The Wyvern’s Lair

Volund took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Fyrnor watched him closely. Was Volund scared? No, he couldn’t be. The great Volund? Never.

Volund looked around at the great chamber carefully. 

“Hold this,” he said, unbuckling his sheath and handing his sheathed sword to Fyrnor.

He didn’t even glance at Fyrnor. Too busy wrapped up in his own glory, scoffed Fyrnor to himself. The great hero who thought only of the good of the people, rescuing them from the greatest dangers, was really just a self-entitled arrogant brat.

“This’ll be a breeze,” laughed Volund, cracking his knuckles. Fyrnor sighed and shook his head. Boastful, too. But who was he, the ‘idiotic’ sidekick—in Volund’s own words—to judge such a noble warrior as Volund?

Volund took off running, and when he reached the edge of the cliff, he grabbed one of the ancient ropes hanging down from someplace in the darkness above and threw himself into the air with a loud, wild whoop. 

Fyrnor sighed again and seated himself on a nearby rock, resting Volund’s sword across his knees. It was a surprise to him that Volund had even let Fyrnor hold his best weapon.

Fyrnor wasn’t even sure what ‘quest’ this was that Volund had gotten them into. Something about sailing to unexplored lands? He wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t sure why they were underground, in a large cavern, if they were supposed to be sailing off into unknown seas.

Fyrnor was jolted out of his reverie by a surprised shout.

He stood and looked over the edge of the cliff. Volund was standing on what looked to be like an old scaffold—there were scaffolds and old ropes and beams of wood everywhere down here—facing off against an odd beast that looked like a dragon, but only had two legs, and was a little smaller.

“Moons and stars,” muttered Fyrnor as he realized it was a wyvern. They weren’t as powerful as dragons, but often smarter. So, still not preferable to dragons. And Volund didn’t have his sword. The wyvern’s tongue flicked in and out and Fyrnor heard a hissing sound. 

“Why havvvve you come to my lair?” hissed the wyvern. A chill crept down Fyrnor’s back at the sound of it. He could only imagine how Volund felt, standing unprotected, weaponless, in front of the beast.

The wyvern glowered down at Volund with glowing gold eyes. He was mostly gray, with red wings and legs. Small red underscales graced his neck and belly.

“We are passing through,” replied Volund. Fyrnor thought he heard a tremble in Volund’s voice. “We mean thee no harm.”

“Jussst passsing through?” scowled the wyvern.

“Let us pass, O great wyvern.”

“And whyyy should I let two ssssneaking humanss passs through my lair? I haven’t had my breakfassst yet,” growled the wyvern. “Perhapss humanss would fill my sstomach today.”

“We shalt give thee great gifts if you let me pass safe and unharmed, O great one.”

“You? Jussst you? What of your… companion?” hissed the wyvern.

“And him.”

Fyrnor thought he heard a disgusted tone in Volund’s voice. The wyvern let loose a slithery chuckle.

“You would betrayy your friend for your own sssafety.”

“Nay, that is not what a hero would do,” scoffed Volund.

“Oh? You are deeming yourssself a hero? Then ssslay me, O great hero,” mocked the wyvern. “Or are you too cowardly to try, without your preciousss sssword? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the lack of your weapons. Sssee, a wyvern alwayss carriess their own weaponss with them, no matter where or when.”

“I am no coward. But I am no fool, either. If I try to kill you now, I shall die valiantly. But if I had my sword, you would die, slain by a great hero.”

“Arrogant fffool,” hissed the wyvern disgustedly. “You s say you will die valiantly? Well then, I sssay you will die a fool and a coward!”

The wyvern took a leap at Volund, but the old wood beneath their feet wasn’t strong enough to withstand the force of the wyvern’s thrust upwards. It collapsed beneath them, and Volund and the wyvern tumbled downwards. The wyvern, flailing, managed to spread his wings and stopped his rapid descent. He swooped down and caught Volund in his claws.

“I’mm not losssing my breakfasst so fassst,” said the wyvern. He angled his wings upward and alighted on the cliff Fyrnor was on, pinning Volund beneath his sharp claws. 

“Looksss like I have you both now,” chuckled the wyvern. “Now, beffore you become my lunch you mussst introduce yourssselves. I alwaysss like to know who I am eating.”

“My name is Volund, the great and—” started Volund, but the wyvern moved one of his claws to cover the man’s mouth.

“That’ss betterr,” hissed the wyvern. “Now, what iss your name?” It looked towards Fyrnor.

“M-my n-name is F-Fyrnor,” stuttered Fyrnor nervously. He fumbled with Volund’s sword, and it clattered to the stone below. Volund gave a grunt. 

