Dragon In The Needles

by Bruce Leslie

  “Get rid of my turnip patch! Never!” Wendy crossed her arms again. “Maybe I want Martin to run the place.”

  The Lump gasped. “Marty? That’s hog totter! It takes him three tries before he can put his boots on the proper feet!” He felt the muscles in his jaws tighten.

  “Well, he appreciates mashed turnips.” Wendy turned her head away from him. “Anyway, it’s my tavern, and it will be for a good long while.”

  The Lump’s stomach soured at the mention of mashed turnips. He shifted his weight from his right hip to his left, and back again. He felt the straw shift beneath him. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “Why did he do it? Silas, I mean, why did he fight the dragon?”

  Wendy’s head snapped back in the Lump’s direction. “You will call him father!” Her voice softened. “He did it because he was able to, he couldn’t stand idly by…” A grin crept across Wendy’s face. “…and he had a bit of a temper.”

  The Lump felt his brow furrow. “But a dragon? He had a son…”

  Wendy held her finger up in the air again. “That’s why he had to face the dragon.” Wendy lowered her finger. “Because he had a son.”

  The Lump felt his eyes squint as he looked down at his straw bed. “That makes no sense.” He opened his eyes wide again and looked at Wendy.

  “It made absolute sense.” Wendy gave the Lump a short, brisk nod of her head. “If he didn’t stop the dragon at Molgadon, it would have eventually made its way to Windthorne, and Silverport, and Steeplecross, and all of Aardland.” She looked her nephew in the eye. “Maybe even the whole of the Great Egg.”

  “Or maybe some other dolt would have poked him in the eye.” The Lump raised his finger and pointed to his eye. “So, how exactly did it happen?” He lowered his hand back to the coarse, straw mattress.

  “You’ve never been willing to listen to the story before, why now?” Wendy raised the corners of her mouth into a small grin. “Are you looking for a strategy to deal with a dragon?”

  The Lump leaned back and turned his eyes away from her. “Not quite, It’s more the opposite.” He moved his eyes back in her direction. “I just need a reminder of what happens to numb-noggins who fight dragons.” He raised his legs onto the bed and reclined. He listened as Wendy began the story he had never before let her finish.

  “About thirteen years ago, in North Aardland, north of the Oxhorn, something stirred the dragon.” Wendy put her hands on her lap and leaned back. “Nobody was quite sure what happened, or where it came from.” She pointed at her ear. “There were tales grandmothers told about dragons stalking the north woods before the Great War, but nobody alive had ever seen one, much less dealt with one.” She dropped her hand back onto her lap.

  “Maybe it was just a cow with a skin condition.” The Lump closed his eyes.

  “Don’t you make light of my story, this is my sister’s life.” Wendy clapped her hands at him.

  The Lump snapped his eyes open. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “They called him Red Line, because of the jagged red stripes that ran down his back, just under a set of shriveled wings. Those lines ran down the entire length of his long tail until they met at the tip.” Wendy traced a jagged path in the air with the index fingers of both her hands. “Well, soon after he stirred, he nested on the north bank of the river, the Oxhorn.” She lowered her hands back to her lap. “People needed to draw water from the river, so they would lure the dragon away with a sheep, or a goat.” Wendy tugged at an invisible rope with her hands.

  “All that trouble for water? Imagine what they would have done for ale.” The Lump felt his lips curl into a smile.

  Wendy pointed a chastising finger at him, and continued her story. “Eventually, Old Red Line, he changed the rules of the deal. He decided it was better to eat the shepherd than the sheep.” She let her hand rest back in her lap. “He seemed to get a taste for people, or maybe he enjoyed the sport. He continued to take one person a day, until the north river folk were in a panic.”

  “When are the river folk not in a panic?” The Lump felt his eyes roll up toward the ceiling. “If they’re not saying they need rain, they’re crying that the rains will bring a flood.”

  “The river folk have a tough lot in life,” Wendy answered, then continued her story. “They sought refuge in Molgadon, and King Rondal let them in the city. But Red Line, he was more clever than people knew.”

  The Lump lowered his eyes from the ceiling and looked at her. “I’d say Tilley is a sight more clever than the folks in Molgadon.”

