1

I sat up, feeling stiff with no idea of what happened. Then I remembered: the battle with the Crimson Walker! I tried to open my eyes. Nothing changed. Heart beating faster, I attempted to peel them apart. 'Are the lids covered by mucus?' Horrified, I found they were not. I was blind. I knelt in a bed, and rose to my feet. I took a single step, and fell to the hard stone floor. Dazed, I cried out in pain and shock, bringing running feet. Strong, soft hands lifted me up off the ground and back into the bed.

"Try to be more careful, Master Blake," a deep, masculine voice said.

I sat up and demanded, "Who are you? Where am I?"

"You're in the infirmary. I am Healer Tonlin. I have only arrived today from out in the farm lands. A mysterious illness is blazing through those in the outlying farmsteads."

I frowned, having forgotten my distress for a moment due to this intriguing puzzle, "What are the symptoms?"

"Abdominal pain, cramps, and frequent passage of watery diarrhea containing blood and mucus."

Surprised, I said, "That sounds like dysentery, a disease which also exists on my world."

"Can you name any cures?" Hope filled his voice.

"No. However, I am aware of a treatment." I shifted on the bed. "Make sure your patients drink a lot of clean water, mixed with small amounts of sugar and salt, and eat rice and dry bread. The mixture is to replace what they lose. The grain will help clear things up, and the provender enables them to rebuild their strength."

A long pause. I could almost hear Tonlin thinking whether or not to trust me. "Those are new to me. I'm willing to try anything that aids my patients."

I nodded and leaned back against the headboard. I closed my useless orbs. After several moments, he rose and prepared to leave. "Healer. Would you tell me what might be wrong with my eyes?"

"Yes."

I waited.

"They are gone."

'Well... fuck.'   

2

I awoke some time later when someone sat on the edge of the bed, and a familiar voice spoke.

"At last, you are awake. I am glad, Carter," said Lady Orwen.

"Thank you, Milady."

"Open your mouth. Time for you to eat."

I obeyed, and after three swallows of a rich broth, asked, "Milady, what happened to my eyeballs?"

She sat in silence.

"Milady?"

Her gown rustled as she shifted to answer, "Carter, your eyes were burned out by the power released by the Angel and Walker as they battled. By a miracle you still live. Anyone else who looked at Azriel's true form would be dead."

I struggled to keep from freaking out about not being able to see. I did not want to cry in front of this woman. I didn't want her to think of me as a child. Yes, I had a huge crush on her, shut up and stop laughing at me.

"Milady, what happened?"

"Azriel took the eldritch monstrosity to a place where no one else would be injured during their battle. After many days, he managed to lock it away once more."

"He didn't destroy the thing?" I asked incredulous, and then added, "Wait. Many days?"

The Lady laughed hard. When her merriment faded, she said, "Walkers cannot be annihilated. Even by one as powerful as Azriel. You've been unconscious for over a week."

My jaw dropped. I don't know which startled me more. The fact a Crimson Walker couldn't be eliminated or I'd been out for so long. Taking advantage of my open mouth, Lady Orwen spooned in broth. I swallowed, and spoke again.

"What are Crimson Walkers if an angel isn't able to destroy them?"

"They are an 'Engine of the End.' They are a sign of the apocalypse, though a powerful wizard can sometimes raise one to be an assassin."

I pondered that for a bit. I changed the subject. "Milady, what is Azriel?"

I heard the smile in her voice as she answered. "My greatest champion and the right hand of Azerith."

'Wow.' Azerith was one of the most powerful deities of BattleHammer, and did not interfere often. I didn't know he had any active angels.

"I wish to thank you for covering me. That was a kindness, as well as an act of uncommon valor."

My face stretched into a smile. "No need for thanks, Milady," I said. "I deemed it an honor to do so."

'Ugh.' I gave myself a mental forehead slap. 'The fuck? Deemed it an honor to do so? Am I a 15th century samurai? Not smooth.' She laughed.

