“You must admit they didn’t have much in the way of a defense plan,” the fighter said, pausing to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
Royce smiled at him, “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“And you? Did you find the doorknob?”
Hadrian picked up a jug and quickly downed several swallows, drinking so quickly some of the water dripped down his chin. He poured some in his palm and rinsed his face, running his fingers through his hair.
“I didn’t even get close enough to see a door.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Hadrian smiled, “at least you weren’t captured and condemned to death this time.”
“That’s the bright side?”
“What can I say? I’m a glass half-full kinda guy.”
“There he is,” Russell Bothwick shouted, pointing, “that’s Royce over there.”
“What’s going on?” Royce asked as throngs of people suddenly moved toward him from the field and the castle interior.
“I mentioned that you saw the thing and now they want to know what it looks like,” Hadrian explained. “What did you think? They were coming to lynch you?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a glass half-empty kinda guy.”
“Half empty?” Hadrian chuckled, “was there ever any drink in that glass?”
Royce was still scowling at Hadrian when the villagers crowded around them. The women wore kerchiefs over their hair, dark and damp where they crossed their foreheads, their sleeves rolled up, faces smudged with dirt. Most of the men, like Hadrian, were topless, wood shavings and pine needles sticking to their skin.
“Did you see it?” Dillon asked. “Did you really get a look at it?”
“Yes,” Royce replied and several people murmured.
“What did it look like?” Deacon Tomas asked. The priest stood out from the crowd looking fresh, clean, and rested.
“Did it have wings?” Russell asked.
“Did it have claws?” Tad asked.
“How big was it?” Vince Griffin asked.
“Let the man answer!” Dillon thundered and the rest quieted.
“It does have wings and claws. I saw it only briefly because it was flying above the trees. I caught sight of it through a small opening in the leaves, but what I saw was long, like a snake, or lizard, with wings and two legs that—that were still clutching Mae Drundel.”
“A lizard with wings?” Dillon repeated.
“A dragon.” A woman declared. “That’s what it is. It’s a dragon!”
“That’s right,” Russell said. “That’s what a winged lizard is.”
“There’s suppose to be a weak spot in their armor near the armpit, or whatever a dragon has for an armpit,” a woman with a particularly dirty nose explained. “I heard an archer once killed a dragon in mid-flight by hitting him there.”
“I heard you weaken a dragon by stealing its treasure horde,” a bald-headed man told them all. “There was a tale where this prince was trapped in the lair of a dragon and he threw all the treasure into the sea and it weakened the beast so much the prince was able to kill him by stabbing him in the eye.”
“I heard that dragons were immortal and couldn’t be killed,” Rose McDern said.
“It’s not a dragon,” Esrahaddon said with a tone of disgust. He stepped out from the crowd and they turned to face him.
“Why do you say that?” Vince Griffin asked.
“Because it isn’t,” he replied confidently. “If it was a dragon whose wrath you had incurred, this village would have been wiped from the face of Elan months ago. Dragons are very intelligent beings, far more than you or even I and more powerful than we can begin to comprehend. No, Mrs. Brockton, no archer ever killed a dragon by shooting him in a soft spot with an arrow. And no, Mr. Goodman stealing a dragon’s treasure doesn’t weaken it. In fact, dragons don’t have treasures. What exactly would a dragon do with gold or gems? Do you think there is a dragon store somewhere? Dragons don’t believe in possessions, unless you count memories, strength, and honor as possessions.”
“But that’s what he said he saw,” Vince countered.
The wizard sighed. “He said he saw a snake or lizard with long dark wings and two legs. That should have been your first clue.” The wizard turned to Pearl who had finished driving the last of the pigs into the courtyard of the castle and had run back out to join the crowd. “Tell me, Pearl, how many legs does a dragon have?”
“Four,” the child said without thinking.
“Exactly, this is not a dragon.”
“Then what is it?” Russell asked.
“A Gilarabrywn,” Esrahaddon replied casually.
“A—a what?”
“Gil…lar…ah…brin,” the wizard pronounced slowly, mouthing the syllables carefully. “Gilarabrywn, a magical creature.”
“What does that mean? Does it cast spells like a witch?”
“No, it means it’s unnatural. It wasn’t born—it was created, conjured if you will.”
“That’s just crazy,” Russell said. “How gullible do you think we are? This thingamabob—whatever you called it—killed dozens of people. It ain’t no made up thing.”
“No, wait,” Deacon Tomas intervened, waving to them from deep in the sea of villagers. They backed away to reveal the cleric standing with his hand still up in the air, his eyes thoughtful. “There was a beast known as the Gilarabrywn. I learned about it in seminary. In the Great Elven Wars they were tools of the Erivan Empire, beasts of war, terrible things that devastated the landscape and slaughtered thousands. There are accounts of them laying waste to cities and whole armies. No weapon could harm them.”
“You know your history well, deacon,” Esrahaddon complimented. “The Gilarabrywn were devastating instruments of war—intelligent, powerful, silent killers from the sky.”
“How could such a thing still be alive after so long?” Russell asked.
“They aren’t natural. They can’t die a normal death because they really aren’t alive as we understand living to be.”
“I think we’re going to need more wood,” Hadrian muttered.
As the sun set, the farmers provisioned the castle for the night. The children and women gathered beneath the great beams of the manor house while the men worked to the last light of day building the woodpiles. Hadrian had organized effective teams for cutting, dragging, and tying the stacks such that by nightfall they had six great piles surrounding the walls and one in the center of the yard itself. They doused the piles in oil and animal fat to make the lighting faster. It was going to be a long night and they did not want the fires to burn out, nor would it do to have them lit too late.
“Hadrian!” Thrace yelled as she ran frantically through the courtyard.
“Thrace,” Hadrian said, working to the last minute on the courtyard woodpile. “It’s dark. You should be in the house.”
“My father’s not here,” she cried. “I’ve looked everywhere around the castle. No one saw him come in. He must still be at home. He’s out there alone, and if he’s the only one alone tonight—”
“Royce!” Hadrian shouted, but it was unnecessary as Royce was already leading their saddled horses out of the stable.