Rise of the Black Knight

I roared a retreat signal to Arthur’s troops on the ground. My younger sisters Fiona and Cion grabbed huge boulders from the hillside and flew back with them to drop on the enemy soldiers and cover our retreat. Cion dropped her burden with deadly effect, then swooped low to wreak havoc with wing and claw. Merlin soared high above us, emerald scales darkened with stains of blood, mud and smoke against the storm clouds my power had summoned.

I touched his mind, seeking guidance. Merlin could not send his thoughts to me, but I could take them from him if he permitted it. “The Black Knight seeks Arthur,” Merlin thought. His mind was filled with flashing visions of the battle, things that he could see happening now, things that he could see, even though they happened far from him, and things that he saw, even though they had not yet happened, and might not ever. A vision, of the Black Knight on his huge black armored charger blasting through the line around Arthur and piercing the breast of Arthur’s horse with his black-bladed sword, overwhelmed Merlin for a moment, and me with him. I shook my head, unable to stop hearing the horse’s dying scream in my ears. Sometimes I wondered how Merlin could stand to live with such a “gift” without going mad.  Merlin’s gentle voice in our joined thoughts overrode the ugly vision. “Arthur’s defenders will not be enough. Send one of your sisters to aid him.”

I broke contact and opened my eyes to see the Black Knight just beginning the charge that Merlin’s vision saw concluded. Fiona screamed a battle cry and rotated in the air, still clinging to a boulder with her feet. A Black raked at her with his claws, trying to make her drop it on our own men.

I sent Cion to defend Arthur with a thought. My sisters and I touched each others’ minds so often, we sometimes thought the same thoughts as if we were one mind in three bodies. Another Black dragon dove from the cloud cover directly toward Cion’s back. I screamed a warning in our minds, and my sister swerved hard to the left, but the small, young Black dove with the speed and deadly accuracy of an arrow, and swerved with her as he did.

The smaller dragon hit my youngest sister square on the back hard enough to knock her from the sky. They both fell like stones. My link with my sister was strong enough that I felt the black’s fangs sink into her throat, poisoning her with the Black venom that brought euphoria and compliance. She went limp and the Black snapped her neck with his jaws.

The small Black soared away, while Cion plummeted onto the sharp rocks of the hills.

The light of her bright young life vanished from my mind, leaving an aching emptiness. NO!  My dear little sister! Less than two centuries ago, she had been a sparkling child with golden pigtails always coming loose, collecting frogs and salamanders from the lake shores.

But there was no time to grieve.

The Black Knight’s charger galloped through the shield line of defenders around Arthur, knocking them aside like they were made of straw. Gawain, Fiona’s young son rode to defend his king, but his destrier stepped on a dead man and stumbled. Gawain went down under his massive horse.

I felt the power gathering in the storm I had summoned. The Blacks were maddeningly immune to the power of the lightning I could call, though, and I was too far, myself to fly to Arthur’s aid. I watched in helpless horror as Merlin’s vision came to pass.

Arthur’s horse screamed and reared, throwing my grandson to the ground. He stood again, unharmed, but the Black Knight would ride him down in another moment.

I focused the pregnant power inherent in the storm. The power sought its balance with the earth. I channeled it through me, down and across the battlefield, directly into the Black Knight. He might be immune to lightning, thanks to the unnatural dragon scale armor he wore, but I was guessing that his horse was not.

I felt as much as heard Fiona’s bellow of triumph as she hurled the Black that harried her to the ground and smashed his head with the boulder. But the Black was wounded, not dead, and his army closed in. Arrows bespelled to pierce dragon scales flew at Fiona like a swarm of stinging insects. She retreated to the air, but could not gain enough altitude fast enough.

I felt arrow after arrow embed in her belly, arms, legs, and the delicate membranes of her wings. She fought hard, climbing by inches as darts continued to pepper her. I focused the wind and swept the swarm away from her, but the sudden gust unbalanced her flight.

I dove for her, just managing to grab her shoulders with my feet before she hit the ground. Her weight in full battle form was ten times one of the largest boulders. I strained to keep her aloft until we flew over our own men, retreating into the walls of Camelot. I laid her gently on the ground and sent a mental call for help to Merlin.

He was already on his way to Fiona’s side. His healing venom would have her ready to fight again in minutes, once he removed the arrows.

In the panic of almost losing another sister, I had lost track of Arthur.

I took to the sky again, just high enough for my wings to miss clipping the tips of the spears of our warriors, who were making a hasty, but ordered retreat into the castle.

I sent the image I saw to Fiona. Her son Gawain fought valiantly at Arthur’s side. The two excellent swordsmen fought the knight to a standstill. Though both Gawain and Arthur’s swords sparked on the black armor of the enemy knight, he shook off their blows as if nothing more than loving pats. Merlin had forged those swords himself, and they could cut through even my scales, yet the black armor showed no sign of dent or scratch.

Gawain and Arthur could defend against the Black Knight’s blows, but they could not defeat him. And while they fought, the black army surrounded them, isolating them from their own retreating men.

I saw all of that in an instant, just before I swooped up, just above Arthur and Gawain’s heads, then down and into the Black Knight’s face.

I had a moment of satisfaction as I saw dark eyes widen in the small eye holes of the black coif, then I hit the bastard with the spiked leading edge of my wing and flung him fifty feet, over the body of his dead horse and into the mass of his own onrushing soldiers. He knocked down a dozen of his own men as he flew. “Arrogant child,” I snorted.

I growled at the nearest line of soldiers, baring fangs and daring them to face me. I saw a man rush away, and suspected he went to fetch the archers. I had bought a few seconds only.

“On my back,” I shouted to Gawain and Arthur.

When they were mounted and clinging hard to my spikes, I sought the air.

The Black Knight had regained his feet by then and charged me, just as I took off.

I tried to grab him with a foot, intending to take him up to a very great height and let go, but he parried my claws with that massive black two-handed sword of his, and struck back. I felt it pierce my leg deeply, like a spear of acid. I could not control my scream of agony, but I pushed hard with my wings, and managed to convince the storm to give me some extra wind to lift me higher and faster, even as my vision darkened.

My dangling limp leg banged against the stones as I went over the walls of Camelot castle. Humiliatingly, I screamed again, but I managed to get my grandson and my nephew on the ground in the courtyard before I passed out.

As Nyneve’s vision went black, I awoke, trembling with adrenaline as if I fought for my life, and with tears of rage and grief streaking my face. My leg ached in sympathetic pain for a woman dead centuries before I was born.

Visions of things long past have all but replaced normal dreams for me, and I sometimes am confused at first what century or body I’m in. I try to write the dreams all down as soon as I wake up. Fafnir and my father’s stories never gave me this sense of truly being connected to my ancestors. I remember my grandfather and especially my grandmother now, not as a story, but as if I had known her, as if I had been her.

Dee Dragon

Caged Dragon

After I cooled my heels in the blessedly dark, empty cell for about a hundred years, or maybe just a few hours, some uniformed cops came, handcuffed me with far more sturdy cuffs than before, and led me out. As soon as the door opened, I squeezed my eyes shut against the glare, and spent the rest of the time catching glimpses of what was happening through brief peeks under my lashes. I could tolerate most indoor lighting, but fluorescent lights had a disorienting strobe effect with my new senses, and a constant grating buzzing hum. At least I wasn’t totally blind like in sunlight. I shut my eyes, tucked my weird left hand into the back of my pants so it wasn’t showing, and trusted the cops not to lead me into walls.

