Aurelia saw him coming from a mile away. A single figure rode upon a broad-shouldered horse. His armor gleamed in the sun, and her eyes barely made out the slight fluttering of the plume upon his head. Here at last would a challenge. Here would come the knight, the great hero the humans had called upon to slay her.

​

She could barely contained her excitement. It would not, however, do for the humans to see their new, scaly overlord acting like a five-year-old whose mother had handed them a fresh bunt cake.

​

Time to prepare. She spread her wings wide and descended into her co-opted manor. Her eyes flicked over each detail, ensuring everything was as it should be. Her gold was stashed in piles, the stone walls had an appropriately ‘smoky’ look from a few well-placed applications of dragon’s breath, and the room was well-lit by torches. The perfect setting to receive visitors.

​

Brimming with excitement, the thrill of battle already rising in her chest, she sat down upon the largest gold pile. She did her best to assume a calm, collected, demeanor, one that projected power and menace. If the humans were going to send a knight to fight her, futile as the attempt would be, she was going to do her best to play the part.

 

Minutes passed, and then an hour. She became acutely aware of a well-formed goblet digging into the space behind one of her knees and shifted position several times to avoid it. Time continued marching by. Aurelia cleared her throat and went over her prepared speech, full of flowery phrases about dragon-kind’s superiority and the inevitability of her swift and brutal victory.

​

“And of course, when I win,” she told herself, with no fear whatsoever that she could be mistaken, “I’ll pin him to the floor and say to the crowd, ‘This is how it will always be. But you need not live in fear of me. I shall reward those who serve me well. Come, let us go forward together’.” She nodded. Those words sounded very good. Very reasonable. “I’ll even let the knight live, to show how merciful I am,” she decided. She only needed to defeat him publicly, not kill him. Besides, metal armor often left your meals overcooked and unpleasant to eat.

 

Her tail restlessly began to stir her gold. Surely, the knight could move faster than this. Did his horse fall into a pit along the way? Was he stopping to serenade some maiden he met on the road?

 

An hour became two, then three. Aurelia’s eagerness transformed into annoyance, then anger. After sitting as motionless as she could for as long as she could bear, her body burst into action like a spring wound too tight. The tension growing inside her unleashed itself in a furious scramble to get out the door, into the air, and find the blasted knight. So this was what it meant to be stood up, hmm? She did not like it, and she certainly was not going to tolerate it.

 

Her eyes ran across the town. Her short tenure with humans had taught her that, whenever anything interesting occurred, they gathered and gawked like idiots, with open-mouthed, dull-eyed looks of disbelief. With a knight riding into town, they would hardly be able to resist congregating. All she had to do was look and find the largest group.

 

Her instincts did not deceive her. At the edge of town, right outside the city walls, peasants crowded around an inn. The “Rambling Urchin”, if Aurelia recalled. In the middle of the rabble, a single figure in gleaming armor was attempting to climb onto his horse. Aurelia grinned wickedly. There he was. He had kept her waiting for far too long. Whatever courtesy she would have extended was gone now. Instead, she angled her wings and went into a shallow dive, intent on gliding in as silently and stealthily as possible.

 

Unaware of her approach, Sir James Nestor attempted to clamber back into his saddle. “Good people,” he repeated, then did it again as the gathered crowd showed no sign of quieting, “Good people, I assure you, I thank you for your hospitality. And for the drink. This has been a most refreshing time. But really now, I cannot stay another minute. There is a dragon to slay.”

 

The crowd cheered. With a flourish, he laid hold of his steed’s saddle. He swung his heavily armored leg upwards, intending to mount in one fluid motion. For one, glorious second, it looked like he would make it, but a spasm shook his leg and the weight of his own armor dragged him back down. He slid back to the ground. His steed merely snorted.

 

Outwardly, he let out a self-deprecating chuckle. Inwardly, he berated himself. Curse his lack of foresight. He had only intended to step inside for a quick bite and cool drink after a few day’s hard riding. Fighting dragons was a risky business, and he did not want to go into it malnourished or dehydrated. But now, decked out in full plate armor and a bit sore from a morning’s ride, he simply could not get back into the saddle. He told himself he had no reason to be ashamed. He would like to see any knight, especially that smug upstart Sir Roderick, mount a pureblood Castrovel charger in their armor after a morning of riding like he had just completed. Largest warhorses in the land, and Nimble was the best of them. Still, the fact remained that he had to get back on his horse.

