Taming a Dragon

[Neceran]

Closed

“A double shot of your cheapest liquor.”

The barkeep smirked, but when he saw the look on the Draconian’s face, his eyes nervously twitched to the two bouncers in his employ. He doubted they would stand a chance against the large, fearsome drakeling seated at his bar. She smiled at him, a humorless, calculating smile, as if she knew his thoughts. The man was taken aback by the way her supple lips almost disappeared, and her mouth split open to mid-cheek, revealing rows of clenched, wicked teeth.

The Draconian waited with maddening patience, relishing his apprehension at the sight of her. The crimson, scaled wings that folded against her back were tipped with onyx talons, and every breath Neceran took caused them to shift menacingly. Her tail, equally long as her seven foot frame, coiled lazily, the tip of it twitching on the floor behind her, and woe to the one uncareful enough to disturb it. The tapping of her claws against the polished wood bar caused those sitting near her to shift uncomfortably.

“Anything else?” the barkeep asked, feigning disinterest. He wiped the smears from a tumbler before filling it with a rank tequila.

“Cow,” Neceran replied, “still mooing if you have it.” The barkeep attempted to conceal his distaste, and nodded swiftly before disappearing into a back room of the bar. Neceran smirked at his back and adjusted herself on the pair of too-small barstools. The drakeling’s exotic face relaxed again, and she scanned the room.

The inn was as quaint and as unimpressive as the city of Underwood itself, flat and hidden among the trees of Concordia, very much unlike the soaring mountain-top eyries the drakeling called home. It was here, Neceran had heard tale, that war raged between the Empire and the Rangers, yet any real evidence of bloodshed was non-existent. There were, of course, the incidents of skirmishes, raping, and pillaging, but drakeling noble had seen as much and far more in her homeland of Dheathain. War could be a very relative term.

The tequila that cascaded down her throat burned less in her gut than Neceran’s recent loss of the Adventurer’s Crown, and Kenneth Stern’s prize of Destiny’s Book. She had persevered among those much more experienced than her, and had even given her life to advance, but a minor technicality had seen her ejected from the contest unexpectedly.

The Draconian had heard that some unknown elf of Raiaera had won, a fumbling, weak little creature who managed to worm her way through the rounds, advancing when others far better than her had been eliminated. She almost spat at the thought, but figured that might not be the best idea since there were candles and sconces with open flame around her, and the tequila only added to the flammable nature of her saliva. There was no need to cause a scene. Not yet, at least.

[Sagequeen]

A shudder and a cold chill raced up Erissa Caedron’s spine. The high elf had an aversion to dragons, understandably, and the Draconian sitting at the bar set her at unease. It was not the first time Erissa had seen the imposing female. A smile like that could not be unseen, and tended to linger as the stuff of nightmares. The elf turned her back quickly, just as the drakeling snatched a piece of raw meat from her plate and devoured it in two gluttonous bites.

It takes all kinds, Erissa reminded herself. That is probably normal and perfectly acceptable where she comes from. Yes, perfectly normal.

Erissa took a sip of the burgundy wine gracing her fluted chalice. The young man on stage strode confidently from one edge to the other, working the crowd with joke after joke. The patrons were rolling with laughter as he mercilessly hazed those nearest the stage. The beer, however, proved to be a catalyst for good nature on this particular night, and there was a slapping of shoulders and grins all around.

“Perhaps I should switch to the beer,” she muttered under her breath, noting her distinct lack of a sense of humor since the Draconian sauntered to the bar.

“What was that?” her well-dressed tablemate asked. He never looked up from tuning his lute.

“Oh, nothing,” Erissa said, shaking her head. “Looks as though your crowd will be rather lively tonight,” she offered, changing the subject.

“In a good way, I hope,” he said, finally looking up at her and grinning. Erissa smiled warmly at the eager-eyed boy. He was in for a wild night indeed; she had read as much in her Book of Destiny. The elf had poured over the book for several hours, reading the boy’s near future. Chances were almost certain he would meet his lovely wife-to-be, who was stealing constant glances as she cleared tables and refilled mugs.

“Remember the chord change in the second refrain,” Erissa instructed, just as she had in the book.

