Flies swarmed in a dense mist over the decaying body, lured by the stench and feast of flesh. With the sun barely surfacing over the wheat field, Dunegan examined the festering puncture wound, it was the size of a pewter dinner plate. He recognized the body as Jakab, a butcher from the nearby village of Garyan; he was missing for three days. Dunegan lifted one of Jakab’s arms, he noticed that the hand was raw as if he scraped it along a sharpening wheel. He lifted the other and it was the same.

Swatting the flies away, Dunegan peered into the gaping hole, the edges were smeared with congealed blood and the organs were missing; most likely taken by an animal. He frowned. Picking up a stick from the moist ground, he poked inside the wound. Using the end of the stick, he scooped what he had found. Dunegan wiped the blood from the object on Jakab’s clothes and raised it to the light of the sunrise. It glinted with pearlescent gleam. It was the size of Dunegan’s hand and had a triangular shape. Not since he was a young boy had he seen a dragon’s scale.

Dunegan stood with one of the Justices of the Peace, Troye, as Dunegan watched Jakab’s family sobbing and caressing his body in the back of a tumbrel. Villagers surrounded them with lit candles and were praying loudly in unison. Troye muttered something under his breath, his black beard quivering.

“You found this in Jakab?” Troye asked, turning the scale in his hand. “A dragon hasn’t been seen in ages.”

“I know,” Dunegan said as he ran his fingers through his long, brown hair. “Jakab is the fourth victim in a fortnight. If it were a dragon we would have seen or heard it by now.”

“Well, then, how do you explain this?” Troy asked as he handed the scale back to Dunegan. “If I had known we would be dealing with a dragon I would have brought Justices with me.”

Dunegan grunted. “How soon can you get your men to come?”

“I don’t know if it be possible. Many were sent to aid the King during the riots. Even if I sent word to the few that stayed behind in Morland, it would take four days riding.” Troy said, adjusting his belt over his paunch.

“That won’t do,” Dunegan kicked at a pebble. “We don’t have four days.”

“I know you have an obligation to protect your people, but you’re going to have to recruit some of them to help.”

Dunegan peered at the town square. More people had appeared in their windows and doorways, shining candles; they added to the mid-day sun reminding Dunegan of dragon’s fire.

Standing on the actors’ stage at the end of the square, Dunegan faced his people; many stood at the doorways of their homes and businesses. Torches were lit at each side of the stage to ward off the impending night. Troye stood to the side, he wore his breastplate with the Justice emblem snugly over his chest.

Dunegan cleared his throat. “We have found a dragon’s scale inside poor Jakab today,” Gasps and murmuring erupted. He raised his hand. “It may or may not be a dragon.”

“What do you mean it’s not a dragon? You said you found a scale.” A woman from the crowd asked.

“There has been no other evidence of a dragon. No burn markings, no broken trees and the livestock have been untouched. I have searched.”

“It could be a Halfling! They are hard to find.” A man said.

“I know what a Halfling is. I doubt that it is one. I would have found its nest in the forest.” Dunegan said and glanced at Troye. “Have you all forgotten that I was part of the Dragon Hunting Legion for old King Linus? I know how to hunt for dragons.”

Troye stepped forward. “We will find this Halfling and kill it. But we need more people to help us. My Justices won’t make it here on time.” Troye said.

Dunegan glared at Troye, who didn’t seem to notice. Hands shot up as Troye pointed at each of them.

“We will meet here again at dawn,” Troye said.

Stepping off the stage last, Dunegan grabbed Troye’s elbow. “What are you doing? We don’t know what is causing the killings.”

Troye glanced at the receding audience. “I told the people what they wanted to hear. They wanted to believe it's a Halfling, let them believe it as long as we can get them to help.” He pulled his arm from Dunegan’s grip.

“I know that you are a Justice, but I am in charge here of Garyan.” Dunegan said, meeting Troye’s gaze.

Troye nodded.

A rooster announced the coming of dawn, piercing the silence of the town square. Gradually, the chosen townspeople emerged carrying a weapon and congregated along the edge of the stage. Dunegan, along with Troye, stood on stage waiting for the gathering to grow. Troye had on his breastplate again and Dunegan wore a chainmail over his tunic. Each had a long sword on their hips. Dunegan watched Troye’s pacing and suppressed the need to stop him. With the group at twenty, Dunegan addressed them.

“You will be placed into small groups of five and will search a chosen area of the forest. If you find anything strange, give a shout.”

Troye stayed at one side of the stage and began sorting the volunteers on that side. Dunegan grouped his side quickly. From the back of the gathered townspeople, someone shouted. He peered at the woman running towards the stage.

“He’s missing! Jorn, Jorn, my son.” The woman said, tears streaked her face.

“Ofelia, where was the last time you saw him?” Dunegan asked, bending down.

