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A bit of worldbuilding while they're waiting to get to the city.

Icon art from the Mermul reference by Billie/FeatheryFlukes

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Chapter 3 - Flight

"Why exactly do the Hunters have such a problem with us?" Mermul asked as they soared towards the western frontier of Taria.

Fardon hesitated. "Surely this isn't your first encounter with them?" he asked curiously. "You're no hatchling... I assumed you were a refugee fleeing them. Some minor tribe in the wilds or something...?"

"Pretty much," Mermul said. "I've been living in Arcaia for the last few months, but back where I came from originally... nobody really questioned why Hunters do what they do." Mermul said. "Dragonhunters were a problem, sure. They killed us, we killed them back. But nobody ever asked how we got there. The hatred seems a bit too widespread and deeply-ingrained to just be a simple grudge."

"Well, it's a bit of a wide question," Fardon said. "'Hunters' is a bit of a catch-all term anyway.
"But first up, we are apex predators. Humans and furres always have a problem when something else is competing for the top spot. Where there aren't dragons, they take it out on tigers, wolves, leopards, anything that might be able to hunt them back. And since we need a lot of food, it's natural that there will be conflicts over resources. Humans and furres would probably be at each others' throats if they hadn't banded together against us millennia ago. And if dragonkind is ever eliminated, that ancient alliance may still fracture into war.
"But yes, some remember the dark days of the Dragon Wars, and before that - when our ancestors subjugated the smaller races, cruelly enslaving them."

"Like Lord Thurr does," Mermul said unhappily.

"Yes," Fardon sighed and glanced quickly at the other dragon. "Like he does. He's a dragon supremacist. Didn't sign the Pax Draconica, not like Lord Varl and other wise dragon kings. That pact has kept things stable for nearly 20 centuries, but over time you have people wondering what it's all for. Youngsters who don't remember the dark times, who forget that the legislation is the main thing protecting us all from a bloodbath. They keep trying to chip away at our protection for their own selfish gains... Urgh. And then you've got the Hunters, who set up their own faction just to avoid being bound by its terms."

"So," he continued, "The Hunters paint us as being one step removed from wild beasts, killers who slay without provocation, mercy or remorse. And that by killing us, they are saving human and furre lives from violent death at our teeth and claws, or a lifetime of slavery and misery under our iron feet. That's the propaganda. Plus, we do look different and dangerous in their eyes. But another big reason is this..."

"Go on," Mermul said.

"One sec, requesting clearance. We're nearly there. Right... See, the thing is, dragons can't fly."

"Could you repeat that?" Mermul asked, cocking his head with astonishment and veering slightly.

"Dragons can't fly," Fardon repeated, grinning evilly. "Yeah, I know... We're doing that right now. But we shouldn't be able to. We don't have sufficient wingspan nor a stabilising tail. Yet somehow, we are right this moment, approaching Tarnover Landing at an altitude of around 500 feet."

"I didn't know that," Mermul admitted. "The fact that we can... It's not an intuitive leap to say 'Oh, hang on - this shouldn't be possible!'. I take it that the Hunters are jealous of this? They want to murder us because we can fly and they need machines to help them?"

"Well, it took the other races to start asking questions like that. And yeah, jealousy is another reason, but really... Well, I'm getting there.
"See... Our bones have the remarkable property of reducing our total weight. A frame made from dragonbone will allow a human to lift an object many times heavier than they could otherwise manage, and if the frame is placed on a set of scales, a standard weight on that frame will read significantly less than it should. Scientists have not yet been able to understand why this happens, though there are a few theories.

"To be blunt, dragon bones sell for quite a sum on the black market," Fardon added darkly. "Other body parts also have properties which are not found elsewhere. And even our scales and fur are heat-resistant. Hopefully, one day, some bright spark will figure it out and we'll have synthetic materials that don't need to be harvested from intelligent creatures. But until then... Well. Dragon Hunters are always quick to claim that they are targetting rogue dragons who pose a threat to everyone, but really... A lot of them just see us as a source of quick cash."

"That's... That's horrible," Mermul looked disgusted.

"It is. It very much depends on the Hunter," Fardon said. "A lot of them think we're all interchangeable, that one dragon will have identical thoughts and reactions to any other dragon. But we are unique individuals with different beliefs and motivations. Try not to fall into that same trap, Mermul - the Hunters are people too. Some of them might even have been our allies in other circumstances, but because of atrocities carried out by Lord Thurr and his type, they now believe that all dragonkind are their enemies and that slaying us is the only way to protect their loved ones."

* * *

Fardon and Mermul touched down on the pad. Concrete made for a hard landing and the hardness of grassland depended very much on the weather, so hardened foam mats tended to be used. The two dragons trotted over to a nearby building where visitors to the realm were required to go. Fardon spoke to the duty staff while Mermul waited.

