If they know, then they feign ignorance, thought Sevaka, and most convincingly at that. The candle flames danced as an ever-increasing wind gusted through the windows and arrow loops of the old keep. The ancient half-dragon placed another log on the fire. His cold blood warmed.

The Daymara–surely they were after his cousin. Kandalanta made no illusions about her heritage. Sevaka didn’t hesitate to use humans to his own selfish needs. Kandalanta, however, revelled in their slaughter.

His thoughts drifted back to the others he had killed, from forgotten years they called to him in their pitiful human voices, begging him for the forgiveness and mercy that he had only learned in the past century. He used to rage against those emotions as much as he raged against the human hearts that felt them. Wandering from town to town, exploiting for all the gold and riches he could wrap his claws around; then, with the excitement of climax, he would crush those vermin, those humans.

That was in the past; now he contented himself with more peaceful and benign pleasures, like walks in the woods and even polite conversation with humans. What cruel fate would disturb his tranquility by sending these foulest of curs barking at his door on a stormy night for shelter.

He was being driven back to his old pleasures, the desire for blood, which to quench he now wandered from his house to partake in the hunt against more feeble game.

Azravena was the first of the Daymara to awaken. He stretched and rose, breathing deeply of the morning air. His nose caught a familiar scent, and the young necromancer was on his feet quickly, tearing his now-dry clothing from the clothesline they’d strung the night before. He brushed the matted strands of dark red hair from his eyes and sniffed the air again. His senses did not deceive him. The smell of the sulfurous smoke was unmistakeable–dragonfire.

He left his two comrades to sleep. No time to rouse them, Azravena decided. I must fund the dragon’s victims before they’re discovered and buried. The dead would answer all of his questions. He knew that those of dragon-blood rarely left survivors.

Azravena could only find one body. It was badly burned, aparently in an attempt to escape from the firery prison. The others at the camp must have been carried off deeper into the woods to be eaten. A chill ran down his spine. This was not the dragon the Daymara were tracking, but a different, much older, one.

Did his companions know there was another dragon in the area? He did not trust the other Daymara anymore, not after what had happend at Sinod.

Uttering a few soft syllables, Valeriel made sure that her other companion would not soon wake, and prepared to take off after Azravena. With any luck, the dragon would be done with him by the time she caught up, and if not, well, she had other ways of taking care of him. Despite the nip in the air, Valeriel felt that today would be perfect. She almost had to keep herself from whistling as she headed out the door into the grim grey dawn.

Before her lay the roadwork of all her plans, and in the distance, her ultimate goal; still far off, but getting nearer with each passing day. She could not keep the smile off her face as the breeze brought back to her the odor of blood and sulfur.

“Did you rest well sir?”

Pheaton resisted a yawn while awaiting an answer.

The burden was greater for Sevaka than his fiendish cousin; he was born of a dragon and half-dragon, while she was born to dragon and woman. Kandalanta had little difficulty restraining her power, though her true form held but a fraction of Sevaka’s might.

“I find solace in storms,” Pheaton said after a pause. He scratched his bearded chin. “My uncle once told me that the thunder and lightning are Antygha’s way of reminding the dragons and demons of the world that there is something more fierce and powerful than even they.”

“Perhaps,” Sevaka nodded, “perhaps indeed.”

Pheaton was still partially asleep, it seemed, and was just beginning to realize that the other members of his troop were nowhere to be seen. Noticing his eyes casting about, Sevaka simply shook his head. “They were gone when I woke, perhaps with daybreak. I’m sure they’ll be back soon; until then, perhaps we have time for you to share some stories of your exploits, if you’d so warm an old heart like mine?”

Sevaka led his companion the rest of the way down a broad hallway towards the waiting breakfast. The sun fell upon the carpet through windows to one side in an intermitent patern. Sevaka was bathed in hot white light, then shrouded in darkness only to step back into the light.

Well eating, Sevaka listened to Pheaton with disinterest from his chair. Letting his attention slip back and forth, as his eyes drifted across the room.

