The settlement wasn’t much, here in the far flung reaches of the western part of Andan. There were a few muddy streets, a tavern with rooms to let on the second floor, a few shops, a blacksmith, and an herbalist. Helmut had been hoping they’d make it to Whitside, which was big enough to have a name and a Guildhouse and a job board, but in the fading daylight, they’d stopped short, at this nameless almost-a-town.

“Let’s try the tavern, Helmut. I fancy a drink and a chat with the locals, maybe we can find a small job to knock out for a few bits.” Methred always fancied a drink, or near enough, but he kept it to downtime and never had more than two ales a night. The jagged, faded to white scar that ran down the side of his face suggested he had a past, but also he had a yew bow and the ability to hit a squirrel’s eye at a hundred yards, so Helmut didn’t fight Methred on the fancying drinks front.

“Agreed. I’m covered in grit, my feet hurt, and I could use a sit-down meal,” said Ka’alden.

“Same,” said Jake, “We’ve been making time and sleeping rough for the last three days. I just want to check out the shop over there first.” He waved his hand towards the little shop with a quill and ink bottle painted on the sign hanging outside. It had an oil lamp glowing in the window, indicating that the place was still open for business.

“Sending a letter home?” asked Methred.

“No, no. I’d like to get some more information about the Western Reaches.”

“Well, meet us in the tavern when you’ve done with that. We’ll save you a seat at the table and, if the only thing on the menu is stew, we’ll get you a bowl.” Methred was about done with the delays now that the tavern was in his sights.

Helmut, Methred, and Ka’alden headed to the tavern, while Jake turned towards the only lit shop on the street.

*******

“Back so soon?” asked Ka’alden. “Was it just a scribery, then?”

“No, but they didn’t have much on sale. There were a few scrolls on the history of Andan, a poorly-bound and water-damaged volume called 257 Herbs and Their Uses, a dog-eared and ruffled volume of Benk’s Romantic Tales for Ladies… you know, the usual junk.” Jake sat down at the table, one of three occupied in the tavern. The rest, well, the barmaid hadn’t even bothered to take the stools down off the table tops for half of 'em. The two other tables were occupied by a pair of locals nursing half-drunk ales who were casually playing scuttle and the apparently obligatory Mysterious Stranger in the Dark Corner. As it wasn’t market day, that was a reasonable crowd for the evening. Jake continued, “But I did manage to get a very affordable (if slightly foxed) copy of Eddark’s Guide to the Western Reaches, subtitled A Biologic Compendium of Useful Information. It looks awesome.” Jake held up the newly-acquired Eddark, which was still in readable condition but had clearly seen better days.

“What’s all over it?” asked Methred. “It looks like someone dropped it in a campfire.” He stretched out a hand to touch. “Is that soot?”

“It’s just cosmetic damage, see?” said Jake, yanking the book out of reach. “The text itself is perfectly readable.” Jake fanned the pages, ignoring the crispy bits of edges that flaked off.

“Enough about the book, already. Look, here comes our stew,” said Helmut.

“And the barmaid,” noted Methred, holding up his mug, pointedly.

The stew was brown and thick, with carrots, onions, turnips and potatoes. Some sort of meat, likely beef judging from the farms they’d passed through en route to this not-a-town, served as a flavoring agent. On the side was a crusty bread to mop up the gravy. On the whole, they’d had worse suppers.

The scuttle players were near enough to overhear -- Helmut had intentionally picked the table next to theirs – and Ka’alden, who sat closest, overheard the bearded one say, “Hit. Did you hear Stip lost a heifer calf yesterday? That’s the second calf gone this month, Tolt! You know Detin lost one of hers to that damn brown a fortnight ago. Aleph-3.”

“That’s a miss. I’ve seen the tracks,” said Tolt. “It’s getting bolder. Something needs to be done before we’ve no calves left. Hrm… Vav-6.”

“Hit. Pity nobody has the stones to go after the damn thing. Dalet-4.”

“Miss. I know, right? I’d go meself, but ever since that bull got me, my knee’s no damn good in a fight.” Tolt rubbed his left knee, almost thoughtfully, and then said, smugly, “Vav-7.”

The bearded one sighed and then spoke what sounded like ritual words… “You scuttled my…”

“Gentlemen.” interrupted Ka’alden, “I could not help but hear your troubles.” She’d turned on her stool to address them directly. “I and my companions are adventurers passing through and we might be able to help you.” (Speaking in italics was something she’d picked up at Wizard School.)

