Dragon Slayer: A Pulp Fantasy Harem Adventure

by Michael-Scott Earle

  A jolt of electricity ran through me as her eyes met mine. She gave me a little smile, and I saw curiosity in her expression as she studied me. I raised my goblet in a salute, and she returned the toast.

  “Good men and women of Whitespire, rejoice.” The king’s voice rang out in the hall as he stood. I was disappointed when the princess’ eyes returned to her father. “Today, we celebrate Sir Galfred the Bold, a man of peerless courage and uncompromising honor. We celebrate him because he has taken up the quest to rid our fair land of the scourge of Riamod the Ravager.”

  Loud applause filled the chamber, and men stamped their boots on the ground in approval. I looked around but saw no sign of the knight.

  “For years, Riamod has held us prisoner in our own lands. The foul beast has burned our homes, killed our bravest warriors, and demanded tribute from us to add to its hoard. We scraped together every coin we had, and still, the beast demanded more. The entire population of our kind and generous nation has fallen back to our city, and even though most of our people are in good spirits, our spirits are close to breaking.” The king’s face darkened, and his eyes darted toward the princess. “The dragon’s demands have gone beyond what we are capable of giving. But when the beast comes for its tribute in two weeks, the wyrm will not find us cowering in fear.”

  The king’s voice had gone hard, and steel filled his eyes. “It will find us prepared to fight, with every intention to kill the dragon. And, by the grace of the Three Goddesses, we will triumph.”

  At these words, the double doors at the far end of the chamber opened, and Sir Galfred strode into the room. The knight wore a breastplate of steel polished so brightly it nearly outshone the chandelier, and his chain mail clinked as he walked. Under his left arm, he carried a square helmet tucked with white plumage that rose nearly to his chin. A sword hung from his belt, but he carried a double-headed axe in his right hand.

  “Behold,” the king said as he swept a grand gesture toward the knight, “the tool of Riamod’s defeat.”

  Sir Galfred strode into the open space in the center of the room where he stopped and handed his helmet off to a manservant. He gripped the axe in two hands and I saw him press the gemstone set into its handle as he raised it high over his head.

  Two hundred people gasped as fire sprouted from the axe heads. Tongues of flame curled around the steel blades, and the men and women near the knight retreated as the metal grew red hot.

  Sir Galfred’s expression was reverent as he swung the axe over his head. Flames licked the air around him, and heat shimmered off the metal as he brought it back to its original position and pressed the gemstone again to shut it off.

  My jaw dropped as I stared at the axe. The metal wasn’t charred, not even a little scorched. The steel had gone from red hot to shining silver in a second, and the heat had disappeared completely.

  “This, loyal citizens, is a gift from our ancestors to help us defeat the dragons,” the king said and pointed at the axe. “It was only by the goddesses’ grace that we took it from a marauding band of Riamod’s fire minions. Sir Galfred has spent the last month training with it and learning its magical secrets in preparation for a strike against Frosdar the Hoary.”

  “But sire,” spoke one man, an older, gray-haired man with a pinched face and gnarled hands, “why would we seek aggression against the white dragon who has done nothing to us?”

  “Frosdar may not have attacked our lands in recent memory, but make no mistake, all the dragons desire to rule. It is only Riamod’s might that has kept Frosdar in check.” The king shook his head.

  “I’m guessing we can’t just go take out Riamod with Sir Galfred’s fire axe since the dragon is a fire dragon. Is that right?” I thought to Nyvea.

  “Yes. The winged serpent will just laugh off fire, but Frosdar is an ice dragon. It will be hurt by the axe,” the woman in my necklace replied.

  “Sir Galfred,” the king continued, “together with the Gray Hunters Guild, will lead a party through Riamod’s land and to the icy wastes of Frosdar the Hoary, where they will find the ice dragon in its lair and slay it.” His words confirmed what my guide had already said, but I still paid attention in case there was another tidbit of information that I might pick up.

  “And, by the ancestors’ grace, we will find more magical weapons in the dragon’s hoard,” the king continued. “Weapons that can turn the power of ice against Riamod and put an end to his terror once and for all.”

