Kingdom of Dragons

by Anna St George

  “How will he stop a dragon?” asked Trystan. “It seems like an impossibility. We need a saviour.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Pryderi.

  “Do you know what Gwirionedd stands for?” asked Wylde. “It means truth.”

  “Yes,” agreed Gwen. “With the truth of God we defeat the enemies of darkness.”

  “I am afraid it will take all the faith you can muster to kill this beast. And just remember what I’ve told you. It is a dangerous creature. You must find it and kill it with the sword of Cadwallader.

  It was the early hours of the morning by the time they went to bed and pondering Lord Wylde’s words. Gwen was certain she could see sunlight beyond the hills as she pulled the covers up over her head and she slept like a log for hours until a disturbance woke her some time that afternoon and she sat up and yawned. There was definitely a disturbance in the hallway and she saw Pryderi and Trystan running down the hall. “Where are you going?” she called out.

  “The dragon is ill,” said Trystan with anxiety and then he ran after Pryderi.

  “Wait!” she said pulling on her jerkin and buttoning it as she ran along the hallway and through the maze of staircases that she could barely remember from the night before and she thought that if she headed downstairs she would certainly find the passage but before long she found herself lost in this amazing castle. “Pryderi? Trystan? Are you there?” she called out. “Lord Wylde? Where are you?” She moved further downward and into a dark vaulted area with no lights and she turned around in a circle nervously. It was the crypt and she fumbled nervously trying to find her way and she tripped in the dark and fell forward with a scream. She sat there momentarily and then she heard a door creak and open and footsteps followed. “Hello?” she called out. “Is someone there?”

  There was no answer and Gwen was fretting now and she tried to stand up and someone grabbed her arm and she screamed and pulled away but then she recognized a familiar voice. “Gwen, it’s alright,” said Pryderi. “Come on. The dragon is ill.”

  She stood up brushing the dust off her trousers and she took Pryderi’s hand and he led her downstairs to the cavern below. As she reached the bottom step she could see Aeronwy lying down with her head resting against the rocks. Lord Wylde and Trystan were trying to give her some water but she didn’t seem interested and she softly moaned. “What’s wrong with her?” asked Gwen.

  “I don’t know,” said Wylde. “I’ve never seen her like this.”

  “Perhaps it’s a stomach upset,” said Trystan.

  “It could be but what does one give a dragon with an upset stomach?”

  “I wouldn’t have a clue,” said Gwen. “Marian always gave us mint tea when we had upset stomachs.”

  “Yes I had thought of that but dragons don’t digest mint very well either. If anything it would probably add to a stomach upset.”

  “What do we do then?” asked Pryderi.

  “I have an idea,” said Trystan. “I could always go and see Jaspar, the apothecary I know?”

  “Oh no, not him,” said Pryderi. “He’s a strange one.”

  “He’s quite capable and he’s not far from here. He lives in the Brechfa Forest.”

  “Well perhaps he has something,” said Wylde. “Some kind of brew that we can give her.”

  “I doubt that,” said Pryderi.

  “Well how do you know?” said Trystan. “I’ll go and see him.” Trystan glanced at all the faces staring back at him with eagerness and his eyes rested on Lord Wylde. “Surely it can’t hurt to try and I could be back before it gets dark.”

  Wylde nodded in agreement. “Yes it’s worth a try.”

  Trystan sighed with relief and smiled victoriously. “Fine. I’ll go at once.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Jaspar the Apothecary

  Jaspar was an apothecary who lived in the middle of the Brechfa Forest in a neat little stone cottage that was set back in a clearing near a sparkling stream and overshadowed by a cluster of tall pines. It was late afternoon when Sir Trystan got off his horse and he noticed the smoke rising out of the chimney like a long silk ribbon. He tied his horse to a nearby post and headed up a winding path of neat stone edged gardens which were now asleep under the winter snows and one could tell it was a vibrant place in the summer full of colour and life. When he reached the wooden door he pulled on the long bell cord and it rang harmoniously as if singing a joyous tune of delight. After a few moments the door opened and there appeared a peculiar old man with greying hair and spectacles. He wore a long plain tunic and a pointy cap with a feather in it which always claimed was given to him by Robin Hood, the famed outlaw.

