The Dragon Wars

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

The first time they came, it was like a storm of fire and brimstone. They appeared as mere birds in the distant sky, growing larger and deadlier with each wingbeat. It was only when they were upon us that the townspeople realized their fate. They screamed, ran for cover, shielded their loved ones…but to no avail. The flames consumed them all like the fiery wrath of God.

I am Kenneth the Dragonslayer. And I remember the Purge like it was yesterday.

I remember how the thatch of every home and barn quickly caught fire, the livestock and villagers running everywhere and nowhere. I remember urging my wife to run, the smoke burning my eyes and scorching my lungs as I tried to shield them from the onslaught of hell itself…and I remember how they were suddenly swallowed in a pillar of fire mere feet in front of me, their screams reverberating in my ears as withered before me in yellow hot flames. Their agonizing wails reflected my own.

And then, as soon as it had begun, it was over. The dragons were gone, and I found myself standing in the ashen remains of everything I had ever loved, the scorched corpses of my wife and daughter laying at my feet. I was left with the small number of survivors to pick among the rubble for the shattered remnants of our lives.

But the only thing to pluck from the charred remains of dead flesh and wood was the single question: Why? Dragons never came this far north, and they certainly never burned entire villages for…what? There was nothing to gain from destroying my village, my clan…my family.

To this day, religious zealots claimed the reason was because we were being judged: that the dragons were sent from God to scourge the wicked for their wrongdoings. That is why they called it the Purge. Those who survived should count themselves among the righteous and accept the attack as God’s will. We were the lucky ones.

But my wife and child had never done anything to deserve a dragon’s wrath. That much I knew. And so, the only viable answer I could understand was that the dragons didn’t come from God. They came from the Devil. They were demonic, horned creatures of the deep, their veins pumping with hellfire that they could spew from their gullets whenever they chose; and they inflicted death and destruction for the simple reason that they could.

This realization stoked something vengeful inside me, replacing my all-consuming grief with a purpose: to eradicate all dragons from the land, even if I had to cut every one of them down from the sky.

This purpose only grew as news poured in from other villages of new dragon attacks, ones that left entire clans destroyed, and were unprovoked. It was now clear that the dragons weren’t going to stop. The time had come to act. To fight back. And so, with nothing left of my former life, I set out to join the king’s army.

King Vandrad had gathered his soldiers out of desperation. His Majesty knew the odds of us winning were impossible. But like any just monarch, he could not give up the kingdom of Aerona—our home—without a fight. Besides, most of us had nothing left to fight for. The only reason we came was because dying in the fight, on our own terms, was better than waiting to die like a dog. And many--like me--now only lived for the shedding of dragons' blood.

Thus began the Dragon Wars.

Each battle was a horrific scene of blood, fire, and ash. Hundreds died. Many lost hope. After all, we were going up against beasts that were untouchable, and could eradicate us with a single burst of flame. I, on the other hand, let each battle harden me, forge me into a weapon strong enough to accomplish the impossible. Until, one day, I did.

I killed a dragon.

It was during the Battle at Hill Dunsworth, and our armies were in retreat. I led a band of my brothers-in-arms—this small band of soldiers whose blind faith in me drove them to put their lives in my hands…even when they knew at least some of us—if not all of us—would die. We were going against our commander’s orders, but we were tired of running.

At my command, we ran into the fray, swords raised high and battle cries strong as we circled a dragon that had become separated from the others. I knew if we had any hope, that we needed to douse the dragon’s flame. So I took a bola that I had constructed; and with true aim, spun it around my head and launched it at the dragon’s snout. It wrapped around the beast’s gullet, clamping it shut and rendering the dragon flameless. My brothers used those precious seconds of the dragon’s surprise to slice its wings to bloody shreds, so that it could not fly away. And with the dragon now maimed, they slowly drove it and cornered it into the side of a rock wall, using their shields to buffer any attacks from its strong claws and tail.

I was waiting at the top with the stronger men of our band. I had survived enough battles to learn how to use the land to my advantage, which we now used by pushing large boulders over the edge to crush the dragon below. By the time it realized what we were doing, it was too late. It gave out a surprised shriek that was cut short by the rocks that crushed its massive body.

The men were ecstatic, bellowing out cries of victory. But it was not over yet. The beast’s chest still rose and fell, proving how hard it truly was to kill. So, in a daring feat that was half courage, half madness, I leapt from the cliffside, my sword drawn as I let out a wild heathen cry. I landed straight on the dragon’s exposed side, plunging my sword into its heart. I still remember how its blood steamed and was so hot that it burned my hands. But it was done. The dragon’s heart beat no more.

We were victorious.

