Sir Orrick looked up from his mug of ale and turned his watery eyes to the stranger at the bar beside him.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I heard that — well, the gentlemen over there — they said you had a tale. A famous tale. And I was hoping that you’d share it with me… and let me buy you drink.”

Orrick glared at the usual crew of idiots sitting in the corner. They laughed and grinned at him, slapping each other on the back.

The stranger wasn’t one of them. He was young, maybe twenty summers if that. He had the look of a scholar about him, but without the arrogance of nobility.

“You a bard?” Orrick asked.

“Yes, sir,” the stranger said. “I’m on my first Gathering. That’s when we gather stories and –”

“I know what a Gathering is,” said Orrick. “You aren’t the first bard to come through here.”

“Of course, sir. But then you understand why I’d like to hear your tale.”

Orrick studied his half-empty mug for a moment, then sighed and downed the rest of its contents. He pointed to the bartender, the empty mug, and the journeyman bard. The bartender caught a nod from the bard and refilled the old knight’s mug.

“It was almost a year ago, by the Kawnee River just south of town. You probably crossed it on your way in. The river was high — higher than it had ever been. My wife, she was devout to the old gods of her mother, so every month we made the pilgrimage to the shrine in Evenfall. It was a hassle, and I gave her plenty of grief over it. Packing up both kids, a handful of servants, two or three full wagons — she did not believe in traveling light. But she was stubborn, and I loved her, and if she needed to do this thing, well… I wasn’t going to stop her.

“There’s a spot on the Evenfall road that crosses the Kawnee. Big old bridge, been there since before my grandfather’s time. The river was running so high, there was water slapping up over the edge of the bridge, making things slippery. We took our time. No sense in rushing, slipping, and going over the side.

“Still, I can’t help but wonder… If we hadn’t been so slow about it, maybe… maybe things would’ve been different.

“We were about in the middle, some twenty yards to the far side, with the river roaring under us, when I saw this great green hand grab the edge of the bridge. It was clawed and scaled, and the size of a man.

“I’d never seen a dragon before. Wasn’t sure they even existed. But when that thing pulled itself out of the water, there no doubt what I was looking at. It stood taller than the East Tower, and the current rushing around its belly was like nothing but a child playing in the bath. There were fins and whiskers on the thing, like you’d see on a fish. And its eyes… They weren’t animal eyes, but full of cunning and evil. It was thinking. I could see it.

“The dragon reached over the bridge, smashed the railings, and scooped up my wife on her horse. Popped them in its mouth like you would a grape. She didn’t have time to scream — and I thank the gods for that.

“I had my sword out, but what could I do? I hacked at the dragon’s hand when it came back again, grasping for horses and knocking my people into the river. It might have noticed my blade. I might have drawn blood. It all happened so fast, I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t…”

Orrick turned back to the bar and took a long pull from his mug.

The bard gave him a moment, then asked, “The Kawnee empties into Queen’s bay, doesn’t it?”

“It does. What’s that have to do with anything?”

“Not much,” said the bard. “Please, go on.”

The knight sighed.

“I lost it all that day. Either into the river or down that beast’s throat. Didn’t even see what happened to my son. The only reason I survived is that I slipped — I slipped! — on the wet bridge. Cracked my head, staggered off. Sheer luck that I didn’t go over the edge. But I tell ya, most days I don’t feel so lucky.

“I’ve been back there a thousand times. Trying to track the beast, challenging it, daring the gods to bring it back to face me again. But the gods are deaf and the dragon’s gone.”

Some one cleared his throat behind them. It was Swenson, Orrick knew, chief of the idiot crew and the only one to spend more time in this tavern than he did.

“A good tale, eh? What did I ya, bard — a good tale. But it’s none of it true.”

The bard glanced to Orrick, who said nothing but took another drink.

“Oh, the river was high last spring, that much happened. And the old knight was taking his brood to church across the bridge, but there weren’t no dragon. They just slipped. The bridge was covered in water, the railings were old and rotten… It could’ve happened to anyone. It were a tragedy, sure, but to come back to town saying they was eaten by a dragon? Well, that’s just disrespectful of the dead.”

Orrick saw the apprehension on the bard’s face. Surely he expected Orrick to defend his honor, to draw steel and demand satisfaction from Swenson. And for a moment, the knight felt the old twinge of fire in his belly… but it was drowning in ale, and he’d given up fighting with the idiots long ago.

“Actually, sir,” said the bard, “Sir Orrick’s tale reminds me of one I heard in Queensport last month.

“The fishermen say there’s a sea serpent that hunts the bay. By day, they see it beneath the water sometimes, feasting on schools of eastern longfish. But at night, when the moon is full and the tide is high, the beast hunts two-legged prey. It’s smart, they say. It knows how best to tip the boats, and never attacks those in sight of the shore.”

Swenson snorted. “I see they got fools in Queensport too. Fisherman! Bunch of superstitious old ladies, the lot of them.”

“Perhaps that is the case,” said the bard. “But I remember that their sea serpent was green and scaly, with fins and whiskers — like a fish.”

Orrick nodded. It made sense to him now.

“The river was high,” he said. “The beast came upstream, looking for fresh prey. And when the river sank… it went back to the bay. Of course.”

Something flickered inside him. Something he hadn’t felt in many ale-soaked months.

“What’s your name, son?” he asked the bard.

“Ansel, sir.”

“Ansel, I’m going to Queensport, and you’re coming with me.”

“But sir, I’ve already been there. And I do need to be about gathering –”

“I’ll give you plenty of new tales to gather on the way. And once we get there, and you’ve introduced me to a few of your fisherman friends… Well, you’ll have the best tale of your Gathering — the old knight who slew a dragon.. or died trying.”