“Yep, I got it!” he replied dutifully.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” the elf said urgently while rummaging through her satchel. “I took the liberty of bringing you some extra strings, just in case.” Erissa smiled mysteriously as she pressed the envelopes into his hand.

“Thanks, but I won’t need ‘em. Just put a new set on,” he said, plucking several melodic notes.

“Trust me,” Erissa said with a wink. “It pays to be prepared.”

It pays to be prepared. The phrase brought her train of thought to a grinding halt. With a feigned yawn, she stretched and twisted her back to hide the glance over her shoulder. Her stomach clenched in knots as her eyes met the draconian's, and Erissa quickly turned back to her student, a sour look on her face. She had scoured the boy’s future and had seen nothing to indicate trouble for herself. She had looked no further into her own fate.

“There’s that look again,” the boy noted, raising a single eyebrow.

“What?” Erissa asked. She turned her attention to him.

“That look you get before something bad is about to happen. You must have a sixth sense. So what is it? Am I going to flub this up tonight and have beer mugs chunked at me?” The boy’s playful tone was spiked with overtones of real apprehension, and he eyed the elf closely, hanging on her words.

“Of course not,” Erissa said lightly. “It was the stew, I think. It does not seem to be sitting well,” she lied. The Draconian’s eyes bored holes in her back, and the elf did her best to shake off the uneasy feeling.

[Neceran]

The high elf...

She could not be the one who won Destiny’s Book. Surely, Neceran thought, the mercenary who had told her about the Crown’s winner must have been mistaken. The frail thing before her did not even carry a weapon, and instead adorned herself with fine cloth, jewels, and pleated, curled hair.

“Another,” Neceran demanded as she slammed the chipped tumbler on the bar. The bartender was quick to comply, and his hand shook as he poured. He froze in place as the drakeling noble whipped her head around and glared at him. “Who is that?” she growled, pointing a clawed finger at Erissa. The portund man flapped bewilderedly at her. She could have been pointing at any of the patrons in the general area.

“Which one?” he stammered.

“The elf. Silver hair, green dress.” Neceran’s gaze was intense and the bartender hesitated. He chewed his lip as he second-guessed giving the drakeling Erissa’s identity. He rather liked the elf, but his momentary protectiveness evaporated under the withering stare.

“Erissa Caedron,” he whispered. “But don’t you go causing trouble,” he warned weakly. “She’s an Ixian Knight, you know.”

“What’s an Ixian Knight? And what makes you think I would cause trouble?” Neceran asked with a sarcastic smirk. She raised the tumbler and downed the contents in a single draught.

“Meant no offense,” he said quickly. “Excuse me!” His look of relief was almost comical as a dark-haired barmaid waved him over. Her almond eyes were glued to the young man strumming a lute on stage, and she relayed her table’s drink order distractedly.

“Erissa Caedron,” Neceran growled. “She’s the one.” The drakeling shook her head in mild disbelief. Her clawed hand went instinctively to the heavy leather pouch strapped to her belt; she stroked and fingered the glittering contents as she thought. There must be more to her than meets the eye. At her table, Erissa laughed and clapped along with the crowd as her student strummed and sang a satire about an Empire soldier who lost his pants to a forest fairy.

Neceran turned back to the bar and stared at the pool of blood congealing on the empty plate in front of her. The darkening color of it was reminiscent of the crimson scales on her neck and shoulders, midriff, lower arms, and lower legs. She was a noble Draconian, born of an ancient pairing between dragons and men, and her own blood was purer than most. Neceran was of the Wing Caste, one of the two ruling groups in Dheathain, and her tail twitched more rapidly as she thought of ascending the ranks and becoming the second female in her kind’s history to lead them.

How brilliantly she had floundered in her task of late.

She had dashed her chance at winning the book fairly. She had yet to learn how to summon fire, and the mysterious fire mage that could teach her had all but disappeared. Neceran had not even managed to increase her treasure, her Prestige, a small part of which she kept fiercely guarded on her belt. There was not just a chip on the drakeling’s shoulder, but a whole damnable mountain of sourness, just waiting to erupt on the first person who crossed her.

