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The sky was ablaze. Streaks of orange rained down towards Arthur as he looked up into the night, eyes bleary from his stolen slumber. The stars seemed to fall earthwards, released from their anchors.
Arthur’s goats bleated noisily, their white fur glistening in the orange glow. His dad had sent him out with the herd to graze the pastures near their shack, and Arthur had jumped at the chance. Sleeping under the stars was much better than being near his dad when he had been drinking. Arthur had been surprised at the order; he had once lost ten goats from the herd—a huge loss to his father’s wealth—and his father had been furious. Arthur could still feel the wounds from the thrashing he had received.
The goats needed fattening up in preparation for market, and his father had just bartered a fresh barrel of ale. He’ll be hopeless for a few days, Arthur thought.
The sky was filled with a spider web of flames and, as he looked on, Arthur heard a rumbling sound, getting louder with each passing second. His heart quickened its pace as he looked around at the frightened herd of goats. Arthur tried uselessly to count the goats, but they were moving around too much in the dancing orange light.
There was an explosion of fire and dirt about one hundred metres from Arthur, sending the goats fleeing, some in the direction of his home, others going the opposite way. Father is going to be livid, Arthur thought, especially if I’m unable to find them all. He felt the sense of duty to go running after them, to ensure the safety of his herd. But an overwhelming curiosity drew him towards the crash site, where smoke glowed orange in the eerie light. As he walked towards the impact zone, a burning smell invaded his nose and he picked up his pace.
Curiosity smouldered within Arthur like the sky around him. He started running. The singed grass grew closer, the ground glowing amber. As he approached, Arthur could see a stone nestled in the middle of a crater about twice as deep as he was tall. The rock was about his height, only wider and more rotund, and Arthur examined it with growing interest. He could feel the warmth emanating from the area, washing over him, reminding him of the cooking fire he often worked with back home. The night had been cool, but now Arthur began to sweat as he scrambled down the declivity to the rock. Cold rivulets trickled down his face, soaking into his clothes. He could smell the damp soil as it slid down, loosened by his descent.
In the sky, the orange transitioned back to black, the bright stars shining through now that the rocks had stopped plummeting to the ground.
Arthur returned his gaze to the rock, staring intently as the orange glow faded slowly. As the rock darkened, a symbol was revealed, glowing brightly. A triangle the size of Arthur’s hand surrounded a curved line, like the blade of a scythe.
The sweat on Arthur’s body began to cool as Emilica’s winds picked up, bathing him in icy air. His body was chilled to the bones, his old, well-worn clothes no barrier to the climate. He pulled his water pouch from his threadbare pocket and trickled some onto the rock, where it sizzled and steamed.
A loud crack resonated through the air and, as Arthur watched, the rock began to split. Arthur moved back quickly, feeling his back hit the edge of the crater, unsure what to expect from the alien rock before him. He put the pouch back into his pocket, as if hiding it would reverse the damage he had caused.
Morning was on its way, the sun preparing to warm the air and chase away the shadows of night. The horizon showed faint colouring, unnoticed by Arthur as he stared at the cracking stone. The split in the stone widened, and Arthur could see leather pushing its way out. As more of the thick skin protruded from the rock, Arthur began to see bones stretching the leather, and razor-sharp claws the size of his fingers.
It’s a wing! Arthur thought, his curiosity fully piqued. He took a step forward, his trembling hand stretched out as if it had a mind of its own. The wing looked like the kites he helped fly on winter solstice day, when the village’s farmers prayed for spring and bountiful harvests. It must be some kind of egg!
The egg began to split wider, more of the body emerging behind the wing. Arthur saw more claws, leathery skin, crimson spikes, white teeth, and yellow eyes.
During his youth his father had shared wondrous tales of dragons, before falling asleep, catatonic in his drunken stupor. But they were stories, carried down from father to son for generations. Myths!
They weren’t real.
And yet, here in front of him, Arthur saw living proof that they were real. The beast had escaped its egg, little shards of shell—as hard as rock—littered the scorched ground around it. Arthur could feel the heat emanating from the creature as he stared into its yellow eyes, entranced. He felt like the dragon was trying to read him, judge his worth.
Or decide whether to eat him.
The dragon’s snout moved towards Arthur, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed, snorting loudly. Arthur saw a black tongue flicking out between its pointed teeth. Arthur felt a quiver of fear, his hand edging closer, wanting only to turn and run. The dragon opened its mouth, now only inches from his hand. Small curls of steam rose from its nostrils.
“Hey there, fella,” Arthur said, his voice shaking, mirroring his outstretched hand. “Please don’t eat me. I wouldn’t make a good meal.” The dragon continued staring into his own eyes.
And it nodded, before moving its snout beneath his hand. He rubbed the top of its warm snout, feeling the rough skin beneath his fingers.
Does it understand me? Arthur wondered. The dragon tilted its head away, yellow eyes still locked on Arthur’s blue ones. He could feel his dark hair matted to his scalp.
“Can you understand me?” Arthur said, tilting his own head. The dragon nodded, scratching its chest with a sharp claw. With an exertion of mental effort, Arthur drew his gaze away from the dragon’s eyes and looked where the beast was scratching. The same symbol from the egg coloured the dragon’s dark grey chest. The insignia was a light blue like the morning sky brightening the world around them. Arthur looked back at the dragon’s eyes.
“Do you have a name?” Arthur asked. The dragon shook its head before looking down at the ground, as if searching for something. The dragon raked its claw through the debris of its shell, before picking up a shard and passing it to Arthur. Standing tall above Arthur, the dragon looked down, and Arthur was surprised at its immense bulk, amazed at how it had fit inside the egg. The beast must have been about the size of his one-room shack.
Arthur looked now at what the dragon had passed him. It was part of the shell, with a claw hole drilled in. Flipping it over, Arthur saw the same symbol that adorned the dragon’s chest, and recognised it from the egg.
“Am I... Am I supposed to wear this?” he asked, glancing up at the dragon, brows furrowed. The dragon nodded. Arthur felt the warmth of the egg medallion in his hand as he fumbled for his empty coin purse. He hadn’t used it for some time and remembered the last time it had held a coin, many moons ago. He had found a copper, and had used it to buy a loaf of bread and a joint of cold mutton for his journey to a pasture far away. Often Arthur had taken his father’s bow to hunt, and was skilled at hitting his target, but on some occasions, such as when he had found the coin, his father was sober enough to prevent him taking the valuable weapon, hunger looming in wait.
Arthur removed the leather string he used to tie up the sack and threaded it through the hole in the medallion. When he had tied a few knots, Arthur put the cord around his head, the medallion falling beneath his shirt to rest against the bare skin of his chest. Warmth spread like fire through his torso, making Arthur tense in shock. He had not expected such a quick reaction and, when the warmth reached his head, a peculiar sensation tingled through him. A voice seemed to echo quietly in his brain, becoming louder with each passing moment, until it was as if someone was talking right beside his ear. Except his ear heard nothing.
What is happening? Arthur thought, staring down at the medallion.
“It is our connection,” the dragon said, her voice smoother and more melodic than he had anticipated. At least, Arthur thought it was female. Once again, he seemed to hear the voice without any sound travelling through the air.
“You are female, aren’t you?” Arthur said.
The dragon chuckled. “Yes, I am what you would call female. The insignia you wear around your neck connects our minds and strengthens our bond. I do not know why, but I was sent to join with you. What is special about you, Mister...?”
“Arthur. My name is Arthur.” Technically his full name was Arthur, son of Richard, but with a father like his... “Just Arthur.”
