This is the first, first story I ever completed. In fact, I just completed it today. I would like to share it with you, and you can see what you think of it. It is a short story divided into two parts, and, well, here it is offered from my humble self:
The Wind and What came of it.
PART I: THE PALACE AND THE PHOENIXES:
Long ago, amongst the realms of Elder days, there was the prosperous and fat little kingdom of Træ’ëthal. Nothing very alarming or unexpected really happened there, and this story isn’t even about anything enormously alarming (though it was to the king of Træ’ëthal) that happened in Træ’ëthal, it is more about what happened because of what happened in Træ’ëthal.
The king of Træ’ëthal lived in a beautiful golden tower around which was built a palace, complete with court yards and battlements. He had knights, courtiers, servants, and stables full of the best war horses. He even had a lovely little flock of colorful birds that lived on the ledges and parapets of the palace which the court was extremely fond of.
It happened one day, that an enormous (for they can breed faster than rabbits) flock of Sparrow Phoenixes (sometimes called Sparrownixes) came up from the south. Now Sparrow Phoenixes are, like their name implies, of the same size and shape of common sparrows. “Phoenix” is simply the word I use, not actually implying the ridiculous old myth of phoenixes having their youth reborn from ashes. The only reason I use the word “Phoenix” is because that the Sparrow Phoenixes had feathers colored like candle flames, with blue at the base and bright yellow fringed with scarlet at the end. Their feathers can each individually become a flame during takeoff, landing, or flight, for any rather short period of time. Sparrow Phoenixes are frightfully territorial, and will kill any bird, whether of their same species or of any other, that is not one of their flock.
So one day a flock of these fierce little birds came up from the south and alighted on the king’s palace. Of course, they had been spotted by the garrison and lookouts, and the king (thinking it mighty dangerous to have flaming birds flying everywhere, even if they were small) gave orders to drive them off. At first, they were successful. But because of the massive quantity of birds, several had already alighted on high up ledges and on the parapets. Soon it was insane to try to drive them off. The king knew nothing of Sparrow Phoenixes’ fierce ways, and also admired their plumage (he was an odd king, and fancied birds of all kinds), and therefore ceased the attempted defense. Everything seemed alright for awhile, but it turns out that Sparrow Phoenixes make their nests out of ashes and burnt dust, and to get that they will burst into flame and fly up and down on hard surfaces (in this case, the parapets, the battlements, the ledges, and the stables) until slowly burnt dust rubs off. They will continue to do this until they have quite a quantity of burnt material. They then make a little nest out of this and lay their eggs, incubating them often with flames. This caused disaster. Soon the whole beauteous palace was a mess of burnt smudges and several of the orchard trees and bushes had been set afire when the Sparrow Phoenixes burst into flames when they alighted or took off from the trees and bushes. On top of this, the Sparrow Phoenixes started to kill all the king’s birds of which he was so fond.
The king was enraged. He shouted out commands to exterminate the phoenixes, but breeding season for the phoenixes is all year every year, and they had at least quadrupled in the few days they had been dwelling in (or rather, on) the palace. Nothing could be done, so the king sent a messenger on the swiftest horse he had to find the gnomes of Wulpus, who are sometimes called the Wulpus riders. Now when I say “gnome” I mean a short human-like creature, smaller than a dwarf (about two and a half feet, though some may be as large and three feet), and sporting a long grey or white beard down past his knees.
The gnomes of the Wulpus ride around on large wolves, and are famous for extermination of many kinds of somewhat small, typically magical, pests (such as Dragonbirds or Minigoblins). As the Wulpus were nomadic, it was nearly a fortnight before the messenger got back, followed by the Wulpus. It was early morning, and the phoenixes were not yet awake. The Wulpus came thundering down into the valley on their wolf steeds. None were on foot, though some wolves were riderless (some had been ridden by gnomes now dead, and others were only pack-wolves, used to carry only goods and no riders).
The Gnomelord Narühim, the chief of the entire Wulpus clan, road at the head of the host, on the largest wolf of all. They road right through the gate and up to the king.
“Hail Narühim, Gnomelord of the Wulpus.” Said the king to him.
“Hail King Ergan, Ruler of the kingdom of Træ’ëthal and honourable ally of our clan.” Said Narühim to the king, dismounting and leaning coolly on his wolf.
“Hail King Ergan, Ruler of Træ’ëthal.” Growled the gnomelord’s wolf in his deep voice.
“Hail, Wolfchief Urrün.” Said Ergan to the wolf.
