The Lawrence Watt-Evans Fantasy

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  The transformation was very, very quick, but not instantaneous; she could feel her hips shrinking, her limbs thickening and lengthening. Her shoulders expanded, her chest enlarged and flattened, and the seams of her blouse ripped open. The drawstring of her skirt snapped as her waist added several inches—and the changes beneath that skirt were best left undescribed. Hair sprouted from her chin.

  “Good heavens,” she said, and her voice was deep and resonant. She looked down at herself, and felt suddenly unsteady—it was farther to the floor than it ought to be. She was four or five inches taller than she had been a moment before.

  “She’s almost as big as you, Buk!” Filmar said as he stared.

  Arulla lifted her gaze and realized that Filmar was right—she could look Buk in the eye on the level, without tipping her head at all. She could look directly over Akdar’s head.

  But she felt huge and awkward and top-heavy.

  “This will take some getting used to,” she said, “and I’ll want you to teach me to use that sword, Buk—but I think I can handle the dragon.”

  “By the Ancients, this is horrible,” Akdar said.

  “This is madness,” Filmar said.

  Buk grimaced silently.

  Sidi smiled. “It works for me,” he said.

  * * * *

  Arulla did not wear the helmet for the long walk home; she was still unsteady when she tried to walk in male form, as her narrower hips refused to move the way she expected them to. Instead she carried it tucked under one arm.

  Filmar and Akdar both offered vigorously to carry it for her, but she declined, and asked Buk and Sidi to help enforce her decision.

  She knotted the broken drawstring of her skirt, but the torn seams in her blouse weren’t so simple; she stamped an old bone from the temple floor into splinters and used those as makeshift pins to hold the seams closed.

  When at last they neared their village half a dozen of their neighbors came out to greet them.

  “Well?” old Herrel called. “Did you get help?”

  The brothers looked at one another, and before they could settle on a response Arulla called, “We’ve hired a warrior with magical armor to deal with the dragon.” She lifted the helmet. “I’m carrying this for him.”

  Sidi smiled. “His name’s Rull,” he said, before any of the others could contradict Arulla’s story.

  “So where is he?” Herrel demanded.

  “He’ll be along,” Arulla said. “He said he wanted to look around a little first.”

  “You think he can handle the job?”

  Buk looked sourly at Arulla. “I hope so,” he said.

  * * * *

  The mysterious Rull was the subject of much speculation in the village. He did eventually turn up—no one saw him arrive, but the day after the five sibs returned Buk and “Rull” were out in the fields, practicing swordplay with a pair of sticks.

  The other brothers wouldn’t let anyone else get close, but observers who watched from afar were not impressed with Rull’s performance.

  “He looks clumsy as a drunken ox,” Sheria said. “I don’t think much of trusting him to kill the dragon!”

  “We’re counting on the magic armor,” Filmar said uneasily.

  “And I think Rull may have a few tricks up his sleeve,” Sidi added.

  “I certainly hope so,” Filmar muttered.

  * * * *

  Three days after Rull’s arrival, the dragon emerged from its cave for another meal.

  “But I’m not ready,” Arulla protested, when the reports reached her. She had been scrubbing the stewpot. “I’m still clumsy as a kitten!”

  “Clumsy as a boy who’s just grown a foot,” said Buk, who had brought the news. “I remember what it was like, and it’s probably worse for you, since it’s so much faster. But the dragon’s here now, and we can’t put it off. You’ll be safe enough while you wear the helmet, and you’ll just have to tire the beast out.”

  They had tested the helmet’s powers, and had found that its wearer was indeed immune to harm from flame or blade—but a good solid punch still hurt just as much as ever.

  “What if it steps on me?” Arulla asked.

  “Don’t let it,” Buk replied.

  Arulla glowered at him.

  “Look, we never said it wouldn’t be dangerous,” Buk said. “You insisted on being included anyway. Now, are you going or not?”

