The report came to Alvar Nexastrien in the dead of night. An emissary from the South Chapel was escorted through the gates, his staff promptly taken and his horse put into the stables. He bore an urgent message, which was quickly relayed to Alvar during a most restful slumber. Eyes heavy with sleep, but mind violently active from the news, the Lord Nexastrien raced down a full flight of stairs and met the clergyman in the main hall.
“Lord Nexastrien, I—“ Cut off by a gesture, he silenced himself and awaited the impending string of questions.
“No need for formalities… Just tell me who dares defile the honorable graves of the House Nexastrien!” All could tell instantly that his venom, though laced into every word he spoke to the emissary, was directed at those responsible.
“They’re a group of political upstarts, my lord; they haven’t yet identified themselves, but they claim to have righteousness on their side.”
Alvar narrowed his eyes. “Righteousness, indeed! What man would call himself righteous while disturbing the sacred resting place of a noble family’s bones?”
“My lord, the answer lies in the graveyard of the South Chapel.”
“Then let us go; and mark my words, heavens have mercy upon any who stand in my way tonight!”


The grounds of the cemetery at the South Chapel were covered in mud from the hard rain that poured outside. The gates swung open furiously, and myriad lanterns shone in step as Alvar led nineteen men—eighteen soldiers and the emissary—to meet the only slightly-smaller group of sixteen standing by the graves of Marianna, Bel, and Caestral Nexastrien. Three had begun to dig into the soft earth, holes down to four feet deep gouged in tenacious desire for the coffins below. Alvar transfixed his sagely blue eyes upon the leader, a contemptuous glare that pierced through the young zealot. “By what right do you dare defile the graves of House Nexastrien?” Fighting back the desire to let harsher words fly, the nobleman bit his lip invisibly.
“By the decree of all that is good and holy, I aim to expose you for what you really are!” The upstart looked back at his lessers, who let out a cheer of agreement.
Appalled by his effrontery, the older man implored, “And what, pray tell, is that?!”
“A murderer! A bloody killer, bound to none but the deepest pits of Hell its—“
“ENOUGH! I will stand this mockery no longer! You, you young knave, are under arrest for defacing the very name of the House Nexastrien!” He turned to his guards, and issued the order. “Capture these ruffians, and take them away. Do not kill them. As for the leader, he must remain completely unharmed.”
The soldiers stormed in on the group, quickly seizing the shovels and tools and taking some of the leather-clad henchmen by force. In the case of these more fortunate souls, little resistance was offered, so only the necessary measures were offered against them. Others, however, drew steel; given the superior armament of the soldiers, they were quickly taken down—Some never to stand back up. Alvar, through the fight going on, made his move directly to the young man in charge of the disturbance. The infrequent sound of steel on steel only served to reinforce the hopelessness of the young leader against the force surrounding him. His boys had fallen before the might of the House Nexastrien’s trained soldiers, and he would be held accountable for any losses on both sides.
“Some merciful leader you are, Lord Nexastrien. If only your undying mercy had been granted to your wife and children.” Alvar unsheathed his masterwork, jewel-adorned longsword in a rage, and knocked the boy in the skull with the flat. Satisfied after a few infuriated breaths, he sheathed his sword once more, and beckoned for a guard to take him. The group was imprisoned upon arrival at the castle, and Lord Nexastrien retired to his quarters with a heavy heart.


Many sleepless nights followed that one, in which Alvar did naught but sit and pine at his desk. Several letters were written, but he promptly tore them up and destroyed them. After a while, he was approached by one of his more trusted advisors.
“Lord Nexastrien…”
“None of it, Emory. I’ll have none of it.” He tensed, still deep in thought.
“Please, my lord, allow me to speak.”
”Speak, then.”
“Your health has become a concern. You haven’t eaten nor slept in the longest time… I understand that the anniversary of… That unfortunate mishap… Is at hand, but you cannot blame yourself for what happened.”
“I could’ve done so much more for them. I could have been there. At least I’d have died with them, instead of sitting safe and complacent in my quarters writing these damned reprehensible bills!”
”My lord, please don’t talk that way. You couldn’t have known something that drastic was coming. Even with the enemies you face, something that extreme is highly unorthodox. Only the most inhuman villain alive would send assassins to kill the family of a benefactor such as yourself.”
“Yes, but… I cannot help but feel that I am to blame for all this.”
“I understand you feel that way, even if it is unjustly so. Now, I have an idea to propose, and I beg you to consider it seriously. Just for a few days, until this depressing anniversary subsides, you must leave the castle and stay in one of your other houses.”
“Hmm… I’ll think about it. And I do know just the place…”
“Good, then. Get your rest; I’ll have everything waiting for your departure in the morning.”
“All right. Thank you very much, Emory.”
“Get your rest, you can thank me later.” The kindly old man turned and walked out, but was stopped at the door.
“Emory… He called me a murderer…”
“He’s a young upstart, a tactless knave with only his own foolish whims in mind. Now, please try to sleep.”
Alvar followed his advice, leaving his desk and lying down to be swept away into nightmares.



Seventy days.


That was how long the corpse had stayed out in the sun. It was hardly bearable. Usually the bodies were fresher than this. It was almost impossible to work with.


Jennifer Hartcord wiped her brow and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the dragon corpse in front of her cave. Its relatives had obviously not cared a whim about him; she got a message from someone mentioning its name and where it was born, but that was it. She had to fetch the body herself, and no one yet had come to discuss the burial.


She sighed and went out to the body, passing between the two uprighted wings that shadowed her cave. The skin was loose on the body, and in some places, maggots had already begun to feed. It looked like it was starved to death, and no wonder; she found it way out in the desert. She had to get her apprentice to bring it back.


Jennifer pulled out a thick needle, already threaded, and sewed the heavy eyelids shut over the glazed eyes. They'd be open during the burning ritual, but it unnerved her to have them staring at her while she prepared the body.


She whistled, clicked, and whistled again. Maelek would know to bring the harnesses necisarry for bringing the body in.


The apprentice dragged the heavy leather harness across the ground, loping toward her awkwardly. The dragon was nearly twice her height, and three times as long, but was still in his awkward growing spurts. She took the harness from his mouth and fixed it like a noose around the corpse's neck. She tied one leather strap around Maelek's chest and one around her own, and together they pulled the body in.


Later on, when Jennifer had finished teaching Maelek how to make tea, she came back to the corpse to inspect the wings.


The left wing was perfectly fine; all the bones were in place, and the leather between each digit was unscarred. The right wing was an entirely different story; it seemed like every bone was shattered to dust, and the leathery skin had been ripped to shreds. No wonder it died, She thought. It couldn't fly out of the desert and over the mountains for migration. She ran her thickly gloved fingers gently over the shattered wing. But what kind of impact would cause so much damage? The skin looks like it was shredded in a cockfight, but nothing a dragon could inflict on another of its kin could shatter the bone completely.


She pondered, and ran her hands across the rest of the corpse, trying to "see" as much as she could just by touch. She was interrupted by a shrill shreik from Maelek and found that he had spilled the boiling tea on himself, and didn't get another chance to examine the body again that day.