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The young knight ventured cautiously into the mouth of the great cave, the steady clip-clop of his somewhat-temperamental faithful steed and the fragile beam of light from his hooded lantern his only companions. He hitched up the 12-foot dragon lance from its holster on the front of Lord Gareth's spare saddle; like the saddle, the lance was also a spare, Lord Gareth had taken his magnificent 15-foot dragon slaying lance, "Scale-Breaker," with him when he had gone to slay the dragon which had settled in the nearby hills... that had been four days ago.

The skin on the young knight's arms prickled with goose bumps as he held up the lantern to illuminate the pale grey of the stone path ahead of him, the air grew stagnant and claustrophobic as he goaded the reluctant horse under him to take him deeper into the bowls of the earth. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He thought anxiously, "I'm just an apprentice. How can I succeed where three good knights have all obviously failed." But then, the reward for the dragon's head had only increased with each successive knight's failure to return. The dragon's depredations on the fairly large town of Heartford had been going on now for the better part of the year. While it had only consisted on a few livestock here and there, the sheer, unbelievable (and probably drink-induced exaggerated) size of the creature had attracted two brash, but experienced knights to try their hand at eternal glory. People nodded their heads grimly at their passing. Everything had changed when the Mayor's daughter had gone missing.

It was obvious who was responsible. There was a breast-plate sized scale left behind at the scene. The reminder of the enormous scale and the size of the creature it indicated almost caused the young warrior to wilt, but he pressed forward, remembering his brave mentor, Lord Gareth. Lord Gareth was a renowned Drakenologist. His boots were made from bronze dragon scale, his gauntlets plated in green dragon scale, his fireproof shield and armor made from the first of his many powerful, and ultimately defeated, adversaries hides. He seemed invincible, always he would venture out to meet his foe and within a day or so return with a sack of dragon scales as proof of his deed; and he never asked for payment, though of course, every inn in the country was open to him, and his stories, free of charge. It was unbelievable that he had failed, the image of Lord Gareth dead, would not form in his apprentice's mind. And yet that enormous scale, twice as large as the largest in Lord Gareth's collection came back to mind. Could it be that the great dragon-slayer had finally met his match?

The knight double checked all of his equipment with a practiced fluidity. His lance pointed out straight ahead, ready for the all out charge needed to puncture the breast of the dragon, and hopefully it's highly combustible fire-bladder. He had progressed so far as to have made his own greaves and arm guards out of dragon-hide for himself, but Lord Gareth's old breastplate fit loosely on him; the man had had the shoulders of an ox even when he was a young adventurer like himself. Three throwing spears sat in their cup on his left, rattling softly as the horse walked. Their tips were coated with the poison that he had prepared that morning and should slow the dragon enough to make the fatal charge. His shield, though also not covered with dragon scale yet, was custom made. It was over-large and thin with only a real supportive skeleton behind the thin metal. "You won't stop a sword with it, and nothing will stop a dragon's claws, but it'll protect against the heat well enough... if you're fast enough that is..." Lord Gareth had said. The knight's heart ached more than he would have admitted, he had grown to love the man. The anger swelled up within him and he touched the handle of the broad axe on his back. "If all else fails, try for the neck." He muttered in recitation to himself

The air grew quickly foul and the young warrior wrinkled his nose. The horse didn't mind, its nostrils were stuffed with potent herbs as horses naturally shied away from dragon-stink. The boy wished he had brought some for himself; he had smelled dragon before (a rank, sulfurous and metallic stink), but this was new. The air seemed almost to waver with the corruption as the beam from his lantern cut through the darkness. He quickly wrapped a cloth filled with charcoal gravel around his nose and mouth: dragon fumes were sometimes deadly if allowed to build up underground. Even so, the air was not free of taint, in fact, the odor seemed diseased somehow, almost unhealthy.

It was when he was replacing his helm that he heard the voice, "Greetings Little Dragon-Hunter."

