Chapter One

The Tavern Owner and The Gnoll

*****

It was with great pleasure that Mirin Willowshade made her way across town, to await the dragon's arrival. Normally she despised the beast that extorted her beloved city in return for his so-called protection. But today was different. Today, Mirin had a thief to hand over. Under most circumstances, Mirin wanted nothing to do with the smarmy, scaled monstrosity. But it was Mirin's tavern the thief had robbed, and she wanted to be there to see justice served.

Mirin smiled as she strolled down the quiet, mossy boardwalk. A soft breeze rustled the boughs of the alders, willows and cypress shading the walkway from the afternoon sun. The air was heavy with the scent of water, as always. It also carried the sweet smell of late summer blossoms, and just a hint of wood smoke and incense. The weather was unusually pleasant, despite the humidity, and the mild temperatures only added to Mirin's excellent mood.

“What a lovely day to see a smart-mouth thief get what's coming to her. This is going to be so satisfying, don't you think, Tokka?" When she got no reply, Mirin turned around. Her companion stood a little way behind her, staring at the vines that hung from nearby boughs. Layers of heart-shaped leaves cascaded from them like green curtains. “What are you looking at?"

Tokka leaned forward over the railing, and it creaked ominously under the big gnoll's weight. Like most of his kin, Tokka was a good head taller than Mirin, with a powerfully built body covered in layers of beige-brown fur. Tokka stretched as far as he could, waggling claw-tipped fingers at something clinging to a bulbous blue flower almost out of reach. Mirin sucked in a breath and ran back along the walkway, her boots thumping against the wood.

“Oh no, you don't!" Mirin reached up and snatched the gnoll's pointed, brown-furred ear. She wrenched the bronze spike studding its tip to make sure she had his attention.

“Ow!" Tokka yelped when she twisted, but by then he'd already managed to snatch his prize off the flower. “Cut it out, boss!" Tokka's broad, canine-like muzzle scrunched up in pain, baring several slightly yellowed fangs. “Leggo my ear!"

Instead, Mirin twisted harder. “Put it down!"

“But s'good!" Tokka whined, a sound like a greatly oversized hound being denied his favorite treat. “Just lemme-"

“It's poisonous, Tokka." Mirin waved her other hand at the fat, wriggling caterpillar clutched between the gnoll's sturdy fingers. Brilliant yellow stripes marked its blue-green form. “You know that, right?"

Tokka lifted the wiggling thing towards his muzzle, sniffing at it. His free ear perked up. “But it smells good!"

Mirin sighed. “I've no idea why you gnolls enjoy those so much, but the yellow-striped ones are poisonous. And you could at least cook the others."

“They don't squish the same way when they're cooked." Tokka sighed, and his tail went limp. He tossed the caterpillar over the railing, and into the dark waters beneath the boardwalk. “Happy?"

“Yes! Because now you won't make yourself ill." She released his ear, only to poke him in the stomach through his unbuttoned, black and silver vest. It was like poking stone. “Again. Remember, yellow stripes."

Tokka stared at her. “Yeah?"

Mirin leaned against the rail. “Just to remember them. Yellow stripes mean it's poisonous."

“Oh." Tokka's ears drooped.

“Now what's the matter?"

The gnoll shrugged. He rested his arms against the railing, watching the caterpillar wriggle about on the water. “Thought you had a rhyme."

“A rhyme?" Mirin rubbed her forehead.

“Yeah." Tokka offered her a lopsided grin, one ear perked. His scruffy tail wagged, once. “I like rhymes."

“Oh, very well." Mirin folded her arms, trying to think of a memorable way to remind her friend which caterpillars to keep out of his mouth. “Let's see…yellow stripes, intestinal gripes?"

Tokka scrunched up his muzzle, flattening his ears. “That's terrible."

“Well, you put me on the spot!"

Mirin turned around to stare into the dark water. The city-state of Hope's Folly was wedged between imposing limestone mountains, and the great swamp that covered much of the land known as The Mire. Some of the city's lower districts extended out over the wetlands. Many buildings had foundations and pilings sunk down into the murky bottom. Others were built on stilts, or upon great boats, permanently moored. Elevated boardwalks often took the place of streets throughout such districts.

The struggling caterpillar wiggled back and forth, sending tiny ripples across the otherwise still water. It soon drifted near clusters of broad green lotus leaves. A trio of vibrant, pink flowers rose above the leaves on tall stalks. The blossoms added a heady, faintly fruity aroma to the scent of water in the air. Clumps of tiny green duckweed and other vegetation drifted upon lazy, unseen currents. All at once, the caterpillar vanished amidst a swirl and a flash of bronze scales.

Mirin sighed. “Great. Now you've killed a fish."

“Sorry, boss."

“It's alright, Tokka. I'm sure it will feed something else, down the line." She turned and resumed her stroll towards the upper district, where the dragon was expected to arrive. “Tell you what. After we watch Miss Steals-A-Lot be carried away, hopefully screaming, I'll buy you a drink. Hell, I'll buy you a whole lot of drinks for catching that lousy cutpurse in the first place."

“Oooooh!" Tokka's wagging tail bumped Mirin a few times as he walked alongside her. “Can I get hammered?"

“Only if you promise not to break anything, this time."

Tokka flashed her his teeth with his ears splayed, a devious gnoll grin. “You know I can't promise that, boss."

Mirin laughed and shook her head. “I guess that was too much to ask. Fine, fine. You can get hammered, but any repairs I have to make afterwards are getting taken out of your pay." She paused to point a single finger at the gnoll's muzzle to make sure she had his attention. “And you'll have to wait till we're closed for the night. You won't do us any good if you're too inebriated to keep the tavern safe."

“Yeah, sure thing boss." Tokka scratched at the thicker ruff of fur that ran from between his ears, down the back of his black-spotted neck. “I'll only get a little drunk till we close for the night. Oh!" The gnoll's eyes lit up. “Can I invite Kalrith if he's here?"

“Of course." Mirin shaded her eyes, glancing up at the sky. A trio of winged creatures circled high overhead. They were gryphons, but silhouetted against the sky, it was hard to tell if she recognized any of them. “I think he'd be insulted if you didn't. In fact, if you two drink so much you wreck up the Drunkard, you can get Kalrith to pay. He makes more than you, after all."

The tavern known as The Stumbling Drunkard was Mirin's prized possession. She bought the place years back when it was little more than a crumbling shanty selling half-toxic hooch. In the time since, she'd had it completely rebuilt and greatly expanded. Tokka was both a dear friend, and a valued employee, and served as her head bouncer. There were not many people in the city Tokka couldn't toss out if he had too, including other gnolls.

“Heh, good idea boss." Tokka rubbed his hands together, uttering a low, playful growl.

“That's not a suggestion that you break things, mind you." Mirin poked his arm. “If he's got to pay, that's reason enough for you to be extra cautious."

Tokka waved a big hand as if brushing off the idea. “M'always cautious, boss. Speakin' of which…stairs this time? Please?"

Mirin shrugged as she descended the ramp from the elevated boardwalk to a small cobbled plaza, atop a swell of reed-lined land. It served as intersection for several other boardwalks. Moss slathered wooden supports where they met the muddy earth. Flattened cattails marked where food vendors had dragged boats ashore to offer treats to morning passersby. The early rush was gone now, and the vendors gone with them.

“I'm taking a lift." Mirin squinted as stepped into the warm sunlight dappling the intersection. “I've already been walking all across town, chasing down Officer This and Minister That, to sign the papers agreeing to give that thief to the dragon instead of leaving her in a cell. If you want to take the stairs, I'll meet you up there."

“But the lifts-"

“Haven't had an accident in over a year." Mirin scrunched her nose. “Well, fatal accident, anyway."

Limestone cliffs jutting from the swamp divided part of Hope's Folly. The plaza where the dragon always came to collect his payments was in a district located on a clifftop plateau. While the stone formations were hardly towering monoliths, there were only a few ways Mirin and her friend could get to the top of them from their current location. There were several steep stairwells cut into the stone itself, with brass handrails affixed to the rock. Further away, the winding roads through the lower districts eventually looped around to the more gradual slopes behind the cliffs.

Then, there were the lifts.

Mirin always considered the term 'lifts' to be an especially generous way to describe them. Then again, she imagined calling them 'wobbly death traps' might be bad business for the lift operators. Most of them were little more than wooden platforms, weighted and balanced, and ringed with bronze safety railings. The majority were rigged with far too many ropes and pulleys for Mirin's liking. A few others had rattling chains, clanking cogs, and smoking machinery in perpetual disrepair. Many had padded seats scavenged from run-down ferries or ruined sky-crawlers. She could never tell which lift was the least safe, but that rarely stopped her from appreciating their convenience.

Another boardwalk led Mirin to the staging area for a group of lifts with a reasonably good reputation. Despite his complaints, Tokka followed her. The din of voices grew as they neared the end of the boardwalk, but Mirin was happy to see the crowd was still light. There were a few dozen people milling about the piazza beneath the cliff. Wooden signs painted with bright letters warned of falling rocks. Mirin always thought the signs might be more helpful warning of falling people.

A few stands were set up selling food and drink. At one stall, a woman grilled whole fish over hot coals. Another stand had three small stools set up in front of a bar, where a husband and wife sold soup and noodles. Further away, all sorts of insects on skewers were being cooked above open flame. A nearby cart had an assortment of fresh fruit and pastries both sweet and savory. The smell of so many things being cooked left Mirin's stomach rumbling.

“Oooh! Ooh, boss!" Tokka bounced in place, his tail bobbing. “Do we got time to eat?"

Mirin glanced up to check the sun's position in the sky. The dragon would be there soon. “Not really, but if you get something you can carry, you could eat it on the way up." She opened the leather pouch belted around her waist. “Get me a pastry or something, will you?"

“What kind?"

“Anything that isn't sweet." Mirin fished out a few wooden chits, and a single copper coin. “I want lunch, not dessert." She handed him the money, and cinched her coin purse shut. “Thanks."

Circular, wooden chits often took the place of lower denomination coins all across The Mire. Ostensibly, it helped save metal for more important and expensive projects like repairing pipes and machinery and fixing up ferries and sky-crawlers. In practice, however, much of The Mire's real coin went towards taxes paid to The Warden's Office, and the local Dragon Lords. Supposedly the money was reinvested in infrastructure and security, but Mirin had her doubts.

Though each of the half-dozen city states spread across the vast, swampy wilderness of The Mire were partially independent, each in turn answered to The Warden's Office. The title came from The Mire's founding as a series of prison colonies many generations ago. These days, 'The Warden's Office' referred to the land's highest authority: The Warden. Although each city has its own governance, laws, and local security force, in the end everyone answered to The Warden. 

For generations now, every ruling Warden had appointed Dragon Lords to watch over cities and regions on his behalf. In times past, each Dragon Lord served as the Warden's eyes and ears among the city, as well as his enforcer. The dragons brought the Warden's laws to the people, collected taxes and tithes on the Warden's behalf, but in return, also kept each city's populace safe.

These days, though, Mirin did not believe the local Dragon Lord was actually doing anything to help the city. As far as she could tell, The Gryphon Legion now did all the actual law enforcement and protection. The dragon himself did not seem to do much beyond bask in adulation and pad his own hoard with ill-earned tributes. Still, those were old complaints, and Mirin knew there was nothing she could do about it.

She sighed, and inspected the staging court while she waited for Tokka. There were three lifts currently accepting passengers. Two more were at the top of the cliff, with another in transit. She selected one with padded benches that had room for Tokka's tail. Mirin passed the attendant a coin to cover herself and her friend, and settled as close to the center as she could get. Mirin knew Tokka would ride a little easier if he didn't feel like he was about to topple over the safety rail around the edge of the platform.

Mirin tracked Tokka through the crowd as he made his way back. It was easy enough to spot him as Tokka was the only gnoll in the piazza. Though much of the population of Hope's Folly was human just like Mirin, a good number of other races called it home, too. Supposedly, back when the place was a prison colony, the authorities recruited heavily from the tribes and villages of gnolls, lizardfolk, and other non-humans to pad their ranks and help keep order. That led the way for plenty of them to find a home here, alongside everyone else. Though Mirin supposed there would always be those who still chose to see people like Tokka as barbarians, she was happy that for the most part, that sort of attitude was gone long before she'd ever been born.

Tokka soon flopped down onto the bench alongside her, holding food in both hands. The seat gave a pained creak, and Tokka flattened his ears, whining. “D'ya hear that?"

“Yes, Tokka, I heard it." Mirin reached up and stroked one of his flattened ears. “Don't worry, that wasn't the lift. That was just the bench, straining under the weight of your fat ass."

Tokka barked laughter, handing her an oblong, golden-brown pastry. “My ass ain't that fat."

Mirin took the pastry, gesturing with it. “The bench disagrees." Mirin took a bite, and found the flaky pastry stuffed with hunks of roasted goat meat in a rich, spicy sauce. She gave a happy sigh, wiped her mouth, and glanced at her friend. “Thanks, by the way. This is delicious. What'd you get?"

The gnoll beamed and held up two skewers. One was laden with fried water beetles, dusted with spices. The other had three immense tarantulas, roasted crispy. “They didn't have any caterpillars." He offered her the skewer of spiders. “Want some?"

“No thanks." Mirin took another bite of her goat-stuffed pastry, trying to ignore the crunching sound when Tokka bit into one of the hand-sized roasted morels. A few crumbs fell from the pastry, and she brushed them off her golden blouse. “Those aren't really my favorite."

“Tastes kinda like marsh crab, but stronger." Tokka licked his fingers. “S'good!"

The lift attendant, a young man with a red and gold uniform, rang the warning bell. Mirin patted Tokka's knee when he whimpered. A few moments passed, and the attendant rang a much louder bell with a sharp, distinctive tone. The lift lurched upward, swaying a little, then lurched again. Tokka tilted his head back, staring at the ropes and pulleys above them. His ears flattened against his skull, and if he wasn't sitting down Mirin suspected his tail would have tucked between his legs.

“Just focus on your food, Tokka, we'll be there soon."

After a few more lurches and wobbles, the lift's ascent smoothed out. It rose up along the side of the cliff at a steady, if unimpressive, pace. As they rose, they passed another lift headed down. That one had individual chairs scavenged from a dozen different sources. The platform looked a little wobbly, a fact that wasn't helped by the children chasing each other around on it.

While Tokka fixated on his food, Mirin enjoyed the view. By the time they'd nearly reached the top, she could see out across much of the lower districts. Networks of boardwalks spanned the areas between homes and shops, inns and taverns. Moss and lichen speckled more thatched roofs than Mirin could count. Flagstones paved major roads, connected by wide bridges with arched supports.

Groups of people waded through chest deep water, dragging long lines of netting. Others threw nets from small boats, or scoured the shallows for shellfish, insects, as well as lotus root and other tubers. Water buffalo grazed in small herds, watched over by farmers. Well beyond the city, water stretched on towards the horizon, an azure mirror to the sky. Great trees and walls of reeds dappled it with myriad shades of green.  

In another direction, ever-taller terraced hills sprawled out between city and mountain, like stairs within stairs. Rice paddies occupied some of the lower terrace farms, while higher ones nurtured other grains and crops. Herders watched over livestock on other hills, where goats, sheep and more grazed amidst occasional jagged rocky outcrops. Further up into the mountains, a few old watchtowers and stone forts still lingered, remnants from The Mire's past. The largest such fort housed the city's Dragon Lord. Mirin expected it would not be long before the obnoxious blob of green and black scales dragged himself into the sky to come collect his extortion pay.

At least this time he also has an equally obnoxious thief to collect.

The platform lurched to a stop at the top of the cliff, and Tokka shot to his feet even before the attendant rang the signal bell. Mirin eased up, and finished off her pasty, then licked her fingers clean. No sooner had the safety gate been opened than Tokka was off the lift, practically shoving people out of way. Mirin took her time disembarking, and retrieved another coin from her pouch. Each lift had its own work crew that kept things operating. Most were operated manually, often with harnessed oxen or other beasts. In this case, a dozen gnolls sat panting, and gulping down water, resting up before it was time to lower the lift back down. Mirin thanked them for their hard work, and dropped her coin in their tip bucket.

“See, that wasn't so bad!" Mirin caught up with Tokka just beyond the fence surrounding the upper lift court. She patted him on the back. “Right?"

Tokka licked the water beetle skewer clean, and tossed it into a trash bin. He flashed her a big grin, yellowed fangs on full display. “Uh huh! Didn't puke or nothin'."

“Yes, and thank the gods for that." Mirin chuckled, shaking her head. “If it makes you feel ill, you probably shouldn't eat during the ride."

Tokka put a hand over his belly, ears splayed. “Food settles my stomach."

“Well, whatever works for you." Mirin led the gnoll away from the lifts, towards the immense cobbled trade plaza that was their destination. “You know, as much trouble as those lifts give you, I'm surprised you let Kalrith take you flying."

“Kalrith's got wings!" The gnoll waved his hand, snorting. “He's supposed to fly. He's not made'a ropes and gears and rotten wood."

“What about a sky-crawler?" Mirin glanced towards the city's distant aerodrome, where a single, bulky wooden vessel beneath a gray and heavily-patched lift-bag drifted through the sky. Steam and smoke poured from its engines and relief valves. “Ever ride in one of those?"

A few dozen of the great, flying ships colloquially referred to as sky-crawlers remained in active service across The Mire. Each month, Hope's Folly was visited by airships of several types. Some were large, slow moving cargo vessels, hauling supplies and resources, or goods for merchants. Others featured elaborate passenger cabins and ferried people from city-to-city. Others were smaller and privately owned, or military ships laden with cannons and artillery.

“Nope. Wouldn't wanna." He scratched his muzzle. “Maybe if Kalrith was there. Then if it started goin' down, he could jump out and carry me away safely."

“Actually…" Mirin hooked her arm through Tokka's. “Now that Kalrith works for the Warden, he might actually get to ride on a sky-crawler. The Warden's Office owns most of them, after all. Maybe Kalrith can get us a free trip to the capital, sometime."

“Think I'd rather we just got drunk." Tokka barked laughter. “On the ground."

With a shrug, Mirin led her companion along. Unlike Tokka, Mirin loved sky-crawlers. She thought it a great shame that so many of the old airships that once dominated the skies above The Mire now lingered only in shattered, weather-ravaged husks. Most of them were lost ages ago, blown out of the sky in the skirmishes and wars that eventually won the land its independence.

Yet independence came at the cost of isolation. The Mire had lost most of its links to the rest of the world, leaving them with increasingly antiquated technology and few of the resources needed to build things like newer ships. Still, Mirin found things like old airships and antiquated weaponry to be fascinating. In her younger days, she made a living by salvaging more isolated wrecks than she could count.

She pushed the thoughts aside, and led the gnoll along the cobbled street, deeper into the district. Tall, squarish limestone buildings loomed just ahead of them. Swaths of moss and patches of yellowy lichen clung to the pitted stone in shady places. The buildings were all part of the same fortress complex, remnants of the city's original fortifications that once protected Hope's Folly from the beasts and raiding tribes of the wilderness beyond. These days, most of the fort's buildings had long since been repurposed into housing, shops, and a tavern with what Mirin considered a delightfully unsavory reputation named The Slippery Eel. In her younger days, many where the nights Mirin spent making a drunken fool of herself in the Eel, in between scavenging runs in the Mire.

Their destination was the vast, diamond shaped plaza that once served as the fort's courtyard. Nowadays it was the city's most bustling market. The place was always busy, and rarely more so than when the Dragon Lord visited. Much as Mirin disliked the creature and his oversized ego, the beast's official visits always drew a crowd to come and gawk at him.

The familiar din of mingling voices grew as they neared the plaza. Vendors who had not been able to secure space inside set up stalls alongside the roads leading into the market. A cart laden with ground herbs and spices lent the air a tantalizing aroma. Bolts of cloth and other materials hung from lines stretching between travel wagons. Excited children told every passing traveler how much better their chickens and pigeons were than those inside the market proper. Several lizardfolk called out offers on fine leather. A female with pale blue scales and garbed in silver clothes approached Tokka, trying to show him the quality of her goods. Tokka politely declined, and the fact he did so in her own tongue seemed to delight her even more than a purchase would have.

“You speak lizard?" Mirin grinned up at him. “Since when?"

“A little." The gnoll shrugged. “Since, I dunno. Been tryin' to learn. And, they call themselves va'chaak. Not lizards or lizardfolk."

“I know they do, but that's harder to say." Mirin laughed, and then gestured to a trio of smaller creatures selling intricate beadwork. “You speak a little urd'thin too, right?"

Tokka waved at the small creatures with big ears, bushy tails, and little horns. “Only a few phrases." He spoke something to them, and they all laughed and returned his wave.

Mirin shook her head, smiling. “Thought I was doing good learning to speak gnoll."

“You learned one word!" Tokka gave her a playful shove.

Mirin stumbled, then shoved him back with both hands. He didn't even budge, so instead she just leaned against him as they walked. “Yeah, well, beer's an important word."

“Can't argue that, boss."

At the edge of the main market, Mirin stopped to survey the place. Long lines of stalls, carts, wagons, tables and more were set up end to end throughout the court. Immense tarps and canopies in vibrant colors were strung from building to building, offering shade to the marketplace. Smaller banners and colorful flags fluttered in the breeze. The far end of the market was usually devoted entirely to livestock, poultry, and other live animals. But from the looks of things, all the animals had been relocated to the side they were entering from, to make room for the dragon's arrival. Walls of noise and smells rolled over Mirin, from hundreds of chattering voices and shouting vendors, to bleating goats and squawking fowl, mooing oxen, and all the associated unpleasant scents of so many people and animals.

Just as Mirin scrunched her nose, Tokka took a deep breath, and let out a happy sigh. “Smells good here."

Mirin quirked a brow. “That smells good to you?"

Tokka shrugged. “Smells like animals. And animals mean food!"

“Is there anything that doesn't remind you of food?" Mirin pushed into the market, weaving between other people.

Tokka followed just behind her. “Not really. I like food!"

“So, I've noticed." She glanced back at the gnoll. “Keep your eyes open, Tokka."

Tokka stared down at her, his ears splayed in confusion. “Why would I close them when I was walking around?"

Mirin smirked to herself. She could never quite tell when the gnoll was teasing her, and when he genuinely didn't know what she meant. She decided to keep watch for them both. The dragon's impending arrival meant the market was unusually crowded. There were people everywhere, and after a few of them bumped into her, Mirin made sure to keep a hand on her money. She did not want to fall victim to some cutpurse while she was busy watching another thief face justice. Soon, she noticed a young man in shabby, stained clothes who seemed to be paying particularly close attention to those with jingling pouches as they passed him by. Though he might just be an innocent beggar, she decided to warn the gnoll just in case.

“Careful." Mirin nudged Tokka, whispering as she inclined her head towards the young man. “That one looks as if he might go for your coin purse."

The gnoll grunted and covered his crotch.

Mirin sighed, shaking her head. Gnolls. “Your actual coin purse."

“Oh. Right. Thanks boss." Tokka glared at the scrawny beggar, baring his fangs. He put his hand over his own coin pouch, snarling and snapping his jaws. “This is my money! Back off, thief!"

The human gaped at Tokka, his face going pale. He backed away, hands up. The poor boy looked as if he'd piss himself if Tokka so much as took another step closer. Then again, from the smell of him, maybe he already had. Perhaps she had the wrong idea about his intentions. Mirin shook her head, and gently touched the gnoll's arm. “Tokka…"

“Yeah, boss?" Tokka flashed her a big smile, all yellowed fangs and pride, his scruffy tail wagging.

He seemed so pleased with himself for having scared off a potential thief that Mirin couldn't bring herself to tell him otherwise. “Good work, Tokka."

“Thanks, boss!"

Mirin led the gnoll onwards through the market. It was a bit of a battle getting through, as organized lanes were cramped at best, and more often, nowhere to be found at all. Mirin was happy the worst of the animal odors eased once they were partway across the plaza, though there was little she could do about the scent of a few too many people who hadn't washed lately. As much as Mirin loved browsing the market's scintillating array of ever-changing vendors, she resisted the urge to inspect every table and stall laden with myriad trinkets, crafts, produce, and far more.

Of most interest to Mirin were relics scavenged and collected from throughout The Mire, both worthless and valuable. Though her salvaging days were often, she still found herself drawn to the exotic treasures and antique weapons. If she had more time, Mirin would have loved to try and get her hands on another old flintlock pistol, or even a repeater. Not that such things were technically legal for civilians without an ocean of permits. Still, even though they had an appointment, it couldn't hurt to keep a look out.

“Tokka, if you happen to see…" Mirin turned, and realized Tokka had wandered off again. “Or not."

Mirin shaded her eyes and turned in a circle. She saw a few other gnolls browsing, and a few more selling what looked armors and ornamentations made from immense animal bones, but Tokka himself was nowhere to be seen. Not too far back the way they'd come, an enclosed travel wagon sat between a table selling random goods, and a stall offering carefully tailored hats. Mirin made her way back towards the red-painted wagon. Its black shutters were closed. Any time wares were kept out of site, that usually spoke volumes about the buyers they were looking for.

“Afternoon, Madam!" A merchant from a nearby table called out. “Interest you in a new purse?"

“No, thank you." Mirin turned towards him, only intending to give the man a polite smile. Instead, she found herself unable to look away from his unusual appearance. The man's head was shaved completely bald, and he bore a very long, very thin gray mustache. Strangest of all, his moustache was curled up around his face and intricately braided directly into his equally long eyebrows. Mirin's jaw hung slack for a moment before she managed to stop gaping at him. “That's…quite the look you've cultivated."

