Simon

One week later...

Dragon teeth are very sharp. They can bite through bone. Do not get bit by them.

Fortunately, unlike with my last letters, this time I am not speaking with experience. I have finally gotten through to Enola, and this past week has seen a much more cordial reception from her. As of the time I am writing this letter I have shared three meals with the dragon, each three days apart, and it has now been one week since I first had a meal with her. I have not been able to conclusively answer any of the questions we have about Katerina's letters, but I have been able to learn more about dragons in general, and of Enola in particular.

So far I have learned that dragons have large families. Enola has seven siblings, and mentioned that it is not unusual for other dragon families to have twenty or thirty children. When I attempt to discuss any potential family Enola might be interested in starting, she becomes immediately hostile. From our conversations I suspect she has feelings for the blue dragon I saw when I first arrived, though of course I cannot confirm that, and suspect that for some reason she feels she cannot pursue those feelings. It seems to have led to some resentment and bitterness on her part, though I still do not understand why.

I have not managed to find an opening to discuss riders in any of our conversations. I was hoping to approach the topic from the subject of family, to then ask if any of her family have riders, but Enola's unwillingness to discuss that further seems to have put an end to that plan. I will see if another opportunity comes up – however, I am extremely hesitant to bring the topic up directly. Enola is still incredibly suspicious of me and believes I am trying to get something from her, and I fear that talking about riders will lead her to conclude I am seeking to become a rider. This will likely offend her and cause her to stop talking to me altogether – or, even worse, lead to her trying to make me a rider. Since neither of those are outcomes I want, I am being careful about the subject for now.

Enola's suspicion and hostility has also kept me from convincing her to accept my help in regards to the threat of the king, or really anything at all beyond cooked meals – and even then, she always demands to catch the food for the meal. She is adamantly against taking anything from me that she does not contribute to in some way, though I cannot tell if this is because Katerina was telling the truth regarding the magedebt, or if Enola simply has a great deal of personal pride.

However, it is my personal opinion that Enola would not be talking to me at all if she did not feel she owed me for the effort I put into cooking the meal. This is not anything concrete that she has said, but given her attitude towards me in general, I highly doubt she would talk to me unless something was pressuring her to. Thus, I suspect that Katerina was telling us the truth in regards to the dragons owing a magedebt for favors.

I looked up from the letter, then put a rock on top of it to keep it from curling up. I had drawn more attention than I was comfortable with in Lakeshire, so on my last visit I had just purchased a small vial of ink to take back to camp with me. I would still have to go to the village to mail the letters – or take Smokey to Yellowseed a few days' ride away, which would probably get them delivered faster – but that would attract far less attention than lurking in the tavern while I wrote the letters.

Though with how my own attempts at making coffee were failing miserably, it was almost worth drawing attention to have a decent cup in the morning. I held my nose as I picked up the steaming cup on the tree stump I was using as a desk, and bravely swallowed as much of it as I could stomach before the taste got to me. Yuck.

Despite how much Enola seemed to enjoy our meals, I didn't think I was meant to be a cook. It had been easy enough to boil the water over the campfire, but nothing I did after that step could be considered drinkable. I was pretty sure the coffee beans I had bartered for were good ones, but I hadn't had a decent cup of coffee in over a week now. And I wasn't likely to have one any time soon, as long as I was trying to make it over a campfire out in the wilderness. If I could get Enola to give me a decent heating spell, then I might have more luck cooking the beans evenly... but Enola was still paranoid that I was trying to get something from her. Asking her for a spell at this point would be a bad idea. I shook my head and emptied the rest of the coffee out over the small campfire I had going.

Smokey snorted from where I had tied his reins to my tent post, and I rolled my eyes at the horse. "It doesn't smell that bad. Keep it up, and I'll make you drink it, too."

The horse didn't seem moved by my threat, and instead just whinnied again, tugging a little at the reins. I frowned and walked over to him, keeping my arms open and my voice soothing. "What is it, Smokey? Everything okay?"

I ran my hand over the horse's back and listened, trying to understand what had the normally calm horse worked up... and then I heard the faint sound of another whinny somewhere out in the distance. In the direction of Enola's lair. A second followed, then a third.

Uh-oh, I thought. That's not a good sign...

~

Enola

Knights.

I stared in frozen terror at the encampment, still only halfway out of the tunnel to my lair. The sunlight reflected off of harsh steel surfaces. Weapons – swords sharp enough to cut even a dragon's scales, lances powerful enough to pierce between them and force through muscle and organs. Armor – heavy plates thick enough to dent blows from my own claws, and strong enough to protect a fallen knight even if I brought the entire crushing weight of my body upon them. Horses grazed in the distance beyond the tents – beasts bred for war, and who had the mass and speed to turn an annoying lance into a lethal threat.

Simon had been right.

The king had come prepared for battle.

I knew that Cess or any other dragon would be feeling excitement at the sight. They would be thrilled at the challenge, and would be mentally preparing their arsenal of battle magics. They would be sharpening their claws on the rocks while they went through spells that would call down lightning, or flood the encampment, or bury it under the earth, or ignite the tents around the knights. They would be eager for the impending fight.

A far-too familiar chill began to creep through me. An instinctive habit caused me to mentally rehearse the spells I knew – the spell to mend flesh that had been cut by the swords. The spell to prevent infections from entering the various wounds. The spell to reduce the effects of shock and blood loss. The spell to quiet pain, and calm someone too far gone to save, to bring them peace while they...

I stared out at the camp as I imagined the feel of death against my dulled mage senses.

They had come to fight me. To kill me. To cut me apart, and spill my blood in the ground of my very home.

All for a few stupid rocks.

If I fought them, I might be able to fend off three or four knights. Even without magic. Armored knights were a serious threat, but a cornered dragon was an even more serious threat. What I had told Simon had not been a lie – if it came to a battle, several of them would die.

But there were at least thirty knights in the encampment.

There was no way I could defeat a group of knights that size. I would kill some of them. And... and then they would kill me. Their swords would wound me and drain me of blood, and slash my wings to useless ribbons. Their lances would pierce my lungs, or my stomach, or some other vital organ. After that they would just have to circle out of reach of my claws, and wait for me to... for me...

The chill sunk deeper into my body, running all the way from my horns to the spikes on my tail.

I had no choice. I had to run. The home I had made here was gone – I would have to grab my things and as many crystals as I could carry, and then start the difficult flight to... to... somewhere else. Some other home where I could hide away in and hope to go unnoticed. And all the work I had done here would be for nothing.

"Enola, please." I jerked and looked away from the camp of humans, towards the sound. Simon. He was right beside me. How had he gotten so close without my noticing? I tried to get my breathing under control, but the panic was making it hard. I was certain I was shaking, and I curled my claws into the ground to hide their trembling from the human. "I can still stop this. You don't have to fight them! They don't want to fight; they'll be willing to make a deal. Just let me talk to them. I can work something out."

He looked up at me with a pleading expression, and I stared back at him, only able to see the swinging of cruel swords drenched in my blood. Hearing only the screams of battle, and the screams of pain. The screams of the dying. Felt only the painful stabs of their cruel weapons, again, and again, and again, as my body grew cold and weak, and...

"Please. Let me help you."

Simon spread his hands in a pleading gesture. I looked back at the camp with wide eyes, still feeling the terror gripping me. I sank lower, letting my wings sag until they rested against the ground beside me, and curled my tail around my side. I pulled my claws out of the dirt and clutched at my tail instead, feeling a tiny bit of comfort at holding it.

I closed my eyes, shutting out the sight of the humans that had come to kill me and take my home.

I tried to keep from trembling in fear as I gave Simon a short nod of my head.