Slayer of Dragons

Getting Sir George into his armor took the better part of an hour, the polished metal gleaming in the midday sun, the tunic over his chest split in color down the middle, red to the left, white to the right, a side profile griffin in black the sigil.

Visor up, the knight looked to his horse,

Crag Mor was the name of the hilly region overlooking the area called Marly Green, a thick forest packed with a combination of deciduous and coniferous trees, making the already difficult terrain more formidable, especially for the horse.

“There is no trail to be had through the Green,” Margaret voiced, looking toward the dense growth of trees.

George laughed, a booming hearty sound. “Fret not, whence we go, we shall blaze a path of our own, and with our return, a dragon trophy to show for our success,” he assured.

“I bid you good fortune and tidings brave Sir Knight,” she said, bobbing her head respectfully.

George nodded in return, pulling on the horse’s reins and turning his mount. “Come along boy, before the light of day abandons us,” he commanded.

Daffyd looked from the woman to the knight, the former smiling and wishing him good luck. Digging his heels into his own horse, he caught up to the knight.

Undaunted by the landscape, Sir George lead the way into the bush, following a small game trail before changing tactics and travelling up a shallow creek bed lined with silt and smooth rounded stones no bigger than a pomegranate, the water less than a dozen inches high at its deepest.

A few times they had to leave the stream bed and circumnavigate a waterfall where the trickle of water climbed upward into the jagged hills. It was almost evening when Sir George spied a small clearing amongst the trees, “We’ll night there,” he said, pointing a mailed fist.

Daffyd ducked his head, helping getting the knight squared away before setting up the little camp, a little fire to keep the chill away.

“I think the little lass in the tavern favored you,” Sir George chortled, raising the wineskin too his lips and spraying in a mouthful.

Shaking his head, Daffyd turned away, lest the knight see the color in his cheeks, “Nay,” he said.

“Oh aye boy, comely little thing,” George lamented, filling his mouth with wine again.

Tending the horses, Daffyd was glad when he heard snoring. Covering the aging knight, he settled in for the evening.

The sounds of birds chirping announced the coming of dawn, their songs playing in the trees as Daffyd arose and began to dismantle the makeshift camp. After morning ablutions, the pair resumed their trek through the Green.

After a span, “There!” George said, arm extended toward a fork in the small stream toward a beast as tall as a horse perched on a bank, eyes fixed on the slow moving water below.

Daffyd’s eyes widened as he gobbled at the air, it was a dragon. “Is that the one?” he asked, a tremor in his voice.

“That one appears too small to carry off a cow, looks like it’s fishing,” commented the knight, pulling his crossbow on his lap and cranking the drawstring back, before slipping a quarrel into the groove.

Too small Daffyd thought, the beast was at least thirty feet from snout to the end of its tail.  “Shouldn’t we just leave it be about its business,” he asked, trembling slightly.

“A dragon is a dragon my boy and today we are going to kill one!” asserted the knight breathlessly as he spurred his mount toward the creature, aiming his crossbow.

The sound of water splashing and the knight’s own bellow of challenge alerted the small dragon. Rearing back onto its hind legs, it spread its wings out.

Pulling the lever on the underside of the crossbow, Sir George let fly, the bolt missing its mark but tearing through the thin membrane of the dragon’s right wing.

Casting aside the crossbow Sir George dismounted, surprisingly quick considering his bulk. “Daffyd, my sword!” he ordered, gauntleted hand extended out to receive the blade.

Daffyd vaulted from his own horse, eyes locked on the ferocious looking ferocious creature.

“Dammit, my sword boy!” commanded the knight, shaking his empty hand.

Daffyd pulled the sword partway from the scabbard, extending the handle to the knight. Seizing the sword in his right hand, Sir George pulled it free and moved toward the dragon, kite shield on his left arm interposed defensively between the two combatants.

Rearing back again, the creature released a loud high pitched shrill sound before snaking its horned head forward, jaws lined with rows of dagger-like teeth opened wide, spewing dragon fire, bathing the knight and the area all around him in a stream of white hot flame, licks of orange and yellow billowing out to either side, steam hissing as the area was clouded. Behind the safety of the shield, Sir George pushed forward directly into the molten spray as it petered out before stepping in and twisting to the side, taking a wide arching slash at the dragon. The beast reared back, before lunging its head forward jaws snapping shut inches from the knight’s head.

“Come on girl,” barked the knight, bringing his sword back around and harmlessly striking a horn on the hardened crest atop the dragon’s head.

Daffyd shook his head in disbelief, the size of the dragon dwarfing the man, yet the knight was the aggressor, slashing time and again, forcing the dragon back jaws snapping, but he could also tell the knight was tiring quickly, the swings slower, less accurate.

Using a feinting maneuver, Sir George leaned one way and almost immediately changed direction, catching the dragon off guard and slashing the beast on its chest, leaving a deep bleeding wound.

The creature howled in pain, taking several hopping steps back down the stream and shrieking at the knight.

“You’re mine now lassie,” triumphed the knight, breath coming in large gasps as he moved forward, sword poised for another deadly strike.

Suddenly the dragon propelled itself forward up off the ground, hitting the knight with so much force, Sir George’s sword flew through the air landing with a small splash in the shallow water of the stream bed less than a dozen feet away from where Daffyd stood. He watched on in mute horror as the dragon, now with Sir George clutched firmly in the talons of its left hind leg, reared back and spread its wings before launching itself into the air.

Daffyd didn’t know what to do, standing there, mouth moving but making no sound, gazing down at the open spot so recently the scene of an epic struggle between man and beast, now returned to its natural idyllic state save for smudges of muddy brown mingling with pellucid water passing through his legs downstream by the gentle current.

There was a cry from somewhere overhead, a man’s voice, loud, drowning out the soft trickle of moving water. Looking skyward, Daffyd could not see beyond the canopy of leafy green above him, but he did hear the unmistakable sounds of branches breaking almost directly overhead when suddenly Sir George appeared, tumbling through the trees and crashing into the stream head first in a folded heap, rivulets of red seeping from his armor, staining the clear water bright crimson.

“Oh my god,” mumbled Daffyd, eyes incredibly wide at the sight of the fallen knight.

There was a cacophonous noise and splash in the clearing ahead as the dragon touched down on the sandy bar, serpentine neck pivoting toward the boy.