Dragonsbane
#6 of Original Stories
Another story in my Dragon, Maiden, Knight series, this tells of a Maiden rescuing a Knight from a Dragon. Sort of. I took great liberties with "maiden" and "knight." The dragon is definitely a dragon though.
All women are many things throughout their lives. We begin, of course, as babes at our mother's breasts. Though I had a nursemaid, as was proper for a king's daughter. He was not much of a king, my father. In other lands our kingdom might have been considered a mere barony. But my father and his fellows under the High King Mark called themselves kings, and had pride enough in it.
I grew swiftly from babe to child, as all infants do. I ran wild through the halls of the castle, and through the town and the fields and forests beyond. I had duties and lessons, but they weighed less heavily on me than on my siblings, for I was the seventh child, and the fourth daughter. So duty called me but lightly, and my family cared little when I chose to tumble with the hounds and learn to ride horses rather than learn history, or geography, or the maidenly arts.
Though I became a maiden as well, as all girls must someday, and danced at the solstice fires. I danced so wildly, with my eyes so bright and fierce, that none of the boys would dance across the fire from me. But I cared little for them in those days. I need not marry for state, my elder sister had wed the youngest son of the High King, and the next eldest had wed the only boy of marriageable age in the neighboring small kingdoms, and I had a third sister yet to marry before I would be called on, so I was free. And I found that freedom good. I had no interest in the sons of lesser lords, nor in the sons of the village boys. I danced at the solstice fires only for the love of dancing, and for the wildness that was in my heart, and not for the love of any of them.
It surprised no one when on my fifteenth birthday I joined the Shield Maidens and swore myself to the Goddess's warrior aspect. I learned a different kind of dancing there. I learned the dance of sword and shield, how to make the weapons come alive in my hand and become part of me as I fought. I learned also how to fight on horseback, how to move as one, human and animal becoming a single entity. And I learned to fight without weapons, which was the most like dancing of all, alone in the practice circle with only my own body, my own hands and feet, as weapons. I loved all these things, and I excelled at them. But our kingdom was a peaceful one, so I never took these skills to battle. Secretly, though I never spoke of it, I was glad. The wildness that was in me demanded that I use my body, that I move and dance and fight, but I had no desire to kill.
Another sort of desire began to weigh on my mind in my nineteenth year. Most of my fellows had felt such needs much younger, and I had been well educated by the elder Shield Maidens, and by the Priestesses in the ways of man and maid, but I had never felt any stirrings for any man. Until I met Llaron. We met over a clash of swords, and in his fierce determination I saw my own wildness reflected. He was one of my father's knights. We trained with them on occasion, and I had seen him often. But we only rarely sparred with them, and I avoided such contests when I could, for none of them would fight me whole-heartedly. Because I was a maiden, but more because I was my father's daughter, and they feared his anger were I injured in even the least way, they always held their blows. And I found no joy in such fights.
Llaron's sword, however, met mine without reservation, and we were so closely matched that we dueled for nearly an hour, until at last I did as I had never done before and stepped back from the fight, calling for a truce.
He willingly lowered his sword. He was breathing as hard, and looked as weary as I. But he was also smiling widely, and I could not help but return that smile.
I suppose I should say that we courted then, for that is what it was. But it was not a courtship of flowers and poems. It was a courtship of contests and challenges. I sought to be certain that his wild heart was truly a match for my own, and I suspect he sought the same. We crossed swords, we raced horses, and we fought hand to hand. And whether I stood victorious over him or whether he was the victor, my heart always leapt to be matched against him.
So it was inevitable that when I danced once more at the solstice fires he came and danced across from me, and leaped across, first of all the men and boys there, to claim my hand as the fires burned low.
He was but a knight, and to some a lowly match for a princess, but I was a fourth daughter, and my father thought well of him, so he blessed our match.
Thus I left maidenhood behind and became a wife.
A greater change followed soon after. For while I was yet in my first year of marriage, I discovered that I was with child.
