<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>

Terry negotiates with various factions and the topic of his unusual dress sense is explored.
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 Fardon reference by  FeatheryFlukes

===========


Chapter 13 - Atlantia Ascendant

Lord Terror sat at the meeting table. He had been tempted to pick a vinyl cape over his usual catsuit, and hope that a diadem alone would to convey that he was, in fact, the lord of the realm, and not some concubine who had strayed into the conference room by mistake.

In the end, he had compromised and picked an ornate robe to wear over his favourite rubber clothing, wriggling his wings to fit through the slits in the back which had been cut for them by the finest tailors in the capital.
This robe had once belonged to Yyrkoon the Unsteady, and had developed a number of ugly red stains at the end of its tenure, since heads tended make rather a mess once removed. But time and modern cleaning agents had faded the bloodstains to nothing, and Terry only wore the robes on special occasions anyway.

Lady Silver, a snow leopard furre from the Hunters' realm of Atlantia, sat opposite him. And, as Terry had expected, the meeting had got off to a rocky start.

"If it pleases your lordship to treat with beasts..." she was saying.

Lord Terror sat up straight, eyes narrowing. "Mind your tongue, Hunter," he hissed. "That word has too oft been used to describe furres. Dragonkind deserves similar courtesy."

"I know Arstrom has not been welcoming of dragons since the Great Burning," the lord continued. "But that is in the past, and we must look to the future. Once, humans and furres were sworn enemies who slew each other with abandon. Now it is unthinkable that they should be anything other than allies. Why should the situation be different with dragons?"

"It is not for us to state who you should and should not trade with," Lady Silver allowed. "But I beg you remember that dragons are dangerous. They attacked Arstrom before, and may do so again!"

"They have not done so in four centuries," Lord Terror reminded them.

"A long time for us, but many of those who perpetrated the attack are still alive today."

"And they are alive in spite of your efforts," Lord Terror growled. "You forget. I was not born in Arstrom, and I am older than I seem. I have worked with dragons before.
"When I took over here, I researched the Great Burning, spoke to dragons who had witnessed or taken part in it. And just as I suspected, what happened then was not some random act of savagery as you make out, but revenge owed for the abduction and murder of their young. So long as we do not repeat the mistakes of the past, that unfortunate situation should not recur."

The Hunter's representative sighed. "Perhaps you think the dragons will honour your lordship, but you are a furre. Do you truly believe they will see you even as an equal, let alone their master?"

"Look at me," Lord Terror said. "I have horns and wings. Long life. Do you not think that I may have a generous helping of dragon blood in my veins? And if you have read up on me at all, you will know my reputation as a most capable warrior.
"Those who recognise my desire to protect them will likely agree to my negotiations, for I seek an accord with them, not mastery and servitude. For those who only recognise brute force, I assure you I am quite capable of enforcing my will at the end of a dragonblade or a rifle, if that is what it takes. Do you think you are the only ones who can slay a dragon if the need arises?"

"Well, if you have need of our expertise or aid, we will gladly offer it..." the Hunter started. Terry emitted a threatening hiss.

"Apparently you do not fully understand," he said, forcing himself to be calm. "I have met dragons. Fought alongside them. Made friendships and alliances. I have seen the power of a three-race unity and I intend to bring that same miracle with Arstrom. I know what I am getting into.
"But I do not know what you are seeking to achieve here," he continued icily. "The dragons in Arstrom are under my protection, and that is final. Yes, if one of them goes rogue, perhaps they may need to be put to death. But until and unless I give my own personal authorisation, even attempting to slay one of my charges will result in a demonstration of my wrath."

"Let's be clear about this..." he continued. "I am not a simpleton. I know all too well that many Hunters believe their own deaths to be a price worth paying if it will take down one of dragonkind too, as dragons are few and the other races are many. So the repercussions for murdering a dragon in my realm shall go far beyond merely sending the heads of the guilty back to Atlantia, I assure you.
"I can make this realm off-limits to all Hunters on pain of immediate death. If I am feeling generous I will allow most of you to leave first. If I am not... know that while necromancy is a high crime in Arstrom, we have not yet signed any decree against the trapping of souls by state officials.
"This is my realm, Hunter, and my rules apply within it. And if you dare to bring your crusade here, you shall learn why I am called Lord Terror."

* * *

Terry sat back, waiting for the snow leopard to storm off in disgust. To his surprise, she remained seated. Privately, Terry was very impressed, though he tried not to show it.

