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head of his trick-some enemies, but the dragon he sought was not there. Neither was the cave empty, for it was the mating season of the dragons. Much to the party’s surprise, they encountered Faethlenkandur’s favorite mistress, Motkinildora: The Dragon-Queen.
    Motkinildora was as old as her mate was--and was equally fierce. Fifty feet in length from smoking snout to thick hind legs was she, having also a thirty-foot wingspan. The whole of her body was armored in scales as red as the setting sun, as tough as the finest suit of mail Valdigar Steelbender ever crafted and far surpassing that legendary craftsman’s work both in beauty and in strength. She had a long, spiked tail that could pound rock into dust with one powerful blow.
    Her talons were curved scimitars, her teeth were deep rows of knives and a blast furnace was her fiery breath. She was a well-known, and terribly feared, patron of the dragon temples.
    When King Donigan’s company burst into her mate’s lair with their weapons in hand, she growled, “What have we here?” She moved closer to the human leader, until her wide snout was almost touching his face, and asked, “What do you want?”
    Motkinildora did not intimidate King Donigan, although her potent breath staggered him somewhat. He righted himself and answered, “For five long years of devouring sons of Beledon, I want YOUR HEAD!” As he finished speaking, the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye flashed up, and then arced downward, until it bit hard into the Dragon-Queen’s neck. She screamed in rage and pain, but since the human king had caught her completely unprepared, she was doomed. King Donigan jerked the magical blade through the neck and free of Motkinildora, rending her flesh and deepening the wound. The dragon mistress let loose a blast of flaming breath, which burst wildly from her open cut and her mouth in synchronization and in alternating turns alike. It deflected off the king’s magnificent shield and struck the cavern wall. King Donigan slashed her again about the neck, this time striking her with all of his strength. The rending steel completely detached her head from her body.
    The newly ascended monarch decided to wait in ambush until Faethlenkandur returned. He did not have to tarry long. Faethlenkandur was already gliding toward his cavern, even as King Donigan was lowering his first fell blow against Motkinildora. He must have heard her death cry, must have witnessed the light of her fiery blasts from afar, for Donigan and his knights did not take him wholly at unawares. He swept down from the clouds with the swiftness of the wind and the stealth of a hawk on the hunt. The great dragon sent a burst of flame into the entrance of the lair and followed in afterward, full of fury and wrath.
    The blast of blistering fire surprised King Donigan and his knights, many of them bursting into flames where they stood. At that wicked turn of events, all of those remaining knights were stricken with terror. They cowered behind their shields and hid themselves against the walls of the lair. All of them save King Donigan and his brother, Sir Bornan, trembled at the ferocity of the dragon’s attack, the awesome power of its might. The king and his younger brother stood behind their shields, undaunted by the beast. They knew there was but one way out of the lair--
    through Faethlenkandur, for the bulk of the creature now blocked their only exit.
    “YOU!” the beast boomed. Tongues of flame made a dazzling display alongside the dragon’s wrathful word of condemnation. Faethlenkandur stood to full height upon his hind legs and bellowed, “You will pay for your treachery.” With that as its only warning, the dragon struck at Donigan with the claws of its forefoot.
    The human king was able to raise his shield at the last possible moment, enabling him to blunt the blow, but the sheer force of the attack unbalanced him. The dragon shoved Donigan to his right until he fell, but he rolled and bounced