Days passed by in the saddle with dreary routine. Fandri was roused before dawn for riding and weapons practice, followed by a quick breakfast of boiled oats and ham. The convoy rode for ten hours in five stretches, with brief rests for water breaks in between. Fandri’s one enjoyment was his travelling companion, Varl. The younger boy was full of enthusiasm. He told stories of grand Diagro kings of old and battles with dragons and scaly Vergai creatures.
One evening as the sun was setting, the scouts returned with haste to Sir Rawlan.
“Dragons ahead over that ridge, my lord.”
Following the scout’s finger, a wisp of smoke rose from beyond their sight.
The knight’s jaw tightened as he addressed them. “Gather around, men. Our mission is to battle this foe and destroy as many as possible to save our farmlands. Harden your hearts to these merciless beasts and we shall return home victorious.”
Rather than a cheer, which might be heard by the dragons, the knights beat their chest, then raised their fist high.
The knights crawled to the top of the ridge on their elbows and knees.
The squires were ordered to stay low, out of sight, but Varl and Fandri had other plans. They shuffled sideways around the edge of the bluff for a first-hand look at the enemy. Apart from one brief encounter at the Eastern Outpost, Fandri had never seen real live dragons and certainly never in a battle.
His eyes boggled to see them tearing apart several villagers and setting alight the straw-roofed houses. The severed limbs and squirting blood made the halfling visibly ill in the grass. He looked with alarm at the knights above, but they were too engrossed in studying their prey to notice.
The knights climbed down, and made hand signals to their companions below who pushed a two-wheeled ballista into place. This heavy machine was drawn by pack horses. It was made of wood and looked rather like a large crossbow with thick twine as the string. The bolts used were as long as a man’s leg. The twisted metal head was barb tipped with a potion of hemlock.
On the long ride across the Diagro Plains, Varl had warned Fandri that death was carried in the clay pots, and now the halfling realised what he had meant. This poison was made to paralyse the dragons so they could be slaughtered. Why do the elves ally with these vicious creatures?
Fandri opened his mouth to ask, but a fierce flapping of wings caused the words to dry on his tongue. His eyes bulged.
A large beady eye fixed itself on Fandri as a grey dragon with emerald scales under its wings rose into the air. The eye narrowed in puzzlement at the sight of the halfling with a fairy fluttering around his head. Then its gaze travelled further to see the squire standing defiantly with a short sword at his belt.
A scaly talon reached up and tossed a sheep into the dragon’s gapping maw. A bite and swallow later, the dragon burped in the halfling’s face and Fandri screwed up his nose.
“Eww! Where are your manners, you big lizard?”
There was a pause before its deep voice rumbled. “You be a cheeky one for someone not even fully grown…or perhaps you’re an adult. It be hard to tell with you halflings. Hmm…what be your purpose here in the West Lands, teaching farming tips to the knuckle-headed knights?”
From the corner of his eye, Fandri could see Varl’s face turn from pale pink to a deep, ugly red. Veins stood out on the sides of his neck and he could hear teeth grinding. Varl drew his short sword, took a running leap off a small incline and hurled himself at the dragon. “You will pay for stealing that sheep, you mountain scum.”
Varl yelled as he stabbed the dragon over and over again. His frustration grew every time the sword bounced off the thick scales.
The dragon squirmed about like an eel and a strange, rumbling laugh escaped his lips. “That tickles.” Wisps of smoke escaped his nostrils and his mouth opened in a wide smile.
Two more dragons’ heads appeared over the ridge and Fandri gasped at these even larger black dragons peering at his friend stabbing the grey dragon. One of them picked him up and dangled him by one leg, upside down.
“He be a feisty little fella. Can I keep him, Aram?”
“What for, Darass, he’s not even a mouthful to eat?” The grey’s eyes narrowed as he pondered the question. The black dragon twiddled the boy around in his sharp talons with no regard for the boy’s screams of terror. Varl slipped and a gash was torn in his leg as it passed over the claw tip.
“Ow!”
“Varl, are you alright? Put him down, you brutes. Can’t you see he is injured? He isn’t a toy you know.” Fandri’s amusement had turned to furrowed-brow concern for his friend. He flapped his arms wildly to catch the dragons’ attention.
“Put him down, Darass. I tire of this game.” The grey dragon swiped his friend’s shoulder.
The black dragon ignored their pleas, too busy with his new plaything.
Fandri appealed to the grey instead. “Aram, I know you are an ally of the elves and therefore an ally of ours. Don’t risk that entire alliance on a silly game with this squire. He is the son of the king, you know. You’d be in big trouble if any harm came to him.”
A calloused hand clapped over the halfling’s mouth and he was pulled backwards out of sight of the dragons. “Hush, you fool halfling. Appealing to their sense of duty and honour is folly. Leave the negotiations to those with more experience.”
Sir Rawlan’s harsh whisper silenced the halfling.
Strong gusts of wind buffeted the three dragons as they launched into the air. Darass rose first, carrying the struggling Varl who hurled insults at the dragons until well out of earshot of his companions. The other dragons followed, carrying bleating sheep in their talons.
The knights and squires watched in open-jawed silence as the dragons flew out of sight to the south.
Fandri tugged on Sir Rawlan’s sleeve. “We should hurry, my lord. They have a huge head-start on us. Do you think they are flying all the way back to their homeland?”
There was a briefest of nods, but the knight did not meet the halfling’s tearful gaze. “Here ends Prince Varl of the royal household of Diagro. His bravery will be preserved in our histories.”
He thumped a fist to his chest and turned away from the ridge. “Squire, gather the mounts and prepare for departure. We will turn back to bear this sad news to the king.”
“No!” The halfling and his fairy stared at the knight with quivering lips. “But we have to rescue him. Quickly, they are getting away.” Why don’t they understand me?
A look of soft-eyed empathy crossed Rawlan’s face, but he tightened his lips. “I am sorry halfling, but he is as good as dead. There is no possibility of any one surviving a visit to Flame Mountain. Come away now. We will mourn his brave deeds together.”
Darkness was now upon them and dry crusts were handed out for their meal. There was no conversation as they made their camp along the base of the ridge with guards posted to ward off predators in the night.