The great winged beast circled high above the castle. Towering within the cloudless sky, it soared; its nostrils expelling sulfurous smoke as its powerful wings forcefully beat the air. From below it looked like no more than a mere child’s toy tethered to a string and taken up to ride on the warm spring breezes. But this was no toy, and for the space of nearly a half an hour it had been there, and was receiving quite a bit of attention from down below.
      The inner courtyard swarmed with activity as courtiers and commoners alike ran for cover of the damp alcoves and dark inner passageways of the keep. Hushed whispers and rumors spread rampant at the significance of this evil omen.
Meanwhile, soaring high above on the warm currents, the enormous dragon gazed downward, considering the soldiers as they tramped through the ivy-laden pathways and into the courtyard in full metal; long-bows and crossbows at their sides. King’s orders had brought them, and their instructions were to shoot the thing down.

     “Mother of mercy child, get out of the way!” snapped an aged peasant woman, yanking the arm of her ward and dragging him to safety, out of the path of the soldiers feet. Standing under an outcropping of stone against the west wall, she squinted skyward, scanning the vast blue above Lodes Tower where the dragon seemed to hang in the sky.
      "It’s a silver one.” She mused. “I dare say, they’ll never take that one!”   
      The soldiers continued their noisy march, stomping in resounding cadence over the smooth cobblestones of the inner bailey, until they positioned themselves in five rows, twenty men per row. A hush fell over the uneasy throng as they aimed their weapons skyward. At the captain’s signal, they fired a volley of arrows in the direction of the winged creature. The projectiles hissed as they sped upward toward the great beast. Huge leathery wings slapped the air, audible even down below, pushing the dragon out of the path of the arrows, which quickly climbed out of sight. Snorting a puff of gray smoke, the dragon jerked its thorny head and nipped at a loose scale on its near-white underbelly. The scale loosened and fell, twirling and tumbling downward toward the courtyard below.
“Again!” shouted the captain, but his eyes never left the edge of his blade, which he held before him. Not that he didn’t trust the ability of his men, rather he knew his adversary well. Many campaigns he had fought under command of King Agamon; countless crusades against what the king considered ‘the scourge of the skies’, evil, ominous and decidedly a threat thereof. Taking one of these rogues required a great deal of patience and skill. He knew the death of a dragon did not come easy.
      "Ye shoot like midwives, the lot of ya!” he boomed; now sweeping his blade toward the sky. “If ye took as good an aim at that there devil as ye do at the tavern wench’s virtue we’d all be in our beds by sundown!”
Undaunted, the soldiers began notching their bows with new arrows. The captain raised his sword as his men aimed their weapons and awaited the signal
“For the King!” he shouted, slicing the air with a quick downward swipe of his sword. The soldiers let loose another array of arrows, which streaked skyward. The dragon circled wide and swung its tail around, executing an effortless pivot. The arrows streaked off into the blue.
“Enough!” A voice boomed above the clamor. Loud gasps went out from amongst the onlookers as they dipped their heads and kneeled. The crowd rent itself in two as they made way for who had spoken.
     "It will take more than arrows to dispatch that devil!” bellowed King Agamon as he strode into the center of the courtyard, his aids following close behind him. His longsword, leather-bound at his side reflected the sun in brilliant bursts of light.
     "I’ve dealt with this one before.” he went on, stroking the tip of his beard.
     "Your Majesty,” The captain said, breathing at last. “Upon my word, the beast shall be brought down.” As he spoke, he gazed up at the dragon circling high above the tower. 
Suddenly there was a stirring in the crowd, a voice calling out, “Look, up there!”
All eyes went skyward.
     "I say, there’s something falling. Perhaps we did indeed hit the thing.” Said the captain. “Got a piece of ‘em anyway.”
The loosened scale continued to fall, shimmering and gleaming until at last it hit the ground with a loud smack, in the very center of the assembly. A hush overcame the throng as heads turned to look at the mysterious thing which landed in the courtyard. No one dared move, heads turning from the king to the object, observing what the king himself would do. The king turned away from the commotion, disinterested in the scale, and continued to stare into the sky. Finally, the small child with the old woman ran to it and scooped it up. He carefully moved his small fingers over its near-translucent silvery surface. Finally he looked up and smiled.
      "Can I keep it?” he asked the woman, holding the scale up to her. It was nearly as big as the child’s head.
      "Of course not!” snapped a tall man, dressed head to foot in black. He briskly stepped forward and snatched it away. “What falls on the kings land belongs to the king!” he scowled, thrusting the scale under his longcoat.  No one challenged him.
      "I’ll take him down a piece at a time if I have to!” yelled the captain, raising his fist to the air.
      "Not this time.” replied King Agamon. “The beast has gone, see there, already it is on the horizon” The king sucked in his breath and, at length, let it out slowly as he walked away toward the tower gate, his aids following close behind.

