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King Donigan set his craftsmen to work while he was down with dizziness. He had his finest workmen turn the tip of Faethlenkandur’s tail into a mighty mace. It would become the Dragon Tail Mace. He presented the weapon to his queen for her scepter, both because it was a thing of marvelous beauty, and because maids of Landolstadt were well renowned for their battle prowess. Riana was no exception, though frail she might seem to strong men at court.

The fearless king and his valiant knights were not the only ones to nurse their wounds, for they had only scarcely recovered from their injuries when Donigan received ill tidings from Overlook Castle in the west. The people there were under constant attack by a score of dragons.

The mighty king once again called his knights to arms, that they might ride to the aid of Overlook and purge the surrounding countryside of those fell creatures that were plaguing his people.

Donigan grabbed up his sword and shield and made ready to depart, pleading with Riana,

“Beloved queen, take our son, Lornigan, away from here. Go to Moonriver to the south or Goldwater by the Sorling Sea, but do not stay here. I shall fear for your safety every moment if you remain in this stronghold. Skytower Castle lies too close to the Wyrm Mountains, the home of our enemies.”

Queen Riana replied, “I will not run from my home for fear of any false-tongued dragon.

However, Your Grace, if it pleases you, I shall send our Lornigan to Moonriver Castle.”

“If you will not go-” the king began, only to be cut short.

“I will not!” Riana snapped.

“It pleases me that our son goes to Moonriver Castle, but it pleases me not that you stay.

Keep with you my shield,” King Donigan said, pressing it into her tiny hands. “May it keep thee well. I love you always,” he said, and then he kissed her in farewell. “I will return to your open arms.” However, the shadow upon his heart was dark.

The warrior king rode away to battle, and a nursemaid took Prince Lornigan to Moonriver.

Then the black dragon returned, just as it had vowed to do. Like a firestorm in the sky was Faethlenkandur: great and terrible in His vengeful wrath. The dragon swept down upon Skytower Castle like a great shadow of immense darkness. Its tremendous wingspan blotted out the sun as it descended in blazing fury and roaring rage.

The people, seized by terror, scattered and fled before fire and its wielder. They had nothing to fear from the dragon, though, for it was only after one thing: the queen, and with her, the fulfillment of its threat. It swooped down into the courtyard, where with one blast it set the queen’s personal guards ablaze. They dropped to the ground, beat the fire off or simply ran, burning as they fled. Faethlenkandur turned his focus on Queen Riana, who faced him with the Shield of the Dragon’s Eye on her left arm and the Dragon Tail Mace in her right hand.

“So we meet at last,” said Faethlenkandur, “I and the queen of King
LIAR!”
He spouted flame skyward to emphasize that final word.

The startled queen took a step back, her body quaking with fear. Then she stood firm, drawing herself into a proud, upright stance. “You are the father of all lies, the author of all evil and to all men, an abomination,” Riana returned, with the unnatural quaver in her voice undermining her bold stance. She was fierce and determined as she stood before the dragon. Her shield was upraised. She clutched the powerful mace tightly in her fist. Riana was pale of skin, with her long, dark hair blowing wildly across her face. Her blue eyes were set upon her adversary in cool defiance. Thus, they faced one another: Faethlenkandur, fire-breather and Queen Riana, mace wielder.

The dragon snorted laughter, taunting, “I am glad you are not one of my own kindred. I might actually fear you.”

Faethlenkandur took a step toward Riana, so she brought her mace down upon his large, scaly foot. It landed with a solid
crack,
causing the dragon to howl in pain. He spat fire at her, but the shield deflected it away. The beast grabbed her in its enormous fist: shield, mace and all.

Riana writhed in pain, desperately trying to escape Faethlenkandur’s viselike grasp. She tried to strike him again as he lifted her from the earth, but the mace slipped from her fingers and fell noisily to the ground. Faethlenkandur leaped into the air with his hostage, beating his way skyward with his vast, bat-like wings. Sir Bornan staggered out of the castle, in spite of his lingering wounds, but he came too late to save his queen.

Faethlenkandur boasted, “I will bear you back to my new lair. Now King Donigan will have to come and face me if he ever wishes to see you again. As an added bonus, I have captured King Donigan’s best defense against me: the Shield of the Dragon’s Eye.” Faethlenkandur roared laughter.

