by Bruce Leslie
“How did the outlaws get loose?” Flynn asked, while he tugged his legs against the weight of the stones.
“These needles are more like knives,” the Lump answered, “they must have cut the rope against one of the sharp edges. They were out of our sight a few times, that’s when they must’ve done it.” He pulled at a particularly large stone. “Ouch!” He saw blood come from his hand, the bolt wound in his flesh had opened.
Flynn was at last able to pull his legs free from the stone. He winced as he stood. “This one hurts quite badly, I don’t know if I can walk on it.”
“I can carry you if I have to.” The Lump looked at his bleeding hand. “The blood on those rocks makes a scary sight.”
A long, slow scraping sound came from the distance and bounced between the slabs of limestone.
“Be quiet!” Meena said in a hushed voice. “Listen.”
The sound grew louder, and a stench wafted through the air.
The Lump whispered, “Something smells like rotting cabbages mixed with ox dung.” He pulled his head low and took a few steps forward to peek around the limestone formation ahead of him. He saw a scaly, green tail, as big as a log, slide around one of the limestone slabs. It had a jagged red stripe running down the length of it. He darted back to the others. “Flynn, get your crossbow at the ready!”
Flynn limped on his injured leg, and pulled one of the flower-tipped bolts from his quiver. He brought the crossbow down in front of him, put the bolt across its string, and pulled it back.
A hiss came from the other side of the high stones. The dragon’s head slid out from behind the rock and came into view. It was a mass of green scales with thick, sticky drool hanging like vines from its open mouth. The teeth were sharp and uneven, each one as big as a dagger. Inside its mouth, a forked tongue flicked up and down to taste the air. The creature had one blood-red eye that was nearly as big as a man’s head at one side of its face. On the other side were sunken, scaled eyelids over the bony ridge where an eye had once been. The dragon came farther past the rocks and revealed its broad, striped back that carried two withered wings. The wings looked like dry leaves in late autumn, just waiting to crumble at the slightest touch.
“I can’t move very well,” Flynn said, with his crossbow braced against his shoulder. “I’ll have to wait until the beast presents its face to me.”
“Don’t worry about moving.” The Lump pulled his sword from its loop and held it in his bloody hand. “Meena, stay here with Flynn. I’ll bait the dragon.”
The Lump picked up a stone in his left hand and clutched his sword in his right. He hopped out into the open and flung the rock at the dragon. The rock bounced off the scales on the beast’s neck, and the dragon turned its head toward the Lump.
The Lump shouted over at Flynn. “I’ll try and keep its blind side to you.” He crouched and shuffled his feet sideways to slide away from his companions. He hoped to draw the dragon’s good eye toward him and direct the withered socket at his friends.
The dragon closed its mouth and sucked up the strands of slimy drool that hung from its jaw. It swayed its head back, then thrust it forward to launch a ball of diseased saliva at the Lump.
The Lump spun to his left and avoided the monster’s spittle. He saw steam rise up from it where it struck the limestone behind him. What did Wendy say? Not straight at it, back and forth. He trotted side to side and zigzagged his way closer to the dragon. He taunted it, “I’m going to pound you until you look as bad as you smell!” The Lump zipped back toward the dragon, just as another gob of sticky fluid flew past him.
The dragon opened his jaws wide and hissed in rage. Flynn let the bolt fly from his crossbow. It sailed through the air at the creature, seemingly headed for the beast’s open mouth. The jaws snapped shut and the bolt bounced off the scales covering its monstrous face. The dragon began to turn its head toward Flynn and Meena.
“It’s me you want, ain’t it?” The Lump flung another stone at the dragon. “Over here, it’s my blood you smell!” He waved the red hand that clutched his sword in the air.
Flynn rushed to get his next bolt ready, and raised the crossbow for another try.
