In Days of Vast Daring

An Arthurian Tale...part 6

Photo by Rock Vincent Guitard on Unsplash

After Bayard left, Grummore sat beside the fire and fell into deep sleep. He dreamed.

“Ah, there you are my wee beastie,” he said as the dragon landed with a great rush and beating of its leathery wings. The air felt warm around him and the stars looked close enough to touch. He fought the impulse to reach out and pluck them from the night sky. Perched high above the city he could see the golden minarets glistening in the moonlight, and hear the water lapping at the castle walls a thousand feet below. He enjoyed the aerie and the solitude it offered — the cold bracing winds and the view that sometimes made you think you could see all the way into tomorrow. A full moon hung low in a cloudless sky and he looked out over the sea at the distant islands. A part of him already knew the names of the islands while another part of him wondered where he was and...

How did they get so far away?

...it reminded him of the time the Merlin let him look through a lens at a world that was distant and topsy-turvy. He wondered then if it was a dream he was in, or if it was something else; thinking maybe this was a memory the Merlin had let roost in his mind, and now that it was free...

Now what?

...he felt the air rushing around him as he stirred in his sleep, grinning as he held the horse’s reins — settling the animal down and pointing his lance at his foe — ready to charge, ready to attack...ready, ready, ready! He could feel the rush of the wind around him; he could hear it whistling through his helmet and ruffling his cloak. There was a steady flap — a thrumming, drumming, hum — that told him he was home — a distant sound he knew was a part of him, and yet, something he couldn’t explain. Then, he saw the shadows around him, saw the ground below, the sky above, and the city — the city lay in the distance, and he knew he was flying...

...Meligaunt paced herself under him. He could feel the slow, steady flapping of her great white wings, and just as suddenly feel her stretching herself out to full length and taking in a deep breath as she spewed forth a great geyser of flame. In a moment, she was on the attack, coming down on the enemy from above, snapping the second dragon’s back with her mighty talons and sending the rider into the silent void beneath — and Grummore found himself laughing.

She’s a magnificent beast, Grummore thought.

A Snow Dragon!

He’d always admired the whiteness of the dragon against the whiteness of the snow. She was thirty feet long from horned head to spiked tail, with a wingspan that must have spread out sixty feet, if not more. One of her wings had a slight tear that sometimes let the sunlight through — a painful tear he remembered — but it marked her as different from the others...And he tried remembering just which battle it had been where she was injured, but there’d been so many.

Her taloned legs were thick, four toed, and well-muscled; her great black eyes a stark contrast to the whiteness of her scaly armour. On her back, the Dragon-Lancer saddle, gold trimmed and jewel encrusted, the great lance itself in the pommel and the massive shield hanging on the opposite side.

A dragon and his master are always one, a voice inside him said, and at first, he thought it was the Merlin talking to him across the void of space and time.

And then he knew...

Meligaunt.

The circle of the dragon is never complete until the dragon is slain by its master.

He wondered where that came from.

It was a voice he knew from somewhere in the past and he stirred slowly, feeling the heat of the fire...

*

Grummore looked down at his wooden foot smoking in front of the fire and jumped up.

I haven’t let that happened in years, he cursed, stomping about the camp.

He stumbled to the snow bank, hearing the wood hiss and watching the steam — smelling the wood — and suddenly wondering if he’d have to ask Ector to make another foot pad. He laughed at himself as he looked down at the foot, pulling it out of the snow to see how much damage there was. It was still smouldering, so he looked for a puddle where he could douse it.

If it even holds my weight, he smiled. Imagine the day’s dragon slaying called off because I burned my foot pad. What would Bedivere  say?

He turned to look behind him, somehow sensing he wasn’t alone, and saw Ector, Geoffrey, and the girl. There was a bag between them, and Grummore was certain he could see a few of the dragon’s scales poking out of the bag. Geoffrey was grinning, and the girl was trying not to laugh. Ector stood up and walked toward Grummore, pulling his leg out of the water and looking at the bottom of the charred pad.

