(Path of the Dragon Mage: Exiled) 26. Mother of Dragonets (Patreon)

It seemed that with the cockatrice feed over, most of  the stalls had opened back up. However, the crowd had thinned even  more. It was getting onto late afternoon, and by the smells of cooking,  Corvus assumed most had returned to their homes for the evening meal.

He glanced to an open pit with the vendor roasting meat, considering  the coins in his bag. Solt had told him to find something to eat…

That was when he caught a flash of vivid blue out of the corner of his eye.

Turning toward it, he stopped in place. Next to the meat roaster  stood an old shabby booth with a host of trinkets laid out on a table. A  small half-filled bowl to the side glowed in the way he had only seen  with magical items. When he focused, no item description came up.  Likely, the charmed object—as commoners called it, instead of  ‘enchanted’ like the palace-born—was in the bowl.

Corvus shifted from foot to foot, torn. He longed to see dragons in  the flesh at last, but could he pass this up? Perhaps if he was quick...

The vendor locked eyes with him and smiled, showing missing teeth.  "See something you like, boy? Perhaps a necklace for your mother?"

Corvus sighed and stepped to the booth. He said nothing, pretending  to gaze over the contents of the table. To his eye, most of the items  appeared to be cheaply made or of costume quality.

He spent a few moments looking over the spread, then gestured to the bowl. "What's in here?"

"Rings of all size, good sir. Very fashionable. Some quite rare."

He resisted the urge to snort. Rare and fashionable rings would not be dumped into a bowl all together to be scratched.

Nevertheless, something in there glowed to his sight.

He brushed the top layer of rings to the side. Most were of different  colors of metal—inlaid with pretty stones, but no real gems he could  see.

He found the ring he wanted a few layers down. Old and worn, it was  silver-gray with deep cracks along the edges. It felt too light to be  metal.

ITEM: Hell-hound bone ring
DESCRIPTION:  Carved from the bone of a slain hellhound, this ring imbues the wearer  with its gifts. +4 strength, +3 stamina, +5 fire resistance.
DURABILITY: 23/100

This was a treasure. A diamond in a pile of trash. It also, he  realized, gave attribute bonuses, which seemed rare. He had leveled up  four times and had only received skill increases. All external additions  to attributes so far had come from objects such as his Tooth Trophy  Necklace . Objects without runes, but were made from slain magical  creatures.

He had to have it.

Seeing him staring intently at the ring, the vendor spoke. "What an  excellent choice. You will look dashing with such a silver ring—"

"Silver?" Corvus asked, holding it up. "It looks to be made of bone. Very old bone."

"Silver-bone," the vendor corrected with a gap-toothed smile. "Very rare, indeed."

"How much is it?" Corvus asked.

"One silver for a silver-bone ring. That is more than fair."

He had that much if he was willing to part with most of his copper  pieces. Still, something about the quality of the vendor’s words put his  teeth on edge. Corvus's eyes narrowed. "What kind of bone is this ring  made of?"

"Silver-hawk bone, of course. Light and durable."

You have increased your Detect Lies skill.
New level: Beginner 2

"If it’s so durable, how did it become cracked?" He held the ring up to show the deep cracks from age and wear.

The vendor hemmed for a few moments and sucked his teeth. "I believe  it adds to the charm of the piece, but since I am closing up shop soon, I  will give it to you for eight copper."

He had purchased three days of supplies for a little less than that.  The price was too dear, but he could not walk away without this ring.

"Five copper?" Corvus tried.

The vendor shook his head. "I could not part with it for less than seven."

You have learned a new skill: Haggling

Which meant he was at Beginner 1 at Haggling. That felt right. He was  certain the vendor was asking too much for the perceived value of the  ring. Its value to him, however, was beyond compare.

Corvus tried again. "But all I have on me are six coins..."

Again the vendor hemmed and hawed. At last, he sighed. "Then six copper it shall be."

Corvus pulled the coppers from his bag and handed them over, trying not to smile.

You have increased your Haggling skill.
New level: Beginner 2

The glint in the vendor's eye told him he'd been had. Oh well. He'd pulled these coppers from ratkin loot anyway.

As he turned back to the street, he slipped the ring on his thumb. It  was much too large for any of his other fingers. As he slipped it over  his thumb, however, it miraculously fit.

Instantly, he felt... different. The slight pull of tiredness he  hadn't realized had been dragging him down had vanished. He walked with a  refreshed bounce in his step. That had to be his stamina moving from 8  to 11. His strength was now 16, which was his second highest after  intelligence.

+5 fire resistance, too.

That would be useful while dealing with dragons.

Speaking of, he could see the tops of distant structures — pens? — at  the end of the road. He hurried with a new bounce in his step. He could  get to like shopping.

