The road from Meanvr was almost deserted, with just one lone figure and his horse travelling west on the banks of Dark River. The water was as black as its name suggested, throwing up not a single reflection despite the sun’s bright light shining down upon its surface. Somehow life still dwelt within the black water. Fish occasionally broke the surface, only to be swooped upon by opportunistic kingfishers.

Upriver was the small village of Hyven, a tiny outpost about halfway between the distant cities of Meanvr and Tsona. The coming of the lone man had already been noticed. The charred wooden gates were thrown open, and half a dozen armed guards stood on the side of the road, their pikes raised to the sky. A guard of honour for the approaching hero.

Anton regarded this all with bright eyes, wrapping his horse’s reigns tighter between his fingers. The old mare had a habit of bolting around strangers. He didn’t want a scene like the one at the Meanvr markets.

Chuckling slightly at the memory, Anton watched as the captain of the guard strode out from the village walls. They met where the narrow trail that led to the village splintered away from the main road. “Your sword is most welcome here, Knight of Aegia,” the captain said in greeting.

“Is your mayor ready to see me?” Anton said brusquely.

“He is, my lord. He is in the village hall.”

“Good. Take me there please, and find someone to stable old Greta here. She could use a rest and some food,” Anton replied. He looked up to the sky, but there was no sign of the menace that had drawn his presence. The air was quiet and still, with barely even a bird soaring overhead. The metallic ring of a blacksmith’s hammer rang out through the air, drowning out the distant sound of cattle and other livestock.

Anton passed Greta’s reigns over to a guard as he passed the wooden walls that surrounded the village. The walls bore the scars of the recent conflicts that had plagued Hyven. Here and there the wood had been charred and scorched, in some places whole planks of wood were missing. Remarkably, the damage seemed restricted to the outer walls only. Not a single building within had been touched by the flames.

The village hall was easy to find, being the largest building right in the centre of the village. The cobbled piazza that surrounded the hall was full as what seemed like most of the village had turned up to witness the arrival of this legendary hero. Unlike the usual celebrations that normally heralded Anton’s arrival, Hyven was taken by a nervous silence. Only a few haggard cries and isolated outbreaks of applause followed him.

Inside the village hall was the large audience chamber, where the mayor and his aides were waiting for Anton. Dressed in the traditional red velvet robe of the Aegian landowners, the mayor of Hyven rose to greet his guest.

“Welcome, Anton, the greatest dragon slayer east of the Snowcaps,” the mayor cried, spreading his arms wide.

Anton blanched and stumbled. “I’m sorry? Did you call me dragon’s layer?”

The mayor spluttered, almost falling from his stand in shock. “Why, no, good sir. Dragon slayer, is that not what you are?” he replied, putting particular emphasis on his words.

“Slayer, right, yes.” Anton cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back. “That is why I have come. Shall we discuss the terms of my services, and then you can point me in the direction of the beast?”

The mayor quickly recovered his composure as he offered Anton forty gold aurels and two barrels of the village’s finest wine, with half to be paid once the dragon was killed. It was a rich sum for such a small village. Their need was great indeed if they were willing to make such an offer. Anton didn’t even attempt to negotiate the fee upwards, accepting the deal with barely a moment of thought.

As a contract was written up detailing the accepted terms, the mayor came down from his raised dais and shook Anton’s hand. “We are glad you managed to make it here so soon,” he said, losing much of his formality and pomp as he guided the dragonslayer back outside. “Ever since the dragon came our village has ground to a halt. No one uses the main road anymore. If someone wants to get from Meanvr to Alanat they’ll take the road to Tsona, adding several days to their journey. There is no trade anymore, and with no trade we have no money coming in to the village. We had no choice but to turn to a slayer.”

“This dragon will be gone in a week, I can promise you that.”

“I hope you’re right. You’re our last hope.”

“I have never failed before. I don’t intend on starting that now.”

***

For what remained of the afternoon, Anton lingered around the village, waiting for the dragon to show itself. Though there were some muttered protests that he wasn’t making any progress in slaying the beast, these whispers quickly stopped once he explained his logic. It was better for the dragon to come to them, rather than risk being ambushed by hunting for its lair.

That night he stayed in a room above the small tavern, his bed and meals provided for at no cost. The tavern was deserted, not even the barroom had any patrons. The rest of the village stayed within their homes, cowed by the presence of the dragon. He shared several stories with Ivar the tavernkeeper, keeping a guarded tongue as he told of his past exploits. He didn’t want just anyone learning his most precious secrets after all.

His room was rustic and basic, but after several weeks of travelling on the road it felt luxurious to Anton. He revelled in being able to soak in a tub of hot water for a while, letting the exertions of his travels fade away. This village had already made him rich. It would be a simple matter to collect the remainder of his fee.

