Damsel Knight

by Sam Austin

  That's what the red dragon's eyes look like, black vacuums reaching out to consume her. She feels the world tilt beneath her feet, filled with an overwhelming desire to walk toward the creature.

  Then the dragon draws back its head, puffing out its chest like a bullfrog. It opens gleaming jaws to reveal a distant glow in the back of its throat. Bonnie's eyes widen and she throws herself back on the other side of the pillar, drawing Neven close to her side.

  Flames wrap around them in a torrent of heat and noise. Bonnie feels her skin prickle until it sears with pain. She closes her eyes to the blue and red flames licking past the edges of the pillar either side of them. She tries to ignore the stone boiling against her back.

  When it stops Neven is crouching by her side, tucked behind his shield with his face screwed up like he's trying not to cry. She grabs his arm, cursing herself for bringing her father's sword and not the shield all those years ago. Her father always taught her that on the battlefield, when it came down to it, the shield was a far more important weapon than a sword. Then again, he'd been speaking of battles against men at the time. She doubts he ever thought she'd fight a dragon.

  She pulls him behind another pillar just in time as another barrage of fire surrounds them. The cow stands one pillar to their left. It looks up at them, disinterest in its vacant eyes.

  "How much fire can a dragon breathe before it runs out?" Bonnie yells over the roaring flames.

  "I don't know!" Neven shouts back. "You're the one who decided to come here! You should know!"

  "I didn't think it would be like this!" Bonnie moves her helmet from her eyes. It's hot to the touch.

  "What? You thought it'd roll over and let you kill it?" He glares at her. "You might want to consider learning a little about dragons before you decide to face one down in a battle to the death!"

  "You didn't have to come!" Then she pauses, because suddenly her voice is too loud, the room is too quiet. It hits her, the flames have stopped.

  A face as tall as a house lunges into view on Neven's side of the pillar. He freezes, not even bothering to raise his shield. red scaled lips draw back, revealing jagged teeth as long as a man's arm.

  Then Neven turns his head over his shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. He drops the shield and raises his arms. The metal contraptions around his arms whir, making a high pitched whine that sounds a little like Jack's attempts to sing.

  The dragon narrows its eyes at the metal shooters, giant head cocking to one side like a puppy's. Even the cow looks over to them.

  The whine gets higher and higher until it's all Bonnie can do to not put her hands over her ears. Then with a magnificent bang that pushes Neven back a foot, several metal balls blast out of the shooters. And land harmlessly at the dragon's feet.

  The dragon sniffs them, then starts to growl deep in its throat.

  Without thinking, Bonnie shoves Neven aside. She raises her sword, but it looks so insignificant when faced with row upon row of gleaming teeth.

  Her arm shakes. This is my duty, she tells herself. This is the only way to make things right. This is the only way I'll become a knight. This is the only way I'll be anything other than a woman whose sole worth is determined by who she marries. This is the only way to be me.

  With a fierce cry she runs the short distance to the dragon, her sword swung high over her head. Somewhere behind her she hears Neven shout.

  The dragon huffs, the same way you would if a stray hair happened to fall in your face. The sudden gust of foul smelling wind knocks Bonnie off her feet. She hits the stone floor hard, knocking her sword from her hand. The helmet bounces off her head and goes clattering off into the dragon's castle.

  She looks for the sword but can't find it. She catches a glimpse of Neven standing horror struck metres away. She's defenceless. This is it. No more running away from the fact that this was a terrible plan. No more running from the fact that she's just a woman playing at being a man. Who was she kidding thinking she could do this when real men had failed? She's just a girl. Weak. Nothing more.

  Warm breath rolls over her. She closes her eyes as those rows of sharp teeth descend toward her.

  She tenses in anticipation of the pain, but nothing happens. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Nothing but soft waves of warm breath that stinks of rotting meat.

  She cracks open her eyes.

  The dragon hovers over her. Its snout is inches from her face. Black eyes stare down at her, and they don't look as lifeless as they did a moment before. She imagines she sees something like surprise sparking in those wide eyes.

