Mistress’ chambers were empty. Her bedsheets were still neat, exactly as he had made them the morning before. Dawn light flooded the room from the bay windows overlooking the town sprawling along the base of the hill. Zath set his jaw, tail slashing irritably behind him. Mistress hadn’t even tried to sleep. One deep, controlled breath later, Zath turned away, utilizing his dexterous tail tip to close the heavy oaken door behind him; his hands were full with a lidded silver platter, still steaming from the corners. There was really only one place he’d find her if she’d been working through the night.
At the end of the hall, creaky stairs spiraled up into Mistress’ tower. He hated going up there.
Actually, the first floor arboretum wasn’t bad, though some of the plants made him itch if he stuck around. Not all alchemical components were pleasant flowers. It was the next floor he hated most; he tried to hold his breath, but the acrid smell made him want to wretch every time, and he averted his eyes from the innumerable rows of jars. Why did the giant troll eyeball have to be right at the end of the row, staring at him when he passed? Mistress had gotten quite cross when he’d turned it to look away from the stairwell once.
Zath hoped she was on the next floor, the library. It was a quiet room, a beam of light slashing between the bookshelves from the window by the reading nook. Most of the volumes were old, brown, and crusty - must covered the worst of the preservative smell wafting up from below. But she wasn’t here either. Which meant she was all the way at the top. As he ascended, he could already feel the prickle at his neck where the metal band about his neck seemed to hum the closer he got. He drew in a deep breath and steeled himself at the final landing before again using his tail to tip open the door handle to Mistress’ laboratory.
The very air thrummed, and Zath tingled all over as he was bathed in light from within; his fingers trembled on the tray handles at familiar energy. There was Mistress, standing tall, bathed in emerald light. It was painfully bright until his inner eyelid flit shut, lest he be blinded, almost unnoticeable otherwise. The glow was a living thing. A writhing, living heart, beating to the tune of Mistress’ staff. She, a conductor, or perhaps a weaver, wafted the pole half again as tall as she was, dipping into the light, shaping it like clay, or water. Maybe fog. If any of those things ever shone to rival the sun. The brilliant emerald halo made Mistress’ scales look teal, and her eyes reflected the light so perfectly they seemed to glow of their own accord. Her loose shawl and waistcloth drifted weightlessly on the tides of light. She was almost as bad as humans about wearing such coverings; Zath was firm in his belief that scale was adequate.
Ringing the room was a disarray of workbenches, chests and crates of odd trinkets, racks of staves and tools, and cabinets bursting with haphazard assorted potions, and a lectern by a massive stack of fat tomes that nearly reached the ceiling. One never knew what they’d find in the workshop. This was hardly the first time she’d taken breakfast in the workshop, and there was a table here for this express purpose, set apart from the rest of the mayhem of magical mysteries.
But Zath had eyes only for his Mistress. A beautiful sight. Intoxicating, even. Seeing her work like this made him yearn, and he didn’t understand why. It wasn’t a feeling he’d really worked out. It echoed of of something he used to have inside… Or perhaps he just admired Mistress’ art.
Shaking himself from the thrall of watching her, Zath dropped his eyes to the floorboards. He knew better than to disturb her focus. Quick and quiet, he laid the platter in its proper place, and put out the place setting. As he finished and lifted his eyes, Zath froze at the sight of a dragon. A great red dragon with slate gray horns, staring wide-eyed back at him with deep blue irises under a shadowy inner lid that darkened the whites.
But it was a mirror. The frame was familiar; Zathre had carried it up here himself not last week, but clearly Mistress had enchanted it. It was now showing him in his… old form. He lifted his hand to scratch at his neck, where his vivid red scale gave way to pale gray underbelly. Where the collar rested snug against his neck. The reflection did the same, but with a feral forearm, a long sinuous neck, and a much larger metal band. His hand trailed up to his real horn; it wasn’t even as long as his hand, but the reflection fingered wicked spines that were already branching, the first signs of ensuing adulthood. How long had it been, five years now? Six? Zath flexed his shoulders and missing, barely-remembered muscles, and the dragon in the mirror spread enormous ashen wings. Gods, he missed those. His eyes slid shut, and for just that moment he saw open sky. He could almost feel the wind in his face. Himself, the gale tearing through the skies. He turned to the side, wistfully admiring the flank of this feral version of himself in the magic mirror. The feral sight before him had changed, aged a bit judging from the horns, and bore a few of the scars Zath had earned in the past few years. This was his… true form, he guessed. A truthseeing mirror. There was a lump in his throat, and he didn’t quite register his inner lid slide open as the light behind him faded.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
His head snapped to the side. In the mirror, his feral figure seemed to shrivel in scale beside the imperious blue lizard woman looming over his shoulder. Her shawl and waistcloth, both fine tawny satin with golden spiderweb embroidery, complimented her jay-blue scales and amber skin of her head fins. The ribs of those fins stood spread, erect, daring him to challenge. Their eyes met in the mirror. Zathre shrank back, turning, bowing, and stumbling backward into a chair. The enchantress stared downward as he toppled with a “Yipe!”