“Well, Just Arthur, you can call me... Call me Atheria. I think that seems to suit me since we are bonded, would you agree?”
“It’s a brilliant name!” Arthur replied. “But there’s nothing brilliant about me. I’m just a goat herder. I’m not really good at anything. I’m not even that great at keeping the goats alive. I, um... I’ve lost a few before.”
“I see. And there is nothing you can do well?” Atheria looked deep into Arthur’s eyes, as if invisible hands were rummaging within him.
“Well, I can shoot a bow pretty good. I usually hit my target. Not perfect, mind you. But enough to stay fed. And I guess I’ve learned to hide, and live with pain, so that’s a plus.” And he had. Arthur had certainly survived many beatings from his father, and as a result, had learned to hide relatively well from his father, and the prey he was hunting. “I don’t suppose you know where you’ve come from, or why?”
“No, but I have picked up a lot of what you know. I guess our first action will be to search for the other dragons who fell. Based on what you saw, some of them are close by over towards that forest there.” Atheria pointed a claw to the west, and Arthur followed her gaze, seeing only the tips of the trees beyond the crater.
Arthur looked back at the dragon, his eyes roaming over her wings. “Can you fly, Atheria?” She looked down at Arthur and flapped her wings slowly, as if remembering their existence.
“I am yet to try,” Atheria replied, flapping her wings more quickly. Arthur felt the wind pushing over him, stirring the dirt around them, but Atheria’s feet lifted only a finger’s gap from the ground. Her wings slowed down to stop on her back. “I am too weak to fly yet; I need food.”
“Are you strong enough to walk? I’ll be able to find something for you to eat, even if it is some of the goats I’m supposed to keep safe. If only I had my bow, I could hunt some other animals for you.” Arthur’s stomach began to rumble as he realised he had not eaten breakfast, and had not brought enough food to provide even a mouthful.
“I am strong enough to walk for some distance, thanks,” Atheria said. “Let us get going.” Arthur watched as Atheria began to scramble up the slope, her four strong legs tensing as she hooked her claws into the dirt, her wings flapping softly to help her climb. Her tail moved back and forth, providing balance.
When she reached the top, Atheria looked back down at Arthur, who still stood gaping up at the dragon. “Please tell me you are coming, Arthur. I am famished!”
Arthur scrambled up after her, using the holes from her claws as foot holds. Finally, with sweat soaking his body, pouring down his face, he reached the top, breathing in the fresh scent of the morning air. He sighed as the breeze washed over his face, ruffled his hair. They began to walk towards the forest.
To the west of the pasture, in front of where they walked, was a small forest of oak, maple, and beech, stripped of all but a few brittle leaves, backed by the dark winter richness of assorted spruce and pine. The ground, where the sun only just managed to poke its dusty fingers, was covered with fallen damp leaves and pine needles which would soften the sound of their footsteps to a soft crunch. A shallow creek trickled along the edge of the forest, creating a musical burble to anyone within earshot. Arthur used it regularly as a source for water.
They began heading for the path through the woods, the sun shining on their backs, casting long shadows on the grass in front of them.
“It was quite a show, your entry. Freaked the goats out,” Arthur said, trying unsuccessfully to cover the rumbling of his stomach with his voice.
“Yes, I can imagine it would have been quite spectacular, yet ever so daunting.” Atheria stumbled forwards beside Arthur, her claws almost dragging along the ground. They approached the creek and Arthur rushed to quench his thirst, having used the last of his supply on the hot, unhatched egg. His fingers almost froze as he scooped it into his parched mouth, before refilling his pouch. With a gasp, he caught his breath and relished the coolness spreading through his mouth and down to his stomach. Atheria knelt beside him to drink, steam rising as her mouth touched the water’s surface.
When Arthur had satisfied his thirst, he stood up and rubbed his hands together, trying to remove the icy shards within his bloodstream. He wondered if Atheria could feel the cold as savagely as he could. It seemed like snow had started falling inside his stomach, and slowly, when he had moved closer to Atheria’s eternal warmth, he started to warm up again.
“Yes, Arthur, I do feel the cold,” Atheria said, “but it is less severe than you, though perhaps, more of a shock.” Arthur grinned bashfully at her. A loud rumble reverberated through Atheria’s stomach. “I must find food soon,” she said. “I can smell fresh meat further ahead through the woods.”
With that, Atheria began moving quickly, her large legs pounding the ground, her mind focussed on the hunt. Arthur could feel the vibrations run through his legs as he walked. He wondered if trees could feel like he did, perhaps worried they might topple with enough vibrating force.
Arthur couldn’t tell how long they had been traipsing through the forest, but his legs were sore from moving so quickly to keep up with Atheria, who was continuing to expand the vast distance between them. The sound of bleating wafted towards them, and Arthur noticed Atheria put on a burst of speed. Looking up, Arthur saw some of his escaped goats attempting to outrun the giant lizard behind them.
They were unsuccessful in their attempt.
Atheria’s jaw was big enough to swallow each goat whole, making Arthur wonder when they died. He hoped it had been quick and they weren’t left to suffer, stewing painfully inside her immense stomach, their bleats dying slowly with them.
Arthur cringed at the thought of his father’s reaction when he noticed the goats missing.
Once Atheria had devoured each of the goats that had wandered through the forest, they continued walking, hoping to discover the crash zone of other dragon eggs. Ahead of them, Arthur could see a large crater which knocked over trees to make a small clearing. They edged forward, alert to sounds of other dragons nearby. Arthur could smell smoke on the air, the trees smouldering from the heat. He heard nothing but their own footsteps, and the sound of his ragged breathing.
“It has gone,” Atheria said, peering down into the ditch. “It has hatched and headed off somewhere. It could be miles away by now.”
“Any clues which direction?” Arthur asked, finally catching up to Atheria at the edge of the crater. Arthur could see the shards of rock that once housed the dragon, broken in the singed dirt.
“Could be any. My guess would be in the direction of the nearest town. It is most likely to have food to break its fast.” Atheria peered around them, eyes piercing through the forest. “Which way is that?”
“Back the way we came. My father’s hut is on the road that heads to the castle. I can lead the way if you like, but it could be a half day’s walk.” Arthur glanced at Atheria’s wings. “Any chance you can fly yet?”
Atheria squatted closer to the ground, preparing her legs to spring upwards. Her wings moved slowly on her back, before she gave an enormous leap, smoke blowing from her nostrils with the effort. She floated a few metres above ground, jiggling up and down, before coming back to rest on the ground.
“I am still too weak,” she panted, her head tilted to the ground. Arthur moved over to her, resting his hand on what he thought was her shoulder. Warmth spread through his hands, removing any last trace of the freezing water.
“It’s okay. You will get there with some practice and time... Let’s head to my father’s house and perhaps, when he sees you, he may give you more goats out of fear,” Arthur said, hoping to boost her confidence. After all, he had no idea whether dragons actually could fly or not, considering their immense size. All the animals he had seen with wings could fly, but they were significantly smaller than Atheria.
“I sense some confusion in you. I understand, Arthur, and I do not blame you. I will keep trying,” Atheria said. “Let us do as you suggest, and perhaps we will have some success.”
They began walking back the way they had come, following the same track. This time, Atheria walked more slowly, allowing Arthur to keep stride beside her. Both were silent, allowing Arthur to listen to the sounds of the forest around him, as he usually would whenever he was by himself. He had spent many days and nights exploring the land around him, hunting, ensuring he kept well clear of the king’s deer.
