Chapter 1

~ 18 years later ~

Cadence sat in her esteemed princess's throne on the left hand of her father's throne. She sighed, looking out across the festivities with boredom. Normally, she would have gone out and joined in with the festivities, but being a full-grown young woman, a princess nonetheless, it was improper for her to do so. Suitors had come by also, trying to charm her with their witty ways and sophisticated dialogue. It was, after all, the proper thing for an unmarried princess to "try out" every available suitor until she settled on the one she most liked.

Liked. Liked! What a ghastly word that was. An unbecoming scowl set across her mouth as she contemplated her future. It was so unfair! Being born to good lineage was never a nice thing for the women, her mother had said. Remembering her mother, Cadence's gaze drifted from the partying to her mother's throne. And of course, it was empty.

Her father looked down at her, a bemused look on his face. He had never been so delighted to see so many young men. They were all here for his daughter. She would surely find one she liked, and settle down.

Marriage had always been a hard subject for Hambre to bring up with his daughter. He had a hard time thinking of the fact that he would have to let his daughter go. This was the reason, perhaps, that he had kept her so close to him for this long. Usually princesses were married, or at least betrothed, by age sixteen. Cadence was well beyond that age, and he was sure she was eager to marry and become the mistress of her own household, perhaps even a queen. There were a few princes in the crowd, but most were sons of dukes, counts, earls, and of other highly prestigious families.

The princess settled down comfortably in her petite throne and looked even more bored. Her silvery green eyes, an aspect her mother had passed along to her through her nymph blood, floated up to the balcony on the opposite side of the room. It was those silvery green eyes that locked with a pair of liquid black eyes. Cadence was so startled to lock eyes with someone who had been staring at her that she could not pull away. They were beautiful, kind eyes. Eyes she could get lost in, if she chose.

Cadence had to remember to breathe. She gasped in deeply, capturing the attention of her father. He followed her gaze to the balcony, and he grinned when he saw what it was she was staring at. Lifting his hand in the direction of the man perched high across the room, he beckoned the person with liquid black eyes. Eyes that Cadence could get lost in, if she chose.

The man smiled, and Cadence's heart skipped a beat when their gaze was broken. He left her line of vision for only a moment, and appeared on the ground floor. She looked at him again; not sure what she was getting herself into. She did not even know him.

The princess was about to ask her father if he knew this young man, but the young man found his way to them before she got up the nerve. He had not taken his eyes away from her for an instant. This was making her feel somewhat uncomfortable.
He stepped up the throne platform and bowed to King Hambre and addressed himself. "I am Prince Dezzoryan of the Silver Mountain kingdom, son of King Jermain. But most," he said sheepishly, "Call me Dezzo." He took Cadence's hand and gingerly kissed it. The princess pursed her lips and gently yanked her hand down to her lap. She looked down at her lap, trying to avoid eye contact. She could feel his eyes on her head as she focused on her clenched hands.

"So, young Dezzo," Hambre began. "What brings you to this region?" The good king grinned to himself, knowing all too well why this young man was here. He glanced over at his daughter, who was shyly studying her hands.

"Oh, just passing by." Answered the prince. He, too, glanced at Cadence and grinned. "I hope you do not mind my intrusion. I seem to have interrupted a nice little party." The prince gestured to the dancing figures on the floor.

"Of course we don't mind. It is our pleasure to host a prince from such a far away kingdom." Cadence mumbled, and turned a shade of red. She somehow found the courage to look up at the young man standing in front of her. He was still grinning, and his goofy grin made her smile back at him demurely. His eyes twinkled at her response.
He straitened up and regained his proper composure. He cleared his throat and offered the princess his arm. "May I have the honor of this dance?" he asked. Cadence felt herself nod and rise from her throne. Her heart raced as she reached for his arm and was lead to the dance floor.

The current song quickly ended, and the people dancing moved aside instantaneously. A romantic tune drifted across the floor as the royal pair floated along with it. Each step made Cadence's heart flutter. What was she doing? She didn't even know how she was able to dance as flawlessly as she was. Perhaps it was because Prince Dezzo was such a good dancing partner; he led her without error. She smiled as she remembered her mother saying once you could tell a good man by the way that he danced. At the memory, Cadence's face flushed.

