The hatchling and the humans traveled through the night, leaving a cloud of white smoke behind. It took a while for the smell to subside, though—it haunted their noses for as long as the trees flanked them.

But by the time the sun sank low the next day, the trees were sparse around them. In fact, all wildlife seemed to have faded as they walked. The chittering creatures—squirrels, the young dragon had come to know—refused to venture to this part of the realm. Every creature—from the tiniest gnat to the burliest boar—turned their noses up and scurried off.

The hatchling—Valo—felt it, too. The air here was pungent, thick with the scent of rot. The trees were duller, their bark softer and their leaves frailer. Flecks of black dotted the dirt beside the cracked stone path on which they found themselves. The young dragon sank back into Holly’s rucksack, only venturing an occasional peek out.

The warriors sensed the tension in this place, too. Flakken and Archie had their heads on a swivel, scanning the area, their hands drifting over to their blades’ hilt. Holly, too, seemed to shrink, her hand clamped around her sword’s hilt, teasing it from its sheath.

But when they came to a small building, the warriors relaxed, audibly breathing sighs of relief and issuing a few quips to one another.

Valo didn’t see what was so special about the place, though. It was just a building, made of irregularly stacked stones, and crowned by an aging thatched roof. An old, rusted horseshoe was nailed above the door, crowning the entrance.

As they ducked under the arched doorway, though, the hatchling caught a whiff of roasting meat—perhaps that was what had put the warriors at ease. He, too, felt inexplicably at ease as soon as they entered the building.

The inside of the building was just as plain as the outside. Simple stones, stacked irregularly. A fireplace dominated one wall, stuffed with simmering logs. Tables and benches were clumsily scattered about the place—only one of them occupied, by two hooded figures, huddling over two mugs of brown, frothering liquid.

The warriors took a bench far from the hooded men, casting only a cursory glance at them. Holly tucked her rucksack—with the young dragon inside it—next to her, fixing the buckle tightly to ensure no one caught a glimpse of what lay within. She left just a sliver for Valo to peek out of.

Moments after sitting down, a woman with gray hair and a weathered face shuffled over. She wore plain clothes—nothing like the clothes the warriors wore. She wasn’t wearing the same shiny steel shirts that covered their frames, nor was she carrying a blade like they were. Valo wasn’t sure who was strange, in this case—the woman, or the warriors he was traveling with.

“What can I get for you lads?” the old woman asked. She paused and glanced at Holly. “And lady?” She smiled.

“Ale,” Garth said gruffly. “Dark.”

The old woman nodded and shuffled off. She returned a moment later, bearing a large tray with four mugs overflowing with foam. She slammed them down onto the table, splashing everyone. Flakken, Archie, and Garth didn’t seem to mind; their attention was entirely consumed at the thought of downing a well-deserved mug of ale and some hot lamb pie. Holly, however, frowned at the splashes, whipping a drop from her cheek.

As soon as the old lady left the table’s side, Garth, Archie, and Flakken snatched their mugs and downed them in a series of loud, undignified gulps. Trails of ale wormed their way down the sides of their mouths. Holly, on the other hand, grabbed her mug and took a modest sip of the foam, before setting her mug back down again.

“Gods I needed that,” Flakken moaned, wiping the foam from the scruffy stubble around his mouth.

“That and a good night’s sleep…” Archie frowned, glancing down at the rucksack in which the young dragon huddled. “Last night wasn’t exactly restful after all the… commotion.”

Holly furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to speak in defense of Valo’s antics—but Garth spoke first.

“You knew what you signed up for,” the man grunted, running a hand through his gray hair. “And it wasn’t spending your nights in fluffy bedding with a handmaid warming your sheets.” He shot a glare at Archie and Flakken. “We had a rough night—fine. Put it to rest. We need to decide the way forward.”

“What are we going to do about… it?” Flakken asked, dropping his voice to a whisper mid-sentence.

Garth looked around, at his comrades. His eyes ultimately settled on Holly. “Any ideas?”

There was a tense silence as each of them considered the question. Archie began to articulate a clumsy thought, but, mercifully, quickly decided against it.