  Wendy grabbed the spoon from the empty bowl in her lap and shook it at him. “I will teach you respect! Now be quiet.” She placed the spoon back in the bowl. “Red Line began a watch on the north bank, staring across the water at Molgadon.” She moved the bowl and spoon from her lap to the stable floor. “The King stationed fifty men-at-arms on the south bank of the river, all with powerful two handed broad swords.” She shook her head slowly. “When your father heard, well, he said that a group of fifty of the King’s idiots were just fifty times the sport for the dragon.”

  “Now that sounds like wisdom!” The Lump felt bold, now that the spoon was out of Wendy’s reach.

  “Well,” said Wendy, “he set out to Molgadon on his horse. He was so small that folks said he could ride as fast as the wind.” Wendy held imaginary reins in her hands and rocked back and forth on the crate. “That’s why they called him the swift after all.” She stopped rocking, and lowered her hands back onto her lap. “He got to the city as the dragon was swimming across the river.” She paused, and cleared her throat. “I wasn’t there, of course, but for two years it was the talk of Windthorne.”

  “Oh! The talk of Windthorne! It must be true.” The Lump raised his hands and put them behind his head.

  Wendy made a fist and shook it at him. “The story goes that the dragon burst up from the water and grabbed one of the men-at-arms in its jaws.” Wendy unclenched her fist. “At the sight of this, most of the men ran for the walls of the city. The few who remained found their swords useless.” Wendy held both of her hands grasping a non-existent sword. “Striking the dragon was like striking stone.” She lowered her hands. “Then Silas arrived, and went for the dragon, but not straight for him. He moved side to side, to and fro, dodging great spurts of the thick poison the dragon spat at him.” Wendy shifted from side to side on her seat. “When he was in striking distance of the beast, he would just slap it with his hands, like one might strike a stubborn ox to get it to move.” She slapped the straw bed with an abrupt swat.

  The Lump bolted up. “Careful! You’ll scare Tilley.”

  She moved her finger back and forth in wide arcs in the air. “He kept moving back and forth, jumping all around.” She let her hand rest. “People say that watching him was like watching a grasshopper on the first day of summer, going everywhere, but staying nowhere.” She cleared her throat again, then continued. “Finally, the dragon was harassed out of holding his ground, and started to strike out at your father with its jaws.” She grabbed at the air with her right hand. “Then, as Silas was leaping over the dragon’s head the way children leap over a fence post, the beast’s teeth caught the small part of his leg.” She grabbed the lower part of her own leg through her thick dress. “The story is, that the dragon opened its eyes wide, to see the struggle and fear in its victim.” Wendy leaned in close to him. “That is when your father thrust his sword.” She pointed at the Lump’s right hip. “That same drab, stunted sword you carry, right into Red Line’s eye.” She crossed her hands on her lap once more and leaned back.

  “You’d think he would have seen it coming.” The Lump held in his laughter.

  Wendy did not acknowledge the comment. “Folks in Molgadon said the noise the dragon made haunted their dreams for months. The dragon released its grasp on Silas and headed north at a blinding speed.” Wendy put her elbows on her knees and leaned her chin forward onto her hands. “The dragon was never seen in Aardland again, your father saved Molgad
on.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “It’s sad, though. Dragons carry plague, and Red Line was no exception. Your father’s bite festered. He told Meri to leave, to come back here to Windthorne and take care of you.”

  “How I wish she had.” The Lump took a long breath in, and let it out.

  “How I wish she had.” Wendy took her own deep breath in and out. “But Meri wouldn’t hear it. When she left she knew she might never come back, she made me promise to treat you like my own son.”

  “So, that’s why you let me dig your turnips.” The Lump smiled, being sure to show his teeth.

  “I let you do what you choose, but you have to do something.” Wendy’s finger pointed at him again.

  “I’d rather dig potatoes.” The Lump felt his teeth grinding together.

