ON THEIR WAY IN to Durhelm Castle, the Felidragon delivered a spirited monologue regarding the complexities of trying to classify the different races and species of intelligent creatures. By the end of it, a certain girlfae had her preconceptions turned completely upside down and was half convinced that Elves ought to be regarded as Faerie creatures. Her kind were called ‘miniature Faerie’ or ‘true Faerie,’ as opposed to other magic-using races who were not quite as Faerie as her. The only thing she could be certain of was that scholars liked to quibble about the strangest details, such as the ability to merge oneself with a handy tree or the presence of antennae.

No, she did not appreciate being mistaken for any insect, not even one as pretty as a butterfly.

Ridiculous intellectuals!

On that note, she and Yaarah had long since agreed that she should conceal herself amongst his scrolls until they had a better idea of whether or not any Marakusian agents might be operating in this Human city. Climbing nimbly down his flank, she slipped into her tube and tucked her wings in after. Barely a twinge in her wing clusters. She must remember to do her exercises, carefully prescribed by the Healer Sage.

Right. Let the subterfuge begin. Reaching back over her shoulder, she fingered the scar and kneaded it pensively. The Faerie stirred in her lair, eyeing up the Human morsels …

Phew. She blinked. Less channelling of her draconic companion’s emotions would be a start. Was he somehow rubbing off on her?

Her very first carnivorous thought. How barbaric.

Yaarah landed outside the main city gates. From her narrow perspective, Allory discerned that he was not the only Dragon present – several green Wyverns had set up a mud nest camp nearby, and a few scaly silhouettes even guarded the great round stone towers. Dragon mercenaries, perhaps, judging by their thick armour and brutish grins as they surveyed this realm.

Hmm. Clearly a town whose ruler guarded his treasures as Humans were said to.

What struck her most forcibly was the bedlam. Absolute bedlam, mercifully muffled by the layers of protection she hid behind. As Yaarah joined a line of carters, merchants and travellers, the Scintillant had the chance to appreciate that the hulking Human soldiers guarding the mighty gates were mounted upon stocky six-legged lizards which they kept on a short leash – necessarily. Brutish tempers. Controlled by chains affixed around their heads and through the gape of their wide, blocky jaws, the lizards champed and spat at passers-by while their muscular handlers fought to control them.

The black metal gates and oppressive grey battlements soon loomed ahead. Yaarah stepped up to a table manned by a comically officious Human who wore richer, better-tailored fabrics upon his person, but in an unappetising dull khaki colour. He looked exactly like one of those Fae who hoarded nectar and took their gourds out every night to count or arrange them. The largest ledger Allory had ever seen dominated that table. Henzaroseflash might have used it for light reading, but not a Human – not that he was very large, being just a bit taller than a Ripper Baboon, she estimated. Most of the Humans appeared to be larger than this one, five to six times her height and many times heavier. They wore rough, functional clothing in the main. Aye. Any of these brutes could swat her to death with one casual slap, no questions asked.

Sigh. How judgmental was she, who had always longed to be accepted by others?

She really was a miniature Fae.

As the Registrar took Yaarah’s name and occupation, a strange thing happened. Because the travel pack was slung low upon the Felidragon’s left hind thigh, Allory could peer beneath the table. A very small man whose eyes remained above the level of her sight but whose braided beard reached his knees, marched up to the Registrar’s side and whispered something up to him. He wore dramatic black leather armour heavily studded with so many silver spikes, she immediately assumed he must be compensating for something – and clucked her tongue again. How hard was it to avoid instant judgement?

At once, however, a larger hand appeared beneath the table level and pressed something into the smaller fellow’s fingers. He marched off and was quickly lost amongst the teeming crowds. Was this to do with the Felidragon? She suspected it must be. Yaarah could not have seen the exchange from his perspective, since he had leaned on the edge of the table to bring his muzzle up to the level of the Human’s face.

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“You know the rules, Scholar Yaarah,” the Registrar added now, tapping his right foot impatiently. “No flying within the city limits, obey the City Watch at all times and no preying on other intelligent creatures – that carries a death sentence, no exceptions. In addition, there is a midnight curfew as our citizens do prefer to enjoy an undisturbed night’s rest. Welcome to Durhelm Castle. Carry on. Next!”

Passing beneath the mighty outer gates, the Felidragon joined many others walking or trotting over a wide stone archway into town. One-way traffic, it appeared. She caught sight of the haunches of a Unicorn mare ahead, her transparent horn clearly visible as she turned briefly to address a richly robed woman at her side. Oh, a gaggle of Human children! Allory goggled unashamedly, trying to figure out what one called a group of little Humans. A troop? Flock? Bunch of mischiefs? She warmed to their uninhibited laughter. At least someone in this cold stone city acted happy.

