George and the Dragon

‘I don’t want to do it!’ George said as he flicked aside the tent flap to take in the camp, huddled in a valley, all mist and pine trees.

‘Why not?’ Layla asked as she rolled over on the bed and flicked back her long, glossy black hair. ‘It’s what you do, after all.’

It was all very well for her to say that. She’d get to stay in the camp, wrapped up in furs. She probably wouldn’t even get out of bed.

‘It’s the last one, Layla. When I kill this one, there will be none left. That’s it. No more dragon. Doesn’t that make you sad?’ George asked as he pulled his dragon scale armour on. Dragon scales because they were light, tough and, most importantly, fireproof.

‘Seriously, you’re sad? Those monsters destroy crops, kill livestock and burn down towns. Not to mention the virgins that have been offered to them. I’ll never forget the terror as that scaly beast crawled up to me, red drool dripping from its fangs.’

It was actually blood, but George thought better than to say so. He’d already dealt the coup de gras. The dragon would have been unable to devour Layla, and was merely crawling away to die.

‘I thought you were just worried you’d have no more work once you kill this last one,’ Layla said, examining her long nails with an expert eye. ‘I don’t want to keep living like a pauper.’

‘There’s always work for knights.’ 

George needed it. Layla’s tastes ran to the luxury end of the spectrum. The king’s reward for destroying the dragon and rescuing the princess was her hand in marriage, a parcel of farmland George didn’t really know what to do with, and the title of baron. None of this sufficed to keep Princess Layla in the manner to which she was accustomed.

George suspected there was a reason it had been Layla, not one of her sisters, that had been chosen as the sacrifice for the dragon. It was a win-win for the king. Either a dragon got her or a knight. Either way, she was no longer the king’s problem.

‘Where’s breakfast?’ Layla said with a pout.

‘I’ll find out,’ George said and stepped out into the camp. 

The rest of the tents were smaller and the men slept on the ground. Just as he used to do. But a princess wouldn’t tolerate that. Just as she wouldn’t put up with a simple breakfast. So there was a rabbit roasting for the princess with a vegetable heavy pottage for the rest of them. The men crowded around the fire holding a low voiced conversation while waiting for the bread baking amongst the hot rocks of the fire. Half the men had been with George from the beginning and were veteran dragon hunters. The other half were supplied by the local duke, who’d engaged George’s services to deal with the dragon.

‘What will we be doing next, Sir George?’ one of the newbie’s asked.

He was young and swung between excitement that he was on a dragon hunt and moments of panic for the same reason.

‘The dragon’s over that hill, right?’

‘That’s right,’ another of the local men said. ‘There’s a cliff above a bend in the river and a cave complex the dragon is using.’

‘Alright,’ George said and hooked one of the now golden brown loaves of bread out of the fire with his dagger. ‘The moment you’ve eaten, get into position. I’m heading out. Sir James, you’re in charge, and make sure the princess is not discomforted while we’re away.’

James rolled his eyes at mention of the princess but made sure only George saw that.

‘Leave it with me, sir.’

George had seldom left his camp with such reluctance. He’d made a good living with this dragon lark and couldn’t believe this would be his last. Still, he was getting old and so was Mace. His battle horse was the best and had once trampled a dragon to death when George had been knocked flying by a wildly swinging dragon’s tail.

He fell into contemplation as he and Mace wended their way through the dense pine forest. The season chosen for the hunt was deliberate. Autumn fog masked the scent of men and their horses, dampened sound and obscured the smoke from their fires. All necessary when trying to creep up on an apex predator.

George wended his way south down a slope that led to the river. Mace’s hooves clicked loudly on the pebbles so George led him into the shallows and the two of them waded upstream. The sides of the mountains gradually grew higher and steeper till they were finally at the cliff and the bend the locals had described. Around this corner was the dragon’s lair.

George dismounted and gave Mace the sign to stay. Then he drew his sword and, his back against the cliff wall, he edged along and peered around the corner. 

There it was, its red scales glistened as it wallowed in the river. It arched a long, graceful neck, tipping its head back as it swallowed water, and its wings fluttered, scattering droplets. 

It was the biggest dragon George had ever seen. Easily three to four times the size of Mace. Considering that female dragons tended to be bigger than the males, George decided it had to be a female, an ancient one at that.

While she was distracted with her bath, George crept up the short slope that led to the cave mouth. He’d been assured by the locals that it was the only entrance. This had to be secured so that the dragon didn’t bolt into the cave. It was apparently a labyrinth in there, and much harder to wield a weapon in the enclosed space, let alone approach a fire-breathing dragon.