"Your lordship," Lady Silver began, an earnest expression on her face. "Perhaps you assume that I am a fanatic, who wishes all dragons slain on principle. I assure you, that is not the case. I am a practical woman, who sees dragonslaying as an unfortunate last resort.
"It is true that I have no love for dragonkind. I do not trust them, and I strongly believe that humans and furres should be capable of defending themselves when the need arises. Personally, I believe your approach is dangerous and unwise. But you are clearly set upon this, and if you can truly pull off a lasting peace and can guarantee that the dragons of your realm do not harm our kind, then the results will speak for themselves. Slaying dragons is not an easy thing, and reducing the need to do so will save us much effort."

"That's... an unusual position for a Hunter to take," Terry replied sceptically.

"This moderate viewpoint is why I was chosen for this diplomatic mission. And I will be honest, the moderate faction is on the ascendant in Atlantia right now."

"Seriously...?" Terry's eyebrows raised.

"It's true. For a long time we have taken it as dogma that the Evil One, the destroyer of the world, was our number one threat, and that by slaying those who associated with him, we would be weakening his powers.
"Recent events in Taria and Thurr's realm have shown us that this was completely backwards, that by eliminating the Devourer's friends, we were instead eliminating his reasons to delay the apocalypse. We were endangering the world ourselves. This revelation was not taken well and has caused profound repercussions among Atlantia's leadership."

"If you had said any of this up front, I would have been far more accommodating," Terry growled. "Let me be clear... it will take time to trust your kind, Hunter. You started with shrill warnings against allowing dragons in Arstrom, so this seems a rather abrupt change in direction. It makes me suspicious.
"As I said, I have had friendships with dragons, and some of those friendships were prematurely ended by the actions of your people. It will take a long time to forgive that... and yet, if the moderate Hunters retain power and things continue to thaw... That would be a good thing, as far as I am concerned."

"If you wish to protect dragons within Arstrom, that is your business," the Hunter said. "You are the lord of the realm and must do as you see fit. I still say it is risky and unwise, but there are more important things at stake for Atlantia.
"If Arstrom should become a haven for dragons, we are worried that it may be treated as a safe-house for those who seek domination and murder. We do not want your realm to become a staging area for launching attacks against your neighbours. That is one reason for my being here."

"If that should happen, those responsible shall be punished accordingly," Lord Terror promised. "I want peace here, not more skirmishes between dragons and the Small Races. What are your other reasons...?"

"Let me be blunt, your lordship," Lady Silver said. "We know that you intend an alliance with Taria. I am not here to try and stop that, if you are determined to proceed with it. What troubles us most is the possibility that Hunters may be expelled from Arstrom as a result of that agreement.
"I know that you have no love for those who would kill dragons, and I understand that. But please try to remember that we are not all cut from the same cloth. There are families here who hailed originally from Atlantia and we would not see them expelled or executed merely for being here, as you threatened to do earlier."

"So what you are asking for," Terry said, "Is assurance that Hunters will continue to be able to enter my realm, if they obey my laws and their business here does not threaten my allies?"

"Yes," Lady Silver said, exhaling the word as if in great relief. "That is exactly it. We know your laws forbid us from slaying dragons without authorisation, and we will obey them as a diplomatic imperative.
"But Arstrom is strategically important, and we do not want to cut ties with you, dragons or no. We trade with you. We have people living here, and those who wish to monitor the situation regarding your experiments with allowing dragons to return. But most importantly, Atlantia also makes use of the Narduran trade route... Which runs through the north of your realm and uses the eastern pass."

"It cannot be denied that Atlantia has the finest weapons and aerotechnology," Terry admitted. "Those are indeed valued imports... but they are not irreplaceable. Other, less murderous realms offer both of these goods.
"Very well," he decided. "Trade will continue. Your people may continue to enter my realm. But if there is any violence against my dragon allies, my wrath shall fall upon you all, swift and harsh."

* * *

"Sir Fardon," Lord Terror said as he returned to the throne room. The large brown dragon lay there patiently, waiting for the other's return like a colossal dog, and stood up as he was addressed.

"I was wondering, your lordship," Fardon said. "How has your meeting with the ambassador from Atlantia gone, and it is likely to impact the agreement with Taria...?"

"The Atlantian delegation has agreed to my terms," Lord Terror told him.

"What?! Seriously...?" Fardon looked astonished.

"It was unexpected, yes," Terry said, looking perturbed as he leaned back in the throne and gazed up at the dragon. "The Hunters have agreed to honour my protection of dragons within Arstrom. They aren't happy about me allying with Taria, but they didn't try to stop it either. Hell, their representative barely blinked when the Pax Draconica was mentioned.
"They've even agreed to stop attacking dragons who stray from the trade route between here and Trooland. Whatever they want, they want it badly."

"But you don't know what it is...?"

"I have no idea," Terry said, looking perturbed. "And that worries me."

