Paragon of Destruction

As Arran looked at the dead dragon in front of him, he could not help but feel worried about the prospect of facing an adult specimen.

From what he knew, this should be a juvenile, barely a decade or two old. And yet, it had already been nearly impossible to kill, with hideous strength and astonishing toughness.

Even though the fight had been deceptively short, Arran had no illusions about how he would have fared in a direct confrontation. The damage the young dragon had sustained in its fall was well beyond anything Arran could inflict with either sword or magic, and even that had not been enough to kill the creature outright.

With just his own strength, there was no possible way to win a battle like that — not unless he could somehow convince the beast to let him freely stab its eyes with his sword, at least.

A few minutes after Arran slew the dragon, Crassus began to make his way down the cliff.

The man had waited until he was certain the creature was dead before joining Arran, which Arran thought was only reasonable. Now that he had some idea of just how strong dragons were, he wouldn’t be eager to come near a living one, either.

When Crassus finally reached the bottom of the cliff, he approached the dragon corpse that was splayed across the rocks, though he wisely kept a few dozen paces between himself and the body.

"Now that was something," the portly man said, some awe in his voice.

Arran nodded silently, his eyes still fixed on the corpse.

"Only the second time I’ve ever seen someone kill a dragon," Crassus continued. "’Course, the other mage brought half a mountain down on the damn thing. That killed it right quick."

At once, Arran’s eyes shot toward Crassus. "The other mage?" he asked, suddenly looking at the other man intently.

"Well, I figure you’re a mage," the man said with a shrug. "Normal folk can’t just do what—"

"What other mage?" Arran sharply interrupted him. "And when was this?"

A studious look appeared on Crassus’s ruddy face. "About a decade ago, give or take a few years," he said after some thought. "It was a young woman, and a pretty one, too. Asked me to guide her to a dragon lair — wanted one of the big winged beasts, just like you. Paid a pretty sum for it, as well." He made an ugly face. "I’d have been set for life if my luck at cards was any better."

Hearing the words, Arran stared at the man in astonishment.

He knew that Snowcloud’s mother had left to find a cure for the Patriarch roughly a decade earlier, and given that she was the one who created Snowcloud’s recipe, she would eventually have needed to find a dragon.

"After you guided her to the dragon lair," Arran said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Did she return?"

"Sure did," Crassus replied with a cheerful nod. "Came back to Relgard about a month after I left her. Seemed to be in quite a good mood, too — even gave me another few gold pieces." He made an ugly face. "That bastard Sulla cheated me out of all of it. I should’ve never—"

As Crassus prattled on about his gambling misadventures, Arran pondered the matter.

He could not be completely certain that the woman had been Snowcloud’s mother, but it seemed too much of a coincidence for there to be another explanation. And if he was right and it was really her, then it meant she had succeeded in finding the cure she sought.

That last thought gave Arran some pause. If Snowcloud’s mother had been successful in gathering all the ingredients and creating the cure, then all that was left for her was to return to the Sixth Valley, a journey that shouldn’t be particularly dangerous for a strong mage.

But Snowcloud’s mother had never returned. And since she would not have taken any needless risks while carrying the cure for the Patriarch, that could only mean someone had stopped her — someone who knew about her quest, and with enough power to stop her.

Briefly, Arran considered returning to Relgard immediately, to let Snowcloud know about what he had found. She would undoubtedly want to know about it right away, and unlike Arran, she would definitely be able to tell whether the mage Crassus described was indeed her mother.

Yet after carefully considering it, he finally decided against it. Important though the information was, their more urgent concern was finding a way to defeat an adult dragon. And for that, he would need information that could be only gathered through observation.

Still, he took some time to thoroughly question Crassus, making sure to memorize everything the man remembered about the mage he had guided through the mountains a decade ago. It wasn’t as much as Arran would have liked — Crassus’s heavy drinking had done his memory no favors — but he still made certain that he didn’t miss even the slightest detail.

When it was finally clear that there was nothing more that Crassus could remember, Arran turned his attention back to the dead dragon, rolling up his sleeves and unsheathing his sword for the bloody work that lay ahead.

He spent several hours carefully dismembering the corpse, scrupulously studying the body while gathering up all the meat the massive carcass held, along with the skin, bones, and organs.

He had already Sensed that the dragon’s body held an amount of Natural Essence that was far beyond anything he had previously encountered, so naturally, he would not let any of it go to waste. And while he had no direct use for the other parts, just their toughness made him certain that they would prove valuable eventually.

Of course, studying the corpse was even more important than the meat and body parts, as it allowed him to gain a better understanding of the weakest and strongest parts of the creature’s body.

He was disappointed but unsurprised to find that the creature seemed to have almost no weak spots. Even if its belly and throat weren’t as tough as its back and legs, it still took him half a dozen blows with his sword just to cut through the skin. And in a fight, he definitely wouldn’t get the chance to hack at the creature until he cut through its hide.

When he finally finished butchering the corpse and gathering up the parts, nothing was left but a deep-red stain of blood on the rocks, several dozens of paces across.

"You’d make a fine butcher," Crassus said cheerfully. The man had looked on with great interest as Arran dismembered the dragon’s corpse, seeming quite amused with the idea of a dragon being butchered like a cow.

Arran shrugged. "How much farther is it to the dragon’s lair?" he asked, impatient to continue the journey.

"Nearest one is about half a week from here," Crassus replied. "I haven’t been there in years, but the dragon should still be there — unless another one ate it, I suppose."

Arran nodded. "Let’s get going then."

They set off immediately, and as they traveled, Arran wondered if the mage Crassus had guided through the mountains a decade earlier was really Snowcloud’s mother. If it was, he feared dragons might not be the greatest danger that lay ahead of them.

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