“So, what’dyou want?” Asked Narühim bluntly, quickly getting bored of the solemnities.
“My fair palace, and my birds, are under the fierce attack of Sparrow Phoenixes, who are currently asleep.” Said the king. Narühim actually laughed.
“That’s it? Your messenger made it sound like thirty-five of the fiercest dragons had atacked your castle, not Sparrownixes! Ha! This’ll be easy.”
“Just don’t harm my birds!” Said the king. The gnomelord drew out his short-sword (which in all respects appeared to be an enormous needle minus the eye, and despite its size was still as keen as one) and pointed at himself with it.
“What’d I get outa this?” He asked.
“Three-hundred gold coins.” Said the king (who was even more prosperous and fat than his kingdom, especially the latter). Narühim thrust his sword into the ground,
“Deal!”
The gnomes and the courtiers then dispersed to their chores. The first thing Narühim ordered to be done was to catch all the king’s remaining birds and put them in cages, which was fairly easy for the gnomes, who had a good deal of gnomespells and (rather petty in comparison to even dwarfmagic) magic at their disposal. Soon that was done, and the gnomes began to prepare to drive out the phoenixes. They wove spells around the columns and the ledges and the parapets, and scattered little poison tidbits on the ground and on the battlements, and readied their bowstrings with lumps of white candlewax.
Soon all was ready.
Two hours later the phoenixes woke up and flew about like red bolts of lightning. Whatever breed of sparrownixes those were, they surely were fast breeders. That morning it seemed that one-hundred-and-one hatchlings had broken out of their eggs and begun to clamber about, some even to immediately fly about like flaming streaks of light, and their parents were all nearly beside themselves with maddened delight, and they themselves joined in the flaming dance. Soon many of the orchard trees were afire, and there were many more scorches and smudges on the stonework. The poisoned tidbits disappeared rapidly, and several sparrow phoenixes had, landing on a ledge, or brushing up against a column, suddenly stuck fast (sometimes because of bird-lime, but mostly because of gnomespells). Then the gnomes began to fire sharp, needle-like arrows from the windows of the palace (which the courtiers and attendants had taken refuge in). All of this, however, didn’t restrain the phoenixes from getting into mischief. Several, espying the king’s birds (who had been left out to get some fresh air) in their sturdy, close-knit cages had dive-bombed down onto a certain bird’s cage and attacked it with both flame and claw. Sturdy as the cage may have been, it could not stand against their ferocious energy, and the phoenixes got into the cage, devoured the food, and injured the bird all in one second. Eventually the gnomes rescued the bird and fired a few arrows at the phoenixes, but they were well away. After that the king’s birds were kept in the cellar where they would come to no harm. But by that time several phoenixes lay dead or ill on the ground, and the gnomes came out and quickly (and quite humanely and efficiently) dispatched them. And by the end of the day there was not a phoenix to be seen, at least, if you didn’t look for one. That night Narühim and King Ergan held counsel in one of the towers of the palace (where Narühim and his seven lordly sons were staying). A small fire burned warmly and merrily in a little bracketed fireplace in the corner. Ergan stood on one end of the circular room while Narühim paced before him. The gnomelord’s seven lordly sons stood in a line near the fireplace, saying nothing.
“Now, when’d I get my coins?” Asked Narühim.
“Tomorrow night, if all goes well.” Said the king,
“Must we really wait that much time? I long to be back to wandering, not shut up in some stuffy palace.” Said Atrad, Narühim’s oldest son.
“I want to make sure that this works out properly, I’m sure you understand.” Said the king diplomatically.
“Oh. I hope he doesn’t want to do what Prince Radasar did: Make us wait a whole month and shout at the top of his lungs that we’re no good if there is even one Minigolbin-imp left in his cellars.” Said the gnomelord’s youngest son, who’s name was Kurlad and sported a rare blonde beard.
“Hold your tongue an’ don’t be rude! The king is only making necessary precautions, just like I would in his place.” Said Narühim.
“That’s right, chief. Couldn’t have said it better, chief!” Said an old gnome in the corner, who wasn’t related to Narühim at all.
“Yes, yes. Now, if you please, I will leave you. And we shall see what we shall see in the morning.” Said the king.
“That was an obvious statement.” Said Kurlad. After that the king departed.
