by Megan Derr
Near dusk he came across a small clearing, and the sound of a creek not too far away decided him. It was time to make camp for the night. Tomorrow he would no doubt meet the instrument of his demise.
For supper he feasted on two of the meat pies given to him by the villagers, complimenting it with dried fruit and the wineskin. Such a fine wine could not have been easy to part with, and Bran was honored it had been gifted to him.
Settling back on his sleeping roll, heavy wool cloak wrapped around him and the fire high to last through most of the night, he made sure his sword was close to hand and fell asleep gazing at the bits of moon and stars visible through the canopy.
*~*~*
It was raining when he woke. He knew it more from the sound than from any actual rain. Little of it could break through.
the forest canopy, the branches and leaves were that thick and solid.
His breaths were puffs of mist as he gathered his meager belongings and put out the fire. Pulling his cloak tight, he checked the fire one last time and then pressed on. Given he was going to his death, he should be unhappy, but the dark forest was soothing in its quiet. There were no demands on his time, no battles pending. For once he was free of everything and had naught to kill but a dragon, and that seemed a death more reasonable than that of another man, another squire.
He traveled for hours, eating breakfast as he walked and stopping only briefly for dinner. There was no point in hurrying, but neither could he find a reason to stall or linger..
Not too long after dinner he came across another clearing, larger than the one he had used the night before. He began to cross it, enjoying the sunlight in the midst of the dark, cold—albeit soothing—forest.
A sound shattered the silence, and Bran went cold. He was dressed to do battle with a dragon…but this was the sound of a wolf.
Wolves never traveled alone.
Drawing his sword and tensing, Bran spun and braced himself as, sure enough, three wolves appeared in the clearing behind him. Dragon there may be, but clearly these wolves were hungry enough not to care.
More growls broke the quiet, and shortly Bran found himself surrounded by five of the beasts, their coats dark and thick, covered in mud and burs. They bared their teeth and tensed to lunge.
He managed to take down two of them, but one caught his left forearm and rendered it useless, spilling blood on the forest floor. Another took his right ankle, and he though he got another before his world went black.
*~*~*
Bran woke to the crackling of fire and the hooting of an owl. His eyes fastened on the stars and moon shining overhead, and he realized he was alive.
He was also in a great deal of pain. Struggling to sit up, he examined his left wrist, which had been clumsily bandaged. So too his right ankle and a wound at his left thigh. He trailed fingers along the rest of his body, but other than some soreness and what felt like a relatively shallow cut at his left side, he seemed okay.
You are awake.
Bran's head snapped up, and he fought the dizziness the movement caused. Perhaps he had injured his head as well, because there was nothing else to explain why a dragon was stretched out on the opposite side of the fire. A head injury was the only explanation.
That or a dragon really is sitting across from you. There was no mistaking the faint amusement curling through the words.
"Are you…speaking to me? Have I truly lost my mind, to think a dragon speaks to me?"
A dragon is speaking to you, but you have not lost your mind. Nearly your life, except that a dragon saved you as well.
Bran glanced at the bandages binding his wounds. Little skill but great effort had been put into wrapping them. "I thank you," he said quietly.
No need.
Should it come so easily to him? This speaking to dragons? He had never heard before of a dragon speaking to humans.
That is because either humans are more interested in killing, or they die before they realize that listening and speaking are possible.
Shame washed over Bran. "I thank you, dragon, for your kindness. I do not deserve it, especially since I came here to kill you."
I thought as much, though you do not smell of any intent to kill.
"I…do not smell of…I do not take your meaning."
You smell of despair, but not of violence. You have admitted to your plans to slay me, and yet still I smell no such desire upon you. Puzzling, to say the least.
"You are…a means to an end. I have no desire to kill anyone or anything. I wish only for freedom."
I see. Death is rather a more permanent sort of freedom than humans generally want.
"It is the only kind I am permitted."
Then why did you fight the wolves? I smelled no desire to die on you when I chanced upon you and the wolves in the clearing. Should I have left you to die?
"N—" Bran fell abruptly silent.
So perhaps death is not the freedom you seek.
"It is all I am permitted, as I said. My king has taken any other form from me."
Ridiculous. But humans are seldom anything else.
"If you hold us in such ill regard, why did you bother saving me?"
I do not hold you in ill regard. Quite the contrary. Even if I did, I had no desire to see you die, especially when you were fighting so hard to live.
"As I was came here intending to kill you, it strikes me that it would be better to have let me die."
Foolishness. Killing one human will not stop others from hunting me. If anything, it would merely encourage them. I much prefer when the forest is empty of humans.
Bran did not answer, momentarily distracted by the search for his pack.
Behind you. Be careful, for I am not the most skilled of healers, and do not think those bandages will hold up well or long.
"The effort is appreciated, no matter the lack of skill…but how did you manage it?" Bran paused in digging food out of his bag to star quizzically at the dragon.
