Calleslyn awoke suddenly. She felt refreshed, invigorated, as if she had just had a long nap and was ready to face the new day. And yet... she was sitting on a small, backless armchair, bound to it by her wrists, and with her ankles also tied together. There was a man sitting across from her.
"Welcome back," said the man, "it would seem I owe you an apology."
"You attacked me!" snapped the elf, as her memory returned.
"In fairness, you had just attacked my fighting companion. What was I supposed to infer?" His voice was calm, sounding reasonable, and almost affronted by the accusation.
"And now you've kidnapped me."
"That was a necessary precaution. I did not know how you would react when you woke. I have not treated you badly."
Glancing around to gain her bearings, Calleslyn had to admit that things could have been worse. She was not in a dungeon, or anything of that kind, although neither was she in the house where she had first encountered the pair. Instead, she was in what appeared to be a tent, a large and luxurious one of red and gold cloth, with soft cushions and mats upon the ground. The chair she was sitting in was padded, and would have been comfortable had she not been bound to it... with, she now noticed, white cords of silk that were tied firmly, but not overly tight.
There were two other people in the tent with her. Imrilda stood beside the man, dressed again in the strange mail armour that showed off most of her body, her hand hovering above her sword. She looked more worried than anything else.
The man himself was unusual and striking. He was tall, a little over six feet, and dressed in a long robe of pale blue and white, decorated with abstract designs reminiscent of no culture she was familiar with. It was a large world, of course, but still... The man had long hair of such a pale blond that it was almost white, and which seemed to have a slight silvery lustre to it. His skin was pale, and his limbs long and slender, but it was his eyes that really caught her attention. They were pale blue, paler than any she had seen before, the colour of ice crystals, and they bored into her as if looking at her soul.
Calleslyn was acutely aware that she was still dressed only in her underwear.
"If I take it that you will not attack me, Imrilda will untie you now," the man said. "We mean you no harm."
Imrilda looked less than certain about that, but she stepped forward, looking between Calleslyn and the stranger. Calleslyn slumped in the chair, and nodded reluctantly. Attacking them both now, when they were alert, was unlikely to achieve anything, and at least this way she would be free. The man nodded to Imrilda, and the warrior woman stooped down to undo the silken cords, still looking wary as she stood back, her hand moving back to the hilt of her sword.
"You say you owe me an apology," she said angrily, standing up to face the pair. "I think you owe me rather more than that. You are Ornejirhs, I take it?"
"I am," said the man, still watching her calmly, "I believe there has been something of a misunderstanding."
"She," Calleslyn pointed at Imrilda, "tried to drug me."
"A case of mistaken identity. I think, perhaps, I should explain."
"You can start with who and what you are."
"I am a magician, just like you. I met my fighting companion here in the lands you refer to as the South. She is a Shield Daughter, a skilled warrior, and trained in what we might call arts of distraction."
"I asked about you," said the elf, jabbing a finger towards the still seated magician, "your name isn't southern, your taste in art doesn't look southern, and you certainly don't look to be from the same part of the world as she does. I can believe she is what you say she is, but you are being very cagey about yourself."
"I am from the south," said the man, still looking calm, "geographically speaking, at least. My homeland is rather further south than Imrilda's, that is all."
"I do know a little geography," Calleslyn pointed out, "and there isn't anything south of the southern lands. Just tundra and ice."
"Well, that is true," conceded Ornejirhs, "but there is rather a lot of tundra and ice."
"I'm still waiting for a clear answer." There was much more she wanted to ask as well, such as what he was doing in the city, and who they had – supposedly – mistaken her for. But getting the man to confess his origins would at least be a good start.
"I'm..." for the first time, he hesitated, a worried look crossing his flawless alabaster features. "Yes, I suppose I do owe this much, under the circumstances. Very well, then... I am not human."
"What?" She hadn't expected that. His features were unusual, certainly, but not so much as to give her any hint about what he had just said. Which meant that it had to be a disguise for his true form...