  Slowly Bonnie gets to her feet, but the dragon still doesn't move. It's frozen in place, its warm breath wafting over her, making the shorn ends of her blond hair sway. Those giant eyes follow her movements carefully, never leaving her face. Almost like it recognises her.

  ***

  Not daring to move, Bonnie scans the ground around her for the sword. Whatever has frozen the dragon in place, there's no guarantee how long it'll last. This is her chance to kill the creature. Maybe the only chance she'll ever get.

  "Neven," she hisses behind her. "Help me find my sword."

  There's an awkward shuffling sound as Neven unfreezes, casting dirt and rubble aside to look for the weapon. She doesn't turn around, scared that if she turns her back on the dragon it will be the last thing she ever does. It's so close, close enough to touch if she were to reach out. She clenches her fist, forcing down the urge to run a hand over the hard scales of its snout.

  "Sword. Here," Neven gasps, sounding breathless. Bonnie feels cold metal placed into her hand.

  The sword feels heavier than she remembers it ever feeling before. Its eyes are too far away to reach in its house sized head. Its mouth is closed. She'll have to drive the sword in under its chin, and hope the scales are soft enough, and the sword long enough for the blow to be fatal.

  She swallows, and lifts the sword in both hands. She'll have to be quick. One quick movement to duck under the creatures chin, another to plunge the sword up into the soft spot under its jaw. Its head is so big that she doubts even a straight blow up would reach the brain, but if she angles it back toward the throat she might have a chance of wounding something vital.

  And if she fails, well then, she won't have a long time to worry about it. She's a little girl facing down a dragon the size of a hill. It could snap her in two with a flick of a claw. And if she makes it angry then it won't hesitate.

  But there's something strange here, because it's not supposed to be hesitating now. It's supposed to be breathing fire, ripping her limb from limb, chomping her up in that cave of a mouth. Instead it stares down at her with dark eyes that make her heart clench. Those dark eyes that looked up at her on that day years ago.

  The day her parents died.

  The metal of the sword feels slick in her hands. Reaching back to that day she tries to find the anger she thought she'd feel in this moment. She tries to remember her father shouting, his gentle voice angry. Tries to remember him dead on the floor, drenched in blood. She's prepared for this day since she was ten years old. Sometimes the anger would consume her so much she was afraid there would be nothing left of her, but now that she needs it, the anger falls away.

  Instead her mind drifts back to that box, left on a chair as her parents argue outside. Her, five summers old and curious. Nothing in her mind of blood and death. Monsters lived only in stories, and vengeance was unknown to her.

  Her heart hammers loud in her ears, and her arms shake so badly the sword wavers. Instantly she's furious with herself. She should be able to do this. Her father killed dragons all over the border. It was the dream of every boy and man to kill a dragon, it should be her dream too. To kill the dragon, pay her debt to her parents, and present proof of the dragon's death to the King in exchange for knighthood.

  Killing this dragon has been in her thoughts for the past four years. How, when she's so close can she change her mind? Then it hits her: pity. Her stomach churns in disgust. Sta
nding here, looking into the eyes of the creature that she should hate, part of her actually feels sorry for it.

  No. Bonnie grits her teeth, screws her eyes shut. Strong. She has to be strong. Only weak women would let such sentimentality cloud their mind. She has to choose. Will she be a weak minded slave of a wife, or a strong knight like her father?

  She spins, putting her whole body behind the swords lunge. It's a graceful movement halfway between his father's swordsmanship and her mother's ballroom dancing. There's a cool satisfaction knowing that her mother's desperate attempts to make her more of a woman help now to make her a man.

  Falling into a crouch under the animal's giant chin she flows the momentum upward, aiming her sword at the pale red patch of scales directly above her. The tip of the sword slides between two scales. There's resistance, and then it jerks upward into soft flesh. Her muscles burn, sweat dripping into her eyes with the effort. Warm blood runs down the blade, washing over her hands, soaking the sleeves of her tunic.

