Delgar found that the winter passed very quickly, no doubt because Lera almost never left his side. Every day he watched his father take sword lessons from Thorgar, who declared him an apt, but unwilling student. Daegar was quite happy with the distinction, declaring several times that war and weapons were the tools of the Damned One, and that he was only learning how to use one to protect his wife and child.
    Delgar's mother, however, had enjoyed watching her husband train, and often provided encouragement as Daegar tried to overcome the seemingly indomitable Thorgar. She also seemed to have fallen as much in love with Lera as Delgar had, and made a point of providing a packed lunch for whenever the two went out. Delgar never had the heart to tell her that Lera's mother was doing the same and half the food packed was never eaten.
    Still, Delgar was bothered by the words from his dream. No matter what books he consulted, he couldn’t work out what language "Magus Draconum" was, and neither could anybody he talked to. Not even Brother Guthwulf, who knew seven languages, could tell him what they meant, although the monk did take time to bless the romance between Delgar and his beloved.
    And then the winter turned to spring, and the news began to come in of raids. The nearby villages had been pillaged and destroyed, inspiring Daegar to bear his sword whenever he went outside. Rather than take up steel, Delgar cut himself a staff, and spent a couple of days swinging it around to get the feel of it.
    But, regardless of the threats of raiding, the crops were planted on time, and foreign merchants in the spring market were reported to be on their way. For a few weeks, life appeared to be normal. Delgar and Daegar worked in the fields while Helyna prepared the goods for the coming market.
    Even before the merchants arrived the market was a feast for the eyes. Multi-colored stalls filled the town square, drawing the eye away from the dull thatched cottages that surrounded it. The Raging Boar Inn began to showcase foreign bards and skalds in the evenings, and as more visitors arrived the atmosphere in general became jovial.
    As the market began in earnest, Delgar found himself dividing his time between Lera, his father's stall, and Wigmund’s shop. Wigmund was still as abrasive as ever, but tried to help Delgar to find a fitting gift for Lera.
    “I can carve you a flute,” Wigmund offered. “Any woman would love a man with a flute.”
    “I can’t play a flute,” Delgar pointed out.
    “Then learn! I can’t do anything more for you.”
    “What about a wooden Dragon?” Delgar suggested. “She likes those.”
    “Do you know how long it will take me to carve one of those?”
    “I’ll pay you well.”
    “I’m sure you will,” Wigmund grunted. “But it will still be a lot of trouble.”
    Delgar grinned. “She’s worth it.”
    Wigmund shook his head. “I don’t know why I keep letting you and your father talk me into this. Maybe your family just has silver tongues. First your father with the Dragons, and now you. Fine, I’ll carve your beloved a Dragon. The Eternal One only knows that I’ve gotten enough practice at it!”
    Delgar laughed. “I won’t ever forget this. Neither will she!”
    “You’d better not,” Wigmund grumbled.
    Whistling a happy tune, Delgar made his way through the small crowd to his father's stall.
    “Delgar!” Daegar called. “Lera is looking for you.”
    Delgar cursed under his breath. “I forgot! I was supposed to meet her, but I was overlong at Wigmund’s.”
    Daegar chuckled. “Whenever I forget something for your mother, I always greet her with a kiss.”
    “Does that work?”
    Daegar frowned. “Not really. But, it can’t hurt. Also, I need you to get more grain from your mother. Just a basket will do. Take Lera with you if you wish. I don’t think your mother would mind.”
    Delgar nodded. “I’ll see to it.” He began to weave his way through the square, avoiding the venders trying to sell their grain and old fruit. Finally, he saw the lovely head of golden hair he was looking for.
    “Lera!” he called. She turned and ran into his arms, pressing herself close to him.
    “Where were you?” Lera asked. “I was waiting.”
    “Getting you a surprise,” Delgar replied, kissing her. “It will be ready in a couple of weeks.”
    She fingered the luckstone around his neck. “I asked my father about our marriage, and he said yes! I'm going to give you a great big dowry when we join.”
