Conlins Colrath watched in fascination as Tiller wrestled a dragon. An actual dragon. A juvenile dragon, certainly, but it was still impressive.

The monsters were similar, in some ways, to moskar and related beasts but much more flexible - a property that this one was using to twist around and try to bite Tiller's ass despite having its wings folded over its arms and its legs tangled in its tail. It screeched in frustration as Tiller twisted it around again, just as it attempted to bite down.

Kika was standing nearby, but her swords were sheathed. Conlins had instructed everyone to use non-lethal force only on the dragons if at all possible, since the last thing they wanted to do was anger the patriarch. Granny had approved of this rule, but Natch had been sulking the whole time. He seemed sure they were all going to die.

Finally getting the whelp where he wanted, Natch slammed its head against a boulder over and over. Conlins winced out of sympathy, even though the creature had been almost frothing at the mouth as it lunged into the camp to attack them. Natch released it, and it staggered and fell on its face. It slid forward, scraping its muzzle through the mud, and then finally got itself sorted out and stood, shaking itself off. It looked at Tiller and hissed, then turned and flew away - still unsteady.

Kika patted Tiller on the shoulder, which she nearly had to reach up to do despite him sitting on the ground. "Great work, Tiller. Hopefully we'll be close enough to the patriarch's lair soon. You said we'll stop getting attacked once we're almost there, right mister Colrath?"

Conlins nodded. "Yes. The juveniles stay away, so we would only need to worry about adult dragons - and those, I have been told, are open to meeting with travelers peacefully. So long as we don't kill their children."

Natch still didn't look pleased. "It's like making deals with the Sahrger," he said, "you might get what you want but you also might wind up dead - or worse. At least with the Sahrger there are rules you can follow, or you can try to only deal with the Black Duchess' people. But with Dragons? Who knows what might offend them? Say one wrong word, they could just eat you in one bite." He looked over at Tiller. "Well. A few bites, for some of us."

Conlins had heard mixed tales. He suspected that the dragons encouraged people to be afraid, but that those stories were overblown. There were too many that had been almost eaten, and too few that had simply never returned. Statistically, the data implied they threatened people often and made them think they were on the verge of death, but didn't actually devour anyone. The number of lost expeditions was about what you'd expect from any trip into Besetie - less, actually, if you only counted ones where they had started at the Dragon's Gate.

The reason was clear. The dragons, seemingly non-existent before the last Grand Alignment, had eventually settled in Besetie in a long, narrow valley. Any other monsters in that valley were rapidly hunted down, so if you were smart you could specialize in driving away the juvenile dragons and not have to worry about any of the thousands of other species that swarmed the plane of monsters.

Conlins had brought jars of dragon repellant that he was pretty sure were working - they'd only been attacked five times - and he'd also given the others instructions on the various weak spots that could be exploited; the web of skin between the arm and the wing, the wattle-like flesh between its jaw and ear, and the back side of their bone crest right where it met the skull.

It was time to get moving, so Conlins packed his research back into his satchel. With the Planar Spike in hand, he only needed one more thing before he could try to unlock the thirty-seventh plane and find what was hidden there. The only problem was that it hadn't been seen for hundreds of years, when its owner was killed by a strange beast.

If that beast had been the patriarch of dragons, the item might still be in its hoard. It was a longshot, but... he was sure. It all lined up. All his research about where the dragons had come from would make sense if that creature had been the first dragon, and it seemed unlikely that it would have parted with the relic in the meantime; they didn't like to give away treasures.

It seemed clear to Conlins that the patriarch of dragons was a constructed creature; possibly fleshcrafted, or made using avatar spirits, or implants and symbiotes, or even a spirit that was normally ephemeral but that had been granted physical form by nurturing growth through it on Heregie. The exact method didn't matter, and there had been countless arcane experiments on the Grand Alignment that were lost to history in the hundreds of years since.

Or even in the handful of months immediately following it, thanks to the chaos caused by several dozen new countries immediately declaring themselves, going to war, and being replaced by even more new countries. It had been a bad time for record keeping.

They started moving again, Kika volunteering to be on the lookout for stranglewhip plants or other murderous vegetation. Natch carried the insect-killer, a tall staff they'd "rented" when they reached the outpost at Dragon's Gate - really it was a purchase, with a partial refund if they returned it. Insects were drawn to the glowing orb on the top of the staff, and tiny bolts of lightning shot out at them as they approached.

The tiny charred bodies rained down onto Natch, further darkening his mood.

