He was lying on the ground, too stunned to move. The stuff
he had poured down his throat was surprisingly smooth, for about the first
second or so. Then it started burning away his tongue, his tonsils, his
esophagus, his stomach. It was as if the liquid was a parasite, eating him
alive. He felt the urge to belch fire, but lacked the necessary parts to
accomplish it. This potion was apparently meant to be taken in and exhaled
immediately. He gathered up the will to blow outward. The resulting flame
reached the branches of an overhanging tree. Though over thirty feet up and
green, the leaves withered and caught fire, burning merrily in the wake of the
blast of heat that was still spewing from his mouth.

    He was too preoccupied with his present condition to notice the crowd. Had been able
to, he would have seen a mad dash for cover. Those farthest from him were back
peddling, turning and breaking into a dead run. Those in the front suffered
scorched fur and burned noses. Sybeele was momentarily stunned, not knowing
what to do. Having his power didn't mean she knew immediately the best way to
use it. If she overtly interfered, then it was going to be common knowledge that
she was no longer a simple female stuck with a revolving menagerie of forms. On
the other hand, she seemed to sense that her new husband was in over his head.
Drinking a potion meant for a dragon was perhaps as stupid a thing as he could
have ever done. It didn't matter if he had his spell singing ability, nor the
power of a unicorn. This stuff seemed like bottled lava, with all its
characteristics and temperaments.

   She stood her ground despite the inferno now issuing from his mouth. If she had
been holding a raw haunch of meat at this distance, it would have been cooked.
An idea coalesced inside her skull. Draak. She dived to the ground and crawled
to his body, which seemed more like some strange fire-spewing kinetic sculpture
than a living being. His hands were grabbing at the stones and his knees were
bent up in obvious pain. She only hoped he kept that blast going upward. If he
rolled, there were going to be a lot of people burnt to a crisp. She touched
him, feeling his talent trying to grasp with the liquid now inside his
body.  She touched his mind, not giving
him a choice in the matter. All at once he became a dragon again, and like
before, without his consent or control.

   His long neck snaked skyward, still belching flame. It was now easier to deal with.
His throat no longer felt like he had swallowed burning coals mixed with
uranium. However, it felt like his insides were home to a turbocharger, for the
force of the flame just kept coming. It was like he was a living fire hose;
literally. He tried to take off, but the force of the blast knocked him back.
During all this he had the sense to keep his head high, for there were still
stragglers gawking at his new and infinitely more dangerous form. Some had been
knocked off their feet and were simply getting an eyeful before they thought
they would expire.

  With a sudden inspiration, he clamped his mouth shut and launched into the air. This time he
gained altitude. He pumped his wings furiously, counting off the seconds until
his throat could no longer contain the heat. One…two…three…four… He was now
several hundred feet in the air. He opened his mouth. The sound from the
resulting explosion of fire boomed across the town and all the way to the
mines. The echo reverberated off the walls, shattered a few windows, and scared
everyone working the fields.  In
appearance, it looked like nothing anyone had ever witnessed. It was if
momentarily, a second sun had appeared in the sky.

  That second sun was now racing through the sky, gaining altitude only slowly.
Jon-Tom tried to get as high as he could, but speed was lost with his mouth
open. He snapped it shut again and pumped his wings. He made a quarter mile
higher before he was forced to exhale. It nearly knocked him into a tailspin.
The resulting flash lit up the cloud momentarily. In the next moment the
moisture was seared into oblivion. He was still desperately forcing his wings
harder and harder. Whoever that old dragon had been, he must have been a lot
larger than this. On the other hand, he might not have been a flyer.  A larger mass would have helped counter the
force of his artificially generated inferno.

   Once he was high enough, he got the inspiration to turn his head until it was facing
backwards. Now he was moving forward. The problem was he was moving too fast.
He locked his wings as tight as he could and braced himself for a long flight.
Now and again he would shut his mouth and whip his head around to see where he
was going. He was presently high enough that there appeared to be no
obstructions in his flight path. He now had time to wonder.

