A Fox's Love - 7. The Smith

He passed through the latest portal with no fuss, dropping a foot before his feet reached the ground. Daniel was getting much better at this. He just hoped it was the same universe.

The dragon stood in the shadow of a wooden wall, his wing tucked behind his back. Not that it would keep people from recognizing what he was. But if he got in trouble, he could always wipe people’s memories. The night was dark, and he hoped he could escape notice until the morning.

“What are you doing hiding in the shadows?”

Turning, Daniel saw a wolf approaching with a torch burning in his hand.

He spoke English, if a strange variation of it, and Daniel sighed with relief. He had landed in the right country at least.

“Forgive me sir, I don’t know where I am, and I have no coin to pay for board.”

The wolf fingered a club on his hip, studying the dragon.

“You a Welsh savage?” he asked, spitting at Daniel’s feet.

“No sir.”

“There’s no sir here boy. Lord Jean has not seen fit to knight any of the townsfolk.”

“De Gisor?” Daniel asked, recalling a bit of history.

“Aye.”

“Then this is Portsmouth.”

A smile broke across Daniel’s face. He was home.

“If you have no place to stay, I suppose we will need to make space for you at the gaolhouse.”

“Very well, as long as I am free to go in the morning.”

“You’re not in a position to make demands.”

“It is no demand, merely a request,” Daniel smiled disarmingly.

He motioned for the wolf to lead the way, and the wolf grunted before walking toward the town entrance.

The dragon followed close behind as the wolf led him to a wooden tower. The innards of the building was bare, save for a winding staircase that led to the top floors. Instead of taking him up, the wolf led Daniel into a room covered in straw. It reeked of body odor, and the far corner of the room seemed to be rotting away.

“Enjoy your evening.” the wolf leered. “I may be back to let you out in the morning. Or I may not.”

“Thank you,” Daniel smiled again. “A more princely accommodation would be hard to come by.”

His guide scowled before closing the door to the room, cutting off all light. Daniel heard a lock engage, and sighed.

“Elaun,” he muttered, waving a hand over his eyes.

The room brightened, and the dragon picked his way through the straw, searching for a dry spot. Sliding against the wall, Daniel sat, and let himself sink into meditation. There was no sleep for him, not since he stumbled upon the other realm, but once he got used to it, the dragon had found other ways to occupy himself while the world around him slumbered.

 

He roused himself at the sound of the lock disengaging. The wolf from the previous night walked in, followed by a lion.

“Here he is. Found him last night I did, skulking around the wall,” the wolf said.

“Leave us.”

The wolf nodded, and walked out of the room. Daniel remained seated against the wall. The lion studied him for a while, and Daniel matched his gaze.

“Spying is punishable by death,” the lion said finally.

“I’ll make sure not to tell anyone what I’ve seen then.”

“You are in prison. Do you make light of your circumstances?”

“Not at all. I merely note what you have to say. Spying is punishable by death. I will be sure not to spy on anyone.”

The lion grunted.

“I would have you executed right now, but Lord Jean has decreed that executions are to be ordered by him alone. Nonetheless, I cannot permit you go free.”

He motioned for Daniel to follow him, and left the room. The two walked out of the tower, into the early morning. Walking through the town square, Daniel listened to the sounds of a waking village.

They passed under a roof, and Daniel took note of a burning furnace with a block of iron sticking out of it. A smithy then.

A white mule stood beside the furnace, watching the iron heat. A second figure stood to the side, a blue fox, and Daniel heart panged.

It wasn’t him, the markings were wrong. There was no white on this fox’s chin. Still, Daniel found himself wishing and dreaming.

“God be with ye,” the donkey said, casting an eye on the lion and dragon.

“And also with you,” the lion replied. “We have another one looking for work.”

“Very well. Artix, take him.”

“If he doesn’t work, or you don’t have space for him, send him back to me,” the lion added as the fox motioned for Daniel to follow him deeper into the building.

The dragon walked behind Artix, entering a small room with two straw mattresses and a small cauldron hanging over a bed of smouldering coals.

“Are you hungry?” the fox asked, motioning to the pot.

Daniel’s stomach gurgled at the words.

“You may have a bowl.”

“Will you be training me?” Daniel asked, accepting a bowl of stew from Artix.