Chapter 14 - Bishop

"So," Lord Terror said. "I hear you have resolved the problem of the Chosen One. I am indebted to you, Sir Fardon. I shall have to decide how best to reward you."

"Had it not been a fellow dragon, I might not have treated it with such urgency. But in that case, it is likely you could have solved the problem yourself."

"There were other options," Terry admitted. "As I'm sure you're aware. But you have saved me from having to use them, and greatly complicating my life thereby.
"Now, this Falnar... he is still in the cave?"

"For now," Fardon said. "The Order are looking at how to move him to a place more convenient for their needs, but... Well, their temple was not designed with dragons in mind. But we have put up notices declaring the cave off-limits in your name, and the Order have posted their own guards to deter Hunters or others seeking to fulfil the Earl's bounty. One of my staff has checked Falnar over. He is a little underfed, for obvious reasons, but does not seem to have any other maladies. Not bad-looking, either..."

"Has he been getting a balanced diet?" Terry asked. "Dragons are omnivorous. What has he been eating, if he has been stuck in that cave for centuries? Dragons who eat only meat can become confused and dangerous..."

"Fish, mostly." Fardon said. "There's an underground river where he was getting his water from, and a reasonable amount of fish as well. At night he has also been making discreet sorties, eating foliage and the occasional goat from the mountains. That's given him vegetables, red meat and kept his flight muscles in trim, though as mentioned, he is a little scrawny for a dragon of his size."

"If I am to have dragons within the capital, I will need infrastructure for them," Terry mused. "I will need to hire medics from dragon-friendly regions, and soon. If Falnar will come here, I will see to it that he is checked over by my personal physician."

"Having at least one resident dragon in the capital will be useful," Fardon said. "It may entice others to visit, at least."

"Indeed," Terry said. "But I don't want to seem too eager, or some will suspect that I am trying to draw them all out so they can be slain en masse. Or that even if my goals are noble, that Hunters may try to take advantage of it.

"But come," he added. "It will shortly be time to eat. We can continue this discussion on the morrow, after I have seen the Chosen One for myself."

* * *

This time, there was no assassination attempt, but Fardon and Terry were joined by the Bishop of St. Palver's cathedral, and Lady Silver of Atlantia. Fardon and the Hunter politely ignored each other, with the dragon making a show of devouring his meat as daintily as possible.
Terry had eschewed his robe and was back to wearing just a catsuit, with a utility belt around his waist like Fardon's neck-bag. The Bishop was struggling to conceal his disdain for his lord's sense of dress, and kept glancing at the stiletto-heeled boots that the furre wore.

"Your lordship," the snow leopard began, breaking the silence. "At the risk of discussing the dragon in the room..." Terry and Fardon both glanced at her, and she looked down at her plate. "Forgive me, the elephant in the room..." she amended. "I would like to make it clear that yesterday's... incident was in no way sanctioned by Atlantia," she said, glancing at the plastered patch of wall where the rocket had struck home. "I and my staff are here purely to discuss trade, and not to stoke old grudges. I am, however, curious as to what fate awaits those responsible."

"I have not decided," Terry admitted. "For defying my program of reform and reconciliation, for attempting the murder of a diplomat... For such treachery, a public execution would not be unexpected."

"Yes," the Bishop growled, putting down his wine-glass with a clatter. "And since I doubt our guests have seen how such things are done here, our illustrious Lord Terror presides over them. Wearing..."

"Wearing what I please to wear, as your sovereign lord," Terry replied silkily.

"But it is not appropriate to such a solemn occasion!" the Bishop protested angrily. "It is an affront to the moral code that the Church has strived for! Would you wear a clown suit whilst hanging a man?!"

"If such was their last request, absolutely," Terry responded.

"But is not done!" The Bishop snapped. "It borders on cruelty, if, when a criminal is put to death, the official who takes their very life does so while wearing a rubber skirt and high heels!
"It is scandalous when one is sent to the guillotine, for them to have their last moments on Eyrth be sullied by the sight of you, watching them die, as you stand there dressed like a who-"

The Bishop stopped abruptly and clapped a hand over his mouth.

Lord Terror stood up immediately, his expression inscrutable. As Fardon and Silver both watched, he clapped his rubber-gloved hands three times and a servant appeared at one of the doors, clutching a transparent blue pig.
The servant glanced questioningly at his ruler. Lord Terror pointed at the Bishop, who scowled furiously as the pig was brought to him. With an expression of poorly-suppressed rage, he dropped a gold coin into the plastic animal's back.

Fardon glanced at Terry with a look of confusion, and the Hunter seemed equally bewildered.