Neceran’s blood screamed in frustration at the elf who celebrated so flippantly, and the Draconian’s nostrils flared as she watched the beauty take the stage, urged there by the little man playing the lute. It was not that Neceran would be robbed of fair and honorable combat from the owner of the book when she took it. Any kill was a fair kill if it served her purposes. There was just something about the elf that wrenched its way under the drakeling’s scales. She looked so sweet. So proper. So damned annoying.

Neceran would not have been surprised if the elf held to some honorable code and rarely used the book at all. Fool, she thought. I would have expected this Erissa to have already accomplished much with the book. I would have.

[Sagequeen]

The momentary unease had all but passed as Erissa lifted her voice in song, spinning a lovely duet with her student. The boy was performing masterfully despite a slight dip in his attention. He grinned and winked at the dark haired girl. She blushed fiercely as she cleared a table of empty mugs and plates laden with ham-bones gnawed to the white.

The high elf’s heart warmed at the sight of the two. She had been careful to skip the more intimate, private details in the couple’s future. The book, Erissa insisted to herself, could be a very dangerous thing if used without restraint. What havoc one could wreak with it, she thought; what harm could come to oneself and others. The power she could gain was not worth the pain it could cause. She had decided not long after winning it that she would use it in only the direst circumstances.

Naturally, not all of those lofty ideals had remained intact, and she currently found herself playing mystery matchmaker. Erissa reckoned that giving Fate a helping hand was fine if the possible outcomes caused no problems in the grand scheme of things. In the case of the boy and the barmaid, had Erissa not insisted he perform on that very night, the young woman would have walked home alone and been trampled by a horse, marring her face so badly the poor thing would die an old, lonely spinster. The boy, as it were, would fall in love with a woman barren of both heart and womb, and he would also lead a very sad and lonely life.

Such a thing Erissa could not and would not tolerate, not when she could do away with that horrid destiny and replace it with one of love and fulfillment. In fact she felt all but obligated to gently intercede in such matters, and so she had only used the book on similar occasions. The ‘direst circumstances’ clause of her self-imposed policy of ignorance had yet to be fulfilled. Erissa was grateful for that.

The song came to an end, and a certain dark-haired waitress walked pensively to the stage, her eyes cast to the side in bashful admiration.

“Here,” she said softly, offering the boy an ice cold mug of the tavern’s finest. Knowing her cue, Erissa quietly exited stage left, and disappeared into the shadows. Her work was done, and she was more than just pleased. With a smile, she clutched her silk handbag and slipped through the main room, past the bar, and out the front entrance. There was no sign of the imposing Draconian, and for that, the high elf was relieved. She whistled like a Nightingale as she strode through the town’s emptying streets, having a mind to pay a visit to her innkeeping friend, Rora. There was the matter of a certain guest at the woman's inn and his nefarious intentions to rob her in the morning.

A shadow loomed against the pitch black, blotting out the stars and rustling like thin leather as it swooped overhead. As Erissa passed through the cheerily lit door of Rora's inn, a nearby building groaned unnaturally.

[Neceran]

The elf had emerged from the humble inn’s door with the rising of the sun. Neceran grinned with relief; she had dozed off and on upon the roof of an adjacent building, ever wary that her quarry might give her the slip when her eyes closed. There would be no cover of night to hide the Draconian, and no swooping from rooftop to rooftop, so Neceran hung back as far as she could. Erissa remained on the main road leading north through town, and as far as she could tell, the elf meant to leave the safety of town and head into Concordia Forest.

“Perfect,” Neceran whispered, a smirk twisting her face. She had to restrain herself from shoving her way through the early morning market-goers who moved entirely to slow for the Draconian’s temper. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to cause a scene and draw attention to herself - any more than her imposing physique already did. She looked forward covetously to the day when her wings were finally developed enough to allow her flight, when she could soar high above her prey as she stalked it. Until then, Neceran was relegated to pursuit on foot and occasional long glides. The elf finally broke through the northern edge of town, beyond the guards’ post and into the cover of Concordia’s lush umbrage.

Erissa whistled loudly, the trill reaching far into the dew-laden, morning air. Moments later, a gloriously dirty white horse pranced to the elf, moss and leaves decorating his hair. His riding saddle sat off-kilter, but seemed to be no burden to him. He neighed happily as he approached the Ixian, who was dressed riding leathers.