"I have a visitor pass for you," Fardon said, handing the other dragon a collar. "Please put this on. For now I am escorting you, but we'll try and figure out something a bit more permanent in due course. I was on a mission when I found you and I will have to report in soon."

Mermul did, tightening the collar until it stayed put.

"How are you keeping, anyway?" Fardon asked. "I figured you'd be a bit more upset about... your friend."

"I am," Mermul admitted sadly. "But what can I do? If he's dead, it's in the claws of the Great One and there's nothing I can do about it. If he's not, I'll try and find his lair again when things have calmed down, and I know where I stand in your city."

"Going back there may not be safe," Fardon pointed out. "You've already been shot down once. But I will see if I can get someone else to check it out and report back. Someone in full armour."

He led the other dragon through the gates, and the pair of them began trotting down a main road. The footpath was almost as wide as the road itself, allowing two dragons to walk abreast with their wings tucked in. Special lanes were provided for the small races to avoid accidents.

Mermul looked all around, admiring the tall buildings. Glass was used sparingly, since the sun's reflections could dazzle a passing dragon, and large plate glass windows would mean instant decapitation for anyone unfortunate enough to crash into them.
Vehicles belonging to the smaller races drove by. Mermul panicked for a moment as a large, flat-bed truck went past, before he realised it was carrying lumber and not one of the Hunters' kills.

In the distance, dragons carried sections of framework to the upper floors of a new skyscraper - clearly designed for dragon usage - disappearing into one of the porches to deposit their burden before returning and swooping back down to earth. Lifters, he thought. Mermul had done this kind of work himself, not so long ago.

Eventually Fardon turned off into the local guard headquarters and made a report there, while Mermul lay in the waiting area.

"You've been through a lot," Fardon said, as he emerged. "Let me buy you a meal. After that, we'll see about getting you registered as a citizen of Taria, if that is your aim in coming here."

"I have enemies," Mermul said. "Not just the Hunters. The lords of Arcaia suggested I seek protection from your king."

"Are you some magnet for trouble?" Fardon sighed. "Hunters, murders, the Devourer Himself and now this..."

"I don't want to be," Mermul said. "I'm trying to get away from trouble."

Fardon looked troubled himself, but shook his head. "I'll see what I can do," he said.

* * *

The food arrived swiftly. It did not look particularly interesting but it smelled good. Large slabs of synthetic meat formed the bulk of their diet, since dragons weren't particularly good at raising cattle by themselves. Some did, but mostly such work fell to furres, humans, or such dragons who could assume a humanoid guise to avoid spooking the animals. Arcaia in particular was a major exporter of food in the local region.

Some of the more expensive eateries would dress the food to make it look more like actual meat, but for the most part, their clients were after the calories more than the experience. If you really wanted to go the whole hog, there were places where you could catch your own cow or sheep and eat them as nature intended, but given the difficulty of farming animals this was not an effective way to keep a city full of apex predators fed, and it remained an occasional treat for the well-heeled.

Mermul fell on the stuff, devouring it greedily. Fardon didn't manage much more grace, but soon the pair of them had licked away the remaining scraps of the meat substitute and settled down, making happy dragon noises. They chatted idly for a few minutes and then made their way to the resting house next door. Behind them, the staff began to wash down the floor where the food had been placed, and removed the tray.

The rest house had an empty two-berth cubicle near the back, and the two dragons trotted into it. Fardon's eyes had already begun to glaze and his head drooped swiftly onto the couch. Mermul yawned as the food hit him and not long after, the pair were dozing lightly, joining the many other dragons who had succumbed to their respective food comas.

It is easiest to rob a dragon when they are asleep, and for this reason the establishment not only provided food, but also protection. So Fardon was a little startled to be woken up by a wooden pole tapping against his shoulder.

"It can't be time yet," he said muzzily. "Didn't hear the alarm..."

"Sorry to wake you, sir, but you have a visitor," said the wolf. "Says it was urgent."

Fardon glanced up and his jaw fell open. He shut it quickly and tapped Mermul on the shoulder.

"Ah, you are both okay!" Fiskul said, waving a sleek, black-clawed hand at them. "I'm so glad... I could never have forgiven myself if you had died..."

"Talking of which," Mermul started.

Fiskul hissed. "Not here, not here! You'll worry people!"

"Well, what happened to the Hunters?" Mermul asked nervously. "Can you at least tell me that? Will they be after us the moment we leave the border?"

"Unlikely," the small dragon said. "They won't be bothering anyone for a while."

"For a while?" Mermul's eyes narrowed. "Then you didn't do anything permanent..."

"Certainly not!" Fiskul looked offended. "I told you, life is too precious to waste."

"But what if the murderer gets them?" Mermul asked.

"Well, that's possible," Fiskul admitted. "But I think it's more likely that Taria will get them first."