12 comments/ 50188 views/ 40 favorites Dragon's Lair By: Miralage Cindy let out the breath she was holding, trying her best to relax, shining her mag light torch left and then right, staring down the length of the tunnel she was in. She was sitting against one wall, a map spread between her legs, trying to see where exactly she was going. She was dressed in hiking gear, with a heavy pack on her back with mountaineering picks, nylon rope, and a GPS attached. The GPS had gone silent a while ago, the orbiting satellite unable to pick up her signal any more. All alone in this mountain, the young human was looking for, of all things, treasure. More specifically, a dragons hoard. There were several legends concerning a mountain in this range that contained a vast hoard of treasure, apparently a dragon's. She didn't hold to such nonsense, obviously, dragons were fairy tale creatures designed to keep children in line with stories of their vast ferocity and general ill-tempered attitude towards everything. But, the rumours of treasure were true. There was irrefutable proof, at least in her mind, in the village tales of the men who had trekked into the mountains and returns with armfuls of gold, speaking of a wondrous cavern filled with gold for the taking. They had, of course, tried to return to claim more gold for themselves, but they were never heard from again. She suspected that was where the legend of the dragon had come from. A group of men stumble on a cavern filled with treasure, set out to get more and never return? superstitious villagers could easily claim that as a dragons doing. Cindy folded the map neatly into a square and put it back in her pocket, careful not to wreck or crumple it. It was a very old map, found on the corpse of a man who had allegedly found the bodies of the men who had gone missing. She wasn't sure what that story was all about, but it was hers now, and she was following it, and it had led her only true so far. Picking up her torch again, she set off deeper into the mountain, noting that it was gradually getting warmer, despite the fact that she was descending into the earth. Perhaps there was volcanic activity down here? She pushed those thoughts out of her head and kept walking, noticing that up ahead, the tunnel widened out, and a peculiar glow emanated from around the next corner. "Lovely...Magma..." she muttered to herself, shaking her head. If there was magma down here, it meant that it would have probably have radically altered the portion of geography she needed for the map. Sliding up to the corner, she peeked her head around, cautiously, and her eyes went wide, a soft, convulsive spluttering coming from within her throat. Magma! but more importantly, treasure! right there! Piles and piles of treasure! As far as the eye could see, pile upon pile of treasure! She took a tentative step forwards, letting her eyes adjust to the light that reflected copiously off the reflective treasure. It took her only a few steps to reach the treasure and then sit down heavily next to it, scraping a small pile of precious stones towards her, eyes wide and amazed. "It's real...It's all real." She looked about furtively, as if to see if anyone had heard her talking to herself, and then went back to the treasure, picking a coin up and testing it's weight, giving a shake of her head, disbelieving. Cindy dropped the pack off her back, and slid forwards, dropping her pack from her shoulders and inspecting a piece of treasure,frowning to herself before digging into the pile of gems, pulling out a small ruby, small being a relative term as the ruby was the size of eye, perfectly cut. She pocketed it, picked up her pack, and left. * * * Cindy returned later that month, same gear, same backpack, but this time, without the raw need for the money the treasure could bring. As a consequence, she was rather bouncy in her movements, happy, black hair flowing as she moved in towards the centre of the piles of treasure, pulling a clipboard out of her backpack and sitting down, dragging a vase towards her and peering at the carving on it curiously, frowning at the odd runes. She wrote down on the clipboard a little bit of info about the treasure and then sighed softly, lying back a little. She was here to do some provisioning, to find out what held archaeological value, or historical value. The people at the museum who had hired her to go back down here were paying her a generous fee for anything she could find that might turn out to be the next Rosetta Stone. "I hope you weren't thinking of taking that." A voice said, rather bluntly, from somewhere behind her. Cindy sat up so quickly, that one would think that she had received a shock from an electric cattle prod. "Who's there?" She asked, eyes wide as she looked in the direction the voice had come from. She had specifically said that she was the only person to go to the treasure, and hadn't even told the members of the board that had hired her where the treasure was located. "Humans really are blind..." The voice said, and a sudden movement near her made her give a strangled scream. It was huge. Absolutely massive. All she saw was the head, which had been sitting near her all along, rise, yellow eyes slowly opening as the golden scaled muzzle parted for speech, the male, deep, masculine voice coming somehow from such a large creature. Now she knew what she was looking for, she could see all of him, the huge membranous wings, the massive body and gigantic legs. She could even see the giant golden tail lying like a dead snake in the treasure. "Um...no! I-I wasn't going to take it!" She squeaked, scrambling backwards, painfully aware of how tight with fear her chest was. "I rather think you were going to." The dragon said casually, rising from his position and taking a single step towards, a step that, in her imagination, shook the ground. "O-okay! I was going to! but I didn't know you were here!...please don't eat me!" She said with pure fear in her every syllable, trying to scramble behind a suit of armour, knocking the heavy iron sword, encrusted with jewels from the suits hands. Cindy dove for the sword, pulling it awkwardly into her hands and staring at the dragon, holding the sword as best she could. "Back! I-I'll hurt you!" she said, with as much bravery as she could muster, her voice breaking. the dragon tilted his head a little, pupils dilating as he moved a little closer, an eye ridge raised. He pointed a talon sideways, where another suit of armour stood, and flicked his eyes to it. "That, is you." he said. "And this is what I can do." He continued, taking a lazy swipe at it with a paw and slicing the head of the armour cleanly from it's shoulders. "Now would you please put down the piece of metal before I get angry?" "How do I know you won't kill me!?" She asked, still holding the sword firmly to her chest like it was a life vest. "What's to stop me doing it anyway?" He asked, snorting, a plume of purple fire escaping his nostrils, making Cindy jump, squeak, and drop the blade. "See? was that so hard?" The dragon asked in a lower voice, eyes narrowing a little as he looked her up and down appraisingly. "Just why are you stealing my treasure, hmm?" he asked casually, head tilted. "Or is that your past-time, a thief?" "I'm not a thief!" She protested. "If I had of known you were here I wouldn't have touched any of it, I swear!" she pleaded, eyes wide, hands out,placating. "Now that, I believe." The dragon said with a soft chuckle. "And please, stop acting like a scared mouse, I'm not going to eat you so long as you don't try to take any more of my treasure. You already staked your claim, and left, you have no right to come back looking for more." "S-staked my claim?" She asked, bewildered. "I didn't do anything like that!" She protested, looking close to tears. "Yes you did, you took a diamond, that was your allowance. The rule is that you are only one chance to take as much treasure as you can carry, after that, it is my duty to stop you taking any more." the dragon said calmly, smiling at her, a disconcerting effect that revealed far too many of his pearly white teeth for Cindy's liking. "B-but why don't people know about dragons then?" She asked, looking at her feet, confused. "My dear girl...are you going to tell any one about me?" He asked with a soft chuckle again, his breath washing over her, and rather than the hot, rancid breath she had expected, it was rather warm, and not nearly as unpleasant as she had thought it would be. "N-no." She said, shaking her head. "I'm not going to..." Tentatively, she peered up at him, looking him over from snout to tailtip, appraisingly. She was very in to dragons, and it was one her guilty fantasies that she would one day meet a dragon and be seduced by him. But that was her fantasies! Her mind was still coming to grip with the fact that she was sitting there, in a dragons lair, talking to a living, breathing dragon. "I'm going to sleep now, you should leave, take all your stuff, and none of mine, and leave." He said bluntly. "Th-that's all?" She asked, looking up at him, shaking her head a little. "Did you want a scar as a souvenir?" He asked, tilting his head. "No!" She said rather suddenly, scooting backwards away from him again. "I-its just that...You have so much treasure, and we...I mean...humans...could learn so much from it! I'm not being greedy...I just want to let people learn from what treasure is in here..." She said, and then shook her head. "No, forget I said anything." "Forgetting is not so easy." The dragon said from right in front of her, his breath washing over her, making her look up with wide, scared eyes, right into the dragons own calm eyes. They held her in thrall, frozen, unable to move, like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, and suddenly, she felt images, thoughts, memories popping into her mind, almost as