She reached out and flicked the lid off her plate, spearing a piece of fish with a black claw and popping it between her teeth. “Cold…? Did you disobey me?”
“I-I can heat-”
“How long were you just standing here?”
Realization shot lightning down the small dragon’s spine. “S-Sorry, Mistress!” He climbed to his feet, his stature not even to her chest. But at her glare, dropped to his knees instead. “I-I apologize… The mirror distracted me.”
Her voice softened. Slightly. “Tell me the rule.”
“I-I’m not to linger in your lab.” She beckoned, and Zath bit his tongue, fighting to remember the rest under her burning gaze. “B-Because not everything is what it seems, and I shouldn’t get distracted for… my own… safety.”
She nodded. “Good.” With that, the lizard woman flicked her claws toward him in dismissal.
“D-Do you want me to heat up…?” He dared to lift his eyes. Mistress gaze was not harsh anymore; her attention flitted to the plate and back. 
“Out.”
Her tone was still neutral, so Zath breathed a little sigh of relief as he turned.
“Take the mirror downstairs on your way.”
“Yes, Mistress.”

* * * * *

Zath grumbled to himself, not for the first time, that Mistress should have made this collar give him a bit stronger body. It would go a long way toward all the menial work he was tasked day in and day out. If he had a fraction of his old strength, it wouldn’t be nearly so precarious, wrangling the truthseeing mirror down the stairs by himself. He didn’t dare imagine how angry Mistress would be if he slipped and smashed it on his way to the entrance hall.
The room was certainly staged for illustrious first impressions. The trim and woodwork here was more intricate than elsewhere in the manor. The ceiling was vaulted over a broad chandelier, precarious to reach for dusting. Zath polished the marble floor twice weekly until he could see himself in it, like smoky glass. Along the walls, curios on pedestals awaited buyers, meanwhile serving to show off Mistress’ work and skill to prospective commissioners. Zath opted to arrange the mirror close to the great oak double doors; he didn’t want to have to carry it far next time.
The room’s centerpiece was affixed to the floor, though. A ruby the size of Zath’s head floating effortlessly between a series of concentric rings, which would each spin on a different axis. It was quite a sight when set spinning, but Mistress scolded him for playing with it. He was only allowed to touch it to remove tarnish and dust. She was even more concerned with the centerpiece’s cleanliness than the floor. 
But Zath’s eyes kept slipping back to the mirror. He caught himself pining his old form once again, and had to turn away, chiding himself for narcissism.  He had more chores to do. Tomorrow was market day - his best chance for fresh air, provided the kitchen was in order.
But there was a sharp rap at the door. Zath paused, glancing back at the carved oak entryway quizzically. The knock came again.
He threw the bolt and opened the door to see two armed men in mail and pointed caps flanking a broad human in a gold-trimmed coat, burnt orange in hue. Zath ignored the guards and glared up at the wealthy-looking man sporting a bejeweled cane. Some of Mistress’ clients were rather entitled, and he employed his draconic expressions to their fullest… despite being a head shorter than most humans. “Do you have an appointment?”
The human shook his head. “You don’t know who I am, do you? Your lady should be making appointments with me, not the other way around.”
Zath glanced at the insignia on the bodyguards’ armor. “Well, you can’t be Lord Harkham.” He smirked inwardly, watching the human bristle at that. “…Because his Lordship was already advised my Lady Mythara remains neutral. But obviously you’re new in town, so in case you missed it,” he jabbed a claw out the door and to the side, to the ornate but rather angry lettered sign.
House of Lady Mythara, Enchantress
By Appointment Only!
Commissions to be requested by letter.
