Wildemere dropped his head sighing as he set down the now empty mug. It was time to ask around and look the fool. He had been sent to these small, out of the way, villages because some trading merchant with good standing claimed to have seen a dragon in these parts. This late into his search he knew to only start asking about dragons when he was ready to leave the village, that way he didn’t have to see the folks pitying looks for his entire stay. They started after he recounted the description from the merchant of a flying horse that doesn’t look like a horse and has a long neck, tail, and wings. The merchant’s actual description was so long it came full circle and contradicted itself, Wildemere used his paraphrased version. It didn’t help that he was talking about a creature used to engage the minds of children, after all no one in living memory could claim to have seen one. Actually, it was worse when children heard about his dragon quest because then they started following him everywhere.

It was no good delaying, Wildemere stood and made his way to the innkeeper. He composed himself and put on his best palace straight face on and asked his question.

“Innkeeper have you seen a dragon in these parts?”

He used the most formal voice he could hoping it would convey the serious nature of the matter. He really didn’t want another innkeeper laughing in his face.

“Sure have, why ida think it was just last week he flew over my head.” The innkeeper answered in a matter of fact tone.

Wildemere didn’t look at the drunkard who had lifted his head at the talk. Then proceed to stammer out a comment accompanied by a massive amount of spittle. It was enough that it was some form of agreement. This whole situation was clearly some sort of set up, a childish prank. Someone had heard of his task and come ahead of him to this backwater village. His emotions turned towards anger, and it showed.

Noticing this change the innkeeper became defensive and maybe a bit afraid. When the innkeeper next spoke it might have been without stammer, yet the step backward he had taken belied the fear he was feeling.

“Sir, if you don’t believe me you can go look for yours self. That is out past Rock Hill at the Baldwin farm. That’s wheres the dragon lives, I swears it.”

Wildemere’s look of annoyance was replaced with a skeptical one. Maybe there was something to this innkeeper’s claim, he doubted it was a dragon, but maybe it was a big bird or favorite pet. After all he could never trust that these peasants actually had the ability to think. His royal task spoke to that, he could just see the merchant pleading with the King; O my King saves us there's a giant bird we think is a dragon flying over our heads. We are right frightened of this mighty bird please send one of your gallant knights to slay it.

As if the King would only send one man if he believed it himself. This was a good thing Wildemere decided, he would go to this Baldwin farm, discover the pig they launched from a catapult and called a dragon. Then finally go home and report this absurd quest’s completion with a proper drink and a lot of laughter among his fellow knights. He almost bounded out the door, his excitement pushing him along. There was no thought to knightly courtesy, after all, who was watching - the drunk? No the only thing that mattered was this farm and the start of his journey home.

.....

Gorgon’s tongue felt the tips of his yellowed and cracked teeth as he stood impatient, soon they would attack. Gorgon hated being in the back, all the good fires were started by those in the front but, he held out hope. If he ran fast maybe he could reach an untouched building before it was set ablaze. He curled his toes as he held back the impulse to yell out his excitement. It was almost time, he knew it; he could feel it in his bones. And not only the sharpened ones he held in his hands but the ones under his skin. He just needed to be released from this waiting, he almost ran forward without the word, but he knew the Big One would just toss him in to fuel the fires if he did. Gorgon allowed his mind to wander, to dream of what was to come, these humans wouldn't know what hit them. It will be wonderful he thought.

.....

Wildemere passed out of the small village, what was it? Rock Hill? No that was just the name of the hill he was going to pass. Honestly, it didn't matter to Wildemere what it was called, as long as he could put a check next to the area on the map the village name didn't matter. Heck, he couldn't even remember half of the names that these small collections of huts had. He could be thinking about more important things such as; did he need to pick up any supplies before his trip home? He thought he had enough food, he was going to a farm maybe he should pick up some fresh food. He was even in a good mood so he guessed he would pay them for it.

As he approached the farm his horse started to act strangely. It was a well-trained horse and so it didn’t do anything that distracted its rider but still the flaring nostrils and slightly hesitant steps were there. Wildemere however, didn’t notice, his focus was on the farmer as he dug in his heels and galloped over. For once he did not care how ridiculous his words were as he caught the man’s attention.

