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Dragonage: Chapter 1
11/20/2008
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"Gulgath!" he yelled. "Look! In the hills! Gulgath!" The boy's feet sent up little puffs as they struck into the deep dust that covered Churnhill Road. There had been no rain this July and the roads were covered in a layer of fine, gray silt, instead of their usual cold mud. Churnhill was the only street in this small village that had a name. By naming it the inhabitants felt as if they lived in a real town. In reality, their little village was barely a dusty dot amid a green countryside of forests and farms. The boy's calls woke the villagers, and in his wake, doors creaked open and drowsy neighbors poked out their ruddy noses. The blacksmith, still in his bed shirt peaked out of his livery and somewhere behind the shouting boy a startled baby broke out crying. "Gulgath!" he shouted over and over again.
      Stephan had been awake for a few minutes when he heard the boy roaring up the lane. By the time the boy reached his front door, Stephan was already dressed. He opened it before the boy could knock.
      "Gulgath," Stephan said calmly, holding up his hand. " I heard you, Rake. The whole town heard you."
      "Stephan!" Rake, panted. "It is awake."
      "This happens every year, Rake," Stephan said with patience. "So why must you wake everyone?" There was a long pause as Rake stood in his best friend's doorway trying to catch his breath. He just looked at Stephan with wide eyes for a long time. A look of disbelief.
      "Stephan!" he barked.
      "What?" Stephan said.
      "We are next," the frantic Rake spat. "Next year that fire burns for us." Stephan felt the blood rush from his face and he felt suddenly cold. His friend was right. This was their last summer. The two friends turned 14 that winter and now they of dragon age.
      "But they won't pick our village again," Stephan said with obvious denial. "They just took your Patrice last year.
      "It was two years ago that my sister went, Stephan." Rake said, still standing in the doorway. Stephan pushed passed him and stared south. Churnhill road wandered past shops and houses, down a slight hill and out of site. Then it popped up again a mile away on the hills below Stewbottom Crest. Stephan cast his eyes up into the hills and along the ridge, named after his great grandfather. There, at the top of Stephan Crown, just as Rake had promised, was a bright red glow. Just at the bottom edge of the red was an intense yellow, bright as the moon. Above the glow, coal colored smoke billowed up as if the earth, herself, was belching up her life in a huge, black plume. Rake was right. Gulgath the dragon was awake.
      "They are not taking me up there," Stephan said, stamping a foot.
      "Of course not," Rake said. "You are not a girl, are you."
      "No!" Stephan said, and punched his friend in the arm. "But we often wonder about you."
      "You say!" Rake protested. "You will be taken out to be a slave."
      "I'm tellin' you, Rake," Stephan said, "The soldiers are not taking me."
      "You have to go!" Rake said. "If they catch you they'll kill you. And you know what punishment they will hand out to your parents and to the rest of the village." The two looked around for a moment. A crowd of people was gathering along the street in the early morning light. They weren’t, however, looking up at Stephan Crown and the unearthly glow. They were staring at the two friends. On the villager's faces was a sadness that Stephan had never seen before. It was a deep grief more terrible than at the death of a loved one. Stephan backed up toward the door, pushing his friend with him. Once inside he closed the door and walked over to the fireplace.
      At the bottom of a pile of ashes were two bright coals. Stephan blew off the ash and teased the two back to life, blowing and placing small twigs from the kindling box. Neither boy spoke as Stephan worked. Rake just slumped in a chair, and stared at the floor. Stephan had a regular fire burning within a few minutes. The morning sun and the fire's glow mixed into a golden warmth that belied the fear pounding in the hearts of the two friends. Long, dancing shadows played among the tables and chairs of the inn that Stephan's family owned and operated. It was clean and cozy, and in a few minutes his father would be coming down stairs to start making tea and to check on the wheat beer fermenting in the stable. Stephan finally sat down across from Rake and shook his head at the table.
      "No. I am not going, Rake," Stephan said.
      "What will you do, then, Stephan," Rake said, "Run off, then, and let your family suffer for your selfishness?"
      "Mom and Da will be fine," Stephan said. "In all the gatherings as far back as anyone can reckon, there has never been a family taken to task."
      "But that's because no one has ever defied the gathering," Rake said adamantly. "Ever." He bent down trying to catch Stephan's eye. "Do you really want to be the first to test the law, eh? Do you really want to be the first one in two hundred years to shake us out of our peace?"
