All in all, it was a beautiful day to be flying. The late spring sun chased away any lingering chill, and what little wind there was came from behind. A handful of puffy white clouds were scattered across the skies, promising brief moments of shade but not a hint of storms.

Faelon beat his wings in a slow, steady cadence. Several members of his crew were flying nearby, and he didn't want to leave them behind. Nor was there anywhere he needed to be in a hurry. This was just a patrol.

'A very long patrol.'

One of the nearby dragonettes banked until he was just above and ahead of the young red. He wore light plate armor of the royal guard and the insignia of an officer.

"How are you doing there, Faelon? Do you see anything?"

"I see quite a few things, Lieutenant Taelor. I see trees. I see cliffs. And if I look down, I can even see the ocean."

They were flying just off the edge of a small island, land to their left and empty sky to the right. Small was, of course, relative when it came to islands. This one was still wide enough that Faelon couldn't see the far edge, and his eyes were sharper than any of his crew's. Which was at least partly why the lieutenant had asked the question.

"Good. Good. I have to make a note of that in my report. The major wants to know every detail." Taelor delivered the line with a straight face, but there were laughs from the nearby crew.

Faelon wasn't done yet, though. "Lieutenant, over the course of this deployment, the most exciting thing we have seen was that wind-blown trader over a week ago. There is no sign of brigands. Not even an old fire pit."

"You've been part of the royal guard long enough to know it's not all pitched battles and victory feasts."

"Except this is just a waste." The young red dragon flexed his enormous claws, like he was preparing to dig them into an invisible enemy. "If they have managed to avoid four dragons for over two weeks, they have moved on."

"And maybe when we check in tonight, one of the other groups will have found them." The lieutenant glanced back in the direction of camp. Their half of the wing was operating out of a nearby island, returning every night to check in.

Technically, the pair was supposed to be flying together, but day after day of coming up empty had changed that. Lieutenant Raleigh had certainly been happy enough to take Noya and the rest of her crew on their own patrol. The blue dragon seemed to resent being partnered with a lumbering red, anyway.

"Besides," he continued. "Traders are going missing. Would you rather fly escort through this region for the next decade? Or maybe you want to carry the cargo yourself?"

Faelon snorted. "I would sooner be caught dead than in a trader's harness."

"Then maybe spend more time paying attention to the skies and less time grumbling about your job."

"Grumbling? Is that what you think is grumbling?" Two dragonettes taking a nap on the dragon's back suddenly jerked awake as their ride trembled in a deep, bone rattling rumble. "Now," he said as the noise receded, "that was grumbling."

The dragonettes in their oversized crew laughed, and Lieutenant Taelor smiled and shook his head. "I stand corrected. My mistake."

"How long do we stay out here, then?"

That question came from one of the newer members of his crew. A woman by the name of Naz. From anyone else, it might have sounded like a complaint. Except, her tone didn't sound like she was concerned about the time spent out here on the tail end of beyond.

Faelon recalled hearing her tell stories about her posting to one of the northern fortresses. About the relentless cold that seeped through even the thickest stone and past the fiercest fires. Not being able to fly for months without heat leaking out of wings like blood from a severed limb. And despite protective gear and every precaution, losing a toe to frostbite during her time in the frozen hellscape.

Even on this warm day, she still wore a faded blue woolen scarf. The embroidered birds and deer and dragons were apparently her own work, and she didn't want to give up her favorite accessory just because the weather had taken a turn for the better.

'I can see how she would prefer this, even if it is dull.'

"We stay as long as the lieutenant and the major say we stay," Sergeant Grange called out. "So if you want to sleep in a bed with a roof over it, keep your eyes open!"

"I just want to get away from Faelon's snoring!" another soldier - Jinzin by the sound of it - shouted.

"You are welcome to pitch your tent on the far side of camp."

"I'd have to pitch it on the far side of the island," the private shot back.

More laughter followed and Faelon looked just a little bit dejected. "I do not snore that badly. Do I?"

Lieutenant Taelor came to his rescue. "I think that Jinzin just isn't tired enough to sleep properly. How about an extra watch or two, private?"

"I think I'll be fine, sir!"

"There, see? Not that bad after all."

Faelon snorted, but his eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon. Then he shifted slightly, angling just a little further to the left. His next wing beat was deeper than the last, propelling him forward and forcing the cloud of dragonettes to struggle to match the new pace.