“Good day sir, I am Sir Jenson Wildemere here on behalf of his majesty's court to stop a dragon that is near your farm. I would be my great pleasure to rid you of this beast or otherwise confirm the safety of this area.”

Wildemere prided himself on his great patience and professionalism in all that he did, but the sloth-like way the man looked up, stretched, and spoke push him to his limits.

“Ah welcome, Sir Wildemere is it?”

The farmer looked questioningly up at him and Wildemere nodded as the farmer continued.

“Well, I am Gaven Baldwin and we sure do have a dragon at this farm, but he’s no threat just does a lot of eating and sleeping…and fighting with barn doors.”

The last part Wildemere could barely hear as it was grumbled under Gaven’s breath. Without thought he looked over at the barn and its doors noting they were open. A strange board jutted out of the closes door completely confusing Wildemere as to is purpose. The strange part was the condition of the doors, scratch and gouged he would have said they were on their last legs, yet the boards themselves looked new. It was distant but the scratches and gouges did not look natural to Wildemere’s eyes. Almost pensively he looked back to the farmer and asked,

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Can I see the dragon?”

“Sure you can, most of the time he just lying around in the sun.” Gaven's eyes darted around as he looked over next to the barn but then continued. “I seem to remember Cináed telling me they were going hunting out by Meadow’s stream. It easier you see, in the meadows that is, because they can fly without the trees in the way.”

"Where is this Meadow's stream?” Wildemere asked not wanting to waste time watching this farmer do his farming, and eager to be done with this dragon business.

.....

This was it, the Big One was going to give the word. Gorgon could tell and he was ready. He would have to run fast if he didn’t want to be left behind. After all only the first few got to set the buildings on fire. Gorgon would be fast and he would set something, anything, ablaze.

.....

Wildemere couldn’t believe he was trudging through the thick forest on the word of some, no-good, probably dragon lying, farmer. He wanted to go home, where the forests weren't so overgrown, where farmers lowered their heads to knights, and he meant something.

Knocking the leaves from his hair, Wildemere removed the last evidence of his unfortunate trip through the forest and exited into the long-awaited meadows. Now to find a dragon, what in the world had his life become? Sitting there on his horse, he looked out over the meadows. There, off in the distance, was a deer. They were slowly moving, grazing in the meadow. It was a peaceful sight and, for just a moment, Wildemere enjoyed his trip to the countryside. Was it always this peaceful, where were the smells and sounds of the city? Now that his trip was soon to be over, he almost lamented going back. But that was the truth of all things, only appreciated when they were lost or soon to be so. It did not last.

A shadow fell over the meadow, it was large and imposing. Giant wings spread out of a dark shape that speared from the heavens towards the deer. Behind the bright sun it was hard to see the shape in detail, yet, Wildemere almost thought he saw a figure falling alongside it. As the shape approached the ground Wildemere finally saw his dragon in all its glory, and yes there was a man riding on its back.

The man held a lance, a very long lance, against his side as they fell towards the deer. The tip leaped out to the right and in front of the dragon piercing the deer before it could react with a precision Wildemere wouldn’t have thought possible. And out of necessity, Wildemere finally breathed.

His heart was beating and he couldn’t stop it. His horse was backing away and so he dug in his heals. Forward he moved now towards the dismounting man and his dragon. Dirt took flight behind him as Wildemere speed across the meadow. The speed was building and the distance decreasing. The man was cleaning his kill and the dragon was watching. This was his only chance, his duty.

Crying out in his hoarse voice Wildemere charged the dragon, “FOR THE REALM.”

His sword was in his hand, the man was turning, he was young. Not a boy, but not a man as Wildemere first thought. What was he doing, fear gripped him as the dragon’s head turned. That is when he reached its rear. His sword cracked against its scales leaving fractures in its wake, and then he was passed.

Wildemere turned his horse to come around. He hadn’t done enough damage; this would be his end. Why, why was he sent, why him? He knew people didn’t really like him. He knew he looked down on others and they noticed. And, in that short moment before his expected death, regret overwhelmed him.

