"The greasy one is coming to kill you."

 



Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5


Ritter almost jumped out of his skin as the long dagger clattered to the floor.

"We're here," Farsinger croaked, landing on Ritter's chest and gripping his nose with her beak to rouse him. "I brought help, too."

Ritter, heart pounding, sat up from the tower's cold stone floor. His muscles ached, and his head was fuzzy from days of fitful sleep and gnawing uncertainty. He blinked crusty eyes; a recessed window sent a single shaft of vivid light across the empty room.

His raven friend hopped to his shoulder then his hand, nipping at his dirty clothes, her excitement palpable. "His name is Pavia." She nodded toward the large vulture standing nervously in the shadows. "He was strong enough to lift the dagger all by himself."

Ritter smiled at the vulture. "Impressive, Pavia. Thank you." Pavia nodded and said nothing.

Ritter heard the echo of boots on the spiral stairs leading up to his barren cell. Maybe the tower had been built to constrain some particularly naughty princess, because there was no way in or out unless you could fly.

Farsinger flapped her wings in urgency. "The greasy one is coming to kill you. He melted the dragon scale to pay his gang."

He stuck the long dagger in his belt. He was probably going to need it soon.

"The Jirrahs are also outside the walls."

Ritter was stunned. "Really? How many?"

"All of them," Farsinger said. "Well, not Droth."

"Why not Droth?"

"He went to get an ally," Farsinger said. "Yesterday."

The footsteps were coming closer. "You two need to get out. Tell Flint... Tell him to cause some trouble so I can escape."

Pavia didn't need any additional encouragement. He hopped to the recessed window and squeezed out.

"Don't be stupid," Farsinger croaked, squeezing his hand in her talons.

"Why stop now?" Ritter kissed her beak and tossed her toward the window.

The heavy door creaked open. A man's shadow fell on the opposite wall. The shadow held a sword. Ritter drew the dagger.

"What the hell," his captor cried.  He was the "greasy one" named Morgan. He brandished his sword as his eyes fell on Ritter's dagger.

Suddenly, every dragon in the place erupted in wild song. One voice stood out above all the others.

Shit. Wellorg was out there? That's where Droth went? To get her? Ritter was a dead man.

"You're going to need to put that away," Ritter said. "Because we're both about to be great friends."


Part 7

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