Kadav watched through the tavern window as the dragon rooted at a shiny object in the dirt. Recognizing it instantly, he reached for the empty spot over his thudding heart—gone!

A vice-like hand clamped him by the elbow and pulled him down. "You all right there, mayor?" Hrago whispered, alarm mingled with concern. "Did a beetle crawl into your britches?"

"Got a leg cramp, that's all." Kadav said, settling back into a crouch beneath the windowsill. His blood boiled at the sight of the dragon laying claim to his amulet. With the dainty precision of a lady slipping a coin into a purse, the giant beast pried open a scale and tucked it away. Patience, he counseled himself. When the dragon is dead, I'll have back what is mine and all that belongs to it as well. I'll hack that claw off and mount it on the wall. Now won't that be a thing to see.

Schick, came a sound at the mayor's side. Hrago had drawn his knife and set to pruning his fingernails again. At the rate he'd been going, it was a wonder his fingers hadn't been reduced to bloody stumps.

Kadav jabbed him with his elbow. "Put that away, will you."

"Sorry." Hrago slid the knife back into its sheath.

The dragon caught the scent of the baited cow and moved toward it with lumbering strides that set the window to rattling. Windows weren't all that was rattled. A loud gasp came from behind the bar where the two serving wenches huddled together in fright. Kadav should have had the foresight to gag them; one of them had a reputation for screaming. He was considering whether to go over and remedy the oversight when there came the sound of grappling followed by muted mumbling. Someone had taken matters into their own hands.

"Say, do you think it's a stallion?" Hrago asked.

"A what?" Kadav said.

"A he. You know, do you think the dragon's got balls?"

"How should I know? What does it matter, anyway? You planning on breeding it?"

"Just wondering is all."

Outside, the dragon stood poised over the poisoned cow. That's it, you devil-spawn, Kadav thought to himself. Dropping in for dinner? We've prepared a tasty treat for you.

Schick-schick, came the sound of Hrago's knife.

"Hrago!" Kadav hissed under his breath. "Didn't I tell you to put that away? On second thought, here, give it to me."

Hrago reluctantly handed it over. The knife was large and utilitarian like the ox-shouldered farmer himself. Nail pruning notwithstanding, Kadav knew there was no better man to have at his side in a dangerous situation. Hrago was loyal as a dog, strong as a bull, and not frightened by much of anything aside from bees, whose stings caused him to break out in a bumpy rash. He did have a nasty habit of fidgeting though. Not that the mayor could blame him for being a bit jittery under the circumstances. One blast of dragon-breath and they would all be sleeping with the potatoes. But it wasn't fear that drove the cabbage farmer to distraction, but idleness. Accustomed to the rigors of farm work, his hands had never mastered the knack of being still. Deprived of its usual outlet, his fidgetiness leaked out in the form of small talk. "You think this plan of yours is going to work?" he asked.

"Oh, he'll take the bait, all right. Just you watch."

"The rat poison, I mean."

"Worked on goodwife Mavery's cat, didn't it?" The incident had nearly sparked a blood feud between the Maverys and Glasdornnes who, in their quest to eradicate rats, had rid the town of many a beloved pet.

"Dragon's a lot bigger than a cat," Hrago remarked.

"And a poison cow is a lot bigger than a poison rat, wouldn't you say?"

"All the same..."

"It's going to work," Kadav asserted in his most mayoral tone. "You can bet on it."

"Just saying. What if it doesn't? What do we do then?"

"Shhh!" For a split second, Kadav pictured himself plunging the farmer's knife into his voice box. But secretly he feared that the cabbage farmer might have a point. For the rat poison to stand any chance of working, the dragon was going to have to eat the whole cow.

It was hard to imagine the dragon taking even a single bite of such unappetizing bait. The bedraggled bovine had been muzzled (they had already lost one cow when it decided to lick its own leg) prior to having the gray rat poison glommed all over it. To get it to stick they had applied a generous coating of pork fat. Poison wasn't the only thing that stuck. Drawn to it by the swarm, gnats and flies peppered it with their corpses. As the hot sun beat down, the pork fat began to run, filling the air with the worst kind of stink.

Dubious as the plan was, there had not been the time or genius to devise a better one. The days following the attack had given rise to despair, defection and even outright treachery. The priest, curse his pious soul, had dispatched a secret emissary to Alvaron. The dour-faced Engle claimed he had just been out gathering herbs (as if the candlemaker could tell the difference between a parsley and a poison ivy) when he was waylaid by backwater bandits that drubbed him bloody. His harrowing tale served to stymy the mounting exodus that threatened to empty Manfred's Mill of its usually stalwart inhabitants. Looked at one way, one might go so far as to say the town owed a debt of gratitude to the bandits. Unfortunately, the bandits did not traffic in gratitude and such convenient mishaps were costing the mayor dearly. But now was not the time to balance the ledger. If news of the dragon reached the outside world, the opportunity of a lifetime would be squandered.