But lo! In the morning two-hundred new phoenixes were flying about, as if they had sprung from the ground overnight, They continued to wreck havoc on the beauteous architecture of the palace, but luckily the king’s beloved birds were all in the cellar. Gnomespell after gnomespell was tried, every tidbit and trap, throughout the course of a whole week. And every night they went to sleep with renewed hope, and every morning they awoke with renewed despair. The king ranted and raved, and the gnomes tugged their hair and beards in frustration, but neither the king and his servants nor the Wulpus gnomes could come up with any way to completely obliterate the phoenixes.
After a whole week of living like this, Narühim, his sons, his elders, his councilors, and his generals, seventy-six-and-a-half of them (one of his most wise generals had lost his legs in a quarrel with goblins), gathered together and had counsel.
“Attention! What are we going to do? We have wasted all of our gnomespells, our traps, our tidbits, and all of our snaring equipment. I don’t care about the silly coins anymore, we’re not likely to get them even if we get rid of these intolerable phoenixes. What I’m worried about is our reputation. What would happen if word of this got out? Nobody would even think twice about not sending for us.”
“But why can’t we manage to rid the palace of these sparrownixes? We’sve dealt with these creatures hundreds of times!” Asked Narühim’s sixth son.
“Because they aren’t regular sparrownixes! They are Hottops!” Said Narühim.
“What?” Asked a young gnome, who was waiting on them.
“A Hottop is a species of Sparrownix that breeds so fast and furious that it is impossible to exterminate them.” Replied Narühim.
“What’d we do?” Asked a gnome.
“What’d you think, General Firebeard?” Asked Narühim.
“Well,” said General Firebeard (who was the wise gnome who lost his legs which I have mentioned), “what I think is this. We have two options. One: We could break out the ropes and grapnels and climb about on the parapets and kill them hand-to-hand. But personally, I think that”s insane. The only other option would be to give up and leave.”
“WHAT? Give up and leave! Do you know what that means?” Exclaimed Kurlad.
“Thats right, chief. Couldn’t have said it better, chief!” Said the old gnome in the corner.
“I haven’t finished. And don’t interrupt!” Firebeard said, as the other old gnomes nodded and stroked their beards gravely. “Now, if we do leave, King Whatisname has to promise on his honour that he’ll never spread rumors about this regrettable incident. And also, Narühim has received word from lord Ardabad. Lord Ardabad says that hoards of goblins form the northeast have come down into his lands and attacked his fortress. Now, we all remember what lord Ardabad did for us when that dwarf dragon came along, and I think it’s about time we show our gratitude. Now since we have an excuse it won’t seem like we found a job too big for us and gave up. Now is the time!”
“That’s right, chief. Couldn’t have said it better, chief!” Said the same old gnome in the corner.
“We leave tomorrow morning, I will go now and tell the king.” Said Narühim.
“That’s right, chief. Couldn’t have said it better, chief!” Said the repetitive old gnome in the corner.
“Would you cut that out!” Said Narühim.
“Alright chief! Couldn’t have said it better chief!” Said the old gnome in the corner.
“Just stop!” Said Narühim, who left the room with “Thats right, chief. Couldn’t have said it better, chief!” echoing in his ears. Narühim eventually made it to the king’s chamber.
“Hail! King Ergan, ruler of the kingdom of Træ’ëthal!” Exclaimed Narühim.
“Hail Narühim, gnomelord of the Wulpus.” Said the king half-heartedly (he was not very pleased with Narühim’s disappointing skills, and had already called him quite a few things not worth putting down in writing).
“We are leaving.” Said the gnomelord, keeping it sharp to the point.
“WHAT?” Roared the king.
“I said we are leaving.”
“Why?”
“Because the only way to get rid of the sparrownixes is to use the last of our gnomespells and tidbits and traps, and then to climb about on your palace and kill each and every remaining phoenix.”
“How is that not a good plan?”
“Because it is life threatening to my gnomes! Gnomes can’t climb like monkeys! We’re leaving, and we won’t stay. Money isn’t worth lives.”
“Alright then! Since you are incapable of exterminating little fiery sparrows, I suppose that you don’t need to stay, my little weanie-of-a-gnome.” Said the king in a mocking tone.
“I’m incapable!? They’re Hottops anyway!”
“Hottops? Is that a knew kind of pancake?” Asked the king, still in a mocking tone (realm-dwelling gnomes often make pancakes).
“No! And I should know! A Hottop is a fast-breeding sort of sparrow phoenix!” The gnomelord’s tone was getting louder.