The man’s ire twisted into a smile. “Cute, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll fetch your lady.”
“I’ll take that under advisement. Have a nice day.” He rolled his eyes and slammed the door, but it was shoved open again before it latched, the guards plowing inside and throwing Zath aside, where he toppled on his tail. “Dammit… MISTRESS!” He was on his feet again immediately, yelling; one of the guards held him at bay with a gauntleted hand, going right for his neck. 
“I like this piece.” Harkham preened in the truthseeing mirror. In his reflection, a darker man, a bit taller, less portly, with far better kempt hair stared back. So taken with himself, the lord didn’t seem to notice the struggle behind him - in the mirror’s strangely skewed view, what appeared to be a mere militia man holding down a massive feral dragon. 
Zath growled and closed teeth on the arm holding his neck, chomping hard; he tasted iron, felt a tooth crack on the chain ringlets, but he tasted blood too, heard the man’s yelp. “Gah, get…! Get off! Get- grrck!” Zath pressed his advantage on the flailing man and got his clawed fingers around the guard’s throat, putting enough pressure to cut off the exclamations.
The second guard’s sword sang a pure tone as it was unsheathed, but the man hesitated, backing toward the door. He jumped at his lord’s sharp laugh. 
“Good show,” Harkham applauded with a wry grin at Zath. “Loyal little thing, aren’t you? Your lady must pay you quite well.”
Zath growled in response, tightening the grip of his maw - though it made his jaw ache, it spurring renewed frantic struggles from the guard he had in his clutches.
“She can’t pay you nearly as much as I can, though.” Harkham patted his coin purse, and Zath’s eyes were inexorably drawn. Everything he’d ever made in his life since Mistress… since she’d… would easily fit in there. This was a lord… a very wealthy man, by all accounts. His jaw slackened, just a bit.
“He couldn’t defect to you even if he wanted to.” All eyes were drawn to the tall azure lizard. She stood by the centerpiece, reaching up to caress the brazen rings. Her full attention lay on the gem inside it, her intruders a mere afterthought. “You can’t buy him. Or any of my work, for that matter. Not after disrespecting my house.”
Harkham shrugged it off. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement, Lady Mythara. You know as well as I do, I own this town now and-”
Mistress flung the brass rings into a spin. Sparks lit up between them; lightning arced to the lizard’s hands, leaping out as she pointed, forking to the guard by the door and blowing him clear outside. She leveled Lord Harkham with eyes of pure golden venom, another arc of energy building between her hands. “Do I make myself clear?”
The noble’s jaw fell briefly, but he snapped it back shut, stiffening. He raised his cane and shook the head toward the enchantress. “Very well, be that way. But you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
“You can’t touch me, Harkham.” She shook her head, raising her voice over the crackling whirl of rings beside her. “I have no quarrel with your conquest; but I’ll not be party to it, either. Go quash another village, if it makes you feel better!”
Zath released his victim and shoved the bitten, beleaguered man toward the door after his master, Harkham bustling out in a huff. The arcs of lightning in Mistress’ hands jumped back to the cem, and she slowed the spinning rings with a soft touch, the sparking energy fading as she gradually brought them to a halt. With a wave of her hand, the doors slapped shut and locked.
Running a forked tongue along his teeth, Zath felt one wiggle. Making a face, he spat the broken incisor into his palm and glared at it. Dragon teeth breaking to mere ringlets was just wrong, collar be damned.
“Let me see.”
“I’m fine Mis-” Zath choked off as she stepped up against him. She smelled of her arboretum, and… very female. Her vicelike grip cupped his chin and tipping upward. Her fingers dug at his still-bloodstained muzzle; he shied, tried to pull back, but her claws got between his teeth, prying his jaw open and pressing his tongue aside. Her fingers tasted of preservatives and something burnt. Her other hand clamped about his horn, quelling his attempt to wrench himself to freedom. Mistress and servant locked gaze. There was no yielding in the enchantress’ eye, and Zath submitted. The towering lizard proceeded with her inspection, prodding, testing at his gums. His eyes fluttered shut. Letting her have her way with him like this stirred something unexpected.
He couldn’t have fought back if he wanted to. Not really. It was no lie she’d told Harkham; he could serve no one else, and could neither harm nor disregard her will. But he knew when it was the collar’s impulse and not his own. There in the moment, he was a hatchling again, and Mistress was his den mother. Submission was a childish feeling, to a dragon. He should be indignant, but what he felt instead… a swelling in his genital slit. 
