by Bruce Leslie
The King brought a hand to his chin. “And where is this book?”
“It’s…” Meena’s lips twitched, and she looked down at the ground. “It is gone.”
“Most unfortunate.” The King walked back to the dragon. “We could use a volume like that in the castle’s library.”
The dragon lay as motionless as a stone. The only sign of life was its soft breathing, slight enough to escape all but the most observant eyes.
The King resumed his pose, and the artist sketched.
The Lump approached the King after the sketch was complete. He asked, “So you’re calling off the invasion?”
The King handed the longsword back to the herald. “Oh, yes.” He waved a hand. “The war is off.” He gestured toward the scaly beast draped across the road. “We must plan celebrations for my defeat of the dragon.”
The Lump squinted one eye and swallowed. “Yep, you sure did a good job of defeatin’ it.”
The King crossed his arms and leaned back his head. “You were acting on my orders. It was my command that lead to the dragon’s downfall.”
The Lump nodded. “Sure enough.”
Flynn stepped forward and gave his head a slight bow. “We have prisoners you may want to question.” He swept his arm out to display the captured Green Acolytes.
A look of sadistic satisfaction came over the King’s face. “Oh, Wonderful! Another inquisition! Lots and lots of inquisitions!”
The woodchucks hopped around the herald’s feet.
The herald cringed and stood on one leg. “We wouldn’t want these rodents at the banquet, would we?”
“No,” answered Meena. She knelt down and looked at the woodchucks. “Everything is fine now, you can go.”
The woodchucks waddled off into the trees.
Meena rose and leaned against her staff once again.
The Lump scratched behind his ear. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on your party, I’m eager to head back home.”
“What?” The King drew his eyebrows together and looked at the Lump. “Heading home?” He shook his head. “You are not going home. We still have a dragon to tend to, You’re staying Dragonblinder.” He grinned. “You’re Dragonkeeper now.”
The Lump grunted. “I can’t—”
The King raised a hand and snapped his fingers.
Guards surrounded the Lump, Meena and Flynn and pointed their halberds.
The Lump frowned and slid his sword into its leather loop at his waist. He raised his hands in submission.
The King waved a hand toward Meena. “The girl can’t leave either, she must tell me more about this tome.”
Meena dropped her staff and crossed her arms. She murmured, “At least he didn’t call me witch.”
The King pointed a slender finger at Flynn. “I have no use for the handsome fellow, he is free to go.”
Flynn furrowed his brow. “We came together, I will not leave my friends behind!”
A guard shoved his halberd a little closer to Flynn. “I’ll remind you not to address His Majesty in that tone!”
Flynn held up his hands. “I’m sorry, I forgot my courtesies.”
The guard barked, “You’d best not forget them again, now be off!”
The Lump put an arm around Flynn and pulled him close. He whispered, “Flynn, leave.” He looked around to ensure no one was listening. “Go find the crone, she’ll come up with a way to fix this whole mess.” He sighed. “You know she will.”
Flynn’s mouth became a hard, straight line. He nodded, then turned. With his head hung low, he walked down the road and away from the city, alone.
Epilogue
The smith watched the sun climbing into the sky from the horizon. The amber light made the smattering of clouds appear to burn. Light like this meant one thing, it was time to get back to work.
He trudged down the path to the secret work area well west of the more populated parts of Gallis. He thought of his apprentice, a good lad, if headstrong. He knew the boy would already be there.
The smith pushed aside the long burlap drape hung on the trees for the purpose of secrecy. The long curved beam of pine had its tip wrapped in canvas.
The apprentice was already hard at work, attaching overlapping planks of split pine to the beam.
The smith drew in a deep breath and surveyed the project. “You need help with the rivets?” he asked.
The apprentice nodded.
The smith pulled a heavy iron mallet from a crate on his workbench and walked over to the apprentice. “Do we have plenty of those iron rivets?” He scratched the side of his head through his short gray hair. “And enough roves to go with ‘em?”
The apprentice sat back from the plank at which he worked. “We ought to, I brought two sacks of each from the shop.”
“Well, its a long walk back to Galliston.” The smith pointed his mallet at the dark-haired apprentice. “If we run out, it’s you who’ll do the walking.” He laughed. “Young legs are made for that.” His forehead wrinkled. “How old are you now?”
The apprentice wrinkled his own forehead. “Fifteen, smithy, I’ve told you that plenty of times.”
A wide smile spread across the smith’s face. “Ah, to be fifteen again, young enough to know everything, and too simple to know when you’re wrong.”
The apprentice narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
The smith waved his mallet toward the work bench. “Well, don’t just stand there looking like you sniffed dung, go and get ‘em.”
