plate armor, dented and scratched in spots in evidence of the fierceness of battles past. He held his sword stiffly before him like a pathfinder, lighting his way in the dark.
Soth ran toward his son, but stopped when he noticed the boy's eyes.
They were two large white spheres absolutely without color. The young man was blind, wandering aimlessly over the mountainside, in search of
… 'Father, are you there?'
'Yes!' cried Soth, moving toward the boy.
But the dragon was back, plunging down toward them, so close now that
Soth could feel the rush of hot wind against his body as it approached.
He drew his sword to face the beast. It was a red dragon, its head and snout crowned by great spiny horns and its body covered with large red diamond-shaped scales.
Such a powerful and evil enemy, even Soth felt a shiver of fear run through him.
'Father, help me!'
The dragon swooped closely overhead, then rose up in a slow, wide arc in preparation for another pass.
Soth turned toward his son, but a rock rolled in front of him and he was forced to jump back… Directly into the path of another, larger rock.
The great stone slammed into him, knocking him down and pinning him to the ground. Desperately he tried to move, but both his legs had been crushed, and the rock-more like a boulder-was far too heavy to move.
'Father? Are you there?'
Soth tried to speak, but the words would not come to his parched throat.
The red dragon had circled back once more, this time coming in to land on the side of the mountain no more than fifty paces from the boy.
'Is that you?' The younger Soth turned his head toward the dragon, listening to the sounds of movement around him.
The dragon moved closer, a wide villainous smile forming on its hideous snout. It began to inhale, gathering its breath. Then, slowly it opened its mouth wide.
Soth felt the blood drain from his face. His heart fell into the pit of his stomach. He opened his mouth to scream, but could not make a sound.
The red dragon exhaled a cone of white-hot flames.
'Father, please…'
The boy's sword and shield began to melt in the wash of fire.
'Help me!'
And a moment later the young Soth was also aflame, his armor and body being incinerated by the intense heat of the dragon's fiery breath.
'No!' Soth cried, this time managing to say the word.
The dragon closed its mouth and turned to face him.
Thin white tendrils of smoke wafted up from its nostrils and the corners of its mouth as it took several steps in his direction.
Soth began to thrash from side to side, pulling at his ruined legs, trying to get them free.
The dragon inhaled again, then opened its mouth and… 'Milord!' whispered Caradoc.
Soth's eyes fluttered open. 'What?' he gasped. 'What is it?'
'Are you all right? It sounded as if you might be in pain.'
Soth fought to catch his breath. He looked around. It was still dark out. Slowly, he remembered where he was, and realized he'd been having a dream.
A bad dream.
A nightmare.
'No, I'm… I'm fine,' he said. He looked down at his legs, and saw that his feet had become entangled in his cloak. He kicked the cloak away. 'Is it my turn to keep watch?' he asked hopefully. Anything to keep him from returning to the nightmare of the dream.
'No, milord,' said Caradoc. 'It is time to go. Your turn to keep watch came and went some time ago. You were sleeping so soundly we decided it was best not to wake you.' Soth said nothing to this. He could reprimand his knights for not waking him, but he knew the fault lay within himself. After all, the squire's first rule was that knights who slept too deeply did not live very long. It wasn't like him to forget something like that, but he had.
Perhaps it was best not to dwell on it. In fact, the less he reminded himself about his ghastly nightmare the better.
'Very well,' he said at last. 'But, don't let it happen again.'
'Yes, milord.'
Soth rose up off the ground, stiff and sore, his clothes cold and damp with sweat.
The knights were well on their way as the sun broke over the tops of the Dargaard Mountains. After a cold night and its legacy of stiff joints and sore bones, the sun's warmth was a more than welcome relief for the knights.
Soth took his customary position at the head of the group during the early hours, but as they neared Halton, he allowed the rider who'd come from the village to take the lead position given that he was more familiar with the surrounding terrain.
When the village at last came into sight, Soth moved the knights slightly up the mountain slopes in order to avoid detection as the ogres would no doubt have one or two guards watching the surrounding lands and especially the approach from Dargaard Keep.
As they made their way through a shallow gully, one of the knights let out a birdlike cry. Soth immediately halted the knights with an upraised fist. The procession stopped and went silent as Soth waited for the knight who'd called out the warning to offer a report.
The knight turned out to be Colm Farold, Knight of the Sword. 'Voices, milord,' he said. 'Coming from over there.' He pointed with a subtle gesture at a thick patch of fireweed growing close to the ground some yards off.
Soth nodded, and listened closely. Indeed there were faint sounds coming from somewhere to his left. He gestured to Farold with his head, then pointed to two other knights. The selected knights immediately dismounted.
'Nothing here, men,' said Soth, moving forward through the gully, leaving the three knights behind. 'I think it's best we be moving on.'
Once they were through the gully, Soth doubled his men back around in a wide arc and minutes later they were once again traversing the gully.
Except this time, Farold and the other knights were there waiting for them, swords drawn and two prisoners in hand.
'Hender and Pike!' exclaimed the rider.
'You know these two?' asked Soth.
'Indeed, milord. One is my cousin, the other his neighbor.'
Soth looked at the men flanked by the trio of knights and recognized them from their manner of dress as being simple farmers.
'We found them cowering in the bushes almost with their heads buried in the ground,' Farold explained.
'We were afraid you might be more ogres,' said the older of the two, the one the rider had identified as Hender. He was a man with thin gray hair, a long white beard, and the red neck and thickly calloused hands of one who tills the land.
If the man hadn't been so terrified, Soth might have considered his words an insult. And if their task wasn't so urgent, he might have taken the time to make a comment about them. Instead, he decided to concentrate on the matter at hand. 'How long ago did you escape from the village?' 'This morning,' said the other farmer, a somewhat younger man who was obviously the one named Pike.
'Before sunup.'
Soth wasn't surprised by this. It was just like ogres to take over a village, then get careless about keeping it while they indulged on food, ale and wine in celebration.
