It was late in the afternoon before they stopped. Heavy clouds lay on the distant horizon — dark and foreboding — as the wind came down from the North. The wide expanse of the snow-covered meadowlands surrendered itself to a harsh, sparse scrubland, where large rocky outcrops lined the road and lush fields of endless snow gave way to hard-scrabbled acres of gravel and stone. The wind felt colder without the trees to hold it back, and the snow stood in tall drifts against large boulders. There was little wildlife to see, and fewer birds.
Grummore sat silent for most of the ride, staring off at the side of the road. Most of the trees looked stunted and twisted; others charred and burned, the ground around them a wasted track. He grunted to himself as if in answer his own question and Ector looked at him with a sidelong glance.
Ector pulled the horse off to the side of the road where a small stream broke through the rocks, spilling across crystal shards of ice that danced with brilliant colours in the fading light. There was little shelter from the wind.
“T’is a stilly land here,” Grummore said softly. “The trees all but to-shivered.”
“No worse than any other countryside we’ve been through, Gran,” Ector said softly, climbing down from the seat and stretching his legs.
“Nay, t’is a mischievous miscomfort that abides herein; a great mal-fortune. T’was noised about that overthwart an’ endlong of ‘ere lay a ruinous waste where even pillers an’ their pillings held no sway. An e’er a bachelor knight spurred his way through this wasteland, ye could be certain there’d be a great spurrin’ an’ a steady wallop as he hied ‘is way out.”
“And why’s that, Gran?” Ector asked as he began unhitching the horse. “The dragon?”
“Word was a beast held the higher hand; it hove to here about, hilled among the crags where it waited unpronounced.”
“And am I supposed to believe that, Gran?” Ector asked, smiling.
“I don’t know what he’s saying,” the thief said, trying to catch his breath, “but if he’s saying what I think he’s saying — then it’s true,” he said, sinking down exhausted and leaning back against the wheel. He picked up a handful of snow and buried his face in it; steam rose off his body.
“And what is it you think he’s saying?” Ector asked with a sneer.
“That we’re near the Dragon Lands,” the thief replied.
“The Dragon Lands? Is that what they call this?” he asked, looking out at the desolate landscape.
“The Dragon Lands are over the hill and through the trees; beyond the next valley.”
“Trees? What trees? I don’t see any trees,” Ector said with a laugh, untying the rope from the thief’s feet and using it to hobble the horse. “Trees. That’s what Gran was talking about. Are ye sayin’ there’re trees in the next valley?”
“Like a thief doesn’t steal from his own family — ”
“But does — ”
“ — a dragon doesn’t kill in its own territory.”
“So what’s this, then?”
“Hunting grounds.”
“His hunting grounds? He can’t be too happy with what he has to hunt.”
“The villagers give food for her not to destroy their land.”
“Ye mean a virgin sacrifice?” Ector laughed, looking up at Grummore who was asleep on the wagon seat. His whiskered chin was lost in the warmth of the bearskin robe and the steam of his breath wreathed about his silver hair and beard.
“Virgin sacrifice?” the thief said, shaking his head. “They leave a cow, or a couple of goats every other week — dragons don’t eat as much as you think they do, although I’m pretty sure they’ve eaten a few Dragon Slayers over the years.”
“How do you know so much about dragons? This dragon?”
“I don’t. But I’ve seen it; we watched it for a spell. Her, I should think, since there was an egg.”
“You’ve seen her? What? Flitting about the trees like a sparrow, or maybe a bat?” Ector asked. “Does she only come out at night, or something? How is it I’ve never heard tell of a dragon in these parts? Is it supposed to be a secret?” he added, untying the rope from the back of the wagon.
“If you’ve never heard of a dragon in these parts, it’s because you’ve never been in these parts,” the thief said. “Your dear old Gran seems to know the story. Perhaps he’s kept you away on purpose?”
“And why would he do that?” Ector asked, pausing to look at the thief.
“I don’t know,” the thief replied. “Maybe he’s afraid?”
“There’s little Gran’s afraid of,” Ector said, tying the thief to the wagon wheel as if he were crucifying him.
“Have you never seen a dragon?”
“No, but then, that’s because there are none.”
*
“Was he really at Camelot?” the thief asked.
“Aye.”
“And he was a knight?”
“Aye. That’s his shield, there.”
“What’s it supposed to be?” He asked, looking back at Ector.
“A mailed fist an’ a flagon of ale,” Ector smiled, looking at the shield in the soft light of the fire. “It’s faded now, but when I was a wee one, it was a brilliant blue. Like his armour. He’d wear it every year to commemorate the battle of Camlan Fields.”
“Was he any good?”
“He’s still alive, isn’t ‘e?”
“That doesn’t mean anything. What’s his name?”
“Sir Grummerson of Inverness Castle.”
“Never heard of him.”
“He’s a Scots knight. There were more than a hundred and fifty Knights at Camelot,” Ector said, walking to the back of the wagon and pulling out the bow and arrows.
