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Mermul's current arc finishes, and we shift focus to Fardon and his mission to see Lord Terror.
As a reminder, the story may contain some mature elements, but as usual I'm aiming for a PG-13 baseline.

Icon art from the Mermul reference by  featheryflukes

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Chapter 5 - Traitors

Lord Thurr's eyes narrowed. "Fercia! Traitor! You have a lot of nerve coming here. I thought Lord Varl had taken your head!"

"He did," Mermul said. "And I gave it back." Lord Thurr looked startled, and then glowered at Fercia again.

"I am sorry, my lord," the dragoness sighed. "It was not my intention to bother the living again. But now I am here, having betrayed both you and violated the Pax Draconica in Taria... I seek to make amends. I aided Mermul in his struggle, told him about the Xebulon. And this, I think was enough, for the gods to grant me a second chance."

"What, then, do you propose to do with that chance?" Thurr asked, his voice noticeably less stony.

"I cannot stay in Taria. Even though the Great One has allowed my return, it is not fair to those I have wronged. But here, under your command, I can strengthen the alliance between you and Lord Varl.
"I was once a top agent for this realm, and I know much that may have been forgotten during the confrontation with Mermul. I can assist you. If I can make the realm a better place, help prepare it for the signing of the Pax Draconica, I will have helped to repay my debts."

"Talking of which, she owes me quite a sum of money," Mermul added. "We arranged a settlement with Lord Varl to compensate the families she has wronged. Being the inheritor of her estate, I have had to assist her financially in this matter. I would not see her head removed again, just as she is trying to do the right thing. You should always encourage the behaviour you want to see."

"If Fercia is true to her word, I shall ensure that her debts are repaid," Lord Thurr conceded. "That seems only fair, not least because this is ultimately the fault of this realm's old policies. But I shall have my eye on you, Fercia."

"As will Narkath," Fercia said. "I know my fate if I fail again, and I truly do want to start afresh. Oh, and Mermul...? Tell Vinny that... I understand."

* * *

The green dragon came to slowly, his eyelids opening a crack. Everything was muddy and confused, and the echoes of another life rang loudly through his mind.

"Coma," he croaked. A dream of the afterlife while he lay incapacitated, that must have been it.

"Hello there," Mermul said. The green dragon's eyes opened fully, took in the blue-grey frost dragon before him and gave a piercing shriek, eyes darting around madly.

"Shush," Mermul said. "It's okay, it's okay..."

"You're his assassin!" the dragon blurted, cowering. "One of his pet killers!"

"I've switched careers," the fluff-dragon said. "I am a dragon - hunting and slaying is part of my nature. But hunting and slaying my fellow dragons? That's no way to run a civilised society. I brought you back, friend. Welcome."

"But I was slain," the green dragon said slowly. "I remember now. The guillotine in the square... my fellows laughing and cheering as I was strapped down and decapitated... Thurr watching with excitement... It was too real to be a dream. I thought at first that I had been in a coma and dreamed of the life after ours... But... I... I am confused."

"Don't worry, you are safe now," Lord Thurr said coaxingly as he entering the room. The green dragon screamed again.

"Do calm down, please," the red dragon said. "I am not the one who slew you. I requested Mermul's aid in restoring you to life."

"But... But that's impossible!"

"Improbable, yes," Lord Thurr said. "But the Great One has seen fit to bless Mermul with wonderous powers of healing. For the gods, impossible is a much higher bar."

"I, too, lost my head to Lord Thurr," Mermul said. "In that, we are brothers of the guillotine. But I was turned back from the land beyond, sent to act as a balance for the Devourer. Life and healing against death and destruction."

"Now tell us, please, what is your name?" Lord Thurr added.

"You don't even remember that?!" the dragon looked mortified. "I angered you enough to merit execution in public... To hear the jeers of my brothers ringing in my ear-canals as my life ebbed away. I'd hoped to have left more of an impression. Apparently I died in vain..." he ended with a brief sob.

"Shush," Thurr said comfortingly. "It's alright now. Despite all appearances, I did not slay you, nor witness your death. All I know is that your head was mounted in the trophy room, with a date logged beneath it. I do not know who you are, or what was Thurr's problem with you. I am hoping that you were attempting to bring his downfall. If so, rest assured that this has finally happened."

"I'm not that confused," the dragon snapped. "You are Lord Thurr! If you're going to kill me again, stop messing with my head and just get it over with!"

"Your confusion is understandable," the red dragon informed him. "I am actually the enchantress Zeelah from Taria. Lord Thurr murdered me and swallowed my soul. Shortly afterwards, he met with a tragic spiritual accident and is now... indisposed," he glanced meaningfully at the enchanted bracelet. "I have taken over his body, and with it the realm."