if the dragon was going through her thoughts. But that was impossible? Wasn't it? Her mind told her it was all impossible, the dragon, everything, and then suddenly, the image in her mind intensified, became sharper and more clearer, and she realised it was one of her many fantasies about dragon, and she gulped, forcefully pulling her head back and braking eye contact, her head spinning. "....I believe you." The dragon said simply, inclining his head towards her. "You may take one piece of treasure from this room, when I say you may go, but until then, I wish you to keep me company. There is much I wish to know. I have not left this room in many a century." "Y-you want me to stay?" She asked, about to protest, but then quieting herself. After all, he was a lot bigger than her, and, from the sounds of it, a very great deal older. "First, tell me your name." The dragon said, lowering his large head to rest it on his forepaws, yellow eyes observing her curiously. "Cindy." She said, looking at him, sitting on her ass with her knees drawn up to her chest, arms around them, protectively, rocking back and forth slightly. "W-what's your name?" "My name, has been lost for many centuries, with the last person who knew it. You may call me Stonetooth, for now. Maybe, if I trust you enough, I will give you my real name." he said, eyes glowing like coals. "O-okay." She said, looking at her feet, and then looking back at the dragon. He kept her there for several hours, asking mainly of china, and how it was going, reminiscing about the times he had taken part in the festivals there, and gasping in horror as she relayed the basic image of what Chinese dragons looked like in the festivals. "So ugly!" He had remarked, and she had agreed with him wholeheartedly. She was kept in the lair for so long, that she deemed it safer to stay there the night and return back to the nearest town come morning. Stonetooth had, grudgingly, agreed, and offered the a space to sleep by him, where it warm and cozy, the reverberating beats of the dragons massive heart and the sound of his breathing lulling her to sleep. But sleep wasn't coming easy, the rifling of her mind by the dragon had awakened her long-dead fantasies of dragons, and she couldn't help but lay awake and relive them, and wonder if she had the nerve to ever try and live them for real now that she knew a real dragon. But no, she was far too timid for that, wasn't she? This was a real dragon, not some fantasy creature that was magically attracted to her. "What is bothering you?" The dragon asked, twisting his large head down towards her, yellow eyes blinking open. "Your constant shifting is keeping me from sleeping." "J-just sleep. I'll stop moving." She assured, brushing a bright red and breathing a little faster and shallower. "It's nothing.." "It doesn't sound like nothing." The dragon said with a soft grumble. "So either tell me, or I'll pull the information out of your mind." "I-its...." She paused, the nervousness in her voice very apparent. "Um...It's just..." her eyes rapidly flicked from side to side as she tried to think of what to say while still sounding truthful. "I'm just...um..thinking of asking you something that I don't want to ask...not really.." She said, with a firm nod, settling for being vague. "Then ask." the dragon said irritably,frowning at her and laying his head down. "I won't ignite you if you ask the wrong thing." "B-but the question is...it's...um...rude." She said, shaking her head frantically. "Dragon's don't adhere to the same strict rules of formality as humans, we don't care what you ask." The dragon assured. "So just ask so I can go back to sleep." Cindy tilted her head, and flushed a little further, looking the other way, leaning against his belly a little, looking down at her hand, and then tentatively lifting it, until her fingertips were pressed against the scales of his stomach, and she began a slow stroking motion, caressing his scales gently. "An odd way to ask a question." The dragon commented, shifting a bit. She let out a shaky breath and looked back towards his muzzle, and gave the softest of whimpers, steeling herself, before she slid her hand back and down a little, until it reached the entrance of his sheath. Cindy heard, and felt the dragon move, his head popping up at the sudden feeling of something touching his most private area, his tail giving a quick thrash and knocking over several expensive vases with loud crashes. But no rebuke came, and she continued to gently slide her fingertips over the entrance, kneading smoothly at the hard, scaled flesh. With a slight shiver, she leaned in closer and stroked her fingers deeper into the opening, squeezing past the tightness to rub at the hidden flesh within, earning her a long, grating hiss from the dragon as he settled back down, rolling further onto his side to give her better access, tail twitching through the piles of treasure. She took that as a sign that she was doing well, leaning in even closer, shifting so that she was sitting right next to his sheath, and holding it in both hand, spreading it open with her fingers and using the tips of her thumb to stroke and rub at the pink flesh inside, until it began to emerge, his sheath swelling as the head of his draconic member peeked from its home. On impulse, she shifted her hand, sliding one down to rub at the dragons balls gently, kneading them, taking each in a heavy handful, while her other hand wrapped about the shaft, just below the head, and began to stroke slowly, up and down, her face flushed and her breathing hard and heavy. She couldn't believe she was actually doing it, living out her fantasies with a real dragon, stroking at his stiffening cock and rubbing his balls. "I-is that a yes?" she asked tentatively of the dragon, giving the head of his thick length a gentle squeeze. A soft rumble was her only answer for a few second, and then, "Yes! please! go on!" The dragon hissed, a note of something that sounded suspiciously like pleading in his tone. She nodded, and then returned her attention to the length in front of her, leaning in and blowing a cool wash of air over it, making the dragon gasp and jerk a bit, and, surprising herself, Cindy giggled gently. Seemingly emboldened by the dragons writhing, she leaned in closer, giving a gentle kiss to the head of the dragons length, which very quickly turned into a laving tongue stroke, and then into a light suckle, the taste of the dragons length, the heat, the scent, more than she could have fantasized about in her guiltiest moments. Giving the length a few more gentle strokes, she pulled back, rubbing furiously, encouraging his length to slide free to full hardness. She moved back a little to see his length fully and couldn't help but gasp at the sheer size of it. She doubted that any human female could take it all without serious injury, and she moved back in closer again, running her fingertips from top to bottom, admiring the sheer hardness of it, how smooth it felt between her fingers. Her tongue returned to the head, even as her hands worked him once more, the human giving her slow licks from just under the head to the very tip, ending with a gently suckle on the very end. Her hands moved faster, her free hand moving back to his balls and rubbing gently, her mouth sliding as far over the end as she could manage as her tongue swirled across him lustfully, rapidly flicking at his length as she felt him start to throb against her, streams of his thick pre spilling from his tip onto her tongue, making her moan at the exotic, alien taste. Cindy shifted closer, and began to work him furiously, turning her head and suckling powerfully at the edges of his tip as she rubbed and stroked, eager for his seed. It took only a another few moments of this stimulation, before she heard his mighty roar and felt his length pulse and throb wildly in her grip. She quickly moved back to his tip, licking along it as fast as she could, smiling as she laved her tongue on the dragons cock, before a sudden heavy pulse of his thick, hot dragon cum spilled from his length and jetted right into her mouth. She was stunned, surprised by the creamy substance suddenly filling her mouth, swallowing convulsively, reflexively, even as another spurt quickly followed, shooting against the mass already there, the thick, glutinous seed splashing over her mouth and neck as her eyes went wide, trying to swallow faster as more and more followed, the heat covering her front and face as she suckled eagerly at his length, trying to get as much as she could, uncaring how much covered her, the copious spurts eventually coming to a stop. Cindy turned back towards the dragon, her eyes still wide as droplets of cum spilled and dribbled from her mouth and down her face, her breathing heavy and hard as she looked at him, his head raising to look at her, a soft purr in his throat. "That was good..." He said with a long, heavy contented sigh. "But now...I need to sleep now.." he murmured as he laid his head down on a pile of treasure,eyes closing slowly, and quickly, he was snoring. The young human gave a smile, licking her lips free of the mess he had created, eyes sparkling as she gave the dragons length an affectionate lick, exulting in the power she held over the mighty creature. * * * The next morning, she was all packed up and ready to go, the vase carefully strapped to her chest, where she couldn't break it, hopefully, and the dragon watched her go sadly. