The Dragon Megapack

by Wildside Press

  As Gawaine’s record of killings mounted higher the Headmaster found it impossible to keep him completely in hand. He fell into the habit of stealing out at night and engaging in long drinking bouts at the village tavern. It was after such a debauch that he rose a little before dawn one fine August morning and started out after his fiftieth dragon. His head was heavy and his mind sluggish. He was heavy in other respects as well, for he had adopted the somewhat vulgar practice of wearing his medals, ribbons and all, when he went out dragon hunting. The decorations began on his chest and ran all the way down to his abdomen. They must have weighed at least eight pounds.

  Gawaine found a dragon in the same meadow where he had killed the first one. It was a fair-sized dragon, but evidently an old one. Its face was wrinkled and Gawaine thought he had never seen so hideous a countenance. Much to the lad’s disgust, the monster refused to charge and Gawaine was obliged to walk toward him. He whistled as he went. The dragon regarded him hopelessly, but craftily. Of course it had heard of Gawaine. Even when the lad raised his battle-ax the dragon made no move. It knew that there was no salvation in the quickest thrust of the head, for it had been informed that this hunter was protected by an enchantment. It merely waited, hoping something would turn up. Gawaine raised the battle-ax and suddenly lowered it again. He had grown very pale and he trembled violently. The dragon suspected a trick. “What’s the matter?” it asked, with false solicitude.

  “I’ve forgotten the magic word,” stammered Gawaine.

  “What a pity,” said the dragon. “So that was the secret. It doesn’t seem quite sporting to me, all this magic stuff, you know. Not cricket, as we used to say when I was a little dragon; but after all, that’s a matter of opinion.”

  Gawaine was so helpless with terror that the dragon’s confidence rose immeasurably and it could not resist the temptation to show off a bit.

  “Could I possibly be of any assistance?” it asked. “What’s the first letter of the magic word?”

  “It begins with an ‘r,”’ said Gawaine weakly.

  “Let’s see,” mused the dragon, “that doesn’t tell us much, does it? What sort of a word is this? Is it an epithet, do you think?”

  Gawaine could do no more than nod.

  “Why, of course,” exclaimed the dragon, “reactionary Republican.”

  Gawaine shook his head.

  “Well, then,” said the dragon, “we’d better get down to business. Will you surrender?”

  With the suggestion of a compromise Gawaine mustered up enough courage to speak.

  “What will you do if I surrender?” he asked.

  “Why, I’ll eat you,” said the dragon.

  “And if I don’t surrender?”

  “I’ll eat you just the same.”

  “Then it doesn’t mean any difference, does it?” moaned Gawaine.

  “It does to me,” said the dragon with a smile. “I’d rather you didn’t surrender. You’d taste much better if you didn’t.”

  The dragon waited for a long time for Gawaine to ask “Why?” but the boy was too frightened to speak. At last the dragon had to give the explanation without his cue line. “You see,” he said, “if you don’t surrender you’ll taste better because you’ll die game.”

  This was an old and ancient trick of the dragon’s. By means of some such quip he was accustomed to paralyze his victims with laughter and then to destroy them. Gawaine was sufficiently paralyzed as it was, but laughter had no part in his helplessness. With the last word of the joke the dragon drew back his head and struck. In that second there flashed into the mind of Gawaine the magic word “Rumplesnitz,” but there was no time to say it. There was time only to strike and, without a word, Gawaine met the onrush of the dragon with a full swing. He put all his back and shoulders into it. The impact was terrific and the head of the dragon flew away almost a hundred yards and landed in a thicket.

  Gawaine did not remain frightened very long after the death of the dragon. His mood was one of wonder. He was enormously puzzled. He cut off the ears of the monster almost in a trance. Again and again he thought to himself, “I didn’t say ‘Rumplesnitz’!” He was sure of that and yet there was no question that he had killed the dragon. In fact, he had never killed one so utterly. Never before had he driven a head for anything like the same distance. Twenty-five yards was perhaps his best previous record. All the way back to the knight school he kept rumbling about in his mind seeking an explanation for what had occurred. He went to the Headmaster immediately and after closing the door told him what had happened. “I didn’t say ‘Rumplesnitz,’” he explained with great earnestness.

  The Headmaster laughed. “I’m glad you’ve found out,” he said. “It makes you ever so much more of a hero. Don’t you see that? Now you know that it was you who killed all these dragons and not that foolish little word ‘Rumplesnitz.’”

  Gawaine frowned. “Then it wasn’t a magic word after all?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” said the Headmaster, “you ought to be too old for such foolishness. There isn’t any such thing as a magic word.”

  “But you told me it was magic,” protested Gawaine. “You said it was magic and now you say it isn’t.”

  “It wasn’t magic in a literal sense,” answered the Headmaster, “but it was much more wonderful than that. The word gave you confidence. It took away your fears. If I hadn’t told you that you might have been killed the very first time. It was your battle-ax did the trick.”

  Gawaine surprised the Headmaster by his attitude, He was obviously distressed by the explanation. He interrupted a long philosophic and ethical discourse by the Headmaster with, “If I hadn’t of hit ’em all mighty hard and fast any one of ’em might have crushed me like a, like a—” He fumbled for a word.

