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A chill breeze caused the young man to shiver. The vague ghosts of a dream still lingered in his mind. He slowly stretched, reaching out for the comforting touch of scales, but he found only grass and cold dirt at the tips of his fingers. Bedwyn blinked sleepily at the sunlight filtering through the trees from a low hanging sun. The rogue dragon was gone.

Bedwyn still wondered to this day how a creature so large could sneak away in the night so silently. It had become an annoying habit, not waking up whenever the rogue dragon slinked away. He pulled the blanket from his body and wondered how it got there; he didn't remember falling asleep with it. The young bard still wondered to this day if he'd ever wake up to find his dragon still coiled around him.

His dragon? Bedwyn laughed to himself as he climbed to his feet and stretched again, stiff joints complaining slightly at their mistreatment. If anything, he was the rogue's human. Dragons owned people, not the other way around.

Bedwyn looked around at the crude campsite and began to collect his things. Clothes had been cast to one side. His hammock needed taking down and his pack still lay beside it. He was used to sleeping fairly rough. When times were hard or the nights were warm and dry, Bedwyn often took to the woods and made camp. Of course, once in a while, he met his scaly friend too. This clearing was one of their usual spots to meet.

It was a fairly short journey to the farmstead where Bedwyn had left his horse. The owner was an old friend of his father's and was happy to help the young bard. Bedwyn in return was more than happy to keep the remote farm updated with news from afar. They were not exactly friends, more like distant family who got on but had little else in common. Both had lost loved ones during the country's troubles nearly two decades ago. Perhaps that was all that was needed for people to stay in contact with each other.

"Ya can always stay in ma barn, ya know.", the grisled farmer muttered as the bard prepared his horse for his trip. "Mus be warmer than out in them wilds... prolly safer too."

"Ah, but calm words and soothing music can tame the heart of even the most savage of beasts. I'm perfectly safe, my good friend." Bedwyn smiled as he placed the saddle onto the geldling. The patchy brown and white horse snorted as if in laughter. Bedwyn chuckled. "But I thank you for your kindness nonetheless."

A familiar grunt was all Bedwyn got as a reply as he secured his things and climbed into the saddle. He smiled broadly and sighed.

"Fare thee well and thank you again!", he exclaimed and encouraged his horse into a trot.

The ride from the farmstead was easy as the sun rose higher in the slightly cloudy sky. The road was a mixture of packed dirt and gravel which was kept clear of plants simply by the mere passage of those who travelled along it. It led its way further towards the largest town in this territory, passing through many of the smaller towns and villages. It was one of the smaller towns that Bedwyn was heading for. There he had quite the reputation and never had trouble finding an inn or tavern where he could ply his trade.

He wouldn't be heading all the way to the Town Under the Mountain itself. There were plenty of more highly skilled entertainers there. Many establishments even kept musicians, storytellers and the like on retainers and actively turned away newcomers except under certain circumstances. So Bedwyn remained in the smaller towns a few days travel away and was perfectly happy to do so. Besides, it would be inconvenient to travel such distances to meet his scaly friend once a month or so. The rogue was reluctant to travel so deep into the Great Wyrm's territory.

The Harbinger's Caw was one such inn that Bedwyn was fairly well known to frequent. At the heart of the small town of Grimshaw, it boasted many tables and various foods and ales to suit all manner of tastes. Grimshaw was located on a busy trade route and the inn enjoyed all manner of patrons too. The owner was friendly yet strict. After all, he had a business to run and a young family to feed.

Bedwyn arrived at the inn shortly after noon and was quick to stable his horse and head inside. The Harbinger's Caw was most busy first thing in the morning and then again in the evenings. Even so, many tables were occupied by hungry customers enjoying a good meal. At this time, they were mostly travellers who were on their way to or from the capital. Bedwyn walked straight up to the counter where he was met by a warm smile and a firm handshake.

"My my, if it isn't my favourite minstrel.", the innkeeper exclaimed, punctuating the greeting with a firm pat on the shoulder. "You're a bit early, but I'll see about something for you to eat if you'd like?"

"Of course! It has been a weary ride and I've not had chance to eat as of yet.", Bedwyn replied and then looked around the inn as his meal was thrown together.

The arrangement he had was simple. He would provide entertainment for the evening's patrons and would get whatever food and water he needed. He would put down a tip bowl and could keep what ever people decided to spare. This way he would not go hungry nor thirsty and would give the best performance he could to earn tips from those he entertained. Generally he earned enough to pay for a decent room, a few ales and to keep his horse in both shoe and feed. He even managed to put a little to the side most of the time.