“Why thank you, Madam." The merchant gave a stiff, formal bow, then popped up so fast Mirin almost expected him to bobble back and forth like a wobbling children's toy. “Certain you can't use a new purse?" He waved his hand over an assortment of pouches and various bags on display atop his table. “Handbag? Satchel? Backpack? Knapsack? Haversack? Rucksack?"

Mirin fought to keep from laughing as the man spoke. Every time he talked, the motion left his mustache tugging at his eyebrows just enough to make them wiggle with every word. “N-no, I'm good, thank you."

The vendor hefted a crate, thumping it onto his table. He pulled out a dark green blouse with golden lotus prints on it. “Blouse?" When Mirin shook her head, he dug through the crate. “Trousers? Skirt? Pants? Undergarments?"

“No, no thank you."

“Used undergarments?"

“Excuse me?"

The man put the crate down, then replaced it on the table with an old wooden chest. “Prophylactic?"

“Definitely not." Mirin folded her arms.

“Dragon prophylactic?" He popped the chest open.

Mirin blinked. “They make those?"

The merchant dug around in the chest.

Mirin threw her hands up to stop him. “Proof's not required, thank you."

“Ah hah!" The odd man held up a tattered old book. “Illustrated Guide to the World's Greatest Latrines?"

“That's a hard pass."

“Illustrated Guide to the World's Worst Latrines?"

“Why is that even a thing?!"

“Here we are!" The merchant gave her a brilliant smile. “Ten Ways to Make a Dragon-"

“Unless the rest of that statement is, 'leave your town alone forever', I'm going to stop you right there." Mirin turned her head when a soft, steady clipped barking sound drew her attention. She gave the vendor a smile, and a wave. “As bizarre and amusing as this has been, I've a gnoll to find."

“Gnoll, you say? Why, I've just the thing!"

“I'll be sure to send him by later then. On his own."

Mirin knew the odd sound well. Somewhere nearby Tokka was giggling. Though gnolls might not look like the giggling sort, every once in a while, something got Tokka started and it was almost impossible to get him stopped. The gnoll's laughter led her to the crimson wagon with the closed shutters. Mirin scrunched her face. She wasn't exactly surprised.

“Tokka!" Mirin walked to the short staircase that led to the wagon's entry. “Either buy whatever dirty picture book you've stumbled upon, or put it back. We haven't got time for you to giggle-fit over the latest volume of 'Naughty Bits of the World'."

The gnoll soon emerged from the wagon's entryway. A dopey grin stretched so far across Tokka's muzzle Mirin half-expected the rest of his head to fall off. He clutched something broad and flat in his hands, carved from dark wood. He held it up, and broke into another fit of giggle-barks.

“Tokka." Mirin put her hands on her hips, trying not to share his giggles when she realized what he had. “Is that a-"

The gnoll swatted the hefty paddle against his palm. “For spankin', right boss?"

Mirin finally broke down, and laughed with him. It wasn't as though she found it especially funny, it was just the gnoll's juvenile amusement proved infectious. “Yes, Tokka. It's for spanking."

“Arharkharkhark!" Tokka swatted his palm again. “For fun-time spankin'."

Mirin folded her arms, struggling against her laughter. “Mhm."

“Naughty spankin'!" Tokka giggle-barked so much Mirin was surprised the silly gnoll hadn't started drooling on himself.

“Yes, yes." Mirin unfolded her arms to wave him back inside. “Now put it back so we can go. Unless you're planning to buy it. In which case, hurry up and do so."

Tokka's laughter finally trailed off, and he gave a little sigh. “Later, maybe. Be fun for the bar."

“I don't think I want you having that kinda fun in my bar, Tokka."

The gnoll vanished, and reemerged a few moments later, minus the paddle. “Nah, not for me. For the drunk people."

“We are the drunk people, Tokka." She hooked her arm through his as soon as he stepped down, hoping to keep him on task the rest of the way.

“I mean for drinkin' games. Like that one you used to play at the Eel. 'Whackin' wenches'!"

“Oh, gods." Mirin pinched the bridge of her nose. “I forgot all about that. And it was called, 'whacked by the wench'. You all got a mug of beer, and you had to chug it. And whoever finished last had to bend over and get smacked by the woman running the bar. And then you played again." Mirin scrunched her nose. “Usually till someone vomited."

“That sounds fun!"

“Oh, it was!" Mirin couldn't help but laugh. “Until the vomiting part, anyway. Thankfully, that was almost always someone else."

“Yea boss, you gotta liver like a gryphon."

“I'm honestly not sure if that's a compliment or an insult." Mirin pointed towards the area ahead of them, where an impatient crowd awaited the dragon's arrival. A trio of large, feathered heads were visible above the throng of people, keeping watch. “Speaking of gryphons, I do believe that's Kalrith beyond the barricades up ahead, isn't it?"

“Oooh!" Tokka's tail wagged hard and fast as if possessed of excitement of its own. “Good! We can get smashed together tonight!"

“Oh, gods." Mirin sighed. “I'm already regretting giving you permission to do that."

*****

Chapter Two

The Thief and the Dragon

*****

Mirin took Tokka by the hand, and led him towards the throng of people gathered to see the dragon. Wooden barricades blocked off the area of the courtyard where the beast was to claim his tribute. An immense mass of people had already assembled. A vast array of food carts took advantage, selling hand pies, steamed buns, fried meats and vegetables and more. City guards, most of them human, walked the barricades, keeping order. They all wore the red and gold colors representing the security forces of Hope's Folly. A few more soldiers kept a lane open through the crowd. A team of gray and white oxen pulled a wagon laden with wooden crates stamped with the city's seal down the lane, and into the plaza.

All the security personal were armed, usually with a pistol at their hip, or a long-barreled rifle across their shoulder. Even the old muzzleloaders commonly used by city guards remained limited in availability. Although soldiers and police were allowed firearms, civilians were generally restricted from their ownership. Nor were they usually allowed to possess ammunition of any kind, or even black powder and its refined derivatives.

A guard approached her, dark hair cropped close to his head. He was still young, and tautly muscled rather than burly. The crook of his nose told Mirin he'd more than held his own in his share of brawls.  He held up a hand. “Sorry, civilians must-oh, hey, Mirin."

Mirin smiled and bowed her head. “Hello, Noma." Plenty of the man's brawls had taken place inside The Stumbling Drunkard. “I'm here for the handover, today." Mirin curled her lip into a sneer. “Unfortunately."

“Yeah, you're on the list." Noma stepped aside to let her and Tokka pass. “Second time, right?"

“Last time I was told to supply him with wine, and ale." She put a hand on Noma's arm, and leaned into whisper to him. “So, I gave him the worst shit I had." She lifted her head again. “This time I'm only here to see that thief turned over. I thought if he wants a girl to go and serve him, it's better we send a criminal than some innocent woman from the city."

“Agreed!" Noma laughed and clapped her on the shoulder, then jerked his thumb towards her destination. “Go on in." When Tokka walked past, he patted the gnoll's shoulder the same way. “Hey, Tokka, how's it hangin'?"

Tokka paused and stared at him. “Gnolls have a she-"

“It's just an expression." Mirin tugged at Tokka's hand. “He doesn't actually want an anatomical description."

Tokka swished his tail, grinning. “Oh. Right. Drink later?"

“Can't." Noma shook his head. “Duty at dawn. Next time!"

Mirin guided Tokka through the rest of the crowd and into the large open area of the court. Near the back of the area stood couple of officers from the Commerce Ministry in pleated, red and gold uniforms. They were there to supervise the transfer of goods and wealth. Unlike the city guards, they bore newer weaponry, with revolvers holstered in gun belts.

Nearby, two immense female gnolls even larger than Tokka were unloading the cart Mirin saw earlier. They stacked the crates alongside a large wooden chest, then stood on either side of the valuables to keep watch. Both female gnolls wore well-fitted bronze armor. One of them leaned against an axe almost as large as she was, while the other hefted a great war hammer in her hands. Based on Mirin's experience, she imagined the gnolls preferred the old fashioned melee weapons in their hands to the firearms the Commerce Ministry equipped its officers with. Both gnolls were so big Mirin imagined they could almost have wielded cannons by hand, if only there were allowed to do so.

Tokka waved at the female gnolls, and called out to them in their own language. One of them flashed him a toothy smile and inclined her head. The other just glared at him as if to say, can't you see I'm working. Tokka's attention soon wandered to the trio of gryphons standing around in the center of the open area. A big grin split his muzzle, and he bounced up on his toes a few times, waiting to be noticed by one gryphon in particular.

Gryphons were another of The Mire's many speaking peoples. About the size of a large ox, gryphons possessed four legs and a set of vast, feathery wings. Their heads and faces were akin to predatory birds, but with the shine of genuine intelligence in their eyes, and with beaks more adapted to speech. Mirin found gryphon beaks fascinating. They were sharp and hard at the end, but softer and rubbery where they joined the creature's body, better attuned to making words. They also had very agile tongues and throats, and in Mirin's experience could mimic almost any noise. Feathers covered their heads and ran along their backs. The lower half of their bodies was covered in silken fur, as were all four legs and paws. More feathers lined their long tails.

Though they were not near as common a site in Hope's Folly as gnolls, enough gryphons frequented the city that Mirin made sure she kept her tavern stocked appropriately. She had special drinking bowls and other vessels suitable for their beaks, along with a few large, sturdy loungers built specifically for their kind.

These three gryphons were all part of the Gryphon Legion. The Legion was akin to the Warden's personal police force, and served him throughout The Mire. All three wore the Warden's indigo and ebony colors in vest-like tabards over bronze-studded breastplates. The armor was strapped around their forelegs and across the back of their neck so as not to interfere with their flight. They also wore more padding and layered armor across their bellies to protect their vitals while flying. Each gryphon bore a sash tied around their necks in the same blue and black hues, with marks of rank on display at each end. The three gryphons stood in formation, keeping watch. 

Two of the gryphons were female, with colorations in mottled shades of brown akin to hawks. One had lighter fur with darker striations along her underside, while the other's wings were trimmed with crimson. The third gryphon was male, and with plumage that nearly matched the colors of his tabard and sash. Most of him was dark blue, with lighter tones across his face. Black marks barred his silvery eyes, and striped his wings. When he spotted Mirin and Tokka, his dark beak parted in a happy smile, and he stretched an ebony-banded wing to give them a wave.

Mirin returned the wave, then tilted her head towards the gryphon. “Well, go on, Tokka. Don't keep Kalrith waiting."

Tokka bound across the plaza and threw himself against the gryphon, wrapping his arms around Kalrith's neck in an immense hug that Mirin suspected would have toppled any smaller creature. Kalrith flopped down onto his haunches to return the hug, embracing the gnoll with both forelegs and a wing. The gryphon rocked Tokka back and forth with a happy, warbling sound before he finally let him go. Even then Tokka stayed leaning against him, ruffling his feathers, then smoothing them back down. Kalrith preened at the ruff of fur on the back of the gnoll's neck. Tokka nuzzled the gryphon's throat, smiling, his tail wagging like mad.

Finally, Kalrith gave a faux-indignant squawk, and playfully shoved Tokka away. “Alright, alright, not while I'm on duty!"

Only when their personal time had passed did Mirin make her way over to greet her old friend. She had known Kalrith nearly as long as she had known Tokka. While it had been a surprise to learn about the two of them, it wasn't too big a surprise. Both gnolls and gryphons were notoriously open-minded, and the two of them had been excellent friends long before they were anything more. Kalrith used to work in the city, as a security officer, but he quit a few years back to take a post serving in The Warden's service. Mirin certainly couldn't blame him, given it doubled his pay. But the Gryphon Legion was posted all around The Mire, and it made it harder for Kalrith and Tokka to spend time together.

Even now, Mirin suspected Kalrith was only in town because of the dragon's visit. There were always Warden's agents around whenever the dragon came to collect his fee. Mirin wasn't sure why, but she had her suspicions. Maybe she could ask Kalrith what he knew, though she wouldn't want to get him in trouble with his employer. If nothing else, at least it meant he and Tokka got to see each other again.

“Hey, Mirin!" Kalrith warbled a greeting, lifting the long, white-tipped crest feathers that encircled the back of his neck like half a crown. “Good to see you!"

“You too, you old booze-bird!" Smiling, Mirin reached up and hugged the gryphon's neck. “It's been too long!"

“Yeah, I know, I know." The gryphon cast a sheepish glance at Tokka, his ears folded back. “Sorry about that."

Tokka waved him off. “Nah, s'fine." The gnoll's ears perked, his eyes brightened. “You staying the night? Mirin says we can trash the Drunkard!"

“That is not what I-"

Kalrith chirruped raucous gryphon laughter. “I sure am! Sounds great. Stayin' a couple nights, actually. Took a few days off to drink my favorite gnoll under the table!"

Mirin soon found herself sharing their laughter. “Guess I better not order any of those repairs till you're back to work. Speaking of which. How is it working for The Warden?"

“Tiring!" The gryphon stretched his forelegs out across the cobbled square, his beak split with a wide yawn. “Pay's great, but it wears you out. Lotta travel. 'Bout flown my damn wings off the last few months. She likes to make sure we supervise just about everything, lately."

“She?" Mirin tilted her head. “Do we have a new Warden?"

“Nah." Kalrith ruffled his feathers, sitting back up. “By she I mean General Sunbird, the gryphon who runs the Legion." He clicked his beak. “Our orders usually get passed down from her, and she works directly for the Warden."

“I suppose that makes sense." Mirin folded her arms. “So why do they want you at events like this?"

Kalrith lifted a forepaw to scratch his neck. “They like to know what's going on. We're sort of like their eyes and ears throughout The Mire. If cities are paying dragons to keep them safe, then that's less money The Warden's got to spend to hire extra men to guard the roads."

“And yet, that damn dragon probably taxes us enough to cover extra guards, just the same." She rubbed her chin, glancing at the crates nearby. “Do you have to report what the city-states pay the dragons, then?"

The gryphon shifted, rustling his wings. He flicked his feathered tail. “Technically, we're reporting what you're paying to…well, for tax purposes, the dragon's more like an independent security contractor, and--"

One of the female gryphons clacked her beak, and said something quick and sharp in the gryphon tongue.

Kalrith dipped his head towards Mirin. “Sorry, Mirin. You're getting way above my paygrade. I'm just told to come out here, make sure everything goes smoothly, take care of any problems that arise, and report back. You know how it is."

Mirin held her hands up. “No, you're right, I don't want to get you in trouble. I'll shut up about it."

Kalrith chirped. “Thanks. So, I hear you have a gift for the dragon today, too."

“More like a burden." She put her hand on Tokka's arm, smiling. “Your furball here caught a thief robbing the Drunkard a few nights ago. She's been rottin' in a cell, since then, but I thought since the dragon's asking for a new maiden, better off sending some lousy thief to keep him happy than some poor village girl. Personally, I'll be happy if he eats her, and then chokes to death."

The gryphon warbled laughter. “Always possible. But hey, could be worse. I hear the dragon who lords over Penance has a real thing for girls--"

Mirin held her hands up to cut him off. “There's no way for you to end that sentence in a way that won't make me ill."

“Heh, fair enough." Kalrith lifted his head, craning his neck to peer over the crowd. “Oh, here comes your thief now. You should probably stand aside, for the moment."

Mirin nodded, and pulled Tokka out of the way with her. Once they were out of easy earshot, she whispered to the gnoll. “You know, until I saw you two together, I'd have thought gryphons hate having their feathers ruffled."

Tokka grinned. “He does! But the loves it when I run my fingers through them. And they're so soft."

“Oh, I've noticed." Mirin poked his arm, unable to help herself. “And I bet he likes it when you do other things, too."

“Yeah! Like when I rub his--"

“That wasn't a statement that required further explanation, Tokka."

Nearby, guards moved barricades a little further away to make room for the team of oxen to be led away. No doubt they didn't want the animals panicking when the dragon landed. The harnessed cattle mooed and bellowed and left behind a few unpleasant presents. When no one went to clean them up, Mirin smiled. Please let the dragon step in that. Please let the dragon step in that. She was certain a little embarrassment might go a long way towards knocking down the monster's unbearably smug ego.

Horrid, off-key singing drew Mirin out of her pleasant daydream of humiliated dragons. She cringed, and saw Tokka pin back his ears. If Mirin's ears could do that, she'd have flattened them against her skull already. The voice was irritatingly familiar, and the singing thief soon danced into view. She wore a grimy looking gray one-piece garment, with the number 42 emblazoned in red. Despite having her hands tied behind her back and being led to her fate, she looked as if she was having the time of her life. Though her captors hadn't given her any footwear, that didn't stop her from dancing all the way down the lane through the crowd.

“Takin' me, to the dragon!" She danced a few steps ahead of the guards, pirouetted around, and then walked backwards to join them again. “Better than, a hangin'!" She strut forward, hopping over a cracked cobblestone. “Don't want no jail cell!" She slid back and forth, and did another little dancing spin around the edges of a puddle and into the open part of the plaza. “Rather be, a servant!"

“That don't rhyme." Tokka snorted, folding his arms. He lifted his voice, calling out. “Do one that rhymes!"

“Tokka!" Mirin shot him a glare and poked him in the ribs, but by then it was too late.

The thief froze, then twisted on her heel towards Mirin and the gnoll. Her green eyes lit up, and a big grin spread over her dirt-smudged face. “Well, if it isn't Drinksy and Muttsy!"

Tokka grinned and nudged Mirin with his elbow. “Our nicknames rhyme, boss."

“Those aren't our nicknames, and that wasn't a rhyme." Mirin pursed her lips, staring at the thief. To her dismay, the guards ushered their captive in Mirin's direction. She glared at the thief, then snorted. “Thought I heard mooing. And here comes the cow, now."

“Oooh, that's good." The thief smiled. “Here, I brought you somethin'." She turned around, and though her hands were bound at the wrist, she nevertheless managed to make two extremely crude gestures. “One for each of ya!"

“Oh, yes, how clever!" Mirin clasped her hands. “Why, I've never seen anyone do that before!" She tilted her head, her voice syrupy sweet. “Did you learn that in prison?"

“Yeah!" The prisoner turned around, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “From your mother!"

Mirin only smiled. “Nah, if you made that gesture to my mother, she'd slap the bitch out of you."

“Too bad she never got around to doin' that to you, then."

Mirin leaned in, squinting. “What is that on your face? I think you've picked up some horrible infection from that prison cell." She pulled back, shaking her head. “Oh, no, my mistake. You're just hideous."

The other woman just smiled right back. “Aww, are you grumpy because I interrupted your binge drinking?"

“Oh, yes, the woman who runs a tavern must be a binge drinker. How clever." Mirin waved a hand. “What's the matter, running out of material already, Inmate Forty-Two?"

“C'mon Drinksy, you were hungover the first time we met." The thief laughed, tossing messy hair out of her dirt-smudged face. “I'd wager my-"

“Freedom? I'm sorry, you've already lost that." Mirin waved her hand. “And you say we 'met' as if I first encountered you at some social event, where I was entranced by the sounds of a rabid alley cat dying a slow, hideous death that you seem to think counts as singing."

“Pretty good, right?"

“We only met because you were robbing my damn bar!"

The thief's gaze fell. She stared at her own dirty, bare feet, and her voice softened. “And for that, I will always be sorry." Then she jerked her head up, grinning beneath a mass of tangled hair. “Because that place was a real shithole! Like a half-step away from a sour latrine, and the step's in the wrong direction."

“Excuse me?!" Mirin balled up her fists. If the guards weren't already standing on either sides of their prisoner, Mirin might have tried to strangle her then and there.

“I went in there lookin' for valuables." The prisoner shrugged, and made a yawning show of disinterest in the whole conversation. “Most good taverns have expensive flatware, or silver goblets stored away, or priceless heirlooms on display. Only thing you had on display was bad taste." Suddenly, she lifted her voice to the whole crowd. “All I found in your place, The Stumbling Drunkard, was old junk, dirty spoons, and especially moldy plates!"

“Oh, shut the hell up!" Mirin thumped a single finger against the other woman's chest.  “My tavern is perfectly clean. I'm not about to let you badmouth it in front of-"

“Oh, unknot your undies, Grandma Crankypants. I offered you a perfectly good bribe, didn't I?"

“Yes!" Mirin stomped a booted foot. “With my coins, from my lockbox."

The thief scrunched up her dirty face. “Yeah, kinda thought you'd fall for that. Guess you're not quite as dumb as you are ugly, after all." She glanced at Tokka. “Tried to bribe Muttsy, too."

Mirin shot the gnoll a glare. “Don't talk to Inmate Forty-Two."

“Name's Tamriss, actually."

Mirin made a point of ignoring her. “Inmate Forty-Two isn't worth your time, Tokka. Besides, loyalty to a friend is important than money, right?"

Tokka nodded. “Right, boss!" He swished his tail and smiled. “Plus, right after I let her go, I realized it was our coins she bribed me with, so I grabbed her again."

“You what?"

Tokka splayed his ears, shifting his weight. “It was lotta money!"

Inmate Forty-Two burst into laughter. “Maybe you oughta give your mutt a raise!"

“And maybe you ought to get a job!" Mirin poked her in the chest again. “Lemme ask you something, Miss Can't Be Bothered To Work For A Living. You seem to be as bad a thief as you are a singer. Have you ever successfully stolen anything in your life?"

Tamriss tilted her head, smiling. “Have you ever successfully kept your mouth shut for more than ten seconds?"

“Push me a little further, thief." Mirin jabbed Tamriss in the chest, this time hard enough to make her grunt. “You're gonna be begging for that dragon to get his lazy ass here and take you away from me."

Tamriss stepped forward so swiftly the guards grabbed her arms. “You poke me again, and I'm gonna break that finger."

“What, this finger?" Mirin held it up in front of the thief's face. “I hope you don't expect me to be impressed if you slip your binds and try to grab me."

“No, I just expect you to scream when I break your finger."

“Oh, do you?" Mirin lowered her finger towards the other woman's chest. “I think I want to play this game. Tell you what. I'll poke you again, and then we'll see who breaks what first."

Tamriss leaned forward, smiling. “Deal."

A deep, pealing bronze bell rang out, the sound tolling across the plaza, and echoing over the rest of the city. With an exaggerated sigh, Mirin dropped her arm. The bell tolled again, and she shook her head. “That would be the dragon arriving. You're lucky. I think this is the first time he's actually saved anyone."

“Oh, don't worry, Drinksy." Tamriss flashed her a smile before the guards dragged her off towards the rest of the dragon's tributes. “I promise, we'll finish this later."

*****

Arcaydior swept through the sky towards his city. The dragon was in an excellent mood. After all, it was tribute day. He loved tribute day. Though the flight from his fortress home to Hope's Folly was a short one, Arcaydior took his time. He circled a while, savoring the simple joy of flight. From the air that tickled his sensitive wing membranes and brushed over his emerald scales, to the feeling of near weightlessness, he loved everything about flying. The dragon also relished the view of all the great Mire spread out beneath him. In one direction, there was swampland, and green forest, and eventually, the rusted, overgrown husks that lingered from the battles of former rulers. In the other way, mountains rose higher and higher, like jagged limestone teeth struggling to bite the sky itself.

The view would have been especially beautiful if not for the great blot that was Hope's Folly. From above, all the lower city's myriad boardwalks and roads looked like an immense wooden spiderweb surrounding the upper city's sprawling stone bullseye. Should Hope's Folly ever truly earn his disfavor, Arcaydior might have to try and strike that bullseye. Preferably with an especially large shit. Normally, Arcaydior would never empty his bowels in the air, but the bigger the city grew, and the less respected by its people he felt, the more amusing the idea became.

Arcaydior had ruled Hope's Folly for a long time, now. While the city had its own Law Council, as far as the dragon was concerned, that council answered to him. After all, the other city-states had their own governments, but they also had a Dragon Lord to answer too. It was the natural way of things, after all. Dragons were the strongest creatures in the land. Why wouldn't the others answer to them? In return, the lesser creatures received guarantees of the dragons' protection, should any problems arise.

The original contracts made between dragons and the city-states were generations old, now, predating even the Warden's Office. At first, the idea was simply that in return for treasure, and a position of power, the dragons would keep their local city safe. But as the cities had grown, and changed, the contracts had been amended over the years by a succession of Wardens. The gist of it remained the same, protection in return for wealth, and power. The biggest difference these days was that the Dragons also had to swear loyalty to the Warden, and his golden-feathered enforcer.

Not that Arcaydior would ever break the terms of Lordship. To a dragon, contract was a binding and unbreakable promise. After all, a dragon was only as good as his word. The day Arcaydior took his oaths of Lordship, he knew his life would never be the same. That the foolish battles of his youth, and the wasted fury of his father, and his ancestors must be set aside, forever.

And so they had.

The dragon first sought the position of Lord not out of greed, but for reasons far more deeply personal. Yet, over the years, he knew well enough that greed had settled in. And why shouldn't it, he thought with a bitter snort. After all, Arcaydior had taken bullets for this city. He had shed blood for this city. The dragon fought for this land and its people, and for what? The adulation of fools, and the scorn of those who would never understand the sacrifices he had made on their behalf. Never understand, or care, what he'd lost in the process. So if he would not have their understanding? Their friendship? Their respect? Then he'd damn sure have their treasure.

Snarling, Arcaydior forced the thought from his mind. Now was not the time to dwell on unpleasant memories, he told himself. No, instead it was time to celebrate his grandeur. For in addition to collecting his monthly tributes, today the dragon would also announce his new title to the city. After all, Arcaydior knew that a dragon as great as himself deserved a title befitting his important status. Now, if he could only think of one.