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon." She said, with a smile. Stonetooth nodded, and then slid forwards a little, delicately picking up a small ruby from a pile of treasure and dropping it into her vase with a plinking sound. "I'll be waiting." Dragon's Lair Once, there were dragons that walked the earth. That age is now long turned to dust, so distant that even its legends are now but dimly recalled. These scattered scraps of truth left behind in yellowed and brittle scrolls that only the very wise can decipher are but dim echoes of the dragon's true majesty, neither as terrifying or magnificent as that which has been. Dragons were more strange and wondrous, and terrible, than any fairy story or legend could ever reveal. This is the way of the world, it seems. True marvels are ignored and ancient glories are replaced with mundane scientific explanations, and all that was magical and marvellous vanishes from the world as if it had never been. Yet in those ancient times, dragons roamed the land in such numbers that they were a great danger to any man or beast they fell upon. These serpentine creatures were of every conceivable size, shape and disposition. Some were small. Some were huge. Some, like the thick legged rock dragons, were stupid and malicious, no more than saurian brutes. Others were more intelligent and less aggressive. Most were some shade in between. There were a very few who could truly be deemed wise, and a handful that could be said to be wholly evil. I suppose they didn't differ so very much from humans in these respects, and though the years of the dragons were ever greater than those of feeble mortals, man has since striven to be the dragon's equal in all things if only through sheer exuberance. It is said that man and serpent have long been enemies, but it wasn't always so. There is truth in the tale of the serpent of old that taught mankind forbidden knowledge, and much of that tale is owed to the ancestral memories of the dragons of yore. The dragons were once the servants of the ancient master race called the Elohim, who some say were the gods themselves. The Elohim entrusted a secret with the dragons, a secret they were sworn never to divulge to any of humankind. But, for reasons we may never fully fathom, a certain dragon decided to rebel and reveal this secret to humanity. This, then, is the tale of that revealing. I. In the long forgotten days of which I speak, the legendary empire of Lemuria had spread its vast shadowy wings over the face of the turning earth. Crimson-sailed war-galleons dominated the jungle-lined shores of the Southern seas and the mountainous, icy cliffs of the Eastern coasts. Silver-clad armies had trod the kings of nation after nation beneath iron-booted heels. The blood of princes adorned Mu's gladiator pens. Queens and countesses became the whores and drudges of a conquering race, and their children were made into slaves. The Lemurians were an ancient and terrible people, steeped in the lore of nefarious magicks formed in those ancient yellow times before chaos itself had been molded into reality. They were held in their control by a group of powerful beings who many had foolishly mistaken for gods, those called the Elohim, and with the aid of fiends from the outer darkness, they assumed lordship over most of the civilized lands of Earth, especially the southern nations. But that dominance was never entirely complete. In the North, in what were then known as the Savage Lands, new races were forever rising from the shadows of their primeval past. These were vicious lands, and held no mercy for the weak and helpless. The hardest and cruelest of these climates was the ragged and mountainous country men named Arcturia, a place of icy blizzards and wind-ravaged, barren mountain slopes fragmented by immense and fathomless canyons. Whatever meager sustenance was afforded in that naked desolation was fought over tooth and nail by its few forlorn inhabitants. Warfare was bloody and merciless, as wars generally are when fought over such non-lofty principles such as mere life and existence. The land was hard and unforgiving. The Arcturians hadn't yet developed the art of forging metal, but this in no manner served to curb their fierceness. They had taken to slaying each other more brutally with clubs and spears, or even their bare hands when nothing else was available. And they were efficient. Born and bred in a land of death, they became the ultimate killers. Few lived a long life in that land of icy hell, and fewer still died of natural causes. In addition to the inherent dangers of the climate, the terrain, and death at the hands of their fellow man, the Arcturians often had to deal with far worse terrors. The mountains that bordered Arcturia were part of the main hunting ground of the terrible northern dragons. These great serpents were the bane of the mountain tribes. Both livestock and fully-grown warriors had been known to vanish down their hungry gullets and entire villages had been laid to waste in a single fiery breath. Yet, life will ever persevere and its force will not be denied, no matter how dire the adversity, no matter how grim the circumstances. Thus it came to pass that one day a child was discovered in the midst of a fierce and bloody battle. He had been christened with the blood of the fallen, and though none knew his true origin, this was seen to be a good omen, and he was adopted by the tribe and hailed as a true child of their race. The child's life became no gentler or easier for him in the years that followed. He was not like the rest of his tribe, and this was evident even in his physical appearance. He was lean and wiry, where the Arcturans tended to be thick boned and stocky. His hair was dark brown and wildly curled and tangled, where they were mostly light haired. These differences set him apart from the rest of the youths in his tribe so that he was often ridiculed, so he made no attempts to make friends amongst them. When he was nine, a pack of starving wolves attacked the camp and dragged him and several other children into the forest. He killed three with his bare hands, but not before one of the ravening beasts, a monstrous creature, dragged another child into the forest and devoured him. He was severely wounded, but he did not cry out when the clan healer, a wizened frog of a man named Isiwolk, cauterized the wound with a flaming brand from the fire. He spoke not a word in those weeks after this calamity, but when he was fully healed, he vanished into the fury of a blizzard and was not seen for three days. All feared him dead, and the old grey haired woman who had nurtured and cared for him since he was a babe put on her mourning cloak and went into lamentation. Then, from the midst of the chaos of the swirling storm, he reappeared. In his hands he bore the head and pelt of a great grey wolf. It was this feat that earned him his warrior's name, Mantegor, or "Master of the Wolf" in the tongue of the Arcturans. His foster mother fashioned him a cloak and hood from the pelt of the fallen beast, and this is the garment he wore for many years after. From that moment on, he was a grimmer man, and brooded often in the shadows, wrapped in the dark shroud of his wolf cloak. He was greatly respected by the warriors of his tribe for his battle prowess, but he did not seek out nor abide their company. He didn't drink with them or hunt with them. Instead, he wandered alone thru the bitterly cold, mist-shrouded canyons, crossing steep narrow crested ridges under ebony star flecked sky fields. He often discovered himself atop immense and perilous vistas of stone where he stood paralyzed for hours while the icy northern winds howled about him. These long journeys left their marks on him. The midnight shadows became his domain. He grew gaunt and sinewy, as strong as a mountain lion. Fey and dangerous, he was prone to fits of ferocious and brutal anger, too grim even for one of his own tribe. Men and women both avoided him, naming him accursed and moon-mad. But he paid them no mind. He spoke seldom, and then only to his adopted mother and to one other, the old man Shingar, whose days as a warrior had long ago come to an end. It was Shingar who had first trained Mantegor in the arts of battle. From Shingar he'd learned the way of the knife, the axe, the staff, the club and the spear. He had practiced these arts with an intensity that was surprising even for one of his savage race. His skills in battle were severely tested time and again by the constant incidents of inter tribal warfare which never ceased in that brutal land. In countless engagements, Mantegor slew warriors of greater size and experience than himself. He became a crimson fury on the battlefield, nearly as perilous to friend as he was to foe. Utter carnage followed in his path, and the widows of his enemies cried countless tears. Sometimes, in the silence of the winter nights, when the loneliness of the steppes became too much even for him, he would sit with Shingar by the fire, staring into the flickering flames. As the spectral curtain of the aurora borealis danced over the naked crests of the icy ridge of Mount Kama to the North, while the wind howled tortuously through the narrows of the winding canyons, Mantegor, shrouded in his dark wolf''s cloak, listened to the old man spin tales of his journeys to the distant Bright Lands of the South and their colorful, fantastic peoples. He spoke of the great shining cities that arose shimmering above the crystalline waters of the southern oceans. He spoke of endless summers, silver-blue rivers, jade leaved trees laden with multicolored fruits, and women more beautiful than the dawn. "The city of Orquaz on the southern peninsula, which I once visited as a sailor," Shingar said, "Was all bright and golden. Its slender towers were blinding in the sun and glittered like hoarfrost under the light of the stars. Their image is captured in the waters of the Moon-mere Bay, whose surface is as smooth as a wind-swept glacier. There I saw tawny-fleshed, scantily clad women serving wine to dark, armor clad warriors on the docks. I longed to join them, but I had no coin to pay for the wine......" "Enough!" cried out Mantegor at last, "I've heard this tale too many