  So much blood. She stops, shaking. The dragon's breath comes in slow even rhythms above her. Its blood pours over her, soaking through her clothes to the skin, but it doesn't even twitch.

  There's a clang of metal hitting stone floor, and she realises she's dropped the sword. Numbly she looks down at what little she can see of herself under the shadow of the dragon's chin. Blood shines slickly over her arms and down the front of her clothes.

  She can't do this. She can't.

  Slowly she raises a blood coated hand, places her palm on the scales in front of her. They're warm and smooth under her skin, just like she remembers. The dragon's heart beats, powerful under its scaled armour. It vibrates down her arm, steady, contrasting with the rapid beating of her own heart. Above her the animal lets out a rumbling sound that shakes her very bones. It doesn't sound aggressive. It sounds almost like he's purring.

  "Bonnie," Neven hisses behind her.

  She jumps, coming back to her senses with a jolt. Snatching up the sword she backs up until she's away from the dragon, next to the pillar Neven stands by. The dragon doesn't move, still staring at her.

  Neven's eyes widen when he sees the blood, but Bonnie shakes her head. "It's a nick at best."

  Neven has the stone pillar between him and the dragon, his shield gripped in one hand. He glances between her and the dragon, face pale. "Why didn't you kill it?" He gestures a hand toward the crouching dragon. "You're never going to get a better chance than this. It's under some kind of spell or something."

  "I can't Neven. I…" Her heart hammers in her chest, tongue searching for some explanation that won't make her sound as weak as she feels. "I want to earn my knighthood, not get it on some kind of fluke because a spell stopped it fighting back. It wouldn't be honourable to kill him when he's like this."

  Neven presses his lips together, looking unconvinced. "I don't think you need to worry about it having a fair fight when it's the size of a castle!"

  Bonnie shakes her head, eyes locked on the beautiful, horrible creature that towers over them both. She should hate him. Why can't she bring herself to hate him? She's been planning this day for years, and now he's right where she needs him, she can't do it. She can't bring herself to kill him while he's helpless. "We take him back to the King," she says. "We get him to break the spell, then I avenge my parents in an honourable fight. My father would expect no less."

  "Brilliant," Neven says, staying his side of the pillar. "I'll just scoot over in the boat to fit it in. I'm sure Jack won't mind."

  "We'll find a way," Bonnie says. She keeps the sword handle clenched tightly in a fist, and one eye on the dragon. Whatever magic is affecting the beast, she knows it could break at any moment. She wonders if she'll still feel the same way about wanting it to fight back when it's drowning them with fire. She wonders if whatever sentimentality stalled her hand before will show up again, even when she's defending her life. "We have to."

  Chapter 6

  "Do you get the feeling we're forgetting something?" Bonnie asks as they skirt around the field of bones. The dragon stands between them and the castle, its black eyes wide and curious.

  "Your senses," Neven says without hesitation. He leans back, putting all his weedy strength into tugging at the makeshift halter around the zombie cow's head. It stares at him vacantly, chewing its cud. "But I think you lost those a long time ago."

  Bonnie uses the flat of her sword to tap the cow's hind end, and it finally walks forward again. However magic brought it into the world, it didn't include any wits. It manages a shambling monotonous walk once it gets the momentum, but all it takes is a stone in the wrong place, or dips and humps in the terrain and it freezes.

  She thinks of the long path of hills and slopes she'd traversed to get here and sighs. This wouldn't be an easy journey, but she could think of no other way to get the dragon to follow them.

  "It's not working," Neven says, frustration burning in his voice. "How are we going to get back to the boat in time, if your stupid dragon won't come?"

  She can hear the answer he wants behind the words. We can't, so leave him here. Anger may have pushed away most of his fear, but that doesn't mean he wants the dragon to come with them. He knows just the same as she does, that whatever is stopping the dragon from harming them is a spell, and spells can be broken.

  "Here dragon, dragon, dragon," she says instead, fighting against the heat that rushes to her cheeks. At least it's only Neven she's making a fool of herself in front of. "Come get the nice zombie cow."

  "Nice side of beef!" Neven calls out in the kind of voice sellers use at the market. "As fresh as you can get it!"