<“Lucious! Honestly,”> she said in her smooth, melodic voice. The tone and timbre of it only enhanced the quality of her native tongue. <“At your age, I would expect you to be well over the antics of a foal.”> Erissa scratched him between the ears as he ducked his head, and Neceran could have sworn the horse chuckled. <”But I am glad you are not, my friend.”>

The words were completely foreign to Neceran, but the drakeling could care less. Her quarry was headed into the heart of Concordia Forest. The elf would be isolated, away from any other being who could help her. The drakeling weighed her options, and the tip of her tail twitched erratically. If should could manage, the kill would come from above, from within the trees. However, if the stories about elves’ superior senses were true, Neceran doubted she could maneuver her seven foot frame through the fragile branches without tipping off Erissa. Her wings posed another problem; even folded tightly behind her, she wondered if she would be able to hide without them giving away her position.

The only option, Neceran decided, was to circle around Erissa in a wide arc and find a place ahead of her where she could lay in wait. She would have the advantage of not needing to move until the last minute, avoiding the elf’s sharp senses.

The Draconian waited for Erissa to mount her beast and spin him around to the north. The horse and rider took to the road. The elf urging him to a springing trot, and soon the muffled hoof beats faded into the lively sounds of Concordia’s wildlife.

[Sagequeen]

The high elf blinked tiredly. To her utter surprise and great dismay, the Draconian was stalking her. She may have spent the previous night within the safety of Rora’s inn, but Erissa had poured over her book most of the night, searching out the endless possibilities that could take place. Some were a certainty, as if destiny were allowed a few things, but others events rested on the edge of a blade. Of utmost importance was to lure the beast from the city. There was no choice for the Ixian. Her own chances for survival were lessened, but succeed or fail, the body count would only be one - the drake or the elf.*

<"On your guard, Lucious,"> Erissa breathed, and the horse tossed his head. The she-drake should be due east of her now, moving swiftly. Images of carnage flashed in the high elf's mind, herself splashed with Draconian blood, and her own staining long, white teeth. Erissa began whistling again, a carefree, unsuspecting tune that carried through the canopy, and she was sure the drake would hear it easily.

The high elf's delyn sword hung at her side. She had yet to give it a name, or even to whet the blue, magic-loving metal with real blood. She rested her hand on its hilt and peered into a break in the trees, where Concordia opened up into a small meadow. Still whistling, she emerged into the full sun. She had no intention of walking into an ambush, and she had a clear view all around herself. Erissa dismounted and threw off her heavy cloak.

<"Do not get in the way, old friend. It would not go well for you."> The horse chuffed and dug his front hoof into the ground in protest. <"I know, I know. But if it happens, the odds are it will not be here."> Erissa scratched Lucious between the ears and pushed his head, urging him away. She drew her sword and began a series of forms and poses, preparing her body should the encounter come to combat. Her sword drank in the energy she sent through it, and ribbons of light trailed it as she moved from form to form. The spellsinger once again began a tune, but this time, gave it voice and word. If the Draconian wanted her book so badly, she would have to come to the elf and meet her on even ground.

[Neceran]

Neceran silently cursed every low-hanging branch that tore at her face and wings. She was not a creature meant to bend and stoop to other living things, and she would have gladly snapped branches and uprooted saplings if keeping quiet were not so incredibly important. An elf could quickly disappear in the woods if spooked.

It all could very well be an exercise in futility. The accursed elf had the book, and it could expose all Neceran's best laid plans. So far, Erissa had not given any indication that she knew the drakling was on her trail. The elf had even been whistling like a chipper bird all the way, but that could be a ploy. It was a tricky situation, but the drakeling's plan was simple. Press the elf mercilessly if she could not quickly end her. It would be very difficult to read on the run, and eventually, Erissa's advantage would be lost.

Neceran stopped in her tracks, a few leaves fluttering down overhead. The sun had just begin its climb over the canopy, and light broke through in shafts through Concordia's dense trees. The whistling had stopped, and the drakeling sniffed the air frantically. She strained her ears for any sign of the elf.