I heard a familiar voice and peeked through one eye.

“But detective, the surveillance tapes don’t show …” He didn’t get a chance to finish.

A broad-shouldered, tough-looking white guy in a maroon shirt with a blue tie said, “That’s up to the judge to decide, Flynn. And you’re still on my list for that fiasco with the Death Dealers. I don’t know what your beef is with the supes, but if you don’t stay out of Protectors territory, you’ll be checking parking meters.”

I opened an eye a crack to see Officer Flynn glance my way, and shake his head. He said, “Yes, sir,” to the broad-shouldered man, and walked away through the crowd of desks.

Well, at least he tried. I appreciated the thought, especially from a guy who disliked me on sight because I wasn’t a normal.

I’d called Ma when they first brought me in and gave me my phone call. I don’t know what I expected her to be able to do, but I knew she was the one person who would move heaven and earth to get me free.

“Dee!” Jack sat next to Ma in a small area of chairs off to one side separated by a low wooden fence. Ma had her knitting bag with her. Judging by the number of little knit baby caps sitting next to her, they’d been there a while.

“Hi, Ma. Hi, Jack.” I would have waved, but my hands were still cuffed behind me. “You here to bail me out?”

“They won’t set bail for you until after a hearing, dear,” Ma said.

“Oh, right.” I didn’t really know much about the legal system. I needed a good lawyer. I didn’t have any money to pay a lawyer, though. They’d probably give me one of those public defender guys, overworked, and barely paid enough not to starve.

“It’ll be all right, Dee,” Jack shouted as the cops escorted me into another room.

Jack’s an optimistic kind of guy. I can’t say as I felt like agreeing with him just then.

The room was small, and I felt like I’d stepped into a cop show cliché. There was a mirror on one wall, which my new eyesight saw right through to the little observation room on the other side, and a table in the middle with a few chairs. The uniformed officers escorting me sat me down in one of the chairs, cuffed me to it, and left.

The only difference from the usual cop show set was that my chair appeared to be made of heavy duty titanium or some mega-alloy and was an integral part of the concrete floor, probably all the way to the steel beam understructure. Only way out of that chair was to take the building with me. Interrogation room for supe criminals. Kinda cool really. I’d have gotten a kick out of seeing it if I hadn’t been the one cuffed to the chair. Blessedly, the lights were incandescent. Still painfully bright, but no longer strobing.

I wondered when the good cop and the bad cop were going to show up.

I sat there for quite a while, long enough to get pretty bored, but finally, I heard voices outside the door.

“This is ridiculous. You can’t hold my client for armed robbery. She wasn’t armed, and she didn’t steal anything.”

“Attempted armed robbery. And you know the laws concerning supes with offensive abilities better than I do, Mr. McMillan. This suspect is always considered armed.”

“Armed or not, you’ve got no evidence that …”

“I’ve got a dependable eyewitness, the bank manager, who says your client tried to rob the place. That’s plenty of evidence for me.”

The door opened and the harried looking broad-shouldered man in the nice maroon shirt and blue tie walked in. The rich colors suited him well, and made the conservative male uniform look less severe, a cop with some personality. Behind him, came a tall, handsome black man with a briefcase, wearing a charcoal gray suit with matching gray silk tie that cost more than I make in a month. Not hard to tell which one was the lawyer. The trouble was, I couldn’t possibly afford any lawyer wearing that suit.

“Ms. Emerson, I’m Jerry McMillan, your lawyer. Mr. Tchovsky sent me.” The tall guy in the suit I couldn’t afford held a hand out for me to shake.

Unfortunately, I was still cuffed with solid bands of tempered steel alloy as wide as my belt.

“Who called Vlad? How did he know I needed a lawyer?”

“Mr. Tchovsky was contacted by your friend, Jack Nguyen.” He dropped his hand as he realized I couldn’t shake it, and turned back to the other guy.

“My client has shown no indication that she is not cooperative. I don’t see why cuffs are necessary, Detective Long.”

“I don’t have the key,” the guy in the blue tie grumbled, and sat down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the table from me.

“Then send for someone to get it,” McMillan said, without sitting down. “My client shouldn’t be subjected to this unnecessary humiliation because it’s inconvenient for you to do anything about it.”

The detective gave a long suffering sigh, pushed himself back to his feet and stepped outside the door.

I glimpsed another familiar figure with bright red and black body armor just outside the door, but the detective wouldn’t let him in.

“At least give her these,” TakeDown said.

“Fine.”

The detective came back in holding a set of keys and a pair of wraparound sunglasses. I’m not sure which one I was more glad to see.

“Thanks, TD!” I shouted.

The detective unlocked my cuffs and handed me the glasses.

“Thank you, sir.” I put the glasses on with a sigh of relief.

Mr. McMillan, the lawyer, sat next to me.  Detective Long sat down across from me again.

“So, Ms. Emerson, or is it Endriago? Or, Drake, perhaps?” Det. Long asked. He laid all my fake ID’s on the table.

“It’s Drake, I suppose, legally, Damson Diane Drake. My dad was Sir Robert Drake.”

His eyebrows went up. “Sir?”

I shrugged. “My dad was an English knight. So?”

“You do realize that it’s illegal to use false ID’s, Ms. Drake?”

“Yes, sir.” It grated on me to be called Drake. Yeah, it was my father’s name, but that’s because it was the English term for a male dragon.  I’m not a male dragon, so I’m not a Drake. I didn’t think Det. Long cared, though.

 “So, if you knew it was illegal to use false identification, why were you doing it?”

I started to answer, but the lawyer put a hand on my arm. “My client is not under arrest for using false identification, and in fact, you have no evidence that she ever used those ID’s.”

“Right. There’s the little matter of robbing the bank to consider beyond the ID’s.” The detective looked me hard in the eyes, or at least in the glasses. “Your three friends have been telling me about how you planned the robbery.”

“Uh, what? What friends?” I was confused for a second, then I realized he meant the three guys who actually tried to rob the bank. “Wait, they’re saying I planned it?”

“They seem pretty angry with you for dragging them into this and then throwing them under the bus when the cops showed up.”

“But … I didn’t. I mean, why would they even say that? I don’t even know those guys.”

My lawyer put a hand on my arm again to stop me from talking. “Detective, if you have statements from the other suspects in this case, I should be privy to them as the lawyer for the defense.”

Det. Long’s eyes flickered over to the lawyer for just a second. “Only if you intend to defend all of the suspects in this case. Otherwise, their statements are privileged information, only available to their lawyers and the prosecuting attorney.” He raised his eyebrows a bit as if in only mild curiosity. “Do you intend to defend all of the suspects in this case, counselor?”

“I have only been employed to defend one client.”

The detective nodded slightly as if that confirmed something he already knew or suspected.

“So, tell me, Ms. Drake …”

“Just Dee, please. Drake was my dad’s name. It’s not really mine.”

“I see.” He seemed to file that away mentally. “So, in your own words, Dee, tell me why you were in the bank today.”

“I haven’t been able to work for a while, and I needed money to pay my rent and stuff.”

“Do you have a family, Dee?”

