Holly Ryan, Columbia University. 1986.

I debated for some time where to include this journal entry, before settling on including it as the first entry in this volume. While this entry takes place several months before the rest of this story, I do believe that it is the most relevant here, as I believe will become evident through later entries in this volume.
This journal entry describes McDonnagh’s personal account of an event that occurred around a small English landmark known as The Dragon-Mother’s Maw, a deep and sudden cave that, according to the local legend, stretched down for untold miles, and was where dragons clawed their way to the surface thousands of years ago.
Certainly, the skirmish McDonnagh describes here is backed up by multiple accounts, including a report written by Bertram Nesbitt, a renowned Arcanic researcher and heavily featured character in this entry. Bertram and McDonnagh had previously worked together on several occasions. Though any professional relationship between the two fell apart after a failed expedition to the Church Town of Gammelstad in Sweden, which Bertram had publicly blamed on McDonnagh.
It is worth noting that McDonnagh’s account of this event is the only one to mention the presence of a dragon.
The following is an entry from the journals of Connor McDonnagh, dated to eighteen-ninety-four and presented here without edit.

Sunday 14 October, 1894
I admit it took me longer than I’d have liked to find the Dragon-Mother’s Maw. Getting to the location was easy enough, but the actual Maw itself was a touch more elusive. For one, every description of the Dragon-Mother’s Maw depicted it as, well, exactly that: a gaping hole in the basin between two mountains that lead straight to the depths of the earth from which, ten centuries ago, seven dragons crawled out.
When I eventually found the damn thing, however, there was no hole. In the basin between two mountains was, instead, a wide ring of gravel and loose rock that all but refused to harbour life. Not even the most stubborn of weeds peeking through the gaps in the pebbles. Eventually, perhaps taking a little longer than it should have, I realised that the mound of stone I was stood on was, or used to be, the Dragon-Mother’s Maw. I shouldn’t have been surprised, if the rumours were to be believed. Since the dragons had climbed out of its depths, the Maw had lay inert.
According to some, however, the Maw wasn’t done. Hence why I found myself now in the middle of nowhere, half a day’s walk from the nearest town, facing down not a deep pit, but a gravel ring. Whatever power forged the dragons had sealed itself back up. Tomorrow, on the ten thousandth anniversary of the last birth, the Dragon-Mother was ready to release new children into the world.
Satisfied I hadn’t wasted my time on unsubstantiated rumours, I set about pitching a tent for the next few nights. Though tomorrow claimed to be the day of the birth, I’d come prepared to be out here for at least a week. Anyone worth their salt knows to take a great big pinch of it anytime a prophecy comes attached with a date and time. I scoured the area for a good spot to bed down — not too close to risk being swallowed up by the Maw in my sleep, but not too far as to risk missing the birth — when I came across a tent already set-up. Then another, and another. A whole campsite had popped up just beside the maw, obscured to me on the way in by the hillside surrounding. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one to have heeded the rumours.
No matter, I thought to myself, no harm in more eyes to witness the event. Writing this now, I only wish that were true.
Nearing the site, I counted five tents total, four smaller ones propped up around a far larger one. The smaller tents still looked big enough to bed at least two, while the larger looked more suited to meetings and discussion than housing. I could see some of the campsite’s residents now, a mishmash of men going about their business. The first to see me was a giant of a man, with tan skin, a head full of thick hair and fat worm of hair resting on his top lip.
“Hold it,” he growled, growling being the only pitch I think he could manage, “you’re intruding on a private campsite.” Despite his orders, a big meaty hand stretched out in my direction, I pressed on towards him. Behind him, I could see the other men slow down in their paths, attention turning our way.
“I’m just passing through, friend,” I said, offering my most convincing smile.
“Turn around, now,” he said. I opened my mouth to argue further, when an annoyingly familiar voice cut me off.
“Connor McDonnagh? Is that you?” trilled Bertram Nesbitt. Bertram was, like me, an Arcanic researcher, but that is where the similarities end. If you are reading this, I am sure you are familiar with his work. If not, I envy you.
“Let him pass, Aayan,” Bertram ordered the big man, a hand slapping against Aayan’s arm. With a grunt, Aayan moved out the way, sulking back to his work. With great reluctance, I turned from the receding back of Aayan to the face of Bertram. He had an upsetting, large smile plastered across his pale face.
“I should not be surprised to see you here,” he said, spreading his arms wide in a gesture to the area, “it is a momentous event after all.”
Before speaking, I summoned all my will into feigning the kindness this man so desperately did not deserve.
“Bertram,” I began, teeth gritted in a failure of kindness, “this is quite the expedition you’ve brought along.”
“We’re witnessing the birth of a new dragon McDonnagh, I’m surprised the Queen herself didn’t insist on accompanying me. You’re not here alone, are you?” He spoke with a concern that I was sure was as fake as the smile he had greeted me with.
“Well, yes, after your article about our expedition to Gammelstad, I suspect I’ll be travelling alone for sometime.”
“Oh come off it, no-one reads those things,” he dismissed, waving his hand. Of course, I knew he didn’t even believe the words coming out of his mouth.