The Lump saw the dragon’s back legs jerk suddenly, and the monster’s tail came rushing at him like a giant, green club. He tried to sidestep the blow, but it struck him hard in the chest. The tail smashed into him like a runaway ox cart and knocked him back, against the stones rising up from the ground. His head smacked the limestone’s sharp edge and lights flashed before his eyes. Through his distorted vision he saw the dragon’s head sway back, and he rolled sideways. A stream of thick, foul saliva struck the rocks where his head had just been. A warm, wet feeling slid down the inside of his leather cap and onto his neck. A quick swipe of his fingers revealed this to be the result of a bleeding scalp.
The Lump shouted, “I do believe you’re the ugliest mud-kisser I’ve ever seen!” He resumed his zigzagging dance toward the dragon, his battered head felt dizzy as he moved. The beast turned its head to Flynn again, and the Lump thought about more of Wendy’s words. Your father slapped him like a stubborn ox. He jumped and rammed his shoulder into the dragon’s side before it could launch its plague filled spit at Flynn. The Impact felt like crashing into a stone wall. He buried his fist into the monster’s underside, then rolled along its back, toward the rear of the dragon.
The dragon opened its jaws to snap at its attacker. Flynn pulled the lever on the crossbow and sent another bolt flying. This one bounced off the eyelids that covered the sunken hole where an eye had once been.
The Lump bounced over the dragon’s tail and swatted between the beast’s hips with the flat of his little sword’s blade. This seemed to keep the monster’s focus on him and away from the other two. He shouted to Flynn without taking his eyes off the dragon. “Give Meena the weapon, she can move better. We have to make this last shot count.”
Flynn slid the last bolt into the crossbow and handed it to Meena. “Sol be with you.”
Meena dropped her staff and took the crossbow in both hands. She sped around the front of the dragon while its head was turned back to snap at the Lump. The Lump ran up the creature’s blind side and poked his sword at its flank as he moved. The beast swung its fully extended jaws around to get at the man harassing it. The wide open mouth passed in front of Meena and she launched the bolt.
The bolt leapt forth from the crossbow in a high arc. It sailed through the air and passed over the dragon’s head. The bolt flew away in the distance and landed silently at some unseen location among the great, stone needles. Meena had missed, all of the dragon’s bane had been spent.
23. Uneasy Peace
Hopeless, that is the only word to describe what the Lump felt. He felt hopeless with the loss of the last of the dragon’s bane flowers. The little, blue flowers that they had worked so hard to procure were gone, all of them. The situation had become hopeless with three errant bolts of blue. From deep down in his gut this feeling rose, a feeling of impending doom, a feeling of imminent failure, a portent of his approaching demise. All was hopeless. His resolve fought against this feeling. He couldn’t let this hopelessness overwhelm him, he refused to be paralyzed by despair. After all, he was not the only one here, there were others to think about. There were others to protect. There was a dragon that would kill them all if he didn’t do something.
“Meena! Flynn!” The Lump shouted as he ran along the dragon’s side. “Hide, get down, stay safe!” He hesitated near the dragon’s shoulder. Maybe it’ll only take me, maybe they can live. He pivoted on his feet and prepared to run back the other direction.
Meena hurled the now useless crossbow aside. “I won’t hide!”
“Flynn is hurt!” The Lump shouted with an eye over his shoulder, watching the dragon’s head. “Somebody has to be around to help him.”
Meena scowled and slid behind a limestone slab.
“I’ll take cover until I think of something.” Flynn hopped back on one leg and cl
imbed what remained of the slag heap. “I’m not abandoning you.” He tumbled head first, down behind the brown, stone pile. They were both out of sight.
The Lump completed his abrupt turn, and ran back to the rear of the dragon. Claws like sabers tore at the air and swiped across his back as he retreated. He arched forward and felt pressure tugging down on him from behind, but it was not accompanied by pain. He put his big left hand on the beast’s tail and vaulted it to get on the other side in a quick, fluid movement.
The Lump took a brief moment to run his hand across his back, he felt long tears in his leather, but the tunic underneath was still intact. Those plagued claws didn’t get me. He turned to face the dragon’s haunches and saw the tail, an intimidating thing that looked like a great log covered in green scales with a jagged red stripe, come rushing at him.