“No. You’ll pick up things from the master. Do not go against him.”

The fox handed Daniel a shirt and trousers.

“You are to wear these and nothing else. If the master wishes you to work the forge, you will wear the gloves and apron he gives you.”

Daniel disrobed, and stepped into the new clothing, feeling the fox’s eyes on his back.

“Does ‘the master’ have a name?” he asked.

“Baelor.”

“Boys!” the donkey brayed.

Artix ran out of the room, and Daniel followed closely.

“Artix, go buy charcoal. You, clean the house and make us supper. If you do it well enough, you can eat with us.”

“My name’s Daniel,” Daniel offered, as Artix ran from the building.

“Does it look like I give a fuck what your name is boy? Do as you’re told.”

Nodding, Daniel walked back inside, in search of a broom.

 

“You did well enough.”

Baelor set aside the bowl he had been eating from, and cast his gaze upon Daniel.

“You may eat.”

Daniel held back a scoff as he collected his meal from the cauldron. The donkey treated them both as slaves. He had no idea what Daniel was.

“And if you please me tonight, I will begin your training tomorrow,” Baelor continued.

“In what ways? My body is my own, and you may not take that right from me,” Daniel said, handing a second bowl to Artix.

The donkey’s hand shot out and grabbed Daniel’s forearm tightly.

“You have no rights. I rescued you from the dungeons of the keep. You belong to me.”

Baelor slapped the dragon, and Daniel sighed.

“As you say Master,” he said, staring into the donkey’s eyes.

Baelor blinked, and sat back.

“Good. You will learn your place in time.”

 

They stood before a mattress, the donkey looking Daniel over.

“Help me out of my clothes,” he demanded.

Daniel removed Baelor’s shirt, and untied his breeches, allowing the fabric to fall into a messy pile. Kneeling, the dragon collected the fabrics and folded them neatly, before setting them to the side.

“Now remove your own. I want to see what I’m working with.”

Daniel untied his shirt, and removed it carefully, freeing his wings from their confines. They spread wide, flexing, as the dragon folded his shirt.

“And the breeches.”

They fell to the ground, and Daniel kicked them into his hand, folding them as he had the others.

“Not bad. You might actually be able to hold a hammer,” Baelor said. “Turn around.”

Daniel did as he was told, and felt the smith’s rough fingers brush against his ass. That was far enough.

Taking a deep breath, the dragon dove into the donkey’s mind, delving through perverted thoughts and memories, until he reached his goal.

Behind him, Baelor collapsed, dick leaking. He’d remember nothing in the morning, save for the feel of Daniel’s ass.

The dragon bent, and picked up the donkey, setting him on a mattress.

“Artix,” he called quietly, and the fox silently entered the room.

“It usually takes him longer to finish,” the fox said, looking inquisitively at Daniel.

“I guess I’m good at what I do,” Daniel shrugged. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“With me. If you want to finish, use your hand.”

“Finish what? I got no pleasure from that.”

Artix stripped, and crawled onto the second mattress. Daniel caught himself staring at the fox’s crotch, or more specifically at his lack of nuts.

“You’re a eunuch,” he said, surprised.

“What of it?”

“I find that unusual for a smith.”

“I am no smith. He teaches me nothing,” Artix spat. “Sleep. You’ll need your strength in the morning.”

Daniel lay next to the fox, and Artix rolled over, facing the wall. There was barely enough space for the two of them on the bed, yet Daniel made space, moving until he was almost falling off the mattress.

“God give you good rest Daniel. You’ll need it in the weeks to come,” Artix said quietly.

 

“All men able to bear arms shall train at the bow for no less than six hours every week, by order of Lord Jean de Gisor. Bows will be provided.”

Daniel watched the crier leave his platform as he walked past with a bag of charcoal. He had been with the smith for nearly a month now, a month of training, and strengthening. The dragon was not paid for his work, but he didn't mind. He could have anything he wanted, should he wish it.

“You’re finally back. There’s swords need forging for the keep,” Baelor scowled as Daniel returned to the forge.

“Yes master,” Daniel said, pulling on an apron.

He saw Artix staring at him, a scowl on the fox’s face. This was Artix’s spot, his intended position, and yet Baelor made Daniel his apprentice.

