Compared to Blotting, the next town they came upon hardly qualified as a town. A run-down tavern, a few houses, and rambling fields in all directions greeted them. Sheep grazed upon the rolling hills. Crops ran in neat lines alongside fallow fields populated primarily by bouncing goats. After some staring, Jet eventually distinguished one of the houses as a general supply store, though its paltry wares left him somewhat unconvinced of its actual service as a store. Steady hammering rang out from the blacksmith’s tucked behind the houses even as he approached, sun setting in the distance. A ramshackle church sagged atop a nearby rocky hill, and a brightly-colored carriage sat before the tavern, advertising a visit by a travelling troupe of entertainers.

A worn wooden sign, hanging crookedly from a single nail, declared, Heare Be Wallop.

Jet wrinkled his nose. I don’t think we’ll be able to cash any bounties here. We’ll have to wait until the next city.

As they drew up to the tavern, a young woman stepped out of the church, holding a staff in both hands. A bulbous glass ball full of amorphous, ever-shifting light marked the top end. She looked down on the city from atop the hill, her eyes half-lidded.

Despite the distance, Jet could swear their eyes met. Her lips moved, whispering something, but he couldn’t hear it. He squinted at her. What’s a priestess doing in a tiny town like this? Not just a religious Priestess, but a magic-wielding one at that. Healing lambs? Rescuing goats?

An evil chuckle caught his ear. Jet turned away from the priestess to his charge.

Gideon grinned, staring at the carriage. “Wonder if I’ll strike it lucky already.”

Jet shot him a dangerous glare. “We are not bringing a dancer along for your… entertainment.”

“It’s not for my entertainment. It’s for my magic! If we have a dancer, I’ll be twice as strong. It’s all for the sake of slaying the True Dragon,” Gideon insisted.

“Uh-huh,” Jet said. He glanced back up, but the priestess had vanished.

They drew up alongside the tavern. Jet drew the horses to a halt, and Gideon jumped off. Climbing off more slowly, Jet gave the horses a quick once-over, then led them toward the stables in the back. “I’ll be right in after I settle the horses. Behave yourself until I arrive. Remember, the collar is always watching.”

Gideon gave a sloppy pantomime of a military salute, popping his ankles together and standing up straight, then snapping the edge of his hand to his forehead. “Roger, captain! Right-o!”

“I’m not a captain,” Jet grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Roger, not-captain! Right-o!”

Rather than continue that particular pointless conversation, Jet turned and led the horses to the stables. The familiar scent of wood, hay, leather, and horses filled the air, a pungent combination that nonetheless left Jet feeling at ease. No matter where you go, a stable is still a stable, after all.

A stable boy approached, an urchin of about fifteen in ragged overalls and a patched cap. He stopped at the sight of Jet and stared. His jaw dropped.

“Not used to outsiders?” Jet asked.

The stable boy shook his head hard.

Jet chuckled. “I remember when I was a kid… a little younger than you. The world seemed so big. And now…”

A somber expression passed over Jet’s face. His hand clenched. Figaro… all the friends I’ve lost. The True Dragon and this great war. If only the world could be a little bigger, so we wouldn’t all have to fight… but there’s only so much to the world.

The stable boy tilted his head, waiting.

Jet waved a hand and tossed him a few coins. “For the stalls, and your help.”

The stable boy touched his hat appreciatively, sliding the coins into his pockets. With the stable boy’s help, Jet stripped the tackle and saddles off the horses.

Letting the stable boy brush and curry Gideon’s horse, Jet lost himself in the familiar motions as he ran the brush over his own horse. She flinched slightly, skin shuddering under his hands. “That’s alright, Bluebell. That’s a good girl.”

His thoughts ran ahead of him as he brushed. Again, the images of that battle played through his head, the gore, the destruction, the unstoppable power of the True Dragon. Even with Gideon’s power, do we measure up to that beast? Is it possible to kill something that large, that powerful? In essence, we’re ants, trying to kill a god. Gideon’s power is undoubtable, but he grows tired after two spells. Depending on his mana flow, he might be able to regenerate after a few minutes, but that’s time a-plenty for the dragon to kill us.

Gideon. For a cold-blooded murderer who slaughtered a town of dozens, if not hundreds, he doesn’t feel that… cold-blooded. Nor much like a murderer. The image of Gideon undressing in the middle of the street returned to him, and he flinched, rubbing his forehead as though that could erase the image from his mind. Deranged, perhaps, but…

No, no. Madmen can act normal for a period of time… if his behavior can qualify as normal in the first place. Lucid, may be the better term. It may simply be that his personality now is all an act, and that the true Gideon is hiding behind this… façade, waiting for a moment of weakness to make his move. I can’t let down my guard.

He paused, then, even the motion of the brush slowing to a halt. Hold on. Gideon slaughtered a town of dozens, maybe hundreds, but tired after casting two spells today. Either the town was much smaller than Lord Faulun made it out to be, or his exhaustion was bullshit.

…Well, it’s possible that he killed the town slowly, drawing off the people in twos and threes, slowly dwindling the population until nothing remained. And mages can regenerate mana at a fairly quick rate, especially if they’re as skilled as he seems to be. It may have been that he only needed a few minutes to recover before he cast another spell, in which case he could very easily have dodged the other townsfolk for those few minutes before emerging to slay more. There’s many possibilities, none of which necessarily negate his crime.

Really, all it does is cast more doubt on his claim that the town was somehow made up of only dragons, transformed into humans. Not as if there could ever have been any merit to that claim in the first place, but…

Bluebell snorted, twitching her flank. Jet realized his hands had stopped and startled back into motion. He laughed. “That’s right, girl. I’m thinking too much.”

I just need to deliver this criminal before the True Dragon. Either he slays the dragon or dies in the process, but after that, he’s no longer my problem.

A heavy thump and a great crash rang out from within the tavern, followed by angry shouts. Jet looked up, then frowned, his face hardening. He stomped inside, already reaching for the pendant. “That had better not be because of who I think it is…”