1

A long, long, time ago

“Our story begins, as all the greatest stories do, a long, long time ago!” Shayar began, and the people settled in.

“It was a time of magic! A time… of dragons!” They cheered.

“They were fierce!” they cowered, “They were magnificent!” they murmured in agreement, “They were beautiful and dangerous and beloved and hated! In fact…” Shayar looked up at the Castle behind them, “one of them, by the name of Jadugar, roosted like a proud hen at the very tippy-tippy top of the Fallow…”

ⱡ

The rider came from the south, along the Iron Road. He wore broken armour, on his back hung a broken shield. His face ought to have been hidden ‘neath a helmet, but the helmet had been sundered and the man’s cheek was gashed. Ahead, not too far, through failing eyes behind heavy lids, he saw the palisades; the standard atop the towers, the flag flying from the castle. Did his lord await him? He did not know, and he hoped that he did not.

The gate guards gave a cry, and the palisade gate was opened swiftly. They shrieked and beseeched Banc for protection as they saw the knight pass them by. He should be dead, they said. How is he still alive? Another asked.

He rode on without speaking. The horse underneath him was not his for his own, Buckle, had been killed. It was not the only death he mourned that morning.

He rode till he collapsed. He collapsed, quite by chance, in the shade of the Old Ash.

*

In the centre of the Castle, there stood a keep – the tallest, it was said, in South Frain. In that keep, named Greystone, slept the lord and his lady and her daughter. It was an early morning, the grey sky was still untroubled by the golden light of dawn, and Serafina – the young daughter of the lord – looked out across the Vale.

Her mind was troubled with secrets which ought not have been hers. She wished, as she stood, that she did not know. But she did, so her mind was made up.

She wore white that day, a loose dress and thin for the day was hot. Her long hair, blonde and thick, was made up in a bun. Over it all, she donned a thin coat and did up the knot of the bonnet. She picked up a basket, which was filled, incidentally, with lavenders and blue-bells, and took a long look at herself in the mirror. She looked nothing like the heir apparent she was, or so she convinced herself.

The disguise, that of one of the handmaids, proved enough for she slipped through the gates without trouble. As she walked down Fallowstone Hill, she saw to her right a rider.

She stopped in her tracks, and could not stop herself from thinking, over and over again, he is supposed to have died! It was good, she decided, that he hadn’t. There may yet be hope. So she picked up her pace, and hurried down the hill hoping to meet with Sir Tauth in the market square.

When she arrived, she saw him ride into the square. He paused a moment, then collapsed.

*

When Tauth woke, he was certain he was dead and glad for it. It was dark around him and he waited for one of Banc’s Judges to appear, like a ship out of the fog. He sat up, for he was lying down, and blinked. The world began to take shape, and Tauth’s heart sank upon recognising the shapes of the Arms’ basement.

There was a woman sat beside him; it was Lady Serafina!

In another time, he would have got to his feet, but he lay back down and groaned. She did not seem to mind.

“I thought I had died,” he spoke and his throat was dry as sand.

“You should have,” Serafina replied.

“Why am I not?”

“I couldn’t let you die. You are important,” her voice seemed pained, though Tauth was unsure of what he heard in that damp basement. “Here,” she pressed a cold bottle into his hand. “Drink it – fully! It will help with the pain.”

“Beer?”

“No.”

“Damn.” He got up, raised it to his lips, and drank. It tasted like sweet grapes but it burned like whiskey. “What is it?” he asked after he had coughed. “It nearly burned me alive from the inside!”

“A decoction. One of my own design. You needed it to live. Feel your face,” she instructed, staring at him intently.

Tauth raised his hand to his face, and in so doing noticed that the gauntlet had been removed. In fact, all his armour – including his gambeson – was gone. Still, his fingers had traced the wound on his cheek and, lo and behold, it was sealing itself as he felt! It was as though his skin was being stitched back together. The shock of the sensation, which felt like a hundred slimy worms wriggling against his fingers, caused him to recoil.

“Witchcraft!” he cried, half in disbelief, half in joy.

