though the people had to push each other to stay out of their way, the patrol kept several feet of empty cobblestone around them. The other patrols that they encountered always had several feet of breathing room as they marched through the sea of people, but they also seemed to have to fight hard for it.

The cacophony of the crowds did not respect the same boundaries. Hundreds of voices blended together into a rumble that was unlike anything the dragon had ever heard before. There was simply no noise like it in the world. It reminded Beroan of a landslide, stretched out and muffled. Where a landslide stops its rocks come to rest at the foot of a hill but the city's murmur continued unabated with no end in sight.

Ailmer noted that the crowd was rowdy. He noticed several people stumbling out of taverns, already walking sideways this early in the day. Aggressive merchants waved hurried passersby to their stalls, and horses pulling heavy carts forced their way against the crowd callously enough to cause ripples of stumbling people through the flow of the street. Guards were out in force and Ailmer spotted a pair chasing after a pickpocket across the river of people. Ailmer considered trying to assist them, but it would have been impossible for them to help as fording the street was an insurmountable task. In a few seconds the thief had already disappeared into the crowd.

Suddenly, the group of fighters was shoved to the side of the street as a spearhead of city guardsmen pushed their way through. A long line of plain cloaked figures followed them, three abreast in the center of the street. Their simple canvas cloaks displayed a silver copy of the tall spire on the town's hill. Beroan jumped to the side, landing heavily against Ailmer, as a woman next to him fell to her knees. Her feral cry descended into noises of a strange language. Beroan glanced nervously up at Ailmer.

Ailmer glanced down and set his hand on Beroan, though the woman's experience was already repeated further down the line. Beroan had no idea how he had missed the screaming from down the street but he supposed it had been overpowered by the rumble of civilization.

The tone of the roar had changed. Now a quieter rumble persisted, punctuated by the cries and yells of those taken by their view of the procession. All was overlaid by the steady chant that echoed from the mouths of the walking priests. The language was nothing that Beroan could understand, but it was low and rhythmic. Beroan noticed Joceus mumbling the chant as well, his worn book clutched to his chest.

The woman next to Beroan had begun to crawl out to meet the procession. Her cries quieted as she approached, her head down and her messy brown hair hanging down over her face. Her trembling hands reached out to brush her fingertips against the trailing hem of the passing cloaks. A priestess's hand reached down from the procession to press her fingertips to the worshiper's forehead.

The woman clutched her head, falling backward. Beroan recoiled further, his flank pushed up against Ailmer's leg and one forepaw up off the ground. Ailmer didn't seem worried by the reaction of the woman, standing with his arms crossed as Beroan nervously looked up at him again. His eyes traced over the long line of monks who continued their slow march, unabated by the reaction of the crowds around them. Beroan watched others throw themselves down beside the procession, glancing between the humans caught up in the moment and the chanting monks. “They are not tugging on my threads, Ailmer."

“Of course not, Beroan. They are not mages, simply worshipers. Do you remember the stories I told you?" Ailmer answered.

Beroan nodded. “Oh, those? Yes, they were a lot of fun."

Ailmer chuckled, glancing over to be sure that Joceus had not caught the dragon's remark. “Yes. These are followers of Ahilia and they populate Ahilia's lighthouse, the large spire you were so excited about on your flight."

Beroan nodded quickly, his attention turning to the peak of the lighthouse that was visible over the tops of the packed buildings. The wide, circular window that adorned the top of the spire had taken on a brilliant glow from the late afternoon sun burning behind the tower. Huge panels of stained glass colored the light—though the definition couldn't be seen from this far away, it gave the tower's light a slightly blue hue. Prayers to Ahilia overtook the noises of the city as he stared up at the distant structure and even Joceus began to speak.

I call to the wisest of all, Ahilia

The mother of all, the star-strewn caretaker

Companion and counsel to the powerful Halin

Ever frustrated and ever patient, coddling the world in her bosom.

That all mortals everywhere should find your guidance

That all the world should partake of your limitless wisdom

The mother of the lands and dark sea of the skies

The great mistress of order, who holds the world aloft above churning chaos.

For the tricks of Sadil and the doom of Sikthil

Ahilia shields all those that are righteous and just

And her blessings fall unquenchable on the true

And the sharp hand of her wrath does strike evil down.

Merciful Ahilia, ever fair and benevolent goddess

Even of heart and strong in hand,

I honor you, mother of the world and the gods above

I offer you my praise and seek your limitless blessings.

