It turned out that I didn’t have this.

  The village was picture perfect. A mixture of subterranean hobbit homes and treehouses accessed by spiralling staircases and linked together above ground with swinging rope bridges. What passed for friendly wildlife here would be categorised as major threats. Bun-Bun, long dead and fondly remembered for his delicious flavour, would fit right in.

  I’d used rather a lot of mana on Speculator Visus. The average monster level was in the sixties, but some went as high as anything I’d seen among the powerhouses of humanity. Even Big Kenny would need to tread carefully in this place.

  Pockwols, weird birds that lined the branches above us and occasionally attempted to poop as we passed beneath them, resembled the overly cute chimaeric nightmare that might occur if a badger and an owl had a torrid affair. The branches that they favoured for roosting had been painted white with their byproducts, byproducts that Jace had taken what was, in my view at least, an unhealthy interest in.

  “You see the growth around those trees,” the little alien muttered, poking at an admittedly verdant-looking fern. “Rich in nitrogen. Excellent fertiliser.”

  “I’m not here to acquire literal shit,” I muttered.

  “No, you’re here to score horns and not split the loot fairly. Even among dragons, that’s a dick move, Bob.”

  “Oh, go probe yourself. You’d have done all right.”

  “A handful of gold, as opposed to a roomful of the stuff.”

  “He’s my bloody alchemist,” I muttered, looking away as the Grey lifted a white tipped finger to his thin lips and tasted the “product”. Pockwols were relatively normal in comparison to some of the beasts frolicking around the village. Squigglenips scurried up and down the trunks with no need to use the delicate-looking stairs.

  Stairs that somehow held up when Barnulswinkers, which resembled roided up grizzlies, stomped up and down them. Then there were the elves and the other unicorns.

  “Perfect for refining into explosives. Bob, if your alchemist is worth half a damn, he can use this poop to make some cool shit. No good for orbital bombardments, but landmines, explosive shells, bombs. Bombs, Bob. We could load them into pouches of holding and just shake them out as we flew over the puny mammals.”

  I carefully set aside his interest in bombing planets from space. “We’ve got breath attacks,” I pointed out. There was an elf, chatting with a pink unicorn, who kept looking up and glaring at me. It was a six out of ten kind of glare. Not bad, but hardly professional quality. His black hair was pulled up into a topknot that fell down his back almost to his waist. Sunshine-coloured skin and flashing golden eyes. Pure elfiness.

  The pair of them began moving towards us as Jace started to argue about the merits of disposable ammunition. Apparently, he could only use his breath attack so much before it ran out and needed time to recharge.

  “I haven’t had that issue,” I countered.

  “You are a streamer. I’m a squirter.”

  I snapped my eyes over to him, shuddered slightly, then looked back at the approaching pair of strangers. Bargleblaster was currently engaged in an excited conversation with a tall, dark-skinned elf across the town square, wild hand movements on both sides punctuating their speech.

  “Never, ever say that again.”

  “I meant that my breath comes out in bursts, whereas you and Bargleblaster are more like flamethrowers. I have power where you have stamina.”

  “I’m still not liking the tone of this conversation. If you think the bird shit is valuable, take some. I’ll let Cyrus have a look at it.”

  “I’ll be selling it to him.” How much could shit really be worth? I opted to let him have a win; hopefully, it would get him off my scales about the whole horn debacle.

  “Fine. Fair price, though. And that man is incredibly important. Anything happens to him, I will eat you. Erm, hello? What can we do for you?” I asked as the pony, and the long-ears finally reached us.

  “Greetings, delightful dragon. May your devastations be dilapidating and depraved, destroying all who differ from your designs,” the elf said in a melifluous voice. Oh, great. More alliteration. Elves were as bad as alchemists, it seemed.

  “A pleasure. And you are?” I asked, holding out a hand as Jace opened his mouth in the corner of my eye.

  “I am Katprick Evergreen, scion of House Evergreen, fifth in line to the throne and master of the mystic arts, survivor of the Fallimpiad.” The bow was impressive. His nose nearly touched his shins as his arms swept out to both sides, long green sleeves trailing through the air.

  “Cingulum Virtutis, dragon. Cornulongum is ready for you to do your part,” the unicorn said gruffly.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “So soon?”

  “Her coven is ready and waiting in the House of Flutterbies,” replied Cingulum.

  “What the hell is the Fallimpiad?” Jace demanded, earning a low-level glare from me. He had a tiny speck of bird poo at the corner of his mouth. I hurriedly made wiping motions when he glanced at me, but he just stared in confusion. It’s so hard to make a good impression when you bring the TOTS along.

  “Glad you asked! Each of the elven sectors offers its finest, once every five decades. Fifteen elves enter, one elf leaves. It takes place on the island of Battroy. Over the course of a week or so, we are forced to survive not only the hostile environment, but also each other as we compete for the honour of our sector, all while scrying spells broadcast it live in amphitheatres across the Sylvan Estate.”

  “It’s a death match?” I asked. Elves were going up in my estimation.

  “It’s a cooking show. We’ve had some amazing judges. Gorboon Grenemental sang the praises of my elf ear risotto when I faced off against Pralics Cocktrance the third. Like your friend here, he was also a fecalphage. It did not go down well with the judges.”

  “So you won by default because they didn’t like to eat shit?”