When the armies had seen what we had done, they were nonetheless surprised. But seeing just one dragon downed gave them the courage they needed to turn back and fight. My men and I had proven that the dragons were not invincible, and that they could be killed. We now used strategy combined with numbers to overcome the demons. Many soldiers still died, but we now had an advantage that dwindled the dragons’ numbers until, against all odds, they retreated.

Some said I single-handedly turned the tide of the war that day. It was also the day I was given my name, Dragonslayer, a name that would forge my reputation for years to come. My feats also caught the eye of King Vandrad, for my men and I were later recognized in His Majesty’s court for our victory. Frankly, I did not care for any recognition or praise. I only wanted to fulfil my vow. But if I was to accomplish it, I knew I needed the aid of the king. So, I stood before him in his great halls of stone, and convinced His Majesty to pour the kingdom’s resources into one great battle, one final attack to drive the dragons out of the land forever. My voice rang with conviction as I told him the battle strategies I would use to give the dragons such an enormous blow, that whichever ones survived would leave Aerona and never return.

I must have sounded like a madman. But my fortitude must have moved the king, because in the end, he agreed. However, his compliance was not a surprise to most, for the king had more of a right to be angry with the dragons than most: his only son, the crown prince, had been killed and eaten by a dragon, leaving Aerona vulnerable without a secure future. So for His Majesty, there was no other action to be done than to fight. My speech was simply the kindling spark to ignite his conviction.

And so, preparations began. Metal armor was not in our favor, for it could become hot and melt if we had donned traditional chainmail and breastplates. So, every soldier was clad in heavy leather to protect ourselves from the dragons’ flames; and whatever metal that would have shielded our bodies was now used to strengthen our weapons. Foot soldiers were fitted with swords made of the strongest steel that could pierce the dragons’ sides more easily; our spearmen with javelin spears made of the strongest wood to tear the dragons’ wings. And everyone was given a shield of the strongest wood covered in pig or cow skin, to make them lighter and more flame resistant.

Supplying the army was demanding to say the least. All supplies, all efforts went toward preparing the king’s army for what would probably be the greatest battle the kingdom of Aerona had ever known. The money to do so was supplied by the heavy tax laid on what was left of the people, a risky yet necessary evil to the economy to ensure the kingdom’s chance for survival. For there was the underlying apprehension that our nation would not survive if we did not win this final battle.

I, on the other hand, felt a swelling of joy that the day would soon dawn when I had the chance to fulfil my vow. Now that day has finally arrived, and the sun certainly feels warm. I can’t help but smile.

Today we destroy the dragons.

*********************

I sit atop my trusted steed, overlooking the army below from a grassy hilltop. King Vandrad rides next to me, clad in ceremonial armor with the royal seal embedded on his shield—a raven with its wings and claws spread wide—and his silver crown resting atop his head. Mine and the king’s most trusted men are stationed behind me, waiting to follow us into battle. We are the only ones with steeds that are specially trained for battle; most horses would simply bolt at the sight of a dragon. The rest of our army is on foot. They barely numbers seven thousand, with old and young men alike, some only boys. Yet they stand ready to fight at the edge of Lake Dagna, their swords and hearts true.

This location was chosen with care. Like birds, dragons instinctually travel the same migratory path, flying southeast towards us over the lake. They will be bottle-necked by the steep mountains on each side, giving us a chance to take their numbers on gradually. I had come to learn that elemental beasts such as these can be weakened and killed by their opposite element; in the case of dragons…water. And so, great catapults had been erected that now line the shore, that were especially designed to hurl gigantic bolas—thick rope with boulders tied to each end—instead of mere stones. With any luck, these bolas will snare the dragons midair, dragging the great beasts down into the lake where they will drown. Whichever ones manage to survive and crawl ashore will have their inner flames dowsed by the lake water, leaving them weakened as they meet the armies awaiting them at the shoreline. Behind the king and I are the javelin throwers ready to combat the dragons that make it past the catapults. The javelins are rigged by special contraptions that will shoot them higher into the sky than any man can throw. They are prepared to tear the wings of the dragons with their arial weapons, so that the beasts will fall to the earth when their wings are torn to shreds.

We are as prepared as we can possibly be. Still, the battle will be sore. Every soldier knows this, each one wondering, hoping that they will be lucky enough to survive this day. Like a calm before the storm, all is silent.

And then they appear.

“Here they come!” a random soldier shouts, causing many to look up in apprehension. Uneasiness spreads throughout the army like an invisible fog.

“And so it begins,” the king murmurs.

