Dragon Slayer

by Michael-Scott Earle

  Dulgin’s face screwed up in an expression mid-way between pensive and calculating, then he dropped the bucket of soup and hurried up the stairs.

  “Hey!” I called after him. “I’m still hungry, you know.”

  “Damn it,” I growled after he didn’t come back down the stairs. I tried to reach for the bucket of soup, but he’d dropped it just a few inches out of my reach, so I took a seat on the only undamaged bench and tried to ignore the rumbling in my stomach.

  “Now do you believe me when I say you’re a hero?” Nyvea purred. “No ordinary man could have done that.”

  I’d never thought of myself as much of a fighter, but here on Agreon, I was faster and stronger than I’d ever been on Earth. Coupled with the six months of training I’d had in the Academy self-defense classes, my new abilities gave me a chance to not only survive a fight like this but actually walk away from it the winner.

  “Fine, I’ll admit it, you’re right,” I told Nyvea. “Does that mean I really do have a chance of killing all these dragons?”

  “Barodan gave you the Mark of the Guardian to help you face the dragons, but look what you can do with just the strength of your arms. Imagine what you can do once you unlock your next magical ability.”

  I allowed myself a few minutes to daydream. Like every young boy, I’d read comics of superheroes that could fly, lift a hundred tons, or run faster than a speeding bullet. As I grew older, the dreams of being a superhero had changed into one of wanting to save lives, first as a doctor, then as a firefighter once I dropped out of medical school after my parents’ death. But with the power I could gain from killing the dragons, I could help so many people.

  The sound of booted feet coming down the stairway snapped me back to reality. I was no longer flying high over the land of Agreon or fighting massive dragons. Instead, I was sitting in a dark, cold, damp cell feeling hungry.

  Dulgin came down the staircase, followed by two guards wearing conical steel helmets, white-enameled breastplates, and white cloaks. Their shining metal and clean outfits looked terribly out of place in the dingy, filthy dungeon.

  “Him, that’s the one,” Dulgin said and pointed a pudgy finger at me.

  “Bring him here,” one of the White Guards, a tall man with blond hair and a neatly trimmed goatee, told him.

  Dulgin approached my cell, inserted the key, and unlocked it. His eyes dropped to the lifeless body on the floor as he stepped into the space, and he gripped my arm with a surprising amount of hesitation. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded as I strode out of the cell with the guard.

  “Silence, prisoner,” the goateed White Guard snapped.

  “Not until you tell me what you’re doing with me.” I didn’t back down from his glare.

  “The king has commanded your presence. I am to escort you to His Majesty.”

  “Sure we don’t have time to bathe him?” asked the second guard, a dark-haired man with a clean-shaven square jaw. “Being down here, he’s bound to reek to the high heavens.”

  I ground my teeth and bit back an angry retort. I was supposed to be the hero that would save them from dragons, and the city had given me nothing but shit since I arrived. But as long as they took me to see the king, I’d put up with it.

  “Let’s go,” I told the White Guard as he reached for my right arm.

  “You don’t give the orders here,” the man snapped.

  “I just did,” I laughed. “So, take me to the king.”

  “Shut up!” the guard shouted. “You are the prisoner here, awaiting a trial for murder and--”

  “Look, is this going to take all day?” I gave him my most charming grin. “I really do need to see the king.” I turned and strode toward the stairs without waiting for them.

  “Stop!” the White Guard shouted.

  “But you said we’re leaving,” I called over my shoulder without stopping. “So let’s leave, then.”

  There was a rush of booted feet as the White Guards raced up the stairs and gripped my arms. They were firm and none too gentle as they marched me up to the top floor and out the door.

  Light blinded me as I stepped out into the open, but I drew in a deep lungful of fresh air and basked in the warmth of the sun. After the stink of the dungeon, everything around me smelled so clean and sweet. I didn’t even mind the guards’ rough handling as they tugged me along the perimeter of the palace toward the main entrance.