"I do not care what is said behind my back," Terry said, glancing back at them. "But to my face is another matter entirely. Such a direct insult to my authority cannot stand!
"Now, my predecessor strung up all who insulted him, or were even suspected of doing so... But I have found that fines are much more humane, much more proportionate. And also profitable. A small price to pay for calling your sovereign a whore, eh, Bishop?"

"Yes, my lord," the Bishop grated.

Terry beckoned the servant over, rummaged in his belt pack and dropped a coin into the slot himself.

"Even a whore must lead by example," he added, with the clink of a second gold piece.

"Now," the furre said, sitting back down, and setting aside his plate as the servant left, bearing away the pig-shaped swear jar. "Now... I believe we were discussing the fate of the miscreants who so rudely interrupted last night's banquet. As I have said, my natural inclination was to terminate them, but even 'Lord Terror' can be merciful."

"It is not necessary to slay them on my account," Fardon said. "After all, they did not succeed in their attempt. I do not wish this unfortunate incident to derail things where Atlantia is concerned," he said, glancing briefly at Lady Silver. "Violence begets more violence, after all."

"Well said," the snow leopard replied.

"It is my hope," Fardon continued, "That in the fullness of time, Atlantia may eventually cease their feud with dragonkind, and become known as a hub of technology. This century, and many of those before it, Atlantia has had an ill reputation among dragonkind. I do not think it is controversial to say that it has long been thought of as a place of terror, exporting hatred and fear of our kind. But this does not always need to be the case, and I would long to see it become instead known for exporting wonders.
"Lord Terror tells me that Atlantia has been reconsidering its policies in that regard," Fardon said, eyeing Lady Silver significantly. "If this is so, it will not be in any of our interests to disrupt that process. It should be encouraged, rather."

"And if that were to bear fruit," the snow leopard replied, "Would Taria be willing to trade with Atlantia, knowing what we have done in the past?"

"It would take time," Fardon admitted. "Many would find that a bitter pill to swallow, for dragons are long-lived and most know at least one person who has been taken from us by the past actions of Hunters. But we are practical creatures. If it will lead to a better tomorrow, most of us would be willing to set aside their grudges and let the past be the past. After all, most of the instigators are dust by now, and slaying others in a misguided attempt at vengeance solves nothing. As I said, violence begets violence, and nothing will change if we don't try."

* * *

Fiskul the Devourer lay next to one of the trucks from their convoy, playing a video game upon a hand-held device about the size of a cupboard door. The gas-plasma display showed a crude dragon sprite dropping bombs upon a row of blocky houses, and the irony that they were enacting a dragon rampage was not lost on Fiskul. Shortly afterwards, the battery warning appeared and they set the game aside.

"Fisk?" a voice called. The Devourer turned to see Fardon coming in to land, with a strange figure riding upon his back.

"Fardon!" Fiskul called eagerly. "Are things well?"

"They are," the brown dragon replied, setting down to land. "This is Lord Terror. He would much like to meet you."

"Greetings, your darkness," Terry called out, descending from Fardon's neck. "I cannot stay long, but I wished to make your acquaintance. Hmm, I should probably have asked what the best way to address you is."

"I'm easy," Fiskul said. "As long as you're not trying to cut my head off, burn me alive inside my own home or murder my friends, we're good."

"And as long as you're not here to devour my realm, just as I'm getting the hang of things, I see no reason to try," Terry smiled. "So, uh, not that I doubt Sir Fardon, but... Well..."

"You want a demonstration, right?" Fiskul looked amused. "Most people do, and I can't blame them."

So saying, the Devourer placed a wooden pallet against a wall of the parking lot, and opened their mouth to inhale. Terry winced at the sight, fronds of void that seemed to show stars inside it licked around their maw, and then shot forwards into a stream of flames gone horribly wrong. The pallet disintegrated along with surface layer of the wall.

"Oops," Fiskul said. "I'm out of practice."

Terry stared dumbly at the wall for a few moments, and then shook his head.

"To hear it is one thing," he said slowly. "But to see it... I hope I do not have to see this again. I see now why you kept hidden. And I fear what might have happened if the assassins had succeeded against Fardon..."

"I hear you are of dragonkind," Fiskul said in Dracolingua. "I do not ask for proof since he says that you are not yet ready to show your true form, but I would like to hear this from you. A fellow dragon is unlikely to wish harm on a visiting diplomat."

"It is true," Terry said, replying in the same tongue. "I hatched in Parovar, some 1100 years past. I fled when their empire fell, and have been wandering the world ever since. Sometimes as a dragon, sometimes as you see me now. I have decided to settle here, and try to make it a better place for all. An alliance with Lord Varl will greatly aid that project."

"And the shiny clothes?" Fiskul asked.