"That is why you claim not to remember me? Why you sought to revive me at all?"

"Precisely," Thurr said. "Believe it or not, I am slowly turning things around. I suspect you opposed Thurr's policies, since your death was noted as being for treason. If you can help the realm become fairer and more just, I can make you an advisor, or one of my staff. I chose you because your death was most recent and we do not yet know the limits of Mermul's ability to revive the slain."

"Huh," the green dragon said, digesting the news, and craning his neck to glance from Thurr to Mermul.

"Kill," he said at last. Thurr froze. "What!? Kill me...? You do know I'm wearing an invincibility bracelet, right...?"

"It's my name," the green dragon insisted. "I'm called 'Kill'." The other two dragons stared at him as if he was unhinged.

"It wasn't my idea," he complained. "My parents had a nasty sense of humour. They hoped I would slay Hunters, and that the words 'Kill the dragon!' would take on a new meaning for my victims as they died."

"Uh," Thurr said awkwardly. "If you want me to officially change it for you..."

"I'll consider it. 'Kell' is a name I have considered taking if ever I escaped Thurr's realm. It's close enough..."

"We can call you that if you prefer. And you are free to leave if you want," Thurr said. "It would have its advantages over explaining why a traitor has been forgiven and brought back to life. But if you want to stay and help make things better, that offer is still on the table."

"I'll consider that too. My danger senses are screaming that I should get out of here as quickly as possible before you drop the act and kill me... But I've already died once. I know what to expect if it happens again..."

"We won't slay you out of hand," Mermul said. "If you went crazy and started trying to murder people? That would do it. But I don't want to see my work wasted in bringing you back to life."

"Perhaps we could demonstrate?" Thurr said. "Do you feel up to another revival, Mermul?"

Kell looked at them with a haunted expression.

"I do not know how wise it is to revive older traitors," he said slowly. "I have been gone a short time - I think - but still, I have pangs of regret at returning to the world. Those who have been in the Fair Place for years, decades... they will likely prefer to remain there.
"And if they have been centuries in the Places Beyond, they will probably not be able to function here without a lot of rehabilitation. Of course, any still being tormented for their crimes in life, would likely jump at the chance to return. But would you want someone so wicked to come back in the first place?"

"I take it your stay in the Punishment Place was short?" Mermul asked.

"I died trying to aid the realm against Thurr," Kell admitted. "I am a dragon, none of us are innocent. But I was judged to need little correction. But be aware that not everyone in his trophy room has died unjustly. Some hated the Small Races just as passionately as Thurr, and simply wanted his throne for themselves. The enemy of your enemy is not always your friend, after all..."

"I do not like the idea of having to un-resurrect someone if they are undesirable, or wish to return to the land of the dead," Mermul said queasily. "And the borderline cases? Urgh. We will have to think about this."

"We could always exile them," Thurr pointed out. "That has its own problems, but if they truly deserve to die... Either they will not be allowed to return, or else... Well, the Hunters will probably take care of them for us, much as I hate to say it.
"I say, let's try two more and see what happens. Assuming you are willing, of course."

"Very well," Mermul said unhappily. "Which one do you want to try next?"

"Chronological order," Thurr decided. "Let's do the next one."

Mermul inhaled deeply and then breathed blue plasma upon the next dragon skull. Nothing happened.

"...It didn't work!" the frost dragon looked horrified.

"Perhaps they did not want to return," Kell said. "I think... yes, I could have refused to return if I chose."

"I hope so," Mermul still looked concerned. "And I don't want to force someone back to life if they didn't want it, but... I don't know. I'm worried in case it means something happened to their soul!"

"That is possible," Thurr sighed. "The Xebulon freed all trapped souls about my person, but... well, certain agents were given invulnerability charms. And those will not have been undone, and I do not know who was trapped in them, nor for what reason.
"Let us hope that this mishap is the will of the gods, that the Great One does not want them to return," he added.

"I will try one more," Mermul said. "Then I would like to return to Taria. We can pick this up again at a later date, can't we?"

"That seems fair to me," Lord Thurr agreed.


Chapter 6 - Arstrom

By themselves, Fardon and Fiskul could probably have made the journey to Arstrom in three days or more. But since most of the negotiators and support staff could not fly, they used a convoy of ground vehicles, following the trade route to Trooland and stopping at various small towns to refuel and resupply. On several occasions bandits attempted to rob the convoy, but Fardon's presence caused many to reconsider. Some did not and were dispatched as humanely as the situation would allow.

Of Hunters there were no sign, nor attempts on Fardon's life. This was a popular trade corridor and dragon traffic was an important part of it - Atlantia knew all too well that if their Hunters disrupted trade between realms, it would be considered an act of war and it wasn't worth risking an invasion over dragons who were clearly protecting their human allies.

