The chained mage rocked his head back and wailed, the ululating howl of a wolf calling the moon. Malus realized his mistake and jammed the cigarette out on his captive’s leg while weakly backhanding him with his left. But the rising smoke from the cigarette was answering the call.

It swirled , glowing, assuming a serpentine shape – wings, a characteristic snout. The dragon was small, no more than a foot in length – and capable of turning the room into a kiln.

Corner drew his gun and fired at the smoke. The smoke twisted and fired back, a fine spray of living flame that turned the half-troll into a torch.

Malus drew his pistol, pressed it to the mage’s head and pulled the trigger, but the summoning was complete. The drake fixed its empty eyes on Malus and hissed a stream of fire at him.

Instinctively, Malus sent his pain to Berger, who erupted in flames and began screaming. Seizing the moment, Malus leapt out the door and slammed it shut behind him, smoldering and cursing as the knob heated under his hand.