He also made Daniel his toy. At least, he tried. And believed himself to have succeeded. Daniel never let the donkey touch him, or Artix.

“Get a move on. I want those blades sharp enough to shave with,” Baelor grumbled.

Daniel picked up a sword, and sat at the grindstone. Splashing the wheel with water, the dragon pressed the edge of the blade to the stone and began spinning it with a foot pedal.

“Carefully. If you fuck up that blade, it will come out of your hide.”

“Yes master.”

“These blades are made to do the Lord’s work, and I will not tolerate shoddy work.”

Daniel paid the donkey no mind. He was always going on about how the king was organizing a crusade and they were going to take the fight to the Moslems. They were in the right time period, but Daniel doubted that the blades they made here would see action in the East.

He grinded for nearly two hours, making sure the sword was razor sharp, before fitting it in the sheath Baelor had ordered for it. This was the second sword he had sharpened since arriving. Artix said there had been an increased call for swords, but this was a new town with a new lord. It was likely that Lord Jean would want to stock up on weapons, in case there was call for an army.

“Wrap another hilt for this blade. The same length,” Baelor said, seeing Daniel had finished.

Wordlessly, Daniel began whittling another wooden hilt with a knife. It was dull work, but he was picking up a few things from watching the donkey.

 

It took him four months to learn how to use a bow. Baelor was loathe to let the dragon learn to fight, but he could not disobey his lord. Artix he kept from the weapons, claiming the lack of balls made him less than a man.

Daniel also found time to practice his handling of a sword. He already knew how to use a katana from his time with Hana. The sword he was provided with was strange in his hand, but he developed his skills quickly, finding ways to merge the two fighting styles.

In what little spare time he had at the forge, Daniel made rings for mail armour, enough to make a suit for himself and Artix. Baelor noticed the extra rings, but shrugged them off as practice. They were good enough for a suit, but he would only accept the best in his armours.

At night, the dragon bound the rings together, using magic to silently weld them. He had no need to sleep, and he took full use of that. He worked on Artix’s armour first, measuring the fox as he slept. By the end of the second month, he had a complete suit of armour hiding in a pocket dimension, where Baelor would never find it.

He traded for the gambeson he needed, creating various useful items at the forge. The minute Baelor got wind of what he was doing, the donkey put an end to it, but by that time, the dragon had already obtained a set of gambeson in Artix’s size. It would keep the metal off of the fox if he ever had to wear the armour.

Finally, Baelor began teaching Daniel to forge a sword. The dragon finished his first blade after another month of training, adding it to the pile Baelor kept for Lord Jean’s forces.

They weren’t the only smiths working to outfit a nonexistent army. Four other smithies throughout the town worked tirelessly to fill orders for blades, maces, and spears.

And then Lord Jean came calling. He demanded a longsword and a new set of mail.

The smithy barely slept for the two weeks it took, Artix and Daniel working together to link the mail while Baelor crafted what he called his finest weapon. The donkey created the guard first, sending it to London to be engraved with the lord’s sigil. Drawing out the steel for the blade, he taught Daniel how to add a fuller to the weapon, reducing the weight.

In addition to the mail, Daniel whittled the hilt, sanding it so it fit smoothly in the hand. He added a leather grip to the handle, wrapping it tightly to prevent it from sliding in the knight’s hand.

When the guard came back, Daniel and Baelor fit it to the blade. Weighing the sword on a set of scales, Baelor began work on a pommel, making it thick to counter the weight in the blade. He tested the balance once the whole weapon was assembled, declaring it good, before finally pounding the pommel permanently onto the hilt. The blade was almost finished.

Daniel took his time sharpening the blade, starting with the wheel before finishing with his hand. He spent almost a whole day on the blade before giving it to Baelor for testing. Setting a post outside, the donkey cut the thin wood with the blade, noting the clean slice.

“It is done,” he smiled.

 

Lord Jean paid well for their services, though as usual, neither Artix nor Daniel saw a single coin. They experienced a surge of business when word got out the the lord had purchased from them, and the forge was kept busy for nearly six months after.

The new year came, and with it, a flood of sick. Baelor took ill, keeping him away from the forge. Daniel took the opportunity to teach Artix what he had learned. They took care of the old donkey, keeping him alive, though neither tried to make him better.