"What are you thinking of, Princess?" Dezzo asked. She blinked as his voice interrupted her thoughts. "Your face has turned a magnificent shade of crimson."

She sucked in her breath and looked up at her dancing partner. Reality rushed back to her as she noticed his hand on her waist and her hand on his shoulder. "Pardon me, good Prince." She said, flustered. "I was just reminiscing. Never mind that." She smiled at him, and he returned with his goofy grin.

The music shifted to a different song, and young women were led out on to floor by their young men. Couples danced across the floor in a glorious flow of tranquillity. Dezzo took Cadence's hand and took her from the dance floor. The king smiled to himself as he saw his daughter and her new suitor heading for the gardens.

Cadence quietly walked beside the prince as they strolled through the gardens. She looked up at the blue sky and cherished the warming sunlight on her face. The princess had never felt more content than she did at that moment walking beside a handsome prince surrounded by her beautiful gardens and the loving sunlight. A sigh escaped her lips. The prince looked up at her as she walked with her head raised and her eyes closed.

She's so beautiful, he thought. She deserves a great man as a husband. He grinned wolfishly. And a great man she shall have. If only she knew, he thought inwardly. If only�

The sun was too lovely and welcoming for his mood. The man frowned and turned away from the window. He wanted to be alone and in the dark. The dark was his solace, the only thing he truly welcomed in his life. He reached up and fingered leather amulet that hung around his neck. The amulet was his most treasured possession; it gave him comfort to know that it was there. He sat in the corner and closed his eyes. Silence calmed him. Silence was his best friend.

His meditation was rudely interrupted when Sheren popped her unlawful head into the dark room with a torch. "Dagan!" she scolded. "You pitiful excuse for a man, get your behind outside! You haven't set foot outside for days. Your skin is going to rot right from your bones!"

Dagan scowled. "It is better for me to rot in here than be prosecuted out there." He said, pointing in the direction she had come. "Now leave me be."

Sheren growled and tramped over to where Dagan was crouched. "You'll quit acting childish and do as I say! I'm not your keeper, so do not make me look after you. We need you Dagan, and if you let yourself waste away in here because of self pity, then�" she trailed off, not sure what to say. "Just come on." She said more gently. Sheren grabbed his arm and hauled him up with surprising strength for a woman. She pushed him down the hall while Dagan was complaining.

"All right, all right!" he whined. "I'm going!" No woman except Sheren would have been allowed to get away with pushing Dagan around, but Sheren could put up a good fight, and she was a worthy opponent. Besides that, the hardy woman was a friend of his, and if not for her Dagan would have faded away long ago.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, Dagan shielded his eyes, as he was unaccustomed to the brightness. He looked around, regaining his bearings. Yes, it had been a while since he had ventured outside. His pale complexion gave proof to that. Perhaps he should do it more often, lest he become fat and blubbery�and translucent. Then he would be of no aid at all, and life would certainly have no meaning.

"So, the woman finally dragged you out of your hole, eh, Dagan?" came a booming voice from over yonder. Dagan rolled his eyes and turned around. "Long time no see. I thought maybe you died or something." The voice sounded sinister, and dripped with ferocity. "Good thing you didn't, the smell would have taken months to get rid of." Shenk grinned as he wrinkled his nose, pretending to smell something quite foul. He was always the joker. If the mood needed to be lightened, Shenk took it upon himself to have everyone reeling head over heals in laughter. For some reason, Dagan did not feel the effects if his infectious personality on this day. Dagan absently looked back to the door from which he had just exited, longing to return to the dimness of their hut.

The hut was half underground. It looked like a gnome's hole, with two windows appearing meticulously out of the mound of earth on either side of the heavy, round wooden door. The door was as tall as a man, and it was covered in a thick hide of leather. The door could be barricaded from the inside to ward off potential enemies from entering. The hut, being under the earth, was incubated naturally and kept the dwellers quite warm through the winter months. There was a large fireplace though, that was vented through a chimney dug up through the ground and lined with flattened rocks, which were now covered in a thick layer of soot. It was plastered with hardened clay around the top and kept open by a circular stack of stones to keep from things falling in and clogging up. The dwelling, as it was, was adequate to keep the three from being discovered by unwanted guests.

