The Tongue of the Dragon

Chapter 1: The Tongue of the Dragon

“What are you doing here?” asked Percival.

He was looking at a young boy sitting alone on a tree stump. The boy’s legs couldn’t reach the ground and they were hanging limp. It was cold and it was raining.

“Brian, where is your dad and why aren’t you at home?” asked Percival, a little sharply. Although, being one of the good dragons, perhaps he didn’t mean it.

Brian slowly drew his gaze away from the fixed spot on the ground he had been staring at and finally looked up at the dragon. He looked Percival straight in the eyes without a tear, and he did not break eye contact with the dragon.

“Me dad’s dead,” said Brian. And then, his baby voice suddenly cracking and his eyes swelling in pain, “and me mom.”

It was the dragon who broke eye contact first. Percival looked down and away from the distraught eyes of the baby in front of him. The rain pelted his scales and the mud oozed between his claws as his weight started to leave an imprint on the forest floor.

I can’t leave him here. He’ll die of exposure. . . but how do I carry a human baby?

Ever so slightly, in an effort to not disturb the boy on the stump, Percival leaned in, proffering his arm, claw up-turned.

“Brian, come with me,” said Percival soothingly.

Brian looked at the open claw of the dragon and saw the padded paw. Drenched and shivering as he was, he made no effort to get off of the stump and enter the clutch of the dragon.

“I’ll take you to my home where you can get warm,” said Percival kindly.

Brian, seeming to finally understand what he should do, rocked on the stump and attempted to get up.

No! He’s passing out!

The thought barely crossed Percival’s mind, as he lurched his arm forward and caught the boy just before he hit the forest floor. Brian was out cold.

He’s frozen to the bone! He’ll never survive a flight, not even a minute up there and he’ll freeze to death. What to do, what to do?

In agony, Percival held the boy and desperately racked his brain and his scales for an idea of how to save him.

I could build a crate? No, that will also be cold and it will take too long. Besides, who ever heard of a dragon being good at carpentry? Think Purss, think. A horse, perhaps? And where will I find a horse in reach, I can’t leave the boy here, not even for a second. Oh think, you dummy of a dragon! Use all the fire you have! . . . Wait, that’s it, fire! But, I can’t burn down the forest. Would this wood even light right now, it’s practically flooding.

And then the idea came to him: Why not carry the boy on his tongue?

That’s it! He can keep warm in there! I’ve carried deer before on some long flights after hunting. Yes, I know they were a little scorched and acid burned, but if I’m really careful and balance him just right, he should come through alright, and my fires will warm him up too!

Without further thought, the dragon took action. Placing his open paw ever so delicately to his lips, Percival gently placed the boy on his tongue and curled the sides of his tongue in an effort to protect the boy from the splashing acid pools of his saliva. The deal done, the dragon clamped his jowls shut, but very softly.

Now, to get in to a clearing for an easy liftoff.

Percival waddled through the trees. He knew this forest like the back of his claw, having spent much of his middle age protecting the villages that abutted his castle. This forest was his forest, his hunting grounds, his preserve. He was in his element and in no time at all he was in the open.

Now, easy does it. There’s no trophy for speed, let’s get there in one piece.

Percival rose in to the air in perhaps the most delicate and graceful way a dragon has ever taken flight.

Chapter 2: The Governess

“I don’t understand, Matilda. It has already been three months, why isn’t he able to talk?” asked Percival, visibly agitated. He was questioning the chief castle healer.

“Well,” answered the stout elderly lady, “Most human children under the age of two don’t speak at all, at least not in a language that we can understand. And, frankly, I find it hard to believe that he ever spoke a word to you”.

“You think I’m making it up, a lie?” asked Percival, feigning indignation.

“It would not be the first,” retorted Matilda, un-phased by the dragon puffing and towering above her.

A belch of gray smoke escaped from Percival’s jowls as he let out a dragon laugh.

“Why not tell me what really happened and why you’ve brought this baby here?” Matilda’s question was promptly ignored by the dragon.

“But, he is eating everyday and getting stronger, right? How are his burns? Have they healed yet?” Percival asked these questions in rapid succession.

Matilda gave a long hard look at the dragon, before stating baldly, “You really do care for the boy, don’t you Purss?”