“Shall I give you the tour?” he offered, not waiting for my answer before turning off and heading towards the larger tent he had come from. I didn’t have any say in the matter before he launched into a long spiel about every facet of his expedition, clearly more than proud of who he had brought along.
“I’m sponsored by the Crown for this, you know,” he said, “they afforded me all these luxuries.” The luxuries he was referring to included the grunts tagging along — Aayan and his crew — and the equipment they had brought along with them. There were others in his expedition that he glossed over completely. I would have pressed him further, but he deflected by simply not shutting up the entire time.
Confirming my suspicions about the tents, Bertram’s tour took me straight into the largest central tent, dismissing the four encircling it. Inside, I’ll admit it, the equipment he had was more than a little impressive. Clearly all provided fresh and clean out of the pocket of the Crown, there was not a scratch on either the mundane or the magic equipment. From seismometers to measure the ground for earthquakes, to sensors detecting the radiant Thaumic and Void energy coming from the Maw, the man really did have it all. I thought of the single crystal I had in my possession, it would hopefully start to glow when the levels of Thaum got high enough. At the moment, no-one was tending to the machines, but I had no doubt some of the people I had seen around the camp would be monitoring the devices throughout the night.
Across from the array of equipment, on the other side of the tent, was an all-too-familiar desk. The large, garish oak affair followed Bertram everywhere he went, no matter how much it inconvenienced those around him. Sitting atop the desk was an equally familiar brass monkey statue. The thing was odd looking, having been clearly designed by some long dead artist who had only had a monkey described to him. It took pride of place on his desk — far from any museum he had promised to deliver it to. Biting my tongue, I stood in silence, nodding along as the man droned on about how elaborate his set-up was.
By the time Bertram was done with his extensive tour — going into detail about every piece of equipment, its exact purpose, and how expensive it had been — the sun had already begun to set. Heavy clouds settling in the sky threatened a downpour. He concluded by walking me back to where I had first found them, past the row of four tents, the rest of his crew no longer in sight.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you to join us in our little campsite?” he asked.
“I really should set up my own space,” I said. I’d rather gouge out my own tongue with a splinter was what I wished to say, but I still had some manners.
“Well do get yourself some rest, wouldn’t want to miss the big show tomorrow, eh?”

---

With that, I set off back into the plains around the Maw. Now that I knew where they were, I couldn’t miss the campsite as I found somewhere to set up for the night. As I deliberated over where to set up for the night, the clouds that had settled in above finally relented, showering the basin. Gently at first, I hardly noticed until the ground had began to give way under me, but with a promise of getting heavier as the night progressed. I rushed to set up my tent before I became soaked through.
As much as I wanted to pretend Bertram and co weren’t present, I dared not let them out of my sight too long. Instead, I made sure to set up my tent on the same side of the basin as them, but nestled under the opposing mountain. Close enough to keep an eye out, but far enough that I didn’t have to think about him if I didn’t want to. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find others at the Maw. The rumour of another birth wasn’t exactly a secret. I had hoped, however, that it would be someone more palatable than Bertram. Perhaps I should be grateful there were no other dragons waiting on the birth.
As I set up my tent, setting up the single Thaumic crystal that glowed with a gentle golden hue, I tried desperately to force the man from my mind, instead focusing on the reason why I was here in the first place. Tomorrow, a new dragons would be born. No matter who else would be here to witness it, I would still be present for a momentous occasion.
It was as I was unrolling my bed for the evening, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching over the rain that had rolled in as the sun set — someone not trying to hide their presence. Out of the corner of my eye, I almost missed the crystal’s glow intensify in response to the new presence. I poked my head out of the tent and peered out into the darkness in the direction of the sound. At first, I saw nothing, but before long a figure emerged from the darkness. I recognised her from Bertram’s camp, an older woman who had been quietly reading as the hired hands busied themselves with setting up Bertram’s extravagances.
“Can I help you?” I called out, emerging fully from my tent.
“Are you Connor McDonnagh?” the old woman asked in return, a question she seemed to already know the answer to.
“And you are?” I nodded, closing the distance. As I got nearer, I saw the woman was unarmed. She wore simple clothes, unlike the finery of the troupe she was travelling with. Still, I knew better than to let my guard down around an unarmed Thaumic.
“May I have a moment of your time?” she asked, avoiding my question. I didn’t respond, which she took as an invitation.
“I have been reading about you, an interesting report about a failed expedition to the northern coast of Sweden.” I winced at that, which seemed not to go unnoticed.
“I don’t think there’s much to discuss about Bertram’s report with a member of his troupe. If you forgive me, I’d like to return somewhere dry,” I said, rain soaking into my clothes as we stood in the downpour. I noticed then that she didn’t seem that affected by the rain.
“I know Bertram’s account, but I would very much like to hear your side of what happened in Gammelstad,” she said. At that, I raised an eyebrow. Enough people were content to take Bertram’s account of the expedition as fact. Hearing someone interested in the whole story, I set aside my concerns about the rain, and the woman.
“Spare me all the details,” she added before I could start, “Just tell me why you left a priceless artefact behind.”