The knight practically jumped out of his skin. His horse whinnied and tried to buck when his arms flew up and tugged on the reins. It was an epic battle in and of itself to get the damn horse under control. It snorted and shook its head up and down trying ever ang again to rear and rid itself of its passenger. The apprentice was reminded of the large purple bruise on his shin where the stallion had kicked him while saddling him that morning as he squeezed its sides and hung on for dear life. There was a low rumbling from deeper within the cave, almost like the mountain was laughing at him. The knight slid the window on his lantern down and the world disappeared, but he knew he was still in mortal danger.

The dark seemed to calm the horse and the knight regained control but he knew that wouldn't matter if a column of flame suddenly engulfed him, or a tail came whipping out of the dark, or any number of horrible things the dragon could inflict on the tiny, soft human. Knowing that the horse could never walk quietly enough to fool the dragon, the knight kicked it hard (a minor satisfaction) and it burst into a gallop. He slid open the lantern only after he started moving, despite the danger of crashing into a wall. There was no dragon lurking ahead, but there was a small passage and he angled for it. Searching around with the light revealed nothing but more stone walls, slick with the increasing humidity, and then he was charging down the narrow side passage. The knight's heart thudded in his chest, but at least there was the semblance of safety in the narrow passage that only a hatchling or the smallest of drakes could have fit through. At least he thought. "What are you running from, Brave Knight?" a voice that was over his shoulder and yet also, somehow, between his ears, spoke, it dripped with sarcasm.

The knight whirled his steed around, it whinnied its complaint, but complied this time, and grabbed a spear in his right hand, it's tip dripped with the deadly black tar. He lifted his lantern to the way he had come... and still nothing. There was more sporadic laughter/rumbling, closer now; he could feel it transmitting through the stone and up through his steed. The knight lost it, he shouted in fear, anger, loss, "Where are you?!"

"Close," said a whisper in his ear and the knight's breath caught in his throat as he prepared to die...

But the end didn't come, the lantern continued to show only the slimy walls of the cave, even the vibrations had ceased, and yet, he knew he wasn't alone. Cautiously, he hooked the lantern down on the saddle so he could pick up the reins with his left hand; he kept the point of the spear raised as he continued down the passage taking him more and more steeply downward.

Pebbles were beginning to roll down hill as the horse stepped when the voice spoke again, "Watch the slope, Knight. You might want to walk your horse from here."

Again his head whirled, but he didn't overreact this time. Instead he pressed his hands over his ears. Hadn't Lord Gareth said something about dragon mind tricks? He couldn't remember...

"I'm sorry if my manner of speech frightens you, but you need to get hold of yourself." The voice chided, "You horse is about to break its leg."

That kind of comment was never to be taken lightly and the knight's hand rose to stop his mount almost reflexively. Good thing too, because when he looked down, there was a great crack in the floor just ahead. The knight sighed in relief and regretted it after pulling in more of the cave's stench. After leading the horse around the crack, the young knight's curiosity got the better of him, "C-Can you hear me?"

The ground suddenly leveled out and the passage came to an end, terminating in an opening on his right hand side. There was no response and the knight began to think that he was just having delusions brought on by being underground so long. He turned the corner and found himself in a much wider space. That was when the voice spoke again, only this time it much louder, much deeper and came from somewhere over head. "Of course I can hear you."

The knight threw his spear as soon as the voice starting speaking, but the horse panicked at the same time and he throw went wild. He heard the spear clatter uselessly in the dark. The light still fastened to the saddle bounced it's beam erratically, but what it showed only heighted the knight's fear. Scales, a wall of scales the color of ripe corn rose ahead and to the left. There was no sense to the scattered images. He was used to wings, claws, tails, but there was just scales, rising in an impossible wall of which he couldn't see the top. The horse bucked and the knight flew off, landing in a painful clatter of metal as the loose breast plate cut him on the neck and arm openings. His shield and heavy axe were in his hands as he rose, just as Lord Gareth had taught him, but the only source of light was still scrambling away in the opposite direction of the dragon he had to face. From what he was able to see, however, he was in a cavern of marvelous size and his opponent's size was difficult to comprehend.

