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Epilogue

Penrith was a small town at the base of the Wallowdale mountains, quiet, well-kept and seldomly in the path of bandits or ill meaning monsters. It sat on the edge of horn’s lake, where fish were plentiful, the birds were colorful, and its fresh water used in many a potion. The people here were a kind lot, generous, and welcoming of any adventurer who found themselves within their midst. Summers were pleasant, the winters equally so, one could say it was the happiest place in all northern Drenedar. It, however, was currently on fire.

Among the shattered remains of what used to be its town square, a dragon with scales as red as fresh blood strode with his head raised, perusing the fruits of his labor. Every crunch of the crimson splashed snow at his paws told of his glorious purpose, the smoky air a memory of their brief resistance, the crackling of the dwindling flames a testament to his strength and how all those that stood before him would crumble. He tilted blackened horned head towards the charred corpses that littered the town, frozen in honest examples of agony. They of course had not seen the error of their ways; such was their reward. He took a deep, prideful breath and set his sights for the lead grey dotted sky.

Dreadflame as he was called to mere mortals, swayed his sizable, armored, and frilled tail, counting this as yet another tally to be added to his long list of victories. Eyes like a forge travelled to the mutilated and burned corpses of those that tried to resist, not even bothering to count them. There was no point, he knew the number was vast, it was better to count the towns anyway. As he strode, his head towering over the crumbling corpse like buildings, he relished the look of fear that had swirled within their eyes as they realized their fate. That’s when he heard the cocking of steel and a pained groan, moments before a thunderclap sounded behind him, courtesy of a rifle’s barrel.

The bullet bit at his scales like a gnat, drawing a sliver of his divine blood. Dreadflame wheeled around with a savage snarl. Who would dare strike at him in such a way? He spied, trapped beneath the beams of a shell of an inn, was a lone man covered in chainmail. The marks of the onyx guard where on his tabard, a rifle was held in his shaky hands. His face was bloodied and bruised; one eye closed. The dragon laughed at his pitiful effort, taking his time on advancing on his new prey.

“Defiant down to the last, pitiful breath of your meager existence. One wonders how your species grew and flourished with such foolishness lingering within it’s blood.” With cruel eyes he glared down at this struggling soul, placing a lone paw on the wooden beam that had him trapped. “I hope the next mortal I see has the wisdom to bow down to their rightful betters, instead of throwing their life away.” The man spit something out of his blood coated mouth before Dreadflame pressed down, ending him with a sickening crunch. Such was the reward for stupidity.

Through the fragmented streets he traversed, after noting his wound was of little concern. It was shallow and his healers would tend to it, more of annoyance than anything else. From ruin to ruin he scanned, searching for signs of those stubbornly clinging to life as that knight, and traces of loot and supplies his forces had yet commandeered for their purposes, after all, these people were no longer in need of them. It was apparent as the time passed that nothing remained, the town had been stripped of whatever use it had, destined to be swept away in the coming months, eventually erased from memory itself.

“Such is the way of mortal kind.” The dragon spoke softly to himself. “Fleeting lives, fleeting marks upon this earth. How can they stomach their existence?”

The answer escaped his twisted mind, and the flames offered no counter to his claims. Silence was the dragon’s existence, only broken by the gentle wind caressing his scales. With it came the wretched stench of mortals and death, sweat and fear.

His snout wrinkled as he glared out over horn lake, to the swathes of flesh and steel he called minions. A mass of bodies so great they covered the mountainous countryside in their tendrils from path to path, obliterating the snow beneath their feet. Among them were the shambling dead, puppeteered by the hands of his enslaved Necromancers, mercenaries of numerous races and monsters they’d conscripted or pressed into service. Each of them powerful in their own right but given direction and purpose by his will.

Why had his sister only used the dead for her ends? Was it out of sympathy? Some misguided caring for the mortals she held dominion over? Had she been corrupted by the soul she’d possessed? Her vampire host proving far more independent than Garroth? The dragon snorted in amusement; nothing could be more preposterous. It was more likely her lack of trust in anything, seeing the mortals as mere cattle to be feasted upon. Such a weakness would not be found in his mind, every tool would be wielded, pressed into service, no rock would go unturned.

As pride gushed through his veins over the sight, he could not help but notice this marvelous force was not moving. But how could such a thing be? He had given no order to halt their advance, they were to reach the mountains by nightfall! He peered to the stoic peaks in the distance, noting the great, lead grey clouds that swirled and tumbled with the malevolence of some terrible beast. A crispness tinted the air, his wings fluffed for warmth. There would be snow this eve.

“But why?” He growled, flaring his mighty membranes, poising himself for flight.