“Just my mother. She’s in her 80’s and her health isn’t all that great, so she counts on me to take care of her.”

His demeanor seemed to soften a bit. “That can be tough, having someone depending on you, and not being able to provide for them.”

I started to like this guy. If anyone would understand my situation, it would be a cop. “Yeah. After Domina Death zapped me with that gizmo, I just haven’t been the same. My eyes are messed up, my hand is so strong I can’t control it sometimes, and my balance is off. I’m getting better, but there was just no way I could do my day job, or really my night job, since I work night shift.”

“I understand you’re an EMT?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you helped out with that bomb threat on the dam a while back when the Protectors were in Japan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve done a lot for this city. And now, because of it, you can’t work to support your mother. That’s not very fair.” He nodded understanding.

I nodded with him. “Yeah, I just need something to get me through the lean spot, though. I’m adapting to the changes. I’ll be back fighting crime and saving lives soon.”

“Of course, all you need is a little money to tide you through. So, you went to the bank.”

“Right. I didn’t want to take money out of that bank, but I figured I’d put it back once I could work again.”

“Of course you would. The city owed you a bit after that last go-round with a super-villain messed you up, anyway.” He nodded again.

I started to nod with him, then stopped and thought about what he was getting at. “Wait, no. You don’t understand. I have an account in that bank. I was just going to withdraw some money from my rainy day account. This is sort of a rainy day for me, since I can’t work.”

He looked a bit confused. “That’s funny, the manager checked her records, and there’s no Diane Emerson in the computer.”

“I wasn’t Diane Emerson when I made the account.”

“Ah, back to the fake ID’s, that your lawyer tells me you’ve never used, since, of course, that’s illegal.”

The lawyer put his hand on my arm again. “My client has no intention of admitting to illegal activity of any kind.”

I picked up his hand off my arm, carefully so I wouldn’t damage him. “I didn’t hire you, and while I could use a good lawyer just now, I’m planning to tell the police the truth, and you can figure out what to do about it later.”

“That’s going to make defending you a lot more difficult, Ms. Drake.”

Again with the male dragon thing. “My name isn’t Drake, dammit. My dad was a drake, not me.”

Det. Long’s eyebrows about crawled up into his hairline. “A drake? As in a dragon?”

I suddenly got really nervous. Now that I wasn’t cuffed to the super-chair, I might be able to get out of the building. I’d have to grab Ma, split town and become someone else, with no money, but that would beat being trapped and helpless if any of these cops were Georgians.

“It’s just that I change my name a lot,” I said, avoiding the question. I realized I’d used my scaly hand to get the lawyer off of me, and I wasn’t wearing a glove. I hid the hand under the table.

“Why, Dee? Why do you need to have multiple names? And how would a young woman, no more than 25 at most, have a 30 year old bank account under one of the names on these ID’s, some of which are older than I am?”

I swallowed. He’d already found the account. I didn’t realize I’d set it up that long ago. “I don’t age like other people do, and I don’t want people to know I’m different, so I move around and change my name a lot.”

“How old are you, Dee?”

“64 next April, but Domina Death’s machine added somewhere between 60 and a hundred years to me, so I guess more like a hundred forty, give or take a few decades.” I fiddled with my scaly knuckles under the table, and flexed my claws in and out. It reminded me a little of clicking a pen repeatedly. If I wasn’t careful, it could develop into a nervous habit.

“Dragons live a long time, don’t they?”

“Yeah, thousands of years. I’m just a kid still.” Then I looked up and realized what he’d tricked me into admitting. This guy was the good cop AND the bad cop. And if he knew about dragons, he could easily be a Georgian. I might have just gotten myself killed with my stupid mouth. I got a rush of adrenaline and tucked my feet up under me, ready to launch myself over the table and out the door. I could feel every muscle in my body tense and my heart pound.

The Detective held up his hands in a calming motion. “It’s all right, Dee. No one’s going to hurt you here.” He sat very still for a moment and let me breathe. “You didn’t just change your name and move because you didn’t want to stand out. You were scared of something, weren’t you? You still are.”

I licked my lips. This guy was good. I really wanted to trust him, and tell him everything. The lawyer was practically dropping his head in his hands in frustration. He kept making shushing motions at me with his hands. For once, I did the prudent thing and clammed up. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t really talk about that.”

Det. Long sighed and sat back in his chair. “That’s all right. I think you’ve said enough for me to fill in some blanks.”

The lawyer brightened up now that I seemed to be listening to him, and jumped in. “The civilian vigilante laws clearly allow for a superhero to go by an assumed name for the protection of themselves and their loved ones.”

“True, for registered heroes, but I understand you’re freelance, Dee? Not on the payroll or registration of any government or privately sponsored hero agency or group?”

“That’s true, sir. The Protectors have asked me to sign with them, but I said no.”

“Really?” I seemed to have caught the detective completely by surprise, rather than the feigned surprise and curiosity before. “Why would you do that? You do realize the Protectors get a good salary from the government, and benefits, including full family and disability benefits, particularly from injuries suffered in the line of duty?”

“I don’t like that they leave when we need them.” I fiddled with my knuckles under the table. “And, I don’t, you know, get along with all of them very well.”

The door opened, and the Protector I like least walked in. White Knight was actually the second one through the door. The first was the Devastator, middle-aged, average height and weight leader of the Protectors, and the most intimidating individual I’ve ever encountered.

Detective Long stood up, glanced at White Knight’s shield, with the silhouette of a knight slaying a dragon on it, glanced at me, and nodded slightly, as if he’d added up a few more things, and knew exactly which Protector I didn’t get along with so well.

The Devastator said, “Detective, we’ll be taking custody of this prisoner until the hearing. Super-crime is our jurisdiction, and we have reason to believe that she was acting in the line of duty as a civilian vigilante.”

“Really? Well, I guess she’s yours then,” Det. Long said, and I could tell he was feigning surprise. He already knew this was going to happen.

My heart started racing again. I had no way to cover my scaly hand. It was hidden under the table for the moment, but the minute I stood up, White Knight would see it.  And I was legally going to be in his custody. He could kill me easily. I swallowed hard, and looked at the lawyer. The lawyer seemed pleased. Great, he didn’t know. I looked at the detective, desperately hoping he wasn’t another Georgian.  Then faced the dark leader of the Protectors, “It’s fine, Devastator, sir. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll stay here.”

The Devastator and Knight both looked stunned. White Knight said, “Dee, whatever our differences, heroes look out for each other. You’ll be safe with us.”

That tightened my jaws. I’d seen him try to kill Vlad right after he saved the city. “Yeah, right.”

Det. Long turned to the tall lawyer. “Counselor, actually you and your client are free to go. The DA has decided not to prosecute.”

Gratitude and relief flooded me. “But you said the robbers claimed I planned the crime. Why would you let me go?”

The detective grinned at me. “I lied. The only person claiming you robbed the place is the bank manager.” He ran a hand across his brown buzz cut, and the harried look was back for a minute. “I’ve had TakeDown and one of my own beat cops in my office for hours insisting that the idea that you would rob a bank was ridiculous. And every shred of evidence, including the bank’s records of your account and the tape of the robbery corroborate your version of events. The only thing that looked suspicious was the way you broke down the door.”