“He was out before dawn. Out at the barn. He said there was a sound he heard, before he walked out. I haven’t seen him since.” Ofelia said, out of breath. “Dear God, the dragon’s got him. It got him.”

Troye leaned down. “We need to go now, if we’re going to stop it.”

Dunegan nodded.

“Ofelia don’t go back to your home. It might not be safe, stay with your sister. We shall return.” Dunegan said and motioned to the groups.

Someone took Ofelia by the elbows and led her away. Her voice trailed.

“Oh, please find him. Please. He’s just a boy. My only boy.”

Spreading out behind Ofelia’s farm, the searchers entered the dense forest. Dunegan and Troye trailed behind them. Light barely seeped through the canopy of the trees, darkening the mossy ground. Bird calls were muffled by sloshing footsteps marching over the dampened dead leaves. Dunegan scanned the ground as he continued in a zigzag pattern. Somewhere ahead, quickening steps caught Dunegan’s attention.

“I found something!”

Dunegan dashed between the thick pines, he saw a few of the townspeople bending over, peering at something on the ground. He approached from behind and pushed through. Partially covered by wet leaves and pale as a full moon, a hand lay. Dunegan took a stick from someone and brushed the leaves off. It was cut off clean at the wrist.

He shook his head. “A dragon wouldn’t do this. It’s not possible that it would cut off a hand clean off like that.”

“Perhaps the Halflings eat in parts.” someone said.

Dunegan closed his eyes. He felt a presence behind him.

“I would have to agree with Dunegan.” Troye said.

“How do you explain this?” Another person said, pointing to the ground a few feet away.

Tossed into small piles, the leaves lumped together, torn and mushed. In front of each pile, deep markings gouged the earth. Dunegan kneeled and placed his hand inside the markings. His hand pricked against something and he grabbed it. A crowd gathered bending over each other to see what Dunegan found. Dunegan opened his palm and an onyx claw laid on a pool of his blood.

Dunegan paced, kicking the dead leaves in his wake. Troye leaned against a tree and a sack with the hand resting inside, sat next to him. They were out of earshot of the volunteers, who continued to search for the rest of the body.

“I don’t understand! How could it be a dragon? We had hunted them down to extinction.” Dunegan said. “And if it were a dragon, it doesn’t act like any I have ever seen before.”

“Is it possible that an egg was left behind?” Troye asked.

“We destroyed all the eggs we found.”

One of the volunteers walked by, staring.

“We should get back to the search.” Troye said as he lifted the sack.

Dunegan nodded. “This ends tonight, even if I have to stay out all night.”

Reaching the end of the forest, Dunegan and Troye paused at a wide river. On either side, a few boulders as tall as a man hugged the edges. He scanned down the river and noticed some of the volunteers wading.

“I’ll go down that way.” Troye said as he pointed down the river.

“Alright.” Dunegan said and headed the opposite way.

Splashing into the water, Dunegan peered into the rapid flow. He inched closer to the middle until it reached his upper calf. Mid-day light bounced off the river, partially blinding him as he looked across. A downed tree scraped the other side of the waters, causing the current to be interrupted. Focusing on the limbs of the tree, Dunegan saw a mass clinging to it. He fought through the force of the river and reached the tree; gripping its trunk tightly. Cradled in its arms was a child. He appeared to be sleeping, his face was a flaxen color, his lips a glacial blue. His clothes were ripped in long, snakelike shreds and one of his hands was missing.

“Jorn,” Dunegan said.

He attempted to pull himself to the other side to get the boy out. Flagging some of the volunteers over, they were able to release the body from the tree. As Jorn floated, Dunegan saw that the side of his abdomen was ripped off. Gingerly, they glided the child’s body across the river. Dunegan lowered his head and he was taken back to the moment he was walking alongside the tumbrel that carried his dead wife.

Sitting in front of the fireplace with a wool blanket over his shoulders, Dunegan stared into the hypnotic flames. Behind him the tavern lacked its ritualistic bacchanalian nature, its guests sitting soberly; the light thuds of their mugs against the wooden tables deafening in the silence. Dunegan felt his peoples’ icy stares on his back as much as he felt the fire warming him. Troye stirred next to him in his chair and it brought Dunegan back to the tavern.

“Dunegan, are you calling it a day?” Troye said he placed a hand on Dunegan’s shoulder.

Dunegan stole a glance back to the crowd waiting quietly. “No.”

“It’s getting just about dark now. This will make it more difficult.” Troye said

“I said I wouldn’t stop. I only came back to pay my respects and to warm up.” Dunegan said and he stood, his blanket cascading onto the chair.

Troye peered at him. “We might not have the same amount of people to help.”

Dunegan grunted and turned. “I’m going back out there. I don’t plan on coming back until I’m dragging whatever it is that’s doing this behind me. I’m going to hang it in the town square for everyone to see.”

A cheer rose from the crowd, they raised their mugs to Dunegan. Troye stood next him and clapped.

