Dragon Scourge: Dragon Hunter Revisited


“This was a forest?” Wilfred asked.

“A rather lush one,” the Viceroy said.

“And you say it was five dragons?”

“That is what the forester reported,” the official replied.

“Hmm, it doesn’t look like dragon work,” the Dragon Hunter said with a sceptical tone.

“Well, we heard what you did in Hanon and knew that you were our only hope.”

“I will do what I can, but it’s not going to come cheap,” Wilfred said.

“Whatever it takes,” the Viceroy said.

“What do you think, Runny?” Wilfred said to his associate.

“Well, to tell the truth, it ain’t got the dragon feel to it. But, if the furster say it be dragons, who am I to say counterwise,” the Dwarf replied.

“We will take the job,” Wildred announced, “. . . and it being five or more beasts, we will do it based on there being five.”

The Viceroy and his retinue then departed back to the palace.

“What do you really think?” Wilfred asked.

“Well, not that I’s seen a reality dragon, but this don’t look like the lore. Looks more Wizardish to my eyes,” Runny Roundbottom said scratching his beard.

“I was thinking the same,” Wilfred said with some relief that the Dwarf agreed with him.

“We need to have a tongue-wag with that furster,” Runny said.

“Should I get the Viceroy to send for him?” Wilfred asked.

“No no. That would only get him to spout his same story again. I were thinking just chancing on him at the tavern and loose him up with some ale, then see what he can tell uz,” Runny said tapping the side of his nose.

“Ale it is,” Wilfred said. “Let’s hope there is a Wizard behind this. I don’t fancy facing ‘reality’ dragons.”


Padre (R. V. Mitchell)

Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #127

The Dragon Hunter Part 5

Dragon, China, Chinese, Asian, Culture, Decoration

Pixabay

“Hows-bout you let’n us loose, and we will make you that there head?”  the Dwarf replied.

“Sounds fair.  My name is Wilfred by the way.”

“Runny – and there won’t be no laugh’n mind – or you won’t get no bleed’n head. Runny Roundbottom.  That’s my name.”

Wilfred choked back a chuckle, and did his best quench his smile.  “Good to meet you Runny.”  The rusty page then began to undo the lead Dwarf’s chains. He then handed Runny the key.

“Not like you folk to trust a Dwarf,” Runny observed.

“How do you mean?” Wilfred inquired.

“Most of you lot woulda insisted on gett’n the head first, then let us go – or not.  After all there’s seven of us, and only one of you.”

“Well are you a Dwarf of your word?” Wildred asked.

Runny scratched his beard and then after a moment said, “S’pose I am.  So let’s be see’n to that there head.”

It was actually an intriguing spectacle to watch the Dwarfs design and fashion the head.  They used several pieces of armour to replicate scales, and several dozen knives and daggers to form teeth.  In the end, the huge head looked every bit the full sized replica of the figure that adorned the crest of Hanon.

“Here’s what I propose,” Wilfred said as Runny presented him with the finished head.  “You lot can do as you like, but it would be more effective if you came with me to the border.  Before we get there, you can send a couple of your lads to get the attention of folks on the other side of the frontier so we have witnesses.  Then I will smear soot on my face and armour and arrive to the checkpoint with the head.  I will say that I slew the dragon, but my map for where I was supposed to claim my reward got burned-up in the battle.  Then you, Runny, can say you witnessed the whole thing, and demand that I get my reward right there and then, as I rescued you and your comrades from the beast.  The Hannies, as you call them, will have to pay up, and I will present them with the head and we will split the reward.”

“What if they say the head’s a fake?” Runny objected.

“They can’t afford to,” Wilfred pointed out.  “If they do, then their whole dragon farce will be exposed, especially once they see you are free.  They can’t risk war with the other nations, as they aren’t prepared enough yet, and there are going to be some angry folks in the Sultanate and Kingdom if they find out that the Hannies have murdered their heroes.”

“I s’pose you’re right there,” Runny said as he thoughtfully tugged on his beard.

Let us just say that Wilfred’s plan played out exactly as he envisioned.  In fact, one of the witnesses was a prominent Nordlandian duke who had just arrived to try his hand at dragon-slaying himself.

In the end, young Wilfred was rich, the Dwarfs were free, and the legend of the Dragon Hunter was born.

 

Padre

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dragon Hunter Part 2

Dragon, Statue, Sculpture, China, Asian, Culture

Pixabay

Wilfred was no knight in shining armour.  He was in fact a slightly rusty page, but he was also astute. No not mustelid, but a clever and intuitive observer of the things around him.

When the young Wilfred arrived at the border on donkey-back, he was greeted by several raised eyebrows from the Hanonian guards.

“And what exactly are you after?” a overly self-important officer challenged.

“I have come to take care of your lizard problem,” Wilfred announced.

The officer turned and translated the comment, and it was greeted with a chorus of dismissive laughter.

“Very well,” the border official said.  He then directed Wilfred to make his mark in the log book.  Wilfred was then handed a map, and a sheet of paper with a set of directions written in Kingdom-tongue, Ralulee, and Nordlandish.

“And where will I go to collect my reward?” Wilfred asked.

The officer sneered and then said, “Why of course.  An oversight I assure you.”  The official then handed Wilfred another set of directions.

With the formalities accomplished, the rusty page turned his donkey towards the indicated destination.

What struck Wilfred as odd was that the road he was instructed to follow seemed very well travelled, with a marauding dragon at large and all.  But he followed the directions until nightfall and made camp a little way off the road in a pine glade.  He had expended his meagre supply of tinder on the long journey to Hanon.  After several failed attempts to start a fire, he wrapped himself in his cloak and fell asleep.

He was awakened in the small hours by what sounded like a large band of men travelling the road below him, but it being a moonless night he dismissed it as a dream and fell back into a deep slumber.

The next morning, he inadvertently took out the wrong map and began to try to find his way to the dragon’s grotto.  In so doing he became desperately lost.  It was several hours later that he noticed fresh signs of human activity in the wood.  As he crested a small rise, he saw the road that he had lost track of, and a huge cave with smoke emanating from it.  But what caught his attention most of all was the party of two dozen Hanonian soldiers lying in ambush with their eyes focused on the road.

Padre

 

Beyond the Lair

 

Autumn was returning and the long hibernation of the Dragonette had come to a close.  Her sleep had been interrupted this year.   For reasons still not fully understood by her, she had risen in August.  The brief foray up the stairs of her lair had caught her quite off guard. Too early! she had mused.  But it also was far to late to return to her slumber.  She had, therefore, spent the month silently pacing her lair – waiting,  just waiting.  How she hated those long sun-filled days, with the blinding light and hot, humid air.  But now, the days were getting shorter, and the air was beginning to become crisp at night.  Her time to emerge was nearly at hand.

As she awaited the sunset, she thought of all that was before her.  She would fly through the lengthening evening.   She would soar above the unsuspecting people below, her airborne form so nearly that of a bat in flight that she would be mistaken for such.  She would feel the cool breeze in her fur and the fresh air in her lungs.   October, how she longed for All Hallows Eve, and then her work could begin.  From then until March, she would prowl the nights breathing her icy frost breath – freezing puddles and icing window panes with the cold signature of her passing.

But for now the miniature frost dragon was poised for all that would come.

Padre

Thursday photo prompt: Poised #writephoto