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idea which one he should take. It was time, he decided, to ask for directions. Getting himself and his beast a meal wouldn’t be a mistake, either, he thought. Koros was already drinking from the fountain, which reminded Garth that he, too, was thirsty.
    He dismounted and stepped up to the fountain, where he filled his hands with water and drank.
    A sound behind him caught his attention; he let the rest of the water drop and whirled, his hand falling automatically to the hilt of his sword.
    The door of the inn had opened again, and several people were emerging. A white-haired man stepped forward from the group and addressed him.
    â€œGreetings, my lord overman!”
    â€œGreetings, man.” This human, Garth thought, unlike the one he had met on the road to the village, at least had the grace to speak politely.
    â€œMy I ask, my lord, what brings you to our humble village?” The man’s manner was almost fawning.
    â€œI have come to slay your dragon, to save you from its depredations,” Garth replied, making an effort to sound casual.
    The spokesman hesitated, then said, “My lord, do not think us ungrateful, but we ask that you turn back. We do not wish to see another great man ... ah, I mean, another great warrior such as yourself die fighting the monster. Too many have perished already.”
    â€œI have no intention of dying, man.”
    â€œDo you suppose that any of the dragon’s victims did? Please, my lord, turn back. You can do nothing for us. You would only throw your life away.”
    Garth was becoming annoyed by this manifest lack of faith in his prowess. “My life is my own, to throw away should it please me to do so,” he said. “I have come to fight your dragon and I am not to be turned aside so readily, frightened by mere words.”
    The spokesman bowed in acknowledgment of Garth’s words, but said, “We do not seek to frighten you, my lord, only to advise you. It would be foolish to waste your life in battling the monster.”
    Garth’s temper, already frayed, gave way. “You are the fools,” he called, “to refuse a chance of freedom from this menace! I am Garth, Prince of Ordunin, Lord of the Overmen of the Northern Waste, who brought the White Death to the black city of Dûsarra, who stole the sword of a god, who has fought the beasts of Death himself! I have come here to slay the dragon and I will have no one tell me that I must not!” He realized, as he finished his speech, that without consciously intending to, he had drawn his sword and was flourishing it about.
    The little group of humans had clustered together and backed away from him a step or two, toward the inn. The spokesman looked back at his companions for support and, finding little, said nothing further.
    His anger spent, Garth returned his sword to its scabbard and added, “But first, I have not eaten recently and would prefer not to face death on an empty stomach. Is this building whence you all came an inn, where an overman can break his fast?”
    The spokesman reluctantly admitted that it was.
    The inn was called the Sword and Chalice, though its signboard had fallen years ago and never been replaced. Garth had a goat sent out to his warbeast while he himself consumed a hearty meal of roast beef, carrots, and ale. He ate surrounded by a ring of wary villagers, silently watching his every move. He steadfastly ignored their presence and made a point of paying no attention to their comings and goings.
    He paused in the midst of his meal at the sound of women screaming in the plaza, but a quick glance out the door reassured him. The screams were in response to the warbeast’s eating habits. Koros had killed the goat with a single blow of its paw and immediately devoured it, hair, hooves, and all, though the warbeast spat out the horns and larger bones. Those villagers who happened to be watching had been horrified to see a living animal reduced so