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Mermul has an even more interesting day

Icon art from the Mermul reference by Billie/FeatheryFlukes

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Chapter 19 - Special Delivery

Two days had passed since the assassination attempt, and Mermul's wing was starting to heal, but not enough that he could fly yet. Sleeping with it fixed in an awkward position had not helped him rest, but what really kept him awake was the knowledge that Lord Thurr had been pushed to breaking point, that he had given specific instructions for Mermul's immediate death.

"He'll try again," the fluff-dragon whimpered. "He'll never stop. Is this what I have to look forward to? Centuries of fear that each day will be my last...?"

Fardon did not reply.

"Could we get him one of those invulnerability bracelets?" Fiskul asked, looking worried.

"I don't know..." Fardon sighed. "They're illegal to make, because they need souls. Maybe we could capture one from Thurr's people, but then you have the problem of how to defeat someone who's invulnerable. I don't really want to confiscate Acer's, but... Well, if Mermul is one of your last surviving friends, we might be able to do something. Get one from some other realm, made from the soul of a mass-murderer or something. I will have to ask the King."

"It's not quite that bleak," Fiskul pointed out. "There's Roberts... Vulthur... and a few others besides. But it's true that I don't have many left now... and I don't want to lose Mermul! If a bracer would help with that..."

"That's a horrible thought!" Mermul protested. "My life... at the cost of another's very soul? That's not a path I want to go down! You can't seriously consider destroying someone's soul?! That's the sort of thing Thurr would do!"

"Souls are unbreakable," Fiskul corrected. "If, gods forbid, Lord Thurr ate your soul, it would be bound to him until he died, or it was freed by means of a Xebulon. But it's still a very shitty fate to suffer."

A pager in Fardon's collar beeped suddenly.

"Shit," he said. "There's been another incident in the Disputed Territories. I must check it at once. Stay here, Mermul. Fiskul, you keep watch on him, okay...?"

* * *

Mermul watched a couple of films, and then flicked through the news, switching between a channel intended for dragons, and channels intended for the Small Races. Not long after, the doorbell rang and Fiskul hurried away to answer it.

A green-furred feline in a high-visibility jacket entered the living room, a medium-sized parcel in his hands.

"Package for Mermul...?" he said. The fluff-dragon's eyes narrowed. "Where's Fiskul...?" he demanded.

"Sorry, guv...?"

"You were let in by the Dark Destroyer" he continued. "Didn't the sight of the Evil One faze you at all...?"

The cat said nothing, but Mermul could see traces of blood on one of his boots. The fluff-dragon leaped for the door, causing a stab of pain from his injured wing. Standing in the open gardens at the centre of the villa, he glanced around and tried to bar the door shut. His draconic strength would have stopped any of the Small Races from pushing it open, but instead a scaled fist smashed through it, the same colour as the cat had been.

"Where is the Xebulon?" the green dragon demanded, butting his head through the door and splintering it. "The artifact of power?! My Lord demands its return!"

"I haven't got it!" Mermul squealed, terrified.

"You lie!" the other dragon snarled. "My master demands the truth! Where is the Xebulon?!"

"I sold it!" Mermul squeaked. "It looked valuable, so I sold it to grow my hoard!"

The enemy dragon stared at him for a moment, cocking his head in a sudden moment of doubt. "...You are weaker than I expected from a master assassin," he paused, and then his expression hardened. "No matter. I shall locate the artifact later. But first..." he smashed down the remains of the door and walked fully into the gardens. Little fragments of high-visibility vest and other clothing were still strewn across his powerful body.

"You have betrayed our Lord, Mirmjolnar. I must kill you for this crime!" The dragon bared his teeth with an evil smile. "But before you die, know that it is Sarkir who will bring back your head!"

"Lord Varl will love this!" Fiskul interrupted, taping the proceedings with an expensive, dragon-sized camcorder. "But I think you flubbed your evil speech. Once more, with feeling...?"

"YOU!" Sarkir croaked. "How?! I killed you!"

"I am the Devourer of legend," Fiskul said. "I cannot die."

"Lies!" Sarkir looked unsettled. "But we shall see. After I have slain the traitor, I shall kill you for certain this time! You know too much, and must die."

"And if you kill Mermul, I will devour you," the black and red dragon warned. Sarkir froze, staring back at the small dragon uncertainly.

At that moment, two large, armoured dragons fell from the sky. One grabbed Sarkir, the other pulled Mermul away from his assassin, causing him to yelp in pain as his wing flexed. The big dragon grunted and fell over, smashing a pillar and bringing down a number of large plant-pots.

The large dragons fought bitterly, Sarkir incinerating a privet hedge, before the knight forced his muzzle shut and he resorted to lashing at his attackers with his tail and claws. Fardon, even in full body armour, would have been evenly matched alone, but with Sir Narfus backing him up, the intruder was beaten into submission.

Sir Fardon held the dragon's head up by one horn. "It's over," he said, teeth bared menacingly, pointing at the defeated foe's face with a razor-clawed gauntlet.

"No! No!" Sarkir whimpered. "Do not eat me, Lord! I serve you! Just let me live! Do not eat me!"

