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Fardon and Terry discuss things, while Mermul has a few problems of his own.
As a reminder, the story may contain some mature elements, but as usual I'm aiming for a PG-13 baseline.

Icon art from the Fardon reference by  FeatheryFlukes

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Chapter 9 - Forthrightness

"I have been forthright with you, Sir Fardon," Terry said. "Now I must ask you to be forthright with me. My men tell me there is another dragon with you. A black, dangerous-looking dragon guarding your vehicles, whom you have not spoken of. I have shown you my hidden bunker, laid my cards on the table. Now I want to see yours, if you please."

"Oh boy," Fardon said. Terry glowered.

"The black dragon is my backup," Fardon admitted. "Just in case things went wrong. Not that I expected them to, of course. But I did not want to alarm you with their presence."

"I can't help but feel you're patronising me," Lord Terror growled. "If you truly wish to broker an alliance, we should do so as equals. As dragons. I would much prefer to be blunt and leave subterfuge to the Small Races. Pray do me that honour. Otherwise... Well, there are others I can trade with, you know."

"Forthrightness," Fardon said, backing away from the other dragon, as if expecting him to turn violent. "My companion, that black, dangerous-looking dragon, is a figure out of legend.
"My secret weapon, in case things went bad, is none other than Fiskul the Devourer. The Dark Destroyer."

"WHAT?!" Lord Terror looked terrified. "The Eater of the World?! Here?!"

"You did ask," Fardon said mildly. "In the quite likely event that you do not believe me, we can ask them to devour one of your trees as a demonstration."

"But... The Dark One...!" Terry wailed. "You brought the Evil One to my very gates! What have you done?! Is this some strange act of war?! An unfair trade deal forced at gunpoint?!"

"Calm down, your lordship," Fardon said quickly. "It's not that bad. Anyway, if the whole world was due to end, it would scarcely matter where the apocalypse began, would it?"

"What kind of consolation is that?!" Terry demanded miserably. "Shit, shit, shit! Just as I was finally getting somewhere with my plans, turned this backwater into a properly functioning realm, the Devourer has returned to eat it all! Bloody typical!"

"The world is safe for now, your lordship," Fardon said reassuringly. "I reacted the same, so did Lord Varl. And this is precisely why I warned them to hang back. Why I have kept them secret, because I knew you would overreact too. And honestly, I'd be worried if you didn't."

"But the Devourer is here! Is that not the prophecy...?" Terry protested.

"Not yet, and hopefully not ever. Fiskul is not interested in ending the world, at least, not so long as they still have friends in it. They like me, and insisted on coming because they wanted to be sure I was safe. Now that you are aware of their identity, I should probably introduce you. But I would advise they remain outside the city to avoid a panic."

"That's definitely a... a thing," Terry gurgled. "Quite the insurance policy! 'Kill me and the world ends'. And those gun-toting fools from the Hunters' Brothership nearly caused just that!
"I should kill them twice for nearly immanentizing the eschaton! Oh gods... Lord Varl, backed up by the Devourer themselves... Thank the Great One that Lord Thurr doesn't have that kind of arrangement!"

"Wouldn't have worked," Fardon said. "The one thing Lord Thurr hated most was relying on other people. No... his plan was to eat Fiskul and take their place as the Eater Of All Things. He had to go."

Terry's eyes narrowed. "How would you know what Lord Thurr wants? And besides, he is still alive," he pointed out. "If he had such plans before, surely he will try them again, even if he seems to be trying a new strategy on the surface!"

Fardon laughed. "You wanted forthrightness, Lord Terry, but you know not what you ask. Lord Thurr isn't Lord Thurr. I was there when he was overthrown, his prisoner when he boasted of this plans to become the new Devourer. Now, his soul is trapped, and his body houses one of Lord Varl's staff, whom he had murdered."

Terry made a choking noise. "I don't know whether to believe you or not," he admitted. "It is an incredible tale. Yet he was known to have a keen interest in necromancy and that often backfires on the practitioner. It would definitely explain the unprecedented thaw in relations."

"I tell you this in confidence," Fardon said. "It is not a state secret outside of Thurr's realm, but if it was known widely, it could harm Zeelah's attempts to stabilise Thurr's realm. This is also why her changes in policy have been slow and steady. You spoke of being overthrown were you to immediately welcome dragons back to Arstrom... Well, Zeelah has the same struggle, just in the other direction."

Terry nodded. "This is a lot to take in," he said.

"Those are my cards," Fardon said. "The Devourer is my backup, but I assure you that is strictly in case of an emergency. And also because... Well, we can't force a demigod to stay home if they don't want to.
"Lord Thurr has been supplanted by our allies, though this must remain a secret for now, just as you wish to keep your true form secret for the time being.
"Oh! And one of our citizens has also been granted extraordinary powers of healing and regeneration."

"This, then, is why you shrugged off an assassination attempt? Because your allies might be able to save you...?"

"It is not something I would want to chance my life on," Fardon admitted. "But it is possible, yes."

Lord Varl is fortunate indeed," Terry murmured. "For such treasures to fall into his lap."

