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On Freeday afternoon, as was his habit, Hiram the smith kissed his wife and made his way down the street to the bar. After six straight days of hammering out horseshoes, plowshares, miscellaneous ironwork for farmers, and the occasional repair on a bit of armor for a passing soldier, he was ready for some liquid relaxation. The wooden sidewalks the little town had installed in the last year made his trip an easy one; no need to slog through the mud and horse droppings now. On his way he nodded to Widow Cleavestone, the stout dwarven woman nodding politely back. She and her two children were the only non-humans living in Rushwood, here in the south of the Kingdom of Veluna. Luna, the larger moon, was nearly full and Celene, the smaller, as well. In a week it'd be Richfest and seven days of good food and less work than usual. Hiram smiled as he pushed the bar door open.

He was astonished to see his brother at a table. First, that he was there at all; an itinerant knight, Richard wandered far but always let him know when he was visiting town. Second, that the teetotaler was clearly deep in his cups. And last, the state of the knight's gear. His white tabard was stained with mud, his normally polished armor dirtied, and even the shield leading against the table - normally cleaned after every battle, its white horse heraldry lovingly retouched - scarred and filthy. The sword was missing from his brother's side, and that was unheard-of.

And where was the knight's armored mount? It always tossed its head and whinnied from the stable when Hiram came into view. Sometimes Hiram swore the white horse was smarter than he was. It, at least, had an occupation that took it from the little town and let it see the world. The absence of the horse and the state of his brother's armor couldn't be good news. Still, he put the best face on it he could.

"Richard! How goes?" He slapped the table and grinned, sitting down opposite his brother.

"Hiram," the knight groaned. He was quite drunk, and hiccuped before continuing. "Things do not go well."

"Your armor is a mess. If you stop by my smithy tomorrow I can bang out those dings. And my wife could wash--"

"Screw my armor," the ale-sodden knight swore, and took a long drink from his cup. An empty clay jug rolled off the table, escaping the hand Hiram darted out to stop it, and shattered.

Hiram waved for a serving-maid and asked for his own bottle. He poured wine into a wooden cup and settled down; he was clearly going to be here a while. He'd best get to the heart of the matter before his brother passed out.

"Richard, where is Adamant?"

The knight paused, cup halfway to his own lips. He put it back down, spilling only a little.

"On his way through a dragon. Horseshoes, armor, and all."

Hiram winced. He'd made parts of the mount's armor himself. Weeks of work, cunningly crafted overlapping steel plates to turn arrow or sword. It'd be of little use inside a dragon. They could supposedly digest just about anything, horses and armor included. "How did it happen?"

His knight sighed, refilled both his cup and his brother's, and began. "I was coming through the pass and I ran into a caravan going to the other way. They mentioned seeing a dragon, a little one, but no more detail than that. I got their smith to put a new tip on my lance and went to have a look...."

*****

Richard found the dragon quite easily. He simply rode Adamant up the pass until he saw the rock formation the caravan guards described and there it was. Adamant tossed his head in surprise; curled up asleep atop the rocks was the monster. It was long and slender, almost serpentine, and rather than wings it had ridged fins that lined its sides from the shoulders all the way to the tip of its tail. Its head, tucked under one wing-fin, had curling horns and mustache-like tendrils around the mouth. It was among the smaller dragons he'd seen, only perhaps twice the size of Adamant and, he'd guess, no more than thirty to forty feet long stretched out. In color it was a dusty brown; an oddly colored, and oddly shaped young Red dragon perhaps?

It didn't really matter. There was just enough space between the rocks and the caravan trail for a proper charge, and Richard fitted the two halves of his lance together and couched it beneath his arm. He lowered his visor in preparation for the battle.

"Adamant," he whispered, but his mount needed no encouragement. It was not the first dragon they had slain together and the moment his loyal mount felt him ready himself the horse broke into a gallop. It would be a slightly awkward attack, as they must approach from an angle lest they crash into the rock face as the lance struck. It was not that different from a joust, though, and Richard skillfully slid the lance tip to the side and in line with the dragon's head.

For all his strengths an armored knight on horseback is not without his faults, though, and the clatter of hooves and jingle of armor must have alerted the dragon. The barest instant before the fatal impact the dragon's eyes snapped open. Fast as thought it straightened its legs, yanking its body and head out of the way of the steel lance-tip. The sharpened point just clipped one of the dangling chin-tendrils before plunging on to impale the beast's tail. Unfortunately, behind the tail was a rock and the lance snapped in half. It was designed to do that rather than hurl him from his saddle, but Richard cursed and turned Adamant as tightly as he could as he reached for his sword.