“A hundred and fifty? How big was this table?”
“You have a harder time believing he was a Table Knight than you do believing in this dragon of yours; why’s that?”
“It’s a lot easier to believe in dragons than it is the dreams of Camelot.”
*
“Gran says I should untie you,” Ector said.
“He does?”
“I’ll still be tying your hands,” Ector continued, ignoring him, “because unlike Gran, I’m not trusting you for nothing. I don’t take kindly to thieves.” He untied the man’s arms long enough to tie his hands in front of him again. “You’ll be sleeping under the wagon all the same; Gran and I will be sleeping in the back, as we’re wont to do.”
Ector led the man around the wagon to the fire where Grummore was stirring the pot hanging from its tripod and hook. Grummore looked up briefly as he added chopped carrots, turnips and potatoes to the pot. Ector sat beside Grummore and pulling the knife out of his boot, began cutting a piece horse flesh into chunks.
“I don’t care too much for horse meat,” the man said.
“You’re not obliged to have any,” Ector replied. “But this morning, you and your friend burst into camp starving fer food.”
Grummore handed the man a small bag of wild berries and nuts after adding them to the stew, then gave him a jug of warm ale. The afternoon drifted away as large storm clouds gathered in the darkening sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning flashed against the horizon.
“There’ll be a roilstrom by an’ by,” Grummore said without looking up. “A spate the like o’ which was visited on Noah hisself — mayhap e’en another dustin’ o’ snow.”
“I know, Gran.”
“I ken it in m’ leg. There’ll be nae a fire burnin’ through the night.”
*
The rain came down with spite; the sky was a molten grey the colour of lead. The clouds rolled over one another, bubbling upwards, looking as if they could touch the vault of Heaven. There thundered a rendering split which Grummore said sounded like the Pictish gods of old riding across the skies at a mad wallop.
He watched the thief looking up at the darkening clouds, and saw how the man would have crossed himself but for the rope that held his hands. Grummore found himself looking up every time the thief looked out at the darkness above; he thought he saw a silvery figure slipping easily among the clouds. Once, he thought he saw a flash bellow across the sky and told himself it was lightning — and almost convinced himself it was — when he saw it again. There was a flash of lightning and he saw the beast silhouetted against the clouds, its wings outstretched as it roared its fury.
The wind howled, the sky split apart, and Grummore imagined a pounding that was the thief’s heart sounding like the beating rush of the dragon’s wings. He watched as the man buried his head in his hands and wept silent tears.
The dragon’s found him.
Through all the endless miles and trackless days, the beast has followed his scent, and now, it’s just a matter of time until the beast tears us all to pieces.
*
The morning dawned a bloody red as the sun opened a large gash in the clouds, slicing through them as cleanly as a knife through finest samnite, Grummore thought, watching the thief as he stirred awake. The single deerskin Ector had given him for warmth was white with frost as he crawled out from under the wagon to find the landscape covered in fresh snow. Icicles hung from the bottom of the wagon. The small water barrel had leaked and left a crystal puddle on the ground. The stunted trees and huge rocks stood covered in snow, the smaller rocks lost in the white landscape.
Grummore pulled his bearskin robe tight around himself, and spat into the fire. Listening to the hiss of the stew pot on the tripod and hook, Grummore could see the man was numb with cold as he tried to untie the rope from the back of the wagon.
The thief looked up at the sky and Grummore followed his gaze; he could see a single bird in the distance. He watched the bird and saw it pause and hover, as if searching for its prey. There was a flash of flame that lit up the morning sky and Grummore realized it was the dragon.
“Are ye foiled in yer duress?” Grummore said softly, and the thief turned to him with a start. Grummore cocked his head slowly, looking at the man as he removed the lid of the pot, stirring it with his stick.
“Hey there! Gran!” the man called out nervously, holding his hands up in a plea.
Grummore hobbled over to him, and pulling a long dagger from behind his back, cut the rope.
“Thank you,” the thief said, wrapping the deerskin tighter around himself and stumbling away from the wagon to relieve himself. When he finished, he came back and stood in front of the fire watching the stew pot bubbling on the tripod. He turned his back to the fire.
“Breakfast, I see,” he said with a nervous smile.
Grummore looked up at him, not saying anything. The man turned away, shivering — probably wishing he could stand inside the fire, Grummore thought.
“An’ how are ye cleped?” Grummore said finally.
“I’m sorry?” the man asked.
“He wants to know your name!” Ector called out from inside the wagon. He stepped out into the cold, reaching out for a handful of snow and rubbing it on his chest and face.
“Oh, my name!” the thief laughed, turning to face the fire again. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to that — whatever it is he speaks,” he smiled. “Geoffrey.”
“Geoffrey?” Ector asked.
“Aye,” the man smiled. “Not a great name — certainly not as knightly a name as his—more the name of a common man — ”
“More cominal thief, than cominal man,” Grummore said softly.
