“But the dragon was already dying as he poured the last of his foul flame upon me. My Elgrin dragged me to the river and submerged my wounds, and it was three days before I could raise my face from the cool water without screaming in pain. When I could finally move again, we dragged Gregor back on a stretcher. The only three to return at all.

“No dragon has been seen in these parts between that day and this. Perhaps the one we slew was the last. But I cannot say for sure what might still be hiding in the forests or mountains or caves, waiting for the day it will attack once more.”

The silence stretched after his words ended, broken only by the crackling of the bonfire before him. And then the old man straightened up with a clap of his hands.

Released from the spell, the crowd broke into murmurs and shifted where they sat, and Gwen used her hold on Isobelle’s hand to pull her to her feet. “Come on,” she said. “He doesn’t mind questions, as long as he’s not thirsty.”

Isobelle followed, still dizzy with the spell of the story as Gwen hurried over to the barrel and tap, filled a mug of ale, and pressed it into Isobelle’s hands. She let Gwen spin her around and point her at Bertin.

“Ah, Gwen, my thanks, girl. I see you’ve found a friend.” The man’s eyes were kind, moving between Gwen’s face and Isobelle’s, and Isobelle found her cheeks warming in response.

“This is Izzie,” Gwen said, nudging her to hand over the mug. “She’s a maid up at the castle. Izzie, this is Bertin, our expert on all things dragon.”

Isobelle bobbed a curtsy automatically, which Bertin accepted with a quirk of his mouth, and offered him the ale. “They don’t have stories like yours up at the castle,” she ventured.

“I should say not, young lady. There haven’t been any dragons attacking castles for a hundred years or more. Safe you are, in a castle.”

“But we don’t even hear of them,” she replied. “Surely the knights would be pleased to have even a small one to hunt down.”

If they were real. Which of course they’re not, not anymore.

Except that woman up at the castle bonfire, tonight . . . Isobelle could still hear the ragged edge to her voice as she shouted the words, like a witch spitting a curse, Remember us when they come for you . . .

Bertin took a long swallow of ale before he replied. “Knights? Yes, well. Knights indeed. They came into existence to protect people, that’s for sure. But then dragonslaying became less about fighting a single glorious battle on a field outside a castle, and more about weeks of slogging through marsh and wood and cold and wet, for creatures with the upper hand in their own element.”