Sir George and the Dragon (Daffyd and the Damsel)

The knight stood there, urinating, letting out a contented sigh as his piss splashed against the ground, steam rising in the cool morning air.

“I tell you boy, there is naught much more rewarding than emptying your bladder at the start of the day,” remarked Sir George boisterously.

Daffyd looked over and nodded, “Yes sir,” replied the sixteen year old boy while still dismantling the makeshift camp and preparing for the day of travel ahead.

Finished, the knight shook himself and pulled up his breeches. At one time, Sir George was one of the handful of men called the Knights of Renown, praised above most others for acts of gallantry and valor.

Tales of his courageous deeds included the defeat of the Mad Bull of Stover, a ferocious beast known to have killed at least five villagers during a rampage. Balladeers sang of his exploit against the hirsute giant of Loch Narin, said to have been over nine feet tall and covered from foot to head in hair. Others still, in reverence retell how Sir George, single handedly warded of an entire cadre of assassins intent on removing King Eadward from the throne.

But that had been more than twenty years ago, in the time between, the legend outgrew the man.

Now, in his middle forties, belly more prodigious than chest, Sir George barely fit the image cast by the tales of his glorious achievements.

Standing an even six feet tall, thinning hair more gray than not, once penetrating blue eyes, oft called bright enough to lift a maiden’s skirt with but a glance, were faded and washed, a nose touched by a lattice work of red veins due to his love of food, drink, and carousing.

“Get to it boy,” said the knight, sweeping a hand over the half deconstructed campsite, “We’ve need to be in Carrington afore nightfall.”

“Yes sir,” replied the squire, picking up his pace. Standing a few inches taller than the knight himself, though much leaner, he kept his light brown locks shorn and near his scalp.

He had been with Sir George for almost five full years, truly no more than a boy when the knight had accepted him into his service, whether by providence or just circumstance.

Daffyd had been orphaned as a child, least wise that’s how his adoptive mother told it. She said she had found the lad on her doorstep when he weren’t more than five, all dirty and covered in grime. Times were tough and food was scarce, but the boy was a good worker, strong back and proved worth the hassle of rearing. One day he caught the eye of old Thurston, village blacksmith. The venerable journeyman offered Daffyd an apprenticeship to work with metal, giving over a handful of coin to his adoptive mother to the right.

For three years the boy lived and worked with Thurston, but the aging man, body weakened by time succumbed to the particularly bitter winter when Daffyd was eleven. Thurston wife decided to sell the smithy, leaving the boy essentially homeless. Just so happened, Sir George was in the village, returning from his quest to free the village of Harrow from the thrall of an ice wolf. The knight’s squire had unfortunately been killed during the melee with the beast and thus fate brought the two together.

Walking over to where the two horses and donkey were tethered, “Have you watered the horses?” asked Sir George, patting the flank of his stallion and looking back toward the boy.

“Yes sir,” replied Daffyd, smiling back.

“Oats?”

“And a half apple for each,” replied the squire, bundling up his bedroll.

Sir George nodded approvingly, “Good,” he said. “They say it’s a dragon,” he commented.

“Sir?” asked Daffyd, bringing his roll over and securing it to the pack animal.

“Carrington boy, they say it’s plagued by a dragon,” he replied. “Big as a barn and nasty as they come,” he added.

Daffyd let out a low whistle, “I’ve never seen a dragon sir,” he said.

Sir George put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Fearsome creatures,” he said, patting Daffyd gently.

Big green eyes round, Daffyd nodded. “Have you ever killed one?” he asked.

“Nay, saw one once though, great serpentine beast, green and gray and covered in scales,” Sir George started, shaking his head, “Nested near Fallwood. Was a young one I’d say, judging the by the size of the thing.”

Daffyd nodded.

“The village sent out the word and knights from across the land arrived, all eager to claim the glory for dispatching the brute. The monstrosity killed Sir William of Trent, talons like honed razors cut through him,” he curled his fingers into scythes made a slashing motion at the young man. “Next Sir Dane, not much older than you are now, handsome devil, least till the dragon took his head,” he nodded. “Then it was turn at it, I was determined, steeling myself, I crept into its lair, sword in hand and shield on my arm. ‘Out you vile beast I hollered,’ trying to lure the loathsome thing from the darkness and out it came, bowling me over, fleeing before I could tame it with my steel,” he lamented, looking off to one side, reminiscing.

Daffyd shook his head in awe.

“Passed by me so close I looked in its cold yellow eye,” he said dramatically, closing one of his eyes and squinting at the boy. “Near shook my courage, I’ve no shame in saying,” he acknowledged.

“What happened then?” asked the boy.

“The beast must have been more afeared of me than I of it, because once it abandoned its lair, it never returned,” he said, laughing noisily.

“And you think this one is bigger?” Daffyd asked.

“Aye, they say big enough to carry off a horse in its claws,” he said in a low tone, demonstrating the motion with his hands.

The squire shook his head and shuddered.

Sir George noticed and clapped down on Daffyd’s shoulder, “Fret not lad, you’ve the greatest knight in all the land betwixt you and the creature,” he reassured confidently.

Daffyd nodded and secured the rest of the gear, together they set out on the road.

Carrington

The small thorpe contained one building more than twenty, nestled against the densely wooded area not far from the rugged and inhospitable Crag Mor hills, where rumor held the dragon made its den.

Lights glowed warmly though the windows as Sir George and Daffyd cantered into the small village.

“No palisade,” Sir George commented, noting the lack of a defensive perimeter.

Daffyd frowned, “We’re far enough inland, this place should be of no interest to raiders. Large enough too to discourage bandits,” he surmised.

The knight snorted, “No excuse not to have a barrier keeping monsters out,” he stated, pointing at a large building, painted sign above the door reading ‘The Dancing Unicorn Inn’.

Rather than argue, Daffyd dismounted and took the reins from Sir George, helping the heavy knight down from his horse before tethering the reins to the railing outside.

Striding confidently forward and into the establishment, Sir George raised his hands to shoulder height, “You may all forthwith relax, I, Sir George, have come to slay the dragon,” he boldly said with a grandiose flourish.

Besides the attractive young woman behind the counter, the other two patrons glanced up and then back into their cups.

“Forgive them brave sir knight,” said the woman, bowing slightly, “But Sir Ellard and Sir Roderick have both made similar claims in recent times and naught has been seen of them in a fortnight passed,” she explained.

Sir George nodded, frowning, “Both able knights aye, but not dragon slayers,” he opined.

Daffyd appeared inside the inn, coming to stand beside the knight. Grinning at the girl, who was maybe a year or two his senior, he bobbed his head and said, “We’ve two horses and an ass we’ll need to shelter for the night outside.”

She nodded, dark braided ponytail bouncing, “Two rooms or will ye share?” she asked.

Sir George held up the index finger of his right hand, “One room, my boy will remain with the animals in the barn,” he said.

“Right,” she said, “I’ll send my brother out to stable your horses,” she said.

“What have you for repast?” sir George inquired, looking toward the fire where an inky black cauldron hung suspended above the glowing coals.

“Food? We’ve a hare stew if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied, following his line of sight.

Sir George nodded, “That will be fine, we’ll have two bowls of that,” he expressed.

Dispatching a boy a couple of years younger than her, the young woman got the knight and the squire set up at a long table and provided them with a steaming bowl of stew from the cauldron, Sir George taking a tankard of ale to wash down the meal, while Daffyd was content with water.

Unleashing a noisome belch, Sir George rubbed his rounded stomach and smiled. Raising his free hand, he signaled the young woman over, taking another tankard, and another and another.

After half a dozen drinks, he summoned her back. “You are fair of face, how you called girl?” he queried, words slurred.

“Jenny, sir,” she replied politely.

He nodded, “I knew a Jenny once, pretty like you save for her lazy eye. I realize you are probably overawed by a knight of my caliber in your small little town, but I have decided I shall permit you the honor of sharing my bed this night,” cheeks colored by the consumption of alcohol, he said with big lopsided smile.

She half smiled, flicking a glance at Daffyd then back to the knight, “You do me honor good sir knight, but I am unworthy of such,” she paused, “Generous invitation.”

“Nonsense,” he blurted, slamming an open hand down on the table, making the empty wooden stew bowls jump a few inches into the air.

Daffyd shook his head at the young woman, slight frown pulling down at the corners of his mouth. “He’s in his cups, you’ve no need for alarm,” he said.

Sir George hefted his tankard and drank noisily, ale spilling out the sides and down his face onto his jerkin.

“Another,” he said, words almost incomprehensible, setting his now empty drinking vessel back on the wooden table.

Jenny looked at Daffyd. The boy shook his head and motioned enough with his hand.

Sir George turned to the boy, “Is she going to bring another?” he asked.

“No sir, she said the hour is late and you’ve need of a good night’s rest before setting after the dragon,” he said.

The knight nodded, head wobbling, “Aye, she’s a good lass and right she is, I’m to bed,” he stammered, trying to push himself to standing.

“Here let me help you,” offered Daffyd, getting up and sliding an arm under the knight’s shoulders to help him up.

Teetering, Sir George bowed awkwardly to the young woman, “Milady,” he slurred.

“Sir Knight,” she replied politely.

“You may need to assist me to my room lad,” Sir George said, shifting his weight onto the boy. Daffyd nodded and help get the knight to bed, the latter snoring before the lad had even gotten the inebriated knight properly prepared.

Returning to the taproom, he smiled at Jenny, “My apologies for Sir George, our journey has been long and with little to excite,” he offered.

She grinned and shook her head, “Is he really here for the dragon?” she asked.

Daffyd nodded and smiled, “He is Sir George, the Sir George,” he replied.

“Truly?” she asked, making a sour face.

“I speak true, think what you might of him now, come the morrow, he will be ready to conquer the dragon preying on this hamlet,” he said.

She chuckled. “And what of you? Are you here to help him?” playing with a loose strand of hair dangling down the side of her comely face.

Daffyd laughed, “I am no knight. I will help get him armored and ready for battle come the morn, such is my task,” he explained.

“You should take care going after the beast, tis said to be of such size to eat a grown man in but one gulp,” she cautioned, brows raised.

“Aye, I heard such, but Sir George is fearless and unafraid of such talk,” he replied.

Jenny nodded. “However shall I console myself that the opportunity to feel him between my thighs slipped away?” she said, tilting her head back and touching her forehead with the back of her hand in mock despair.

Daffyd chuckled and shook his head.

“What of you? I didn’t get your name,” she said with a smile.

“Daffyd,” he said.

“Odd name,” she said.

He shrugged, “Tis the only one I’ve got, better or worse,” he answered.

She laughed, “True enough,” she said, nodding.

Nodding in return, Daffyd said, “I think I shall go to the stable for the night.”

“There’s space by the fire if you would prefer to remain inside,” she offered, pointing to an area near the large stone fireplace.

He smiled and shook his head. “My thanks Jenny, but good eve,” he said, exiting the inn and heading into the stable.

Gathering Intelligence

The sun rose early, igniting the sky with fiery colors and chasing the darkness away. Daffyd arose from his makeshift bed of straw and stretched, scrubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes before yawning and scratching at his sides. Climbing out of the stall, he exited the near empty stables and went to the inn. He found Sir George seated at a table near the fire, a plates of eggs and pan fired meat before him.

Looking up, the knight smiled at the boy, “The day is almost half done and we’ve a dragon to slay sleepy head,” he teased, seemingly  unimpeded by the effects of his over indulgence the night previous.

Daffyd grinned and nodded, joining the knight at the table. Jenny appeared with another plate of food, smiling down at the boy who nodded and smiled in return.

“We’ve a meeting the village head shortly, to talk about the dragon, make haste with your provender,” Sir George informed, chewing noisily.

Nodding, the squire ate as quickly as he could, golden yoke spilling down the side of his face before he wiped it away with the sleeve of his long shirt.

The village head turned out to be a woman of middle years named Margaret. Her husband had been in charge of Carrington until the pox took him just three years back. She was not particularly tall or imposing, but carried herself with a certain sense of import. Her grey hair pulled back off her face as she walked into the Dancing Unicorn.

“You are Sir George?’ she asked, walking to the table and looking at the knight.

“Aye, I am he,” he replied. “You must be Margaret.”

“And this is?” she asked, looking to the boy.

“This is Daffyd, my squire, he will be assisting me,” advised the knight.

She nodded.