“You should know!? You aren’t even a realm-dweller like a proper gnome! All you do is gallop around on fat wolves like goblins!” Shouted the king. Narühim leapt up, stung by the last remark as if by a wasp,
“WHAT!?” He bellowed, ” THATS ALL YOU KNOW! We’re going not because we’re afraid or incapable! We’re leaving tomorrow morning so we can help lord Ardabad! And I won’t have some fat bird-lover-of-a-king spreading rumors that I’m a coward!”
“Fat bird-lover!? WHAT? You needn’t wait till tomorrow! You’re going now! NOW! NOW!“
“Fine then! You fat bird-loving king of some smudgy old palace!” Yelled the gnomelord as he seized the king’s royal costly goblet (which was deep and cylindrical, crafted of silver in patterns of grapes and vines, embossed with golden images of deer and birds [who had tiny gems for eyes], and studded with 12 large green emeralds, four arranged vertically on each side) and threw it with all his strength and might at the solid marble floor.
Crashsmashclatter!
The king’s royal goblet, hurled with the vicious strength of the gnomelord, was smashed to a hundred-or-so pieces as Narühim turned on heel and left. And that was the last meeting, and parting, of King Ergan and the Gnomelord Narühim. All of the Wulpus gnomes left before midnight, and every one of them lived through the journey and brought help to lord Ardabad. But that is not the end of this story.
PART II: THE WIND AND THE DRAGON:
King Ergan had a plan. He sent his messenger again, on his swiftest horse, to find Sirthir the Sage. Now Sirthir had wandered in that realm far and wide and learned a great many things, most important of all, magic. In comparison to the good wizards of elven-magic, he was the most weak little magician ever. But no one knew of them in that realm and in that kingdom (though, in future days, Old Retterrir the wizard would come into those lands, and set many things aright), and Sirthir the Sage was considered the most wise and powerful man in the entire world. In reality, he was only knowledgeable, not wise. That is, he knew many things, but didn’t necessarily have good judgement or usage of his knowledge.
A week later, (finding Sirthir wasn’t any easier to find than the Wulpus, but he happened to be passing by) just when the king gave up hope and began to consider leaving altogether, The messenger road in. And following him, shining with the light of the sunrise at his back, was Sirthir. He was clad in a deep purple outer cloak, and forest green wrappings underneath. On his head was a tall pointy, purple, wide brimmed hat. He rode a rather small shining white horse.
He trotted down into the gate, and right up to the king, where he dismounted.
“O Sirthir the Sage! I am in need of your help.” Said the king.
“O King Ergan, I have heard of the dire predicament of your palace, and have come to slay these phoenixes of which I am told.”
“Slay them! Or drive them away!” Said the King. There was the sound of barking. Sirthir kept a small brown dog, whom he had accidently left behind on the hill. The dog came galloping down through the gate and up to his master, wagging his tail with his tongue lolling out to one side.
“Hi.” Said the dog.
“Scoot Spiget!” Said Sirthir, and his dog promptly obeyed. Everyone drifted away to their chores, and Sirthir and Spiget went into the cellars. That night the guards outside the cellar saw blue smoke seeping out of the cracks of the cellar trapdoor, and the sounds of Spiget spluttering, coughing and barking,
“It’s awfully smoky in here, Master.”.
The next day Sirthir, the king, and several knights and courtiers (Spiget was out of the palace and its grounds, chasing rabbits) were assembled in front of the palace itself, that is, in the lawns. Sirthir had prepared a great and powerful spell, probably the most powerful he ever made (though he didn’t know that then, and probably never did). It was an odd spell because instead of binding things like most spells do, it let them loose. He let loose first some small spells, and then he took The Spell and let it loose.
SSHWOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH!!!!!
For a second a great swirling whirlwind was formed, and then it burst. The wind blew the fastest and most furious it ever had there in all directions, and the orchard trees bent and swayed, and the palace shook (but thanks to the smaller spells no permanent damage was done to either) and every last phoenix blew away faster than lightning, and never, ever, ever did they come back to the world, for they were blown so hard that they flew off the edge forever, and probably died due to the speed, and you mustn’t forget that there are mountains and trees in the world, which often stopped the flying phoenixes.
Trees far and wide were torn up by the roots, mountains shuddered to their roots, I cannot explain to you the massive power of this wind. It blew Spiget away, not that Sirthir cared at all. But Spiget had the most interesting adventures once he was on the ground again, which will be told, but not in this story.