“Katar’s Ar-Apa, The Brass Monkey, is half a millennium old. The power in that thing had suffused itself so deeply into the surrounding nature that trying to remove it would have disastrous consequences to the local flora and fauna.”
“At the cost of weeks worth of work? And risking not only your own life, but the lives of those on your expedition?” she asked, for voice bereft of any emotion in the questioning. I’d read Bertram’s accounts, of course, he hadn’t been gentle in his accusations.
“There’s always risk involved in these expeditions, I did everything I could to keep our crew as safe as they could be,” I answered after a moment, feeling my voice rising slightly. At that, the woman only nodded, a continued mask of impassiveness.
“There are very few in your position who think like you do,” she said, as if I had only been confirming her existing thoughts.
“Are you aware that Bertram’s expedition is funded by the Crown?” she said, changing the subject. In response, I nodded. Bertram had been very eager to announce this fact in his tour.
“But have you considered why the Crown, and your government, are so invested in his work?” At that, I paused. Once upon a time, an Arcanic expedition receiving generous government funding wouldn’t have been unusual, I had been on many such. In the past few decades, however, interest in the Arcane had waned in both the eye of the public and those in power. As a result, folk like Bertram and I — adventurers and explorers of the arcane — have been all but forgotten about. The fact that The Crown was suddenly funding Bertram on his expedition to see the birth of a new dragon could only mean they had some vested interest in it.
“Bertram isn’t just here to document the birth, is he?” I asked.
“No. He’s here to kill it,” the old woman answered.
The rain grew distant as the woman’s words rang through my mind. No dragon had been slain since the signing of The Tracta, the ancient treaty freeing mankind from servitude to the Seven Dragons.
“To do so would plunge us into war,” I said, eyes wide. Those that Remain of the Seven Dragons had an uneasy relationship with most powers in the world, but the Tracta protected either from doing harm to the other.
“This new wyrmling wouldn’t be protected by any treaty. Only the four that signed the Tracta.” As the old woman spoke, she reached into her coat and pulled out a large stick of explosives and held it up to me. Instinctively, I took a step back.
“Bertram has a tent stockpiled high with these, alongside great guns and Gods know what else,” the old woman said. Technology had come a long way since the war that lead to the signing of the Tracta, perhaps this was all that was needed to kill a dragon now.
“Do the dragons know of this?” I asked.
“Some are aware, most do not care. For those that do, their hands are tied. Their relationships with any government is tenuous at best, opposing the Crown so publicly could be seen as a breaking of the treaty,” the woman explained with the same calm her voice had always carried.
“So we’re on our own in this then?” I replied. As right as the old woman was, Bertram outnumbered me in every sense of the word. If it came down to a confrontation, I favoured the odds of the small army with a tent full of explosives over me, my pistol, and knife. As trusty as the gun was. I looked over to the campsite, perhaps there would be a way of removing the problem before it came to an all out fight.
“I’ll see what I can do, but any help you can offer to me beyond information would go a long way” I said, turning back to the old woman, but found the space where she had been standing empty. Frowning, I glanced briefly at the tent I had set up, the bedroll inside inviting me away from the harsh, wet cold of night, and shook my head.
As I crawled back inside for the night, I noted that the crystal in the tent’s glow had calmed down, but still glowed brighter than it had during the day. The Maw was growing in power by the moment, it was very likely that the birth would be occurring tomorrow, sleep would have to wait.

During his tour, Bertram had only taken the time to show me inside the largest of the five tents. The other four he brushed over entirely. At the time, I had assumed they had all been sleeping space for the crew, but, given what the old Arcanic had said, at least one of them must be used to store explosives. The sun had long since set now so, with any luck, the majority of Bertram’s crew would be fast asleep.
Coming around to the campsite, crossing The Maw to round the base of the mountain, I hoped the patter of raindrops would hide my steps as I approached. There was only so much I could do to hide my shape, so I had to hope no-one was looking in my direction as I neared. Most of the lights were out in the camp at this point, and I couldn’t see any figures moving about. Using the darkness to my advantage, I came upon the border of the campsite. I could see only just ahead in the almost pitch dark of night. If anyone was patrolling the camp, they were doing it in total darkness. From Bertram’s tour, I could somewhat remember where each of the tents were in relation to the central tent. Stumbling semi-blind through the darkness, I could make out a small patch of light in the distance — a thin slither of candle light escaping from the front of a tent. Closing the gap, I was grateful for the rain soaked mud damping my footsteps. I peeled the fabric aside as slowly as possible. I was greeted by the familiarly enormous form of Aayan, his back thankfully turned to me as he knelt down on the floor. Looking closer, I saw that the man was praying, the gentle muttering of his voice reaching my ears, but the words were lost to the distance. As much as I wished to stay longer, to hear to which god this man was praying, I instead gently let the flap of the tent close again as I slipped away, unheard. There had been no-one else in the tent with him, though I had seen bedding for two. As I feared, not everyone in the camp was at rest. Bearing this in mind, I moved far more cautiously through the camp. Every sound was potential for someone to spot me and cry out.