"Enough, Shenk." Sheren scowled. "I brought him out here after much hard work, and you seem set to scare him off!" The young woman scolded often, she was the one who kept things in order. Their little trio would have long since fallen apart if not for her level head and sharp tongue.

She stood, decked out in brown and tan leather. Her dark hair was in a tightly woven braid and tied off with leather thongs at the back. Strands of thick black hair had fallen out and framed her face, making her appear as a gentle beauty. What an understatement! Her boots were laced with sinew and came up to her knees. At her waste were a finely-made dagger and the fiercest whip in the world. She was a mighty warrior, and being female made her adversary stall for a moment, which often gave her the advantage. Not that she needed it. She was one of the best fighters around, next to Shenk.

Shenk was the kind of man that woman could fear and lust for at the same time. He was a bear of a man, reaching close to seven feet tall. His broad shoulders made him appear bullish, and if he were to get down on his hands and knees, snort, and paw the ground, he would look much like the animal. His bearded chin was proud and strong, just as his smile. His hair was shaved, serving more a purpose than just fashion. Shenk said it was an advantage in battle; his opponent could not grab and yank his hair for he had none to do so with. He had a tattoo of a snake slithering around his left bicep. The head of the snake rested over his left breast; over his heart. His grin could be wolfish at times, and peaceful at others. This man could be the fiercest beast or the gentlest lamb, depending on what way you rubbed him.

The three had known each other since apprentice-hood. They had met when they were barely twelve years old, and trained together under the swift, stern hand of their master Beck. They had been trained to fight, and nothing else. They had stayed together through the wars, and had followed Dagan when he had been exiled. They would most likely die side by side, fighting. This was the dream of any true fighter. No warrior wanted to die an old man, pitifully choking in his own mucus and stink.

"Now," began Shenk as he picked up two battle sticks he had been manufacturing. "You have been very lazy and out of practice for a long time. I am surprised that you aren't as fat as old Pig Breath." He grinned at the reference of the fat old man who had once been a partner of Mater Beck's. "I challenge you to a duel. Think you are up for it?"

Dagan sighed, knowing all too well that Shenk was leading him on. "You are in over your head, you brute." He said. "You have never beaten me, and you never will. I may have taken a leisure, but I am not lazy like you think I am."

"Oh really?" Shenk inquired, lifting a pierced eyebrow. "I don't believe you. Guess you will have to prove it!" The challenge was more than Dagan could refuse. Shenk threw Dagan a battle stick, and Dagan glared at the big bear man standing before him with a playful grin on his face.
Dagan lifted his stick, making eye contact with his opponent. He was not really in the mood for such antics, but Shenk was much bigger than he was and he really did not feel like going into combat mode. This was much safer and Dagan had more chance of success. They touched sticks, and stepped back a few paces.

Shenk and Dagan stared at each other, measuring each other up. Shenk got impatient, whooped a battle cry, and charged at Dagan. Dagan had been waiting for this; impatience was Shenk's major weakness. He stepped to the side just as Shenk reached him, and flipped the stick on the larger man's backside as he flung past. Shenk was not too easily overcome, for he flipped his stick on the back of Dagan's calves.

Dagan whirled around quickly and faced Shenk. Shenk, as usual, was grinning. They fought as with swords, instead with wooden sticks. The cracking of the sticks coming into contact could be heard for miles, as the two charged at one another repeatedly.

Sheren stood close by silently watching the brigade. Her eyes never left Dagan. She studied him, his every action. It used to be that she studied him to learn his techniques, and perhaps pick up on them. But now she studied him for a different reason. She could sense a difference in him; he was once an extremely spirited fighter. Now, he seemed like an empty machine, hacking away at years of practice and study. Such men as that died quickly and easily on the battlefield. Sheren recalled how Dagan used to be, and compared him to how he was now. The exiling really had a negative effect on him. She felt sorrow for the man she once knew well up inside of her. Would he ever be the same?

Dagan was getting quite tired of fooling around with the big oaf. He slapped at Shenk's hand with his weapon and knocked the stick to the ground, then backed off and turned away. He through his battle stick away and stalked off.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Shenk called after him. "I'm not through with you yet! That was a cheap shot! Dagan-!" Shenk frowned. Dagan kept walking, and disappeared in the foliage. From within the woods Shenk heard Dagan call out: "I'm going for a walk. I need exercise�fresh air."