Eventually it died down in the king’s palace. The king was still doubtful and made Sirthir wait another whole day, in which everyone was engaged in repairs. The day after that King Ergan was satisfied, and giving Sirthir five hundred gold coins, he bade him depart, and Sirthir did. Over the years Sirthir became more famous, and more prideful, till he unjustly ruled practically an entire kingdom, but then Old Retterrir came and set things aright, as I have said before. King Ergan lived happily to the end of his days, and never had trouble with birds anymore and set his own ones free to fly again. He nevers however, made up with (or saw again, as I have mentioned) the Wulpus clan of gnomes.
But even now, this story is not over.
Far away, northwest of the kingdom of Træ’ëthal, in an entirely different realm, was the kingdom of Vladergar. They had warm sunny summers, and cold snowy winters. Some say that both were far more beautiful there, and even in comparison with the elven kingdoms Vladergar was rather delightful, maybe some Ræthë had visited there long ago and blessed it, but that is beside the point. They had fortresses and villages and castles aplenty, for such a small kingdom that they were. The wind even reached there, like a great ripple in the air. It shook that kingdom, (not, maybe, with such force as Træ’ëthal) but still even in the White Mountains, which skirted the northern borders of Vladergar, there was a strong wind which churned up the snow. It happened that in a small branch of the White Mountains, which turned south (and, therefore, the wind hit it before it hit the other mountains, and had less time to die down), there was an avalanche because of the wind caused by Sirthir the Sage. And that avalanche fell into the woods, and uncovered a large cave. Ironically, the cave had been intentionally closed by an avalanche caused by magic, and now it had been unintentionally opened by an avalanche caused by magic. The bright sunlight streamed into the cave, awaking the occupant, and making him blink. The mountains shook again, but this time not because of the wind. He was moving. And emerging in full flight, a large red, scaly dragon named Aranius, with a long snout, and something like long webbed flaps for ears. He had a scaly ridge on his back up to the tip of his long tail which had a spike like an enormous spear at the end. He had hard back pointing spikes lining his neck like a fan or shield. His fiery green eyes roved about, for he hadn’t been awake for a century or so, let alone eaten, and he was hungry. He flew into the woodlands, and burned them to the ground with fire, devouring every large animal therein. He then flew up, and then down southwest, towards a nearby village. The villagers had seen the flame in the forest, but as it had been a very dry summer so far, they assumed it was only a forest fire. And since there was a river between the forest and them, as well as a lot of plains, they thought that it would not spread to them. And it didn’t. But the dragon came instead. He wheeled through the air and onto that local village, it was named Yerginus. He devoured several persons and nearly all the livestock, and burned and smashed the entire village to the ground.
Word of Aranius spread like his fire, and soon it reached the capital. However, none of the king’s knights seemed over-eager about dealing with the dragon (not even the bravest heroes are). To the small local fortress of Derxandrar, it was a matter of necessity. So a score of the knights of Derxandrar set out for the dragon. Amongst them was Duke Rarthurst, who had played a role in the Third Great Southern War of Goblins. They rode towards where Yerginus had once been (for they were all riding brown or grey horses). Hooves beat upon the dew laden grass, which was glinting in the early sunlight. By noon they were getting close, but still the country around them seemed blissfully unaware of the horror nearby. For the sun, after being sheathed in grey clouds for an hour, came out at precisely noon, and sent his sunbeams in a merry dance round the buttercups and daises, and the whole earth, sun, grass, and flowers, seemed to be leaping for joy at this beautiful noonday. But all of that changed. They had been climbing out of the valley of these delights, when they stopped short at the rim, for what was before them chilled even the bravest man among them to the marrow. The merry town of Yerginius, which in its time had been a delightful little market village from whence some of the finest cheeses and milks came from, was in a horrible state. They could see it in the distance, pouring fourth black and grey smoke and utterly desolate. The houses smashed, the market burned flat. Not a living man, beast, or plant was visible. It was a sober moment. Sir Gway, who was renowned of both bravery and reckless heedlessness in the court, and Duke Rarthurst, proceeded into the town, while the rest of the knights wandered around the perimeter, not doing anything but trying to look helpful. They didn’t seem to find much at first: just burnt sod and smashed wreckage. The only building that was more-or-less standing was the stone watchtower Ardar, which at one point had been so strong and sturdy that it had become somewhat a landmark for travelers. Part of the top had collapsed, downwards and outwards, and the whole tower was blackened by smoke and fire. Some of the wreckage was still blazing a little, but most had gone out or sizzled down to embers. Sir Gway and Duke Rarthurst managed to clear a path through the wreckage (for all the roads had been covered with wreckage and rubble) to Ardar. They walked up the five steps (which was mostly covered by rubble and many were smashed) to the great solid iron gates. The right one (facing the gates) had been wrenched so that it hung crazily on its broken hinges. The other gate was in decent enough condition, other than several deep scratches. Both gates were heavily blackened and charred. Sir Gway gazed into the space that the left gate revealed, but only saw blackness. Duke Rarthurst came up beside him,
“What I’d give for a torch.” Said he.