  The first thing was, why the hell did I do that? He already knew the answer. He
just hadn't expected this stuff to be more than very potent alcohol. Secondly,
when was it going to wear off? As he was thinking this through, rather belatedly
it seemed, he heard a voice in his head. He was expecting it to be Eve, but
instead it was Sybeele. She sounded pissed.

  “You're damned right I'm pissed. This stupid little stunt of yours has caused a great
deal of discomfort here on the ground. I had to hastily diminish the effects
before anyone could realize how burned they were. I'm not used to dealing with
this power, and I hate being forced to use it. So here's the deal. You can come
back to town when you've burned up the last of that stuff. And you might want
to start circling back. From what I can assess, you're already a good fifteen
leagues away. On the other hand, you can keep going for all I care. I'm not
offering you another drop of help until you've burned off all of that fire
water! I assumed you were much smarter than this! Once this is settled, you and
I are going to have a long talk!"

  With that, without letting him get in a word edgewise, she was gone. He dipped a
wing and cocked his head, veering to the left. He got himself as oriented as he
could and began heading back. From time to time he closed his mouth, testing
the pressure of the fires within. He was able to contain them for a longer
period at each try, meaning that they were slackening off. It was a good thing
he had only taken a glass full. That entire cask could fuel a volcano for
weeks! As the pressure subsided, he decided to make the best of it. He pulled
his head around to face the front and began blowing blasts at the clouds,
watching the white fluffs vaporize back into steam.

  It was another hour before he quit belching fire uncontrollably. By then, he was able
to distinguish this wyvern's natural fire for the artificial stuff over which
he had no control. Now, when he closed his mouth, he could keep it closed. It
was a trait he was going to need to remember. He circled Hobarrow, zeroing in
on the plaza outside of Priccolo's place. There was still a crowd there,
waiting expectantly for his return. His sharp vision caught sight of his wife,
who was standing there with her pretty hands on her curvy hips. She had as much
fire in her eyes as he had had in his gullet.

  The crowd parted, giving him room to land. He looked around from one to another,
expecting them to be upon him with pitchforks and torches. What happened was an
outburst of cheers and hollers. Everyone had watched in horror as he had the
nerve to drink the stuff. The inferno coming from his mouth was mesmerizing to
watch, which accounted for so many receiving burns. His transformation into a
dragon was unexpected. No one had any idea it was on account of the quick
thinking of his wife. Of course, Jon-Tom thought to himself that if he had
retained his power, this would never have been an issue. But she was right; he
had been brash and stupid. Having unlimited power had dulled his sense of
responsibility to those around him. He was too used to fixing things as he
went. Now it wasn't so easy.

  But the folks was cheering for him. Priccolo, who in the absence of the fire breathing
dragon had had the good sense to get the barrel back underground, came up to
him. His nose was red, and his gray fur a bit darker than before. But he bore
his appearance with dignity. “My Lord Mayor! We held a quick discussion, and in
honor of your new form, we have decided that a more befitting name be given. It
is, of course, optional for you to use, seeing as you already have a
respectable name. But after watching the rather memorable and spectacular
transformation at the hands of this ancient brewed potion, we thought that
perhaps you might take the name Aiden Drake. In light of the impression you've
made on us, it seems only right to give you a name for history to remember."

  He paused a moment. “On the other hand, you will hardly be fit to govern in this
form. Not only will the house be insufficient, I believe your wife will find
the burden of having a permanently altered husband much more of an annoyance
than I presume you did with her constant changes." He droned on for a while. Jon-Tom
listened to him patiently. When he found a lull, he spoke, carefully aiming his
head skyward. “My dear Priccolo." He stopped at the sound of his voice. He
expected it to be different, but even a dragon could overdo the whole fire
routine. He sounded hoarse. “My dear Priccolo," he started again. “I have gone
by many names. The sound of this new one you have chosen rings well on these
ears. But as you say, my return to duty is dependent upon returning to normal."
He looked straight at Sybeele as he continued speaking. “I will enlist the
support of the wizards' guild in reversing this unfortunate side effect of that
brew. In the meantime, I believe my wonderful wife will have to hold down the
household until I can revert back to something more…sizable."