  “I’m going,” Arulla said. “Just let me change.” She tossed the stewpot on the hearth, where it rang loudly and rolled wildly across the stones. Then she rose and stamped off toward her tiny bedroom.

  Buk had provided her with clothing—“Rull” was almost exactly the same size and build as the eldest brother, and Buk was wealthy enough to have three complete changes of everyday attire. No one in the village had any actual armor, of course, other than the magic helmet, but Arulla assumed she wouldn’t need any.

  A moment later “Rull” emerged, walking with the rolling gait of a sailor—she still hadn’t adjusted completely to male hips. She had the helmet on her head and Buk’s sword in her hand. She picked up Filmar’s spear and marched out the door of the house, headed toward the upper field.

  Buk followed hastily along. Arulla turned to look at him, and Buk explained, “I’m just planning to be there in case you need any advice or encouragement. It’s your fight.”

  Arulla grimaced, and marched on.

  The two siblings spotted the dragon from a goodly distance—after all, a sixty-foot dragon is fairly noticeable. They stopped to stare.

  “It’s big,” Arulla said unhappily.

  This was an understatement; the creature was gigantic, covered in gleaming green scales, with intimidating claws and teeth and even a stubby pair of horns. The one comfort in its appearance was the lack of wings—a flying dragon would have been too much.

  “So are you,” Buk said. “And you’ve got magic on your side.”

  Arulla nodded reluctantly, and when pushed began walking again.

  They were still fifty yards away when the dragon turned to stare at them. Buk said, “I think you’re on your own from here,” and stopped in his tracks.

  Arulla bit her lower lip and adjusted her grip on her brother’s spear, then advanced further.

  The dragon watched as Arulla inched forward, spear raised. Then it spoke, in a voice like an avalanche.

  “You have found your death, warrior—and I my lunch.”

  Before Arulla could reply—or even decide whether or not she wanted to—the dragon spat a great gout of fire at her.

  It washed over Arulla like so much warm mist, hardly even mussing her hair—though the wooden shaft of Filmar’s spear was badly charred. Encouraged, Arulla took another step forward.

  The dragon closed its mouth and stared intently at Arulla.

  “Ah,” it said. “Magic. I haven’t seen much of that lately.”

  “Yes, foul worm!” Arulla bellowed, as she broke into a charge. “Magic that will spell your doom!” She closed the last few feet quickly, and rammed the spear into the dragon’s belly.

  The badly-burned shaft shattered, and the iron spearhead bounced harmlessly from the dragon’s thick green scales.

  The dragon looked down thoughtfully at the attacking warrior.

  Arulla drew her sword and thrust it hard at the monster’s heart.

  The sword-point skidded across the green scales like a washcloth over baked-on cheese, leaving no mark.

  The dragon lifted one foreleg and casually kicked Arulla aside, knocking the sword from her hand.

  “Dragons have magic, too,” it said. “Didn’t you know? Can’t keep a bellyful of fire with just your common sort of flesh and bone. I’m as armored as you are.”

  Arulla lay on her back on the grass for a moment, then reached up to make sure her helmet was
still in place. It wouldn’t do to turn back into a woman—an all-too-vulnerable woman—here. Once she was certain her gender identity was secure for the moment, she sat up.

  “Whoever sold you your magic cheated you,” the dragon said. “Didn’t he tell you you need a magic sword to pierce a dragon’s hide? Nothing less will do. We’re proof against all lesser weapons, and all poison and disease, and all the other mortal ills. If not for magic swords I do believe we’d be immortal.”

  Arulla decided that if she survived this she would do something terrible to Gallopius. She reached for her sword.

  The dragon’s forefoot snapped out and slapped down on top of the weapon.

  “Listen, warrior,” the dragon said, “I am a dragon and a father of dragons, and I have come here to live, and I intend to stay many more years. Your magic protects you, for the moment—I could probably find a way around it, but I would prefer not to bother. Therefore, if you wish, you may go now, and tell the villagers that you have failed, and they might as well accustom themselves to feeding me their sheep and children.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Arulla said angrily. “I’m supposed to get rid of you, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  “Your sword isn’t magic.”

