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He didn't particularly need the company. This was fortunate; since Ash first made his lair beneath a castle pre-ruined for his convenience, he'd only rarely had visitors of any stripe. Mostly it was treasure-hunters, who brought knights in a predictable second wave if any of them escaped to tell the tale, and that one memorable occasion when a pack of orcs had briefly tried to establish a nest in the castle above. The treasure-hunters he scattered when he caught them, and the knights he dismantled on sheer principle. The orcs he'd eaten, it being winter and orcs being both slower and more stupid than deer. Actually, orcs were slower and more stupid than anything worth eating that he could name offhand, and they weren't bad-tasting, either.
But orcs weren't much for talking in general, and most treasure-hunters had more greed than sense. The knights were a thoroughly unmagical lot by rule, and not one of them had ever kept him up by thinking too loudly. In Ancient Kildean, no less.
Sydney, he growled, shifting to a more comfortable spot in the nice, dusty hollow he'd worn for himself over the course of decades. Some of the more vocal adventurers had been utterly convinced that he had a bed of gold somewhere, but that sounded like showing off to him. Gold was too soft, anyway; it'd only flatten under his weight, and then it'd crush together into a single, slick mass, and the last thing he wanted to do was slide right out of bed the first time a knight came to make a reputation for himself. Surely even a Thunder dragon would have more sense, and they were incurable hoarders.
Sydney didn't quite answer him in words, far too engrossed in whatever he was doing at the moment, but he felt the prophet's notice stir and shift, an inquisitive sort of hum buzzing through his mind as the man signaled his willingness to listen.
What are you doing? Shouldn't you be in bed by now? You're only human, he wanted to add, but he wasn't quite certain Sydney was mortal, so perhaps it didn't count.
Reading, Sydney sent back, as if he couldn't guess. Your library is amazing, you know. Listen--here's a summoning spell for Dullahans--
Sydney.
Yes?
Can it be eaten?
Sydney laughed, notes like silver coins rolling brightly through his mind. Well...no.
And will it cook for you or clean your study or fetch you fresh linens for your bed?
Hmm...no, I highly doubt that it will.
Then can't it wait until morning? Ash asked as patiently as he could, and did not suggest by so much as a flicker of thought that he could always set the library on fire by taking a casual stroll outside and rearing up to look in a certain window.
But don't you want to hear about the Crusader? Once I master the Dullahan summons--
No!
More laughter, furred by a lazy feeling of satisfaction and the vague awareness that the prophet had risen, set his book aside, and was stretching until his spine arched and cracked. Very well. I'll see you tomorrow, then.
Why? he asked, instantly suspicious.
So you can see what a Dullahan is good for.
Not much, he decided after a dutiful demonstration, though they were probably tireless fighters, being animated suits of enchanted armor. All the same, he couldn't imagine why either he or Sydney would ever need one. He was more than strong enough to protect what was his, and the creature seemed slow and clumsy when weighed against Sydney's grace.
Do they come in gold? he asked at last, more out of idle curiosity than actual interest. The thing's sword looked serviceable enough, but he had better in his own hoard.
"Not to my knowledge," Sydney replied, "but they could guard it quite handily."
You'd take away my one joy in life?
Sydney smiled. "We really must broaden your horizons."
Ash snorted, watching narrowly as Sydney dismissed the Dullahan with a few words and a sharp flick of silver claws. Sydney's own armor was much more elegant than that of the thing he'd summoned, his talons cutting shining patterns through the air, mesmerizing even without a spell behind them. Ash had to drag his eyes away with an effort, curling his tail more tightly around him with a faint, low rumble of a growl.
"Ah well," Sydney said with a shrug and a philosophic smile. "You'll like the next one better, perhaps."
There's more?
"Plenty. I expect I'll try them all."
Groaning, Ash hid his head under his wing and did his best to ignore Sydney's laughter, musical and sweet.
***
He awoke knowing that something was wrong, that he wasn't alone, and he could tell by the human's scent that it wasn't Sydney. The prophet had left the castle just that morning in search of some ingredient or artifact Ash hadn't paid much attention to, and there'd been no sudden flare of Dark magic in the castle above to proclaim his return, the teleport circle Sydney had described standing silent and cold. Besides, there wasn't only one human; there was a group of them, maybe six in all, and at least half their party could truly have benefited from a bath.