"Ah, yes," Terry grinned wickedly, and rubbed his gloved hands together. "That is one reason I have stayed as a furre for so long."

Chapter 15 - The Dragon and the Dragon

Falnar awoke and clambered off his hoard, stretching himself. As with most dens, he had scooped out a shallow depression so that the items would naturally roll back towards the pile, and few of them scattered much beyond the chamber in which he slept.

Once, a band of humans had breached his den. The entrance was on a high ledge on the cliff he'd made, but they had used grapples to scale up to the tunnel. He still recalled their appalled expressions when they saw the hoard, expecting a vast pile of treasure, only to find that it consisted of rubble from the excavation of his lair.
He had tried to explain, in broken Common, that a dragon couldn't easily carry masses of gold coins with their large clawed hands - it would be like a human carrying sand - but either they did not believe him or did not understand.
Even if they had found the two small chests of valuables, they would never have believed that a dragon could have so little in the way of treasure...
Falnar shuddered, remembering how he had bitten the head off the burly one. The others had fled, chased away by sheets of flame from an angry dragon's maw.

Even now, centuries later, Falnar still felt guilty about this, but the crossbow they bore would surely have killed him, and all for a heap of stones. He wasn't even sure how they had intended to steal a vast pile of coins even if he'd had one. Probably carry it in portions to the edge of the cliff and throw it down so they could later scoop it all into a cart. He had buried the warrior that night.

Shaking his head, he washed himself in the nearby waterfall, and returned to the cliff. The cultists were gone, and that worried him. They had been fawning over him, pledging undying servitude and protection, saying he was the Chosen One because of some weird birthmark and a garbled prophecy. Now they were all gone... and a single armed and armoured furre stood in the middle of his cave, looking up expectantly.

Falnar ducked back at the sight of the gun, a long, black sniper rifle.

"This gun is not for you," a voice called loudly. Sneaking a glimpse over the ledge, Falnar saw that the weapon was now lying at the newcomer's booted feet.

"Who you?" Falnar demanded cautiously. "Where is cult? Did you do the killing-thing!?"

"I have sent them away," the furre said, switching to Dracolingua. "I wish to talk to you, Falnar. I am Lord Terror, and it is time we met."

* * *

Falnar landed next to the supposed lord, eyeing the body armour suspiciously.

"Fardon said you were one of Us," he said in Dracolingua. "Why are you a furre? Why do you come dressed to kill and murder?"

"A precaution," Lord Terror replied. "I am the lord of the realm, and there are always malcontents. Indeed, the local Earl does not approve of me. Armour and weapons can help against an assassination attempt.
"Also, the Earl has still not withdrawn the bounty upon you. If any come seeking to slay you, I shall pop their heads. And when I am done here, I shall make that same threat to the Earl. If he refuses to obey me in a matter of life and death, then death shall be his reward."

Terry picked up the rifle, lifting it by the barrel so as to indicate he was not about to fire it, and holstered it to his back. He backed off a few paces, and then screwed his eyes shut. There was a flash of light, dazzling Falnar, and then Lord Terror stood before him in all his might and majesty. The armour and rifle were gone.

"Ohhh," Falnar keened, throwing back his head in a mournful wail. "It is true!"

"You do not seem happy about this," Terry pointed out, cocking his massive head slightly.

"Do not slay me, Lord! I do not want to die!"

"I am not here to intimidate you," Terry reassured him. "Dragons can be territorial, but we can also be social creatures."

"Mmmm," Falnar said mournfully.

"Ah," Terry said. "You fear that I come to take away your freedom?"

"Yes," Falnar said. "The Small Races, you can usually ignore. And if they get violent? Their leaders live for a while, then die. Problem solved. But a dragon as leader... You claim this whole realm as your territory and could hold it indefinitely! What will this mean for me...?"

"Great things," Terry reassured him. "Or so I hope. May we move to one of your tunnels? I do not wish to be seen like this if the Order should unexpectedly return."

Falnar sighed unhappily and took flight, landing on the ledge of the tunnel that led to a sparsely-decorated living area. Terry fanned his own wings and followed.

"I do not get our kind visiting," Falnar said apologetically, lighting a couple of braziers with puffs of flame. "And if you are now my master, I fear you will find it inadequate. But here we should be able to talk privately."

"This is fine," Terry said. "And you mistake me. I have ruled here for nearly three decades. Not long for a dragon, but long enough to be firmly established here. In all that time, I have not sought to enslave any dragon, have I? You have been left to your own devices."

"But now you feel the time is right to try...?"

"No. But I will make my presence felt among our kind... hopefully for the better. Fardon tells me you came here fleeing Lord Thurr, correct? That is not how I wish to rule, not by fear and force. Those are my last resort."