Anton rose with the sun the next morning. Ivar was already awake by the time he descended into the barroom, looking so alert Anton wasn’t even sure he had slept. A quick fried breakfast was provided, before the slayer emerged into the village. Few were awake, but the smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the village square. It was a pleasing aroma, and Anton knew he would need to visit the little bakery later, but for now he had work to do.

He spent most of the morning patrolling the village walls, keeping his eyes focussed on the miles of farmland and wilderness that stretched out in every direction. Partly he hunted for signs of the dragon, but he also studied the lay of the land, learning the location of every contour and ridge. A small forest to the east interested him greatly. He could use that to his advantage.

The dragon, he was told, usually flew over once a week. Normally it didn’t bother too much with the village, just giving a few swoops and deafening roars, and instead preferring to chase down any brave travellers on the road. Only an ill-advised volley of arrows had drawn the dragon’s wrath last time it had passed by. If this was right, then the dragon should show itself again the next day.

The mayor threw a festival that evening, celebrating what was surely to be the end of the months-long reign of terror from the dragon. It was not a huge gathering, with only about two dozen people descending upon the village hall, but it was a merry feast. Though many drinks were thrust in his hands, Anton refused them all. He would need his wits about him if he were to succeed in his plan, and a hangover was not the way to go. Instead he watched the villagers dance from the shadows, staying close to the food-laden tables.

“You aren’t from around here, are you?”

Yet another woman held out a drink for Anton, which he politely took but never once raised to his lips. “How could you tell?”

The woman smoothed her skirt before taking the spare seat next to Anton. “I have travelled, you know. I can recognise an Alvanan accent, especially one as strong as yours.”

“I have lived in Aegia for most of my life, but you’re right, I was born in Tembul.” Anton was impressed with this woman. While it was true his enunciation was often considered posh by Aegian standards, it was usually dismissed as being the result of a wealthy upbringing. This woman, whose name he was to learn was Arianne, had heard what most others were too ignorant to realise.

The usual questions quickly followed; why had he come this far from his homeland, and did he prefer life in Aegia? Anton’s answers were evasive, not wanting to reveal too much about his past, but Arianne was satisfied when he said he stayed in Aegia for the adventure his profession gave him. That, and love. Given his job it was tough, knowing that his love was out there alone, but he coped. The time they spent together made it all worthwhile.

Anton smirked as the group of young women that had been lingering around him started to disperse at the realisation that he was spoken for. There had been a time when barroom flings had been a perk of such a glamourous profession like a dragonslayer, but those days were behind him now.

Gradually the evening petered out, and after a few drunken speeches from the mayor, Anton returned to the tavern. The moon was full, and from somewhere over the moors, a wolf howled. Now there was a job he was glad he didn’t have. Keeping werewolves away from the villages and towns was none of his concern. Only the brave and foolhardy stood up to a werewolf.

Anton paused before pushing open the tavern door, the back of his neck prickling as though he was being watched. Slowly he glanced back to the alley between the bakery and butchery. Something moved in the shadows there. His hand moved to his sword.

The figure stepped out into the light. Anton relaxed when he saw the rust-red fur of an ailur, one of the bestial creatures that lived to the far south-east of Aegia. It was rare that any came this far north, and they were usually only employed as messengers. Aegians tended to distrust them, but Anton felt no fear as the creature beckoned to him. This one was familiar to him.

The ailur’s black eyes were wide as he slowly crept forward, his long fluffy tail twitching behind him. He nervously pawed at the white markings on his face, his nose twitching at all the unfamiliar scents. “Deryn sent me,” he whispered, flinching at the sound of a door closing. “She said she’s ready.”

Anton nodded, patting the ailur on the shoulder. “Good. I thought she might be. Go back and stay safe with her, and I’ll catch up with you when I can.”

The ailur squeaked out an affirmation in his native language before scurrying back into the shadows. Anton waited for a few moments until he could no longer hear the messenger’s gentle footfalls. Ailur typically went without shoes, their feet were ill-adapted to the human concept of footwear.

Once he was sure the ailur had made it out the village safely, Anton return to his room. He would need a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow was when the real work would begin.

***

The next day was as perfect a day for dragonslaying that Anton could ask for. The sky was completely clear, and there was barely a breeze to speak of. There would be nowhere for the dragon to hide in the air. As he stood on the main road with Greta by his side, Anton looked back towards Hyven. The villagers had ignored his request for them all to stay within the safety of the walls. That could make things more difficult, but he could improvise.

Ulric, the captain of the guard, had come forward to stand with the dragonslayer. In silence they waited. Several times Anton resisted the urge to look through Greta’s packs to ensure that he had everything he needed. He knew it was all there, but the tension was starting to get to him. He wasn’t used to such an audience.

After an hour of waiting the first roar could be heard. The dragon came into view a few moments later, appearing from behind the hills in the west.