Dragons were roughly twice the size of a horse, all muscle and stomach and scale. In the case of this dragon, the scales glistened a rich, gold-brown in the moonlight. By day they would be nearly a perfect gold. His snout was long, the nostrils flaring whenever he was amused or annoyed. Strong legs ended in wicked talons, and his eyes as he stared at Bran were a swirling, glowing yellow. Bran eyed the talons. "How did you manage to wrap my bandages?"
Does it matter how it was done?
"…I suppose not."
Eat and rest. There has been enough talking for now.
Unable to think of a reason to protest the orders, Bran obeyed.
*~*~*
He woke to a tugging at his cloak and scrambled up in a panic. Pain lanced through his arm and leg, and he quickly ceased moving. He stared up into swirling yellow eyes.
There is no cause to fear, human.
"I know. The reaction is instinctive, too much time spent on battlefields, or waiting for the next battle."
In my presence, you may rest easy. Come, it would be best to depart this place. You can finish healing in my cave.
"I do not understand your kindness."
In your condition, it is better to accept it rather than question it.
Duly reprimanded, Bran slowly gathered his things and followed the lumbering dragon out of the clearing. It was disconcerting how quietly the dragon moved through the trees. But Bran could not really linger on the observation, his mind and body fully occupied with the effort required to walk. Sweat glistened on his brow, and he gritted his teeth, pressing on and following the dragon several feet ahead of him.
The dragon stopped and swiveled its long neck, blinking at him. I did not realize walking would prove so difficult.
Bran managed a smile. "I am sure it is easier to deal with a bad ankle when you have four legs."
A good point. You may ride upon my back, if you like.
"I could not."
It is only practical. As you are now, we will spend another night in the forest, an
d that I do not much care for. Come, I think you can manage to climb onto my back.
Though he ached to protest and stubbornly continue on as he was, Bran shoved aside pride and opted for practicality. Awkwardly he clambered up and onto the dragon, amazed at how warm and smooth his scales felt. He had listened often, as a boy, to the stories of the knights who had slain dragons. Oft had they spoken of talons and teeth and the fatal, fiery breath. Never had they spoken of dragons talking, or of the smooth, slick feel of scales, the warmth that emanated from them.
I am sure they were occupied with other things.
Bran flushed. "How is it you read minds?"
Speaking by humans means is somewhat difficult. The dry humor was unmistakable, and Bran smiled.
"I suppose so. How far to your cave, master dragon?"
We should reach it by midday, barring further encounters with wolves. My name is Topaz.
"Ah. I am Bran of Trenton. It is an honor to meet you."
The honor is mutual, Bran of Trenton. Might I hope that you have given up any plan to kill me?
"You may rest easy. I am not so devoted to killing that I would slay my rescuer." Not that the dragon really had anything to fear from a knight who could not even manage to walk.
Topaz seemed to agree, because Bran could feel him laughing. That is reassuring to hear, nevertheless. I would hate to know I am healing my killer. Now rest.
Bran surprised himself by doing just that, lulled by the dragon's steady, graceful movements through the forest, half-dozing as they journeyed.
*~*~*
Wake up, sir knight. I doubt you would appreciate a tumble off.
"No, I would not," Bran replied groggily. "I thank you."
No thanks are necessary. I serve myself as much as I help you.
"I fail to see how helping me does you any good."
Let us go inside and get you settled before we get tangled up in discussion.
Bran nodded and slowly made his way into the cave. Though the entrance was low, after a few feet the cave opened up into a spacious cavern. The floor was covered in furs and skins, far more clean and tidy than Bran would have expected of a cave. A trunk was in one corner, and he had to fight his curiosity to see what was inside. A low table was set in the middle of the furs, a book spread open on it and three more stacked nearby.
He was utterly confused. Topaz chuckled in his mind again. Not what you were expecting, Bran of Trenton?
"No…why has no one ever spoken of dragons such as you? Surely I am not the first to see such wonders."
But you are. Few knights ever slay a dragon in its home—and mine is somewhat different from that of most dragons. Besides, most knights care only for the kill and the rewards that come from a successful kill.
Bran gave a slight nod. "Only fools and the courageous dare to fight dragons. If you die, you must have been a fool. If you live, your courage makes you a hero."
So you were prepared to die and go down in history as a fool?
Bran winced. "I had not really thought about it."
My impression is that you were not thinking about much of anything.
"I suppose saving me gives you the right to reprimand me?"
Yes.
Unable to support himself any longer, Bran dropped awkwardly down upon the furs near the table. He looked at the books with admiration. "These are worth a fortune. Where did you get such exquisite books?" His expression turned wistful. "I always wanted to create a library…but when do knights ever have time to read?"
Certainly dead knights do not have time for it.
"Are you always this way when a stranger tries to get himself killed?"
Only when he plans to do it by killing me.
"You have a point."
Yes, I do. So what do you plan to do, Bran of Trenton, once you are healed?
It suddenly occurred to him that he could not leave. He could barely walk, and trying to walk back to where he'd started would most likely get him killed. At best it would permanently damage his leg…which could go a long way toward solving his problem. Doing himself permanent harm seemed no real solution, however. So it seemed he would there with Topaz for as long as he was tolerated.