The apprentice walked over to the bench and retrieved two heavy sacks. He walked back to the planks and dropped the sacks on the ground.
“Come on, now,” said the smith. “It won’t build itself.”
The apprentice held a plank tight against the beam.
“Be sure and keep those ribs lined up.” The smith pressed against the plank. “You don’t want her to belly over, do you?”
The apprentice shook his head. “How do we seal the planks?”
“Good question.” The smith stood up, cocked his head to one side, and thought for a moment. “We don’t want too much water to seep in.” He looked over to the bench, then back at the plank. “Pack them with wool, pack it tight.” He pointed at the bench with his mallet. “Be sure to dip it in pitch first, there should be plenty of resin from the pine.”
The apprentice nodded and pressed the plank against the beam.
“What lunacy is the world coming to?” The smith leaned over and scooped a nail from one of the sacks. “Things are no good, no good at all, I tell you.” He used his mallet to hammer a square, iron nail through the bottom of the plank. “Grab a rove.”
The apprentice pulled a flat disk of iron from the other sack.
“You got your hammer?” asked the smith.
The apprentice nodded and pulled a mallet from his belt. It was smaller than the smith’s.
“Good.” The smith looked around. “Where’s the dolly?”
The apprentice pointed to a spot a few paces away with his mallet.
The smith grunted. “I’m proud that you learned how to point, boy.” He grinned at the young man. “Now, go fetch it!”
The apprentice sat his hammer on the beam and trotted over to a small cube of black iron. He picked it up and returned to the project.
The smith took the hunk of iron and held it firm against the head of the nail. “Alright, now tap on the rove.”
The apprentice placed the thin iron disk over the head of the nail and hammered it down until it was tight against the surface of the plank.
The smith dropped the dolly and stood. “Now set to cutting that spike, leave it just proud of the rove.”
The apprentice pulled out a file and set to work on the excess length of nail. He ground at it for a long while, but made little progress. “It’s not cutting well.”
The smith dropped his head and waved a hand through the air. “Then just turn it over.”
The apprentice took up his mallet and pounded the poin
t of the nail aside until he buried it back into the wood. “It looks stronger like this, anyway.”
The smith frowned. “It looks ugly, that’s how it looks.”
The apprentice stood. “I don’t know why we’re building this thing, there’s nowhere to go.” He looked in one direction, then the other. “It’s only the wretched water on one side and the empty sea on the other.”
The smith chuckled. “Boy, we’ve got to make her because the King says we’ve got to make her.” He raised one eyebrow. “You best learn while you’re young, we only live for the will of the King.”
The apprentice frowned and nodded. He scooped another nail and rove from the sacks.
“Cheer up.” The smith hunkered down to drive the next nail. “Once this thing is done, we can return to the old ways.”
“You think the old ways were better?” asked the apprentice.
“Of course the old ways were better,” answered the smith. “Everybody knows that!”
The apprentice shook his head. “I don’t think everybody knows.” He pressed the plank against the beam. “I don’t think the old ways were better for everybody.”
The smith squinted one eye and stared up at the boy. “Talking like that makes you sound like one of those dragon lovers.”
The apprentice shook his head again. “I wouldn’t want to be taken for one of those.”
They worked away at placing planks, nails and roves while the sun crawled across the sky. As dusk crept over them they allowed themselves a break.
The smith pointed at the canvas wrapped around the tip of the curved beam. “Let’s see you handy work, take off the wrap.”
The apprentice walked to the end of the beam and removed the canvas.
The wood beneath the canvas was carved into the likeness of the head of a dragon. The withered sockets where eyes should be made it clear that it was not just any dragon.
The smith slapped his thigh. “Boy, you’ve outdone yourself!” He pointed to the carving. “That is a nasty looking thing.”
The apprentice crossed his arms and smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”
The smith walk toward the rear of the project. “Just one more thing to do, and the job is done. Let’s do it before it gets too dark.”
The apprentice followed the smith to a pair of ropes looped over pulleys mounted to a sturdy tree.
They heaved against the ropes and grunted to raise the heavy load.
“Easy now,” said the smith. “We just got to swing it wide and set it down gentle.”
The apprentice squeezed his eyes shut and strained to hold his rope.
The smith shifted the ropes and gave the heavy load at their end a push. He scrambled back to the apprentice and gripped his rope. “Nice and gentle, let’s set her down.”
They fed the rope back through the pulleys. Very gently, a huge, iron cage settled onto the center of their newly constructed boat.
NEXT: DRAGON IN THE DARKLANDS
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