“Please, sit,” offered Sir George, offering the woman a seat on the bench beside Daffyd.

“Before we begin, you should know this, we’ve less than forty pieces of silver and a like amount of copper for this task,” she informed as she took up beside Daffyd.

Sir George frowned, “A paltry sum for a feat so grand,” he replied, shaking his head.

“Whatever treasures be found in its lair are yours to keep, and of course there is the glory,” Margaret stated.

Sir George nodded, “Fame and fortune are already mine, but,” he paused, taking a drink of water, “I will slay this dragon for you,” he said, nodding affirmatively. “Now tell me, where might I find this dragon of yours?”

“The beast is said to reside in the hills of Crag Mor, though whence I know not, only to say none have found its lair and returned to reveal it,” she said.

Sir George nodded. “Tell me what those who’ve seen the beast say?” he encouraged.

“The only one to say he actually saw it with his own true eyes was Wilfred Godwin. He says he saw it just as the sun was leaving the day, he was returning from his fields and a shadow fell over him, the sound of great wings flapping, close enough he felt the wind of it on his face. The creature descended from above and took one of his cows, lifting it aloft and carrying it back over Crag Mor before vanishing into the night.

“Sounds big,” Sir George said nodding, “Should be easy to find. So many places little ones could go,” he reasoned. “What color did Wilfred say the beast was?”

“He never mentioned it, saying only that he fled for his life back to his home,” she provided.

“I would speak with him,” Sir George said, “There may be some details he might provide that will aid me.”

She shook her head, “Wilfred’s not been seen since before the other two knights came, just left his home abandoned, livestock unattended,” she explained.

“He live alone?”

“Aye, a widower. Mary is another the plague took when it got my Ian. Wilfred’s only son is away to the king’s army,” Margaret answered.

“Curious. I would see Wilfred’s home,” Sir George said. “To look for dragon sign.”

Margaret nodded, “Now?”

The knight chuckled, “There is no time like the present,” he said, arising, and patting his rounded belly.

Wilfred Godwin’s home sat apart from a copse of trees, a small pond to the right as they rode up. The house itself was quite small, constructed of stone and wood, topped by a thatch roof, a stone chimney at the back, cold and smokeless.

Riding into the yard, Sir George dismounted ungracefully, almost sliding in the slick mud underfoot. Handing the reins of his horse to Daffyd, Sir George walked slowly around the dwelling. The boy dismounted and tied the horses to a fence rail before following the older man and watching intently, trying to understand what the knight was looking for. Several times, the aged knight crouched down, checking the ground, fingers feeling the texture of stone. Moving inside the home, he moved room to room, mentally noting the things he saw.

Finished with his examination, he returned outside, brushing his hands together while he walked toward the still mounted woman, Daffyd trailing behind.

Stopping, the knight turned back to the house and then to the woman, “Dragons are equipped with long talons, very good for rending, but I see no trace of any claw marks either near or on the house. Nor do I see any evidence of scorch. The smell is all wrong, dragons will more often than not leave a scent mark as a warning, but here there is nothing,” he said.

The woman shook her head and frowned, “Do you not think the dragon returned and took him?”

“Why your man Wilfred chose to abandon his home is beyond my ability to fathom, particularly in light of the fact that most of his personal possessions still appear to be here. Were I to hazard a guess as to the nature of his hasty departure, I might only suggest fear overcame him.”

Margaret’s frown deepened, the lines in her face more evident.

Turning to the boy, “You lad, anything strike you as particularly odd?” he asked.

Daffyd frowned, “Other than the fact there was a longsword on the floor inside the house, still in its scabbard, no,” he replied.

Sir George nodded, crossing the watch to untether his horse, “I too, find that unusual, but,” he shrugged.

“What now Sir Knight?” asked Margaret.

“I was hoping for something a little more evidentiary, more tangible out here, though in the end, I do feel the jaunt was worth the effort nonetheless. We shall return to town and prepare for a venture into Crag Mor to see what we might uncover there,” he answered, pulling himself up into his saddle, though expending considerable effort to achieve the feat.

Slayer of Dragons

Getting Sir George into his armor took the better part of an hour, the polished metal gleaming in the midday sun, the tunic over his chest split in color down the middle, red to the left, white to the right, a side profile griffin in black the sigil.

Visor up, the knight looked to his horse,

Crag Mor was the name of the hilly region overlooking the area called Marly Green, a thick forest packed with a combination of deciduous and coniferous trees, making the already difficult terrain more formidable, especially for the horse.

“There is no trail to be had through the Green,” Margaret voiced, looking toward the dense growth of trees.

George laughed, a booming hearty sound. “Fret not, whence we go, we shall blaze a path of our own, and with our return, a dragon trophy to show for our success,” he assured.

“I bid you good fortune and tidings brave Sir Knight,” she said, bobbing her head respectfully.

George nodded in return, pulling on the horse’s reins and turning his mount. “Come along boy, before the light of day abandons us,” he commanded.

Daffyd looked from the woman to the knight, the former smiling and wishing him good luck. Digging his heels into his own horse, he caught up to the knight.

Undaunted by the landscape, Sir George lead the way into the bush, following a small game trail before changing tactics and travelling up a shallow creek bed lined with silt and smooth rounded stones no bigger than a pomegranate, the water less than a dozen inches high at its deepest.

A few times they had to leave the stream bed and circumnavigate a waterfall where the trickle of water climbed upward into the jagged hills. It was almost evening when Sir George spied a small clearing amongst the trees, “We’ll night there,” he said, pointing a mailed fist.

Daffyd ducked his head, helping getting the knight squared away before setting up the little camp, a little fire to keep the chill away.

“I think the little lass in the tavern favored you,” Sir George chortled, raising the wineskin too his lips and spraying in a mouthful.

Shaking his head, Daffyd turned away, lest the knight see the color in his cheeks, “Nay,” he said.

“Oh aye boy, comely little thing,” George lamented, filling his mouth with wine again.

Tending the horses, Daffyd was glad when he heard snoring. Covering the aging knight, he settled in for the evening.

The sounds of birds chirping announced the coming of dawn, their songs playing in the trees as Daffyd arose and began to dismantle the makeshift camp. After morning ablutions, the pair resumed their trek through the Green.

After a span, “There!” George said, arm extended toward a fork in the small stream toward a beast as tall as a horse perched on a bank, eyes fixed on the slow moving water below.

Daffyd’s eyes widened as he gobbled at the air, it was a dragon. “Is that the one?” he asked, a tremor in his voice.

“That one appears too small to carry off a cow, looks like it’s fishing,” commented the knight, pulling his crossbow on his lap and cranking the drawstring back, before slipping a quarrel into the groove.

Too small Daffyd thought, the beast was at least thirty feet from snout to the end of its tail.  “Shouldn’t we just leave it be about its business,” he asked, trembling slightly.

“A dragon is a dragon my boy and today we are going to kill one!” asserted the knight breathlessly as he spurred his mount toward the creature, aiming his crossbow.

The sound of water splashing and the knight’s own bellow of challenge alerted the small dragon. Rearing back onto its hind legs, it spread its wings out.

Pulling the lever on the underside of the crossbow, Sir George let fly, the bolt missing its mark but tearing through the thin membrane of the dragon’s right wing.

Casting aside the crossbow Sir George dismounted, surprisingly quick considering his bulk. “Daffyd, my sword!” he ordered, gauntleted hand extended out to receive the blade.

Daffyd vaulted from his own horse, eyes locked on the ferocious looking ferocious creature.

“Dammit, my sword boy!” commanded the knight, shaking his empty hand.

Daffyd pulled the sword partway from the scabbard, extending the handle to the knight. Seizing the sword in his right hand, Sir George pulled it free and moved toward the dragon, kite shield on his left arm interposed defensively between the two combatants.

Rearing back again, the creature released a loud high pitched shrill sound before snaking its horned head forward, jaws lined with rows of dagger-like teeth opened wide, spewing dragon fire, bathing the knight and the area all around him in a stream of white hot flame, licks of orange and yellow billowing out to either side, steam hissing as the area was clouded. Behind the safety of the shield, Sir George pushed forward directly into the molten spray as it petered out before stepping in and twisting to the side, taking a wide arching slash at the dragon. The beast reared back, before lunging its head forward jaws snapping shut inches from the knight’s head.

“Come on girl,” barked the knight, bringing his sword back around and harmlessly striking a horn on the hardened crest atop the dragon’s head.

Daffyd shook his head in disbelief, the size of the dragon dwarfing the man, yet the knight was the aggressor, slashing time and again, forcing the dragon back jaws snapping, but he could also tell the knight was tiring quickly, the swings slower, less accurate.

Using a feinting maneuver, Sir George leaned one way and almost immediately changed direction, catching the dragon off guard and slashing the beast on its chest, leaving a deep bleeding wound.

The creature howled in pain, taking several hopping steps back down the stream and shrieking at the knight.

“You’re mine now lassie,” triumphed the knight, breath coming in large gasps as he moved forward, sword poised for another deadly strike.

Suddenly the dragon propelled itself forward up off the ground, hitting the knight with so much force, Sir George’s sword flew through the air landing with a small splash in the shallow water of the stream bed less than a dozen feet away from where Daffyd stood. He watched on in mute horror as the dragon, now with Sir George clutched firmly in the talons of its left hind leg, reared back and spread its wings before launching itself into the air.

Daffyd didn’t know what to do, standing there, mouth moving but making no sound, gazing down at the open spot so recently the scene of an epic struggle between man and beast, now returned to its natural idyllic state save for smudges of muddy brown mingling with pellucid water passing through his legs downstream by the gentle current.

There was a cry from somewhere overhead, a man’s voice, loud, drowning out the soft trickle of moving water. Looking skyward, Daffyd could not see beyond the canopy of leafy green above him, but he did hear the unmistakable sounds of branches breaking almost directly overhead when suddenly Sir George appeared, tumbling through the trees and crashing into the stream head first in a folded heap, rivulets of red seeping from his armor, staining the clear water bright crimson.

“Oh my god,” mumbled Daffyd, eyes incredibly wide at the sight of the fallen knight.

There was a cacophonous noise and splash in the clearing ahead as the dragon touched down on the sandy bar, serpentine neck pivoting toward the boy.

Daffyd and the Dragon

Swallowing hard, Daffyd took a couple of faltering steps back, feet slipping on the rocks just beneath the water’s surface almost causing him to fall. A flash of light caught the periphery of his right eye, something glinting just beneath the surface of the shallow stream, Sir George’s the sword, there, almost within reach, handle nearest him. If he could just get his hands on it, he might be able to defend himself.

The saurian creature moved toward him quickly, eating up the ground between them at an alarming rate, sleek muscles undulating and rippling as it rushed forward on all fours toward the boy, splashing and spraying the shallow water as it drew closer.

Time dwindling, he looked from the dragon to the sword, hastily realizing his options were all exhausted and making a diving lunge for the blade. Effort rewarded as he felt his fingers curling around the handle in the cool water as he rolled, coming up on a knee, the cold water making his gasp as he levelled the cold steel blade between him and the approaching dragon.

The beast haltered, drawing up, the end of the sword no more a foot or two from its elongated nose.

“Shoo!” Daffyd shouted holding the heavy sword uneasily with his left hand, tip still raised between the dragon and himself, as he pushed himself up with his right hand and rose cautiously to his feet. The great saurian beast moved its head from side to side, making an odd chuffing sound in its throat, baleful golden eyes regarding him intently.

“Go,” he said, stabbing feebly in the direction of the dragon, sword shaking in his hand. But the dragon didn’t back away, head still swaying in time with the blade, merciless reptilian eyes locked onto the frightened boy.

“Please,” Daffyd said softly, almost pleadingly, more scared than he could ever remember being before in his life, “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, shaking his head not certain he could harm it even if such was his intent.

The dragon elongated its neck forward and growled, a low menacing sound deep in its throat and Daffyd feared it might be readying another gout of flame with which to turn him into a cinder. Despite the intense want to run, he held his ground, yielding space very slowly. Not that he wanted to stay and necessarily fight, let alone kill the dragon, he just didn’t want to be killed by the dragon. But each time he took a step back, the dragon took one forward.

He jabbed forward with the sword, tip not coming close to the dragon, though he hoped the gesture might force it to back off. He had no idea where the horses had gotten, though suspected they were smarter than him and ran off.