When finally she released him, Mistress swept the broken tooth from his palm. “Bring me the root when the new tooth grows in.”
He spun about, muttering “Yes Mistress,” almost without thinking, hoping she hadn’t noticed his reaction.
Zath retreated to his nest. That’s what he called his corner of the basement cellar. Mistress had offered him a ‘proper’ room, but sleeping in view of a window bothered him for reasons he’d never puzzled out. He’d asked for the basement; there weren’t many other options, given the sheer number of windows that seemed purpose made to pad out his cleaning schedule. He shared his space with a wine rack he was forbidden to touch, but beyond that the dirt floored cellar suited him fine. It was vaguely cave-like. Why Mistress’ taking complete control of him like that made him so hot, he tried not to think about it… But he was capitalizing on the occasion, hand already gripping the insistent black tapered length that was his everted maleness. The chill didn’t bother him, and he kept the place immaculately clean so his nest didn’t get musty.
His nest was, of course, comprised of pillows and fuzzy blankets. It was perhaps the one upgrade from his old life he’d not once complained about. He flopped on his side across the soft pile, quickly panting for breath as he worked his fingers across the sensitive ridges along the underside of his penis. From the moment she first strode into his cave, what seemed a lifetime ago, she had not just bested him, but done so at impunity at every turn. Her power, her dominance… any dragon would be forced to admire her. Right? His fingers spread pre along his shaft. 
Was dragon cum a useful ingredient? Mistress never actively broke Zath’s teeth or scales, but she certainly capitalized when it happened otherwise. He was just one of her projects… a source of alchemical ingredients. A trophy dragon. Would she ask for this, too, if she knew he was masturbating? Somehow the very thought fueled his need, and he rolled onto his back, humping his hand. She was full of unyielding purpose; everything she did had reason, whether she explained it or not… making her all the more desirable. Why did she have to cover her beautiful scales with cloth like some frail skinned human? She’d look better without them… 
Zath seized up, stroking his cock feverishly and swallowing a cry of pleasure that would have alerted Mistress, surely. Hot spatters dragon seed fell across his chest and neck as he fired off rope after rope of long-pent lust. So much of the viscous stuff that it pooled on his chest and trickled down his belly, following the curves of each and every scale. He groaned as he came down from powerful climax. So rarely he found a spare moment to get away and please himself, when something triggered him so powerfully… he came a lot.  He grabbed a blanket from his nest - he’d wash it later - and started mopping up.
His fingers brushed the collar. The accursed metal thing. His cage. His shame. This life should be torture for a dragon, and he’d born it for years… He hated that part of him growing to enjoy submission. She’d done this to him. But he couldn’t afford to hate it; this was his life now. This was all he had left. Was it really so terrible?
Market day. Kitchen. Chores lined up in Zath’s mind as afterglow faded, and he buried the moment of self-pity. At least now he knew why Mistress was so keen on keeping the entry hall centerpiece polished so. 

* * * * *

Mistress halted just past the cairn stones, turning back to the manor. Her eyes scanned the yard and the low branches of the surrounding pine forest. She reached out with her staff, rapping the jade heads of the cairn stones with the metal cap. Hand toward to the earth, she gestured in little circles, eyes slipping shut. A faint glow rose from the stones. These she orchestrated with her staff, beckoning the fog-like luminance rise - and others appeared faintly through the trees; there were dozens of cairn stones placed about her hilltop land.
The horse whinnied nervously. Zath held the reigns gingerly. The dumb animal was always on edge around him anyway. If it spooked, there was no way he was stopping it. Better to cut the cart loose. Let the horse careen off the cliff, for all he cared; it wasn’t taking Mistress’ property with it. It was a rather unique piece of her enchanting work, though it didn’t look out of place in the slightest. Just a practical single-axle cart.
With one final thrust, the enchantress sent the glowing mists to the very top of her tower. Her lab. A light erupted from the windows, rivaling the light of morn; the enormous crystal inside flared to its brightest.
