Dragon Fire

"It is hard to believe that a man is telling the truth when you know that you would lie if you were in his place." —Henry Louis Mencken, A Little Book in C Major

It was quiet, so quiet in this massive place. Rhys glanced around nervously, wondering where the house’s master was. There was a place setting, only one, at the long table, and enough food for five was laid out. The merchant could see no servants; no one was around to reprimand him from bringing his pony in with him from the storm, or take his dripping clock, or shoo him to the servant’s quarters. The door of this incredible place had creaked open before him—an obvious invitation to enter—so he had.

He was regretting it now, of course. The oppressive silence, and the odd quality to the air—like a huge magic had been done long ago—lingered heavily. His pony munched on hay they had found waiting beside the table Rhys now sat at, while he ate from the dishes on the table, hoping against hope that the master of this place would not descend upon him in anger.

The old man shuddered at the sudden feeling of eyes upon him, glancing around, trying to see into the deep shadows thrown by the large fire in the fireplace. He thought, for just a moment, that the unseen eyes may have met his, but just as quickly discarded the idea. They had looked like cat’s eyes—slit-pupiled and gleaming—but of course, that was ridiculous. No cat could be as tall as a man.

The dragon waited for what seemed like an eternity, curbing his curiosity until the winds outside had died down and dawn was heading swiftly on its way to wake the earth. He craved human company, the sound of a human voice, with an intensity born of endless loneliness. Finally, overcome by yearning, he left the room he’d ensconced himself in, and padded toward the guest room that visitors were always directed to.

He’d forgotten the pony.

The animal’s head shot up as the scent of dragon—smoke and the faintest hint of roses—hit its nose. With its bridle bound to a sturdy candelabrum on the wall, it reared, screaming and lashing out with sharp front hooves. Cursing it, and himself, the dragon backed away slowly, unwilling to get in the way of flying feet as it fought the leather harness holding its head. The merchant appeared in the doorway, his clothes and hair rumpled. His face went as pale as the snow outside as he saw what had terrified his steed.

The dragon halted his retreat, not bothering to be irritated with himself. It was too late now to disappear back into the shadows; the man had already spotted him. Now the man would beg for his life, promise anything, anything, if only he was left alive. It was what they always did when they saw him.

He hadn’t been wrong. The merchant started babbling the minute he recovered the use of his voice, explaining why he couldn’t be eaten right now, that he still had a beautiful daughter to marry off waiting for him at home, and other children—Esme, who had apparently married a shopkeeper; Alessandria, wed to the cooper; and Clarisse, bound in matrimony to a farmer just three months ago—that would surely miss him and would likely send out a search party.

The dragon’s head cocked, intrigued despite instinctual nausea at begging and pleading. It may well have simply been an unconscious effort to have a conversation, any conversation, with someone other than himself, but he was interested in the man’s babbling.

“Tell me.” It had been years since he’d last spoken a human tongue, and the request came out a growling command.

The merchant’s eyes grew even wider as he huddled beside his shivering, wild-eyed mount. “My—my youngest, h-her name i-is B-Belle. Sh-she’s nineteen n-now—nineteen years old. The l-living pic-picture of her m-mother. Sh-she’s a good girl, a bit—a bit odd, but—” Rhys could see her in his mind’s eye; so beautiful, so dear, that his heart broke.

“Odd? How?” Again, the dragon’s voice cut over the old man’s babbling in a harsh growl. Was this how his voice had become, then, in the decade since he’d last spoken to a human out loud? He could no longer remember if he’d always sounded like this, a deep menacing rumble in the dark.

“Sh-sh-she reads—b-books, your l-l-lordship—incessantly, s-s-sire.”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed on the gibbering merchant in honest bafflement.

“You find it…odd…that she reads books?”