Squinting ahead, I could see the second tent from here, the smallest pinprick of candlelight seeping out through the gaps in the heavy fabric. If one of these tents was full of high powered explosives, I hoped that no-one would be foolish enough to keep the place lit by a candle overnight. So, whichever tent was the one I was looking for, it would be the one that wasn’t glowing gently in the night.
Following the arc of the campsite, I passed the lit tent, seeing another in the distance as the light from the tent behind me faded from my eyes. It was at that moment I heard the sound of footsteps up ahead.
I couldn’t see who they were attached to, but froze in my spot anyway. If I couldn’t see them, hopefully they couldn’t see me. I doubted Bertram would be able to hire many Arcanics, with greater sight, for a job to kill a dragon, for most lay their allegiances closer to dragons than Crowns, but it wasn’t entirely impossible. Still, I stood still and listened to the movement. For a moment, the footsteps stopped, but then, they began to draw closer towards me.
Afraid to move, lest I made a sound of my own, I stayed completely still and continued to listen to the movements. Closer and closer they got. I readied myself for the sound of voices, preparing to run the second I heard a cry. Again, the footsteps came to a stop, though I couldn’t tell how far ahead of me they were. I felt my heart thumping against my eardrums as I tried desperately to not make a single sound. Then, moments later, the footsteps began again. This time, getting quieter and quieter with each beat. Once the steps were so quiet I could barely hear them, I let out a very low sigh of relief and crept on forward, wincing at each crunch of my own footsteps.
Passing the third lit tent, I couldn’t see anything ahead. No doubt, there had been four tents when I had been given my tour of the area in daylight, so the forth tent must be out there in the darkness, full of explosives if my guessing was correct. I continued forward, freezing briefly at any sound, waiting for it to quiet down before carrying onward. I had gotten lucky so far, but that luck could only last so long.
Moving forward, I could eventually make out the dark silhouette of the fourth tent, no light leaking from this one at all. Getting to the verge of the tent, I stood, pulled aside the tarp — hoping that no-one was inside in the darkness — and stepped in. Thankfully, there was no reaction to my presence, the space delightfully bereft of people. Squinting in the dim moonlight, however, I saw the edges of the tent were lined with crates. Some were even stacked two or three high, reaching over my head and nearly scraping the top of the tent. There was only a small walkway between the crates, just big enough for a single person to slip through. The majority of them were sealed shut bar one, which I shifted my way towards and reached a hand inside. I couldn’t see anything more than just shapes, lit gently by the moonlight, but I recognised the feel of the contents of this crate. The same explosives the old woman had handed to me outside my tent. Each crate must have contained a dozen sticks. If Bertram wasn’t careful, he’d take out the whole countryside, never mind the dragon. I felt my heart rate start to climb as realisation set in: there was no way I could get rid of all these weapons without being noticed. There had to be some other way. If I could instead quietly sabotage the explosives, they’d be useless come the morning.
As I rattled my brain for solutions, I almost missed the sound of footsteps growing nearer outside the tent over the rain. Panicking, I ducked behind a stack of crates. Taking care not to be spotted, I peered past the crates to spy on the intruder. In the darkness, I could only make out the shape, and it wasn’t one I recognised. Neither Bertram, nor Aayan or even the old woman. Holding my breath, I watched the figure scoot forward around the boxes, shifting myself slightly to avoid being seen. Whoever they were, they were looking for something. Had I been seen going in the tent? 
Again, I held my breath and waited, hoping the figure would disappear. For a while, they didn’t move, eyes scanning back and forth over the pile of boxes in front of them. Would they come closer? If they followed my path, there was little space for me to hide. And in such a tight space, I didn’t favour my odds of being able to subdue them silently. Eventually, after they were satisfied with whatever checks they were going through, setting the lid back on the crate that had been left ajar, the figure turned and ducked out of the tent.
Relieved, I peeled myself away from where I was hiding and turned my mind back to the crates of explosives. There were far too many to destroy them by hand, and the majority of the crates were still sealed shut, prying them open would absolutely attract unwanted attention. My mind drifted to the sound of rain pattering outside, drumming against the fabric of the tent. It had picked up somewhat since it first started, and seemed to have no intention of giving up anytime soon. It was then, letting the sound of the rain drown everything else out, that the solution made itself clear. Hopping up on one of the crates, ducking to avoid the top of the tent, I unsheathed the knife clamped around my belt and thrust upward, cutting cleanly through the tarp. Immediately, my hand was met with the fresh wetness of rain pouring down my wrist as water spilled into the tent. Sawing against thick fabric, I cut a line clean through the material, tearing open a wide gap for rain to pour in and soak into the crates. It would take some time for the rain to get into all the crates, so all I could do was hope no-one would notice for the rest of the night. Stepping down back onto the floor of the tent, I repeated the cuts along the other side of the tent, making sure every crate was getting showered. If they were left like this all night, the explosives would be all but useless come tomorrow.
As much as I wanted to stay with them all night, make sure no-one caught what I had done, I also couldn’t risk getting myself caught by Bertram and his hired hands. I still wanted to be alive to see the dragon’s birth. Pulling myself away from the slowly soaking crates, I made for the way out of the tent, pushing through the flaps when two huge hands slammed down on my shoulders and dragged me forward. Before I knew what was going on, I was thrown out of the tent and across the campsite, barely catching myself from landing face first in the mud. Springing to my feet, I turned to the sight of Aayan, staring down at me. He lurched forward and I braced but he was stopped by the hand of Bertram, who I hadn’t noticed, reaching out to his chest and putting himself between us.
