by J. R. Rain
I gaped. “You have got to be kidding me.”
And now I knew what all the roaring had been about. Yeah, I very much wanted to wake up.
Now!
The dark shape swept across the sky again, disappearing briefly below the distant foothills. I say briefly because now it was coming back. Low and hard and fast, and heading straight towards me.
A dragon.
Chapter Twenty-one
I found my feet but couldn’t move.
I just stood there in the center of the street while the dragon—yes, a real honest-to-God dragon—flew in low from the north, its massive, leathery wings outstretched like a bat on steroids. I should have run for cover. Heck, I should have done a lot of things. Mostly, I should have awakened from the nightmare I was living.
But I didn’t.
The dragon opened its impossibly wide mouth and shot a stream of fire that twisted and curled ten feet above my head and obliterated a nearby hot dog cart, sending wieners and buns flying everywhere.
And as the smoldering shrapnel rained down around me, as processed meat splattered and plunked, as buns flitted down like dying birds, I finally got the hint:
This wasn’t a dream.
And I wasn’t waking up.
* * *
Like a low-flying jet, the dragon thundered by, veering over a church and began a wide, arching turn. Apparently, dragons didn’t have much of a turning radius. The SUV’s of the monster world.
With it gone for the moment, I now realized I had more pressing matters. Yes, even more pressing than a fire-breathing dragon. A very large horse was bearing down on me. And sitting atop the very large horse, was an insane-looking knight wielding a long and pointed joust.
Good God! I’m going to get gutted by something from Middle Earth.
I should have run; I should have done something. Anything.
But I couldn’t move.
The ground beneath me rumbled. Someone nearby screamed. Actually, that someone turned out to be me. The horse veered slightly to the left to give its rider a good angle to pierce my heart. I closed my eyes. My bowels turned to water.
The horse snorted. Its hooves thundered.
I had just wondered if I would even feel the sharp lance, when someone tackled me off my feet, knocking me to the ground, just as a rush of air swooshed past me.
My fingers went straight to my heart, groping, feeling. Good news: everything was intact. Bad news: the attacker was turning back around.
Yet more good news: Arthur was standing over me and he was holding a glowing Excalibur.
Very, very good news indeed.
* * *
The rider tossed his javelin aside and withdrew his sword. He then snapped his reins hard and charged, leaning forward in the saddle, raising his sword high.
Arthur never flinched, and if he was scared, he didn’t show it. Instead, he calmly raised Excalibur with both hands. He opened and closed his fingers around the leather grip.
The rider thundered hard, bearing down.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” I yelled.
But we didn’t go, and Arthur never moved. Instead, he spoke to me without taking his eyes off the approaching rider.
“Do not move, James. Stay behind me.”
“I couldn’t move if I wanted to,” I said.
“When I dispose of him, I want you to take his sword.”
Dispose? Holy crap!
“And do what with it?” I asked.
“You’ll know what to do with it, old friend,” he said.
Old friend? I was about to ask him what exactly he meant by that, but the horse and rider were upon us.
* * *
The knight slashed down hard from high in the saddle, just as Arthur swung Excalibur around, heaving with all his strength. Both swords clashed with a mighty clang and a hail of sparks. To my amazement, the rider exploded out of his saddle, nearly flipping backwards, and landing hard on his shoulders. He lay in a motionless heap as his riderless horse continued on.
“Get his sword!” shouted Arthur. “Now, James!”
I was still on the ground and, at Arthur’s urging, found myself crawling forward until I found my feet. Stumbling, I hurried over to the downed rider who still hadn’t moved.
Was he dead? I didn’t know.
His sword lay next to him. Not as nice as Excalibur, but a serious piece of weaponry. It also looked heavy as hell. Just as my hand reached for the well-worn grip, my feet were suddenly swept out from underneath me. In a blink of an eye, I was on my back. Air burst from my lungs.
I turned, half expecting the brute to pounce on me, but my assailant wasn’t in any condition to do much assailing. The leg sweep was apparently all he had left in him. Now he lay in a pathetic heap, holding a broken arm, and watching me with pitiful eyes.
“The sword, James. Hurry!” Arthur shouted. From somewhere nearby came the sound of thundering of hooves. More guys on horseback. No doubt, more guys with swords on horseback.
Great.
Keeping an eye on my injured friend, I reached over and took hold of his fallen sword. It was as heavy as I thought; hell, even heavier. As I stood, I used both hands to heft the weapon. Recalling that the downed knight had wielded it with one hand made me feel less than manly.
Still, as I hefted it, he watched me closely. He was dressed in full chain mail. How he didn’t roast to death in that thing I didn’t know. He expected me to kill him, that much was obvious. Wherever he was from, apparently people played for keeps. He closed his eyes and muttered what appeared to be a small prayer. Or perhaps a really big prayer.
“Dude, relax,” I told him. “I’m not going to hurt you. We really should get that arm of yours looked at—”
“Forget him, James. Over here!”
And forget him I did. Hey, his prayers worked! No doubt someone would call an ambulance for him, right?
Anyway, lugging the sword behind me, I was soon by Arthur’s side. A good thing, too, because now two riders were bearing down on us. And the dragon was flying low just behind them.