"There is something particularly moving about watching such a powerful creature plead for their life," Fardon said, staring into Sarkir's eye. The knight's expression grew hungry and the gleaming metal claw hovered between the terrified dragon's eyes, ready to punch through bone and skewer his victim's brain.

"I think it's really sad," Fiskul said despondently, still holding the camera. "So many dragons are convinced they're immortal, only to find out the hard way that they were wrong, that simply being an apex predator wasn't enough to save them this time. The shock of knowing that all your strength and scaly armour has betrayed you. Not just shattered faith, but the horror when you realise you're going to die, that it's all over and you made a huge mistake..."

"That's... oddly specific," Mermul said, looking at the Devourer nervously.

"I will not kill him," Fardon stated, and the blade snapped back into his gauntlet. "While dominating a fellow dragon may be satisfying, that kind of pleasure is not good for us."

"Well said," Fiskul chirped up. "It's best not to feed that beast. That way lies a dominance trip... and a violation of the Pact."

"It's also what Hunters do," Fardon added, lip curling. "And we should try to be better than them."

"What do you want to do, Sir Fardon?" Sir Narfus asked, the gleaming edge of his tail-sword resting on the failed assassin's long, scaly neck.

"Detain him," Fardon said. "Release him slowly and cuff his wings."

"I think he shapeshifted," Mermul put in quickly. "Make sure you can suppress that, or he could turn into one of the Small Races again to escape!"

"Good spot," Fardon said. "Cuff his wings, and put suppression bracers on his wrists. If he makes any sudden moves..." the metal claw flicked out again.

"I will not," Sarkir said rapidly. "You have bested me. I am Sarkir - I serve you now, master."

"Do not call me that!" Fardon snapped. "That is not how things work in Taria! Our king rules with a light touch."

"Easy," Fiskul said, stopping the tape and lowering the camera. "He's going to have to go through a period of adjustment. If it helps keeps him calm, let him be your servant for now. We can figure out something more permanent later."

"Let me see if I understand," Sir Narfus said, fixing Sarkir with a suspicious expression. "Because we defeated you, you're switching allegiance to us...? That's... a primitive way of thinking, but okay. But what happens if someone else beats you up?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Who's going to trust you if you're constantly switching sides?"

"I don't know, lord," Sarkir said miserably. "It doesn't usually happen more than once. Changing fealty in this manner can only happen if you are defeated by someone generous enough to let their foe live... What are the odds of that happening twice?"

"Do we have to worry about you selling us out?" Mermul asked suspiciously.

"No. I cannot go back to Lord Thurr - he will execute me on sight. My head will be displayed in the square as a warning to all! He may take... my soul," the dragon shivered.

"I will take you to Lord Varl," Fardon decided. "He shall judge you and determine your fate." Sarkir withered visibly.

"You are my Lord and master," he said, mustering his dignity. "My life is in your claws, and if you choose to extinguish it... your word is law. I will not resist."

"You will be punished," Fardon said. "But execution seems unlikely. We are not as brutal as your people seem to be." Mermul grunted at this and swished his tail.

"I have killed many," Sarkir said quietly. "I was sent to slay Mermul when he left Arcaia... I burned Hunters and others of the Small Races."

"You did that?!" Mermul looked horrified. "You're the murderer who killed those migrants that Fardon interrogated me over...?"

"Yes," Sarkir said, laying his head on the ground. "I have slain many... Such acts of murder are punishable by death in most places, and I await my fate." He closed his eyes, clearly expecting Narfus or Fardon to behead him there and then.

"Ah, but you have not killed them within our realm," Fardon pointed out, grinning wickedly. "That's the wonderful thing about disputed territories. When it favours us, it's our sovereign territory. When it does not, it's a no-man's land.
"You did not succeed in killing Mermul either. No... you will be judged by our Lord. If you are found unworthy you will be banished from the realm. Otherwise, you will be permitted to stay if you so choose. Subject to certain conditions, of course."

"Remember, I live here," Mermul said quietly. "For the things I have done... they could easily have taken my head. It would have been within their right to do so... and in truth, they came close. Yet still I live and breathe."

Sarkir lifted his head up, and glanced at the fluff-dragon with an uncomfortable expression. "This is true," he admitted.

"But what about their families?!" Fiskul sounded appalled. "You've finally caught the murderer responsible... and you're going to let them go...?"

"Politics," Fardon said. "Killing him will not bring them back, and Sarkir will be more protection against Lord Thurr if he's on our side, than he would be as a headless corpse in a guillotine.
"Those unfortunates were killed by an agent of Lord Thurr, and that's all anyone needs to know. It's not perfect, but... Well. Among other things, we don't know for sure that he actually did it. He could be bragging, or covering for some other agent now he knows his own life is worthless. Would you take someone's head off over a stupid boast, Fiskul?"

"...No," the Devourer said. "Though I don't want his life taken anyway. It wouldn't solve much, but a jail term would at least keep him out of trouble. Also... we don't really want to make a martyr."

"But what about Thurr?" Mermul asked worriedly. "Will he try to assassinate Sarkir too...?"