The dragons are indiscernible at first, mere dots on the horizon. Then they slowly become more discernable. There must be at least fifty of them. Their scales range from red as blood to black as sin, and every hellish color in between. Each is an abomination of horns and spikes that flare around their heads and all the way down their spines and tails. A few blow out gusts of fire in the distance, merely to taunt us of what is to come.

“CATAPULTS READY!” King Vandrad cries. His orders ricochet down the army lines until the men standing at the contraptions prepare final adjustments to make them ready.

The dragons are fast approaching. The anticipation in the air is reekingly potent before the king shouts, “FIRE!” With a signal from the bellowing herald trumpet, the catapults release one by one, throwing gigantic boulder-ended bolas into the sky. They spin through the air, catching a few in the first line of dragons, the momentum flinging them down into the water. The men hurrah at this small victory, even when some of the bolas miss and crash uselessly into the lake. Another dragon falls, and another. One bola hits a red dragon so forcefully that it crashes back into the dragon flying behind it, and both of them crash in a magnificent display of white foam and mist. Another bola wraps around another dragon’s leg and tail, causing them to careen out of control until they crash into the side of the mountain, spraying the eastern shores and part of our army in a small avalanche. Cries from the men ring in my ears.

The beasts screech their disdain as they fly higher where the bolas can’t reach them.

“SPEARMEN AT THE READY!” the king shouts. Behind us, the men stand by the javelin launchers, ready for orders. Just as the first dragons soar across the shoreline, the king shouts “FIRE!” Soldiers cut the taut rope holding the javelin spears in place. Two dozen of them arc over our heads with a gust of wind, soaring midair for one deadly second before they pierce the second line of dragons. One thrusts into the heart of an ashen dragon; others receive a javelin or two in their wings. Either way the effect is the same: the beasts fall from the sky with thunderous roars before crashing to the earth below, much to the soldiers’ distress that are crushed beneath them.

The dragons who are still airborne begin to dive. That can only mean one thing: they intend to spout their flame. The army below sees what I see, and move into defensive position just as they were trained. “Shields up!” a commander replies, before their section of men huddle together under their shields in a phalanx position. One dragon flies low before blowing a stream of fire from its massive jaws as it passes over them. Many of the men scream in alarm, but most of the fire flickers across the thick leather covering their shields before going out, leaving the men mostly unharmed.

And so the battle continues like this for some time: the javelins are regularly reloaded and released, taking down an unsuspecting dragon or two with each discharge. Meanwhile, the other dragons fly low to release jets of flame onto the soldiers. In turn our men shelter together under their shields, causing little damage to those who position themselves in time. At the shoreline, our army meets the dragons who manage to crawl out of the water, catching them while they are weak and making quick work of them. Some dragons attempt to attack those of us on the hilltop, diving in for a massive blow. But we are too close to the javelins to make the beasts realize that coming anywhere near us is suicide. I look at our numbers: the dragons’ are reduced by over half; and while many of our dead litter the battlefield, ours are nothing compared to previous battles, and we are still going strong.

We are winning.

“Behold, Dragonslayer,” King Vandrad comments to me, motioning me to the chaos below. “Without you, none of this would be possible. Relish this moment.” I certainly do, though I am itching to join my brothers in the fight instead of merely observing the battle from afar. But I must wait for the king’s orders, and he is not to join in the fight unless he absolutely must.

But then we receive our chance. The dragons now realize that we have the advantage, and that the only way to combat our army is on the ground. They dive and land amidst our men, clawing and biting and spewing flame. The soldiers do not stand as great a chance up close, and their screams echo back to us as many more lay dying. The dragons are turning the tide of the battle before our very eyes. The king realizes this as well, and with one wordless look to me, we silently communicate what we are both thinking.

It is time.

King Vandrad unsheathes his sword and raises it high. “FOR AERONA!” he screams, his words echoed by myself and the men around us in thunderous war cries. His majesty points his sword to the battle below, before shouting, “CCCHHHAAARRRGGGEEE!” We bellow out our courage as our horses lurch forward, and we run downhill into the fight.

I prepare myself for what is to come. Riding into battle is like diving into water. There is the anticipation at first; but then you hit the surface and are plunged into the cold frothy thick of it, and you either swim or die. Battle is the same. At first you ride into the fray with all the courage in your heart, before you are thrust into the utter chaos of blood and horror and fear, struggling to stay alive every second.

Up until now we stood a decent chance of winning when the dragons were in the sky. But now comes the hard part. A challenge that I am ready for. I bellow out a savage war cry as we ride through the gaps in our men, our horses jumping through pools of blood and over burned bodies. We scatter through the army’s formations, giving into the chaos as we become separated. I am soon on my own.