 

Nimble glanced back at him, intelligent eyes judging him silently. “Oh lay off,” he grumbled and turned to the crowd, “I say, does anyone have a sturdy stool they could lend me?”

 

The crowds’ muttering continued, but one of them did bring a stool. “Much obliged,” Sir Nestor said, though he looked doubtfully at the old furniture. Still, there was nothing for it. He put one armored foot on it, then the other. Seemed to be holding firm. Hands on the saddle. Easy now. Swing up the leg and—

 

A loud crack was the only warning he received before he went tumbling to the ground. He struck his shoulder on the cobblestones, and the sheer force of the impact drove the air from his lungs. The crowd let out a scream and scattered. He raised a hand in weak protest. “No, do not be afraid. I am unharmed,” he assured them.

 

“But not for long,” a loud, imperious voice declared. Sir Nestor raised his head and beheld her, a great golden dragon, eyes burning with anger and lips pulled into a snarl.

 

He tried to scramble to his feet, but pain flared in his ankle. Oh good. Now it was twisted. He collapsed back to the ground and let out a heavy sigh. Ten years ago, this never would have happened. He could ride ten days straight through and still fight ten men on the other side. He had done so many times. Now, he was beginning to see why his dear old father had warned him against treating his body so roughly.

 

The peasants scattered in every direction, letting out screams of terror and panic. The dragon stood over him, but spared the crowd a glance. If human expressions could be translated onto a dragon, Sir Nestor would suspect that she felt exasperated. Even so, it was small comfort to him. Exasperation merely built upon frustration until they both boiled over.

 

By his side, Nimble snorted and stamped, defiant even in the face of a dragon and certainly braver than all the peasants who had fled. Always trust a horse, Nestor thought. His eyes met the dragon’s, and they regarded each other.  Sir Nestor cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose,” he said, “That you would be willing to give me a moment to properly prepare.”

 

To his surprise, some of the tension drained from the dragon’s posture. For a moment, she seemed almost resigned, but it passed quickly. With a great show of annoyance, she huffed and muttered, “I have given you plenty of moments already. I suppose one or two more will not hurt.” With that, she sat down in impatient expectation.

 

Hesitant, he pushed his way back to his feet, careful of his twisted ankle. If he could get into the saddle, he could salvage something from this debacle. Eyeing the dragon, wary of any deception, he staggered up to Nimble’s side. His horse stood resolute, unmoving. Carefully, he tried once more to swing up into the saddle and once again slid off. Curse his younger self, who thought that the heaviest, thickest full-plate was the best approach.

 

He glanced back at the dragon, who sat and watched him intently. “No, no,” she said, waving a dismissive claw, “Don’t mind me. You certainly didn’t before. No time to start now.”

 

Sir Nestor frowned. He knew that tone. His wife used it with him whenever he had done something to upset her. Leaning against Nimble’s side, he looked up and said, “I’m sorry, have I offended you somehow? Beyond the obvious ‘coming to end your reign of terror’, I mean.”

 

She snorted. “Ha! Terror. If you ask me, these peasants that have been terrorizing me. I live in constant dread that, at any moment, someone will pop up and ask me to mediate another pointless, silly dispute. Thanks to your kind, my life has become consumed with your pettiness and pointless quarrels.” She let out a heavy sigh. “When I heard you were coming, I actually let myself feel excitement again.” She looked reproachfully at him. “I had hoped that a knight, a hero of these people, would prove a worthy opponent. I see now that my estimation of you may have—” She bared her teeth in a vicious, but not happy, grin. “—been exaggerated.”

 

Being a noble crusader, Sir Nestor knew not to falter in the presence of the enemy. Mind still on his task, he tried once more to mount his horse and failed. He cleared his throat. “Speaking of problems,” he mutters, “Do you think you could help me up?”

 

The dragon stared at him with piercing eyes that radiated cold disbelief. “This day,” she snarled, “has been so very disappointing.”

 

Sir Nestor was glad that his helmet hid the embarrassed flush on his face. The dragon lifted him up by the straps of his breastplate and plopped him rudely down on top of his horse. Then, she backed away, eyeing him with caution, on the lookout for some trick. “Thank you,” he muttered. With a cough, he cleared his throat. “Now, dragon! I, Sir Nestor of Malva, do challenge you to single combat. Your reign of terror ends today. No longer will you trouble the good people of this town.”

 

“I've lived in this town. It's full of so much stupidity that it boggles the mind. If this is what you consider good,” she snapped, “I would hate to meet what you consider evil.”

​

“That would be you,” he countered, and leveled his lance. Nimble stamped a hoof and snorted.