I find I lack words to tell how I felt at the news. That I carried a life beneath my heart filled me awe, but it filled me with fear as well. I found my fear of having this child was greater than my fear of going to war, and yet at the same time I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything. I loved the child through all the months I carried it. That love was wonder and awe and joy, all together in one. The fear was for myself, that I would fail as a mother, and somehow raise the child wrongly. And a greater fear was for the whim of the Goddess, that the babe might be stillborn, or take ill, or simply die without cause as some babes did. I feared the birth too, knowing that it would be painful. Some women died while birthing.
I prayed every day to the Goddess. I hoped that perhaps She would have mercy on me, who had been sworn to Her. And yet I feared that She might wish to punish me for leaving Her service to wed. And yet was She not the Mother as well as the Maiden? Surely I served Her now. But all such rational thought was so easily swept away by fear.
In the end that same fierceness carried me through those months. This was another challenge to be met, and I would not fail it. And my love for my babe as well, all unborn, strengthened me when I feared. I loved the child as I carried it, and if it was the Goddess's will to take it from me, or take me as well, I would have loved all I could. My husband, my Llaron, was there for me as well. He spoke of naught but joy, and of the happiness a son or daughter would bring to our household. Sometimes I think I saw a flicker of the same fear in his eyes, the fear of losing the child, or of losing us both. But he never spoke of it, and no more did I. We spoke only of joy, and took strength in the hope of the future.
In the end all our fears were for naught, for the birthing was easy. Hard enough, harder than many things I have done in my life, but it was not as long as most and I and the babe were both well when all was finished.
The child was a boy. Llaron would have greeted a daughter with joy, I know, but he greeted his son with joy unbounded. He had an heir.
We named him Gwyson.
I had not thought I could love anything more than I had loved Gwyson while I carried him under my heart, but somehow I loved him even more as he began to grow.
Gwyson had a double measure of my wild nature. He was not a biddable baby, and he was not a biddable child either. He was good-natured, certainly. And he was not colicky nor inclined to tantrums. He simply had more life, more wildness and energy, than such a small frame should contain. He crawled early, and crawled fast, often getting himself into trouble in the instant between my head turning away and back again.
He grew only more adventurous as he grew older. Countless skinned knees and scraped elbows deterred him not at all. Llaron, of the opinion that the boy might calm somewhat if given an outlet for his energy, taught him to ride, and to fence, when he was still a child of five years. He took to it as a fish takes to water, and to half a dozen other martial skills, from bow and arrow to fighting unarmed. By the time Gwyson was ten he was chafing to be allowed to begin his training as a squire. But Llaron held firm that he must wait until he was fourteen, as all young squires must, and I held firm with him. Llaron as much because it was simply the way of things as for any other reason, but I because I would keep him by my side as long as I might. He could not train as his own father's squire, he must go to another knight, and I would miss him sorely when he went.
It was but two months before his fourteenth birthday when Gwyson's horse came home without him. A worried servant summoned me to the stable where the horse had been brought, and I too was filled with worry, with fear and even terror, when I saw my son's steed.
The gelding's long mane had been burnt short, and a long, blackened streak along its side showed were flames had come close enough to sear hair, though it seemed to be but little harmed. Its legs were marked with smaller burns and its ankles bore deep scratches, particularly the forefeet.
I had never seen such wounds, but I knew all the same what must have caused them. Fear made a sickening knot of my stomach. My son had encountered a dragon.
I left the injured gelding in the servants' care and went to saddle my own horse. She was no longer young, but she was steady, and we knew each other well. That would be important, if I had to face a dragon. Important too was the spear I took, for to fight a dragon with a sword is foolhardy indeed.
Setting my heels to the mare's side I guided her out along the road. The hard surface didn't show the tracks of my son's horse, but I didn't need them to guess where he had gone. There had been rumors of a dragon living in the hill country to the west. Gwyson himself had spoken of them with interest. I cursed myself for not realizing what his excited tones had meant. It is the nature of young men to find such things as dragons of interest. But Gwyson was twice as bold as any other youth I had known. I should have known that he would wish to challenge the beast.
The road seemed impossibly long as I rode swiftly along it. I did not urge my mare to a full gallop, much as I wished to. The hills were far enough that she would founder long before we reached them, and I had no wish to face a dragon on foot if I could avoid it.
