‘That’s enough, Eyck, you make me want to puke!’ Boholt yelled. ‘Go on, to the lists! Don’t talk, set about that dragon!’

‘Hey, Boholt, wait,’ one of the dwarves, tugging on his beard, suddenly said. ‘Forgotten about the agreement? If Eyck lays low the serpent, he’ll take half…’

‘Eyck won’t take anything,’ Boholt grinned. ‘I know him. He’ll be happy if Dandelion writes a song about him.’

‘Silence!’ Gyllenstiern declared. ‘Let it be. Against the dragon will ride out the virtuous knight errant, Eyck of Denesle, fighting in the colours of Caingorn as the lance and sword of King Niedamir. That is the kingly will!’

‘There you have it,’ Yarpen Zigrin gnashed his teeth. ‘The lance and sword of Niedamir. The Caingorn kinglet has fixed us. What now?’

‘Nothing,’ Boholt spat. ‘I reckon you don’t want to cross Eyck, Yarpen? He talks nonsense, but if he’s already mounted his horse and roused himself, better get out of his way. Let him go, dammit, and sort the dragon out. And then we’ll see.’

‘Who shall be the herald?’ Dandelion asked. ‘The dragon wanted a herald. Maybe me?’

‘No. We don’t need a song, Dandelion,’ Boholt frowned. ‘Yarpen Zigrin can be the herald. He’s got a voice like a bull.’

‘Very well, no bother,’ Yarpen said. ‘Bring me a flag-bearer with a banner so that everything is as it should be.’

‘Just talk politely, dwarf, sir. And courteously,’ Gyllenstiern cautioned.

‘Don’t learn me how to talk,’ the dwarf proudly stuck out his belly. ‘I was sent on diplomatic missions when you lot were still knee-high to a grasshopper.’

The dragon continued to sit patiently on the hillock, waving its tail cheerfully. The dwarf clambered up onto the largest boulder, hawked and spat.

‘Hey, you there!’ he yelled, putting his hands on his hips. ‘You fucking dragon, you! Listen to what the herald has to say! That means me! The first one to take you on honourably will be the meandering knight, Eyck of Denesle! And he will stick his lance in your paunch, according to the holy custom, to your confusion, and to the joy of poor virgins and King Niedamir! It will be a fair fight and honourable, breathing fire is not allowed, and you may only lambast the other confessionally, until the other gives up the ghost or expires! Which we sincerely wish on you! Understood, dragon?’

The dragon yawned, flapped its wings, and then, flattening itself to the ground, quickly descended from the hillock to level ground.

‘I have understood, noble herald!’ it yelled back. ‘Then may the virtuous Eyck of Denesle enter the fray. I am ready!’

‘What a pantomime,’ Boholt spat, following Eyck with a grim expression, as he walked his horse over the barrier of boulders. ‘A ruddy barrel of laughs…’

‘Shut your yap, Boholt,’ Dandelion shouted, rubbing his hands. ‘Look, Eyck is preparing to charge! It’ll be a bloody beautiful ballad!’

‘Hurrah! Long live Eyck!’ someone shouted from Niedamir’s troop of bowmen.

‘And I,’ Sheepbagger said gloomily, ‘would still have stuffed him full of brimstone, just to be certain.’