The dragon reared back, flapping it wings in his direction, spraying him with cold water from the stream and lunging forward and sweeping a hand at him, stretching the wing membrane attached to its forearm taut as it lashed out.

Teeth chattering, whether from the cold water or fear, or both, Daffyd moved backward, stumbling uneasily over the unsure footing of the slippery stones underfoot. The dragon kept pace, jaw opening and closing, making a snapping sound.

“Be gone,” he commanded shakily, then he slipped, foot sliding off a rock and dropping him flat on his butt. Before he raise the blade, the beast was on him, talons curling around his chest and midsection, momentum carrying them and driving him onto his back bringing its crushing weight down directly on him, submersing him in the frigid water. Frantically, he tried to pull the razor sharp talons apart, slicing his fingers on claws like tempered steel.

Then he was weightless, borne aloft as the dragon spread it wings and took to flight, him looking at the leathery belly just above him, smeared in dark ichor from the wound Sir George inflicted. Hands that had scrambled to wrest open the wicked talons, now clutched desperately to hold onto them. He dreaded what he was sure was about to happen next, the dragon would take him high up into the sky and then drop him, just as it had done with the knight and the thought of falling filled him with a terrible fear reminding him of the time he had stood in the bell tower of the King’s Chapel, looking down from the great height had filled him with vertigo he thought for sure would make him fall. Craning his head to the side, he watched the ground get smaller with each flap of the beast’s wings, rising up over the trees far beyond the height of that tower.

“Please, please don’t drop me,” he babbled, clinging even more desperately to the dragon’s foot. From his vantage directly under the beast, he absently wondered why Sir George had called the dragon a female, he couldn’t discern anything indicative about its gender one way or the other.

He shook his head and frowned as he dangled beneath the beast, stupid the things to think about when death was imminent he thought sourly.

Higher and higher the creature climbed, ascending so high he could see over the hills of Crag Mor until they passed into a thick billowy cloud, the freezing mist numbing his already cold bloody hands and making it hard for him to keep a tight grip. Any moment now, he steeled himself, eyes screwed shut, fearing the dragon would simply open its claws and let him plummet back to the earth where it could pick leisurely at his bones, yet still they continued to fly,  force of the claws steadily tightening and squeezing the air from his lungs, making it increasingly more difficult to breathe. As he saw spots bursting before his eyes, it filled him with some comfort he would not be awake for the fall or if he wasn’t to be dropped, then when the beast devoured him. Embracing the darkness willingly, he blacked out.

Into the Fire

Daffyd awoke suddenly, a yell finding voice in his throat before his brain even had time to register he still drew air as he shuffled backward in the shadowy gloom, squinting in the fuliginous darkness and desperately trying to figure out when he was. There was a smell of wood and smoke in the air, and something else he couldn’t identify, then panic filled him as he now worried perhaps the dragon had actually swallowed him whole.

Looking around the darkened area, he found what appeared to be pieces of branches and sizable bits of cloth. Keeping low, he moved throw the darkness, foot striking something metallic and causing it to ringing out over the stone floor as it skittered through the darkness.

Fearing at any moment something horrific might emerge from the deep shadows, pouncing on him and rending him asunder, he crouched down and remained absolutely still. A short distance ahead, around a corner there was some light, bringing him a small measure of relief. Though still cautious, he quickened his pace, moving toward the light, hoping beyond hope, he could get some understanding of what was happening. As he drew nearer what he thought must certainly be the mouth of the dragon’s lair, he remained close to the wall, still shrouded in the shadows as he tried to discern what he saw.

The mouth of the lair opened into what appeared to be a fairly spacious cavern beyond, constructed out of smooth stone blocks, made black by soot. In the center of the rectangular space was an enormous structure that looked to be made from iron, four angled legs reaching upward, each as thick as his waist and three times his height, supporting eight similarly sized cross beams that extended a little beyond the legs to either side but not touching any of the walls. The right wall appeared to be a vast curtain made of chain links parted in the middle stretching up out of his field of view. There was a fine white ash covering the floor.

Shuddering, he steeled himself and crept cautiously forward toward the opening. He heard the sound of a woman’s voice, words indistinct somewhere in the distance beyond the opening, while his eyes revealed the nature of the interior of the large cavernous room with the metal structure. It was a great fireplace. Blinking a few times, he shook his head. Surely I must have died and this is the afterlife. His heart pounded, so fierce and loud he thought it might explode out of his chest. What madness could this be? Reaching down, he cruelly pinched the flesh inside his right forearm, hard enough to make himself wince. Dead yet still I feel? Surely this must be some trick of his dying mind? What else could it be?

Stepping out from a gap in the stones and into the basin of the fireplace, he looked through the metal curtain at the room beyond, his jaw dropping open as if the hinge had failed with what he saw. Seated at an enormous simply constructed chesterfield of fabric and wood was a pretty woman garbed in a lightly colored linen dress hemmed with simple green colored embroidery, upper body covered by a dark colored laced up bodice, except she was gigantic. From his veiled perspective, she appeared fairly young of face, her skin smooth and fresh. She possessed golden hair, braided and piled atop her head, exposing a smooth slender neck. More amazing was the dragon curled up in her lap the way he had seen some noble women hold cats. The dragon was the size he remembered, but the woman, how could she be so incredibly big. Even the Loch Narin giant, if the legends be true, was only a hand over nine feet tall and this woman dwarfed that many times over. How could such a thing be?

The immense woman made a sympathetic face to the little dragon curled up in her lap, “Oh little one, you’re hurt,” she commented, using an old dialect he recognized as the language called the One Tongue, as she tenderly stroked the underside of the beast. The creature made a trilling sound, stretching its neck with each trumpeted vocalization.

Rising to her bare feet, cradling the dragon in the crook of her right arm the way a mother might hold a child, she walked to his right and vanished from sight, the sounds of her footfalls heavy and receding as she departed. Standing, she must easily have been a hundred feet in height, if not more, he thought. Shaking his head, he involuntarily took a step backward, the very notion of being trodden upon filled him with dread.

Reaching up, he placed his fingertips to either side of his head, massaging his temples. What madness is upon me? Maybe I did fall and landed squarely on my head, scrambling my poor brain? With hesitant steps, he moved to the front of the fireplace, passing through the parted curtain to stand on the hearth and survey the rest of the room. From his perspective, to his immediate right was an enormous metal stand holding a half dozen split logs, each piece wider than any tree he had ever seen before. The walls around the room appeared to be rough-hewn wood sloping inward toward a peak at the ceiling far above his head. There was a sturdy looking table to the left side of the chesterfield and another chair and table near the corner to his left. At the far wall was a single door, opened to reveal another room beyond. He had seen similar construction in some of the larger cities during his service to Sir George, but never anything on this scale.

Walking out to the edge of the hearth, he leaned over the drop and looked down, the distance easily thrice his height. Beneath the hearth were tightly fitted shaped stone tiles around the floor of the fireplace, covered with what appeared to be some type of thick carpet extending out to where the floor became polished wood.

Turning around, he glanced back into the fireplace and then out again into the room, mind reeling and still trying to make some sense of the impossibility before him.

He chuckled out loud, a nervous sound as he examined the evidence in his head. For all intents and purposes, this appeared to be a home to some giant girl and she kept a dragon as a pet in a den built inside the crack in the stones of her fireplace.

Screwing his eyes tightly closed, scrunching up his face, he opened them suddenly, hoping the action would dispel what he saw. It didn’t.

The story of the boy who sold his cow for a handful of magic beans sprang to mind. Is this where I am? Some land beyond the clouds populated by giants? Brought here by the dragon? To what end?

Arise Sir George

It wasn’t the fall that had rendered the aging knight senseless, more the tumultuous crash of landing on his head, the impact breaking his nose and causing him to bite through his lower lip as consciousness fleeted, but at least he was alive. Lying on his side, injured where the dragon had seized him, head partially submerged, he came awake, flopping over supine. “Boy!” he called out before rocking to and fro like a turtle on its back. “Boy!” he hollered again, heaving mightily and rolling to his uninjured side with considerable effort. Getting up on a knee, water draining from his armor, he pushed his visor up and looked around, a coppery taste in his mouth from the split in his lip.

“Daffyd!” he called out, pushing himself up to his unsteady feet, flesh puckered and cold. Turning slowly on the spot, he espied his sword lying not far off in the water. Walking over to the blade he knelt down gingerly and gathered the weapon in his right hand. It was fairly easy to see the significant depression in the sand in the stream bed from where it appeared the beast pounced on the lad. He guessed it looked like the boy had used the sword to try and fend the beast off, but obviously the effort was unsuccessful. But where was the boy? There was no evidence of the lad’s carcass nor shredded clothes and there was definitely no way the young dragon could have swallowed the lad whole. Would it have carried him off?

Sloshing through the water, he collected his shield and walked toward the clearing where he and Daffyd had originally encountered the monster. Taking off his right gauntlet, he brought his hand up to delicately feel for the damage to his face before slipping two fingers into his mouth and whistling sharply.

There was whinny from amongst some nearby trees and the sound of Beauregard, his horse, making an effort to heed the summons.

While he waited, Sir George took a moment to examine the condition of his armor and aside from a couple of dents sustained from the fall and the rent in the side from the dragon’s claws, it was in functional shape.

Parking his rear on a boulder, he removed his helm, setting on the rock beside him, looking up when Beauregard emerged from the bramble upstream followed by Daffyd’s mount and their pack donkey.

Without the lad’s assistance and all alone, it required a fair degree of effort for him to divest himself of the metal armor and wet underclothes, but once off, he was able to thoroughly examine the ugly gash torn in his side.

Retrieving the stitch kit from the donkey, and after a couple of attempts, he threaded a needle, before cleaning the wound with fresh stream water and sewing it up. He smiled wryly at his crude handiwork, satisfied that though not pretty, it would hold, adding another battle scar to his already impressive collection.

Getting dressed in fresh dry clothes, he immediately dismissed the notion of returning to Carrington, choosing instead to try and see if he couldn’t locate the young dragon’s lair thinking if it carried him off, it probably wasn’t hungry at the moment and that might be enough time to find and rescue the boy.

Gathering his gear and stowing it securely on the donkey, he climbed atop Beauregard, setting out with the mindset that if food were plentiful enough in the area for the dragon, it probably didn’t need to travel to far from where it denned which then should theoretically place it close to where they initially encountered it.

Moving up into the rockier terrain above the stream, he began trying to identify possible locations for a nesting site or places a dragon might use. The uneven and treacherous ground, complicated by the dense vegetation made travel difficult and agonizingly slow. The wily knight understood the necessity for haste, aware every possible second could mean the difference between life and death for his young squire. As the sun submerged below the western horizon and the shroud of night closed in, and as much as Sir George wanted to continue his search, he decided to hole up for the night rather than risk injuring himself or one of the horses.

When the first fingers of dawn were crawling through the sky the following morning, he was up, horses watered and fed and ready to resume his search.

“If you’re stilling breathing boy, I’ll find ye,” he vocalized in a determined tone, digging his heels into Beauregard’s flanks and spurring the horse onward.

By midday, he believed he had found exactly what he was looking for, a cave with some obvious dragon sign around the entrance including some vitrification from scorching, an assortment of bleached animal bones, and some deeply furrowed territorial markings carved directly into the stone surrounding the gloomy opening.

Dismounting, he crept closer to the entrance, pausing to hold his hand up and examine the breadth of the scores in the rock. He frowned and shook his head. Given the size, depth, and scope of the talon marks, it was readily apparent there was no possible way they were made by the dragon he had fought the day previous, these ones belonged to a much larger creature, significantly larger.

Pursing his lips, brow furled, he thought it odd the little dragon would be bold enough to be hunting in a much more established and older dragon’s territory, it was counter to everything he read about the creatures in Medlaw’s Bestiary, though there might be some plausible explanations. The little one may have assumed residence in a vacated den, not common, but possible, or the smaller dragon might still be denning with its mother, though the information in the bestiary indicated most dragonets were usually driven off when they are usually much smaller.

In the inky darkness within the cave, he heard something move, something very big.

Quiet as a Mouse

Realizing no amount of trying to deny the existence of the gigantic room, Daffyd decided he needed a better understanding of what he was facing and wanted to look around. Dangling himself over the edge of the hearth, he hung from the ledge and dropped silently to the fairly thick carpet below, landing softly and rolling to the side to come up on one knee before standing upright.