“Sorry,” I clenched my scaly hand under the table. “I don’t have full control of the increased strength from Domina Death’s attack, yet.”

“You gained strength from Dr. White’s machine?” the Devastator said. “I was under the impression that it nearly killed you.”

“It did, but I survived, and it made me more powerful. I’ve just been having a hard time adjusting.”

“Knight has been trying to convince me that we need you on the Protectors. I’m beginning to think he’s right. I’d like you to interview for a place on the team.”  The Devastator said it like the honor that it was, with the assumption that my acceptance was never in question.

“No, thanks, sir. I prefer to be independent, like TakeDown.”

The Devastator blinked dark eyes in surprise, but nodded. “That’s your choice, of course.”

We all stayed where we were in awkward silence for a few seconds. Everyone expected me to stand up from behind the table that was hiding my scaly hand, and walk out the door. Wasn’t happening. Not with a Georgian standing right there.

The detective came to my rescue again. “Gentleman, Dee will need to be formally released from custody, and her effects returned to her before she goes home. It looks like you won’t be needed after all.”

The Devastator nodded crisply. “Let me know if you reconsider.” He walked out and White Knight followed, shaking his head, no doubt amazed at my level of mule-headed stubbornness.

When the room was clear, I thanked the lawyer, and told him I wouldn’t be needing his services after all, especially since I couldn’t afford to pay him.

When it was just me and the detective, I finally stood up, although I kept my scaly hand behind my back. “Look, I know you have all this recorded and stuff, but if the wrong people find out I’m a dragon …”  I’m dead, and they might even hurt Ma or Jack, I didn’t say, but I was thinking it pretty hard.

“What people, Dee?” The intensity in his eyes wasn’t the least bit feigned. He was a detective after all, and I was talking about a possible crime.

I looked at my feet and fiddled with my scaly knuckles some more. “The people who kill dragons.” I cleared my throat, and whispered to him, “The people who killed my dad.”

The detective squeezed my shoulder gently, and looked vaguely surprised when he touched something hard under the long sleeved t-shirt. “Matters related to a superhero’s identity and powers are automatically marked as extremely confidential. I’ll set you up as an officially registered Austin hero, an independent on call for supe emergencies of lower than Protectors level priority, similar to TakeDown. I’ll make sure the part about you being a dragon doesn’t go into any records, or beyond this room.”

That was a big load off my mind. “Thank you, sir.”

He chuckled. “You know, I never met a dragon before.”

“There aren’t many of us left.”

Dee Dragon

Dragon Robs Bank – Film at 11

I haven’t been able to work since that night under the bridge with Domina Death and the weird device that stole 60 years or more from me. Thanks to Vlad teaching me hand-to-hand and sword fighting skills, I’m starting to get used to being a couple inches taller and having my center of gravity suddenly moved on me. I can walk across a smooth floor and not trip over my own scaly feet, anyway. I’m beginning to get to where I don’t accidentally crush things with my far stronger left hand, too. I wear gloves all the time to hide the weirdness, but gloves in Austin in July look damn near as out of place as scales.

Vlad sent a sample of the venom that my claws create into a lab to get tested, but the weird organic chemical breaks down so fast, no one can tell what it actually does. I suppose it’s one of those dragon things I’ll have to learn the hard way. Vlad said that he’s never seen a dragon with claws that injected venom like fangs, so looks like I’m a freak even among dragons. That’s not reassuring. Not even a little.

TakeDown, who also has trouble with bright light, hooked me up with special extra-dark wraparound glasses, so sunlight doesn’t blind me. Vlad said he went through a phase where he couldn’t handle daylight, but he outgrew it. When I asked him how long that took, he said, “Just a century or two.” Peachy.

Flying is the only cool part of this whole situation. My muscles are building up to the point where I can fly higher and longer. My arms and chest constantly feel like they’ve been beaten with hammers, though, and I’ve nearly died 5 or 6 times since that first lesson. I’d hate to think how learning to fly would have gone without help from another dragon.

In any case, with no ability to work for weeks, Ma and I are starting to have some trouble paying bills. I deliberately stashed some money away in a separate account a few years back, where it’s harder to get to, so that I wouldn’t spend it except when we really needed it. I shredded the card for it, and didn’t get any checks. In order to get the money, I’ve got to physically go there and sign something. Ma said she’d take care of it, but I didn’t think ahead enough to put the money in her name, too. So, it had to be me.

I threw on some jeans and a big t-shirt, tucked my messy hair back in a ponytail and drove across town. I’ve been getting pretty lazy about my appearance lately, except at night when I practice with Vlad. When I got to the bank, the door was locked. I checked the hours posted outside the door, and I should have been right in the middle of the normal bank work day, even with their short hours. I tried to look in through the tinted glass, but just saw my own reflection. I did the only thing I could think of, I knocked. After knocking fruitlessly a few times, I knocked harder.

The glass door shattered rather spectacularly.

Oops.

A slender middle-aged lady in a tailored business suit with a tiger-striped neck scarf stood blocking my path.

“Sorry about the door, maam,” I said. “Look, I’ll pay for a replacement, um, eventually. How much does a door like that cost anyway?”

She pointed at a sign that said something about removing glasses, hats and such, before entering.

There were big windows everywhere, though. Even inside, the sun was more than enough to blind me. “I’ve got a … a medical problem with my eyes.” I adjusted the glasses self-consciously.

The woman’s lips pursed into a tight little wrinkled raspberry. “I suppose you have a medical problem with your hands, as well.”

“Actually, yes, I do.”

The woman rolled her eyes, in a ‘yeah, right’ kind of way. “You might as well go rob a different bank. We’ve already called the police. They’ll be here any minute.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Even with the glasses on, being out in daylight was giving me one heck of a pain, but I needed the money in my account here to pay rent. “Look, lady. I don’t care if you called the national guard. Get out of my way.”

There were only a few people in this tiny bank branch, one guy working the outside drive-through lanes in the back who had stopped talking into the little microphone and stared at me. One person stood behind the counter, a teller, no doubt, and the tiger-striped scarf lady, probably some sort of manager, stood aside with her arms crossed and every inch of her screaming, “You’re going to get it later,” as she let me in.

I walked up to the girl behind the counter, whose eyes showed white all around like a spooked horse. She didn’t look any older than I did. She had her brown hair up in a bun to try to look older. “Hello, miss. I’d like to make a withdrawal,” I said politely, with a friendly smile to reassure her.

She opened the cash drawer and started laying bundles of money on the counter.

“Um, hang on a second. I didn’t even tell you how much I need. And shouldn’t I have to fill out a form or something?”

“Please, just take it and go. I don’t want any trouble.”

The money, all laid out on the counter like that, looked really tempting. I’ve never seen that much money in one place in my life.  Sure wouldn’t have to worry about the rent for a while with that kind of cash. But I’ve never stolen anything in my life; well, not since that candy bar when I was seven that made me so sick I thought I was going to puke up my toenails. My dad was furious. Kept going on about family honor and such.

I, very gently, put my left hand on the teller’s wrist to stop her. “Maam, I think you’re misunderstanding me. I have an account. I don’t remember the account number but, the name is um …” What the heck name did I put it under? I created this account like 20 years ago. “Diane Drake, I think. Or, maybe Damson Endriago.” I’d grabbed all my old ID’s before I left the apartment. I lifted my long t-shirt and stuck my right hand in the pocket of my jeans to find the right one, but the minute I stuck my hand in a pocket, everyone went nuts.