  He greeted young Trystan with a warm smile. He was a customer he knew well. “Ahhh, young Trystan, come in, come in.”

  “How are you old man?” asked Trystan. “I see you are still wearing that silly hat.”

  “It’s not silly!” said Jaspar with offense. “I’ll have you know this cap . . . ”

  “I know,” said Trystan. “It was given to you by Robin Hood,” he said dramatically in an unbelieving tone.”

  “It was!” said the old man. “He rode in one day to get an ointment. Would you believe he had no gold coins at the time, so he gave me the hat for payment.”

  “Of course he did,” said Trystan sceptically.

  “You know I was expecting you to come,” said Jaspar. “It has been almost six months since your last visit. How are ye lad?” He followed Jaspar inside to an open room with a fireplace and lots of shelves filled with books and jars containing herbs and spices and ointments and there were dried flowers hanging from beams that shot across the ceiling from one end of the room to the other. In the middle of the room was an old wooden table stacked with books and an old crockery pot.

  “I’ve been busy helping the Prince Pryderi with a mission.”

  “Oh, a mission? Saving England again aye? What is this time? A fiery dragon? An old troll? Or maybe an evil sorcerer?” Trystan slightly grinned at the old man’s wit. “What do you need? Is it a remedy for a cold?” he asked as he grabbed a small bottle of liqueur off a shelf and put in front of him. This is licorice root and a few other concoctions. The finest remedy for a cold and you won’t find better anywhere else.”

  “No, I don’t have a cold.”

  “No cold aye. A hangover from too much drinking and carousing? Try this,” said Jaspar and he put another fancy bottle in front of him and Trystan inspected it closely. It was a clear bottle with no label on it and he opened the jar and smelled it. It had no smell at all and he put the lid back on it and still inspecting it curiously. “What is that?”

  “Water,” said Jaspar and Trystan rolled his eyes. “It’s the finest water around. It came from a magic stream flowing down from the highlands. Finest water in the South West of Wales.”

  Trystan picked up the bottle and studied it carefully. “How much?”

  “Five gold coins.,” said Jaspar.

  “Five gold coins!” said Trystan. “That’s robbery! I suppose you got it from a puddle out back!”

  “Sssh!” said Jaspar peering around cautiously. “Do you want someone to hear ya!”

  “Look, I don’t have a hangover, nor do I have a cold,” he replied as he put the bottle down.

  “I know what you need, you sly young man,” Jaspar winked. He grabbed a fancy curvy bottle off the shelf and put it in front of Trystan. “This is what you need,” he said in a sweet tone and winked at Trystan. “This is passion flower oil.”

  “Passion flower?” said Trystan and he picked up the bottle.

  “Yes, it’s made from the flower extracts of the blooms of the passion flower also known as passiflora incarnate and a few other eccentricities of mine,” he chuckled. Trystan started to open the bottle and the old man cringed. “No!” said the old man and he grabbed his hand. “You must be sure when you use this oil. Even the faintest scent of it can light an unquenchable flame. You release the scent of it to the one you love. Sure to ge
t them every time. Why legend says that it’s even been known to make the most boring woman full of desire.” The old man lifted his brows and winked.

  Trystan sighed. “I don’t need a love potion.”

  “Of course you do!” insisted the old man. “How old are you now anyway. You’ve been coming in here for at least ten years now. I’d say you are nearing the age of . . . twenty six,” he guessed as his large grey eyes filtered over the top of his spectacles. “Am I right?” Trystan glanced the other way uncomfortably. “I’m right! You’re not getting any younger. You need a woman to take care of you. Just look at the state you’re in?”