Even so, Fardon ensured he kept within sight of the highway at all times, since a dragon who strayed far from it would not be covered by the gentleman's agreement to refrain from targeting traders.

Rest stops dotted the road every so often, offering fuel, food and sleeping quarters. Dragons escorting traders was a long-established convention and space was made available for them to roost. As with the roads, the Hunters knew better than to prey on the sleeping dragon escorts, but security systems and armoured lairs were also available for added peace of mind.

Eight days into their trek, Fardon scouted ahead, returning to the convoy to report that their destination was close at hand.

"The capital is a walled city, is it not?" Captain Farander enquired. "Will the entrance accept our convoy?"

"I do not think so," Fardon said. "Crossing the drawbridge itself should not be an issue, but the city itself... That's a problem. It's densely packed."

"Ah, an old city. I should have guessed."

"Quite," Fardon replied. "It can accomodate a dragon, but the city was clearly designed more for foot traffic than modern vehicles. The idea that mere peasants might one day be able to afford their own personal vehicles was clearly something that had never been considered by the street planners. Though given the previous administration, that's hardly surprising.

"But there is a parking area. Looks recent. It's patrolled and has closed-circuit television, so I assume the idea is that we can park there, and enter the city on foot."

"Not ideal, but it will have to do," the captain sighed.

Not long afterwards, Fardon and Fiskul stood, contemplating the entrance to the capital of Arstrom. By the entrance to the city, a gallows had been erected. From it hung the swaying body of a warrior clad in tight-fitting leather armour, a rough cloth hood covering his face, and a long feline tail dangled brokenly between the two limp leather boots.

"Dragonslayer," Fardon remarked, sniffing the air.

"While it is nice to know that they care for our wellbeing, this may have been a little excessive," Fiskul sighed.

"I do not like to think of the Small Races as lesser beings simply because of their short lives," Fardon said, "But it cannot be denied that replacing a dragon is slower and harder than replacing a furre, and when deciding a punishment, allowances are often made for that fact.
"Dragons are not men, and men are not dragons. Treating both exactly the same is too often misused to persecute one race by pretending fairness - and the Pax Draconica takes such perfidy into account.
"But I digress. The point is, that I do not see the Small Races as disposable... but this 'Lord Terror' might."

"I should go," Fiskul said. "The lord might not be too keen to see the Devourer of All Things inside his city. I will stay with the vehicles. If you need aid, breathe fire into the sky and I'll come find you. It might also be a good idea to have someone radio me twice a day to verify that you're all safe."

"I doubt it will come to that, but perhaps it's better to be safe than sorry," Fardon agreed.

* * *

Fardon and the delegates were met at the gate, Fardon's brief overflight earlier having warned the city to expect them imminently. They were led through the streets to the castle, and the great-hall where a tiger furre in ornate clothing bowed before him.

"I am Sir Victor, seneschal to Lord Terror," the tiger said. "My lord sends his apologies, as he will be unable to greet you today, but he has left a message for you. It was taped this very morning."

So saying, the steward threaded a large spool of inch-wide videotape upon a recorder in the corner of the room, and threw a switch.

The xenon light came on first, covering the screen in a fierce white glare. A test pattern displayed, garbled and flowing strangely as the pool of oil reached operating temperature within the guts of the Eidophor and the image resolved. There was a distorted smear which gradually slid down the screen, fading as it went, and then a face appeared.

The speaker was a furre of indeterminate species with long black hair and two long black horns. A yellow tuft dropped down over his face, obscuring one eye slightly. His face was white with yellow stripes on each cheek, a slightly reptilian look beneath the short fur. The image cut off below his head, but the tops of his shoulders were visible, clad in something shiny and black. Behind him, a royal banner or tapestry had been draped.

"Hail, Sir Fardon," the figure said, holding up a glossy, black-gloved hand in a gesture of greeting. "My greetings to your staff also. I sincerely apologise for not greeting you in person.
"The timing of your arrival is most unfortunate, as it coincides with affairs of state that I cannot neglect, not even for the lord of another realm. Again, I am deeply sorry, and regret that I expect to be detained for the entire day. However, I shall be free on the morrow and can meet with you then, if that will suit.
"Meanwhile, if you wish to tour the city in my absence, my steward can arrange that for you. My people have been warned that a dragon ambassador may be visiting over the coming days, so traversing the streets should not present any problems.
"In addition, we also have a dragon-related situation that your insight may help us in resolving peacefully. While I appreciate that you have come here as Lord Varl's emissary and not to act as my fixer, I do believe it would be in all our interests if you could advise us. We can discuss that in person when we meet, but you might also wish to speak to my steward about this matter."