Eager to change the subject, I asked, "What happened to your clothes earlier?"

"Due to the sortilege I used, and the power and purity of channeling Azriel, they disintegrated."

"Wow," I breathed. "Strong magic." I paused as another thought occurred to me. "Wait a minute, aren't you a Warpriest of Kellün? Why is an angel of Azerith your greatest champion?"

"I don't understand Azriel's guardianship. It is said he appeared to Father when I was born. Sages have been consulted for years to discover answers, but they have found none."

"Hunh," I grunted. "Any idea about why I'm here?"

"All I know is you are our only hope. Mordecai accessed oracles and they confirm it."

That was a scary thought. I had no clue how to help these people. I couldn't even fight!

"How are Lord Mordecai and Master Angriz?" I asked to change the subject again.

"Angriz is now caged."

"What?!" I cried with disbelief. "Why?"

"The taste of an intelligent being's blood affects his mind. He is," she paused and sighed, "Crazed. Mordecai restrained him before anyone was injured, or worse, killed. Angriz is imprisoned until he can be purified."

"What do you mean?" I leaned forward with caution. I didn't wish to fall again.

"Prayer is to be said over him throughout the night. When the dawn's first rays touch him, the light will burn through him, purging the taint from his body. It is unfortunate, but all memories of who he was won't exist anymore."

"What shall become of him?"

"He'll be released outside the city to make his way however he is able," she said.

"And his chances of survival?"

"Without any knowledge of his past?" She paused to think. "Likely, none at all."

"How could you do that to him?" I demanded. "He saved a lot of people!"

She hesitated. "Carter... he ate Father's body!" Her voice cracked.

As she cried, my heart broke a little. I pulled her close and gave her a shoulder to cry on. She clung hard as she sobbed.

Someone entered the room.

"Peels," they said.

The last things I was aware of were soup soaking into my crotch, and Lady Orwen collapsing on me. 

3

Two weeks passed before I received any news about the princess. Someone took her.

I was startled to discover how much people rely on sight to act. We look at so many things in our lives, and yet, we don't observe them. I came to realize what we didn't see tripped us up, in the literal sense, as well as the figurative one. Hell, before I lost my eyes, I traveled everywhere without even thinking. Now, I discovered myself always considering each step: the end of the bed I used sat sixteen and a half steps from the doorway, the armoire thirty-three paces. To arrive from the bedstead, I only had to travel nineteen. The first time I tried to find the desk, I banged my knee on the seat of its chair which was the same distance. The fireplace and chairs, I found with ease: I hit the mantle above the hearth chest first. I wound up stumbling back into one of the two seats. They were fifty-one steps from the four-poster. I didn't know the precise location of the bookcase. To tell the truth, I could go without knowing. I wasn't about to walk into the bloody thing, nor would I be reading anytime soon. I still decided to find the shelf. The placement was an unknown. I don't care for unknowns.

A throat cleared behind me. I turned to face the sound, empty eye sockets covered by a thin strip of cloth. I didn't want to make anyone sick. "Yes?"

"My friend," Mordecai began. "I am so sorry for—"

"Enough! Where have you been?" I felt feverish, breathing short and shallow, skin tingled as sweat formed, then rolled. 'Calm down,' I ordered myself. That ever work for you? Me either.

"Attempting to find some trace of Lady Orwen." He exhaled. "I have not been successful."

I grunted. "Alright. How do I get my eyes back? Is that possible?"

He sighed again. "I'm afraid I don't possess the knowledge."

"What the hell, Mordecai?!" Arms crossed, I scowled in his general direction.

"I'm sor—," he began.

"How can you not?" I interrupted through gritted teeth.

"I'm not all-know—" He said.

"Aren't you a wizard?" I continued to interrupt, muscles jumping and tensing.

"My friend—" He tried again.

