The Boon

With a satisfied munch, a shimmering green dragon feasted on a pile of freshly roasted goats he had plucked from the hillside. Goats were tough creatures to wrangle, and the dragon — named Basil — was always particularly pleased when he was able to capture a few as a well-earned snack.

Basil was enjoying himself. The day was bright, the wind blew softly to the south, the bees buzzed busily among the daisies, and he chomped pleasantly.

Until he heard an unnatural sound.

Farangul?

They were bound to be close, the sorcerers who called themselves the Farangul, dragon hunters. Basil always knew it was dangerous to go looking for food in the lowlands, but it had such better, plumper game than the mountains. He should fly off with a goat, but it was never as good by the time he got back to the mountain.

Leftovers never reheat properly, he thought.

Basil heard the sound again — a wailing and whining. He had heard something like this before but couldn’t quite place where. He had, after all, been many places and seen and heard a great many things. He was concerned it might be a plot of the Farangul, but it was best to check lest they sneak up on him.

Cautiously, Basil moved towards the sound, bereft at leaving his snack behind.

In a clearing not far off was a child, a human child only slightly older than a baby, with blonde hair and fat cheeks flushed from crying. As Basil approached, the child stopped crying and watched him attentively, sniffling.

Basil looked at the child.

The child looked at Basil.

Neither moved.

Then Basil caught the sound of the Farangul, their horses stamping in the mud, crackling through the undergrowth. He sighed.

“Where are your parents?” he asked the child as softly as he could, but it still emerged as a deep, smoky rumble. The child did not reply but made a terribly consternated face. Basil sighed again. He could not leave the child here, not with the Farangul so close. Sorcerers loved to take lost or unwanted children and use them for their experiments. That’s why they wanted Basil as well. The thought of what they had already done to some of his brethren … he shuddered.

“No, it will not do to leave you here,” Basil said, slowly approaching the wide-eyed child. “You will have to come with me.”

* * *

Sir Hardin and his traveling companion, a tiny but lethally quick elf named Annaxes, had nearly reached the top of the mountain path when they stood before massive iron gates flanked by pillars of stone.

“Here at last!” the knight called out triumphantly. “Annaxes, behold — our long and treacherous journey comes to an end.”

Annaxes hemmed.

“Well, yes,” the knight conceded. “We still have to get through the gate. But fear not, I know that we will prove to be full of the virtues by which this ancient dragon magic is based and so requires.”

The tall and strong Sir Hardin, crowned with a thick mane of golden hair, took a deep breath and strode towards the gates. Closing his eyes, he focused on the confidence of his quest.

The gates did not budge.

He opened his eyes.

“Annaxes!” he bellowed, turning to see the small elf still standing back a few paces, shrugging. The knight grumbled. “Impossible. My quest is pure!”

He tried again, striding towards the gate, but hesitated when he did not hear its hinges creaking. He opened only one eye this time, squinting angrily. The entrance appeared to be shaking slightly but did not unlock.

“Annaxes, come and give it a little kick,” he called out.

She did not move but looked at him evenly.

Sir Hardin rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you have to do it because it is unfitting for me to do it. Imagine a knight kicking a gate! No, I cannot shove it or hit it with my sword. It’s not knightly. Come on. It’s just rusted, I’m sure. Yes, even dragon magic cannot account for some degree of decay … do not test me!”

The elf trundled over, in no great hurry, and stood before the gate. She gave it a sharp kick with her tiny foot. The great stone pillars trembled mightily, and slowly the gate began to creak open.

“Ha! At last,” the knight said with a smile. “Well done, elf, well done.”

Annaxes bowed slightly without expression, and the two entered through the gates and on towards the dragon’s lair.

Basil had been sitting just outside his cave further up the mountain watching the entire thing take place. This was far from the first knight to find the secret passage that led to his lair, surviving the nigh-impossible trials it took to make it to this point, waiting for the spells surrounding the gate to find his heart worthy enough to enter the sacred realm to receive a boon. This was, however, the first to kick the gate. Or rather, bring an elf to do it.

Basil waited patiently, thinking about whether he should mend the rusty gate or if any of his fellow dragonkin had this problem, as the knight and the elf strode up towards him.