Joceus was left with a wide smile on his face and his eyes closed tight. Ailmer was standing with his arms crossed, and Beroan was mostly glad that the humans strewn across the street had finished thrashing. The procession passed by them, heading towards the eastern gates towards the plains that the group had entered from. “Ah, it's been years since I've seen Ahilia's walk. It is truly the start of the divine harvest, then!" Joceus said.

“It has been a very long time for me. Mossly celebrates Halin's harvest, but without nearly the spectacle as Damsk." Ailmer said.

“Let's keep moving. Joceus will want to throw some sticks on the bonfire pile before the day is out." Pawlin ordered.

The group moved without argument, working their way back into the streets as the clamor of the city began to overtake the fading chants of Ahilia's Walk.

***

The fingers of the road opened out into a large courtyard. The bubble of precious space was encroached on all sides by tight alleys and claustrophobic roads. Buildings threatened to spill over onto the courtyard's brickwork, crowded on all other sides by their neighbors. Their second levels were built periously out, seizing every foot of overhead space they could above the assembled legions of bricks that pushed back against the tide of greedy builders that had long since passed. The watchful gaze of a large building decorated with arches and thick pillars oversaw the building's assault. Its mere presence served as a bulwark against the slapdash structures trying to encroach on the valuable courtyard. However, the imposing building and the ranks of uniformed warriors practicing in front didn't force away the myriad of semi-permanent stalls and carts that evacuated every night. They were back again at the crack of dawn to jostle and fight for any coin that walked through the square. A huge fountain decorated the center of the courtyard, though it had long since run dry. “Pawlin, didn't there used to be a statue of Karles the, ah…third, was it? On top of the fountain there?" Ailmer asked.

Pawlin nodded. “Yes. Karles the Fifth tore it down about seven years ago. The official decree was that Ahilia came to him in a dream and enlightened him of some of his grandfather's sins."

Ailmer frowned. “The third was well liked, wasn't he?"

Pawlin shrugged. “Not by the fifth."

Ailmer nodded, pausing for a few moments as they passed by the fountain. The darkened stone showed where the water had once stood, flowing free from the same pipes that fed the bathhouses in the town. However, the basin was bone dry; Ailmer remembered begging his father for coppers to toss into the clear water.

Now, there was no water and there were certainly no coins. Whether that was because there was no reason to toss them in or because snatching hands wouldn't let them rest in the basin, Ailmer wasn't sure. Either way, he felt a pang of loss in his gut that he couldn't place. He had no particular love or hate for the monarch, but the cracks in the fountain brought with them a feeling of unease. Ailmer hoped that the rest of his memories of the city had not succumbed to the same fractures.

He took a breath as Beroan nuzzled up under his arm. The large drake gently pressed his head against Ailmer's side, guiding him up from the fountain towards the impatient patrol. Beroan's deep blue eyes stared up at Ailmer's quizzically; Ailmer gave a weak smile back.

Ailmer's hand traced over the drake's head, scratching behind his horns as he took a moment to breathe. A soft pat on the dragon's neck made them both move back into the fold of the patrol. Ailmer left it to the uniformed fighters to push their way through the courtyard. “What else has changed here?" Ailmer asked.

“The college and the riders are just as you left them," Pawlin answered.

“Seems like it might be the only thing that's stayed the same."

Pawlin shrugged again. “It's all business as usual. The only thing that's really changed in Damsk is you."

Ailmer glanced off to the side. A frown came over his face and he continued walking, his mind churning with his memories of the city and himself. He even ignored Beroan's glances, leaving the dragon trailing behind him. The patrol fell silent, leaving Ailmer to his thoughts.

It didn't take more than a few minutes for Beroan's attention to drift. The somber patrol stomping along in front of him was much more monotonous than the excitement of the busy crowds around him. He was amazed that they paid no attention to the glittering trinkets and exotic foods on display on the merchant's stands. The whole of the crowd was filled with people in exotic garb and colorful clothing. Necklaces of flowers adorned many of the people in the crowd.

Beroan paused for a moment as he spotted a small group of people carrying baskets of flowers, tossing them to the crowd. As the dragon was spotted by the group, they rushed over to him, even breaching the bubble that the rest of the crowd gave the patrol. “Ahilia's blessings! A dragon!" One of the women said.

Beroan was almost immediately surrounded by the excited group. There were several women in plain dresses, each carrying baskets of flowers. Beroan could smell the fresh cuts from the recently-picked flowers and the humans looked almost as amazed at the dragon as the drake was with them. “Do you think he's here for the binding ceremony?"

“Be careful, Meliu!" One of the women said.