“You can come with us or you can stay. I will understand. You all have duties to your families first.” Dunegan said as he grabbed his sword that was leaning against his chair.

Peering at each other the men and women shifted in their seats. Dunegan nodded and made his way down the center of the tavern as he passed, some of the people stood and followed him. Troye brought up the rear.

Cicadas trilled and chirped, beckoning Dunegan, Troye and the search party of eight to the darkening forest; it loomed taller and denser than during the day. Each of them had extra weapons and a small shoulder bag for provisions, given to them by the partially deaf tavern owner; whose daughter was the second victim.

Dunegan carried his father’s bow and quiver full of arrows. It was gifted to him when he was recruited for the Dragon Hunting Legion; his father had crafted it with intricate etched designs. He gripped the bow tightly in one hand and had a lit torch in the other. Dunegan brought the torch further above his face as he entered the forest. Shadows of the trees danced from trunk to trunk and from searcher to searcher causing Dunegan to be disoriented for a moment.

Shuffling leaves drowned out the cicadas, yet the occasional hoot of the night owl rose above the sounds. A chill clung between the trees and coiled itself onto Dunegan’s body; he repinned his cape tighter. He noticed Troye not too far on his right, poking at the ground with a stick. Dunegan paused as the hairs on the back of his neck stood, the music of the cicadas ceased.

Peering into the depth of the forest, he stared as the dead leaves were tossed up in a trail leading towards him. Wrapping his bow over his shoulder, Dunegan positioned himself with his sword in hand and torch in the other, he panted. Pausing a foot from him, the leaves rained down to the earth. He could see between the shower, a bright ball of light growing in size the closer it got.

Dunegan tossed and rolled to the side as the roaring fireball flew past and smashed into the trunk of a large tree; it cracked and split crashing to the ground. Stumbling to his feet, he peered towards where it had come from. Shouts and crunching footsteps drew near. Another fireball sailed across the forest, illuminating the area with temporary sunlight. It struck three of the searchers, their screams filled the night.

Dunegan watched as they waved their arms, running to and fro. Parts of the forest were on fire and the shouts from the searchers faded as the crackling of flames took over. Someone grabbed onto Dunegan’s arm.

“Dunegan! We must gather the others and leave or we’ll get burned alive!” Troye said, yanking at him.

“We must stop it! Now’s our chance!”

“We can’t see it! It has an advantage. It seems to be able to see at night.” Troye said, his eyes wide.

Dunegan hesitated, his sword pointed towards the original place where the fireball was thrown. Listening for the familiar cry he heard over Troye’s voice; yet no sound came.

Troye pulled at his arm. “Dunegan!”

A third fireball hit the forest canopy, sending a deluge of burning branches on top of the searchers. It pinned some of them down, roasting them as they lay. Sweat poured down Dunegan’s face as he scanned for survivors, there was none that he could see. Following Troye, Dunegan dashed, making his way to the edge of the woods. Ahead of him, Troye stumbled forward onto his chest. Scrambling to rise, he was pummeled from behind by a thick piece of wood. A groan escaped Troye as Dunegan reached for him. Yanking him from underneath the flaming log, Troye’s legs were lit.

Grabbing some of the soil, Dunegan tossed it on Troye’s legs. Troye cried out from the lashing pain. Pieces of the forest continued to rain down, a small branch struck Dunegan on the shoulder. He swiftly patted the flame out and grabbed hold of Troye’s arms. Using what little energy he had left, Dunegan pulled Troye as far as he could muster. Dunegan collapsed on the edge of the field before the flaming forest.

Troye moaned. “There is… something I must tell… you.”

“Don’t speak, Troye. I will get help.” Dunegan said as he slowly rose.

Troye gripped Dunegan’s forearm, it was stronger than he expected. “Listen!” Troye said, his eyes rolling. “It is not what it seems.”

Dunegan frowned as Troye’s head slumped to the side and fell silent.

Pacing the room where Troye was staying in Garyan’s only inn, Dunegan watched the healer tend to Troye. Troye’s face was pale and creased, he squirmed as the healer and his assistant stood by. Taking pinches from the bowl that his assistant held, the healer prayed softly, while sprinkling the herbs up and down Troye’s legs. Dunegan sat down and his shoulder burned underneath his wrappings. He could smell the sizzled flesh and for a brief moment he saw his wife laying in bed with half her face burnt.

The healer approached Dunegan. “I’m afraid his legs need to be removed. I might be able to leave one of them, but I doubt it.”

Dunegan grunted. He glanced at the bed and saw Troye, instead of his wife. “I can not speak on behalf of Troye, since I don’t know him that well. Do what you can to save his life.” Dunegan headed for the door.

“Where are you going? You need to rest,” the healer said.

“I’m going to end this.”

Grabbing his sword, bow, and quiver from the lobby, Dunegan walked the stretch between the town square and the end of the small village. Around him the villagers stared, none of them following him. A murmuring rose from them, a prayer that Dunegan was able to still hear long after he left the graveled main path of Garyan; dawn slipping into view before him.

