Swift-River swooped low, with Turrirr, now a bird once more, following close behind. Zirien glided above, all three circling Ivory's twisted, broken form lying still in the dense forest below. A serene evening replaced the hostile storm. The calm, clear air held the lingering scent of burnt ozone and rain.

  Swift-River's keen gaze fixed on a long, deep trench in the earth. Uprooted trees and scattered bones lined its edges. Ivory's rotten bones and scales formed a mosaic of desiccated tissue. She shivered frost and decay clutching at her. Nearby, Zirien and Turrirr writhed, their breaths shallow, faces twisted in pain.

  The littered trench told a vivid tale of Ivory's damage from falling out of the sky. Her enormous one-winged body, mottled with frost-burn and putrid necrosis patches, lay silent. The once-iridescent scales dulled under the pale sunlight.

  Movement caught Swift-River's attention as she circled above. Her heart faltered, a shiver crawling down her spine at the sight of Ivory's rotting flesh twitching. Did she survive? They circled, the decaying stench clawing at Swift-River's senses as they descended and landed near Ivory's mangled head. Swift-River remembered her mission to visit the Orcs. In a quick panic, she confirmed that the purple crystal remained tucked in a small pouch on her side.

  Turrirr's nails dug into the earth. His form shuddered as he transformed from a bird into a broad-shouldered, half-dog Druid pathfinder. With a snap of his fingers, a sudden gust of wind heralded the appearance of his weapon. The thick shaft and short blades on the striking end glimmered, humming with power.

  The air crackled with unease. Turrirr took a deep breath, scanning for movement. His gaze locked onto the grotesque wound on Ivory's neck. "Look at what I did," Turrirr growled, baring his teeth. He re-examined the wounds he'd inflicted. The icy sting and necrotic energy pulsed fresh through his memory. Each mark stood as a reminder of Ivory's fierce power.

  Zirien descended from the sky, muscles knitting together as feathers and scales melted away in a fluid dance. His skin gleamed, blood evaporating to leave him clean. He landed lightly, the transformation finishing in seconds. Now in his half-elf form, his body thrummed with energy.

  Swift-River stared too long and was caught by the sight. Zirien winced but straightened, his expression hardening. "We should take her head," he said, already moving toward Ivory's corpse. He kicked her skull with a sharp motion. "Iandel and Streed won't believe us without a trophy."

  Swift-River spotted the twitch of Ivory's bone tail against the jagged forest debris. Her body was a grotesque display of frostburn and necrotic scars. The remnants of their fight clung to the air. Icy chill mingled with dark tendrils from Ivory's breath weapon.

  "Zirien, that thing's head isn't even trophy material," Swift-River said, her voice sharp. She eyed the dragon's battered form. "It's not even big enough for a one-person bathtub."

  She drew Serpent's Kiss, its blade shimmering in the dim light. With a swift motion, she drove it into the exposed wound on Ivory's neck.

  ***

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  Ivory's decaying body thrashed like a puppet yanked by unseen hands. She slashed through the haze of Crimson Ruby's control. Her mind sharpened, crystal clear. "Must endure. Revenge is within reach. My riches, my body. Stolen by that wretched Ruby." I will reclaim what's mine, no matter the rot. Her resolve simmered in cold fury. Ruby shall pay for his greed and my hollowed form.

  "My head will not be used as a bathtub," Ivory hissed, her voice like dry leaves scraping stone. “Crimson Ruby thinks I'm dead. He no longer controls me," she said with sinister joy.

  If only the Druids let me live, perhaps I will spare them... for now. Respect breeds life, she chuckled inwardly, madness sharpening her grin.

  ***

  "Rot doesn't forge steel or sate hunger." Turrirr's muscles tensed, his spine straightening as his attention darted between Ivory and his comrades. "The pack cherishes the hunt, not the corpse." His grip tightened around his summoned weapon, ready for what might come next.

  A chill prickled Swift-River's scales as Ivory's voice wavered. "Before the dragon war, Crimson Ruby lured me to do his bidding. After he stole my wealth, he commanded other dragons, making them my enemies." Ivory's words rang heavy with sorrow. "Crimson Ruby ordered a dozen dragons to kill me to prove their loyalty. Their breath weapons left me scarred and turned me into this decaying husk."

  Ivory coughed, the sound rattling through her broken frame. "When I awoke, I discovered that Crimson Ruby fell, which ended the dragon war. They say the Puppet Master resurrected him as a Dracolich." Ivory's body shivered, a spasm of decay. "With Ruby's dark magic, he resurrected me and forced me back into his service."

  Ivory shifted uncomfortably. Her decaying tail twitched against a broken tree. "Crimson Ruby made me spy on Orcs," she said, voice dry and cracked. "And orchestrated zombi raids against the Orcs." Remorse etched into her scaled face. "Now, my mind is free. No longer bound by his dark enchantments, I will fight against his oppressive pack and earn my freedom."

  "Begging for freedom does not suit a dragon." Swift-River looked at Ivory with disgust, her lip curling to reveal teeth. "That head? Perfect for a flowerpot." She raised her hands and cast a shimmering spell, sealing a few of her deep wounds. Swift-River's mind raced. Time runs out. I need to reach Roar'Z before he moves locations. The consequence of failure looms too dire to imagine.

  Swift-River smirked as Ivory squirmed at the flowerpot comment. The dragon had once terrorized armies. Now she lay before them, reduced to broken bones and wounded pride.

  "The Grand Druid deserves a meaningful gift. A belated coronation present would be nice," Zirien scratched his jaw, then tapped his chin. "A flowerpot, you say? That's not half bad, Swifty," he said with a sly grin. His use of her nickname brought unexpected warmth to her scales. "Or perhaps we alert the Grand Druid about Ivory's newfound rebellion against Crimson Ruby. More strategic."

  "I need to find Roar'Z," Swift-River said, claws tapping her dagger's hilt. "You two handle the flowerpot issues. The Grand Druid prefers the Starlight Serenity flower," she said, unfurling her wings. "Zombis never rest; every minute I hesitate, they inch closer to Roar'Z and his besieged Orcs."

  Zirien placed his hand on Swift-River's wing, his touch lingering just a moment too long. "Swifty, please, one more moment of your time." His heart raced as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver necklace. "The Grand Druid insisted we bring this to you."

  Swift-River knelt without a word, lowering her head. Zirien fastened the necklace around her neck, the cool metal pressing against her scales. His fingers brushed the tender place where scale met skin. She shivered, a sensation stirring deep within her that she hadn't expected.

  Zirien hugged Swift-River tightly, his voice breaking. "I'm so relieved we survived the battle. If Turrirr and I had been just ten minutes later... I'm not sure you would have survived the attack." The confession trembled between them. Tears welled in his eyes. Swift-River returned the embrace briefly, allowing herself this moment of connection before the mission demanded her attention once more.

  Next time: Swift-River flies toward war. Roar'Z counts his final strikes.

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