"Why, then, do you go by 'Lord Terror', my lord?"

"It is part my traditional name in Dracolingua," Terry said. "Terror-Wing-Devour. I will admit that I like the intimidating effect it has on the Small Races. Fear of my wrath helped stabilise things after I took over, made any other would-be rulers less likely to challenge me. But I do not want to be known only for my ruthlessness and skill at removing heads.

"You see, I believe that ruling should be a two way street. You aid me, when and if I call on you to do so. You obey my laws, which are mostly what you have been doing anyway. In exchange, I will protect you, make things better for dragonkind within my realm.
"This is how things are done in Taria, where the mighty Lord Varl rules, wisely and justly and with advisors from the Small Races. To his subjects, he is their lord, their guide, and their guardian. But he is not their master."

"This is what you want to do? To have us as your underlings, yet free to live our own lives?" Falnar looked at the other dragon curiously, unsure whether to believe him or not.

"Precisely," Terry said. "Under old Lord Thurr, it was all about what you must do, and the cruel fate for those who did not carry out his will. But with Lord Varl, with me, my concern is about what you must not do. And that it is a short list.
"In Taria, in Arcaia and now in Arstrom, there are common-sense rules intended to benefit society, keep the people safe. Those who murder and steal will be punished. But only in extreme circumstances would I command you to obey my orders - only when the realm is threatened and I need your aid. Or if, like the Earl, you were to run rampant and needed to be brought in line. But I would rather avoid that."

"Why?" Falnar asked. "Why do you want all this? What is in it for you?"

"The satisfaction of being Top Dragon, for one," Terry grinned. "But there are other reasons besides. Taria has benefitted greatly from having dragons, humans and furres working together for a common cause. I want that here."
Terry hesitated. "I should probably have started with a sales pitch, told you what I hope to achieve if you will join me, and the benefits I hope it will bring you, bring us all. I have always been better at enforcing my will and seeing my plans carried out, than at selling my vision to others.
"As for what I get from all this, making Arstrom thrive will reflect well upon me if I succeed. I am a dragon, and vain enough to want that... To be adored and loved as the successful ruler of a great nation. But beside that, I want this realm to be safe for my kind."

"I want dragons to be able to live openly in Arstrom," Terry said, eyes blazing. "To live there without fear or persecution. I want peace between dragons and the Small Races. But I must first have peace between dragons. When my plan is revealed, I want to make that assurance, to be able to say that the dragons currently living in Arstrom are under my command and will cause no trouble to the Small Races unless I specifically order it. Your fealty would help greatly with that, it will not be forgotten if things go to plan."

"What of those who refuse?" Falnar asked worriedly. "Not all would agree to such things."

Terry's expression darkened. "I will not lower myself to Thurr's level by saying 'serve me or die'," he answered. "I hope that most will see the value of joining my cause on its own merit, to become part of a larger whole and help turn Arstrom into a haven for dragons and Small Races alike. Taria, Arcaia and other lands beside are proof that it can be done!
"But those who violently refute my rule, or seek to thart me in my aims? They will have to be driven out," he sighed.
"In order of preference, I would much prefer dragons to join me willingly, but I will take reluctantly at a pinch. Others, I hope will come around in due course, and I can give them time to consider. But for those who actively refuse to aid me, or seek to violently disrupt my plans... Well, I do not want to have to exile anyone, but it remains an option. And as a last resort, there is also death," he added quietly. "As the Earl is likely to demonstrate - unless he is very careful. For at the end of the day, I am still a mighty dragon and dangerous if crossed."

Falnar looked Terry over solemnly. "I think you believe what you say, that you can make this a place where we can be free," he said at last. "I would like to think you can do this. You come here, you make speeches, when you could have killed me outright if you so chose. It seems too much work to be a trap. Too much effort over a cave, when you already have a palace."

"There is one other reason," Terry said. "I am lonely. I have friends among the Small Races, but the company of other dragons would do me good. And the same can be said of you, I think."

"Are you trying to seduce me...?" Falnar raised an eyebrow.

"Do not tempt me," Terry smirked. "Fardon was right, that you are handsome, if a little underfed. But I did not speak of that. To be sure, I do not have time right now. I will have to return to my palace soon. But as I bade Sir Fardon tell you, my dragon-porches are open, should you wish to visit. Quarters can be built for you there if you wish to stay. Assuming of course, that you do not seek to challenge me for the lordship of the realm," he added.

"I think..." Falnar began slowly.

"I do not need an answer from you now," Terry said. "I have put my proposal to you, and I understand you will need time to consider it. But it would grieve me to think that you spend all your time alone in a cave, hiding from that bastard of an Earl."