“Did you catch that, Kern? They’re adventurers,” said Tolt to Kern-the-bearded, giving the word extra emphasis, sort of like Ka’alden had, but with more of a look-at-these-fools flavor.

Adventurers?” asked the Kern, repeating Tolt’s emphasis for… more emphasis. “Thank the heavens. That’s just what we need!”

“Yeah, like I need an axe to the foot, I reckon,” said Tolt. They both laughed, clearly old friends sharing a well-worn joke. Catching his breath before Kern, Tolt continued, “I can’t pay Tev down the road to help with the haying and this little chit thinks I can afford adventurers.”

“We’re very affordable,” said Helmut, wresting control of the conversation before Ka’alden could respond to the chit thrown down in front of her. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Fine, fine. We have something of a dragon problem,” started Tolt.

“It’s a brown dragon, we think. They’re kind of like … big lizards. They hang out in rivers and ponds and stuff.” added Kern.

“It says here that the brown dragon is a solitary stealth predator,” piped up Jake, who had lost no time getting his copy of Eddark’s Guide to the Western Reaches open. “Looks like they’re semi-aquatic... fairly common livestock predator, up to thirteen feet long for the males. Females are a little smaller, though.”

“That’s likely big enough to take down a calf,” said Methred, “but we should be able to kill it, for a reasonable fee.” He looked pointedly at Helmut.

Helmut looked at the farmers. “Well?”

The farmers huddled across the table, knocking a few scuttle pieces to the floor in the process. The party observed some whispering and some gesticulating while the farmers negotiated, but soon enough they sat back down and turned toward the adventurers.

“We can offer twenty-seven good silver coins of the realm and a dozen copper bits,” said Tolt.

Helmut sucked in some air between his teeth, making the inward hissing noise useful for negotiations. “I don’t know,” he started slowly, pausing after "know" for dramatic effect. Everything about his manner and delivery suggested that he was heading towards "no" by way of regret.

“Plus ten pounds of locally-produced beef jerky and a steak dinner before you leave town.” added Kern, hurriedly. “What say ye?”

“Done.” said Helmut quickly, offering a massive hand for one of the farmers to shake. Despite his rather beefy build, unornamented broadsword, and leather gladiator skirt, all of which strongly suggested that if he could read at all, he did so while moving his lips, Helmut was no fool. Underneath his intricate braided “barbarian-style” hair (that he oiled nightly, wore a sleeping scarf over, and had redone every six weeks or so by a professional at considerable expense), Helmut had enough brain to know that smallholding farmers in the hinterlands couldn’t pay an immense sum of coin to put out a hit on what, in another time and place, could easily be mistaken for a muddy alligator.

Following a night’s rest indoors, the party headed south looking for the brown dragon worth twenty-seven silvers, a dozen copper bits, ten pounds of beef jerky, and a steak dinner. While not quite the fortune and fame that they’d hoped to find on their travels, it was still a paying gig and their spirits were high. By mid-morning, though, Helmut was wishing he’d pushed the scuttle-playing farmers for better directions.

“Another hill, another valley, another stream. My feet are never going to dry out,” said Ka’alden. “And my robes are wet from the knees down.”

“I don’t know why you wear them,” said Methred. “They’re so impractical.” He looked damn fine in his hunting leathers if you ignored the spiky strands of soaked hair plastered to his beet red face or the widening triangle of sweat going across his shoulders and down his spine. Ka’alden smirked under her wide-brimmed wizard’s hat. In her linen underrobe and thin, loose-fitting woolen outer layer, she was probably the most comfortable of the group.

“It’s advertising,” she said. “I want people to know I’m a wizard.”

“Maybe you should just wear them in town when we’re looking for work. You could change into something more practical for travel and work.”

“Nobody asked you, Jake,” shot Ka’alden. “Besides, what do you even know about adventuring? You joined up when we were in Docking, what was it, a month ago?”

“I am a fully-qualified graduate of Greenleaf’s Natural Academy,” said Jake, his tone carefully even.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“That’s true,” offered Helmut. “It said so on his For Hire posting on the guild board.” He slapped at yet another mosquito on his neck. “Gods, it’s hot… and muggy.”

“Isn’t Greenleaf’s the one where students go camping a lot and learn by looking at nature?” asked Methred. “Sounds like a load of tree-hugging woo-woo if you ask me.”

“Didn’t ask you,” hissed Jake.

“Right, guys, one more hill for vantage, and then we can stop for lunch.” Helmut felt it was time for a redirect before the sniping got serious. “There’s nothin’ like a bit of high ground for a nosh and a break.”

