Dragon Moon

They flew over forests and rivers, castles and streams. Erraeon pointed some out.

“The Green Castle.” They flew on.

“The Forest of the Wandering Dead.” He growled, pointing with a greyish unscratched claw at a large forest. Its trees were grey like his claw.

“The old legend goes that all the dead dragons’ souls rest there. It is said to be a peaceful place, where evil dragons turned away from our society, like Maluxor, cannot reside.”

“I hope to end my days there myself.” He added. Theoglen thought he saw a tear running down his cheek, but it was probably just the light.

They flew onwards, and presently came to a beach. They landed with a whump! Theoglen was not ready for the sudden landing and was nearly impaled on the spike he was sitting behind.

They walked down the beach past the rocks. There was a slight crack in one of the cliff walls. Erraeon put his clawed hand in the crack and heaved sideways. It started to open.

A dark figure inside pushed a spear against Erraeon’s throat.

The dragon exclaimed, “A Draco ar Firood!”

The spear withdrew and the crack opened completely to reveal a cave. The figure stood in the doorway, but Theoglen could not make out his features as his eyes were adjusting to the light in the cavern. Leaning over to Erraeon, he whispered:

“What did you just say?”

The man, for that is what it was, replied in a pleasant, slightly deep voice.

“He said A Draco ar Firood-A Dragon and Friend. I assume you also are a friend.” He frowned and turned to Erraeon.

“Hello, again, my friend! It’s been a long time.”

Erraeon turned to Theoglen.

“Theoglen, meet Hugh Lamellar, the best armour maker in the region, and a good friend of mine.”

Hugh started to measure Theoglen.

“What kind of armour would you like?” He grunted.

“Ummm…”

Hugh stroked his chin thoughtfully. “How about the strongest and best armour I can make? No cost, my only price is defeating that deluded maniac Theosen the Slayer. You’ve heard he is tainting the minds of dragons to take over the rest of the world for him?”

“Yes.” Said Theoglen. “He’s my father.”

At this Lamellar dropped his measuring tape.

“You are serious? But…then…” he scribbled some calculations in the dirt.

“Come with me.”

He led them into another cavern through the back. This one had lights, little candles, glowing everywhere.

“I shall need some ingredients. You will need a fireproof and strong suit of armour-chain will be fine?”

Theoglen nodded his assent.

Hugh moved round the cave picking up items he would need.

“Shed dragon scales, yes, iron, couple of blocks of steel, draconite. Draconite. Oh, not again, they’re so rare too!”

Theoglen drew closer to Erraeon.

“What’s draconite?”

“It is a crystal taken from the living head of a dragon. It is incredibly strong, cures and transforms all poison, and imbues the wearer with great courage. It can be shiny black or glistening white, and harder than diamond. It dissolves if still in the head when the dragon dies.”

Theoglen had a thought.

“Taken from the living head…isn’t that going to be a bit painful?”

Erraeon laughed humourlessly, a dry rasping sound.

“Many of my brethren were killed by the loss of blood or driven mad by the pain, driven to eventually commit suicide, but not all died.”

“Do you still have yours?”

“I do.”

Hugh interrupted.

“Where are we going to find another one when all the dragons are dead, unwilling, or evil?”

Erraeon spoke.

“I have no need for my draconite.”