The Dragon's Tomb

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He came, just as I knew he would. Just as I knew he must. Humans are that way. Predictable. Idealistic. Bound by honor and vow and silly passion. Knights of the Three Suns, particularly, are that way. It makes them easy bait, as easy to kill as horses in a corral—and I’ve killed enough of those in my time to know.

But, truth be told, Fain Flinn was different. Flinn the Mighty, they called him, and for good reason. The first time I fought him, I discovered he couldn’t be as easily slain as all the others. It was that damned great sword of his, that Wyrmblight. We could, neither of us, kill the other, and that sword mocked us all the while.

Yes, it was Flinn who shamed me—Verdilith the Great Green, scourge of Penhaligon—Flinn who shamed me into winning through subversion what I could not through battle. So I shed my lovely green scales and took human form. I insinuated myself into Baroness Penhaligon’s good graces, even seduced Flinn’s loving wife Yvaughan out from under him… . And, when all was in place, I turned a fellow knight against him, made him accuse the good Flinn of dishonor.

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