Percival blushed, as only a middle-aged dragon can blush. His internal fires seemed to make his scales glow.

“He is eating very well and has attained an appropriate weight for his age. The burns on his face and body have turned out to be superficial, and will leave no scar. But his right arm is blacker than a coal and it’s a miracle he still has his arm,” stated Matilda.

“But, why can’t he talk?” asked Percival, raising a claw to his ears in agony. “Did his tongue get injured?”

“Well, if you will take my advice, I would suggest you hire a nurse maid to read to him and play with him every day,” said Matilda, “Without a mother’s words, most human children would be delayed in learning speech. Since Brian doesn’t have a mother now, a nurse maid is what is called for . . . and no! I have other duties and cannot, simply cannot, give him the time and attention he needs, so you will have to find someone else”.

“Well,” said Percival, annoyed a bit at the gumption of his chief healer, “Do you know anyone who could do the job?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” said Matilda, brightening for the first time in this conversation, “My niece would be perfect! She is unmarried and has no children of her own. However, she has been a governess for the last few years and is currently looking to escape from the clutches of her current employer.”

“Is her current employer a dragon?” asked Percival, confused. Employers with clutches must be dragons.

“No, he’s a widower,” said Matilda.

“Well, send for her at once!” said Percival, excitedly, “And let her know that I will pay double what she’s currently earning . . . no, better yet, I’ll go to her now. Brian needs her right away. Where is she now?”

“Her employer’s manor is located in Glenalmond, to the north of here,” said Matilda.

“A good long journey,” said Percival, stretching his wings, “But I shall be there and back again in a day and a half.”

“Well, you be careful Purss,” said Matilda, a note of caution in her voice, “Eleanor is afraid of heights, maybe even more than she’s afraid of her employer.”

“Well,” said Percival as he reached the courtyard to liftoff, “She will have to conquer her fear. Goodbye Matilda!”

And with that, the dragon of the castle took flight, flying straight up out of the courtyard between the towers.

Chapter 3: Fight and Flight

“Hello, who is this?” the cry came from atop the drawbridge.

Evidently this manor is just a few towers short of being a castle.

“It is I, Percival, dragon of the castle Stirling,” stated the dragon, “Won’t you open your gate?”

“Of course not, why should I?” came the rejoinder, “You are of dragon-type”.

“May I speak to your lord and master?” asked Percival, civilly.

“No!” came the immediate response, “Now go away, I want no more to do with you!”

“If you will just open up, I won’t have to fight my way in,” said Percival, bracing for the rejection.

“You don’t frighten me,” spat the watchman, “Everyone knows the dragon of the castle Stirling is a pansy who won’t kill humans”.

“Right, I’ve had it with your insults, and I shall fly in,” said Percival, stretching his wings immediately.

In a few seconds, Percival had flown above the watchman and over the drawbridge.

That was rather higher than most drawbridges. Usually, I can just leap over them, but here I had to bat my wings. I wonder why it’s so high?

Percival landed in the courtyard of the manor Glenalmond. He looked around, astounded by the size of the grounds.

Why, this is larger than my castle! Why the deuce is it called a manor? If it’s large enough for a dragon’s castle, it should be a castle.

“I wish to speak to the master of the manor of Glenalmond!” declared Percival, loudly but not aggressively—for a dragon anyway.

“How dare you disturb my grounds,” came a booming voice from behind Percival near the garden, “If I wasn’t a vegetarian, I would grind your bones and eat dragon blood pudding tonight! Why the devil have you flown over my drawbridge?”

“My apologies, m’lord,” said Percival, startled a bit. He was looking directly in to the eyes of a giant, who was as tall and thick as the largest tree Percival had ever seen. “I asked to speak with you on the other side of the drawbridge, but the watchman preferred to hurl insults instead.”

“That’s another one whose bones I would grind if I had a mind to dine tonight,” said the giant, “Well, you’re speaking to me now. Who are you and what do you want?”

“My name is Percival and I’m the dragon of the castle Stirling,” said the dragon, “And I’m here to hire your governess away, if you’d be so kind as to allow it.”

“What, Eleanor?” said the giant, “You’d be doing me a favor; the girl is useless. She can barely talk to me. Frightened, some would think”.

“I see,” said Percival, trying to hide his delight at the news, “Where is the girl, mister . . . ?”