Walking slowly across the carpet, he looked up in wonder, craning his neck around to see the amazing construction and engineering of the immense room, mouth hanging opening and eyes wide. There was a sconce on the wall throwing light upward illuminating the entirety of the room.

The heavy sounds of large feet approaching impelled him to make haste and hurry under the skirting of the gigantic chesterfield. Circling the wooden leg, he leaned against it and tried to calm his breathing.

First one, then another huge bare foot flashed passed where he stood, turning, the chesterfield groaning under the weight as the owner of the feet sat down. They looked like a woman’s feet and he thought it fairly safe to assume they attached to the woman he had watched depart. Moving away from the leg, he padded silently up behind her heels. Up close her feet seemed even larger and more imposing, probably about three times as long as he was tall. He notice a silver colored ring around the biggest toe on her left foot, large enough he could pass through it without ever touching an edge.

He wasn’t sure what to do, reaching a hand up tentatively toward the back of her foot. Should he reach out and try to get her attention? After all, she was holding a dragon. He hesitated.

“What the?” he heard her voice say, watching surreptitiously as she stood up and moved to the fireplace, requiring only a few strides to cross the distance. She dropped down to a single knee.

What was she doing?

“Ella?” she said, pivoting back to look in the direction of the chesterfield. “Did you bring something into the house?” she asked, voice reproachful.

It suddenly dawned on him what she was looking at, tiny little footprints. He had unwittingly left a set when he tracked through the white ash and across the hearth when he left the dragon’s lair. Filled with a stab of fear in his belly, he moved quickly deeper in the shadows under the long piece of furniture.

There was a high pitched noise from somewhere up above, almost a squawking sound surely from the dragon.

“Ella!” scolded the huge girl. He could hear the sounds of her footfalls retreating. Was she leaving? There was the sounds of wings flapping. Creeping cautiously forward, he peeked out from under the skirt, prepared to sneak out but abruptly stopped when he saw the dragon perched on the edge of hearth, head raised and seeming to sniff the air.

The thunderous sounds of her footsteps preceded her as she returned, a great corn broom held to her right side in her hand.

The dragon made a fluting sound, and the girl dropped back to one knee, peering directly toward where he was hiding.

Stumbling backward, he heard her approaching. Racing as fast as his little feet would carrying him, he exited the rear of the chesterfield, hearing a high pitched shrieked from way up high. Risking a moment to look back, he saw her there, raising the broom as if to bring it crashing down upon him. As he turned back, he tangled up his feet, sprawling face first to the ground and rolling over. He brought his hands up as he saw the massive broom descending, closing his eyes waiting for the inevitable crash of it striking down on him, but it didn’t happen. Instead, she halted her killing stroke and set the broom to her side, dropping to her knees near him, big luminous green eyes wide with curiosity as she studied him.

“You look almost like a person!” she exclaimed, eyes sparkling as she looked down on him. The dragon circled around to her side, neck elongated and alien eyes staring intently at the fallen boy

“I am a person,” he blurted, slowly lowering both of his hands down and desperately trying not to tremble. “I’m Daffyd,” he stammered, eyes moving nervously from huge girl to dragon and back.

“Daffyd?” she asked, “Is that your name? Are you one of the wee folk?”

He shook his head vigorously, “I’m not one of the Fey, but my name is Daffyd,” he hastily explained.

“How is it you are so tiny?” she asked incredulously, placing a hand down on the dragon.

Shaking his head, Daffyd replied, “I am not tiny, it just that, well, you are just very large,” he said, voice still tinged with panic

Now it was her turn to shake her massive head, “I’m normal,” she stated emphatically, “Just look around, there is no tiny furniture.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Do you have a name?” he asked.

Snorting slightly, “Of course I have a name, it’s Ivy,” she shared.

“Ivy,” he repeated, nodding his head and rising to his feet and doing his best to smile.

The dragon landed beside her with a loud thump, startling the boy.

“Ella brought you here?” Ivy inquired, reaching a huge hand down toward him.

“If Ella is your dragon, then yes, she brought me here, but I don’t know why,” he said, as the enormous girl carefully scooped him up in huge her right hand and elevated him in front of her to better see him.

Ivy looked at the dragon, then back to the boy, “Sometimes she does that, brings back things to play with, but she has never brought back a little tiny person before,” she explained, studying the handsome youthful lad standing in the palm of her hand.

“She killed Sir George,” he stated, looking down at the beast with a mixture of anger and fear.

Ivy shook her head slowly, “She surely wouldn’t have, unless your Sir George tried to attack her,” she defended, tone admonishing.

Daffyd frowned, thinking back on the encounter, Sir George had certainly been the aggressor, attacking the dragon without provocation.

There was a loud crash from elsewhere in the massive house followed by a booming female voice calling out, “Ivy, where are you?”

“Go to your den Ella,” Ivy urged with haste but quietly, waving her free hand quickly toward the dragon and spurring the creature to move. He watched from his lofty perch as the creature sinuously retreated into the fireplace wall and through the darkened crack to vanish in the inky blackness beyond.

“Alexa mustn’t see you,” Ivy whispered, eyes growing fearful as she looked around the room for a place to stash him.

“Who is Alexa?” he asked, seeing how alarmed Ivy was becoming and growing frightened.

“My stepsister,” she answered under her breath, “She can be very unpleasant.”

“Ivy?” repeated the voice, closer, followed the sounds of feet approaching.

“Oh no,” she fretted, hurriedly pulling forward the front of her dress and stashing him in between her cleavage before releasing the bodice to conceal him there.

Getting Acquainted

“Didn’t you hear me yelling?” demanded the angry voice of the person Ivy said was her stepsister. “I was calling and calling,” he heard, but could not see. Her voice was loud, but she sounded young. He presumed she was gigantic like Ivy.

“Sorry, I was up here, sweeping,” Ivy replied defensively, reaching for the broom.

Looking at the broom lying on the floor, “Up here lollygagging mores the likely,” Alexa snapped back acidly, the tone of her voice filled with derision.

In the concealment of Ivy’s cleavage, face pressed into the smooth warm flesh, he tried to reorient himself to try and get a glimpse of the other woman, but found he was essentially held fast and trapped.

“Well, don’t just stand there with that foolish expression on your face, get down to the kitchen and get to work. Mother will be returning soon and she’ll be expecting to find supper readied for her arrival,” instructed the other girl.

Nestled as he was against her skin, he could feel her flesh bounce as she hastily scurried down the stairs toward the kitchen to comply with the direction.

Once in the kitchen, Ivy glanced about to make sure it was safe before fishing him out of her bodice and setting him on the wooden countertop. “I’m sorry I had to put you there, I didn’t know of any other place, and Alexa was coming up the stairs so fast,” she explained.

Raising a hand, he staggered a bit and nodded, “In no way were you immodest,” he assured, before straightening rumpled clothes, “Your stepsister seems to be a very demanding person,” he commented.

Ivy nodded. “You should be okay now, she seldom comes into the kitchen,” she explained, as she set about grabbing some vegetables and getting things ready to make supper.

“What’s it like where you’re from Daffyd?” she asked as she started peeling some carrots.

“I have only seen the inside of your house, but I would have to say it all seems very similar to this, though on my size,” he explained, then he chuckled, “In fact, where I’m from, I am considered tall,” he said.

Ivy scrunched up her face, “I find that hard to believe,” she said, making a face, thinking perhaps he was jesting with her.

“No, it’s true,” he said.

Walking over to near where he stood, she set the carrots down, “You are no taller than my thumb,” she stated, holding the digit down to prove the veracity of her claim.

Straightening up, he tried to stand tall next to the finger she was measuring him against. “I’m just saying where I’m from, I am taller than most,” he clarified.

Ivy shook her head, “And none are as tall as me?” she asked, collecting a potato from the basket beneath the counter.

Daffyd laughed, “No one is even close to being as tall as you, but there are some folk tales of giant people,” he replied.

She giggled, “Here we have stories of the wee folk who come and make mischief in your home,” she supplied.

“We have stories like that too,” he stated, “But we call the little people Fey.”

“You don’t look very old, won’t your mother miss you?” Ivy said, placing the skinned potato down and grabbing another. He looked at the massive tuber which, lying flat was still as tall as him.

“I was an orphan before my adoptive mother sold me to the blacksmith and before Sir George agreed to squire me,” he replied. “And like I said before, your Ella killed him defending herself I guess, so there are none to mourn my disappearance,” he added with a shoulder shrug.

She favored him with a sympathetic smile. “Certainly there must be some maidens?” she inquired, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of her wide mouth.

Daffyd laughed, “No,” he replied shaking his head, a touch of color in his cheeks. “Sir George was one for the ladies, not me, but what of you? Why do you reside with a stepsister?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Plague took my mother when I was young, so long ago now, sometimes it’s hard to remember her face when I close my eyes, and it wasn’t long after my father was assigned to wed Alexa’s mother. We all lived here together since then until he was away to war two full summers back,” she replied, eyes down, pausing in her peeling.

“War?” he asked.

“Against the forces of Queen Emerlith,” she lamented. “She is the monarch of Azellan to the east of us, and though the conflict ended some months ago only a small handful of men have found their way back,” she said, voice low and laced with emotion, leaving the rest unsaid.

“Perhaps yet there is hope for his return,” he offered, recognizing her sorrow and thinking of no other means to try and console her.

“Mayhaps, but the likelihood of such a return fades with the close of each day,” she lamented, smiling half-heartedly.

Nodding slowly, he could think of no other words to lessen the unease in her heart.

Resuming her work on the second potato, she finished peeling it placed it next to the first before gathering more ingredients and getting them ready.

“I used to have to prepare meals for Sir George, and without boast, I am a fairly competent cook in my own right, so is there ought that I can do to help?” he asked

Looking over, a smile touched the corner of her full lipped mouth, “Competent you may be, I know not in what manner you might provide aid other than as a seasoning should you accidently fall into the cookpot,” she said with a chuckle.

He looked down and squeezed his arm, before smiling back at her, “I’m afraid I’d make poor stock for soup,” he said.

“Daffyd the Dumpling perhaps?” she laughed, grinning at him

“Sounds so heroic, I can imagine it now. Minstrels everywhere crooning the legendary exploits of Daffyd the Dumpling throughout the ages,” he quipped, placing his left hand to his chest and extending his right arm.

Ivy’s grin broadened into a wide smile as shook her head. “You should be a jester,” she said with a giggle.

“But only good for little laughs,” he remarked cheekily.

Ivy laughed out loud, waggling a paring knife bigger than any sword he had ever seen in his direction, “Stop, you’re making my side hurt,” she said, shaking with mirth.

He smiled up at her, glad to have been able to buoy her spirits after the conversation about her missing father.

Monster Den

Standing at the edge of the entrance to the dragon’s den, Sir George paused, not only could he hear something moving about in the cave, but there was a smell, something putrid buried under the odor of soot and smoke, something foul.

Shaking his head, George knew that stench, troll. There were two kinds of trolls, cave trolls, and the more dangerous rock trolls. The question was which resided in the cave? There was no way trolls, either rock or cave would have dared come into an inhabited dragon’s lair, though they might vie for control of the lair if the resident dragon were still very young.

Frowning, he knew he had a responsibility to at least check, he owed that to Daffyd. Returning to his horse, he unfastened his sword from the saddle, slinging the sheath over his shoulder and buckling it over his chest. He also grabbed a couple of torches and walked back near the maw of the cave, grabbing a fair sized rock on the way. Hefting the rock a couple of times in his right hand, he launched it into the darkness beyond the mouth of the cave, listening to crash as it bounced away. There were some guttural noises, grunts and growl in response. If they were rock trolls, they would remain concealed in the cave, seeking to lure him into tighter quarters and overwhelm him, but if they were cave trolls, he could draw them out into the open where he would have the advantage. Sliding the sword out, he stepped back.

When he saw the green gray colored hunched creature lumbering forward into the light, a small smile touched George lips, cave trolls. Standing eight feet tall, the thing rushed toward him, propelling itself on all fours. Generally clumsy creatures, they were equipped with a thick near impenetrable hide. It bellowed as it approached. George shift his weight on his feet, sword poised.

The beast swung a thick arm toward the knight. Nimbly ducking the telegraphed strike, he drove his sword into the creature’s exposed armpit, the sharpened steel easily into the practically undefended flesh. The momentum of the creature carried it passed the knight several steps, jarring the blade out of his grasp before it came to a stop and dropped to its knees, crumpling forward in a heap. Walking over to the carcass, he took the handle of his sword in both hand and jerked it free, dark colored ichor attaining its silvery length.