“Greetings, fair dragon lord,” the knight called out loudly, bowing deeply before him. Basil nodded nonchalantly. When the knight stood back up he regarded the dragon strangely, and the elf made a tittering sound. “Shut up,” the knight hissed at the elf.

“What did she say?” Basil asked, puffing smoke menacingly through his nostrils. They liked that, these knights. They wanted a little pageantry for their troubles.

“Nothing, my lord dragon. Indeed—"

The elf tittered again. Basil narrowed his eyes.

“She doesn’t think I’m very big?” he roared.

“I don’t know what she was expecting, lord dragon, you would think everything looks big to her,” the knight said, shooing the elf away. “Elves, you know.”

“I do,” Basil said wearily. “Anyway, go ahead and ask.”

“Yes, lord dragon. My name is Sir Hardin of Loam, and my ungrateful elf companion Annaxes and I have reached this most dangerous peak to ask the blessing of your boon,” Sir Hardin said, lowering himself onto one knee.

Basil was ready to go through the motions of questioning the knight about his valor, asking him riddles, maybe even threatening to cook him and the elf, but he was tired. All these knights wanted, in the end — aside from a good story — was part of his treasure horde. By making it to the lair, they were allowed a boon of his choosing. Suddenly, Basil’s eyes lit up.

Of course! A solution to his problem.

“One moment, Sir, as I secure your boon,” Basil said, slowly turning around.

Sir Hardin’s eyes widened as he stood. “But my lord dragon, you have not questioned my valor! You have not asked me the riddles three! You have not —"

“Yes, yes,” Basil muttered, continuing back down into his lair.

Sir Hardin and Annaxes exchanged a look. The knight shrugged at his elf companion.

“No, I don’t know what’s going on. He doesn’t seem like a proper dragon, does he? A little small, a little lazy. This won’t make for a very good tale, I daresay. We shall have to improve upon it on the way to the queen. She will not settle for this. And I agree, I hope he brings something particularly nice for me to give to her. I should have made that clear, shouldn’t I? Well with what time?”

At that moment, Basil returned, gently shoving a small, plump figure towards them. It was a child, dirty and grumpy, and it gave Basil a sneer before looking hopefully towards Sir Hardin and Annaxes.

“Here is your boon,” Basil said coolly.

“Is that a child?” Sir Hardin exclaimed. “A human child? What are you doing with that?”

“Nothing anymore, it’s your problem … I mean your treasure … now.”

“This is not a treasure,” Sir Hardin spat. “Children are a copper piece for a dozen in any village. This is hardly worthy of the journey we have been on.”

“I disagree, for what is more valuable than the life of your fellow kind?”

“So much more!” Sir Hardin. “The lives of my kind are worth very little indeed!”

“Nevertheless, it belongs with its people.”

“Why don’t you just put it back where you found it?”

Basil grunted, “I don’t … exactly remember where I found it. Somewhere with tasty goats, though.”

Annaxes coughed and muttered something.

“Oh, right,” the knight said, clearing his throat. “Is this a test of valor? If so, I am not doing particularly well, I suppose. But let me explain. I am not here for myself or to garner riches of my own, but for my lady love, Queen Corinthia. She has just been made a widow, and I plan to go to her and win her hand. I am but a humble knight, though we have known and loved each other a long time. With this dragon’s boon I believe she will finally accept me as her husband.”

Basil was lost in thought for a moment. The child squirmed and sat down in front of him, bored.

“I know of this queen, though I thought the late king you speak of was long since past.”

Annaxes shook her head from behind Sir Hardin and drew her finger across her neck.

“Really?” Basil’s eyes widened with interest.

“What? What is she telling you?” the knight said, turning left and right trying to find where Annaxes was behind him. “What prevarications?”

“So that was her second husband?” Basil inquired to Annaxes, enjoying a little light gossip from the realm. Dragons were often the last to know these things. The elf held up her tiny hand.

“Fifth?” Basil sputtered, and a lava-like substance sprayed out and landed near the child, who squealed in displeasure. “Mercy.”

“You do not know her like I know her!” Sir Hardin said. “She is as fair and lovely as —"

“Be that as it may,” the dragon said, waving a clawed foot in front of them. “It does not change the nature of the boon. It is of my choosing. You will take the child.”