Tiller seemed to be doing fine, though he still barely said anything, and Kika had been chipper the entire trip. The biggest surprise was Granny, who was managing to navigate the jungle without difficulty while knitting yet another shawl, and wasn't the least bit bothered by the thick layers of them she was already wearing. The jungle wasn't terribly hot but it certainly wasn't cool, and any reasonable person would have collapsed if they had that much clothing on.

"I see you looking at me, Conlins Colrath. You just worry about yourself, yes? Have you prepared for your meeting with the first dragon? Do you have something shiny to offer? Or will you offer him a few pins, like with the planar spike?"

Conlins felt his face flush. He was embarrassed with how that had gone, and he didn't have a retort. It had felt reasonable, he'd done math based on the average cost of chartering the airship and the projected loss of profits if the spike was out of commission for a few days and then doubled it. He just hadn't thought about the fact that they would think he was trying to copy it or, worse, steal it.

And then, to be fair, he had in fact stolen it. But that hadn't been the plan.

"This meeting will go much more smoothly," he said, "or if it does not I at least will ensure we escape with no violence."

Granny sniffed dismissively. "That's no fun."

Conlins saw Natch miming like he was going to whack her with the staff, and shot him a look. He wasn't sure, but he was starting to suspect that "Granny" was the agent of a demigod, or possibly a demigod herself. Not one of the better known ones, like the Hunter or the Queen of Candles or something, but in theory there were tons of them that kept to themselves in some domain on another plane, or on the isle of Agiodyne.

Opening a portal from a random spot in Brinkmar had been shocking, but it was actually the escape from Mile-High Depot that had gotten to him. She had been right there with them when they started running for the airship, and he'd assumed Kika would see to her. But then Kika was busy covering their escape, and he hadn't seen Granny running at all, and then she was on the ship before him.

It was possible it had been some planar effect. She could have tapped into Inuizlorrareto so she could fly, but he was pretty sure that couldn't be done except when it was in alignment which only happened every sixty days. Some others could allow you to borrow their lowered gravity, but his understanding was that you couldn't use that for actual flight since there was no way to alter the direction it was pulling you in.

It was also possible she just had a heap of magic items. Something to let her teleport, something to make her stronger and faster than an old lady should be, something to let her ignore the heat and humidity of this jungle. But if she had all these things, what else did she have? Regardless of if it was magic items, extreme control over the planes, or some exotic thing that made her count as a demigod, the solution was the same: tread carefully.

During their next break, he pulled Natch aside. Making sure they could see Kika and Granny, and that both were far enough they wouldn't hear, he expressed his concerns. "She's more than she seems," he said, "and I'm feeling foolish for letting her bring her own muscle. It felt harmless at first, but now... if she betrays us, do you think you and Tiller can beat Kika in a fight?"

Natch considered it in silence, for long enough that Conlins started to worry. Finally he shrugged. "Honestly? It depends on if we can get the drop on her. She's good - very good - but if I teleported Tiller to her without warning, mid swing, he could take her down in a single hit. He's a powerhouse, he's just not subtle, you know? The problem, if you're worried they'll fuck us over, is that they would have to make the first move before we even knew we were fighting."

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Yes. Hmm. Maybe... maybe we hire a different planar expert, after this stage of the plan? We could get what we need from the dragon, have Granny drop us near a large city on the prime plane, and then thank her for her services and get someone else instead. Someone I'm less scared of."

He expected Natch to make fun of him for saying he was scared of an old Erathi woman, but the man just nodded slowly. He was worried about her, too. They returned to the rest of the group, spent fifteen minutes with their socks off so their feet could recover, and then got back to it.

Eventually, they reached the territory of the adult dragons. The much larger monsters watched them from the cliffs along the sides of the valley, each visually distinct in color and shape of the head crest. A medium-sized dragon, black scales with dark green feathers and a crest like two wood axes facing away from each other, landed in their path.

"Travelers," it said in surprisingly clear Imperial, "our young have come to us bruised and injured, humiliated in battle. Is this your doing?"

Conlins stepped forward, shaking slightly. He repeated various affirmations to himself in his head: you can do this, you've prepared for this, it's all going to work. "Y-yes," he said, "that was us. Your young put up a valiant fight, and were gracious enough to allow us to pass once we had proved ourselves."

The dragon leaned forward, turning its head to better stare with one of its eyes. "You prove yourself by concussing my youngest against a boulder?"

Conlins could feel the hot breath on his chest, smell blood from the thing's last kill. He involuntarily closed his eyes, and had to force himself to open them and look at the dragon. "Yes?"

The thing let out a breath in a single puff, and nodded. "Good. She needed that, maybe it will improve her attitude. Well done." Standing up straighter, so that it loomed over the whole group, the dragon glanced them over. "And what is your business here, at our home?"

