One Step at a Time

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

Examining the shit on her boot, she knew the valley had at least one dragon.

She sat on a rock and closely examined her boot. She might need new boots after this. The particularly foul smell, sulfur and rotten potatoes, let her know the scat was fresh. A dragon was near.

She half-heatedly tried to scrape the shit off her boot, vaguely remembering something about... the end of the stick stopped moving. She tried, and failed, to extract the stick from the shit. Ah, yes. The stories said that fresh dragon shit had the ability to permanently bond to anything it touched. Like a stick or a boot. Story confirmed.

She sighed and stood up. She was of average height and weight, perhaps on the thin side. Her hair was cut short. She knew from experience not to give an opponent hair to grab, although her hair was getting close to needing a trim. Her clothes were practical for travel; loose leather pants and a heavy cotton shirt that hid both her gender and her physique. She also knew from experience that it was best to appear small and weak, the better to be underestimated.

And boots, one of which was permanently joined to dragon shit. She liked those boots. At least the smell should fade. The unknown storytellers who warned of the extraordinary adhesive quality of dragon shit also said the stench lasted until it dried, a couple of hours. She tried to remember to mouth breathe, hoping it was true. She never trusted legends or stories.

The sword on one hip, a knife and small mace on the other, and a bow with a quiver full of arrows on her back might give the impression she was ready and able to fight. Maybe. She knew men paid far more attention to her than her weapons. A slight woman with multiple weapons would be cute to most predators.

Until they were on the receiving end of one of the weapons. She always struck first. Better safe than sorry. Then? Not so cute.

She continued walking up the hill, dragging the stick along with her. New boots it was. She wondered if she could get the cost reimbursed. Doubtful

Now, besides scanning the horizon, she now glanced at the ground. She did not want to ruin the other boot and, worse, add to the smell drifting up from her feet.

She knew the dragon was likely near the top of the hill since they preferred high ground, the easier to see prey. Dragons did not need to worry about being hunted.

She needed to find that dragon because she needed a dragon egg.

Up, down, left, right. No dragon. No scat. No. Wait. She stopped and looked at a distant rock outcrop on the sunny side of the hill. There it was, a red, shiny blob in the sun. That was her dragon. There were no other creatures on earth were covered in bright, primary colors.

Now to capture it. Not so hard in theory. These were not the dragons of legend, huge, fire-belching, flying lizards that destroyed villages and ate their inhabitants. If those dragons had ever existed. She doubted it.

Dragons were pests, small creatures the size of a large dog with the intelligence and impulse control of a toddler. They could not be killed, their scales impervious to arrows and swords, and were apparently immortal. At least no one had ever witnessed a dead dragon or killed one. Dragons would appear randomly in some locality and start feeding on livestock, to the annoyance of the farmers. The only way to get rid of dragons was to hide the livestock until the dragon, deprived of sheep and cows, became hungry and moved on to another flock or herd. Make the dragon someone else's problem. Not very neighborly, but otherwise there was nothing that could be done for a dragon infestation.

Dragons had no taste for humans. After eating one, they never ate another. Why? Another dragon mystery. If you encountered a dragon, you hoped for one that had eaten its one and only and would ignore you. This dragon was a recent arrival and the farmers in the Valley had yet to protect their animals, so the dragon had been feeding freely. It had not dined on humans, so presumptively it had its fill of people. She was counting on that.

All you had to do was offer the dragon bait it could not resist and while preoccupied with the meal, get a rope over its neck. Easy, right? Despite her investigations she could find no descriptions of successful dragon wranglers for proof of concept. The Magus had explained the method and had repeatedly assured her it would work. She was skeptical. There was a reason Magus was also a slang term for someone who lied in order to cheat on their wives.

*That William, sleeping with Eithrig and his wife doesn't know. What a Magus.*

Step one. Build a snare. She took off her pack, rummaged inside, and pulled out a rope. Not any rope, this had been magicked to withstand both a dragons strength and dragon fire, or so the Magus who sent her on the egg hunt had assured her.

It was a glorified rabbit trap, but the increased size made the construction a bit more awkward. As she worked she kept an eye on the dragon. It seemed to be sleeping.

Once she was sure the trap was stable, she again looked into her pack, pulled out a square of waxed cloth which she unwrapped revealing meat that looked like beef jerky. Dried elf heart. Irresistible to a dragon, or so the Magus had said. It had better be elf heart since had cost a small fortune. At least the Magus paid for it. She forgot to mouth breathe and grimaced. He should be able to afford new boots as well.