Scavenging the charred remains of the forest, Dunegan retraced his steps to where the attack had started the night before. The woods smoked and hissed as it slowly died out under the sprinkling of light rain. Smoke, cooked flesh and rain mingled in the air. He noticed a small group of men nearby with a tumbrel, they were scooping up the bodies that were left behind.

“Hey!” Dunegan called out as he approached one of the men. “Tomlin, have you come across anything out of the ordinary?”

“No,” Tomlin said as he wiped his filthy hands on his bottoms. “Haven’t noticed anything. Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Something that don’t belong here.”

Tomlin nodded. A voice called to him.

“That’s all of them, Tomlin!”

“Good luck, Dunegan.” Tomlin said and began shoving the tumbrel through the squelching dead leaves.

Deeper in the woods, Dunegan paused and placed his hands on his hip. He felt the weight of his weapons, they threatened to buckle his knees and sink him to the earth; where he wanted to remain. Bowing his head, a glint caught his eye; a beam from the mid morning sun, shown through the branches above. On his knees, Dunegan dug his fingers into the leaves and soil. Rubbing the dirt off the object, he peered at the shimmering stones.

“The Cave of Moonlight!” Dunegan said as his voice reverberated in the forest causing the nesting ravens to scatter above him.

Shoving the stones into his sack, Dunegan sprinted out of the woods, a two day's journey laid before him.

Twilight blanketed the valley where Dunegan stopped for the night. As he prepared his fire pit, a cool breeze tunneled through the valley, rustling the nearly barren trees and brush. He pulled out his cured lamb and bread from his sack and something slipped out. Dunegan picked up the metal brooch. He stared at it as he imagined his wife wearing it with her blue gown.

A wedding gift from her mother, his wife wore the brooch everyday. Dunegan bit his lower lip and clutched the brooch to his heart.

“Ah, Felonia. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. I wish that I hadn’t let you come with me. You were so stubborn.” Dunegan said, tightening his grip on the brooch. “Had I known you were carrying my child, I would have tied you to the bed at home.”

Dunegan stood up and paced. “Why didn’t you tell me? I had to find out from your mother?” He raised his hand and almost threw the brooch into the night, but lowered it. “It all nearly killed me.”

A shriek shattered the night and a swoosh of wind kicked up the gravelly dirt; the flames turned into a hazy smoke barely seen in the half moon. A thud and then crunching footsteps approached Dunegan. Scrambling behind a boulder, he glanced towards his camp and noticed his sword glinting dully close to the smoking fire pit.

A large shadow loomed over it, dimming out the glint. Holding his breath, Dunegan stared at the shadow, it was larger than any man he had ever seen and it breathed noisily. Walking on two legs, it lowered itself and sniffed his belongings. It’s head was massive and it appeared to have horns. Slowly it raised its head towards Dunegan.

Pressing himself back against the boulder, Dunegan closed his eyes. The footsteps drew near. A clawed hand clicked against the boulder above Dunegan’s head. It tapped its finger, with each click of the talon, Dunegan’s body twitched. A long sigh escaped the monster, lifting Dunegan’s hair. There were footsteps away from the boulder and then the swoosh of wind as it escalated into the darkness above.

Dunegan slid to the ground and glanced towards the sky, he was still holding onto the brooch.

Rain pounded the earth in large droplets of freezing liquid as Dunegan slipped and trudged up the valley wall. Morning sun hid behind the gray, bruised sky. Reaching a steep grade, he dug his leathered boots into the mud and used his hands as leverage. Pulling himself up onto a wide flat steppe, Dunegan rolled onto his back, his clothes and sack soaked through. Drops pelted his face as he laid there breathing deeply.

Clouds shifted and the rain lessened slightly, Dunegan used the opportunity to continue over the valley wall. Half stumbling and half hiking down, the land leveled off and Dunegan was able to walk comfortably. A well worn road appeared as the sun poked between the lessening clouds.

Taking the road, Dunegan came across a person sitting on the edge. The man’s eyes were closed and his dark hair was matted onto his head. His tunic and tights were drenched and he carried a lyre on his back. A small cut split his eyebrow. Dunegan slowed his steps before the stranger.

“Morning to you.” The man spoke.

Dunegan sighed. “Good morning.” He said without pausing.

“Could I trouble you for an answer?”

“What’s that?” Dunegan said and stopped.

“I’ve lost my way. Where are you coming from?” The young man asked as he stood up.

“I came from Garyan about two days that way.” Dunegan pointed behind him. “Another three days will take you to Sorsen. The other way is four days to Morland and another two days to the king’s land of Fynnigul.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Dunegan began to walk away and then stopped. “Say… have you seen anything unusual?”

“Such as? I’ve seen plenty. This is how I keep my lyre tuned.” The player said.