There was no way venison could taste good enough to risk death.
“I sense a history in these parts for you. It must have some kind of connection, some feeling of family. Am I correct?” Atheria said, her head tilted towards Arthur, allowing her eyes to bore deep within him.
“My father hasn’t really been the loving type. Well, not to me, at least. Maybe he was to my mother. I’ve realised that something must have attracted her to him. I never knew her, so I will never be able to ask.” Arthur’s mind delved deep within his memory, shutting out the details around them as they walked.
“Since I can remember, I’ve explored these parts, mostly while my father is out cold. It’s always felt like home. Something about its predictability, and reliability resonates with me, you know? Like, you light a fire and you know it’ll burn until the wood is burnt out. You know the trees will always stand in the one spot, and sway in the breeze. The animals will run or hide from me, unless I hide well. But humans...” Arthur paused, choking back tears. “Humans are unpredictable. They change their mind as the breeze blows in a storm. Possibly just as destructive. People want power, control; no matter over what. They’ll have it, and there’s just no way of knowing what they’re thinking, or what they’ll do next.”
Arthur fell silent once more. They came to the edge of the forest, the sound of babbling water growing louder. The sun had risen high in the sky, casting short shadows over the swaying grass beneath them.
Atheria stopped, her body rigid. “I smell another human ahead,” she said, stepping back into the trees. Arthur squinted into the distance, seeing what appeared to be a man pulling a wagon heading in their direction. Arthur peered back, checking to ensure Atheria was as well-hidden as possible. He could see her dark mass hunched down through the trees. Taking a few sips from his water pouch, he waited for the traveller, refilling it from the stream for something to do.
The traveller moved slowly, bent forward against the weight of the wagon, shoulders hunched. Arthur sensed that there was an immense determination, despite the appearance of resignation. If the traveller had seen Arthur, who was now sitting in the grass by the stream, he gave no sign, continuing to move forward at the same speed, one foot plodding in front of the other.
Finally, the traveller had moved to within calling distance, still unaware of Arthur’s—or Atheria’s—presence.
“What news from Emilica?” Arthur called out, trying hard to smile warmly. The traveller stopped, looking up, his eyebrows arched to the sky, face framed by his travelling hood. His mouth hung open, revealing yellow teeth.
“’Oo are you?” the traveller asked suspiciously, dropping the handles of his wagon. “I be but a travelling peasant. I mean you no ‘arm.”
“I am Arthur, son of Richard. I live a short distance yonder,” Arthur said, pointing. “I live with my father.”
“Your father the goat ‘erder? Yes, I saw your father. ‘E looked mad, ‘e did! Mutterin’ somethin’ ‘bout missin’ goats, or some such. Familiar, ‘e was, but ‘e was too drunk to know my face. Been many a year since I saw ‘im. Anyway, I told ‘im, I said, squire, I said, there be dragons in the kingdom; on their way to the castle, they be ‘eadin’. Big, lizard-worms, breathin’ fire and the like. I just come from there, runnin’ for me life. When I left, even the king’s guards were runnin’ round like a chicken with its ‘ead cut off.” The traveller began cackling, high pitched and unnatural.
“What’s your name?” Arthur asked, trying to bring back some level of humanity to the man.
“My name? I go by many names.” More cackles.
“What shall I call you?” Arthur’s teeth were clenched, trying to keep the frustration out of his tone.
“Call me what you like; just don’t call me late for dinner.” More manic laughter made Arthur groan, his shoulders slumped. I’m getting nowhere with this man, he thought.
“Did you see anything fall from yonder whence you came?” Arthur tried again.
“I was a soldier once; I saw many things fall, I did. Yes. Many men fell, too. Men who fought beside me. Your father was one of them, though he lived, if my mind tells words of truth.” The traveller was nonsensical. His father hadn’t been a warrior. Had he?
“How many of these dragons did you see?” Arthur asked.
“Now there’s a question I can answer. Four. No, five dragons. Or was it four?” He counted his fingers. “Per’aps it was only four.” Arthur glanced back where Atheria had hidden, thinking about the missing dragon from the crater. How many goats had he already lost to the other dragons?
“Someone needs to fight those there dragons, young’un. Not me; I did my fightin’ in the name of the king. If you be ‘eadin’ that way, best pack a weapon. Swords won’t make the cut, but arrows will hit the mark. Keep it in mind, young’un.” The traveller picked up his wagon handles, hunched forward and began walking. As he trudged past Arthur, he smiled, his lips baring back over his teeth, revealing a few missing at the back.
Arthur turned and watched him go, shaking his head in disbelief. With a furtive glance to Atheria’s hiding place, he saw she would be out of sight from the traveller as he passed her.
Once he had disappeared through the trees, Atheria crawled out, sniffing the air. She moved over to Arthur, wisps of smoke trailing from her nostrils.
“I can feel my throat warming up. I believe it is a good sign,” Atheria said as she approached Arthur. “As we walk, I will move my wings and stretch them out. Those goats made me feel stronger. Come, let us have one last drink and move on.”
Arthur watched as Atheria guzzled down more water, steam rising around her head once again, giving her a mystic appearance. Tendrils of vapour twirled among Atheria’s spikes, climbing up and around her body.
When her thirst was satiated, they moved on into the early afternoon sun, moving as quickly as Arthur’s human legs would allow. They were both eager to continue their quest. They hadn’t spoken about their plans for when they finally met the other dragons, but Arthur hoped they would be friendly. After all, Atheria was of their kind. However, he also knew that humans had been at war for many an age, and they too were of the same species.
Maybe dragons would be more intelligent than humans.
Many times when Arthur had been out with his goats, he had been forced to pry two bucks away from each other, their tiny horns ready for impact. Dragons had a lot more inbuilt weapons with which to attack each other; humans just created more, each more destructive than the last.
“When we get to my father’s shack, perhaps it might be best if you wait behind, out of sight,” Arthur said tentatively. “I don’t know how father will take you.”
“If you think it is best, then I will do as you wish. Call my name if you would like me to come,” Atheria said, stopping where they were. “I can just make out a shack ahead, and can smell the man who works there. I can hear him muttering something about missing goats. I believe your name has been mentioned a number of times already.”
An invisible fist clenched Arthur’s heart.
Arthur could see his father’s shack looming ahead, growing bigger with each step. A ball of dread grew inside him, making his steps more arduous. His father was outside the shack, chopping wood with his heavy axe. There were a few goats munching on feed in their small pen, bleating softly. Arthur wondered if they knew the fate of their missing herd. As if on cue, their bleats grew louder as Arthur approached.
At the crescendo of sound, Richard stopped chopping and leaned on his axe. “Well, if it isn’t the prodigal son himself. Where’s my goats? Let me guess, lost them again, no doubt. Loser. Why I ever thought I could trust you with a bunch of living creatures, I don’t know.” Richard spat each sentence out with distaste, getting louder with each loaded insult. Arthur could see spittle flecking his lips and chin. Aware of his sagging shoulders, Arthur lifted them in an attempt to stand straight and tall.
“They were eaten by dragons, if you must know.”
Richard snorted. “Dragons! What a load of pig swill! I was in the king’s army for years before you were born, and not once did we encounter dragons. Enemy soldiers, assassins, usurpers, thieves, braggarts and rapists. But never dragons, boy! You’re out of your mind!”
“Had you been awake instead of passed out cold like the pathetic alcoholic you are, you would have seen them falling from the sky. Didn’t you stop to wonder why there is smoke over there on the horizon?” Arthur pointed, trying to calm his breathing. His voice getting louder with each uttered word. “You’re pathetic!”