  “What’s wrong with the state I’m in?” said Trystan turning back his attention. “I’m quite happy in fact,” said Trystan straightening his stance and fluffing back his brown wavy hair.

  “How can you be happy? Your hair is ruffled and your boots need a polish. You’re a mess! And before you know it you’ll be too old to get on that horse. Time will soon pass by. You need a woman to go home to at night, not a horse. And I certainly hope you don’t end up like some of those old knights who don’t know when to get out of the saddle. God forbid!”

  Trystan rolled the curvy bottle in his hand. “Where did you get this from anyway?”

  “I got the passion flower extract from a reliable peddler and my own additives, well . . . never mind.”

  “Reliable?” questioned Trystan with much doubt. “Show me a reliable peddler and I’ll show you a fox in sheep’s clothing.”

  “There not all bad,’ said Jaspar. “And besides this one got it from a notable witch.”

  Trystan rolled his eyes. “Look, what I came for is something that has healing qualities . . . ” And he paused and looked around the room at the other folk present hoping no one was listening and then he whispered. “For a . . . large beast.”

  “As wild as a beast aye? Never knew you had it in ya lad,” Jaspar whispered.

  Trystan rolled his eyes again. “Do you have anything?? Trystan moved a bit closer to him and whispered again. “It’s an old dragon. You know”

  “Oh yeah,” said Jaspar. “You certainly have strange taste in women. An older woman, aye? What’s ailing this . . . old dragon?”

  “Upset stomach.”

  “Let me see,” said Jaspar and his eyes perused the rows of shelves that went about ten rows upward towards the ceiling. “Ah, there it is. Let me just get it for you. It will only take a moment. Just relax young man. I’ll have it down in no time. No time at all.” He rambled on as he pulled a ladder across the shelves and climbed up. The old man fumbled around moving bottles and examining them with a magnifier. “Hmmm...oh yes...I’ve got it!” he announced with jubilation after several moments and then he climbed back down the ladder with the bottle in hand and put it on the counter. “There you go.”

  “What’s this?” said Trystan as he picked up the bottle and examined it.

  “It’s ginger root. It’s a nice mixture that will be perfect for an upset stomach and that dragon of a girl. It will have her feeling better in no time.” Trystan grinned sourly. This old man could be very cantankerous at times. “Alright now there are certain rules to follow when administering medicine to a dragon. I’m assuming from your frumpy attitude that this is a real dragon.”

  Trystan rolled his eyes for about the umpteenth time. “Get on with it man. What do I have to do?”

  “I’m trying to explain but you won’t listen.”

  Trystan sighed with annoyance. “And it was my stupid idea to come here,” he muttered softly.

  “Rule number one; make sure the dragon is asleep before administering the ginger root. The last thing you want is to get your back side burnt off in the process.”

  “Asleep and how?”

  “Just listen! Rule number two. Give the dragon two drops of chamomile mixed with a tincture of Valerian oil and a pint of brandy.”

  “A pint of brandy?”

  “That’s for you.”

  “Why would I need a pint of brandy?”

  “Have you ever tried to give medicine to a dragon before?”

  “Well . . . no.”

  “Trust me you’ll need it and if she bites your arm off in the process you won’t feel as much pain.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” he replied sarcastically. Jaspar was getting on his nerves. Now he remembered why he stayed away so long.

  “Just do as I say. See that man over there with one arm,” he said referring to a young man in the corner.

  Trystan turned and looked behind him at a young man browsing over some herbs and he was rather scrawny and frail and he had one arm and Trystan nodded. “Yeah what of it.”

  “Well he didn’t take my advice and the dragon burned his arm right off.”

  “Your joking!” said Trystan in surprise.

  “Singed right to the bone,” Jaspar insisted and Trystan was wide eyed with shock. “You knight’s always have to ask questions. Think you’re above everyone else. Just because you’re in his Lordship’s high and mighty service. Well, just be grateful I got these medicines down for you.” He grabbed the medicine bottles and put them in a bag and among them the passion flower oil.