“A disturbance in the land or even perhaps you’ve seen a creature?”

“Not too far from here, I slept in an abandoned cottage. During the night I heard a flapping of wings and a screech unlike anything I have ever heard before. It landed on the roof, making it collapse some more. Unfortunately some of it fell on top of me. I tucked myself into the fireplace until it left.”

“And you say that was last night?”

“Yes.”

“It’s most likely the Night Stalker that the people speak of in the taverns that I have visited.” The young man said as he adjusted his lyre.

“Night Stalker?” Dunegan said, frowning.

“Yes, people have been describing a monster that walks like a man and breathes fire like a dragon. But no one has really seen what it looks like. It kills at night and then travels to a different village every few weeks.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“It’s hard to say… no one knew what was happening at first. Maybe it’s been happening for months?”

“The king should have sent soldiers to stop this.”

The young lyre player laughed. “The king is busy with his revolts. He probably wishes he could use the monster on his side.”

“That monster has slaughtered four of my people!”

Under the grime of the young man’s face, a red splotch appeared. “I apologize.”

With a wave of his hand, Dunegan left the lyre player standing there.

Dunegan paused at the foot of the Cave of Moonlight as the last of the remaining sun dimmed in the background; he peered into its glittering void. The last time he had entered the cave, Felonia was with him; alive and courageous along his side, at the end he had to drag her out. He placed his hands over his face. Knowing he had to venture forward, his legs wouldn’t move him. Dunegan turned abruptly and a hiss escaped the mouth of the cave.

Standing still, he waited; his back to the opening. Air brushed his back side like a monster sighing a humid breath upon him. He crinkled his nose as the acrid stench of earth and bat feces encircled. Laying his hand on the hilt of his sword, Dunegan turned slowly. A shadow stood within the darkness. He blinked and it was long enough for whatever it was to disappear.

He sensed inhuman eyes pouring over him, bathing him with hatred and malice; it chilled him to the core. Pulling his sword, Dunegan winced as it made a metallic shush within its scabbard. Rays of sunlight beamed onto the cave opening from its point on Dunegan’s blade. A reptilian hand slipped into the dark. Dunegan held his place, yet he didn’t advance.

Clacking footsteps retreated deeper into the Cave of Moonlight and the chorus of the night birds rose. The full moon seeped through a sheer gray cloud lighting the way for Dunegan to enter the cave. Getting down on one knee, he pulled out the short torch from his sack and lit it with a set of flint rocks. It roared into light and a ring covered Dunegan in a rusty hue; the caress from the heat both comforted and overwhelmed him.

Weightlessness gripped Dunegan as he gradually made his way into the cave. Out of reach of the torch, the gloam shapeshifted. He barely made out the cave walls which seemed to expand and contract as if it were breathing. Rocks beat together under his feet making his stride uneven. Water dripped in the corners and lightly bounced along; underneath the dribble was a low grumbling.

Dunegan paused and glided his torch gently from side to side. From within the trail of the blaze a bestial visage materialized. He gasped and almost dropped his torch as he hopped backwards. A tip of a stalagmite poked his lower back, Dunegan arched and scrunched his face. He dared not check his wound, keeping his eyes ahead; moisture soaked the hem of his top.

“DOOOOONEEEEGAAAAAAN,” His name reverberated in the cave, rattling his head.

“What do you want, you foul beast?” Dunegan answered.

The erratic pitch of silence greeted him. He took the next few steps deliberately, scanning the area before him with the torch. A shower of gravel scuttled down in front of his feet, the ground dipping. Dunegan raised his torch and found himself on the edge of a cavern. Peering into the massive space, a rippling pond twinkled underneath the gems embedded into the walls. Stalactites and stalagmites crowded the surfaces of the ceiling and floor. In the middle of the pond was a small island with a shadowy figure. Gradually, the reptilian creature turned.

Standing taller than six feet, it stood on two legs and had short arms that ended with clawed hands. Besides its body, scales covered its face, including the lips; which curled into a sneer. It had no ears or hair, but rounded plates that ran from the crown of its head down to its thick tail and horns dripping with dew. There were wings tucked under a long plate that ran down its back. Dunegan shuddered as his eyes rested on the beast’s eyes; they were soft as human eyes.

He stared at the beast for some time, neither one speaking; the creature continued to grumble, the vast chamber quaking. The dripping and the rippling slowed, Dunegan raised his sword as the beast leapt from the small island; landing with a rocky crash in front of him. Swiping its talons, Dunegan stumbled backwards, the jagged stones jabbing at his back.

He rolled to the side as the creature stomped his clawed foot, the rocks tossed into the air. Scrambling to his feet, Dunegan swung his sword and the beast grabbed it and rammed its forehead into him. Staggering, Dunegan clutched his head momentarily. Shaking it off, he raised sword and began to circle the creature.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?” Dunegan asked.