There was another bellow from the darkness, the sounds of other creatures approaching. How many? It was hard to tell. Backing away first fallen troll, he wanted to try and remain in the open. If he got cornered or pinned, the trolls would have him.

Fortunately, the beasts were neither cunning nor clever and within short order there were three dead cave trolls.

Again, he lobbed a hefty stone into the cave, listening for any sounds from anything that might still be lurking within. Nothing. Striking a torch, he entered the cave, pausing to wrap a cloth about his face to filter the stench within. The cave proved to be much deeper than he had thought, so he re-drew his sword just to be careful there wasn’t some other nasty surprise hiding there. A glint of reflected light caught his. Lifting the torch higher, he espied a piece of twisted metal wedged in against some rocks. It wasn’t until he was fairly close he recognized the wreckage as a shield with the stylized eagle crest of Sir Ellard painted onto it. Prodding it with his toe, he nodded to himself.

So Ellard and Roderick had found this lair. Had they killed the dragon, precipitating opportunity for its current occupants? He needed to venture deeper into the underground depths to find out.

Pushing further into the cave, he soon came upon an opening into a large subterranean cavern, the air thick with an acrid smell. There was a shallow pool of some unidentified viscous dark liquid, the source of the pungent stench hanging so heavily in the air. Near the center of the chamber were the remnants of a dragon’s nest, two bashed in eggs and one that appeared to have hatched before being smashed.

Looking back the way he had come, he tried to piece together a sequence of events that made some sort of logical sense. Ellard and Roderick in their quest had stumbled upon the dragon’s lair, intent on dispatching the beast, instead of finding the dragon, the discovered a nest with one hatchling and the other two eggs. The hatchling fled while the knights destroyed the clutch and the mother dragon returned to find her brood destroyed, killing the two knights. With the eggs destroyed, the mother dragon might have abandoned the den fearing it was no longer safe for her to try to have more babies.

Plausible, but what about the hatchling? Given the time frame, could it have been the one he and Daffyd encountered by the stream?

How had it evaded being killed by the two knights? Since there was no evidence of it, why would the mother dragon abandon her progeny?

Exploring the perimeter of the cave, he came upon an opening opposite where he had entered, this one too small for an adult dragon, but small enough to accommodate a smaller beast.

Travelling through the natural crevice in the rock, he stumbled upon an opening overlooking a huge cavernous space, the area eerily lit up in a faint green glow from the bioluminescent moss clinging to the walls and dangling from stalactites.

There were several collapsed structures lining what appeared to be a marbled promenade, leading to one partially intact building resembling a temple perhaps. Once a great building now crumbling, masonry stained green in the wan light.

He shook his head in disbelief. Could this be one of the five fabled lost cities?

From within interior of the one standing structure, was a faint blue luminescence, emanating outward, only slightly brighter than the moss, but bright enough to catch his attention.  Dousing the torch and sheathing his blade, he down the rocky detritus to the cave floor, crossing over ancient paving stones, passed toppled and broken statuary of heroes long dead whose names had faded into time and ascended the wide broken stone stairs leading up to where the light was coming from. Passing through the space where wooden doors may have once barred entry, the building opened up into a grand hall.

Had they ever been furniture in the great hall it was long decayed with time, similarly, any art that had been on the walls, washed away and forgotten.

At the back of the room was a great circular ring like structure made of stone on an elevated step, like some giant’s ring standing on edge facing him. The edge inscribed with symbols unfamiliar to him.

The opening or interior of the ring resembled the mirrored surface of water, glowing faintly and swirling in a counter clockwise direction. There was an electricity in the air and Sir George could feel the hair on the back of his neck and arms stand up.

Through the centuries thick accumulation of dust on the floor was a path, leading directly up to the ring and abruptly vanishing at the edge. Crouching down, he traced his fingers over the prints in the thick dust. “Recent,” he voiced, nodding his head.

This was a portal. There were wizards alive today who could conjure one. The little dragon had gone through, and judging on the evidence, more than once. Did the creature take Daffyd through the portal to whatever place existed beyond?

“Only one way to find out,” he said with smile, confidant Beauregard and the other animals could fend for themselves in his absence. Stepping forward, he walked into the swirling magic. 

Supper

Daffyd and Ivy were still in the kitchen when they heard the voice of Alexa bellow, “Mother’s home,” followed by approaching footsteps.

Ivy looked panicked, “I’m going to need to hide you again,” she whispered, though to him, it still seemed pretty loud.

He looked at her tight fitting bodice, and she hastily plucked him off the counter, stuffing him thither as Alexa appeared.

“Is supper ready?” she demanded.

Twisting in his confinement, Daffyd this time was able to peer out between two buttons in Ivy’s bodice allowing him to glimpse the other giant woman.

She seemed similar in height and age to Ivy, pretty face framed by long dark locks possessed of a slight curl. She stood with hands on hips, face stern.

“It should be shortly,” Ivy replied.

Alexa nodded, “Then get the table set,” she instructed, coming over to stew pot to glance inside before taking a spoonful to taste.

Bobbing her head, Ivy moved, grabbing three wooden bowl and spoons before moving into the dining room. She was standing near the table when another woman walked in, this one more mature than either of the girls, it was easy to see the resemblance between this woman and Alexa, their features similar.

“Ivy,” the woman greeted plainly, face remote and without emotion.

“Stepmother,” Ivy addressed, looking up from after make a place setting.

“I trust dinner is ready?” she said, taking the seat at the head of the table.

“I’ve made some stew for tonight mother,” Alexa announced, appearing in the room carrying the pot and a ladle.

Ivy glanced up at the other girl but didn’t challenged, instead, offering, “There are some fresh rolls and butter as well,” she said.

The woman identified as Ivy’s stepmother flicked a hand, “Fetch them child,” she instructed, while Alexa scooped out a helping for her mother.

“Ivy’s flying rat has been in the carriage house again,” Alexa stated, tone scornful as she spooned a portion into her bowl.

Ivy returned with the rolls.

There was a pause as her stepmother held Ivy in her steely gaze, “What have I told you about that little pet of yours?” she said icily.

“You said if I did not properly look after it and make sure it didn’t cause any mischief, you would drown it,” Ivy answered meekly, not making eye contact as she collected the stew pot to get a measure for herself.

The mature woman nodded. Alexa turned her head and smirked at Ivy.

“Yes stepmother, I will check the carriage house after supper,” Ivy assured, sitting at her chair and pouring some stew into her bowl.

 “If I discover there is something amiss in the carriage house, I will see my threat carried out,” she asserted, shaking her spoon toward Ivy.

 Daffyd frowned, taking an immediate dislike to how the other two were treating Ivy.

“What news from the city?” Alexa asked, shoveling a spoonful of stew into her mouth.

“Only that taxes will be increased again to defray the cost of the war,” the older woman replied sourly, “As if we have not bled enough.” Her mood was sour.

Ivy kept her eyes down, eating quietly, knowing better than to speak when her stepmother disposition was thus.

Alexa too remained silent.

When the meal was finished, Ivy cleared the table.

Back in the kitchen, she drew the tiny youth out of her bodice, smiling down at him, giving him a half spoon of stew and a tiny portion of bread.

He hadn’t realized how hungry he had been, “They do not treat you very well. Your stepsister lied about the stew,” he said, straightening his clothes and lowering himself to get at the food.

Ivy shrugged and shook her head, “If I were to tell, she would only make trouble for me in some other way. She really doesn’t like Ella but she hasn’t been able to catch her yet,” she said.

“How is it that you have a dragon for a pet?” Daffyd asked around a mouthful of food, curious.

“Ella? No, pet is not the right word for her, though I did find her when she was just tiny, perhaps only few times bigger than you are now, though she has grown very rapidly in the fortnight she’s been with me. She is a wild creature though she seems to have bonded with me. I don’t control here, she comes and goes as she chooses,” Ivy answered with a grin, getting water ready to wash the dishes.

 “Why do you think she would she bring me here?” he inquired, dunking his bread into the savory stew and biting it.

Ivy shrugged, “Perhaps to play with? I cannot say for sure. The last time she brought something back it was a mouse and well,” she paused, leaving the rest unsaid.

“Well?” he asked, pausing, not liking the implication.

Ivy lowered her eyes, shook her head and pursed her mouth.

He swallowed hard.

She grinned, “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her not to scorch or eat you,” she assured.

He nodded slowly, “I think I would very much appreciate that,” he said.

When the water started to boil, Ivy cautioned him to remain back as she poured it into a basin, steaming spilling out.

Having eaten his fill, he rubbed his full stomach, “You are a much better cook than I,” he conceded as she began washing the dishes.

Looking down at him, she smiled, “You like it?” she asked.

“Very tasty,” he replied, smiling back up at her and nodding his approval.

“I,” she started, but interrupted as Alexa stepped into the room.

“Who were you talking to?” questioned the darker haired girl.

“No one,” Ivy stammered back, turning to face her stepsister and interposing herself between her and Daffyd.

Alexa’s eyes narrowed, “I heard you talking to someone,” she asserted.

Ivy shook her head, “I was simply reciting a list of the things I still need to do tonight,” she replied.

Nodding, Alexa moved near the counter and slowly pushed the stew pot over, spilling the contents across the floor. “Like cleaning that up,” she chortled.

“What was that noise?” challenged Ivy’s stepmother’s voice from the other room.

“Ivy knocked the stew pot off the counter,” Alexa tattled.

“Well make sure it’s cleaned up, I don’t want any more vermin in my house,” instructed the older woman.

Alexa moved her head from side to side, “You heard my mother, make you clean it up,” she said, tone snarky.

Ivy smiled, “Of course,” she replied.

Alexa waited, folding her arms across her chest, “Well? What are you waiting for?” she challenged, rolling her eyes. “So lazy,” she added, turning and walking from the room, making sure to track some of the stew across the floor.

The moment Alexa had vanished, Ivy turned around to see Daffyd emerging from behind a basket on the counter. Letting out a sigh of relief, she smiled at him and put a finger to her lips, “That was close,” she whispered softly.

Daffyd wore a sour expression on his face, “She has all of the qualities of a braying ass,” he said, shaking his head.

Ivy grinned. “You stay up here while I finish cleaning up, then I can sneak you back up to my room before I go check on the carriage house,” she said.

A Brave New World

Taking a blind step into the portal, Sir George wasn’t sure what to expect on the other side, certainly not emptiness, his step pitching him off balance and forward as he fell almost twenty feet straight down to a hard surface below. Trying to land as best he could, he bounced and rolled onto his side, coming to rest on his back and looking up at where he had fallen from. There a small measure of light, but what he saw pushed his ability to describe.

Above him, and hanging inverted and suspended from a small hook through a small hole in the ornate silver handle was what appeared to be a tarnished lady’s hand held looking glass, oval, mayhap a dozen feet on the long axis by eight on the side.

There was what appeared to be some great linen sheet seemingly half pulled away from the platform he found himself upon, like the tableau of an impossibly large vanity or dresser. Thick blankets of dust covered everything, though not quite to the depth where he stood as compared to the draped sheet.

“What madness is this?” he noised under his breath, getting to his feet, and brushing the dust from his person, creating a small hanging cloud of particulate making him sneeze thrice in rapid succession. Looking, aside from where he had landed, he could see other marks in the dust, dragon tracks. The dragon had passed through here, the irregular marks looked like it was carrying something in one of its hind claws. He knew he was on the right path.

Following the tracks through the disturbed dust, he walked to the edge of the grand bureau and paused, shaking his head, the tracks ended. Obviously the creature had taken flight. Looking out, he out sigh. How could this possibly be? It was as if he were in some enormous warehouse or storage repository, dust laden sheets covered shapes the size of houses and small keeps. High overhead, barely visible in the wan light shafting through two small windows were walls leading up to roof joists crossing impossible spans. He was inside some grand type hall constructed of enormous timber.

Undaunted by the inconceivable nature of his environment, the knight was able to get himself down from his height to a floor below using the edge of the sheet. Arriving at a roughly hewn wide plank floor, he walked through the ankle high dust amidst the covered shapes, coming to a broad open space. Pushing onward, he traveled through the open plain, coming to a precipitous drop, overlooking a fancy carriage of absolute gigantic proportions at rest. There were large evenly spaced vertical timbers much broader than he, reaching up, with horizontal cross members joining then some forty or fifty feet over his head. Standing beside one of the timbers, he looked down over the conveyance, the coach at least ten times larger than any ship he had ever seen, the rear wheels of grand scale he was astounded.