"I shall serve you, Lord Terror," Falnar said. "If you can keep the Small Ones from trying to slay me, that is worth calling another my lord."

"Please," the white dragon said, grinning widely. "Call me 'Terry'."

Chapter 16 - Healthcheck

"I have spoken to Falnar," Lord Terror said. He lay indolently upon his throne, wearing a latex skirt over his usual bodysuit, and stiletto-heeled boots.

"Is he well?" Fardon enquired worriedly.

"He is," the furre replied. "Falnar was worried that I would seek to dominate him, rather than act as his patron. I believe he is over that now, and I hope to have accommodation for him within the city by the end of this tenday. There are old buildings that could host a dragon, and I have located one that will suit, at least until we are ready to move things forward. He has agreed to visit the capital later today, to view some potential sites."

"What of the Earl?" Fardon said. "Falnar feared him also. And with good reason, since if he defended himself that could be used as an excuse to declare him a rogue, and finish him for good with Hunter weapons."

"I have spoken to the Earl also," Terry said, eyes became distant for a moment and he shook his head, adjusting the frills of his skirt.

"Did I ever mention why I wear these outfits?" he asked, gesturing with a rubber-clad hand. "The Bishop believes that it is for seductive purposes, and vanity. And I have to admit that I do so like the gloss, to be able to hold up one hand and see a distorted reflection of my face. I like the feel of the tightness around me. And it gives me an enigmatic air as well," he added.
"But there is another reason. The Bishop was so close to the truth, yet he did not see it. I always wear catsuits to executions," Terry said, with a toothy grin. "With dragons, even with men and furres, dominating another is linked to passion. And if you have ever worn such tight, stretchy clothing - as a dragon or in humanoid guise - you will know that it becomes visibly obvious when a male in tight, stretchy clothing experiences such feelings. The skirt neatly conceals such things, which the Bishop would find even more disturbing."

"This is why the dragon knights of Taria execute people in full armour," Fardon said. "As you say, slaying the condemned often triggers lustful reactions. It is how we dragons are wired. But with this in mind, would combat gear not serve better as an executioner's attire, and provoke less ire from the Bishop?"

"It would be less striking," Terry argued. "But there is a practical reason I wear rubber to executions, one that the Bishop has apparently missed. It is because beheadings tend to be... messy. And I do not like having dried blood matting up my fur. Wearing this, I can simply shower afterwards."

"I see," Fardon said. "I take it then, from the tone of this discussion, that the Earl's excuses did not satisfy you?"

Terry sighed. "They did not. You remember, I presume, that the Order of Thea had a prophecy about Falnar?" he said, glancing at Fardon. "It turns out that the Earl had a prophecy also."

"Really?" Fardon tilted his head slightly in surprise.

"It was told to him that he would be slain by a dragon," Terry said. "That the dragon Falnar would bring about his death, if he did not act wisely. This is why he was so adamant that our poor friend had to die, and specifically why he had to die this moon. Because that was when the prophecy was due to unfold. And unfold it did. I enjoyed that, Fardon. Taking his head, to keep Falnar alive. And now I feel bad about how good it felt," he sighed.

"You did justice upon him," Fardon said simply. "An Earl who defies his lord in matters of life and death is a traitor. And traitors are punished most harshly."

"It still feels a little tyrannical," Terry sighed. "Were I in his place... might I not have done the same...? But alas, we cannot help how we are, and I thank you for your reassurance."

"You undersell yourself, your lordship," Fardon said. "I think you would have seen through it. You seek an accord with dragons, and would surely have contacted Falnar directly, learned that he bore you no ill will. Realised that the prophecy of death referred to another dragon - seeking to avenge his murder, or kill to protect him as you have done. To question the prophecy would be to choose wisely."

"Maybe you're right," Terry sighed. "I hope his replacement will learn such wisdom. But this incident will not improve the standing of dragonkind within Lundgarten, at least."

"The Order of Thea," Fardon said slowly. The dragon-man glanced at him in puzzlement, his own head tilting slightly.

"They said that their Chosen One had to be rescued this moon," Fardon continued, sounding awed. "Otherwise it would be too late. The Earl's attempts to slay Falnar... That must have been why."

"...Of course!" Terry said, looking thunderstruck. "How obvious it seems in hindsight! Ah, if only we had known, all this could have been averted. Poor Lundgarten... he died thinking he had defeated the prophecy at the last, and died by the hands of a furre rather than a dragon."

"He probably feels a complete fool now," Fardon said. "I have no doubt that the gods have explained the truth to him as part of his punishment."