"It did not seem so at the time," Fardon said, eyes glazing over as he stared into the distance. "Lord Thurr began taking hostages of the Devourer's friends, one by one to try and provoke them. Lord Varl was terrified that this would bring about the very end you feared earlier.
"Then Thurr swore to invade Taria, killing all in his path if we did not surrender Mermul to him. Understand me... Taria is strong and well-defended, but a vast army of dragons, each bloodthirsty and cruel as they come? Victory against such a foe would be uncertain, and even if we won, such a conflict would have left us crippled. The Hunters would have moved in to pick off the survivors.
"The only way to avert that was for Mermul to surrender to Thurr, knowing that it would mean his own certain death.
"And even then, with Mermul and the Devourer both in his grasp, Thurr took me hostage, trying to force me to agree to the surrender of an entire region of Taria - the very one I swore to protect - and threatened to cut off my wings on multiple occasions."

"Your wings?!" Terry looked appalled. "What about all your powerful friends...?"

"Thurr needed me alive to tell Lord Varl what was going to happen," Fardon said weakly. "And the Devourer was drugged so Thurr could vivisect them for study. And when he was done he planned to consume them, body and soul, to obtain powers that would have made him lord of all things.
"Poor Vinny had his head blown off, and Zeelah is still trapped in the body of an cruel tyrant after Thurr ate her soul. She can never again return to the life she knew before."

"And the other one? Mermel, was it...?"

"Mermul?" Fardon shrugged his wings. "Oh, he was guillotined. After being tortured nearly to death by Lord Thurr's pet Hunter."

Terry looked away.

"Do you understand, your lordship?" Fardon said. "Mermul had to die in pain and terror, had to feel his own severed head land in a basket - while Thurr laughed! He had to suffer enough that Father Alkrash Himself took pity and chose him as champion, as His bringer of life, His divine opponent against Thurr."

Terry swallowed. "...I see. Put like that it certainly takes the shine off things. But that means he did survive? It is said that Mighty Alkrash has intervened at times, giving another chance to the deserving, but it is a rare thing indeed."

"He did," Fardon allowed. "Mermul returned, now powerful enough to defy Lord Thurr, to raise Vinny from the dead. And yes, when all is said and done, we did come out ahead in the end. But the road to get there was paved with pain and death. An ordeal by fire, as the Small Races say. It is not something I would wish on any other realm."

"How much death?" Terry croaked. "How many died...?"

"I'm not sure," Fardon admitted. "And it could have been worse. Roberts, Vinny, Zeelah, Narkath, Mermul... Five lost their lives, I think. Mermul died three times, was it? So that's seven deaths, but I don't know whether that counts."

"This is a lot to take in," Terry said again. "It is not quite what I expected to hear today."

Fardon looked around the room. "I presume you're recording this?" he said casually. "Everything I have said is true, and you are welcome to try and verify it. In fact I would be worried if you did not."

"Very trusting of you," Terry said.

"There is no point in withholding any of this," Fardon said wryly. "And it will help you decide your policy with Thurr, should he seek an alliance also. No... it's not like you're asking about our realm's defences. Then you would be politely declined, yes."

The white and yellow dragon sat on his couch for a few moments. He did not look pleased.

Fardon sniffed the air quietly, trying to read the other dragon. He couldn't smell much in the way of fear, and Terry wasn't behaving like a dragon about to commit murder. If anything, he seemed... upset.

"Are you alright, your lordship?" he enquired, worried that he had somehow offended his host. "You asked me to be forthright with you, and I have."

"You warned me," Terry said. "You said I didn't know what I was asking. You could have blurted all this out when we first met. Granted, I'd have wondered if you were a madman, and I guess you knew that. You knew the news of the Devourer would be upsetting, and you held back until I asked about it. I do not blame you, and your concern is appreciated. But..."

Terry sighed, blew a small amount of smoke from his nostrils, and then craned his neck towards Fardon.

"As I said before, I hoped we could work something out as equals, Lord Varl and I. Two mighty dragon lords, apparently with similar aims. On paper it makes sense. Certainly it makes more sense than attempting to ally with Lord Thurr, or the Red Queen of Gracia..."

"Are you thinking of withdrawing your offer of an alliance?!" Fardon looked stricken.

"Tell me, Fardon," Lord Terror said slowly. "What do you hope to gain from trade with Arstrom? You have come a long way, and you boast of things I cannot hope to match here.
"I had hoped to be an equal, and now... your talk of having the Devourer and a healer blessed by the dragon god himself... If even half of this is true, it feels like I will be the junior partner, at best.
"To put it bluntly, what's in it for you? What can we possibly offer that would be worth your while? And yet your reaction just now gives me hope that you still aim for a deal. So what are you really after?"

"Trade would be good for us," Fardon insisted. "I am not a trademaster, and the details would be better left to my associates. But I can tell you that new markets for our machinery would be useful. If not within Arstrom itself, then as a trading hub to further our reach. We could always do with more meat, and I understand that you have deposits of uranium which would be very suitable for our power plants."

"That is fair," Terry admitted. "But it still feels like a lot of effort to go to."