"Speaking of whom," the lord added, gesturing a shiny glove, "Please accept these gifts as an honoured guest of the realm. One is for you, the other to bring back to your lord as a token of my esteem for him. My apologies once again for not being able to greet you in person. Yours respectfully, Lord Terror."

He stared at the camera for a few seconds more, bowed and then reached out to stop the recorder.

"Oh gods," the tiger croaked, looking mortified as he stopped the tape. "I left the gifts in the parlour."

"Easily done," Sir Fardon laughed. "Don't sweat it. Lord Varl once dropped a decorative egg he was presenting. We have gifts also, but it might be better to wait and present those in person."

"I thank you for your forbearance," the tiger said, as one of the other staff ran off to fetch them. "What would you like to do? If you or your delegation are tired from your journey, I can show you to your rooms. Alternatively, since you are here to investigate a possible alliance with our realm, you may wish to take a tour of the capital as my Lord has suggested."

"Yes, I would certainly like to see the city," Fardon said. "My staff can join us, or rest, as they wish. I am curious, though... Why does your lordship want to bring dragons back to Arstrom? We are understandably not popular here after the Great Burning of 1508, and that was merely the culmination of centuries of conflict."

"There is truth in that," Victor said. "But time can heal wounds. None now remember those days, and there has not been a repeat of that unfortunate occurrence.
"More to the point, my lord is not from Arstrom. He came here as a wandering adventurer, who has had dealings with dragons before and has seen the benefits your kind can bring. He believes that the time is right to try again, and see if we can recreate here, the success you enjoy in Taria and Arcaia when the small and big races can each apply their own strengths."

"This makes sense," Fardon said. "And I wish you well in that venture. But tell me, Lord Terror also mentioned some situation, did he not?"

"Ah yes," the tiger said. "That. There is a dragon known to live in the area, though they keep to themselves and try to avoid being seen. They are believed to dwell in a cave high in the hills near Lundgarten.
"That in itself is not a problem, but the Mystic Order of Thea has recently accused the dragon of kidnapping one of their number. They are getting increasingly irate about this matter, and it is becoming an irritation for my lord."

"And you would like me to intercede?" Fardon asked.

"As an honoured guest, we cannot impose on you to do this," the seneschal said. "The decision is yours. But it would greatly please my lord if you can assist us in reaching a peaceful solution."

"The dragonslayer by the gates," Fardon said. "That was an attempt at a less peaceful solution...?"

The tiger looked at the floor. "Yes," he sighed. "He came here, seeking to slay the creature and win the Order's favour. Lord Terror had him brought in to explain himself. Someone who has slain dragons in the past and outside of our realm is one thing, but when it came out that he had entered our realm specifically to kill again..." the tiger shuddered. "I have never seen my lord so angry. He lived up to his name that day, and personally executed the death sentence upon the miscreant."

"But the situation is stable now?" Fardon asked, looking most concerned. "There is no immediate threat to the dragon?"

"Not yet. The Mystic Order intends to send an expedition to the cave later this tenday," the tiger said. "If you can accompany them to help negotiate with the dragon, that would be greatly appreciated. Being a religious matter, some are willing to risk Lord Terror's wrath for their beliefs. They are a popular faction within the city, and we cannot simply arrest them when they have not yet broken the law. My lord is, in the end, more gentle than his predecessors..."

"I will try to assist," Fardon said. "Today, I would like to tour the city, if you please... But if you can also inform the Mystic Order that I will be willing to aid them, that alone may take some of the pressure off matters."

"Lord Terror asked me to tell you, that if you accept, he will owe you a favour," the seneschal said, sounding relieved. "If he should visit your realm, he will endeavour to repay you in kind should the situation arise. But for now, come, and I shall arrange for you to see the capital."


Chapter 7 - Meeting People

Fardon's armour clanked as he strode down the street. While he was not too worried about assassination attempts from the dragon-fearing members of the population, he knew that it looked impressive, and a dragon seen to be wearing armour was clearly a being of culture and not a mere beast.

Temporary fencing had been used to block off half the street, giving him room to move. Captain Farander had insisted on accompanying him,

Fardon stopped in front of a market stall. He had picked it largely at random, but the fact that it happened to sell books was a definite bonus.

"Good afternoon," Sir Fardon began. The bookseller froze for a few moments and then found his voice.

"Greetings, uh, sir dragon," he rambled. "It was told to us that we could expect an ambassador of your kind, but I never thought it would be me greeting them! How may I help you, your... uh..."

"Sir Fardon will be fine," the dragon said reassuringly. "I am something of a reader, so I wanted to see what you had in stock."

"Can a dragon actually read a book intended for men?" the bookseller looked puzzled. "I mean, I know you can read, but you are so much larger than I..."