Before he could bring that to bear the dragon let out an irritated hiss and exhaled a cloud of choking vapors. Richard coughed and waved the fumes aside, but it blinded him long enough that he barely caught sight of the dragon's tail disappearing over the rocks. It seemed the cowardly beast meant to run, not fight.

Adamant stumbled as Richard directed him in pursuit of the dragon, and Richard realized the gas the dragon exhaled had been a weakening poison. He had evaded the effect somehow but his mount had a good lungful. Luckily, it was a weak toxin, hardly slowing his horse. He shook his head. A dragon with a feeble breath weapon like that was asking to be lanced - he'd expected a blast of flame, not smoke. Not that flame would have saved it, as he had put on his Ring of Fire Resistance as soon as he guessed its nature and due to an enchantment on his mount's armor it shared his protections.

There was no time to let the poison wear off, though, and he let Adamant carry him into the rocks. Two switchbacks along an almost-path and they emerged from the rocks into a clearing. Richard blinked; no wonder the dragon was here. It was a veritable oasis in the hills, a small waterfall filling a pond surrounded by rocks. On the far side was the dragon, dripping wet and much more brightly colored than before. The blood around the lance tip embedded in its tail was a stark contract to the yellow of its scales.

Most importantly, and the factor both he and his mount focused on, the dragon was directly in front of them and at the end of a rocky path between upthrust boulders and the pond. Perhaps it thought the steep right to left pitch of the path would keep them from charging. If so, it was wrong. Adamant felt the pressure of his knees and galloped straight at the beast.

But before he went ten feet Adamant lost his footing. His hooves slid across the sloping rock, which Richard saw now was not just wet with waterfall spray but was actually coated with a layer of slime. Whatever it was rendered the rock almost frictionless and he and his mount slid into the pond before either could react to save themselves. As he fell he saw the thing gesturing and saw still more of the slime appear on the rocks he slid over. There was nothing to grab that wasn't slick as grease and into the water he went.

The water was cold and deep and Richard, in field plate armor that weighed almost sixty pounds, was not dressed for swimming. He grabbed at Adamant's saddle as he went under, his sword lost in the depths. The horse's barding was less of a burden than his own armor and it managed to keep on the surface even with him hanging off the saddle. To the side, where they had fallen, the rocks were steep-sided and covered with moss. The only escape lay on the other side of the pond, where the dragon was. They'd have to somehow make it across, climb out, and kill the damn thing. Richard gritted his teeth against the chill of the water as his loyal mount, sensing his decision, began to swim toward the yellow-scaled dragon.

The dragon canted its head to the side and watched them come. Then, before they had covered a quarter of the distance, it extended its head and exhaled another cloud of heavy, toxic smoke.

There was no escape. The heavy vapors clung to the surface of the water and flowed to where the two heroes swam. Both inhaled great lungfuls in their struggle to escape the water, and the already weakened horse could no longer keep its armored bulk above the water. Into the dank, chill water they sank together, drowning together as they had lived together.

*****

As Richard struggled back to consciousness, his first thought was that he was surprised to be alive. By all rights he should be either at the bottom of the pond or inside a dragon right now. Instead he was cold, but recovering; he felt wet, but clearly he was not in the water any more. Beneath him mud squelched and sharp rocks jabbed into his ribs. He was still wearing his armor and it felt much heavier than usual.

Adamant whinnied weakly and Richard's eyes flew open. Stretched out next to him and too weak to rise was his white mount, barded armor still dripping. Behind the horse, bloodied tail on one side and foreparts and head curled around near Richard, was the dragon. It watched him out of slit-pupiled amber eyes as he tried to sit up and failed.

"If you keep doing that I will breathe on you again," it said in an altogether too reasonable tone of voice. "One more dose and I don't think you will be able to even raise your head."

He lay there for a moment and looked at it. It wasn't reddish, or even brown. When covered with dust it might have been, but washed clear of it its scales were dark yellow with areas of metallic gold. Thick bands of armored hide covered its underside, white with a yellowish tint, tough leathery hide visible at the seams between belly and scales. His practiced eye noted that joint as a likely weak spot.

It seemed to read his mind. "You are thinking how best to kill me. I might point out that I have harmed no one, threatened no one who did not threaten me. If I meant you ill you would already be in my stomach."