“Harold’s the name,” said the giant Harold, “And I’ll call her straight away, can’t wait to see the back of her. Eleanor!”

There was no response. The castle grounds were as still as could be.

“Eleanor! Come out at once, you are being dismissed from your position and this gentleman here will escort you out of the manor,” shouted Harold, with a growl in his voice.

A side door flew open almost at once, and a red-headed girl squeezed out in to the grounds. She was dressed well, but her clothes were smudged with grime, as if she had been hiding pressed up against a grimy wall.

“I will send your clothes on to the castle Stirling where this gentleman lives, but you must leave at once, I will not have you staying in the manor another moment,” declared Harold severely.

“Yes, sir,” squeaked the girl, as she rushed over to the giant, “Right away. Where is this gentleman who will sav—I mean, escort me away?”

“That is I, young lady,” said Percival, trying to sound as soothing as possible. The governess and the dragon locked eyes. At the very least it can be said for Eleanor that she did not faint, but she did turn a ghostly shade of pale.

“I shall have to trouble you for a cart, my dear Harold,” said the dragon to the giant, “And, preferably one that is covered. I can’t have my new governess freezing to death in flight.”

“Yes, of course,” said Harold, resigned but sounding upbeat, “You can reimburse me in the usual way.”

Harold gave orders to his now contrite watchman, who, being a normal sized human, scurried about following the orders given by the giant. In no time at all a large human cart, or small giant cart, had been produced. It was covered by a white cotton canopy and several blankets had been placed onto the floor of the cart. There were no seats.

“Now, Eleanor, if you would be so kind as to climb in and lie down inside,” said Percival, “We can take off and be home in no time.”

Eleanor had not said a word since locking eyes with the dragon and she did not start now. For answer, she simply hitched up her skirts and proceeded up the mounting stairs in to the cart. She drew and sealed the curtains immediately.

“Harold, it has been a pleasure,” said Percival. And, with those words, the dragon spread his wings, clutched the cart, and launched himself in to the sky.

Chapter 4: The Long War

“Mr. Percival!” shouted Eleanor, knocking profusely on the lord’s chamber door. “Mr. Percival sir! Brian started speaking! Come out! Come o—”

The chamber door swung open from the inside revealing an open hall with a ceiling stretching up in to the darkness of a tower. At first, Eleanor just saw the hall, dimly lit and quite drafty in all its’ glory. But then the fire-gold head of a majestic dragon sloped out of the darkness, every scale sparkling in the candlelight of the passage. The head was followed by a thick neck, gloriously covered in jewels of every color and size down to its’ belly. The forepaws of the dragon sounded heavy on the stone floor as every muscle flexed. The back of the dragon arced in to the sky and red, gold, and orange scales dazzled the eyes as the wings and tale whipped gracefully into stiff, upright position.

Percival was stretching himself awake.

“That is excellent news, my dear,” said Percival, controlling the flames that were trying to escape as he yawned, “What did he say?”

“He said he had to go to the bathroom,” said Eleanor, elated, “And, after he went, he said goodnight!”

“Well, that is something,” smiled the dragon, happily, “You’ve done well my dear. I shall give you a raise.”

“Oh, no raise is necessary sir, I’m so happy here,” said Eleanor, glowing, “Thank you for bringing me away from that awful place!”

“It’s no problem, my dear, I’m glad to have you here,” said Percival, kindly, “Thank you for your report, but I think we will both do better to go back to bed.”

“Yes, sir, goodnight, sir!” exclaimed Eleanor, cheerfully, and she turned on her heel and headed back down the passageway toward her room.

It’s been almost a year. I wonder how he managed to talk that night or if he remembers what happened? Far be it from me to open old wounds, but at his age, I doubt he will ever remember what happened. Even if I talk with him and ask him questions, he won’t likely remember even if he is able to tell me now. Not that I need him to tell me. I know the general idea of how his village was destroyed and can guess how he ended up in those woods. His father was a dear friend of mine and an even better ally. It will be an honor to raise the son of my friend, even if it gives me little comfort at the loss of his companionship. Blhhh . . . human lives are too short for this long war.

With these thoughts, the lord of the castle Stirling returned to his chamber, to perch in his tower and dream of friends long gone and friends yet to be.