"It takes tweezers and care," Fardon admitted. "Much like a jeweller or a watchmaker. Books that I wish to read regularly, I will have photo-enlarged to a more suitable size, filmed for projection or in times past, copied out into a larger volume by scribes. Nowadays we also have automatic book-readers that can project an enlargement upon a wall for ease of reading, and turn the pages for us.

"But first," he said, "I would like a moment of your time, if I may. Gossip is often interesting when visiting a new place."

The dragon stretched out a wing, shielding the bookseller from view, and curled his head back around behind it.

"We may speak privately," Fardon said. "If you do not mind, I would like to know what you think of your lord. My own lord desires to know what he is like, and I am curious myself. You may speak in confidence, and I will take it as a grave diplomatic insult if you are harassed as a result of this."

"Well," the bookseller started, "Before he came, we were ruled by Yyrkoon the Unsteady. It is said that some referred to him as 'raccoon' during his reign, but this largely ceased when several of those were strung from the dule-tree. Finally, Lord Terror arrived, and claimed the throne by virtue of shortening its previous occupant. Few tears were shed when the tyrant's head rolled free. That is no secret."

"And he has not fallen into his predecessor's old habits?"

"Nay. He treats us well," the man said. "And I do not say this for fear of the dule-tree. Were I a thousand miles away, I would say the same - that he is better by far than those who came before. A breath of fresh air for Arstrom.
"No ruler is perfect, and his anger can be deadly. In that, he is aptly named Lord Terror. But he holds his temper well, better than Yyrkoon ever could.
"When first he came, most assumed that we would have one tyrant replaced by another, for that cycle has oft been repeated in Arstrom. And yet, in the decades since, none have been punished by the neck for speaking their mind, and the land has prospered greatly under his rule. Precious few seriously believe things were better before."

"I hope to meet his lordship in person on the morrow," Fardon said. "What does he look like? I have only seen a recording, and that showed only his face."

"His appearance is unusual. He is a furre, mostly white, with black hair and wings. But not a species I have ever seen before. Some say he is a were-beast... for he disappears from public view once a moon, and his steward rules for that time. Only in a most dire emergency is he to be roused from his sanctum during those days... Or so the rumours say. It is not my place to speculate," he added, looking more furtive.

"Interesting," Fardon said. "Or perhaps Lord Terror has a female reproductive system, if the lunar cycle affects him so?"

"That too, is not for me to speculate," the bookseller admitted uncertainly. "Our Lord has made it known that they do not wish to be called 'she', despite their somewhat effeminate looks and clothing. Androgynous, really. 'He' or 'They' are preferred, and it is notable that he has chosen 'Lord', not 'Lady' for his title.
"It is not a secret that he has bedded men, and those who have attended to such needs are left in no doubt that he possesses male anatomy."

"That is perhaps more information than I wished to know," Fardon admitted. "Whom your lord wishes to romp with is none of my business. Nor do I know how such things are considered here, for that matter. Among dragons, large, long-lived creatures who need a lot of food, we have to keep our numbers manageable, and romping with others of the same sex helps with that. So in Taria, Arcaia and even in Thurr's realm, such relationships are not considered unusual."

"It was a most grave offence under the old regime," the bookseller supplied. "Punished by the guillotine, for hanging has a lewd reputation, if you follow me." He paused. "...Which you might not. I know not whether that particular quirk of biology applies to males of the dragon kind also..."

"I do not know that either, and I do not wish to find out," Fardon admitted, "But I do know of the effect you speak of. Too many parallels with the crime itself for their sense of propriety, I presume..."

"Indeed. Regardless, Lord Terror legalised such acts of love as soon as he found out they were forbidden, though it has taken time for people to adjust to that. At first, many were scandalised and feared the worst, that he would prove a dissolute wastrel - as princes sometimes will. But even his detractors have been forced to admit that we have done splendidly under his rule thus far and that his... eccentricities... are a price worth paying for the progress our realm has made."

"Oho," Fardon said. "Eccentricities? This sounds interesting!"

"I have said enough," the bookseller looked embarrassed. "Mayhap I have said overmuch, but... Well, you will see for yourself soon enough. Our lord dresses in shiny black, always. Usually a body-suit that clings tightly to his form, and he is rarely seen without it. Sometimes he wears a pleated skirt, which upsets the Church most greatly.
"As I have earlier said of the princes, it is not unknown for a ruler to wear scandalous clothing in private, in the bedroom. Usually, to speak of it openly would be to risk the rope dance or becoming head on a spike... Yet our lord openly wears such garments, even for formal occasions! That, certainly, took a lot of getting used to, and many still resent it."