“Sssomeone who issn’t a hero,” the wyvern hissed thoughtfully. “Hmmm… perhapss… perhapss I needn’t kill you at all.”

“Well, g-good s-sir, I would v-very much a-appreciate that. B-but if it-it would please you s-sir, I would a-ask that you free Volund. P-please.”

“You want me to ffree thiss impossster?” the wyvern hissed in amazement.

“Y-yes,” gulped Fyrnor. “You s-see, he has o-only done good, e-even if it’s for h-his own glory. P-please, sir.”

Volund growled. He tried to push the wyvern’s talons off himself, but the wyvern only shifted from side to side a little. The wyvern narrowed his piercing, golden eyes at Fyrnor. They seemed to burn. Fyrnor looked away. They can’t harm you, Volund would chide. They’re just eyes.

“Very well. Ifff you can anssswer my riddles. I will give you two.”

Fyrnor gulped. He wasn’t very good at riddles. Volund was. If only Volund could answer for him!

“I agree,” said Fyrnor. The wyvern thought for a minute.

“Gold I am, burn I do, damage I do not. What am I?” The wyvern sat back, glaring at Fyrnor impatiently. Fyrnor, despite himself, began to pace. Fire burns, he thought. It’s kind of gold. But it can do damage. So, not fire. What else is gold? Gold I am, burn I do, damage I do not… actual gold doesn’t burn.

Fyrnor looked up at the wyvern. Its golden eyes seemed to burn a hole into him.

“Your eyes!” blurted Fyrnor. A low rumble escaped the wyvern.

“Yesss. You sstill have one more riddle to sssolve, human.”

Fyrnor nodded, feeling confident. He was surprised he had guessed correctly. That wasn’t too hard, though. But the wyvern’s eyes do damage… they damage your confidence.

“What hasss handss, but cannot clap?” the wyvern looked smugly at Fyrnor. Fyrnor’s confidence dissipated immediately. His heart started to pound. What has hands, but cannot clap? That doesn’t make sense. Fyrnor started his worried pacing again.

Suddenly Volund started to wiggle and grunt as much as he could. Fyrnor turned to him. If Volund was trying to escape, he wasn’t doing a very good job, that was for sure. 

Once Volund was sure Fyrnor’s eyes were on him, he stopped moving. Fyrnor knew he had the answer. He tried desperately to find the answer to the wyvern’s riddle in Volund’s eyes. None came.

“The clock isss ticking,” hissed the wyvern. Fyrnor gulped. Volund started struggling again. The wyvern’s words echoed in Fyrnor’s head. the clock is ticking… the clock is ticking… the clock… what has hands, but cannot clap? the clock is ticking… oh! a clock!

“A clock!” shouted Fyrnor. “A clock has hands—but it can’t clap! Brilliant!”

Volund made a groaning noise. The wyvern hissed in annoyance.

“Verrry well,” it growled. “You may go. But rememberrr thiss: Vaelwen the wyvern will alwayss be waiting. Sshould you come again, you will not be shown merccy from me.”

The wyvern lifted off, flapping his long wings, and glowered at them with his burning golden eyes for a minute before veering away and disappearing into the gloom. Volund jumped to his feet, cursing the wyvern, and grabbed his sword. He dusted it off.

Passing Fyrnor, he said, “Sidekicks can never be heroes. never.”

Fyrnor stared after Volund in disbelief. He had just saved Volund’s life! At least Volund could show a little appreciation! Fyrnor sighed heavily, then followed Volund.

He would always be nothing but the useless sidekick in Volund’s eyes.

* * *

Fyrnor gazed out the dirty window at the darkening skies.

They had, a few hours before, arrived at the town by the sea. Everything smelled like salt. He sniffed. Even the air in the tavern was salty.

A raucous burst of laughter came from the middle of the tavern. Fyrnor turned. Volund had raised his mug and had one foot on his chair, the other still planted firmly on the floor.

He was busy telling everyone of his glorious battle with the wyvern in the underground cavern. A tale in which the sidekick, Fyrnor, got trapped and almost eaten by the wyvern, and Volund, the hero, saved him and valiantly fought off the evil wyvern. 

“…the wyvern screeched so loudly he almost busted my eardrums when I sliced his wing. He almost knocked me off the cliff, but I pushed him away with my sword. Then I cut out one of his eyes. That was too much for him. He flew away. Sadly, I could not find the eye anywhere, so I don’t have a trophy of my glorious fight…”

Fyrnor tuned the ‘hero’ out and turned back to the window. It was dark out now. A few faint lights shone from other buildings, but as the night wore on, each light vanished. And now all Fyrnor could see in the window was his own lonely reflection staring back at him.