Delgar returned at the setting sun to find Thorgar still visiting. He and Daegar stood out in the snow, Thorgar showing his father how to use his wavy patterned sword.
    “Don’t overextend,” Thorgar instructed. “Always stay balanced.”
    Daegar swung high and then low, Thorgar parrying each blow with his own blade. “I think I can hit the side of a castle,” the farmer declared.
    “Only barely,” Thorgar stated. “You still have to learn how to size up opponents. If you press the attack on a strong opponent, like me, then you'll be skewered before you ever have a chance to hit.”
    “If it’s a strong opponent, block him first, and then attack,” Daegar said. “And if it’s a weak opponent press the attack.”
    Thorgar lowered his sword. “Good! And how will you know if your opponent is strong or weak?”
    “Look in the eyes.”
    “Not bad, but also look at the stance. Well met, Delgar.”
    Delgar nodded. “Hello Uncle Thorgar.”
    “Your father needs practice, Delgar,” Thorgar declared. “Make sure he gets it.”
    “Uncle, Lera and I saw something.”
    Thorgar chuckled. “I’ll bet you saw many things.”
    “We saw a column of smoke.”
    The warrior paused, scratching his beard. “Now that could be important. Where was it?”
    “Just outside the pass,” Delgar replied. “Towards the sea.”
    Thorgar grunted. “I was afraid of that. The goblins are getting closer. They could be here in the spring.” He turned to Daegar. “Now do you see why I have you practice?” He turned back to Delgar. “Boy, I'm going to start teaching you this autumn. You'll be old enough to bear arms then.”
    “And old enough to get married,” Daegar pointed out, sheathing his sword. “Speaking of which, do you have any plans regarding Lera?”
    “We’ll travel a bit first,” Delgar said. “And then we’ll get married and start our farm.”
    “We’ll see if you can afford that after the harvest,” Daegar decided. “If you aren't starting your own farm, your mother and I may well need you here.”
    Delgar nodded and turned to Thorgar. “Uncle, I've always wondered why the customs only allow a man to bear arms once he’s reached a marriageable age.”
    Thorgar chuckled. “How do you think most warriors get married, boy?”
    “The sagas have them winning their wives through great deeds.”
    Thorgar nodded. “Right! Don't you think it would be embarrassing to a warrior to win his bride but not be old enough to claim her?”
    “I suppose it would,” Delgar said.
    “And what would be the point of gaining honor if you can’t use it to marry?”
    “Not much, I guess,” Delgar conceded.
    “Now you know. Daegar, you’ve taught your son well!”
    Daegar smiled. “He always was an exceptional boy.”
    “With an exceptional father. But, my wife is expecting me, and I must be home.”
    Daegar raised his hand. “Farewell!”
    “I will be here at noon to continue your instruction,” the warrior declared. “By the time we’ve finished, you’ll know enough to survive a small swordfight.” With that, Thorgar trudged into the snow.
    Daegar opened the door of the cottage for his son. “Delgar, what are you doing tomorrow?”
    “Lera and I are going to the winter fair,” Delgar replied. “Are you coming?”
    “I think Thorgar would kill me if I did,” Daegar chuckled. “Perhaps I can drag him out to it after my lesson. Before Lera and you go out, I need you to chop some more firewood. We’re beginning to run out.”
    “Can it wait until the afternoon?”
    Daegar shook his head. “I know young love, and if you're left to you're own devices, I’ll be lucky to see more firewood next winter. In the morning, and Lera can help out. I've seen her help you, and I know she isn’t as delicate as she looks.”
    Delgar stared at the floor. “Yes, father.”
    The meal that night was a quiet one, with Helyna busy in the kitchen cleaning some old pans, Delgar brooding over having to cut firewood before he could go to the fair with his beloved, and Daegar thinking about the threat of goblins. Well, he decided, if they did come he'd be ready for them.
    For Delgar's part, the goblins didn't bother him at all. After the meal, he retired to his room where he lost himself reading an old saga. Finally, he could no longer keep his eyes open, so he put the book down, snuffed out the candle, and went to sleep.
    For the last three years, his dreams had been filled with Lera, but this one was different. He found himself standing in the wreckage of a village, and he feared that it was his own. Some wooden Dragons lay in a smouldering heap, blackening in the last of the fire.
    And then he was soaring high into the sky, the village vanishing as he was surrounded by clouds. He looked to the side to find himself with the body of a great Dragon, wings flapping as though he had been a Dragon all his life. He reveled in the feeling of the wind over his draconic body, and he tried to glide upwards, away from the mundane world.
    Suddenly, he saw the face of a woman, slim and raven haired, and he reveled in it, the greatest of joys filling his heart. For a moment he felt the cyclone of fate around him, spinning him away from the beautiful face, and his heart knew the greatest of sorrow. And then he was in his Dragon body again, soaring across a great desert.
    He tried to turn, but he couldn't, and fate drove him onwards despite his every attempt to break free. He saw a huge glacier cover the desert in a great icy deluge, and in it he felt death. And then he felt the kiss of an ethereal mist and the world below him vanished to his eyes.
    He walked through the mist that surrounded him, but he could find nothing. For a moment, he heard somebody speak in an alien tongue, but then he was plunged into darkness.
    He opened his eyes and sat up in his bed, his sheets soaked with sweat. The golden rays of the dawn seeped in through his shutters, and he blinked in the light, dim as it was.
    But the words he heard kept going through his mind, even as the rest of the dream began to fade from his memory. A shiver went down his spine as he tried to work out what they could possibly mean.
    Magus Draconum.