THE FOUR TRAVEL companions stopped short when they entered the giant chamber where the demon had met its end, staring at the dragon seated primly like a housecat. Head nearly brushing the ceiling, he turned to regard the four small bipeds. “I am Drathmor,” the creature stated in haughty tones. “Where is the high priest?”

“How do you know there is a high priest? This place has been abandoned for,” Simpkins began to say when the dragon lashed his tail against the floor with a jarring thump.

“I am awake, am I not?” The giant head lowered to fix a hard look on the ogre mage. Lips curled back to bare teeth as long as Gareth’s forearm. “Why are you here? You are not even a follower.” As the ogre stammered to find a response that would not get him eaten or stepped on, the dragon turned his attention onto Doom and Gareth, sniffing the air. With a derisive snort, he pulled his head back. “Even after all this time, Keth is still not terribly selective, is he?”

Gareth blinked, eyes going wide as he looked at Doom. A little flustered, he cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, well. Let me go get Father Bura’an. Don’t eat anyone until I return!” he called over his shoulder.

“Bah. Everyone knows pink skins cause indigestion.” He regarded the three remaining males, tilting his head as he studied Doom more closely. “You have an odd aura about you. It is like watching something struggling to keep itself tangled instead of trying to get free. What is your name, youth?”

“Thrahx Vaug, though I prefer to be called Doom.” Despite only standing as tall as the dragon’s forearm, he was undaunted by the ancient, massive creature. “I am a gromek.”

“Are the wings of all gromeks so small, Thrahx Vaug, who likes to be called Doom?” Doom’s face and upper torso flushed deep green at the question, his fists clenched and teeth bared.

Tracker put his hand on the gromek’s arm and looked up at the colossal creature before them. “Pack-brother lost horns and wings.” The dragon’s brow lowered into a scowl, the spines along his backbone hissing as they slid along one another when they rose. “Dark magic user stole. Now growing back.”

Tilting his head as the simmering anger quieted, the dragon stared hard at Doom. “You will require someone to instruct you, youngster. Fledglings must grow in strength, endurance and skill before they are permitted to leave the nest.” He unfolded his wings partly, then back tight against his body. “I would offer, but I am old. Old enough for these mountains to have grown around me while I slept.”

“Drathmor, old friend, it is good to see you are alive and well,” Bura’an stated as he walked into the chamber. Despite standing at twelve feet, the ancient dragon dwarfed the titan. “Forgive me for my delay. I was speaking with the young woman who was part of this group key to restoring the heart of this temple.”

The old dragon dipped his head in respect. Bura’an rested his hand on the ridge that ran from nose to crest lightly, murmuring a blessing. “It has been far too long since the temple was last awake. I am glad to be alive to see my last act sealing it was not wasted.”

“No, no, hardly wasted, Drathmor.” The titan looked back as Gareth, Tiwaz, and Ky-Lar joined the group. “Temple Guardian, I would like you to meet the temple daughter and bearer of Ghalnecha. Daughter, this is Drathmor.”

With a speed belying his sheer size, the dragon dropped to his belly, his nose inches away from the young woman. He flinched back when, out of pure reflex, she drew the two-handed sword from her back sheath and smacked his nose with the flat of the blade. “Too close, Dragon!”

Rubbing the tip of his nose with a forefoot, the dragon narrowed his eyes, but his voice held a note of chagrined. “Was that you or Ghalnecha?”

“Me,” Tiwaz stated in edged tones. Oblivious to the stares of her companions for her audacity, or the amusement in Ky-Lar and Bura’an’s postures, she uncoiled and resheathed the weapon. “She is laughing too hard to say more than ‘Hello, Father.’” She looked plaintively at Doom. “Can we go home now?”

“Child, you are home,” Bura’an stated gently. “The gods wish you to remain now that you have completed restoring this temple. It is why the they guided you here.”

Gold eyes flashed, the woman’s anger all but palpable in the air. “No! This is not my home and I am not their pet! I don’t belong to anyone and I don’t belong to you!” She shape-shifted into a panther and bolted for the outside, Ky-Lar close behind her. Doom and Tracker ran after her.

“She reminds me of my daughter,” Drathmor stated in wistful tones. “You will have your hands full with her, High Priest.” Shifting to stretch some, the dragon looked down at Simpkins. “Do you play chess?”

The ogre blinked, flicking a glance at Mya hovering over his shoulder. “Chess?”

“Yes, chess. You do know what chess is, do you not? There was a youngster who was brilliant before the catastrophe with whom I spent many hours playing. You may as well make yourself useful while Bura’an handles the details of the restoration.” Waving his forepaw, a chess table with pieces appeared, with a sturdy chair across from the dragon. “Sit.”

Gareth smirked, patting Simpkins’ shoulder as the ogre obeyed the dragon’s order. The bard’s expression turned worried when he looked back towards the door. “Have faith,” Bura’an told him quietly, waving for the bard to join him.