  The plan seemed a bit over-complicated to me, but at the same time, I didn’t know much about dragon-slaying yet, so it could actually be the better choice. Either way, it suited me just fine. I had no problems killing a second dragon. Barodan had made it very clear that the more dragons I killed, the better it would be for him. And for me, since I’d get more magical powers from the dragons’s deaths.

  “So, let us raise our goblets in a toast,” said the king as he lifted his crystal goblet. “To Sir Galfred the Bold, bravest son of Whitespire.”

  “To Sir Galfred,” echoed the two hundred people in the grand ballroom.

  “And to the Gray Hunters Guild and those who will journey with Sir Galfred.” The king’s eyes met mine, and he gave a little nod.

  I nodded and raised my own cup in salute. It was nice to be recognized even if he didn’t name me personally.

  I found the princess’ eyes on me as well, so I gave her a smile, and hoped I looked as confident as I felt. A mirroring smile appeared on her face, and we held each other’s eyes for a few long moments.

  “Look at you, hitting it off with the princess,” Nyvea murmured. “You are so virile, it makes my mouth water.”

  I felt my face go warm, and the princess’ smile turned into a little laugh. She took a sip from her goblet and turned back to the king as he took his seat.

  Maybe it was the wine or the adrenaline rushing through my body, but I decided to go and talk to the princess. She seemed interested in me, and I knew I was definitely interested in her.

  As I approached the king’s table, I saw him bend over and heard him whisper to his daughter. “Be certain to thank the Three Goddesses for sending us Sir Galfred. His arrival has spared us from a fate far worse than death.”

  “Oh, Father,” said the princess as she took his hand, “it was a sacrifice I was willing to make for the people of Whitespire.”

  “I could not bear the thought of turning you over to that monster.” Sorrow flashed across the king’s narrow face. “I lost your mother to the monster’s flames. I will not lose you, too.”

  Horror twisted like a dagger in my gut as I realized the truth. When Whitespire ran out of gold, Riamod had demanded humans in sacrifice. Worse, it had demanded the princess. No wonder the king was desperate to accept my help to slay the dragon. If he couldn’t find a way to kill Riamod, he would have to turn over the princess when the dragon came for its tribute in two weeks.

  “You won’t have to. Not with Sir Galfred to protect us.” She kissed his cheek. “Enough of that gloomy talk. This is a feast after all.”

  “Of course, my dear.” At that moment, I came around the front of the table and the king caught sight of me. “Ah, Ethan, how are you enjoying the festivities?”

  “Very much, your majesty.” I smiled and patted my stomach. “I think I ate an entire boar all by myself. My compliments to your chefs.”

  “It is good to hear, young sir.” The king inclined his head. “Eat your fill, for I fear the rations on the road will be meager at best.”

  “Father, you are being so rude,” the princess said. “Won’t you introduce me to this handsome young stranger?”

  The king’s expression tightened, and his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Ethan DePaolo, I present to you Princess Selene, my daughter.”

  “It is an honor, your highness.” I took her outstretched hand, bent, and kissed it. When I straightened, a scowl had replaced the king’s smile.

  “Ethan has newly arrived at Whitespire, daughter,” said the
king, “and he will be accompanying Sir Galfred on his quest to slay Frosdar.”

  “Is that so?” Interest sparkled in the princess’ eyes, and she raised a curious eyebrow. “And are you a great warrior or a knight of renown, Ethan?”

  “I’m afraid not, your highness,” I replied. I felt a little twisting in my gut as disappointment flashed across her face. “But I have sworn my service to Whitespire, and I will do everything in my power to free the realm from Riamod’s brutality.”

  “Good,” she said, and her smile returned. “I wish you the best of luck in your quest, Ethan.”

  The sound of my name on her lips sent a little shiver of delight down my spine, and I felt my smile widen.

  “Thank you, your highness.” I took her hand, kissed it once more, and was glad when she didn’t pull it free right away. “It will be an honor and a privilege to fight for you.”

