The Viscount Jackleknappe stared disconsolately
at his flagon
of ale. Dutch Courage, he thought
to himself, then wondered
at the phrase. Did
the Dutch drink more than other men, or exhibit
more
courage in their cups? He didn't think so.
The sound of the wolves baying in the woods
that
surrounded Castle Kinderkrieg echoed
down the castle hallways, and the flames in
the
candles flickered as though guttered by
their breath. And always in the distance, like
an undertone – a held chord, more felt than
heard – the
sound of wings: the approach
of the now awakened Mortmere Wyvern.