Shenk walked over to Sheren and looked at her, exasperated. She nodded at him, and turned back inside. "Come on. That work out must have built up quite an appetite. I have stew brewing over the fire inside. I think it should be ready by now."

Shenk cheered up right away. He followed Sheren quickly into the cottage. It was a nice cottage. It was hidden in a hill, with a door and two windows looking out from the mound of earth. "Woman, if we weren't cousins, I'd marry you!" Shenk said, jokingly. "Your cooking is the only cooking that satisfies this appetite!" Shenk slapped his belly that made a hollow thwok sound. Sheren's laughter followed.

Dagan stumbled down a forest path, walking silently to the dark thoughts in his head.
When his thoughts got too much for his silence to handle, he broke into a run. He ran through the woods, dodging branches and leaping over fallen logs until he was breathless. Then he collapsed on a grassy riverbed and stared up at the blue sky. It was a beautiful day�he had to at least appreciate that fact.

He closed his eyes and started drifting off through his thoughts. It was all he had been doing lately, reminiscing. He thought about when his life was bearable, happy even. It was better when his mother was still alive.

His mother had been an uncommon beauty. She would strike desire in the eyes and hearts of almost any man that she passed on the street. She was beautiful on the outside as well as on the inside, and Dagan had loved her with all his heart. When a royal guard had attacked her and left her severely ravaged and hurt, Dagan had sworn he would never let any harm ever come to her again. He was too young to help her then, but he submitted himself into training as soon as he was permitted. And every day since then he had devoted his life to training in becoming a master of his trade.

Everything had been just as it should, his mother was protected, and his life was bountiful and joyous. But it all ended when he discovered his unique power, the power that had ripped him away from humanity, and cost him his mother's life. It was too much for him. He closed his eyes tightly and grimaced as the memory tried to invade his thoughts. He gulped down the recollection and forbade it to disturb his short-lived tranquillity.

Once his memory block was successful, he settled down and enjoyed the peace of mind. He was near the point of total relaxation when he heard a faint voice from somewhere in the distance.

"Help me!" It cried. Dagan bolted up instantly. His heart began to race. He knew who-what was calling for help. "Please! I'm wounded! Can anyone hear me? Please hurry!" The voice was so sad and frantic, and Dagan couldn't bear to ignore it even though he wanted too.

He grunted and climbed to his feet. Cursing him self for being able to hear the voice, he searched in the direction it had come from. When his attempts had come up fruitless, he decided to try for contact.

"Where are you?" he called forth silently. There was a moment of silence, so Dagan called again. This time, the voice spoke up.

"Oh!" It gasped, sounding extremely relieved. "I can't believe someone is near! Oh, please help me! I'm stuck and I'm wounded. I am in such terrible pain. Oh, please! Come quickly!"
Dagan grimaced. "But where are you?" he called again.

"I don't know�wait, hold on, I think I can send you an image of my surroundings." The
voice broke off, and Dagan heard a little squeak of pain. "Oh, my goodness, that hurt."

"What happened?"

"I had to turn around in order to see where I was. Oh, hold on a second. I'm delivering the image. Close your eyes."

Dagan did as he was told, and soon a silvery gray picture of the forest was played behind his eyelids. He sighed, exasperated. It looked exactly like any other part of the forest. He studied the picture, and saw there was a large rock wall that reached to the sky and blocked the view. That was the landmark that Dagan needed to search for. He opened his eyes and got his bearings back.

He walked a little further and came to a large tree. Studying it, Dagan decided it was good enough to climb. He jumped up to the first branch, and proceeded to ascend vertically. When he reached the point where he could not climb any further, he peered out and looked around. He searched for the large rock wall he had seen in the image that had been telepathically sent. He spotted it off to the northeast, and memorized the trail there. He would have to cross a river, but that was no problem.