Like being hit in the back of the head, Sevaka shot his head forward and fixed his draconic eyes squarely on Pheaton as he mentioned a place he had been to. The details of what the Daymara had done there drifted past Pheaton’s lips, Sevaka felt icy fingers crawling up his back. Regaining his composure, he continued to listen, but with much more interest.

He had the rest of his day’s work now laid out before him, he must contact his cousin, and before those hateful Daymara could get out of his sight.

Valeriel stood on a bed of ashes. She watched Azravena, who, wearing the Necromancer’s Gauntlet, knelt with his ring and index fingers embedded in the eye sockets of a charred corpse. Azravena was entranced, using the dark powers of the clawed gauntlet to see through the eyes of the deceased and witness the last hour of his life.

Valeriel thumbed the cork of a vial inside her coat pocket. It contained sangwyrm, the very fuel of dragonfire. She could douse him, she knew, and none would be the wiser. He would be just another unlucky victim of the half-dragon’s wrath.

Azravena suspected her, she knew, for her mysterious absense during the battle at Sinod, where she had made her bargain with the black dragon Kardrakyr. Pheaton, of course, was too enamored with her to doubt her excuses.

All at once, Azravena’s eyes flew open, settling immediately upon Valeriel. There was madness in them, sheer madness….was this the way the power always worked, she wondered? Azravena threw back his head and let out long, bleating laughter, and his eyes kept shifting between their normally cool blue and pure iris-less black like a shutter. Slightly alarmed, her hand once again reached down into her coat, pulling out the vial. His gaze was unbreakable, she felt; “I…” he giggled uncontrollably for a moment, “….wouldn’t….” and he laughed some more, eventually stopping for a breath, “…do that, if I were you.” As he let out his strange, distorted laughter again, it was picked up by the hundreds of ravens up in the trees surrounding the clearing, a taste of the music of Pandemonium.

“The dead have spoken.”

His eyes shifted to the purest black Valeriel had ever seen, she was completely frozen. He raised his gauntleted hand and pointed an index finger at her.

“You are no true Daymara.”

Electricity flowed across his body as he uttered arcane phrases. From his finger a bolt of white lightning slammed into Valeriel’s body,knocking it into the center of the ring of burnt woods. She held up her vial in defence, but he was on top of her before she could use it. He struck her hand sending a jet of flame off to the side.

“For your sins against humanity, I will send your black soul to NgHara!”

“I wonder,” he addressed her, with definite menace, “I know this gauntlet works on corpses, but what of those who aren’t dead yet? Oh, what will I see when I look into and through you?” He raised up off her slightly, though she was still immobilized, and re-settled himself with his knees pinning her arms down. She saw him smile as he began to lower the hateful gauntlet towards her eyes. As he extended the index and ring finger of his left hand, the claws on those fingers seemed to glint darkly; not being able to hold back any longer, she screamed and screamed. She could only hope that someone, anyone, nearby had heard her.

He paused, looking quizzicly, and as if questioning spoke, “Azra–”

The Necromancer squinted, and a cloud of ichor seeped from his eyes,their natural blue color returning. Rolling off her, he sprung quickly to his feet. “Bloody Urnzil, what happened?” he gasped.

“I think you can best answer that,” Valeriel spat, her fear turning to anger.

“I…I could see nothing through the eyes of the corpse, though the gauntlet has never failed me. Then I called upon the spirit of our fallen master to aid me, and even he could find nothing, and then…blackness.”

“I think you conjured a demon instead,” she scowled.

“Maybe,” Azravena nodded, picking up a long wooden rod from beneath his foot, “but I think I’ve solved part of this mystery; this man was probably blind to begin with….”

Valeriel was visibly shaking as she tried to regain composure. She had misjudged his power, never once thinking he would be so hard to dispatch. She now knew that Pheaton’s help would be necessary to bring Azravena down.

* * * * *

A smell filled the air, distant and foreign. It drifted through the old dusty library, lightening the air. Lilacs and vanilla, the old dragon’s nose recognized at once what this ment. Kandalanta had arrived.