"That is just trade, though," Fardon said. "As I am sure you have expected, Lord Varl has tasked me with sniffing you out as a potential ally. And so far I see no reason to discourage that. You do seem to have much in common with him, just as you had hoped.
"It is lonely at the top, they say. Lord Varl would appreciate having a fellow dragon lord to talk to now and again.
"But there is one other thing. Lord Varl is a veteran of the last Dragon War, as am I. Having been hated, hunted, persecuted, we want to see your realm become another safe haven for our kind. If we achieve nothing else, Lord Varl is greatly hoping you will sign the Pax Draconica."

Fardon watched Lord Terror intently as he said this. To his horror, Lord Terror threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Chapter 10 - Other Alliances

Fardon watched, appalled, as the white dragon's laughter echoed throughout the bunker.

"What is wrong?" Fardon demanded, sounding offended. "You want dragons to return to Arstrom, or so you claim!
"Ratifying the Pax Draconica treaty will guarantee the safety of all! That dragons will not be slain out of hand, and that the Small Races will not be treated as game in a hunting ground! For some of your current citizens will surely think of leaving when they discover what you are."

"Don't you understand? That treaty is the basis of our prosperity in Taria! It's not because the Devourer had some random crush and stayed around to keep them safe! It's not because Thurr was such an asshole that even the gods wanted him stopped! It's not because Mermul got promoted to help kick Thurr's tail! All of those things you were admiring just now are all just blind luck! Random chance!
"No... it's the union of all three races that has empowered us. And that was only made possible by a treaty such as the one you are laughing at!" he finished angrily.

Terry forced himself calm with visible effort.

"My apologies," he said. "I realise what that must have looked like. I am not mocking the pact, Sir Fardon. I do intend to sign it when the time is right."

"Oh?" Fardon said, sounding thoroughly confused and tilting his head slightly.

"You are not the only party seeking an alliance," Terry said, grinning wickedly.

"Be more specific," Fardon prompted, suspiciously.

"A delegation arrived from Atlantia this morning," Terry informed him.

"The... The Hunters?!" Fardon looked appalled. "You can't! They'll kill you!"

"I was just imagining their faces if I told them I was about to sign the Pax Draconica," Terry chuckled. "And yes, allowing them inside was a risk. But they have seen the dragonslayer at the gates. They know exactly what fate awaits them if they make an unprovoked attack on any of our kind."

"What do they want?"

"As I have said, I am looking to open the realm up for trade with dragon-friendly realms. To allow others of our kind to settle here. But as I have also said, I am not doing this from a position of strength. Allowing that is a risk, and I have invited you here to try and help win over the people.
"The Hunters have heard that I am considering this, and their delegation is here to try and convince me not to allow this. To refuse them outright would not be looked upon favourably by the anti-dragon factions within Arstrom, and besides, they have travelled far to get here."

"But what about me?!" Fardon looked worried. "Am I safe here? Do I have your leave to defend myself if they attempt to murder me on your territory?"

"You do," Terry said. "I shall warn them of dire consequences if any of them try, so I expect them to behave. But, should it come to pass, it would look best if you could use minimal force in defending your person."

So saying, the white dragon stood up, backed away a few paces and closed his eyes. There was a bright flash and when it had cleared, his bulk had been replaced by an anthro-dragon, complete with the black latex outfit he had been wearing before.

"I guess that means it is time to go?" Fardon said, standing up himself.

"Alas, I do have other business scheduled," Lord Terror admitted. "Despite the ups and downs, I do believe this has been a most fruitful discussion, and that we understand each other much better as a result. In my opinion, an alliance is both within reach, and worth pursuing. Now it is for our staff to discuss a trade agreement, and for me to sell this to the populace."

"And the Hunters," Fardon said wryly.

"I will have to decide the best way to let them down gently," Terry replied.

"Are you happy walking, your lordship?" Fardon asked, as they headed down the tunnel towards the throne room. "Would it be quicker to ride on my back?"

"I am fine," the anthro-dragon replied. "I would rather not get rubber polish on your mane, hairs on my catsuit, or risk the terrible spectacle of your spines puncturing it. There is a tale of an emperor tricked into going naked and I do not wish to suffer a similar embarrassment if the catsuit should tear. However, if I were to wear PVC instead, riding upon you would certainly make for a most interesting parade when I come to announce the deal, would you be so willing."

"I am all for making a spectacle," Fardon said. "As long as it as a good one."

"Lord Terry," he added thoughtfully, "I think that once the negotiations are started, I would like to meet with the Mystic Order of Thea. If the Hunters are around, I feel it would be best for us all if your rogue dragon problem was resolved before they get a chance to stick an oar in."

"A very good point," Terry said. "They know that dragons are protected here, but some of them are driven enough to consider execution a price worth paying for such an opportunity."

"Their mere presence is liable to make things worse," Fardon agreed. "It will not help me negotiate with the dragon, and I do not trust them - they may attempt to goad them into violence to give themselves an excuse for a slaying."

"The Order have already been informed of your willingness to assist," Terry said. "That much is settled. While it feels a little underhanded doing this behind the Hunters' back, it is probably best that we expedite the mission.
"As I said, I will be busy for the next few hours. Really busy this time, not merely recovering from the stress of a long-term disguise. Among other things, I will need to meet with the delegation from Atlantia. Speak to my steward about this matter, he will be able to help you in my absence."

* * *

"Ah, yes," Sir Victor said. "The Order. I'm afraid there has been a development. There are now two bounties upon him. One we can probably disregard..."

