The middle-aged woman, her hair tied back with a kerchief, wrung her hands and stumbled over her own words trying to explain the situation.

  "It all started two days ago, when my Jan came down with a fever, like a few other neighbours did. Some nasty bug is goin' round here. His forehead was scorchin' hot, and he was so weak he couldn't even go out to see to the goats. I was thinkin', why not bring him down to the river, let him dip his feet in the icy water, maybe it would help with the fever. We're sittin' there, I'm proppin' him up, and whoosh, a big spiky lizard swoops down from the sky and snatches him away! As if he was a rabbit or whatnot!"

  "What did it look like?" asked Guelder, trying her best to sound confident and reassuring.

  "Grey skin, long tail, almost like a snake with talons. No wings, though."

  Guelder looked to Amiri for confirmation. The barbarian nodded.

  "Where did it go?"

  "To the west, downstream. Your Grace, can you get me my Jan back?"

  Guelder squeezed the woman's arm.

  "We shall stop that monster, Natasha, whatever it takes, and we shall do our best to save your husband."

  She didn't dare to promise anything more. In fact, even this promise seemed a little too bold.

  The baroness left the crying woman in the local priest's care, and hurried to meet up with Hazel, Valerie and Tristian on the main square of Shambling Steps.

  "Any luck?"

  All three companions shook their heads.

  "Kassil is unavailable," said Tristian. "I delivered your Sending, but it felt like shouting your message into the wind. No answer, no confirmation of receipt."

  "Alas, Nazrielle does not make cold iron weaponry," said Hazel.

  "Neither does Varrask the Wildfist," added Valerie. "He tried to persuade me to buy some greataxes tempered in lambs' blood, though. Is that any use for us?"

  "No," said Amiri. "Cold iron is the only way to stop a linnorm's regeneration. You'd better strike precisely, Valerie."

  Guelder took a deep breath. This would have to change. Here she was, in a settlement with two weaponsmiths, an elf and a half-orc, none of whom bothered with cold iron. Apparently, the only blacksmith in the entire barony who made cold iron items was Verdel, a strangely beardless and peaceful dwarf in Tuskdale, who was also an avid reader and a hobby alchemist. But Guelder could not spare the time for a detour to the capital right now. It was pure luck that she'd purchased a cold iron sword for Valerie when they'd headed out to slay the empowered will-o'-wisp at the Old Sycamore, and that Valerie had brought it along, just in case. That was the only weapon they could rely on now, and Valerie was quite a bit less skilled with the sword than she was with the shield.

  They would need a lot more cold iron equipment, for everyone in the party. Mainly arrowheads and spearheads. This was a lesson she should have learnt at the Verdant Chambers. Had those pesky redcaps known anything about teamwork, Guelder wouldn't be standing here today, pondering what to do about that linnorm.

  "Linzi, do we have any Haste scrolls left from last night?"

  "A single one," piped the bard.

  "Good enough. How about Protection from Fire? The mass version?"

  "Yes, we have one of that as well."

  Guelder had no illusions. Against a living flamethrower, that protection would not last more than a minute. Also, she was down on spells. Full moon nights made it impossible for her to replenish her energy and prepare for the next day. That meant she would have to face off against a lesser dragon with either a spear or fangs and claws.

  Unless she could negotiate.

  "Amiri, are these things intelligent? Do they speak any language?"

  "Dragons usually do," said Amiri. "The real question is whether they are in the mood to chat. Usually, they aren't."

  Still, this was their best chance. Guelder didn't speak Draconic, but she was fluent in Druidic, Elven and Common, and she could make herself understood in Sylvan as well. Based on linnorms' cold iron sensitivity, she supposed they had a connection with the First World, which meant that Sylvan was her best bet. If not, then Amiri could help with Hallit, or Tristian with Kelish. One of those had to work... unless the linnorm lost its patience and cooked them au gratin before they figured out what language to use.

  Once Guelder commandeered two boats and a couple of oarsmen from the locals, she would have about two hours to come up with an irresistible offer or a bloodcurdling threat that would make the linnorm abandon its prey, leave her lands and move on. Preferably to Pitax.

  Kassil Aldori's entire world consisted of agony, agony and more agony. Not that it was entirely undeserved.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  He was slowly dying in the shelter of a rock outcrop somewhere near the bridge of the Gudrin, burnt to a piece of living, feeling charcoal crusted in a layer of rigid rock, and after getting out of a furnace of unbearable heat, now he was freezing to death in the Nightvale winter. His consciousness flared up for a few fleeting moments, just enough to reflect on his folly, then drifted away for a long time. And death didn't come. Godsdamned orc ferocity just couldn't let his broken body give up the fight and release his soul.

