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fineness of his features, by the casual loose drape of his tunic, and by the clarity of his voice.
    "Lord Ulrich," Valerian said, "the reason why we have come can be plainly told. For longer than anyone can remember, Urland has been terrorized by a dragon, a dragon that has settled in a cave on a mountainside overlooking the town of Swanscombe."
    "And why," Ulrich interrupted, his white beard jutting, "has it stayed?"
    "It has stayed because . . . because of a . . . pact."
    "Ahh," Ulrich replied. "Again I guess at it. I guess that it is the same accommodation—" he said the word as if it left a bad taste "—that many villages have made in years past, with the Monstrous."
    "At every half year," Valerian continued, faltering slightly, "at every equinox, spring and fall, we . . . that is, the people of Urland offer the dragon a young woman, whose name is drawn by lot."
    Ulrich was nodding slowly. "A woman not more than eighteen years of age, pulchra et casta integraque filla, a pure and beautiful virgin, isn't that the wording of the old code?"
    Valerian nodded. "It's not followed perfectly, of course. There are those who . . . who have tried to escape the lottery by marriage or other liaisons, and those who have resorted to disguise and dissembling and—" The youth blushed, "—other devices to escape. But the fact is that the dragon doesn't seem to care whether the victim is a maiden or not. In the past few years, there have been several married women given to it. Even mothers."
    "It has taken my daughter," said Greil.
    "And mine," said Malkin.
    "And my niece," said Henery.
    "But, in return," Ulrich said, his gaze touching each face in turn, spreading responsibility in equal glances, "in return it leaves the village alone." One by one they nodded ashamedly, none able to hold his gaze except Valerian. "Ah yes." Ulrich sighed. "It is an old familiar tale, although I have not heard it these many years."
    "There are those of us," Valerian continued softly, and again Galen admired the youth's cool resolve, "who agree that it is a shameful bargain. That it degrades us all. That it has continued long enough. That it should end now."
    "Already too late for some poor soul," said Malkin. "You've forgotten today is the equinox."
    Valerian hung his head, nodding. "We were delayed. Nevertheless, we shall not be too late for the next, and we shall end the peril for good."
    Ulrich was smiling. "Brave words," he said.
    "With your help," Valerian said. "That is why we are here, of course."
    "And do you come with your king's blessing?"
    The little group frowned and shuffled. Valerian spoke with bitterness. "No. Casiodorus does not know that we have come, or he would have sent his horsemen to bring us back. He does not believe, as we do, that there can be a power as great as the dragon's, or that it might be possible to destroy the beast. He speaks of balances, of compromises, trade-offs. For him the lives of two girls each year is little enough to pacify the beast."
    Ulrich laughed. "And has anyone asked the dragon's opinion? Perhaps it's glutted."
    "It's no laughing matter, sir."
    "No, no, of course it isn't, but I tire of these rulers who make their own solutions, create their own problems, perpetuate themselves and their ilk. Your king and his lackeys sound like the type . . ."
    Malkin protested querulously. "Casiodorus isn't a bad king, sir . . ."
    "Just weak."
    "Weak, yes, but he acts according to his lights, as they say. He does what he thinks best. . ."
    Ulrich waved this all away with a weary hand. "Of course, of course. And according to tradition, I daresay. It's always easiest.
    But tell me, why do you come to me? I have never done battle with a dragon. I'm certainly no hero, like Beowulf or Sigurd, or any of the others. Why me?"
    Again they shuffled uneasily, glancing hopefully at Ulrich, and Valerian said, "It's because . . . because you're the last."
    "Nonsense!" The old man seemed shocked.
    "No, sir. You are."
    "What about