“Arcaydior!" The dragon shouted his own name to the skies, practicing what he imagined to a great, and memorable speech. “Lord of All the Vast Mire!" He licked his muzzle. The moisture left the fine scales cold in the wind blowing over him. No, that wouldn't work, he thought. He didn't want to overreach and anger the Warden. He tried again.

“Lord of All Hope's Folly! No, no…" He stretched a foreleg in the air, waggling his fingers as if grasping for the right words. “Not good enough. Lord of All the Northern Mire? Perhaps, perhaps." Should he be more specific? “Lord of All the Northern Most Region of the Northwestern Quadrant of the Mire, and Hope's Folly, inclusive." He snorted. “Accurate, but an awfully long title. A bit of a mouthful even for a dragon with a big mouth."

Wait, that didn't sound right.

The dragon decided just to improvise, when the time came. He tucked his foreleg back up against his chest, and wheeled around to align himself with the courtyard where his adoring subjects awaited his arrival, surely with great excitement and anticipation. He flared his wings, testing the air. A dragon's wings were very sensitive, able to detect minute changes in air currents and temperature. They sprouted from just behind his shoulders, and their connective membranes ran all the way down to his haunches, almost to his tail. As he swooped in over his city, he stretched his wings to their full extent, slowing his descent just as the bells announcing his arrival tolled.

Arcaydior extended his hind legs as he flew in over the stone buildings and walls encasing the great courtyard. He was pleased to see both a large crowd awaiting him, and a large space cleared for his arrival. It wouldn't do his position as Lord any favors if he overran his landing and accidentally trampled a few of his squishier subjects. He touched down onto his hind paws, awkwardly hopped a few steps across cobblestone, and then dropped his front paws down. The dragon trotted a few more steps before he came to a complete stop.

A quick glance around told him that a great crowd indeed had assembled to witness his glory. Arcaydior was never one to disappoint. He knew just the thing to impress them. A great and glorious roar, followed by magnificent display of roiling flame spat into the sky over their heads. He inhaled so deeply his chest plates expanded, and then he threw his head back to offer the loudest, longest roar he could. All around him, people clapped their hands over their ears. Even the Warden's feathered servants turned their heads away, ears flattened back. Yes, that was it. Just the reaction he wanted to see. He kept his glorious roar going as long as he could.

Too long, in fact, as Arcaydior roared all the air right out of his lungs and burst into a hacking cough. For a moment, the dragon stumbled around, wheezing and coughing till his chest ached. He gasped, struggling to draw in a deeper breath between coughs. He waved a front leg at the crowd, his voice strained.

“You may…cheer for me…now!"

Then he thumped his plated chest a few times with a forepaw, and finally flopped onto his haunches, panting. As the echoes of his coughing fit died down, he could not help but notice the silence.

“Well go on! Cheer for me!" As soon as he was able, he sucked in a breath, and spat it back out, compressing the fire glands at the back of his jaws to spray a burst of writhing, liquid red-orange fire over the heads of the gathered throng. “Now!"

“Hooray!" A male gnoll standing off the side clapped his hands and gave a loud, throaty howl. “Aarrrhaaaahh! More fire!"

A woman in a golden shirt standing next to the gnoll punched him on the arm, and the gnoll went quiet. In his place, though, one of the gryphons strode forward. Red feathers edged her wings, and Arcaydior found himself slightly envious of the fact she got to wear armor. Then again, he supposed a creature as naturally well armored as a dragon needed no extra protection. The gryphon stretched a single, crimson-edged wing, waving it at the crowd.

“Go on then, cheer for your Lord!"

Cheer for your Lord. Arcaydior gave the gryphon a smile, and bowed his horned head in thanks. The Warden's birds always did know how to get things done. The crowd broke into wild cheers, whistles and applause. Arcaydior pushed himself back up to all fours, basking in their adulation. Their cheers sent a shiver of delight through the dragon. His scales clicked and rustled, and tingles ran through the spiny frills all around his head.

“Yes! Yes, thank you!" He shook himself, webbed tail spines rattling. “I do appreciate your support! Now, if you'll allow me, I shall announce to you my new title, to be used evermore amongst your fine city."

This was it. Time to give himself an everlasting title, like all great dragons deserved. Surely, it would be a great and historic moment in all their lives. One day, this would be a tale they'd spin for their children, the time their great Dragon Lord announced his formal title. Pride swelled his plated chest.

“From now on!" The dragon strode forward, his brassy voice echoing beyond the crowd and into the market. “I shall be known as Arcaydior, Lord of All-" Something foul squished beneath his front paw. He yanked it up, sniffed reflexively, and then hissed his great distaste. “Ox shit!"

“All hail Arcaydior!" The woman in the gold shirt stepped forward, casting her hands to the sky. “Lord of All Ox Shit!"

“What?" Arcaydior jerked his head up, horror filling him. “No! That isn't what I meant and you-"

The gnoll next to the woman threw his fists up, as if genuinely celebrating the title. “Lord of All Ox Shit!"

A murmur of laughter began in the crowd. Arcaydior swung his head around, and everywhere he looked, people struggled to hold back laughter. Soon it spilled from them, like water overtopping a dam. The laughter rolled in waves, growing and growing until the whole crowd was laughing at him even louder than they'd been cheering. A surge of hot blood left his frills flushed. He shook his paw, then did his best to wipe it off on the ground. For a moment it was all Arcaydior could do not to hide his head under his wings until they stopped laughing. Either that, or incinerate the crowd completely, and have a new mass of people brought in who hadn't witnessed his great humiliation.

“Alright, alright!" Arcaydior glared at the crowds, walking towards one of the barricades. “Yes, the dragon stepped in shit, hilarious! Well, you won't think it's so funny when it's my shit I step in!" No, wait. That didn't come out right, either. A new wave of laughter rolled through the gathered masses, and Arcaydior lashed his tail, frustration growing. “What I meant was, you'll be the ones stepping in shit, and we'll see how funny it is then! So…stop laughing, before I shit all over your town!"

“Boy, you're just going all in on the 'shit' theme, aren't you?" The same woman from before called out to him, then waved towards the nearby crates stacked with his tributes. “Perhaps you should just take your goods and your servant and go, before you dig yourself in any deeper."

Arcaydior slowly pivoted towards the human woman. From the way she was grinning at him, it was clear she savored his humiliation. The dragon did not appreciate that. He crossed the plaza towards her, taking her in. Though it was sometimes difficult for him to tell one flat-faced, soft-skinned human apart from another, there was nonetheless something familiar about this one. She had bronze-brown skin, and black hair that cascaded past her shoulders, but that hardly set her apart from half the city. He lowered his head, and when she did not pull away, he stared into her topaz eyes. Something glittered there, some mischievous fire that matched the smug grin still plastered across her lips.

That he recognized.

“Bar wench."

The woman jolted upright, her eyes first widened in surprise at his recognition, then narrowed in what he hoped she had taken as a slight. “Bar owner, actually. And it's Mirin."

“Well, Mirin. This?" Arcaydior lifted his right forepaw, and unsheathed all of his previously retracted black claws. As the woman's eyes widened again, he used his claws to gesture at the crowd, slowly recovering from its convulsive laughter. “Is your fault. Do you know what that means?"

Arcaydior lowered his paw as that settled in over the woman. Not only was he placing the blame for his humiliation squarely upon her head, but also the expectation that she would provide recompense for his embarrassment. Once that realization sunk in, all the smug amusement drained from her face, and she let out a long sigh.

“Oooohh, shit."

“Yes, bar owner Mirin. Oh shit, indeed."

*****

For about five minutes, the dragon's arrival went better than Mirin ever could have imagined. No sooner had the big lizard finally shown up, then he'd made an even more enormous fool of himself than she hoped for. She was already envisioning regaling her favorite patrons with the tale of how she dubbed the dragon, the Lord of All Ox Shit. And then she got cocky, and overplayed her hand.

Mirin should have known that as soon as she drew his personal attention, she was in trouble. But she hadn't expected the dragon to remember her. That was going to make it a lot harder to shirk whatever punishment he saw fit to inflict. She ran her hands down her face, gritting her teeth. Her belly churned, sour and angry. Mirin dropped her hands, and glared at the dragon.

“Alright, so what do you want?"

The dragon pulled his head back, arching his long neck. A note of honeyed, faux-surprise crept into the breast's brassy voice. “Oh? Now you want to give me something? How sweet."

Wait. Maybe she could still wriggle out from under whatever obligations or payments the monster had in mind. “As a matter of fact, I do have something to give you! She's right over here." Mirin swept her hand through the air towards the guards who stood watch over Tamriss. “Since you so often call for Maidens…" She struggled to keep the disgust out of her voice. “I've already taken the liberty of picking one out for you."

“Oh, have you? How very kind!" The dragon swung his wedge-shaped head away, gazing in the direction of the thief. “Is that her, then? Over there with rest of my tribute?"

“Yes, that's her, Lord Arcaydior." Mirin forced the dragon's title over her tongue. “I do hope she pleases you." She bumped Tokka with her elbow, and mouthed the words play along.

“Yeah. Ah…boss heard you like human girls, so she…uh…rented you a who-"

Mirin cut the gnoll off by elbowing him again, harder. “That'll do, Tokka."

“How very generous!" Arcaydior strode towards the thief. “Let me have a look at her."

Mirin crossed her arms, grimacing. With any luck, the dragon would buy it, and she'd be off the hook. While his attention was elsewhere, she looked the beast over. He was admittedly an impressive creature, if not near as large as she once imagined dragons to be. Mirin guessed him to be roughly double the size of a gryphon. Despite the monster's laziness, his body was still quite lithe and powerful. Muscles rippled beneath all his emerald scales as he crossed the plaza. Though most of him was green, layers of black and dark gray dappled his back, from his neck to his tail, and splashed across his wings. Black barring striped the scutes that protected the front of each limb. A bright red hue edged the spiny frills that crowned his head. The largest frill started between his spiraling horns, and ran down the top half of his neck. Smaller frills fanned out beneath his horns, behind separate ears. More red-edged webbing spanned the spines at the end of his tail, on both sides.

“Why's she so dirty?" Arcaydior came to a stop near Tamriss. The guards backed away as the dragon inspected the girl. “And why's she wearing…what is that, a numbered smock?"

“Whassa matter, dragon?" Tamriss smiled at him. “Don't you like dirty girls?"

“In mind? Yes." The dragon snorted, blowing her hair around. “In body? No."

“Aww, well don't worry, Scales. As soon as you get me back home, I'll take a nice, long bath. Hell, I'll even let you bathe me, just cause I wanna put that image in Drinksy's head." 

Mirin's lip twisted, and she muttered under her breath. “Gross." Then she lifted her voice again. “So! Do you find my gift pleasing? I do apologize for my earlier outburst. I'm afraid I just get carried away sometimes. I hope you find her to your satisfaction, Lord Arcaydior."

The dragon whirled around so fast Tamriss had to duck his tail. He slunk back across the plaza towards Mirin, his head low. His emerald fills all flared up, their red edges on display. The beast looked as if he was stalking prey. Mirin had the increasingly sinking realization that she knew exactly who that prey was. Tokka must have as well, because he put an arm out in front of her, growling.

Mirin eased Tokka's arm down, and patted his hand. “Thank you, but it's alright, Tokka."

“You must think you're so clever." The dragon stopped just in front of them, his gaze leveled with Mirin. The dragon's eyes were a dark sort of gold, like old, tarnished coins. “Either that, or you think I'm an idiot."

“I don't take your meaning, Lord Arcay-"

“Listen, bar wench." The dragon snorted, fetid breath washing over her. “I remember you. And I remember you promising me your finest ales and wines. And what did I get? Barrels of piss-poor rotgut."

Uh huh. He really did remember her. And he seemed to have palate enough to understand he'd been ripped off. She hadn't expected that, either. “Well, you see-"

“Now, I decided against coming back and hurling an ale barrel through your tavern, but only because the maidens your city sent me quite enjoyed your product." He unsheathed a single black claw on his right forepaw, tapping it against the cobblestone. “You're lucky I prefer to keep my guests happy. I've still a guest there now, in fact. I rather like her. So to start with your reparations, I should like a dozen barrels and casks delivered to my home." He snapped his teeth. “Good casks, this time."

“Oooh, you hear that Drinksy?" Tamriss did a little dance, if celebrating a small victory. “I'm gonna be drinking all your best booze!"

Arcaydior glanced towards Tamriss, a smile flashing several of his sharp looking fangs. “Yes, thief, you are." Then his head snapped back towards Mirin. “I already know about her, too. She's being handed over to me in lieu of jail. Believe it or not, I do hear about things that happen in my town. Your people don't want to send me a thief without making sure I'm willing to accept one."

Mirin spat. “Damn it. Shoulda thought of that."

“Yes." The dragon snorted and shook himself, scales clicking and rustling. “You also should have realized your city's prisoners worn that same sort of garb for decades, at least. Given the thief's pet name for you, I'm guessing it was your rancid little stink hole she robbed. So, let me guess. You're only here in hopes of seeing her carried away screaming, in recompense for whatever she tried to take from you. Is that about right?"

“Hah! You nailed her ass, Scales!"

“Thank you, Thief." The dragon glanced at Tamriss again. “Oh, but don't get too excited. Given how eager you seem to be to join me in my home, I'm already wondering if you let yourself get caught, planning to volunteer to be my next tribute. You'd say you just wanted out of jail, but perhaps you're planning to rob me, instead."

Tamriss burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Damn, I wish I was that smart."

“Nevertheless, be aware the terms of my contracts with both Hope's Folly and The Warden allow me to chase you down and incinerate you, should you steal from me."

Mirin blinked, her jaw going slack. “Wait, you mean you have actual contracts-"

“Back to you, Bar Wench." The dragon spat the insult like bile he couldn't quite get off his tongue. “I'm still curious. Which is it? Do you just think yourself that clever? Or do you think me a fool?"

“Can't it be both?" Mirin snapped at the dragon before she could stop herself. He jerked his horned head back in surprise, frills splayed. “Maybe I'm just sick of you extorting my city! As far as I'm concerned, you're only technically a Lord!" Mirin slashed her hand through the air as if she could but strike down the title. “When's the last time you did one damn thing for this city?"

The dragon narrowed his eyes, ears flat. “I offer you my protection-"

“Yeah, great damn job!" Mirin thrust a finger at Tamriss. “We've got thieves in our streets! We've got-"

“Have you bandits raiding your farms? Have you warbands abducting your children? Because there was a time you did." The dragon lifted his head, his voice rising. “There was a time you all did! All your so-called city-states, all the villages and towns between them. They were all targets, once. That was why this all started, because you needed our protection from-"

“Well, we don't need it anymore!" Mirin stomped her foot, balling up her fists. “Maybe I'd feel differently if you were actually protecting us. But somehow, every time your lazy, scaly ass drops into my city again, I can't help but feel like you're the one we need protecting from. We pay you coin, treasure, food, we send maidens to serve you like the scaly pervert you are, and why? Because if we don't, you'll start…" She snarled at the dragon through grit teeth. “Burning things down! We're paying you to keep you from attacking us! That's not Lordship, that's extortion! If you want to be seen as our city's Lord, then…join the damn law council! Help make decisions, help pass laws! Act like a productive member of our damn society, or leave us the hell alone!"

Arcaydior only stared at her. Gears turned behind his burnt-gold eyes, but Mirin couldn't tell if he was concocting an argument, taking her words to heart, or just planning to bite her head off. She steeled herself for the worst, just in case. Finally, the dragon took a slow, deep breath, and then smiled as he exhaled.

“I don't think you like me very much, Bar Owner Mirin."

Mirin slumped a little. She'd have almost preferred rage to indifference. “Yeah, that's the discovery of the gods-damned century."

“Hey Scales!" Tamriss walked towards the dragon, hands still bound behind her back. “You know what I bet would really piss off Drinksy?"

“Don't you start!" Mirin whirled on her, shaking a finger. “You even try and say it, and I'll knock the words right out of your mouth."

Suddenly, Tamriss had her hands free. She wriggled out of the rope and cast it aside, even as the guards ran to catch up with her. “What I'd tell you about that finger?"

“Oh, the thief needn't say it, Bar Wench." An infuriating grin stretched across the dragon's tapered green muzzle. “We seem to think alike, she and I. Since you despise me so much…actually, let's make this official." He lifted a forepaw, and beckoned the gryphons over. “C'mere birds, I have an proclamation to make."

When the gryphons arrived, the dragon gave them all a friendly smile. Kalrith shot Mirin a sympathetic, questioning look. Mirin waved him off. She did not want him to try and interfere, because it would only end up badly for him. There was no sense in him risking his job over something he wasn't going to be able to change, anyway.

The dragon cleared his throat, drawing himself up, his neck arched. His brassy voice to carry across the entire marketplace. “I, Lord Arcaydior, have been suitable maligned and offended by an official representative of Hope's Folly."

“I'm not an official representative! I'm just here because--"

“In order to spare your fair city any undeserved punishment, I hereby sentence this woman…" Arcaydior pointed a single unsheathed claw at Mirin. “To six months servitude, to be spent at the House of Arcaydior, beginning immediately upon the morrow." He snapped his teeth, lashed his tail spines against the cobblestone, then a spat a burst of reddish fire into the sky. “So sentenced." The dragon swung his head back around to smile at Mirin. “How's that for passing law?"

“Ahahahahaha!" Tamriss laughed so hard she nearly tumbled over. One of the guards grabbed her, and the other quickly redid her binds, but she didn't stop laughing. “Six months? That's as long as I got!"

Mirin stood, silent and fuming, until Tokka put his arms around her and squeezed in her a big, sympathetic hug. “Sorry, boss."

Mirin slumped against him, sighing. She returned the hug and offered him a little smile. “Thanks, Tokka."

“Hey, Drinksy." Tamriss glanced over her shoulder as the guards dragged her back towards the rest of the dragon's tributes. “Told you we'd get a chance to finish it later."

“Oooh, yes." Arcaydior rumbled wicked draconic laughter, like stones rolling down a hill. “This is going to be fun."

*****

Chapter Three

The Stumbling Drunkard, and The Gryphon Ride

*****

Mirin walked her fifth circuit around the inside of The Stumbling Drunkard in a row. She spent the night before enjoying the company of beloved friends, but far too soon, it was time for her to go. Now, no matter how she convinced herself that each lap she walked around her tavern would be the last, every time she met Tokka by the front doors, she wanted to take one more look. Mirin told herself it was to ensure everything was in order, but in her heart, she knew better.

“Gonna miss it, huh boss?" Tokka gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze when she reached him again. It seemed Tokka knew better, too. “S'only six months…"

Mirin pursed her lips and glanced away. “That's what I keep telling myself. But it already feels like six years, and I haven't even set foot in what I can only imagine to be the filthiest place in all The Mire."

Tokka tilted his head, one ear perked. “The Eel's latrine?"

Mirin laughed and patted the gnoll's hand, thankful for his support. “Now, now, Tokka. It's not nice to badmouth the competition when they're not around." She pulled away to walk around the place once more, smirking over her shoulder. “After all, what's the point if they're not around to hear you disparage them?"

The gnoll was right, though. Mirin was going to miss The Drunkard dreadfully. It had been her office, her escape, and her home for at least a decade now. In the first few years she owned it, Mirin poured nearly all her savings into having it rebuilt. Since then, she spent more time in the tavern then outside it. Yet rather than grow weary of her surroundings, Mirin only grew fonder of her beloved bar.

Before Mirin bought it, it was called The Swillhouse. Mirin could not think of many more appropriate names, and those she could think of would not have been good for business. After all, who would want to have a drink at a place known as the Festering Disease? Back then, it was little more than a collection of rotting boards, and ragged, rusting walls torn from long-forgotten vehicles. It held no more than a dozen people, and when the waters around town rose with the changing seasons, it inevitably flooded.

But behind the ugliness, Mirin saw potential. At the time, she'd been looking for a place to invest in. But when the Swillhouse went up for sale, she couldn't resist. The small price she paid meant she could spent the rest of her money purchasing more land around it to have something built from the ground up.

Now, The Stumbling Drunkard was one of the finest taverns in the lower districts. Where the Swillhouse sat on the docks at the water's edge, The Drunkard itself sat on higher, drier ground. A walkway led to a covered outdoor patio above the waters where the original tavern once sat. Study stilts anchored into the bottom with black alder pilings kept the patio above flood level.

Inside, the tavern's main room was oval shaped, with walls a bright red that Mirin had redone yearly just to keep it looking cheery. All the decorative touches were in silver and gold, from ornamental silver spirals hanging around the hearth, to golden lotus flower designs patterned across the walls. The strongest of the support beams were oak, hewn from a grove in the mountains. Polished black alder with attractively mottled knots made up the counter countertop and the ornate display cases on the walls. It was a softer wood, but common in the Mire, and notoriously resilient to water and humidity.

The Drunkard's furniture consisted of tables in alternating patterns of circles and squares. The tables nearest the front door were round, the next row of tables were square, and so on. Mirin just liked the way it looked. Four horizontal loungers built of thick, sturdy wood and especially padded cushions occupied one area of the room. Those were built specifically for their occasional gryphon customers.

Cozy, semi-private booths ran along one wall. Each booth was a little different than the last. Some had deep, plush seats with floral patterns. Those she took out of elegant carriages being dissembled. Her favorite booth had lush, recliner-style chairs with rich mahogany wood, and cushions the color of rich red wine. Delicate silver threading depicting flowering vines crawling across the upholstery. Those came from an unusually well-preserved sky-crawler Mirin helped salvage in her younger days. Mirin even had two wall sections complete with portholes from the same passenger cabin the recliners came from. Those walls now sectioned off a small section of the tavern for those who wanted a little extra privacy.

It was through scavenging and repurposing long-fallen sky-crawlers and other such relics that Mirin made the money she needed to have The Drunkard built in the first place. A few of Mirin's remaining trophies from her salvaging days now adorned her tavern's walls and display cases. She had coins of silver and gold, stamped with insignias long forgotten. Tomes in an unfamiliar language rested in another case, their spines stamped with the hands and book sigil of an ancient empire. A miniature pistol, small enough to conceal in a sleeve, sat in another case. Her favorite trophy, and by far her heaviest, was the fully-intact gunship cannon above her hearth. She spent more than a few coins just hiring help from Tokka's tribe to have it retrieved from the ruins of the vessel, let alone dragged back here.

Mirin sighed, and leaned against the long counter. Scuffs and scratches marred its once-polished surface. A burnished brass cylindrical bar ran along the outside of it. She stroked the cool metal, then ran her fingers back and forth over a few gouges in the counter. Each scar had its own story to tell, and Mirin imagined she probably knew half of them.

She glanced up, gazing cross the long lines of bottles and other vessels seated on shelves along the back wall. Many of them were glass, each a slightly different shape and hue than the last, all depending on the craftsman and the original materials. Others were hammered copper. Beneath them, dozens of casks of ale and wine awaited the evening's customers. Countless mugs, cups, and drinking vessels for people of all sorts were stored beneath the counter. Swinging doors led to the kitchen, where Mirin employed a team of cooks to prepare enough food to feed a full house, every night.

“Can't stay here all day, boss." Tokka shifted his weight when she glanced his way. He offered her a smile, his black-speckled ears perked. “Don't worry. We'll take good care of the place."

“I know you will, Tokka." Mirin forced herself to walk back to her friend. They'd already discussed his temporary promotion. She was putting him in charge of the whole bar for the next six months, and gave him leave to hire a few extra bouncers to take over that duty in his stead. She put her hand on his shoulder. “You're gonna do a wonderful job."

Tokka beamed at her, flashing yellowed fangs. “Thanks!"

“Now. A few ground rules, just in case." Mirin glanced back towards the kitchen, her black hair swishing. “You can eat on the house, as per usual. And when the bar's not open, you're welcome to cook for yourself in the kitchen. But clean up before the staff arrives."

“Okay." Tokka nodded.

“And no drinking during business hours. I'm thankful you and Kalrith managed to avoid smashing up the place last night." Mirin poked the gnoll's powerful chest. “But we both know you tend to break things when you're drunk."

“Yeah, boss." Tokka smiled, idly scratching himself.

“So if you do drink, do it after you close for the night. And preferably, in your own quarters. That way if you do break anything…" Mirin trailed off, glancing down. “Tokka, are you scratching your balls right now?"

The gnoll nodded. “I had an itch."

“Yes, I noticed." Mirin chuckled, shaking her head. “Don't do that in public, either."

Tokka cocked his head, one ear splayed. “What about when they itch?"

“If you absolutely must while the bar's open, at least go in the backroom first."

“Got it, boss." 

Mirin stared at the gnoll for a few moments when he resumed scratching himself. When he just stared back at her, Mirin nudged him. “Tokka…"

“Yeah?"

“You're still doing it."

The gnoll tilted his head in the other direction, perking his other ear. “Bar's not open yet, boss."

“So, it isn't." Mirin laughed again. “I'd hug you, you fuzzy lug, but I'm starting to fear you have fleas. So, I'll just-"

“Aww, I'm gonna miss you boss!" Tokka snatched her up in a hug, squeezing tight.

Mirin wheezed, the toes of her boots tapping against the gnoll's shins. “Can't…breathe! Too…tight!"

Tokka set her down, dialing back his hug from rib-crushing to firm. “That's for sayin' I have fleas."

“Suppose I had that coming." Mirin returned the gnoll's hug, her arms tight around him. “I'm going to miss you too, Tokka." She eased back when their embrace finished, and stroked the gnoll's ears gently with both hands. “I'd invite you to visit me up there, but you have a tavern to run. Besides, I suspect if you set foot in the dragon's lair, you really would end up with fleas." She stepped back, and spread her arms as if presenting herself. “How do I look?"

