Beginning

Steven breakfasted with the King. The banquet and the story-telling had gone well, in spite of the small disruption at the arrival of the main course. Many people had approached Steven respectfully at the end of the banquet to touch the magical sheepskin vest that he wore. While no one dared reach into his pocket, Steven was aware that a young woman who smiled at him also dropped a key in his pocket, that an aspiring courtier hoping to gain favor at court dropped a coin in the pocket, and that a particularly handsome duke sniffed slightly and dropped a small mirror in Steven’s pocket.
Steven, himself, was a little surprised that his pocket did not bulge out.

Steven had spent a restless night, working out his decision regarding which road he would take in the morning. He had a strong desire to flee from the Kingdom and return to the southbound road where he had left Madame Selah Welinska. But the thought that the knife that Armand Hamar had engraved for him and the sword that he had gotten in Byzantium might be waiting for him in Rich Reach was tantalizing beyond belief. Ultimately, Steven had decided that he would go the way of the King’s Road, deeper into the Kingdom of Arining. After all, he reminded himself, all roads lead to his dragon.

And thus after breakfast, Steven shouldered his pack, his bow, and his staff and set his face toward the city gates. The King embraced Steven again and gave Steven a small flag that, upon closer examination, looked remarkably like a shirt for a very small person.

“This will identify you to any who ask as an emissary of the King,” he said. Steven slipped the flag into his pocket. The King noticed and lowered his voice. “I must ask,” said the King, “is it true that everything you need is in your pocket?”

“The truth is,” Steven said, “that I have never needed much.”

“Ah,” said the King. “Good travels, Steven George The Dragonslayer.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Steven replied formally; and then he began his journey out of the palace and toward the city gates.

Many people had gathered to watch Steven’s departure and to cheer him on as their champion to face the terror. The first to meet Steven, however, was Sergeant Busker.

“Will you be traveling with me, Sergeant?” Steven asked.

“No, my duty is here with the King,” Busker answered. “But I have a gift for you that may do you some good.” With that, Busker presented Steven with a loop of twine, to which a small stone was tied. Steven hefted the tiny rock. It was too small to be used as a weapon. It was not pretty enough to be worn as jewelry. He looked puzzled.

“From the very beginning,” Busker said, “the members of the King’s guard have worn a rock in memory of our ancestor who served the King while bound to a rock. This marks you, Steven George, as a recruit in the King’s Guard.” Busker paused then added in a low voice, “For protecting the King from a deadly waterfowl.”
Steven and Busker both laughed at this and after Busker slapped Steven on the back, the dragonslayer placed the rock lanyard in his pocket and continued toward the city gates. He had not gone far, however, when the King’s cook rushed from the palace to catch up with Steven.

“We met only briefly when I shooed you from my kitchen and then again under a tablecloth,” said the cook, “but I could not let you leave to face our terror without some lunch.” The cook handed Steven an oilskin packet. “It’s a duck sandwich,” the cook whispered, and then scurried off to return to his kitchen.

Steven smiled at the joke and placed the sandwich in his pocket. Just before he reached the gate of the city, however, a flock of children blocked his way. The children were silent, but pushed one of the smallest forward. The shy child looked up at Steven and smiled, then threw a ball to him. This was quickly followed by two more balls that Steven began to juggle. The children shrieked with laughter and danced around Steven as he left through the city gate on the road to Rich Reach, juggling the brightly colored balls as he walked. He was now fifty-nine thousand three hundred seventy-one steps from where he had left Selah and was bound for a new adventure. Just outside the city gates a large wooden post showed a carving of a sword and dagger pointing ahead along the road to Rich Reach.

“Just follow the signs,” yelled Busker from the parapet at the gate. “It’s the mark of Rich Reach.” Steven lengthened his stride and was soon out of sight of all but the flag at the topmost tower of the castle.

***

The road he walked the first day was broad and well-traveled, with villages at the side of the road every few thousand steps. Wherever he went, people called him by name and waved. A feeling of gloom in the villages seemed to lift a little as he passed through. When at last he came to the end of the day, he was invited to stay at the home of a weaver and his wife the spinner at the edge of a tiny village. Outside the handsome cottage was an open-sided shed that was piled full of shearling wool.

“Welcome to the home of Zurbaran the Weaver and Orithyia the Spinner,” said the slender man at the door of the cottage. “We would be pleased if you joined us for dinner and took respite here for the night on your journey into the darkness.” The man made Steven’s quest sound dire, and acted as if Steven were being offered the last meal of a condemned prisoner.

“Zurbie, have a heart!” exclaimed a round little woman with flaming rosy cheeks and a mouth that seemed permanently bent into a jovial smile. “The poor boy is on a grand adventure and you make it sound like he’s marching to his death. Come in here, dearie, and let’s have dinner.” The woman’s presence was all the light the small cottage needed, but the cheerful fire and hot food were equally welcome. The weaver scarcely said a word during the meal, but his wife chatted non-stop.

“I’m a bit of a storyteller myself,” she said.

“Really?” asked Steven, thinking a good Once Upon a Time might be just the thing to further brighten the evening.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I’m always spinning yarns!” She laughed at her joke and the weaver rolled his eyes heavenward. “Of course Zurbie weaves a fine tale as well,” she continued to laugh. “Now where was I?” she asked. “I seem to have lost my thread of thought!” Her laughter and humor were contagious to Steven, though the weaver adopted the demeanor of a long-suffering husband who had heard it all before.

“It must be the wine,” said Steven. “My head’s a little wooly.” Orithyia howled with more laughter as Zurbaran poured himself more wine.

“Twill be a long night if we keep this up,” laughed Orithyia.

Steven choked and held his throat as his eyes suddenly widened. Alarmed, Zurbaran jumped to slap him on the back. After a short span of coughing, Steven gulped some more wine. “It’s all right,” he gasped. “I just got a herringbone caught in my throat!” Orithyia burst out laughing again.

“All right!” shouted the weaver jumping from his seat. “I’ll tell a story. Just no more, please!”

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