“By all means, man, by all means!” Turning, he addressed Pheaton, “She is the daughter of an old acquaintance of mine, and when he passed on–may the gods keep him in heart–it was his will that I become her guardian and protector. It has been to my immeasurable joy to watch her grow into the fine young woman she is today–you simply must meet her!”

With that being said, Sevaka prepared to settle in and watch the show. For, while unapolegetically murderous, when subtlety and deceit were required, Kandalanta was as full of guile (and perhaps more so) as any of the Serpent-born, and thrice as deadly.

Pheaton had to fight back a short gasp–walking into the room was a woman perhaps as magnificent to behold as his own Valeriel, causing him to nearly trip on the table leg as he stood up to kiss her hand. Attired in an elegant, yet still serviceable, red and gold rider’s outfit, she stood almost as tall as Pheaton; long chestnut hair flowed down her back, while her slightly almond-shaped azure eyes lit up upon seeing her “uncle Sevvy” as she ran over to embrace him.

Laughing, a little embarassed, but playing up the old uncle part as agreed, Sevaka pulled away from the embrace after a moment, “My dear Kiana, you’re just in time to meet one of my finest guests, the noble Daymara, Pheaton.”

Kandalanta turned around to where Sevaka had gestured, blushing, “Oh my….I had no idea you were entertaining visitors, and myself hardly presentable as a lady; I’m so sorry, please don’t think too ill of me!”

“So you are one of the fabled Daymara?” Kandalanta queried. “You must have some amazing stories to tell.”

Sevaka beamed. “That he does, Kiana. Just a short time ago he told me about their exploits in Sinod, where they slew the children of the black dragon, Kardrakyr.”

“Aye,” Pheaton nodded, “it has been a terrible cycle of retribution. We were a militia raised by the wizard Dimolair to free Arbour from the gray dragons. Their sire, Kardrakyr, killed Master Dimolair and seven Daymara. We struck his lair at Sinod, losing two of our against his brood.”

With a smile, Pheaton began recounting a story for the benifit of Kiana.

“We laid in wait for Kardrakyr to return to his lair. After two days Valeriel came up from the town to tell us that she thought she saw him escape to the north. So, gathering our things, the remaining ten of us Daymara set off after this terrible, ferocious dragon. We tracked him all the way to the shores of Kios with Valeriel’s expert help. We were given the slip, but we managed to find another dragon there, Vairin. He was a bigger brute than even Kardrakyr was.”

At this Kiana broke Pheaton’s speach feigning a little cry of fear.

“Don’t worry your pretty head Kiana, Vairin died a much deserved death.”

“Vairin was the dragon who terrorized these parts before that demon Kandalanta took over this territory,” she said sweetly.

“Oh?” said Pheaton, half-turning. “I didn’t realize the name of the creature we’re hunting was known.”

“Ah, yes, Kandalanta is well known,” she replied, turning to rest her delicate hands on Pheaton’s shoulders. A sensual ripple shot through his body.

“Do you know where I might find this beast?” he asked in a sedate voice.

“Why yes, yes I do,” she cooed, as a scaled claw ripped through Pheaton’s neck, emerging at the base of his throat.

She raised her head and gazed back at him untroubled, still enraptured with the kill, and idly licked the blood from her fingers. “But I didn’t like him,” she laughed, “and I do get so jealous when hearing about other women.”

As he started to argue, she raised up a hand to silence him,”Peace–are there not two others due to return soon? We can get all the information we need just as easily from them as we could have from this fool. I promise to play nice this time.”

Kandalanta then turned her attention back to the corpse, tilting the head at just the right angle to begin filling a wine glass full of the human’s blood, her refreshment of choice. Sevaka rang the server’s bell, calling in Mallend to clean up the room and dispose of the Daymara’s body; no sooner had he done so than he felt Kandalanta settle onto his lap, and turning back to her, felt her hands behind his head, pushing his face into her ample bosom. “Mmmmmm….” she purred, “and speaking of playing nice….”