   The wizard who had overseen the parchment came forward. His name was Mrillas. “My
Lord Mayor. We know little about this potion, but if there is a way of
reversing it, please rest assured that we will find it!" Jon-Tom sighed mentally.
There was nothing any of them could do, for the problem wasn't in the potion,
but with his now very angry wife. Something told him he was going to be
sleeping outside for a while. She popped into his head long enough to tell him,
“You're damn right!" She was so loud it made him wince. But he knew she was
correct. What he had done was stupid, if necessary, and he was willing to take
full responsibility for it.

  That left the matter of where he was going to sleep. Truthfully, as a dragon, he
could sleep anywhere. It wasn't as if bumps and lumps bothered something
covered in scales. He would simply need a place big enough. And fire proof.
That was likely to be a necessity, just n case any of the potion was still
lurking in his system. He didn't want to be responsible for a fire burning down
the town. Apparently that little matter had been discussed too, during his
aerial maneuvers.

   His wife spoke up, for the first time using her mouth and not her mind. “It seems
my husband cannot come home, and I am sure he understands that I wish to be by
his side in this troubling time, but I wish not to become flattened in my sleep
by his inadvertent rolling. Huntchfeld has generously offered to lend you space
in his stable until such time as your condition is reversed, assuming that it
ever is able to be reversed." She was doing her best to sound like the brave
female, but Jon-Tom could tell by the edge in her voice that she wasn't going
to be changing him any time soon. And staying with Huntchfeld? The horse likely
bore him a grudge now. He was hardly likely to have volunteered his space to
the man who caused him all sorts of difficulties.

   But surprisingly, the horse came forward. “Yes, my Lord Mayor, I would be honored
to have you under the roof of my ancestral home. I will make certain that all
of the combustibles are removed from your area. It seems we are going to be
spending some time together, so I hope that you will find my hospitality better
than you did a few days ago. I was not always so contrary. Perhaps, if you
wish, I can tell you how it happened. If not, then perhaps we will find
something else to discuss. I assure you, I am well versed in many things. And I
would offer you a drink, but I am presently disallowed from it, and I believe
you've had enough for one day!"

  Jon-Tom could almost agree. He really did want a drink right now. But as a dragon, it
was unfeasible and impractical. He turned to follow the horse through town,
where a good portion of the people watched from the relative safety of their
houses. He would have told them that his breath could burn through and wooden
door, but why scare them with something he would never have reason to do? As it
was, his weight, while light for a dragon, was still enough to vibrate the
cobblestones underfoot. His wings were furled tightly against his back, lest
they catch on the flower pots and miscellaneous other items lining the street.
His mouth was clamped shut. He had no desire to toast Huntchy's tail.

  It turns out, much like Lorissa's family so many decades in the future; Huntchy
had a considerable abode. To call it a stable was an insult, though it was laid
out to the needs of equines. There was one large common room, with double doors
wide enough to accompany the width of a wagon, which had been set aside for his
personal use. Huntchy was quite the host. “My Lord Mayor, or if you wish,
Gentleman Drake, this will be your commodious apartment until such time as you
may return to being human. If you think I harbor you any ill feelings, rest
assured they were vaporized in that first blast of fire. I know your wife is
royally perturbed right now, but I think she will come around to seeing your
point of view. She is, after all, the reason you turned into a dragon in the
first place, is she not?"

   Jon-Tom took a moment before answering. Apparently there was more to this horse than he
had let slip from his disguise as an ignorant, drunken sot. That is, unless he
had been informed of Sybeele's abilities by… No one knew about them except for
himself and her. She wasn't likely to tell. Jon-Tom's eyes narrowed as he
looked at the horse. “You seem to know a lot more than you let on. I think you
may be correct in assuming we will have a lot to talk about. I look forward to
getting to know you. And yes, she did turn me into a dragon." Huntchy whinnied
a laugh. “Better you than herself. That, I think, you might not have survived!"