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“Don’t kill me.” Khadgar makes sure it isn’t a plea. He’s seen what good pleas do, tasted the ashes of their result. The Greater Dragon above him parts his teeth, giving Khadgar a good look down his armored throat. “I know the one you seek.”
Another voice, a human voice, deep and commanding, issues a sharp order, the dragon’s maw shuts. It doesn’t remove its paw from Khadgar’s chest, however, nor does it retract the talons biting into his shoulders. There is a thump, and the sound of heavy foot falls. Around the leg, the Rider appears. He’s clad completely in leather scales, whose color must once have been brown but now was washed in years of soot and worn by wind. Dragon teeth decorate his helmet, the curved spikes accentuating the chin and cheekbones. His forearm guards have dragon talons embedded in them. He crouches over Khadgar, exposing the tip of one such talon and digging it into the soft area under Khadgar’s chin. “Keep talking, whelpling.”
“It would be better if I could show you.” Khadgar says, forcing himself to breathe in evenly, despite the renewed bite of the dragon’s talons, despite the warm, wet well of blood around their points.
“Why should I allow you to show me anything?” The Rider asks, tilting his head with curiosity. Khadgar can just barely make out blue irises in the eye slits.
“Because I was there.”
Blue eyes narrow with a twitch. “Hmm. Larial?” The dragon’s talons retract. “So you’re not lying. Okay, boy. Show me.” He reaches up, flipping the helmet open to reveal a braided beard, pink mouth, and icy eyes. “But know she will kill you if you try anything funny.”
Khadgar has no response. He merely nods, then murmurs the spell, eyes lighting up as he calls on his power. Show me, Callan Lothar.
~
Please don’t set the ship on fire. Khadgar prays to any god that may be listening. Or sink it. Or capsize it.
He clutches his left arm one more time, where the mark that bound him to the nautical figurehead and therefore to ship as a whole burned bright, and scanned the sky with furtive motions. His eyes flare blue with ever fire of the ship’s cannons. Above, in the low-hanging mist, the dragon screams its battle cry. The blue energy of cannon fire lights the mist, and within it the slim figure of the dragon and its rider silhouette, revealing a tight circle, a brief pull up, the wings flaring out. Then: he dives.
“He’s going to land!” Llane shouts. “Clear the deck, and for the Love of the Light, surround the beast!”
The dragon hits the deck, and Khadgar feels the force push them down, and does what he can to reduce the heave and sway such a blow caused. The mist flies back, revealing a young glider, twice the height and breadth of a normal man, small for his species. His scales are crimson with dark red freckles like great gobs of dried blood. His head ridges are painted gold.
On his back, another sight: a man stands, covered head to toe in red leather armor cuffs that overlap like scales. Each cuff also has a ridge, giving him the appearance of a man half made into a dragon.
“What is your name, Rider?” Llane calls, stepping forward with Wyrmsbane unsheathed. “And do you have a face? Or are you so bound to your serpent you hide a snout?”
The rider reaches up and takes his full face mask by the chin and back, and lift. Khadgar will admit to holding his breath, bracing himself for monstrosity, only to be met with the boyish face of a young man with long gold hair braided back. His brown eyes burn, his dragon behind him crouches, a growl building as Llane’s men close in. The boy hisses, and throws an arm wide to wave the men back. “My name is Callan Lothar,” the boy announces, “Son of Anduin Lothar, and I am here to warn you. Turn back now, no blood needs be spilled here.”
Khadgar tears his eyes from the rider and the dragon to look at the King. He’s stoic for once, the unscarred eye regarding the rider with scorn. “So Anduin lives.”
“Yes, and he doesn’t wish to war with you, his friend. But he will if you try to kill the dragons.”
Llane is silent for moment. He sheaths Wyrmsbane, looking the boy up and down one last time.Then he turns back to him. “Kill the dragon, keep the boy alive.”
~
The vision clears from the fire, and Anduin blinks several times as if to disperse it completely. “That was my son. That was him.” His dragon keeps her tawny paw on Khadgar’s chest. “That was Callan. What did they do? Tell me, what did they do to my boy?”
Anduin’s baring his teeth once again, but Khadgar knows he won’t do anything until he gets answers. Answers Khadgar would rather not give. He turns his head, eyes squeezed closed to keep the moisture at bay. “You would rather not know.”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!” The scream is frustration and pain, and leaves the man heaving and raw, but no less deadly. After some time recollecting himself, he grabs his helmet and stalks away with purpose. “You. Get up. You will help me find my son.”