“I would have brought one, only I thought that since we were dealing with dragons and fire bringing torches would be rather unnecessary.” Said Sir Gway.
“Well, we have to search it, as there’s nothing else to do and no tracks to follow.” Said Duke Rathurst sensibly.
“I’m game if you are.”
“Lead on!”
They entered. It was dark and smokey, and there was very little light to see by. A little light came in through the doorway, and a little through a small grille-covered window. Though the spirals stone steps were very blackened, they were mostly undamaged. Sir Gway walked with his arms straight in front of him, so as to feel his way in the darkness, while Duke Rarthurst followed with his hands on Sir Gway’s shoulders. In this fashion they made it to the steps and ascended. It was hard going, for there was little light and the steps were steep. After two flights of this they made it through a trapdoor (Sir Gway at first found it bolted from the inside, but after one good shove he ripped the hinges and sent the trapdoor clattering on the stone floor of the room) into a stone room. It was furnished with a dozen-or-so long wooden tables and wooden benches for these. In one corner theres was a wood stove and next to it were six bundled figures, in sitting positions. There were about a dozen lanterns placed in convenient areas around these figures. Immediately after Sir Gway rose out of the trapdoor, all these figures leapt to their feet, drew their swords, and ran over to him. By the time Rarthurst was out of the trapdoor they were surrounded, with sword points bristling around them.
“Who art ye? And why do ye dare trespass in Ardar?” Asked the tallest of the figures.
“I may ask the same question of thyself! For I am Duke Rarthurst of Derxandrar!” Said Rarthurst,
“Bring a light.” Said the tallest of the figures. One of the figures fetched a lantern, and then they were all illuminated. All the figures were wearing grey-ish cloaks, and shirts of glistening ring-mail were visible at their chests. At their waists were great leather belts from which hung scabbards embossed with silver and studded with gems. Their trousers were of leather and their boots the same. The tallest of the figures had an amulet of sapphire about his neck, and a silver band studded with an emerald around his brow.
“Indeed, thou art Duke Rarthurst, for I recognize thee.” Said the tallest of the figures, “I am Grerax, captain of the Guard Of Ardar.”
“Greetings, Gerax. But I may ask how and why thou and thy compan—” Said Rarthurst, but Sir Gway interrupted,
“Okay, okay. Let’s get down to basics. Why are you here when everybody else is dead? Is it possible that you were hiding, or what?”
“We were not cowering in this tower. Nay, we are only remaining at our post, to guard Ardar. But what is this I hear about the others being dead? We guessed, but we couldn’t be sure. We wondered whether we should break the command of our general and leave our post in curiosity, or stay and wonder what happened. I personally thought that the dragon had fallen asleep.” Said Gerax.
“No. The dragon is long departed. But not only the men of Yerginus have fallen, but all the buildings as well. Ardar is even so ruined I assumed there was no living thing left in it or all the village.”
“Alas! Alas for Yerginus the merry town of—”
“Stoppit, we don’t need to hear about all that. It’s bad enough without dirges, we can get to those things later. But I’d like to know what the hey-hah has been going on. What do you know about the battle?” Asked Sir Gway.
“The men on the top of the tower, that is the turret, spotted a fire in the woods across the river Dræst. We assumed that it was a natural fire, but while we were discussing whether it might be necessary to put out the fire before it became really dangerous, when the dragon came at full speed. We had made no preperations for such things, and we were caught unawares. Whoever the dragon was he was cunning, he attacked the farmers and the merchants and generally anyone in the streets or in the houses instead of Ardar, and therefore drew out nearly all our knights (except many in the turret, and us, the only ones left alive to tell the tale). They battled for a long while, the dragon seemed almost impenetrable, and very hot (for a dragon ) on top of it. We were just gaining the upper hand, and had cornered the dragon against the side of Ardar, away from the fleeing men (and whatever cattle they took with them) when the dragon flew up into the air, level with the turret. What happened next was awful. We (that is me and four of these five honourable knights) were sitting huddled in this room, wondering if we should live through this battle, when we heard horrible shouting and this knight here,” said Gerax as he pointed to one of the knights, “who had been acting as our runner and kept us updated with the course of the battle, came running down the steps into this room. He said that the dragon had flown on the other side of Ardar and attacked the turret so fiercely that nearly all the garrison were killed, and then the dragon smashed the entire top of Ardar, and sent it cascading down in an avalanche of bricks onto the knights who had cornered him. It all happened so fast I assume, that almost nothing could be done about it. Only one of the garrison (we think) is still alive, he is over there.” Finished Gerax, pointing to a cloaked figure laying down by the wood stove who they had not noticed.