"Don't even start, you fraud! You rip me from my home, asking for my help, I might add. I'm attacked by some monster and get blinded!" I tore away the cloth, revealing empty eye sockets. "You tell me you don't know if I'll ever see again?" I shouted, jamming my finger in his general direction, feet planted wide. My pulse roared. I wanted to punch the most powerful wizard in the Realm. "How dare you call me your friend?"

He growled as I fell silent. He took a deep breath.

"Are you finished?" His voice was soft.

Anger still boiled, but the rumble spooked me enough I decided to bite my tongue. "For now."

He waited for a bit. "I tried to help you," he said. I gave a snort of derision. "I have. Disbelieve all you must, but that is a fact. I made an unsettling discovery."

That piqued my interest enough to ask. "What?"

His robes rustled as he crossed the room. Mordecai pushed me back on the bed, and sat next to me. The bedstead sank deep beneath his weight. He gripped my shoulders. I guessed he was looking into my eyes, or at least, where they used to be.

"My friend, you are immune to the magic of this world."

I sat in stunned silence. I would be blind forever.

4

I walked the castle grounds with care, concentrating on how to move without my sight. Seeing-eye dogs and white canes didn't exist here. A couple of steps behind me, came the heavy tread of the bodyguard assigned to me. I hadn't bothered to learn his name.

I walked in silence, the sounds of birds singing in the trees, the gentle breeze wandering through the grass, and the smooth conversation of a nearby river flowed over my mind. Wrapped up in my thoughts, I almost missed these things.

'What are we going to do?' I thought.

'Continue on, dummy,' I answered myself.

'We're fucking blind!'

'Big deal! We can still think! Maybe that is how we are meant to help.'

'Fine. Now, about Lady Orwen.'

'We just met her.'

'She's treated us better than any woman ever has from our first meeting. Other women waited until we made ourselves useful.'

'Good point. So? The plan?'

'I don't know.'

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Thus my thoughts went, over and over. At times, I wondered if events had driven me crazy. A light touch on the shoulder made me pause.

"Lord Blake," the bodyguard said.

"Yes?"

"We are at the river's edge. A bridge is several paces to your right, milord."

"Thank you."

With that, I turned ninety degrees in the specified direction, and took eight calculated steps. Even without sight, I sensed the subtle change in sound and wind temperature that indicated I was next to the bridge. I rotated left and stepped on the connection with care. I felt the cobblestones through the thin leather soles of my new BattleHammer shoes. I counted my steps as we crossed. When the sound changed and the sensation of the ground differed, I ceased counting and came to a halt. Seven hundred forty-eight paces. 'I cover around a meter with each stride. This means the span is about 683.97 meters from one side to the other.' The calculations served to distract me from being blind; at least for a while.

I resumed hiking, hearing the crunch of hard packed earth beneath my feet. I noticed the birds had stopped their twittering. Somewhere ahead, I caught the hot coppery scent of lifeblood. I came to a stop and signaled the bodyguard forward. He stepped to my side and I signed for silence.

"Yes, milord?" He whispered.

"I smell blood up ahead," I breathed.

A faint hiss as he drew his sword. He bade me to wait and crept along the path. An unknown amount of time passed. Then, an ungodly cry and my guardian screamed in anger. The ire became a shriek of agony. Running footsteps came.

"Run, milord!" He shouted. "Werewolf!"

Before I could respond, I perceived what my nose told me was the metallic odor of blood, splashing upon the ground. A sudden rush of air and a light thud indicated something landed near me. I no longer detected my bodyguard's footsteps. I assumed he was dead.

The howl I'd sensed moments before erupted again, closer now. A rush of pounding feet as the creature raced towards me. Adrenaline dumped into me as I prepared to die. Off to my left, I swear Godzilla roared. A wave of intense heat flashed past. The werewolf bellowed in pain. I scented burning hair and roasting flesh, as the monster was consumed by the inferno. Overwhelmed by sound and odor, I dropped and vomited. When I had no more to disgorge, I sat back on my heels, and listened, intent on gauging my surroundings. Snuffled breathing sounded in front of me. I stood, movements tentative, and reached towards its source.