<"Wings be torn,"> she cursed in her harsh language. Neceran cut back to the southwest, taking less care with her clawed feet. Several of her strides were propelled forward when a break in the trees allowed a wingbeat. The Draconian struggled to slow herself down; she could not stand the thought of Erissa slipping through her claws. Just as she was sure she had lost her, the elf broke out in song. Neceran slowed to a trot, then a hesitant walk. The air around her became very close and dense, and the sun's light seemed to darken. The Draconian hissed and whipped her head in all directions, seeking a physical source of an ominous sense of dread that was creeping up her spine.

"Show yourself!" she growled, sure that she was being pursued. Not even a bird chirped in response. The agitated drakeling shook her head abruptly, and focused herself on the direction of Erissa's voice. It seemed to bounce all around her, taunting her, but Neceran felt certain it was growing louder as she tore through the underbrush. There was no need for stealth; it was clear to the drakeling that her quarry was aware of her, and on the offensive with her mental prodding. Neceran shook off the dread as she neared the sunny clearing. She peered into the small meadow in disbelief. The elf was levitating crosslegged several feet off the ground, her profile soft, demure, and feminine.

The proud Draconian grinned, her pointed teeth glinting in the sun as she stepped into the clearing. She grasped her mace, and without a word, launched it at the elf. Her aim was deadly true.

[Sagequeen]

Hasty, Erissa thought, eyes still closed. The rays of the sun warmed her face, and the wind whistled as the mace streaked through open air. The elf raised her arm, and the weapon slowed drastically, dropping harmlessly to the ground, inches away. Seconds later, the she-drake was tearing through the knee-high grass in a full charge, and Erissa stretched her legs downward to the ground. She opened her sea-blue eyes as Neceran spread her wings and leaped through the air, meaning to land atop the elf. Agile as a cat, Erissa spun away from her, narrowly missing the drakeling's talons.

Neceran rose from her crouch with a spin of her own, and her long, supple tail whipped through the air, cracking as it drew blood across the elf's white cheek. Erissa stumbled back several feet, surprised at the she-drake's quickness. She had little time to recover; Neceran snaked forward again, her right arm poised to crush the elf's shoulder in a single, wicked blow. With no other option, Erissa summoned a shield against the creature, and Neceran shattered it completely. It slowed the drake enough for the spellsinger to draw her sword to defend herself. Blue energy crackled along the length of it, and the drakeling narrowed her eyes as she regained her footing, unsure of what she faced.

"I know what you want," Erissa said. She matched step for step as the drakeling circled her. The elf held her sword high, staring down its slight curve at the imposing Draconian. Blood had begun to drip down to her chin, onto her maroon leather jacket.

"Yessss," Neceran hissed. Her tongue slipped between her rows of teeth, tasting the scent of the elf's blood. Corrosive fluid glistened and dripped down her bottom lip, which had all but disappeared. Erissa studied the drakeling, reading memories of her native home of Dheathain. "The book. You will give it to me."

"If I were you," Erissa said, her eyes meeting the she-drake's, "I would rethink that demand. I have looked into the future, and you cannot defeat me."

"Of course you would say that," the drakeling hissed. She lunged forward and swiped sideways at Erissa, who met her forearm with the delyn blade. The drake's scales were not even scratched, but the two struggled for a moment as she grasped at Erissa's neck. It quickly became clear that Neceran would overpower the elf with strength alone. Erissa leaped back and flicked the sword at the drakeling, sending the stored bolt of energy at her. She took the hit directly in the chest, and it sent her staggering back.

"But you never even thought to ask for my help," Erissa said. She tossed the sword to her left hand and released another bolt directly from her right. The blue energy ball slammed into Neceran's shoulder and spun her to the side. The drake attempted to steady herself with her tail and wings. Relying solely on her elvish quickness, Erissa immediately closed in and thrusted with the sword, not at the Draconian's body, but through her outstretched wings. She forced the blade downward, slicing through the leathery skin. The ruined flesh flapped between two of the largest structural bones on one wing, and a great hole was opened in the other. Neceran screeched and swung her arm outward, smashing into Erissa's exposed side. There was a sickly crunch as the elf crumpled and flew through the air.