"What's happening?" the lieutenant demanded. "Do you see something?"

"I think..." Faelon was silent for a moment, intent on some point in the distance. Suddenly his lips pulled back, exposing sharp, ivory fangs in a draconic grin. "There are dragonettes out there."

Taelor didn't waste time. "Everyone, get on. Now!" Putting actions to words, he alighted onto the dragon's harness and started hunting through bags.

Had this been a patrol out of some settlement or going into battle against a known foe, Faelon might have worn his armor. The steel plate and mail was horrendously expensive and only protected his vitals, but it could turn a lancer's spear and would even give a few moments of protection against some breath weapons.

It was also heavy, and would slow him to a relative crawl. Reds were already the largest and slowest of the dragons, and he would have been hard pressed to maintain a useful pace for long weighted down like that.

So Faelon wore little more than a leather harness. Just enough to secure the crew’s gear. Tents, rations, cookware, medical supplies, spare weapons, and armor. Everything his oversized crew needed for this mission.

Lieutenant Taelor finally found what he was looking for, withdrawing a stubby cylinder from a padded wooden tube. Lacking any dragonettes with magically enhanced vision, they had been issued a single spyglass. It was far too precious to be used in situations where it might be lost or damaged, but the lieutenant put it to good use then, pointing it along Faelon's neck and towards the distant cliff.

"Where do you see them?" he asked, scanning carefully for anything out of place.

"Do you see the bare point of white rock?"

A moment passed, and then, "I see it."

"Look a scale's breadth further past that. Four dragonettes, flying towards us just above the trees. They are not far from the edge and-"

"I see them," Taelor declared. "Very good eyes."

"Traders, maybe?" Sergeant Grange asked. "Or wildlings?"

"Could be traders, but I think I see a glimmer of armor."

"They are definitely armored," Faelon confirmed. With the crew fully embarked, he was increasing his speed. Reds might not be fast, but there wasn't a dragonette alive who could hope to match one in a long, level flight.

"Circle wide and get some altitude," Lieutenant Taelor ordered. "The edge of this island is pretty jagged. I don't want them ducking out of sight around some cliff."

Without a word, Faelon obeyed, banking to the right and angling upwards. At this distance, even a dragon would be difficult to spot, although his crimson hide stood out against the white clouds and blue sky like a ruby among lapis. Thankfully the distant dragonettes appeared to be focusing straight ahead because it was several minutes before they changed course.

"Shit, they're turning around," Taelor muttered. Then, louder, he added, "I think they've seen us."

"I am certain that they have," Faelon added a heartbeat later. "They are flying faster than before."

He was already turning inwards, angling to intercept them. With his massive wingspan and respectable altitude advantage, there would be no escape.

"Even fleeing, they could still be traders thinking we're the brigands," Grange noted. His commander raised an eyeridge and the sergeant shook his head. "I don't think it's likely, but it's possible."

"You have a point. Let's unfurl the pennant."

Moments later, the insignia of the royal guard was streaming out from behind Faelon on a weighted line. It, too, might be faked, but a lost trader might be just a little less wary of someone flying the flag of the kingdom's premiere armed forces.

"No change," Grange noted a few minutes later. They were close enough for the dragonettes of the crew to easily pick the distant fliers out against the edge of the island. "And they're being stupid. If they had ducked into those trees when they first saw us, they might've gotten away."

"Probably panicked," Taelor said. "Or running for reinforcements. They have to have a dragon of their own. So keep your eyes open and watch for anything!" The last was addressed to the rest of the crew, who had finished preparing for combat and had weapons at the ready. Those whose eyes had been glued to their fleeing prey quickly turned to scan the skies for signs of ambush, eyeing any cloud or cliff that might hide an attacker.

But as they closed, it became apparent that nothing was waiting for them. No dragons came swooping in as they closed. There wasn't a swarm of lancers ready to throw themselves into the fray. Not even a squad of archers flew to meet them.

"Must be scouts," Grange commented as they closed in from behind.

Faelon had slightly misjudged their speed so it wasn't a clean intercept. Not that it would matter. The distance between the two groups was shrinking with every heartbeat.

"Don't think they're traders anymore?" Lieutenant Taelor asked.

He got a head shake in response. "Not a chance. I think they actually sped up when they saw our flag."

"You said earlier that they were stupid. Stupid enough to lead us back to their hideout, you think?"