“I am the last of my kind.” It said as it flicked its tail while imitating Dunegan. “All of us knew who you were - Dragon Slayer.”

“I killed all of you.”

“But one.”

“You are not a dragon.”

“Oh, but I am. I don’t look like my ancestors anymore. I’ve been transformed.”

“Transformed?” Dunegan said he continued to keep his distance.

It stopped and stared at Dunegan. “I was stolen and taken as a halfling to King Linus’s castle.”

“Impossible!”

“I was under the care of his Advisor, Ergirn, who was a scholar of the Dark Arts.” The beast continued as if Dunegan hadn’t spoken. “He was conducting experiments on me with the idea of domesticating dragons by making me more human. They didn’t count on you and your Dragon Hunters killing us all off so soon.”

Dunegan gripped his sword tighter as he stood rigid, listening.

“To hide the experiment, the King had us executed. The day that I was to be destroyed, I escaped, leaving a trail of blood and limbs.” The beast said.

“You say that you were made to be human-like.”

“Yes, Ergirn used himself to make me who I am - Zalios.”

“You have a name?” Dunegan said.

“Yes. I was going to leave that all behind. Forget my name, my creator and my past. I wanted to be with my kind.” Zalios raised his fists at Dunegan. “But it was not to be. You know how devastating it is to find that there is no one left like yourself?” It took a step.

“Yes! My wife died in this very cave! She was burnt by dragon’s fire.” Dunegan pointed his sword at Zalios. “Don’t tell me about loss, beast. Your kind was evil and had to be rid of.”

“I am the beast! You are the one who went on a murdering rampage!”

“Your kind killed too!”

“Only when provoked! All of you had despised us because of your fear.” Zalios said and he snapped his jaws.

“We feared and hated you for stealing our livestock and draining our water supply. Vermin all of you!” Dunegan said.

He jumped, swinging his sword over head; Zalios caught the blade between his claws, cupping it with a grunt. Dunegan pulled it out, a metallic wail escaped ringing his ears. Zalios swung left, then right; barely missing Dunegan’s throat. The beast spun and lashed out with his tail, Dunegan’s sword was tossed into the glass-like pond.

Dunegan scrambled for his dagger, prying it out of its leather sheath at his ankle. Zalios charged and Dunegan swung the dagger at its skull, Zalios dipped and brought his hand up; grabbing the wrist that held the dagger. With the speed of a sprung arrow, Zalios ripped Dunegan’s hand off. Dunegan howled, clutching his mutilated arm to his body. The monster tossed Dunegan’s hand into the pond and pulled his lips into a smile.

With his vision swirling and the pain writhing, Dunegan gradually slipped into the pond; Zalios followed, peering at Dunegan. Waist deep, Dunegan shuddered, he was melting into darkness. A current tugged at his clothes and he noticed that the pond drained out into a wall. Zalios unfurled his wings and floated at the edge. Dunegan dropped into the numbing waters, his pain subsiding briefly.

Peering through the squiggling underside of the pond, Dunegan saw the creature hovering; it pressed its face onto the surface; its eyes gleamed dully as a wolf’s stare. Dunegan pushed himself away and glided, kicking with his legs and steering with his good arm. He burst out of the surface and gulped. Dunegan rode the pond into the opening, Zalios stayed back.

“You can not stop me Dunegan! I will have my revenge and I will find you again.” It said.

Tumbling, twisting and banging his way through the watery path, Dunegan struggled to keep his mouth above it. He choked and sputtered, his sight given to the underworld. He turned onto his back and felt the support of the river, sunlight jabbed at his eyes. Covering himself from the brightness, Dunegan saw the stump of his arm and began to scream.

Drifting in and out of consciousness as if he was walking through a dissipating fog, Dunegan sensed the movement of the river slowing; his face throbbed from the sun. His body caught and was pushed against a pile of branches. Dunegan’s limbs got tangled in the massive bundle; he groaned and tried to resist. He squinted and peered about, it all seemed familiar and yet it could have been a distant memory. Hollow splashes approached Dunegan and hands grabbed onto him; his sudden fear dissolving into unconsciousness.

Peering through the slits of his eyelids, Dunegan noticed he was lying on a bed in a large room. People stood nearby facing towards a table, lapping water came to him. Sunlight poured in through a window as the breeze brought with it the scent of early winter and earth, it intermingled with the aroma of body odor and blood. He heard voices coming from the figures, they stared at Dunegan; one of them nodded and approached the bed.

“Good to see you are still with us, Dunegan,” The healer said, as he dried his hands on his apron.

“How long have I been here, Hume?” Dunegan asked, his throat prickling.

An assistant handed Dunegan a cup of water.

“It has been three weeks.”

Dunegan sputtered, “Three weeks?”

Hume nodded.

“What has happened in all this time? Has the beast returned?” Dunegan asked, giving the cup back to the assistant.