Rising cautiously, careful to make no noise, he left the comfortable warmth of his hollow behind, slinking closer to the mouth of the winding tunnel that led to his lair. The intruders had brought lanterns, mostly shielded with only a narrow aperture for light to escape. If he narrowed his eyes, the beastshine shouldn't give him away, but it was slow work, waiting for them to stumble their way closer. The last few dragon-lengths of the tunnel was perfectly straight and smooth, and experience urged him to send a small inferno streaking down its gullet. He hesitated, though, knowing that Sydney wouldn't be pleased if these vultures had ransacked the castle first and he singed the man's precious books.
They were almost on top of him before any of them noticed he was there.
"The dragon!" someone cried, and another dropped his lantern with a crash, the resulting spill of oil bursting into cheerful flame. Ash's long neck snapped out while the thieves were still milling, jaws clashing shut, blood splashing hot and wet over his teeth and tongue. He flung that one aside to make sure of him, but now they were rallying, drawing swords, one a spear. He ignored the swordsmen for now; it was the spear and that one's speed he didn't like.
"Why hasn't it flamed us?" he heard one of the swordsmen cry as he slammed a heavy forepaw down where the spearman had been just a moment before.
"Maybe it's old--come on!"
Old? That amused him. For a dragon, he'd just entered his prime. He wouldn't have to worry about the banking of his fires for a long, long time. Spinning faster than he was sure they expected, he swept his tail around hard, felt it connect with several of them at once, and was quite pleased to see that the spearman was one of the ones knocked flying, hitting the rough-hewn wall with a bark of pain and dropping to lie still on the floor.
The others were in a panic now, one rushing towards him, one rushing away, another lying groaning and curled on the floor by the spearman. Which was five...but hadn't there been six?
He flattened the brave one with a paw, leaped forward and caught the coward in his jaws, and then there were none left on their feet. The agonies of the one still alive he ended quickly, and though he listened closely at the mouth of the tunnel, he wasn't certain whether he heard running footsteps or not. He would have checked regardless, but a sudden crackle of Dark energy distracted him as Sydney returned to the castle above at last.
For a moment he debated keeping the matter to himself, wondering belatedly whether Sydney mightn't disapprove of the killing of humans on principle alone. He knew he wouldn't have liked to learn Sydney had been out collecting dragon's blood just now had the tables been turned.
In the end, Sydney decided the matter for him.
There seems, the prophet sent, to be a dead treasure-hunter up here.
There's five more down here, Ash admitted before he paused, replayed that in his mind. Dead, you say?
Mm. The Dark Crusader found him, from the looks of things.
Dark Crusader?
A stronger version of the Dullahan. I set it to guarding the books.
You could have told me, Ash grumbled, digging his claws into the stony floor and relaxing them again. I wouldn't have been so careful with this lot.
A flicker of something not quite thought passed to him, bright and surprised. He would almost say Sydney was charmed by the thought. You were being careful?
Ash huffed a streamer of smoke, refusing to answer.
Hmm. The pleased feeling that warmed Sydney's thoughts didn't fade. At any rate, what shall I do with this one's body? Would you like me to bring it down?
Ash blinked, lifting his head to stare up at the rough ceiling of his den. You...what?
Well, Sydney replied, ruthlessly practical, if you don't want it, the Dark will most certainly take it, and I'd rather not clutter the place with revenants.
You...you expect me to eat...?
Or you could burn it, if human's not to your taste. I'd consider it a favor.
There didn't seem to be anything to say to that other than, Very well.
Perhaps one day Sydney's unbiased approach to things would stop surprising him, but apparently this was not that day.
Thank you. But are you certain you don't want a Dullahan to--
No!
And perhaps someday he wouldn't snap at the bait of every jest Sydney dangled before him, but he was even less willing to hold his breath on that count.
***
For the most part, the treasure-hunters' armor wasn't much to look at, especially not once he'd extracted them from it, but he stashed it neatly in a distant, dusty corner of his hoard regardless. Armor was armor. Sydney poked at it briefly--after politely gaining permission, of course--but shook his head in the end.
"I don't think I can fix it," he admitted. "I can strengthen armor and weapons beforehand, but there's not much I can do after the fact."
That's all right, Ash said, oddly pleased that Sydney had even thought to try. It wasn't anything special.