It had been some hours past noon when I set out, and the sun was only a hand's breadth above the horizon when I saw the first sign that I neared my destination. The countryside here was rocky, mostly covered in dry grass and low scrub. Only a few trees stood here and there. The hills themselves rose perhaps a quarter mile from the road, worn mounds of stone seamed with cracks and gullies, and dotted on top with more scrubby bushes. A clear trail of broken brush marked where Gwyson must have turned his horse from the road. I turned to follow it, and only a few yards further I found the first signs of struggle. There were burned patches in the grass, and a small, broken form lay in the midst of a trampled circle.
It was a dragon. But not a grown dragon, this one was tiny, its wings not yet developed, and the whole of its body was no more than two feet long. The fear deepened in me when I saw it. Dragons do not hunt alone when they are young. Where one so small dwelt, there would be more.
So I was not surprised to see a second small corpse not far from the first. I urged my mare onward, following the trail of trampled grass and mangled dragonets.
Abruptly in the distance I heard a shout. "Help!" It was faint, but unmistakable, and a great deal of the terror that had weighed down my heart lifted. Gwyson was alive!
The shout was immediately followed by a roar, and a gully in the distant hill was lit up with a reddish glow. I spurred my horse towards it, knowing that the worst of my fears might yet be realized. For the smaller creatures had indeed not hunted alone.
As I came to the mouth of the gully, I saw that one side of it was nearly sheer stone, and before a narrow crack that ran back some unknown distance in that stony wall crouched a dragon.
It was a female, which surprised me not at all. Her body was perhaps twice the size of my horse's, though built along lower, more reptilian lines. Her long neck ended in a rather horse-like head, though any equine resemblance was somewhat ruined by the jaws that gaped open all the way back to her ears. Sharp teeth lined her mouth and sharp claws tipped each toe. She was engaged at attempting to dig into the stone that prevented her from squeezing into the narrow crack, and it was gouged and scarred with the marks of those claws.
"Gwyson!" I called out, and the dragon turned and looked at me with a roar of rage.
"Mother!" The voice was tired, and somewhat pained, but also very relieved. I might have felt relief as well, but I had no time for it. All my thought, all my feeling and action and effort, must go now towards the coming battle. I had never fought a foe so dangerous, nor had I ever fought for a cause so great as the life of my son. But I could not let these things distract me either. I sent a prayer to the Goddess as I hefted my spear and, summoning the old wildness, the heat and joy of battle, I urged my horse forward.
The dragon snarled, jaws agape, and breathed out a spout of flame at me, though I was yet too far for the fire to reach.
I smiled to see it, for the dragon had just told me that one tale of dragon-slaying I had heard was true. She had stretched out her neck, holding it straight, when she flamed. She could not flame when her head was turned. And I knew now as well how far her flames would reach. I urged the mare to greater speed, spear leveled. The dragon once more stretched out her neck, preparing to flame, and I signaled my mare, who danced aside gracefully, the fire streaming past us both. The dragon stopped flaming and whipped its head around, and I stabbed out at it as the horse and I thundered past her.
But that snakelike neck moved faster than I had thought, and she snapped at the spear, biting down on it just behind the head and wrenching it from my hands. My heart sank as I let the horse continue by, getting out of range of that firey breath. I drew my sword and turned the mare about to face the dragon once more. Losing the spear had been foolish, and it might cost me dearly. But I could do naught but continue the fight. Setting heels to the mare once more I charged at the dragon. And once more we darted aside, my horse and I, just as she straightened her neck to flame at us. But this time we did not merely run past. Instead I guided the mare to circle her, keeping moving just out of reach of claws and jaws. She could not flame so long as we moved, for she could not hold her neck straight while she turned and turned to reach us. She snapped at me again and again, and I met those clashing teeth with my sword. Her scales were hard, but not impervious, and soon her muzzle was bloodied and gashed.
Her head moved fast as lightning, the long neck curving back and striking forward with the speed of a viper. It took all my skill to parry those swift strikes. Her body was more ponderous, and she turned slowly, making it easy enough for my mare to circle and circle again, keeping her always turning, her neck always curving to strike at us, and never straight enough to flame.
After circling for some time she tried to be clever, and turned the opposite direction from the way I circled, trying to surprise me. But I had hoped that she might try such a thing and in that instant when her back was turned I dared to leap from my horse's back to land on hers. She screeched in outrage, but her neck, though flexible, did not quite allow her to turn fully around, and she could not flame at me even if it had.