Grange rubbed the brass cap that covered the stump of his right horn. "Might be they are. Or they're loyal as well as stupid, and they've been leading us away from their pals the whole time."

"Well, we'll just have to ask them when we catch up. So don't burn them out of the sky, please?"

"I will... do my best," Faelon said between breaths. 'I am glad this is nearly over. I do not think that I could burn them. Not right now.'

They weren't far outside of the range of a good bowshot when, as one, the quartet of fleeing dragonettes dove straight down. In an instant, they disappeared, blocked from view by a jutting cliff.

It was only a few heartbeats before Faelon overflew the cliff, but by then the sky was empty. Without waiting for orders, he pivoted right into a dive. Air rushed by and the soldiers held on tight as they went momentarily weightless.

Jagged cliff walls flashed by, studded with the odd bush or mineral vein. Everyone hunted for a hint of blue and white hiding in some sheltered alcove. They saw nothing as the cliff fell away to reveal the shadowed underbelly of the island.

"Everyone, off!" Lieutenant Taelor ordered, and the entire crew spread into the sky. "Search this cliff from bottom to top! They're here somewhere."

"And stay with your wingmates!" Sergeant Grange barked. "Find anything, you back off and call for help!"

Everyone angled upwards and outwards, making close passes by the cliff edge, hunting for hidden fissures or shaded alcoves.

Faelon circled, watching the teams and scanning the cliff for any sign of recent disturbance. The whole group ascended slowly. Occasionally there was a shout of triumph, but always quickly accompanied by disappointed cursing as whatever had been found turned out to be a false alarm.

They were halfway to the top when Faelon noticed something. "Those bushes," he called, jerking his head towards a wide clump of browning vegetation growing on a flat outcropping. Changing course, he circled back while ordering, "Someone check over there."

Naz and her partner were nearest. They alighted on the ledge and a moment later she shouted, "There's a cave back here! A big one!"

In the span of moments, the entire unit converged on the spot. The wilted brush was dragged away. Behind that, the patch of cliff face was far too flat. A poke revealed it to be some sort of mud daubed cloth that hid the opening from casual notice.

"Alright everyone, close order drill. Shields and spears. Get the oil lamps set on Faelon. Me, Sergeant Grange, and Corporal Neel will carry torches. We're going to hit these people and we're going to hit them now."

The soldiers scrambled to obey, stripping gear off of Faelon's bulk and preparing for fighting in the dark cave. There were fourteen of them, not including their dragon, and while few were combat veterans they were well drilled.

"Got a moment, sir?" Sergeant Grange asked as the others prepared.

"Of course. If you'll step into my office?" The lieutenant's wry grin faded as his second failed to laugh at the joke. Recovering, he motioned off to one side, out of the way of the troops but close enough to Faelon to include the dragon in the conversation.

"I think we should wait for reinforcements." Grange said without preamble. " Either send Faelon back to meet Lieutenant Raligh or wait for her to come and find us. We don't know what they have waiting in there for us."

"That's exactly why we're not going to wait. We're going to smash them here and now!" The officer slammed fist into palm for emphasis. "If we give them time, let them get fortified, the wing will have to pay in blood to dig them out."

The sergeant kept at it. "We will be paying in blood if we go in alone."

"Probably," Taelor acknowledged and his cheerful enthusiasm dimmed. "If it looks bad, we have Faelon. In a tunnel, his fire would stop anything short of another red."

"Even a red," the dragon added, quietly. "We may resist fire, but we still have to breathe."

"Which would give us long enough for us to retreat if we had to."

"Yes, sir. I just don't think it's worth the risk when we already have them bottled up."

Lieutenant Taelor raised one eye ridge. "Who says we have them bottled up? For all we know, this cliff could be riddled with exits, and they'll just fly out of one while we sit here. In fact, I'd leave a few scouts to watch for just that if we had the people for it."

Sergeant Grange gave a grudging nod, but he didn't look happy. His commander clapped him on the back and gave a tight smile. "I'm not going to throw all our lives away for the glory of killing a few brigands, and I'm not above turning tail if things look bad. But this is a risk we have to take, before those scouts report and they get organized."

By then, the preparations were long completed. Troops were starting to eye their leaders nervously, shifting wings and feet as they waited for orders.

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With time running out and his superior refusing to budge, there wasn't anything for Grange to do but salute and give the unit a final inspection.