"I am a dragon," said Ornejirhs, "I have the power to take human form when I wish it, and generally find it to be quite convenient."
Calleslyn was so stunned by that revelation that she found herself sitting back on the chair, staring at the man in amazement. It actually made sense, now that he said it. The unusual name, the skill at magic, the oddly abstract designs that he favoured... even his preference for living in luxury, surrounded by what might well be called treasure. Not many dragons were said to be able to take on human form, but neither was it something entirely new to her.
"I hope I do not need to transform to convince you," he continued, "that would be rather awkward at the moment. Suffice it to say that when I claim to be a hunter of demons, that also, is entirely true. There are many of my kind that spend their days gathering hordes, or that seek to dominate the lands around them, but I am not one such."
"Silver..." said Calleslyn, finding her voice again, "you're a silver dragon, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am," replied Ornejirhs, giving a slight tip of his head, "and if you have heard of my kind, you have also heard, I hope, that we are an honourable breed. My choice of lifestyle is unusual for a dragon, perhaps, but it has its merits. Demons are as much a concern of ours as they are for the humanoid races. Which is why I have dedicated my life to defeating them, and why I have arrived in this city."
"Well," he added, "we are now outside the city, as you may have guessed, but we are close by, and I assure you that you may return at any time."
If he was telling the truth – and that was seeming increasingly likely – did that mean he knew of the demonic threat she and her companions had uncovered? If he was here to fight it, that would be good news indeed. But it still didn't explain why Imrilda had tried to drug her.
"My companion tells me," he continued, "that you wanted to see me because of a matter concerning a demon. May I ask what that was?"
"Once you have answered my questions, perhaps," she shot back, "you have said you a dragon. Very well, I believe you. But why are you here? What interest does Haredil hold for a demon hunter?"
"The answer to that is simple: I am pursuing a demon. He – or more accurately 'it' – is named Sashjant, and he entered our world in a place much further away from here than even my homeland. The other side of the equator, in fact – a land in the northern hemisphere. He is a corrupt being, as all infernal creatures are, yet very wily, and a master of illusion and mental powers."
"Indeed, I have been having difficulty locating him here. He is, I believe, aware of my presence, and his powers now alert him whenever I get close; a fact that, I confess, is most frustrating to me. That he has not left, however, may be significant, for normally he does not remain in one place for long, and I cannot imagine he would do so without good reason once aware that one such as I were so close to him."
"In short, I believe there may be something that keeps him here specifically. Which is why I am most intrigued by your claim that you have met a demon recently, and why I must once again apologise for the manner of our greeting. I understand why that might have made it difficult for you to trust us. None the less, it is Sashjant we seek, not you, although naturally any demonic threat is of interest to us."
"And, yes," he went on, seeing her expression, "I see I must return once again to the source of our mistake. You see, Sashjant travels around with what we might loosely call a 'harem'. He has a number of young, female human followers, all comely in appearance, who do his bidding. He controls them, using his powers, and they work as his eyes and ears, his merchants and artisans, warriors and concubines."
"Forgive me for saying this, but the reality is you are a very attractive woman, Calleslyn, a fact that made my companion wary. She believed you might be a servant of our foe, and sought to detain you until I could arrive and be sure you were not a trap, or a spy. I know now that is not true, for my own senses can discern no taint upon you."
"I will say, in our defence, that my companion did not actually drug you, although she had prepared for that possibility, should it prove necessary."
"No," admitted Calleslyn, "that wasn't quite how she detained me." She glanced across at Imrilda, noting that the woman was blushing, and carefully nor looking at either of them.
"Yes," said Ornejirhs, smiling amiably, "I understand that a dance was involved. She can be distracting when she wishes."
"You could call it a dance, I suppose," said Calleslyn, now fixing her gaze on Imrilda. The warrior was turning a brighter red, and seemingly entranced by some object in the corner of the tent.
"Oh?" said the dragon, looking genuinely curious, "what else might one call it? Imrilda?" He looked up at the blonde for an answer, but she was avoiding him, hands fidgeting behind her back.