  “You put that love potion in there, didn’t you?”

  Mmm,” the old man smiled and lifted his brows. “Just slip it into the glass of the girl of your dreams. Just try it. I guarantee...”

  Trystan rolled his eyes but he was too tired to argue anymore. “Oh alright just put it in the bag and how do I tell all these bottles apart. They only have Latin names on the bottles.”

  “They are colour coded,” said Jaspar. “The red one is passion flower. Chamomile is green and Valerian oil is in the blue. Got that? “

  “I’m sure I’ll remember,” said Trystan. He was keen to get away from the place.

  “I’m glad you see it my way” said the old man. Young ones these days they don’t want help. They don’t know what they are doing half the time. They need help and they’re too proud to admit it.” He put the bottles in the pouch and handed it to Trystan. “There you go and good luck.”

  “Thanks,” said Trystan and he grabbed the small bag and headed back to Dinefwr where Gwen and Pryderi were waiting.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Medicine For A Sick Dragon

  Trystan returned to Dinefwr with the potions he received from Jaspar and he arrived in the afternoon and everyone was relaxing in the Solar. Trystan had a smile on his face when he waltzed in some time around three in the afternoon. “I’ve got it!” he announced with joy. “Look at that, Mr Skeptic,” he said proudly and waving the small bottle in his hand. “Our troubles are over!”

  Pryderi sighed sceptically. “Highly unlikely!” he said firmly as he glanced up at his friend perched in the doorway with a glow of triumph on his face. “I think the dragon will be less trouble than you.”

  “Good,” said Gwen. “Now we can carry on with this mission.” Gwen felt uneasy about it. How would they administer medicine to a sick dragon? Then there was the journey back to Berwyck with Cadwallader’s sword in their possession and Gwen was most anxious to get on with their journey. She longed to see her family and dear Merry and she felt that Lord Carwyn would have some advice about the sword. He seemed a very wise and knowledgeable man.

  “Which medicine do we give her?” asked Pryderi. “There are three bottles in this bag.

  “Yes, I know,” said Trystan. “It’s the um...the valerian and then the ginger root.”

  “Which is which?” asked Gwen as she examined a bottle.

  “Umm,” said Trystan. He had completely forgotten. He grabbed the red bottle and examined it. “We give her this one first. I’m certain.”

  Gwen glanced at it again and read the name out loud. “Passiflora incarnate. What is it?”

  “It’s some kind of relaxant,” said Trystan who had completely forgotten about the love potion.

  “Then we give her some ginger root and he pulled out the brandy.”

 
; “This looks like Brandy?” said Gwen. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes I’m sure.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure,” said Gwen. “So how are you going to give it to her?”

  “Well,” said Trystan “I’m going to . . . I really don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you put it in a bucket with her food and leave it for her to eat.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Gwen agreed. “Just mix in with some leaves and berries. Surely she will eat it.”

  Trystan agreed and he and Gwen gathered some leaves and berries and mixed the medicine into it and Trystan fed it to the dragon and waited to see what would happen.

  “I hope she doesn’t get drunk,” said Pryderi when he saw the bottle of brand that Trystan was feeding her.

  “Dragon’s don’t get drunk,” said Trystan.

  “Expert on dragons now, are we?” asked Pryderi sarcastically as Trystan administered the red bottle and the dragon drank it down very quickly and Gwen thought she seemed thirsty.

  “Where is Lord Wylde?” asked Gwen as she sat down next to Aeronwy who looked very sad.

  “He went with the steward. Something about the eagle tower

  “Perhaps, she is just thirsty,” said Gwen. “She looks a little dehydrated.”

  “De-what?” said Trystan.

  At that moment Aeronwy sat up and burped and she looked at Trystan with soulful eyes and she moved closer to him and then she did something which amazed the three of them. She swished her long lizard like tongue against his cheek and Trystan stepped back in amazement and the dragon was making a soft purring sound.

  “Did she just do what I think she did?” asked Gwen.