  “Egg shell,” suggested the Headmaster.

  “Like a egg shell,” assented Gawaine, and he said it many times. All through the evening meal people who sat near him heard him muttering, “Like a egg shell, like a egg shell.”

  The next day was clear, but Gawaine did not get up at dawn. Indeed, it was almost noon when the Headmaster found him cowering in bed, with the clothes pulled over his head. The principal called the Assistant Professor of Pleasaunce, and together they dragged the boy toward the forest.

  “He’ll be all right as soon as he gets a couple more dragons under his belt,” explained the Headmaster.

  “The Assistant Professor of Pleasaunce agreed. “It would be a shame to stop such a fine run,” he said. “Why, counting that one yesterday, he’s killed fifty dragons.”

  They pushed the boy into a thicket above which hung a meager cloud of steam. It was obviously quite a small dragon. But Gawaine did not come back that night or the next. In fact, he never came back. Some weeks afterward brave spirits from the school explored the thicket, but they could find nothing to remind them of Gawaine except the metal parts of his medals. Even the ribbons had been devoured.

  The Headmaster and the Assistant Professor of Pleasaunce agreed that it would be just as well not to tell the school how Gawaine had achieved his record and still less how he came to die. They held that it might have a bad effect on school spirit. Accordingly, Gawaine has lived in the memory of the school as its greatest hero. No visitor succeeds in leaving the building to-day without seeing a great shield which hangs on the wall of the dining hall. Fifty pairs of dragons’ ears are mounted upon the shield and underneath in gilt letters is “Gawaine le Cœur-Hardy,” followed by the simple inscription, “He killed fifty dragons.” The record has never been equaled.

  THE SLAYING OF THE MONSTER, by R. H. Barlow and H. P. Lovecraft

  Great was the clamour in Laen; for smoke had been spied in the Hills of the Dragon. That surely meant the Stirrings of the Monster—the Monster who spat lava and shook the earth as he writhed in its depths. And when the men of Laen spoke together they swore to slay the Monster and keep his fiery breath from searing their minaret-studded city and toppling their alabaster domes.

>   So it was that by torch-light gathered fully a hundred of the little people, prepared to battle the Evil One in his hidden fast-hold. With the coming of night they began marching in ragged columns into the foot-hills beneath the fulgent lunar rays. Ahead a burning cloud shone clearly through the purple dusk, a guide to their goal.

  For the sake of truth it is to be recorded that their spirits sank low long ere they sighted the foe, and as the moon grew dim and the coming of the dawn was heralded by gaudy clouds they wished themselves more than ever at home, dragon or no dragon. But as the sun rose they cheered up slightly, and shifting their spears, resolutely trudged the remaining distance.

  Clouds of sulphurous smoke hung pall-like over the world, darkening even the new-risen sun, and always replenished by sullen puffs from the mouth of the Monster. Little tongues of hungry flame made the Laenians move swiftly over the hot stones. “But where is the dragon??” whispered one—fearfully and hoping it would not accept the query as an invitation. In vain they looked—there was nothing solid enough to slay.

  So shouldering their weapons, they wearily returned home and there set up a stone tablet graven to this effect—

  “BEING TROUBLED BY A FIERCE MONSTER THE BRAVE CITIZENS OF LAEN DID SET UPON IT AND SLAY IT IN ITS FEARFUL LAIR SAVING THE LAND FROM A DREADFUL DOOM.”

  These words were hard to read when we dug that stone from its deep, ancient layers of encrusting lava.

  THE KING OF THE FISHES, by Joseph Jacobs

  Once upon a time there was a fisherman who was very poor and felt poorer still because he had no children. Now one day as he was fishing, he caught in his net the finest fish he had ever seen, the scales all gold and eyes as bright as diamonds; and just as he was going to take it out of the net what do you think happened? The fish opened his jaws and said, “I am the King of the Fishes, and if you throw me back into the water you will never want a catch.”

  The fisherman was so surprised that he let the fish slip into the water, and he flapped his big tail and dived under the waves. When he got home he told his wife all about it, and she said, “Oh, what a pity, I have had such a longing to eat such a fish.”

  Well, next day the fisherman went again a-fishing and, sure enough, he caught the same fish again, and it said, “I am the King of the Fishes, if you let me go you shall always have your nets full.” So the fisherman let him go again; and when he went back to his home he told his wife that he had done so. She began to cry and wail and said, “I told you I wanted such a fish, and yet you let him go; I am sure you do not love me.”

  The fisherman felt quite ashamed of himself and promised that if he caught the King of the Fishes again he would bring him home to his wife for her to cook. So next day the fisherman went to the same place and caught the same fish the third time. But when the fish begged the fisherman to let him go, the fisherman told the King of the Fishes what his wife had said and what he had promised her.

  “Well,” said the King of the Fishes, “if you must kill me, you must—but as you let me go twice, I will do this for you. When the wife cuts me up, throw some of my bones under the mare, and some of my bones under the bitch, and the rest of my bones bury beneath the rose-tree in the garden, and then you will see what you will see.”