  Arulla just glared.

  The dragon sighed a great puff of acrid smoke. “So what are you going to do?” it asked.

  “I’m going to find a vulnerable spot,” Arulla said. “Just as soon as you take your foot off my sword.”

  “I don’t have a vulnerable spot,” the dragon growled.

  “So you say.”

  “Fine!” The immense green claw lifted, and Arulla snatched up the sword. “Go ahead and try. Whack at me all you like. And when you give up, we’ll reach an agreement.”

  Arulla got to her feet, hesitated for a moment, then started hacking wildly at the dragon’s leg. The sword bounced harmlessly from the impenetrable scales.

  The monster rolled its eyes. “Great Essence, he can’t use a sword any better than that?”

  Arulla ignored it and kept chopping.

  “You’ll dull the edge,” the dragon warned her. She ignored it. “You’re going to ruin it!” the dragon insisted. “A good sword deserves better—show some respect!”

  Arulla kept swinging wildly.

  Behind her, far enough away that the dragon hadn’t noticed him, Buk shook his head despairingly, then buried his face in his hands. Despite the lessons, the dragon clearly knew more about swordplay than Arulla did.

  Arulla didn’t notice. She was determined. She had come this far, and she wasn’t about to give up.

  She didn’t need to limit herself to one spot, though; after a moment she moved her attention from the dragon’s foreleg to its flank, with no greater success.

  She worked her way along its body, foot by foot, flailing and hacking, without leaving a mark on the gleaming scales—but she could see, after awhile, that she was chipping the sword, just as the dragon had warned. She paused to catch her breath and think.

  “Give up?” the dragon asked, curling its long neck to look at her.

  “Never!” Arulla roared, startling herself with just how loud her voice was in this male body.

  “Listen, warrior,” the dragon said, “I have sheep to eat, but I don’t want you following me around indefinitely. Surely we can come to some agreement.”

  “Like what?” Arulla asked suspiciously.

  “A time limit, perhaps—if you find a vulnerable spot, or any other way to harm me, by nightfall, then I will go away never to return. If you do not harm me, then at nightfall you will go away and stop bothering me. Fair enough?”

  “And if I don’t agree?”

  “Then I’ll swat you away, stamp on your sword until it breaks, and try to find some way around that magical protection of yours.”

  Arulla certainly didn’t want that. She frowned, then shrugged. “Agreed,” she said. “Until nightfall.” She began chopping again.

  The dragon sighed. “I’m going to take a little nap,” it said. “Wake me when you’re ready to give up.”

  Arulla didn’t bother to reply.

  The dragon lowered itself to the ground, curled its neck around until its head was alongside its belly, curled its tail up around its head, and closed its eyes. A gout of flame and smoke erupted from its nostrils as it settled peacefully.

  Arulla kept chopping. The helmet’s spell kept her from tiring, allowing her to keep up a pace that would ordinarily have been utterly exhausting.

  She worked her way the full length of the dragon’s body, then climbed up on the monster’s tail, thinking that perhaps there was some weakness the monster thought she couldn’t reach. She studied the thing’s head—the stubby useless horns, the scaly ridges above the eyes, the fine black stripes along the muzzle. She stabbed here and there, without doing any harm.

  The dragon opened one eye and glared at her. “You are managing to be annoying,” it said.

  “I’ll find a way to be more,” she said. “Sword or spear or magic, I’ll find something.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t wish you good luck,” the dragon said. Then it closed the eye again.

  Arulla frowned. There had to be some way to hurt the creature! She clambered along the tail, poking at the scales here and there.

  She had called the dragon a worm earlier, as was traditional, but looking at it it really wasn’t one. It wasn’t exactly a serpent or lizard, either. It was clearly reptilian, but its legs were jointed more like a cat’s than a lizard’s, and the way it curled itself up was catlike. A cat’s most vulnerable spot was its belly, but she had already tried the dragon’s belly without success.

