There was a place between the east and the west where the lines blurred just enough that the place was called "Here." And here, there were dragons.

There had not always been dragons in Here. But now, Here was the last place in the world where there were always dragons. They lived in the mountains in their colorful flocks, keeping mostly away from the rest of the world.

Like great, shining, dangerous birds, they flew out from the mountains and across the world in the cooler months. But they always came back to nest in the mountains of Here, where they laid their eggs and raised their young.

The people of Here were practical folk. They tended their sheep and wove their baskets and dyed their cloth and built their houses in the peace and comfort of knowing that everyone else did it just the way that they did. They were nothing special, the people of Here, and they knew that. But sometimes, the stories they told were different.

Sometimes, they spoke of the dragons. When they did, they weren’t the beasts of gushing fire and tearing claws (although they did steal sheep, that was always to be expected). They were the beasts of the wise. They were the magical guardians of the oldest of secrets, the prophesiers of powerful maidens and the harbingers of change. Sometimes, the people of Here even spoke of Dragon Riders.

It happened, occasionally. Someone would wander into the mountains, disappear, and come back bonded to one of the great beasts. It helped, in everywhere that was not Here, when the riders flew ahead and kept the peace.

Every Dragon Rider was a hero in the rest of the world. The people of Here thought that was a rather silly idea. Dragons weren’t a problem unless you made them one.

Even so, in each nesting season a great many ambitious foreigners would travel to Here. They came from the east and the west and the north and the south.

Some fancied themselves heroes. Some were heroes. Some fancied themselves royalty. Some were royalty. From far and wide they came — the rich and the poor, the foolish and the wise — to try their hands at becoming a Dragon Rider.

The people of Here usually rolled their eyes and went about their work. The weeks went by, and people went into the mountains to try their luck and came back with nothing to show for it.

"Make your peace with it," the people of Here wanted to tell the foreigners. "Dragons are dragons."

Norton had fancied himself a guide for several years. He’d taken it up as a teen, and it had stuck. Now, he was a young man.

He liked the mountains and he liked dragons. He was a lot better at hiking up trails and mountain passes, and at hunting, than most of the foreign folk who flooded the town. He’d seen the dragons all his life, and kept a safe enough distance from them. But he always managed to point the people he led in the right direction, after they got through the passes and to The Ledge.

Not that any of the people he’d ever guided had been successful. Over the years, he had also gotten pretty good at catching up with his customers when they were chased out of the mountain with their clothes scorched and their egos firmly back in check.

That was the way he guided: he got close enough, and if the outsiders still dared to get closer when he stopped, that was their choice. He would let their own stupidity teach them a lesson. He knew better than to approach a dragon den.

He knew the stories. He’d seen the dragons his whole life. He knew that dragons were dragons.

In the offseason, Norton was a gardener and a dishwasher.

This year, Norton had gathered an odd group. When the innkeep had mentioned that her dishwasher was also a guide, the group had quickly formed. Norton found himself saddled with a knight, a magician, a sailor, a young woman, an artist, a lordling, and two hired brigands.

It was a larger group than he wanted. But once he’d started saying yes, it had become harder to say no.

Their expedition did not get off to a promising start.

The lordling and the knight did not get along. They were from the same country, but suffered from "differences of opinion" on every subject they had in common. The knight, with a bright new sword on his hip and a showy new title to match, would never shut up unless the brigands threatened him.

The brigands were two men whose names were definitely not "Brick" and "Mortar," though that’s what they were called. They were already spinning tales about the treasure and gold and wealth that they were sure was in the mountain. Mortar bragged that together, they were clever enough to get in and out of the mountain, just like any other stronghold.

Norton thought a dragon might actually eat them if they were stupid enough to try. This made him understandably nervous. He didn’t want to be the guide whose patrons got eaten. That was bad for business.

While Brick and Mortar bragged, Norton found himself sharing a lot of exasperated looks with Mara, the maiden. She hadn’t said why she was there yet, but she had kept pace with him while hiking. She had a knife on her belt, and he liked her boots, which were smart and well-worn. She was also kind, explaining things to the sailor in his language when he ran out of words in the language they all shared.

The artist had been quiet behind her enormous, round spectacles. She was carrying too many supplies with her, Norton thought. She wore impractical shoes and bright, fine clothing not fit for the journey. It made her look like a rare and strange bird. She didn’t complain, though, not once.

When the lordling rudely asked her how much it would cost to paint him, her cold stare had silenced him. Still, she slowed them down. She often stopped, fascinated by a strange new plant, or a rock, or a view.

The magician put up with the delays kindly. He walked in the back with the artist and often stopped in the same places. He was equally fascinated, but for different reasons. He carried a small notebook, in which he wrote careful notes with blue ink.

Strangely, the magician avoided the sailor at every turn. It took Norton a day of hiking to puzzle out the pattern: wherever the sailor was, the magician wasn’t.