"Anything special planned for this evening?", the innkeeper asked casually and Bedwyn smiled knowingly. He pretended not to enjoy the performances himself, but Bedwyn knew that his tales, music and singing pleased both patrons and staff alike.

"Perhaps, perhaps.", the young bard teased. "There may be some new styles I've heard from the capital and maybe a few new melodies I've been trying out."

Bedwyn settled at a table and dug into his meal. It was a fairly dry combination of bread, cheese, broad beans and seasonal vegetables. He watched people come and go with a mug of mead and contemplated that evening's entertainment. The mild autumn weather had the farm workers especially concerned about a harsh winter. The weather didn't always follow such strict patterns, but something to lift spirits and reminders of how cozy winter nights could be, would probably go down well. He'd heard that grain and salted meat stores were stocked well after a fine summer.

The inn slowly filled as the evening approached, workers and tradesmen alike began to finish for the day. Some recognised Bedwyn and gave him the usual collection of casual greetings. Nods, smiles and handshakes were exchanged and soon the tables began to fill with all manner of folk.

Grimshaw was like many towns in the region, with a majority of humans and wolves with foxes, felines and a scattering of other races. Bedwyn recognized one of them on the spot.

"Good to see you again, my friend.", Bedwyn grinned at the fox whose name he couldn't quite remember. "Please take a seat near the front and enjoy!"

"Oh, I be courtin' tonight, found me sen a fine lass by the name o' Grenda!", the slightly dusty russet vulpine gasped a little out of breath. He'd clearly been in a rush to get here on time. "Shiz a beaute, Bedwyn! Shiz the one!"

Bedwyn grinned with a combination of happiness for the fox's mood and humour at the number of times he could remember having similar conversations with him. He was certainly a little rough around the edges, but he had a good heart which seemed rather resistant to being broken. No doubt he would one day find 'the one'.

"Congratulations to you both! I'm sure she'll be the most wondrous creature in the inn."

Farm workers, travellers, merchants, guards, scholars, and children began to create a rather noisy but good natured environment. Bedwyn smiled at the scene and began to tune his long necked lute. It was not not a fake smile by any means. The young bard was genuinely pleased to see the inn fill up and the relaxed mood of most of the people there. He enjoyed the fact that many were here for him and that most would no doubt appreciate his talent. The tip bowl slowly filling as the night closed in would obviously please him too.

He casually tested a few notes as he watched the growing patronage. One talent that Bedwyn had gained over the years was the ability to read what people were saying purely from watching their lips. He couldn't understand every word, but combined with body language he could get a good gauge of the topic and would adjust his performance accordingly. He'd become rather proficient at it and often did so even in the middle of a song or ballad.

At the moment many of the townsfolk were discussing the day's activities, their families and the local gossip. Farmers discussed the yield of their crops or the laziness of their labourers, merchants discussed their takings and exaggerated the quality of their goods and travellers spoke of the places they'd visited and the weariness of their mounts. Some mercenaries talked in hushed tones about their current job and plans for the future. A couple of guards had clearly just finished their shift, laughing and joking as they spent their pay on ale after ale. It was a fine crowd and the takings would be good.

"It seems that every time you attract more than the last time. I should take you on full time!", the innkeeper joked as he refilled Bedwyn's mug with fairly fresh water.

Bedwyn smiled as he joined the innkeeper. "Of course! News of my performances must be quite the topic across counters and around hearths alike.", the young bard smiled and took a sip of water.

Bedwyn liked this particular inn very much. The owner had always been decent and honest with him, never afraid to admit when takings were good or performances were not up to scratch. They had even shared a few ales at the end of an evening and talked about nothing in particular. Sometimes the best conversations were the ones where you talk about nothing at all.

"You think I'm joking. I can tell when you're in town and performing at the Tap and Tumbler instead, takings are often unusually low.", the innkeep gave a wry smile.

"You've said just as much for nearly a year now...", Bedwyn stretched his arms out a little and searched around the inn with his eyes for emphasis. "but I've yet to see such an agreement come my way!"

Another pat on the back and a knowing look was all the young bard got as a reply. It was true, they'd spoken at length about a retainer to give The Caw exclusive rights to his performances in town. Bedwyn would still be able to ply his trade anywhere he liked outside of town, but for a monthly wage he'd only perform at The Caw when in Grimshaw itself. Bedwyn welcomed the thought of such an advancement to his career, it was a personal milestone which he would relish achieving.

He sighed a little to himself and began his first song. It would be something that was familiar to the crowd here in Grimshaw, it was a popular song which would warm up towards his more recent material. Bedwyn found that it was always a good idea to mix things up a little. He kept a close eye on faces and lips alike as he settled into his routine.