times. "Shingar, I would know once and for all.........are there no ships that still sail to the Bright Lands?" The old man paused a moment, his hand scratching at his grizzled chin. "I know not," he admitted at last. "I've heard tales that the ships no longer dock at Manatruus where I sailed from in my youth. There are legends of a trail leading south thru the Mountains of the Red Moon, but that path is fraught with countless dangers. And of course there are dragons, which are already perilous enough. Besides, what would it avail an uncultured, penniless youth like you to reach the Bright Lands? You've naught but a wolf-pelt and a stone axe to your name! No gold or silver or precious gems are yours, nor any other thing that men value." Mantegor pulled at the tangled hairs of his young beard and stared off past the glow of the flickering fire. "Legends say that Elder Dragons guard a horde that makes kings jealous. Zhyrtuk, the chief of the elder dragons, rests in his cave only a few days journey from here. A brave and daring man might be able steal into his lair and make off with part of his treasure without the dragon being aware." "You're a blithering madman if you're stupid enough to raid the treasure trove of one of an Elder Dragon!" Shingar cried, his face red with fear and drink. You'd do better to cut your own throat than to brook that lair!" "Why is that? I've slain dragons before." Shingar laughed, quaffing the last of his ale and filling another. "You've killed big lizards!" he scoffed gruffly, spitting into the fire. "Cave dragons and river dragons are one thing, but no man has ever faced an elder dragon and lived to tell the tale. The Elder Dragon of Dragonmount is the kings of all dragons, older and wiser than even sea dragons. They can speak the tongues of men and are well versed in knowledge of our kind. They have lore from ancient days and powers to read minds from afar as well as their usual abilities to breathe fire and to slay with tooth and claw." "There must be a way," Mantegor said, "To obtain the dragon's treasure without rousing the Elder Dragon's ire." "Aye," Shingar replied. "There is. When the sky grows heavy with vultures, when a thousand crows descend to darken the southern skies, then you will know that the Elder Dragon has succumbed to old age and perished at last. Until then, brook not that lair, my son, if you care aught for your life or the lives of your kinsmen!" 2. There was no moon, but the sky was lit with a thousand stars. New-fallen snow glittered on the crests of the mountains, silver against a sea of midnight. Etched indelibly against this vast and cyclopean landscape a tiny figure slowly toiled upward across the face of the glacier. His body was swathed in a long black cloak. His eyes burned a volcanic silvery blue beneath dark brows. His long, auburn-hued hair escaped in wild, unkempt strands from beneath a black wolf's-head cowl. Mantegor, unable to resist the heady lure of the dragon's treasure trove, had come to Dragon Mount. Despite the sincerity of Shingar's dire warnings, he had come to brook the devil in its lair. The ridge he was climbing was the last haven before he entered dragon territory. He knew he was probably seeking his own death. But he felt he had no other choice. His tribe thought him mad, and perhaps they were right, but he knew he would really go insane if he spent another day in the desolate mountains dreaming of something he could never attain. He swore to a handful of unmindful gods that he would never end up like Shingar, who had naught in his life but the tedium of endlessly reliving the glory of bygone days. Better a quick death for a warrior than the slow death of retirement! He was forced to make his way around a series of chasms that gaped in the ice across his trail. The aurora borealis strung a spectral curtain of shimmering light across the sky above him, casting an illusive and spectral illumination as he scrambled across this treacherous terrain. It was almost dawn by the time he gained the top of the ridge and began to wearily make his descent. The snowfields flickered eerily before his eyes, and seemed to be on fire from the starlight. He passed then through a jumbled field of massive, wind carved stones, some over thirty feet high. They were everywhere, as if cast off in the past by some impossibly angry giant. It grew steadily warmer as he descended into the valley. Water trickled in thin streams and rivulets between the mounds of snow, and these streams eventually converged into a single foaming river. Fronds of green grass sprouted up wherever the earth was bare. Dawn rose over the glowering edges of the eastern peaks, a rosy glow spreading across the horizon. A great number of sturdy, gnarled oaks shadowed the banks of the river, thin and skeletal branches etched starkly against the brilliance of the snowfields. Somewhere ahead, a line of eerie crimson lights flickered amongst the hollows of the shadowed crags that loomed above. 'Dragon fires!' Mantegor thought to himself as he advanced. He knew then that the Elder Dragon didn't inhabit these caverns alone. Many lesser dragons, including several firedrakes also made their lairs nearby. The reason he knew was simple. Though they were nowhere near as mighty as the Elder Dragon, the lesser dragons were crafty enough to dwell in the environs of the greater horror merely for the degree of protection it afforded them. Mantegor was undeterred. Before him lay the only path that might lead him to escape the doom he foresaw in his own future. Though he knew death was the most probable outcome of his quest, he pursued it still with a grim and single-minded purpose. Besides that, he was always a bit too curious for his own good. An earth-shaking roar interrupted the silence. An immense and grotesque rock dragon sprang without warning out of a heretofore hidden pit and loomed ferociously above him. The thing was nearly forty feet long and covered with a thick, scaly hide he knew his flimsy spear could never hope to penetrate. Its monstrous black talons were over a foot long, and when the beast opened its maw, grinning an evil smile, it revealed a row of crimson stained fangs as long as his arm, all sharp as daggers. Mantegor had sought death, and he had found it. Garbed in reptilian guise, it had come stalking him. With a single hissed warning, the monstrous creature charged. The ground shook beneath its elephantine tread. Its eyes glared crimson, filled with an ancient and terrible hate. It's monstrous jaw gaped open wide. In the face of peril, Mantegor's instincts became sharpest. As if waking from a dream, he became aware of every nuance and detail of his situation and environment. the monster seemed to be moving towards him in slow motion. He was easily able to anticipate its every movement. The dragon lunged forward, its jaws gaping, only to snap shut on empty air. Mantegor had leapt aside with a graceful twist of his body. The beast roared its frustration and Mantegor roared back, screaming in the beast's face and laughing like a madman. He then made a tremendous leap, vaulting over the creature's back. The dragon reacted swiftly, whirling on him with dagger teeth flashing. Mantegor raced up the steep slope to gain the advantage of the higher ground. The dragon followed, its great maw opened wide to swallow him whole. Mantegor drove the flint-headed spear deep down into the crimson maw with all of his strength. The spearhead tore easily through the soft flesh of its gullet, piercing into the vital flesh below. The creature writhed and snapped, howling vainly at its antagonist, but the spear kept it safely at bay, and Mantegor was careful to remain out of the reach of it's sharp taloned forelegs. Lifting a huge block of stone, he hurled it directly onto the thing's scaly face. The head was crushed completely by the massive weight. The creature gave a few last writhing convulsions, and then lay still, black gore oozing from its shattered skull. Mantegor retrieved his spear, wiping the sweat from his brow. He had time now to wonder how the rock dragon had known he was near. He had been as silent as a snow leopard and the wind had been blowing towards him, so that he knew the beast could have in no wise have caught his scent. Yet it had still somehow recognized his presence. He remembered then that Shingar had spoken of legends that some dragons could hear the thoughts of men as if they were speaking words aloud. Could it be that the rock dragon had somehow read the thoughts echoing through his mind as he had unwittingly approached its lair? With a supreme effort, he determined to force himself to think of and visualize nothing at all. This was far more difficult than it seemed, as some insignificant thought would always come into his mind and he would have to work to empty himself all over again. But Mantegor's will was iron. He was an Arcturian, and no ordinary one at that. He had known the utter vacuum of icy mountain nights, a silence so vast and deep that even thoughts couldn't escape. He had learned to echo that silence within himself, and that was what he did now, finding an empty space in his mind that not even the wind could touch. From that moment, conscious thoughts no longer wandered through his mind. His body had instructions it would instinctively follow, but his cognitive thinking had vanished on a journey to a windless mesa beneath a black and starless sky. He stalked ahead, a shadow amongst shadows, listening intently, his every sense rapt and alert. He wandered through a maze of dark and narrow chasms and saw all around him a landscape of devastation and carnage. Everything that wasn't burnt to a crisp was covered with a thick layer of black soot. No more than charred stumps remained of the trees and bushes that had once grown there. Even the stones had been blackened by repeated exposure to dragon fire. Dragon's