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the
populace.
    “In
a week’s time,” Draconas predicted, well aware of human foibles, “a hundred
dead cows will become a hundred dead people. A single barn burned will be a
city ravaged.”
    He
was glad to see his faith in humanity had been upheld.
    The
guard was sullen and uncomfortable in Draconas’s presence and refused to be
drawn into discussion. He walked the streets in grim and clanking silence,
always at Draconas’s elbow, though the guard took great care not to touch him.
The only time the guard deigned to speak was to point out the local abbey,
where he laid great emphasis on the fact that the priests would be more than
happy to save Draconas from demonic influence. The guard also took Draconas past
the town square where, so he said pointedly, they burned witches.
    Draconas
paid scant attention. He was taking in every detail, making note of every
street, every building, making his evaluation. Above all, he was interested in
the ruler of this fair land of Idlyswylde.
    His
castle was typical of those Draconas had visited in other realms. Built on the
high ground, it had started out as a motte and bailey structure established on
a hill above the river. The now proud city of Ramsgate-upon-the-Aston had probably
begun life as a ramshackle collection of thatched-roofed huts, huddled close to
the wooden bailey for protection.
    Over
the years, the wooden fortress had been transformed into an imposing castle of
white stone with turrets and towers and ramparts and crenellations, courtyards
and outbuildings, stables and barracks. Scaffolding raised on the south side of
the castle walls meant that improvements to the palace were ongoing. The city
had crawled out of its thatched-roofed huts and moved into grand stone and
timber structures, with plastered walls and garishly painted signs, paved
streets and flowers in pots.
    Draconas
was not one to be impressed by architecture— dragons live in caverns, where the
temperature remains unchanged year-round, perfect for cold-blooded reptiles,
and he found that even after six hundred years, he still felt most at home in
caves. He was more interested in this proof that the castle and the city had
grown and prospered and thrived. Prosperity indicated a realm at peace with its
neighbors.
    A
realm at peace, until now. Now that the dragon had come.
    Arriving
at the palace, Draconas and his escort walked through the main gate and into a
vast courtyard crowded with young men, half-in and half-out of their armor,
shouting and gesticulating and proclaiming loudly that the dragon had seen them
coming and been too scared to fight. These must be the knights who had ridden
out in search of the dragon. Draconas inclined his head as he walked past them.
The knights paid him no attention, but kept on talking.
    The
surly guard led Draconas to the main entrance of the castle. Keeping Draconas
under close surveillance, the guard hallooed at the top of his lungs for
someone to come.
    After
several moments, a man appeared, emerging from a side door, ducking underneath
the scaffolding.
    “Ah,
Gunderson,” the guard grunted. “Just the man.”
    The
two conferred. Draconas heard the word “devil” used several times. Gunderson
was an older man, missing most of his front teeth and an eye. His remaining
eye, fixed intently on Draconas, held intelligence enough for six. He had the
air of a military man.
    “You
bear the king’s letter, sir?” Gunderson asked, leaving the guard and walking
over to Draconas.
    “I
do,” said Draconas, reaching for the pouch.
    Gunderson
waved his hand. “This way, sir.”
    The
guard cast Draconas a glance of loathing, “You’re walking with the devil,
Gunderson,” the guard warned.
    “I’ll
soak myself in holy water, Nate, if it’ll make you feel better,” Gunderson
replied.
    “
‘Tis no joking matter,” the guard said and, muttering underneath his breath, he
made another sign against evil and stalked stiffly away. “I’ll be speaking to
Brother Bascold