The teller squeaked like a stepped on mouse, yanked her wrist loose of my light grip, and ducked behind the counter. The guy working the drive-through lanes was just gone. Don’t know where the heck he went.

Miss tiger-striped scarf jumped on me, like she thought she was doing a flying tackle. Now that my center of balance isn’t so wonky, I’m not all that easy to knock over. I just stood there while she tried. After a few seconds she gave up.

“Are you finished?” I asked.

She looked up at me from the less than lofty height of her sensible heels, and I thought she might bite me.

About that time, 3 guys wearing dark wraparound sunglasses, ball caps, and gloves walked in through the broken glass door.

They walked right under the “Take off your hat and glasses” sign and drew pistols from their waistbands, under their long t-shirts.

I began to see the light. Figuratively speaking anyway.

I picked up the tiger-striped scarf manager lady bodily and dropped her behind the counter next to the trembling teller. “Stay down,” I told them.

There we go. All non-bullet-resistant folks out of harm’s way.

I turned to face the bank robbers and smiled.

“Hey!” the biggest guy said. “We’re robbing this bank!”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

He pointed his gun at me. His two buddies followed suit.

I raised my left arm to protect my head and charged into them. I’d love to say I used all that great martial arts stuff that Vlad taught me, but pretty much I used the subtlety of a bowling ball hitting pins. Some gunshots went off, but ricocheted off my scales. One of the robbers yelped as a ricochet got him in the thigh.

I inelegantly, but gently, punched the other two. They went down after one careful punch each.

I was feeling pretty good about myself as the three police cars pulled up, lights flashing, but sirens silent.

Cops poured out and pointed guns at me through the broken doorway.

I raised my hands and smiled. “Hi, guys. Good timing. These boys are ready to go to jail.”

Miss tiger-striped scarf came up from behind the counter spitting venom. “Put those scum away. That woman assaulted me. She’s the leader of this gang and this is the third branch of our bank they’ve robbed this year.”

“Hey, wait a minute. I didn’t assault or rob anyone.” I looked at the two unconscious guys at my feet, and one guy bleeding from a bullet wound in his thigh. “Well, not anyone who wasn’t shooting at me anyway.”

The cops decided to believe the bank manager in the tailored suit, rather than the scruffy-looking woman in dark glasses and gloves. Go figure.

No one much wanted to hear anything I had to say after that. I went to jail in handcuffs I had to be careful not to accidentally break.

On the way over, I asked the cops if they could contact Officer Flynn or TakeDown, that they knew me, but the cops acted like they’d been struck deaf.

So, yeah.

 They took away my glasses, so I was blind for a fair amount of the process. They weren’t very happy about the lack of fingerprints on my scaly left hand either. I got locked in a special cell for supes that I doubt even Fafnir could have gotten out of. And left there, for a long time. At least they were nice enough to turn the light off for me.

Jails suck, by the way. Just in case you were lucky enough not to know that.

Dee Dragon

Flying Lessons from a Stock Broker

Vlad drove me to a spot just off 360 where he owned some land. A creek that flowed into Lake Austin had cut a steep valley along one edge of a beautiful shady green field, leaving a long drop-off. It was the sort of place that rock climbers loved.

“You say you are physically past your first century now, perhaps even by a few decades?” Vlad asked.

“That weird device Domina Death used on me stole as much as 60 years from regular humans before they died. It stole so much time from me that it blew a gasket. So, I’d guess my body is somewhere between 120 and 160 years old now.”

“Then you need to learn how to fly.”

I barked a surprised laugh. “Vlad, I can barely walk.”

 “Dealing with your changed center of balance is something you will master only with practice. Just keep moving, and it will get easier over time. I will teach you some of the defensive arts of my childhood. That will make you both better prepared to defend yourself, and help you work through the awkwardness of your sudden … growth spurt.” He showed me wooden practice swords he had stashed in a duffel bag.

“Um, Vlad, I know you’re trying to help, but I don’t run into many sword-wielding bad guys in this century.”

Vlad frowned. “Only one. And he remains the most likely person on this continent to take your head, my love.”

“White Knight saved my life a few weeks ago,” I pointed out.

“When that Georgian learns that you are a dragon, he will undoubtedly regret that action.”

“I already regret saving HIS life, the jerk.”

“Your change will make hiding what you are more difficult, and the Georgian will soon become a deadly threat. I intend to make certain that you can defend yourself when that happens. Or, at least, fly away.”

He took me to the edge of the cliff and the shallow creek looked really small down there.

“Flying has many hazards and pitfalls that my father taught me to avoid,” Vlad told me. “Young dragons without that instruction often do not survive.”

“I’m pretty durable with all these scales.” Although I wasn’t sure it would be enough to keep me from dying at the bottom of this cliff.

“Scales will not protect you when a thunderhead sucks you up at incredible speeds to a height where the air is too thin to breathe and ice forms on your wings so that you fall like a stone. Never, under any circumstances fly near the edge of a storm system.”

I swallowed. “Good safety tip. I’ll remember that.” I had spent much of my childhood imagining how much fun it might be to fly in a thunderstorm. That would have been an ugly lesson without Vlad’s knowledge. “So, what else do I need to know, Yoda?”

“Well, young padawan. Fly without wings, you cannot, hmm.” Vlad did a pretty passable impression.

That surprised a laugh out of me. “You’re always so Mister Old World. I didn’t expect you to catch a sci fi movie reference.”

Vlad shrugged. “I prefer the original trilogy, despite the inferior effects. And you, my love, are stalling. Unfurl your wings.”

I stripped off the gloves and started unbuttoning my shirt, very conscious of Vlad’s eyes on me. He didn’t smile, but that dimple in his cheek gave away that he was tempted to. My cheeks got really hot.

I coughed and turned my back to him. I’m not sure what made me more nervous, being all alone with Vlad, half naked on a beautiful starry night, or the cliff he expected me to jump off of.

I set my shirt aside, back still to Vlad, and spread my wings.

Vlad gasped behind me.

Without thinking, I turned around, “What?”

My wing hit Vlad and knocked him off the cliff.

His eyes got really big and he yelped as he went over.

I dove for him, trying to grab his hand, but overbalanced, and in a sort of horrifying slow motion that was nonetheless too fast for me to a damn thing about, I fell off the cliff.

Vlad’s wings extended shredding his nice button down business shirt into rags and his body shifted in the same moment, larger, stronger, and scalier. His expensive Italian shoes didn’t survive the transformation, but he swooped out of my field of vision and I knew he would be fine.

I spread my wings and shifted my weight like I normally would to glide, but it didn’t work right. I overbalanced forward and tumbled in the air. I did about the only thing left to do. I screamed bloody murder as the rocks of the creek bed raced up to meet me.

Powerful clawed black feet grabbed my shoulders and pulled my body up to parallel within a few feet of smashing into unyielding ground. My wings caught the air finally and I lifted my head and angled the back of my wings down, converting the speed of my fall into horizontal speed along the ground, and finally into a bit of lift. I got high enough to skim the top of the trees that lined the mouth of the creek, rather than crashing into them. And the next thing I knew I was gliding over open water. The lake reflected back the light of the moon like a million tiny mirrors. The air rushing under my wings felt like the embrace of an old friend.