His answer came from a group of tents near the front of the forces, where his generals were known to frequent. If any poor soul would know about this delay, it would be them. His eye twitched, his blood simmered, his tail lashed against the snow. He would illuminate them on their poor decision this day.

He leaped into the air with a growl, pumping his wings against the frigid air, closing upon the encampment with terrifying speed. He passed across the earth as a malevolent shadow over the countless heads of his forces. Heads ducked, some prayed to their gods, others tightened their jaws till all color drained from them. Each would breath a sigh of relief, his fury was not with them this day.

The earth trembled as he landed, soldiers and magicians scampering out of the dragon’s way. They called others to attention in cracking voices, that their master walked among them. Where there had been murmuring and chats aplenty, now only silence held it’s grip upon their tongues. All eyes levied themselves against the dragon’s blackened chest, praying to the gods he would not focus himself upon them. He approached the tent with authority, easily towering over every head within four times over.

Tension lingered like a fog as he came to a halt, glaring daggers at the gently fluttering fabric of his general’s tent. He considered tossing it aside like the irksome thing it was, but reigned it in with a terrible clear of his throat. If they did not present themselves within the next few moments, there would be nothing left for them to hide within.

From the thin door came an impeccably dress man in vibrant reds and oranges, polished bells on his sizable shoes. He bowed till his nose touched the snow, removing his feathery hat with a flourish. “I present to you all our lord and master, the Flame of The Nine Hells, Bringer of Inferno, Slayer of Harold the brave, Renown Stud of Dragon-Kind, Conquer of Kings and Queens, The Darkened Shadow, Champion of Darts, and the most handsome dragon of all…Dreadflame!”

He almost rumbled in approval at the bearded man, noting the last bit he’d not insisted upon. “You speak only truth Lander of Turnvoth.” He growled, gesturing the man away, “Now run along and prepare your songs to serenate me later, my quarrel is not with you.”

“Of course, my master, you’re most kind. I shall try to recite only which inspires your great draconic visage…So that all might gaze upon your beauty and-”

With narrowed eyes and a harsh snort, the blushing bard shut his lips, smiled, and scampered off into the crowd. With his departure came the trio he wished to see. Mortals he’d chosen to handle the minutia of commanding his army. The three men tentatively approached the dragon, their heads not risen, at least knowing their place enough to bow within his presence.

“Rupert, perhaps you could explain to me what the meaning of this unexpected halt.” He growled, narrowing his gaze upon the now trembling form of a middle-aged man in chainmail.

Rupert, shivered as the dragon approached, only looking up when Dreadflame demanded it. Though he might have had a strong and commanding presence with others of his kin, he was a frightened child before the raging, furious storm of the dragon. “Dreadflame, a thousand apologies, but the path ahead is treacherous and fraught with danger, many a life has been claimed by the Wallowdale mountains.”

“And that’s why we prepared the schedule, estimated the injuries.” He sneered, raising up to intimidate this man with his size. “Only at nightfall were you to camp. Now I know your species lacks the eyesight gifted to my kind, but even one as handicapped as yourself must be aware that this is not the mountain of which we speak.” He gestured with his wings to the scattered rays of golden light, piercing through the clouds. “Dusk is many hours away…Now order these men back to marching…Or must you force me to take a more heated approach?” He revealed his fangs, letting blackened smoke curl up from his nostrils. To his delight it had the intended effect, Rupert’s face draining of what dignity and color remained. However, it was not he that replied, it was the royal purple robed man at his side.

“There is another problem my associate fails to mention oh great and powerful Dreadflame.” The man bowed, his pointed brown hat nearly sliding off his ebony hair. “Even with our numbers and spirits, the very air works against us. Even now, you can feel it in the air, taste it. There is magic a foot, a storm brews on another’s will.”

“Hmmpf.” Dreadflame snorted, narrowing his piercing gaze on the other. “Is that so Michael? And you’ve detected that with your feeble magics? I have no time for fools to try and manipulate me, I’m certain there are countless other magicians in your flock that would gladly leap at the opportunity to take your position.”

“But that would be foolish would it not?” The man chuckled, “Who would risk your great wrath without cause?”

“That’s what I keep asking myself human.” He murmured, gazing off to the towering mountains beyond. With a flick of his tail, the dragon was not with those around him, but focused squarely on the tiniest of sounds a great distance away. Past his beating heart, the softness of his breaths, the gentle crunching of the snow beneath his shifting paws. He heard a faint wind from the clouds, a deep, powerful, draconic voice upon the air. With it came the will and years that could only be from one dragon he’d heard about. “Fremra.” He cursed under his breath, eyes flickering with flame.

