The next morning, the soldier and the swiftest horse were gone. Ivan sniffed the trail. "He's gone ahead to inform on us. Maybe Petrov will make him a rat."

The trip home passed quietly, except for the nightmares that woke Ivan up in Liet's arms. "Will he understand?" he said, when she tried to comfort him. The Dragonlord was not kind or generous.

Liet nuzzled his shoulder and brushed her nose through soft fur. "He wants what's best for everyone. We'll make him see."

Ivan shuddered. He forced away thoughts of the Dragonlord towering over him, and focused his mind and hands on Liet.

#

Cold wind and the scent of forges. Ivan saw Bogatyr by night as a fuming mountain, pushing up from the world and glowing with smoke and steel. The city walls were a little higher now. The people were building them with love and enthusiasm for Petrov, their master.

Vladimir questioned Liet and Ivan in his office. The next evening, the Dragonlord sent for them.

The two wolves walked the last mile up the trail. Petrov waited in the cliffside cave, lighting it with the red glow between his scales. Alexi was there as though she had never moved. Petrov said, "Tell your story." His tailtip shined like a branding iron.

Liet did. Ivan added, "We've expanded your control over the region."

The forge-dragon's head loomed closer. "I believe I told you to burn."

Liet said, "Yes, sir. But we obtained horses from the towns, won goodwill from most of them, and showed your power at the last. Killing people wouldn't have accomplished anything at that point."

Ivan thought of the elite order he'd joined. "Sir, the Black Riders have the potential to be known as heroes or villains. The people have begun to tell tales about us already, to call us Beast Tsars and to say we command magic in the name of a mighty lord. So far we've done what we can to make that legend a pleasant one."

The Dragonlord shouted, "Fool!" Flames licked around his muzzle. Ivan felt the wash of heat and the scent of embers. He stood very still. Petrov said, "I have a plan. I made the Black Riders to be a weapon, one that brings benefits to the obedient and horror to those who defy me. I made you wolves, not rabbits!"

Ivan found himself panting. He and Liet stank of fear already. "It was my decision not to burn the town." He looked to Alexi; he would not blame her for protecting the innocent.

Petrov said, "Oh. You're defending your partner. How touching. I'm also told that you let a man go."

Ivan shuddered, thinking of the thief who tried to flee. "Also my decision. We don't want to force people --"

A massive forefoot slammed Ivan sideways into the stone wall. Ivan heard Liet shriek somewhere amid the whirl of pain. Petrov gouged his chest with one claw and flipped him over to land on his back. Ivan stared up at the burning eyes. Petrov said, "You dare tell me what I want?" The head loomed closer, and the voice grew louder until it began to burn Ivan's fur. "What did you think I meant when I said you're mine?!"

Ivan tried to speak, but the breath had been slammed from his lungs and he could only rasp. Petrov looked to one side at Liet. "Heal him."

The white wolf rushed to Ivan's side and put her glowing hands against his fur. She whispered words of comfort. Ivan gradually felt the world focus again, though his skin still smoldered and the molten eyes were judging him. Ivan managed to breathe and say, "My lord. There was no point in changing him. He said no."

"Of course there was! If a man signs his life over to me, I want him without caveat or exception. I don't rent souls. What do you care what he wanted, when you had already decided he should be a horse? Speak!"

Ivan feared to answer, but those eyes wouldn't let him go. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry? So, next time, if I tell you to find ten children and tear their guts out for reasons of my own, you will do it without complaint?"

Ivan felt the weight of Petrov's claws, and the hellish scent of the dragon's breath. Petrov's forces had only asked one little favor from him at first, and then a little more and a little more. That road would go on forever to depths beyond the sight of mortal men. "Not to tell you your business, sir, but is this what you want? To have your tale be one of horror and slaughter and tyranny?"

In answer, Petrov's claws stabbed Ivan through a lung. He felt his chest collapse and his muscles shudder. The dragon shouted, "I am right! I will give people what's best for them, even if I have to beat them into accepting it!" Ivan was too fascinated by the bright blood welling from him to have an answer. Petrov flung Ivan in the direction of Alexi and said, "I broke my toy again. Fix him."

Ivan tumbled and crashed onto black stone. He saw the white dragon woman over him now, like the moon after the cruel sun. Visions flashed before him of a glorious dragon queen who smiled at her subjects. Then, instead, he saw the truth. There was a kind and wise woman, gifted with power, who stood behind her brother and tried to mitigate evil. To make poison more palatable, to shift guilt onto her own shoulders, to explain why rape and oppression and murder were all for the best. He glared up at the dragoness who even now reached to magically heal his wounds. With what little breath was left in him, he said, "You could've been a hero."

Alexi hesitated, giving Ivan a look that made him want to weep. She knew, and she was trapped here forever as the Devil's kindly mistress. She said, "You, too."

A laugh ripped through Ivan, sending blood out from his mouth. He could have refused to murder poor Laika, but instead he'd begun to make excuses himself, to make the Dragonlord's demands a little less cruel. Worse, he was someone who'd had a choice. Unlike the peasants whose first contact with the Opritchnina was a gang of wolves announcing how things would be. He couldn't stop the shuddering, hysterical laughter now even though it would kill him.

"What's so funny?" demanded Petrov. "Fix him, Alexi. I want your hands on him."

Of course he did. Fire and darkness danced at the edges of Ivan's vision. What fun was torturing a man without making your allies participate, without making sure their souls were stained too?

The dragons spun above him. The white dragon whispered: "Submit. Give him what he wants. Then you can work within his system." Her spells were beginning to patch up his shattered chest and refill his lungs with liquid flame.

