July

Issue 34

    “They say some dragons can be reasoned with,” the would-be hero informed Stuart as they made their way across the wide rock-strewn plain several miles north of the city.  “The younger ones especially.”
    “Just who are they, boy?  And how would they know?” Stuart asked.  Two very sensible questions, he thought.  To his mind a proper hero would ride full gallop straight to the dragon’s lair, jump in and hack it to bits with his trusty sword, never mind trying to talk to it first. Then collect his well-earned reward.  That’s how Stuart would have done it if things were different.  He would not have needed a witness to make sure the job was done right.  But the noble classes had developed funny ideas about chivalry and honor.  Stuart only wished they had not stuck him in the middle of it.  
    “They are the Arcadian Fellowship, the ancient order of knights whose ranks I hope to soon join.  On that day they shall call me Sir William the Worthy.  Or perhaps Sir William the Gallant.”  
     “Won’t that be nice,” Stuart muttered as the hero leapt onto a boulder, ostensibly to survey the path ahead.  But Stuart knew the classic heroic pose when he saw it - legs apart and arms akimbo, head held high and scarlet cloak billowing in the breeze.  Stupid ruddy hero.  Didn’t he know that nothing provokes a dragon more than heroic poses and billowy scarlet cloaks?  As if waiting for that very moment, the dragon swooped down upon them out of an empty sky.  Stuart dove to the ground and covered his head as the beast strafed the rocky ground where he’d stood with a spray of fire.  Red-hot cinders burnt tiny holes into his trousers and onward into his skin, sending him rolling around to snuff his burning backside against the cool earth.
     From that indignant position he observed the hero still standing on the boulder, all unconcerned though his golden shield was now black with soot, his equally golden hair a little singed, and his cloak a good foot shorter along the left hem where it was still smoldering.  Despite that, the man still looked the picture of noble perfection. Stuart wanted to kill him for that - which attitude, he reflected, would make his job easier.