"That may be," Terry mused. "Now... Falnar and the late Earl of Lundgarten were not the only things I wished to speak to you about.
"In our earlier meeting, you said that Lord Varl wished to see Arstrom become a safe haven for dragons. We can make a start with that now, but I will need your aid, if you are willing to lend it."

"Depends on the aid," Fardon said. "But I presume that you would like me, a dragon, to establish contact with others in your realm? I should be able to do that."

"Indeed," Lord Terror said. "If Falnar is anything to go by, they fear me. Those who believe me to be a furre, they fear that I would try to slay them as threats to my realm. Those who have guessed my true nature, instead fear that I may eat them, or murder them... whether it be to destroy a rival, or to claim their territory and hoard. Either way, to confront them in person risks revealing my secret before the time is right.
"I understand that you have had similar duties in the Disputed Territories between Taria and Thurr's realm? If you can at least reduce their fear and tell them that they are welcome to visit the dragon-porch of my castle, that would be much appreciated."

"I can make a start," Fardon said. "But your realm is large. Finding all, or even most, dragons within it will take many tendays."

"I have considered that," Terry said. "If you can find one or more who would be willing to act as my emissary, that is all we will need, and the news should spread organically. Falnar has his claws quite full with the Mystic Order of Thea, or I would ask him."

"I will take Fiskul," Fardon advised. "They will not like being left behind."

"Is that wise?" Terry asked. "Is the sight of the world-eater not likely to upset them?"

"Fiskul usually appears small to make themselves look more harmless," Fardon said. "Worst case, they can probably trail me."

"At this time there are a lot of holes in our radar coverage," Terry said. "It is something I will need to build up as more dragons and aircraft arrive. But for now, Air traffic control is largely focused around major cities, otherwise we could locate them all that way. It has given us a few leads, though - so I would start your search on the Eastern border, as the mountains there are ideal for building lairs and I do not believe Falnar's is the only one."

* * *

"Lady Silver," Terry began. "You impressed upon me earlier, Atlantia's desire to continue trade with Arstrom, despite the fact that I plan to make it dragon-inclusive."

"Have you changed your mind, your lordship?" the snow leopard looked worried. "You seemed a little... undecided when last we discussed this. Or has Sir Fardon changed it for you...?"

"That offer is still on the table," Terry reassured her. "Perhaps you might call it playing both sides, but I must point out that if I had to choose one, it would be Taria, for my plans are more aligned with their way of life than yours.
"That said, there is indeed machinery which your realm is best equipped to provide. And pondering my upcoming projects, this has given me an idea, though it is somewhat... sensitive... in its nature.
"As you are no doubt aware from the dragonslayer who provoked my ire, executions by hanging are carried out for the most foul of crimes, when a slow death is called for. But for those deserving of a more merciful death, I favour beheading. Sometimes by the sword, but mostly by the guillotine."

"We have agreed not to harm dragons while in your realm!" the snow leopard interjected hastily. "Nothing like that should become necessary!"

"That is not what I meant," Terry replied calmly. "But it occurs to me that our current equipment will only suffice for beheading criminals among the Small Races.
"While the Tarian ambassador is absent, I would like to broach with you the controversial topic of whether you could help us cover this, ah, shortfall in our capabilities?"

"As I said, we can offer our services if you need a dragon eliminated," Lady Silver replied eagerly. Terry grimaced.

"I can shoot a dragon myself, if the need is dire enough," he retorted irritably. "But that is not what I meant. To put it bluntly, what I am asking is whether Atlantia could provide for me a suitable guillotine?"

"A dragon guillotine?!" the snow leopard chirped happily. "I see... I see why you did not want to ask this while Sir Fardon was around! Why, certainly! I can send for a mobile guillotine by tomorrow, if that's what you need! Who is it for...?"

"Dammit, that's not..." Terry started, but was interrupted by a loud keening sound.

"Dragon!" the snow-leopard yelped, leaping out of her chair as if she'd seen a cucumber. "Wait... one of the Tarians?"

"Oh no," Terry said, looking horrified, as the green snout of Falnar's muzzle withdrew itself from the throne room's entry way. "Oh no, no, no, no..." He glanced sharply at the Huntress. "One of mine," he said. "You and your men are not to engage my subjects, is that quite understood? I will return soon."

"Uh," the snow leopard began, and stared as the furre leapt out of the room with a series of wing-assisted jumps that flapped his skirt wildly.

"Where did he go...?" Terry demanded of the nearest guard. "Where did the dragon Falnar go...?"

"To the dragon-porches, I think..." the guard replied, pointing at a balcony far above their heads. Terry swore. With effort, he jumped into the air, flapping his wings strenuously until he reached the porch, only to see the dark shape of Falnar receding into the distance. "Fuck," he said, mopping his brow with a black-gloved hand.