Karim eyed his sample jar with some rue.

There was a very light sheen to it – the faintest of glows, too dim to show as such in anything but deep darkness – but that was part of the preservative enchantment on the glass. Its contents were thick, opaque, and off-white.

“Aren’t you going to use it?” a voiced hissed in the great emptiness behind him. “After you went to such lengths to acquire it…”

“Having you watching me is not making this easier,” Karim shot back, anxiety putting an edge on his tone. He swallowed; this was not a being he wanted to offend, even if that being seemed to regard the whole business as wonderfully amusing.

A potion to let a man fly required the blood of a magical flying creature. Gryphons weren’t magical enough; the only beings known that could supply such blood somewhat reliably were dragons – no easier to subdue than other such beasts. But dragons were large enough that the quantities needed wouldn’t injure one, and they were intelligent enough to bargain with for it. Still, they didn’t like bleeding themselves – and resented doing so to give power to tiny humans. Their prices were high.

Many other potions that called on animal blood could also substitute that animal’s seed. It took some adjustment, but was much more effective. For the open-minded wizard, it was an easy route to greater power. Karim had collected from dogs, horses, bulls, bears, wolves, stags, two wolverines, and, yes, gryphons. It was generally something the creatures were all too eager to provide, for one with magic to keep safe.

So, he reasoned, the same could work with dragons. But dragon blood was not merely an ingredient in this potion, it was the base, the solvent. Some could be found willing to drink it for the power it gave, yes.

Dragon seed… might have more resistance on the drinker’s part. But if it was for himself, he only had his own resistance to overcome.

The first dragon he’d approached had been old and bitter. It had taken two seasons to amass a suitable offering for a simple audience. And that dragon had turned out to be female.

At least she’d been amused enough to direct him to Sirianathon. He was a big black beast, but young and eager and curious. The only condition he’d set was that he see the result. He’d even done the, er, collection himself, and filled that huge jar at one go.

Now Karim sighed and drew a quantity out of the jar. Into that flask he added distilled essences from the hair on a bat’s wing, a powdered gryphon eggshell, a lock of his own hair to attune it. It worked, so far as he could tell, as it ought.

One step remained.

The pungent stuff clung to his throat as he swallowed. But he instantly felt it take effect – pain gripped him briefly, and the world went dark.

Then he felt terror. He was in a tight, cramped space, curled up to fit. He barely had room to draw a fist back to pound on the walls of his prison – walls that splintered, cracked, fell away. As suddenly as he’d been caught, he was free, and could see again.

His clothing was in shreds all around him, amid shards of eggshell. Iridescent scales covered his body, claws tipped his… not hands, but all four feet; wings waggled from his shoulders.

“Not,” Sirianathon rumbled, “your intent, I believe?” And the great dragon broke into resounding laughter.