“I have something for you,” Daniel said one evening after Baelor had fallen into another feverish sleep.

He and Artix were laying on their bed, Artix squeezing against the wall. The dragon rolled, and reached into the corner of the mattress, hiding his hand. He pulled the suit of mail out of the pocket dimension, and showed it to the fox.

“You made this?”

“Yes. It should fit you well enough,” Daniel replied.

“But how? When? Baelor would never let us have armour!”

“Baelor is dying. Who cares what he would or would not let us have? We are our own people now.”

Sitting up, the fox embraced the dragon.

“Thank you Daniel,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

 

To their disappointment, Baelor began recovering with the help of the town apothecary. Artix hid his gambeson and mail once more, but from that winter on, he was more tolerant of Daniel.

Baelor recovered from his illness slowly, allowing Daniel to take over the forge until he was back on his feet. The dragon used his time productively, increasing the gold coming in by tenfold, and reducing the forge’s expenses. When the donkey finally got back to using the forge, the people in the town requested that Daniel work on their orders.

And then the word came that the Pope had declared a crusade.

Lord Jean put out word that all able bodied men were to join the army. He personally came to request Baelor be his smith in the coming war. The donkey took Daniel and Artix with him when he went to the lord’s muster. The dragon could see the donkey was proud to be involved in the crusade, but he knew Baelor had no idea what war was like.

They travelled to Dartmouth, where they camped outside the town for a month, while more forces joined them. Daniel was kept busy with requests to repair broken arms and armour.

News continued to arrive, not all of it good. King Phillip of France and Prince Richard had attacked King Henry while he rode to Dartmouth, and slain him. Richard was quickly coronated as the new king of England, and the two arrived in Dartmouth after another month of waiting, during which several lords had already set sail for the Holy lands.

Finally they sailed, Baelor, Artix, and Daniel stuffed on a galley with over a hundred other people. They landed in France, where they waited for more men to arrive.

“I swear, if the king keeps waiting, the war will be over before we arrive,” Baelor spat one day.

“I’d be okay with that,” Daniel shrugged, chaining a link in another suit of mail.

Baelor grumbled, sharpening another blade.

“Come on Daniel, where’s your sense of glory? Imagine if Lord Jean put a sword through the Moslem King’s head. Our sword,” Artix grinned.

“Get back to your cooking boy,” Baelor snarled.

 

They moved out soon after, marching to Marseille to meet with the king’s fleet. Finding the fleet missing, King Richard hired a new fleet, and they set sail within the week, much to Baelor’s delight.

The army landed in Messina in Sicily, meeting up with the missing ships of King Richard’s fleet. More waiting followed, and suddenly hostilities broke out between the king of England and the city.

Daniel stayed out of the fighting, though he, Baelor, and Artix could hear the screams of men. The battle was over soon, and they saw a French banner raised over the city. Only an hour later, the banner was torn down and replaced with the English coat.

A few days later the French army in Messina set sail, leaving the English forces behind. The smiths were kept busy for the next week, repairing the broken weapons of war. Finally, they, too, set sail.

 

“Damn it all…” Artix swore, spitting into a bucket filled with vomit. “Where did this storm come from? Isn’t this place supposed to be sunny all the time?”

“I can assure you that is untrue,” Daniel said. “I used to live here, a long time ago.”

He handed the fox a canteen filled with conjured water, and Artix washed his mouth out.

“Not quite the glorious adventure you were hoping for?” the dragon smiled.

The fox shook his head, retching as the ship pitched violently.

“I hope Baelor’s suffering just as much.”

There was a loud crack, and water flooded across the ground.

“Fuck!” Daniel yelped. “Come on!”

He grabbed the fox, and sprinted toward the ladder, knocking several people aside in his rush.

“What happened?” Artix asked as they climbed.

“We must have hit a rock! The ship’s going down!”

They reached the top deck, where people were scrambling, looking for a way off the ship. Daniel spotted a mountainous island nearby, and gripped Artix’s hand tightly.

“Hold on!” he called, spreading his wings.