  She studied the creature, then jumped down from the tail and walked around it. When that revealed no obvious weaknesses, she got down on her belly and tried to peer underneath. Perhaps it had curled up in an attempt to protect some vulnerable spot.

  She thrust the sword beneath the dragon’s tail.

  The beast’s eyes opened, and it said, “Really, now, that’s rather rude, don’t you think?” It uncurled, its tail sweeping her aside and knocking her to the ground, then curled up again facing the opposite direction. While it was shifting position Arulla very briefly got a good look at its underside.

  She didn’t see any obvious weaknesses. She did see that it—or rather, he—was male.

  Inspiration struck. She got slowly to her feet.

  She did not start flailing away with the sword again. Instead she backed carefully away, then turned and ran to where Buk had watched the entire thing.

  Her brother frowned at her as she approached.

  “You’re giving up?” he said angrily.

  “No,” she said. “I know how to defeat it. I need your help, though.”

  His frown turned to puzzlement. “What?”

  She explained her scheme.

  “I don’t like it,” he said when she had done.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Then come on.”

  A few moments later Buk and Arulla—not Rull, but Arulla in her natural form, still wearing Buk’s now-baggy tunic—marched cautiously out onto the pasture where the dragon slept. The Helmet of Justice’s Balance was in Arulla’s arms; the chipped and ruined sword was in Buk’s hand.

  Arulla climbed quickly up on the dragon’s tail. She moved as delicately as she could, horribly aware that she was no longer invulnerable to the dragon’s flame. Without Buk’s boots on the rough edges of the scales hurt her feet, but she ignored that as she reached over and placed the helmet securely on one of the two stubby horns.

  A shudder ran through the dragon as Arulla turned and jumped to the ground. She ran for shelter as the dragon stirred and raised its head.

  “What did you do?” the monster asked un
easily. Its voice was unchanged—but after all, it was a dragon, not a human being.

  “I found a way to harm you,” Buk said.

  “I do feel strange,” the dragon admitted.

  “I think you’ll find a portion of your anatomy has been removed,” Buk said.

  “A portion…” The dragon suddenly reared up and looked down at itself. Then it let out a bloodcurdling, earth-shaking shriek.

  “Father of Dragons, you called yourself,” Buk said. “I don’t think you’ll be fathering any more.”

  The dragon screamed again. “I’ll kill you!” it roared, swinging its head toward Buk.

  “I can undo it!” Buk gasped, holding an arm up protectively.

  The dragon stopped in mid-lunge and swallowed a mouthful of flame. “You can?” it said.

  Buk nodded hastily.

  “Then do it!”

  “First swear that you’ll leave this area and never return.”

  “I swear by the Essence that if you make me whole again, I will gladly depart and never again set foot here.”

  “Good,” Buk said, his voice shaking. “Set your head on the ground and close your eyes.”

  The dragon obeyed.

  Buk began reciting nonsense and backing away slowly, while Arulla dashed out of the bushes, jumped up on the scaly ridge above the dragon’s eye, and snatched the helmet from the horn. She slapped it quickly on her own head as the dragon quivered with the transformation. The beast’s eyes started to open, then snapped tightly shut again.

  Buk, seeing that, turned and ran.

  Arulla jumped down and hurried to where Buk had stood a moment before, hoping the monster wouldn’t notice that her boots had vanished and the helmet reappeared.

  “There,” she said. “All better. You can see for yourself.”

  The dragon opened its eyes and studied itself.

  “How did you do that?” it demanded.

  “None of your business,” Arulla said. “Now, weren’t you just leaving?”

  The dragon eyed her, then shrugged for its entire length. “So I was,” it agreed. “There are plenty of sheep in the world—I don’t need yours.” It turned away.

  Arulla watched it go, and did not move from the spot until it was out of sight, over the shoulder of the hill.