"I did notice his gloves on the video," Fardon said. "Thank you, that is most interesting. It will not affect the outcome of my diplomatic mission, let me assure you. If anything it will save me from surprise when we finally meet.
"I thank you for your time," he added, folding his wing back into place. "And your forthrightness. It seems he is a great improvement over his predecessor, and a promising candidate for an alliance. Still, we shall see. Now, if you have any books of history, I would be intrigued to see them..."

* * *

The architecture of Lord Terror's castle was old, clearly dating back to a time before the Great Burning, when dragons were still welcome inside it. There was a notable absence of spires, but various large porches and flat areas which had evidently been landing sites for visiting dragons. One of these now held a helicopter.

The banquet hall was no exception to this, and it had not been difficult to find space for Sir Fardon to sit in front of the table. Most of a cow sat upon the table before him, roasted and garnished, with a large bowl of drink beside it.

"It has been a long time since we have had a dragon attend a banquet," Sir Victor said apologetically. "I for one am uncertain of the etiquette, as is my lord. I hope it will suffice."

"This will be fine," Sir Fardon reassured him. "I beg you keep in mind that dragons are not known for our table manners, and I apologise for this in advance."

Sir Victor stood up. "Ladies, Gentlemen, and any others," he declared, "On behalf of our lord, I welcome Sir Fardon and his team to Arstrom. My lord hopes, as do we all, that a trade agreement can be reached, or better still, a formal alliance with Lord Varl of Taria. My lord again sends his apologies for his unavoidable absence, but..."

The seneschal's voice faltered, as a crash and yells came from behind them. Guards were in pursuit of three armed furres in combat gear.

"There it is!" one of them screamed. Fardon looked up and then ducked as an anti-tank round slammed into the wall behind him.

"Assassins!" the dragon hissed, and his forepaw glowed white-hot. The soldiers looked around in confusion as the dragon had vanished.

"It teleported!" one of them said.

"What have you done?!" Sir Victor demanded, claws outstretched, face a mask of fury. "What is the meaning of this outrage? This was supposed to be negotiations for a peace treaty!"

"There can never be peace with dragons!" the soldier roared. "We are here to do justice upon the foul worm that dares to sully this land with its blasphemous presence! Justice for the Great Burning!"

"Arrest them!" the seneschal commanded.

"But, Sir! The weapons..." one the guards protested.

"If they are smart they will surrender," the tiger said ominously. "So far, they have caused criminal damage to a wall and embarrassed a visiting dignitary. But if anyone here dies, it will mean summary execution for those responsible."

The soldier checked the safety and threw his weapon to the ground, his underlings following suite with a clatter of anti-dragon weaponry. They were cuffed and led away at gunpoint.

"What now?" Victor asked, head in hands. "The ambassador has fled. The treaty has failed... and gods alone know what the ambassador will be telling his king."

"Hmm," the ginger housecat said, climbing out from under the table. "That remains to be seen. Have those maniacs gone?"

"Wait... who are you?" Sir Victor asked, eyes narrowing. "Are you on the ambassador's staff? I don't remember seeing you enter. Are you a spy...?"

"Hardly. I am the ambassador," he said politely. "Teleportation magic is very draining. Switching forms is easier, but it does leave me more vulnerable."

"I see..." the seneschal said. "I have heard rumours of this, but I did not know it was common among dragons," he admitted.

"It is not," Fardon said. "It's not an innate ability, it's a skill we learn. Not everyone can do it at all. Nor is it something we advertise," he replied with a dour expression.
"When word got out in Talvania, a dragonfinder general was called and hanged scores of innocents in public, believing them to be dragons in disguise. It was even worse when he finally succeeded. That time he used an axe, and when the victim's head came off, they reverted to true form and collapsed the scaffold. The executioner, the dragonfinder and dozens of onlookers were all fatally crushed beneath the corpse of their victim.
"No... it is better not to breed suspicion and paranoia, therefore it would be best for all if you did not repeat this. After all, one does not need to be a dragon to suffer from such purges."

"Very true," Sir Victor admitted. "It shall remain secret."

Fardon looked around once again, took a few paces back and then reverted to dragon form.

"What will happen to those... terrorists?" he asked.

"That will be for Lord Terror to decide," Sir Victor sighed. "He will be furious. Normally, they would probably escape with a jail sentence. But in these circumstances that seems unlikely to me," he said sadly.
"My lord is just and tolerant. But being embarrassed before an important visitor? Flagrantly insulting his authority and laws? Defying his aims as lord? Oh, now that is something he does not abide.
"They have given the impression that he cannot protect his own honoured guests. I expect that he will cut their heads off."

Chapter 8 - Lord Terror

Fardon entered the throne room, pulling a cart with his tail. A flicker of concern ran over his face, as he realised that the large room was empty apart from the solitary figure sat upon his throne. Just like in the video, he was a furre with a slightly reptilian look about him and hooded eyes that gave him a faint sneering expression.
He was wearing a glossy black catsuit, complete with polished black gloves and high-heeled boots. Behind him, more obvious than in the recording, were two black leathery wings, like a bat. Or a dragon.