The slimy, sticky ground shook as the dragon laughed again, it was so loud the knight thought his ears would burst, but he managed to keep his feet. Instead of standing around an being a target, he ran in a random direction, keeping his shield close around his body and the heavy axe low, he would need both hands for an effective strike. The horse suddenly started screaming and the light disappeared. He knew he didn't have a chance, but the knight was damn sure he wasn't simply going to offer himself to the beast.

"Your noble steed isn't very faithful is it?" said the whisper voice again beside him.

"Shut up!" the knight exclaimed and charged forward again, intent on getting at least one strike in.

He tripped on an unseen rock and went sprawling on his face. "So this is it. What a sad fate for a pathetic apprentice. At least no one will know just how pathetic I am." Thought the knight.

The horse continued his panicked scream, but the knight did not look up until something heavy was placed before his prone form. The lantern's beam broke free then, revealing his horse's head as well as a single claw thicker around than his stallion's deep muscular chest. The horse lay kneeling where it was set, its whole body shivering with fear. The knight leapt forward and grabbed the lantern, letting his axe clatter to the ground; it's sound was muffled by the thick slime coating the cavern's floor. He lifted the beam and revealed an eye wider than he was tall not ten feet away. It's pupil contracted rapidly to a thin slit outlined by many red streaks in the off yellow surrounding it.

"That really stings." Commented the voice off-handedly.

It was a struggle not to scream, but this was not the first time he had seen a dragon's eye before... it was just the first time he had ever seen one bigger than a small gourd. The face beyond the eye was hardly visible in the beam of light, the snout continued down out of sight as well as the neck. "The head alone," he thought, must be bigger than the lodge back home." He also realized something else, the dragon could have killed him at any time since he entered its lair. "What do you want?" he shouted up at it.

"To be perfectly fair." The voice spoke smoothly as the eye continued to stare at him knowingly, "You're the one who has come into my home. So perhaps I should ask what you want."

The knight's head spun, this was the last thing he was expecting. Dragons weren't supposed to be eloquent. He turned the lantern from the eye - the voice muttered thanks in his ear - and aimed it down the neck which was extremely long and rested mostly on the ground. It could have admitted a fat spring cow easily whole at its thinnest point, and it continued to increase in girth as it progressed down to the body. The knight could see that the dragon had its neck curled, the body was actually facing away from him, but he refused to train his light on it. Already, the dim shadows thrown about by the dragon's golden hide seemed to suggest a mountainous, ludicrous size for any creature on God's earth. "I guess the bar stories were accurate after all." He thought grimly. It was a while before he spoke, but the dragon waited with the patience of ages. "I... I came to end your reign of terror on the town of Heartford, to rescue the daughter you have stolen, and to avenge the three godly souls you have taken." Afterwards, he was surprised he could have said that with a straight face.

The dragon seemed of the same opinion, but at least did not release its ear-splitting laugh again. The dragon's inhale seemed to take forever and caused the light wind which stirred the fumes at the pit of the great cave. The knight wrapped the charcoal cloth a bit more tightly around his face. "Quite a speech for a mere apprentice dragon-hunter." The dragon must have read his expression as he eyes widened for it added, "Don't be surprised, Lord Gareth and I had a long chat when he was here. He mentioned you, Michael."

The anger returned in a flash, "Where is Lord Gareth, What have you done with him?" Michael picked up his broad axe, leaving his shield and the lantern behind and charged for the magnificent eye. It rose swiftly upwards into the dark and the knight screamed in frustration.

"Quiet!" the voice of the dragon boomed, though it might have been speaking softly for a creature which could have flatten half the town under its bulk. The whisper voice continued, "Your mentor had much more sense than you. Didn't he teach you a thing about dragons?"

Michael trudged defeated back to his catatonic horse and back to the light still spreading out in a cone before him. "He taught me how to kill them... You're just bigger than the average dragon" he added spitefully. He sat down in protest next to the still quivering horse, refusing to be part of the dragon's game.

"Have some respect, young one. Have you know idea that you address one of the elders of dragon-kind? Lord Gareth knew right away. He laid down his lance in awe the moment he saw me."

