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Unable to drop the matter, Riana returned to her lord husband. She resorted to pleading, begging softly, “If you are still the good man that I married, you will not do this evil, nor will you allow it to be done in your kingdom. Please, lord, do not sacrifice humans to this evil beast.

Give back the shield. If you are truly an upright man, you will not allow the sons of your land to be served up to that overgrown reptile and its vile kindred.”

“You know that I will perish for my sin, beloved wife,” Donigan reminded her. “You know that my mistake comes at the cost of my life.”

Riana paused, silenced by a weight greater than the castle foundation. She let out a deep sigh. Then she resignedly asked, “Is there no other way?”

Lord Donigan started, “I am a man of my word, and I must remain true to it, even when I am thus deceived.” He fell silent then, resigned to accept his fate and do his duty for the salvation of his people.

Riana’s face brightened as a fresh idea crept into her mind.

“I sense mischief in you, my lady,” Donigan divined. The firm set of her jaw informed him that she planned to see this deed wrought whatever the cost. “Speak your mind, fair Riana, for I can see there will be no keeping you quiet.”

Lady Riana smiled at her husband’s keen grasp of her mind’s inner workings. She circled his high seat, brushed a titillating finger along his thickly muscled chest, and suggested, “There is an honorable way to get what
you
want, whilst this beast also gets what
it
wants.”

Donigan captured her delicate fingers in his hand and pressed them to his lips, saying, “I am listening. Hasten to your point.”

Riana withdrew her hand and lifted her finger, a signal beacon for her lord husband’s one remaining hope, whereby he might avert leading his people into the wicked practices prescribed by
The Great Tome of Dragon’s Law
. After a purposefully long pause, she began, “My lord, there is another way: a way to appease this monster’s appetite for human flesh, whilst you obtain the rule of all the land. Have we not had a problem with overcrowding in the cells of our dungeons of late? For the time present, we could execute all death sentences as a sacrifice to Faethlenkandur. Our realm has far too many murderers and conspirators against your lordship.

For now we could empty our jails, whilst we fill our gluttonous friend’s belly, and when the whole land is ours, woe to all venomous, wicked, forked-tongued dragons.”

Donigan liked the sound of his lady wife’s plan, but something gnawed at his conscience.

This counter-treachery, while deserved by Faethlenkandur, would most assuredly displease Solari. He opened his mouth to raise his objection, but Riana stopped him with a knowing smile.

“Solari cares not for your negotiations with dastardly dragons, my lord,” Riana quickly assured him, with her smile bubbling into a wickedly delightful giggle. “If you thought She did, you would never have made this ill bargain.”

Donigan had always been a fool for that giggle, for that smile, for that otherwise cool and reserved lady. He especially loved Riana’s twists to his oft-immovable theological viewpoints.

Most of the time, Donigan laughed off her opinions when he disagreed. Sometimes, however, she persisted too stubbornly, forcing him to command her to silence or to send her off. Even then, she had already challenged his views, given him reason to reconsider the wisdom of his beliefs and helped him to amend what ideals he had held in error. Given his alternatives in his present conundrum, the Lord of Highland Home was more than happy to concede this point to his lady wife. There was no need for disagreement over this topic. He could follow the route to escape Riana had so cleverly found for him and begin the practice of ritual-sacrifice executions, or he could face the dragon. “This plan seems wise, my lady,” he said solemnly.

Riana praised Donigan, saying, “My lord, your judgment is always good. I knew in my heart that you would see the wisdom of this course.”

Donigan was still wrestling with his spirit, which nagged at him contrary to what he had agreed, but he smiled broadly and said, “Riana, beautiful Riana. You have solved the problem at hand and one to which we had not yet attended. Although I am no happier for having to send the miserable souls choking our dungeons to such pitiable deaths, or for feeding a vile creature such as Faethlenkandur, it is the best option we have.”

Riana pointed out, “Were you to take the shield back to the beast, my lord, it would no doubt devour you. Worse yet, it might offer you a more treacherous deal. Let us place you upon your throne, and then let us avenge those we have sent to the dragon’s board. Perhaps by so doing, we can wash their blood from our hands, walk comfortably in the Light of Solari and rest easily under the Light of Luminus.”