She reached out to pull back a young girl, but the child was already stepping towards Beroan with deep purpose. Her homemade dress did little to block her driven steps. Beroan stood still, watching the other humans a bit nervously as the child reached up to pat the dragon on the nose. One of the women looked like she was about to faint and the child's mother finally managed to reach down and snatch Meliu back. “See! He likes me. I told you, mother, that I'm gonna get chosen and grow up and be a dragon rider!" She said, tilting her head back to look at the nervous expression on her mother's face.

“Don't just touch animals like that! They can bite you and-" She started.

“Can I give him a flower?" Meliu said, cutting her off.

Beroan took a slow step forward, sniffing curiously at the child. She couldn't be more than ten cycles old, but Beroan wasn't quite sure of human ages. She looked about as young as the humans that he'd saved from the schoolhouse in Mossly—Past a hatchling, but far from being an adolescent. Beroan didn't notice her mother's fingers digging into the child's shoulders as he approached, but Meliu fearlessly reached out to pet over his muzzle. “Please, momma?" She said.

The woman hesitated before she nodded, plucking a large, white orchid from the basket. A wide grin split Meliu's face as she took it from her mother. She reached over the dragon, one hand pressing on his muzzle as she went to the tips of her toes to tuck the stem of the flower behind Beroan's ear fin. “Thank you, hatchling." Beroan rumbled.

“See momma! I told you they could talk but you didn't believe me!" She said, triumphantly.

The woman was still shocked, and it took her a few seconds to mutter, “Ahilia's blessings," in response. Beroan glanced around her at the retreating backs of the rest of the patrol and she slowly pulled her daughter back out of the way. “Let him go, Meliu. He probably has some important business to get to."

Meliu nodded quickly and waved as they got out of Beroan's way. “Bye-bye dragon!"

Beroan began to work his way back towards the patrol, but he had little luck navigating the crowd without the bubble of space provided by the patrol's uniforms. He'd begun to make some progress, but the patrol was proceeding much faster than he was. Even the flower girls wound through the crowd much more quickly than the dragon, already disappearing by the time Beroan looked back. He struggled between people and carts, doing his best not to jostle those in the crowd, although they did not extend the same courtesy to him.

"Hey, dragon! You, Green, come here."

Beroan glanced around for the source of the voice, his eyes settling on a grinning merchant behind a small stand. The human waved him over excitedly, his dark brown hair shaking and several missing teeth on display in his ear to ear smile. Beroan fought his way through the crowd, thinner here as he approached the edge of the marketplace. Arranged on the small wooden stand in front of him were a lockbox and arrangements of carved dragon figurines. The largest was no bigger than the dragon's paw and the smallest of them, a carefully whittled wooden ring, would barely have been able to fit around one of Beroan's claws. "Have you any coin or gems, dragon?" The merchant asked.

Beroan shook his head, examining one of the larger figurines. It was crudely carved from a common wood and the eyes were barely more than cuts in the wood. The sculpture was square where it ought to be rounded. Some of the smaller figures had more detail, but none of them were masterpieces. "You like that one, dragon? It was based off a red drake that came through last year. He was one of the smaller ones, from the western clans."

Beroan nodded. "Oh, I see. He has very pointy horns."

The merchant beamed as if he took great pride in that detail. "Yes, yes. Many of the western dragons have very straight horns. The curved ones, like you have, are a rarity. Where are you from, dragon?"

"From the east, Astal. I've seen many of the Western dragons, but the clans I know seem to not be here." Beroan answered.

The merchant cocked his head and curiosity crossed his face. "Astal? Is it true what the merchants been saying, speaking of violence and fire and the gem monster's return?"

Beroan nodded. "Yes. Much of Astal is in turmoil, and there have been attacks in some of Galast's border towns. We fought some in Mossly."

The merchant frowned. "We?"

"Yes, me and…" Beroan glanced back, trying to pick out Ailmer through the crowd.

The patrol was halfway up the street, barely visible through the thick lines of people that had approached and cut them off from the market. They were not going further, however, it seemed as if they'd noticed Beroan's absence and were rushing back to get to him. Yet, the throng of people proved hard to push through, as the patrol was moving much faster into the crowd than the crowd could part for them.

Beroan made to point, but the gesture was useless with as crowded as the marketplace was. There was not enough room to take off between all of the people here, but he spotted an alleyway just past the merchant's cart that might lead back to the main path.

He'd simply take the shortcut and get back faster than they could get to him. If he could go fast enough, Ailmer probably wouldn't even be mad that he was taking a little detour. "Hey, wait, dragon! What happened in Mossly?" The merchant called back after the drake, but Beroan was already running off into the alley.