  The blonde woman blushed a bright red, and then she waved her fingers across her cheek as if she was fanning herself.

  “I am sorry, Ethan,” she said as she smiled at me. “I find myself a bit flush from the wine. I don’t know what has come over me.”

  The king seemed to realize what was going on, and his eyes narrowed slightly at me. I knew what he would say before he opened his mouth, but that didn’t make his words any easier.

  “Thank you for introducing yourself, Ethan DePaolo, but we must make a spot for Sir Galfred. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” I said as I nodded at both of them. Sir Galfred was actually approaching from the other side of the table, and I noticed his mouth twist when he saw me standing before the princess. “I’ll talk to you both later. Have a good evening.”

  “It was a pleasure, Ethan,” the beautiful blonde woman said, and I gave them a short bow before I returned to my seat at the lower table.

  “The princess was smitten with you,” Nyvea said two hours later as I walked back through the darkened hallways. I was somewhat unsteady thanks to all the wine, but I wasn’t quite drunk.

  “She was gorgeous,” I said and found my tongue had a hard time forming the words. “But can a princess have anything to do with someone like me? Isn’t that kind of a thing in these sorts of places? Like the princess has to marry a nobleman or a great knight?”

  “Or a hero,” Nyvea purred. “I saw that look in her eye. She’d like to do a few married things with you. The serving girl was a nice warm up, but you should sneak into the princesses’ room later. We’d have some real fun that way.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think the king would be too happy about that.” I reached my room and closed the door behind me. One of the servants had left a lit candle on the small wooden table beside my bed. I glanced around to see if Lilia, the pretty blonde maidservant, was about. With all the alcohol running through my system and the thought of going off to hunt dragons tomorrow, I could use a bit of company tonight. Sadly, my room was empty.

  I sighed as I stripped off my clothing and slipped into bed. The mattress was firmer than I liked, but the sheets and pillow were soft. Definitely better than spending the night in a jail cell.

  “You know the king just wants you there to guard the knight’s back.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You heard the way he talked about the knight,” Nyvea said, and there was a sneer in her voice. “He has placed all his hopes on Sir Galfred to save him from having to sacrifice his daughter.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all. You’re the hero, not him. You’re the one who needs to kill the dragons.”

  “All that matters is that the dragons die, right?” I asked. “Barodan just said the dragons were blocking his power, so it doesn’t matter who kills them as long as they die.”

  “But what about your powers?” Nyvea asked. “If you want more magic, you have to be the one to kill the dragons.”

  My eyes went to the tattoos on my bare arms, chest, shoulders, and torso. The Mark of the Guardian on my breastbone seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat, and the black pulled me into its depths. I felt the jolt of magic run down my hands as I touched the tattoo.

  “So if the dragons are killed by Sir Galfred instead of me…”

  “No magical powers for you.”

  “I guess I’ll have to find a way to make it work,” I told her. “I’ll have a few days to figure it out.”

  “Best get thinking, hero,” Nyvea purred. “Barodan and the people of this world are counting on you. You will need to grow in power if you want to be able to slay the other dragons of this world.”

  Sleep finally came, but with it came dreams. I floated in a void of darkness, until the world filled with the hideous face of a red dragon. The monster breathed flame that consumed everything around me. As I tried to fight the fires, I saw two shadows at the top of a burning staircase. I cried out for them to come to me, but they didn’t move. I was frozen to the spot and could do nothing as the house was consumed by flame, and my parents with it.

  Chapter Seven

  The first rays of morning sunlight found me dressed and ready to leave Whitespire. I’d gotten maybe two hours of solid sleep between the dreams I wished I could forget. I left my room and stopped the first passing servant I encountered to ask for directions to the kitchen. Five minutes later, I was seated at a flour-dusted wooden table with a generous helping of cold roast chicken, bread, and pastries from the previous night sitting in front of me. A mug of a warm, spicy tea washed it all down.

  The cook was a woman nearly as round and pale as the dough she kneaded vigorously in front of me. She kept up a steady stream of chatter that drifted in one ear and out the other. Somehow, I ended up hearing all the palace gossip without learning a single useful thing. My mind was stuck wrestling with my nightmares while my body was eager to get on with the day’s adventuring.