“Let’s start by going over what we can’t do,” Garth said, breaking the silence. “We can’t return to the capital—or anywhere east of the Katmaran river, at that. We can’t go much further west, before we start running into elvish encampments.”

The other warriors nodded, a look of fear on their faces at the mention of the elves. Valo wasn’t sure who, or what, the elves were, exactly—let alone why they were apprehensive about them. But by the gravity with which they nodded, the hatchling hoped he didn’t have to find out.

“Not east, not west,” Flakken mused, stroking his chin. “North?”

“The Deadlands?” Archie guffawed. “May as well try our luck with High Wizard Alzareth in the capital.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Flakken said. “There are stories of folk making a life up in the Deadlands.”

Archie gave his comrade a flat look. “Yeah, and afterlife. The kingdoms of the realm still send their condemned men to the Deadlands to pick up the cursed rubble, don’t they? And you wanna go there?”

Holly huffed. “I’m with Archie on that.”

“Fine,” Flakken grumbled. “South, then?”

“South takes us into dwarven lands,” Garth said. “Well, former dwarven lands. But the south is still littered with them.”

“And?” Archie quirked a brow. “They’re just dwarves. I don’t see why we should be afraid of—”

Holly snorted. “Walking into dwarven territory with a living…” She pursed her lips, glancing down. She lowered her voice and spoke again. “With… you-know-what…” She gestured to the young dragon. “That’s like walking into a kennel of starving dogs wearing a shirt made out of meat.”

Garth nodded. “There’s only thing dwarves love more than gold.” He glanced down at the rucksack. “Hells, dragons are the entire reason dwarves hoard gold.” He huffed. “Or should I say, hoarded.”

“And you think a bunch of half-men are going to, what, swarm us and take him?” Archie asked skeptically.

Garth sighed. “The elves and the humans discount the dwarves as a military force—but they’re no less vicious. Especially when it comes to serving their dragons.” He paused. “Most dwarves have been in existential agony for the last two years. Without dragons to pay tribute to, they’re aimless—and desperate.” He huffed. “When the dragons left, mages lost their power—but dwarves lost their purpose.” He glanced at each of his comrades. “And that makes them dangerous. If anyone realized we had one of them with us, they’d do anything to get to it… to him.”

“Dwarves can smell dragons, can’t they?” Archie asked.

“That’s just a myth,” Holly said.

“So was the return of the dragons,” Garth said solemnly. “And look where we are.” He shook his head and sighed. “Nothing is off the table now—no myth is too strange. We can’t take our chances.” Garth paused, scanning his comrades’ faces for a moment—after which, he shot up onto his feet. “I’ll book us a room. We need a good night’s sleep before we come up with a plan.”

Garth strode over to the old woman, who sat at a small, rickety table in the corner of the place. Behind her, a large door loomed. As Garth approached, the old woman cracked open a leather-bound ledger, with a sound like bones snapping. She dipped a quill into an inkpot, then proceeded to jot something down as Garth’s low, grumbling voice murmured inaudibly. He ended the conversation with the soft clink of a full coinpurse on the table, which the old woman clawed away and tucked into a drawer in the table. They exchanged a nod and shook hands, the deal done.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

But the coinpurse didn’t get just the old woman’s attention. At the other end of the room, the hooded figures perked up at the gentle clink. Their dark, weathered eyes snapped to it, then back down to their drinks. Low, menacing growls escaped their mouths, culminating in strange, jagged words that the young dragon had not yet heard before.

Valo strained his ears, trying to understand what they could be saying. At first, the words hit his ears harshly, their meaning entirely indecipherable—but, slowly, his Dragon Tongue skill chipped away at the coarse language, etching it into something meaningful, like a sculptor chipping into a block of unshapely marble.

“…capital folk, they are,” one hooded figure spat. “Bet there’s more gold where that came from…”

“Bet there is,” the other figure said quietly. “Those are nice boots—quality stuff. That’s… Summer Island leather, isn’t it?” He let out a soft hum. “Bet they don’t just have gold on them, either. Look at that girl’s rucksack—stuffed full, it is. Probably better loot than the old lady.”