“What-”

Artix screamed as he was pulled into the air. Rain pelted the two of them as Daniel hoisted the fox onto his back. He felt Artix clutch his waist, a longbow held tightly in his hand.

“Smart man,” the dragon smiled as he shot toward the island.

 

Daniel landed on the sandy beaches, soaked and shivering. The sky continued to flood them with water, as Artix dropped, panting heavily.

“Let’s get somewhere dry,” Daniel said, picking up the fallen fox.

He was tired himself, though that was easily fixed. He just needed to get Artix into shelter before the fox caught a chill.

The dragon carried Artix to a shallow outcrop, and set him down again. They would be safe from the rain here for a time. Stepping back out into the rain, the dragon set about collecting wood to burn. It may be wet now, but he could fix that later.

Setting several logs on the ground beside Artix, Daniel murmured a quiet spell, removing most of the moisture from the logs. Setting them properly, the dragon spoke a word, and a flame cracked into being, quickly spreading to the other logs.

Artix lay on his side, snoring quietly. Daniel set about removing the fox’s garments and spreading them beside the fire. He repeated the process with his own clothes, before laying beside the fox and placing his arm around him.

 

The dragon looked up as he heard footsteps approach. The rains had stopped a few hours before, but Artix remained sleeping, and the dragon guarded him.

An armoured goat walked toward them, a mace swinging from his waist.

“Eisai Anglos?” he demanded.

“Eimaste. To ploio mas katastrafke,” Daniel replied. “Do you speak English?”

The goat’s eyes widened.

“Yes,” he said. “You speak our language well.”

“Thank you. So do you.”

“Is he alive?” the goat asked, pointing at Artix.

“Yes, he is sleeping. I didn’t want to wake him. It was a bit of a flight to reach the island.”

“Flight? I do not know this term…”

Daniel spread his wings.

“Like a bird.”

“Peto?”

“I’m not sure,” Daniel confessed.

The goat shook his head.

“Did anyone else make it to shore?”

“I don’t know. I only carried my friend ashore.”

“But you are more than friend, yes?” the goat asked, sweeping his gaze over Artix’s naked form.

“No. Our clothes were drying.”

Daniel picked up Artix’s pants, and gently began pulling them up the fox’s legs. Artix suddenly kicked out, catching Daniel in the leg.

“What the fuck-?”

“Pull your pants up,” Daniel said.

“Why were they down?” Artix demanded, wriggling back into his pants.

“Because they were drying next to the fire,” Daniel replied, grabbing his own clothes.

The fox stood up unsteadily, spotting the goat.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Ceril. I’m searching for survivors of the storm.”

Daniel stepped into a dark corner and conjured their armour. He approached the goat again.

“So where are we going now?”

“To a city where you will be fed and well cared for.”

 

Once again Daniel sat in a dungeon, but this time he was not alone.

He and Artix had been left in this place almost two weeks ago, and he knew that the fox was near his wit’s end. There was only so much conversation the two could have with each other before the well of topics ran dry.

The goat had been right; they were fed, and no harm had come to them. It didn’t change the fact that they were prisoners awaiting ransom. A ransom none were likely to pay. And judging by the cough Artix had picked up, they didn’t have much time.

Daniel could get them out of the situation, but to do so required magic, and if he used magic openly, he would be burned at the stake. Even if he couldn’t die, that would hurt. A lot. That was something he would rather avoid.

“I don’t think I will make it,” Artix said quietly.

“Artix, you survived Baelor. Why do you think you’ll die here?” the dragon asked.

The fox coughed in response, and Daniel heard him spit on the floor. Daniel moved in the direction of the fox, and placed an arm around him. To his surprise, the fox rested his head on the dragon’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I was such an ass to you. You did so much to help me.”

“And I will do more,” Daniel said.

The door to the dungeon opened, and light flooded the room, causing both dragon and fox to squint.

A lizard stood in the doorway, dressed for battle.

“Come,” he commanded, and Daniel stood.

The dragon helped Artix to his feet, and let the fox lean on him as they followed the lizard.

“You have been freed. Your English army is outside the wall.”

“If we have been freed, will you give us back our armour,” Daniel requested.

Artix coughed again, gasping for air, and Daniel stopped walking as the fox slumped against him.

“Ey eln aen sutalan,” he whispered, picking Artix up. “Aen eila.”