She had never seen so many creatures in one place at one time. Madness!

In an undertone, Yaarah said, “It’s always busy in the city, mrrr-frrr. No need for alarm. I’m going to seek lodgings in the scholars’ quarter. I’ve a few old friends there, it would be good to speak with them first.”

No need for alarm? The hustle and bustle, the startling noises, the eye-watering assault of olfactory delights – a Faerie found this place utterly overwhelming. Cowering despite that she hid in perfect safety, Allory found herself staring at the insides of her eyelids in a state of frustration and annoyance. So, this city thought it could siphon off her nascent bravery like that, did it? These overly noisy, pesky Humans who gave no regard at all to a tiny Faerie in their midst?

A whiff of raw sewage blasted her sensitive nostrils. “Suggids!”

“Aye. The very bouquet I spoke of,” the Felidragon said lightly, and then added in a completely different tone of voice, “Oh, zrrr-ssst, pluck my whiskers!”

Allory peeped out despite that her eyes watered and her antennae curled at the potency of that epic pong. Did Humans bathe in the stuff? Sauntering down a cobbled street toward them, stepping daintily around clods of mud and several steaming piles of other fresh brown non-mud matter, came a lissom orange and black striped feline – the non-winged kind. She drifted along as if possessed of a graceful melody only she could hear.

Her ride thumped into something hard, unseen.

“Ouch. Sorry, my good man.”

The good man spat a word that could only be a curse.

Yaarah did not appear to notice. He floated out toward the middle of the street, head erect and paws patting with a sudden strutting action, calling, “Tygra! It has been far too long.”

“Well, if it isn’t Yaarah the Golden Purrmaine Felidragon,” she purred in a raspy voice, pausing to tilt her large eyes and bat her frankly astounding eyelashes at him in a way that any fellow-female could tell was well-practiced. “Long time, glamorous stranger.” Allory suppressed a giggle. Wings or none, this was a tale told since the dawn of time. “Just arrived in town?”

“Aye, just arrived,” he repeated, sounding rather wheezy in the bellows.

Yaarah was far from immune to her charms.

Coming right up to him, the feline – solid and powerful through the shoulders, the Fae realised belatedly – paused to nuzzle his cheek as if greeting an old friend. She whispered, “You’ve prowled into grave danger here. Have a care, sweet scholar, for eyes are watching. I’ll come find you later.”

Allory froze. Now what?

“Uh … later, Tygra,” Yaarah spluttered.

Markedly unnerved by the encounter, her companion hurried on through the mucky streets, passing several more eye-watering sources of local olfactory bouquets before he cut away from the main thoroughfare. The tall, square buildings changed from wood only to mixed black timbers and whitewashed stone, to her eye appearing more well-to-do and taken care of even though some leaned precariously over the road. Right eye glued to her peephole now, Allory took in pretty frontages decorated with window boxes bearing – well, anaemic-looking flowers in the main – and watched single Humans and families stepping lightly aside to allow the Felidragon to pass. Many were dressed in richer cloths, furs and bright colours and rich, sleek-looking fabrics. A green-skinned male with antlers upon his head trotted by, accompanied by a woman much darker than most who wore shimmering apple-green robes and carried a two-handed sword upon her back of such dimensions that even the Felidragon regarded it with respect. A bodyguard, perhaps?

One or two passers-by greeted the Golden Purrmaine by name. Taking in the scrolls they carried in travel pouches similar to Yaarah’s, she assumed they must be fellow scholars. No-one else acted particularly alarmed or surprised by his arrival.

Shortly, they arrived at a building taller and broader in the frontage than most. A dozen white columns framed the immense doorway, but performed no other functional purpose she could discern. The rectangular windows, placed in clusters of five, stood twelve feet tall. Allory could scarcely believe that Humans required dwellings built on such a lavish scale. Perhaps they housed a couple of spare Giants in here? Did having the largest cocoon in the village constitute a statement of wealth and importance?

No, it all belonged to a spare, pedantic man called Hanzubik who came dressed in a perfectly ridiculous outfit of green shoes, purple flared trousers, a white shirt with a frilly neckline and a dramatic crimson cloak. He also knew Yaarah by name and promised him a quiet room in the inner colonnade.

Out of the way quiet?

Don’t admit to anyone that he was here quiet?

Unease knotted in the pit of her stomach. At least this area smelled marginally better, and not as if something had died recently in a corner.