Despite knowing very well where that armor had come from, Sydney didn't seem the least bit discomfited in his presence. Looking around Ash's lair with the imperiousness of a prince, Sydney's eyes lit up when he spied battered old chest it would have taken two strong men to lift. Ash merely eyed the prophet in confusion as Sydney went cheerfully to retrieve the grimoire he'd brought before settling himself down on the chest to read. Ash didn't care a whit about the chest, still filled with the gold and jewels it'd come with, and what a great waste of time to haul it here that had been; he'd been hoping for swords. But it did rather seem as if Sydney didn't intend to leave anytime soon.
What are you doing?
"Reading," Sydney replied, carefully opening the book, sliding the very tips of his claws under the pages to turn them.
Why here?
Sydney's head lifted briefly, grey eyes regarding him levelly. "Why not?"
He had to admit, there was a vast difference between hearing Sydney's thoughts drift vague and half-formed at the back of his mind and listening to him mutter aloud about poor penmanship, worse grammar, and excessive faith in one's own invulnerability.
"Well, now I know how this fool died," Sydney remarked with a huff of disbelief. "Have you ever seen such a poorly-constructed containment circle?"
Ash had to admit that he had not, though he also had to admit that he'd never seen one at all until Sydney turned the book his way. Does that mean the spell won't work?
"Oh, no...it should work just fine. That's rather the problem," Sydney explained with a humorless smile. "The Dark isn't kind to fools. If you can't control what you call up, you're better off not meddling. Humans are greedy, though; they never acknowledge their limits until it's too late."
Ash supposed that was true. And you?
Sydney smiled and rose from his perch. "I know how to draw a better containment circle."
Ash wasn't quite sure what to make of the newest creature Sydney summoned, another hollow suit of armor moved by magic alone. It was a strange, hunched thing made of blackened steel striped with scarlet, and it moved with an animal quickness its twisted posture made unsetting.
What is it? Ash asked, eyeing it with unwilling fascination.
"A Nightstalker. More impressive?"
I like the armor. The individual plates shone under the tarnish, and it looked very strong, almost as strong as dragon hide.
"I don't think it comes off."
Hmm?
"The armor," Sydney elaborated, a hint of laughter in his tone. "Magic. Part of the summon."
Are you sure? He hadn't intended it to come out so plaintive.
Sydney merely shrugged, inviting, "You're welcome to find out."
He was careful about trying to dismantle the thing, distractedly grateful that it seemed confused as to what to do with him, not having been given any orders about dragons. All the same, once it took a crippling amount of damage, it simply vanished once more into the Dark, taking its armor with it.
Ash sighed, sitting hunched like a cat and staring glumly at the space where the Nightstalker had been. That was the problem with magic. It was just so hard to hold on to.
Thank you for letting me destroy your summon, he offered politely, not certain how much of a toll the use of magic exacted from the prophet. It seemed to him that Sydney had more power than most of the mages he'd seen, but they seemed to be growing more scarce as time went on, at least in these parts.
"Certainly," Sydney replied, smiling faintly. "It isn't as if I had any need for it."
Then why call it?
"Well...I thought you might enjoy it," Sydney admitted, smile quirking self-consciously. "It is enchanted armor, after all."
Thank you, Ash said again, surprised that Sydney would go to the trouble. He wondered how many other dragons had mages for neighbors willing to bend their magics to such a thing and suspected he might be alone, or one of a very, very few.
Sydney smiled, pleased that he was pleased, and said, "Don't mention it. There's still one more I'd like to try if I can find the proper spell."
And with that, Sydney went back to reading, leaving Ash to watch him with reluctant absorption, entranced by the glitter of his hands, his quicksilver smiles.
***
When the challenge came, it arrived while the sun was high in the sky, not in the dead of night, but he didn't have to think too hard to discover the link between these visitors and his last. He'd known he'd been too quick to dismiss his instincts; there had been another intruder that night. Foiled thieves always brought their tales of dragons to the first knights they came upon, and the knights took it as their sacred duty to hunt the dragon in return. It was more inconvenient than dangerous most times, but there was always a chance that one of them might come across a weapon forged for the murdering of his kind, or one that from long use had learned the trade too well.
"Come out!" he heard the knight call from the depths of his lair, the man's squire blowing tuneless blasts on a seneschal's trumpet. "Come out and heed the power of the faith!"
Sighing a little, Ash rose from his nap and paced down the tunnel that would lead him out onto the rolling downs that swept away from the castle heights. A knight, he knew, could keep that racket up all day, and he doubted Sydney would appreciate the distraction to his obsessive combing of the library above. Even now he could feel the sting of the prophet's irritation, only just noticing the presence of their uninvited guests and forming the vague notion that he ought to see who they were and what they wanted.
