One Good Knight by Mercedes Lackey

inhabitants below. The Guard on the top of the cliff had stopped blowing the alert. God only knew what he was doing now. The Guard on Sea Watch wasn’t armed with anything more lethal than a knife.
    The dusky-bronze dragon stretched out its neck and peered down at the bowmen, tilting its head to one side. This was too much for some of the Guards. They broke and ran.
    The rest, however, stood their ground and drew their swords, which looked about as useful against the huge armored beast as toothpicks against a war chariot.
    It seemed to dismiss them, then looked around on the same level with itself. Then it stretched its neck out and Andie held her breath, so terrified now that there was only room for one thought in her mind.
    It’s going to flame!
    She had never seen a dragon before—no one in Acadia had—but every story she had ever heard or read warned of that indrawn breath, that long pause, and what it meant. And if it directed that flame down on the poor Guards—it would be bad.
    From where she was, she could hear the creaturetaking in a long, deep inhalation, heard the pause as it held its breath for a moment—
    Then it whipped its head around, pointed its snout at the unoccupied bell tower of the Palace chapel, opened its mouth, and with a roar like angry surf in a killer storm, a fountain of flame burst out of the gaping jaws. She couldn’t even hear her own screaming over the roar of the dragon. She clutched the trunk of the tree as a hot, sulfurous blast of air hit her, feeling as if she were standing too close to a forge.
    It didn’t last long. One moment, there was a cone of white-hot fire gushing from the thing’s mouth. The next, it had snapped its mouth shut on the flame, cutting it off.
    And the bell tower wasn’t there anymore. There was a stump of charred wood and stucco, but no tower.
    The dragon turned its head, and that was when Andie noticed another peculiar thing. It was more than near enough for her to make out its features perfectly, and she would have expected to see the cold, unemotional, unintelligent eyes of a snake or a lizard in its head, unwinking, and unfeeling-looking.
    Instead its smoky-dark eyes were warm, bright, intelligent, round-pupiled and very nearly human. And they looked—sad.
    It didn’t flame the men. Why didn’t it flame the men?
    The dragon snorted, and with a couple of wing-beats that made the branches of the trees around Andie thrash as if in the midst of a winter storm, it arced away from the Palace and down toward thetown. It hovered there for a moment, while screams and cries came up from below, and then it folded its wings and dove.
    Andie emitted a horrified gurgle.
    It rose again, and in each taloned foreclaw was a limp form. One was a donkey. The other, a cow.
    She heard that sound of intaken breath, and cowered against the trunk of the tree—and again, the dragon whipped its head around, opened its mouth and flamed. This time, it was the marble statue of Victory atop the column in the center of the Public Forum that was the target, and when the flame cut off, poor Victory was looking very damaged indeed, black as a cinder, with her bronze spear melted and her wings mere shattered stumps.
    This seemed to satisfy the dragon. With another snort, it propelled itself upward in surges, with every beat the wings making the snapping sound of a sail filling with wind. Andie watched in stunned fascination as it lost itself among the clouds.
    Only then did she shake off her paralysis, slide down to the ground, slip her sandals back on and shake down her skirts. Then she headed back into the Palace. The Guards still on the garden grounds ignored her, or perhaps they just didn’t notice her, since she was the only person walking quietly back into the Palace amid a horde of screaming, weeping and fainting courtiers, servants and hangers-on. They clearly had their hands full.
    All she could think was that she had something