by Rich Horton
As for Ivan, being a scout in the Wolf Guard was like finding a home. He had learned so much in Professor Owl’s tower, and he had come to love the lizards in his charge, but with the wolves he was back in the forest, where he had spent his childhood. And the wolves themselves were like a family. When Graypaw or Mist, with whom he was most often paired, praised his ability to spot troll tracks, or when the Captain said “Well done, Private,” he felt a pride that he had never felt before.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy,” said Blanchefleur, one winter morning. The snows had come, and he was grateful for the hat and gloves Mrs. Pebbles had included in his satchel.
“I don’t think I ever have been, before,” he said. “Not since—” Since his mother had died. Since then, he had always been alone. But now he had a pack. “I think I could stay here for the rest of my life.”
“We seldom get what we want,” said Blanchefleur. “The world has a use for us, tasks we must fulfill. And we must fulfill them as best we can, finding happiness along the way. But we usually get what we need.”
“I’ve never heard you so solemn before,” said Ivan. “You’re starting to sound like your mother. But I don’t think the world has any tasks for me. I’m no one special, after all.”
“Don’t be so sure, Ivan Miller,” said Blanchefleur.
Suddenly, all the wolves in the cave pricked up their ears.
“The signal!” said the Captain.
And then Ivan heard it too, the long howl that signaled a troll raid, the short howls that indicated which village was being attacked.
“To the village!” shouted the Captain.
“Be careful!” said Blanchefleur, as Ivan sprang up, made sure his knife was in his belt, and ran out of the cave with the wolves. Then they were coursing through the forest, silent shadows against the snow.
They saw the flames and heard the screams before they saw any trolls. The village was a small one, just a group of herding families on the upper slopes. Their houses were simple, made of stone, with turf roofs. But the sheds were of wood, filled with fodder for the sturdy mountain sheep. The trolls had set fire to the fodder, and some of the sheds were burning. The sheep were bleating terribly, and as wolves rushed into the village, the Captain shouted to Ivan, “Open the pens! Let the sheep out—we can herd them back later.”
Ivan ran from pen to pen, opening all the gates. Mist ran beside him and if any sheep were reluctant to leave their pens, she herded them out, nipping at their heels.
When they reached the last of the pens, Ivan saw his first troll. She was taller than the tallest man, and twice as large around. She looked like a piece of the mountain that had grown arms and legs. Her mottled skin was gray and green and brown, and she was covered in animal pelts. In her hand, she carried a large club. In front of her, crouched and growling, was Graypaw.
“Come on, cub!” she sneered. “I’ll teach you how to sit and lie down!”
She lunged at Graypaw, swinging the club clumsily but effectively. The club hit a panicked ram that had been standing behind her, and the next moment, the ram lay dead on the snow.
Mist yipped to let Graypaw know she was behind him. He barked back, and the wolves circled the troll in opposite directions, one attacking from the left and the other from the right.
What could Ivan do? He drew his knife, but that would be no more effective against a troll than a sewing needle. To his right, one of the sheds was on fire, pieces of it falling to the ground as it burned. As Graypaw and Mist circled, keeping away from the club, trying to get under it and bite the troll’s ankles, Ivan ran into the burning shed. He wrenched a piece of wood from what had been a gate, but was now in flames, then thrust its end into the fire. The flames licked it, and it caught. A long stick, its end on fire. This was a weapon of sorts, but how was he to use it?
Graypaw and Mist were still circling, and one of them had succeeded in wounding the troll—there was green ichor running down her leg. The troll was paying no attention to Ivan—she was wholly absorbed in fending off the wolves. But the wolves knew he was behind them. They were watching him out of the corners of their eyes, waiting. For what?
Then Ivan gave a short bark, the signal for attack. Both Graypaw and Mist flew at the troll simultaneously. The troll swung about wildly, not certain which to dispatch first. Now, thought Ivan, and he lunged forward, not caring that he could be hit by the club, only knowing that this was the moment, that he had put his packmates in danger for this opportunity. He thrust the flaming stick toward the troll’s face. The troll shrieked—it had gone straight into her left eye. She clutched the eye and fell backward. Without thinking, Ivan drew his knife and plunged it into the troll’s heart, or where he thought her heart might be.
A searing pain ran through his chest. It was Dame Lizard’s tail, tightening until he could no longer breathe. It loosened again, but he reeled with the shock and pain of it.
“Ivan, are you well?” asked Mist.
“I’m—all right,” he said, still breathless. “I’m going to be all right.” But he felt sick.
The troll lay on the ground, green ichor spreading across her chest. She was dead. Behind her was a large sack.
“That must be what she was stealing,” said Graypaw.
The sack started to wriggle.
“A sheep, perhaps,” said Mist.
But when Ivan untied it, he saw a dirty, frightened face, with large gray eyes. A girl.
“You’ve found my daughter!” A woman was running toward them. With her was the Captain.
“Nadia, my Nadia,” she cried.
“Mama!” cried the girl, and scrambling out of the bag, she ran into her mother’s arms.