Tokka looked her up and down. Mirin had put on a well-worn pair of leather breeches with silver stitching up the sides, and a few holes patched up with mismatched colors. She also wore a golden blouse, with half-length sleeves. It was an old shirt, but one of her favorites. She'd tied her black hair behind her head in a long pony tail in anticipation of the upcoming flight.

The gnoll scrunched his muzzle. “Ain't that the same shirt you wore yesterday?"

Mirin folded her arms, glaring at him. “No. Well, yes, but I washed it. I'll be damned if I'm wearing anything nicer to go work for a stupid dragon. And I'm sure as hell not buying anything nicer for it. My whole goal for the next six months is to keep my head down, interact with him and the thief as little as possible, and just do whatever mindless chores he sets forth."

“What if he wants you to do…yanno…maiden things."

“Then he'd better think again. Because I'm not going to-"

“Yanno. Naughty things. Cause, I think when he asks for maidens, he wants-"

“Yes, Tokka, I understood the-"

“I mean, what if he wants you to…you know." The gnoll raised his hands as if to illustrate.

As soon as Tokka lifted his hands, Mirin grasped them and pushed them back down. “Whatever crude gestures you're about to make, you can keep them. I know what you mean. But if he expects me to do any 'maiden things' as you put it, I'll be…" Mirin waved her hand. “I'll be maiden him aware that…no, that doesn't work." She furrowed her brows. “Thought I had a good pun there. Let's just say he'd best not be expecting me to do any sort of…" Mirin scrunched her face. “Satisfying."

“Or you'll maiden him sorry?" Tokka grinned so wide it showed off each and every one of his sharp canine-like teeth. His bushy tail wagged a few times. “Pretty good, right boss?"

Mirin patted his chest, giggling. “Pretty good, Tokka. Alright, I'd better go. Don't want to keep your bluebird waiting any longer."

“Yeah. I already took your things out to Kalrith." Tokka opened the door for her, and held it as Mirin passed through. “Got you some flight goggles, too."

“Thanks, Tokka."

Mirin followed the gnoll outside. It was a beautiful late morning, with a sapphire sky stretching endlessly across The Mire, and only a few small clouds marring it. The air was thicker than the day before, with the smell of water and mud stronger in the wind. But the temperature was cool enough that even the humidity was not unpleasant. Mirin suspected autumn's growing chill and fiery hues were not far away.

At least being higher in the mountains with the dragon meant she'd get to see a greater rainbow of autumn fire. It also meant she'd probably see a lot more snow. Hope's Folly was at the northern end of The Mire, and abutted the mountains closely enough that they saw occasional snowfall every winter, though it rarely lingered. But just a short distance into higher elevations, the snow fell heavier and lasted longer. Mirin grimaced. She loved the snow, but with her luck she'd get stuck shoveling out the entryway to the dragon's lair after every snowfall.

Kalrith lay in the sunshine on the wide, flagstone plaza just in front of The Stumbling Drunkard. The gryphon was stripped out of the armor, tabard, and sash he wore the day before. His indigo wings were stretched out in the sun, their black barring on full display. Mirin's pack, laden with clothes and other supplies, rested near him. When Kalrith spotted her, he pushed himself up onto all fours, folding his wings against his body. The gryphon shook himself, fluffing up fur and feather alike.

“Heya, Mirin." Kalrith dipped his head in greeting, then looked her over and chirruped. “Ain't that the same shirt you had on yesterday?"

“Told ya, boss."

Mirin glared at the gnoll. “And I told you I washed it!"

Kalrith cleared his throat, looking away. “Sore spot, I see." After a moment, he gestured at Mirin's pack. “If it's alright with you, I'm just gonna carry that."

“That'd be fine." Mirin approached him and stroked his shoulder. “No sense strapping you with things for a flight this short."

“Speaking of." The gryphon clacked his beak, and glanced back at her. “You sure you don't want a saddle? We could find one. I don't mind."

“Saddles are for amateurs." Mirin laughed, then shrugged. “Same answer as before, actually. No sense squashing down all that carefully preened plumage when you'll only be stuck with me for fifteen minutes or so." She turned towards the gnoll. “You said you had flight goggles, though?"

“Uh huh." Tokka pulled open the top of Mirin's pack, and retrieved a set of bronze googles with leather straps. “Just like the ones you used to wear when you raided with Kalrith, right?"

Mirin took the goggles, and pulled them down over her eyes. She buckled the strap behind her head. The lenses were a bit scratched, and dark bronze hemmed in her vision, but at least the winds of flight wouldn't mess with her eyes. “We never raided, Tokka. We salvaged."

Kalrith warbled, tossing his head. “We might have raided a time or two."

“Stealing from bandits who already stole it from someone else doesn't count as raiding." Mirin fiddled with the goggles till they were as comfortable as she could manage.

“Gnolls like raidin'!" Tokka wagged his tail, then walked to Kalrith's side. “Need a boost?"

“Please." Mirin put a hand on the gnoll's shoulder, and with his help quickly scaled the gryphon's side. She settled herself above his shoulders, her legs hanging down around the base of his neck. “How's this?"

“Not great." Kalrith glanced back at her, his ears splayed. “But for a short flight, it'll do. Ready?"

“Not in the least. But I'm not going to be ready at any point, either." Mirin leaned forward to wrap her arms around the gryphon's neck when he turned towards her pack. Muscles rippled beneath her. His feathers were downy-soft, and he was exceedingly warm. Though it had been some time since last she'd ridden Kalrith or any other gryphon, the softness and the warmth remained familiar. She stroked his feathers, and then gave the gnoll a smile. “See you in six months!"

Tokka waved. “Yup! Don't worry, the bar will still be here when you get back."

Mirin grimaced. “That doesn't actually instill me with confidaaaaaahh!"

No sooner had Kalrith clutched her pack in his paws then he launched himself into the air in a single, smooth motion. The unexpected climb flattened Mirin against the gryphon's back, and left her stomach puddling in her boots. She pressed against Kalrith's neck, holding tight. Quick, strong beats of his vast wings carried him towards the sky. Muscles rolled beneath her, smooth and steady. The gryphon warbled loud, musical laughter as he banked into a lazy, ascending spiral.

“That wasn't funny, you feathered ass!" Mirin slapped the back of his neck.

“Sure, it was!" Kalrith tipped his head down, calling back to the gnoll who waved at them from the ground below. “Back soon, love!" Then he lifted his head, glancing sideways back at Mirin, his ears splayed in gryphon smugness. “C'mon, if you startled me that way you'd be laughing too!"

“Of course, I would!" Once Kalrith leveled off, Mirin relaxed, leaning back against him. “That's hardly the point, though. Anyway, thank you for offering to fly me!"

“No problem, Mir!" The gryphon turned his gaze towards their destination. “I wish it wasn't necessarily, though. You sure you don't want to let me try and talk Arcaydior into letting you off the hook?"

Mirin shook her head. The chilly wind billowing against her flattened her clothes against body. Probably should have worn a jacket or a cloak, she thought. Her black pony tail rippled behind her head. She learned ages ago to tie her hair back before going aloft. Otherwise, by the end of the trip it had knotted itself into a nearly unsolvable puzzle of tangles.

“You'd better not. If the dragon's half as petty as he seems, he might decide to take his anger out on you, instead. Who knows which Warden's crony he might try and seek out to put your job in jeopardy."

“Still." Kalrith huffed, ruffling up his white-tipped crown feathers. “I'm sorry you got stuck with this! Arcaydior's kind of an asshole."

“Yes, I noticed!" Mirin leaned forward, stroking his neck. “I don't suppose you've got the ear of anyone high up enough to complain to about all this extortion business, do you?"

“Nah, not really. Maybe if I make flight captain." He glanced back, his silvery eyes narrowed. “Though…while it's just you and me, I think the Warden lets the dragons demand whatever they want, as long as they keep roads around their cities safe. That way, he doesn't have to pay as many men to patrol, and he gets to tax whatever the dragons take from you. The more you pay them, the bigger his cut. Plus…should any city-state ever try and declare true independence, this keeps the dragons on his side. If they know the Warden's letting them do whatever the hell they feel like, why would they ever turn against him?"

“Son of a…" Mirin trailed off before she even finished her angry exclamation. “Actually…I wish I was more surprised. I always figured the Warden had something like that going on. And that damn lizard clearly knows he can get away all the extortion he wants!"

“Arcaydior's not that bad." Kalrith glanced back at her, grinding his beak. “Trust me, there's worse dragons out there than him. I've met a few of them. General Sunbird sends gryphons out to supervise these payments." He ground his beak, growling.

“I'm sure there are." Mirin fumed, chewing her lip, deciding to change the subject. “So, General Sunbird? You said she's the leader of the Gryphon Legion, right?"

“Essentially, yes!" Kalrith clicked his beak. “She's basically the Warden's second in command, and she runs the Legion, for him. I've only met her briefly, but she was equal parts impressive, and terrifying. I'm just trying to stay on her good side. Saw some fool gryphon challenge her to a fight, and she broke the poor bastard's wings without so much as ruffling her own damn feathers."

Mirin grimaced, smoothing down Kalrith's crown feathers. “Lovely girl."

“Yeah. And on that note, you didn't hear anything about Sunbird, or the Warden, or Arcaydior from me." He warbled laughter. “I'm probably not supposed to be telling you any of this."

“Don't worry! If I ever tell anyone else, I'll just say I heard from the dragon. I do appreciate you sharing all that though."

“Sure thing!" Kalrith warbled, banking in a slow, wide turn. “We'll be there soon. May as well enjoy the view while you can!"

“Suppose so."

Once the gryphon's flight evened out, Mirin gazed across the great marsh. In several directions, lines of roads, boardwalks, and bridges stretched almost as far as she could see. Hope's Folly was among the northern most towns within the Mire. From the gryphon's back, Mirin could nearly make out the outlines of the nearest major city-state, Penance. Smoke smudged the horizon, drifting above the smaller villages that dotted the marshy land.

Mirin turned and peered in another direction. The cliffs and spires of the great, granite and limestone mountains stretched in two directions, cradling the swamps and forests below them. The land known as The Mire was akin to the soggy bottom of a great crater. Immense mountain ranges surrounded it on all sides. A single pass cut through them on the Mire's eastern border, connecting to a trade road known colloquially as The Bridge.

According to the maps Mirin once studied, the name came from the fact that an ocean surrounded The Mire beyond the mountains, with only a narrow land-bridge connecting her homeland to the rest of the continent. The fortress that once protected entry to The Bridge was now under the Warden's jurisdiction, to better control the flow of trade.

Mirin twisted to stare southward. Somewhere, far behind the horizon, there was a great lake in the center of The Mire, where the waters were deep and vast. The Warden lived there, within the city-state of Redemption. The city had two halves, with part of it on the lakeshore, and the rest spread across a great, rocky island. Along with the Warden, that was also where most of his gryphon legion was stationed. Mirin had been there, but not for years.

“Do they still have all the colorful boats?" Mirin leaned forward. “In Redemption, I mean. The last time I was there, I remember this immense rainbow-like floatilla. There were fishing boats, pleasure boats, military craft…and so many of them were beautiful! As if every boat owner was competing to have the most memorable craft. Some of them had sails painted like sunsets, or fields of stars, or great beasts. Others had bright red or gorgeous green hulls. Made for a lovely site, at sunset."

“They do!" Kalrith banked again, glancing back at her. “Tell you what. When you're done with your service to Stink-Scales, I'll take some time off, take you and Tokka out to the capital. Give you a tour!"

“That sounds lovely!"

“Good, then it's settled! Now, I'm going to swoop in and land, so hold on."

Mirin did just that. She pressed herself to the back of the gryphon's warm, feathery neck, encircling her arms around him. She held him tight, but not so tight as to choke him. Kalrith descended back towards the ground, his wings stretched and flared, feathers catching the air. Soon green needles and papery, white-barked trunks flashed by. Up this high, the willows and alders of the lower, wetter elevations gave way to pines and aspens. Many of the aspens were already taking on their bright golden-yellow autumn hues. The gryphon touched down on his hind paws first, and the landing jarred Mirin a little. He deposited her pack to the ground just before dropping his front feet onto the earth. Kalrith trotted a few steps and came to a stop.

“Here we are." The gryphon eased himself down onto his belly to give her room to dismount. “Last chance to change your mind and let me try and talk Arcaydior into letting you go home. I go back on duty in a couple days."

“No, that's alright." Mirin swung her leg over the gryphon's shoulder, and stood alongside him. When he rose, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you for the ride, Kalrith."

“The least I could do." The gryphon returned her hug with a foreleg, patting her back. “Let me walk you up there."

“Alright." Mirin fetched her pack, and worked it over her shoulders, then gazed around as she walked alongside the gryphon.

They were just beneath the summit of a large, rocky foothill, capped by an old, but well-preserved fortress. A wagon trail ran between the copses of pines and aspens that dotted the hillside, amidst small ridges of lichen-crusted limestone. A line of purple-spotted shelf fungus clung to the side of a fallen log. Thick emerald moss slathered the ground in the shadiest places. A few unseen birds chirped and warbled, and a gentle breeze blew through, rustling leaves and needles. The air smelt earthier than back in the city, with less oppressive humidity.

“It's actually quite beautiful up here." Mirin clambered up atop a stony ridge, gazing down over the terraced hillsides beneath her. From here, she could see the entire city sprawling across hills, clifftops, and the marshy land in the distance. She shaded her eyes, trying to spot her tavern. “Can't quite see the Drunkard. Or any people."

“I think the cliffs are in the way of the Drunkard, and we're probably a bit too far away to make out individual people."

“It is a nice view, though." Mirin turned, gazing in another direction. “I don't suppose I'll get to enjoy it very often while I'm stuck up here. At least I can savor this peace and quiet, for a moment."

“Well, if it isn't Drinksy!" A grating, smug voice shattered the still air. “I wondered when you'd get your drunken ass up here."

“Or not." Mirin sighed and climbed back down off the ridge. She turned towards the fortress where Tamriss had just emerged, calling out to her. “And I here I thought you'd have gotten yourself eaten already."

“Maybe I did." Tamriss flashed her a smile as she approached. “Just not in the way-"

“First, gross. Second, shut up."

Tamriss held her arms out. “Carry your pack, for you?"

“If I say yes and you throw it down the hillside, I'm throwing you after it."

The thief folded her arms. “Offer rescinded."

Mirin ignored her, and turned towards Kalrith. “I'd better let you go, before Her Bitchy Majesty decides to lay into you, too."

“Who, Feathers?" Tamriss shrugged. “Nah, I don't even know him."

“It's been lovely to see you again, Kalrith, however short a time we've had to catch up." Mirin gave the gryphon another hug around his neck, swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat. She'd only just reunited with him after he'd been gone for months, and already they had to part. Mirin let the hug last as long as possible, ruffling his indigo feathers. “When I'm done with all this nonsense, I do want to take you up on that offer to see the capital." Mirin smiled when he circled a furry foreleg around her to squeeze her against his silken-feathered chest. “We really do need time to catch up."

“Get a room already." Tamriss laughed to herself. “Or do you like it when someone watches? I mean, I don't have anything better to do right now, so…"

Kalrith pulled his limb back, and eased away. The gryphon offered Mirin an open beaked smile, his ears perked. “Good luck living with all…" He waved his paw at the thief. “That."

“Thanks." Mirin stroked his ears, and then backed up to give him room to take off. “You'd better get back to Tokka before he gets worried."

“Wait, Muttsy and Feathers are an item? Huh." Tamriss scrunched her face. “That explains why my other attempted bribe didn't work, either."

Mirin shot her a glare over her shoulder.

“Oooh, loosen your corset, Grammy. I was just tryin' to get him to take it out so I could threaten it with a knife."

Kalrith gave a low, rumbling growl, clawtips unsheathing against mossy ground. “How mad do you think Arcaydior would be if I hurled her off the mountain?"

 Mirin gave Tamriss a long look as if appraising her value. “Not very. But then he'd probably make the city send some other poor girl."

Tamriss took a few steps back, her eyes on the gryphon. “Don't get your balls in a twist, Feathers. I wasn't really gonna hurt your gnoll."

Mirin returned her attention to Kalrith, reaching out to rub his downy throat, just below his beak. He soon thrummed a soft purr, eyes closing for a moment. “There, there. Now, go spend time with Tokka while you have the chance. I can take care of myself here just fine."

“Very well." Kalrith stretched his neck to nuzzle at Mirin. His feathers tickled her face and she playfully shoved his beak away. “I'll take some time off in six months, to come make sure everything went well. And when I return…" He fixed his silver glare on Tamriss. “If I hear that you've caused Mirin any trouble, I'm gonna--"

“Yeah, yeah, throw me down the mountain." Tamriss waved at him a few times as if to chase him off. “Shoo, Pidgeon."

Kalrith growled again, but launched himself into the air. The downdrafts from his wings swirled dead leaves around Mirin. She shaded her eyes to watch Kalrith ascend, waving a goodbye when he glanced down at her. No sooner had she lowered her hand than Tamriss walked right up to her, cracking her knuckles.

“So." The other woman rolled her shoulders. “You wanna fight now, or later?"

Mirin gave an exaggerated groan. “I just got here, thief. Can't you wait to get your ass kicked till later?"

Tamriss shrugged, lowering her hands. “Suppose. If I gotta. You ain't gonna headbutt me when I'm not ready, are ya?"

Mirin smiled and a put a hand on the woman's shoulder. “No, I'll make sure you're ready before I headbutt you." Tamriss was tense under Mirin's touch, her hands balled up into fists. Mirin tightened up as well, half-expecting the other woman to take a swing at her while she still had her pack on. She waited, ready to react. When no blow came, Mirin took a deep breath, and let it out slow. “Tell you what. If you really want to fight, we'll do it when we're both ready and prepared. I won't headbutt you by surprise if you don't sucker punch me. Fair?"

Tamriss grunted, then stepped back, out of range. “Fair. Assuming I can trust you."

“Says the actual thief."

“Nah, you can trust me on this." Tamriss wagged a finger at her. “You can't trust me around your valuables, but when it comes to fights and stuff, I'm as honorable as they come." A lopsided smirk stretched across her lips. “Well, until the actual fight. Then I'll fight dirty as hell." She held both hands up. “But if I say I'll wait till you're ready, you can trust me on that."

“I'm starting to feel if that's true, it's the only thing I can trust you on."

With a hint of the tension ebbing away, Mirin took a moment to look Tamriss over. All the dirt from the day before was gone, and her dark brown hair looked freshly washed and brushed, falling around her shoulders. Mirin was a little surprised it didn't look as if anyone had knocked the thief's teeth out yet. Also gone was the numbered jumpsuit she wore last time Mirin saw her. In its place was a simple, but admittedly beautiful pale blue dress with bright silver hemming the sleeves and skirt. She also wore dark brown leather shoes that not only did not match the dress, but looked as if they'd never been worn before.

“Where'd you get the clothes?"

Tamriss jerked her thumb at the entrance to the fortress behind her. “The lizard. If you ask nicely, he'll probably let you dig something nice to wear out of his collection." She reached out and rubbed the golden fabric of Mirin's blouse between thumb and finger. “Cause ain't that the same shirt you wore yesterday?"

Mirin put her face in her hand, groaning. “I washed it."

“Oh. So you just got the one shirt, huh?"

“I've got more shirts!" Mirin snapped at her, then grit her teeth and smiled. She patted Tamriss' cheek. “At least you're not filthy, anymore. And who'd have ever thought, that beneath all that dirt, they'd find this much ugly?"

“You know what?" Tamriss knocked her hand away. “Why don't you go fu-"

“Funny, I thought that's what the dragon had you here for." Mirin walked past Tamriss, bumping her with her shoulder. “Where is the Lord of All Ox Shit, anyway?"

“Inside." Tamriss gestured at the immense, wooden double doors, left open. “Playing cards with the princess. Strip poker, I think."

“Playing…" Mirin stopped, turned all the way around, and stared at Tamriss. “But he doesn't even wear…wait…wait." She held up a hand. “What princess?"

Tamriss only shrugged. “Remember how Scales said something about having another guest? Turns out she's a princess." She scratched her head. “At least, she claims to be a princess."

“But where the hell is she from? I didn't think any of the city-states had royal families anymore."

“Hell if I know. Over the Bridge, maybe?" Tamriss headed up the trail towards the fortress. “Or maybe she's a noblewoman, from one of the southern cities. That's basically like a princess, right?"

“Why the hell does he have a princess or a noblewoman?"

“I dunno. Kinda seems like they're friends."

“Friends. With her abductor." Mirin snorted, tossing her pony tail. “I think they have a name for that particular syndrome."

“Look." Tamriss put her hands on her hips, twisting her mouth up. “I only been here a day longer than you, but they seem pretty chummy, and she seems like a princess. They're in there playin' cards--"

“Yes, back up to that part. You said they were playing…strip poker? Honestly?"

“I think so. Well, strip somethin', anyway."

Mirin threw her hands up. “But he doesn't even have any clothes!"

“That's not the half of it." Tamriss rolled her eyes. “Neither of them even know how to play." 

“Ugh." Mirin rubbed her forehead. “Let me guess. The dragon is taking advantage by making up rules just to get her to undress?"

“Actually, the other way around!" Tamriss burst into laughter far too full of smug amusement for Mirin's liking. “Princess keeps winning every hand. Hell, I just came out here because I was planning to kick your ass while he's distracted. Now I probably missed the good part."

“He's a dragon." Mirin waved her hand. “He doesn't wear clothes, you can see his parts any time you want. And there's nothing good about them."

“Yeah, but it's so much more fun when he's all embarrassed about losing."

“I'll take your word for it."

Mirin followed Tamriss the rest of the way up the trail, tilting her head back to gaze up at the fortress. Most of the large, imposing stone structure remained in excellent shape. The main keep was fully intact, with battlements ringing its upper levels. Stained glass covered some of the larger windows. Embrasures and loopholes for weapons fire dotted its walls and towers in equal measure. Old cannons topped the tall towers at its corners. Some of them were aimed at the sky. They looked rusted, but that hardly dampened her enthusiasm.

“Ooh, look, cannons!" She snatched Tamriss' arm before she could stop herself, pointing with her other hand. “Do you suppose they were for dragons, or sky-crawlers, or-"

“Lemme go!" Tamriss jerked her arm away, glancing up. “I suppose they're rusted and worthless."

“Rusted, but hardly worthless. Why, the scrap alone could net you…" She trailed off when Tamriss suddenly perked up, her green eyes glinting. “Oh, nevermind." Mirin paused, and peered around. “Do you see any remnants of curtain walls, or anything? Perhaps they just used the isolated hill as natural defense. I suppose if they feared an attack from the air, extra walls wouldn't do them any good, anyway."

“Hey, Professor." Tamriss reached out and flicked Mirin's nose.

“OW!" Mirin stumbled back, grabbing her nose. “What the hell was that for?"

“For fun." Tamriss cackled, and turned away. “You can stay out here ramblin' to yourself, but I'm going inside."

Mirin took a deep breath, and heaved a long sigh, muttering to herself. “Tokka would care. Kalrith would care. Maybe I can get that scaly asshole to sell me the cannons. Bet he doesn't even know what they're worth. Probably even get him to carry them down to the city for me if I threw in a few compliments."

At the front entry, Mirin paused to examine immense, dark wooden doors set into a great stone archway more than large enough for dragons. The limestone walls were pitted, dappled with yellow and red-brown lichens. Yet the doors themselves looked relatively new, as did their hinges. Both gigantic doors were intricately carved and divided up into nine panels, with each panel depicting another scene involving dragons. Some depicted the creatures in flight, others showed them lording over crowds of humans.

A few panels depicted far more interesting scenes. One depicted two dragons curled around each other with their tails entwined, and muzzles pressed together. The scene was so tender, so gently loving, it almost set her back. The next image did just that. It showed the same two dragons, now curled around a sleeping hatchling. On the other door, Mirin again saw the two dragons. Another panel depicted them in battle against several large, bloated-looking vessels in the sky, bristling with cannons and other weaponry.

In the next scene, one of the same dragons lay on the ground, wounded, cradled by the other. Before she could stop herself, Mirin reached out to trace fingers across the images engraved in the wood. She'd never seen dragons depicted that way, before. Not courageously, not tenderly, not terrified for their loved ones. It made her wonder if those two were heroes in dragon folktales, or…She bit her lip, glancing back at the engraving with the parents cuddling their child.

Or were they…

“Will you get in here already?" Tamriss appeared from between the wooden doors, snatching Mirin's wrist to yank her inside. “You can fondle the doors later. Come on, or he's going to get impatient!"

Mirin stumbled after her, deciding against resisting. Crudely as Tamriss put it, she was right. Mirin was stuck here for six months, so she'd have plenty of time to examine every fascinating detail later. Perhaps, if there was ever a time when she didn't feel like bashing in Lord Ox Shit's skull with the nearest blunt object, she could even ask him about the dragons on his doors.

It was brighter inside the fort's front room than Mirin expected, even before her eyes adjusted. Early afternoon sunlight poured through stained glass windows, painting the room in shades of red, green and gold. Numerous lamps in bronze sconces glowed all around the room. Others hung from chains affixed to the ceiling. They were all liquid-fueled, as far as she could see. Mirin imagined if the place ever had gas lamps, the stocks had long since run out. In other places, an assortment of candles flickered, with colorful wax running over shelves and stacks of books in long rivulets.

“That looks safe," Mirin said, glancing at the thief.

