Until I rename the Dragon, we shall call him Light.

When they reached the side of the stream they had crossed in the morning, Light stopped. "Have you ever fished, Rustam?" Rustam shook his head. "Someday, I must teach you." Light sat down on a rock and trailed his fingers in the water. You see, fish are much like men. Even in battle, your opponent wants to trust you." Abruptly he stood up, a limp fish in his hand. "Now I'l explain a bit of what's going on, as I'm sure no one else has. Durat is to focused in his work, and N�a thinks we all know everything like she does. N�a. Now, there was a woman. You know, once long ago, one of your people told me something; he said that your goddesses and gods walk the earth in the guise of ordinary men, and that the talessaid sometimes their masks slip and we can see the light inside. If there was one person who could make me believe that, N�a would be her. She makes the very air around her sing with joy."

Rustam smiled. "You're right. The little forest spirit told me she's Sarastih the writer-goddess. I didn't know that you never knew."
"She practically reeks of it. I has always guessed, but I could not believe. But no mortal was ever so wise or so beautiful."
Rustam nodded. "Magic happens around her without her even knowing it. When she's looking for something, the book always opens to the right page. Candles burn forever; pens never run out of ink. She's gone onfor days without remembering to sleep or eat. At first I thought she was merely a bit insane, but after a time I realized she was more than I had been told."

"But back to the subject," Light said. "The situation here is more grave than you Dragonfly may imagine. The disappearance of Kanjan� will affent all the clans. Xormalih is a capable vizier, bit his heirs were all raised as commoners in small towns like Asxaratsi and Mirabethta. They never had the education of proper noble children; not one could run a farm, let alone a kingdom. Xormalih did that to protect them, but it seems to have backfired. Dragonfly would fall. But not only that. As you know, all the cans are interdependent, just as every piece of a dome or arch needs every other stone to stand. When we're in shortage of food, we buy it from you, and you in turn buy it from the great farmer clans in the East. The sailors have entire spice fleets feeding Dragonfly mouths; the world depends on your architects to keep their buildings standing after Panda stonemasons carve them into their sculpted fantasies. As all these collapse, so do those people who depend on them, and so on. It's possible that most of those affected would be adept enough to adapt and recover, but even so, irreparable damage would be done."
"Besides that, there is the magic. They tell me that Kanjan� was as skilled a sorceress as her mother, and the magicians fear that her departure was in order to go and set into motion certain forces that we would rather not move. On that I'm not so well-informed."
"Perhaps," Rustam returned thoughtfully, "I can make the sorceress and spirit enlighten me."
"And perhaps," mused Light, "we should be getting back."
"Yes." Rustam rolled to his feet gracelessly, and stumbled on after the warrior. The wind was pulling the clouds into fantastic shapes, and as they walked back, they took turns pointing out shapes in the sky.
"That one, there, looks exactly like Durat."
"You know, it does."

The next day, they began to learn the ancient art of the sword, arts that the Dragonfly were beginning to lose.*
Light taught Rustam all the traditional forms, and they practiced and practiced. One day, N�a wandered into their clearing. They were fencing with wooden swords, waist-deep in a lake.
"Meteor pursues the Moon," murmured Light, swinging his sword in a tight arc at Rustam's head.
Rustam swatted the blade down into the water with the flat of his own, replying, "Catch the Swallow's Tail." Then in some blur of motion, Rustam was behind the Dragon, holding his blade to the Dragon's throat. "Heron stalks in Reeds."
The Dragon seemed to fall, but at the last moment he was the one standing, and Rustam on his knees, gasping, a wooden sword pointed at the crown of his head. "Phoenix Dies," ended Light.
N�a walked into sight, laughing gleefully. "That was wonderful. But he'll never be able to beat you, Light. You very nearly invented the sword. Give him an opponent he can handle."
"Like you, O Goddess?"
She nodded and took the weapon from his hand.
A few moments later, N�a was standing very still, Rustam holding her by the throat with his sword aimed at her chest. "Drink the Dragon's Blood," he concluded, released her, and took a seat.
"Congratulations, Rustam. You're one of only three living men who've bested me in battle."
"Who is the second? Light must be the first, and I the third."
"None other than the swordsmith."
"Of course. I don't know why I asked."
"Silly mortal."
"Yes."
"So,we've finally made a hero out of you. Go, hero Rustam. Save the world from the Lost Princess."
Rustam bowed. "As my goddess commands."
The next morning, he left the Dragon's camp.

*:The Dragon took their sword arts from the Dragonfly, but the Dragonfly under the civilizing, softening influence of their new religion began to lose them. In the Pii present, the Dragon are among the premier fencers on Pii, and the Dragonfly are their disciples, and are beginning to take their skills back and adapt them to this new time.
posted by Shreyas Sampat at 8:46 AM

The Dragon shall soon be renamed.
Perhaps Wind-on-the-Water or Light-in-the-Sky is fitting, or Fire-of-the-Stars.
He's a strange little man.
Yes.
---
Shreyas
posted by Shreyas Sampat at 8:55 AM