      "Peace!" Stephan looked up. "What is the cost of peace, Rake. What? Patrice's life and yours and mine? Your family will have no one to carry on after your father dies. No one! My parents are too old to have another child, and my brother can't run the inn! So, I say there is no peace. No peace of mind, anyway."
      "But they will torture your parents until you return," Rake argued. "That is no peace for them. Day after day of a lifetime of torture. Where's your peace of mind in that?"
      "You are right, of course," Stephan said after a thoughtful moment. "There is no answer for it but to heed the gathering and go with the soldiers…. Oh, my mother will cry."
      "Cry about what?" came a voice from the other room. The two boys jumped with a start.
      "Momma!" Stephan said, "you scared the blood right out of me!"
      "Sorry," Stephan's mother said. "I thought that you heard me come down. I certainly heard your friend Rake, there, a-screaming about ol' Gulgath."
      "Sorry, ma'am," Rake said humbly. "I was just excited about being of dragonage and all."
      "Well, I suppose that you should be. It is your turn this year, am I right," Stephan's mother asked.
      "Aye, ma'am." Rake said into the ground. "But I don't want to go."
      Stephan's mother came over and sat with the boys on the long table by the fire. The sky was now in perfect sunlight -- another summer day had begun. It was just like every other mid-July day. Thousands of mid-July days had come and gone. Nobody ever paid attention to the passing of mid-July days, at least not in the way that Stephan and Rake were about to. Stephan slid his chair over a little to let his mom have enough room to sit. As she sat, she let loose a little sigh, the kind that old people make when they sit. In this incredibly warm light, Stephan's mother looked exceedingly pale. As if she had somehow aged 20 years in her sleep. She gave a big yawn and then apologized for it.
      "I am sorry boys," she said, "I guess that I didn't get all of my sleep." After a minute she asked, "d'you two want some tea?"
      "That would be nice, ma'am," Rake said.
      "Aye," Stephan concurred.
      "Nice that you got the fire ready," she said tapping Stephan on the hand. "I'll put the pot on. Two dragonage men better have a nice cup for their morning tea," she said winking at Rake. "Stephan, I have an urn of Blackish Tout out in the hops shed. Bluish brown. Up on that board just above the old salt barrel. Would you go fetch it?"
      "Aye mom." Stephan rose and walked to the dark hall that led to the back door. The door was sticky, and after pulling had at the rope latch, Stephan threw his shoulder into it to shake it loose. The sun was not warm yet, but it still felt wonderful on his face as he burst into the back garden. Across the potato plants and greens was the hops shed. He made his way along the path in the center, opened the door and went inside.
      
      Stephan's mother threw another stick onto the fire, hung the iron teapot over the flame and sat down next to Rake. She placed her hand on his and spoke with a very deliberate, yet quiet tone. "You don't want to be gathered, do you lad?" she said directly.
      "I don't anyone wants to go, ma'am," Rake said. "Truth is, if it'll keep the king and the village safe from Gulgath, then I suppose I want to do my part."
      "You're a fine boy," she said, patting his hand. Then she turned and looked him straight in the eye. Her manner startled Rake. He had never seen the old woman look so earnest; focused. "For me," she pronounced deliberately, "I don't want my boy to be a slave. I am tired of our daughters being food for that beast. And I am sick to death of having to teach our children that dieing at the hands of our king or in the teeth of Gulgath is right and proper. I am sick of that answer, boy." She pounded her fist on the table. "I am sad for the answer you just gave, and I am sick of the sacrifices that we must make."
      "Yes, ma'am," Rake said nervously. He had never heard a grown up talk like this, but he knew that what she was saying could get her in a lot of trouble if the wrong ears heard it.
      "Rake, I have been talking with your father," she whispered as if they would be overheard. "He doesn't want you to go as well."
      "But ma'am, we just talked about it last night and…"
      "Shush boy," she said, cutting him off. "There are a lot of ears down in your cottage and there abouts. Your Da can't say anything else 'bout it. But I can assure you that if your Da had his way he would rather take the torture than to see you a slave."
      "He said that!" Rake said with disbelief.
      "Aye, and more," she said. "We have been talking for quite some time now, planning and all that. For you. And Stephan, of course."
      "Stephan? Why aren't you talking to Stephan about all this," Rake asked.
      "Stephan would think that I am being hysterical and would fight me on points," she explained, still whispering. "But, I know he doesn't want to go, and if you encouraged him…"
      "What!" Rake exclaimed backing away from the woman. "Encourage him? You want me to break the law and encourage your son to do the same? With all respect, ma'am, maybe you are hysterical."
      "Shhhh, quiet boy," she begged.