“Well, I’m afraid that we weren’t sent to help rebuild villages, but to find the dragon and to give him his just reward.” Said Sir Gway.
“We will, however,” interrupted Duke Rarthurst, “lend thee three of the knights outside who were entrusted to me by lord Berasinag of Derxandrar, to assist thee should the dragon come hence again. I feel regret to leave thee and thy village in such a state as this, so keep the knights in your service as long as you like. But what has become of the lord of Ardar, or his heir?”
“Earl Wargerrus was slain by the cruel dragon, and he had no heir, being a bachelor.” Replied one of Gerax’s companions, who’s name was Fengerad.
“Hmmm. Gerax, art thou the most senior knight in the village?” Asked Duke Rathurst.
“Yes, my lord. Why do you ask?” Responded Gerax.
“Kneel.” Commanded Duke Rarthurst.
“Umm, uh, Yes lord.” Said Gerax in a puzzled way, as he kneeled before the Duke.
“I hereby name you Earl Gerax of Ardar and all the town of Yerginus.”
“Why, why, my liege, I am unworthy of such an honour.” Said Gerax.
“You’re the new Earl, and that’s that, and we really must be off. Have you got supplies, foodstuffs?” Asked Sir Gway.
“Yes, down in the cellar, but we feared the dragon was still at the door on ground level, so we did not go down and fetch supplies.” Said the newly appointed Earl Gerax.
“Well he’s gone. And we really must be too, so good day!” Said Sir Gway.
“Good day to thee, Earl Gerax, I hope that Yerginus is rebuilt to its former joy soon.” Said Duke Rarthurst as he departed down the steep steps. Once they were out of the tower they looked about, for they found no trace of the dragon, except his work in the town of Yerginus. Suddenly they could hear a song sung by Gerax and his knights, half dirge, half glorification to the new earl. I shan’t put it down in writing, for I already feel I have put an unhappy tinge to this book already, and I need no longer mention anything about Yerginus. Sir Gway listened with grim determination, and immediately rode off on his horse in a random direction to find the dragon, followed by Rarthurst on his mount. Their knights had walked to the tower in curiosity, and Rarthurst had sent three of them inside. The rest leapt on their steeds and thundered off after their duke and Sir Gway. They made good time, and by sunset were nearing the village of Breu, which was half deserted after they heard of the dragon. Rarthurst was puzzled and wary, for he felt that the dragon was nearby. In fact, he and his knights had unwittingly rode right over Aranius when they crossed an ancient stone bridge (called the Bridge of Tragarb, which was the same bridge where Trungus and his men of old battled with the hundred-and-one watergoblins). They lodged in the inn, which was still full of many people, for the innkeeper had offered one hundred gold coins and free food and drink for anyone who could kill the dragon should he come, and warriors, both renowned and not, had pilled in from all over the local province. It was a good strategy on the innkeeper’s part, because the warriors needed lodging and supplies till the dragon came, and therefore the innkeeper had a good tide of payment coming in, though he didn’t charge much for each warrior. So when Duke Rarthurst and his knights rode in, there were already a lot of warriors in most of the rooms, even though the actual travelers had begun to live in the spacious, many-roomed cellar, dark though it was, partly to make room for more warriors, and partly for fear of the dragon and his fire.
So Rarthurst and his knights lodged in the inn, and many of them (including Rarthurst) stayed up all night. But Aranius mercifully slept, for he had been feeding well, and all that day there was peace in Breu. Well, not exactly. For if you know that a dragon is going to come and kill you, maybe even devour you, then you can’t help but feel uncomfortable, especially if the dragon doesn’t come all day. This is what happened at Breu. But when sunset was coming on, and the sun politely stepping out of the sky so the moon and the stars could have a turn, Rarthurst had an idea. He and his knights saddled their horses, and rode off back where they came, slowly but surely. Many of the warriors came with them, though most (including Rarthurst’s own knights) thought that it was suicide. Rarthurst had them spread out, so that though they could see each other, they weren’t all bundled up and easy to kill all at once. Not a bit of ground was overlooked, they trotted on and on. Finally, by the time the sun was gone, and a delightfully cool (but not cold) summer night had come on, they reached the bridge. Eerily, there was not a sound, not even crickets. They halted where the bridge stones met the dirt road, still rather spread out, and Sir Gway actually got off his horse and descended the deep, sheer, valley at the bottom of which flowed the peaceful river of Fasad. The moonlight danced peacefully and slowly with the reeds, whilst flowing water quietly brushed by them.
