“Oh gods, you must be as slow as my third cousin thrice removed. You think a man as wealthy and powerful as me is out there slaughtering beasts in the wild using my own two finely manicured hands? Of course not! I enjoy the many creature comforts that are mine to enjoy, while my well-paid Huntsman hunts where I tell him to hunt, kills what I tell him to kill, a skill he is most adept at. Which isn’t surprising considering the decade he spent in Nal Eston. Though I pay him a void of a lot better than the king ever did for his services! And have you never studied a map in your life? Or read a book about world history? Probably not. You probably can’t even read, can you?” Orum could read but didn’t have the chance to say as much because the man hadn’t even stopped to breathe. “Orians hail from the Four Kingdoms, I’ll have you know. They are a strange race, with incredible powers over metallurgy, or so they say. A particular one of these Orians, a woman named Gwendolyn Storm, has been sending letters all over the place requesting information about the whereabouts of a dragon she calls Siri. Who would name a beast anyway? No matter. In any event, it seems like she wants to be reunited with this Siri monster as though the dragon is her pet. As one of the most powerful men in Finfalla, I received one of these letters, and it got me thinking: Why couldn’t there be dragons in Finfalla? Yes, one has never been seen, but the vast majority of our great kingdom is comprised of unexplored woodlands. I petitioned the king for men and resources to assist me in my mission, but he thinks it’s a waste of time and gold. In the meantime, I’ve scrabbled together as many woodsmen as I can afford without cramping my lifestyle and sent them along with my Huntsman into Lostwood. He sends messages every few days, but thus far, he’s seen no signs of anything bigger than a bear or panther. And now you turn up on my doorstep with stories of a dragon. It’s fated, man, don’t you think?”

Orum didn’t know what to say. This man spoke of his so-called ‘trophies’ as though he’d personally claimed them, when the reality was he was just the one who funded the true hunter in the operation, the one who seemed to have no name other than Huntsman.

“Can you lead the Huntsman to this dragon of yours?” Olmstead asked when Orum said nothing.

Orum remembered the tour of the house. Remembered all those heads on the walls. “What will your Huntsman do if he finds the dragon?”

The lord blinked, an amused look creeping onto his face. “What do you think he will do? Let the beast eat him as it almost ate you? He’ll kill the bastard, of course.”