"I don't know who you are, but thank you for saving me," I said.

I touched a scaled muzzle with long whiskers. The scales were like small interlocked plates. Hot, sulfurous breath caressed my face.

"Angriz?" I asked in a low voice. 'I so hope I'm not wrong.'

The creature crackled and I caught a brief whiff of ozone. A sudden gust of wind slammed into me from behind. From all around came a burst of energy like thunder, but without sound.

Then, "Carter?"

"Yes."

"What happened? Last thing I remember, we were being attacked by the Crimson Walker."

"Well, the Walker flipped a guard's bloody head into your mouth. An angel named Azriel locked the it away. I became blinded. Lady Orwen was abducted two weeks ago and you were banished as a mindless beast."

Angriz growled his displeasure. "That explains the blankness. How was I saved? When the blood of an intelligent being touches the tongue of a half-dragon, we are rendered senseless; wild and volatile. Nothing has ever brought one back from Bloodtaste before."

I shrugged. "All I know is: my bodyguard and I were walking along the castle grounds. As you may imagine, I was making some attempts to deal with my blindness and the fact that I'd be this way forever," I paused. The memory stung. "Anyway, after we crossed the bridge, I recognized the metallic scent of blood. I informed my guard and he had me wait, while he investigated. I think he went into the woods and was attacked. He ran back to warn me and was killed moments after. I was to be next, but you incinerated the thing before then. You approached me, and I reached out and touched your face."

I said the last part, and we burst out laughing. He had a pleasant guffaw, not at all what I'd expected, more melodious than rasping. We laughed long and hard as the giddy might after finding themselves safe from a dire threat. Our amusement died away, and his large clawed hand grasped my shoulder.

"Carter, I have no way to repay you for what you've given me. Words of thanks are inadequate." He paused. "Come with me, I know of one who might help you regain your sight."

"Mordecai said I'm immune to the magic of this world."

Angriz snorted, "Lord Mordecai isn't aware of everything, powerful as he is. A Weirdling lives a few days from here. She does not deal with Rakshasha or wizards. She only deals with those of dragon blood. Also, she may be able to tell us where Lady Orwen might be."

"Alright," I said. "I suppose we should return to the castle and let everyone know we're leaving."

"That wouldn't be good. None ever came back from the Bloodtaste before. You must understand, they'd kill me without hesitation."

"Fair point. Let's go then."

I can't say why I chose to trust and follow him at that juncture; maybe because he gave me the hope of being able to see again. Maybe it was a way to piss off Mordecai for tearing me from my home. Petty? Good chance of that. I didn't care, if so. The wizard's choice caused me to tear me from my home ended with me blind.

Without further words, Angriz took my wrist and led me into the woods. I sensed the transition from bright, warm sunlight to cool shade as we passed under the forest canopy. I perceived the soft swish of grass; I smelled the musty, damp scent of trees—pines, cedars and soon, willows. Life in the woodland became accustomed to our presence and resumed their usual activities: the thrum of the woodpecker as he hunted his dinner and the skitter of clawed toes as squirrels chased each other through the trees. In the distance, beavers chewed on trunks of pines as they built their dams. I both smelled and heard the brook as it meandered by the path, a small splash as a fish leaped into the air and fell back. I was delighted and amazed at all I was able to distinguish. For a city boy like me, it was wonderful, because I'd never spent any time outdoors. The adage about losing one of your senses and having another sharpen seemed to be true.

After hours of travel, we stopped for the night. Angriz gathered wood, explaining that he would build a fire once he finished getting camp set up. I didn't want to be a burden, or to feel helpless, so I began to gather the deadfall into a pile for the blaze. My fingers became host to many splinters, and I cursed each that punctured me.

When Angriz returned, he gave a gentle laugh as he pulled them out for me. "Thank you for your efforts, but you should have waited. The splinters would not penetrate my scales."

I growled in response. Within moments, he had a warm bonfire going. I listened as he prepared his kills. Soon after, the tantalizing aroma of dinner roasting made my mouth water.