  The dragon moves a giant foot, making the pile of charred bones clatter with the impact. For a moment she thinks that's it, then he makes another step, closing the distance between them. The footsteps are giant, but still manage to look shuffling compared to its size. Every time a clawed foot comes down the cow is the only one not to jump.

  One moment he is far away, the next he towers over them, blocking out the sunlight. Her heart skitters in her chest like a frightened animal as his giant head descends toward them, its lethal smile spread wide.

  She scrabbles for her sword at the same time Neven squeaks, dropping the cow's halter. Then the head is flying upward again, the cow gazing nonchalantly from between its jaws.

  "My rope!" Neven says in a voice somewhere between hysterical and indignant.

  A moment later there's a stomach turning crunch of bone, along with the wet ripping of tissue. A splash of blood and stringy tissue sprays all around them. The cow's severed head falls to the ground, bounces twice, then rolls to rest at Neven's feet. The halter is still attached.

  "Thanks. I think." Neven stares down at the cow's head with its roughly torn neck. His tanned skin takes on a shade of grey, then decides to add a splash of green.

  The cow's dull eye rolls toward him and blinks.

  Neven screams at the same time Bonnie jumps. Both move back several hasty steps.

  "That's it!" Neven shouts, a spray of red exiting his mouth with the words. His face and clothes are covered with it, and several chunks of flesh stick to the folds of his tunic. "I'm done! You've done some pretty stupid things Bonnie, but this one takes the biscuit. What made you think you can kill it? It's as big as a castle, and even if it weren't, you're a maid and I'm a farmer's son. You should be home with your new husband, and I should be training to be a soldier. Neither of us is right for this kind of thing."

  Bonnie shakes her head stubbornly. "Ness said-"

  "Ness is as pigheaded as they come, but he wouldn't actually try to kill a dragon. Or if he did come, he'd turn right around once his feet hit the shore and be happier for it. I never thought I'd say this, but he's got more sense than you. This is knight's work, and the work of royal sorts who have hours to waste learning how. The ones with great big manly beards and armour with enough shine to blind their enemies. Not an orphan girl and some boy like me."

  "My father was a kn
ight," Bonnie says, her blood starting to boil. "The greatest dragon slayer the circle ever saw. They recruited him from beyond the barrier itself because he was so good at it. I'm his blood."

  "You're a girl!" Neven shouts. "It should be me protecting you. Instead you run off and try to kill dragons, then end up bringing them back as pets! Which is beyond stupid because by all rights you should be dead now. It's a dragon, Bonnie. You know the tales. You heard Jack. Dragons kill. That's all they do. I don't know what spell caused it to stop, but the moment it ends we're both dead. You know that."

  He's right. That's the worst thing. She knows he's right. Tears choke at her throat. She blinks, and takes a deep breath to chase them away before she speaks. "What would you have me do?"

  "Leave it," Neven says firmly. "Knighthood, riches, even the kingdom isn't worth your life. If we hurry we might still make the boat. Leave it here with its castle, and its-"

  He breaks off, mouth gaping open and closed like a fish.

  "Neven. What is it?" She glances at the dragon, but the massive beast is doing nothing more than crouching on the grass, lapping blood from its claws like a giant cat.

  He turns back to her, eyes sparkling. "I think we're the only people to storm a castle to kill a dragon, and forget to rescue the princess."

  ***

  The tower seems to go on forever. The rough stones rub her fingers raw before she's halfway up. It could be worse, she tells herself. The tower was made for a difficult climb, but not an impossible one. The walls could be smooth as silk. Instead they jut out at odd angles from each other, providing handholds.

  Still, by the time she reaches the top her skin is covered in sweat.

  She levers herself onto the ledge, gasping. She might have been the best climber in their village, excepting for Mr Moore whose job it was to fix the roofs, but climbing a tower is a lot different than climbing a tree. Her arms and legs feel like jelly. How did the King expect anyone to slay a dragon the size of a castle, then climb this thing? Who would go through that much effort for a wife?