“You know, if you wanted to stay in our campsite, you could have just asked,” Bertram said, a wry smile on his face. I felt my fists clenching into tight balls.
“Why, Bertram? It’s one thing to take what isn’t yours, it’s another thing entirely to kill a living creature — especially one as rare as a dragon,” I tried to steady my voice as I spoke through gritted teeth.
“Humankind spent its infancy under the shadows of the dragons. We’re lucky to be in a careful balance of power with Those That Remain of the Seven,” the smile was gone now but his voice still remained flat and even, “another would upset that balance.”
“How much did the Crown pay you to believe that?” I spat. At that, his face twisted, only for a flash before settling back into that calm veneer.
“Show our friend to the way out, would you, Aayan,” Bertram said, moving out of the big man’s way, “oh, and McDonnagh, if I see you here again, you’ll see that how I reported Gammelstad was a kindness.”

Covered in still wet mud, and drenched from the rain, I trudged back to my tent. Bertram knew what I’d done with the explosives, no doubt he’d already covered up the cut in the tent. Tomorrow, there’d be nothing to stop him from obliterating the dragon before it even got the chance to spread its wings. Coming back to my tent, I took advantage of the rain to wash off the dirt caking my clothes and hands before slipping inside. I was going to soak everything I touched, but at least I could save it and myself from the mud. I set about putting away the pitiful, dully glowing crystal I had set out, I wasn’t going to need it anymore. It was too dark and wet to travel this night, so I intended to wait out the rain before turning back, but dared not stay a moment longer. I thought of Bertram’s article, of the amount of work I had lost due to that hit piece, every once-reliable source of information that was suddenly turning up dry. Overnight, I had gone from respected and trusted, to a liability. When Bertram threatened to ruin my reputation even more severely than that, I was inclined to believe him.

Monday 15 October, 1894
I got no sleep that night, the sun rising before my body would dare to let me rest. Outside, I could hear the sound of crates being set in place for the dragon’s arrival. If Bertram had seen my tent, he hadn’t sent his guard dog out to chase me off yet. Sluggish, I forced myself up off the sleeping bag, and began the work of shovelling the remainder of my belongings into my sack, rolling up the tent last. With everything packed away and thrown over my back, I allowed one last glance over to the Dragon-Mother’s Maw, my heart sinking at the sight. A ring of explosives lined the edge of the closed-up Maw, one of Bertram’s hired hands connecting them all together with a thin wire. From my bag, I could hear a faint hum from the crystal buried under my belongings. No doubt the array of equipment in Bertram’s tent was firing off similar warning signs. The birth was today, and soon.
Despite every sensible instinct telling me to walk away, to leave, I couldn’t help but stay and watch. Was their plan to destroy the Maw before the dragon could even be born? I couldn’t see how else they were going to kill a dragon, even a wyrmling was a tough fight. I stared on as fuse was connected to crate after crate of explosives. As I watched the worker connect the last strip of fuse to the final crate, completing the loop, those instincts coalesced into a single thought. Leave now, before Bertram sees you watching, it warned. I wanted to listen, go home and salvage whatever reputation I still held onto. There was no guarantee that this plan of theirs would work. Perhaps I’d read a wonderful news article in the following few days about an arrogant adventurer burned to ashes trying to kill a dragon. Or maybe I’d read about a brave warrior fighting to protect the world from the birth of another evil dragon. Without thinking, I felt the sack drop from my back, hitting the still wet dirt with a thud. My feet were moving forward, and the rest of me was following.
After a few steps forward, the thought occurred to me to come up with a plan. Though I had the pistol hanging off my side, I was reluctant to take it out. Running into the campsite guns blazing sounded like a great way to come out the other side far less alive then I went in. I needed to be smart about this, a solution in which no-one would get hurt. My eyes turned to the ring of explosives I was nearing. Luckily, no-one seemed to have noticed me yet. If I could keep it that way, I could cut the fuse. It wouldn’t be enough to stop them completely, but it would certainly slow them down. Looking ahead, I could see there were still men gathered around the fuse’s start. There was no way I’d get to it without being seen. I couldn’t see Bertram, off somewhere else getting ready for his grand spectacle of explosion no doubt. My hand drifted to the knife by my side as I eyed up the fuse. With each passing step, I tried with every effort to move as silently as possible. I couldn’t keep it up forever, but the more time unseen gave me more time to hack away at the fuse.
“Hey!” a familiar voice growled, drowning out every hope for the element of surprise. Snapping to its direction, I saw Aayan, towering over the two men that had been working on the fuse. His eyes locked directly with mine and I felt my hope for a good plan leave with the shiver down my spine. I continued forward, no longer worried about keeping my footsteps silent I allowed myself a mask of confidence: straightened spine and held gaze. It was too late to turn back now, I couldn’t let Aayan get in the way of cutting the fuse.