Climbing back to the forest floor, he set off in the direction of the rock wall, and hoped he would get there soon enough. Just to make sure, he broke into a sprint. The wall was not far off, only about two miles. When he reached the river, he waded right across it, not minding the wetness. It was welcomed, and it cooled him off.
Dagan could hear the creature breathing before he could see it. He suppressed a shudder of revulsion before he let his eyes fall upon the monster. It lay in a heap on the forest floor, its right wing pinned to the ground with a lance. Even though Dagan almost despised the creature, he growled at the thought that someone had tried to shoot it out of the sky. Lucky for this beast, the hunter's aim had not been true and had only torn the wing. The wing would heal in time, even if it hindered its ability to fly. There was a puddle of blood beneath its right front leg, and Dagan imagined that it had been damaged in the tumult from the sky.

The dragon, magnificent and glorious in the sky, was a lumbering, bulky beast on the ground. It huffed and wheezed, the creature's ribcage heaving in apparent pain. Dagan swallowed down his disgust and fear as he stepped out and approached the dragon.

The dragon had already sensed the man's presence, but did not allow him to know it. When he decided to come out into the clearing where she could see him, she turned her head slightly, grimacing in a hideous toothy grin of pain.

So this was the man who could talk to the Dragons. She looked him up and down, measuring the man for his worth. He had a disturbance deep with in him, this she had sensed the moment he had made contact with her. And thank Lira he had! Who knows what might have happened to her if she had been left out here all alone? The owner of this vile lance could have found her and ruthlessly butchered her. Or she would have died a slow, painful death from dehydration or loss of blood.

Normally, a dragon would be able to walk away with injuries, but the wing was tender and the lance was large, specially made for hunting dragons. It was strong enough to pierce the dragon hide. She shuddered when she recalled how close the lance had come to her chest, and she thanked Lira again that she had sensed the thing coming at her. She only wished she had moved faster so her wing would have not been torn.

Now her wing was paralyzed, pinned to the ground by the massive lance. Her right shoulder blade had been dislocated and two ribs had been broken. These were minor injuries, although painful. But they kept her stationary and stuck to the place on which she had landed. Her right forearm was badly scraped up and blood was seeping from it leisurely, weakening her. She rasped with her dragon breath and stared at the man who had been studying her, perhaps measuring her up as well.

"Worry not, my dear rescuer. I shall not harm you. I am neither in a condition to do so, or have I the will to place harm upon others." Dagan detected a mental smile, and he hesitantly approached the beast, not too sure of what use he was.

He walked up to the torn wing, and studied it for a moment. "The only thing I can do is pull it out. I can not break it, for the strength of no man could do so. It will hurt extremely, but at least you shall be free."

The dragon nodded in agreement, knowing this before he had even spoken. There would be pain, but it would not be excruciating. The dragon's threshold of pain was immense, and not much scathed them until they became old and brittle, which was around the time they aged seven hundred summers.

Dagan took off his shirt and leggings so as not to bloody them. He stood in his undergarment, and wished he had something to mop the blood up with. Bracing himself, he gripped the shaft of the lance and wrenched it up violently. The dragon moaned in pain but nothing too serious. Dagan threw the lance away immediately, as if it caused him agony and disgust to merely touch it.

The open wound gushed fresh blood and Dagan absently took his tunic and moped it up, clotting the open wound. The Dragon, he could tell, was weakening and coming to a faint state. All he could do was make the creature as comfortable as possible and hope that it survived the night. He left abruptly and gathered as much tall grass as he could, not much for comfort, but still better than the cold hard ground and it would also soak up some of the blood.

He returned and stuffed a lot of the grass beneath the beast as best he could, trying not to hurt the wound too much. When he was done, he decided to trek back to the stream and wash his body of the blood and stench.

Dagan walked back at a slow pace, as if he were taking a merry troll in the wood. He came upon the stream and sauntered into the water. The cool water with the mild current cleansed his body and refreshed him. The man floated in the stream a while, relaxing, thinking.
He shivered as he realized what he had just done. Even though it was not the fault of this dragon, she was the reason he had been exiled from humanity. He closed his eyes and the memory invaded him. He recalled the beauty that his mother had once been, her smile, and the way she flipped her hair when she laughed�her beautiful hair that caught the sunlight and glinted with natural beauty. His heart ached at the preciously vivid memory of her.