“How dare you!” Richard said coldly. “I raised you from a baby after you murdered your mother! My wife! And this is how you talk to me?”
Arthur felt guilt claw at his stomach, but remained stoic. Atheria was waiting behind him; dragons were attacking the kingdom. No way would his father continue his aggression with a dragon waiting with open jaws.
Richard raised his axe, holding it in both hands. “Get out! I don’t want to see you back here ever again!”
Arthur remained standing where he was, not bothering to listen to his father’s shouted directions. He called for Atheria in his mind, letting her presence fill his thoughts. Lifting the axe higher, Richard paced closer towards his son, his teeth clenched.
“I said... get... away... from... here! You... are... no... longer... MY SON!” His arms began to move the axe forward.
And they stopped. Arthur had squinted, waiting for the blow to fall. He felt the ground vibrate softly beneath his feet as Atheria bounded forward, roaring loudly. Then, great gusts of wind threatened to blow Arthur off his feet. Strengthening his stance, he turned to see Atheria’s great bulk in the air above, wings flapping powerfully. Overjoyed, he felt his heart rise to meet her. She could fly!
Arthur turned back to his father, and saw he had collapsed to the ground, the axe lying beneath his back. Leaning forward, Arthur grabbed the handle, grunting with the exertion of pulling it from beneath his father. There was no way Arthur was leaving the weapon with such a violent man!
“What do we do now, Arthur?” Atheria said from behind him, now with four claws firmly on the ground. “While we stay here, your kingdom burns. That smoke on the horizon is not a cooking fire.”
“I know,” Arthur said, holding the axe in both hands, “but I’m unprepared. We are unprepared.” He sighed heavily, shoulders slumped. “I can shoot a quiver of arrows in under a minute, but never surrounded by flames. I can hit the target, but have only ever done so standing firmly on the ground. I can kill a small, furry animal for food, but never tried on a dragon. How will we save the kingdom? What if you are killed by association?”
“So look me over now. Look for the weak spots. Then we will practise. I will practise flying and breathing fire and swooping. You practise shooting, swinging the axe and riding on my back. We must be quick; every moment spent here means more destruction in the kingdom.” Atheria moved over to the remaining goats in the pen, paused momentarily, before swallowing each one whole.
“Sorry, Arthur. I needed the energy, and thought perhaps you would not mind, considering what lies ahead of us.”
Arthur glanced at his father, passed out on the ground. “Not at all. I’ve always wanted to do something other than being the lonely goat herder. You’ve done me a favour.” He could feel Atheria smiling back at him as she took off into the air, flying high and twirling around, somersaulting, testing her skills. Nothing was more awesome to Arthur than watching her flying, enjoying her newfound freedom. Sensing her delight, he longed to be up there with her, but was immensely worried he would fall off her back and plummet to his death.
“I will not let you fall, Arthur. That is a promise,” Atheria said. “Find your bow and practise shooting.”
Arthur went inside the hut, the once familiar scent overpowered by the sour stench of spilled ale, making itself comfortable among their meagre possessions. He scratched together a quick breakfast of stale bread and dried rabbit meat, chewing as quickly as he could.
The bow and quiver of arrows lay propped in the corner, next to his father’s rusty sword in its leather sheath. He picked up the sheath, removing the sword and placed the axe in its place. As a child he had dreamed of having a warrior father, and in one sense it was true. His reality was, however, completely different. His father was all violence, no honour. Arthur had always believed his father had found the sword, or inherited it. Not once had he seriously entertained the fact his father could have used it in battle.
Rust coloured the blade, making the once-smooth surface rough beneath Arthur’s fingers. Taking the handle in both hands, Arthur swung the blade, feeling its weight. Although it was heavy, Arthur could lift it easily, having become used to carrying heavy things. In the past, he had been forced to lug reluctant goats back home while they struggled mightily within his arms. With a final grunt of effort, Arthur brought the blade down into an empty ale barrel, relishing the sound it made as it wedged between the wooden planks.
Grabbing the sharpening stone he used on his arrowheads, he moved outside with the weapons, watching Atheria swoop and dive through the air while he sharpened the sword, scrubbing off the rust. Shiny iron appeared beneath the red dust, glinting in the sunlight.
Once the sword was cleaned and back in its sheath, Arthur sharpened the heads of his arrows. He had a full quiver, but wished for more. He practised shooting at various targets, getting all but one spot on. Nineteen out of twenty was a good success rate.
But they were stationary targets, and he was standing still.
“Try shooting while you are on my back,” Atheria said, dropping to the ground in a flurry of wind. Arthur’s stomach somersaulted like Atheria had just done as he thought of riding on her back. “Before you hop up, examine my body. Look for the weaknesses!”
Stepping closer to the dragon, Arthur ran his eyes over the spiky skin on her back. He reached out his hand, feeling the warmth before his hand even touched her. With a shaky finger Arthur prodded Atheria’s skin between the conical spikes, harder than goat horns. He climbed onto her back and felt the tops of her wings. Every time Arthur pressed her hot skin, he felt no resistance. It felt as if he was pressing wood. Atheria’s spikes were longer on top of her body than beneath her, and every point that Arthur tried was tough and unrelenting. He jumped down from her back.
“Well, I must say, you dragons are tough. Every inch of your skin is thick. Except for your eyes, ears and mouth, your body would be an impenetrable fortress to my arrows. I don’t see how we will be able to defeat the others if they decide to fight against us.” Arthur stared at the ground, his hand fiddling with his eggshell necklace, watching the long grass sway softly in the breeze.
“Perhaps our skin is weaker than you think. Of course, I will not allow you to try shooting me. You also have not tried my underside. Look here beneath my wing. And here on my belly, between the folds of skin.” Atheria’s claws scratched softly at her skin. “We are vulnerable. We can take arrows, don’t despair. Our skin is tough, yes; however, it is less tough beneath us.”
Arthur looked up, his eyebrows arched, feeling like herds of hopeful goats were dancing inside his chest. “Of course! I forgot to check beneath you! I feel ridiculous, but because you were crouching down, I just simply forgot to look.”
Atheria stood on her hind legs, her wings flapping lightly to keep her balance. Her spikes were shorter than the tip of Arthur’s little finger. When he pressed the skin, it was softer, more pliable. Hope began to grow inside his chest as he looked up at Atheria.
“We can do this! We can get them!”
“We must train you to ride my back. Quickly, Arthur. Climb up,” Atheria urged.
Arthur grabbed the sheathed sword and buckled it around his waist. He hoped he wouldn’t have need of it. Next he slung the bow and the quiver of arrows over his shoulder before climbing onto Atheria’s back. There was a flat spot behind her neck, large enough for him to sit comfortably without spikes prodding his body. He sat with his legs hanging over her shoulders. Fortunately Atheria had large spikes protruding from her neck so Arthur could hold on and give his knees a break from digging in.
“Is that okay?” Arthur asked. “I’m not hurting you?”
“I have tough skin,” Atheria replied. Arthur felt her body shake as Atheria flapped her wings, rising into the air. The wind rushed over Arthur’s body as the ground plummeted away from them. White-knuckled, Arthur held on, his teeth clenched.
“Please relax, Arthur. Remember, I will not let you fall. That is a promise.” Arthur loosened his grip and began to enjoy the ride as Atheria swooped through the air.
“Okay, Arthur, I am going to swoop down once more. I want you to hit that barrel there.”
