Prologue

         Twas a day like any other, a man tending his crops. The sun giving warmth, nurturing the earth's bounty. The morning dew glistening upon the leaves. Summer indeed had finally arrived on the northern plains. The lush plump fruit of the berries was nearly ripe; it would be a good harvest. The first in a long time. Life was good for the peasant; the scarred land was once again bountiful.

     A sudden shadow fell over him, sending a chill up his spine. He recognized the shadow as that of a dragon. In the span of a breath, the winds picked up and blew his cart and tools over. Not a natural wind mind you, but the wing beats of a dragon.

     The animal was truly majestic as it touched to a gentle landing besides its target. The great wings rippling as if the surface of a mountain lake. Clearly the peasant was no match for the dragon, as she lowered her gaping maw a twinkle reflected in her eye, with a quick snap of her tongue she hit her target and devoured a single berry.

     "Hydrophilia! How many times must I tell you not to land on my strawberries?"
The mock protestation more humorous than anything else, for the dragon could tear the man limb from limb or just as easily land on the most fragile of snow blankets and not leave a trace.

     “My humble apologies C.J., but we have been summoned. I have been instructed to fetch you immediately and to bring you to Knights Hall.”

     "No, they are not going to send me off on another crusade. The last time, we were gone for two months and got nothing in return but my berries going to seed, my fields getting scorched, and you very nearly unable to fly again. NO, you tell them I'm done, finished. And if you had any common sense, you'd quit too."

     “You know that is not possible for you or I, we have sworn our oaths of honor. Besides, admit it, you have missed me. It has been two summers since we last set out together.”

     The man righted his cart and began to pick up his tools, carefully examining each as he put it back into the cart. For just a moment, the dragon saw a glimmer of something familiar within the man. He still cared for his tools just he had his weapons, meticulously inspecting the keen edge of a blade. Once a warrior, always a warrior. Like it or not Jusserand was a knight, and could no sooner change that than a dragon could stop being a dragon. Er, well at least permanently that is...

     "I'll be a moment, I'll need to find all that old stuff"

     “Aye, but please be quick about it, Xanthippe seemed most anxious to speak with you.”

     As the peasant put away his cart and tools and walked off to a nearby cottage, the dragon searched the foliage, spotted the ripe berries and deftly plucked them with her tongue. It was her fondness for strawberries that brought her together with this human in the first place. It seemed like only yesterday that she first stumbled across this very plentiful berry patch. It had been 15 years since this patch had been plentiful and this well cared for. They had indeed spent much time away from Jusserand’s home.

     The peasant farmer was no more, from out of the cottage strode a knight in armor nearly as beautiful and entrancing as the scales of the dragon. In fact, many of the plates were scales that she had given him. She had begun the tradition of giving him one of her scales when his breast plate had been damaged during their first adventure, and she had given him one for each of their campaigns together since.

    Strapped to his left side was a beat up, scorched, old leather scabbard, the carefully polished pommel of his grandfather’s sword at the ready. Over his shoulder he carried the lance of his fathers cousin, nearly half a mans height shorter than it should be. A new point affixed to it, the old one buried within the chest of a red dragon.

     Indeed Felix had been the one to fill a young Jusserand’s head so long ago with tales of battling the Dragons of Flame. Jusserand was young when he took the oath and was the third in his family to take up the sword and lance, and despite his grumblings did so with pride.

     "Leave some of the berries, would you please. I'm ready, let’s not keep Xanthippe waiting another moment. Lets just get this over and done with, so I can get back to my fields."

     The Hall of the Knights was an old stone castle that was rapidly growing crowded. Masons had been commissioned to begin construction on a new Hall that was just to the south. He noted that the excavation was complete and the dwarven masons had begun to place the footings, and with a half smile wondered if he'd live to see it's completion.

     There were five barded war-horses in front of the great hall, Philia ensured that she landed well away from them, for one was unfamiliar to her and she didn't want to panic the mounts. Placing his lance in the rack at the entry, the knight quickly noted the other five lances. Sergeant at arms Poltroon, Eristic the bold, Farceur, Jo~well, and Jeremiah. Of these, he had worked with all but the new Sergeant.

     The doors swung open and Jusserand stepped into his home, for this was truly his home and had been for the past five years. For ten years prior to that he had gone from garrison to garrison, filling in where needed. This place was different, he knew he would always belong here. As he approached the inner chamber the shouts became clear. It seemed that Paltroons' mount was injured and still not fit for combat. The four younger knights stood along the side watching intently as Xanthippe squared off with Poltroon.

     I don't understand how that can be, I saw you riding your mount just the other day. I say you're afraid, Coward!

     Insult hurled after insult and none noticed Jusserands entrance. Word had gotten back from Poltroons' last assignment that he had turned tail and ran, leaving his men behind to fight for themselves. Of his unit only Poltroon survived to return and his mount had indeed been injured but not that severely. It had been seen running the fields at night alone, unmounted.

     "Eris, go inform Sir Lothario that I've need of his services."

    "You know his woman won’t like that captain, she's likely to throw me through the door. I'm still pulling thorns from my backside from the last time I went and fetched him. Never cross that woman in her rose garden. Why not send Jerimiah, she wouldn't dare touch that giant."

     Still complaining, shaking his head, the knight was on his way.
"One of these days, I swear she's gonna kill me."

     Walking past Poltroon as if he were not even there, Jusserand stepped before Xanthippe. "Sir Xan, what are your orders?"