Tamriss shrugged. “At least if something catches on fire, we can just run outside. So, lemme act like I know what I'm doing, and give you the tour." She waved her hand at the room. “This is where we stay. There's some beds at the far end. There's three main rooms on this level. This one's ours, Scales has another for himself, and the third's where he keeps most of his treasure. The original shitter's out that way…" She pointed towards a doorway. “But there's another room with a huge tub sort built into the ground, around an old hot spring. That's where Scales goes." Tamriss blinked, then snickered. “To bathe, I mean. Not to shit."

“Thank the gods for that." Mirin set her pack down. “So where are the others?"

“His room." Tamriss took a few steps away from Mirin, then pointed to another, larger arched doorway. “Through there."

Mirin nodded, and followed for few moments before she paused to look around again. “I can't tell if this place was built to house something as big as a dragon, or just modified later."

“Scales says both. That whoever built the fort ages back, musta had a dragon or three on their side. And he's had it remodeled to better suit his fat ass."

Mirin laughed. “Now that's an insult we can agree on."

“Speaking of, I'mma go tell him you're here and see if he's managed to get Her Majesty out of her dress, yet."

Mirin waved her off. “I'll follow you shortly. First, if it's alright with you, I'd like to have a peek around on my own."

The thief shrugged. “Knock yourself out, Professor."

*****

Chapter Four

The Princess, and the Hoard

*****

Mirin wandered around the fort's front room. The place was a mess, with clothes, cushions, blankets, pillows, and more littered everywhere. Furniture was scattered around the room. There were wooden chairs, padded recliners, and long, plush looking couches. An assortment of crates, chests, and dressers were stacked all along one long wall. Some were shut tightly, others toppled over onto the floor. Yet more clothes spilled from fallen containers, with bolts of silk and other exotic materials visible elsewhere. Books were piled in corners, and filled a few sagging old shelves.

Incense smoke rose from at least a half-dozen copper censers, carved with intricate but abstract designs. Mirin sniffed the air. The spicy, cinnamon and clove scent of one batch of incense mingled well with the herbal, medicinal aroma of another. Together, they did an excellent job of covering up the smell of old must and old dragon. Granted, she didn't know how old or how cleanly Arcaydior was. But she'd always imagined a dragon's lair to have a particularly foul sort of reptilian odor, and was quite pleasantly surprised to find this place lacked it.

Mirin tilted her head back and studied the ceiling. Elegant, ornamental stone arches spanned it. Mirin spotted a number of heavy duty hooks affixed to the walls. There were also large, sturdy pullies still intact, complete with heavy duty rope. A few more had gears and chains, with little sign of the rust usually common to such things when disused.

“Interesting."

A cursory inspection proved the various pullies and gears still worked fine. Mirin imagined they were originally installed to help offload cargo from wagons. When the dragon had the place remodeled, the workers he hired probably replaced all the pullies and things to help with their own goods. Hired. Right. Mirin shook her head, muttering to herself.

“Probably told them to do the job or he'd burn down their houses, and make their wives his new maidens."

The wagon trail outside indicated that the equipment still came in handy. Even the casks of wine and ale he made Mirin send him were shipped up via cargo hauler. Those very casks were now arranged neatly along one side of the room, beneath some of the pulleys and chains.

Towards the back of the room, Mirin found the beds Tamriss mentioned. To her dismay, there were only two of them. Both were about the same size, with well-worn but comfortable looking mattresses. The nearest had a single pillow atop layers of neatly made blue covers. Patches of fluffy white resembled clouds strewn above the sky. More pillows were arranged on the floor alongside it. A cluster of pillows covered the second bed, along with rumpled, messy purple blankets.

“That's the gotta be the thief's." Mirin walked back to the front of the room to fetch her pack. She dropped it on the bed with the messy blankets. “Was the thief's. Now it's mine."

Mirin dusted off her hands, and then made her way to follow Tamriss through the large, arched doorway. There was no actual door there, just an immense set of thick, maroon curtains with golden edging. Mirin pushed them aside and walked into what must have served as Arcaydior's bedroom. The great scaly lump himself lay on his side, within. He faced away from her, giving her an excellent view of the mottled black and gray patterns across his otherwise emerald back and wings. Near him sat an entire mountain of colorful bedding. It was the largest pile of cushions, blankets, animal furs, and pillows she'd ever seen. Tamriss leaned up against a wall, watching the dragon and an unfamiliar woman with messy red curls and a frilly golden dress play some kind of card game.

While the dragon's attention was elsewhere, Mirin gazed around the dragon's sleeping chamber. A motley assortment of oversized books was strewn about the floor near the dragon's bed. More copper censers hung from brass chains around the room. These were more elaborate. One was designed to look like a dragon's paws holding the smoldering incense. Another was sculpted in the shape of a dragon's head, with smoke rising from its open maw.

Durable shelves affixed to the walls held all manner of trophies and trinkets. There were animal skulls alongside glittering jewels. Antique paintings sat next to a collection of pitted iron spheres, stained an eerie red-brown. On another shelf, Mirin saw a battered silver cylinder, charred at one end. Her heart jumped. If that was part of an original arc caster, it could be worth a fortune.

“Hah! I win again!" An unfamiliar voice drew Mirin's attention. “Oh, this is so much fun! Why didn't anyone teach me to play 'strip poke it' before?"

Mirin begrudgingly tore herself away from the idea of examining each and every trophy the dragon had in order to pay attention to their conversation.

“It's poker, actually." Tamriss leaned forward, gesturing at the cards. “And usually, the stripping part--"

“You do not win!" Arcaydior thumped his webbed tail spines against the floor. They scratched at the stone.

“I do so!" The redheaded woman slapped her cards. “See?"

“Yes!" Arcaydior stretched his neck, staring at them. “I do see! And you can see that I have dealt the exact same hand you dealt last time. Which you won with. Therefore, I win!"

“No, no, no." The woman in the gold dress shook her head. “See, that hand beat what you had, but it doesn't beat what I have now."

Arcaydior made a low, rumbling noise, like coarse stones rattling together. He extended a forepaw towards her cards, black claws slipping out of lightly webbed digits. “Why not?"

“Well, uh…see, I've got three of these!"

“Those are two's." The dragon tapped claw tips against his own cards. “This regal monarch and his mate clearly defeat your pitiful army of small numbers."

“Yes, well." The woman leaned forward, examining her options. “I've also got…this airship card, and this jester. And when the jester captains the airship…" She picked up one card and set it atop another. “That allows me to play this one!" She slapped down a third card, beaming. “Which clearly states I've won."

Tamriss snorted. “That's the 'Rules' card."

“Exactly!" The woman clapped her hands, giggling. “Which means, I rule this hand!"

“Let me see that card!" The dragon reached for it, only for the red-headed woman to slap his paw away.

“No! Don't be a sore loser. Again." She swept all the cards aside before the dragon had a chance to further challenge her victory.

“I'm not! I just want to be sure-"

“That sounds like sore loser talk, to me. If you're too embarrassed to go any further, I understand." The woman glanced at her nails, which Mirin noticed for the first time were painted a bright blue. “Wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable, but it was your idea to play."

“No, no." Arcaydior shook his head. “Fair's fair. Though…" He lifted his head, gazing along his own body. “I'm not really sure how much more naked I could be."

Tamriss waved at the dragon's hind end. “Next time, you oughta drape some sheets over yourself or something to start with."

“Wise idea, thief, but it does little to remedy our current situation."

Mirin put her face in her hands. Gods, she thought, six months trapped with an entire gallery of The Mire's biggest assholes.

“Tell you what." The dragon licked his muzzle, shifting his position. “I could just cock my hind leg up in the air?"

The redheaded woman steepled her fingers, brows knit in concentration. After a moment's consideration, she nodded. “Yes, that would do nicely."

The dragon shifted again, then rolled partway belly up. He lifted a hind leg, cocking it up and away from his body to expose whatever lay between his back legs. Not that it was any great mystery. Contrary to popular belief and scaly appearance, Mirin knew enough about dragon physiology to know they were warm blooded, rather than true reptiles. So, just like a gryphon, a quick glance was usually all it took to tell a dragon's gender. That didn't stop the redheaded girl from leaning over and tilting her head as if examining some forbidden mystery. When Tamriss leaned in to stare as well, Mirin rolled her eyes.

After a few moments, the redhead waved at his leg. “Alright, Dragon, that's enough." She giggled and glanced up at Tamriss. “More impressive than a man, don't you think?"

“He's ten times our size to begin with, I'd hope he's more impressive."

“True enough." The woman tapped her chin as Arcaydior settled his leg back down. “Still, how big do you suppose his--"

“Give me that rules card!" Arcaydior rolled to his belly, digging through the pile of cards. “I've got to learn how to play this damn game, so I can win next time."

Tamriss only laughed, nudging the other woman. “Hell, as friendly as you two seem, I'm surprised you don't already know." She smirked, and made a show of looking her up and down. “Or maybe you do know, and you're just feigning this whole, innocent princess act."

The redheaded woman gave her a blank look. “Whatever do you mean?"

Tamriss snorted. “Never mind."

“Ahem." Mirin finally cleared her throat as loudly as she could.

“Yes, Drinksy, we see you." Tamriss stared at her. “You cranky you didn't get a peek too? Or maybe you wanna play the next round?"

“We aren't playing anymore until I learn why I keep losing." Arcaydior shifted through the cards, hissing. “Where did that rules card go?"

“It was there a moment ago." The princess flicked something out of sight towards Tamriss, who deftly snatched it and tucked it away in a hidden pocket within her dress. “Did you try looking over there?" She pointed towards his bedding.

“Why would it be…" The dragon lifted his head. “Wait, is that Bar Wench I heard?" He pushed himself up, turning around. “About time you got here, Bar Wench."

“Hello!" The princess jumped to her feet, dusted off her frilly dress, and gave Mirin an exuberant wave.

“Drinksy, Princess." Tamriss gestured back and forth between them. “Princess, Drinksy."

“Princess Drinksy?" The princess gasped, bouncing on her feet. “How exciting, I'm a princess too! My name's Esmir."

“No, I'm definitely not a princess. And the name's Mirin, actually."

Tamriss smiled at her. “Mirin Drinksy, owner of the shittiest tavern in all of Shitsville."

“Oh, I see." Esmir stretched her hand past Tamriss before Mirin could slap the thief. “Well it's still lovely to meet you, Mirin Drinksy. Shame about your hometown, though. However did it acquire a name like that?"

“It…what?" For a moment, Mirin was so baffled she almost forgot to accept Esmir's hand. Finally, she took it, shook it politely, and then scrunched her face. “Are you…joking?"

Esmir only tilted her head. “About what, Mirin Drinksy?"

“Okay." Mirin held her hands up. “First, it's just Mirin. Second-"

“Well, Bar Wench." Arcaydior pushed his way in between the women. “As I'm assuming you've had a look around already, what do you think?"

 “I think it doesn't smell half as horrible in here as I'd imagined, and for that I'm quite grateful."

Tamriss made her way around the dragon. “I'll second that."

Arcaydior snorted, lashing his tail. It struck a purple and gold pillow, and sent it careening off a wall. “Why does everyone think it's going to smell foul in here?"

“What an excellent question." Mirin folded her arms. “Because surely, it can't have anything to do with you."

“Watch it, Bar Wench." Arcaydior snapped his jaws, then glanced at Tamriss. “Did you give her the tour, as I requested?"

“Sure did, Scales."

“And what a tour it was!" Mirin rolled her eyes, folding her arms. “Why, she must have pointed her finger at least three different directions before she wandered off to come eyeball your bits."

“Can't blame her there." Arcaydior snorted, shaking himself. His scales rustled. “Very well, I shall show you around." He waved a paw towards the curtains separating his room from the entry chamber. “You've seen out there, that's where you'll sleep unless you prefer to sleep in here, with me."

“You'd have to pay me to--"

“Something tells me it wouldn't be the first time." Tamriss laughed and shook her head.

Mirin glared at her. “You know, she's got the rules card in her dress."

“Does she?" Arcaydior glanced back at Tamriss, narrowing his eyes. “I don't like being cheated by thieves."

“Oh, Drinksy's just trying to get me in trouble." Tamriss waved him off. “Get back to your tour, already."

Esmir ducked under the dragon's neck and came to stand near Mirin. “Dragon, when you say, cheated by thieves, do you mean, you're alright being cheated by others?" She rubbed his scaly shoulder.

Arcaydior swung his head around to smile at the girl. “Are you saying you cheated, my dear?"

“How could I cheat?" The princess shrugged, giving him a blank stare. “I barely even know the rules."

“Perhaps so." The dragon rumbled what sounded suspiciously close to a laugh, then strode towards a second archway, leading deeper into the fortress. “So. There's a doorway up here, on the left, that leads to the old kitchen. You may cook food for yourself. The kitchen also connects to a corridor attached to your chambers. I'll show you how to get to my bathing chambers. You may use my tub, if you wish, or collect water from the hot spring and bathe elsewhere. There's also a well, and…oh!" The dragon licked his muzzle. “We should also talk about your tasks."

Mirin followed the beast down the hallway, pausing when he turned to glance back at her. “Such as?"

“Well, first…" The dragon lifted a forepaw, circling it in the air. “I shall have you polish my spear."

Mirin nearly choked on her tongue. She coughed, swallowed, and wheezed out her words. “You want me to…to what?"

“Oh, it ain't that bad, Drinksy." Tamriss smirked at the dragon. “Doesn't take near as long as you think."

Arcaydior growled at her, then swung his head back around towards Mirin. “You should take your time with it, though. It works best when you use slow, even motions. Do be careful of the tip, though. It's more delicate than you'd expect."

Mirin stared at him, her jaw dropping. “You're serious?"

“What's the matter, Drinksy?" Tamriss leered at her from an irritatingly safe distance. “You seemed perfectly okay with sending me off to that fate!"

“Oh, shut up! You were offering to let him bathe you!" Mirin snapped at the thief, then took a deep breath, glaring at the dragon. “If you really expect me to touch that, I'm gonna need a whole lot of booze, and--"

Arcaydior cocked his head. “What's so bad about having to polish a grimy old war lance?" Then he blinked, splaying his ears and his frills. “Wait, that didn't sound right."

“Bahaha!" Tamriss burst out laughing, pointing at the dragon. “That joke was on you, dumbass!"

“My ass is not dumb!" Arcaydior lashed his tail, hissing. “But yes. I seem to have spoiled the joke already."

“Joke?" Mirin's shoulders slumped, and then she let her head rest against the wall. “Oh. Oooooh. You're talking about an actual spear."

“Of course. I've all sorts of old weaponry collected."

Mirin lifted her head again, grinning. Despite embarrassment's flush warming her cheeks, she found herself laughing. “Okay, that's not bad. Usually it's me or Tokka pulling that kind of prank on someone."

Arcaydior snorted. “Normally I'd keep going until you accused me of some manner of perversion, and then I'd ask what you thought-"

“His penis!" Esmir blurted out the words, then burst into a gigglefit that would have put even Tokka to shame. She glanced back and forth between Mirin and the dragon a few times, spitting out words between bouts of laughter. “You thought…he meant…his penis!"

The dragon gave a low, weary sigh. “Yes, girl, that was the joke." While Esmir nearly doubled over laughing, the dragon glanced at back at Mirin. “Alright. So. After you polish my spear, we'll talk about the way I expect you to handle my jewels."

Mirin just stared at him. “It's only funny the first time."

Arcaydior stamped a foot. “Damn! I knew I should have quit while I was ahead." He tossed his head in frustration, only to smack it against the stone ceiling. “OW!" He stumbled, clutching at his head, just behind a horn.

Esmir laughed even harder, leaning against a wall. “Oh, gods! He banged his head! I…I can't breathe!"

Mirin just shook her head, groaning. “I cannot believe I'm going to be stuck here for six months with this cadre of assholes."

“Hey, yanno what, Drinksy?" Tamriss walked over and put an arm around Mirin's shoulders. “I think the same thing, every time I look at you. Only, when I see your face, I think of a way nastier word for you than asshole."

Mirin pried Tamriss' arm off her. “And yet right now, compared to Lord Ox Shit and Princess Gigglefit? You're starting to seem like the sane one."

“Aww, thanks, Drinksy. I think we're gonna have fun."

Mirin smiled at her, and then punched Tamriss on the shoulder as hard as she could. Tamriss yelped and stumbled away, rubbing her arm. “You know what, Thief? I think you're right."

****

Mirin wandered the dragon's hoard in a state of awe. She had expected treasure, and treasure there was. The room was enormous, and filled with more valuable and precious metal than she'd ever seen in one place. Silver plates and goblets spilled out of overturned crates. A battered chest brimmed with golden coins. Ragged pouches stuffed with more littered the ground all around the chest.

Elsewhere, ornamental alabaster boxes carved with intricate designs lay open, revealing dust-covered gemstones. Fine weaponry and decorative armor were scattered about, from gold-embossed breastplates to axes with jeweled hilts and inlaid blades. Stacks of crates were filled with copper coins of unknown mint, and all other manner of random but valuable trinkets. There were gold-handled knives and spoons fit for a banquet with the Warden himself. Mirrors set in ivory sat alongside silver tea pots carved with whimsical dancing gryphons. Boxes stuffed with silken clothes rested against old mine carts still brimming with raw ore, waiting to be refined. Piles of old copper piping begged to be sold for scrap, ready to be melted down and forged into something new.

The scavenger in Mirin saw wealth enough to keep herself and her friends living in luxury for the rest of their lives. Hell, with the treasure on display here, she could invest in fixing and improving the infrastructure of all of Hope's Folly. Despite all that, what truly interested Mirin were the many relics within the dragon's possession.

It was not long before she spotted a hull door from a sky-crawler's passenger cabin. It rested in a dusty section of the voluminous room that looked as if the dragon hadn't visited it in months. Mirin jogged over to examine the door, only to spot something cylindrical protruding from a half-opened chest. She forced the chest open, despite its grinding protest, then sucked in a breath. A long cylinder of wood and metal lay across a heap of other devices and artifacts. Mirin snatched it up, staring at with her jaw hanging open.

“Is this…" She lifted it and pressed the flattened wooden stock against her shoulder, looking down the barrel towards the wall. “Is this an old matchlock rifle?"

“Oh, gods, here we go." Tamriss heaved an exaggerated sigh. “The Professor's found something old. Maybe if you're a good girl, Scales here will let you take that home when your time is up. You can stick it up on your wall with all your other worthless junk."

Mirin whirled around, looking down the sights right at Tamriss. “I'll have you know that in the right hands, this is just as valuable as all that gold!"

 Tamriss only shrugged. “I'd still take the gold, because that's valuable to any set of hands. Also, don't point that thing at me. It's creepy."

“I doubt it still works, without proper restoration. Plus, I've no match for it. Firing it would probably blow out my shoulder, anyway." Mirin lowered it and set it next to the chest. “And luckily for you, I don't hate you quite enough to want to kill you. Yet."

“So, you know what all that is?" Arcaydior padded up behind her, nudging the old door and some crates aside to make room for himself.

“Of course!" Mirin shot the dragon a glare, then softened her tone. “Well, to an extent. I scavenged extensively for a decade or so. I love this old stuff. Never actually a seen a matchlock that well preserved, though. At least I think that's what it is. The few I've seen before were choked with silt, and rotten from swamp water." She crouched down, and carefully retrieved a small, elegant black pistol, decorated with silver dragon claws and lotus flowers. “Oooh, look at this old flintlock! I fired one like this, ages ago. Not near as gorgeous. This is worth a lot of money."

Arcaydior snorted. “I know that. Why do you think I have it?"

Mirin set the pistol down. “Listen, you greedy lizard. Do you even know what these things are? I'd wager you don't."

The dragon glared at her and gave a low snarl. He settled back onto his haunches, then ran a forepaw across his chest and underbelly. Mirin turned her head to inspect the dragon's underside. The dark green plates that protected his chest melted into smaller, finer scales further down his belly. Arcaydior circled a single digit around a fat, pale green blotch just below where plates first became scales.

“You would wager wrong."

Ice trickled down Mirin's spine when she realized that was only one of numerous gunshot scars peppering the dragon's hide. “So it seems." A little nagging pull of guilt tugged at her heart when she remembered the doors to his home. They held images of his kind battling airships. And falling before them. “I suppose even dragons aren't invincible."

“Not quite, no."

Tamriss and the princess walked over to see what the dragon was showing off. Esmir stared at the scar he indicated, then looked into the crate, then back at the scar again. Then she peered back into the chest filled with weaponry and other devices. She leaned in and hefted up the matchlock rifle, grunting. “So this is what you got shot with?"

“Not specifically that one, no."

“Oh." Esmir put the rifle back. A moment later, she popped up holding the pistol, instead. “So, it was this one?"

“It wasn't any of those." The dragon rumbled in amusement. “Though I do believe a rifle gave me this one." He tapped the largest scar, then traced his fingers over scales towards a slightly smaller blotch. “And a pistol, this one." Then he shifted to the side, lifting a wing. A large, mottled pale splotch marred the side of the dragon's body, across the thicker scales protecting his ribs. Mirin's gaze followed the scars towards his wings. A large section of the membrane connecting to his body was the wrong shade, discolored and thicker than it should have been. “Not sure what did that, exactly. Something large. I thought grapeshot, perhaps, but I was told the damage would have been far more widespread. Wasn't a direct hit. It just scraped me and went through my wing."

Mirin stood up, and reached out to touch the dragon's scarred wing. She caught herself, and glanced at him in silent request for approval first. Arcaydior nodded, and stretched his wing out over her head. Mirin brushed her fingers over the underside of his wing. The membranes were warm and smooth, almost silky to the touch. She dragged her fingers across them, and the dragon's wing twitched. The scar tissue was denser and less flexible than the rest. She touched his hide, next. The scales across the dragon's ribs were among his largest, and while slightly coarse, not unpleasant. The scarred areas were firmer, and the scales' texture harder.

She pulled her hand back, and then gave the dragon a grateful smile. “Thank you. First time I've ever touched a dragon. You're…perhaps a little more interesting a creature than I first imagined."

“Of course, I am." Arcaydior folded his wing back, then flashed her smug grin, his red-edged frills flared. “You can touch me more, if you like. Anywhere you wish."

“Or I could be wrong, and you could just be a scaly letch who keeps getting shot because he's such a pervert."

The dragon shrugged his wings. “Was only an offer."

Esmir moved in front of the dragon, thumping the silver-adorned pistol against her palm. “Does it hurt to be shot?"

Tamriss put a hand over her face. “No, I'm sure he loved it."

“Please don't play with the priceless relics." Mirin gently plucked the pistol from Esmir, and set it back down with the others. Later, she'd have to go through that crate and see what else was inside. “Especially since some of the others might be loaded."

“It hurts immensely." The dragon rubbed the largest scar on his undersize, flattening back his spines. “But not as badly as it hurts having the projectiles removed."

Mirin grit her teeth and shuddered. That sounded hideous enough she didn't think even a dragon like him should have to suffer it. “You're lucky none of them hit anything vital in there."

“I think some of them did." He tapped one further down his side. “This one might have nicked a kidney, had blood in-"

“I know what the kidneys connect too, and that mental image is already making me squeamish." Mirin held her hands up in silent plea for him to stop. “For what it's worth, even though I hate you, that sounds horrible. You're lucky you didn't bleed to death."

“Yes, I am. Which basically means, I'm lucky to be a dragon." Arcaydior rubbed the scar again, then set his forepaw down. “We're as good at healing as we are at everything else. If something doesn't kill us in a day or two, we're almost certain to survive. I did lose a lot of blood, but thankfully, they were able to get the worst of it staunched."

“They? They who?"

Arcaydior only offered her a small smile. “My allies, at the time."

Mirin had a feeling the dragon was hoping she'd push him on the topic, if only so he could act smug about being so vague and mysterious. Instead, she gestured at his wing.

“Does it hurt to fly?"

“Not anymore." Arcaydior turned his horned head, gazing back at his wing. He stretched it, inspecting the mottled scars near where the center section joined his body. “It did at first, but thankfully there was no real damage to the muscles, only the membranes. Hurt like hell when it happened. And while it healed. But that was many years ago. My body is used to the scars now."

“How old are you, anyway? You've been pushing my city around since long before I was born."

“No idea." The dragon folded his wing once more. “Perhaps a century and a half, or so. We live a lot longer than you poor creatures, but in my adulthood, I have done a poor job of keeping track of the passing seasons." He cocked his head. “How old are you?"

Tamriss smirked at Mirin. “Drinksy's gotta be pushin' seventy, right?"

Mirin glared at her. “I'm thirty-one."

“Oh." Tamriss put her hands on her hips, looking her over. “Must be all the binge drinking, then. Cause you look haggard."

Mirin narrowed her eyes. “Isn't there something useful you could do?" She paused a beat. “Like jump off a cliff?"

Esmir toyed with a lacy frill on her dress. “That doesn't sound very useful."

Mirin rolled her eyes. “It does to me. Where'd you get that dress, anyway? From the dragon's collection?"

“Mhm!" Esmir did a little pirouette, and then a curtsy. “Don't you love it? I love it."

“A few more frills than I usually like when I wear something nice, but it is pretty."

The dragon lowered his muzzle to bump Mirin with his nose. “You are welcome to wear whatever clothes you find here."

Mirin gave him a nod of appreciation. “Alright, I'll keep that in mind."

“I thought that might be helpful." Arcaydior lifted his head again. “Considering you seem to be wearing the same shirt you wore yesterday."

“That's what I told her!" Tamriss laughed and nudged Esmir with her elbow. “She's only got the one shirt."

