The young man’s eyes fell, his hands folded; he seemed to be talking more to himself than to anyone at the table—not even to the man clad in black armor:
“If you are the last knight of the old world,” he said into his breast, “there too may be one last dragon for you to slay.”
The gauntlet tightened into a fist.
“I am weary of killing, of death.”
“Of your oath?” asked the young man. “Remember, I am still the heir of a great house.”
“My liege,” the knight said, his eyes lowered.
“There is yet one dragon.”
Tale Told 