The beauty was suddenly overcome with irresistible terror. For bursting out of the river in flight, came the dragon! Most of the warriors from the inn and most of Rarthurst’s knights scattered in terror, some carried off unwillingly by their horrified horses, or by their own will. Sir Gway and a warrior from the inn named Vretur, whether out of bravery or bad discernment, charged forward to the dragon, swinging their swords.
“Flee while you still have your miserable lives you—” Said the dragon, the rest of who’s sentence is not worth putting in writing. Sir Gway recklessly leapt into the air, followed by Vretur. They crashed into the dragon’s underside (where he was rather tender) with swords raised. The dragon roared in pain as iron tore him, luckily (for him) it was merely a deep scratch on his upper belly, and the two daring knights (who were hanging on by loose scales) were still in reach of his cruel claws. Vretur shoved Sir Gway off the dragon and through the air into the river, and took the fatal blow himself. Vretur lost his legs that day, and fell extremely wounded into the river. Sir Gway was furious on seeing this, but he could do little more than swim for his life, burdened as he was with his chain mail. Rarthurst and his knights were hurling spears, and some even letting loose arrows. Nothing seemed to hinder the dragon, who landed before them.
“I am Aranius, the great dragon! Lay down what you have of valu—owroooarghorghghg!!” Bellowed the dragon as Rathurst (bravely at the head of his knights) drove his iron sword as deep as it would go into the dragon’s nostril, and galloped off down the rode on with his knights on their horses. It was a good thing he did, for Aranius was so infuriated that he blew such a gust of fire and actually wounded the two knights at the back of the retreat. They rode down the road and took up defense in a little rocky knoll which had great boulders rising around it. They pelted the dragon with spears, arrows, and even stones, but nothing seemed to work. The dragon stomped towards them, a trickle of steaming blood on his snout. One knight hurled a spear so far it went into the river. Sir Gway had almost given up hope, he was almost sure he was done for, when the spear stuck beside him. He used it like a staff (it was quite a long spear) and kept his head above water. He eventually got onto the bank and charged up the bank. He saw the dragon blowing fire amidst the boulders of the hillock and saw (burnt) knights and warriors fleeing left and right. He heard the scraping of the dragon’s mighty claws on a shield. He was about to charge the dragon and probably accidently kill himself when he heard a groan. In a flash he remembered Vretur and hurled the spear with all his might and main. Then, as luck itself might have it, the dragon flew up in the air, and in one split moment his hind legs were straight out behind him and his belly (rather stretched fsrom feeding so well) sagged low beneath him. The spear flew up and stuck deep, deep into it. The dragon uttered one last screaming roar, flapped towards Sir Gway, and collapsed dead between the hillock and him. Yells of joy echoed around that summer night. But Sir Gway was not seen. He was down in a river, and had fished out what was left of Vretur. Somehow, he was still alive. The knights got all back together and Sir Gway was unanimously appointed the temporary leader, as Duke Rarthurst was severely wounded. They gathered the wounded and dead, and rode to Breu. The two knights who had died were buried, and a feast was held in the morning.
The sun seemed to be just as joyful that day as the people of Breu. It sent its beams dancing with the flowers and grass in a playful way, whilst the wind gently tugged excitedly at everything. The scattered knights and warriors returned, and everything went very well for many many years. Vretur was made a knight (not merely a title of honour, for when he was securely fastened to his now highly trained veteran horse named Træd he could fight quite well even without legs) and high chancellor of the newly appointed Earl Gway of the Eastern Plains (formerly the simple Sir Gway I have mentioned). Duke Rarthurst recovered from his wounds and become Duke of the Fortress of Aerasargon. Yerginus was rebuilt past its former beauty and splendor, and Earl Gerax made a powerful but humble ruler of it and Ardar.
Sirthir the Sage however, grew so popular he overthrew a king and appointed himself tyrant. However, Old Retterrir the wizard came and put everybody in their proper place. Spiget, eventually did get on the ground, and had some interesting adventures which will be saved for another time.
The End.