“So should I tell the men you give permission to camp the night?” Chuckled Rupert, putting hands on his waist. “You’ve gone and given them a terrible fright yo-“

“General?” The dragon’s growl stilled the man’s flapping tongue. “Does the weather hold sway over this army? It’s will supersede my own?”

“Beg your-“

He wheeled to the man in the blink of an eye, lashing his tail against the snow. His jaws snapped with a resounding thud, dragging a startled yelp from the poor general’s throat. “DOES IT COMMAND THIS ARMY?”

Sweating profusely, Rupert composed himself, “No sir, course not. That honor would be yours and yours alone!”

“Then why do you let it dictate your course of actions? Give you pause when I demand you climb?”

“You can’t be serious Dreadflame, its dangerous enough as it is with our numbers, but the storm atop it? We’d lose half the forces on the journey!”

The air between them stilled, sparks practically flying from the dragon’s eyes. Out went his frills, as blood simmered with life. Up went his neck like a rearing serpent, a horrible growl radiating down his lengthy throat. Instead of blasting this rebellious upstart right then and there, he cast his fury to the watching crowds, letting them feast upon the black smoke now curling from his nostrils. “Let this fact sink into your little, pitiful skulls. Ready yourselves for a treacherous climb, for that is my divine will, and is your place to obey. Follow this hierarchy and my victory and glory will be yours, if you rebel against this fact, your death will come swiftly before you even grace the mountain. Your lives are not your own to spend, they are mine to do with as I please. Should your strength leave you and death take you from this mortal coil, our necromancers shall will your meager forms back to service. Do I make myself abundantly clear?”

There was a startled murmuring through the ranks of the living. Was the dragon being serious? Had he gone mad? Worried looks started to be exchanged with one another, weapons were gripped tight. Before any thoughts of mutiny could flourish in this fleeting moment, Dreadflame unleashed a roar that cowed any who heard it. When he shouted again their compliance they answered back, fearful for what flames would come if they refused.

So with the authority of a god he gazed over their forms, never shifting as they marched onward on his command. It was only when the last clacking bones of a skeletal horse left his ears did he finally flare his wings and take flight, whirling himself up to the sky like a crimson tornado. Up and up he climbed until the army below were just specks, resembling their place within this world. As he was to wheel around and resume his course, he spied a familiar trio of shapes on the northwestern horizon. Even at this distance, he could recognize the forms of dragons. They were heading right for him.*

He met them in a nearby clearing, rather than shout unceremoniously at each other from the air. They were not gryphons after all, decorum must be had to ensure they were not just raving beasts. As his breaths grew shallow, his tail gently swaying, he followed the three golden dragon’s movements, glaring daggers at their feathery wings and whiskers that dangled from their snout like noodles. Of course, his sister Leninth would send gold dragons, reminding him of his ‘honored’ father. He almost growled as they pinned their wings, summoning what courage they possessed and approached, not even having the courtesy to greet him or bow their heads in reverence. Did they not know they were in the presence of the son of a demigod?

He scowled at the armor they wore from snout to tail, silver plates inlayed with gold gryphons, a dark reminder of another human’s armor from years ago. His blood close to boiling, he met their leader with an exaggerated snort, with horns as black as night, a scar across his eyes and an underbelly of stone-grey scales. Internally he smirked to himself, that even this dragon didn’t measure up to his own height.

“So, this is all she sends to keep an eye on me? Three young upstarts without a shred of mental clarity to show respect?” His growl paused the three’s advance in their tracks, the back two quickly exchanging looks of concern. The leader didn’t yield, but his eyes only steeled.

With a swell of his scaled chest, the male’s voice was loud and brassy, “Perhaps our mistress’ orders were not clear enough for you. You were supposed to hold position until a plan could be concocted. Yet here you are, dragging your forces out against her wishes? To what end I wonder? Born out of childlike spite? Why hurl yourself against their walls? Turn what should be the golden claws moment of triumph into a chance of fate?” Up and down went the gold dragon’s eyes, scanning Dreadflame with a skeptical look before ending with a dismissive huff, “Here I thought the children of the our divine Emperor were supposed to be smarter. Pity.”

His eye twitched as he rose to full prominence, his claws brimming with murderous need. “Smarter than the dragon who flies into such terrible danger and hurls insults upon his better. Even decency seems far beyond your addled brain, are dragons currently so corrupted and weakened that such things have been lost?” He snarled, revealing his fangs. “Tell me what dragon would be so brazen as to think I would let such things against his pride go unmolested?”

“Urrag.” The dragon replied with a growl, his muscles tensing as his tail lashed the snow. “And you’ve deflected as she said you would.”