  I was led through the white stone columns and into a high-vaulted chamber that had to be the palace’s grand entryway. Velvet carpet runners covered a black-and-white-tiled floor. Marble pillars dotted the grand hallway within, and an enormous brass chandelier hung from the ceiling. All around the room were tapestries depicting knights in shining armor, stone busts of frowning men, and oil paintings of kings wearing golden crowns. The scented candles burning around the arcade filled the air with a pleasant smell of vanilla and lavender.

  “Once you kill the dragons, we could live in a palace like this. You and me together, sounds pretty nice, doesn’t it?” Nyvea’s voice had taken on that enticing tone, but I figured she was just trying to manipulate me.

  As I strode deeper into the palace, I found myself growing curious. There should have been a lot more wealth in such a fancy place. Where were the golden candlesticks or the silver serving trays? The velvet carpets were plush beneath my boots, but they looked a bit more ragged and threadbare than I’d expect from a royal castle. On closer inspection, the tapestries and paintings also seemed to have lost a lot of their color.

  I had no more time to contemplate this because the guards hustled me away from the grand corridor and down a side passage. They led me through smaller, less decorated hallways with simple stone floors and furniture made of plain, unvarnished wood.

  At the end of the hallway, I saw a pair of double doors with two White Guards stationed before them. The guards straightened as I approached, and their eyes narrowed at the sight of the manacles on my wrists.

  “The king has sent for the prisoner,” the goateed man holding my right arm told the guards on duty.

  After a moment of intense scrutiny, the guards nodded and pushed the doors open into a room that was lined floor to ceiling with shelves, upon which sat thousands of leather-bound books and scrolls. A small globe stood nestled in one corner of the room beside a plush sofa, and a lantern hung over what had to be a small reading alcove.

  A massive wooden table filled the heart of the room, and a map was spread out across the surface of the table. I immediately recognized the territories of Iriador as Barodan had shown me from an eagle’s eye view. Two men stood hunched over the table studying the map, and they didn’t seem to notice our entrance.

  “Your Majesty, the prisoner, as requested,” said my escort.

  The man with the crown on his head straightened at the guard’s words, and he turned toward me. The king was taller than me, but he had narrow shoulders and a slimmer build. Age lines had just begun to appear at the corners of his thin-lipped mouth. There were hints of gray in the blonde beard covering his angular chin and high cheekbones.

  “Is it true?” King Obragar asked as his blue eyes pierced mine. “Is it true that you fought three Gray Hunters with your hands shackled?”

  “Damn right it is,” I said as I lifted my manacled hands. “I don’t take kindly to being insulted or attacked, which has happened way too many times since I entered Whitespire.”

  A strange expression played on the king’s face. It was a mixture of surprise, outrage, curiosity, and perhaps a hint of humor. “You are brazen for a man in chains.”

  “I’ve had to put up with a lot of shit,” I replied with a shrug. “I came to your city to offer my services, but I nearly got robbed, beaten, and executed. Forgive me if I’m not in the politest of moods, Your Majesty.”

  “Offer your services?” The king raised a slim eyebrow and pursed his lips. “And what services are those?”

  “I’m here
to kill your dragons.”

  King Obragar’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but I met his gaze without hesitation. The other man at the table, a large, broad-shouldered fellow with a heavy red mustache and green eyes, stared at me with a burning intensity.

  “You are a knight, then?” the king asked as he motioned for one of his guards. “This strange suit is your armor?”

  My heart leapt as I saw one of the White Guards enter the room with my turnout gear. The man set it gingerly atop the king’s table, and I grinned at his superstitious fear.

  “Sort of like armor,” I told him, “but it’s only used for fighting fires, not swords or spears.”

  “Indeed?” The king prodded at the turnout gear. “I must admit I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  “That’s because—” I cut myself off before I said, ‘it’s not from Agreon.’ If I went around telling people I was from Earth, everyone would think I was crazy. “It’s not a knight’s armor. Just a suit I use for fighting fires.”

  “So, you are not a knight, then?” the king asked, and disappointment appeared on his face.