He recalled the day of her death. They were in the fields. She was picking apples in the apple orchard and Dagan was harvesting the grain. He was so intent on his task that he did not notice the screams of the other people until it was too late. A dragon was flying in their direction. It was bit by the summer sickness, an indescribable rage that over took his body and mind.

Dragons in this state act quite like a rabid dog.

The smell of burning grain got his attention and he looked up, seeing the mad dragon circling above. The other people had taken cover, but his mother was still up in an apple tree. Safe enough, but the dragon could still get at her if he had a mind to. Dagan raced toward the beast, a feat that only mad men would do under regular circumstances. He knew he had a good chance of living, his newly discovered talent gave him that confidence.

He shouted and waved his arms madly in the air, trying to divert the dragon from his mother. The dragon's eyes fell upon Dagan and it swooped towards him. It came so close Dagan could smell its rancid breath and see the fury and madness in his eyes. Suddenly, in mid turn, the dragon fell from the air and collapsed upon the field, frothing and breathing heavily in exertion. It looked up at Dagan, pleading in its eyes.

"Please! Kill me! I know not what I will do�I�I can not control it!" The dragon pleaded over and over for Dagan to end its life. Dagan was astounded that the Dragon had found enough sanity to make contact and try to be moral. But he had nothing in which to do this task.

"I am sorry, beast, but I am unable to do so. Just fly away from here until this madness
passes." Dagan tried to reason with the beast in its last bout of sanity. "Fly away and keep yourself safe as well as everyone else you might encounter."

It was too late. The dragon was seized in another attack of the madness, and once again lost control of its body. This was the thing that made humans fear these beasts. This was what truly made them dangerous. The dragon leapt once again into the air, and Dagan could do nothing but throw himself to the ground and hope that the creature did not decide to feast on him.

Dagan's hopes were met, as the dragon flew over him. He sighed in relief, but the relief was short lived as he heard his mother's scream. She had climbed down from the tree, making to run away, but she was entranced by the silent dance exchanged between her son and the wild beast that had collapsed in the field. He looked up at his mother, frozen in terror, screaming the sort of scream one bellows when they have come face to face with their death. Dagan screamed along with his mother and began to run toward her, but nothing in this world would have been able to let him reach his mother before the mad creature did.

In an instant her scream was abruptly ended and she was gone. The dragon snatched her up with its giant talons, killing her instantly. He flew up in the air and somersaulted violently, throwing his mother's body in many directions. When the creature tired of his game he tossed her into the air and let her fall to the earth.

Dagan watched the entire time, and a sick feeling lurched up from his stomach as he saw his mother's once-so-graceful body fall to the ground. He watched the scene in horror, and it seemed to happen slower than normal, so that he witnessed every detail. He saw the way her head lolled back up at the sky, her blank eyes staring up at the clouds with a frozen look of horror on her face. He saw how her hands seemed to drift upwards as well, as if they were trying to embrace the dragon that had been her brutal end. He saw how she dove headfirst into the damp earth, and heard-felt-the sickening crunch as her body made impact. Then, he saw no more.

He had awoken in a strange place, and his hands and legs were bound together so he could not move. Dagan could not focus on any one thing, he did not realize he was in a holding cell, that he was a prisoner. If he had known where he was, he still would not have known why. All he could think about was the apples. His eyes had fallen on his mother's basket of apples that had toppled over. They had been the last things he had seen before his eyes went black, and they were all he could remember.

He groaned and tried to look around, tried to erase the disoriented feeling that was clogging up his brain. Someone in the far corner of the room stirred, and Dagan searched for the source of the noise. He was unable to speak, so he just stared at the man in the corner. The man had a large object in his hand, which was actually a club. There was also a sheathed sword at his waist. This man was a guard.

Dagan groaned again, and now the guard noticed. His head swiveled in Dagan's direction and a menacing grin spread across his face. "We thought you might never wake up." The guard's voice was low, guttural, and almost viscous. Dagan winced, and wondered about the malice that laced this man's voice. "Although," the guard said, "it might have been better for you if you had not waken. Traitor." The last word spit from his mouth, and Dagan blinked. Traitor? How could he be a traitor?