“Mama.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The dragon swept low over the street, its outstretched wings somehow just missing street lanterns and store awnings. Papers, leaves and various other debris swirled and trailed behind it like the tail of a comet.
With ridiculous speed, it swept past the two riders and flew directly over us. Arthur never moved, staring up at it calmly. I nearly soiled myself. As it passed, I swear the thing looked down at me with eyes as big as bowling balls. Black smoke curled up from its flared nostrils. I shuddered like a frightened field mouse and made a conscientious effort to control my bladder. The dragon veered away, just missing a flag-pole. The flag itself whipped and snapped in the dragon’s wake.
“Sweet mother of all that which is holy,” I said.
“This is fun, no?” Arthur said, grinning.
“No,” I said.
Back on terra firma, the ground shook as the two riders drew closer. One was shouldering a lance and the other wielded a sword. Both were bearing down on us.
“I’ll take the one on the right,” said Arthur.
“What about the one on the left?”
“He’s all yours, James.”
“What?”
“Simply parry the lance with your sword,” said Arthur, shrugging. “You have more mobility than he does.”
“Or I could just run like hell.”
“Sure,” said Arthur. “But why haven’t you?”
Good question. I didn’t have a ready answer. Perhaps I had a death wish. I looked at Arthur; he looked at me. He grinned.
“And it’s not because I’m having fun,” I said. “I assure you.”
“If you say so, my friend.”
“Well, I do say so,” I said, but my words were nearly drowned by the thundering of approaching hooves.
Arthur tossed Excalibur from hand to hand. The fact that I could barely hold my own sword up with two hands, let
alone toss it from hand to hand like a hot potato, wasn’t lost on me.
I was doomed.
The ground shook some more. Pebbles at my feet bounced an inch or two off the ground. The rider on the left lowered his lance. Straight at my heart. I lifted my sword. Barely.
From my peripheral vision, I saw Arthur look over at me. I think he saw me struggling with the sword. He raised his voice loudly above the din of hooves. “Try using your right hand,” he shouted.
I shouted back, “I’m having trouble with both hands, let alone using one hand. Besides, I’m left-handed.”
“Trust me,” he said, mouthing the words.
“But I don’t understand,” I said.
And somehow, amazingly, his words came to me clearly, easily, as if I were seated directly across from him at a quiet outdoor cafe. “Some things you don’t have to understand, James. Some things can be taken on faith.” He winked. “Besides, in this case, it’s called muscle memory.”
“Muscle what?”
“Just try it, James,” he said. “Trust me.”
Then the sounds of the galloping horses came rushing back at me, and I felt as if I had just emerged from a soundproof studio. Arthur, I was sure, had somehow been inside my head, and that was a troubling thought at best.
But trust him I did. I switched hands, and something amazing happened. The sword felt remarkably comfortable in my right hand. It even felt somehow lighter, too. I gripped it confidently, amazed.
“Heads up, James!” said Arthur loudly.
I snapped my head around in time to see the rider on the left lean forward in his saddle and thrust his lance straight for my heart.
* * *
Dressed in shining armor, complete with a fluffy red plume, the rider and lance came at me quickly.
I did the only thing I could think of: I turned my shoulders sideways just as the deadly tip of the lance passed me by.
The rider looked down at me as he charged on by. Although his eyes were hidden behind his visor, I sensed his perplexity at having missed such an easy target. Heck, I shared in his perplexity. I should have easily been on the wrong end of a shish kabob.
Beside me, metal clashed against metal. I turned in time to see Arthur spinning from the force of the blow. His own adversary charged on by, and now both knights pulled up together and turned to face us.
“Good job, old boy,” said Arthur. He sounded slightly winded.
“How do you know I did a good job?” I asked.
“You’re still talking to me, aren’t you?” he said. I could hear the humor in his voice.
Something roared in the near distance. I was fairly certain I knew what that something was.
“You ready, James?” asked Arthur.
“Ready for what?”
As if on cue, both horses leaped forward again, spurred on by their riders who dug their heels deep into the creatures’ flanks. The knights separated, one angling for Arthur, the other for me. And, as luck would have it, the one with the lance picked me again.
Oh, goody.
This time he seemed to come at me even faster, his lance even steadier. Actual steam billowed from the horse’s flared nostrils. I wanted to run all the way home to Seattle.
“Easy, James,” said Arthur next to me, as if reading my thoughts.
I took in some air and gripped my sword, and when the lance came at me this time, I did something that astonished even me.
First, I side-stepped it again, then I swung my sword around hard, and drove the lance straight down into the ground, wedging the point deep between the cobblestones.
To my utter amazement, the rider launched into the air like an Olympic pole vaulter. Except there was no blue mat waiting for him below. He landed hard on his back, his armor clanking against the cobbled street.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered. Next to me, sticking out of the rocks, the lance quivered like an arrow in a bull’s-eye.
“Unbelievable,” I said again.
In that moment, out of my peripheral vision, I heard a great clash of metal and saw the second rider fly out of his own saddle, landing hard next to my rider. Both horses trotted off, riderless.