Privately, Faelon agreed with the lieutenant. The tunnel was only just wide enough for him to move through it comfortably. A bigger dragon would be handicapped by its size, and he was willing to go tooth to claw against any dragon that could fit inside of that cave.

'I wouldn't want to face a green or black down there, though. Poison and acid in close quarters...' He had to suppress a shudder at the thought. 'But Lieutenant Taelor is right. If they have time to prepare, it will be worse. Much worse.'

Faelon extended his neck into the cavern and flared his nostrils. He could smell the odor of rock dust and the faint trace of dragonettes. No other dragons.

It was far from definitive. There was almost certainly at least one of his kind involved in any attack that could waylay traders. With a constant breeze and nothing for the scent to stick to, it wouldn't take long to fade, either.

The lack of any immediate threat was still a weight off of Faelon's back as he led the way into the darkness, path lit by the five oil lanterns fixed to his harness.

Enchanted lights would have been better. They were also expensive. Oil lamps dispelled the worst of the gloom, and if they spilled, well, it was only oil. The worst that it could do to him was leave a patch of strong smelling soot.

Once inside, the cave widened further. There was enough room for two dragonettes to walk abreast next to the dragon. A squad of four did just that, moving two by two with Sergeant Grange backing them up.

They advanced quickly, but carefully. Silence was impossible and surprise was a forgone conclusion, but they still did their best to step quietly, straining to catch the clink of weapons or whispered orders that might betray an upcoming ambush. Even Faelon made little noise. Despite his size, he could move with surprising grace when he needed to, talons barely clicking against the rough stone floor.

It was quickly clear that this passage wasn't natural. Or if it was, someone had spent a lot of effort enlarging it. Regular slots of an unknown purpose dotted the walls. The central path was relatively flat, too regular to be natural. Tool marks marred the stone everywhere they looked.

Ancient mines dotted the islands, and this was probably one of them. Which meant that the lieutenant had been right, and they needed to move fast, because there were doubtless places in this warren that could be turned into death traps.

While none of the dragonettes had magically enhanced vision, Sergeant Grange could hear a whispered conversation from the far end of a barracks, much to the dismay of many a scheming private. The column stopped briefly at regular intervals, with everyone else staring off into darkness while he tried to pick out sounds over the clink of shifting armor and ragged breathing of nervous soldiers.

The tunnel curved slightly, and the distant glimmer of daylight disappeared. Their group became an island of light in the pitch darkness.

When a stone clattered in the distance, every single guardsman froze. Even Faelon briefly imitated a ruby statue, one foreleg raised as Grange strained to catch the barest hint of what was ahead. Hands tightened around weapons at the prospect of an ambush.

Eventually he shook his head and tapped the shoulder of the next dragonette in line. The cautious advance resumed.

As they pushed into the bowels of the island, the endless void split. A pair of side tunnels branched off from the central passage. They were smaller than their original path, but just large enough that Faelon could still fit through.

"Hold here."

The softly hissed order came from behind. In the near silence of the mines, it might as well have been a shout.

Faelon shifted forward, moving to a point where he could look down any of the three branches. At the first sign of any trouble, he could turn any one of them into a furnace as hot as a blacksmith's forge.

From behind, he could just make out the whispered conversation between the lieutenant and sergeant.

Grange didn't wait for his superior to speak. "We need more troops to clear this place."

"We have to be close. As soon as this cavern opens up, that's where they'll have camped."

"And if that were nearby, I'd hear them. Probably not the only one, either." He shot a pointed glance towards their dragon, who blinked back at them.

Both were silent for a moment, and then Lieutenant Taelor asked, "What would you do?"

"Back off and bottle them up," the other responded, instantly. "Faelon can burn anything coming out of the tunnel. Then we send out patrols to keep an eye out for anyone sneaking away. There might be other exits, but they can't be far off. We'll spot them."

For his part, Lieutenant Taelor didn't hesitate. "Okay, you were right. This is too big for just us. But I'm not leaving without getting something for the major. Can we figure out which of those tunnels they've been using?"

"Maybe," Grange replied, a little bit of tension leaving his voice. After a moment, he ordered, "Naz, come with me."

The pair passed by Faelon, shortly followed by the lieutenant and about half of the guardsmen. The latter spread out behind the two scouts as they examined the tunnels.

Naz had spent her early years training to be a huntress. It hadn't worked out, but she was still the closest thing they had to a tracker. She crouched down, just inside of the rightmost tunnel and examined the floor as the sergeant held out his torch for light.