One song led into another and then a tune which would encourage a good hearty sing along. A little new material before a short break and opening up some requests. Copper Bits trickled into his tip bowl and his mug of water never ran dry. The inn was just the right level of noisy to still hear his performance but also to know that people were enjoying themselves. Tonight was as good a night as you could hope for.

"How 'bout one o' the Great Wyrm!?", one patron called after Bedwyn had moistened his throat. There were a few nods and smiles at that and the young bard complied.

Traditional songs about the Mistress of the Mountain were highly varied. Some portrayed her as a mindless beast, others as a wise ruler. Some focused on complimenting her and others ridiculed her. The Emerald Empress herself never seemed concerned one way or the other. It was unlikely that she hadn't heard of these songs and yet nothing had been done one way or the other. She probably saw such trivialities as beneath her.

Personally, Bedwyn enjoyed those ballads that portrayed dragons as intelligent, if not always peaceful creatures. They were not animals, they were not monsters, even if they had the capacity to act like them. The Mistress was a prime example of such a dragon and, on a more private level, so was the rogue. He'd once tried and failed giving his friend a name, it felt rude to his civilised mind to call him "dragon" or "rogue", but such were their incomprehensible ways.

Bedwyn decided to start with a song about the most recent troubles that their country had faced. Not a war exactly, but to those affected it certainly seemed that way. Generally, The Great Wyrm didn't trouble herself with the affairs of those below her. But when things started affecting her territory, she was quick to react. Not many got to see her in action, but those that did spread the tales of her power... and her rage.

People on the whole never really saw her in a negative light. She made no friends of the local lords and taxes remained low. She kept herself to herself and for the most part, the people prospered under a ruler who had no malice for her subjects nor needed much from them. They say that she'd ruled over the lands for hundreds of years, no one knew any different. Her more recent actions against hostile forces reminded the people of her presence. It had done her reputation a lot of good.

As he sung, Bedwyn smiled at the crowd. He also watched expressions and lips to gauge their reactions. The evening was just beginning and people were generally in good spirits even if they hadn't had many spirits of the alcoholic kind as of yet. Farmers listened as they ate their meaty broths, merchants warmed their hands by the smaller of the two hearths and travellers unfamiliar with the Great Wyrm took in his words with interest.

But not all were happy with his choice of song. Bedwyn was subtle with his reading of eyes and lips alike and noticed that his performance had drawn the attention of a couple of the mercenaries who had, up until now, been uninterested in his presence. To most, it was just a fleeting glance, to Bedwyn it was a clear sign that they had taken an unusual interest in his ballad.

The young bard was not overly concerned by the sudden attention. Mercenaries tended to behave themselves more than the locals most of the time. They depended on good relations with guards and farmers alike for work. Troublemakers from outside a settlement were given a swift exit and would remain unwelcome for some time afterwards. That sort of thing would seriously hamper whatever jobs they had, no matter where they were from or heading to.

But something did not sit right with Bedwyn. Something about the way they were dressed perhaps? Their equipment seemed unusual to the bard's eyes, but he was hardly the expert on weapons or equipment. He couldn't put his finger on why they bothered him so. As carefully and covertly as only a practiced observer could, he spied as much as he could on the conversation. He only had a clear view of one of the mercenary's faces, so he only had snippets from one side of their conversation.

"... he's the perfect... poor and bitter..."

"... no idea... only need him for..."

"... in place days ago... will send word now..."

"... buyer delivered them... good for days..."

"... elsewhere... we need to do... like kings..."

Bedwyn's normally controlled expression gained a frown of concentration. It was now his turn to become suspicious. Thankfully he was a skilled performer and his ballad faulted not once. He finished to a hearty round of applause and smiled to the patrons who were looking his way. Most were distracted by meals, drinks, conversations or barmaids; but many took the time to cheer. One young wolf threw a copper Bit into the wooden bowl at Bedwyn's feet and a couple more followed from a couple of the town's guards.

The young bard took his time to collect the metal that had missed the bowl as he covertly watched the mercenaries. They had gathered their belongings, finished their drinks and headed out of the inn. He knew he shouldn't care about the comings and goings of strangers, especially well armed and capable strangers; but his gut feeling was rarely wrong. He would feel at least a little responsible if innocents came to harm when he could have warned someone ahead of time. It was then that he saw it.