“A thief,” Geoffrey conceded with a nod.
They were silent for a time, and Grummore watched the man looking up at the sky. The clouds were heavy but the sun was still able to break through in places. Grummore looked at the hills lit up in the distance and wondered how it would look from up there. He looked up at the sky, looking for the dragon but it had disappeared among the clouds.
“Say ye on the dragon.”
“Ah Gran, not the dragon,” Ector called out, stomping off into the bushes to relief himself.
“Aye. The dragon followin’ ye,” Grummore said softly.
The thief sat back and tried to smile, looking up at the sky for a moment. Grummore thought how the creature could swoop down through the clouds at any moment and snatch Geoffrey up before he or Ector could do anything to save him — not that he would do anything, he thought — and watched him closely as Geoffrey searched the sky. I can smell the fear on him, Grummore thought. No wonder the dragon was able to find him. Grummore turned his attention to the encroaching puddle at his feet.
“The man I was with — the man you killed — had a friend who told him about the Dragon’s Gold. People have been chasing after it for years, he said. This friend told him there was a cave full of gold and jewels, and we could have it if we found a way around the dragon. I didn’t believe him — I mean, a dragon in this day and age — but we made the journey anyway. Gold’s gold, right? He took us into the hills and pointed the cave out to us. We couldn’t see it, so he took us along a path the villagers use. Then he ran off. He said if we made it out alive, he knew a nobleman who’d buy the gold from us.
“It was a smoky pit, belching out its stench like it came straight from Hell. We had to cover our faces, the smell was that bad. We looked for the dragon but couldn’t see it anywhere. We looked at the mouth of the cave, searched the surrounding rocks, and then we saw it perched on a craggy outcropping sunning itself — wings spread out, head thrown back — and it almost looked like it had a smile, if you can believe that. Its eyes were shut tight. It was a beautiful beast all the same. The biggest thing I’ve ever seen — as tall as these trees around us, and white right up the length of its long neck, where it had a beard or something hanging off its chin. It had huge fins down the length of its back rippling in the breeze. And a spiky ball at the end of its tail — I guess she uses it to smash things with, because it looked as though a few of the spikes were broke off.
“When the man ran away, the wind changed. I guess the beast smelt him. We saw it open its eyes — big, black eyes, too, the biggest I’ve ever seen — but then, everything about the thing was big. Once she caught the man’s stink, she clambered down over the rocks like they were nothing — just tucked her wings up behind herself and scurried over them like a giant newt. Rocks fell about as she scrambled over them, and I guess the man got trapped on the trail, because we could hear him screaming out for help. And I swear this is no word of a lie, but the beast looked back at where we were hiding — like she knew the man was screaming at us, and understood him. All of a sudden she raised herself up, spread her massive wings and flapped them about like a giant bird, before she let out a blast of flame the likes of which I’d never seen. Straight up into the sky it went, and then she turned it on the man just before it died out. Cooked him up I’m thinking, because there wasn’t a sound after, and just like that, the beast crawled down and came back up with the man’s body hanging from her jaws.
“Now tell me, why would you want to face something like that when you can run away instead? That’s what I wanted to do. But Reynauld — the man you killed — he wanted the gold, which is why we never moved more than a few days away from here. We watched, and waited until she left her lair. We made sure to watch how long she went away whenever she left — and when we were ready, we made our move. There were all sorts of bones scattered about, some scorched black and some bleached white by the sun. There’d been lots of men that tried to fight her. But Reynauld, when he stepped into her nest, broke the only egg she had. He took the shell pieces. We were never able to sell them because people said Meligaunt would find us no matter where we went.”
“Meligaunt?” was all Grummore said, and Geoffrey nodded slowly.
“Aye, Meligaunt. That’s what the man said she was called.”
“Then why did you go back?” Ector asked, stepping around the wagon and tying his breeches. He pulled his jerkin on slowly, stomping through the snow toward the fire.
Geoffrey looked up at him, before turning to look at Grummore who nodded at him to go on.
“Well, when the dragon went out to feed it was sometimes gone for an hour; sometimes longer. That’s when we planned to sneak into the cave. Well, one of us would go in; the other would keep a weather eye open for the monster should it come back too soon — and that way we could see if there really was any gold.”
“And?”
“I went in.”
“Yourself, did you?”
“Aye.”
“And what did you find?”
“I picked up plates of white scales, a broken talon, some teeth; I was thinking maybe we could use them somehow. There were bones, and old armour from knights, but there wasn’t any gold.”
“What’d you do with the scales? What were you planning to do with them?”
“I thought I’d make a shield if there was a treasure of gold — thinking it might protect me against the fire —but, since there wasn’t any gold, I thought maybe we might sell them in one of the towns. I hid them until we could find someone who wanted them.”
Ector smiled, “I’ll wager you whatever it was you found—the dragon’s scales, or an old sheet of rock, it’ll be worth its weight in gold to some poor bastard that believes your story.”