I felt him wrap my fingers around something rough and rounded.

"What's this?"

"A sword. I will begin teaching you how to use and care for your new blade tomorrow."

"A blind swordsman?"

"Have faith, my friend. You will not be sightless for too much longer."

Angriz handed me a cold metal cup filled with icy water from the brook.

"What were you like as a kid, Angriz?" I sipped from the chalice.

The log I'd been leaning against shifted when he sat. Angriz took a deep breath. I wondered what expression crossed his face.

"My earliest memories," he began, "are of laughter and happiness. My parents loved each other and me a lot. Father was a ranger. His job was to track and capture deadly animals and villains, to keep our village safe. Mother was the community teacher. She taught all children how to read, write and do numbers.

"Though both were important to the community, our home had been built near the outskirts. We had a sheltered area nearby which allowed Father to transform to his true shape, hidden from prying eyes. One of my fondest childhood memories was flying through the air on his broad back.

"The first time I witnessed his transformation, I was only eight summers. Rumors of a red dragon lairing nearby had my father away almost all the time. I was playing with friends when I noticed it was near dusk. I bade them farewell, and trudged toward home."

Angriz hesitated a moment. I heard his breathing change as he visualized whatever he was about to tell me. "Not far from our abode, I knew something wasn't right. Smoke should have curled from the chimney as Mother cooked dinner. On that day, none rose to the sky. I sprang into a run. I quickened my pace as I spotted the door dangling from a hinge. Blood traced a delicate path along the grain of the portico down the front. I flew into our home and... saw..."

Pain and sorrow hung in his voice which had dropped to a thick, husky whisper. I had goose bumps both from anticipation of what I imagined would be a hideous sight, and from sympathy for his distress. After several moments, Angriz took a deep breath, and resumed. 

5

"Mother was unconscious, cradled in Father's arms. Her dress was flung up above her waist, torn and caked in drying blood. Rage and grief churned within me, erupting in an anguished howl that I later learned echoed throughout the countryside and brought the villagers at a run.

"The roar startled my father back to reality. 'Go for the healers!' He cried.

I turned without question and raced back out. I never sprinted so fast before. Before I even got to the main road, I beheld the Elder running beside Healer Smythwick, followed by the rest of the villagers. For the first time, I ignored our Elder and spoke only to Smythwick. 'Come fast,' I shouted. 'My mother is hurt!' Without hesitation, I whirled back to the house. I stopped running as I reentered. Father had by this time covered my mother's nakedness, restoring some semblance of her dignity. I heard footsteps behind me and knew by his scent the Healer had arrived. I was ushered outside with my father while he began examining Mother.

"After what seemed like hours, he emerged from our cottage and reported my magnificent, beautiful mother had been raped and clawed with viciousness. Bites ran down her neck and arms. My father stiffened and bade me wait. He went in to her. I began to search the areas near the door for clues. Most would not have used 'methodical' to describe me any other time, but I was then. I found a red scale as Father came outside once more. I showed it to him and received a curt nod. He looked at the Elder with glowing golden eyes and spoke. 'Watch over Aurora for me until we return,' he ordered.

'Of course, Rhynskald.'

"Father beckoned for me to follow him, and set a brisk pace headed east. He set an incredible pace. About three hundred yards into the woods, he began to transform. First, scales spread over his skin in a spiral pattern. His body lengthened; his limbs bulged as his back grew broader. He dropped so his hands touched the ground. His clothing was ripped to shreds and fell to the earth. Father's fingers and toes sprouted long, sharp claws. His face stretched and broadened, growing a magnificent ridge of horn as his nose and mouth lengthened becoming a maw with huge fangs. The whiskers on his face also grew longer. Tremendous wings burst from his backbone as his neck stretched until it was as long as his body. A tail swept out behind him, thick and sinuous. This wonderful transformation happened in a matter of seconds. I was astonished to behold him as a splendid gold dragon.

