"Your grace, as I said when you met me, I have finished my present task. The Tartar band who were harassing your northern villages has been routed. With your permission, I am now free to pursue this new threat."
All the villagers, merchant and peasant alike, cheered his announcement. The Patriarch nodded regally.
"Defeat this monster, and you will have our gratitude, Sir Aleon," he said.
Aleon found it difficult to sleep that night. He suspected that in reality one single man, however gorgeously armored, however swift his horse, was no match for a full-grown dragon, but at least it would be an enemy who would stand and fight. The thought reassured him strangely. While there was a better than even chance he could be killed, in his present mood the thought of fighting a dragon held more appeal than continuing his fruitless chase of the elusive Tartars for an ungrateful Patriarch who would send him away in disgrace when the whim suited him. Death, glorious death, was better than such dishonor.
The Patriarch was in fine form two days later as he invoked a blessing over Aleon. He made such an enthusiastic speech about how courageous the Templar was that everyone cheered quite loudly as the young knight rode out. It wasn't until the village was beyond sight that Aleon realized part of the Patriarch's good mood was partially because if Aleon died his valley could be assigned a new, and likely more experienced, guardian the churchman felt befitted his own lofty station.
Twisting against the high pommel of his saddle the knight searched the sly. He was forcing himself to believe that there really was a dragon, though he would still take some convincing. Leaving the forest for the bare hillsides beyond had made Aleon more than nervous. Under the thick cover offered by the trees, he had a chance to see the dragon before it saw him, and maybe hide once he saw it. In these low hills, there was no way to hide from anything that flew. Most of the ground was barren and the few bushes that grew on the stony slopes rose barely to his stirrup. Even though he was wearing his chain surcoat and thick breastplate, the Templar felt naked and exposed.
After days of riding through the scrub-covered foothills, Aleon no longer cared if he encountered a dragon or the devil himself. His heavy mail surcoat and iron cuirass were meant to be put on only minutes before entering combat. Since the dragon could appear and battle begin any instant, Aleon had felt constrained to wear his constantly for all three grueling, sweaty, miserable days. He was now too uncomfortable to worry, as he had the first day, about death, and each of his horse's steps provoked a new spasm in the muscles of his lower back.
The sun was past high and the spring day cloudless. Aleon found it surprisingly hot for being at the foot of a major mountain chain and kept hoping for a stray breeze to roll down from the snow-covered peaks to his right. None did. With the sun baking the outside of his cuirass to a roasting temperature he'd debated removing some of his armor. Sweat dripped inside his chain and made his leather gloves feel as if they had been dipped in a stream. The drenching sweat added to his annoyance by causing his leather britches to chafe as he moved in the saddle. Finally he compromised by removing the heavy cuirass and retaining the chain surcoat.
All during the long days of discomfort and frustration, Aleon worried the nomads might have returned to raid in his absence. And he dreamed alternately that he was standing over the man he had killed or that a dragon stood in the same way over his own mangled body. He knew he should have felt remorse at even a Tartar's death. The fact that he didn't ate at him, even as he tried very hard not to think about it. His conscience pricked him for his lack of conscience.
The cloudless heat continued. Halfway from high sun to sunset on the fourth day Aleon began to feel that even facing a dragon would be preferable to his increasing misery.
Half awake and dazed by the sun, the knight was concentrating on the exquisite pain caused by the clinging gray dust that rose with each step his horse took and was working its way into his joints. The tired horse slipped on the gravel that covered this side of the steep hill. There was a moment of intense activity while the knight fought to remain in the saddle and force his mount to continue upward. Then they resumed plodding up the pebble-strewn slope. Aleon sat unthinking, sure that the result of all of his recent effort would be to ride equally uncomfortably down the hill's other side.
He was wrong.
The dragon seemed to rise out of the hill ahead just before Aleon reached the crest. Less than fifty paces away, it rose on its back legs to stand five times the height of both man and horse combined. The wings, spread wide and flapping gently, filled his vision with a wall of red scales and claws. What began as a slow rumble, almost a purr, deep in the dragon's throat, quickly rose into a frightening challenge that rattled the stones at his feet. Terrified by the intense sound, Aleon's destrier reared back over his haunches.
Aleon fought to stay on and regain control of the frightened horse. He pulled hard on the reins, spinning the panicky mount until it settled upright and began to run—directly toward the dragon. For the first instant the Templar was sure he was doomed. The giant dragon had only to fall over upon him and he would be crushed. He expected a claw to sweep him from the saddle at any moment, or a stream of fiery breath to meet him. But the dragon did nothing. It just stood there, wings extended, watching as he was carried toward it.
In the instant he had before reaching the monster, the knight decided that if he was going to be carried straight at it, however reluctantly, then he might as well make use of the charge. There wasn't enough time to free and set his lance. It was all he could manage to draw his sword and stay in the saddle.