Reaching a hand up, George scratched at the unruly grey hair atop his head, faded blue eyes looking first left then right before settling back on the carriage beneath his viewpoint. He started laughing out loud, not a frantic sound, more akin to mirth as if remembering some jest and just now understanding the punch line. He knew where he was, inside some type of carriage house, though ridiculously large. He was perched on the edge of the loft overlooking the carriage bay. To his way of thinking, it was obvious. Traveling through the portal had somehow shrunk him, rendering him no larger than a mouse and depositing him here. He also knew young Daffyd was here too, somewhere and undoubtedly similarly made small. The question was where? He knew time was running out and the longer he tarried, the more likely the dragon would be to consume the boy. The first thing he needed to do was get down from the upper floor, but how? Even if there was something soft below to land in, the fall from such a great height would surely kill any man. Walking along the edge of the loft floor, looking for a means of descent, he found a wooden ladder with rungs built into the face of the platform leading to the ground below, but the drop between rungs was too large to be of any use to him.

Looking around, he nodded. Walking back over to where there were sheets, he pulled the dirk from his belt and plunged it through the material, sawing off a six inch wide strip the length of the sheet. Again and again he repeated the process until he had a pile of strands. Weaving them together, he was able to fashion a crude length of material that resembled a rope nearly two hundred feet in length. Dragging it over to the edge, he looked for a place to secure it so that he might scale down it. He found an anchor point near the ladder. Looping an end of the rope around one of the up stands, he tied it, pulling it taut and testing it to see if it would bear his weight. The last thing he wanted to discover halfway down his climb was that the rope wouldn’t hold him. Giving it a couple more really good tugs, he felt satisfied he wouldn’t plummet to his demise and fed the rope over the edge, playing it out slowly to double check its length.

Pausing to catch his wind, he sat at the edge of the loft, feet hanging over the empty space beneath. The effort of crafting and slinging the rope had brought a sheen of sweat to his brow. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his ruddy damp face.

Forcing himself back to his feet, his body protested, aching from the dual falls he had suffered earlier in the day. Making sure everything was secure, he prepared to climb down the rope, when he heard a grating noise coming from beyond the carriage and light filled the interior of the house. Someone or thing was coming into the carriage house.

Crouching low, he waited as the light grew brighter and he was able to perceive an enormous silhouette of a person behind it.

“Forsooth, let us see what madness awaits,” he intoned, grinning off the side of his face at the prospective adventure unfolding as the figure of a woman became more distinct.

The Green Eyed Monster

In Targard, there was a long held belief that the appearance of a fairie dragon in or around one’s property was an indicator of wealth and good fortune to follow. Known to have the ability ferret out and collect items of value especially gems and jewels, usually deposited in a nest, made the creatures coveted by property owners hoping to locate the nest. Conversely, it was believed killing the tiny creatures would bring misfortune and economic ruin.

Alexa had witnessed the little dragon going to and from the carriage house, and she believed perhaps that was where the little beast had created its lair. She didn’t know why the little monstrosity had attached itself to stupid Ivy. It should have been her pet, but every time she even tried to get close to it, the monster would snarl and hiss at her. Once it already blew a ball of fire in her direction.

If she could uncover the location of its nest, she could take whatever treasures she found there and mother would have no reason not to see the thing destroyed. Plus, she knew it would probably make Ivy cry.

It wasn’t so much that she hated the other girl, it was simply a matter of competition. Firstly, with the war having wreaked a terrible toll on the male side of the populace, there were very few decent men of marriageable age available, secondly, while both were young and of good lineage, possessed of features said to be comely, there was only enough money in the family coffers to provide a suitable dowry for one of them. The last thing Alexa wanted was to be wed to some lowly farmer or petty land owner when she should be wed to a member of the court. Fortunately now, with Ivy’s father not returned from the war, it was looking more and more like Alexa would be the one to whom the dowry would go. As far as Alexa was concerned, Ivy could remain a spinster, a scullery maid, or the brood mare for a pig farmer.

While Ivy was attending to the mess Alexa had manufactured in the kitchen, Alexa wrapped a shawl across her shoulders and fetched one of the hooded lanterns, heading out into the fading daylight and going over to the carriage house.

Pulling open one of the wide wooden doors, “Where would a little dragon hide its nest?” she asked to herself, trying to decide where to start looking.

The smell inside the carriage house was musty and she wrinkled her nose at the closeness of the air. Stepping inside, she pulled the door most of the way closed behind her, lifting the light to her shoulder height.

She paused, chastising herself for not bringing a knife or something with which to defend herself should she find not only the nest, but the little dragon settled upon it. Shrugging, she consoled herself with the knowledge that if she did find the nest, she could always wait for the dragon to leave and then she could come back and clean it out.

Looking at all of the furniture and other items stored in the carriage house and covered in cloth, both on the lower floor and up in the loft, she didn’t know why they bothered to keep these things, most of which, if not all had come through Ivy’s mother’s side of the family when they could simply sell them and add to Alexa’s dowry. They were just sitting there. It was stupid. Especially if Ivy wound up with some lowly husband, how on earth would she be able to use such things? They would almost certainly go to waste. Again, with her stepfather out of the way, Alexa could make the suggestion to her mother that they try and auction them off sooner than later to get some money for them before they lost all their value completely.

She smiled to herself, imagining what the look on Ivy’s face would be when carted away all of her mother’s garbage so Alexa could secure a better husband. She would be devastated. Of course Alexa wouldn’t be completely heartless, if Ivy was unable to find a man of her own, particularly given their scarcity, Alexa would get her own husband to bring Ivy into their household as a chamber or kitchen maid, something menial.

Moving beside the old coach, the hem of her skirt trailing through the dust on the floor kicking up a small cloud as she passed, she shone the light deeper in the darkening gloom of the space.

The little beast could fly, so chances are, it would probably nest higher up, on the loft, to avoid any earthbound predators. She wasn’t properly dressed for climbing, but she made her way over to the base of the ladder leading up to the loft. Frowning, she reached out and took ahold of an intricately braided strand linen dangling down, rolling the material between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand.

“What is this? Why is it here?” she asked out loud, puzzled expression on her face. Pulling on it, she discovered it was tethered at the top of the ladder. Yanking it with some force, she was surprised at how durable the little strand was as it held fast.

Shaking her head, she pursed her lips. Obviously Ivy must have put it here, but why? What possible purpose could it serve? Was it a trap or something she put in place to alert her if someone came up the ladder? She hadn’t seen it earlier when she peeked in the carriage house, but then again she only poked her in.

She was trying to figure out how she could climb up the ladder and carry the lantern at the same time when the purpose of the little rope dawned on her. She could tie it around the handle of the lantern, climb up, and then draw the lantern up after with the rope.

She chuckled and shook her head. Bending down, she looped the end of the rope around the metal handle and tied it off.

Straightening up, she looked up, putting her hands on a rung overhead and lifting her foot onto another. That’s when she saw the little face atop the landing looking down at her.

Sir George and the Dragon…

The knight watched from around the corner of one of the vertical supports as the young woman approached. He figured she might be of similar age to Daffyd, perhaps a year or two older. She certainly was fair of face, the light dancing off her pretty emerald colored eyes, long dark tresses possessed of a curl swaying as she moved. From his vantage overhead, he found he had clear view down her cleavage, flesh pushed up nicely by her bodice. His lips curled up into a smile.

Craning forward, he watched as she tested his hand crafted rope and then tied it to her lantern before reaching up to climb the ladder.

She stopped as soon as they made eye contact, a shriek erupting from her as she pushed back and fell, landing on her bottom amidst a cloud of dust blown up into the air.

Raising an arm, she pointed a finger at him, “You’re one of the wee folk!” she accused, voice pitched high, full of surprise, eyes big and round.

He frowned and shook his head. He hadn’t heard the old dialect in some time. Wee folk? Did she mean Fey? Obvious the girl was either a dullard or addle witted. Under normal circumstances, that might play into a night or two of some ribald fun. Letting out a sigh, he waved a dismissive hand, “Nay,” he said, “I’m not one of your wee folk. I am Sir George, Knight of Renown,” he introduced, bowing slightly.

Climbing back to her feet, the girl moved closer, as if approaching a small bird which at any moment might take flight, a look of wonder in her large green eyes. “I can’t believe it,” she mumbled.

“I understand you are overcome with awe in my presence, diminished by sorcery as it may be, but for now quit your blathering girl and come hither and get me down from this height,” he instructed, motioning her closer as he stepped away from the support timber.

Using both hands, Alexa scaled the ladder slowly until her head was above the level of the landing where he stood. He was so tiny, so very like a person, except impossibly small.

To him, up close, she was much larger than she seemed from afar, her mouth open, pink tongue tucked into the left corner, eyes sparkling as she beheld him. “How are you called girl?” he asked unflappably, standing so close to her.

Looping her left arm through the uppermost rung of the built in ladder, she reached up with her right, moving slowly.

Shaking his head, “I say good woman of simple disposition, by what name are you called?” he repeated, brow furrowing and eyes darting to his left as her hand approach. At least she was going to get him down.

Again she did not reply, moving quickly and snatching him up in her hand.

Despite her large hand being soft and without callus, the force she was holding him with squeezed the air from his lungs, making it hard for him to breathe as she hastened down the ladder.

“Not so damned hard girl,” he wheezed from within her grasp. Often simpletons were unaware of their strength he mused, struggling within her grasp.

Feet back on terra firma, Alexa knelt down near the lantern, slowly opening her hand to examine the little prize contained within.

Lying in her palm, her fingers still curled like a trap ready to snap shut, the knight, pushed himself up onto his feet, a frown on his face. “What is your name child?” he asked, carefully and slowly enunciating each word as if the girl were indeed feebleminded.

She grinned. “This is amazing,” she breathed, eyes alight.

“Of course it is, shall I just call you girl?” he asked, not bothering to conceal the sarcasm.

“Alexa,” she said, “My name is Alexa,” she repeated. “Are you by yourself?” she queried, looking back up toward the loft.

“I am for the moment bereft of my young squire, Daffyd. I am currently seeking him. He is about my height, narrow of hip, brown hair. He may have come through here in the unfortunate clutches of a dragon,” suggested the knight solemnly.

“Really,” replied the enormous girl, dragging the word out. She had seen the little dragon out here, but she hadn’t seen another tiny person. More than likely the little monster ate whoever this Daffyd was the little man was on about. But if not, then maybe Ivy knows something. She had been acting odd. If she didn’t have a little treasure of her own at the moment, she would have confronted her step-sister.

George frowned, judging from the look on the girl’s face she was obvious having some difficulty processing the information. Inclining his head slightly and snapping his fingers, “I see by your dress you are a gentlewoman perhaps of some lesser stature, in what kingdom am I currently in. I would have words with your monarch?” he inquired, again still speaking very slowly.

“Queen Maeve rules here,” answered the girl, turning her hand left and right to better inspect her prize.

Maeve? Sir George frowned, the name was unfamiliar to him. “What is the name of your country?” he inquired.

“Targard,” she provided.

This did not make any sense. In the nine kingdoms, none were called Targard. Perhaps the stupid girl was mistaken?

He was about to suggest she take him to someone of normal intelligence, when she closed her fingers around him, throat emitting a squeal of delight as she unfastened the tether to her lantern and rushed out of the carriage house, nearly bowling Ivy over in the process.

“Watch where you’re going!” blurted Alexa, bringing a fist to her bosom.

“Sorry,” replied Ivy, stepping back out of the way. “I was just coming out to check on where you said Ella was in the carriage house,” she added.

“What? No, it doesn’t matter. I just checked, everything was fine, you should just go back into the house,” she said, moving in that direction, the pausing.

“Yes?” Asked Ivy.

“Daffyd,” Alexa said, watching closely for any sign or indication the word meant something to her.

Ivy frowned and didn’t betray the sudden stab of fright in her belly, “Sorry?” she inquired.

Frowning, Alexa nodded, “Nothing, just checking,” she said, turning and skipping back toward the main house.

Ivy and Daffyd

Seeing Alexa rushing out of the carriage house in an obvious state of excitement, filled Ivy with a sense of foreboding. Why had she been in the carriage house? More concernedly how did she know about Daffyd?

