Hoofbeats thundered over the road. Hunched low, eyes squinted against the wind, Jet kicked his horse faster. Trees became nothing but green-and-brown blurs at the roadside. Stones struck up behind him, knocked loose from the cobbles below. A carriage-driver stared, wide-eyed, as he flashed by in his dark green military dress uniform, all braid and chains, medals flashing at his chest. He clenched his teeth. Hurry. I can’t be late. The fate of the country rides on me!

As he rode, the image of the beast flashed through Jet’s memory. Red scales as brilliant as ruby and twice as hard. Ferocious fangs, bared in a furious howl. Ebony claws as tall as men. Jaws that snapped up horses and their riders in a single gulp. A long tail scything through lines of soldiers.

With a ferocious roar, the dragon opened massive jaws and poured fire upon the army. Hundreds of men died in agony, screaming their last as the flames crisped them inside their armor, leaving nothing but molten slag behind.

A True Dragon. No servile wyvern nor tiny drake, neither an earth-bound wyrm nor a lesser dragon barely the size of a horse. Four powerful clawed legs held a monstrosity bigger than a castle with wings that spanned the sky. Magic bounced off its scales. Even lightning mages, whose magic could usually fell a lesser dragon in a few blows, failed to singe its sides. Blades snapped, unable to pierce its flesh. A single breath, even without flame, birthed a tempest that knocked arrows from the sky.

Heat beat against his face. The stench of cooked meat blasted his nose. The beast flapped leathery wings and took to the sky, their proud battalion reduced to ash and molten slag. And Jet, standing there, his eyes blank.

How do we fight something that big?

The dragon laughed, a sound that shook the earth. “Puny humans, hear my voice! This land is henceforth mine. Surrender it, or surrender your lives!”

Another wave of shock ran through Jet’s mind. It… can talk?

The army fled. What little remained of it, that was. Straggling waves of men ran, limped, or crawled against the pitted battlefield. Blood stained their uniforms and dripped over the churned ground.

One monster. One dragon did this much? Jet lifted his sword. He took a deep breath. I can’t give up. Not now! Even if it’s hopeless—

A burly man grabbed his arm. Muscles bulged along his arms and chest, and still he couldn’t measure up to a single of the dragon’s toes. Figaro shook his head at Jet. “Jet, no! You’re only one paladin. We stand no chance against that monster!”

“But if we don’t stand a chance… who does?” Jet asked.

“I don’t know, but if you die here, we’ll never find out!” Figaro clenched his teeth. He ran, pulling Jet with him.

Jet allowed himself to be pulled, still staring at the dragon overhead. The dragon gazed back, flames dancing in its amber-gold eyes, and let out a hideous laugh. “Run, man-snacks. Flee back to my larder. It’s wasteful to eat you all at once!”

The dragon tossed back its head and roared, unleashing balls of molten debris into the sky. Beside Jet, Figaro tensed, staring overhead. He pushed Jet with all his might.

“Figaro!” Jet shouted, reaching back for the man.

A ball of fire descended. Figaro threw himself forward, but too slow. Jet slashed with his sword. The enchantment spelled down the length of its blade glowed, each spell symbol down the heart of the sword glittering with brilliant blue-white light. A wall of ice burst up behind Figaro.

The fire slammed into the ice, and the ice shattered, unable to hold up for a single instant. Molten rock and metal slammed into Figaro, crushing him to pieces. Flames raged. Baring his teeth, Jet turned and ran alone. He clenched his fist until his palm bled, and yet didn’t feel a thing.

No matter what it takes, I’m going to kill that dragon!

--

Jet scowled at the memory of his shameful retreat. His horse, Bluebell, tossed her head under him, as if she, too, felt the self-disgust he did. I won’t let that monster take the country. No matter what I must do, that dragon must be slain!

He turned his eyes ahead, at the city before him. At the outskirts of the city, a wooden platform had been set up. A man crouched atop it, head bowed. His hands were bound behind him, his eyes covered and mouth gagged. He wore the rags of what had once been fine robes in black and gold, and greasy, filthy hair hung to his shoulders. To his left, a pudgy man in a navy blue suit adorned with the rings and jewels of a lesser noble, hefted a parchment scroll. To his right, a muscular man stalked back and forth across the stage, holding a stained axe in his hands.

The pudgy man cleared his throat. “Before us we see Gideon Nightfellow, accused of the massacre of an entire town, men, women, and children, by way of magic. He slaughtered them like pigs with his fell powers, then burned down their village. Any estimate we make of the dead will be insufficient. Untold dead may be locked in the depths of the smoldering ruins. For these crimes… I, Lord Faulun, Baron of these provinces and the good city of Blotting, sentence him to death!”

The crowd roared. Rotten vegetables and fruits splattered the stage. A few stones knocked off the planks, rattling over the platform. One sliced open his cheek, and blood ran down Gideon’s face. He scowled.

Lifting the parchment, the pudgy man continued. “Also in Gideon’s name, these many lesser crimes! Defrauding countless men at cards. General unruliness and public drunkenness. The harassment of places of honest businesses. Thievery and looting. Running a criminal syndicate. Attacking unarmed civilians with magic. Threatening magical retribution. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Horse-thievery. A single case of skipping out on his carriage fees, and two cases of dining and dashing! For all these crimes, I once again… sentence him to death!”

As Jet watched, the man lifted his axe. Gideon tensed. The gag bit into his cheeks. He murmured something silently, and a strange breeze lifted his hair.