“It had returned once more, a few days after you were found. It took Bramdel while he was searching for his dog. We found them scattered all over the field. They were viciously mutilated as if the beast were angry,” Hume said as he began removing the bloodied bandages from Dunegan’s arm. “Since then many of us have moved in with others, keeping away from the outer areas and there have been more watchers. It hasn't come back.”

Dunegan nodded stiffly as sweat clung to his forehead, he watched as the last piece of the bandage was removed. He half expected to see his hand, yet only an illusory outline was there.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dunegan focused on the conversation, “You say it hasn’t returned?”

“It hasn’t been seen or heard. There has been no markings, either. Even the livestock haven’t been touched.”

Dunegan grunted.

“You are fortunate to be alive, Dunegan. I have seen many who have lost limbs, most would die from loss of blood,” Hume stood by after his examination, the assistant began rebandaging. “As a healer I suggest you rest, yet I know you won’t listen to me. As a friend, I’d say leave it for another town’s sheriff to handle. It is gone.”

“Hume, I need to kill it. There is something I’ve found out– “ Dunegan turned to look at the other cots. “Where is Troye?”

“He died when I was attempting to remove his legs.”

“Damn!

“What did you find out?” Hume asked

“I’m afraid to tell you, for it might have you killed.”

Dunegan swung his blade, cutting the air with an untrained balance; he struggled to use his left arm. He thrusted and parried, sweat trickling down the sides of his face; the wintry breeze cooling him down instantly. The earth seemed to sigh as the sun crept over the field’s horizon, Dunegan paused and shoved the sword into the ground. His nostrils filled with the ice of the coming snowfall. Sunlight battled with the snow filled clouds as it climbed higher.

A gust shook the blade as it remained embedded into the harvested ground. Dunegan reached for it and couldn’t grasp the hilt. Switching to his remaining hand, he yanked at it and cursed. He awkwardly placed the sword into its sheath as he trudged back to Garyan. The sounds of the town escalated as if being called on by the arriving day; doors clattering open, wheelbarrows creaking, and conversations murmuring.

Heading to his quarters, Dunegan nodded at his people, he avoided waving his hand at them. Inside, he removed his sheathed sword and leaned it against the wall. He was alone, not even an overnight prisoner lay sleeping in the back rooms. He almost missed the usual drunkard who would be clanking his metal cup on the steel frame of the cell to be let out in the morning. Dunegan sat at the counter watching the people pass by beyond the opening of his sheriff’s quarters. Frowning, he searched for a writing implement and a piece of paper, he wrote furiously as if he was possessed by a force, nothing stirred except the short scrapings from his writing. Hopping off his stool, he stopped at the set of armory he had displayed and grabbed a dagger and his custom made shield. Back at the counter, he paused in front of his sword. As he pressed his lips together, he slowly placed the blade on his hip.

On his horse Windemar, Dunegan adjusted his grip on the reins with his one hand, giving Windemar a click of his tongue, the dark brown beauty started up on a trot. Discomfort radiated from him and awkwardness trembled in his hands. Dunegan recalled a few moments ago with Hume.

“Dunegan, please, I don’t know what it is that is driving you to this madness; but you mustn’t go,” Hume said, who had stopped him at the edge of Garyan.

“If you are concerned about my recovery, it has been a month. I am fine now,” Dunegan said.

“You know I mean this foolish quest. The town needs you.”

“This is why I am doing this,” Dunegan rubbed his head. “Hume, appoint someone new if I don’t return.”

Hume nodded. “Take heed of your new body, it can betray you. Learn from it.”

Snowflakes scurried along Dunegan’s line of sight as he guided Windemar through the scarred wooden doors of Fynnigul. Scattered near the entrance, the guards peered through the slits of their tarnished helmets; their narrow eyes following Dunegan as he continued. Clacking on gravel, he wound his way past thatched homes leaning on one another. What little people Dunegan saw, scampered away into the shadows. The path began to climb, glancing up over the roofs he saw the turrets of King Linus’s castle, Din Agosh.

A crowd of knights greeted Dunegan, some of them with their hands up, warning him to stop. Slowly, getting off Windemar, he approached the nearest knight.

“I would like to see King Linus.” Dunegan asked as he placed his scarred limb behind him.

“And who are you to ask to see the King?” The knight said, his pudgy nose twitching inside his helmet.

“I am Dunegan. My wife was King Linus’s niece and the advisor’s cousin; her name was Felonia. King Linus knows of me.”

The knight gave him a look and he curled a finger over his shoulder, another knight sprang to his side.

“Let Advisor Peiter know.” The first knight said.

The second dashed off over the short bridge into Din Agosh. The surrounding knights stared at Dunegan along with the first knight.

“I see you replaced Advisor Ergirn.” Dunegan said.

“Why wouldn’t the King do so? It’s been 6 years since he died.”

“You mean killed?”

The knight narrowed his eyes. “No, I meant died.”

“How did he die?”

“Didn’t your wife tell you?”