Obviously he’d been left far behind in the technological advances in the past hundred years, but surely books hadn’t become obsolete? The idea left a cold pit in his stomach. He had so little else constructive he could do in the confines of the castle, he often read endlessly. Reading was an escape, a precious asset, used to fill the void of the solitary existence he led. Anyone else that sought such an escape had his immediate sympathies. The idea that the magic, the beauty of books may have been taken from the world was too horrible to contemplate.

“N-no! No, of course no, sire—never.” His eyes were wide; terrified that he’d insulted the creature in front of him. “If—if only you had met her, s-sir, you would see, I’m sure, wh-what a lovely girl s-she is.”

The dragon didn’t stop the flicker of flame from fluttering around his teeth, almost angry enough to enjoy the merchant’s horrified whimper. The things humans would offer for their freedom rarely surprised him these days, but this old man was by far the most infuriating he’d encountered in quite some time. Not satisfied with threatening him with what would have been a pitch-fork-bearing mob, or offering a replacement, the blasted man had offered his own daughter.

“You would send your youngest daughter to take your place.” His glare was becoming molten, shifting from neutral silver to deep, fiery amber, laced through with red and electric blue, like flame. Even his own uncaring parents—probably—wouldn’t have done such a thing. If this was an example of how parents treated their children in this day and age, the chit was probably better off with him!

“Fine, then. You have three days to send her to me, since she means so little to you. Get your pony, merchant, and leave my home.”

The imprudent man started to stutter an apology, and was cut off by the dragon’s roar, banishing him. With barely another sound, he fled, dragging his pony behind him until the animal overtook his puny efforts and bolted. The dragon watched his flight coldly until he was long gone, eyes gradually retreating back to cool pewter, darker now with disgust, directed at the merchant and himself.

What in the world had he been thinking? Why had he demanded the man’s daughter—simply because the fool had irritated him? Had he learned nothing in all these years? With a snarl that echoed like thunder in the empty halls, he turned from the window he’d watched the old man’s retreat from and disappeared back into the familiar shadows, heading towards his chambers.

“Let me see her,” he growled to the water-filled basin. He’d discovered this particular property of the bowl completely by accident, seven decades before, but had put it to little use—what was the use of seeing when one could not touch, taste, hear, or feel? It would only bring pain, and he had enough without borrowing more. The water in the basin clouded, roiled for a moment, and cleared. The village he’d known in childhood came into sight in miniature, changed now, and the focus of the mirror zoomed in to land upon a cottage a small distance from the town, one that had apparently been built long after his family had ceased ruling the area. It was a bit after dawn, and a young woman burst from the door, a basket and a pail dangling from her arm as she swung around to head towards a shed at the forest’s edge, beyond a neatly tended garden. In a nearby paddock, a large horse lifted its head from its digging for grass, watching her with interest. A calico barn cat stared wide-eyed in the direction of the dragon’s basin-mirror, only to be ignored by their watcher.

He blinked in surprise at the girl, his mild discomfort at spying on her layered over by the sight of her. The merchant had said she was lovely, but the dragon hadn’t expected that he would have spoken so true. Her hair was a glorious mix of blonde and red and brown, gleaming softly in the pale winter light. It streamed down her back, held loosely back by a green ribbon that brought color to her drab brown dress. He couldn’t see her eye-color, as her back was to him, but the sight of her narrow back and full hips was pleasing on a male level, and her profile reminded him of the one in the alabaster cameo his mother had once worn. She was tall for a woman, but her waist was trim, and she looked soft in all the right places.

His eyes narrowed. She appeared happy enough, no matter that her father was a devious fool. The niggling feeling that he had just wronged the girl horribly preyed on him, worrying at what remained of his human supply of guilt and insecurity.

The sight of her father’s pony bolting toward the clearing, bearing the terrified merchant answered the dragon’s questions. He closed his eyes, cursing his quick temper, and left the room. Now he could only pray that the merchant was enough of a scoundrel that he wouldn’t keep his word…the dragon didn’t want another ruined life on his conscious.