As they topped the next hill, Methred scanned the valley below while the rest of them started to get lunch together. After a minute, he turned towards the other three. “Ya’ll might want to hold up on the chow.”

“Seriously? I’m starving over here,” said Helmut.

“Look.” He pointed. “Can you see it?”

“I…” Helmut went over to Methred and stood beside him. He put a hand above his eyes for shade. He squinted in the general direction indicated by Methred and sighed. “Damn it, no. I can’t see shit at this distance, not anymore. What do we got down there?”

“Fairies and unicorns, boss, sure as I’m standing here.” said Methred. Helmut gave him a look. “Fine, fine, it looks like a brown dragon chasing butterflies.”

“Where?” said Jake, who’d come over once it was clear that lunch was going to be delayed. Methred pointed again.

“See that part of the creek, downstream from the fallen tree? Yeah. The meadow there with the tall purple flowers?”

“Vernonia,” corrected Jake absently.

Methred looked at him curiously and then continued, “Give it a minute, the damn thing is in and out of the shade, makes it hard to see.”

“I see it!” Jake continued watching. “Butterflies? Hunh. Let me just check what Eddark has to say…” He pulled the Biologic Compendium out of his pack and thumbed through it.

“Gods above, he’s got the damn book out again,” grumbled Helmut.

Ka’alden followed up with, “Can’t keep your hands off it.” She laughed. “Do you need some alone time with your book, Jake?”

Head already bowed over the crispy pages, Jake answered without looking up. “I don’t need alone time but if you could manage to be quiet, that’d be helpful.”

After a few minutes, Jake’s brow wrinkled and he looked up, meeting Helmut’s eyes. “I don’t think this is a brown dragon. Says here that brown dragons and red dragons can be confused.”

"Jake, don't be a complete numpty. Everyone knows that Red Dragons are scarlet red, fifty feet long, have wings, and use mindspeech.” This was from Ka’alden, who tended to think she knew everything about everything because wizard. She strode confidently over, wet robes sticking to her legs in a decidedly inelegant and non-flowing manner.

She looked down into the valley, muttering farsight as she did, before continuing to tear into Jake. “That thing can't be more than ten feet long. It's BROWN and wingless. And I don’t notice it talking to us with mindspeech.”

"JUVENILE RED DRAGONS ARE BROWNISH FOR CAMOUFLAGE," said Jake, rather louder than before, as he read from his copy of Eddark. "They’re also wingless and lack full mindspeech until their tenth year."

"Izzat so?" said Helmut. He sighed heavily and leaned against a tree, arms crossed. "Fine. Can it tell us how to tell them apart, or is that too much usefulness to hope for?"

"The brown dragon’s tail is ridged with spikes and it has three forward facing claws on the front feet. The juvenile red has a smooth tail, two forward facing claws and one rear-facing claw on each front foot, and slightly reddish scales around the snout and eyes. The book urges correct identification because..."

"Because red dragons are damned smart and famously lethal," interrupted Methred, willfully ignorant of the fact that Jake was mid-sentence. He peered into the distance again. Checking out the smallish dragon in the valley below, he reported back. "Tail is smooth. I can only see two claws on the front feet... and there are reddish scales around the snout. This is probably not a brown dragon."

“Hunh. Hey, this next part is interesting,” said Jake.

“Oh, we’re getting to the interesting part now? Excellent,” said Ka’alden. “Can’t wait to hear this.”

“Shut it,” said Helmut, “Jake’s been right thus far, or at least his book has.” He turned to Jake and gestured. “Let’s hear it.”

Jake continued reading, "Says here that red dragons have low fertility and treasure their young. Since the juveniles rely on camouflage and threat displays for defense, the parents are typically close by, ready to render aid at the slightest hint of trouble."

"Hunh." Helmut grunted. He spat to the side and rubbed his chin. "Bit wordy, but that's useful information, right there," he admitted. "Probably if we'd gone for it, Momma would have come blazing out of the sky and ended us all."

*Daddy* sounded a bass voice in his head.

"What?" Helmut jolted upright from his studied tree-leaning. He looked around and saw nothing.

*DADDY.* The voice was almost smug. *I'm her daddy, not her momma. Her mom's off hunting the Southern Ocean. The orcas are migrating and it takes a lot of meat to feed a growing girl.* It chuckled proudly.

"Are you OK, Helmut?" asked Ka'alden. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's the dad. He's in my head."

"Oh shit," said Methred.

*Yes. About that. May I assume you won't be attacking my daughter?*

"No, of course not." said Helmut. And after a pause, he added, "Sir."

"Helmut? What's going on?" Jake sounded concerned.