Lord Donigan began to have his builders erect large temples with holding cells for prisoners deemed to be of no redemptive worth. Men who were dangerous to others about them and

unwilling to repent of their evil ways would go to those cells to await doom. The Priests of Dragons began offering those spiteful killers to Faethlenkandur and his kindred from their unique centers of worship. The dragons, of course, graciously accepted every victim.

Having done all that the Dragon-Father required of him, Lord Donigan set off once more for the mountain cave Faethlenkandur called home. He presented himself before the enormous winged wyrm and said, “I have done all that you have asked in accordance with
The Great Tome
of Dragon’s Law
, even as I said I would. I have shown you my good faith by keeping my word in deed.”

“So you have,” rumbled the dragon. “Here is the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye, even as I

promised it to you. Now win your kingdom, serve your new Gods and ask no more favors of me.”

The shield that hung from Donigan’s back was a fine piece of work. It was wrought of silver inlaid with gold traceries that formed the pattern of a great dragonhead. At its very center, set into the eye socket of the reptilian face there depicted, was a red stone called the Dragon’s Eye.

It was said that when Donigan’s enemies gazed upon that dazzling gem, it flickered in a magical swirl of red, yellow and blue fire, which held them fast in a helpless trance.

Thus entranced, rumor held, it was but a small matter for the great warlord to cleave them asunder with his mighty sword. The workmanship of the blade far surpassed the accompanying shield. The weapon was forged from the finest steel, with a gold overlay on its hilt. The pommel was molded in the likeness of a dragonhead, which also bore a large red gemstone in its eye socket. That mystical stone was said to be the source of power by which the sword could hurl fire. The dragonhead pommel was large and spiked with deadly horns.

With his new weapons of power in hand, Lord Donigan arrayed his host for battle and

stormed the strongholds of his enemies. Within five short years, he ruled over the United Kingdom of Beledon. His domain stretched from the Highlands in the north to the Sorling Sea in the south. Then he prepared to turn his full attention to Faethlenkandur and his kindred.

There was peace in Beledon. King Donigan ruled wisely, and the people adored him. With the fall of his last enemy, his lovely queen bore him a son. His subjects rejoiced with him, for he now had an heir to succeed him to his throne. However, Dragon’s Law had done much to deter crime in Beledon, and jails were nearly empty.

The reigning monarch took up arms again, declaring the dragons
unholy
and
full of deceit.

He ordered all copies of
The Great Tome of Dragon’s Law
burned. Then he led his bravest knights up to Faethlenkandur’s lair to strike down the head of his trick-some enemies, but the dragon he sought was not there. Neither was the cave empty, for it was the mating season of the dragons. Much to the party’s surprise, they encountered Faethlenkandur’s favorite mistress, Motkinildora:
The Dragon-Queen.

Motkinildora was as old as her mate was--and was equally fierce. Fifty feet in length from smoking snout to thick hind legs was she, having also a thirty-foot wingspan. The whole of her body was armored in scales as red as the setting sun, as tough as the finest suit of mail Valdigar Steelbender ever crafted and far surpassing that legendary craftsman’s work both in beauty and in strength. She had a long, spiked tail that could pound rock into dust with one powerful blow.

Her talons were curved scimitars, her teeth were deep rows of knives and a blast furnace was her fiery breath. She was a well-known, and terribly feared, patron of the dragon temples.

When King Donigan’s company burst into her mate’s lair with their weapons in hand, she growled, “What have we here?” She moved closer to the human leader, until her wide snout was almost touching his face, and asked, “What do you want?”

Motkinildora did not intimidate King Donigan, although her potent breath staggered him somewhat. He righted himself and answered, “For five long years of devouring sons of Beledon, I want
YOUR HEAD!”
As he finished speaking, the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye flashed up, and then arced downward, until it bit hard into the Dragon-Queen’s neck. She screamed in rage and pain, but since the human king had caught her completely unprepared, she was doomed. King Donigan jerked the magical blade through the neck and free of Motkinildora, rending her flesh and deepening the wound. The dragon mistress let loose a blast of flaming breath, which burst wildly from her open cut and her mouth in synchronization and in alternating turns alike. It deflected off the king’s magnificent shield and struck the cavern wall. King Donigan slashed her again about the neck, this time striking her with all of his strength. The rending steel completely detached her head from her body.