"Disregard?" Fardon protested. "Justly or not, people will try to slay him! I thought you said dragons were safe here!"

"Please understand," the seneschal explained. "We do not hunt dragons here. They are few and leave us alone, as we do to them. Before the Great Burning, they have been considered a blessing, and we have left them be out of respect for this ancient tradition.
"Indeed, at times, when a major fire has broken out and the smoke is clearly unintended, a water dragon or frost dragon has come unbidden and doused the flames. But there is nothing in place to prevent someone from putting a bounty on a rogue dragon, just as one could be put upon a highwayman."

"It will not look good for Lord Terror's plans for an alliance if the dragon is slain," Fardon argued. "You expect our kind to visit when they may have a target painted upon their backs at any moment?!"

"Allow me to detail them," the tiger said. "The first bounty was raised by the Earl of Lundgarten. We are already leaning on him to get the bounty lifted, if he wants to remain Earl. The bounty accuses the dragon of stealing cattle and frightening people. However, the area is mostly swampland and you can count the cattle there on one hand. Scaring people does not carry the death penalty, therefore the bounty is illegal and probably a ploy to seize valuable body-parts from a dragon. The Earl will be punished for this, and I am confident he will back down, appreciating the value of retaining a head upon his shoulders."

"What is the other bounty?" Fardon asked.

"That is more serious. The Mystic Order have lost patience, and want their Chosen One returned to them as soon as possible. I would like to think that the bounty is their attempt to spur things into action, but it has become all the more urgent that you to speak with them and try to negotiate their release in a peaceable manner."

* * *

"Greetings, Sir Fardon," the wolf monk said. "I am brother Kaleb, and this is Acolyte Bentine. I apologise for having to take such extreme measures as a bounty, but matters are coming to a head."

"They must be," Fardon said, "...If you are willing to risk your own head over this. Your lord has made it very clear that our kind are not game to be hunted for sport, so I truly hope you know what you are doing."

"It shall be withdrawn this very hour," the wolf said, "Provided you agree to help us in our quest."

"Are you attempting to extort a visiting dignitary?!" Fardon looked incredulous.

"We are that desperate, I fear," the monk replied. "Believe me, this decision was not taken lightly. Let me explain.
"The head of our order has received a divine revelation, nay, a command from the powers above. It was told to him that the one long promised is among us. The one who will lead us to glory."

"He will...?" Fardon raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed. But only if we can find him before the end of this moon. After that, it will be too late! Our scholars have sought for the place in the vision, and we have found it, a mountain cave in Lundgarten. But the cave has become the abode of a mighty dragon!
"Therefore, we have raised a force of holy warriors, a crusade... to rescue the Holy One from the beast that holds them captive, before it is too late!"

"'Beast'?" Fardon asked, eyes narrowing and fixing the monk with a chilling stare. "Is that what you think of me? Of my King...?"

The wolf looked taken aback. "I forget myself," he said. "I humbly apologise... please try to understand that this dragon stands between us and our destiny. Yet we still hope for a peaceful solution, and that is where you would come in, if you are so willing."

"Begging your pardon, brother," Acolyte Bentine said, "But I don't see why this needs such care. Surely, if the dragon refuses to move, we can simply... get rid of them? Aren't dragons prone to fighting each other for territory anyway...?"

Sir Fardon grimaced. "Yes," he admitted. "In the same way that a dog furre might fetch a stick, or a human behave like an ape. Most of us have risen above such things, and such impulses are largely kept in check. Most dragons are social creatures, who need each others company. But even a human may become a hermit and seek seclusion.
"But I digress. Acolyte, I do not think you understand why the king values the lives of dragons so much."

"Frankly, I don't," the human admitted. "That thing has killed people! If they can kill us, surely we should be allowed to kill them, right? Fair's fair!"

Fardon sighed deeply. "Let me ask you a simple question," he said. "Which is more valuable? A sack of coal or a sack of gold nuggets?"

"Obviously the gold," the acolyte replied. "What are you getting at?"

"But what makes it more valuable?" Fardon insisted. "Coal is a source of energy, albeit a poor one which we are phasing out. It could generate electricity, or move a vehicle. It could heat your house. Gold can't do any of that."

"But as a metal, gold is malleable and resistant to corrosion," the acolyte said, after a little thought. "It is also more highly valued because it is rare."

"Exactly," Fardon said. "It all comes down to rarity. I do not want to say that a dragon life is worth more than a human or a furre life. But the unalterable fact is that there are far, far more of you than there are of us, and that you can create new humans and furres far more rapidly than we can create new dragons.
"That has to count for something! Pine and redwood are both trees. But a felled pine tree will grow back within your lifetime. A giant redwood might not grow back within a dragon's lifetime."

"So... Will you aid us?" Brother Kaleb asked eagerly.

"I will," Sir Fardon said. "On condition that you let me attempt to handle the matter myself first, before you try anything rash. If I fail, then... Then you may have to deal with the outcome yourselves. Just remember Lord Terror's words, for if you anger him, he shall slay you personally."