George curled his tongue and whistled and Mace charged up the river. The dragon lurched upwards, wings outspread to make herself as big as possible, her scales shimmering copper in the watery autumn light.

George leaped from the ledge onto Mace and hoisted his lance out of its holster. Now he had his sword in his left hand, lance in the right and he and Mace blocking the entrance.

The dragon hissed and scuttled backwards, putting the river between them. Its great golden eyes with the black slit pupils glared at him. It kept its wings spread, but closer to its body now. Its muscles tensed, ready to take flight.

Most dragons were used to winning and would try to secure their den and drive invaders off. But George couldn’t risk it. He gave another shrill whistle. Crossbow bolts rained down from above. His men were in position and ready to support.

The dragon shrieked as the bolts tore her wings to shreds and bounced off her scales. Now she was grounded. At least until her wings regenerated, but that would take a while.

‘Back off,’ she hissed.

Oh great, she could talk. George hated the ones who could talk. He preferred thinking of dragons as huge, dangerous beasts he was within his rights to slaughter. It felt different when he could hear their thoughts and worst when they pleaded for their lives.

‘You! You’re the dragon killer.’ 

Her voice rough like a sword being dragged across a stone.

George could hardly deny it. His armour and Mace’s barding was a mottled collection of green, black, and gold dragon scales. 

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

Normally, George would just charge. There was no point in chatting with a creature he was going to kill. This time he couldn’t do it.

‘What do you think?’

‘I made a deal with the duke.’

‘Did you?’

‘He offered me 50 cows, and I swore I wouldn’t touch anything else on his land.’

‘Well, you’ve broken the promise, haven’t you? More livestock has gone missing and there have been several unexplained fires.’

‘Lies!’

George shrugged. He had learned that fire was difficult for dragons to generate and was only used as a last resort. They would never randomly fly about setting fire to things. 

But people were expert at blaming anything that couldn’t defend itself. A dragon gave carte blanche to every feuding neighbour to settle things by burning down an enemy’s house or barn and every livestock thief to make the most of the situation. The duke himself had said he wasn’t that worried about the dragon, just the lawlessness its presence engendered.

‘Well, I’m sorry, but I have a job to do,’ George said and raised his lance.

The dragon hissed and danced sideways; her left wing dragging. She looked like she was trying to lead George away from the entrance to the cave, but he had to keep it covered and keep her out. 

He knew better than to charge her. Dragons, like lizards, could shed their tails. But unlike a lizard who would run away, leaving the predator transfixed by a wriggling tail, the dragon used their heavy, muscular tail as a swirling, sharp-edged weapon. Any fool who got too close would have to avoid both the tail and the dragon’s attacks.

Instead, George scanned the dragon’s less well armoured belly. She was keeping low now, making use of her armour plating. George tightened his grip on his lance and faked a charge, but pulled back as the dragon’s long neck shot towards him, her mouth wide, displaying terrifyingly sharp teeth.

Snap, she chomped fresh air and George pressed his advantage with a jab at her eye, which she narrowly avoided as she jerked back.

‘You’re slower than expected,’ the dragon hissed. ‘You’re getting too old for this.’

‘Not too old to kill you,’ George said, but the words hurt. 

Thank God this would be the last.

‘Your heart’s not in it.’ The dragon’s eyes narrowed and her voice lowering till it was all sibilants. ‘Let’s make a deal.’

‘You like deals, don’t you?’ George said and nudged Mace to turn him about, so that now his sword arm was nearer the dragon. ‘Maybe it isn’t me but you who’s getting too old for this.’

‘I am the last of my kind, human, thanks to you.’

‘If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it won’t work,’ George said and charged.

The dragon raised one tattered wing and the sword clashed against the long strut like bone and George backed off again. 

‘I have gold,’ the dragon said. ‘A mountains of it.’

‘I’ve heard that before but I’ve never seen it.’

George had only ever found a few sacks of coins, obviously offerings from the local people to placate dragons. But they seemed of little interest to the creatures.

‘You have just never found it. Gold is special to my kind and well hidden.’

‘You must think I’m an idiot.’ 

‘I’ll give you all the gold your horse can carry if you let me go. I give you my word.’

‘Not good enough,’ George said and charged.

She twisted away and his lance screeched along the scales of her side.

‘I’ll disappear too, for a hundred years. How about that?’

Now that wasn’t a bad deal. If she vanished, George could claim the duke’s payment without the associated guilt.

‘How can you guarantee that?’ George asked as he backed towards the cave, and the dragon held her position on the far riverbank.