"Lord Terror," Fardon said. "At last we meet, your lordship. It is an honour."

"'Terry' is fine," the furre replied casually. "Well met, Sir Fardon. I can only apologise for the indignity of that assassination attempt yesterday. Those responsible will be dealt with accordingly."

"These things happen," the brown dragon said. "Not a good start to negotiation, but now we are face-to-face, I hope we can get past that bump."

"I am relieved," the furre said, and meant it. "Did my gifts find you well?"

"Indeed," Fardon said. "Lord Varl will be delighted. And here are ours," he added, pulling the cart alongside himself and lifting away a veil, leaving a marble statue that depicted the three races in a circle, holding hands.

Lord Terror rose from his throne, and walked over to admire the sculpture. He clapped his gloved hands with a slapping noise of rubber against rubber. "It is beautiful," he said, looking well pleased. "Very well done, and so very relevant to both our interests. A wonderful depiction of the unity I hope to bring here. Human, Furre... and dragon."

Fardon grinned widely, showing many teeth. "I know," he stated in Dracolingua. "You are one of Us." The other creature's grin widened, matching Fardon as best he could.

"We have much to discuss," Terry replied in Common, heading back towards his throne and beckoning with a black gloved hand. "Come, if you will, to my sanctum. There, we can talk privately."

The anthro-dragon bent over and pressed some hidden switches on the throne. At this, one of the walls parted to reveal a hidden passage large enough for Fardon to squeeze through. He hopped towards it, agile even with the stiletto-heeled boots he wore, and beckoned the dragon to follow.

"I won't say the game is up," he said as the tunnel closed behind them, "Because I trust you will keep this quiet, for now. I do not know how the populace will react if it is known that I am a dragon, though that should become easier soon - once our kind are a more common sight in this land."

"A reasonable precaution to take," Fardon said. "I see no need to upset that applecart. But just because you are a fellow dragon, it does not guarantee our goals will align. I was sent to establish diplomatic links, but I must also be sure you are not another Lord Thurr. Or a Hunter."

"Then I appreciate your trust in following me to what could be a dungeon for captive dragons," Terry said. "Where I keep my rivals imprisoned, perhaps? Aside from my steward and personal physician - who both know the secret - you will be the first to see this."

Fardon rolled his eyes, as the shiny lord reached upwards to touch a large switch set above his head. The bulkhead door slid open to reveal the flashing of fluorescent light strips coming up to temperature.

"So this is your secret base," Fardon said. "I cannot be the first to see it, surely! What about those who built it?"

"Sworn to secrecy," Terry said. "Also, they did not know quite what they were building. There is a second exit, of course... So the initial work was started there, and I let them think the bunker would be for holding a dragon captive. The passage leading into to the palace was human-sized, to guide them away from thinking that a dragon might actually be entering from the throne room itself. I dug that final link myself, once my quarters were furnished and the workers had left."

Lord Terror jumped a few paces back, a leap aided by his black, leathery wings. He closed his eyes and vanished in a flash of light. Where the dragon-man had been, a massive feral dragon now stood, short white fur, black hair that flowed into a mane down his back. His powerful body held the same patternings of his dragon-man form... clearly he had based his furre guise entirely on his true appearance.

"Ahhh," Terry sighed happily. "It is useful to be small, and I do so enjoy wearing pretty clothes. But being big and powerful has a lot going for it."

"Big and stompy," Fardon agreed, doing a a little dance that echoed throughout the bunker.

"Quite," Terry said, taking up the dance as well. "I can maintain my furre appearance for quite some time," he added. "But not indefinitely."

"That, then is why you disappear once a month?" Fardon asked, looking around the concrete walls, as Terry led him into a large cavern where the dragon-lord clearly spent much of his time in true form. Comfortable dragon-couches stood in a row, with plush decoration and rows of huge tomes and journals, just the right size for a dragon to use.

"Heard about my disappearing, have you?" Terry said, lounging on one of the couches and beckoning Fardon to do the same. "Good, good. Some suspect I am a werewolf or suchlike, and that serves as a useful misdirection. But yes, I need approximately one day in thirty to recover.
"I apologise again for being unable to greet you yesterday, and for my vague reasons behind it. I truly did need most of the day to recuperate, or I would risk reverting to my true form and threatening everything I had worked for."

"I quite understand," Sir Fardon said. "I myself have never pushed transformation that hard. Sustaining your alternate form for an entire month is truly an impressive feat."

"Thank you. Tell me, did you guess from only that? That I periodically disappear, even at the risk of snubbing a trade partner?"

