Chapter 15: F.P.

The morning sun filtered through the forest canopy in scattered patches of gold. The tribute cart creaked along the rutted road, its wheels grinding against stones and roots. Two villagers walked alongside it, one guiding the anqa whilst the other kept watch on the woods. The cart carried grain sacks, three casks of preserved fruit, and a small chest of coins. Not much by noble standards, but precious to the farming community that had scraped it together.

Their village had sent tribute to the dragon for a few weeks now. Each time, the collection returned safely. Each time, the roads remained clear of threats.

This week would be different.

The first arrow took the anqa in the flank. The animal bellowed and stumbled, nearly pulling the cart off the path as it tore through its reins in fear with its powerful beak and ran. The villagers shouted in alarm, reaching for the cudgels at their belts.

Five figures emerged from the trees. An elf with a longbow. A half-orc carrying a wickedly curved blade. Two humans with mismatched armour and desperate expressions. And leading them, a fairy whose wings shimmered with iridescent colours in the dappled sunlight.

Bandits.

“Leave the cart,” the fairy called out, his voice carrying a shrill chirping tone. “Walk away. Nobody needs to die today.”

The elder villager stepped forward, his cudgel raised despite the tremor in his hands. “This tribute belongs to the dragon queen. If you take it, there will be consequences.”

The bandits exchanged glances. “We’re taking the cart. Last warning.”

The younger villager grabbed his companion’s arm.

“But the tribute -“

“- Is not worth dying for. Come on.”

They fled, abandoning the cart. The bandits watched them disappear down the road before turning their attention to their prize.

The half-orc cut the wounded anqa free while the others examined the cart’s contents. The fairy pried open the coin chest, his eyes gleaming at the sight of silver and copper within. The animal ran free, chasing back after its masters.

“Not bad,” he said, weighing a handful of coins. “Not great, but not bad.”

“It’s something,” the elf muttered, checking the grain sacks. “Better than the nothing we’ve been bringing in. It’ll keep her off our backs.”

“This is how we get back into F.P.’s good graces,” one of the humans said, relief evident in his voice. “After losing the last haul, we needed this.”

The fairy’s expression darkened at the mention of their previous failure. That disaster at the mountain stronghold. That dragon cost them everything. “It’s not our fault,” the fairy said, his tone defensive. “Nobody said anything about a dragon being up there. How could we have known that little thing was a monster?” he asked, thinking of the small impish kobold they had made the mistake of mocking back then.

The elf snorted whilst shouldering the coin chest. “Maybe not, but we’re sure stuck in the shit now because of it. F.P. isn’t going to let us out of this so easily.”

“As long as she doesn’t gut us today, I’ll be happy,” the fairy replied.

They loaded their findings onto the cart and began pushing it down the road, moving quickly before anyone could raise alarm. The forest closed around them as they turned onto a side path, wheels bumping over exposed roots. The cart hit a particularly large bump. A single coin flew from the chest, sailing through the air before hitting the packed soil with an audible clang.

All five bandits froze.

The coin rolled along the path, spinning on its edge before finally settling in the dirt.

They stared at it. Then at each other.

Silence pressed down on the forest.

A roar shook the world.

The sound came from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating through the trees with such force that birds exploded from the canopy in panicked flight. The ground trembled. Somewhere in the distance, something dangerous was moving.

“RUN FOR IT!” the elf yelled.

They threw their weight against the cart, pushing it forward with desperate strength. The wheels screamed in protest. Behind them, the mountain itself seemed to shift, shadows moving across its face with impossible speed.

“HOW DOES IT KNOW?!” one of the humans shouted.

“THIS WAY!” The fairy pointed towards a narrow deer trail cutting deeper into the forest. They hauled the cart after him, the vehicle nearly tipping as they made the sharp turn.

A shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun.

Then something hit the ground behind them with the force of a meteor strike.

The impact threw them forward. Trees exploded into splinters. Fire bloomed through the forest, consuming dry brush and catching on low branches. Smoke and debris filled the air. The bandits scrambled to their feet, hauling the cart onwards whilst the ground continued to shake.

Barjuchne crashed through the forest behind them.

The dragon moved with horrifying speed, her claws tearing through trunks thick as houses. Her tail lashed out, shattering ancient oaks. Her eyes blazed with pure, incandescent rage. Foam dripped from her jaws. Every movement screamed mindless fury.

She would kill them. She would burn them alive. She would tear them apart and scatter their remains across the mountainside as a warning to anyone who dared touch what was hers.

The bandits pelted through the forest, their cart bouncing wildly over the uneven ground.

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Barjuchne erupted into the clearing just after seeing them enter it. Her claws gouged deep furrows in the soil. She was sure she had them now once and for all. Her wings snapped open, filling the space with shadow. She spun in place, her senses searching, hunting, desperate for the thieves who had dared –

…Nothing.

The clearing was empty.

She stalked its perimeter, her nose pressed to the ground. No scent. She tilted her head, listening with senses that could hear a mouse’s heartbeat from a mile away. No sound. Her eyes scanned the trees, searching for movement, for hiding places, for anything.

Nothing.

They were gone. Completely, impossibly gone. How? How are they doing this?

This was not the first time. The bandits had been raiding her territory for weeks now. Small thefts. Ambushes on tribute caravans. Hit-and-run attacks that ended the same way every time. She would track them. Corner them. Close in for the kill.