A door slammed as Beroan entered the alleyway. The sudden contrast between the buzz of the marketplace and the vacant alley was jarring to the dragon, enough that his immediate charge slowed down. He trotted along the tight alleyway, still trying to figure out the layout of the human's town. However, as he padded along the unkempt cobblestones, something began to tug at him.

The strange feeling pulled directly on his magic, only intensified with each cobblestone he passed. It was something that made his stomach turn a little, a strange dread that he could not place. His eyes kept flicking towards the door most of the way down the alleyway. He couldn't explain the pull, but he could certainly feel its effect on his threads.

He passed by the door, giving it a longer glance. There was nothing special about the nondescript wooden door. It was the same as all the others he'd seen in the town, so he kept walking.

He only made it a few steps away before his curiosity got the better of him. He turned, padding up to the door as the feeling only intensified in the pit of his stomach. It was just that--a pine plank door. There was no handle, probably a lock on the inside, and outside of a few scratches and dents on the wood, there was nothing special about it.

However, Beroan didn't expect the net that came as the door swung open.

Beroan let out a yell, starting to struggle against the thick hemp rope. He was almost immediately tangled in the heavy line and weights attached to the edges of the net brought him into a heap on the doorstep. A sharp blow to the top of his head caused stars to appear in his vision and confusion to overtake his senses. He thrashed and struggled but his motions only cause the rope to tighten around him. Grabbing hands tugged the bound dragon inside, the white flower knocked from behind his ear fin as the metallic scent of dragon blood hit his nose.

It only took a few seconds for the door to slam shut again, leaving the alley conspicuously empty.

***

A few minutes later, Ailmer rounded the corner with the rest of the patrol in tow. "Where's that damn drake gotten to now? This alley swings off the other way." Pawlin rumbled.

"Ach, he can't've gotten far. It's hard to travel the city if you know it, and slow going if you don't." Remfry said, chewing on his accent.

"Kith's fires, it's also damnably easy to get lost in this town too, even if you are just sticking the main roads," Ailmer said, trying not to grit his teeth.

Ailmer pushed on, moving quickly through the alley. His boots bounced off the cobblestones with purpose, his eyes carefully examining for any trace of the dragons passage. There was little out of order in the alley, but his eyes fell on the trampled petals of what used to be a brilliant orchid. Ailmer paused as he passed, reaching down to pick up the flower.

The stem was broken and leaking fresh sap. The petals were scattered across the doorstep. Ailmer frowned and leaned down to press his ear to the door. Sounds of a loud struggle were muffled but obvious through the door, punctuated with yells and growls. Ailmer felt his blood run cold.

Without another word, Ailmer's boot plowed into the door. There was a splintering crack from the inside doorframe before another kick finally slammed the door wide open. The patrol's cries of confusion were left behind Ailmer as he burst into the room.

The small home had been set up in a manner closely approximating an apothecary. Tables, full of reagents, mortars and pestles, knives, and exotic herbs lined the walls. One table in the center of the room was piled high with blue dragon scales and a pair of jet-black horns. The stench of blood overpowered the sickly scent of the cut herbs. As Ailmer peered back into the second room the source was obvious.

A thick iron cage held a scared, beaten dragon. Blood was splattered over the ground around it and the creature was in poor shape. He was missing many scales and his horns had been roughly sawn off. Several claws were missing and various gashes and other injuries were apparent along the creature's body. He was pressed against the backmost corner of the cage, trying to distance himself from the scene in the middle of the room.

Two people were busy trying to hold down Beroan. He was caught handily inside of a thick net, but the fact that his limbs were tangled didn't stop the dragon from thrashing violently. His claws slashed the wooden floorboards and came close to cutting a gash in one of the bandits, but his claws only came away with shreds of canvas. His teeth gnashed and snapped at the thick hemp that wrapped him but it was obvious he was trapped. Bright red blood dripped from the top of Beroan's head. The sight brought a rage that Ailmer had not felt in years crash into him.

Ailmer had not escaped detection, however. Another bandit charged forward from the room. He wielded a simple woodcutting axe, the iron head streaked with dried blood and the reverse sticky with brighter red ichor. Ailmer's sword came out just in time to turn the axe's first blow away from himself, before coming expertly back around to plant its blade directly into the man's shoulder.

He cried out and dropped his axe, his hand coming up in vain to stop the blood squirting from his artery. Ailmer's boot planted itself into the screaming man's hip, shoving him out of the way to let him bleed. A handful of flame spun into being above the Ailmer's left palm before he pitched it into one of the men trying to hold down Beroan.

