Gathering Intelligence

The sun rose early, igniting the sky with fiery colors and chasing the darkness away. Daffyd arose from his makeshift bed of straw and stretched, scrubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes before yawning and scratching at his sides. Climbing out of the stall, he exited the near empty stables and went to the inn. He found Sir George seated at a table near the fire, a plates of eggs and pan fired meat before him.

Looking up, the knight smiled at the boy, “The day is almost half done and we’ve a dragon to slay sleepy head,” he teased, seemingly  unimpeded by the effects of his over indulgence the night previous.

Daffyd grinned and nodded, joining the knight at the table. Jenny appeared with another plate of food, smiling down at the boy who nodded and smiled in return.

“We’ve a meeting the village head shortly, to talk about the dragon, make haste with your provender,” Sir George informed, chewing noisily.

Nodding, the squire ate as quickly as he could, golden yoke spilling down the side of his face before he wiped it away with the sleeve of his long shirt.

The village head turned out to be a woman of middle years named Margaret. Her husband had been in charge of Carrington until the pox took him just three years back. She was not particularly tall or imposing, but carried herself with a certain sense of import. Her grey hair pulled back off her face as she walked into the Dancing Unicorn.

“You are Sir George?’ she asked, walking to the table and looking at the knight.

“Aye, I am he,” he replied. “You must be Margaret.”

“And this is?” she asked, looking to the boy.

“This is Daffyd, my squire, he will be assisting me,” advised the knight.

She nodded.

“Please, sit,” offered Sir George, offering the woman a seat on the bench beside Daffyd.

“Before we begin, you should know this, we’ve less than forty pieces of silver and a like amount of copper for this task,” she informed as she took up beside Daffyd.

Sir George frowned, “A paltry sum for a feat so grand,” he replied, shaking his head.

“Whatever treasures be found in its lair are yours to keep, and of course there is the glory,” Margaret stated.

Sir George nodded, “Fame and fortune are already mine, but,” he paused, taking a drink of water, “I will slay this dragon for you,” he said, nodding affirmatively. “Now tell me, where might I find this dragon of yours?”

“The beast is said to reside in the hills of Crag Mor, though whence I know not, only to say none have found its lair and returned to reveal it,” she said.

Sir George nodded. “Tell me what those who’ve seen the beast say?” he encouraged.

“The only one to say he actually saw it with his own true eyes was Wilfred Godwin. He says he saw it just as the sun was leaving the day, he was returning from his fields and a shadow fell over him, the sound of great wings flapping, close enough he felt the wind of it on his face. The creature descended from above and took one of his cows, lifting it aloft and carrying it back over Crag Mor before vanishing into the night.

“Sounds big,” Sir George said nodding, “Should be easy to find. So many places little ones could go,” he reasoned. “What color did Wilfred say the beast was?”

“He never mentioned it, saying only that he fled for his life back to his home,” she provided.

“I would speak with him,” Sir George said, “There may be some details he might provide that will aid me.”

She shook her head, “Wilfred’s not been seen since before the other two knights came, just left his home abandoned, livestock unattended,” she explained.

“He live alone?”

“Aye, a widower. Mary is another the plague took when it got my Ian. Wilfred’s only son is away to the king’s army,” Margaret answered.

“Curious. I would see Wilfred’s home,” Sir George said. “To look for dragon sign.”

Margaret nodded, “Now?”

The knight chuckled, “There is no time like the present,” he said, arising, and patting his rounded belly.

Wilfred Godwin’s home sat apart from a copse of trees, a small pond to the right as they rode up. The house itself was quite small, constructed of stone and wood, topped by a thatch roof, a stone chimney at the back, cold and smokeless.

Riding into the yard, Sir George dismounted ungracefully, almost sliding in the slick mud underfoot. Handing the reins of his horse to Daffyd, Sir George walked slowly around the dwelling. The boy dismounted and tied the horses to a fence rail before following the older man and watching intently, trying to understand what the knight was looking for. Several times, the aged knight crouched down, checking the ground, fingers feeling the texture of stone. Moving inside the home, he moved room to room, mentally noting the things he saw.

Finished with his examination, he returned outside, brushing his hands together while he walked toward the still mounted woman, Daffyd trailing behind.

Stopping, the knight turned back to the house and then to the woman, “Dragons are equipped with long talons, very good for rending, but I see no trace of any claw marks either near or on the house. Nor do I see any evidence of scorch. The smell is all wrong, dragons will more often than not leave a scent mark as a warning, but here there is nothing,” he said.

The woman shook her head and frowned, “Do you not think the dragon returned and took him?”

“Why your man Wilfred chose to abandon his home is beyond my ability to fathom, particularly in light of the fact that most of his personal possessions still appear to be here. Were I to hazard a guess as to the nature of his hasty departure, I might only suggest fear overcame him.”

Margaret’s frown deepened, the lines in her face more evident.

Turning to the boy, “You lad, anything strike you as particularly odd?” he asked.

Daffyd frowned, “Other than the fact there was a longsword on the floor inside the house, still in its scabbard, no,” he replied.

Sir George nodded, crossing the watch to untether his horse, “I too, find that unusual, but,” he shrugged.

“What now Sir Knight?” asked Margaret.

“I was hoping for something a little more evidentiary, more tangible out here, though in the end, I do feel the jaunt was worth the effort nonetheless. We shall return to town and prepare for a venture into Crag Mor to see what we might uncover there,” he answered, pulling himself up into his saddle, though expending considerable effort to achieve the feat.