She was glad she had decided to keep the tiny youth with her, though her decision was more out of concern for what Ella might do rather than Alexa. Ella would just want to play and might inadvertently hurt him, or eat him, while Alexa was a different matter altogether. She didn’t trust her step sister one bit.

Checking to make sure Alexa had returned to the house proper, Ivy removed Daffyd from within the security of her bodice and set him atop a cloth covered box near the ladder leading to the loft.

Going from the warmth of contact from her flesh to the cool night air puckered Daffyd’s skin, “She said my name,” he stated, wrapping his arms around himself.

Ivy frowned and nodded, “I don’t know how she could know, it like she was testing me

Stepping up onto the second rung of the ladder, Ivy pulled herself up with one arm and then lifted the lantern up with the other to the level of the landing and pushed it onto it before ascending the ladder herself and climbing up into the loft.

Crouching low, she looked at the disturbances in the dust, noting a very distinct tiny set of human like footprints.

“There are a set of tiny footprints in the dust up here,” she commented over her shoulder before, following the path back to the mirror with her eyes. “Did you come through the mirror and walk up here?” she asked, looking back again.

He shook his head and shrugged, “Ella was carrying me. I don’t remember any of this, I woke up in her lair inside the fireplace,” he replied.

“Then perchance someone else has followed you through,” she surmised, sitting back, hands on her thighs.

“Through a mirror?” he asked.

“It is said in folk tales that some looking glasses possess great magic, allowing someone to see other places faraway. This looks very old and might be one of those things?” she replied, reaching out and taking the mirror by its ornate handle. Looking into the frosted reflection, she saw only her own reflection.

Using her free hand, she swept it across the floor, obscuring the evidence of passage from whomever had left the tiny prints before putting the handle of the mirror between her pearly white teeth and descending back down the ladder, gathering the lantern, before making her final step.

Setting the lantern down near Daffyd, she removed the mirror from her mouth and showed it to him.

“It does look as if it belongs to an earlier time,” he agreed, examining his own reflection.

“What do you see,” she inquired.

“Just myself, tiny and scrawny. Do I really look like that?” he asked, turning his head to look up at her.

She nodded, “Tis a fair approximation,” she said. “You could use some meat on those little bones.”

“You should take this back up to your room. If it is some magical device, we want it to fall into your stepsister’s hands,” he suggested.

Ivy nodded before glancing back toward the door, “We should get back before Alexa makes more mischief,” she said.

Daffyd nodded, raising his arm so she could scoop him up in here hand. Placing him back into her cleavage, positioning him so as to be able to breathe, she then stashed the handheld mirror in amongst the fold of her clothing, checking it to make sure it was concealed it from view lest her stepmother or stepsister see her. Satisfied, she grabbed hold of the lantern and made her way back into the house.

Moving toward the staircase, she was halted by the summoning voice of her stepmother.

“In here child,” commanded the older woman, seated upon an elegant divan as Ivy hustled into the room, head bowed. “Whence were you?” she inquired.

“In the carriage house, checking to see if Ella had caused some nuisance,” she answered, tone respectful.

“And?”

“While there was some lesser disturbance in the dust there, I did not see any damage to speak of,” she replied.

“To speak of, what do you mean child?” demanded the woman.

“That I did not see any damage that was obvious to my eyes, I apologize for my choice of words if they were misleading or failed to convey my meaning,” Ivy offered.

The proper woman nodded, “Be mindful of the words you speak lest they be misconstrued,” she advised.

“Yes stepmother,” Ivy replied.

“If there is an accumulation of dust in the carriage house, make time in your chores tomorrow to see it properly cleaned,” she instructed.

“I will attend to it as you say,” Ivy offered. She knew better than to suggest Alexa assist in the task.

“Do a good job of it,” warned the seated woman. “I will check upon the condition of it myself,” she added as a caution.

Ivy bobbed her head, a few loose strands of her blonde hair bouncing.

“I am returning to the city tomorrow, make certain to lay out my green dress, the dark one with the beads. You know the one of which I speak?” she queried.

“Yes, with the fancy ornamentation around the neck,” Ivy answered.

“That’s the one. Now you may go about your business,” her stepmother said, waving a hand in the girl’s direction, dismissing her.

Curtsying politely as an acknowledgement of the directive, Ivy turned and started back across the open floor toward the stairs.

“You would be wise to make a more concerted effort to get along with Alexa. It is unwise to antagonize her seeing as you may one day be in her employ,” instructed the older woman, voice stern.

Pausing at the foot of the broad and intricately carved staircase leading up to the second floor, “Yes stepmother,” Ivy replied, ascending the polish wooden stairs, expression placid despite the ire burning in her heart.

Setting out the specified clothing, she retired to her room.

Sir George

In the spacious opulence of her room, Alexa climbed up upon the fancily sewn quilt of her canopied four poster bed, little captive tightly secured firmly in her right hand.

“Unhand me, you oafish girl,” he demand, pushing at the restraining fingers, the pressure causing his injuries to complain.

“Oafish?” she challenged, eyes narrowing.

Ceasing his struggle against her unyielding grasp, he looked into her eyes. “I realize my unfortunate condition is a matter of some fascination and probably more than your simple mind can process, but you are positively crushing me with your ham fisted clutch upon my person,” he stated breathlessly.

Frown lines deepening in her face, she shook her hand slightly, “You should be mindful how you address me little one,” she warned.

Snorting, he shook his head, “The size of the man does not diminish the nature of his title. I am still a knight and you shall respect my authority and address me Sir George, lass,” he instructed, his own face stern as he stared proudly at her face.

“Knight?” she chuckled. “You are no more than the size of my thumb,” she scoffed.

“You are required to defer to my position. I say unhand me lest you arouse my ire,” he commanded authoritatively.

Alexa grinned, “Okay,” she said, extending her arm straight outward as she turned the hand holding him over.

Realizing at once her intent was to drop him from this height, he clutched at her index finger. He had already been dropped once from a dangerous altitude, his body still aching. “Not from here,” he bellowed as she opened her hand.

He dangled precipitously from her finger a moment as she shook her hand to dislodge his grip. “You said unhand you,” she giggled as he lost his hold and fell to the soft blanket below.

Fortunately for him, the landing was cushioned, but the landing did remind him of all of his other hurts. Grimacing, he fixed her with a sour expression as he struggled to his feet. “Are you mad girl?” he challenged. “You cannot behave in such an uncouth manner!”

“Cannot? What are you going to do about it tiny man?” she said with a menacing laugh and knocking him about with her index finger.

“Desist, I say!” he asserted angrily, unable to impede her assaultive finger.

“Why you stop me Sir Tiny?” she snickered. “You have a little blade.”

“I am a knight and not some ruffian who would do violence upon a gentlewoman especially in light of your obvious mental frailty and capricious nature,” he said, turning his head and making a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“Mental frailty?” she growled, leaning forward and slapping her hand down a few inches from where George stood, inches to her, feet to him. The force of the blow was powerful enough to lift him completely off the bed almost two body lengths into the air before he crashed back down upon the elegant quilt.

Rolling onto his uninjured side, “Child, is it your intent to vex me or are you possessed of some ill-humored spirit?” he demanded, rising back to his feet, hands on hips, stance defiant as he fixed her with an unimpressed glare.

Tilting her head from side to side, she placed her hands on her own hips and parroted his words back at him, her tone mocking.

“Perchance there is some other person of normal mental faculty available here?” he said, looking toward the door to her room, making no effort whatsoever to conceal the look of disdain on his face.

Leaning forward, she slammed both of her hands down on the bed, one to either side of him once more catapulting him up into the air, keeping them there after he landed and lay looking up at her.

Leaning close enough for him to feel the warm of her exhaled breath and spray of her spittle on his face, “Know this little man, there is only me here and it is in my good favor you must remain. Your continued existence is completely dependent upon my whim. As such, you would be wise to refrain from making mock of me,” she snarled,

 Unimpressed, he scowled, wiping a globule of saliva from his face. “You would be well reminded that you are of gentle birth and that your comportment is entirely unbecoming for one of your standing. You are behaving as a truculent and spoilt child with the temperament of shrew,” he accused.

Rearing back, hands once more upon her hips, “Spoilt?” she snorted.

“Were you of lesser standing, I would turn you over my knee to teach you some civility and manners girl,” he asserted, sitting upright.

Alexa laughed at him. “You would dare to presume?” she challenged.

“Were I myself, I most assuredly would,” he declared.

“Then so be it,” she said, moving forward, looming up over him. “In the interest of administering discipline, I take no affront your hand should contact my bared bottom,” she avowed boisterously, sliding off of the bed and shedding layers of clothing.

Sir George frowned. “What are you doing girl?”

Big grin on her face, “You said you turn me over your knee to help refine my manners. I am simply facilitating myself to receive your counsel,” she explained.

He snorted, “You are demented. I said I would do so if you were of lesser birth and were I not thusly diminished,” he attested.

“Nonsense,” she said, grin spreading evilly across her face, “I have been a naughty girl and am in need of some correction,” she finished, the last of her undergarments removed.

“You’re,” he started, but was silenced when she snatched him up off the bed in her right hand, cupping him in her palm.

Lunging forward, she half lay belly down over the edge of the bed, her pale pink posterior raised as she elevated her right hand above the same cheek of her round bared rump, “Shall I assist you in administering the appropriate number of spanks?” she asked.

Desperately trying to prevent falling from her hand, he looked down, aghast at the prospect. Should she bring her hand down, surely the force would crush him.

Laughing, she brought her hand down.

Ivy’s Room, Hatching a Plan

In the privacy of her room, Ivy carefully retrieved Daffyd from within her clothing and set him atop the colorful patchwork quilt on her fairly plain wooden framed bed.

Looking up at her, “If I hadn’t seen him fall right in front of me, I would suggest it was Sir George come looking for me, but Ella dropped him from a great height,” he explained.

She seemed pensive a moment, “He is the one that attacked her?” she asked, seeking clarification.

Daffyd nodded.

“Are you sure the fall killed him?” she inquired.

He wasn’t. The crash was loud, there was blood, though not an overwhelming quantity. Could he still be alive? Despite his age and his deteriorating physical condition, he was still fearless Sir George and as tough and resilient a man as Daffyd had ever known. Shaking his head slowly, “No,” he said.

“Okay, so it stands to reason that unless some other unfortunate, whom you knew, wandered through the portal, she got your name, which is uncommon enough all by itself from Sir George,” she surmised.

He shook his head in agreement, “I have met no other with it,” he replied, “It must be him,” he asserted.

“Which would explain her great haste haste to depart the carriage house,” Ivy said.

“We have to rescue him before Alexa does something dastardly to him,” Daffyd said, concerned for the health and welfare of the aging knight.

Turning and looking down on the tiny youth seated on the bed beside her, “If she has him, and I think we both know she does, I have no idea how we are going to get him away from her,” she confessed.

Running a hand over the short sandy colored hair on his head, he pursed his mouth. What could they do? He knew Sir George’s brusque demeanor would not mesh well with the cosseted girl. Looking back, he considered himself fortunate that it was Ivy he first met and not Alexa. He shuddered to think what things that might have done to him if she had found him instead of Ivy. “She reminds me of an indulge brat who would break something rather than let someone else have it,” he remarked.

Ivy nodded. “That is a fair assessment,” she said. “I fear for your liege,” she added. “Pets and the like do not last very long in her care.”

“Sir George is no pet,” he rebuked.

Shaking her head, “No I know, all I’m saying is in the past she has not been gentle with living things in entrusted to her care,” she replied.

Nodding, “I wonder if there might be a way to ransom him from her,” he offered.

Ivy shook her head, “Other than a small handful of coins and some of my mother’s heirlooms I was able to hide from my stepmother, I have not much to offer,” she lamented.

“When I awoke in Ella’s lair, I stumbled across something metal. It has long been rumored dragons horde treasure, maybe there is something there?” he suggested.

Crossing her arms, Ivy tapped her right index finger to her chin as she cogitated. “Perhaps the prospect of treasure might be enough to entice her to make the trade,” she mused.

“What do you mean?” he queried.

“If I offered to divulge the location of Ella’s nest in exchange of your knight, she might be inclined to make the swap,” she expressed.

Daffyd shook his head, “I don’t think you should do that, give away Ella’s lair,” he stated.