The man stumbled back as fire splashed across his face, clutching at his burning flesh. Ailmer stepped forward and hacked at the other bandit, who barely managed to bring a knife from his belt to deflect the sword. Ailmer's blows came down in wide arcs, with all the grace and skill of a miner hammering a rock. The bandit managed to hold his knife up and deflect the first before the second cleaved messily into his torso. He fell to the ground, his screams only stopping after three more bloody hacks.

The third bandit had managed to wipe the fire off his blistered face and grabbed a sword from one of the tables. He managed to charge Ailmer, bringing his first blow down from above. Ailmer spun on his toes and swept his blade up from below. The smuggler cried as several of his fingers fell to the ground, followed quickly by the clatter of his sword.

The flat of Ailmer's blade slammed into the side of his head. The man fell to the ground only to be met by heavy boot on his leg and the point of Ailmer's sword on his throat. "Who are you?" Ailmer said, his voice quiet and steady.

“T-Telik! I, my, my hands!" He whimpered.

“What are you doing here?"

“Dragon bits are valuable, we just-" He started, but as a drop of blood welled up on his throat on the tip of Ailmer's sword.

“Who do you sell to?"

“Nobility, merchants, and we take them out of town, travel west. My, my fingers, sir, I need an apothecary!"

“Do you know who I am?" Ailmer said.

“No, no, swear on me life! You're just a guard, I didn't see anything!" He pleaded.

Ailmer nodded slowly, taking a moment to digest the fruit of his questioning. Telik held his breath as the sword's tip stung his throat. He screamed, but the noise quickly turned into a gurgle as Ailmer's blade sunk into his neck. Ailmer didn't stop until he felt the tip of his sword bite the wood of the wall behind Telik.

As his final twitches stopped, Ailmer slowly drew himself back to look at the rest of the patrol. Kerian was looking over the scene with a hand over his mouth, his cheeks green as he choked back his stomach. Joceus had his sword drawn but tipped forward, his other hand clutching a rosary with white knuckles. “Buck up, private. 'Ere just some dead people—you ain't never seen a fight before?" Karles said, patting Kerian's shoulder.

“You don't have to do everything yourself, Scout. Joceus, take the private outside before he pukes on something important and yell if they've got more friends. Karles, with me, we'll check for ledgers and hidden rooms." Pawlin ordered.

“Y-you didn't have to kill him, though, did you?" Kerian said, gesturing to the limp body against the wall.

Ailmer spun around, his teeth bared and a wild light in his eyes. Kerian stepped back, threatened even from across the room. “Look at this, private." Ailmer began, gesturing to a table covered in herbs and roots.

“This is pine wort, it forces nausea away. This here is Udrali, used to fight infections and clot bleeding. This moss is Dragon Nirrosia, an herb from the west. On consumption, it causes amnesia and permanent memory loss and can put humans into comas. In dragons, it causes a fugue that strips them of energy, personality, and their own memory. Traffickers use it to turn drakes into livestock." He began, his voice gaining volume.

“Ahilia's spear, I-" Kerian started, meekly.

Alimer interrupted him, waving his hand over the table. “They have a whole host of medicinal herbs, meant to keep these drakes alive, but, but they're missing one thing. Not a one, not a single one of these dulls pain!"

Kerian nodded slowly, his eyes turning back to the caged dragon. He was still scared, huddled in the back corner of the cage, and the weight of Ailmer's words sunk into Kerian as his eyes traced over the wounds that laced over the dragon, from the torn out claws to the scales that looked like they'd simply been ripped off with a set of blacksmith's pliers. Kerian simply nodded, letting the view sink in for a few more moments before turning to rush outside. Joceus followed him quickly, his muttered prayers for Ahilia's mercies muting the sounds of Kerian's lost nerve splattering over the cobblestones before the door slammed shut behind them.

“Heh, barely 'ad the heart to tell the boy that they woulda just hung 'im anyway."

“I remember your reaction after your first skirmish. Looked about as green as him." Pawlin replied, “Take care of the dragons, Ailmer. We'll bring it to the academy, the mages there will heal it."

Ailmer nodded, leaning down to wipe the blood off his blade on Telik's shirt before sheathing it, stepping over to Beroan. The green dragon squirmed in the net that still held him tight, swallowing as Ailmer bent down to cut him free. “Ail, I'm sorry, I…"

“Not now, Beroan. We'll talk when we get there. Just…Just don't wander off again."

Beroan nodded slightly, his head falling back down to rest against the floorboards as he tried to manage the ache in his head. Ailmer went silent, his fury sinking into a deep frown as he wordlessly cut the net off the dragon.