“No, she was killed by a dragon before Ergirn… died.” Dunegan said, his face hardening.

As the knight opened his mouth, the second knight came rushing over, his breastplate heaving and his breath steaming out like mist from a waterfall. “The King will see you.”

Escorted by two knights, Dunegan made his way down the aisle, stepping on the rich, red rug that ran the length of the vast throne room. He realized that King Linus was not at his throne, but at a nearby window, peering out, his hands clasped behind his back. The king had a slight hunch and was considerably thinner than the last time Dunegan saw him. His garb hung on his frame and the crown pressed down on his forehead. King Linus turned towards him, he waved the knights away.

“Dunegan.” The King said and he raised his hand to Dunegan.

Dunegan was at a half bow when he noticed, he grasped it gingerly, with his other hand. “Your highness.”

“Now, now, Dunegan, you don’t have to be so formal.” King Linus said nasally as he patted Dunegan on the back, leading him towards the throne. He thudded down onto the cushioned seat.

Placing a foot on one of the steps before the throne, Dunegan thought of what to say. “King Linus, I came in search of answers. Before the first frost, my village of Garyan was attacked by a winged beast who killed four of my people. I hunted it down.” Dunegan paused.

King Linus gripped the arm rests tightly, his knuckles as pale as his face. His thin lips were pressed, and his forehead creased like overlapping clothes. “Did you kill it?” He said through gritted teeth.

“No, your highness. I was nearly killed. It did this to me.” Dunegan waved his limb.

The King shuddered. “Good God.”

“This thing was like no dragon I have ever encountered. It spoke to me. It told me something I dared not believe. That is why I am here.” Dunegan said.

King Linus stared through Dunegan and his hooded eyes glazed over as if under a spell. Dunegan was about to speak when the King rose from the throne.

“It should never have existed. Ergirn and I were foolish, and he paid for it with his life and I… am paying for it by the creature tormenting me.” King Linus staggered for a moment. “It comes every night now; it drags one of my soldiers away and they would find him somewhere in pieces in the morning. It knows that I know that it can get me at any time, but it waits… I grow tired of the taunting.”

“King Linus, let me kill Zalios! Let me help you.” Dunegan said, watching the king.

“Zalios? It has a name. I had forgotten. Ergirn tried to treat it as if it was one of us. But it is unnatural.” King Linus said and froze, staring at the window.

Dunegan stepped towards him and was about to touch him when the window burst into a shower of jagged projectiles that buffeted Dunegan. Landing on his side, a roar drowned out the tinkling sound of glass. Peering past his raised arms, Dunegan saw Zalios toss the throne against the doorway. It crashed, splintering the doors, yet they held. The doors buckled from the banging of the knights on the other side. Reaching for King Linus. it brought him up as if he were going to place a scarecrow onto a wooden stake. The king wriggled and gagged in Zalios’ grasp.

Touching his steel on his hip, Dunegan awoke from his shock and rose. Pulling the blade from the sheath, he crouched and using King Linus as coverage; Dunegan came forward and drove his sword into the creature's thigh. Zalios shrieked and dropped King Linus, his body landed with a thud. It batted Dunegan sideways and he slid onto a column; the air punching out of him.

Rapid, heavy tremors approached Dunegan as he struggled to see between the black stars that covered his sight. Lifted off the ground, Dunegan was shoved against the column. Zalios’ claws dug into his throat, Dunegan struggled to tear the scaly hand from his neck. The beast’s nostrils flared, and his tail swooshed.

“I knew you’d come. Now I can kill the both of you. That is if I haven’t killed the king yet.” Zalios turned to look, the king was dragging his body across the floor. “Oh, good, I plan on killing him slowly.”

Dunegan’s vision blurred, and his head slumped to the side. Zalios’ laughter drifted in and out. Dunegan noticed his dagger strapped to his ankle. Mustering what little consciousness he had left, Dunegan lifted his leg, pulled the dagger and thrusted it into Zalios’ left eye. Dunegan slid to the floor and the beast covered his eye, screeching in anguish. Shaking his head, Dunegan stumbled and crawled to his sword. He reached for his steel and his head was pulled back by his hair. Searing pain raced along his throat, wetness poured down his neck, soaking his tunic. Dunegan crumbled to the floor as he clutched his throat. He pulled his eyes towards Zalios and watched as he picked King Linus up and began poking him with one of his sharp claws rapidly into his stomach.

Numbly grabbing his blade, Dunegan got to his knees and threw it. The sword plunged into Zalios’ abdomen. The monster froze, his beady eyes wide. King Linus fell from his hand and stayed crumbled like a heap of sticks. Zalios fell to his knees.

“Dunegan…” It said, blood gurgling over its reptilian lips; the creature twisted to the ground and a long, raspy sigh escaped.

Dunegan slumped over onto his back. His body spasming until a hand touched his face. He cracked a smile as Felonia gently kissed his forehead.