Nodding his consent, Arthur dug his knees in harder and grabbed his bow and an arrow. He felt the fletching as he put the nock on the string, drew it back and aimed. Atheria swooped, plummeting quickly. Shaking from the wind, Arthur loosed the arrow, before loading another and fired it soon after.
Both arrows missed their target. Arthur screamed in frustration.
“It is okay, Arthur. We shall practise until you hit the mark. Remember to focus on your target.” Atheria rose up once more while Arthur prepared another arrow.
This time, as Atheria swooped, Arthur kept his eye on the target, steadying his arms against the airstream. Before his first arrow had hit the target, Arthur had loaded another and loosed it. Only the first arrow hit the barrel, but Arthur felt a sense of achievement. He had hit the mark. He had overcome his fear of flight and learned to trust Atheria’s skill.
Glancing up at the horizon, he could see the smoke was getting thicker. The fire was obviously spreading as the dragons headed towards the castle. He remembered the traveller’s last words as Atheria dropped to the ground: “Arrows will hit the mark”.
Climbing off to retrieve his arrows, Arthur pondered the advice. Surely the king would have archers to protect his castle. Would they be able to slay the onslaught of dragons?
“We must hurry, Arthur. I sense my peers closing in on the kingdom.” Arthur looked across at his father, still sprawled on the ground, his chest rising steadily with each breath. Idiot, thought Arthur.
After he had replaced the arrows in his quiver and had drunk some water, he climbed back onto Atheria and felt her rise into the air once more. She flew swiftly towards the smoky horizon, and Arthur watched the world pass beneath them, like a fast flowing river.
Ahead, the kingdom’s outlying village came into view, its smouldering carcass lying dormant, surrounded by large, black rings. Arthur could see no signs of life except for the wisps of smoke still pouring from the burnt wood of what were once people’s homes.
He hoped they had had time to flee.
“It seems my peers have wreaked havoc here. We must hurry on,” Atheria said, increasing her speed. Arthur could smell the burnt tinge wafting through the air.
The woods surrounding the castle ahead were ablaze and, squinting, Arthur could see large shadows flying through the haze. Large silhouettes outlined by orange-tinted smoke.
On the ground below, Arthur saw a band of the king’s knights in silver armour. They were mounted on warhorses, pointing up at the dragon above them.
“We should land and get news from those knights,” Arthur said.
“I doubt they will take kindly to me, but if you think it is best then I will land,” Atheria said, turning round and lowering them to the ground.
The knights drew their swords and moved forwards, ready to attack.
“Stop!” Arthur yelled. “I come in peace. We have come to help out the king and stop the dragons!”
“Then why are you on a dragon yourself?” one of the soldiers called, still moving towards them. A thick, black beard flowed out beneath the protective face plate of his helmet. Arthur sensed he was in charge.
“We bonded when Atheria, my dragon, hatched. We landed to learn of the dangers ahead before we fly on,” Arthur said, desperate for the knight to believe him.
The knight laughed heartily. “The kingdom is about to fall. King George sent us away to find help, but the castle will be in ruins by the time we have returned. How can a kid and his pet help fight against four dragons, I’d like to know!” The knight turned to his soldiers. “Let’s rid the world of a dragon, men!”
“Please, sir! We don’t want to fight you. Atheria will burn you to a crisp if you get too close. We know how to kill the dragons. Do as your king says and find help. But find the help of healers; you will need them.”
“Healers, you say? Healers to fix the damage you plan to make, kid?” Arthur found it hard to believe the soldier was still antagonistic. They had shown them no need for violence.
“How many dragons will we be up against? Has King George got archers? He will need them.”
The soldiers still continued to move slowly forward, their swords held out in front of them. “We saw four of your fellow dragons. And yes, you will be up against archers. Not as many as I would have liked, but I am not in charge. Nobody listens to me; it is all swordplay for the King’s guard.”
Atheria blew a small ball of flame towards the approaching knights, and they baulked away, their arms raised protectively in front of their faces.
“Come no closer,” Arthur said. “We mean you no harm, but will defend ourselves. Go! Go find healers, and we will fight the dragons.” Atheria leapt into the air, turning back to the castle. He could hear the shouts of the soldiers behind him and hoped they would go find healers. Many would be needed if the kingdom survived the battle.
As they approached the outskirts of the castle, the burning forest beneath them, they saw chaos on the scorched clearing. Soldiers and civilians were running back and forth, avoiding the shooting flames, ducking for cover. Standing on the castle’s fortification, bowmen shot arrows at the dragons flying around them. Arthur counted only three dragons, all bigger than Atheria. Where is the other dragon? Arthur wondered. The bowmen shouted from the rampart as a dragon dived, spurting flames.
Atheria flew high above the castle, still unnoticed by those fighting below. On the other side of the castle, the battle continued, and Arthur saw the fourth dragon. It lay on its side, a wing crumpled beneath its large body. A group of sword-wielding knights were stabbing it as they stood around, ensuring it remained on the ground. Arthur could just make out a number of arrows protruding from various sections of its body. One swordsman was hacking at the neck of the dragon, and stopped when Atheria’s shadow swept over him. He looked up, calling out to the soldiers around him.
As they turned back to the action, Arthur saw a dragon flying towards its fallen comrade. When it saw the carcass, the dragon roared, spurting fire as it dived towards the huddle of soldiers, their swords held out before them. The flames engulfed them as the dragon picked some troops up in its sharp claws, before throwing them aside like a rag doll.
Arthur drew his bow, ready to fire when he saw the chance. If he could fell another dragon, they’d have two left. Perhaps they could try to create an alliance with them and call a truce.
The dragon below them demolished his hopes of a peaceful end as it looked up and saw Arthur on Atheria’s back. A stream of flames hurtled towards them; Atheria dodged it with ease, turning to the side.
“It knows we are against them,” Atheria said. “They will not back down, not until they have destroyed this kingdom and claimed it as their own.”
The world was on fire around them, giving everything an orange tint in the dusk light. Atheria continued to swerve and duck, avoiding the dragon’s flames as it gave chase, getting closer to them with each powerful flap of its wings.
Arthur peered behind them, bow and arrow in hand, ready to fire. He saw the approaching dragon and longed for a shot at it.
“You may only get one chance to shoot,” Atheria said. “It is much faster than I am, and it will gain quickly when I turn mid-air. Are you ready?” Arthur braced himself and nodded.
“Now!” he called.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Atheria dived, turned to face their descending opponent, her huge wings turning them effortlessly as they pounded back and forth. Arthur saw the belly of the dragon as it plunged towards them. He loosed two arrows in quick succession, aiming for the belly. He shot again, this time aiming for inside the dragon’s open mouth.
Atheria dodged the plummeting dragon as it hurtled to the ground, its body limp. Ashes burst around the dragon as it hit the ground, its neck snapping to the side. Soldiers on the castle wall cheered, pumping their fists in the air. Arthur wondered if they had seen all the action, or just the destruction of their enemy. He hoped they knew he was on their side.
“Should we check to make sure it’s dead?” Arthur asked as they hovered in the air.
“I sensed the life leave its body after your arrows. I believe the first two were mortal wounds, but your third seemed to finish it off. Well done, Arthur!” Atheria searched the skies for more of their foes within the smoke. “If it had been alive, the impact of hitting the ground would have finished it off. I heard the neck snap.”
Arthur did the math in his head; he had seventeen arrows left with only two dragons. Hopefully it would be enough to complete the task.