"I stared, mouth agape. Father swiveled his huge head around and peered down at me. One melon-size eye blinked closed. He gestured for me to come to him. 'Come, we have a red dragon to hunt.'

"I stepped forward, filled with trepidation. A colossal paw, tipped with massive claws, grasped me. With a swift few steps, my father launched himself into the air."

***

When Angriz paused, I took a moment to divert him from the anguish he must have relived, "Why did your father call you Swenlyn?"

"That was my name at the time," he answered. "We dragons go through different naming processes than others do. We are given one name after hatching, or birth. We receive another at puberty, and one more upon reaching adulthood. Some are named for their deeds, and some by their enemies. Mine was the latter."

I cocked a surprised eyebrow at him. "Why would you carry a name given by an enemy?"

"Because it turned out to be my True Name."

I thought for a second: I'd heard of the significance of them before. I just couldn't remember where. Mental forehead slap: BattleHammer.

"I may be wrong," I began, "But if someone knows your True Name, they have power over you, right?"

"Yes, but only if secret. However, in the open, as mine is, then any True Name spells would backfire against the caster." His smile was clear in his voice.

"Ah, right. Sorry for my interruption. Please continue."

***

"My father flew through the night. His massive paw shielded me from the cold air. As we traveled, I asked about our family. 'Father, does you being a dragon mean that I am one as well?'

"'No, Swenlyn, you are half-dragon. Your mother is human,' he said.

"This provided my next question, 'Why do I look like the other children?'

"'Half-dragons resemble the offspring of their non-draconic parent until adolescence,' he answered. 'That is when your body begins to change. Nothing looks different at first. Then, your scales begin to develop with what appears like a full-body rash which itches like hell.'

"'I won't be able to continue playing with the others, will I?' I asked.

"He sighed, 'As long as they allow it. I'm afraid they will be much like other children I have seen in my travels, and ostracize you. Odds are you will be very lonely, son. However, as you grow, your strength, agility and intelligence will, too. They grow at a much faster rate than anyone's except a pure dragon.' With that he fell silent.

"At last, close to dawn, we came to the Saffron Mountains. We landed on a broad ledge near the summit of Mount Killimin, the highest peak in the range. He released me from his grip and transformed back to the man I knew. Several feet away, a black cave led into the mountain. Father held my eyes for a moment, seeming to find something. He nodded, more to himself than to me.

"'Wait here,' he commanded as he strode into the cave. Hours passed as the sun rose higher into the sky. Too long, he had been gone. The silence, the not-knowing was toying with my imagination and I was considering following him. He would not have tolerated my disobeying him. And yet, if he were in need of me...how could I just stay?

"Much to my relief and horror, the silence was destroyed by a terrific roaring. Inside the mountain, a titanic battle was being waged. Pebbles bounced and tumbled down from above the cavern entrance. Dust thickened the air as the ground shook.

"I dove to one side as a searing wall of flame shot from the opening. My right shoulder took a beating from a sharp rock half buried in the debris. I rubbed the bruised and singed muscle as I rose. Moments later, Father strode out. He was tired, dirty, sweaty and covered in blood. I wondered how much of was his and what amount belonged to the red dragon still inside. His battle-weary eyes locked on mine. For a moment I thought I discerned more than just the father, the warrior I knew him to be: all strength, integrity and discipline. Something else stood looking at me which I did not recognize. He seemed as if he were a king. No, a king of kings. His appearance was at once majestic, yet menacing.

"He beckoned for me and forgetting all else, I ran to congratulate him. He was safe! He'd won. But before I could celebrate, he spoke, wary and tired, 'It's not yet over.' I slid to a stop a foot or two from him. In his hand was an enormous silver greatsword with an intricate filigreed pommel. He offered the hilt to me. Not yet understanding his purpose, I grasped the sword and followed.