There was no time to rejoice our minor victory. Flying straight down the center of the street again, its wingspan impossibly wide, its cold, black eyes seemingly staring at me, was the dragon.
Arthur spun around. “Run, James!”
Chapter Twenty-three
And run we did, angling across the cobblestones, toward some shops, just as a twisting geyser of fire erupted from the creature’s mouth, burning a furious trail down the center of the street, directly for us.
I didn’t think we could outrun the fire. And just as I felt the searing heat, Arthur yanked me into a recessed doorway, and the fire blasted harmlessly past.
The dragon turned to starboard and was gone, and we continued running along the now empty street. Dragons have a way of clearing towns and streets.
Wait. Not entirely empty.
There, standing a block or two up the inclined street, was a man watching us. He wore a black trench coat (or was it a robe of some sort?) that swirled about him as if it were alive. The man was tall and thin, and there was something distinctly menacing about him. A darkness seemed to surround him and, although he was standing in broad daylight, he appeared permanently cast in shadows. He also looked familiar.
As I stared at him, I promptly tripped over the uneven stones and would have fallen face-first into a filthy gutter if Arthur hadn’t reached out and caught me. Cobra fast.
He said, “Easy, old boy.”
“Who is that guy?”
Arthur pursed his lips. “Later, my friend.”
“But—”
“Later,” he said, and then pointed to a narrow alley. “Here.”
He turned into it, and I followed right behind, but not without a final glance up the inclined street.
The man with the dark cloak was gone.
* * *
Marion was waiting for us inside the alley. And to my utter shock and delight, she launched herself into me, throwing her arms around me, hugging me tight. “You were amazing, James!”
I think I blushed. Actually, I know I blushed. “Amazingly lucky,” I said.
Arthur gave me a hearty pat on the back. “You did good, old boy. I knew you had it in you.”
Marion released me, doing so far too soon, and I found myself babbling nearly incoherently. “Say, I don’t suppose either of you saw the dragon?” But I didn’t give them time to answer. No. I was on an adrenaline high and I was damned scared and nothing was going to shut me up. “No, of course not. Obviously, I’m going insane. Or maybe I’m still dreaming. Or hallucinating. Maybe I took some bad cough syrup back at the hotel. You know, you should always check the expiration date on those things—”
Arthur grabbed my shoulders and shook me vigorously. I nearly bit my tongue. “You’re not dreaming or hallucinating, old boy. We all saw the dragon.”
“Then we’re all crazy. Or maybe I’m the crazy one, and I’ve fabricated this entire—”
Arthur steered me deeper into the alley. “Let’s talk about your psychosis later, old friend. For now, we need to get moving.”
I heard the horses then. Many of them. More horses, more men, and more swords.
Marion and I followed Arthur down the narrow alleyway—too narrow, I hoped, for the horses. And definitely too narrow for a dragon.
Lord help us all.
Chapter Twenty-four
The three of us were sitting together in an ancient tavern on the outskirts of town. Hot cocoa had just been served by a bartender who sported an actual hump in his back. The way things were going, I wouldn’t have been surprised if his name was Quasimodo.
Anyway, the tavern itself was blessedly warm with a nice fire roaring in the center hearth. Outside, through the plate glass window, I saw that the rain had started again. Crooked fingers of smoke filled the afternoon sky, puffing from dozens of chimneys.
<
br /> I was suddenly reminded of the smoke trailing out of the dragon’s mouth. Not a pleasant memory.
“Guys,” I said. “I’m not feeling well.”
“Hang in there, sport,” said Arthur.
Outside, a haggard-looking yellowish dog passed in front of our window, paused, looked longingly into the warmth within, and then continued on. I could have used some puppy love right now. Nothing beats a fuzzy muzzle resting on your lap.
The hot cocoa was piled high with homemade whipped cream and white chocolate shavings. I was never much of a white chocolate guy, but, damn, this hot cocoa was to die for.
Unfortunate choice of words.
I had rested my sword on the floor by my feet. Arthur had shoved his through the wide hammer loop of his cargo shorts. A very unceremonious berth for a magical sword, to say the least. So far, the bartender hadn’t noticed the weapons. His hump didn’t appear to notice, either.
The rain came steadily down, drumming against the windows and partially closed front door. Somewhere in the far distance I heard the roar of the dragon. I assumed it was the same dragon. Maybe there were more.
“Any chance that roar was a figment of my imagination?” I said to no one in particular.
“Sorry, old boy,” said Arthur. “But, no.”
Arthur was currently sporting a whipped cream mustache, which kind of made him hard to take too seriously. Very unkingly. Luckily Marion was there to save the day. She wiped it away carefully, wetting the napkin with the tip of her tongue.
“So what’s next?” I asked, suddenly glum.
“Glastonbury Abbey,” said Arthur brightly. “But first, I think we need to catch our breaths a little, and maybe answer a few of your questions. I’m sure you have many.”
Many hundreds, I thought.
The fire crackled and snapped, much like the fire had crackled and snapped from the dragon’s gullet. Speaking of which, the great flying lizard was thankfully silent for the moment. We were silent too. I could hear my own heart beating. Every now and then I pinched my arm.
