Airgid whipped her head back towards the sky, brushing her white blond hair from her eyes. She didn’t even need to search to see the dark shape against the brightness of the sky. She turned back towards the villagers who by now were all looking at the sky in stupefied wonder. Absolute silence reigned in the village square for another second and then chaos erupted as the alarm bell sounded. A woman screamed and children began to cry. Men shouted for weapons and mothers ran around looking for their missing children. A loaf of the baker’s bread fell from his market table and rolled across the ground crushed beneath the rush of feet.
Airgid watched as the shape in the sky grew bigger. Drokbar walked up to her side, also looking towards the sky. “You have to look to see what the color of the dragon is,” he said. “You can tell a lot about the dragon by seeing what color it is.”
She looked at him in surprise and he gave her a sideways glance and flushed bright red. “I’m not an idiot, you know. I’ve learned a few things. I listen.”
She looked at him for a second longer and nodded, turning back to the sky. “You’re right,” she said. “If it is red or black then we may as well sing a song to the goddess and enjoy our last moments.”
Drokbar’s flushed face paled. “We haven’t had reds or blacks come to the village since before I was born. Before the mayor was even born.”
“We haven’t had any dragons at all for that long. So what makes you think we’ll be lucky enough to get a dragon in a good mood?” The voice came from behind them and neither looked away from the sky as Lanfin walked up beside them. He was an old crusty badger of a man, but he had once been a great warrior, or so the stories said. Lanfin had fought in the Napir wars when the Napirese barbarians had tried to invade the Pashtuan. The stories said that Lanfin had singlehandedly killed seventy Napirese barbarians, but no one really knew. Lanfin refused to talk of the war, saying he was nothing but an old farmer now.
Lanfin didn’t look like any farmer. He looked exactly like the warrior in the stories that the villagers told behind his back. Now, he held a broadsword that was so heavy he had to hold it with both hands. Drokbar eyed the sword. “Have you ever fought a dragon before, Lanfin?”
Lanfin paused and grimaced. “I have.”
The pause made Drokbar look from the sword to Lanfin’s face. “And?”
The warrior smiled mockingly. “I fought a red dragon. Do you know what red dragons are like, boy?”
Drokbar shifted and stood up straighter. “Of course, I do. Mean, nasty things. They’d sooner eat you or burn you to a crisp.”
Lanfin nodded. “That’s right.”
“So?” Drokbar asked.
“So,” Lanfin echoed. “I got one good stab in and I ran for it. Made it too.”
Drokbar nearly choked in his indignation. “You ran for it? I thought you were a great warrior.”
“You only know of me as a warrior because I ran, boy. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been alive to fight in that war.”
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