"Someone has been here," she said, almost instantly.

"Footprints?" Lieutenant Taelor asked, looking over her shoulder much to Grange's obvious annoyance.

But she shook her head. "No, and that's the strange part. There should be, but there's no dust. The tunnel's full of it." The scout waved a hand back where they came. "There's scrapes here, though. New ones. Drag marks and... something else."

Now that he knew what to look for, Faelon could see what she was talking about. There were long lines etched into the floor, and discolored spots slightly higher. Places where stone might have chipped away, newer than the marks that the ancient miners had left. In the flickering light, he could pick out similar signs in both of the other passages.

Sergeant Grange suddenly stiffened, ears pricking straight up. A moment later he spun, eyes wide. "Lieutenant, we have to-"

Before he could finish, a crimson light flashed along the roof of the tunnel. It followed one particular line, and moved almost faster than the eye could follow. As it passed above the group, a wave of power washed over them, invisible but felt almost as a blast of frigid air pressing them to the floor.

Then, with an explosive crack, the ceiling collapsed.

The magical pressure was replaced by the crushing weight of an entire island collapsing onto Faelon's back. He screamed in surprise and pain as the rock drove him down, burying his chest and hindquarters in rubble.

Most of the lanterns were smashed. One shattered, spilling oil across Faelon's hide and briefly illuminating the scene through billowing clouds of choking dust.

Shapes and figures slowly resolved themselves out of the chaos. Lots of figures. More than there should have been.

A cry of pain went up. Fresh pain. Followed by shouts and screams and the impact of metal on metal.

Something moved in the left tunnel. Faelon didn't hesitate before loosing a burst of dragonfire down the passage. The crushing pressure on his back reduced it to a fraction of what it could have been. But a fraction of an inferno was still enough to immolate those attackers.

It wasn't enough to stop the rest.

The burst of fire had drawn a draft from somewhere and cleared dust from the air. Dozens fought in the flickering light. Most of those visible weren't wearing the uniform of the royal guard. They wore everything from a trader escort's light armor to ragged clothes fit for a frontier dweller.

A section of wall crumbled, edges gleaming wetly in the flickering flames. More attackers emerged, covered in dust and stumbling slightly as they took in the scene.

'They must have cut alcoves into the walls and had their fellows seal them inside,' a part of Faelon's mind realized.

This group came out behind the melee and training took over. Faelon darted his head forward to lock crushing jaws around one of the trio and then whipped his head violently. The neck of his victim snapped as he was slammed into his fellows. They went flying, landing in crumpled heaps to either side.

He spat out the corpse and searched for more, but the fighting had moved beyond his reach. What little fighting was left.

A handful of bodies lay on the ground, all in the mismatched garb of the unknown attackers. The rest were retreating up the tunnels, forms of guardsmen both struggling and not dragged along with them.

It made no sense. Not for brigands attacking traders. Literally burying their fellows in the rock for an ambush. And a magical ambush! No group of common criminals would have those resources or take those risks.

'At least, we thought that they were criminals. What if...'

Terror filled the dragon and his frantic gaze locked on the closest body. In the dying light of the puddles of dragonfire and a single flickering lantern, he could just make out the body of a young male, covered with gray rock dust and leaking blue blood around a spear still buried in his gut.

Only, it wasn't rock dust that covered him. It only looked that way in the dim light. But the dusting was too even, from taloned feet to darkened wing membranes to the tips of his horns. It wasn't dust.

The darkness of corruption. Of a darkling.

Faelon jerked up, head whipping back and forth. There was nothing. No one. He was alone, save for the fading echoes of moans and clatter of armor on stone.

It couldn't be. Those dragonettes they had chased weren't darklings! A leather clad body seemed to confirm that, pure white hide and blue scales from nose to tail.

Except, up close, the white and blue seemed to blend together unnaturally. Patches of white dotted the underside of the wings and the blue bled out from its chest scales. Almost like... paint.

"No..." he whimpered, searching desperately for any sign of his crew. A survivor, hidden by bodies or rubble.

There was none.

"No. No. No no no no no no no NONONO!"

The light of the fires faded. Only a single oil lamp strapped to the base of Faelon's neck remained, struggling to push back the darkness. And in the distance, a pair of red embers emerged from the inky black void.