Lair Mantegor continued on, guided on by some nameless instinct. At last, in the cull-d-sac of a narrow, high-walled canyon, he thought he heard the faintest of sounds, whispers hissed furtively as if from a grotto hidden deep within the earth. A shadowy fissure gaped vertically in the surface of the cliff side. The heard issuing from within, and he knew they weren't voices of men, nor did they speak in any tongue he was familiar with. Yet, by some magical art, he was able understood all that was being said, as if the words were thoughts transmitted directly into his inner mind. He was listening to a language that transcended the need for words. "I've lost all contact with the warrior," the first said, in a voice both deep and resonant. The entire mountainside seemed to tremble at the sound. "I tried to warn Dimthorn not to attack this man, but he would not listen. The children of Caan no longer heed their former lord. They grow wild and unruly and fierce with anger and hate that can be quenched in naught but blood." "Does this mean that all our plans have been for naught?" said another voice, so faint it could barely be heard, yet distinctly feminine. "Perhaps not! I'll take wing and seek out the warrior from the skies," said the male dragon. "It will take but a moment, whether I return with a corpse or a live man." Mantegor ducked back along the cliff side, concealing himself behind a mass of tumbled boulders. Hidden in a tiny crevasse so near the beast's lair, he hoped to remain temporarily invisible to the dragon's probing eyes. Even in those moments, he only listened and observed, making sure he kept his mind silent and his thoughts guarded. A sudden wind swept across the floor of the canyon. Mantegor watched in awe as an immense winged dragon rose majestically and soared swiftly into the clouded sky. He had no doubt that this was indeed the Elder Dragon, a nightmarish creature with the body of a lizard and immense leathery wings like the wings of a bat. Its body seemed to fill the entire sky, sinuous coils glimmering like diamonds in the sunlight as it swooped down dangerously near his hiding place. Then it was gone. The distant flapping of its wings were the only reminder of its passing. 3. With a recklessness characteristic of him, Mantegor strode forward straight into the darkness of the dragon pit. He knew the treasure trove of the Elder Dragon awaited him, guarded now only by his mate. He had only to slay this female dragon and then escape with some small portion of the treasure. The darkness of the dragon's lair was like what Mantegor imagined might emanate from the deepest pits of the underworld. His spear was held ready before him, but it seemed a fragile weapon amidst that great abyss of shadow. Any moment he expected the sibilant hiss of dragon's breath to break the awful silence. Every sense in his body was alert. Wary, he slowed his pace. Like a great cat then, he stalked silently forward, ready to strike left or right. He emerged suddenly into a larger cavern. Strange lights flickered across the stone walls. Frosted bands of daylight streamed in through an aperture in the ceiling. In this vague and misty illumination, he was able to confirm that there were three separate corridors leading from the main cavern thru which he'd entered. Unwilling to waste any time making a choice, he went directly into the middle branch of the tunnels. He was just beginning to make his way thru it when there came a furtive sound that drew his attention. He ducked into the shadows, his hand wrapped tightly around his spear. His heart was beating madly in his chest. But no saurian snout reared itself from any of the darkened corridors. The cavern remained empty. But he knew his senses hadn't lied. He had heard something. Cautiously, he stalked forward once more. From somewhere ahead, a dim light flickered. By its fitful illumination, he discovered another mystery, for this branch of the caverns was now adorned with human furnishings. Richly woven tapestries obscured the bare granite walls. Magnificent, hand-woven carpets covered the smooth polished floors. Ancient books lined a series of massive oak shelves along the walls, and a wood fire roared merrily on a brick-lined hearth. Mantegor passed through a low doorway and entered into a larger chamber. This room was cluttered even further with carelessly arranged elegance. An abundance of richly carved furnishings cluttered the chamber in a haphazard manner, as if they were used only seldom. And there, in the center of the floor, he found abundant proof that the tales of the Elder Dragons weren't all myths. A treasure trove more vast than any he could have imagined in his wildest fantasies lay heaped before his awe-struck eyes. Glittering mounds of gold and silver and gems were stacked in careless profusion. Diamonds, rubies, opals, pearls, and countless other precious stones lay gleaming like the eyes of a thousand demons in the gloom. Crowns and scepters, lost relics of kings from ages untold rested amongst all the rest, cast aside like so much dross left to rot. Mantegor took a deep breath and darted out of the shadows. He saw no sign of the female dragon, but he was sure she wouldn't stray far from this trove. He didn't hesitate, but leapt directly into the golden chamber, for he had spied amongst that glittering hoard one treasure that he valued beyond all others. He had never seen a sword before, but he had heard tales of them, iron blades forged by soot grimed smiths in the southern mountains, and he had long wished to lay his hands on such a weapon. Yet no legends had prepared him for such a finely honed blade as this! He lifted it with solemn reverence. The blade was straight as an arrow, and so well balanced that it hovered like a feather in his hand. It was double edged and both edges were honed razor sharp. The leather hilt was gilded with fine copper wire set in the shape of a serpent wound around the haft. A black unadorned scabbard lay by the naked sword's side. He sheathed the blade and strapped it across his back with a strip of long leather, then gathered his ragged cloak up into a parcel and began to fill its folds with the more valuable gems and any smaller items he could find. He wasn't greedy. Even one of the pieces he took would provide a king's ransom, so he only selected those few treasures he felt he could safely carry away. During his search, he further armed himself with a jewel-handled dagger and a small iron axe. He also slipped over his head a shirt of glittering silver chain mail and put on a round iron battle helm upon whose brow rested a single blazing ruby. He imagined himself now to look quite princely beside the less fortunate brothers of his tribe. During every moment of his search, he continually glanced over his shoulder, expecting at any instant for the Elder Dragon or his mate to return. But his bold thievery continued uninterrupted. Swiftly, he gathered his treasures into his cloak and tied it into a satchel like bundle. Again he thought he heard a furtive sound. His instincts screamed that he was being watched. His hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of the sword. He decided to leave the dragon's lair as swiftly as possible. He turned back to the darkened corridor by which he had entered, and stopped short at what he saw there. A young woman stood in the doorway, smiling at him. She was dressed in the bedroom apparel of a princess, a scanty bit of pale coral gauze and silk that did nothing to conceal her obvious feminine attractions. Her hair was almost black in hue. He had never seen hair so dark. It was like the lightless spaces between the stars. There was no shock or terror reflected in her hypnotic, violet eyes as she stared back at him. It was as if she had expected to find him there. Cursing, he flew to her side and clamped his hand over her jaw in an iron grip. "Who are you?" Mantegor demanded. "What do you here in the dragon's lair?" She spoke not a word of reply. Mantegor could only surmise that she was one of the dragon's victims. Perhaps she'd been carried off from some far away village to act as the beast's unwilling slave. Strangely, though, she was dressed in a manner more befitting a princess than a slave, She even wore a glittering, gem-encrusted crown upon her blond head, along with an inordinate amount of jewelry that he guessed must have been taken from the treasure horde. He couldn't understand why she would be here unharmed in the dragon's lair, but he had little time for such questions. At any moment the dragon or his mate might return. He started to drag her with him, but she struggled and resisted. Cursing softly, he gave her a swift but hefty clout to the side of the head, upon which she fell immediately unconscious in his arms. Throwing her limp form over his shoulder, he made his way back the way he had come. As he raced back down the passageways, he could not help but feel the soft firmness of the girl's flesh beneath his grasping hands. After what seemed an eternity, he broke out into the open air once more. Sprinting down the treacherous mountain slopes, he carried the girl and his treasures until at last he believed they were safely out of range of the dragons' abilities to read their thoughts. The girl began to stir once more, so he set her down and gave her a sip from his water-skin. "You didn't have to strike me," she sulked. "I would have come with you if you had asked." Mantegor shook his head. " It wasn't a good place to argue," he explained. "Where are you from?" she asked. "I've never known a man of your kind before." "I'm Mantegor, from Arcturus to the north," Mantegor replied. "I've traveled from afar to plunder the treasures of the Elder Dragon's lair." "You interest me. I thought there were naught but savages dwelling in the Northlands," she said. "My name is Yana Vey. How I came to be in the abode