Wulfhere shifted in his chair. He used the pause to examine the face of the man sitting across the table. The War Minister Redwald was the embodiment of everything he hated about the so-called ‘modern age’ and yet he had to accept him at his table like the dearest friend.

This afternoon Redwald came in the old knight’s castle unannounced, sporting a confident smile which spoke volumes about his contempt. Wulfhere ordered slaughter of his best sheep for the feast and breaking into a cask of expensive foreign wine he bought for his eldest daughter’s wedding. As he did that, he couldn’t help but wonder if this upstart had visited him to show off and assert his dominance. If there would be any evidence to support his doubts minister would be already dead, regardless of the law forbidding the dueling. But his guest was pleasant to him and his family during the dinner and afterwards, not slipping in even the slightest insult.

Wulfhere sighed, picking up cards scattered on the table. His eyes wandered to the empty chair where his wife usually sat. She excused herself from the table feinting headache few moments after Redvald proposed a game of Conquest Cards. Good Swaefreda seemed to blame his love for the game for their poor financial condition. His wife’s silken face and raven braid with odd gray hairs here and there remained untainted by the age for over five decades she was alive. Her soul was the same – pure like a soul of a newborn. Swaefreda would never think to blame the rulers appointed by the God for the hardships. Yet, Wulfhere blamed them.

“Four cards for me.” He discarded four cards from the ten he clutched in his hands. Sly smile on Redwald’s face as he dealt new cards made him uncomfortable. He turned away. Empty space on the wall caught his eyes; there was only faint discoloration of the stone where once stood the gilded plate mail of his ancestor the field-marshal. He had to sell it to finance his daughter’s wedding.

Wulfhere turned again, this time he saw doors barred with nailed wooden boards. The eastern tower fell last spring, and he had no money to repair it, not with a substantial dowry he had to give to his daughter. He would die before he gathers enough money for the tower – another festering wound to carry into his grave.

It was all king’s fault, and the fault of the kings before him. Two centuries ago kings decided they don’t want to share the rule with a council of nobility anymore. They wanted the absolute power. And they found allies in rich merchants who appeared in cities like mushrooms after the rain. In days of old it was a shame to buy something paying one price and sell it for another, higher one. In days of old it was a shame to live off another’s work. The merchants borrowed money to the king, and he bought mercenary army, making feudal army obsolete. Soon, he replaced noblemen from high positions with his new bureaucracy. The merchants’ sons took new positions; they never shed blood for the king, for the country, none of their family ever did. They had no feeling of duty, no responsibility towards sacrifices their family made – their only responsibility and duty was to make money.

He looked at the politician sitting across the table and twisted the ends of his gray mustaches.

“You gonna check your cards?” Redvald wiped the sweat off his face with a scarlet embroidered handkerchief and swallowed hard. Wulfhere smiled, reassuring the man that everything is alright – his frown startled the minister.

“Yes, I will.” He picked the cards and his heart stopped for a moment. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes to make sure his eyes are not playing tricks with him. The queen of dragons gave him a mysterious, serene smile from the card in his hands. The card was so rare that this was the first time he ever saw it in his entire life, almost sixty years long. There were five thousand cards in the deck of Conquest Cards and queen of dragons was only in one of every two hundred decks made. Many players dealt the card took the queen of dragons out of the deck as a lucky charm. He was afraid to even start calculating the odds – math was the science of the merchants, he never cared much about it anyways.

“Hundred goldens,” he placed a small bet to lure his opponent.

“Let’s make it a thousand,” Redvald raised.

“I follow your thousand and raise for a thousand,” that was all money he had. He crossed his arms, keeping his stony expression. When he wins, he will have enough money to repair the tower, if Redwald do not increase his bet…

Redwald examined the old knight. Wulfhere had read in the politician’s expression that he knew how much money was in his pocket – merchants always knew.

“Fifteen thousand goldens,” minister said with a smirk.

The third and last betting round and Wulfhere didn’t know what to do. He pressed his lips together, tilting head. If he folds the sure win will slip through his hands. If he follows he would have to bet half of the village meant to be inherited by his younger son. His whole estate comprising the castle, the mill on the river and two little hamlets in the foothill below the castle were worth slightly less than sixty thousand goldens. What a crazy thought…

He jumped from his chair, running to his room. A few moments later he was back carrying the bonds.

“I bet my estate.” He slapped the bonds on the table. His elder son gasped, almost dropping his torch. Wulfhere sold silver candle holders to buy a wedding dress and jewelry for his daughter. Not knowing what to do when the visitor appeared at his door, he ordered his sons to clad the leather armors of the mounted archers of his house. In the days long gone archers in the uniforms would surround the tables holding torches to illuminate the honorary dinners for generals and battle heroes. Traditions were dead, yet he couldn’t bear to look his sons Frealaf and Geot in the eyes.

“Well, that puts us in an awkward position. I have only twenty thousand in my purse. If I send my servant to bring me more, it would take a while… I’m curious to see your cards, so I’ll bet my ministerial position. It cost me sixty thousand, which I believe is the value of your estate. I’ll take my fifteen thousand back.” He presented the appointment charter with a king Swantimer’s signature and seal. Wulfhere frowned pushing the bile rising in his throat back, it was common practice nowadays to sell and buy positions. Refusal was not an option - the opportunity was too tempting. His younger daughters were growing up and would soon need wedding and dowry. With yearly salary he would receive those would pose no problem. He could buy back his family relics and new lands for his sons. Not a single one of his children would have to join the monastery.

