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Here There Be Dragons
Introduction
Humans are, in my opinion, some of the stupidest creatures in existence. Now, seeing as you’re most likely of this species yourself, give me a moment to explain.
You spend most of your insignificant little life scrabbling around, trying to support yourself along with your mate and offspring. You take up a profession in order to obtain food (as if it is such a rare commodity!) and shelter (as if you’re too good for caves), and are constantly paying homage to someone who’s in a better position than you are and who holds sway over your pitiful life.
When you do finally die, you’re just replaced by your offspring, who go through the same wearisome toil. And thus it passes, generation after generation, eon after eon.
Sound fun? Well if it does, then good, because that’s your lot. If it doesn’t, then tough. You’ll die soon enough anyways, whether in battle or from disease or old age to give it much worry.
Now, all this would be just fine and dandy for you; I wouldn’t be complaining if I’d just be left well enough alone. But no, no, you couldn’t do that; you have to go and drag my kin and I into your little matters—especially those of love.
Oh yes, you humans spend a good deal of time worrying about that. Couldn’t make do with any of the females in your own village who are of the same stock and breed as yourself; no, you have to go for the finest of the brood. And look where it ends you up; she gives you some material token as a pledge, and you sally forth to do “brave deeds.”
Even this would be ridiculous but innocuous—save for the fact that the most popular of your deeds is to kill off my type.
It’s quite sickening, really.
And you wonder why we dragons don’t like you.
Of course, there are those rare exceptions—those humans who aren’t completely obsessed with issues of love, power, or greed. Such humans as these are hardly ever seen, and especially not by dragons. Most of those people are smart enough to know that to approach a dragon without the purpose of and proper protection for slaying it is suicidal. And yet, even here there are exceptions. I should know; I met one, a long time back, and he was quite possibly the most idiotic human with the most inane ideas. It was back when I was living in the pleasant countryside of Westerfold…
Chapter One - Jot
Our meeting started as most of these things go. I was asleep, in my cave, when the most raucous clattering and gasping reached my subconscious, drawing me out of my slumber. I kept my eyes closed, as it’s best to never let on that you know they’re there; it’s much easier to pretend you’re unaware of their presence until—whoop!—they’re in your stomach. But, though my eyes were closed, my ears were listening intently, and with an inward sigh realized what it was.
Another enterprising young man was no doubt ascending the cliff, working his way up to my cave’s yawning mouth in the hope that he’d catch a napping dragon whose head he could easily slice off.
Well, it was my lunchtime. I stretched silently, so as not to alarm the young man below, checked my claws (sharp and serrated, as always), and prepared myself for a bit of exercise. Call it the cat in me, but I always liked to give a young knight the feeling like he could possibly win the fight. Besides, it would rile his blood and therefore make him much tastier than if said fluid was frozen in fear.
There was a faint scraping sound, which I put down to the slippery part of the cliff that lacked any sort of handhold. There was a muttered curse, a few rocks were dislodged, and then silence. He was probably hanging around a precarious spot, barely daring to breathe, wondering if the noise would awaken the beast within the lair. I kept in a snort of amusement and listened. Very faint—but I heard it. He was on the move again, this time going at a slower pace, more careful of his foot placement.
At this point, I gave a little cough that echoed through the cave in a warning manner, just to see what he’d do. The noises stopped; he was frozen again, most likely praying fervently and gathering his courage.
After a minute, I was beginning to wonder if he had fallen, but he started up again, rather reluctantly. I yawned; at the rate he was going, he would become my afternoon collation instead of my lunch.
I considered flying out, plucking him off the side of the cliff, and disposing of him then and there. But then, I was always such a sporting chap; wouldn’t be quite fair, and I could wait a little longer. Patience of a cat, that’s me—though I’ve already likened myself to a cat, haven’t I? Well, you know what I mean.
A gloved hand appeared on the lip of the cave floor, and my tail twitched in anticipation. I drew a little further back, into the depths of the cave, so as to be hidden by the shadows. Labored breathing, then—alley-oop!—his head popped up, and two anxious eyes scanned the cave.
I’ve had far too much experience to let myself be shown, and there was a good deal of squinting before the youth decided I must be asleep deep within the cavern, since I wasn’t roaring or blowing fire (which is, contrary to popular belief, not commonly done; hurts the throat like hell). Taking heart in the silence, he pulled the rest of his clanky self up onto the ledge, then spent a good deal of time fiddling with the buckles on his helmet.