“Oh!" Esmir's eyes widened. “How terrible!"

“I have plenty of clothes!" Mirin grunted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And I already told everyone else, I washed--"

“I had oodles of clothes back home." Esmir ticked off her fingers. “Dresses, skirts, pants, blouses, chemises…" She switched hands and ticked off her other fingers. “Socks, undergarments, corsets, underskirts, knickers…" She trailed off, staring at her hands. “I've run out of fingers."

“Run out of brain power, more like." Tamriss folded her arms. “That's fine, though, we all know what clothes are."

Esmir brightened, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Oh, I know! I'll just start over." She began ticking off fingers once again. “Vests, breeches, bodices, gowns, slippers-"

Mirin gently grasped Esmir's hands, smiling. “Yes, we get the idea, thank you."

“You're welcome!" Esmir smiled, and then skipped across the room, her golden dress swishing all around her. “Come on, let's find you something nice to wear for tomorrow."

“You go ahead." Mirin squeezed her way between the chest with the old weaponry, and a stack of dusty crates. “I think I'd like to keep looking through this stuff a while."

Mirin smiled to herself, surveying what looked to be an entire ocean of valuable and fascinating relics. Perhaps six months stuck here wouldn't be so bad, after all.

*****

Chapter Five

The Slate, and the Truce

*****

“Ugh, Drinksy." Tamriss paced back and forth, somewhere behind Mirin. “You're so boring. How much longer are you going to spend wasting your time on this old garbage when you could be doing something so much more useful?"

Mirin had already gone through a few more crates and containers, while the dragon sat on his haunches behind her, watching. It was clear now that Mirin would need to undertake an exhaustive investigation of his grand collection just to scratch the surface of what he had. A gorgeous, long-forgotten chest drew her attention. She wandered over and crouched down before it, brushing away dust and cobwebs. Dragons wreathed in flame were carved all around the ebony wood. Their claws were outstretched as if securing the latches.

“Oooh, this is lovely!" Mirin glanced back at the dragon. “What's in this one?"

Arcaydior shrugged his wings. “No idea, anymore. I don't think any of them are boobytrapped, so feel free to open it and see."

“Not exactly comforting." She tested the latches, and found them stiff and unyielding.

Tamriss stomped a boot against the floor, and the thump echoed around the great chamber. “Drinksy!"

“What?" Mirin tried to pry the latch open, but it left her fingers aching.

“Do something useful!"

“Such as? No, wait. Let me guess. Jump off a cliff?" Mirin got back up and fetched a stone chisel she spotted earlier.

“Nah, I meant useful to me, not the world at large. How about going to the kitchen, and making some dinner?" Tamriss grimaced. “I'm hungry!"

“Why would you expect me to make you dinner?" With the chisel's help, Mirin popped the first latch open.

“Because, you're the one who owns a bar. Thus, I'm assuming you know how to cook. So…" Tamriss thrust a finger back the way they'd come. “Get in there and do so."

Mirin waved the chisel at Tamriss. “Don't press me, thief. Besides, who cooked for you last night?"

“The princess. And she burnt it."

“Happens to the best of us." Mirin returned her attention to the second latch.

Tamriss grunted. “It was an apple."

Mirin paused, blinking. “She was baking apples?"

“No, she just…" Tamriss furrowed her brow. “Well, I told her to cook me something, and she served me a plate of…scorched apple slices."

Mirin glanced back, smirking. “Are you sure she wasn't just screwing with you because you were bossing her around? She seems like she's been here a while, and I rather doubt the dragon's been cooking for her. Have you, Dragon?"

Arcaydior swiveled his ears towards Mirin, then gave his head a single shake. “The princess cooks her own meals."

Tamriss rubbed the back of her neck, then turned around, calling out to where Esmir was busy diving headfirst into an immense crate of clothing. Her feet kicked in the air above the box. “Hey, Princess! Did you burn that apple on purpose?"

Esmir's muffled gigglefit answered the question all by itself.

Tamriss sighed. “Yeah, yeah, hilarious, your so-called highness." She folded her arms. “So, you gonna cook me something or not, Drinksy?"

“I'll burn you an apple later." Mirin giggled to herself, working to pry open the second latch. It proved more resistant than the first.

“Hilarious."

“Don't you know how to cook?" Mirin spared her a look.

Tamriss only shrugged. “Spent a lotta time traveling, so-"

Mirin returned to working on the second lock. “I think they call that running from the law."

“That too. Point is, most'a what I cook when I'm traveling on my own is just…yanno. Meat on a stick, something I can cook over a fire." She shrugged, and looked away. “My old partner used to do all the real cooking."

“So, get in the kitchen and find something to skewer." Mirin blinked, twisting around to stare at Tamriss. “And let me guess. Your old partner's rotting in jail, somewhere?"

“Probably." Tamriss glanced away, rubbing her arm. “We had a…falling out. Look, you gonna make me dinner or not?"

“Not." Mirin finally got the latch open. “Unless you can get Esmir to cook you something other than charred fruit, you're on your own."

“Princess?" Tamriss scowled. “She's busy chasing spelunking through clothing."

“Then I suppose you'd best find some meat, and some sticks to put it on." Mirin bent forward and pushed the chest open. “I'll cook later, but if you're that impatient, go see what's in the dragon's pantries."

“What?" The dragon snorted, shaking his head. “Dragons don't wear panties. That's stupid."

Mirin glanced over her shoulder at the dragon. “I said pantries, you deaf newt."

“Oh." Arcaydior shook himself. “Carry on then."

“Hey, Drinksy. I think Scales was too busy staring at your ass to pay attention to anything else." Tamriss' laughter echoed after her as she headed for the exit.

Mirin glared at Arcaydior over her shoulder. “Must you?"

“I was only staring because you were presenting it." Arcaydior cocked his head, then shrugged his wings. “Your haunches have a pleasing appearance."

“I was not presenting anything, you scaly pervert."

“It is a compliment." The dragon swished his tail across the ground, topping over a stack of books that tumbled across the floor. “The princess likes it when I observe her haunches."

“I find that exceeding hard to believe."

Mirin tried to ignore him as she peered into the chest. This one was filled with all sorts of odd trinkets and instruments of brass and copper, or glass and crystal. She picked up a burnished metal pocket watch. An inscription on the back included a name, a military rank, and an insignia of an aerial gunship. She set it aside, and soon noticed something far less familiar. Mirin moved a few other items out of the way, then retrieved a thin, rectangular slab. One side was glossy and black, and the other shone like polished crystal.

“What the hell's this?" Mirin turned it over in her hands. “I've never seen one of these, before."

“Bring it here." Arcaydior beckoned her over with a paw, curling his tail.

Mirin carried the strange object over to Arcaydior. The dragon held a single forepaw towards her, splayed out with his black pads on full display. Webbing spanned his digits, but only up to the first knuckle or so. Mirin also realized for the first time that just like gryphons, the dragon's front paws possessed not only retractable claws, but opposable thumbs.

She carefully set the thing down on the dragon's paw, with the shiny side up. Arcaydior splayed out his other paw, and pressed it to the crystalline side of the flat object. He held it there a moment, tilting his head back and forth, watching it closely. Mirin wondered what he was looking for. Was it going to do something?

“Might not work anymore." The dragon glanced up at her.

Light flickered beneath the dragon's paw. He made a pleased noise, half-growl, half-croon, and lifted his top paw away. An imprint of it now glowed on the crystalline slab in white light. After a moment, the whole surface flashed white. When the light faded, it was replaced with sigils and symbols, tiny images and writing in an unfamiliar language. Mirin gasped, forcing herself not to snatch it away from him.

“Is that a working data slate!?"

“Yes, I think that's what your people called them." He lifted it towards her. “You may see it. But then put it back." The dragon leveled his gaze with her. “I am well-aware it is valuable."

Mirin took it, far more reverently than before. “Gods, I never thought I'd see one. An old Salvager contact used to hunt for them, but never found one. He told me the Founders brought them from somewhere way beyond The Bridge, but also that it wasn't even their technology to begin with. I just assumed any that lingered in the Mire were all lost, or destroyed in the wars. Though, I've heard rumors that the Warden's Office still has a small collection of them, somewhere."

Arcaydior only shrugged his wings. “They do." The dragon unsheathed a single claw, gesturing with it. “Why, perhaps that's even where that one came from. I must have forgotten to turn it in. How dreadfully forgetful of me."

Mirin ran her fingers across the crystalline screen, realizing she may have vastly underestimated this dragon, and his knowledge. While she doubted even a dragon would be foolish enough to openly steal such a valuable artifact from The Warden, she had no idea what Arcaydior was doing with the device in the first place. Mirin doubted he was going to be at all forthcoming about it, either.

Unfamiliar text scrolling across the display drew her attention. Something flashed in the corner. Probably a warning about being out of whatever powered it. “How does it work? Arc casters have that charge pack, right? I think that's something the founders invented, but that's only ever been a guess." She turned it over in her hands, pursing her lips. “I don't see anywhere to connect a charge pack, though. So…maybe it has a built in power source, but then when it's out, it's out. Whatever it is, I'm amazed it's lasted so long."

The dragon stretched his wing, studying it. “I just assumed it was powered by magic."

Mirin furrowed her brow. “Be reasonable, dragon."

The dragon snorted and tossed his head, his spines flared. “Alright, Madam Science, you tell me how it works."

“Gods, I'd love to. Maybe if I took it apart…but I'd hate to ruin it…" She turned away, gazing across part of the dragon's hoard. There were countless more chests, boxes, and shelves stuffed with oddities ahead of her. Some of them looked even older. “If this really is something the Founders brought when they first built the prisons, that was ages ago. Just how old is all this stuff? There's no way you got everything in here from Hope's Folly."

Arcaydior pushed himself up to all fours, gesturing with a foreleg. “I inherited a lot of this from my parents, and they in turn inherited some of it from their parents. Given to them in tributes, or stolen from foes, or salvaged from wrecks and fallen craft. Other bits were earned for services given, or traded for." He stretched his paw towards the slate. “Let me shut it off."

“I had no idea you had so many relics." Mirin held it out to him, bracing against the weight of the dragon's front leg when he pressed his paw pads to it. “Is this thing keyed to you, somehow?"

“You could say that." Arcaydior glanced at her while the thing flashed under his paw. “But let's face. For all you know, we dragons might well have created it."

Mirin pulled it back after it shut down. “I rather doubt that."

“And why is that?"

“Because so far the only dragons I know of are lazy egotists, more interested in lounging around and watching their extorted hoards build up than they are in creating things." Mirin turned away to replace the slate in the chest. “Now, if you told me some perverted Dragon Lord from times past ordered it to be created, when he wasn't busy asking his poor maidens to pleasure him?" Mirin smirked at him over her shoulder, before she leaned forward to close the chest. “That I might believe."

Just as she straightened up, Arcaydior swatted her hard on the rump.

“OW!" Mirin jumped and yelped, grabbing herself. She whirled around to glare at him. “What the hell, lizard?"

“That's for calling me a pervert. Twice."

Mirin cringed, her rump stinging like mad. “First, I only called you a pervert, once. The other time was referencing some equally perverted ancestor. Second, slapping me on the ass only proves you're a gods-damned pervert. And third?" Quick as she could, Mirin balled up her first and punched the dragon in the softest looking area of his muzzle, right between his nostrils. “Now we're even!"

“AAH!" Arcaydior jerked his head back. He stumbled a step, then grabbed his muzzle with a paw. “That hurts!"

“Good!" Mirin took a few limping steps till the stinging eased. “Cause my ass hurts, too!"

“As if you've never said that before, Drinksy." Tamriss strolled back into the room at precisely the wrong time, chewing lumps of seared meat on a skewer. “Guess I missed all the fun!"

“Oh, shut the hell up." Mirin glared at her.

“That's not a very nice thing to say to the woman who just went to the trouble of cooking you dinner." Tamriss ate another bite of grilled meat.

“You did?"

 “Nah, not really." Tamriss wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “But if it makes you feel any better, he slapped my ass last night, too."

“No, that doesn't make me feel any better." Mirin took a few steps towards Tamriss. “Although, it might make me feel better if I got to slap you right about now."

Tamriss turned around, bent over, and waggled her butt. “If that's what you're into."

“Not where I was planning to slap you." Mirin folded her arms. “And now I kinda want to punch you, instead."

Tamriss shrugged and turned back towards the others. “Name the time, Drinksy."

“Oooh, are we having a slap-fight?" Esmir ran across the room, cradling a collection of dresses and other clothes in her arms. “I want to play too!" She shoved the clothes into Mirin's arms, then spun round and slapped Tamriss across the face hard enough to turn her head. “Hah, point for me!"

Tamriss blinked a few times, her eyes visibly watering. She worked her jaw. “Holy hell, Princess, you damn near slapped my teeth out!" She rubbed her cheek, wincing. “That was pretty good. Okay, now it's my turn. Hold still."

Esmir turned away, shaking her head. “No, that's not how you play slap fight. See, now you have to slap the dragon, then the dragon slaps Mirin, and then Mirin slaps me, and I slap you, and-"

“The next person who strikes me without permission gets tossed out a window." The dragon rumbled a low, menacing growl. “A high window."

Mirin backed away, holding the clothes up protectively. “I'm not playing either. I'd be happy to slap Tamriss around but…" She trailed off, glancing back at the dragon. “Wait, what was that bit about permission?"

The dragon stared at her, ears and frills splayed. “You're hearing things."

“No, you said--"

“Where'd you learn to slap like that, anyway?" Tamriss ate the last piece of meat off her skewer, smiling around a mouthful of food. “That was like a 'disrespect your cellmate', prison slap."

“Oh, back in the palace!" Esmir took one of the dresses from Mirin, a bright purple and red abomination, and held it up against the other woman. She scrunched her face and tossed it aside, then pulled another one from Mirin's arms. “My sisters and our handmaids used to play slap fight when we were younger. You keep going around until someone drops out, then you start over, and whoever drops out last wins."

“Wins what?" Tamriss set her skewer atop a crate.

“A great deal of bruising, from the sounds of it." Mirin peered down at the next dress the princess selected. It was shades of blue, darkest at the top around the collar, gradually lightening to an almost sky blue around the hem of the skirt. “Ooh, now that one I like."

“Me too!" Esmir tossed the rest of the clothes on the floor, then held the layered blue dress up against Mirin. “Yes, it's like something from a picture book. You could wear it to a ball, or a soiree, or a cocktail party, or a birthday celebration, or a fete, or a jubilee, or-"

“Yes, I get the idea, Esmir."

“Shall we try it on?" Esmir bounced on the balls of her feet. “Let's try it on! Take off those ratty clothes."

“What, now?" Mirin shook her head. “I'll try it on tomorrow." She glared at the dragon. “In private."

“Aww, are you shy Drinksy?" Tamriss leaned up against a shelf, slathered in old tomes. “You got a disfigured, conjoined twin hiding under there?"

“I'm not even going to dignify that--"

“Sounds like a yes to me, don't you think, Princess?"

“I don't know." Esmir looked Mirin up and down, rubbing her chin. “Wouldn't we see him poking his little hands out now and then?" She slipped around, tugging at the back of Mirin's shirt. “Or saying, let me out, it's smelly under here!"

Mirin whirled around towards the princess. “Alright, now you are asking to get slapped."

“Oh, I know!" The princess only danced out of reach, giggling and putting an arm on Tamriss' shoulder. She leaned in, pretending to whisper. “Maybe the shirt is cursed and she can't take it off. And that's why she never changes it."

“It's not a cursed--"

“And if she does try to take it off…" The princess made a grand, sweeping gesture at Mirin. “It'll reveal her true, unspeakably hideous form!"

Tamriss tilted her head. “Looks like it's already been revealed, to me."

“Go eat another burned apple."

Esmir giggled and rubbed her hands together. “I still can't believe you fell for that! Oooh, I never got to pull pranks back home! I should do another one!"

“Where are you from, actually?" Mirin set the blue dress aside, glancing at Esmir. “I remember hearing there were royal families running a couple of the southern city-states for a time, but that was ages ago. I only learned it in history lessons."

Esmir spun her hands around each other. “They're sort of…transitioning. Not everyone wants to give up the idea of royalty, even in exchange for nobility."

The dragon stretched his forelegs out front of himself, paws splayed. A yawn split his muzzle, pink tongue curling in his snout. As his stretch ended, he gazed at Esmir. “I should think at this point, any royal families left in The Mire more noble figurehead than actual ruler, anyway."

“Basically, yes." Esmir fiddled with a frilly layer of lace on her golden dress. “Oh, but we do have a lovely palace. Got awfully boring, though. That's why I ran away."

“You ran away?" Mirin furrowed her brow.

“Something like that." Esmir waved off the question. “I've dozens of sisters, all in line for the throne ahead of me, I doubt I was even missed. Besides, it was so boring and stuffy there. Only got to go outside in the courtyard, never got to do anything fun, or meet interesting creatures."

“So, dare I ask, how you ended up…" Mirin circled a finger in the air. “In this stink-hole?"

“The dragon kidnapped me!"

Mirin glared at Arcaydior, her voice flat. “Did he?"

“I did no such thing!" Arcaydior tossed his horned head. “I traded for her."

“You what?"

“No, no, Mirin Drinksy." Esmir shook her head. “Arcy here wasn't the dragon who kidnapped me. That one was female. She wanted to ransom me, I think, but it didn't work out, so she traded me to another dragon." She giggled and clapped her hands a few times. “And ever since they've been trading me around like currency!" She bounced in place, beaming. “It's so exciting!"

“So." Tamriss stepped forward and put a hand on the princess' shoulder. “Just how many tools is your shed missing?"

Esmir stared back at her, knitting her brow. “What shed?"

Tamriss turned away, and flashed Mirin a smile. “And the answer is? All of them!"

“All of what?" Esmir followed after her.

Tamriss shook her head, laughing. “It's like all the lamps are lit, but nobodies' home."

“Of course the lamps are lit." Esmir put her hands on her hips. “It would be dark in here if they weren't." Then she fetched the blue dress again, hugging it to her chest. “So, will you try it on now, Mirin Drinksy?"

Mirin gently took the dress, and tossed it over her shoulder. “Tomorrow, love. I'm going to try and cook us some dinner, and I wouldn't want to get it dirty right away." Then she turned to glare at the dragon. “But I'll be trying it on in private."

“Oh, don't worry about me." Esmir shook her head, red curls bouncing. “I used to always change in front of my handmaids. Sometimes they had to help me into this and that." She tugged on her frilly, golden dress. “I like this sort of thing better, because I can just put it in myself without needing four other women to help me into it, or it lace it up when I'm inside."

“It's not you I'm worried about, Esmir." Mirin made her way back towards the front room, carrying the dress. She pointed to Arcaydior when she walked past him. “It's this scaly thing, over here."

The dragon flexed his wings. “No, that's alright, I don't mind watching you change your clothing."

“That's exactly the problem."

Esmir and Tamriss both followed Mirin out. The princess patted Mirin's arm. “Yes…yes, the dragon is a bit of an old ledger, isn't he?"

Mirin blinked. “Ledger?"

“Yes, you know, like a dirty old man."

Arcaydior padded just behind them. He flicked his tail, and its webbed spines scratched at the floor. “I am neither dirty, nor a man! I bathe daily, and…wait, that second part didn't sound quite right. I meant human."

Mirin ignored the beast. “That's not a ledger, dear."

“Hmm?" Esmir glanced back.

“Lecher."

“Bless you!"

“No, Esmir. The word you're looking for is lecher."

“Bless you, again! Now what was the word? I couldn't hear it over your sneeze."

Mirin stopped. For a long moment, she just stared at Esmir. “I can't quite figure you out, yet."

Esmir only giggled. “That's because I'm so un-scoopable."

“Inscrutable."

Esmir turned away, skipping a few steps ahead of everyone else. “Bless you!"

Tamriss folded her arms, standing along Mirin. “Is she screwing with us?"

Mirin shifted the dress to her other shoulder, and continued down the hall. “I can't tell where the 'over-sheltered princess' ends and the mind games begin."

“I think she's just loopy." Tamriss followed her, grinning. “You know how they keep royal blood pure, right?"

The dragon shoved his snout between the two women, snorting. “Well, I like her." Arcaydior tossed his head, nearly knocking them over. “She makes a fine maiden."

Mirin caught her balance, then shoved the dragon's muzzle away. “I like her too, actually, though I suspect for vastly different reasons. Let me put this dress on my bed, and I'll see about making dinner." She glanced at Tamriss. “You already ate, but if you ask nicely, I'll make you something too."

“Wouldn't say no to more food."

“I thought not." Mirin glanced at the thief as she passed through the dragon's sleeping chamber. “Maybe I'll teach you how to cook a few things, while we're stuck together. If you stop acting like such an asshole."

Tamriss nudged a pillow aside with her boot. “That sounds like a tall order."

Behind her, Arcaydior snorted. “Especially for you, thief." The dragon tugged on Tamriss' dress, then waved his paw towards the cards and books strewn across the floor, near his bed. “Clean up this mess, will you?"

“Me?" Tamriss pulled her dress out of reach, glaring at the dragon. “You were playing with the princess. Get her to clean it up."

Arcaydior shook his head. “No. You're the new maiden-servant, you clean it up, girl."

“What about Mirin? She's newer than me!"

“And she's about to be busy feeding all you maidens. Therefor." Arcaydior snorted at Tamriss. “You do the cleaning."

“All you maidens? You make it sound like there's dozens of women here." Tamriss waited till the dragon wasn't looking before she made a crude gesture.

Mirin grinned at the thief, then pushed her way through the thick maroon curtains back into the main room. “You know. women don't like being called maidens. Or being made to…" She waved her hand. “Do your cleaning. Or anything you seem to want women to do for you."

“Your point, Bar Wench?"

Mirin grit her teeth. “We also don't like being called wenches. Let alone being treated like wenches."

“If I wanted a social etiquette lesson, I'd have hired you." The dragon flicked his tail behind him. “The thief's here because she's a criminal. And because your city is wise enough to supply me with servants and female companionship when I deem it--"

“You mean demand it?" Mirin shot him a glare over her shoulder.

 The dragon ignored her. “She's here as punishment for a crime. You're here as punishment for humiliating me."

“Yeah…" Mirin smiled at the memory. “That was fun."

“The point is, if you expect respect from me…" The dragon paused, cocking his head. “Expect respect? No, that sounds terrible."

“Tokka would think otherwise."

“Who the hell is Tokka?" Arcaydior tossed his head once out of the confines of the short hallway. “Nevermind. Until you and the thief have earned my respect, you're just my maidens and I shall treat you as such."

“No wonder everyone hates you."

The dragon hissed, and for a moment, pain flickered deep in his burnt-gold eyes, like old embers briefly burning anew. He blinked, swallowed, and the look was gone. In its place came forced smugness, like slippery oil across his tongue. “That's not true! The princess is quite fond of me, aren't you Princess?"

“I certainly am!" Esmir skipped up alongside the dragon. “Why, you must be at least the second or third nicest dragon I've been traded too!"

“See?" Arcaydior rumbled as the honeyed smarm in his voice grew even thicker. “Second or third nicest."

“Yes, and what a ringing endorsement that is." Mirin turned her attention to Esmir, who took a seat on the messy bed, alongside Mirin's pack. “Is that your bed?"

Esmir nodded three times. “Uh huh! Why, did you want to share?"

“While I appreciate the offer, I sincerely doubt there's enough room for both of us on there." She hoisted up her pack, and tossed it onto the neatly made bed. “I just assumed the messy one must belong to Tamriss."

“Nope!" Esmir bounced on the bed. “I never make the bed anymore. Why bother, if it's only going to get messy again? Besides, I used to have servants do that sort of thing for me."

“Would you like to have the thief do it?" Arcaydior looked around at all the clothes and other items strewn about the floor. “I'm going to have her clean up this mess, next. After that, I'll make her your servant, if you like."

“Aww, that's so sweet of you!" Esmir flopped out on her bed, resting her feet on a pillow. “But I'd rather have friends than servants, while I'm out on my own."

Mirin draped the layered blue dress out across the bed. “I'm not sure if being a dragon's prisoner counts as 'out on your own', but that's a nice sentiment, nonetheless."

“Thief!" Arcaydior called out, his brassy voice echoing around the room. “Get in here and clean up this mess!"

Tamriss soon emerged through the curtains, glowering at the dragon. “I'm still cleanin' up your room."

“Then when you're done with that…" He turned around towards her, and swept a black and gray mottled wing across the expansive chamber. “Get started on this atrocity. It looks like a clothing shop exploded in here."

“That's because Princess over there was tossin' clothes all over the floor when she was digging out this dress for me!" Tamriss brushed her hand across her skirt.

Mirin settled on the bed, leaning towards Esmir. “You found her a dress, too?"

“Of course!" Esmir resettled a few pillows under her head with her feet still on another. “She was in that hideous numbered smock. So, while she went to take a bath, I took it upon myself to find her something nice."

“That was kind of you."

“Yeah, but this place was clean when I arrived." Tamriss started back towards the dragon's chambers, then paused. “Well…clean-ish."

Mirin chuckled. “Esmir, you should probably work on putting clothes away when you're done with them."

“Do you think?" The princess rolled to her side, staring across the room. “I don't know, it's easier to see how many clothes are available when you have them all…" She waggled her fingers at a pile of dresses and skirts. “Spread out! How can you see what you have to wear when they're all stuffed in boxes?"

“The girl has a point." Arcaydior settled onto his haunches, gazing at Mirin. “How do humans usually solve this issue?"

“Closets. At least in my case."