Chapter 11 - Cults

It was early evening as Mermul soared over the Neutral Territories. Once, this had been a disputed section of land that both Thurr and Varl had laid claim to. Neither side felt it was worth going to open war over, but both had coveted it.
When Thurr's realm and Taria had finally brokered a peace agreement, it had not been deemed politically acceptable for the Disputed Territories to be wholly absorbed by either side. If Lord Thurr had been seen to walk away from the deal without some gains to show for it, there was a risk that he could be deposed by the more militant factions within the realm. Instead, both Varl and Thurr had taken roughly a third of it each, and the remainder was left as a buffer between the two realms.
Partly this was a compromise, but also there were practical reasons, in that there were still some rivalries between the two realms and skirmishes by zealots could not be ruled out if the borders were too close.
This also granted a reprieve for independent settlers and fugitives who did not wish their homes to be subsumed by either side.

Suddenly there was a crack, followed by sharp pain.

Shit, Mermul thought. Hunters! Once the thought would have filled him with abject terror, and even now, that fear was not wholly gone. Just knowing that you would survive their attentions did not mean that it would be pleasant, and the pain was still a thing to be feared.

Tiredness was seeping through him, the standard procedure being to drug the dragon until they were forced to land, at which point a kill-shot could be delivered. Mermul breathed his healing breath upon his wings and back, and the feeling started to fade. But unfortunately, he could not breathe upon his own head.

Entering into a dive, he picked a suitable spot and landed. Unlike his last run-in with them, he stood and waited calmly for the vehicle to appear.

"Get lost," he told the approaching Hunters, glaring at them irritably. "I'm not interested in playing your stupid games. Get out of here, and everybody gets to go home. But if you force me to defend myself, it is a fight you will not win."

"This one's definitely got balls," the kangaroo said, ostentatiously checking an anti-dragon rifle. "Fearless as well."

"Just good at bluffing, I think," the human opined. "Besides, he was flying here from Thurr's realm, so he must be a renegade. Tranq him again, let's get this over with."

"I don't want to have to kill anyone," Mermul said, swishing his tail warningly. A second round slammed into his leg. Mermul scowled, and breathed blue plasma upon it.

"What the hell was that?!" the kangaroo gurgled.

"Healing," Mermul said. "Also, should warn you that I am a lord of Taria. Attacking me will have severe repercussions."

"But they'll still be down a high official!" the human said. "This is our chance! Kill him now!"

"No!" the kangaroo protested. "We're only supposed to target renegades! And this whole thing just feels all wrong! Screw the dragon, we should get out of here! It's some kind of trap!"

"Then I'll do it!" the human snapped, grabbing the rifle.

"This will be remembered," Mermul said, then the shot slammed into his shoulder. He bit back a scream, inhaled and blew the plasma over his leg.

"No! Stop!" the kangaroo was screaming, and trying to grab back the rifle from the human. "We can't fight an unrestrained dragon, let alone one who can do that! Forget him, we should leave!"

A shot rang out and the human collapsed. Mermul looked horrified, and then worried as he realised that the shot hadn't come from the rifle. Another shot rang out and the kangaroo slumped as well.

"Who's doing this?!" Mermul demanded.

"Hail, brother dragon!" a lupine figure called out. Mermul looked surprised as several humans and furres marched towards him, each dressed in monks robes. The leader carried a sniper rifle.

"We are the Brotherhood of the Omnithestic Gnosis," he said. "I am Father Karl, head of our order. It is fortunate that you landed near our compound, else these sinners would have slain you."

"Thanks," Mermul said. "But I had things in hand. And I don't want to sound ungrateful, but did you have to kill them...?"

"If we had not, they would have killed again," the priest pointed out. "Dragons are a blessing from the gods, to slay your kind is sinful. Now, they face a judgement higher than any mortal can mete out."

The kangaroo moaned and stirred.

"Oh!" Mermul said. "He's alive. I'd better help him." So saying, he trotted forwards, and breathed blue plasma upon the injured furre.

"A miracle!" the priest said. "See! See how this dragon-angel shows such mercy upon those who sought to slay him!"

"I was given this gift for a reason," Mermul said. "To aid others, even the undeserving. But, um, I'm not planning to join your cult if that's what you mean..."

"No matter," the priest said. "Fetch a rope," he added to one of his underlings, and a length of hemp was swiftly produced. The kangaroo's eyes widened with terror as the cultists took him.

"What?!" Mermul protested. "Stop! Don't do this! It's murder!"

"Your concern for your would-be killer is noted," the priest said sadly, "But we are carrying out the will of the divines. This sinner must be sent to them!"

Mermul watched, horrified as the kangaroo was lynched, boots kicking as he dangled from a nearby tree.

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" he protested. "You have to cut him down!"

"No! That would be sinful!" the priest returned. "Please understand, brother dragon... He must die for his attempt on your life!"

Mermul looked around wildly, trying to decide what to do. A fire dragon might have burned through the rope, and a dragon with a tail-blade could easily have cut through it. As a frost-dragon, Mermul was softer and fluffier than a scaled dragon, his claws were blunt and in his life as an assassin, he had relied on weapons which he did not have to hand.

"It is done," the priest crowed, as the kangaroo's kicking finally ceased. "He shall face judgement for his deeds."