She flapped her wings, and her body heaved beneath me like a boat in a storm. I ran forward along her back, needing only two strides to reach the spot between her wings where neck and body joined.
For one brief moment I hesitated. I doubt she ever knew. I doubt anyone watching would have noticed that instant, less than a second long, when I paused with my sword over my head.
Then I brought the sword down with all my strength, driving it through scale and sinew to sink into the dragon's spine, finding a gap between the bones and severing it cleanly. The dragon did not even scream as she fell, her death came too swiftly. I do not think she ever knew she was dead.
Silence hung in the air for a long moment. Then as I turned towards the crack the dragon had sought to enter with such energy, there was a sound of scrambling feet on stone, and Gwyson crawled out of the crack. He limped, and looked slightly scorched, but I could see no great wounds on him. Relief swept over me as I went to him.
"Gwyson!"
"Mother!" He clung to me, and I to him for a long time.
After that I did all that a mother should in such a circumstance. I examined his wounds, and found that the dragon's breath had been unable to penetrate the crack far enough to harm him, though when he had first fled from her she had come near enough to leave his clothing somewhat scorched. And he had twisted his ankle while dashing into the sheltering crevice. Otherwise he was unharmed.
I lifted him up onto my horse, and walked beside as we journeyed home. And I told him exactly what I thought of his foolishness in seeking after the fame and excitement of dragonslaying. He was suitably chastened, and I was gratified.
But through all this my thoughts were somewhat elsewhere. Knowing that he was safe I could think on other things, and my mind dwelt long on the dragon I had slain, and on the small, mangled forms of the dragonets.
We were less than half way home when my husband met us, with his squire by his side, both armed with spears as I had been. He greeted us with relieved joy, and gave Gwyson a scolding at least equal to the one I had given him, leaving the boy even more ashamed of his foolish behavior.
When we reached home Gwyson's hurts were tended, and I, exhausted by the day's events, went to my bed. As I drifted off to sleep my last thought was still of the dragon, and of that brief moment of hesitation before I slew her.
It was mid-afternoon the next day when Llaron came to me bearing the dragon's head. He had sent a servant out to retrieve it. "You're a dragonsbane now, my fierce one. You should display your trophy with pride. It can be quite easily mounted, and no other Shield Maiden ever slew a dragon."
I looked at the thing, the face grotesque in death as it had not been in life. Living she had held a sort of fierce grace, something which I could have admired. Now her tongue lolled from her mouth, and the stump of her neck was ragged and bloody. And even properly mounted she would still look dead. And I would still regret having killed her.
"I don't want a trophy," I said.
My husband looked at me with blank incredulity. "Why not?"
I turned away from the pitiful dead thing he held as I hunted for the words to explain what I felt. "Because I take no joy in having killed her."
"Surely you should be proud! There are probably fewer living dragonsbanes in all the kingdom than I could count on the fingers of one hand. You've done a great and courageous thing."
I sighed softly, and finally said the only thing I could think of to say. "I'm no hero. I only killed her because I had to. I couldn't let her harm Gwyson. But were it not for that I would have ridden away, and left her to live. Please, I want no reminder of what I did. Take her and bury her, I couldn't bear to have her staring down at me."
Llaron was obviously baffled, but he gave in to my request, however strange it might be in his eyes, and buried the dragon's head in the woods behind the horse pasture. I thanked him, and kissed him when he finished, though I knew he still didn't understand.
Perhaps I should have tried to explain my reasons more thoroughly. But I doubt he would have understood even then. He was, like Gwyson, too full of tales of the heroism of those who slew dragons.
I was no hero at all, but had only done what I must. And nearly failed even then. I had hesitated, in that final moment, because I knew what lay in the dragon's heart. I had felt the fear of my child's death all the time I had been riding to seek him. I knew how the death of one's child might eat at the soul. And Gwyson, unthinking and full of youthful ideals, had slain all her children. In her place I would have done just as she had, I knew it to the bottom of my soul.
How then could I call myself a dragonsbane, and hang her head on my wall? I might as well hang my own head there. She and I were too much alike, for she was a mother too.