"We returned to the cave and walked for a long distance. This was not a single grotto, but a series of immense caverns. The last hollow we entered was breath-taking. The ceiling soared far above our heads. Tiny eyes measured our progress. At any other time, this would have been beautiful; flowstones, rising stalagmites, beautiful curves, nooks, a small stream that was no doubt a tributary to some deep underground lake.

"As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I espied the red dragon lying not far from us. He was huge, but not as big as Father in his draconic form. He lay in a pool of his own green lifeblood. Gore also sprayed over the nearest rocks. Chunks of flesh and scales littered the floor. The red's breathing was quick, shallow and ragged. Father and I drew closer. I detected the crimson dragon's lava-like eye roll to watch us. He tried to get to his feet, but was unable. His tongue rolled out of his mouth and dragged on the cavern floor. Dust clung to it.

'His fate lays in your hands, my son. If you do not choose to finish him, there is a good chance he will survive.' With that, my father turned, and headed outside. I lowered the sword point to the ground at my left side, and I gazed at the Red for some time.

'What is your name?' I asked.

'S-Skor-Skoroth,' he panted.

'Did you rape and torture my mother?'

"He nodded in affirmation.

'Why?'

'For pleasure,' he gasped. 'And because I was paid a sizable sum to torment your family.'

"Furious, I shouted, 'Who? Who funded you?'

Skoroth wheezed out laughter. I did not flinch as a fine spray of blood flew from his mouth, coating my face and chest. 'I'll never tell you, Whelp.'

'What'll you do if I allow you to live?' I demanded through clenched teeth.

"Something he descried in my eyes made him answer thus, 'I will hunt your kinfolk and kill them, my dear... Angriz.'

'Fair enough.'

"He struggled to raise his head and stare at me with surprise and curiosity written on his face. The angle was perfect. I swung the greatsword up and around, decapitating him. I slashed so hard, I spun around several times before I fell over, dropping the sword as I did. The cavern continued to spin and tilt, as I raised my eyes to focus on Skoroth. His head lay under the stump of his neck. A river of blood coated the floor and me. Unable to stop myself, I brought my hand and placed blood-covered fingers into my mouth one at a time until I licked them clean. Spent and weary, I rose to my feet and left Skoroth's lair.

"Father was watching a flock of geese overhead when I exited the cave. I stood beside him, trying to find way to tell him what I had done. Not about killing Skoroth, but tasting and licking his blood from my fingers. Before I opened my mouth, my father said, 'You did the right thing, my son. I am proud of you.'

"His voice seemed to unlock the words I'd been searching for. 'Father, I have tasted his lifeblood. Something inside me, something irresistible caused me to do it.'

'You need not worry about that, Swenlyn,' he reassured me.

'I am Angriz.'

"He turned to look at me with an eyebrow raised. He searched my face, and then nodded in understanding. 'Ah. The red?'

'Yes.'

"He said nothing else. In silence, we stared without seeing. Our eyes focused somewhere other than the surrounding mountains. I imagine that deep within himself my father wrestled with the injuries of Mother, and possibly the wisdom of me embracing the name of Angriz. I was numb. I don't remember thinking of much at all. My outer surroundings and inner thoughts blurred, leaving me unable to focus on anything.

"A little before sunset in the warmth of dusk, Father transformed once again into a gigantic golden dragon. I straddled his back and we flew home. I never did press him for an explanation about tasting Skoroth's blood, thinking we'd discuss it soon enough. But weeks passed into years and my father died before I thought to ask him again."

Angriz fell silent, his tale finished.

"Why did Skoroth call you 'Angriz'?" I asked. I struggled to hide my consternation that the one who raped his mother, the one who had torn his family asunder, the one Angriz had killed had been the one to reveal his True Name.

He shifted and replied in measured tones, "My appellation means both 'Avenger,' and 'Holder of My Fate,' in Draconic."

"How?"

"In the language of dragons, words can have different meanings depending on the way they are used."

"Oh." Then, it occurred to me. "Why didn't you suffer from the Bloodtaste when you tasted Skoroth's blood?"

"I do not know. Many times I have wondered that. Even more so today."