The war-horse reared. It was trained to battle, not to endure the presence of a dragon. The image of being squashed by a scaled foot inspired Aleon to grip the sides of the horse with his knees until his leg muscles hurt. Even as he considered discarding his sword and holding on with both hands, his mount stumbled forward and the Templar found himself facing a wall of fist-sized red scales. Its escape blocked by the dragon, the horse twisted to the left and ran along one wing. Holding onto both the reins and pommel with his other hand, Aleon let his sword arm swing free. Driven by the force of the turn, the sword tore into the wing. The edge cut a shallow groove through the scales and muscle.
With a comical squawk that would have made the Templar laugh if he hadn't still been trying desperately to merely stay on his frothing horse, the huge beast hastily began to rise. In a swift glance at the monster as he passed, Aleon was astonished to see what had to be surprise and maybe even amusement in the monster's eyes. Then the wind from its massive wings sent the knight's horse speeding off in a new round of panic. By the time Aleon was able to regain control of his now exhausted mount, the dragon was gone.
At least now he was certain that dragons did exist.
Later, as he sat in the feeble shade of a bush watching his horse drink muddy water out of a puddle, Aleon began to shake. He ought to be dead. He wasn't and he didn't know why. The masters of the sword and the spear never taught you how to kill a dragon. They weren't concerned that one might someday encounter a legendary beast and need to slay it.
The sheer hopelessness of his quest pressed down on the young man. He was three days' hard ride from any help. His strongest sword blow had barely scratched a tiny portion of one enormous wing. And he couldn't allow himself to admit defeat. There was only one possible outcome to the whole situation: he was going to die.
With this realization his breathing, having just calmed, came again in short, jagged bursts and the young Templar watched the darkness begin to narrow his vision. The horse, concerned for its master, stuck its muzzle in his face and blew muddy drops on him.
Lying back, Aleon closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly. His heart pounded so loudly that he was sure the dragon could have bellowed another challenge and he would not have heard. It beat even faster as he thought of the dragon. Finally, after long minutes, he was able to sit up again.
Like the knight's clothes, his horse was covered with
sweat. Aleon forced himself to brush down the destrier. He was thorough, but not really gentle. The knight was hardly happy with his mount, though he soon realized his anger was not at his horse's panic, but his own. Still, the animal found the familiar act soothing, and soon Aleon was able to persuade it to let him ride again. He set out in search of, not the dragon, but a clean stream in which he could bathe and clean his clothing.
Aleon didn't want to admit even to himself that he was making a cold camp because he was afraid of the dragon. Still, he could not bring himself to light a fire, even though the night chilled his recently washed jerkin. A fire was visible for miles in these empty spaces—farther if your enemy could fly—and Aleon simply did not know what he would do when he encountered the dragon again. For a long time he sat staring at the stars, trying to recall all he had heard about dragons in those bedtime stories. At the time he had learned to fight, the chance of his encountering a dragon had not seemed great. The instructions given by the scarred and half-blind prior for fighting large beasts had dealt mostly with elephants, not dragons. Now he hoped to remember some forgotten comment by that prior that would tell him how to slay a huge monster that could fly.
Judging by its size, Aleon guessed the dragon was quite old. Being red, it was also likely to be capable of breathing fire. If his life was not at stake Aleon could have laughed. It was so absurd to be sitting, calmly trying to remember how to fight a beast that surely didn't exist. And yet it did, so perhaps the legends and fairy stories were true. A giant dragon was ancient, and a red one breathed fire. Knowing that, Aleon wondered why it had not simply engulfed him in flame as he rode toward it, or at least after he had struck it with his sword. Perhaps the very size and advanced age of the creature meant its reflexes were proportionally slow. He'd never heard that in any of the tales, but there might be a chance.
Then there was the matter of language. In the legends most dragons spoke at least some of the languages men could pronounce. Should he have stopped to parlay with the beast? How do you parlay with a dragon? He'd have felt foolish threatening such a massive opponent, yet what else was there to say? Leave and I'll not slay you? He'd never heard of a dragon laughing, but suspected that bold approach would give him the opportunity to hear one.
Aleon searched his memory and his imagination for some way other to fight the monster. His nursemaid always stressed that dragons were incredibly greedy. Perhaps he could offer it some treasure to depart and leave his lands alone? The problem with that plan was simple. He was a Templar, sworn to poverty. His entire personal wealth consisted of his tack, two gold coins and fifteen silver pennies. Aleon concluded dismally he didn't have any treasure a dragon might want.
No, the Templar resolved with a long sigh, they would battle to the death. Which of them was likely to win was apparent. Aleon cringed at the thought of dying. Still, there really was no other choice. He was a Knight Guardian of the Temple of Jerusalem and they did not negotiate with evil. They destroyed it.
But how did you destroy something so large and powerful? He hadn't found an answer when exhaustion allowed him a few hours of fitful sleep.
For three days Aleon stalked the dragon. Cautiously he watched from hilltops as the great reptile returned each evening, circled over the nearby valleys, and then disappeared into the mountains beyond. Several times the knight was sure the dragon saw him, but it seemed to pay no attention. He saw no choice and each morning moved in the direction he had last seen the dragon fly. Fortunately it flew straight toward the same point each evening.