Faint, he almost missed them in his panic. A trick of the light, odd reflections, an afterimage. Except there they remained, bobbing slightly among the nothingness and occasionally flickering, but never fading away.

They were the glowing red eyes of one not simply a victim of corruption, but who had embraced it. A dark knight... or a witch.

Terror turned to rage. Faelon's maw opened wide and a blast of fire emerged. When his lungs were empty, he took as deep a breath as he could manage and let loose another burst of dragonfire.

This one was weaker than before. The one that followed burned with no more intensity than a good sized bonfire. He tried for a fourth. Only, as he gasped for breath, a desperate instinct screamed for more. The air around stank from smoke and couldn't quench the burning in his lungs.

Faelon felt his muscles trembling. He tried to hold his head up.

It was no use. He slumped, snorting great gasps of air that did nothing to fight the blackness creeping into the edges of his vision.

The sound of distant laughter followed him as the world faded away.

Time passed. How long was impossible to say. Faelon never slipped into unconsciousness. Not completely. He just existed in an air-starved daze, mind filled with fog, panting as the final lantern dimmed, sputtered, and died away.

It was the screaming that finally brought him back to reality. Screaming and a high, piercing laugh.

Faelon thrashed, fighting against the pounding in his head and the rocks still piled on top of him. It did little good. His tail was free, and his rear legs could move. They were splayed, though, unable to support him.

Rocks shifted, clattering down the pile. Faelon twisted, finding that despite the extinguished lanterns, he could faintly see. Lines of dim illumination ran along the ceiling. 'Residual magic? Some mineral?' He didn't know, nor did he care.

The cave-in had left a gap in the roof. It wasn't the whole island's weight on his back. It only felt like it. And if he could only work himself free...

Another scream shattered the silence. It sounded broken. Animalistic. A cry of terror and pain beyond anything Faelon had ever heard before.

The sound seemed to surround him. It didn't echo. It was simply in his ears. In his mind. And then it chopped off, with terrible finality. Moments later it was replaced by more laughter, this time a darkly satisfied chuckle.

Then silence, once again.

It was enough to drive any vestige of reason out of Faelon's mind. Legs larger than tree trunks scrambled and strained. His body shook, trying to worm out of the pile, to push forward into the tunnel beyond.

More screams invaded his mind. Two distinct voices, this time. Male and female. Wordless cries of soul-rending agony. And accompanied by a purr of deepest pleasure.

"Gods help me!" Faelon prayed. "Kalador! Tula! Give me strength! Help me fight these servants of darkness!"

"The gods won't come for you." The words oozed into his mind like rancid oil. "Your friends begged for their help. None came. Among the darkness, light is weak."

Faelon couldn't accept that. Wouldn't accept that. He pushed and shook and strained. Screams and laughter were his only reward. They went on and on, sometimes disappearing for what could have been minutes or hours before returning to that terrible silence.

All the while, Faelon struggled. Thrashing and pushing and twisting. But even a dragon has his limits, and those struggles slowly began to weaken, until finally they ceased altogether.

That was when the voice spoke once more.

"They can still be yours."

Exhausted and panting, Faelon still managed to gather enough energy to roar, "Cease your magic and come where I can see you, witch!"

There was no sign that the agent of corruption heard him. It continued, apparently oblivious. "You led them before. You can again. It is easy. Rewarding. I have the lichplate right here."

Now it was clear who the witch was talking to. "Lieutenant! Lieutenant Taelor!" Faelon's shout echoed up and down the tunnels in a deafening cacophony. It did nothing to drown out the magical speech invading his mind.

"You would keep your mind. Your soul. And the enchantments on this armor are powerful. Maybe powerful enough that you could challenge me. How does that sound?"

Another pause, and Faelon ground his teeth and gritted his eyes as he strained forward one more time.

"A pity."

The screams were louder this time. They filled his mind and replaced any rational thought. Faelon could feel himself burning. Charring. Down to his very soul.

Then it was over. Silence returned. Silence quickly broken by the cruel voice as it addressed the dragon once more.

"You are a fine specimen, yes? Young. Full of potential."

Faelon grunted and struggled. Something shifted and he felt a flash of hope, only for a jagged rock to dig into his shoulder. A moment later, wobbling forelegs gave way and the dragon collapsed onto the hard stone.

"We could use that potential. You would make for an excellent shadowdrake. A pity about your pretty scales. Crimson is such a wonderful color. Still, the sacrifice is nothing compared to the rewards."