of the Elder Dragon is a tale far too long to tell." "You need not speak of it if it disturbs you," Mantegor said. "Come," he said. "We have to move on now. The dragons will be searching for us. The sooner we leave this area, the better." Once again he hefted her over his shoulder. Because he was aware she was awake this time, he was more careful where he placed his hands on her body. But she didn't seem to mind, and Mantegor himself couldn't account for his treatment of her. Normally, like any man of his tribe, if he found a woman he desired he would just take her, either on the spot or drag her back to his shelter and take his time raping her. Yet he couldn't bring himself to do that with this woman. Perhaps he felt pity for her, imagining the brutal treatment she'd received from the elder dragon, or perhaps it was because she was so different from any of the women of his own tribe, with her fair skin and hair, her huge, violet eyes and soft features. By the time night had fallen, they had come down into the stone valleys and knife-cut chasms that bordered the dragon country. Mantegor gathered dry tinder in a small heap, and after striking fire from his spark stones, he was able to get a small blaze burning. They sat staring into the fire for some time. Mantegor couldn't take his eyes from Yana's voluptuous form, which was concealed not at all in her flimsy silken robe. His azure eyes glimmered with a fierce hunger that he didn't try to hide. Seeing that naked fire in his gaze, Yana moved over to sit beside him. She curled her body against his. He was maddened by the satiny texture of her breast pressing against his thigh. "I would not have you think I am ungrateful to you for rescuing me, Mantegor," she whispered huskily, grasping the hardness of his sex through the material of his breeches. "I am very grateful indeed!" She emphasized her gratitude then by gently squeezing the thickness of his prize. He groaned with pleasure. With her free hand, she untied the leather bindings of his pants. He felt the soft, wet touch of her lips and mouth on his naked flesh, the heat of her body engulfing his own. Forgotten was the dragon. Forgotten was the treasure. Forgotten was the gleaming blade of the sword that stabbed into the earth beside him. His entire being was centered on the fever of the pleasure the girl was giving him. Her hands tugged at him with silky coolness while her tongue bathed him in a delicious liquid heat. The moments turned eternal, and time grew slower. Each heart beat became an eternity. Laying her down upon the sward, Mantegor began to help her undress. All the while, he kissed her mouth, cheeks, throat and breasts. He was iron and she was a cloud melting beneath him. She turned over, offering her self to him from behind, an open and glistening invitation. He entered her easily. Her body felt feverishly hot inside. For a long moment, they lay together as one, their flesh meeting in an endless caress. Time stopped and the universe held its breath, anticipating the next moment that would be revealed. Imperceptibly, the dance began. Mantegor was slow and gentle at first, letting her acknowledge the force of his passion. But he soon discovered that she took great joy in his fierceness, and so clung to him like a leaf as he ravaged her in a merciless storm. Her sex clasped him, silken and demanding, encircling him greedily as he thrust deeper inside of her. She danced and moved all around him, an encompassing goddess. They were pieces of eternity, flesh meeting flesh. Suddenly, he was plunging into a welcoming abyss, adrift in a place that seemed strangely familiar. But it wasn't exactly a place. It was more like being submerged in the essence of a feeling or an experience. In that timeless land, he lost all memories of his former consciousness. A voice whispered a secret, so impossible, so fantastic, yet so indisputably true. He heard Yana cry out with wordless joy, as if from across some impossible distance, and the message was written on that joy. His own moment came then, an intense explosion of release and submission. For several moments afterward, the world of reality departed. When he came back to himself, he found that Yana had already fallen asleep. Mantegor too felt himself treading on the edges of slumber. Many an older, more experienced warrior might not have allowed himself the luxury of such carelessness, especially when he was so near enemy's territory. But Mantegor was still very young and naive, and sleep comes very easily to the foolish. 4. He awoke instantly to full awareness. His every instinct screamed out to him that something was terribly wrong. He could smell, almost taste the fear that permeated the air. He reached for his sword, only to discover to his dismay that it had vanished. The girl had also disappeared and was nowhere to be seen. But he could still feel the warmth of her flesh on his robe and the fragrance of her womanhood in the folds of his cloak. He knew by these clues that she had lain in his arms only moments ago. A chill of apprehension, a sensation of almost physical cold ran through his veins. "I see that men are as just as easily duped as in days of yore," spoke a deep, rumbling voice, a voice that Mantegor instantly recognized, "Especially when dealing with the female of the species." The Elder Dragon rose, coil upon shining, iridescent coil, creeping from the depths of some hidden chasm in the earth. He was far more immense, far more terrifying, and a great deal more magnificent than Mantegor had imagined or feared. "How appropriate that we meet now!" spoke the dragon, "The warrior and the serpent! This encounter has been ordained since before there has been history! Thus are legends born and lived anew!" Mantegor said nothing. His mind searched desperately for some means of escape. "I know well your ability to silence your mind," said the elder dragon, "And I'm impressed. Still, even though you were careful to block all your conscious thoughts, I was still aware that you were waiting and listening to our conversation outside the cavern walls. You couldn't disguise your odor which stood out like a beacon to me. I only pretended to be unaware of your presence so that Yana could more easily dupe you into a false sense of security." "Yana!" said Mantegor, stunned. "She aided you willingly?" "Why should she not? She is my daughter, Elder born even as I. Did you think this is my only form? Nay! I am many! I am legion! My body reflects the aspects of any image I choose! I am the beast of the field or the drop of the water in the ocean. I am the wind and the sky, the howl of the wolf in the night. I am all these things and more. If I had such emotions, I would pity you for this single mortal life that is all that you have known or remember. The moments of your life now must seem dear and short to you, fleeting fragments of time before you return once more to the clay and nothingness whence you came." Mantegor watched in stunned amazement. Even as Zhyrtuk spoke, his form took on the cast of a multitude of creatures, many of which Mantegor didn't recognize as being part of his world. He realized that they were all different physical aspects of the Elder Dragon. The guises were masks for the many forms of its being. This was the Elder Dragon's secret, the secret that had allowed them to survive thru eons of savage primeval history. They were shape changers, able to take on whatever form suited them! "You have been trained to despise me," said Zhyrtuk. "And I think now that you expect me to kill you. Set your mind at ease, for if that had been my goal, you would already be dead." The dragon paused. The long sinuous coils of its serpentine body glistened like rubies and diamonds. "If you had taken any other thing from my treasures," said the dragon. "I might have let you go on your way. But the sword of light-bearer I have claimed as my own, and no mortal man shall wield it who cannot prove himself worthy. I sent Yana with the sword into my Crystal Cavern, not far from here. " Mantegor laughed mockingly. "How is it that a serpent can deign to judge a man's worth?" "You are proud, warrior, but if from a dragon's trove you wish to rob, you must beware the dragon's fire," answered Zhyrtuk. "Listen well, man! I'm of a mind to make a bargain with you. Take the treasures you still have and depart this place forever. I will let you go free with whatever treasures from my horde that you can carry, but not the blade of the light bearer. To take that blade you must slay me, and we must do battle here and now." "Why do you make me this offer?" asked Mantegor. "What guarantee do I have that you'll keep your vow and not slay me in the night when I am unaware?" "Only my word," said Zhyrtuk. "I speak only truth." The great sinuous form reared up, and in that moment, Mantegor knew what would ensue if he refused to agree to Zhyrtuk's bargain. There seemed no escape. "Now that you have heard the terms of my offer," spoke Zhyrtuk. "What choice do you make?" But Mantegor answered him not. He wasn't yet ready to make such a choice. He still desperately wanted that sword. Yet what chance did he have against the beast without a weapon? With swift thought came swift and deliberate action. The dragon's ponderous head darted down, its nostrils flaring in anticipation of burning the insect that confronted it. With the speed of one wilderness born, Mantegor swept up a dead branch. Thrusting it into the remains of the smoldering fire, he flung a cloud fine, grey ashes into the dragon's face. The monster was momentarily blinded. Mantegor fled. Night had not yet given up its grasp on the world. The moon was thin and cloud covered, and so he vanished swiftly into the illusion of safety its concealing shadows afforded. Yet he knew well Zhyrtuk could surely pierce even that Stygian darkness with his dragon eyes. There would be only a