  “Safe travels, ye hear?” the cook said, and placed a long kiss on my cheek. “Keep that cute butt of yers out of trouble, eh?” She added a smack to my rear to emphasize her words.

  “If it means I get more of your cooking, I’ll survive a thousand dragons.” I gave her my most charming smile, which had the effect I’d hoped for. I left the kitchen burdened down by three days’ worth of food that I suspected would be far better than the sort of rations we’d end up eating on the road.

  I found Sir Galfred sitting at one of the long wooden tables in the grand ballroom. The knight gave me a welcoming nod and motioned for me to sit.

  “Thank you, but I’ve already eaten,” I said.

  “Early riser, are we?” the knight asked as he raised an eyebrow.

  “I guess. Back home, my schedule was a bit unpredictable, and I would often stay awake all night and sleep during the day.”

  “You were a night watchman, then, in the town you come from?” Sir Galfred studied me with a curious expression.

  “No,” I said and shook my head. “I fought fires.”

  “Ah, of course.” He gave a solemn nod and took another bite of his chicken leg. “A noble profession, though I wonder how it is you learned the skills to defeat those rogues and the Gray Hunters. Not exactly a martial calling, is it?”

  He was trying to be subtle, and I didn’t blame him for his curiosity. We were going to be traveling and fighting dragons together, so it made sense that he’d want to learn as much as possible about me. I’d give him what details I could without getting bogged down by trying to explain Earth and how I’d come to arrive in Iriador.

  “I’ve taken a few lessons in self-defense and bare-handed fighting,” I told him with a grin. “I was never very good at it, but I guess I picked up more than I realized.”

  “Indeed.” The intensity of his gaze didn’t lessen as he studied me. “From what I hear, one of your assailants in the city below had his breastbone crushed, and another’s skull was pulped. And that Gray Hunter in the jail below had his neck broken. Perhaps you’re also stronger than you realized?”

  “I guess.” I shrugged my
shoulders. It was one more thing I couldn’t explain. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t trying to kill them.”

  “I know,” Sir Galfred replied. “I’ve been around fighting men and warriors my entire life. I know when a man’s spoiling for a fight, when he’s driven by an inner darkness to do harm to others. You have a bit of the dark inside you, but it impels you in the opposite direction, doesn’t it? It drives you to help rather than hurt. Or do I miss my guess?”

  I paused and stared at the man for a few moments. I’d never heard it put into so many words, even by the many psychologists I’d had to visit after my parents’ death and during my Academy training. But this man, this knight from a medieval world, had hit the nail right on the head.

  “It’ll be good to have someone like you to watch my back,” Sir Galfred said in a conversational tone, as if he hadn’t noticed my utter shock. “I’ll need a strong man to keep me alive long enough to strike down Frosdar.”

  “Of course,” I said as I nodded at the man.

  “I still say you just take the axe and hunt down the dragon yourself,” Nyvea insisted. “You’re more than capable enough to do it.”

  “I don’t know where to go. And who knows what sort of troubles I’ll run into,” I told her. “For now, I’ll stick with the plan. He seems like a good guy, actually.”

  “Bah. Not as good as you, Ethan.”

  “So, if we’re going to hunt dragons, I’ll need some armor, right?”

  “Get yourself down to the armory and let Master Krantin know I sent you,” the knight said. “He’ll quickly fix you up with everything you need to fight the monsters of both Riamod’s fire lands and Frosdar’s realm of ice.”

  “Thank you, Sir Galfred,” I said as I stood.

  “We leave in an hour,” the knight replied.

  “I’ll be ready,” I said before I turned to walk away from the knight. It only took me about five minutes to find the armory and introduce myself to the master-at-arms.

  Master Krantin was a man nearly twice as wide as me, with shoulders like basketballs and arms that would have made any champion arm wrestler back on Earth jealous. His barrel chest had to be nearly as big around as an Olympic powerlifter, but he was surprisingly graceful as he rummaged among the items littering the armory.