The knight looked at the child. “Is it a special child, at least?”

“It doesn’t seem to be.”

Sir Hardin’s face fell. Annaxes tugged on his chainmail, which made him lean down. She whispered in his ear.

“Indeed!” he boomed. “Lord dragon, we seem to be doing you a favor taking this child off your hands … feet? Claws. Talons? Perhaps we could ask for a treasure for Queen Corinthia in addition to the childling?”

Basil considered. “Fine. Just remember to feed the thing as you go. I don’t know what it likes. I tried bringing it all kinds of delicious meat, I even roasted it very finely. It only nibbled at the bits.”

“Cheese,” Sir Hardin said confidently. “I believe they eat a goodly amount of cheese.”

Annaxes rolled her eyes.

“One moment,” Basil said, pushing the child up off the ground and towards the knight. The child tottered over towards Annaxes and looked at her with a confused expression. It reached slowly for one of her knives, tumbling as she whipped around to keep them at bay. The child squawked in irritation and stood back up as Basil turned and retreated back to his lair, emerging moments later with a very fine gold and emerald necklace.

“For your queen, and may mercy be upon you.”

Sir Hardin bowed deeply and took the necklace, showing it off to Annaxes, who nodded. Then the two turned to look at the child. It had a miserable expression, although Sir Hardin couldn’t understand why when it had been given such delicacies as dragon-roasted lamb for every meal. He would have found that to be a bounty without equal.

“Come along,” he said to the child. “We must make haste. And farewell, lord dragon. This has been … a strange encounter.”

Basil bowed his head, pleased to get some peace and quiet.

* * *

Sir Hardin was disappointed to discover that the child, like Annaxes, did not speak much except to croak the word, “Keemi,” which they took to be his name. He was of a foul temperament, often tried to escape, bit them whenever he got the chance, and also didn’t seem to care much for the amount of cheese offered, which put Sir Hardin at a loss as to his upkeep. Annaxes faired only slightly better by feeding Keemi bread and water and the occasional apple, in addition to the cheese — all from a safe distance.

“What are we going to do with him?” Sir Hardin pondered, carrying the child on his back as they left yet another town on the High Road to the Queen’s lands. Keemi loudly chomped into an apple next to the knight’s ear.

“Stop that!” he admonished. “Have you no manners? Yes, Annaxes, I agree, the queen will know what to do. But we can’t just bring her a dirty, biting childling. Shall we put the necklace on him, would that improve his looks? No … but surely someone is searching for him? Perhaps not, given his unfortunate disposition. Still, I don’t much fancy being known for kidnapping an innocent child. No, we did not really save it from the dragon. Or did we? But we can’t send people towards the dragon, upset at him for something he didn’t really do. That’s not particularly fair. And anyway, then they might kill him and get his treasure. And where would we be? Dragon’s blood on our hands, still poor, and carrying around this infernal creature.”

Annaxes couldn’t argue with that and didn’t, and the group walked on.

* * *

Just before arriving at the court of Queen Corinthia, Sir Hardin had dunked Keemi in the cold, rushing river to try and scrub him clean before their arrival. Annaxes had opined that the child was not the same as a dog, and that they could have also had gone into the bathhouse in any town they had passed through, but Sir Hardin reminded her that cost a decent amount of coin, which they did not have, having spent it all on their treacherous journey to seek the dragon.

Annaxes grumbled.

“No, we cannot sell the necklace, and yes, I know what the dragon said, but the child has been fine! We’ve been on meager rations, to be sure, but now we are at the palace. The queen will set all things right. Ah my beloved,” he said, starry-eyed. “She always does.”

Annaxes sighed.

Sir Hardin had decided in the end to have Keemi wear the gold and emerald necklace, because it did improve his impoverished looks a little bit to do so. He was still grumpy though, with Sir Hardin begging him to smile for the queen. All he got was an even deeper scowl in return, cheese be damned.

The three entered the Great Hall of the palace and bowed before the queen. She was a great beauty, with a swirl of raven-colored locks and piercing green eyes. A number of courtiers flanked the throne, from which she observed the travelers with a mixture of interest and pity.