“Besides." Esmir sat up, snatching up a pillow. “I never got to be messy back home. It's fun! I like tossing things about on the floor."

“Be as messy as you like." Arcaydior arched his neck, smiling at the girl. “We'll just have the thief clean it up."

“In that case…" Esmir took a deep breath, and then shrieked. “Pillow fight!" She hurled her pillow at the dragon. It bounced off Arcaydior's head, and he yelped in surprise, grabbing his muzzle. Esmir threw her fists into the air. “Victory! All hail Princess Esmir, Pillow Fighting Champion of all the Mire!"

“Damn!" Arcaydior rubbed his nose, then batted the fallen pillow aside in frustration. “You always win that game!"

“That isn't…" Mirin cut herself off, then laughed. “Well played, Princess Esmir, well played."

“Thank you."

“We have to start playing games I can win." The dragon snorted, then suddenly shivered and made an odd, growling yelp. “Grraack!" He craned his neck, nibbling at the edge of his wing. It twitched, and he stretched it forward to scratch the mottled green membranes with a forepaw, as well.

“Oh, lord." Mirin put her face in her hands. “He does have fleas."

“I do not have fleas!" Acaydior snapped his wing back into position. “Dragons do not get fleas." He tossed his head. “We get scale mites!" Then he blinked, flattening back his ears. “Which I certainly do not have!" His wing membranes twitched continually. The dragon's body tensed while he struggled to ignore it. Finally, he made the odd noise again and twisted around, nibbling at his wing once more. A single hind paw idly kicked at the air, and before long he flopped over onto his side. “Damn…itchy wing! Can't...reach that…spot!"

“Such majestic beasts, dragons." Mirin leaned back onto her hands. “You sure you don't have mites?"

Tamriss emerged from the dragon's curtains. “Hey Scales, your stupid room is…" She trailed off, and stared at the dragon while he wiggled about on the floor, trying to soothe the itch on his wing. “Alright, which one of you brained him and made him go all twitchy? I wanna know who to point out when the Warden's birds show up." She glanced at the dragon again. “Cause yanno, if he bleeds out in his head, it's murder."

“He has an itchy wing, not an itchy brain." Esmir hopped to her feet and walked over to the dragon. “And itching doesn't make you bleed, unless you do it too hard."

“You mean scratching." Mirin scratched at her arm. Just talking about it was enough to leave her own skin crawling.

“No, he has an itch, not a scratch." Esmir shook her head, and nudged at the dragon's hind leg with her foot. “On your belly, if you please."

“That's not what I meant." Mirin set her hands in her lap. “You scratch an itch. You don't itch a scratch."

“But scratches can itch, too." Tamriss walked over and plopped herself on the princess's bed. “Especially while they heal."

Esmir glanced at the other two women. “That's what I'm doing." As soon as Arcaydior rolled to his belly, the princess climbed up onto his back. “Itching his scratch!"

Tamriss' upper lip curled into a sneer. “You're doing something, alright." She lowered her voice to Mirin. “I'm tellin' you, she's screwin' with us."

“She's exceptionally good at it, if that's the case."

“Yeah, she--hey!" Tamriss twisted around on the princess' bed to glower at Mirin. “You trying to steal my bed?"

Mirin made a show of running her hands across the blankets. “Looks like it's already been stolen, to me."

“Oh. Well in that case." Tamriss shot to her feet and snatched away Mirin's pack from the end of the bed. “Looks like this has already been stolen, too."

Mirin jumped up, reaching for the pack. “Give that back!"

Tamriss backed away, holding the bag over her head. “Give the bed back."

Once Arcaydior rolled onto his stomach, Esmir clambered atop him. “You can have my bed, if you want." She sprawled out between the dragon's wings, and vigorously scratched at the places on the back of them he could not easily reach. Almost immediately, the dragon emitted a strange, rattling, rumbling noise. One of his hind paws twitched and then kicked at the air. “There, is that better, Mister Dragon?"

Tamriss turned and stared at the dragon. “What the hell is that noise?"

“It's called a purr." The dragon's voice was adrift on an ocean of relief. “It means I'm enjoying myself!"

“That ain't a purr." Tamriss stepped away from Mirin when she tried to take the pack again. “Cats purr. You sound like you're drowning in phlegm and choking on rocks."

Mirin took a few steps towards the dragon, then whirled around and lunged at Tamriss, snatching her bag away. She wrapped both arms around it, only to sigh when Tamriss ran back to claim the bed. “That's a kind offer, Esmir, but then where would you sleep?"

“Oh, I'll sleep with the dragon tonight."

Tamriss burst out laughing.

Mirin struggled to avoid doing the same. “I'm…not entirely sure that's what you meant to say."

“Why not?" Esmir tilted her head, red curls bobbling. “I've slept with dragons plenty of times."

Tamriss only laughed harder. “Yeah, I bet you have!"

“I don't see why that's so funny." Esmir focused her attentions on the scarred area of the dragon's wing, scratching and rubbing gently. “Most of the time I don't even wake up sore. Only once in a while, if I was in a funny position."

Tamriss laughed so hard she face-planted into a pillow.

“Or if I ended up stuck against something hard all night."

Tamriss pounded her fist against the bed.

“But most of the time, it's nice and soft all-night long."

“Ahahaha-OW!" Tamriss laughed so much she rolled off the bed and hit the floor. That didn't stop her from popping right back up. “I guess the dragon is under a lot of pressure."

Mirin waved a hand. “All those dirty tales about dragons and maidens? That's a lot to live up to."

Tamriss sat back on the bed again, grinning at Mirin. “And at his age, it's probably a small miracle when it is hard."

“Probably doesn't last very long, either."

Arcaydior snarled through his continuing purr. “You two had better be talking about my bed!"

“Of course, they are." Esmir sat up a little straighter on her knees, atop the dragon. “I am a little confused, though."

“Not the word I'd use." Tamriss tugged a pillow free and laid her head on it.

“I've no idea why you'd think it a miracle if his bed was hard." Esmir rubbed her chin. “I suppose his vertebrae could use the support. Anyway, I've found your problem, Arcy." She leaned over his wing, tracing a broad circle with her fingers. The dragon shuddered under her, scales clicking. “This bit right here, all around your wing scars, it's all dry and rough. Your wings need a good oiling again, I think. Have you still got that oil?"

“Plenty of it."

“Awww…" Tamriss cooed, poking out her lower lip. “Does Arcy need oily?"

“Shut up, Thief." The dragon snapped his head around to glare at her, flashing his fangs. “I did not say you could call me that."

“And I didn't say you could call me Thief, either."

“You are a thief." The dragon glanced back at Esmir, then swung his muzzle towards the ground. She wriggled off him, and the beast turned his burnished gold gaze back to Tamriss. “If you wish to use my name, you may refer to me as Lord--"

“Of All Ox Shit." Tamriss waved her hand. “Yeah, I was there when Drinksy dubbed you."

“You will not call me that!" Arcaydior pushed himself up to his feet, folding his wings back against his body. “Either of you. Is that clear?"

“Yeah, yeah, Scales, I got it."

 “Now." Arcaydior stalked towards them. “Did I not tell you to clean up this mess?" He lowered his head to bump his muzzle against Tamriss' face. “Well?"

Tamriss gulped, easing away from him. “Which is what I was coming out here to do, and then I saw you wriggling around on the floor like a…" She trailed off when the dragon growled. “A very regal…majestic…anyway, I better get cleaning." Tamriss snatched the nearest blouse off the floor, then carried it to a crate.

Arcaydior soon returned his gaze to the others. “Fetch the oils, Princess." After Esmir slipped through the curtains, the dragon snapped his teeth towards Mirin. “Cook your food. Make enough for the others. I am going hunting. When I return, the princess shall teach you maidens the proper technique for oiling a dragon's wings."

Mirin stood up, folding her arms. “And only his wings?"

“Suppose that depends how the evening goes." The dragon flashed her a smile, all sharp fangs and flared frills. “Why, is there something else you'd rather rub with oil?"

“That depends." Mirin returned his smile. “Is the oil flammable?"

 “Watch it, Bar Wench." The dragon thumped a single digit against her chest. Even with his claw completely retracted, the force was enough to leave Mirin stumbling back, her sternum aching. “Don't forgot who's in charge here."

Mirin winced and rubbed her chest. “Yeah, yeah. Go murder something to eat, already."

“If you two wanna flirt in private, I can leave for a while." Tamriss tossed a folded dress into a wooden bin.

Arcaydior turned around, webbed tail spines swishing just in front of Mirin's face. The dragon took a few steps towards the door, then paused to arch his neck and gaze at Tamriss. “I expect this place to be halfway clean upon my return."

“Then you'd better hire more help." Tamriss turned away, waving him off.

The dragon hissed, and no sooner had the woman turned away than Arcaydior slapped her hard, across the rump. Tamriss yelped and jumped, grabbing herself with both hands. She spun around, backing away. “You keep doing that lizard, and you're going to regret it!"

Arcaydior cocked his head, one single frill lifted. “Is that not how human males treat their females?"

“First off, I ain't your female. Second, that depends if they wanna get my knee in--"

“I'll help her out, alright?" Mirin crossed the room quickly, glaring at the dragon. “Go hunting. We'll clean up, and oil your damn wings. Just keep your paws to yourself."

The dragon pushed his muzzle to Mirin's face, then blew her hair back with a snort. “I shall consider it, if you please me." He blinked, then swept a wing around the room. “With the tasks I assign you, I mean."

“Uh huh." Mirin gathered up a few articles of clothing, then stuffed them away in a crate.

“I shall return shortly." Arcaydior went to the front entryway, pushing the doors open wide.

“Don't hurry on our account." Mirin watched him slip through the doors until his tail vanished.

As soon as the sound of the dragon's ascending wing-beats faded, Tamriss kicked over a crate, spilling clothes right back out across the floor. “Stupid dragon! I'd like to…" She threw her hands up, snarling. “Slap his ass! I'd spank him so damn hard!" Red-face, she punched the air, and then kicked a basket across the room. “Spank him till he…begged me to…stop spankin' him!"

Mirin put a hand on Tamriss' shoulder, smiling. “That didn't come out quite the way you wanted it to, did it?"

Tamriss sighed, dropping her arms. “Not in the least."

“I do share the sentiment, though, if not the specifics."

Tamriss glanced back. “Yeah. Thanks for…you know." She scooped up the overturned crate, and stuffed clothes back into it. “Look, Drinksy…"

Mirin gathered up a few dresses, and a pair of breeches to add to the crate. “I agree."

“Oh…" Tamriss rubbed her hands together, gazing at the doorway as if pondering an escape attempt. Then she looked down, sighing again. A lonely, haunted look crossed her eyes, a ghost wandering behind emerald fog. “So, you already--"

Mirin gently grasped one of Tamriss' hands, and gave it a squeeze. “In my head, you were asking for a six-month truce, so we can stick together against Lord Ox Shit. If so, I agree."

“Mm." Tamriss swallowed, scratching her cheek. “Supposing that was what I was gonna say…" A hint of a smirk twisted up her lips, and the coldness in her eyes was gone again. “Can I still kick your ass in six months?"

Mirin smiled, and gave her a playful shove before she returned to picking up scattered clothes. “You can try, Thief. You can try."

*****

Chapter Six

The Two Admirals, and the Golden Gryphon

*****

Mirin awoke before dawn the next morning to the sound of deep, resonant, feral snoring. She pulled the blankets over her head, trying to ignore it. Somehow, the sound of a dragon snoring was even more grating and obnoxious than she'd imagined possible. It was even worse than the way Tokka snored when he was passed out drunk inside the tavern. If the dragon's snoring grew any louder, Mirin half-feared it would bring the whole fortress tumbling down around them.

Cold, gray light crept into the room by the time Mirin finally pulled the blankets back down. She glanced at the nearest window, and found the coming sunrise obscured by layers of clouds. Mirin grunted. At least if the dragon was still asleep, she had a decent chance of bathing in peace. She swung her legs out from under the blankets, and sat up.

Mirin stood, stretched her arms, and realized to her great amusement that the snoring emanated not from the dragon, but from the thief. Tamriss lay only half under the blankets, her limbs stretched in all directions. Her mouth gaped wide, and she snored so loudly Mirin was surprised it wasn't rattling her teeth. She considered trying to roll Tamriss over, but thought better of it. Mirin suspected the thief would react to be touched in her sleep by punching her in the throat.

She gathered the blue dress from where she laid it the night before, then dug through her pack. Mirin fetched some clean underclothes, soap, a washcloth and a hairbrush, and then slipped out of the front room. On the way to the bathing chamber, she peeked in on the dragon to make sure he was still asleep, too. Arcaydior was curled atop his mounded bed of blankets and cushions, his head resting upon his tail, wings draped out at his sides. A few other sheets and animal hides were swathed across him. His scaly body rose and fell in slow, even motions.

Esmir slumbered near him. The princess lay not on a bed, but upon pile of blankets and cushions just like the dragon's, only smaller. Red hair spilled across the pillow under her head, and an array of blanket corners covered her where she'd tugged them up out of the pile. Odd girl, Mirin thought. She supposed as long as long as Esmir was happy and comfortable, that was all that mattered.

The dragon's bathing chamber was in a side room, with an arched doorway barely large enough for the beast to fit through. The bathtub was not at all what she expected. It looked akin to a great, hammered copper bowl, anchored into the stone alongside a set of thick pipes and valves. Scratch marks marred the stone all around the tub. A few more gouged the tub's copper lip. Steaming water poured from one set of pipes into wide, elegantly scalloped channels cut into the floor, leading to a grate in the outside wall. Another valve controlled the flow of a drain at the bottom of the tub.

Mirin scratched her head. When the dragon said he had a hot spring, she didn't expect him to have pipes built into it to take advantage of the natural flow of hot water. She didn't even want to think about how much it must have cost to have all that built. Then again, given how much wealth the dragon had, he probably didn't notice the cost. She scrunched her face. Or understand it.

With a bit of experimentation, Mirin closed the tub's drain, and redirected the hot water flow into it. When there was enough water to bathe in, she fiddled with the valves until the water was once more pouring into the decorative channels that carried it outside. Then she stripped off her clothes, and carefully climbed into the tub. It was not quite as deep and imposing as it looked, and included rungs for smaller guests to use as a ladder.

Mirin shook her head as she soaped up. Must have been designed for the dragon and his maidens, she thought. Still, she appreciated being able to have a nice bath while she was stuck here. With any luck, as long as she continued to rise early in the morning, she'd be in and out before the dragon was even awake. If Tamriss snored like that every night, Mirin knew waking up early would not be a problem.

Once Mirin was clean, she climbed back out of the tub, and opened its drain. She scowled when she realized there were not any towels available. For now, she wrung out her hair and used her golden shirt to blot herself dry best she could. When she was dry enough, she pulled on the layered blue dress Esmir found for her. Mirin was pleased to find it fit surprisingly well. Most importantly, it was comfortable, and she loved the way it looked. Mirin put her old clothes with other things in need of washing, and then went to the fort's kitchen.

Tamriss was already in there, in sleep-rumpled clothing, digging through the pantry. She glanced up at with bleary eyes, and gave Mirin a half-hearted wave. “Mornin', Drinksy."

Mirin chuckled. “Good morning, Snoresy."

“That's a terrible nickname." She straightened up, dusting off her hands. “So…uh…" She waved at the cook stove, scrunching her face. “I don't know what the hell I'm doin' in here."

“I thought for sure you were going to put some meat on sticks, and burn some apples."

“I was." Tamriss opened a door into a storeroom, peering in. “But I think we're about of meat."

Mirin scowled. “I think the Princess and Admiral Ox Shit finished off all the cured meats and salted fish last night."

Tamriss glanced over her shoulder. “Admiral? You gave him a promotion?"

“Just sounded better." Mirin nudged her aside to inspect the pantry. “We've got fruits and grains and things, and I'm sure we can get the newt to pay a butcher to restock our larder. Should buy some ice blocks, too." She turned back to Tamriss, then jerked her thumb towards the door. “Tell you what. You go bathe while you have a decent chance for privacy. I'll make us some porridge."

“Yeah, alright." Tamriss headed for the door, then paused. “Thanks, Drinksy. Make some for Her Royal Oddness, too."

“Will do."

Mirin got a cook fire started in the stove, and went to the well to fill a pot with water. Then she dug through old sacks of various grains, trying to determine which of them had the smallest infestations. One sack was at least half wriggling worms and scrabbling beetles. Mirin was tempted to bake them into something and feed it to the dragon, but she doubted he'd even notice the difference. In the end, she took a few scoops of this, a few more of that, and dumped them all into the water and brought it to a boil.

Once the water was boiling, Mirin sliced a few overripe pears, and dropped them into the pot to help sweeten it a bit. She sliced a few more and then set them aside until the porridge was nice and soft. When it was ready, she ladled it into wooden bowls and garnished it with more sliced pears. She found a few spoons, and stuck them in the bowls.

Mirin tried a spoonful of porridge, chewing thoughtfully. “Not bad, for working with practically nothing. I'll have to make a list for the Admiral."

“Who's the Admiral?" Esmir leaned against the doorway, rubbing her eyes. “And why are you making him a list?"

“Admiral Ox Shit."

Esmir sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. “He's an Admiral now? How long was I asleep?"

“No, dear…nevermind." She picked up a bowl and a spoon, and handed it to her. “Porridge?"

“Oh, yes, thank you!" Esmir took the offering, then tapped the spoon against her chin. “Is this servant's food? I never got to eat servant's food back home. Say, does Admiral outrank Princess?" She scooped some porridge and took a bite. “No…no, I think Princess outranks everything. Other than King and Queen."

“Suppose that depends on the specifics of your political system." Mirin swirled her spoon around, stirring in the sliced fruit.

“Or how willing you are you to stage a blood-soaked purge of all your enemies and their myriad supporters!" Esmir took another bite, then stared into her bowl. “This is good, by the way. Is that pear you added?"

“Mhm. Just making do with what we have. I'm going to make a list of staples and things for the dragon to get for us." Mirin chewed a piece of fruit, scowling. “Assuming he's willing to listen. So." She pointed her spoon at Esmir. “Is that what happened to you?" She smirked. “Driven from your palace by a bloody purge?"

“No, nothing of the sort. It was a peasant uprising!"

“What?" Mirin blinked, tilting her head. “You said you ran away…"

“Yes!" Esmir smiled and bounced on the balls of her feet. “From the angry peasants."

“But didn't you say a dragon kidnapped you?"

“A female dragon, yes." Esmir ate a few more bites, mumbling around her mouthful of porridge and pear. “Thee ought ee ibbnabbin eeeh!" Bits of porridge jumped into the air while she spoke, and Mirin danced out of range. That only made Esmir giggle. “Thobbee!"

Only when Esmir swallowed her food did Mirin speak up again. “Say all that again, please?" She set her hand atop Esmir's. “Before you take another bite."

“I said, she thought she was kidnapping me! And then I said, sorry! Only I said it like this." She scooped a huge portion of porridge into her mouth, and Mirin quickly backed away. “Thobbee!" This time she spat nearly all the porridge back out and across the floor, which only left her laughing all the harder. “Oooh, I never get to act like this back home!"

“You know, Esmir." Mirin carefully stepped around the splattered porridge to stand next to the princess.

“Yettthh?" Esmir turned her head and spat bits of porridge over Mirin's face. “Ooopttthh!"

Mirin slowly wiped her face with a single hand. “Didn't know you had a round left in the chamber." She wiped her hand on Esmir's clothes. “Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you should. Would you like it if I spat my porridge on you?"

“Oh, that sounds exciting! Like a food fight, only we spit it at each other!" Esmir ate another big spoonful, only for Mirin to clap her hand over the princess's mouth. “Mmmpph?"

“We're not doing that." Mirin kept her hand there. “Now swallow it."

Esmir swallowed, but mischief danced in her eyes.

“All of it."

Esmir gave an exaggerated sigh through her nose, then swallowed the rest of her food and stepped away from Mirin's hand. “Happy? Spoilsport."

“I just took a bath. I'd rather not require another one immediately." Mirin finished off her porridge, and set her bowl aside. She folded her arms, but kept careful watch on the Princess as Esmir emptied her bowl. “Why didn't you tell the dragon you were on the run?"

“Where would the fun in that be?" Esmir licked her spoon clean, and set it into the bowl, then put them both aside.

“Wait. Didn't you say, originally, she wanted to ransom you, or something?"

“Hard to ransom you back when your kingdom's in the middle of putting down a peasant revolt. She gave up and traded me to another dragon."

Mirin held up both hands. “So, they did put down the revolt? Would she not have been better served to take you to your family? Get a reward for saving you?"

“Oh, who knows what goes through a dragon's head. Besides, I've so many brothers and sisters ahead of me in succession that I'm sure my family thought they could spare to trim a few extra branches off the royal tree. Oooh!" She clapped her hands. “A royalty royal tree! That's almost a rhyme! Or is it a pun?"

“I'm not sure it's either, but-"

“Witticism?"

“Not really."

“Quip?"

“We're really getting off track, here."

Esmir tilted her head, brow furrowed. “Off what track, Mirin Drinksy?"

Mirin sighed, shaking her head. “Let's start over. Did you run away from a revolt, or were you just bored?"

Esmir tilted her head the other way. “Who gets bored during a revolt?"

Mirin rubbed her forehead. “You also said brothers, just now? I thought before you mentioned it was…well, I thought you were all princesses."

Esmir giggled and turned away, skipping to the door. “Brothers aren't called princesses, Mirin Drinksy. You're silly." She opened the door, stepped through, and then paused. “Although, I suppose if they want to be a princess, why not let them? Oh! The Admiral's awake!" She vanished through the door, her voice echoing down the hall. “Good morning, Admiral!"

The dragon's reply echoed back to the kitchen. “Admiral? What Admiral?"

Before Mirin could pursue her, Tamriss returned, rubbing damp hair with a scruffy looking red towel. After her bath, she'd changed into a lilac blouse and a loose-fitting pair of silver breeches. “You make that food yet?"

Mirin picked up the last bowl of porridge, and shoved it at the thief. “Here."

Tamriss took it, grunting. “What, our truce over already?"

“No. Sorry. I was just…ugh." She rolled her eyes and turned away to start washing up the pot and the other bowls. “Was just having a conversation with Miss Princess." Mirin rinsed the bowls with water from the well, scowling. “I can't tell if I just lost a battle of wits, or if I was fighting an unarmed opponent."

Tamriss tossed her towel over a counter, nodding. “If you challenged that girl to a knife fight, she'd bring a duck."

Mirin wiped the bowls down and put them away in a cupboard with wobbly shelves. “Then she'd hurl the duck at you, and declare herself the victor."

Tamriss laughed, nodding. “Uh huh. And while you were standing there, wondering who the hell throws a duck, she'd be skipping away, cheering herself on for her victory."

“Yes, I think you're right." Mirin set the pot aside to dry, then turned towards Tamriss, grinning. “I quite like her."

“Yeah, she's great. Crazy, but great."

The door pushed open, and Arcaydior stuck his green-scaled head in. “If you maidens are about done gossiping, I have your tasks for the day."

Mirin gave a deep, exaggerated bow. “By your leave, Admiral Ass Scales."

“Where's this admiral nonsense come from?" He snorted, pulled his head halfway back, then paused. “What was that last bit?

“Oh, you know Drinksy." Tamriss waved her hand at Mirin. “Always stumbling over her words."

“If you say so. Come to the front room." The dragon glared at the two women a moment before withdrawing from the door.

Tamriss nudged Mirin with her elbow, whispering. “Admiral Ass Scales, huh? That's not bad."

“My first thought was Admiral Ass-caydior, but Ass Scales just sounded more visceral." Mirin dried off her hands, and then followed the dragon.

Much of the previous evening was spent cleaning the front room. The mess of clothing had been stored in the many chests, crates and boxes now stacked neatly along the walls. Mirin made sure to move all the candles and lamps away from anything flammable. She'd even scraped old, melted wax away from everything she could, and then dug out a broom to help sweep the floor. The voluminous hall now had plenty of wide open space.

Once the room was clean, the three of them had spent the rest of the night oiling the dragon's wings with soft cloths. It was not as unpleasant a task as imagined. Esmir seemed to have a wonderful time of it, told myriad nonsensical stories Mirin found highly entertaining. The dragon, for his part, mostly lay sprawled out, purring to himself, his eyes half-lidded. If the beast hadn't been such an insufferable lout in general, Mirin might have even enjoyed herself.

Now, Arcaydior sat on his haunches in the center of the room. Esmir stood near him, wearing the hideously bright, crimson and lilac dress that she turned down for Mirin the day before. The princess crept around behind a stack of boxes, peeked between then, and then tip-toed around the dragon.

“What are you doing, Esmir?"

“Shhh!" Esmir put a finger to her lips. “I saw something move!"

Tamriss looked around the boxes with her. “Like, a rat or something? Whatever it was, your dress probably scared it away."

Esmir giggled. “Thank you! I felt like looking bright, today."

“That's one way to describe it." Tamriss tugged at a ruffled purple sleeve. “You look like you're wearing a child's drawing of the sunset."

That only made Esmir giggle louder. “Isn't it delightfully dreadful?"

Mirin chuckled with her. “It's dreadful, alright."

Tamriss moved a box, and something small and green scurried away. It clambered up another stack of crates, then paused to stare down at the women and the dragon. Tamriss stepped back. “Found it."

“Ooh, it's a little lizard!" Esmir clapped her hands, staring up at it. “How exciting!"

Mirin blinked. “You're standing next to a dragon, and you're excited by a common swamp lizard?"

“Of course!" Esmir bounced on her toes. “We never got lizards in the house back home!"

