January Content Update: Remember That Time We Killed a Dragon (Pt 1) (Patreon)

REMEMBER THAT TIME WE KILLED A DRAGON?

The strange thing about being on the open road is that you end up thinking about nothing more than the next village or town. You could be the kind of person who falls to sleep in your soft bed dreaming of the open wilds, and you'll find yourself only thinking of that warm soft bed after a few days of hard travel. After a few more days, your standards don't even reach that high. By that point, even a nice bundle of straw in a stable stall will do. All the comforts which you took for granted within the walls of a town slowly become the only things you can think about, and you become more and more desperate until even a brush with the most rudimentary form of civilisation is a thing which you yearn for the way which amorous fools in Fiorentine operas yearn after the fair prince in the high tower. After five days on the road, you would pay out your entire fortune, even to sleep on the rail of a fence.

We had been on the road for seven when we approached the village of Sendehafen. It was our last stop before we crossed the river and into the heartlands of the Grand Duchy of Torinhall. From there, we had a pressing engagement in Kendrickstone, where Leo's great-aunt had some urgent pressing political matter she expected our presence at for some reason or other. Our map had put us on the right road, but as with most maps, it didn't really give us the right distance. We knew that if we kept walking, we'd reach the place, but we didn't know how long it would take. It was a road we'd used before, but that had been in the summer, with a caravan which brought some of the comforts of life with it. Now it was autumn, and in between the rain and wind and the cold hard ground, we were all feeling in desperate need of some of those comforts right then. That was what kept us going forward, one foot in front of the other: the thought that if we kept going, we'd eventually reach Sendehafen, and even if the place was a miserable little collection of hovels with a single traveller's inn, at least that inn would have hot food and beds to sleep in.

Unfortunately, we had no such luck.

The first sign we had that something had gone wrong was the plume of smoke rising from the distance. Of course, villages give off smoke all the time. It's the sort of thing that civilisation kind of leaves, like a fingerprint on a glass goblet. We use fire to cook our food, forge our steel, boil our water. Even a single isolated hut in the woods leaves smoke. But this, this wasn't the kind of wispy little collection of strands you expect from a village, this was huge, roiling, giant gouts of black being tossed into the sky as if someone on the ground was throwing it. None of us had ever seen a village on fire before. We were about to.

My first thought when we saw the flames first hand was annoyance at the fact that we were stuck sleeping on the ground for the next week until we reached Torinhall. Maybe this says something about my character, it probably does. Leofric's first reaction on the other hand, definitely said something about his. I remember seeing the emotions cross his face, one after the other: shock, horror, determination. "Ellie, we have to look for survivors," he declared, so quick it had to be a reflex. For a moment, it didn't even look as if he'd realised he'd said it at all. Then, he turned to the third in our party. "Elias, put these flames out."

Elias was an apprentice court mage from Amberhelm, one of the half dozen or so the Prince's court had maintained. He'd been with us for a few months at this point, out trying to make a name for himself so he'd get a better chance of being chosen as his master's successor. We got along well enough, after a few confusing days of untangling the fact that our respective parents had given us inconveniently similar names. The best thing about him was he that he didn't talk much, and he didn't argue when someone (usually Leofric) had an obviously good idea. So, like the string of an arbalest, he sprang into action. Within moments, we could feel the air around us grow heavy with moisture as water began to manifest from the sky and lash at the flames like swords.

The flames didn't last long. Evidently, they hadn't burned very hot. Unfortunately, we'd gotten there far too late to save much of the village. The outlying cottages had escaped heavy damage, but the market square, the buildings around it, and much of the fields had been razed to bare ash. In hindsight, it was the last bit that was the most curious. I've since learned just how difficult it is to burn crops to the ground, but back then, that sort of experience was still several years and a rather nasty war away. I assumed that grass had burned as easily as straw, and didn't know any better.

As the last of the fires guttered out under our mage's careful efforts, the first figures appeared from the woods: the villagers of Sendehafen. They looked in pretty nasty shape, bruised and covered with ash. Most carried heavy bundles on their backs - evidently, they'd been remarkably capable of rescuing their possessions from the blaze. When they saw us, the first amongst them immediately dropped to their knees. They thanked us profusely for putting out the flames, and putting to flight the dragon that had started them.

"Wait," Leofric interrupted. "What was that about a dragon?"

"A great beast, Sir Knight! Like from the tapestries and tales! No doubt you have slain many in your adventures!"

Leofric had winced a little at that first 'sir knight', we were supposed to be travelling incognito, as mere wandering adventurers of no particular distinction. He even had us swap out our knightly spurs for common ones, just in case someone looked too closely. But there was only so much you could hide, and both of us had the look of Knight-Errants, that unconscious sense of pride, coupled with that eagle-eyed hunger for any opportunity to win glory. I was perhaps a bit hungrier than him (he was going to inherit a Duchy, after all), but either way, no matter how many threadbare cloaks we'd thrown on, our bearing had been dead giveaways.

Of course, neither of us really believed him. Dragons weren't real, despite what the stories would tell you. Still, Leofric had that same indulgent streak he still does as Duke of Kendrickstone. He drew his sword and swore on it that he'd find the beast that destroyed the village and exact the appropriate punishment. Now, he didn't specifically say the word 'dragon', or even imply it, but the villagers seemed happy enough, and they were even more pleased when he offered to escort them all to Torinhall, where they could make their report to their own liege lord.

Now, I suppose some of you have been to Torinhall some time in the past few years, and you might have even seen its sitting Duke: a big strapping young fellow who looks like the sort of lad who'd pick a fight with you in a tavern, beat you half senseless, then buy you drinks to show that it was all in good fun. He hadn't even been born at this point. No, the Duke we got to meet was a weedy little man, who barely seemed to care about anything going on around him. Oh, of course, he went through all the motions of greeting when Leo showed up - he was too important to offend after all - yet the moment that passed and he sat down back in his chair, he seemed to fall straight asleep. I'd have almost expected to hear him snoring as the villagers explained what had happened to their village - and why they wouldn't be in any shape to pay any taxes for the next three or four years at least. I did not think the old stick would have roused if someone had pushed him over.

At least, that was until he was told about the dragon.

In Korilandis, they have this sort of tea which can wake someone up from a dead sleep. It smells incredible, but it tastes like the bitterest poison you could imagine, which I guess is how it wakes people up. At the mention of a dragon, the old Duke shot upright, as if someone had just poured a whole cask of that stuff down his throat. Whatever his thoughts might have been before, it was clear from one look in his eyes that his head was now full of visions of great and terrible beasts winging their way through the air, dealing out fire and death - and brave adventurers riding out to face the creature, sword in hand.

Next thing I know, the little man is charging us with doing just that. "A Quest, most grave and most glorious", he calls it. By the time the words register, Leofric had already agreed.

"Leo, the Duchess is waiting for you in Kendrickstone," I reminded him.

"This is more important, lives are at stake", he replied - and that was that. We barely stayed in Torinhall a day before riding back out the way we came, with a mule full of supplies and a handful of the villagers to act as guides.

And that was how we ended up on the road once again, on a mission to kill a dragon.