“T’is nae starked ruinious?” Grummore asked, looking back over his shoulder and trying to see the footpad.

“Not as bad as you’ve done before,” Ector said with a grin, dropping Grummore’s foot back into the puddle. “He’s done it one time where the whole leg caught aflame — with him laying on the ground and waving it about like it was a stick and he was trying to shake it out. I think he was truly thinking he could shake it out. I had to make him a whole new leg that time,” Ector added as he sat down, watching the old man. “I’ve had to make three new legs over the years.”

Grummore was shaking his head as he stomped back toward the fire and sat down. He picked up a stick and began prodding the embers as he looked deep into the flames, lost in thought. The dream haunted him, and he knew it would for some time. He looked at the girl, wondering if she was one to interpret dreams, or if she knew any more about the dragon she’d yet to reveal.

It’d do just as well to see Bayard, but there’s always going to be that distrust for the man because of the past. And if the past is the past like I’ve said a thousand times before, where does that leave me?

“I’ve dreamt me a dreamin’,” Grummore said slowly. “I wist well it was; I’ve devised an’ delibered — ”

“What is he talking about?” Geoffrey asked.

“Quiet,” Ector said.

“The dragon — Meligaunt — ” and he looked at the girl, seeing her nod. “T’was the Merlin what did me t’ dreamin’ it — certes well I wist his hand in this — feutered in m’ brainpate,” he added, tapping his head slowly. “T’was my predecessors took to the skies erst-time — a press of beasties over-led by Dragon lairds with such a mastery of obeisance, the world trembled at the sight of ‘em.”

“What is he saying?” Geoffrey insisted, but Ector waved him off.

“He says that he dreamed about the dragon,” the girl said slowly. “That his ancestors used to fly about on them and had mastery over the skies,” she went on, looking at Grummore who nodded, smiling softly. “And when that world was destroyed — ”

“Destroyed? How’d I miss that?” Geoffrey laughed.

“There was a great cataclysm that flooded the world and changed all the lands in the blink of an eye — ”

“Yes, the Romans brought it on us with their gods — ”

“Before them,” she said quickly. “All the land was swallowed by water, and the dragons and their Dragon Lords became separated. The dragons went out in search of their Lords, but most of them and the dragons perished in the great Cataclysm and those that followed.”

“He didn’t say all that!” Geoffrey said.

“My father told me that only a man whose blood is descendant from the original Dragon Lords can hope to survive an encounter with a dragon,” she said, and Grummore nodded at her, understanding for the first time.

“Sir Grummore is of pure blooded ancestry. That’s what the dream was for. The Merlin put it in his mind years ago, and once he decided to slay the dragon, it came out.”

“Then why slay it?” Ector asked.

“What are you suggesting?” Geoffrey said.

“Capture it! Show it to the people! We could make a lot of gold if we charged people to come and see a real live dragon.”

“Meligaunt would never allow it,” the girl said.

“Why not?” Ector insisted.

“Because Meligaunt is old; she’s tired.” She turned her steely eyes on Geoffrey. “She can never have offspring anymore because she’s the last of her kind, and the fact that you destroyed her eggs pretty well doomed her right there. I think she wants to die.”

“You think, but you don’t know. And why? If she can live forever — you did say she can live forever, didn’t you? — but if she can live forever, why not live forever?” Ector went on.

“Would you want to live forever if you were the last man on earth? No,” she added, shaking her head and answering her own question.

“So we’re going to kill it?” Geoffrey asked.

She nodded.

“For her own sake? Because she’s the last one and there’s no point in her going on anymore — ”

“That’s not what I said,” she said.

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t think you’ll need me for any of that,” he said. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll go see Bayard, collect my gold for the stuff he wanted, and move on to the next town.”

“But we need you,” she said with a nervous laugh. She could see everything falling apart because the fool wanted to leave. She looked at Grummore and thought she saw him nodding at her — it was small, and almost imperceptible — but she told herself that he understood.