To say the least, I wasn’t impressed by what I saw. The knight looked like he was barely a man—seventeen, at most. He had a pale, sickly face with two eyeballs that seemed to strain out of their sockets and gave him a perpetually shocked expression. He was breathing hard, evidently out of shape, and his armor—well! I certainly wouldn’t be able to see myself in it without giving it a good scrubbing and soaking in vinegar, to get the rust off.
And the sword…perhaps the knight’s most critical item, seeing how it would be his main defense. I quickly spotted it, hanging from his belt in a scabby leather sheath. It looked like it was stuck in there, and I wondered if it had ever occurred to the boy who was now bearing it to check and see if it could come out of the scabbard. Aside from all this finery, he also had a large leather pack hanging from his back. It looked ragged and close to turning into shreds. All in all, I was not impressed.
The youth, in the meantime, had regained his breath and his feet, and stood warily at the edge of the cave, swaying a little as he tried to get a good look inside. The closed helmet on his head couldn’t have helped much, but he evidently felt like he should be prepared for whatever was inside—as if a bit of metal could protect him from my wrath, should I choose to unleash it!
I toyed with the idea of simply converging on him with a frightening roar, to get that heart pumping, but I have to admit my appetite had gone a little sour at seeing how bony he’d be—there wasn’t much meat or substance.
So I decided to mess with his head a bit before doing anything else.
“Who goes there?” I rasped in a guttural tone.
The effect was marvelous. There was a clanging as he jumped in his armor, and then he began to tremble, setting the whole cave ringing with a muffled metal rattling.
“Wh-who speaks?” he asked in a high, strangled voice.
“The owner of this cave, no less! Whom else wouldst thy expect?” I reverted to my scant store of Old English; this was always a surefire way of gaining their respect. Besides, no one spoke it anymore and I was free to butcher the grammar however I wished without getting any jaw back about it.
“Sh-show yourself,” the young knight demanded, gripping the hilt of his sword.
“What?” I thundered, making him cower. I was thoroughly enjoying myself now. “And who art thou, that thy shouldst give a behest and expect me, the owner and master of this cave which thou art in, to obey?”
I must admit, whenever I spoke in the old language, I often confused both myself and my poor audience; the boy was no exception.
“Eh?” His helmeted head was tilted to one side.
“Silence, mortal!” (Everyone knows that one, so I was all right.) “You are never to question me. Indeed, I shall question you, and now you must needs tell me the purport of thy quest here.” I moved forward, still mostly shadowed, but letting enough of the sunlight show patches of my scales. My head extended forward a bit and I glared down at the boy.
He stared up at me through his visor, silent as a grave (well, a gravestone, more like, since on Hallow’s Eve those noisome specters will make the most hideous caterwauling noise). His silence began to irk me, and I growled, “Why do you not talk?”
“Y-you just said to be silent,” he protested.
“Oh. So I did. But that was then. Now I want you to SPEAK!” This last was given in an impressive roar that shook the cave. I distinctly heard a faint tinkle, as of broken glass. “Oh damn, I hope that wasn’t the mirror. Just my luck—”
I broke off, suddenly realizing that I was speaking my thoughts aloud in a slightly-less terrifying voice. Clearing my throat hastily, I boomed again, “Well, mortal, what havest thou to answer?”
“Erm,” he began, and I noticed his posture was a little less cowering than it had been before. Never mind, he’d soon be screaming in horror once I had him on his back, squiggling like a worm. “I’m on a quest,” he began, and I stopped him there.
“Oh yes, a quest. I’ve heard that before, and I know what your foul intentions are, boy! You think you are here to slay me and remove my heart and give it to the lady of your life so that she may pledge her love to you, her conquering knight! Oh yes, I know what you are here for.”
“Well, it’s not exactly like that,” he began in a mumble, but I didn’t care to hear the details.
“You shall find, however, that you have come to your demise. How many knights have come to this very cave, seeking my treasure, my heart, my head? And how many have departed with their own lives? None.”
“You mean none have come here before?” he asked, interest sincere in his tone.