"We'll see about that," Mermul said. He swung his tail in an arc and the tree branch snapped, the kangaroo tumbling brokenly to the ground. Mermul clawed back at the leafy mass, and breathed his healing plasma down upon the kangaroo, who made a strangled gasp and clawed at the noose.

The priest looked astonished, and then horrified.

"Necromancy!" he cried, and gestured wildly to the other cultists. "This dragon is no angel sent to us, but a foul servant of darkness in fair guise! Destroy him! And the undead fiend he has created!"

"Oh, no, no, no!" the kangaroo wailed, as the Hunters truck was driven towards them by one of the cultists. The side of the truck was opened to reveal a guillotine, with a wide enough opening to easily accommodate a dragon's neck.

"Once the fiend is dead, you shall get the same," the priest promised the kangaroo.

Spears poked at Mermul, directing him to the guillotine.

"In, dragon, in! Surrender your head willingly and the gods will deduct it from the wages of your blasphemy!"

"My name is Lord Mermul," the frost-dragon complained. "And you're killing one of Father Alkrash's servants. He won't like this."

"Silence, heretic!"

Mermul obediently placed his neck in the lunette, closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. There was a moment of pain, the vertigo of falling into the grass behind the truck, and then the world faded to darkness.

Not long after, his eyes opened again. He coughed a small quantity of blood and stood up.

"Vampire!" the priest screamed. "See the blood on his mouth! See how his necromantic pacts have enabled him to return from death!"

"That's my blood, you idiot," Mermul snarled. "And I warned you this would happen. Father Alkrash gave me a message for you... 'Quit your shit... Or Else.'"

"Blasphemy!" the priest gurgled. "Kill the heretic again! Use the silver-coated blade!"

"Don't," Mermul said, looking horrified. "Seriously, don't! Do you want divine retribution? Because that's how you get divine retribution!"

"The retribution shall fall upon you, necromancer!" the priest yelled. "Behead him again!"

Mermul put up a token resistance, knowing that it would be difficult to escape without killing his captors.

"I was fed up with being worshipped in Taria," he snapped, lying his neck in the slot once again. "...But this is going to the opposite extreme! Can't people just leave me alo-" his last words ended with a sickening gurgle as the blade decapitated him again.

Some minutes later, head reattached, the dragon stood up.

"Are you quite finished?" he coughed. "Because the gods are getting sick of you."

"Even Hell rejects him!" one of the cultists wailed. "What are we to do...?"

"I have a suggestion," Mermul offered. "We could play a game! It's called 'Don't Piss Off The Dragon God.'"

"Burn him!" the priest screamed.

"Seriously!?" Mermul growled. "Burn a dragon? Even frost-dragons are heat-resistant!"

"Cover the heretic with the fuel from the truck!" the priest shrieked. "He must burn! Destroy his body with fire, and..."

From the clear blue sky, a lightning bolt arced down, instantly obliterating the priest.

"...I guess he lost the game," Mermul sighed. "Maybe the rest of you should quit while you're ahead...?"

* * *

"You... you revived me," the kangaroo said, as the cultists fled the scene. "You saved me, even though I set out to kill you..."

"That wasn't going to happen," Mermul told him. "It was never a fair fight, and I would rather you learn from this. I'll even revive your human friend if you can ensure he doesn't try this stunt again, or attempts to put me into the guillotine."

"So it's true? You really can raise the dead...? What about the priest?"

Mermul shook his head unhappily. "God told me not to. I probably could, but explicitly disobeying my creator's direct command would be stupid, right? To say nothing of the fact that I owe Him big for the powers He has given me."

"So, tell me something," the kangaroo asked, retrieving his anti-dragon rifle and pocketing the rounds from it. "You were coming from Lord Thurr's realm. We figured you for a renegade, but you held back a lot there."

"I can't tell you everything," Mermul said. "But you will have noticed that things are calmer lately. Just as you seem to be targeting renegade dragons rather than all and sundry, Thurr has been cracking down on the excesses of his lot. I was there on business from Taria, that's all. Assisting with his recent reforms."

"Then I sincerely apologise for drugging you."

"And that mobile guillotine of yours?" Mermul scowled. "I assume that was your plan for me?"

"If you had been a wanted renegade, yes," the Hunter said. "Traditionally we'd have just shot renegades, as I'm sure you're aware. But lately it has become politically expedient to offer other means of dispatching our enemies.
"From what I hear, beheading is considered a noble death among dragons. Certainly it is the preferred option in Taria. Well, you see, sometimes Hunters are hired out to city-states and other small provinces who have a dragon turned murderer, but lack the expertise or facilities to deal with them."

"You're trying to take our wishes into account?" Mermul looked shocked. "These are strange times."

"Many of us are just trying to protect our families," the Hunter said. "It was never anything personal. But you're right, change is in the air. These are strange times."

Breathing his healing plasma upon the other Hunter, Mermul fanned his wings for take-off, and then craned his neck back to the kangaroo. "You can keep my heads, by the way," he said. "I don't need them anymore."

Chapter 12 - The Chosen One and the Dragon

Lundgarten had noticeably lower living standards than the capital. As the seneschal had implied, it was a large town surrounded by swamps and marshland. There was street lighting within the town, mercury vapour lights that had clearly been retrofitted to gas lighting in the not-too-distant past.