"You lie!" Michael spat. He got up, going for the throwing spears still attached to the other side of the horse when something fell down out of the darkness. It landed in the puddle of light from the lantern. The spiraling scale patterns that adorned the shaft of Scale-Breaker was unmistakable. Michael clutched it, the only piece of normalcy in a world now turned upside down. He frowned still, "You could have taken this from him after you killed him." He muttered as much to himself as the dragon.

The voice in his head responded, "With no blood or scratches on it? There is more proof. Look at the handle."

And there, etched into the wooden, leather bound grip were the words, "Trust the Dragon." His hands began to tremble. "It can't be..." he whispered.

"But it is, and the truth is that I need your help."

"You need..." Michael mumbled, dropping the legendary lance. "No! You will tell me where Lord Gareth and the mayor's daughter and the other two knights are!" he shouted.

"The girl is safe," whispered the dragon, "And you can take her home after you've helped me. The others, I'm afraid are all dead."

"I knew you killed him!" exclaimed the knight

"Lord Gareth died trying to help me, and he was a lot less stubborn about it too. The other two wouldn't pause for a moment in trying to kill me. I had no other choice."

"No other choice indeed." Scoffed the knight.

"You are still alive aren't you?" Michael couldn't argue with that. "Now, if you'll let me, I'll tell you how you can help me and what happened to Lord Gareth, because it's the same story."

Michael walked back to the lamp and sat down with it in his lap, he was tired of resisting and the fact that this creature didn't seem intent on killing him was too disconcerting to refuse. How much simpler it would have been if it was just a raving monster!

"This has been my secret living place, one of many, for time beyond your ken. The reasons I came to this particular abode are not important. What is important is that I am sick, deadly ill, in fact. I apologize for the smell." Michael could not help but grin under his face cloth. "It is a lingering sickness, like all ills among dragons. I hoped for the longest time that it would pass, but it has only gotten worse. I am suffering from colic."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." The voice insisted, "It can be deadly in dragons, just like in horses. I am in terrible pain."

Michael took a breath and slid open the lantern's window all the way, spewing light in front of him. He stood and turned it around towards the dragon's body, adjusting the dial on the side to allow more oil for the flame.

Still the dragon's body seemed more structure than creature. The wall of scales rose overhead like a cliff side, only now he could see that bowed out slightly. Even with the lantern on full flame, it was impossible to take in the dragon as a single entity. Its claw, laying flat on the ground would have come up to his chest and it ended in a white talon longer than his entire body. The haunches were closer than the front of the body, wide and thick, like protrusions on a mountain. It would be so easy for it to reach out with any of its appendages and flatten him like a tick, hardly even a tick, more like a flea in comparison to the unbelievable bulk of the dragon.

It lay on its side, belly towards him and though he couldn't be sure for the sheer size of the dragon, he thought the head and neck might be curled up all around him. One thing was certain, however, the dragon was not lying about being unhealthy. Glittering golden scales were thrown about on the ground like the discarded shields of a defeated army. Those remaining on the hide were pale and dull in comparison. Wide patches of slug grey skin were exposed all over the body. Furthermore, the torso was enormously bloated. At the belly, the skin seemed to bulge away from the thinner chest, again it was hard to tell from his downward perspective. Despite the roundness of the stomach, the dragon appeared wasted, the skin folding in titanic sheets around the hips and shoulders. Indeed, he could have easily squeezed into any of those creases, just like a parasite.

Just then the dragon itself groaned, a terrible rumbling erupting from its midsection. It was different from the laughter and it had nothing to do with the lungs. "Hold your breath." The voice commanded.

Michael did and suddenly the cave was filled with a deep rushing noise, like the sound the wind makes during a storm, only magnified and deepened a hundred fold. Warm wet air collided with him and he hunkered down next to the horse which had passed out from fear long ago. He held the cloth tight to his face when his lungs began to burn and still the rumbling gush of hot wind continued, exaggerated like the dragon's long breaths. He might have found the situation humorous if told about it in a bar, but it was only frightening experiencing it for himself, even as his hair grew damp within his helm and the cloying stink of the air seemed to hover around him even as he struggled not to breathe. When he ventured a tiny breath to ease the pain, even through his mouth, it was the most horrible stink he had ever experienced. It was indeed what he had smelled coming into the cave, but amplified a thousand-fold. If it weren't for the charcoal he was sure he would have vomited or even passed out from the loathsome, angry stench. But more than that, it wasn't the hostile stink of barroom rips, or the fumes clinging to beggars who never bathe. It was a sick smell, something associated with the dying room of a hospital. There was something wrong with this dragon, a corruption at its very core.