He had never seen the wards in action. He almost wished he could stay and watch to see if Harkham sent men. Almost, but not quite. Mistress took up her satchel and Zath followed close after her swaying tail. Real sun on his scales, a fresh breeze in his face… The road down from the manor on market day was one of the few times Zath felt rejuvenated. The air was thick with pine from the mountain foothills. Weeds creeping into the road crunched beneath the cart wheels. About half the trip was shallow switchbacks, easing their way down into the valley where the town of Ballen sprawled. Relishing the outdoors while he could, it passed all too quickly; trails adjoined the road leading to dozens of farms along the way. The more signs of civilization, the less he enjoyed the walk.
But there was a new scent curdling the moment as soon as he caught it: old blood.
The battle had taken place some miles up the valley one foggy eve just a few days ago. The scent was faint now, even on Zath’s draconic senses, but it irrevocably soured the rest of the trip. He was actually glad to see the palisade walls of Ballen ahead. The cacophony of other scents masked the battlefield neatly.
There were guards at the palisade gate. That was new. Harkham’s insignia, of course. If Mistress heeded the changes, it didn’t show. Her iron-capped staff clapped the cobblestones and she marched stone-faced into town.  They watched the reptilian visitors warily, but said nothing. The town proper showed no sign of strife, but the people were soured. Their faces drawn, the goods they had on display in their street booths were meager. The pair drew eyes. They always did. Humans never quite seemed comfortable, never quite trusted other species, and never got used to looking at them. Mistress glanced back, producing a piece of paper from her satchel. “Substitute for foodstuffs if need be; it may be difficult to find everything on the list today. Use your best judgment. I have several stops today.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Zath accepted the page and nodded somberly. The enchantress and her swaying tail receded down the thoroughfare, leaving Zath alone with the cart, the stupid animal attached to it, and an impossible list.
Trust or no, humans still took coin for goods. And hawked their wares at any species if they thought they could make a few extra. The clothiers all knew they didn’t stand a chance, by this point. Zath was instantly recognizable and only ever bought sundries.
Consulting a number of grim-faced shopkeeps who had nothing on Zath’s list, apparently the vast majority of grain stores had been confiscated by Markham’s army. He was already having to substitute. Were turnips a suitable substitute for potatoes? He sniffed one. Being humanoid didn’t change the fact he was a carnivore; all plants smelled equally inedible to him. He depended on the recipes Mistress gave him to sate her palette. Deep in consternation, he hardly registered the wild bray and sudden frenzy behind him. 
“Worchit!” Something fuzzy rammed Zath’s side, throwing him sidelong over a pile of hardtack and its owner’s sharp farm implements. Something jabbed his side while a massive black horse tore through the gap between booths where he’d stood just a moment ago. Eyes wide, Zath scrambled for footing in a flood of of turnips and steeped on something soft, yielding a pitched yelp. His unwilling footing shifted away and he toppled headfirst into the corner of the booth. 
Zath got his bearings and sat up slowly, rubbing his skull right below a horn until the stars faded from his vision. He could still hear the frantic whinny of the spooked horse and the bustle of several men trying to calm it. Stupid, stupid animals…
He was rather surprised anyone bothered to push him out of the way, though. However poor the landing, he did not like the look of those skittish hooves. He looked down at his rescuer: a human boy about his size with a brier of long hair, a mess of tangles and knots that fell about his face as he, too, sat up. He was pale, eyes nearly black and a bit bloodshot. When their eyes met, there was a curious spark.  “Heya, I seen you around before!”
Where was the owner of the booth? 
The boy swung pulled his legs up, half sitting, half crouched. “Sorry ‘bout the shove.” His voice was pitched, scratchy, like his hair. He tossed his head, getting most of the drooping dark tangle of out his eyes.  
Zath wrinkled his nose at the scent coming off the boy and opted not to think about what exactly it was. He noted those clothes might have been white once. Getting his feet under him - on actual ground this time - Zath shrugged at the human, and turned to take stock of the square. Half the booths, including the turnip stand, were empty. His cart was right where he left it; its horse had weathered the whole event chewing a fringe of grass growing up between the cobble.
“You know, ya might be a bit of an ingrate.”
“And you might be annoying.”
“Oh, now tha’s just cold.”
“Everything alright? Oh, for goodness…” The turnip woman returned from the direction of the bolted horse, surveying the mess made of the booth. Her hands went to her hips when she saw the boy, though. “Watch that one, lizard, he’ll rob you blind sure as day…”
“Oi, this one ‘asn’t even got pockets!”