    He kissed her. “We travel first, remember.”
    “I remember,” she said, an impish grin on her face. “And don’t think those kisses are going to make me forget you were late. I’m not that much of a pushover.”
    “I have to go and get more grain from the farm,” Delgar laughed. “Do you want to come?”
    She crossed her arms. “Have I ever said no?”
    He smiled and kissed her. “Never.”
    “Well, what are we waiting for?”
    Delgar offered his arm, and they made their way out of the village into the fields and valleys beyond. Delgar looked up at the clear sky, and then at Lera, and sighed.
    Lera looked at him. “What is it, Delgar?”
    “If this was more perfect, it would have to be a dream. I just wish this moment would stay in my memory forever.”
    She leaned closer to him. “I’m sure it will.”
    Then he spotted the smoke. A billowing pillar rising just over the horizon, dark and angry.
    “Delgar, what is it?” Lera asked.
    “My home is burning!” Delgar cried. “Quickly!”
    He pounded up the road, Lera struggling behind him. He came to the top of a hill overlooking his farm and gasped.
    Small, crooked figures danced around the burning wreck of the cottage. A portly form lay on the ground, covered in blood. All at once, the small shapes raised their arms, and Delgar saw the glint of metal.
    At that moment, Lera came puffing up the slope. When she saw the sight before her, her jaw fell.
    “The goblins are here!” Delgar said. “We have to warn the village.”
    “But we’re unarmed!” Lera protested. “If they find us, they’ll kill us!”
    “They’ll kill everybody if we don't warn the others,” Delgar said, tears already running down his cheeks. “I have to find my father.” He raced back down the hill, Lera in close pursuit.
    Delgar felt like he had run for hours. Every minute stretched out to infinity as he ran, racing towards the village and praying with every step that he wouldn't be too late. As he came over one of the hills looking over the village, he sighed in relief, only to have Lera barrel into him.
    “We’re not too late,” Delgar panted.
    “I haven’t run this hard in years,” Lera breathed.
    “We just have to get to my father, and he’ll warn the others,” Delgar decided. “Then we can rest.”
    He began to run down the hill, pounding towards the bright tents. Finally, he burst into the village square, startling a good portion of the crowd, Lera right behind him.
    “Delgar,” Daegar said. “What’s wrong? Why are you back so quickly?”
    “The goblins are here,” Delgar panted. “They burnt the farm and killed mother.”
    There was a mumble from the crowd. Daegar leaned against the wall of his stall, his hand falling to his sword hilt. “Oh, by the Eternal One,” he wept. “Helyna!”
    “Father, we have to do something,” Delgar insisted. “They’ll be here soon!”
    At that moment, a high pitched warcry sounded from all around the square. A short, swarthy form leapt out from a couple of stalls, bringing his crimson axe down on one of the villager's head. The man went down, blood and brains streaming from the wound.
    Daegar shook his head and drew his sword. “Defend yourselves!” he screamed, and he jumped out from behind his stall. A goblin attacked him, but Daegar parried and took off the creature's head with a single stroke.
    The crowd erupted into chaos as the shrill battle-cry became louder, and dozens of small, ugly forms jumped out to attack. Delgar saw Wigmund swing a sword at one of the goblins, but the monster ducked and struck with his axe. Wigmund went down, screaming in pain as his intestines slid out from his belly.
    “My Dada!” Lera cried. “I have to see him!” She rushed into the confusion.
    Delgar ran after her. “Lera! No! Don’t go alone!”
    Somehow he made his way through the crowd, avoiding the notice of the raiders as he ran. His heart pounded so loudly he feared the noise alone would give him away, bringing one of the goblins All around him the stench of blood and death filled the air.
    One of the goblins shrieked with joy and tossed a torch into the air. The torch landed on the roof of one of the cottages, setting it ablaze. The smoke fell heavily on the village, filling the air with a suffocating odor.
    Delgar tore his eyes from the scene and looked around desperately, blinking as the smoke obscured his vision. He had to find Lera. He couldn’t let her die.