Kadav adjusted his grip on the knife. The smooth handle in his sweaty palm felt strangely reassuring.

Knife-less, Hrago had taken to gnawing on his fingernails. "Say, did I tell you that I planted me a plot of watermelons this year?"

Kadav didn't hear him. His every nerve was strained on what was taking place outside the window.

"I know I said I wasn't never going to grow me no melons," Hrago went on. "Can't make stew from melons, grandda used to say, but when I seen those striped cucumbers they were passing off at the Bader Day festival, I says to myself, 'Now someone's got to show 'em how it's done.' The trick to growing things large is not to crowd 'em. Cabbages and watermelons, they ain't the sociable sort, see. They got to have their own territory."

The dragon snaked its head around, examining the tethered cow from all sides. "What in Ord's name are you waiting for?" Kadav said.

"Why, I already planted half an acre of 'em," replied Hrago. "But I'd appreciate it if you didn't let on to nobody just yet."

"That's the spirit," Kadav urged the dragon on. "See, there's nothing to be afraid of."

"It ain't 'cause I'm afraid. I was just hoping to make it a surprise is all. I thought I'd roll 'em out on Wesselhaw Day to the tavern here—assuming you won't be minding—for everyone to gew and gaw at. Then we can carve 'em up and dole out slices."

Kadav rolled the knife over in his hand. "For the love of Rho, stop fooling around and just eat the damn thing!"

"Eat 'em? Why, they ain't but the size o' finger peppers now. Can't grow no prize watermelons overnight."

"Watermelons?" Kadav said, hearing his companion for the first time in more than a minute. "What are you going on about?"

Outside, the dragon slashed through the tether and reached out with a massive hind-claw to seize the cow. It was about to make off with the prize when Hrago's knife, slick with sweat, squirted from Kadav's grasp. Reflexively, he tried to pin it against the window. As far as that went, he succeeded marvelously. Knife and hand collided against the glass with a loud crash.

Kadav froze, not daring to move a muscle. His gaze remained fixed on the knife as an enormous eye filled the space outside the window. With nightmare slowness, the golden halves drew back like curtains onto a secret chamber. For the second time that afternoon, a strong hand pulled him down into darkness.

* * * * *

Even had it not been covered in stinky, gray glop, Morg would have thought twice before taking so much as a nibble from the short-haired caribou. The situation reminded him of another encounter some ages past. Now, as then, he had found a large herd beast conveniently tethered outside a colony where the manlings were holed up. Less experienced in their devious ways back then, he had proceeded to cook and devour the animal on the spot. He was barely halfway through his meal when he was beset by the worst sort of bellyache. While he writhed in digestive distress, a swarm of stinger-bearing manlings burst from the tree line and set upon him en masse. Unable to breathe fire and barely able to fly in his condition, he had managed to fend them off with tail and claw and the occasional vomitous barrage of freshly ingested flesh.

The scales rose along Morg's spine. Did these manlings really think they could outwit him? Maybe he should set the whole colony ablaze and put an end to their chicanery once and for all. But that would scatter them deep into the woods, depriving him of a future source of breeders. Yet he could not allow the stunt to go unpunished lest they try more of the same.

An idea took shape in Morg's mind. Seizing the herd beast by the front legs where the gloppy coating was thinnest, he scanned the length of the colony for a suitable target. When a sharp retort sounded out from a nearby nest, he had his answer. This nest was considerably larger than the others, its wooden exterior a richer reddish-brown. In the side that faced the path was a clear, square aperture. Crabbing forward, Morg craned his head in for a closer look. Through the aperture, the bug-like head of a manling peered back at him.

* * * * *

Kadav pushed himself shakily to his hands and knees, his head still ringing from having been banged on the floor. "What's the dragon doing now?" he shouted. There was no point in whispering any longer, a conclusion the serving wenches had already arrived at. The air rang with their screams.

Hrago rose from his crouching position to look out the window, craning his neck toward the roof. "Looks like it's on top of us."

There came a great ruckus on the rooftop. Steely claws scraped against shingles, causing dust and bits of wood to rain down. Beams strained and groaned under the weight. Stones cascaded in the hearth, spreading ash, soot and smoke. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, everything went quiet and still. Even the screamers paused momentarily to catch their breath. The air was filled with an obscuring haze. The large, oak door seemed miles away.

"This way, mayor." Hrago's voice was a clear beacon of sound in the confusion.

Panting and coughing, Kadav groped his way toward his voice. When the haze finally began to clear, he was surprised to find himself standing out in the middle of the road. Eyes smarting, he turned to survey the damage. Apart from the sooty cloud billowing from the door, the tavern struck a familiar picture: the freshly paneled façade, the large window with its clear, Trevusian glass, the tankard-bearing signpost, and the peaked roof with its double-breasted chimney—

Kadav gasped. "Orduvan's balls!"

Protruding from the mouth of the chimney was the top two-thirds of a very disgruntled-looking cow.