Vlad’s grip on my shoulders loosened and finally vanished as I learned how to keep my new body stable in the air.

“Flap,” Vlad shouted. “It’s like swimming. Grab big bites of the air and push them down.”

I gave it a shot, flapping wings that felt like they were weighted with boulders on the ends. And to my utter surprise, it worked. I gained perhaps ten feet of altitude. I did it again and again, and each time I shot upward a bit more. My arms felt like lead, but I didn’t stop. It was unbelievably exhausting, but it was also glorious.

Tears blurred the sparkles on the lake into long rayed stars.

I wasn’t just gliding. I was flying.

When I simply could not flap my wings another time, I spread them wide and glided, panting and sobbing.

Vlad soared next to me, wingtips almost touching mine.

“I did it. I’m doing it. I’m flying!”

Vlad’s bright white teeth and long fangs flashed against his black scaly face as he laughed, sharing one of the most joyous moments of my life with me. He didn’t just share it. He made it possible.

I looked at the magnificent black dragon flying beside me and my heart swelled until it felt like my chest might burst. I realized I’d lied to Vlad when I told him I didn’t love him.

I wobbled in the air as that realization hit me. I lost altitude. I tried to correct, but my wing muscles trembled with exhaustion. I tilted in the air and fell like a stone.

I didn’t scream this time. I wasn’t afraid. I knew, even as I plummeted into the water, that my dark protector would keep me safe.

The black water closed over my head and I sank. I tried to swim a little, I kicked against the water, but my huge wings hampered me. I pulled them in and folded them tight against my body, making me more streamlined, and kicked harder.

I stopped sinking, but was just too tired to get back to the sparkling surface above me.

The surface shattered as a black missile pierced it, and flew, that’s the only word I have for it, through the water to me. Vlad moved through the water with the grace of a manta ray I’d seen on the Discovery channel.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him as he brought us back to the surface.

He held my shaking body close as I gasped for air, and helped me back to shore.

Vlad drove me home, clearly deciding I’d learned enough for one night. I’m not sure we said a single word on the way back, but I held his hand, and tears ran down my face most of the way home.

My world is different now. Changed in a single night.

And I have no idea what I’m going to do about it.

Dee Dragon

Getting Past Cerberus

Getting Past Cerberus

Vlad won’t answer my calls. I left messages, not giving specifics of my problems, but telling him it was urgent that I talk to him. And he still didn’t call back. I only know two other dragons on earth and I can’t seem to get either one of them to talk to me.

I had to wait until dark to go outside. The full light of the sun was just too much for me to function in. Dark sunglasses helped, but I’ll probably have to get something like welding goggles if I’m going to deal with that level of light on a regular basis.

After the sun went down the temperature dropped to a mere 95 degrees, ten degrees cooler than the rest of the July day. The long sleeves, long pants, sunglasses and gloves that I wore earned me some puzzled looks from folks I passed on Congress Ave. Vlad’s office was in a high rise downtown on Congress just north of the river. This time of year, even the stuffy business folks were wearing short sleeves with their ties, and everyone else on the street wore shorts and sandals.

I rode up on the elevator, dark glasses shielding me from the harsh fluorescent lights, and making it somewhat easier to look like I didn’t notice everyone staring at me. Not that there were that many people there at this time of night to stare, but the cleaning crew clearly thought I was a weirdo. The directory in the lobby said that I would find the office of Vladimir Tchovsky on the 14^th floor. Vlad does a lot of trading in the Asian market which doesn’t open until late evening here, so I knew he’d probably be at work. I had no idea where he lived so this seemed like my best bet for finding him.

I pretty much expected the huge waiting area with high dollar original art, real wood furniture and thick carpeting. What I didn’t expect was the pretty receptionist with the tailored business suit and wireless headset who stopped me before I’d hardly stepped out of the elevator, and asked from behind her soccer field-sized desk, “Can I help you?” in a tone that sounded more like, “What the hell do you think you’re doing here, missy?” I immediately got the mental impression from her of a guard dog, jealously guarding the entrance to her master’s domain.

“Um, I’m here to see Vlad,” I told her.

“Mr. Tchovsky does not have any appointments scheduled this evening.” And that seemed to be all there was to that, as far as she was concerned. She went back to what she was doing on her computer screen, like she expected me to turn right around and get back on the elevator.

“Yeah, he’s not expecting me. Just tell him Damson’s here.”

“Mr. Tchovsky has asked that he not be disturbed this evening.” She pursed her lips, starting to get that I wasn’t going to be that easy to get rid of.  “May I ask what this is regarding?”

“It’s personal. Just tell Vlad I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Miss … Damson, but you’ll have to make an appointment. I’m sure Mr. Tchovsky will see you as soon as it’s convenient.” Translation: “I’m sure my boss will ignore you until you give up and go away.”

I looked around the room. One wall was just a giant window with an awesome view of the Congress Avenue bridge and the river. Two doors on the other side were clearly marked with ADA signs Men and Women, pretty clear what those were. There was a hallway behind Vlad’s guard dog, Miss “You Can’t Come in Here Without an Appointment” with doors on either side, and way down at the end there was a massive solid wood double door in a rich mahogany finish that, based on the layout of the building, undoubtedly led to a corner office. Not hard to figure out which door belonged to the boss, and based on what Vlad had said about his financial situation, I had a pretty good idea who the boss was.

So, I ignored the receptionist, went around her big desk, and started down the hallway.

“Miss! You can’t just walk in.” She ran in front of me and planted herself.

“Mmm, actually, I can.” I took a step to the side, then kept walking.

Her voice gained the snap of authority. “Maam, I’m calling security. Stop where you are.”

“If you like your job, you might want to tell Vlad I’m here before you sic security on me.” I wasn’t too worried about security, anyway. I’d fought supervillains, and that was before I was mostly bulletproof. I wasn’t exactly at the top of my game right now, but I was still pretty durable.

I heard the receptionist talking frantically into her phone and a couple of the doors opened behind me after I passed them. “Stop right there,” barked a male voice.

I sighed and turned to look. Sure enough, some burly guy wearing cowboy boots and a walkie talkie had a gun pointed at my chest. If he’d pointed it at my head, I might have been nervous, but my chest could probably stop a bazooka blast these days. “Back off, cowboy. I’m just a friend of the boss, dropping in for a visit. The OK corral thing is a serious overreaction.” I turned my back on him and kept walking. Damn, this hallway was long. I focused on just walking, one foot in front of the other. Nowadays, that was more of a challenge than you might think.

“Maam, I don’t want to have to shoot you,” the guard said.

“Well, I don’t really feel like getting shot either. It stings,” I half turned and tossed back at him. “Go find something else to do with your …” Remember what I said about walking being more of a challenge these days than it should be? Yeah, walking while giving half my attention to the guy behind me didn’t work out so well. I tripped over a wrinkle in the carpet. At least, that’s my story. I would never admit to just randomly tripping over my own overly large and heavy-scaled feet.

I grabbed at a doorframe to keep from going down on my face. Unfortunately, I grabbed with my left hand, which means I didn’t just catch the wooden door frame, I crushed it to splinters and yanked a chunk of the wall off with it. “Crap. Sorry. I’ll pay for the repairs.” No one heard me, I don’t think.