      The sky above Lodes tower was empty once again. The dragon was gone.

     The heavy leather-bound book lay open on the table. Norcisses strained his eyes in the dim firelight as he slowly and carefully lifted and turned each page of the thin, fragile parchment. At once, the room was filled with its dank, musty smell as it mixed with the sweet smell of the hearthstone. Odd shadows danced across strange marks and symbols; the runes of which told of a past long forgotten, and, Norcisses thought, perhaps foretold a future long awaited. He quietly cast a glance toward the king who stood at the hearth. He appeared sullen and distant, staring deep into the fire while nursing a goblet of wine. The blaze crackled and sputtered as it devoured a dry log. At length the king sat down, sighing heavily. Tucking his cloak around him, he shivered, shaking his head.
Norcisses continued to pour over the ancient text, occasionally lifting the immense book to better catch the diminishing light. The wooden table upon which it sat had seen countless years of use; from the entertaining of kings, to secret council meetings of war. Deep gouges and scrapes covered its stained exterior. The scribe slowly drummed his fingers on its hard, rough surface.
“Ah! I have found it!” Norcisses shouted, pounding his fist on the table. Shaken from his thoughts, the king turned. He took a long draught from his chalice.
“You have found what?” he inquired, wiping his beard.
“The answer to the riddle of the scale, Sire!” he replied. His fingers shook as he ran them down the pages of the book. The king, amused at the sudden giddiness of his chief scribe leaned in closer. “In the legend of Maelstrom,” the scribe continued, “it is written within the Dragon Chronicles that whosoever finds a dragon’s scale, particularly a silver dragon’s scale, great wealth and distinction should be placed upon his head and, quoting, ‘the glory of whom shall never cease’!” The king winced at the last line.
“Bah, it is rubbish and so is that book…old woman’s tales.” He scoffed, adjusting the hilt of his sword. “Where did you get that thing anyway?”
“Why, the archives, my lord…under the sanctuary. This book alone contains the entire history of Rhyndria, from the beginning of the ancient laying-on-of-stones until…well, up to a generation ago...” The king instantly threw an angry glance his way. The scribe balked nervously at having mentioned this.
“And what, my dear Norcisses, does it say of my father?” the king demanded. The chief scribe quickly closed the book.
“Only that he was a good man!” He said, turning with upraised hands. “But as you know, there are no records after his coronation as king and…”
“That’ll be enough about that!” growled the king returning to his feet. He slammed the goblet on the table, spilling the remaining wine. “Coronation, indeed!” he glared and turned back toward the fire. After a few moments, the king took his seat again. At length, he pulled his sword from its scabbard and examined it in the flickering light, drawing the flat of the cool blade across his palm.
“Hmm…metal” he whispered to himself, again lost in deep thought.
Norcisses wagged his head. “When, O God, will I ever learn to be discrete?” he thought, chastising himself for his lack of subtlety. “Ah well, when my life is complete, no doubt!”
Norcisses quietly re-opened the massive book.
The yellow firelight was sufficient to read by, if done quietly in the king’s presence, that is. The scribe decided it was best to not mention any more history, at least in present company. Turning the page, he again found the ancient writings pertaining to the dragon’s scale.
Late into the night he read; page after page, as a child pouring over his studies. At last, with a drowsy head he pushed the book aside and turned toward the dying fire. A chill went through him as he considered what he had just read.
Norcisses looked around, rubbing his eyes. He chanced a look toward the king who had sunk deep into his high-back chair. His face was dark, pervaded in shadow, eyes alone reflecting the dim firelight.
“Forgive an old king,” he said, shaking the wine out of his head. “The burden of this throne is heavy, I wouldn’t wish it upon any man’s brow.”
“My lord,” began the scribe, “never let it be that a king should apologize to his servant! I am the one who was at fault…I should not have…”
“That…is in the past, my good friend!” interrupted the king, returning his sword to its sheath. “What was it you were saying…about the scale?”
“Ah, yes…the scale.” he continued. “Well Sire, the legend of Maelstrom explains it somewhat vaguely, but the essence of the legend is this: a dragon’s scale will fall from the sky, as it did so today. Whosoever possesses it will find great wealth and fame!” Norcisses grinned broadly as he finished his statement, studying the king for any sign of reaction. The king merely looked at him with half-closed eyes.
“Uhm, I believe it to be true…uh…my lord” Norcisses stammered. King Agamon’s reaction was much less than the scribe had anticipated.
“And it is as I said before, pure lore, ‘tis nothing more,” chided the king.
“Nevertheless, my lord,” began Norcisses, “others, many others know of the scale; it fell in plain view of all! It is mentioned in Maelstrom’s writings and that, My Dear King, is what gives it value!” Norcisses shifted nervously and continued. “It’s what the people believe.”
The king raised a hand, halting any further discourse from his scribe. Then he slowly sat back in his chair, stroking his beard. Norcisses held his breath as he studied the king whose eyes had now completely closed. After several minutes, the king leaned forward.
“Let me see that book.” He said, reaching across the table. Norcisses slid the book over to the king and, holding it up to catch the light, indicated the passage which told about the legend of Maelstrom.