As I neared, he lurched forward, closing the cap with speed. I picked up my pace, trying to force our meeting point to be beside the fuse. It seemed that the big man was unarmed, whether or not that was a good thing I was soon to find out. If he was at all concerned that I might pull out my pistol on him, he didn’t show it.
He was upon me sooner than I would have liked, too far from the fuse for me to hack at it. I barely had a chance to think before his fist shot out in my direction. Ducking under his first blow, I barely side stepped his second, desperately looking for an opening that just wasn’t there. Not only was the man huge, but he was a good fighter. At every moment, he was well defended. Luckily, the other men in the troupe had run at the sight of a fight — most likely to warn Bertram.
For now, I could focus solely on Aayan, who was again jabbing at the space I had been occupying only a breath before. On top of everything else, he was fast, frighteningly so. I turned my attention back to the fuse, still keeping focus on Aayan’s movements. I wasn’t going to be able to get a single hit on him, but I could keep myself upright long enough to cut up the fuse.
Reaching for the knife at my side, I stepped back, keeping my back to the fuse as I kited the man closer to where I needed to be. If he was aware of what I was doing, he didn’t seem to care. Focusing on moving backwards, I stepped a second too late, too predictably, and the man’s fist crashed directly into my chest. Breath spilled from my mouth at the blow, my knees buckling but not giving up. The man hit like a bull. Just in time, I looked up to see his other fist flying toward my head, and threw myself backwards to avoid it. Losing my footing, I stumbled into the dirt, sinking into still wet mud.
Scrambling backwards, I went to stand, but paused instead as my hands came upon what I was looking for. Sitting just off the ground, pulled taught enough to not touch wet dirt, my fingers wrapped around the fuse. Ahead of me, I was acutely aware of Aayan moving to stand directly over me. Pushing myself to my feet before he could get any closer, I made sure not to lose hold of the fuse with one hand, as the other worked on loosing my knife. Aayan shifted slightly, adjusting himself for a knife fight, no doubt. He didn’t need to know the knife wasn’t for him.
In a breath, he was on me again, taking a slightly more defensive stance but still throwing jabs I barely kept away from my face. With both hands behind my back, one holding the fuse while the other sawed away, I kept myself facing him to hide what I was doing. Barely ducking and dancing around every strike. He seemed too focused on pulverising my face to notice as my blade cut through the fuse, the remaining loose thread dropping limp into the wet mud.
Feeling the fuse go limp in my hand, I immediately leaped backwards, putting as much distance between Aayan and myself as possible. I doubted that my trick would last forever, but hopefully it would buy the dragon enough time to emerge. I thought about cutting more fuses, just to ensure my chances of success even further, but the sight of Aayan quickly closing the distance sharp changed my mind on that. As he neared, I flicked the knife in my hand around and thrust the blade out at arm’s length in his direction, stopping him in his tracks and daring him come no closer. I had no intention of using the thing against him, but he needn’t know that.
“What the hell is going on over there?” I heard a familiar voice from the campsite growing closer. “McDonnagh? I told you not to come back, but here you are threatening my men with a knife!” Bertram quickly closed the distance, inserting himself between Aayan and I, who glowered over his shoulder. Any pretence of kindness was gone now, the man letting his anger flare across his face in a way I had never seen.
“I can’t let you kill the dragon, Bertram,” I shot back, not lowering the knife that was now pointing at him. Ignoring the blade, he stepped even closer to me.
“You’re not going to stop me.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke. “It’s not just me you’re fighting against here. Her Majesty personally wants to see this creature dead. If I don’t kill this thing today while it’s still vulnerable, it’ll be you facing down the wrath of the Crown.”
It was at that moment I felt the ground beneath my feet begin to shake. Judging by the wide eyes of Bertram, and Aayan behind him, I knew I wasn’t the only one feeling it. Looking down, I realised we were all standing on the gravel mound that was supposed to be the Dragon Mother’s Maw.
As the trembling beneath our feet grew in intensity, the realisation swept over us all at once as all animosity was temporarily dropped in exchange for getting off the ground that wasn’t going to be there much longer. With each hurried step, I could feel the trembling of the ground beneath my feet grow in intensity as the gravel became loose and uneven.
“Light the fuse!” Bertram yelled over his shoulder as he ran. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched on as more of his workers set about trying to light the fuse. Skidding to a stop just outside the crumbling Maw, I spun on my heel to watch the workers. At first, my sabotage seemed to work, as they scrabbled to find the fuse. It only lasted a moment, however, as they soon found the thread pressed into the wet mud and set about cleaning it off. As they worked, I started to close the distance, but was stopped by the sight of Aayan, blocking the path between me and them.