“I believe that is a crested vine-runner." Arcaydior stretched his neck towards the lizard, sniffing at it. It stared back at him with tiny, dark eyes.

“You're making that up," Tamriss said.

“Am not." Arcaydior lifted a forepaw, then traced a slow, deliberate circle in the air around the lizard. It cocked its head, watching, but did not leave its place on the side of the crate. “See the little red circle around its neck? That indicates its female. Males have a golden crest."

Tamriss snorted. “You're making that up too, aren't you."

“No." Mirin folded her arms, finding herself oddly dejected that the dragon was correct. “He's right. It's a female crested vine-runner."

The thief turned to Mirin, her head tilted. “How the hell do you know that?"

Mirin shrugged. “You pick up a lot of knowledge when you make a living scavenging across The Mire. Gotta know what's edible, what's poisonous, what's gonna eat you…what's valuable."

“Valuable, huh?" Tamriss turned her attention back to the vine-runner.

“It isn't."

“Damn." Tamriss glanced at the dragon. “I'm surprised he knows."

Arcaydior tossed his head. “Oh, read a book, thief."

The little lizard bobbed its head at him.

Mirin bumped the dragon's hind leg with her foot. “Don't tell me all those books in your room are biology and nature tomes."

Arcaydior turned his wedge-shaped head towards her, smiling. “Not all of them. But, I do try to be a learned creature."

Esmir put a hand to her mouth as if to shield her whisper from the dragon's ears. “Some of them are filled with dirty pictures."

“Are they?" Mirin arched a brow, smirking at the dragon.

“Shush, Princess." Arcaydior snorted at her.

The princess ignored him. “There's dirty pictures of dragons doing all sorts of things! To each other, to themselves, to humans, to gryphons, to-"

“Esmir!" Arcaydior snapped at her. “Enough!"

“Oh, you're no fun."

Mirin glanced at Tamriss. “I think I know a merchant who'd pay top coin for rare smut like that."

Tamriss laughed, looking Mirin over. “What kinda merchants do you know?"

Arcaydior hissed at them both. “Neither of you will be selling my Complete Set of Illustrated Guides to-" He cut himself off with a snap of his teeth, tossing his head again. “Which I do not have!"

The little lizard bobbed its head once more.

“Look, it's copying you!" Esmir pointed up at the vine-runner, then bobbled her head.

“It is not copying me." Arcaydior shot the princess a glare.

The vine-runner turned to stare at the princess.

“Yes it is, yes it is!" Esmir clapped in glee. “Oh, we never had pantomiming lizards back home."

“It is not copying me!" Arcaydior gave a weary-sounding sigh, flexing his wings. “A vine-runner, like many lizards, simply makes bobbing motions to make itself look bigger." He waved his paw in a circle. “It's a threat display, nothing more."

The little lizard waved a front leg in a circle.

“Oh, damn it." Arcaydior glanced away, hissing.

The vine-runner looked in the same direction, and gave a teensy hiss.

“Heeheehee!" Esmir clapped again, then thrust a finger the vine runner. “Little lizard!" She pointed at the dragon. “Big lizard!"

Arcaydior turned to glare at her. “Yes, yes, hilarious."

The tiny lizard turned and looked at Esmir.

Esmir pointed back and forth, giggling all the while. “Little lizard, big lizard. Little lizard, big lizard."

“Alright, that's enough already!"

“Little lizard, big lizard, little lizard, big lizard, little lizard, big lizard!"

Tamriss leaned over and whispered into Mirin's ear. “I think I know why the dragons keep trading her."

Mirin bit down on a knuckle to keep from laughing too loudly.

Arcaydior flared his crimson-edged frills, arching his neck. The tiny lizard lifted its head, with its little crests on display. “Stop that!" He snorted at Esmir. “You, especially."

Esmir stared at the vine-runner for a moment before turning towards the dragon. She pointed at him, then his miniature mimic. “Big lizard, little lizard, big lizard, little lizard!"

“Reversing big and little does not count as stopping it." Arcaydior pushed himself up to all fours, growling. “I'm going hunting." The smaller lizard stood as tall as it could on all four legs. “Oh, you want to go hunting, too?" The dragon stretched his foreleg out to the crate. The smaller lizard mimicked him again, reaching for his paw. Arcaydior kept his foreleg stretched out, and his forepaw open. The lizard took a tentative step towards him, then another, and then clambered onto his paw pads. Arcaydior slowly lowered his paw and set it against Esmir. “Here. Take our new friend hunting."

“How the hell did you do that?" Tamriss scratched her head.

“I have a good rapport with small animals."

“Right before you eat them."

“I would not eat lizards." Arcaydior snorted, tilting his paw. “They're adorable."

The little lizard scrambled onto Esmir's shoulder, then clambered through her messy red hair and onto the top of her head. She bounced and giggled. “Wheee, lizard hat!" The lizard bobbed its head. She crossed her eyes, trying to stare up at it. “Do you want some porridge, little lizard?"

“Vine-runners hunt bugs." The dragon waved his paw. “Go put it in some place it can do its job."

“I'll put it by Tamriss's bed then!" Esmir scurried off towards the far end of the room. “That's where all the bugs are!"

Tamriss glanced around at everyone else. “Should…should I feel insulted right now?"

Mirin shrugged. “I can't tell if she's insulting you or genuinely trying to help. You might wanna check your blankets for bugs, though."

“Ugh." Tamriss put her face in her hands.

“You maidens have fun with that." Arcaydior walked towards the door, then paused to glance back. “Oh. Your tasks." He cocked his horned head, perking up his ears. “Bar Wench, since you have knowledge of treasure and relics, I want you to start cataloging my hoard. You should be able to find blank tomes, quills, ink, and other such utensils around somewhere. Thief, since you lack knowledge." He snorted. “Completely. Your job is to help her. Just…do whatever she tells you."

Mirin bowed her head, trying to feign irritation. “If I must." Truth was, Mirin couldn't imagine a task she'd actually enjoy more than a chance to discover what other strange artifacts the dragon possessed. “That's likely to take me…" She lifted her eyes, trying to appraise whether or not the dragon was falling for it. “At least a good three months. Maybe…twice that?"

“Don't press your luck, Bar Wench."

“What about Fairy Tales back there?" Tamriss jerked her thumb toward Esmir. The princess had set the lizard down on Tamriss' bed, and was now telling it a story.

Sugar and honey dripped from the dragon's voice. “Why, the princess is an honored guest. Only maidens and wenches get tasks. But I'm sure she'll assist you, if you ask nicely." Then Arcaydior's voice sharpened as he padded towards the exit. “Now get to work!"

As soon as the dragon was gone, Tamriss strode back to the princess. “Hey Esmir, did you ever get to collect bugs and spiders back home?"

Esmir glanced up, her eyes wide and shining. “No, they'd never let me do anything like that. Why, if the servants so much as saw a spider in the castle-"

“Castle?" Mirin walked up alongside Tamriss. “I thought you said it was a palace."

“The castle's the fortified part. The palace is where-"

“Not important." Tamriss shot Mirin a glare. “You can talk about all the vast wonders of the wide world of architecture later, Professor. So." She clasped her hands, giving the princess a sweet smile. “How would you like to wander this castle-"

“Actually, this?" Mirin waved her hand. “Is a fortress."

Tamriss slapped her hand over Mirin's mouth. “Stick a cork in your booze hole, Drinksy, I'm plottin' here."

Mirin shoved her hand away. “Cut it out, or I'll stick something in your…wait." Mirin huffed. “Damn it."

Tamriss arched her brows, and gave Mirin a wry smile. “I'm game if you are."

“Oh!" Esmir giggled. “I think the dragon's books have pictures of-"

“Spiders!" Tamriss stomped, gritting her teeth. “I'm trying to talk about-"

“No." Esmir shook her head. “None of the dirty pictures involved spiders."

Tamriss leaned forward and put her hands on Esmir's shoulders. “Focus, Princess. I want you to collect all the spiders, and all the bugs you come across, okay? Put 'em in a box or something."

Esmir nodded. “You want some new pets?"

“Nah. I just figured if our beds have bugs, then so should his." She glanced at Mirin, smirking.

Mirin laughed and shook her head.

Esmir blinked. “Who?"

Tamriss straightened up, grinning. “The lizard."

Esmir stared down at the little green lizard, now perched on a pillow. “But the lizard doesn't have a bed. This is your bed, Tamriss."

“No. Just…" Tamriss held her hands up. “No. I'm talking about-"

“Are you giving your bed to the lizard? That's so kind of you!" Esmir shot to her feet, smiling. “It's an awfully big bed for a tiny little lizard, but I'm sure she'll appreciate having all those delicious bugs to choose from. I'll find as many as I can!" She glanced at Mirin. “A few bugs may get into your bed, so if you don't want them, just give them back to the lizard."

Tamriss just stared at the princess. “You gotta be shitting me."

Esmir gave her a funny look, her face all scrunched. “No, I did that this morning, before my bath."

“You know what? Forgot the bugs." Tamriss shook her head as she walked off. “I'll do it myself, later."

The princess followed her a few steps. “You're right. Perhaps it would be best if we let Little Admiral do her own hunting, so she doesn't become reliant on people."

Tamriss came to a dead stop. “You already named it?"

“Of course! If we're going to be friends, she has to have a name. And she looks just like the big Admiral, only littler."

Mirin laughed as she followed after the others, heading for the dragon's hoard. “Yeah. He's going to love that."

Esmir clapped her hands twice. “C'mon along, Little Admiral, let's find you some nice, juicy bugs."

The little lizard hopped off the bed, and skittered across the ground, following at Esmir's heels.

Tamriss turned her head, watching it the whole way with her jaw agape. “How the hell did you do that?"

“What do you mean?" Esmir giggled, and broke into a skipping gait, with the lizard running behind her. “Everyone knows princesses, like dragons, have an infinity of small animals!"

Mirin knit her brows. “I think you mean, affinity for."

“No, I mean they like me, not that they go on forever." Esmir huffed and rolled her eyes.

Mirin sighed as she followed Esmir and the lizard. “In-scoopable, huh?"

“That's right!"

Tamriss hurried to catch up. “Wait, wait, wait. Can everyone take two big steps back from the city limits of Crazyburg and tell me what the hell you're babbling about?"

“Princesses! Small animals!" Esmir gave an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, read a book, thief.

*****

Sunbird soared on golden wings. The moniker started as a local code name, a reference to her unusual coloration. Both feather and fur alike were layered in shades of brilliant gold. Inky black crown feathers streaked her head and neck. Black stripes marked each limb. Long, ebony flight feathers lined the edges of her golden wings. No female Mire-born gryphon had ever possessed such bright colors, but Sunbird was not from The Mire. Few still living knew her original name, Lirra'Li'Chyrr. Lirra, Daughter of Chyrr. Even her dearest friends rarely spoke the name aloud. These days, even they just called her Sunbird.

General Sunbird, to her subordinates.

Today, Sunbird was returning home to the grand city-state of Redemption, capital of all The Mire. Redemption was a city in two parts, located in and around the vast blue lake at the Mire's heart. The lake was akin to a crater within a crater: the deepest, clearest body of water in the middle of an entire continent of shallow swampland, itself ringed by impassable mountains.  Outer Redemption occupied a sprawling portion of lake shore, while Inner Redemption was located on a great, fortified island.

Outer Redemption was the city's primary civilian population center. Though Sunbird's flight path did not take her directly over the city, she could still make out some of its districts and landmarks. A sprawling, recently modernized structure of glass and metal marked their aerodrome, a hub for every civilian sky-crawler in the Mire. Both passenger and supply vessels arrived and departed several times a week.

Several city districts were heavily influenced by its original settlers, when freedom first replaced captivity. Va'chaak built homes and businesses from elaborately carved wood, with gutters, slopes, and barrels designed to harvest the frequent rains. The gnolls preferred structures as sturdy as they were, with stone walls cut from abandoned fortifications. And the industrious urd'thin repurposed everything they could get their hands on. They built houses in layers, constructed from old airship walls or stranded fishing barges. They wove nets and rigging into simple homes within the canopies of massive trees. Ladders, walkways and simple machinery were everywhere. Even a grounded, derelict airship now served as a housing complex.

In the central districts, a few mechanized cargo-haulers, passenger carriers, and other vehicles rumbled down smoothly-cobbled streets between shops and businesses. Such machines were mostly limited to the capital, and usually forbidden from civilian ownership. Fuels of any kind were rare, expensive, and strictly regulated. However, gas storage and distribution centers funneled them through buried pipelines to provide sustenance for street lamps and heat for stoves and buildings. Tangles of copper piping brought water to communal collection points in poorer areas, and to homes in the wealthy districts.

The gryphon swept out across the lake, and turned her attention to the colorful flotilla bobbing on the waves. An entire rainbow of boats stretched out beneath her. There were myriad fishing vessels, there were pleasure and sailing craft, and there were armored military boats patrolling the waters around the island. Others guarded sheltered coves or boarded and inspected cargo and merchant vessels preparing to dock. The lake water's sweet, fresh scent was a comforting embrace, ready to welcome her home.

Sunbird sighed, ever so happy to be home at last. The months she'd been away felt like years. Though she commanded The Warden's Gryphon Legion, Sunbird herself rarely joined them in the field. Instead, she had far greater tasks of her own to accomplish, tasks that often took her across The Bridge and beyond. Sunbird worked in secret, facing down dangers no one else would ever know about, accomplishing great victories that would never be celebrated, and suffered costs that would never be counted. It was a life she had willingly chosen, a long, long time ago. And it was a life she was immensely proud of. Yet pride eased neither exhaustion nor loneliness, both of which she suffered in heavier measure of late.

At least she was finally home, Sunbird thought. It still seemed strange that of all the places she had visited in her life, The Mire was the one that felt like home. She held private sanctuaries in secretive and exotic places that once seemed so calming and relaxing. Lately, though, their emptiness only felt lonely. In the back of her mind, Sunbird already knew why, though she was hesitant to admit it.

The Mire was home, because Carrus was there.

Carrus was her most trusted Flight Captain, and the oldest friend she had amongst her own people. After months of difficult, lonely work, Sunbird intended to take some time off. She intended to ask Carrus to do the same, and spend that time with her. Sunbird was certain a few weeks of rest and relaxation together would do wonders for them both.

Movement drew her attention. A trio of gryphons in aerial combat armor launched themselves from a distant watchtower. They broke into a circling ascent, silvery plates glittering in the sunlight. Their armor was thickly layered with metallic plating to help deflect and absorb a bullet's initial impact. Further layers of padded leathers and woven silks were meant to stop penetration. It was heavy and uncomfortable, but certainly better than a bullet in the belly.

Sunbird herself wore a very different sort of gear. She bore a highly customized travel harness, black, and with silver stitching. Various, circular crystalline surfaces lined it, along with specialized pockets for storing her unique data slates. To anyone unfamiliar with it, Sunbird imagined her node control harness must look like something a mad-bird would wear. It was covered in what looked like circular, blue-black mirrors, and held oddly placed pockets and random flaps buckled shut. Sunbird, for her part, was more than happy to leave them to their confusion.

“Welcome home, General Sunbird!" The first gryphon to reach Sunbird called out a greeting, clapping a forepaw to her armored chest. “I've been told to inform you that all the flight captains have arrived for the gathering!"

 “Thank you!" Sunbird returned her soldier's salute.“I know I'm quite late, so do me a favor, will you? Fly ahead to landing pad seventeen, make sure Information Officer Nils is waiting for me? And have word sent to the Warden that I'm on my way." 

“Certainly, General!" The female soldier banked away, then beat her wings in sharp, forceful strokes to accelerate away from the others. 

“Thank you, again!"

The other gryphons moved into escort positions alongside her. Each offered her the same salute. She returned it, looking them over. Both were males, and much younger than her. She did not recognize either of them, and guessed them to be recent recruits, just finished with their training. If they were nervous to be escorting their general so soon into their careers, they certainly did not let it show. Instead, they kept up proper protocols, ever-watchful for any potential threats.

Sunbird turned her attention to the island of Inner Redemption. Vast wooden docks stretched into the water, like great roots reaching in all directions. A few immense ships were moored at the largest of the docks. Rocky outcrops jutted from the water beyond the main island's shores, dotted with ancient trees whose gnarled roots crawled across the craggy stone, seeking any earth-filled crevice.

As she flew over the terraced walls ringing the island, Sunbird scanned the soldiers walking their battlements and manning their guard towers. She was pleased to see that each soldier appropriately armed, and paying proper attention. Cannons, artillery, crank-guns, and other mounted ordinance all sat at strategic locations. Each was well cared for, and occasionally test fired to ensure they remained in working order. And those were only the weapons kept in plain site, that everyone was allowed to know about.  

Just past the walls was the city's gryphon district. Inner Redemption had the highest gryphon population of any of the city-states, and most of them worked for the Warden, one way or another. Gryphons were social creatures by nature, and the interconnected stone buildings carved into the island itself served them well. Such structures were strong enough to support their weight in high numbers, and allowed them to socialize easily. The location also provided plentiful views of the great lake, and the popular fish markets it sustained.

Further inside the city were the homes of the city's other peoples. Nearly everyone there either worked for The Warden's Office, or made a living serving those who did. Markets, taverns, and even legalized houses of pleasure made good coin while keeping everyone fed, clothed, and entertained. Everything, from markets to brothels, was regulated and licensed to ensure health and safety for all, workers included.

The Warden's Office maintained its own aerodrome towards the center of the inner city. Hangers for sky-crawler storage and repairs dotted the lands around it, remnants from a time when there were more such vessels sharing the sky with gryphons and dragons. Military vessels and gunships assigned to protect the city sometimes docked there for resupply.

Before Sunbird and the current Warden came into power, both hangers and gunship fleet were in terrible disrepair. For that matter, so too were the cargo and commercial vessels. Across the last few decades or so, they had put forth a massive, two-pronged effort to restore as many as possible. They hired salvagers to collect and repurpose parts and hulls, from the airship graveyard in the Jagged Pools, and beyond. Then, they'd hired every available engineer, and put them to work restoring every available craft to working order, both for the Warden's military, and to restore proper service to the other cities.

At the very center of Inner Redemption was The Warden's Office itself. It was a sprawling, many-storied palace built of white marble. A multitude of towers bristling with cannon emplacements and other powerful weaponry stood all around it, with more artillery upon its roof. Elaborate, crystalline domes topped it in several places. Other areas held a slew of stained glass windows and fluted columns.

Sunbird swept in past the towers, heading for a wide, flat stone balcony. Woven landing mats covered it to help arriving gryphons get enough traction to come to a quick stop. Many such sites dotted the palace's terraced upper levels, some large enough even for the occasional dragon visitor. Sunbird flared her wing, slowing her descent just before she touched down. The gryphon slipped the tips of her claws free, catching the mat just enough to trot to a stop. She shook herself, folded her wings, and turned towards the entryway.

The landing pad's entrance to the palace was manned by a tall, green scaled va'chaak, and a human woman with dark skin. Both wore armor with layers of plating, silken meshes, and padding. Like the gryphon's armor, it was designed to protect against common forms of weapons fire, and was usually distributed amongst the Warden's forces. The lizard had a rifle slung over his shoulder, while the woman bore a pistol holstered at each hip. Each guard also had plenty of additional rounds.

“Good afternoon, General!" The lizard approached her, holding out a scaly hand. “I know it sounds stupid, but, identification please."

Sunbird tilted her head, parting her beak in a smile. “You mean I can't get in on good looks alone?"

“Afraid the Warden would have my job if I didn't stick to regulations, even with you." The lizard shifted his weight, hooking a hand on his rifle strap.

“As he rightly should." Sunbird strode up to the va'chaak, lifting her crown feathers. “Are you sure you wouldn't rather find it, on your own?" She circled him, brushing her feathers and harnessed body up against his, marking him with her scent. “You can search my feathers, if you like. Ruffle me just right, and I might even purr for you."

The woman laughed, her arms folded. “And ruffle her wrong, and she might see how far she can hurl you off the landing pad."

“Also possible!" Sunbird circled the woman in the same way, rubbing up against her like a cat in search of attention. “Now, I'm sure I've my identification documents somewhere. Do you accept imagery on data slates?"

The green va'chaak swished his scaly tail. “I can never tell if you're teasing us, or testing us."

“Both, of course!" Sunbird settled onto her haunches, retrieving a slate.

She held it flat against one forepaw, and pressed the pads of the other to its surface. It flashed white, scanning her pawpad, then unlocked. She quickly flicked through a few nested menus, and drew up her Warden's Office identification. It depicted images of her from several angles, her code name, her access levels, and a bevy of other information.

Sunbird offered the guards her slate. “Here you are. I trust everything to be in order."

Both guards inspected the images and information, then offered her friendly smile. “You're clear. Thank you, General, sorry for the inconvenience."

“Think nothing of it." Sunbird shut the slate down and tucked it away, then rose back to all fours. “Who do you think instituted these regulations, anyway? So thank you, for doing your jobs properly."

Sunbird slipped between the soldiers, her feathered tail sliding across each of them. From the landing balcony, heavy stone doors led into the palace. Sunbird pushed them open, and they swung inward easily on well-oiled hinges. The doors lead to a corridor paneled in dark mahogany, inlaid with diamond-shaped alcoves. Lights in brass and crystal fixtures lined the walls. Burgundy carpets covered the floor, soft beneath her pads. Display cases held scale-model replicas of famous sky-crawlers, ceremonial weaponry, and antique navigation tools.

The gryphon followed the corridor for a short time, before pressing her paw to the inside of an alcove. Something clicked, and a hidden door swung open. The opening revealed an adjoining chamber where a young human woman awaited. The woman had sharp eyes, and unusual silver marks of rank on the shoulders of her indigo and black uniform. Her name was Nils, and she was the captain of Sunbird's personal Information Division.

The Information Division worked on a part of the palace few knew truly existed. Fewer still had access to it. She'd personally trained most of its limited staff. Nils was the highest ranking member serving in the palace, which meant she often worked as Sunbird's personal assistant. Instead of a weapon, she carried a slate at her hip, tucked into a special carrying case. When she spotted the golden gryphon, she offered a bow, then saluted as she rose, thumping her fist to her chest, as the gryphons did.

“Welcome home, General."

“Thank you, Nils." Sunbird pushed the door closed. “Help me out of this thing, will you?"

“Certainly." Nils hurried forward to help Sunbird out of her equipment.

Although Sunbird's harness was designed for her to be able to get into and out of it herself, it was always easier with assistance. The two of them made quick work of it, and soon the elaborate gear lay in several large pieces nearby, its embedded, blue-black crystalline surfaces gleaming in the light.

Sunbird shook herself, fluffing up her feathers. “Oh, gods, that's better. I feel like I've been wearing that thing for months." She looked herself over, flattening her ears in dismay. Her feathers and underfur looked a rumpled, matted mess. “Don't suppose I have time for a bath and a preening session?"

“Afraid not. The meeting started over an hour ago." Nils went to a draw, and retrieved several large brushes and a pair of shears. “Let me see what I can do."

“Oh, thank you, Nils." Sunbird bowed her head. “You're a blessing from the Stars themselves."

“Damn right I am."

Nils swiftly worked her way from the gryphon's head to her tail, brushing and grooming everything in between. Flattened areas were brushed back into fluffy form, feathers returned to proper position. Unworkable mats of fur were snipped away, and surrounding areas brushed to hide their removal. By the time Nils was working through Sunbird's tail, the gryphon already felt better.

“There." Nils stepped back to admire her work. “You're presentable for the meeting, at least."

Sunbird twisted her head around, looking herself over. She stretched her wings, pleased with the results. “So I am. Not that anyone would dare say otherwise."

“Jikir might." Nils scrunched her face. “Before you ask, 'who the hell's Jikir', he's a newly anointed Flight Captain, replacing Mirek."

Sunbird scrunched her beak. “I didn't approve any promotions."

“You were unreachable, for a little while, and the void needed to be filled." Nils pulled her slate out, tapped a few inputs, then offered it to the gryphon. “Here's his profile. He's been an excellent legionnaire, shows a desire to excel, but also demonstrates a tendency to push back against authority. Carrus read the recommendation, and approved it on a temporary basis, pending your final approval."

Sunbird clicked her beak, skimming through a bit of Jikir's listed history. “I'm guessing he wanted to give the little bastard a chance to prove himself in person. His previous history seems in order, at least. I'll see what I think of him." She pulled back, glancing over her control harness. “Can you take care of all this?"

“Of course." Nils gestured to a small, wheeled cart she'd already brought to carry the gryphon's gear. “What do you want done?"

“Full diagnostics, transfer and analyze all new data, compile and update…" She waved her paw. “The usual. Have the suit itself cleaned and returned to my quarters along with everything else."

“As you wish, General." Nils bowed again, hesitating as she rose. “There's…something else I need to discuss, but not here."

Something in Nil's voice left ice prickling under her feathers. “How urgent is it?"

Nils held her hands up. “Not that urgent, but you'll need to see to it as soon as your meeting with the Flight Captains is concluded. Suffice it to say, we've had an unauthorized slate activation."

Sunbird ground her beak, tapping a single claw against the floor. “Where?"

“A Dragon Lord's fortress, outside Hope's Folly. We think it was accidental, and it shut down again soon after, but…" Nils shrugged. “It did attempt connection, both internal, and external, so think it's best that you make that decision."

“I agree." Sunbird sighed, shaking her head. “Meet me after my business with the Warden and my Flight Captains is concluded, then. And we'll decide whether or not I have to go take away some dragon's toys." She turned away, growling under her breath. “So much for my damn vacation."