After three more cold, hungry days Aleon had spotted its lair. It was late one afternoon with a cloudless sky that almost glowed blue as the knight climbed higher, and saw the great beast fly into a gap in the side of a shattered mountain. The next morning the young knight crouched low under a spur of rock and watched the dragon leave its cave and fly away. He scrambled among the boulders toward the opening.
The entrance to the dragon's cave was halfway up a sheer stone wall. The stone around it was black and sharp edged. Long ago this part of the mountain had been the inside of a volcano. The cave itself, though Aleon neither knew nor cared, had been formed when a massive bubble of sulphurous gases had burst from within the hardening rock.
Feeling exposed and vulnerable, Aleon glanced constantly over his shoulder as he crept along the valley floor toward the gaping entrance. Even ten body lengths below the dark opening he could smell the dragon's scent. A scorched spot on the already black rock showed where someone or something had paid the ultimate price for disturbing the huge monster.
Finding the lair gave Aleon a sense of accomplishment . . . for about ten heartbeats. Then he realized that though he knew where to find the dragon, he still had to find a way to kill it.
Aleon was thirsty. He had been working under the hot sun for most of the day and his waterskin had been emptied early. Still, he didn't dare stop even to rest. Exposed and unarmored on the gentle plateau a spear's flight above the monster's cave, every moment increased his danger. The dragon had flown off at first light. The red wings glinted brightly in the morning sunlight. He'd been observing the lair from above now for three days. Despite the fear it evoked in his belly, the knight always watched as the beast soared into the air. It was a magnificent sight few men saw and lived to tell about. He hoped to do more than that. All depended on his present efforts. He returned to the shoulder-high boulder he had levered from its bed in the sparkling dust.
The beast was most likely off to pilfer cattle from another farmer's field, a farmer who depended on Aleon to fulfill his oath and protect him. The thought encouraged Aleon to push harder as he used his staff to lever the huge stone a few inches closer to the edge of the cliff. The boulder was almost round and formed of a grey stone speckled with minute red and blue spots. Aleon had grown closely familiar with the rock that had been the focus of his last two days' efforts.
After studying the glistening stone face that held the lair, Aleon had reluctantly concluded there was no way to climb it without special tools he hadn't brought. But he had noticed that high above the entrance the mountain's side seemed to recede. It had taken him nearly an entire day to find a route up the other face of the mountain. There he had found a broad plateau strewn with rocks. The last two days had been a nerve stretching combination of hiding in shadows or crevices whenever he saw any movement in the sky and straining to roll the massive rock toward the edge.
Finally the boulder was in place. For the last three evenings he had gathered his courage and watched the dragon's return. It had always flown back to the lair just before sunset. On the first night Aleon had speculated that the creature might not see well in the dark and maybe he should use a rope to enter and slay it at night. But the fact remained that once in the cave, he had no route of escape and such a combat would pit his sword against the dragon's claws and teeth. He wasn't there to fight the dragon and die. He was there to destroy the monster and five. He needed to devise some other stratagem: hence, the boulder to fall from above.
If it stayed true to habit there would be some time before the dragon returned. Aleon leaned wearily against the massive rock. A gentle wind descending the mountain cooled his skin. He tried to relax. His legs and arms shook from the effort he had demanded of them. His hands were blistered and torn. Even with the use of a stout pole, he had barely been able to move the large boulder. Several times he'd considered using one that was smaller and easier to get into position, but anything smaller was unlikely to seriously hurt a creature as large as this dragon.
Settling in the shade on one side of the boulder, Aleon rested. There was little left to do. He could get back into his armor, but the thought of even that much effort brought an involuntary groan. He was tired, hungry, and still not sure his plan would work. But just before sunset he would find out.
Crouching on the edge of the cliff over the entrance to the dragon's cave, Aleon was able to see the great beast returning against the darkening sky. Cautiously but quickly, he hurri
ed behind the boulder and braced himself against the pole. The knight had wedged a smaller, knee-high rock behind the pole and now forced the thick branch under the boulder itself. With this improvised lever he would be able to send the boulder plummeting off the cliff's edge.
Looking around the large rock, Aleon saw the dragon was following the same pattern that he had observed before. Its silhouette increased in size until Aleon realized how overwhelmingly massive his opponent was. For a brief instant he worried that the monster might notice the large rock that had not sat above its cave that morning, but decided that there was nothing he could do but accept that risk. The knight resisted the urge to crouch down and hide. He had to launch the boulder at just the right moment, or his attack would fail. As the monster approached the black wall that held its cave, it threw its lower legs forward. This forced the wings flat and they acted like sails to rapidly slow its flight. Aleon had seen this maneuver before and expected it. He knew what would follow. In a roar of air driven ahead of its great red wings, it would virtually stop in midair. Then barely moving, the dragon would regain its normal flying position and enter the cave. It was a spectacular show that he'd watched fascinated the two preceding evenings.
All the Templar had to do was time the fall of the rock so that it struck the monster's head while it hovered below him. The fall wasn't far, but the heavy stone should strike with enough force to kill or, at the least, stun the dragon. If stunned, Aleon had a rope he would use to scale down the cliff and finish the kill with his sword. It was not sporting, but in a sporting fight he would lose.
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