Flying was amazing. It was so impressive that Relma forgot how dangerous everything had been. The wind whipped through her hair, the sight of the land far below them. It was beyond anything she had felt.

Of course, the land soon became hard to make out with the dying light. A blur of dark shapes far below. But she liked the feeling of being so high. Estela and Ronald did not share her glee. Both were clinging to Wrynncurth's spines, their cloaks flowing behind them. Neither looked happy. And they certainly weren't looking down.

Relma sighed. She had far less heavy clothes than them and wasn't complaining.

Eventually, the thrill wore off, and Relma began to think about things. Questions occurred to her, and she realized she might never get a chance to answer them. She may have waited for the end of the trip. "Wrynncurth, can I ask you something?"

"You may ask," said Wrynncurth.

"Um... aren't you small for a dragon?" said Relma. She felt like she was asking something sensitive. She could have phrased it better.

"No," said Wrynncurth, tone cheerful as always. "Though once I would have been for my kind."

"What do you mean?" asked Relma. He sounded cheerful, but that didn't mean anything. He always stated cheerfully. But was he?

"Before Smyngoth began his eternal sleep, there were three dragon flights," said Wrynncurth. "The red. The silver. And the golden."

"What about the black flight?" asked Relma. She had the feeling she had just asked a stupid question.

"I was just getting to that, my girl," said Wrynncurth. "Now you see, the dragons had a tradition that every few hundred years, they changed kings. This was to ensure that things did not wholly stagnate."

"We mortals usually just wait for our kings to die," noted Relma. Idiot, Wrynncurth already knew that.

"A fair system," said Wrynncurth. He didn't sound perturbed. But you could never tell. "Unfortunately, it wouldn't work for us. We have the dubious honor of never growing old. Thus, the rotation of kings, as all the flights called it.

"Alchara, the Dreaming Goddess, and Laevian were involved in the lines of succession. Each King had to be approved by both of them. As it turned out, Alchara had plans to unify the flights under one leader. She created a breeding program, intent on gaining the powers of all three dragons. Eventually, she succeeded. She produced a dragon with the bloodlines of all three royal families."

"Royal families?" asked Relma. "I thought you rotated kings." This sounded a little sick.

"Well, yes," said Wrynncurth. "Traditionally, the next King would mate with one of the children of his predecessor. This ensured they had only one core bloodline.

"Anyway, Alchara managed to maneuver her new creature into a position of power. He was made King of both the Gold and the Red flights. However, Smyngoth convinced his fellow silver dragons to defy Alchara. They maintained their independence."

"Wait, you just said that Smyngoth was a black dragon," said Relma.

"He was silver at the time," said Wrynncurth. "At any rate, Alchara can't stand things that aren't under her control. So she started trying to pressure the silvers into yielding control to her. In the process, her creature extended his tenure over red and gold flights. Several times, actually.

"This got some of the reds and golds mad. And Smyngoth made plans with them to overthrow the King of All Dragons, as he named himself."

"How did that work out?" asked Relma.

"Well, it was a complicated and messy business, to be sure," said Wrynncurth. "You remember the era for your own heroes part in it. Anoa the Bright was Elranor's champion."

"How did Elranor fit into things?" asked Relma.

"Well, Elranor was part of an elaborate series of alliances," said Wrynncurth. "One of many. Nice enough, chap. At the time, no one expected him to amount to much. Championing hairless apes and all that.

"But his policy has been vindicated by history.

"There was a vast war. Both sides were decimated. The high elf empires fell, while the dust elves were severely weakened. The goblins were exterminated. Humans became the dominant power by breeding faster. Then, of course, the satyrs came out of the woodwork, and there were a series of other conflicts.

"One war leads to another, as they say."

"But what has this got to do with you being smaller?" asked Relma.

"Well, Smyngoth killed the King of All Dragons," said Wrynncurth. "And then, to ensure that nothing like this ever happened again, he killed all his children. Then, he tried to exterminate the red and golden royal families. It was a nasty business, but it had to be done to foil Alchara's plans.

"Anyway, Alchara was always a sore loser. And a sore winner. She cursed Smyngoth and all his offspring to become shadows of what we once were. Smaller, weaker, and no longer beautiful. By Alchara's standards anyway, beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"So you were a silver dragon once?" asked Relma.

"Gracious no," said Wrynncurth. "All the original children of Smyngoth are long since dead. They didn't survive the transformation. I was his youngest. Alchara made it easy on me."

"Why was that?" asked Relma.

"Oh, the usual sort of sadism," said Wrynncurth. "She wanted someone to live as an eternal reminder of Smyngoth's folly. Rather, it didn't work out for her. It must make her furious seeing the black flight repopulated.

"And what did the Dreaming Goddess and Laevian do about this?" asked Relma.

"Oh, well, the Dreaming Goddess was taken out of the picture to save the High Elven race," said Wrynncurth. "Rather a waste. And she'd never been as strong as Alchara or Laevian. Laevian had been losing ground for years and threw in with Elranor.

"Worked out rather well for her."

"Who was your mother?" asked Relma.

"I didn't have one," said Wrynncurth. "We dragons produce eggs on our own, without needing a mate. Smyngoth taught me many spells. And my brothers and sisters as well." He paused.

"You said the dragon flight kings mated with their predecessor's children," said Relma.

"Well, yes," said Wrynncurth, "a mate is a good thing to have. It allows you to take the strengths of another dragon and add them to your own in your children. If you produce eggs without mating, the result will probably be weaker than yourself.