It wasn't Sydney's responsibility, though, so he sent a brief, wordless reassurance that he had matters under control as he gathered himself at the final winding turn, the last few dragon-lengths on the way out as straight as the last few on the way in.
Throwing himself into motion, he was traveling at a frightful clip as he burst from the tunnel, scattering screaming horses and men-at-arms as he found himself confronting nearly a dozen knights and all their retinue. The knights all wore the same crimson tabards over their armor, marked with three-pronged, golden devices, and all of them carried spears in addition to the swords at their sides.
No sense in being cautious with his attackers now. Skidding and spinning to a stop, he lashed out with his tail as he dug in with his claws, spine arching as he drew in a deep, rib-stretching breath and forced it out in fire, a wide gout of pure yellow flame incinerating everything in its path. Men shrieked and one horse bolted, but there were still too many left. Nothing for it but to jump clear as a rain of arrows from the attendant archers peppered the thickness of his scales, none of them quite sharp enough to pierce his hide, but annoying all the same.
He drew breath for another attack, but the knights were on the move, trying to circle him up, give him too many targets to watch them all. Fools, all of them; that was why dragons had wings.
Unfurling them with a crack, he bounded over the circle of spears and dropped, careless of whatever might be under him and snapping his wings closed again as quickly as he'd opened them. Most of the arrows flew wide, though a few nearly managed to wedge themselves between the hard lattice of his wing bones and the more delicate flight membranes protected beneath. Patience and speed were his greatest weapons when dealing with large packs of humans; it was simply a matter of waiting for the right moment and being quick enough to take advantage of it when it came.
Another burst of flame roasted a pair of knights and their horses under them, and five archers as well. So long as he stayed ahead of their spears and didn't allow them to get close enough to look for weak spots with their swords, his most pressing concern would be making sure none of them fled to come back and make a second attempt. Dragons who left no survivors rarely entertained repeat company, and he didn't intend to make an exception in this case.
It was only because he was so used to Sydney's casual rearrangement of the world to suit his purposes that he noticed the faint, stealthy hum of magic at all, covert or perhaps merely weak, a trickle compared to the torrent of Sydney's power. It was so diffuse he dismissed it entirely...until it hit him broadside, deadening his limbs and dragging at him with a lethargy he couldn't seem to fight for all his frantic determination. Sleep...that had to have been a Sleep spell, though it'd been years and years since he'd felt one. There'd only been one mage then, and he hadn't been a very good one; it'd been easy to shake off his patchwork spell and nip him neatly in half. This time there were at least two--he felt the second spell hit a half-beat after the first--and already his eyes were growing heavy, his legs giving beneath him as slumber crept up like a sentence of death.
"Sir--should we Silence it as well?" one of the knights asked, barely more than a boy from the sound of it.
"No need," one of the others said, fierce scorn and satisfaction in his voice. "To think there really was a dragon...I had no idea he had so much power."
He? he wanted to ask, forcing leaden eyes wide, knowing full well that he wasn't a person to any human but Sydney.
Though his eyes were growing glazed and unfocused, he couldn't mistake the sudden shimmer of blue, the glow of an ungrounded teleport spell haloing Sydney's form as the prophet appeared: cold-eyed, unsmiling, crackling with power.
Ancient Kildean again, he decided, hearing Sydney bark a few harsh words in that throat-tearing language he made sound so fluid, and just before everything went dark, he saw everything go up in towering columns of searing white light, the howl of burning air moaning an eerie counterpoint to the screams of everything around him.
***
There were claws on his muzzle when he woke, light and gentle as kit-talons, a musical croon washing over him in fading trickles of power. Healing, he thought, and something to dispel the cobwebs from his head. Sydney for certain.
"I'm sorry," the prophet said before Ash properly got his eyes open, his voice more solemn than Ash had ever heard it. "I think these were here for me, not you. I didn't mean to bring the Blades to your doorstep."
No, he said, hesitating only a moment before lifting his head from his paws, Sydney's hand slipping reluctantly away. It's not your fault. The hunters from earlier...someone would have come regardless, soon or late. Our bad luck they came in numbers...and my good fortune, he added in the interest of fairness, you were here while I Slept.
"I've heard that's a weakness of the Greater Wyrms," Sydney offered uncertainly, clearly expecting to be brushed off.
Yes, he admitted slowly, though most have forgotten it. And fewer still know the spell these days.