Turnip lady shooed away the miscreant. Zath checked his cart to be sure nobody had made off with the strongbox, and quickly forgot the encounter, haggling for turnips. Discounted for dirt and bruises and needing to pick them up off the ground.
Meat was also hard to come by but, well over an hour later, he surveyed the contents of the cart. They wouldn’t starve… but that was about all he could promise.
He led the horse back out of town, unhitched the animal, hobbled it, and let it graze. Mistress was liable to be hours yet, and he didn’t want to drag the animal and the cart around Ballen the rest of the day. Thankfully he didn’t have to worry about anyone making off with their supplies, even leaving them out here.
Zath rapped the side of the cart three times and leaned toward an etched rune, whispering, “empty hearsay.” At the pass phrase, the wood of the cart groaned sharply; the whole thing folded in on itself like a hand. The wheels melted into the flowing sides and shallow curving angles. The supplies inside found themselves enclosed in a seamless block of wood with neither wheels nor effective handholds to speak of. This was the one piece of her enchanting Mistress had taught Zath to use. He was extremely grateful for the freedom to wander back into town without worry. The guards’ dumbstruck stare was enormously satisfying, too.
Where would Mistress be this time? Zath wondered on his way toward the larger merchants and establishments. He wandered by the smithy and glassblowers Mistress frequented; the lumber yard, where she often met with carpenters. He checked beside every door. The enchantress’ staff was far too tall for comfort in most indoor spaces, and so she tended to leave it outside, with the side benefit that Zath could generally find her with minimal human interaction.
 A quartet of human boys about his height streamed out from an alley, took one look at him, jeered, and dashed on by. Once or twice they’d tried to get him to join their fool games. He still smirked every time he remembered their faces when he put a hole in their silly ball. Mistress had not taken his side… but that one time was worth it for their faces. 
Zath circled most of the town. The richer homes, two story affairs with wrought iron fences guarding their little courtyards, flowers, and fountains - sometimes these were clients, too. It was a nicer place, the scents here far more pleasant than the market. Except… blood again? Not from the battlefield. This was closer.
The gate on one ornate fence had been wrenched clean off its hinges, the doors to the house similarly broken inward. No less than four of Harkham’s men staked out the yard. That was the governor’s place, wasn’t it? He smirked faintly upon noting a guards by the fountain had a bandaged arm. But, all the more reason for Zath to avoid the place; he ducked down a different road before he was noticed.
He was perhaps halfway back to the center of Ballen, where the older houses were no grand two-story affairs. Zath glanced up at the sun, inner lids flitting shut while he determined it was perhaps a few hours past zenith. Looking down again, everything was a bit too dark to make out much more than the horizon. He spared a glance toward Mistress’ hilltop manor while he waited for his lids. When they slid open, his heart nearly stopped. The light…! Mistress… where was Mistress?
Zath ran, frantic. “Have you seen Lady Mythara? Have you seen her!?” The old man on his porch, shopkeeps manning their storefronts, even the thin man crouched at the crossroad with a begging bowl. Anyone on the thoroughfare he asked, nobody had seen her. A passerby noted he’d seen the enchantress by the riverfront, but that was hours ago. Zath thanked the man and tore off that way. Never mind the fish smell… There wasn’t much of a port, and only one barge, but its crew kept careful watch, and directed Zath to the street they’d last seen a lizard pass by. He nearly tripped over a coiled rope in haste, startling a chorus of squawks from a crate full of chickens. 
There was her staff! Zath jumped the waist-high fence and collided with the door. Locked. He pounded. “Mistress!”
A frowning man threw open the door. Zath ignored him and shoved his way indoors. “Mistress, the light… The light’s gone out!”

* * * * * 

Zath had never even seen this path. There was barely a deer trail; he wasn’t sure he could follow it but for chasing after the glint of Mistress’ scales, glimpsed through the trees. Despite her height, she slid through the brush and broken ground like wind, while Zath struggled to keep steady footing. The woods were thick here, but by his reckoning… They were coming up on the foothills leading up to the manor. They’d left the cart and horse for a more direct, far more difficult route back.
That was, until they came upon the sheer incline. Zath craned his neck. Yes, on that ledge, the fence by tower. But that would be a difficult and dangerous climb. “Mistress…?”
She stooped, pulling an old-looking rucksack out of a hollow. Her satchel and staff set aside, from the sack, she drew a pair of round palm-sized stones. “Speak ‘One day I’ll win’.” 