* * *

The dragon pen was made of dark rope webbing treated in some flame-proof oil, strung up on all sides like cage walls.

The undersized pen must have been tougher than it looked because it  contained four dragons. By far the largest, a cart-sized beast the color  of smoky blue steel, lurked in a shadowed side of the pen, and so  easily blended in with the darkness he had a hard time seeing it even  with his Night Vision.

The three others were easier to identify. The size of medium dogs,  they were of varying colors of rose red to brilliant orange. The little  ones had heads seemingly too large for their bodies, their eyes big and  wet and luminous in their skulls.

All looked sickly and miserable. So thin he could see the outline of bone under their scaly hide.

A few brilliant feathers lay in the dusty, parched sand of their pen.  Likely the result of today's cockatrice feeding. If it was, it clearly  wasn't enough. The small dragons seemed listless and incapable of  flying. They dragged overlarge wing-arms with every step, not having the  strength to keep them up.

The wings and the size were the greatest differences between the  feral and royal dragons. Every oil painting of a royal dragon Corvus had  seen portrayed graceful yet strong creatures with four limbs and two  additional wings along the back.

These common ferals had two strong back limbs for hind legs and two  wing-arms set more forward on the body, each ending in a claw-like hand  at the top of the pinion.

From what he read, ferals were creatures of the air. Smaller, more  maneuverable, with the ability to sleep while aloft if need be. Royal  dragons, with their four limbs and additional wings, could gallop on the  ground as fast as a horse. The trade-off for the Royals was heaviness  during flight—power instead of maneuverability.

Seeing the small ferals drag their wing-arms across the ground,  Corvus felt a new swell of pity. Anyone with eyes could see they were  miserable.

No sooner had he had that thought, he spotted a man clad in thick  armor plate step forward to the entrance of the pen. The metallic door  creaked as it swung open.

In one hand the man carried a giant wooden shield strapped to one arm, the other a club with sharp nails sticking out.

Instantly, the three small dragons heads popped up, alert. One parted its jaw to hiss a quiet warning.

"What is he doing?" Corvus demanded. A few villagers stood by, idly watching, but no one answered.

Flashing a grin visible underneath his helmet, the armored man rushed forward.

Two of the little dragons scattered with high, whining sounds.

The third dragon—a rose-red so pure it was almost the color of sunset  on a smoky day—stood firm. It mantled its wings and launched forward,  spitting a viscous yellow fluid at the intruder.

The armored man sidestepped it easily.

"That's the one!" another man called. He wore a simple uniform of a  town worker. "He's almost old enough to throw real fire. Cut him from  the rest — he's for the pit tomorrow."

The pit? Corvus turned. His gaze had been caught by the pen  and the feral dragons within. Now he was paying attention he saw a wide  pit dug out of the hard ground nearby with stands set up along all  sides. Chains were locked into the packed dirt in the middle of the pit,  and he noticed several fresh bloodstains within.

No doubt this was where the ratkin had been fed to the cockatrices.  Then, judging by the feathers, the cockatrices had been made a meal to  the dragons.

Corvus looked back and forth, feeling sick. Were they having the  small dragons fight in that pit? Against dogs? Criminals? Each other?

It didn't matter. It was horrific. He couldn't let this happen.

"Stop!" he yelled, rushing forward.

His objection, however, was lost over the sound of an angry roar. The  smoky blue dragon rushed from the shadows, hissing with fury. In the  full light, its hide was visibly scarred — scales knotted and twisted in  places where old wounds had not healed correctly. Its wing-arms were  held awkwardly above its head, pinned by two vicious clamps connected by  a steel chain across it's back.

It lurched forward awkwardly on two hind legs, hissing threats at the  man trying to separate the rose-red dragon from the rest — her  offspring, Corvus realized. There was something… feminine about the  beast, from the graceful curve of her neck and the lack of horns on her  head.

The smokey blue beast was a she-dragon, and those were her dragonets.

She hissed at the armored man and would have snapped at him, if not for the boxy cage surrounding her mouth.

At her emergence, the younger dragonets whistled piteously and  ran to take shelter near her. The blue dragon's wing-arms twitched, but  she could not sweep them forward to shield her dragonets.

The man grinned and advanced, swinging his club at her vulnerable exposed belly to make her stumble awkwardly back.

"Leave her alone!" Corvus yelled.

He vaulted over the short barrier meant to separate the pen from the  audience. Before he could reach the pen's door, a beefy hand caught him  by the collar of his jerkin and hauled him back.

The man who had been yelling advice to his friend in the pen lifted Corvus like he weighed nothing.

"What do you think you're doing, kid?"

Corvus twisted, half-choked by his own clothing. "You shouldn't—you can't... They're noble creatures—"
This earned him a boxed ear.