His questions were met with silence, mostly because he could not find his voice and ask them. But Dagan had a feeling that he would not have had any answers if he had asked anyway. He still wondered what he was doing chained up like a slave. He tried to remember what had happen, but everything was extremely foggy, except for the apples.

Dagan sat like that on the cold floor, in a fetal position against the wall, for a long while. His body started shaking uncontrollably as an indescribable fear overtook him. He did not know what the source of his fear was, but he could not control his shivering. Dagan squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to block out anything and everything. He knew not how long he stayed in this state, but he was awoken roughly when someone kicked him in the ribs.

"I said get up!" the man hissed. Dagan blinked his eyes and peered upward. There were three men standing above him, one was the guard, one carried a flaming torch, and the other was dressed in entirely black. He had a black cap on that covered his shaved head, and a black overcoat that hung bast his knees. His feet were adorned in black as well. Something made Dagan fear this man terribly, and he trembled again.

"Rise you coward! Cease your childish quaking and climb to your feet." It was the guard's voice who had spoken so sharply, and no doubt it had been the guard's foot who had dealt Dagan's stomach the blow.

The tall man dressed in black looked down at Dagan with cold eyes. "Perhaps he can not rise on his own. Pick him up and bring him along. His trial awaits."

The men grabbed Dagan and yanked him upward violently. His head swam and he was barely able to shuffle his feet on the floor as he was pushed along. He would have commented on the distasteful manner in which he was being handle, but he wasn't too sure on his ability to speak as of yet. His brain swam in his skull, and he felt as if he was going to pass out again.
The three men led him down a long corridor, and into a dimly lit room. The room had no windows, and only one lantern, which appeased to the reason why it was so dim. The man dressed in black walked to one of the lanterns and turned the flame up as high as it would. The yellow flame lit up his face, and Dagan noted the icy sneer that was pasted on his face.

The two men who had chauffeured Dagan rather rudely had pushed him to the center of the room. The two men then abruptly left the room and slammed the door behind them. No doubt they stood on the other side of the door, guarding it. Dagan groggily looked over at the man adorned in black. They looked at each other as he measured Dagan up. They were silent for a while, neither moved. Dagan slowly regained total consciousness, and soon he remembered the whole thing. He remembered the apples and why they were toppled over. Dagan let out a small cry of pain.

"You know what you have done."

The man's voice shot through the air and pounded in Dagan's ears, but he almost believed he had not spoken. The comment shocked him, as if the man had accused him of something unfathomable.

"Do you repent?"

This time, Dagan did not jump. He merely looked blankly at the man dressed in black, and tried to come up with a response. Finally: "Who are you?"

The dark man frowned, as if the question had offended him. "You answer my question, then I will answer yours."

Dagan's jaw muscles flexed, he was beginning to get tense. "I have done nothing in which to be persecuted against. Release me."

"You do not repent?"

"How do I repent from that which I have not done?" Dagan could tell he was beginning to annoy the man, but what should he expect? The man had shown no hospitality or humanity to Dagan, so why should he do the same? Again he asked, "Who are you?"

"I am the Judge. I am the man who holds your fate in his hands. I would advise you to not cross me, young man. If you cooperate, perhaps you will escape with your life. If not, the best you can hope for is a swift and painless execution."

"What is it that I am being tried for?"

"You know."

"Humor me."

The judge sighed and leaned against the table upon which the lamp was sitting. He crossed his arms and looked at Dagan peevishly. "The people have accused you of witchcraft, and have held you responsible for the slaughter of a citizen due to your evil powers."

Dagan clenched his jaw again. "That citizen was my mother."

"Whether you practice of the evil side or not, the people saw with their eyes and condemned you with their souls. The people who witnessed the dragon attack have thus condemned you, and therefor you have already been deemed guilty. It is my job to see that the people do not run amok and ransack the village because they think I have let an evil master of the dark arts walk free. Maybe you are not what have been accused of you, but the people will not realize this."

Dagan was silent. So his people thought he had sent the dragon to destroy his beloved mother? How could they? They knew how much he loved his mother! He looked down at his feet. "I could never have sent a dragon to do such a thing to my mother." He looked up again and tried to make the judge see that he was sincere. "The dragon was not possessed. It was mad. Rabid, if you will. It had no control over its actions. This happens sometimes with dragons, it is an incurable disease that leads to the destruction of many dragons. He could not help himself for what he did, and I can not be blamed for it either."