A loud shriek pierced the sky, making the soldiers on the wall stop cheering and crouch for cover. Atheria’s wing beats increased speed and they rose higher, searching for the dragon. Without warning, Atheria was flung to the side as the dragon swung its tail from behind. Its spiked end came within inches of hitting Arthur and knocking him off, dead. He reached for an arrow, his knees holding on strong while Atheria recovered from the attack. A wave of arrows shot up towards their opponent, each missing their mark, but they were enough to distract it, giving Atheria a chance to reclaim her position and fly upwards, away from immediate danger.
“That was close,” Arthur said, his bow ready to fire.
“I cannot see through this haze. That hit almost knocked me down. I almost broke my promise to you, Arthur, and I apologise.”
“You have nothing to apologise for. Let’s go hunt that dragon.” Although Arthur felt fear deep within him, he was ready to fight, confident in his ability with the bow. Confident with Atheria’s skill.
“I am going to fly down to it. Get ready to shoot it in the eye, or wherever you can see for a target. You may not be able to get it in the belly. Also be ready to hold on, just in case it comes to a physical wrestling match.”
“I’m ready,” Arthur said. Atheria descended quickly, silently. The dragon was floating up to meet them and, upon seeing them coming towards it, braced in a defensive position. With a mighty roar, it flew backwards, and then pounced forwards, its claws meeting with Atheria’s. She moved into a vertical position and Arthur put a hand out to grab a spike and stop himself from falling backwards.
The dragons clamoured for supremacy, their muscles tensing with the effort, about ten metres from the ground. Atheria was kicked multiple times in the belly, but remained firm, whipping her tail against her opponent. Arthur held on and waited for an opening, one moment where he could fire an arrow into a target. He knew he wouldn’t have much time.
Atheria struggled free from the dragon’s grasp and moved back, righting herself into a horizontal position, allowing more opportunities of attack and defence. Now was his chance.
Arthur fumbled with an arrow, his shaking hands struggling to get the notch on the string. Finally he had the bow loaded, searched for a target and shot, aiming for the dragon’s belly once more. The dragon, seeing him aim, leaned forward protectively and the arrow ricocheted from the tough skin on the back of its neck. Loading another arrow, Arthur aimed for the eye, and missed once more. A shrieking roar sounded behind them, and a quick look showed the last dragon was zooming towards them.
The second dragon was smaller than the dragon in front of them, but had its mouth open, ready to blow fire towards them. Arthur pivoted his body, loading an arrow as he did, his body now facing Atheria’s wing. Just as Arthur was about to fire, the first dragon moved forward to attack. Atheria moved to defend herself with her claws, which sent Arthur lurching sideways. He put an arm out to hold on until he found spikes large enough to stand on. Then, with his feet as firm in their position as he could manage, loaded an arrow and shot towards the descending dragon, aiming for its open mouth. He fired three arrows before Atheria was thrown back by a mighty blow, sending him hurtling towards the ground, back first.
At least one of his arrows had hit its mark; the dragon fell quickly to the ground, close by him. His last vision before he landed was of Atheria locked in close-quarter combat with the largest dragon, its jaw around her neck.
* * *
WHEN ARTHUR WOKE, THE air was still filled with an orange haze. The night had brought darkness to the land, the moon hidden behind a curtain of clouds. His head was filled with pain. Atheria was nowhere in sight. He lay on the ground, listening to the sounds of warfare around him. Shouts and thuds dominated the air. Cold drove its way through his threadbare clothes and he shivered, longing for the warmth of Atheria.
Where is she? he wondered. How much time has passed?
Arthur sat up slowly, feeling nauseous. With a churn of his stomach, he leaned over and vomited next to his bow. At least it’s not broken. His quiver was on the other side, the arrows scattered around him. One had broken in the fall. The sword was still in its sheath around his waist.
After collecting his arrows—fourteen left now—Arthur stood up slowly, his legs wobbly beneath him. He drank the last of his water from his pouch, washing away the taste of vomit, and surveyed the burnt land around him. He could see the dragons scattered close by, slain by arrows. The traveller had been right about that. But where is Atheria?
He moved over to the last dragon he had hit, green blood oozing from its cold mouth. Its eyes were open, staring disconcertingly at him. They saw nothing, but looked ever on at the destruction it had caused.
Overcome with a sudden rage, Arthur drew his sword and drove it deep into the dragon’s eye, yellow slime gushing out. After withdrawing his sword, Arthur wiped it on the dragon’s wing, yellow streaks smeared among the orange glow reflected on the blade. With the sword back in its sheath and his anger subsided, Arthur stumbled toward the castle wall, looking for Atheria, listening for her voice.
He walked along the wall, glad for what little shelter it provided him. He heard the distant roar of a dragon and hurried forward, hoping Atheria was safe. Three dragons lay dead behind him, and it seemed the other was still alive. It was going to be a long night.
Even though the sun had gone down, the orange haze lit up the ground like a foggy day.
“Arthur.” His name was barely audible, whispered softly as if breathed. She is alive! “Arthur.”
“Atheria?” Arthur called, stroking his medallion. “Where are you?”
“Follow your instinct. I am close by.” Arthur moved quickly, some unknown intuition kicking in to guide him. A large mound appeared ahead of him and Arthur, sensing his friend, rushed forward.
Atheria lay unmoving but for the slight rise and fall of her laboured breathing. Green blood trickled from wounds in her neck.
“Atheria! What happened? Are you okay?” Arthur said, his heart beating fast inside his chest.
“I... fought but... was wounded... Toxic bite... You must... finish the... fight... without me...” Arthur felt tears forming in his eyes, unsure what to do. He needed to get inside the castle walls; he needed a healer.
“I’m not going to let you die! I’m going to find a healer to help.” Arthur rushed towards the gate, waving his arms to gain the attention of the gatekeeper.
“Who are you?” a booming voice demanded. “Where is your armour?”
“Please, I need help! I need a healer,” Arthur pleaded.
“All the healers are busy. Can’t you see the destruction around you? Unless you’re going to help with that bow, I demand you leave at once!”
“I can help! I slew two of the dragons. I have arrows left for the last, but we are doomed if my own dragon steed dies.” Arthur paused, letting the knowledge sink in. “You need my dragon to fight. Please!”
There was no answer. Arthur banged his fists against the gate in frustration. Why won’t they listen? Overwhelmed with desperation, Arthur looked for a way in. Gigantic stone walls ran as far as he could see in both directions, and the wooden gate in front of him looked as thick as giant oak trunks.
The doors began to rattle and clank and the doors started to budge slowly, whirring loudly as they swung outwards. Arthur stepped back and waited.
A man in dark robes stepped through the crack, just as the doors began to close again, a loud bang echoing through the air as they were locked once more.
“I was told you need a healer, boy. You look well enough.”
“No, sir. My dragon... Atheria... She’s been injured. You need to help her. I need to return to the fight and she’s bleeding and weak.”
“A dragon on your side, you say? And what side are you on?” The healer’s brows were furrowed beneath his hood. He carried a leather satchel over his shoulder, holding on tight as if it was full of gold and treasures.
“I fight for the king, sir. We slayed two dragons before... Before she was injured. Please hurry! This way!” The healer followed Arthur to where Atheria lay injured on the battlefield. Rain began to fall while they walked, drenching them completely.
“I have with me sap from a Hurbrus tree. It works on human skin, and mends large wounds quickly, restoring the injured person. Expensive stuff. I have some other basic herbs and potions I use with minor cuts, scratches and snake bites. But I cannot guarantee they will work on a dragon. It is most peculiar for me, most peculiar!”