"Nooooo..." He meant for it to be a growl of defiance, but it tapered off into an exhausted whine.

"Are you suuuure?" The magic burrowed that word into Faelon's mind. "You'll serve one way or another. The only question is how tight your bonds will be? A mere harness of silken enchantments? Or must they be fetters of cursed adamantine?"

The dragon shut his eyes tight, body shuddering, breaths coming in shallow pants.

"You doubt my word? Don't. It's a pity I couldn't make this offer to the dragons that came before you, but a camp at night is hardly the best place for such a talk. This is so much more fitting, wouldn't you say?"

He said nothing. The rubble pressed down on him. Imprisoning him for a fate worse than death.

'The air... I could burn the air...'

The tunnels were wide. As before, air would flow to replace what his fire consumed. He would have to let loose a massive gout, right at his feet. Hot enough to burn even him, and starve him of air until his body gave out.

'Better this way.'

Only when he drew in a deep breath in preparation, he found he couldn't. Rocks had shifted. His massive chest could barely move. Instead of a great burst of flames, only a dribble of liquid fire spattered the rock in front of him.

The witch went on, seemingly oblivious.

"They were kind enough to lend me their blood. Delightful stuff, dragon's blood. The perfect conduit for magic. Enough to bind even you."

Faelon tried to shift the rocks. Tried to make enough of a gap for one single breath. 'Gods, please, just one breath! Just one.'

It wasn't working. It was getting tighter. The rubble was pressing closer. Crushing him. Holding him.

"So which will it be? Power? Wealth? The chance to live a life of service rather than slavery? Or must I chain your will until you're nothing more than a puppet dancing on my strings?"

He couldn't answer. He wanted to reject the offer. Wanted to break free. Wanted to die. Wanted to live!

In the end, the great red dragon could only whimper and shake.

It went on for some time as the witch waited. Eventually, a sigh of satisfaction flowed through the magical link. "Broken already? I can work with that. Yes, I can work with that. Now, don't you go anywhere. This won't take long. Once the ritual is done, I'll get you out of there, don't you worry!"

The witch's voice ceased. The faint light faded. Faelon never realized it. He had his eyes clamped shut, trembling.

Did something brush across his tail? He jerked away, expecting the burn of corruption at any moment. He was rewarded with a small avalanche of rocks burying his neck and shoulders.

There was a sound in the darkness, audible over the hammering of Faelon's heart. Scraping. Rustling. Muted words.

His eyes snapped open and he whipped his head left and right. Something solid slammed against it. A dislodged boulder, invisible in the impenetrable blackness.

'They are out there! They are coming!'

One more burst of terror shot through the dragon. Before, he had channeled that terror into anger. It had driven him forward. To feel the witch's bones snap between his jaws.

Now, though, his great legs scrambled to push him back. Away from the oncoming horror.

More rocks tumbled, smashing against his neck and cracking off of his horns. The pain didn't register. Not through the haze of fear.

One of Faelon's kicking rear feet suddenly caught. Just a toe, at first. Then another. Then the whole foot was flat against the ground.

The pile of rocks continued to shift, faster now that the dragon had leverage. That leverage grew as he got his last foot underneath and pushed.

With a thundering crash like some enormous waterfall, debris cascaded up and down the tunnel.

He could move! He was free!

Faelon spun and was nearly blinded by light. He blinked, eyes adjusting from the pitch blackness as the scene before him finally registered.

Illuminated by the unwavering glow of enchanted lights, frozen figures filled the passage. They stared at him with empty, coal black eyes among a sea of ashen gray bodies.

There was more uniformity in this mass of darklings than the ambushers. Fully half of them wore the armor of the royal guard. Scraped and damaged and spattered with blue stains, but recognizable all the same.

And so were the wearers.

A broken horn capped in brass. An embroidered blue scarf. The insignia of a lieutenant.

Scars and weapons and jewelry and faces that he had seen hundreds of times. Every detail burned into his memory like a white hot brand.

And behind them all, one figure stood with faintly glowing red eyes and a slender band of gold and mithril atop its head. The only one moving among dozens, backing towards a newly revealed hole in the tunnel wall, fear clear on her face against the flicker of dragon flame.

Faelon didn't hesitate. He drew in a great breath and opened his maw and unleashed a torrent of dragonfire.

And everything turned to flame.