“Need me? And why do you think that?”

“She’s more likely to come after you — ”

“A nice sentiment that,” he said with a laugh, “but not one I’m overly fond of acting on.”

“Illuc immorsus immotus!” the girl cried suddenly.

Geoffrey pitched to the ground.

*

Geoffrey woke up to find himself chained to the pillar in the middle of the field. He looked about, trying to get his bearings. The brightness of the sun reflecting off the snow hurt his head with each attempt he made at trying to open his eyes; his head felt like it was the size of a melon. He was finally able to focus and see Grummore’s wagon across the field, just as it was earlier. The cold wind was ripping at his flesh, and he realized he was shirtless. Still, there was a searing pain holding him on the edge of a scream somewhere in the corner of his mind; he opened his eyes slowly. There were cuts on his chest, and even though the blood had stopped flowing long ago, he didn’t know if it was because he’d run out of blood, or if it was simply frozen to him.

He looked around slowly, moaning with the effort it took to move his head, and watched Ector helping Grummore dress for battle. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he knew Ector was arguing with the old man. Bayard sat crouched nearby, busy with his own preparations while the girl was kneeling at the fire, grinding up dragon shells and mumbling prayers over them. She had the cowl of her hood drawn over her head, casting her face deep into the shadows, and the rest of her mantle drawn around the small, powdery pile in front of her. He wondered how she could let herself be a part of this.

“Oh, so you’re awake?” Bayard said, grasping his walking stick where he had it sticking up out of the snow. He closed the small wooden box and pushed it out of his way. The walking stick looked like a long, four-sided lance, towering over him. He wondered how Bayard expected to use such a clumsy weapon.

“What are you doing?” Geoffrey asked.

“We’re waiting for the dragon,” Bayard said softly. “It shouldn’t be long now,” he added, placing a small wooden pivot on the end of the lance. He tested the weapon by sticking the butt end of the lance into the snow; leaning into it and bracing himself, he held two small handles, spinning and turning the weapon easily. He kicked at the snow and made two footholds for himself.

“The dragon?”

“Yes,” Bayard said.

“But why am I here?”

“You’re the bait.”

“Bait? I’m the bait?”

“I told you, the Dragon knows your scent. You pissed in his lair — ”

“Hers! I told you he’s a she. You might as well know that much about her before you die.”

“Die? Once she smells your blood in the air, she’ll come out looking for you. A dragon never forgets, but more importantly, they never forgive.”

“What’s the old man doing? Where’s Ector? I can’t believe they’re letting you do this to me.”
“Why wouldn’t they? Everyone’s motivated by their own reasons. The girl’s is revenge; she feels it’s her duty to avenge her father. Mine, well, mine’s a little more complicated. I used to hunger for adventure when I was younger. I had a thirst for knowledge, and power, but then I lost the only person that mattered to me — the only person I could share it with and still be equals — ”

“The sorceress?”

“No, but a good guess. I loved a queen — Vivian promised me that I would win her if I helped her destroy my master. She was a fair and noble dame if ever there was one. But she was another man’s wife, and her sons were all knights of Arthur’s Table. When Arthur died, she was one of the four queens that took him to Avalon. I never saw her again.”

“And what was her name?”

“Margause. She was the half-sister of Arthur, and the mother of Modred.”

“And you loved her? Even though she destroyed everything? I’d like to say I sympathize for you, but that would be a lie.”

*

Ector, acting as Grummore’s squire, helped his grandfather with his armour — just as he had for as long as he could remember — and when he finally clasped the worn red cape to Grummore’s shoulders, he stepped back looking at the old man critically.

“You look more like a Carolingian Knight — ”

“An’ well ye wist a knight of Charlemagne’s,” Grummore laughed as he climbed up the front of the wagon and waited for Ector to bring the horse about.

“Aye Gran, you’re not looking nothing but your age today,” Ector said simply.