  The dozen soldiers whom he'd been supposed to use to protect the baroness at that cult event, and whom he'd instead sent forward into the dragon's lair to soften it up for him, had been luckier. Most of them had died immediately, after short and intense suffering, before even getting a chance to lift a finger against the monster. The rest, including himself, had turned tail and fled. He couldn't recall how he had made it out of the cave. What had he even been thinking, overriding Guelder's instructions and running off to prove himself? Sweet, narrow-minded, unimaginative Darlac had been right, just this once. Kassil was no Choral the Conqueror, more like one of the underdog Aldori in the Valley of Fire, waiting in vain for the relief of death for what seemed like two hundred years. In his lucid moments, his conscience was screaming insults at him. Once it even imitated Tristian's voice and Guelder's mannerisms. How strange.

  Voices seeped through to him. Familiar ones. Or was it just a hallucination of his hypothermic body and charred eardrums? Could he even hear anything but his own chattering teeth and weak pulse, his ears being covered in stone?

  Someone chanting spells. Animated whispers. Indecision.

  "As it stands, I am the only one who stands a chance of making it out in time." That was Hazel's voice. "I shall go in and see the situation for myself, then use Flash Step to escape. Stand ready at the entrance. If you see the linnorm exit the cave, attack immediately."

  "Take care, Hazel." And this was Guelder. Kassil had never thought that his last feverish dreams before leaving this world would include his boss. He found himself craving for a quick death even more, dreading to face her after his stupid failure.

  Hazel apparently didn't get themself vaporised or devoured, because Kassil heard their voice again.

  "This... is the single weirdest thing I have ever seen. But I digress. We have to deal with a wyvern, not a linnorm."

  "WHAT?" Multiple voices.

  "Amiri was wrong? Incredible!" sneered Valerie.

  "No. The linnorm is dead. But there is a wyvern inside, very much alive."

  "Okay, I am going in. I can do this alone." Amiri, of course. Always the braggart.

  "All right, Amiri." That was Guelder, unusually lenient. "Will you accept some buffs, or do you want to do it... what was that word again? Rawdog?"

  "Make no mistake, Chief, I can rawdog a wyvern anytime. It's just that I don't want y'all to feel left out."

  "A wise decision. Come, Tristian, bring out the scrolls. Let us see what we can offer to her."

  Kassil's consciousness drifted away on the waves of lute music, in a fruitless attempt to banish the image evoked by Amiri's words from his mind. After a while, the brain fog thinned up as he heard his own name.

  "Kassil and his men must have killed it, after all," said Valerie. "They laid an ambush, and when it returned to its lair with the poor villager to devour him, they attacked and somehow slew it before succumbing to their injuries. Then this wyvern came to feast on its carcass."

  "I call bullshit," protested Amiri. "Look at those soldiers, melted into a heap of pumice. They came here completely unprepared. And if Kassil can rawdog a linnorm, then I'm a halfling."

  Amiri, for crying out loud, couldn't you, like, use a different word?!

  "I want to believe it happened as I said," said Valerie. "Because if not, that means Kassil was daft enough to rush headlong into certain death and drag a dozen soldiers with him, and all that for absolutely nothing."

  "I agree with Amiri, though," said Hazel. "I have yet to see someone explode a monster's head with a duelling sword, of all things."

  "Maybe he used that strange potion I saw on sale the other day?" suggested Linzi. "Force Bomb or whatever it was called?"

  Good grief. Some of them actually thought he'd killed it. Kassil Aldori, failed General of Nightvale, would be remembered as a dragon-slaying hero. Ridiculous.

  An unbearable jolt of pain shot up from the sole of his right foot through his entire body, and he let out a roar of agony he didn't think he was capable of.

  "Pangur? Have you found a survivor? Quick, Tristian, perhaps we can still save him!"

  They were all upon him, trying to prop him up, torturing him... no, that wasn't torture but the warmth of healing energy. The crust of minerals cracked and peeled off his body, displaced by new growth of skin. Guelder forced the mouth of a vial between his lips, and poured a potion down his throat. He actually started to feel he might be able to move his limbs.

  And, against all odds, the baroness seemed happy to see him alive, although she did everything in her power to hide it.

  "This was a foolish thing to do, Kassil," she said. "It cost the lives of twelve good soldiers, and it could have cost mine, too, had the cultists been a little tougher. Still, if this was your doing, I commend your bravery and resourcefulness. You might well have saved just as many lives."

  "I don't know if I deserve that, Baroness," he muttered. "I... can't remember defeating it."

  "Well, someone did defeat it, and you are the only suspect around. And if it was not you, I am still glad that you survived. In this way, I can give you a second chance to prove that you are wise and mature enough for your role. Learn from your mistake and do better. Then these people will not have died in vain."

  Nursed back to full health, Kassil spent the journey home planning his next steps. He wasn't looking forward to the task of returning to the site, separating and identifying each corpse, and contacting their families. The remains of the unlucky villager found in the linnorm's den (two legs and a broken ribcage Kassil didn't remember having seen in there) was returned to his compatriots. That element didn't really fit the picture, but Kassil banished it to the back of his brain. Unlikely as it was, he found himself toying with the idea that, somewhere in a gap between his memories, he might have killed that linnorm in some way. He could as well lean into it. Perhaps the widows and orphans would find solace in the idea that their beloved had fallen in a meaningful, heroic feat for their homeland.