It was risky, casting a spell in front of the lizard, but he had no choice. Daniel could only hope that the lizard’s command of the English language wasn’t enough for him to realize it was a spell.

“You will get your armour back, though that one no longer seems to need it,” the lizard smirked.

Daniel glared at him.

“He will have it,” he said quietly.

The lizard shrugged, continuing to walk. A door in front of them burst open suddenly, and five men armed with spears ran into the hall, followed by a lion with a sword.

“Submit or we will cut you down,” the lion snarled.

Daniel immediately dropped to his knees as the lizard drew his mace, yelling in Greek.

A cow hurled his spear, and it flew through the lizard’s throat. He dropped to the floor, coughing up blood.

“End him rightly,” the lion told the cow, and the cow approached, sword in hand.

He removed the spear, and decapitated the lizard, before wiping the blood off the blade.

“I know you,” the lion said, staring at Daniel. “You are Baelor’s boys. He has been looking for you.”

“Lord Jean?” Daniel asked in disbelief.

“Aye. I am pleased to have saved such skilled smiths,” the lord smiled.

“Give me a blade, sir, and I shall do more than just smith.”

“I believe your friend there will require more help than I. You’d best get him to the healer.”

“Thank you sir,” Daniel bowed, before hurrying from the hall.

 

Artix was back on his feet in a matter of days, but there was no time to rest. Finished waiting, the king ordered his army to sail again, having secured the island for future use. They reached land four days later, meeting up with a force that was already laying siege to a city.

“This is Acre,” Daniel said as he helped Baelor set up the forge. “I believe we’ll win a big victory here.”

“With God on our side, we cannot lose,” Baelor declared.

Artix was silent, watching Daniel work. His job was simple, to feed the three of them. There was no glory in it.

A lion approached in plain clothing, a suit of mail held in his arms.

“My lord,” Daniel bowed slightly.

“I am pleased to see you and your friend alive,” the lion smiled. “Baelor, I have a few links that I need repaired with utmost haste.”

“At once my lord. Forgive the poor craftsmanship. My apprentices worked on your armour,” the donkey said.

“Then I owe them my thanks. Their work saved my life. That axe would have cloven me in twain.”

He handed Daniel the armour, ignoring Baelor’s glare.

“Have it done by tomorrow and there will be an extra gold in it for you,” he smiled, before walking away.

“Give me that,” Baelor snapped, ripping the mail out of Daniel’s hands. “Bring me the extra chains.”

Smiling, the dragon walked behind their tent, grabbing the box full of links.

 

Three weeks later, Daniel sat up while the camp around them slept. He felt restless, as though the night was trying to warn him about something.

Someone approached him from behind, and the dragon turned.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Artix asked, sitting beside him.

Daniel shrugged.

“I can’t. Why are you awake?”

“You weren’t in bed. I guess I’m so used to you being there that I cannot sleep without you.”

The fox rest his head on Daniel’s shoulder. It felt so natural, having him there, and Daniel’s mind took him back to a happier time, with another fox in his arms.

Soft lips met his own, and he pushed into the kiss, breathing in the scent of musk and sweat, and dirt…

Daniel’s eyes opened, and he pulled away from Artix.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t be with you like that.”

“Because I’m a eunuch?”

“No. Because you remind me of someone I knew once. He vanished one day, and I’ve been looking for him ever since.”

“Maybe his spirit passed to me. Maybe you did find him,” Artix said quietly.

Their lips met again, gently, and a horn blew loudly.

“Fuck!”

The two stood up as soldiers sprinted through the camp, weapons gleaming in the light of the torches spread throughout.

“What is going on?” Baelor demanded, appearing behind them.

A coyote ran at them, a spear in his hands. Artix and Daniel dove apart as he ran past, spearing Baelor through the gut with a deafening cry. Wrenching the spear from the donkey, the Muslim turned toward Artix, towering over him with a bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes.

Daniel leapt on the coyote, wrenching his neck to the side with a loud snap.

“Let’s go!” he yelled, grabbing Artix’s hand.

They fled the camp, running out into the desert with the sound of battle behind them.

A rabbit leapt up in front of them with a staff, slamming it into Artix’s head. The fox dropped like a stone, and Daniel fell beside him.