The receptionist dove under her desk as the security guy opened fire.

I twisted so my left side faced him and covered my head with my left arm. Bullets pinged around the hallway and made holes in several of the office doors and walls.

“I hope no one else is working late,” I said. Vlad is not going to be happy about this.

“What the hell is going on out here?” Vlad stood in one open half of the big mahogany double door, looking really handsome in a Givenchy suit.

“Security breach, sir,” the cowboy-booted goon said. “Get back into your office until we have it contained.”

“Hi, Vlad,” I said, and waved.

“Damson! What in the world …”

“Your receptionist wouldn’t let me see you without an appointment. You have very, um, enthusiastic security.”

“Are you injured?” He jogged down the hallway and extended a hand to help me up.

“No, but …” I held up the chunk of wall I accidentally ripped out. “I think your offices are due for a bit of remodeling.”

Vlad didn’t crack a smile, but that dimple in his cheek appeared and I knew he was suppressing one. “You certainly know how to make an entrance.”

“I had to take drastic measures. You haven’t been returning my calls.”

“I apologize. This has been … difficult for me.”

I’ve only dated two men in my whole life, and within a few weeks, I’ve made them both wish they never had anything to do with me. (Jack of All) “I’m sorry.”

Vlad nodded, a smaller version of his usual old world bow.

Vlad gave his receptionist and the security guy the night off and we talked for a while in his office about what happened. Vlad’s office was as big as my apartment, tastefully furnished with modern lamps and art contrasted with very old world mahogany and leather chairs, shelves full of thick books, and a well-stocked bar. The place looked like somewhere that men with long names and obscure titles would wear their silk jackets and cravats while sipping brandy from snifters and smoking expensive cigars. That, combined with the sparkling night view of Austin in the wall of windows behind Vlad, made me feel small and hopelessly out of place. The top of the line Mac with the huge flatscreen monitor was the only thing that seemed more out of place than me.

When Vlad realized that I nearly died the first night he wasn’t there to watch over me, he didn’t take it well. (Death and Her Scythe) His eyes got all red and glowy. “I should have been there. I should not have let bruised emotions keep me from your side.”

Oh, great. If I wasn’t careful, I’d get my stalker back. “Vlad, you’ve saved my bacon more than once, and I appreciate that, but I’m a grownup, even more so now than before. I don’t need you to protect me all the time.”

“What is it that you do need from me, Damson? Why go to all this trouble to tell me about your misfortune if not to show me the consequences of failing to protect you?”

I sighed. “I need you to teach me … how to be a dragon, I guess.” I wanted to get up and pace, but I was afraid I’d trip over air again.

Vlad was quiet for a while and I wondered what he was thinking. “Perhaps Fafnir could …”

“Fafnir’s in California. He told me to ask you.”

“I see.” I never want to play poker with Vlad. He does blank face better than anyone I know. I had no idea how he felt about all this.

“I could really use your help, Vlad. I’m a walking disaster. Just look at your hallway if you don’t believe me. And if I had to fight anyone right now, I’d probably knock myself out.”

“How does your young dragon lord feel about you coming to me?”

I’d already talked to Jack before I came. I knew better this time than to do anything behind Jack’s back. (Defusing Explosive Situations) I may be a bit of a screw-up, especially when it comes to love, but I don’t believe in making the same mistakes twice. I’ll undoubtedly come up with new ones. “Jack gets that I need help from another dragon. He doesn’t like that it’s you, but he understands that I’m pretty low on choices.”

Vlad’s poker face broke a little and he showed surprise, then his brows drew together. “I would have had a hard time being that understanding, were our positions reversed. Your dragon lord is an exceptional man.”

My turn to be surprised. “Did you just say something nice about Jack?”

Vlad looked painfully sad for a second, like he was fighting tears, then he hid it behind that poker face. “I understand why the brave young dragon lord is your chosen mate, Damson. I also know that you will one day regret your choice to love a human.” Before I could ask what he meant by that, he stood up from his desk, and bowed. “Since you will not permit me to be your protector, my lady, permit me to teach you to protect yourself.”

Relief flooded me. I’d been dreading what a mess I’d be in if Vlad just flat said no. “Thank you!” I ran around his desk to hug him, tripped over his garbage can, grabbed for a metal floor lamp reflexively, crushed the neck of it, giving it a 90 degree angle, smashed it into the side of his desk as I flailed, and realized, with horror, that I was stumbling toward the wall of windows with the 14 floor drop to concrete outside it.

Vlad caught my waist before I could crash through the window and plummet to my death. I dropped the broken lamp and hung on to him. He winced where my left hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Sorry.” I did my best to consciously loosen my grip, as my heart pounded in my chest, dealing with my close brush with death, as well as with the firm feel of Vlad's body pressed up against me. Vlad's cologne smelled dizzyingly wonderful, a bit like cinnamon or cardamon or some exotic spice I had no name for that made my mouth water.

His dimple appeared again, and he let the grin show in a twitch of his lips as he looked at the devastation I’d wreaked on his office, just by trying to walk around. “I do believe you’re right. It is about time for some remodeling.”

Dee Dragon

Fafnir Drage, Son of the Red

I snuggled close to my beloved Merlin, the familiar warmth and scent of his lean body, a great comfort after many nights spent alone. Pounding on the thick wooden door made him groan, sit up, and shout, voice gruff from sleep, “What? Come in.”

A servant in the green and white of Arthur’s household burst in, a human boy, no more than twelve. “A dragon has been sighted over the village, flying this way!”

Merlin grunted. “So, make him welcome and wake me when he gets here, boy. We’re expecting a messenger from Eric the Red.” My mate snuggled back into my arms.

“His body is red, but he has wings and breast of black!”

“Black!” Merlin sat up again and I sat up with him. Surely it was too soon for the Black Knight of his vision to come, and he had said the enemy was a fledgling, not yet a flyer. Nor should he have been alone. The vision said he had an army at his back. But visions are notoriously vague and often symbolic, rather than literal.

“It seems unlikely that this is the enemy we feared,” I offered cautiously.

“We’d best be prepared in any case. Go and wake Arthur, and make certain that young Robert is guarded. Run, boy!”

The page sketched a bow and ran.

We hastily dressed in court finery, but with weapons as well. It’s hard to know what to wear when you don’t know if a visitor comes to kill you or dine with you. For my own part, I dressed simply. If I needed to fight, my garments would lie in shreds when I transformed.

Arthur met us as we entered the kill tunnel under the front wall, dressed in a fine surcoat and his golden crown, but with his sword and a dagger belted at his waist, and a fine suit of chain under the surcoat. He left the portcullis raised and the drawbridge down as he would for any honored guest, but Arthur had the guards stand in their places, ready to seal the defenses again if needed.

Such defenses were a joke in any case against a flyer. Only a dragon could properly defend a keep against another dragon. Merlin was too old to take to the sky without first jumping from a high tower, and Arthur was too young. Both were formidable warriors in their own ways, but if it came to combat, I would be the one who faced the enemy in the sky.

We waited in the sheltering shadow of the wall until the stranger landed in the drilling field beyond the moat. That way we were not vulnerable to attack from above. The largest dragon I had ever seen landed before us, wings beating so hard that dust flew in our eyes even fifteen feet away. He was truly magnificent, this dragon of Red and Black, a young dragon in his prime strength, with spikes down his spine and barbing his tail. I hoped he was a friend. For the first time in my life, I faced an opponent that I was not certain I could defeat.