  “No, but I’m still going to kill the dragons. It’s why I came to Whitespire, and I can’t leave until I’ve completed my mission.”

  King Obragar fixed me with a hard look, and his eyes locked with mine for what seemed a full five minutes. Finally, he nodded and motioned to his guards. “Leave us.”

  “Your Majesty—” began one of the White Guards.

  “That is an order,” the king snapped, and then gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Sir Galfred will be more than enough to protect me from one shackled man, no matter how fearsome a fighter our jailer says he is.”

  My escorts hesitated, but they couldn’t argue with the king. “As you say, Your Majesty.” They bowed and backed out of the room.

  The king waited until the door clicked shut behind them, then spoke in a somber voice. “What do you know of the dragons of Iriador?”

  “I know that Riamod, the red fire dragon has been raiding and burning your homes for years. It’s why I came here. I will put an end to the dragons.”

  “That would be your first mistake, then,” said the mustached man in a rumbling voice. Sir Galfred wasn’t as tall as the king, but he had strong, broad shoulders and the look of a fighter about him. He folded his thick arms over his barrel chest and gave me a hard look.

  “Riamod has been the scourge of Whitespire for more than fifty years, and only the threat of the other four dragons of Iriador has kept it at bay. That is not one dragon you want to take lightly. Storming its lair and trying to kill it would be paramount to suicide, unless you had the right tools for the job.”

  “Do you have the tools?” I asked. “Give them to me and I’ll defeat the dragons for you.”

  “No, you do not understand the power of the monsters who hold our land in thrall,” the king said with tired words.

  “If your men are too scared to—” I started to say.

  “Scared?” Sir Galfred’s voice rose to a roar, and fury flashed in his eyes. “Countless men of Whitespire have died trying to free us from the bonds of Riamod. I watched my father turned to ash by that wyrm’s terrible fire breath as he stood beside the mightiest knights of Iriador, all in a desperate battle to protect the last free city of man. You stand there and insult us with your empty boasts and haughty—”

  “Easy, Galfred,” the king said in a soothing voice, and he turned a cold glare on me. “You are clearly new to Whitespire if you do not know that Sir Galfred the Bold is the most courageous knight on Iriador. When he tells you to be wary of Riamod, you would do right to heed his warning.”

  “So Riamod isn’t going to be easy to kill?”

  “Easy?” Sir Galfred asked and gave a harsh laugh. “Understatement of the century, young man.”

  “Indeed,” said the king. “All of our attempts to defeat Riamod have failed. It is larger than the other dragons of Iriador, and its breath burns hotter than the hottest blacksmith’s furnace. Any who stands up to the wyrm dies in flames. As Sir Galfred said, we have lost many in the vain attempt to free our home. We have been forced to make certain…sacrifices to keep our freedom. First, the dragon demanded gold. When we could give no more…” He trailed off, and a shadow passed over his eyes.

  “That bastard dragon has troubled the people of Whitespire since I was a boy, but I can stand by no longer,” Sir Galfred said, and determination flashed across his face. “I depart tomorrow to hunt a dragon, and the Gray Hunters Guild were to accompany me. But when you dealt with three of their number with such apparent ease, His Majesty was determined to speak to you and see what manner of man you are.”

  “And?” I asked and stood a little straighter. “What have you decided about me?”

  “That you will be a valuable warrior to aid our struggle against the dragon,” the king said. “It is no coincidence that you arrived in Whitespire the very day before Sir Galfred and his band depart on the hunt. I believe destiny has brought you here.”

  I couldn’t argue with him. Barodan had said that he had put me in this time and place for a specific reason.

  “So,” I asked as my face creased into a grin, “where do I join up?”

  Chapter Six

  “So eager,” the king said, and his eyes narrowed. “Most men would hesitate from such a task, given how difficult it has been to deal with the dragons in the past.”

  “Sure,” I said and shrugged, “but like I said, I came to Whitespire for that exact purpose. No sense dancing around it.” I turned to Sir Galfred. “Just to be clear, do you know how to kill a fire-breathing dragon like Riamod?”