“Mercy for my friend,” he said, bowing his head.

His hand found the fox’s as the rabbit spoke. The dragon had no will to translate.

The rabbit jabbed the staff into Daniel’s chest, and the dragon stood, taking Artix into his arms once again. They walked, the rabbit prodding the dragon occasionally, until morning, when they reached a camp of Moslem soldiers.

The two were clamped in irons, prisoners once again.

 

Five weeks later, Daniel stood naked and chained in the center of a stone chamber, another lizard standing before him. His captor held a razor sharp dagger and was spinning it idly in his hands.

“You proclaim to know the future,” the lizard smirked, his accent heavy. “Tell me then, what will become of you if you do not answer my questions.”

“You will slice off my fingers, one at a time until I do answer.”

“Wrong.”

The dagger slid across Daniel’s thigh, and he hissed.

“I can not tell you anything you don’t already know,” he grimaced. “Acre has fallen. I do not know where Richard will head next. I was just a simple smith.”

The lizard walked around the dragon.

“That is a beautiful scale,” he said in Daniel’s ear, touching the sapphire blue scale in the small of Daniel’s back.

A birthmark, or so his mother had said. Personally, Daniel believed it meant there was a blue dragon in his ancestry. He had once believed it was David Enterai, but now he was not so sure.

The dagger slid under the scale, prying it away from his skin, and Daniel bit back a scream.

“Are you sure you know nothing?” the lizard asked.

Daniel nodded silently.

“Shame.”

With a violent jerk, the lizard wrenched the scale out of Daniel’s body. The dragon roared in agony, nearly blacking out from the pain. But he couldn't. He couldn’t sleep, and he couldn't fall unconscious.

“Nel heda!” he cried out, and the pain vanished as the spell took hold.

He felt blood ooze from his back, dripping over his tail and onto the floor.

The door to the chamber slammed open, and a coyote hurried in. He began speaking to the lizard, and Daniel blearly cast a spell to allow him understanding.

“They killed them all?!”

“Saladin has ordered every prisoner taken out of town,” the coyote nodded. “This act can not, and will not go unpunished.”

The coyote retired from the chamber, and Daniel stared at the bloody scale on the floor, pain and anger burning through him in equal measure. He couldn’t focus. But they would not have his scale. He would not allow it.

“Cen heyno,” he whispered, and the scale vanished, banished to his house in his own plane.

The lizard unchained the dragon, and dragged him from the room, not bothering to explain anything to him.

Daniel was taken to a hill outside of town, where several gallows had been hastily erected. His heart thudded loudly in his chest. Until now he had believed himself immortal. But here, he was faced with death, and he was suddenly not so certain he would live forever.

“Danel,” someone muttered, hitting the dragon’s shoulder.

The dragon turned his head, seeing Artix beside him. The fox’s eyes were black, and he was missing several teeth.

Daniel pulled free of his captor, throwing his arms and wings around the fox. He would protect Artix. They couldn’t hurt him any more.

A spear was shoved between them, prying them both apart, and Daniel screamed in anger. It took ten people to drag him to the noose, and hold him down as the rope was set around his neck. He watched helplessly as an identical noose was placed around Artix’s neck. There were other prisoners around them, all being tied up with their own dooms, but Daniel had eyes only for the fox.

“I ‘ove you,” Artix said quietly, his eyes meeting Daniel’s for the last time.

“Don’t worry, it will be over soon. I won’t let them hurt you any more,” Daniel said.

As the executioner approached the fox, Daniel drew upon his magic. His mind was fuzzy, but he had enough clarity for a single spell.

The executioner kicked over the barrel under Artix’s feet, and Daniel spoke a single word.

“Kriaske.”

The fox was dead before the rope reached it’s full length.

Taking a deep breath, the dragon watched as the executioner approached his own barrel. He was to be killed by a rabbit. A strange choice, he reflected, but then, the world was full of strange choices.

“I love you Ryan,” he whispered, as the rabbit reached him.

And then he was dangling in the air, struggling to draw breath as the noose tightened around his throat. As he flailed in the rope, Daniel’s magic flared, and suddenly, he was back in his home, on his plane. Free from his death, and scarred from the experience.