The Fire Dragon

When the modest farming village of Dene came into view, Sir Ravenholt leaned over and petted the long neck of his corser, Moss. A double click and soft heels brought the horse to a steady trot.

With the sun reaching its peak, he figured he’d arrive during dinnertime. After a long journey, mainly eating dried meat or small game his mediocre archery skills caught, he looked forward to a proper meal.

A young barefoot girl caught sight of him approaching, ran through the main dusty road of the village to warn of the incoming rider. A few adults and a couple of boys joined her near the edge of town.

He’d visited Dene on many occasions in the past in full knight’s armour. For the first time, he’d stay as a simple traveller. Just before reaching the welcoming crowd, he dismounted and led Moss by the reins, wanting to meet them at their level.

A heavy-set man pushed through the townsfolk. He wore a big smile under a bushy red beard.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the great Sir Ravenholt himself.”

“Gipp!” He extended his hand, which was accepted, and after a sturdy handshake, Gipp pulled him in close for a crushing embrace. “Careful, friend, you’re bound to break something. I should have brought my armour.”

“Ha! You’ve gone soft, Eldric, my boy.”

The young girl stepped in front of Gipp and asked, “Can I care for your horse, mister?”

“Promise you’ll see him settled in the best stable in town?”

“I will, mister.” Her smile grew wide as he handed her the reins, and the boys behind her pouted.

Before letting her lead Moss away, he dug a copper coin from his pouch and handed it to her. A little jump escaped her while the young lads frowned at their missed opportunity.

“Come,” Gipp motioned towards his small tavern. “You hungry? Maria’s pies are fresh out the oven.”

“You know how to welcome a man; I’m famished.”

***

Snaps and crackles sounded from the hearth’s fire, bringing a sense of calm to Ravenholt as he tipped back his wooden mug of hot cider.

“No armour, no crest, no colours,” Gipp remarked, sitting across the table. “You going to tell me? Or am I prying it out?”

Setting the mug down, Ravenholt chuckled. In front of him, Maria set a big serving of a fresh cheese tart that tickled his nose with its blend of spices. He thanked her as she joined Gipp on the far side of the table.

“What he means to say is, we’re happy to see you, Eldric. It’s been a long time.”

“Oh, come, Maria, you know something’s wrong.”

With a gentle hand on his large, hairy arm, Maria eased her husband’s eagerness.

A mouthful of the soft cheese and sweetened eggs brought a hum of pleasure from Ravenholt, who closed his eyes in momentary bliss.

“This,” he said, mouth still full, then swallowed. “This is why I came here.”

A grunt from Gipp brought laughter to the table.

“I’m glad you like it,” Maria said with a warm smile.

Ravenholt let the silence linger for a moment before he finally spoke. “I… it’s Jessamine… She died this season past.”

Maria drew a quick breath and brought her hands to her mouth, her eyes wavering. Gipp reached across the table and clasped his hand.

“So sorry, friend. Was it… the sickness?”

“No, she died during childbirth. The child… my daughter… she didn’t survive either.”

“Oh, Eldric!” Maria exclaimed, her eyes overflowing. She stood, walked to Ravenholt and wrapped her arms around him. A comfort he’d not realised he’d needed.

“After I buried her,” he said, his gaze lowering, unable to keep eye contact with his old friend. “I requested leave from the king, which he granted. I thought, perhaps a visit to Dene would ease my pain.”

“Well, my boy,” Gipp said with a grunt as he pushed himself up. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll ready the upstairs room. It’s yours until you ride again.”

“Thank you. Both of you. I’ll not overstay my welcome.”

“Nonsense,” Maria kissed him on the head, then turned to Gipp. “You stay with him; I’ll take care of the room.”

Ravenholt bit his thumb hard and concentrated on the dancing flames from the fireplace. He’d shed enough tears already. He’d accept the touching gesture with grace and strength, he convinced himself. His long journey to Rendakar’s northern town needed to be where the healing began.

***

Gipp told tales as he finished his tart, and while he drained the last of his cider, commotion came from outside the tavern. Curious, both men ventured outside where a man wearing a thin, ragged cloak sat upon a heavily breathing horse, which was covered in a thick layer of steaming sweat. Flailing his arms around, the man shouted unintelligibly at those surrounding him. Ravenholt’s right hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, and he pushed through the small forming crowd to reach the rider, grabbing the reins near the bit.

“Easy, friend. Gather your thoughts and explain what has you shaken.”

The rider’s arms dropped to his side, his eyes shifting between Ravenholt and his hold on the horse. “We need help,” he said calmly. “My village. A dragon.”

Why such panic over a dragon? Dragons were no bigger than horses with wingspans. They only hunted in pairs or trios, making them easy to chase away, unless…

“What kind of dragon?”

“Fire. It’s a fire dragon.”

The mention of a fire dragon spread panicked murmurs amongst the villagers, who were quieted down by Gipp and Thorne, an older man Ravenholt knew well. Fire dragons brought fear as they were nasty creatures twenty times the size of the pesty ones. They were an extremely rare sight, but they only left destruction wherever they landed.

“Where’s your village?”

“Evenfall.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, fellow, but isn’t that in Skeldran?”

“Yes.”

“Gipp,” Ravenholt said, turning to his friend. “Get me my horse and bring another riding horse to trade with this man.”

Gipp shook his head. “Can’t let you cross into Skeldran!”

“Please, Gipp.”

“Eldric, I can’t…”

“Listen to me,” Ravenholt put up his hands and raised his voice. “Everyone. Fire dragons don’t stop until they’ve ravaged the entire countryside. If we don’t help this man, Dene could be next. I’m not asking for anyone else to accompany us; I only need a horse that won’t die on its way back to Evenfall.”

The crowd fell to whispers as Gipp, followed by a young man, headed for the stables. The peace between the two provinces was fraught with tension, but dragons didn’t care about politics or borders.

***

When Ravenholt and the Evenfall rider, Tavin, crossed into Skeldran, the sun hung low above the western horizon. The twin moons peeked out above the northern mountain range. Thick black smoke in the distance alerted him that they were close.

Tavin, leading them down a path, pulled back his reins when Ravenholt took Moss off the trail to the edge of a steep cliff and dismounted. A rumble shook from the ground through his legs and spine. Moss reared back and squealed while Tavin fought to keep control of his horse as it spun in circles.

Stepping to the edge of the cliff, Evenfall and its surrounding fields were in flames. A church stood tall in the middle of the chaos, defiant even though it too would soon burn to the ground. His view of the destruction disappeared when a massive, scaly head rose in front of him. The yellow glowing eyes of the beast glared at him as it snorted, the smell of scorched death as dust danced around him.

Ravenholt’s heart rate remained steady, his hand reaching across his body and wrapping around the hilt of his longsword. Slowly, he released it from its sheath and brought it before him at the ready.