"I have a gift and a request for the patriarch of dragons," Conlins said, still quivering from the sudden shift from terror to relief.

The dragon laughed. "Ah, how amusing. Yes. I will see if he is available. But know this - if your offer or request is insulting, he will swallow you whole. Others may be more lenient, or give you a chance to apologize, but the patriarch is too important for such things. If you wish to see him, specifically, you should prepare for death. If, instead, a lesser dragon would suffice..."

"I'm terribly sorry," Conlins said, "but it does need to be the patriarch."

They were pointed at the very end of the valley, where the river poured out of a cave into a giant pool of steaming water before lazily flowing the way they'd come. As they walked, Conlins glanced at everyone. Only himself and Natch looked nervous. Granny and Kika were unflappable, and Tiller... well, Tiller possibly just didn't understand what was happening well enough to worry about anything.

As they approached the small lake, Conlins could see dozens of caves set into the walls of the valley. Many had dragons reclining in them, lazily watching their approach, and baby dragons - too small to be banished to the far end of the valley yet - chased and headbutted each other. It was a whole rainbow of colors, and the smallest of the adults could probably kill all of them.

In the early days after the Grand Alignment, the patriarch had somehow traveled the planes and wreaked havoc on anyone or anything that got in his way. Stealing treasures, eating kings, and getting in the middle of several armed conflicts with no apparent rhyme or reason. He'd been settled in this valley for well over two hundred years at least, though, and Conlins hoped that meant he would appreciate the gift that he'd brought.

The babies scattered as something moved in the largest cave. The patriarch of dragons emerged, enormous and glorious. His head crest was wide and flat, but covered in arcane symbols picked out in various alchemical metals. Likewise, he wore bracelets and rings on his arms and legs that shone with magical potential. His scales were shining copper, and his feathers were a mix of yellow, orange, and red.

When he dropped to the ground the earth shook, and everyone quickly bowed. Well, almost everyone. Conlins was horrified to realize that Granny was still just knitting. Slowly he came up out of his bow, a little at first and then all the way once he could tell the dragon didn't seem to be interested. "Greetings, your magnificence," he said, "my name is Conlins Colrath and I -"

"Why do you not bow, old woman?" the dragon said, his voice hitting some deep nerve that caused even Kika and Tiller to flinch.

Granny looked up at him and arched an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm just the help. This guy is in charge, talk to him."

"I have asked you a question, crone. Do not make me ask it again."

She sighed. "Maybe I'm old, as you said, and my back hurts. Do we really need to do this?"

"Maybe. Or maybe you disrespect me in my home."

Granny turned back down to her knitting, ignoring the king of dragons. Conlins began to panic. "Uh, she - she's not with me. Or, she was, your magnificence, but she doesn't speak for me. For us. I apologize for any offense, but also, uh, please understand her behavior is not... should not reflect on..."

The dragon sneered, its enormous teeth looking disturbingly sharp. "The behavior of this wretched creature does reflect on you, human. Your minions are your responsibility. State your request, and we will see if the woman can keep her mouth shut. If she does not, I will eat her. If she does, I may only refuse your request."

It hadn't sounded like there was an option where he granted their request, but they were too committed to turn back anyway. "Very fair, thank you. Uh. I come bearing a gift, the -"

The dragon waved a clawed hand dismissively. "I told you to state your request. I can take your offering off your corpse, should the request displease me."

Conlins froze. Was the patriarch of dragons saying he'd kill them if he didn't like what they asked for, right after saying he would for sure deny the request? Were they already as good as dead? "Um. Um. Yes. Well. I need - that is, I would ask - I would like to borrow, if I may, the divine lynchpin."

Everyone stared at him. Even Granny looked surprised.

"The what?" the dragon said.

"Ah. Yes. It's not well known, and I wouldn't expect even someone as intelligent as you to know what it was. It was a treasure of the Twelve Kingdoms, before even the Clockmaker, and was said to be an implement of the gods - one of several they left behind for one reason or another, such as Yesrin's Loom or the Demon's Mirror.

"Someone was attempting to use it in some sort of ritual on the Grand Alignment, and you... killed them. It was described as a curved bar of luminous violet metal, shaped somewhat like half of a tongue-clam's shell, and was the length of a man's hand. A, er, human man."

The dragon nodded. "Oh, that. Fascinating to know its name, after all this time. Unfortunately for you, mortal, that item is one of the oldest things in my hoard. It has... sentimental value... and I will not be parting with it for any price. You may present your offering now."