Fardon had arrived in his ceremonial platemail, as the Earl was clearly not wholly on board with Lord Terror's pro-dragon policy. Coming in without obvious regalia might have made him a target, and he wasn't willing to take that chance.

"Lord Terror has told us to expect you," the gatekeeper said sullenly as the group arrived at the town gates. "He wired a message ahead of you, that a dragon would come and that we were not to harm them under any circumstances. But that does not mean you are wanted here."

"I am glad you are at least standing down," Sir Fardon said. "While I appreciate that an incoming dragon can be considered a threat, the subsequent mass-executions, and the Earl's dismemberment for murdering a visiting diplomat would not bring me back to life."

The gatekeeper blanched.

"If it makes everyone happier, I will fly on to the cave entrance and meet you there," Fardon offered, glancing at Brother Kaleb.

"You do that," the monk suggested. "We will need to prepare before we begin the ascent."

* * *

Fardon had left his armour outside and assumed his feline guise. Partly this was to aid coordinating with the Order's men, but also because he was worried how the other dragon would react.
Dragons tend to be social creatures, but it was also not uncommon for an individual to go loner, holing up in a cave or suchlike. If a dragon was actively avoiding company, another being present could turn them hostile, especially if they feared a rival was vying for their territory.

The cave opened out into a vast chamber, which showed signs of having been excavated by at least one dragon. It had been sloped downwards, leaving the connecting tunnels high in the air with ledges to assist a dragon in landing on. The ledges and the centre were lit by large, glowing crystals, though the Order had also set up their own floodlights.

"Dragon!" the scout hissed, pointing at one of the ledges.

"I am dragon too," the ginger cat reminded him. "But what is he... Ah, I see him. He is not attacking, so let's keep things that way. Please do not do anything aggressive."

"He's just... staring at us," Acolyte Bentine said.

"That's a promising start," Fardon remarked. "If he was hostile he'd have done a warning flame, or worse." So saying, he walked towards the centre of the cave slowly, with his hands clearly visible.

"Hello," he called out loudly. The other dragon craned his long, green neck to watch him, as Fardon cautiously stepped closer to the ledge where the dragon had perched. They continued to stare down at him inscrutably.

"What want?" the dragon finally asked, in a sullen voice.

"I, uh..." Fardon stopped. "I want to talk to you," he said.

"Hesitate," the dragon replied suspiciously. "You pause. Come with men. Pointy, shooty men."

"Come down!" Acolyte Bentine yelled. "Come down, dragon! We demand the release of your prisoner! Come down, or we shall come up!"

"Shut up!" Fardon yelled at him, feline tail fuzzed up and lashing sideways. "Threatening him won't work!"

"Then what else are we supposed to do...? Ask nicely?!"

"YES," Fardon roared. "You are frightening him! He may over-react and we do not want that! I was sent here to sort things out, so let me do my job, or I will have to explain how you screwed up and caused the mission to fail!"

"Are you trying to tell me that that... giant slab of muscle and death is scared of us?!"

"Even like this, I can smell his fear," Fardon retorted. "Also, he can hear us."

"Big Dragon is scared!" the creature wailed plaintively. "Do not hurt Big Dragon! Do not do the killing-thing!"

"Back off," Fardon barked to the soldiers. "Let me handle this. It's my job."

"It's your funeral," one of them said, but they retreated to a safe distance.

"I have told them to leave us alone," Fardon called up. "Please come closer. I just want to talk to you."

"Big Dragon is still scared," the dragon retorted suspiciously. "Will come closer, but not down. Big Dragon is powerful, not stupid."

So saying, he took off and flew to another ledge, lower down, but still offering some cover from projectiles.

"Thank you," Fardon said.

"Seen to be remains," the dragon said suspiciously. Fardon looked up at him curiously.

"You do not speak Common much?" he asked, switching tongues. "How about Dracolingua?"

"That I understand," the dragon said. "I have been away from civilisation for many lives of men. Now I come out and everything has changed. How do you know this tongue so well, small one?"

"I am one of Us," Fardon said. "And I am... rusty in my usage of it. Even dragon supremacists mostly speak Common these days."

"Much has changed," the dragon said. "For a long time, I feared I was the last of my kind, or one of few survivors of the war. So many of us slain..."

"I am Sir Fardon of Taria," Fardon stated, switching back to Common so the others could understand. "As a fellow dragon I have been asked to treat with you. A bounty has been put on your head and I would not see a magnificent one such as you slain. Though," he added, "I would not mind slaying you with my... spear," he added lasciviously. "In true form, of course."

"Now is not the time!" the dragon protested, replying in Dracolingua. "If you can convince the small ones to leave me be, I will consider your offer then. But I cannot sleep with a strange dragon while my life is at stake, and definitely not while the small ones watch!"

Brother Kaleb stormed over to Fardon, incandescent with fury and outrage.

"Did you seriously just ask if you could fuck him?!" the monk snapped. "We are here to rescue the Chosen One, not so you can get some tail!"

"I am a dragon," Fardon retorted. "It is often said that dragons are horny. Besides, if it gets you your precious Chosen One back, what's the problem?"

"What is who chosen?" the dragon asked in broken Common.