      "Ma'am," Rake said after catching his breath, "I have been planning my whole life around this. I knew that when they took Patrice I wouldn't have long."
      "She was beautiful, Rake," Stephan's mother said. "Dare we allow other beauties like her be fed to that monster."
      "But isn't it her and the others girls who keep us all safe," Rake said.
      "And how do you know that?" she said, provoking him.
      "What?" Rake said with surprise.
      "How do you know that feeding Gulgath with our young girls is actually keeping the village safe? Have you ever seen the dragon?"
      "No, but I have seen his shadow," Rake said with certainty.
      "Shadows aren't the real thing, boy," she said. "Else carnival puppeteers would be in the dungeon for sure on account of the violence in their plays."
      "That's different," Rake protested.
      "Is it?" she said mockingly. "Let me ask you this. Do you know of anyone who has seen the dragon? Do you know anyone who knows anyone who has see it? Have you ever heard a story about anyone who has seen Gulgath? No! Nor I as well. Never. In all my years of being in this inn, clear back to the time when I was a wee one and my Da and mom were still alive. I never once met anyone… nary a traveler, or a soldier, or a beggar, no soul at all have I met that has seen that dragon flying, eating, resting or anything. Ever. We can see the smoke from up on Stephan's Crown, but never anyone that I know of or have heard of has ever witnessed the beast."
      She was right, Rake thought. There had been no record that he knew of where someone had encountered Gulgath.
      "What then?" she continued. "What then for us who thinks that Gulgath is just a story? We sit and wonder if there is anyone who is brave enough to climb to the peak, look into Stephan's Crown and look old Gulgath right in the eye?"
      "Well, don't look at me," he said getting up from his chair. This whole conversation was giving him a strange feeling. He had never, ever heard Stephan's mom talk like this. He was inclined to think that she had a fever or was possessed. He suddenly saw how stupid he was to have run all the way here to talk to Stephan. He should have just stayed in bed.
      "I am looking at you. But not to climb up the Crown" she said. "I know that you hold a lot of power over my son, and I also know that Stephan is willing to take that journey… I want you both to go."
      "Why, in the name of the Lord, are you not talking to your son about this?" he asked, turning toward her. "This makes no sense to me at all."
      "Let me tell you a story, Rake," she said calmly. "When your sister was taken, your mother was destroyed inside. She went mad for a long time, tearing her clothes and walking through the village at night. One morning, I found her asleep by the fire, naked to the world, freezing cold. I found her a blanket, started a fire and made some tea. And all the rest of the day we talked. I even closed the inn and let the men get their beer elsewhere for the night." She turned and put another stick on the fire, then sat watching it burn as she talked. "By the next morning, your mother, my husband and your father came up with a plan. We decided that the king was not going to take any more of our children, and we certainly weren’t going to feed any of them to the dragon. Now, for the last two years we have been gathering, planning and waiting for Gulgath to wake again, and to send you two boys on a journey to find it."
      "But if we go, we will miss the gathering and you and my parents will be…" Rake said, but the old woman cut him off
      "We won't be tortured if we are not here." Her voice was firm and convincing. For the first time Rake saw that she was serious. Rake also understood that it would take much to convince Stephan to avoid the gathering.
      "So you… you want me to talk to Stephan and convince him to not to go?" he said knowing what the answer would be.
      "In a word, yes." Then she started to cry. "More than that, my good Master Rake. I want you to protect my boy. I want you to risk your life, and the life of your parents so that my boy Stephan will live." Then she turned and looked directly into the young boys eyes. "Will you please? Will you please save my boy?"
      
      The dark shed smelled of earth and rust. Stephan always felt like coming into the storage shed was akin to crawling inside a potato sack. The walls were made of mud and straw with only dirt for a floor. Along one side, his father had laid some boards so that some of the more precious food wouldn’t sit directly on the dirt. There were hooks and shelves of all kinds holding jugs and bottles and pots and sacks. The family inn served meals and drinks to travelers and villagers, mostly in the evening, and so a good stock of food was always required. This shed is where they kept most of the spices that they used for cooking and beer-making. It was one of three. There was the cold storage shed for meat and vegetables, which was completely hidden below the ground. The other was more of a shack than a shed. It was made of wood and was for storing tools and drying tobacco. His dad had just finished making the wort for the next batch of beer and so the spot where he kept the bags of barley, wheat and hops was empty, except for a pile of grain sacks. Above the stack of cloth bags were several wooden shelves heavy with earthen and glass jars.