The deadly wind ended finally, but the sink still clung about the floor of the cave. Michael struggled, gasping into his protective filter until the dragon breathed softly on him, removing some, but not all of the horrid stink that had penetrated his very pores.

"I am sorry, but I am sick. Won't you help me?" whispered the voice on his shoulder, blessedly unencumbered by the smell.

"I'm... *cough* not a doctor. I can't... *cough cough* help you. Lord Gareth might have... but not me."

"You can still help me." Said the dragon's mind-voice. "It's very simple."

Michael was about to ask how, but the enormous eye was back now, the dragon's massive head resting on the floor just feet from him. The points of teeth longer than the knight's arm just emerged from beneath the scaled lip of the beast.

"You can fix it... from inside." Said the dragon seriously, its lips didn't so much as twitch when it spoke with its mind-voice.

Understanding was still hard to grasp. "Inside..." 'where' Micheal was about to ask, but the head lifted slightly and pulled away, turning to face him. Nostrils, caked in white gunk, opened like tunnels before him. The snout was very narrow compared to its length, but it was still wider than his own little cottage was long. Then the jaws opened.

The teeth were revealed, yellowed with time and dull with tips he could have placed his palm on; not that it mattered with a creature this size. The roof of the mouth, ribbed and also a sickly pale color, was visible for a moment and then flew out of sight. The lantern revealed a red avenue of which the long tongue was the carpet. Inside...

The dragon must have thought him a fool, or crazy, or both. He was shaking his head, ready to refuse when the voice preempted him. "You won't die."

The knight heaved a critical laugh, "Like Lord Gareth didn't die?"

"I..." and the voice showed the first sign of hesitation he had yet heard, "I don't know what exactly happened to Lord Gareth."

"What do you mean? How can you expect him not to die if you ate him?" asked the knight unbelievingly. What was more unbelievable, despite the words written on the lance was that his teacher would have walked willingly into that cavernous maw.

"You may not believe this young one, but there was a time when our peoples were closer. We helped each other. Your people saved many a dragon's life in this way, just as you might save mine."

Lord Gareth himself had admitted that once dragons had been the friends of mankind, but looking into that tooth lined pathway, Michael instinctively cringed away. "It's just not possible. I'll die."

"You won't die, trust me. Trust like your mentor trusted me."

Michael still couldn't believe it, not with the saliva still dripping from the roof of the mouth so far overhead that it was out of the light projecting from the lantern. But still there was the fact that the dragon had not yet killed him, though it could have easily done so; the fact that it was obviously sick; the lance instructing him to trust this creature that was like a world unto itself hidden below the world where the sun shone and things made sense. And... there was the glory still to be won.

Returning, if he still had the option to return, with the dragon still here would bring only shame. With no teacher, he could never finish his training, no other hunter would take him, it was their duty to either win or die trying; every dragon slayer alive was undefeated in combat. If... if he somehow managed to claim the missing daughter, and at least convince the dragon to leave - easily exaggerated upon - he would be an accomplished dragon hunter in everyone's eyes. Compared to a lifetime of shoveling horse shit, climbing into a dragon's maw seemed almost possible... almost.

"So... if I climb... in there, you'll give me the mayor's daughter?"

"Yes" answered the voice simply. The tongue quivered just a bit, it was like a very flat, very long, and very thick python.

"If... if I do this," he said echoing his own thoughts, "You'll have to go." He didn't dare make it a demand and he was still trying to convince himself almost as much as the dragon was.

"That's fine, I'll leave." Said the dragon, "Even though if I just stay down here for a few decades everyone in your town will forget about me anyways."