“Ah, my loving sister. Where is Lennith at the moment? Back within her castle? Pretending to be a simple lady in waiting? Forgetting that we are dragons? Though I should be insulted her trust for me runs quite thin, it’s not all that surprising. She never did like me after all.”

“Leninth is quite busy, far busier than to deal with the rebellious nature of her youngest sibling.”

“And she thought what? That you could force me into compliance? Whip my tail the three of you, send me back cowering in fear? Please.” His gaze sharpened on that golden snout, his claws digging into the earth. “Do you know whom you speak to whelp? I am Irvintar! Son of your Emperor, great and terrifying to behold. “

“Perhaps long ago, but the present shares a different story does it not?” The gold dragon scoffed as his cohorts spread out behind him, their wings fluffing, just waiting the order to act. Muscles tensed, jaws tightened, blood began to warm. Growls flickered between the dragons, telling of what was to come. “But you were defeated…By what?” The dragon smirked with cruel delight, “Another dragon? A hoard of gryphons? The tremendous strength of a purple worm? No, a simple, plain human.”

The red dragon’s eyes twitched, his world froze, something inside him snapped. A storm was unleashed within, hurling him forward. “There was nothing normal about that human!” He roared; his vision gone red as he leaped upon the gold dragon like a wild beast. The younger dragon tried to defend with his paws and jaws, but the elder would not be denied. Before Urrag’s cohorts could drive Dreadflame away, he’d pummeled the gold dragon’s snout, spraying gouts of blood upon the snow.

The air swelled with a chorus of snarls as Urrag pushed himself to stand, taking an opposite position of Dreadflame with his allies. As if performing an invisible dance, they began to creep opposite one another. No words, no mocking, just patience, waiting for his opponent to move.

“Where is all the bravado now?” Dreadflame mused, noting the blood dripping down Urrag’s maw. “That confidence? The better than thou attitude that you brought upon my paws. Oh, that’s right…” He smiled cruelly, relishing as gold dragon’s jaw tightened, “Nothing but the sad attempt by the weak, putting on the illusion of strength.”

“A cheap shot, by a lesser dragon. I should have expected such an underhanded tactic from one such as you. Funny you should use that line; it is how she described you. Dreadflame, weakest of the children, always the failure.”

“Weak?” Dreadflame ground his teeth, “Hear this whelp, I have destroyed armies in my name, slaughtered thousands, relished in the lamentations of their woman, can the same be said of you? You and your pathetic golden claws, hiding away like some humans in their hovels. You speak of my father, but know this, he would not tolerate such weakness. Dragons take what they want, when they want, their will is absolute. If I prove successful in securing this orb of dragon-kind, the rewards will be beyond imagining. You and your ilk will be cast aside, purged in the coming future.”

The air stilled, a momentary crack appearing on gold dragon’s composure. Thoughts buzzed between his horns. “You’re trying to deceive us. We’re the faithful.”

“And no better than human pets.” But sensing a weakness he continued, perhaps he could reach this trio, turning enemy into friend. He almost rumbled at the thought. “Cast aside your foolish loyalty to my sister. She will lead you to ruin and weakness. I alone can show you the true way of dragons, share with you what rewards I receive on my glorious purpose.”

“And how much would you be willing?” Urrag tilted his head in interest, his eyes turning to slits. “I and they can imagine quite a bit.”

“You shall receive it when we prove successful. You just need the draconic drive to seize a moment when it appears to you. Perhaps fate was kind that she brought you onto my paws, a chance for a rebirth in a sense, throwing off the shackles of a dragoness who’s lost her way.” To each of the dragons he searched, smirking as they exchanged looks. “The question you ask yourself is where you’d rather be when he returns? Cowering in my sister’s shadow, no better than humans? Or proud, at my side?”

The offer lingered on the air like a blade, wavering and trembling, waiting to be thrust down. The last fleeting thoughts of their loyalty departing to the heavens. With a series of stoic nods, they affirmed their choice, “Pray tell, what plan have you of their defenses? We shall not throw our lives away so foolishly.”

“Worry not.” He grinned devilishly, his chest swelling with pride. “When we arrive in force, their gates will prove no more effective than a human’s skin. My spies still dwell within, plotting right under our enemies’ noses. Their trust will be their undoing in the end. Their gates will fall, their defenders turned to ash. Those that remain will be weeping, pleading for us to take the orb of dragon kind. Now come, we have an army to keep motivated.” With a flare of his wings, he thrust himself into the air, chuckling as he was joined by the others. Nothing would stand in his way, not his sister, not Struport, and certainly no human paladin and his dragon mate. All would bend the knee or be torn asunder, mere footnotes in his story.