Margaret Weis - Heroes And Fools

The town was a small place by the side of a swiftly flowing mountain river. It didn’t even have a central square. There was just a smattering of stone and wood houses.

“Let me do the talking,” Kresean said. “I’ve already spoken to the man they sent out looking for help. His name’s Chandael. He was the first to tell me about the reward.”

“Reward?” Dayn’s brows furrowed. “What reward?”

“They’ve promised a reward to whoever kills the dragon,” Kresean said.

“You didn’t tell me we came to collect a reward.”

Kresean clapped a hand on Dayn’s back. “You’re a crusader, all right, lad. Look at it this way. I know how much you love to sing. You’d do it for free, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t, do you?”

“No,” the bard had to admit.

“You don’t have to feel like a thief, just because you earn your living. These people want to give us something. It’s rude to turn it down. If you did someone a favor and they wanted you to stay for dinner, you wouldn’t refuse just because you’d have done it for free, would you? No. You accept their hospitality. Besides, we’ve got expenses to pay for. A little reward never hurts.”

“Well, I guess. I just thought-”

“There are practical sides to everything, lad,” Kresean said. “If I make a name for myself, someday I’d like to get a job as a captain of the watch or a councilman in a small city. I like to help people out, but I’ve got to take care of myself as well.”

Dayn relaxed. “You’re right. Of course. Sorry.” He fiddled with his reins.

“Think nothing of it, lad. Your heart’s in the right place. No mistake about that. That’s all that really matters.”

The two riders were noticed quickly as they road into the tiny town. The first few people they saw were quick to duck back into their houses, but soon the bolder citizens stood watching them from doorways. The glum-faced citizens watched the two men as they rode along the main trail that meandered through the cluster of houses.

“Excuse me!” a man shouted from a distance. “What’s your business here?”

Kresean turned in his saddle to face the middle-aged villager who spoke to them.

“Good, sir.” Kresean delivered one of his magnanimous smiles and gracefully slid from his horse. “I spoke with a friend of yours, Chandael. He said you are in need of a swordsman.”

A short, nervous smile grew on the big man’s face. “You’ve come to help then?”

“Aye, that I have.”

The man sighed in relief. Soon twenty people gathered around, patting Kresean on the back and shaking his hand.

“Chandael’s still gone looking for help,” the big man said. “We didn’t know if he had found anyone.”

“Well, he found me. Sir Kresean Myrk Saxus at your service.”

Dayn blinked. Sir Kresean? He wasn’t a Knight.

Kresean’s smile faded into a serious look. “The drag-on-has anyone seen it again?”

“No, sir,” the man admitted. “No one has seen it yet, but we’ve followed its tracks, and the way it takes apart a sheep is a terrible thing to see.”

The villagers nodded their heads.

“We’ve gone out looking for it but only in large groups. It hasn’t shown its face. We thought one man might succeed where many would fail. I would try it myself, of course, but I haven’t even got a sword.”

“Of course,” Kresean said, careful not to hurt the man’s feelings. “No one expects you to slay a dragon anymore than you’d expect a soldier to know how to plant a field.”

The man nodded and seemed to feel better.

“More animals were lost again this week. Soon we shall all be forced to seek our livelihoods elsewhere. Our poor village barely has enough trade to survive as it is.

And with poor Kindy’s loss. . We fear more for the safety of our children with every day that passes.” The man’s gaze drifted to the ground.

“Do you think you can help us?” A woman broke from the throng and headed for Kresean. He turned to her and took her hand in his.

“What is your name, good woman?” he asked.

“Cessa. I have two daughters. I’m afraid to send them to herd the sheep. Yet if no one is there to watch them, we might lose the entire flock.”

Kresean patted her hand. “Cessa, tomorrow at first light my comrade and I will find this rascal and liberate him of his head. I shall bring it back as proof, and you can do with it as you see fit.”

A flicker of a smile crossed the woman’s face, and a murmur went through the crowd.

“Thank you, kind sir. Thank you. The gods must have sent you.”

They were given a room that night in Chandael’s loft, which doubled as an inn for what travelers managed to find themselves in Feergu. Dayn couldn’t sleep, but Kresean’s light snores assured him that everything was going to be all right. He meant to ask the warrior about calling himself a Knight. Probably that was another practical necessity. The man was everything Dayn could’ve asked for in a hero. The bard finally drifted off to sleep, dreaming of shining armies and huge banquet halls in which to sing his ballad.

The next day Dayn and Kresean bade goodby to the villagers and rode west toward the dragon’s lair. Heavy mist rode alongside them. Moisture clung to Dayn’s skin like wet fingers. The mountain’s bulk was a palpable presence before them. Everything seemed unreal to Dayn.

At the beginning of the ride, Kresean had been strangely pensive. If ever there was a time to talk of past war stories or to delineate a plan to fight the dragon, now was that time, but as they left the town, Kresean said nothing.

He’s mentally preparing himself, Dayn thought. Best to leave him alone.

The entire ride passed in silence. Finally they came to the river ford where the people had lost the beast’s tracks. Farther upstream the valley narrowed into a steep canyon with many caves along the water’s edge, where the people suspected the dragon kept its lair.

“If this is the ford, then we’re almost there.” Dayn smiled at his companion. Kresean grinned back.

“We’ll have this rascal’s head stuffed in a sack before lunch.”

The two crossed the river and crept up the rocky hill on the far side. The ground sloped down gently until it neared the water and dropped off into a sheer cliff. Dayn started to walk along the edge of the cliff. Below was a series of caves. There were half a dozen small openings, their mouths near the water. Among the rocks below, Dayn spotted some scattered bones. The remains were covered with tufts of bloody wool.

“Ah ha!” Kresean whispered and pulled back from the edge. Dayn did the same.

“Looks like this is it, lad.”

“We found his lair,” Dayn whispered excitedly. He could barely contain his excitement. “Do you think it’s in there?”

Kresean nodded. “I do. Let’s think a moment.”

“Yes,” Dayn said. “So, do we go in after it right away? Or lure it out?”

“Easy, lad. Not so fast. We wait.”

“Wait?”

“Best to be prudent to start. Let’s see the size of the thing first, then we can make our plan.”

“Oh,” Dayn said. “Okay.”

They settled in to watch the cave’s opening.

When half the day had passed, Dayn thought he was going to die of boredom. He had long ago given up lying next to Kresean and staring at the cave. Instead, he paced back and forth. A short while after Dayn had become bored, so had Kresean. Instead of keeping vigil on the cave, he had unpocketed some game stones and was tossing them in a patch of dirt he had smoothed. He seemed completely unconcerned. He’d invited Dayn to join a few times, but the bard wanted to get on with the adventure. This wasn’t what Dayn had in mind when he thought of dragon hunting. Shouldn’t the whole process move a little faster? Perhaps he was being impractical again. Certainly Kresean knew what he was doing. Still. .