Zath found the stones pressed into his palms; they were covered with spidery glyphs. He frowned. Mistress’ pass phrases were universally two words. These looked… very worn. And the etchings looked sloppy compared to what he’d seen from Mistress before. But he did as he was told. “One day I’ll win.” As he spoke over them, their runes flared to life with a ghostly blue.
Mistress pulled a second pair, muttering over them, “Catch me if you can,” alighting them. She rose up to her full height. Her eyes were fierce. She barely spared Zath a glance. “Do as I do.”
She placed the stones one after the other against the incline and climbed. They held fast under her weight, even placed against soft loam. Her clawed feet found purchase in the earth. Zath followed her example, pressing the stones against the near-vertical earthen wall. When he placed one, it stuck; placing the second, the first released.
“Just give me my damn wings back,” he muttered under his breath as he heaved himself upward. Mistress looked back at him. Zath cowed under her wilting glare. What…? She’d never looked at him like that before…  He’d never seen her this angry.
Zath climbed. Again, he wasn’t as fast as the enchantress; not for lack of stamina, his limbs just weren’t that long.
They were close to one of the switchbacks of the cart-worthy path, but Mistress avoided it. Of course. Harkham would be expecting them to return that way. But as they passed, Zath sniffed. The path smelled of men. More than a few - too many to make out individuals. 
Zath realized about two-thirds up he was gaining ground on his Mistress. She was panting for breath. He quickened his pace; it was surprisingly fast to climb with such confidence. When finally her tail vanished over the fence above, he was just a few handholds behind her. The enchanted stone would not stick to a fencepost, he learned, but he got an elbow across a slat and hauled himself up and over. Mistress’ hands seized him and dragged him to the cover of a cairn stone.
From their vantage, they saw the front door, wide open. And there were several smoking spots on the grass outside. Including the remains of the By Appointment Only! sign.
Mistress’ lips pressed into a thin line. She hissed, “Harkham has been playing with my lighting generator. Avoid the entry hall, and let me deal with it. You will enter the tower. Go to my lab. Do you recall the gauntlet?”
“The ruby inlaid one? Black?” He nodded.
“Fetch it, bring it to me.”
“How…?”
“The spider-walking spell works on all earth-elements.”
The tower was stone. Zath nodded, hastening to the base of the tower and its sheer hewn stone brick sides. The enchantress dashed by him and around the corner. He climbed hard. After scaling the valley walls, he was in top form, clambering upward rapidly. Halfway up, he heard a crash; a lot of glass, and yelling below. Mistress had entered the by bay window, which didn’t open. Well, not without shattering. He took care to place his climbing stones more quietly, lest her distraction be fruitless.
Lifting his chin over the ledge of the laboratory window, he cursed. A half-dozen men picked through the lab, and it looked like they hadn’t heard the ruckus downstairs. Well, this wasn’t going to be easy…
With little else to work with, Zath hurtled one of his climbing stones straight through the window pane at one of the intruders’ heads. It hit hard and stuck to the pointed helm. The one he was still gripping slipped. Zath yelped, clawing his way through the glass shards, risking cuts rather than the drop. He hit the floor and rolled to his feet, struggling to orient himself as two of the men bore down on him. They saw him unarmed; weren’t even bothering with swords. He bit into the first hand that came at him and barreled over the second man while he was still reeling in shock. The gauntlet… There! On the one tidy shelf in the entire laboratory. The singular gauntlet, made for the left hand for reasons beyond him. Zath broke for it and snatched it up.  The dark metal thrummed in his grasp, and he slipped it over his hand.
He roared in pain as something icy clutched inside his chest. Harkham’s men paused, uncertain. Zath exhausted his breath, struggled for more as he thrust the gauntlet out with a throwing motion. Nothing. Mistress said to bring it to her; she could’ve maybe told him how to use the bloody thing…!
Thunder crashed downstairs. The intruders took a step back, and Zath bolted for the stairs down. He wasn’t fast enough. Two of them dog-piled him under heavy bodies, mail, and a firm grip around his muzzle. He snarled, but light was fading. And pale tendrils were creeping up his arm from beneath the gauntlet. Dead scales.
The world faded. There was motion, and harsh voices. His heartbeat, racing. And something else: a whisper, and creeping icy pain. Faintly, he was aware of being lifted. Dropped. The clutch in his chest was dragged away, and the pain vanished. Mostly. “M-Mistress…?” he croaked.