He took in its serpentine form, not like the bulkier dragons he'd fought, and remembered pictures from his dragon hunting manuals. The rarest of the dragons, powerful and wise and not, if the tales were true, at all evil. There were other "good" dragons, but this was supposedly the most uncommon.

"You're a gold dragon," Richard said, and barely managed to sit up. It took all his strength to get most of the way there, and he had to lock his elbows to stay that way. The dragon watched him with amused interest. Beside him Adamant could not even raise his head.

"Yes," said the dragon, drawing out the ess. "I was on my way to visit my mother, who lives some leagues from here. No, you wouldn't know about her, we can conceal ourselves very well when we are so inclined. I watched a caravan go by, then settled down for a nap and the next thing you know I have a lance through my tail."

"Hunting dragons is my profession. I will not apologize."

"Any dragon at all, then? What if you met a friendly dragon? Would you attack one that just wanted to talk?"

"In my experience," Richard said as he tested his strength, "A friendly dragon is just waiting for the best opportunity to eat you." Whatever poison was in its breath showed no signs of wearing off. Even were he not wearing sixty pounds of armor and unarmed, he would be at the dragon's mercy, yet he could not bring himself to lie. His shield lay nearby, its heraldry marred by a bash against the rocks. It'd be no defense if it did decide to eat him.

The gold dragon shook its head sadly. "You are young and foolish. I too am young, though. Why, I expect I am barely twice your age. My mother and father are centuries old, and one of my great-grandsires was there when the Rain of Colorless Fire fell beyond the western mountains. We kill only those who threaten us, and not all of them."

Richard shrugged. "I've been around enough to know what dragons are nothing but trouble. I expect you were waiting for an opportunity to attack some passing caravan."

"No," said the dragon, beginning to sound a bit testy. "A caravan went by just today, and I could have attacked it. There were only a few guards. I did not, and would not. I have never eaten a human, not even the ones I think really deserved it. And I am not so greedy for wealth that I would attack just for that. We dragons do not need to eat often. I can be selective. A week back it was two bugbears, and I don't think you can fault me for that."

"Until you get hungry enough," Richard said, and flexed his elbows a bit to see if his strength was returning. It wasn't.

They went back and forth like that for a while, the dragon presenting itself as a reasonable creature, Richard giving it all the trust he thought it deserved: none. Eventually it had enough.

There was genuine anger in the dragon's voice and a hiss that'd not been present before as it said, "I will not be called a liar. You attacked me without cause. If I were the evil thing you think me I would kill you now. I choose not to eat humans, but you deserve some punishment. And I think I have found my appetite, after all."

Richard's eyes went wide as a clawed foreleg hooked around Adamant's neck. The other forepaw tore away the saddlebags, bedroll, and other bits of harness outside the armor. The long, serpentine neck curled around until the dragon faced the weakened horse eye to eye. Adamant whinnied and tried to pull away, but weakened as he was he could not escape as the dragon's long maw creaked open. The horse's last terrified snort was choked off as the dragon clamped his jaws around Adamant's armored head.

"Stop!" Richard yelled, but the beast's maw lurched forward. For an instant Adamant's eye peered at him terror-stricken from the join between upper and lower jaw, only to disappear as the dragon displayed a snake-like ability to distend its maw around large prey. Itself only twice or so Adamant's size, and its head not much larger than the horse's, it nevertheless curled itself around to trap the horse and began to ratchet its jaws over the helpless mount. The armored plates beneath its chin stretched apart, exposing more tough yellow skin as the horse's head slipped into the dragon's gullet.

Richard swore and tried to stand, but his weakness had not left and he could only watch as the serpentine dragon worked its jaws down the length of Adamant's neck. The segmented steel plates of the horse's barding protected him from the fangs, but not from being swallowed whole. With the rear half of its body curled behind and pressing against Adamant there was nowhere for the horse to retreat, even were it not as weak as himself.

When the dragon's distended maw reached the base of Adamant's neck it seemed, for a moment, that it could proceed no further. It sucked in air around the horse's neck, grabbed at the armored flanks with both foreclaws, and strained to push itself forward. For perhaps a minute it made no progress and Richard began to hope it would be forced to disgorge his loyal mount.

Then he realized that what seemed a lack of progress was simply the pause as the beast's jaws reached and surpassed limits to their gape. Almost imperceptibly the stretched skin between its upper and lower jaws, bowed out in a curve where it wrapped around Adamant's shoulders, began to ease forward once more. The long lower jaw slipped between the horse's forelegs and a scaly claw pushed the horse's hooves back against its belly. Slowly, but with the terrible sense now that it had found the measure of its meal, the dragon began to swallow up Adamant's torso.