  “Forget potatoes, back to your mother.” Wendy shoved a loose strand of brown and grey hair back into the knot atop her head. “I suspect if the need was there, she would have tackled that dragon herself.” Wendy smiled and looked toward the stable ceiling. “Imagine that, my Meri, the matron of Windthorne, never so much as swatted a fly in her life. She was ready to tackle a dragon.” Wendy lowered her gaze back to the Lump. “Well, the plague that festered in your father’s leg, it spread to Meri as she cleaned and dressed the wound. After three days they had both succumbed to the vile sickness.” Wendy stood up from her crate. “Their bodies were burned well outside the city. They wouldn’t even send my sister back to me for a proper burial, too afraid the plague might spread.”

  “A sorry sight,” said the Lump, “saved the city, and not so much as a marker to put flowers on.”

  “A sorry sight indeed, but I know they would do it all again, a hundred times if need be.” Wendy bent over and picked the bowl and spoon up from the floor.

  “Nothing more foolish than being a hero.” The Lump raised both his arms and yawned. “Nothing but the plague to show for it.”

  Wendy walked toward the door, stopped, and turned back to him. “So, are you sure you won’t be riding north tomorrow? It wouldn’t hurt to at least see them safely to the edge of Aardland.” She put her right hand on her hip, holding the bowl and spoon in the left. “The girl seems sharp as a dagger. But that fellow... I’m not sure if he’ll be a sail or an anchor.” She put her hand on the front of her apron. “He doesn’t seem to be nearly as polished as that ridiculous armor he wears.”

  “I won’t be going north.” The Lump reclined on his bed, the straw felt like a cloud. “My leg won’t be a snack for Old Red Eye.”

  “It’s Red Line!” Wendy snapped. “Well, if you’re staying here, you’d better be up early, you need to set the snares.” She opened the door and stood in the threshold. “We’re almost out of rabbit, and I’ll not start serving mouse meat in my stew.” She closed the door with a loud thud.

  4: Morning Ruckus

  The Lump awoke to the sound of a noisy crowd outside the stable. He closed his eyes tightly and cupped his hands over his ears. He could still hear the din beyond the heavy, oaken doors. It sounded like a livestock auction, except one in which the prize is awarded to the loudest bidder rather than the highest. All the voices melded into a continuous roar, save for one. A high-pitched voice cut through the clamor like the blade of an oar through water. That girl! What is she doing now?

  The Lump threw off the rough spun cloth that he used as a blanket. He sat up, adjusted his tunic, and pulled on his breeches. He stuffed his oversized feet into his boots and rose. There was no time for his vest and cap, nor to run a hand through his unruly mop of hair. He flung open the stable door and went out onto the dirt path that passed by the Tavern.

  “There he is!” Meena pointed her open hand in his direction. She stood atop a thick log with the crowd forming a semicircle around her. “There he is, your hero!”

  The Lump squinted his eyes against the onslaught of the morning sun. His head was aching and his stomach was empty. “Now, what is this all about?”

  Meena stepped down from her wooden perch and walked over to him. She held her arms wide in his direction, as if she were presenting a prize turnip at the market. “Here is the man that bested the brave and honorable Flynn Flint of Silverport in single combat!”

  The Lump felt his fingernails digging in to his palms. He had to loosen the taut muscles in his jaws to speak. “Now stop this—”

  Meena did not let him finish his words. “With no other challengers in the realm, he is the one, true, undisputed Hero of Aardland!”

  The Lump forced his eyes open, despite the burning from the abundant morning light. He saw Flynn on a well groomed, bay stallion that lifted him above the crowd. The horse had a blue blanket draped over its flanks. There were red flowers embroidered on the blanket that matched those on Flynn’s blue tunic. Fastened above the blanket was an ornate, leather saddle with silver stirrups. The man mounted on the saddle was wearing his sword and breastplate, but his ill fitting helmet was missing. He gripped the reins in his right hand with white knuckles.

  Flynn shifted on his saddle, sat up straight, then spoke. “It is true. Both by birthright, and by right of combat, this man is your hero.” Flynn’s left hand gripped the hilt of his sword, still in its scabbard. “He has ordered me to go north with the girl so that he may remain here.”

  The Lump cleared his throat and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. “I haven’t even had my—”

  Meena cut his sentence short again. “I implored him to go with me, north to the Needles, to save my people!”