“Wait!” Jet shouted, throwing out his hand. He urged the horse faster, charging at the platform. I have to make it! I can’t let them execute humanity’s hope!

--

Atop the platform, soft vegetables and hard stones pummeled Gideon. He scowled. “Dumbasses. They were all dragons. It was a town of dragons, dammit! They deserved to die!”

Through the gag, it came out as a murmur, muffled to nothing. Frustrated, he growled and worked his jaw against the gag.

The small-time noble who’d read out his sentence kicked him subtly. “Quit your muttering and get on your knees, prisoner.”

“We’ll see about that,” Gideon muttered. Summoning his magic, he reached out to his stomach. Nestled in his stomach acid, slowly decaying, sat a single page of his tome.

Mages can’t cast magic without a tome or enchantment. But as long as I have a page of my tome, a page illustrated with a magic circle, I can still fight back! Magic swirled around him. Sparks lit his hair and danced over the axe behind him. The executioner frowned and looked at his axe.

Gideon smirked. He drew a breath, preparing to cast his magic. Pitiful, pathetic peasants, thinking you could restrain someone of my caliber! If I didn’t pass out after destroying all those dragons, you never would have caught me! Luckily, I always keep a page of my tome tucked against my heart… your stupid strip-search may have forced me to swallow it, but you only inconvenienced me, in the end! Now, watch as I--

“Wait!”

Everyone froze, Gideon included. Jet rode up to the platform, reined in his horse, and reached into his saddle bag. He freed a scroll and gave it a shake, unfurling it. The king’s seal dangled from the bottom, green-and-white ribbon dancing in the sun.

“By order of the king, Gideon has been recognized for his extraordinary talent as a lightning mage! As such, the king has ordered a stay of execution. He is to be put under my control until such time as he slays the True Dragon, or dies in the attempt!”

At last, Gideon loosened the gag enough to spit it out with some effort. He shook his head, wiggling his brows until the blindfold loosened and drooped down, revealing eyes the color of lightning. “Do I get a say in this?”

“You can die here,” Jet replied, speaking from the corner of his mouth.

Gideon’s lips twisted. Lightning sparked around him again, sparks dancing through his shoulder-length black hair.

At the sight of the sparks, Jet reached into his bag again and pulled out an iron collar. Careful hands had etched a delicate magic circle in a ring around the outside of the collar. Smaller magic circles had been inscribed here and there along the flat of the collar, and small, dull gems sat in deep ruts in their centers. A hinge in the back of the collar laid open, splitting the circular collar into two halves, while a clasp and lock had been built into the collar’s front.

In one smooth motion, Jet flicked the collar open and slapped it around Gideon’s neck. The circles glowed with red light, then settled.

Gideon shook his head, stretching his neck. “What did you just—”

“I couldn’t have someone as dangerous as you running around unrestrained. Even if the country needs you, you’re still a murderer,” Jet said darkly. He lifted a small round pendant and pressed down on a magic circle etched into its surface. Red light glowed from the pendant, then the collar.

Gideon flinched. “Ow!”

The sparks around him dissipated, interrupted when he flinched. He scowled at Jet, displeased.

“Excuse you! Is that really—” Lord Faulun asked, rushing to Jet’s side. His plump body wobbled as he ran, and he panted, unused to any kind of exertion.

Jet handed over the scroll. The baron scanned over it, then blinked, startled. “It—this is, without doubt, a royal decree!”

“Is the kingdom so desperate it needs to call upon murderers?” Gideon mocked.

“The kingdom is so desperate it will call upon anyone,” Jet confirmed darkly. He drew his blade and slashed through the ropes binding Gideon’s arms and legs.

Gideon stood, rubbing his newly freed wrists. He nodded at Jet. “That being said, I’m not a murderer. I’m simply commenting on public perception.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Jet muttered under his breath.

The crowd booed. Rotten vegetables and stones flew through the air, slamming into Jet and Gideon alike. Jet turned to leave, but Gideon stood atop the platform for another moment, scowling at the crowd.

“Now listen here. Did I kill anyone any of you know? Did I kill a single person related to anyone in this city?”

Jet pulled an about-face and marched toward Gideon.

The crowd booed louder, but a few members of the crowd hesitated. Expressions of puzzlement spread across their face. Murmurs spread through the peasants.

“I always thought that town was strange.”

“Yes, that’s right. They never let anyone in, not even to pass through… not that you’d need to pass through that godforsaken place very often.”

“I… don’t know anyone who had relatives there. And I have relatives all over this area.”

Gideon jabbed his finger at them, nodding. “I only killed dragons. That entire city was populated by dragons in human disguise! They were planning to burn down your city of Blotting, you know. I’m your savior!”

At that, the booing which had quieted grew louder again, and more stones rattled against the stage.

“Dragons in human disguise? You’re insane!”

“Get out of here!”

“You, a murderer, our savior? Ha!”

Jet grabbed Gideon’s arm and pulled him off the stage. Under the robes, his hand found thin, scholar’s arms, with almost no meat on the bone.

Gideon dug in his heels, but even so, Jet dragged him away with ease. All his strength combined failed to resist Jet for a single moment. As Jet dragged him, he shouted back at the villagers, “You’ll thank me one day! I swear it!”

Jet grit his teeth. He slung Gideon onto his horse and mounted behind him. Quickly, before anyone could throw stones at the horse, he flicked his reins and fled the scene. This Gideon is a madman and a loose cannon. What have I gotten myself into? I said I’d do anything to kill the True Dragon, but…!