Well, Conlins thought, he hadn't made any move to kill them, or seemed annoyed by the question. That seemed like something, at least. Maybe they would all get out of here alive, even if the mission might be ruined.

"You old lizard," Granny said, "give the poor kid what he's asking for. He's on a quest! You have to respect that, not enough people go on - "

And whatever she had been about to say next was cut off, as the massive dragon swallowed her whole. It happened so fast that nobody even reacted until it was over, and then - as the adrenaline hit - there was simply nothing to even do about it. They couldn't save Granny, she was gone. They couldn't fight the dragon, or hope to run from it, and anyway it wasn't attacking them. It was sitting there, calmly, waiting for its offering. Natch had reflexively teleported away, but reluctantly walked back to the rest of them.

"Um," said Conlins, which was about the most articulate thing he could come up with. He fumbled for his satchel, and pulled out a leather portfolio. "Um. Um. This, this - sorry, your magnificence, I'm just a little - um, sorry - this is information regarding the location of the lost pleasure dome of Myndral. I know that a lowly human such as myself has nothing to offer you that could compare to your existing hoard, but -"

He hesitated. The dragon looked annoyed, but also wasn't looking directly at him or saying anything. If anything, the great monster looked... distracted? The dragon waved an arm at him as if asking him to continue, so he soldiered on.

"Ah, the ah, the pleasure dome of Myndral was lost with an enormous collection of valuables, none of which have been recovered. With some work, and the right skills, this information could lead to you massively increasing your hoard."

The dragon tilted his head one way, then the other. It was hard to read an expression on the monster, but there was a distinct twitch between the upper jaw and the eye that looked like a kind of sneer, or grimace. The dragon still didn't seem to be really paying attention to what Conlins had been saying.

Finally, it growled and spat Granny out onto the ground. "Cursed woman, stop squirming!"

"Clean your teeth once in a while," she countered, "it smells like an abandoned slaughterhouse in there!"

The dragon snarled and leaned down to Granny's level. "I keep my teeth clean with rock leeches, they are immaculate."

She looked up at him defiantly. "Oh? Then why does it reek like the cheap seats in the Necropolis?"

The legendary beast sputtered. "Because it's an enclosed space with you in it, you wretched hag! I don't know what you're even doing here, don't you have something better to do?"

She frowned, and got to her feet. Nobody else helped her up, because it would have required getting right under the dragon's mouth. "I'm on a job. They're having an adventure, you know how I enjoy those. Calla might've been content to just hear things second hand, but I've got to get my hands dirty every now and then. Can't an old woman have hobbies?"

The dragon sighed. "You're nothing but trouble. Take these ridiculous humans and go. Don't come back."

Granny smacked the dragon's snout. Everyone else flinched. "You festering asshole. You ego-swollen field lizard. You're going to give this poor, unprepared, naïve man what he wants, because you owe it to me, yes? And then I'm going to come back whenever I damn well please, because we're family and I want to see the next batch of babies hatch. How many of them were husks, last time? I could have helped with that."

The patriarch of dragons opened its mouth slightly, and a strange glow appeared from within. A rippling, firey light. "You will not speak to me this way, and order me around. I let you get away with much when you were a child, but you are old now and should know to treat me with respect. I have grown powerful. Do you really think you can survive, if I choose to kill you?"

She shrugged. "I think I can tell everyone your true name, yes?"

The glow vanished. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Silence stretched out for what felt like ages, and then finally the patriarch sighed. "This one time, and no more."

"Yeah," Granny said, "just this one time. Like always. Hey, there's a chance I'll be bringing my dad to hatching day! No promises, he might be dead or something. But fingers crossed, yes?"

A smaller dragon scrambled forward and grabbed the portfolio out of Conlins' hand, and then - when the patriarch had turned away to head back to his cave - rubbed affectionately against Granny. She patted it on the side. A moment later something small came flying out of the cave and bounced on the ground, skidding to a stop right at Conlins' feet. It was the divine lynchpin.

Everyone marched back down through the dragon's end of the valley until they were once again in the juvenile's end. The whole way, nobody spoke. Finally, after resting and stretching, Natch couldn't take it anymore.

"What the fuck just happened?" he yelled, causing some small animals in the underbrush to scatter.

Granny didn't reply, she just sat there knitting. It was Kika who spoke up. "Granny has a lot of strange friends," she said, "she's been doing this for years. They just kind of build up over time. My grandma told me you get used to it, eventually."

Conlins made eye contact with Natch, who nodded in silent understanding. No matter who this woman was, or how dangerous she was, they wouldn't be trying to ditch her. There was no point - surely, she'd just show up again at the next stop.

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