I had trouble staying upright now as the ground shook harder and harder, the gravel over the Maw coiling in a spiral and sinking down into the depths below. One of the workers pulled out a lighter from his pocket. Steadying myself as best I could on the unstable ground, I snatched the pistol from my side and aimed it at the worker. I had to move fast, Aayan already lurching forward at the sight of the gun. Lining up the shot as best I could, trying to ignore the man barrelling towards me, I held my breath and pulled the trigger. The explosion in my hand rattled my ears, even over the intensifying rumble of the earth, my trained hand barely recoiling back at the shot. The shot also stopped Aayan in his tracks, who turned in a flash to his man. Before his face went out of sight, I could have sworn I saw fear in his eyes. I focused back on the workers. Both men stood still like statues, the lighter completely absent from any hands — no doubt several hundred yards away with a pellet buried in it. Realising what I had done, all eyes turned to me and a cacophony of noise broke out from a dozen men scrambling to find order, but all was cut off as the shaking of the ground reached its violent crescendo. What remained of the gravel over the Maw fell out in a single shake, taking several crates of explosives with it. With the gravel out of the way, a deep, distant red glow of magma washed out, warming the air even all the way up here.
For the first time in ten thousand years, the Dragon Mother’s Maw was open once again.
From deep below, a low rumble shook the dirt and rattled my bones. It felt almost like the earthquakes from before, but I knew was something far worse.
“Everybody get back,” I heard Bertram yell over the sound of me getting back. Putting as much distance between me and the Maw as possible, I watched as Bertram’s hired hands began busying themselves with something I couldn’t quite make out from here. My attention split between the maw and the campsite. Another rumble rose from the Maw, louder and closer than the last. Underneath, barely audible, I could make out the sound of something huge and sharp digging into stone, claws scrambling their way upwards. In the campsite, I could see Bertram hurrying out of his large tent, guiding something out from the front.
A moment later, and a cannon was being rolled out by several workers pushing it from behind. How he had hidden that during the tour escaped me. After them, Aayan, who I hadn’t even noticed slipped away from me, marched behind carrying a cannonball tucked under either arm.
The dull glow from the Maw grew brighter now, the scratching of claw against stone louder and hurried before suddenly stopping with one scratch louder than the rest. A moment later, and deathly silence was shattered by the deep beat of huge, leathery wings giving their first cautious flap. Standing where I was, I suddenly felt far too close to the Maw.
Before I could even begin to take a step back, a long red blur shot out from the Maw and up into the air, moving too fast to make out any detail. Below, the cannon was pressed down into the dirt, Aayan loading the weapon while another aimed the barrel. In the air, the red blur drew to a stop and burst open to its full shape. White leathery wings stretched out to their full incomprehensible length, claws flexing in freedom for the first time. A long, scaled tail unfurled away from a pale, armoured belly, spikes on the edge of the tail flicking back and forth through the air. A short red snout scanned the horizon, small beady eyes taking in the light of the world for the very first time. The dragon was huge, bigger than any creature I had ever seen. If this was just a wyrmling, I didn’t want to imagine the size it would grow to. In the campsite, a hiss sprung up from the cannon as the fuse was lit. I stared on in horror as the young dragon struggled to hold itself still in the air, unsure wings finding the right pattern to hold still, unaware of the weapon aimed up at it. I was too far away to stop the cannon, rooted in the dirt as I was forced to watch the scene unfold.
An explosion cracked through the air as the fuse hit the end of the barrel. The bullet rocketed through the air, flying straight for the beast’s exposed belly. The thud of cannon fire must have attracted its attention, its head snapped down to the campsite just in time to see the cannon heading towards it. In a blur, the wyrmling twisted in the air, its body curling in a clumsy dodge out of the way of the cannonball just in time as the bullet whipped past it.
In response, the beast’s head snapped down in the campsite’s direction. My eyes were fixed on the dragon as it soared through the air, but I could imagine that, below, Bertram and his hired hands were frantically fleeing the scene as the dragon’s belly began to glow with the same fiery red that was emanating from the Maw. Its head reared back, the air around the beast swelled until it lurched forward and a gout of flame burst from its open mouth. I could feel the heat all the way from here as a torrent of fire poured down on the campsite, engulfing the cannon and the campsite surrounding it. I had to shield my eyes from the bright intensity, backing up as far as I could. In an instant, an entire swath of the campsite was just gone. Where once had been a small tent now stood only ash, the verdant green grass reduced to black char.
Of the cannon, only the barrel remained, disfigured and buried in charred dirt. I had no idea if anyone had been caught in the dragon’s breath, but there was no evidence of them left now if there had been. As soon as the flames had belched forward, it stopped. The roar cut off with it as the young dragon seemed satisfied with its work. With a single beat of its huge wings, the beast spun in the air, twisting clumsily through the air, and heading off to the distant mountain pass.
With each flap of its wings, it grew distant and quieter until, before long, it had gone completely out of sight. I could still hear its roar, a cry out for any more of its kind. In the distance, it was hard to tell, but I could swear I heard a separate cry in response.
Once the wyrmling was long gone, not even its voice audible, I turned back to Bertram’s campsite, or what remained of it. Nearing, I could see some of Bertram’s hired hands had remained, packing away their set up in slow and absolute silence. None of them paid me any notice as I trudged through the site, taking care to avoid stepping on anywhere that was still smouldering from the dragon’s breath. I made my way towards Bertram’s tent, having not been able to find him anywhere else in the campsite. Pushing my way inside, I saw him hunched over his desk, shoulders slumped. Besides him, Aayan stood with his arms crossed over his chest. They were muttering something to each other, far too quiet for me to catch. When I pushed my way into the tent, Aayan’s eyes flicked up over to me, tapping Bertram on the shoulder to grab his attention. He spun, slow at first but then all at once when he realised who was standing in the doorway. His fists clenched into a tight ball at the sight of me, crossing the distance in an instant, almost pressing his face up to mine.