few moments before he recovered and found him once more. His one desire now was to die with a real weapon in his hands. Dragon's Lair Thru waist high snow drifts he trudged, his feet and face grown numb from exposure. Snowflakes as big as his face began to drift down from the murky sky. The wind cut bitterly into his flesh. A terrible earth shaking roar told him the Elder Dragon was now close on his heels. He climbed the edge of the glacier, racing across the icy plateau even as he felt the hot scent of dragon's breath on his back. Instinctively, he leaped aside, just as a swath of flame seared across the plain, cutting a deep furrow in the surface of the ice where he had stood a moment before. He ran on. The sun, though not yet risen, now tinged the eastern sky with deep hues of ruby and gold, transforming the glacier to an iridescent field of shimmering fire, a scene of achingly haunting beauty. Snow continued to fall in great lacy sheets. The elder dragon, his reptilian coils shining like brass in the eerie half-light, lurched across the ice fields, blindly pursuing its foe. Gasping for breath, Mantegor used his last remaining strength to propel himself ahead of the monster. He saw far ahead a gaping darkness that must be the cave that Zhyrtuk had spoken of. But it was still far out of his reach. The dragon was gaining on him now. Any moment, it would regain its eyesight and its great lurching form would be on him. He climbed into the deep snowy cliffs that bordered the valley, keeping just ahead of the great snouted nose that closely pursued. The dragon had more difficulty in the loose packed drifts, which kept collapsing beneath his weight and burying his head in snow. Mantegor laughed. But he'd forgotten that the dragon was a shape shifter. Swiftly it transformed into a golden snow leopard and paced across the snow towards him at a fantastic pace, its nimble paws making barely any imprint in the soft snow. He turned to meet his foe, lunging at the snow leopard with both arms outstretched. Together, they tumbled down the side of the drift, each moment the snow leopard's talons raking across Mantegor's naked back as he held the beast's fangs from his throat with sheer brute strength. He took the beast's own throat in his two strong hands and began to squeeze with all his might. When they reached the bottom of the slopes, it was no longer a snow leopard he held in his grasp but a slippery rock snake. It slithered thru his grasp before he could stop it, but swiftly as an eagle snatching its prey, his hand darted out once more and caught the serpent by its tail. He swung it around and threw it with all his might towards an icy cliff side. The snake transformed once more back to a dragon in mid air, but still slammed into the cliff side. The earth shook and a shower of stones fell across the dragon's form. Mantegor fled once more across the plateau, summoning his last strength for this final run. Zhyrtuk decided he was tired of this game. He raised his great wings and took to the air, knowing his prey would be far easier to snatch from above. The night stars shone like crystal as Zhyrtuk soared, smoky flames dripping from his open maw. But Mantegor's speed was like that of a starving wolf. The cliff side and the black yawning chasm in its face drew ever nearer. Zhyrtuk burst forth with a huge gout of flame, but Mantegor nimbly leapt aside at the precise moment, so that the fire scorched only ice moss. Darkness was all around once more and Mantegor knew he had won. Before him was the naked form of Yana, white and gleaming in the shadows. By her side stood the shimmering naked sword of razor sharp steel. He easily thrust her aside and tore it from her grasp. Turning swiftly, his left arm crushed her to his chest while he placed the point of the blade against her creamy white throat. "Now, serpent," he said triumphantly, "We shall see who will die!" "You should be wary of the woman you deign to take prisoner," said the dragon, his voice gone tinged with mockery. "She is not to be toyed with." "I'll kill her if you do not come to terms with me," hissed Mantegor. "I see." said Zhyrtuk, "It all comes down to human greed once more. You will kill an innocent over your desire to possess this blade. Do you not realize what has happened here? Yana has given you a gift more precious than all the gems and gold in my cavern, more precious even than that mighty blade!" Mantegor was unbelieving. He had heard of the wiles of dragons. This one was without doubt spinning a tale to mesmerize him and take him unawares. "Tell me, great serpent," said he. "Of what gift do you speak that is more precious than gold and gems?" The Elder Dragon sighed heavily, a sound that shook the entire landscape. "Knowledge," said the dragon. "Knowledge?" scoffed Mantegor. "Knowledge of what? What good is this knowledge when I don't even know what I know?" "Knowledge of your own immortality! But nay, I see that you don't understand. You've yet to discover just who and what you are." "I'm no more than a man and I want nothing more than to take my treasure and be gone," said Mantegor. The dragon sighed once more. There was an ancient weariness there, thought Mantegor, more dangerous somehow than anger or hate. "Take then what you have stolen," Zhyrtuk said. "It's of no use to me. But you should know that it is all accursed. Dragons' treasures always are. Material wealth has a way of attracting negative energies. Call them demons, if you will, or destructive entities, but they are especially drawn to riches that have been fought over or that have a long record of bloodshed in their history. It is the bane of dragons to have such duty as to guard such accursed treasures until such time as the evil spirits dissipate." Mantegor had listened to this explanation without comment. It was all too clear in his mind that Zhyrtuk was trying to confuse him, to make him careless. He wouldn't be so easily duped! Yana then began to shiver in his grasp. He held her more tightly to him, but suddenly it was no longer a woman that he held, but another dragon! The great face of a slender golden dragon smiled down on him. "Let us play no more games, sir," she said. "You came here to slay us, and to steal our treasures." Mantegor was stunned into silence. The she dragon laughed. "You marvel, but Zhyrtuk already told you that I was his daughter, and even shown you that we elder dragons have the knowledge to take on any form, even that of a human." Mantegor let his blade fall to his side. The dragon queen laughed. "You dream such petty dreams. I can see them in your mind even now, dreams of power and glory. But there is more in yourself you've yet to discover. Fear not, It's not our desire to stop you. Take the sword and what you will of the treasure. But remember the curse!" "Of what curse do you speak?" asked Mantegor. "This sword is forbidden to all but myself and Yana," said Zhyrtuk. "Why did you choose that blade amongst all those treasures?" "I don't know," he admitted. I was drawn to it. It seemed meant to be mine. And after all, of what use is a sword to a dragon? Why is this sword, of all amidst your treasure, the most forbidden?" "Because its the sword that is destined to slay me," replied the Elder Dragon. 5. As Mantegor made his way back to his homeland, he trod every now familiar trail that had led him to Dragonmount. Though he was weighted down with the bag of treasures and a new sword, he walked now with a swifter and surer pace. In his mind, he was already conceiving the accolades that would be showered on him when he returned to his village. With the riches he carried, he would become a lord of the land! He looked forward to seeing his adopted mother again. He would give her enough jewels so that she would want for nothing for the rest of her days. Shingar would be amazed to hear how he had outwitted an Elder Dragon. He would tell the tale until they all tired of hearing him tell it. There would be feasts and celebrations in his honor, and he would be hailed as a leader of men! Then he would make his plans and enlist workers to build a ship for a voyage to the Southern Lands! At last he came to more familiar terrain and saw the valley of his homeland spread before him basking in the afternoon sun. Smoke from cooking fires hung like a yellow haze in the air. He hoped he had arrived in time for the evening meal. He was ravenous after his adventures. But as he drew nearer he realized there was too much smoke in the air to be only the residue of the cooking fires. Terror found him then, and weary as he was, fear lent his feet wings and he nearly flew down the slopes the last remaining distance to his village. There was no village to be seen. A smoking ruin stood in its place. What had once been his home was no more. Amongst the charred embers were dozens of blackened corpses. The stench of burnt flesh was everywhere. The cry that he gave when he came upon the burnt corpse of his adopted mother was like the howl of a maddened beast. There was naught of humanity in it. It was the primordial scream of a creature pushed beyond the limits of its own endurance, the sound of a man whose mind has snapped and whose soul is shattered. Even in his madness, he knew what had happened. Though he'd carefully extracted an oath that the elder dragon should never harm him, he had made no such bargain for his village. The elder dragon in his fierce hatred for the human that had escaped him had taken its vengeance upon his homeland and family. He had been the cause of the death of them all! He made then no rash vows of vengeance such as other men might make in such a moment. He cried no curses, nor made prayers to departed spirits. He only gazed back in the direction of the dragon-caves, his blue eyes aflame with a savage and fearsome light. And then he started back the way he came. There was no hesitation in his step, and