“Hail stranger,” Arthur greeted. “I am Arthur Pendragon. State your name and business here.”

“I am Fafnir Drage, eldest son of Eric the Red. You sent a messenger asking for aid. I am your answer.” The dragon’s voice boomed from a chest two wide to fit through the castle gate. I had no doubt that everyone in the castle heard him.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “I had hoped Eric would send an army.”

Fafnir turned his head, neck arching almost in an S curve so that he could look at us with one eye, but face to the side. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled with force. Fire so hot it scorched the very air, making it difficult to breathe for a moment, blasted the pounded dirt of the drilling field until the very soil melted and blackened into glass. “I am better than an army.” The huge dragon shifted form, shrinking into a shaggy red-haired man, still bigger than any man I’d seen by a foot at least. “I’m easier to feed than an army, too.”

Arthur laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile. This Fafnir was certainly very sure of himself.

“Welcome, Fafnir, son of the Red.” At his words of welcome, servants came forward bearing a tunic and belt of fine cloth for the visiting dragon prince.

We escorted him into the great dining hall where breakfast of eggs and pork waited. While he might be easier to feed than an army, that was only true by a small degree. The man ate a dozen eggs and an entire haunch of roast pig. He requested ale to wash it down and was accommodated.

When our hunger was eased, Arthur spoke to the northman, “Forgive our hesitant welcome. The enemy on our shores is of the Black.”

Fafnir nodded and wiped ale foam from his bushy red beard. “So your message said. My mother is of the Black, youngest daughter of the old Dracul himself, wedded to my father to cement the peace. We have the same truce with Black that we have with Green and Silver.  Eric sends these words...” Fafnir closed his eyes like a schoolboy striving to remember his lessons. “Red will not raid the shores of Black, Green, or Silver, and they will not raid ours. Those are the terms of our truce. Battles between you are not our concern. But if Black truly seeks to conquer Red lands as you say, then my son will remind them why they made the truce in the first place.”

“I see,” Merlin said thoughtfully. “You will require proof of Black’s intention to attack your own shores before you will fight beside us then.”

“How can we prove their intentions?” Arthur objected. “By the time they’re ready to turn against Red, our lands will be in ruins and thousands will be dead.”

I had had enough of this Red prince. I stood and faced Arthur. “If the only aid Eric will send is one arrogant half Black boy who refuses to even fight until the war is done, then it is clear we are on our own. The Silver guard will not fail to protect the land as we have for millennia. We have no need of the Red.”

Merlin caught my hand. “Do not be so quick to judge, my love. Fafnir’s aid may be more valuable than you …

Camelot slipped away in the wailing cry of “Let me Go- oh- oh! You don’t need me, baby. Stop holding on the way you are,” from my cell phone ring tone. I rolled over and answered, brain still half in the dream. “Mm?”

“Hello, fledgling. You wished to speak to me?” Fafnir’s deep voice said through the tiny box by my ear.

“Eric insults us by sending you. We need an army, not a single arrogant boy,” I snapped at him, eyes still closed.

Dead silence on the line.

I opened my eyes to my familiar bedroom, posters of Elvis, the Eagles and various incarnations of Doctor Who on the wall. I blinked a few times in light that seemed bright even though the heavy curtains were pulled closed to block out the daylight.

“Damson?” Fafnir finally spoke after several seconds.

“Fafnir? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days. Where have you been?”

“Cell reception at the Faire site in California is abysmal. I just received your message and had to drive an hour into town to get a good signal. What was that about Eric and sending an army?”

“Sorry. Weird dream.”

“For a moment, you sounded exactly like Lady Nyneve of Avalon.”

My turn for stunned silence.

“Damson?”

“Uh. Would Lady Nyneve happen to have been my grandmother? Tall lady with ash blonde hair, in love with Merlin, who could turn into a huge silver dragon?”

“I would have described her as a formidable silver dragon who could turn into a tall, slender woman with pale hair. But, yes, that was Lady Nyneve. You remember her well, it seems.”

“How can I remember her at all? I’ve never seen her in my life.”

“That’s because she died centuries before you were born, fledgling.”

I sighed and flopped back into the dubious comfort of my bed. “You’re not helping, Fafnir.”

Fafnir chuckled. “It is said that dragons have long memories. Some of us remember things that happened before we were born. Some of us can even remember things that haven’t happened yet.”

“Like Merlin.”

“Merlin was something of a legend even when I was a fledgling, the most gifted wizard of the Green ever known. You are his granddaughter. It’s not surprising that you have memories older than your lifetime. What surprises me is that you have such a gift so young.”

“That’s why I’ve been trying to get hold of you. I’m not so young anymore. Domina Death stole about 60 years from me.”

“You really should lock your doors.”

“I’m serious, Fafnir. All of a sudden, I’m twice as old as I was before, but I don’t know any more than I did when you left.” I paced around the room, waving my scaly left arm with the clawed hand for emphasis. “I’m almost totally covered in scales, I can’t see outside without super-dark sunglasses, and I can barely walk across the floor without tripping because everything feels off balance and weird. You said dragon puberty was so slow so I’d have time to adjust.” My voice got a bit strident. “I haven’t had time to adjust to squat!”

“What do you expect from me, child? I cannot give you back those stolen years.”

I sat back on my bed. He had a point. Fafnir had become my surrogate dragon father figure, but he couldn’t fix this. “I don’t know how to hide my differences and look human. I don’t know how to deal with the light.”

“You will learn in time.”

“Time is what I don’t have. I don’t know how to be a dragon, and I don’t have decades to learn it on my own anymore. I need a crash course.”

Fafnir sighed. “It has been millennia since I had children as young as you are, and I never had to teach them such things. You would be better off learning from a dragon nearer your own age, one who has had to master the same skills in recent memory.”

“The only other dragon I know is Vlad, and he’s like 700.”

“Perfect. He is young enough that the lessons of the fledgling are still new in his mind.”

Young. Right. “Fafnir, how old are you?”

His rumbling laugh vibrated the phone in my ear. “Only a few thousand years, fledgling. By dragon standards, I am merely middle-aged. But our elders have all been killed or gone so deeply into hiding that even I cannot find them. So, I find myself in the odd position of the eldest and wisest. Most of my life I have been considered the brash, impulsive young fool. Now, the young look to me for guidance. It is good that you have the gift of long memory. Through you, the wisdom of elders like Merlin the Wise and the valiant Lady Nyneve are no longer lost.”

“I don’t feel particularly wise.”

Fafnir laughed again. “You give me hope, fledgling. I thank you for that. The young Black can teach you what you need to know, and will enjoy the chance, I think.”

“Yeah. Um, about that. Vlad is sort of not talking to me.”

“Did you break his heart, little one?”

“Yeah, probably. This dating thing is pretty much a lose, lose game. I can’t do anything without someone getting hurt.”

“There is never love without pain. You will have to swallow your pride and ask for his assistance.”

“Jack is going to love that.”

Fafnir chuckled again. Glad my misery was so amusing to him. “I wish you luck, fledgling.”

“Thanks just bunches.”

He was still laughing when he hung up.

Dee Dragon