“Oh Sir Hardin, it has been so long since we last met. What have you brought here today? And greetings also my dear Annaxes,” she added. The elf gave a nod.

“My queen, my beautiful and radiant queen — my loyal companion Annaxes and I have come from a long and perilous journey to the lair of a most fearsome and powerful dragon,” Sir Hardin began.

“Yes yes, you aren’t the first,” Corinthia said, fluffing her hair. “So what is this?” she said, pointing to the child.

“My dearest love, this is the boon the dragon bestowed upon us. For you. So that I might prove my love and you would, at last, accept me as your husband, to rule in glory alongside you in —“

“Hardin.”

“Yes?”

“I am already wed.”

“You were, my queen, but given the unfortunate —”

“No, dear knight, since then.”

“Al-already?” Sir Hardin sputtered. “But we …”

“You have been gone such a long time. And I got lonely. I married the Duke, here,” she said, gesturing to a proud-looking man with an impressive mustache to her left.

“But … Corinthia,” Sir Hardin said. “I had hoped … you know the depths of my unending love for you.”

“I do,” she said, standing up and walking towards him. She placed her hand on his cheek. “And I have so missed you. Next time, I promise.”

“What was that?” the duke called out, somewhat alarmed. “Did you say ‘next time’?”

“But let us not trouble ourselves about such trifles now,” the queen said sweetly. “Show me what you have brought and toiled so hard to find.”

“Here, my love,” the knight said, pointing at Keemi.

“This child?” she said, with a perplexed expression.

“Er, the fine necklace draped upon it — Annaxes, if you would remove it please,” Sir Hardin said, gesturing to the elf.

“Wait, wait. I have a dozen such necklaces. What of this child?”

“Well,” Sir Hardin sighed. “We didn’t know what to do with it. We rescued it —"

Annaxes coughed.

“— Him from the dragon.”

“Him from the dragon?” Corinthia repeated slowly, lost in thought.

“Indeed, my love.”

“But Hardin, this is no ordinary child,” Corinthia said, looking at Keemi carefully. He regarded her back with suspicion. “And perhaps no child at all. I believe he might be the victim of a curse.”

“What?!” Sir Hardin exclaimed. He looked at Keemi again. Yes, now he could see it — something in the eyes. They were not of a child. They had seen things. And they were angry. The foul temperament started to make sense.

Corinthia instructed her court mage to break the curse, which took deep consultation of a very old tome, and at least one misstep that will not be recorded here. But eventually, in so doing, Keemi was transformed into a wizened and still very grumpy sorcerer in his full robes.

“Mercy!” the sorcerer squeaked, finding his voice. “My queen, thank you a thousand times, thank you for rescuing me from these idiots.”

“What is your name? And how did you get into such a state?” Corinthia asked.

“I simply ask to be released, my queen,” the sorcerer said with a deep bow.

“Absolutely not, answer my questions,” Corinthia said with narrowed eyes. Sir Hardin had seen her use that expression before. She was not to be crossed at such times. He pitied the sorcerer and had also never been more in love with his queen.

“F-fine,” the sorcerer stammered, and then drew himself up to his full height. “I am Percival Greylocks, sorcerer of the fifth degree, and a member of the Farangul.”

“The dragon hunters,” Corinthia said thoughtfully. “You found the dragon, it seems, but did not slay it.”

“Indeed not. I had an ingenious plan to transform myself into a mewling babe, which would catch the dragon’s attention amidst its hunting grounds. Either it would try to eat me or rescue me, but either way, I would then transform back to my normal state and kill ... capture it for study.”

“But this did not occur.”

“It … did not.”

“Why?”

The sorcerer cast his eyes downward and tugged at his collar. “I, er … I don’t know. Perhaps because I could not properly utter the incantation in that state.”

“The dragon rescued you, and you wanted to reward it with death?” Sir Hardin growled at the sorcerer.

“This is simply our way. Then we can learn its secrets, its magic, and —"

“Plunder its horde?” Sir Hardin finished. “Despicable.”

The sorcerer, feeling the room turning against him, thrust a bony hand out from his robes and pointed at the knight and the elf.

“Despicable? Feeding a child nothing but cheese is despicable! Nearly drowning me in the river!” he shrieked. “These two fools were of more danger to me than the dragon, they should be put on trial!”