 

Her eyes blazed. “Is that so?” Her claws dug into the stone and left grooves, even though it was well-paved flagstones. “Then come at me, oh knight, and just try to strike me down.”

 

She stood up straight and glowered. He leveled his lance and charged. The same story had played out many times before. Either he would die in flames or his lance would pierce her heart. However, as he came prepared to run her down, his haste to face the dragon betrayed him. His sprained ankle slipped from the stirrup. With a thunderous crash, he fell to the floor and lay groaning.

 

Aurelia let out a low growl. “How,” she snarled, “how are you a knight?”

Head spinning, he looked up. “This is nothing. I’ve been through worse. Why, ten years ago I’d—”

 

“Ten years?” Aurelia repeated, “That is a long time for a human, correct?” A light of understanding appeared in her eyes. “You’re old.”

 

“Excuse you.” He pushed himself to his knees. “I am not old. I am middle-aged at best.”

She raised what passed for an eyebrow.

 

“At worst,” he amended, “I meant at worst.” He tried to rise once more and fell once again.

 

Aurelia studied him. “You are,” she said, “Without a doubt the worst knight I have ever heard of.”

 

Sir Nestor opened his mouth to answer when, like lightning from the sky on a cloudless day, a torrent of flames dropped upon Aurelia. He fell over backwards again in a mad scramble to get away while the dragon instinctively tried to retreat. Still, it washed over her, shrouding her in fire, smoke and flame. She let out a scream of surprise and a little pain and beat her wings furiously to drive the fire back.

 

A rush of wind above their heads gave warning to the arrival of a second dragon. She let out a whoop and pulled up just in time to avoid a collision. Aurelia looked up, eyes ablaze. “You!” she growled.

 

The second dragon banked and came in for a landing on the inn’s roof. With a jaunty, almost casual smirk, she leered down at Aurelia, but paid Sir Nestor no mind. “My dear, little sister,” she said, “Your reflexes are getting slow. But I’ve been training myself. Honing my skills.” She adopted a face of mock pity. “You’ve been sitting inside, lazing about, while the rest of us are getting stronger. Very unwise.”

 

Aurelia felt a growl rise in her mouth. “Slow, am I?” she snarled, “Well, I can still take you on any day of the week, sister. Besides.” She smirked. “I’ve hardly been sitting around. Guards! Attend me!”

 

Her cry rang out, but there was no response. Those few humans still in the area peered out from behind windows or doors. Even the most curious of them would not dare to put so much as a toe outside. Only a small, human girl did peek out one of the windows, scared but curious.

 

Chaarix laughed long and hard. “All that effort, wasted,” she mocked Aurelia, “But don’t worry, I’m not here to kill you.”

 

“Am I supposed to believe that?” Aurelia said, skeptical, “I’m not about to buy that you come in peace.”

 

Her sister smiled wickedly. “Hardly. But, we do share the same blood, and I’m not so single-minded as Arnum. I think maiming your wings and making sure you never fly again will be enough to put you out of our competition.”

 

She gathered herself for a moment and leapt down upon Aurelia, who reared up to meet her. The two dragons collapsed into a pile of scale and claw, biting and snarling at each other. Each strained to seize the upper claw, limbs locked with limbs and jaws snapping at each other’s faces and necks.

 

For the moment, Sir Nestor sat in stunned silence. One dragon was bad enough, but two? Two was one of a knight’s worst nightmares. At the very least, they were not on the same side. However, that did leave him in an interesting spot. For the moment, he decided to see if he could get on his horse one last time and wait for an opportunity.

 

The two dragons threw each other away and rose to their feet. They began to circle, each looking for any opening. “Nice town,” Chaarix said, “Worthless, but pretty.”

Aurelia’s face contorted in anger. “If you cannot see the value in it, then it will make defeating you and the others all the more satisfying.” There was value here. She knew it. Like the gold and the servants, those things were valuable. But there was more, wasn’t there? Her mind went back to the ragged doll sitting in the corner of her hoard, and the odd puzzlement that had struck her before came back. It was precious in its own, strange way. “Some value,” she said carefully, “is not immediately visible.”

 

Chaarix raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me,” she said, cruel mockery in her voice, “You haven’t made these humans part of your hoard, have you?” Aurelia did not a reply. A smile crept across Chaarix’s lips. Her eyes fell on a nearby window. Aurelia’s followed, and she caught sight of the tiny human who had given her the doll. What was her name? The girl waved hesitantly. Then, her mother appeared for a mere moment and pulled her away. “How cute,” Chaarix scoffed, “Oh, this is just going to burn you up.”