He tried to avoid the dragon’s tail, but the blow landed low on his legs and took his feet out from under him. He landed hard on his elbows and his sword fell from his hand. He scrambled off his back and grabbed his weapon when another glob of poisoned spit flew past him. The wad of slimy saliva missed his head by the narrowest of margins.
The Lump gripped his sword and resumed his unpredictable movements. He felt himself fall into a back and forth rhythm with the dragon, it felt like a dance that could go on forever. He would goad the beast, then avoid its retaliation, again and again. It felt pointless. Was he toying with the beast? Was it toying with him? He knew he needed to do something different, he needed to find a way to deliver a decisive blow - or else receive one.
The Lump knew he had spent too much time and effort preoccupied with his own defense. What he desperately needed was to figure out a way to hurt the monster. He knew his father defeated the dragon, but lost his life in the process. Sometimes death is what had to happen.
The Lump held his sword low by his waist and charged at the dragon’s scaly, green, one-eyed head. The dragon spotted his charge and whipped its thick neck at him in much the same way it had done with its tail. The monster’s head slammed into him like a battering ram and sent him tumbling back against the rocky terrain. The attack knocked the wind from his lungs and he saw more flashes of light before his eyes. He stumbled to his feet and gasped for air, just then, a wad of malodorous slime spattered on his chest. His eyes grew wide and he looked down at his leather.
Steam rose from his vest, and it seemed to writhe on his torso. In a shock of panic he pulled the leather away from him, the gashes across the back of the boiled leather helped it fly off of him with little effort. It landed on the uneven ground and the Lump watched a hole appear in the leather as the deadly saliva ate through it.
The Lump furrowed his brow with the realization that he had almost been killed. He hadn’t yet done anything to dissuade the dragon from killing Flynn and Meena, or everyone in the Needles, or even, perhaps, everyone back in Aardland. He also, for the first time, noticed that he was exhausted. All of his energy seemed spent. His shoulders slumped, his legs felt wobbly beneath him, even lifting his tiny sword had become a difficult labor. The blood from the back of his head still slid down his neck and onto his back like sap oozing from a tree. The hand that held his sword was a red mess, and his leather protection was gone. He accepted that he likely would not survive this battle, but it was paramount that he find a way to defeat the dragon before he succumbed to it. He had to make some purpose of his ill-fated journey.
The Lump lumbered back and forth, zigzagging much slower than he had before. He eyed the dragon up and down its length, looking for any sign of vulnerability. He had to get some advantage, had to find some way to attack the dragon without being struck by its acidic and poisonous spray. He had an idea.
The dragon snapped its head away from the Lump as something else caught its attention.
Flynn popped up from behind the slag heap and pelted the dragon with a volley of brown stones. “We won’t rest until you’re gone, you wretched lizard!” He threw more stones at the monster’s head. The dragon hissed and spat at Flynn. The hobbled man ducked back behind the pile of rocks to avoid the spray. Another stone flew out from behind the pile in a high arc and missed the dragon.
With the dragon distracted, the Lump dived to the ground and rolled between the creature’s legs. He came to a stop on his back and saw the dragon’s belly above him. He gripped his sword in both hands and thrust it up to the monster’s underside. The sword skidded across the scales harmlessly, the belly was no softer than the beast’s back. He lifted his legs and pressed his feet hard against the dragon’s belly with all his remaining strength. He hoped to push some scales apart and expose a small sliver of vulnerable underbelly. The scaly hide gave a little, but it seemed to have no effect on the dragon’s scales. He felt heaviness begin to push back on his legs, and brought his feet back down to the ground.
The belly began to move lower. The Lump tried to roll out from under it, but it was no use. The scaly mass pressed against his body as the dragon rested its weight down on him. It blocked out the light and made it all but impossible for him to breathe. Pressure grew in his already injured head and made it feel as if it could burst at any moment. His arms and legs were pinned to the ground and the hilt of his sword pressed against his hand painfully. The heaviness rolled back and forth on him as the dragon slowly rocked side to side. He wondered if this was how dough felt beneath a rolling pin.