“This is the Mayor of the village,” said the Captain. “Most of the trolls have fled, and we were afraid they had taken the girl with them.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” said the woman. “You’ve done more than rescue my daughter, although that has earned you my gratitude. I recognize this troll—she has been here before. We call her Old Mossy. She is the leader of this tribe, and without her, the tribe will need to choose a new leader by combat. It will not come again this winter. Our village has sustained great damage, but not one of us has died or disappeared, and we can rebuild. How can we reward you for coming to our rescue, Captain?”
“Madame Mayor, we are the Wolf Guard. Your gratitude is our reward,” said the Captain.
On the way back to the cave, Graypaw and Mist walked ahead of Ivan, talking to the Captain in low voices. He wondered if he had done something wrong. Perhaps he should not have told them to attack? After all, they both outranked him. They were both Corporals, while he was only a Private. Perhaps they were telling the Captain about how he had reeled and clutched his chest after the attack. Would he be declared unfit for combat?
When they got back to the cave, Blanchefleur was waiting for him.
“Ivan, I need to speak with you,” she said.
“Blanchefleur, I killed a troll! I mean, I helped kill her. I want to tell you about it . . . ”
“That’s wonderful, Ivan. I’m very proud of you. I am, you know, and not just because of the troll. But it’s time for us to leave.”
“What do you mean? It’s still winter. I haven’t been here for a year yet.”
“My mother has summoned us. Here is her messenger.”
It was Tailcatcher. In his excitement, Ivan had not noticed the striped cat.
“The Lady wishes you to travel to the capital. Immediately,” said Tailcatcher.
“But why?” asked Ivan.
“You are summoned,” said Tailcatcher, contemptuously. “Is that not enough?”
“If you are summoned, you must go,” said the Captain, who had been standing behind him. “But come back to us when you can, Ivan.”
Ivan had never felt so miserable in his life. “Can I say goodbye to Mist and Graypaw?”
“Yes, quickly,” said the Captain. “And thank them, because on their r
ecommendation, I am promoting you to Corporal. There is also something I wish to give you. Hold out your right hand, Corporal Miller.”
Ivan held out his hand.
The Captain lunged at him, seized Ivan’s hand in his great mouth, and bit down.
Ivan cried out.
The Captain released him. The wolf’s teeth had not broken his skin, but one of his fangs had pierced Ivan’s hand between the thumb and forefinger. It was still lodged in his flesh. There was no blood, and as Ivan watched, the fang vanished, leaving only a white fang-shaped scar.
“Why—” he asked.
“That is my gift to you, Corporal. When I was a young corporal like yourself, I saved the life of a witch. In return, she charmed that fang for me. She told me that as long as I had it, whenever I fought, I would defeat my enemy. She also told me that one day, I could pass the charm to another. I asked her how, and she told me I would know when the time came. I am old, Ivan, and this is my last winter with the Wolf Guard. I believe I know why you have been summoned by the Lady. With that charm, whatever battles you have to fight, you should win. Now go. There is a storm coming, and you should be off the mountain before it arrives.”
Ivan packed his belongings and made his farewells. Then, he left the cave, following Tailcatcher and Blanchefleur. He looked back once, with tears in his eyes, and felt as though his heart were breaking.
The journey to the capital would have taken several days, but in the first town they came to, Ivan traded his knife and coat for a horse. It was an old farm horse, but it went faster than he could have on foot with two cats. The cats sat in panniers that had once held potatoes, and Tailcatcher looked very cross indeed. When Ivan asked again why he had been summoned, the cat replied, “That’s for the Lady to say,” and would say nothing more.
They spent the night in a barn and arrived at the capital the next day.
Ivan had never seen a city so large. The houses had as many as three stories, and there were shops for everything, from ladies’ hats and fancy meats to bicycles. On one street he even saw a shiny new motorcar. But where were the people? The shops were closed, the houses shuttered, and the streets empty. Once, he saw a frightened face peering at him out of an alley, before it disappeared into the shadows.
“What happened here?” he asked.
“You’ll know soon enough,” said Tailcatcher. “That’s where we’re going.”
That was the palace.
Ivan had never seen a building so large. His father’s mill could have fit into one of its towers. With a sense of unease, he rode up to the gates.
“State your business!” said a guard who had been crouching in the gatehouse and stood up only long enough to challenge them.
Ivan was about to reply when Blanchefleur poked her head out of the pannier. “I am Blanchefleur. My mother is the Lady of the Forest, and our business is our own.”
“You may pass, my Lady,” said the guard, hurriedly opening the gates and then hiding again.
They rode up the long avenue, through the palace gardens, which were magnificent, although Ivan thought they were not as interesting as the Lady’s gardens with their cat gardeners. They left the horse with an ostler who met them at the palace steps, then hurried off toward the stables. At the top of the steps, they were met by a majordomo who said, “This way, this way.” He reminded Ivan of Marmalade.