The king read the text quietly, and gradually a tear trickled down his weathered cheek, becoming lost among the thickness of his beard. Norcisses placed a hand upon his head.
“The last portion is all that is public.” He stated. “The first part was never revealed, as this book contains the only complete entry. The only other of which burned during the great fire of Goltha’s Dais, only the bottom half was ever found. There is no one left alive who has read this in its entirety, save for you and I.”
“And now you know.” The king said.
“My dear king,” said the scribe, comforting, “I will take your secrets to the grave.”
With these words the king wept bitterly. Norcisses closed the book and pushed it aside.
“Look at me,” the king entreated, arms spread wide. “I’ve made it my life to hunt down the dragons of the air. I hate them as much as I’ve hated my father. I despise them. And when they tore him to shreds, I hated them all the more!” The king stopped, pondering his words. “Still…to have seen all that I have seen, lived all that I have lived…. I must believe this ‘legend’ to be true. God knows, I’ve seen stranger things and these are indeed strange times.” The king swallowed hard, reaching for his empty cup. “Bah! Is there no wine is this place?”
“There is ah…one slight problem.” Norcisses said finally, biting his lower lip. The king mopped his sodden brow with the sleeve of his shirt.
“What? What problem?”
“The prophets have sought the scale from centuries past.” The scribe explained, leaning into the king’s ear. “And now it is here. They will soon learn of its existence and will stop at nothing to gain its possession. They will want to know the whole truth of the legend, from beginning to end!” The king’s face turned pale. He quickly jumped to his feet.
“They must not find out…ever!” he swore. “And we must find that scale…that is the key. Oh, perhaps the time has come for this curse to be lifted.” Having said this, the king took broad steps across the room, his heavy cape swinging wide as he turned. “I must think!” the king shouted, clenching his large, callused hands into tight fists. “The dragon’s scale fell today and I was so immersed in killing that accursed beast - I did not even see into who’s hands it fell!”
“Your majesty,” grinned the scribe reaching into a fold in his robe. “Did you not think that I would take care of everything?” With that, the scribe produced a thin, shiny, silver object.
“God have mercy!” cried the king. “You clever old fool!”
Norcisses handed the scale to the king. He turned it over and over, examining every inch of it. “Why the thing has hardly any weight at all!” the king exclaimed.
“It was picked up by a child.” Norcisses explained. “One of your own aids took it from him and turned it over to the captain of the guard who, in turn, gave it to me. Poor fools didn’t even know what they had.”
The king quickly ran to the door and pulled it wide open. “Squire!” he shouted down the long corridor. “Bring wine, you lazy scullion!” As he was about to shut the door he stopped and opened it again. “And bring another cup!” He roared. Shutting the door he leaned against it and exhaled deeply. “It’s going be a long night!”

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