“We must try everything we can. There she is,” Arthur said as they approached Atheria. He blinked through the rain dripping into his eyes and could see steam rising from Atheria’s motionless body. Arthur watched as the healer tended to her wounds, glancing occasionally into the distance where the forest fires were easing off. The final dragon was nowhere in sight, and Arthur hoped it had moved on to another kingdom, never to return.
The healer muttered as he worked, giving him a mystical appearance, the fog rising in tendrils around him. Ancient words floated through the air, making Arthur overwhelmed with curiosity.
Finally the healer turned to Arthur, his face grim. “I have done all that I can for her. The wound is glued closed and I have fused both ancient and modern techniques to ward off poisons and infections. She must rest now.”
“But there must be something else I can do!” Arthur exclaimed, watching Atheria’s chest rise ever so slightly with her struggled breaths.
“Here, take these. It’s all the healing herbs I have left. If she wakes, put some of these leaves into her mouth. They may help to energise her. Otherwise, there is nothing else to do. Now I must be going. Good luck!” The healer passed Arthur the herbs from his satchel and hurried back to the castle gates. Arthur watched him leave; the healer did not look back.
Arthur knelt beside Atheria and stroked her head, feeling the rough skin beneath his fingers. Water trickled into her mouth and nose as she breathed. The steam increased around her body as the rain continued to fall. He felt tears mix with the rain on his cheeks as he leaned his head against his dragon’s.
“Please don’t die,” he sobbed. “I need you.”
Suddenly, a great roar reverberated through the air and Arthur looked up, terrified. The other dragon was coming back! Retrieving an arrow from its quiver, he loaded his bow, ready to defend Atheria. He could see the last dragon on the horizon, blowing fire at groups of soldiers as it flew low to the ground. If it continued on its path, the dragon would fly right over him and he would have the perfect shot.
The dragon veered away. Arthur relaxed the bow, swearing under his breath. A small part of him wanted to rush off to slay the dragon, however, he didn’t want to leave Atheria’s side.
“Damn everyone else,” he said. “I’m not going to leave you, Atheria.”
Her eyes blinked open as he spoke, startling him. Atheria breathed loudly, blowing steam heavily from her nostrils.
“I need water... and food,” Atheria said as Arthur looked deep within her eyes.
“You’re awake!” Arthur exclaimed, a smile forming on his lips. He took the herbs the healer had given him and put them to her mouth. “The healer who tended to your wounds said to give you this.”
Atheria’s rough lips nibbled at his hand, swallowing the last of the herbs. They were motionless as the herbs made their way to Atheria’s stomach.
Slowly, Atheria pushed herself onto her claws, standing up woozily. “The final dragon is near. We must be careful,” Arthur said.
“It has... moved into... the distance,” Atheria said. “I will... be back.” Grunting in pain, Atheria jumped into the air and flew off into the orange haze, growing darker as the rain fell.
Arthur had never felt so alone. He had spent his entire existence surrounded by nobody except his bleating goats. In fact, he had enjoyed the serenity. But in the short time he had known Atheria, he had grown to rely on her presence, on her friendship. To have her almost die, and then fly off soon after she had recovered, wreaked havoc on his feelings.
A figure was approaching from across the field on horseback, galloping through the downpour. Arthur watched, intrigued. Were they coming towards him? Or away from something?
Loud roaring sounded on Arthur’s right side, making him turn in terror. The final dragon was once more attempting to destroy everything in its path as it flew towards Arthur, this time making no apparent effort to turn. A stream of fire blew forth from its massive jaws. Preparing his bow, Arthur watched, looking for a target. Any exposed area would be enough as the dragon flew overhead.
And if Arthur died in the process... Well, so be it. He would die with honour defending his kingdom. Even if his kingdom had done nothing to help him. He could hear the sound of the horse splashing through the puddles behind him. Chancing a glance behind him, Arthur saw the man was in full armour, a sword held in his right hand. The man roared as he charged, fighting to be heard over the torrential rain and the thunderous rumble of the dragon.
“Duck, Arthur,” the soldier yelled as he drew up alongside him. The voice was strangely familiar and Arthur thought hard to place it, while watching the dragon’s progress towards them. The horse galloped to the left, turning easily. Arthur dropped to the ground, obeying the order, his bow and arrow lying awkwardly in the mud in front of him.
Finally, the cogs of his mind locked into place, and he recognised the voice. Overwhelmed by surprise, he realised it was his father. What’s he doing here? Arthur wondered.
His father’s horse swerved through the mud, the dragon upon its tail, looming over them as the stallion straightened its path. Then, without warning, Arthur’s father jumped up on the horse’s back, turned on his foot and swung the sword, chopping off one of the dragon’s front claws.
Dark green blood spurted from the wound as Arthur watched, transfixed in awe of his father’s swordsmanship.
The dragon bellowed, stopping quickly, its mighty wings beating fast. Then, it blew fire towards its opponent, igniting Richard and his horse. The flames licked hungrily across their skin and, as Arthur’s father fell heavily off the horse, he rolled in the puddles beneath him, quelling the fire.
Sensing its opponent’s demise, the dragon flew off, booming thunderously as it went. Arthur ran to his father, overcome with guilt. The horse lay beside his father, a smouldering pile of flesh. There was still some small life left in Arthur’s father, but not much. His chest was rising in small gasps, before collapsing heavily. Arthur could hear the breaths, like ragged whispers and, when Arthur moved closer, he could make out some quiet words escaping from between the lips, which were burnt back to the crimson muscle and white bones.
“Sorry.” The word came so softly that Arthur almost missed it. When he did hear it, he thought he had imagined it. But the word was definitely there.
His father had saved him, and apologised. But for what? The years of mistreatment? For his alcoholism? For dying?
A tempestuous roar sounded on the horizon, ending Arthur’s brief moment of grief. He prepared his bow, ready to shoot if the dragon was returning. As he watched, he sensed, rather than saw, Atheria’s majestic form returning. She’s back! Arthur thought, relaxing his bow.
Arthur’s heart filled with joy. He watched as she soared over his head, turned around and glided to the ground.
“I am not fully recovered; that will take some time. But I am healed enough to fight once more. I sense the other dragon has been wounded. What transpired here?”
Arthur recounted what had happened, pointing to his father’s burnt body as he described his death.
“He was a very brave man. To rush into battle against a fearsome beast to defend the life of another is no small feat. We must honour his sacrifice when this war is over.” Atheria’s voice was solemn as she spoke the small eulogy.
“We must avenge his death by destroying the dragon. Arthur, climb upon my back and we will depart to complete our attack. Before we leave, I want you to know it has been an honour to spend my only living day fighting with you.”
“Thanks, Atheria. You have given me a reason to live again and, although my dad is dead, I feel the closest to him I have ever felt. He... He saved my life.” Arthur wiped away a tear that began to crawl down his cheek. He climbed upon her back, feeling as if it was the last time he would do so. He hoped it wasn’t a premonition of their deaths.
Once Arthur was safely in place on her back, Atheria spread her large wings, lifting them skywards. Below them, Arthur could see small fires struggling to survive against the raindrops. Although the rain had eased, it was still falling steadily, making Arthur’s hair stick to his head. He blinked the rain from his eyes, squinting through the downpour for their opponent. His bow was armed and ready to shoot when he saw a target.
As they flew away, Arthur sensed a weakness in Atheria’s flying ability, slowing her down. It was faint, but definitely there. If she was in pain, she hid it well. Arthur kept his eyes focussed for the other dragon, hopeful of one distinct advantage: the other dragon had lost its claw and would have also lost a lot of blood. Atheria, having been patched up, should have the advantage in a fair fight. But it could come at a huge cost to them both.