“Are you happy now?” he hissed, “You got what you wanted: The dragon is free, free to join amongst the others and wrap its iron grip around all our necks even stronger.”
I said nothing, keeping my eyes meeting his. His face had gone bright red, veins pulsing along his forehead as he spoke.
“I am going to make sure that everyone worth a damn knows exactly what you did today. The Crown will know you betrayed her direct wishes. You will never know a moment of peace again for as long as I am alive to see to it.” Again, I remained silent, watching him as the rage boiled up and over at me. Behind him, Aayan remained surprisingly still for the big man, pouring over the documents on the desk and paying no attention to either of us. Clearly no longer interested in protecting Bertram now that his job was done. I wondered, only for a moment, if Bertram would still pay the man his full amount even though the dragon had escaped. I quickly realised that, were the opposite the case, I likely wouldn’t be standing there alive. I thought to say something to Bertram, or even to Aayan, but instead simply turned and walked back out of the tent. Once, perhaps, Bertram would have been overjoyed to have witnessed the birth of a new dragon, a literal once in a millennium event, but not now. The Crown’s involvement in this was what concerned me most of all. It was one thing for a lone adventurer to turn sour, but for him to have the backing of the entire country had me on edge.

I didn’t stay to watch Bertram and his people pack away any further. Had I stayed any longer, I got the feeling I’d likely not make it out of the campsite alive. Now that they had started paying attention to me, I rather missed when they hadn’t. Every face stared daggers into me as I walked past.
On returning to where I had dropped my belongings, I found myself facing a small issue. Namely, that the route back was no longer there. Where there had once been a gravel path was now a gash in the landscape. Standing on the edge of the precipice of the Maw, I looked down into the depths. The orange glow had mostly subsided, the heat of the magma now dulled and cooled. Stepping back before the vertigo overtook, I looked around for a way past. I could just about make out the old path around the perimeter of the Maw, trodden by ancient humans from the last time the Maw had been awoken. For the most part, nature had reclaimed the trodden road, but I could see still that the grass grew slightly shorter in a route up the hill that wasn’t too steep as to risk falling in.
Following the old road, I soon found myself back where I had dumped the sack. In a surprise to no-one, it was caked in wet mud, I had to practically detach the sack from the dirt it had become glued to. I suppose I should just be grateful the sack hadn’t been burned to ash. Wiping down just enough to prevent getting mud on my back, I threw the sack over my shoulder and set off to begin the long trek home.
I didn’t even get a single step off in the right direction before a hand pressed against my shoulder, gently holding me in place. Turning to face the owner of the hand, I found myself opposite the old woman from the night before. I hadn’t seen her earlier in the commotion, though she looked tired.
“Looks like you were right then,” I said, “I don’t like what this means, the Crown trying to kill a dragon, but I don’t like it.” At that, the old woman nodded slowly.
“It is indeed a grim omen. Perhaps a bleak future is ahead of us, but, thanks to you, not as bleak as it could have been.
That young wyrmling will get an opportunity to live — even if it has been born into an uncertain world,” she trailed off as she spoke, eyes drifting over to where the dragon had flown off to. A moment later, her attention snapped back to me.
“I owe you my thanks. I’m sure you risked a lot to protect this dragon,” she said, her voice low. I doubt she knew just how true that was. As she spoke, her hand went into her pocket and pulled out something on a length of string. Holding it up to me, I could see that the thing dangling off the bottom of the string was a yellow-white, incredibly sharp tooth. The thing was far bigger than any animal tooth I’d ever seen before, easily the length of my finger. All over the tooth were runic carvings. Some I recognised as common, but very complex, spellcraft, while others were completely foreign to me. Taking the offering, I looked over the tooth. I had no doubt that, if I held this near the crystal in my backpack, I’d find it glowing brightly.
“Consider it a gift, a protective amulet,” she said simply. I raised my eyebrow at her.
“Protective against what?” I asked.
“It will keep you safe, as long as you are wearing it,” she gave as a non-answer. Desperate to know more, but seeing I wasn’t getting anywhere, I nodded in acceptance and draped the amulet around my neck. The thing felt heavier around my neck than it had in my hand, and almost warm against my chest.
“Thank you,” I said. Looking back to her, I could see she was again distracted, staring off in the direction the dragon had fled from.
“What happens now?” I asked, “for that wyrmling.”
“It will find its people, if it hasn’t already, and be raised until it can fend for itself. Eventually, it will be given a name and will seek to find itself a place in this world, however the world looks by then.” According to the dragons, they came to maturity after two hundred years, long after my time. Rolling the amulet between my fingers, I bid my farewells to the old woman, who turned to leave in the direction the dragon had fled, and I set off back home. Where I would find myself antagonised now by the greatest power in the country. Yet, on the entire trek back, I did not think of it once.