Story #181 - Dragon's Day

Dragon's Day

I'm sure that wasn't a dragon.

A trick of the night, perhaps – a large bird made larger by the lack of light and sound in the black, something that is common in these parts but that I am unfamiliar with.

I have heard tell of rocs that circle this area, looking for a man alone on horseback, or a straggler from a group. Stories say that small children have been plucked from their saddles by the ferocious fliers, but such stories make no mention of dragons.

I'm sure that wasn't a dragon.

And yet here I am, pounding hard northward to Whiteknoll, my horse lathered and my body exhausted. It's been two nights – perhaps three – since I saw the shape above my head in the woods, heard its wings slice the air, and felt its hot breath on my neck.

The breath. That was what had convinced me.

There was no fire to speak of, no devastating trail of blazing forest in front of or behind that shape that came for me, but its breath was hot enough to make me sweat inside my armor, and for my horse to squeal as though I were making it tramp through boiling water. Rocs do not have such breath, and rocs cannot fly so quickly.

Whatever it was I saw, the watchmen of the White must know of it.

***

I have made a grievous error.

The smoke should have warned me, but I was too eager to reach the city, too afraid that what I had seen might be real. I did not pay enough attention to the smoke I saw rising to notice that it was not the smoke of town shops and homes, palaces and manors, but the smoke of destruction, the smoke of endings.

It was the beast I saw, I am sure of it. The thing was headed in this direction, and clearly laid waster to the city as soon as it arrived. From the look of the charred corpses and weakly smoking chunks of wood strewn along the streets, it had beaten me to Whiteknoll by three days at least.

I screamed, but no answers came. I checked home after home with the same results; burned bodies and silence. Tracks north from the city showed that at least some had escaped, and were more than likely making for Castle Greymare, in hopes that its stone walls would protect them. Looking at the scorch marks on the edge of the city's first wall, it appeared that hope was unfounded; the creature had not wasted its time on the stones, but if it had focused its attention, it was almost certain that the rocks would have melted under its fire.

Pressing onward made no sense – I would never reach Greymare before the beast, and my presence would be as useful there as it was in Whiteknoll. Taking what I could from the city that was still of use, I wheeled my horse onto the southeasterly road and pointed my face to Lansing.

***

“You say it was a dragon?” Lord Stewart's face was amused, and I could see his form shaking slightly under his armor. He was laughing.

“It was, my Lord.”

“And why should I believe you?” It had taken a great of convincing for the guards to let me see their Lord, since my name closed more doors than it opened, these days. “A disgraced knight, forced out of his own kingdom for treachery, reviled by the people he swore to serve. Your reputation was enough to convince me to hear your words, though barely, and now you are telling me stories of creatures written of only in the oldest stories.”

“I speak the truth, my Lord.” I did my best to keep my tone level, but I could hear my volume rising, and the Lord's guards shot me a dark look. “A beast passed over me five days out of Whiteknoll, breathing air far too hot for the forest around it. When I arrived at the city, I found it burned to the ground, even the stones of the walls singed and burnt. A dragon has returned to the Eastlands, and it is not pleased with the men of the north.”

“Who is?” Lord Stewart snorted, then laughed at his own joke. Northerners were known to be stubborn and foolish, and those who lived south of the twin rivers took great joy in mocking them.

“True enough, my Lord, but that does not change what I saw.”

“And where do you think this dragon went after it left Whiteknoll?” Stewart motioned to his servant, who refilled his wine. The Lord had offered me not a drop, a not-so-subtle way to remind me of my position in his eyes.

“I do not know. Footprints I saw outside the city led north, to Greymare, and I suspect that is where the beast went as well, but I cannot say for certain. I saw it only once.”

“Well, Frayn,” Stewart had dropped the “sir” from my title – no surprise, “I appreciate the information, but you can leave now.” He motioned to the armored men at his sides, who stepped forward.

“Oh,” he said as I was led away, “and don't return. It'll be the dungeon if you do.”

The guards let me walk freely, but both watched my sword-arm warily. I had no intention of cutting my way out of the palace, but it was good to know that my skills were still held in some regard.

A scream sounded from outside, followed by ten, fifty, and then a cacophony of sound. Rushing to the window, I saw the guards on either side of me begin to draw their swords, but I pointed skyward.

“Look, you fools!” There could be no question, this time. In broad daylight, the thing's red scales shone with a metallic luster, and its spiked maw was open wide, bright orange flame pouring down onto the city below.

A dragon had returned.

- D