In which our little dragon friend encounters a much bigger dragon.

Find earlier parts HERE

Wyrms were ugly, small or large, though the large ones were far uglier simply because there was more room for the ugliness to spread.

There was just no way around it. They were ugly, brutish sorts of dragons. With square, blocky heads, dirty fangs, shaggy manes and coarse, dirty-looking scales, they lacked the draconic elegance that even a wyvern possessed. And they were nothing compared to the elegance of a fire drake or an amphithere, not that Millicent had ever seen one in person, but the illustrations she’d encountered in books had been rather convincing on that point.

Though Twyford lacked fiery breath or venom, his breath was terrible, and might be considered dangerous on that point alone. He rose up on his tail, his head eight feet or so above the ground. Yes, he was big, but on a draconic scale, he really wasn’t much to behold.

That was what she needed to remind herself as the uncouth wyrm bellowed his displeasure.

“You dare to challenge my authority.” He huffed fetid breath her way. Something between rotten eggs and sour milk? Not exactly, but close.

“No. I have never had anything to do with you, and I do not want to do so now. I do not have enough to be a bother to you. I do not see why you have summoned me here.”

“Then you are a stupid fool who deserves to be eaten along with that little interloper in your arms.” Tywford snorted. If he’d been warm-blooded, little tendrils of steam would have risen from his snout.

“That sounds like a threat.”

“Well then, your stupidity is not so insipid as I thought.”

Really? Who was the stupid one here? “According to the Blue Order laws, you are not permitted to make such threats.”

“What do I care for the Order and their laws.” The wyrm tossed his head, bits of dirt and leaves flying off his dingy mane. “I am a dragon. This is my territory. I can do what I want within my territory and with those in it.”

Enough already. It was cold, and she had a business to tend. “No, you cannot.”

“You would stand up to the will of a dragon.” Sir Fitzhubert stomped closer to her, keeping his distance from Tywford.

“I will stand up to what and whomever is a danger to myself, those under my protection, and my livelihood.”

“And you shall pay the consequences.” Twyford threw his head back and bugled, the sound bouncing painfully through the woods.

Was that the sound that the dragon-deaf heard as dragon thunder? It would certainly make sense if that was the case. Dreadfully loud and head-splitting it was. Criollo trembled and tucked his head under her arm. One could hardly blame the little fellow. She’d retreat now if that were a reasonable option.

“Mind your tongue, Mrs. Brown, you have taxed the dragon’s patience enough.” Sir Fitzhubert clucked his tongue like some sort of lecturing schoolmaster.

“Perhaps you should tell him to mind his. He is the one who has stepped beyond the pale.”

“Are you suggesting my dragon is at fault?” Sir Fitzhubert’s piggy eyes narrowed, and his wind-scoured cheeks turned brighter red.

Twyford turned on Sir Fitzhubert, snarling and huffing. “I am not your dragon! You are my Keeper!” Spittle flew off the ends of his fangs, landing on the Keeper’s face and coat.

Gads, that must be terrible stuff to wash away in the laundry. Would ox gall cut dragon spit? Maybe vinegar…

“Without me and my forbearance you have nothing. Nothing!” Twyford roared again. “I did not have to accept you as Keeper, never forget that. You were only a distant relation to my former Keeper and not a clear heir to the Keep. It was me, and only me who secured your position here, and your title, Sir. Don’t ever, ever forget that.”

Sir Fitzhubert scooted back as he turned several very interesting colors, all unnatural and alarming. He sputtered something, but the whipping winds carried it away.

“And don’t forget your promise to me.” Twyford railed on. “The promises you made that made me choose you as Keeper here. I am still waiting for you to make good on them.”

“You want for nothing.”

“I want a mate, and you have not facilitated that, have you now? You guaranteed you would do all that was necessary to please my intended mate. And. You. Have. Not.”

And that explained the dragon’s mood quite succinctly.

Sir Fitzhubert sputtered and stomped and pointed at Millicent. “That is her fault, not mine.”

“What have I to do with any of this?”  Millicent turned on Sir Fitzhubert. Criollo wriggled in her arms and bared his teeth.

“That interloper!” Twyford and Sir Fitzhubert shouted in tandem. They both glared at her with the same expression of hatred and violence.

Millicent cradled Criollo protectively—though realistically, there was little she could do to stand against a dragon who would not obey the Blue Order mandates. “This little dragon has nothing to do with you! He presents no danger, no threat to you.”

“He is a trespasser on my territory. I have not approved him, accepted him. He does not belong. I want him gone.” Twyford panted, spittle dripping from his lips.

“It is the purview of a major dragon to approve of those in his territory.” Sir Fitzhurbert folded his arms across his chest, grinning as though it were some sort of triumph. Or perhaps it was that he and Twyford had turned on the same enemy now that had him smirking.

“That creature is an aggressive dangerous dragon, and I will not have that in my territory.” Twyford leaned closer to Millicent, but she held her ground.

Hopefully, he could not see her trembling. “Aggressive? This little mite? How can you possibly say such a thing? You are the one huffing and puffing and carrying on, threatening harm to life and limb. Did you not threaten to eat us, without any danger to yourself? You are the aggressive creature, not us.”

“I have not killed—”

“That is nonsense, of course you have. You are a predator, you have killed prey, you do so every time you eat. And you have not limited yourself to the sheep and pigs of the farm. I know you have eaten other sentient creature, other dragons.”

“Who were trespassing on my territory.” Twyford puffed his body almost half again its usual size. “I am not the one under scrutiny right now. My behavior has been impeccable.”

“Eating other dragons is impeccable?”

“It is allowed under the law. They were on my territory, trespassing. I had the right to do so.”

“Just because you have the right, not make you right!”

Criollo yipped, as if to add his voice to hers.

“You will stop, you are the one whose behavior is under question, not me.”

Only because there was no one around big enough to threaten Twyford. Condemn the Blue Order with all its rules and mandates. For all its fancy words and big ideals, they never seemed to act upon them.

Millicent pulled her shoulders back and spine straight. “What do you think I have done?”

“You have permitted that murderous interloper to take refuge with you. Fed him, gave him succor, allowed him to turn dragons of my Keep against me.”

“Turn dragons against you? You mean Pouncer, the old tatzelwurm? Rosemary and Thyme, the garden wyrms? They are hardly of your Keep to begin with. The Chocolate Dragon is just outside the border of your territory. You might want to check the Keep maps before you make accusations.”

“They have ignored my summons. That is rebellion enough.”

“They have ignored you because they are afraid you will eat them as a matter of convenience.”

“They live on my territory, they must obey my summons.”

“First, they live with me, not in your territory. And second, nothing in the Orders laws requires them to invite a major dragon to commit harm upon them.”

Twyford blinked several times, as though he were trying hard to think. “That foreign dragon killed my Keeper’s dog. I demand the right of retribution, and I will have it today.”

“That dog died from the effects of hydrophobia, not the little one’s valiant actions to save my son. A bite from that monster would have killed my boy, if not outright, then by the disease passed to him. The little dragon saved my son, acting as a true Friend would. You failed in your responsibilities by allowing a mad dog to exist in your territory, a clear hazard to all the warm-blooded upon it, including your Keeper.”

“What do I care for the welfare of warm-bloods? That is not my concern.” And there, in a few short words, Twyford gave voice to the key problem with dragons.

“Actually, it is.” A new voice called over crunching footsteps. Millicent turned to follow the voice. A man

Who could that voice belong to? Tell me in the comments.

Catch up on parts you missed here.