“Nonsense,” Corinthia said. “And you’re boring me now. Guards, release the sorcerer.”

“Wait!” Sir Hardin cried out. “He knows the location of the dragon now, knows how to find him again. He cannot be allowed to kill it. Dragons are noble creatures, look at how this one saved what it thought was the child, saved it from the very thing it turned out to be. No, we cannot let him go to carry out his nefarious plans.”

“How do you know the dragon wasn’t aware of what I was and sought to torture me?” Percival asked.

“Because he fed you roast lamb every day!” Sir Hardin replied. “That is not torture.”

“I don’t like mutton!”

“Mutton and lamb are not the same thing!”

“Either way, he charred it to dust!”

“Well, that’s not his fault!”

“I am nevertheless surprised he didn’t recognize that this wasn’t truly a child in the first place,” Corinthia said with a frown.

“He’s surely not that well-versed in human children to begin with, my dearest love,” Sir Hardin replied.

“This is fair enough, as neither are you, evidently. Alright then —"

“Surely, my queen, you cannot listen to this fool knight over that of a learned sorcerer,” Percival begged.

“Enough!” Queen Corinthia said sharply to Percival. She seemed distracted now by the way Sir Hardin was running his hand through his golden locks, which glinted in the filtered sunlight. “You have insulted the honorable, brave …” Corinthia placed her hand on Sir Hardin’s shining plate armor and sighed longingly. “Very … very handsome and strong knight for the last time, Percival Greylocks,” she finished.

The duke craned his head to get a better view of his lady wife, but she was obscured by a banner.

“I have no wish to see you and your depraved dragon hunters kill what by all rights sounds like a very innocent and indeed pleasant dragon,” she continued. “Enough. Talinor, turn this sorcerer back into a baby. He grew up badly the first time. Perhaps another go-round will improve his disposition.”

Percival started to yell, but Talinor was too quick. The court wizard turned the rude sorcerer back into a babbling child and smiled triumphantly.

“There,” Corinthia said. “All is well.”

“I knew you would solve the problem with perfect wisdom, your grace,” Sir Hardin said, lowering his head.

“Well, it’s been an afternoon. And I thank you for your gift, Hardin, but it remains that I am still married. You and Annaxes will have to be on your way. And you must take the child with you, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yes.”

Annaxes murmured to the knight.

“Oh yes, we didn’t get a chance to ask why he only said ‘Keemi’ to us.”

“I believe he was saying ‘release me,’ but in his stunted tongue,” Corinthia suggested. “Perhaps it was meant to reverse the spell, as he said.”

“Your glorious brilliance is nothing short of astonishing, my queen,” Hardin gushed.

Annaxes rolled her eyes and muttered.

“Don’t be so base, Annaxes, he was not saying, ‘kill me,’” Sir Hardin admonished. “At any rate, we know his name is Percy now.” He looked at the child, who hissed at him in return. “Nasty little thing. We’ll set him right.”

“Until we meet again, my dear,” the queen said, plucking the necklace off of the child and handing it to Annaxes.

Sir Hardin then took the queen’s hand, kissing it respectfully as he bowed. “I shall continue to pine for you and never stop attempting to win your heart.”

“You already have it. Bless you, Sir Hardin,” Corinthia said fondly.

As the knight and the elf left with Percy in tow, the duke came to stand beside Corinthia. Smiling hesitantly, he cleared his throat.

“What did you mean by ‘next time?’”

* * *

“One thing I don’t understand,” Sir Hardin said, as the three travelers sat on a log by a stream on the outskirts of the Roaring Pass, on their way to the next adventure. “How did the child get through to the lair? Wouldn't the curse have been made evident at the gates?”

Annaxes nodded.

“If you have to be pure of heart, his ruse would have fallen apart immediately,” Sir Hardin continued. “The dragon would have had to leave him outside. How did Percy get through the gates?”

Annaxes and Sir Hardin both looked at the child, who was grumpily munching on a loaf of fresh bread. Annaxes suddenly pointed up.

“Of course!” the knight said. “The dragon did not use the gate.”

“No,” she said, though Sir Hardin did not hear her. Annaxes looked at the sky. “He flew.”