"It is said that you have taken a holy one prisoner," Fardon said in Dracolingua. "This has angered the Small Races and is why most of them have been attacking you. I was sent to try and negotiate their release."

"No prisoner," the dragon protested in Common. "Big Dragon has not kid-nap. Kill only those who hurt him."

"Can you describe the Chosen One?" Fardon asked the monk. "This dragon might be protecting them, or knows where they are!"

Brother Kaleb closed his eyes and recited the prophecy. The others fell silent in reverence.
"Wisdom of the ages bears he,
Held in trove 'gainst the coming dark,
When the round comes, when the dead return,
When the tyrant's mind is changed and the Raccoon cast down,
Seek then the saviour, tall, strong and proud,
Find him in a cave long forgotten,
Held at bay by a power never defeated,
Prisoner of fate, trapped by evil Dragon Lord,
Behold then the Chosen One,
By his palm shall ye know him,
Marked when he reached for the stars."

"Do you mock Big Dragon?!" the dragon raised his head high above them, looking down on the smaller creatures with an offended expression. "You try to do the killing-thing to him and now you... you... Not funny! Not nice!"

"What is the problem?" Fardon asked in Dracolingua. "I am an envoy of Taria, under Lord Varl the Red, I do not mock you. I have been asked to try and settle this dispute, as one dragon to another."

"Prove you are one of Us," the dragon retorted suspiciously.

Fardon sighed, shooed the other members of his party a safe distance away, and then reverted to his true size and appearance.

"I would surely be glad to exchange spears," the other dragon said, landing next to Fardon and admiring his muscular form. "It has been a long time. But as I said, my safety must come before pleasure. I apologise for doubting you. Tell me the prophecy in our tongue, lest I have misunderstood."

Fardon haltingly translated it to Dracolingua. The other dragon sighed and sat down on his hind legs like a colossal dog.

"What is the matter now?" Fardon protested. "If you recognise the signs, can you at least tell us where this so-called Chosen One lies?"

The dragon raised one foreleg, showing the pads of his palm. On it was a mark in the shape of a star.

"Oh shit," Fardon said in Common. Acolyte Bentine turned pale and fell to his knees. "Hail the Chosen One!" he bleated.

* * *

"Right," Fardon said. "Clearly something has gone very wrong. He is tall, strong and proud. Nothing in your prophecy said that he was human or a furre."

"But it said he was being held at bay, imprisoned by a dragon lord who had never been defeated!" Brother Kaleb protested.

"Big Dragon Falnar not lord," the dragon said. "Bay held by small ones, come to kill and steal! Kill a few. Do not like the killing-thing. Kill too many, make things badder. Even more sent to do the killing-thing to him then!"

"The 'power never defeated' part may refer to your realm," Fardon said, glancing at the monk. "Since it was founded, Arstrom has never really been defeated, correct? It's just changed leadership and carried on. And since the Burning, it has not been safe for dragons."

"But if that's so... Who is the dragon lord?" Brother Kaleb asked.

"That's my theory, anyway, and it could be wrong," Fardon said, shrugged his wings. He craned his long neck to face the other dragon. "So, um, Mr. Falnar, is it...? You said you have been in this cave for many lives of men, correct? Can you tell us why?"

"Hide," the green dragon said. "Hide from Lord Thurr. Did not want to killing-thing small ones. He anger, say traitor is Falnar, try to do the killing-thing. Big Dragon go far away, places Thurr not think to look would. Places conquered by others, Thurr must sent army too far. Supply of chains break fragile, stretchy. Not practicality."

"There you go," Fardon said, craning his long neck to face the monk. "Your Chosen One has been fleeing an evil dragon lord. Probably since the Realm of Thurr was established. The prophecy was correct, you were just looking at it wrong."

"We must confer," Acolyte Bentine said, looking shaken. "As you know, we assumed that we would be rescuing a mistreated human or furre from a rogue dragon, and bringing them to the safety of our temple. But if the Chosen One is the size of a bus, and does not wish to leave his home... We may have to come to him. And we will need a scholar who can speak dracolingua, at least to begin with..."

"Whatever you do, I would keep some of your soldiers here," Fardon advised. "We cannot risk others coming to claim a bounty on your Chosen One, and it would look much better to the rest of the world if any seekers were persuaded to leave, rather than being mashed by a skittish dragon defending himself. And if Falnar does want to go with you, you'll need someone to guard his lair against thieves."

So saying, Fardon craned his neck back to the green dragon.

"Mr. Falnar," he said in Common, "I must tell you, that this realm is now ruled by Lord Terror. The local Earl is being reprimanded, and his attempts upon your life should cease. If they continue, the Earl will cease instead."

"What of I?" Falnar asked plaintively. "Will Lord Terror drive him away? Big dragon has caused no trouble!"

"He will not," Fardon said. "The Order would fight that, now you are their Chosen One. They will protect you well, after this unfortunate misunderstanding.
"But Lord Terror sent me here to help you, because he cares for dragonkind and wants us protected. He wants unity between the races. I was told to tell you this - that the dragon-porches of his castle are always open, should you wish to meet him, or seek his aid."

"Why trust him?" Falnar asked suspiciously. "Why would Small Races care, seek peace with Us?"

"Because," Fardon said in dracolingua, "He keeps a secret. He is also one of Us."