“An’ well I should, lad. T’is by ‘is wits a man lives ‘is life, an’ I’ve lived mine fully.”

“You’ve lived your life by a code no others have, Gran, and yet, today, you’ve let that code falter,” Ector said, holding the horse. 

Grummore pulled the lance out of the snow bank beside the wagon, making a last adjustment to the Dragon Pennant, finally holding his hand out for the shield.

“You can’t be thinking this is right, Gran,” Ector said, looking at Geoffrey as he passed up the shield.

“What’s that, lad?” Grummore asked slowly.

“What’s that? Geoffrey! You can’t be thinking it’s right to use him as bait for the dragon?”

“Ye dinna need worry yerself on ‘im, lad. Ye wot not what fer as far as ‘e goes,” Grummore added with a smile.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Geoffrey’ll be fine,” Grummore said, trying to sit up straight and looking up at the clear sky.

“Fine? He’ll be fine? He’s dragon bait, Gran! Fodder for slaughter! A worm on a hook. He’s chained to a post in the middle of an open field! How can ye think he’ll be fine? Have you ever seen a worm not get eaten by the fish it was hunting?”

“Dinna fret yersel’ o’er what is, an’ what shou’ be. T’is all been worked out aforehand,” Grummore said, spurring the old warhorse on and riding out to the field.

Ector followed him out of the small camp, running and stumbling in the snow.

“Worked out? What does that mean? How has it been worked out?”

*

Grummore thought if Meligaunt was anything, she was predictable. He watched the dragon wheeling herself up higher into the afternoon sky for the third time — she’s gathering the warmth of the sun, he told himself — and he stood waiting for the next moment the dragon would dive straight down. He was expecting Meligaunt to drop her talons down at the same instant she opened her wings, making it easier to snatch and kill Geoffrey in one simple motion.

She didn’t expect to be attacked.

At the moment she swooped in for her first attack, Grummore rode across the field with his lance down and his shield high. Bayard and the girl ran out with their Dragon Dust, throwing it up at the beast as she spewed out her flame. There was a bright blue cocoon that formed around the group, and Grummore’s horse reared up at the suddenness of it just as Meligaunt winged herself back and away, spewing her flame out in anger and frustration.

Dragon dust! And just where did he come up with that name? Grummore wondered.

The dust worked as a shield against the dragon’s flame — the incantations had worked for hundreds of years, Bayard said, and there was no reason to believe they wouldn’t work now — because once the beast expelled her fire, she’d be vulnerable. Before she could gather up wind for another attempt Bayard said, that was the only chance they’d have to step in and slay her. He’d pierce her heart with one blow, telling Grummore to lop off her head in one motion.

That’s how it’s done, Bayard told Grummore. That was how he and the girl’s Gran killed seven monsters.

We’ll see if he’s right, Grummore thought, suddenly spurring his horse again and riding out to the field even as he was telling himself that Dragon Dust and magic spells were no match for a beast the likes of Meligaunt. He thought the dragon wouldn’t kill Geoffrey yet; she wanted him alive, and that was where the three of them concentrated their assault.

After the second attack, Meligaunt set fire to Grummore’s wagon. After the third attack, the village.

Grummore turned when he saw Ector running across the field.

“Are ye trying t’ get yerself killed, runnin’ out like that!” Grummore yelled.

“Better I die out here than be burned back there!”

“Which one has the death wish?” the girl asked Bayard, watching Meligaunt out of the corner of her eye.

“How many men live to be his age?” Bayard asked.

Grummore rode directly at Geoffrey, and with one slice of his great broadsword broke the chains holding the man up. Geoffrey fell to his hands and knees, the manacled chains falling to the ground beside him singing out a melody. He looked up at Grummore in confusion.

“Awayward an’ anon!” the old knight cried out, looking up at the dragon. “Yer time fer baitin’ the beastie’s benome! Ector! See to ‘im!”