“No, stupid, I mean that none return. Many have come, none have returned.”
“But surely someone must have returned. Otherwise, how could anyone know where you live?”
I paused. “Legend, boy, legend. I am known throughout the land as being the scourge of the countryside.”
“Right,” he said, in one of those patronizing tones. “But are you a very big dragon? I mean, I can’t see you very well, so for all I know you’re just a rinky-dink one and I’m wasting my time here. I’m looking for a gigantic dragon, you see.”
“Of course I’m enormous!” I snapped, irritated. This boy wasn’t responding the way I had been expecting, and it was rather annoying. “I’m the largest dragon you’ll ever see! You thought you were speaking with a paltry lizard?”
“Or a wizard,” he said. I couldn’t be sure, what with his face hidden under that helmet, but he sounded like he was smiling.
That, of course, was a bad thing to say for someone in his position (being at my mercy, that is). We dragons have a sketchy history with wizards at best, and a downright hostile one at worst. Not sure exactly how it started, but I know that personally I find wizards annoying little upstarts who want to control the world, lives, etc., without much knowhow. We dragons can’t help showing off every now and then, and it galls the wizards to see us flaunting our natural skills while they slog on and on, trying all manner of spells to emulate us. Very flattering, I’m sure, but when wizards start plucking scales here and drawing blood there for their potions, it goes too far.
“As you shall see, boy, I am no groveling wizard frittering away in a cave! I am a dragon, and a finer specimen this side of the mountains you shall not find!”
To prove it, I stepped forward into the light, revealing all my glory and splendor. I could almost feel the boy’s eyes widen behind that ridiculous helmet of his.
That part about me being the biggest dragon was rubbish; I know several other dragons who are larger than I, but at the time I did have quite a few centuries’ growth on my bones, and it was impressive enough to a youth who had certainly never set eyes on a beast such as myself. Besides, I was (and still am, thank you) certainly the most handsome dragon, no question there. My forest green scales shone in the light, while the row of silver spikes upon my back glittered like jewels. My expansive wings I had to keep folded in the cave, but I swished my long, point-tipped tail and lowered my head (keeping a good eye on the sword in the sheath, mind you). I pulled back my upper lip and snarled, showing off my first row of sharp, meat-tearing teeth.
“Well?” I hissed, flicking my long forked tongue out at him. To his credit, he didn’t stumble back, only winced.
“You are indeed a large dragon,” he said solemnly.
“Hell yes I am. And don’t you mention any wizards to me if you know what’s good for you.”
“D-do you,” he started, trying to find his words, “do you have a name?”
“A name? What for?” I eyed him carefully; the talkative humans are always the ones who have some ulterior motive to all their questions, if you can just discover what they’re aiming at.
“For being called,” he replied. Then, realizing how demeaning that could be taken, he added, “If someone were to want to get your attention.”
“Screams usually work,” I said casually, sitting up. Adolescence encased in sun-baked metal does not give off a pleasant odor, let me tell you.
“But, but surely you have a name? A title?”
“If it means that much to you,” I said, a little mystified at his persistence. “I’m Jot.”
“Jot?” he repeated dubiously.
“Yes,” I replied tetchily. “It’s Jot. As in, ‘I don’t give a jot whether you like my name or think it’s impressive or whatnot.’” Humans always took issue with my name for some reason. “Anyways, what about you, Stringbean? What do they call you?”
“My name is Chance, son of Ivan of the Woles.”
I knew the Woles area—a dreary, boggy land with sagging castles and a pitiful population. I had once burned their village down; it was unintentional, I swear. The place just looked so wet and dismal that I had wanted to light it up a bit, give it a bit more cheer. It just got a little out of hand. I have to say, though, it was the only time I actually saw the villagers move faster than a shuffle as they ran out of the buildings to beat the flames down.
“And what are you doing here, Chance?”
He took a deep breath. Here it came—the avowal of love, of fealty, of dreams. I waited resignedly.
“There is a girl—”
“Oh dear, I thought so.”
“—and I must rescue her.”
“Well, you must have the wrong cave, because there’s no girl here, I can assure you.” True that—the place was a mess. Definitely no female touch here for a while.
“I know that she is not here. But you are—and I need your help.”
I blinked. Then I blinked again, more slowly. “You what?”
“I need your help.”