[Neceran]

"NO!" Neceran cried as her wings spasmed. "What have you done?" The Draconian was rooted in place for a moment, quivering with bloody rage. It would be months before the skin fully healed, and the scar tissue would never stretch and flex the way it should in flight. The elf had done her the second greatest dishonor possible among the Wing Caste of the Dheathain Draconians - she had stolen her flight.

She roared at Erissa and pelted her with a shower of corrosive, flammable fluid. The liquid immediately burned the elf's exposed skin and ate holes through her leather armor. A second spray coated the her before she could get to her feet, and the Ixian writhed in agony. "I WILL EAT YOUR HEART!" Neceran screamed. She lumbered to where the elf lay, flipped her to her back, and placed a giant, taloned foot squarely on her chest. "I will gnaw your bones until they crack, and I will suck the marrow from them before I pick my teeth!" The drakeling could hardly hear her own cursing as the blood pumped furiously in her ears. "Where... is... the book?" she seethed. To her fury, the elf laughed.

"Did you honestly think I would bring it with me?" Erissa coughed and spat out some of the venom that had dripped into her mouth. Her skin was raw and blistering where the fluid ate away at her. Tears squeezed from Erissa's eyes as Neceran leaned forward on her chest. The drakeling's dagger-sharp talons tore new holes in the elf's leather jacket. "Did you not think I would know everthing that would happen here?" Erissa choked. Her laugh gave way to a pained groan as one of her ribs cracked from the weight.

"Shut up and tell me where it is!" Neceran demanded, but then her countenance slowly morphed from rage to wicked glee. "The inn. You stashed it at the inn." Erissa stared into the drakeling's eyes, saying nothing. "Perhaps I shall pay a visit there. How many will I kill before I find it?"

"Go on then," the elf whispered. "If you are so sure, then you do not need me alive. Go on and try to find your prize," the elf whispered. "But the truth is, you cannot be certain, not certain enough to risk everything you want so dearly. Ruler of the Draconians, second female in the history of your people. Your Prestige growing each season until it is unrivaled by friend and foe alike. You would be the one who finally proves to your people that the Wing Caste alone should reign, not the Flame Caste. None will doubt the purity of your blood and your right to rule."

"How do you know..." Neceran hesitated for a moment, eyes narrowed at Erissa.

"The same way I know what is coming next. And as you are about to find out, you never saw it coming." The elf grinned through her pain as a streak of fleet-footed white launched itself at the Draconian. A thousand plus pounds of furious horse met with 450 pounds of stunned drakeling, and the two smashed to the ground, Lucious on top. His sheer weight and a hoof to the head knocked Neceran out cold. He wobbled as he rose; the Draconian had managed to sink her claws into his side, and her talons had ripped into his soft underbelly. He still managed to kick a few hooves' worth of dirt and grass on Neceran where she lay. The horse limped to Erissa and chortled softly.

[Sagequeen]

<"I told you,"> Erissa sighed, "<that it would not go well for you if you got in the way."> Lucious swayed woozily. The high elf grimaced as she got to her knees. Her rib and upper arm were broken, and much of her skin felt like it was on fire. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Her arm, which was an impossible angle, straightened as the bone connected and reformed. She gasped as her rib was healed, and sighed with relief as her porcelain skin began to regenerate, leaving not a single blemish. She turned her attention to the horse, and in a matter of moments, his wounds were closed. Lucious pranced around in the midday sun, rejuvinated and proud of himself.

Nearly exhausted, Erissa shuffled to her satchel, which lay near the center of the meadow, and removed her waterskin. She cleaned her face of the blood as best she could, and then stared for a few moments at Neceran, who lay perfectly still in the grass.

<"We must deal with her,"> she called to Lucious, and he trotted to his master. The elf was almost spent from the effort of healing, and she quietly removed the horse's saddle. The horse nickered at her, cocking his head. <"Yes, of course it would be easier to kill her. But I cannot. First, I am not a cold-blooded killer. Second, I liken killing a Draconian noble to kicking a hornets' nest. They keep to their own affairs, and I should like to keep it that way. No, I must deal with her in another way. Now, please help me move her to the edge of the woods, against that tree there.">

Erissa gathered her strength, and the drakeling rose into the air. Neceran moaned, spooking Lucious, but the elf calmed him and lay the creature across his back. She rubbed the horse between his ears, and met his gaze with a look of sincere gratitude.