  “Hardly, and harsh harassment is hopelessly hurtful,” Katprick said sulkily. Elves once again went down in my estimation.

  “So how do they die if it’s just–”

  “Shut up, Jace. Ok Cunilingus, let’s do this.” I nodded to the unicorn, who snorted and turned to stalk away proudly without another word.

  “I’d be happy to talk you through the penalty system if you’re interested?” Katprick offered to Jace. “With your dietary, ah, interests, it might be of some concern?”

  “Elves are weird,” I muttered to Cingulum as we headed towards the edge of the clearing and one of the largest trees I’d ever seen in my life.

  “One of your companions suffered head trauma as an infant, and the other eats bird shit. I wonder what oddity you’re hiding from us to appear vaguely normal in comparison.”

  His hooves clip-clopped on the fragile staircase as we began winding our way up the tree. How best to answer that point?

  “My girlfriend reads kinky novels?” I offered tentatively.

  “Hardly unusual. You, though, are an aberration.”

  “I’m just a dude.” I shrugged as we passed large rooms hollowed out of the trunk, filled with workshops and living spaces. They weren’t carved, there was no sign of toolwork on the flat surfaces, it looked like the tree had grown that way.

  “A dragon who is given an aspirant to the WOO as a bound companion. From this, we can conclude you were a, what is it you humans say? Douchebag? I think that’s it.”

  “I wasn’t always the nicest, but that’s hardly fair.” A Squigglenip, six feet long, not including the big, fluffy tail, sprinted up the bark next to us and made me jump.

  “You have some role to play beyond what you understand. The return of the Primal Empire doesn’t explain it, at least it doesn’t explain the whole story. And you’re so stupid. Why would the WOO choose such a dull tool?”

  “I’m not a fucking tool.” Wrath flared in my menagerie, flames pushing the others back; even Greed shied away.

  “I meant catspaw, not–never mind. What is your goal, dragon?”

  We had come to stop on a wide platform, high above the canopies of lesser trees. A sea of green and white spread out in every direction, snow caught on thin leaves and branches. Eagles circled high overhead, drifting on thermals miles above the treetops.

  “Get rich, don’t get a Karmic downgrade when I die. Have fun with Esme and punish anyone who tries to take what’s mine.”

  “You’ve embraced the lizard.” He turned big brown eyes toward me and blinked slowly, then he let out a weird chuffing noise. “And now you’re tangled in interspecies politics and the internal struggles of the humans.” Whenever he said human it sounded like a slur.

  “Are you going somewhere with this?” I demanded.

  “You’re an enigma wrapped in a conundrum and dipped in stupid. I cannot understand what IMPS has in mind for you. I’ve been alive for nearly four thousand years, seen nations rise and fall, dark wizards subjugate the land–”

  “Is this it? The Chamber of whatevers?” I waved at a heavy door next to us.

  “It is.”

  “See you later.” I stepped past him and shoved at a door that refused to move. “Open Sasparilla!” I intoned. “How the hell does this open?”

  “You knock.” Cingulum shook out his mane and stepped out into the air, his tiny pink wings fluttered rapidly as he began to float towards the ground far below. “Good luck, moron.”

  "Piss off, Fluttershy." I knocked harder than I should have. Bloody uppity toy horses being all smug and superior.

  The door swung open, and I stepped inside to be greeted by three more My Little Ponies. “Twilight, nice to see Applejack and… what was the white one called? Don’t care… The hell is this?”

  It bore an uncanny resemblance to the bunnyborg manufactory. In the centre was a table lined with thick leather straps clearly intended to hold down a victim. Wheeled trollies covered in shining surgical steel and weird magical devices rested at the side of the sacrificial altar, the other ponies nudging their contents around with their nightmare-snouts split open to serve as hands.

  “The procedure won’t be without pain,” Corny said casually, as though it would reassure me. “But Sternite and Ungula are highly skilled and won’t do any long-term damage.”

  “Alright then. You know what? I’m good, I’ll just buy some horns on the market.” The door slammed shut behind me. “How much pain?” Would my breath attack work? I had a feeling my magic would not be effective against these crazy horses.

  “We need to open you up to get a proper look at your mana network,” said the yellow pony. I hadn’t caught which one was which when Cornie had named them.

  “Ah, damn. I don’t think this is going to work. I’ve got god-forged scales. My ARM stat is–”

  “Over nine thousand,” cut in the albino hobby horse. “We know.”

  “And I take it you’ve found a way around that?” I asked cautiously.

  “Of course. We will temporarily disconnect your body from IMPS, leaving you as a baseline human, in this case,” Yellow said cheerfully.

  “You can do that?”

  “It’s not an easy procedure, and we will also be affected, so fear not. Once the ritual is finished, you’ll return to normal. Mostly,” Cornie added.

  “Mostly?”

  “The chance of side effects is very small. Infinitesimal in fact. Do you think the lack of trust, and the psyche behind it, might be part of the oddity?” This last part was aimed at the other ponies, not me.

  “Come along, please. This won’t hurt a bit.” The pale pony had a scalpel stuck to the end of two of her mouth parts that caught the light as she spoke.

  “I’m really ok. Look, dragon parts are pretty valuable too, right?” I made a quick calculation in my head. “How many horns can I get for Bargleblaster? Blood, bone, scales, that’s a lot of materials!” At least I got his name right this time, but it might not have been a good moment to mention how valuable I was if they stripped me for parts.