"Because of knights like these, ironically enough," Sydney said, regarding the quiet field with disdain, lip curled. "The Blades have hunted out magic while keeping it as best they can for themselves. I can only hope the Church's hypocrisy will be the death of it someday."
Ash didn't answer, seeing for the first time the results of Sydney's spell. What was left behind was all but unrecognizable, bodies cored out by some power hotter than his own fires, armor burst apart, shapeless husks lying broken and scattered across the downs, no one and nothing spared. There was a crow lying dead not far from Sydney's feet, hollowed out like the knights and soldiers had been. The only ones who'd survived were Ash and Sydney himself.
"Well. You must be tired."
Yes, he said, though he wasn't, not really. But if Sydney wanted time to clean up what he'd worked here in private, Ash was grateful enough to leave him to it. Never mind that Sydney might indeed have had something to do with this attack. He suspected these "Blades" would have come to investigate even if Sydney hadn't been here, just on the off-chance that a mage--any mage--who could summon a dragon was, and then he'd have been dead.
Though he half expected Sydney to steer clear of him for a few days, whether to brood or to give him a chance to think, instead the mage invited himself into Ash's lair barely an hour later, his expression oddly determined.
"I was searching the library for this spell when the Blades arrived," he said without so much as a hello, standing just outside the magic circle he'd long since etched into the floor. "I wanted you to have something in thanks for letting me stay."
Ash reared his head back, surprised. But--I don't need--
Sydney wasn't listening, turning his back on Ash and throwing a clawed hand out imperiously, the words of his summoning rapped out harsh and insistent rather than coaxing this time.
Ash didn't get a good look at the thing that appeared in the circle; it all happened too quickly. He caught only a glimpse around Sydney's leaner frame of empty crimson armor--shining, glorious--before Sydney reached toward the thing with one hand and lashed out with the claws of the other, taking and destroying in the same heartbeat.
Instantly the glow of the summoning circle died, but Sydney didn't turn at once, seemed to be taking slow, deep breaths as he recovered from some exertion or apprehension. Perhaps whatever Sydney had called was harder to best than a mere human, or else the power required to call it was immense. He had to wonder what was so important, but he suspected he'd find out soon enough.
Whatever Sydney was holding, it seemed fairly heavy; Ash could see the effort it took for the prophet to lift it properly to hold it flat across his palms as Sydney turned to him at last. "The sword of a Last Crusader," he said, and Ash's eyes went helplessly wide, transfixed by the blade Sydney held. It was massive, forged of the finest Damascus Ash had seen in a century, its long blade crossed at the end by two more. Held grounded point-down, it would mimic perfectly the Rood Inverse inked in pure darkness across Sydney's back, and it was beautiful, a priceless treasure meant to be freely given. The arrival of the Blades, Sydney's guilt, couldn't change that.
Thank you, he should have said, but Stay was what was ringing through his head, hovering just shy of voiced. He knew he couldn't ask--Sydney wasn't a thing to be hoarded--and he didn't want it to sound like greed, that he wanted Sydney for his gifts, not his...thoughtfulness, his unique willingness to step outside the familiar and deal with Ash on a dragon's terms, his prickly stubbornness and sardonic humor and his teasing, maddening companionship. He couldn't ask. But he wished, very fiercely, that he could.
Sydney just stared at him, astonished and wavering, the sword balanced in his uplifted hands forgotten. "Are you certain?" he asked softly, searching Ash's widening eyes. "I may bring more trouble with me. And you already know I'm not always a comfortable houseguest."
I'm certain, he said, deciding he simply wouldn't dwell on it if a prophet of the Dark had a few abilities uncommon even to dragons. Your company's worth a few irritations. Even when the irritant is you.
"Well," Sydney said with a feline smile lacking entirely in shame, "I am of the Dark. We're not supposed to be entirely comfortable to know."
Then I'll keep you, he nearly said, because I don't mind so very much.
Would you like to find a home for that? he asked instead, eyeing the Rood Blade Sydney still held and swallowing a croon. Beautiful, beautiful blade. Almost as lovely as the hands that held it. I've never seen anything like it. How did you know where to find one?
Sydney hesitated, oddly subdued, and finally said, "Fairytales." Ash waited, but Sydney rallied quicker than he'd expected, smiling up at him again before he could press for more details. "Now, then. Show me where you'd have this treasure, dragon. Pride of place in your collection, perhaps?"
Well, no. He could think of something much rarer. But he supposed having it haunt the castle above was close enough to 'pride of place' to count.