 

She opened her mouth wide, but the attack was not aimed at Aurelia. Instead, it went to the side, towards the house. Aurelia’s eyes went wide. “No!” she roared and threw herself into the stream of molten heat, cutting it off before it could do more than singe the stone walls of the house. It left her singed, but did not hurt as bad as Arnum’s breath.

 

Chaarix laughed. Roaring with fury, Aurelia threw her injured body directly at her sister. They tumbled into a wide side-street, teeth and claws locked together.

 

Sir Nestor made his decision.

 

Chaarix’s body was longer and thinner than Aurelia’s and she moved with a slight serpentine bent, but it made her flexible. In the close quarters of their combat, she quickly began to outmaneuver Aurelia’s greater strength and position herself around and behind her younger sister, where she was safer from her opponent’s rage. And Aurelia was very enraged. She had lost one battle, and only recently healed from that. She was not willing to lose another.

 

Willing or not, she could not get a good grip upon the slippery elder dragon. The battle quickly neared its inevitable conclusion. A triumphant sneer grew on Chaarix’s face as her jaws came closer and closer to Aurelia’s throat. Once fastened, Aurelia would have no choice but to surrender, lest she be killed.

 

“It’s over, sister,” Chaarix hissed, “Why prolong the inevitable? You were never as good as the rest of us.”

 

“Not while there is even the smallest bit of strength in me,” Aurelia snarled back.

 

“So be it,” Chaarix said and went to close her jaw on Aurelia’s neck. However, right as the teeth reached her scales, a mighty blow struck Chaarix in the side, right under one of her forelegs. She let out a scream and shoved herself off Aurelia. Stumbling, reeling from the unexpected blow, she took to the air. Her claws clutched at her side and came away bloody. Eyes wide, she looked down and saw Sir Nestor, finally mounted securely on Nimble, bloody lance raised high. “You!” she snarled, “Human, you will pay for that!”

 

He kept his lance leveled directly at her face. “How dare,” he began, “You barge in here and interrupt our honorable duel.” He gestured towards Aurelia. “And with a dishonorable attack from the shadows too. Coward, I call you. Foul beast with even fouler manners.” Eyes fixed on the intruder, he called to Aurelia. “Aurelia, I will assist you in driving this interloper off. Then, we can arrange our own duel.”

 

Aurelia rose shakily to her knees. “Don’t worry,” she snarled, “my sister knows better than to fight when the odds are against her.” She expelled a plume of smoke from her nostrils. “Well, Chaarix? Shall we continue? You could incinerate the human in one blast, but I would be on you in an instant. And if you leap on me, he will ride you down.” Chaarix hesitated, and Aurelia smirked. “Now you understand. This is why I am raising an army.”

 

“I will be back,” Chaarix hissed, “And I do not need anyone but myself to be strong. I’ll crush you and anyone else you bring. You hear me?”

 

Aurelia smirked. “Not today, you won’t.” She reared up, beating her wings with all the anger and fury she possessed. “Now get out of my town before I chase you out with your tail singed!”

 

Chaarix hissed, crouching low, about to spring. Aurelia prepared herself for combat once more. But then, the elder dragon leapt back and away from them. “This is not over,” she repeated. And she flew off, leaving the knight and dragon behind.

 

Sir Nestor looked to Aurelia and cleared his throat. “Now then,” he said, tone courteous but distant, “Since it appears we are both slightly out of sorts, what say we take the evening to recover and meet again in the morning to make more suitable arrangements?”

 

Aurelia felt her rage quickly fading, replaced by weariness and the dull ache of her injuries. She could use an evening to recover. “I agree,” she muttered, “I assume you know where to find me.”

 

“I do,” the knight said. After a moment, he added, “Sleep well. I will see you in the morning.”

 

Aurelia watched him stumble into the inn. Having sensed no treachery, she took to the air and returned home. However, a realization struck her that set her heart hammering in her chest. That knight, she had discounted him, but he had done the impossible. His lance had wounded one of Nar-Arzul’s children. And if he could do that, her victory was not guaranteed.

 

As she paced her chamber in rising panic, her eyes fell on the stuff doll in the corner of her hoard. She paused in her pacing. Delicately, her claws picked it up and examined it. The question of the knight and her fears for tomorrow receded some. A gentle smile crossed her face. “Well,” she said, “I suppose today wasn’t all bad now, was it?