His voice hoarse from shouts the dragon ignored, Richard could only watch. Bit by bit the ponderous bulge in the thing's neck grew as its jaws inched over his loyal mount. A terrified whinny, almost too faint to hear, emerged from beneath the golden scales and stretched armor neck plates. That, along with weak and futile kicks, were all the horse could do to defend itself. It was not enough. When the long lower jaw was between Adamant's hind legs and fangs slid along the armor that protected his rump, the end was near.

With almost all of the horse in its jaws and gullet the dragon heaved its head upward. Gravity pulled the horse into its throat as it slowly lifted its snout, the bulges of half-swallowed horse staying much where they were on the ground only to have the stretched-apart scales and scutes slip around and over them. Adamant wasn't moving; the dragon was sliding itself forward and over its meal. Armored rump and thigh were overtaken, leaving just his hind legs hanging out of the barrel-wide maw.

Finally the monster's jaws shut, a hoof hanging from each corner of its maw. It stretched out its head once more, and the hooves were gone. A great lumpy bulge distended its neck, straining the scales and scutes apart and exposing the thinly armored skin beneath. Despite his horror Richard still took note of this vulnerable spot. If he were only armed, and strong!

But he was not, and he could only watch as the dragon formed an ess in its neck and slid itself forward. The ponderous bulge that was his loyal mount again stayed where it was as the scales flowed over it. The hard part of the meal was over and took only a few more minutes for the dragon to push the bulge to the midpoint of its body. It yawned to reset its jaws just as Adamant gave a last kick beneath the scales and was still. All the remained of his traveling companion was a massive, streamlined swelling in the serpentine dragon's middle. When a lengthy, hissing belch bubbled up out of the beast he knew it was over. Adamant was dead, merely a meal for the horrible creature now. Flesh and bone and armor and leather, all just food for the thing. Soon enough, he expected, it would turn his way and yawn, and he would be with his friend one last time.

*****

"But it didn't," The knight said with a half-sob. "It didn't eat me. It lay there in the sun and it digested my friend. I still couldn't stand. I beat on him with my shield and he didn't even wake up, I was so weak. I tried to dig my fingers into his eyes and he didn't notice. I think," and he paused to take a drink, "I think I tried to pry his jaws open and climb in. But he didn't notice that, either."

Hiram, half in his cups now, nodded in sympathy. Richard had Adamant for fifteen years. He used to joke that he avoided becoming a paladin because he'd have to get a different mount. They had killed four dragons together - not big ones, but someone had to take care of the little ones before they got too big and arrogant. That someone had been his brother for five years now.

Richard went on. "It was cold that night. I'm ashamed to say I lay against the side of that monster for the warmth. It was like a furnace as Adamant dissolved in there. By the morning all the hard bulges were gone, digested away. I could see where his head was, but the sharp corners..." he shrugged.

He pushed his cup around with little interest. "I was stronger that morning. The dragon almost winced as I hit it with my shield. I looked in the saddlebags but it had taken everything sharp and thrown it in the pond. I ate a little food from the bags. It even breathed out a flame and started a fire for me to heat it up. Turns out it could breathe fire after all. All that day it lay there, still full of horse. That night it was warm against the dragon, again."

He sighed. "The next day I was strong enough to stand. I was maybe strong enough to hurt it, if I'd a real weapon. I didn't try. Halfway through the morning it pointed at the path I'd come in and I knew it was time to go. When I got to the road, there was the caravan headed for town. I caught a ride and here I am." He nodded once, gently, and his head settled to the table.

With his brother passed out peacefully in a puddle of ale, Hiram leaned back and stroked his beard. Somewhere out there a horse was making its way through a dragon's guts. Richard could have been in there too, no harder to digest than his mount, yet he wasn't. Monster hunters disappeared all the time, quitting, retiring, moving on...being digested by dragons from time to time, most likely. No one would have gone looking for the dragon and it must have known that.

Was it being sadistic by making him watch as it digested his faithful mount? Or did it stay so it would be sure he'd recovered enough to make it back to town? Would it make his brother more determined to hunt dragons, or less?

Hiram shrugged, then smiled as the bartender stopped by his table. Help was offered, and accepted, in getting his brother back to his house. He didn't know the dragon's motivations, or the wisdom of its actions, but he was glad his brother was safe.