To her it looked and smelled to like any other dried meat. Not that she had ever seen elf heart, dried or fresh, or sampled it. But then, anyone who trafficked in the expensive body parts of magical creatures would be a fool to sell counterfeits. To do so would lead to a markedly shortened life expectancy.

As she hung the elf heart in the trap, she wondered if the odour of dragon dung would overpower the fainter smell of elf heart. Or would a dragon even notice its own stink? She glanced at the sleeping dragon. It was now awake, its head high on its long neck, appearing to sniff the air. That didn't take long.

Five hells, she had better get a move on. She did not want to be between a dragon and its lunch. It may not want to eat her, but a dragon could cause serious damage if they put their little minds to it. Why was she doing this? Oh yeah. That. She pushed the memories away. Don't think about it. Focus on the dragon. One step at a time.

She quickly scrambled behind a rock, where the other end of the rope was securely tied, and waited. After a few moments, she heard something crashing down the hill. She peeked over the rock edge and saw the dragon, tremendously fat, almost bouncing down the slope. It must have eaten a lot of sheep and cattle, as its massive, round body had outgrown its wings. When it tried to take to the air, the wings would snap up, unable to lift the dragon’s girth off the ground. It could not glide, much less fly. It would lose to a chicken in a flying contest.

As the dragon got closer, she could hear its breathless chant.

"Elf, elf, elf, elf, elf."

So it was a real elf heart after all. One less person to kill.

The dragon lumbered down the hill, stuck its head in the noose to get the elf heart, dislodged the snare, and the rope closed around its neck.

There was a pause as the dragon realized its predicament, considered, then contentedly finished eating the elf heart.

"I like elf," it said when finished. It was not noticeably upset at having its neck in a noose. That was unexpected. She stood up from behind the rock.

"Don't be frightened," she said. As if a dragon had anything to fear from her. Or anything.

"OK," said the dragon. It sniffed in her direction.

"More elf? I like elf."

"I have a little left."

"Give elf to me."

"Maybe later. Let's talk first."

"OK," said the dragon. It continued to sniff at her so she moved upwind of the creature. It pivoted to follow her but made no move in her direction. It would be easy for the dragon to lunge for her. The rope had some give, so she backed up a few steps. The dragon followed until the rope was taut.

She had expected the dragon to fight when snared and she would have had to half-strangle it into submission. That had been the plan, if you could call it a plan. Could a dragon be strangled? Another unknown. Too many unknowns with this venture, but what choice did she have? None. But for whatever reason, the dragon was calmly sitting, its tongue lolling out of its mouth, waiting for more elf. She could not read its expression, but blinking was the only facial movement. When it talked not even the lips moved. More of a blank slate than a blank face.

She needed a dragon egg. More unknowns. How to get it from this dragon? The Magus had had no advice and the legends were silent. Was this even a female dragon? Were there female dragons? Or did they reproduce parthenogenetically? No one knew. As far as anyone could tell, dragons had no sex or gender and no human had ever seen a dragon mate or lay an egg. Dragon reproduction was a mystery. When asked, the Magus had shrugged and said, "Meh. Dragons." So helpful. This could all be a waste of time.

Might was well get straight to the point.

"I need an egg. A dragon egg. Do you have one?"

"Yes."

She considered. This was too easy. But she had no other options.

"Can I have it?"

"Yes. I want elf."

Bargain with a dragon? Could you bargain with a creature who had the understanding of a child? It seemed a fair exchange from her perspective. She would not worry about what the dragon thought.

"OK. You give me the egg, I'll give you all the elf I have left."

The dragon was more interested in elf heart than protecting its potential progeny. It immediately gave a tug on its rope and led her up the hill to the outcrop, where there was a small alcove, inside of which was a single red egg. The color of the shell always matched the color of the dragon that laid it. Another legend verified.

She picked it up. It was the size of a small fist, perfectly round, and weighed next to nothing. Legend had it that the only thing that could crack a dragon eggshell was the dragon inside, but she was in no mood to experiment. She needed an intact egg and was not about to test the structural integrity of the egg or the truth of legend in case both proved brittle.

She showed the egg to the dragon.

"When did you lay this?"

"I like elf,” it replied.