  How can someone so small be so loud? The Lump felt the cords in his throat vibrate as he shouted. “Now hold on, let me speak!”

  “Your actions speak louder than your shouts, hero.” Meena would not relent. “When told of the woes of the Common Folk, you could not be swayed!” She was now looking directly into his eyes with a small, wry smile on her face. “You dare not abandon the folk in Windthorne! How noble your dedication to relieve them of their burdens.” She turned her gaze back to the crowd. “So now, good people, let the hero hear of your sorrows!”

  A man with thick, brown hair falling over tiny, close set eyes shouted. “My wife’s brother borrowed my spade and won’t return it! Go get it back!”

  The Lump tilted his head as he eyed the man. He was unfamiliar. “Who are you? Do you live in Windthorne?”

  “No, I was on my way to the market in Molgadon. I heard the Ruckus and stopped to see what was happening.” The stranger had a gray sack slung over his shoulder. “I live in Effingham, just hauling fresh ginger root. You ever try digging ginger root without a spade?”

  The Lump felt his face growing hot, his chest tighter with each breath. “Go get your own ox-sniffing spade! For all I know, you took it from him first.” He saw the man’s face contort into a frown.

  A man with a ring of hair around the back of his head, but only bare flesh on top, held his hands up to either side of his mouth and shouted. “My wife’s mum came to visit for a week, and she’s been here for six!”

  The bald man had barely finished speaking when a short, round woman with a faded, yellow scarf around her head pushed past him. “My husband sleeps until midday - go wake him up now!”

  The Lump felt pressure behind his eyes, as if powerful thumbs were behind them pushing out.

  A tall, thin woman carrying a bundle of sticks stepped forward, using her sharp elbows to move through the mass of people. “My children refuse to wash!”

  Next, a short, pear shaped man with several missing teeth began hopping up and down, waving his hand. “My horse is afraid of butterflies!” He stumbled after landing from a hop.

  The Lump closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against them to battle the pressure from behind.

  Martin was at the edge of the crowd nearest the Tavern. He had a long piece of yellow straw between his teeth. “My barn has a draft!” The man ran his hand over his sparse, white hair.

  “Your feather-loving head has a draft, Marty!” The Lump startled himsel
f with the loudness of his shout. “I already told you I would fix your barn!” His roar quieted the crowd. He pulled his hands from his face and stepped forward. He turned to the lady in the yellow scarf. “Your husband sleeps late? Throw a bucket of water on him!” He shifted his gaze to the lady with the sticks. “And you, lady, children are supposed to be dirty aren’t they? I…I really don’t know much about the little ones.” He then looked at the man with the missing teeth, whose near fall seemed to have stopped his hopping. “And you, you…mumblecrust! If your horse is afraid of butterflies…I don’t know, uh, I suppose you can get a goat!”

  The Lump heard the crowd erupt into a loud barrage of requests. The people’s grievances crashed down on him like drops of rain from a violent summer storm. My garden…the stream…nettles…snakes…flies…turnips… The crowd’s words all mixed together making a nonsensical soup in his ears. He put his hands on both sides of his head to make sure it was still there.

  He stepped back and leaned in close to Meena. “Why you, you snake, you devil, you…ruddy headed daughter of a knock-kneed muskrat!” He took a long, slow deep breath. “What did you go and do this for?” He let his hands drop from his head.

  Meena crossed her arms. Her smile grew broad. “If you don’t want to be responsible for the dragon, feel free to stay here.” She turned her gaze from the Lump to the gathered crowd. “It sounds as if they truly do have much need of their hero.” She looked back at him and winked her green, left eye.

  Wendy came out of The Turnip Bowl holding a broom in both hands and charged into the crowd with bared teeth. “If you’re not coming in to buy a morning meal then go about your business!” She swatted at the mob indiscriminately. “You’ll scare off folks with good coin to spend!”

  The crowd dissipated, leaving only Meena, the mounted Flynn, Wendy, and the Lump on the patch of dirt.

  “That was a valiant sortie, Wendy.” The Lump felt his breathing grow easier with the crowd’s dismissal. “Any chance you’ll go fight the dragon?” He gave Wendy a frown.