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Ivan gave the scream of a dying man, and pathetically swung his hand to slap the dragoness' face. It couldn't harm her, but it made her misery a little more unbearable. Good; maybe someday she'd stop bearing it. She stared at him in shock, then returned to healing him. Her witchcraft felt better this time as it flowed through him, mending. Lying on the hot stone floor still hurt. Reluctantly, because it made lightning seem to stab all through him, Ivan staggered to his feet. Why not stand? It might damn him a little less than kneeling.

"Did I tell you to stand?" said Petrov behind him. Ivan turned slowly, aching, and saw sparks drip from the Dragonlord's iron-black jaws.

Ivan reeled and laughed deliriously. He saw silver trails in his vision whenever he moved. What would it be this time? Ivan saw Petrov's blazing tailtip ready to brand him. He backed away, holding up his hands.

Petrov said, "You're not whimpering like a puppy. That means you're tough enough to still be useful, if you understand. Liet, what did I give you?"

The white wolf edged away from him. "A new body and a new life."

"And what do you owe me?"

She hung her head. "My life."

Like a patient teacher, Petrov smiled at Ivan. The smile glowed with flame. "I help people, and in return they obey. She understands. Do you? I won't really tell you to slaughter children."

Petrov would, as his very next order. Ivan found it easy now to see the road he'd been following, and where it led. The echo of the healing magic and his own dazed vision left blurs around his hands.

It was better to die running from that, than to bow down to it. He dashed right past the dragon. He saw massive claws swipe at him, and he dived -- onto all fours, shifting to his animal form without meaning to. He felt even faster now. Having a dragon behind him was encouragement. Petrov raged, "Get back here! You're mine! You promised!" Ivan risked a backward glance and saw Petrov stomping his forefeet like a spoiled child.

Ivan was outside now, suddenly cold. The moon rode high over Bogatyr. Silver light streamed down onto the city of red forges. He wasn't thinking clearly, but there had to be someplace to hide. He hurried toward the nearest firelight, like ancient wolves who'd made a bargain with men to become dogs. A massive smithy stood out below. He hurried down the trail toward the complex of buildings, to where he might hide.

A shadow passed across the moon. The burning dragon was in the air, screaming obscenities at the heavens. Ivan prayed that he wouldn't be spotted. But his paws seemed to make splashes of moonlight wherever he ran, and the foundry building was drawing closer with more speed than ought to be possible. Even when he tripped and tumbled down the mountainside, he landed on his feet. "Alexi?" he thought. "Did you do something to me?"

A guardhouse. A soldier jumped to his feet and stared. Ivan swerved past him toward the main building that towered over him. He could smell the burning of coal and ore inside. And above!

Just in time, Ivan sprang to one side. The Dragonlord's flaming breath rained down close enough to singe his whiskers, yet the rippling hellish air didn't hurt him. He yipped. Petrov had grazed the rooftop of his own forge with his claws. A chimney toppled and vomited dark smoke across the heavens. Ivan felt the ground shake when it hit. He grinned, getting an idea. The Dragonlord was clumsy about what he destroyed.

Ivan searched for a way up to the forge's roof, and found loose piles of bricks to climb. He shifted back to his human-like form so he could scurry up a pipe. Then he was standing on top of the Dragonlord's forge, just in time to see its owner coming for him.

The Dragonlord filled the sky with his own spiderweb pattern of flame-cracked scales. There could be no stars, there could be nothing at all, existing outside of his control if he could help it. After all, he knew what was best. There would be fire again, a single-minded strike. Ivan decided to welcome it. He gestured at Petrov and shouted, "Come down, lord of dogs!"

Petrov did. First was the fire that splashed everywhere and set the roof alight. Ivan felt that it was falling slowly. Ivan leaped and dodged and seemed to dance on the flames. Then came the dragon himself, and there would be no dodging that. Ivan moved to the roof's edge, quick as moonlight on water. Only the great burning wings struck him. They sent him tumbling, clawing at the building. Everything shredded under the tons of Petrov's bulk. Chains hung everywhere. Ivan seized one and swung toward the floor. A gigantic vat of molten metal filled much of the forge, and Petrov slammed into it. The impact rang so loud that Ivan whimpered.

Liquid steel sprayed in droplets from the dragon's wings. Some of it was what passed for his blood. Ivan heard outraged demands from Petrov, over the hiss of spilled metal. The few workers here screamed and fled from the glowing, deadly tide. The walls had caught fire. Petrov's wings were cracked and torn, but he still lived. Ivan found a gaping hole in the walls, and vanished into the night before his former master could follow.

His body still shined with silver on dark fur. The light was fading now to more subtle accents, a hint of new magic granted to him by the Dragonlord's sister. His steps were long and his eyes and ears keen. All around him, the people of Bogatyr were waking to a night of destruction. Who dared harm the Dragonlord's forges, his plans for war and domination? For the moment, no one could see Ivan. No one but the white dragon wheeling in the sky.

#

Throughout the Opritchnina and the lands beyond, stories grew about the Black Riders, who brought people to their mighty lord's embrace. More quietly, the tale of Ivan spread. He moved in the shadows beneath the reach of black wings. By word and deed he was said to whisper to the people. "You need not submit. He can be beaten. He must be beaten. Strike your master and run!" He had found purpose in this thankless work, perhaps redemption. But his heart was not glad until months later, when he learned that his words had touched a single soul. She came to him as a white wolf whose paws made splashes of moonlight when she walked, and they embraced.

The End