no indecision in his mind. A short, crimson road stretched ahead of him now, he knew, and surely naught but death awaited him at its end. 6. Yana, the Dragon Queen, sat amidst a tableau of glittering splendor. Sipping delicate amber wine from a hand-carved crystal goblet, her left hand played idly in a bowl of polished rubies. She let the gems drip from her fingers like drops of glittering blood and smiled, as if thinking some secret thought. Mantegor, the last member of his tribe, looked upon the Dragon Queen and hated her. Whatever happened now, he was resolved to carry his plan to fruition. She was as cruel and heartless a beast as the Elder Dragon. She deserved no mercy. He had no pity for her. His heart had grown as cold and hard as the winter snows of his homeland. Only death resided in his eyes. Noiselessly, he crept from his hiding place. Like a crouching panther, he stalked her. Her laughter echoed through the chamber. "So you've returned," she spoke in a low whisper as she rose from her chair. "Did you think I didn't know you were there spying on me?" "You killed my mother, and my friends! You slaughtered my people!" cried Mantegor. "Nay!" said the dragon queen. "It was the treasure you stole from us which brought doom to your village. Zhyrtuk warned you that the treasure was accursed, but you wouldn't listen!" "We are ancient beings, Mantegor," sighed Yana. "You violated our home, stole from us, and even threatened our lives. By the laws of your own people, we could have claimed blood vengeance upon you for any of these acts. Yet we withheld that vengeance and left you to your petty treasure." Mantegor ignored her. In his blood madness he had lost any semblance of reason. "Mankind has suffered your kind to live long enough," he snarled. "The age of the serpent is over. Your ancient and terrible knowledge, your glib and treacherous tongue which betrays men so easily to their doom; all these things shall perish this day!" "You're a fool! Know you that even though rightful vengeance was ours to take, it wasn't Zhyrtuk or I who brought doom upon your home and its people. It was your own carelessness. Not all the dragons near Dragonmount are under Zhyrtuk's command, and many have good cause for their hatred of men. They came to know your smell and they tracked your scent across the fields of ice and snow, and thus they came upon your home. You are yourself to blame for your people's slaughter." "Your words are filled with deceit as is your form," cried Mantegor. "I'll listen no more!" Yana took on her dragon shape then, towering above him in reptilian magnificence. Her eyes were lit with crimson fires. She reared high, as if preparing to incinerate the puny insect that stood before her. He stood laughing madly, prancing before the dragon like an excited child. "Your last moments have found you," he said. "Prepare to die!" It was then that Zhyrtuk made his reappearance, rising up to stand between Mantegor and the she dragon. "It is I whose blood is destined to stain that blade," said Zhyrtuk, "And I have come to keep my appointment with fate." Mantegor made no reply. Flinging open his cloak, he took the short throwing spear that he had concealed there. He knew he had time for only one desperate cast before the flames of the dragon incinerated him. The spear left his hands, a whispering streak of shadow. The roar of the dragon was like that of a demon howling in the pits of the underworld, an echo of every primordial rage since the beginning of time. Mantegor covered his ears as the scream of the dragon's fury rocked the mountain. The cave was consumed in flames. But Mantegor had come prepared for this. He had soaked his cloak with water and filled its lining with chunks of ice before entering the dragon's lair. He ducked beneath the flames now, covering his body with the wolf-skin cloak. He heard the hairs being singed and felt the heat on his back, but he was unharmed by the dragon fire. Now came the last desperate act. He vanished into one of the smaller passageways, knowing Zhyrtuk would take a few moments to regenerate his flames. The caverns were filled with smoke. The dragon queen's precious furnishings were burning, he thought, smiling grimly to himself. He soon emerged onto the slopes below the dragon caves once more. But he knew he was no safer here than in the dragon's lair. Within moments, Zhyrtuk would be upon him. Mantegor raced down the slopes, leaping from boulder to boulder like a great cat. A hideous roar warned him that the Elder Dragon had found him once more. Worse, answering roars from the surrounding caves meant that other dragons were being roused as well. He reached the bottom of the slope and began to climb the steep, rock-strewn cliff face that led up to the peak of Dragonmount. Swiftly he rose. But the Elder Dragon was fast at his heels. For all his bulk, he seemed unimpeded by the steep slope. Again the Elder Dragon's roar warned him. Fire coursed over the mountainside. Mantegor dove between the stones, but his cloak was in flames. He threw it aside, still ablaze, and raced once more up the mountainside, his hair singing from the heat of the inferno that surrounded him. The ground was nearly molten, blistering his feet even through the thick leather soles of his sandals. He turned. The Elder Dragon was just below him, preparing to hurl another barrage of flames across the mountainside. A number of other dragons were also climbing the slopes behind him, including several larger firedrakes. Mantegor laughed hugely and uproariously. The action prompted the Elder Dragon to halt in his charge. He peered upward to perceive the tiny human figure silhouetted against the sky, and just in time to see his doom cascading towards him. It had taken Mantegor nearly two days to balance the huge mass of rocks that now hurtled down the slopes. There was a roar as if the world was ending and huge clouds of dust shrouded the sky. The Elder Dragon had no chance to avoid the ensuing avalanche. He was swiftly swept under by the river of stone. Seconds later, Zhyrtuk lay at the bottom of the mountain, most of his sinuous form buried beneath the heavy, broken stones. Several of the other dragons had also been swept under by the sudden conflagration. The rest had retreated to a safer distance. Swiftly Mantegor raced down the slope. The Elder Dragon continued his efforts to free himself. Mantegor leapt the last remaining yards, the sword in his hand an arc of glittering steel as it descended towards the Elder Dragon's serpentine neck. The razor-sharp steel bit deep into the coiled muscles that protected the dragon's throat, half severing it. A gout of hot black blood splashed over Mantegor's arms and shoulders. It was over. The Elder Dragon lay dying at his feet. He peered up at his slayer. "So I die at last," he said. "Killed by the one I showed mercy, just as was prophesied." 7. Mantegor struggled to rise. The steep mountain slopes were washed in the bright haze of the afternoon sun. The she dragon Yana met him and towered above him, her claws like huge daggers, and he knew that here was his death at last. He was bleeding from a score of minor wounds, and far too weary to fight anymore. "So you have slain him, just as he predicted," she said. "He had hoped to avoid his death, but it seems that even dragons cannot change their fate." The dragon queen bowed her great silver-scaled head, and suddenly she was a dragon no more. A beautiful golden haired maiden stood before him, and she was just as she had been when he'd first seen her. He lowered his sword. Despite knowing what she was and what she was capable of becoming, when he saw her once more like this as the woman he had loved, he couldn't bring himself to strike at her with the blackened and bloodied blade in his hand. "I told the truth," she said. "Zhyrtuk was blameless, and your revenge upon him was unjustified. We are all compelled by a will that is not our own," she said. "Zhyrtuk was old, and very wise, yet even though he saw his own death coming at your hands, he could do naught to avoid it." Mantegor frowned, and sheathing the blade in its scabbard. "Is the dragon's treasure truly accursed?" he asked. "It appears so," and she laughed, though there were tears streaming from her golden hued eyes. "It brings misfortune even to dragons, for today it brought death to my father." "I see now that I may long rue my actions this day," he sighed. "But it seems that men and dragons are ever bound to clash, and always will be so long as there reside so great a number of murderous beasts amongst you." "And what say you of human greed which has led to this end?" she asked. "What of the hordes of bloodthirsty men who hunt the dragon for their blood and bones and teeth, slaying them not because they're hungry or defending themselves or their young, but because they long to wield magical powers! The dragons of the world are being slain to please the spells of moldering old wizards and the despotic warlords they serve. The south lands are empty now of dragon kind and the riches that men have ravaged from their hoards have caused naught but grief in the world, for they have been used for building great warships and ballistic machines and for the arming of countless fighting men. Men are directed like puppets to kill and die so that kings can have larger kingdoms. And kings vie with each other endlessly to gain more of the dragons' former hoards, those long accursed treasures!" "Shingar told me that the treasures were accursed," Mantegor admitted. "I didn't listen to him . Now I wish I had." "Men and dragons are more alike than either would like to believe." "Yet we seem destined to continually battle," said Mantegor. Her green eyes stared deeply into his. "There has long been a legend that a mortal man would bring an end to the war between dragons and men. Zhyrtuk thought you might be that man."