His eyes moved to level on the dragon, but it was gone. He spun in his saddle trying to find it; he knew it could attack from anywhere. Yet, he couldn’t find it, the beast had fled.

The young man stood still in the middle of the meadow next to the dead deer staring at him. Wildemere approached, slowly this time, eyes darting around. Unease and fear in total control.

.....

Gorgon was upset. He didn’t get to set anything on fire. He was too slow, too stupid, too…too augh too everything. He wasn’t even close enough to the front to hear the initial screams as they stormed into the village. He always loved when the village folk saw him and cried out in fear. They would stand on balconies and yell, “Orcs, orcs, orcs” over and over. Yet he didn’t hear a single one this time.

It was time Gorgon stepped up and took charge. Looking around him at the other dejected orcs in the back Gorgon spoke aloud. Then, noticing no one could hear him, he moved closer to them and spoke again.

Why do we get left in the rear,

  without any fun to hear their fear?

Why not take arms and find a foe,

  so we to might reveal in the fires glow?

I call to you though tusks and girth,

  to come with me and laugh with mirth.

We will strike the farmers before they flee.

Tonight shall be one lived in our glory!”

With his fellows encouraged, he marched them off down a dirt road to find a farm. They passed by a hill on their way out and Gorgon wondered just whose lucky farm they would find.

.....

It wasn't clear who would win the staring contest Wildemere or the young man. It was however clear to Wildemere his opponent had only recently coming of age, and questions ran through his mind. Wildemere lost the contest, his eyes darting to the sky as his fear poked its head out for a look.

There was a small smile on the young man's face after that and all it did was annoy Wildemere. Wildemere introduced himself, but without any of his normal pleasantry or respectful tone.

“So boy where’s the beast – and what devil’s deal have you made.”

“Devil’s deal” came the incredulous reply, “what devil’s deal? And who on earth goes around attacking random people in the woods, are you a bandit, some sort of extra stupid criminal?”

Wildemere’s anger was well and truly uncontrolled at this point,

“Criminal? I am Sir Wildemere, knight of Elleton, and I only attack BEASTS who threaten the safety of all!”

“What threat?”

The question came with simmering eyes that did nothing to conceal the hostility. Wildemere took a second, composed himself and thought. And then he thought some more. Why did he attack? that was easy, it was a dragon and he was a knight. Knight were suppose to fight dragons, right?

It soon became clear that Wildemere was going to take a second and so the young man turned and continued cleaning his kill. He looked over his shoulder and introduced himself.

“I'm Cináed by the way and the ‘evil’ dragon you attacked was Wisely.”

Out of all that Wildemere was thinking he just couldn’t let that pass,

“Wisely? Who would name a bloody dragon Wisely?”

Cináed stopped and looked at him, a small amount of color reddening his cheeks.

“I did” he admitted,

Wildemere was now completely confused.

In the distance smoke wafted over the trees, it had been hard to see with the sun and excitement. Now, in the waning hours of the day, Wildemere could see the smoke. It was from the direction he had come, were they making a feast? Then he could see more and more smoke rising, and even that small hope disappeared.

Cináed turned at Wildemere’s distant look and his face went white. He looked around frantic and Wildemere could only think he was trying to call back Wisely. The dragon was no were to be seen.

Cináed started to run and Wildemere followed. The young man was fast as he hit the forest and seemed to expect every bush and root. Wildemere was faster as his horse ran through the foliage and this time he would not be left with leaves in his hair but cuts on his face for his trouble. As he rode towards the farm and its billowing cloud of smoke he feared what he would find.

.....

Gorgon smiled as he watches his fine work. He couldn't help but call out his victory,

“This night will be full of light,

  For farms always burn bright.

The screams of innocents caressing my ears,

  A dying man with fiery tears.

Who could ask for a better fight?

The enemy didn’t stand a chance,

  Their pitchforks struck down at a glance.

Their livestock will feed us,

  The light show will treat us.

Who could ask for a better night?”