She chuckled, “No, I mean tell Alexa that Ella’s nest is somewhere in the carriage house, sprinkle in a few baubles around the area to make it seem all the more convincing,” she said, nodding slowly as she considered the strategy.

“Hmm,” noised Daffyd, mentally evaluating the strategy. “Maybe,” he offered, hopeful.

“I could tell her I found it when she was hurrying away,” she added.

“How do we explain our knowledge of Sir George?” he inquired.

“I am not one accustomed to speaking mistruths, but I could say I got it from you before Ella gobbled you up,” she suggested.

“That would explain the lack of a body,” he mused.

She smiled, “I think it can work. Alexa loves gold and riches and all things fancy. She might be eager to accept the bait,” she proposed.

“There’s another thing we need to consider. Even if Alexa yields up Sir George, there’s nothing to prevent her from trying to steal him back or even tell on you to get what she wants,” he said.

Letting out a long sigh, Ivy slumped her shoulders, “That’s true,” she agreed with resignation in her tone.

“Which leads me to my next suggestion. If we are able to make the exchange, I think the three of us should leave this home and venture forth out into the world and search for your father,” he said, nodding sharply as if to punctuate his statement.

“I can’t, I have to wait in case my father returns,” she countered.

“You yourself said hope fades with each day that passes,” he reminded.

Her expression turned glum, “It does,” she said softly, letting out another long sigh.

“Then now is the time for you to take affairs into your own hands. Although we are only small, you would have Sir George and myself along to aid,” he said.

“And Ella, there is no way I could leave her behind,” she said, a determined look creeping onto her face as she began to assemble components of the plan together in her mind.

 Daffyd frowned. If they were successful in getting Sir George back from Alexa, how would the aged knight get along with the dragon? Especially considering their prior encounter. That could be problematic. Regardless, he knew she was right, she should include the dragon in her departure from the manor house. Would Ella come? Ivy had said the creature was not a pet, but independent. Maybe she wouldn’t abandon her lair and the issue between her and the knight might be moot. “If she will come,” he offered.

Ivy nodded. “We need to go back out there and make something that looks like a dragon has lived there,” she said with a grin. “Do you remember what her nest looked like?” she inquired, rising from the bed and turning to face him.

“Dark and scary,” he replied with a grin.

A Knight to Remember

Sir George was certain he was about to meet his demise against the rump of the surly girl as her hand descended rapidly toward her bared derriere. True to his nature, he remained valorous and unflinching, facing his end, ignominious as it might be, with honor. At the last possible second, she slowed hand, pressing him firmly against the supple flesh as she rubbed him across the rounded surface of her posterior, giggling as she did so. Her manhandling lasted for several seconds, the force applied by her hand causing his previous injuries to ache anew.

When finally she was finished mashing him against her backside, she tossed him onto the bed. “Now you will acknowledge me as your queen,” she stated, straightening her undergarments.

“Queen?” he snorted, “Hardly the demeanor of a monarch,” he indicted, brow furled.

Alexa stared at him a moment, “You’re right. I think instead, you may refer to me as Goddess Alexa,” she said, turning her head slightly to the side and elevating her nose, very much liking the sound of the title.

“Goddess Alexa, benefactress of what? Insolence?” he jibed, running fingers through the hair on his head.

Turning quickly, she fixed him with a murderous stare, “You would be well advised that the goddess will not tolerate further impudence,” she spat.

He turned his back toward her as an insult, crossing his arms.

“It is good you turn away,” she sniped, “I do not give you permission to gaze upon my loveliness,” she said haughtily.

He waved a dismissive hand back in her direction.

She growled in her throat. The little man was infuriating her to no end. How dare he? “Perhaps a night’s accommodation in my chamber pot will amend your disrespectful demeanor?” she suggested, cruel smile pulling up the corners of her mouth.

Arms still crossed, he made a rude noise with his mouth, “Do as you see fit, I see no point continuing to indulge your delusions of grandeur,” he remarked.

She wanted to snatch him up, squeeze him until his eyes bled and make him beg her to stop, plead with her to be merciful, and that he would worship her. Why was he being so difficult?

Restraining her impulse to crush the aggravating little man, she stormed over to the cabinet containing the two handled porcelain chamber pot she used at night.

Pulling it out, she once more adjusted her underclothes and squatted down, chuckling to herself as she emptied her bladder into the white and floral pattered basin inside the pot.

Finishing, she crossed the room back to the bed, curling her left hand around the knight and abruptly yanking him ungently up off the bed. “You will learn obedience,” she commanded, squeezing him in her hand before striding back to the chamber pot now containing her bright yellow pee. Crouching down, she held him over the opening. “You should consider yourself most fortunate I did need leave something more substantial for you to overnight with,” she taunted, feinting that she would drop him.

Snorting, he did not dignify her comment with a verbal response, rolling his eyes.

Scowling, she opened her hand, releasing him from a few inches above the rim of the chamber pot, allowing him to fall into the warm amber liquid covering the bottom of the basin.

Twisting to minimize the impact, he splashed into the urine, sputtering and coughing as he quickly breached the surface, the liquid in the basin came up to his waist. Given the sloped design of the chamber pot, he realized he would be forced to stand for the duration of his internment.

“How do you like that little man?” she tormented, grinning down evilly, eyes full of triumph.

Nonplussed, he wiped a hand through his sodden hair, “Some people do not have a pot to piss in,” he stated, spreading his arms and looking about, “Now, I have both.”

Frowning, Alexa growled and shook her head, before leaning forward, allowing saliva to fill her mouth.

Looking up at the face looming over him, George shook his head, “Truly, I have bedded tavern wenches with a higher degree of class that you are demonstrating right now,” he chastised, crossing his arms.

 Letting a string of saliva out between her lips, she aimed the viscous mess over him before it eall.

Refusing to indulge her capriciousness, Sir George remained rooted to the spot, allowing the slimy mess to splash down upon his head before it slipped into the pool of pee. Shaking his head, he wiped the slobber from his face.

After drooling her spittle onto him, she grinned down again, chuckling amusedly to herself. “You didn’t even move,” she laughed.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked, tone most unimpressed. He knew better than to antagonize her further and resigned himself to enduring whatever deviltry she intended to impart.

There was a knocking sound, causing Alexa to turn her head to the left. “A moment,” she said, looking back down upon him. “You be quiet or else,” she hissed, eyes full of menace and the promise of something far worse than standing in pee.

Not wanting to be rude, lest the person knocking be mother, she crossed the room and opened the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, frowning and shaking her head, keeping the door as tight to her body as possible.

Unable to do anything to get out of the chamber pot or to see what was happening, George remained where he stood, pulling threads of Alexa’s saliva off of his head. A female voice unfamiliar to his ears spoke, “I know you have Sir George and I was wondering if you might interested in the idea of an exchange?” questioned the voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alexa replied dismissively.

“Then I guess I don’t know where Ella nest is either,” replied the girl.

He wasn’t entirely sure of what to make of the situation, but the temperature of the urine was beginning to cool.

The Deal

Alexa glowered at Ivy, perturbed by the disruption but fascinated by the offer. “Just tell me where your little pet is holing up,” she demanded, a truculent expression on her pretty face.

Ivy shook her head, expression firm, “Only if you yield up the knight,” she said.

How did Ivy know about the knight? Alexa shook her head, “No, he’s mine,” she said bluntly, unwilling to budge. “Tell me where the lair is, and if I find treasure, then I will give you the knight,” she counter offered.

Ivy nodded, “No deal,” she said, turning to leave.

Alexa flicked a quick glance back to her chamber pot where George was confined. “Wait!” she barked, halting Ivy’s departure.

Ivy turned back, eyebrow raised, “Yes?”

“Why do you him?” Alexa asked, eyes narrowed.

Ivy frowned.

“Well?” Alexa pressed.

Resolved, Ivy nodded, “That’s none of your affair,” she replied, extending her closed right hand and opening it to reveal the two coins she had been holding, one gold the other silver.

Alexa’s eyes shone greedily as she looked down at the coins.

“I did find these near what I think might be the entrance,” Ivy said.

“Give them to me!” Alexa snapped, reaching her hand out.

“Sir George?” Ivy replied, closing her fingers and retracting her arm.

Alexa wrestled with the decision. While it had been fun to play with the knight, his lack of participation was certainly wearing very thin. Besides, if she made the trade, she could get the treasure and then just take the little plaything back after. “Alright,” she blurted, opening and closing the fingers of her right hand.

Ivy shook her head, “Give me the knight and I will give you the coins and tell you the location,” she stipulated.

Growling, “Fine,” Alexa said, “I will bring him to your room and we will make the exchange,” she offered, mind already imaging all of the things she could purchase with the gold coin she would be getting.

Ivy nodded, “I agree to those terms,” she said.

Stepping back, Alexa closed the door, rubbing her hands together as she walked across the room and looked down into the chamber pot. “I suppose you heard that?” she said.

Looking up at her, Sir George nodded once, sharply.

“You will keep your mouth shut and not speak of this,” she cautioned.

George snorted, “The ignobility of standing in your piss? Not something worthy of telling,” he scoffed.

Alexa nodded, “Good,” she said, not veiling the menace in her tone.

“Now remove me hence from the place,” he instructed, raising his arms.

Reaching into the chamber pot, Alexa pinched his left arm between her thumb and forefinger, lifting up and out of the basin, urine dripping off his feet. “Disgusting,” she murmured, making a sour face.

“It’s your pee,” he retorted acerbically.

Walking over to her dresser, she set him down on one of her kerchiefs, dabbing what wetness she could. Examining him, “It will have to do,” she surmised, unable to do anything about his wet clothing.

“Indeed girl, be about your business and let’s get on with this,” he instructed.

Alexa frowned, “I want you to know, you and I are not finished. Do you understand that?” she asked, picking him up around his torso and squeezing him roughly.

Grunting under the pressure, he waved his hand, “I however, am finished with you,” he stated.

Scowling, she dropped him back down and then picked him back up by the arm, carrying him to her door before opening it and moving into the hall. Walking to Ivy’s room, she knocked on the door.

Ivy crossed the floor of her room and opened the door, looking at the knight dangling from Alexa’s fingers.

“Here,” Alexa said, thrusting the knight forward.

Studying George a moment, she put her hand out, palm up.

Alexa shook her head, “Not until I get the coins and the information,” she said.

Ivy nodded, walking over to her dresser, picking up the two coins and the small folded piece of parchment they had been sitting on. “In here,” she said, holding up the paper, “Is the location of where I believe the lair to be located, she advised, returning to the door.

“We trade at the same time,” said Alexa, eyes glued to the paper.

“No,” Ivy replied, shaking her head. “We will each put our respective trade items at opposite sides of the room, then we will cross over to collect them. This way there can be no trickery,” she stated.

Alexa was about to make a comment about trickery, but the lure of the gold piece and the thought of dragon treasure superceded her need to be petty. “Okay,” she agreed, nodding.

“You put Sir George on my bed, I’ll put the coins and map on the dresser,” she stated, moving back over to stand beside the piece of furniture.

Alexa moved quickly over to the bed, unceremoniously tossing the knight onto it. “There,” she said, taking a couple of steps toward Ivy.

Stepping to the side, Ivy moved over to the bed while Alexa rushed to the dresser, each girl picking up their prizes.

Alexa’s eyes glittered as she unfolded the paper to look at the rudimentary drawing Ivy made depicting the fictitious location of Ella’s lair.

Ivy on the other hand looked down at the damp knight in her hand, “Why is he moist?” she asked, frowning.

Alexa laughed, “He was so scared he wet himself,” she asserted.

George snorted but did not contradict her as she hurried back across the room.

Raising her hand, Ivy brought George near her face, “I am Ivy,” she said, introducing herself and giving a slight curtsy.

He bowed politely, “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, I am Sir George,” he reciprocated.

Setting him back down on the bed, she crossed her room and locked the door before returning, “You can come out now Daffyd,” she whispered.

The knight’s squire emerged from between the pillows at the head of her bed.

Sir George’s face split into a broad grin, “Good heavens lad, it is good to see you well,” he said, walking toward the boy.

Daffyd nodded, trotting toward the knight, “And you Sir George, I feared you dead whence you fell into the stream,” he said.

George laughed, a hearty sound, “It would take more than that to bring about my demise,” he boasted, clapping a hand on Daffyd’s shoulder. “Now tell me about your comely young lady friend here, she seems much more agreeable that the foul creature who was detaining me of late,” he invited.