      Since there were no windows in the shed Stephan couldn't see the jars very well, and spiders often hid among them. He hated spiders. His mother always told him that they were good luck, but he hated them all the same. He wasn't about to stick his hand into a mess of spider webs without being certain it would come back holding the right bottle. Stephan looked hard, but in the light he could not tell whether a jar was black or brown. He looked around for something to help him with his chore. He should have grabbed a lantern or candle but now, to save himself the trouble of going and hunting one up, he thought he would improvise. When he was a boy he would play around in this shed and pretend that he was trapped by an evil wizard. He would use his clever skills to break out of the dark dungeon, making up spells and fighting against foes with swords of wood. The darkness was suddenly a game for him, just as it had been when he was a boy. Stephan, with very little effort, was making an adventure out of the simple task of fetching his mother's tea.
      In the gray light, he saw just what he needed. It was an old pot. It was blackened from years of abuse, but the handle was warn and silvery. He grabbed the pot and carefully used the handle like a reflecting mirror, shining the morning sunlight from the doorway onto the shelf where the pots sat beckoning. It worked fairly well, but the broad handle still didn't do the job. If he could just polish it a little more, it would reflect more light. Just then he remembered that his father kept a strap for refining the edge of his knives just outside the door of this dank little shed. He took one step out the door and ran the broad side of the handle against the strap, holding the leather firmly as if he was putting the edge back on a razor. This little trick worked perfectly. With very little effort he was able to put respectable sparkle on that old handle. He jumped back into the shed, positioned the pot just right and the shelf lit up as if he were holding a lantern. He still could not get the jar of tea despite his cleverness. As soon as he stepped forward to get the jar, he couldn't maintain the angle on the pot handle and he lost his light. He stretched and leaned, twisting his back or spreading his legs. But he still couldn't both hold he reflector and reach for the pot.
      He gave a mournful sigh, knowing that his adventure was over. He slung the pot back onto its hook, and slid the door open as far as it would go, filling hops shed with morning light. He quickly found the jar and hustled back to the house.
      When he arrived back in the main room, his mother and Rake stopped talking right at the moment he entered as if they had been talking about him. Well, of course they had, but Rake was not ready to let on. They all just stood there in the smoky little room, staring at each other for more than a minute.
      "Seems the kettle's hot now," Stephan's mother said finally. "You are a master fire builder, son."
      "I Suppose," Stephan said. "It really doesn't take a lot of skill."
      Stephan's mother walked to the bar that was along the back of the room. The bar top was made from an old cottonwood tree that had dropped into the creek on the day that Stephan was born. It had been a gigantic tree, but a winter flood undercut the bank where it stood. The winter had been too cold and the creek was too high to fetch the tree immediately for firewood. The men in the village, as would happen far too often for the likes of women of the village, had sat around the fireplace at the inn and talked about the tree for quite some time. They had imagined aloud how many houses the tree would heat, how long the tree would take to cut up for wood and so on. It seemed a trivial thing to talk about for days on end, but what the men had really been trying to do was negotiate who among them was the most deserving of the massive amounts of firewood the tree would produce. Eventually the kind Ludlow manners had given way to fervent arguments. They would show up in the early morning hours, despite the cold. The first man to arrive would usually start the fire. Then they would start arguing about that tree. The rumpus often woke Stephan's dad who would feel obliged come down and make tea for the men. The discussion would go on for several hours, and get louder and louder. Until finally, Stephan's dad would ask the fellows what they were doing for lunch. He would talk them in to trotting off to their separate house for food, but within an hour or so they would be back, heckling each other about that cottonwood.
      On about the eighth day and several hours after lunch, it had occurred to Stephan's father that a couple of kegs of beer he started two months ago should be just about ready and he asked his fellows if they would like to sample his new recipe. There isn't a man in Ludlow who would turn down a free beer. But instead of the beer making them jolly, they began to fight, making all kinds of strange claims of ownership. Bad went to worse and in a very short time the men were drawn to fisticuffs. There were several blows thrown, and quite a few men were thrown into the furniture smashing it to bits. Tables and chairs were crushed into pieces. Stephan's dad was not unfamiliar with having fights break out in the inn. Wherever there are men and beer there are bound to be fights. He had tried desperately to break things up before the drunken clods tore the inn into slivers. One fellow, nobody quite remembers who, gave Stephan's dad a good solid push, and sent him, head long into the bar, crushing it into firewood in the blink of an eye.