Atheria circled the battlefield, much darker due to the rain, making it hard to see too far into the distance. The smell of smoke mingled with the petrichor and the metallic scent of blood. Arthur’s heart thudded heavily in his chest. He could see the looming dark shape of the castle below them, but no evidence of the dragon. Had it fled to lick its wounds? Or was it hiding among the shadows, ready to pounce as they flew past?
“I sense it nearby; I can hear it breathing,” Atheria said. Atheria veered to the right, evading a spurt of flames from the left. She grunted in pain as her body moved to avoid the danger. Arthur held on, ready to shoot, but the flames had gone, leaving only darkness in his vision. The shadows would make it hard to see his target; he would have to rely on Atheria’s superior senses to see their opposition.
If only the rain would go away, he would have some light to guide him. Looking up at the clouds, Arthur wished they would part, allowing the moon’s light to wash over the ground below. He could feel his arrows itching to be released, to find their target. The wind rushed past him, freezing his soaked body. If it wasn’t for Atheria’s warmth, he would be frozen solid.
A rumble sounded behind them, the sound of large wings beating. Arthur looked back, seeing only black. Sensing danger, Atheria flew up, evading the stream of fire that followed them. They seemed to fly up for an extremely long time, the dragon close behind them. Arthur had begun to wonder how high they were when the rain was replaced with a translucent mist, and they broke through the clouds, the moon now clearly visible as Atheria straightened her path horizontally.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Arthur looked back. The dragon had followed them up, the clouds a sea of bubbles beneath them. Moonlight shone on the creature’s back, revealing razor sharp spikes and rough skin.
Arthur loosed his bow, aiming for the dragon’s eye, but missed, the arrow glancing off its ear. It slowly gained on them, Atheria flying at full speed, knowing they would lose ground if she tried to outmanoeuvre their foe. Arthur could feel her muscles struggling to propel them forward, knowing she grew weaker with each beat of her wings. Now that he could see in the silver light, Arthur observed the dragon’s missing front claw, the wound having scabbed over, blood slowly dripping through the clouds.
A burst of fire spewed towards them, and Atheria swerved to the left and up, twisting quickly to loop behind their adversary. When Arthur saw the soft spot of its lower belly from their position just below, he took a shot, hitting the leg. The arrow ricocheted into the night sky. The dragon, distracted by its stream of fire, searched the sky uncertainly, tracking its prey.
Fuelled by his frustration, Arthur focussed on the dragon, his eyes flicking back and forth, searching for a target. Any target, as long as the arrow would stick. Atheria continued swerving, trying to avoid detection. The dragon’s roar sounded like thunder in the air, making Arthur wonder what the people below must be imagining.
The dragon saw them, pirouetting mid-air.
“Hold on, Arthur!” Atheria said as they came up to the halted dragon. Arthur grabbed her spikes, bow in hand, as Atheria performed a perfect barrel roll, her belly copping the full brunt of a burst of fire, the flames licking round her, searching eagerly for fuel.
Atheria gasped as she winced in pain, diving below the clouds, ready to reappear above in an unexpected location.
“I have been scratched, Arthur. It does not seem very deep.”
“Try to get me to a weak spot, and I’ll have it,” Arthur replied, reloading another arrow.
With a burst of energy, Atheria rocketed skywards, back through the clouds, continuing to climb. The dragon was paused in wait, forced to watch as they ascended, before giving chase. Finally, when Atheria thought she had gone high enough, she stopped, waiting for their opponent, the morning sun beginning to brighten the horizon in front of them. Arthur peered around her, hoping to find a target. Rocketing towards them, the dragon kept its soft spots well-guarded. Its mouth was open, ready to spurt fire.
Arthur took aim and fired, but the dragon, predicting the move, closed its mouth. The arrow scraped its chin, coming to rest in the crease beneath its wing. Every time the dragon beat its wing, the arrow pushed deeper into its thick hide.
Wounded, the dragon beat its wings with less force, trying to avoid pushing the arrow in any deeper. It paused, its remaining front claw trying to grab hold of the shaft, distracted from its attack.
Arthur saw an opportunity, one that filled him with an overwhelming sense of fear. If he jumped now, he would have a perfect opportunity to fill the dragon’s belly with arrows as he plummeted. He knew when they began the fight that he could die, but as his heart thumped in his chest, he didn’t know if he could build the courage to jump. Atheria would try to catch him, but would she be able to? She had been injured and was suffering from exhaustion.
He had to try.
“Catch me, Atheria! I trust you,” Arthur said as he bent his knees, bow in hand.
Arthur jumped. The wind stormed his body as he fell, but his eyes remained focussed on the still-distracted dragon’s belly. Although it required more strength, Arthur was able to shoot his arrows as he fell, beginning from a high angle, counting down until he was no longer in range.
“Eleven,” he began, breathless with the terror of the fall.
“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.” With each shot, he watched the dragon’s belly become a pincushion. Watched as the dragon twitched with each shot into its soft skin.
“Five.”
Just as he was about to fall through the clouds, he saw both dragons shooting towards him. Their enemy fell with its back to the ground; Atheria, face first, diving to catch her fallen rider.
The darkness enveloped Arthur as he fell, the wind thundering loudly in his ears. All senses had been ripped from him. Everything but the taste of fear as he rushed closer to the ground.
I must be almost to the ground, Arthur thought gloomily, resigned to his early death. Then, he came to a shuddering halt, a flurry of wings and leathery skin ending his descent. Somehow he avoided Atheria’s larger spikes, but felt small ones prick his skin through his clothes. He dropped his bow as he scrambled to hold on to whatever he could grab, welcoming the warmth of Atheria’s body beneath him. Something solid to replace the empty void.
“I think we should get some rest. Once we have ensured the dragon is dead, of course,” Atheria said, her voice music to Arthur’s ears. When her claws had found solid ground, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and climbed down, his legs shaking. He held out his hand to steady himself. The rain had finally eased, the clouds thin, allowing the morning sun to paint the burnt ground in a dark grey. His body was filled with pain from the fall.
The dragon had fallen not far from where they stood, a black silhouette in the pale light. Arthur saw his bow on the ground beside him and picked it up, a familiar friend in his shaking hands. Then, after a few deep breaths to gather his strength, Arthur hobbled over to the dragon. He could feel the medallion, warm against his chest. Once he was close enough, he saw the eyes open, glazed and lifeless. Steam rose from the carcass, its jaw opened wide, revealing a mouth of sharp teeth.
Arthur grabbed an arrow and loaded it, staring into the dragon’s eyes.
“This is for Emilica,” he said, shooting the arrow into its eye. “This is for the soldiers you have killed.” An arrow now protruded from the other eye.
“This is for wounding Atheria.” Arthur shot another arrow into the first eye. “This one’s for me.” The dragon now had two arrows in each eye.
“And this one is for my father, may he rest in peace.” Arthur squatted down and aimed the shot deep down its gullet. All Arthur had left of his father were his sword and a pile of bad memories.
Satisfied, he slung his bow over his shoulder and returned to Atheria, who waited patiently.
“Let’s get some sleep,” Arthur said as he climbed onto Atheria’s back.
As they flew towards Arthur’s home, the morning sunlight illuminated the world around them, making it seem like it was ablaze to their bleary eyes. A new day was dawning, and Arthur was truly happy for the first time in his life.