“Hardly,” Serafina rolled her blue eyes.

A few moments passed, moments in which Tauth downed another one of those fiery brews, and felt his shattered ribs fix themselves, before either of them spoke again.

“Why did you save me?”

“Because without you, all is lost. I had hoped for the Captain of the Wall to help, but a Knight of the Keep is better by far.”

Tauth wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t be. “Why would I help you? Your father sent my men and me to our deaths!” he had hoped to shout, but all he managed was a half-angry rasp.

“I know why, Sir Tauth. It is not because he has gone mad, though I fear he has. He wanted the Knights of the Keep to die, so that he may enact the final parts of his plan,” Serafina’s voice was small, smaller than Tauth had ever heard it be. “You and your men were the only ones who could stand in… its way.”

“It?” Tauth sat up straighter, now more intrigued. "Don't you mean him?”

Serafina stared at him for a good long while, her blue eyes cloudy with tears. “No, Tauth. He means to summon hellfire.”

*

“He promises the dragon gold, you say?” Tauth asked.

Serafina was used to Tauth being more competent than he was in that moment. Perhaps she should have noted that the man was battle-worn and wounded, but this she felt had been cured by her. She said none of this, of course, for she was not stupid. “Yes – all of it.”

“Coins?”

“Yes, but largely ingots and jewellery and the like.”

The morning had turned to evening by the time Tauth had woken, and the Castle’s Arms was now bustling with people. Above them, Serafina could hear the boisterous crowd; they sung badly, the piano was being butchered, they shouted as the drank, they cheered as they spoke. Through the small grill window of the basement, there trickled in the smallest hints of firelight.

“How did he speak to a dragon?” Tauth was still in disbelief.

“I told you, I don’t know. But he means to command one, or so he plans. I doubt it will work, but I do not imagine a dragon will take kindly to being tricked.” Tauth nodded as she spoke. “What then will the dragon do? Fly away? No, not if what we know about them is true. No, it will burn everything down in revenge.”

“So, you mean to kill a dragon? It will be difficult."

“No, by then it will be far too late. I mean to kill my father.” She nursed her beer, a drink she had grown quite fond of over the last few years, and stared intently at Tauth whose eyes were narrow with suspicion.

“How do I know this isn’t simply a plan to seize the keep for yourself? Make yourself mistress of the Vale?” he asked the only logical question he had to ask.

“You don’t,” Serafina answered honestly. “But my father is not an honourable man.”

Tauth shrugged, but his eyes betrayed his agreement. “What do you then suggest?” he sipped his third bottle of Serafina’s concoction. “It occurs to me that it is impossible your father has not heard of my return. I rode down the High Street, the gate guards know me, I collapsed in the market square.”

Serafina grinned. “Worry not,” she said simply. “No one remembers any of that.” Tauth looked as though he wanted to argue, but Serafina did not give him the chance. “We must leave, first and foremost.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Tauth noted.

“True, but there is a… man I must see. He is like me – gifted in what you call magic, that is. Havenock is his name, and his tower is hidden in the Oaken Maze. We journey there tomorrow at dawn. Are you well enough to ride?”

“I will need a sword and some mail,” was his only response.

Serafina jerked her head toward a corner of the basement, where rested a gambeson, a longsword, a skullcap, a coif of mail, a riding cuirass, gauntlets, and a kettle hat.

“You work fast.”

“I have been planning for a long time,” she said flatly.

“Well then… to the old forest we shall ride!”

ⱡ

The children sat silently, the adults too were quiet. The wind blew gentle in their faces, as Shayar paused for breath. They were amazed, the ones to whom Shayar was new, for he sang without halt and story-told without stop.

He smiled at them, having filled his lungs, and they looked at him as a child looks at cake. Their looks, the particular looks adopted by those that have gotten lost in story, filled him with great happiness and his smile broadened. He laughed and cried, “Oh! What a day to tell a story!”. They laughed with him.

“Shall we continue?” he asked, and in unison they called, loudly and gayly, “Yes!”.