  So the fisherman took the King of the Fishes home to his wife, to whom he told what the fish had said; and when she cut up the fish for cooking they threw some of the bones under the mare, and some under the bitch, and the rest they buried under the rose-tree in the garden.

  Now after a time the fisherman’s wife gave him two fine twin boys, whom they named George and Albert, each with a star on his forehead just under his hair, and at the same time the mare brought into the world two fine colts, and the bitch two puppies. And under the rose-tree grew up two rose bushes, each of which bore every year only one rose, but what a rose that was! It lasted through the summer and it lasted through the winter and, most curious of all, when George fell ill one of the roses began to wilt, and if Albert had an illness the same thing happened with the other rose.

  Now when George and Albert grew up they heard that a Seven-Headed Dragon was ravaging the neighbouring kingdom, and that the king had promised his daughter’s hand to anyone that would free the land from this scourge. They both wanted to go and fight the dragon, but at last the twins agreed that George go and Albert stay at home and look after their father and mother, who had now grown old.

  So George took his horse and his dog and rode off where the dragon had last been seen. And when he came to Middlegard, the capital of the kingdom, he rode with his horse and his dog to the chief inn of the town and asked the landlady why everything looked so gloomy and why the houses were draped in black.

  “Have you not heard, sir,” asked the landlady, “that the Dragon with the Seven Heads has been eating up a pure maiden every month? And now he demands that the princess herself shall be delivered up to him this day. That is why the town is draped in black and we are all so gloomy.”

  Thereupon George took his horse and his dog and rode out to where the princess was exposed to the coming of the Dragon with Seven Heads. And when the princess saw George with his horse and his sword and his dog she asked him, “Why come you here, sir? Soon the Dragon with Seven Heads, whom none can withstand, will be here to claim me. Flee before it is too late.”

  But George said, “Princess, a man can die but once, and I will willingly try to save you from the dragon.”

  Now as they were talking a horrible roar rent the air, and the Dragon with the Seven Heads came towards the princess. But when it saw George it called out, “Can’st fight?” and George said, “If I can’t I can learn.”

  “I’ll learn thee,” said the dragon.

  And thereupon began a mighty combat between George and the dragon; and whenever the dragon came near to George, his dog would spring at one of his paws, and when one of the heads reared back to deal with it, George’s horse would spring to that side, and George’s sword would sweep that head away. And so at last all the seven heads of the dragon were shorn off by George’s sword, and the princess was saved. And George opened the mouths of seven of the dragon’s heads and cut out the tongues, and the princess gave him her handkerchief, and he wrapped all the seven tongues in it and put them away next his heart. But George was so tired out by the fight that he laid down to sleep with his head in the princess’s lap, and she parted his hair with her hands and saw the star on his brow.

  Meanwhile, the king’s marshal, who was to have married the princess if he would slay the dragon, had been watching the fight from afar off; and when he saw that the dragon had been slain and that George was lying asleep after the fight, he crept up behind the princess and, drawing his dagger, said, “Put his head on the ground or else I will slay thee.”

  And when she had done that he bade her rise and come with him, after he had collected the seven heads of the dragon and strung them on the leash of his whip. The princess would have wakened George, but the marshal threatened to kill her if she did.

  “If I cannot wed thee, he shall not.” And then he made her swear that she would say that the marshal had slain the Dragon with the Seven Heads.

  When the princess and the marshal came near the city, the king and his courtiers and all his people came out to meet them with great rejoicing, and the king said to his daughter, “Who saved thee?” and she said, “this man.”

  “Then he shall marry thee,” said the king.

  “No, no, father,” said the princess, “I am not old enough to marry yet; give me, at any rate, a year and a day before the wedding takes place,” for she hoped that George would come and save her from the wicked marshal. The king himself, who loved his daughter greatly, gave way at last and promised that she should not be married for a year and a day.

  When George awoke and saw the dead body and found the princess no longer there, he did not know what to make of it, but thought that she did not wish to marry a fisherman’s son. So he mounted his horse, and with his faithful
hound went on seeking further adventures through the world, and did not come that way again till a year had passed, when he rode into Middlegard again and alighted at the same inn where he had stopped before.

  “How now, hostess,” he cried, “last time I was here the city was all in mourning, but now everything is agog with glee; trumpets are blaring, lads and lasses are dancing round the trees, and every house has flags and banners flowing from its windows. What is happening?”

  “Know you not, sir,” said the hostess, “that our princess marries tomorrow?”

  “Why, last time,” he said, “she was going to be devoured by the Dragon with Seven Heads.”

  “Nay, but he was slain by the king’s marshal who weds the princess tomorrow as a reward for his bravery, and every one that wishes may join the wedding feast tonight in the king’s castle.”

  That night George went up to the king’s castle and took his place at the table not far off from where sat the king with the princess on one side of him and the marshal on the other; and after the banquet the king called upon the marshal once more to tell how he had slain the Dragon with the Seven Heads. And the marshal told a long tale of how he had cut off the seven heads of the dragon, and at the finish he ordered his squire to bring in a platter on which were the seven heads.

  Then up rose George and spoke to the king and said, “And pray, my lord, how does it happen that the dragon’s heads had no tongues?”