“You fool!” Bayard screamed out, running at Geoffrey with his dragon lance in front of him.

Grummore looked at Bayard as Meligaunt swooped down. Reining his horse about, he lowered his lance purposely. He spurred the horse forward — kicking at the animal’s flanks with one heel and striking with the shaft of the lance against the other flank. Meligaunt swooped in with a great roar and rush of wind at the same moment.

“The dragon!” the girl shouted, and throwing her Dust up she chanted her strange words, waiting for the dragon to burst forth with its flame. Meligaunt wavered.

“Not yet, you fool! You’re too soon! You’re too soon!” Bayard bawled out, and turning to look up at the dragon, realized Meligaunt had faltered on purpose. He tried to spin the Dragon Slayer around, but slipped in the snow, falling to the muddy ground.

Meligaunt’s hesitation as the girl threw the Dust ended with a great flapping of wings that spread the Dust so that it covered Geoffrey, Ector and the girl. At the same moment, she let out a blast of fire that caught Bayard unprotected just as Grummore drove his lance into the dragon’s side. Meligaunt let out a roar that echoed through the hills, and turning, snapped the lance with her great taloned claw as she stumbled back, mortally wounded. Grummore drew his sword out of his scabbard as Meligaunt spun, bringing her tail about and catching Grummore with the full force of her spiked weapon. Grummore’s sword flew through the air as the old man tottered from his horse and fell in a heap before the dragon — his leg trapped beneath the weight of the now dead horse.

Ector screamed.

“Ye’ve all but slain me, beastie. Now finish me afore the boy comes!” Grummore said between breaths, and Meligaunt hesitated, something deep within her awakening. She bent her head down to look at Grummore, and he found himself staring into the dark eye of the beast.

Meligaunt let out a cry of heartbreak.

Ector rushed through the snow recklessly, swooping down to pick up Grummore’s sword where it lay flashing in the field. Grummore saw him and imagined that was how Arthur must have come upon the sword in the stone all those years ago — or was that Excalibur, held high above the water by the Lady of the Lake?

Ector snatched the sword on the run.

Meligaunt breathed a last blast of breath and brought the full force of her flame’s fury to bear; she watched as Grummore forced a smile with his cracking lips and died.

“You have to help him kill her!” the girl cried out to Geoffrey, trying to pull him to his feet. “The Dust won’t last much longer!”

“Me? Weren’t you using me as bait a moment ago?” he said. “I should let her kill you, like she killed Bayard.”

“If she kills me, then you’ll die too. Now get up, before she attacks again!”

The girl ran forward with another handful of Dust, scattering it into the wind as she stood over Bayard’s smouldering body. Meligaunt let out another flame — a smaller one—catching the Dust so that it floated in front of her — a great blue umbrelling that seemed to melt around the girl and Geoffrey, protecting them as Geoffrey picked up the Dragon Slayer and pierced the beast’s burning heart. He pushed as hard as he could, twisting the great weapon to the side. Meligaunt screamed once more as Ector arrived, and without thinking, drove Grummore’s sword through the beast’s black eye. Then with a mighty effort, Ector drew the blade out of the monster’s eye and sliced the dragon’s head off.  

  * 

The small wagon made its way through open fields and lush meadows, passing over verdant hills and narrow forest tracks as it traveled from one small village to another. The three travellers always told the same tale of the Dragon and the Knight — asking for no more than a plate of food and a tankard of ale.

Geoffrey, old, bent and white-haired, amazed townspeople with the sight of the dragon’s scales and teeth. The woman — whom most townspeople refer to as the Old Crone — bedazzled the children with spectacles of magic. Ector, the Old Knight, told a tale of disbelief to astonished crowds. It was a tale of wonder that had everyone shaking their heads and calling them swindlers, pretenders, and phonies, until the moment came when Ector untied the hide covering the wagon and the people fell back in terror at the sight of the white dragon’s head staring out at them.

Ector always did know how to work a crowd.