“And just look at them,” the first one said. “A girl. An old man. A fat ass. A twig.”

The second man chortled.

“They wandered into the wrong tavern,” the first man said. “When night falls…”

The second man nodded. “When night falls.”

They sank back into their comfortable, menacing silence, nursing their mugs of stale beer. Valo peeked out of Holly’s rucksack, and he saw the hooded figures’ hands drift down to their belts—to their blades.

Valo’s eyes went wide as he realized the danger the warriors were in. He nudged at the side of the rucksack, hoping to get Holly’s attention—but the rucksack was far too thick for her to feel anything.

And, when she did eventually feel her rucksack shifting, she simply nudged it back, thinking that Valo was trying to get out.

But that only frustrated the hatchling, emboldening his nudging. He shoved his head upward, against the buckle that kept Holly’s rucksack mostly shut. The buckle clinked and the leather groaned. Holly’s hand snapped over to aid her bag in containing Valo, shoving him down hard.

Frustrated, Valo let out a long howl—trying to articulate what he’d heard the hooded men say, or, at least, warn Holly that something was amiss.

But Holly wasn’t hearing it. In fact, she did everything she could to ensure no one heard anything strange coming from her rucksack.

“Uh, uh, guys, do you remember that time we, uh…” Holly fumbled, speaking loudly—obnoxiously so. “We, uh, fought that mage—a few months after the Vanishing…”

“Yeah…” Archie quirked a brow. “What about it?”

Holly glanced away, desperately trying to distract from Valo’s stubborn howling within her rucksack, lest the others in the tavern hear it. “W-What did he say about the dragons’ disappearance again?”

Flakken shrugged. “Something about the elves.” He furrowed his brow. “Or was it the dwarves? Or King Gerrald?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Honestly, it was hard to parse that madman’s drivel. He was a mage—that lot were hanging onto sanity by a thread even before the dragons left and took their magic with them. He kept rambling on and on and on…”

Archie huffed. “Until we split his belly open.”

Flakken pursed his lips. “Even so, he just kept talking…” He glanced down, as if recalling a long repressed memory.

Holly felt a pang of sadness at causing Flakken to recall the painful memory. She’d just joined the company, at the time—a young girl of nineteen, eager to prove herself in the wide open world. When the dragons disappeared, most of the world fell into chaos: ancient kingdoms fell; kings went mad; mages lost their magics; elves stole children in the night, sacrificing to the Gods in hopes that their blood would bring the dragons back. The capital was frothing with violence as desperate men—mages and otherwise—sought to cling onto the power they’d amassed. Most folks thought the world was coming to an end—that the dragon leaving meant something worse was coming, like birds fleeing before a storm.

But Holly didn’t see it that way. In fact, she’d felt the same dread, the same terror at her future prospects, for most of her life. The dragons leaving meant everyone’s life changed. For most, that was for the worse.

But for Holly, that was an opportunity to make it better. One night, she abandoned everything she had known, quitting it for a hard life on the road, in a warriors’ company. Most would’ve called her mad for it—but she didn’t regret it in the slightest. She’d never been happier.

But those first weeks with her comrades weren’t easy. Mages ran wild, desperately clinging to any ounce of magic that they could, before it was all gone with the dragons. A few of them—like the one they were assigned to hunt down back then, the one whose guts Flakken had spilled—chose to use their last bits of magic to do the unthinkable. Holly didn’t blame Flakken for shying away from the memory. She’d only caught a glimpse of what the mage had done, but Flakken and Archie had seen it in its gruesome splendor.

Garth stomped up to the table, cleaving through the heavy silence. “I’ve booked us a room. Most they’ve got is a room with three beds, so I’ll take the floor.” He glanced at the rucksack. “I think it’s best we stay in one room, given the circumstances…”

The old woman waved them through to the back, and the warriors followed.

Holly heaved her rucksack up onto her shoulder, and as she did, she spat a whisper at Valo. “Shhh! You’re attracting attention. I’ll feed you when we’re settled—just… be patient.”