The dragon did not realize, as it tightly gripped the queen in its fist, that it had knocked the Dragon’s Eye loose from the shield. The stone fell to the earth as the beast flew, and was lost to both dragons and men. No one knew where the gem fell. The item was to be forgotten to all but the boldest and most ambitious of men.

While Faethlenkandur was assailing the queen’s guards, King Donigan was driving off the dragons that had laid siege to Overlook. Afterward, he returned home to find that Faethlenkandur had taken his wife. Donigan was stricken with grief, for he felt certain that his ladylove was already dead. “Such is the way of treacherous dragons,” he mourned.

As he knew he must, the king went to find Faethlenkandur’s new home in the mountains. He waited until Sir Bornan was at his rest, and then he stole away to finish his business with the dragon. Donigan reasoned that the beast had likely taken up residence in the former lair of Motkinildora in the windy heights of Mount Howling. Only a duel between the Dragon-Father and the human king could satisfy either of them now, so Donigan pledged himself to take his challenge to his terrible enemy’s lofty den.

The bold king scaled the rugged mountain, until he came to a shelf of rock at the entrance of the lair. There he learned that his guess had been correct. Queen Riana lay motionless near the far wall of the cavern, but between the king and his consort lay the sleeping form of Faethlenkandur. Donigan crept past the beast as silently as possible to rescue his beautiful wife.

Riana was unconscious, but otherwise unharmed. The king scooped his queen up in his arms and stole past the dragon once more. When Donigan reached the cavern exit, he lowered Riana’s limp body to the floor. He then retraced his steps to the place where Faethlenkandur lay sleeping.

Donigan put both hands on the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye and deliberately lifted it high above the dragon’s thick neck. His palms were sweaty. Beads of salty wetness formed into a rivulet on his forehead as he stood in the warmth of the slumbering fire-breather before him.

The dragon stirred in its sleep and let out a loud snort. King Donigan, startled by the sudden movement, lost his conviction to end the beast. He slowly lowered his sword and drew away. He was afraid the creature had caught the scent of a man as it slept. If that were true, the beast would awaken before any stroke could fall against its intended mark. Thereafter eager to be gone, Donigan made his way to the ledge where helpless Queen Riana awaited him.

Donigan was preparing to make the arduous descent down the cliff with his unconscious queen, when she suddenly awoke. The two were reunited, but it was not to last. “The shield,”

Riana groggily remembered. She dragged herself to her feet, pointing past the bulk of sleeping death behind her. As merrily as a young girl picking wildflowers on a country outing, she chimed, “Faethlenkandur has it hidden in his lair. I know where it is.” Smiling weakly, she staggered back into the cavern.

King Donigan had already learned the kingly cost of that wondrous shield, so he

commanded her, “Leave it!” Believing that his wife would obey him straightway, he began to make his way down the treacherous cliff, but his warning had come too late to save his beloved Riana.

Faethlenkandur was only at light sleep. The sounds of human voices disturbed his rest. The beast was fully awake, standing in its den and glaring at Queen Riana when she turned to retrieve the shield. She gasped in fear and surprise. The dragon laughed and bellowed, “King Donigan, I have been expecting you. Take one final look at your queen.” As it spoke that last sentence, the dragon violently beat its wings, causing a forceful wind to strike Riana. She was blown from the ledge, letting out a long, wailing shriek.

King Donigan was already several feet below the cavern floor before he first heard the dragon speak. He desperately tried to climb to Riana’s aid, but only one battle-callused hand reached the shelf as she blew overhead and fell away to her death.
“No-o-o-o-o-o-o!”
he wailed.

At that moment, Faethlenkandur’s head popped over the ledge. The dragon steamed with

pride, “I would have killed her at Skytower Castle, but I wanted you to see her die.”

Filled with grief and rage, Donigan shouted, “I want you to
see
nothing!” With that said, he jabbed the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye into Faethlenkandur’s eye. Magical flames pulsed into the fresh wound.

The enormous creature screamed in misery and began writhing on the stony shelf, causing a terrible rockslide. If not for the avalanche of stone, the daring king would have climbed up to finish Faethlenkandur. Yet, it was all he could do just to hold on until the peak ceased trembling.

When the shaking finally stopped, King Donigan found that the dragon had buried itself, along with the magical shield, beneath many tons of mountain rock.

“I rename this accursed peak,” Donigan said through bitter tears. “Henceforth, it shall be known as Mount Sorrow.” Donigan wept, battling with his own will to maintain his hold upon the mountain face.