The newly ascended monarch decided to wait in ambush until Faethlenkandur returned. He did not have to tarry long. Faethlenkandur was already gliding toward his cavern, even as King Donigan was lowering his first fell blow against Motkinildora. He must have heard her death cry, must have witnessed the light of her fiery blasts from afar, for Donigan and his knights did not take him wholly at unawares. He swept down from the clouds with the swiftness of the wind and the stealth of a hawk on the hunt. The great dragon sent a burst of flame into the entrance of the lair and followed in afterward, full of fury and wrath.

The blast of blistering fire surprised King Donigan and his knights, many of them bursting into flames where they stood. At that wicked turn of events, all of those remaining knights were stricken with terror. They cowered behind their shields and hid themselves against the walls of the lair. All of them save King Donigan and his brother, Sir Bornan, trembled at the ferocity of the dragon’s attack, the awesome power of its might. The king and his younger brother stood behind their shields, undaunted by the beast. They knew there was but one way out of the lair--

through Faethlenkandur, for the bulk of the creature now blocked their only exit.

“YOU!”
the beast boomed. Tongues of flame made a dazzling display alongside the dragon’s wrathful word of condemnation. Faethlenkandur stood to full height upon his hind legs and bellowed, “You will pay for your treachery.” With that as its only warning, the dragon struck at Donigan with the claws of its forefoot.

The human king was able to raise his shield at the last possible moment, enabling him to blunt the blow, but the sheer force of the attack unbalanced him. The dragon shoved Donigan to his right until he fell, but he rolled and bounced up to one knee, with his sword upraised in defense of his body. It was none too soon, for the beast’s spiked tail flared up and whipped downward. It struck the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye, where steel instantly severed it. The detached portion descended with the force of its momentum and landed with a resounding
clank
against the king’s helmet. Donigan collapsed, as if he was an empty suit of armor knocked from its stand.

Sir Bornan, whom the dragon had forgotten, chose that moment to make his presence

known. He drove his sword into the creature’s side with both hands, burying it to the hilt in dragon flesh. As the blade went in, he shouted, “I hope this wound festers, you intolerable beast!” Faethlenkandur gasped in pain as the knight introduced himself, saying, “Sir Bornan is the name....” The knight wriggled the sword as if he were excitedly shaking a man’s hand, and finished, “....pleased to meet you.” With an expression half-bordering on delight and half-filled with rage, Sir Bornan ripped his weapon free. However, as he removed his sword, the dragon’s toxic blood poured out onto his right hand and arm. He fell to the stony floor at once, crying out his anguish.

Luckily, the dragon had suffered wounds enough during the course of its fight with the king and his brother that it fled from its lair. The beast turned as it left, still clutching its wounded side, to roar, “I am not finished with you, King Donigan. I will be back to repay you: a queen for a queen!” The dragon spouted flame once more in defiance of the human king and his knights, before it finally turned its back on them and flew away northward.

Sir Sturgeon “Storm-Hand” was the first to recover from his fear of the dragon’s malice, so he rushed to the side of his lord and king. Donigan’s helm was badly dented, but the movement of the king’s chest showed that he was still alive. Donigan indeed survived his assault from the dragon’s tail, which left a nasty knot on his head.

Sir Bornan had not been so lucky. He nearly died from his wound, which left his right hand and arm seriously burned. The young knight lost his ability to use his natural limb, but in time, he would learn to wield a blade with great skill in his left hand. Many were the dragons that later fell to Sir Bornan of the Off-Hand in the War of Dragons that ensued.

The king’s company returned to Skytower Castle, bearing with them the injured and the dead. The deceased were shrouded and laid in magnificent tombs. There was a fine ceremony to say farewell to those departed souls. In the meantime, Donigan and other wounded men

welcomed their chances to recuperate.