“I agree,” he muttered.

The minister nodded positioning five cards from his hands in the towers on the board. Wulfhere followed his suit. It was time for the attack. And he attacked, burning the tower with his queen of dragons and opening the path to the minister’s attacking force. One by one the towers fell, forcing the minister to surrender the game.

“You have won.” Minister sighed. “You will excuse me. I must make preparations to move to the tropical island I bought for my retirement.”

Wulfhere followed the minister to his carriage.

“You can keep the card. You’ll need all the luck you can get as a new war minister. Also, here’s the folder with documents, study them before you appear at the palace.”

The carriage disappeared in the night, leaving Wulfhere alone with a full moon and a goofy smile on his lips.

queen of dragons

***

A week later he started his journey to the capitol. He took half of his ten archers to accompany him on the road. They made swift progress and in the morning of the next day they were on the King’s Road. Journey was easy after that.

By the position of the sun, he could estimate that midday was close when he called for the captain.

“I’ll turn off the road here. Take your men to the city and wait for me there.” Young captain frowned, but Wulfhere interrupted him. “I have a secret assignment from the king. Make sure my luggage remains intact.”

“I understand.” Captain saluted, turned on his heels and ordered his men to march to the city.

Wulfhere looked after them. They would be glad to help me, but I can’t ask them to die for me. Their fathers were my war comrades and they are like my own children. My children will get my ministerial pension; their children could starve to death if they die. Each of them has taxes from two or three houses from my villages as only income. He turned towards the forest half a mile from the road. In the distance beyond the forest grayish-blue mountain loomed, waiting for him.

Once in the forest, he changed into his old armor. He couldn’t buckle it up all the way and it was heavier than he remembered. Faint smile played on his lips as he mounted the horse. His wife chuckled and waved her head in disbelief when he answered her question about the need to carry the armor to the city. He lied that he might need it for a tournament. She smiled a lot more than usual during the last week, they all were – his new position awakened the hopes of his family.

He started toward the mountain, remembering his days in the war. As a young boy, not much older than his eldest son was now, he joined the mercenary company. He wanted to earn his piece of bread and free his father from at least one hungry mouth. The wars were at the sea over trading rights. He never understood why they were attacking coastal areas just to burn them and leave them afterwards. People died, leaving their bones in a foreign land and waters and there was no gain in land. His friends are lying in unmarked graves overgrown with grass and thorns with no one to light a candle for them. Those who were lucky enough to have a grave… At least he knows why he will die – for his family.

The second day after the game he discovered that politician had tricked him. Redwald lost the game with a purpose. He found his doom in the documents. The king Swantimer ordered the war minister to venture to the Dragon’s Mountain and settle the new agreement with the dragon Zoltan. Wulfhere was about ten years old when the dragon came for the first time. Villages were burnt, king’s army scattered, even the emissaries found their end at the bottom of the dragon’s stomach. Finally, Zoltan agreed to leave the kingdom in peace for the price in gold and virgins. The period specified in the contract expired and a new contract had to be agreed before the beast lays destruction upon the kingdom once more. Wulfhere positioned the spear on his knees to sharpen its tip. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he observed the shiny steel. It was smooth under his fingers, so slippery. A sarcastic smile followed the realization that he’s walking on the thin ice – single wrong step and he’ll go under. The control over his life escaped through his fingers like a handful of sand. He will have only one chance to find crevice in the dragon’s scales. One last charge – the death suited for the knight. His skin prickled with goosebumps as the blood of his ancestor stirred through his veins. He found that pride to be strange and exciting at the same time. At least he won’t have to linger any longer in this abomination the world turned into. The minister gave him an honorable way out.

The wail of the wind startled him. The wind made the eerie sound, forcing his way into the dark cave on the mountainside right in front of him. That’s it. His stomach clutched, sending prickly sensation down his spine. Familiar jitters before the battle made him feel young again. His chest swelled, and he took a deep breath, savoring sweet taste of suspense.

Wulfhere blown the horn of his ancestors and yelled their battle cry, “Born to die for the king!”

He listened. Faint at first and then growing in strength sound of movement came from the cave. Something big approached the exit. He lowered visor on his helmet and pointed the spear at the cave, leaning in with all of his weight.

The sight of the huge creature stopped him in his tracks.

“What are you waiting for? I’m ready to die. Everything is lost, there’s nothing else I could lose,” the dragon said. His teeth fell out, leaving pink gums. The fires in his eyes were extinguished, turning them in dark bottomless pits. Over half of his scales fell off, revealing soft pale flesh bellow. His wings dragged on the ground behind him, withered and dead.

Wulfhere was sorry for the creature. Once upon a time he was a fearless warrior, same as the old knight.

“What happened to you?”

“I am the creature of magic. The magic is my blood. Everyone calculates nowadays and numbers are runes of a strong warding magic. Their dabbling in math locks the magic. Please, kill me. Don’t make me beg for my life – I will. I’m old and weak.”

Wulfhere smiled, dismounting. He shuffled through his bag, finding a piece of paper.

“I think we should make a new contract. ‘The first item: heads of the politicians’. It’s time for the reform.”