"Is this fresh?"

"I like elf." Again.

OK. It seemed uninterested in its egg. So weird. It was her egg now.

"Thank you," she said and handed the dragon the rest of her elf heart. She didn't need it now that she had the egg and a deal was a deal, even with a dragon. Her word was always good, She carefully wrapped the egg in cloth and placed it in a small box.

When the dragon finished eating it said, "I like elf."

"So you say," she replied.

Now what? She had the egg. The dragon appeared happy with the elf meat and unconcerned she had just taken its egg. What would happen when she undid the rope?

The dragon probably could not kill her. Its size and weight could cause some damage if it jumped on her but given its bulk she was willing to bet she could both outrun or dodge it if she had a head start. Dragon fire was overrated as an offensive weapon. It was more like a large candle and used by the beast to cook meat by the mouthful. She would not want the fire coughed into her face, but her clothing should protect her from any short burst of flame. Those teeth were large and sharp. They could tear out quite a chunk of flesh if it managed a solid bite. That was a concern. She tried to keep outside of the long neck's bite range.

The tiresome legends suggested that dragons were preternaturally strong, far stronger than their size would suggest. She eyed the dragon. It was hard to believe this red, round, mound of fat had any muscle. But magical creatures were usually more than they appeared and she was not in the business of proving or disproving legends and lore. Assume that worst. That was the best way to stay alive.

She was also unwilling to test her gift against a dragon

"OK," she told the dragon, "I am going take off this rope and walk away. Any problem with that?"

"No," said the dragon.

This was getting odder and odder. There was nothing in the stories suggesting dragons could be reasonable and passive. It is not that dragons were aggressive or malicious but they were prone to the dragon equivalent of temper tantrums when they did not get their way. No one wanted a 150-pound indestructible fire breathing toddler having a bad moment smashing into them. Something would get broken, bitten, burned or all the above. This one was so unexpectedly calm. An effect of elf heart? Was elf heart a sedative? The Magus would have mentioned it. Wouldn't he?

Well, here goes. She gingerly reached over and untied the noose, tensing for a run.

Nothing.

She took a step back. The dragon took a step forward. She stopped. The dragon stopped. She took two steps. The dragon took two steps. She moved to her right. The dragon moved to its left.

"What are you doing?" she asked the dragon.

"I go with you."

"What?"

"I go with you."

"Why?"

"Because."

What the seven hells? The dragon was going to follow her? No, that was not going to happen. She most certainly did not need a dragon as a pet.

"You can't come with me."

"I go with you."

She moved and the dragon followed. She walked, ran, zigged and zagged, only a little hobbled by the now solid mass of dragon shit on her left boot. The dragon stayed with her, always about 6 feet away. She couldn't shake it. Sometimes you just have to bow to the inevitable, and after 20 minutes of trying to elude the dragon, she gave up. She could not kill the dragon and she could not escape it. It least it had no interest in attacking her. She stopped and faced the dragon, hands on hips.

"If you are going to be my shadow, I need to know your name."

The dragon just looked at her, tongue out to the side. The creature did not seem able to retract it.

"What is your name? What do they call you?"

"I am me."

"Are you a male or female? Boy or girl?"

"I am me."

That was helpful. A self-referential dragon. How did dragons know who was who when they got together? Did dragons get together? Calling the dragon Me would only lead to confusion, especially with the grammatically impaired.

She looked at the dragon. It was a bright red, the scales gleaming in the sun. How did they keep the scales so polished? She needed to stop with the dragon questions. She had her egg and with it her very own dragon. At least until she could discover how to get rid of it. She hoped the Magus would be of help with that problem. She did not need another shrug and "Meh. Dragons."

"I am going to call you Red. That OK with you?"

She pointed at the creature.

"Red."

"Red," it replied.

Red it was.

She pointed at herself.

"Kari."

"Kari," Red replied.

She took the egg out of her pack and checked that it was safe after all the dragon dodging. It was intact.

They say revenge is a meal best served cold. It looked like the first course was going to be an omelette. She looked at Red. She tossed the egg in the air and caught it carefully with the other hand. The dragon gave the egg no attention. That was good. But still odd.

"For now it looks like we are a team. Let's go."

"I like elf," Red replied.

"Can't help you there."

Kari turned north and, with Red following, started back to the Magus with the dragon egg. The first step of the plan was complete.

Next? New boots.