They followed the majordomo down long hallways with crimson carpets and paintings on the walls in gilded frames. At last, they came to a pair of gilded doors, which opened into the throne room. There was the King, seated on his throne. Ivan could tell he was the King because he wore a crown. To one side of him sat the Lady. To the other sat a girl about Ivan’s age, also wearing a crown, and with a scowl on her face. Before the dais stood two men.
“Ivan,” said the Lady, “I’m so pleased to see you. I’m afraid we have a problem on our hands. About a year ago, a dragon arrived on the coast. At first, he only attacked the ports and coastal villages, and then only occasionally. I believe he is a young dragon, and lacked confidence in his abilities. But several months ago, he started flying inland, attacking market towns. Last week, he was spotted in the skies over the capital, and several days ago, he landed on the central bank. That’s where he is now, holed up in the vault. Dragons like gold, as you know. The King has asked for a dragon slayer, and I’m hoping you’ll volunteer.”
“What?” said Ivan. “The King has asked for a what?”
“Yes, young man,” said the King, looking annoyed that the Lady had spoken first. “We’ve already tried to send the municipal police after him, only to have the municipal police eaten. The militias were not able to stop him in the towns, but I thought a trained police force—well, that’s neither here nor there. The Lady tells me a dragon must be slain in the old-fashioned way. I’m a progressive man myself—this entire city should be wired for electricity by next year, assuming it’s not destroyed by the dragon. But with a dragon sitting on the monetary supply, I’m willing to try anything. So we’ve made the usual offer: the hand of my daughter in marriage and the kingdom after I retire, which should be in about a decade, barring ill health. We already have two brave volunteers, Sir Albert Anglethorpe and Oswald the—what did you say it was?—the Omnipotent.”
Sir Albert, a stocky man with a shock of blond hair, bowed. He was wearing chain mail and looked as though he exercised regularly with kettlebells. Oswald the Omnipotent, a tall, thin, pimply man in a ratty robe, said, “How de do.”
“And you are?” said the King.
“Corporal Miller,” said Ivan. “And I have no idea how to slay a dragon.”
“Honesty! I like honesty,” said the King. “None of us do either. But you’ll figure it out, won’t you, Corporal Miller? Because the dragon really must be slain, and I’m at my wits’ end. The city evacuated, no money to pay the military—we won’t be a proper kingdom if this keeps up.”
“I have every confidence in you, Ivan,” said the Lady.
“Me too,” said Blanchefleur.
Startled, Ivan looked down at the white cat. “May I have something to eat before I go, um, dragon-slaying?” he asked. “We’ve been traveling all morning.”
“Of course,” said the King. “Anything you want, my boy. Ask and it will be yours.”
“Well then,” said Ivan, “I’d like some paper and ink.”
Sir Albert had insisted on being fully armed, so he wore a suit of armor and carried a sword and shield. Oswald was still in his ratty robe and carried what he said was a magic wand.
“A witch sold it to me,” he told Ivan. “It can transform anything it touches into anything else. She told me it had two transformations left in it. I used the first one to turn a rock into a sack of gold, but I lost the gold in a card game. So when I heard about this dragon, I figured I would use the second transformation to turn him into—I don’t know, maybe a frog? And then, I’ll be king. They give you all the gold you want, when you’re king.”
“What about the princess?” asked Ivan.
“Oh, she’s pretty enough. Although she looks bad-tempered.”
“And do you want to be king too?” Ivan asked Sir Albert.
“What? I don’t care about that,” he said through the visor of his helmet. “It’s the dragon I’m after. I’ve been the King’s champion three years running. I can out-joust and out-fight any man in the kingdom. But can I slay a dragon, eh? That’s what I want to know.” He bent his arms as though he were flexing his biceps, although they were hidden in his armor.
Ivan had not put on armor, but he had asked for a bow and a quiver of arrows. They seemed inadequate, compared with a sword and a magic wand.
The dragon may have been young, but he was not small. Ivan, Oswald, and Sir Alfred stood in front of the bank building, looking at the damage he had caused. There was a large hole in the side of the building where he had smashed through the stone wall, directly into the vault.
“As the King’s champion, I insist that I be allowe
d to fight the dragon first,” said Sir Albert. “Also, I outrank both of you.”
“Fine by me,” said Oswald.
“All right,” said Ivan.
Sir Albert clanked up the front steps and through the main entrance. They heard a roar, and then a crash, as though a file cabinet had fallen over, and then nothing.
After fifteen minutes, Oswald asked, “So how big do you think this dragon is, anyway?”
“About as big as the hole in the side of the building,” said Ivan.
“See, the reason I’m asking,” said Oswald, “is that the wand has to actually touch whatever I want to transform. Am I going to be able to touch the dragon without being eaten?”
“Probably not,” said Ivan. “They breathe fire, you know.”
“What about when they’re sleeping?” asked Oswald.
“Dragons are very light sleepers,” said Ivan. “He would smell you before you got close enough.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s in the Encyclopedia of All Knowledge.”
“Oh, that thing,” said Oswald. “You know, I worked on that for a while. Worst job I ever had. The pay was terrible, and I had to eat soup for every meal.”
Another half hour passed.