"Though we black dragons don't produce eggs at all. Alchara ensured I could not have children. Or she tried to.

"My children were created by spellwork. As my brothers and sisters died, I trapped their souls in gems. I then used the life force of thousands of animals to create their bodies. Then, I implanted the souls of my brothers and sisters into them. Of course, the bodies were a bit unstable; holding a soul is tricky.

"So I tied the soul to precious metals. Gold is the best. Thus, I could recreate my family in a new form."

"So you're a necromancer," said Relma. She didn't know which one was more terrifying. What Wrynncurth had done, or a matter of fact, the cheerful way he talked about it.

"Well, I suppose one could consider us undead," said Wrynncurth. "I don't like putting magic into different categories. And if you must, the Magicora method has the most weight." He stopped.

"What's the Magicora method?" asked Relma.

"According to the mages of Magicora, there are three schools of magic," said Wrynncurth. "Demonic, divine, and spiritual. Demonic power comes from pacts demons. The power of the divine is bestowed on a person by the gods. Spiritual magic requires an understanding of spirits.

"What I do is technically demonic. But it also has aspects of the spiritual."

"Don't you think," Relma paused as she considered how politely put it? "Wouldn't it have been kinder to let your brothers and sisters be reincarnated?"

"I could," said Wrynncurth. "But then I would have given Alchara the satisfaction of winning. And it would have accepted god's verdict. And I shall do neither, even if I would be better off."

"So you're motivated by spite then," said Relma.

"Exactly!" said Wrynncurth. "Arengeth believes that great evil comes about because of dark lords on high thrones. But I think that the real thing that causes excellent evil is simpler.

"Petty acts of meanness that sew hatred and discord. Tiny seeds that grow into the end of whole civilizations.

"Alchara wanted to end Father's bloodline. But we have persevered. We have done away with the shackles of reincarnation and created our own cycle of rebirth. We have cast aside the limitations set upon us by the gods and become our own gods.

"We have achieved mastery over the physical. Soon, we shall ascend beyond that. The secrets of the soul shall be laid bare. Thus, I will find a way to create souls! Then, nothing shall be beyond us!

"The black dragons shall spread across every nation, every plane of existence! Every world shall be populated! Every knee shall bow! None shall be beyond our reach!

"And once we may create souls, we will have the power to destroy them! The elven gods shall die, a second and permanent death beyond the recall of all magic! Even their place in the past shall be gone! All shall bow before Smyngoth! Smyngoth Spellweaver! Smyngoth is a maker of languages! SMYNGOTH THE ETERNAL!!"

The roar of Wrynncurth was deafening. Relma nearly lost her grip on the spines as darkness fell over the world.

"Still, that's all very long-term," said Wrynncurth. "Our population has an upward limit. We can only have as many black dragons as I had family members."

"If you can't create new souls, how can you outnumber the other flights?" asked Relma. Wrynncurth was obviously far less sane than he appeared.

"Well, I had many brothers and sisters," said Wrynncurth. "And the reds have deliberately controlled their own population. So they only have more children to replace losses or to set up as the Lord of a new region. Or at least that's what they were doing the last time I chatted with Vanessa. Though that was over a thousand years ago.

"Meanwhile, the golds are far, far to the east. Most of them were wiped out. Actually, there was only one left when Smyngoth was through with them. Father always loathed the species. "They've been building their way back to a sustainable population. But they won't outnumber us for a long time yet. And by then, it will be too late to stop us. So when Father comes out of the mountain, he'll see his children the greatest of all flights."

"Why did he raise the mountain over himself anyway?" asked Relma.

"Much like myself, Father was in constant agony because of the curse," said Wrynncurth. "I have lived with it most of my days, and my children have lived with it as long as they existed. So we need to find out the difference. But he was pained.

"I believe he stayed where he was until he could ensure his line would not die out. Then he went into his slumber. Someday, however, he will rise again and bring about the end of Alchara. "I hope I'm there."

Suddenly, Wrynncurth dove downwards, beating his wings. Below them, Relma now saw Gel Carn. The castle shifted somewhat. It now looked more forlorn. Less significant. The forest was still below them, but Wrynncurth flew downwards and landed by the eaves. Some of the trees were burnt and charred.

"This is horrible," said Relma.

"Oh, forest fires happen now and again," said Wrynncurth. "No sense in showing concern once you're out of the blaze.

"At any rate, here is where I will set you down. Going any further in will be risking the arrows of the men of Gel Carn. There is a fortified village over there you can no doubt gain further directions from." He motioned with one wing as they got off.

Sure enough, there was a village. It was surrounded by a palisade of stakes, and several men had bows on it. Yet no alarm had been sounded. Wrynncurth had slipped down here, within walking distance of the village at night. And no one had even noticed.

Relma shuddered to think what might happen if he went to war. He could have burned that whole village in moments. Or could Aunt Pan and Aren stop them?

"Thank you, Adrian," said Relma. "Thank you so much."

"Oh, no trouble at all, my dear," said Wrynncurth. "It will be a shame if it comes to war. I may accidentally burn you with acid. Farewell."

Then he took to the skies and flew away with marvelous speed.

Estela was shuddering, and Ronald looked less than enthusiastic. Relma looked at them. "Why don't you guys cheer up? We got home, didn't we?"

"Shut up," said Estela. "That sword was a gift from my father."

"And I borrowed the other from the armory," said Ronald.

"Can we just get to safety?" asked Relma. "Ajax might still be prowling around."

They walked toward the village in stony silence.