“You have no clue what you’re dealing with!”
That was her voice. Feeling was returning, but not to his left arm. He forced his eyes open; they stung, seeing only blur. A blotch of red and bronze and lights above him.
“On the contrary.” Harkham’s voice, right above him. Zath turned his head, and made out the shape of that gold-trimmed coat. “Judging from how it affected your little pet, I have a fair hunch. I’m not fool enough to try it myself… yet.”
“Pity. It would be less painful than what I’ll-”
Thunder crashed, and blinding light forced Zath to close his eyes just as he was resolving clearer shapes. He rolled to his hands and knees, nearly falling when he tried to put weight on his numb left arm. He shook his head and blinked away the brightness until his inner lids slid shut. “Mistress!”
She had a different staff, one from her room. What was left of her room…! Every wall between the bedroom and entry hall was blasted outward, and the ceiling sagged dangerously. Harkham laughed, throwing lightning from the brazen rings; the enchantress swept the bolts away with her staff with stunning reflexes, but she was visibly tense, panting. The haughty lord paused, letting the ringing die out of Zath’s ears. “I hate fighting a lady, my dear. You can’t can’t keep this up forever!”
The clearer Zath saw her, the deeper the lines of hate in Mistress’ eyes. But neither of them was watching Zath. His eyes fell on the spinning rings. If he could stop them, cut off Harkham’s-
“Oh, nonono.” A boot landed in Zath’s back and shoved him back to the floor, polished tile now strewn with ash and wood chips. “You need to stay put.”
But it gave the enchantress her opening. Her staff flailed across Harkham’s face, but he snatched the haft on her follow-through and twisted. Zath craned to see her fingers slipping to his iron grip. At the last moment, she let go, punted him in the gut. The weight off his back, Zath rolled free and watched the struggle unfurl. The enchantress resorting to beating and clawing, not letting him use the staff he’d won - but she didn’t see the arc from the generator to the staff’s tip.
Zath didn’t think; he leapt to push her. Not unlike an annoying miscreant who’d run into him earlier in the day. There was a deafening boom, a shock up his spine, and freefall.
He landed hard on rocky ground, outside the shattered shell of the manor, and Mistress landed just beside, skidding against the cliff-side fence. Their eyes met in daze and shock. Zath tried to push himself upright, but the left arm failed him again. “Dammit!” Harkham was collecting another arc.
Mistress’ hands grabbed him, lifting… and she threw him over the fence, arms around his neck. As another fork of lightning cracked the air above them, she gasped, “Fly true!”
His collar hummed. He grazed the cliffside with a rapidly elongating tail and… wings! Barely thinking, he kicked off the valley wall with powerful, feral haunches and swept over the treetops in the valley as the air caught his enormous wings. He was… his old self. His true form! The shock of recent, the rush of it all fired his reverie; he tipped his head back, loosed a roar into the wind, and rose up on furious wing strokes. Stars above, he’d forgotten how far he could see! He felt truly alive for the first time in years… His name was Zathreigan! Let Harkham deal with him now!
But… he was hardly immune to lightning. He glanced over his shoulder between wing beats. Mistress clung to his neck for dear life. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Her safety wasn’t worth risking.
Something sharp ripped through his wing, several more struck his underbelly, another found purchase in a haunch. His head snapped toward the source: crossbowmen, a dozen of them, stationed on the switchback road. An ambush they never triggered, now a gaggle of wide-eyed men attacking out of some misplaced sense of duty. Zathreigan wheeled toward them, careful to keep his hide between the group and his fragile passenger. He swooped, roaring again his might.
At that moment, Zathreigan realized he had no fire.
Didn’t matter; he slashed with his hind talons and sent the lot of them scattering in fright while he swept past, angling his wings toward Ballen.
Even now, even when she gave back his true form, his flight and all his strength… Mistress hadn’t given back his flame? 
There would be more guards at Ballen, and doubtless more crossbows. He steered away from town and glided further up the valley. The trees broke, and the open field below dotted with, shields, broken spears, and the dead… The battlefield. And they’d just left their enemies’ bodies to the crows. Damn Harkham. As the dragon crested the valley, hoping he was too far away for the lightning generator, he spared a glance back toward the husk of the hilltop manor. His life of the past five years, along with everything his Mistress had worked for, all in ruins. He couldn’t help but growl.