The War of Dragons was far from finished.

Dragons fought amongst themselves and Beledon temporarily knew peace from those

beasts. The strongest male dragons did battle with one another in a vicious struggle for supremacy and dominance amongst their kindred. Many dragons were slain in the talons of others, and numbers of their species dwindled. After many years of aerial conflict, one rose to be chief among them. All other dragons despised their new leader, but they feared him as well. His scales were black like those of his sire, Faethlenkandur, and his heart was blacker still.

Andokandazur was his name. His title meant
Hated-Father.

Once Andokandazur secured his place as the lord of his fell breed, he turned his gaze upon his personal goal of revenge. How else could he further demonstrate his superior strength to his fellow dragons than by besting the human that even mighty Faethlenkandur had been unable to defeat in single combat? Andokandazur was a powerful young dragon. He loved to show off his great strength, so the thought of meeting his sire’s nemesis was far too tempting for him to ignore.

As such, Andokandazur allowed word to reach King Donigan that priests were making

human sacrifices to his kindred in the Dragon Temple of Woodhall, to the east. This
wyrm
worship
enraged the monarch. He had forbidden ritual murder in his realm since he had begun the War of Dragons. Donigan considered it an act of treason for anyone to practice Dragon’s Law within his bounds, so he girded himself with the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye and rode off to investigate reports he had heard.

Donigan arrived at Woodhall Castle to find it a smoking ruin, without a sole survivor to be found. He left his many knights behind to clear rubble and honor those fallen. Still he rode on, on to the temple. When he reached the unholy center of worship, he found a similar scene.

However, much to his disgust, Andokandazur lay there picking his huge teeth with a bone. The dragon laughed, “Is this the great king that killed my father?
Ha!
My sire must have been weak indeed to die at the hands of such a tired old man.”

King Donigan had indeed grown old, but his fiery spirit had not grown cold. Drawing the powerful sword that had united his fledgling nation behind him, he said, “Come. Taste the fire of my blade, dragon, and see which of us is nearer the grave.” He lifted his sword point high and aimed it at the vulgar creature before him. The weapon flared into flame and belched fire at Andokandazur.

The dragon narrowly moved its ugly head in time to avoid magical flames. Then it raised itself to its full height and scoffed, “You will have to do better than that, for I am the greatest of my kind.” The beast lashed out at Donigan, who tumbled to safety.

“Then better I shall do,” answered the fearless king. He set his sword into motion with a hum, directing it toward the beast’s exposed flank. The foul creature was quick enough to its defense, lightly brushing the blow to the side with its spiny tail.

Andokandazur snorted a hideous laugh as he flapped his wings to stagger the aged ruler and then snatched him up in his fist. “Now I shall bear you back to my den. Your skeleton will make an excellent trophy to add to my collection.” Then he sprang into flight, toting the captured monarch with him as he beat his way northward.

Andokandazur made a terrible error, though. The haughty dragon failed to pinch King

Donigan’s sword arm to his side, perhaps under the assumption that the aged ruler would turn loose his weapon once squeezed. The captured king was in horrendous pain, for the dragon was clutching him so tightly in its fist that claw tips were piercing his flesh like knife points. Yet the valiant old warrior clung to his sword, in which he knew lay all hope of survival. When Donigan felt he could bear no more pain without losing consciousness, and his blade with it, he called upon the failing reserves of his strength and the seemingly infinite power of his weapon, saying,

“Sword of the Dragon’s Eye, I call upon thee to aid me now!” He thrust his awesome blade up through Andokandazur’s soft underbelly, where it ripped into vital organs and burst into flames.

The creature screeched horribly. Its body wrenched in its anguish. Andokandazur crushed King Donigan in his torment and loosed the king’s broken human body, while he careened wildly out of control in his flight. The dragon swung low over the Wyrm Mountains, descending dangerously close to their jagged tops. Nevertheless, Andokandazur’s will was strong, and he denied combined forces of gravity and his dying body their rights to pull him down before he reached the safety of his lair. He nearly crashed into the peak of one enormous spire, but he flapped his wings with all of his remaining strength, stubbornly refusing to land so far from his refuge. He listed sideways, and the sword in his guts struck the face of the rocky spire. That blow jarred the Dragon’s Eye from the pommel of the sword, thereby quenching the weapon’s fire.