  The knight hesitated, and he exchanged a glance with his king. “There are certain things that must be acquired in order to defeat Riamod. Alas, for now, we find ourselves setting off to hunt another quarry.”

  “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to have to explain that logic to me. It seems like the simplest solution is the most direct approach. Riamod’s the problem, so we go hunt the monster down.”

  “If only it were that simple,” Sir Galfred said and shook his head. “Dragons are notoriously difficult to kill with conventional weapons. Nothing short of full-sized siege weapons are capable of injuring Riamod. We have fortified and armored the defenses here in Whitespire in case of a dragon attack, but in order to bring down Riamod once and for all, we have to find certain special weapons.”

  “Special weapons?” That kindled my curiosity. I’d always loved the magical swords and wands in the novels I read as a kid.

  Sir Galfred shot a questioning glance at the king, and the other man fixed me with a hard stare for a long moment, then nodded. “In all my years as king, I have learned to read the intentions of those before me. In you, I see no guile or deceit, only a man with a mission. Our quests align, so I believe you can be trusted.” He leaned forward and shook a warning finger at me. “But know that Sir Galfred will be keeping a close eye on you. At the first sign of treachery, you will face my justice.”

  “Sort of like how I faced justice after I killed those thieves in self-defense?” I asked in a sarcastic voice. “I asked for a trial, and they tossed me in a cell. A cell with more men who tried to attack me.”

  “Alas, not all the men of the Gray Hunters Guild are honorable,” Sir Galfred said, and his face darkened. “The three whose cell you shared were arrested for being drunk, stealing, and then beating the man who complained about being robbed. We are better off without men like them. I trust that you will be a cut above that particular cloth.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I told him. “I just want to get the dragons so I can…” I cut myself off before I said ‘return to my Earth.’ Instead, I said, “…fulfill my quest.”

  “Would you swear an oath to serve Whitespire?” the king asked.

  “Swear to serve you?” I asked. The idea of being bound as a servant to anyone, even a King, didn’t sit with me well.

  “Not me,” the king sa
id. “The city of Whitespire. The last bastion of freedom for humanity on Iriador.” His blue eyes drilled into mine. “Swear that you will be a champion of the weak, a shield against injustice, and a strong arm to defend those who cannot defend themselves. Swear it upon the name of your ancestors.”

  I met his gaze without hesitation. I didn’t want to serve one man, but this was a vow I could take. It reminded me of the firefighter’s oath to serve with respect and dignity; to protect the citizens of Chicago with compassion, courage, and integrity. I’d sworn that oath of office without hesitation, and I’d take this one just the same.

  “I, Ethan DePaolo, swear to champion the weak, to be the shield against injustice, and to defend those who cannot defend themselves. Upon the name of my ancestors, I swear it.” I repeated the words after the king gave them to me, and the room filled with a sudden glow. The light leaking in the window took on a golden hue, and it felt like a warm breeze caressed the back of my neck as I said the words.

  “Well met, Ethan DePaolo,” the king said and thrust out a hand. I shook it and was surprised at the strength in his grip.

  “Well met, Ethan DePaolo,” Sir Galfred said and extended his huge, calloused hand for me to shake.

  It felt strange, the sudden camaraderie that I felt toward these two men. I had known them for all of ten minutes, yet a bond had passed between us when I gave my oath. For some odd reason, I knew I would do my best to uphold my oath for as long as I remained on Iriador.

  “Spoken like a true hero,” Nyvea purred in my mind. “Now ask him to give you everything you need so we can get on with the dragon slaying.”

  “Patience,” I responded in my mind. “Sir Galfred’s going to lead a party of warriors out tomorrow. I think a few more hands will make light work of killing the dragon, don’t you?”

  “You don’t need them,” Nyvea responded, and I heard a hint of impatience in her voice. “All you need is the gear and weapons to compliment the magic you have already acquired. Then you will be more than powerful enough to do the job on your own.”