“She’s a female,” Anton cried out, marvelling at the copper scales of the dragon as she flew overhead. “Note the lack of horns, and the streamlined, slender body. Males are more thickset, more powerful but slower and less agile in flight.”

“I don’t care much about identifying the creature. It’s a menace, and deserves to die. Male or female doesn’t bother me,” Ulric replied tersely. He had raised his sword as though in futile defiance to the dragon as she started to circle over Hyven.

Anton continued to study the dragon. He estimated her to be about thirteen feet in height, with a wingspan of at least three times that. Her colouring was primarily copper, but he could also see some darker stripes along her back.

“How do you intend on killing it? Magic?” Ulric asked, tearing Anton’s attention away from the dragon.

“With this,” he replied, pulling his bow from Greta’s back. He carefully selected a single arrow from his quiver, ignoring the incredulous look that was spreading across Ulric’s face.

“We have fired hundreds of arrows at the beast. Its scale is too tough to pierce,” the captain of the guard said.

“But you didn’t have this arrow. It’s enchanted. Now excuse me, I don’t want to miss this shot,” Anton said, notching arrow to bowstring. He watched the dragon. She seemed content to just circle around the village, occasionally flying as far out as the small forest that encroached towards the main road and Dark River in the east. Perfect. If the dragon fell there the trees would prevent her from taking to wing again.

Waiting for the perfect moment, Anton unleashed his arrow. He lost the small shaft into the sun, but the dragon’s shriek told him all he had to know. He had found his mark.

The dragon plummeted to the ground, smashing through the trees with a deafening crash. She did not rise again.

“Did… did you kill it?” Ulric asked in a hushed whisper.

“I’m going to find out. Stay here with Greta. Do not let anyone approach.”

Handing the captain of the guard his bow, Anton stalked off towards the forest, his sword raised in front of him. A downed dragon was just as dangerous as a flying one. Tooth and claw were every bit as deadly as flame.

***

The mayor and a few other brave souls joined Ulric in his vigil with Greta. The horse, thoroughly unconcerned by everything around her, had taken to eating the lush grass around her hooves.

“Is the creature dead?” the mayor asked.

A horrific shriek erupted from the forest, sending bird and beast scattering from the trees. The mayor blanched, and everyone but him and Ulric fled to the village at the sound. Only the horse showed an incredible indifference to the dragon’s roars.

“If the slayer fails…” Ulric said, but his words died in his throat. He knew well enough that Hyven would not survive if the dragon was not killed now.

Trees shook as the dragon roared one last time, a pained noise that was suddenly cut off. The silence that followed was agonising to both men. They waited… and waited… and waited.

Anton emerged from the trees, staggering forward and using his sword for balance. His leather armour was coated in red.

Ulric rushed forward, the mayor close on his heels and showing good fortitude for a politician more used to sitting behind desks than physical activity. They were stopped at the forest’s edge by a sharp word from the dragonslayer.

“Don’t go in there.”

“Why not? I wish to see the dragon defeated,” the mayor demanded, trying to push past the slayer, but Anton held his sword out to block him.

“A dragon lies dead within these trees. Her blood spills over the ground. A curse has fallen upon this forest. None should enter for… a year should be safe,” Anton warned. The mayor immediately backed away, staring at the branches of the nearest tree as though fearing it would reach out and grab him.

Anton spread his arms wide. “But come, now is the time for another celebration, is it not? Hyven is freed from the dragon’s wrath. You can live free of fear again.”

***

The celebrations ran until the small hours of the morning. This time there was no fear amongst the villagers of Hyven, and only the young children remained behind in their homes. Drink and food were plentiful once again. The frivolous nature of the evening wasn’t even diminished by the realisation that the cause of their celebration was missing. Anton the dragonslayer hadn’t been seen since he had claimed the remainder of his prize. Though many drinks were raised in his honour, no one thought to go searching for him. He had probably already moved on, the common excuse was. On his way to his next dragon to slay.

***

It was easy to slink out of the village unseen. Anton didn’t look back once as he led Greta out towards the main road. The poor horse was laden with the two barrels of wine he had won for his services, as well as his normal equipment, but she bore it all without complaint. The moon lit their way, the distant howl of wolves the only concern, but even the werewolves wouldn’t dare approach him now.

“Karrax? Karrax, are you there?” he called out as he approached the small forest.

The ailur poked his furred head out from the foliage. “Here, my master. Deryn is waiting for you. She grows a little impatient.”

Leaving Greta in the capable hands of Karrax, Anton cautiously picked his way through the thick trees, towards the clearing in the middle of the forest. Deryn was there, waiting for him.

“Did the plan work, my love?” the copper dragoness asked, a sly grin spreading across her scaled muzzle.

Anton raised the bulging sack of gold tied securely to his hip. “It worked perfectly.”