‘I’ll give you the gold and then seal myself in the cave. Even if people search every path, they will never find me.’

‘But you’ll die if you can’t leave your cave for so long,’ George said and let Mace sidle back and forth, while he kept both weapons aimed at the dragon, mainly so that his men above didn’t wonder what was going on.

‘I had an enormous meal recently. I won’t need to eat for a long time.’

Since dragons were reptiles, George knew that was true, although he suspected even a massive meal wouldn’t keep a dragon going for a century. Then again, he’d be luck to still be alive for the next fifty, so as long as she didn’t appear before then, he could go to his grave as the man who killed the last dragon.

‘That still doesn’t seem possible.’

‘I’ll hibernate,’ the dragon said while she dashed forward and then back again, as if testing George’s defences. 

Was she also playing for the audience, or was she planning an attack?

‘Mmm.’ George had a win-win situation. Either the dragon just vanished and he’d get the duke’s reward without risk of injury. Or, better yet, the dragon kept her word, gave him some treasure and disappeared. ‘Alright, but we can’t let anyone else know. Mine and the duke’s men want to kill you. If we’re going to do this, we need to put on a show.’

‘What kind of show?’ 

‘You need to drop your tail and send a burst of fire towards me. I’ll pretend to fall back enough for you to slip past me into the cave. I’ll give chase and follow you to your lair. You give me the gold and then seal yourself inside the cave. Then I’ll come out with the gold and take your tail back to the duke as evidence that you’re dead.’

‘Just the tail?’

‘If you can spare a few scales, that would be helpful.’

‘Do you know how much it hurts to shed my tail?’ the dragon asked, her muscles bunching in readiness for a charge.

‘Better than losing your life,’ George said, and allowed Mace to step back a bit. 

‘Alright.’ 

With the sound of flesh ripping, the dragon’s tail fell into the river, thrashing about and sending water everywhere. The dragon roared and fire billowed towards George, who held his breath as the flames battered against his and Mace’s armour. 

A shadow flashed through the flames into the cave and George heard a shout from his men as he wheeled Mace about and gave chase. The dragon shot down a tunnel, turned left, then right, then left again, up, then left, then down. The clank and clutter of the dragon’s feet and the thud of Mace’s hooves filled George’s ears as he memorised every twist and turn. 

‘Whoa!’ George bellowed as they rounded another bend and nearly crashed into an enormous pile of treasure glittering under the light of several torches on the walls of a circular cave.

George’s first thought was, well I’ll be, there really is a treasure. His second was that it was uncomfortably warm. With a clink and jingle, the dragon crawled up onto the pile of gold and blinked down at George.

‘So what will you do now?’

She had the height advantage, and most likely a good couple of breaths of fire left in her. 

‘I’ll keep my promise,’ George said, ‘as long as you keep yours.’

‘Take however much you can carry,’ the dragon said, waving a claw.

George dismounted, keeping his sword in his hand and an eye on the dragon. With his left hand, he scooped up gold coins, sparkling gems, jewellery and even a diamond encrusted crown. Mace’s saddlebags were large, because George usually took as many dragon scales as he could fit. They could, therefore, hold a lot of treasure. George wondered whether he should return to all the other places he’d fought dragons and scour their former lairs for more gold. Then again, he’d hardly be needing it, even after he gave his men a cut of the booty.

He scooped his hand deep into the gold, marvelling at how it shimmered, when he felt something leathery and smooth against his fingertips. He wriggled towards the object and the treasure slipped down revealing a large cream-coloured, conical egg.

‘Shit,’ George muttered as his eyes shot to the dragon.

She glared back. Her breath sounded loud and slow, Mace’s huffing was louder and George’s heartbeat nearly obscured it all. A mother defending her nest was a fearsome beast. 

George pushed the gold and gems back against the egg with his foot, then he scattered the coins in his hand over the top. He backed away, his eyes never wavering from the dragon’s as he reached for Mace’s reign. 

‘You’d best keep to your side of the bargain,’ George said as he swung himself up into the saddle. 

He gave Mace a nudge, and the horse took off. A mighty roar followed them and flames billowed outwards. With a crack, the ceiling came down behind them, sending rocks tumbling. George and Mace hurtled through the debris, following the track he’d memorised. 

George was already working out what he’d say to his men who’d be waiting at the cave entrance. The dragon was dead, he’d say. He had the tail and the treasure and the dragon’s promise. He was fine.

He could look forward to a quiet retirement. Him, Princess Layla and the treasure.