"Shhh," said Helmut.

*Beedee has been practicing her threat display. If you look convincingly scared while running away from her, I'll give you two sides of bacon and a ham.*

"He's offering us... charcuterie?" said Helmut, who was struggling to keep up.

"Ah, yes," said Jake, nodding knowingly. He flipped a few pages before reading more. Eddark’s Guide was surprisingly comprehensive about red dragons, especially considering how rare they were. "The red dragon does not keep traditional treasure like gold or gemstones. They... make and hoard preserved meats. Smoked, salted, etc. They're masters of the craft. A side of their bacon is worth two, three gold pieces."

"We will be very, very scared." said Helmut firmly. He was already somewhat scared and trying hard to not show it, but he would not let fear get in the way of what sounded like a low-risk profit.

*Good.*

And with that, a plan solidified. Helmut directed the group. "Right, we’ve got a new job. Old job is gone, new job is … playing pretend. No live steel. Sling your bow, Methred. Ka'alden, you just keep your hands in your pockets. We are NOT GOING TO ENGAGE. We're going to happen upon this dragon by way of a slow and steady chance encounter and then we are all gonna be terrified and flee as she does her threat display. We gotta sell it hard to get paid, though, so be sure you look properly frightened when the time is right."

They wandered leisurely down into the valley but didn’t cross the creek before they turned downstream towards the young dragon. Helmut and Methred kept up a cheery conversation as the party worked their way slowly closer and closer to her.

When Beedee noticed them, she tried to rear up on her hind feet. It did not go well, but she made it the second time. Her first screech was a bit strangled, but the second one swelled in power and confidence. Clearly getting the hang of things, she snaked her head around threateningly and bared her needle-sharp teeth. As she got used to being on two legs, her balance stabilized and she risked clawing her front feet at the air to go along with the final screech. The whole thing was a pretty solid effort, Helmut thought, only a little unsteady around the edges.

Helmut got the play by play via mindspeech.

*That's my big girl! You are very fierce! Good job, baby, you're doing great!*

"Gods Above, it's a DRAGON! Run for your lives! Run, Run!"

"Get out of my way!"

"HELP!”

“AAAAARGH!"

The adventurers scrambled and yelled and flailed and fled, all very convincingly before they finally ground to a halt under the cover of a fairly distant copse of trees. They were out of breath and red-faced, but otherwise undamaged.

*Well done. I'll drop your bacons and ham at the Crossroads Inn. Head upstream, about half an hour of walking, and then make a right turn onto the road, you'll reach it by mid-afternoon. Thanks for playing!*

As they rested in the shade, catching their breath and letting their hearts slow back to normal, Jake opened his pack and took out his Eddark yet again. He examined the charred edges thoughtfully while wondering how such a thorough treatment of red dragons had failed to mention their obvious intelligence. And suddenly a chill ran down his spine as questions, so many questions, bubbled up in his mind.

Jake hadn’t seen hide nor… scale of the big dragon during the whole encounter, but judging from how Helmut had acted, it seemed like the big dragon had heard their conversation. And it talked by mindspeech to Helmut, for sure, so maybe it heard by mindspeech, too? (This was the kind of curious thinking encouraged by Greenleaf’s Natural Academy, the sort that led to it having a tree-hugger woo-woo reputation.) “Dragon?” he thought. He waited a bit, but nothing. He tried thinking harder, maybe he wasn’t loud enough or something. “Dragon, are you there?”

*Yes.* At once, Jake realized why Helmut had looked so shaken. That was a voice with weight and authority, a voice that could tell you to slit your throat and you’d have no choice but to obey. But it sounded almost amused. *You don’t have to strain, you were loud enough the first time.*

"Sorry. Er. Do you have a name?" It was the most useful question Jake could think of that wouldn’t sound rude. He had other questions, of course, many of them, but quite a few were about eating people and he felt that would be starting off wrong-footed. Names, well, those were pretty standard among people and if the big dragon had talked to people much at all, it’d… HE’D know that people had names and used names and stuff. Names seemed like a pretty safe bet.

*The short form of my name is Blood Red Darkens the Skies.* There was a brief but clear pause, and then the dragon continued, kindly but quickly. *Young Jake, normally I'd let this conversation unfold at your pace, but there's another group coming in from the north-east and they didn't buy a copy of the book so I need to move this along. Here are some answers to get you started: First, my daughter BeeDee calls me Eddark. Second, I only eat the murderously dumb ones. Third, your gift meats are made from cloven-hooved pigs with curly tails and not from... the other kind.*