      The next morning, the neighbors showed up at the inn, as they had done for the past several days. This time they were very contrite when faced with the devastation they had caused, and quite hung over as well. It was then decided, by unanimous secret ballot that the wood from the tree, which would be harvested that very day, would be used to repair the damage. Including the bar.
      The men did an excellent job over the next few weeks. Table legs were not left square, but were turned into elegant works of art on a lath. Chair legs were repaired with care, and most of the unwieldy three legged stools were replaced with proper four legged chairs with backs. The men even made carvings of the king and queen to trim the main door. The bar was the first piece of wood they cut, taken directly from the center of the tree. It was as thick as the length of your finger, over two cubits wide and reached nearly the full length of the main room. Unlike the fine finish of the other pieces of furniture, however, the bar was left as a raw-cut plank. Even the thick bark was left on the slab. It was left this way at the suggestion of Milner Oxenplank, rest his soul, that it be left, just to remind everyone of the affects of such unkind and selfish arguments.
      It had been 14 years since the bar was carved from that fallen giant cottonwood, and it now had a remarkable smooth finish and character. It was as smooth as your mother's cheek from so many calloused hands pressing on it for so long. The row of bark along its edge, which was soft and gray, was now broken and mostly missing. In its place, travelers had carved their name along with their home town. There were names from as far away as Asia, and in at least three different languages. The skirt of the bar, which was also made of cottonwood planks had been kicked and scratched with dirty boots so many times that it looked as though it had actually been made from the side of an old barn.
      Stephan's mother ducked behind the huge slab and pulled up three large mugs, and a large wicker tea strainer. She walked over and placed the three mugs on the table nearest the fire. Then she motioned to Stephan to give her the jar that he was holding in his arms as if it were a soft pillow. The earthen jar looked as though it had been glazed brown, but as she placed it onto a beam of morning sunlight that poured through the window and onto the table it took on a deep, glowing blue color. There was a mighty cork stopper on top, bigger than a biscuit that came off easily. Stephan's mom dropped her long fingers inside and pulled out a sheave of the blackest, straw-like tea the boys had ever seen. They could smell it immediately. It smelled a little like fruit, perhaps apple or pear, and a little like wood smoke, oaken and mossy. She placed the sheave in one of the mugs, quite a lot of tea for one mug, Rake thought. After she had placed the tea in each of the mugs, she picked up the jar and held it to her nose and withdrew a breath to devour all its aroma.
      "Like an orchard in the fall," Stephan's mother said.
      "That's exactly what it smells like," Rake added.
      "Right. An apple orchard," Stephan parroted. "With a fire nearby." Stephan's mom plopped the cork back into the top of the jar.
      "Now that'll keep it from spoiling and keep it's gasses inside," she said authoritatively. She spun around and using the bottom of her apron, grabbed the hook that held the kettle and swung it out of the flame. Then she grabbed the kettle handle with her apron again and poured water into the mugs. A burst of steam erupted out of the three mugs and the room exploded in the orchard aroma. Stephan had never experienced anything like this before.
      "What kind of tea did you say this was," he asked with his mouth watering.
      "Blackish Tout," she said. "Alsea… you know, her and her husband farm potatoes out on the back of Folly Reach…" Stephan nodded, but he was only pretending to remember the woman. "Anyway, Alsea gave me the pot," his mother continued. "She said that it is a special tea that takes about four or five years to cure. She would not give me the recipe, 'though. It was payment for putting her mother up while they prepared a room."
       "Oh, I remember that woman." Stephan said, looking at what was soon going to be his mug of tea. "At least I remember her mother. She was not altogether kind, as I remember."
      "Quite," his mother said with a little chuckle. "Was the meanest woman I ever met. Wanted her breakfast brought to her room and a hot bath every day!"
      "Yes, yes," Rake said. "She was here for a long time as I remember."
      "An entire life time, it seemed," Stephan's mother said. "All of two days!" They all three laughed a polite laugh. And then there was a bit of an awkward silence.
      "So, she gave you the tea," Stephan said, breaking the quiet.
      "Aye," his mother said. "She said that it was a fine morning tea, and gave you energy for the day." They all looked at the mugs, and then a look came over Stephan's mom's face. "Sod it all!" she exclaimed, I don't have anything to drain the tea off into. Only three mugs, just how am I to get the sticks out of it." She started to get up, but Stephan stopped her.
      "Ma," he said, "let me get a proper teapot… my you certainly are distracted this morning." As he left, Rake gave his mother a strong look.
      "You going to tell him," he whispered, "or am I."
      "Tell me what," Stephan said from across the room. "I can hear you two a mile away. Just what are you plotting?" He picked out a teapot and came back to the table.