Weapons were not prohibited in most public buildings in Grimshaw. Although normally you would only expect guards and soldiers to carry them openly. Mercenaries were not harassed if they kept them sheathed. All five of the group carried weapons, but one of the mercenaries' daggers caught Bedwyn's eye in particular. To almost anyone else, the hilt looked like it had been carved from the tusk from a boar or some such. But the curve was not quite right, the ridges were too prominent, the tip was a little too tapered. He was not an expert on bones nor weapons, but that hilt was definitely from the horn of a dragon.

His heart beat a little quicker and he felt the knot in his stomach twist. Dragons were intelligent creatures and whether they deserved their deaths or not, they deserved as much dignity as the other races of this world. Even enemy soldiers and executed criminals had their bodies buried or burned; they were not harvested for trophies like in other more primitive cultures. Dragons deserved the same respect regardless of their actions.

Bedwyn knew his view was not shared by many and it sometimes angered him. Through his music and stories he could remind the civilised races that dragons were people too; people capable of both good and ill. Just because one dragon might kill innocents, did not mean they all would. He had to be careful of course, he had a living to make and couldn't been seen to lean too far in either direction.

The adrenaline in his veins caused his hand to shake slightly as he took a long drink of water from his mug. He literally drained it down in a series of quick gulps. It would have been more impressive if it had been a flagon of ale. He was afraid to get involved, but every fibre of his being screamed at him to do something. He had to make up some quick excuse.

"Thank you, everybody. Thank you. The show's not over, but I'm going to leave you to your meals and conversations to take a little break.", he called out, not loud enough to interrupt those conversations, but just loud enough to be heard by those already paying attention. "Someone might have drank a little too much water!", he chuckled as a few locals smiled in return.

Leaving his long necked rebic on the chair, Bedwyn pocketed the Bits from his bowl. He noticed there was even a more valuable silver Bob amongst the copper Bits, but he was too distracted to be too happy about such a rare tip. He headed for the door, his normally genuinely happy smile was replaced by an indistinguishable worried smile as he weaved between patrons on his way to the door.

He wasn't about to confront the mercenaries, but he at the very least needed to learn a little more. Maybe catch a little more of their conversation, maybe spot what kinds of horses they were riding. Something more than the bad feeling, snippets of conversation and the spotting of a vile trophy that he had right now.

The door to the inn opened to the darkening skies; not quite night, but well into dusk. The mercenaries were nowhere to be seen although the distant sound of conversation and horses could have been them. Bedwyn grimaced a little, there was only one thing left to do. He quickly made his way around the side of the inn where he had more privacy. A spot often frequented by those relieving their bladders who hadn't the time to seek the public privies. Any onlookers would assume we was doing the same.

He took out a small piece of wood from a pocket in his tunic. It was a simply carved figurine of a woman; well, it was supposed to be. In his youth, Bedwyn had experimented with wood carving as a pastime, but was never really very good at it. The only reason he'd kept it at all was because of what the rogue had put on it. There was dragon magic here. The young bard gripped the narrow piece of wood in his hands and snapped it in two.

"Meet me at the clearing as usual.", he hissed into the air, Bedwyn's gaze watching the shadows for movement. "Give me a few hours, there is something you need to know."

Nothing seemed to happen, but Bedwyn hadn't expected anything. The rogue had placed some magic on the figurine many years ago. A simple pair of message and locating shapes the dragon called them. Breaking the figurine triggered the magic which would capture noise nearby and then send it, along with a location, to the dragon himself. The rogue never admitted that he cared for Bedwyn as much as he did, but this gesture had been rather touching.

He'd never had to use this before, it was suppose to be used only for the most important reasons. The rogue had emphasised that it was to be used in emergencies only, hence the reason that breaking the tiny wooden figure was the trigger. Bedwyn saw it as a sign that the dragon cared for him very much, even if the big lizard claimed he was merely protecting his property.

The young man sighed, the rogue had never offered to teach Bedwyn magic and nor had the bard asked. What would even be the point? Like all the civilised races, he didn't have and magical resources of his own; and unlike the rich, the local lords and the Mistress's Magisters, he had no slaves to tap for power. His skills were firmly routed in entertaining, and Bedwyn often joked that was his own form of magic.

He headed back to the inn. A few mercenaries couldn't threaten a powerful rogue who never stayed in one place like his friend, there was no rush to pass the information on. He had a performance to finish. The rogue could probably track down the mercenaries later if he so chose, Bedwyn wouldn't lose any sleep over their disappearance if they had connections with those who butchered dragon carcasses for dagger hilts. In a couple of hours he would head out to meet his scaly friend, he could doze lightly in the saddle, his horse knew the way.

Bedwyn took a deep breath, put on a good smile and pushed open the door to the inn. As they say, the show must go on.