I’m not hungry! Valo protested internally, frustrated that he couldn’t simply tell Holly what he’d heard. The way the warriors spoke about dragons made it seem like they were all immensely powerful, regal creatures—and yet, Valo couldn’t even talk, frustrating him terribly.

The old woman led them through a narrow hallway, the old, poorly maintained floorboards screeching with each of the warriors’ heavy steps. The old woman’s keys clinked as she unlocked one of the rooms, then ushered the warriors inside.

Flakken and Archie entered first. As soon as they saw the room, their eyes lit up, their road-weariness already evaporating from their weathered bodies at the mere sight of a (mostly) clean bed. They whistled as they entered, muttering an appreciative comment and shuffling inside.

When Holly entered the room, however, a slight frown pulled the edge of her lips downward. She suppressed the impulse to scrunch her nose in disgust at the sight of the room, and instead forced a smile, thanking the old woman for her hospitality.

Valo only caught glimpses of the room from within Holly’s rucksack, but he was firmly in agreement with Holly regardless. The room was hardly the lush paradise that the look on Archie’s and Flakken’s faces had suggested. It was tiny, and the three beds were right up against one another. The floor was covered in a thin film of grime—a sticky one, judging by the sound the warriors’ boots made as they stepped inside. The walls were sparse and cracked. Only a single tiny window allowed light into the room through the murky, unwashed glass.

“This’ll do,” Garth said to the old woman, scanning the room. “Thank you.” He tossed the old woman a copper coin for her troubles.

The old woman dragged the rickety door shut, slamming it with a loud clunk.

Flakken and Archie wasted no time in settling in for some rest. Flakken tossed his pack aside and flung himself onto one of the beds, landing with a dusty poof. Archie toppled himself over, slumping down onto another bed, earning a loud screech from its aging wooden frame.

Holly, meanwhile, didn’t slump down, ignoring her aching knees and back. Instead, the first thing she did was whip her rucksack—with Valo inside it—around, slamming it onto the bed. She ripped the rucksack open.

“What, Valo?” she asked, staring down at the dragon.

The hatchling stared back up at her, pausing, for a moment, as he considered how to tell her what he’d heard.

The warriors, too, paused and stared at Holly. They narrowed their eyes as she yelled at the dragon. In their minds, the young dragon was—essentially—just an exotic dog, minus the fur and plus a little bit of as-yet-undetermined magic. They didn’t—couldn’t—imagine that a dragon might actually understand what they were saying.

Until three years ago, the warriors had lived their lives in a world teeming with dragons—and yet, not one of them had actually met one. Not until they found Valo. It was understandable, then, that they might not fully comprehend the extent of Valo’s abilities—but it nevertheless annoyed Valo.

“What’re you trying to tell me?” Holly asked Valo, her irritation at his incessant yowling slowly evaporating from her.

“Tell you?” Flakken sat up, quirking a brow. “What’re you on about, Holly? It… can’t talk.” He pursed his lips, raising his brows. “Can it?”

“He can’t,” Holly said firmly. “But he can understand us.”

“Really?” Archie rolled himself up. He leaned closer to Valo, peering at him. “Doesn’t seem like he understands—”

Valo snapped his maw at Archie’s nose—with enough force to produce a loud snap but not enough to actually hurt him. The young dragon’s front teeth grazed against the tip of Archie’s nose. The nip itself was minor—but Archie had been so startled by it that he tumbled back, crashing into the corner of the bed before falling to the floor with a loud thud. Despite his size, the portly man hopped onto his feet quickly, his nose slightly red where Valo had nipped him.

Holly gave Archie a flat look as he stood rubbing his nose, a look of shock on his face. “See? He definitely understands us.”

To hammer her point home, Valo nodded.

Garth huffed. “Huh… That’s something.”

Holly turned back to the young dragon. She bent over, squating until she was at his eye level. “What were you trying to tell me?” she asked, all annoyance now gone from her visage.

But, still, Valo couldn’t quite figure out how to tell her. How would he explain that the two hooded men in the tavern were planning to rob them when night fell—all without speaking a single word?

Well, he couldn’t speak—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t communicate.