If I had not wanted you to remain here for as long as it takes you to heal, I would not have brought you here.
"It is rather disconcerting the way you read my thoughts." Which made him wonder why he was so accepting of all these strange things. A dragon that could read minds and speak to him…a dragon that had saved him, and did not mind sharing his home with an injured knight who had initially set out to kill him.
I think perhaps your initial misery, combined with your injuries, has made you more accepting of things you would ordinarily reject. Your defenses are lower than they would otherwise be, so to speak.
"Another good point."
I have lots of them.
"Of that I have no doubt." Bran looked around the chamber, yawning.
Get some rest, now that you are warm and safe. You will sleep much better here than on the cold forest floor or on my back.
"Have I not rested enough for one day?"
Rest is the best way to cure all manner of wounds. And you have many of them to heal.
Bran nodded, unable to come up with a reply. Laboriously he stripped off his boots and then removed his sword, dagger, and belt. With another yawn he wrapped up in the nearest pile of furs and fell almost immediately to sleep.
*~*~*
Bran woke slowly, enjoying the warmth and quiet—and then the events of the previous two days came back, and he sat up sharply, swearing at the pain.
He looked around the cave…but it was empty.
Rising, he went about slowly exploring the room, stubbornly ignoring his throbbing wounds. The single chest against the back wall turned out to hold more bandages, a few tinctures, and other miscellany. He frowned, puzzled as to how Topaz made use of it all. Certainly the talons he remembered would not be capable of opening the chest or handling its contents.
Well, it was a mystery Topaz seemed to like keeping to himself. Bran set to work re-bandaging his wounds.
I see you are well rested. Bran heard the thoughts and the movement as Topaz lumbered into the cave several minutes later. Need you assistance?
"I am managing well enough."
Very well. Have you enough food for breakfast?
"Yes, plenty." Bran frowned, still utterly confused as to Topaz's generosity.
As I said, I have my reasons. Bandage your wounds and eat. Then we shall talk.
Bran obeyed, and several minutes later he was seated at the low table, Topaz settled down across the floor opposite. "So your reasons?"
I have been discovered here. Despite my care, the animals I steal for food have numbered too high to be ignored. And of course, being a dragon automatically makes me a threat.
There was a note of bitterness in Topaz's voice that Bran could not miss.
I would like a permanent home. It grows tiresome, always moving around every few months. I grew accustomed to living in one place; I should like to live that way again."
"A home?" Bran was surprised. "You would like me to provide you with a home?"
Knights always have their own lands. I had hoped that maybe a dragon buried somewhere at the edge would go largely unnoticed, and with permission granted to remain there, I would be in no danger.
Bran was silent. "Dragon." He shook his head, "Topaz. For saving my life, I would gladly share my land with you. But I have never seen the lands the king granted me almost ten years ago. Always I have been kept at his side or in the battlefield. Whether they are suited to a dragon or no, I could not tell you. I also do not know how safe you would be without my presence there to assure it. My deepest apologies for being so unable to express my gratitude."
How amusing.
"What is?"
You came here hoping that killing me would gain you freedom. I saved you, hoping to gain my own.
"It seems my freedom is wh
at we both need. ." Bran's mouth twisted. "It is unfortunate that I know not how to obtain it."
Running away is not an option?
"I am a royal knight. I do not run away."
Unless it is to kill yourself.
Bran sighed. "I think, Topaz, that you have made my stupidity abundantly clear on previous occasions."
It bears repeating. Humans are nothing if not dense.
"Seeing as you are hoping to make a home of my lands..."
Of course. Let us return to the matter of your freedom. As you appear to have recovered from your bout of stupidity, what ways are there of obtaining freedom?
"Death, of course. Most likely in battle. Or I would have to accomplish a feat worthy of a reward as great as freedom.
What sort of feat would merit that reward?
"I have no idea. There is no great threat to overcome, no challenge to surmount. All that threatens the king at present are the bandits of the North Kingdom."
Stopping these bandits would gain your freedom?
"If I were to annihilate them entirely? Yes. But that is an impossible task. No one knows anything about them these days. And alone I cannot hope to kill them." Glum, Bran sat bent over the low table, drumming his fingers across it.
Five years ago, the Northern King was betrayed and killed. It sent the country tumbling into chaos, and it was sealed away from the world. In present day the country is still in turmoil, for their current leader is incapable, and within the court, officials do not trust one another. The bandits you speak of were once nothing more than peasants and soldiers, now driven to desperate measure to make up for the lack of trade and commerce that is the result of their forced isolation.
"How do you know all that? We have been hard pressed to come by such information. Everyone sent in has failed to return, save for a precious few. And they had little to tell us."
I once had a home in the North Kingdom… The death of a loved one forced me to leave.
Something about his words sounded strange. "A loved one? Dragons have loved ones? But they are solitary creatures…"