He spoke so lightly about it, Michael wondered briefly just how old the dragon might be. But it didn't matter. The knight spoke in a stronger voice, "You have to go far away and not ever return."

"I've never heard that one before." Said the dragon sarcastically, but added, "Fine fine. Are you going to climb in or not?"

Michael froze, but, amazingly, he feet began to move forward. "I must be braver than I thought." Thought Michael, "Or crazier." But then Lord Gareth had often said the two were often the same thing.

Michael stepped through the gap between the towering canine and the dragon's first row of teeth. Behind him, Michael could see that the teeth, though aged had fresh new teeth poked through the gum under them, ready to replace the old ones when they fell out. The pale red gum was as firm as the cavern floor and Michael skirted along the right side of the mouth to avoid clamoring next to the serpentine tongue. It was even warmer now, and wetter, though, at this end at least, the air was fresh, constantly moving with the dragon's long, slow breaths. The knight lowered the charcoal cloth from his face., but kept it tied around his neck.

It was a surprisingly long walk. He gripped tooth after tooth as he walked along the narrow gum line. The hard yellow shapes were conical and evenly spaced at the fore, but grew wider and less pointy towards the pack of the mouth. There was a large dental gap that would have admitted two mounted men abreast and then the molar began. Before Michael continued, however, the voice spoke again, "You'll need to take off your armor, leave your axe behind too."

Michael began to protest, but he no longer saw the point, the dragon could kill him instantly at this point just by closing his mouth. He was eager to rid himself of the misfitting breastplate and the heavy leather jerkin under it anyways. It was far too hot for heavy armor anyways and likely to get warmer still. He threw the armor away, keeping only the greaves, the forearm plates, the lantern and the shield. He didn't know why exactly he kept it, save for the need to feel at least a little protected now that he was left only with his boot dagger for protection. The dragon didn't complain at any rate.

The molars were closer together, like a chest high wall next to him. The gum line grew narrower still until he was half clinging to the teeth to keep from falling. The base of the tongue would have no doubted supported him, but the place where the gum and the tongue met seemed like a good place to readily slip beneath the tongue. Finally, when the gums were almost flush with the rear most teeth and he could see the back of the throat, like a cave all in itself were the wind rushed in and out, he placed his lantern on top of the tooth and climbed up. His hand slipped on what he thought was a good grip between the teeth as he rose, but thankfully the low molars were not as tall as the incisors had been and he managed to catch himself. He blanched when he saw what he hand came away with, however when he was sprawled out on the flat surface of the tooth. A human forearm, the bones grimy with rotted away flesh was what his hand had caught on, a mailed glove still held the hand together.

"Oh thank god, that has been stuck there for almost a century!" exclaimed the dragon's voice.

Michael hastily tossed the arm out the side of the dragon's mouth. He walked lightly up to the massive muscles at the hinge of the jaw. The bulged like the structural supports of a cathedral, lining either side of the black abyss of the throat. The hanging uvula was the only thing that differentiated it from the black mouth his had initially descended to come here. The knight hesitated.

"Oh go on! My jaws are getting tired." The dragon complained.

Michael suddenly felt like laughing. He decided he would write a book about his experiences with the genteel dragon... if he succeeded where Lord Gareth had failed, however.

He hopped down the back of the large tooth at the back of the mouth. He placed his right hand on the slick muscle wall beside him as he walked around. He felt like he could almost feel the immense power in those jaws that could literally crush a castle's walls to dust. When he hopped on the back of the tongue, Michael immediately fell down, but it wasn't entirely his fault. The tongue wrinkled, zigzagging up the whole length of the mouth he had traversed, and yet so small compared to just the length of the neck.

"That tickles! Go in quickly and don't touch the thing hanging in my throat or your trip will be a very short one."

He was sitting on the edge of a precipice, a muscle lined pit loomed at his feet, the wiggling tongue jostling him little by little towards the edge. He knew there was no going back after this. His lantern lit the pulsating flesh, bright red, and the wind paused, switching from exhaling to inhaling. He still didn't know how this wasn't going to kill him. The approaching wind at his back made his decision for him. He slid forward.