<"To the tree,"> she said as she slung the saddle over her shoulder, and the two walked slowly across the small meadow. <"The smaller one there. It should do nicely."> Once more Erissa lifted the drakeling, floated her through the air, and set her gently with her back to the tree. The elf wedged the saddle across Neceran's chest and arms, and circled behind the tree. She heaved at the straps as she struggled with the drakeling's weight. With great effort, Erissa slipped the leather strap through the ring and fastened the girth as tightly as she could manage.

It was just a matter of waiting until the Draconian came to. But Erissa was not in the mood to wait. She needed rest, and the sooner the better. She levelled her gaze at Neceran, and focused intently on her. "Your skin is burning. The acid is eating into your body. You can smell your own flesh cooking. You had better wake up." Neceran's eyes snapped open and she began screaming. Erissa rather enjoyed the payback.

"What fire is this? I cannot be burned!" The drakeling quickly found her arms bound against her body by the saddle, and the sensation of burning faded. "Wh-what?" she stammered. Her struggles were futile.

"Having a nightmare?" Erissa asked innocently. Neceran's eyes widened as she saw the elf.

"How did you - I crushed you, covered you in... how?" the drakeling demanded.

"Yes, you did. Ruined my leathers as well," the elf sighed. "It was time for a new set anyway, I suppose. But let us get down to business, Neceran."

"You intend to kil me?"

"That is a silly question," the elf said, raising an eyebrow. "Do you think I would have bothered to tie you to a tree when you were out cold on the ground? On the contrary, I am very much inclined to let you live."

"Why?" Neceran hissed.

"Because, I believe I can help you." Erissa let the words hang in the air for several moments. Destiny's Book had revealed an interesting twist she hoped to urge into reality.

"I don't believe you," Neceran growled, and spat at her feet. The grass smoked and sizzled before it turned black.

"Why?" asked Erissa. "I am an elf of my word."

"Why would you help me?"

"Frankly, I would rather not have to deal with you stalking me for the rest of your life, short as it may be."

"What do you mean, short?" the drakeling growled.

"When you attack one Ixian, it tends to upset the rest of them. Believe me, you do not want one crazy immortal on your tail, much less a brigade of them."

"So you say, elf," Neceran said, "but once I have the book-"

"You won't," Erissa said, exasperated. "You won't have it, ever! Did you forget you are currently strapped to a tree with a horse's saddle? Are you too dense to realize that I will always be two steps ahead of you? But I am giving you an opportunity, and if you refuse it-"

"Do your worst, elf. Not even torture can break me," Neceran growled. "I am Neceran Zeiler, noble of the Wing-"

"Torture you?" Erissa asked in disbelief. "Oh, good heavens, no. But you are being impossible, and I am too tired to try to reason with you further. I think I shall have a nap. You are free to sleep as well, if you are so inclined."

"You... a nap?" Neceran screeched. "You shall have a nap, you ridiculous elf?"

"Yes. I will try not to snore, but no promises." Erissa covered her mouth politely as she yawned.

"Snore?" The drakeling's lips twitched and a vein began to bulge from her temple.

"And I am sorry about this, truly," Erissa said with half a smile touching her lips. She stripped off her ruined jacket and mentally wrenched the drakeling's jaw upward. The elf tossed the jacket at the bound drakeling, and the arms opened in a hug and tied themselves around her scaly neck. "But you tend to drool, and without a bib, you might just burn through the saddle straps and kill me in my sleep."

"You will rue the day you crossed me," Neceran said, death in her eyes.

"Come now," Erissa smiled. "We could be such great friends. You could braid my hair, and I could paint your... talons. Did I mention I am a renowed tailor in these lands? I could make you such a lovely dress."

"I hate you," the drakeling hissed.

"Shhhh," Erissa rebuked as she threw herself down in the soft grass of the meadow, safely out of Neceran's spitting range. "It is time for the 'slumber' part of this party."