You have been slapped for 3 HP damage.

He yelped in surprise and the man dropped him, making him fall into the dirt.

"You little shit. I outta throw you in with 'em. Let you see how  noble they are. They'd rip you limb from limb and eat your guts for  dessert."

Corvus glared and stood, one hand cupped to his throbbing ear. "You  can't treat dragons like this. It's… It's wrong. She's only protecting  her babies… and causing harm to dragons is illegal!"

"Throw him in, Melton," the man inside the pen called, to the laughs  and hoots of the few watching nearby. "Let him use his fancy talk on the  blue she-bitch—AHH!"

He made the mistake of taking his eyes off the blue. Although she  could not bite, claw, or spit fire, she was still strong. Twisting, she  brought her tail around like a bludgeon and smacked the man hard,  launching him at least two body-lengths to crash into the side of the  pen.

He landed with a clatter. The baby dragonets squeaked and rushed forward, no doubt looking for an easy meal.

With a curse, the other man—Melton—turned from Corvus to help his partner. He reached for a spiked club set nearby.

"No! Don't!" Corvus grabbed him by the arm to haul him back. It was a  completely instinctual move and should not have worked—Melton had two  heads of height on him and at least a hundred fifty pounds.

He didn't toss Melton away like the dragon had, but he did make the  man stagger and stop in place. The extra strength thanks to his ring  gave him that much advantage.

Melton turned, an ugly look on his face. Corvus was already ducking  the blow he knew was coming, so close he felt the wind of the man's  passing fist on his cheek.

But Melton had thrown his entire weight behind the punch and overcommitted. He lost his balance and fell to one knee.

The nearby villagers were laughing—at him, or at the dragon workers, he couldn't tell.

Corvus quickly stepped back out of Melton's direct reach.

Meanwhile, the man in the pen had held his own against the young  dragonets. His spiked club smashed against one and then the other,  knocking them away and sending scales flying to scatter on the ground  like spilled coins.

The angry blue dragon had managed to turn herself around again, setting up for an awkward two-legged charge.

With a curse, Melton rushed for the door and got it open just in time  for his friend to run out. Together, they shut it again just as the  blue slammed into it — putting a visible dent in good steel.

The on-lookers 'oohed'.

Then the two men turned to look at Corvus.

"That's it," Melton said. "I'm throwing him in."

Corvus ran.

* * *

He wasn't sure why none of the on-lookers stopped him. Maybe  they liked the show, or perhaps they didn't like the workers. Either  way, Corvus ducked past more than a few still chortling people who  seemed to get in the way of his pursuers. He pelted down the streets  beyond.

The incensed men broke through the crowd and followed him past two twists of alleyways before they slowed to a stop.

Ducking behind a few standing barrels, Corvus peeked through the gaps  and saw them exchange a few words with one another before they turned  to go back. No doubt to continue their grisly work separating the baby  dragon for pit fighting tomorrow.

If I had a sword…

He would… what? Fight against two armed men with experience and  training well beyond his own? He was no threat to these men. Small for  his age and with beginning levels in everything, what could he do?

Nothing.

Frustrated tears burned behind his eyes. He looked through his skills list for ideas and came up empty.

The sun was low, nearly at the western wall. He was supposed to meet  Solt any minute now. Then he'd go home and tomorrow, probably as he was  at sword practice, the baby dragon would die to the cheers of crowds.  Its mother and siblings would be close enough to hear, if not see.

Anger burned through his veins. He brushed helpless tears away.

Then, with a snarl, he opened his profile again. There had to be an answer. Somewhere. Anywhere!

Give me a quest, he thought to his own egg, to the Path system… the world. He didn't know. I don't care what the reward is. I can't let this happen. I just need a path set before me… I need to know if this is possible…

Even if it wasn't possible, he'd do it anyway.

Ding!

You have a self-appointed (timed) quest!

New Quest: Save the dragons!

You have discovered Duckwater  Village’s dark underbelly: Dragon pit-fighting. One young dragonet is  headed for a sad end tomorrow, and its nestmates aren’t far behind. As a  traveller on the Path of the Dragon Mage you find this treatment  unacceptable. Can you free the dragon family in time? Also, what secret  is the mother dragon hiding

Quest Difficulty: Unknown

Rewards: 100XP per dragon saved. Additional Bonus for saving all dragons.

Failure to complete the quest: Lifetime guilt knowing those baby dragons were slain under your watch.

Time Left: Quest must be completed by the guard’s morning shift tomorrow.

Warning: You are unable to decline a self-appointed quest.

Good.

He had no idea how he was going to accomplish this. The only thing he  had to his advantage was his Night Vision and ability with runes. But  one thing was for sure. He would be returning to Duckwater Village  tonight.