An empty one-horse chariot wound slowly to a stop in front of the centurion as he stood in the road and polished his bowstring with a ragged black cloth. His favorite black dragon stood menacingly behind him, breathing on his silver armor, which shone in the brilliant morning light. The dragon breath was making the centurion very, very warm.

Far above, scavengers circled in the sky, bickering raucously with one another.

The centurion stood and called out.

“Who goes there?”

No reply came.

“Hallo?’

Silence.

“I say, I’m getting bloody impatient,” cried the centurion, louder this time.

A warm spurt of air crept across the back of his neck. He turned and gave the dragon a nasty glare. It looked sheepish and hid behind its wings.

“If thou, the proprietor of this chariot, doth not show thyself, then I will comb the desert until I find thee, and it will go badly for thee, believe you me!” shouted the centurion, surveying the even horizon, which was broken only by the narrow path and the mysterious chariot.

A white flag peeped up over the edge of the chariot and began to move precociously side to side. The centurion leapt backward, snatched up his bow from where it lay on the ground, nocked an arrow, and let fly through the center of the flag with an alarming shriek. The flag withdrew.

“Thou curseth me with thine insolence!” breathed the centurion. “Thou can’st expect me to believe that thou did not know I was allergic to the color white!”

“Well it was worth a try,” came a mumble from inside the chariot.

“And now, oh devious one, show thyself and let us do battle! And I will vanquish thee like the fell magician thou art!”

No one moved.

“Fell magician!”

Nothing.

“Fell magician, I say!”

A cough.

“Well are you coming or not?” said the centurion. “I don’t have a magician’s patience. What is your reply?”

Two eyes and a nose peeked around the side of the chariot. “I’m not a magician.”

“What?”

“I’m not a magician,” said the eyes again.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m no magician.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The eyes rolled. “I. Am. Not. A. Magician.”

“Thou art casting a spell on me! Well it will not work; I am well protected!” The centurion held up a mish-mash of assorted religious symbols and pendants as proof of his claim.

“I’m not casting a spell. I don’t bloody know any. I’m not a magician for heaven`s sake.”

“So, what thou art saying is… Thou liedst to me?”

“What?”

“Dost thou admit to the grievous sin of misleading me into believing that thou wert a magician?” The centurion grinned confidently.

The eyes narrowed. “I admit to nothing, you royal buffoon. I never said I was a magician.”

“Thine unmanned chariot is pulled by a magical horse; I heard the sound of mystic bells ringing as its feet broke the barriers between our world and the next with every step. I am well versed in the signs of witchcraft. I will not be fooled, fell magician! For now I see that once again thou dost attempt to mislead me with a spell of false assurance!”

A mouth emerged behind the nose, opened wide in frustration. “Those are bells, you idiot! Look on the bridle! And this isn’t an unmanned chariot. For the love of God, I’m in it!”

The centurion took a quick glance at the bells attached to the horse’s bridle, frowned, and looked nervously at his dragon, who shrugged. “So you are.”

“Look, can I go now?”

“Ah ha!” cried the centurion. “If the chariot is not unmanned, why could I not see thee in it as thou approached? Thou hast spirited into it with black magic!”

“I was lying down! I was sleeping! Is that a crime?”

“Um.”

“That’s what I thought.” The man in the chariot stood. He was dressed in a battered breastplate and swathed in ragged cloth. His beard and hair were dusty and long, and he looked like he had missed more than a few meals recently. “Now, all I want to do is go back to sleep and let my horse take me and my companion through to Sunrise City,” he said.

“Thou hast a companion?” the centurion cried. He leapt forward with a jubilant laugh.

“Good grief,” said the man in the chariot, and moved off at a quick trot.

With a downcast face, the centurion watched the chariot pull away. “Why,” he asked the dragon, “do I get the feeling that I was just deceived?”

The dragon snorted.