Free Hunting of the Last Dragon by Sherryl Jordan Page A

have been in agony from walking all that way.
    â€œWhat are you doing, dimwit?” I asked.
    â€œI’m going on alone,” she said, trying to walk on, sobbing with every step. Her shoes and bandages were red.
    â€œWhy alone?” I asked.
    â€œBecause I won’t be a nun. And I won’t be a millstone around your neck, neither. You have no duty to help me out.”
    â€œOh, Lizzie, ’tis not from duty!” I said.
    â€œWhat is it, then? Do you think on me as Richard did?”
    â€œNo! Never that!” Taking both her shoulders, I made her stop. She stood with her arms crossed over her mother’s dress, her eyes downcast. She looked so small, so all undone, that I near wept myself, from pity.
    â€œTruth to tell, Lizzie,” I said, “you remind me ofmy sister Addy. More, I have no home, no family, and I feel . . . well, I feel akin with you. It helps me to help you, for it gives me a reason to live. I’ll not put you in a nunnery, nor make you do anything you are against, I swear. Now, can we travel on together, in peace?”
    She smiled a little, and climbed onto my back again, and we went on. The stream was a good guide, for it kept us watered, and took us to more fields of yellow wheat ripe for harvest, then to a village. We spied some fresh-baked oaten cakes cooling in a window, and I’m ashamed to confess that I stole them, for we were hungry.
    I felt stronger after we had eaten, and walked more quickly, following the lane out of the village, still heading west, my eyes lowered against the sinking sun. I had no idea where I was, or what villages we passed, since I could not read the milestones on the roads. I thought only to put as many miles as I could betwixt ourselves and Tybalt. Sometimes on the lanes between the villages we passed other wayfarers, all travelling on foot: pilgrims on their way home after visiting shrines, or black-gowned friars, or peddlers with pots and pans, charcoal sellers, traders, and lepers. But by sunset the tracks and lanes were deserted, and I began to be haunted by fears of demons and ghosts. And I remembered that thedragon was said to fly at dusk and dawn, and now was a devilishly dangerous time to be out. I wished I had looked sooner for a house to stay.
    There was a village near, for I could see its church tower above the trees. I cut across a meadow full of rye, and came to the tiny hamlet just as the sun went down. It was a village such as Doran had been, too small for an inn, with only a square-towered Norman church and a few thatch-and-mud houses crouched either side of the dirt lane. Behind the houses I could just make out, in the gathering gloom, the crofts with summer vegetables well grown, and tiny farm buildings, and a cart and plough or two. I stood Lizzie on her feet and she waited in the darkling lane as I approached a house.
    Firelight glowed inside and smoke came out the windows, smelling of beans and vegetable broth. From within came sounds of running feet, children shrieking with laughter, boys quarrelling, and a dog barking. Above it all a baby bawled lustily, and a woman shouted for peace. I banged on the door, and there was instant silence inside.
    â€œYou’d best open it, Edwin,” said the woman’s voice. “Well, go on! You’re the man of the house now.”
    There was the sound of a bolt cautiously drawn back, and the door opened a crack. I glimpsed part ofa face and one wary eye, before the door was slammed shut again. “It do be a maid and a lad, Ma,” said a lad.
    â€œWell, don’t stand there pop-eyed, let them in.”
    The door was opened wide, and I went back to Lizzie, and she leaned on me as we entered in. The lad who admitted us stood on the threshold a moment, scanning the evening skies; then he banged the door shut and bolted it again.
    For long moments there was total quiet, but for the yelping of a small dog as it jumped around Lizzie and me. Little could I see,