Dagan stopped for a moment, rethinking his plead. Could he be blamed? After all, he was the one who stood there and let the dragon live when he was begging to be destroyed for the safety of all those around him. Was he responsible? Yes. Dagan believed in his heart that he could have prevented the catastrophe. But he could not bring himself to tell the judge this. Then what chances would he have to be set free?

The judge looked at him suspiciously. "How is it you know so much about these wild beasts who are otherwise a mystery to man?"

Dagan stopped short. In trying to abide his safe delivery in displaying his knowledge, he had just sealed his death warrant. "I am no doer of black magic, sir judge. I can not control dragons. But I speak to them." Dagan winced, not entirely knowing what sort of reaction to expect from the judge.

Judge sighed and stared at Dagan. Either judge did not believe Dagan, or he suddenly wanted to be rid of him-in the cruelest manner of fashion he could portend. Dagan shuddered. Even though he was not helping himself by telling all to the judge, he lived by the words of his mother to always tell truth and not to deceive. What else could he do, lest he dishonor his beloved mother?

"I know you not, so I know not if your words be true. But if you were an evil wizard I do believe you would not be standing in front of me at this moment, nor would you have been so clumsy in the carrying out of an evil plan that seems to have no motive. So in spite of the citizen's lamentations of punishment, and against logic, I shall let you live. Only you must be stricken apart from humanity, lest your�talent�become a danger to those around you. I know not what sort of man you are, if you are noble and true to your word, so I think it best that you are kept apart from people. This way your powers will not be used for harm. From this day on, I will not allow you to have contact with people. I am punishing you with exile, banishment. Hopefully this sentence will please the public."

The words faded slowly into the darkened room. Dagan did not move. He stood in the dark, trying to steady his body. He was shaking violently. Exile? How could he possibly survive? Dagan gulped, trying to swallow his fear. "If I am to be punished for this thing which I have not done�which I can not fathom, will I at least be able to survive by some friends of mine? A man who is use to the companionship of others will not do well on his own when he is suddenly ripped from his so-loved life."

The Judge stood quietly, the shadows created by the lantern danced across his face. It made him look even more menacing, and Dagan knew he was a powerful man, a man to fear. His cold eyes stared at him from under his black rimmed hat, banefuly splendid.

Suddenly the Judge's scratchy voice raped the silence of the room. "Very well. Name your allies and perhaps they will accompany you. I implore you not to complain if they do not accept."
Dagan's heart leapt. Inside he was rejoicing; perhaps he would survive his persecution after all! He quickly named the two people he was closest to, his partners Shenk and Sheren. Dagan closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to whatever god was listening that they would accompany him.

It had been that day that he had changed from the man that he once had been. But what was to be expected of him? His life had ended that day; all reason to continue living had vaporized into thin air. Yet there he was, still breathing and healthy. For some reason he had remained so. This hidden reason was yet to be revealed to him, so he looked forward to the day when his life would perhaps have meaning again.

Dagan returned to the dragon, which was now sleeping. He built up a fire and settled down for the night, knowing not why he stayed with the beast. Sheren would be tearing her hair out by nightfall if he had not returned, but still he remained.

It was well into the night now. The fire had died, but Dagan was asleep and did not take notice. The dragon slept on as well, taking no notice of the world around her. Neither sleepers took note of the purple light that had filled the makeshift campsite suddenly, nor of the figure that walked amongst it. The form was tall, sleek and slender, that of a woman. If the fire had burned at all, the light it would have given off would have also illuminated this womanly form's face. To onlookers, it would appear as if Maj had entered their midst. And that she had.

Maj floated over to the dragon. She placed a hand on its stomach and rubbed it gently. The beast grunted but did not awaken. If it had been able to, it would have smiled in its sleep. The dragon had pain no longer, Maj had issued her healing ways once again. She then turned her attention to Dagan's sleeping body. Kneeling beside him, she placed her hands on his temples, closed her eyes and started to hum. The same purple light that had flooded the campsite sprouted from her fingers and spread from Dagan's temples until it engulfed his entire head. Then abruptly, the light vanished, as did Maj.