"Well, I also heard that your are fond of bedding others," Fardon said. "The black rubber outfits you like wearing, for instance? Even when greeting a diplomat by video? It was that promiscuity which made me suspect your draconic nature. Humans and furres are a lot more... uptight about it, especially between members of the same sex."

Lord Terror smiled, his hooded eyes widening slightly to show a look of genuine happiness. "In some cultures such... romping... is used to seal a bargain," he rumbled. "I do not know if Taria does that, but I am open to the possibility. Let me know if you would like to tour the den."

"Perhaps," Fardon allowed, admiring the other male's muscular physique and wagging his massive tail slightly. "One does not usually hump the ruler as an opening move in a bid to find allies, though it can sometimes work."

"Ah yes. Earlier you compared me to Lord Thurr," Terry snorted with amusement. "I can understand your caution, but really...? A dragon supremacist ruling a land where dragons have been driven into hiding and blamed for each and every natural disaster?"

"It's not impossible," Fardon said. "You are a dragon ruling over the Small Races. To some, this is the worst-case scenario, that an evil monster has cruelly enslaved the population, as was common before the Pax Draconica.
"While you are surely not gunning for the extermination of the Small Races as some of Thurr's fanatics did, nor treating them as your private hunting reserve, it does not prove you have their interests at heart either.
"Hypothetically speaking, you might consider them toys to play with and discard. The lack of other dragons could mean that you have fought off or slain potential rivals, so as to be the Top Dragon here."

"Well reasoned," Terry said. "I conquered this land. By right, it is mine to rule as I see fit.
"At least, that's the theory. In practice, were I to move too swiftly, I could be dethroned, or assassinated by powers happy with the status quo. Even revealing my draconic nature, that would only protect me so far, as I'm sure you are well aware.
"Making this change... Opening the doors to other dragons, clearing a path to finally reveal the truth... That is a policy I have been slowly working towards for decades. You are now witnessing the fruit of that labour.
"While I do not expect you to merely take my word for it, I do have no antipathy towards the people I rule. You may ask them if you wish."

"I did ask around a little," Fardon said. "It wasn't exactly conclusive. It seems to be varying mixtures of awe, love and fear. They like what you're doing, but most are scared of you."

"Figures," Lord Terror said. "In the end, I am a dragon. Most of us enjoy the occasional bout of violence. But I am no fool. I focus my wrath upon those who have committed capital offences. That way, the streets are safe, and I get to satisfy some of the baser urges in my wicked little draconic heart.
"A powerful dragon such as you or I could wreak devastation if we were to run rampant," he said. "A village or town could fall to our flames. A city, if there were several of us. Instead, we slay a few here, a few there. Carefully making sure that they deserved such fate, for there are always criminals within a realm. You are Sir Fardon, are you not? You must surely know the forbidden thrill of taking a life."

"Only too well," Fardon said. "I am no stranger to carrying out executions and I know full well the dark urges of which you speak, and how we may quench them. I also saw the dragonslayer at the city gates."

"Ah, yes," Terry said. "I know there are other dragons within my realm. Hiding, like the one I mentioned yesterday. Sometimes they show themselves. They have helped extinguish forest fires, and then fled back to whatever bolt-hole they live in.
"I will not have my own kind hunted like animals! That was one of the first changes I made when taking power, and those who seek to flaunt such laws... Well, you saw what happens to them. I enjoyed that. Dark urges and vengeance, combined." he grinned fiercely for a moment.

"Sometimes I worry that I may indeed be a tyrant," the white and yellow dragon sighed, looking saddened. "I have tried to ensure the land is free and prosperous, while keeping enough of an iron fist to remind all that I am not to be trifled with. It is a hard balance to keep and I have not always succeeded. Perhaps watching the execution in a black catsuit and miniskirt was a step too far. The Small Races can be so funny about clothing sometimes..."

"Is this another reason you are openly welcoming trade further afield?" Fardon asked. "To try and get other views on whether you have succeeded, from other dragons in particular?"

"That is part of it," the white dragon said. "Speaking as a dragon, there are many reasons I would want to have more of my kind present."

"If I may ask, though, why do you call yourself 'Lord Terror' if you fear becoming a tyrant? Even Thurr never went that far."

"Most dragons I have met are prone to talking up how evil and dangerous we are, to deter rivals and threats," the dragon said, shrugging his wings. "Like fanning one's wings to appear bigger. But you misunderstand... In this case, it really is just my name.
"You see, as a hatchling I was given a traditional name in Dracolingua. In Common, it translates as 'Terror-Wing-Devourer'. Hence, 'Lord Terror'. Before that, I suppose I was 'Mr. Terror', but I rarely used that as it doesn't have the same ring to it. Where it is not necessary to intimidate others, I prefer 'Terry'."