I circle a maroon dragon, maneuvering my steed under its great wings and over its deadly tail as it tries to take a swipe at me. My horse lands with grace, kicking up mud as we come back around to face the beast. More men begin to surround it, their shields up and weapons ready. I lean down in my saddle to grab an abandoned spear from a fallen soldier. While the dragon is distracted by the others moving in, I aim the spear and throw, hitting my mark close to the dragon’s underarm where the scales are soft. It screeches in pain, swiveling its demonic head to spew flames in my direction in a magnificent arc. I ride hard, my horse neighing in alarm as the stream of fire nearly consumes us. The screams of other men reach me who are not so lucky to escape. But then the remaining soldiers take courage and attack it from all sides, soon overcoming it with their swords and spears. I ride on, knowing I am no longer needed when I hear the great beast’s final roar behind me.

I see my next target in the distance: a dragon the color of red-hot flame. This one is more aggressive than usual, giving the men a fight for their lives—many of which are losing. It hasn’t met me yet. With the grace of numerous survived battles, I leap from my horse once I am in its midst, before rolling to my feet. I am already spinning my bola over my head, aiming it at the dragon’s head. The bola snaps around the dragon’s jaws as I intended. It lets out a muffled roar of frustration, swiping at me with its claws once it realizes it cannot use its flames. I roll again to avoid its razor-sharp talons, removing my strung bow resting over my shoulder with one fluid movement. With quick efficiency, I cock an arrow and release, catching the dragon in the eye. It screeches in pain while the men bellow out victory cries. They take the opportunity to shred the dragon’s wings and sides with their swords, making the beast stumble to the ground as it is overtaken. I see my chance, leaping onto its exposed side and thrusting my sword into its soft underarm scales with a sudden war cry. The dragon cries out, its screams piercing our ears even with its mouth clamped shut. But then the light fades from its eyes, and its great head falls lifeless to the ground.

The men around me bellow their victory, and I pull my sword from the dragon’s carcass. The battle is still hot around us, the numerous soldiers surrounding different dragons across the battlefield. Their personal fights are displayed in the distance with jets of flame, accompanied by the sounds of clashing steel, dragon roars, and the cries of dying men.

But then I see something amiss. A dragon, black as night, is flying low over the battle. But instead of spewing flame, it is flying to the northeast past the outer fringes of our army.

It is escaping.

The memory of my vow burns within me, and my pride will not let one dragon remain alive. So I grab the reigns of a riderless horse, which neighs its protest as I hoist myself into the saddle. Then I snap the reigns and we are off, riding hard through the fields of war over bodies and around dragon carcasses. I maneuver through the men at a slower pace than I would like, worried that the black dragon will escape before I have the chance to chase it down. But once the army starts to thin, I ride my steed hard until foam is frothing from its mouth.

Beyond the fields of the battle are clusters of trees that eventually form into Baldrath Forest. The sounds of battle become a distant echo, until the only singular noise I hear is the pounding of the horse’s hooves. I realize I am now on my own.

I have lost sight of the dragon by now, but I refuse to give up, and search the outer borders of the woods for it. Realistically, the pace at which it flies could mean that it is miles from here by now. But I refuse to believe that I have failed, and cannot compel myself to return to the battle where I know I am probably needed more.

But then I hear a distant, thunderous crash of snapping branches, still loud enough to spook my horse. And I feel the vibrations in the earth, a sensation that only comes when a beast of great weight comes in contact with the earth. Like a dragon landing.

I swivel my horse to run toward the sound, entering the enclosed space of clustered trees. I am more careful now, slowing my horse to make less noise as I near the area. Eventually I dismount, leaving my new steed to wait as I make my way on foot. With my shield up and spear ready, I take slow cautious steps, knowing I have come to the right place when I hear monstrous breathing, which grows louder as I approach. I enter a clearing of trees where I see it.

The dragon is laying on the ground, breathing laboriously and clearly weakened. Thick spikes sprout around its head and down its back, making it a terrifying display of deadly prongs just waiting to impale someone. Its black scales are still wet, making them appear like obsidian. This must be one of the dragons that crawled from the lake and managed to survive. This also means that their flames are dowsed, giving me a fighting chance. Still the odds are against me. No one has ever gone up against a dragon alone before. And I have no idea how long it will take before its flames are rekindled, or even if it will attack me without its fire. I have to act now.

I approach the dragon slowly. It has certainly seen me by now, for it keeps one deadly orange eye on me, even as it continues to breathe with difficulty. I have to do this right or I am a dead man.

But as I weigh my odds and come up with an attack strategy, the dragon does something I never expect. It looks me dead in the eye, and articulates its lizard lips to form words. “Well,” it said in a thunderous voice, “are you going to kill me or what?”