      Rake gave Stephan's mom a mean look. "Nothing," he said, trying unsuccessfully to lie.
      "Rake was just talking about the gathering, son," she said.
      "I was not!" Rake protested.
      She looked at him with astonishment. "Yes you were," she said.
      "No, ma'am. I was not talking about the gathering, nor hunting the dragon," he said. "You were talking about it, and I was trying to stay out of it."
      "Dragon hunting!" Stephan said as he brought the teapot back to the table. "All I did was mention how I didn't want to go away with the gathering, and now you have me dragon hunting?" He sat across from them and began to pour the mugs of hot tea, leaves and all, into the teapot. When he was finished, he took the large strainer his mother had brought to the table and held it over each mug as he poured the fragrant tea back, straining the leaves out.
      "How many times have you poured a cup for the fellows at the inn? And yet this morning you did it like a child," Stephan said. "There is something else going on besides Rake's fantasy of dragon hunting."
      Stephan's mother looked down at the table. He could tell that she was trying not to cry. From behind him, a booming voice spoke. It was Stephan's father.
      "Let me start," he said, walking up to the fire. He was a tall man with a bit of a limp, although he had never told anyone how he got it. He was an unrepentant pipe smoker and was constantly puffing out volumes of smoke. His voice was rich a gravely, and he was very fond of pontificating. Quite often, late at night when the most avid of drinkers were the only ones who hadn't gone home, Stephan's father would step in front of the fire, as he was doing now, and talk to the room. He might talk about politics, or spout parables. He might say good, or bad things about the king, or share some news about the village. Needless to say, he was fond of making speeches, and was well known for it. This is why it was said that if you wanted to clear a room, just ask "Piper" Inskeep to give a speech.
      "Son," he started exhaling a plume of blue smoke, "you are my pride; my joy and my future." Both Stephan and Rake sighed – they knew that a speech was forthcoming. "For years we have known that this would be your season for the gathering. Your mother and I lay awake in the dark of night, wondering what to do and feeling helpless about your fate." He puffed a couple of times on his pipe and the little coal of tobacco glowed like a mystic's lamp. "Then, when Rake's sister was gathered, his parents came to us and with tears and sorrow, asked us to help them make a plan to save their son."
      "Wait there just a minute," Rake interrupted, "I thought it was Stephan that needed saving – that you asked my parents to help you."
      "Who told you that," Piper boomed.
      "I am afraid I did," said Mrs. Inskeep sheepishly.
      "Save me from what?" Stephan said. "Rake, you couldn't save yourself from breathing too much."
      "You say!" Rake blurted out. "I don't think that it'll be me that needs savin' when we walk up to Gulgath's house and knock on his door."
      "Where?!" Stephan said. "Who said anything about waking up old Gulgath."
      "I'm afraid I did," said Mrs. Inskeep.
      "Darling," Piper said, "there is a time to keep your mouth closed. And this would be one of them. I thought that we agreed that I would tell the boys."
      "I still don't understand," Stephan protested.
      "Well your mom…. Or my mom… or somebody, anyway," Rake said, "said that they had planned for you to march right square up to Stephan's Crown, cut off Gulgath's head and save the world – and be back by dinner. I'm the one that supposed to keep you alive while you do that."
      "Who told you that, Rake" Stephan said. Then everyone turned and glared at Mrs. Inskeep. She looked at the floor guiltily and nodded her head.
      "Calm down you two," Piper Inskeep said with a booming voice. "The four parents got together and thought that if you were ready when the gathering came around again, then we would pose you with a task."
      "To kill the dragon," Stephan said sarcastically. "Has it not made it into your skulls that many a knight and brave man has tried to battle that dragon, only to end up as a meal." He stared at the others with disbelief. "What makes you think that a 14 year old inn keeper's son could do what grown men could not?"
      "Because you have me to help," Rake chimed in.
      "Oh, ho, now that's a relief!" Stephan blurted out. "Really, Da, I think you must have been drinking bad beer when you came up with that one."
      "No, son, I don't think so." Piper Inskeep tapped out his pipe against the hearth. He stuck it in his pocket and put his hand on his wife's shoulder. She looked up at him with loving eyes and patted his hand. "Let me show you something, Stephan."
      

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1. Dragonage: Chapter 1 in the Fiction category
2. Dragonage Online Preface in the Fiction category
3. How We Got Into This Mess in the Politics category
4. What's Next for Palin in the Politics category
5. HISTORY in the Politics category