The Lump was overcome with a strange calmness. It was over, this is how his fight would end. The trapped man closed his eyes and waited for the final darkness to come over him. It didn’t.
The pressure lifted. The dragon rose to its feet and took its weight off the Lump. He thought why?, then heard the answer. He heard Meena’s sing-song voice dance through the air. It was the same tone she used when she calmed the catamounts, it was the tone she used to call Tilley to her side. He noticed that the dragon was no longer above him. He took advantage of the opportunity and rose to his feet with difficulty. He saw Meena talking, or perhaps singing, to the dragon.
Meena had come out of her hiding place and stood in the open. In her sing-song voice she said, “Pretty dragon, such a pretty, pretty dragon…” She stepped a little closer to the monster. “…you are such a pretty, pretty dragon, with pretty scales and teeth.” She seemed calm and in control, with no outward signs of fear. She extended an open hand.
The Lump watched as the dragon inched closer to her. Its eye was fixed on her and its mouth was closed, it seemed charmed. The dragon’s head swayed back and forth with her words and it emitted a low hiss that sounded akin to the purring of a grossly oversized cat. The creature was motionless for a moment, then pulled its head back and held it high above its shoulders. The tendrils of drool that hung from its maw began slithering up and across is thin lips as the dragon sucked them into its mouth. It’s going to spit!
The Lump launched his battered body at the dragon’s neck. The impact burned his chest and sent pain through his arms and legs, but it swayed the beast’s head enough that its spittle splattered harmlessly on the ground next to Meena. It snapped its teeth at the air.
The Lump rolled onto the dragon’s back and grabbed one of its withered wings, it felt much softer than the rest of the monster’s scaly hide. He pulled back hard on the wing and the dragon seemed to wince. He held the soft flesh of the wing taut and raised his sword. He stabbed the blade into the wing, and pulled it forward in a long, straight motion. The withered appendage split down its middle with the sword’s slice.
The dragon reared onto its hind legs and hissed in pain. Its head thrashed, and the Lump climbed farther up on its shoulders and wrapped his arm under the dragon’s throat. He rode at the base of its flailing head like it was an unbroken horse. Then he saw it. He saw the blood-red eye. He spun his sword in his hand and caught it in a backhanded grip, with the blade pointed down. He raised the modest blade into the air and the muscles in his shoulder tightened, he felt a fire within him that had been ignited by this new opportunity. He heaved the sword dow
n in a powerful stab. The blade passed between the beast’s eyelids and plunged into the dragon’s lone eye. He gripped the hilt with both hands and withdrew it, he prepared to stab again.
A thunderous cry erupted from the monster, and the vibrations in its throat shook the Lump off its neck. He thudded to the ground on his back and a shock of pain ran up his shoulders and down his arms. He ignored the pain and jumped to his feet, ready for another attack.
When the Lump saw the dragon, he couldn’t believe that something so large could be so swift. There was a strange beauty to the creature’s speed, something unreal, something from a dream. The beast moved faster than the rushing water beneath the Oxhorn bridge, faster than the landslide of stone where the aster flowers grew, faster than anything the Lump had ever seen… as it fled. It fled north.
The Lump collected himself as he trudged toward Meena. “Are you unharmed?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she answered.
Flynn hopped around the slag heap. “Lump, I can’t believe it!” He nearly fell, but regained his balance by stretching his arms wide. “You are a hero unlike any other.” He smiled. “Stories of your valor may even surpass those of your father.”
The Lump lowered his head. “I’d rather those stories not be told, if you please.”
Meena ran to her staff and picked it up. She handed it to Flynn and he used it to steady himself. She asked, “What do you think the dragon meant?”
“Wyrm.” The Lump corrected her with an uneven smile. “I think it meant to kill us.”
“No, I mean by what it said.” Meena pulled her green cloak around her.
“It didn’t say nothing, girl.” The Lump pulled off his leather hat and felt the gash in the back of his head. “It just hissed and snarled. This kind of fright can play tricks with your mind.”
Meena’s mismatched eyes narrowed. “No, it spoke to me. It told me I had no power over it.” She hung her head. “It called me a woods witch.”
